This one is a conglomeration of three chapters.
Hear No Evil . . . (4)
PART SEVEN: Mangled Humanity and Social Darwinism
A sea of blurred green interrupted by quick flashes of red were the first things Ethan saw when the doors opened. The truck, complete with a slave trailer hitched, arrived at the State Fair early in the morning. The six slaves were rudely awakened by the Slave Sergeants pounding on the walls of the trailer.
John had shaken him awake and pointed toward the exit.
He blinked a few times to adjust his eyes to the dim light of pre-dawn. The sea of green was actually a field of grass, the flashing red were flags snapping in the soft breeze.
The Transport Sergeant became impatient with the slave standing dumbly in the doorway of the trailer. Grabbing the collar of Ethan's gray uniform, he yanked Ethan down to the ground and shoved him in line with the others.
Ethan craned to the side to view the stretching line of mangled humanity. He counted thirty-seven others awaiting new ownership.
One by one, their shackles were removed. Ethan marveled at the stupidity. Here were thirty- seven slaves, who were able to pass military standards, so are obviously semi-intelligent and fit . . . yet no one was trying to escape. Only four guards, two of them government slaves, the shackles removed- But no one was making a break for it.
Another quick look gave him his answer. Even if they did escape, where would they go?
Again, he felt his collar toughly pulled. This time not by the sergeant, but a old, fat, bearded man. Anger seeped from every pore and creased every crevice of his skin.
Ethan could barely make out what he was saying, due to the fact that the fat man was shaking him roughly. The Transport quickly ran towards the fat man, waving his arms.
The sergeant grabbed the man's arm.
"What are you doing!"
"What the fuck do you think you're trying to sellme? This little bastard's got something wrong with his head!"
Releasing his collar, the man grabbed Ethan's head with both hands and tipped it forward.
"Look. Just look! That scar runs clear down into his eye."
"Look how deep it is. He obviously has skull damage. Now, handing me a retard is one thing, but if this silly fuck goes into a seizure, like most of yours do, he might crack open his skull and be my waste of money."
"You seem to forget that the government gets a percentage of your sales. If you don't make money, neither do we."
The old man grumbled and shoved Ethan back into line. Ethan reeled back just in time to keep from knocking over one soul with a stump for a foot.
The most injured slaves, the ones not sell-able were sent to the fights.
Ethan shook off the feeling of dread and forced himself away from making a silent prayer, a cursed oath. Religion was forbidden to slaves. Do you baptize your dog? Church is where the former black slaves would scheme and plot the course of the Underground Railroad. They were aloud that one freedom to group. The slave owners of the future learned from that lesson. No slaves were aloud to speak en masse except in the confines of their sleeping quarters.
Even then, it was only on large plantations that slaves had group quarters, which usually had a hired slave-driver to monitor the conversations.
Slowly, the line was driven into the back of the auction block behind the curtain. The slaves filed into a small room, lit only by the cracks between the boards that made up the three walls of this cubicle. The fourth wall being a solid red velvet curtain. Just a portion of which
covered the rest of the stage.
Ethan peered out the crack nearest to him, bending slightly, as it was centered at nose level.
He watched dawn approach and break, thinking of his future master. He gently fingered the ugly, raised scar on his forehead and traced it down to his unharmed eye.
Whether he would be a land-slave, a plantation-worker or a fighter.
The party was in full swing, by the time Cassie's taxi pulled into the fairgrounds. It was thetypical fair. Dancers with flowing streamers, men blowing fire from their oil-greased mouths, the county WS soldiers handing out pamphlets and signing young, white men in at their booth. A bluegrass band covered the grunts of fighters and the bellows of death's approach at the ring close by. The spectators cluttered around the auction block, awaiting this day's sales. The government always had the best wares when it came to slaves. Never a sour sale.
Cassie elbowed her way into the crowd of rough men and teenagers, who waived their pink-colored parental passes to every guard and questioner. As if proud of their permission to purchase human souls to work to their deaths. Cassie stopped the quivering in her lower lip and rummaged into her back pocket for her hated pass. She knew from watching the fair sales that she would be questioned soon.
