Lazar Lyusternik

A negative verdict from the Ethics Committee was not an unanticipated result. Pavel Bessonov knew from the moment he picked up the phone that it was both a desperate gamble, and that it would, regardless of outcome, certainly end his career. Site Directors with moral streaks rapidly found themselves quietly sacked and amnesticized or exiled to positions of no consequence. The ongoing siege was the only thing between him and a posting in Siberia.

Pavel had seen the case transcript - or, at least, what hadn't been thoroughly obscured by RAISA censors. He could read between the thick black bars that Leningrad, a city he had known by three names, was but another victim of the tit-for-tat endemic to this particular iteration of the Ethics Committee. The human cost of the siege meant little to such men beyond how it might leveraged against one or another's empathy for their former countrymen. And how could it? Ethics men were always sequestered away from the world, buried in comfortable if not lavish bunkers underneath remote mountains. 'To separate them from worldly issues and allow them to focus on the underlying problem' had been the explanation, but it seemed obvious in hindsight that awareness of those 'worldly issues' would lead to better (or at least more compassionate) outcomes.

Ordinarily, this would just be another regrettable cost of doing business. He had lived through the Great War and the civil wars, and made hard choices. Much had been sacrificed to keep this godforsaken factory hidden, especially in the Terror years, and he refused to believe that it was all for nothing, or worse, mere archival. The men condemned to the firing squad or the gulag could not have been sacrificed for that.

There had been famine before. '32-'33 was especially bad, across the whole country, but he had been persuaded at that time to continue the policy of concealment. They at least had a point, at that time - Factory No. 4 had no hope of relieving any significant portion of the famine, and the desperate Reds would almost certainly kill the metaphorical goose to access whatever gold was inside. He and his staff continued to eat well even as his neighbors starved.

But now was an entirely different situation. If there was desperation on the part of the Soviets, it would certainly be tempered with wartime gratitude. The factory could also significantly increase the local food supply, if not the national one. It would even be reasonable to assume that the factory had been established with the potential for such a siege in mind.

If there was ever a time for Factory No. 4 to see usage, it was now. The only thing between him and salvation was the 3-2 split ruling of bureaucrats trying to use the withered corpses of the nameless thousands to remind each other of the consequences of non-cooperation.

The city had wasted away around him for weeks, and, if nothing was done, it would die. The word 'archival' came back to him. Is that all this was really for? Pavel wondered. If he didn't die here in the next month, or next year from the war, would he instead die here another ten or twenty years down the line? Would it make a difference either way?

'Making a difference'; he mused on that particular phrase, involuntarily tensing while trying to determine if the shaking above him was shelling or merely inclement weather. Most organizations want to make a difference in people's lives; the Foundation has gone to great lengths to avoid it.

He had been through the indoc, a long time ago. He certainly understood the overall rationale behind this strategy of non-intervention, and perhaps, at one time, believed it. But spending your years at the helm of a site, one gets a much better glimpse at the bigger picture than any researcher or senior administrator really ought to. Pavel had long recognized that his organization, like every other, was composed of people; more specifically, people with, no doubt, a degree of devotion to the cause, but a larger degree toward their own agendas. This was as true for the small bakery around the corner, to the party men that consistently accepted his suspiciously generous bribes, and to those whom he had placed that particularly fruitless phone call.

It was all farce, and it always had been. Avoiding interference in the mundane world had always been the mission statement, yes, but that particular veil had been pierced many a time for much more whimsical reasons. How many more equally worthy causes had been doomed by the same process? How many lives could have been spared at Nanking?

But now he was in a unique position. The powers that been had no ability to enforce the decision rendered - that task fell to himself. If such a decision were subverted, or even simply ignored, it would be impossible to reverse.

The encrypted telegram containing the Ethics Committee result also included an additional personal note, instructing him to 'do the right thing'.

He assured them that he would.

The first obstacle was his personal secretary.

"You do realize this is probably treason."

"It's the right thing to do."

"When has been doing the right thing ever been part of the Foundation's modus operandi?"

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

"I'm not going to let them starve to death out there when we're incinerating 'anomalous waste products' that could save lives."

"That is definitely treason."

"And you didn't hear anything about it."

"Why?"

"Because I fired you this morning."

"That's news to me."

"Heads are going to roll if - when they find out what I'm doing. You're not going to want any part of that."

"I can cover for you. Temporary insanity - something."

"Sounds like a great way to end up in a gulag. Your desk is cleaned out, there's transit papers that should get you over Lake Ladoga and into Moscow. Slap Director Niskov across the face for me when you get there."

"I'm not leaving Leningrad."

"I also have presigned reprimands and transfer orders for 3rd Battalion of the 2nd Guards.

"That's a penal unit."

"I'm not sure I'd recommend it."

"You asshole."

"You can thank me later. Send Lizinsky to me on your way out."

"You sent for me, sir?"

"You're a good kid. Alexsandr, right? Junior agent?"

"Sub-Junior, sir. They had to press trainees into service, y'know, because of the war, and they didn't want to give them the full rank."

