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exploded from the heat ahead.
"You! Deviationist! Counterrevolutionary!" The epithets emerged fast and accusing from the fire, though
so far without accompanying arcs of flame. Jon-Tom looked up from beneath his cape and found himself
only a couple of yards away from the glowering visage of Falameezar. Red eyes burned down into his
own, and plate-sized teeth gleamed in the orange light as the dragon-skull dipped dowr toward him....
XXI
"Lies, lies, lies! You lied to me." A massive clawed foot gestured toward the inner city. "This is no
commune, not even in part, but instead a virulent nest of capitalistic vice. It needs not to be reformed, for
it is beyond that. It needs to be cleansed!"
"Now hold on a minute, Falameezar." Jon-Tom tried hard to sound righteous. "What gives you the right
to decide what should happen to all these workers?"
"Workers... pagh!" Fire scorched the cobblestones just to Jon-Tom's right. "They have the tasks of
workers, but the souls of imperialists! As for my right, I am pure of philosophy and dedicated in my arms.
I can tell when a society is capable of achieving a noble state... or is beyond redemption! And besides,"
he spat a petulant burst of fire at a nearby market stall, which immediately burst into flame, "you lied to
me."
Since indecision was clearly the path leading to imminent incineration, Jon-Tom replied boldly. "I did not
lie to you, Falameezar. This is a commune-to-be, and most of the population are workers."
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"It means naught if they willingly condone the system which exploits them."
"How much choice does an oppressed worker have, comrade? It is easy to speak of revolution when
you're twenty times bigger than anyone else and can spit fire and destruction. You expect an awful lot of
some poor worker with a family to take care of. You don't have those kinds of responsibilities, do you?"
"No, but..."
"Then don't condemn some poor bear for protecting his family. You're asking them to sacrifice cubs and
children. And besides, they don't have your education. You're expecting revolutionary sophistication from
uneducated workers. Shouldn't you try and educate them first? Then if they reject the True Path and
continue to accept the capitalistic evils they live with, then it will be time for cleansing."
And by that time, he thought hopefully, we'll be safely away from Polastrindu.
"They still willingly countenance an antibourgeois life," said Falameezar grumblingly, but with less
certainty.
Meanwhile Jon-Tom was still furiously trying to recall an anti-dragon song. He didn't know any. "Puff the
Magic Dragon" was pleasant but hardly restrictive. Think, man, think!
But he had no time to think of songs. He was too busy trying to tie the dragon's tale into semantic knots.
"But would it not be best for all concerned if a warning was to be given?"
Falameezar's head rose high against the glowing night. "Yes, a warning! Burn out the evil influences so
that the new order can be installed. Down with the exploiting industries and the factories of the capitalists!
Build the commune anew, beneath the banner of true socialism."
"Didn't you hear what I just said?" Jon-Tom took a worried step backward. "You'll destroy the homes
of the innocent, ignorant workers."
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"It will be good for them," Falameezar replied firmly. "They will have to rebuild their homes with their
own hands, cooperatively, instead of living in those owned by landlords and the bosses. Yes, the people
must have the opportunity to begin afresh." He turned his attention speculatively to the nearest
multistoried building, considering how most efficiently to commence "cleansing" it.
"But they already hate their bosses." Jon-Tom ran parallel to the loping dragon. "There's no reason to
put them out in the rain and cold. What's needed here now isn't violence but a sound revolutionary
dialectic!"
Falameezar's claws scraped on the cobblestones like the wheels of a vast engine.
"Remember the workers!" He shook his fist at the unresponsive dragon. "Consider their ignorance and
their personal plights." Then, without thinking, his fingers were flying over the duar, the necessary words
and music having come to him abruptly and unbidden.
"Arise ye pris'ners of starvation!
Arise, ye wretched of the Earth.
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