The Sacrificed

Do you know that feeling you get when something overwhelming happens? Something so inconceivable that you just can’t believe it is actually happening? That was me in a nutshell as my name and serial number flashed rhythmically across the massive blackish-green monitor.

The gentle hum of the round CRT screen that had only moments before permeated the silent square was overwhelmingly drowned out in the cascade of cheers that began erupting throughout the fervent crowd around me. It wasn’t any wonder why my dear comrades were cheering so loudly though, they were safe for another year longer, unlike myself.

As selfish as it might sound, I never imagined such a fate befalling me, the Overseer’s only child. I thought there was no way it could actually happen to me of all people; my hubris was as evident as the dumbfounded look on my round face when it was my name that came flashing across the screen.

It was my time to board the rocket.

It was my time to die.

Every year for the past century, the Overseer was tasked with hosting a sort of electronic lottery with all of the colonial citizens in the potential selection pool. That’s when one unlucky soul is chosen to send to the moon as an offering to appease whatever that vile deity that possessed it was. If an offering was not made, well, that’s when the inescapable wrath of the monstrous moon would be unleashed upon the populace of Planet Lenin-IV-B once more. 

While the Motherland was more than capable when it came to hiding this grim reality from our sister-colonies throughout the cosmos, the Marshal and the Overseer who were in direct control of the system were not afforded such a luxury. They faced the truth of the matter every time they stepped outside of the relative safety of the concrete walls surrounding the colony and looked up through the flickering orange oxygen purification ray, up past the swirling green skies to that cruel, cold rock that hung ominously overhead each night.

Initially there had been attempts to resist such a sacrifice with various propaganda and fiery speeches. The high-ranking members of the Soviet Colonial Program were on every frequency of the state-sanctioned media outlets, batting away the silly superstitions of the planet’s native populace, touting their atheistic ideals before giving them a first-hand education on the strength of the Neo-Communist spirit. 

For a while that approach seemed to be going splendidly, no further action was needed, nor taken on the matter. The native insurrection against Soviet occupation had been successfully quelled, and their surviving forces were added to work camps in a manner that was quickly becoming routine for the Liberation Forces. 

That’s when the status quo shifted, when our destiny was changed forever.

A year had passed before the nonsense peddled by the locals began to, well, make sense. The unyielding demands of the moon made itself known to those who would deny the vengeful being its tribute, doing so in such a manner that even the Marshal of the sector was forced to contradict Communist law by acknowledging the very real supernatural might the natural satellite possessed.

Families of Soviets and natives alike were obliterated into pools of organs and viscera.

Babies morphed into demonic six-legged wolf creatures and attacked their own mothers, several of which were in the process of feeding the infants, costing them dearly. The local animal life began to change as well, evolving right before the very eyes of all present into bi-pedal creatures with a sentience comparable to that of humans, and a neigh unquenchable craving for blood.

Water stores though out the settlements turned to sulfuric acid, and for the first time in the history of the NSSR’s foray into the outer wilds of space, it seemed as though an entire population of colonists would be eradicated.

That’s when it happened...

A voice, deep and humbling erupted from the green, foggy sky itself. It was as powerful as any thermo-nuclear weapon, as strong as any trans-titanium alloy and it called for what was owed…a soul. Those desperate survivors quickly relented, and with great haste shoved one of the last remaining Native Chiefs into the cockpit of a Sputnik-class rocket ship and fired him at the moon. Within the hour, the radio transmission of the protesting Chief’s cries cut to static as his rocket collided with the lunar surface, and just like that, the nightmares suddenly ceased and the shaken world returned to some semblance of normalcy.

That was why when those in attendance turned to look back at me to gage my reaction or maybe even relish in the schadenfreude of the whole situation, they were left staring at a Pyotr-sized space near the back of the crowd in the spot that I had once occupied.

I did what any normal person would do, I ran like my life depended on it, because it did.

I pounded the proverbial pavement with my heavy leather boots as I exited Trotsky Plaza, I wasn’t sure where I was going, all that mattered was that I was moving.

There were several passages along the tall concrete walls of the Plaza that led throughout the entirety of the structure. The one that I had taken, the one that was closest to me, led me underground to the maintenance tunnels that crisscrossed beneath the colony proper, as well as the adjoining outposts and facilities.

