Royal Rebel: A Genetic Engineering Space Opera

by Gail Gernat

  Gravy stains marred the front of his blue, green and white-striped robe. He moved quickly toward her with startling suddenness for one so large. The whites of his eyes became very prominent as he recognized his customer.

  “M-m-m-m-milady,” he croaked, how may this humble slave dealer serve you?

  “Seellia,” she replied, you know me. “My requirements are just small and I am easily pleased.”

  Seellia shivered in the heat and his eyes grew more terrified still.

  “All I require this time are four male slaves and two female ones, and possibly a boy for training by me. Now, I need an accountant. That shouldn’t be too hard. They are always caught for fraud or double books or something. I also want someone with either engineering or construction skills. That might be rather hard, but I would even be willing to accept a final year student. The same with a physician. I know they are rare, so a final year student will be just fine. Then, I also want a gardener or landscape architect. The females will be easier. I want a cook or a chef. She must be able to do gourmet fare. Lastly, I want a housekeeper. She must be well trained, clean, and young. A born slave would be fine for that position.”

  Seellia licked his lips greedily. “Milady, sit down in my chair. May my body servant bring you cool water or fresh fruit? We received a shipment just this morning from the offshore islands. The porple fruit is very nice this season.”

  The woman shook her head as she seated herself in the slave traders grubby, wicker chair.

  “Now, when do you think you can get the merchandise for me?”

  “I cant give you an exact time milady, perhaps one day, perhaps seven. The market is large and so am I. If I don’t have what you require in my own stock, it will take some legwork on my part. Some items you request are rare. I know that in my own stock, I have an accountant, who although not young, is very qualified. He has a wife who ran a catering business. She served even the royalty of Galatia. They have a ten-year-old boy. I know you, milady, you like complete families if possible. So uncharacteristically charitable of you. Let me fetch them and you can see if you like them.”

  At the woman’s nod, he lumbered out into the sweating ranks of human flesh standing row behind row, until vision failed in the distance.

  The lady rose and followed Seellia. Her bodyguard followed her, grimacing at the bitter sight and sour smell of people offered for sale. Short steps from the tent, the woman stopped at a row of men. Seven of the men were not yet as burnt or severely blistered as most of the slaves around them. Fresh red bands of numbers, still swollen and not yet hardened into scar tissue marked this group. She checked the numbers on the arms of three of them against a list in her wrist comp. As the numbers were a match, she glanced at the bodyguard and nodded.

  The first one she indicated was second in line. Over two meters tall, with raven black hair, he was very handsome in the aristocratic sense of the word. Dark blue eyes fringed with exceptionally long lashes glared at her from the perfect oval face of the royals and a soft, almost feminine mouth. The nose, however, made him very male, a strong, arched, narrow beak of a nose that dominated all his other features. Wide shoulders and strong bone development indicated that he had benefited from good nutrition during his childhood. Long legged and well muscled for one who was so thin, with a curling mat of dark hair covering his chest, he was slightly darker than the others around him were, but still beginning to burn, especially around the obedience collar he wore. Unslave like, he met her eyes with a belligerent stare and his body language was anything but humble.

  Number three was also on her list. Suffering the most of any in his line because he was very fair skinned, with blonde hair and light blue eyes with a downward slant; she could see the beginning of serious blistering on his narrow back. He was two meters tall, slender, with long legs, long thin fingers and toes. His face however, was round and childish looking. He had a short up-turned nose, and full pouty lips. He carefully kept his eyes on the ground, sneaking a brief glance when he thought she wasn’t looking.

  Number five in the line of seven was her third target. Around the same height, as starved as he was, he was burly looking. Very broad in the shoulder and narrow at the hips he looked as though he should be a wrestler. In a square-jawed face, his huge eyes were a velvety golden brown, fringed with even longer lashes than the first mans were. His nose was long, straight and masculine and the lips were thin, but well shaped. Dimples indented both cheeks, even though he was not smiling. An abundance of brown hair covered his head and most parts of his body. He gazed at her, trying to see her face under the hood. It was a look that implored.

