The Third Reich

The Third Reich
By 
		B. K. Neifert













Chapter 1:

	Her name was Cotina. She had her rations every day. She had a Ford truck she used to get back and forth to and from work. Some spices for flavor---her masters weren't cruel.
	She worked at the Chemical plant. But, that'll get to later.
	Today was her day off. Decadi, of the second week of Vendemlaire. Of the population of about 20 Billion on earth, there were 8.6 billion who were slaves. Some catamites. Some concubines. Others were forced to work in the factories, of which Cotina worked at the Chemical plant, and sometimes she harvested garbage to be made into ashes, so they could convert the ash carbon into filtration systems. Which was one of the jobs she knew very well. Burn the garbage... the cremated bodies... The dead sea and wildlife... take the ashes into the compressor where they'd be transformed into charcoal, which couldn't be burned. No. This charcoal was for filtration systems which would desalinate ocean water.
	Her other job, which was not as fun, because it didn't involve fire, was to use electrolysis on water, which would be chemically bonded with CO2 in the atmosphere. The process was chemically perfect, that it didn't destroy water, nor did it harm the environment. The push to this technology was immense, and started a revolution. Of which, Cotina was at the bad end of that revolution, and her peoples enslaved again by neofeudalism.


On this particular day, Cotina went to the park, on permission from her master. Who before leaving, he made love to her, which was vile. And then gave her an abortion pill, to make sure he didn't have any bastard children. If he did, he'd just employ them like he did Cotina. They were of a mixed race---of that one anathema race---and wouldn't be worth freeing.
	So, Cotina went, and she bought at the local market some from her commissary. Which she was given a stipend allowance from the government, in order to not lay a financial burden on her masters. And she, on this particular day, was cheerful. She didn't care that she was raped... she didn't care that she was a slave... she was cheerful this day as it was so long ago that her peoples were enslaved by their owners.
	So, she went through, and bought a weak wine, that was more like vinegar, but she didn't care. She bought some vegetables, which were the rotten ones, being a slave. And she got a slab of some unknown meat—probably harvested off of her dead compatriots–I kid you not, things like all these things have happened before in history, and you don't want them.
	Cotina was a religious woman, so she went to a secret Mass in the basement of a shanty apartment complex. Abortion was unlawful in her religion, but she knew such a thing was too great a risk to refuse. It was her slave master. Nobody held her accountable, anyway. It was evil, but she knew no better.
	She attended Mass, with others like her. She sung her hymns to her deity, Jehovah-Jireh was He called. And Jesus. Most of the Apostolic teaching was watered down, but she knew the basics. Jesus died for her sins, raised from the dead... she didn't know what sin is, though. It was hard to understand for her, as her society was full of rape, robbery, murder, torture, pillaging and theft. And also adultery, as her Slave Master had a wife, but on account of Polyamory, nobody thought twice about it. They didn't even know what Monogamy was.
	But, today was a good day. The sun shined brightly, the river at the waterfront was crystalline, she had only a few bruises from the whips and torture she received for screwing up her chemistry. She was smart. She would have a basic, 10th Grade knowledge of Chemistry. Enough to do the things she could. She couldn't read English, but she could read math. Equations were the current form of written expression, as literature was abolished. It was offensive.
	But, today was a good day. She went home, ate her wormy meal, laid down in her cot which was too small to stretch out on, pulled her blanket over her chest, which wouldn't cover her whole body, and she went to sleep.



Chapter 2:

	At the desalination plant, Cotina was there bright and early. She drove her Master's truck, which she used for the fact that it gave him lots of money. As every cent she earned---because 40 percent of the population were slaves---would go to him. And some of that was taxed, and would be received by her as a daily stipend. That was her only income.
	She had a fascination with running water through the charcoal. She didn't talk to anyone. She was a mute. As all slaves were conditioned by psychological abuse to become one. Their voice was powerful, and the first thing the slave owners did, was teach them there were no objective truths. Only science. Only math. Only formulas. Of which Cortina knew about a dozen, which she used every day, and with great ingenuity.
	She pulled the water through the charcoal, and saw it desalinated. This would go to the crops around the farms, to the water towers, the reservoirs; sometimes it would be used for hydrolysis, to make gasoline from the Atmospheric carbon and the water's hydrogen.
	She didn't notice that she was a cannibal. Yesterday's meal didn't bother her that much. That gore and gall was the only meat she could afford, and the only meat society was allowed to consume—-the flesh of the slaves, which were beneath animals. She did her routine, though. Pulling a lever, pushing water through a mechanical valve, as it would be salt water on one end, and partially desalinated on the other. Then it would go through about twelve more filtration processes, until it was pure enough to be used. The salts were thrown back into the ocean, and any water left over in the process were thrown back into the ocean.
	She wore a white lab coat, safety goggles, a yellow helmet. She understood English, but psychologically, couldn't bring herself to speak. The slaveholder class's mastery of psychology knew how to induce muteness in their subjects through psychological torture.
	“I'm telling you, Cotina, keep up the good work!” said the “friendly”, pit boss, in a high pitched, screechy female voice. It was patronizing, but it was the only reward Cotina had, as money wasn't her reward. And Cotina was pleased she got this high pitched, dog-talk sort of response from the Pit Boss. She continued working, and favorably at that. She did a uniquely good job today, desalinating 10,000 gallons. Which she worked through the whole 12 hour shift to harvest.
	She came home, tired. She had to do the only calculations she knew, and was mentally tired doing the only math she knew how to do. And she laid down to rest, in her small bed, with her small blanket.
	She turned on the music. Hip-Hop played. A very vulgar kind, almost like psychological torture. On her television---which was required to be watched, at least two hours a day---there was Jerry Springer like shows on, where slaves participated. Of the certain caste who could talk. There was about a billion of those. And these were used to entertain her. Compulsively. Liars, scoundrels, it was proof to the Master Class that giving these people the ability to talk, would only hinder them from their occupations. As this caste who could talk, were administrative, like the Pit Boss earlier. She was a slave, too, of the class who can talk.
	And this dysfunction drilled into Cotina the peace of her life. She enjoyed the life, as it was the only one she knew. Don't take that as  moral statement of this author, but as a disgusting fact that people can be conditioned to enjoy slavery. She got sex once in a while—she was marginally attractive–she had no responsibilities beside doing calculations, and working the Chemical Plants.
	She spent the whole day reading her formulas. As that was her literature. Her twelve formulas, which she read. It was in a little notebook, with plastic cover, and it had little brass tacks on it. If it ripped, she had nothing. So she took care of it skillfully.
	That was the day of Primidy of the Third week of  Vendemlaire.



