home is here, daughter. Forever.”
“Oh no, no!” Marilyn had risen rapidly shaking her head, and her blond curls sprang from under the shawl.
“Here are some fruits and grapes we brought for you. Please, take a bite, comrade Sedov,” said Myacheva unwrapping two heavy packages.
Sedov was ninety-two years old. After his second stroke he was paralyzed below the waist. His real name was not Sedov, though that was known only to Fomin. They silently sat by the bed of old man for another half hour, and Marilyn sobbing occasionally. Then she started to feed old man with the grapes, saying, “Please, eat, Daddy dear, eat. You’ve fed us like that at home – remember? Oh, I want to go home, Daddy, I can’t live here any longer,” and she sobbed again.
Finally, Fomin looked at his watch, and with his eyes gave a sign to Myacheva. The woman suddenly roused herself, “Marilyn, my dear, your Daddy is tired, he needs some rest, and we should go. Come with me, I’ll help you to tidy up. Come, my dear.”
Obediently Marilyn followed Myacheva out the door. The old man was still chewing a grape with his toothless mouth, and Fomin cleared his throat.
“Alexander Ivanovich, he arrives in two days,” said Fomin and straightened his back.
The old man ceased chewing and looked up. “So what do you want of me?” He looked really tired, breathing heavily.
“Same thing, Dr. Sedov. Nothing new.”
“He is a mature adult, and I’m a feeble dying man.”
“He will listen to you and do whatever you ask, and you perfectly know that. He wouldn’t decline your demand.”
“Demand? I’ve never demanded anything of him in fifty years. Not a thing!”
“If it’s so, I’m afraid, you wasted these fifty years of his, and twenty five of yours. You lived in vain! You suffered in vain! Why don’t you think of millions, billions of working people around the world? Shame! Thus you will break the promise you had given to the late Secretary General of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. You will betray the hopes of all the Communists of the world! The history will never forgive it to you. That will bring shame on you for the years to come!”
“OK, I’ll talk to him,” simply said the old man and tiredly closed the eyes. “It’s for him to decide. Please, leave me now.”
“And one last thing, excuse me. Please, allow us to move you out of this impoverished refuge to our cottage? We feel ashamed you live in such a hole.”
“Never! And don’t ever mention it to me.”
Fomin left the room, then waited for his women in the corridor and said to them, “He is very tired, no need to disturb him with farewells, let's go.”
Down in the lobby Fomin met the nurse that looked after the old man, and said to her, “We’ve just visited him, he looks worse. Here, take it for expenses, and feel free with this money.”
When their car reached a smoother road, Fomin turned to Marilyn and said softly, “Your elder brother arrives the day after tomorrow.”
Having heard these words, Myacheva, who sat by Marilyn, uttered a constrained shriek and grasped her breasts with both hands.
7. The Mission Assigned from Death-bed
The old man, who was left at the impoverished home for the aged, and who was known by false name Sedov, was actually the legendary academician, a star of the Soviet science, a proud recipient of the numerous government rewards, and also a former member Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. That was a career-zenith anyone could dream of in this country, but that was thirty years ago.
As a scientist Sedov was occupied then by the mysteries of organic life, but as the member of Ts-Ka of his Party he administered all fields of biology and its researches in dozens of laboratories and institutions. In the early eighties the famous laboratory under his direct leadership was on the verge of epochal discovery, which could bring results worthy of Nobel Prize. Although, Sedov refused to publish anything; he and his colleagues never uttered a word about the matter of their research outside their laboratory. That was very right thing to do, as it would have had revealed later.
The theme of their epochal discovery was the cloning, that is indistinguishable, as facsimile copying of any living beings, but at the molecular and genetic level. There was some experimenting with cloning also abroad; cloned lambs, doggies and other animals were born in some laboratories, but they didn’t live long and died in extreme anguish. Soviet renowned scientist and ardent communist Sedov attained then an unbelievable advancement in genetics and practical cloning; he could not just clone, but could now make some sort of fax-copies, and almost send them by wire – of the human beings. To make a perfect human clone he needed just clipped off scraps of nails or a lock of hair, and a pair of smears taken from the private parts, preferably of original human person’s, but his immediate kin’s would also could do. The clone would turn out healthier if could be used tissues of his intestines, but still better from his head.
Having felt a chill in a backbone at the prospects of his discovery, the academician instantly proclaimed all information on this subject as classified material. He called the First department of his laboratory, a branch of secret police KGB, to be the watchdog of his top secret research. The next day Sedov, as a member of Party’s Central Committee, applied for an appointment with the powerful chief of Soviet secret police KGB, comrade Yuri Andropov. In a week Sedov entered with self-assured stride the office in the most dreaded building during gulag years on Lubyanka square.
The academician explained KGB chief as simply as he could the essence of his discovery. The tall elderly man just silently and patiently watched him through his glasses, asking no questions. Then he suddenly cut short the academician, “Whom do you intend to clone first?”
Academician faltered: he never thought of that. At least he never thought about his human clones as of real people with regular names and surnames of their prototypes. Being a scientist, he always imagined them being nude and virgin as biblical Adam and Eva.
“Well, we haven’t yet planned that. I mean … may our Party decide that, because of immense importance and implied consequences of such action.”
“OK, can you clone, or copy, or whatever – can you resurrect all the Old Bolsheviks massacred by Joseph Stalin? Can you resurrect entire old Lenin’s guard?”
Struck dumb, scientist said, “I think, yes, we can possibly try. Why?”
“These days of moral decay we need as never before, as an air in our lungs, their enthusiasm, their revolutionary gust, their Bolshevist courage. They would kind of vaccinate all of us, all our country. They would inspire our Party with a new life, with a new flame and ideas!”
“Yes, comrade Andropov, we could do this, that is a great honor for us,” uttered the academician, coining the words. “Their genetics materials had been wisely preserved with an incredible far-sight by Soviet scientists in the twenties; it’s in excellent condition: the body tissues, brain slices. I know it as a curator of Organics laboratory which oversee the body of immortal Lenin in his mausoleum.”
“Fine. Yet, don’t you breathe a word to anyone. Do you understand? All I said is a top state secret. You will be informed of my decision. Go to your work, and don’t waste any time.”
Academician waited nearly a year for this decision to be relayed to him, but the government-direct-line telephone in his office, vertushka, was silent. Suddenly – as can be sudden the death of a sick eighty-year old – died current Secretary General who ruled the country for more than twenty years. It also triggered the coming death-harvesting of gerontokratia in the Party’s Politburo. He was buried with a pomp and artillery salutation in the grave near the Kremlin wall on the Red Square. The next Secretary General, the third in history of the Party, was elected by the intimate circle of old members of Politburo. They elected KGB chief Yuri Andropov.
When academician saw a foot-high photo of the new Secretary General in the party paper