by Maia Tanith
I know I have just walked inside a ship, but the illusion that I am in a strange, tropical jungle is so real that I reach out and touch the walls. They are smooth and cold under my fingers, even as my eyes tell me that I am surrounded by climbing vines with improbably large flowers, from which iridescent winged insects flit and hover.
A waterfall, complete with the sound of water rushing over the rocks and falling into the pool below. I cup my hands together and hold them out to catch a mouthful of cool water, but that, too, is an illusion. There is no water.
The man holding my leash yanks me forward and I stumble to my knees in disappointment. “Keep your hands to yourself,” he hisses at me, dragging me along the floor on my knees for a few paces. He may look old and wizened, but he is strong.
I struggle to my feet, turning my head to stare longingly at the water, but I do not try to touch it again. It is not there. It is not real. If I am to make my captors angry, it will be for something more useful than the illusion of water.
Another door. Another passageway. This one is darker, gloomier. It looks like a cavern carved deep in the rocks. Here and there clusters of rocks gleam purple, red, green. They sparkle as if caught by sunlight.
Another illusion. There is no sunlight here.
At the end of this corridor is a room. My captor opens it and, with a single quick movement, he unclips my leash and pushes me inside. Then, moving more quickly than I would have expected, he backs out and leaves me alone.
Well, hardly alone.
The room is filled with figures.
Not people.
Not human people anyway.
Some of them are almost humans. Humans but with claws and a tail, or striped fur, or scales instead of skin.
Some of them are definitely not human at all.
I catch sight of something that looks like a giant cockroach. And then something else that has tentacles. Lots of tentacles.
A cyborg, too, with a human-shaped body, but a transparent window into a mass of electronics where her brain should be.
I am alone in a room filled with creatures from my worst nightmares.
Aliens.
My heart pounding and my hands clammy with sweat, I sidle over to one corner of the room where I can stand with my back to the wall and keep an eye on whatever is going on around me.
One of the humanish things with striped fur and a snout barks a laugh in my direction. “Scared of us, are you?” Her voice is a sneer. ‘Don’t worry, we don’t bite. At least not while you are awake.” She grimaces, her lips drawing back from her yellowed fangs in a parody of a smile.
“Leave her alone, Hyak,” something else says. “She has done nothing to you. It is not good to attack innocence. Save your evil words for those who have earned them.”
I look in the direction of the figure that has spoken. It is the grey thing with tentacles. I’m not even sure where its mouth is, or how it has formed words, but I am grateful for her words of kindness nonetheless. That has been in short supply lately, “Th...thank you.”
She folds her tentacles together just like I would clasp my hands. “Where are you from? I haven’t seen anyone like you before.”
“Earth. I’m from Earth.” Saying it aloud seemed weird. Wrong, even. Like I am playing make-believe. “Where are we?”
“I’m not entirely sure where this is. It’s just a stopping off point. But we’re headed for Xill. I know that much. I was told I am to be a present to the rulers of Xill. I guess we all are.” She pulls a face, if a tentacley thing can be said to have much of a face. It is more like her whole body distorts itself into an expression of distaste. “Some ambassador wants to make a good impression on the Emperor. Or ask him for a huge favor. The right to mine a new planet, probably, and to move all the local inhabitants off, or sell them into slavery.”
I gasp with a combination of shock and disbelief. “They would do that? Sell an entire planet of people into slavery?” I have never heard of such an enormity. The scale of it is beyond anything. I thought leaving my village was hard enough, and I did it of my own free will. But to be forced into exile from your whole planet? I could not wrap my head around how awful it would be.
“Of course. If they can get away with it.” Her voice is matter of fact. “But such rights are quite rare and very valuable and cost a significant sum to purchase. Hence, he is bringing all of us as gifts. The ambassador no doubt wants to sweeten the pot he is offering.”
“And the Emperor—he owns slaves? People like us? So he can mine new planets?”
“Of course. It has made him a very wealthy man. And cemented his rule. No one else can match the technology he has at his fingertips.”
I think longingly of the waterfall. “You mean like the corridors that I just came through? They looked sooo real.”
She gives a little snort to show just how unimpressed she is. “Pffft, they are nothing. Decoration, that’s all.”
“And we are to be given as slaves to this Emperor.”
Her tentacles turn slightly blue around the edges. “Yes, so I have heard.” Her whole body twists into an expression of nervousness. “I really hope he accepts us.”
I am not so sure that I like the idea of being owned by such a man.
If he even is a man.
I don’t like the thought of being owned by anyone or anything, period. “And if he doesn’t?”
The blue of her body intensifies until it is almost a deep indigo. “Rumor has it that if he doesn’t like us, he will send us to the Games.”
I don’t know what these games are, but from the tone of her voice, I would guess they are pretty horrific. She sounds terrified at the thought of them. Petrified. “Yeah, I hope he accepts us both.”
Chapter Two
Khan
Red.
The color of royalty.
The color of blood.
