Welcome to the Cauldron

This story - Welcome to the Cauldron was co-written with Mathew Presley in 2018. It was written for the fictional world of Escafeld, which I co-created with Mathew Presley and Chris Joynson for Sheffield Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Group to use as a shared world to set anthology short stories in. I have listed the world prompts that I used in the story at the bottom of the story. The group no longer uses this world and the anthologies are no longer available.

This is the last of my Escafeld stories - I hope you have enjoyed them.

Please note, this is my last version I used before it was submitted to the anthology - so any errors in it are mine. Also please note, this story is NOT young adult. I hope you enjoy it.

Welcome to the Cauldron

None of her family came with her to the shuttle; just the two guards that had stood outside of her temporary prison cell. The second that her defiance had become public, that she’d stood up against the bases and campaigned for equality in the drosslands, she’d been disowned. It hadn’t mattered who she was or what family what she was from; if you spoke out, you were crushed.

            The guard pushed her roughly into the shuttle, and the door slammed shut. Sam’s eyes blinked as she quickly readjusted them to the darkness. There were no lights. Her hands felt their way around the cell, looking for something to help. Not only were there no lights, but no seat, no safety harness, just a bar to push herself behind and to hope that gravity did its job to hold her in place.

            Wedging herself into position, Sam closed her eyes, and tried to focus on other thoughts than safety and the shuttle roaring into life.

The winged television cameras fluttered among them. The Feed’s drones were out in force, clicking with each fluttering of their wings, taking in image after image. At an ever-increasing pace the cameras passed, sounding like a rattlesnake approaching ever nearer.

            Drossland protests were monitored; she’d seen the coverage herself back in the Base. Some of the footage would be classified, viewable only in the Feed offices that her father’s codes had access to. Names and images were listed on those walls, some of them with red lines of elimination neatly crossed through them.

            It was from those images that she’d found her new friend; Astra Marantz, age seventeen, identified as a low-priority target.

            Sam hadn’t told her who she was; one thing she liked about Astra was that she treated everyone as equals, and Sam didn’t see the benefit of throwing her privilege in the poor girl’s face. They’d discussed this as a group; Astra was adamant they not be identified and appear on the wall. And now a camera had just flashed in Sam’s face.

            No, it couldn’t be looking at her. There were hundreds of people here so she had to be hidden by the mass of people. She had been so careful to hide herself towards the back, well away from all the cameras. Protesting was one thing but showing up on the cameras would end up with her body in bruises. And that was if she was lucky and her father got to the data first; if one of his rivals got to it...

            That was why she had calculated her place so carefully, but that had been before the protest had moved around, before the pushes and kicks from the rows behind and now she was closer the front.

            Sam glanced up at the big screen that positioned on the tall skyscraper. She needed the confirmation before she did something stupid. The screen was beaming down a live stream of the protest, with the focusing frame picking out individuals to highlight. The protestors were doing their best to stop it; they hurled bottles at the drones, or used mirrors to reflect the floodlights up into the lenses, dazzling the robots and forcing them to turn away. But for the briefest of seconds, there was no mistaking it, Sam saw her face on the screen.

            She could thank her parents for the camera turning away. As the floodlight passed over her to give the drone a better image, it caught her long hair. Her parents had the money for biogenic enhancement; not happy with whatever colour of hair nature had intended, mother had picked out the ‘White Opal’ splice. Her hair wasn’t simply bright white; it shimmered and refracted light in a multitude of colours. Although her face flashed up on the screen, the sudden brightness dazzled the drone; it turned away, probably thinking she was a hi-vis jacket.

            Her luck didn’t last. Although most of the drones were automated, some were manually controlled. She heard the reporter’s voice booming over the shouts around her.

            “And looking at the…” he said, “Hold on a second, can we see that last image again? I thought I recognised…”

            A thumbnail appeared in the corner of the Feed screen; a few seconds of Sam’s face, blurry but recognisable from the crowd, before the image whited out. Her stomach churned, flipping her lunch over several times, she didn’t need to hear the reporter’s voiceover to know what it was saying and what impact this was going to make.

            Her eyes closed, trying to avoid the images on the screen, only for them to be replaced with the front page of tomorrow’s Daily Informer. Her mind refusing to shift as it fixated on the base news pages and gossip columns. Her gulp froze in her throat as the probable front page burnt an ever-clear picture in her head. She wasn’t ready to end up looking like a piece of abstract artwork again.

            The headline was clear, she knew just what it would say: Samantha Drake-Goldharker, daughter of the four star General and head of Base CXVIII, protests against the conditions on the drossworlds. The press would have a field day with the fact that she had left the safety of the base, broken away from her protection detail to protest. And all that would be before they started looking at the fact that she had got through the gate’s security; they’d probably find the hacked link she’d used to open an emergency hatch. Damn it! This was not supposed to be a public outcry. Today had just been about playing a part in something she believed, gathering information so she could make a better planned protest at a later date.

            Sam took a deep breath and waited until the air had completely filled her lungs, allowing herself those extra few seconds and breaths before she opened her sea green eyes and held her head up defiantly. Her plan changed. If they were going to take her picture, she might as well look her best. She had too much pride to back down. She was in the right here. A rueful smile graced her lips; it might be the last photograph they got of her for a while.

            It didn’t take long for a remote camera to pick her back out again; this time it didn’t turn away when the floodlights hit her, instead adjusting so everyone else would be shadow. The image didn’t come up on the news feed; it was focusing on the plight of another drone, caught by a net and now being stamped into the concrete.

            Despite her resolve, a shudder ran through her every part of her, leaving even her fingers tingling, the cold realisation banging her right in the head. Her father would lose it when he saw those pictures, especially if he saw her smiling. She let her smile grow as she looked directly into a camera, titling her head slightly, as if posing for the gossip pages. But even with the smile, she couldn’t stop the tension seeping through every part of her. The base would know of her actions by now, even now her father was probably deploying some of his designer soldiers out to get her. Within the hour she would be standing in his office with his screams ringing in her ears and bright purple marks forming across her cheek.

            Another biogenic advantage her parents had bought; bruises would heal quickly, a lot quicker than daddy’s reputation could. She was tempted to head right over to the waiting reporters and go live on air, give them a mouthful and leave them in no doubt of her beliefs. But maybe that was going too far. Maybe she should just slide out of here. She started to run through the pros and cons of both choices, drawing up the imaginary list in her mind.

            Pro: she’d get on the news and people would question why so many people were dying over government greed and need for control.

            Con: they would up the voltage in her Feed link and...

            “SAM!” Astra’s voice tore through her, pulling her out of the thoughts and made the hair on her arms prickle up. Panic was flooding out of his blue eyes and his head was whipping from side to side like a cornered rat. “You’ve got to get out of here; it’s the Honour Guard.” His eyes settled on the end of the street and Sam’s eyes followed them.

