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A/N# 0: Believe it or not, I am trying to move away from the slavery subplots. However, we've still got people out there...
A/N# 1: More deaths in this chapter...
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For disclaimers, please see chapter one.
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10 – Interlude two, Fourth Year
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Sunday, November 4, 2001:
Corfu, Solar Guard Basic Training: 04:50 (GMT +2)
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"Get up, sleepy!" Tsien told her roomie. "We've got PT in a few minutes!"
"I hate morning people," Elena said.
"Unless you want to do your run in your slippers, you'd better get up!" the young Taiwanese said.
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"Oh, gawd," Elena said. "How far is it?" she said as she tried to keep pace. She was strong enough, but could she last another...
"Only another three kilometers," Tsien said, "Lazy American."
"Demerit, Chen," their blonde instructor said as she ran alongside. "No nationalities, no history, remember? Hometown is one thing, but we're all Terrans here." She glanced ahead of the two, seeing the two rescued slaves running gracefully and adding, "Even if some are by adoption. Morton may save your life one day."
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"Why are we here?" the tanned young man asked the assembled class. "We are here to provide for the economic and physical defense of the Terran system and any colonies we may establish. We may also be tasked with the defense of allied systems under treaty, or rather, by contract."
One of the students raised her hand, "Master, what do you mean by 'contract'?"
"A point of etiquette, Ms. Seventeen," he replied to the collared girl. "As you are no longer a slave, the proper address for a male in most situations is 'Sir', for a female is 'Ma'am'. I am aware you are trying to break a lifetime habit, please try to remember this." She nodded, and he continued, "For various political reasons, we do not have a planetary government, instead a collection of nation-states on the different landmasses." He continued, "Again, for various political reasons, we are a private business operating under government contract, with government oversight. Therefore, we would sign a contract with another system for various services, as the Guard has signed contracts with local firms on the island for food supplies, maintenance, power, and so forth. Ms. Castellano?"
"Thank you," Benni said. "This is a tough galaxy we're stepping out in, so we have to be equally tough." One of the students barked a sharp laugh, Benni asked, "Mr. DiPatri, did you have a comment?"
"I ain't gonna be no fairy lawyer," the teenager sneered.
"What makes you think I am?" Benni said calmly. "You're from New York, as I recall. Would you care to guess my background?"
"One'a them shyster lawyers from DC, I would think."
"Wrong, Mr. DiPatri," Benni said. "I'm from Gotham, and like you, I'm here on probation, only mine's from federal prison." The New Yorker paled as Benni looked at her colleague, "I think a bit of our personal background would be useful."
"Da," he agreed. "Do you wish to start, comrade?"
"Thank you, tovarish," Benni said. She addressed the group, "Our objective is to create not just a Coast Guard that rescues people, but a Navy that can fight for our homes. As you may have heard, or experienced, our neighbors are not the nicest people. We have a nice house in a somewhat rough neighborhood, to use a metaphor." She surveyed the group, "We are aware that is somewhat contradictory, but that's the situation we're in. Treat us nice, we'll return it. Try to scam us, or cheat us, or rob us, and we'll kick ass, legally, and we'll have the firepower to back it up." She was silent for a minute, then said, "Mr. DiPatri, please come here." The student swallowed, then made his way down, standing in front of Benni. "Mr. DiPatri, have you ever been to Gotham City?" she asked casually, then asked the group, "Has anyone here visited my lovely hometown?"
Elena nervously raised her hand, "I have, ma'am. For Christmas, a few years ago."
"Beautiful city, isn't it?" Elena nodded, and Benni added in a stage whisper, "A bit of a crime problem, though." Elena nodded emphatically.
"I want to talk to you later, Ms. Morton," Benni said with a smile, then addressed the New Yorker. "Mr. DiPatri," Benni said, "Are you aware of my last name, Castellano? I'm as Italian as you are, my Fettuccine is to die for. You are also aware that we have the reputation of being 'Mafia'?" He swallowed nervously as she continued, "Are you aware of what is required to advance in rank in the Families?" She advanced on him until they were a foot apart, "For those of you who don't know, you have to make your bones. You have to kill someone, and for a woman to advance in the Families, you can't do a simple drive-by." Her attention was still on DiPatri as she said, "No, for a woman to advance in rank in the Families, and especially with conservatives like Marone in Gotham, you have to be this close, it's witnessed, and you use a blade." With a wrist-flick, she added, "Like this one."
DiPatri's eyes rolled up in his head, and he fainted. Benni checked her watch (the knife disappearing), and said, "I win the bet, first washout in eight minutes. I'll take a bottle of good vodka."
"I enjoy grappa," her colleague complained, then faced the group. "As Ms. Castellano said, we are here to show you how, to use the pithy phrase, 'Kick ass and take names.'. She is your business adviser, I am your military adviser. I served two tours in Afghanistan, I am what was formerly referred to as Spetsnaz. I will show you how to fight and win everywhere from a back alley to a bar fight. Ship tactics are under continuous review, should you specialize in that, we have various simulations for you."
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"Ms. Morton?" Benni asked, motioning Elena to walk with her, "Oh, we're off the clock, this is just casual. When were you in Gotham, and who were you visiting?"
"A few years ago, and we were visiting Mr. Wayne's house. His daughter Mattie goes to school with my brother, ma'am."
"Bruce Wayne was a good man," Benni said. "An honest man, his daughter is following in his footsteps." She walked a bit, "He did a lot to save Gotham, now his daughter is taking on a bigger challenge, saving the planet." She shook her head, then looked sideways at Elena, "You remember a few months ago, our President tried to jail her? She was my cell mate at Alderson, she arranged my probation to the Guard. I owe her." They walked in silence, "Part of succeeding in business, Morton, is knowing people, being willing to trade favor for favor. Building your network of contacts. You're making a good start, you know the damiyo, but you're still a hatchling, you're swimming with sharks, Morton. Our job is to train you to be a shark, so you can help protect the school, and train the next generation of hatchlings."
"I don't know if I can kill, though..." Elena said softly.
"Hopefully, you won't have to," Benni said. "It's not pretty. I grew up in the Families, and there's no such thing as useless knowledge." She stopped, and looked Elena in the eye, "When you're in a fight for survival like we are, you'll need to have that information. You may never need it, but knowing the weak point of an alien, or how to craft a deal, to write a contract to take maximum advantage may be the difference between victory, and losing everything."
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Sunday, November 4, 2001:
Hogwarts, Entrance Hall: 08:30 (GMT)
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"Good morning, Bill," Mattie told the first-year as she entered the Great Hall. "You played a good game yesterday." She cracked her knuckles and grinned, "You're going up against me in February, you know."
"We've got a plan for you, Wayne," Bill said confidently. "It's a good plan, too."
"Hufflepuff, planning against Slytherin?" Mattie said with a grin, "Right. I'm shaking in my boots." She patted his shoulder, "Have a good day, Morton," she said as she walked to join her study group. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he made his way to the Hufflepuff table, where he sat, his face in his hands.
"What did you tell my brother?" Arthur asked.
"I complemented him on his game yesterday, and reminded him that he was going up against me in February," his girlfriend said. She grinned, "All's fair in love, war and Quidditch, remember? Besides, he did play a good game, for his second one."
"Oh, god," Arthur said, getting up to join his brother.
Mattie winked at Sprink, adding, "Besides, I learned that Hufflepuff has 'a plan' (she finger-quoted) to deal with me on the pitch."
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"What's the matter, Bill?" Eleanor asked the firstie.
"Mattie complemented me on my game yesterday," he admitted. "Then she reminded me that we played Slytherin in February, and cracked her knuckles." He looked up at the seventh-year, "We do have a plan for them, don't we?" he almost pleaded.
"Don't worry, we do," Daphne Ballantyne said. "She's playing mind games with you," the blonde third year Chaser reassured her Seeker, glancing over his head at her seventh-year Captain and fellow Chaser. She wasn't happy with the worried expression that flitted across her face, but ran a hand through her short hair and plastered a smile on her face. "Slytherin plays a very subtle but aggressive game, but we've got them figured out."
Arthur arrived and put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Hey, Bill," he told his brother.
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Monday, November 5, 2001:
London, Greywolf Transport, design team: 08:13 (GMT
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"What have you, Samuel?" Nigel, the head of the ancillary structures group asked.
Putting down his coffee, Sam Mullins passed out copies of his preliminary sketches, "I forwarded to you the email from Travis at Arrowhead," he started. "Miss Wayne asked about an asteroid module. My principal design criteria are outlined in the email, but I'm working on the assumptions of using as many common parts from the buoys as possible to reduce costs, like the same RTG thorium generators. This is why I'm using one of the buoy's three meter hexagonal frames, we're going to be making and servicing millions of these things."
"The same thing I'm using to build the buoys, only one instead of three," Fritz Meyers said, and Sam nodded in agreement with the German. "Instead of stacking three of them, I'm just using one, but it has to have a way to clamp on to the rock."
"Miniature harpoon, equilateral spacing," Shoji Nakamura said, putting down his tea and demonstrating with his hands and a pencil. "A squib or explosive bolt, it fires it down into the rock, and a small winch reels it back in." He flipped to the preliminary design, drawing on it, "Use internal struts, have a central, open frame two and a half meters across. You have a primary computer..."