  In common, all three looked starved. With ribs and spines were prominent, they all had hollowed cheeks with dark circles under their eyes. The Lady steeled herself against a black tide of emotions as she inspected them.

  “Seellia,” she called.

  The slave master halted. “Milady, you should not be in the slave pickets. Please, I implore you, return to the pavilion.”

  “Seellia,” she replied impatiently ignoring him, “Are these not exactly what I require?”

  She pointed to the three men. Seellia blustered about consulting his wrist comp. “I don’t know. This is a new shipment. I just received it this morning. It is not yet approaching noon. I have had no time to process them. They are fresh from training school. Can’t you smell the disinfectant on them?”

  “I can indeed,” she replied. Turning to the pilot she snapped, “Are those not the correct numbers, Rory?”

  “Yes, milady.” These three are the ones you want.

  “I’ve done my homework, Seellia. I have no patience that you haven’t done yours.”

  The three men stared at the numbers branded into their upper arms.

  “Seellia, fetch your accountant and chef, but unchain these for Rory. I will check them out at your pavilion.”

  “This is my own merchandise. What if they bolt milady…”

  She turned a gray, steel-eyed stare on him. Seellia faded to an ashy gray color.

  “Yes, milady. At once, I will fetch the others.”

  Seellia unchained the three she wanted, and handed a tazer prod to Rory.

  “I could use the collar,” he explained beseechingly, “But that leaves them useless for days afterward.”

  He shambled off between the slave pickets as the woman strode back under the shade of the pavilion and seated herself in the owners chair. She tossed back her hood and for the first time her face was fully revealed.

  It was the perfect oval shape of the aristocrat; small, full of confidence and intelligence, but with a shadow of sorrow about the mouth and eyes. Her skin was perfect, pale porcelain, lips slender, rosy and well shaped. She had very large eyes, gray with dark rings about the irises and the midnight lashes brushed her cheekbones when she blinked her eyes. Her nose was small and straight. Her raven black hair spun indigo and violet highlights, even in the shade of the pavilion. It fell bluntly to her collarbone. Although reaching only to the slaves armpits, she carried an aura of power about her. The bulky robes she wore revealed nothing of the body beneath. At first sight, slave number two gasped and pulled back. She smiled a tiny smile, a mere quirk of the outside of the lips.

  “Do you know me?” she asked the man with the sun-bleached hair.

  “No milady, I thought you were someone else.” he replied staring desperately at the floor.

  “Who did you think I was?”

  “I prefer not to answer, milady.”

  “You are a slave, and I prefer to know who you thought I was. Am I clear?”

  “Yes maam.” He hesitated, clearing his throat. “I thought you were the royal they call Lady Death.”

  A wide smile of pure delight spread across the woman’s face. The slave hung his head, shivering. The other two looked alarmed.

  “Look at me!” she commanded. “Do you have a name?”

  “We have no more names, milady, only numbers,” he replied extending his branded left arm.
<
br />   “I am not good with numbers. Tell me your name before you were a number. Just a first name will do.”

  His voice trembled as he replied, “William.”

  “Very well, I shall call you Willy or Will. If you prefer I could use Billy.”

  “Will would be fine.”

  “Will, do you know why I am called Lady Death?”

  “Because you wiped all animal life off three worlds, two of which had sentient beings.”

  “That is correct, except all three worlds had sentients on them. A fine lesson to keep always on my good side. I am now restoring the third world. The other two are once again thriving ecosystems, which I own, of course, but good living worlds nonetheless. I am repairing the third. Therefore, you see, I correct my mistakes.”

  “But what about the people that died?” he questioned, greatly daring.

  She frowned, the great black tide tugging at her mind and replied, “Two were extremely warlike. I saved their genetic material and can recreate them, without the warlike tendencies. They will work for me one day. However, I want to talk about your medical training. How far did you go before they took you for unpaid bills?”

  Will answered Lady Death and the interview continued. Then she interviewed the engineer with the beautiful eyes and the aristocratic looking black-haired gardener. Seellia came puffing up just as she had finished.

