Exploration (Galactic Neighborhood Book 3)

by Alexander Elliott

  It was pitch black in the windowless basement room where they slept, so when the lights were suddenly switched on it took a moment to adjust. The guard unlocked the door and removed the bar which prevented anyone from coming in or going out during the night. As always, he said nothing to them and showed little interest unless his duties required it. He was an older male with white hair on his muzzle, paws and tail tip. Presumably, he was no longer fit for more strenuous assignments, or perhaps he served the Prime for many years in other capacities before the humans were brought to the palace.

  The women knew nothing about him, even his name, and he seemed determined to perform his duties with minimal interaction. He wasn’t unnecessarily cruel, which was a great blessing in itself, but he was still gruff, impatient, and quite capable of killing anyone who got out of line. Amongst themselves the slaves called him Sid, and often wove elaborate stories about his imagined life.

  Once the door was unlocked, the women were expected to report to the great hall for their meager breakfast and work assignments. Being late was not an option. Except for using the latrine in the corner, there were no other preparations before starting the day. The slaves each wore a makeshift toga, made from discarded blankets, drapes, or even table coverings. Shoes were not provided by their captors, and their hair was kept covered by a scarf, knotted at the back of the neck. Talking was normally not allowed, though there were a few exceptions.

  Only the Silestri who suffered daily contact with the slaves, such as Sid, had any understanding of human speech, and even this was limited. The same was generally true in reverse, though the slaves understood much more of the Silestri tongue than they let on. From the beginning, they chose to feign ignorance so as to encourage their captors to speak freely in front of them. The knowledge they gained might prove useful one day, and if not, it gave the women some small measure of enjoyment to know what was happening around them.

  The slaves rose quickly and began filing out of the room, down the short hall, through a second heavy door, and up the stairs to ground level. Marina was always the last to leave, greeting the others with a simple touch or gesture, and making certain no one was left behind. Sid, as always, waited at the top of the stairs where he kept an eye on the slaves as they passed by. Each morning, Marina greeted him with a smile, and each morning he ignored her. It was probably foolish to waste the effort, but she continued to hope her small kindness might make a difference some day. What it really meant to Sid was anyone’s guess.

  What the slaves called the ‘great room’ served as the dining hall for the palace staff, and was located just off the large kitchen where all the meals were prepared. Marina and the others were never allowed to recline at the low tables, but were expected to sit on the floor in several straight rows and wait for the staff to finish their meal. When it was their turn, large baskets of fruit, vegetables or other scraps were handed out to the slave at the beginning of each row and then passed from person to person.

  The women learned quickly to limit their portions so even the last person in the row would still have a bite to eat. Some days the pickings were slim indeed, but mornings after a feast or celebration could provide a generous portion for everyone. After the food, a pitcher of water was passed along each row, affording every slave a drink. The entire meal took very little time, as the Silestri constantly badgered the slaves to hurry. Punishments were swift and numerous for taking too long, spilling on the floor, or for no apparent reason at all. It was rare for the slaves to complete a meal without nasty bruises or blood being drawn from Silestri claws.

  As soon as they were finished, the women stood to their feet and waited for Sid to assign their tasks for the day. Some chores were done daily, while others only at certain times. Without knowing the Silestri calendar, the slaves soon learned by experience there were five days in each cycle, which they referred to as 1st day, 2nd day and so on.

  One at a time, Sid growled out single word commands such as ‘garden’, ‘laundry’, or ‘cleaning’. After announcing the type of work needed, Sid would choose the number of slaves required and send them off with one of the regular palace servants. This morning, Marina and a dozen others were selected for work out on the palace grounds. One of the ‘gardeners’, for want of a better term, led them from the great room and out a side exit.

  Most outside work, even for the slaves, was done before the midday meal, thus avoiding the warmest part of the day. Any excuse to get outside, however, was normally welcomed, and the women shared small smiles as they were led, single file, to the intricate gardens attached to Prime Yarmew’s quarters. Spread out among the trees, flowers and hedges were well worn walking paths.

  Some of them led to small gazebo-like structures, filled with reclining couches or heavy simulated tree branches for perching. In the center of the garden could be found a large marshy area, divided by a clear stream, and overhung with outsize trees resembling the weeping willows of Earth. From what the slaves overheard, this playground was used daily by Yarmew and her cubs, and occasionally by the powerful Sub’ords who served her.

  The slaves were led to a high stone wall which ran all the way around the private garden. It was flanked by a row of ornamental flowering trees which were being trimmed by the staff. The slaves were instructed to gather the branches into piles and then sweep the path free of debris. The work was not difficult, and a heady perfume filled the air from the fragrant white blossoms. Others followed behind them, filling large wheeled carts with the trimmings and removing them from the garden.

