The harsh light of the sun burned my skin and set my eyes watering as I blinked rapidly against the red glare. The heat hit me next and sweat beaded my skin almost immediately as I passed through the entranceway and out onto the planet’s surface.

It was the first time I had been outside in almost twelve hundred cycles, which I assumed to be around four years on the planet, though the sleep-wake cycles we had kept could have been longer or shorter than a full day on the planet, so I could not know for sure.

Eleven others followed me out and together we lined up before the black stone walls of our prison. Zaid took up position beside me and took a bite of the Zefar fruit. Even from two feet away I could smell the sweetness of its juices and I began to salivate.

Too long since I had earned the reward that he enjoyed and I was not the only one who watched him eat it with greed and jealousy in our eyes. We all knew it was a reward given to divide us, to keep us angry and jealous so that we could not unite together, but still, as we ate the tasteless grey slurry that we were provided once a day, we could not help the feeling of resentment to those who were given the treats.

“Eyes forward!”

The command was barked at us by our jailor, a humanoid in a full crimson and gold body suit complete with a facemask that hid every part of them from us. There was nothing about them that would allow us to guess what species of human they were, and all we knew was their name.

Vosk.

Needless to say, we all followed the command without hesitation. We had no choice, not since they had implanted their technology in our spinal columns at the base of our skulls. When they gave an order, we obeyed. To resist was futile, and should any be foolish enough, or have a will strong enough to disobey, the implant would detonate the micro-explosive buried deep beside it and ensure that death was our only reward.

I stared ahead across the desolate plain. Black basalt columns dotted the landscape, with more of the same black rock scattered about. Between them lay crimson sand that shimmered beneath the light of the red sun that filled the sky above.

There was no movement on the plain, no animals that crawled or flew through the sky. It was a barren world for all I knew and I suspected that it was used for the training of the slaves and nothing else.

Movement in the sky caught my attention and a gunmetal grey cutter dropped into view, its blocky shape at odds with its smooth movement through the still air. It bore the Vosk symbol of three five-pointed stars set in a rough triangular formation.

The craft slowed its descent, the AG field causing little distortion in the air as came to settle on the sand two hundred metres away from where the twelve of us stood. We waited in silence, watching it impassively. We knew what came next.

My fingers twitched as I resisted the urge to reach up to shift the metal collar that encircled my neck. The heat was warming the metal uncomfortably, but to touch it would be met with punishment.

Not that it was needed. No, it bore no real use other than as a symbol of what we were. Slaves.

A large panel on the side of the cutter split down the middle as the doors opened, a ramp descending to thump softly on the sand. I swallowed hard as the first of them appeared, wearing ragged clothes and the same collar as the rest of us.

They came down the ramp, moving warily, unsure as to their purpose. The Vosk had little interest in explaining themselves to those they considered to be lesser, and since they believed every other race of human was lesser to them, it meant they were taciturn at best.

We waited in silence as the slaves were herded from the cutters hold by Vosk troopers carrying pulse weapons. They crossed the burning sands, barefoot, and gathered opposite the twelve of us, looking around in confusion.

I counted one hundred and twenty in total, ten times our number, and my heart sank for I knew what was about to happen.

“Freedom,” the Vosk Overseer called from where he stood at the end of our line. “Cannot come without a price. Those of you who have been brought here, you have a chance to buy that freedom.”

Eight Vosk troopers came through the gates behind us, each of them pulling a trolley fitted with suspensors that floated it two feet above the ground. Upon that trolley was a crate of black plastic and those crates were taken and unloaded just ahead of the gathered slaves.

Once all had been deposited on the ground, they were opened and the Vosk walked away, taking their now empty trolleys with them. The slaves were left to stare at the contents of those crates before exchanging confused looks with one another.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Each of you will take either a blade or a rifle,” the Vosk Overseer called. “When you each have a weapon, I will give the command for you to use them.”

The slaves looked even more confused and I stared at a point in the air above their heads, not wanting to meet their eyes.

“To earn your freedom, you only need to kill these twelve slaves,” the Overseer continued, gesturing towards us. “Once the last of these twelve are dead, any of you that have survived will be freed.”

No more was said and the gathered slaves milled about in confusion until one of them, a bronze-skinned male, took a tentative step towards the crates. When those Vosk troopers didn’t make a move to stop him, he scurried over and pulled a pulse-rifle from the crate, cradling it in his arms as he cast furtive glances at the guards, almost afraid that they would take it from him.

