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Chapter Text

Boris Shcherbina knew how to exert his influence at the right moments, just as he knew how to accept the influence and convictions of others under the given circumstances. A quality that seemed to distinguish him completely from Valery Legasov.

As one of the first people in Moscow who were informed about the accident at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, Shcherbina was prepared to receive the lengthy assurances about the harmlessness and complete control of its impact, not convinced that he had learnt the complete truth, but satisfied with any information that could help to ease the situation after the initial confusion.He would arrange whatever was necessary to combat the consequences of the incident and restore operations without causing hysteria or raising doubts about Soviet energy supplies.

He would have preferred expert assistance directly from his ministry, but as far as nuclear energy in the Soviet Union and this reactor in particular were concerned, no member of the Ministry of Energy was qualified; the founders and scientific leaders of Soviet nuclear energy gathered in their own institute and kept their secrets there. Even under normal circumstances, the Kurchatov Institute was reluctant to cooperate with representatives of the civil sector for energy, which included his ministry, and Shcherbina expected this secretiveness to continue, which nuclear research in its special position could afford even towards high-ranking party representatives. He had therefore expected some difficulties, but nothing had prepared him for the disaster that was Valery Legasov. With surprisingly few sentences, Legasov had managed to accuse the leadership of the Soviet Union of complete ignorance and disregard for obvious physical-technical facts and corrected the Deputy Chairman of the Council of Minister, Boris Shcherbina, in front of Gorbachev as if Shcherbina was one of Legasovs students. As if Shcherbina had not tried to protect Legasov and his institute too from premature criticism and accusations. The arrogance and presumptuousness of high-ranking scientists towards him was one thing, but this one had taken neither Shcherbina nor himself and his own responsibility into consideration when lecturing the Soviet leadership; Legasov’s institute could not be interested in a rash exaggeration of the situation any more than Shcherbina's ministry.

Whatever was going through the mind of the deputy director of the Kurchatov Institute, neither Shcherbina nor Legasov seemed willing to engage in any further dialogue once Gorbachev had given his order. After the meeting was dissolved, the two men exchanged glances of barely suppressed hostility, and it took the politician decades of practised self-control not to immediately and vocally confront the scientist about his impertinence.

"I'll arrange the flight to Chernobyl and let you know when we take off. Comrade Legasov."

"I have to," Legasov turned back to the report under Shcherbina's persistent scowl and rubbed his forehead tensely as he slumped behind his propped-up hand, "I have to speak to a few colleagues. I'm not an expert on this type of reactor."

"I'm sure you'll know who to consult on this matter. And who not.”

Under a raised eyebrow, Legasov looked uncomprehendingly back up at Shcherbina. They continued their hostile eye contact for a few seconds until Legsaov gave up with a stiff nod.
"Then I'll have you picked up at the institute in a few hours," added Shcherbina, who could only guess what further problems Legsaov would cause there, thankfully outside Shcherbina's direct sphere of influence.

Once again, the professor nodded barely noticeably, turning his attention back to his documents as he stood up somewhat awkwardly and, ignoring his previous tendency to talk back, disappeared into the corridor without further ado. The experienced politician would contain the accident at Chernobyl just as well as Valery Legasov.

To Shcherbina's surprise, Legasov seemed to have lost some of his rebelliousness when they made their way to their flight to Pripyat together a few hours later. Slumped and silent, the scientist remained at his side, avoiding any eye contact. Perhaps Legasov had just needed some time to reflect and adjust his behaviour to the circumstances. But from the little he had so far been able to learn about Legasov, he thought it more likely that the scientist had been put in his place by his more pragmatic colleagues. Whatever the reason for his newfound restraint, it certainly facilitated Shcherbina's involuntary supervision of his new personal scientific advisor. For now.

