Battles Beyond (Book 1: The Fleeing Saga)

Labour (21)

"I can feel your power. You'll be a nice addition." Garawhal’s weapon—which was set on a tripod—had a faint glow and peeked through the gun butt canister slot.

"I don't like that smirk. It looks evil." Her fangs were shown and Zazavin didn’t like it.

"Come now, you and your posse-"
The stranger re-affirmed they were not his posse.

"That doesn't matter. I have battle potential as well and not afraid to use it. Judging from your prior injuries, you went through a lot. I wonder if you can defeat me."

"I'm confident in my abilities."

"You can't do it yourself. This place is too secure but that's beside the point. Do you know why those next to you won't fight?"

"Why?"

"Because the lifeform that rules this illicit repair empire is beyond them. Even if you somehow defeat me, my superior will chase you to the farthest reaches of the galaxy to bring death to you all." Her outward-facing seven-toed feet gave pressure to everything beneath her as she concluded. She was truly menacing with what she said.

"Stranger, don't do it. You don't want to anger that being." Zazavin was rather fearful of what he would do.

"Hooded guy, I don't beg but don't do it. We're not ready to handle a threat like that. Power down." Teinova was adamant.

"Just listen to her." That was all Durin had to say.

Their stress and worry made him stressed and worried. It was unusual, like it filtered into the air and bogged him down. But something worse came: fear—an abnormal case at that. It initially didn't affect him much, but seeing their expressions whittled away his confidence. It was tearing him apart: fight or stand down? He weighed his options. If he fought, he would have a difficult time, and a wicked feeling came to him at the thought of doing so. He then went to the idea of standing down. The wickedness of this thought. The stranger went back and forth, but with the weapons and their users becoming antsy, he made his choice.

He stood down and his letters faded into nothing—an obvious surrender.

"Common sense prevails." Garawhal had some glee in her saying. They were walked out with their weapons pointed to neuter any chance of reprisal. "You all will make fine slaves."

Garawhal and her guards carried the unpaying customers turned slaves to a different section of the space station. A guard next to Garawhal pulled out some stickers for them to wear. He slapped it on them, one by one, each of them now marked. They were in the same state clothing-wise; there was no chance of allowing Teinova to cover up, giving the stranger a new hoodie, or even applying some paint on Durin’s bare blue body. Zazavin was good but was intrigued by what they stuck onto them. They couldn’t be regular stickers.

"Tracking devices," the guard said coyly. "For slaves such as yourself." Once the guard finished applying the stickers to their bodies, he went to do the same to Brass.

Garawhal turned to them to dispense her commands. "You two."

"Who, me?" Durin pointed to himself, wondering if he was one of the two.
"Yes, you. And your hooded friend as well. You will be lifting crates in separate areas."

She took a few steps to Teinova. "You," The manager's head went up and down to examine her; the awareness and raw ability to perceive her environment made up for no vision. "You will work below the hanger bays."

"What about me?" Zazavin was morbidly curious.

"Are you eager about your new job?"

"No. Only curious how shitty it's going to be."