  About a quarter of the way down the wall, one of the slaves screamed in pain. Marina rushed over to find Corrine kneeling on the ground, cradling her left arm. On the ground nearby squirmed one of the insects the slaves called arrow bees. Their stingers were large, arrow shaped, and very hard to extract. The stings were intensely painful and would cause abnormal swelling of the affected area if not removed quickly.

  The Silestri noticed the ruckus and one of them stalked over to investigate. Corrine was crying softly as a painful blister began to form on her arm, and Marina attempted to keep her calm while she tried to think of what to do. The Silestri took one look at her arm and at the injured arrow bee on the ground, growling curses at the interruption of their work.

  Without pause, he pulled a short knife from a pocket in his shoulder sash and grabbed roughly onto Corrine’s arm. With a quick slice, he opened the wound and flicked the stinger aside. With gestures, he indicated Marina should suction out the wound, then wiped his blade clean on Corrine’s clothing and returned to his work. Marina was hesitant to do it, but she was not about to allow Corrine to suffer any longer than necessary.

  She pressed her mouth over the bloody incision and sucked out a mouthful of blood and fluid, spitting it out quickly, and repeated the procedure several times until she could only taste the blood. Her tongue and lips tingled with a strange heat, but she ignored the minor discomfort and tore a long strip from the hem of her robe to form a bandage. She wrapped Corrine’s arm carefully and tied a knot to keep it in place.

  Marina stood and then helped the other woman to her feet, whispering quietly for her to stay close by. The Silestri growled at them to get back to work, but strangely enough did not offer any punishment. The other slaves continued their labor through the whole ordeal, and even now risked nothing more than unobtrusive glances in their direction. Corrine wiped the tears from her face, and with a nod of thanks, continued with her work.

  The rest of the morning passed uneventfully, and in whispered snippets, Corrine assured Marina she was all right. When the work was completed, the Silestri with the knife approached Corrine and examined her arm briefly, growling something to himself. It seemed he helped Corrine only because she was injured on his watch.

  As he turned to go, Marina caught his eye and bowed her head in thanks. He said nothing and joined his fellow gardeners on their way to the midday meal. The women were lined up again and marched back to the great room to join the others who wer
e already seated on the floor, waiting for them to arrive. Once the palace staff was finished eating, their scraps were given to the slaves.

  The rest of the afternoon was filled with another set of routine assignments, and instead of working indoors as she expected, Marina found herself in the orchards with a different group of slaves. They were set to picking various ripe fruits and placing the full baskets on a driverless conveyance which shuttled back and forth between the fields and the palace. The temperature increased significantly, but since they were mostly in the shade it was tolerable.

  Clearly, the Silestri were anxious to get out of the heat, growling and hissing at the slaves to hurry. None of them dared try to eat any of the sweet fruits, knowing the punishment would be severe. If they were lucky, there might be a few leftovers after the evening meal for them to enjoy, though it was never a sure thing.

  When the group was returned to the palace, they found Sid watching over the other slaves who were seated outside on the grass. After a quick count, Marina knew they were waiting for the last ten to finish whatever job they were given. Sid’s routine rarely changed, and since it was mid-afternoon on 5th day, she knew what was next on the schedule. Before long, the latecomers joined them, and they were all led inside through a back entrance.

  The laundry was located in a corner of the palace complex with an attached walled courtyard. Inside were the washing tubs and folding tables, while the courtyard contained rows of old fashioned clothesline. Considering the Silestri were technologically advanced, it was curious they never invented an automated system to clean and dry their linens. Perhaps it was because they wore so little in the way of clothing, compared to humans, and they simply saw no need to expend more effort on such a minor task.

  Marina didn’t care why they did it this way, since it afforded them the twice weekly luxury of bathing. She was fairly certain the only reason it was allowed was because the Silestri sense of smell was offended by the mélange of human body odors. Self preservation, she was sure, rather than kindness, was the driving force behind the practice. The Silestri probably had no idea their captives would gladly wash daily if given the opportunity.

  As always, Sid counted the women as they entered the large room and then locked the doors. Apparently, he was confident in his ability to subdue any type of slave uprising by himself if necessary. At first, Marina and the others were terrified of removing their clothing in front of any male Silestri, but Sid never touched or threatened them in any way. As soon as the doors were locked the women were free to begin, and even better, they were allowed to talk amongst themselves freely. Conversations were carefully edited, of course, in case Sid was listening.

  The large tubs were soon filled with warm soapy water, and the women took turns washing first their robes, then themselves. It took a while for everyone to get a turn, and the large tubs needed to be drained and refilled several times. After they finished and redressed, the room itself needed cleaning before they were allowed to go out to the courtyard. There the sun and wind made quick work of drying them off, and for just a few minutes the women could pretend their lives were something approaching normal.

