Martyred Medic
"Indenture 270941," the CorpSec trooper boomed, his voice made strange and monstrous by his tinny helmet speakers, "return to your holding area immediately. Failure to comply will result in disciplinary action. This is your only warning."
A hunched, grizzled old man stared up at the trooper's shiny faceplate, seeing his own terrified features reflected in the polished metal. "Please," he said, his voice quavering, "I'll go back, but we need more food. There are twenty of us in there, and what you're giving us is enough for maybe five. We're having to take turns eating, and some of us are sick, and..." The trooper cut him off by slamming a heavy glove down on his shoulder, the impact of the blow nearly driving him to his knees, and then seizing him by the joint. "Your allocation of food has been determined to be sufficient to maintain labor readiness," his captor replied. "You will return to your holding area."
It didn't take much force to drag the old man along, but the CorpSec goon used plenty anyway, half-dragging him up the corridor and wrenching his shoulder painfully. He looked up as he went, reflecting bitterly on how quickly things had gone wrong - and bizarre. This was the Eden Megamall, the commercial heart of District 9. Neon signs glowed above their heads, the bright holoscreens displaying animated adverts for products of every kind - cookware, makeup, furniture, cheap fried food. But it wasn't a mall anymore. The barred gates used to close all five thousand of the shops were down, shutting in fifteen to thirty newly-indentured citizens of Denon.
Before it'd been a mall, Eden had been a prison. Now the CAD had made it a prison once again.
After the collapse of Denon's voucher system and the assassination of Xopsaloff, the CAD's bursar, the Corpos had seen their carefully planned economy fall apart. No longer could they pay their employees in corporate scrip, forcing them to buy only what their employers provided while the execs sucked up all the profits of their labor. But they hadn't been willing to give up the wealth and power that system had given them... so they'd simply started to "indenture" their employees, forcing them to work in exchange for food, homes, and utilities. They called it a temporary emergency measure while Denon was in crisis. In truth, it was using slave labor to maintain their profits.
The indentures were supposed to be only "essential workers", but an awful lot were known Darkwire sympathizers.
The old man was neither; he was just somebody that no one would stand up and advocate for, a convenient target for the press gangs because he wouldn't be missed. He'd tried to keep his head down, staying out of politics and keeping inside the bounds of the law, quietly working until he could retire. For all the good that had done him. Now it seemed likely he would work quite literally until the day he died, because rumor had it that the indentures here in Eden were on track to be shipped to Belazura. The former resort world was now a ruined mass of strip mines and industrial processing plants, a shadow of its former beauty. Worker life expectancy there was measured in weeks.
Freighters took off from Eden's landing pads every day, ferrying shiploads of indentures to those filthy mines.
As they moved up the corridors of the shopping center, they passed squad after squad of CorpSec troopers, all armed with deck sweeper stun blasters and riot batons; they didn't want to damage the merchandise. Not too much, anyway. More terrifying were the GV/3-series guardian droids, hound-like machines with grasper jaws, retractable blade incisors, and even a built-in blaster. The old man had seen them run down would-be escapees, their clawed, magnetized feet flying, alarms blaring from their canine mouths. He couldn't guess how many troopers and droids roamed the twenty-level megamall, but it had to be a huge number, a massive CorpSec mobilization.
The pair of them finally reached the storefront for Tantalize, the multi-species lingerie store that had been the old man's prison cell for nearly a week. The corner of the metal gate had been pushed up, to allow someone to try and wriggle out to look for food. The bony old man had been the only one skinny enough to go. The CorpSec trooper cycled the gate open and roughly shoved him inside, then closed it, stomping on the crooked part until it snapped back into place. "If I have to come back here," he warned, hefting his riot baton, "you'll all regret it." Then he turned on the heel of his polished boot and was gone, leaving the twenty huddled indentures to their captivity.
Finally breathing out, the old man stepped forward. Thank the Force the guard hadn't thought to check his pockets. "I got a few packs of wafers and some noodles from one of the food carts," he said, and the pathetically grateful looks the others gave him as he passed out the food broke his heart. It was all meant to be hydrated before eating, but no one cared that it was dry and powdery and tasted like chalk - it was something to fill their stomachs. It might well be their last meal, the old man reflected bitterly, or at least their last meal on Denon. The indentures in the electronics store across from them had been shipped out to Belazura the day before.
He looked up through the bars, up to the landing pads so many levels above, and wondered what came next.
