Collective Mind (9 page)

After
that Isaac and Peter made some small talk about various things for just a bit
longer. For the last fifteen minutes they simply drank coffee. Peter tried to
be hospitable. Isaac was beginning to like the way his life had turned more and
more. Only a week ago he had to make do with the tipsy customers of the
Stars’N’Bars, and his flights of fantasy were limited to how to find money for
Vicky. But now he had an interesting, boorishly brutal partner in Bikie, and he
found talking to Peter really exciting and – most important of all – he now had
a big goal.

Both
Isaac and Peter regarded this conversation as important. Each of them hedged
his bets so that later, if anything happened, he could tell the police that the
idea of destruction had only been mentioned as a light-hearted fantasy from the
same category as “let’s fly to the moon” or “let’s move Mont Blanc”. A trifling
conversation, not even the slightest intention of really doing anything

As
the sun started to set, the two young men exchanged phone numbers, wished each
other good luck and Isaac left.

As
they parted, they agreed that in any case Peter would keep quiet about the
visit. And if he decided to reject the offer, he would simply call and say he
wasn’t going to invest in Isaac’s invention.

Peter
called on the third day in the afternoon and asked to come for dinner that
evening. He said he had good news.

Even
though the meeting with Peter left a good impression and the candidate inspired
trust, Isaac was still a bit nervous. On the way there he kept glancing around
all the time. Bikie, who was entrusted with countering any negative
consequences of the meeting, tried everything he could to calm him down and
cheer him up a bit.

Bikie
approached the question of security very systematically and professionally. He
tapped Peter’s phone, hacked into his mail account and even undertook to watch
the house in person. If Peter had contacted the police or lawyers, or if he had
dialed a suspicious number, the two of them would have known about it.

Isaac
assumed that Peter wasn’t exactly in the team already, but he obviously wasn’t
refusing. So the news wasn’t excellent, but it wasn’t bad. Any help would be
appreciated, and it could do no harm. Bikie, carefree as ever, suggested taking
it easy and being cool.

Isaac
and Bikie decided to go visit Peter together. Peter did not call a meeting in
order to refuse to collaborate. Bikie remarked with a solemn face that Peter
hadn’t called anyone at all – for certain. All he’d done was call twice to
order a pizza. And Peter didn’t need to call anyone to take a positive
decision. For that he had his own head on his shoulders, his own brains and his
intact OE.

At
seven in the evening they were at Wolanski’s house. Peter opened the door in
the gate himself, greeted Isaac and offered Bikie his hand.

“Peter.”

“Bikie.”

“Come
in.”

Large,
comfortable sofas were laid out on the lawn, a barbecue was smoking, and several
bottles of cold beer were glinting in the sun.

“I’ve
arranged a little picnic. I invited you and one friend of mine.”

Isaac
and Bikie exchanged glances of alarm.

“Don’t
worry, it’s someone reliable.”

“I
hope you haven’t told him too much?”

“No,
I simply invited her to dinner in a pleasant company.”

Now
it was clear that Bikie’s surveillance had failed – he’d missed something. He
had either tapped the wrong line, or did not have all of the numbers. Bikie was
embarrassed at having screwed up, and he kept giving Isaac very guilty glances.
He clearly hadn’t been expecting that Peter could actually talk to anyone
without him knowing, and his self-confidence evaporated.

A
car honked at the gates. Peter returned with a girl about twenty years old.

“I’m
Sandrine.”

“Isaac.”

“Bikie.”

“Pleased
to meet you.”

Isaac
relaxed. He thought it funny to see Bikie looking like a spy caught red-handed.

“Hey,
Bikie, relax, it wasn’t at all bad for a first try. Especially since the
important thing was to pick up calls to the police.”

Bikie
looked upset anyway

“I’m
not certain, but to judge from your name, you won’t refuse this.” Peter was
holding a pack of dark Guinness.

“Thanks,”
Bikie mumbled.

“Help
yourself. Sandrine is my very close friend, my girlfriend and, I hope, my fiancée.”

Sandrine
smiled and laid her head on Peter’s shoulder.

“We’re
going away on a trip for a couple of months. First to Stockholm, Copenhagen and
the Baltic, possibly to St. Petersburg and Moscow, and then we’ll decide where
else. I haven’t done any traveling for a long time, so I’ll enjoy the ride.
They say the summer in those parts is very pleasant, not as hot as here and I
think I’ll get by without the sea for a while. I want to take a look at Poland,
my grandfather’s home country. They say Polish girls are quite something.”

The
final remark earned him a light cuff to the back of the head from Sandrine.

“Anything’s
possible,” he said with a smile, for which Sandrine pinched him too, quite
painfully.

“Sandrine!
Stop it!”

“What
do you think is possible? I’ll show you Polish girls!” she barked.

