You Stay Put, Like a Good Little Boy

You stay put, like a good little boy who knows his place. If you’re going to try to escape, you’re going to do it more intelligently than this.

Both pursuing soldiers shoot stunning bolts at the runner, which knock him out on contact, leaving him face-first in the snow. The soldiers pick him up, and the largest guard heaves him over his shoulder and carries him inside while the rest of the bus is unloaded. Even though there’s one fewer soldier now, no one else seems to think it’s a good idea to run away. You’re brought in through one of the school’s side entrances, and herded into a classroom.

This is where you took social studies. There’s a political map of the galaxy next to the entrance, which shows a birds-eye view of the milky way with colored polygons showing which systems are held by the Empire, the New Terran Federation, the United Republic of Systems, the Murid Autonomous Zone, and several smaller players. It’s a few years out of date. The Empire’s boarders are still three or four systems away from Noth.

On the far wall, there’s a mural depicting the political evolution of Old Terra, from the earliest recorded civilizations to the Roman-Chinese era, to the Middle Ages, the rise of the British Empire, the Cold War Era, the period of so-called Western Dominance, the decline of Euro-American and Russo-Chinese power, the Thousand States Period, and the Unification. Even the infographic about asteroid mining is still there. The desks are gone though, as are the bookshelves and holomodules. Bars now run across the large, black-tinted windows, and imperial soldiers stand at all four corners of the room.

Once all of you are inside, one of the soldiers, an especially well-built man in light urban camo power armor, stands in front of the room, funnily enough, around where the teacher would have, though her desk and lecturn are gone. “Welcome,” he says, in Nothian. As he speaks, two of the guards from the bus take positions by the door. “I’m sure most of you have figured out what’s going on, but in case you have not, I will state it plainly.” His Imperial accent is so thick he sounds like a caricature of an Imperial from a bad holomovie, but his usage and grammar are flawless, and his vocabulary leaves nothing to be desired. “All of you are slaves now. At this moment you are property of the Bejeweled Throne. Soon enough, you will be distributed to private citizens and businesses in accordance with their need for you.

“There is no escape. This is your new life, and you will have to accept it. This planet is under Imperial control. There is no remnant of the Nothian government. Even if you were to escape this facility, and as you have already seen, any such effort is futile, there is nowhere on this planet for you to run. Anyone on it who would sympathize with a disloyal is in the same situation as you, and cannot free themselves, let alone another. Every ship that will dock on this planet will belong to the Empire or its allies. Were you to stow away on one, none of them would have any trouble identifying you as a fugitive, and all of them would gleefully turn you in to the authorities at the next port they visited. If any of you spend another moment as a free person, it will be a long time from now, and on account of the generosity of your owner.

“None of you, I imagine, are happy to hear this, but as new slaves, let me give you your first order. Before you let yourself fall into the inconsolable despair that is common to new slaves, wait a little bit, and see if you hate your new life as much as you think you will. Despite what your idiot rulers and Terran ‘benefactors’ have told you, we are not a cruel people. We do not want you so you may suffer, but so you may serve. If you are good servants, you will be rewarded. You will prosper. If you are poor servants, you will be instructed, and in the course of that instruction, you will suffer only so much pain as you bring upon yourself through your stubbornness.

“Over the next few hours, you will be taken, one at a time, to an adjacent room to be processed. There you will be microchipped, fitted with a collar, photographed, and interviewed about the abilities that may make you useful as servants. Throughout all of this, compliance will be rewarded, and obstinance will be punished. While you are interviewed, you may be tempted to deceive us about your abilities. This is not in your best interest. The more useful you are, the more comfortable a station you will be able to achieve, so you hurt only yourself by attempting to deny us your talents. On the other hand, if you exaggerate your abilities in search of a higher station, you will fool us only until the moment your master requires the services you claimed to be able to provide. When they do, and you cannot deliver, you will gravely regret any lies you told us.

“Until then, stand here, and wait. Do not speak. Do not move. Do not give us any reason to shoot you.” He points to one of the other slaves. “You, follow me. You will be processed first.” From across the room, you can feel the chill that hits her, but she goes. Now, under the supervision of so many guards and forbidden to speak, you have nothing to do but think, fret or fume until your turn comes.