“I’ll get him.”

  The words came to Jet in his dreams… drifting in that between state where trance and reality merged, and one could not be distinguished from the other. Then suddenly he felt the pop of the crackle stick on his back.

  The crackle stick, as they called it, was a punishment device that the Taskmasters carried. It was a long thin staff which would send a horrific shock from the tip, which could make even a big Bantan writhe in pain.

  The intensity on it was set quite low however, so it just made a weird crawling sensation run all over Jet’s back, but it was definitely enough to wake him up. Which had been the intention.

  He jerked away from the stick in confusion and looked around, wondering for a lunatic moment if the slaughterdog had gotten loose again, then saw Taskmaster Lorin standing there by his bed looking at him.

  “Up and at ‘em, sport!”

  Jet recoiled, then made his best attempt to look cheerful and pleased to see Lorin. That was the required reaction. Lorin insisted that everyone be smiling and cheerful all the time… or else.

  “Just you, Jet. Follow me.”

  He had a bad feeling in his stomach as he climbed out of the bed and followed the Taskmaster. Others woke a little and cracked one eye open to watch them leave, curious, but too tired to be more than curious. The last he saw of Vorka was that of the old man watching him go, a puzzled frown on his wrinkled face.

  Jet followed the Taskmaster with an increasingly sinking feeling toward the Taskmaster’s shed. Slaves were never brought there except to be punished.

  He went back in his mind over everything he’d done which might have gotten him in this much trouble. One event stood out: talking with the guest. That had been a mistake.

  He was grinding his teeth and planning his defense as Lorin brought him through the extra-tall door of the shed into his office. It wasn’t a fancy place by any means; but it was nicer than anything a slave should have access to.

  A rather industrial space, it had plasticrete floors and records shelves on the walls, but in the middle under the largest window was a huge computer desk with a half a dozen holographic pages floating around above it as if Lorin had been getting some actual work done.

  Jet didn’t bother to look closely, but he was willing to bet money that all the pages were there only to look good.

  Waiting for them in the office were the other two Taskmasters… and the guest. The mustachioed man from the back lot.

  Jet sighed but kept it quiet. He stood in a submissive pose and waited patiently for his ordeal. The sooner they got this over with the better. The only thing he didn’t quite understand was why the guest was here. Did he want to watch Jet get punished? A bit odd.

  “Alright,” said Lorin as he returned to his seat behind his big desk. He sighed and looked over his papers… only then did Jet realize that at least some of them were actually of some use. He recognized his own hologram among them, on his ownership certificate.

  That made him frown and stare, though he tried not to. His stomach twisted in anxiety.

  “So, Jet. We’ve been discussing you.”

  Jet looked at the other Taskmasters… their faces were hard to read (all humans looked so similar to him) but he didn’t sense much negative intention. More like… surprise. Interest. Curiosity.

  “It appears that you’ve made an impression on one of our guests. This is Mister Salmela. He will be buying you.”

  Jet looked from Lorin to the guest, then immediately looked down. It wasn’t his place to stare, or question. But… what in the blue suns was going on??

  “I’ve spoken to Mister Kormar and he’s approved the sale. You will be going with Mister Salmela immediately.”

  All that Jet could do was bow slightly and keep his head down. He felt confusion. He’d been at the Resort since he was a youth… he’d grown up here. It wasn’t much of a home, but it was still a sort of home. And a sort of hell, both, at the same time.

  But he also felt a flutter of awe, and even hope. And fear. He knew Lorin… he knew what to expect. He’d gotten used to him, knew how to avoid his anger and appease him most of the time.

  He had no idea if this Salmela fellow would be a decent Master or not.

  “Alright Mister Salmela, I’ve completed the transfer. I’m sending over the paperwork now; let me know when you receive it.”

  The guest only hesitated a moment, staring into thin air. He was, of course, looking at his own Interface which only he could see; freemen got implants on their eyeballs which allowed them to constantly see holographic things.

