Subject Six cantered, nervously, up and down her cell. The Observer had told her to be ready, yet she knew not what that meant. He had mentioned "stage three", but again, that had no meaning to her. She had noticed that over the past few days the Observer had become more critical, fiercer, than usual. Whilst rare before beatings had become common place, the Observer scolding her for even the slightest mistake. Subject Six had thought this a phenomenon in man, over time she would learn humanities true nature. As she cantered her thoughts ran wild, she had found the word ‘master’ in her thesaurus last night, and her mind swept back to when she was a foal – and the first time she saw the Observers as a being, not just a voice to be feared:
“Subject Six, I am your master obey me at all times”
In her early youth she knew not what this meant, and now she only had a rough idea. She was determined to get an answer from the Observer; after all who else could she turn to? There is a world outside of these walls, she knew that, but what it was, and who inhabited it, she knew not.
The Observer paced much like Subject Six, up and down his cell. He too was worried about his masters, so to speak. The board was notorious for rejecting subjects on flimsy grounds. He hoped that the extra discipline of late would keep Subject Six in line, she was too inquisitive of late, a quality which was now shunned in humans. The board would arrive in minutes, the Observer needed this to work, and his family needed this to work. He noticed Subject Six cantering up and down her cell, looking just as nervous as him, perhaps they weren’t so different after all? These thoughts were quickly dismissed, as he heard eerie footsteps echo down the hall, size 12, steel toe caped boots, met cold immoveable steel and the result was the echo. He knew who inhabited those boots, and prayed that they weren’t going to be as judgemental as last time. He was wrong.
The board members entered the room, one at a time, each of them with heads held snobbishly high. Three board members in total would oversee Subject Six, and assess if she’s ready for stage three. Each subject was only assessed once, and whether or not it would enter the final stage, or be disposed of, would be decided here. As each member entered he forced a smile to each and a polite nod, in acceptance of their power and the respect they deserved because of it. They each read the Observer’s note on Subject Six and her progress, as a female she had to be especially used to the human touch and voice and it seemed that she was. As the board members read over his notes the Observer had his back turned to the readers, instead he watched Subject Six; studying her body movements and posture, as he saw her canter he realised that he was now dependant on her. It would be her actions today, not his, that would fate his career and her life. The Observer enjoyed this feeling of helplessness, for a moment the responsibilities laid upon him by this arduous job were lifted and he let out a quiet sigh of relief. This went unnoticed by the board members, many of them straining to read the Observers small handwriting and otherwise too engaged to notice. With the weight lifted, albeit briefly, from his shoulders the Observer gained a new stubbornness towards the pompous trio in the corner of his room, he would make sure that Subject Six was going to pass and was determined to battle the board members to make it so. For whilst responsibility for Subject Six’s actions now belonged solely to the filly, he still had responsibility to make sure that the board members saw her as he did: a tough, obedient earth pony, the perfect slave. And if they didn’t understand, he would make them understand. They had to understand.
With his gaze still firmly fixated upon Subject Six the Observer had all but forgotten the trio of board members, his mind was so busy preparing a counter-argument to every argument he had heard before that he was quiet shocked when the board members finally spoke. The self-imposed leader of the group, a scrawny looking man whose head glistened under the artificial lighting, was about to speak. The Observer turned round as he heard the man’s throat clear, and before he spoke the Observer had already weighted him up. His suit was obviously tailor made, and by judging his hands it was clear that he hadn’t done a decent days work in all his life, sadly the latter is true for most of humanity now, though he carried his posture well it was clear that he must of spent his days withering away at some old desk. Another desk monkey come playing scientist for the day thought the Observer. Nevertheless his winged words found their way to the Observers ear bone, and danced upon it clear and beautiful vibrations.
“How’s she doing observer?” he spoke clearly and, it appeared, sincerely
Not expecting to be asked his opinion the Observer was rather taken back by this. Normally the assessment would compose of simply yes or no questions, followed by a drone of murmurs by the board members, and finally a single assessment. Regaining his composter he began to speak:
“Um, Subject Six is doing fine sir, she’s made excellent process over the past six years and, well, quite frankly sir, has an understanding of the English language well beyond what is required.”
This response was met with the familiar deep murmurs that the Observer had experienced so many times before. He glanced over his shoulder to find Subject Six reading her thesaurus, he hadn’t seen any harm in giving it to her and it both occupied her time and gave her knowledge of English, saving him time whilst also better preparing her. The best labour understands their masters orders, and a better understand of English would allow Subject Six to carry out tasks for her future master with greater efficacy and understanding. It would also increase her market value. Hearing that the murmurs had ceased the Observer quickly adjusted his gaze and fixated it upon the trio. A member of the troupe was holding out the Observer’s report, gesturing with his outreached hand that he should take it. The leader spoke again, in a condoning manner
“You see scrub, in your brief you stated that it took...”