As I finally came back to reality, I realized that taking the pathway that I had was a fortuitous stroke of luck. Down here I was away from the prying eyes of the camera panels installed throughout the ceilings of the colony, all I had to worry about was avoiding any maintenance workers or the occasional guard lining the entrances of the more sensitive machinations of the structure. I slipped into a small alcove by one of the large air purification tanks so that I could catch my breath, obscured from sight by the sizable metal pipes, my gasps hidden by the constant whirring of the gently-jostling machine.

I tried to quiet the flurry of thoughts tearing through my head so that I could figure out what I was supposed to do next, I needed to calm myself. I needed to think.

While I was caught up in formulating a game plan, I didn’t notice the slender figure sliding down next to me, my ears not quite picking up on the gentle jingles of her chest full of medals.

“I knew you would be here, Pyotr,” she said, her voice light, yet authoritative. 

“Mother?!” I exclaimed in surprise.

 I was going to ask how she’d known I’d run away, but I refrained. She was the Overseer, it was her job to calculate any and every potential setback that could occur in her colony. I would be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling ashamed that she so accurately calculated that her son was a coward.

She looked at me, her striking blue eyes revealing a glint of sadness behind them. I wished I’d inherited her constitution along with her eye color, maybe then I would’ve reacted in such a manner befitting a child of my station. While the NSSR touted a classless society, there were still certain expectations associated with the progeny of state figures.

 She stroked a rouge tear away from my cheek before standing up and offering me a hand. I said nothing as I took it, using her to help pull me back up to my quivering legs. I dusted off the seat of my olive fatigues and pulled the brim of my cap down over my face in a vain attempt to mask the emotional turmoil it so clearly revealed. My head hung low as I stood there, doing everything I could to suppress that urge to just keep running.

She pushed my chin up with the side of her finger and fixed my olive cap back on straight.

“Come, my son. It’s time.”

I nodded slightly as she gestured for me to continue on in front of her. It felt as if I were looking over the side of a cliff, trying with all my heart to maintain my balance so I didn’t plummet over the edge.

That’s when the realization really hit me, there was no way out of this, not for either of us. What was the point of resisting?

A sort of cold numbness began pouring over me as I began walking again, it was as if I were in some kind of dream. I just sort of checked out, if that makes sense, stumbling forward as my mother accompanied me on the long walk to the Overseer’s Booth, which overlooked the entire Plaza from 12 feet in the air. She put on her own mask of bravery before presenting me to the cheering crowd and rolling cameras which captured the affair for posterity.

Apparently being a martyr was worth recording, I supposed I should be grateful that some piece of me would continue to exist, even if it was some grainy black-and-white footage. I vaguely recall waving when prompted, there may have even been a smile on my face as I did it, I couldn’t really tell.

Surrounded by a cadre of soldiers, I was escorted with thunderous fanfare to the launch site, a circular metal platform a few meters away from the outer gates of the entrance to the settlement, just outside of the orange barriers. Steam poured from its middle portion as the centermost panel pulled back, it looked as if a dragon was preparing to release a burst of flame. With a loud clank followed by the sounds of gears turning, I watched as the reflective metal of the Sputnik-class rocket rose into view, the setting sun glinting off of its conical curvature and sharp, angular fins as its rising ceased with a final hiss, the matte red star and trim that adorned the middlemost portion of the rocket offered the only respite from the glare.

There it was, the vessel prepped to carry me off to my doom in all of its shiny glory.

Be still my beating heart.

I gave my mother one last look before turning away and ascending the metal rungs that led up to the cockpit. I knew she would be okay without me, she was good at moving on. She wasn’t single but a couple of months after my father’s unfortunate demise. He’d been blown to bits following an unexpected mechanical failure that had destroyed his transit shuttle on his way home from Eastern Command. She ended up marrying my uncle of all people, even though I knew she couldn’t stand him. She’d always said that my father was the only man who would make her happy, so at least she stuck to her principles I suppose.

    I opened the plexiglass canopy and slid inside of the cockpit, my legs catching on the hot leather seat within it. It seemed like it was at least 30 degrees hotter inside of the craft. I wondered if Hell would be much hotter?

