EVE Fiction

In YC 106, a small facility was established in deep space, ostensibly as a research outpost of stellar phenomena. Financial records from transactions between the Sukuuvestaa subsidiary and material providers show it was equipped with enough hydroponics and residential modules to house and feed fifty-three staff, the usual scientific equipment for astronomical observation, and had necessary automation and docking areas for the handling of vessels frigate-sized and down. Every annual investigation turned up excellent marks, and on paper it has functioned optimally in its role.

That the facility was never meant to produce a single scientific discovery was entirely beside the point, nor a fact worth troubling the public over.

*****

It's been a decade since the great merger of the Capsule and the Clone. Since then, many questions have been asked, and few of them answered to satisfaction. One of these questions is just what to do with someone to whom death is at worst an inconvenience, and on occasion precisely the opposite. Expensive and expansive records must be kept, meticulously detailing a capsuleer's communications, monetary transactions and out-of-capsule activity, to prevent any clandestine, unauthorized clone backups from being made or worse, activated prematurely. And sometimes, as with everything made by man, there's a crack to be slipped through.

"Human ingenuity always finds a way, if one puts enough dedication to the endeavor."

The room was austere, small, windowless. The Deteis wore a thin-lipped smile that his eyes did not share. The augmented voice was perfect, never confusing its pitch and tone as he spoke.

"Despite all the bureaucratic methods of control, the incentives of loyalty, the oaths taken to each of their nations, sometimes a capsuleer just goes a little.. odd. Especially if they've died a few times. The technology isn't quite one hundred percent, after all. Usually, the problems are caught before they go far."

"The training is very extensive, and the testing rigorous. Relatively few ever get to the advanced stages, let alone actual certification, if they're too high-risk. But you need to take certain measures when you have a clever, fully-fledged pilot with means, connections and the will to escape their self-imposed prison. When all your records, all your safeguards, indicate even the possibility they've managed to have an unauthorized body and scan brought into existence, you end up in a very complicated situation."

He paused, took a drag from his cigar for a practiced, precisely-timed interval, and smiled again.

"But there's a solution for every problem. You can't execute them, since they'd just wake up in their new form, and by virtue of the act they'd know they'd been found out. You can't put them in a regular prison, with the common rabble. These are special people, who deserve special accommodations. Fortunately, gentlemen, there are places in the dark void between the stars, places where no gates lead and few know exist, let alone how to find them. Places which serve the purpose of containing those threats to humanity in a fashion appropriate to their status."

Directing the attention of his Gallente counterparts to the right with a gesture, the wall indicated silently melts away, revealing a long corridor reaching between two stretches of hydrostatic tanks. The eerie, soft green and blue of the lit-up ectoplasm within the tanks rolls into the room, the normal lighting having been dimmed when the wall slid away.

"In the academies, they are trained against the wetgrave fate. Fortunately, any human conditioning can be broken, with the proper application of the correct tools. During this process, we very carefully and delicately scan every part of the subject's brain, revealing every hidden secret and bit of knowledge they hide about their plans. Soft clones, personal communications, every action their brain can remember. After that, we induce a mind-lock state. Permanent, irreversible. We keep them alive, healthy in almost every sense, forever. How the nations dispense of the employment records and contracts is not our business, and we do not play favorites on which nation we deal with."

He remains upright, perfectly straight in poise. One of the Gallenteans leans forward, elbows on his knees, speaking lowly."You understand, since the Tripwire debacle, the government has been very cautious about sensitive information being leaked. I presume during this comprehensive scan, you would by necessity come across certain things that are highly confidential."

"I would note that allowing capsuleers to defect from your navy would, by necessity, cause the leaking of information, sir. The purpose of this business is to solve your problems, not cause you more, and we're very good at what we do. Our methods find precisely what we need to know to ensure the defeat of any backup plans that the convicted have, and we have a perfect record of doing so. There has never been a single incident where one of our prisoners has evaded our control, and every one of our partners have been universally pleased at our taking care of their problems, quietly and efficiently."

The wall reappears as the room's lighting returns to normal. He takes another precise drag of his cigar, places it in a small, functional tray and folds his hands together on his desk. The two Gallenteans on the other side glance at each other, shifting in their seats.

"But as you can imagine, gentlemen, this proven, unique service is not free. Not free at all."

This time, the Citizen's eyes were also smiling.

Great post, well done

Awesome writing, as always! This is literally one of the worst fates imaginable for an infomorph.

Loved it.

ominous, but i like it!