World War III

Aram sat up in the seat, craning for a glimpse of the car that followed them. He’d been quieter than usual this morning, Gorny thought. In the last weeks his lessons had taken on the mysteries of planetary space and these morning rides were full of questions. The boy had decided to become a cosmonaut, and his energy on the subject was boundless. Except today.

“Those cars, Papa,” Aram said, pointing to one out the rear window. “Could they really help us if anything happened?”

Gorny frowned. He’d long ago given up trying to understand the motivation behind his son’s inquisitive-ness. The chairman nodded. “Of course.”

Aram gave him that how-do-you-know look.

Gorny tapped the window separating the front compartment from the rear. Major Veich, his personal bodyguard, turned quickly in the passenger seat and slid the glass back. “Yes, comrade Chairman?”

“Our friends, front and rear”—Gorny indicated with his head—”could they really help us if anything happened? Aram is interested.”

The major looked at the boy with a smile. “Of course.”

“How?” Aram asked innocently.

“Well…” Veich let his glance touch the most powerful man in the Soviet Union. Gorny knew that look. It said why do you do this to me. “Well, they’d stop immediately, of course.”

“And?” Gorny tried not to smile.

“I mean, those men would be all over us before anything could happen,” Veich explained. “They are trained especially for this work, little one.”

The chairman turned to his son. “I think they could not do much, either.”

“I’d protect you, Papa.”

Gorny nodded proudly. “Yes, but you have more serious thoughts to consider in school than heroic fantasies.”

“They’d have to kill me first,” the boy said.

“Please stop having us all killed,” Corny said. When he glanced at the major, Veich was smiling. “The boy dreams of such terrors.”

“You speak of terror, Papa.”

Not only inquisitive but a parrot, Gorny thought. “In another context, Aram,” he said, slightly annoyed.

To Veich he said, “His mother allows him too many films.”

“Yes,” the major said, amused, “mine also.”

The procession slowed for a bus that had been stopped by something up ahead. Veich spoke quickly into a hand microphone, instructing the driver of the lead car not to stop. “Move around it, then,” he said in response to an apparently lame explanation. He turned back to Gorny. “A commotion ahead, comrade Chairman. We will be past it in a moment.”

The commotion was a swarm of police with dogs and truncheons chasing a crowd of students. The limousine sped up in pace with the lead sedan but not before Gorny saw a woman lying on the sidewalk bleeding heavily from an open gash across her forehead. Several of the students were throwing rocks and the police waded into them, clubs swinging. Aram saw it, too.

“Papa, what are they doing?” He jumped up on the seat, following the action through the rear window as the car sped off. “What were they doing?”

“Hooligans,” Veich said quickly, “…loafers. They disgrace their country.”

Gorny glanced wearily at his bodyguard. “Please, Major, no cliches in front of my son.” He pulled Aram back into the seat by the hem of his coat. “Sit down, please. It is not a matter that demands your concern.”

“But, Papa? The police, they were—”

“It is a difficult time, Aram. People behave badly sometimes. Even good people. Sometimes.”

The boy nodded as if he understood. “But you are correcting things, aren’t you, Papa? You are.” He beamed a smile and quoted a line he’d been taught was truth. ” ‘All things are correctable.’”

Gorny looked away. He studied the gray street. “All things are correctable,” he said quietly. “Of course.” He leaned closer to Major Veich and spoke in a low voice so his son could not hear. “I would like some people added to the school detail, Major.” He was wearing his bull face.

“I have already done so, comrade Chairman,” Veich replied with matching grimness. “Today.”

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