Spoils Of War Collection

Chapter 3-1

“Thyson Archer was a Brew-Master.” I took a long, calming breath as I scanned the ceiling, retrieving memories.

Lincoln looked at me questioningly and I realized she was Near-Natural, not directly Bottle-Born like myself. She had birth parents, her Ornamental aspects the result of cross-gene manipulation brewed into earlier generations and stabilized over time so that perfect product was maintained, and exclusivity assured by a restricted breeding program. I knew, but hadn’t remembered, that the orchestrated breeding of Ornamentals had stopped long ago. It was too obvious for the post Radical-Reason public consciousness to handle, and the hidden processes of the bottle farms were much more acceptable. New Ornamentals arose from interbreeding among existing varieties, something that happened rarely due to purposeful structural difficulties built into each group to discourage such an outcome. Mongrel Ornamentals had no value to developers, whose vanity re “creation” was limitless.

Anyone who came directly from a farm like I had, knew exactly what a Brew-Master was and assumed that everyone else did. Lincoln had started from a natural-human base and been transformed into an Exotic. I’d started as an Exotic and been transformed into human form different roads to the same common ground.

I stopped, then started again. “A Brew-Master is the person who manages the technical operations at a bottle farm. The measure of a Brew-Master is in parts per million—how many in every million hatched lifeforms were successfully drained and trained, to use industry terms. An adequate Brew-Master can deliver about 150,000 on average across a full cycle, an average Brew-Master can deliver up to 250,000, and a top-rated Brew-Master can deliver up to 330,000. No one breaks 400,000. The competition for Brew-Masters is fierce. The differences a good one can add to the profits of farm owners are astronomical, as are the fees they command. They have to be, because a Brew-Master is the most dangerous occupation a natural-born human can have.

“All Brew-Masters have to be Naturals by strictly enforced law. A legal career limit spans 10 years and there’s a mortality rate—from natural and non-accidental causes—of 99.98% within six months of retirement. The Standing Committee had a serious dilemma regarding Brew-Masters; they needed them to safely harvest the energy from the lifeforms and deliver the array of workers required to sustain the desired life. They fear, rightly, that Brew-Masters could use skills to deliver workers who’d do the Brew-Master’s bidding and become a problem for the Standing Committee in nasty, violent ways.”

I stopped to gauge her reaction. She seemed riveted and I continued. “In the north-east corner of Thiegler is a PEELO company super-farm, the first super-farm in fact, that’s been burning for 450 years with no sign of stopping. There’s a structure, where the top portion leads to a narrow walkway and then to a small platform, that overlooks the vat house. This is the point of origin of the fire and the hottest part of the farm—it’s where the fire is monitored and also where Brew-Masters, considered threats, are taken and thrown into the flames. It’s rumoured that the proposal was made as a joke during a Standing Committee meeting . . . and now it’s official policy.

“Any natural human can apply to be trained as a Brew-Master and huge numbers do. They play the public lottery as well, so they’re used to thinking they can beat the odds and live to spend their money. The training process is aggressively selective; one in a thousand makes it past the first training round, less makes it to the end. They don’t fail. They simply make a mistake in the process and it kills them. Apparently, it’s the biggest source of clerical-grade Involuntary Public Servant staff in the systems and generates significant revenue for the Standing Committee.

“Thyson Archer was successful all the way through the process and was picked up by the Orisimi Configuration to work on one of their farm complexes. One of the reasons that Thiegler wasn’t ground to dust after the end of Ingea’s war was the fact that energy-rich lifeforms grow more successfully here than any other location in the systems. Thiegler is responsible for 90% of total production in the systems and it’s never been possible to replicate the effects anywhere else. The Orisimi Configuration, by the by, is one of the other systems that can support homebased production. They hire Brew-Masters from Thiegler to run the farms and follow a similar policy to the Standing Committee regarding them.”

“And Archer?” she prodded gently when I stopped to reflect on vivid memories.

I refocused and smiled dryly. “Archer was an exceptional Brew-Master with an instinctive understanding for the process. This gave him unprecedented control over the details of draining and training. He could fine-tune the process to deliver results that would have had him burning in the PEELO vats if anyone had the slightest inkling. They didn’t, because Archer chose the best possible disguise for a clever lifeform. He appeared to be slightly below average, making just enough mistakes to prove comforting to his employers while remaining worth employing.

“Archer was anxious to remain employed as he had a plan that required unfettered access to a farm. He’d realized that the biggest problem wasn’t being a Brew-Master but surviving after he stopped being one. After five unremarkable years at Orisimi, he was relieved of his job, given a bonus, and sent under escort back to Thiegler where he’d be kept under discreet surveillance for the rest of his very short life. He never made it back to Thiegler, though; he suffered a heart attack and died on the journey.

