New White Russia, New Ukraine System
Capital City of New Minsk
The air of Minsk was, as usual, heavy. Not only was the gravity here slightly higher than Earth's, but the planet also suffered the problem of an amazingly high level of pollutants, so much so that, indeed, the majority of its atmosphere was composed of imported carbon monoxide and a cocktail of toxins that, while technically breathable, would kill most species in a matter of minutes and leave any survivors with a body consisting mostly of tumors by the end of the month.
Originally, the world hadn't had much of an atmosphere, just a thin film of carbon dioxide and trace gasses clinging to its barren surface. The planetary geologists figured that, roughly a million years ago, some cataclysmic event, possibly a large impact or a close pass from a larger body, had ripped off much of the plants atmosphere. They knew that it had, at one point, had an atmosphere because of the fossils, and the plentiful supplies of coal and oil. This had resulted in the rapid settlement and quick development of Minsk and the rest of New White Russia, factories and refineries springing up all across its surface, seeking to extract the riches of a world where environmental regulations were non-existent, yet which was provided with so many easily exploited resources.
Now it was a thriving, planet-wide, factory complex, spewing a trail of gasses into space. Its massive orbital shipyards producing the battleships which were the backbone of the Russian fleet, the transports and freighters that were the lifeblood of its economy. The Halo, as it was known, featured its own constellation of ships, sparkling dots seen from a distance which earned the world the grudging title of one of the galaxy's most beautiful sights, when seen from a distance.
Up close, New White Russia was dull, dreary, and depressing. Its buildings were modeled on the 'concrete slab' school of architecture, only the rare exception featuring any defining features, and virtually all the same, uniform, shade of grey. A splash of color here and there came in the form of propaganda posters, manly newly in place, informing citizens of the various threats to the Empire and how best to deal with them. Several of the newest posters proclaimed the latest threat to the glory of the Tsar's Empire:
The Furry Menace.
Specific protocols were clearly laid out for determining if one's neighbor was a furry sympathizer. Alien races of roughly anthropomorphic configuration were required to report for tests to ensure that they were not, in fact, perversions of humanity. It had started out innocently enough, the massive importation of Galactic technology had brought amazing medical advances to the Russian Empire, including various genetic and body modification methods. Originally these had mostly been employed by low class high school students to change their skin color and perform various other acts of rebellion against their guardians, which had mostly been ignored except for a few forcible corrections on behalf of the more vocally upset parents.
Then the furries had taken notice.
They had started out as just another obscure subculture. Few new of them and fewer cared for their various perversions, calling the police on them when the parties got too loud or the smell too strong to ignore. A few nobles had had their images smeared all over the tabloids, handcuffed in their disheveled costumes while being shoved into gendarmie transports by disgusted looking officers.
But the intersection of the furry subculture and the new medical technologies had been too much to ignore. The resulting freaks of nature, the offspring of genetically modified parents seeking to get in touch with their 'animal side' had brought forth a generation of monsters.
The Church had, of course, been the first opponent. Protests against 'subhuman monsters' had broken out. Demands for sterilization had been made. Local governments had intervened. Little of this had registered at the highest levels, the various procedures involved in what the tabloids termed 'furrification' had not been popular on Earth itself, the population there being almost entirely devoutly attached to the Orthodox Church. Then the counter-protests had begun.
The 'March of Freaks' as the St. Petersburg Vedemosti dubbed it, had resulted in a massive riot and 3,000 dead, mostly on the side of the furry protestors as a group of off-duty soldiers had entered the fray, followed by the police officers and on-duty guards for the neighborhood. The fight was eventually broken up by a detachment of the Imperial Guard, who had arrested the remaining protesters.
That had started the investigations, which had in turn resulted in the Imperial Decree on Genetic Safety, forbidding unapproved genetic modification to human beings. This had led to the purges, which leads us to New White Russia.
---
Crack!
"Up against the wall, all of you!" The militsia captain, who was clearly in no mood for argument, struck the nearest man across the face with the barrel of the pistol he had just discharged, leaving a red welt that quickly developed into a large blister, "Anybody without both of their hands on the bricks in five seconds is going to get their skull ventilated! MOVE!"
This order, accentuated by the shoving and kicks of the militsia lined the unfortunate group up against the wall, hands above their heads and firmly against the brickwork. This part of the city was domed in and, thus, featured a breathable, if rather stale, atmosphere. The acetic blue light of the system's star glared down through the dome, burning its way through the veil of gas that surrounded the planet. Most of the group were clearly furries, featuring ears, tails or even fully animal facial features.