Even on the short walk across the landing pad to the helicopter, the younger man barely kept pace with the seasoned politician and immediately collapsed back into his seat between the soldiers escorting them. While the dull thumping of the rotor blades rumbled through the cabin and Shcherbina was glad to have escaped any further experts and advice from Moscow for the time being, the flight only seemed to increase Legasov's discomfort. Every gust that caught and shook the helicopter also shook the academic out of his melancholic daze and made him glance nervously through the porthole-like windows before leaning forwards again, resting his forehead on both thumbs and staring at the ground. From his own position and without two guard dogs pressing against his shoulders, the politician registered the other's vulnerability with his usual satisfaction. And yet the insecurity of his companion began to irritate him. If Legasov had been able to use his position as an expert to expose Shcherbina before Gorbachev without being asked, now was the time to use this expert knowledge for more constructive purposes. But the academic remained silent.

"How does a nuclear reactor work?"

This time Legasov did not raise his head in fear, but as if one of his students had interrupted him with a completely pointless question.
"What?"

Shcherbina was almost amused by the arrogance that reflexively overcame Legasov when someone dared to set foot on his professional turf. As if there, in the ivory tower of his science, he was safe from accidents and political bloodhounds who made no distinction between the guilty and those who spoke about this guilt too loudly.

"Of course. You presume I'm too stupid to understand. So I’ll restate: Tell me how a nuclear reactor works or I'll have one of these soldiers throw you out of a helicopter."
Shcherbina dryly reminded the scientist of the Soviet reality and Legasov's helpless look at the two unmoved soldiers confirmed that his words had not missed their mark.

Defeated, Legasov turned back to Shcherbina and began his explanation, putting all his reluctance and obvious compulsion into it, just in case there had been any doubt in his bothersome new student's mind. But his own nature quickly caught up with the absent-minded professor and he paused, fumbling unsuccessfully in his jacket for something, upon which Shcherbina pulled the pen he was looking for out of his own pocket with a simple flick of the wrist and shoved it in Legasov's direction along with the copy of the report to which they owed their shared flight. Shcherbina maintained eye contact with the evasive scientist, who gave a brief, grateful nod. As if the politician wanted to add: See how easy it can be to work together?

This thought seemed alien to Legasov, who preferred contempt to cooperation and did not hide the fact that he regarded the other as little more than a deluded politician who had not earned his approval.

But the formula "Boris Shcherbina" contained too many variables for even a brilliant mind like Legasov's to figure out easily, and thus the bureaucrat actually managed to surprise the suspicious natural philosopher who was focussed on his atoms: An unstable element, Legasov explained, like uranium, a fitting foundation for their relationship, that much even Shcherbina understood, and recalled the vivid, admonishing description the man of science had chosen to make himself heard before the leadership of the Soviet Union.

"The bullet."

Like the neutron described, Shcherbina's words penetrated Legasov's reservations and suddenly astonishment and a hint of appreciation replaced the disdain in his expression. Shcherbina had to correct his judgement, arrogance was not the only thing Legasov in his devotion to science had left for outsiders. The politician's little remark was enough to put the scientist in a more favourable mood; the hope of being understood and sharing his devotion obviously outweighed his prejudice. Not with arrogance, but with the zeal and creativity of a teacher who values his students as much as his own research, the professor found an appropriate explanation even for an annoying apparatchik. Shcherbina was almost impressed by this side of the stubborn scientist, but Boris Yevdokimovich Shcherbina was not one of Legasov's students, he listened, learnt and then had the last word.

"Good. I know how a nuclear reactor works. Now I don’t need you."

With his glasses in his hand and the strand of hair that had fallen into his face, Legasov looked up in dismay and did the politician the favour of presenting an utterly miserable and defeated picture.

Satisfied, Shcherbina leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Let the institute's snappish lapdog think about the fact that he was on his own here. A knowledgeable man like Legasov would certainly learn quickly not to antagonise Boris Shcherbina any further under these circumstances.

"Boris..."

How dared he?

He was wrong, Legasov was no better than the rest of the useless specialists at his institute who looked down on the politician. Just as ignorant, just as arrogant.