  “Yes, there it is. I’ve got it. Let me look it over for a moment to be sure it’s complete.” He then did so, reaching up and turning invisible pages that weren’t there for anyone but him. “Hm. Do you have vaccination records?”

  “Um… yes of course…” Lorin sounded uncomfortable and started shuffling around with his desk, searching records.

  Jet couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Luckily no one was looking at him. He knew for a fact that none of the slaves had vaccination records because they’d never been vaccinated for anything. Mister Kormar would never bother to spend the money on that.

  That was one of the main reasons they weren’t allowed to speak to — or get near — guests.

  “Ah here it is.”

  Jet closed his eyes and sighed silently, knowing that Lorin had just made his computer generate some fake bullshit and send it to the guest.

  If the guest knew it too, he didn’t say anything.

  “If that’s all, gentlemen?” Sal asked.

  Lorin got up from his desk and shook the man’s hand, made parting remarks, joked a bit. The Taskmasters wished Mister Salmela a safe trip.

  Jet just stood there looking covertly at Salmela, suspended in a vague sense of dread.

  Then Salmela looked at him. Those dark, searching eyes… that intense, measuring look.

  “Come on, Jet,” he said softly, and left the office.

  Jet followed him without looking back. When they had walked the length of the porch and reached the stair down, Robert Salmela asked, “Do you have any belongings?”

  “No, sir,” Jet mumbled.

  The human stopped to look up at him, perplexed. “Nothing?”

  Jet looked down at his loincloth, then shrugged. “No, sir.” He hesitated. “Well… a blanket. But it’s torn.”

  Salmela just shook his head and kept walking. “Come on, then.”

  He led Jet toward the guest areas of the Resort, where slaves were never allowed to go. To the lush places; where carefully tended trees and foliage from Banta’s more verdant climates had been brought and pampered until they filled the outdoor spaces. To the smooth lobbies built in sweeping lines of alabaster and sandstone; to soaring halls and stately buildings which dwarfed even Bantan natives and made the humans look like mice.

  Everything here was built to impress, and it did its job well. Although Jet knew exactly how everything was run, although he’d been one of the cogs keeping this machine going, he still felt almost a superstitious dread walking through the exalted halls of luxury and taste, as if he were trespassing on the realm of the gods.

  As they went, the other guests looked at them curiously but didn’t stop them or look too long. It was an unwritten rule here: everyone could do whatever they chose, including ‘borrow’ one of the threadbare native slaves to parade around with if that was what pleased him.

  “Well, Jet,” said the man after they’d crossed most of the resort, “you’ve cost me quite a bit of money.”

  Jet looked down at the human with perplexity. He hadn’t expected this to be where their conversation would start.

  “My name is Robert, by the way. Robert Salmela, but most call me Sal.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jet said quietly.

  The human looked up at him thoughtfully for a minute as they walked through galleries of soaring arches and gently drifting brown silk which was perfectly reflected in the glass-smooth polished stone floors.

  “Do you want to know how much you cost?”

  Jet really didn’t. Yet he said nothing, trying to keep a neutral ‘interested’ expression on his face.

  “Three hundred and fifty thousand deion.”

  Jet was a little surprised. That was a bit high, he thought. Then again he was a young, strong male, though not as large as some of the others. He had energy, hadn’t ever been seriously ill, was a good and willing worker, so the price might be justified… after all Salmela was an outsider and wasn’t going to get local prices.

  “But we’ll talk about that later. Because I found you I’ve decided to cut my trip two days short. Well. Not only because of you; I have some business which has come up. Something you can help me with, in fact.”

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  Mister Sal had evidently already packed; he led Jet directly to the front of the Resort, where guests would board and disembark orbital shuttles in comfort. The great courtyard was built right out over the ocean, a vast round platform surrounded on one third by a wrap-around building and deep massive porch which felt more like an awe-inspiring cave than a structure.

