Mama always said he had the face of an angel but the soul of a demon.
“I beg your forgiveness, Master.”
He sneered. “Why aren’t ye in bed?”
“I … I was seeing to Mama.”
Master looked over my head and glared down at my mother before a sickening smirk curved his cracked, dirt-covered lips. He was on his third day of a drinking binge, which meant he hadn’t washed neither his clothes nor his body. He would remain this way until he sobered up and smelled himself.
“Stop acting like yer in pain, Iona. Ye loved it.”
Mama didn’t miss a beat as she replied, “I did, Master. Very much so. Thank you.”
With a snort, he turned his head and spat on the ground before he looked back at me. Sweat was running down his face, and I could feel my own run down my back. It was very early; the timekeeper in Master’s house had yet to ring, so I knew it was not yet six. It was still night-time, and it was already scorching hot outside. The heat made it difficult to breathe.
“Get to sleep, Mud.”
“Yes, Master.”
He turned away from me, kicked my used sleeping bag to the side, and stumbled back towards his house, singing and laughing as he went. A part of me wished that he would go to his spacecraft instead of the house. He was drunk and was likely to get even drunker as he finished his bottle, and I much preferred him to be flying under the influence. The chance of him crashing and dying was much greater.
I waited until the door to his house slammed shut before I turned back to my mother.
She was already asleep, and this was how I knew that Master had really hurt her. She always tried her best to be strong for me, and even when I knew she was at her breaking point, she did everything she could to hide it. Tonight, her pain was greater than her pride, so she let sleep claim her without a fight. After tucking her thin, raggedy blanket around her body, I pulled my tattered sleeping bag over to her side so I could monitor her. I climbed into it, then lay on my stomach, turned my head, and watched my mother’s chest rise and fall. The flickering lights that surrounded the pen weren’t much, but the soft glow allowed me to see her.
I wasn’t sure how long I watched her breathing, but eventually, I fell asleep.
A loud noise woke me up, and I knew it was the engine of a spacecraft powering down before I even opened my eyes. It was still very early, but it was twilight outside now. The heat that hung limply in the air was almost suffocating. I turned over, sat up, rubbed my eyes, then looked down at my sleeping mother. A glance around the pen showed me that some of the other slaves were awake, but none of them dared to go see who docked at Master’s private port, for they knew it could only be a trafficker.
No one else docked at Master’s port unless they were looking for a new slave to purchase, sell, or trade. Master was known to raise submissive slaves, and everyone in the slave market knew it. He had sold thousands of us throughout the years and was very respected in his line of … work.
My eyes found Nicah, and I saw the terror on her pretty face. She was due to have her baby in around four or five months, and Master had told her she would likely be sold very soon. A pregnant slave was an investment to a trafficker; a two-for-one deal, he had said. The baby Nicah carried was my half-brother or half-sister. Master had fathered the unborn babe, but he didn’t care about that. He only cared about credits and his dirty drink.
I knew that Nicah would fetch a high price when she was bought.
She was young, only eighteen. Her tanned skin was dotted with visible dark freckles and long, straight hair as black as night flowed to her waist. She was one of the few Southern Eastern Asian women many had seen since the whole continent of Asia, along with some of Eastern Africa, was destroyed during the Great Earthquake a number of years ago. Many traffickers who passed through The Farm had commented as much when they saw her.
It was more common to see European people because our continent was the only one that earthquakes and natural disasters hadn’t completely destroyed or consumed. Africans, Asians, Americans, and Indigenous people from many different countries were all imported to The Farm. The property was situated in New France, but no one within the pen spoke any language other than English.
The country had been claimed as part of the Great United Kingdom when the British royal family came back into global power. They had successfully colonised dozens of countries and recolonised others around the planet when the world was in chaos over a century and a half ago. English was the official language of Earth, and while many people still spoke their native tongues, if you were caught, your tongue was cut out.