Void Opals and a Slave

I had several doubts about which category this story would fall under.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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My 120 tonnes of void opals should earn me a few million credits, but I still had about 20 jumps left and a few fuel scooping sessions around the upper layers of different stellar heliospheres. I'd likely buy one of the new Mandalays, or join a group of commanders and establish a new colony. For years, I'd been thinking about setting up a small outpost in a quiet system, far from the intrigues of the major powers. With the profits from this journey, that possibility seemed increasingly within reach.

The alarm suddenly blared, interrupting my daydreams. I was being interdicted. My eyes darted to the scanner, trying to identify the aggressor. Who could it be? I hoped they were pirates - Thargoids were much more difficult to deal with than humans. It was better to submit to the interdiction and then assess the situation. Resisting would only damage the ship's systems, and with 120 tonnes of valuable minerals in the hold, I couldn't risk a malfunction of the FSD if I needed to make a quick escape.

Preparing for interdiction submission in 3... 2... 1...

The familiar distortion of hyperspace transformed into a swirling vortex of blue light. My stomach lurched as the "Vasco da Gama" was yanked out of supercruise. The systems recalibrated quickly, emergency lights flashing for a moment before stabilising. I was back in normal space.

"Shields up," I commanded the ship's system. The bi-weave shields hummed as they activated, enveloping the Python in a bluish force field. My mining configuration included no weaponry -- just shields and modified thrusters for an efficient escape. A choice that now could prove problematic.

On the scanner, three signals materialised. Not Thargoids, thank God. But what I saw made my blood run cold: a Federal Corvette and two Vultures.

The communication channel opened with a crackle. A calm, controlled voice filled the cabin:

"Commander, power down your engines immediately and prepare for cargo scanning. Any attempt to flee will result in immediate destruction."

Damned pirates! if I were in one of my combat vessels, I would add your carcasses to my countless bounty list, but in the Vasco da Gama my only option was escape.

I quickly checked the systems. The FSD cooldown after interdiction was only 10 seconds, plus charging time. I had a chance, albeit a narrow one. I redirected all available power to shields and engines.

"Power distribution: four pips to engines, two to shields," I commanded while silently initiating the FSD countdown.

The Vultures began positioning themselves to block my escape routes while the Corvette advanced slowly. Their weapons were ready, but they hadn't fired yet. They wanted my whole cargo intact, just a few canisters.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I replied, trying to gain a few precious seconds. "I'm just a miner returning from a shift in the rings. Nothing but hydrogen fuel here."

The FSD counter marked 5 seconds. I knew that as soon as it started charging, they would open fire. My modified shields could withstand a few shots, but not for long against a corvette's armament.

"Tritium and void opals, we've got a jackpot, boys," responded the voice, enthusiastic about the potential haul. "Last chance to..."

I didn't wait for the end of the sentence. "Initiating FSD charge," I commanded, and the Python shuddered as the capacitors began channelling energy for the jump.

"Afterburners!" I shouted to Vasco da Gama's AI while redirecting all pips to shields. I had to move away from the Corvette and its mass effect on the drive. The Python lurched as the modified thrusters kicked in, propelling the ship away from the capital vessel.

A plasma shot grazed past my ship's hull. The Vultures were in hot pursuit, much more agile than my Python loaded with minerals.

"Come on, girl," I murmured to my ship as I fired the afterburners again. Just 3... 2... 1... and I would be ready to jump...

A plasma shot hit the starboard side squarely.

"Shields offline," I heard the cold voice of the computer. "Hull damage."

The cabin lights flashed red. The sound of metal being struck echoed through the cockpit as the autocannons from one of the Vultures reduced the ship's armour with each hit.

The cockpit glass began to crack under the pressure. Alarms sounded throughout the cabin. The atmosphere started to escape. My peripheral vision darkened as I felt the Remlock suit deploy. My hands gripped the controls tightly, keeping aim at the jump point.

"Jump sequence engaged," announced the onboard computer.

The space around me distorted, stretching like a membrane. The last sound I heard before the jump was the impact of more projectiles against the already-damaged hull.

And then... silence. The tranquil blue of hyperspace enveloped me. I had managed to jump.

But at what cost?

As the Vasco da Gama travelled through hyperspace towards the next system, the computer stated the obvious: "Warning: 20 minutes of oxygen remaining." The message repeated itself every minute, as if I could forget that I was about to suffocate in the vacuum of space.

The blue of hyperspace gave way to the sight of a yellow star as I arrived in the Darnley system, a class-E star on the periphery of the inhabited bubble. I barely had time to recover from the jump when the computer fired another alert:

"Warning: Critical damage to Frame Shift Drive."

I quickly examined the system on the map. Just a star and an asteroid ring. No station, no outpost, nowhere to repair a damaged ship.

"19 minutes and 23 seconds of oxygen remaining," the computer repeated mechanically.

I took a deep breath, trying to control my panic. That only consumed more oxygen. I needed to think.

I accessed the diagnostic panel. The cockpit was compromised, continuously leaking air. The FSD had suffered significant damage--I wasn't sure if it would withstand another jump. The hull was at 23%.

I launched the emergency repair program, but I knew it wouldn't solve the more serious problems. As some systems began functioning again, the navigation computer finally managed to identify nearby systems.

If they had followed me, I was dead. But I couldn't stay there. I needed to find a station where I could repair the damage and refuel, all in less than 20 minutes.

The navigation scanner finally showed a result: Heng Station system, two jumps away. It had a medium-sized orbital station--if the FSD could withstand two jumps, if the life support systems lasted long enough, if I wasn't intercepted again...

Too many "ifs" for a situation with so little margin for error.

"18 minutes of oxygen remaining," the COVAS intoned, each word falling like a death knell in the damaged cockpit.

My fingers danced over the navigation panel. I selected Heng as the destination and initiated the charging of the damaged FSD. The capacitors struggled to channel sufficient energy. Under normal conditions, charging would take 15 seconds. Now, the progress bar advanced painfully slowly.

I checked the life support systems again. Perhaps there was some way to conserve oxygen? I switched off all non-essential systems, redirecting power to the FSD and life support.

"FSD charged to 67%... 68%... 69%..."

"17 minutes and 30 seconds of oxygen remaining."

The stars seemed to observe me with indifference through the broken cockpit glass. Twenty years navigating the galaxy, surviving all manner of danger, and this is how I might end? Suffocated in space because some pirates decided I was worth chasing?

No. Not today. The "Vasco da Gama" and I had been through worse situations.

"FSD charged to 100%. Prepare for jump."

I took another deep breath. Now it was all or nothing.

"Engage."

Two jumps. Two jumps of pure adrenaline and prayers to gods I never believed in, and to the only true god I've ever known in the black -- death, whose only prayer is "Not today."

The Vasco da Gama shook and groaned like never before, but the damaged hull and the FSD held heroically.

When I finally arrived in normal space in the Heng system, I spotted on my navigation panel the familiar structure of a small outpost--Crab Station, a modest orbital platform that looked more like an abandoned service station than a proper spaceport. No mail slot, just landing pads exposed to the vacuum. Never had such an insignificant structure seemed so beautiful to me.

