They’ll keep urging us not to miss out:
Oh, they’ll say, come on! You haven’t even lived yet!
You’re just getting started!...
And then they’ll lay it out: it’s this or that.
Either beaches, art openings, or maybe even
Steamships with their holds packed full,
Crews, races, fancy galas, grand voyages,
Or just plain wooden suits.
They’ll be cheerful or grim,
Playing the roles of cruel jesters or kind judges,
But they’ll offer us those wooden suits,
People! Oh, people!
Vladimir Vysotsky
The sense of open space was mesmerizing. All it took was a glance out the window—far below the helicopter stretched a vast blue sea. And on either side… nothing but endless expanse. The altitude was just right to feel it. Not too high, like when you’re on a commercial jet, the ocean ten kilometers below, peering through a tiny porthole—you don’t get the same sensation. And not too low, either. Flying right over the water’s surface isn’t the same...
At least, that’s how it felt to Vladimir. Maybe it was because this was his first time in a helicopter, let alone over the sea. Regular planes, it turned out, were a completely different experience. Or maybe, after months cooped up at home, only stepping out for groceries, open space felt especially precious… Though that wasn’t exactly yesterday, still...
On any other occasion, he would’ve done anything to sit up front with the pilot of this small aircraft. But times dictated their own rules. So, he opted for the back seat. Both he and the silent pilot wore masks. It was easier for the pilot, but Vladimir had already spent hours in airports and on a plane, barely taking his mask off.
And now, with a slightly philosophical outlook on life, Vladimir couldn’t help but muse that flying in a small helicopter over the sea posed far less danger than simply being around other people. Even if they meant him no harm. Maybe even if they did—it still felt less risky. At least, you could defend yourself… And then he wondered why that thought had crossed his mind at all. Especially considering why and where he was headed. Though, paradoxically, he didn’t even know the exact destination. To an outsider, this whole thing might seem like madness or, at the very least, a reckless adventure. But maybe that’s just a sign of the modern world?
A year ago, what was happening now would’ve been unthinkable. Not just unthinkable—he couldn’t have even imagined it. And it wasn’t just about flying in a helicopter while wearing a mask… But here it was, happening, and he couldn’t say he’d wake up from this dream. Sometimes reality is so surreal that no dream could compare...
“How much longer till we get there?” he asked. The pilot was a man of few words, and Vladimir wasn’t exactly eager to chat about random topics either. Again, a year ago, things would’ve been different. But now, sitting in the back, unable to see if his companion was smiling or not… The pilot had made a couple of gruff remarks before takeoff. Try figuring out if that’s just his worldview or a dark sense of humor! Even his nationality was a mystery. His English was correct, but it didn’t seem like his first language. Short, dark-haired. Arab, Pakistani, maybe Greek?
“Not long. Really, not long at all,” the pilot replied, skipping any polite “sir.” Though, to be fair, he wasn’t some cab driver in London… But where exactly were they headed? When Vladimir had first thought about this trip, he assumed the destination would be a yacht. Then he figured it might be a private island, since certain clues ruled out a yacht. But pulling out his smartphone and opening the map, he saw no other way to navigate. GPS was reliable, though. There were no islands, not even tiny ones, beneath them. And ahead—along their course, he corrected himself—at a distance that could be called “not long at all,” there was nothing either.
Yet the helicopter began a smooth descent. Whoever this pilot was, he flew carefully, cautiously, without unnecessary risks or strain—you couldn’t take that away from him. And that’s how it should be when transporting passengers...
Things became clearer when Vladimir looked ahead through the windshield. Rising before them was something that might be… an oil platform? It looked like one, though there was no drilling rig in sight. He’d get a better look and figure it out later. For now, he watched as the helicopter landed on a helipad atop the platform. The pad seemed larger than necessary for just one aircraft, and the reason was obvious: another helicopter was already there. Its blades were still, meaning it hadn’t taken off or landed recently. The machine was smaller than theirs, maybe a two-seater, white and gleaming.
The pilot’s task grew trickier: he had to land without clipping the other helicopter. Fortunately, there was enough space, and he managed it flawlessly, announcing, “We’ve arrived, sir!”
“I see that. Thanks,” Vladimir replied. He opened the door and stepped onto the platform—or should he call it a deck? He moved aside as much as he could, carrying a small suitcase and a laptop bag. The helicopter lifted off and disappeared in the direction they’d come from.
Now what?
But suddenly, the door of the smaller helicopter opened, and a young woman stepped onto the deck. Long, dark-blonde hair, wearing a red swimsuit—Vladimir instinctively noted that no one would sit at the controls dressed like that. So, she’d just been waiting there, not planning to fly anywhere. Presumably, waiting for him.
