Printing revolution

The machine printed 3d-weaponry.  You put the plans in at the thin end, and then it whirred into life.  Two arms whisked backwards and forwards, one racing across the full width of the plate, and the other edging along the length controlling where the first arm was depositing.  Over a period of about twenty minutes the weapon would be built up from the ground upwards, all manufactured from the deposition material.  When the arms slid back into their housing, a steel-grey box with the twisty dials, little LEDs and tiny, almost-hidden buttons, the protective cover would retract back like the roof of a convertible.  A puff of white vapour burst out of the top, and Tim's hand pressed warningly across my chest, stopping me from reaching for the weapon.
"Wait for it to disperse," he said.  "It's not exactly toxic, but you'd be coughing for a few days.  It'll kind of set inside your lungs, and it's not easy to break-down."
"Why do you use it then?" I said.  I was more interested in the gun on the plate; it was china-white and perfectly smooth.  Even its edges had a slightly blurred look to them as though it had been melted briefly once.
"Because it's the best material for the job," said Tim.  He went on to tell me about its tensile strength, its heat conductance and other technical aspects, but his hand had dropped by then and I was studying the gun.
It was slightly lighter than I'd expected, and slightly light for its size overall.  I picked it up, noting that it was very slightly warm, perhaps a fraction or two about body temperature.  As if it had actually hatched from an egg, or something organic like that, which fitted rather well with the slight blurring of edges I'd exepected to be sharp.  It was like the gun had been born.  Its grip was a perfect fit for my hand, and as I curled my fingers around the stock the grooves were in exactly the right place.  It felt comfortable instantly, and if I moved my hand a little, the gun seemed to fall back into the right place with barely any effort at all.  I checked the magazine: it needed a little tug to pull it free, and there was a soft cracking sound and another puff of dust when I did so.
"It can't be laid down as a completely separate piece," said Tim, noticing the puzzled look on my face.  "So it's actually built as part of the gun, just with very thin joining edges that break when you try and pull it free.  It'll slide in really easily now."  I checked, and he was right.
"Ammunition?" I said, disappointed to find that the magazine was empty.
"You buy your own," said Tim  "Like I told you, if anyone asks me about this it makes replicas, not real weapons."
"Could you print ammunition?  Like you did the gun?"
Tim shrugged.  "I don't know that we've got the right materials for that," he said.  "You want different characteristics for a bullet or a missile really.  I rather suspect that printing bullets would produce something too fragile to be fired, so you'd end up with the bullet exploding in the gun."
"Booby-traps, then?"
"Not from me," he said, his face serious now.  "You buy your own, kiddo."
I looked at his machine, the one that now promised to make our dreams of revolution a possibility.  Printed weapons meant we could get the cash together to get more printers, and print bigger, better weapons.  With no limit on the weapons, and the ease of buying ammunition, we could launch the revolution from several cells at once, rising up around the country and acting swiftly to neutralise the government before they had time to understand what was happening.  The revolution would succeed!
"Tim?" I said, finally realising why the machine looked odd.  "What's that dial? I pointed.
"Number of copies to make," he said, barely glancing.
"So why does it start at 0?"
Tim looked at me, and suddenly his grey eyes seemed unnaturally large and dark.
"Oh, I wish you hadn't noticed that," he said.

