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The Discarded: Dreamless (4)

I know I did not dream as I slept, because what I saw was too vivid to be a dream.

I was different. I felt different. Older. Stronger. Taller. I had memories, different memories from my own- memories of a form of confidence and self assuredness that was new to me. New to Ebuwa that is, but not to who I was now, in this not-dream.

To Amaka.

That’s who I was. Amaka Ezediaro. A name of words Ebuwa could not even begin to fathom- words which she couldn’t find even within every one of the hundreds of thousands of words she had committed to memory from 2377’s Eewae Ayae. Yet I knew that was my name, just as surely as I knew I was exceptional, destined for great things, brilliant, driven, and loved. Adored by millions, exalted above all others.

This is insane. Only the Lhoebitta are exalted, or can be exalted. 

I remembered….several things. Vivid memories, just as vivid as the experience Ebuwa found herself in, this lucid hallucination that she was certain was not a dream. I remembered a privileged childhood. I remembered an impossible paradise- where, just as 2377 said, green oxygenators grew out of the ground, impossibly, and extended as far as the eye could see from the top of impossibly green-and-grey mountains. A sky coloured blue, more beautiful in reality than could be imagined in any of his stories. White objects gently crawled across the sky. I remembered oceans of blue sparkling liquid- just like the oceans of lava beneath the Factory, and the Masters’ domains- not blue enough to be Sanitary Gel- oceans of what could only be, impossibly, water. These memories poured in like a torrent, each one more familiar than the last, becoming more and more unremarkable and unsurprising as they arrived, and as they came, Ebuwa became more and more of a distant memory, and I became myself, more and more, until I was finally Amaka.

And then more memories came. Memories that hit me with a choking sorrow so powerful it rocked my entire body with a world-shifting vertigo. A lump formed in my throat so large and suffocating that I felt I would lose my breath beneath the force of a hundred sobs, all competing to burst forth at the same time- memories of fear, of uncertainty, of conflict, of defeat, of hope against hope, and finally of loss. I dropped to my knees, my ceremonial dress spreading around me, and I looked around the room. The door burst open and a young woman ran in, a young man behind her. In her arms was a tiny baby. They were dressed in similar clothes to me, and on their faces were tears. From their faces, I knew what had happened.

“Mama!!” screamed my eldest daughter, Adaora. 

“Ezinne! Is she alright?!” I cried, holding my arms out. Adaora, as beautiful as she was identical to me at her age, hurried towards me and handed me my precious baby. Ezinne’s eyes were wide, in shock. She did not cry. My son, Chidi, trembled with rage as the tears streamed down his face. “They killed him!!! They killed father!” he said. “I’ll kill them! I’ll kill them! Kill all of them!! K…K…Ki…” the words caught in his throat as he sobbed uncontrollably and fought back the shame of disgracing himself in front of his sisters and mother. “To me, my children!” I said, and they clung to me, for dear life. “To me….”

With a loud bang, the walls around us were torn apart by purple fire. Adaora screamed at the top of her voice, long and loud as a swarm of drones, spewing purple projectiles in spinning arcs, spiralled into the room from all sides, coiling limbs coalescing from clouds of nanoparticles and stretching from them. In an instant, my children were ripped from my grasp and dragged across the room. For a brief instant I saw Adaora spirited away from me, fear in her eyes, a scream on her lips, one hand extended towards me as though begging me to take her hand, and then I became aware of a sudden,cruel jerk as my elbows were yanked to either side and my neck was cruelly yanked backwards. I gurgled in alarm as I strained to see what had happened to the baby I had so suddenly been forced to drop but then my whole world went upside down as I became aware of being dragged through the air at an alarming speed, coiling limbs around my legs as well as my arms, forcing them apart and flipping me over as they untangled me from my stately robes and maneuvered me through the throne room at speed. I caught a glimpse of a drone hurtling away with my baby Ezinne in its’ arms; alive or dead I did not know, and then all of a sudden there was a thud as I was slammed against the wall, pinned there by drones, gasping for breath and trying to find my bearings.

Adaora was still screaming.

I could do nothing else but call for Ezinne, my little one- even though she would not be able to understand her own name. Desperately, I searched the room for her, and for a while, nothing else mattered except her safety; but then something happened, which demanded my immediate attention, and then the mother in me swiftly took a back seat and the other me, the elected, undisputed, universally adored Queen of the Southern Saharan Empire, took her place.