>> * --xING! COMM\ \\
<\ATTN ALL DARKWIRE ON DENON
<\This is our last chance to rescue thousands of political prisoners
<\The Corpos have "indentured" countless Darkwire sympathizers and civilians
<\They're bound for strip mines on Belazura if we don't free them
<\Infiltrate the Eden Megamall
<\Release everyone you can and get them to safety
<\We have freighters bound for Wann Tsir standing by
<\Expose the Corpo slave-labor scheme for the GA senate to see
<\BONUS PAY IF YOU MAKE A BOLD STATEMENT
A hunched, grizzled old man stared up at the trooper's shiny faceplate, seeing his own terrified features reflected in the polished metal. "Please," he said, his voice quavering, "I'll go back, but we need more food. There are twenty of us in there, and what you're giving us is enough for maybe five. We're having to take turns eating, and some of us are sick, and..." The trooper cut him off by slamming a heavy glove down on his shoulder, the impact of the blow nearly driving him to his knees, and then seizing him by the joint. "Your allocation of food has been determined to be sufficient to maintain labor readiness," his captor replied. "You will return to your holding area."
It didn't take much force to drag the old man along, but the CorpSec goon used plenty anyway, half-dragging him up the corridor and wrenching his shoulder painfully. He looked up as he went, reflecting bitterly on how quickly things had gone wrong - and bizarre. This was the Eden Megamall, the commercial heart of District 9. Neon signs glowed above their heads, the bright holoscreens displaying animated adverts for products of every kind - cookware, makeup, furniture, cheap fried food. But it wasn't a mall anymore. The barred gates used to close all five thousand of the shops were down, shutting in fifteen to thirty newly-indentured citizens of Denon.
Before it'd been a mall, Eden had been a prison. Now the CAD had made it a prison once again.
After the collapse of Denon's voucher system and the assassination of Xopsaloff, the CAD's bursar, the Corpos had seen their carefully planned economy fall apart. No longer could they pay their employees in corporate scrip, forcing them to buy only what their employers provided while the execs sucked up all the profits of their labor. But they hadn't been willing to give up the wealth and power that system had given them... so they'd simply started to "indenture" their employees, forcing them to work in exchange for food, homes, and utilities. They called it a temporary emergency measure while Denon was in crisis. In truth, it was using slave labor to maintain their profits.
The indentures were supposed to be only "essential workers", but an awful lot were known Darkwire sympathizers.
The old man was neither; he was just somebody that no one would stand up and advocate for, a convenient target for the press gangs because he wouldn't be missed. He'd tried to keep his head down, staying out of politics and keeping inside the bounds of the law, quietly working until he could retire. For all the good that had done him. Now it seemed likely he would work quite literally until the day he died, because rumor had it that the indentures here in Eden were on track to be shipped to Belazura. The former resort world was now a ruined mass of strip mines and industrial processing plants, a shadow of its former beauty. Worker life expectancy there was measured in weeks.
Freighters took off from Eden's landing pads every day, ferrying shiploads of indentures to those filthy mines.
As they moved up the corridors of the shopping center, they passed squad after squad of CorpSec troopers, all armed with deck sweeper stun blasters and riot batons; they didn't want to damage the merchandise. Not too much, anyway. More terrifying were the GV/3-series guardian droids, hound-like machines with grasper jaws, retractable blade incisors, and even a built-in blaster. The old man had seen them run down would-be escapees, their clawed, magnetized feet flying, alarms blaring from their canine mouths. He couldn't guess how many troopers and droids roamed the twenty-level megamall, but it had to be a huge number, a massive CorpSec mobilization.
The pair of them finally reached the storefront for Tantalize, the multi-species lingerie store that had been the old man's prison cell for nearly a week. The corner of the metal gate had been pushed up, to allow someone to try and wriggle out to look for food. The bony old man had been the only one skinny enough to go. The CorpSec trooper cycled the gate open and roughly shoved him inside, then closed it, stomping on the crooked part until it snapped back into place. "If I have to come back here," he warned, hefting his riot baton, "you'll all regret it." Then he turned on the heel of his polished boot and was gone, leaving the twenty huddled indentures to their captivity.
Finally breathing out, the old man stepped forward. Thank the Force the guard hadn't thought to check his pockets. "I got a few packs of wafers and some noodles from one of the food carts," he said, and the pathetically grateful looks the others gave him as he passed out the food broke his heart. It was all meant to be hydrated before eating, but no one cared that it was dry and powdery and tasted like chalk - it was something to fill their stomachs. It might well be their last meal, the old man reflected bitterly, or at least their last meal on Denon. The indentures in the electronics store across from them had been shipped out to Belazura the day before.
He looked up through the bars, up to the landing pads so many levels above, and wondered what came next.

<\ATTN ALL DARKWIRE ON DENON
<\This is our last chance to rescue thousands of political prisoners
<\The Corpos have "indentured" countless Darkwire sympathizers and civilians
<\They're bound for strip mines on Belazura if we don't free them
<\Infiltrate the Eden Megamall
<\Release everyone you can and get them to safety
<\We have freighters bound for Wann Tsir standing by
<\Expose the Corpo slave-labor scheme for the GA senate to see
<\BONUS PAY IF YOU MAKE A BOLD STATEMENT
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