Lenin of the Stars Read online

  But I wasn't about to let it stop me. My hands connected, throwing her over backward, sending the gun flying from her grip. We hurtled to the floor, pulling a desktop TV set down with us.

  The TV burst to smithereens on the hardwood, spraying us with glass shrapnel. Irina flailed underneath me, using all the mass of her Krushchev disguise to try to throw me.

  But I would not be dislodged. I shifted my own form again, changing from an athletic young man to an obese middle-aged one, pressing her down with my greater weight.

  "Irina!" Holding her down, I shifted the flesh of my shoulder. Out popped the bullet, ending my pain. "Stop and listen to me!"

  She kept thrashing, fighting to break free. "Get off! Let go!"

  "You are subverting the cause of the interstellar revolution!" I said. "The community of worlds will not condone your actions!"

  Irina bucked and squirmed, scowling with rage. "The situation is under control!"

  "You're wrong!" I said. "U.S. forces are at DEFCON 2. Kennedy's about to attack."

  "He's bluffing!" said Irina.

  "If you don't pull your missiles out of Cuba, there will be worldwide nuclear war tomorrow." I locked eyes with her, dead serious. "Humanity will be exterminated or close to it within days."

  Irina shook her head. "You don't understand. We've been negotiating with the Americans through back channels. We're close to a breakthrough!"

  "Listen to yourself!" I said. "You're willing to risk the extinction of all humankind. You'd sacrifice the very proletariat we've come to set free!"

  "It won't come to that," said Irina.

  "But it could. Taking the world to the brink like this makes it possible."

  "It's always possible on this throwback planet," said Irina. "We're working to make it less possible."

  "So it won't bother you?" I said. "Being responsible for the annihilation of an entire species?"

  "You should talk. How many millions of humans have you condemned to death in the name of the People's Republic of China?"

  "There's a big difference between purging and extinction."

  "Which won't matter, because the Americans are about to capitulate," said Irina.

  Just then, heavy footsteps marched into the room. "Premier Krushchev!" A thickly built silver-haired man in an olive drab and red uniform gaped in alarm at the wreckage.

  Hastily, I took on the shape of an official I'd knocked out on my way to Irina's office. "The Premier tripped and fell," I said as I helped Irina to her feet. "Are you all right now, sir?" said the uniformed man.

  "Yes, I'm fine, Boris." Irina dusted herself off. "You're here because of the noise, I suppose?"

  "No, sir," said Boris. "I have a message from Intelligence." He stopped talking and stared at me.

  "Go ahead." Irina waved dismissively in my direction. "Comrade Sergei is cleared to hear such information."

  "Yes, sir." Boris glanced my way once more, then focused on Irina. "Our forces in Cuba have shot down an American U-2 spy plane."

  "Oh?" Irina leaned forward on the desk. "The pilot?"

  "Dead," said Boris. "And the Americans have shut down the back channel talks."

  Irina took a breath and slowly released it. Her whole body stiffened. "Permanently?" she said.

  "Unknown at this time," said Boris. "However, Intelligence confirms that the U.S. is about to launch an attack."

  "On Cuba," said Irina.

  "And the motherland," said Boris. "War is imminent."

  "I see." Irina closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

  "Premier." Boris took off his cap and took a step forward. "The defense ministers agree it is time to exercise the preemptive strike option."

  "I understand." Irina cleared her throat. She shot me a look, then sat down on the edge of the desk.

  "The ministers await your orders," said Boris.

  "Soon enough." Irina waved him off. "I wish to weigh the options first, General."

  Boris hung there for a moment, expectant, then saluted. "I'll be just outside, Premier Krushchev."

  "Thank you," said Irina.

  With that, Boris spun and headed for the door...only to stop midway and turn. "We will bury them, sir," he said. "Just as you once promised." Then, he snapped back around and marched out of the office.

  When he'd pulled the doors shut behind him, Irina slumped and shook her head. Without a second thought, I put my arm around her shoulders.