            The Honour Guard; her father had sent out his perfect soldiers, the ones with the least appropriate name. They didn’t guard anyone, and their behaviour was far from honourable. Biogenically enhanced to be physically superior, trained to fight since birth, referred to by just their sex and a number; perfect little thugs to do a tyrant’s dirty work.

            The Honour Guard hadn’t just been deployed to get her; they were carrying assault rifles. They were here to eradicate the crowd the way they’d been trained to. The News Feed conveniently cut away before the massacre started.

            “This is going to get very bloody, very quickly. I told you not to come out.”

            “Save the lecture,” she stayed still, watching as a Guard loaded his gun. “I get it.”

            Astra smiled at her, and reached for her hand. “Not sure you do, Sam, but it will wait until later.”

            Sam gave herself just one second to shoot her a look. She hated hearing the ‘I told you so’s’ even if it was from her best friend, who’d only risked her neck to watch over her. She never went to protests alone but would have never let Sam come alone either. But that was definitely for later; they could fight when they were away from those soldiers, those programmed to shoot first and ask questions later, no matter who they were dealing with. Expert fighting machines.

            A gun fired into the air. The warning shots were more for the camera’s benefit than anyone else’s; the News team could cleverly edit the footage together to make the protesters seem the aggressors. The display only lasted a few seconds before the bullets would come raining in, hitting the fleeing protestors.

            Astra’s grip tightened, holding onto Sam as people started to panic. Her chest closed in on her and the images in front of her eyes began to blur together, blind panic setting it. She couldn’t see straight. She couldn’t think straight. She was cut off and she wasn’t the only one. More bodies jostled her as they looked for an exit, pushing her back and forth. Astra pulled again, yanking her to the side; Sam focused on the rhythm of her friends running, her head down and her eyes fixed on Astra’s feet, matching her footsteps exactly.

            Screams filled the air, panic taking over and her leaving her struggling to breathe. Blood rushed along the ground. The air stank. Overwhelming smells took over - urine, blood, vomit. Sam held her breath, not wanted to take in any of it. She ran with the crowd; even though they moved at just over a walking pace, her heart pounded hard, as if she was sprinting, and every one of her nerves stood on end. Gunfire now flew from the other side as well; masked people in the crowd, holding guns. The rebels had arrived. Her panic grew and forced her to take those extra steps and up her own pace; it was even more important that she got out of here now.

            They finally broke from the crowd; Astra led her down alley after alley at an ever-increasing speed, tightening the grip as she forced Sam to keep up. Noise wailed around them but she blocked it out, not willing to let herself focus on it. The further into the slums they got, the further those sounds became.

            Sam pulled her arm away once no-one but Astra was in sight. “Stop.”

            She turned to stare at her.  “We’re not out of here yet.”

            Sam rubbed her side, massaging it as she tried to catch her breath, “Let me rest a second, I’m not used to...”

            “Running for your life?” Astra said with a thin smile, “You’re the one with the fancy biogenics; I should be struggling to keep up with you.”

            Sam rested against the wall, straightening up with a wince. “Dad didn’t want me as an athlete. Just an ornament.”

            Shots broke the silence; automatic gunfire. The Guard were heading into the slums. Astra ducked her head and grabbed Sam’s hand. “We can’t stop now.” she whispered, “It’s not safe. If they see you here...”

            “It’s safe enough.” Sam smiled softly. “Come on, how much worse can it get?”

            Astra shook her head. “You really have no idea, do you? Everything can always get much worse.”

            Sam looked up at her friend; she couldn’t work out if she was making a joke or not. “And as for seeing me, it’s too late for that. One of the feed cameras spotted me, I saw my face on one of the high-rise screens.”

            Astra groaned, then shook her head. “And on your first protest too.” she said with a cynical laugh, “You promised me you’d stay hidden.”

            “There was all that jostling…”

            Astra’s eyes narrowed and met her stare. “You wanted to be seen.”

            “Astra.”

            She shook her head. “You shouldn’t have come.”

            Sam took a few steps towards her friend. “I had to and you know why. And you know I’m right; you don’t agree with all this. The Plague. Honour Guard. Blacklists. Cold Labour. It’s all wrong. People need to hear that. The Council of Worlds needs to know what’s going on. How could you even suggest not coming?”

            She reached out to Astra, but she pulled away. “Because I don’t have a death wish? I can’t go back to Base tonight and sleep behind a locked door. All the things you listed, I have to live with. Your worst nightmare is my every day.”

            “You think I want to die?”

            Astra laughed sarcastically again, shaking her head. “I am really beginning to wonder.”

The shuttle jerked onward. It was entering orbit; the artificial gravity was switching over. When she’d been on a luxury ship before, it had been an elegant transition, noted only by a slight ripple in her champagne glass. Now she could feel every movement. And unlike that ship, she had nothing to distract her from her thoughts.

            She remembered the taste of champagne. It was vile; fizzy upmarket wine for ditsy rich socialites to drink, to make them ditsier and more sociable. Her mother lived off the stuff. Sam closed her eyes and remembered the last time she’d drank it; it would probably the last time in her life. Unless another part of her punishment was having nothing to drink that trash.

            When was the last time? Was it at that anniversary party, celebrating her father’s command? The one where she’d first met Lannigun?

            People had put her actions down to meeting him. And Lannigun, for his part, looked every part the Corrupting Influence. Even if he hadn’t been a dashing young rebel with a heart of fire, more than one young dilettante must’ve gone to bed thinking about his smile.

            He’d seduced Sam, then brainwashed her, to attempt to humiliate her father. That was the official verdict. While Sam couldn’t argue with the seduction part, it did make it sound a lot more sordid than the truth. Saying that someone was seduced made it sound like they didn’t want to be.

            Another jolt, this one harder. Weight was returning to Sam’s little world; the ship was slowing into its orbit, just above the atmosphere.

            Still no lights though. Nothing to see but her memories. Had Astra been right? Did she have a death wish? She was Base born, high in the pecking order too. The daughter of a general, it should have been so easy to play her part. To sit still, smile, look pretty and wait for her place on the Council of Worlds to change things. She could’ve walked into a Council position easily; graduate in Interstellar Politics at the Heightened Institute, daughter of a general, and what’s more she had not one but two family names. Goldharker. Drake. That was a good as royalty since the fall of the Imperial Family. And it had been for thousands of years.

            But she had chosen to act. She had chosen to protest the Drossworlds. And she had known all the consequences, long before Lannigun and the rebels came into her life.

