Once break time finally arrived, ‘at long last,’ Trydon thought to himself. He was seated down in the grimy cafeteria. The slaves were fed what could not even be recognised—some kind of cheap sludge.
‘This shit looks like baby food,’ he thought.
But, with no other choices on the dull single-option menu, he knew he had to brave the disgust and put up with it. He readied himself to battle his gag reflex and took his first spoonful. It was runny, watery, and it smelt off. Trydon wondered if they had made this stuff to purposely repel its consumers. After a moment of hesitation, he went for it. In his mouth, he felt the mushy and repulsive texture of the food, if you could rightly call it food. It was sloppy with small clumps of tasteless solids. Trydon thought to himself that he’d never eaten anything that was so horrifying to his taste buds. One serving was a nightmare for his mouth, and he would have plenty more in the days to come.
The slaves were free to wander the yards outside, and they were provided set times during which they could relax. Trydon was sitting on the ground while leaned up against the wall of the facility. There he remained alone in silence. The three suns of Rynok hovered far above him. He was looking around, learning his surroundings. There were walls all around the compound, and in the centre, was the facility itself. Several towers were scattered about in the enormous yards, each one was either a guard tower or a communications tower, by the looks of it. Trydon was suddenly approached by an older fellow.
“I’m Corsa, I’m a doctor. Was a doctor, before I ended up in here. You should let me take a look at that wound. I can patch it up.”
“With what? I can’t imagine they provided you with medical supplies,” Trydon questioned.
“Neo-Plasma has many uses, medical purposes included. And this being a plasma refinery, we have an endless supply of it here. If we heat the plasma up, it can close your wound, and clean it out,” the doctor explained.
“Thank you,” Trydon responded.
“Come,” the doctor insisted.
Trydon followed the man to a small run-down structure, originally designed to provide shade, though it was doing so quite poorly these days. A weak wooden frame held up a few tattered sheets that had tears and holes in them. It didn’t actually provide much shade. They joined the several slaves who had gathered underneath.
“Lay on your stomach; it will be easier,” Corsa suggested. “This isn’t the best medical practice, but it’s the best thing you’ll find in here.”
“Given the circumstances, I think I can make my peace with it,” Trydon told him.
“Now, before we begin, I must apologise. This is going to sting a lot,” the doctor warned.
As he placed a rag dipped with Plasma on the wound, Trydon was barely able to contain the agony. He cringed and went red. The Tarian became a tomato as the pain consumed his every nerve. Claws of anguish dug deeper under his skin.
“By the maker, I thought that would never end,” he said in relief.
“It’s not over yet,” Corsa wiped his hands with a rag.
He began debating with his nearby Tarians, using medical terms which Trydon didn’t understand.
“What, what is it?” Trydon demanded to know.
The doctor sighed. “I’m afraid it’s too late. The wound is already infected.”
“So, disinfect it,” Trydon told him.
“We don’t have that sort of thing here,” he informed desperately.
“Well, there must be something you can do,” Trydon demanded.
The doctor hesitated, then looked at the other slaves nearby. “There is one other option—amputation,” Corsa regretted to inform him.
Just the thought of this is giving me willies, and not the good kind of willies. Wait, what?
Trydon immediately gulped and froze for a moment as the seriousness of the situation had become exceedingly clear.
Corsa continued. “If we amputate, the infection won’t be able to reach other parts of your body.”
“You mean cut off my tail?” Trydon asked in shock.
Everyone remained silent.
“Okay, okay do it. I’d rather that over death,” Trydon explained.
“You have to know, we have no anaesthetic here. We can’t numb the pain for you,” the doctor regretted to say.
“Oh, god. Okay do it, just do it already!” He was eager to get it over with, but terrified at the same time. Anxiety had kicked in, as had a rush of adrenaline that became stronger with each moment that passed.
“Trydon,” the doctor said. “We have no cutting tools, no knives or weapons of any sort. In order to remove your tail, we must…” He hesitated before finishing. “We have to pull it off.”
Trydon felt his heart pounding through his ribcage. It was like a cornered animal desperate to break free. An attack of nervousness had become uncontrollable, and blood raced through his body like never before. As his palms became sweaty and his feet tingled, he raced up off the ground, “Oh, god,” he said with his hands on his face.
Corsa got up and grabbed the panicked Tarian’s shoulders, “Trydon, you need to calm down. Deep breaths.”
His body went into panic mode.
“Trydon, you’ve got to lower your heart rate,” the doctor explained.
All the anxiety had caused dizziness, and Trydon fell to the ground. Corsa pulled him back under the structure and gave him a twig. “Bite on this,” he told Trydon.
The doctor used some sheets to tie his hands to the wooden frame. Trydon was now face down, tied with his mouth gagged with a stick.
“I’m really sorry,” Corsa said.
