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“Constantly, of course you wouldn't know, but they're obsessed with it. And a girlfriend who says she's seen one bigger better move out of town whilst she's still alive.”

“Oh my.”

“I know, and get this, in some parts they paint them blue for the wedding night. If the bride gets hysterical, like she's seen one the proper colour, she doesn't make it through the night.”

“They're that self-obsessed and jealous?”

“Sure, didn't I tell you I hated men?”

“But you have a brother, Vadim.”

“Every woman knows one good man, isn't it the same on your side?”

“I guess.”

“But you still have them all castrated, controlled.”

It was true, everyone knew one decent male, but it wasn't, couldn't be enough to keep them as they were. For appearances could be deceptive. Isn't that why the Undiagnosed tried to buy beauty, why they fell too easily for the lies of the marketing men? Wanting to be lied to could be seductive, addictive.

“Come on, we're here,” said Raisa.

It was a tall building, and all the lights were on. A small boy with large wondering eyes answered the door. He wore a man's quilted dressing gown trailing along the floor.

“I'll get mother,” he said.

“Olga was pregnant when they killed her husband,” said Raisa.

A flurry of petticoats whirled down the stairs, and ran to Raisa. They kissed one another on the cheek.

“They're here to help,” said Raisa.

“From the other side?”

“Is it that obvious?” asked Anais.

“With you, yes, with him, no.”

“She's bought some makeup,” said Raisa.

“Then after tonight she'd better start wearing it.”

“Are you working?”

“Unfortunately. Where's Semyon? He's missed,” said Olga.

“Dead.”

“About time.”

“We'll talk later,” said Raisa.

“I need money as well as revenge,” said Olga, “for the boy's sake too.”

“You don't have long to wait.”

“Your drugs are in my room, usual place, away from the boy, please.”

There was a dress hanging over the bannister rail, and Olga put it on. Finally, she added a coat and a fur hat with a red star badge at the front.

“See you in the morning, put Alexei to bed for me,” said Olga, quickly shutting the door behind her.

The temperature had plummeted.

“Is she safe on the streets?” asked Anais.

“No one dare touch her; she's a Red Star girl.”

“Your room's upstairs, top floor, second on the left.”

“Hey, aren't you coming?” I asked Anais.

“I want Raisa to show me how to wear this makeup first,” she held up a shopping bag.

“I could show you,” I said.

Anais screwed up her nose.

“I'm changing too, Valiant,” she said, “must be something in the vodka.”

“OK, don't be long.”

Anais joined Raisa in the drawing room. She was playing chess with Alexei.

“Winner stays on,” said Raisa.

It was going to be a longer night than I had expected, or hoped. When Anais finally climbed the stairs, plastered with vodka and makeup, I was half asleep. Anais rolled me over and took a good look. It wasn't painted blue but she already knew that, and she sighed happily.

Chapter Twenty-Five

It was the tallest building on the skyline, thanks to the spire, and atop sat a flashing red star; for some it was a warning to stay away, for others a beacon, though not always of hope. The rust of the day had been replaced with a bright flashing star, but there was never any stardust in gambling. I'd been reading their magazines since I'd arrived, studying their culture. There were no dark clouds hovering over this modern cathedral tonight, and no gargoyles looking down, but I was apprehensive. And so I might be, Jimmy Jones, the leader of the Undiagnosed Confederation used it as his headquarters when in town.

Jimmy Jones was part enigma, part charisma. The son of a North American Baptist preacher, he had joined the Undiagnosed when his countrymen sided with Vespertina, although many men lived to regret it. The Russians in particular took a long time getting used to him, before they realised no one hates his own like one overlooked for greatness.

Jimmy Jones, always in dark glasses, had slithered to the top of the political ropes to become Chairman. No one could say for certain he was immovable, but he had survived two internal assassination attempts, three elections that most speculated were rigged, and a coup. But the Russians now took him to their hearts.