The inside of the cockpit was almost as sleek as the outside, the only exception was a few gages and screens displaying the altitude and projected course. There were no controls, Lenin forbid, lest one of the lambs up for slaughter turns tail and flies off, defecting to some Western-controlled star-system. That would be a PR nightmare.

It didn’t really matter though, I didn’t know how to fly anyway.

 After a brief countdown, the thrusters of the craft roared to life. Smoke began bellowing out along the tail and sides as the autopilot system engaged the craft’s throttle. I was tempted to look back at the audience who had gathered to watch Pyotr Grushenko’s last ride, but instead I kept my eyes forward, locked on my intended destination.

I felt the force of gravity push me against my squelchy seat as I was propelled up and away from my home, away from Lenin-IV-B.

I struggled to keep my eyes open as the rocket broke through the atmosphere, the canopy was encompassed in the feint orange glow caused by the formation of nitric oxide along the hull. The shuttle creaked and groaned loudly from the pressure as it broke free from the grasp of the planet’s gravity.

It would have been a moment to celebrate for certain, had my own fate not been tied to it.

I took in the beauty of space, those gorgeous twinkling stars that hung like clouds amongst the empty black backdrop, it caused me to relax, to feel somewhat at peace. That sense of serenity was short-lived as my ship grew closer to our final destination. The moon covered the entirety of my view from my canopy now, I was face-to-face with its demonic visage. The craters and pox marks that dotted the lunar surface suddenly began to shift, to form cruel eyes alongside an absolutely grotesque maw. I felt the ship begin to quiver as it was pulled into the moon’s gravitational field.

It had me now, there was no hope for escape.

The thrusters, which had been dormant for the most part since entering space except for brief spurts needed for course correction, suddenly roared to life once more accelerating to their maximum thrust. I watched helplessly as the small gage which indicated velocity began spinning out of control as I hurtled at top speed towards the still-morphing face of the moon.

The maw of the beastly rock began opening its ungodly jaws, revealing a fiery inner core hidden within them. The souls of the damned screamed out in unison in a symphony of sorrow and anguish as they escaped the gaping hellscape of the core, their combined voices shattering my canopy to dust. Small, grey-blue translucent arms with long pointed fingers slithered from the throat of the moon, ripping me from my harness and jerking me into the vacuum of space.

I felt like every single cell in my body was melting and freezing at the same time as I was engulfed in the terrifying inferno of teeth and flame. I could feel the gnashing jaws ripping apart my body piece by bloody piece, each of my limbs being sawed off by the serrated edges of the teeth, I felt my skin melting off of me like a bead of sweat in the presence of the molten flames. I squirmed in torment as each of my internal organs popped and oozed from my bowels like an over-encumbered goldfish. I felt this evil being smash my every bone into atoms as it worked to devour my very soul. 

Then I felt nothing at all, and it was the most exquisite feeling imaginable.

I awoke in my cot with a jolt, my body laden with sweat. I was breathing so heavily, almost as if I’d just ran a marathon or something. I sat up, rubbing my drenched mess of black hair from my weary eyes. I looked over at the small digital clock next to my nightstand and huffed in annoyance.

It was only 3am, what in the world am I doing awake right now? I wondered. Then something kind of came to me, like a hazy feeling of discomfort.

Ah, I remembered now, it was that weird dream that woke me. 

I couldn’t remember what it had been about, and trying to focus on it only made it elude me even further, as dreams are wont to do, but all I knew is that whatever it was had left me feeling so nauseous.

I hope it would pass soon and not be an all-day affair. That would be some rotten luck indeed.

Today was Selection Day, after all.

The commissary always served the best rations with double the portions on such an occasion. I know I should be more worried about getting picked instead of thinking about the food, almost everyone was frightened rather badly when it came to Selection Day, but I just wasn’t. I mean, I’m the Overseer’s son. There’s no way that I’ll end up getting chosen for that kind of thing, even if it is some fancy new computer making the drawings, that’d be pretty silly.

I flipped my pillow over and laid back down in an attempt to catch a little more shut-eye before the 6am alarm sounded. As I felt myself drifting off back to sleep, I felt the knot in my stomach loosen and I couldn’t help but smile.

Today was going to be a good day.