Chapter 1213 - Scenes from the Auction Floor
"May God bless you, miss." Mendoza spoke quietly. "I'll do my best. Don't worry—take heart and await good news! Farewell, miss."
The auction floor was simply arranged—essentially a platform raised slightly above the ground and covered with woolen carpet, somewhat resembling an old-timeline fashion show runway.
Specially requisitioned spotlights shone upon the stage, making the surroundings seem all the more dim and mysterious.
The guests sat in chairs arranged around the perimeter. Maids carrying trays served cold drinks and distributed several limited editions of South Sea cigars. Cigar tips glowed and faded in the darkness; ice cubes clinked against glass with small, crisp sounds. Whispered voices filled the venue, muted like a suppressed buzzing of bees.
Marina sat in an enclosure near the runway, where several benches had been provided for the slave women to rest. Their hair had been loosened and hung down their backs; they wore white dresses like hers. But Marina was past feeling humiliated—her eyes had adjusted to the light, and she searched carefully for buyers who looked European.
Meanwhile, Fang Fei was smoking a cigar in a corner. He had a wife, so naturally he couldn't participate in this auction. But his interest in beauties or foreign mares was far less than that of other transmigrators—years of working in exhibitions had exposed him to too many Chinese and Western showgirls. As he put it: "Never mind eating—I'm sick of just looking."
These S-grade maids—including those that Zhu Mingxia had carefully selected from Shandong refugees in the purification camp—in his view couldn't match any batch of showgirls he had ever worked with. Nutrition levels were a fundamental limitation hard to surpass.
But this was now his job, and work had to be done one hundred percent well. Especially something as important as this—anything involving transmigrators' personal lives was critical. Moreover, according to the Executive Committee and Government Office, future S-grade maids would all be sold through auction. The Government Office was planning a new transmigrator service organization as a subordinate body specifically to handle such work. Word was that Old Hong was extremely interested in this project—despite being in Hong Kong, every regular steamer arriving at Bopu from Hong Kong carried his mail. Clearly he was actively planning something.
His staff—he habitually called them "assistants"—stood behind him awaiting his orders at any moment. Though the auction was about to begin, Fang Fei was meticulous about details and would issue new instructions right up to the last moment. He snapped his fingers, and an assistant immediately stepped forward.
"Have they been given water?"
"They each had a glass of water before departure."
"Give them each an iced coffee now." Fang Fei sniffed the air. "Tell the Government Office people to bring more ice and place it around the display stage—the temperature is a bit high in here. Oh, and send over the assistant from the slave women's enclosure!"
The iced coffee and ice cooling both served to reduce the slave women's sweating—white people had strong body odor, and under the bright, hot lights on the runway, excessive perspiration could produce unpleasant smells. The coffee itself provided stimulation to excite their spirits and keep them in optimal condition.
"Yes, Director." The assistant left immediately. Before long, the assistant in charge of watching the slave women hurried over.
"Why did you let their hair down?" Fang Fei demanded. "Too much thick hair is like wearing a shawl!"
The assistant hastily explained:
"Director, I wanted to let the Chiefs see their beautiful hair—you said before that the Chiefs all like maids with long hair..."
"But they like even more that their maids have slender necks, rounded shoulders, and beautiful smooth backs. Letting their hair down is like putting an extra coat on them. Don't you understand?" Fang Fei said coldly.
"Yes, Director, I'll fix it immediately!" The assistant said tremblingly. Despite Chief Fang's refined and fair appearance, he showed no mercy when reprimanding women—other Chiefs generally showed some consideration when dealing with female naturalized workers.
"You do have some professional ideas..." came a voice from the darkness.
"Training showgirls is my specialty." Fang Fei was unconcerned. He stood to greet the newcomer—it was Minister Shi from the Health Department, a cigar between his lips, glowing intermittently.
Shi Niaoren hadn't entered the lottery and had no intention of bidding. His purpose in coming was mainly to observe the slave women's races and physiology, to gather more data for the Health Department's eugenics research.
"Actually, though showgirls and slave women differ in status, both are the result of female objectification." Minister Shi seemed quite moved.
"What? Are you planning to buy one too, Minister Shi?"