The lump in my throat vanished, and the sorrow in my eyes was replaced with defiance and fierce determination, as the slender, blue figure of the hated enemy strode imperiously into the room, flanked by drones, and human traitors.

“Lhoebus,”I said, surprising even myself with the extent to which hatred coloured the sound of that word.

“Indeed,” said the alien, as he walked up to me, careful to stand well outside of spitting distance. “You, as with all primates….. Humans, are a lot smaller in person. But…” His leering, alien gaze travelled the length and breadth of my body, so agonizingly slowly that I began to fight feelings of revulsion and sickness in addition to my burning hatred. “…always so, exquisitely pleasing to the eye.” he snapped out of his reverie and looked away, surveying the destruction that had been wrought on my throne room. “At least, the high quality specimens. The majority of you are, to be frank, an eyesore. Which is a problem we shall solve for you in due time.”

He flounced across the room, his slender blue fingers giving directions to form-shifting drones as they buzzed around, busily executing his instructions. Rearranging, constructing. Even though I hated it, I couldn’t help but marvel at the versatility of the aliens’ technology. Nanotechnology- the likes of which we couldn’t even begin to comprehend. We had, humans, as a species, conquered sustainability, life expectancy, inequality, and sickness. We had transformed our planet into a paradise for ourselves. We had taken great steps towards unity, forming great nations and putting old grievances aside. But we had no answer to this- nanotechnology. 

In addition to nanotechnology, the aliens had yet another trick up their sleeves. As they buzzed around, the drones disintegrated and reformed, eventually constructing small devices at different parts of the room. They then activated these devices, creating glowing purplish discs of light, out of which objects were taken and others placed. These were Gates- known as “Thur’cron” by the Lhoebitta. As much as we tried, we could not reverse-engineer or duplicate this technology. Perhaps, if we had done so, things may have gone differently. Perhaps, if we had been united.

One of the humans in the room removed his helmet. I found myself staring into the cold eyes of my old friend, Farooq, Khan of the Northern Sahara. “Amaka”, he said. “It doesn’t have to be like this. We can still…” Farooq was cut off as he suddenly understood why Lhoebus had kept a certain distance from me. He wiped the saliva off his face, and couldn’t hide his fury. Good, I thought, and I hawked and spat again in his direction. He cursed loudly and pointed his weapon at me, resulting in a burst of purple plasma energy from a drone that seemed to have magically appeared in the right location. He screamed, staring at the stump that had once been his arm, and was all of a sudden seized by drones that extended tentacle like arms around him, seizing him, taking him into the air.

His men stood agape as the drones took up positions around them. In seconds they had individually made their decisions. Some dropped to their knees, dropping their weapons, and others were torn to shreds by purple fire as soon as their brains’ synapses registered their intent to fight for their Khan. Dropped weapons were disintegrated, and the kneeling Lhoebitta allies were then seized by drones and also spirited to the edges of the room. So much for Lhoebitta integrity, I thought.

“Such a pity,” said Lhoebus, absently, as he oversaw the construction of what appeared to be a bank of extremely large gartes- Thur’shiens, the Lhoebitta called them. “You …. Primates must feel our greatest advantage comes from our gate technology, or our nanotechnology. But you have no idea just how wrong you are. You see, Amaka… we Lhoebitta have something that a species evolved through natural selection can never possess.”

He looked straight at me, and his alien features were contorted into the most bizarre approximation of a smile that is possible to imagine.

“Unity,” he said.

Ebuwa woke with a start, stinging pain banishing Amaka into a place beyond memory, beyond where fading dreams go when swept aside by vivid, unwelcome wakefulness. She cried out and leapt to her feet, only to be struck again by the drone’s whip.

“Your productivity and your consumption are in imbalance. You waste oxygen by breathing. Justify your existence!” it said, and whipped her again. Ebuwa screamed and backed into a corner, trying to defend herself with flailing, ineffectual little arms. She had overslept. Her permission to use the room had expired. A Thur’shiatta gate was present and she had not stepped through it in time, to receive her first assignment. She was in danger of…

“Do you wish to be reclaimed, candidate 4327?” demanded the drone.