  Today, a large crowd formed around Corrine as she told the story about her encounter with the arrow bee, and how the Silestri and Marina helped her. Some were amazed, but most were simply grateful Corrine was going to be all right. Marina shrugged it off as just doing her job, but the others knew it meant more to her than that.

  After their bath, the slaves returned once more to the great room where the last chore of the day was to serve the evening meal to the staff. Half of the women were randomly chosen by Sid, while the others sat on the floor as usual to wait for their own meal later on. Marina was in the serving group tonight, and she struggled to carry the heavy platters of food from kitchen to table. Silestri meals were noisy, ravenous affairs complete with overlapping conversations which tended to get louder by the minute. When she wasn’t serving or filling drinks, Marina was busy listening for any information which might prove useful or interesting. Usually the talk was less than noteworthy, but tonight she was picking up something intriguing from one of the men’s tables.

  The discussion concerned a place called Hathor, which some of the others heard mentioned before. It must be off world, as references were made to traveling there by ship. What really caused Marina’s heart to beat faster was the mention of humans there. Yes, it was a group of human males! If she was correct, it meant the men were still alive and living on Hathor, wherever it was. Her duties called her away to serve another table, and by the time she could listen in again, the conversation moved on to something else. Hopefully, one of the others overheard what she missed. Perhaps after lights out they could compare notes and fit the pieces together.

  After the staff finished their meal, the slaves collected all the scraps, took the dishes to the kitchen, and cleaned the tables and floor. Only then were they allowed to eat, and it was rushed like the other meals. Marina was pleased to see some of the same fruits they picked earlier in their scrap basket, though there wasn’t enough for everyone in her row. When they finished eating, the women formed a line and returned to their sleeping chamber for the night. Once they were all inside, Sid stood guard in the short hallway outside the open door. He was content to watch and listen from a distance, allowing the slaves a few minutes to prepare before lights out.

  Though they were allowed to talk, there was little time for conversation. This was their chance to use the crude bathroom facilities the Silestri provided, and in a well-choreographed routine, they somehow managed to cycle everyone through before lights out. Half the group lined up to use the latrine, which consisted of three simple toilets in a row along the back wall. The women made the best of it and learned, over time, to ignore the lack of privacy.

  It was far from ideal, but still a huge improvement over the series of buckets they were forced to use after first arriving. Fresh water was available nearby from a large spigot jutting out of the wall, about four feet off the ground. There was no sink or collection bowl, simply a grated drain in the stone floor beneath. Those not using the toilet had a few seconds to get a drink or wash hands before the next person rushed forward.

  In the sleeping area, bedding was adjusted to a grid pattern, leaving several unobstructed walkways. Since the chamber would be pitch black, it was crucial to leave a clear path for anyone needing to use the toilet during the night. As everyone finished up and settled down, the whispered conversations ceased when Sid stepped inside and counted them one final time. Marina was checking the wound on Corrine’s arm, and just managed to apply a fresh bandage, when Sid closed and barred the heavy door.

  Seconds later, the lights winked out, plunging them into total darkness. Corrine scooted in behind her and they got as comfortable as possible while they listened for Sid to close and lock the door at the end of the short hallway. It was always Marina’s call to begin the hushed group conversations they enjoyed each night, even though they were not allowed to talk after lights out. Sid was the only one who ever came down to their chamber, and once he retreated up the stairs, no one would care if they talked among themselves.

  Marina impatiently waited, straining to hear any indication of sound or movement beyond their door. Finally satisfied they were alone, she snapped her fingers twice and began to speak.

  “One of the tables I served tonight was talking about human men on Hathor! Did anyone else hear anything?”

  After several positive responses, each of the women shared one at a time what they overheard at the meal. There were still gaps in the story, but the pieced together information formed a consistent narrative. Wherever Hathor was, the planet was being used as a hunting ground for small groups of Silestri. Evidently the male crew members were marooned there at the same time the women were brought to Bastet. Nothing was said about how many were still alive or what condition they were in, but their captors seemed unconcerned about their location or continued survival. Most likely, they assumed
the humans would die from exposure or starvation and that would be the end of them.

  After hearing nothing about the fate of their men during the long years of captivity, the women were ecstatic to discover at least some of them were still alive. Many of the women cried softly, whether out of joy or grief was difficult to say. Marina herself was overjoyed, and allowed the tiniest spark of hope to engage her imagination. As the others whispered quietly around her, she envisioned the men capturing a Silestri vessel and then finding a way to rescue her and the others in a daring escape.

  It was silly of course, since if it were possible, such an attempt would have been made by now. The fantasy was amusing while it lasted, but there was no sense in getting her hopes up or sharing her thoughts. Through their days of hopeless, pointless toil, this small bit of news would continue to warm their hearts for a long time to come. It wasn’t much, but in their situation, it would have to do.

  Chapter 7

  Bastet, harem slave quarters, present day.