  "What happened to me?" Her voice was slow and distant. "How did I get like this?"

  "We've been away from home a long time," I said. "Maybe we've started to think like the humans."

  Irina was silent for a long moment, staring at the shattered TV set on the floor. I wanted to comfort her, make everything better, but I was also acutely aware that time was running out.

  "What next?" I said.

  She sighed and slid off the edge of the desk. "Try to stop this, if we still can. Give the Americans what they want and hope for the best."

  Irina walked around the desk, straightening her jacket and tie, and I followed. "Let me help," I said.

  "You can't," said Irina. "I have to undo my own mistakes."

  I headed her off at the door. "Then come with me when it's over." Reaching out, I took her hand. "We'll get away from all this."

  "Thank you." Irina squeezed my hand and gazed sadly into my eyes. "But I have more to do now than I ever imagined." With that, she pulled her hand from my grip and reached past me for the door handle.

  "You deserve some time away," I said. "You've already done so much."

  "Yes." Irina smiled ruefully. Her dark eyes held no trace of happiness. "And I'm starting to think that every last bit of it was wrong."

  *****

  As soon as the spy slipped me the microfilm, he gasped and crumpled to the sidewalk. A pool of dark crimson spread out around him, radiating from his head.

  I didn't wait around to look for the bullethole. Leaping into action, I charged across the street and down an alley, stuffing the microfilm in my pants pocket on the fly. Footsteps clattered on the cobblestones behind me as I ducked into the cheering crowd up ahead.

  Heart hammering, I fought my way through the mass of spectators watching the street. No one paid me much attention; all eyes were focused on the men and bulls stampeding down the main drag in the searing July heat.

  One thought swirled in my mind as I struggled through the crowd: who had leaked the rendezvous details to the West? Who had known I'd be receiving the microfilm in Pamplona, Spain during the Running of the Bulls?

  At least I had a chance of getting away with it. There were plenty of ways to use the crowds and chaos against my pursuer.

  Also ways for my pursuer to use them against me. As I plowed forward, a bullet punched through the head of a man in front of me. He dropped dead in my path, knocking me back into a crush of spectators.

  As I disentangled myself, another shot whistled past my head and blasted into a woman's chest. People screamed and ducked, giving me my first clear look at the shooter.

  And I gasped. The face was unfamiliar--a young woman with long, black hair--but the scent was unmistakable. It was her...changed yet again, facing me once more in the heat of the Cold War. In the five years since her defection after the Cuban Missile Crisis, I'd battled her dozens of times in one way or another. She'd gone from communist leader to hands-on field operative fighting for the cause of capitalism and the red, white, and blue. From lover to arch-enemy.

  Irina.

  With an icy stare locked on her face, she swung up her gun and pulled the trigger twice. I leaped away before the shots could connect and sprinted into the street, joining the rush of runners and bulls.

  No time to stop and reason with her; I'd tried that before. Since nearly triggering the annihilation of humanity as leader of the Soviet Union, she'd been steadfast in her new cause. I knew she'd stop at nothing to snatch the microfilm and strike another blow against communism.

  As I raced down the street, a dark
-haired young man in white t-shirt and pants hurtled past me. Glancing back, I saw why he was running so fast: a monstrous black bull barrelled up behind me, huge horns gleaming white in the afternoon sun.

  The bull seemed to decide I was a better target, because it followed me when I veered. Whichever way I went, it galloped after me, heaving and snorting.

  As if I didn't have enough trouble to deal with, Irina fired more shots in my direction. A nearby runner cried out and dropped, head bouncing off the cobblestones.

  Dashing through the mayhem, I caught up with another bull up ahead. Clapping my hands on its haunches, I vaulted up onto its back and held tight, waiting for impact.

  Seconds later, the first bull rammed the second full force from behind. My mount stumbled around and went down hard; I barely sprang off in time to avoid being crushed.

  I still made a bad landing, though, twisting my ankle when I hit. Forcing back the flash of pain, I staggered into the crowd on the sidewalk.

