Mostly shifty, ever unsure and always on the lookout for better deals with the G7, these BRICS summits stuttered between weird locations like Ufa behind the Urals, Brasilia in the amazon, Delhi during the 13th macaque-langur war and Sanya, surrounded by the US Navy.
President Anna Petrova found herself staring at the Chinaman. Surrounding her were semi-naked face painted warriors offering coffee — both regular and decaf. Behind them were an ambush of leopards coordinating their own ambush. The South Africans had certainly upped the ante. This latest BRICS summit was being held at a real safari outside Johannesburg.
Out of respect for her hosts, Anna had had to pare down her own security to just two guys. Sipping decaf, she returned the stony stare at the Chinese Premier Wong Xiannian.
“So Wong, how’s your ankle?”
“Enough chit chat Madam. Unlike your country we have real business in Africa. The dictators love us.”
“Happy for you Wong. I actually requested this meeting to… make you an offer.”
“Ah compensation for our sweet trains. Finally. But only after apology.”
Without losing her stride, Petrova said, “Ok, I guess I am sorry.”
“Hahaha. No. A public televised apology on
“Ok. If we do that, we would have to double the gas prices to Urumqi.”
“What the fuck? I knew this was a mistake. This is a travesty. I could be having a threesome in Bamako right now… You, you owe us a massive apology Anna.”
Anna Petrova added the sixth pack of sugar to her decaf.
“Final offer: Triple the gas prices to Urumqi. Double the freight passage rates to Germany. And a new pipeline from Sakhalin to Beijing.”
“Jesus Anna… you can’t be serious. Why would we ever agree to these fucked up terms. You do realize that I am your last non-enemy at the moment.”
“Premier. One more thing… we want you to stop selling your fucking forged trains.”
“Haha… do you know what the Americans are offering me to flip… to come over to their side?”
“Hmmm let me guess… you get to buy the iPhones on the same day as the Americans?”
“Enough…”
“Whoa that must be cool, having the opportunity to buy Made in China phones IN China… wow man one heck of a deal.”
“This meeting is over Anna,” Xiannian brushed aside his green tea and rose.
Primakov watched the blip approaching from the south. His team had been monitoring the progress of the Antonov cargo aircraft for over four hours now. Bound for Mexico City the Antonov had departed from Guangzhou in Southern China. Its planned flight indicated a path over Anchorage-Alaska, Alberta, Montana, New Mexico and finally Mexico City. After refueling at Harbin the Antonov had been straddling the Russian airspace.
The aircraft was the legendary Antonov 225 Mriya aka, the Dream. The AN-225 was and is the largest aircraft ever built. Larger than the 747, bigger than the A380 and sturdier than the Globemaster, it was the epitome of Soviet psychology — always one up the Americans. The AN — 225 had something like a dozen engines and probably hundred wheels.
There really was nothing this woolly mammoth couldn’t lift. Smaller planes? Check. Bigger planes? Check? Locomotives? Check. Power plants? Check. Abduct the entire Swiss populace? Check. Fuck the Swiss, just get the gold? Check. Bill Gates on the run from IRS? Check. Gunrunners? Check. Capitalists? Socialists? Nihilists? Check, Check and Check.
Costing like 1 % of GDP only of these beasts had been built. Tragically though, at the end of the red haze, this product of engineers gone wild had ended up with the Ukrainians.
Twenty years on, the Russians had secretly revived the AN-225 program. Despite heroic efforts by the Antonov Design Bureau and its factories in Komsomolsk-on-Amur, the designers had managed to produce just one shitty prototype whose landing gear was still a hot mess. Russia’s Aviation Authority had rated this new AN-225 for a maximum of 3 takeoffs and 1 landings in its lifetime. A group of engineers and machinists, who would have otherwise ended up in the gulag for engineering crimes, had volunteered for the test flight. Incredibly, the big plane had not only stayed up but had even performed a series of insane stunts before landing beautifully. The absence of the
But despite the successful flight, Russia’s Aviation Authority had brought down the hammer citing some newfangled euro babble concerning safety. This had rendered the Mriya II to a lonely hangar in Komsomolsk-on-Amur.
Andriy the Ukrainian pilot left the big Ukrainian plane’s cockpit to take a dump. Probably had something to do with those Harbin dumplings.
