If you’ve stolen someone else’s seat, it’s natural that the original occupant might find himself warming yours somewhere else.
I sat in someone else’s chair watching two screens: on one, the man I replaced was asleep aboard the ship; on the other, my wife sat in Mission Control. I called her: “Hello, my dear. I can see you.” She said: “Do your best.” Then I watched the original wake up. We had traded places, and I wasn’t laughing. I felt a little sorry for him. But not for long.
Where am I? Where’s Shoigu? I demand a genetic analysis! I’m the real one! They told me I’m Shpak, that Fridlyand is dead, and that my wife will be imprisoned for killing me. I got a short wait, then “one Putin is enough for Earth.” The screen went dark. I was left with the crew for upbringing.
You forgot? On our very first day you offended me. “I don’t want you! I’m faithful! I’ll buy my way out!” She didn’t need you. She tossed you aside like a torn condom and “entrusted” you to us. Your nickname now is “Prezik.” Whether I pick you up or leave you here depends on your behavior.
He watches a ship where a man sits convinced he is Putin. Watching him from Earth is a Kremlin where a man sits convinced he is not. And both know what no third party knows: which of them plays better. It won’t be decided by genes, but by what one of them chooses to do with Russia.
Read the complete story in “Putin in Space.” This page contains only a short excerpt; the book has the rest.
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