“Your spacesuit is your best protection. It allows you to deal with the radiation and dust. Ensure that your water supply and air ventilation systems remain in perfect condition in your backpack. The equipment is often obsolete and mortal accidents are legion. So, take good care of….”
Old Fyodor had definitely wanted to talk….
“You seem to know a thing or two. How long have you been here?” Maxim asked.
The exhausted face of the convict stared so hard at him that Maxim was embarrassed.
“I’ve been in this shithole for almost seventeen years…accused, without proof, of counterespionage. And you? Why are you here?”
“Shut up, Old Man! Concentrate on your work!”
One of the guards came over to strike him with a rifle butt. The old man sank to his knees. He began to implore this cerberus for mercy. The other insulted him. Max believed the guard might execute the old man, but finally, he was called away to other tasks.
“Those guards are garbage, scum, dogs that have the taste of blood, said Fyodor. Always ready to fuck you over. Watch out for them like the plague.”
In the evening, when they returned to their Spartan dormitories, the convicts ate and were directed immediately to their bunks, exhausted as they were by their life of slavery. Maxim Brahms was no exception. This first day in the Marslag had exhausted his strength. I will never last several years….Here, no Sunday, no weekend, let alone any vacation. The Marslag worked round the clock, with no stops.
Some men already slept, but Max joined the group around an old samovar that smoked in the corner. Tortured by curiosity, he started the discussion.
“Hasn’t anyone ever succeeded in escaping the Marslag?”
The other prisoners stared at him, flabbergasted as if Max had suggested they take their vacations on a sandy beach.
“It’s impossible to get out of here,” said one of them, whose face was streaked with a huge scar. “It’s said that two or three convicts managed to stow away in a compartment and get off this cursed planet. They left and were never caught. But how did they do it? The rest is a mystery….”
The other detainees regarded him in exhaustion. Fyodor took the opportunity to speak.
“In every prison, and since their birth in the dawn of Man, there have existed such tales, touched perhaps by myth. These legendary escapes have a base in reality; I’m sure of it.”
The man with the scar could not repress a grin. In contrast, Maxim became curious.
“What have you heard about that, Fyodor?”
“Don’t listen to him. He’s just a crazy old man.”
Scarface does not appear to agree with my friend. Fyodor was uncowed. His face radiated calm. He replied:
“I believe in less-rational explanations. In times immemorial, Mars was a world as joyous as Earth, with forests, prairies, seas, and oceans. It possessed a fauna and flora both rich and diverse…In this antediluvian epoch, some kind of Gods ruled on the surface of Mars. One called them the Great Old Ones.”
“You’re completely cracked, Fyodor! You’ve said all that before. It’s just bullshit!” the scarred man insisted.
“But where did you hear all this, Fyodor?” Maxim asked, curious to know more.
“I’m just repeating what someone told me. It was a long time ago.”
“But how do you explain that, today, there is nothing left of that time?”
“I don’t know. It was a very long time ago. That time has been forgotten by us.”
“And where did these Great Old Ones go?”
“They live hidden in the entrails of the Red Planet….”
“I’ve heard enough for tonight! I leave you now. Until tomorrow.”
The man with the scar stood up. He persuaded a goodly part of the audience to imitate him.
“Same for me. All this nonsense has exhausted me. Good night, everyone!” said another man.
Finally, only Max remained with the old man, who went on, murmuring:
“Watch yourself. Here, you can be betrayed by the most unimportant thing, especially if you speak of escape. Be on your guard….”
“All right…and these histories of the Great Old Ones…do you truly believe them?”
Without responding, Fyodor stood up slowly and headed toward his bed. He lifted his dusty mattress and pulled out a piece of rock.
“Look. I found this one day, not far from the mine.”
With curiosity, Max inspected the object. It was a red rock, typical of the Martian surface. On one side, it was cut in a chaotic fashion, but on the other, it was smooth, flat, almost…polished. And on the surface, there was painted a design representing a sort of mouth. Or rather, the mouth of an animal, almost reptilian, with teeth pointed and large.
“What is it?”
“The proof of the existence of the Gods.”
Stunned, Maxim didn’t know what to say. It seemed that reality was collapsing under his feet. It was too feeble to face the rantings of this old mujik. He decided to flee.
“I’m going to sleep. Good night.”
Maxim retired and went to bed, yet Fyodor, himself, remained sitting near the samovar and candle with its flickering flame. Alone, he calmly drank his tea, while the plumes of smoke drifted through the obscurity of the dormitory. Under the rough sheets, Maxim watched him for a long time without attracting his attention. I like you a lot, Fyodor. That doesn’t prevent you from being an old fool. He turned over in his bed and abandoned himself to sleep.
Maxim admired his dacha, planted on the edge of a birch forest. The sun shone down from heaven in long, golden firmaments. In the sky without snow, he noticed a blue planet…Could that be Terra? Where am I? On Mars? In Paradise?
He pushed the door open and entered the house. The interior was not particularly rich, but was decorated with taste. Slowly, he advanced across the floor, which creaked as he passed. On the wall, he found photographs of his family. Photos in black-and-white of his parents, of his brothers, of beautiful Natasha and of little Alex.
“Papa…Papa, is it you?”
The call came from the foyer. Max turned on the carpet. The door opened and Alex appeared, running. He threw himself into the arms of his father.
“My little boy! Oh, I’m so happy!”
“Papa! I love our dacha a lot, but without you, it’s not the same. Why did you abandon us?”
Maxim knelt in such a way as to hold his offspring in his arms.
“But I didn’t abandon you!”
“Why did you leave us, Mama and me?”
“But I told you…ALEX! What is happening to you?”
The face of his gamin child engaged in a monstrous mutation. It swelled visibly, transforming into a creature most disquieting: His skin was covered in scales, his traits taking the form of a snake. In his mouth, there quivered a tongue, pink and forked.
“WHY, PAPA?”
Max recoiled, horrified by the terrifying spectacle. Then a feminine voice came from upstairs.
“MAXIM! MAXIM!”
Terrorised, Maxim ran and mounted the stairs to the second story, from where she continued to call.
He recognised the voice of the woman.
“MAXIM! MAXIM!”
In a rage, he ran and opened the door from which came the incessant cries.
Inside, he saw Natasha, his spouse, tied to a bed. She struggled while, around her, stood monsters from the abyss of time. Dinosaurs with the feet of goats, birds with brown fur, hydras issued from the worst nightmares of Humanity. Their yellow eyes nailed him with terror.
“MAXIM! WHY DID YOU ABANDON US?” cried his wife.
While the beasts growled, a sort of hideous mouth appeared from the shadows, just above the head of his wife. Four hooked mandibles chattered with ferocity.