Unusual Circumstances

One: The Man in the Mountains

Dimitri lived a mundane life in a not so mundane place. It seemed a mundane life to him, anyway, as he was so used to it due to the fact he had been here so long. This place had no official name, though the locals called it “Edger’s Reach” and “The Icey Plane”; Dimitri had taken to calling this place “New Siberia.”

New Siberia was a harsh, mountainous region covered in a thick blanket of snow and ice. There were many rocky crags and outcroppings sticking out all along the mountain range, all topped off with jagged gray mountain tops. The wind howled relentlessly through many ragged valleys and canyons, giving the mountain range its name: The Screaming Peaks. Nobody lived on the mountains, except for the craziest of people. Dimitri considered himself one of the less crazy crazies, but crazy nonetheless.

Being perceived by the locals as a nutso person had its advantages. Nobody asked the tall, scary Russian man any stupid questions. Dimitri enjoyed solitude and rarely ventured to the village the locals lived in, which was called Merritt Town. He typically only went there to trade in the fruits of his labors and get a little drunk at the tavern. He only did this once a month and would return home the next day after his visit. Today was his monthly visit.

As he lumbered down the main street, the locals all stared at him, as per usual. The locals were small people, only 4 feet tall at the most, with mottled blue skin and white or gray hair. They sported long pointed ears and three fingers on each hand. Their eyes were pupil-less and varied widely in color, and they had long prehensile tails that resembled a lion’s.

Perhaps I should clarify: New Siberia was not on Earth. Nor was it in our solar system. For all Dimitri knew, it wasn’t even in our dimension. It was a long story as to how the former KGB agent found himself in an alien place, and it will not be noted here yet. All we need to know for now is this: Dimitri was alone.

The village of Merritt Town was a charming place in a not-so-charming environment. Its idyllic main thoroughfare was lined on either side with pastel-colored buildings. The buildings sported brightly painted signs in the loopy, frilly script of the locals. Dimitri wasn’t entirely a fluent reader of their language, but he spoke it competently. The alphabet of the language was more complicated than Mandarin, and twice as versatile. There were also ice sculptures dotted along the street that never thawed, and snow covered everything in abundance. In place of flowers and bushes, the locals used ice sculptures carved in random organic shapes and painted them with special paint. It had a lovely, cheery effect and Dimitri rather liked it, though he would never admit it.

As the hulking meter-and-a-half tall blond man tramped down the street, he shifted the weight of the large pack he carried. In this large pack was what he called the fruits of his labor. He was a hunter, and he hunted some very profitable beasts. The locals called them “Edgers”, but they looked like Yetis to Dimitri. They weren’t as gigantic as they were considered to be on earth, as they were only as tall as Dimitri was himself, but they were tough buggers. They were bipedal, white-furred, ape-like things with long hooked claws and vicious teeth. They had three eyes, all black, and a face that resembled a male orangutan. They were moderately intelligent, but not as much as an ape would be. They were challenging to catch and kill, but not impossible. They would eviscerate a man as soon as look at him and not think twice about it. The males were aggressive, but not as aggressive and dangerous as the females. Their thick hides made for excellent coats and bedding, and their bones had a special compound in them that had pain-relieving properties when they were ground into dust. The guts weren’t too valuable, but they were tasty enough if one were hungry. Dimitri was the premier, and only, Edger Hunter in the area.

There were a few Edger Hunters in this world, some legendary, but it was too dangerous a profession to be common. Dimitri was a more than proficient sniper and usually was able to kill an Edger in one shot. Tracking the things was the hard part, he was lucky to bag two a month. Generally one full Edger got him enough money and supplies to last three months easily. Aside from their status as being profitable, the Edgers were also extremely dangerous to the locals and killing them made a person a hero. Dimitri resembled the Edgers too much for the locals’ comfort apparently, as they never regarded him as a hero.

Finally, Dimitri reached his intended destination: a tavern called “The White Apple.” White apples were one of the only fruits anyone could grow in this god-forsaken land, and could be made into some good hard cider easily. Dimitri entered the tavern and set his pack down. The heavy Edger hide and teeth made a loud thump as he set it on the floor. He sat on the specially-made stool the owner had provided, which was the only stool in the place that could hold him. The bar only came up to his knees when he sat, and he had to bend in half to grab his drink.

The owner approached. He was a stout little man with a wispy white mustache and a spotty blue head. He was one of the few locals that were friendly with the Russian man, and he smiled warmly as he sat a pint of hard white apple cider in front of him. The steam curled enticingly off the drink, and Dimitri picked it up to breathe in the aroma.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Dimitri,” The owner said in a cheerful tone. “My wife made some yummy cookies this morning. Would you like one? It’s on the house.”

Dimitri smiled dryly at the little man. “Good to see you too, Coran. No cookies, thanks. How is Levitica?”

