ŘƏĐ PŁÆÑƏŢ

Part VII: All Quiet On The Martian Front

The unceasing storms of red dust wore down the machinery. A random solider was forced at gun point to keep the machines running. The dig team was, even with their machines, worked to exhaustion daily. Only a handful of people were relaxing in the observation deck of the spaceship that had brought them here. Stalin sat naked stroking his mustache as Castro cuddled against him in the cold indifference of the dead planet. Neither spoke as they sat starring at their subjects below toiling in the martian soil. Castro found the sight to be so very romantic, but Stalin starred with his usual purpose and ambition.

"Stally. Honey. Do you love me?"

Stalin continued to stare indifferently at the purposeless skeletons dawned in spacesuits down in the dirt below. They're pain and sweat was almost to much for Stalin to bare as he found human suffering highly erotic. They all worked hard, if they didn't he would shoot them for wasting the precious community oxygen. The hard workers, of course, received the same amount of oxygen as the slightly slower ones and so, inevitably, they're increased rate of oxygen consumption would kill them. Everything would kill them, but it was for the good of the state and their brethren back home.

"Stally! Stally!"

Stalin turned indifferently to his lover sprawled across his abdomen. His face remained expressionless.

"Do you love me?"

Stalin turned back to the erotic suffering. "Of course I do, Castry dear." His monotone voice reflected the indifference of his face. Castro was beginning to feel upset at his lovers lack of attention for him. Stalin always did this. But he knew his lover well enough to know that after a day of gorging on suffering, that it would be himself suffering in their private quarters tonight. Castro got tingles from the thought of it.

"Lord Stalin!" Two soldiers came in dragging a third who had clearly been exposed to the martian atmosphere by the large crack in his visor. "I'm afraid we've had a bourgeoisie in our midst this whole time." This got Castro and Stalin's attention. "This swine-" They tossed the gasping wretch on the floor. "-has been selling a portion of his food rations for oxygen, and he's been making a profit! He said, 'I need the oxygen, because I work harder than everyone else.', so I took intiative and broke his suit." Stalin had moved towards the man on the floor, but when he heard this he quickly pulled a gun from the soliders holsters and killed the solider who had been speaking. His body fell with a gas leaking whistle.

"Now, now. We can't have anyone damaging suits, even for good reasons like this." He wiped the blood splatter from his face, finally smiling. "Now, how about you? Was everything that man said true?" He kicked the swollen faced bourgeoisie in the face. There was a long pause filled with gasping breaths and coughing up blood.

"Yes... Lord... Stalin... It was... all... true." Every time the man paused for a breath he coughed up blood.

"Well, well, well. We can't have any bourgeoisie contaminating the purity of our divine mission."
Stalin was interrupted by a dig team member who came running into the room.

"Lord Stalin! We've done it! The temple is found! Well have an entrance broken open in only a moment. Do come quickly." With that the dig team member ran back to his post, knowing that if he wasn't working when Lord Stalin got there that he would be executed.

"Well, it looks like your lucky day, Mr. Bourgeoisie. I'm going to let you live for the time being." Stalin ripped the helmet off the still whistling carcass of the incompetent solider and tossed it to the swollen swine.

"Thank... you... Lord... Stalin." He put on the helmet and waited till he could muster a whole sentence. "And my name is Fyodor Dostoevsky."

"Well, Fyodor. Let's go see this temple."

"Castry dear, go fetch the divine relic. It's light will guide us to the crypt." Stalin spoke clearly while dawning his own suit and Castro left obediently.

When they arrived at the temples exposed shell, the dig team had already opened a good sized whole in the green stone. It glistened dully in the bright martian sun. Stalin pressed a gun to Fyodor's back and walked him to the entrance.
All was black immediately within the temple.

"How deep is it?"

"We don't know."

Stalin pushed Fyodor into the vast emptiness. All was quiet. There was no crashing sound detected by the suits microphones. Then a loud fleshy gurgling and screams roared up from the temple at an impossible volume. As the sound faded another grew. It was the sound of harmonious machines turning below. A dim light grew below. A Skeleton flew up from the crypt and smashed against the martian soil. A loud belch erupted from below. A look of terror spread over everyone's face. All except for Stalin, of course.

"It's just as the relic for told. Get men with lanterns down there immediately. If the relic is correct the temple will be massive. It could take us months to find the crypt."

"But Lord Stalin, what about the beast?"

"The relic told me that only the most pure communists will be spared by the beast. The beast should not be feared by those who are worthy." He spun around. "You are all worthy, aren't you?"

There was a stillness amongst the crowd of on duty workers and soliders. The martian sand tossed violently against the still and silent crowd. No one moved a muscle. Stalin stood near the entrance to the temple atop a hill of sand with Castro clutching at his side. No one said anything for a long time. They all new that they faced the possibility of death on an even greater scale than before. Finally, one of the men spoke.

"No one is worthy, Lord Stalin. This mission was in vain. No man among us can say he is both alive and communist. You can either kill the dead who are worthless, but who serve you, or the living who are not, but will not. Communism has fai-"

The gunshot pierced the rebels sentence, as well as his skull. Then in the infinite stillness it was all quiet on the martian front.