This is one that's been in the works since last year. It came about from a conversation with @Daggerhammer about her Rogue Trader character accepting payment from a world in the form of captive slave wenches.

The following story was written based on the picture by @TheTrevor and posted with permission.

***

The shuttle ramp came down, and shortly after one of the ship's medical personnel strode up it and gave a short lecture to the passengers explaining basic procedure and what was going to happen. Then she directed them to follow her route, and took hold of a heavy chain, which led to two extremely long coffles of prisoners.

The double line of naked flesh followed her at a slow, steady shuffle, mostly thanks to a combination of tiredness and heavy fetters on their ankles. Stout cuffs held their arms behind their backs, and a heavy metal collar linked them into the coffle. A metal band was clamped around the mouth of each prisoner, studded and segmented from the outside but a clever flexible device that pulled in and locked each segment with a simple small charge of electricity. Extra segments could be added or some removed to make a custom fit around any head, and each was connected to an anti-sound device called a Stummer. The counter-buzzing of these devices was extremely unpleasant on the teeth, so the prisoners had long since learned to keep quiet... since they were silenced even if they tried to speak anyways.

The coffle came down the ramp, the passengers rising and marching out in good order, having been seated in a zigzag pattern in the hold. There was slack in the chains as they moved to make sure any stumbles could right themselves without causing punishable delays. They marched down the ramp, standing at a diagonal because of the grav-generators on the ramp itself until they transitioned slightly awkwardly to the deck proper. They marched clear of the landing struts and then turned right, moving along the force field that kept space outside. This afforded them one more look at the green land and blue oceans of their slightly chill homeworld, an agriworld that provided food and supplies to billions in the imperium. After walking some way the line turned right again, heading to the interior of the ship, aiming for a wide cargo door with a sign above it saying 'Registry' and 'Medical'.

Most of the women were either cautious (the terror of being kidnapped and then mercilessly stripped and probed for 'mutation, contamination, or corruption' in the most invasive manners having somewhat jaded them in the last two weeks to two months), or sad and depressed (having given up trying to find a way out of this and all hope of being rescued), or were angry but impotent (being tired of all the 'procedures' and 'regulations' and at the point where they wanted to demand to know what this was all about). A few cast worried glances, having seen perhaps a friend or relation in the line somewhere and now hoping to make sure they were alright or still around. One or two were even looking around with great curiosity, having gotten over the shock and bewilderment and now being quite amazed at the whole affair. Most of these women had never been off their planet before. The cosmos were big, full of terrifying things that wanted to do worse than kill you, and a threat to the purity of body and soul. A proper imperial citizen knew better than to WANT to leave their safe and pious worlds, but still some few seemed quite interested in the situation now they had.

The commissar's data slate registered the ID unit of each collar as it went by, and he expertly flagged any notes, in this case mostly tagging those overly curious ones and the agitated ones. The former, few as they were, would be tested to see if they qualified for a variety of positions in both the Dynasty and the Tech Priests of Mars, the latter would need to be sedated to be handled if they didn't settle down at registry. The Commissar gave permission for both with his flags.

"Something the matter, Trooper?" The Commissar asked without looking up.

The soldier next to him, dressed in the dark blue uniform and lighter blue-gray armor of a House Soldier of the Scyllan Rogue Trader Dynasty (Naval Branch) looked somewhat irate. When addressed he stiffened a little bit, but shook his head, resting his lasgun a little more comfortably in his hands.

"Nosir. Just thinkin' back to previous works. Reminds me of finding my wife. She came up from an agriworld spinward of here. Gorgeous, fit as a Guardsman, hair as gold as the Emperor's own armour she has. I suppose I just want to get back to her as soon as I can." The soldier mused in his gravelly tone. "We got our fourth on the way, sir, you know."

"Congratulations! Have you been looking over the catch?" The Commissar smiled thinly, concentrating mostly on his task.

"What, for a second wife? Saints protect me from such a fate sir!" The soldier said, only half in jest. "My Izme is two hands full and then some, I'd be outmatched with two!"

"Trooper Karou has three already."

"Trooper Karou is half my age and not from the homeworld, sir. He doesn't yet know the virtue of elbow room in a freezing city." The soldier chuckled, then gave a stern glare to a pale young lady with black hair and almond eyes who had paused a half step to gawk at him. She quickly moved along, reminded that holding up the line brought punishments. "Mark my words THAT one will be a handful, if anything, sir."

