Slavers Brave New World
The twin suns of Khepri blazed mercilessly over the endless fields, their light converging at a cruel angle that left no shadow for respite. The air shimmered with heat, thick with the sour tang of sweat and the faint sweetness of overripe fruit. Annie, barely twelve, trudged toward her mother, her small hands raw and caked with reddish dust from hours of picking. Her ragged tunic clung to her skin, stained by the purple juice of the bitter kwev berries that fueled the planet’s economy. “Mom,” she said, her voice a mix of exhaustion and defiance, “one day we’ll get off this rock. Somewhere with shade, maybe even a breeze.”
The nearby slaves, hunched over their baskets, paused to listen, their weathered faces softening at her words. A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, a rare spark of hope in the monotony of their labor. Marie, her mother, knelt beside her, brushing a strand of sweat-soaked hair from Annie’s forehead. Her own hands, calloused from years in the fields, trembled slightly. “I hope so, Annie,” she whispered, her voice heavy with a mother’s fear. “I don’t want this to be all you ever know.”
A metallic screech cut through the air—a robotic overseer, its treads grinding against the cracked earth. “Back to work!” its synthetic voice boomed, red optics flashing. Marie’s eyes darted toward the bot, and she pulled Annie close, her grip tightening. “Go grab another basket, love,” she said softly, masking her worry with a strained smile. Annie nodded, flashing a grin that belied her aching hands, and darted to the stack of woven baskets. As she returned to the rows of kwev vines, the fields stretched to the horizon, a patchwork of green and purple covering Khepri’s surface. Millions toiled under the suns, their baskets feeding automated haulers that ferried the fruit to massive freighters bound for the orbiting station, Khepri Orbital.
Every few cycles, the market for slaves surged, driven by demand from distant systems. During these peaks, a slave’s value as a commodity outstripped their labor in the fields. Annie and Marie, struggling to meet the overseers’ relentless quotas, had fallen short one too many times. Their names appeared on the auction list, destined for the open market. In their cramped, sweltering hut, Marie packed their few belongings—tattered clothes, a chipped water flask—into a worn sack. “Annie!” she called, her voice taut with urgency. “We’re being transported. Get ready!”
Annie, rummaging under her straw mat, let out a panicked cry. “My coin! I can’t find it!” The coin, a tarnished disc etched with a faint starburst, was her treasure, found half-buried in the fields years ago. It was her talisman, a symbol of something beyond Khepri’s oppression. As she tore through her meager possessions, a low rumble shook the hut. Outside, a robotic transport’s voice barked, “Hurry, slaves, or be left behind!” Marie hesitated, glancing at the door, then shook her head. What could be worth lingering in this hell? “Annie, we have to go,” she urged, but Annie’s determined frown held firm. Finally, she unearthed the coin, clutching it triumphantly, and ran to her mother’s side.
The transport’s interior was a stark contrast to Khepri’s heat, its cold metal seats chilling Annie’s skin. She shivered, clutching her coin as the hatch sealed, cutting off the last glimpse of the planet’s red skies. Marie sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “We’re going to Khepri Orbital,” she explained, her voice low to avoid the robotic guards’ sensors. “Pilots will buy us there, take us to new jobs.” She hesitated, then added, “We’ll be chained for the trip, honey.” Annie’s face fell, her wide eyes reflecting the fear of the unknown. Born on Khepri, she’d never left its surface, never known the weight of chains or the vastness of space. Marie rocked her gently, whispering, “Stay close to me. We’ll be okay.”
Khepri Orbital loomed through the transport’s viewport, a sprawling lattice of steel and lights. As the craft docked, a loudspeaker blared warnings: “Loitering is punishable by death. Clear the landing pad immediately.” The robotic shuttle settled with a hiss, and incongruously soothing music played, clashing with the station’s utilitarian bustle. Annie pressed her face to the viewport, awestruck. “It’s so big, Mom! Can we explore it?” Marie hugged her tightly, her voice tinged with regret. “We’ll only see the loading docks, love, and the pod for our next trip.” Her grip tightened, a silent prayer that they wouldn’t be separated—or sold to some brutal mining colony in the Empire.
In the docking bay, Marie checked the schedule on a flickering holo-board. Her face lit up. “Annie, look! Our pod’s been sold to a Lakon Type-9 Heavy. It’s a massive trading ship—safer than most.” As they approached the loading ramp, a tall figure in a pilot’s jumpsuit greeted them. The captain, a wiry man with a weathered face and an accent Marie couldn’t place—perhaps from the fringes of Alliance space—inspected the group. His eyes lingered on Annie, softening as he noticed her blistered hands. With a frown, he gestured to a crewmember, who produced a medkit and carefully bandaged Annie’s palms. Marie stared, stunned. Captains were usually cold, driven by profit, not compassion. “Something’s different,” she murmured to herself, watching the captain’s remorseful gaze.
The cargo pod, spacious for a slave transport, had rows of seats facing holo-monitors. Unlike the usual propaganda feeds—Imperial anthems or corporate ads—the screens displayed the captain’s cockpit view, showing Khepri Orbital’s bustling docks. A neighboring slave, a wiry woman with a scar across her cheek, leaned forward. “This is new,” she said, her voice laced with cautious excitement. “I’ve been traded five times, never seen a captain share their view.” The Lakon’s engines rumbled to life, a deep vibration that settled into a steady hum. The monitors showed the captain adjusting controls, his hands steady as he requested launch clearance. Annie and Marie gasped as the Type-9 lumbered through the station’s mail slot, its hull grazing the magnetic guides before emerging into the infinite black of space. The engines’ roar faded, replaced by the eerie silence of the void.
