A young girl lay curled inside a smallish canister, a cylinder just wide enough that she bounced as it jostled around, enough that she could hear someone swearing as it rolled oddly while its center of gravity bounced about inside. She lay crumpled where ever the bouncing tossed her, cradling her left arm as it oozed blood.
Her smock was grimy, her stockings torn, as if she'd been trampled by some animal. She was thin to the point of starvation, with eyes filled with pain and a back covered in deep scratches, livid bruises around her neck and ankles. Today, it wasn't any of the old indignities or beatings that had her softly crying, but the fresh brands along her arm, the stink of burnt flesh, and an irrational terror of maggots.
She'd been picked up on a lower viewing concourse on Trafalgar station, drugged, and woken up just before the cap was sealed on the can...had managed to read, as the shadows slid up the wall, in blistered red letters along her arm "Henry Morgan, Buccaneer's Bay, Leviathan..." and then the light snuffed out, the lid clanked home, and the jostling started.
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The slave whimpered to herself silently as she was thrown against the pod's opposite wall. There was the strange feeling in her stomach that meant she was moving vertically. There was a resonating boom as the container was set down on the floor. It'd probably been lifted out of the freighter's cargo bay via a loading arm.
Outside, Buccaneer prospect Daniel John Hannock was working on trying to get the damn thing opened. According to the manifest, it was a shipment of bootlegged film projectors. He jammed a crowbar into the crate's edge, then forced the cover off. It was empty. He was about to swear and run off to find a Lieutenant, when a body fell out. Then he did swear and run off to find a Lieutenant.
A few minutes later, Buccaneer lieutenant John Crown arrived on the scene. Several full blooded Buccaneers had already propped the woman up in a sitting position against her pod. As he arrived, one of them looked up. " 'uking 'ell Boss. This is 'ucking 'adistic." The woman, who was now blissfully unconscious had her arm seized and held up to the light.
In neat spidery lettering, a letter to the Buccaneers had been burned into her arm from the wrist to the shoulder. A letter from the Slavers Union. Her ankles had been sliced, meaning her feet were lolling uselessly at nauseating angles. Then there was the blood. Someone had thrown up in the hanger's corner. King sent the prospect to fetch a mop and clear it up.
He read the message twice. "Bloody hell, this does need to get to the captain." Quickly checking her over for any fatal injuries, he was happy she wasn't going to die on the spot. "You, and you," he said pointing at two of the crowd. "Pick her up and follow me. She's going to the Cap't's room."
Morgan was checking over the Buccaneer's ledgers, quite pleased with what he saw there, when King and two other Buccaneers brought in a woman who had clearly been through hell. King quickly brought him up to speed, and showed him the letter burned into the woman's arm. Morgan had seen many things in his life, what with growing up in the ghettos of Leeds and all, but this was among the worst.
"Jesus Christ. We might kill people in the course of business, but we don't torture them like this. I like the sound of this proposal, though." Morgan thought for a moment. "King, send them a reply telling them that we accept. Just use pen and paper, though... no need for this sort of thing. Oh, and have Sawbones downstairs patch her up."
As Crown turned to leave, along with the Buccaneers carrying the girl, Morgan noticed that the girl was conscious again. He motioned for them to stay a moment longer.
"You, girl, what's your name?"
The girl looked fearfully at him, which was unsurprising, considering what she'd been through, and Morgan's rather intimidating appearance. She still answered, though.
"Jeanne."
"Well, Jeanne, I don't have much use for slaves. They always resent their captivity, and end up being more trouble than they're worth. I'll tell you what we'll do with you instead. You're free now, but you've got a debt to work off for the medical treatment. You'll work as a serving girl in the Buccaneer's Bay. Half of your wages will go towards your debt, and you can do what you like with the rest. Once your debts paid, you'll be free to stay or go as you like."
While Morgan was explaining this, he saw that she had slipped unconscious again, so he waved the Buccaneers carrying her to take her down to Sawbones. Sawbones could explain it to her again when she woke up. Morgan placed a quick call to Charles in the Bay telling him that he'd have some help soon, then he went back to his work.
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King sat on one of the comm banks on the Leviathan's bridge and thought. The actual comm technician who he'd displaced was buzzing around nearby, looking hot and flustered at being dragged off his seat via the ear. Not enough to challenge a full blooded lieutenant though. King had already bashed out a rough reply, but was now sat with the cursor hovering above the 'receiving recipient' box. You can't exactly click 'return to sender' on a message that was carved into some poor sod's arm.
The deal looked good. A tidy bit of cash. The problem was weighing that against the costs and risks. It cost a lot to replace a blown up ship, and even more so to claw back the 'harmless' appearance they'd been carefully working on with the authorities. If it came to blows with the Armed Forces while lifting that liner, trouble would come of it.
Then, how does one contact a ghost? The Union made it's living on not being found. Much like the Buccaneers did by not being found by the law. Only the Union made sure it was never found my anyone it didn't want to find them. He thought for a few minutes more. The target was in Newcastle. They'd be basing somewhere nearby to coordinate the strike. The Gaians probably wouldn't put them up, all things considered. That left the Junkers and Mollies.
The Mollies definitely wouldn't help. They had pretty strict views on slavery, as had been found when the Buccaneers had tried to muscle in on the trade. That left the Junkers. That left the Union basing off either Invergordon or Trafalgar. They'd know if there was any large number of Slaver's Union ships hanging around Trafalgar-way, seeing as it was practically the Buccaneer's back garden.
That left Invergordon, which was actually closer to the target anyway. He tapped in a message, then password encoded it with the slave girl's name. The header was simply - "To the Union - your messenger's name can open locked doors." It looked like the Buccaneers were becoming weekend warriors.