Homeworld/TheShatteredFront

Continuing Education Facility 3

Author: Fluidity

The clatter of cutlery and scraping of chairs announced the end of the meal. Spontaneously the crew helped with the after-dinner chores. Rhetonomic Engineer Fluidity delivered her plate and mug to the washing tubs. Usually she would have rolled up her sleeves with the rest of them, but duty called: a lesson was nearing completion. She exchanged beams with her sister Gatling on her way out.

There were only two RevCorps aboard now: Fluidity and Rivet. Hegemonic Engineer Ratchet had been lost in the destruction caused by Valtarian cannon three months ago and Rhetonomic Engineer Piston was redeployed somewhere on the Inner Sea. Hegemonic Engineer Tactics had gone out with one of the last forays, to the town they had liberated, to start hegemonically repurposing it. It was unclear how she had died, but it would have been glorious.

The Victory Through Persistence was a long-serving airship now, over six years in deployment, and rarely away from the Valtarian frontlines. They were truly glorious to have so many of the original crew remaining. Why, Liberator Dynamics was just a year off from nearing his mid-twenties. Exemplary.

Rhetonomic Engineer Rivet was zealous and idealistic, but they had long ago decided how to partition their duties. Fluidity was idealistic too, but her ideals could better accommodate the firmer aspects of education.

She made her way past the dissipating groups. A dozen chattering young recruits were heading to the ballcourts for healthy team sport. Comrades settled down on the dining tables and drew out cards. A pair of ProCorps strode nonchalantly to Engine Room 4; perhaps the latest vats had finished brewing.

Fluidity went to Continuing Education Facility 3.

The few small Education Facilities onboard were rarely mentioned, staying beneath the knowledge and consciousness of almost all LibCorps and ProCorps. Some battles were the burden of RevCorps alone. This battle was less heroic, less dashing and less dangerous, but sometimes it was just as … visceral.

She unlocked the facility door and let her eyes adjust. Here were stationed those pupils who were either unfortunately slow to accommodate their lessons, or woefully disruptive. Of course the bulk of VolCorps' reformation would take place in the Inner Assembly, where more refined techniques were available. But that could be many months away; this precious cargo, freshly liberated from their 'monarch', could not wait until then to begin processing.

They were positioned facing a wall-length screen, on which inspirational visions played. RevCorps' finest orated, Liberators posed, joyous factory workers smiled and saluted. To rousing music, the narrator promised camaraderie and glory.

She muted the film. It was unpatriotic, but she had learnt that often the voices were too weak to be heard over the blaring announcements.

“Good evening, Comrades.” She needn't have spoken. Every pleading eye was on her.

She hitched up her skirts as she stepped in: the floor was dirty. A red and gold footstool was provided for kneeling in front of the most promising pupil.

She knelt leisurely. She rested a finger on the lever. A whimper.

She waited for her answer. It was positive. The light of progress had dawned on this one. She released the mechanism.

“Welcome to the Combine, Volunteer.”