her teeth. “At this moment we attempt to solve deep-seated issues. I admit to a personal interest—I wish to show the sluggards who run Reform how to… how to correct an incorrigible.” She glanced at Marten, before she continued with Stick.
“I tell you frankly, the tank awaits both of you if we fail. But you must never think of the tank as punishment. Indeed not! The tank is merely one of society’s many tools of reform. Unless each of you is reformed, we have failed in our assigned task. I hate failure. It mocks the State, which is the engine that gives the greatest good to the most people. So yes, truth must now step forth so that the proper correctives can be applied to each of you.”
Marten vaguely understood that hoarding food was punishable by death. Not that he planned on turning Stick over to them. To cooperate was the first step toward giving in.
Stick seemed to think about his answer as he gauged the major. “We don’t get along.”
Major Orlov leaned forward. “Indeed. Why did you choose that moment to publicly reveal your dislike?”
Stick hung his head as if defeated. “He spoke profanities.”
Major Orlov sat straighter, her interests obviously engaged. “Marten Kluge spoke to you, verbally?”
Stick nodded miserably. He was a good actor.
Major Orlov scowled and snapped her thick fingers. One of her red-suited killers stepped forward.
“Give me your agonizer.”
The man placed a small disc with a dial into her huge hand. She twisted the setting onto high as the two thugs swung behind Stick and held him fast.
“Mannerisms annoy me. They indicate frivolity.”
She placed the agonizer to his neck. Stick arched his back and winced horribly, but he made no noise other than a croak. Finally, she removed the agonizer and handed it back to the thug.
She addressed Marten. “What did you say to him?”
Marten glowered at the wall.
“My patience is not unlimited, Mr. Kluge.” After a moment, Major Orlov pursed her lips. She asked Stick, “What did he say to you?”
“It don’t matter.”
Her tone turned glacial. “I will determine that.”
“He called me a dirty gook.”
“Ah… a racial epithet?”
“Yeah.”
She swung back to Marten. “That is a serious crime, Mr. Kluge. You shall spend ten days in the tank unless you admit to your racial bigotry and make a formal apology to everyone in squad eleven.”
The glassy look left Marten’s eyes. He grew aware of the conversation, playing it back in his mind, as it were. He glanced at Stick, who wouldn’t meet his gaze. A small, tight smile played on Marten’s lips.
“And what do you find so amusing?” asked the major.
Marten fixed his gaze upon her.
“Here, Mr. Kluge, insolence is a costly attitude to sustain.”
Major Orlov could hurt him, hurt him very much. Despite that, Marten let his contempt for her freeze onto his face.
She flushed. She leaned forward and deliberately slapped him across the face. Marten checked his impulse to leap upon her. Instead, he laughed.
She bolted upright, seemed on the verge of falling upon him and then whispered, “Into the tank with him this very instant.”
8.
Nine-foot tall glass cylinders lined the sides of a sterile auditorium. In the middle stood what seemed to be an emergency medical operating theater, complete with green-clad doctors and nurses. Several interns strolled around a working cylinder.
As he was marched past them, Marten saw green-colored water pouring into the cylinder from the top, splashing upon a naked woman inside. The water swirled up to her thighs. Drenched and wretched she worked the lever of a hand-pump built into the cylinder. At every stroke, water exited via a tube and drained out through the auditorium floor.
Marten’s scrotum tightened and he stumbled.
From behind, Major Orlov steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. He felt her breath on his neck.
“Ten days in there, Mr. Kluge. Either that or speak to me now.”
Marten
“I tell you frankly, the tank awaits both of you if we fail. But you must never think of the tank as punishment. Indeed not! The tank is merely one of society’s many tools of reform. Unless each of you is reformed, we have failed in our assigned task. I hate failure. It mocks the State, which is the engine that gives the greatest good to the most people. So yes, truth must now step forth so that the proper correctives can be applied to each of you.”
Marten vaguely understood that hoarding food was punishable by death. Not that he planned on turning Stick over to them. To cooperate was the first step toward giving in.
Stick seemed to think about his answer as he gauged the major. “We don’t get along.”
Major Orlov leaned forward. “Indeed. Why did you choose that moment to publicly reveal your dislike?”
Stick hung his head as if defeated. “He spoke profanities.”
Major Orlov sat straighter, her interests obviously engaged. “Marten Kluge spoke to you, verbally?”
Stick nodded miserably. He was a good actor.
Major Orlov scowled and snapped her thick fingers. One of her red-suited killers stepped forward.
“Give me your agonizer.”
The man placed a small disc with a dial into her huge hand. She twisted the setting onto high as the two thugs swung behind Stick and held him fast.
“Mannerisms annoy me. They indicate frivolity.”
She placed the agonizer to his neck. Stick arched his back and winced horribly, but he made no noise other than a croak. Finally, she removed the agonizer and handed it back to the thug.
She addressed Marten. “What did you say to him?”
Marten glowered at the wall.
“My patience is not unlimited, Mr. Kluge.” After a moment, Major Orlov pursed her lips. She asked Stick, “What did he say to you?”
“It don’t matter.”
Her tone turned glacial. “I will determine that.”
“He called me a dirty gook.”
“Ah… a racial epithet?”
“Yeah.”
She swung back to Marten. “That is a serious crime, Mr. Kluge. You shall spend ten days in the tank unless you admit to your racial bigotry and make a formal apology to everyone in squad eleven.”
The glassy look left Marten’s eyes. He grew aware of the conversation, playing it back in his mind, as it were. He glanced at Stick, who wouldn’t meet his gaze. A small, tight smile played on Marten’s lips.
“And what do you find so amusing?” asked the major.
Marten fixed his gaze upon her.
“Here, Mr. Kluge, insolence is a costly attitude to sustain.”
Major Orlov could hurt him, hurt him very much. Despite that, Marten let his contempt for her freeze onto his face.
She flushed. She leaned forward and deliberately slapped him across the face. Marten checked his impulse to leap upon her. Instead, he laughed.
She bolted upright, seemed on the verge of falling upon him and then whispered, “Into the tank with him this very instant.”
8.
Nine-foot tall glass cylinders lined the sides of a sterile auditorium. In the middle stood what seemed to be an emergency medical operating theater, complete with green-clad doctors and nurses. Several interns strolled around a working cylinder.
As he was marched past them, Marten saw green-colored water pouring into the cylinder from the top, splashing upon a naked woman inside. The water swirled up to her thighs. Drenched and wretched she worked the lever of a hand-pump built into the cylinder. At every stroke, water exited via a tube and drained out through the auditorium floor.
Marten’s scrotum tightened and he stumbled.
From behind, Major Orlov steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. He felt her breath on his neck.
“Ten days in there, Mr. Kluge. Either that or speak to me now.”
Marten
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