Page 20 of Ascendent
“I’ve been speaking with Sergey,” Dr. Voronov said. “About the coup. About the Arctic. About the nightmares he has.”
“He has nightmares?”
“How are yours?”
Ice. Endless planes of desolation, stretches of the Arctic that went on, all the way into infinity. Icebergs that slammed into one another, crevasses that formed and then collapsed beneath his feet, churning ice that fractured and destroyed the world, only to refreeze, reform. No escape from the savagery of the freeze.
It was coming for him, trying to pull him into the depths. He was freezing alive, somehow. He’d become part of the ice.
There were other nightmares, too. Sergey sneering at him. Sergey screaming at him, telling Sasha he was disgusting, he was vile, he was awful. He was a disgrace, and Sergey was wrong to ever care for him. Ever think he was worth anything at all.I should have let you die, Sergey shouted.I should have left you in the snow, in the ice! I should never have let you—
Sergey dead. Lying in a pool of blood. Beaten as Sasha was forced to watch. They were at Andreapol, his old base, and Sergey was there. His old wing commander lifted his boot, raising it over Sergey’s head, Sergey’s teeth biting the edge of a curb—
His first days at recruit training, at the 473rd. The night he was woken after hours, a hand clamped over his lips. Snow fell outside the windows as he was marched to his sergeant’s office—
“Breathe, Sasha.”
Hands on his shoulders, steadying him. He was falling, he was ejecting from his cockpit over Siberia, but it wasn’t going to work. There was too much snow, too much ice, everywhere, and he was going to die in the middle of this desolation. There was missile lock, he could hear the tone, and he had to say something to Sergey, he had to tell him, had to say the words, because he was going to die, right now, and—
“Breathe. Breathe.” Dr. Voronov’s face appeared, ducking down in front of Sasha and holding him up, pushing him back from falling face-first off the exam bed. He was trembling. He could feel it through Dr. Voronov’s hold. Why wasn’t he dead yet? Surely he’d frozen already.
Dr. Voronov let him lean into his touch, helped him straighten. The room swayed, spun like a galaxy spiraling around him, but settled into place after he blinked. He shifted away from Dr. Voronov’s touch.
He wouldn’t look Dr. Voronov in the eye.
“We will need to speak, Sasha. NASA, they will also have psychological tests. A medical and psychological team evaluating you. We must make sure you are healthy. Here—” He placed his hand over Sasha’s abdomen. “And here.” He rested his fingers on Sasha’s forehead. His touch burned. “I will treat youifyou agree to talk about what has happened. Replacing your spleen will mean nothing if your nightmares continue to plague you.”
“I can handle it.”
“You know, Sergey has so much hope for you. He is so proud of you. He talked constantly about how you were to be the future of the Russian space program. Our other two astronauts, they have retired. You will be the face of the future, an inspiration for so many. Sergey is more excited than you, I think.” Dr. Voronov stared at Sasha, his big eyes purposely wide. “It would be such a shame if you didn’t make it at NASA.”
It wasn’t fair, the appeal to Sergey. The praise, the hope falling from Sergey, the dreams he had for Sasha. What would Sergey say if he failed? How would he look at Sasha?
Govno.He wilted. He nodded.
“I will contact the University hospital and arrange for the surgery. I’ll scrub in and observe. The rest of your preliminary medical work will be done here.” Dr. Voronov pulled the IV free and slipped a cotton ball over the puncture wound. “Come back in three days. We’ll talk then.”
Chapter Five
A thousand camera flashes popped,strobe lights that blinded Sasha, even through the windows. He shifted backward, out of sight.
Every journalist in Moscow was there, shouting a million questions, vying for the best photo, the juiciest comment. His heart, already hammering, lodged in his throat.
Sergey was well-practiced at schmoozing the press. He slid smoothly from his limo and waved at the paparazzi and news outlets. His smile was effortless, his tux perfect. In the flashing lights and the roar of the crowd, he absolutely looked like he’d ridden to victory against the rogue American general on a polar bear, one-shotting both General Madigan and General Moroshkin in the head. With a single bullet, as the new twist in the legend went.
Sasha watched Sergey work the crowd and shake hands from inside Moscow’s Ritz-Carlton. He waited, far beyond the press and hidden almost within the folds of the velvet curtains at the ballroom’s entrance. He should have worn red. He could fade into the walls, the background. His black tux was too obvious. Someone was going to see him.Govno, they might try and talk to him.
“Even I have to admit, he looks damn good in his element.” Ilya bumped into Sasha, slouching beside him as he lit up a cigarette. He nodded to Sergey, smoke falling from his nose and mouth as he spoke. “He will have them eating out of his hand in moments.”
“He was made to be president.”
Ilya guffawed. “No, he’s a damn flirt, and he just knows how to turn on the charm.”
Every part and piece of Sasha’s insides twisted, seized up. His gaze found the floor, stared at the ruby carpet. He couldn’t not look, though, and his eyes peeked up, gazed at Sergey as he worked his way into the ballroom. Sergey was looking around, appraising the room.
Or was he looking for Sasha?
Sasha straightened, tugged at the front of his tux. He slipped sideways, shifting so half his face was visible beyond the fold of curtain.