Coran grinned wider. “She’s doing well. Tired though. She made those cookies and then went straight to bed. I suspect she’s going to be going into labor any day now. Thanks for asking, Mr. Dimitri.”

“Of course, tovarish. I brought you a present too, for the little one,” Dimitri quickly bent over and rustled through his pack, pulling out a finely crafted smooth stone ball on a stick. He handed it to Coran. “It’s called a rattle. Very popular where I come from for babies. They like the noise it makes when it shakes.”

Coran’s face lit up. He gave the rattle a shake himself, and was delighted that Dimitri was correct about the noise it made. “It’s wonderful! Did you make it?”

Dimitri nodded and took a sip of his cider. “Is that a good enough token of friendship?”

Dimitri was of course referring to the practice the locals used to solidify their friendships by giving each other small gifts. Coran’s grin widened even further.

“It is indeed, Dimitri. Thank you. I’m going to show this to Levitica.” With that, Coran exited from behind the bar and ran upstairs. The locals sitting beside Dimitri at the bar were whispering furtively to each other, apparently finding this exchange scandalous.

“It is considered rude where I come from to talk about someone right in front of them,” Dimitri growled at the two locals, his refined Russian accent sounding intimidating. “If you have issue, I would like to hear.”

The two young men looked at him with what an American would call a “deer-in-the-headlights” look. They sat silently for a few heartbeats before getting off their respective stools and scurrying to a table in the corner of the room. Dimitri toyed with the idea of yanking their tails as they hurried passed, but decided against it.

Coran returned with a pleased look on his face. He got back behind the bar and saw the other two patrons had migrated. “Oh dear, did you scare them, Dimitri?”

“Yes. On purpose, this time,” Dimitri then took a long drink from his cup.

The two then proceeded to have a long friendly chat about various things. Dimitri told Coran about his latest hunt and Coran told Dimitri how horrid his mother-in-law was. After about two hours spent in pleasant company, Dimitri decided he needed to visit the general store and sell his wares so he could head home before dark.

“Don’t you want to spend the night here like usual?” Coran asked.

“I want to, but I can’t. I have something at home I must attend to,” Dimitri replied, picking up his sack. “Tell Levitica I wish her well. Das vedanya, tovarish.”

Coran shook his head as Dimitri exited, “His language seems so odd…” the tavern owner mused as he began wiping down the bar.

After Dimitri sold his wares at the general store, he picked up some ready-made medicines. He had been delighted on a previous occasion to discover the drugs here were suitable for human consumption, and he bought several bottles of pain-killers, fever-reducers and cough medicine. The shop-keep eyed him suspiciously when he placed the bottles on the stone countertop. Dimitri pointed at the back wall where the cigarettes were.

“I will have three packs of the Glassmen’s as well,” Dimitri instructed. The nice thing about the cigarettes here was that they wouldn’t cause cancer and weren’t made with nicotine. They were more akin to marijuana, but not as strong a smell. They called the leaves the cigarettes were made of Glass-leaf, due to the fact that the ice covering them year-round looked like glass. The technological level of this world’s people seemed to be comparable to the early 1900’s, though their dress was more archaic than that.

After stocking up on some much-needed supplies, Dimitri left the general store and began his long trek home.

Dimitri had his own cabin about 2-hours walk from town. It was situated at the foot of the mountain range, tucked neatly into a naturally-occurring cave. Only the foothills held what could be considered a forest. The trees were thin and white, they behaved like evergreens but looked like skinnier aspens, and the leaves were pink. Like most plants here, they were encased in a thin layer of shiny ice. This world was remarkably Earth-like, but just alien enough to make one feel out of place.

He approached the cabin, as he had for years now, from the north. He trusted the snow to cover his tracks as it blew about, thereby hiding his home from others. The Screaming Peaks were living up to their name well, and made a high keening wail as he walked up the hill to his front door. It was sunset, and the sky was ablaze in oranges and purples. The twin moons were just barely visible from his front porch, and he gazed at them longingly for a moment, thinking of his family in Moscow.

Dimitri had been stuck in this frozen wasteland for years. He wasn’t sure how long, but he figured at least 10. He hadn’t aged a day since arriving. The day/night cycle here was odd, as it varied greatly between seasons. Some days were 36 hours long. Some only 10. Dimitri had given up on keeping track of time after a few years of this. He had to wonder if the constantly cold environment was keeping him young somehow; or if it was due to something else. That weird stuff Khrushchev had injected into him might have something to do with it. Dimitri lit a cigarette and smoked on the front porch for a while until the moons were fully visible.

After the cigarette was spent, he dropped it and crushed it underfoot, then opened his front door. The door creaked slightly, but was otherwise silent. Dimitri found this cabin shortly after his arrival in New Siberia. Wood was sparse in this environment but stone was in abundance, and therefore his cabin was made of stone bricks. When he had first taken over the cabin, it had empty holes for windows along the eastern wall, a straw covered floor, and was in general disarray. Years of service in the Spetsnaz had taught Dimitri the importance of cleanliness, as the lack of it had caused horrible infections in the prisoners.