I am summoned to court again, to the great room where my uncle makes public announcements. This summons, coming so closely on the heels of the last, has me nervous. No doubt that it is exactly what my uncle intends.
Maybe today he will announce me as an ambassador for Akrith and send me off to the most inhospitable mining planet in the galaxy.
Maybe he will act as though our previous encounter never happened.
Maybe he will ask after the health of my mother and promise to send her some out of season fruit, for which he will expect effusive thanks and which, naturally, will never arrive.
He likes to be unpredictable. It keeps those around him on their toes. If you never know what he will do on any given day, it is impossible to plan for it. It gives him the upper hand. And all those around him cower like wargs, scared of getting a blow but still begging for a bone.
Today as I walk in, he smiles genially at me from under his red robes and motions me to come closer. So much for my plan for keeping out of the way in some corner.
I distrust his smile even more than his glare. HIs smile usually bodes ill for someone around him. He is always best pleased when others are cowering before him in fear.
I make my way over to him and incline my head with suitable deference. He gestures for me to be seated at his feet, the place that is reserved for his current favorite.
Worse and worse.
I sit, and as I do, I catch glimpses of surprise and anger from the close circle of vultures that hover around my uncle. They can have this spot at his feet for all I care. I don’t want it.
There is a larger crowd than usual, and the live newsfeed is turned on and blinking red. Not just turned on but turned on to mandatory so that everyone in the Empire with a screen will be given the feed, whether they want it or not.
My heart sinks even further. Whatever is going down, my uncle is going to turn it into a spectacle.
When he stands to speak, the entire room is immediately hushed. “Today is a great day,” he pronounces solemnly. “This morning we intercepted a convoy of ships taking supplies to the band of rebels on Tathik. We captured the
ships, confiscated the supplies and executed the traitors.”
No wonder he is smiling. These rebels have been a thorn in his side for months now. Lately I’ve heard whispers they have been gaining recruits and money faster than he can cut them off. He will be delighted to have disrupted a significant amount of their supply.
“Even better, we have captured something that is deeply important to the rebel leader.” He gives a cruel smile that has my stomach roiling. “Or should I say someone. Someones.”
He gestures to one of his guards. “Bring them in.”
The guard ducks out of a side door and returns a moment later with two young Kargans. They are only kits: the girl is about ten years old, while the boy is even younger, maybe five or six at most.
The Emperor claps his hands together with glee as he sees their tearstained faces and their terrified glances around the room. He leans towards them. “Now then, children,” he said in an almost kindly manner that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Do you have anything you want to say to your father? He will be watching, you know. On the comcast. He can see you both.”
The girl shakes her head stoutly, but the boy’s face crumples. “Daddy,” he wails. “Where are you, Daddy? I don’t like it here. Come and get me, Daddy. Please.” He can barely speak through his tears.
The Emperor stands upright then and looks straight at the camera. “Did you hear that, Hathik? I know you are watching me. Your children know, too. They are waiting for you to come and get them. Poor motherless kits. Yes, motherless now. Your mate shot at the soldiers when they overran the ships, so her life was forfeit. She is gone. But your children are here and crying for you.”
He strokes his beard then, in a deliberate gesture. “But I am not heartless. I know your soul will be crying out for your kits, just as they are crying out for you. So I will give you a chance to save them. Come and give yourself up, and your kits can go free. That is a friendly offer, is it not? A good offer?”
The boy is still wailing inconsolably, but the girl’s face has brightened. Do not dare to hope, I want to warn her. But I do not speak. I dare not.
“But I cannot wait forever for you to come and get them. I have no patience to feed and house the get of a traitor. So I have devised a plan that will encourage you to come for them quickly. There will be no food for them while they are my captives. Not a crust. I estimate they will survive a dozen turns at least until they perish from hunger. That gives you plenty of time to come crawling out of whatever hole you have dug yourself into.
“Too much time, perhaps. So I have thought of a way to get you here faster. Every day you do not appear, I will remove something from your kits. Maybe a finger or a toe. They have ten of each. They can live with a few less. Or maybe an eye. They only have two of those. Maybe an entire hand, if I get impatient. And to show you that I mean what I say, I will start today.”
There is an uncomfortable muttering around the court at this. He has never gone this far before. Not in public. Many Kargans consider mutilation to be worse than death. For the Emperor to deliberately mutilate young kits, whatever crimes their parents may have committed, is unthinkable. Looking around the room, I can see I am not the only one sickened to the depth of my soul at his cruelty.
He ignores the murmurings. No, he doesn’t ignore them. He feeds on them. “Solis, prepare the kits.”
As the guard clamps the white-faced kits tightly to a pillar so they cannot move, the Emperor walks around them, musing out loud. “Should I start with a toe?” He shakes his head. “No, too little to get my message across. An eye? Not quite yet. Ah, I have it. An ear. An ear from each of them to teach their father to listen to me, for I am a man of my word and I will deliver what I have promised.”
The boy is wailing loudly, too immersed in his sorrow to realize what is in store for him.
