The Interchange

By Andrew Orange

A Thrilling Science Fiction Dystopian Novella You Must Read

Tim is a young student from Moscow who has a strange dream where someone invites him to swap bodies. Is it a crazy nightmare or a challenge from another time? From another reality? If he agrees to the proposal of a mysterious stranger, where can this unexpected journey take Tim?

"The story gives the reader food for thought when it comes to the world in which we live and how it is ruled by current administrations. Andrew Orange does a great job of introducing the various characters including the teachers and academia as well as the futuristic people. The scenes and locations in the current world as well as the future are vividly described and come to life in the story. The Interchange is smooth flowing and comfortable to read, filled with action and suspense as Tim must use his skills to survive and prevent disaster. All-round, a great story that is highly recommended to all adults."
-- Readers' Favorite Five Stars

"The story itself muses on truth versus fiction, whether or not truth is actually meaningful, loneliness, time travel, higher powers or a lack thereof, a ticking clock, an allegory of haves versus have nots, empathy, the soul, a few meta moments, and a few pointed comments on the Russian invasion and occupation of Ukraine. It's basically a novella and takes a little while to get going, but it picks up well - the future society is an interesting mix of a bunch of different ideas and refers to classic sci-fi like Logan's Run."
-- LibraryThing Reviewer

“Right from the beginning, author Andrew Orange immerses us in a world full of suspense. The descriptions of the scenes are perfect, and it is a very balanced book in terms of dialogue and description.”
-- Goodreads Reviewer

“When I first started reading this book I thought I wasn’t going to like it, but the more I got into the book the more interested I became.”
-- Goodreads Reviewer

“The author’s vision of the future is creative, unexpected, and frightening. ..
I recommend The Interchange for readers who enjoy stories of time travel, visions of a far distant future, or with a Russian flavor and setting.”
-- Goodreads Reviewer

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Orange
• Release date: Dec 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9785604538517

Andrew Orange

Greetings!My pen name is Andrew Orange.More info:goodreads.com/Andrew_Orangefacebook.com/AndrewOrange2017buymeacoffee.com/andrew_orange

Book preview

The Interchange

Andrew Orange

Tim is a young student from Moscow who has a strange dream where someone invites him to swap bodies. Is it a crazy nightmare or a challenge from another time? From another reality? If he agrees to the proposal of a mysterious stranger, where can this unexpected journey take Tim?

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously; any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Interchange Copyright ©2021 by Andrew Orange.

All rights reserved.

Translated from Russian into English by Andrew Orange

Editors Maria D’Marco, Joel Pierson

Cover Art by Dane Low

eBook ISBN 9785604538517

Contents

Part I

Part II

Part III

By Andrew Orange

Notes

Part I

The night was dark and rainy. Tim stuck his head out the window of the glassed-in balcony and breathed in the fresh, moist air. The heavy downpour immediately wet his hair and face. He yanked his head back from the window, shaking off the raindrops.

It’s the end of May but as cold and damp as fall!

He sneezed loudly.

Damn! Last thing I need is to catch a cold.

Tim closed the creaky wooden window and he took a few steps back into the cramped room. His bare feet felt the warped, rough parquet tile floor. Tim stood for a while in the dark, wearing a T-shirt and underpants, then fell onto his narrow bed. The luminous dial of the clock on the nightstand showed midnight. The rain was now carried by a stiff wind, beating against the windows. The rhythmic lashing produced an almost hypnotic effect. For a while, Tim lay still, watching the writhing patterns being formed by wind and rain against the window glass, as if he were trying to read some greater meaning in the chaos of a spring storm.

Finally, his eyes closed.

A distinct voice resounded in Tim’s head. Hi, Tim! I want to talk to you.

The young man’s unfocused mind reacted sluggishly.

What a strange dream. I’ve never had anything like that before.

Without opening his eyes, Tim rolled over, grabbed the thin blanket, and somehow hid under it.

The voice vibrated in his head again. Hi, Tim! This is not a dream or lunacy! I am another person who wants to talk to you.

Who are you? asked Tim’s mind, his eyes shut tight.

I’m Hautama. Emperor Hautama. I’m directly addressing your mind.

An emperor? What can I do for you, Your Majesty? Tim asked mentally.

The voice, it seemed, began to show signs of irritation. I am the emperor of the whole world. I’m no less real than you. It’s just that I awakened in a different era, many centuries ahead of yours.

Incredible! But why, of all people, did you decide to contact me?