"Me?" Shi Niaoren shook his head. "Not for now—though back in America during graduate school I was still full of vigor, and I wasn't unmoved by curvy foreign mares. I even paid for one in Las Vegas to try the foreign flavor. But now I've lost interest..." He touched his forehead, which was beginning to show signs of thinning. "Getting old, getting old..."
"You're middle-aged at most—not old at all! More important to get a few more maids and have some kids!" Fang Fei teased. "Otherwise, have Liu San take your pulse and prescribe some tonics."
Shi Niaoren shook his head: "That witch doctor Liu San and his hocus-pocus—no thanks. Ever since D-Day, I've become a living Lei Feng... I wake up with nothing but transmigrator affairs on my mind; I've lost interest in my own business. I'm worried that making such a big fuss over women means maternal and infant healthcare won't be able to keep up with demand."
The first baby boom had already arrived. The first batch of distributed maids, however much transmigrators complained about their quality, had achieved considerable results—starting with Tang Menglong's son, over fifty "Second Generation" children had been born so far, with dozens more maids pregnant. It kept Ai Beibei running off her feet every day.
"Speaking of which, why weren't these slave women shaved?" Shi Niaoren asked. "Many parasites can't be completely eliminated without shaving off body hair!"
"Last time some transmigrators complained that shaved heads made it hard to judge beauty, so this time we're doing a second purification." Fang Fei explained. "After distribution, there'll be a second round of purification."
"The perverted fetishes of those otaku!" Minister Shi couldn't help muttering.
Meanwhile, the assistant returned to the enclosure and immediately called over several maids, directing them to pin up the slave women's hair and secure it with hairpins and ribbons.
Marina let them style her, but her eyes kept scanning the buyers in the dim light. The priest had promised her that an Italian painter would bid on her behalf—no matter how high the price, he would buy her. But as far as her gaze could reach, aside from Mendoza there wasn't a single European in sight.
Could the priest have failed to convince him? Or had this Italian gotten cold feet at the last moment? Marina thought anxiously.
"What are you looking at?" A slave woman beside her suddenly spoke. "Do you recognize someone here?"
"You can speak Spanish?" Marina asked in surprise, then realized her voice had been too loud and quickly repeated herself more quietly.
The slave woman who had spoken was a petite girl with a full head of golden hair and blue eyes. Her expression was calm and serene. She said: "A little... Can you speak Portuguese?"
"Yes, yes." Marina switched to Portuguese. "Who are you? How did you fall into the Australians' hands?"
"What are Australians?" the girl asked.
"This is Australian territory."
"I don't know... I was captured by Barbary pirates." She sighed. "My ship was attacked near the Cape Verde Islands during an expedition. Then I was taken to Basra, and from there brought here." She looked around curiously. "I've never heard of any 'Australians' in this world—judging by their appearance, aren't they typical East Asians? They look almost Tatar. Is this Asia?"
Marina was glad to have a fellow captive to talk to, but felt somewhat annoyed by her indifferent expression: "You don't seem to mind being a slave. Haven't you thought about escaping?"
"Escape? It's been over a year since I was captured—I don't even know which corner of the globe I'm in." The girl said helplessly.
Just then, maids brought iced coffee. Everyone except Marina accepted it—Marina suspected it contained some kind of drug and declined, claiming an upset stomach.
"Ah! Coffee!" The golden-haired girl seemed delighted. "Though it's not quite like Arabian coffee." She savored it carefully.
"What? You know this drink?"
"It's a beverage the Turks love." The golden-haired girl seemed proud of her knowledge. "Both Arabs and Turks drink it—it invigorates the spirit." She glanced at the buyers below. "Never expected to find it here too!"
Marina was simply astounded by the girl's attitude—she seemed completely unaware of how terrible her situation was.
The slave woman auction began. Order was good in the venue. When everyone's attention focused on the runway, Mendoza appeared again quietly. She said a few words to the maid watching the slave women, then led Marina aside.
"Look—that's Mr. Trini." She indicated with her eyes for Marina to look in that direction. "I've already spoken with him. He'll do everything he can."
"Thank you so much for your help." Sure enough, she saw a European man of Latin appearance sitting some distance from the stage, neatly dressed and looking their way.
(End of Chapter)