CHAPTER 1

 

The Civic was the nerve centre of The Kalenth Hegemony. Situated two hundred and thirty kilometres from Ralkatar, the capital city of Kalenth, it occupied twenty-five square kilometres – a city in itself.

Its many sectors controlled all aspects of The Hegemony from commerce and finance, to art and agriculture. Each planet had a governor who oversaw local policies, but Hegemony wide policies were decided in the Civic by the governing body, The Council.

All Elit families were considered equal, thus all sectors of the Civic were created equal. All buildings were of a uniform size and height. No building was higher than fifteen metres. Only at its centre was the uniformity of the Civic broken.

At the very heart was a ceremonial square surrounded by statues, fountains and gardens. To the west of the square was the Elit Military Academy where the Elit chosen for the Hegemony's military were trained. To the north was the Council Chambers where the decisions that governed the Hegemony were debated and voted on by The Council. To the east was a shuttle port for the Elit that worked in The Civic. To the south were the Council members offices clustered around the grandest and tallest structure in The Civic: The Great Hall.

The Great Hall was one hundred metres wide, three hundred metres long and thirty metres tall. The interior colour scheme was predominantly dark grey. The one point seven metre tall woman wearing the dark grey uniform easily blended into the background. She stood motionless staring at one of the many portraits of The Hegemony's greats that adorned the walls.

A door opened and closed with barely a sound, but such were the acoustics that it was clearly heard by Kikola. She turned from the painting and looked at the approaching man. He walked slowly towards her, his fine grey hair catching the light as he passed through a sunbeam shining through the skylights. Kikola recognised the man as one of the private secretaries for the head of Military Operations.

He stopped in front of her and looked over her shoulder at the portrait.

"Your great-grandfather, Petril ap Karthen, would be proud of you," he said.

"Why?" asked Kikola. Even in that one, clipped word her accent shone through. Kikola was a member the Elit; the families that ruled The Hegemony. And not just any family, Kikola was a member of the Karthen family, one of the original five founding families. She could trace her lineage back over fifteen hundred years.

The civil servant let the echo of her question die away before replying, trying to keep the astonishment out of his voice. "You graduated from the Academy as an Aloyd, First-Class: the first in over a century. Not even your great-grandfather managed that and he went on to do great things. He became a Rivelor!"

"I know my history," she informed him curtly. Kikola sensed the man was trying to impress her with his knowledge of her family, but she had no time for sycophants. "I am doing my duty for The Hegemony. I see no reason for anyone to feel pride merely because someone is doing their duty."

"What I mean is, it isn't just doing your duty, but to excel at doing your duty, to succeed like your great-grandfather—"

"My great-grandfather didn't succeed." Her icy voice cut him off.

"He led the last great expansion of The Hegemony!" the man exclaimed. "He commanded the conquering of the Lamantian Republic."

"And died in battle doing so. I call that failure. A stain on my family's history."

"Then why were you looking at his portrait?"

Kikola glanced over her shoulder at the artwork. "I didn't realise it was him. I was studying the technique. It was painted by Marlo Samon ap D'Angel, the greatest portrait painter The Hegemony has ever known. Look at the detailing on the medals. If you examine it closely it looks like a single brush stroke that changes colour, not different brush strokes for each colour. Genius." She paused for a moment. "Perhaps that is something of which to be proud?"

"I didn't know they taught art appreciation at The Elit Military Academy."

She fixed a steely gaze on him. "Of course they do. They teach us art, music, history, economics, politics, biology, physics, chemistry – everything we need to fulfil our duty. We are not like the uneducated masses we rule over!"

"No, of course not. I apologise. I didn't mean to offend you." He cleared his throat. "They are ready for you."

"Thank you. I know the way, you don't need to escort me."

Kikola left the Great Hall by the door the old man had used. It was a short walk down the corridor to the office of the Council Member for Military Operations, Ambra Kartrine ap Lentol.