Bikie
had already recovered from his error and was about to joke on the subject of
Polish girls and Russian lovelies, but after glancing at Isaac, he didn’t.

Wolanski
took his friends around the grounds and gave them a tour of the house.

“This
is a safe place, but I’m going away for a long time, you never know if
something might break down or someone might creep in. In short, would you mind
living here and taking care of the house while I’m away? I could even pay you
for service,” he added with a smile. “A little bit.”

Well,
how about that! The very idea that he could live in a swanky villa like this
for a while took Isaac’s breath away.

Bikie
instantly forgot about the affront he had suffered and started gazing around
intently.

“I’m
sorry, but I have no secrets from Sandrine,” Wolanski went on. “The two of us
have decided to support you, but we won’t get involved. In a few weeks I will
acquire full control over my father’s legacy. Right now I live in a good house,
I can afford to pay almost any expenses, but I don’t have control over his
fortune. I have free access to a large amount of money, which I can spend as I
wish. But there will be almost a hundred million so I don’t want to put that at
risk.

“And
so, I’m sorry guys, the house is at your disposal, I can even write you a check
for a couple of thousand a month, you have the internet here, a television, a
small chemistry lab in the basement if you need it. You can order food and
other small stuff, apart from booze and weed, and that will be deducted from my
direct expenses account, but that’s all that I can offer you. As for financing
and advice, sorry, you have to handle that yourselves.”

Peter
felt awkward for steering clear of the risks, and his voice had a guilty ring
to it.

“You’re
here as security guards and sort of household help. I don’t need to know what
you are up to while I’m away. So let’s agree that if I don’t ask, you avoid
discussing your business in my presence. I ask you not to involve any one else
until you have at least a provisional plan. Naturally, I have cameras here so
if I see visitors, I’ll ask you to move out,” Peter added. “And you must not
use the main bedroom. Better not even to go in there. And finally, good luck!
And let’s drink to that!”

For
the rest of the evening the group ate meat, drank wine and beer, discussed
music and never mentioned business again.

Isaac
and Bikie were totally excited, and each of them chose a nice room on the guest
floor. If you didn’t count the small salary that Peter had set for them, he
hadn’t done anything to solve their cash problems. But on the other hand, no
one knew if they would need more money, or this would be enough. At least now
they had food and a roof over their heads. And quite a roof it was!

Isaac
and Bikie decided not to waste time, and move to Peter’s place as soon as
possible, even before he left. In comparison with Wolanski’s villa, Isaac’s old
apartment looked like a dismal slum.

Isaac
gathered up his things, looked round his old room and thought that he would
never come back here. He did not feel any regret. Even his beloved crack on the
opposite building had turned from a mysterious cobweb into an ordinary, shabby,
peeling surface.

 “How
weird,” thought Isaac, “I have lived here for five years, but I don’t have any
particularly pleasant memories associated with this dump.” Isaac had even tried
not to bring girls back here, he felt ashamed, it was better to go to their
hotel. “But even so I feel sad at the thought that I won’t be back here
anymore. It’s like I’m cutting off a big slice of my past, finally slicing off
my youth and my student years.” Vicky wouldn’t come back here again either.

Isaac
walked into his sister’s tiny little room. Her things had been tidied away a
long time ago as if she had known. Clothes tidily folded away in boxes, a
little bit of makeup, some books and textbooks, even an old doll. All he had to
do was collect the bed linen. “It might come in useful. We’ll stay at
Wolanski’s place for a while, but afterwards I’ll have to rent somewhere. Damn,
I almost forgot about the kitchen and the bathroom. Glasses, plates, spoons,
forks, knives… God, what a drag it is gathering it all up now and making sure
nothing breaks.”

Isaac
lived an impoverished life, so he collected up absolutely everything he could.
He only left the furniture since it wouldn’t have survived another move anyway,
and Wolanski would have flipped at the sight of this old lumber.

He
hardly had any personal things at all: jeans and t-shirts, one suit from his
graduation at the university and his computer which all fit into two boxes. He
also has a vintage poster of Einstein with his famous phrase: “Only those who
attempt the absurd can achieve the impossible”.

That
aphorism was very apropos and highly relevant. Isaac took the poster down
carefully, rolled it into a tube and took it with him. Bikie had a similar
modest collection, apart from the fact that instead of a scooter, he had a
genuine Harley and a guitar.

“That
Bikie-guy is a true rock’n’roller,” thought Isaac.

Wolanski
met them at the gate, and he had everything ready for dinner by the pool again:
drinks, hors d’oeuvres, beer. Sandrine was relaxing on a soft, white
sun-lounger. She waved them hello and carried on relishing the beautiful sunset
over the sea while sipping on some kind of juice. Bikie and Isaac each took a
beer.

“This
is some life!” exclaimed Bikie, either making a toast or just thinking out
loud.