  The shuttle was already waiting, and Jet could see the crew — not slaves but actual Bantan employees — lifting the human’s few crates of luggage into the cargo hatch.

  It felt disorienting for everything to be happening so suddenly. Jet looked back at the Resort anxiously, but he really had no choice.

  “Come along, Jet,” said Salmela when he lagged.

  Jet hurried to catch up and followed the human into the shuttle, ducking to get through the small doorway. What Kor had said about everything being tiny and cramped came back at once to Jet and he began to worry. He’d never been claustrophobic in his life… but would that become a problem?

  He was able to stand up inside the shuttle, but his horns practically scraped the ceiling and he still had to duck. As soon as they were inside a stewardess immediately intercepted them. “I’m sorry, sir. Slaves are not allowed in the front. He will have to be seated in the back.”

  “Of course. Sorry about that, I’m not used to owning slaves.” Sal turned to Jet. “Go on then, I’ll see you once we’re up.”

  The stewardess (the fact that real living stewardesses were employed was a great sign of prestige and wealth) brought Jet through the spacious front guest lounge to the economy section and then even further back, to a cramped area more or less designed for cargo. It was full of the more delicate packages going with this load, including a few plants and crates of food, meat, three or four carefully packaged hunting kills, that sort of thing.

  “You may sit by the window, and strap yourself in,” the stewardess told him, pointing to a cubby in the wall with a tiny window in it. She turned and left before Jet could thank her or say anything at all.

  He sat where he was told, on the floor, finding cargo restraints in the wall. He was able to secure them across his body well enough, wondering at the need for them. If the humans could walk around the lounge up front with drinks in hand, was it really going to be such a bumpy ride?

  He was excited now. He’d never flown before, not in anything which wasn’t his own wings. And at last he was going to space! He fixated on the window, watching the employees finish loading and checking the shuttle, memorizing his view of the sea, feeling a bit sad that he would not see the great white planet Moorkoor or the glorious golden stars of his sky probably for a long time.

  It then struck him that he might never make it back. Would he ever set foot on his homeworld again? Sal had impressed him as the sort of human who came from far away and had never been to Banta before. Nobody else was so fascinated by — and unafraid of — a slaughterdog.

  In time the shuttle was ready. Random bangs, bumps, clangs, and jostlings finally ceased and the engines warmed up; a deep low hum that made everything vibrate a little. He heard announcements being made to the front cabins, but he couldn’t quite hear any of them; in the back cargo area it sounded more like a compressor was going off right behind the wall.

  Then the shuttle began to move. Smoothly it rose, hovered, turned until he couldn’t see the sea or the planet but saw only the Resort gleaming serenely in the red Bantan sun.

  He held is breath. Everything paused and went quiet. The moment seemed to hang forever in time.

  Then the shuttle began to rise. The hum of the engine increased a bit, but shuttles were more or less driven into orbit by Assembly Beams which originated on the planet. It’s upward flight was mostly passive; strangely silent.

  He watched the world drop away, watched the sea suddenly spread out to a vast distance, watched the horizon curve. Watched ice crystals suddenly begin to grow at the edges of the window, then get vaporized as the exterior heat increased.

  The sky, deep blue and twilight hues most of the day, faded and darkened and the glinting stars strengthened until what he had known as the sky thinned to wisps. Then he found himself in the realm of those stars: great and powerful, massive golden and white diamonds glowing fiercely in the blackest black he’d ever seen.

  There below him the world of Banta shrank slowly, first a great vivid curve of brown and blue, and then it became a ball. He stared at the world in awe, wondering how fast they were going, and wondering how everything he had ever known that had seemed so huge and was now becoming so small.

  The shuttle turned and engaged its engines; the noise increased and it shook just a little, but the ride wasn’t bad. As it turned he caught a glimpse in a corner of the window of their destination: a large orbital station called Vedarek, which could always be seen from the surface like a great star among stars.

