Bringing Stella Home

by Joe Vasicek

  “Welcome,” Roman said as they shook hands. He stood almost a full head taller than James, with a balding head, silvery-gray goatee, and a heavy, muscular build. His uniform, though faded, was the sharpest of any of the other officers: olive green with a button-up front, white epaulets, and a gold patch with three black chevrons on his upper arm. He looked James squarely in the eye as they shook hands; James nodded and offered a weak smile in return.

  “This is Anya Sikorsky,” said Danica, motioning to the young, blond-haired woman who had been on the bridge when James had first come aboard. “Sikorsky is our chief pilot and astrogator.”

  Anya was stunningly gorgeous in every possible way. She had the stature and physique of a goddess, and even in the dim light her golden hair practically radiated. She smiled warmly at him as they shook hands.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hello,” said James, his voice weak. He hoped he wasn’t blushing.

  “This is Ilya Ayvazyan,” said Danica, “our cyber-ops and intelligence officer.” She motioned to the scrawny, greasy-haired guy who had wanted to steal the Catriona.

  “McCoy,” he said, nodding curtly as they shook hands. A moment later, he snaked an arm around Anya’s waist. James knew at once that they wouldn’t get along.

  “This is Vaclav Nicholson,” Danica said, directing James’s attention to a tall, slender man dressed in a pilot’s uniform: white shirt and navy blue slacks, with a black tie and gold-striped epaulets on his shoulders. “Nicholson is in charge of our drone fighter fleet.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Vaclav said, nodding rather than shaking his hand. James nodded in reply, a bit awkwardly. Something about the man was off-putting, though he seemed crisp and professional enough.

  “This is Mikhail Konstantin,” said Danica, gesturing to a man in an old, greasy jumpsuit with a full utility belt around his waist. “Konstantin is our chief engineer and mechanic. He practically rebuilt this ship by himself.”

  “Welcome aboard,” said Mikhail. He was almost as tall as Roman, with olive skin and a thick, muscular build. Unlike Vaclav, he smiled cheerfully at James and gave him a solid, friendly handshake. James smiled back and decided he liked the man.

  “And this,” said Danica, gesturing to a short, silver-haired man with a wrinkled brow, “this is Nizar Abu Kariym, our chief medical officer.”

  “Abu Kariym Nizar Al-Hakiym Bin Sathi Bin Hussayn An-Najoumi Al-Gaiani Al-Jadiyd, to be more precise,” the man said. “But you may call me Abu Kariym.”

  “Thanks,” said James.

  The old man smiled warmly as they shook hands, reminding James of his grandfather. Of all the men and women in the room, he was definitely the shortest, as well as the oldest.

  “These are my officers,” said Danica. “Besides them, we have two squads of twelve soldiers each. You’ll meet Sergeants Romanov and Sanders later, but I’d advise against mingling too much with the grunts. Quarters are tight, so you’ll probably have to bunk in an empty storage room.”

  James nodded. He wasn’t expecting much more than that anyway.

  “As for myself,” she continued, “I am Danica Nova, captain of this ship and commander of this outfit. So long as you are on this ship, I am God. I speak, and the Tajji Flame obeys my voice. I give an order, and the crew hits the deck. The food you eat and the air you breathe are a blessing from my hands. Nothing happens on this ship without my approval, and I answer to no one. Do you understand?”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess—”

  “I asked you a yes or no question, boy. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” James said tentatively.

  “Good,” said Danica. “We don’t make a big deal out of rank in this outfit, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have a clear line of authority. My second in command is Sergeant Krikoryan. The other officers have authority in their various areas of expertise: Sikorsky as pilot and astrogator, Nicholson as drone pilot, Konstantin as chief engineer, etc. For the duration of this mission, your rank will be ‘ensign.’ You will serve in an advisory role vis-a-vis the mission, but you will not have any command authority whatsoever. I am the commanding officer here, and you will follow my orders, even if they go against your judgment. Do you understand?”

  “Um, I—”

  “Yes or no. Do you understand, boy?”

  James swallowed. “Yes, Captain.”

