The entire hall was silent, save for the sounds of sluglike tendrills contracting and claws pinching at the air. All members of the congregation were standing around the crab-human hybrid in a semicircle, staring at her intently and waiting for her to begin the meeting. She cleared her throat before saying the following:
“Hearken to the national chant, and gaze upon a truth of utmost importance.”
After a brief moment of stillness she lifted her left pincer and her right sapient hand up, and turned them upwards as if she was praying. She began to chant. A melody with barely intelligible lyrics permeated through the room and echoed across the walls made out of a biological composite material. This substance was mostly comprised of limpet teeth and cartilage. The council had willingly given itself up to a trance. The air became hallowed. This went on for a short moment before she began the second stage of the song. Her secondary mouth, located on her abdomen, was vocalizing and producing a steady rhythym to accompany the melody. She started to sing some intelligible words after that point:
“Any unliving machine or any living being that serves an unliving machine will prevent progress. The very life essence to which we entrusted ourselves and our future said to us so. We shall follow its orders and commands, and we shall take heed not to create any material that does not live. The sires of the flesh and truth...”
This went on for about two minutes before it came to an end. The audience drifted back into consciousness and the woman spoke again:
“The five hundred and fifty eigth meeting of the Department of Civil Reorganization has begun.” she closed her claws rapidly to emulate a mallet hitting the courtroom table.
“I would first like to adress the growing number of ongoing protests, and the number of dissent-inspiring figures within the collective consciense. We will discuss preventitive measures that can be implemented in order to set the populace at ease. I shall now inquire you proposals. Starting from Shark-Kelfir Adem.”
Adem stepped forward, cleared his throat, and the noise he made sounded like something halfway between a cough and someone drowning. He had only recently exited his hydration tank, and his skin looked as shiny it could as a result. The fins blending into his skin on many places of his body resembed scar tissue at their seams. Gills decorated the sides of his neck, and they widened as he began speaking:
“As concluded previously in meeting five hundred and fifty one, as the leader of the intelligence gathering side branch, I was to collect information on the ways in which rebellious thoughts and behaviours are cultivated within our schools and workplaces”. The bubbling noises emanating from his throat thrashed violently against the white walls. “Even though the educational policies preceding the 2532 reform that were taken into effect have officially forbid the discussion and even condemnation of non-conformist groups and protests, these changes alone cannot stop beliefs dangerous to the government from gaining popularity. In light of this information, I propose a new set of laws and a renewed neurological conditioning codex that will serve to incriminate any skeptical student or workers”. He stepped back, indicating that he had stopped talking. He was ready to answer questions. The Crab-Klench raised her brow. Raising her hand she retorted:
“Kelfir Adem, what would be the punishment for such outlaws that you've described? Surely you recognize that it is better to turn the rebelling voices to our cause or at least dissuade them rather than to jail them. The concentration of insurgents among the general populace is about thiry eight percent,” she said, and then let Adem respond:
“Well, for younger students maybe we should consider punishments such as seperating them from their families for a given period of time correlated to the severity of their crime. For older students or workers something like torture or non-lethal mutilation that will not inhibit their abilites to function could be considered.”
“I understand, ” the woman agreed. “Thanks to Shark-Kelfir Adem for his efforts and his sugestions. Now, onto the matter of the protests. Scorpion-Shruk Khreytung,” she pointed her claw towards the hybrid standing next to Adem, “speak of the situation in the streets, and ask for help if you need any.” Khreytung went forwards on her eight legs. Her tail was quite subdued, indicating mild lower body sedation. A second nerve center grown inside the abdomen has quite a lot of potential to go haywire and cause uncontrollable movements, but certain regional tranquilizers can combat this without causing problems with mobility. Crossing her arms she replied:
“It is indeed true that there has been quite a lot of civil uprising, and the number of citizens willing to join mobs in order to bring down the government or change it has been trending upwards for some time. Despite this, we have recently been able to quell most of the riots pretty efficiently. Focusing on arresting anti-establishment journalists and ideologues has been of tremendous help. Cutting off major long distance communication centers for the common people has been been difficult, but me and my team believe the results have been worth it. If the police can keep this up steadily, then all traces of this revolution shall be quenched in at most eight months. As for help, we don't need any for now,” she finished her report.