"8 minutes and 45 seconds of oxygen remaining," the computer announced mercilessly.

I activated supercruise, directing the ship toward the station as quickly as possible. Every second was precious. I couldn't make any mistakes in the approach.

The distance decreased. 7Mm... 5Mm... 3Mm... I decelerated precisely to avoid overshooting.

"4 minutes of oxygen remaining."

Finally within communication range of the station.

"Crab Station control tower, this is Commander Nuno von Lisbon in the Python 'Vasco da Gama'. Life support emergency. Request immediate permission to land," I transmitted, unable to hide the desperation in my voice.

There was a pause that seemed to last an eternity.

"Vasco da Gama, permission granted. Proceed to platform 3 immediately. No emergency teams available, repeat, no teams available."

Typical of small outposts like this, minimal services, minimal personnel.

"2 minutes of oxygen remaining."

I maneuvered the ship over the open platform. Without the protection of a hangar, I was completely exposed to space radiation and vacuum. If there was any failure in the docking system, I would be finished.

"1 minute of oxygen remaining."

I positioned the ship over the platform. The navigation lights flashed green. I lowered the landing gear. The ship descended slowly, too slowly.

"45 seconds of oxygen remaining."

Contact with the platform jolted the ship. The automated docking system took control.

"Locked," announced the platform system, and the platform elevator began lowering the ship into the pressurized hangar.

At that moment, the timer showed only 32 seconds of oxygen remaining. I was alive by an absurdly narrow margin.

"Station atmosphere restored," the computer informed me as fresh air began to fill the cabin.

I allowed myself to collapse into the pilot's chair. For a few seconds, I just breathed, savoring each inhalation as if it were my first. But I had no time to waste -- the ship was seriously damaged and I needed to assess the situation.

I descended through the hatch to the station and headed for the minimal services available in this forgotten outpost. It wasn't the first time I'd landed in a place like this, but never in such desperate conditions. The Vasco da Gama needed urgent repairs, and I had serious doubts whether this place would have the necessary resources.

Crab Station. I never thought one day my life would depend on the services of this small outpost on the fringes of civilization. But here I was, grateful to be alive, and about to discover how much this "salvation" would cost me.

I approached the repairs terminal and entered my access codes. The estimated costs appeared on the screen, and they weren't encouraging. Basic repairs were possible, but complete repair of the FSD and other systems was beyond the capabilities of this post.

I followed standard procedure and authorized the emergency repairs, enough to restore hull integrity to safe levels and repair the life support systems. For the rest, I would need to find a larger station.

While the maintenance drones worked on the Vasco da Gama, I examined the local market. Following Pilots Federation procedure, I officially registered the attack in the previous system and checked for alerts about similar activities in the region. As there was no Authority presence, this information would be transmitted to the nearest station with jurisdiction, but I doubted any action would be taken before I departed.

Now I needed to decide: remain at this outpost with limited resources or risk another jump to a proper station, even with a ship only partially repaired. The options were limited, and both involved considerable risks. After assessing the damage and the limited repair options, I decided to explore other alternatives. The technical services area wouldn't solve my problem, so I headed to the station's Crew Lounge.

Like in every outpost, the Crew Lounge was a chaotic mixture of bar, restaurant, and information panel where commanders exchanged stories, sought work, and sometimes negotiated equipment outside official channels. The place was poorly lit and smelled of engine oil and fermented drinks - exactly what one would expect from a place like Crab Station. Two bare-breasted slave girls moved silently between tables, serving drinks.

Upon entering, I made a quick scan of the environment. Half a dozen pilots were scattered around the tables, some clearly locals, others possibly in a situation similar to mine - temporarily stranded in this edge of the galaxy.

I consulted the bulletin board at the central terminal. The available missions were typical for a remote outpost: transport of small cargoes to nearby systems, elimination of local pirates, and some suspicious missions without complete details - probably smuggling or something worse.

I requested information from the terminal about equipment transfer. To bring a Class 5 FSD from Jameson Memorial to here, the system calculated a waiting time of 37 hours and an exorbitant transfer cost - about 2,8 million credits, almost half the price of a new one. Transfer rates to remote locations were always absurd, but under these circumstances, it was an option to consider.

I went over to the bartender, a weary-looking man with an cheap cybernetic arm, who was conversing with one of the establishment's two slaves.

"Looking for something specific, commander?" he asked while cleaning a glass with a dubious-looking cloth.

"I urgently need a Class 5 FSD," I replied. "My ship's frameshift drive is compromised and the facilities here can't repair it adequately."

He raised an eyebrow. "Class 5, eh? Not equipment you'll easily find around here." He lowered his voice. "But perhaps you should talk to that woman in the corner. She leads a small mining fleet in the nearby belt. If anyone in this hole has contacts for parts for larger ships, it's her."

I looked in the indicated direction. A middle-aged woman in a utility uniform from the local mining operation was attentively watching her pad, occasionally taking sips of something green in her glass.

Now I had to decide: approach this local source, wait 37 hours for equipment from Jameson, or risk jumping with my damaged FSD. Time was crucial, the longer I stayed, the more likely those pirates would find me again.

I approached the woman's table. She had short black hair and a face weathered by years in the vacuum. Her worn space suit told the story of someone more familiar with mining wearing a remlok suit than breathing station air. Despite the life of hardships that had pasted into her face, something was compelling about her.

"Excuse me," I said with a smile, stopping by her table. "The barman mentioned you might be able to help me. I'm Nuno von Lisbon, a fellow Commander."

She raised her eyes from the pad, examining me with a calculating look.

"Amélia Chang," she responded dryly. "Sit down if you want. I'm guessing you've got ship troubles."

I pulled out a chair and sat across from her.

"Yes, serious problems. Damaged Class 5 FSD for a Python. I was attacked by pirates," I replied.

"Pirates, the scourge of the outer rim, them and those damned Thargoids," she answered while taking a sip of her green drink. I asked what she was drinking and ordered one for myself.

"Tom! A Buck Roger's for me and for Commander... Nuno," Amélia shouted to the barman before I could do it myself.

"Anyway, I'm stuck here. The local outfitting has no parts and transfer would take 37 hours. I heard you have a mining operation in the rings."

Amélia let out a short laugh.

'Mining operation, is a pretty name for what we do. We and my partenesr have three Cobra Mk3s extracting minerals in the planet's rings. Me and two other pilots, all waiting for the fleet carrier to fill up enough to return to the bubble."

"Do you have spare parts? Any contacts who could help?"

She shook her head.

"Nothing for a vessel of your size, Commander. And even if we had a spare FSD, we couldn't sell it. We're trapped in a contract with the fleet carrier owner."

"What kind of contract?"

Amélia lowered her voice, glancing around to ensure nobody was listening.

"The kind they call an 'opportunity' in GalNet advertisements. The carrier owner takes 75% of everything we mine. In exchange, he gives us 'passage' back to the bubble when he's satisfied with the cargo."

"That's practically slavery," I commented, keeping my voice low.

"It's the free market of the frontier," she replied bitterly. "We came here on our own, lured by promises of mineral wealth. The fact that our tiny ships can only travel ten light-years was something we overlooked. The bubble is more than 200 light-years from here. Do the math."

