FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Dark Lord Substitute

Chapter 12

By Draconicon

With the fleet from the Sapphire Cluster completely broken in - or at least broken to the point of posing no threat - Bertram turned his attention to the process of showing that he was someone worth living under. All loyal subjects of Outpost Zonga were sent through a testing process. For loyalty, yes, but also to go through the merits, talents, and skills of each individual. The speed of AIs repurposed from local security to file scanning meant that it was done at speed, going through the records of the Allied System on-planet as well as the results of the tests that they put the locals through.

What they found was, perhaps, unsurprising. For all that the Allied Systems were keen on stating how much better they were than living under an overlord, they were quite keen on keeping things the way that they had always been. The miners, doing the most dangerous jobs on the planet, were overwhelmingly moles, while the supervisors were almost all serpents, with a few other species represented in smaller numbers. It was clear that the species had been sent here to more or less fill a slot with little idea towards what they wanted.

Bertram, as the Dark Lord, began the process of changing that. Assigning the top-performing moles to the roles of Chief Supervisors and arranging the remaining officers based on the testing results was a minor shift, but it was enough to deliver surprising enthusiasm through the rest of those still on the planet. He imagined that they were imagining that, if some of their people could reach the higher echelons, that they could do the same.

It was something of a lie, of course. There were limited places for those at the top in any hierarchy. The point of it was to deliver motivation, to ensure that they were working as hard as possible so that they had the chance to push the system to something different.

It is simple math, he had thought at the time. Any system that allows for the equivalent of a king means that there must be those at the bottom that are no better than slaves. Finite resources will always mean that there cannot be excessive plenty at the top without others having excessively less.

And that system was one that the Dark Lord had a surprising amount of power to change. The fact that he was a dictator meant that he could do what he wanted without having to go through the whole issue of wondering if the people would like it, or if his benefactors were willing to keep him in power. So long as he had the strength to command those around him - and with the power of Indoctrination, he was in a unique position that no dictator on earth ever would have - he could do as he wished.

With the celebrations being streamed up to the station from the planet below, he had Lazir and Tardak called to him. He was still in his armor - sans helmet - when they arrived. Fox and badger blinked at him, probably surprised that he had taken it off. Considering that he felt no compulsion to put it back on, he knew that they had been brought into the fold completely; otherwise, he would have been driven to wear it by whatever entanglement kept this situation repeating endlessly.

"Take a seat," Bertram said as the celebrations continued to play out on the wall.

They did as they were told, both of them looking at the celebrating moles as if they were looking at some alien species. Perhaps, to them, it was some sort of alien celebration. Certainly, there were no records of the mole miners being that happy during the previous administration. Bertram leaned back in his seat, gloved hands in his lap as he watched the shameless, happy display before him. The cameras were feeding them sights from deep in the mines, security cameras turned into mere eyeballs that allowed them to see people happy for the first time in who knew how long.

As the dancing and the cheering became boring, he turned off the screen with a thought and looked back at the diplomat and the officer. The pair of them turned back to him, with Tardak being the one to break the silence.

"What did you do?" the badger asked.

"I put some of the moles in charge."

"..."

"And that's it." He shrugged. "My people aren't from here. I'm not going to replace the local officers with my people and ruin their productivity. The moles tested at a higher understanding of what needed to be done to keep the Outpost running properly, so they were given the chance to head it."

"That's never happened," Lazir muttered. "And...you just did this?"

"Approximately three hours ago. They apparently have a great deal of stamina for partying."

"...Sir." The fox cleared his throat. "I have to ask. What are your plans going forward?"

"Whatever I'm forced into. I can't surrender."

"Not after your lie, at least."

"No, I mean, I can't. I am forbidden, compelled against it. I will be forced to keep fighting until I am either subdued or killed, and that means that I don't have a choice. I can't stop for long; everything that I do has to have some effect on the war effort, something that pushes us towards victory. So long as I make choices in pursuit of that bothersomely broad aim, I am allowed to do what I want. However, the minute I stop..."