He could perhaps overlook the fact that Legasov did not respect the Kremlin's rules and had the audacity to bang the table in front of Gorbachev in order to make himself heard. But now the scientist proved how little he understood and respected Boris Shcherbina

Shcherbina's wrath was feared and was unleashed upon the scientist with a force that Valery Legasov had brought upon himself with the mention of the name 'Boris' and his open and utterly irreverent look. While an open provocation hardly upset the veteran politician any more, the recklessness with which Legasov had stumbled across any personal boundaries hit him particularly hard. Something about Legasov had made him soft. He himself had allowed this disrespect from the all-knowing academic, had been too quick to trust that Legasov would understand how to work together with Boris Shcherbina. But however much the professor knew about nuclear reactors, he understood very little about men like Boris Shcherbina.

But Shcherbina didn't have much time to rage, their pilot decided to take Legasov's threat more seriously than the loud politician, and Shcherbina wasn't stubborn enough not to have at least some appreciation for the younger scientist's persistence. And despite the fierceness of Shcherbina's temper, as soon as the helicopter had veered off course with equal vehemence and slammed Legasov roughly into the side of the disgruntled head of their joint commission, the latter showed surprising care, holding Legasov by the waist and keeping him away from greater harm and manoeuvring him back into place. Legasov rubbed his bruised thigh before looking back up at Shcherbina and returning his grim gaze in obvious surprise. He quickly lowered his eyes again, returning to his insecure self, who preferred to avoid Shcherbina's turbulent temperament rather than stand in its way. Even if the storm had subsided as quickly as it had risen.

Shcherbina did not turn away from Valery Legasov. An open reactor core awaited him. Perhaps more than even a man like Boris Shcherbina, who had created a new foundation for his country's energy industry from inhospitable taiga and tundra with his own hands, could fix for the Soviet Union.

And the only person who understood enough about all of this put himself unerringly in every line of fire and put not only their task as representatives of the Soviet state, but also himself, in danger.

Shcherbina cared more about both than Legasov would probably have given him credit for. And about one thing more than the old apparatchik gave himself credit for.

Chapter Text

Valery Alekseyevich Legasov considered himself to be an affable person. He valued his students and colleagues at the Institute just as much as the scientific discourse, which emphasised the coexistence of different opinions and disputes. He would not have risen to become deputy director of the institute if he had not understood how to defend himself in these disputes and at the same time keep influential opinions on his side. And yet he had never pursued research for the sake of his own career, his own desire for recognition, but in the naïve belief that he was creating the foundations for a better life for all people, very much in line with the Soviet ideals he had grown up with. Never had he hidden away in a laboratory and regarded his research as mere theory. Few institutes were as important as the Kurchatov Institute when it came to putting the results of leading Soviet research into practice, and Legasov was no less committed to ensuring that this practical implementation of his science was carried out to the benefit of all.

When he saw the blue glow above the reactor and the scattered pieces of graphite, he questioned the last 30 years of his work between one second and the next. As well as his ability not to antagonize other people in positions of power when Boris Shcherbina – resembling a very large and very angry Ukrainian wolf – almost went for his throat instead of understanding that Legasov was trying to save them from a lethal dose of radiation.

But of course he couldn't expect Shcherbina to accept something that he himself had thought impossible. What they were seeing was supposed to be impossible. That had been the promise of science to politics. Why should Shcherbina trust a single scientist more than this decades-old promise of safe nuclear energy? And yet Legasov had no choice but to make his Ukrainian wolf understand this reality, which the Soviet planned economy had certainly neither foreseen nor prepared for.

What was a single scientist against Boris Shcherbina? What was one scientist against a catastrophe ruled out by science itself?

Legasov rubbed his bruised thigh after Shcherbina had moved him back to his place and paused. Shcherbina's small gesture was the opposite of his previous outburst; there was something gentle about the beast even in the moment of fury. Even a man like Legasov, who throughout his life had been better at figuring out chemical equations than the subtleties of human communication, recognized this. But there was no time to reflect on Shcherbina's nature, not while they were on their way to an open reactor core, and he did what he did best: thinking very thoroughly and very fast about what he had first feared and now seen with his own eyes.

There was no emergency plan for what awaited them, nor a list of carefully considered measures drawn up by experts. They had been preparing for a nuclear attack by the Americans for decades. But a nuclear reactor as a threat to the Soviet people – this idea was so absurd, so unimaginable, that even the scientific discussion of it could be seen as a threat to the state. Legasov was on his own.

