Page 29 of Ascendent
“It’s brutality, and it’s a crime. It’s a horror to anyone it happens to.” Dr. Voronov’s gaze found his, held on. “Even to you.”
His eyes skittered away. Found the floor. He shook his head.
“Sasha… Somehow, we need to find a way for your soul to heal.”
His lips thinned. “Can you find whatever is in me that needs to be removed? In all those scans? All those tests? There has to be something you can take out, like you cut out my spleen.” Snow tumbled down his cheek, melted into a tear.
“That’s not how it works.” Dr. Voronov’s voice was kind, soft.
It stabbed Sasha, tore a gash in the base of his heart. More snow built in his eyes, ran down his face, splattered the floor as they spilled from his jawline. The problem was deeper than his organs, his bones. Something inside him had gone wrong, somehow. Some fundamental error in his soul. Something waswrongwith him.
“Surgery is next week,” Dr. Voronov said. “The doctors have gotten NASA’s approval on the spleen they are growing from your stem cells. Everything is set.”
Numb, he nodded. Wiped his face, scrubbed away the snow. He was so cold, cold down to his bones. Sergey’s cufflink was a pinprick of heat, flickering in his fist like a dying flame. “Are we done?”
Dr. Voronov sighed. “For today.”
He fled.
He had too much energy, too much frantic need pulsing through him. Sasha headed to the gym, to the basement corner where he had met Mikhail, Yuri, and Ruslan. In the middle of the day, the gym was empty. They were probably guarding Sergey, holding post around his Kremlin office. Early afternoon was when Sergey met with his Federal Cabinet. He was still trying to fill empty Cabinet and government posts, abandoned in the coup, or vacated by traitors who’d sided with Moroshkin and now rotted in Lubyanka prison. Sergey had so much to do, was already doing so much, bringing the government and the country back together. He had no time to waste on Sasha.
Run. Run now.
He taped his hands as he stared at the punching bag. Would he shatter one day, hitting it? Turn to a puff of frost, shards of shattered ice and snowmelt on the ground? Would it be better if he disappeared?
He stayed in the gym until his knuckles bled again, until his tape was stained red, until he could feel something, anything, beyond the chill.
After, in Sergey’s apartment, he filled the tub with ice and water and slid beneath the surface. He stared up at the underside of the ice, at the shimmering bellies of tiny bergs, the sway of the water over his face. He was back in the Arctic, but this time, not in a submarine. He was under the ice, lost in the frozen world, trapped forever in the cold.
What if the water froze above him, imprisoned him beneath the surface?
What if he opened his mouth and breathed in?
He felt his heart beat, felt it slow in his chest.
In his palm, Sergey’s cufflink bit into his skin again.
He broke free, wrenched himself out of the water, gasping. Cubes crashed together, rocking on the waves he created, smashing into one another. He curled around himself. His face hovered over the ice. He couldn’t feel the cold anymore. He was one with the freeze.
Seryozha… what do I do?
* * *
“This way,sir. You need to put this on.” Ruslan passed Ilya a folded decontamination suit. The plastic face shield gleamed up at Ilya, reflecting his scowling visage. “The facility is still hot. The scientists are still checking everything.”
Grumbling, Ilya wiggled into the suit. Heavy PVC plastic crinkled around him as he shoved his legs through the pants, pulled the suit up to his waist. He sucked down the last of his cigarette as he shimmied into the arms, then tossed it away before zipping up. Ruslan helped him fold the fully enclosed hood over his face, line up the neck seals.
Ruslan sealed him in. Stale air and ashes filled Ilya’s nose.
He had to cut down his smoking.
“Here’s your oxygen.” Ruslan passed him a webbed harness with an upside-down oxygen tank. A hose snaked from the tank to a valve beneath his face mask. Ruslan connected everything, tightened the seals, checked it all twice. A wash of cool air flowed into the suit, over Ilya’s face.
Ruslan taped Ilya’s wrists and the tops of his boots, taped down the top of his zipper enclosure. It was an old military habit, a former chemical and biological weapons specialist’s ritual.Let nothing through.
They had no idea what could be loose in there. They had to be ready for everything.
Ruslan held up his thumb and arched his eyebrows.All good?