He had felt it already during the night. The fleet of the Dark Lord had been orbiting Outpost Zonga for too long now, doing nothing. Now that they had a new fleet as well as his starting one, the urge to use it had started building. He could feel the script starting, and he had been forced to come up with something, anything, that he could use to justify staying here and solidifying his position.

That had ended up being the other reason for starting the testing and the new orders for the planet below. It ensured that the war effort was being stabilized, and that worked enough to put the compulsion to bed. He was glad that it had had the side effect of making others so...happy...but when it came right down to it, if it kept him from doing stupid things, he would have enacted harsher measures, as well.

"You and the others under me might still be able to surrender to the Allied Systems," Bertram said. "However, I am not given that luxury."

"...I see." Lazir nodded to himself. "Well, that does limit one's ambassadorial options, I have to say."

"You'll be limited by some things, set free by others." Bertram shook his head. "Regardless. We have your fleet. Technically, we have your loyalty, as well. What I want to know is what it will take to have your devotion, too."

"Our - that's a little intimate, isn't it?" the fox asked.

Through it all, the badger had been silent. Bertram imagined that the admiral was taking his measure, deciding whether this was real or something that was little more than theater for the two captives. The ram didn't address it; if he was being studied, he might as well ensure that there was plenty of material to make a decision.

"I've offered King Soledad good terms for his planet and his loyalty. They were conquered, yes, but since then, they've been offered a more specialized form of our Indoctrination technology. And not everyone's the same sort of slave. Not anymore.

"I asked him what he wanted. Now, I'm asking you. What will it take to make sure that you not only do what you're told, but take it above and beyond? What will it take for you to be not just loyal, but devoted?"

"...Keep me in this same job," Lazir eventually said. "If there's anywhere that I can do something for my people, it's here. Let me be the negotiator, and I'll make sure my people get better terms and - wow, I didn't mean to say that."

Bertram smiled slightly despite himself. He had half-expected the compulsion for loyalty to take different forms. Honesty was, apparently, one of them. He leaned back in his chair as the fox prisoner tried to backtrack on that, to reword it. Allowing him ten seconds of failed attempts, he finally cut the misery by shaking his head and waving his hand.

"I'm not opposed to you using your post to find better terms for those that we'll fight. You know better than I the sorts of things that they want, and that will be something that I'll trust you to offer. We'll need to offer enough that they are willing to give in without fighting, and that means offering them something that the average opponent won't. Not just their lives, but something that gives them an advantage that they didn't have before."

"Well, I'm glad that you don't mind -"

"However." Bertram leaned forward, his elbows on the table between himself and the new slaves. "Keep in mind that you are on my side now. You might not be forbidden from surrendering, but you will find yourself dealing with your own script. Your own compulsion. Do you understand me?"

"..."

"You will not be able to just say that they may surrender in name only. You will not be able to collaborate with them and create an uprising. That is quite literally impossible for you now. There is no danger to me if I allow you to stay an ambassador, save for any incompetence that you display by trying to do something that your mind won't let you do. Do you understand that?"

"...I think so, sir."

"Good. Then you will have your post."

"Just like that? Really?"

It was rather amusing to see that Lazir honestly didn't believe him, even after all this. The ram sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

"I'm not evil. The Dark Lord is a title; I'm merely forced to wear it. The compulsion drives me to conquer the universe. But in the end, I'm trying to survive, and the best way to do that is to make sure that everyone has as little reason to kill me as possible. So, I'll ask you again. Is there anything else that you want, besides the chance of being a diplomat for me?"

"Well...one thing."

"Name it."

"I was rather envious of what you were doing with King Soledad."

