Doom-mates: Executive Control

The mars sun shone through the high-rise window, bathing the office in orange light. Salanda quite enjoyed these moments. It offered her a picture perfect image of the city below, her city. She supposed she ought be a little more humble, but she knew that was petty humility. It was HER city. The UAC were the patrons of this city, it’s lifeblood. And she was at the top. Well, her and the president.

She swirled the wine in her glass, admiring her empire more before returning to her lunch. She had adapted to the lifestyle of a high-ranking executive well, and her immaculately prepared sashime suited her palate just fine. Well… Not exactly.

Effortlessly, she used her chopsticks to lift a huge roll of rice topped with a cut of raw beef to her mouth, popping it past her gums and chewed with satisfaction. Fish were still in low supply on mars. They were working on establishing a direct production facility, but it was low enough on the list of priorities that even Vice-President of the UAC Salanda of the Bleached Towers would have to wait before enjoying fresh tuna. A pity. But progress always had it’s share of trials to be endured. Her special order wasn’t disagreeable in any case. A shame that humans couldn’t safely eat raw meat.

After snapping her powerful jaws around the last piece, she opened up the holo-screen of her personal computer and checked her schedule. Salazar had bumped his appointment to meet with her over argent collection rights for the screaming desert, and Susanne’s proposal for new methods of increasing worker satisfaction could be handled by ‘RRRRKLKSZAL, which meant that all that was left for today was her favorite. The daily meeting with the President of the UAC.

She shut off the holo-screen and gave herself a quick visual inspection before her meeting. Her suit was food-free, and fit perfectly on her powerful frame. Her hair, dark and shimmering, was still properly set in its professional cut. Her horns weren’t in need of polishing or sanding, and the intricate triple helix design she had had them laser-carved into was mathematically precise. Horn art was the craze amongst fasionable Hell barons, and she’d be caught dead before she was behind the times.

She opened her neo-surgically shortened snout and checked her rows of sharp teeth for any bits of food. She had been perfectly willing to opt in for the more humanized facial features available, but Cynthia had insisted that her more demonic features where what she’d fallen in love with.

She had went ahead with the eyes though. She had found human eyes had this -je ne sais quoi- quality that she found enchanting. What was the phrase again, the eye is the window into the soul? Hm, yes. Perfect. Salanda enjoyed quotes that perfectly suited a situation.

She stood, worked out the stiffness in her neck and strode out her office, hooves clacking against the marble floor.

As she walked through the higher echelons of the UAC building of Mars City 01, she passed by several scientists busy at work. She liked being in the center of things, considering her insights into demonic realm wave-lengths had spearheaded their initiatives.

“Miss Salanda,” Said a clipped, synthetic voice.

“Mind 368-H,” responded Salanda, cordially.

Of course, the UAC had immediately snapped up all the emigrating High-Minded Ones and gave them gainful employment and a chance to put all that gray-matter to good use. Years ago back during the initial incursions, humans had given them the amusing name of “Arachnotrons”. Cynthia had likened it to something from one of Earth’s ‘corny’ entertainment films from a century ago.

It wasn’t entirely inaccurate, with how they skittered about on their long mechanical legs, constantly moving from one task to another.

Most had declined the offered Humanization Surgery, seeing it as a pointless distraction from their calculations and theorizing and such and so-forth. But a bold few had seen it as a fascinating subject of study, and had underwent the process for the sake of science.  She heard them giggling together during their lunch breaks. And heard other things.

Here was one now, Mind 641-Z, or Zeta, as she would call herself when off the clock. The enhanced High Minded claimed that adopting more personalized names was to further continue the experiment of blending with human society, but Salanda knew the truth. Once you let a little of the human experience in, it was hard to resist falling for all of its sweet temptations. And they said Hell was the corrupting force…

Zeta was with some of her unaltered brethren, standing around a large table-computer, chattering at high speed about logarithms for improving the flow of plasma in high-capacity generators or some important nonsense like that. She was her go-to girl for learning what the High Minds were up to.

Salanda was able to, with effort, keep up with Zeta’s excited verbal pace when talking about any major breakthroughs they made, so she was one of the key bridges between the brains and the human scientists, who perhaps not as outrageous in individual I.Q., had oh-so-wonderfully-human
spark of ambition and creativity that had brought humanity so far in the first place.

The altered High Minds were quite unique among post-op demons. They retained their mechanical enhancements, though now the legs tapered down from some more… curvaceous thighs. Their bodies had become proper torsos, though their extremities were still rather useless and nubbly, which lead to the addition of mechanical prosthetic hands, quite elegantly designed. Their entire bodies were still technically neural matter, which made them quite sensitive to physical stimulation, (half the reason for all the giggling), though of course they were still sturdier than the standard human. They would often cover up with lab coats to prevent any errant skin contact.