The dress wasn’t her choice; it was far too tight, pinned right into her waist, hidden metal ribs digging into her own, leaving her struggling to breathe. It was a decent metaphor for her life; constrained by events, people and expectations. Still, she had to keep up appearances; the gossipers were beginning to speculate about her absence from public view. A few months had passed since the protest; though the bruises her father had given her only lasted a few days, he’d kept her under house arrest to avoid further humiliation.

            She needed to play this carefully, but still, it would have been nice to have the release, instead of being in the military-enforced spotlight, and having to pretend to embody all that was good in the Base. The light was pouring down on her, making sweat drip down her neck that had nothing to do with slow dance after slow dance that she had been forced to perform.

            Every new song that began, another hand caught her and twirled her around the dance floor. She was under a strict warning. Her mother had actually spent over an hour with her earlier as she got ready, although the tender mother/daughter moment was ruined by the lectures and her mother’s constant turning towards her glass of wine. Even with her high level of intoxication, though, her mother’s message had been made deathly clear; dance with the soldiers, smile for the cameras, don’t say a word. You’re only being allowed out for your father’s benefit. Don’t embarrass him.

            Sam wasn’t going to argue with that, particularly tonight. Now her detention was over, she’d gotten message of a meeting tomorrow; more drossland rebels to meet. She would have to play things nicely tonight. That was unless she saw the cameras and the right reporters, the ones that would actually air her views instead of suppressing them.   

            She was spun again, too fast this time, making her stumble slightly and was caught in the sweaty hands of her latest dance partner. She allowed herself to fall back into her rhythm. It was all just another set of movements to follow, just another rule to obey. All part of her so-called life, the one she was expected to have and to be highly grateful for. So many people would have loved to be born into her position, or so she had always been told. She should be so proud of who her father was and more than happy to dance to his every order. She should be thankful they’d paid for her enhancements. They had wanted the prestige of their child at the Heightened Institute.

            A smile formed on her lips and the soldier offered her one in return, thinking that it was for him and not her parents’ mistakes. She’d bet that if her parents had the chance again, they would have changed the gene parameters. Less temperament, they’d say; make her placid and unquestioning. Limit her moral compass. Like the Honour Guard, but without the strength or weapons training.

            It was too late now, of course. She wasn’t their darling little robot they wanted and never would be. It was why they were so scared of her, so controlling. The signs had been there early enough; her first word was not ‘Mama’ but ‘No’, which had quickly become her favourite word to say to her parents. She had even had a letter from school concerning an essay that she had written questioning the validity of The Council of Worlds. That had earned ten strikes of her father’s belt and taught her that she had to play the game.

            Sam didn’t focus on the dance. Not on her partner’s words or his bad breath, and definitely not on the fact the soldier’s hand had slipped down her back to the base of her spine. She checked the rank on the lecher’s lapel; Colonel. Damn. If it’d been Captain or lower, she could get away with slapping him to defend her dignity. Instead she had to gently pull the man’s hand back up, smile, and pretend it hadn’t upset her. The Feed link-chip in her head ran the man’s serial number; Colonel Gustav Blecier, had served her father for ten years. Married, with children the same age as her. That just made the whole situation even creepier.

Sam scanned the room half in a daze, barely able to take anything in, trying desperately to take her mind off things by playing one of her favourite games: What is the traditional nationality of each person? Where did they come from, and how did they end up here? Her Feed-link occasionally tried to identify faces, but she ignored it; it was much more fun to invent than find out the truth. She played by creating a life for a few seconds for each person she saw, a life that she was unable to have herself.

            Her eyes spun back to the second to last man, her heart quickening. He was tall but not overly, she’d probably be the same height in her heels. He was dressed in a uniform but no rank. He did have the most penetrating gray eyes though. Not that she wanted him to see her right now, being pawed at by a colonel and in an unflattering dress. But when she saw him giving her the look, not even being subtle as he looked from her eyes to her body and back, she felt a rush of warmth to her face.

            As the song ended, she managed to break free of the colonel’s grasp.  After a small nod of acknowledgement to the obviously important, respected officer, she moved away, walking toward the gray-eyed man. Catching his eyes again, her heart fluttered, a flutter that had nothing to do with the speed of the dancing. Her soft smile was returned with a curt nod, a look of some embarrassment, then he turned to speak to another similar dressed officer.

Sam cast her eyes downwards at another rejection.  Here was someone else scared to talk to her because of who she supposedly was; young officers knew better than to flirt with a general’s daughter. Sam felt the flutter of warmth turn to anger; she was nothing like the image that had been carefully painted of her, and it was about time everyone knew it. She walked determinedly towards the gray-eyed man. It was only when she got within reaching distance that she realised she should’ve thought of what to say beforehand.

            “Hey,” she said, sounding more petulant than she’d hoped, before thundering on regardless. “I’m being passed around to all the soldiers, it keeps me from annoying my father.  Would you like a turn?”

            The man, who was surprised at being interrupted in his conversation, suddenly gave her a smile that bought the flutter back into Sam. “A turn?”

            “A dance.”

            “Oh.”

            “Oh.” Her stomach had taken a jump from the top diving board, but she kept her head held high. “Oh”, was hardly the answer she had wanted, but she couldn’t show that. She had put on a fantastic act tonight; no point in stopping now. She fixed another smile on her face and flicked a loose strand of hair over her shoulder as if she couldn’t care less about his answer. “If you don’t want to...”

            “It’s not that.”

            “It’s who my father is.” she said, turning away, “don’t worry, I get it. You’re not the first to stay away because of him and won’t be the last. It’s no big deal, I get it.”

            “Samantha.”

            “Sam,” she said automatically.

            “Sam, I just don’t think it would be right.”

             “Don’t you know I never do what’s right, it’s all over the press. I’m such the disappointment.” A sad smile formed on her lips. “I should go before I ruin your up and coming career.”

            He returned her smile, but it was something more than a smile. It sparkled and grew, from common ground, to mischievous, to something that was much more, almost as if he was sharing a secret with her. “Then maybe a dance would be okay. You can’t do too much damage with a dance.” He lowered his voice so only she’d hear. “Well not unless you really try.”

            “Well,” she echoed his laugh, “let’s try then; let’s try really hard.”

            Sam pulled the soldier back onto the dance floor. All eyes turned on them as the beaming lights shown down on them. The lights seemed to follow her every movement; they caught her hair and the jewels on her dress, dazzling onlookers. He smiled softly at her as they waited for the music to start a new song.

The dance was a jive and started at a high tempo, twirling and moving without a second to take a breath. Her smile grew as she seemed to lose herself in the dance, actually laughing as she let herself tumble into his arms after one badly timed turn. She took her time to correct herself, letting his arms touch her for longer than was necessary, before smiling and continuing with the dance steps. He smiled back at her. He twirled her twice more as her eyes sought out her father, whose face looked like thunder as he glared at them.

            “Hey, Samantha,...”