He heard the crack of the admiral's neck turning, and Bertram bit off the small giggle that wanted to come from his own throat. Of all the things that he had expected to hear as a request, that had most definitely not been one of them. He kept the laughter in the back of his throat, though he allowed himself a smile as he brought his head back down slowly. Ignoring the admiral's shocked expression, he fixed the fox with a firm stare.

"You want to experience that kind of slavery, do you?"

"...I've been curious," Lazir admitted, the fox managing to keep some small bit of dignity as he looked across the table. "And I will admit, the short show that I managed to see was intriguing."

"We'll discuss terms of that sort. I am not opposed to collecting a group for that."

"Then I think we're good. As long as that's, ah, reasonably private."

"It shall be. You're dismissed."

"...Already?"

"We've come to terms. Now, I must talk to the admiral."

"Ah, yes. That would be appropriate." The fox got to his feet, smoothing out the skintight jumpsuit that he had likely been offered by the Indoctrination officials as he left the chambers. He bowed his head. "Thank you for your time, sir."

The fox bowed and departed. As soon as the door closed, the badger shook his head.

"Young," Tardak muttered.

"We all are," Bertram responded, shaking his head. "Now, do you have anything of your own to say?"

"Just one."

"And what's that?"

"Any restructuring you do, I want full input in."

"Denied."

"On my ships, at least."

"That, at least, I can give you."

"Thank you." The badger let out a deep breath, sinking further into his chair. "I was...concerned. Shifting a chain of command can work, but -"

"But not if it already works, and not if it makes it worse. I agree." Bertram nodded. "I shifted this one because it was wrong. And as you saw, none of 'my' people were in charge."

"They're all 'your people' now. Just like we are."

"Point." Bertram nodded. "Counterpoint. They are as involved with themselves as they are with me. They just have more resources behind them now. And they aren't going to betray me to the rest of their former allies."

That sat between them for a moment, with Tardak eventually nodding, but not breaking the silence. Instead, the two of them looked at the wall, which slowly faded into a window that allowed them to look out into space.

It was vast, and it was impossible to tell what lay where, at least for Bertram. It was like looking into the void without any markers to tell him where anything was. The only clear things were Outpost Zonga and, of course, the Dread Star glowing on the edge of vision. It was always there, these days. He imagined that it would look no different above Mistrum or Sur's Den, once all this was done.

He shook his head, sighing as he rubbed his face. Tardak continued to say nothing, and he knew that this time it was up to him to break the silence.

"I need someone to take charge of certain things. Someone experienced, and someone that's going to work with me."

"You have slaves," Tardak said. "Why are you asking me?"

"Because you haven't pulled a gun on me. And, moreover, you seem to have your own dissatisfaction with the current system."

No response. No surprise; he would know that the better course was silence after listening to Lazir being forced to be honest about what he wanted. Bertram looked away again, glancing into space.

"It's clear that most people believe that freedom is the solution to all things, and that order is akin to slavery." He shook his head. "I believe that we are of one mind about that. That it's wrong."

Again, no response, but this time there was a nod. Just like he'd thought. Military men would have a bit of a different idea on that. Bertram got to his feet, making his way to the window and leaning on it.

"The way I see it, there is a point at which freedom becomes chaos. Where the rules become nothing but a different method of control, because freedom allows you to pick and choose which to apply, and when. The order of the system breaks down. This very freedom will benefit those that have the strength or intelligence to leap forward and seize what they will, and provided that they keep those resources, they will be able to manipulate the system, 'freely' keeping what they want and using that leverage to direct how others go.

"We saw it here, on Outpost Zonga. The files on the planet showed it clearly. The moles would never rise above labor, and the snakes never descend to it. On Mistrum, rats were barred from taking further employment beyond the most basic without passing certain 'accreditations', which they could never afford to take on the wages that the mice paid them. I'm sure that it is similar through the rest of the galaxy. 'Freedom' to move, but no resources.

"I want to change that."

"...You sound like someone bent on the idea of religious conquest rather than military, sir."