The captain withdrew a small device from his pocket, which he flicked on with a practiced gesture. A tiny projector hummed to life and, after a moment, produced an image in mid-air, which the captain regarded, "According to the Imperial Decree for Genetic Safety, section 9, it is my duty to inform you that you are all under arrest for violations of the previously mentioned decree. As mentioned in various other sections of said decree, you will be processed in accordance with the degree of your..." The captain's mouth twitched slightly, an expression of disgust passing his face, "...Modification. Treatment will be administered as necessary. Any of you who are the product of natural processes will be pardoned and compensated for your trouble, assuming you are not guilty of anything else." Like consorting with furries, he mentally added, "Sergeant, cuff them."
As the sergeant approached, one of the more heavily furred arrestees began to growl, a deep growl full of threat, the sort that had sent humanity's ancient ancestors scrambling for the trees. The captain, of course, had no such predictions and would not have fled for the trees even if New White Russia had had any. Instead, as the dog-man removed his hands from the wall and began to turn, he calmly fired two shots, one in each knee, before kicking the falling creature in the face, sending it sprawling against the wall.
In a moment, the red and black peaked cap was in the half-human's face, along with the still-hot barrel of the pistol, "I'll make it clear for you, doggy. You're going to play by the rules and march along on your leash like a good little doggy, or we're going to fucking sterilize you right here and now, after I shoot off a few other bits since I have three shots left. Then, instead of throwing you back onto the street to carry on whatever damned orgy you stumbled out of, we'll put you in prison for resisting arrest and assaulting an officer, that gets you in the bad end of the system, and you can trust me when I say that you will learn a whole new definition of being somebody's bitch, pretty boy."
Silent now, although his glare remained, the dog-man nodded stiffly, clearly holding back cries, or yips perhaps, of pain. The captain kicked one of his legs as he stood up, prompting a scream. "You two." He gestured with his pistol at the men standing beside his victim, "Pick him up. We're going to the station."
The group was herded off, their escort of militsia occasionally administering a rifle butt or kick to encourage rapid progress. They were gradually joined by other groups, who were integrated with their own. A mob of perhaps a hundred was eventually assembled before they arrived at the tram station and found themselves shoved into the terminal with a mob of a thousand or more similarly afflicted beings, all surrounded by a cordon of soldiers, being sorted into cars by dispassionate clerks.
Many of the occupants were nervous, the smells of steam, sweat, nervousness and, even more predominately than normal in a public transit terminal, urine mixed with the shouting and bellowed orders of soldiers. The tram cars, as they arrived, were crammed with as many as could be jammed inside, soldiers employing much the same tactics as the militsia had, cramming passengers in with musket butts and jabs of the bayonet.
---
Outside of the domed area, a large camp had been set up. Several lines were visible, along with a number of tents. Many of these were the forbidding white and surgical-appliance-green of 'medical' tents employed by the government. A far cry from the welcoming, open-sided, canvas affairs used by the Surgeon Corps, these were closed sided, and marked with the crest of the Army Medical Research Division.
The head of the various queues terminated in another tram station, where further clerks and medical personnel were sorting the arrivals into lines, clearly primarily by their degree of affliction. Those who simply bore ears, tails, or 'enhanced' facial hair were simple enough to deal with, a quick operation and some heavy-duty counseling after the fact, in the form of a few years of hard labor generally, would see them right. Those with genetic modification, or worse the second-generation sorts who showed even further mutation, had a much harder time of it, being funneled off to the Medical Research Division for use as, ironically, guinea pigs to determine an effective course of treatment.
Over all of this, loudspeakers repeated a constant, somewhat grainy litany, reminding those in the queues that this was the Tsar's mercy, that they were his beloved children and that, should they seek his forgiveness it would be given. All would, in the end, be well.
There was a separate line for those unwilling to accept that forgiveness. Those who further identified themselves as the more perverse sub-subcultures of the furry movement fell into them as well. These lines ended in tents as well, although the concrete barriers, already soaked red, and the crackle of firing squads at work told of what happened to those who left via door 1. They were, of course, the lucky ones. The alternative was the experimental procedures deemed too dangerous to try on 'potentially reformed' furries.
The screams sometimes drowned out the gunfire. The only sound which seemed to survive this onslaught was the chanting of the priests over the mass graves.
The message was clear. The same events occurred on every world of the Russian Empire, prosecuted with the efficiency only possible once the Russian government truly set its mind to something. Protests popped up here and there, and were dispersed as quickly as they formed, the survivors dispatched to the queues or sent to prison to be 'reformed'. The newspapers all over the empire picked up on the events, declaring the entire program a great success for humanity, praising the Tsar, the military and the local authorities who participated.
The message had been delivered, made clear across the whole empire. The Furry Menace would be dealt with.
Dissent would not be tolerated.
