Revolution! Pt. 2

Flagg · **Posted:** Tue Aug 17, 2004 3:26 am

Here's Part 2. Thanks to Dmitry for his help with this...I did a little "favor" for him in return. Comments and constructive criticism, as always, are welcome!

Somewhere outside of Tikograd
Tikonov, Federated Commonwealth
6 January 3065

Petr floated in the black for a very long time. It was a deep, deep ocean, and he was drowning in it. It was cold, so very cold…

…and then an arm reached into the deep, and pulled him back into consciousness.

“….rade? Would you like one?”

Petr opened his eyes, then winced as harsh white light flooded into them. A slow, pounding pain lurked at the base of his skull like a predator, threatening to worsen if he aggravated it. His tongue explored his mouth, tasted dried blood, and discovered a molar missing on the right side of his lower jaw.

Sitting in front of him was a large, grizzled man; a fellow native, by the looks of it. He wore a thick, ill-fitted brown cloak, against which his ragged blond hair contrasted immensely. With his left hand he rubbed obsessively at a small wooden cross that hung around his neck, and with his right he held a burning cigarette.

“Here, comrade. Have a smoke.” He proffered the cigarette with a callused hand. “You look like [crap].”

“Nyet, I am fine.”

“Suit yourself, comrade. You looked like you needed one.” The man put the cigarette to his mouth, took a long draw, and then let the smoke spill over his lower lip like an overflowing tub.

Petr looked about his surroundings. They were basically three bare ferrocrete walls, metal bars on the fourth side, a ceiling with a light in it, and a hole in the corner from which arose a stench that immediately identified its purpose.

“No, comrade, I know what you are thinking. You will not…” The man stopped and took a puff of his cigarette. “…escape.”

“Where are we?” Petr asked.

The cigarette-smoking man chuckled. “You are dumber than you look, comrade. We are in a cell, of course.”

One of Petr’s eyebrow’s rose half an inch. “I know that. Where is this cell?”

“On Tikonov, of course.” The man grinned.

Petr groaned. “You are not very helpful, comrade. Who are you, anyway?”

The man took another long pull from his cigarette before he spoke.

“Dmitry,” he said, and the voice he spoke with made it sound as though it hurt him to say his own name.

“And you are here because…?”

“You ask too many questions, comrade.” Dmitry knocked his head back against the corner he sat in, and tossed aside his finished cigarette.

Petr simply shrugged, then leaned forward to look down the cellblock hall. It was short and spartan, and ended with a door and a barely-awake uniformed guard. Most of the cells were full of sleeping prisoners, who also appeared to be natives. He surmised, based on this, that it was nighttime.

Dmitry was busy in the corner, using a match to light yet another cigarette behind his cupped hand. He took a quick puff, dropped the spent match, and resumed incessantly squeezing his cross. Then he lazily turned his head toward the bars. “Guard! Are you still awake? I could escape at any moment, you know! You must keep alert!” He laughed quietly at his own taunting.

The guard stirred, then cocked his head at Dmitry’s harassment. “Be quiet, deserter. Your words are nothing to me.” He leaned forward and spat venomously.

“Ah, good sir, you are as charming as the rest of your comrades,” Dmitry said mockingly. “It is no wonder you are so loved by Tikonov’s people.”

The guard stood up and walked menacingly over to the cell, rifle slung his shoulder. Petr shrunk away from the bars. Dmitry made no move, only took another draw from his cigarette.

“The penalty for desertion is death, traitor,” snarled the guard, his heavy Lyran accent becoming more apparent. “You are lucky that we have decided to give you a trial. Otherwise, I would exact this punishment on you personally.”

Silence reigned over the cell for a moment, and it seemed that the threat had truly sunk through to Dmitry.

Then Dmitry leapt to his feet and gripped the bars so hard his hands turned white. The claws of fury gripped every aspect of his face, which was now mere centimeters away from that of the guard.

“You pathetic, worthless merchant scum. When the people of Tikonov truly revolt, they will wash over you like a tidal wave,” he growled. “And then no bloody sword, no iron fist will be able to stand in their way. Tikonov…will…be…free.”

The guard’s response was swift and harsh. The butt of the rifle swung forward, connecting hard with Dmitry’s stomach, who collapsed onto his side.

Dmitry spat blood, and glared up at the smirking guard. “Tikonov will…be free.”

He coughed up more blood, and crawled back to the corner. Petr watched the guard go back to his seat, then turned to Dmitry.

“Deserter, eh, comrade?”

Dmitry glared at him. “I am no deserter. I am a patriot. I could no longer stand by and watch my people oppressed by the foolish agendas of uncaring royalty. So I left the murderous Third Republican Guard, was caught doing so, and ended up here.” He grunted. “Satisfied?”

“Da, comrade.” Petr nodded. “I, too, worked to free Tikonov from the Steiners and Davions. But it no longer matters.”

“Do not lose hope, comrade. We are just, and in the end, the just will prevail in glorious revolution.” Dmitry now sounded genuinely concerned.

Petr snorted. “Do not delude yourself, comrade. Tikonov belongs to us no more than it does to the Steiners or Davions. It was here long before they arrived here, or even before our ancestors. It was here long before even Mother Russia, before humanity was even conceived. It will remain here still, long after all of us are gone.”

Dmitry shook his head. “It is our home, comrade. We made it. Our ancestors, they created the Tikonov we live in so that we might have a place to finally live in peace. Tikonov is not just planet, my friend; it is an ideal. It is an aspiration, a goal we must all strive for. Yet this marauding pack of Steiner-Davion dogs thinks it can take it from us. I will die before I allow this to happen.”

“However,” he continued, “there is no obvious way to escape from this place. So I have spent the last few days in prayer, in hope that the good and gracious Lord will bless me with an answer.”

“Well,” Petr said, rolling his eyes and sinking back against the wall, “you let me know if that works out for you, comrade.”

And suddenly, air raid sirens began to ring.

A cacophonous explosion shook the very ground itself. The lights overhead flickered, then died. And the electronic locks that held the cell doors shut suddenly switched off.

“Schiesse!”said the guard.

Dmitry looked at Petr with a look of triumph.

“It appears,” he said, grinning, “that we have been blessed.”

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