"No possibility of leaving independently," I replied.

"Exactly. It's either jump 40 times through uninhabited systems, risking pirates at each one, or accept this 'agreement' with the carrier owner. Most choose the agreement, just as we did."

I remained silent for a moment, processing the information. Our conversation was interrupted when the establishment's door slid open with a hiss. A burly commander strode in with four slaves--three men and a woman, all shackled and chained together by their necks.

The commander dragged them across the lounge and secured the chain to a ring on one of the side walls. "Pirates", he announced loudly to the room. "Captured this scum myself. Auction tomorrow for anyone interested."

There was a momentary hush, a few curious glances, then everyone simply returned to their drinks and conversations as if nothing unusual had happened. Such was life on the frontier. I turned my attention back to Amélia, disturbed but not surprised by what I'd just witnessed.

"I'm sorry, commander," she continued, her voice softening slightly. "I'd very much like to help, but we're just as trapped as you and those chained to the wall, merely in a different way. If you have patience and sufficient credits, wait for the transfer. If you're desperate, you might reach Hendricks Station in the neighboring system with your damaged FSD. It's a risk, but their facilities are considerably better."

While I was talking with Amélia, suddenly the Crew Lounge door burst open violently. A thin woman erupted into the room, her disheveled black hair flying wild and her eyes filled with desperate determination.

"Stop!", "Stop you dirty slave!", "Catch her!" shouted two burly men pursuing her, veritable gorillas in human form, their heavy footfalls shaking glasses on nearby tables.

The woman ran wildly through the room, knocking over tables and chairs to block her pursuers' path. The Lounge instantly transformed into a battlefield, with commanders jumping up to protect their drinks and equipment, some cursing loudly.

In a desperate move, she tried to leap over a table near ours, but slipped and fell violently on the floor, right beside me, her breath coming in ragged gasps. As she prepared to get up and continue her flight, one of the guys managed to reach her, grabbing her by the leg with a triumphant grunt.

With surprising agility, she twisted her body and landed a kick to the man's face. The impact was enough to make him release her, staggering backward with blood beginning to trickle from his nose.

By instinct, I stood up and grabbed the woman by the arm, thinking to control the situation before she caused more damage. She reacted, struggling with surprising strength for someone of her build, and landed a direct punch to my jaw.

"Let me go!" she hissed, her eyes wide with fury and panic. "I'm not property, you bastard! I'll die before going back!" Her voice cracked with desperation as she continued to thrash against my grip.

Before I could respond, the two brutish men approached us. The one who had taken the kick had a trickle of blood running from his nose but was smiling now, seeing the fugitive contained.

"Thanks for helping capture this runaway slave," he grunted, still breathing heavily. "We've been after her for several months. Anything we can do for you, Commander?"

While I kept the woman immobilized, the man with the broken nose advanced with his hand raised, ready to hit her.

"You'll pay for everything, slut, bitch!" he snarled, his face contorted with rage.

I shifted position, placing my shoulder between them while maintaining my grip on the prisoner's arm. My free hand moved to rest at pistol at my hip, not drawing it, but making the gesture visible enough.

"Easy there," I said firmly. "It seems I'm the one who captured the slave. And if she's been on the run for so long, there must be a good reward."

The woman twisted violently in my grasp, her eyes flashing with indignation. I received another kick to my shin and nearly lost my hold as pain shot up my leg.

"I am not a slave!" she protested, wiping blood from her lips with the back of her free hand. "Faulcon DeLacy lied. They lied about everything!"

The older of the two men took a step back, examining me more carefully. His eyes scanned my commander's suit, noting the emblems that attested to my combat proficiency and the plasma pistol strapped to my right thigh.

"Commander," he said, his voice adopting a more respectful tone, "allow me to introduce myself and my associate. I am Vladislav Kuznetsov, and this is Dimitri Morozov." He gestured toward the younger man, who was still massaging his bloodied nose. "As you can see, we had already captured the runaway slave, Rebecca Gold. She merely escaped again, but we're willing to compensate you for your assistance." As he spoke, Kuznetsov showed me a tablet. At the same moment, a metal collar on Rebecca's neck began to buzz. She shuddered and tried again to break free from my grip, her eyes alternating between pleading and defiance.

I examined the tablet carefully, without releasing the woman.

"You're bounty hunters," I observed, seeing the official credentials. "You captured her... twenty minutes ago?"

"Da," confirmed Dimitri, still furious. "And the dirty bitch managed to free herself from the chains before we could put her in the transport container."

I continued reading the details on the tablet. "Property of Faulcon DeLacy? A reward of 30,000 credits?" I whistled, impressed. "That's a considerable sum for a single slave."

"She's not common slave," explained Kuznetsov, adjusting something on the tablet that made Rebecca's collar buzz more strongly. She gritted her teeth but remained silent. "This wretch stole several experimental ships. Caused millions in damages to the corporation. She's been on the run for two years. Not first time she escapes from us, either."

"That's why the reward is so high," I commented, looking at Rebecca with renewed interest. "Well above normal market value."

"Common slaves are sold by tonne," said Dimitri with disdain. "Like cattle. Zis one has special skills ze corporation wants to recover. And to punish, of course."

"I did nothing wrong," Rebecca said, her gaze meeting mine. "They enslaved me because I discovered their secrets. I worked for them as an engineer."

"I need a new FSD drive," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "Mine is at 65%, and I have no way to repair it. Is this woman really a DeLacy engineer?"

Kuznetsov let out a harsh laugh, exchanging glances with his companion.

"Of course she is not," he replied. "Just one of many whores and pleasure slaves DeLacy uses to sweeten business deals and please executives."

He adjusted something on the tablet, making Rebecca's collar emit another threatening buzz.

"Besides, after receiving exemplary punishment, we have instructions to sell her to first brothel that wants to buy this slut."

"Lies!" Rebecca shouted, struggling again in my grip. "I am an engineer! I built the first drives! If you want, I can repair yours!"

"Ze only thing you will be fixing are ze cocks of 40 guys per day," growled Dimitri, licking his lips disgustingly. "And it will be on your knees, with zat mouth that is only good for one thing. When we finish with you, you will beg for job in fifth-rate brothel." The brutish Dimitri glanced at the two topless slaves serving tables while also offering other services.

I observed Rebecca's reaction. Despite the evident fear and anger, there was something in her eyes, a clarity, an intelligence that didn't match the bounty hunters' claims. And the reward value... 30,000 credits was far more than they would pay for someone without valuable technical qualifications.

"Interesting," I said finally. "I have a Python with severe damage in hangar 3. FSD barely functioning, life support systems running on borrowed time. If she's truly an engineer, we could put her claims to the test before you take her away."

Rebecca looked at me, a flicker of hope igniting in her eyes.

"I can fix any ship, cmdr," she declared with unwavering confidence. "Just give me proper tools, and I'll prove my worth."

"I'm willing to take that chance," I said, weighing my options carefully.

The bounty hunters exchanged knowing glances, their laughter echoing across the lounge.

