Tiny_Rick
Banned
Last week my Lidpar Academy teacher took me on a field trip out of training space into Imperial territory. This was my first foray into new territory, so I wanted to make sure I didn't disappoint them. Honestly, it started rough, got worse once I got there, but ended up being one of the most enjoyable moments of my fledgling career as a new pilot. Let's just say that after my first run, I have and continue to run slaves for the Empire. Here's why...
The day started well enough, with me running solo trades between Lidpar and Coquessa. The financial gains were paltry, but the point was to get familiar with commodities and safely navigating the mail slot from station to station. As I was filing flight reports for my power and fuel consumption classes, me commo pinged, indicating that my mentor was doing similar runs about 200 LY away. Hoping to take advantage of the distance and log some much needed jump hours to satisfy the Academy's hyperspace curriculum, I asked the CMDR if he's be willing to let me jump to his location and wing up. My mentor was happy to oblige, on the condition that I purchase a fuel scoop, as the route included a lot of unpopulated jumps.
I made the purchase, topped off the tank, and made my first few jumps. Jump 1 ended up being a non-scoop. No big deal, let's try Jump 2....great, another non-scoop. Guess this third jump will be....oh no, another non-scoop? Should I be worried?
After my fourth jump and a nearly-empty tank, I realized I was stranded. Defeated, I pleaded my case with my mentor asking for a bail out. Thank goodness he's a patient man, and was happy to rendezvous with me and escort me back (WIHOUT mentioning the incident to the headmaster, thank God). A least the hard part was over, I thought. I was wrong.
Upon arriving to the new system, my mentor stated that I was going to get some trade hours logged as well, which was perfect since I had an exam coming up on commodities trading and I wanted to ace it.
"What are we hauling?" I asked.
"People," he replied.
I could hear the smirk on his face. He knew that I had heard about the Imperial slave trade and detested the thought. But what was I going to do? Disobeying a directive from a professor was grounds for expulsion, but if it meant that I had to compromise my personal integrity, was the Academy even worth it?
Ever the wise one, however, my mentor had anticipated my hesitation and invited me to a local station where I could see firsthand the slave trade in all it's glory. I felt a lump in throat, dreading the thought of seeing human suffering at its worst. As we left supercruise, I imagined a grimy cattle ranch of a station that cried out for justice and hope.
What I found, however, was surprising - kilometers away was the most pristine station I'd ever seen! Even the Academy seemed to pale in comparison. Every facet of the station, from the pleasant docking attendant to the sanitized transfer and intake hallways, failed to live up to my expectations of how slaves and their drivers lived. It was...kind of glorious.
As my mentor and I browsed the local commodities market, he pointed out that everyone I had encountered thus far was a slave. The attendant, the local security, even the commodities brokers were each an indentured servant. But what blew my mind was the fact that each one had sold themselves to the Empire! My mentor explained that in Imperial society, debt was a mark of shame, a mark that was easily and quickly earned through life in the cosmos. However, the Empire offered relief in the form of short-term slavery contracts. Essentially, these citizens were selling their own selves in order to maintain such plush accommodations! Albeit extremely unconventional, their actions weren't that far removed from the Utopian pledges by Lidpar administrators - the only difference being that these slaves were actually being paid at the end of their service!
Although I wasn't completely convinced, my mentor introduced me to a local driver who ran a placement company for station slaves. Essentially, he acted as an employment agency, and we were to be nothing more than a taxi service for these slaves to make it off system safely for job placement. My mentor convinced me to make a single run to a nearby system, drop them off, and head back. A million thoughts rushed through my head.
Why are we barbarically loading humans into cargo containers? What happens if we're pirated? What happens if I drop in too close to a star and my shoot malfunctions, spilling a dozen lives into a burning void of plasma? My God, what have I got myself into?!
Fortunately, I got to see firsthand what slaves "endured" during the loading process. Each slave was given their own container, a padded and fully-functional suite that allowed each person to fly in comfort and class. I never imagined a cargo canister was ever capable of looking safe, let alone offering comforts beyond my own cockpit's accommodations! But this was the Empire, and they did things differently.
We loaded the canisters and took off, making record time over to the new station. As we unloaded the cargo, I took the opportunity to watch the containers drop into a bay of shoots near pilot intake, where they undocked along with other pilots, as if they were getting off their own ships! But what struck was when I was approached by a young slave. She had to be no more than 16. She asked if I had been the one shuttling her family to their new home. Begrudgingly, I admitted that I was guilty of slave driving.
Then she hugged me and thanked me for not making her sick from post-supercruise maneuvers, and that she hoped to see me again. I guess my training had paid off, but more importantly, so did my mentor's patience in me.