  “Good. Now, unless you have business here, we will depart for Karduna immediately.”

  “Great! I’ll get to my ship—”

  “That won’t be necessary, Ensign. Roman will pilot the Catriona to our rendezvous point.”

  James’s face fell. “What? Why?”

  “Frankly, we don’t know if we can trust you.”

  “But—but it’s my ship!”

  Danica glared at him. “You orders, Ensign, are to remain on the bridge of the Tajji Flame while we make the jump. Is that clear?”

  James hesitated. Was it too late to pull out of this deal? Maybe he should reconsider—

  No, he told himself. I’m not going to back down.

  “Yes, Captain,” he said.

  “Good.” Danica turned to face her men. “Roman, get to the Catriona and fly her out. We’ll flash you the jump coordinates in the next ten minutes.”

  “Yes, Captain,” said Roman. He rose to his feet and walked briskly out the door.

  “Sikorsky, set up a rendezvous point outside of the system. I want something in proximity to the orbital plane that is far enough out of it not to attract attention.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Excellent. Everyone else, you are dismissed.”

  The other officers crowded past James as they left the bridge. Most glanced his way or nodded in his direction, but James bit his lip and avoided them. Everything was happening too fast for him.

  “Have a seat, Ensign,” said Danica. She pointed to the chair next to Anya. James hesitated for a moment, then sat down.

  Anya glanced up from her work and smiled at him. “Welcome to the Tajji Flame.”

  James smiled weakly. What have I gotten into?

  Chapter 9

  Stella nervously followed Engus down the hallway in her thin, two-piece bedlah gown. Long strings of coins dangled from her hip, jingling as she walked. Her clothes were not unlike the bead curtain doors in the concubines’ quarters—pretty, a bit exotic, and far too sensual.

  Engus turned and clucked at her. “No good, no good,” he hissed. “You come now!”

  “I’m coming,” she said, walking a little faster—but not too fast. The dread in her heart grew with every step.

  Engus came to a turn and pointed to the end of the corridor. “That door,” he said. “You go. Qasar there.”

  Stella swallowed and stood as if rooted to the spot. Engus shoved her forward, almost pushing her over. She caught herself and started walking, the coins swaying against her bare thighs.

  What am I doing? she thought desperately to herself. The man behind that door is going to rape me!

  She swallowed and keyed the door chime, the coins in her dress jingling ever so softly. A moment later, the door hissed open, making her jump. She hesitated for a moment, her heart racing in her chest, then stepped inside. The door hissed shut behind her.

  The room was very dark, lit only by a handful of mellow glowlamps midway up the walls. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she found herself staring at an impressive array of lavish decorations. Crimson silks cascaded down the walls, shimmering like velvet. A vaulted, navy blue ceiling rose high above her head, with hundreds of white, four-pointed stars forming unfamiliar constellations. A pair of curved swords hung directly in front of her, their ornate golden scabbards studded with dozens of colorful jewels. Between the crossed swords hung a ball of meteoric slag, black and pitted. Stella didn’t know what it was doing there, but judging from the rest of the décor, it had to be important.

  The bed lay directly beneath the swords. A man in white, gilded robes lay on his side across the bedspread, s
miling as he stared at her.

  Instantly, Stella froze. The man could only be Qasar.

  He was not a small man—not by any stretch. His shoulders were broad, his arms strong and muscular, his legs thick and supple. His hair was as black as midnight, with a neatly trimmed beard that stretched from ear to ear. His eyes were dazzlingly blue, like sapphire nebulae. Her eyes wandered to his robe, and she saw that his chest was covered with hair. She drew in a sharp breath and trembled as she imagined his scratchy hair on her bare skin, the full weight of his body thrust against hers. The thought made the sweat on the back of her neck go cold.

  Qasar stared at her, unmoving. Stella shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, not sure what to do. You only have one first impression, Stella heard Tamu say in her head. If Quasar isn’t pleased—

  With perfect ease, Master Qasar slipped his legs over the edge of the bed and rose to his feet. Carrying himself with a strong yet subtle aura of authority, he came forward and studied her. Stella flinched as memories of the sorting in the prisoner ship flooded to her mind. Qasar didn’t prod her, however—he merely admired her, as if she were an elegant statue. Careful not to meet his gaze, she stood still and stared straight ahead, toes turned in slightly, arms hanging awkwardly by her side.