There were seven people in the room. Kikola recognised six as members from the ruling council, including her uncle Toman. The seventh was man dressed in the light grey uniform of a fleet captain.

The Council Member for Military Operations was a short woman with light blonde hair; she smiled pleasantly with an air of familiarity at Kikola. The Lentol and Karthen families had close ties and Ambra ap Lentol had been a regular visitor to the household for birthday and holiday celebrations when Kikola was younger. They had last seen each other socially ten years ago at Kikola's seventeenth birthday, though there had been several official occasions where they'd met.  Ambra held out a small, open box that held a set of rank bars – a reverse 'C' with three over bars. "Kikola Mariantha Jacand ap Karthen, it gives me great pleasure to officially confer upon you the rank of Aloyd, First-Class."

Kikola took the insignia with the briefest nod of thanks and pinned them to the high collar of her uniform.

"Is there anything you wish to say?" Toman asked.

Kikola glanced around the room at the expectant faces. "I pledge to do my duty for The Hegemony." The expectant faces did not change. Do they want more? Kikola thought. "To the best of my ability," she added.

An awkward silence descended.

"Uh… That… is all we can ask," Toman rushed to fill the gap. "Allow me to introduce you to Captain Uriel Wurth."

The uniformed man snapped to attention and gave his commanding officer a crisp salute: his left arm bent from the elbow, hand formed into a fist and held on the left side of the chest. "Aloyd."

Kikola returned the salute. "At ease, Captain."

"Wurth will be captain of your personal cruiser."

Kikola studied the captain. He stood a head taller than her and appeared to be in his late thirties. His blue eyes were deep set beneath his brow and resolutely focussed at a point just to her left. A subordinate officer would never make direct eye contact with an aloyd, at least not until a certain rapport had been formed. Wurth displayed no emotion, no curiosity to look at her, not even a bead of sweat dared to roll from his brow.

"You're young to be a captain. You must have an exemplary record. I will be reviewing it to see that you meet my requirements."

"Yes, Aloyd. I expect nothing less."

"Do not presume what I will or will not do."

"Yes, Aloyd. My sincerest apologies."

Wurth did not flinch at the reprimand. He stoically maintained his stance and his gaze.

"Wait outside for me."

Wurth snapped another salute, turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

"Is he any good?" Kikola asked her uncle.

"We wouldn't assign anyone unworthy to you."

She nodded once. "What are my orders?"

Ambra handed Kikola a data chip. "Everything you need to know is on here," she said. "In short, you are to report to Station 102. Commodore Heln is there with the heavy cruiser Sword and strike ship Crusade. Take the ships to Gatlor and suppress the uprising."

Kikola frowned. "What uprising?"

"We have managed to keep a lid on it so far, but news will soon leak out. It's small scale at the moment, a handful of agitators we believe, spreading malicious literature and we want this sedition stopped before it escalates."