Their heads were still a bit brainy on top, but now minimized to fit a standard human head-shape. Their deep gem-like eyes were often behind special glasses, meant to help them focus their wide spectrum of vision.

She passed the busy worked with a friendly wave, and moved on the president’s office.

Glynda was at her desk, as usual, clad in one of her many brightly colored kitten sweaters, hair done up in its typical big bun, with various pins sticking out of it. The Cacodemon’s manner of dress was perhaps less professional than typically desired, but she was simply the best secretary they could find. Besides, she was a pillar of company moral on this floor. Always sunny in disposition, keeping the candy bowls filled, remembering the birthing-days of the human staff. Needless to say she was one of the invisible factors behind the scenes that kept things running as smoothly as they did.

She was in the middle of some number puzzle thing written out on paper. Humans seemed to have a billion different varieties of the things, but looked up when she heard Salanda clopping up to the desk.

“OH! Miss Salanda! Here for your three o’clock with President Shepard? I’ll let them know you’re here!” She said with her usual good cheer. Salanda noticed she had added another motivational poster to her wall, this one featuring baby bunnies.

A few moments later, and the mechanical door to President Shepard’s office opened.

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The figure standing in front of the massive, wall-spanning window looked out over the city. She was a woman, hair black, and falling down to her shoulders. She addressed Salanda without turning around.

“When you look out over this city, Salanda, over the world that exists here and now. Would you say it was worth it? The incursions, the hubris, the deaths. The years of planning. Was it worth it?”

Salanda smirked. “Turn around so I can see that face, and then you’ll know if I think this is worth it.”

President Shepard turned, green eyes behind glasses looking straight at the baroness’ own.

Salanda strode forward, picked the woman up in her powerful arms, and kissed her.

“Hello darling,” Said Shepard.

“Hello Cynthia,” Said Salinda, gently placing her partner back down. “Just -how- long has it been since we last saw each other?”

“Hm, about four hours.”

“That long? How dreadful. How DO we let the time slip away from us so?”

“It’s a mystery darling,” Replied Cynthia, smirking.

+++++++++

Years ago, Salanda had first seen those green eyes when she was a “specimen” on ice in the UAC labs on Mars.

The Baron of Hell, Salanda of the Bleached Towers, Primarch of Infernal plots, Whisperer of Forbidden Tongues, was one of many demons captured by UAC science teams during the initial days of experimentation with portal technology. They spent most of their time frozen in place in a cryogenic tube, where they’d experience brief snippets of consciousness when they were being examined.

The humans never let them out of the tube of course, but sometimes they would defrost them to better observe their physiology, here would be scientists examining her body up close, not just their probing machines. Salanda saw the scientist observing them, jotting down notes in some puny scrap of parchment. They had initially desired nothing but ramming their fist through the glass and squeezing this frail pink worm to death, for DARING to entrap one such as them.

But then they saw those eyes. And saw those eyes staring back.

Salanda had never fallen for prophecies. They had made a hobby of twisting and defying them, then having the prophet executed for their falsehoods. But at this moment, Salanda felt the weight of pure inescapable fate tying her to this small, fragile pink thing, forever.

They placed their palm on the glass. And stared.

The human was shocked, not expecting this level of alertness in her subject, but the subtle insistence in its stare, the abnormal absence of violent tendencies observed in these creatures. Ever the scientist and explorer, she placed her hand against the glass, matching the proffered palm.

Months later, after many secret glances, messages, and one wonderful opportunity to have a conversation in secret, the incursions began. Managing to break free of their bonds, Salanda tracked down Cynthia, killed anything that dared look at the woman wrong, and kept her hidden, kept her safe. She had a well guarded lair in hell, and none would dare go prying into a baron’s private affairs, lest they savored their jawbones.

Salanda kept Cynthia there, safe, while mars and hell alike burned. Word soon came of the Slayer. Panicked, desperate word. Things were not as they should be. The might of hell faltered against a human single soul. In a way, Salanda understood it perfectly.

And so the demon and the human, two beings of intelligence and ambition, did what they were born to do.

They began to plan.

When the Incursions were finally repelled, and the slayer had stormed the gates of hell once more, laying waste to the many planes, Salanda and their love began to enact their plan.

The UAC operated on a system of hierarchy, and with Cynthia being only surviving high ranking staff-member, and most of the stock holders being dead, she was quickly able to assume control of what remained.

This was the hardest part. They would need to be separated for a good deal of time while they worked their individual components of the plan. Synthia, gifted with several of hell’s secrets and tutored by Salanda, would reinvigorate he UAC’s endeavors and store of capital.

Salanda, on the other hand, would do as a demon does best, and sew the seeds of an idea. She would spread rumors of the weakness of the presiding demonic authority, of the futility of fighting against the slayer. She spoke in hushed tones in darkened tombs with others who had grown tired of the war. Many feared the Doomslayer’s wrath. Territory after territory, legion after legion fell before him. Many were desperate for a way to escape his blade, by any means necessary.