An unpleasant feeling of weightlessness, accompanied by further turbulence and a final grim look from Shcherbina in his direction announced their arrival. Legasov tried rather unsuccessfully to suppress the nausea that had overcome him when seeing the report in the Kremlin and which the flight had only exacerbated. Unlike Shcherbina, who seemed to have confrontation and political struggle in his blood and had no idea of the invisible danger they were approaching, Legasov fought against his own more reserved nature. This nature sought reconciliation and was used to scientific exchange and preparation – perhaps even control. But it was also part of Valery Legasov's character to say what needed to be said and to act regardless of conditions or difficulties – even if his own body failed to support him.

"You stay back. Until I say otherwise!" Shcherbina sneered in his direction as soon as the helicopter touched down, probably directed more at the two soldiers than at the disobedient scientist. Shcherbina swung himself out of the helicopter's high door with astonishing ease for a man of his age, leaving Legasov behind with his guard dogs With a little less grace and keeping the ordered distance, he stumbled between the two soldiers behind Shcherbina onto Ukrainian soil.

While Shcherbina was probably informed by the men in charge about the same stable situation that he himself had already announced at the Kremlin that morning, Legasov looked to the horizon behind them, where a dark column of smoke was rising and expanding into the sky next to the reactor's ventilation stack. It was an impossible sight. Legasov had visited nuclear power plants all over the country, all over the world, and probably the most striking feature, common to all of them, was that their chimneys emitted nothing but air or steam. What they saw here was no longer a nuclear power plant. What spread from here would soon contaminate not only Ukraine, but the entire continent. And like the smoke, the lies spread from here, relentlessly and uncontrollably, while Legasov watched helplessly.

He expected to be forced to accept this helpless position for the time being and not be consulted further by Shcherbina. But the politician almost immediately turned back to Legasov and ordered him towards them with a wave of his hand. He followed his master like a trained dog and was held back at a proper distance from Shcherbina by the soldiers, as if to emphasize that there were certain boundaries and that Valery Legasov also had to abide by these boundaries.

The two men in charge swooped down on Legasov like vultures, as if his words were more dangerous than the open reactor core just a few kilometers away from them.

“Please, tell me how an RBMK reactor core explodes.”

Legasov swallowed, drew in a sharp breath between his teeth and hesitated. No expert in the entire Soviet Union could answer this question at this time.

“I'm not prepared to explain it at this time”, he finally uttered, his voice so hoarse and raspy that it would have been reminiscent of Shcherbina's rough, gravelly tone were it not for its complete lack of strength and determination.

Legasov felt paralyzed and at the mercy of his opponents, and waited for Shcherbina to deliver the next verbal blow, joining in the contempt shown by the two smug leaders of this catastrophe.

But when Shcherbina met his eyes, there was nothing wolfish in the old politician's piercing glance but rather something thoughtful.

"Why did I see graphite on the roof?" Shcherbina turned back to the other two men. But it was Legasov who was struck by this question with almost as much force as he had been struck by the words about the black mineral in the Kremlin report that morning. While the two power plant supervisors immediately scrambled for excuses, Legasov struggled with himself and what he thought he understood about other people. An RBMK reactor did not explode and a Soviet bureaucrat did not question. But just as Legasov had questioned that one Soviet law in front of Gorbachev, Boris Shcherbina had not only listened, he had recognized the value of Legasov's expertise. Its value and its usefulness as a weapon against the lies of men who were only interested in saving their own skins.

Boris Shcherbina was much that Legasov did not understand, but undoubtedly more than a stupid and pig-headed bureaucrat.

"How should we prove it?" asked Shcherbina, ending their fruitless exchange of excuses and accusations. The politician, who suddenly knew how to talk about moderators and neutron flux, did not divert his attention from the scientist, who still hadn't quite managed to sort out his thoughts on Boris Shcherbina.

Then Legasov heard the suggestion of the commander of the chemical troops about the arrived high-range dosimeter and a lead-armored truck and immediately his brain worked at its usual speed and reliability again.

