Tharra
20-11-2004, 08:05
Comrade Secretary Pyotr Aleksieyev stepped out of his black limosine. Mentally, he quickly went over his papers and reports. This is not good, he thought to himself, as he climbed the steep stairs that led to one of the central buildings in the Red Fortress, the center of national government in the capital of Stalinova.
An aid quickly opened the door, ushering him into the entry hall. The guards before him, KGB supplied security troops, duly asked for his Identification. It was nothing but an empty formality, for all knew full well who he was.
Pyotr was a member of the Secretariat, an inner body of the Communist Party, that controlled Party beaurocracy. He was also in charge of overseeing every Party Department that had to do with agriculture (these departments in turn oversaw each government Ministry within their own sphere.). The current reports were not good.
Reaching the fine white doors that marked the entrance to the office of the General Secretary of the Party, Comrade Ilya Lekov (the supreme leader of Tharra), he was met with more empty security checks. Damn, he thought, just what I need!.
The office was dark, lit by only a few lamps. A secretary, the personal aid of Lekov, sat at a small desk before the door. Pyotr didn't even bother identifying himself; he'd been a Party member for twenty years, and held his position for a quarter of that time, most knew him on sight.
"Yes comrade, the General Secretary will see you now." the personal secretary, who's name tag identified her as 'Comrade Natalya Ivanyeva' said immediantly.
The bright office of Comrade Lekov contrasted brightly with the antechamber before. The revolutionary sat at his white marble desk. His age was apparent, for Ilya Lekov was nearing his seventies. In fact, since the Great Purges, he was the only man alive that had taken Part in the revolution (a distant memory to but a few of the oldest) as a leading official. A relic of an older time, who was the opidime of nomenklatura corruption in Pyotr's mind, though to say so now would be death.
"Comrade General Secretary?"
"Yes?" Lekov replied lazily.
"Sir, as secretary for agricultural affairs on the Secretariat, it is my job to carefully moniter production. As you know, the current Five Year Plan is nearing its completion, however, with the current figures I'm receiving from the Ministries and Party Departments, I fear it may not agriculturally be a sucess."
"You know as well as I do, comrade, that grain export is extremly important to our international purchasing power. Agriculture is quite illusive to us. Since the purges, the kulaks have been eliminated and the farms collectivised into state plots, yet still the problems.
"Comrade Secretary, we can always falsify reports if needed to glorify the F.Y.P. We've done it before."
"Yes comrade, I will do all I can, however, there is more: currently we are twenty-eight percent under production, if this keeps up, we will have massive shortages, we can't possibly disguise-"
"Does it matter! If the Five Year Plan is declared a sucess, and mark my words, it will be, than the population will be reminded daily of how lucky they are that we over produced. We'll simply continue exporting at our current rate, and simply under cut the rationing within the city slightly; all other major cuts will go to the peasents. Simple as that."
"Yes, but comrade leader, according to my figures, they're won't be enough."
"Then the peasents will starve. Some will die, but none that cannot be replaced. They breed like muck rats. Those that speak out or try to smuggle more food to themselves will simply be shot or sent to Gulags as political criminals and 'enemies of the people and state'."
"Sir, I-"
"This conversation never happend. Just do as I say and all will be fine. I'll make sure the Politburo knows my policy and all will be well. You're dismissed."
Comrade Aleksieyev then turned, walking off with an uneasy feeling. But what could he do? To not follow orders would be death, and he'd no doubt be blamed for the problems of the state, and be no better off than the peasents.
An aid quickly opened the door, ushering him into the entry hall. The guards before him, KGB supplied security troops, duly asked for his Identification. It was nothing but an empty formality, for all knew full well who he was.
Pyotr was a member of the Secretariat, an inner body of the Communist Party, that controlled Party beaurocracy. He was also in charge of overseeing every Party Department that had to do with agriculture (these departments in turn oversaw each government Ministry within their own sphere.). The current reports were not good.
Reaching the fine white doors that marked the entrance to the office of the General Secretary of the Party, Comrade Ilya Lekov (the supreme leader of Tharra), he was met with more empty security checks. Damn, he thought, just what I need!.
The office was dark, lit by only a few lamps. A secretary, the personal aid of Lekov, sat at a small desk before the door. Pyotr didn't even bother identifying himself; he'd been a Party member for twenty years, and held his position for a quarter of that time, most knew him on sight.
"Yes comrade, the General Secretary will see you now." the personal secretary, who's name tag identified her as 'Comrade Natalya Ivanyeva' said immediantly.
The bright office of Comrade Lekov contrasted brightly with the antechamber before. The revolutionary sat at his white marble desk. His age was apparent, for Ilya Lekov was nearing his seventies. In fact, since the Great Purges, he was the only man alive that had taken Part in the revolution (a distant memory to but a few of the oldest) as a leading official. A relic of an older time, who was the opidime of nomenklatura corruption in Pyotr's mind, though to say so now would be death.
"Comrade General Secretary?"
"Yes?" Lekov replied lazily.
"Sir, as secretary for agricultural affairs on the Secretariat, it is my job to carefully moniter production. As you know, the current Five Year Plan is nearing its completion, however, with the current figures I'm receiving from the Ministries and Party Departments, I fear it may not agriculturally be a sucess."
"You know as well as I do, comrade, that grain export is extremly important to our international purchasing power. Agriculture is quite illusive to us. Since the purges, the kulaks have been eliminated and the farms collectivised into state plots, yet still the problems.
"Comrade Secretary, we can always falsify reports if needed to glorify the F.Y.P. We've done it before."
"Yes comrade, I will do all I can, however, there is more: currently we are twenty-eight percent under production, if this keeps up, we will have massive shortages, we can't possibly disguise-"
"Does it matter! If the Five Year Plan is declared a sucess, and mark my words, it will be, than the population will be reminded daily of how lucky they are that we over produced. We'll simply continue exporting at our current rate, and simply under cut the rationing within the city slightly; all other major cuts will go to the peasents. Simple as that."
"Yes, but comrade leader, according to my figures, they're won't be enough."
"Then the peasents will starve. Some will die, but none that cannot be replaced. They breed like muck rats. Those that speak out or try to smuggle more food to themselves will simply be shot or sent to Gulags as political criminals and 'enemies of the people and state'."
"Sir, I-"
"This conversation never happend. Just do as I say and all will be fine. I'll make sure the Politburo knows my policy and all will be well. You're dismissed."
Comrade Aleksieyev then turned, walking off with an uneasy feeling. But what could he do? To not follow orders would be death, and he'd no doubt be blamed for the problems of the state, and be no better off than the peasents.