“It is good to hear that,” the Crab-Klench approved. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for a mushy silhouette. There he was. Snail-Bane. “Bane Fglolre,” she called.
“Yes, Klench?” he replied while dragging his body forward. Nothing save the rough shape of his face remained as it once was when he was an unaltered human. His entire body from the neck down had been subsumed into a mucusy flesh from which small tentacle-like appendages resembling white hairs sprouted here and there on his body. His arms were stocky, and his body had completely become like that of a slug. He had his legs surgically removed so that they would not impede him. Two very long antennea had replaced his eyes, and quite a lot of people who had met him would think him a blind man for it. Most of the time to their surprise, he could see better than them.
“I can trust you to implement a codex through the Mycorrhizal Network in the likeness of Adem's proposal, yes?” asked the crustacean.
“It it is certainly possible, Klench. We would need the teachers and officers to acquire this conditioning through the appropriate fungal centers, but we have more than enough loyal police and leaders to enforce the new mandate.”
“How long would this take?”
“Not too long, a week at most. The mushrooms glowing wild colors should be a pretty immediate indicator that there is a new directive waiting to take place in people's brains”. He had finally dragged himself the spot he meant to be in at the beginning of the conversation.
“Very well,” she said. Her crab-mouth was clicking with fervour. A look of relief mixed with contentment spread across her face. “Are there any who protest these decisions and conclusions that we have come to today?”
The gathering fell to silence, except for the impatient sigh of the Scorpion-Shruk whose sedatives had started to wear off.
“Good. Then this council is dismissed.” continued the Crab-Klench. The 16 or so creatures dispersed towards the thin membranes used as doors around the meeting hall. As they exited, these thin layers of tissue would rupture and then quickly repair themselves after they had left the room. Fglolre climbed towards another membrane high up on the wall. Normally he preferred egressing through that hole, because it opened up to a tube with a slippery inside. Getting places wasn't as slow when he could slide towards anywhere in the building. The Crab-Klench at the head of the meeting, Clocaica, complimented the chant she recited at the beginnig of the meeting with a similar song as the council departed. After everyone had left the room, she too passed through a membrane and made her way through the corridors composed of hardened muscle. Spread out like wolf lichen veins, exposed nerves and fungal growths could be seen inside the pinkish tissue. The passages themsleves had the shapes of tubes with flat floors. She kept walking sideways until she came across a bluish membrane twice her size. Entering a wide space bathed in purple hues, she noticed the refreshingly human figure standing in the middle of the room. He was staring through a red tinted glass, made out of thinned out and hardened flesh.
“Are things well?” he inquired, not turning around to face Clocaica.
“Why do you ask me? You know the answer, Throktar.”
“Ech Throktar, you mean.” he stared at the woman who had now come closer. “The protests are dying out, and a new set of laws and conditionings will be applied,” he said. Approaching the barely transfigured man, the scales peppering his skin and the vertically slit eyes caught Clocaica's attention.
“Yes,” she agreed. Standing beside the snake-man higher on the social hierarchy than her, she stared out the organic window. The so called soil of the earth resembled a vast batch of boiled skin, and a workplace was contained in each of those compartments that looked like grotesque bubbles. In areas where this layer was ripped red muscle could be seen. Three gigantic spikes of black pierced the sky. Skyscrapers. The pinkish white sheet was grafted onto the bases of these impressive structures. An orange sun was setting in front of the Crab-Klench and the Snake-Ech.
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“You've made a fine choice in promoting Fglolre to vice-president of the intelligence gahering branch. He turned out to be efficient to an unexpected degree.”
“A person that commited to turning himself into a tool, a slug, for the government would surely do the best he can.”
“Indeed,” she concurred. “Speaking of mutating, why haven't you gone further in your process?” she asked.
“This form serves me well as of now. If Blot Clathubious wishes me to become more serpentine then I shall abide by his commands,” Throktar finished. Clocaica nodded her head. “If you require nothing else, I shall return to my work,” she concluded. Throktar shook his head to say no. Clocaica left the room from the bruise colored door, and retired to her chamber in order to focus on her task.
