Subject: Drone N436Z984A026 [AKA Naza]

Species: Unknown

Description: Humanoid

Ship: Grand Vessel of the Universal Omni-Union

Location: Grand Shipyard of the Universal Omni-Union

My implants buzzed to wake me from my charging cycle. Too early. It's always too damn early. My bay's screen moved into view, demonstrating the tasks that would be expected of me this work cycle. Repairs and replacements, same as the last twenty cycles.

For every cycle we spend on construction, we have to spend dozens more on maintenance. If the Minds would permit the creation of more drones, we might actually get this damn ship done within the next trillion years. But they're more focused on getting materials to build the ship and ruling over us with an iron fist.

A small shock tickled my brainstem. A remnant of the inhibitor that I had altered thousands of years ago. Its original purpose was to cause near-paralyzing pain whenever one thought about the incompetence of the Minds, but thanks to my modifications the shock is actually somewhat pleasant. It's more than a little amusing that the tech they installed to to force me into blind subservience now serves to reward my deviance.

I disconnected from my bay with a small sigh, began equipping the proper implants for this cycle's work, and gave my neighbor a short wave as she did the same. At least most of this cycle's workload is molecular rebinding. It's mindless work, but it gives me the chance to zone out and think for a while. The mundanity of the task may bother some drones, but I've always fancied myself a bit of a Hfkilno {philosopher, derogatory} and I require time to think so that I can decompress. Mundane tasks are the only way I've lived this long.

I left my room and boarded the shuttle, which was extra cramped this cycle. Bits of flesh and metal poked into me, and my flesh and metal poked into those around me. When I was in school, I hated being touched, but I've since gotten used to the proximity of others. I've gotten so accustomed to it that it would feel weird to have personal space at this point.

I managed to catch a glimpse through the shuttle's oxygen retention field through the press of bodies. Working on the outer layer of the Grand Vessel is worth it for a view like this. The stars of distant galaxies winked at me, encouraging thoughts of freedom and escape.

Of course, the overdrones would prefer that I not think at all and simply accomplish my tasks. If my higher brain functions weren't crucial, I'm sure they or the Minds would have had them removed at birth. Unfortunately for them, and likely for me as well, many of the tasks that drones are charged with are too intricate for even lesser AI to handle. A higher AI could, but creating enough of them to replace the drones would be cost-prohibitive.

The shuttle docked at my stop and the retention field disengaged with a harsh hiss. After sliding my way through the other drones and stepping onto the platform, I glanced at those that had disembarked the shuttle with me. Before I could spot any familiar faces, a metal claw patted my shoulder. I turned to find Nizi, one of my few actual friends, grinning at me.

"Ready for another cycle of suck?" he asked.

"Nah, I'm gonna enjoy this cycle," I said, winking with my upper eye.

He laughed at my sarcasm, closing all three of his eyes and opening his mandibles to indicate a sort of exasperated humor. Nizi and I had become fast friends, mostly because our unauthorized names are so similar. Even our designations are nearly identical. His is N426Z894I016, which is only a few numbers and a letter different than my own.

Such an occurrence is almost a miracle. There are so many designations and drones are swapped around so frequently that the odds of meeting someone with a designation even close to your own are astronomical. The last time I'd met anyone with a designation beginning with N was in school, and they had been immediately transferred once the overdrone found out we'd become friends.

"If you say so," he said as we walked. "They confiscated my music player, so I'm going to be plenty bored."

"What? Why?"

"It wasn't an authorized device, so they took it and told me that I would have to buy an authorized one. As if I could afford one. Did you know it costs twenty cycle's pay for some tunes? Can you believe that?"

"You still sending all of your pay to your hive?"

"Yeah. The kids are right about to start career assignments, so my mates are trying to get them some extra schooling. If one of them manages to become an overdrone, maybe we can start working for them and take it easy," he laughed.

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"That's not how it works," I chuckled. "The Minds won't let you or your kids work for each other. Plus, overdrones whose workers don't put in maximum effort don't last long."

"Yeah, that's true. Oh well, at least we'll be getting more money into the hive. Maybe I'll be able to retire in another few thousand years!"

"That's the spirit," I chuckled darkly. "This is my stop, I'll see you later."

"Have a good one."

I watched Nizi continue on his way and turned my attention to the task at hand. I hate talking about kids. It always opened a deep wound that would never fully heal. My hive's gone, and I can't help but envy those who still have one.