"We need to get as close to the fire as possible and the lead shielding may not be enough. Also... we should determine if the reactor is still running, if it is still working. I should accompany your men," Legasov replied to Shcherbina's questioning look, which darkened as soon as Legasov finished speaking.

"Out of the question," growled Shcherbina, "Comrade Legasov, as the highest scientific representative of the Soviet government, you will not take any measurements on an open reactor yourself. General Pikalov's men are skilled enough to carry out these measurements on your instructions."

Legasov took a breath to object to this instruction, but Shcherbina already rumbled the final order in his direction: "We will organize whatever is necessary from here. We have enough men and material. There will be no further discussion."

"Then I'll do it," the general concluded curtly, and although his position was probably no less important than Legasov’s, Shcherbina was satisfied with this decision.

A makeshift command tent served as their temporary retreat while they waited for the man Legasov had sent out alone into uncertain danger on an unprecedented front. It was Legasov's task to gain a scientifically based understanding of the situation, not to delegate forces. The last light of day disappeared together with the general from the camp, as did Legasov's hope that he might have been wrong after all.

Legasov sat alone at one end of the sparsely lit tent, no longer surrounded by the soldiers from Moscow, but directly in front of the broad-shouldered Ukrainian grey wolf, who paced nervously up and down. So unlike the slumped Legasov, Shcherbina looked threatening and aggressive even in this state. No soldiers were needed to keep Legasov under control, not under the watchful eye of a man like Shcherbina. Although Legasov was not a small man, he felt tiny here at the Ukrainian's feet, waiting for the inevitable. Even the beast Boris Shcherbina was no match for their nuclear enemy, the politician just didn't understand that yet. Legasov understood and tormented himself more with every passing second with the thought that he was putting human lives at risk with everything he was doing or proposing here. Shouldn't he protect Shcherbina, or the general and his men? Explain to them that they were dealing with an event that would be etched on human memory like the fall of Pompeii, and that they had just been sent into the maw of an erupting volcano?

Legasov felt how he was poisoning himself with this knowledge. How despair penetrated him, eating its way from his heart to his fingertips, as inevitable as the bullets he had spoken about to Shcherbina. He clutched at his own hands, seeking support in this storm of knowledge and fear, while the poison took effect, his head throbbed and his stomach rebelled.

The report of the general's return had barely been spoken by one of his soldiers when Shcherbina rushed past him.

Where he got this energy from was a mystery to Legasov. He himself gulped down his nausea one more time before sneaking after Shcherbina to hear the words he had been dreading since his arrival at the Kremlin: 15,000 roentgens.

Those were words that contradicted Soviet beliefs to such an extent that their reality called into question that of an entire political system. They were not a temporary problem or attack, they were impossible.

Again, Shcherbina turned to Legasov for help. As if a single man could overcome the impossible. But Valery Legasov was a scientist; it was in his nature to see the possible in the impossible and look for solutions.

"Boron and sand."

It was the answer to a question that had never been asked before, and neither Legasov nor anyone else could know for sure whether it would be enough or whether it would work at all. And in Moscow, enough of his colleagues were waiting to tear his every decision apart in order to demonstrate their own superiority in the face of his failure. But here and now it was the right thing, the reasonable thing to do, the logical response of a chemist to the destructive power of the chaotic elements that his science had promised to control.
Shcherbina did not question his competence, even simply accepted his estimate of 5000 tons.

But Shcherbina's tolerance and trust towards the scientist's recommendations had its limits, which were reached with the demand for a fast evacuation of Prypiat. Unspoken rules of statesmanship, ignored by Legasov and unchangeable for Shcherbina, turned scientist and politician into adversaries once again.

"You know just as well as I do that we can't simply evacuate thousands of people without any radiation readings," the politician hissed, only making Legasov angrier, who was unwilling to discuss radiation limits with an apparatchik in front of an open reactor core.

“Is it or is it not your decision?” Legasov finally snapped at the only person who seemed to be on his side at the moment, his composure overshadowed by concern for the tens of thousands of inhabitants of the area who had been at the mercy of a deadly radioactive cloud for hours.

Legasov's lack of restraint was inevitably followed by Shcherbina's irascibility, which easily exceeded anything Legasov had to offer in terms of verbal confrontation.

