Eternally young. And eternally waiting for the next battle. Because I’m Genrich, I age very slowly. When I look at my face, my mind tells me I should look older — and wiser for that matter. I guess I might look twenty-five, maybe twenty-seven, but I have lived more years than that.
I have chosen this profession, so I can’t complain. I chose it because, thanks to a combination of genetics and other skills, I am good at it. Of course it always helps to have a cause worth fighting for. In this age of nanobites and memory drugs, what often matters most are not high-tech skills but rather, as the poet said, the small, often unremembered, acts of kindness.