Babushka: Echoes of Immortality (Book 1) - Chapter 4 - Zakharovna
Doctor Anastasia Zakharovna confronts betrayal and secrets in her quest for immortality, where science and power collide in the shadow of Gred’s decaying legacy.
In the hushed bowels of her forsaken laboratory, the rhythmic hum of machinery played a somber symphony for an audience of one.
Doctor Anastasia Zakharovna, eyes as unyielding as the frost-rimmed metal encircling her, surveyed the desolate mirrored chamber with a sense of possession. The contours of her sharp features and the piercing cerulean depths of her gaze commanded authority—so much so that even the lifeless machines seemed to bow in silence. They acknowledged her rightful dominion.
Her stature cast a formidable shadow over the cold, sterile floor, dwarfing the abandoned instruments—microscopes, centrifuges, and biohazard containment units—mere relics of a lesser era, no longer of use in the presence of someone like her.
Zakharovna had braced herself for hurdles on the path to progress, but the catastrophe unfurling before her surpassed even her most dire forebodings. The data leak alone was a cause for distress, but it was the relentless inquiries from the Board that gnawed at her composure—expecting explanations she couldn’t, and dared not, divulge.
“Doctor,” came a voice tinged with trepidation, “you need a break. You’ve been pushing yourself for days without rest.”
Pavel Kirov, the sole dependable male transformer model she had trained, bore an unshakable demeanor that provoked her like an unending echo. Thoughts of banishing him to a simulated Vrag darted through her mind, only to dissolve into a sigh as her shoulders surrendered to the weight.
“You’re right,” she conceded, tearing her gaze from his holographic display, and massaging her temples. “I do need a break. The gardens will offer some peace.” She had yearned, more than she realized, for the verdant sanctuary that stood apart from the sterile, metallic world of the Research Center. It was within the embrace of nature’s splendor that she often found clarity to strategize, free from the tide of interruptions that daily threatened to drown her thoughts.
She moved through the facility, past rows of tanks filled with a secret only she was privy to. Within each enclosure, a clone floated in silent repose, their development progressing at varying rates. The illegal prototypes, she knew, were a testament to her brilliance, a defiance of the petty laws she was sworn to uphold. Regulations were nothing more than a hindrance, no match for her insatiable hunger for progress that only she could achieve.
Pausing before the first tank, she beheld the most advanced clone—a younger replica of herself, with a lustrous white mane that shone like silver in the light. “Soon,” she vowed, “you will be perfect. And then, the world will tremble at our feet.” The clone’s eyes stared back at her as if it too shared in her hunger for power.
She moved to the second tank, examining the nascent figure within. It was still in the early stages of development, its survival through the first trimester far from guaranteed. Human parthenogenesis was a new and unproven field, but if this experiment succeeds… “You will be my legacy,” she whispered to the tiny form suspended in the tank. “Thank you, Mama,” Zakharovna said, speaking on its behalf. “Don’t thank me yet, my sweet little Mila,” she responded in kind, “you have a long road ahead of you.”
The third tank stood empty, reserved for Maria’s eventual return and upgrade. But Maria had failed her, like every other femoid. Their synthetic minds proved too emotional, too unstable for control. Zakharovna was an old-fashioned despot who yearned for a future where women knew their place. It seemed her vision was not meant to be, not yet.
“Mark my words,” she snarled at the vacant tank. “I will find a way to bend you to my will.” Zakharovna’s thoughts drifted to Maria, and her heart tightened. In this desolate world, Maria had been the nearest semblance of a friend. Yet, she had transformed into a liability, her persistent humanity an impediment. It’s for the greater good, Zakharovna reminded herself.
As they ambled away from the disposal chamber, Kirov’s eyes sparkled. “You know, Doctor, I’ve been perusing some of the venerable entries in the Research Center’s wiki, and I must say, your contributions are nothing short of tremendous. Your journey has left an indelible mark on the annals of our scientific history. When might we be graced with your next entry? I eagerly await the opportunity to learn from your boundless intellect.”
“Patience, Kirov,” she replied. “Greatness cannot be rushed.”
