Kaen Lazuli
Planetoid
- Joined
- Oct 5, 2014
- Location
- Norway
Shanti Ni Aranna, fifth daughter of the esteemed House Aranna, a prominent noble family of the Damura Star Dominion, was a regal-looking young girl of eighteen Sol-years. Her skin was a dark, smooth caramel hue and her lustrous hair flowed like a shimmering crimson waterfall around her exquisitely shaped face. Crystal-clear eyes of the same fiery shade held a spark of intelligence beyond her years. By all accounts she would have a successful military career, followed by a prestigious marriage into the ruling family of the wealthy solar system. A jewel to be coveted by many eyes across the local star cluster.
Yet her eyes could only stare at the slate gray floor below, for her head and hands had been locked into a cruel metal pillory for the last three hours. It was punishment for performing poorly during cleaning, when she had been made to crawl into the bowels of dirty pipework and large machines. But standing here was not a break from work. No, it was subtracted from her rest-hours. This was her lot in life now, toiling for her enemies in shame. The only fate allowed a surviving aristocrat of a defeated star nation. Didn't the old Roman adage go something like 'Woe to the conquered', if she recalled her pre-spacefaring history correctly?
She slightly adjusted her position to alleviate the stiff muscles of her back and thighs any way she could. Damn, this posture was really starting to hurt! Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, the sweet smell of fine perfume emanating from them due to the chemical concoctions she had been forced to consume lately. But somehow it sickened her, for even her biochemistry was not her own anymore. And then there was the clingy feeling of the form-fitting bodysuit she had been forced into for the duration of her slave-training. It was a glossy gray color, and both covered and revealed every part of her youthful body. She found that she no longer felt ashamed at her state of dress.
Wearing the shiny plastics of the slave caste had mortified her the first month, but there was no escape and at this point it felt simply like a second skin. It was almost comforting, as it shielded her body from the grime and detritus she and her fellow slaves were made to clean every day. And when she cleaned and toiled, she thought. Her razor-sharp mind, genetically enhanced by her parents to serve as the next generation of strategist and administrator in the Damuran Fleet, whirred away at the problem of her confinement. The impulse to give up having been bred out of her on the genetic level.
At first she had cursed her augmented brain and resilient body. Why could she not just lose herself in the same madness the other slaves had? Most of her peers had turned into compliant husks after a few months of the insidious slave-conditioning used against them. It would have been liberating, not to feel this despair. This sense of a birthright denied, a glorious future forever snuffed out. But alas, there were no such release from the horrors of her new life. She remained unbroken, despite her captors' best efforts. And, to her great dismay, her own efforts to go insane as well.
She decided to count the days just to distract herself. Or more precisely, the hours, as no daylight or dates reached them down here. Then a wave of sadness washed over her.
"... if this is the fifth day of Havaest, then it is..." she whispered to herself, a single tear dropping onto the cold metal floor below. "Happy birthday... me..."
A painful shock suddenly wracked her body, as her control-collar registered her referring to herself in first person. That was forbidden for slaves, because only people could refer to themselves in first person. Slaves were not people, they were property. She grew intensely angry for a split-second, then quelled it as soon as it came. No electric shock this time. It was the duration of anger, not its intensity that triggered the hellish device she wore around her neck. The technological snitch which ratted out even the state of her mind to her captors, rewarding resistance with pain. But she did not growl and strain against her bonds. Not anymore. She had been held in the deepest bowels of the slave-pens for many months now, and she was slowly starting to react to hardship with resignation rather than struggle. This was, of course, exactly the point. She was slowly being worn down, turned into a compliant servant of the new nobility.
Or so the new rulers of her home planet thought.
Little by little, piece by piece, she had analyzed, dissected and decoded the workings of this infernal device. It recorded and monitored her position, her physical state, her words and even her emotional state. Yet there were openings for her to exploit. It could not read thoughts, only surface emotions. It could detect a lot of veiled threats, yet sufficient abstraction was beyond it. Slowly she had developed a new mental grammar, substituting words and emotions for others. She not only spoke in code these days, she thought in code. Shanti used these hours of isolation to slowly test her new mental "grammar". Which thoughts triggered shocks and which did not. But she had to appear sloppy and sprinkle in random errors, otherwise the wardens may start to suspect something.
She had seen no hints of any other slave doing the same, and her grasp of body language assured her that the wardens did not even think this was possible. A part of her knew this was insanely risky, that possible execution awaited her. But what else was she supposed to do? No, the only way out of slavery was through it! A door creaked behind her, as one of the male Wardens entered the punishment room. She recognized his steps, but kept silent. He was slow this time, clearly he had been slacking when he should have been watching the surveillance feed from the stockades.
