Free Vita Nostra by Marina Dyachenko, Sergey Dyachenko Page A

neither.”
    The boy paused, and then asked tentatively:
    “The Institute?”
    Sasha, who was fervently hoping for this very question, nodded enthusiastically:
    “Uh-huh. You too? Special Technologies?”
    Visibly relieved, the kid smiled:
    “Is there another one in this dump?”
    “I don’t know,” Sasha admitted. “Do you see any kind of town around here?”
    The kid looked around and put his hands over her eyes, imitating binoculars.
    “A kick-ass megalopolis. An impressive train station. And there, look, a shed with a huge potential!”
    Sasha laughed.
    The situation was immediately reversed. Hauling their suitcases and trying to overdo each other in wittiness, the new students walked over to the “shed with a huge potential,” which turned out to be the actual train station. In a spark of inspiration, Sasha called it a “chicken coop refurbished to the highest European standards.” Sasha’s new acquaintance appreciated the joke and laughed uproariously.
    The station was completely empty. All the cashier windows were locked. Elongated blinking ceiling fixtures lit up the empty cafeteria table, wooden chairs with graffiti scratched here and there, a self-service storage unit with six compartments, all open. The floor, relatively clean, was covered with white and black tiles.
    “Looks apocalyptic,” said Sasha, glancing around her.
    A cloud of August flies flew off of one of the lighting fixtures and filled the small room with optimistic humming.
    “Hello!” the boy called out. “Is there anyone here?”
    The only reply he got was the droning of the flies.
    ‘I don’t like it here,” Sasha said.
    They stepped outside on the platform. It was getting a little lighter. Under the lone streetlight they found a “Train Station – Center” bus schedule, blurry from the rainwater. If the schedule was to be trusted, the first bus would depart for the mysterious “Center” in one hour.
    “We’ll wait,” the boy said decisively. ‘And if we get lucky, we may grab a cab. I have money.”
    His name was Kostya. Perhaps in Sasha’s presence he felt especially manly, or maybe it was just his personality, but he kept trying to take charge. Sasha did not protest. Kostya’s energy, and even his amateur vigor gave her an illusion of safety.
    They left their suitcases in storage (the compartments did not require tokens, just a code) and found a comfortable bench on the platform, then unwrapped their provisions. Sasha’s sandwiches, which had made her so sad the night before, disappeared within minutes. She shared with Kostya, he shared with her; a bottle of mineral water was opened, Kostya brought out a thermos almost full of coffee. Sasha’s nostrils quivered; breakfast put her in a very good mood. A freight train rolled by the station, the rumble died down in the distance. Silence reigned, disturbed only by the birds.
    “The bus is coming in half an hour,” Kostya said with certainty. “The address of this place is twelve Sacco and Vanzetti Street.”
    “Do you know who they are, Sacco and Vanzetti?”
    Kostya shrugged:
    “Italians, I think.”
    Another freight train rolled by in the other direction.
    “Can you please tell me,” Sasha began carefully, “what made you decide to apply to this… Special Technologies thing?” Who gave you this… this idea?”
    Kostya’s face darkened. He looked at her suspiciously, folded dirty napkins and oily paper, and dropped it into an empty trash barrel next to the bench.
    “I’m just asking,” Sasha added quickly. “If you don’t want to tell me, don’t, and accept my apology.”
    “I was forced,” Kostya admitted reluctantly.
    “You too?!”
    For a minute they stared at each other, both waiting for the other one to speak.
    ‘That’s strange,” Kostya said finally. “You’re a girl. You don’t’ have military duty.”
    “What does it have to do with military duty?”
    “Everything,” Kostya said harshly. “Do you think every man should serve