Slaving away
11 May 2017Veldrin Hedgehog
Veldrin looked up as he looped around the gigantic, dusty brown planet hanging in the blackness above, filling the top half of his view. The loop of shame, he thought as he adjusted his alignment. I must be getting tired. I'm going to need some caffeine or a stim if I want to keep this up for much longer.An instrument on the panel before him blinked in blue: “Safe disengage ready”. Veldrin eased back on the throttle and flicked a switch to disengage the ship's frameshift drive. For a brief moment the black backdrop of space flickered blue, and he felt the familiar, uncomfortable crushing feeling of his body being pulled in on itself before everything returned to normal. Ahead of him, a few kilometres out hung a space station, revolving slowly in order to generate artificial gravity.
A busy industrial port, there was plenty of traffic heading in and out of the docking bay – mostly smaller independent traders flying Asps, Adders, T6's and one lumbering T9 struggling to set an approach vector. Checking nearby contacts on the scanner, Veldrin was flying the only Anaconda in the immediate area. Good.
Less welcome were the patrols of security Vipers, flying in neat patterns around the line of ships as they approached the entry corridor. Here we go. Veldrin pushed the throttle forward and hit the boost, the force slamming him into his seat.
A beep from the short range comms module was followed by a woman's voice: “Echo India Charlie Sierra Lima Victor, this is flight control. Welcome back to O'Reilly Hub, please state your intent.”
Veldrin toggled the voice comms. “O'Reilly Hub flight control, this is the East India Company trading vessel Victoria requesting landing permission. I'm here to dock for refuelling and to make a purchase order for agricultural machinery from your commodities market.”
There was a pause.
“Copy that Victoria. Your landing permit has been authorised. Please proceed to landing pad two-fiver and submit to any security scans. Flight control out.” Like hell I will, Veldrin thought as the starport opening grew in size in his viewport. The Anaconda handled like a whale, so there wouldn't be much room for error. He had to get the massive hunk of alloy through the slot as quickly as possible, without arousing too much attention. Or crushing any Sidewinders.
Veldrin accessed his comms panel and scrolled through the plugins menu, looking for a custom piece of software. There it is. He activated it. Immediately, comms chatter was piped into the Anaconda’s bridge.
“Wing command, this is SC-2 Bravo. Nothing to report here, sector is clear, over.”
“SecComm to all units, we have reports of aggressive action, possible piracy in progress at the stellar navigation beacon. All nearby available vessels please investigate immediately. Proceed with extreme caution, we have reports of weapons fire.”
A highly illegal police scanner. Veldrin was no stranger to this station: he had visited here many times before, and the Company had provided him with all the necessary contacts he needed for this mission... who to bribe. Key members of the station police service were a few of them, and they were paid off for the month. Still, you could never be too cautious. His approach vector was good, the traffic in front clearing. Veldrin set his Anaconda to cruise and stretched in his command chair while the police comms droned in the background. A walk will do him good, just as soon as he had docked.
“FSS-2 to wing command, I'm going to check out that Anaconda real quick.”
That snapped Veldrin out his daydream. There's no other Anaconda. I'm the only Anaconda. Fuck! Last thing I need.
According to his ship's manifest, the Anaconda’s cavernous hold was empty. In reality it was stacked with row upon neat row of stasis pods, each containing one human being lost in their dreams. Slaves. “Imperial” slaves. Purchased legally from the indentured servitude market in LFT-37, they were expecting to be wake ready to work for whichever Imperial patron had purchased their labour for a fixed term. Instead, O'Reilly Hub was a starport controlled by the Federation, which took a very dim view on slavery indeed.
Legally, at least.
Veldrin's eyes darted over the sensor display, trying to see which pip was vectoring in on him. There! A Viper Mk. III, a rookie judging by his Pilot's Federation rank. The entry slot to the station, and safety, was so close yet not close enough. The Victoria was already travelling fast, any quicker and he'll attract too much attention. Any evasive manoeuvring would do the same.
An alarm started blaring and a red message appeared centrally in the HUD.