"Well well well..." came a bored-sounding voice, along with a slap across her butt. "I just saw a notification of you referring to yourself as a person again, Slave 134-A. What was that all about?"
She held in a yelp, instead craning her head as far backwards as the pillory allowed to beam a happy smile at her tormentor. "This slave forgot herself, honorable Warden Charles! Slave 134-A remembered something from her former life, and her words slipped! Slave 134-A is very sorry and begs to be punished for this error!"
There was no point lying, a small, secluded part of her mind thought. She had to believe her own words. All her words were recorded after all, and she had to clear the tests tomorrow. This was her last chance to pass the Conditioning-test and be put up for sale, instead of condemned to permanent toil and prostitution in the offworld mines. Being the servant-girl of some powerful bastard or cunt was far preferable. Another shock came, as it registered hostile intent. Ops, she meant to think 'gracious noble lord or lady'! Yes, precisely so! She had to maintain the compartmentalization of her mind for tomorrow's trials at all costs.
"Hmmm..." the man hummed, and she could almost feel the mental drooling as one of her breasts was cupped, "If you insist, Slave 134-A... who am I to deny a girl her wishes?"
She was Slave 134-A. She had seen the errors of her former ways. She was ready to serve her betters. She wished to be a perfect servant in all ways. She was happy to be given another chance at being good. No tears came as her mouth was being used by her kind Warden. No murderous intent directed itself at her proper and peerless superior. Nothing but a smile graced her lips as she thanked him for the additional serving of 'protein' she had been given.
She was happy to serve. Yes, very happy. It was the only way.
A few days later Shanti's efforts had been rewarded, as she was marched out onto the auction block. Instead of the gray bodysuit, she now wore a silver leotard which showed off her figure and let her delicate legs and arms be visible to all bidders. Her normally wavy hair was made straight by a nanite hair conditioner during her stay here.
She recognized the location as the planetary capital, now fully reconstructed from the orbital bombardment half a year earlier. Powerful lights almost blinding her as a well-dressed announcer was hyping up the crowd for the next slave on sale.
"Ladies aaaaand gentlemen, presenting Slave 134-A!" the man announced, "This is a rare specimen indeed. A former lady of Damura's nobility, now ready and eager to serve her new rulers! Let the bidding start aaaaaat a hundred thousand credits!"
As instructed by the Wardens, she held out her hands to each side. The magnetic cuffs immediately attached to two thick chains, which proceeded to lift her off the ground and forward. Dangling from her wrists in the middle of the vast arena, the chains slowly rotated and displayed her from every angle as she could hear the shouted numbers go up. She smiled to the crowd and sensually flexed her legs, as she had been encouraged to do. She knew the currency of her conquerors, and she felt a small tinge of satisfaction that her new owner would have to spend quite a bit to purchase her. The remaining embers of her pride were soothed by that. At least she had her worth, if only in a twisted momentary sense.
Although her aching arms hoped the bidding would not go on for too long.
Yet her eyes could only stare at the slate gray floor below, for her head and hands had been locked into a cruel metal pillory for the last three hours. It was punishment for performing poorly during cleaning, when she had been made to crawl into the bowels of dirty pipework and large machines. But standing here was not a break from work. No, it was subtracted from her rest-hours. This was her lot in life now, toiling for her enemies in shame. The only fate allowed a surviving aristocrat of a defeated star nation. Didn't the old Roman adage go something like 'Woe to the conquered', if she recalled her pre-spacefaring history correctly?
She slightly adjusted her position to alleviate the stiff muscles of her back and thighs any way she could. Damn, this posture was really starting to hurt! Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, the sweet smell of fine perfume emanating from them due to the chemical concoctions she had been forced to consume lately. But somehow it sickened her, for even her biochemistry was not her own anymore. And then there was the clingy feeling of the form-fitting bodysuit she had been forced into for the duration of her slave-training. It was a glossy gray color, and both covered and revealed every part of her youthful body. She found that she no longer felt ashamed at her state of dress.
Wearing the shiny plastics of the slave caste had mortified her the first month, but there was no escape and at this point it felt simply like a second skin. It was almost comforting, as it shielded her body from the grime and detritus she and her fellow slaves were made to clean every day. And when she cleaned and toiled, she thought. Her razor-sharp mind, genetically enhanced by her parents to serve as the next generation of strategist and administrator in the Damuran Fleet, whirred away at the problem of her confinement. The impulse to give up having been bred out of her on the genetic level.
At first she had cursed her augmented brain and resilient body. Why could she not just lose herself in the same madness the other slaves had? Most of her peers had turned into compliant husks after a few months of the insidious slave-conditioning used against them. It would have been liberating, not to feel this despair. This sense of a birthright denied, a glorious future forever snuffed out. But alas, there were no such release from the horrors of her new life. She remained unbroken, despite her captors' best efforts. And, to her great dismay, her own efforts to go insane as well.