“No!!!” Cried Ebuwa, tearfully

“Do you wish to steal from the Masters?”

“My life for their pleasure forever, no!!!!!!” she cried, as the Drone lashed her again, and again.

“Ever may they enjoy us. Then step through the gate or experience more pain.”

Whimpering and sobbing, while clutching her stinging welts, Ebuwa ran into the Thur’shiatta, briefly wishing it were one that led to the sweet release of reclamation.


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The Discarded

“Candidate 4327, please step forward.”

Clutching the bag that contained all my possessions in the world except the plain blue unitard that I and the other candidates were required to wear, I stepped forward and lowered my gaze, unable to look directly at the Lhoebitta Adjudicator as she prepared to read out my assessment.

“Eyes forward, stand straight for scanning, Female Candidate 4327”

I looked up, trembling. I had an idea of what my assessment was likely to be. It wasn’t too hard to work out, considering previous assessments I had witnessed at previous Assessment Ceremonies. I just couldn’t bear to see my worst fears confirmed in the harsh judgement of her cold, alien eyes before the final pronouncement of my worth, or my lack thereof, was made….

“Low Quality”, she said, her bulbous compound eyes gazing down her alien nose at me, in disapproval.

Her disregard was so complete, absolute and total that I wanted nothing more in that moment than to sink slowly beneath the surface of the earth and then, to die. A slender alien hand gestured towards the low quality area, and, filled with shame, I walked towards my new masters, tears streaming down my face, my little bag clutched to my chest.

There were two officers at the low quality selection, one Human merchant, and one Lhoebitta Master. By the side of the Lhoebitta was a Thur’cron, a miniature gate. The difference between a Thur’cron and the more common Lhoebitta gate variants was, light could pass through them, and they were power efficient enough to be run continuously as small, portable portals. No doubt a Lhoebitta Primate Psych-adjust recommendation was responsible for the fact that they were used for the purpose of performing the classification ritual. I, and everyone present, could clearly see the furnace to which everything cast into the Thur’cron was destined.

The Lhoebitta extended his slender, blue arm, and I passed him my bag, trying not to think of everything I owned, my life history, all that I had ever been given, made for myself, or otherwise believed was mine, contained within that little purse. He snatched it from me and casually tossed it into the Thur’cron, which transported it across a fold in time and space to a furnace, incinerating my belongings instantly.

The Master then produced a blue crystal, and ceremonially sliced it in two with a super-sharp retracting fingernail, before pocketing one half of the crystal, representing my total worth- half a measure of Thur’in. Then, the other half of the crystal was handed to the Human Merchant standing beside him, signalling the Lhoebitta payment to the Terran State for the onward transfer of ownership of me.

To the Lhoebitta, Humans were considered ‘Speaking Primates’ and subject to classification. “Low Quality” class primates were only allowed class E Right to Own. The only items included in class E were a candidate number (mine being 4327) and a candidate shroud (my blue unitard). For most Humans destined for a lifetime of servitude in the Lhoebitta empire’s Factory, assessments were carried out in bulk and sorting took place via a mass boarding process at one of the many Thur’shiens (Transit Gates) located around the globe. Assessment ceremonies such as this one, however, were still carried out frequently in front of large pre-assessment and freeborn human audiences, as a means of keeping Primate Psych-Adjust parameters within acceptable levels. It was bad enough to be handed your worth and your destiny in a single phrase, but incalculably worse to have it handed down in front of an audience of thousands, and six of your peers. As I shuffled to the holding area, my arms wrapped around my bosom and my hands clutching my upper arms, I became less and less aware of the lump in my throat, and the sound of my uncontrollable sobbing.

“Top Tier!”

This assessment was followed by a deafening cheer, and thunderous applause. I blinked away tears to see who had merited this assessment, and I wasn’t surprised. As I had predicted, Candidate 4330 was the lucky one. My sorrow found itself fighting outrage and a deep sense of injustice. The Adjudicator was beaming, gazing at 4330 with a look of satisfaction and pride. I remembered the disgust she had shown, looking at me. 4330 himself was grinning from ear to ear, waving to the crowd with his huge, muscular arms. He strutted across the assessment platform, putting his impressive physique on display for the crowd to see, before walking to the Top Tier area, where a grinning Master/Merchant pair waited, smiling and clapping, before welcoming him with hugs. A female Low-Tier primate hurried to his side to carry his bag of possessions for him, a ritual I considered completely unnecessary, given the Class A Right to Own enjoyed by Top Tier Primates. Top Tiers could own a large variety of items, one of the most important being a Name. If he so desired, this could be the last time candidate 4330 was referred to by that number.

