*Note: This book is a prequel to After Humanity. You do not have to read After Humanity to read Voices of Humanity but it will def make for a different experience if you have.

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Throughout my life, people have often said I was lucky. Perhaps it is true. If survival is a measurement of luck, there are few who could claim to be more "lucky" than myself.

    I was born on a large farm, one of Cedrick Dulane's famed human livestock in the year 750 of sibla reign. My mother, Mariana, was my Master's true favorite. She was beautiful, sweet, docile, and talented in the kitchen. Everything a sibla could ask for in a human female. As she grew, he doted on her in a way he rarely did any of his animals.

    My mother had a boy in her first pregnancy and my Master was happy. His favorite little human would be a successful breeder and he could justify maintaining her on his lands. But when they took the child from her arms soon after his birth, my mother cried silent tears for days. She knew her baby would be reared by another and slaughtered for his flesh. Though she continued at her work with as much diligence as ever, nothing seemed to cheer her to her normal happy self. Cedrick Dulane was determined to see her joy restored.

    A year passed and he had her bred again. This time she became pregnant with twins. Two girls, of which I was one. My Master resolved that his favored pet would not slip into depression again and so he was present for the birth. The moment the two babies emerged from her womb he ordered they be cleaned and presented to him to make a choice. Only one of the offspirng would live. This was the first "luck" I encountered in my quest for survival.   

    I was born with a full head of dark hair, just like my mother's and had inherited echoes of her features. My sister posessed a fairer complexion and only a few wisps of blond fuzz on her scalp. They said I smiled when he reached out to examine my face. That he saw within me the sweet temperament of my mother. It was enough for my Master to make his determination.

    I was handed back to my mother while my sister was taken away, condemned to be raised along with the other vealers. Of course, I didn't know I was losing a sister. Already I was gaining benefit at the expense of another human's life. But I was just a baby. An infant happily resting in the arms of an adoring mother.

    Dulane vowed in that moment that I would be my mother's true child and she could raise me as her successor. One day I would be his favorite, as she was, and any sorrow she might feel in giving up her future offspring to his greed could be tempered by the fact she now had a daughter to cherish.

    The gift Dulane had given my mother was a formidable one. It was rare that any of his breeders were allowed to raise their own offspring. After all,  his stock might be sold or slaughtered at any time and it was best if none held such close bonds. But for my mother, the exception was made and she took full advantage, keeping me by her side as much as possible.

    By the age of four, I was already quite the kitchen helper and by the age of six, I could even make a few dishes by myself. I still remember how my mother would stand me on a stool, watching like a hawk as I replicated her most famous recipes, rapping the backs of my hands or legs if I made even a minor mistake. Tough love. She wanted to make certain that I would prove useful to our Master. That I would be safe.

    Her efforts were effective. In spite of the fact that I was nowhere near as beautiful as Mariana, Dulane was happy with me. I was obedient and had inherited my mother's talents at cooking along with all other tasks she dutifully instructed me in, from sewing to basic literacy. These were the skills required of a kitchen head, the position my mother now held, only just under the sibla woman who oversaw us.

    Throughout my childhood, Mariana remained my Master's favorite and Dulane maintained affection for her in a way he did for no other. When one season the breeding male he'd put her with returned my mother home with bruises over her entire body, the man was taken outside and whipped bloody. We were all made to watch his punishment and the message was clear. Other human women could be abused, but no one was to raise a hand to my mother. I, in return, was granted that same protection.

     In spite of that privilege, however, my mother made certain I understood my true place.

    "You are an animal ," she would tell me, whenever I acted out in any way. "All humans are the same in the eyes of a sibla. You are worth no more than the pounds of flesh upon your frame. Never forget that the gifts we have been granted are dependent on our servitude and our ability to please our Master. Should you ever cross Cedrick Dulane, you will be condemned like all the rest."

    I might have been safe from the overseers who knew my status, but if I were to step out of line, it would be my mother I would answer to and I knew it well. Still, even as a child, I think I understood on some level that the blows she dealt on occasion were meant to protect me from the far harsher punishments I saw inflicted on others every day.

