A Day In Her Life

For Alex, and all the other dreamers...

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Jessica Yasenevo woke in a cold sweat. She'd had that dream again. Was it a dream?

She never could tell. It always felt so alarmingly real.

Just as always, she'd been standing amid a ruined place. Shadows drenched the landscape, a great fissure ahead glowing with the heat and guts of the world. Embers rained from a bloated, soot-covered sky. And It was there. Jessica refused to call it a her, even though it looked like one. It always stared at her, those baleful crimson eyes attempting to slay her with a scornful glare.

The creature would eventually step towards her, a smirk on it's slender face. Waves of nausea would assault Jessica, the taste of some terrible power wafting over her. Even though she knew the thing couldn't really hurt her, it was always unpleasant. Finally, It would stop a few feet from her, wreathed in that dark energy and say "Mine. Forever mine."

That's when Jessica usually woke up, a pang of loneliness and chills jarring her frame. Swearing a bit under her breath, she mumbled "I'm going to find a way to kill that thing yet."

Looking over to the side of her bed, Jessie grumbled. The old wind-up clock on her dresser said it was time to put such thoughts away and get ready.

A sigh.

"I hope you're OK..."

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Stepping out of the shower, Jessie dried herself off. Her sleek coat glistened, and her dark red hair hung in wet strands around her face. She shook here head slightly, droplets of water tickling her feline ears.

Padding back to her bedroom, she took a few moments to inspect the uniform laid out on her bed. She usually devoted a good twenty minutes each night to brushing whatever lint and hair had accumulated during the day off it. Then, she'd hang it neatly in the closet. And, just as she did before her shower, she'd lay it out on her bed in the morning. It was her private joke, just like the Pioneers, she was always ready.

Frankly, she hated that uniform.

It was confining, bland. Olive drab fabric, just as everyone else wore at the Bureau. That was, of course, the idea. The conformity of Socialist unity. And while she appreciated the idea of the many over the few, she hated that uniform. It made her fur itch when it was hot, and it always seemed stiff in the cold winters. Fortunately, it was Spring, and the stupid thing managed to keep the damp from bothering her.

Grumbling to herself, she decided to put off the despised garment for a bit more. Walking into the kitchen, she began the much more favorable task of breakfast. Poking into the cupboard, she unwrapped the last pack of toaster pastries. With a thunk, they slid down to be browned to satisfaction. A glass, the coolness of refrigerated air, and milk. She'd pour a little coffee flavoring into it for good measure.

It was a simple breakfast, of course. Sometimes, Jessica would have toast instead. Breakfast may be important, but she never ate much in the mornings. Doing so only made her feel sluggish once she got to her desk...

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Putting the Chaika into park, Jessica unfastened the safety belt and switched off the engine. The car was far too large and impractical for just one person. It was, after all, a small limousine. Usually, such a car was reserved for purely diplomatic uses, shuttling comrade So-and-So to the airport, taking an ambassador to the Kremlin, stuff like that.

She'd gotten one as a rather unexpected and frankly lavish birthday present. It was old, and she'd been told more than a few favors had been spent prying it from the Moscow airfield's motor pool. But, there it had been, a black and chrome behemoth. She loved it. It was also very useful for long drives to her parents, not to mention carrying friends about the city on weekend night-life binges.

Walking across the street, Jessie noticed the familiar droning of diesel engines. Looking up, she saw the silver bulk of the Star of Moscow, or one of it's sisters, gliding across the sky. The airship's fins adorned with the Red Star of the revolution, it brought a smile to her face. She'd traveled by airship more than a few times, although more often she'd go by train when going abroad. There were only just a few airships, and getting a ticket was usually a task in it's own right. She'd have to see if Uncle Aleksi could get her a voucher again. Or she'd perhaps settle for basking on the beach near his dacha in Sochi. He rarely used the dacha himself these days, after all.

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Her office in the Lubyanka was small, smelling of stale cigarettes and ink. Closing the door, she noticed the familiar stack of forms, papers, and who-knew-what waiting for filing, checking, and completing. She was very good at her given job, of course. She enjoyed the steady rhythm of "paper shuffling". Her typewriter sat ready to send off missives, one of several pens waited to scrawl her signature. She'd caught enough clerical errors and typos over the years to be given the affectionate nickname of Comrade Corrector.

The rock and creak of the wooden desk chair, it's aged casters never wanting to cooperate fully, Jessica sat behind the desk. The clock ticked softly on the wall. She knew that in exactly two hours, the nice bird fellow downstairs would be bringing strong black tea and a slim sandwich for the mid-morning break.

Rifling through the top layer of forms, some in duplicate or even triplicate, Comrade Corrector got into her work.

