Jean strode confidently down the hallway with the small piece of ore hidden in his pocket. Prisoners watched with hollow eyes, forced to live another day without food. Fate was cruel. Mankind had been taken from a broken planet where most people worked as miners to extract raw ore, only to be forced into slavery where they worked to extract raw ore. The number of prisoners that arrived in this hellhole grew every day. People who’d done nothing wrong filled the cells and would likely die long before justice was ever served.
But that was the goal, wasn’t it? The entire reason mankind was rescued from certain death? The Stygiboran Empire needed a cheap labor force and was unwilling to enslave other species in the empire to get it. Instead, the easiest answer was to steal the people from a planet that couldn’t defend itself.
The aliens had dropped onto an undefended world and laid waste to an uncountable number of people. Because of the United Human Republic’s insistence on keeping the specifics of the Advanced Human Forces from the public, not a single soldier was on the planet that day. It took nearly six hours before the first human warship entered orbit. And by that time, Stygiboran transports had either killed or captured most of the population.
Barred doors flashed in the corners of his eyes. It didn’t matter who was inside or what they had to say. In that moment, the only thing driving Jean was an almost predatory need to turn in his piece of ore and regain what he could of his strength.
“Been a long time, 0087.” The guard manning the shop said, “I hoped you’d died down there. I hate humans, but I hate seeing that monstrosity of yours even more.”
Jean’s hand tightened reflexively. Their hate for humans was no secret, but the way they saw the disabled was lower than slime. Physical perfection was hard wired into their culture by thousands of years of practice. From what Jean had learned about their society, they left the physically disabled to fend for themselves. To find a way past their limitation or die.
“You can’t kill human spirit with hate. All your hate will bring is more determination to rise above you.” Jean replied, handing the fingernail sized stone to the guard with his right hand. He stared at Jean’s hand for a long minute, trying to decide if the rare ore was worth the cost of touching something so recently tainted by a disabled man.
Eventually, his greed won out, and he pulled the stone away for inspection.
“I can’t give three meals to someone of your… condition. But I can give you two and a nutrient ball. It’s almost as many calories,” he sighed, placing the piece of gravitrum in a safe under his desk.
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“That’s shit and you know it,” Jean growled.
“Yeah, well, who’s going to stop me?” the guard’s mandibles clicked in pleasure. “So, are you taking two and a half or not?”
“I’ll take it.”
The guard placed three bundles on the table and turned his back, clearly considering himself done with the conversation. Unwilling to lose the food he’d acquired; Jean took the bundles and began the long walk back to the cell he shared with Monica. Despite her argument, the prisoner knew she was just as hungry as he was.
That would all change. He would regain his strength, nurse Monica back to full health, then work on helping others. It wasn’t foolproof, but it could result in many prisoners declaring their loyalty to him. If only there was som…
“Hey, I saw you up at the food station. Anything exciting?” A young man with deeply tanned skin asked.
“Other than the ability to eat for the first time in days? No.”
Jean could tell the man hadn’t been in the prison for long. He didn’t have the gaunt, lifeless stare that came from extreme starvation. He didn’t know how awful this place truly was, nor did he understand the trap mankind had found themselves in.
“Is it really that bad? At least we are alive.”
Jean stopped walking and stared at the young man with sunken eyes. His silver orbs told the tale of someone driven past desperation and straight into hopelessness. The guards had never beaten him—other than the very first day—but they didn’t need to. The mines, and the rarity of the ore it held, was beating enough.
“You have a bright spirit. Try to hold on to that. They will try to crush you, but it will never be through violence. Have you been out in search of the ore?” Receiving a nod in reply, Jean continued, “Good, then you know just how rare it is. Imagine trying to survive when continued existence depends on your ability to recover a material so rare, it may as well not exist.”
“How do they expect us to live?” The fire in the young man’s eyes dimmed. He was starting to understand. It was never their intention for humans to live long, and they certainly didn’t want them to thrive.
“They don’t expect us to live, but you can make a difference in the lives of those about to die. When you find the ore, don’t give up the entire piece. Break it into shards no larger than a fingernail. If you have more than you need, give a piece to someone in need. It won’t be hard. There is no shortage of wayward souls in this place.”
It was a lot to ask of anyone. Luckily, this young man hadn’t endured the pain of starvation yet.
Jean’s fingers tightened around the small bundle of food. With luck, he would never have to experience that level of starvation again. Neither would Monica, and that knowledge was enough for hope to rekindle in his chest.
The young man straightened. “Ok… I’ll do it.”
Jean turned and walked away. What he said wasn’t fair, but if all prisoners acted the way he’d just instructed the eager young man, they would all be stronger for it. There was no room for someone who wouldn’t pull their weight, but why punish the unlucky for circumstances outside of their control?
Later that night, he would stare at the carved stone ceiling of his cell, silently asking himself that question for hours.