            “Sam.” She said before he had a chance to continue with his offer. “It’s Sam. Please don’t make me tell you again.” She winked at him. “Otherwise, I may need to get the guards down. Only people I hate call me Samantha and I don’t want to hate you. Not yet, anyway.”

            “Hey, Sam,” he started again, his smile growing. “You want to get away from all the attention?”

            She returned his smile, “I’d love to, but you’ll be more than lucky to make that happen. I think every single Officer is watching me tonight, eager to report back to my father and earn himself another promotion.”

            “I’m not interested in promotions, especially not in getting them that way.”

            “See, I knew there was a reason I picked you out Mr Soldier, Sir.” She played with the end of her hair, wrapping it round and round her finger.  “So what interests you, then, Mr Soldier, Sir?”

            He leant in to whisper in her ear.

            “I’ll give you a clue.  Right now, the thing I’m into, her name starts with the letter S. You want to hear more?”

            “Don’t tempt me.”

            “Aren’t you the girl that got out of the base and on the news a while back?”

            She looked into his eyes, trying to read his expression. What she saw wasn’t what she expected; he had a retinal implant for his Feed link, and it was trying to connect to hers. With a few blinks, she accepted the request, even though he kept his personal information shielded.

            Her smile widened as she whispered in his ear.  “I need to powder my nose.”

            She turned away, making a beeline for the bathroom, giving her mother a dismissive wave as she walked past her. Mrs Drake-Goldharker just refilled her champagne glass as if she had expected nothing less.

            She checked the stalls before heading to the bathroom mirror; this was one of the only places on site without surveillance. She blinked at her reflection, bringing up her own retinal display; she couldn’t see him, but if she looked in the mirror as she spoke, he could see her.

            “There’s too many eyes on me in there.” she said as explanation, making a show of checking her makeup.

            “I understand.” Came the man’s voice, “I can’t speak freely here either.”

            “But you can see me okay?” Sam said, smiling at her reflection.

            “Perfectly.”

            The tone of his voice sent a shiver down Sam’s back; this was crazy. She was having a Feed link with a total stranger, one who knew she was on the wrong side of the law. Crazy was just another word for exciting right now. She adjusted her dress, tossing back her hair and biting her lip as she did.

            “You want to go sit in the park, talk?” she said, making more of a show of her preening, “I mean, right now I don’t even know your name.”

            “My name?”

            “Yes, your name, it seems grossly unfair that you know my name and that I don’t know yours.”

            “Lannigun.”

A recorded voice sounded out of the speakers and jolted her out of her thoughts.

            “The Council of Worlds has sentenced you to life imprisonment on the Cauldron for your crimes against your fellow races.

            “All prisoners should remember the following:

            “1. The Council of World are not interested in your immoralities or opinions. You have been found guilty of a crime and excuses will not be listened to.

            “2. There is no escape from the Cauldron.

            “3. You must submit unconditionally to Council of World representatives and you must immediately answer according to all questions that the Council of Worlds or their representatives ask without wasting time to reflect.

            “4. You should watch other prisoners and report any suspicious behaviour to Council of World representatives.

            “5. You should not act on your own initiative. Do nothing, sit still and wait for the orders of a Council of Worlds representative. If there is no order, keep quiet, when asked to do something, you must do it right away without protesting.

            “Enjoy the rest of your journey.”

            The voice cut back off as quickly as it had come.

A month had gone by, and nothing more had come of the protest. A few bruises, but nothing lasting. What’s the harm, Sam thought, in going to another?

            Quieter, less cameras, less enforcement. Almost disappointing. Astra had given her a headscarf to hide in, but it turned out to be unnecessary.  Turning away from the protest and down the road, she headed down to one of the oxygen bars. Staying hidden had been what she had wanted and the latest protest had been a success, but she was going to need an adrenaline rush before she forced herself to head back to base.

            Her smile was instant as she saw Lannigun sat at one of the tables. He was with one of the drossland rebels; Sam recognised him from her father’s wall of targets. In the last month, she had suspected as much, but they had been enjoying getting to know each other and you didn’t speak politics with someone that you didn’t know. Especially if their father could send them to the Cauldron with just a nod or an execution chamber with a smile.

            Lannigun excused himself from his friend and threw some money down on the table, then headed over. Not giving her a second to even say hello, Lannigun kissed her. Sam continued the kiss. She wasn’t sure what had prompted it but wasn’t about to stop it either. She ran her fingers through his hair as he pulled her tighter to him, as if he had a need to keep her held close to her. And after the last couple of weeks she had had she wasn’t going to argue with that. She was kissing Lannigun and that was all that mattered. Their tongues brushed against each other in a dance that was so tentative yet so passionate, as her whole body jumped with excitement.

His arms kept a tight hold around her. He was so powerful yet at the same time tender. She relaxed into the hold as her arms flung their way round his neck and the kiss continued, continued deepened and raised goosebumps on her skin. Right now, something told her the very thing that she had known in the back of her mind since she had first laid eyes on Lannigun: this was the place where she had always belonged.

            “That was quite the welcome,” she smiled at him, pulling aware but keep her eyes fixed staring into his, “dare I ask what prompted it?”

            Lannigun looked back to where his friend had been sat, but he must’ve left as they were kissing. Sam hadn’t noticed. “Nothing much,” he glanced down at the floor for a moment before returning her gaze, his cheeks still a rich red colour, “other than I have been dreaming about doing that all day.” Lannigun took her hand and started to lead her to the door. “Let’s get out of the open.”

            Sam pulled him to a halt, she wasn’t going to go anywhere without finding out what was going on. “Lannigun, what’s going on?”

            He paused, dropping his head. “There’s a plan in the resistance that concerns you.”

            She pulled her arm away and crossed them. “A plan to?”

            “Kidnap you,” Lannigun reached back out for her hand and gave it a small pull, “hold you to ransom and twist your father’s arm.”

            Sam laughed, “You know, he would probably just thank them for getting me out his way.”             She stopped laughing and stared at Lannigun; there was no joke in his eyes. Realising he was serious, her head started screaming with questions. “How long have you known about this?”

            “A while.”

            “How long is a while?”

            “Does it matter?”

            “Yes.” She paused, making sure he was looking at her as she continued. She wasn’t going to let another person use her. “To me, it does, yes. I have enough people using me for one thing or another, I didn’t think you were one of them.”

            “I’m not, I’ve just given everything up for you. Rebellion. Everything. You think it’s bad on the Base? Well that’s nothing. I’ve left. I can’t go back, Rendell is going to know I told you.”

            “Which is why he sent me to shadow you.”

            Sam turned to where the voice had come from; there was a reedy, scar-faced man in the corner, pointing a gun at her.

            “Penn?” Lannigun said, moving forwards, “How long have you been there?”