Because in this era, you are the only man with whom I can talk through the eons of time between us. It’s difficult to explain. You and I are different people, but our souls are one. Some eccentricity of reincarnation. The voice in Tim’s head paused. You must help me.

I must? How?

I want to swap bodies with you. For a short period of subjective time, of course. I want to study your era. And you’ll be able to see the wonders of the future. And not just see them but live thirteen whole days in the body of a person who rules the whole world! I give you a chance no one else has ever had!

I’m not sure … but … if it’s just a dream, why not?

So, do you agree, Tim? A swap can only take place with our mutual will to do so.

Yes, I agree.

There have never been any adventures in my life. I should try it—at least, in a dream. No big deal. And it’s never too late to wake up.

May Brahma’s will be done! said Hautama. You will wake up in my body, Tim. In the distant future to your present time. Your adventure begins.

Tim felt his consciousness being pulled into some kind of black funnel. He began to panic. All of a sudden, it was over.

Tim yelled, jerked his entire body, and nearly fell out of bed onto the floor. Silence reigned in the familiar room, disturbed only by the muffled sound of rain falling outside. He shook his head and sat up in bed.

What a flight of imagination! That’s what permanent loneliness brings. Soon, I’ll start seeing ghosts or arguing with myself. Schizophrenia on the march.

His fear gradually went away, but the memory of the strange vision did not let Tim go.

Not everyone can have a dream like this. Why did this Other call himself Hautama? The emperor of the whole world? And all this nonsense about reincarnation and Brahma? I’ve never been fond of Eastern religions. There’s no one among my acquaintances with such names. Or did some part of me imagine itself to be the wielder of the world? A new Buddha? Schizophrenia complicated by megalomania?

The young man chortled and looked suspiciously at the empty red wine bottle, whose contents he had finished a couple of hours before. In one of his fits of laziness, he had left the bottle next to the bed.

One bottle of wine is not enough for delirium tremens. Or is it? Could the wine have been doped?

He picked up the empty bottle, sniffed it, and lay it on the floor on its side. Tim never smoked, didn’t take drugs, or drink hard liquor. Well, only occasionally …

The young man tried to pull himself together.

Schizophrenia, megalomania, and now paranoia! I’d better read less science fiction. I hope going to summer practice will help me. Change of scenery, fresh air, girls wearing swimsuits …

Tim stretched out, yawned, slipped under the blanket again, and soon fell asleep.

The mysterious voice never reappeared.

* * *

The buzzing sound of his alarm clock grew louder and louder, mercilessly waking Tim.

Damn! It’s already seven in the morning?

On the second try, the young man shut the buzzing alarm clock up, rubbed his eyes, and trudged off to the bathroom. An hour later and still sleepy, he left his small one-room apartment, rented with his mother’s money, on the outskirts of Moscow.

By nine o’clock, Tim had reached the six-story gray concrete building where he was on the books as a student. The long, flat roof of this masterpiece of Soviet brutalism was adorned with a giant inscription made of long-rusted metal symbols, SICFAP 1948. The inscription had been there since the middle of the last century, when the Scientific Institute of Chemical Fertilizers and Poisons was founded at the Academy of Sciences. The institute had a history of developing chemical weapons, and Tim suspected that it was still going on at present. His guess was indirectly confirmed by the point-blank reluctance of the institute’s authorities to dismantle the monstrous installation on the roof.

It’s our history, and we won’t let anyone to encroach on it! the director of the SICFAP, Academician Ratwisev[1] had repeatedly stated, and then would usually add, My teacher, Academician Maggotov, personally laid a steel capsule with a message to descendants on the roof of the building. The hiding spot is located under one of the letters. Only I know under which one.

Tim passed the permanently closed front door of the institute, turned the corner, and approached the dark granite porch at the back of the building. There stood doors of tinted glass with gilded handles and a huge plastic sign: International State Ecological and Economic University.

Tim climbed the steep steps, glanced at the video camera aggressively aimed at visitors, and tugged at the closed doors. There was a yellowed sheet of paper with the inscription in block letters glued under the glass from inside: Admittance for staff and students with authorized credentials only!

What about not staff and not students? Will they be allowed for no reason without credentials?

He sighed and pulled out his well-worn student ID from the pocket of his equally well-worn jeans. Then, he pressed the electric bell button. Once, twice, three times …

For a long time, nobody showed up. Finally, the door abruptly swung open. Tim found himself toe-to-toe with a fat, red-faced security guard wearing a khaki shirt and pants. On his chest dangled a black-and-orange ribbon[2] that was somehow attached to his