Chapter 6

Though he lacked talent in painting, as a successor to communism who always maintained an optimistic attitude, this was not a reason for him to become dejected. Without talent, he could just practice more. He wasn’t planning to follow the path of a leader; he didn’t need to become a wandering artist first. Currently, maintaining social stability suited him well, and he felt a great sense of honor in his work.

No matter what misunderstandings and criticisms there were about the KGB’s work, for Shcherbakov, as long as his heart remained pure, none of this was a problem. Sniffing out and identifying traitors, allowing the good to continue living, and ensuring the bad received their due punishment—this was the KGB.

In a room at the headquarters of the Main Directorate for Military Administration, Shcherbakov was drenched in sweat, working out vigorously. The room was equipped with various fitness equipment, from conventional dumbbells to treadmills that shouldn’t have existed in this era. Shcherbakov, wearing large shorts, had his hair soaked with sweat. As he walked, he said, “The General Directorate for Technical Management is truly efficient. Once we complete the tests, we will immediately contact a factory for production and register the trademark in Italy. I guarantee it will be a huge hit. We should adopt a strategy of low profit and high volume, making the price acceptable to the European people, and quickly dominate this market...”

Isemtani stood by, taking notes of Shcherbakov’s words, then closed her small notebook and said, “Director, you’ve been on the equipment for half an hour. Don’t you want to take a break?”

“I feel better than ever. How much more training do I have today?” Shcherbakov asked, his face unchanged as sweat streamed down his cheeks.

“Two hundred pull-ups, two hundred sit-ups, three hundred squats, and one hundred cable rows!” Lukani pushed her hair behind her ear and said, “The first part is Comrade Kuznetsov’s routine, and the second part is Comrade Medvedev’s routine!”

“Let’s do it together!” Shcherbakov wiped the sweat from his face. Around him were various testing instruments, including those already in production and those still in the experimental stage. Several people in white lab coats were observing Shcherbakov’s condition. If someone with a good imagination saw this scene, considering that this was the headquarters of the KGB’s Main Directorate for Military Administration, a rumor about the Soviet Union using soldiers for war experiments might spread.

When Shcherbakov completed everything, the two instructors who had come from Gatsina City were extremely surprised. If they hadn’t seen it with their own eyes, they wouldn’t have believed it. If someone who had never exercised before suddenly underwent such intense training, it would certainly cause significant damage to their body. Shcherbakov, however, completed everything as if chased by wolves, and the speed was unbelievable. Seeing Shcherbakov’s condition, they both wondered if they should revise their training programs when they returned.

If Shcherbakov knew what the instructors were thinking, he would have humbly agreed. The title of “incredible” suited India better, where intelligence wasn’t a problem; drinking a few sips of the Ganges River would do.

“Director, let’s do a strength test!” Isemtani reminded him. Completing one strength test would finish today’s tasks.

“No need, I’m not competing in the Olympics!” Shcherbakov waved his hand, somewhat tired. He had already felt changes in his body recently. Recording data wasn’t necessary; testing was simple—next time he could just wrestle with Medvedev.

Wearing a large tank top, Shcherbakov, supported by Lukani, went to the adjacent bathroom. Before entering, he didn’t lose his head and pushed Lukani out. It was best not to mess around during work hours.

After about ten minutes, Shcherbakov came out naked and took the clothes Lukani had prepared. A few minutes later, a well-dressed Shcherbakov reappeared. His coolness lasted only a few seconds before Lukani threw a large towel over his head. As she dried his hair, she scolded, “Are you going to behave or not...”

“Me too!” Shcherbakov’s voice was low, but loud enough for the woman drying his hair to hear. The movement behind him paused for a moment, almost imperceptibly, then became even gentler.

After completing today’s physical training, Shcherbakov returned to his office, where someone was already waiting. Upon closer inspection, this person had been in the training room, standing out among the dozen doctors in white lab coats.

When Isemtani brought two cups of coffee, Shcherbakov said, “Having Academician Sukachev as my personal observer already makes me very apologetic! You are our country’s most authoritative biologist, and having you conduct human research is a waste of your talent, but I have no choice...”

“There’s no need for apologies, I’m no longer an academician! My journal has been shut down!” Academician Sukachev touched his slightly graying hair but remained resolute. “But I cannot stand by and watch agricultural science be dominated by a flawed theory. I will not yield! As a scientist, I will only pursue the truth...”

The enemy Academician Sukachev referred to was Lysenko, who, for political and other reasons, insisted on the concept of the inheritance of acquired characteristics in biological evolution, denied the existence of genes, and used Lamarckian and Michurinian genetics to resist the mainstream Mendelian-Morgan genetics, labeling Western geneticists as enemies of the Soviet people.

“Comrade Sukachev!” Shcherbakov thought for a moment and advised, “Theoretically, I agree with your views on biology. Lysenko’s problem is that he confuses the essence of the issue. Our country is the world’s first socialist state, with tasks you can hardly imagine. We desperately need a mature system to counter the capitalist countries, which is why this debate in the scientific community has arisen. Lysenko’s cleverness lies in his understanding that our leaders need a theory to prove their superiority over the mainstream Western scientists. Your debate is not just academic; it has deeper implications...”

After expressing his thoughts, Shcherbakov still intended to protect Academician Sukachev and other scientists, ensuring that these hundreds or thousands of scientists could continue their experiments without hindrance, a loss too great for the entire Soviet Union to bear. “Academician Sukachev, you can move all your experiments to the General Directorate for Technical Management. I believe the KGB has the capability to protect you and your work.”

“Psychologically, I am reluctant to do so, but for the sake of the achievements of many, I must thank Comrade Shcherbakov!” Scientists like Academician Sukachev would never willingly associate with someone like Shcherbakov, who had blood on his hands. Shcherbakov understood this and didn’t take it to heart.

[Thank you all for your support. Although I lost a lot of popularity due to the change in my pen name, I believe those who followed are true fans. Thank you for your support!]

Page flip AD starts

Page flip AD ends