Taisha
“Slave B-4389742, requesting entrance per my master’s orders.” The B stands for breeder, a position I’ve thanked sweet Mother Earth not to have from the time I was old enough to understand what it meant. I'm incredibly lucky I was never raped by my slave master or any of his guards.
My voice is calm and even as I stand in front of the squat gray building, the hot sun of this new planet is baking into my back, even through my cloak. The number I rattled off is not the barcode on the back of my neck, it is one provided to me by Captain Drayk. I’m praying they won’t require an actual scan of my barcode. I’m also praying my dark skin won’t make me stand out too much. Make them wonder if they’ve seen me around before and realize they haven’t.
There is a pause, and then a guard opens a slot in the door. I pull my hood closer over my forehead. Human I may be, but my skin color is not common here, and I don’t wish to attract extra attention.
“Purpose?” His voice, the typical Ocretion snarl, makes my spine go cold and my breath comes faster. Sweat prickles my brow.
“I am not allowed to question my master’s purpose, but I respectfully request to fulfill his wishes. He needs slave records for a former breeder. One sold some solar rotations ago.”
I cast my eyes down, an obedient human, and try to look as meek as possible.
“B-4389742?” He leans forward and scowls. Makes a move as if to type into a device, then purses his lips in disgust. “System is down this planet rotation for the transfer. Master’s name?”
“Master Ock-Len.” I feel dizzy. This name was fed to us from the Zandians who intercepted various messages. Ock-Len is supposedly a slave breeder on this planet who manages over 500 female slaves. Hopefully this guard won’t question my provenance too hard.
“Ah, yes. Ock-Len.” His lips curl up into a smile. “He has quite the way with keeping humans in line. Give him my regards.”
I don’t know if I’m supposed to respond to this; certainly I don’t want to, because my stomach heaves. Luckily, I don’t need to piece together an answer because the guard waves his hand.
“Enter. Remember your place and do not make any unwarranted moves.” The door opens, revealing a long, dim corridor that reminds me of a crypt. The Ocretion’s scabby gray hand goes to the shock stick at his waist, which hangs alongside a stunner.
I bow my head and clench my jaw to keep my teeth from clacking together. “Understood.”
As I walk in, several Ocretions stride out, arms full of transparent containers that shine with silver discs. Mother Earth, what if the information I need is already moved?
“The new facility… much better…” I catch snatches of their words, which waft back to me along with their odor as they hustle past, paying me no attention.
“…more security… 360 degree camera surveillance…”
I quicken my pace, following the path I’ve memorized, heart beating so fast I think it might give out altogether. When I reach the records room, I hesitate, then push the door open.
It’s smaller than I expected. One human sits behind a counter, and a guard stands in the corner, looking bored. He’s doing something on a wrist comm and yawning.
I approach the woman. “Slave B-4389742, here for Master Ock-Len.” I clear my throat. “Requesting discs BAY1 and BAY2.”
She looks me up and down and her eyes go wide. Her face pale. She knows I’m out of place here.
Oh Mother Earth, I should have known I couldn’t fool a human!
Her mouth opens and shuts and she blinks fast. Then she stammers, “Ah, yes, of course. Right away. Please wait.”
The guard glances over, scans us for a second, looks back to his comm.
She goes behind a partition and is gone for a long time. I fidget with my hands, then still myself, because if I were a real slave here on a mission from her master, I’d not be so nervous. I resist the urge to pull my cloak over my face. So far, that guard in the corner doesn’t seem to care one bit that I’m here, and I need to keep it that way.
When she finally returns, I hiss out my breath in relief. “Thank you.” My voice is shaky.
She gives me a smile, a small flicker, and I notice dark circles under her eyes. Bruises on her wrists. My heart breaks anew, and I think to myself: Some planet rotation, I will come back here and save this woman, too.
“These are children.” Her voice is still low. She glances at the silver disc, then back at me. “Humans.”
I nod.
Her fingers graze mine as she hands me the flat silver packages. “May you succeed,” she says, her voice so low I can barely hear her. Her eyes drill into mine. Sad, but determined.
I nod. “I will.”