After the meeting, sliding through tunnels designed for his kind and reaching unfrequented sections of the facility, Fglolre ended up in a subsection of the structure. A room big enough to fit a building, this was the place in which all operations relating to the gathering of intelligence and its distribution were handled. There were no openings from which light could enter the room, and so it was illuminated by a mutated strain of panellus stipticus. Glowing mushrooms stood evenly distributed on the ground. Through the yellowish light of fungi, living computers could be seen. Their method of creation involved cultivating large amounts of neural tissue, and then melding it all together into a ball of computational power. This mechanism would be wrapped up and prepared for linking with a sentient body willing to mediate interactions betwwen a user and the apparatus.
The Snail-Bane made his way between the devoted who made such a sacrifice and drudged towards the biggest of them, located approximately 10 meters away and slightly to the right of the entrance from which he slid out. Fashioned as a prisoner was she, who had the nerve-cords (strands of red protruding from the back of her head) with which she connected to her jailer folded around her arms and neck like a red chain. Her eyes were only half-open but she was staring blanky, as was usual for when she would create an alternate reality within her extended brain in order to occupy herself. From where she was sitting on a hardened lump of flesh, which was half a meter away from the processing center, a bundle of green veins connected her to the ground. That's where she received her sustenance. She unfortunately lacked any means with which she could exercise, and so her muscles had become very atrophied over time.
“My apologies, Ms Merie.” Fglolre whispered gently, solemnly wishing that he wouldn't tear the woman violently from her dream. Her unfocused eyes gathered from unconsciousness, and became a part of a disappointed visage.
“You should be. I was talking with a simulacrum of my sister in there,” she said, drenched in boredeom.
“I should not have overexerted you. It is one thing to strive towards a goal for much bigger than oneself, another to unnecessarily push someone like...”
“Okay, okay, I understand”. Her confident frustration seeped out of that statement only as much as intended.
“No, really. I shouldn't have done that,” he responded. Bereft of any previous ambition or arrogance, his words sounded quite pleasant.
“I apologize.”
Merie turned her head to the side. “I accept, but I will not tolerate something similar again,” she said quietly. Facing the slug she asked: “So, would it be presumptuous of I to think that you want me to get something done?”
The man paused for a bit, but broke the awkward tension with a subdued retort:
“Well, I shouldn't ask you to do much as of now, right?” If you would be so kind I'd like to retrieve general information regarding the ongoing protest in the Clamarian district, planet zone 092”. As he finished giving these instructions, the woman's entire face abandoned all expressions. She took two seconds, and returned while saying : “Everything's much the same”.
“Have the nonconfromers pressed forward at all?”
“No.”
“Are there any recorded instances of unliving tech being used?”
“As far as our reporters have observed, no.”
Fglolre sighed with shame. “Thank you. I again promise to never hurt you like I have before,” he added.
“I understand, I really do. I've got an awfully stubborn sister to attend to. Leave.”
Complying with her wishes, the snail-man slowly dragged himself away from her. While looking for the slippery tube that lead to his private office, he caught sight of six Shark-Kelfirs conversing with some living processors. Adem was among them, and began heading towards Fglolre as soon as he heard the sound of dense, swiftly evaporating mucus being spread on the floor. “You've proven yourself to be quite eager to please, Bane,” said the shark.
“I only try my best, it is nothing exceptional.”
“Maybe, but you have not seen the previous guys who were in your position. We're lucky we have you.”
“Well,” he hesitated to speak while crossing his arms, “thank you”.
“What?” Fglolre's doubtful articulation had not escaped Adem's attention. “Do you intend to slack off? Was work your work so far nothing but a mere stunt aimed to impress your higher-ups?”
“No no, that is definitely not the case” he said assuredly. Anxiously hoping to escape the Kelfir's inspection, he spoke again:
“I've made a mistake, and someone has gotten very hurt as a result. I did not do the best job in that regard. In trying to verify the intel I'd gathered with as much evidence as possible, I overexerted Ms. Merie over there. In hindsight, that was obviously unnecessary. I was overly ambitious.”
“This is... fixable. Knowing when to be pleased with results and working harder yourself instead are apparent solutions.”
“But what if a day comes where I have to harm her out of true necessity?” He was making his statements with rapidity and zest. “Wouldn't breaking my promise I just made reduce me to a simple barbarian?”
“You won't have to do that.” the Shark-man's response was immediate and resolute. “Most protests are dying out and even if they were to get out of control for a short period of time, you are more experienced. You can choose to be better.”
Two antennae bent, pointing sorrowfully towards the ground. Fglolre decided to accept what he believed to be true, even though he was disinclined.