            “No point in playing the boyfriend now,” said Penn, “Even if you’re bottling out, we’ve got what we set out for.”

            Lannigun made sure that he placed himself between Sam and the gun. Sam glared at him, with the same look her father used, that if looks could kill he would be six feet under in a welded steel coffin. Her mind was racing. Had her father been right about the drosslands all along? That those that came from there needed to be monitored and controlled? That they were all ruthless, lawless cut-throats? That all they understood was violence? With a threat to kidnap her and a gun aimed at her head, it was hard to argue against that.

            Sam stepped out from the protection that Lannigun had given her. “You planned this. You knew about this,” Sam’s voice was rising with every word, “you just admitted you were in on a plot to kidnap me; this is it, with you and your mate.”

            “If that was the case Sam,” Lannigun found his own voice rising, “then why would I screw over my future by telling you?”

            Penn smiled, “Come on, Lannigun, I’ve known you all your life. Who forged your military papers to get you in Base? I know you better than you know yourself, and you’re not fooling me.”

            Lannigun turned his attention to his friend, “Then you would know that, I would not have broken Rendell’s rules without good reason. And Sam is an excellent reason. We can’t just see this as drosslands and Bases anymore.”

            “And when did you start calling her Sam? She’s just a target, Lannigun. If it wasn’t her, then it’d be some other Base floozy who’d fall for those pretty eyes of yours.” Penn trailed his gun on Sam, his hand still on the trigger. “And there’s no point standing in front of her, I can beat even you when hitting my targets.”

            “I know, look Penn...”

            Lannigun broke off mid speech as he lunged for his friend. The pair of them rolled around on the floor; it wasn’t a dignified fight, and only lasted a few seconds before two shots were fired.

The shuttle jerked her out of her memory. If you had asked her on that instant, she would have sworn that that moment was easily the worst of her life. But then the last week, things had got increasing worse, with the fear that had taken over, swelling with every passing second, until she had felt like she would explode. Surely the Cauldron couldn’t be any worse than everything that she had already been through.

            A thought came to her; you really have no idea, do you? Everything could always get far worse.

Sam thanked her parents for her photographic memory. It had been invaluable in getting through the Heightened Institute, and remembering the various dignitaries she was expected to meet. Right now, it was navigating alleys and gangways like she’d been through the slums all her life. She’d only been to Astra’s house once after a protest, when the fellow protester had satisfied Sam’s curiosity about what a drosslanders house was actually like. Right now, Sam had to believe not all drosslanders were bad. That Astra wouldn’t double cross them.

            You wouldn’t even find Astra’s front door if you didn’t know exactly where to look. You had to climb through a crashed police chopper to find it; Sam knew to follow the power cables to the right hatch on an old freight carriage; every other entrance was welded shut.

            Astra’s mother hadn’t been that happy to see her the first time, and Sam guessed that she would be even less happy to see her today. Before she had come with just curiosity fuelling the need of her visit; today she was bringing blood and trouble, to those who tried their hardest to go unseen. You didn’t need superior biogenic intelligence to realise that that was not going to get a good response, but Sam had no other choice. She had to trust Astra was a good person.

            Sam banged on the carriage door. The urgency echoed in her knock as she banged over and over again with increasing speed. She stopped. Allowed herself to breathe. Astra wouldn’t help her if broke down her door. Her family might not have much, but they valued it more than anything. Sam knocked again, trying to keep the frantic movements out of it this time.

            The door opened just seconds later and it took even less time for Astra’s composure to change. Her calm exterior was gone and her eyes were darting up and down, looking for answers to her questions and the trouble that Sam had brought to her door.

            “Sam,” she took in her appearance, “what’s happened? Are you okay? You’re bleeding!”

            Sam looked down at her clothes; her hands and shirt were covered in blood.

            “No, no, I’m not it’s Lannigun.”

            Astra’s brow knotted into a frown. “Who?”

            Sam let herself take a breath before she replied. “I don’t have time to explain. Sorry. I just need your help.”

            “I’d like to Sam, I want to help you, but not here.” Astra glanced over her shoulder, “I can’t, if I’m caught, I’m history. Can’t you ask at the Base or something?”

            “You know damn well I can’t!”

            “It’s just...”

            “Astra, its important, please, you know I wouldn’t if it wasn’t important.”

            Astra paused. “Okay but we can’t bring him here. I have an uncle that turns a blind eye to the protests, we can go to him.”

            Sam offered her friend a smile, “Let’s go then.”

            She darted back through the maze of junk, Astra at her heels. She may have only been gone ten minutes or so, but if the Honour Guard or the rebels found him, then Lannigun was as good as dead. If her father thought that someone had tried to get their hands on his daughter and his reputation, then The Cauldron wouldn’t be good enough.

            She let out a breath as she saw Lannigun still sat where she’d left him, in the loading bar behind the oxygen bar. He was safe. Well, as safe as you could be when you’re bleeding in the centre of the drosslands, having just shot a fellow rebel. So not that safe at all. Her head whipped around as her run came to a sudden halt and she let herself judge the situation. No-one else was around; no-one had found Penn yet. They’d left him in the oxygen bar, face down and bleeding out. Sam hadn’t thought about how that’d look. She hadn’t cared. Lannigun was hurt in the fight. That was all that mattered.

            Astra caught up with her and gasped as she looked down at Lannigun. The headscarf Sam had worn was tied round his thigh, soaked in blood. “Sam, what the fuck happened?.”

            “We got on the wrong side of the rebels.”

            Astra backed away, holding up her hands. “Woah, hold on. You didn’t say anything about the Rebels…”

            “I know, it’s a lot to ask, but I wouldn’t if I wasn’t desperate.” She whipped her head around, ignoring any further question and then turned back to Lannigun, still out of breath, “Are there any others? Anyone else who knew you were meeting me?”

            Lannigun was jogged out of his daze at Sam’s words. “Rendell. Damask saw us together…”

            “Where are they?”

            “Underground.” Lannigun said, gritting his teeth, “They won’t come out straight away. They send others out. Like Penn.”

            Sam’s face forced itself back into that familiar frown but if she chose not to ask the series of follow up questions that had instantly sprang up. Namely, how long till Lannigun’s former friends knew he’d killed one of their own. There wasn’t the time now; they had to get Lannigun to a doctor.

            “This is Astra, she’s going to help me get you to her uncles and then I can treat that wound.”

            Astra knelt beside Lannigun’s wound, sighing as she unwound the headscarf. “I’m guessing you never did basic triage at Base.” She said, winding the headscarf tight and tying it into a noose, “he’s been hit in the leg vein…” With a sudden jerk, she tightened the noose, causing Lannigun to growl in pain. She clapped her free hand over his mouth till he finished, then finished off the knot. She then looked up to Sam, “I’ll get a clean cloth. Don’t want to leave a trail for the Rebels to follow.”

