We’re divided and scarce, the old guardsman mused. He had charge over the new shipment and was relieved that his duty was only to keep order and peace. To his satisfaction, he would return home in a matter of hours. The prisoners and slaves had a very bleak future here. The strong ones were to build and maintain the city as in the past. For the slaves were the builders of Araidia. Subsequently, for decades, families developed out of the slaves imprisoned in these filthy conditions. Now, not to his surprise, they were dying off while the old and weak were discarded like refuse.

Though the old guard was experienced and had seen atrocities beyond imagination, this filthy display was a festering sore. He shook his shoulders, readying himself for anything threatening. His eyes must have been failing. Just beyond his perusal was a glimpse, a rustle of something beyond the smoke of mining activity and new cargo shipment. He glanced toward the sky, seeing bulks of cargo ships rumble, boom with contrails and black smoke in their wake. Mesmerized, he watched the ships pass, like insects blotting the sun.

Suddenly, large metal arms gesticulated and writhed, almost hitting the guard. The octo-machine became unbalanced from his spasmodic commands. He became too nervous, off-balanced in thought, and alarmed the machine. The guard dabbed his temple, knocking the surgically implanted neural-chip in his brain to, hopefully, balance the signal. What was the matter? The machine whirred and twirled around while his blaster’s light levels flashed on and off.

My blaster can’t go off! Only at my command! He grabbed the sidearm out of his holster and pointed fearfully toward the smoke while it powered up. The laser blaster could overload and blow him and everything in a five-foot radius to dust. The grinding low buzz became intolerable, and his fear became a torment.

“Stop!” he yelled, hoping the voice command would work. Before him and all the commotion, an escapee halted only a few feet away.

“Command Level Two, respond to me. I have an escapee in my custody. Respond quickly and send help, my stabilizer has been breached. Send help, now!” He had the blaster pointed at the female with a gray cloak. She was still as death, slightly crouched, as if concealing something.

The machines miraculously died down, but the droid wasn’t responding to his thoughts. The guard pressed his forefinger on his temple beneath his black helmet.

Scan. His helmet eye shields, like a screen, displayed computer images detecting the female’s bio-schematics. Identify. Strange, the picture went haywire with lines zigzagging, not giving decipherable information. He waited, staring at her while she did the same.

“What’s beneath your cloak?” he asked her. She did not respond. Her eyes appeared to be turning—gold? She had to be Araidian. What was an Araidian doing here? He had to know or take her by force. If she didn’t comply, he’d snatch the cloak off and find out what was hidden.

“Remove your cloak!” She still didn’t respond. The guard wrenched the cloak in one movement and a small child darted away, screaming. The woman chased after her.

“Stop!” He pursued them. But the machine went haywire again, and the blaster fired at will while the octo-machine crazily darted and danced in circles. It finally fell with a hideous squeal on the rocks, bouncing and turning over like a tin can thrown from a speeder. The guard tried to keep the blaster under control, but the laser beams streaked from its barrel. Right before the blaster’s power cell drained, a beam ricocheted off the rocks and ground until it hit the woman and child.

The guard hated that moment, the child groaning, screaming, and scratching her eyes. The blast must’ve wounded her and killed the other female. He knelt over the larger body and found no life signals. Any other guards would’ve discarded evidence like this. They’d kill the child and pulverize both bodies to protect their records. Any other guards would’ve, but not him. He was tired of the carnage. He swooped up the bloody, writhing child, held her tightly in his aching arms, and constrained her from further self-harm.

“Blast those plants!” The guard squeezed the child tighter, running to the canteen. It was those reedpods causing the shield to weaken, causing all this trouble for his people. He wondered if his transference, from being a pilot in the Third Fleet of Manus Araidia, was justified. After this harrowing experience, he might trade posts to face the poisonous reedpods in flight expeditions. Because of those blasted plants, their equipment couldn’t withstand long exposures to the poisonous pollutants.

“If there’s no shield, all Araidia will die!” the old guardsman said, panting and running toward the med camp.

●

The chattering, cluttering, and bumping of bodies grew within the eating hall of the canteen. Above the noise, Canteen Guardsman Handroll took account of a fine Shatarian by the name of Teeabu, standing before him. This one he marked as a strong slave and would be an excellent builder. He’d already been through the medical scan—it read the boy’s body could withstand the stress needed for heavy equipment, strenuous labor, and long hours, perhaps even days without sleep. Guardsman Handroll had rarely seen such an excellent specimen in a Shatarian, so young and ready to be used. The raid ordered by the Watchman Eyetna was an embellishing idea. Handroll had waited, drooled for such an event. And, thankfully, more raids required more guards which, in the end, required more leaders—variably, more promotion. The guardsman leered at the young innocent, almost salivating and quite satisfied with the raids.

Suddenly, a crash of metal woke Teeabu from his weariness. Strange clicks and a shrill came from behind him. Before Teeabu could identify what was making the noise, he fell over the receptacles and cookware, feet over head, and landed on his back with the wind knocked out of him. The five guards drew out the batons and blasted the slaves back into twelve rows, lining them up like squadrons. Teeabu felt the hot sting of the baton as he clumsily tried to stand.