  I managed to make it into an alley and braced myself against a wall. It took a few seconds to shapeshift away the damage to my ankle.

  Which was just enough time for Irina to get me.

  "Hello, Comrade." I heard her voice at the same instant I felt the gun barrel touch my left temple.

  "Irina." Turning my head, I gazed into the bright green eyes of her latest face.

  For a moment, I felt like we were back in Moscow again, fifty years ago, in 1917. I imagined our love was new and true once more, playing sweetly over the strains of the people's revolution.

  Then, she punched me in the stomach. "You have something that belongs to me." Her voice was cold.

  "I do," I said. "My heart."

  She punched me again, harder. "That microfilm could bring down America. I won't let that happen."

  "Stop fighting for the capitalists," I said. "Remember why we came here. Remember the galactic workers' paradise."

  "The corrupt communist system drove humanity to the brink of annihilation." Irina punched me again. "We thought a capitalist ideology was aggressive and self-destructive, but communism was the more ruthless and ravenous aggressor!"

  I shook my head against the barrel of her gun. "What about the interstellar revolution?"

  "There's a new one." Irina smiled. "An interstellar counter-revolution."

  "What?" I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

  "It's just gotten started," said Irina. "You'll see."

  "What kind of counter-revolution?"

  "Join us." Irina leaned closer. "Help us change the galaxy for the better. Help me change the galaxy, my darling."

  I had no idea what she was talking about. I had no reason to believe she felt any kind of affection for me at all.

  But as I stared at her, so close, so familiar, I longed to do what she asked. To do anything she asked of me, however insane or impossible it might be.

  Because I had never lost my love for her, and I never would. No matter how much she hurt me, I knew I could never give up on her.

  "Please." She leaned even closer. "We can be together like before. Blazing beacons shining light in the darkness." She drifted closer then, and her lips touched mine. For the first time in fifty years, she kissed me.

  In that moment, I nearly went with her. I almost joined the counter-revolution without knowing a thing about it.

  But something sparked within my good socialist soul, and I held back. "I cannot oppose the proletariat," I told her. "I am a servant of interstellar communism."

  Irina sighed. "Poor thing." She leaned forward once more and whispered in my ear. "Soon, there will be no interstellar communism for you to serve."

  With that, she shot me in the head.

  She dug the microfilm from my pocket and left me for dead. Which to our kind, is only dead for a little while. Even as she disappeared in the chaos of Pamplona, I began to reassemble the scattered bits of my human disguise. My shattered mind and senses began to reassert themselves.

  But the pain of what she'd done would last much longer than that.

  *****

  Thirty-seven years later, in the Earth year 2004, I was in the pilot seat of a fighter spacecraft, soaring through the bright blue sky over the Indian Ocean.

  Morning sunlight gleamed off my topaz crystalline clusters and multifaceted eyes. I'd reverted to my native form; it was the only way to handle the complex controls of the fighter, which was from my homeworld.

  And flying that fighter was the only way I could help win an interstellar war.

  Checking the holographic displays in the cockpit, I spotted my target down below. I manipulated controls, and the fighter dropped through the cloud deck.

  Emerging from the woolly clouds, I stared in stunned amazement at the tableau before me. Two huge vessels hung in the sky, vast starfaring warships from many light years away. As I watched, they fired enormous cannons, blasting each other with monstrous beams of fiery golden energy.

  Tiny fighter craft like my own swarmed all around the warships, spinning and swooping and shooting. One exploded in a burst of orange light, then another; a third tumbled out of control and cracked up against the side of one of the warships.

  So this was how civil war looked among the peoples of the interstellar workers' paradise. It was so much different from the hordes of humans hacking each other to bits in the mud with primitive weapons.

  And yet, it was so much the same.

  The war had been part of my life for years, of course. I'd seen plenty of action on Earth...but this was the first battle of this scope I'd been part of. I'd never seen anything like it in space, either, before coming to Earth. There hadn't been an interstellar war in millions of years, thanks to the lasting peace of the galactic revolution and workers' paradise.