There was little sound but the clatter of chain links, the quiet slap of bare feet on warm deck plating, and the quiet 'tick tick tick' of the Commissar's dataslate, only interrupted by the occasional sharp 'Doot!' of him ticking a flag. After a moment he glanced over.

"Problem, Trooper?"

"Just wondering sir. We must have two hundred thousand on this shuttle, and many another shuttle besides. I figure a million and then a fair chunk." The soldier replied.

"Wondering who they are?"

"Nosir. I know that: prisoners. Political opposition. Families of those. Indebted nobles and layabouts. Slaves. Towards the end, any woman daft and unlucky enough to wander alone near the press gangs." The soldier paused to make a threatening gesture to one of the women who was making a fuss and stomping along, throwing a tantrum. She smartened up when he did. Other soldiers around the coffle were likewise keeping order. "What concerns me is that we have over a million in a single pick up. I've known the Dynasty to sent a warship out to pick up a single valuable bint on a whim. But when we gather up this many at once? That means one thing."

"Oh? And what is your estimation towards that end?"

"This planet needs an army and the Dynasty's takin' pay to breed and train 'em one."

"Not QUITE correct in this case, but essentially." The Commissar nodded. "In this case we have one million seven hundred seventeen thousand four hundred and eleven women for that purpose and two shuttles of goods... relics, valuables, that sort of thing. In return we will be departing about a week before the first troop ship arrives bringing in one of the pre-prepared forces the Dynasty is always breeding, training and equipping for emergencies."

"Ah. So it's like that sir?" The old soldier hated to be right. "What's the army?"

"A light infantry regiment. The local governor is going to be moving with the Ecclesiarchy against a new cult, they want the manpower to control the situation if they turn out to be less than benign. After the first wave of round ups, another payout will be made for a siege infantry regiment to also be placed on world. If the cult resists or turns out to be... problematically aligned, there will probably be bloodshed. As is, it's popular, so there will be plenty of protesting for years to come and that could cut into the production of food."

The very thought of ration shortages made the experienced campaigner shudder. He'd seen men go mad when they even THOUGHT there wasn't enough food after a stressful battle or patrol. Had to put down one or two riots on a previous ship that was full of fools who thought they would run out of water at the drop of a hat. Fortunately his group had been blessed with enough common sense and faith not to crack, and they'd been reassigned to this plum position.

"Might say we're doing these ladies a favor then, taking them away before all that starts." The Soldier noted.

"Quite right. They will be given work, accommodation, good food, clean water, proper opportunities for hygiene, and plenty of opportunity to serve the imperium. Of course we also can't forget access to the priests and such." This rather flat addition at the end reminded the Soldier that his Commissar, though a man of great imperial faith, had run into many a raving madman of a priest on the battle line. He'd been an infantry man before trading in his camo greatcoat for the blue-grey of the Navy. "Meanwhile on that world, all hell is likely going to break loose in a short time, and there's no guarantee anyone there will be safe."

Observing the miserable, scared, numb, and angry faces moving by, the Soldier inwardly knew that hate it they may, but these women were saved from madness, violence, death, and temptation towards the unholy powers. They might feel like the God Emperor had abandoned them, but he surely had blessed them by giving them the opportunity and health to bear many a life to fill out the noble ranks of the Imperial Guard. He knew many ended up working in what amounted to slave farms, but they were safe slave farms that wanted for little, and filled the ration banks for billions of guardsmen. Some others, like his Izme, would be selected by soldiers like him, or nobles, or others, to be used as wives, or servants. Some might even be recruited to the Tech Priests of Mars, or even into the Dynasty itself as various levels of clerk or suchnot. Even such a low start in the Dynasty would bring them immense luxury and wealth if they proved loyal and competent.

"Do me a favor? Grab me a canteen. We're not yet a quarter done here, and I'm already getting dry." The Commissar asked.

"Yes, sir!" The Solder gave a curt salute, then a sharp turn and hustled off to find drinks.

The cargo hold resumed it's quiet shuffle of feet, and a river of women continued to file past. It was a good day when things went this smoothly. There had been times when the Commissar had led the Dynasty's troops into the jaws of hell itself to open a landing pad to collect their cargo. This was nice.