#ghorek

No command was given, so the girl stayed perfectly still. Ghorek. What happened with him? Segar went to tell Balak. All her fault. She didn’t shine his boots. 

Balak stood next to her seated form now. His eyes roamed. The girl felt a tug on the back hem of her shirt as a solitary finger lifted it up, exposing her back.

Silence. Then a low whistle escaped Balak’s teeth.

“Use to be I could look at this and remember each one of these marks.” The girl felt a cold finger tracing along the ridges of scars criss-crossing her back. “After Tristana, I thought for sure I’d come back here and see a biiiig fucking scar that I could point to and say ‘ohh yeah, I remember that one.’” The girl felt her shirt drop back down, the fabric clung to the skin, scrunched up about halfway up her spine but she made no move to fix it. “Instead all I see is a mess.” 

The sleeping mat shifted as Balak sat down beside her, his hands clasped together in his lap. Her eyes flicked to him, despite her best instincts. He stared straight ahead, his expression was unreadable. 

“My people have a great many traditions. From what I’ve read, your people aren’t so different. Neither are the Asari, the Turians, Salarians, Volus, blah-blah-blahblalblah. The thing is, the rest of the galaxy looks on my people as monsters. I wouldn’t expect you to know this. Hell, the other day was probably the first time you’d ever seen an Asari in your life. They are something else, aren’t they?” His head swerved toward her, a devilish grin creeping across face. “Don’t think I didn’t catch you looking. Who could blame you. Just nice to know there’s something still inside there that might feel… well, fucking anything.” His eyes lingered for another moment before he returned to staring straight ahead. The girl’s face lay flat, unreadable but her heart was pounding so heavily she kept glances up at Balak, seeing if he detected it. 

He continued: “I digress. They call us monsters. The reality is, as far as traditions go, we’re no better or worse than anyone of them. There’s only one, teeny, tiny, little detail that’s different. My people call a spade a spade. We’re slavers. Always have been. Slaves have been an essential part of our way of life since long before we took to the stars. It has been essential to our advancement as a species. Progress, innovation, marvels, all accomplished because there were those that we keep lower than the ones who matter. 

“So, they call us monsters. Because we understand the cost of our advancement. But somehow, what no one else in the damn galaxy seems to understand, is that their advancement stems from the same exact thing. They just don’t call it that. The Asari, highest examples of diplomacy and grace, have ‘indentured servants.’ A nice little rebranding, don’t you think? Turians force their own kind into mandatory military service. The Salarians enslaved the Krogan to fight for them before they and the Turians nearly wiped them out for rebelling. The Krogan in turn, enslave their women to bear offspring for them. The Hanar enslaved an entire species, the Drell, under the pretense of saving them and made them their assassins and soldiers. The Volus enslaved the Turians by cheating them with capital to the point now where the Turian slave soldiers will guard Volus space for free just to pay off their debts. Even the Quarians built robotic slaves for themselves because they were too weak to force anyone else to do their bidding.

“And finally,we have the Humans. Your people. Half of your tourist destinations are monuments built by slaves to honor their masters. The economies of your leading nations are built on the foundations of slavery. Your kind is almost as bad as the damn Volus when it comes to financial shackles. And around all of your systems and planets are factories and camps filled with workers earning their way towards an early grave all to fatten the pockets of people like the Illusive Man.

“Now, why am I telling you this? Because I think it’s important you understand what has happened to you. You have fallen, or rather been dragged, down a path that millions upon millions before you have gone down. Submission. You have slotted yourself into the mindset of the weak. You will be brought low so that those who matter can advance. That is what you are. And at first, you resisted it. I know you did, I was there, you and I were young but I could see it in you. You didn’t want the tattoo. You didn’t want to hold the cup. You wanted your mom, or your dad, or to go home.”

Balak’s little finger traced the scar across the bridge of her nose. The girl was frozen in place, feeling her pulse in her throat.

“You wanted to fight.

“This one has always been my favorite scar. It reminds me of that day. We kicked the shit out of you for what you did. Three-on-one, and still, you had something in you to fight back.” A silence hung in the air. The girl had never heard him speak this way before. There was no venom in his voice. No bite. No pleasure in causing her pain. She didn’t understand. She was wrong to fight back. She was wrong to disobey. It’s easier to do as she’s told. It would be worse if she didn’t.

Finally, Balak broke the silence once again.

“I don’t know when that changed.” He looked down at his hands. Tapping his thumbs together. “Ghorek’s nothing. A mechanic. But you needed him to… Segar has a knife in his belt. You know that, right?”

A question. The girl nodded. She was more than aware of the variety of weapons Balak and his seconds carried on them.

“Why didn’t you take it?”

A question. The girl froze. Was she suppose to? Is this a test? What would she use the knife for? She could never. It was Segar’s knife. She had nothing. Nothing was hers. It was her fault he hurt her. She forgot to clean his boots. Or she didn’t clean them well enough. It doesn’t matter which one. It was her fault either way. 

Balak’s eyes bore into her. He wants an answer. ‘Why didn’t you take it?’ What kind of question is that? No. There’s a reason for it. This is a test. She can’t take it. She should have been punished. It was her fault.

“-I -I’m sorry I forgot to clean his boots. Please. Forgive me.” The girl bowed her head and shut her eyes. She braced for the strike, the boot, the threat, the laugh, anything. She felt the bed shift as Balak stood. The sound of his feet clanking against the metal grate flooring as he moved in front of her.

The girl cracked her eyes open. Her feet, toe to toe with large metal boots. A sudden orange glow flooded the view. She felt the air pass her hair as Balak moved his arm to answer his glowing wrist device.

“What is it, Icarek?”

“We’ve got eyes on a quaint little human vessel floating out in the middle of nowhere. Freighter, looks like. Probably ran low on power. You want it?”

“Yeaaah, why not. I need something fun right now.”

“Copy.”

The orange glow vanished. The boots moved away. A few paces and the door hissed open. Balak paused at the door.

“Ghorek’s dead. I thought of doing it in front of you, but we’re past that now, aren’t we?” Her fault. She raised her head. He would be smiling. He always smiled when he punished her. But as the girl’s eyes met the Batarian’s, all she saw was anger. “I’m putting Segar in charge of watching you, from here on out. No one else is going to step in when you fuck up. No one else is going to stop him stomping your head to dust. No one else is going to fight for you, kid.”

He took a step out the door.

“Clean out the supply closet. I want it spotless when I get back.”

The door slammed shut.

And the girl was alone again.

In this room.

For the last time.