"They are jealous and angry at us," Koji whispered while scooping a spoonful of the warm mixture before biting into the ample loaf of bread in his arm.
I didn't need pheromones to know what he was talking about.
All around us, the slaves were throwing ugly glances our way, especially the older ones.
They didn't even bother hiding the malice behind their looks. And it wasn't just them.
I noticed even the enforcers didn't seem particularly excited about the idea of two noob dockrats suddenly being upgraded to runners.
It was clear these positions were highly coveted.
If I had to guess, I would have thought even the enforcers already had their favorites lined up to replace runners whenever one got eliminated or disappeared during the job.
After Hato's instruction that our training would begin immediately, we had been allowed to go for an early lunch. Or a second lunch, because it was hardly late enough to be considered supper.
And boy, what a lunch it was.
Three days I had gone without tasting decent food. Now we were being served warm stew with meat, a full loaf of bread each, and an entire can of what looked like fruit juice.
It felt like a celebration.
I didn't even bother wondering what kind of meat we were eating. Honestly, I didn't care to know.
For all I knew, we could have been cannibals right then.
If it wasn't human, then it had to be one of the many species inhabiting Old Mantel, because there was hardly any livestock around here.
Twenty minutes later we were being escorted away, still under the scathing glare of both slaves and enforcers.
The man escorting us was Chief Skarel.
As I came to learn the name of the man with the patched eye, he didn't speak until he had guided us into a large room that was occupied by only one other man.
He was old. Very old.
The kind of old where you would swear he should be someone's grandfather.
If you saw him on the street, you would never guess he was part of a smuggling syndicate.
He looked more like the kind of man you would help carry groceries or assist across the road.
Exactly the kind of cover smugglers liked to use.
There were no seats in the room and the floor was metal, scratched badly from years of crates full of heavy cargo being dragged across it.
The only seat in the entire room was the one the old man was sitting on.
Chief Skarel turned to us.
"Congratulations," he said, although nothing in his voice sounded celebratory.
"You are probably the fastest dockrats ever upgraded to runners," he added with a smile. "Which also means you might be the fastest runners to disappear out there on the street."
He let that sink in.
"So listen carefully. Your only hope lies in learning as much as you can, because you have three days to do it."
"You might think you are important. You are not. Your importance comes from your usefulness.There are only two rules for runners."
"One If you complete a successful run, you do not report. There is nothing to celebrate here. There is always the next day, and the next, and the next."
"But if you fail and lose your cargo, then you should not be alive to report."
He eyed as for a heartbeat to let us digest that.
"This is Sosten," he said, turning toward the old man. "He will be your handler and your trainer."
"Listen to the old man and you might survive your first day, there is a reason he is old ."
With that, he turned and shut the door behind him.
I didn't know whether that was a compliment to the old man or spite, It gave me the feeling that the assistant boss was not exactly rooting for us.
And I was probably right, judging by how quickly he had suggested to Hato that older slaves should replace the runners.
Part of me was not excited about this running job.
Yes, I understood it was a coveted position and that in some twisted way we were lucky to get it.
But it also meant we had basically stepped onto death row.
As dockrats we suffered from brutal work and the occasional beating from enforcers.
As runners, we had no protection at all.
We were exposed to every syndicate on Ord Mantel and anyone else who felt like attacking us.
The old man didn't even stand from his seat at first.
He pressed something, and the wall behind him lit up and transformed into a massive living map of Ord Mantel.
The map was layered so heavily that looking at it felt like staring into the dissected body of the planet itself.
"This," the man said, finally struggling to his feet, "is not a map."
"This is a runner's lifeline."
I stared at the color coded grid stretching across the wall.
"You may have heard that Ord Mantel is lawless," he continued. "That is misinformation."
"Rules do not need to be written. They only need to be enforced ."
"And there are many unwritten rules governing every operation on this planet."
He paused for a deep breath, as if explaining that alone had drained half his remaining life.
"So listen carefully. Ord Mantel runs on unwritten rules, and the planet is not controlled by a single syndicate."
He pressed another button and several layers disappeared, leaving behind a massive color coded map divided into territories.
"Our base of operation is in the planet's capital Worlport . But so are a dozen other syndicates and independent smugglers."
"Look at the red zones. All of it."
"It is the largest part of the capital."
"All of that belongs to the Black Sun syndicate."
"And it is red for a reason."
"These are regions you never go near. Regions you never get lost in."
"Because if you do, you never come back."
"Black Sun does not tolerate infiltration. They do not shadow tax either. They eliminate rival gangs outright."
"So if you want to live, stay away from Black Sun."
He paused again to catch his breath.
"Now the amber zones belong to a local Mantel family syndicate. They are dangerous as well, but not as ruthless as Black Sun."
"Their specialty is shadow tax and debt collection."
"They do not have much access to spice, so sometimes they allow outside trade, But only if you pay shadow tax."
"If you refuse, you disappear. Your product disappears. And you definitely do not want to return here without your product."
"Now the green zones are neutral zones."
"In these areas you can trade, pitch, collect."
"That does not mean it is safe."
"Green means neutral.And neutral means everyone is welcome... Black Sun, Mantel families, Pykes, Hutt backed gangs.Everyone."
"So you stay alert there as well."
"We will talk about your individual runner duties later. For now I will focus on the common rules that affect both of you."
"Now look at the black veins on the map."
He pressed another control and dark lines spread across the map like arteries.
"These are the routes running through the capital."
"As you have probably realized, Mantel is not Coruscant. It spreads horizontally and is divided by function."
Another button press and Another layer appeared.
"The blue zones are the industrial districts. Most workers are there during mid cycle."
"The purple zones are the markets. Much of it is controlled by different factions, but there are still neutral pockets."
"If you reach those neutral areas, you can trade there."
"They operate mainly during mid cycles as well."
"The pink zones are entertainment districts."
"That is where people go after shifts end.You will find pleasure hubs there."
"We have our own zone," he added, pointing at white coded sections.
"In those zones you can trade freely."
"But always stay alert."
"This map is your lifeline.Study it. Memorize it. You have three days."
"This, will decide whether you live or die."
"Now the rules."
"First rule. You do not pay shadow tax."
"Even if you cross into rival territory.You find a way out."
He paused, then continued
"Paying shadow tax means your debt explodes."
"And whoever you pay will expect it again and again."
"That eventually forces you to steal from the boss just to stay alive."
"Maybe he forgives you and adds it to your debt."
"Maybe he doesn't."
"So do not go into shadow taxed zones."
I frowned
"How do we know if an area is shadow taxed?" I asked, seeing the flaw in his logic.
"You do not," he replied.
"That is why you do not take shortcuts.Stick to green routes."
"What if we get shadow taxed inside green zones?" Koji asked.
The old man looked at both of us like he was wondering if we were deliberately trying to mess with him.
But this was our lives on the line. If there were gaps in the instructions, we were the ones who would pay for it.
"You smile," he said finally. "You apologize and you leave."
"You do not pay."
"Green means neutral. Anyone can trade.This is not a job for the soft, As a runner you will fight sometimes.Just make sure you pick fights you can win."
"Now we move to individual duties." the man said like he was purposely trying to avoid answering
We are screwed, I thought to myself.
Suddenly those jealous looks from the other slaves felt completely undeserved.
Right now I would happily switch places with them.
Down there you at least knew who your enemies were.
Up here we were expected to survive in a world where even neutral zones could turn hostile without warning.