"Suka-seen!" curses Antanas from the back of a massive boxy amp that could almost be mistaken for some kind of vehicle. Someone has painted the word "SVOBODO" on the amp's armored casing in a fit of dark humor. Antanas puts his skinned knuckle in his mouth and sucks on it thoughtfully.

"Thing is so old I can't yank the tube. It's like oxidized in there, real good."

"So what do you think?"

Antanas shrugs, examining the new blood on his knuckle and wincing, still kneeling on the floor. "I'll get it out somehow. The vacuum tube is already burnt out, so I guess I can just crack the glass part off and yank it out from the roots with some pliers."

"I mean about the Ukraine!" Thomas feigns exasperation but can't help smiling. He knows Antanas is just screwing with him. Thomas sits on one of the computer chairs in the Factory's showroom, nursing a Slavutich and watching Antanas perform surgery on some of the equipment. Velvet Underground plays from one of the stereos, an audio test on one of the systems that they decided to leave running because they liked the music. Lou Reed competes softly with a synthesized female voice coming from the numbers computer, sighing, almost sultry, November, sierra, whisky, charlie... November, sierra, whisky, charlie... The combination, surprisingly, works almost perfectly...

"Yeah well, it's a load of horse shit that Ukraine has taken any interest in Crimea for the last ten years. I think they're happy to have us gone, honestly."

Thomas nods taking a swig from the bottle. "I agree. Ukraine is looking westward since the Orange revolution... They're in PFP for Fuck's sake, there's no way in hell they'd jeopardize it all by pulling some weird military action against Crimea now."

"PFP?"

"Partnership for Peace... like prep school for NATO."

Antanas chortles grimly, says "NATO," and lets it drop. He inspects the tools lying around him in a semicircle, selects an ancient, age-blackened pair of pliers that looks halfway between a Victorian tooth puller and a medieval torture device, and reaches back into the hidden entrails of the amp.

"Huh, I'll tell you Thomas, Chernorukov's not screwing around this time either. I heard from a friend of mine in Krasnoperekopsk, up in the isthmus. They've declared martial law and a curfew up there. This is... trouble!" Antanas grunts out the last word while yanking something from the back of the box hard. He's actually sweating now in the Factory's underground clammy air. A streak of grease slimes his shiny cheek. Finally, the Svobodo gives up its prize, and Newtonian physics throws Antanas back on his ass. He smiles and reclines onto his back on the floor, clutching something shiny in the long pliers held up above him. He brings the object closer to inspect it, a vacuum tube the size of a child's fist, and wipes some of the grime off its back.

"1964!" shouts Antanas gleefully. "Ha! The year they put poor old Khrushchev out to pasture!"

"...and this Nagorno-Karabakh thing I just don't understand," Thomas mumbles staring at the floor, shaking his head and taking another gulp from his beer.

"Yeah... Oh. Gimme it." Antanas has spied the second Slavutich Thomas has opened for him, sitting on the desk next to the PCs, and points a greasy finger. Thomas leans forward and hands it over.

"Spasiba..." Antanas sits up and takes a long pull from the Slavutich. "Ymm, that's the stuff... so what's the deal with Nagorno-Karabakh?"

"Well, there's no telling who started the fighting, but the Armenians and Azeris are at it again."

"Okay, so they're at each others throats like every couple of years, what's special about that?"

"The guy I was talking to at the palace today claimed to be a spokesperson for the President, and I asked him what Chernorukov's position was, but he didn't want to make a statement."

"Huh, that is weird. Cherno's always gone public to support the Armenians when the Azeris are beating them up. It makes sense because of the situation between us and Ukraine."

"Exactly, and you'd think that given the trouble with Ukraine now, Cherno would be bending backwards to tell the international press that he's overflowing with support for Armenia..."

"...and by extension, Russia," finishes Antanas. "The Russians are the only ones who can keep the Ukrainians off our back, if push comes to shove." Antanas makes to scratch the side of his head thoughtfully, then sees his grease slick hand and pauses, frowning. "Something's not right here. Who was the guy you talked to at the palace?"

"He called himself 'Palach.' Ever heard of him?"

Antanas shrugs. "Nah... Was he foreign ministry or cabinet?"

"I don't think he was either. He was in a uniform and had an NP guarding his office."

"Shit Thomas, I don't like the sound of that. He might have been special services."

"Yeah, I'd thought of that. There was some heavy firepower in front of the palace when I got there, army and NP in the same place. I talked to one of the NP guards and he took me to that Palach guy's office."

"Hang on. You just tried to barge your way through the front door of Chernorukov's palace without an appointment?" Antanas lowers his beer for a second and stares at Thomas, smiling.

Thomas shrugs and tries to sound innocent. "Yeah, sure... Um, I wasn't getting anywhere with the press section, so..."

"Thomas, I've got to admire the size of your balls!"

Thomas laughs and deadpans, "Maybe later."