Khybors story
From Writers Exchange
Elin hated
it when her duty rotation required her to mediate yet again between a
Wrinkleship pilot and the spaceport authorities.
The pilots didn’t bother her. They
were decent enough people, even the worst of them, even when they acted like
elitist snobs. Part of the problem, she knew, was that she did consider them
people, while a growing percentage of the officers and officials and
technicians she had to pass on her way through security levels to get to the
Wrinkleships, did not. Wrinkleship pilots, according to the proponents of the
pureblood radical genetic dogma of the Set’ri, were mutants. Mutants had to be
destroyed, to prevent them from contaminating the true Human genome, according
to the Set’ri. However, Wrinkleship pilots were necessary to the expansion of
the Central Allied Worlds, so they weren’t destroyed at birth, or when their
mutations manifested at adolescence.
Lucky for them. Or maybe not so
lucky.
What did it
matter that their bodies were so malformed and defective that by the time they
entered their second decade, most of them needed life support? According to all
the ethics books Elin had studied, and the inherited memories of her ancestors,
the mind and soul determined if a life form was Human, not the viability and
performance of the body. Elin had enough experience – her own, as well as those
imprinted in the Khrystal in her blood – to convince her that the converse of
the Set’ri dogma was true, and a great many who looked Human did not
qualify for the title.
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