Tears drip down the girl’s face. She knows what is coming, but she does not beg for mercy.
“Solis, the knife.”
Solis hands my uncle a long knife, honed to a vicious sharpness.
He inspects if gravely before gesturing in my direction. “Nephew, will you do the honors?”
I recoil with disgust. “With all due honor, uncle, this is not just or right, to make the children pay for the crimes of their father. Show yourself to be the bigger man. Let them go.”
“You would refuse a direct order from your Emperor?” His voice is mild, but I can hear the banked fury underneath.
Mother, I am sorry. I will not do this. Not even for you. You would not want to thrive on the back of the maiming of an innocent child. “I will not harm these kits.”
He spits at my feet. “Pah. I should have known you would not have the stomach to dispense justice. I am not making the children pay for their father’s crimes, or they would be dead already. Just like their warg of a mother. I am using them strategically, to make sure their father pays for his crimes.”
Then, losing patience with me, he hands the knife to the guard. “Solis, an ear apiece.”
The guard’s hands are shaking, but he approaches the children. The boy first. One slice, and a lump of flesh that used to be his ear falls to the ground. The boy gives a single pain-filled shriek, then goes limp in his restraints.
The girl stares at my uncle. “My father will kill you for this,” she hisses. Her words carry the power of a curse.
The Emperor shrugs them off as if they are simply words. “Unlikely. You see, I intend to kill him first. Just as soon as he gets here to rescue you two little snivelers.”
Solis’s knife does its work on the girl kit.
She stares at what used to be her ear, lying on the ground, then retches up a thin watery bile. The metal clamps that hold her in place keep her from bending her head, so the vomit drips down her chin.
The Emperor looks at her in disgust. “Take them away.”
He waves a hand to turn off the comcast, then turns on his heel and stalks out of the great room.
Two of the guards step forward and remove the clamps from the kits. One of them carries the boy kit in his arms, while the other slings the girl kit over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Her blood dribbles down the back of his uniform, staining it a dark, ugly red.
I am rooted to the spot. He has gone too far this time. Surely that is too far. Someone will have to stand up to him.
It ought to be me. I know that.
But I cannot move against him.
Not while my mother is still alive and held hostage for my good behavior. As soon as I speak up, she dies.
I wonder where the kits are being held and whether I can find them. I will have to look for them openly. There is no hiding in the hallways. Not with those damned lights following me wherever I go.
An armed guard is stationed outside my apartments. “You are not to leave,” he instructs me, as I go to brush past him.
I raise my eyebrows at him. He’s one of the better sort of guard. He’s never stopped me from leaving before. “I want to visit my mother,” I say haughtily. “Is this no longer permitted?”
“Emperor’s orders,” he says, almost apologetically. “It’s more than my life is worth to let you through. Or rather, it is my mate’s life that hangs in the balance. She will be the one who suffers if I disobey direct orders. And my orders,” he swallows, “are to shoot to kill.”
So, this is to be my punishment for not holding the knife myself. For refusing his request in front of an audience. For challenging his authority.
So be it. I will not have the death of the guard’s mate on my conscience. Or his. For he would not live long once he has done away with me. The Emperor would have him executed as a traitor.
Kill me, knowing that he will be executed for it, but his wife will be safe. Or let me pass and forfeit the life of his mate.
I am not my uncle. I do not have it in me to force him to choose. Nor, I have to be honest, do I want to die. Not yet. Not while my mother’s life hangs in the balance. With me dead, he would no
longer have any use for her.
I turn around and head back into my own apartments.
Although my apartments are on the third floor, there is another guard in the garden underneath my windows. I expect there will be another on the roof were I to head up to look.
No escape through the gardens. No bringing in a hovercraft on to the roof. No, I am caught as neatly as a rat in a trap.
The following morning we are called to the great room again. I am escorted there by another armed guard whose acne-scarred face puts him barely out of his teens. He looks around nervously as we walk, and his finger is itchy on the trigger of his nerve detonator.
I saunter as slowly as I dare.
The two kits are already in the room by the time I arrive. The boy looks around him, dumb with bewilderment and pain. His face is streaked with tears and the patch of his head where his ear had been is red and weeping. The girl kit stands strong, her white face contorted with hatred. A gaunt look has crept over her face, highlighting her bony cheeks and deepening the sockets around her eyes. She hisses with hatred when the Emperor stalks into view.
He merely waves an arm to turn on the comcast. “Is there any sign of the traitor yet?” he asks. “Hathik, are you in the room?” he asks theatrically. “Or maybe waiting outside? Your kits are expecting you.”
No one speaks. No one steps forward.
The Emperor turns to the kits again. “It looks like your father doesn’t care enough about you to come get you yet. Never mind. We will give him a little more reason to hurry, shall we?”
The boy wails.
The girl bites her lip. “He will come for us, and then you will be sorry.”
He smiles his cruel smile. “I do not think so. Now, what shall it be today? An eye?”
The girl visibly blanches. Her hands are curled into fists so tightly they must be making marks on her palms.