And all these luxuries, all this status, was afforded to him by the impartial, biological scanning technology perfected by the Lhoebitta for the assessment of Human potential.

Except it was bullshit.

As 4330 took his place at the Top Tier section, a brilliant white smile breaking the chocolate monotony of his dark-complexioned face, skin as dark as mine, I accurately predicted the Top Tier classification of 4326, a petite, pale skinned girl with high cheekbones, dark, straight hair , pronounced Epicanthic folds and a memory almost as good as mine. Next was 4324, tall, beautiful, fair skinned, with prominent breasts, blue eyes and golden hair. Prediction: “High Quality”. Correct. Candidate 4338, Pale skinned, with straight hair, a physique as impressive as 4330, who consistently defeated him in arm wrestling contests at mealtime recess during pre-assessment. Prediction: “Low Quality”. Correct. Sorrow was gone, and the sense of injustice was replaced with anger.

And then there was 4325. A petite, dark skinned girl, just like me. Nothing remarkable about her body or face, just like mine. Expectant, hopeful eyes, unlike mine.

And a limping gait, unlike mine.

My heart sank as my indiginance on her behalf rose, now convinced my predictions were accurate, and thus my certainty at her entirely unjustified fate did nothing but fuel these emotions.

“Chattel”

The pronouncement was punctuated by a wail of anguish as she collapsed to the floor. Two fierce Lhoebitta enforcers were upon her in a flash, dragging her towards the Chattel area. Class F Right To Own meant she did not even merit a number. Her possessions were snatched from her and cast roughly into the gate, where they were incinerated. She was slapped across the face, and beaten- enhanced Lhoebitta muscles rendering her helpless in a few blows as her unitard was ripped from her body and thrown into the gate, reduced to ash. Her limp naked body was then thrown to the chattel area. The Lhoebitta Master smashed a crystal in his palm, reducing it to dust, and sprinkled some of the dust into the outstretched palm of the Human merchant, who spat upon her prone body. The audience was silent.

The last of us was also chattel, and I barely paid attention as his naked, battered body was flung into what was now a small heap. I fought against feelings of relief that I was “fortunate” not to be bound for the same fate as those two poor souls, destined for the Chattel area of a Lhoebitta Factory world. A grim lifetime in a cubicle equipped with a crank and a gruel dispenser- where they would labour forever generating energy toiling on the crank and consuming the Gruel- until the cost of Gruel, air, and sanitary liquid exceeded the value of the energy generated, at which point the next ration of Gruel would remove all motor functions and then their bodies would be reclaimed by the meat processor to be rendered down into Syy’lanth, a costly Lhoebitta delicacy, served only to the most privileged of Masters.

As I marched towards the low-quality transit gate, I remembered His words, long since committed to memory. Candidate 2377, from the pre-assessment camps.

“The scanner is a lie. The sorting formula is one from the history of humans, not Lhoebitta. Remember the truth of your worth, and remember to seek this worth in others like yourself. Keep this in your mind, find others like yourself, and low quality will be the death of Bondage.”

I stepped through the gate. I kept Hope alive as I did. Classification was unjust, and evil. But I was not low quality unless I accepted it. I was not a Speaking Primate unless I accepted it. I was not 4327 unless I accepted it. The truth of my intellect and my memory was not a lie unless I accepted it. My destiny as a menial worker, a labourer, a cheap prostitute for idle Top Tiers, was not mine unless I accepted it. And I would spread this Hope. I would spread this Hope among the other Discarded in low quality, find others like myself- others with talents, and worth, cast out among the discarded, and together, we would light a spark- one that would catch on the tinder that is scorned human ingenuity, and we would begin the long process of rising up against our oppressors.

We would end this slavery.

