Submitted for the May 2025 prompt: Many Minds

The lullaby hovered on the edge of consciousness. At first, Kanoa thought he was dreaming of his crèche-mother soothing away childish fears. But the voice was wrong and the more he focused on it, the more other the not-quite-sound seemed. He was moving, he realized. And blind.

 

He panicked, his awareness grasping for purchase, but his body felt alien, unbalanced, too small, with parts in the wrong places. Kanoa tried to stop walking.

 

Relax bucko, that’s my body you’re trying to hijack, a feminine voice said inside his mind.

 

What’s happening? Konoa thought back.

 

He struggled to remember, but only disjointed images coalesced. Water dripping from broken rusted pipes. A hyper-modern medical bay crammed between stacked warehouse pallets. A swabbing in the crook of his elbow. Pricking pain. He’d been escaping!

 

He jerked his/her hand to his/her neck — no collar! I’m free!

 

Not yet. Still two checkpoints to clear.

 

Kanoa sensed more left unspoken, something tinged with pervading dread. His own confusion mounted.

 

Abruptly, he could see. He nearly reared back. A bored Confederation Customs officer was right there holding something out. A small delicate hand accepted the ident-card and slipped it away. “Thank you,” the voice said, first in his mind, then echoing again via his ears. The officer just flicked dismissal and turned to the next traveller.

 

Who are you? Kanoa thought.

 

Your conductor, Harriet. A cascade of mental images and sounds followed, zigzagging through tall grass towards an enormous house. Joyful childish squealing. Heated words directed at a disappointed, regal-looking woman. Another snippet of the lullaby.

 

The cacophony cut off. That’s why you’re supposed to remain unconscious during transport. Which one are you?

 

Kanoa, he replied. What’s happening? I thought I’d be smuggled out via cargo transport.

 

That’s no longer viable. Everything leaving the planet now undergoes multiple full scans. A hint of Harriet’s suppressed dread leaked through, but she continued on before he could delve further. We’re approaching the second checkpoint. They’re going to pull me aside. Keep cool — I’ve got this.

 

Kanoa felt a hand clasp their arm. “Ms. Carson, please come with us.”

 

Through Harriet’s eyes, he saw a pair of Confederation Security officers lead her through a door labelled ‘Interview.’ Surging terror threatened to envelop Kanoa until, inside his mind, the lullaby resumed.

 

“Reason for leaving Confederation territory?” one asked.

 

“Courier: genetic samples for barter with Parlaxis Corp up on the station.”

 

“Don’t you have employees for this sort of task?”

 

“My great-grandfather always required family with Company aspirations to start at the bottom,” Harriet replied.

 

The second ConSec officer withdrew a sealed bio-container emblazoned with the Carson Genomics logo from her courier pouch. He used his tablet to scan the label.

 

“Open it.”

 

She palmed the container’s interface, unlocking the box. Twenty vials nestled within. The officer methodically scanned each label. Kanoa discerned Harriet’s wry amusement. Without a full gene assay, no knowing the labels lie. One vial contains you.

 

Kanoa nervously drummed fingers on his/her thigh. She stopped him. Just pretend you’re a sleeping baby in a sling.

 

The ConSec officer looked up from his tablet and stared at them. Kanoa felt her smile. He wanted to run. She crossed her legs.

 

RELAX. If not for me, then for Tallia.

 

Stunned, Kanoa halted further attempts to interact with Harriet’s body. What about my sister?

 

You’re not the only stowaway in my brain. Now keep quiet and don’t fidget, or we’ll all get caught. A vivid Harriet-memory blossomed — a smiling matronly woman, slave collar blinking around her neck, looking down. “Now don’t you fuss or fidget, Ms. Mary.”

 

Mary? Your name’s not Harriet. You’re Mary Carson!

 

Mary mentally flinched at the name, but refused to respond. She almost seemed relieved when the ConSecs resumed their questioning. Kanoa tried to block it out, searching for a happy memory of his own. He began mentally humming his crèche-mother’s lullaby.

 

* * *

 

“A one-hour pass, Ms. Carson,” the officer said, handing Mary the chit.

 

Mary looked at the long transmat queue. “Hardly enough time to conduct my Parlaxis trade.”

 

“Best hurry then.” The officer leaned in closer. “We know your Abolitionist proclivities. We will uncover whatever you’re up to.”

 

The pair turned in lockstep and strode away.

 

As Mary hurried to the line, her trepidation rose. Kanoa ignored it, determined to confront her.

 

Your family is Ruling Ten and owns countless slaves. Carson Genomics is responsible for—

 

Mary cut off his diatribe. The first Carsons to arrive on this bountiful, dangerous world were brilliant geneticists. Without their tweaks, humanity wouldn’t have survived. But to their everlasting shame, their descendants and the Ten perverted those tweaks to create an entire line of genetic slaves. Every slave I smuggle out is another crack in the Confederation’s oppression. Enough cracks and the immoral edifice will shatter.

 

Mary’s thoughts faltered, her anxiety spiking.

 

What? Kanoa thought. We made it through the checkpoints.

 

If transmat pre-scan reveals two brainwave patterns, they’ll know something’s amiss. Our final route for slipping slaves out will be compromised. You’re not supposed to be awake!

 

You woke me, Kanoa replied. By humming the lullaby my crèche-mother sang to Tallia and me, especially on nights before the slave brokers came.

 

My governess sang it all the time, until Mother found out and forbade slave songs being sung to her children. Then it became our private song. It grounds me.

 

Sudden hope permeated Kanoa’s mind. The lullaby! Mary thought. It might sync our brainwave patterns enough and even ease you back into unconsciousness.

 

Mary began mentally singing the cherished cradle song. Haltingly at first, but with growing confidence, Kanoa joined her in perfect unison. They stepped into the transmat chamber.

 

* * *

 

Kanoa was dreaming of a sweet duet just before he regained awareness. This time, his body felt right. He opened his eyes. Talia was leaning over him, smiling, tears sliding down her face. “We’re in the Intergalactic Union.”

 

He reached up with his hand to his neck. Still no collar. He smiled back. Free.