She decided to count the days just to distract herself. Or more precisely, the hours, as no daylight or dates reached them down here. Then a wave of sadness washed over her.
"... if this is the fifth day of Havaest, then it is..." she whispered to herself, a single tear dropping onto the cold metal floor below. "Happy birthday... me..."
A painful shock suddenly wracked her body, as her control-collar registered her referring to herself in first person. That was forbidden for slaves, because only people could refer to themselves in first person. Slaves were not people, they were property. She grew intensely angry for a split-second, then quelled it as soon as it came. No electric shock this time. It was the duration of anger, not its intensity that triggered the hellish device she wore around her neck. The technological snitch which ratted out even the state of her mind to her captors, rewarding resistance with pain. But she did not growl and strain against her bonds. Not anymore. She had been held in the deepest bowels of the slave-pens for many months now, and she was slowly starting to react to hardship with resignation rather than struggle. This was, of course, exactly the point. She was slowly being worn down, turned into a compliant servant of the new nobility.
Or so the new rulers of her home planet thought.
Little by little, piece by piece, she had analyzed, dissected and decoded the workings of this infernal device. It recorded and monitored her position, her physical state, her words and even her emotional state. Yet there were openings for her to exploit. It could not read thoughts, only surface emotions. It could detect a lot of veiled threats, yet sufficient abstraction was beyond it. Slowly she had developed a new mental grammar, substituting words and emotions for others. She not only spoke in code these days, she thought in code. Shanti used these hours of isolation to slowly test her new mental "grammar". Which thoughts triggered shocks and which did not. But she had to appear sloppy and sprinkle in random errors, otherwise the wardens may start to suspect something.
She had seen no hints of any other slave doing the same, and her grasp of body language assured her that the wardens did not even think this was possible. A part of her knew this was insanely risky, that possible execution awaited her. But what else was she supposed to do? No, the only way out of slavery was through it! A door creaked behind her, as one of the male Wardens entered the punishment room. She recognized his steps, but kept silent. He was slow this time, clearly he had been slacking when he should have been watching the surveillance feed from the stockades.
"Well well well..." came a bored-sounding voice, along with a slap across her butt. "I just saw a notification of you referring to yourself as a person again, Slave 134-A. What was that all about?"
She held in a yelp, instead craning her head as far backwards as the pillory allowed to beam a happy smile at her tormentor. "This slave forgot herself, honorable Warden Charles! Slave 134-A remembered something from her former life, and her words slipped! Slave 134-A is very sorry and begs to be punished for this error!"
There was no point lying, a small, secluded part of her mind thought. She had to believe her own words. All her words were recorded after all, and she had to clear the tests tomorrow. This was her last chance to pass the Conditioning-test and be put up for sale, instead of condemned to permanent toil and prostitution in the offworld mines. Being the servant-girl of some powerful bastard or cunt was far preferable. Another shock came, as it registered hostile intent. Ops, she meant to think 'gracious noble lord or lady'! Yes, precisely so! She had to maintain the compartmentalization of her mind for tomorrow's trials at all costs.
"Hmmm..." the man hummed, and she could almost feel the mental drooling as one of her breasts was cupped, "If you insist, Slave 134-A... who am I to deny a girl her wishes?"
She was Slave 134-A. She had seen the errors of her former ways. She was ready to serve her betters. She wished to be a perfect servant in all ways. She was happy to be given another chance at being good. No tears came as her mouth was being used by her kind Warden. No murderous intent directed itself at her proper and peerless superior. Nothing but a smile graced her lips as she thanked him for the additional serving of 'protein' she had been given.
She was happy to serve. Yes, very happy. It was the only way.
She recognized the location as the planetary capital, now fully reconstructed from the orbital bombardment half a year earlier. Powerful lights almost blinding her as a well-dressed announcer was hyping up the crowd for the next slave on sale.
"Ladies aaaaand gentlemen, presenting Slave 134-A!" the man announced, "This is a rare specimen indeed. A former lady of Damura's nobility, now ready and eager to serve her new rulers! Let the bidding start aaaaaat a hundred thousand credits!"
As instructed by the Wardens, she held out her hands to each side. The magnetic cuffs immediately attached to two thick chains, which proceeded to lift her off the ground and forward. Dangling from her wrists in the middle of the vast arena, the chains slowly rotated and displayed her from every angle as she could hear the shouted numbers go up. She smiled to the crowd and sensually flexed her legs, as she had been encouraged to do. She knew the currency of her conquerors, and she felt a small tinge of satisfaction that her new owner would have to spend quite a bit to purchase her. The remaining embers of her pride were soothed by that. At least she had her worth, if only in a twisted momentary sense.
Although her aching arms hoped the bidding would not go on for too long.
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