Bringing Stella Home

by Joe Vasicek

  “Maybe,” she said, “but—it’s just too risky.”

  “No,” said Roman, “not true. That is only excuse.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The boy is one of us now, no? He is more than friend—he is family to you. But his demons—they are your demons. He wishes to save his sister, as you failed to save your brother. And now, because the danger is so great, you cannot bear to see him fail. Protecting the crew is only excuse.”

  “An excuse for what?”

  Roman leaned forward and looked her in the face with his good eye. “Can you not see?” he said. “Saving him will save yourself, also. If you do not help, you will both be destroyed.”

  Something about his words rang true to her in a way that nothing else ever had. She thought of how much James reminded her of her brother, and realized that he reminded her of herself even more. James wanted to save his sister the same way Danica wished she could have saved her brother—the difference was that James actually stood a chance.

  “So what do you think I should do?” she asked.

  “This is my advice,” said Roman. “Leave with them. If the battle with the Hameji had not happened, you would be flying this mission, yes? Treat this not as mutiny, but as misunderstanding.”

  “But what if they won’t let me?”

  Roman laughed. “They will let you, Danica. You are a good captain—they are not leaving because of you.”

  Danica nodded. “It’s going to be dangerous,” she said. “Are you sure—”

  “Anya is a survivor,” he said, waving his hand. “Ilya is a bit cocky, but he can take care of himself.”

  “And the boy?”

  “You will only fail him if you choose to stay here.”

  He has a point.

  She checked her wrist console. The Hameji transport was almost ready to launch. They would undock from the Tajji Flame and make their first jump in only a few minutes.

  “Do not worry, Captain,” said Roman. “I will take care of this end. We will sell boy’s ship and repair the Tajji Flame while you are gone.”

  Danica shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “Wait for us here.”

  A wide grin spread across Roman’s face. “Yes, Captain,” he said, lifting his good hand in a salute.

  “If I don’t return in five days, I’m placing you in command.”

  “You will return, Captain.”

  “Even so. You promise to take good care of my men?”

  “Of course, Captain. Of course.”

  * * * * *

  James sat on the edge of the Hameji transport’s stiff command chair and watched the indicator lights flash on across the control board. The screen to his left had two bullet holes in it and it sparked when he tried to turn it on; the one above his head had a dent in the corner but was still functional. Dark bloodstains could be seen in the cracks between switches and keys, and the air still smelled of disinfectant.

  I killed in this place, James thought to himself. I killed almost a dozen people. He could see their bodies in his mind’s eye, draped across the control panels and keyboards at which Anya and Ilya both sat. The image brought a cold sweat to the back of his neck.

  “I’ve almost got these controls figured out,” said Anya, snapping him out of his thoughts. “It’s going to be a while before I’m familiar with them enough to fly, though.”

  “Just find the controls to the jump engine,” said James. It felt strange to be the one giving orders now, especially since he hardly knew what he was doing.

  The bridge door hissed open behind them. Loud footsteps followed, rapping sharply against the metal floor. James turned around as Anya gasped.

  It was Danica.

  “Hello, Ensign McCoy,” she said. “Mind if I join you?”

  James frowned. “How—how did you get here?”

  “The question you should be asking is why I am here. The answer is that I have decided to renew our contract.” She glanced at Anya and nodded. “If you’ll to take me on, I’m willing to overlook the recent unpleasantries as a simple misunderstanding.”

  James was speechless. To his right, Anya’s cheeks paled, then blushed deep red. Ilya seemed just as lost as James.

  “Are you sure?” James asked. “I mean, this mission is going to be difficult. Do you—”

  “I’m fully aware of the dangers, McCoy,” said Danica. “But danger or not, as captain I have an obligation to my men.”

  “We’re still your men?” Anya blurted out. Her body was as stiff as a durasteel hull.

  “Of course you are—and not just you,” she said, glancing at James. “My obligation extends to the ensign as well.”

  “Wait—I’m one of you?”

  “Of course you are. Now, do we have a deal or don’t we?”

  “I—well, yeah,” said James, his mind in a whirl.

  “Is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no,’ McCoy?”

  “Um, yes, Captain. I just thought—”

  “What did you think?”

  James paused. McCoy, he thought to himself. She called me ‘McCoy,’ not ‘Ensign.’

  “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.”

  “Then let’s not waste any more time,” said Danica, stepping up to the command chair. James rose to give it to her.

  “Thank you,” he said softly as she took her seat.

  “What did you say, McCoy?”

  “I, er—let’s get started.”

  “Yes,” said Danica, smiling. “Let’s.”

  Chapter 23

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve to call on Gazan like that. Honestly, darling, you’re lucky he didn’t kill you.”

  Tamu dabbed Sholpan’s swollen face with the healing accelerant, making her wince. “I know,” Sholpan moaned. Her breathing came in short, quick bursts; even with the painkillers, her whole body felt as if it were on fire.

  “Still,” said Tamu, “it was a brilliant move. Batshit crazy, but brilliant.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, you haven’t heard? Gazan stole off on a shuttle just this morning.”

  Sholpan frowned. “He did what?”

  “Ran away, dear.”

  “Why?”

  Tamu gave her a funny look. “Because Qasar is going to disown him, of course. Wouldn’t you—”

  “Disown him?”

  “Yes, dear. What did you expect? You’re Qasar’s wife now, after all—an assault on you is an assault on his honor.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “So it all worked out for the best. Gazan is eliminated, and all you have for it are a few battle wounds.”

  You say it like it’s that easy, Sholpan wanted to say. Instead, she stretched out on her stomach and let Tamu rub the accelerant across her bruised shoulders and arms.

  “But—but I didn’t want to eliminate Gazan,” she said. “I only wanted to make peace with him.”