There were few dissenters that remained alive. Besides, life was good unless you were on the bottom rung of the ladder, and then if you were angry enough, tough enough, good enough to do something about it, you could fight your way up the ranks of the Armed Forces.

But if you weren't a winner or a fighter, and there was no one to look after you, you didn't last long. It was a meritocracy, and no merits meant no credits. Those poor souls, lost souls, lost their value, dignity, body parts for the wealthy, and eventually their hopeless life. They were the street hookers, drug users, and low life criminals. The high end, high value crooks helped run the show. It was a society of bullies that preyed on and disposed of the weak, and my eyes were beginning to open. Could the two ever be reconciled: wanting to screw someone without wanting to screw others over?

I saw another street worker standing near the gutter as we approached the hallowed halls of the Red Star Casino with the polished limos parked outside. Two thickset Muscovites watched over them as drug peddlers scuttled by like rats running to the trash cans overflowing with syrup. The lewdness and eccentricity inside the Red Star poured onto the streets outside in crudeness and madness.

I was in an Air Force uniform provided by Raisa. It had been left behind when a love-struck punter was tracked down by his wife and her brothers. He made a quick temporary exit out the back window, but wouldn't be coming back; dead men didn't fly.

The night was beginning to envelop us, and so was my caution towards Raisa. But she'd got us into Moscow, and we seemed joined at the hip.

“Men like to think they're in charge of everything,” said Raisa. “Really they're only good for one thing.”

“You're not that much different from us,” said Anais as we crossed the street.

“You put your men, if you can call them that, in categories. Am I right?”

“Sure, you mean the transgenders, shemales, crossdressers ...”

Raisa began to laugh. “Sorry, but crossdressers, I still find it very funny.”

“I can see why,” said Anais, “but you were saying?”

“We do it too, though with greater secrecy. We choose a man for our children, handsome and fit, one for the upbringing, rich and smart, then another for a lover, and sometimes a fighter. But the father and the lover have to be as cute as you can get them.”

“And you move apart each time?”

“No, we cheat.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“You're right. Your way is far simpler.”

“You want to come back with me? Others have joined us,” said Anais.

It was news to me, but there was a lot I hadn't know in my ignorance.

“Traitors, and their families left behind soon disappear.”

“But you're off the radar, no one would know.”

“And Semyon's money, I get to spend that too?”

“No.”

“Then, honey, for me it's all about the money. I'll let handsome here tell me about the good old days in the Femocracy.”

Anais was about to speak and then thought better of it.

“You're gonna miss him, aren't you,” said Raisa.

Anais nodded.

“Does he know?” asked Raisa looking at me.

They often spoke as if I wasn't there. It was OK; I was too busy scanning the street for threats.

“He does now. He doesn't want go back, and if he did then he wouldn't be the man I want.”

“That's what I was saying about the men over here. They never stay the same, especially once they marry you,” said Raisa.

Perhaps we would become different people, strangers. And then it would be too late for her to go back, to pick up the pieces of her life from before. Or maybe she just wanted to save the world?

We went through the metal detector one by one, greeted at the door by someone in a bear suit.

“What's up with him?” asked the security guard.

“Deaf,” said Raisa.

“And dumb?” asked the guard.

“You tell me, he's a fighter pilot.”

I was now feeling confident with my Russian, and, thanks to Vadim, had adopted a rather convincing accent. However, I had been unable to convince my two chaperones. Maybe they preferred me quiet.

I smiled and nodded at the guard with the folded arms, before following the women up the marble staircase. There was a lift, but we chose not to hang about in the lobby under the scrutiny of prying eyes.

I needed a drink from the bar, and didn't ask for permission. Fortunately, people raised their glasses and not their eyebrows. I paid for two vodka and lime and swaggered back to Anais. Raisa joined us from the cash desk.

“Here, take these chips and stay at the bottom of a roulette table, watching the wheel,” said Raisa.

“Can we play?” I asked.

