John Hibbard stared down the road, his sunglasses saving him from the snow blindness that normally came from looking out on a snow-covered field at high noon, contemplating exactly what it meant to be an American in the Soviet Union in the year 2013.  Things could have been different.  The Union might have collapsed, maybe around the time the Wall came down, maybe when Clinton and Gorbachev signed the Dreyfus Accord, maybe when terrorists bombed the Kremlin and levelled Moscow with the nuclear bomb the U.S.A.E.C. didn't want to admit had been made in America.  

Made in America.  That didn't even mean anything anymore.  Not the way it did back in '75.  What was America now?  It was hard to say.  American.  The word felt strange on his tongue.  He pulled out his pack of Double Happiness cigarettes and lit up.  The smoke was warmer than the air around him, but in the heart of a Russian winter, that really didn't mean there was necessarily all that much heat.  

John's black Nissan convertible ('why the FUCK,' he thought to himself, 'did I think it was a good idea to drive a convertible through Siberia in the middle of winter, snow tires or not?') had somehow managed to overheat in the coldest place he had ever been.  He'd been stuck on the road here for half an hour, huddled over his hot engine for warmth.  He had tried calling someone for help several times.  Of course there was no cell service out here, between remote Russian villages two hours north of Krasnoyarsk.  There was nothing to do but wait for someone to drive by, not that he expected someone any time soon.  

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

The ground shook slightly beneath John's feet.  He looked around, wondered what was going on, tried not to think too much about the possibility of an earthquake adding to his already full plate of misfortune, and took another puff from his Double Happiness.   

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

The sound was closer now.  It was coming from behind him, out of the north.  John turned around.  When he saw what had caused the noise, his mouth dropped.  The saliva in his mouth started to freeze as the Russian wind found its way in.  He was too astounded to notice.  "What the fuck?" he said, almost too quietly for him to hear.  What he was seeing was so absurd, so ridiculous, so impossible, that he couldn't even register it.  A giant woman-at least fifty feet tall-was striding toward him.  John could think of nothing to do but stare at her as she came toward him.  She was bundled up for warmth, a heavy fur coat covering every inch of her but her her icy blue eyes.  The only clue to her gender that he could see was the bulge on her chest, where what could only be breasts were restrained by her coat.  

 The shadow of a giant boot engulfed John and his car.  The underside of that boot and the hammer & sickle imprinted on it were the last things John ever saw.  Tons of flesh slammed down on him, crushing him into the snow.  A giant hand reached down and dug through newly displaced slush and ice, digging the mangled body of an American and the remains of a Japanese convertible out of the Russian snow.  

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

The noises moved back north.  

"The new OS needs to be submitted for approval to the Bureau by April eighth.  If it's not, you're not going to get the contract.  I promise you that."  She took a sip from the cup of French vanilla coffee she held in her hands.  Cream, no sugar.  The opposite of what she had ordered.  She frowned,placing the coffee back on the table, and fixed her eyes on the programmer in front of her.  He was fat.  American fat.  She hated having to deal with Westerners.  At least the Chinese, for all the trouble they caused, were competent.  These Americans took forever to finish the simplest projects.  A joint PRC-USSR development group working on the same project would have finished the new operating system weeks ago.  "I don't know what you people do down in Development all day-"

"Maybe that's the problem," the man muttered.  He seemed to think she wouldn't hear him.  She shot him a look that would have sent stronger men than him scurrying away.  The fat programmer shrunk back in his chair, a look of sheer terror in his eyes.  

"What was that, Mr. Tompson?" she said quietly.  There was more than a hint of menace in her voice.  She was surprised that this American had the balls to say something like that.  It was rather impressive.  Naturally, she couldn't let him know that.  He had to know that she was in charge here.  He knew that, on a surface level, obviously; she was from the Bureau of Information Technology, and she controlled his fate and that of the whole company.  But she was also a woman.  Men assumed she was weak because of that.  They assumed that she could be batted around, commanded, just because she didn't have a penis.  

"Nothing," the man whimpered.  "I didn't say anything."  He was actively avoiding her eyes with his own.  She allowed a slight smile to curl up the corners of her lips.  

"That's what I thought," she said.  "Now, get down there and tell your men to hurry up, if they care about the future of this company in the least."

