My God, I'm already starting to regret getting involved in this. Governing an entire country is incredibly hard, especially during a crisis! I used to naively think that running the state apparatus wasn't that difficult. Just delegate tasks to deputies and sit back, acting important. But no, it's not that simple.
Well, looking at the government of the Earth Federation - that really was easy, because all the mechanisms of the state were functioning properly and reliably. You didn't have to manage everything in emergency mode, like I do now with the Russian Federation. I wonder… was it equally difficult for that guy? I pondered this while gazing at the portrait of Peter the Great.
Yes, probably, I read a bit about him back in university. The subject was… world history. An extraordinary personality. When he ascended the throne, Peter couldn't trust anyone either — intrigues everywhere, corruption, a weakened country, neighbors baring their teeth at your territories. Ha, just like now. Except for the mutants, all the supers, and other anomalous nonsense. Although… maybe there were mutants back then too? Damn, this world is driving me insane.
I need a vacation, but later — not now. Otherwise, everything will go to hell. I have to keep strengthening the country and the power structure so that later I can just sit back and smoke bamboo. Yeah… something like that.
Several weeks have passed since I arrived in this strange, mostly ridiculous world, and I'm drained like a squeezed lemon. Yes, in ten years in the Psi Corps, I've never been this exhausted — not even close — than in this tiny stretch of time I've spent here. This country requires supervision almost everywhere; I simply can't handle it alone. I need to recruit more people and bend them to my will. The oligarchs and General Lushev — they're not enough either. I tasked the general with eliminating dubious politicians in key positions and dealing with the crisis in the North Caucasus. He promised to get it all done, though first he has to track down and extract his former subordinates — loyal soldiers and operatives — and there are quite a few of them. The general has long commanded respect among the security forces. As long as he's working, everything is fine on my side. So, there's no need to bother him. For now, I can forget about the security side of things.
But what about the economy of this long-suffering giant called the Russian Federation?
Its limbs and torso are truly enormous and powerful, yet far too heavy; the bones of this giant simply cannot bear such titanic mass. By "bones" I mean the infrastructure, which is insufficiently developed for such vast expanses.
Solving this problem would be a truly monumental achievement, not only in Russian history, but in world history as well. And I already have some preliminary plans.
I'll probably start with highways — modern, wide roads like in the Federation, though not the Russian one, the Earth Federation.
Ah, the Boswash corridor to Mexico, or the Beijing–Novosibirsk highway — a true marvel, accelerating the growth and development of the North American and Eurasian economic clusters back there.
Nothing complicated. In the future, road construction technology hasn't changed much, aside from a few minor, non-critical details.
The main thing is to lock down corruption — and I've already done quite a bit toward that, situationally, of course, but it will help for now.
And maybe later, nothing more will need to be done. After focusing on regular roads, I can turn to railways: consider expanding the Trans-Siberian Railway, additional branches of the BAM, constructing the Transpolar Railway, a line from Khabarovsk to Magadan to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, and a railway bridge to Sakhalin. And that's what I plan to do in the near future — five, maybe ten years at most.
I think I can manage it, considering that most of Russia's wealthiest and most influential people are under my control. This goal is realistic, especially once I integrate their capital into industrial and construction conglomerates with leading state participation.
This will help concentrate efforts on priority sectors — not only in industry and construction, but also in digital technologies, medicine, and the military-industrial complex.
After that, I could turn to ecology, and, if possible, try to influence the climate in Russia — it's just too cold here.
But these are broad, global objectives, general directions, so to speak. Achievements of days to come.
On the finer economic adjustments, on issues of macro- and micro-regulation of the investment climate, I knew nothing — at least not enough for the president of the largest country.
Therefore, I understood that I needed help, and I already had some considerations in that regard.
The candidate for the position of Minister of Finance, a certain Ivan Hasin, is an audacious economic theorist. Currently, he is an economic outcast, whose ideas are widely criticized and subjected to daily ostracism by supporters of "the economics" — the economic doctrine that dominates present-day Russia, and also the West.
