The other night while we were slurping down our gruel reinforced with sawdust, my friend Glorbsig asked if I ever regretted my decision to migrate to a slaving empire.
I almost spat out what remained of my teeth. In the thirty years I’d been here, no-one had ever asked me that before.
I guess I’d just been so busy toiling in the salt mine, trying to get through another day without contracting aerosolized scurvy, or being assigned work duty in the irradiated zone, that I hadn’t had time to think about regrets.
But the question made me think, something that our Tzynn overlords discourage in the re-education camps. But I couldn’t help myself.
I pondered on it, thinking hard while inspecting the scars where my fingernails used to be. I guess maybe I did regret it?
The meal had to be cut short after Glorbsig was selected for nerve stapling. Apparently his appointment got moved up. Mine is still at least six months away for now.
Thankfully, his screams for help distracted the guards and allowed me to slip away unnoticed back to my cell for some quiet reflection.
I began etching my thoughts on to my cell wall, with a sharpened piece of rock I’d managed to nab from the six minutes of yard time I get every day.
I regret moving to a slaving empire.
I can’t believe I’d written it down. I don’t think I’d ever thought that until now. So why did I regret it? Well let me tell you…
Regret No. 1
I miss being able to choose my employment.
When I migrated to the Tzynn Empire, I was under the impression I could apply for any job I was qualified for. Sure, I knew they were slavers, but I didn’t think it would be that different from how it worked at home.
I used to work as a clerk on Earth. It was boring, but for the most part the odds of being beaten to death by a guard for simply looking at him were pretty low.
I’ll never forget those first moments stepping off the transport ship after it landed on Tzynnia. It was overwhelming, the sights and sounds of the Slave Processing Facility. The aliens crying, the guards getting agitated, being separated from my family. I had no clue I’d get pushed into a holding pen and then have work immediately allocated to me.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve been in the salt mine for almost a decade now, and it isn’t the worst. I won’t go into my time on burial duty or clean-up at the Xeno Food Processing Plant. Although, I must admit, Soylent Xeno is a guilty pleasure of mine. It just tastes so different from the sawdust gruel…
Anyway, my lesson to you: Starting a new job on a new world isn’t easy, particularly if it’s run by slavers. Do your research, and choose a space-nation where indentured servitude isn’t mandatory, or at a minimum where your species is exempt from it.
Regret No. 2
I regret not having a better plan for the future.
I remember before we left home, I told Mark, my wonderful husband, and little Timmy and Sarah, my beautiful children, that we’d figure things out once we arrived.
I wonder what they think about that now. Of course, I never imagined Mark would be assigned to clean up the irradiated zone, or that Timmy and Sarah were filtered into the ‘economic burden’ group, whatever that meant. Wherever they are, I hope I get to see them before my nerve stapling.
I guess one thing that being nerve stapled might fix is my spontaneity. I’m a bit of a butterfly. I like to flit from one thing to the next. But should I have stopped to think about the consequences of migrating to an empire which has been universally condemned by the Galactic Community for xeno rights abuses?
My dream was to never to be tethered to one planet. I wanted our family to move around, see the galaxy. And now here I am, finding that I am quite literally tethered to the gattling gun that’s trained outside my cell block.
Lesson learned: Plan ahead. For anyone considering migrating into enslavement, think about the potential pitfalls you might find yourself in. It’s hard to think on the go when you’ll be flayed for not meeting production quotas.
Regret No. 3
I regret moving to a place that makes it impossible to go home.
I’ve had some great experiences here on Tzynnia. I’ve learned how to handle salt unprotected, and even with open sores on my hands. And I’ve made some great friends, most of whom are still alive and can follow basic conversation after nerve stapling.
If I had moved to another place, perhaps a more egalitarian society like the Scyldari Confederacy, would I have had the same life experiences and happy memories? Who knows.
But it doesn’t take away from the fact I miss home, which is so darned awkward to get back to. If I wanted to get off-world, I’d not only have to escape my high-security detention facility, but also remove the tracking chip that’s been implanted in my brain, all while making contact with a UNE Embassy, despite them severing diplomatic ties with the Tzynn years ago.
Lesson learned: If being able to jet home hassle free and on a voluntary basis is important to you, choose your adopted space-nation wisely!
The Wrap Up
Well, I’m slowly running out of stone to etch with, and I really don’t want to have to write in blood again like for my last blog, so I better wrap this up.
Hindsight is 20/20, and I suppose I want to try and help anyone who is considering migrating from their home world to somewhere new. Slaving empires have their pitfalls and problems just like anywhere else. Think before you depart!
If I can make someone stop to consider the consequences of migrating to a space-nation that clearly enslaves all foreigners on arrival, well, I can rest easy knowing I’ve done my bit.
With love,
Prisoner TZ-HF-9854-0185-B.
A transcription of this blog post was received by the UNE’s Central Embassy in February 2255, and passed on to Xenonion at the request of Prisoner TZ-HF-9854-0185-B prior to her nerve stapling. Xenonion has tried to get in contact with her since, but unfortunately the Tzynn have repeatedly declined our request.