Once again, Legasov stumbled in disorientation over the rough terrain that was Boris Shcherbina's benevolence.

5000 tons of sand and boron. At least the Ukrainian didn't argue about this promise.

Perhaps, Legasov thought, alone there in the dark, left behind by his angry personal guard, Shcherbina was more than just some Moscow bureaucrat after all.

Despite all the difficulties involved in dealing with a man like Boris Shcherbina, Legasov quickly realized that he didn't feel one bit better when being left to his own devices.
The sprawling hotel lobby, barely illuminated by subdued lighting, the evening bustle among the revellers, the terribly banal normality in the face of a catastrophe unprecedented in human history crashed down on Legasov and there was no one at his side to share this contradiction. The absurdity of his situation exacerbated his embarrassment, his natural tendency towards an awkward demeanour. He wrung his hands, looked around nervously and concluded that the hotel bar and a few glasses of vodka could only improve his condition.

Legasov had never in his life been fond of alcohol, regardless of the occasion. He detested the burning taste and even more how it made his mind sluggish after a few sips. But if there was a good time to end this habit, it was now.

He could not so easily put aside his knowledge of the danger they were all exposed to; almost intimidated, he pointed to the upturned glasses and then drank the vodka in one gulp. The alcohol burned in his throat just as much as the weakly spoken lie. Another new habit for him, lying and deceiving to hide the idleness of those in charge. Was that his real purpose here? To be the expert, the scientist whose words would be trusted when he twisted the truth as the state deemed necessary?

"Legasov?"

Before the academic could fall further into despair at his new role as part of a political scaffold of lies, the gravelly, unmistakable voice of his political overseer thundered through the lobby, a voice Legasov had not expected to hear again that evening. Shcherbina was already standing behind him, critically scrutinizing the other guests, when Legasov turned to him, still lacking confidence, and looked at him questioningly. The politician gestured wordlessly towards the elevator. As Legasov clumsily rummaged in his pocket for a few roubles, Shcherbina growled something unintelligible and then preceded him by vigorously pushing some money onto the counter himself. Obediently and after thanking him with a nod, Legasov followed the request and was gently but firmly escorted by Shcherbina into the elevator and out of earshot of the other hotel guests.

"I'm sure you know," Shcherbina began at his side in the small and gloomy elevator cabin, his voice softer and quieter than Legasov had heard it before, "that you can come to me with any concerns, with anything you have to say about this... incident. You should. To no one else."

Legasov was not surprised that the politician obviously regarded him as an unpredictable security risk for political work. Yet Shcherbina considered him to be a better man than he was, one who did not endanger other people with his lies. He was more surprised and annoyed by the flimsy offer to talk, after the politician had put him in his place earlier in his very unmistakeable manner.

"Does it make a difference to talk to you? When the decisions have already been made."

Although he was not looking at Shcherbina but at the closed elevator door, he heard the other take a sharp breath and could almost feel Boris Shcherbina's authority filling the small room. It weighed on his shoulders like the lie that the politician had wrongly believed him incapable of.

"It will make a difference if you don't talk to me. I promise you that. And it shouldn't stop you from listening to what others have to say."

Shcherbina had not shouted his reply but delivered it almost calmly by his standards. His words did not need any vocal reinforcement to lend them weight. Dominance and authority were so inherent to the politician that they were a natural part of everything he did or said, even without using his hot temper. A quality that the desperate scientist currently envied. What use was all his knowledge if he couldn't convince anyone to follow his advice?

The elevator came to a halt and Legasov glanced almost shyly at Shcherbina between hanging shoulders. His gaze was already resting on the scientist in a way that made him flinch immediately. In these moments, Legasov wished he understood more of what was transpiring inside others: Shcherbina's anger was easy to interpret, but his silent attention, which suggested not disdain, but interest and some form of understanding, overwhelmed him. Perhaps he was too sensitive, or not sensitive enough, perhaps the politician was easy to see through and he himself was blind to the obvious. With all the certainty with which he was one of the only people here to understand the complex interaction of the elements of a destroyed reactor core, with just as much doubt he faced the no less complex mixture of forces that made up Boris Shcherbina.
There was no doubt that he had to work with this man somehow and that he would not earn the respect of the other by upsetting him with his every gesture.

