Space, Slaves and a Whole Lotta Money

The life of Vi, a slave in space.

Prologue

Even the light of the countless stars above failed to brighten this direst situation.

The glass far above her almost failed to reflect the forms of every person who currently resided in the room, obscured by fog and smoke from various in-use drugs and condensation from the breaths of the hundred people inside.

The variety of characters before Vi intimidated her immensely, mixes of every colour imaginable, with unnatural appendages and all kinds of foreign fashion in any and every style. And, on the stage set at the front of the massive auditorium, stood a row of slaves, each clad in what could generously be called a canvas loincloth, and only that, even the smattering of women on display for sale. With barely an inch between them shoulder-to-shoulder, and unbreakable metal bonds chained down to a metal flooring, it was more than obvious this was a high-budget, but packed full sale.

Vi stood out like a sore thumb. In a crowd of pale, average height, slightly pudgy men and women, she was thin and stood at least a head above the tallest of the others, bearing a rich, chocolate complexion. A wide, curved nose, full lips and a pair of large, leafy green eyes bordered by thick lashes and high cheekbones created a face pretty in its own right, invoking a unique figure in a crowd of conformation to the strange. A laughably short and rotund man with green hair babbled to the audience, describing each slave in excrutiating detail, every scar and mishap, even cracking a few jokes about them.

The man stopped before Vi and she took in a breath. Her ribs became a little more evident, the thumping in her chest made no better by her lack of most clothes. The little spherical slaver took a moment to absorb the sight of somebody who wasn’t the colour of a pack of crayons before beginning to speak, “Would ya look at this tall beaut? Tha’ colour o’ chocolate an’ just as rare as i’, ‘er kind are around ‘ere,” he paused, gauging the reaction of the audience, smiling and giggling, each of them, before continuing, “Pretty in the face department, an’ not too bad elsewhere, aye? Sellin’ fer a shamefully low price o’ five ‘undred units, but I think we can go ‘igher!” he exclaimed, raising a pair of thick hands with sausage fingers. Cries of amounts of currency Vi’s poor family could only have dreamed of echoed throughout the auditorium of slavery, everybody seemingly wanting a slice of a person who wasn’t altered by the scalpel of a body artist.

The barking of prices began to slow as the amounts rose. Vi noticed that as the numbers went up, those shouting became much stranger. “One thousand!” shouted the teal-skinned woman, vying for her as a possession. “Two-thousand, five-hundred!” barked the red-skinned, robotic-armed man wearing clothes that would be far too expensive to wear practically, mixtures of all sorts of patterns and fabrics woven into his garments, the sleeves bordered by fabric made purely of gold, completely mismatched against the creams and greens. One single, distinctive voice echoed from the crowd. Smooth as silk, and more entrancing than the most skilled hypnotist the universe had to offer, it reverberated throughout the auditorium. “Three-hundred-thousand units,” he said, eyes focused on Vi. The shouts stopped. He raised a hand, in it a translucent green card. Lines and circles criss-crossed its surface, small dots of lights traversing the patterning, one light for each unit. And there were a lot of lights. Though his voice could reach her, loud and clear, his features couldn’t. She could see he was tanned, that he wore an old-style black-and-white tuxedo and sported brown hair, but that was all she could see besides the lit-up green card in his hand. Just like every slave before her who had been bought, there was a sharp stabbing pain in the side of her neck, and then she was asleep. 

Dreams had never come easy to Vi, and they didn't during this slumber. Twisted envisionings of her enslavement, however, appeared far too often in this chemically induced sleep. She saw it all like she was just... watching, in the distance. A greedy landlord thumping on the door a small, ramshackle house on a hill, carrying barely any furniture, barely any embellishments. The door opened and a man with skin the same tone as Vi's own stood in the doorway. He stepped back, allowing the landlord in. There was shouting. Things were hit and people were almost harmed. And then the landlord grabbed the girl. Even though the way they spoke was muffled and foreign, she understood it clearly. She'll be a good enough payment, the greedy landlord said in his garbled voice. And the girl's father was too shocked to do anything as the greedy landlord dragged her away. The girl screamed and kicked and scratched, she was only nineteen, she wasn't ready for this, but all he did was grin and drag her to the market. And then the dream stopped, only to reverse and start all over again. 