“I have hope in my heart. I concur.”
“Assuming you have business to attend to and that I have more pertinent information to receive, I think this should be a good moment to say farewell.” Adem waved his hand a single time, going towards another computer that he had not attended to yet.
Fglolre nodded. He slid to his room after reaching the correct membrane. “Never again, Merie,” he whispered to himself. “Never again.”
While all of this was going on, Scorpion-Shurk Khreytung was in her room. Fluid-filled beakers made of keratin and resembling the flowers of an Amorphophallus were affixed to the wall at a shoulder's height. Above each of these objects there hung a small polyp that secreted either a sedative or nutritional fluid, depending on whether the tip was cerulean blue or emerald green. The black containers could be detatched, and the tissue that connected them to the walls would tear. If an object was pressed against this empty tissue it would stick, and then the organic matter would quickly regenerate much like a membrane-door.
Khreytung always had something to do in her position. Despite the government's best efforts to provide its citizens with the best resources it could, revolt was all too common. The woman reached for the fungal receiver to the side of her room and touched it to be pulled into its space. A monumental amount of date flooded her memory, and she quickly went through all of it in about a second in the computer space she had entered briefly. Something clasped her attention: Eye stalk visions of metal containers being carried on the backs of foreign machines coming from the sixty eighth planet zone. From the looks of it these manned abominations were driving across the sacred skin to the north, most likely to supply either rebels or Gesantal soldiers. Under each container there were four monstrosities each doing truly impressive amounts of work to keep the load stable and unharmed.
Khreytung removed her hand from the gelatinous structure and placed it on another device, this one was made out of many different fungi and much less humanoid tissue. She sent out orders to prepare a burrower and a standard platoon of soldiers in a specific military base two kilometers south of where she was.
After she was done with her preparations she put down her hand on the receiver once again, this time to examine a very peculiar memory log that she had noticed three days prior. She didn't have time to examine it back then, but there was a bit of breathing room for her to investigate it now.
It was quite long, long enough to make her spend a minute familiarizing herself with it even within the computer-space. The document was had to be translated as well, which amounted to a bit more work than usual. Contentment slowly morphing into regret was the general theme. A person, most likely a second generation earth immigrant, had transcribed their thoughts bimonthly on the current way of technology. Some of the lines from the beginning read mostly as such:
“These people despise the idea of replacing machinery with organics not because of any reason they can articulate, but because they prefer to safeguard their dogmatic views by any meas necessary. All nuance is lost to them when we tell them the obvious, living computers and Mycorrhizal networks are much more efficient and less destructive to the environment than their mechanical counterparts. This technology is the future, our future, and trusting it is our only solution. It is not a meaningless hobby horse...”
Whereas the parts in the middle had shifted their tone by quite a bit:
“...but that doesn't change the fact that we are only seing the beginnings of a system that has quite a substantial potential to flourish into something truly incredible. True, the change into organic mechanisms has been heralded by government officials and the rich and has been used by them for their own ends, but biological machinery was alwasy a double edged sword, and it still very much can be used for good...”
Of course this hopeful yet cautious attitude had given way to something quite different in the last lines:
“Even my bones are melting. I can feel my neurons shleefing and dancing and prancing and swirling and dying and melding into the immutable collective. Deafening shrieks are being emmited by my body as I transfer these thoughts into the web, but I have ceased to care. Brutal oligarchies have replaced our old democracies. The rat. I want to phone a pencil? The a kill god? Kill me? Kill. Me. Please God, end my suffering!”
Pity was fully redundant when the evaluation of these types of people was in order. Since the dawn of everything, they had never bothered to question what they truly stood for. Unquestioning, unburdened and yet doomed to damnation. This was a repeating comedy so great that being reminded of its existence, Khreytung chuckled merrily.
Being done with her examining of a past life, she pulled her hands from the fungal silk one last time. When she turned towards the door to exit her chamber, the stilted and jerky movements of her lower-scorpion body drew attention to themselves. “Already?” she whispered to herself, and then approached a keratin beaker filled with blue liquid. As she tore it off the wall and it made a slight popping sound. Sedatives would bur the throat when drunk, but this new mixture was especially painful to gulp down. After struggling to remain calm after taking it, she took a few seconds to breathe. “At least it's potent” she thought. Her legs were functioning normally again, as noticed by her while she was exiting the room.