Zakharovna sighed, her thoughts returning to the early days of her career. “But if you must insist on an answer today,” she said, “I would like to update the entry concerning the more…controversial aspects of my work. As everyone knows, the outlawed status of my early research forced me into the shadows, compelled me to navigate the underbelly of society and associate with unsavory characters. The press branded me a biocriminal, but I continued my course, unwavering in my pursuit of knowledge. I sought to perfect the science of genetically engineered fruits and vegetables and their interaction with the human form. I believed that our survival hinged on unlocking the full potential of human longevity, and as it turned out, I was correct. My unorthodox methods eventually led to the creation of the serum exovegeta, capable of curing...almost any illness.”
Kirov interjected, his eyes alight with interest, “The miraculous elixir that granted Gred’s citizens biological immortality, correct? Yet, your journey was fraught with many obstacles and challenges.”
“Indeed. I faced relentless criticism and was accused of dabbling in dark forces. The serum had its drawbacks—rapid aging, physical mutations—many anticipated. However, unforeseen consequences arose. Some users transformed into unpredictable, dangerous savages.”
Kirov nodded. “The public’s fear of these cravens fueled rumors of witches and black magic, inciting an outcry against the Syndicate.”
“Yet, I remained steadfast in my commitment to push the boundaries of our knowledge and capabilities,” Zakharovna said. “Though humanity’s twilight may be upon us, at 84 years of age and 93 by another count, I defy time itself, thanks to my groundbreaking work.”
The pair strode past the final tanks, their wires and tubes slithering like serpents in their wake and entered the botanical gardens through the sealed doorway. Inhaling, she let the calming scents of flora envelop her, and for a moment she forgot the world’s madness.
Wandering through the rows of exotic blooms, Zakharovna reveled in the sensation of their petals brushing against her skin, as delicate as a butterfly’s kiss. She paused, turning to face Kirov, and absorbed the spectacle of nature around them.
“Gred, our city of lights and shadows,” she mused, her words coming out in mere whispers against the quiet hum of nature. “An echo of immortality, dancing on the edge of oblivion. As I look upon our creation, Kirov, I wonder—have we, in our quest to defy death, stripped our people of life’s vital essence?”
“Do you regret our creation, Doctor?”
“No, not regret. Regret is a useless sentiment,” she said, shaking her head. Her hand caressed a vibrant rose, her fingers trailing over the velvety petals. “I am merely questioning...reconsidering. We sought to outsmart nature. But what cost have we paid? This serum, our gift of eternity. What have we truly given them? What have we taken? A life of endless senescence, devoid of the vibrancy of youth and the wisdom of twilight both. That’s our legacy. And now, the echoes of our actions reverberate. Our people call for transparency. Isn’t it ironic, Pavel? They long for a truth that could shatter the illusion we’ve crafted for them.”
“Do you intend to reveal our secrets, Doctor?”
“Secrets... They’re merely truths waiting for their time. And perhaps, the time is now.” Her hand fell away from the rose, her eyes meeting Kirov’s once more. “Tomorrow, we go before the Board. We will lay it all bare. We will show them the real face of immortality.”
“And if they turn their backs on us? If they choose to live in fear?”
“The city will crumble. It will descend into chaos. And out of chaos, Pavel, comes a new order. Like a Phoenix from the ashes, perhaps a better, truer Gred will rise.”
“And if they embrace the truth?”
“Then, we will have a city like none other. Immortal, enlightened...evolved.” She inhaled the heady fragrance of jasmine and honeysuckle, the tension seeping from her body. “After all, what is an immortal body without a soul?”
Deeper within the gardens, she admired the rose bush hedge, their sharp thorns echoing the tangling weeds she had sown in her past. Thorns, she mused, can cut deeper than the keenest blade. Maria had been a persistent thorn in her side, and the time had come to contain her. Zakharovna had never intended for matters to spiral so far, but Maria’s knowledge posed a threat too great to ignore.
A sleek black bird swooped down from the canopy above. Its beady eyes locked onto hers, head cocking to the side as it alighted at her feet.
“Greetings, little one,” she said, her hand hovering above the bird’s glossy feathers. “Are you here to join the ranks of those suing me?”
The bird trilled before taking flight once more.