"But a month and a half simply isn't enough time," Thompson said.  "This version is completely different from any other we've done, a complete rewrite.  Not to mention that the computers that will be running this OS are entirely new.  We've never made computers like this before, we need more time-"

"Is that my problem?  I can't change the deadline.  I can only tell you when it is.  The Bureau sent me here because this branch-for all the skill your people are supposed to have but of which I have seen no sign since my arrival-is notorious for its inability to get a product out the door when it's supposed to be already installed on machines across the planet.  Your competitors are miles ahead of you, don't forget that.  Tempus Solutions has been doing all of this shit we're asking you to do for years.  Yes, their products are generally not good enough for the Bureau to use, but we've always had you.  Dervish Systems has always been the Bureau's go-to, despite the consistency with which you miss the deadlines we set for you.  If we have to take out a contract with Tempus, we will.  Never mind that their computers have half the processing power of yours.  Never mind that they cost twice as much as your machines.  

"Mr. Thompson, the Bureau wants this company to succeed.  I don't know why, exactly, but you people seem to be important.  Someone up there likes you.  That could all change very quickly, however, if you don't get this product in for the Bureau's approval in two months." Thompson shifted in his chair, still not making eye contact with the Bureau representative.  

"I don't understand why there's such a rush.  Why is the Bureau pushing us like this?  Why the programmers?  There isn't enough time in the next month and a half for us to write the code, and the computer's design hasn't even been finalized yet.  We might have to make major changes to code that we thought was finalized.  We'll be rushing the product to market-"

"I don't give a damn if it's rushed.  I'm here to get your product to the Bureau on time, not to listen to excuses.  Get it done." Thompson stared down at his hands, looking defeated.  

"We'll do what we can," he said. She smiled.  

"That's all I ask," she said.  "That's all the Bureau asks.  Now, get back to work."  Thompson stood up and walked out of the room faster than she had thought possible for a man of his size, his flab shifting beneath his Oxford shirt.  She noticed the sweat stains under his arms as he left.  Pathetic.   She took another sip of coffee as she booted up her computer.  She had to contact Chao, let him know just how far behind the project was.

-------------------------

"Ana, please, don't lecture me about the timeframe.  I know how important it is."  Chao Ling's face filled up her screen, his Chinese features somewhat at odds with the Bureau of Information Technology uniform he wore.  His defection had been major news in intelligence circles, but had received little publicity elsewhere.  Just like every other defection.  Just like the straining tensions between the People's Republic and the Union.  Chao scowled.  "In fact, I know much better than you how important it is.  But more important than getting the new machines in time is making sure they work properly.  You have no idea what's at stake here."

"I still don't see why we didn't outsource to the PRC.  The project would be finished by now," Ana said.  

"When was the last time you heard of China coming up with top-of-the-line software?"  He smirked.  So full of himself.  "It was probably about three years ago, back before I defected."

"There are one and a half billion people in China.  If you're implying that you're the only good programmer the country ever produced-"

"Did I imply that?  I meant to be much more firm than an implication.  China is good at assembling machines, but you don't want them mucking about with software.  Trust me.  My reasons for leaving were hardly political.  I needed to get out of the pit of mediocrity that is the Chinese software industry."  The smirk dropped from his face quite suddenly.  "Ana, if I don't have those computers by April, this project-the real project-is going to be set back.  If, when they get here, the software isn't done right, it could be much worse than that.  Do you know what might have happened if the computers controlling all those missiles during the Cold War had failed?  If one launch system had failed to hold back those missiles during the Alaskan Standoff, there is a very good chance that this entire planet would be an irradiated wasteland right now."  Chao got a funny look on his face, one Ana hadn't seen on him before.  It looked like he was...afraid?  Impossible.  "If anything goes wrong with these computers, the consequences may be even worse.  Make sure the code is good.  We can afford to lose a couple months.  Hell, we can wait till the next contract window opens if we have to.  We can't have any fuck-ups."  The defector's face left the screen, to be replaced by the hammer & sickle logo of the Bureau of Information Technology's Quiet Development Division.  

Ana Jekovian sat back in her chair and sighed, wondering how Chao managed to be so melodramatic.  Nothing could be more disastrous than an accidental missile launch during the Cold War would have been.  That was impossible.  Ana took another sip of coffee.  She frowned.  It was cold.  She went to get a fresh cup.   This time, she put the sugar in herself.