  Here it wasn’t so beautiful; the station was dirty and very old, the beige plasticrete skin of it speckled with centuries of impact and the crusted dirt of use. It blazed in the light of the sun so brightly he had to squint at it, and the shadows were so black they vanished into the night.

  Dozens of other shuttles were headed their way now along with bigger ships, cargo vessels, starliners. They were all coming and going from all over the planet and from the solar system, lining up into queues, heading toward the docking arms bristling along the two sides of the station.

  The colossal structure filled his window as they approached, and then the shuttle entered a docking bay and set down.

  Now everything felt different. The gravity… definitely lighter. He began to feel a little ill and his head swelled. Humans were used to slightly less of it than Bantans felt comfortable with, and he knew he’d have to get used to that fast because he might never get back to proper gravity again.

  The door opened. A different steward entered, a male heranom this time, and gestured to him. “Come on, Salmela designate. Your stop.”

  Salmela designate. That was his new identity. Jet clenched his jaw as he unbuckled himself and stood, stooping his way after the steward through the shuttle to the front.

  The whole trip had taken maybe half an hour.

  All of the other passengers had disembarked by the time Jet got to the nice little lounge at the front, and the drones were cleaning up. He ducked through the little door and took a deep breath as he stood straight again, looking around himself at his new world and descending the ramp.

  Mister Sal was at the bottom waiting for him, and so was the luggage.

  “Grab the bags, Jet,” said Sal. “Follow me.”

  So he did. He could easily carry all of the human’s effects; especially in the easy gravity it weighed little to him. He followed Sal through the little docking bay to the lock-ramp and through into the larger and airier realms of the station.

  The air smelled. There was something about the air that got caught in the back of his throat just breathing it; something artificial, something dry and too soft, like soap. The scents mingled in the parched air were an ancient potpourri of burning wires and solder, new plasticrete, and the yeasty sweat of millions. He thought he could even detect a little bit of rat.

  He realized he was wrinkling up his nose and stopped, trying to remain neutral and not stare around him at everything like a complete planet bean… but he couldn’t help it. He stared at absolutely everything.

  Especially at the aliens. As they entered the areas full of traffic, the spaces became huge and busy. Every kind of sentient known to Gano walked around here… from Gorris enclosed in their full-body suits and swaying like limp noodles as they walked, to Kratz hissing and barring their pointy teeth and glaring at him, one predator recognizing another. Humans everywhere… the thinner, smaller, elfin Heranom with darker skin and white hair… even D’varek.

  Jet stared the hardest at the last species. Everyone did. D’varek were the most arrogant and self-important of any creature in the galaxy, standing a cool two foot high and wearing diapers. Yes, diapers. At least the other species thought they looked like diapers.

  Naked except for their white or silver diapers, the blue and furry little creatures resembled bears or badgers and they swaggered like they owned the place. Nor did they get out of anyone’s way… except for the Kratz. They avoided all Kratz for some reason. Jet wondered why.

  The D’varek all glared at him in return. Maybe because he was the other blue-colored alien in the room? Jet’s scales, like many Bantans, were deep indigo.

  “You might be wondering why I picked you,” said Robert Salmela suddenly.

  Jet tore his attention from the myriads of weird aliens all around him to stare at his new Master and try hard to listen.

  “I’ve been watching you since the slaughterdog pen, when I met you. When you were clearing the land. I saw you’re not only a man of action but a man of honor.”

  Jet raised an eye ridge at the word ‘man.’

  “Yes, forgive me,” Sal said with a chuckle as he caught the same foible, “I call everyone man if they’re male. It’s just a turn of phrase. I mean it in the best way; among humans a man is an adult with discipline, while a boy is a liability.”

  Jet made a quiet little sound of comprehension.

  The human led Jet to a large window overlooking the planet. He stopped there for a few minutes to look down at it thoughtfully, and Jet stood beside him gazing at his now-lost home.

