When John came back to his senses he found himself lying on a large grassy field. He had been transported to a whole new world. He saw that the rest of the crew of the Swift Retribution were standing near him. Their hands were bound by laser red manacles. John looked down and found that his hands were wearing manacles as well. It hurt when he flexed his arm. The elves were all stripped of their armor and weapons. The arbiters and John were separated from the others by a line of guards. The guards trained their rifles on the group. They looked ready to fire at any moment. Did the God King separate them because he was angry at being called ugly? That was very petty of him.

“Feel honored, for today you have been taken as slaves for the God King,” a man who seemed to be their leader announced in Universal. “You,” he pointed at the group of arbiters, “will be taken to the mines. The rest shall be sold in the Great City. Take them away.” He was a slave now? This wasn’t happening. He’d just gained some hope for a new life. He would grow in strength and power and find Earth, find his home. He couldn’t live the rest of his life as a slave. He’d rather die. He wanted to escape, but he knew it was pointless to try. The guards had the entire field covered with their guns.

The arbiters and John followed the guards meekly to the edge of the field. A train of transport craft hovering a few inches in the air awaited them. John realized on closer inspection that the guards looked like humans.

“Get in,” a guard growled.

The arbiters got onto the transports in single file. John was pushed into the craft, still dazed from the entire encounter. The transports took off. John looked out the open door, gazing at the cityscape. It was quite a large city, with many towers. Flags flew high from a magnificent palace atop the hill at the center of the city. Many people walked the broad, asphalted roads. Brightly painted hovercrafts drove throughout the city. John could hear the huge speakers atop the towers sing praises to the God King. This was the first city he’d seen since his rebirth. It almost reminded him of Earth.

The transport craft flew to an outpost on a large mountain, where he saw people moving around like ants. He would soon be one of those ants. The craft landed and the guards herded their prisoners out to a field. The man who John assumed to be the overseer made his way towards them, cracking his whip in the air. Electricity sizzled past the thong of the whip causing sparks to fly in the air. He did not look like a nice guy. There was a scar on his face, making him look particularly sinister.

“Welcome to the God King’s diluvian mines,” the man said. “We do not ask much from you new ones. You will mine ten pounds of crystal a day. Follow my colleagues to the administrative office where you will be given your number tags and the location of your shacks. You will make quota or be given ten lashes for each pound of crystal missing. For the glory of the God King!”

“For the glory of the God King!” the overseer’s men shouted in devotion. That whip looked like it could kill. John did not much fancy his chances if he got hit by it once, let alone ten times.

The arbiters walked in silence towards the administrative office. John noticed miners walking down the mountain, done with their day’s work. They looked emaciated, their clothes dirty and torn. They walked as though there was no life left in them. Would he become like them, a prisoner resigned to his fate? At the administrative office John was given a number after being registered: 2317. He was then pointed in the direction of his living quarters. The hovels he passed had numbers on their doors, 1-10, and so on. He soon found 2310-2320. The inside was tiny and stank. The hovels didn’t have any windows. As soon as he entered, John found it difficult to breathe. The stench of decay was too much. He had to pinch his nose and breathe through his mouth for some time.

“Hello,” he choked. The nine others within gazed at him for a moment. They did not stir from the floor. There were no mattresses, or even sheets to pile on the floor. John went to an unoccupied corner of the room and sat on the floor, massaging his wrists where the laser manacles were digging into his skin. Perhaps the people here were too tired to greet newcomers. Looking at the weary state of his room mates, John thought with some trepidation about the coming day. He slept fitfully. When morning came the others got up like robots. They moved quickly to the mines in silence, John following in their shadow.

Outside the mine, the group of guards aimed their guns at them as the miners lined up in single file before the mine shaft. One of the guards handed out bread covered in paper to the miners. Another guard handed the miners pickaxes and gunny sacks. John received his share and entered the mine. A little further into the shaft John found that his manacles had disappeared, leaving only two metal capsules embedded into his skin. Was this a chance? He tried to pry them off, but to no avail. He attempted to use his aura blade, but the aura refused to do his bidding. It felt as though something was siphoning off his aura as soon as he summoned it, draining the aura completely before it could begin to circulate.

John moved through the mine looking for Karamen, small blue crystals on the wall illuminating his path. What was he supposed to mine? What was diluvian? John observed the other miners for a moment. They were busy chipping away at the area around a shining red crystal. After John finished examining the red crystal he made his way further into the mine. Karamen would probably have already thought of an escape plan. There was no way he would settle for being a slave for the rest of his life. As luck would have it, it did not take long for John to hear Karamen’s distinctive voice.

“Ha ha, these crystals shall flow into my sack like wine into an amphora. Observe, Tiluniel, the dying art of manual labor.” He heard the sound of Karamen mining with great speed, the clang of his pickax ever increasing in tempo.

“This is neither the time nor the place for jokes, Karamen,” John heard Tiluniel scold.

“Tell me Tiluniel, why do these knaves not use machines?”

“The crystal prevents aura usage and plays havoc with any electronic equipment.”

“They could give us better tools than these blasted pickaxes.”

“Why would they?”

“To increase efficiency of course. Their stinginess dulls the edge of husbandry.”

John grinned. Some things never changed. Karamen’s attitude was like a tonic to John’s thoughts of despair.

“Ho there, young Wild Child,” Karamen saluted when John drew closer. “Or should I call you 2317?” he said looking at the tag on his chest. “Perchance, have you come to raid our crystal hoard? I can lend you some.”

“No need,” said John, “I’ll mine my own. Have you thought of a plan for escape?”

“Of course. The main actors must ever lay aside plans for the direst of situations.” John knew it!

Tiluniel shushed them and whispered, “We need to gather more information first. There is no point in just us escaping after all. We must find a way to free all our brethren and get back safely to the Swift Retribution.”

“Information? How do we gather that? All the miners refuse to speak even a word,” said John. They were miserable wretches who’d given up on everything.

“We must find one that has recently become fettered,” said Karamen. “Look for someone with spirit left in their eyes, and you will find our informant.”

“It’s best if you do it,” said Tiluniel. “They will be more willing to talk to a fellow human.”

“Okay,” nodded John, “I’ll look.”

He went deeper into the shaft, mining some crystals among a group, always looking out for a face with some life left in it. He encountered other arbiters and whispered hope into their ears. Tiluniel had already talked to them but it didn’t hurt to reassure them. He mined when he wasn’t looking around, eavesdropping on the conversations of his fellow miners. None of them seemed a suitable candidate. In what seemed like no time at all, the bell rang and the day ended. John had managed to reach his quota of crystal. He would not be lashed by the neurowhip today.