Nowomenklatura

"Comradette," said Sally, and then stopped.  "Sister Comrade," she tried, but Hilary shook her head at that and bit her lower lip until it turned white.  "Comradistina," was her third attempt, but they both winced at that.
"I think Comrade is gender-neutral, actually," said Hilary, but Sally flushed at that, and so she back-pedalled a little.  "But a feminised version would be preferable.  Maybe... maybe... Comrette?"
Sally thought about it, her eyes rolling up into her head as she did so.  Hilary swallowed and tried to pretend that it didn't scare her when Sally did that.  Finally her eyes rolled back down again, and she focused on Hilary.
"Comrette," she said, "I had completed the Nowomenklatura, as you requested."
"The what?"
"The Nowomenklatura.  The list of names."
"Ah!  Right. Which list?"
"Which list?"
Hilary stared at Sally and Sally stared at Hilary, until finally Hilary half-smiled and realised what the problem was.
"Ah right, there are two lists of names.  I asked you to compose one and Ermintheldra to compose the other.  You're doing... the list of people to be dissolved by the state when the revolution has happened?"
"No," said Sally.  "I didn't know that was available.  Why did Ermintheldra get it?"
"I don't know," said Hilary.  "It was just the order the lists came out in I suppose."
"You suppose?  You know that woman doesn't like me!  I'm going to be on that list!"
"Oh no," said Hilary.  "I've already told her twice, no-one from the Party is allowed to be on that list."
"Told her twice?" Sally's voice was hollow and resonant.
"Well yes... oh, I see what you mean.  Look, it wasn't you she kept putting on the list."
"Who was it then?"
"Oh... er..."  Sally glared at her until Hilary began to feel really uncomfortable.  "Oh ok, it was Suki."
"Suki's my girlfriend!  Of seven years!"  Sally actually looked ready to cry, which made Hilary feel even more uncomfortable.
"It's not that," she said, awkwardly.  "It's got nothing to do with you.  It's just... just that Ermintheldra thinks that Suki's a bit... butch, you know?  She thinks she might sympathise with men when the revolution happens.  She's just trying to keep us all safe, you know?"
"No I don't know!  Of course she's butch, she works in a Steelworks!  They're all butch in there, even the kids they illegally employ and the donkeys!  There are little old women in there that are more butch than Ermintheldra and have used less lipstick in their entire lives!"  Sally was shouting now, and little white flecks of spittle spotted her lips.  Hilary tried not to let it distract her; Sally angry was always a little bit erotic.
"I know that Ermintheldra's a little... delicate," said Hilary, but Sally wasn't going to let her finish.
"She's a pussy, and a whipped one at that!  She should be taken out with the men and shot as well for cheapening the cause of the revolution!"
Hilary was silent for several seconds, reflecting that that was exactly the argument that Ermintheldra had put forward for putting Suki on the list in the first place.
"Suki's off the list," she said finally, noting to herself that she'd have to check and make sure that was true.  "How has your list come along?"
"The Nowomenklatura?" said Sally, not really calming down much.  "Yes, it's done.  It's here."
"And which list is this?" asked Hilary, wishing that she'd written down who'd had which list to write.  One of them had her shopping list and she was starting to run out of things and really needed it.
"The list of names.  Those who are entitled," said Sally.
"Entitled to what?"
"Just... entitled," said Sally.  "I didn't think we should worry too much about what we're entitled too until we know what's up for grabs."
"That's not exactly a Marxist philoso–"
"Nor is putting my girlfriend of seven years of the list of undesirables."
Hilary froze for a moment, and then nodded, conceding that she'd lost this point for the moment.
"You're on here as Party Chief," she said, noting a name.  "And I'm... what is this?"
"Stalinissima," said Sally.  "Woman of most steel, steeliest woman, or woman made mostly of steel."
"Why three?"
"The first two are for your first newspaper interviews, until we've settled on the kind of autocrat you want to be," said Sally.  "The third is for when you die and we replace you with a robot."
"And why is Ermintheldra not on the list?"
"She's not entitled," said Sally.  "I ran out of jobs before I got to her."
"And you got as far as 'Janitor for cleaning the party tables after elevenses,'" said Hilary, trying not to sound reproving.  "So you clearly tried.  However, she did write the other list, so perhaps we could put her down as Literati, or somesuch?"
"Somesuch," said Sally taking the list back and annotating it.  "There you go."
Hilary looked it over.  Ermintheldra was now listed as "Litter Box Eater (pp Hilary)."
"Right," she said weakly.  "That's great then.  How's the revolution coming?"
"Dunno," said Sally.  "I gave Juliet Anthrax a couple of weeks ago and haven't seen her since."
"Gave her Anthrax?  Surely you mean 'gave her the vial of Anthrax'?"
The two women stared at each other in mutual disbelief and belated comprehension.