Shcherbina, as the object of his new fundamental research, appeared unimpressed by his efforts to gain knowledge and waited for him in the empty hotel corridor, probably prepared to refute Legasov's next impertinence. The man was a giant with broad shoulders, in his long coat in the dark hallway he looked as inviting as the three-headed beast at the gate to the underworld, but Legasov followed him. After a few steps, the politician stopped and turned Legasov by the shoulder towards one of the hotel room doors.

"Your room, isn't it?"

Legasov looked puzzled at the brass-colored room number and then at the key, which he had almost forgotten in his pocket.

He nodded and wondered what he had done to earn Shcherbina's escort.

"Wait," the politician ordered and unlocked the door on the opposite side, behind which he disappeared without further explanation. After a few seconds he was back and handed Legasov a well-filled khaki-colored bag that the military had obviously provided them with. "You didn't bring anything from Moscow, I asked Pikalov's men to get the essentials."

Legasov blinked at the politician in disbelief, but cringed almost immediately as his own embarrassment caught up with him again, which Shcherbina attracted as consistently as his professional opposition.

"That... thank you..." Legasov stammered, not very eloquently, but instead of scorn, he received an understanding nod from Shcherbina.

"If you need anything else, just let me know."

So much was weighing on Legasov and his mind, there was no room for himself, and now Shcherbina, of all people, was taking care of his well-being. He would never have predicted this reaction of the element Boris Shcherbina, and by the end of this day he was in no condition to explain or question this process. He also recognized the first signs of exhaustion in Shcherbina's features under his practiced sternness and restraint, which had not prevented him from his unexpected gesture of care, in contrast to which Legasov felt even more inactive and meaningless.

"There's something else," Legasov began sheepishly, "that you should also know. The food here, like everything else, is contaminated and you should perhaps... we should resort to the military rations, or you should arrange for food to be brought from Kiev. And iodine tablets."

Shcherbina's gaze changed from skeptical to sympathetic, perhaps understanding the other's intention not to cause him more headaches, but to protect him from dangers he himself could not foresee.

"I'll take care of it."

With that, Shcherbina disappeared into his hotel room, directly opposite of Legasov's.

Behind the politician, the door fell shut, however the tension did not fall from Legasov's shoulders, but rather a thick veil of fear, doubt and hopelessness over him.

The light in his small room was as dim as his thoughts. He hastily lit a cigarette, took a quick drag and exhaled brokenly, without his worries dissipating in the semi-darkness like the smoke. After a few nervous steps, he sat down on the tiny bed appropriate to the room and collapsed there.
A few kilometers away from him, a reaction continued inexorably that had not only been ruled out so far, but for which no official or unofficial instructions existed. How was he supposed to rest while the achievement of his science was on fire and poisoning them all?
He took another deep drag from the cigarette and waited in vain for the usual calming effect. His hands would not stop shaking and he began to get angry. Not at those responsible for the power plant, their lies and excuses, or at Shcherbina, who put reasons of state above people's well-being, but at himself. Because he was supposed to show strength and determination, but he felt weak and incapable.
Tired, he sank deeper into the mattress and rubbed his eyes. When he looked up again, his gaze fell on the emergency supplies Shcherbina had obtained for him. What might be on the mind of his political overseer on a night like this? Did he feel just as alone? The politician seemed to think about everything, even the well-being of his recalcitrant scientific advisor, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. A real crisis manager who was able to channel his impetuous nature into more constructive ways to achieve his goals. And apparently these included caring for an ill-prepared Valery Legasov, who perhaps still had a thing or two to learn from the old Ukrainian wolf.

He took the last drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray on the small desk, which stood in front of a window with drawn curtains that Legasov didn't dare look behind. Instead of giving in to the urge for another cigarette, with the help of Shcherbina's purchases in the cool light of the bathroom, he prepared not to get a wink of sleep for the rest of the night.

He curled up in his small bed and felt the nightmare pressing its paws against his chest in the darkness in the guise of a grey wolf.