"We cannot simply hand her over without guarantee, Commander," said Kuznetsov, his tone shifting to deadly seriousness. "This one is far more dangerous than she looks.

"What kind of guarantee are we talking about?" I asked.

"The reward value," he replied without hesitation. "30,000 credits deposited now. Consider it a temporary loan."

I reflected for a moment. It was a considerable sum, but if she could truly repair my FSD, I'd save much more.

"Agreed," I said finally. "I'll make the deposit."

The hunters nodded in agreement, but Dimitri slammed his massive fist on the table, making the glasses jump.

"She must be handcuffed. Hands and feet," he insisted, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Rebecca with unmistakable malice. "Is transfer protocol."

"She needs her hands free to work. I'm willing to take the risk." Despite being clearly aggressive, Rebecca didn't seem particularly dangerous to me.

Kuznetsov straightened his jacket and lowered his voice, aware of the curious glances from nearby tables. "Zey will be removed only when she is in your ship, with hatch closed, if you are stupid enough to leave her hands free of course." He tapped his tablet meaningfully. "And you have four hours. Not one minute more. If she escapes during this time, you lose deposit and we inform DeLacy and authorities about your interference."

"The emblems on your uniform," added Dimitri, pointing to my Elite insignias, "mean nothing if Faulcon DeLacy decides you are on their blacklist, comdr."

I used my communicator to authorize the transfer of 30,000 credits to the account indicated by Kuznetsov.

"Deal closed," confirmed Kuznetsov after verifying the deposit. He activated a command on the tablet and the collar on Rebecca's neck emitted a beep, followed by the sound of locks opening. "The control of the submission system is temporarily transferred to your communicator. Four hours, Commander."

Dimitri placed handcuffs on Rebecca's wrists and ankles, connected by a short chain that allowed only small steps. I noticed she was completely naked, her body covered only in dirt and bruises from her escape attempt. She kept her eyes fixed on me throughout the process, her gaze a mixture of distrust and contained hope.

"Let's go," I said, firmly holding Rebecca's arm. "We have work to do."

==========

I had never personally dealt with a slave before. I knew slaves existed throughout much of the Bubble, the colonized part of the galaxy. Imperial worlds had slaves who, in most cases, had "volunteered" in some fashion. They were supposedly paid for their time in servitude, but often the money went to creditors or family members. Among poor Imperial families, selling an attractive son or daughter as a temporary slave for credits was common practice. Common criminals and political opponents were also sentenced to terms of slavery.

Outside the Empire, slavery was typically illegal, but the Alliance and Federation didn't exercise the same control as the Empire. Each world had its own laws--ranging from extractive societies with slave labor to anti-slavery worlds that served as havens for the few slaves who managed to reach them.

As I walked to the hangar where the Vasco da Gama was docked, with Rebecca shackled by her hands and feet, wearing a steel collar around her neck, I wondered what being a slave was like, and what her story might be. Engineers weren't usually slaves. Possibly she had invented this claim to escape the bounty hunters' fury a lie that could cost me 30,000 credits.

"Stop pulling on the leash, you can't escape, you'll only hurt yourself," I told her, noticing how red her neck was. A little more and it would be raw, if she didn't stop fighting against the restraint.

"If I don't pull on the leash, I'll get hurt even more," she replied.

We both entered the elevator that led to the hangar. The two bounty hunters had insisted that, besides being shackled, Rebecca should remain completely naked. The pirate slaves displayed in the bar had been wearing boxers and, in the woman's case, a nanofiber support bra.

I suspected they wanted to humiliate her and perhaps hoped I would spend the four hours with her in ways other than repairing the FSD. Whatever the case, it was uncomfortable for both of us to be in the confined space of the elevator.

"Enjoying the view?" she asked sharply, catching me observing her body, particularly her small breasts. Despite her nakedness, I noted her athletic build, lean muscle beneath skin stretched too tight from obvious malnutrition.

"For 30,000 credits, you're entitled to have me fix your FSD, but if you fancy a shag, there's definitely better and cheaper options," she retorted coldly. "Those two back there shouldn't be more than 20 credits combined."

When we entered the hangar, the acrid smell of scorched metal and coolant still hung in the air. The hull and cockpit had been patched, but the battle scars were clearly visible. The ship's name was severed in half, now only reading "Vás... Ma". I'd need to have it properly restored when I returned to civilized space. The artisan who had painted my ship lived on old Earth, specialized in recreational watercraft, and I believe mine was the first and only spacecraft he ever decorated.

Despite her situation, Rebecca's eyes immediately narrowed with professional interest. "A Python Mk1, the thrusters aren't original, are they?" She strained against the leash to better examine the exterior modifications.

"Yes, I made some improvements. What do you think?" I asked, watching her reaction carefully.

"By the look of it, Elvira Martuuk's work," she said, studying the engine housing. "Can't be certain without checking the signature in the system logs."

I raised an eyebrow, impressed. Few could identify an engineer's work at a glance.

"What modifications would you choose?" I asked, genuinely curious now.

"Depends on your primary application," she replied, all business despite her nakedness.

"Bit of everything. Mining, mostly, these days."

She nodded decisively. "Dirty Drives, grade five if you can get them. Better power distribution, faster asteroid approaches, quicker getaways from pirates."

I couldn't help smiling. Either she was who she claimed to be, or she'd memorized one hell of a technical manual.

Inside the Vasco da Gama, the acrid smell of electrical fires still clung to the bulkheads. "I'm freeing your hands," I said, reaching for her restraints, "but the collar and leg shackles stay."

The moment her hands were free.

SLAP!

Her palm smashed against with my cheek.

"That's for ogling me," she said matter-of-factly. "Now, where's this FSD?"

I stood frozen for a second, should have shocked her through the collar, then burst out laughing despite myself. I stepped to my cabin and opened a drawer.

"Here," I said, tossing her a yellow shirt emblazoned with "Aisling Duval - Empire Without Chains." "Before you catch a chill. Or I catch another slap."

"Thanks, and for my bottom?" she asked while pulling on the shirt.

"The lower half stays as is. I'm not removing the shackles from your legs," I replied firmly.

As she removed the access panel to the FSD, I noticed how the t-shirt ended just above the start of her buttocks somehow more distracting than her complete nakedness had been.

"I need access to the ship's diagnostics," Rebecca said, manipulating the control panel with practiced precision. "And hand me the quantum field analyzer from your toolbox."

I passed her the analyzer and entered the security code into the terminal. Red diagnostic lights pulsed across the panel, a visual alarm of the damage beneath.

"Hmm, interesting," she murmured after a few minutes of intense examination. "This FSD wasn't modified by Elvira at all. This is Chloe Sedesi's work. I can recognize her signature in the containment circuit configuration. Done in Colonia, wasn't it?"

"Yes," I confirmed, genuinely surprised by her assessment. "How could you tell?"

"Each engineer has their style. It's like an artist signing their work," she explained without looking up from the exposed circuitry. "The problem is in the field stabilizer. The last impact ruptured the temporal distortion matrix and damaged the stabilization filaments."

Rebecca connected several cables and began making some adjustments.

"I'll need at least two quantum data conduits. Do you have any in inventory?"

