Chapter 15

It really wasn’t that tough to keep busy during the first half of the workday, as Wilde kept training Zoe, Margret, and me. It was very useful in terms of keeping my mind off Lisa and Michelle, not to mention Jack Junior, of course. The busier I was, the better, and the duties that I had were tedious, but certainly required enough focus to distract me. The sexual duties didn’t come up, but I knew that they were only a matter of time. I didn’t know what to expect, how it would be organized, if at all, but I looked forward to them, as did Margret and Zoe for their parts. Then again, the augmentation would certainly help, as the old me was probably going to be fucked into the grave.

The shocker came right before lunch, when I saw one of the pool concubines crying for some reason. I walked over to her and she covered her face, afraid to let me see her tears. I pulled her hands away from her face, and then kissed her eyelids and cheeks. I wiped her tears away, holding her close, but then she tore away from me in fear. It was quite obvious that she was afraid, panicked even, but for reasons that she couldn’t share with me. Of course, she was about fifteen years old, if I had to guess, so that could have been a factor as well.

“What is it, sweetie? I’m a Decurion in training, so I have some authority here. I can protect you, and the others can, too. Can you tell Centurion Wilde, or would you feel safer with the two women?” I suggested.

“No, not Mr. Wilde! He... ,” she tried not to cry again, but she couldn’t finish her statement.

“He what? Should I get Mrs. Dubsky or Mrs. Mancuso?” I pressed the matter.

“He would ... cut me off food. He does it now and then, to save resources and also to punish concubines. He doesn’t do it too often, for fear of it being obvious, but he does it once in awhile. He ... also,” the girl shuddered as she revealed a shocking secret.

“He ... what? Is it what you were crying about?” I insisted.

“He calls them, ‘accidents,’ but once in awhile, a concubine dies prematurely, and he is always the one who got threatened last time by Mr. Wilde. This time ... it was Daddy. And I just saw Daddy slip and fall. They recycle the bodies afterward, and it’s always just one more than the ones scheduled for it. Always men, too. Never women,” the girl wept.

A light dawned on me, and I gave her a quick kiss before heading toward the recycler. I was too late, though. Three bodies, not two, were dumped into the recycler, angering me more than I had been since my extraction. This man, who was supposed to be my mentor and boss while I learned the ropes of the Civil Service and its duties, had violated the rules and regulations, the very spirit of what the Civil Service was about. He had essentially murdered a male concubine, and this only confirmed the girl’s story that there were others before her father.

I knew exactly what to do in this case, but it wasn’t easy to do. If what I recommended happened, there would be no Centurion on the staff, and then he would have to be replaced in a hurry. With whom could they do that? Me? I was en route to the colonies, as were my concubines and co-sponsors, and we weren’t that well-trained. Then again, what alternative did I have?

At this rate, the overpopulation of the pool would quickly turn into a shortage, and that could be a problem if new male conks were needed in a pinch. Worse still, this flouted the very function of the Civil Service, that of providing for and protecting concubines and children while awaiting their futures. Recycling should be a last resort, not something actively favored. This would also be bad for genetic diversity, as it reduced the pool of available DNA from which to breed the conks.

“AI, can you procure a list of the number of accidental deaths of male concubines since the current voyage began, beginning with today?” I asked the AI, fighting to hold onto my temper.

“By my estimate, there have been precisely two hundred and four such deaths, Decurion Martin, since the voyage commenced. Here is the current tabulation of such deaths. Did you wish any more specific details?” the AI responded crisply.

“Narrow the search to male concubines accidentally killed while in Civil Service custody,” I instructed the AI, who then shortened the list by roughly one-fourth.

This still left one hundred fifty-three male concubines who had perished by presumed accidents since the start of the current recruiting trip. This was a staggering number, come to think of it, and it was more than alarming to me. It certainly seemed to confirm what the young female conk had told me in her grief over her father’s passing. I knew that she was more vulnerable, enough to confide in me despite her fear. She had just lost her father, after all, who had been conk with her.

“Now, further narrow the search to a list of male concubines whose accidental deaths coincided with the regular, scheduled recycling of other male concubines,” I said, knowing that this was the acid test, and that its findings would probably raise concerns in the AI’s analytical mind.

“By my records, there have been precisely one hundred forty-six such cases, Decurion,” the AI answered, its tone surprisingly different, which indicated that it grasped the significance of such data when brought to its attention ... the AI wasn’t proactive, but it reacted very fast.

“In each case, who investigated the accidental deaths, and who signed off on the recycling of the bodies?” I inquired.

“In every case, this was organized by Centurion Thomas Wilde, Decurion. The recycling, that is. The cause of death was declared to be accidental, but there was no inquiry whatsoever,” the AI continued, its tone showing even more alarm now.

“Very well, then. How many cases of suicidal male concubines in Civil Service custody can you locate?” I followed another hunch, one that might not have occurred to the sobbing young daughter.

“There have been thirty-three confirmed male concubine suicides in Civil Service custody since the outset of this voyage, Decurion,” the AI reacted, adding, “All of them declared suicides by Centurion Thomas Wilde, none with any further inquiry, and all of them coinciding with a scheduled recycling.”

“So, by your estimate, there have been one hundred seventy-nine accidental or suicidal male concubine deaths which coincided with scheduled recyclings, each of which lacked any further inquiry or inquest, and all of which resulted in the recycling of the bodies by order of Centurion Wilde,” I clarified.

“That would be correct, Decurion. Should I alert the ship’s captain and the provost marshal?” the AI asked me.

“Absolutely, and please compel the presence of Centurion Wilde, Sub-Decurions Dubsky and Mancuso, Sergeant Auvray, Corporal Hirsch, newly recruited volunteer Jack Martin, Jr., and newly collected concubine Michelle Swinburne, in the main Civil Service office posthaste. I know that, as the AI, you can command the ship’s officers, after all, in an emergency. I would also like the female concubine known to be the daughter of the most recent accidentally killed male concubine to attend,” I urged the AI, “as this is a formal request for a proper investigation into the circumstances of these deaths.”

“Request granted, Decurion Jack Martin, Sr., and the Confederacy thanks you for bringing these facts to its attention. As the Civil Service AI, I will also inform all other relevant AIs as to this situations. I will also notify Civil Service Headquarters and Fleet High Command of this regrettable incident,” the AI informed me briskly, at which point I returned from the side room where I had been hiding during my probe to join the others in the Civil Service office.