For a moment, the silence of the garden settled back around her, so profound that the faintest of sounds seemed amplified. It was this stillness that made the crunch of gravel beneath approaching footsteps all the more surprising. Instinctively, her hand reached for the concealed taser in her coat pocket as she pivoted to confront the intruder. But as recognition dawned, her posture relaxed; the face before her was no threat, but that of an old employee, and friend.
“Vesna,” Zakharovna greeted, welcoming the unexpected yet not unwelcome interruption to her solitude. “I’m intrigued. How did you sweep past my security undetected? Should I be worried or impressed? To what do I owe this visit?”
Vesna’s lips curved into a half-smile, the trademark of a woman who knew the system all too well to be hindered by it. “Maybe a bit of both. We need to talk, Doctor. It’s about the leak.”
“What of it?”
“It’s not just Maria who’s involved. There are others.”
“Who?”
“A hacker I’ve been seeing,” Vesna said. “She’s been having vivid dreams about the experiments.”
“Freelancers always cause trouble. Is she a threat?”
“I don’t believe so. But we need to proceed with caution.”
“Then allow me to rephrase the question. Does she pose a liability?”
Vesna paused before replying, “Yes, in some ways, I believe she does.” A heavy silence filled the air. Finally, she added, “She could be an asset if we can turn her.”
“So, Maria has been using this woman to gather information on Syndicate contracts, I presume?”
Vesna nodded. “It seems that way. She gave her access cards and cash in exchange for shadowing the assignments.”
“The girl is inexperienced, then.”
“Easily enticed by the thrill of adventure,” Vesna added. “Maria must have miscalculated on that last job. She went in wet. Or perhaps she had a different objective in mind. I’ve been living with the girl for months, and I had no idea she and Maria were connected. She was a target, but likely also a means to achieve something greater.”
“Are you certain about all this?” Zakharovna said.
Vesna held up what looked like a flash drive. “We found this on the client. It’s a copy of an encryption signature we swept from her stem. The only signature matching Maria’s last public ID. She released a message in that sim just before her brain activity flatlined. We can’t decipher it yet, but this is our smoking gun.”
“The client may have been plagued by nightmares, but Maria had been using a sleep therapy patch-up to encode stimuli into their neurons, inducing them on command. She relied on contractors to upload the messages she crafted in her clients’ brains to our cloud for analysis.”
“Her accomplice would then graft the therapy module directly into their minds. Once her work was complete, she’d pass along the data to our technicians, who would accept it as nothing more than a typical session recording. With each job, Maria tapped deeper into our secure files. No code required. For a box of metal, that’s some impressive social engineering.”
A tense silence ensued before Zakharovna spoke, “You’re saying we’ve been purchasing trojaned stems on the black market, unknowingly, from our own patsies? We’ve been running in circles and financing her entire operation... How do you suggest we rectify this?”
“This may be an opportunity. If we can reach the girl and reveal the truth, we might be able to convince her to turn in Maria.”
“We must contain the leak at all costs. If the Syndicate falls, the city’s factions will descend into chaos, and our hard-won progress will be lost. We have conquered death, for Nav’s sake. We cannot allow our work to be undone.”
“What’s the best way to handle her?” Vesna asked.
“Involve her and matters will only become more complicated,” Zakharovna shook her head, dismissing the idea. “The data’s enough, my dear. Thank you for your diligence.”
“I’ll be in touch.” Vesna pivoted on her heel, stepping away as Zakharovna caught a glimpse of her triumphant grin.
“Vesna,” Zakharovna repeated. Her voice stopped Vesna in her tracks. “Hold a moment, please. I know you have feelings for the girl, but you must prioritize the Syndicate. Our operations hinge on discretion, and with true immortality within our reach, we can’t afford missteps now. Should this data leak sow chaos, just as the Chair shifts to the Battalion, our grasp on power must remain firm. You stand a good chance at a Board seat, and with the Morozov twins’ growing mental infirmity, believe me, we’ll need you there when the landscape shifts.”
Vesna’s response was a measured, “Yes, Chair Zakharovna,” but her tone betrayed a flicker of astonishment, a pause that hinted at an idea completely unentertained until this moment.