"I'm afraid not," I replied. "The last ones were used in the emergency repairs."

She sighed. "Without them, I can't fully restore the FSD." She paused, "But... I can recalibrate the containment core and redirect power through the secondary circuits. It won't be perfect, but it should get you to Jameson Memorial without leaving you stranded."

"What about jump range?" I asked, leaning against the bulkhead.

"Reduced by about 20%, and fuel consumption will increase," she answered while soldering a delicate connection, her steady hand belying the awkward conditions. "But it will hold unless you decide to scoop fuel from a neutron star."

I watched her work with true admiration. Whoever Rebecca Gold really was, she knew ships. The subtle adjustments, the confident diagnostics, the way she spoke about the systems with genuine passion--these weren't things you could fake.

"I've also tweaked your power distributor while I was in there," she added, closing an access panel with a satisfied click.

I fetched a container of energy shake from the galley and offered it to her. It wasn't gourmet cuisine, but it contained the essential nutrients and calories, something her thin frame clearly needed.

"Thank you," she accepted, drinking in small sips despite her obvious hunger. Her eyes betrayed her as they flickered between the shake and me, calculating whether to ask for more.

"Who the hell made this modification to the power converter?" She asked, pointing to an improvised weld.

"That," I replied, slightly embarrassed. "Not all outposts have original parts. Had to improvise during an emergency stop at Hutton Orbital."

Rebecca looked at me incredulously. "You flew to Hutton? That endless supercruise journey?"

"Yep," I confirmed. "And all I got was this mug."

She laughed, "At least they didn't try to sell you a free Anaconda."

For a second, she wasn't a slave and I wasn't her temporary owner, just two friends sharing an old spacer's joke.

Her eyes wandered around the engine room. "You know almost all the engineers of the galaxy, the independent ones at least. Tell me, did you go to Colonia on this ship?" She asked me while wiping her hands on a cloth, eyeing the many engineered components.

"No, not in this one. I took another ship, a Krait Phantom named Bartolomeu Dias, and I'm planning to buy one of the new Mandalays," I replied, leaning against the wall of the engine room.

"How was the journey?" she asked, looking at me with genuine curiosity as she finished the shake, carefully scraping the sides of the container with her finger.

"Long. Very long," I laughed, remembering. "22,000 light-years isn't traveled in the blink of an eye, even with an optimized FSD."

"Did you take the direct route or explore along the way?"

"Explored, of course. What's the point of crossing half the galaxy if you don't discover anything new?" I responded enthusiastically, "Look at these; all systems I discovered, not with a scanner or telescope; I went there."

"Not bad for a miner," she commented with a raised eyebrow.

"A miner who likes to look at the stars," I replied with a smile.

"And what about you, Rebecca Gold? How does a talented engineer end up with a collar around her neck?" I asked her.

The brief moment of lightness disappeared from her face.

"DeLacy didn't want me to leave the company," she replied, running her fingers over the collar. "I knew too much about their experimental FSD prototypes. They hired some thugs who kidnapped me and put on a collar. Once you have a collar around your neck, it's practically impossible to stop wearing it. I escaped several times and filed complaints with the authorities, but for all intents and purposes, I was registered as a slave."

"Is that why you were branded for running away?" I asked her, pointing to the three scars with the words "runaway slave" etched into the side of her right buttock.

She instinctively moved a hand to cover the brands, then caught herself and straightened. "Yes. I escaped three times. Each time they recaptured me, he made a point of branding me and leaving me exposed in the courtyard of his mansion as an example to the other slaves." Her voice hardened, knuckles whitening around the empty shake container. "This time I almost reached a refuge planet."

She caught my gaze and frowned. "But stop looking at my buttocks," she complained.

"I can't help it; you're half-naked," I replied.

"You can see without staring," she retorted with irritation. "I might be wearing a collar, but I still don't like perverts ogling me."

"I m no pervert." I protestd, then sighed

"Sorry I, but you have a nice body, somewhat thin but nothing that some reinforced rations won't fix, I didn't mean to embarrass you." I served her another bowl of protein shake, which she accepted with slightly less hesitation than before.

"Just don't look at me like that or tell me I have a nice body. If you want something more just say it, I have heard every cheesy line before." Her shoulders relaxed slightly as she continued in a steadier voice. "I thank you for protecting me from that brute, and I enjoyed fixing your ship, but don't think you can win over a slave with protein shakes and some small talk."

"I wasn't trying to win you over, and you said you weren't a slave," I said with a raised eyebrow. "That's what you insisted when the hunters caught you."

"I'm not a slave," she replied, clutching the empty container tightly. "But I'm not blind to the collar around my neck. I'm a free woman who was enslaved against her will and illegally. There's a difference."

I looked at her face for a moment, seeing the conviction behind her words. "Your story could well be true. It wouldn't be the first time corporations have used questionable methods to protect their interests."

Then my communicator beeped, the timer flashing an unwelcome reminder. I glanced at it and sighed. "But regardless of what I believe, I'm supposed to return you to your captors soon."

She paled when she heard me say that the time had ended. "No!" she cried, her voice cracking. "You can't send me back!"

When I tried to reattach her hands to the chain at her waist, she resisted violently, pulling away. "I won't go back!" she shouted, and in a desperate move, she even tried to draw my pistol.

"Stop!" I grabbed her arm, and only by applying a strong shock to her collar could I control her.

Seeing herself restrained again, she broke down. Tears flowed down her face, a mixture of despair and rage. "Please," she whispered, her earlier defiance crumbling into a raw, pleading tone, "there's no need to return me. I'm worth far more than the 30,000 credits you paid as security. We could escape to a free planet, I could... "

But I cut short her desperate plea.

"I don't like handing you back to those brutes either, but the alternative is having Faulcon DeLacy come after me. I'm sorry, Rebecca, but it has to be done. I wish I could help more." With a heavy heart, I led her back to the crew lounge.

I had to drag her by the leash almost the entire way, her resistance growing with each step toward her captors. By the time we finally entered the lounge, her neck was raw from struggling against the collar.

Kuznetsov and Dimitri were entertaining themselves with the two slave-waitresses. Dimitri had one sitting uncomfortably on his lap, his meaty hand squeezing her breast while she stared blankly at the wall. Kuznetsov was occupied with the other slave, a red-haired woman with milk-white skin. He slapped her buttocks and grinned crudely when he spotted me returning with his prize.

"You made it back! My associate and I were starting to wonder if she hadn't stolen your ship," he said as he took Rebecca's leash from my hands. "I hope you enjoyed your time with this wild cat. I'll return your deposit money right away."

I didn't think it prudent to reveal that Rebecca had skillfully repaired my ship as promised. Instead, I forced a smile and shrugged. "Four hours well spent, thank you."

While I verified the credits returning to my account, Dimitri roughly grabbed Rebecca's wrists. She fought back, landing a solid kick to his shin before he overpowered her. He replaced her restraints with heavier ones, the chains so short she could barely stand upright.

She turned to me, her eyes burning with betrayal. Perhaps she had seen a glimmer of decency in me and hoped for better, even against her better judgment."