“The Standing Committee, being paranoid sceptics, brought back the body, revived it, discovered it was Archer, and dropped him into the flames. Now that he was satisfactorily dead, Archer could put the second part of his plan into action. He hadn’t cloned himself, too easy to establish after the examination the Standing Committee would give... The body was Archer, the original. Archer had brewed himself, not a twin, but a replacement who shared all his knowledge, skills, genius and memories right up the moment Archer ‘died’. At that point, the replacement was an independent lifeform with no connection to the dead lifeform, and no visible connection to the lifeform when he was alive. If Archer had given the faintest glimmer of being better than he appeared to be, the Standing Committee would have pursued the possibility of a replacement until it was found. Archer’s lifelong commitment to his personal plan paid off.”

satisfactorilyoriginalhimselfAs I sipped beer, I regarded Lincoln, wondering if she’d seen where this was going. She merely seemed excited and fascinated by the intrigue of it all; putting one over the Standing Committee was a dream shared by many and achieved by few. Clearly, she was admiring Archer for his skills, but soon she’d feel very differently.

“So, what happened to the replacement? Did it go off and live happily after?” she grinned. She had the brains to ask the right questions.

“The replacement took the name Dialland Jovial, settled in Mengchi, and sank as fast as possible into obscurity. He bought space in a K4739-West complex, took up a position with a scientific records office, and worked for the next 15 years as a data analyst … until he was arrested and charged with Section 7, Political Crimes.”

Section 7, Political Crimes were very specific, referring to any organized that attempted to overthrow the authority of the Standing Committee. The number of times Section 7 had been used was one of the most closely held secrets in Mengchi. Knowing that someone had actually been charged under said section put you in one of two very elite groups: as a lifeform being charged in the secret court that handled it or as a member of the group ruling on charges.

Lincoln and I now formed an unexpected and deeply unwelcome third group. I was sure, at that point, she’d have changed her instructions about adding a speakeasy charm to my beer if she could have. She’d set me up to talk and the words couldn’t be undone.

“Dialland Jovial’s job at the scientific records office was carefully chosen. The office had a contract from the Standing Committee to review brewing data from all farms to ensure that everything followed the rules. The office merely had a sliver of data, but Jovial only needed a sliver. He was searching for someone working at the limits of the rules, consistently enough to be doing so deliberately, and always inside the boundaries to avoid attention. Jovial slowly eliminated every possibility until he found what he was looking for … someone trying to do what he’d already done.

“Jovial knew exactly what to look for and how to be found, and when they met, they recognized a strong fellowship—in greed, desire for power, and willingness to travel a long winding road to that ultimate destination. They built a secret farm, very small and highly specialised … one that developed lifeforms that would infiltrate and act at the right moment. It was very successful. Jovial was an astonishing Brew-Master, an anomaly really. He’d grasped the subtle possibilities of brewing that had never been realized.”

My attentive colleague’s expression grew solemn.

“It was entirely possible that they arose, in part, from the brewing process that developed him. Archer was certainly capable of setting that up, recognizing his own limits and building ways around them in his replacement. The conspiracy was cracked ahead of the implementation because the Standing Committee, increasingly aware of a serious threat, had developed a solid grasp of the plan. They waited until the last second to round up—”

“But how did they know?” Lincoln interrupted, appearing perturbed. She was thinking clearly and assessing how close the danger was to her.

“The Standing Committee’s as committed to retaining their position as Jovial and his companions were to taking it. They did have a considerable advantage: more money and lifeforms. Add infinite experience and they were able identify a threat, Jovial, and 5,000 other data analysts as potential entry points. They sifted through prospects until they were left with Jovial and three others. A big mistake, however, was they believed Jovial was merely a low-level player, not inner circle.

“When the inner-circle was scooped up, the members were heavily guarded—ushered straight to the Red Halls—while hired helpers were placed in a local holding block. Jovial exited the block before he could be identified, but was chased by a Retrieval Squad, which is where our paths had crossed. Jovial, like Archer, was a lifeform who took dying seriously and had a plan to deal with it. Being a Brew-Master meant managing lifeform energy a lot of the time—the energy in charms and generators, and the transfer from one entity to another. All those jangling charms he wore were simply camouflage. The real secret wasn’t with them, but with me. I’m a Bottle-Born. I look human, but that’s not all I am. I hold a trace of my true lifeform—like a shadow inside every cell. It was that trace that Jovial hooked when he began decomposing … jumping into a shadow.

“So, when you asked if I saw a ghost today, you were almost correct. It was the ghost of Dialland Jovial reaching out of the shadow, trying to place me in the shadow. Jovial had never expected that his host would have Retriever download installed, so the takeover was only partially successful. I got access to his memories and his active personality switched off.”

me“So, you were only partially completely f****d then,” Lincoln summarized with a dry smile. “Well, this has been fun and very informative and exciting, but now I have to get completely smashed. You’ll have a bit of a headache too. Sorry about that.” She waved at someone behind me. The charge from the nerve-stick was intense, but much less than what I’d received before. Still, it was enough to knock me out.