Chapter 6: Important Life Skills

"Aim for the lungs; even if you miss, you'll probably get a decent torso shot: kidney, liver, guts." Rybak took his stance and aimed the pistol. With clockwork precision, eight coin-sized holes appeared in rapid succession through the cardboard target. They were all grouped around the upper torso; Grigori clapped unconsciously. The marksman's face lit up, placing down his firearm and motioning for his young student to do the same.

Pulling the gun up, the weight of it was immediately clear, like nothing Grigori had ever held before. He was told to relax and remember the protocol, taught to him earlier. Reciting it out loud helped; his gun was ready and so was he. His finger wrapped around the trigger and pulled; the recoil hit instantly and reverberated through his entire arm, but that did not stop him from continuing to fire, counting the shots in his head.

"Alright, decent. At least all of your shots hit the target, so I would call that a good starting point."

Sure, three of the shots had hit the area outside of the silhouette, but Rybak's praise carried respect with it. For the first time he had ever used a gun, just being able to hold it straight with the recoil was a feat. Even with a good start, he needed a great deal more training before being issued a concealment license, let alone be trusted to be able to use it properly under the duress that would warrant its use. Firearms training was an invaluable ability to have, though its practicality for him as an attendant could be debated.

Two solid hours of practice seemed like an eternity, though it was truly enlightening and made Grigori actually feel like a KGB agent. Following that, the duo went to Rybak's office, its walls covered in awards, photographs, and other indications of an esteemed career, still with plenty more to come. Sitting down, the conversation became more casual and relaxed. His performance in the YROTL was discussed.

Joining the Youth Reserve Officer Training League had been a goal of his since participating in his Victory Day as a Young Pioneer at age 8. Since the passing of the Great Patriotic War Generation, the event had shifted to the Sino Wars and the other conflicts within living memory. Seeing his grandfather and father both in their old uniforms with medals glistening like jewels stirred something deep in his heart. It was a program that set a high standard for successful application, demanding strong academics, physical prowess, and, of course, a good bloodline.

Through hard and focused work, he got accepted into League #616 in his first year of Middle School. The League taught far more than Party rhetoric; it taught discipline, adaptive thinking, survival skills, and how to lead in times of crisis. For anyone with intentions of a career in many of the most prestigious branches of government, being in the League gave them a great boost. His efforts resulted in many accolades, particularly Cultural and Community ones.

In case of an attack by hostile forces, cadets upon reaching 16 were indeed taught how to use a rifle and pistol in combat. The possibility that they would be called up was ridiculously slim, but war did not care for rationality. Due to his "Special Assignment," Rybak got him the paperwork to start a year early. Sambo was another important part of the combat training: "A soldier who cannot use his hands as a weapon is a soldier lacking," in the words of their instructor.

As ordered, Grigori had started doing the home exercises to hone his muscles. The city's Young Pioneer Palace had an excellent gym for more strenuous work and, of course, the KGB's facilities were open to him as well. On a Sunday each month, he was to come to Rybak's office to demonstrate his progress; poor results would not be acceptable. He would need to build up strength or his ward would have the upper hand over him. That brought up a question that had been bouncing in his head the night before.

"If she is such a concern, shouldn't you have chosen one of your own to watch her? Sir." Grigori was over the moon that he was in all of this, but clearly knew a professional would have been the logical choice.

"Simple: It's easier for me to train a student to be an agent and make her feel comfortable than the reverse." Rybak leaned back in his chair, chewing hard on an energy bar.

Miss Revolutionary was a very moody young woman; her cooperation would make everything easier for all parties involved and keep her patrons content. Grigori, a student acting as an agent, had a nature much more agreeable and amiable to Milena, who could pick apart any deception in a man with little effort.

"So, how was your first day with Ms. Yumatova? Did she behave herself?"

"For the most part, yes."

It did not take a rocket scientist to know that Rybak most likely already knew every minute detail of their little trip through Tereshkova, including the "Sweetheart Incident." Grigori assumed it was more to gauge his temperament under pressure. A detailed, though edited, account of the day was delivered to Rybak, who nodded along.

"Redheads have a tendency to be troublesome, or so I have heard."

"Yeah, my sister Raisa is chaos incarnate in a compact package."

Rybak roared with laughter; the joke wasn't that funny. Am I missing something here? The lad was befuddled, unsure whether to laugh or inquire.

"I apologize, your confusion is to be expected. My little girls are strawberry blondes, but they cause me more trouble than any of my cases. They're my girls, though; I was a bit mischievous too, so what goes around comes around!"

Both shared humorous tales of little gremlins wreaking all sorts of anarchy. It was a strangely normal conversation to be held with a spymaster; having a good rapport with your boss never hurts! An aide eventually walked in and reminded the Colonel that he had a meeting in ten minutes. Rybak thanked Grigori for his time, but before bidding him farewell, he had two gifts for him.

A stun gun was issued to Grigori, a powerful version of the kind one could buy with a permit from a State-endorsed self-defense company. There was no evidence that pointed to any real need for such precautions; his assignment had risks, obviously, but the Chairman himself had made it clear that the focus was more about preventing new problems rather than anything else. Yumatova had patrons in high places looking out for her; they would snuff out even the smallest spark with impunity. A simple-to-use device and one thoroughly tested in the field. He would keep it hidden but ready for anything.

Whatever the other gift was surely to be even better! A small rectangular lacquered box with gold inlay was produced from a pocket in Rybak's jacket. He already loved the design.

"Here is my personal gift to you; I think you'll find it very useful." Grigori accepted the present most humbly, as if it were a medal.

Carefully he opened it, unveiling a beautiful pen with his initials on it. The weight of it was solid, but not heavy, and just the right size in his palm.

"Thank you for this gift, Colonel! May I ask, does it shoot a bullet?"

"No, it does not."

"Oh, it's poison!"

"No, that would be very dangerous!"

Whatever trick there was to this device, it was stumping him. Too small for a tranquilizer or a hidden communicator. He asked if it was a bugging device; once more, Rybak shook his head.

"Umm... what can it do, exactly, Sir?"

"You can write your name most elegantly!"