They
drained their bottles in one, picked up their things and headed for the main
entrance. Peter gestured them to stop and asked to go in through the side door.

“Guys,
we agreed that you live in the guest section of the house, didn’t we? It’s
safer that way. No hard feelings?”

“Whatever
you say, buddy, no problem,” Bikie said amicably. “Don’t think we’ll have any
use for your oval fireplace and swimming pool anyway. We won’t have time for
long soulful evenings and swimming… But the loungers… Can we bring chicks in?”

“Bikie!”
exclaimed Sandrine, already there beside him. “Do not bring chicks into the
house!”

“
I like you, guys. I really hope I haven’t made a mistake by inviting you to
take care of the house. You settle into your rooms and I’ll wait for you here.”

The
first thing Bikie did in his room was take his guitar out of its case and check
that nothing had happened to it in transit. The guitar was all right.

“What
is this?” Isaac asked.

“A
relic.”

“Meaning?”

“I
bought it on the internet. Keith Richards himself played it. He even signed the
body. I forked out a grand for it. A rare item.”

Isaac
looked at the half-erased scribble.

“Are
you sure this really is his autograph?”

“Positive,
I saw a photo of him with this guitar.”

“I
see. Ever heard the word ‘Photoshop’?”

“Screw
you,” Bikie growled.

“Just
kidding. Surely it’s original.”

“Sure
as death. In our crowd they don’t pull tricks like that.”

He
then hit the strings so hard that almost made Isaac jump.

Isaac
went to his room, set his things by the bed, carefully hung up the poster and
switched on his laptop.

“What’s
the Wi-Fi password?” he shouted out of the window.

“Alchemist28015,”
Peter answered.

“Your
rating, right?” Isaac asked loudly.

“U-huh.”

“Mine’s
bigger,” Bikie put in.

“And
mine’s longer”, retorted Peter.

“You
boys are gross,” Sandrine said and everyone laughed.

When
Isaac and Bikie sat down by the pool, the sun was already setting and the sky
was scintillating with the most brilliant tones in the orange spectrum.

“Look,
orange energy’s draining away…” The setting had put Bikie in a poetical mood.

“The
orange energy of the sky,” Isaac commented pensively.

“The
creativity of the sky, expiring at dusk, reborn the next day with not a drop
lost,” Bikie commented rather neatly.

“Beautifully
said! You’re a genuine poet,” commented Sandrine. She and Peter were sitting
beside the pool with their arms around each other and also looking out to sea.

“I
write songs and play sometimes, but mostly rock’n’roll, not lyrical stuff. I
even used to play in a rock band at school.”

“Peter,
why don’t you write me poems? Long ones…”

Peter
started fussing about and ventured over to the table to fill the glasses,
ignoring Sandrine’s remark.

“Friends,
I declare the official ceremony to celebrate your moving in open!”

Peter
knew how to create a distance when he wanted, and also how to break it down
quickly, and then you could feel like a really old friend of his.

“Bikie,
by the way, why are you Bikie?” Peter asked.

Bikie
didn’t like to answer the question about the origins of his nickname, because
mostly it came from drunken customers at the bar. But he was still feeling
pleased with Sandrine’s compliment and decided to answer.

“The
usual story, that name has been with me ever since school. I’ve liked
motorbikes all my life. On my way home from school, I always looked at the
mopeds, and the choppers especially... I used to ask a lot of questions and
even made friends with a few grownup biker dudes. I dreamt of getting my
license as soon as possible and dreamed about having my own Harley. But let me
tell you: there are different kinds of bikers. Let’s say, there’ve been some
gangs whose business was drugs or guns. And then there are folks who are there
for the love of art. I’m one of those. There used to be a whole set of us at
university. It’s fallen apart now though. One became a Veggie, one grew up and lost
interest, one was killed in a crash… yeah… Well, as for my nickname, I got it
when I was still a kid. My parents bought me a scooter, a red one, so I could
easily be seen on the road. And I went straight into my dad’s garage, where he
kept his paint. That chrome stuff, you know. And black too. I glued on a Harley
emblem (I had a real one that someone gave me) and drove off to my friends.
Didn’t even wait for the paint to dry, got my trousers all soiled. Everyone
said, now you’re a true biker, kiddo, only a little one. So we’ll call you
Bikie and it stuck. Bikie it was. Basically I got to enjoy being Bikie and then
I shot up and no one dared hang any other nicknames on me, cuz I could hang a
punch on them that they wouldn’t forget in a hurry.”

“When
I was a little girl my mum used to call me Sasha,” Sandrine’s added in a gentle
voice “In the Russian style from some Russian book. And I just couldn’t
understand, I kept asking: ‘Mum what is this nickname of mine?’ ”

Everyone
laughed except Isaac who looked morose

“Isaac,
what’s up?” Wolanski asked.

