June 1, 1803

Sydney, Australia

"Corcoran!" The guard yelled across the field, where a group of us were loading cut building stones onto a cart. "Get over here!"

I walked over as fast as the shackles on my ankles would allow, the two-foot chain making my stride shorter than a freeman. It was something I'd gotten used to in my five years as a convict at hard labor. Now eighteen years old, my back was a mass of scars from lashings old and new. I stopped five feet away from the soldier and stood at attention. "I'm Corcoran."

"Follow me." He turned and walked towards the Administration building, stopping at...