The doctor and the other Tarians under the structure grabbed Trydon’s tail and pulled harder than they ever had before. Because the bullet wound had already removed an alarming amount of flesh, it was made significantly easier, although it was still a struggle. The Tarians tugged with whatever strength they could find, with every ounce of determination they had left. The situation was made that much worse by the sound of distorted screams from the helpless victim. Trydon felt the forces of torment overpowering his earlier anxiety. The lack of flesh around the wound made the vertebrae of his tail the only thing stopping it from coming off. He felt the anguish of his nervous system as the nerve centres inside his spine were giving way. The torture was almost too much. It was a pain so sharp that it was like being repeatedly stabbed over and over. As his tail was pulled, slowly, bit-by-bit, everything started to break and snap. Everything started to tear and rip away. What little flesh remained connecting the tail to the body was being shredded. By this point, there must have been more blood on the ground than in his body. The doctor knew it wouldn’t be much longer before his body went into shock. Trydon was still trying to scream over the twig he was biting down on. All his spine was radiating with pain. He felt the tugging even on the back of his neck.
Suddenly, a pain so sharp, so agonising and unbearable, shot up his spine and throughout his body. Then, he felt it. At that moment, he knew the roots and spinal nerves had been torn clean off. And it was then that the Tarians fell as the tail was ripped from Trydon’s body. They landed hard on the ground. Corsa was quick off his feet, knowing instantly that Trydon had gone into shock. His almost lifeless body just laid there, unconscious.
The doctor quickly untied him and tried to turn him over, only now realising his fear of his patient drowning in his own blood. Corsa struggled to remove the sheets tying him down. Blood was everywhere. A pool which Corsa had to almost swim through surrounded the poor young Tarian. Finally, Corsa managed to get his patient free, and he dragged his unconscious body out of the blood.
“Hand me that rag!” he demanded.
Once it was tossed to him by another slave, he put it over the wound. “You, come here.”
Another Tarian was quick to lend aid.
“Keep pressure on it,” the doctor demanded.
The slave pressed on the rag, his hands quickly became swallowed by an abundance of warm blood. The doctor returned with more h
eated plasma.
“All right, take it off.”
The slave removed the rag, and the doctor poured Neo-Plasma onto the open wound. As it made contact with the blood, it steamed and sizzled but quickly dried to cover it and stop further bleeding. Corsa and the other nearby Tarians took a moment to relax, as they felt the tension and stress finally waver. Corsa just sat there and leaned up against the wooden frame. His breathing began to slow down at last.
Well, thank god that’s over.
Several hours later, and the shift change had not occurred yet. Because of the large number of slaves, there were more slaves than there was room for in the refinery. As such, they operated in shifts.
Trydon was regaining consciousness at long last. As he looked around, he observed his surroundings. He had been laid on his side, resting on the sheet that was still under the wooden structure. Beside him was an enormous blood stain. The blood itself had soaked into the sand and gravel, but the red patch on the surface remained. Not far from him was another slave.
The slave noticed Trydon and then suddenly got up and raced off. “Doctor!” She shouted.
Corsa and a few other Tarians quickly came over.
“How are you feeling?” the doctor asked.
“Like I just had my tail torn off,” Trydon chuckled in response, glad the ordeal was over.
“It’ll be some time before you heal completely, but for now, you’re stable,” Corsa explained.
Trydon began to get up off the sheet, having a minor struggle while doing so. “I’m allowed to walk, right?” he asked.
“Just try to take it easy,” the doctor smiled.
“Thanks, Doc. I’m going for a bit of a stroll, I’ll catch up with you later,” said Trydon.
“Sure thing,” the doctor watched closely for a short moment, still worried about Trydon’s current state.
Trydon slowly walked around the fenced-off perimeter, passing many other slaves along the way. They were mostly in groups as they talked and socialised.
“Holy shit, what happened to you?” A woman asked.
The two of them were separated by the wire fence that stood between the two sections of the compound they had found themselves in.
“I was disobedient,” he told her.
“You’re supposed to stay out of trouble,” she informed with a slight smile. “I’m Fleiss,” she said as she put her hand through the fence.
“Trydon,” he replied while he shook her hand. “How long have you been in here?”
“A year or two,” said Fleiss.
“This place is hell. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to do everything I can to get out of here.”
“Are you insane? You’re going to get yourself killed,” Fleiss insisted.
“Anything is better than sitting around here waiting to die,” Trydon declared.
“You’re not going to escape. No one ever escapes,” she assured him.
“I’ve been here two days. Two days, and I’ve already lost a limb. I’m not waiting around to lose the rest of them. I’ve got to try,” Trydon persisted.
Fleiss shook her head.
“Help me?” he asked. “We can both get out of here.”
“I think we both know that’s never going to happen,” she replied, and then walked off and left him there, but his determination was no weaker than before.
Gee, two days and he’s already gone through hell and back. I can’t imagine what will happen to this kid. Oh well, better him than me.