Almost as if on cue, a guard tapped her shoulder. "Pass please, ma'am."
The "ma'am" was said with a sneer. Typically, the guard was white and therefore prejudiced with a passion.
She smiled sweetly and flashed her pass to the man. He grunted. "Carry on, then."
Cassie's eye was caught by a slight ruffle of the curtain. A slave peeking out onto the crowd. The slave was average height, average weight, average . . . well average everything. He was well-built, but not bulky, sharp-looking, but not angry. The only thing even remotely eye-catching was a red, angry-looking scar on his forehead. As if he knew she was watching him, his eyes darted straight to Cassie.
She gasped aloud at the connection of his eyes. A fierce, bright blue, they seemed to look into her soul. There was electricity crackling through his gaze, sizzling into her brain. He mouthed the word "Hi"
And he was gone.
Ethan backed away from the curtain and pushed himself way back into the small enclosure, all the way back to the wall he was at earlier. He wanted to put as much distance between him and that girl as possible.
There was something about her, that he couldn't quite . . . that was it. She didn't belong there.
Superior-looking men and women, bragging about the price on their last buy and speculating their victories at this auction. She wasn't . . . there. She wasn't one of them.
Ethan found himself wondering why she looked so sad. He was already trying to think of how to make her feel better. He shook his head.
Why did I say 'hi'? What do her feelings matter to me?
A scowl formed on his face. Even the most innocent-seeming of them were malicious bastards. She would buy a slave today, proving that despite her innocent, unknowing disguise- she was no better than the mob which surrounded her.
Jake sat in one of the furnished chairs, reserved for the County Youth leaders. Just one row behind their adult counterparts, the leaders of the main association that the Youth was a branch of: The White Society.
He watched the deformed slaves fight. To the death, of course. No quarter was given to the loser, while the winner fought for his next day of life in his miserable existence.
Not that he deserved any more. It was a question of Darwinistic Evolution, a concept that when presented, was accepted with gusto by the Emperor. The strong survived, spreading their superior genes. The genetically inferior were meant to die.
He just wished it didn't have to be so damn gruesome. A quick extermination in a gas-chamber was fine with him. Why all the delight? If someone made his pet dog fight to the death . . . just sick, that's what it was.
The idea of two beasts fighting for the entertainment of the masses never appealed to Jake. However, to walk away, with the other commanders here, along with the various leaders from the upper echelons of the Society, would be a death sentence to his career. It would also be the death of fair judgment and execution of punishment for his county.
He swallowed hard as a cudgel smashed in the face of a slave with a stump for a foot. Blood and spit flew in the direction of the swing. A piece of the loser's nosebone rocketed towards Jake, smacking into the plexi-glass wall with a wet sound and dragging down the side, leaving a streak of red on the glass meant to protect the crowd from ill-tempered slaves.
The people roared at the sight of a death-blow. Slaves weren't given sharp weapons. It would make it too easy for them to commit suicide and rob the crowd of it's entertainment.
As the other slave was led away, his counterpart being dragged not too far behind, stakes were being driven into the hard-packed, dirt floor of the ring.
Jake knew what was coming next. The buzz of the spectators dulled to a few who dared to mutedly whisper. Jake turned around at the waist to look above him at the mass of people. They were lucky enough to be in the top stands which encircled the ring. Of course, being blood-starved beasts, they probably envied his seat, so very close to the action.
All that would change soon enough. With Jake's radical policies and good leadership, his county's punishment rate was near non-existent. And when he had Harry's county in tow, it would give him the power he needed to step into the Regional position, spreading his ideals throughout the region.
And someday, the state he said with bright eyes . . . and a smile, which the commander of Glen's Falls misinterpreted. "Yeah, I can't wait to see those pygmie bastards get theirs, man. It's gonna be sweet."
Jake wondered how Co Blanche could be so calm. He too, would be fighting another Commander in the Way of the Fist today.
Jake delivered a fake smile and turned his attention to the small door leading into the wooden encirclement, as the first of the Savage war-prisoners was dragged into the ring.
Hear No Evil . . . (4.3333333333333, ect.)
