Condemned to Slavery Read Online Free

opened to offer wispy glances of the land below. It was a sea of uneven lush green, the surface rising and falling drastically with the great peaks and valleys, but no matter how savagely the ground bucked it never succeeded in sloughing off the tropical forests riding upon its back.
    With a premature landing imminent, she decided to assess and repair her appearance, her vanity overcoming the desire to simply lay back in her soft seat and watch the land drift by beneath her languid gaze.
    Hauling the articulated door aside, she slipped into the cramped interior, the anemic light flickering into life with her entry. Checking herself in the mirror Lydia straightened her wreath of neck length black hair so that it fell neatly around her angular features. Flicking her fringe into a tidier row, she straightened the line it formed across her eyebrows, the plucked slender threads flicking up towards the end to grant her features the constant wicked glint that had so often been remarked upon. Her body was slender and shapely, her devotion to exercise granting her an athletically curvaceous form that many had found captivating, but which she maintained for her own self esteem as opposed to a desire to pander to anyone else’s vision of beauty.
    Emerging from the toilet, she started to walk back down the aisle, only to have a stewardess emerge before her, the woman beaming with a permanent broad grin hat had been firmly in place since she boarded the flight.
    “Miss, if you would take your seat and fasten your seatbelt,” she asked sweetly, indicating the vacant spot with both hands as though she were conducting a display of safety procedure.
    “What’s wrong?” asked Lydia, settling in with a shuffle and accepting the belt as it was handed to her.
    “An animal that was being shipped has gotten loose in the cargo hold and they want to land to secure it. After all, we wouldn’t want the little fellow nibbling through any hydraulics now would we, miss?” Said the woman, and walked off, leaving Lydia considerably less reassured.
    Easing back into her seat, she turned her gaze once more back to the lofty vision. The scene seemed so tranquil and it was hard to envisage the bitter war that had raged there, though according to the news reports it was now reduced to little more than a few random skirmishes and isolated fire fights.
    The flaring of yet another small war had gained the fleeting interest of the press who had meticulously studied the machinations within before their flitting enthusiasm for mayhem found a fresh middle east squabble to concentrate upon lest they risk boring their viewers by exceeding a whole fortnight of coverage. In a few weeks people would have forgotten about the topic and just assume it was all resolved.
    The political feud between communist and capitalist had been infecting the entire region since the last world war, and was responsible for prompting the delivery of vast arsenals of weapons and the creating of whole armies of paranoid fanatics via propaganda. The men and women of this scheme were ready to kill and die for the causes their shadowy superpower paymasters had indoctrinated them into following. But when the economies of these mighty backers began to falter and domestic problems took precedence over foreign support, the idle warriors had to find new sources of animosity to quell their thirst for battle. In a repeating echo of so many other instances, a civil conflict broke out, fueled with the refuse of the Cold War. The fighting was fierce and relentless, as it always was when such sanguinary troops were guiding the beast of war. With no-one willing to dirty their hands or empty their pockets with intervention, and because the country had no valuable resources to attract the greedy eye of the mightier nations, the death toll was left to inflate as the world watched with insipid interest from its couches, bars, and office desks.
    Two weeks ago the country of Guenerros had been born amidst