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"Mamushka, another coffee please for my friend," he shouted across the half-filled room. The older waitress smiled and obliged him.
"Did they like our idea?" Boris asked again.
"Yes, and No. That's all I can tell you here. I also met Sasha there, the fellow who always beats me playing the FT13 game over the Internet. I should have realized that he works for the security service. He's slick, and he's good. He destroyed thirteen of my civilizations in a single night's playing. I guess, this makes him a champion."
Boris took another bite in haste while Alexei spoke about the game, and then another one before he had fully finished the last. As soon as he had stuffed down the last bit of his pie, they left. Boris pointed to the clock. It was five minutes to eight. "We don't have long," he said to Alexei.
"Didn't they tell you, we've got one hour delay? The flight was late getting out of Odessa. As you can see," he grinned, "we are right up with the best in the world. We've got over-booked flights American style, delays like in London, and everything else the West has that goes with sophisticated air-travel. We are part of the West now."
Boris smiled.
Near the entrance of the main hall, a tall and well-dressed gentleman came towards them. The man had an air of distinction about him, a lean face, blue eyes that blended in tone with his gray hair. The blue eyes strengthened his stern look.
Boris recognized the man immediately. "That's my old mathematics professor from the University!" he nudged Alexei. "Remember I told you about him, Sashi Ivanov...."
"That's him?" Alexei chuckled.
"Hello there! You are Boris Mikheyev, am I correct?" the professor addressed him as he came near.
"Yes I am, Professor Ivanov...."
There was a slight gesture of satisfaction in the professor's looks as Boris greeted him with his proper title. At the university this kind of respect had been demanded, now it was by choice and most appreciated by him. One could see it on his face.
"Are you going to Moscow?" the professor asked. "If so, you may join me if you like."
"Unfortunately not. We're on the way to Lenin Base, via Sverdlovsk."
"I am sorry to hear that." The professor hesitated for a moment. "I would never have approved of this," he said, "this waste of your fine talent," he remarked acidly. "But I'm not angry at you," he added. "It's the system. It gets me down you know, to see all the fine scholars like you put into the army after I've spent years molding their minds, making them into keen analytical thinkers."
"I'm not in the Army," Boris protested. "I am a part of the Strategic Rocket Forces, stationed at Freedom Base One, the most modern installation of our country's nuclear defense system. It used to be called Lenin Base."
"You have intercontinental missiles, no doubt," the professor added.
"Indeed; and that's all we have. I'm a fully qualified Fuel Systems Specialist!" Boris boasted.
"Well, that's far from the academic career I had envisioned for you. You should have become an educator. You could have made a contribution to the development of our people and their potential. You would have ennobled society, enriched its culture, increased its potential. But now, all that seems irrelevant. It seems you've made your choice. Still, I must urge you to be careful, comrade Mikheyev, you're treading a dangerous ground by having chosen a mindless profession."
The Professor shook Boris' hand before he rushed on and disappeared into the crowd.
Boris was shaking. A mindless profession? How dare he!
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Stories about
War
from novels by Rolf A. F. Witzsche
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