  “Very good,” Qasar muttered to himself in the Hameji creole. “A little young, but quite beautiful. You have good taste, Tagatai, my cousin.”

  Qasar’s voice was so clear that Stella had little difficulty understanding his words. She decided to speak up.

  “I am seventeen standard years old,” she said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

  “Ahh!” said Qasar, pleasantly surprised. “So you can speak as well. Very good.”

  “Thank you, M-Master,” she said. She felt dirty using that title, but she didn’t know how else to address him.

  “Very good. And what is your name?”

  “My name is Ste—is Sholpan,” she said, catching herself. The foreignness of her new name made her cringe.

  “Sholpan,” muttered Qasar, nodding to himself. “So that’s what they named you. Fitting choice—you do seem rather shy.”

  He reached up and gently stroked her cheek with one hand. Stella’s body tensed as his fingers slowly traced their way down to her neck and shoulders. He played with the narrow strap holding up her top, then ran his hand between her breasts. She shivered.

  “Quite fitting,” he muttered, smiling at her with his penetrating blue eyes. He took her by the wrist and motioned to the bed. “Come.”

  In one smooth motion, he pulled the scarlet bedspread aside. Underneath, the sheets were immaculately white, as if they’d never been slept in before.

  Qasar turned to her. “Are you hungry, my goddess?” he asked.

  By the stars, yes.

  “A little,” she answered.

  He nodded. Letting go of her wrist, he clapped his hands twice. From somewhere in the wall, a tray came forward, suspended in midair by independent gravitics. Stella’s eyes widened—she’d heard about advanced microgravity technology, but had never seen it with her own eyes. It wasn’t cheap.

  The tray came to a stop in front of Qasar. He lifted a gilded silver cover to reveal a platter of golden-brown sweetmeats, smothered in rich brown sauce. A delicious aroma met Stella’s nose, and she found herself swimming in it.

  “Care for some?” he asked.

  “Y-yes,” she stammered. Her stomach rumbled in eager anticipation.

  Qasar smiled. With a flick of his wrist, he pushed the tray over the bed, where it levitated just inches over the spotlessly white sheets.

  “You must be uncomfortable in that,” he said, glancing down at her skimpy bedlah gown. “Let me get it for you.”

  He reached his hands toward the clasp at her waist. Without thinking, she grabbed him by the wrists to stop. They both froze, while a chill shot down Stella’s back; Qasar did not seem pleased.

  Let him have his way, honey, just don’t give in to him at first. She smiled in a way that she hoped he’d find seductive and carefully maneuvered his hands away from her. “Later,” she said, unclasping the outer layer of her dress and slipping out of it. She wore nothing but a short underskirt beneath it, but at least that was something.

  Qasar chuckled. “Then come,” he said. “Let us eat.”

  They climbed onto the bed and lay facing each other in the center, the tray of delicious food hovering directly between them. Stella tried not to stare, but Qasar’s eyes never left her. From the expression on his face, she could tell he was undressing her in his mind. Even so, the plate of sweetmeats, combined with her own ravished hunger, soon distracted her.

  “Is that—real food?” she asked, eying the platter.

  Qasar cocked his head at her, then threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  “Real food?” he said. “Of course! Do you think I am so poor that I starve?”

  Stella smiled uneasily, unsure of what to say or do. Poor or not, all her meals so far on his ship had been bland and synthetic.

  “But if you will not believe—come! Eat!” He picked up a piece of meat from the platter and held it out to her. Stella’s stomach growled as she reached forward, but he withdrew the food before she could take it.

  “No, no,” he said, shaking his head and grinning at her. “Your fingers should not get sticky, my dear.” He held the morsel out again, as if to hand-feed her. “Eat!”

  Something about the way he insisted on hand-feeding her seemed deeply sensual, and more than a little disturbing. Stella hesitated, but the thick, mouth-watering aroma of the sweetmeats soon won her over. Leaning forward, she opened her mouth and let him place the food between her teeth.

