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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Sci-fi · #1247913
A character background for "Space Pirates".
Hi.

Welcome to the New Basra Medical Centre.  I'll be your doctor today.

Yes, me.

The mind rapist.

And, no, you don't get a choice in the matter, we're understaffed. 

Besides, you're not going to live past tonight, anyway.

What?  No, you idiot, I'm not going to kill you.  The khedge seedling that tore through your left lung and your liver is going to do that.

Oh, come now.  No point in crying.  Just think, all of your organs (that are still intact, at least) will be going to a good cause. 

No, not organ transplants.  Don't be silly.  I'm getting 10 green for selling your organs to a Farmellon bloc party.

...

Yes, really.

Stop crying...come on...oh, alright; I'll give you some sedatives.  You can even have a clean needle.

There, much better.

You'll be half-conscious and delirious for the next five hours and by that glazed look in your eyes I can tell you're thanking me.

I've done you a big favor, you know.  We're not supposed to waste pain killers on terminal patients.  You owe me.

...

Tell you what.  I've got time to kill.  You can repay me by being my...what do the Moloks call them?  Yes, you can be my confessor.

Right.  How do we start this?  Let's see.

My name is Albion 3, sometimes known as Mater 0.  I am, as it is blatantly obvious, an albino Exile from the First Empire of Man.  I'm almost 19 years old, now, and I was cloned at the Aptus Centurion Training Compound.  And by that confused look in your drug-addled eyes, I can tell you've never heard of it.  Ah well, that's probably for the best.

Anyway, everything you've heard about us is true.  We torture and kill indiscriminately.  Our legionnaires are made from the bioengineered, enslaved bodies of those who were deemed inferior. We are all infertile, and we survive by cloning the strongest of our people...thus, the whole number thing I've got going on.  I was cloned from Albion 0 who, I hear, was a colossal bitch.

Unlike me, of course.  Aheh heh.

I suppose you also believe the pap that the Freedom Alliance has spread about.  You know, that we all snuck away from the First Empire because of some grand idea of liberty, freedom and equality. You couldn't be more wrong.

Well, in my case, at least.  I'm sure there are some people who go in for that 'touchy-feely’ factor.  I'm just not one of them.

...

I was trained, brainwashed, some might say, from an early age to kill.  As a child in the compound, all of my games, lessons and, indeed, every waking hour of my life were spent learning two things.  One: That killing is the best thing ever.  Two: That the Empire is always right.

I was a damned good student.

By the time I hit puberty, I could make a man's brain leak out of his ears at twenty places.  Don't look so disgusted!  I got a commendation for that, I'll have you know.

At the time, there were 5 of us in the Albion line.  If we all passed our psyker tests at 16, then the line would be considered strong enough to be cloned from, again.  If not, then we'd probably all be killed and used for spare parts.

That's right.

Nothing goes to waste in the Glorious First Empire.

Well, at 13, we were all required to have a physical, followed up by the standard, doggedly optimistic despite all glaring evidence, fertility test.

Guessed who tested positive?

Well done.

I'll make sure you get one of the clinic's dinky fruit cups for that burst of brilliancy.

Now, I know what you're thinking.

Seriously, I do.  I am psychic, after all.

You're thinking that that's impossible!  The First Empire was rendered completely sterile by the nuclear contamination.  But wait, aren't the Second Empire humans breeding? Being away from Earth must've been good for them, decontaminated them, or something.

Well, in my case, the Albion line had a very small, very rare, freakish instability that, for some unknown reason, led to me becoming fertile.  The doctors at the compound were overjoyed.

I was not.

Experiments on the rest of the Albion line began immediately.  New Albions were cloned and my blood was under so many different microscopes that I became anemic. I don't know what those scientists eventually figured out, but they seemed happy enough.

I was brought before Rex 0 (well, his secretary, at least) and commended on my great service to the Empire.  What great service?  Oh look, I can get knocked up.  Hurrah.

Don't laugh.  It’s not funny.

I have counter-sedatives and an angry E'epyoki in the next room, you know.

Good boy.

Anyway, they bestowed upon me the 'great' honor of being renamed Mater 0, which, in your heathen tongue, means Mother 0.  I would be considered the first of a new line and my genetic material would breathe new life into the Empire.  I'd like to say I was thrilled but, at the time, I was just feeling mildly nauseous after the artificial insemination run that morning.

A month later, a bio scan showed that I was expecting triplets.

I have to admit, here (and take this to the grave...oh, that's right, you'll be doing that quite shortly, anyway), that I got a little sappy.

I named them.

Atrocitas, Atrox and Attero-

You like?

I did, too.  This was why I was not exactly bouncing with joy when they were cut out of my womb and put into gestation tubes in a compound far, far away from mine.  Last I saw, they're tubes were being marked with serial numbers. 

See?

I had them tattooed on my back.  It's under the hair, so no one ever sees it, but I know they're there.

461.0, 461.1 and 461.2

I liked the names I picked, better.

...

No, I'm not crying.  I've just got some of this damned hair in my eyes.

...

Anyway, after that little psychiatrist's wet dream, I was cheerfully informed that I was being sent off to a brand new, state of the art deep space station, the "Carus."  There I would be cloned and constantly fertilized, for the good of the Empire.

It came as a bit of a low blow.

In the meantime, they had managed to get at least ten more 'fertiles'.  None of them as ridiculous as yours truly, but enough that it was making the bigwigs in power take notice.

So, there I was, shot off into space, where I faced a life of lying back with my ankles around my ears thinking of the Empire.

...

Let me just get one thing straight now, my friend.  I didn't escape because I loved freedom, justice and equality.  I didn't escape because I loved my alien cousins.  On the contrary, I find most of you nauseating, at best.  At any rate, I certainly didn't escape out of hatred for the Empire.

I love the Empire.

I was raised and conditioned to love the Empire.  I didn't know anything else.

I was raised to think I was vastly superior to any other race out there and, you know what?  I probably am.

I left because I was conditioned to serve the Empire as a cold-blooded killer and not, as they would have it, a docile breeding machine.

...

And that's why I snuck into the control room and sent that distress signal.

Because of my hubris.  My pride, in your vulgar tongue.  I left because I believed I was too good for that life.

And I left because I needed the freedom to do what I was conditioned to do.

To kill.

...

Well, that's my story, more or less.  A battle cruiser came to rescue us from the "Carus".  I snuck on board pretending to be nothing more than one of the 25 assorted Albions and hopped ship the first chance I got.  I make my living by working in dives like this and hiding from the Empire's scouts. Because they want me back, you know.

And I have a fair idea of what they'll do if they find me. 

...

Let's just say I don't need limbs or a frontal lobe to breed.

...

Anyway, that's it.  There's my confession.  I'm an escapee from the only place I've ever thought of as home.  I'm a killer and a hypocrite and I put 3mm of paralyzing poison in your IV drip.

That's right.

You weren't going to die.

It would've been a painful recovery but, trust me, you would've recovered.

I like that look of panic.

It suits you.

...

Well, I've got to go now.  I'm meeting a Molok about a ship.  She says she's looking to put together an Edger team and, who knows, I might just join.

...

But don't worry; I'll be back in a couple of hours.

After all, I'll need to get your organs while they're still fresh. 


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