Asimov's Science Fiction: July 2013 by Penny Publications

back than when I went here?"
    "Yes," said Berezovsky.
    "Then, why wasn't I chosen?"
    Creases appeared in Berezovsky's brow. "Do you mean, why was Sharova chosen instead of you?"
    "Yes."
    Berezovsky chuckled. "What do you recall about Sharova? How did you compare to him?"
    Miroslav pictured his classmate: a bear of a boy, strong and supremely conf ident. "He was big," Miroslav said, "a great player at everything, but especially wrestling."
    "What else? Was he smart, friendly, handsome?"
    "Handsome, perhaps... not especially friendly. Impatient with many of us."
    "Impatient because you were weaker?"
    "Perhaps," Miroslav said.
    "Then place yourself in the position of the Party official about to be rejuvenated. Would you choose the stronger, or the weaker?"
    Miroslav did not answer, and Berezovsky continued, "You were always good, and sometimes the best—but the point was that you, Slava, were always
good."
Miroslav alerted at the administrator's sudden familiarity, but did not interrupt. "Sharova could be a bully at times, but not you. You competed well, and when you came up second you didn't take it out on everyone else like Sharova did—even when he won. No, Sharova was the better choice because you were the better man... though I may have said too much."
    Miroslav agreed; Berezovsky had said too much. Miroslav's head spun, not from the vodka but from a sudden recognition that shot into his mind the possibility that this insane proposition might be real after all. Reluctant to confirm his suspicions but curious to see if he was correct, Miroslav forced himself to form carefully selected words. "You speak as if you were there," he said.
    Berezovsky glanced at Nurse Godina and smiled his wolfen smile. "I was, Ponomarenko. But back then you called me Colonel Arsov."
    Miroslav reported to the school on the twentieth of June, soaked by his walk in the rain and ragged from lack of sleep.
    "You look terrible, Ponomarenko," said Berezovsky. Miroslav tried not to think of the administrator as his old commandant, Arsov.
    "I was up late," Miroslav admitted. "My mother is ill."
    "Is that all?"
    It was not all. She was ill, but Miroslav did not want to confess the dreams he had endured during his small stretches of sleep. He dreamed he was Sharova, who went to sleep and woke up as someone else. He dreamed he was himself, who slept and woke up as Sharova. He was Pasha, dying, looking up at a stranger's face while the stranger claimed to be Miroslav. He was the wooden boy Teryosha, watching his own mother weep at his funeral.
    "It is enough," Miroslav said.
    Berezovsky raised his eyebrows, but did not press for more details.
    "We have alerted Cadet Ortoff, and he will meet us in the inf irmary in half an hour. Do you have any questions before we go?"
    Miroslav did not exactly remember who Cadet Ortoff was. He had blurted out the name two days ago to keep Berezovsky from pestering him. The selection seemed to please the administrator, but it did not matter to Miroslav. For the first time in his life—when his career should be over and he was being offered a chance at a new start—he found himself following orders for their own sake alone, and he was not proud of it.
    "I do have a question, sir," he said. "In my last unit I had a young lieutenant named Rostropovich who was a graduate of this sub-academy. Was he an... early graduate? Was he a Teryosha?"
    Berezovsky smiled and nodded. "Yes, in fact. He left the school seven years ago. You must not reveal the truth, of course, but it would not hurt you to know that in his previous military career he had been Major Artemi Voleikov. An adequate off icer, but an exemplary politician. Very well connected."
    Miroslav wished he himself were not so well connected. "How many... Teryoshas are there?"
    "I'm afraid the exact number is
very
highly classified."
    "Is this the only..." Miloslav had trouble thinking of the right word.
    "Source?"
    "Yes, I suppose. I mean, do other academies