Chapter 8
Hunting Sorias with the tank
The joke, which wasn't really a joke, of changing the fake Iseka's surnames and sending them to an ad hoc province, continued for a long time. Until exhaustion. But that's what almost everyone in charge did, including the Monitor. The extremists and most of the technocrats, including Kratos, went along with it.
Erique Katel, Kratos of Languages, was along the same lines. His letter to Persona Kseka, so measured and sober, just like one an ancient Chinese mandarin might have sent, could give someone a completely erroneous impression of his personality. It wasn't always like this. "Whoever is not extreme, whoever is not exaggerated, does not live," he maintained, and this general leitmotif prevailed throughout the Technocracy, in all its strata, and not just in the ruling class.
For entertainment reasons, Monitor caught the eye of one of those administratively deported to the Province of Soria, a certain Francisco Iseka, telling him that from that moment on he would be called Don Francisco de Xavier y Soria, and appointed him Grand Corregidor of the newly created "Province." He even gave him a fake civil service.
The famous Grand Corregidor, absolutely terrified, knew perfectly well that his corregidorship would last as long as the joke.
Indeed. A few months later, the Monitor stopped being amused by this affair and transformed the "Province" of Soria into a gigantic concentration camp where he imprisoned every Iseka suspected of Soriaism.
Sometimes, when he was bored, he would enter there with a well-armed patrol to hunt a few Sorias, like Ramses II in his tank. "My gallinules, bustards, turkey poults, nightjars, and whippoorwills that I go out hunting with a tank through my private forests," he once remarked after one of these excursions.
The afternoon was ending. The armored vehicle, wrapped in reddish hues, had about ten Sorias, men and women, tied upside down on both sides. Some Soria women—those wearing skirts, of course—exposed their legs and underwear due to the awkward position they were forced to occupy, except for those who had lost those items in the process. Others, their clothes torn, had their breasts exposed. As the tank moved over the uneven terrain, their breasts bounced like two pounds of roast beef, creating a pulse of sexual energy that renewed the air of the places through which the armored vehicle was rapidly moving. Upon reaching their destination, the best breasts of the dead women were cut up and sent to join the Monitor's private collection. Anything left over was eaten by the guards' dogs. On the hunting expedition that is being quickly described, Monitor had said thoughtfully, looking at the corpses: "What a shame I had Tofi killed too quickly. That traitor of the most select degree of horrifying." After uttering this phrase aloud, but to himself, he proceeded to converse with one of the deceased while his guards, silent, pretended to stare into space: "No, no; you're mistaken. They don't have as much right to live as you do. Don't try to save them out of your kindness. I forgive you because you're an excellent person, deep down. But your companions don't. They're very small, and that's why they hang around. Let me explain: your error stems from the democratic concept you've formed. Properly understood democracy begins at home; thus, in truly free elections, the dictator ensures that your vote is equal to half plus one of the total votes cast."
The tank's tracks had been deeply etched into the stump. The Soria corpse, tied up, was in no way willing to respond.
Hunting Sorias with the tank
The joke, which wasn't really a joke, of changing the fake Iseka's surnames and sending them to an ad hoc province, continued for a long time. Until exhaustion. But that's what almost everyone in charge did, including the Monitor. The extremists and most of the technocrats, including Kratos, went along with it.
Erique Katel, Kratos of Languages, was along the same lines. His letter to Persona Kseka, so measured and sober, just like one an ancient Chinese mandarin might have sent, could give someone a completely erroneous impression of his personality. It wasn't always like this. "Whoever is not extreme, whoever is not exaggerated, does not live," he maintained, and this general leitmotif prevailed throughout the Technocracy, in all its strata, and not just in the ruling class.
For entertainment reasons, Monitor caught the eye of one of those administratively deported to the Province of Soria, a certain Francisco Iseka, telling him that from that moment on he would be called Don Francisco de Xavier y Soria, and appointed him Grand Corregidor of the newly created "Province." He even gave him a fake civil service.
The famous Grand Corregidor, absolutely terrified, knew perfectly well that his corregidorship would last as long as the joke.
Indeed. A few months later, the Monitor stopped being amused by this affair and transformed the "Province" of Soria into a gigantic concentration camp where he imprisoned every Iseka suspected of Soriaism.
Sometimes, when he was bored, he would enter there with a well-armed patrol to hunt a few Sorias, like Ramses II in his tank. "My gallinules, bustards, turkey poults, nightjars, and whippoorwills that I go out hunting with a tank through my private forests," he once remarked after one of these excursions.
The afternoon was ending. The armored vehicle, wrapped in reddish hues, had about ten Sorias, men and women, tied upside down on both sides. Some Soria women—those wearing skirts, of course—exposed their legs and underwear due to the awkward position they were forced to occupy, except for those who had lost those items in the process. Others, their clothes torn, had their breasts exposed. As the tank moved over the uneven terrain, their breasts bounced like two pounds of roast beef, creating a pulse of sexual energy that renewed the air of the places through which the armored vehicle was rapidly moving. Upon reaching their destination, the best breasts of the dead women were cut up and sent to join the Monitor's private collection. Anything left over was eaten by the guards' dogs. On the hunting expedition that is being quickly described, Monitor had said thoughtfully, looking at the corpses: "What a shame I had Tofi killed too quickly. That traitor of the most select degree of horrifying." After uttering this phrase aloud, but to himself, he proceeded to converse with one of the deceased while his guards, silent, pretended to stare into space: "No, no; you're mistaken. They don't have as much right to live as you do. Don't try to save them out of your kindness. I forgive you because you're an excellent person, deep down. But your companions don't. They're very small, and that's why they hang around. Let me explain: your error stems from the democratic concept you've formed. Properly understood democracy begins at home; thus, in truly free elections, the dictator ensures that your vote is equal to half plus one of the total votes cast."
The tank's tracks had been deeply etched into the stump. The Soria corpse, tied up, was in no way willing to respond.
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