Chapter 3:

	On this day---Quintidi, of the first week of Frimaire---she woke up, was a little groggy. She went to do the job she hated. Because it was taxing. She'd have to split the hydrogen harvested by electrolysis, and bind it with the CO2 harvested from the air.
	She went to work after eating a slight breakfast. Corn Bran, and not particularly good Corn Bran. It was sawdust like, and left the mouth dry. She had no milk. As dairy was forbidden. The only meat offered to her was man. And she poured water over her cereal, as she was taught.
	She ate, and then left for work, gassing up her giant vehicle, as Global Warming was solved by the work she was about to do. They just harvested CO2 from the air, and recycled it with water. And then recycled the water to put it back into the oceans. Perfect chemistry which wouldn't recede oceans; it wouldn't do anything.
	She went to her work, and there, used electrolysis to harvest Hydrogen. She stored it in compression chambers, which she then waited for the Collector Planes to come by with loads of CO2 they captured from the atmosphere. And they did, and chemically bound the two gases into a formula, very precise, and Cotina was looking at the formulas just last night. It was like reading this book to you... only more lucid, as she could imagine every number, letter and operation perfectly, into a perfect operation of daily habit.
	She did this wisely, in the fascism of her day, and produced many tons of Hydrocarbons. Perfect gasoline, refined and ready to use in any internal combustion engine. She went to her work, and the Pit Boss came by. “You're five tons behind. Better work harder,” the pit boss yipped jollily, smiling and cheerful, by a witchy scold which warned trouble. Almost like a Bene Gesserit. It's not like the movie, but like the scold that woman gave Joan of Arc, which induced her to await and finally succumb to her execution.
	And she knew she was going to receive lashes. She opened her voice, and she was about to cry out. She was about to cry out. But she couldn't say anything. Her voice was stifled. And this horror left her demoralized for the day. The rest of her work was sloppy, and she ended up 20 tons behind pace. So, she braced for it.
	They took her to the whipping post, and a big, burly man came out from behind a screen. He curled his smile into a wicked grin, and lashed at Cotina. More than 39 lashes, if you can believe it.
	Cotina had no blood, as the whip was painful, but only left bruises. As blood would contaminate the crime scene. And Cotina was taken from her whipping post, and brought to her chambers, where she was isolated for two hours, an isolated confinement cell, where she was deprived of sleep and nourishment. And there she was tortured with sleep deprivation. This hadn't happened for months, and she knew she was about to have a bad couple of months. When this happened, it could make an entire year go sour. As her circadian rhythm was thrown off, and her entire body was sore head to foot. It tore her muscles, as that's where the blunt trauma was most endured, and she'd be sore, and unable to do her job for a while. She couldn't conceive that the slave holders knew this, and then intentionally did it. And it would create a resilient effect on the body, that the torture would become endured, and the harshness, and soon by some heroic act of horrific providence, she'd overcome the setback. As the negative reinforcement terrorized her, and made her work anxiously, faster, more productive, in order to avoid more beatings.













Chapter 4:

	Sextidi,  of the first week of Nivose, she watched the television of her Master, and saw three slaves gruelingly tortured to death. This was Byzantine systems to keep her in line. One was drawn and quartered, another was crucified, and another was slowly dismembered before the audience, who cheered jollily at the blood bath.
	She didn't know these slaves, but was aware that her master wanted her to see this punishment, as the weird science behind the psychological torture was meant to keep her in shape, and let her know she was costing him a penny from her recent slack. Only a penny. Nothing more. Figuratively speaking, it was power.
	The next scene will be omitted.
	As she was crying, she stood up, and her master was finished. Scared, horrified, she was ushered to her room, and consoled physically by a woman who would be her friend, if she even knew how to talk. But, they couldn't. As speech was deprived from her, as well as reading. Her only literature was her twelve formulas.
	She managed to put her clothes on, which were wool. They had all sorts of gang symbols on it, to indicate she was less than. Demonic figures, as she wore a durag in her day off. She had a hood, with some violent edges and wraith-like images.
	Then, she was consoled physically. A brushing of her hair—there's slaves meant for this job, too, who console the others when they're disciplined, so they don't commit suicide, as a slave isn't much of a burden to buy or maintain, but it can be hard to get a new one as reliable and industrious as Cotina.
	She was consoled, her wounds were balmed by ointments her friend the slave had purchased. She was forced to purchase it with her own stipends, but this added to the charitable effect of the process. It created physical intimacy.
	Then, as she lay on her bed, her master came in. She looked at him, as he curled his mouth. The mulatto skin of Cortina was there, screaming she mixed with the anathema race. That anathema race. Her master came to her, and she finally said, “No!” 
	“Don't be giving me that white privilege,” was what she heard back. It was the last thing she heard that night.