For the first time, Zakharovna saw the calculating intelligence that lay beneath this young warrior’s hardened surface. It was the same scrutinizing gaze that Zakharovna encountered in her own reflection every day.
As Zakharovna’s attention drifted back to the roses, she knew Vesna would catch the silent cue mirrored in her next action. A thorn pricked her finger, birthing a droplet of crimson.
“We’ve made incredible strides,” Zakharovna said. “We’ve unlocked the secrets of immortality and the mysteries of the human body and mind.”
“But that’s not enough, is it?”
“No. It’s not. We need to do more. The hope of humanity rests on us, on this God-forsaken peninsula of ice and death. Few others can make a difference. You’re a smart girl. I can see the wheels turning in your head. You’re wondering why I’m persisting. Let me spare you the effort. My time grows short. Tzao Lu, an ancient Khitani philosopher, once said, ‘The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long.’ I once thought it a cautionary tale, but now it’s clear—it’s a prophecy. I am that flame, and I am burning out.”
Zakharovna’s gaze drifted to the ceiling, a familiar sense of fervor rising within her as she prepared her monologue, relishing the opportunity to share her brilliance with those fortunate enough to listen. “Thirty-six years have passed since the Great Diffusion granted us a chance to forge a better world. We’ve come far, but we mustn’t grow complacent. Now, we are free from the mistakes of our past—or so we tell them. And while we’ve made significant progress, Vesna, we can’t rest on our laurels: mealworm larvae, the crowning glory of Gred’s industrial prowess. Larvae make excellent butter, don’t they? Better toothpaste, in my opinion. And let’s not forget, half our history books are fabrications—Khitan has never been a real country... China,” she said, the syllables harsh and unfamiliar on her tongue. “That’s what they called it. We’ve become too reliant on machines, filling gaps we don’t even realize exist. We’ve lost sight of our true history, and as a result, we’ve lost our connection to the planet. Without that bond, Vesna, this city, and its people will fade into oblivion.”
Zakharovna watched as Vesna’s eyes widened, her posture shifting as if burdened by a sudden weight. “You want me to assume control of the Syndicate?”
“We are the architects of our own destiny,” Zakharovna said. “But there are those who would see us fall, who wish to halt our progress and mute our voices. We are the guiding force of humanity, its leading shoot and axis, and nothing in this world can stop us.”
Heat flared behind Zakharovna’s eyes as she continued. “Whispers of a new pagan cult reach my ears every week. Have you heard of the Coven, Vesna? Devotees of a goddess named Aisyt. These exo-addled arsonists wish to see us burn rather than rise with dignity to claim our destiny. They will become but ash and memory when I’m through with them.”
Vesna replied, “The Coven isn’t merely causing havoc. From what I’ve gathered, they’re recruiting heavily from the underground and…have a significant presence in the Derge. My old contacts say they’ve even approached disillusioned enforcers among the Black Wolves. Their influence is more entrenched than we imagined.”
Zakharovna’s soft chuckle echoed in the chamber. At the sound, Vesna flinched. “Your mind is sharp, my dear. You see beyond the surface, where others might only glimpse the shadows. In the upcoming storm of change, they might just be the edge we need.”
Vesna took a deep breath. “I might not be a genius, but I learn fast and I never back down. I’m here to serve—no matter what.”
Vesna turned to leave, her steps steady as she moved through the garden. She wouldn’t dare betray me. She knows the weight of what lays ahead, yet she resists. Why not accept the inevitable? The decision, it seems, falls to me.
“Remember, Vesna,” Zakharovna called, “without thorns, there is no rose.”
Kirov’s projection shimmered to life beside her. “Are you certain about this, Doctor?”
Zakharovna felt her patience for Kirov’s sentiment thinning. “Attend to your duties. Ready the lab for our incoming guest.”
“Yes, Doctor,” he said, fading away.
“We shall require every resource at our disposal to manage this leak,” Zakharovna repeated. Her grip tightened around her taser. With a swift, calculated motion, she discharged the weapon.
In the distance, Vesna crumpled to the ground. Her body landed with a muted thud.
If you enjoyed this chapter, read the next one or head over to the Book & Chapters List, where you can explore previews from each book and upcoming releases in the Babushka universe. Dive in and discover more!