She approached him. Yes, this was the woman he’d seen in photos, the one he’d spoken to over video calls. This was who he’d flown here to meet, and she looked exactly as she had on screen. Not a disappointment, he thought with a smile. That’s already a good start under these circumstances.
“Hey there, messenger of the big wide world!” she said. They embraced. “Finally, Volodya!”
“Yeah, Zoryana, finally!” What else was there to say? Though one question needed clearing up right away. He just had to phrase it to make his intentions clear. “So, who’s gonna show me where I can drop off my stuff?”
“Who else?” she laughed, pulling back. “Me, of course. There’s no one else here!”
Only now did he realize where he’d ended up. Turns out, this wasn’t an oil platform—or maybe it once was, but now it was just a massive home on the water. And Zoryana lived here alone! Who would’ve thought… And she’d invited him… as a guest? Nah… Well, okay then… He decided not to show his surprise, just smiled and said, “Well, you’re just a little lady running a big house!”
“Well, I hope I’m not that little…” She kept laughing. If they were talking height, no, she wasn’t little, though Vladimir was taller. “Come on. Grab your stuff…”
She led the way to a staircase heading downward.
He’d never been on a regular oil platform—why would he?—but he could tell right away this one had been heavily renovated into a living space. And if Zoryana lived here alone… How much must this cost? And who was she, really? He hadn’t thought much about it, or about where exactly she was inviting him. He’d just been surprised from the start when she sent him a friend request on social media, with her profile stating: “Zoryana Vesnyanko. From: Kyiv, Ukraine. Lives in: Open Sea.” He’d wondered if that meant a yacht, an island, or just a vague way to hide her location. Turns out, it was like this…
Descending the stairs, they entered a corridor. Lights flicked on automatically—probably motion sensors—and Vladimir noticed a carpet runner on the floor and walls finished with some wood-like material. Or maybe it was real wood paneling? Zoryana walked ahead confidently—naturally, this was her “home”; watching her figure and stride was pleasant. Still, he figured he could ask, “So, where…?”
“To the guest quarters. You’re right—gotta leave your stuff somewhere!” There was laughter in her voice. But Vladimir decided to show he had a sense of humor too. In a serious tone, he asked, “With a sea view?”
“What else?!”
Of course, no matter which way you looked from here, you’d see the sea. It was an obvious joke for both of them, and they laughed at it equally. That was encouraging: when two people laugh at the same thing in the same way.
Then she pulled open a door. “This is it. Make yourself at home! And… I’ll be waiting for you downstairs. On the beach.”
“The beach?” It seemed all he could do was keep being surprised by what he’d find here. Or at least keep making new discoveries.
“That’s what I call it… And it’s basically the same thing! When you’re done, the elevator’s over there, you can’t miss it, hit the lowest button… I’ll be waiting!” And with that, she disappeared down the corridor. Vladimir could only close the door behind him and take a look at his temporary… home? For the next few weeks? Months? Or should he think further ahead…?
It was some hybrid of a living apartment and a hotel suite, complete with a small kitchenette. There were three rooms—something like a living area, a bedroom, and what could loosely be called an office. Well, Vladimir thought, it’s comparable to his own apartment, but here, he’d probably just be dropping off his stuff. What kind of setup did the hostess herself have? He’d probably find out soon… He took a shower, changed clothes, and just in case, slipped a key he found on the table into one pocket of his shorts (though who would he lock out here?), his smartphone into the other, along with a few small items. Though the smartphone didn’t work normally here—there was no cell service, just the ability to send and receive texts. Still, the fact that he and Zoryana had talked on Skype suggested there was decent internet access. Surely she wouldn’t withhold the Wi-Fi password… right? Locking the door—more out of habit than necessity—he headed for the elevator.
He pressed the lowest button, as instructed. Half a minute later, he stepped out of the elevator into a short corridor and pushed open a door…
In the first moment, after the dim lights of the elevator and the half-dark corridor, the bright southern sun blinded him. Blinking a few times, Vladimir finally saw where he was.
It was a space between the platform’s supports, or rather, its edge, where direct sunlight poured in. Was this an added lower, open “floor” of the structure? The ground—or deck, again?—had some kind of coating so you could walk barefoot. It sloped gently down to the water. Ah, there was a net set up on the supports, enclosing the water space between them. Someone had thought ahead to make swimming in the sea safe, without the risk of being swept away… Or maybe the net protected against sharks? Were there any around here?
“Over here!” Vladimir heard. He turned his head to the right. A few meters away were several small tables with lounge chairs beside them. On one, he spotted a few bottles of beer. Zoryana had clearly prepared for his arrival and hadn’t forgotten how he’d—only once—mentioned in their chats that he liked a beer on vacation.
“I see you. I’m coming!”