Over time, Dimitri was able to furnish the cabin as it was now. There was glass in the windows and lovely red curtains over them. He had the floor replaced with stone bricks, and fixed all the cracks in the walls. It was technically a one-room cabin, but it had a small attached bathroom on the western side by the entrance. There was an antique-looking toilet, standing shower and small sink in the bathroom. He was grateful the locals had figured out indoor plumbing. On the eastern wall, under the three small windows, was his bed. It was approximately a queen sized bed, with a frame made of metal and a mattress made of down from some sort of livestock Dimitri couldn’t pronounce the name of. He used a red-dyed Yeti skin as a bedspread and had three large down-filled pillows. There was an armchair he made himself from the trees outside, which he had upholstered with red velvet, sitting in front of his small coal-burning stove. There was a small kitchenette on the western wall opposite his bed, and he had a small end table next to the bed that held an oil lamp.

Dimitri closed the door behind him. In the failing outdoor light, he managed to make his way to the end table and turn on his lamp. The room was immediately illuminated in the soft yellow glow and the smell of burning kerosene from the lamp. Laying in Dimitri’s bed, right where he had left him, was the young human man he had found in the snow earlier that day.

“Man” was a loose term for this person though. He appeared to be about 18 years old at most to Dimitri. The boy had a slight frame, though Dimitri could tell his upper body was well-toned. The boy’s legs were problematic though, as they looked skinny and useless. He was a good-looking boy though, Dimitri had to admit. The boy had long black hair like some sort of beatnik, asymmetrical and jagged looking. He had near-porcelain skin that was soft and unblemished, though there were hints of a pimple or two at his temple. His features were somewhat feminine, with soft, full lips and a gentle slope to his brow. His jaw was narrow and sharp, and his high cheekbones accented his thin Roman nose. Dimitri had taken to calling him “Spyashchaya Krasavitsa”, Sleeping Beauty.

Dimitri mentally kicked himself for thinking this way though. Thinking of other men in that way was what had landed him here in the first place. He had gotten exceedingly drunk one night after work was completed that day with his coworkers. One of his coworkers, Oleg, had been very friendly to Dimitri that day, and Dimitri had returned the favor with a kiss. Oleg had been outraged by this and informed Dimitri’s superiors the next day. Instead of killing Dimitri outright, they had decided to put him in for a special mission involving space-travel. Before he knew it, Khrushchev had ordered he be injected with that stuff and they put him in a tube. When Dimitri woke up after that, he was here, in New Siberia.

The boy stirred, startling Dimitri out of his recollections. The Russian man stood at attention out of habit, though admittedly that habit should have died off by now. When Dimitri’s guest opened his eyes, Dimitri felt his heart rate increase. The boy had the most stunningly bright green eyes he’d ever seen.

“Calm down, Dimitri, he is a boy. Keep a handle on your damn perversions!” Dimitri mentally berated himself.

The boy looked at him and tried to sit up, then yelped in pain and clutched his right arm, which was looking very swollen despite the splint Dimitri had wrapped it in. The boy plopped back down on the pillows and looked askance at Dimitri.

“Ah, we-where am I?” the boy asked almost timidly. He spoke English. There was a long silence as Dimitri processed this.

“Uh- Forgive me, my, eh, English is rusty,” Dimitri answered. “This place is known locally as Edger’s Reach. I call it New Siberia.”

The boy looked a little more confident when Dimitri spoke his language. “You’re Russian?”

“No, I’m Australian,” Dimitri quipped. When the boy looked confused he laughed a little too loud. “Is joke! Yes, I am Russian. You sound American. Does that make us enemies?”

The boy blushed slightly, or was that just a fever taking hold? “I-I don’t think so. Why would it?”

Dimitri blinked a few times, incredulous. “What is it you say…have you been living under rock?”

“N-no. Why?” the boy looked fearful again.

“What, has your McCarthy decided we be friends now?”

“M-Mcarthy? Like the president?”

Dimitri pulled out his cigarettes. “You must have hit your head. Yes, like your president.”

“Dude, that guy has been out of office for 50-some years. Do you know what year it is?”

Dimitri dropped his cigarettes at this revelation. He sheepishly bent over and picked them up before the boy continued.

“It’s 2018.” He stated bluntly. Dimitri felt his heart drop. “Oh shit, man, I’m sorry! Was that too much-“

“It’s fine. I assume that tensions are resolved then?” Dimitri interrupted, pulling a cigarette out of the pack and putting it in his mouth, then lighting it with his miraculously still working lighter.