That look cut deeper than I had expected.

As I walked back to my ship, my conscience weighed heavier with each step. I questioned whether I couldn't have done more for her, remembering how naturally we had worked together on my ship and how I enjoyed the conversation about ship parts and space trave. But what choice did I have? Even a commander with Elite status still couldn't challenge both corporate power and bounty hunters simultaneously, not without becoming a fugitive myself. However unfair, this was the reality of life.

I sat in the command chair and requested permission to depart.

"Permission granted," I heard from traffic control. I set the engines to maximum and accelerated fully, preparing to jump back to civilization. Just before activating the jump and putting my reconditioned FSD to use, I received an urgent notification.

"Cmdr Nuno Von Lisbon, I need to speak with you."

"I'm listening! Cmdr Amélia, go ahead."

"Cmdr, I thought you might be interested to know that after you left, the two bounty hunters were talking to Cmdr Alex, the one who captured the pirates, and he has your engineer on display alongside the pirates."

The image of Rebecca chained up with those pirates flashed through my mind. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the FSD controls.

"Thanks for the information, Cmdr Amélia, but my course is already set," I replied, pushing down the guilt rising in my throat. "I hope she has luck with her next owner."

I disconnected the communication and activated the thrusters, feeling the Vasco da Gama tremble as it prepared for the jump. Once in open space, I programmed the coordinates for the jump to Jameson Memorial.

"Preparing for jump in 3... 2... 1..."

The familiar tunnel of light from hyperspace enveloped the ship.

When the first jump ended, I stopped to refuel hydrogen in the outer layers of the heliosphere. The fuel scoop was functioning much better than usual, one of the improvements Rebecca had implemented in my ship.

I was using her skills to flee while she remained in chains.

I searched for a nearby place to sell my cargo of void opals and other minerals. I found a fleet carrier just 100 ly away, 3 jumps, offering 865,477 credits per tonne. It wasn't the best price, but I wanted to offload this cargo. Despite the work, my ship wasn't at 100%, and this cargo was a magnet for all kinds of pirates.

I took the opportunity to stretch my legs in the hangar and check the latest news on GalNet.

GalNet Updates | 3305.10.24

THARGOIDS ATTACK BUBBLE SYSTEMS

Cmdrs report millions of deaths during civilian evacuations. "Navy absent," says Type 9 pilot who survived.

MANDALAY BREAKS JUMP RECORD

New ship with modified FSD establishes historic distance mark.

DELACY DIRECTOR ARRESTED FOR FRAUD

Isac Antonov falsified FSD tests. Three fatal accidents confirmed.

DISGUISED SLAVES IN ERANIN

Technicians kidnapped as "imperial slaves." Official corruption under investigation.

SEXUAL SCANDAL ROCKS HUDSON STATION

Senior Federation official caught with imperial slaves. Aisling Duval demands public retraction.

EMPIRE EXPANDS INFLUENCE IN FACECE

Senator Patreus announces new military campaign. Analysts predict increased demand for Imperial slaves.

I lingered on the DeLacy story. If corporate directors were falsifying safety tests, what else might they be capable of? Rebecca's words echoed in my mind: "I am not a slave, I was enslaved against my will." The Eranin report suggested her case wasn't unique. Perhaps the galaxy's underbelly was darker than most citizens realized.

"Welcome home, Cmdr," I heard when, after several jumps, I finally reached Jameson Memorial. Here I could repair my ship to 100%. After checking the systems, I discovered that, even after being fully repaired, the modifications Rebecca had made gave me about 2% extra range on each jump. A small improvement that spoke volumes about her skill.

Perhaps I should have accepted her proposal... 30,000 credits were nothing for someone like me. Despite not being one of the major commanders nor affiliated with any faction, I had a fleet of several ships and more than enough money to buy a slave. But the idea of owning another human being didn't sit right with me, and besides, Rebecca wouldn't have been the most submissive of slaves. Still, as I watched technicians finish the repairs, I couldn't shake the image of her tinkering with my ship.

========

After taking a shower, I put on a genuine wool suit that I had custom-made during my last visit to Earth and reserved a table at Faustino, one of the few restaurants that served genuine meat. I called a friend of mine who ran an escort service -- in reality, she was the only one, but thanks to biotechnology, she could modify her appearance according to the client's preference.

"Nuno, always so elegant. I never understood why you hire me. Sometimes I think I should be paying you."

"You do pay me with your company, Beth," I replied as the waiter brought us the menu. It was a pleasure to read from actual paper instead of a panel. Being served by a human rather than a dispenser felt equally civilized.

"A flatterer. Tell me, who am I today? Not one of your 21st-century actresses or DNA beauty queens."

"A slave I met on my last journey." I told her.

She smiled back at me"A slave? And not even a very hot one. Surely it would have been much cheaper to buy her." She might have been right. That thought had already crossed my mind.

We chose grilled sea bass and a steak with three peppers, accompanied by a red wine. It wasn't from old Earth, but it was a good imitation of Madeira wine.

The conversation was pleasant it always was with her, Beth had known me since I was 18, when we were nothing more than kids with dreams -- me of the stars and her of a career in biotechnology. Both were born in Nova Olisipo, a small colony in Alpha Centauri.

Lovers briefly in those early days, we reconnected 15 years later when I was already a commander with some prestige. Pure chance that I had chosen her escort agency.

Unfortunately, she wasn't Rebecca. If not for the fact that I was one of her few clients with whom Beth didn't have to fake an orgasm, it would have been just a good meal between two old friends.

Beth was the best in her trade. I had sex with the most beautiful women in the galaxy, from actresses, athletes and playmates of the past, to public figures. The new trend was DNA beauty queens, she could replicate them all. But not Becca, Beth was not her.

======

In the days that followed, I accepted several anti-piracy combat missions, something I didn't do frequently.

It was an activity that relieved my anxiety and frustration.

I had already taken down seventeen pirates. Beyond the money and adrenaline, I was performing a public service by eliminating these vermin and making the sector safer for merchants, miners, and explorers.

My tactic was simple: I would purchase a unit of palladium or other valuable material and would stay near the beacon of the system where pirates operated or were based, in this case, Nuenets. They came to me like flies to a spider's web. It was much more efficient than hunting down all the commanders who had committed infractions. I didn't care about pilots who had failed to pay fines for speeding during station approach or minor smugglers.

And here came my next target, a Corvette and two Vultures. I checked, and yes, they were the same ones who had attacked me days before, but today, they would have a surprise.

I selected one of the Vultures. My Class 3 beam lasers, modified for thermal efficiency and sustained fire, stripped away its shields in the first pass, and the multi-cannons with incendiary ammunition finished off the rest. Chaff, afterburner, and I returned to deal with the second one while the Corvette fired plasma in my direction, but the shields with Guardian technology held, and the second Vulture met the same fate as the first.

The Corvette was a worthy adversary, even for my combat vessel, an Alliance Challenger I had named "São Joao Baptista." If they knew the history behind the name, no pirate would dare attack me, but that doesn't mean I could be reckless.

