Fic: Arc, Part Thirteen
NOTE: I'm not entirely comfortable with that last line. Ripping off real world atrocities to echo my fictional ones is vaguely tasteless, even to me.
At last he stopped moving, laying there on the floor, gasping in pain. The Varn Society Shaper spoke, his voice deep and reverberating. “Captain Barloch, you are dismissed.”
Barloch bowed deeply, leaving silently with his troopers. The door closed behind him, leaving Whitepelt and the wounded Marty alone with the god and his little grey musicians.
Lord Society Shaper gestured to one of the creatures, who put down its instrument and went over to a cupboard along the wall. Like its master it seemed to be of an indeterminate gender, no bigger than an adolescent cub. It took out a first aid kit and went over to Marty, replacing the bandage on his chest and wrapping an inflatable splint around his broken leg, injecting an ampoule of painkiller for good measure. Then it quietly returned to sit next to its partner and strum music once again.
“You may raise your head, White D6,” the varn said. She rose back up, rolling her shoulders as best she could with her paws still cuffed, feeling stiff and scared. Whitepelt glanced over at Marty, who lay half conscious on the floor, eyes nearly closed.
“Please tell me what happened, when you went to retrieve the Greycoats from the coupling chamber, to the moment that Captain Barloch arrived to escort you here,” Society Shaper ordered.
“Yes… yes, Wise Master.” Stumbling and stuttering, the soreness of her shoulders increasing as her hands remained bound, she narrated to the Wise Master what she saw of the meeting and the fiasco afterwards. “I… I’m sorry I killed Lili, the female Greycoat. I know you wanted them both.”
“Your primary concern was to aid in the capture of Marturari Greycoat, the vixen was of a secondary importance. It was Captain Barloch’s responsibility to give you the proper weaponry. You should have been provided with a stunner.”
She felt her heart lift slightly. It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t her fault. “Does that mean I can go?” Whitepelt asked. She risked a glance at the floor where Marty lay, breathing shallowly, his eyes gritted tight in pain. The varn seemed content to ignore his distress and concentrate his attention on her.
Society Shaper looked down at her, an expression of puzzlement on his face. “Go?” he asked.
“Yes, Wise Master. I was told by Captain Barloch that my reward for identifying the rebels was that I would be permitted to leave the Arc, that I would be given a proper name.”
“A proper name? Your designation is Supervisor White D6.”
Even though she was still kneeling on the floor, it felt as if her feet were being swept out from under her. “It’s… it’s supposed to be Whitepelt, Wise Master. Captain Barloch said it would be.” That last sentence came out much more faintly than she’d intended, but Social Shaper heard it anyway.
“Ah, I understand. This was a necessary deception to insure your cooperation. Though the Arc’s social evolution has proceeded under the lines I originally envisioned, its integrity once exposed to the larger universe still remains untested. The fact you were so strongly affected by the offer of a unique familial designation indicates that your social conditioning still requires some fine tuning. I’m sure in two or three generations this weakness will be compensated for, especially if Brother Gene Mage can provide a suitable alteration to your brain chemistry.”
Whitepelt finished processing that speech, letting out a little whine of dismay. “You’re not letting me off the station?”
“Of course not,” Social Shaper replied. “You will be isolated and studied, to refine my alterations to Vulpine society.”
“Can’t I just be sent to a re-education camp, like the others?”
“There will be no re-education of the other vulpine exposed to the Greycoat’s attempted heresy. There cannot be, or else this entire experiment will be placed at risk. After they are interviewed individually to determine the effect that Marturari Greycoat’s speech had upon them, they will be humanely euthanized.”
“But you can’t! I brought them there!”
She thought she heard a hint of sympathy in Social Shaper’s next words, which somehow made them all the more horrible. “I shouldn’t concern yourself with the ones infected by Greycoat’s speech. You were only following orders, after all.”
TBC
At last he stopped moving, laying there on the floor, gasping in pain. The Varn Society Shaper spoke, his voice deep and reverberating. “Captain Barloch, you are dismissed.”
Barloch bowed deeply, leaving silently with his troopers. The door closed behind him, leaving Whitepelt and the wounded Marty alone with the god and his little grey musicians.
Lord Society Shaper gestured to one of the creatures, who put down its instrument and went over to a cupboard along the wall. Like its master it seemed to be of an indeterminate gender, no bigger than an adolescent cub. It took out a first aid kit and went over to Marty, replacing the bandage on his chest and wrapping an inflatable splint around his broken leg, injecting an ampoule of painkiller for good measure. Then it quietly returned to sit next to its partner and strum music once again.
“You may raise your head, White D6,” the varn said. She rose back up, rolling her shoulders as best she could with her paws still cuffed, feeling stiff and scared. Whitepelt glanced over at Marty, who lay half conscious on the floor, eyes nearly closed.
“Please tell me what happened, when you went to retrieve the Greycoats from the coupling chamber, to the moment that Captain Barloch arrived to escort you here,” Society Shaper ordered.
“Yes… yes, Wise Master.” Stumbling and stuttering, the soreness of her shoulders increasing as her hands remained bound, she narrated to the Wise Master what she saw of the meeting and the fiasco afterwards. “I… I’m sorry I killed Lili, the female Greycoat. I know you wanted them both.”
“Your primary concern was to aid in the capture of Marturari Greycoat, the vixen was of a secondary importance. It was Captain Barloch’s responsibility to give you the proper weaponry. You should have been provided with a stunner.”
She felt her heart lift slightly. It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t her fault. “Does that mean I can go?” Whitepelt asked. She risked a glance at the floor where Marty lay, breathing shallowly, his eyes gritted tight in pain. The varn seemed content to ignore his distress and concentrate his attention on her.
Society Shaper looked down at her, an expression of puzzlement on his face. “Go?” he asked.
“Yes, Wise Master. I was told by Captain Barloch that my reward for identifying the rebels was that I would be permitted to leave the Arc, that I would be given a proper name.”
“A proper name? Your designation is Supervisor White D6.”
Even though she was still kneeling on the floor, it felt as if her feet were being swept out from under her. “It’s… it’s supposed to be Whitepelt, Wise Master. Captain Barloch said it would be.” That last sentence came out much more faintly than she’d intended, but Social Shaper heard it anyway.
“Ah, I understand. This was a necessary deception to insure your cooperation. Though the Arc’s social evolution has proceeded under the lines I originally envisioned, its integrity once exposed to the larger universe still remains untested. The fact you were so strongly affected by the offer of a unique familial designation indicates that your social conditioning still requires some fine tuning. I’m sure in two or three generations this weakness will be compensated for, especially if Brother Gene Mage can provide a suitable alteration to your brain chemistry.”
Whitepelt finished processing that speech, letting out a little whine of dismay. “You’re not letting me off the station?”
“Of course not,” Social Shaper replied. “You will be isolated and studied, to refine my alterations to Vulpine society.”
“Can’t I just be sent to a re-education camp, like the others?”
“There will be no re-education of the other vulpine exposed to the Greycoat’s attempted heresy. There cannot be, or else this entire experiment will be placed at risk. After they are interviewed individually to determine the effect that Marturari Greycoat’s speech had upon them, they will be humanely euthanized.”
“But you can’t! I brought them there!”
She thought she heard a hint of sympathy in Social Shaper’s next words, which somehow made them all the more horrible. “I shouldn’t concern yourself with the ones infected by Greycoat’s speech. You were only following orders, after all.”
TBC