"Consider it stopped." Kikola tucked the data chip into her pocket. "I will report when I have completed my mission." There was no arrogance in that statement; it was stated with a calm assurance as if she had said 'the night follows sunset'. With military precision, the newly commissioned Aloyd, First-Class came to attention, gave a salute, and marched out of the office.

~~~~

"Ow!"

The word was not a cry of pain, though pain had been the prompting for its utterance. Tehvay had carefully selected it and spoken it, and accompanied it with a glare.

The doctor ignored the protestation from her and removed the needle.

Tehvay rubbed at the puncture hole on her arm only for the doctor to swat her hand away as if she were a child.

"Do not rub it, idiot," he muttered.

Tehvay lowered her hand and continued to glower at the medic. He looked like he didn't want to be in this drab sickbay any more than she did. All the colours appeared faded: the walls, the cupboards – the beds. Bright sunlight was visible outside the small windows positioned high on the walls, but none of it made it inside. The overhead lights illuminated the room well enough, but made everything a sickly, pale green colour.

The door opened and a woman in her mid-sixties with long black hair entered. She wore a formal dark green jacket and knee length skirt. Tehvay recognised her as Mariantha ap Karthen, the judge who inexplicably had not sentenced her to death, but sentenced her to something much worse. "Stand up! Show some respect when I enter!"

Tehvay reluctantly climbed to her feet.

"That's better," Judge Karthen said. She placed a package on the table next to where Tehvay was standing. "You need to lose your attitude fast. My daughter will not tolerate such disrespect."

"Then maybe you should've spent money on a decent—"

"Silence!" The woman barked at the tall, blonde haired young woman. "I am giving you a second chance. Do you not understand that? I spoke to a few of your previous owners before presiding over your trial. Before you escaped and were corrupted by your freedom, you were an obedient and loyal slave. It's in your genetic code to obey and serve. In time you'll come to understand that and return to your calling, and be grateful of this chance I am giving you."

"Maybe I don't want it now that I've tasted freedom. Maybe I'd rather die!"

The older woman shook her head slowly. "Maybe it will come to that, but I believe in you. I believe you can be reformed. If you think your death is what it takes to prove me wrong then say the word and I will have Doctor Mantell put you down right now."

"Just say the word," Mantell beamed a menacing smile at Tehvay.

As much as she wanted anything other than a return to slavery, even death, when that moment came she could not bring herself to take that step. She gave a brief shake of her head and convinced herself it was because she did not want to give the sneering doctor the satisfaction.

"Good," said the judge with a degree of satisfaction in winning the battle of wills. "Put those on." She pointed at the package on the table. "I cannot present you to my daughter wearing those prison rags." She turned to Mantell. "Thank you so much for coming to give it a medical."

"It's my job to keep you and your family healthy." He gave Tehvay a look of disgust. "And your slaves."

"Indeed, and I appreciate this facility is not up to your usual standards."

"It's more than good enough for a slave."

"The slave, is it clean?"

Mantell nodded. "Yes. Nothing communicable. I have just given it a booster shot for Rantili Fever; there's some going around at the moment."

The use of the impersonal pronoun had never bothered Tehvay previously. She had been a slave all her life and to be referred to as 'it' was normal. But four years of freedom had taught her that she was a person not a commodity, and the word grated on her.

"Excellent!" She turned back to Tehvay who was still looking at the package. "Go on. I haven't got all day."

Tehvay opened the package to reveal two pale blue slave outfits: simple slip on shoes, a sleeveless undershirt, a long sleeve outer shirt, and leggings. There were two, because even a slave needed a change of clothes. Each item of clothing had a black rectangle with white lettering stating 'BK2561891', her slave ident. The new clothes would be snug fitting on her, but then all slave uniforms were figure hugging. Tight clothing prevented them secreting any weapons about their person.

She cast her eyes around the surgery and saw a screen, but knew what the answer would be if she asked for privacy to change. Besides, changing clothes in front of two people, one of whom was a doctor, was not the most degrading thing she had been forced to do as a slave.

Tehvay slipped out of her red and orange prison uniform and got dressed as quickly as possible.

The judge gave Tehvay a brief nod and turned on her heel. Tehvay took that as a signal the judge was leaving and followed the woman to the prison courtyard where a vehicle was waiting. Tehvay was directed into the cramped, windowless rear compartment where slaves were expected to travel. She felt the vehicle move off and heard the soft rumble of the silicone tyres on the ground. The sound was relaxing and she did what any good slave would do when out of sight of their owners: she slept. Sleep was a precious commodity to a slave; it was a place where they could be free, and with demanding owners it was to be taken whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Tehvay automatically woke up when the door was opened. She stepped out and shielded her eyes from the setting sun. She had never been here before, but she deduced from the strong military presence that she was at the Kalenth Fleet Spaceport.

Another vehicle pulled up and a young woman stepped out. She was slightly shorter than average height and her black hair framed a face that looked as severe and deadly as one of the ships docked in the port. She wore the dark grey, woven metal, armoured uniform of an Elit military officer as if it were a second skin. There was a slight familial resemblance to the judge and Tehvay surmised that this must be the daughter, her new owner.

My last owner, Tehvay thought wishfully.

The judge's face broke into a smile, but the new arrival's face remained impassive.

"Kikola, dear, I wanted to see you before you go." She reached out as if she was going to embrace the younger woman, but then thought better of it.

Great, thought Tehvay. Even her mother is afraid to touch her. I should get myself killed in no time.

"That wasn't necessary," replied the younger Karthen.

"Nonsense. This is a momentous day for you, and for our family." The judge beamed with pride. "Your first command. I am so proud of you, as your father would have been." There was a moment of silence as the judge waited for her daughter to say something.

The uniformed woman remained as stiff as her uniform collar when she finally spoke. "Was there anything else?"

If the older woman was disappointed, she didn't show it. "I also wanted to give you a present. As an Aloyd, First-Class, you'll require at least one personal slave to attend you. Its name is Tehvay."

Tehvay took one step forward, keeping her eyes lowered as she was being inspected.

"It'll suffice for now. Thank you, Mother."