            As Astra went into the deserted oxygen bar, Sam leant down to Lannigun, cradling his head and holding his hand.

            “It’s okay, we can trust Astra, we can get you fixed up…”

            Lannigun’s face was drenched in cold sweat, but his eyes had lost none of their strength. “And what then Sam?” he said hoarsely, “We can’t go back. Either of us.”

            “We’ll tackle that when we’ve dealt with everything else.”

            Astra came back with a torn curtain, and began to redress the wound. “It’s not perfect,” she said, “but we don’t need to go far. Just keep your weight off it…”

            Sam looked back to the street. “Won’t people notice…”

            “Us carrying a wounded man? Even if they do, they’ll say nothing. Trouble brings trouble; easier to keep your head down and stay out of it. You know, like I’ve been trying to do.”

            Both Astra and Sam helped Lannigun up. Sam glanced at him as they walked; his face was pained, tears had welled his eyes, but she couldn’t do anything about that now. Speed was important and Sam knew that more than anyone. They had been lucky that no one had found them yet. And they couldn’t count on that luck for much longer.

The Rebels would notice Penn was missing, and the longer she stayed out of the Base, the more likely the Honour Guard would be sent out to ‘rescue’ her. And if they were found together… She forced herself to keep walking, she couldn’t think about that. She could worry later, when Lannigun wasn’t dead.

            They turned a corner and Astra shrugged out from under Lannigun’s support. “Stay here. I’ll go ahead, talk to him.”

            Sam smiled at her, then turned her attention to Lannigun. “Looks like we are headed for another safe house,” she said, shifting his weight. When he didn’t reply, she continued, “I wonder if they will have a sofa like the last one. We had a lot of fun there, remember?”

            Lannigun laughed thinly. “Like I’d forget. My knees are still healing.”

            Sam laughed as well.  “Maybe once you’re a bit better, and I’m done yelling at you, another sofa would be fun.”

            “I was kind of hoping for a bed. Need to stretch out more this time.”

            “I wouldn’t mind a bed either.”

            “Really?”

            She smiled, at the very least a bit of teasing was more than he deserved. “To rest out on.”

            Their laughter was broken by the door of a house being opened. The man in front of them, unlike most drosslanders, was large. Most drosslanders had to fight for food; this man looked like they’d fought him and lost. His arms were muscular and his chest broad; he had probably won his fair share of arm-wrestling contests. The shotgun he carried looked like overkill; it wasn’t like anyone would start a fight with him. His eyes did the typical look up and down the street before they bore into Astra who started talking very quickly.

            “This is Gongora, my uncle. He’s agreed to help.”

            Gongora smiled at them, moving slightly so he blocked the door, “For the right price.”

            “Whatever it is, I’ll pay it.”

            Gongora gave her the look, from her face down her body and back up. It wasn’t nearly as hot as when Lannigun did it. “Of course you will, Miss Drake-Goldharker, it’s just a question of how you’ll manage that.”

            Sam glared at him, then glanced down at Astra. The tough little drosslander shielded away from the look; Sam couldn’t ask her for any more favours. She looked back up at Gongora, and hobbled across the street towards him.

            “I’ll cover that when you get him inside.”

            Gongora smiled humourlessly, and made a big show of stepping to one side and ushering them in. “Oh I’m sure you will, Base-girl.” He barked out a laugh, “But that can wait; follow me.”

            For a drosslander home, Gongora’s was much better than others Sam had seen. It was more like a concrete bunker than a house, but he had power, heating, running water, and Base-bought furniture. None of these comforts were for Lannigun, though; he got laid out on a steel table in the back, and Uncle Gongora didn’t take any care in cutting through bandages and clothes to see the wound.

            “Bullet went straight through.” he said, “Clipped the vein when it did. I can stitch you up, get some bloods, sterile bandage.”

            Sam felt her heart sink. That sounded expensive. “Do it.” she said, “Whatever it costs.”

            Gongora grinned at her, then waved towards the door. “You can wait in the kitchen. It’s gonna get a lot messier before I’m done.”

            Astra took Sam’s hand and led her out. Once they were in the kitchen, Astra busied herself making drinks. “You need to watch what you say. I trust him because he’s my family, but I know that trust doesn’t go further.”

            “What’re you saying?”

            “That he isn’t the kind of man you say ‘whatever it costs’ to.” Astra said, slamming down a coffee tin, “I’m wondering what Base life is like if someone like you can say that to any man.”

            Sam hugged herself. “I… I have to help Lannigun, however I can.”

            Astra sighed, stirring the coffee a bit more vigorously than necessary. “He’ll ask for money first. Always does.” She said, tapping the spoon like she was trying to smash the cup. “Whatever that price is, you better meet it. Surgery this side of the Base isn’t cheap. Clean blood alone is five thousand credits. Can you get that kind of money quick?”

            Sam thought through what money she had, and where she could get hold of more. “Maybe.”

            The two stood in silence, drinking strong coffee, until Gongora walked in, pulling off surgical gloves.    “Well, your boyfriends going to make it.” He said without any emotion. “He’s had a shot of morphine, though. And he’ll have to rest for a few days before he can walk. I’ve got a saferoom you two can stay in till he recovers.”

            Even though the man was easily twice as strong as Sam and Astra put together, he made them carry Lannigun further into the bunker. Although his trousers had been cut away, his leg was wrapped in white bandages and, most importantly, the bleeding had stopped.

            Gongora tapped his foot by the door as Lannigun got laid on a stretcher bed.  “Miss Drake-Goldharker, a word.”

            Sam rested Lannigun’s head down carefully. “In a moment.”

            “No, now.”

            She leaned over and kissed Lannigun, “I’ll be right back.”

            “Don’t promise,” Lannigun said groggily, “just for me, I’m not worth it.”

            “Shh, with all that,” she smiled, “just get some rest and don’t worry over all of that.”

            She followed Gongora out of the room.

            “So Samantha, do I need to explain how dangerous it is to hold you and that rebel in this house.”

            “I didn’t get the impression you minded danger.”

            “Not as long as I profit from it and I can’t see how you are going to be able to find the money.”

            “If you know who I am, surely you should know that money isn’t an issue; how much?”

            Gongora laughed, “I doubt your daddy will give you money to help him.”

            “I’ll get the money; how much?”

            Gongora gave her another look; this time it made Sam feel very small, very cold, and trapped. “Twenty-five thousand credits. Hard currency.”

            Sam didn’t want it to show on her face, but she’d struggle to find that much, and get it as cash rather than chip. But she wasn’t in a position to haggle.           “Twenty-five it is.” She said, hoping she sounded more certain than she felt, “How long are you giving me?”

