The Profane Dog

Even Dreams Die Easier

Sect. A:

A Thousand Tommorrows in which to Forget a Thousand Yesterdays

Where shall I start then?

How about when I was made. Unlike you monkeys I wasn't some accident your parents had. Indeed I was designed and manufactured like that sword you play with to impress the girls and scare off petty thieves on the road. I was designed by the top minds in organism manipulation. Now of course, I still had to be born the same way as you dirty monkey fucks, he looked a little bit offended at least this time, from a woman, but my DNA was custom designed. Designed for what you wonder? Well, my monkey friend, I was made to be the new top-of-the-line spy. Someone the ancient Imperials could send to a world and not have die before the fleet arrived to tell them who to kill. My designers emphasized regeneration, healing, and immunity, which has made me impervious to just about everything anyone has bothered to come up with so far including aging... which is why I'm such a god-forsaken, sexy bitch for a many thousand year old, he looks shocked at the assertion of being millennia old, but the pheromones are definitely not affecting him, meaning he was being indifferent and not getting stupid from my pheromones. Good, someone I can blabber at..

Anyways, that was back in the beginning of the Empire, not even the first millenia when all it consisted of was what they call the core-world and Earth. Earth was full of shit as it ever was, and wanted to keep their grip on the grip on the colonies as tight as possible, and so made me. But they were paranoid as ever, since they hadn't come up with the grand idea of cyclic jump-engines instead of the wasteful long jumps they prefered over the gate. The gates of course were easily sabotaged though, so I gotta give the stupid monkeys a little credit.

In my youth my proprietors educated me on the usual bullshit, Earth history, economics, politics that sorta crap. My real training started when I was 12 though, when I hit puberty. When a synth-mod, or synthetically manufactured modified human, as was the techie term then, was being manufactured there was two steps in those days, the initial genetic reprogramming, and then the hormone manipulation at puberty. My education in the ways of espionage started at this time as well, while I was being pumped full of the hormones that would make me irresisitable to all but robotmen and that irritable 25 out of 100 monkeys, like yourself, and fortify my apparent immmortality, they taught me to shoot, read monkey emotions, the skill of persuasion I would need for the three out four of you filthy fucks that wouldn't eat their own shit to please me, basic computer hacking (for when a tech-mod wasn't around to do it for me), and a general course in being a SOLDIER, despite not being one. I later found out why that was during the contest of the Western Republic that jumped for about 700 years. Stoopid monkey fucks build a million mass drivers around their prime worlds and think it's gonna stop an Imperial fleet from knocking. I never rode into battle during that shit storm with any SOLDIERs mind you, but the training made me look like a fucking roboman in the Class 2 armoured suits dropping from 10,0000 metres over that burning shithole that called itself Niberia. Probably kept most of the marines I dropped with alive just so they could die more horrible deaths on that planet. The Republic thought they were actually bleeding the Empire which was more concerned about the PR than how many freeze-dried wastes of sperm they would throw into the grinder. Me myself didn't give a shit how it truned out at the time, though I dont give much of a shit how it turned out now either. But regardless, that's a good example of how the Empire was. The bottom line was most important, a recreation of the ancient Spanish mercantilization of the Americas, with most of the same results, one way or the other. You have any idea who he Spanish were? He shakes his head no, of course he doesn't, no one has known who the Spanish were for a few thousand years, but I always thought it might be a change of pace to find someone with a vague knowledge of very ancient Earth history.. Let's stop in at this public house up the way. My designers didn't fully program the drunk out of me. I feigned a smile which reassured him. It was raining anyway so it made the appearance of the roadhouse a welcome opportunity to get dry and rest.

...

After we had eaten our meals in silence and finished our ales, my companion looked up at me with a questioning look, "Do we travel?"
"No," I replied, "travelling the road in this weather wouldn't be any faster than if we stayed the night. Besides, your letters won't hold up to a night in this rain," referring to the package he had been charged with delivering to the landing site.
"Go and have some fun with the wenches," I nodded at the females who were serving the roadhouse's patrons, "I know how much you monkeys like to carry on with each other," he stood up smiling at this sheepishly, "and don't distract them so much they forget to bring me ale," he nodded indifferently and went to one of the more crowded areas of the common room. I drank deeply enough that when I decided to head off to our room, I noticed a few looks of suprise from the crowd of monkeys that I showed no signs of intoxication. I decided to leave the bed for my companion as I knew the monkey lust for comfort was strong and not a trait I shared with my cousins. I laid a sheet on the floor and rested. And dreamed...

The cover to the stasis unit retracted as the reanimation process finished. My skull pounded and my joints were arthritic. Looking to my sides I could see I was not alone, though unlike the monkeys who had been assigned to be my escort, I recovered within minutes to their hours. I stood up and found my locker and began dressing. Breakfast would be served, then the prelim. briefing would take place. I already knew the full extent of the mission, more so than these monkeys, but being cannon fodder was nothing new to the Imperial Marine Corps. as was common they caught up with current events and how badly their investments were doing. The corporations loved to put marine investment capital into losing ventures, keeping the cattle on board for another 150 year contract. The briefing was short and the C.O. thankfully didn't ask me to say anything. He was probably the first veteran officer I'd dropped with since the insurrection began 30 years before.