PART EIGHT: Puberty-breaching Perverts and Methodic Execution
The first presentation went smoothly enough . . . Right.
The Auctioneer's assistants streamed into the cubicle with jars of liquids and tins of fine powders. Ethan and the other males were stripped shirtless and oiled down, while the females were scented with fine perfumes and powdered to cover imperfections. Ethan was suprised to see an assistant with a tin of power start attacking his face. He was insulted for a moment, until he realized that the servant was simply trying to cover up Ethan's scar from the skull fracture.
The auctioneer peeked his head in for a moment. Hurry the hell up, would ya?
Rushing now, the slaves were directed out of the dingy room, single file.
All heads whipped up as a bell sounded. The crowd of well-dressed and dignified buyers quickly turned into a mob of sweaty, shouting beasts as they pushed toward the stage, sweeping Cassie along with them.
Cassie grabbed at the air, trying not to fall for fear of being trampled. How could her parents ask her to do this? Had they never seen these auctions before?
Finally the crowd paused, as if they all were holding their breath. Cassie stood on her tiptoes to see above the shoulders of one particularly tall individual.
The slaves were hearded out onto the stage by slaves in bright colored clothing. Their gaudy purple and gold-trimmed clothes were deeply contrasted against the female slaves "flattering" gray tanktops and the males tighty pressed, iron gray slacks.
The instant the last slave was brought out. The auctioneer ran to the first man in line and roughly propelled him forward. The mob yelled out it's offers, those not loud enough holding up hand signs to convey their bid.
Hearing the audatiously expensive bids, Cassie remained quiet and waited for the last of the line, traditionally the "Bargin Bids" or the cheap slaves.
In about ten minutes the most desirable slaves were re-shackled and shipped off. Most of the crowd dispersed, leaving Cassie and the other teenage bidders. There was a lot of posturing and "big talk" about how each had been granted a slave as various birthday presents or "just because." Although most of them were probably just hiring a house servant for their parents. One person boisterously claimed that this was his third personal slave granted.
Cassie smirked. Yeah right. The auctioneer pushed a female slave forward, who was charged as less, because she had been re-possessed from a tax dodger, so was not Government trained. Cassie barely heard the man mention that she was mute, before she was snatched up by one of the male teens in the crowd.
Shuddering to think of that poor girl's fate with a puberty-breaching master, Cassie felt someone's eyes on her. She examined the line more closely and--- that boy. He wasstaring at her again, with his sharp, blue eyes. Why did he-
Without warning, he leapt from the stage. The crowd let up a shout as he jumped into the mob and he was heading right towards her!
Jake patiently waited for the next horror of the ring to commence. War prisoners from the south were being tied to the stakes, driven into the sand-packed floor.
Usually, war prisoners were forced to fight as gladiators. These new prisoners were different, in that no matter how motivated, they refused to fight each other. Oh, they would tear any slave put in the ring apart. But that wouldn't be a fair fight anyways. Place two savages in the ring and they would just stand there talking to each other until the ringmaster came and killed them both.
The solution? Tie them to stakes and find new ways to please the crowd.
Jake winced as slowly and methodically, the ringmaster went down the line with a short dagger. He would stab one prisoner in the gut or face and them move on to the next.
Jake fought the bile rising in his throat and allowed his eyes to unfocus, blurring the nightmare for relief.
The last man in line was dressed in something which reminded Jake of the old western movies. The savage Native Americans fighting the galant Clearance Soldiers. Anyways, the movies had always placed the indians in brightly colored feathers and dark paints.
It was common knowlage that prisoners were stripped of whatever clothes theyactually wore and were costumed by the ringmaster. Not for the first time, Jake wondered what they really wore.
Did savages fight in camoflage like soldiers of the empire?
He heard the crowd roar. Thinking this meant that the "chief" was dead, he focused back to the ring.
With the others handing limp on the their posts, some dead, some dying, this savage stood tall, proud and off his post? The "Chief" had somehow gotten loose and was now holding the ringmaster's dagger!
A group of six WS soldiers burst through the small "performer's" entrance and quickly circled the last prisoner.