"One of the cheap ones we're using for the buoys," Fritz added. "Capacitor ring for power storage, an RTG in each of the three sections we're using for heat and power, and insulate it." He flipped open his own handout, sketching as he talked, "Primary computer and data storage in one section, subspace transceiver in another..."
"With a way to authenticate a claim," Sergey said in his thick Russian accent, speaking for the Solar Guard. He flipped his hands, "The owner of a claim is registered by the Guard for a rock, he gets a chip from us to insert into the transceiver. The computer then transmits 'Mikhail Samoyed is the owner of this rock' and we put Mikhail down as owner. Later, if Vladimir starts to mine Mikhail's rock, we will ask questions of Vladimir."
"If he loses the chip?" Nigel asked, tea cradled in his hands.
The burly Russian shrugged. "He had best not." He leaned forward, "I would also suggest the tender crews can claim rocks under the size of their vessels, assuming they can bring them to the smelters Wayne is planning. Perhaps a smaller device they can bolt to a suitable rock to run an analysis. This would reduce the number of devices needed and the associated workload, and give an incentive to the tender crews."
Sam nodded, "That is something that could be charged on the tender and re-used. As the modules will probably go years between servicing, I'm building in redundancy, I'm also making this both human and machine serviceable, by using modules that clip..."
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Monday, November 5, 2001:
New York City, St. Paul's Cathedral : 09:30 (GMT +5
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"How did you get the press to stay away?" Charlie asked softly as the hymn ended.
"A combination of bribery and threats," Mattie answered quietly as people settled themselves. "Said I'd hold a press conference tomorrow at the hotel if they would respect the family's privacy today. If not, if they bothered the Cortez family, they and their parent organizations would be blackballed from the Arrowhead and Solar Guard press conferences." She grinned slightly, "Not only do I give good copy, I feed them if they get there early enough, and I work the room. Their editors would not be happy with them."
The bishop approached the pulpit, Tomas crossing himself as Arthur asked, "Did you arrange a bishop?"
His girlfriend shook her head as the priest started, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of Maria Cortez, beloved wife and mother..."
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Tuesday, November 6, 2001:
Windfall, East Coast, coast road: 07:27: (relative)
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"Edward?" Z'hann waited a minute, then kicked his outstretched foot. "Edward!"
"Hm?" he said, waking from his nap and stretching. The rain drummed on the roof of the bus where the injured slaves were bound. He looked out the back, and asked, "How are the girls?" The bus lurched as a wheel hit a pothole, seconds later the cart being towed behind did also. His eye sought out the white hair of 94383, today her frame had been lashed on the third row in the middle. Above and to her left the twins were bound, as muddy rainwater splashed on their dangling hair. Eyes protected by their blindfolds, the enhanced slaves in their frames weren't quite as muddy as the chained girls marching in slave coffle behind.
"Fine," Gix rumbled from where he sat on the floor (like Eddie). "Checked 'em about twenty minutes ago. Put a girl up top, pulled muscle. Put one back that Z'hann cleared." He stretched a bit himself, "Supposed to rain all day."
"Good for the crops," P'ala mentioned, then leaned forward, "I had a question, Edward. While you slept, you mentioned the term 'skirts'. What did you mean by that?"
"Mean by what?" Eddie asked.
P'ala snorted, and stood, one hand going to the overhead grab-bar. She tugged at the hem of her short black skirt, and said, "A skirt, Edward. A female garment. We cannot deduce why you would be interested, and Gix is un-cooperative. Z'hann would buy her own, unless you wish to clothe your slaves."
Eddie traded a look with Gix, then said cryptically, "You are female, you do not understand. Some things are more enticing when obscure. Wake me when it is time to void waste, please."
He remembered Frax' request for a red dress, and was walking along the street, looking for a store that sold clothing for slaves. Seeing a slave wearing a short white skirt, he touched her arm, asking, and she had lead him to her master's shop. Inspecting the shop from the outside, it was cleaner than the surrounding buildings, with a small sign reading 'Tailor'. He entered as the slave held the door for him.
"Greetings," the owner said as the slave gave her small waist bag to him, then taking her place standing before a vertical loom. With a muffled grunt of effort from behind her black leather gag, she advanced the woven cloth, a colorful pattern, before starting to pass different shuttles back and forth, tamping down the weave with each pass. The owner cleared his throat, "How may I help you?"
Eddie reached in his own pouch, extracting a couple of coins to play with before he said, "I have a license for my slaves to wear the cloth masks instead of the black masks (the slave stole a look), and I understand the white color is not required. I was also looking to buy a few skirts for them to wear." He gestured, "You have an attractive slave, one of the few I have seen wearing clothing (she whimpered), I believe clothing increases the beauty of a slave girl, it leaves something to the imagination."
"What is to imagine?" the owner said. "She is a slave, she is there for a master's relief."
"Ah," Eddie said. "Did you buy her for rape, or to increase your business?"
"To increase my business, of course," the owner said. "Her use is a secondary benefit."
"In my experience, you can have one or the other, females are simple creatures, and can fixate on one thing," Eddie said. "May I question her?" The owner shrugged, and called her over. Eddie asked the owner, "I wish to hear the truth, please do not punish her if she says something you do not like. I have always preferred the truth, even if it is something I do not like." He grinned slightly, "It is less likely to bite you unexpectedly."
"This is true," the owner said, "I will not punish her for truthful answers."
The slave whimpered and looked at Edward, who asked, "Would you prefer to wear the leather gag you are now, or the cloth mask?" She immediately pointed at his cloth mask, tearing at the heavy leather that encircled her lower face, then flashing through some signs.
"Would you interpret, please?" Eddie asked, "I am from off-planet and do not understand."
"She said, 'I hate this, master, but I am only a slave,'" he said, adding, "Do not forget it, girl." She replied with the 'master' sign, then nodded at Eddie, giving the off-planet slave sign.
"How much longer on her sentence?" Eddie asked, the girl replying with a circle.
"She is a born slave," the owner said. Eddie pursed his lips behind his cloth mask, then asking her, "Would you rather work in the shop, or satisfy your master?" She hesitated, then slowly pointed at the loom, flashing some signs. He grunted, "I did not know." She flashed some more, and he said, "I shall consider it." The slave looked at Eddie, motioning between her and her master.
"Of course," Eddie said, then said, "I am a businessman myself. In my experience a happy slave is one that is more productive than one that produces shoddy work at the end of a whip. For instance, I notice that you are not particularly busy."
The owner shrugged, "I must be here to tend to the accounts, and to supervise her work."
"Yet she clearly knows her job, she is an attractive slave, there is no reason why she cannot be used to build your business." The owner leaned forward as Eddie continued, "She was the only slave I saw wearing a skirt, when that is what I was looking for. Yet it is a plain skirt, she would draw the eye more if it was more colorful." He asked the girl, "Do you have a basket of scraps? Bring a few large pieces." As she scampered off, he asked the owner, "Why have you not applied for a license to free your slaves from those horrible gags? They make no sense."
"I only have one, and the license is a hundred sandurs," he objected. "She is only a slave, it is not worth it."
The girl returned, and Eddie asked her, "You are aware you are a slave? You are not likely to forget it?" The girl gave an emphatic whimper, tugging at her tight collar, then at a breast chain, and lastly her tight slave belt. Giving another whimper, she knelt, submitting to her master. "She is a slave," Eddie said dryly, adding, "Stand up, girl and show us what you have." Looking at her master, he said, "I will give you two tips to increase your business, it is guaranteed to pay for the license for all your slaves."
"She is my only one," he said.
"For now," Eddie said. "I foresee your buying more shortly. First, you must spend money to make money. Secondly, you must give her a motivation to promote your business, but you will have to free her of the gag first. Pass me the largest piece, girl, and remove your white skirt."
She passed a colorful scarf over, reaching behind her to unbutton the skirt, stepping out of it and passing it to her master. Shaking her hair back, she placed her hands on her head as Eddie wrapped the cloth like a sarong, tying it over her left hip, under her slave belt. "I presume the registration tattoo must remain visible, it was on her skirt." he mentioned, and she whimpered once. "Pass me a smaller one, we will pretend it is a properly sewn mask. Hands behind you, girl." he tied it over her nose, draping down over her mouth. He took the last piece from the clearly excited girl, adding to her master, "One thing I have noticed is that females have definite ideas about fashion, what is attractive and what is not. Notice what pattern she chose." Handing the last bit to the slave, he said, "Following the law, girl, your breasts." She immediately twisted it, draping it over her chest, her right shoulder bare, tied on her left shoulder.
"Hmm," her owner said. "It will get dirty, though." She gave a disgusted look at her master, and Eddie said, "Of course. It will be washed, and she will wear other cloth while it is being washed, which you will sell."
"How do I need to spend money, though?" he asked.
"Two ways," Eddie said. "The first is for her license. If you get a property license, it will cover all your slaves, instead of just her. The second way is to pay her a commission on her sales, and yes, I know she is a slave. She is also a walking, talking advertisement for your shop, unless," he paused, "You wish to remain poor." He smiled at the girl, who was clearly excited. "The idea is to get sales in the door. This is not the best location, but it will do for now. What is your name, girl?"
She flashed signs, and he interpreted, "My mother called me S'ana, master."