In the future, Hasin and his works will be highly appreciated; he will be hailed as a great authority on economics and finance, on par with the mythical King Midas, economists Adam Smith, Karl Marx, and John Maynard Keynes.
Hasin is the founder of the concept of post-capitalism and modern economic thought of the Earth Federation. To summarize his ideas briefly, it is a complex balance devised by him and his followers — a balance between capitalism and communism.
An utterly heretical thought in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, but in the twenty-second century it becomes a way of life. His works, as I said, will be valued — unfortunately, long after his death, in solitude, poverty, and obscurity.
Fortunately, this can be remedied.
I don't understand all this economics in depth, but according to my teachers and mentors from the Psi Corps Academy, this is exactly the person I need right now — immediately.
So, here's the point — I instructed my assistants to arrange a meeting with him, that is, to bring him to me. And any moment now, he should be led into my office.
There was a knock at the door.
— Come in, — I said.
The door opened, and the secretary stepped inside.
— Vladislav Nikolaevich, Ivan Leonidovich has arrived. Shall I ask him to come in? — she asked.
— Yes, of course, — I replied.
Ivan Hasin was brought into the office — a slight man of modest height, with the gaze of someone intelligent and worldly, a person who had an opinion on almost every matter. A man who had endured numerous hardships and intense external pressure, yet skillfully held his ground and remained steadfast to the end.
— Ivan Leonidovich, good evening, thank you for agreeing to meet. Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink? — I said, rising and gesturing toward the guest table with the sofas.
But the man remained still, chin raised, and began his speech:
— Note, esteemed Vladislav Nikolaevich, though you are the president, I will not tolerate mockery. I do not know why you have invited me…
— Wait, Ivan Leonidovich, what do you mean? — I interrupted him. — I have no intention of mocking you. Would I summon you for that? I have read several of your works, and I consider them brilliant. I thought it would be worthwhile to meet with you. And I wanted to discuss your future. It seems to me very promising. Believe me.
— Truly? — Hasin looked at me incredulously. — I apologize, but what future are we talking about? I see no future for our motherland, let alone for myself or my family. With the policies the government is pursuing, the Cabinet, in particular the Ministry of Finance, there is no sense in speaking of any future. I won't even mention the Central Bank. Don't you see it yourself? Russia is dying. First, we killed the Union. Now we're finishing off the Federation. It's terrifying to watch, Mr. President. So what future could there be — unless, of course, you appoint me Minister of Finance, — Hasin raised an eyebrow ironically.
— Haha, Minister, hmm — I smiled, pretending to think. — Please, help yourself: tea, sweets, waffles, biscuits, cake, whatever you like. Don't hesitate. I've heard you have a sweet tooth.
— Well then, I suppose I won't refuse, these are tough times. I'll take some biscuits and waffles for my family, if you don't mind. You probably don't know, Vladislav Nikolaevich, — Hasin began, sipping his hot drink while eating the sweets. — But most people can't afford such food luxuries, and I myself, among them, although how would the President know the struggles of ordinary people, you probably…
— Actually, I would really like to appoint you as Minister of Finance, — I said, deciding to cut straight to the point and speak openly, skipping unnecessary politeness, so to speak. Ivan Leonidovich immediately reacted, spewing the tea he had just taken in his mouth all over me.
— Khah, khah khé… what? — Hasin asked, coughing, finally looking at me and seeing the result of his sudden reaction. The future minister tried to apologize — Excuse me, Vladislav Nikolaevich, your proposal was just… too sudden.
— Don't worry, Ivan Leonidovich, it's alright. Better tell me, how do you consider this offer? — I asked, wiping my face with a napkin.
***
Thick tobacco smoke danced in the air, dimming the dull light of the desk lamp. In the dusty room, a faint echo came from the wall-mounted radio, its speakers carrying the announcer's voice, describing the successes of the new command of peacekeeping forces in the North Caucasus. From under the far corner of the brown wooden cabinet, a sheet of paper stuck out, worn, depicting Motherland calling to defend.