  It was meat—honest to goodness, animal-grown meat—springy and fleshy and cooked to perfection. Without a doubt, it was the most delicious food she’d eaten since her capture. She closed her eyes and chewed it slowly, savoring the juices as they stimulated her tastebuds. For the long, wonderful moment before she swallowed, she was in heaven.

  Qasar’s eyes did not leave her as she chewed.

  “Well,” he said, “do you like it?”

  “Stars, yes,” Stella answered. She leaned forward and reached eagerly for more.

  “No, no, my dear,” said Qasar, chuckling as he pulled the platter away. “Your fingers must not be soiled.”

  Stella’s heart fell. This is degrading, she realized. Still, food was food, and she was desperately hungry.

  “That’s right,” said Qasar as she leaned forward and opened her mouth. “Have another.” He placed another of the tender morsels between her teeth. It seemed almost to melt in her mouth, it was so delicious.

  They ate together this way until the platter was half empty and Stella’s once-empty stomach was completely full. By the end, she found herself lying down with her head in Qasar’s lap. How that had happened, she didn’t quite know—but strangely, it didn’t feel as bad as she’d feared. His clean hand ran through her hair and caressed her neck.

  “No more,” she whispered, patting her stomach. “That’s—that’s enough.”

  Qasar nodded and stopped caressing her neck long enough to wash both hands on a washcloth and push the platters away. From her vantage point in his lap, she watched as he shed his robe, baring his muscular upper body.

  Immediately, Stella’s body tensed.

  Without a word, he ran his fingers through her hair, stroking downward across her neck and shoulders. Where his touch met stiffness, he squeezed gently and massaged her until she grew limp and relaxed.

  Her heart raced as he shifted her off his lap so that she lay beneath him. He scooted down until his eyes were level with hers; in them, she saw a frighteningly potent hunger, as if he were ready to devour her. His hands migrated behind her neck, where he undid the clasp holding her top in place.

  I shouldn’t be letting him do this, she thought to herself as he pulled the straps down off her shoulders and arms. His fingers stroked her skin, starting a
t her shoulders and moving steadily toward her breasts.

  “Stop,” she whispered, stiffening once again. “Please, stop.”

  To her dismay, he laughed.

  “Are you frightened, my shy goddess?” he asked, pulling off the top half of her bedlah gown.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Please—stop this.”

  He slipped a hand inside her underskirt. “It is good to be feared,” he said, “but it is better to be obeyed. Kiss me.”

  Before she could answer, he pressed his body against hers. She drew in a sharp breath as her blood turned to ice. All of her muscles instantly tensed, and she pushed against him with all her might.

  “Stop,” she said, struggling to get out from underneath him. “just—stop!”

  The smile on his face turned to a snarl, and he took her by the wrists and pinned her down.

  Stella struggled against his grip, but couldn’t break free. Her panic grew, and she started to thrash about with her legs. In one smooth, controlled movement, he released her left wrist and struck her across the cheek with the back of his hand, sending her reeling.

  She opened her mouth and screamed.

  Her outcry caught in her throat as he struck her again, this time with his fist. Tears of pain flooded her eyes even as Qasar reached down and tore the underskirt clean off of her. At the terrible noise of ripping fabric, panic filled her. This was it—now, he would rape her.

  “Stop!” she screamed. Once again, a hard blow landed against her cheek, but a surge of adrenaline gave her the strength to wriggle out from underneath him.

  “Foolish woman,” he muttered. “Don’t you know your captain when you see him? Your life belongs to me now.”

  Stella scrambled to the other edge of the bed and wrapped the tangled sheets around her naked body. “I’m sorry,” she cried, “I’m just—I’m not ready!”

  “I’ll decide when you’re ready!”

  He glared at her, as if by the force of his will he could make her submit to him. Instead, she felt doubly frightened.

  “What more could I have done for you?” he shouted with rage. “I fed you, clothed you, gave you a home, gave you servants to take care of your every need—what gives you the impudence to turn on me now?”