"Very good," Eddie said with a smile. "However, we shall keep that a secret. You see," he addressed her master, "This unnamed slave happens to know you have a new designer, named S'ana. She was purchased from the offworld slaver, and you are the only one to have her designs for slave wear. She has never seen the slave, she only knows about it through shop gossip, as you are keeping her secure. She is blindfolded when the slave is fed, you see." He extracted a pen from his pouch, and told the girl, "Sign 'S'ana' in one corner of your mask. That is your designer logo. Anything foreign, different is exciting, it creates demand, and that, my unnamed slave, is what you will market. You are marketing slave wear, attractive, functional and sexy slave wear, that every slave on this island is going to want, and they will beg their owners for."
"Slave wear?" he asked.
"There is a population of almost 190,000 on this island," Eddie said. "Of those, 33,000 are we poor, foolish males, and there are over 50,000 slave girls, all naked but for their chains. Our poor unnamed slave here is a walking advertisement for your products, and if ten percent of those 50,000 slaves convince their masters to buy..."
Edward was jolted awake, P'ala saying, "Waste stop. We must hurry to get the slaves done before the rain starts again."
"Yes, thank you," he said. "How may I help?"
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Tuesday, November 6, 2001:
Corfu, Solar Guard Basic Training: 13:33 (GMT +2)
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"On your terminals you have a quiz on the basics of the Interstellar Commercial Code," Benni said, to the groans of her students. "We don't expect you to have the whole thing memorized, especially as this is more of a 'gentlebeings' agreement. This is the closest thing to interstellar law, ship operations are covered under the Spacer's Guild regulations. In addition, there are several questions where one of the options conflicts with our current international law, which is what we are basing our system law on."
Tsien raised her hand, "Ma'am, what do we do when there's a conflict?"
"You need to make a decision on what you think is right, and make a persuasive argument, and just to throw a wrench, it depends on where the case occurs. We are looking into establishing a 'free port' based in orbit around Titan, one of Saturn's moons. This will allow foreign traders to tranship through a bonded warehouse, while they transact business. You can assume the warehouse and foreign trade zone exist."
Elena asked, "What about ..." she cleared her throat, "... slaves, ma'am?"
"Good question," Benni said. "There are two schools of thought, one that we cannot exclude one 'product' from a free port, which is by definition outside customs and excise law. The other is that we have a moral obligation to fight the enslavement of other sentient beings. Give me your opinion, and support it, it's an extra-credit assignment. You've got until Friday afternoon to email it to me."
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Thursday, November 8, 2001:
Hogwarts, Charms classroom: 13:05 (GMT)
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"Miss Wayne, I hope you were planning on coming to the meeting after class," Professor Flitwick said, looking up from the roll.
"Yes, sir," she said, catching the gleam of excitement in his eyes. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
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"Well, now," Filius Flitwick said, rubbing his hands with excitement, "I have some wonderful news. I have managed to redirect the link from the stasis spell to a charm, now comes the challenge of powering that charm continuously. Severus?"
"For how long does the charm power the spell?" the Potion Master asked.
"I need to recast the spell every 36 hours," Flitwick said, taking a cloth off a glass case. Inside was a burning cigar, the eddies of smoke were frozen above a small gemstone on a chain. "I first lit that cigar two weeks ago," he added.
"Interesting..." Severus mused. He turned to look at the group, adding, "If we can operate off a longer time frame, and have a wizard in attendance to attend to the potion's renewal, then a simple tank and pump might be all that is required."
"This is a fairly small spell, only a few inches," Filius said. "We would need to know exactly how big a spell we need to cast."
"I can get you a mockup with the actual dimensions," Mattie said, looking at Anne. "Would you need to include the power source in the spell?"
"No..." Filius mused. "However, some method of indicating the mockup has power would be useful," he said. "Blinking lights, same voltage and wattage as the actual device would serve."
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Friday, November 9, 2001:
Corfu, Solar Guard Basic Training: 13:04 (GMT +2)
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"Everyone enjoy their morning run?" Benni said, adding as she leaned against the desk, "Times are definitely improving. I've gotten everyone's ideas on a trade port, they range from totally open to totally closed."
Walking about, Benni said, "Tsien, you suggested a totally closed system, for defensive reasons. Give me your reasoning, please."
"Yes, ma'am," the young Chinese said. "Right now, we're vulnerable. I'm certain we have spies out there, but we don't have a way to stand off another invasion, our tech isn't up to it yet. If we close the system, we assume everyone's hostile until we open the borders again, when we're ready."
"When is 'ready'?" Yukio Hirobumi said. "We went through that in Japan, isolationism did not help us."
Elena cleared her throat, "I understand that galactic tech goes to 'good enough' and stops," she offered. "Can we get to shouting distance of 'good enough', and then we can look into enhancements? We've already figured out so much, in just a few months, that way we're not trying to hit an ever-moving target."
"Until we get to 'good enough' we can't close the borders even if we want to," Melissa Jourdan said. The dark-skinned former Royal Navy pilot added, "We've got to find out what we've got, we don't know if we've got more pirates in the outer system. We don't even have a way to close the borders even if we wanted to. To close a harbour, you'd station warships, or install a minefield, but we'd need billions of mines, or missile batteries." She shook her head, "No, we need a defense in depth, a way to channel an enemy into our sights, and the best way to do that is with ships."
"And to do that, we need trade, a reason for people to stop, to trade with us," Yukio said. "That's why I suggested a totally open port. There's no reason we can't tax something that's going to stay here."
"I was transhipped once through a port," Seventeen said. "We were kept in cages and fed until we were loaded on another ship."
Elena nodded, "That ties into my suggestion of a customs area," she said. "We can do health and safety checks, and store cargo for a fee in a bonded warehouse station, refusing things like illegal drugs or..." she looked sideways at Seventeen, "...slaves."
"How does one declare a drug for different species?" Tsien asked. "Cocaine may be necessary for a particular species' survival, if so, that would certainly stimulate trade. What about other intoxicants, like whiskey? How do we determine..."
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Saturday, November 10, 2001:
Hogwarts, Great Hall, High Table: 07:27 (GMT)
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With a 'crack' and a burst of golden fire, a slightly singed postcard fluttered down to land in the butter in front of Minerva McGonagall. She calmly picked it up, wiped a bit of butter off it, and stood, "Miss Bundy, I believe this is yours?"
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Monday, November 12, 2001:
Windfall, East Coast, coast road: 08:01: (relative)
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With a creak, the bus stopped. P'ala looked up, "We have arrived. Gix, I will need your assistance with the prisoners. Edward, if you can arrange your slaves in rows so they may see the gallows, we will do the male traitors first. The female and the off-worlders can wait, there are only three positions."
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With a jolt, the cart she was riding on stopped. Chris moved her head, she had felt spatters of mud, she was happy for the blindfold that had protected her eyes, even though she hadn't been able to watch the passing scenery. She felt the cart shake with the heavy tread of Master Gix as he boarded the cart, she heard Master Edward and the rattle of chain as one of the line of slaves was moved.
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10063 stopped, patiently waiting as her Master walked back to the cart, glancing up at the dark grey sky. The rain had stopped briefly, but the dark clouds promised more. Master Gix boarded the cart, leaning over to untie one of the local prisoners. With a tug on their leading chain, a line of slaves stood, walking the way they had come.
'What is occurring?' she thought to herself as she knelt as ordered, her left foot flat, right knee on the gravel roadway. 'There is nothing here except the bend in the road, the waste extraction facilities and the stand of trees to the south.' She shrugged to herself, 'I shall know when masters tell me.' She watched Master Gix carry another prisoner away, and then Master was waving at her chain to stand. Doing so, she waited until the slack was taken out of her neck leash, then leading off with her left foot, followed the girl in front of her.
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Slave 51720, also known as Chris, felt her rack unlashed from the cart she had been lashed to for the last several days. Feeling hands on the blindfold, she closed her eyes in preparation for the light as she was released from the rack, and guided to sit on the edge of the cart. With a rattle of chain, she was leashed to another slave, and stood on slightly wobbly feet.
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P'ala watched, looking down from the scaffold as the slaves were moved into place, lined kneeling in the road and watching. Gix placed the second nude male prisoner, kneeling him on the trap with a large hand on his shoulder. She pulled the noose over his head, snugging it down with the knot behind his head. Moving to the side, she loosened the rope from the cleat, giving the proper length, then resecured it to the cleat. With a hand on his elbow, she helped him to stand as Gix fetched the last prisoner, wondering 'What must he be thinking?' as she did with every execution.
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K'dak watched in horror as her mate was placed on the scaffold. Thrashing, she pulled at her bonds as she knelt in the grass a few meters away. She hadn't really believed it, she was certain that all the money, all the influence they had given Daala would rescue them from the gallows.
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P'ala looked down at the watching crowd, then called, "We are here to see justice done. These three citizens were convicted of conspiracy to sell our planet to off world interests, of illegal import of off world machinery and supplies, of illegal import of slaves, of failing to register and pay taxes on those slaves, and finally of the murder of those slaves." She looked around at the silent crowd, then called, "Citizen Gix, have the safety bars been pulled?"
He rumbled back from ground level, "They have been pulled on all three, Citizen P'ala."
"Then let justice be done," P'ala called, and pulled the lever.