Waving the dagger menacingly, the savage addressed the crowd, shouting to be heard over the gasps, yells for blood and undignified protests.
Jake sighedand rolled his eyes. Yes, how dare he try to defend himself. Geeze.
The crowd hushed a bit and Jake leaned forward to better hear the prisoner's lament.
"Me llamo es Polo de Guintalla de Libertas Brazil! Polo es soldiero y-" He was cut short as one of the soldiers tried to rush him, only to get an amazingly quick knife jab to the temple. The thing that amazed Jake the most about this savage prisoner with his jet-black hair and dark eyes, was his apparent age.
This guy is just a kid like me.
Dropping the body, he continued as if uninterupted. "No hombre nessesito matar Polo. Polo matar tus Dio de muerte."
With those final words, he quickly brought his arm into a large circle, driving the dagger deep into his chest.
Jake felt as if hewas the one stabbed. He gasped to catch a breath and placed his hands on hisknees. These were "savages"? That boy could easily have been Jake, had he been born in The Southern Continent.
For a moment he imagined himself against a crowd of blood-thirsty spectators.
Jake nodded. Yes, he would have done the same thing.
He vaguely noticed a bell chime in the distance, signaling the beggining of the slave auctions far off in the distance.
Jake let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, as the bodies were dragged of the stage and the sand was sifted and cleaned.
After all, we wouldn't want county commanders boxing on bloody sand.
Cassie gasped and tried to run, but the crowd, though smaller than before, was still packed at the edge of the stage. Fearing the strong-looking, wild slave, the crowd parted in front of him, scattering while the crowd behind Cassie stayed to see what would happen next. Like the stupid cattle watching the fighter's ring nearby.
When he finally reached Cassie the slave stopped in his tracks, kicking up a little dirt. He looked confused and watched Cassie carefully. For a moment, Cassie felt as if he was waiting for her to tell him what to do next.
He pointed at her head or more specifically at the bandana that she was wearing that had come loose in the jostling.
The bandana was white and fluttering in the soft breeze. She carefully and slowly untied it, not wanting to provoke him, but feeling that she wouldn't.
The slave smiled gently and nodded at this movement. She couldn't help tentatively smiling back as she handed it to him.
He turned the bandana over and over, then stopped to examine a design on it carefully. He pointed to the design repeatedly.
"It's a tribal design. My grandmother gave it to me. It's sorta a family coat of arms or something. Well, I know it means a lot to her, at least."
Instead of being satisfied, he seemed more puzzled. This expression lasted only a moment, before several of the auctioneer's servants tackled him to the ground.
He lay prone on the ground as they re-shackled him, pausing to kick him a few times for good measure. Cassie mentally willed him to fight, not daring to say it aloud, but he stayed completely still and withstood the beating.
They muscled him to his feet and brought him behind the auctioneer's block, with a few good punches laid in along the way.
Ethan was dragged behind the block. Relizing he was still holding the girl's bandana, he tucked it into the waist of his pants, before someone could notice and take it away.
The fat man confronted him out back.
"Just one look and I knew you'd be trouble. Years of doing this shit, I developed a good eye for 'runners'. Some of them actually make it fifty yards. Well, at least you'll make some good entertainment at the fights. What are you, new or something?"
The strange girl seemed to appear out of nowhere. One moment, the slave master was sneering at him, the next coddling to a teenager, like a she was a dissatisfied customer.
"Now, what can I do for you, little lady?" he smiled politely.
She took a deep breath and stared at Ethan for a moment, then turned back to the fat man.
"I'll take that one home."
The fat man squinted and laughed. Then paused. "I don't get it."
She flashed a nervous smile. "It's not a joke, I want to buy that one," she said gesturing to Ethan and speaking quickly.
"Youdo realise that this slave is now classified as Insurectionalist? That means- "
"That no one will want to buy him and you'll have to settle for a manager's fee at the fights. Goodbye." She turned and started to march away. Whoever this girl was, she was showing a lot of education.
Just as I thought. All sweet and innocent outside. Inside, nothing but another Shark. Ethan grimaced.
