The Tsvetok Series Prequel: The Tsvetok Series, #4

By A.L. Grey

In the first three books of The Tsvetok Series, The Flower Program is already set up... but how did it come to fruition? In this book find out about Irina Sokolov's childhood, when she met Tommy Newport and how Sovpadeniye, the Matcher was created! Learn about the decision to create The Outer and the reasons behind Irina's strong feelings about those who commit violent crimes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.L. Grey
• Release date: Mar 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224016518

A.L. Grey

A.L. Grey spent her life in the north and southeast U.S. until becoming an ex-pat in 2022. Enjoying tropical breezes, cheap cold canned lattes, and a minimalist laptop is all that she needs to continue creating. Check often for updates and new novels!

Book preview

Irina Sokolov's Story: Part I

When my father Leonid came to the United States, I was just a girl of two years old. My mother Anastasia had died almost immediately after I was born.

My father decided that he needed to get out of the motherland to try something new. His heart had been broken for too long and everything reminded him of my mother regardless of whether he had traveled to other parts of our country with her or not.

It was not without trial, with the trend of Russians leaving to go the United States at that time. The country had suffered from embarrassment since their own natives were choosing to exit.

Emigration had been more closely monitored and anyone leaving faced the status of deserters and traitors. My father knew that making this choice would, most likely, mean that he would not be able to return.

Both of my parents were quite intelligent and shared in some of Russian’s scientific talent. It is no secret to anyone with a background in chemistry that there have been contributions to the scientific community from Russia for centuries.

Dmitri Mendeleev worked extensively on the outline and organization of the periodic table. Nikolay Pirogov, also from the 1800s, was able to revolutionize anesthesia to provide relief to soldiers in war.

Ivan Sechenov was admired for his expertise in physiology, knowing not what caused diseases, only how to fix them. He sought that truth, even when that was met with criticism for not following the word of God.

For me, these scientists were symbols of the truth that everyone desired, and their humble beginnings were in our country. My family was counted among them in my young mind. We would revolutionize the world as well. There had been little doubt from a tender age.

Once we moved to the Northeast United States, I was young enough to easily become proficiently bilingual in both Russian and English. Later, I learned some basic Dutch, as my future husband would have roots from the Nederlands.

My father, on the other hand, had to learn at the older age of twenty-three. He had picked up the basics along the way when working with tourists in Moscow, but hardly enough to confidently live freely.

He learned the alphabet quickly and translation of letters became what he was strongest in. He did not always know what each word meant but he found that many English scientific words had Greek roots. Since some of our words and alphabet have Greek influence, this made him hopeful to learn quicker.

Science had saved him and, from what he later recounted, he began to feel that ‘his destiny lay out before him like a rolling, welcoming red carpet.’ As someone who was not a man of god, I marvelled at his idea about fate and wondered if he meant it in the same way as determinists did.

He established himself at a lab in the northeast U.S, where he found a patient boss willing to work with him. There were other Russians at the lab as well, so whenever he needed a respite from the slow progress of learning English, he could relax and talk to others who understood him.

After that, he would dive back in, all over again. First, he started out as a glorified janitor, mostly sterilizing work areas. As time went onward, he worked his way up until he was handling specimens, just as the other Americans were.

Oftentimes, intelligence goes hand in hand with underlying psychiatric illness and my papa was no exception. I always knew that my father had bright times and then dark times. He would be highly motivated, working on ideas day and night, barely sleeping, and unable to get his thoughts out quickly enough to keep up with his excited brain.

Over time, he began to tell me that he could see molecules in various colors circling his head and when he was brightest, he could hear his mother calling to him from one of the higher apartment floors.

Eventually, there were instances when he said he could see his future and he was frightened of people from our country coming to execute him. It was not out of the ordinary for us to have the lights off in our first apartment, huddled in a secret room that he had built in the closet near his bedroom.

I grew up thinking that was a normal part of life. When you leave your country, they may become angry with you, so you had to hide sometimes.

After three years, he had enough money to get a car. He no longer had to take multiple trips to the grocery store on foot or take a roundabout way to get home on a bus to save money. His car meant the world to him and when he showed up at work with it, he was the envy of many of his Russian colleagues.

Since some were not as apt as him, they were not able to climb upward as he had. Jealousy was a regular problem he faced, especially from one named Sasha DeMarco.

Sasha had generated a competition between them, fighting to have the same status as my father. Sasha was a bit younger than my father though and my father often fired back at him that Sasha was more American than Russian.

For whatever reason, this made Sasha furious, and it wasn’t long before my father caught Sasha looking in his car, trying to break in. My father had chased him in the parking lot that day and when he knocked Sasha off his feet and Sasha lay there helpless, my father did something unexpected.

He offered Sasha his hand. Sasha had taken it and after that, they changed from being enemies to inseparable friends.

When Sasha would stop over to our apartment, he would bring small offerings of bread or sometimes chocolates. He explained that his wife’s mother knew how to make the chocolates and that he had the pleasure of these delectable sweets despite their modest wealth.

When he handed me some, my father told me to wait until after dinner. The two of them would cook together making borscht with сметана on top. Most of the time, Sasha would bring some kind of alcohol as well and the two would drink together before and after our meal.

When I was finally able to eat the chocolate, I was in such surprise. It was amazing. I told him that it was just like the candy that the other girls and boys had at my school—the candy I we weren’t able to afford. He smiled and told me that was because his wife made them with love.

As corny as it was, I believed it. I remember being so impressed and begged my father to visit