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Chris watched emotionlessly as three of her former masters dropped, the ropes tightening on their throats. Their legs scrambled as they danced on air, their faces slowly turning blue as they lost control of their bowels, the blood draining down forcing an erection on each. As their legs stopped moving, they swayed, twitching on the end of their ropes, eyes bulging. Hearing a snort, she looked sideways to another slave, one of the two that had tried to bury her. Meeting her eyes, the other girl snorted again and nodded her head, then twitched her head toward the female that knelt in front of the central noose, watching her mate die and knowing she would follow him.
------------------------
Edward Nigma waited, stoically watching the execution. He conceded it was an effective example of rough justice, placed so anyone might see. He watched as the three dead slaves were placed in their coffins, lying at the foot of the gallows, as P'ala slid a sheet of paper in a frame before each hanging corpse, one of them still twitching. He turned to inspect his slaves, most were riveted by the display, although some were bent over at the waist, trying not to vomit in their masks. He shifted to look at his slaves, three or four turned to look at him, meeting his eyes and nodding. He returned the nod gravely. Shifting his bothersome mask, he placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled, calling, "Enhanced slaves stand!" Moving to face them, he ordered, "Go to the central square of the compound, kneel with your heads to the ground, facing the road. I want to see grass or mud on every slave's forehead!" He moved to the first line of hotel slaves as the chain of enhanced girls moved off, repeating the instruction.
------------------------
10063 had watched in morbid fascination as the three masters died. She could understand the snorts and whimpers of approval from the enhanced slaves kneeling before her, she had served masters that she would have liked to see on the end of a rope herself. That slaves were allowed to witness executions for the murder of slaves was... was... shattering. She turned to look at her sister slaves, their eyes were as wide as hers. Shifting, she caught her master's eye, and gave him a nod of approval, which he gravely returned. 'This is an interesting master,' she thought to herself, allowing for the first time since her collaring a tiny bit of hope as she stood, her chain following the enhanced slaves across the gravel road and into the trees.
------------------------
B'tor rubbed her pregnant belly as she watched the execution, her expression hidden behind her cloth mask. She spent a lot of time on a shonnen cart as part of her accounting firm's business, she watched the female prisoner squirm toward the central gallows, looking up at the hanging male. She felt some sympathy, anyone who had just watched their mate die would. 'She knows she's going to follow him,' she thought, recalling the weekly island newspaper's treatment of the sensational case, the female had been primarily responsible for the murder of slaves. She turned to look at the off-world slaver Nigma as he whistled his slaves across the road. 'What must his slaves think?' she wondered.
------------------------
C'han'a watched the execution, she had a better view from the driver's seat of her shonnen cart. She had seen quite a few, but an execution, especially for ones as well connected as the Happy Slave owners had been, was rare. Still, the way it had been done, a slow strangulation as opposed to a quick snap of the neck showed general public sentiment. While she was only a slave, she still heard free people talk, she saw the gestures of slaves, she knew the general sense of outrage, of betrayal. 'What will happen now?' she wondered. The presence of WorkForce was raising questions about their defenses, questions that were being avoided, or addressed with platitudes by the Council of Elders.
------------------------
Edward trotted across the road and into the trees behind the last of his slaves, hoping to beat the rumble of thunder and the resumption of rain. 'I wonder if this planet has a rainy season,' he idly wondered, thinking about his upcoming speech.
------------------------
Gix finished re-securing the prisoners to their slave frames, they were in emotional shock, seeing their colleagues die in front of them and knowing they were next. The female's eyes were wide, they could not leave the middle corpse. 'A relative?' Gix idly wondered.
------------------------
"Close your eyes for a minute," Eddie told the last slave, and pushed her forehead to the ground. He nodded, and walked to the front, "All of you, heads up, eyes open, your attention, please," he called. "I need to have this said before the rain starts again," he added. "First, by touching your heads to the ground at my command, you became the full slave property of Nos Scisco, a company based here on Windfall. Some of you may be aware that slavery on Windfall is for a fixed term of years, and then you are freed. Only two of you fall under that category, and I am using a much older law. That goes back to the colony's founding, in which off-planet slaves are owned by a Windfall company, and which has not been repealed or modified by the Council of Elders. One slave voluntarily enslaved herself under that law, so you are slave until death or a company director frees you."
He watched their disappointment, then said, "However, I have pledged to honor the food, medical care and education stipulations of the leasing contract. One other thing, the enhanced slaves will not be going off planet unless I place them on a ship myself. It is far too easy to reprogram you, the former Happy Slaves amongst you will attest to that." There was a rumble of thunder, and he glanced at the sky, adding, "I know that you are tired, you are dirty and you wish to clean yourselves and rest. However, it is not all bad news. Christine, please stand up," and a startled girl stood. Eddie unlocked her leash, gently turning her around. "This is 51720, also known as Christine. She is now first slave, she speaks with my voice, you will obey her commands like you would mine, you will submit to her discipline like you will mine. She will also be bunking with you, and will be reporting to me on a regular basis, so any concerns you have may be expressed to her." He glowered, adding, "I will not be pleased with any slave who decides to become physical with her. Lastly, I am aware that the masks you wear are ... unpopular. I have obtained a license that will permit you to wear a cloth mask, however they have not yet arrived. As you cannot go unmasked, you will wear these until then. If you forget the cloth mask, you will once again be locked into the leather one." He saw P'ala arrive, adding, "Your court seals will now be removed and your hands freed. If you wish to bathe, the ocean is a few hundred meters that way. Please do not go deeper than the top of your belt, as I understand the currents are strong here." There was a strong crack of thunder, and he said, "On the second thought, do not go in the ocean. P'ala?"
"I will need a work detail to fetch the remaining prisoners and confine them until their executions," she said. "Please line up, 51720 will indicate the work detail."
"Christine," Eddie corrected her quietly.
------------------------
While his slaves waited for the few sonic showers, Eddie stopped to see the prisoners bound outside in the rain. With a gentle hand, he brushed the hair away from the female's eyes as she stood, arms outstretched and bound by the wrists and shoulders to a strong beam.
"Thank you," she said, with a wan smile.
"May I get you anything?" he asked, a tracking collar locked on her throat.
She gave a throaty chuckle, "I assume mercy is out of the question."
"That is a safe assumption," P'ala said dryly from where she stood. "You have been sentenced to death for the murder of twenty-five slaves. However, if you are willing to co-operate in informing us on the corruption you know of in the Council..."
The prisoner's stomach rumbled, and she blushed. Edward raised an eyebrow, "Have you been fed?"
"I ... don't know if I can, watching ... watching my male, my ..."
Eddie stroked his chin, wishing for a razor, and said, "Unfortunately, all we have is cold gruel. We need to unlock the facilities systems in order to have hot food, electricity, computer use..."
The prisoner swallowed, "I will do so, and tell you what you wish, but I wish to ... to be buried with ... with my male ..."
P'ala said, "I will do so, and give you a quick death." She turned to the two WorkForce agents, "As far as you both go, access to your ship and files will give you a quick death. What do you wish done with your corpses?"
------------------------
Tuesday, November 13, 2001:
London, The Strand, Thistle Holiday Inn: 10:26: (GMT)
------------------------
"Lois? I'm here in London, what did you want to show me?"
"A few secrets, chief. Room 1024 of the Holiday Inn, right?"
"That's right, but..." there was a knock on the door, he told his cell, "Just a minute." He went to open it, to find Lois and Clark there. "Clark, I thought I assigned you a story on that sewer inspector."
"Already filed, chief," his best feature reporter said with his 'aw-shucks' grin. "Waiting in the editing queue."
Perry grumbled, stepping aside. "Well, come in, then." He knew Clark's stories rarely needed much editing. Good education, that boy. Coffee gurgled in the bathroom, and he sat down to put his shoes back on. "What did you want to tell me?"
"A few fairly large secrets, including what I've been doing for the past several months," Lois said. "However, you'll have to bury the stories." She raised her hand, "I know what you think, if I were in your shoes it would be a tough call, I'd want to print. People need to know, but in this case, it needs to be filed under 'necessary secrets'. People's lives are in danger if we publish, including ours, yours and Mattie's."
"I still want to see her for myself," Perry said, waving off the warning. Once the President of the United States threatened you, in person, everything else was small beer.
"She's part of the secret," Clark replied. "Lois has the Queen's permission to let you know, if you'll agree to bury. If not..." he shrugged, "Enjoy London, and I'll see you back at the Planet."
"This is big enough for you to bury?" he said, "Especially you, Lois?"
His toughest reporter, Lois Lane, globally feared by politicians to the point of incontinence, subject of innumerable death threats and frequent kidnap victim, nodded. "These stories are big enough for me to bury, chief, and it's not just because of the Queen. I gave my word."
"Damn you, I need a cigar and a minute," Perry grumbled.
"Non-smoking room, chief," Clark said.
"I'll smoke on the damn balcony," he snapped.
After a few minutes when Perry stood on the balcony, lit stogie in hand as he stared at the London skyline, he grunted, flipping the cigar over the side and re-entered the room. He waved a hand, saying, "Sit down, won't you? I'll decide on a case-by-case basis. What's the first one?"
"The first one, chief, is one that we've debated telling you about," Clark offered as he stood behind Lois' chair. He shuffled a bit in nervousness, then blurred into Superman.
