Author's Note: Warning for objectification, slavery and death.
Shame
An open, airy temple. A breeze blows off the ammonia ocean, ruffling the gauzy curtain. The sky is a pristine, perfect emerald green
"Lovely planet," one Emerald comments. The other Gems laugh.
"Very fetching," agrees another Emerald.
They're not all emeralds. There's a Prehnite among the group, and two variscites. Such mixed company is always somewhat awkward, especially during such intimate gatherings, but unfortunately, sometimes unavoidable. Everyone's wearing bright, brittle smiles.
Emeralds are scholars. So are variscites, but of a different sort. Emeralds concern themselves with practical issues— questions of trade routes, of colony planning and expansion, of construction, and resource management. Variscites, meanwhile, are philosophers: their kind seek to answer the kind of questions which, depending on your point of view, are either the truly the most important, or truly the most trivial. What is on the other side of a black hole? How many dimensions are there? How old is the universe? How did it form? Will it ever end? Are there universes beyond this one?
Abstract and useless, in the Emeralds' private opinions. But the Variscite's are well regarded, their ideas important, and the Emeralds must ensure that none of their plans contradict the official doctrines.
Prehnite, meanwhile, is just an informant. A glorified database. She knows all the latest facts and figures, and can recite them promptly.
The groups discussion moves on from jokes and courtesies to business. Plans, procedures, processes. How to improve upon the current warp pad repair cycle, how and where to install the most recent models, how to address the recent warp-drive failures on Roaming Eye ships…
The green sky grows darker as the planet's sun sinks below the horizon. It's getting late, and everyone is tiring.
One Emerald stretches. She asks, "Have any of you had much of a chance to explore this planet yet?"
Prehnite had, of course— data collection is her job. The Variscites speak of how they've spent Cycles in quite contemplation on some far flung island, not moving from beyond its shore. The Emeralds were a mixed bag— some have had a chance to see the planet, but others have just been too busy to get out of their quarters.
"Obviously our work is important," says an Emerald, her gem in her chin. "But I need a chance to relax. I can feel my productivity decreasing."
"Oh, I know just the thing," says another Emerald, her gemstone just a twinkle at the corner of her eye. She snaps a finger. Her pearl appears at her side immediately. She tells her, "Fetch the balm. Enough for all of us."
The pearl bows her head and disappears behind a curtain.
"Bomb?" asks a varscite, a degree of alarm entering her measured voice.
"Oh, not the explosive kind." Eye-Emerald waves a hand. "It's the most interesting thing. This sort of paste. You take these white growths from the ocean, mash them up, and it becomes a kind of cream."
"Whatever for?" asks a third Emerald.
"Oh, to rub on yourself. I know it sounds odd, but trust me, the sensation is quite lovely. Your skin becomes as smooth as a newmade. The scent is quite exquisite, as well."
On cue, the pearl returns, accompanies by three other pearls, all in varying shades of green. Each carries a small pot in their outstretched hands, filled with a thick white paste. Each pearl goes to stand before their Master.
The pots get passed around, to sample both the scent and the paste itself. The Prehnite isn't offered any, being too low-ranking for such a thing. The varscites, meanwhile, swear off such personal luxuries, citing it as an indulgence of the base senses. Each of the Emerald, however, tries a sample from their personal pearl… each Emerald except one.
"Oh dear, I forgot," says Chin-Emerald, when she realises. "You had to get rid of yours, didn't you?"
"Yes." The pearl-less Emerald, whose gem is hidden behind her thigh, sighs.
"Whatever for?" asks the fourth emerald, her gem in the forehead. As she speaks, her pearl offers out the balm. Forehead-Emerald nods at her tentatively, giving permission for the pearl to spread the paste onto her shoulders. "Oh! That is nice."
Thigh-Emerald sighs again. "Hadn't you heard? She was put down!"
Forehead-Emerald gasps. The other emeralds nod in sympathy, while the Prehnite and the varsities lean in, curious. "What happened?"
"It was terrible," tuts Chin-Emerald, as her pearl rubs the lotion onto her arm. "Just terrible!"
"She just snapped," says Thigh-Emerald. "I'd noticed she'd been acting a little strange a couple Cycles beforehand— skittish, forgetful, that kind of thing. I just assumed—"
"That she'd gotten herself worked up about something?" says Nose-Emerald. Pearls were notoriously high strung, after all. `
"Yes, exactly," says Thing-Emerald. "But I sent her off on some errands, and she didn't come back. A Quartz patrol found her wandering in an off-limit area."
"Maybe she got lost?" suggests Prehnite.
"That's what the Amethyst guard thought. But when they called out to her, she just ran off. The Quartzes chased after her, of course, lead her into a corner— and then she freaked out! Went savage. Acted like some organic animal. She'd gotten ahold of some rocks, started throwing them at the guards— hit the Amethyst in the head and poofed her!"
There are gasps all around.
"Really? A pearl did that?" says one of the varscites.
"Must've been taken by surprise," says Forehead-Emerald.
"I suppose," says Chin-Emerald. "But even then— not much of a Quartz if she can be taken down by a pearl."
Thigh-Emerald shakes her head. "They brought the pearl back to me. I tried to get an explanation out of her, but she refused to speak."
"Cracked. On the inside," says a Varscite. She was met with sad murmurs of agreement.
"What could I do?" asks Thigh-Emerald. "She wasn't safe to be around. Couldn't even Harvest her— what if she malfunctioned? Had to be shattered."
"No alternative," agrees the other Emeralds, in unison.
"Still, it's a real shame," says Forehead-Emerald. "She was a pretty thing. Much shinier than mine."
"New model," says Chin. "Nice to look at, but it makes you wonder how they're being built, if they break down so easily." She turns to her own pearl. "A little more on my back," she orders. The pearl complies, rubbing the balm between her Master's shoulder blades.
"At least she was still in warranty. Free replacement," says Thigh-Emerald. "They are taking their time with it, though."
"Well, you know the current resource issues," says Prehnite.
Everyone but the pearls nod sagely.
"In the meantime, you're quite free to borrow mine," says Nose-Emerald.
"Oh! How generous," says Thigh-Emerald. "But no, I'll make do for now. There's a bit of fun in the challenge, to be honest."
"They all laugh. The conversation carries on. In time, the balm gets put away. The pearls stand off to the side, and wait. Stoic, silent, speechless.
oOoOo
Author's Note: There's a special circle in writing Hell, and it's called, "a scene where not only do all your characters use the same pronouns, several of them also have the same names."
Not quite as bad, but still a challenge: what do high-class socialites do for fun when they're part of a species that doesn't eat, drink, or have sex, where physical contact between individuals is extremely limited, and most art forms have been heavily restricted?