2503.10 — Exploit (Ch/March 13) #Writever #Mars #SpaceOpera CW: Fictional violence, women fighting back
Angry to the point of trembling, May Ri gathered in the auditorium with the other women with "non-essential tasks," as ordered over the loud speakers. She, Randy, Reina, and Rod had been waiting for the Deimosbase Decath minister to call to marry them when an emergency in a far off colony separated the men from them. A man past 50—with a gold braid patch on his helmet-less form-fitting Mars-green pressure suit— marched in trailed by his all male goons as May Ri characterized them.
She knew she was right when he said, "You are Mars' improperly exploited resource. Today we are redistributing that labor." That caused a massive cringe amongst the women amidst a growing roar of desent.
He yelled, "Quiet!" shutting them down.
When a selection criteria was, "Are you married?" a bristling May Ri found herself backing the teenager into a wall, trying to hide her.
"You!" the man motioned Reina to the exit.
May Ri put her arms out. "Not happening!" She glared into blue eyes.
The man—who turned out to be the Head EM Director and an original colonist—backhanded her.
In Mars gravity, she flew against the wall and slumped, seeing stars. He bent over Reina—May Ri's fall had knocked her over—offering a hand. When May Ri's eyesight quit swimming, face burning and tasting blood, she launched herself head-first at his gut. She still had Earth muscle. He deflected her, but her leg hit the big man's hip and they tumbled together. She landed no punches before he wrenched her upright, arms locked behind her.
Chuckling, he said, "I like determination—"
She jerked, stomping at his foot. He shoved her cheek and nose into the wall, pinned her arms, and pushed a hand into small of her back, preventing anything but sputtering.
"Fights back. I value that. Sexy. Are you married?"
"You interrupted our ceremony."
"Ah." He chuckled more. "About Reina—?"
"You know her name!"
"I won't pick the Onēsanue if you calmly come with me."
May Ri found herself swearing and cursing in her head. She spat blood, which dripped down the wall, noticing the other prey had slunk away from the predators. His goons watched silently at a distance. Reina looked pale, shaking, sitting limbs akimbo, hands on the floor. Red hair flew as she shook her head vigorously.
May Ri shouted, "Did you hear that promise?"
Women's murmurs proved they did. Heart ricocheting off her sternum, she said, "Fine."
Minutes later, the man dragged her by her wrist with a long stride she could barely match. Spring doors guarded all the domes against vacuum breach, but the créchè had windows, as did the farms. Women worked in each, some men in the farms. Nobody in the halls. She thought about crying for help, but thought of Reina whilst palpating her bruising face.
Was he simply redistributing her labor to another job?
Equating the, "are you married," question with Decath purity standards, she whispered, probing, "I've been with other men."
"Experience makes you more qualified," he returned.
Could her stomach knot up worse?
Best to seem docile, she thought, to hope for weapons. He was an EM Corp manager, bound by the charter. Theoretically. Was she over-reacting? The corporation had run out of money; all Earth transits with supplies and people, cancelled. The term corporate reorganization came to mind. Was the Martian board of directors reorganizing?
She recognized the docks as she let his pace slide her into a doorframe. She saw the circular glass corridor that surrounded a Martian "tarmac." Rovers and motels, with flatbeds, were parked to the right—three orange dust-coated helios, with multiple stacked blades and lots of hyper-nacelles, sat at priority. Jetways connected to two passenger cargoons and one long distance pinnace. He shoved her through the spring door of the latter, following. It jostled like the flex tube it was, with his massive form clumping behind—bouncing her, she thought, to intentionally panic her.
Rushing, she grabbed the spring door. Stuck! It didn't even rattle.
He plowed into her, flattening her against it. With a snigger, he unlocked it. When it opened, still smooshed, she stumbled flat onto the deck. The spring door snapped back with a bang as he clamored over her. Vac-safe cargo boxes littered the inside. With no preamble, he unzipped his pressure suit.
She sucked in her breath, scrambling bruisingly into a bulkhead.
He had a jumpsuit underneath. Scoffing, he said simply, "Remember Reina. See that bench? Toss the boxes down the cargo chute." He stomped to the loo, shutting it behind himself.
Sweating, heart racing, she thought, Now what?
(Continued) #RSMarsNeededWomen 13
[Author retains copyright (c)2025 R.S.]
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