"Clark, I'm an editor, not an idiot," Perry said, unimpressed. "You think I hadn't figured it out? You screwed up with your travel vouchers, I've known for years. Why do you think I assigned Lois all the Superman stories?" He picked up his coffee, only to wince, "Cold, damn it."
"Move your hand, please," Superman said, as Lois gaped at Perry. He took another sip, then said, "Thanks. Now, does the next involve my niece Mattie, or one of her companies, and I still want to see her."
Superman blurred back to Clark as Lois said, "I'll take you to see her. She's in school now, but first I want you to meet Albus." She smiled, "Albus Dumbledore."
------------------------
"Albus Dumbledore, I would like to introduce my good friend and editor of the Daily Planet, Perry White."
Albus flipped his towel over his shoulder, smiling widely, "Mr. White, it is indeed an honor!" As he shook Perry's hand, he looked at Lois, who simply smiled. "I presume that you're here in reference to the Reporter?"
"No, Clark and I decided that we really needed to let Perry know about some things," Lois said.
"Ah, the estimable Mr. Kent. Wonderful fellow indeed." He gazed at Perry, then called back, "Tom, I'm going to have a long lunch." There was an inarticulate grunt from the back, and Albus said, "Let us get a table, and a cup of tea."
------------------------
"That was..." Perry asked.
"A house-elf," Albus replied, and sighed. "Miss Wayne has funded their manumission, which was indeed long overdue. Not one of the better points in our history, I'm afraid. I'm certain you're aware of her feelings toward slavery in general."
"The entire planet is, but she's been concealing this?"
"Among other things," Albus agreed. "She has gotten some resistance from the more conservative elements in our society, the ones who feel 'Good enough for Grandfather, good enough for me.'" He sighed, "Until she started school at Hogwarts, we were completely unaware of things like cell phones, computers, and the Internet. We had been stuck in, at least, the early 1900's, which is when our most recent textbooks were published. I believe Ms. Lane can go into our recent publishing history, and our governmental problems." He motioned to Perry's teacup, "Drink up, Mr. White, tea is good for you. I believe it would be instructive to have a walk along the Alley. In particular, Ms. Lane, please take him by Ollivander's. It is surprising how many people have magical blood and don't know it."
------------------------
"382 BC," Perry said, shaking his head. "I can't believe a business has been open that long."
"Only six hundred years in that location," Lois said, drinking her tea and watching the bustling crowd pass Florean's. "According to Mr. Ollivander, at least."
"So when do I see my niece?" Perry asked, setting down his coffee.
"Her morning class is a little messy, according to Minerva, her Headmistress. Give her a chance to shower and change. Read the paper, she'll be here."
"You might have to help with the crossword," Mattie said from behind Perry, who jumped. She grinned, giving him a hug. She motioned Arthur over, "Uncle Perry, this is my boyfriend, Arthur Morton. Arthur, Perry White, editor of the Daily Planet."
"Honored, sir," Arthur said as he shook hands. They sat, and there was an uncomfortable silence before Perry leaned forward, "Arthur, was it?" He nodded, and Perry asked "What are your intentions regarding my niece?"
"Uncle Perry!" Mattie wiggled the fingers of her left hand, her right in Arthur's. "I've got a promise ring, so back off, or I'll go Gotham on you." She glowered at him, Arthur shooting her a look.
"All right, all right," Perry conceded. "It's traditional for male relatives, I remember what I was like at that age." He regarded the two teenagers, "Lois has just let me in on some secrets, I had no idea this... society existed."
"I've been threatened by Mr. Wayne, Mr. Kent, and both of Mattie's brothers, why should you be left out?" Arthur grinned crookedly, adding, "About one in a thousand are witches and wizards," Arthur said. "I'm sure you can understand the reasons for keeping it a secret." He nodded his thanks to Florean, who had brought over his favorite blackberry tea, along with coffee for Mattie and Perry. Lois waved off a refill, then waved her finger in a circle, "Would you be so kind?"
"You mean cast a spell? Do magic?" Mattie grinned, then waved a hand and a shimmering blue privacy spell enclosed them. "Showoff," Arthur muttered.
"Give me a break, it's one I can do," she shot back, then explained to Perry, "Different people have strengths and weaknesses here, like anywhere else. I generally suck at spellcasting and charms, I'm fairly good at potions and alchemy, and I'm a moderately good athlete."
"And you're a hell of a businesswoman," Lois said with a grin. "The last information I heard was there was a series of genes that had to be 'on' in order to do magic. The more genes that were on, the more power the individual had. I have a few on, I'm what they call a 'squib', these two have more turned on, they're witches and wizards."
"I don't, which is why I couldn't do anything with those wands," Perry said. He glanced at Arthur, "What about you, son?"
"Spells and charms I'm fairly good at," he said. "Where I fall down is herbology, plants and things, like the class we just had. I'm not much of an athlete, where this one," he ruffled Mattie's hair, "Is Olympic-class." He shrugged, "Different people. My sister's good at herbology and spells, she sucks in potions." He eyed his girlfriend, "That could be just Professor Snape." He held up his hand, "Let's not start, shall we?"
"Let's not," Lois said. "Professor Snape is Mattie's Head of House, and Potion Master, and is a rather grumpy, cynical type. He can also be rather intimidating, especially to a pre-teen." She changed her focus, "Now, what were you telling Arthur the other night. What's the big secret?"
Arthur cleared his throat, "If I may, I received an email from Mr. Kent. The entire text was four words: 'Confirmed. 400 meter error.'"
"Oh, god," Mattie said as she covered her face with her hands. "I so hoped I was wrong."
"What?" Lois hissed. "What is this?"
"This is die-before-talking, above nuclear secrets, above the identities of the JLA, above revealing my family's secrets, Aunt Lois." Mattie said. "Arthur is the sixth person on this planet to know, my own blood relatives don't know this. That's why I want a wizard's oath from you before revealing this, you CANNOT print this. Is that understood?"
Lois was thunderstruck, "If I print..."
"... the oath would normally strip your magic," Arthur replied. "As a squib, the associated charm would kill you when it detected the attempt." He leaned forward, "Ms. Lane, this secret is that important. If you can't give it, and I won't hold it against you if you decide you can't, we'll wish you a good day."
"What about me?" Perry asked. "I can't give that kind of an oath."
"No, sir," Mattie said. "We would use a blood oath on you, a bit of black magic I learned, or you can wait outside the spell." She held his eyes, adding, "I'm going to require the same kind of oath from Uncle Clark."
"You're going to ask Superman to sign a blood oath?" Perry asked in shock.
Mattie nodded, "Because he's vulnerable to magic, it could be forced out of him that way." Sighing, she said, "I could really use your help, your advice on another problem, but we need to resolve this question. What's your answer?"
"Damnit, I need another cigar," Perry said, reaching inside his coat.
"Let me drop the spell, then," Mattie said. "Smoke molecules are bigger than air molecules. Second-hand smoke, you know," she grinned, waving her hand.
"Now I wish I had that coffee," Lois said. Arthur stood and waved at the counter, a house-elf came out.
"No offense son, but why are you here?" Perry asked Arthur after the elf left, moving his untouched coffee aside to lean forward.
"He is my boyfriend," Mattie said as Lois sipped her coffee.
"Give an old newsman a break," Perry said. Turning to Arthur, "You look like a nice enough young fellow, and she's clearly fond of you, but she's only thirteen and you can't be much older. Which makes it a little early for her to be introducing you to the extended family. So why are you here?"
Arthur remained silent long enough that it was almost a surprise when he did answer. "Mostly, to provide an independent viewpoint."
"Explain that one to me, son."
Arthur said slowly, "Mattie is a 'big picture' person. She thinks big, she plans big and she executes big."
"Fairly obvious, son. Go on."
"It is, but sometimes she forgets that big pictures are made up of lots of little pictures, most of which belong to other people."
Mattie interjected, capturing Arthur's hand again, "He stands up to me when I'm wrong, backs me when I'm right and when almost everyone else in the world thought I was dead, he never once lost faith. I trust his judgment even when I don't agree with him."
"In that case, he has to know pretty much everything," Perry noted, and they simply regarded him.
'What secrets do those two hold?' Perry asked himself. As young as they were, he saw some of the same love he saw between Lois and Clark and between himself and his wife Alice. Knowing Mattie as he did, it failed to surprise him. "Son, I don't envy you that job."
"It's not the kind of job that should go to anyone who wants it," Aurthur replied quietly.
"Just to someone who can do it," Mattie added.
------------------------
Perry White leaned on a railing sightlessly looking along the alley, lit stogie in his hand and thought. There had been some rather odd speculation about his niece in the newsroom, especially regarding her push to ... his thoughts slithered to a stop. 'Confirmed by Superman,' he thought. 'Could it be? Could she have... If this is published, it's the story of ... and I'm being asked to bury it. Because this story can't be published, if it's what I think. If I did, circulation would go through the roof, but hell, if I did, the death toll...' His decision made, he took his first and last draft on the stogie, then strode back to the table.
"Wayne," he told his niece, "I'll write the story I think it is. If you confirm it, it's buried. I'll want to see your data before I agree to bury it, and I'll take your blood oath. If you don't agree, it's published." He turned to look at Lois, "Lane, you have an idea what it is?"
