Still, that’s not the worst part for me. The thing that really galls me and keeps me in a constant state of frustration is the thought of creating more slaves destined to suffer my own fate. Being the child of a slave, it seems a pitiful heritage to pass on to my offspring. I long for the days when the Pax thought me hardly worth my keep because now that they have discovered I am capable of breeding, they are enthusiastic about finding more of my kind. They’ve even discussed the possibility of cloning me, eager as they are for more humans to sell. It seems humans are fetching higher prices throughout the quadrant now that it is common knowledge that they can become brooders due to flexible biology. I guess they finally figured out a use for me after all and that is nothing short of infuriating.
Such are the thoughts running through my mind when I tighten the makeshift noose around the Tandarian’s fat neck. The alien’s sharp teeth try to bite at me, but his face is just out of range. The aquatic creature’s weak vestigial fins flap around in a panic as I squeeze down on my choke hold.
The slimeball paid a hundred credits to test me for biological compatibility. That’s nice, sanitized language for rape by the way. Though I object to the unwanted compatibility testing, I find myself doubly insulted at my body being leased for such a penance. I’m worth ten times that amount and the dirty slave trader in the next room knows it.
Make that one a brooder. The words whisper through my mind, even as I choke him into unconsciousness. The horror of what I’m doing hits me, causing anxiety to churn in my gut. The punishment for attacking a customer is death. Now that I’ve crossed the line, there’s no going back.
When he goes slack against the bars, I grab his hand. It’s more like a flipper with one finger and thumb, but whatever. I force it against the scanning plate, grateful he was granted temporary access privileges to my cell. It takes all my might to hold him against the bars with one hand and wrestle his hand into position. Letting him go only when the lock to my cell disengages, I step out victorious.
Squatting down over the prone alien, I see the Tandorian’s huge eyes staring at me. Tilting my head, I wonder for a brief second what he’s thinking before I punch him squarely in his cube-shaped head. Tandorians are yet another species with an aquatic heritage. They’re prolific in this quadrant of space as most of the planets have vast oceans. As everyone around these parts knows, those oceans spawned lifeforms that eventually evolved into spacefaring beings. This one has rubbery dark blue skin, no nose, fins running up his neck and pointed ears that lay flat against his head.
As soon as his eyes drift closed, I quickly search his clothing for something, anything to get me the hell off this planet. A low strum of excitement builds in my gut as my hand closes around a familiar object. Two hard tugs later and the bulky key fob to a Class D spaceship pops out of his pocket. Staring down at my new treasure, hope surges in my chest. This ubiquitous black box is my ticket out of servitude and off this godforsaken planet. Wasting no time, I scavenge his credit saver which also operates as a communication device. Finding nothing else of value, my shaky legs carry me towards the exit, and hopefully freedom. Where I’m going, I don’t know. There’s one thing I’m sure of, however; I would break if I was forced to be a brooder.
Peering out into the guard’s booth, I see them ordering dinner on a view screen. My stomach growls low and angry, reminding that I haven’t eaten in two days. One guard starts moving his long spindly arms and undulating his hips from side to side. His sad attempt to mimic an exotic dancer is not lost on me. The others nod, apparently on board for hiring a dancer. Dancers are high status and have been deemed a protected class. Touching them without permission will get a man swift and stern punishment. It’s doubtful that any would agree to come into a slave trader’s den, but then again, one never quite knows what will happen with the Pax.
Two of the three Pax guards wander off. One agreed to pick up their food, and the other went on a quest to entice a dancer. Their foolish attachment to dinner entertainment is working in my favor because it will take them a while to find a dancer willing to come to a place like this.
The moment the remaining guard’s back is turned, I spring forward and snag the pain stick he left on the console. He senses movement and whirls around to face me. Before he can get his head around what’s happening, I jab him right between the eyes as hard as I can. His white skin begins to darken at the impact site, proving that I’ve hit my mark. The Pax have one major vulnerability. Their frontal cortex is not covered by bone like most species. His eyes widen as the severe injury I just dealt rapidly spreads through his nerve endings. The shock