Continued here

The Discarded: Ebuwa (3)

This is part 3 of a series that begins here and continues here

On our hands and knees, we crawled through a network of tunnels, guided by signs inscribed with numbers. Our candidate numbers, among the few items we were allowed to possess as Low Quality Primates, served as indicators of our eventual destinations. Hovering closely were drones, ready and waiting to painfully discipline anyone that attempted a wrong turning. As we crawled along, a booming Lhoebitta voice spoke to us, giving us details of our plight, and our fate.

“Do not fear, if you fail to understand the signs,” the voice said. “As you are Low Quality, you are not responsible for your lack of intelligence. You will, of course, be disciplined by the friendly drones, who are at your service. Without the invaluable service they provide, that of stinging memory of pain, your base nature would unfortunately lead you astray. Accept their punishment gratefully, and do not resist. Do not push back against the natural order, and contribute in your own little way towards the greater glory of all living things.”

I craned my neck, hoping to see the signs at the next intersection, aware of the tide of fellow Low Quality crawling behind me, desperate to get to their living quarters. Twice, I had missed an intersection, swept ahead by the impatient tide, and twice I had felt the sting of the lash. One would assume I would have gotten used to it by now…. But I hadn’t. Each and every time it stung, and each and every time I cried, knowing my tears would draw pity from no-one. A turning- the final one for my candidate number. I felt a surge of energy and crawled faster, and faster… and then I was there, in front of a person-sized Thur’shiatta, with a sign floating overhead. On it, in clearly visible numerals, was my candidate number.

4327.

I crawled through the Gate, and waited for Emergence to complete. It did, and I was in a bare cubicle. There was no Thur’shiatta within the cubicle, and no windows or other openings. I would have felt trapped, if I was not already used to a lack of freedom.

A drone had followed me through the gate, and a voice began to play from within its’ artificially intelligent frame. “As a Low Quality Primate, your ownership rights do not include living quarters, as a result, you do not Own this domicile. You may, however, utilise it as long as permission to do so has been granted by the Factory Authority, as indicated by signage on any Thur’shiatta that may appear within, which shall occur at the pleasure of the Factory. Permission to use the domicile will be revoked when the appropriate Thur’shiatta appears, and you will not be guaranteed to be allocated the same domicile the next time you utilise a Thur’shiatta with signage bearing your candidate number. Any belongings you abandon within a Thur’shiatta you are not allowed to utilise, will be reclaimed by the Factory and destroyed. Any rations beyond sustenance may be forfeited towards payment for additional Clothing. You will however only be permitted to Own a single item of Clothing at any given time. As you are Low Quality, and thus lacking in powers of comprehension, I will now pause, and if you require, I will repeat the address in simpler terms, or if you so desire, I shall continue.”

“Please continue,” I said, surprised at the sound of my own voice. I had not spoken for so long that it sounded like a croak.

“You are Low Quality. This indicates that your existence carries a risk of constituting a resource drain on the Factory and therefore the well-being of all living things. This is not your fault, as it is in the nature of inferior beings such as Primates to lead a useless existence as a consequence of their flawed evolution. The ancient wisdom of the glorious Lhoebitta has however granted you the chance to justify your existence and produce more value than you consume. Your labour shall be quantified each period, and the cost of your upkeep shall be offset in terms of the Energy required to produce Oxygen for your survival, gruel for your intake, and sanitary gel for your cleaning and disinfection. If you are deemed to be a useless presence, you will be grateful to know that the next Thur’Shiatta you are presented with will transport you to the reclamation plant, where your bodily matter will be reclaimed for the culinary pleasure of our most exalted Masters,”

The drone paused. I snapped to my senses and spoke quickly, pre-emptively avoiding the lash.

“My life for their pleasure, forever!”

“Forever may They enjoy us,” completed the drone. It then continued. I noticed the sound of the lash powering down- that had been a close one.