“Sure, but don't get dragged into a conversation.”

She was right, I didn't know my cock from my cockpit, and Anais wasn't the best defender of gender equality.

There were other military types in tonight, but they were all army and navy. The embroidered wings on my shoulders had been a good bet, though I was no angel.

I noticed Olga standing with an elderly gentleman holding her hand. She smiled at me, and the old guy immediately grabbed her wrist. Olga said something and pushed him away, heading for a blackjack table to pick up the glasses; she was a waitress.

“And don't look up,” said Raisa, “but there's a camera watching your every move. I'm going to take a look around.”

She looked different and acted it. Was this a disguise or had she been in disguise? The pockmarks buried in foundation, the wig, and dress padded on the ass, it wasn't needed, in my opinion, but it was hypnotic. Her authoritative style, I felt like her pawn, and Anais was following her lead.

I followed Anais to the gaming table. She was still used to taking the lead and old habits die hard. It was in a circle of nine roulettes, just opened. Anais watched the wheel and piled some of the counters on red.

“Number 1,” and the croupier paid her out two to one.

The female dealer wore a long black dress, figure hugging but no match for my girl. Anais wore a diamante clip in her hair, eyeliner, foundation, blusher, and dark purple lip gloss. Olga's borrowed dress pinched her in at the waist, and she dazzled. She'd piled on the pounds since our defection, and I could cover her hips with my lips.

Anais played the wheel, becoming ever confident, and enjoying the risk. The pit boss Levin came across to the table, handed the dealer a note, who forwarded it between a winning stack of chips to Anais. My luck had run out.

“Nikolay Azarov begs your attention,” it read. I had been completely ignored, was insignificant.

The croupier's head tilted towards the side and a bear of a man sandwiched between two bodyguards. Nikolay was the casino owner, Moscow's power broker, and business partner of Queensy Sevastopol. Anais couldn't ignore him for much longer.

I watched everyone's eyes and had an idea what was happening. Anais was standing in front of him, and Nikolay raised a glass in my direction. The knot in my stomach was both anger and jealousy, and I could tell they were a deadly combination.

Every minute seemed like an hour, but eventually she came back to me.

“What did he want?” I asked.

“You're a man now; do I have to spell it out?”

“What did you say?”

“If he can beat you up, he can fuck me for a million credits.”

“And?”

“He laughed, and said I must be in love, and to enjoy it whilst it lasts.”

“And are you?”

“Sure. He gave me these, tickets for free champagne at the bar.”

“I'm on a roll,” said Anais as Raisa re-joined us.

“Beginner's luck or because Nikolay likes you?”

“It's fixed?”

“Hey, not so loud. Sometimes, it depends if the house is winning or losing. Most times there's no need.”

“And Nikolay, is that a good thing?”

“At least he's not going to throw you out. Besides, Olga was counting on it.”

Raisa held my hand, and I squeezed hers. Anais was a doll, but Raisa looked a whore. I would bed them together given the chance, but only Raisa would break the headboard.

Raisa looked into my eyes, before kissing me in front of Anais. “And you don't like me,” she said. “Well, are you ready soldier boy? The restaurant's that way.”

I wasn't ready, and I could stay like this forever: With two beautiful women, and in the midst of danger without ever facing it. I took a deep breath and headed for ‘The Tartars Sauce.'

“Monsieur, please,” remonstrated the French deserter holding the dessert list. “There's a queue.”

I tapped my wings, fortunately there was no one waiting to pull rank.

I'd never been one for sitting alone at a restaurant; so I walked right up to the kitchens. Raisa was convinced he was inside. There were cooks, pastry chefs, dishwashers, and waiters, all male, and five guys packing pistols. In the middle was Queensy, tasting the soup from a ladle. I could see through the two barrels pointing at my head.

“Valiant 01, I was wondering when you would show.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“How many men from the other side, on the other side, would have the courage to walk right in to my kitchen?”

“I'm not gay,” I said.