~~~~~

Kikola's personal cruiser, which she had named Conqueror, carried a crew of ten, including Captain Wurth. She had a private deck with limited access. At the fore of the deck was her ready room, which had direct access to the bridge. At the stern was an emergency life pod and private airlock.  Besides her ready room, the private deck contained a small exercise room, a bedroom, a bathroom, a laundry, and a dining room that could double as a function room for entertaining guests, and a small cell for a personal slave.

Kikola had not thought about owning a slave. Members of the Karthen Family generally received a personal slave on their eighteenth birthday, however since Kikola was at the Academy, where slaves for the trainees were not allowed, she never received one. Growing up she always thought that slaves were meant for families, and since she had no intention of starting a family, Kikola had not considered owning any.

The specimen her mother had given her had the toned body of a lifelong slave and stood a little taller than her. Its blonde hair was short cropped and a little unkempt and its blue eyes seemed to shine with a defiance that she had never seen in a slave before.

Once aboard, Kikola sent the slave to the private deck while she stayed on the bridge to supervise the launch. As soon as the ship achieved altitude, Aloyd Karthen handed over command to Captain Wurth and left the bridge. The journey to Station 102 would take about eight hours, so Kikola wanted to retire to her private quarters to review the mission on the data chip and get some sleep before arriving.

Kikola found her new slave in the function room sitting on a chair in the corner. Kikola was mildly annoyed that the slave did not rise when she entered the room. "I guess I should lay down the ground rules. I do not know what your previous owners expected, but this is how it will be with me. When you're not doing anything you'll remain in your cell. You do what I tell you to do. That is all. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"You'll address me as Aloyd Karthen."

Tehvay did not respond.

Was this slave defective – hard of hearing? Kikola thought. "I said you'll address me as Aloyd Karthen," she repeated in a louder tone.

"Sure," Tehvay said.

Kikola stared in disbelief. She could not understand why it would not obey her. "I will not tolerate such insolence."

Tehvay chuckled. "Oh, I can be a lot more insolent than that. Do—"

Kikola felt a rumbling of anger beginning to well up. She had to suppress it. Losing her temper was trained out of her at the Academy, or so Kikola had thought. "Go to your cell now."

"Or… you could throw me out of an airlock."

Kikola would not allow herself to be goaded. "What's wrong with you? Why would you want me to throw you out of an airlock?"

"I don't want to be here. Is that so hard to understand? Aloyd Karthen!"

Kikola looked perplexed. "You're a slave. Where else would you want to be?"

Tehvay laughed. "Are you serious?"

"The purpose of the slave caste is to serve. To serve a member of the Elit is a great honour. Why would you want anything else? You're bred to obey. It's in your genes."