And he did head that way. Zoryana stood in the same spot. Arms crossed over her chest—but the top of her swimsuit was gone. She’d sent him a photo of herself just like this, in this exact pose, and now it was clear it had been taken right here. All he could do was walk right up to her and remark with a smile, “And you promised I’d see more when I got here!”
“And what did you promise? Remember? That I’d forget what it’s like to…”
“Of course I remember. If that’s what you want…”
Zoryana lowered her arms—and again, he wasn’t disappointed. They embraced once more. Then he gently took her by the wrists and moved her hands behind her back. In the next moment, her middle fingers were tied in such a way that the backs of her hands pressed against each other—but it didn’t hurt at all, she noticed.
“A selfie with the sea in the background—a must-do!” Vladimir said with a grin, pulling his smartphone from his shorts pocket. They leaned against the platform’s railing—he held his hands where men do in such situations—and a few photos were saved to his phone’s memory. Then they walked over to the lounge chairs, and he helped her sit down. She asked, “But you haven’t posted them anywhere, right…?”
“Nope. These are just for us… And I couldn’t even if I wanted to, since there’s no signal here, and you haven’t given me the internet password yet…”
“And what if I don’t?”
“What do you mean, you won’t?”
They were both speaking in a playful tone, but there was a hint in Vladimir’s voice about the position Zoryana found herself in—even if she’d said herself she wanted to “forget what it’s like to be independent, even for a moment.” You want it, you got it, but… She replied, still joking—though every joke has a grain of truth, “I hope you’ll set me free eventually…”
“You mean, make you independent again? Sure. The moment you ask.” That was said seriously, but then he smiled again. “I’m curious how long you’ll last… After all, I can feed you myself. And everything else… You’ll just have to show me where things are around here…”
“Deal!” And they laughed together again. Then Zoryana sighed. “I don’t even know what’s come over me…”
“What’s the difference what you call it?” Vladimir shrugged. “If you like it. And anyway, isn’t it about time we had a beer…?”
“Yes!”
He’d have to hold the glass to her lips. They both thought it was worth it.
“So, today’s Saturday. Monday at the latest…” Zoryana said. “Because I’ve got work, and if I go online looking like this…”
“Someone’s gonna be real interested,” Vladimir grinned. “But I wouldn’t like that.”
They were still sitting in the lounge chairs. And the conversation, once again, turned to when she’d “regain her independence.” Then she asked, “Don’t you have to… work? From here, I mean…”
“Of course I do. Why do you think I keep mentioning the internet password… But it’s easier for me. I can work looking like anything. I don’t do video calls,” he explained. “And I don’t have set hours either.”
“What do you do?”
“Translations. Books, and now movies and TV shows too. From English and French into Russian and Ukrainian. I work with publishers and studios—they send me the material, a book or video. I send them the texts. They handle the dubbing for films themselves… So, it doesn’t matter when or where I work, as long as there’s internet.” He paused. “Weird, isn’t it? Here we are, sitting next to each other, meeting in person for the first time, and we know so little about each other…”
“That’s just how things are these days.” She shrugged. To her, it didn’t seem strange at all. “First time meeting? Not really. Our first date was on Skype. And how many of those did we have…?” Indeed, they’d talked a lot that way. “Nowadays, you’ve gotta… meet like that first, and then… take a chance. By the way, is that your real last name—Deryshkur— the one you use online…?”
Interesting choice of words, Vladimir thought. She considers this a gamble…? In truth, it was a risk for both of them. A first real, in-person meeting—and in a place like this—was a risk for the host. But for the guest too, since he couldn’t get out of here on his own if something went wrong. He’d taken precautions for that scenario. Had Zoryana? Still, he decided not to dwell on it.
“It’s real… I can show you my passport! Though I publish translations under pseudonyms. But with me, it’s all pretty straightforward… You, on the other hand, are a mystery!” he smiled. “In every way, starting with the fact that you live here. And how you arranged everything… to surprise me!”
When Zoryana invited him, she’d said he’d be met at the airport of a coastal Arab country. But he hadn’t imagined the meeting would happen right in the transit zone, without even going through passport control. They’d escorted him straight to the helicopter—and right here. Legally, Vladimir thought, he wasn’t in any country. Good thing the country off whose coast they were didn’t require a pre-arranged visa. Just a flight over…
“Probably one of your ancestors… was a sharp businessman, as they’d say now. And others gave him that nickname because they thought he was skinning them alive!” Zoryana smiled. Vladimir figured she might be right. He even recalled some neighbors… Good thing they weren’t here! “And me… imagine this, I actually deal with all of this.” She gestured with her head toward the steel structures around and above them. It was odd to sit in a place like this and talk about such things. But interesting.
“How so?”