On an old Turkestan carpet, stained with street dirt and scraps of cheap paper, lay several bags tightly packed with green bills. The owner of the office was staring at that money. Lieutenant Colonel Shkurin, who had suddenly gotten rich yesterday, had only needed to provide a few seals and copies of forms to his new friends from Turkish intelligence. And they had paid him very generously for it—and let no one think he was burning in the flames of conscious guilt. If anything, it was only the subtle artistry of being drawn into the game.
The money became a sweet garnish to the bitter reality, in which these same bills would guarantee a life full of incredible possibilities. In the face of this, conscience and thoughts about honor and decency lost all meaning. The man already imagined himself as a major figure, a big shot, somewhere in a high ministerial position. At least, that was what he had been promised: if he behaved correctly, everyone would help him by all means. And he would not be abandoned—he would be properly assisted.
At the next meeting, he was asked for the numbers and exact locations of certain Russian troops in Chechnya and Dagestan. For this information, he would be paid three times as much. So he would hand it all over without holding back. With that money, he could build a huge mansion; for now, the bribes were enough for a brand-new foreign car. At these thoughts, the military man's round face spread into a dreamy smile.
Breathing heavily, he began counting the money again, daydreaming about his new car. He saw it in his mind—a luxurious vehicle with gleaming chrome details, like a banner raised during a parade—it would attract the attention of ordinary people, these paupers. The hood rose proudly, shining in the sun, reminding him of the shield of a mythical hero after a battle, victorious over all mortals. This money could make his dream a reality. Finally, Shkurin could feel in his element, feel his chosen status.
And a gift for his wife! Ah, just imagine: she—the queen of his life—had carried the burden of poverty for many years. Now, at last, they would live in abundance; their time had come. And the fact that their new life would be paid for with soldiers' blood? That didn't matter. The new fur coat he would give her with love would make it all worthwhile.
Filling his mind with these fervent plans, the corpulent soldier cast one last glance at the money and smirked again. His dreams and desires, hidden behind the mask of duty and command impulse, were becoming reality in that moment. Now he was a hero, an imposter, brimming with immense power—the master of this new country.
But then, unexpectedly, shattering all his thoughts, the office doors burst open, and suddenly a group of men in military uniforms entered, carrying the chill of winter and the scent of danger. Holding their weapons by the foregrip, the soldiers took up strategic positions in the room. From the reception area came the outraged scream of the secretary, but what could she do against these tall, imposing men? Nothing.
Following the ceased screams from the reception, came the sound of footsteps—very loud and precise—but to Shkurin, every sound now seemed deafening. He was so terrified that he could hear his heart hammering and his gut growling in response.
Finally, the source of the footsteps entered the office—it was an officer in an Oberpolizei uniform. He walked across the room and stopped in front of Shkurin's desk. The bribe-taker sat paralyzed, pressed even deeper into his chair.
The officer standing before him radiated his high rank through his calm and confident posture. Loudly, as if the very spirit of justice hovered above him, he addressed the bribeman:
— You are hereby charged with corruption and embezzlement of state funds. You have the right to remain silent; exercise it if you wish. Anything you say may be used against you in court. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, a public defender will be provided.
The officer's words hung in the air, heavy with gravity and severity. The bribe-taker, twitching his burning neck, tried to mutter excuses—words that became thin shadows against the solid wall of evidence. He was now sticky and sweaty all over, like a fish out of water, coated in slime and stripped of strength; he could only mumble, folding his hands in a pleading gesture.
— My actions, Comrade Commander, were done with good intentions. I have always served the motherland with loyalty, and I was forced to take the money—believe me. I… I only wanted to ensure my family's safety. Please understand, I… I could not leave them unprotected.
Weak tears rolled down the man's round cheeks.
The officer, internally calm and unmoved by any hope of leniency, maintained an unshakable tone:
— The law is blind, and you are no exception. Everything you say will be presented at trial. But remember, like everyone else, you are obliged to bear responsibility for your actions.
The bribeman, crying silent tears, began to sob. Disagreeing with the harsh verdict and realizing that his chances for maneuvering were almost nonexistent—like the last grains of sand slipping through his trembling fingers—he still clung to his dreams. Even in this grim moment, he continued to fantasize about the car and the fur coat—the last consolation for his greedy and weary soul.