Warning: Ship scan detected.
“For fuck's sake, what am I paying these pigs for?!” Veldrin swore out loud and gritted his teeth. The scan would take several seconds to complete: he tried to asses his options quickly. There was no chance he was going back to a Federation prison. None. He could engage silent running, try to claim he had a power failure. Would they believe it? No, they'll lock him down on the pad and make a full sweep. Come on, Hedgehog, think!
“Foxtrot-sierra-sierra two, this is wing lead. Wave off and check out that Asp on your six. He's moving erratically and deviated from his approach plan.”
“Copy that wing command, scan is almost complete here then...”
“Right now, private! Or don't they teach you how to follow orders at the academy?”
The warnings disappeared from the Victoria's HUD.
“Roger, wing leader. Waving off.”
The synthesised roar of a Viper's engines filled the bridge as it peeled off and flipped 180 degrees, to close in on that poor Asp a few clicks behind Veldrin. You left that close, you bastards. Well, those corrupt Federation cops earned their money today at any rate. The Anaconda slid silently through the entry port into the gigantic docking ring. Heart still pounding, Veldrin Hedgehog positioned the Victoria over landing bay 25, dropped his gear and eased it down until the mag clamps took hold with a clunk and a jerk.
Veldrin exhaled, closed his eyes and gathered himself. When he opened them, he saw that refuelling of the ship had already commenced. He pulled up the station netlink onto his main display, and navigated quickly through a few menus like he knew exactly what he was looking for.
He found it on the used furniture page on the station domestic marketplace.
For sale: Slightly used Zaonce style low coffee table, maglok legs for mounting in spacecraft. Slightly damaged.
Veldrin found the link for “contact me about this item”, and started dictating a query, carefully expressing each word. “Hi there, I'm very interested in this Zaonce coffee table. Can you tell me more about the staining? Send message”. There was a beep to confirm it had been sent, and with that Veldrin removed the restraints and got to his legs, a little more wobbly than usual. Adjusting to the microgravity, he walked out of the bridge and to the elevator, grabbing his black Panemian farmer's cloak from a storage locker on the way. The elevator took him to deck level, emerging from one of the massive landing struts descending from the belly of his Anaconda. As he walked across the pad to the entry access he could see a dock worker there already, herding a flock of container lifting drones towards the loading bay of the ship. Veldrin pulled out his personal device from its pocket, toggled the cargo hatch open and continued walking. The dock worker and he pointedly ignored each other.
Veldrin took a transport to the main commercial hub of the station. It was designed to appear like a long, curving street with shops and businesses either side trying to outdo one another by advertising themselves in the most obnoxious way possible. Veldrin ignored them all, pushing himself through the crowds until he found a kiosk with access to the local market. A young man was there, clutching a data slate and with an overly helpful demeanour about him. As he saw Veldrin approach, he positively bounced towards him.
“A very good afternoon to you sir! How can I assist today, buying, selling? We currently have great deals to be made on c...
Veldrin cut him off, tilting his head back so he was looking down his nose at the rep. “I need 200 units of crop harvesters, 200 units of land enrichment systems and 52 units of those animal monitoring systems, if you can find any left. Otherwise, more land enrichers.”
There was a slight widening of the sales rep's eyes as he heard Veldrin's unmistakeable Imperial accent. But he was too much of a pro to show any other sign of surprise.
“I think we can accommodate your request, sir. We've been ramping up production and there's still stock.”
“Outstanding. Please confirm the purchase order. I'll pay by credit transfer.” Veldrin pulled his personal device from his cloak which the sales rep scanned with his data slate. There was a chime as the order was confirmed and paid. The sales rep looked down at some information on his slate.
“Thank you very much Mr....uh, Hedgehog? I see the payment has been received. If I can ask, that's not a traditional Imperial name is it?”
Veldrin allowed himself a slight smirk. “No. My family name resembles “hedgehog” in a long dead language, or so I have been told. It's my call sign.”
