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I am done with this, thought Gaarth, shoveling piles of steaming entrails into a bucket. I absolutely cannot take another shift with that son of a Feck, Fargreth. Gaarth, formerly of the Drunin administrative class but recently demoted to Palantir, had a rough go of it lately. He had been at this abysmally low rank for three cycles, shoveling entrails in and out of various bins, carts, and buckets, hoping desperately for any sign from above that his punishment neared an end.
This had actually been an improvement over his time spent in complete isolation on Sublevel 6, in a Total Darkness cell. The lack of any ultraviolet light had turned his normally bright green scales a dull grey. His tail felt numb. Now that he was back on the clock – however menial – he could at least get some UV while delivering entrails to various parts of the ship. He had few credits saved for any basking sessions. A former co-worker, Braask, had taken pity on him and let Gaarth take his place in a basking room the previous afternoon. Braask is a good soul, he thought. Nothing like time in isolation to find out who your real friends are.
Like all Palantirs, Fargreth and Gaarth worked in the ship’s ‘kitchen’: a foul-smelling room with chutes that dumped piles of fresh entrails into a large basin. From there, they would shovel it into carts, for distribution to the crew at scheduled feeding times. As far as Gaarth knew, Fargreth had been doing this job his whole life and – amazingly enough – seemed to enjoy it. He was somehow always in a good mood. Disgusted, he turned and looked at Fargreth, motioning toward the entrails. “How can you be satisfied doing… this?”
“What?”
“This.”
Fargreth paused, wiping his brow, considering Gaarth’s view. “Well, chummo,” he said, “I focus on doing my small part.”
“But seriously… this?”
Fargreth paused again. He then seemed to reach a decision. “I was never the smartest in my brood. Just found something to be good at, and stuck with it, y’know? I move the Matriarchy forward, in my own way.” he said, going back to entrail shoveling. “Course, I also poison ’em when I can.”
“Right. Wait, what?”
“Yup. Mainly just the senior officers. The junior ones don’t deserve it. Not yet. Mosta my brood do it. Across the whole fleet.”
“W-what…”
“A xenotoxin it is. Voidbane. We mix it in with the entrails during feedings. Not much, mind you. A little here and there. Enough to shorten the ol’ lifespan of those who think that killin’ and conquerin’ is the only ways to be movin’ forward.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious, chummo.” He stopped and looked at Gaarth. “The Matriarchy done wiped out entire species – species who think, who feel. Species who love their broods as much as we love ours. All that killin’, for what? Tech? Gadgets? No one stands a chance ‘gainst us. We’re an awful bunch. We need to start failin’ so the rest of the universe can breathe.”
“But, this is what we do as a species! We conquer, take what is best, devour, then move on!” Gaarth shouted. “For Feck’s sake, you’re openly talking about destroying the Matriarchy! They’ll devour you for this!”
“Who’ll tell ‘em? You?” asked Fargreth, scratching the scales on his stout belly and pointing at Gaarth. “Been watchin’ you ever since you got here, chummo. I sees the way you talk to the big bosses. I sees you roll your eyes, more’n once. You don’t like the way things are anymore’n I do.”
Gaarth didn’t argue that point. He hated their barbaric way of life. He had no idea others felt similarly, or that Fargreth was so astute. “How do you know this poison works? Have you actually killed anyone?”
“It works. Makes it so their scales can’t ever get enough rays. Causes a whole bunch of ‘em to go, without anyone being the wiser.”
“Who, specifically?” Gaarth asked, still skeptical.
“Well, let’s see…” he pondered, picking his teeth with one of his claws. “I got Rendara. Homunculetta, Andara…”
“Thracin Andara the Almighty, from the 2nd Expeditionary Phalanx? I heard about her passing through the Durnin administrative network. They said it was unexpected.”
“Not to me, chummo!” Fargreth said, smiling slightly. “Let’s see, who else: Garrota, Stiletta, Ravenosa of course, and…”
“Truly Frightening Fentana Vinsreich Ravenosa?!”
“Yep.”
“Are you mad?!” Gaarth looked around the room, incredulously, half expecting camera drones to be trained on their every word. “Ravenosa has been the single most terrifying, revered figure in the Matriarchy for at least the past three spawning generations! There isn’t a male alive who could’ve made eye contact with her without being immediately devoured for being so disrespectful. The ship we are in right now…” Gaarth motioned, “is literally named after her. For Fek’s sake, she’s the grandmother of Palmetta, the leader of this ship – the one who demoted me to 3rd Palantir!”
“Yep. She was the worst. Shoulda done her sooner.”
“But…”
Just then the doors slid open. Two heavily armed, female guards marched in. Both towered over them, who immediately stood at attention despite various entrail remnants hanging off their aprons. Like all males in the Matriarchy, Fargreth and Gaarth had been conditioned since birth to jump to attention in the presence of a female, regardless of rank or brood. One of the guards glanced down at their aprons and almost imperceptibly licked her lips, then quickly regained her composure. The other guard noticed this, sighed, then shouted.
“3rd Palantir Gaarth!”
“Y-yes?” Gaarth said, trying to wipe the guts off his clothes and claws, his tail between his legs.
“Lady Fentana Vinsreich Palmetta demands your presence in Control Tower 3!”
He nodded, calmly removed his apron, and handed it to Fargreth. “Thank you, my friend.” he whispered. Fargreth nodded slightly and smiled.
Gaarth left, confident that the real leader of this ship had everything under control.
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3rd Palantir
With penitence comes clarity