His tone changed to that of exasperation and hyperbole
“.. a whole year to accustom this subject to the human voice! Would you care to tell us why this mundane task took you so long?”
The Observer was taken back. He of course recognised the change in tone, he just didn’t expect it. For this fool to describe the task as mundane. Mundane! The nerve, did this man have a degree in Psychology, did he have any idea, any concept, of how one deals with fears. If he would have rushed it the foal wouldn’t have turned into such a fine filly, she would be mental scared perhaps, traumatized most definitely, and whilst the fear was eventually overcome with shock treatment if that had happened straight away the foal would have turned insane. For a creature to have its existence suddenly shared with another being it had never of know existed, and for that being to emit a noise that the creature had never heard of before; Subject Six would’ve ended up like subject five. No, his decision to introduce her to the voice first, then its source later was logically. And so too was it logically that the foal abandoned its fear only once it knew the source of the voice. He realised that he was about to rise to the filly’s defence, but he had too. If not she would be disposed of and his record so bad that he’d never find a job able to feed his family again.
Visibly consumed by the anger, the Observer turned his back on the fools that dared question him. He griped his desk with a righteous fury, venting out his anger on this innocent woodwork. With a deep breath, this time heard clearly by all, he began to speak slowly, methodically:
“Sir, if you are indeed worthy of the title, Subject Six had a fear of the human voice that was etched deeply within her. Her bowels would loosen at the mere pronunciation of a letter, let alone a full sentence. Gradual Desensitization was needed in order for shock therapy to effectively work without permanently damaging the subject’s metal health. How can you expect to sell a slave if the damaged goods it came with were in fact its brain? You can’t. In order for this subject to be of the highest market value the extra training was needed. Furthermore, her highly advanced level of English, on par with year six primary school students, adds further still to her value and utility. As a slave with a good understanding of English is rare she’ll sell for a premium. She can act as a mediator, of sorts, between her master and his fellow slaves; dumbing down his orders so even the most feathered brain pony can understand, and enact, his orders. What I have created is a pony of exceptional ability, ability that is rare amongst her kind. The extra training may of cost more but I’m willing to get that you’ll more than profit from her increased value. So don’t you dare tell me how to do my job! I spent three years at university to earn my degree, and I know a damn sight better than you how that ponies mind works.”
The Observer stood there, still fuming from the anger which had inspired his monologue. He was proud to have stood up to these pompous layabouts. If Subject Six was passed then he’d be able to claim at least one success, and have some credibility in his field. If she wasn’t passed then he’d almost certainly be out of job, one of the few that provided long term stability. The recent trading network that Aora had set up with this new land in the south, Terabyte, had made its citizens extremely rich. Of course the rich had got richer, but that wealth had trickled down the social ladder and all had benefited. Now the citizens of Aora wanted ever more exotic and expensive luxury goods. In particular the carbohydrate sugar was seeing increased popularity amongst the wealthy. However, this posed problems, this sugar, seeds of which had been brought from Terabyte, could only be grown inland. And nobody would venture inland. Vast tracks of marsh, swamp, and woodland that even napalm couldn’t clear. It would just regrow overnight, and the creatures that dwelled within didn’t bare thinking about. They stalked the night and preyed upon any stragglers caught in their land. Human slaves would die within weeks when taken inland, either from disease or the beasts who called that land there habitat. Upon testing, it was discovered that these creatures shared some sort of bond with these earth ponies. Of course when they left the first earth pony inland they were merely testing the damage that the night stalkers could do. When the crew came back and found the earth pony alive it was determined that they were unaffected by the night stalkers. If the company could produce these earth ponies en mass, and condition them as such that when left alone they wouldn’t flee, then the sugar exports from inland could undercut and outsell the imports from Terabyte. If not there are plenty of buyers for intelligent slaves, and it was certain that whatever the outcome the company would profit. This is why they were conditioned for apathy, so that when given opportunity to escape they wouldn’t think of it, better yet they wouldn’t know how. Of course the Observer knew that his outburst hadn’t helped matters, rather it likely lit the fuss for an even bigger outburst from the board members. The Observer didn’t care. He stood up to the oppressor, and that was enough, but was it enough for Subject Six? The thought didn’t even occur to him, he didn’t give a damn about that pony, worse the thing could be the cause for his being fired, having proved thus far to be of no benefit to the company. Most employers were expected to raise at least 5 ponies, successfully, in their first thirty years. He had raised five, but four were deemed to not have the right mind-set and were consequently disposed of, worse – he had raised another only to have it kill itself the night before its departure. Subject Five’s last words, or rather word was:
“Why?”
That had been eating at him for six years, “Why?”. He told himself that it was for his family, his children, that these evils were committed so that they might not starve. He knew the real reason, but didn’t want to admit it. Feeling immense guilt the Observer hunkered down in the corner, and was crying. He tore off his employee badge, it read “Barry”. He looked, confused, at the badge. Barry, was that his name? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. Barry sounded so ordinary, so human. He wasn’t human anymore.