  “Consider these three sold Seellia.”

  “But I haven’t even put them up for auction yet; maybe I can get more for them.”

  “Seellia, do I have to sneeze on you?” she asked in a voice like the steel in her eyes. “Besides, when did I ever cheat you?”

  Seellia dropped to his knees. “No, no milady. Just as you say, just as you say. Take them as a gift. Just please don’t do that to me.”

  “Thank you Seellia, I accept your generous gift. I trust you will pad the bill for the others sufficiently that you wont go out of business. Now I want clothes for them. They are scorched enough. Find clothes for all I am buying as well. Moreover, the clothing had better be free too. I will interview these two.”

  Lady Death turned her attention to the three Seellia had brought her. The man looked to be in his fifties, small and shrunken and so thin every joint was a lump joining twigs. The woman was taller than he was by a little, in her middle thirties, brown-haired and dried up. Her breasts sagged like empty plastic sacks, matching the bags under her hazel eyes. Her mouth was determined and somehow proud. Behind her was an emaciated boy, thinner even than his father was. He looked hardly able to stand.

  The lady asked a few perfunctory questions which the couple answered. She knew it didn’t matter what the answers were, she was going to buy them. She knew that the minute she saw the child.

  Damn Seellia, she thought as she asked the woman, “Is this your only child?”

  “It is now milady. I had a daughter, five years old when we were arrested; two years ago now. They raped and murdered her before our eyes. Even serving you, Lady Death, is preferable to watching my son starve to death. Please, I beg you, buy us from this hellhole!”

  The woman had fallen to her bony knees and her face was in the dirt. The man had his hand on her arm to restrain her.

  “Your name is Kaarl and your wife’s name is Aninya and I’ll call your son Dani. I don’t like to use numbers for my slaves, even if it is the custom.”

  Aninya burst into tears, a downpour of relief and hope.

  Seellia came puffing up with some ragged canvas shorts and six much abused tee shirts, so old that their colors were obscure. At Lady Deaths nod, he tossed them at the slaves.

  “This family will be adequate Seellia. How about the housekeeper?”

  Seellia jerked his head and his body servant prodded three young women into the pavilion. One, a redhead, was so blistered that her back was nothing but suppurating flesh, crawling with maggots. The smell of rotting flesh was worse than the slaughter yard. Flies buzzed around them.

  “Oh, Seellia, how dare you!” whispered the Lady. “You presume on my mercy and compassion to buy your ruined merchandise. I don’t want your sick and enfeebled. Give me the bill of sale for these six. You will get no more from me today.”

  Hurriedly jostling the three girls out, Seellia implored favor, but to no avail. The Lady transferred the funds, took the receipts and collar codes in hard copy, and stormed from the tent chased by the past. Rory followed with the prod aimed at the new slaves.

  Lady Death rushed down the aisles and left the slave markets swiftly behind. She needed desperately to put the sight, sounds, and smells of the foul place behind her.

  Milady, you should not go so fast in this heat. Your cloak will be unable to compensate. Nor can these slaves, in their weakened condition keep up with you! called the uniformed slave.

  She slowed and allowed her slaves to catch up to her.

  “Thank you Rory,” the Lady said looking closely at her purchases. “I had to get out of there. Those girls... she gagged, but I think these are in need of feeding. Noon is approaching rapidly as well.”

  Slave market at her back, she led her entourage into the labyrinth of the city. Streets twisted away on every side, enclosed by two and three story buildings, usually adobe, but a few of the more well to do could afford brick. Not a blade of grass or tree existed anywhere in the city’s poor section. Piles of steaming dung were scattered up and down the streets, left by the altered dromedaries, used as beasts of burden on the planet. Slaves pulled masters in rickshaws at their best speed in the heat, while the freedmen and slaves bustled through every open space. The bawling of the animals and clang of the bicycles as the freedmen traveled on their business made talking nearly impossible.

