[IC] The Eternal Void

[CMDR Byr Goefin]

“Name?” The officer did not even look up from his pad. His partner shifted her weight, hand on her compliance pistol.
“Byr Goefin.”
“Designated skillset?”
“Pilot.”
That got him a disbelieving look. Byr handed over his data chit to prove it. He watched as the officer slide it into his reader. “Looks good.” The other officer visibly relaxed, taking her hand off her pistol.
The man shook his head. “10^th one this week. I am going stop taking shuttles and use ground transport if they keep minting new rookies this fast.”
Byr opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. The Slave Re-Patronization Society reeducation class had warned him: don’t argue with station officers, even though they served the public. Some slaves lashed out at authority figures out of sheer anger. The authorities rarely had any sympathy.
The second officer hit a few keys and handed him back his chit. “Docking bay 34. You will sleep on your ship unless you have credits for a pilot’s berth. I suggest you just sleep on the ship, get used to it sooner rather than later. You are going to spend a lot of time on that ship out in the Deep Dark.”
Again, he bit his tongue and nodded, taking the chit and glancing at the directions to the docking bay. Every one of the hundreds of Rings he had been on were exactly the same and he really did not need to do so, but it would have looked odd. Don’t attract attention… stay under their radar.

-------

Technically Byr had not been a slave. He was a clone, an unethical one if not illegal. “People are not illegal.” the Matron at the Slave Re-Patronization home had said. “You did nothing wrong.”
If she only knew…
Byr was a type B clone, one of 26 created to serve his Prime, Goefin. The remote system was run by an elite group of 100,000 Prime citizens, each of whom kept 26 clones to cater to their needs. Extremely paranoid, the Primes created clones to ensure absolute loyalty and devotion to the Prime, and the Prime alone. Each one was genetically altered from the pure genome of the Prime.
Clones B-F were specialists: Pilots, doctors, accountants, etc. A “B” clone as a pilot was unusual, but Prime Goefin was an ambassador of sorts, and wanted his best specialist clone piloting his ship.
Clones G-T were household staff and general utility clones.
U-Z were the 6 bodyguards, each genetically enhanced for combat and extreme loyalty. They were led by the Alpha Clone, an exact copy of the Prime Genome, allowed to vote on behalf of the Prime and reproduce according to the Prime’s desires. The Alpha clone and Prime were rarely in the same place as the Alpha was the insurance policy: in event of death the Alpha would be mindwiped and the Prime’s state reloaded into the body.

 

[CMDR Byr Goefin]

They had been travelling to a border system close enough to Federation Space but not so close that Federation forces would intercept them or interfere with their mission: to acquire more of the very restricted and highly illegal drugs needed for the cloning process. The suppliers could not be expected to transport the contraband and were very particular who they dealt with when closing the deal. Thus the Prime Citizen had travelled himself to the remote system to conduct the transaction.
Byr had been resting when the Frameshift Drive went off line and they were unceremoniously dumped back into normal space. He rushed to the cockpit but the damage was done: The Delta clone, an unimaginative valet to the Prime, had hit the distress button… the clock was now ticking before someone responded, and it was unlikely to be the local security forces, not that there were any to speak of in this part of the system.
Byr raced to get the Drive back online, but it was too damaged by what he suspected was a Frameshift mine, frying the Drive into uselessness. Working frantically he almost made it, but before he could completely repair the damage. The pirates who laid the trap had responded. Multiple ships dropped out of Hypercruise and moved to intercept the crippled yacht. Gunports opened and weapons deployed, far more than even the well shielded yacht could hope to survive. A few well placed shots crippled the engines without destroying the ship. Clearly the pirates intended to board the vessel and take the ship intact. Perhaps the Prime could ransom them off?
That hope was dashed as the pirates overwhelmed the 6 security clones with sheer numbers. They then proceeded to execute the Prime before he had a chance to try and bribe them. It made no sense, the Prime was worth 10 times the ship in ransom alone!
Byr was rounded up with the rest of the surviving clones and fitted with slave collars. He was treated roughly but not unkindly while being placed in stasis, a slaved pilot would fetch a high price indeed.

----

His life as a slave was blessedly short. An interdicting fleet had caught the freighter carrying himself and dozens of other slaves. They were turned over to a Slave Re-Patronization Society. A charitable organization who tended to their physical and mental needs and found them meaningful work… or at least that is what they claimed.

In truth, they did their best. Byr had only interacted briefly with others outside the Prime’s system and those interactions limited to the radio transmission while docking.

It was a culture shock to learn that the rest of the universe was so chaotic and unorganized. Byr was speechless when he discovered anyone could be a pilot, no genetic alterations needed.

He had to learn how to determine social rank and recognize authorities by sight. Here, there were no Prime Citizens, everyone was a citizen who was not a criminal. Cloning was outlawed.

Still, he was in relatively good mental shape compared to those who had spent years or even their entire lives as slaves, and no amount of reeducation was going to let those unfortunate souls function in society. The Re-Patronization house was staffed with hundreds of these unfortunates and they had comfortable meaningful lives, if a bit restricted in scope. They seemed happy anyway.

Byr was nothing if not a fast learner, and after 6 weeks had learned to shed, or at least hide, his innate belief in his superior genetic engineered DNA compared to the random reproduction process followed by the rest of Humanity. His handlers blanched at the ideas Byr held, requiring him to read endless studies and case histories showing that meddling with the Genome was a Bad Idea. One could almost hear the capitals in the voices of his benefactors. He did his best to make them happy, or he would not be allowed to leave the Society sanctuary. He could not spend one more day on this planet dealing with Flatlanders. That at least was a tolerated view. Flatlanders viewed Spacers with a wary tolerance as a necessary evil, while Spacers held Flatlanders in a thinly disguised contempt.
At the end of his re-education Byr earned one of the coveted spots: A pilot’s rating. It was inevitable in Byr’s view. He had been genetically designed to be a pilot: enhanced spatial awareness, memory, reflexes and zero to 8G gravity tolerance had been programmed in to his genome. Other at the Society saw it as an accomplishment. For Byr, he was merely claiming his birthright.

The terms of this Rating were less enticing: rather than being assigned to a freighting company, military or police unit, he was essentially a Free Trader. The level of uncertainty was unsettling… he would have to earn his own keep by travelling the stars in his ship.
Loaned, ancient and only adequately maintained, she was still his ship. The days were spent taking instruction to earn his pilot rating card. The nights were spent repairing his ship and cleaning it. The ship could not have been more coated in grime and dust than if it had spent its years crossing dense nebula… then again, looking at the pitted exterior, maybe it had. The controls were absolutely abysmal, no Machine/Mind interfaces, no 3-D galactic plotting tank, just a thruster, a control stick and hundreds of projected holographic buttons.