  But that was before the counter-revolution. That was before the twisted ideas of Earth had infected the interstellar community.

  Suddenly, a flash of light seared across my forward shields, and I knew it was time to take action. Spinning my fighter counter-clockwise, I saw a gunboat coasting toward me like a big silver needle, artillery blazing.

  I let loose a few rounds from my fusion guns, then whipped around and hightailed it toward one of the giant warships. The gunboat stayed in pursuit part of the way, until a shockwave picked it up like a toy and hurled it off my tail.

  Finessing the controls, I closed in on the warship. I knew it was the enemy from its colors (red and black) and the symbols etched into its hull. It was a ship of the Capitalist Alliance, believers in the wealth of the few at the expense of the many...staunch enemies of the communists of the Interstellar Proletariat.

  They were my enemies, though they were no different in appearance than me. I'd come to kill them, though we'd originated from the same homeworld, maybe even the same city or street.

  Such was the legacy of the counter-revolution I'd first learned of thirty-seven years ago in Pamplona.

  Not that the reasons for the fight much mattered anymore. My mind was focused completely on reaching my goal and doing as much damage as possible to it.

  Flying forward, I threaded the maze of enemy fighters with weapons blazing. I banked and dove and twirled, eluding one opponent after another, leaving a trail of smoking and sputtering warcraft in my wake.

  Soon, the Capitalist Alliance warship loomed before me, gun batteries blasting in every direction but mine. For that moment, I had a clear path to a gash in the hull amidships, the perfect place to inject a fusion torpedo.

  Bearing down, I raced for the gash, calibrating a torpedo firing solution en route. Before I could release the payload, though, the enemy warship suddenly buckled and rolled in my direction.

  I pulled up as fast as I could, speeding out of the listing ship's shadow. Just as I cleared the crash zone, the mighty vessel keeled over, barely missing me.

  Then, with a series of massive explosions, it split in two. The fore and aft sections scissored apart...and the prow of the Proletariat warship plowed between them. The battered P
roletariat ship had brought the capitalists down by ramming them.

  But now both warships were heading for the sea.

  Instantly grasping the implications, I climbed for the cloud bank as fast as I could. It was time to gain some altitude, time to put as much distance as possible between my fighter and the impending splashdown.

  That was when the signal came in over my radio. A familiar voice broke through my furious focus.

  It was a distress call. "I'm going down! Help!" It was her call, the one call I couldn't refuse. Even after everything that had happened between us, I could never turn my back on her. "My escape pod won't eject! Please help me!"

  It was Irina.

  Zeroing in on her signal, I whipped around and shot seaward again. Even as the warships plunged toward what I knew would be a catastrophic impact, I dove down after them.

  Within seconds, I saw Irina's fighter spinning out of control, spewing plumes of black smoke. The engines were blown to hell, and the nose was mangled, which probably explained the problem with the escape pod.

  I had scant seconds to dislodge that pod. Even then, we'd both be doomed if we didn't instantly blast away at maximum speed.

  The enormous warships would hit the water soon, throwing out waves of titanic proportions. If we were really unlucky, the impact combined with the battle damage the ships had suffered would blow up one or both of their fusion reactor power plants.

  In which case, all bets were off.

  Swooping around Irina's fighter, I shot off the nose with an energy pulse from my guns. Then, swinging around, I blew off the tail behind her. The severed pieces of her fighter fell away, leaving the cockpit escape pod in its translucent housing cube.

  Just as the cube started to drop, the housing snapped away, blown free from inside by Irina. The propellant ring on the base of her ovoid pod flared to life, burning white hot, and the pod shot suddenly upward with Irina inside.

  I rocketed after her without looking back. Over the whine of my fighter's engines, I heard the thundering roar of the warships splashing down.

  Irina's pod leaped into the cloud deck, and I followed. We didn't dare slow down on the other side, in the open sky. Our survival depended on gaining as much altitude as possible.