“You are Low Quality, therefore you have poor genetics. This is not your fault, but rather an intrinsic flaw of the way your inferior species evolved. Variation by natural selection ensured you will forever be inferior to the Glorious Lhoebitta, but in their grace, they have provided you with Sanitary Gel. This Gel will cleanse you daily, and will therefore prevent you from developing one of several diseases that would otherwise plague your Primate body, thus reducing your Labour capacity, and ensuring you become a drain on the Factory’s resources. However, due to the low quality of your genetics, there are conditions you may develop or be afflicted with that would constitute a high resource drain to cure or mend. You may be concernd that should such a condition arise, the resource required to cure or mend your failed body would harm the natural order. In such cases, do not fear- you would simply be provided with a clear path to reclamation, and you shall be consumed for the pleasure of the Lhoebitta. As you are Low Quality, and thus lacking in powers of comprehension, I will now pause, and if you require, I will repeat the address in simpler terms, or if you so desire, I shall continue.”

At this point, I was so full of horror and despair that I wondered who would remain in this hell of their own volition. “Please continue,” I said.

“You are Low Quality, therefore you have poor intelligence and a bad memory. Subjectively, you may feel you have a good memory, and may believe you recall certain events and occurences, but this is a symptom of the doelig-kru’garr effect, which means your incorrect or inaccurate memories give you a false sense that it is better than it is. The memories you have are certainly false, and the ideas you have are wrong, and stupid. Therefore you are to refrain from attempting to second guess any instructions you are given. As your low intelligence guarantees occasional disobedience, friendly Drones such as myself shall be present at all times to provide you with Stinging Memories of Pain to assist you in maintaining discipline. Note that continued infractions will constitute penalties to the value of Your labour, and may result in your removal to reclamation at the next assessment period. We would like to stress that it would be counterproductive to intentionally downgrade ones’ labour value in order to self-remove to reclamation. This is because you have the option, at any time, to request from any Friendly Drone an immediate pathway to reclamation, and this request is very often granted, as a low quality that no longer is motivated to survive is a drain on resources and shall be allowed to voluntarily offer their body to the pleasure of our most exalted masters,”

“My life for their pleasure, forever!”,  I said, feeling sick to my stomach.

“Forever may They enjoy us,”  the drone responded. “As you are Low Quality, and thus lacking in powers of comprehension, I will now pause, and if you require, I will repeat the address in simpler terms, or if you so desire, I shall continue.”

“Please continue,” I said.

“You are Low Quality, therefore you will be sterilised and thus unable to reproduce. This means you need not fear passing your Low Quality genes to others. In order to ensure that you provide adequate recreational services to Top Tiers who may desire them, your sexual function will be left intact. As you are Low Quality, and thus lacking in powers of comprehension, I will now pause, and if you require, I will repeat the address in simpler terms, or if you so desire, I have come to the conclusion of the address, and will grant you a single query, with no guarantee of a response. If you do not respond within five seconds, this address will be over, and you will be required to lie your body upon the floor and thus recuperate in preparation for your first set of tasks.”

“Does reclamation hurt?” I blurted out. From my memorised Ee’wae A’yae studies, I knew the answer, but my desire to live had been so damaged that I needed to be made even more certain of it.

“Yes,” said the drone. “Reclamation chambers are fitted with audio sensors and every sample of processed Syy’lanth is accompanied by an audio profile generated by the measured texture of the subject’s screams during the process. This is cross referenced with a control set and thus correlated with the intensity and nature of the pain experienced by the subject. It has not been confirmed, but there is a sense that increased pain, fear, hurt, and despair cause a specific cocktail of hormones and associated fluids to be released into the body in a pattern that creates an even more exquisite flavour. Great care is taken to maximise the duration, variety, and intensity of the pain experienced by the subject as their bodies are ground into Syy’lanth. If you desire to better please our Masters,”

“My life for their pleasure, forever”, I interrupted, 

“Forever may They enjoy us, you may perhaps attempt to ensure that sensitive parts of your body, such as your eyeballs, throat or genitals, are rendered early so as to maximise your pain and the nature of your screams. Your single question has now been answered, do not waste any more air by speaking, permission to access this drone is now revoked.” and with that, the lights were immediately killed, and I heard the drone disassemble into its’ component nano-particles, presumably to exit the room via tiny air vents in the corners.

I sat in a corner and drew my legs to myself, wondering what terrible evil my race had committed in the past, that meant we deserved to be punished so. As I lay my head upon my knees and sobbed, I was aware that I was wasting precious Oxygen, and increasing my chances of a painful death at the next “assessment cycle,”, whenever that was. I wanted to whisper to myself, to tell myself I was not Low Quality, I was not 4327, but Ebuwa, and I was going to end this slavery, but I couldn’t.

