Slavery : A Philosophy

The bar was half-buried in rust and salt—patched together from shipping containers, highway signs, and a gutted funeral parlor that still carried the stink of wet carpet and whiskey from before the world fell apart. Outside, the swamps whispered. Inside, a low fan beat the heat into slow motion. Smoke hung thick enough to chew.   Belford "Belle" LeBlanc leaned back in his chair, boots crossed at the ankle, whiskey glass tilted lazily in one hand. He wore a faded cavalry coat, buttons swapped for hand-carved bone, and a smile that had cost people their dignity more than once.   He was hunting a runner. But for now, the trail was cold, and the bottle warm.   Around him sat three others.   Winn, a Free Trader with lean shoulders and a courier's caution, sat silent, thumb running over a coin-sized dent in his belt buckle. You could tell he was used to moving. Even his stillness had weight.   Halder, red in the face from the drink, glared over his tin cup. His left arm ended at the elbow, the stump wrapped in clean cloth and pride. He’d lost it to a trap outside Baton Refuge, and his brother to a Confederation raid.   Across from Belle sat Dr. Elen Rusk, an Orphan field medic in a patchy coat marked with the northern cross. Her unit had been scouting the southern territories after the conflict in Cuba began and was on their way back home. Her eyes were sharp, dissecting. She drank with grace, but she watched like a surgeon before the cut.   Halder spat into the sawdust floor. "Ain’t right. A slaver drinkin’ with folk like he’s clean."   Belle’s grin widened. "Now don’t go insultin’ the table, friend. I ain't a slaver. I'm a Beauregard. That name still means something in the old Louisiana Territory."   "Means rot, far as I care," Halder muttered.   Belle sipped slow. "Funny. My people dragged this region up from the muck after the old world choked on its own gold. When the last of the One Percent fled into bunkers and turned everyone else into livestock, who cut 'em down? We did. When the smoke cleared, we were the ones still standing. Still building."   Dr. Rusk raised an eyebrow. "So you became kings in the rubble? How noble."   Belle turned that same grin on her. "Don’t sound so bitter, Doc. It was chaos. No laws. Just hunger and steel. Somebody had to bring order."   Halder leaned in. "And you brought chains."   "No," Belle drawled, tilting his glass. "We brought debt. Big difference."   Winn shifted in his seat, finally speaking. "Debt that never clears."   "Only if you don’t try," Belle shot back. "Our bondsmen work, they eat, they sleep under shelter. Better than what most get out here. You ever see a free town let a stranger in without stripping 'em first?"   Dr. Rusk’s voice cut in, low and level. "And if they run?"   Belle’s smile thinned. "Then I go find 'em."   Halder feigned a laugh. "Oh, you're a real hero."   "I'm a necessary man," Belle said, eyes sharp now. "You think I like the hunt? Naw. But I remember the world before. The smell of a dying city. The screams when the bunkers opened and the rich came out with stockpiled arms and twisted ambitions, callin’ it salvation. We put ‘em to the fire. We earned our right to rule."   Dr. Rusk studied him. "And now? You think you're better than them?"   Belle smirked. "I know I am. They hid. We bled. And we remembered the truth. Civilization runs on backs. Always has. Cotton. Sugar. Silicon. Ain’t never changed. We just do it cleaner now."   Winn looked away, clearly uncomfortable but unwilling to contribute further to the delicate conversation.   Dr. Rusk set her cup down gently. "You ever wonder if the moment you started deciding who gets to be free... you became what you hated?"   Belle paused. Just long enough.   He stood, brushing the dust from his coat. "Lady, you came here to study a war. I'm the man still fightin' it. Sleep well." He tossed a coin onto the table. The weight of old currency.   As he walked out into the swamp-dark night, Winn murmured behind him, "He thinks he’s a compass. But the needle broke long ago."   “They just don’t know better,” he muttered. But even as he said it, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.