The fat man ran up to her and said something quickly. Unfortunately, with both of their backs turned, Ethan could not tell what was said.
They both turned and Cassie handed the man a small, pink slip. Ethan read the words "Parental Notice for the sum of-" before the man greedily stuffed the slip in his pocket. "Well, all yours.Don't expect me to bring him home for you though."
She took a deep breath and gently grasped the cord leading from the shackles around Ethan's wrists. "That's okay, I called a 'service'"
As they both turned to head back to the front parking lot of the fair, Ethan saw the fat man try to get the last words in. "Well, you have fun with your retard, you stupid,---"
Hear No Evil . . . (4.whatever)
PART NINE: Mild Shocks and a Second's Thought
"-fucking IDIOT!" the Regional Commander was one row up and behind Jake, pumping his fist and alternately cheering and berating his officers in the ring.
Commander McElroy's head snapped back from the blow. The fist carried through it's arc, causing Co Jenkins to pitch forward, following his poor aim. Luckily, he was able to catch his balance before falling face forward in the sand. Unfortunately, while he was attempting toreorient himself,McElroy landed a punch to the back of his skull, just where the spine meets the base.
"Oi!" The shout ran through the crowd with their fists shooting into the air in unison, mingling with the moaning from Jenkin's pack.
Facedown in the sand, he didn't even twitch. McElroy did not help him up, just stood there waiting for the attendants. To help him would show mercy. Mercy was weakness.
Jake, standing in the eves of the entry hall, turned away from the barred window and shook his head woefully. This kind of behavior was why onlyhe should be Supreme Commander.
When will our leaders realize that fighting each other only hampers the cause? We should be working together for the supremacy of the white race and to keep the other races in the lower classes.
The only way they could advance is if all the dirty jobs were done by non-whites, after all. Every non-white had to be taught early on that they would never occupy a white-collar position.
The Commander's job was to teach them.
And Jake now decided that his mission would be to teach the Commanders. Lesson one: Beat the unholy crap out of Harrold.
Cassie hesitantly reached for the slave's hand. She removed the tag on his wrist that said "October Six, 1984 - Male - Good Health" and replaced it with a 'H.Product Master 2.5'.
She looked him in the eyes and said very slowly, "This is a transmitter and 'bell'. If I need your attention, you'll feel . . ." She stopped for a moment and swallowed forcefully. "-a mild shock from that." She pointed at the small black box attached to the wristband. Ethan could feel the blunt prongs on the inside gently digging into his skin.
"I'd like my bandana back now," she ventured gently. October Six pulled the bandana from his blue-gray waistband and smoothed it out. He handed the slightly wrinkled scrap of white back over with a completely straight face.
Cassie decided to ask him more about this later. Her parents would be happy that she had managed to find such a well-fit slave for less than the average price. If the slave happened to be insane, however, her parents would be more than just a little peeved.
No point in bringing it up now, though.
"Okay, October Six?" She waited for him to nod in recognition of his name. He gave her nothing.
"Um, right. Let's get you home."
She removed his leash, tossed it to the ground and started walking towards the grassy parking area.
His mistress never even looked back to see if he was following. Ethan wasn't sure if he should be insulted or relieved. His new owner obviously didn't see him as a threat or a runaway. She simply expected him to follow her.
He would wait for now. Plenty of time to figure out where the Spanish Colonies were. Plenty of time to escape. Plenty of time to be free. Until then, he would play good little house boy.
The slave shadowed Cassie without hesitation. She made her way past the arena to a flat part of the Fairgrounds, where everyone had parked their automobiles.
Her service vehicle was idling nearby.
"-And that's a winning blow for the commander of Glen's Falls!" The announcer's voice rung out over the PA system along with cheers and hisses from the crowd. Cassie stopped right in her tracks. Commander? A commander fighting in the arena!
She whipped around suddenly, too quickly for Ethan to slow down, smacking right into him. Ethan wheeled backwards and bowed his head, keeping it just inclined enough to see her lips. He waited for her admonishment, but none came.
"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry. All you alright?"