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It had been a long day. She hadn't been able to get entirely all of the paperwork done, Lev had kept bothering her about the upcoming field reports from the Volga, and at the weekly Party meeting she'd been elected flag bearer for her section at the May Day parade. While flattered that her comrades would nominate her, it also meant having to wear her dress uniform. She hated that one even more than her regular fatigues. It was heavy wool, and she had to wear stiff leather greaves that pinched at the ankle. It never seemed like anyone could design a proper piece of footwear for the feline foot. She'd be hot, tired, and sore after the hours long event. Still, she'd do it. It was not only expected, but also considered very poor form to decline the honor. Still, she'd have to make sure to powder herself from head to toe to keep the itching at bay.

A long sigh escaped her. Jessica's mind wandered, her gaze unfocusing just enough for the writing in front of her to blur. The parade wasn't really at the heart of her fatigue.

That dream still had her shaken a bit, and Jessica was glad when six o'clock rolled around and she could go home. She considered going down to the cafeteria for dinner, but shrugged the idea off. No, she chastised herself, I'll just make something at home. There was plenty enough in her modest refrigerator, and it was irresponsible to waste anything.

If she was going to be completely honest with herself, she had to admit that she just wasn't feeling overly sociable at the moment either. Jessie was just about to get up when Darya's head poked through her office door. "Hey, it's Friday. You want to go out tonight? I hear the music's going to be very good at the Velotrek tonight." Her wide, expressive brown eyes gleamed in anticipation. For a brief moment, Jessica's mind ceased up. Friday? Right. Darya, herself, and a few of the other girls from her section usually went to the dance clubs.

Despite her inner mumbling (I hate the Velotrek...), Jessica agreed. What the hell, she thought. Might as well get out. Could be just the thing to shake her gloom away.

Dancing, after all, was one of the few things Jessica Yasenevo truly loved. It set her free, the pulsing rhythms, the beat and tempo, the lights. Sounds, energy, vibes. When she was in the zone, she was one with the music. She'd rather have gone to Energia than the Velotrek, but it would do. At least Darya hadn't suggested the absurd idea of one of the Intourist discotheques, with their obnoxious tourists. Not that she hadn't been to those places either, but usually in a more watchful role. While spying wasn't the foremost activity of the Bureau, contrary to some belief, she had actually been on the clock more than a few nights. Comrade Corrector could also be Comrade Watcher if a particular report needed it.

Those nights usually were, as one could guess, not very fun. She couldn't drink, for one thing...

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It was getting on nine when Jessica looked herself over in the mirror. Giving a quick spin, she was satisfied with the bright lavender dress she'd chosen. It hugged her in the right places, yet it allowed plenty of movement where it was needed. She'd gotten out the matching eye-liner, and painted her nails a flaming blue for some contrast. While not as jumping as some of the other clubs Moscow had to offer, the one at Velotrek was still worth looking prime for. Fortunately, multi-species society didn't always demand shoes...

Getting her purse, she quickly went back into the bathroom, her mind intent on what was hidden in the back of the linen closet.

Now, one must understand, five days a week Jessica Yasenevo considers herself a model Soviet citizen. She's devoted to her work at the Bureau, an upstanding Party member, and generally straightforward and well mannered. But on dance nights? Well, that was different. She could easily get into the mood of the dance club just fine, but to really drive into it, to really get there, she needed just a little boost. Nothing particularly dangerous, so long as the flow of the music stayed good and nobody started getting on her nerves. She'd only had a bad trip a couple of times, and luckily Darya had been right on top of the situation. Darya, for better or worse, usually made sure Jessie and a couple of their other friends didn't get "out of hand".

Jessica, for her part, didn't pay much mind so long as the vibrations stayed in her favor. When she was tranced out to the world of sound and light, to the pulsing of all the dancers around her, the tingling of alcohol coursing through her body, she was what she called "the Sonic Goddess of Many Lights".

Quickly checking her purse one last time, she went over the mental checklist for the night: Plenty of coin for admission and drinks, three packs of filtered cigarettes, her keys to both apartment and Chaika, a spare set of keys to the former just in case (she'd slept in the Chaika's cavernous backseats a few times), and her psychedelic booster now safely at the bottom.

Yes, yes indeed. She was ready for a night out.

I wonder if they'll spin that good remix of Katyusha I heard at Radio last week? she pondered. While she preferred the American and Italian mixes, Jessica was a sucker for any reworked "Soviet Classics". She idly noticed that Radio Moscow, by contrast, was playing something by Shostakovich tonight. Predictable, comforting, but not what she wanted. She switched off the radio set and headed out the door.

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