            Gongora rubbed his mouth, then reached out, flicking her hair back, and not even attempting to hide that he was staring at her chest. “I’ll give you… two days, Base-girl. If you don’t have the full amount, though, we’ll have to renegotiate.”

            Sam looked back to the room. Whatever it took to save Lannigun. “I’ll get it.”

Light. For the first time since she’d been thrown in the cell. Light, but it wasn’t welcome. It hurt to be pulled from the darkness so quickly; even after her eyes adjusted, what she saw wasn’t welcome.

            The cell had a reinforced glass panel across one side; heatproof, to survive atmospheric entry. The cell, one of several in a row, was attached to the ship’s underside like a seed in a pod, angled slightly so it faced planet-side. The hull had just opened; that was the light. Now she could see there was one a few inches of glass between her and a long drop to the Cauldron.

            She’d been dumb with Gongora. He’d pretended to be interested in something as brief and meaningless as sex. Instead, he spent the two days haggling with the Base and the Rebels, seeing who’d bid highest for the location of the runaways. Turned out the Honour Guard paid out more. All the money Sam had scraped together was for nothing.

            She closed her eyes, if only to stop the vertigo from looking fifty miles straight down. Astra had… No, she hadn’t betrayed them. She’d warned her, right from the start. And it wasn’t like the poor girl had much of a choice.

            I hope she’s alright, Sam thought as red warning lights began to flash round her. Hope she’s safer than I am.

Sam spent the next two weeks in a darkened cell at the Base. The only news that broke through her walls was about the execution of a rebel leader, in which her guard had taken great joy in explaining was Lannigun. His former friends had set him up as a fall guy, leaving him with enough incriminating evidence that the Honour Guard thought they’d caught a keystone member. Sam knew the truth; he’d been a pawn. Just like she was.

            She hadn’t been present for her defence; her father’s lawyers had made the case that she’d been brainwashed by Lannigun, that her testimony would be impermissible, that she was of unsound mind and needed rehabilitation. The prosecution, however, felt the need for her to take the stand.

            “You are Samantha Helena Goldharker-Drake, date of creation CW9F-7269-00AC50 (255-628), of the Central Command Base CXVIII?” The lawyer stated.

            Sam forced herself to nod in answer; that wasn’t her home anymore, but it would do no good to bring that up now. “Yes, sir.”

            “You are in court today concerning your actions earlier this year, when you joined anti base protests that support a rebel organisation.” The lawyer paused, as if waiting for an answer, “Do you understand the charges brought against you?”

            Sam cleared her throat before speaking into the microphone. “Yes, I do.”

            The prosecutor looked directly at her, shaking his head slightly at the tone of bitterness that had been in her voice. “Would you like to explain why you chose to join the organisation known as the Rebels?”

            “Objection!” said the defence, “It wasn’t by her choice that she became affiliated with the Rebels…”

            The prosecutor turned to the judge. “Your honour, the defence’s case has already been made. It is the prosecution’s stance that Samantha knowingly joined the Rebels, and we have evidence of dissonant behaviour throughout her life.” He took out a data chip and passed it to the judge, “Evidence #3277, school essays that questioned central authority and the Council of Worlds. In the teacher’s margins, you’ll notice her tutors found the comments made by Miss Drake-Goldharker as ‘deeply troubling and unbefitting of a military daughter’.”

            Sam kept an even tighter hold of her hands, keeping her anger in check. They were twisting things.

            The judge viewed the notes on the screen before looking back to the prosecutor. “There is a leap in logic from teenage rebellion to joining a violent group of drossland rebels.” he said dolorously, “I trust you have other evidence?”

            The prosecutor turned back to Sam. “Miss Drake-Goldharker, did you know the Rebel leader Lannigun Qal?”

            He wasn’t a leader, Sam thought. You just killed him as one. “Yes, sir.”

            “You met him at the anniversary of your father’s command?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “And we have Feed footage of that event, Miss Drake-Goldharker; did he approach you?”

            They’re twisting things, Sam thought. My stomach being one of them. “No, sir.”

            “You approached him, am I correct?”

            “It wasn’t like that, Sir.”

            “Which of my facts were incorrect?”

            “None, but...”

            “And did you have a close relationship with this Rebel?”

            Sam closed her eyes. She hated her perfect memory right now. She could remember just how close they’d been. “Yes, sir.”

            “A close, physical relationship that you instigated?”

            “Objection!” said the defence, “Your honour, the prosecution is degrading this trial for the sake of the press.”

            “Sustained.” said the judge, glaring at the prosecutor, “Please, keep your comments from disrepute in my court.”

            “Very well, your honour.” said the prosecutor, holding his hands up in mock defeat, “But the prosecution believes you haven’t been brainwashed, drawn in by a charismatic young man and swept up in a whirlwind that led to betrayal. The prosecution believes you knowingly contacted Rebel forces, in an attempt to humiliate your father.”

            “Your honour,” said the defence, “I’d redirect you to Evidence #3265. We have a signed confession from the aforementioned Lannigun Qal, admitting that he was involved in a conspiracy to kidnap Miss Drake-Goldharker.”

            Sam felt a pit in her stomach. She hadn’t known about this.

            “In that document,” the defence continued, “he admitted that she was lured away and not at fault. Why would a Rebel leader, knowing the penalty for such crimes, make such an admission with nothing to gain?”

            Sam’s eyes began to water, and she tried to hide the heat she felt; Lannigun had tried, at the very last, to protect her. Even if it meant a death sentence for him. Other details of the court washed away; the prosecution said this, the defence objected, the judge kept order. Sam closed her eyes, and saw Lannigun in her mind. Those beautiful gray eyes, staring right into hers; even the memory of him could cause a flutter of warmth in her heart.

            She hadn’t even realised the court was over until the guards led her from the dock; the judge was making his closing statement to the jury.

            “It rests upon your verdict,” he said, “and I would ask you to treat all evidence and debate with the utmost gravity. Did Samantha Drake-Goldharker knowingly affiliate with outlaw groups, and their convicted leader? Did she act against the interests, of her father, her Base, the very laws to which we hold? I would also remind the jury, to dispel any rumour or gossip about the defendant, of which I’m aware there is much. Please make your verdict based only on the evidence presented in this court.”

            Sam allowed herself a smile, but hid it before anyone saw. Lannigun protects me, even after you killed him.

            The guards led her from the court.

The cells running along the ship’s underbelly began to uncouple from the hull, dangling on cables so they skimmed the upper atmosphere. With the lights on, Sam saw where the harness was; it had been out of reach while the cell was angled, and she’d have to rush to climb into it now.