Ethan's head snapped up as he looked at her in wide-eyed fear and confusion. She wasn't yelling? He wasn't at fault? What the h-
Misinterpreting Six's gaze Cassie touched his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll be fine. Come on."
She gestured to the service driver who in turned tapped the face of his wrist watch insistently. Cassie held up one finger and the driver sighed and waved her on.
She made her way towards the arena, just as Melissa was coming out. Melissa looked around, knowing that Cassie would be at the auctions today. Cassie yelled out to her friend and Melissa called back, "Get over here, quick! Jake's fighting next!"
Cassie grinned at her speculations to what made Jake so interesting to Melissa. She had gone on and on one night about how he "just wasn't like the others."
Jake and Harold stood toe to toe in the center of the ring. The procurator addressed them both.
"Your blades, Gentleman." Jake and Harold each removed their ceremonial dagger and handed them over to their Seconds. Marco solemnly took Jake's dagger and stood on his toes to whisper in Jake's ear. "Something doesn't feel right about this, man. You're the biggest Commander in the state, Harry doesn't even look nervous."
Marco was interrupted by the Procurator. "Your uniform tops and under-shirts, gentleman."
Jake and Harry both stripped down to the waist, earning cat-calls and wolf-whistles from the crowd. Jake blushed a little, while Harry smirked and flexed his muscles to the spectators. While he wasn't as big or even as tall as Jake, he was well-built for his size.
"Jake! Hey, Jake! Starting to feel nervous, Jew-bag!" Jake tried to ignore the derisive shouts from the Wilton Pack. The Warren pack was sitting quietly. Jake had taught them better than to taunt their opponent. There was plenty of time for talking smackAfter the enemy was defeated.
"Hey Paul! Anybody ever tell you the difference between a crucifixion and a circumcision?" One Wilton soldier asked to another, loudly.
"No, what's the difference?" His friend, presumably "Paul" responded, shouting. "With a crucifixion, they throw out thewhole Jew!"
The entire crowd, save the spectators from Warren, hooted at this.
The Warren soldiers had enough. One of Jake's Pack mates jumped to his feet. "Don't listen to that crap, Commander! He's a pussycat! Whop his skinny little ass!"
The rest of the Warren pack was on their feet, now, cheering and shouting. Jake sighed. "So much for taking the high road," he muttered to Marco out of the side of his mouth.
"Big Jake! Big Jake! Big Jake!" The crowd of spectators seated behind the Warren Pack was chanting, showing their support. Suprisingly, the spectators behind the Warren Pack were not all from Warren. He recognized several Wilton residents mixed in with his county.
Jake's mouth became a straight line and his eyes narrowed in determination. That's what this is about. People. I'm not fighting to claim more territory, I'm here to give fair justice from their commander. The Wilton soldiers may not want me, but the people know I deal out a firm, true fist.
He sucked in a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. Harold became visibly shaken. Not only by the crowd's support, but Jake's reaction to it. He went into this fight assuming Jake didn't even knowhow to hurt someone, let alone willingly do it. The only punishments Jake reported in to the RCo were ones of suspension and restriction of privileges. No physical retributions. Something he was teased for openly.
But this officer looked ready to kill. Maybe Berenson could fight.
But Harold had an edge. A slightly illegal edge, but hey, whatever wins right?
Too late to back out now. The announcer's voice rang over the PA. "This match of the fist is to decide who will claim policing and law jurisdiction over both the Wilton and Warren counties. The combatants have been drug checked and seached for weapons. The match will end when one is either unconscious or signals to the procurator that they are unable to battle."
The Seconds were directed to the outside of the ring . . .
End of Chapter 4
BEHIND THE SCENES: The Spanish used was given to me by a helpful reviewer. I hope he didn't make me write something stupid as a joke. I originally wanted Portugese to be the language of the Empire's enemy. I see South America, parts of Africa and all of Austrailia to not be connected to the Empire. Also, Spain was conquered, but her Territories in North America still prosper. They have a Parliment and a No Slavery edict, but are directly controlled by the former King of Spain, who fled there for safety. As part of a treaty, the Free Territories must return any slaves caught to the Empire. However, convieniently, most slaves who flee are never caught.