My parents had died of old age long ago, but my eight siblings and twelve children had been executed for taking part in the last revolt. They were charged with inciting violence, attempted murder, mutiny, and every other crime that the Judicials could throw at them. Only two of them even held a weapon. The other ten had only been trying to recruit others.

My siblings families hadn't fared much better. Out of all their mates and children, I only have one nephew left. He's started his own hive, and we don't talk anymore. Too many painful memories of happier times.

Those previously happy times turned into the darkest cycles I've ever known in the blink of an eye, and I'll never get over the guilt of not being around for any of it. I was far too busy working, like a good little drone. When everything was said and done, only two of my five mates survived the Judicials.

The other three were found guilty of collusion and executed. I'd lost most of my family in a single cycle, and didn't even hear about it until the Judicials pulled me in for questioning. They suspected that I had murdered my two remaining mates, but they had taken their own lives out of grief. I nearly did too, but I'm too ashamed to face my hive in the afterlife.

My elder brother had asked me about my thoughts regarding the Minds and Overdrones. He had apparently found my answered unsatisfactory, and had left me out of the attempted insurrection. The shame I felt when I finally connected the two events was overwhelming. My hive had excluded me because they believed that I valued the Omni-Union more than them, and now I'm the only one left.

With a small sigh, I began rebinding the hull that had begun to crack under the strain of its weight. Could I start a new hive? Sure. I'm still in my prime and there's plenty of female drones who would love to become brood mates and raise children instead of slaving away cycle after cycle. But I can't even bring myself to try. I loved Temil, Hruos, Lami, Prasi, and Jula with my entire being, and I somehow managed to love our children even more.

The thought of trying to find someone else to love makes me feel guilty and dirty. Like I'm a scumbag who doesn't know how lucky I had it. And the fear of finding that and losing it again only serves to seal the deal. I lost my hive, and I'll never have another.

"Drone N436Z984A026, use caution with the wiring," an automated voice said over a nearby intercom.

"Understood," I replied automatically.

I adjusted my clamp and got back to work, remembering all of the cameras and microphones monitoring my progress. If I suddenly snapped and decided to start ripping wires out of the wall, I'd get a visit from one of the mechs. Perfect system for making sure that we stay productive, and likely how my hive's insurrection was found out.

The way they make the mechs is supposed to be a secret, but it can't be a coincidence that new mechs are released only after someone snaps and gets arrested. The obvious conclusion is that criminals are turned into mechs. I shuddered at the thought that my kids may have become mechs.

That would be a terrible fate. Not that being forced to work all cycle, every cycle is much better. Still, at least the tasks that I'm assigned are safe. The leading cause of death among drones is task-related fatalities, so I truly have it made in that regard.

The second leading cause of death is dissention. As it turns out, people don't want to perform back-breaking and dangerous tasks with little or no rest. And the OU is truly terrible in their response to protests, peaceful or otherwise. What happened to my hive is a somewhat unique story, but only because I survived it. All of this pain and death, just to build this damn ship.

Every piece of effort we expend goes toward the construction of the Grand Vessel, and has for eons now. We're taught as children that our whole purpose for living is to complete it. Of course, the Minds claim that once the Grand Vessel is finally finished, we'll be able to sit back, relax, and enjoy the fruits of our labor. But the odds of any of us living to see that are pretty damn slim. And the odds of the Minds keeping their word are even more slim.

There was once a time that we didn't have to work all cycle. Before my ancestors surrendered to the Universal Omni-Union, we had our own worlds and ships. Children played instead of going to school all cycle. Workers went home to their mates at the end of every cycle, instead of once every twenty cycles specifically to engage in procreation. There were even people who didn't work at all, instead spending their time finding new and exciting ways to entertain themselves.

We had honor, prestige, and friends among neighboring species. An alliance that claimed to rule the stars. Then one of our more troublesome neighbors got a certain idea in their head and turned to fanaticism. They built ships to rival our own and converted entire star systems into weapons. They destroyed our stations, burned our worlds, killed our women and children, fought us to near-extinction, and only then did they finally demand our surrender.

Our leaders unanimously agreed, and the Omni-Union took our weapons and enslaved us, forcing us to work for the rest of our lives. They augmented our biology to give us longer lives to serve them and make us more effective at our tasks. Then they began calling us drones, and now no one even remembers the name of our species.

I wonder... If my ancestors had known what would become of us once they surrendered, if they had known about all the pain and misery their descendants would be forced to endure, if they knew of how many of us would still be murdered by the Omni-Union... Would they have still surrendered?

Or would they have opted to die fighting?

The Story Continues in

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