Chapter 3

General Grigor did not believe the soviets lost the space race. They won -but reality cheated them. Everyone knew the Moon was just an empty rock. The Soviets knew from their astronomers and sci-fi books that a greater prize awaited them: Venus. And just like the Spaniards bringing Christianity to a New Land, they too would spread The Revolution to new habitable worlds. Several Venera craft were built in secret, in preparation for the first wave. When the first probes sent back a few photographs before melting in the Venetian atmosphere, most of these were destroyed. 

The Cockpit was - in a sense - Gregory's summation of The Soviet Experiment. That, for the sake of the present, the nightmares of the past, and lies of the future would die together. And if it was not clear enough, he entombed his foolish, fraternizing daughter inside it.

Frost has already built itself around Vladimyr. The cockpit was already insufferably cold; there was no reason to keep power in. The crew came up through the portal. First Lugal, who didn’t mind melting from a critical failure. The Erzsebet, who, in a sense, already did. Then Svetlana, who saw herself as being the one with the most to lose. They hovered around Vladimyr and Svetlana. Vladimyr was the only one who knew how the craft worked; Svetlana knew how it didn’t.
“You tripped on something again on your space walk.” Svetlana snarled.
“It’s a sensor alarm. The sensors are far away from the bloodwarmer,” Vladimyr responded calmly.
“Then turn it off! The sound is painful.” Lugal bellowed as the sound echoed in the room, almost carrying a biting breeze with it.

“I will not turn it off. Not until I learn what it is.” Vladimyr did not look at the figure behind him as he spoke to him. Instead patiently troubleshot the connected array of buttons and dials.

“You sorcerers and your instruments.” Lugal scoffed.

It was Svetlana’s turn to bark, “Then do not follow us here. Return to your stone coffin, and sleep for another century.” Her hair formed a tail around her like a comet.

Vladimyr poured through the cabinets to find a roll of paper that had not been used for mystic bindings, erotic journals, or poetry. He found one clean enough to make a readout printable and placed it into the machine. Svetlana looked out of the browned windows and scoffed in disgust, but not surprise.

“This is not moving like a comet.” Vladimyr said out loud.

“Then what could it be?” Lugal asked.

“I don’t know, but we should move out of the way. Svetlana-”

“No!” she said as she threw the readings back at Vladimyr. Svetlana dived towards the radio and furiously moved wires and knobs. None responded.
Erzsebet tried to comfort her with a touch on the leg, and she pulled it in. She shook the machine as she did so.

“Still believe in your people’s myths.” Lugal mocked. “Are we being hailed by the Red-star people?”

“Shut up.” Svetlana muttered.

“You should abandon such irrational fantasies. Space people are myths your leaders made up, to give legitimacy to their kings.”

“There is no need to waste power on this, Svetlana.” Vladimyr added.

“SHUT UP!” Svetlana screamed over the sensor. “I don’t care, someone needs to hear us! And get me out of here!”

The sensor alarm went silent, and the lights flickered off.

“Distress call sent,” Svetlana said triumphantly. Letting her pride outlast the silence.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, a brownish yellow light glowed on.

“We are being hailed.”

The craft suddenly felt smaller, warmer, more cramped. Lugal and Erzsebet tried to find a way to stand up straight. Svetlana patted her hair down. Vladimyr looked at the transmission.

“That’s not a soviet signature,” Vladimyr said while reading the rolling numbers on the dial.

“Of course it isn’t.” Svetlana spat back. “It’s been centuries. The Soviet Government has achieved its purpose by now. The state would have withered away.”

“Dead kingdoms don’t wither; they bloat,” Lugal scoffed, for once Svetlana didn’t care to fight him. Instead preparing a voice transmission.

“Allo, allo, this is a distress call, please respond, sending coordinates.”

“Perhaps it is a different civilization entirely?”

“No!” Svetlana refused. A call rattled in.

“Saluton! Saluton! Ĉi tie estas Mondŝipo 34” Came the warbled voice of a man at the other end of the line.

“What on earth are they saying? Do you speak Russian? Parlez-vous français? You speak English? Yes?”

The masculine voice at the end of the line was silent, then a feminine voice came at the end. A voice both bubbly yet flat; warm, yet tinny.

“It seems you do not understand Esperanto; you may speak Russian with me. I am Cassandra, the ship’s navigator. My scanners indicate there are no living entities on board. Captain would like to know your status and origin.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Svetlana asked.

“I’m afraid your ship conflicts with most known records.” Said Cassandra. “The sensors show resembles abandoned craft belonging to the “You ezes arh,” a political entity from Year negative One Six One to Year Negative Eight Seven. But no records exist of ships capable of interstellar flight.”

Svetlana was dumbstruck hearing the cryptic epitaph.

“Curse your father again, little Isha.” Lugal chuckled, “If it wasn’t for him, you could have been there to see it. No performative wails?”

Erzabet pounced on the shaking vampire woman in an embrace. Vladimyr took over communications without much thought for either Svetlana or their former captors.

“We were an experimental craft. There are four on board.”

“Where are you headed?” Their captain seemed to ask, which Cassandra repeated.

“Our navigation computer has broken down. We are off course and without supplies. We would like to request a rescue mission.”

“I told the captain that you were a secret project, and he seemed intrigued. We would like to invite you on board.”

“They are inviting us on?” Lugal asked incredulously. Even Svetlana stopped at the words.

Lugal retrieved an old bronze knife from his pocket and began to scrape at the windows of the landers, Pockets of grime and caked dust flying off.

The ancient king gasped. “What is that thing? I have seen islands, smaller!” Like a giant tendril, it reached out to them, and their small craft was caught in its orbit. What seemed to be a bee swarm was excreted from a crater on the craft and swam towards them.

“Who are you?” Svetlana asked. “Where are you from?”

“We are The Worldship Djay Eph Qay, a peaceful exploration vessel.”

“We do not have enough space suits to make it to your craft. Is it possible to stage a rescue mission?”

“Spacesuits?” Cassandra asked. Oh, no need. We will bring you aboard. We can’t seem to find a heartbeat, so the captain has authorized me to bring all organic matter on board.”“What?”

“Scanning. Please remain still.”

A bright light burns from the inside of Vladimyr’s eye. Erzsebet breaks her mouth open in a scream. For a moment there is only blackness. As though the inside of his eyes blinked.
The next moment, Vladimyr saw himself and his crewmates standing in a large room. The air smelled sweet. Filtered and fragrant with artificial scents. His body buckled from the weight of his own body. He looked up, only to see piles upon piles of frozen blood from the ship’s stores piled above them.

“Biodanĝero! Atento!” Cassandra called out. “Biodanĝero! Atento! Biodanĝero! Atento!”

“ Estas Bone. Kasandra, sendu la purigantrojn.” Spoke the masculine voice heard over the radio.

Cassandra ended her mantra as Vladimyr saw a swarm of small insects emerge from several vents.

He and the others were swarmed with flies and ants. They crawled around him and the space around him. Lugal roared, swatting at them, crushing them, but more came. They ate their clothes, they ate the dead skin, they ate the grime under their fingernails and between the scalp. Even the pulp Lugal made of other insects. They ate it all, and Vladimyr was helpless against small nibbles and microsensations as they poured over him. 

Soon the area around them was clean. The blood was gone, and so were their clothes. The hood that held Erzebet’s hair was gone, revealing her singed hair. On the same side was her melted and cracked form. She fell over, but not before being rescued by an athletic young man with jet-black hair and a form-fitting body suit.

“Bonvenon al la Mondŝipo.” Said the man to the two women.