Lenin of The Stars E-Book

Robert Jeschonek

• Herausgeber: Pie Press
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Lenin came from outer space! He and his fellow shape-changing aliens bring communism to Earth, hoping to teach galactic harmony to violent humanity. Communist aliens posing as legendary leaders steer great nations through the turbulent history of the Twentieth Century. But changing times and surprising turnarounds lead the aliens to fight a secret civil war among their own ranks. When the alien Lenin and his beloved Irina end up on opposite sides, they have no choice but to battle to the death...or start a new revolution that might just sweep the stars. Don't miss this exciting tale by award-winning storyteller Robert Jeschonek, a master of unique and unexpected science fiction that really packs a punch.

Leseprobe

Lenin of The Stars

A SCIFI STORY

ROBERT JESCHONEK

Contents

Also by Robert Jeschonek

Lenin of The Stars

About the Author

Special Preview: Six Scifi Stories Volume Four

LENIN OF THE STARS

Copyright © 2023 by Robert Jeschonek

www.bobscribe.com

Cover Art Copyright © 2023 by Ben Baldwin

www.benbaldwin.co.uk

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved by the author.

Published by Blastoff Books

An Imprint of Pie Press

411 Chancellor Street

Johnstown, Pennsylvania 15904

www.piepresspublishing.com

Subscribe to the Blastoff Books Newsletter: http://newsletter.blastoffbooks.net

Also by Robert Jeschonek

100th Power Book 1

100th Power Book 2

100th Power Book 3

Blastoff!

Cosmic Conflicts

Gray Lady Rising (with Annie Reed)

In a Green Dress, Surrounded by Exploding Clowns and Other Stories

In the Empire of Underpants and Other Stories

Battlenaut Crucible

Scifi Motherlode

Sticks and Stones: A Trek Novel

Lenin of The Stars

As we sit on the terrace in the oppressive jungle heat, I slide a shot of crystal clear vodka across the glass table.  The man who was once Senator Joseph McCarthy taps the rim with one index finger and chuckles.

"Come on now."  He shakes his head, smirking.  "You know I don't touch that stuff, Vladimir."

I shrug and throw back my own shot.  Feel the burn rolling down my throat like a slow-motion solar flare.  "I've had lots of names," I say as I pour another. "Why do you insist on calling me by that one?"

"Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov."  McCarthy says it with grand sarcasm.  "You'll always be Lenin to me."

"Ha."  I down the second shot and clap the glass on the table.  "And you'll always be an incompetent fear-mongering bastard to me."

"You talk like I didn't just kill your hand-picked Red Guard."  He gestures at the twelve charred corpses strewn about the terrace.  Five are still smoking in the blazing mid-morning sun. "Like it isn't just you and me here now."

I smile and raise the vodka bottle.  The rays of the sun play through it on my face, refracted by the uneven crystal.  "How 'bout if I drink you for it?" I shake the bottle. "I'll drink you for the revolution."

Something screeches in the treetops (bird, cat, monkey?) and McCarthy stops smirking.  "You've led your last revolution, Lenin. End of story." He spreads his hands, exposing the octagonal barrels of the fusion guns mounted in his palms.

"And what if I'm not done here?"  This time, I drink my shot straight from the bottle.

"Don't you think you've done enough to screw up this planet?  And ours?"  McCarthy aims his fusion guns at my head.  "You're done, all right. Just as soon as we clear up some unfinished business."

I watch a flock of flamingos drift up into the turquoise sky.  The scene reminds me of our homeworld, thousands of light years away.  "What might that be?"

"I need to know where she is," says McCarthy.  "Where is Irina?"

I laugh and shake my head, unwilling to tell him the truth.  Because the truth is, I don't know where the love of my life has gone.

* * *

The first time I met Irina, I was blown away by how beautiful she was.  The purple-and-green-tinted crystalline clusters of her body glittered in the auditorium's ever-flowing fireworks.  Two of her six multifaceted eyes were silver, and four were gold, a mark of great passion and intelligence. Even her parasites had a special look about them as they danced around her body, multicolored tongues of flame weaving in and out of her vent slits.

I was never the same after that first glimpse of her.  I had never seen anyone so beautiful in all my life.

"I believe we can help the humans."  Those were the first words I heard her say.  "I believe our way of life can change their world for the better and make them civilized enough to be welcomed into the community of worlds."

This was one of our pre-mission briefings on the homeworld.  Sixty-five of us in one room, getting ready to take another crack at the problem children of the galaxy--human beings.  Other species had tried and failed to help humanity get its act together, but we honestly believed we'd be different.

To tell you the truth, just watching and listening to Irina was enough to make me believe with all my hearts.

"It's not their fault, you know."  Irina (her name wasn't Irina then, it was unpronounceably alien) glided around the stage as images of human violence flickered in the air above her.  "They've evolved in a hyper-competitive ecosphere. 'Eat or be eaten' is written deep in their genetic code."

"And it's up to us to teach them how the rest of the galaxy lives."  As I spoke, I hoped she wouldn't pick up on the nervous quaver in my voice.

"Share and share alike, yes."  Irina smiled. "No more 'dog eat dog,' as the humans say."

"What about 'kill or be killed?'"  This time, it was the one who later became Joseph McCarthy who spoke--all ice blue crystals swirling with pink tongues of flame.  Even then, he was a contrarian. "What if the humans kill us all as part of their 'ecosphere?'"

"As you know," said Irina, "they won't see us as beings from another world.  We'll be altered to look like them."

McCarthy made a disparaging sound like pebbles clacking together in a glass vase.  "And you don't think that will increase our chances of being killed?"

"Not for we brilliant few."  Irina's voice was full of conviction.  Her green and purple clusters pulsed with an electric neon tinge.  "Not for those of us with all that's right and just on our side. Not for the denizens of the galactic workers' paradise."

With that, sixty-four of us went wild in the auditorium, singing and clattering with inspired elation.  Passing silvery gellid packets of pure, noble emotion back and forth. At least in my case, inspired by pure and growing love.

Only McCarthy stood apart and pouted, a clear sign he should have been drummed out of the mission.  But Irina always said we crystal saviors needed all facets to catch the light.

Though the truth is, a single cracked facet can ruin the view completely.

* * *

It was the happiest day of my life.

A massive movement of people swelled the streets of Petrograd, Russia, flowing down every byway in an irresistible human tide.  The roar of cheers and song filled the cold October air, the sound of change rising amid the ancient onion-domed towers.

Change that we had brought into being.

Irina's hands slid up over my shoulders.  "We've done it," she said. "We've begun the world revolution."

I turned from the window and swept her into my arms.  "Yes, milaya moya."  I called her that for the first time, called her my sweet.  And then I did something else for the first time, too.  "Ya tebya lyublyu."  I love you, I said, and then I kissed her.

She did not push me away.

The moment washed over me, and I reveled in it.  My makeshift pseudo-human heart thundered in time with the marching feet outside my window.

I had traveled thousands of light-years from my homeworld to get to this moment.  I had toiled five decades on Earth in a myriad of human identities to make this happen, as had all of us.  Now here I was, in the Earth year 1917, playing the role of a human named Lenin, calling history's shots from my headquarters in the Smolny Institute in Petrograd.

Kissing the greatest love I'd ever known outside my service to humanity and the universe.

"Laskovaya moya."  Irina said it in a whisper.  She kissed me again, then leaned back to gaze at me with dancing green eyes.  "Your timing is auspicious, my darling. Our greatest work is yet to come."