"I have some very exact instructions for you to follow. Do you think you can handle it?"

"I can follow instructions."

"Do you know room 603?"

"It's one of the old offices, before they pulled all the nonessential people. Mostly storage now."

"In my official capacity as a site supervisor, I have determined that every item in that room is anomalous. Given that we're short-staffed, I need you to draft the containment procedures."

"I-I-I-"

"Don't worry, they're not dangerous. Well, at least not as dangerous as the rest of Leningrad. They're just man-intensive. Say, ten people per item. No specialized training or anything, anyone can do. Weird little anomalies, they are. Do you follow what I am saying?"

"I'm afraid I really, _really_ don't, sir."

"Good, that will save you in the court-martial. Just draft them up, I'll certify them. Give them provisional names starting 'P', no need to get these mixed into circulation."

"But- Everything? Even the furniture and shelving?"

"It's the furniture and shelving you have to watch out for."

"Job posting? What sort of job posting?"

"It's some kind of underground factory - they had the time to build an underground factory, and but not a bomb shelter?"

"Sounds about right for the party- you're missing the point, they're actually paying something useful for once!"

"What, they're pre-boiling the rubles? No, real food! Borscht, in jars!"

"Pavlov, you have a terrible sense of humor."

"I'm serious - some praporshchik with a clipboard was signing people up at Liteyny Bridge!"

"Sounds like a scam to me - they probably cut up one man to feed the other ten."

"At those odds, I'll take my chances."

"I was told about a man with a clipboard and some work."

"What a coincidence, I have a clipboard and I have some work. Name?"

"Pazalski."

"Occupation?"

"Pipefitter. Lots of work, not enough pipes."

"Do you have a family?"

"Yes I do, sir, a wife and two daughters. My wife is sick, you see- Your daughters, how old are they?"

"6 and 11, but the older one, she is very clever, I'm sure she could be of some use to- there is no need to cajole comrade, I have work for all four of you."

"You can't be serious. This is farce. What kind of trick are you trying to pull here?"

"I assure you, Mr. Pazalski, this offer is legitimate. The party has authorized me-

"Don't take me for a fool, I fought honorably against the Poles in '20 and I'll see you- there's no need for threats Mr. Pazalski, this is strictly above board. If you'd let me finish my statement, the party has authorized me to pay in advance."

"How many ration tickets?"

"Three jars."

"My family is at your service, Mr…"

"Just call me Pavel, Mr. Pazalski."

"For three jars, I'll call you whatever you like."

"Who came up with the propaganda writing bit?"

"That was Tarja."

"I guess it takes a Finn to think outside the box like that. Plausibly absurd enough for the Party to actually pay for it, loose enough to fit the conprocs, no special skills required."

"Who knows, they might actually come up with something useful."

"Did I hear our instructions correctly?"

"Come up with new motivational propaganda, and some rule about no one leaving - yeah, only one person can leave the room at a time until we're relieved, or no one gets paid."

"With what they're paying, I'd strip naked and sing The Internationale if they wanted."

"Don't give them any ideas. If I see any posters with 'Strip naked: sing the Internationale' next month, I'm blaming you."

"Okay, serious ideas now. Might as well earn our pay."

FILLER

"There is no land beyond the Neva? What about Petrozavodsk?"

"It's not meant to be literal. Neva's an awkward river for that, though, you'd need something north/south."

"Dneiper?"

"That'd be a fantastic choice, except the fascists overran that months ago."

"Don? Volga?"

"'There is no land beyond the Volga' has a nice ring to it, but if they get to the Volga I think we've already lost."

"So, let me get this straight. You 'classified' a bunch of objects that you were pretty sure were anomalous, applied the thinnest of containment procedures, and hired hundreds, if not thousands of 'auxiliaries' for daily quarter shifts, and paying in food?"

"More or less."

"You do know what this means."

"A kangaroo court that ends with me shot against a post? Well, we're in the right country for it, I suppose."

"Worse than that - the Soviets are going to realize that a bunch of people that were starving three weeks ago, aren't. The death rate will collapse without apparent cause."

"What a tragedy."

"What do you think will happen when they find out? That we took Factory No. 4 from them when they weren't looking, and tens of thousands have died as a result?"

"Better late than never."

"Ever the optimist. Okay, sure, let's assume that the Soviets have an uncharacteristic change of heart and decide to forgive us for the mass murder we have perpetuated, instead shooting all of us against a post. What will the Nazis think when they learn that we have been materially aiding their sworn enemy?"

"This is solely humanitarian aid, for the people of Leningrad, not the Soviets."

"What makes you think they'll appreciate the distinction? The looting of your local historical sites, or the ongoing massacres across the country?"

"You make it sound like we should be helping the Soviets."

"What side we should be supporting is irrelevant, because this not our war. Secure, Contain, Protect. You sound like a commissar, spouting off patriotic slogans without context. If Protect does not refer to people, what is the point of it all?"

"The world does not end with Leningrad. It will end if we fail."

"The poor sods on keter duty, maybe -"

Footnotes
page revision: 1007, last edited: 17 Nov 2021 03:43
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