It finally got up from the chair and looked at Kikola directly – not casting its gaze to the floor as an obedient slave would, which confounded Kikola.

"You're deluded," Tehvay said. "I was born a slave, yes. It was beaten into me as a child that my life was to serve and obey. That having hopes and desires was pointless. That my life could be snuffed out on the whim of my owner. That I was worthless. That I should be proud of my position on the bottom rung of society.

"And I accepted it because I knew nothing else.

"When my previous owner was killed and someone freed me, I didn't know what to do. I believed I should die with my owner. The thought of life without someone telling me what to do and when to do it was terrifying.

"It took two years to learn how to be free. Two years of trying to serve the people who freed me, and two years of being scared whenever they told me I could do what I wanted.

"But I did learn.

"I learnt that I was the master of my destiny. If I chose to lie in, I could and no one had the right to tell me to get up. If I wanted to walk down the street and look the other pedestrians in the eye, I could. Most importantly I learnt that I'm a person. A living breathing person. A person with the right to live. And a right to die rather than serve.

"Do you understand, 'Aloyd Karthen'?"

Kikola was dumbstruck. No one, let alone a slave, had ever spoken to her like that before. And to hear a slave think of itself as a person was an affront to everything she had been taught and believed. All the household slaves she had known were submissive, obedient creatures.

"No, I don't understand. You're a slave. You obey. That's all. You do not wish for anything. You do not desire anything. You do not ask for anything. Your purpose is to serve and obey me. Nothing else."

"And if I refuse to obey?"

"Refuse? Why would you refuse to obey?"

"Didn't you hear anything I just said? I'm a person. I cannot be made to serve against my will."

"You have no will."

"And you've no authority over me. What you going to do about it?"

Kikola had to think. Nothing in her training had prepared her to deal with this situation, because it was simply unthinkable. "I don't know," she admitted.

"Don't you normally beat a slave that doesn't obey you?" Tehvay asked defiantly.

"You're talking nonsense. A slave cannot disobey."

"So you've never beaten a slave?"

"No. I have had no cause to beat one."

Tehvay's looked confused. "What? Not even for fun?"

"Fun?"

"Yes… you…"

"Did your previous owners beat you 'for fun'?"

"Some of them did," Tehvay recalled.

Kikola found herself being drawn into Tehvay's story. She wanted to hear more, so Kikola took a seat in a nearby chair and gestured for Tehvay to sit. Kikola didn't command the slave to sit, and as a consequence, it took a seat again without any fuss.

"How many have you had?" Kikola asked.

"Before you, six," Tehvay replied.

"And they beat you? Then you have never been owned by a member of the Elit," Kikola concluded.

"No. Just your average well to do Quernal, and one Fethusal."

Kikola frowned. "What sort of fun involved beating you?"

"Some of them liked it rough."

"Liked what?"

"Sex."

"Sex? Why would they want to breed with a slave?"

"Breed!" the slave laughed. "I would've had a hard time getting pregnant at eight."

"Eight? Eight years old?"

"Yes. What other 'eight' is there?"

"Your owner had sex with you when you were eight?" Kikola could not fathom it.

"Yes," Tehvay replied with no emotion.

"Why?"

"He liked them young."

Kikola was repelled by such a vile thought. Owning slaves to serve you and look after your household is one thing, she thought, but to use slaves in the manner in which it was describing is beyond comprehension. "But you were too young to get pregnant."

"That wasn't his intention."

"He had sex with you, but not to get you pregnant, but because you were young?"

"Yes, these things happen you know. Are you telling me you've never had sex for fun?"

"No." replied Kikola. Silence filled the awkward space between them; Kikola felt a compulsion to ask. "Have you?"

"Well…" Tehvay sighed heavily. "Now that you mention it, it was never fun me. But other people do. When do you do it then if not for fun?"

This sort of intimate talk was disturbing to Kikola. "Enough of this nonsense! Go to your cell!"

