Not taking the time to pick his pockets properly, I grab the bulky key fob visible in his side pocket. With shaking hands, I run his furry finger over the scanning plate and reprogram it for my own imprint. It’s a simple process that I’ve witnessed every time a person is given access to pilot a ship, access secured areas, or in my case, authority to open locked doors. Freedom is so close I can almost taste it.
I hope the Tandorian’s craft turns out to be something I can actually pilot. One of my previous masters used me to fly slaves back and forth to various mineral mines. I was locked into the pilot’s section in a craft that wasn’t space worthy, wearing a slave collar designed to explode if the craft strayed from the established route. Though it had been dirty work, those skills just might get me to freedom tonight.
My hand reaches out to snatch his blue cloak, even as I instinctively survey my surroundings for signs of danger. Seeing nothing alarming, I wrap myself in the thick, foul smelling fabric. At this point, I have but one goal in mind. Escape the slave pits and get the hell off this godforsaken planet where beings are bought and sold like common beasts of burden. The communi-channel is flooded with advertisements touting Valon Six as the place where anyone with enough credits can purchase the slave of their dreams. Few make it down to the skeevy underbelly of the slave pits. That privilege is reserved for rough outlaws and others without a conscious. Most customers only see us once we’ve been cleaned up, healed, and dressed in garish, flashy clothing. The whole system is just one lie built on another to convince normal people that slavery is not that bad. To hell with Valon Six and the sick assholes who keep the whole system going by purchasing slaves.
Shocked by my own actions, I move stealthy through the maze of corridors. Since the slavers almost never took me from my cell, it’s difficult to find my way out. I quickly duck into dark corners when footsteps draw near, intent on avoiding recapture.
The realization that I’ve killed tonight and might again before dawn claws at my conscious. I’ve never killed before today. Having watched more fighting than I cared to in the arenas, it would be a lie to say I’ve never seen bloodshed and death. I never in my wildest dreams thought that I would be the one to kill for freedom. Everyone knows the penalty for a slave turning on their master.
Punishments for lesser crimes such as refusals to obey are dealt out in the privacy of the slave pits. They can range from being publicly humiliated to lashes. The guards are good at figuring out what each individual species despises most. The atmosphere is usually jovial, with the guards shouting out encouragement and suggestions to those tasked with meting out punishment. The Pax used to make a great production of spanking my naked bottom like a naughty child, aware of the fact that most humans despise nudity and public humiliation.
Since my current crime is punishable by death, I’ll be hung in the city center and tortured if caught. A huge grouping of Pax Alliance members will be recruited from nearby homes and businesses to watch me suffer for my crimes. Since the general population isn’t wealthy enough to own slaves, they aren’t used to seeing a person mistreated. Therefore, I doubt they’ll enjoy the spectacle. The last time I witnessed justice being served upon a slave, the crowd was quiet and solemn.
My hand clutches the key fob, reminding me of my one chance at freedom. Moonlight catches my eye out of an opening near the ground. Making my way to the glinting pipe, I wiggle through a huge drainage opening that leads to the dark, star filled night. I get my bearings and then immediately make my way toward the huge flat paved area where all the ships land and take off. The entire situation seems a bit unreal.
Standing on the quiet tarmac, I know before I activate the fob that it’s likely to be a piece of space junk. All class-D craft are old and barely space worthy. Taking a deep breath, I slide my finger over the activation plate. The smallest and most pitiful piece of crap on the tarmac lights up for me. The oblong craft is composed of copper colored metal. It has more than a few dings and has been patched with different kinds of metal in several places. It’s much larger than a standard shuttle, but it can’t have more than an engine room, cockpit and three or four other modest rooms. Frowning, I see that only five of its eight pieces of landing gear are down, so it might not be stable to board through the main entrance. This has to be the sketchiest ship I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing.
I make my way to the craft as quietly as possible because rousing any real notice might lead people to investigate. Under this smelly cloak, I’m wearing the rags of a slave and the control collar I couldn’t manage to remove no matter how hard I tried. Even a dimwit would be able track the two key fobs back to the Tandarian I knocked out and the guard I killed in order to make my escape.
I manage to sneak on board using a secondary hatch on the underbelly of the ship. Locking and double checking the doors, I sit in the control room staring at the console. Taking stock of what I’ve got to work with gives me hope that it might not be so bad after all. All the fuel rods are charged and firing. The flight controls are calibrated and appear to be fully functional. I turn off the transponder so that
