De-Po Man!
Moosecow, Onion of Zenobian Commienist Republics
June 1965
Premier Shroomanski rubbed his scalp as he looked at one of Zenobia's foremost medical experts. The master surgeon and medical researcher's precise, smooth demeanor was almost unchanged from how Shroomanski remembered him, all those years before, when he was physician to many of the early Commienist leaders.
"Explain to me, Dr. Preobrazhensky, how exactly this operation is supposed to work?"
"Well, as you know, Comrade Pavylyvych's health has been failing, for a variety of reasons, stickbeatings received in the gulag and so forth. Already he's been hospitalized for short periods on multiple occasions since his heart attack."
june
"But he always throws himself back into his work..."
"Da, which is half the problem. The strain, it is killing him. Radical intervention is required, you are quite right about that."
"Which is why I called you. What is to be done, in your opinion, doctor?"
"The scope of what is needed, from his files, is... extensive. He is clearly suffering from partial kidney failure, along with his weak heart and other problems; taken together he is in poor condition indeed. This also makes each stage of the operations more complicated."
"But
can you do it?"
"Well. The process of sustaining his life will require a number of special techniques and inventions of my own design, some... in the prototype stage. There is significant risk involved. But all relevant equipment has been tested, and I
believe he will survive, if a suitable organ donor can be found. I've performed serum compatibility tests on samples from a number of individuals on the
persona non grata list, and as you see..."
"Hmms. Him, of all people! How appropriate."
"It comes as a surprise, perhaps, but there it is. I take it you approve, Your Excellency?"
Da... DA!"
Baikonurek Cosmodrome
July 1965
"Why have you summoned me?" Dr. Doom von Evilstein had been surprised, after his horrible experience with the experimental EVA suit test- had it been three years since that humiliating and painful day already? He'd been surprised when he was transferred from his uncomfortable cell to a desk job, mostly working on minor system components such as thruster rockets. He'd expected to be tortured to death by the
untermenschen, like the Mangeli's subjects in the days of the
Reich were.
But instead, the desk job! Much better than horrible death by explosive decompression or burnination, albeit boring and nervous. Frequently the other employees mocked him, once in a while they would leave unpleasant surprises for him, and at all times he was under the close supervision of the accursed Omeganski's minions, yes. But still, much better than horrible death.
And now he had been summoned to the office- once
his office, damn it!- of the equally accursed, yet seemingly benign, Syrgy Pavylvych, who had usurped his rightful place as Chief Designer... but whose orders had limited the scope of his harassment, and ensured him better quarters than he would otherwise receive.
Von Evilstein, of course, never forgave or forgot, though he was perhaps less fucking-vindictive than in his earlier days. But perhaps Syrgy, the fool, had decided to forgive and forget! Perhaps this would be his opportunity to regain control of the program, and once again start his schemes to put a man on the moon by 1967! It could still be done... sort of... with luck. Maybe. The Zenobian test-animal might even come back!
Buoyed by hope, von Evilstein nodded to Pavylvych, trying to retain what dignity he could. "Hallo."
"Sit down, sit down. Have some tea,
Herr Doktor. It is time I explained a few things to you."
The tea tasted slightly odd, but these Zenobians could never get it right anyway, so von Evilstein said nothing.
"You may be wondering,
Herr Doktor, after all I said about you back in the fifties, why I have been so solicitous about your health since the suit test in '62?"
"
Ja.." Von Evilstein looked hopeful. "Perhaps... perhaps you need
mein skills? To help you design the moon rocket!"
"Nyet." Syrgy Pavylyvych shook his head. "What I need is...
your organs!" Then Pavylyvych chuckled softly. He
fucking chuckled.
"Nein! Du Feind!"
"Da!"
Von Evilstein surged out of his chair in agitation... only to collapse to the floor, as the sedatives in his tea were pushed to his brain by the sudden activity. Pavylyvych's hand sought out the intercom on his desk.
"Get the medical teams in here. And I hope Dr. Preobrazhensky knows what he's doing."
"That dog
did become a prominent Party member after the second experiment, you know."
"Which one?"
"Do you really want to know, sir?"
"Good point. Very well. Make sure that my proposals for the latter half of this year, and my preliminary schemes for next year, are all thoroughly prepared for my deputy, or my replacement-" a nervous chill shot through Syrgy's veins- "and I will check into the infirmary in due time myself."
Baikonurek Cosmodrome Infirmary
July 1965
Syrgy Pavylyvych opened his eyes. The light was utterly blinding. He shifted his arm slightly, and it felt like trying to lift a mountain. His head swam with drugs.
"Rrrgh."
A nurse hastened over to his side. "Comrade Pavylvych, you must rest. Dr. Preobrazhensky believes the operation to be a success, but your recovery is not yet complete."
"Mmm- rr-" Syrgy willed his tongue to make clear statements. "How...
did it go?"
"You are going to be all right, Comrade Chief Designer."
Syrgy felt himself losing consciousness again, sinking back into the morphine, and he wondered about von Evilstein. Shortly before being taken into surgery, someone had said something about... what was it...
Baikonurek Cosmodrome Infirmary
A Day or Two Later
"Comrade von Evilstein?"
"...
ja?"
"Perhaps you are surprised that you are still alive, da?"
"But you... you didn't... you couldn't..."
"Hehehe. I
did, Comrade von Evilstein. I performed the transplants myself. But while you are out of favor, you are
still a rocket scientist, and I was under orders to save your life in turn if possible. Therefore, even as I performed the series of operations transferring some of
your organoids to Pavylvych to revitalize and strengthenate him, I and my assistants also performed a matching series of operations to replace the removed bits, from another suitable donor candidate. Your prognosis is better than I expected; with the proper regimen of treatment you have every chance of living on for a good many years to come."
"...Who?"
"Oh, a criminal, arrested and slated to be executed for misappropriation of state funds for personal benefit."
"Who? I must know..."
Dr. Preobrazhensky chuckled. "If you insist. The source of the body parts which are now keeping you alive is, hmm, what was his name. Ah, yes. Comrade Isaak Moscovich."
"
Ein Joo?"
"Why, does it matter?"
"NEIN NEIN NEIN!"
Despite his surprisingly good bill of health, Doktor von Evilstein's despairing cries echoed down the halls until he was sedated.