After dismissing the slave, Kikola left the function room and crossed the corridor to her bedroom. The bedroom was not large, but she felt it took up too much space on the ship than was necessary. The bed was large though; she reckoned that if she were three times her size there would still be room left over. After settling down she decided that she would have to get a new mattress and pillows; these were far too soft for her liking. Her mind drifted to Tehvay. It had mentioned something about being free. Kikola wondered if her mother knew its background. She would question it further tomorrow; find out more about it.

~~~~

After the conversation with her owner Tehvay felt deflated. She had initially tried to provoke a reaction from the aloyd, but the military officer seemed more unsettled, rather than angry, by what Tehvay had said. So unsettled that Tehvay felt no desire to push it any further.

Any resistance in her had dissipated and she dragged a younger, more obedient version of herself to the surface and obeyed the command to go to her cell.

Tehvay's cell was a single, small room, yet it contained a three-tiered bunk against one wall, a toilet and a washbasin. She climbed into the lower bunk, the mattress was thin and hard, the pillow was small and hard and it had a thin, single sheet. It was clean, and the temperature was just right, so it was not the worst place she had been kept by a long way. She lay awake pondering her new owner. There was something about her that she had never seen in her previous owners. It seemed that Aloyd Karthen believed that slaves were somehow sub-human, almost incapable of sentient thought, yet she had treated Tehvay with more humanity than her other owners. The others knew she was human and had taken delight in making her feel sub-human. Maybe it wasn't going to be so bad after all.

When Tehvay awoke, the chronometer embedded in the wall above the door to her cell read 06:58. She got up, quickly saw to her morning ablutions, and went in search of her new master.

The aloyd was in her bedroom, just slipping into her uniform when Tehvay found her. Her owner glanced at her once and resumed her task of fastening her jacket.

"Shouldn't that be my job?" asked Tehvay.

"I am quite capable of dressing myself," replied the aloyd.

"Or should I at least have got it ready for you?"

"No need. I have decided to return you to my mother. It seems wrong to sell you myself."

The reality of the situation hit Tehvay hard. All of a sudden she did not want to die. She had experienced freedom once, and during the night she concluded that while she lived, there was hope that she could be free again. Now, that hope had been shot down. Tehvay could feel her heart pounding hard in her chest.

The aloyd became aware of Tehvay's heavy breathing.

"What's wrong with you? Are you ill?"

"I… I… You do know what'll happen to me if you return me to your mother?"

"She might be able to get a refund, or sell you on to someone else."

"Your mother didn't buy me. If I go back, I'll be executed."

"Why?"

"I told you last night I had been freed, well that made me a fugitive."

"Your release was not legal?"

"No, definitely not legal."

"Hmm, we will talk more about that later." Aloyd Karthen took a moment to fasten her sidearm to her hip and returned her attention to the slave. "You shouldn't fear death, but you should always try and put it off for as long as possible. If you only have two choices: serve me, or death, then choose to serve me."

"Not much of a choice."

"I will not beat you. I will not… do those things that your other owners may have done. But I will expect obedience."

Tehvay pondered the offer. "Two out of three ain't bad, I guess."

"Good." The aloyd glanced at the chronometer embedded into the wrist of her jacket.  "Now that's settled, I have a meeting which I must attend." Aloyd Karthen gave herself one glance in the mirror and smoothed out an invisible crease in her sleeve. She turned once more to the slave. "While I am gone, you may tidy up… make the bed… that sort of thing. I am sure you know what to do."

"Yes, Aloyd Karthen."

"We will talk more about your duties later," said Aloyd Karthen before finally making her departure.

Tehvay set about her tasks trying not to think of what she was doing. As she was tidying up the bed she noticed a stain on the sheets and decided to change them. When she closed the door on the washer, Tehvay realised that she had just been given a choice to be a slave and had accepted it.

Is this my genetics kicking in? she thought. Were Aloyd Karthen and her mother right, and I've no option but to serve?

She sat down on the floor and wept.