A sigh of disbelief from across the room was what Vi awoke to. She opened her eyes, expecting to find herself back home, back in her old bed. Instead, she was laying sprawled on her front, face buried in an impossibly soft pillow, on a bed probably three or four times as large as her one at home. The bedclothes were not lavish, a simple blue cover over everything. The room itself was practical. A wardrobe, dressing table and a cabinet amounted to the rest of the furnishings, though the walls were stylized, darkwood with intricate floral patterning. The flooring was buffed, reflecting the light of the glass chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling. Stood in the corner was the man who bought her. His face was nothing special, though a strong jawline and irises the colour of gold distinguished him. He took in a breath through his nose, "Awake, are you? The slavers told me you were Vi. I have a job for you."

"Mmn?" she groaned in response, still groggy and clad in the clothes she was sold in.

"You know how to repair a jumpship, Vi?" he said, crossing his arms. When she shook her head, he nodded, "Well, Vi. You're going to find out."

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She was still struggling to pin up her orange overalls and tie her curly, night black hair into a tight ponytail when he walked out of the room. She stumbled after him, the steel-toe workboots given to her just a bit heavier than she was used to. She wore a white shirt beneath the overalls, managing to catch up with the suit-wearing man when she'd brought the other strap over her shoulder. Her hair was a breeze from there on out. "Tall one, aren't ya?" he mused, looking up at her. True, she stood a head taller than him, but he was the one commanding power around here. Confusingly, the corridors were a mismatch from her room. Instead of the older, rustic feeling invoked by her quarters, the corridors were windowless, spotlessly white and illuminated by white bands of light above them. Before them came an intersection, the shape of a 'plus' when stood in the middle of. Directly across was some kind of circular door, with only two fist-sized circles in the center. Something in her gut told her that was where she needed to go.

The doors slid apart, allowing Vi to feast her eyes on the chaos that was a functioning space port. Massive, airtight windows along the eastern wall gave view to colony ships, cargo vehicles and even exploratory crafts firing themselves from ports and out into the inky, white-dotted blackness that was space. And then she realised. She was in space. She stepped further into the station, ignoring pools of oil and the massive, expensive spacecrafts that were aligned along the western wall to approach the windows. Past the departing ships, there was a planet. A green ocean and vast, grey swathes of land didn't seem the most enticing, but she recognised it as her homeworld, where her parents were, where her home was, where she lived her li- And then it exploded. No warning, no countdown. No idea whatsoever that it was going out with a bang. "Lucky you got off in time, Vi," the buyer said, "Nobody else did."

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In the seven months between her buying and her promotion, she learned the name of the man she was supposed to call 'master'. Richard Illing, he went by. Quite a mundane name, by any standard. His corporate empire was built around space travel. Exploration, cargo, transport, you name it, he did it. He'd gained such a standing that there was no competition. He was the number one, and only one, who legitimately and safely traversed the known universe commercially.

Author's Note

Tell me what you think!

Reviews

[David Jae]

Very compelling and powerful. I like how you weave the narrative, setting the scene by painting a picture for the reader. You establish Vi's character well through dialogue and thought, rather than through exposition. This is not an easy thing to do.

Very hard to fault; if there was an improvement I could suggest, it's that the dream at the end lacks some of the polish of the previous paragraph. It's too mechanical and doesn't suggest a dream.

Perhaps you could try something like;

"a door opening...her Father standing up...the landlords blow lifting him off his feet...his shadow falling over her...hands reached out for her and dragging her out of the door..."

This might help to create the more disjointed feeling of a dream. Just a suggestion. I'd like to read more of this.