  He was as pained to see it so far from him as he was excited to see what the universe had to offer. Banta was beautiful; great Moorkoor behind it looked the same but clearer, sharper, less ethereal without the haze of the atmosphere to soften its white face. And the magnificently bright golden stars of the near cluster, of course, lit the heavens like shimmering sparks of flame.

  “Amazing place,” Salmela muttered half to himself. “Your world is beautiful; just as they said. There was no exaggeration. I hope to be back someday.” He looked up at his new slave. “What do you think so far, Jet?”

  Jet was surprised to have his opinion asked. He looked around himself, shifting one of the luggage crates a little. “I don’t know, sir. I don’t know what to think.”

  Sal chuckled. “I bet. Never been to space before, have you?”

  “No sir.” He was about to say something else, but stopped.

  “Go on,” the human urged. “First rule, Jet: whatever you think, I want to hear it. Always speak your mind. If it makes you uncomfortable to do it around people, at least always do it when we are alone.”

  Jet took a deep breath and nodded. Already he could tell that Sal was going to be a different sort of Master. “Yes, sir.” He looked down at the planet, then back at the bustling spaceport terminal. “One of the other slaves — Kor — he said it was always cramped up here. It’s big, though. Except the shuttle, that was pretty small.”

  Sal laughed. “Oh yes; I tend to forget that Bantans see the stations a little differently. Most ships are built for multiple races so they’ve got decent sized access, though yes, Bantans are the biggest and so yes, you are going to end up getting crammed into places too small for you sometimes. I apologize in advance.”

  The Bantan sent the human a quick look of incredulity.

  “Surprised that I’d apologize to a slave?” Sal challenged, that look in his eyes again. That look from the dog pen. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out that Jet had rarely seen — the key to his limiters. It looked like a large silvery disk.

  Salmela activated it… and Jet’s limiters fell off.

  The Bantan almost dropped the luggage he was so shocked. He stared at the eight disks on the ground around him and just blinked.

  “Collect those, would you? I don’t plan on using them again, but waste not want not, we’ll sell them or use them for something else.”

  Doing as he was told, his hands trembling now, Jet put the luggage down and picked up the limiters. He hadn’t been without them since he was a boy. Holding them in one hand, he dared to open his wings just a little, just a bit of a stretch.

  “Go ahead, stretch, hell you can fly if you want, though there’s nowhere to go in space trust me. But you won’t be needing those. Not if you’re the Bantan that I think you are.” Salmela was studying his face, measuring him. Calculating. “I told you how much you were worth. Three hundred and fifty thousand deion. I have a deal for you, Jet.”

  The human had Jet’s full attention.

  “I’m a businessman. I put down money for you. I am now going to pay you a salary of two hundred deion a day as long as you are in my employ. At first, a portion of that salary will go straight into an account to pay back that three hundred and fifty thousand. But if you work it off, the moment you pay me back in full, I’ll cancel your slave contract and free you.”

  That hit Jet so hard he almost went to his knees. He had to take a deep breath and put his hand out to steady himself against the big window. “Sir…?” He asked, needing to hear it again.

  “You pay off what I bought you for, and you’re free. You understand? Either by working the amount of days it will take to pay that money, or by ventures, or by whatever other business dealings you manage to come up with. You’ll see, there’s going to be some opportunities for you. But however you get the cash, you pay it back and you walk. After you’re free you can keep working for me if you want… but it will then be your choice.” He held out his hand. “We have a deal?”

  Jet had to swallow in a dry throat. He looked at the human’s little hand in something close to disbelief, wondering if he was dreaming. Then he quickly took it in his own big clawed one, and shook it the way humans did. “Yes, sir.”

  “I chose you because of your honor. I know you’ll keep that deal. Now come on. Pick up the luggage. I’m hungry and there’s a good noodle place on Deck Three.”