“His
sister, stepsister, has Russian roots,” Bikie explained. “She’s in the hospital
now.”

Sandrine
put her hand on Isaac’s shoulder.

“Don’t
feel bad, Isaac. Everything will be all right. We have to give all these new
inventions their due, medicine has become excellent, a real breakthrough. I’ve
never seen such equipment before. For instance, I recently had an x-ray or a
scan, I don’t remember exactly what. I was roller-skating down a steep slope
and I fell, so I went to check that everything was all right.

 They
put this kind of special elastic suit on me, and a helmet. I stood in the
middle of the doctors’ office like an astronaut. And the doctor had a full 3D
image of all my internal organs on his monitor. Yuck! And then he pressed a
button – click! – and his screen showed my skeleton.”

”My
father,” was amazed that no one was afraid of dentists any more” Peter added,
“I told him: not only is no one afraid of them, no one ever goes back to them
anymore. When they treat something or fix something, it’s done once and for
all. But that didn’t stop dad from being opposed to UNICOMA. He lost a lot of
money when they started their operations, but he wasn’t against them because of
the money. He said we knew too little about all this.”

“Now
they’ve completely beat AIDS,” Sandrine went on. She obviously wanted to
improve Isaac’s mood. “Now they can cure cancer, asthma and all forms of
allergies. They can cure everything, Isaac!”

“Everything,
but not quite.” Bikie growled, “Some illnesses have been left out in the cold.
Alzheimer’s for instance – no one knew what caused the degenerative changes,
and no one knows now. And your OE computer hasn’t learned how to cure
Parkinson’s either. They can only cure the diseases that scientists have
already done lots of research on. COMA itself can do nothing, they just put
together old crossword puzzles. Hell, why am I telling you, as if you didn’t
know all that stuff. .”

Strangely
enough, it was Bikie who lifted Isaac’s mood, not Sandrine or Peter. What Bikie
said inspired Isaac, and he cheered up, recalling that his plan to destroy the
system had already started to become a reality. Everything was going really
well. He had a team of fellow thinkers. Maybe it was not very big – only him
and Bikie – but Peter had given them a place to live and a bit of money. It was
a good thing that Peter was on the sidelines since he turned out to be a great
guy. It wasn’t clear yet if they were going to do anything illegal or it might
not work out at all, but so far it was working and he was glad. “And so tonight
we relax, drink and socialize!” Isaac thought with a smile, reaching out for a
bottle.

“Friends!
Not another single sad thought today and not a single mention of COMA! You and
Sandrine are used to this place, but I want to luxuriate in paradise!” He cast
a significant glance at Bikie and at his guitar. Bikie nodded eagerly

“This
time shall we set out to sea, or sail off on a drinking spree?”
he sang, strumming the guitar, before reaching out for his bottle.

“Is
that Byron?” Wolanski asked.

Isaac
laughed so hard he almost choked.

Bikie
gave Wolanski a severe look.

“That’s
not By-ron, it’s By-kie. It’s my song, you dorks.”

“I
wasn’t joking, I actually like it.”

“That’s
the most terrible compliment I’ve ever heard. Dorks like my music.”

“I
don’t get you. I can’t compliment you and I can’t criticize you either.”

“Why
don’t you just listen without any comments?”

“Okay,
okay. Can I at least light up my cigarette lighter and stand beside you for a
while, like at a rock concert?”

Sandrine
and Isaac laughed until they cried.

“You
can lie down on the bottom of your pool with the lighter if you like. The
longer the better.”

Bikie
carried on strumming, sometimes the words were sad, sometimes really jaunty.
There was a lot about women and drinking. Everybody enjoyed listening.

“She
gobbled her food by the ton, and her figure was soon lost and gone. She crammed
down that swill and GMO slop, in massive amounts, unable to stop” he sang.

For
some reason the women in his songs were beautiful, but very fat, a Botero of
music.

“Her
backside was just like a nut!”
he continued,
“Tra-la-la .All fatty and rough to the touch, La-la-la. Her backside was just
like a nut, Tra-la-la, that goes by the name avocado.”

Boom!
A loud final chord.

***

The
evening was so heartwarming that Isaac felt amazing. Nice company, intelligent
people, light-hearted mood, even more awesome than with his university friends.
“Man does not live by Pascal alone,” Isaac noted, recalling his evenings with
his friend. And he had never sat around with a guitar like this before. Every
cloud has a silver lining. If he hadn’t had problems, he wouldn’t have met
Bikie or Peter, and he wouldn’t be sitting here at this classy villa. He even
saw the terrorist Elvis through different eyes now and regretted that he hadn’t
talked to him while they were in the police cell. Where was he now? Probably
already in jail. But never mind, if Isaac pulled this off, they would let Elvis
go too. He would definitely prefer to sit in jail for any number of years, but
not volunteer for downloading.