“You didn’t have to kill them all,” I feel compelled to protest.
“I didn’t kill them all,” laughs one of the men, unashamed at the carnage.
And then we see the first one I recognize – poor, unattractive Nee-Sin from our course. With minimal prospect of a boyfriend, she consoled herself with food and became morbidly obese.
“Oh, I did kill that one,” says the man at the front. “Ugly cunt.”
I feel hate like I’ve never felt hate for a sentient being ever before. Injustice always makes me furious. I clench my fists, vowing to find a way to avenge her.
“Look, you’re making the slit angry,” says the one behind me, amused.
Seething impotently, I proceed, trapped between my captors. The Slaver at the front leads us down to the lower level – the one with the docking bays. I see more and more dead. Always they are the old and the unattractive. I don’t know whether to envy them or pity them. Not when I’ve already had a taste of what’s in store. That Slaver groped me. Such a sexual assault could earn him a jail spell in the Republic. This ship is supposed to be Republic territory. But one of these men groped me anyway. He touched my very core. Legally I’m still free on a Republic vessel, so I should be allowed to run from him, as I please, to report him, but I’m afraid of the collar and I mutely follow the pirate in front. The pain from that thing around my neck was so terrible, what else can I do?
We reach one of the docking ports, and at the airlock, the friendly pastel decoration that was all over the transport switches to a cold alloy. Other Slavers are converging on this place, herding their own captives towards the airlock. I see only one male captive, and the rest comprise a growing group of women. Most of the prisoners have a collar like mine around their necks, and collars are not the only indignities the raiders have inflicted. One woman I see is already nearly naked above the waist. She clutches the meagre shredded remains of her top, vainly trying to hide her chest.
I hesitate before crossing the threshold into the Slaver ship. This is far more than a physical boundary. I know that once I’m there, I’m beyond salvation. But I’m prodded with a blaster in the back, and I’ve stumble on to the territory of Aghara-Penthay before I know it.
So that’s it. My feet are on a Slaver ship’s floor. I’ve just lost all my rights as a free citizen. Just by taking one step, because I don’t have a penis between my legs, I’ve become a slave. The unfairness of such a rule eats me inside. But my captors bark an order, and still I must move blindly on, following the others in a corridor that’s now getting crowded, much like when we made for the recreation hall.
Also similarly to that previous short journey, the corridor opens into a huge space. There’s no sign of any comfort in this new chamber – this is nothing like the transport. It is merely a ship’s hold. This is a space to transport goods. Living goods. A large crowd of prisoners are already gathered in the center of the space. I break ahead of my captors and hurry forwards towards them, eager to be separated from the two men who attacked me. In this big group, for now we’re largely unsupervised. The Slaver guards merely position themselves around the walls, leaving their captives alone in the middle. The pirate men are relaxed. They have the confidence of soldiers who have already won the victory.
Among the others, I’m thankful to be just one of a crowd. But the crowd are almost all women, and a disproportionate number of us are beautiful. We huddle together, feeling safer together even though that safety is an illusion. Everyone seems to be talking, trying to find a solution when there is none. Many, but not all the prisoners, are locked in shock collars similar to mine.
“Coora!” a frantic voice calls, and I see Trindii. Her eyes are tear-streaked and I see she’s also been collared, but she seems otherwise unharmed. We hug each other, and I burst into a fit of sobs, crying which I’m unable to control for several minutes.
“Where did you go?” she asks when I’m calm, looking into my face with concern. “What did the Slavers do to you?”
They did so much. The collar, and my dress baring my ass while he touched between my legs, and his hand on my breasts. And Jurong. I look away, too ashamed to answer.
“Me too,” she says, understanding, “but I’m alive.”
“Better we’d been killed,” I say to her gloomily.
A claxon sounds from somewhere, different in pitch to the alarm calls on the transport, and I feel a vibration through the floor. I know what that means. We’ve just undocked. We’re even more truly doomed now. There will be the familiar kick in a moment when we go into hyperspace, and then we’ll be beyond rescue. Please no… But there it goes. The tug, against my whole being, of the star jump. An instant has passed, and already we’re light years from the Moons of Odaron.
I’m hoping we’ll be left alone at least until reaching the Slavers’ world, but as soon as we’re underway, our captors resume our torments. A man’s shouting becomes audible over the din of panicked captives.
“Women to the front of the hold. Men to the back!”
In the throng, I don’t know which way is which, but those nearer the edge can probably see him gesturing, so keeping a tight grip on Trindii’s arm I simply follow the rest of the herd.
I‘m aiming to try and keep in the center of the female group, where it’s safest, but in the direction we’re moving, Trindii and I end up near the back, and when we stop again, we find ourselves at the edge of a large circle of galactic womanhood. There must be hundreds of us here. Across from the females’ circle, I see the much smaller group of males. Briefly I note Jurong is not among them, but that’s all the thought I’m willing to give to him. Demanding my immediate attention are the men between our circles – Slavers with officer rank. The captain is quite the ugliest man I’ve ever seen – a short fellow with a black beard, morbidly obese with lank greasy hair.
“Prisoners – form into lines,” he commands. “An arm’s width apart. Spread yourselves out.”
With no sensible options but obey, we shuffle ourselves around according to his orders. Like any new recruits, the procedure is disorganized, and it takes some time. But eventually we find ourselves arranged in position. In front of me is a pretty blonde girl. I do not know her – she isn’t part of our course group. To my left is Trindii. To my right there is only open space, and then the men. I’m still on the edge of the female ranks.
I look down with broken heart at my precious dress. I know what must be coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier to bear.
“Now strip!” orders the captain. “Strip. Everything. No clothing. No jewelry. Put everything in a pile to your right.”
No! They can’t make me do this. Not in front of everyone.
A few women tentatively start pulling at jackets and footwear, but most, like me, look around uncertainly. Our guards seem to be expecting this. Before the officer has finished speaking, Slavers are already moving down the lines, activating shock collars on those who delay. My attacker unfortunately comes from behind me, and I’m on the floor before I know it, my body so rigid from the electric fire that I can’t even scream.