            The jury had been split on a number of charges; it had taken weeks to get to the sentencing, and the defence slowly dwindled from her father’s best lawyers to the court appointed ones for people who couldn’t afford their own. She’d taken a plea bargain without really thinking about it; she didn’t even know what she signed and admitted to. At the time, anything was going to be better than imprisonment and uncertainty.

            “Don’t you know anything?” Astra’s voice said in her mind, “Everything can always get far worse.”

            At least the Cauldron was a definite answer. Of course, so was death, but you couldn’t get everything you wanted. Sam strapped herself into the seat; it wasn’t connected to the floor or ceiling, instead what looked like a massive shock absorber. The cells closest to her, she could make out the other prisoners being thrown to the Cauldron; some hadn’t found the harness in time, some were aliens the wrong shape for the harness to fit. The ship’s crew didn’t seem to care; once you were in the cells, you were on your own. Once you were dropped onto the prison planet, you weren’t their problem anymore.

            Sam’s cell uncoupled, and began its descent. Sound, hellishly loud wind, shook through the cell and Sam’s body. There was a break in the clouds, and the cells that had dropped before were shooting stars beneath her. Lights of buildings dotted the planet surface; the pods weren’t heading anywhere near them, instead towards a miles-wide crater. Hopefully there was something in there to break your fall. Sand, maybe, or water.

            She didn’t want to watch her descent; she realised that watching yourself fall and being powerless to change it was a punishment in itself. Wherever she landed was out of her control. Like so much of her life had been.

            She closed her eyes, and thought of Lannigun.

            Can you see me okay?

            Perfectly.

            The cable unclipped.

The End

Prompts:

·       AGE OF INFINITY (Space Opera/cyperpunk/biopunk/post-apoloysic/dystopian/uptopian/space travel) With alien technology and ways around the impossibilities of human science, humanity reaches out to distant worlds; as diplomats, pioneers, conquerors and colonists. The planet of Terra is accepted into the Council of Worlds, a galactic union of alien cultures, and commissions its own fleet of ships, most notably the OCS Escafeld. This Age never officially ends; humanity expands ever outwards, colonising new worlds, continually making war and peace with ever more exotic and alien societies.

·       Council of Worlds: The omnipresent, all-encompassing political group that governs space travel and interplanetary relations. While the council is officially made up of representatives across all planets within its territory, humans and Ascendants are far more present than other races due to colonial expansion. Although largely superfluous on a global scale, the Council are the law when it comes to interstellar travel. Access to their technology is only allowed to Council members, and anyone else is obviously a pirate and deserves punishment…

·       The Cauldron: A prison planet where the Council of Worlds dump prisoners of ‘galactic significance’ who have no hope of parole. The Cauldron orbits a Red Giant in an unpopulated system. The prisoners have to live underground as the surface is completely inhospitable. Prisoners are fired at the planet from a station in orbit and left to fend for themselves, though sometimes accidents happen and the prisoners are caught in the sun’s gravity.

·       Biogenics: Thanks to alien technology, humans crack their genetic code and reliably clone complex organisms, revolutionising medical science. Hereditary disease is eliminated, and cloned organs replace donors. Cybernetic limbs replace prosthetics, while gene therapy allows parents to enhance their children. On Drossworlds, bio-graft implants are given to corporate higher-ups to compensate for their otherwise terrible working conditions. Some Drossworlds require specialist cloning facilities just to maintain a workforce; polluted water supply, unbreathable air, or high solar radiation are all combated by tailored bio-grafts, ready-built into batches of clone workers.

·       The Heightened Institute: Every Council species has gifted children; at the Heightened Institute, the Council makes sure the geniuses grow up brilliant, not misunderstood. Acceptance into the Institute involves rigorous testing, and marks a child out as having superior intelligence. As such, the Institute trains the next generation of inventors, generals, surgeons and scientists, with classes of multiple species freely intermingling. Critics say the Institute is archaic, a leftover piece of segregated elitism. None can deny that the various alumni have changed the course of history, however.

·       The Blacklist: In a world run by interplanetary corporations, the worst thing to be is in your boss’s bad books. The Blacklist are a sinister group who’ve taken ownership of their social exile, and work to disrupt the world monopoly whenever they can. The disillusioned, anarchic or those with nowhere else to turn, the Blacklist are touted as an organised criminal syndicate by media outlets; while they are involved in illegal activity, the majority are trying to survive against a government that hates and vilifies them.

·       Cold Labour: A Drossworld-wide class of people specifically used by corporations to carry out the most dangerous types of work in an industrial age. Most get to work in the most extreme environments: mines that release poisonous fumes when disturbed; entire factory-based cities that are just as likely to end up killing as employ. Work becomes so dangerous and fatiguing that corporations agree to place workers in cryo-pods and replenish their bodies after a certain amount of time, throwing in a ‘virtual holiday’ whilst frozen. Workers therefore have something to look forward to.

·       Showtowns: Every Drossworld has at least one; a major port which the corp invest heavily in, to impress Council officials + prove they’re capable of running an economy. Gigantic plasma screens cover the side of skyscrapers, always showing smiling models endorsing corp products. Cheap venues cluster at street level; neon strip lighting + signboards advertise the smaller, seedier places. All showtowns are policed for Blacklist activity; it doesn’t look good to visiting officials. Although most drossworlders dream of moving to the big clean city, off-worlders can’t imagine why anyone would want to stay there.

·       Alt-Chem Market: Around virtually every Drossworld port is a vast slum, and not every shipment that comes in is destined for a registered business. Alt-Chem is the most prolific, and grudgingly trusted, of these black market dealers. It’s easy to recognise an Alt-Chem trader: all of them wear a distinctive black bio-suit with neon trim and a wire mesh mask obscuring their face, and all of them speak using third-hand synthetic voice boxes. People jokingly say they don’t keep the best implants for themselves, and there’s some debate as to how much of them is tech or human, if any of them is.

·       The Feed: Blurring the line between internet and telepathy, the Feed is used for communication and information storage. Early versions required microchip implants; later versions used more durable bio-grafts, until the Feed became so widespread it could be accessed with sufficient concentration. The layman might use the Feed as a search engine; idle questions are answered in milliseconds, and content moderators were employed to ensure proper citation. Governments and corporations use the Feed to monitor people movement, possible political infractions, and to deliver targeted corporate messages.

·       QuickProtect Plague: The first bio-engineered antivirus still lurks in some Drossworlds, usually ones which can’t afford to delete it. Able to detect and delete diseases, the QuickProtect (A trademark of a defunct company) nanites work by destroying genetic code. The auto-detection was contracted out to a third party, who rushed through the code to meet deadlines; in short, if your genetic code is sufficiently different from the base code, QuickProtect destroys the offending cells. Patches attempted to update, then deactivate, the nanites, but these updates aren’t always cost-effective for smaller colonies.