It flashed by. Teeabu saw it—the thing that made the click, click noise. The strange, furry, and tan creature escaped the attention of the guards and hid behind a pillar near Teeabu.

After the commotion settled down, the same canteen guard listened to his next order. He knew what to do. Beyond the strewn receptacles were jade troughs connected on the walls at arms level. One guard stood at attention in the entrance of the canteen. Two others, squad guards, were flanked east and west of the slaves. He relayed their positions and waited for the next command.

A hologram appeared. In it, the Councilman Ulandis-de-a-Yal, advisor to the Watchman Eyetna addressed the slaves and guards. “Ye people of North Araidia… Welcome.” His eyes reached every part of the room. He could see people lined evenly. They appeared ragged, torn, and weary. Others appeared despondent, angry, and fearful...such good order to such an evil outcome. Though he once served Watchman Ontomus as the Gracious Confidant, now he was the advisor to his deceased Watchman’s son. It wasn’t his fault, this tragedy. He couldn’t convince the Watchman Eyetna not to do this foul thing.

He would do what he could to make things a little easier for the slaves.

“I hope all is well with you and you are being treated accordingly. Is anyone hungry?” asked Yal.

The canteen guardsman, Handroll, noticed the slaves were confused, each speaking their own dialect. He pressed his temple, “Command Level Two, awaiting response for order.”

“Order Apex 14.” The command crackled through the guard’s receiver.

The guardsman knew exactly what to do. “Your Counselor, do you hear me?” The hologram nodded affirmative. “We apologize, Your Grace, for your inconvenience, but are honored to have you here with us. We were not prepared for your appearance.”

“Do they understand me?” the counselor asked.

“We have not prepared them for your service, as of yet. Do you wish our punishment?”

The counselor frowned. It seemed, this time, the councilman was fighting to appear weak. Why should the weakling grimace executing judgment? It was normal for an offense toward a government official to be rewarded with imprisonment, torture, or even death.

“There is no need to harm yourselves in order to please,” the councilman noted. “It would be a waste of manpower for our Watchman. Please, proceed with the Apex command.”

Relieved, the guardsman tapped his temple twice and the jade troughs opened with small robotic talons, about one hundred of them, each gripping a small device alongside the wall. The canteen guardsman barked a few commands and the slaves were driven to them. Some slaves feared the strange cold metal claws reaching for them. One pair of talons held the slave’s arm while another set shot a disc in the lower wrist, where less attire interfered with its penetration. Discord prevailed from resistance of the captives, which caused more baton whippings, more stings, more screams, and confusion. Once again, they were rounded up like cattle, receiving the cold stinging discs in their arms.

Teeabu experienced searing pain in his arm and wrist when one of the talons injected the disc. As the other slaves, in a flash, he saw his flesh close up, covering the strange device. The pain stopped quickly. How much more could he take?

“Welcome to Araidia!” That was the first time Teeabu heard his language spoken by the city dwellers of Araidia. The hologram greeted them, spoke eloquently, soothingly. “We welcome you and wish you no harm. You have been brought here as a help to our people. Forgive our inconvenience toward you.”

“Liar!” Teeabu heard one of the slaves shout. Before the young priest retained focus to see the protester, a yellow streak whistled by his row. A scream came from that location. In the scream’s wake, stench followed with smothering smoke and messy remains. This proved Araidia’s hospitality. He tasted bile, his stomach became queasy. Nearly fainting, he rocked on his feet...don’t fall...Delah, where’s Delah? “Delah?” he cried, weakly, holding his stomach.

Click...arrghh. “I saw her.” The creature was behind him, furry and tan. Click, click. “I’ll show you...shhh.” The creature slipped behind Teeabu’s legs. Teeabu noticed the canteen guardsman stride toward him, grinning with his baton swinging on his black belt.

“Your Gracious Councilman, see how well our communication devices work,” he said, looking straight at Teeabu. “Such a fine specimen… Your graciousness, do you wish for anymore demonstrations?”

Where was Ontomus, why did he die so soon? The counselor thought, blinked more frequently. He cried within. How does one control this madness? Appear strong?

“Guardsman!” Yal barked, “Never take action when I am present without consulting me. I will give orders as to whom you kill. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Grace. I’m only here to please you and my ruler, our illustrious Watchman of Araidia, Eyetna.”

“Then, Guardsman… your name?”

The guardsman licked his lips, smiled pompously. “Canteen Guardsman Handroll. At your service, Your Grace.”

The guardsman rolled his “r’s” in Your Grace, over dramatizing, thought Yal.

“Guardsman Handroll, remember my command. Feed them, clean them, and contact me for their preparation, quickly. They have had a long and hard journey and need rest.” The hologram faded away. The guard turned and directed the slaves to the eating tables.

Guardsman Handroll worked his way over to where Teeabu sat. He approached slowly as not to surprise the boy slave. With stealth and a strong hand, he caught Teeabu by his shoulders to hold him still, and whispered into the youth’s ear.

“I will deal with you, fine specimen, later. No matter how long it takes, I will have you.”

                                                                                                                                                       --End of Chapter 6