Warnings resounded in my cockpit as several defense mechanisms targeted my position. A precaution, I hoped.
The landing continued without any vaporization, but I wondered if a loud argument in the control center debated the pros and cons of such an action. Sets of heavy steel docking bay doors opened in one of the regions of the asteroid. They directed me to it and allowed my entrance, the doors sealing shut behind me. Dim lighting was strung around the area, and a short walkway led to a building. Not an inch of rock was seen; the whole interior section appeared to be encased in metal.
Once my ship touched down, a door opened in the structure, and several people carrying weaponry and clad in light ballistic armor spilled out. My instruments shone green for atmosphere, so I slipped out of my seat and opened the hatch.
No one spoke a word as I set foot on the docking platform. Fourteen individuals appearing as soldiers trained weaponry upon me. The deck had an inconsistent vibration, not quite a tremor, as the smaller asteroids outside occasionally nudged the larger one.
I stood, waiting with my arms folded.
Out of the building walked a man dressed in similar ballistic armor with various symbols and insignias etched upon it. A stern expression and sharp features gave the unmistakable air of authority, and he was flanked by two additional guards, these more heavily armed and armored.
“I am Security Chief Pallum Bethel.” The man spoke with a hard edge. “I am also the acting governor of Vapaus Colony.” He pointed at me. “You are Archivist Sid, and you are not entirely welcome in this place.”
I said nothing, keeping my arms folded and favoring the leader with a blank expression.
“It is only by the request of a
I still didn’t speak, restraining myself from rolling my eyes and diving deep into condescension.
“You
Sighing, I swept my hat off and replied, “Let’s move beyond the tired posturing. I represent very little threat to your miserable way of existence. I’m here for a specific purpose, and once done, I have no further need to remain.”
Glaring angrily, he opened his mouth to speak, but I held up a hand. “Very obviously, I’ve been granted particular courtesies you are not fond of. Your threats are hollow because someone higher than you wishes this to occur. I hold no particular ill toward you or this place, but I will provide you with similar courtesy should you decide to continue this foolish hostile attitude.”
I absolutely love being a guest of importance. The less I have to deal with the careful wordplay associated with causing no offense, the better. A frank attitude is nearly always more efficient.
Chief Bethel tightened the thin line of his lips. I could see he wanted to cause issue in some fashion by yelling, sending me away, or locking me up. Marvel of marvels, he turned on his heel. He gave a sharp hand motion. “Follow me.”
Flanked by and trailing the entourage of armed individuals, I obeyed. For fifteen minutes, we crossed through numerous bland corridors. The acting Governor and Security Chief moved in silence, irritation fixed upon his features.
We stopped moving in a long hallway lined with heavy-security doors. Bethel turned to me. “Your assessment, though arrogant and flippant, was correct.” He raised his chin. “If it were up to me, I’d have you and your ship harvested for useable parts before discarding the rest. We take care of our own here, and only one person has received the freedom to come and go as he pleases.”
I had an inkling toward who it might have been, but I sensed my new friend would be upset if I interrupted him. His self-important air annoyed me, but I didn’t feel like having him shout at me for several minutes before the conversation progressed.
Seeing no reaction from me, Bethel continued. “However, others are hoping, foolishly in my opinion, that you will not bring death from the galaxy upon us. They believe you should be happy, merry, cheerful, and able to gallivant about without a care as to how it may affect our way of life.”
He grit his teeth. “What we arrived at was a fair compromise. You are about to embark upon a mandatory tour of this facility, our prison-turned-home. They are hoping you will gather an appreciation for it. A sympathy. I have my doubts, but I also retain no ability to prevent your stay and meeting with our important individual.”
“However,” Bethel held up a finger. “If you should give me the slightest reason to mistrust or dislike you, I can make absolutely certain that all conversation takes place under the least comfortable circumstances. Do you understand me?”
If only for the sake of expedience, I nodded.
Bethel made a hand motion, and all of the soldiers save his pair of guards departed. He turned to me. “You may consider our current way of life to be one of misery and lack of civilization, but I assure you: it is infinitely better than the degradation and horror of our lives as forced laborers.”
“You have my greatest sympathy,” I replied. With a wary eye, he searched my expression for any sign of sarcasm or irony, but he discovered none. I didn’t gush, but there was at least a little sincerity behind my statement.
The security chief continued. “Where you are standing right now is one of the many prison wards.” He opened one of the doors and gestured. “Laborers in training are kept here, isolated.”
The room appeared cramped. A tiny bed, toilet, and sink were in close proximity, and empty floor space was close to nonexistent. A flickering recessed light provided a source of variability, entertainment, or more likely madness. “Countless hours are spent in silence and solitude. Simple meals and constant punishments are found during the period of training.”
Without waiting for me to respond, he moved on. Through dozens more hallways very similar, I gathered the facility housed a very large number. Considering the size of the asteroid, the number could have ranged into the tens of thousands, depending upon how much interior was taken up.
He stopped in a different corridor. The doors were the same security style, but they were further apart, each room at least three times as large. “This is a training ward. Every room,” he palmed the door, “contains equipment to precisely condition a subject to perform specific menial tasks at peak efficiency.”
Inside lay what appeared to be fragile materials and common household items. Cleaning implements were stacked on a shelf, and cameras and monitoring equipment were embedded in the walls. “For cleaners: dust particles, amount of pressure utilized upon various fragile and non-fragile items, amount of cleaning product expended, and numerous other facets are recorded. Requirements of each and being as close to perfection as possible is hammered into every fiber of their being. Each day brings different items and review. Improvement is expected. If there is no improvement, punishment is exacted.”
He palmed open another door. “Miners are directed to put forth the exact amount of physical requirement prior to exhaustion and injury. Strike pressure and angles are very important to perfect.” A faux rock wall lay with varied mining equipment.
Bethel made a sweeping gesture. “There are twenty-six different types of training rooms, and a full forced- labor staff is kept on site to maintain and prepare them for every session. Each individual in training remains for an average of one month at ten hours a day. Increasing punishment is exacted upon those who cannot perform adequately or learn too slowly.”
I sensed punishment had been a common factor in the existence of the slaves here. I also sensed he was building up to what the punishment actually was. I found his continued description of the facility as if it were still in use odd, but I didn’t comment.
Again we progressed. After five minutes of bland hallways, we stopped. The corridor held rooms appearing very similar to the training spaces. “Exercise rooms; self explanatory. Mandatory physical conditioning based upon age and future task. Inadequate performance leads to punishment.”
We stopped in another room. “Mess hall,” he informed me. It was more of a hallway than a hall. Several stalls lay on one side, appearing to have slots but no windows. “Ten minutes, four times daily,” Bethel said. “A