After topping off for fuel and settling up with the broker, my mentor showed me the sizable (and indeed, tempting) profits of our haul. As we performed our preflights, he asked if I'd be willing to make another run.
"Just as long as I get another hug out of it," I said.
I haven't stopped since.
The day started well enough, with me running solo trades between Lidpar and Coquessa. The financial gains were paltry, but the point was to get familiar with commodities and safely navigating the mail slot from station to station. As I was filing flight reports for my power and fuel consumption classes, me commo pinged, indicating that my mentor was doing similar runs about 200 LY away. Hoping to take advantage of the distance and log some much needed jump hours to satisfy the Academy's hyperspace curriculum, I asked the CMDR if he's be willing to let me jump to his location and wing up. My mentor was happy to oblige, on the condition that I purchase a fuel scoop, as the route included a lot of unpopulated jumps.
I made the purchase, topped off the tank, and made my first few jumps. Jump 1 ended up being a non-scoop. No big deal, let's try Jump 2....great, another non-scoop. Guess this third jump will be....oh no, another non-scoop? Should I be worried?
After my fourth jump and a nearly-empty tank, I realized I was stranded. Defeated, I pleaded my case with my mentor asking for a bail out. Thank goodness he's a patient man, and was happy to rendezvous with me and escort me back (WIHOUT mentioning the incident to the headmaster, thank God). A least the hard part was over, I thought. I was wrong.
Upon arriving to the new system, my mentor stated that I was going to get some trade hours logged as well, which was perfect since I had an exam coming up on commodities trading and I wanted to ace it.
"What are we hauling?" I asked.
"People," he replied.
I could hear the smirk on his face. He knew that I had heard about the Imperial slave trade and detested the thought. But what was I going to do? Disobeying a directive from a professor was grounds for expulsion, but if it meant that I had to compromise my personal integrity, was the Academy even worth it?
Ever the wise one, however, my mentor had anticipated my hesitation and invited me to a local station where I could see firsthand the slave trade in all it's glory. I felt a lump in throat, dreading the thought of seeing human suffering at its worst. As we left supercruise, I imagined a grimy cattle ranch of a station that cried out for justice and hope.
What I found, however, was surprising - kilometers away was the most pristine station I'd ever seen! Even the Academy seemed to pale in comparison. Every facet of the station, from the pleasant docking attendant to the sanitized transfer and intake hallways, failed to live up to my expectations of how slaves and their drivers lived. It was...kind of glorious.
As my mentor and I browsed the local commodities market, he pointed out that everyone I had encountered thus far was a slave. The attendant, the local security, even the commodities brokers were each an indentured servant. But what blew my mind was the fact that each one had sold themselves to the Empire! My mentor explained that in Imperial society, debt was a mark of shame, a mark that was easily and quickly earned through life in the cosmos. However, the Empire offered relief in the form of short-term slavery contracts. Essentially, these citizens were selling their own selves in order to maintain such plush accommodations! Albeit extremely unconventional, their actions weren't that far removed from the Utopian pledges by Lidpar administrators - the only difference being that these slaves were actually being paid at the end of their service!
Although I wasn't completely convinced, my mentor introduced me to a local driver who ran a placement company for station slaves. Essentially, he acted as an employment agency, and we were to be nothing more than a taxi service for these slaves to make it off system safely for job placement. My mentor convinced me to make a single run to a nearby system, drop them off, and head back. A million thoughts rushed through my head.
Why are we barbarically loading humans into cargo containers? What happens if we're pirated? What happens if I drop in too close to a star and my shoot malfunctions, spilling a dozen lives into a burning void of plasma? My God, what have I got myself into?!
Fortunately, I got to see firsthand what slaves "endured" during the loading process. Each slave was given their own container, a padded and fully-functional suite that allowed each person to fly in comfort and class. I never imagined a cargo canister was ever capable of looking safe, let alone offering comforts beyond my own cockpit's accommodations! But this was the Empire, and they did things differently.
We loaded the canisters and took off, making record time over to the new station. As we unloaded the cargo, I took the opportunity to watch the containers drop into a bay of shoots near pilot intake, where they undocked along with other pilots, as if they were getting off their own ships! But what struck was when I was approached by a young slave. She had to be no more than 16. She asked if I had been the one shuttling her family to their new home. Begrudgingly, I admitted that I was guilty of slave driving.
Then she hugged me and thanked me for not making her sick from post-supercruise maneuvers, and that she hoped to see me again. I guess my training had paid off, but more importantly, so did my mentor's patience in me.
After topping off for fuel and settling up with the broker, my mentor showed me the sizable (and indeed, tempting) profits of our haul. As we performed our preflights, he asked if I'd be willing to make another run.
"Just as long as I get another hug out of it," I said.
I haven't stopped since.