He was back in Moscow, in an unknown, dark room that offered no clue as to where he was. But he knew for certain that he had to be in Moscow. And he was not alone there, others were crowding around him, some of them taking no notice of him, some of them gathering around him. Their faces seemed to become more blurred the harder he tried to recognize them in the darkness.

But again, he knew just as well that he was familiar with these people, that they were important and that he had to listen to them.

"Why him?"

"He's their favorite, their showpiece."

"And what does he know about RBMK reactors?"

"The main thing is that he knows something about politics, doesn't he?"

"He gets involved in everything, the boy from the chemical outskirts."

"Very true, very true. But does he know enough about chemistry? Sand and boron?"

"Well," Legasov began, but was immediately interrupted.

"What about lead to stabilize the temperature and shield the radiation?"

"I'm sure they have large amounts of iron shot here for making concrete."

"If the temperature is too low to melt it, there's nothing to be gained. And if the temperature is too high, the lead will vaporize and contribute to additional contamination. Sand might heat it up even more."

"Will they even hit the active zone? Between all the debris? Probably the only thing it will do is stir up more radioactive particles. The core will burn itself out. "

The figures murmured in agreement, then fell silent. Legasov felt their gazes boring into him, the responsibility crushing him, the responsibility he was condemned to bear all alone in the eyes of wise and powerful men. His heart raced and a fever rose in him, burning in his veins. But suddenly the faceless figures backed away.

"What shall we do, Legasov?" growled a deep, rough voice, so unmistakable that it sounded familiar after only the few hours they had spent together. The wolf stepped up to his side, replacing the sharp words with sharp fangs and claws of which Legasov didn't know if he had to fear them equally.

The first faint light of day crept between the curtains into Legasov's room and he tried to compensate for the lack of sleep with more cigarettes after squeezing into the previous day's clothes, which they probably should have buried somewhere instead. A knock on the door interrupted his efforts to prepare for a battle that had long since been lost. He was expecting Shcherbina, who rudely and angrily informed him of today's agenda, but a young, somewhat out-of-place-looking soldier with a tray in his hands was waiting for him at the door. The two remained silent for a moment, Legasov too tired to mentally process this appearance, the soldier waiting for the Moscow scientist to precede him in his explanation.

"Comrade Shcherbina has ordered us to bring you some of our rations," the soldier finally remarked, visibly doubting that a military ration was an appropriate breakfast for a high-ranking political visitor from Moscow.

"Thank you very much," Legasov replied hoarsely and accepted his breakfast with no lesser astonishment. Not because he expected a more appropriate meal; unlike the soldier, he knew very well that there was no better meal to be had under the circumstances at the moment. But because he could hardly believe how Boris Shcherbina was once again taking care of him personally and this time even following a recommendation that Legasov had made. He had been thinking less of himself than of the politician, who had no way of knowing what danger he had put himself in. But Shcherbina did not miss the opportunity to make it clear who was looking after whom.

Back in his room, at the small desk, Legasov inspected his breakfast, which consisted of greyish porridge - kasha - biscuits, tea and two small white tablets. It was less his appetite or belief that it would really make a difference to their health than his conscience towards a well-intentioned gesture that made him try some of the war rations. At least the slimy mass tasted sweet and not like chicken or pork, but his stomach still protested, ungrateful and outraged that Legasov would dare to try to eat something in this situation. He put the wrapped cookies aside and swallowed the tablets with the equally sweet, lukewarm tea.

Did the politician hope to gain anything from luring Legasov like a shy animal? What could the scientist offer the Kremlin's wolf anyway? What couldn't the predator simply take by force? He thought of the two liars who had welcomed them here, and how Shcherbina had immediately overpowered them with Legasov’s own rebellious words. Taking advantage of the strengths of others at the right moment certainly made him a capable statesman, but looking after a rebellious scientist did not seem to Legasov to be a useful quality in the struggle for political survival.
It would have been easier if Shcherbina had had the mercy to be exactly the callous careerist that Legasov thought he immediately recognized him as.

Thoughtfully he played with the lighter between his fingers and fell back into the same nervous posture that was so inherent to the element Legasov.