A crewmember, a young man with a friendly grin, approached, carrying a stack of sleek devices. “Annie,” he said, handing her one, “we’re with a tech co-op, testing these datapads. They’ve got games, questions, even flight sims. Mind giving one a try?” Annie’s eyes widened, and Marie accepted a datapad with a hesitant smile. The device hummed to life, displaying a game: Elite: Commander’s Dawn. It gave players a Sidewinder and 1,000 credits, tasking them with docking, trading, and navigating stations. Annie dove in, her fingers dancing across the screen as she guided her virtual ship through Aulin’s docks. “Mom, I landed without crashing!” she squealed. Marie, practicing her own docking run, chuckled, marveling at her daughter’s joy.
The pod shook, and the monitors flashed yellow. “Just scooping fuel,” the crewmember explained to the startled slaves. “Stars are our fuel source, and we’ve got a long haul ahead.” Annie, engrossed in her game, turned to Marie. “What are credits, Mom?” Marie’s smile faltered. “They’re money, Annie. Used to buy things… even us.” The words stung, but Annie’s focus returned to her game, undeterred. Another slave, a burly man with a graying beard, shouted, “I docked at Aulin! Look at that station!” The pod buzzed with chatter, and to Marie’s surprise, no one silenced them. The crewmember even clapped the man on the shoulder, grinning.
Days passed, marked by the hum of the Type-9’s frameshift drive. Annie completed her datapad’s questions—basic logic puzzles and navigation tasks—and her screen flashed green. “Sir, it’s green!” she called. The crewmember tapped his wrist-comm, unlocking new games. “Try this,” he said, attaching a joystick to her seat and slipping VR glasses over her eyes. Annie gasped, immersed in a simulation where she piloted a Cobra Mk III, mining asteroids in a glittering belt. “I’m making credits, Mom!” she laughed. Marie’s own screen soon turned green, and she joined Annie in the VR sim, their virtual Cobras weaving through asteroid fields together. For the first time in years, Marie felt a flicker of joy, watching her daughter’s uninhibited laughter.
A deafening grind jolted Annie awake, the monitors showing a colossal Farragut-class battlecruiser emerging from frameshift. Marie’s heart sank—slavery was illegal in Federation space, and she feared the captain faced arrest. A voice crackled over the comms: “Citizens, prepare to dock with the FNS Liberty’s Dawn.” The pod’s doors opened, and the crew, now in Federation uniforms, unchained the slaves with gentle efficiency, guiding them to a viewing chamber. Marie watched, bewildered, as the Lakon Type-9 jumped away, only for Annie to tug her sleeve. “Mom, the captain’s here, talking to everyone!” Sure enough, the captain stood among the crew, pointing toward Annie and Marie with a warm smile.
He approached, kneeling to check Annie’s hands. “Blisters are gone,” he said softly, peeling off the bandages. “Marie, Annie, visit our hab-ring’s clothing shop. Get something comfortable, then bring your datapads to the command deck for an announcement.” Marie nodded, her throat tight with emotion, and Annie bounced with excitement. At the shop, a Federation ensign helped them pick out jumpsuits and boots, their first new clothes in years. “They’re free,” the ensign said, “but try paying with your datapad to practice.” Annie tapped her device, grinning as the transaction registered. Marie followed, marveling at the absence of chains or guards. As they left, dressed in crisp Federation blues, Marie sank to her knees, tears streaming down her face. A crewmember knelt beside her. “It’ll take time to adjust,” he said kindly, “but there’s a surprise on the command deck.”
The command deck was vast, its viewport framing a distant nebula. A cloth-draped object stood at the center, surrounded by rows of seats filled with former slaves. The captain, now in a Federation officer’s coat, stepped forward. “You are no longer slaves,” he declared, his voice resonant. The crowd froze, then erupted in whispers. He raised a hand, continuing, “The Federation, with support from allies like Princess Aisling Duval, purchased your contracts to grant you citizenship.” Cheers drowned out his words, and Marie sank into her seat, hands covering her face. Annie jumped, her coin clutched tightly, her eyes bright with joy.
The captain’s voice cracked with emotion. “We are a democracy! Our fleets protect your freedom, and you have a voice in our future.” He gestured to the cloth, which fell away to reveal a gleaming Sidewinder spacecraft, its hull emblazoned with Federation insignia. “Each of you will receive a Sidewinder and 1,000 credits, just like the sims you played. Explore our galaxy, chart your own path!” The crowd roared, and Marie’s datapad chimed, displaying a ship voucher and a credit balance. Missions flickered across the screen—trading runs, courier jobs, even bounty hunting. Annie stared at the Sidewinder, then at her mother. “We’re free, Mom,” she whispered, her coin glinting in her hand.
As the crowd lined up to inspect the ship, Marie squeezed Annie’s hand, her heart full. The stars beyond the viewport beckoned, vast and uncharted, promising a brave new world for a mother and daughter no longer bound by chains.