The rep nodded. “I thought so. Hedgehog was I think an animal? From Earth? History class was long ago but I think I can recall learning about them.”
“Yes. I believe they were a 2 meter long beast covered head to tail in razor sharp spikes. They used to terrify the ancient English agricultural zones at night.”
The rep chuckled. “Well, nothing a plasma repeater couldn't fix. Anyway Mr Hedgehog, sir, from your ID I can see your registered ship the Anaconda class Victoria is docked and her hold empty according to the manifest. We'll begin loading your cargo immediately.”
They're going to need more time to unload the slaves.
“Thank you but that will not be necessary. Kindly hold from loading until I have given you my command. I want to be there to observe myself.”
The sales rep looked moderately bewildered. “I can assure you sir, our dock workers will take utmost care in loading your goods with no damage at all...”
“Are you deaf?”, snapped Veldrin, any warmth in his demeanour quickly evaporating. “Do not load any cargo until I give you my all-clear. Are we understood?”
“Yes sir. Of course, as you wish.”
Veldrin turned sharply, the cloak whipping around him as he walked back into the thronging street.
“Arrogant Imperial pricks” muttered the rep, as he watched Veldrin Hedgehog's back disappear into the crowd before turning back this his data slate.
Veldrin wound his way through the mix of residents shopping and shore-leave spacers stumbling to their next drink. He was looking for a place he discovered a few weeks back, the only one it seemed that didn't try to announce its presence with a holographic display of neon vomit. Finally he found it - a quiet, unobtrusive bar just off the main thoroughfare. He stepped into its dark interior and up to the counter. A bar girl was leaning against a shelf of bottles, each filled with garishly coloured God knows what.
A real human, at least. Usually you find an automat on these stupid Federation ports.
Getting her attention, he requested a double espresso. She showed no sign of surprise at his accent, which suited him. Taking his steaming, aromatic beverage he crossed to a comfortable chair near a view port and slumped into it.
Sipping his coffee, Veldrin pulled out his personal device and checked his inbox. A message was waiting.
“Sorry, the table has already been sold.” Perfect. The offloading has finished.
He sent his signal to the trading company to commence loading his Anaconda, then checked his credit balance. His cut had already gone through. 6 million credits. Emperor's mercy!
It would have taken his father months to make anything close to this level of profit, and he had done it in a couple of jumps.
Well, my father never had an Anaconda either...and my father never traded slaves.
Or at least, he never smuggled them.
It was common knowledge that the East India Company preferred to operate within their own set of rules. The Senate turned a blind eye because the Company was useful for maintaining Imperial control of the colonies near the border, or because the Company paid them off, or because they themselves held shares. This route though...
The Empire had recently taken control of a station in LFT-37 after a nasty little conflict with whatever tinpot despot recently ran the place. As punishment for daring to stand against them, the costs of damage to the Navy fleet and the system infrastructure was passed onto the station – and therefore the people themselves. Senator Torval's business concerns quickly stepped in offering one of the Empire's most sacred social traditions: an agreed, fixed period of indentured servitude, sold to the highest bidder, in return for complete debt relief.
Faced with an impossible choice, many of the defeated populace took up the offer, in return for their family being able to continue to function in society without the stain of harbouring debt.
Unfortunately for those slaves, the EIC had made its own arrangements. Hatched between some of Torval's execs and the notorious “pirate king” Archon Delaine, using his underground network of black markets those slaves could be sold to anywhere across the galaxy – not protected under Imperial law by accepting service to a patron. They could be sold to anyone with enough credits, no questions asked. What happened to them after that was anyone's guess.
Just think about the money.
And they money was good. Appallingly good. He could do a lot with this. His Fer de Lance could always use some work, for those trips up into the Federation to exact sporadic, bloody revenge against any supporter of that warmongering murderer President Hudson. If random acts of violence could be considered revenge. Well, it gave some satisfaction watching everything be taken from then, like they took everything from him. And it's not like these slaves are true Imperial citizens anyway.
Eyes set like stone, Veldrin sipped from his cup, staring out into the void.