    There were other important lessons my mother taught me over the years. How to slaughter a chicken, how to butcher a whole animal. She even forced me to help her with the preparation of human veal for my Master's table.

    I was eight when I was first asked to accomplish the task and I nearly vomited when I saw the corpse of a three-year-old on the chopping block. Another child, not so different than me. It stared at me with lifeless eyes, head still attached by what remained of a mangled neck, sliced to drain all blood. Its little belly was cut open to the sternum, innards removed, but the body was whole, awaiting further butchering. My mother had no sympathy for my disgust. She forced me to look at the dead girl. Or maybe it was a boy? It was hard to tell with a child so young. All remnants of gender had been removed and the form cleaned of hair.

    "You must face your reality," my mother said, putting her hand on my neck, preventing me from turning away from the horror. "Already you have lived while others have died. You must never forget that privilege, nor forget that this is your ultimate fate."

    It was true of course. By then I had watched my mother through multiple pregnancies. I'd seen her grow round and fat, listened to her cry in agony as she brought forth my brothers, and occasionally a sister. All were quickly taken before my mother could form any attachment. Another would raise them on formula. Within a few years they would be slaughtered or sold.

    I would stand in the room along with the humans who were trained to aid with childbirth. The moment the baby was born, they snatched the infant and pushed me towards my mother who would grab me tightly in her arms, her body still sticky with sweat. I knew the significance of being her only true child. The one allowed to live and remain by her side. The one to keep her sane...But still, I don't think I really understood the ramifications of my missing siblings before I was confronted with that corpse.

    When I'd mastered myself, my mother showed me how to procure different cuts of flesh from the carcass, her demeanor precise and cold as she went about the task.

    "The body is only meat," she explained as she worked. "The soul is gone and this child is suffering no more."

    It became clear to me that day why some called my mother a greyskin, claiming her to be no different from the monstrous grey-skinned sibla who owned our lives. Her expression was entirely blank as her knife worked at the human form until only neat cuts of meat remained. I was somewhat horrified myself. For the first time, I wonder if the whispers the others tried to keep from my ears were true after all. Many believed Mariana had lost her humanity entierly.

    But she was my mother. I did not judge nor turn my back on her with this new revelation into her life. She was the only one who cared for me in the entire world. I forced myself to obey her commands and trust. To push from my mind the gossip swirling in my brain.

    My mother cleared the room while we worked on the human carcass that first time. Lexia Siral, the sibla woman responsible for the kitchens, gave my mother free reign of the space to teach me and agreed to ensure we not be disturbed. Mariana was the best kitchen aid on the estate and Lexia favored my mother even more than Dulane did. I was meant to follow in her footsteps. Our overseer was willing to do whatever it took to make certain my training would allow for that.

    Every time my mother was forced to work with a whole human carcass thereafter, I noticed she would request Lexia assign only a select number of the kitchen staff to help with the task.

    "As few should be tainted as possible," she told me when I asked her about it once. "This is the price of our long life. In doing the jobs others would shy from, we save them from destroying themselves."

    And yet in spite of her willingness to serve my Master dutifully in even the most gruesome of tasks, my mother had her rules for humanity. She was certain to drill them into me every day from the time I was old enough to understand.

    Rule #1. Always remember that life is fleeting. Death and suffering must be faced with strength and dignity.     Both are your destiny.

    Rule #2. Never grow too close to any least your heart be irreparably broken

    Rule #3. Clearly mark human meat and keep it from the rest. Do not force those who are nearing death         themselves to prepare it.

    Rule #4. Never partake in the flesh of your own kind.

    Rule #5. Never do anything to the detriment of another human being least you become like the sibla yourself.

    Number five was, of course, the most important of all. In fact, all the others might have been combined into that one rule. The rule that was paramount. One must do everything in one's power to avoid becoming a greyskin.

But though I memorized my mother's personal doctrine, I don't think I truly internalized it until the year I reached "maturity". the age at which the female slaves on the Dulane estate were expected to assume their role as grown women. It was the year I would take my mother's place she would be taken from life...