“Be aware!” the Overseer called. “Attempting to use those weapons against anyone but these twelve slaves will ensure that you are all destroyed.”

Behind me, high on the walls, metre wide slabs of stone slid aside and the black-barrelled gun turrets slid out. The slaves stared at those deadly devices and then, at some unspoken signal, they moved as one towards the crates and began pulling out weapons.

I watched as they formed groups, conferring with one another. I had no doubt that they would use those weapons against us, for they were slaves and the Vosk were not kind masters. They did keep their word though, and if they offered freedom as a reward, then freedom they would give. The slaves would undoubtedly use those weapons in an attempt to win that freedom.

For a moment, I could almost pity them. Had not any such emotion been torn from me by the Vosk.

The slaves, having come to some sort of agreement, formed into two groups, the first of which held the deadly pulse rifles. They formed a line in front of the others that held the two-foot-long blades.

“On my command!” the Overseer called. He turned his faceless mask towards us and I braced myself as I closed my eyes. “Now!”

The squeal of the pulse rifles filled the air which crackled as the ionised energy pellets crossed the distance between us. They fired again and again, their fear and rage unleashed to hide their shame at what they were doing to fellow slaves.

I leant forward, all of my will directed at maintaining the psionic shield before me, the pulse blasts hitting it, causing ripples on its surface like those on the surface of a pond after a pebble had been tossed in.

My body shook with each blast that hit the shield, the force of its expelled energy raising welts on my flesh, a fraction of the damage that would have been done had my shield not been in place. All along the line, the slaves grunted and cursed as they fought to hold their shields tight.

A scream sounded as Jax’s shield collapsed, and the energy blasts tore through his thin-framed body. Without a word, those of us to either side of him took a step towards where he lay so that the gap in the shield wall closed.

In a short time, the rifles fell silent, their energy cells depleted with no refills provided. The massed slaves stared at us with something close to terror as they realised what they faced. Tears shimmered in the eyes of Alyse to my left, and I almost shook my head. To feel anything for those slaves was foolish and as likely to get her killed as anything else.

The slaves hesitated, fear and hopelessness crossing their faces and above us, those gun turrets began to hum and whine as they powered up. The slaves, knowing they had no choice, advanced upon us.

Fifteen metres from us, they raised their knives and screamed out their rage as they burst forward.

Fourteen metres from us the first ranks were torn to shreds by our combined will. Blood misted the air as limbs were torn from torsos. Men and women screamed and wept as they continued to advance, meeting our psionic energy and being ripped apart.

There were too many though and some passed through, first a trickle and then a flood. Ten metres, then five, I withdrew consciousness from the others and struck out at those rushing towards me.

I threw out a hand, a blade lifting from the blood-soaked sand and flying straight towards it. My fingers closed around the hilt as the closest of those slaves reached me and the battle was joined.

He died screaming, bloody froth on his lips, his face already forgotten as I turned to the next. He telegraphed his moves, his panicked thoughts spilling from his mind and as easy for me to read as symbols upon a page.

Block, slash, slash, and then thrust. The sharp blade cut easily through his flesh and into the organs beneath. I could taste the blood on the air, and smell the stench of fear and desperation that covered them like a cloud. Their fear was so strong that I had to erect defences against its insidious infectiousness, and I continued to kill.

Blood soaked my hands and covered my bare chest and legs. The only clothing allowed, dark shorts, were damp with the blood of others. Still, I killed, my arm rising and falling as I danced amongst people who could not understand that they were already dead.

They’d died the moment they had been chosen.

Another of my group went down, a handful of slaves bludgeoning her with their pulse rifles. I spared no tears, no more than a moment’s thought for her, before I continued the task before me. Her death did not matter any more than the slaves I was cutting down before me.

Nothing mattered.

The last slave fell and I turned, looking for another, but all were down, lying on the bloody sands. I did a quick headcount. Nine of my group had survived. Enough that the Vosk Overseer would be pissed but not enough to merit a punishment of the rest of us for their failings.

I cast aside the blade and stepped back into position before the walls. Hands at my sides, shoulders back and head held high. No emotion, no thought at all. It was just a task that had to be completed, a final exam.

“Return to your quarters and dress in the uniform you will find there,” the Overseer called, anger filling his voice. He too would be punished for the failure of those that died. “In one hour, you will proceed to the gun cutter for transport to the fleet.”

He hesitated, almost turning away before he added, “Remember your purpose. You are not human. You are a tool to be used. You are a slave. You are a weapon.”

And a weapon does not weep for how it is used, I thought. No matter how much it might want to.