Light tore through the cell like water through a slot canyon, stinging Took’sar’s eyes and leaving him blind for several seconds. When the pain receded enough to look around, the captive officer breathed out in despair when he saw the traitorous Mik’t and the human that called himself the Pirate King. He knew what was coming; the pair would force him to read a script in front of a camera ripped from the helm of his former ship. They would have him masquerade as a traitor, claiming to have destroyed or captured yet another reinforcement vessel sent to Narak. He would claim to have tracked them down on the return trip, ambushing the cruiser before it could return home to central command and deliver the only thing that spared the wrath of the Stygibora.
In the meeting before coming here, the generals had stressed how important it was for the Gravitrum to return home safe and without delay, specifically explaining how the vicious a cycle of collection and debt could quickly reclassify the Scalador from a secondary master race into nothing more than a slave species meant to work and die for the glory of the Empire. The captain wasn’t sure how much time had passed since that day. He’d initially tried to calculate the days so he could force these humans to mine the proper quota when order was established again.
But that all seemed like a distant memory, like someone else’s story told through a hazy film of water. A rebellious corner of his mind refused to believe that he’d been enslaved by the very slaves he was sent to manage. A larger part, a more accepting part, understood his new role and knew he would never leave.
“Good morning, Pirate King.” The human, Jean, said. “It’s time for you to play your part in my little game again. You will read this script to the camera like a salesman on his last five credits. You will sell it like nothing you’ve ever sold before. Because if they don’t believe the lie, if they deduce our location, you will be the last to die.”
Took’sar nodded, reminded of how cruel a species humans could be though a thrum of sound under his chitin. This man had implanted sound generators from the base of a dozen stingers into his body, and used them to bring crippling pain any time he dared defy his orders. Initially, he fought the process, but now he was little more than a shell of his former self—a pale imitation of the officer he once was.
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The traitor, Mik’t, forced a data pad into Took’sar’s hands, allowing the man to skim the contents before moving to slip on the costume his character wore in this charade. When he was ready, a crimson light came to life, signifying that it was time for him to put on the performance.
“Slaves of the Stygiboran Empire, you have been deceived for far too long. Your masters—the Stygibora—are not kind, they are not just, and they are not forgiving. All this, you know. But, did you know they have lied to every one of us? The myth they spout of raising our people to mastery is nothing more than the chains they use to ensure our compliance. For in truth, you are slaves. Every Scaladorian, Raak’Shee, Hundamir, all who believe they are near equal to the Stygibora are simply a step higher in the chain of slavery. But instead of literal chains of iron and steel, yours are made of belief and self-righteousness.” Took’sar played his role, repeating the same basic message he had a dozen times or more. Now it was time to add the new part to the equation. “Today, the Stygiboran government tried to slip past my attention. They sent a kill squad to Narax to verify the conditions of the Gravitrum mine. After retrieving the proof needed to continue breathing free air, they tried to return to Central Command and report on the conditions of the human filth kept writhing in the dark, struggling to earn enough ore for a single meal before dying. I stopped them; my fleet intercepted their ship, disabled the engines, and killed the crew. When the fleet finds the escape vessel floating alone on a crash course for Central Command, they will know it was I that foiled them yet again. Gravitrum is my resource, and I will not allow people who are little more than slaves the opportunity to take it from me. The more soldiers and ships they send to retrieve my ore, the more I will capture and add to my fleet. It’s that simple. Heed this warning; leave my people alone, allow them to grow into species we were meant to be. Your leaders have tried to find me, to make pay for my transgressions and bow to their overlords yet again. But try though they may, the King of Pirates will not bow. I will not be broken.”
The red light died, and Took’sar knew his performance was done. Without needing to be told, he slipped the jacket of the Pirate King from his shoulders and returned it to the peg to keep it clean. He’d dropped it to the floor once, and for that crime, he spent three days in constant pain from the implants. The lesson had been learned, and there would be no repeat of such rebellion. Defeated, the Scalador returned to his cot in the dark, where he would patiently wait for the meal that was his reward for playing his part.
Ironically, despite his words to the contrary, he was broken.