The boy hesitated. “Sort of. Things were good for a while after the Cold War, but things have been getting tense again ever since the election in 2016.”

“Oh? Vat happened in 2016?”

“Long story. I don’t want to get into it right now. But you seem cool. We don’t need to be enemies. My name is Quincy.” The boy, Quincy replied, holding out his left arm.

Dimitri took his hand and shook it. “Your hand is soft like girl’s,” Dimitri blurted out, he had intended to keep that thought to himself. “Ah, sorry, sorry. Been awhile since I spoke to another human person. I am called Dimitri.”

“Hu-human person?” Quincy asked, his voice going up an octave.

“Oh yeah, you, my friend, are on a whole other world. The people here are small blue things. Very cute, easily startled. I am ducking to get in anywhere.” Dimitri held up the pack of cigarettes to Quincy.

“I don’t smoke, thanks.” Quincy put his good hand up in protest.

“Is not tobacco. They call it Glass-leaf here. Is basically marijuana,” Dimitri assured him. “It helps with pain. I also got you medicine.”

Quincy looked a little redder. “Thank you. Uh... can I ask how I survived? I was sure I fell out of the sky.”

“Gravity is slightly lighter here. Also, there is a shit-ton of snow, very soft snow,” Dimitri took a drag off his cigarette as Quincy took one from the pack. Dimitri lit the cig for him and then sat at the foot of the bed. “But make no mistake, you are very hurt. Broken ribs, broken wrist, and I have no idea what fall did to your legs.”

Quincy took a drag of the cigarette and started coughing. “My legs are always a little messed up looking. A burning house fell on them when I was 8. Haven’t been able to walk since. They almost had to amputate. I kind of wish they had. They insisted on fixing them though. Put steel rods where the bone was irreparable and put me through years of physical therapy for basically nothing. I collapse if I take 2 steps, the nerve damage is so bad I can’t control my legs, but not so bad I don’t feel a little pain if I put weight on them.”

Dimitri sighed. “Here I thought you Americans had top-notch healthcare. I am sorry, tovarish. You did not deserve that. But, enough sob-story, yes? Would you like some dinner and drugs?”

Quincy shrugged. “I don’t feel very hungry.”

“Give the weed a moment, and then you will be,” Dimitri leaned over the smaller young man. “Now, let me check ribs, yes? I bound them but I want to make sure binding held.”

“O-okay,” Quincy said in a timid whisper. His face was nearly glowing red.

Dimitri slid the shredded remains of Quincy’s shirt off. Quincy’s torso looked much the same as before, thin and toned, but with dark bruises marring otherwise perfect skin. The white linen bindings were just as tight as before, holding his lower ribs in place. Dimitri lightly brushed his fingers against the tender bruises.

“Ow! Why would you do that?!” Quincy cried out.

Dimitri chuckled. “To remind you you’re still alive. Now, stop being sour puss and smoke your weed while I cook dinner. You are bit of baby, it seems.”

“Fuck you, man,” Quincy retorted, stifling a smile. “Gimme back my shirt.”

“This is not shirt, this is rag,” Dimitri held up the disfigured textile, which was so shredded it resembled a crop top and not a t-shirt. “I will lend you shirt after you get better. You stay in my bed until then, I sleep in my chair. The blankets will keep you warm.”

Quincy had no smart response for that so he fell silent. He spoke up again when Dimitri pulled out a large beet-equivalent from his small icebox. “Please don’t tell me you’re making borscht. That shit is gross.”

“You are correct, it is gross. But I am making a different soup. A stew, actually. This is not beet, this is called julefruit. Very sweet and tender. Pairs well with yeti meat. It will warm your bones and hopefully mend them.”

Quincy watched as Dimitri began cooking. He was in awe as the large Russian man pulled the biggest stew-pot he’d ever seen from under the small counter and began chopping the fruit so fast it looked like a blur. Within mere moments the stewpot was filled with meat chunks, julefruit and other ingredients and boiling merrily on his stove. Dimitri dished the stew out into two large ceramic bowls and set one on a tray for Quincy. He put the tray in Quincy’s lap after propping the young man up with the pillows.

“Did you say this was made with yeti meat?” Quincy asked almost fearfully.

“I did. Though the locals call them Edgers, they are basically yeti. I hunt them as my trade. Tastes like steak, very lean and hearty,” Dimitri said between each spoonful of stew. “They are nasty, vicious creatures. Highly territorial. Not bullet-proof though. What did you do for living?”

Quincy was eating the stew much slower, as he was right-handed and using his left hand was a challenge. “I’m a quantum physics major with an engineering minor. I go to University of Seattle. That’s actually kind of how I ended up here, to tell the truth. I made a teleportation portal and it…it didn’t work like I thought it would.”

“Now that,” Dimitri lifted his spoon from the bowl and pointed at Quincy, “is story I must hear. Finish eating, then tell me.”