Free Asimov's Science Fiction: July 2013 by Penny Publications Page B

blonde, but she was still Anastasiya Kozyreva. "It has been too long," she said, and stopped, her eyes wider as the fullness of her words came to her.
    She looked down at her feet, aware as he was why it had been so long but also why, if Miroslav had controlled events, it would have been even longer.
    He had brought her brother's body home, had stood heart hammering and head pounding with her and her parents at the funeral. He had returned to his unit the next day. Once, when they were younger, he had talked of marrying his best friend's little sister, but when he failed to bring Pasha home alive he buried that boyhood fantasy with his friend.
    "I am sorry, Nastas'ya," Miroslav said.
    She sniffed. Her fingers danced over the surface of her portable workstation in a graceful pattern that meant nothing to Miroslav. "As am I, Slava. But I think you did not expect to see me. Come, Mr. Berezovsky is anxious to meet with you."
    Her face and voice in tight control, Anastasiya led him into the anteroom of the commandant's off ice. She announced him and held the door for him to enter. Miroslav tried to meet her eyes again, but failed.
    "Thank you, Miss Kozyreva, that will be all. Captain Ponomarenko, so good to see you. I am Jurek Mikhailovich Berezovsky, the academy, uh, administrator."
    Berezovsky was much younger than Miroslav had expected. When he had gone to the Academy, the commandant had been Colonel Lenka Grigorivich Arsov, a decorated old soldier with ten tales of courageous action for each medal on his uniform. Arsov had been a gruff, self-important man to whom the military aspect of training was never tough enough, but who had nonetheless treated Miroslav fairly well.
    Miroslav wondered if the sub-academy even had the same military air he recalled. Berezovsky did not use the title "commandant," and like Miroslav and Anastasiya the man was in civilian clothes. Had control of the academy, like so much of Mother Russia, been given into the hands of private enterprise? It seemed not from the trappings in the windowless office, including a passable rendering of the Battle of Waterloo that dominated one wall. But Berezovsky seemed too young ever to have worn a uniform.
    The pleasantries over, Miroslav sat opposite Berezovsky. The man radiated pride and contentment from across the desk. "Captain Ponomarenko, I am so glad they sent you to us. You have made this academy very proud."
    "You are very kind, Mr. Berezovsky. Of course I owe my success to what I learned here." He looked down at the inert plastic where his left arm had once been. "And, I suppose, my failure to what I forgot."
    "Ah, still as modest as ever?" the administrator asked. "Still in the habit of forcing others to accept praise for things that you have done? Do you still take all the blame on yourself when things go wrong, too?"
    Berezovsky's tone was much more familiar than Miroslav thought strictly proper. His puzzlement must have shown on his face, because Berezovsky continued, "Your school record was very complete, and we have heard much about your military record to date."
    "Thank you," said Miroslav. "If I do share credit more than blame, that, too, must be something I learned here." He paused for a second, wondering suddenly if this habit he had developed was a strength or a f law in his character, and just as quickly wondering if he was being genuine about it in the first place. Rather than run that mental maze, he said, "Here, I am to give this packet to you." With his good hand, Miroslav reached into his coat and pulled out the sealed brown envelope.
    Berezovsky unsealed the package, and retrieved and unsealed an inner envelope as well. From it he pulled a few slim sheets, each bordered in scarlet—a classif ication marking new to Miroslav. Berezovsky read the orders and nodded in sage understanding. A slow grin formed on his face. "Just as I expected, when I was told to welcome you," he said. "We have a fine group of cadets here now, and I think you'll