Helotry

Chapter 1

The sun never set on Thiaki. It just hovered on the horizon casting vermilion fingers into the pale blue sky hanging heavy over the red planet. Darik squinted through the glazed glass. Even in the perpetual daylight, lime green and magenta auroras shivered vivid ribbons through the atmosphere.

The surface of Thiaki burned the color of an old scab, pitted and strewn with rock. Machines scuttled over the landscape like steel tarantulas as they skewered the earth in search of nassidium, that precious substance sustaining the whole Aria system. He fingered the nassidium torque at this throat, a braided band of gold and blue. He turned his gaze from the windows as the guests arrived, the executives of Incarnadine, Inc., owners of Thiaki's mining industry and one hundred and fifty thousand other slaves, just like him.

One hand lay folded behind his back, the other held a tray of exotic fruit sliced into geometric shapes. The ranks of bare-chested men and women stood in two columns, forming the welcoming corridor, each holding a silver tray upon which delicate edibles were placed.

His scalp itched from the recent shave, but he dared not raise a hand to scratch. Darik concentrated on his breathing, relaxing his facial muscles into the calm, submissive facade demanded of the slaves. The proud Thakkans, the humans native to the desert planet, had been reduced to whores and jesters by corporate colonization. These descendants of Earth claimed ownership of any planet they laid eyes on.

Clad only in flowing trousers and nassidium torques, the slaves watched as men and women in corporate travel suits strutted from the frigate and into the reception room. The masters shook hands and clapped each other on the back, smiling and laughing, as the slaves waited. Incessantly, the suits babbled to one another in the sharp dialects of Kishar, the planet home to Incarnadine, Inc's headquarters. Darik wondered where his sister was. Sold off to the highest bidder, she could be anywhere in Aria, even Nadir. Wherever she was, she was certainly better off than being a slave on Thiaki.

Darik's attention strayed from the throng of people to the platform leading through the docking bay to the still open door of the frigate. The Hegira class ship looked like a bullet wrapped in bloody petals and freedom. Freedom, a bitter thought. Darik's thoughts slid into memory of his childhood, slim limbs covered in red dust, playing in a yard with his sister, hunting lizards and three-tailed scorpions, enjoying the silence after Day-end meal as the sun dipped teasingly at the world's edge. It had almost felt like freedom, but even as a child, he'd worn the metal collar.

At thirteen, they'd embedded the chip at his temple and started the ink-work denoting his slave status. He glanced down at his belly; the snaking black pattern distorted his flesh.

The torque seemed tighter at his throat. He took a deep, shuddering breath trying to ease the tightness in his chest. Freedom now lay only beyond the docking bay on a frigate, on another planet. Any life lived freely was surely better than this. He might have made a run for it at that very moment had a suit not picked a slice of yellow melon from Darik's tray. Forgetting his place, the slave met the man's gaze.

The businessman in the black suit smirked and said, "I want this one."

Darik bobbed his head in understanding; his eyes studied the fine, red dust between his bare toes as the memory of childhood faded.

"Raise your head, slave."

Darik did as commanded. The man dragged a finger down Darik's face, following the trail of ink. The suit raised the reader on his wrist to Darik's temple and scanned the chip. Transaction complete, he now belonged to a dark haired Kisharan until the man relinquished ownership and Darik was passed along to the next customer. The man brushed his fingertips along Darik's collarbones wending their way downward. Darik sneaked a last glance toward the frigate as the doors hissed closed and sealed with a pneumatic sigh.

The Kisharan chuckled and leaned closer, whispering, "You better be worth it. They told me you Thiakis'll do anything. And I have a wicked imagination."

***

Three weeks in the Kisharan's service felt like a lifetime. Darik winced as the welts across his back stretched, scabs weeping. His master had painful ideas of pleasure. Darik strained with the heavy cargo, lifting it onto the conveyor belt, delivering the luggage to the waiting frigate.

"Pity I'm being called away. I would've enjoyed another week or two with you," the Kisharan said, stroking Darik's shoulder as he bent to load the final crate.

"You certainly exceeded my expectations. Great stamina and endurance. I'll be recommending you to my friends." The man smiled his basilisk smile and licked his lips. Darik straightened his back and squared his shoulders as the Kisharan reached his wrist toward the chip, relinquishing ownership.

"Oh, come now, don't be so glum. I dare say you enjoyed it," the Kisharan said, patting Darik's cheek below his bruised and swollen eye socket. Darik suppressed the boiling rage, trying not to let murderous thoughts overwhelm his common sense."Departure in T-minus five minutes," the electronic voice of the pilot announced in the loading bay.

"Well, I'll be off then. Try not to miss me too much." The Kisharan turned toward the passenger door.

The moorings of Darik's anger snapped as ire flooded his veins. He whipped his arm around the Kisharan's throat. The man yelped and thrashed, struggling in Darik's crushing hold.

"I say you enjoy it. Don't miss me much," Darik whispered into the man's ear in his stilted Kishari.

"Final boarding call for passengers outbound on IX-682. Departure in T-minus three minutes," the robotic voice shrilled.

Darik dropped the unconscious body of the Kisharan, raised his foot, and prepared to crush the man's throat. Instead, he eyed the conveyor belt. Without hesitation, Darik abandoned his plan, leaped onto the belt, and sprinted along the rubber track. He dove through the luggage portal into the cargo bay. His heart beat wild and frantic; his hands shook as sweat poured down his face. He balled his trembling hands into fists.

"Departure in T-minus two minutes. Cargo hold sealed. Passenger door locked. Prepare for departure." The sexless voice reverberated as the cargo doors slid shut, sealing Darik within the frigate beside suitcases and crates. He crawled into a narrow gap between two containers and rested his burning back against the cool interior of the ship. Pressing his fists against his eyes, Darik struggled for breath as he tried to understand what he'd done.

Again, the same sexless pilot's voice: "Welcome to short haul flight IX-682. Departure initiated. Destination: Kishar. Have a pleasant journey."