She nodded, "Same conditions, Wayne. I don't see Perry's, he doesn't see mine, but you'll see both. No one else, including Clark or Arthur, here."
"Agreed," she said, extending her hand, which the other two took.
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Wednesday, November 14, 2001:
Pakistan, Tora Bora: 20:06 (GMT + 5)
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The young seeming black haired woman watched from the shadows as the tall, frail old man struggled to find rest. Pale, she wore a silver ankh necklace, as she watched him shiver in the stolen US Army sleeping bag, laid out on the cold cave floor. As he finally stilled, she took a few steps, crouching next to him and saying in soft Arabic, "Osama, come."
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Thursday, November 15, 2001:
Taurus Aurielius, Docks: 21:29 (relative)
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Sandra Woosan moaned, and heard a young woman's dryly amused voice, "I believe the traditional question is 'Where am I?' The answer is in the cargo bay of my shuttle." She heard footsteps, and the owner of the voice continued, "Don't bother trying to move, you're in my device, and while you are, you've got a temporary neural block." Sandra turned her head (about all she could do), and saw a nondescript young blonde wearing a short yellow turtleneck under a comfortably-worn tan jumpsuit. She took a seat, sitting on the edge of a metal stool. She was right-handed, wearing a laser pistol, the holster tied to her thigh. The legs of her jumpsuit were tucked into black knee boots with a low heel as she pulled a white plastic console on an arm into place in front of her. Smiling, she said, "You may, for the next few minutes while we talk, call me Pamela, and you are?"
"Sandra, Sandra Woosan," she said as she tried to move her body. "What's going on, why am I here?"
"You're here, Sandra Sandra Woosan, because you stood out in that bar when you fought off that drunken Khund with only a staff. By doing so, you drew my attention. Admittedly, you were fighting in self defense, and you didn't kill him, but to your misfortune and my future profit, I happen to be a member in good standing of the Slaver's Guild. As for what's going on, I've already placed a nice, tight slave belt on you, your hip implant has been reset to 'slave', and once I push that button there, you'll be collared."
"You can't do that! It's illegal!"
"Actually, I'm perfectly legal," Pamela replied, unruffled. "I have a transit license from the local Guild, which lets me buy and sell slaves locally. Generally, as a courtesy, a transit licensee will go through the Guild's market, and since my particular market is fighting slaves, I was glad to take some of their more unruly slaves off their hands." She fluttered a hand up, "Already taken up to my ship. A few months of proper training and conditioning, and they'll be ready to fight in one of my pits. Admittedly, you're more of a kidnapping than an enslavement, but that really won't matter in a few hours, will it?" She smiled, "I've done this before, and not had any problems. Now, who was your Okkaran training master?"
"Who?" Sandra blinked in confusion. "I don't know what you're talking about, I haven't committed any crime!"
"Native talent!" Pamela clapped her hands together in glee. "Oh, am I going to make tungsten off you! The Warlords of Okkara?" Sandra shook her head, and Pamela squealed in delight, "Oh, a barbarian! You're going to be worth that 'special export license' fee!"
She leaned forward, ruffling her captive's hair, "As far as breaking the law, are you telling me that you've never driven too fast? Never cheated on your taxes, a bounty hunter not breaking the law?" She smiled, "I admit that I ... assisted ... your co-operation last night, chemically. A little tiny patch on your neck, it was necessary after I darted you."
Pamela grinned, a friendly smile, "Not that the information is going to do you any good, in a few hours you'll be another slave in my holds. I doubt anyone will ask, but after covering your bar bill and assisting you here after you were injured in that fight, I offered and provided medical assistance. Now, med-tanks are expensive, when I requested compensation for my expenses, you declined to pay. Very rude of you, so I checked local law for the port. Failure to pay a justified expense like medical treatment when presented, or failing to make arrangements to pay said bill is grounds for a collar."
Leaning forward, she tapped the device Sandra was locked into, "Given that you took out a Khund, I've got this set for 'Extreme Security'. You're not getting a standard slave collar, you're getting a security control collar. I'm not taking chances on you, you're already wearing wrist and ankle cuffs that are high security, like your slave belt." She patted Sandra's exposed head, "Normally, when I've got a slave stretched out like you are, I would just set this for the common belt and collar, but not you!"
Sandra coughed, and Pamela opened a bottle of water, taking a gulp and then holding if for her prisoner. Sandra nodded, "Thank you. This thing does the belts and collars?"
"Yes, we insert a bar of 'slaver's steel' in the machine, every so often we buy a new bar from the Guild. They're the only ones that know what it's made of, they also make the usual cuffs, chains and so forth." She patted the machine, "I'm not interested in renting you out for rape, so it's seamless, your belt only has the standard connections for elimination of your wastes, and like my other slaves compresses your waist." She took a gulp of water, "It doesn't seem to have affected their fighting style."
Sandra twisted her head, "You can wear them if you like it so much!" Her head turned, trying to follow her captor, "You said everything's removable. I was unconscious, let me out of this thing, and I'll pay you!"
Pamela walked back into her captive's sight. "Now why would I settle for five hundred grams for a medical bill when I have so much more available when you're collared? Yes, in theory it's removable, but that really doesn't matter. You'd need to be locked into this again, and have someone else run it. Since you're a slave, no one will even think about it without a court order, and who will argue for you? I certainly won't, your hip implant is already reset to slave, I'm registered as your owner, transmitted to the Guild, I've paid taxes on you, all that legal nonsense. Automation is a wonderful thing, however, I want to be fair." Sandra turned her head, as Pamela came to a decision. "We'll go to your ship, if your mate pays my bill, I'll sell you to him for that amount. I won't even charge extra for the collar and registration fees. However," she leaned close to Sandra, "If all you have is a slave or two, then as a slave, you can't own them. I'll file a claim on them and your ship with the court. With that title, I'll leave the ship with a broker and sell off your slaves." She watched Sandra's face, adding, "You should have freed at least one."
Sandra fought with her unresponsive limbs, changing the subject, "Were you saying that any person walking by a slaver can be kidnapped, enslaved and sold off?"
"Of course not," Pamela looked offended. "We do have a code of conduct, ethics codes and so forth. No, the citizens of this world, and others, are perfectly safe, as long as they follow the law." She leaned forward to tap Sandra's nose, "You did, but you also beat a Khund unconscious, and that's going to draw attention." She shrugged, "That's not safe, but then I would wager you don't travel in convoy, either. It's too slow for you."
"Of course," Sandra agreed warily.
"Convoys are where I make my money," Pamela said. "All those bored crews and the passengers on the liners, they get tired of looking at the passing stars, and so I offer them blood sports. If they wish, they can watch from the comfort and safety of their ships while my slaves have bloody fights in the sand pits. Since I'm also a very safe means of transport, I carry other, more ... inconvenient prisoners as well, like Princess Q'nan." She sat back on the stool, "I really must thank you, I'll be able to collect the bounty on her and you've done all the work."
"What about pirates?"
Pamela made a dismissive, flipping gesture. "Pirates attack single ships, not convoys. That's why insurance is available for ships in convoy, not a single ship traveling alone. However, it also means they travel at the speed of the slowest ship, your greatest danger is before you enter or after leaving a convoy. No, the risk to your average citizen from a slaver is if your ship captain doesn't know what she's doing and falls prey to a pirate, or they run foul of a government dirt side." She gestured out the open cargo hatch, "A government wants to stay in power, their 'misguided' citizens are arrested for some reason, duly convicted and collared. Before their equally misguided relatives can buy them, they're sold to someone like me who ships them off-planet."
"That can't be right!"
"Who said it was right? Right or wrong has nothing to do with it, it's law, and that's where an average citizen is at risk, by drawing the government's attention. If they keep their nose clean and pay their taxes, the government ignores them. I'm at risk if I haven't paid off the government, what I call a bribe, they call a transit license." She made a dismissive gesture, "I don't care about local politics, whichever government is in power knows enough not to piss off the Guilds. I keep my licenses current, don't go looking for trouble, and carry on the family business. You didn't think all the slaves you see on the streets were from WorkForce, did you? They'd love to have the market share, but most of them were imported from off-world, just like you'll be exported to another world and resold there." She linked her fingers, "Are you just off the farm? The Guild and local governments have been supporting each other for millions of years. We take care of their problems, they provide legal protection and markets."
She pulled the console on its arm in front of her again. "I've enjoyed the chat, but we need to get back to work. My brother David will be back soon from the courthouse, he'll need to use the machine." She made some adjustments, idly commenting, "This is a top-mark machine, it had to be built as part of this custom shuttle by WorkForce. All sorts of optional things you can plug in, including a way to remove enhancement. By the way, you won't be enhanced, just a common collar. Enhanced slaves don't fight well, they're too predictable. Open your mouth, please, I'm going to gag you for a few hours. I got a hundred free gags with the machine. Otherwise, your scream will disturb the night watch on the neighboring ships."
------------------------
Sandra stumbled behind her new mistress, a leash locked on her neck below her collar, her body aching. Pamela nodded politely to a passing Port Authority Guard, who politely returned it, wishing her "Fair night, citizen. May I escort you somewhere?"
"Thank you, no, citizen Guardsman. My new slave is going to show me something of interest, her former ship."
