that Europa was gaining fame for. “You’ll pay for them dearly.”
He had tossed her aside and had walked back through the door, leaving her alone that night without food or comfort.
From that night on and for the next three years, Sarah was a slave to Swigton Corporation. Most debtor slaves ended up doing the hard manual work that small colonies like Europa had plenty of. But Garrig had taken a liking to Sarah and enjoyed personally finding new ways to torment her.
Sarah worked mostly in Garrig’s home and personal property. She cooked his meals, washed his clothes, and cleaned his home. Other debtor slaves thought her lucky to end up in such a prime spot rather than outside sweating in labor.
But they had no idea.
Sarah remembered the first time she had cooked him a meal. She had made a simple soup for lunch. But after placing it in front of Garrig, he immediately complained that it was too cold.
“But you haven’t even tasted—” Sarah barely got to finish her thought before Garrig’s hand swung across her face, leaving her tasting blood.
“I say it’s too cold,” he answered slowly. “Heat it up.”
Sarah meekly took back the bowl and heated up the pot of soup. She brought back a new bowl of steaming soup, hoping this was hot enough so she could leave the room.
But again, without even tasting the soup, Garrig slapped Sarah again. “I want hot soup, you idiot. Can’t you even do that right?”
Sarah fought back tears as she went back into the kitchen and heated up the pot. By the time she carried the third bowl back, the soup was still bubbling in the bowl. It was so hot, she had to carry it in on a tray.
Garrig stared at the third bowl. “With all this heating and cooling and heating that you’ve done with this soup,” he said calmly, “I’m afraid the flavor will be off. Taste it.”
Sarah could see the small bubbles still roiling in the soup. She would most certainly burn herself. “Sir, the soup will taste the same. It is just very, very hot,” she pleaded.
Garrig’s jowly face began to redden in anger. “Are you contradicting your master?”
Sarah shook her head.
“Then taste the soup,” Garrig said, gesturing to the steaming, bubbling bowl.
Sarah gulped, “Sir—”
Garrig’s large face flushed a blotchy red. “Ingratitude!” he cried, slamming a fist down on the table, sloshing the hot soup in the bowl. “You of all the debtor slaves have the easiest job on all of Europa and yet you continue to plague me with your disobedience and ingratitude!”
Sarah wondered how badly she would burn her mouth on the soup. She’d rather burn her mouth than let Garrig really work himself up into a storm. The last time that happened, she had been starved for three days while chained in the cellar.
“Please, sir,” she started. “I’m sorry. I’ll—”
But it was too late. Garrig’s small eyes had darkened into black beads. His face was murderous.
“Ingratitude,” he repeated, his voice lower and more menacing. “I’ll not have it!” With that, he grasped the hot bowl and threw the steaming soup at Sarah.
Garrig yelped and dropped the hot bowl, his fingers blistering with the heat.
Sarah screamed as the scalding soup soaked her clothes and burned her neck. She could feel the searing pain as the skin around her neck immediately began