  She turned aside to an inn that catered to both owners and slaves. Stopping just inside the door, the slaves behind her surreptitiously wiped the sweat from their brows. The inn was immaculately clean and tidy, with wholesome odors of cooking food that were mouth-watering. She could smell savory soup and a roast of some sort as well as baking bread. The babble of voices and the clink of silverware ceased as the patrons turned to stare at her. She flipped back her hood, smiling at the looks of fear on the faces of the freedmen who were dining on the main floor. A fat innkeeper came bustling up to her, wiping his hands on his spotless apron.

  “Let me escort you to the royals section milady,” the innkeeper murmured anxiously.

  “First, I wish to arrange for my slaves, six, and a boy as you see. I want good soup; I doubt their stomachs will take anything heavy. No gruel. Rory, you check it out before I pay for it. I want many vegetables and plenty of meat in it. One bowl for each and a heel of fresh bread. Then fresh milk, one glass each, two for the child.”

  The eyes of the slaves, except Rory, widened at her generous order. It was more than any of them had eaten at one meal since their enslavement. Aninya began to cry again. The innkeeper nodded and gestured to a serving girl to take the slaves to the back, but Rory hesitated.

  “Milady, you’ll have no bodyguard.” He glanced meaningfully around the room.

  She regarded him mildly, and then sighed.

  “You’re right, but I want them all to be fed and I want you to oversee so they don’t get cheated.”

  The black-haired man spoke up in a cultured voice, “I can wait until the others have finished.”

  “What either great courage or great foolishness you have,” replied the Lady. “Rory has privileges that others do not enjoy.”

  Her eyes glinted in warning and the man bowed low in apology.

  “Nevertheless,” she continued, “it is a good idea. Rory, see them started while he comes with me. Then trade places with him.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  Rory and the other slaves followed the serving girl, while Lady Death and her temporary bodyguard followed the innkeeper to the stairs. Up two flights to a windowed chamber looking over the city, the tables nestled beside cool sparkling fountains, divided from each other by walls of flowering greenery. She sat dow
n beside a vigorously blooming clematis vine. The snow-white blossoms contrasted beautifully with the black marble table at which she sat.

  Sighing, she stared across the city, not seeing the dingy squalor, fighting once again against the darkness that threatened to claim her mind. Silence descended on the city gradually as the inhabitants began siesta. The white-hot sky intensified until all vision was lost in the glare, the pale buildings in the distance fading into the shimmer.

  The innkeeper coughed slightly. With a start, she returned her focus.

  “I’ll have a green salad and some of your famous wine,” the Lady said without ever looking at the menu.

  Bowing the innkeeper scurried off.

  “Your name?” the Lady requested of the new bodyguard, her eyes still fixed on the city.

  “My name was Padr. And I was once one of the aristocracy, as you are. I lost my life, my real life, for fighting against slavery. All the conditioning in the galaxy isn’t going to turn me into a slave!”

  Lady Death looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

  “I know, she said quietly. Thats why I had to buy you today. Any other master would kill you immediately, put you to the blood sports or torture you to death. So just for me, will you try to pretend that the conditioning worked, for now? I can only cover for you so much. Okay?”

  Padr swallowed and looked at this woman who had been represented as the epitome of evil. He slowly inclined his head.

  Just then, following the innkeeper, Rory appeared, anxiety clearly wrinkled across his features. He hurried to the Lady’s side. Padr followed the innkeepers steps back down to the stuffy slaves section.

  “We might have trouble with that one. Keep an eye on him especially, Rory.”

  “Yes, milady,” replied Rory, taking his stand behind her chair.

  When all had eaten, after the slight fading of the noons glare, Lady Death took them through a series of narrow alleyways to a tailor. It was a shabby adobe building two stories tall. The faded lettering on the front door had at one time been red, and it creaked complainingly as Rory opened it.

  Inside were two large worktables, strewn with different fabrics in a rainbow of colors. The two sidewalls had shelving from floor to ceiling, all jammed untidily with bolts of fabrics and boxes of notions. Through the heavy red velvet curtain at the rear came a three-meter tall, skeletally thin man with golden brown skin pleated over his bones. His face was wreathed in smiles, showing his toothless gums, as he greeted her effusively.