"May I see her chip, please?" the Guardsman inquired. He moved under a light as Pamela kicked Sandra's knee, gesturing for her to drop to them. The evening breeze lifted the hem of Sandra's sheer white smock, the yellow woven belt tying it on her left side. He looked at Pamela, "She was registered an hour ago. Why are you out walking with her? This is long after the markets have closed, where did you purchase her from?"
"She refused payment on a debt, it's a legal collar. Fair night, Guardsman," Pamela said, jerking on Sandra's leash.
"Please don't move, citizen," the Guard said pleasantly, his hand dropping to his weapon. "I am most curious, what debt did she refuse to honor?"
"Medical, from a bar fight," Pamela said, tugging on Sandra's leash. "Come on, slave!"
"Don't move, slave," the Guardsman said, who whimpered obediently. "Were you a slave yesterday? Were you the subject of a private sale?" The girl whimpered twice, emphatically. He looked the kneeling girl over, "Small female slave, slanted eyes, black hair in two circular disks over her ears, you match the description I have of a free female who defended herself successfully from a drunken Khund using only a wooden staff. She was last reported being assisted from the tavern by a blonde female wearing a Slaver's Guild under-tunic and a tan ship-suit. Yet now, you are gagged and wearing a slave collar. Did your mate refuse to pay your debts?"
The girl whimpered twice, and the Guardsman looked over at Pamela. "I recognize you now. Questions had arisen about some of the citizens that had fallen to your collar, however we did not have cause to violate the sanctity of your ship. However, you are not now aboard your ship, you are on a public street in the port with a freshly-collared slave, after market hours. You also state you wish to retrieve something ... don't move, citizen!" His sidearm was pointing at Pamela, he told her, "Face the wall, citizen, feet apart. Slave, circle behind me, back up to her and extract her sidearm from the holster, drop it next to my foot." With a whimper, Sandra did so, the Guardsman told her, "Kneel, head to the ground. Citizen, hands apart on the wall, half a step back." There was the ratcheting sound of handcuffs, the Guardsman said, "I have cause to investigate a possible kidnapping and illegal enslavement." He looped the end of Sandra's leash around Pamela's neck, telling Sandra, "Slave, lead me to your ship."
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Saturday, November 17, 2001:
Taurus Aurielius, Docks, Bay 646: 07:29 (relative)
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The Port's roaming Judge rang the chimes, telling the people gathered before him, "This court is now in session. For the duration of this hearing, all witnesses will be considered equal before the law. Guardsman, your report?"
"Thank you, milord," he said. "Late, two nights ago, I encountered two persons in the dock area of bay 755, a blonde female wearing the colors of the Slaver's Guild and a small black-haired female slave wearing her leash. Upon inquiry, I had cause to detain both, suspecting a possible kidnapping and illegal enslavement. The black-haired slave was the owner of the starship Blade, renting bay 757, the blonde female a co-owner of the shuttle in this bay. With her owner's enslavement, the Blade, her cargo and her crew of slaves would then be available at port auction, I have placed a block on that lot pending resolution of this case."
The Guardsman turned, "I requested that both ships, this one and Blade, be blocked from departure clearance by the port, as I recognized the blonde female. Previous to this, questions had arisen about some of the persons collared by her, however, the ship had cleared orbit and was thus out of jurisdiction. That night, the citizen was on a public street in the port, she claimed non-payment of medical expenses. An inquiry with the Slaver's Guild matched the Port's records, she has used the same reason in three previous cases over the last year, milord." He looked at Pamela, "In all cases, the subjects of those collars were the victors of bar brawls, she assisted them to this shuttle, in the previous cases one must presume they woke up slave aboard her ship. In this case, however, she became greedy, and wished to obtain two additional slaves and a starship. She had already filed claim forms with Greel and Daughters, licensed starship brokers for the Blade. I have also blocked that claim pending the determination of this case, milord."
"What of the bar fight, who started it?" the Judge asked.
"Milord, from what the barman says, the Khund started it, the subject was simply the object of the Khund's attention, she defended herself with a staff and did not kill him." He turned, looking into the open cargo hatch, "Milord, I can see a staff from here that matches description, and what looks like a bundle of clothing on a table that matches what the subject is described as wearing. I formally request permission to enter the ship to retrieve these items."
"I believe it likely, you have the court's permission, with the owner's permission this court will relocate inside the cargo bay, out of the sun." Pamela shrugged, and the court moved.
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"She was treated for injuries sustained in the bar brawl, the Judge said. "What injuries were those?"
One of the court baliffs touched the med-tank's readouts, "Cuts, bruises, a broken wrist, and she was removed treated, but unconscious," he said. "Timestamp 20:58," he added.
"Dragged across the cargo bay to the machine," the Judge mused. "Still naked from the med-tank of course, locked in place at what time?" he asked the local WorkForce rep, who swallowed nervously from the console, "Fi... five minutes later, milord. Ankles and wrists while the belt was being formed in place. Everything set for extreme security. Implant was read, then changed and updated, the information sent to the Guild and the Port with... her slave number. About ten minutes later, she's collared. I don't know why the delay."
"Were you ever asked to pay for your medical treatment?" the Judge asked. Sandra whimpered twice, definitively.
"Why is this slave still gagged?" the Judge asked, turning to Sandra and asking, "Have you been fed or watered today?" She whimpered twice again.
"While she is being watered, what is the contents of her bag?" the Judge inquired.
One of the guards replied, "Three and a half kilos in coin, small hairbrush, small tube of red paste, Owner's wand to a starship... slave control chip for the slave in question, keys, small slave control unit..." There was some coughing, and the slave said, "Please, master, my chip..."
"Place her chip in the controller," the WorkForce fellow said. "An extreme security collar gives increasing levels of pain to the slave the longer it is out of a controller. She must feel like dying."
Sandra sighed in relief as it was inserted, saying, "Ahh. Thank you."
"Thank you, master," the Judge corrected her. He told Pamela, "I am not pleased with your treatment of this slave. What is the typical range of a control chip?"
"One hundred meters or so outside the ship, but in port, she would be controlled by the Port's system, so she could walk about and perform her tasks," the Slaver's Guild representative said. "I hope you don't think that the Guild promotes our members collaring passer-by off the street!" she quickly added. "All our merchandise is properly and lawfully enslaved before sale."
"And yet that is the case your member is making," the Judge replied. "There are sufficient doubts in my mind that I will ask for an audit of your members' records over the last... year, I think. For now, transhipment of slaves through the port is locked until the slave's record is examined." He leaned forward, "I am certain that the Guild will be fully co-operative, records falsification is of course a crime and will merit the Guild member one of their own collars." The Guild representative was pale, she nodded dumbly.
Turning to the WorkForce sales-being, the Judge said, "I find in favor of the victim. Lock her in the machine and remove her collar and belt." He addressed the slave, "Unfortunately, enslavement removes your legal identity. Once your collar is removed and you are freed, I will take your suggestion on a suitable punishment for such identity theft, battery, false imprisonment, attempted kidnapping and illegal enslavement as you might prefer. I may not do so, but you might speak your wishes." He looked at the WorkForce man, "Well, get to it!"
With a light sheen of nervous sweat, he motioned the girl to kneel in place, and locked her in, almost forgetting the small secondary ring that emplaced the leash collar. Sliding one of his two company issued over-ride chips in place, he stretched her taught as she grunted. He licked his lips, not liking the guard looking over his shoulder as he reviewed the settings, then asked the girl, "Ready?"
"Get this damned thing off my neck," she said, and he pushed the button. She screamed as the seconds ticked on, the 'Operation Complete' light finally coming on. He keyed the remote release, he had heard about this wench, and she was ejected onto the deck, where she lay, moaning softly.
Still collared. Still belted. Still a slave.
"I don't know what could be wrong..." he muttered, looking over the controls. "This is brand-new hardware, a new model, this is only the third collar its placed..."
"Master, may I suggest an experiment?" the blonde slave asked the Judge. "Perhaps we should verify basic function of the device. Would you declare me slave, then free me?"
"Why should I do this, why should I free you?" the Judge asked.
"Master, I've read the law. In this system bred slaves are illegal, they must be enslaved on a case-by-case basis. I request my freedom on this basis, I am the sixty-third generation of slaves from my homeworld, although my former mistress was not the one to enslave me. In addition, we must also have clear title to the Blade and the other two slaves. If I am freed, I will accept that title, as I have served on that ship."
The Judge gazed at her for a minute, then said, "I am heartily sick of adjudicating cases regarding slave ownership. Very well, we'll do so, but what about a collar and belt?"
"Master, I would much rather not," she replied. "I might wind up in the same situation as that girl. We can continue the experiment, if successful with me, we can try to remove..." she looked around, focusing on Markos. "His collar and belt. If I am granted title to the ship and slaves, I will free him."
"I can at least free two slaves today, possibly three," the Judge grumbled. "Very well, while not the best logic, it will do. Proceed," he told the WorkForce agent, and she knelt in place, and screamed as her implant was updated.
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"My implant was changed from 'slave' to 'slave', and then to 'free', correct?" the blonde wearing the tracking collar and cuffs asked from where she knelt in the machine.
"Correct," the WorkForce rep said, relieved something was finally going right for himself and his company. She turned, asking one of the Port Guardsmen, "Citizen, would you please independently verify this?"
