(Photo by Karoline Grabowska)

Chester worked for one of, if not the most evil person in the solar system. That wasn’t to say he hated his job. No, it was because he loved his job so much that he put up with the unpleasantness that came along with it. He also didn’t have any choice in the matter either, so he liked to tell himself that he stayed, not because of the threat of death, but because he liked his work. Perhaps that was how it was for everyone. Well, not everyone. There were certainly those who tried to get out of their jobs, or else those who didn’t mind the brutality of the system. Either way, Chester wasn’t one to rock the boat, as it were. If a coworker came to complain about one thing or another, Chester would redirect the conversation. If someone started spouting words of praise for the way things were, Chester just kept his head down and remained focused on his work.

His work.

It really was the most amazing thing he’d ever been a part of. Only a few people in the solar system knew about it. Principal among them was the Solar King himself. Not a week went by when Chester didn’t have a one-on-one meeting with His Golden Eminence to review the project. If it weren’t for the fact that Chester didn’t like the Solar King, Chester thought he’d be quite proud of his position.

“Slaves!” barked the Solar King as he strode into the laboratory where Chester and a few others were working. “Out!”

Everyone besides Chester scurried out of the room, not daring to look at the Solar King. The glow was enough to tell them who it was that had arrived. He always wore his golden battle armor, though it had been decades since he’d last needed to go to war. The little pockets of resistance that remained in the solar system were little more than an inconvenience these days and His Golden Eminence let his armies and navies handle those issues now.

“How is my chief necrologist?” the Solar King asked, summoning a throne of golden light to sit upon.

“Every day within your halo is a gift,” Chester said, bowing and keeping his eyes fixed on the Solar King’s knees.

“Ah, you are a faithful dog,” the Solar King laughed without any kindness. “You would praise me even if I were in the very act of ripping out your tongue and eyes.”

“You flatter me, your Golden Eminence.”

The Solar King sat quietly for a minute, then two. By the end of the fifth minute, Chester stopped counting time. He did not move that entire time and neither did the Solar King. This was not the first time such things had occurred. Chester wondered if the Solar King was testing him, or perhaps his attentions were taken away by some other events. There were countless rumors about what technologies were all integrated into the Solar Kings armor, many of which could explain these brief lapses.

Chester’s spine was used to maintaining a low bow for minutes on end by now so while he waited for the Solar King to speak his will, Chester began to review his notes. The most recent experiments were proving fruitful. Researching the limits of mortal flesh was his primary field of study with a particular focus on reanimation. Currently, he could only make the samples move around a bit but as he and his team improved on their neural compounds, those movements were becoming more fluid, more natural looking. The real goal, of course, was a full reanimation where the samples could think and reason for themselves, much as they had done in life, but with the caveat that those samples could be controlled by an outside source.

The perfect puppet.

They would act just as they had in life, with a few key differences. A rebel leader would begin to shift their organization away from important targets and instead focus in on other rebel groups. A Merchant would decide he did, in fact, want to be more selective with whom he or she would do business with, limiting the resources available to those who thought they could challenge the Solar King.

All of that was still theoretical, of course. Mapping the intricate pathways of a brain was hard enough without also having to avoid doing any serious damage to it. However –

“You will report. Now.” The Solar King spoke and Chester immediately nodded and readied his mental notes.

“The new gel infusions look promising,” Chester said while motioning towards a large vat of orange goo. “We currently still require a full submersion of the subjects brain, which complicates the need for keeping the host from having any noticeable scarring, but alternate pathways through the nose or ears will be tested in the coming weeks.”

“You have a sample for me to witness?”

“Most certainly, your Golden Eminence.”

Chester activated his neural uplink and found the sample. A hairy arm twitched on the metallic table beside the vat. An ape lay there, its skull missing the top quarter leaving the brain exposed. A host of thin wires ran from the console over and into the brain.

Slowly, the ape lifted its arm, then the other. It clapped its hands and then touched its nose with each forefinger, one after the other. It blinked its eyes in a complex rhythm. It finished off with a few grunts and chattered its teeth.

“Improvement indeed,” the Solar King even sounded impressed. “Last week you could barely manage the clapping. I assume there’s still no progress on balance?”

“You are correct, Solar King,” Chester replied.

“What about thinking for itself?” he asked next. “Are you still having to directly control everything?”

“No, your Golden Eminence,” Chester said with increasing excitement. “The ape is aware of its surroundings now, and able to act based upon more basic instructions. We taught it the blinking pattern yesterday so all I had to do just now was tell it to repeat it. It also chooses what sounds it makes, rather than me having to dictate that as well.”

The Solar King stood up from his throne, which vanished immediately, and he strode around the ape on the table. Chester kept his gaze cast downward but knew from the sound of things that the Solar King was poking and prodding at the ape. He was actually a more accomplished necrologist than Chester but, like any competent leader, delegated when needed.

“Organ failure is still in process,” he noticed. “How long do the samples remain functional?”

“Three months, Solar King. The ape there has been with us for two months.”

“Hmm, you’re leaving too much time between death and replacing the brain,” the Solar King stated. “Removing the brain is too costly to the rest of the body. Pursue a route through the back of the throat, up along the spinal cord. Use the bodies own vascular system to transport the neural gel.”

Chester heard the unmistakable sound of the vat being stirred. It was an unpleasant, organic sound that bothered him for some reason. He’d had to order the other necrologists to stop stirring the vat while he was in the room. He managed to suppress a shudder while the Solar King examined the gel.

“Ah, it’s too viscous still for vascular transport. You will thin it to match the sample’s own blood without losing any efficiency.”

That was much easier said than done but Chester did not dare speak out against the command. He was already aiming to accomplish that goal anyway.

“You have a two week extension on your life,” the Solar King added. “I will have your least competent necrologist executed due to you still not having accomplished a working prototype. Give me their name.”

This was what Chester hated about his job. About his employer. If Chester and his team kept making progress, then Chester would get to stay alive at the cost of his ‘least competent’ underlings. The Solar King always replaced them, since he knew Chester needed the help, but the deadly motivation was not great for morale. The Solar King, however, wasn’t concerned with morale. He wanted results.

“Sylvester Kyreen is the least competent,” Chester said, keeping his voice calm and cold regardless of the hatred he felt for the Solar King and himself.

For all of his own personal flaws, whatever they might be, Chester liked people. He liked Sylvester. He liked all of his necrologists and assistants. They probably hated him much like how he hated the Solar King. Both were tyrants in their own way.

“Very well. I expect perfection upon my next visit.”

It was the same statement he always made before leaving. Always the demand to kill one of the necrologists for failing to reach perfection. Always Chester refusing to do what he should have done at the very beginning and name himself as the one to be executed for their failure.

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