I recharged my shields to maximum, followed by weapons, leaving the engines with just one pip. I would outmaneuver Abu Zakaria despite his greater firepower. The notorious pirate had a bounty of 3,000,000 credits on his head for good reason his Corvette was an impressive ship. The Corvettes were the largest ships accessible to civilians and had the most firepower, but they weren't the most maneuverable. When I was 5 km away, I positioned myself directly in front of it, always a risky maneuver, maximum speed until 2000m, chaff, and then all weapons. I watched the monitor: the Corvette's shields dropped to 20%, but I also took two hits from plasma weapons. My shields were down to just 3% when I activated the shield cells. Now the dance would begin. I managed to turn my ship and position myself behind the Corvette. The secret was to stay in the blind spot where its weapons couldn't hit me, gradually burning down its shields. 0%, now the autocannons would reign.

"Heat damage, critical temperature," I heard the ship's voice warn. I couldn't continue firing.

The moment of distraction almost proved fatal. Abu Zakaria managed to turn his ship enough to open fire on me. I fired another chaff to prevent his weapons from locking onto my ship, but I couldn't avoid losing shields and suffering hull damage.

"Shields inactive, damage! Damage!" COVAS repeated while various alarms flashed and buzzed.

I made a strategic retreat to recharge my shields and regain position.

I verified that I had damaged several modules of the Corvette, but I also had damage -- one of the beam lasers was out of commission. I selected his power generator. It was already at only 35% -- a cannon burst could end this fight.

"Shields active," I heard. I fired another energy cell to get my shields to 100% and repeated the initial maneuver. I didn't have much time; the Corvette's shield was almost recovering. When I charged at it again, I had only 2 active lasers and the multi-cannons were down to 20% ammunition.

But the gamble paid off--his power generator was destroyed. I had time to collect the materials scattered by the two Vultures when they exploded, as well as from the two pilots, before returning to finish off the Corvette, now just a heap of drifting scrap in space.

I returned to the Corvette. The cargo hatch had also been disabled, and cargo was floating in space around the once-imposing vessel.

I collected the cargo. Tobacco, tobacco, narcotics, wine, tobacco, slaves, slaves, Palladium... A total of 20 tonnes of various goods they had stolen.

"Commander, your ship is disabled. Please eject before I destroy it." The Remlock system almost 100% guaranteed the survival of the pilot, or at least their consciousness in case of ship destruction, but there was no harm in being courteous to a defeated enemy.

A canister ejected from the Corvette, but it was a black box, not the commander. Suddenly, the Corvette exploded in a ball of light. A cloud of debris occupied the space where the Corvette had been. But none of it was the Commander. This had been his final battle.

With the São João Baptista damaged from the last skirmish and the cargo hold full of recovered merchandise, I aligned the FSD for the supercruise route toward Shriver Hub. I checked the cargo I had recovered. The slaves were the only merchandise I wouldn't sell on Shriver Hub's black market. Those I would free through the local representative of Unchained, the humanitarian faction associated with Aisling Duval's campaign against slavery. I would be acting as a decent human being.

I requested permission to land at the maximum distance and aligned my ship with the station entrance. I accelerated, and when I was around 2000m, I heard what I feared: "Federal security services, this is a random scan." I put the ship in silent running mode and deployed a heat sink while crossing the station entrance. I hoped it had delayed the scanner enough. 1, 2, 3... 5 seconds and nothing. I had managed to land with the merchandise stolen from the pirate, who had stolen it from others, but possession is 90% of the law.

The goods yielded about 500,000 credits, plus 5 million from the bounties of various pirates, and I still had a contratc for eliminating one of them at Jameson. Now, I would deal with the philanthropic part of the day. I contacted Unchained and informed them that I had 2 tonnes of slaves that I wished to free.

I had decided to donate the slaves, but unfortunately, to be legal, I would have to receive a value at least equal to the market value, 10,000 per tonne, so that everything would be legal. The value of 20,000 credits was insignificant to me, and for those 20 unfortunate souls, it was a new opportunity. Unchained not only freed them but also provided passage to their system of origin or helped them start a new life.

When I was finishing the paperwork, one of the staff informed me that they couldn't proceed because one of the slaves had a legal issue.

"What problem?" I asked.

"It's a judicial slave, cannot be freed. You'll have to keep it."

"And it can't be sent to a free planet?"

"It can, but bounty hunters can go after it. You'll have to keep it or sell it."

"And there's no way to work around the rules?" I asked in desperation.

"I'm sorry, but no. Unchained has a policy of strict compliance with laws. We have many enemies and interests who want us to fail," she replied.

I was truly annoyed. I didn't want to own a slave.

I examined form 3339 RG-32F PS-17Y. It was the basic information about my new slave. In this case, I knew it was a 32-year-old and I would have to keep the slave for 17 years or sell it.

"Is that all? When can I meet my slave?" I asked. "Is there any organization where I can sell or deposit it?" Perhaps they could help me get rid of the poor creature without spending much time.

"The reanimation process takes a few hours, but we can deliver your slave to your ship or another location at the station. And I'm sorry, but we can't help you; it's against our principles," the staff member replied with a disapproving look.

I thanked her and gave her the address of the hotel where I was staying. I liked to stay at the Federal, an intergalactic hotel chain that served almost exclusively commanders and where we could socialize and exchange experiences. They were also a safe place where many deals were made between supposed enemies.

"Delivery for Nuno von Lisbon." I heard while smoking a genuine tobacco cigar on the panoramic terrace that overlooked the station entrance and allowed me to observe the departure and arrival of various ships.

I turned to receive my slave. No good deed goes unpunished, I thought. If I had sold the slaves on the wholesale market, I would be free of this nuisance.

The delivery boy handed me a pad to sign. Before doing so, I wanted to see what I was receiving. The slave was standing with back turned, observing the departing ships, wearing a yellow t-shirt with the words "Aisling Duval - Empire Without Chains," the black hair was familiar. The slave wore black sports pants a size too large--the clothes that Unchained provided were donations. But I couldn't believe it. When the boy gave a tug on the leash securing the slave, and she turned to face me.

"Rebecca!" I exclaimed. "Rebecca..." I repeated her name, still trying to process the impossible coincidence.

The Unchained employee, oblivious to our shared past, waited impatiently with the pad. "Commander, you need to sign the transfer."

I signed the document quickly, without taking my eyes off her. When the employee left us alone on the terrace, the silence between us seemed to carry the weight of a neutron star.

"Yes, it's me. I guess you're my owner now." I observed her wearing my t-shirt, a chain from her neck to her waist, and hands and feet shackled. I hadn't expected Unchained to deliver my slave in shackles, but I couldn't help appreciating the irony.

"Yes, I am... come." I replied, still in shock, leading her hurriedly through the hotel lobby. When I entered the elevator with her, she looked at me and I looked at her.

"I... I... I should have gone back to free you..."

"And yet here we are, even after your efforts to free me."

I received no further verbal response. Instead, she kissed me. I responded by kissing her back and touching her eagerly, recalling how I had paid a small fortune for Beth who merely mimicked her appearance.

Barely inside my suite, she pushed me onto the bed. "Are you going to remove my chains? Master" she said in a provocative tone.

"As soon as I take off your clothes," I replied.