He disconnected the small read-write device from her left hip, scanning it with his portable unit, then looked up at her, "Verified, citizen."
"Thank you, citizen," she replied with a sunny smile, turning to the Judge, "Milord, it is my understanding that enslavement removes previous legal history."
"Correct," he agreed. "Where are you going with this, citizen?"
"Having been enslaved, and now freed, my previous person is no more, just as that girl's history is no more, correct?" The puzzled Judge nodded as she continued, "Milord, with your consent, and with the girl's, I will assume the ownership of the Blade, and ownership of two slaves, one male, and one female."
"Milord, I need a new identity," the girl continued. "If I become ... Diijon, I have clear title to the Blade, sparing the court adjucation of that case. I also have clear title to both slaves. Should this be granted, I will request immediate manumission of the male slave, as he has existing Guild Engineering ratings. I will offer him a position aboard the Blade as Engineer at Guild rates."
"If you become ... did you say Diijon?" The girl nodded, and the Judge continued, "You will need to transfer the ship's licenses to your new name, and you have already lost any Guild ratings you may have had. You will have to pass the certification examinations again, and you cannot carry passengers without a Guild certified crew."
"Master, is there any Guild barrier to carrying slaves without certification?" the black haired slave asked from where she knelt.
The Slaver's Guild representative spoke up, "The ship already has a Slaver's Guild transport license, required to transport slaves as cargo or crew. To collar a slave, you would need a trader's license upgrade."
Diijon thought for a moment, then said, "Milord, the female slave is more difficult. If her collar and belt can be removed, if she can be freed, I will retake the Guild examination before departure, and accept her as free crew, with the requirement that she gain Guild ratings."
"Why should I agree to the transfer of ownership?" The Judge asked. "I can see your desire to obtain the ship and the two slaves. However, if she remains a judicial slave, what then?"
"Master, may I confer privately with her?" the petite, black-haired slave asked. The Judge nodded, she approached the girl, her ankles short-chained as a precaution. She bent over, her hands still cuffed behind her. She quietly said, "You know the reason you're wearing that tracking collar?"
"Local law," the blonde replied, equally quietly. "All slaves are collared, that's why I agreed. I also know we were headed away from the Empire when we stopped here, and you didn't care about what my implant said, once I explained the Empire. If you're willing to cooperate with me, all three of us can get out of here intact and with the Blade." She looked at the other girl, "What are you thinking?"
"That I have a bad feeling my collar and belt are on me for good. If that's true, I'm going to be playing slave for a long time with you, or I'll be a for-real slave with someone else. I think we'd better disguise ourselves and head for someplace safe. For now, I call you 'Mistress'."
"And I call you 'slave', in public at least," Diijon agreed. "Neither means anything between the three of us."
"Agreed," the black haired slave said as she resumed her place, kneeling with a slither of chain. "Master, I agree. I will go with Mistress Diijon, as crew, free or as her slave. I will seek Spacer's Guild ratings in either event."
"If you remain a judicial slave?" he asked.
"Master, what would be the difference between a judicial collar and my current one?" the slave asked.
The WorkForce rep shrugged, "Changing your lights, you're wearing one now."
"If her collar and belt cannot be removed, I would request of the court an order granting her freedom and the removal of her collar and belt to be accomplished in another jurisdiction," Diijon said. "I would also request the co-operation of WorkForce in granting such an order. Until then, I have promised her that I will not sell her, and treat her well."
"Girl, what think you?" the Judge asked. "I will give your title to Mistress Diijon, along with the court order. Until your implant and collar can be changed, if not removed, you will still have the appearance of a judicial slave, with or without the court order. If you try to exercise the court order by yourself, it is likely to be taken as an attempted forgery and an escape attempt. It seems like the best option for you, you are still a de-facto slave, if not one in law, you would otherwise be put in the market."
The girl paused for a second, then said, "I don't think slaves generally get to choose their owners, master." There was a chuckle, and she added, "I will submit to Mistress Diijon, and accept a position as crew aboard the Blade, if my collar and belt cannot be removed today."
"It could be a problem with my override chip," the WorkForce fellow admitted. "It is brand new equipment, I have one other."
"If you can remove the male's collar and belt, we can verify his freedom," the Judge said. "We can then try that chip with the girl. For now, remove the tracking collar and free Mistress Diijon from her cuffs and the machine." He addressed the girl, "If this attempt does not work, I will order your lights changed to a judicial collar, this will ensure that the court order is treated as accurate, so you will not be accused of a forgery."
Diijon was rubbing her wrists, she took a few steps and slid five hundred-gram coins to Pamela, "For the use of your med-tank on my slave. I presume Guild rates are acceptable?"
"I think so," the Judge said as the machine was clamped in place on Markos' neck.
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"I don't understand it," he moaned, "That should have worked, it's new equipment, new chip, new everything..." he shook his head and sighed. "When I get the manuals for this, I'll have to check..."
"You don't have the manuals?" the Judge snapped, and the rep blanched.
"No, milord, they're backordered, like the new override chips, but these should have worked, and they did work for him."
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As Markos was sealed in the med-tank for the repair of his nervous system, the Judge looked sternly at the WorkForce agent. "You were able to free him of a common collar and belt. The slave is subject to a court order, can you change her collar to a judicial collar, or shall I send her someplace else? She has suffered quite a bit with this machine, I would spare her the pain."
"Pain?" he asked, eyes blinking. "That's factory def..." he said, trailing off at the Judge's expression. "No, I can change that without a problem. Girl?" For the fourth time, the girl's neck was inserted, lights flashed, and the Judge asked, "Did it hurt?"
"No, master," she replied, glaring at Pamela as Diijon slid five more coins to Pamela, motioning to the occupied med-tank. "For my crewman," she said as she looked at the Judge. "I have full title to the Blade and this slave?" she verified.
"You do," he affirmed. "Slave, you are the victim here, among others. What would you like done?"
The petite black haired slave glared at Pamela, then said, "Master, she wanted to use me in blood sports, in a fighting ring. I would give her the choice of a fight with me, or one of these collars she's so fond of."
The blonde slaver's face paled to match her hair, "She can't fight me, she's a slave!" Diijon moved behind her slave, with a small set of clicks, the girl's hands and feet were freed, and she moved into a ready position.
"Yet it seems ... just somehow," the Judge said. "If she does it at the court's order, there is no penalty accruing to the slave. Choose, or I shall."
The slaver swallowed, then took a step back, pulling down a zipper.
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"I like this judge," Diijon said as they walked back, her slave's arms full with clothing, boots and other equipment. "Not only did we get title to the Blade and you, but we also have a punitive award of the shuttle and its contents." She looked sideways, "That gag isn't too uncomfortable?"
The slave whimpered twice, her mistress said, "We'll unbuckle it when we get back to the ship. I can see why you'd want the med-tank, it would be useful, but why that collaring machine?"
Her slave gave two short whimpers, briefly touching her collar before catching a slipping boot. "Hopefully WorkForce will honor the maintenance agreement on it. In any case, the sale of this shuttle should easily finance the equipment relocation, and give the Blade a bit more tungsten in the ship's accounts." The new Captain continued, "Thank you for offering to wear the gag and your chains. Free equipment is free equipment, we have a lot to carry, and they're a new lock, Source-blast WorkForce. Once we're back to the ship, we'll take them off."
Another pedestrian saw and recognized the collared wench as they waited at a road intersection, "The Khund didn't kill her? If she's going around starting fights, we're safer if she's in a collar." The road cleared as the man walked a different way, 74482 glaring after him. Her mistress tugged at her leash, the light silver chains dangling from her black metal shackles as she clutched the boots and other clothes to her.
"You still stand out, you're still too noticeable," her owner said, stopping and looking at the girl. She took a step forward, undoing the tightly coiled hair over her ears and pulling it back, letting it fall down the back of the girl's white smock. "Better, a slave's hairstyle instead of a free female's." She tugged at it a bit here and there, "You do look good with that gag and the chains, girl. We'll discuss it when we get back to the ship." She picked up the leash, sliding it along the collar ring's track as she gave a tug, "Some people might still see you as a threat, but I can't simply lock you in a cell. We have too much to do. I want you to think on this, for the next few days, while we're on this planet, I'll treat you as a slave when we're outside the bay." The girl whimpered once, her owner said, "Just gag and chains, like you're wearing now. You'd be a typical Guild crew slave, nothing unusual. Free on board, outside the ship you're a slave. I'll get you the typical Guild crew outfit, a short skirt and top, instead of that work smock."
Her slave whimpered once, thoughtfully, as her Mistress continued, "As I said, mostly good today. I'm free, both legally and from the Empire. Markos is free, and will be joining us in three days, when he's out of the tank. We've got a guard on him, and we tried to free you, twice. The bad part is that we were unsuccessful in freeing you. I hope you're not holding equipment failure against us."
The slave mused, then whimpered twice, as her Captain continued, "I, or rather, we have free and clear title to both the Blade and you, you have a court order granting your freedom and a request for WorkForce to honor it." She grinned down at her slave, "We will have that bit of equipment installed in our cargo hold, along with the extra generators and the med-tank, which we have needed." Her slave whimpered, "I want you to eat and rest, early tomorrow we go to the market. All three of us need clothing and vac suits, and I understand there's a slave going on the block..." Her slave whimpered once in satisfaction.
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