Her hands and legs were throbbing by the time she came out the other side. She took a look at them while the masters checked her cart and the other things they put on her.
Her hands and legs were red with blood.
And dripping.
One of the higher masters noticed and made a squawk of disgust. “Clean that animal up.”
A young male, judging by the newness of his boots and the sharpness of his claws, grabbed her roughly and scrubbed her hands and legs with harsh-smelling stinging stuff.
Struggling would get her worse, so Sahra did her best to stay still and let him. He patched her hands and legs with bandages and sent her through the cattle-scrubber early.
After that, another master took her off to sort fruit from the station gardens. It was all horrible stuff the masters liked and no smart human would even try to eat. And not just because they made humans sick. Anyone stealing off the masters was bound to get shot.
All she had to remember was that the black ones were good and the red ones were bad. All other colours passed down the line to other sorters.
Once she figured out a quick way of doing the job, she got quicker. It was almost kind of fun. Except for the really horrible smell from the red ones.
Her stomach growled way before the lunch siren. Really loud.
Water and breakfast had not been enough. Sahra ignored her noisy insides and kept sorting fruit. Her face heated up at the thought of it, all the same.
Er, yuk. The red ones squished if she grabbed them too hard. And their juices smelled even worse. Ugh.
Better not get it on both hands, then.
Sahra focussed on only using her clumsy-hand, her stained-bandages hand, to find and move the squishy red ones. Her more able hand found and moved the black ones.
The masters were laughing. Possibly at her. Sahra hated the hg'ssh, hg'ssh noise they made when they did it.
“Hey, little white one.” Called one of them. A younger female, from the sound of her voice. “Are you hungry, little white one?”
And since she was the only really pale and really small one in the sorting line… “All'us hunger, me,” Sahra managed.
Now three of the masters were going hg'ssh, hg'ssh at her.
“Want some of our lunch, little white one?”
Hg'ssh, hg'sssh, hg'ssh, hg'ssh…
Sahra had been taught the polite answer by rote, even then she tended to get the phrases jumbled up. “For slaves people, Master’s food not good, all the time, slaves people food, good for masters not.”
Loud hg'ssh-ing, this time. And lots of it.
Sahra knew she’d said it wrong. Her face got hotter and hotter and her eyes stung something criminal, but she never stopped working.
“Look at the pretty color she turns.”
Male slaves had it worse, Sahra guessed. Until what Mama called ‘secondary characteristics’ made themselves public, all slaves were female until further notice. And no slave dared correct a master. Right now, nobody could tell her this, since her eyes stung worse and her face felt hotter and hotter. All she wanted to do was crawl into a small, dark place and hide until the feeling went away.
But a good slave, a proper slave, did what they were told until there was no other option but 'stop’.
“How the pale feathers show, now.”
“Pity they never figured out how to turn them red full time…”
Sahra’s stomach roared. It actually hurt. But not as much as the masters’ hg'ssh-ing. Some of the others on the line were snorting into their chests as they sorted.
A fat, heavy tear dropped from her face and splashed the moving belt.
“Careful, little white one. You might get your salt on the fruit.”
“You’ll spoil it.”
She felt like her whole self was turning red. And her stomach was eating her from the inside. She made her hands move faster. Attacking the black ones and rejecting the red ones like she secretly wished she could attack the hg'ssh-ing masters.
“The more you red her up, the faster she goes!”
“Insult her some more!”
“How do you insult her slave? That’s a tunnel rat. They’re already dirt.”
Hevun’s Rebel. Available soon in all good eBook stores everywhere.