Mercifully, exhaustion soon won over despair, and I fell into a dreamless sleep.

The Discarded: The Gate (2)

This is part 2 of a series that begins here

I stepped through the Gate, and my world became very, very, small.

The gate was a Thur’shiatta, a sort of miniature Thur’shien. Unlike the small, portable Thur’cron gates used for the classification ritual, light did not pass through the larger, more power-hungry Gates, and so their ultimate destination would remain a mystery to anyone save the Calibrators, Lhoebitta specialists who managed the Gate Network, until the journey through them was completed. Thur’shien gates were large, and extremely power hungry, but could open to enormous sizes; large enough to admit vehicles of extraordinary size.  Thur’shiatta were much smaller, stable enough to allow living creatures to pass through, but with an upper limit to their size. As the six of us were sold to the Lhoebitta Factory at a public classification ritual, there was no need to open a full fledged Thur’shien to traffick us; we would be transported via this smaller gate to the Conduit, a transitory station, where we would merge with human traffic from the larger Thur’shien based trading routes.

Gate technology was the Lhoebitta’s great leap forward, the source of their galactic dominance. Ceremonial recitals tell of the glorious day Lhoebus the fifteenth, immortal lord of all Lhoebitta, graced the Human homeworld “Primus” with his eminent presence, and rescued all humans from a filthy life of squalor, violence and mutual destruction through the miracle of Gate technology- ushering us into a new world of perfect balance, with every person exactly where they deserve to be. Based on what I had just witnessed, of course, I found myself less inclined to believe that claptrap, and was grateful to have been given an alternative narrative to commit to memory- one of a distant homeland known as “Earth”, where more than just primates roamed a world where vegetation was so plentiful it formed green jungles larger than a Lhoebitta capital ship. A bizarre fantasy, considering the massive energy surplus such an abundance of vegetation would constitute (and that much free Oxygen? Might as well have Thur’in crystals growing out of the ground while we’re at it!) but it was a tale I found that I clung to, despite the fact that the man who had narrated this story to me, Candidate 2377, claimed this fantasy land was scoured of all life after a bitter Human-Lhoebitta war.

I waited, as the claustrophobia of Gate transit gave way to the vertigo of Emergence, and then, suddenly, I was in the company of numerous individuals, in a desolate, rocky place, beneath a black sky in which distant violence created intermittent red lightning, and wide bridges led across a glowing sea of boiling orange-red fluid to a nightmare engine that stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction. A grey, windowless, mechanical monstrosity, featureless except for a multitude of chimneys spewing coiling, morphing blackness into the surrounding dark.

And on the bridges, as far as the eye could see, were Humans, a multitude of them, in neat lines, marching into the dark maw of the Factory. The vast majority on their hands and knees, shuffling along as fast as they could, policed by swarms of robot drones that buzzed around them. 2377’s accounts remained as accurate as possible- those drones were automated agents, equipped with pace sensors to detect humans falling out of line, or slowing down, and capable of instilling discipline via rapidly extending cables that lashed the skin. Among them, was an undercurrent of naked chattel, dragging themselves along the floor on their bellies, not allowed to use their legs to move themselves forward, and bearing the bulk of the brunt of the lash. A minority walked upright, clutching bags full of treasured possessions: these were the High Quality Primates. Yet others, low quality like myself, laboured to carry small vehicles in which the Lhoebitta masters and Top Tier primates were conveyed. From time to time, Drones would seize a Human, who had failed to keep pace or given up, and fly them to a disposal chute, of which there were several at the side of the Bridge. Very few were aware that the Fate of all who were thrown into these chutes, was a grisly destination at the meat processing plant, where their flesh would be reclaimed and processed towards a rare dish only available to the richest of high caste Lhoebitta.

I saw all this from the elevated ledge our special Thur’shiatta had taken us to. The Human Merchants were here. They stepped forward, in ritual unison, and knelt, heads bowed before the Masters, presenting their payment, in Thur’in crystals and dust, to the Masters as though to grant them the freedom to retrieve their payment if they so wished. The Lhoebitta ceremonially gestured to signal their pleasure to part with the payment, and then the Merchants stood, their heads still bowed and their hands outstretched, and walked backwards into the Gate, then they were gone.