Salanda, generous as she was, gave them ideas.

Once the UAC was up and running again, the lovers reunited, and began the second phase of their plan. Colonizing Mars. It would take years of work, but with the advancements of technology the UAC provided, the limitless energy of Hell, and two very shrewd negotiators, it was done sooner than imaginable by the common rube.

A military presence was required of course, to fight off the occasional Non-Peaceful dimensional interlopers, and give a sense of security to the growing populace of mars. The criteria for selecting potential settlers of mars was one of the most important factors. Those with the right psychological aspects to not up and bug-out at the thought of co-habitation with demonic lifeforms were selected to be installed on mars.

And once the first buildings were erected and inhabited, Salanda did their part.

The seeds they had sewn were blossoming into widespread rebellion. Not open revolt of course, but she had convinced enough other high ranking demons of the surrounding planes that there was no hope in the old ways. Hell had been beaten at bloodshed by a single human. To stay in hell was suicide.

There was only one option. Move. Adapt. Change. Salanda never took credit for the ideas of course, realistically, they would have come to this conclusion at some point, Salanda just helped make sure it came before it was too late.

The Great Surrender was made by six initial realms of hell, and more joined every month, signed by a council of UAC representatives and Demon Primarchs. The governments of Earth balked, demanded an explanation, called it treason, madness, blind stupidity.

But UAC were the ones with their hand on the off-switch for ALL of Earth’s precious argent energy. As much as Earth rattled its sabers, they wouldn’t dare risk going back into the dark ages. The UAC had total control of Mars’ assets, so they had free reign to allow demonic citizens into its borders. Earth was just a matter of time.

The demons came en-masse, desperate, broken, weary. The alteration technology had been already viable for two months before The Great Migration. Salanda had been the first demon to test it, embracing her new form, her new identity with zero hesitation. Feminine features were theorized by extensive research to have the best effect on altering demonic physiology for social acceptance, and Salanda had already decided the female form was the definition of beauty years ago.

Salanda gazed into the eyes of her beloved once more. “Is something on your mind? You don’t usually do the dramatic window bit unless something’s eating at you.”

Cynthia looked out at the city again, avoiding her gaze. Salanda didn’t mind too much, because she got a chance to see her beloved in profile. It was strictly off the records, but Cynthia had been the first human to ever test the Alteration Process, making her skin as young and supple as a girl in her early twenties. Nothing was going to get between them, especially not something as petty as age.

“I really do wonder if its worth it sometimes. What I let happen back then.”

Salanda sighed. “Cynthia, darling, not this again. You were an ambitious scientist in over your head. I was a demon caught in the same foolish cycles.” She gently touched Cynthia’s cheek and refocused the woman’s gaze on her visage. “Remember what I told you, when I stole you away for the first time so long ago?”

“…No regrets,” said Cynthia.

“Precisely. What’s done is done. The old forces in control have no power over us now. You and I are the ones making the decisions now. And look, look at the empire we’ve created. Look at the change we’ve brought. We hold the reigns of the future, Cynthia.”

They faced the window together, watching the sun gleam off of the many metal spires.

“Do you think any of them down there are as happy as we are, darling?”

“Hmmm, in a pithy, only half-as-good-at-best way, maybe.”

“Oh you’re just incorrigible darling~” laughed Salanda.

“I get it from you, my goddes.”

“And I you, my angel.”

They embraced.

++++++++++++++++++

Half an hour later, Salanda began re-buttoning her shirt, while Cynthia collected her bra. “Oh, actual business before you go. Commander Briggs sent a datapacket today. There’s been scout reports of Trite nests developing out in the deserts.

Salanda snorted. “Oh, wonderful. And here I am thinking I was finally free of dealing with those things.   Give him what he needs to deal with them. Trust me, they’re a nuisance we don’t need.”

“And another odd one, Patricia from the City council told me some interesting request invoice she received.”

“Hmm?”

“Some group or another is requesting permissions to hold religious ceremonies in the Rec Center in the fifth district.”

“In Little Dis? Odd. I didn’t think we’d selected any majorly religious citizens.”

“No, no, this is the interesting part. It’s a demonic group, for some -new- religious practice, thing. I don’t know many of the details but its fairly grass-roots so far.”

“Demons? Hm. Most of us had given up on the old beliefs when we left the old world. I guess some just need that in their lives I suppose. Did they get their request approved?”

“Word is they saw no major problems with it.”

“Hm. Have someone keep an eye on them. I’m curious to see what that’s all about. Was there anything else?”

“That’s it love.”

“Wonderful. I think I’m going to abuse executive privilege and call it a day. When you come home, don’t expect to not find me in the hot tub waiting for you.”

“I never don’t.

“And that’s why you’re so perfect for me.”

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