The chains and handcuffs were eventually removed, along with all our clothes. We ended up in the bathtub together, our bodies sweaty and sticky from our passionate encounter.

She grabbed a natural sponge and poured scented oil which she then rubbed on my chest, the warmth of her touch contrasting with the cool water.

"That's very good. You weren't lying when you said you were a pleasure slave for DeLacy executives."

"Is that what I'll be, a pleasure slave?" she asked while moving the sponge in slow circles across my body.

"I give you pleasure, you're my slave, yes as far as I'm concerned you can be a pleasure slave," I told her provocatively.

"I was just pretending. This little worm didn't even tickle me," she said while playing with my flaccid penis, her eyes challenging me.

"You could have said that the first time."

"I believe in second chances," she replied with a mischievous smile.

"And in third and fourth chances," I responded while stealing a kiss.

"I was more about the sixth and seventh times, but I didn't count all the orgasms," she laughed.

I ran my hand over her buttocks, pausing as my fingers traced the raised scar she had received for running away. Her playfulness faded slightly as she noticed my focus shifting.

"Will you run from me too?" I asked her, my voice softening as she saw that I was touching the scar rather than caressing her buttocks.

"Not from you, from this collar. I like you, Nuno, but I don't want to be your slave or anyone else's."

"I tried to free you like I did with the other slaves from Abu Zakaria's ship, the pirate whose Corvette I destroyed yesterday. But you're different, you're a judicial slave."

She jumped up and got out of the bathtub, water driping from her body as the mood between us changed completely.

"I'm not a criminal. I already told you they stole me and enslaved me," she said angrily.

"It doesn't matter, Becca. You're a judicial slave, I can't free you; nobody can, maybe the Emperor. Even if I take you to a free world, someone could come for you."

"I don't want you to be my pleasure slave, Rebecca. I want you to be my engineer. My co-pilot." I approached her and held her shoulders. "Legally, you're my slave, but on my ship, you'll be crew. With payment, with freedom within the limits that reality imposes on us." I paused. "I can't undo what happened. I should have gone back for you, yes. But I can offer you this now."

"And will you also pay me to sleep with you?" she said pointedly, gesturing to her naked body and the clothes scattered across the floor.

"No!" I replied firmly. "This is ours--separate from any deal. For your work, 12% of all profits, minus expenses for food and equipment, will be paid when your sentence ends."

Rebecca crossed her arms. "12%? Any half-rate engineer gets 15%, and none of them can tell the difference between a quantum flux converter and a field stabilizer." She scoffed. "And you still want to deduct food? If you don't want to feed me, you might as well leave me in a brothel--at least they provide meals."

"But prostitutes don't take you to see the stars," I countered. "15% and food and drink on me."

"They don't throw me into black holes or spit acid either," she shot back. "20% and all food and equipment on your account."

"20%?" I laughed. "Don't you want my firstborn son too?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You know I'm worth it. 20%, and also you will always take me with you on your travels; no waiting for you in a slave kennel."

I couldn't help but admire her audacity. "You know I can have all this for free, don't you?" I said, stepping closer and lifting her into my arms, carrying her back to the bed.

She remained unmoved by my display. "No, you can't. I fixed your ship at Crab Station when I could have sabotaged it. I was hoping to escape, yes, but I repaired it properly because you defended me from those bounty hunters." She had a point. A resident engineer was valuable, and someone trustworthy was priceless.

I considered for a moment. "18%, a ship of your choice when your sentence ends, plus a Remlock space suit. And yes, all meals on me."

Her expression softened momentarily before returning to business. "A Remlock suit and any ship of my choice?" she paused, eyes calculating. "Even an Anaconda?"

"Yes, even an Anaconda. Do we have a deal?"

Her serious expression finally broke into a wide smile. "Yes, we do. You just made the best deal of your life, Commander." She sealed it with a kiss, beaming from ear to ear.

"Come on, let's get your suit sorted, and then we'll put some meat on those bones." We spent the rest of the day measuring her suit and adjusting the parameters so that if anything happened to her in space, her consciousness could be transferred to a new clone.

We visited a clothing store where I bought her some casual clothes. The day ended at a restaurant in the Bohemian district of Shriver Hub. And after that, another night of hard work in the white linen sheets of the Federal.

The next morning, we got up early and went straight to the docks. We went to buy a Mandalay.

She chose black and red colors for the ship, and I named it "What do you think of Ibn-Eric?"

"What is an Ibn Eric?" she asked.

"It's not a what; it's a who," I replied. "He was a great king."

"Okay, that works," she said without enthusiasm. "I'll take care of her and improve the components."

I watched Rebecca modify the components of the new ship, her focus complete as she reconfigured systems with skill and grace, as if it were the easiest of all things.

"You know", I said, leaning against the bulkhead, "I preferred your previous engineering outfit. The one with no pants."

She didn't look up from the power distributor she was calibrating. "Keep talking like that and I'll rewire your life support to the waste extraction system. Your suit will smell like the inside of a Thargoid for weeks."

"Is that how you talk to your commander?"

"No," she replied, sliding out from under the console with a satisfied smirk. "That's how I talk to my business partner who thinks he's funny." She wiped her hands on a rag. "The Ibn-Eric is ready. Better range, better shields, and enough power regulation to keep you from blowing us up."

"Perfect. Then we're ready to go."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see! When we get there." I selected my new Mandalay, entered the coordinates, and we jumped, about 10 jumps.

When we reached our destination, I called someone. "Cmdr Amélia, please meet me at the Crab Station dock ASAP. I have a surprise for you and your partners."

Amélia and her two associates were surprised to see me and even more so with Rebecca.

"Commander, I'm glad to know you managed to find your engineer again."

"And you'll be glad too." I explained that Rebecca could modify the FSDs of their ships so they could return to the bubble without needing the Fleet Carrier. In exchange, I asked for 10% of the value of their business for 10 years.

"The little guys are always being exploited, but it's better than what we have now. I accept, Commander," Amélia replied.

Rebecca nearly tripled the range of their Cobra Mk 3s and even improved a series of other systems. In the end, it wasn't a bad deal for anyone.

Afterward, we said our goodbyes and boarded back into space.

"And now?" she asked me.

"Now, we're going to visit Colonia."

"But Colonia is 20,000 light years away."

"The we must get going." I stole her a kiss and increased the throttle. "... Friendship drive engaging." Said the COVAS while we took the first of many jumps.

========

Becca and I travelled to Colonia and stayed there for a while, exploring the stars away from the Bubble, mining and trading until we finally decided to return to the Bubble. She kept 18% of all my profits and had earned a Corvette of her own, along with my firstborn son and our two daughters who followed. After our boy was born, I collected on some favors and got her slave collar removed. But her actual sentence only ended three years ago.

I continued to traverse unknown space, mapping systems no human had seen before, but now I had a home to return to when the black got too lonely. Becca remained my business partner and engineer, as well as my wife and the mother of our three children. Sometimes I wondered what would have happened if I'd sold those slaves to the wholesale market instead of to Unchained.

They say no good deed goes unpunished, but sometimes the punishment turns out to be the best reward of all.