"If I am zealous about anything, it is about making a world that makes sense." Bertram shook his head, turning away. "Does it make sense when the rules change from planet to planet? Does it make sense when someone is no different than their comrades, yet one receives a life that stands head and shoulders above their fellows, and others live in the gutter? Does this life of freedom to starve make any sense?"

"..."

"I want to live, Tardak. That is the core of my drive. I want to survive. And I can't survive if everyone sees me as the Dark Lord come to bring ruin upon them. This cycle has repeated over and over and over, and each time, the 'order' that the Dark Lord is made to represent has been slapped down by the 'freedom' that has every possible advantage given to them. This whole 'proving ourselves' war is all but impossible to win from my side of things, but if I want to live, I have to.

"So, I'm changing the way that I'm playing. I'm going to be a 'good' Dark Lord. I'm going to offer people what they want, and find a way to make things equal. And if that means turning the entire group of Allied Systems into slaves, so that everyone starts at the same place, then I will do that. But it will not be what they have made everyone fear. It will be something better...if I have the people to help me make it happen."

The ram had spoken more at length than he had meant to, but he could see that it had made an impression on the other man. If the military were as disorganized as the rest of the universe, if they were suffering from the same pitfalls, then he imagined that there were officers among them that had the same sort of complaints that he had just voiced. The fact that Tardak happened to be an admiral could have been a danger, but from the thoughtful expression the older man had, it was clear that he had seen the issues from the top down.

If the military was run on the same problematic system as the rest of the Allied Systems economy, governance, and worse, then they were a system just waiting to fall apart, and take everyone involved with them. They needed to change. They needed a structure beyond the cheers for freedom.

Bertram took a deep breath, and then let it out.

"I need someone else that can lead from the front. I have one good general, and another that's...competent, but problematic. This is going to be a war on many fronts, no matter how hard I try and limit that. I need to know that I can send forces somewhere and trust someone to do the job right."

"You will face complaints," Tardak said, crossing his arms. "I know your generals. Mark was a good man, a solid commander. Zelda...she is jealous of her place."

"She'll deal with it. She'll have to, if we're going to succeed."

"Ah. She's the one that drew on you, then?"

"Mm-hmm. If she hadn't been Indoctrinated herself, I would be dead right now."

That was the long and short of it. Saying it out loud for another to hear meant that he had effectively admitted to himself, he realized. He had officers that hated him enough that they would allow him to die if they possibly could. Zelda, being one of the top-ranking officials in the army, would be keen to make sure it happened. He did not want to send her back to the Indoctrination chamber, didn't want to make her fears a reality, but if he didn't find a way to settle her, he'd have to.

Tardak eventually stood up, shaking his head. The badger joined him at the window, looking out at the vast emptiness before them.

"...It's not going to be easy," the admiral admitted.

"Never is."

"I want a better ship."

"Soon as we have facilities, you'll get it."

"Hand-picked crew."

"Provided that they aren't needed elsewhere."

"One more thing." The badger pointed to the door. "Do not, and I repeat, do not send that fox anywhere with me."

"...That bad?"

"You have no idea. I don't believe there was a single crewman that he didn't flirt with."

"...Good to know."

And it was; it meant that he had a diplomat that knew how to use his body as well as his mind. That would make things rather interesting in the future, at least if Lazir was allowed to meet with anyone in person. For the moment, however, it meant that he had two skilled men under his banner, and that was one more thing that he didn't have to worry about. He would deal with the construction fees and the creation of a new ship for Tardak later. For now, he had to figure out how he was going to break the news to Mark and Zelda.

Mark would take it well, he was sure. The hyena had been surprising him of late. Zelda, on the other hand...

Well, he'd see. But for now, he celebrated the small victory.

The End

Summary: Bertram takes a step towards equality on the planet below, and uses it to get his newest slaves on his side.

Tags: No Sex, Bodysuit, Sci-Fi, Ram, Badger, Fox, Slave Discussion, Slavery, Series,