FIVE
Akrillis sat at a desk, his eyes partly squinted as his concentration levels peaked. He scrolled through files on the computer, while all around him were dozens of bookcases that were several stories high. He had visited one of the city libraries. The files he had decided to check were articles on Tarian slavery, Avayan power, and the suffering of his people. It was a problem which had been going on for the past fifty millennia, but until now, Tarians who were citizens of the homeworld, Jenemi, were safe. The Avayans wouldn’t dare try it on Jenemi, as to avoid starting an all-out war. It worked both ways; the Tarian government didn’t attempt to stop it happening on other worlds to avoid starting a war, so the issue had simply continued for countless moons. The problem grew larger and larger, and now the Avayans held millions of slaves. Akrillis suddenly felt the need to do something, the need to make a change for all Tarians. It was a determination that he allowed to grow inside himself since his meeting with Malabai, after which the young prince felt his eyes had been opened to the topic. Through these articles, he learnt the harsh treatment that occurred in these concentration camps. He learnt of the torture, the rape, the murder, the forced labour, all things he was previously uninformed about to any great degree. Knowing it now, though, he felt obligated to do something about it.
Akrillis had always tried doing what he could for others. He always gave as much coin as he could to the poor, and always went to the lower city to provide its inhabitants with food.
If there was an award for the nicest guy in freaking existence, Akrillis would win.
A few days later, Akrillis met with Mera in his quarters.
“Why?” She asked.
“Because they are suffering, and no one else seems to want to do a damn thing about it,” Akrillis told her with a frown.
“But why does it have to be you?” she pleaded. “Let someone else handle it. Ask your father to send someone.”
“You know I can’t do that. Look, I can speak to him on the matter, maybe see if he’ll send a team to accompany me, but that’s about it,” Akrillis explained.
Mera felt the worry of what would happen to her fiancé should he go.
“Either way, the truth is there’s no possibility I can do this on my own. I need help,” Akrillis proclaimed. “I’ll speak with my father.”
“Just promise me you will stay safe,” Mera asked.
So, the young prince tried his luck. “Dad,” Akrillis said as he approached his father. He gulped as the nerves tried to wiggle their way up his throat. He had been much more confident before entering the room, but now suddenly he felt his palms sweat.
The king was in his throne room, which was normally full of people but empty today. Their voices could be heard echoing off the walls. “Son, your mother and I were discussing wedding preparations,” Papyrus responded, although Amorae wasn’t currently there with them.
“We need to talk about another matter,” Akrillis said.
“First, I just want to tell you how proud of a father I am. Thinking about this wedding today got me thinking how far you’ve come—from a little, wide-eyed toddler running around this place to the man standing before me now. You and Mera will be an incredible king and queen someday. Akrillis, no father could ask for a better son,” Papyrus said, almost bringing himself to tears of joy.
“Dad, thank you, I don’t know what to say. Well, I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for my father.” They both laughed. “But I still have a pressing matter to discuss with you,” Akrillis insisted.
“Yes, of course, son, anything,” his father told him.
“Tarian slaves.”
Papyrus paused, he wasn’t expecting that of all things. A moment of silence gripped the room.
“Why slavery?” his father asked.
“I’ve been looking into it, and I want to help. I want to do something about it…and I was hoping you would help me?” Akrillis asked.
“Son, slavery is an issue for us, yes, but we can’t afford to go and demand otherwise,” Papyrus declared.
“Why not?” Akrillis continued to press the issue.
“That would be an act of war. The number of casualties would be catastrophic. The Avayans are a far too formidable a foe. It’s just not worth the danger it poses.”
“And what if I were in there. Would that be worth the danger?” The young prince demanded to know.
“Don’t make this personal,” Papyrus requested.
“But they are suffering. If I had known sooner wha
t kind of things happen in there, I wouldn’t have ignored it for so long,” said Akrillis.
“Let it go, son.”
“But those are our people, our Tarian brothers and sisters,” Akrillis shouted, “suffering every day, waiting for a government that won’t defend them, that won’t stand up for them. We have abandoned these people! But I sure as hell won’t be ignoring them any longer,” he said after losing his patience.
“No, Akrillis. This matter is off-limits, and that’s final,” the king demanded.
“What are you going to do, prevent me from leaving the city?” Akrillis stormed out in frustration.
Mera sat in their quarters, resting on the couch while watching a televised program.
Her fiancé suddenly stormed in, the door flung shut behind him.
“What’s wrong?” She asked as she got up.
“He refuses to do anything. He won’t budge a finger for his own people,” Akrillis explained.
“Babe, I’m sorry, I wish it could’ve worked out better for you. I do,” she expressed her condolences.
“He’s always supported me when trying to do the right thing, but this, he won’t help with this. This isn’t over yet,” he assured her.
“What do you mean?” she wondered, partly afraid to know the answer.
Akrillis hesitated before telling her his next move. He gulped. “I have to find Vanakis and convince him to help me.”
“You know as well as I do that he’ll never budge for someone else, especially not for a crusade to help those in need,” she sighed.
“I know, but I have to try. I don’t know what else to do. He’s my only option,” Akrillis regretted to admit.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe for a second he would stand up for those less fortunate than himself,” Mera said, acknowledging what they both knew.
“I know. Neither do I, but I'm all out of ideas.” Akrillis felt his doubts growing with each passing moment.
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