“I’m the CEO of a company that owns places like this. This isn’t the only platform… Though this one… at first, I thought I’d use it as a vacation home. But when this damn virus started… I hope you didn’t catch it…”
“I got tested before the flight.” Vladimir spread his hands. “If I caught it on the way, we’re out of luck, though I didn’t take off my mask… But I’m not waiting two weeks!”
“And you don’t have to.” They smiled at the same time again. He leaned over to the neighboring lounge chair—for a kiss. Then he asked, “So, do you extract oil? And how did you build a career like this?”
“Neither one nor the other… By the way, should we go eat? I’ll tell you there…”
“Let’s go.” He got up from the lounge chair, then helped her up—more as an excuse to touch her again, since she could’ve stood on her own. “Gonna ask for… independence?”
“You promised to feed me…”
“Show me where!”
They stepped into the same elevator, and Zoryana told him which button to press.
“So, how do you even get internet out here?” Vladimir asked. He’d already connected his smartphone to the network and planned to do the same with his laptop soon—he had the password now.
“From the other platforms,” Zoryana replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. But it wasn’t to him, so he had to ask, “Then tell me, what is all this… and what exactly do you do, if it’s not oil?”
“Actually, this was my idea,” the young woman explained. “I came up with it… back when I was still in school. Then I told my stepfather about it, and he said, ‘Good thinking, go for it!’ I’m glad he believed in me… Basically, when oil platforms are no longer needed for drilling, the company that owns them is required to dismantle them. Environmental regulations and all that… The equipment gets removed and shipped off, but fully dismantling the platform, including the base on the seabed, is incredibly expensive. So, I thought, why not use them for something else?” She was trying to talk and eat at the same time. By the way, they were having sushi—naturally, Zoryana had to show him where to find everything in the huge fridge in the kitchen, or galley, or whatever you’d call this room where they now sat side by side at the table.
“For what, exactly?”
“From the perspective of international law, an oil platform is considered a vessel. And it’s registered as one. That means, when it’s outside territorial waters, the laws of the country under whose flag it’s registered apply on board. And that can be used for all sorts of purposes…”
“Ahh… I get it.” Vladimir placed another roll in her mouth. He’d have to ask later how all this food got here, he thought; Zoryana probably didn’t spend her time cooking. “A tourist attraction—since you can turn a former platform into a hotel… with a bar serving alcohol near the shores of a country with a dry law, or a casino where gambling is banned… And getting the platforms slated for dismantling must’ve been cheap, if not free. You just had to invest in renovations… and figure out how to get guests here. Right?”
“Exactly, that’s how we started. And then… we realized, first of all, that a lot of people want to live in places like this. Mostly wealthy folks who don’t want to pay taxes. They live on a vessel—and it’s like they’re not residents of any country. If they need to go ashore for business, they just fly… Some even gave up citizenship in their home countries and bought passports from exotic Caribbean islands with little to no taxes… And they can travel to Europe visa-free. That’s how they live… Plus, you can host servers for all kinds of interesting websites here… Honestly, sometimes we just rented out parts of the space and didn’t ask too many questions about what they were doing. We only made sure it had nothing to do with drugs, weapons, or anything like that… But that was until recently…”
“And now?”
“Now—this damn virus showed up. When the news first broke, we immediately knew where this was headed. We bought a few more platforms. And… turned them into places where people could wait it out. Since folks live there and no one comes in from the outside, the virus doesn’t get in… You can walk around without masks, eat in restaurants… There are people—like you—who don’t care where they work from. We provide office setups for them. Or… there are retirees who just want to ride it out… They’ve got their own spot, kind of like a club based on shared interests. Or there’s a university with virtual and some in-person learning, not for every major, of course. For young people, there’s a separate platform… Naturally, none of this is free. Not everyone can afford it, and not everyone’s that scared… But plenty of people think it’s a great idea. And they pay… for a normal life in isolation. And we make money off it. How could we pass up an opportunity like that?”
“One man’s war is another man’s treasure…” Vladimir smirked. “And you didn’t want to join the business crowd or the young folks? So you live here instead?”
“Honestly… even before all this… it was my dream to have no neighbors,” she explained. “Though, before everything happened… I used to fly to the city every few days. You saw my helicopter, right? Yeah, I’ve got a pilot’s license… But now—I’m staying put. It’s safer this way…”
“Can’t argue with that.” But you couldn’t handle being alone for long, he thought. You found me online… and invited me here. Probably not for nothing. And I probably didn’t fly out here for nothing either—unless I picked up the virus on the way. We’ll find out soon enough… There’s still a lot to learn, from how everything works here to the identity of this mysterious stepfather—he must be incredibly wealthy. For now, though, a pleasant evening, night, and the next day off awaited them.