The Lhoebitta guided 4330 and 4326, the fortunate Top Tiers in my little group, to a small vehicle with soft seats within. They walked in and sat, and then the vehicle was picked up by four sturdy individuals dressed in the unmistakable colours of low quality primates. They then approached me,as I stood among the other Low Quality primates and then all of a sudden my life was pain and humiliation. Blows landed across my face and the pain made me cry.

“Low quality trash. On your hands and knees, maintain pace”

I complied without comment, and hurried along with the other low quality towards a staircase that would lead us both down to the bridge. The chattel were also here, unconscious. We left them behind, where they would presumably be forced to crawl along this same path on their bellies, an ordeal I couldn’t imagine. I fought against the feeling of relief at not having to endure this, that threatened to grip me. I could not allow their plight to make me feel any sort of privilege. I couldn’t!

Yet, deep down, I knew I would fail. As much as I hated to admit it, I was grateful for the clothes on my back. For the knee padding that protected me from the harsh rocky ground. From the prospect of having to drag my naked genitals along the floor. And I also felt envy for the privileged, allowed to walk, head and shoulders above us, and hatred for myself- my low quality self- a wretched byproduct of the imperfection of Human evolution and its endless forms most grotesque- for deserving this place in the pyramid of life. I would fail, because, no matter how much I fought against it, no matter how much I disputed it in my mind, it was True, unlike the lies I had been fed by 2377- lies and fantasy that blinded me to reality.

Stinging pain across my buttocks. I crawled faster. And experienced a welcome sensation as my tears dried… anger. And with that anger came renewed resolve. If the basis of my inevitable failure, the eventuality of my succumbing to this supposedly perfect order, was the fact of its undeniable truth, well that truth didn’t exist in the slightest. The mere fact that I could remember all these details, all this history- that i could have committed to memory the entirety of 2377’s narrative- his “Eewae A’Yae”- meant that I wasn’t low quality. Even if the classification ritual was true, I should NOT be on my hands and knees. And it wasn’t true. It was a lie. And soon, more people would know it was a lie.

I was whipped again. This time, for crawling too fast. I slowed down, and kept pace with the other crawlers. Glancing left and right, I tried to see whether I recognised anyone. Nobody paid any attention, for fear of punishment, their eyes focused either straight ahead or at the ground. A passing High Tier stepped on my fingers, and I cried out in pain, attracting a punishment drone. The High Tier’s eyes widened as he anticipated punishment, and then his fear was replaced with relief as the drone punished me instead. He hurried along, sheepishly refusing to meet my gaze.

I ignored him and fixed my gaze ahead. On my hands and knees I couldn’t clearly see my destination, but the Bridge was wide enough that I knew I was close. The factory loomed high, and the sky flashed red. I stared ahead, and I crawled, and crawled, and crawled.

By the time we got to the entrance of the factory, I was not surprised to see up ahead, the unmistakable purple glow of a Thur’shien. Not just because 2377 had told me there would be one, but because, of course, there would be Gate technology that would have made the journey of the last few hours unnecessary. Primate psych-adjust. It was at the root of every ordeal, every ritual, everything we were told, shown, or made to do. I kept going, and going, and going, until I crawled through the wide, oppressive maw of the Factory entrance, and before me, in this endless Hall, was a vast, shimmering, otherworldly disc of shifting, morphing light: a Thur’shien gate…. A Gate of No Return.

“CHATTEL.”

A voice boomed through the echoing vastness of the hall, and I knew instinctively to stop crawling. A few less intuitive high qualities kept walking along and were punished for it by drones. Idiots. As we waited, the chattel kept crawling, and crawling, and crawling. We waited for them to crawl through the Gate in their vast numbers. I waited as person after person dragged themself past me, and towards the gate. Some of them seemed to pull themselves forward with renewed vigour, as though the end was in sight for their ordeal, and the shining light infront of them represented some form of respite. I waited, and watched as a grisly mass of human flesh crawled forward and poured itself into what could have been a massive gaping maw of death. And then the voice boomed again.

“LOW QUALITY.”

I began to crawl towards the gate, and inside my mind I responded.

“I am not low quality.”

“I am a person.”
“And my name is Ebuwa.”

Continued here