  Tamu clucked her tongue. “Respect is much better than peace, honey—so much better. And with the way you handled Gazan, all the wives are bound to respect you now.”

  Respect me, yes, Sholpan thought woefully. But they’ll still be my enemies.

  “So what happens next?”

  “Well, dear, it all depends on Gazan’s next move. He may set a plot in motion to assassinate his father—”

  Sholpan sat up straight. “Assassinate?”

  “Only in the worst of cases. Of course, if he does, he’ll take you out once he rises to power.”

  “Take me out?”

  Tamu shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about it, darling; Qasar is far too strong for that. No, Gazan will probably leave and start his own fleet, in which case Qasar will hunt him down and kill him.”

  Kill him? The thought gave Sholpan an awful sinking feeling in her gut.

  “And if Gazan strikes first,” Tamu continued, “Qasar will almost certainly crush him.”

  “Crush him?” said Sholpan, sitting up. “But Gazan is his son!”

  Tamu shook her head. “Ther
e’s nothing you can do about it, dear, and anyhow it’s not your fault. If Gazan wanted to live, he would have accepted his punishment for beating you.”

  “But why does it have to be this way?”

  “It’s their way of life, honey. Better get used to it.”

  No, Sholpan thought to herself. I can’t let Qasar kill his own son. That’s just wrong.

  “I have to do something,” she said. “I have to stop it.”

  Tamu frowned. “Good luck with that, darling,” she said. “Good luck.”

  * * * * *

  Qasar summoned Sholpan to his bedchamber that night, but he did not make her sleep with him. It was the first time since their marriage that they’d been in the same room together and not had sex. Still, Sholpan’s bruised and aching body reminded her all too well of that first night, when he had beat her for refusing him. He shifted, and her heart jumped in her chest. Even now, she didn’t know what to expect from him.

  “Why, my son?” Qasar moaned. “Why?”

  At first, Sholpan thought he was asleep, but he sat up and raised his fists in the air.

  “WHY?” he screamed, his voice splitting her ears. Then, as abruptly as he had begun, Qasar buried his head in his hands and drew silent. Slowly, his shoulders began to shake.

  He’s weeping, Sholpan realized with a start.

  She lay still and stared at the ceiling, unsure what to do. If Qasar blamed her for the falling out with his son, he might hurt her if she tried to say anything. But then again, if that were the case, why had he summoned her to his bedchamber at all? There had to be a reason.

  He must know I’m awake, Sholpan realized. I can’t lie here and do nothing. Slowly, tentatively, she sat up and put an arm around Qasar’s massive shoulder.

  “Gazan, Gazan—why must you die?” Qasar sobbed. He leaned into her, as if to seek comfort. Sholpan found herself at a loss for what to do.

  “You love him, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” he sobbed. “Of course I do.”

  Stars, Sholpan realized, he really does. In Qasar’s eyes, she saw the tenderness of a loving father mourning for his own child’s death—something she never thought she’d see in the face of a Hameji overlord. It affected her more deeply than she’d expected.

  “Why?” she asked, rubbing his back. “Why must you kill him?”

  Qasar moaned, and his great knotted muscles relaxed under her touch. “Because he has turned against me,” he said.

  “Turned against you? How?”

  “Gazan fled only twenty-six hours ago to take command of the Flame of Destiny. Captain Bargai was complicit in this act of treachery, and their plot would have worked, except for an astrogator who alerted my men. A small strike team posing as a band of mechanics boarded them and stopped the plot. Bargai and Gazan both confessed, as well as eight other co-conspirators from Bargai’s immediate family.”

  “So now you must kill them?”

  “Of course.”

  “But that’s just wrong,” said Sholpan. “Why should you be forced to execute him? Can’t you—I don’t know, strip him of his inheritance or something?”

  “I would to Tenguri that I could, Sholpan,” said Qasar. “That was what I was going to do, when I heard how he’d mistreated you. It would have been a blow to his honor, but not an irrecoverable one.”

  “So do that,” she cried. “Let him live—by the stars of Earth, he’s your son!”

  Qasar sighed and shook his head. “How can I overlook the magnitude of his crime? He has attempted to split my fleet and turn my own captains against me. What else can I do? The punishment for mutiny is death.”

  That’s stupid, Sholpan thought, but caught herself before she said it.

  “Three more days,” Qasar continued, “and he would have left for the main battle fleet to win a name for himself. He would not have been a danger to you. Three days—and now this.”

  Sholpan’s blood turned cold as a pang of guilt swept over her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know this would happen.”

  Qasar glanced up and stared at her with his penetrating eyes. “Didn’t you?” he said, his voice full of disbelief. “How could you not know it would come to this? He blames you for his mother’s death, you know.”

  “I know,” she said. “It’s just, I’m so new to this, I—”

  “Why did you want to meet with him, anyway? What was the purpose in that?”

  “I—I only wanted to make peace with him. That’s all.”

  Qasar looked at her as if she were a talking monkey. “There is no peace without honor,” he muttered.

  Sholpan bit her lip and began once again to rub Qasar’s back. No peace without honor, she thought to herself. Such a cold and heartless way to live. And yet, in the absence of any other law, perhaps it did give a sense of order to one’s life—order, and purpose.

  “Do you blame me for all of this?” Sholpan asked softly.

  “Blame you for what?”

  “That all of this is happening. That you are honor-bound to, ah, to—”

  He turned and brought a hand to her cheek. Sholpan’s eyes burned, and before she knew what was happening, her head was in her hands, tears streaming down her face.

  “I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I don’t want you to have to kill your own son.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, as if surprised by her outburst of emotion. For a long time, neither of them said anything.

  “There has to be a way,” Sholpan said, recomposing herself. “There just has to be a way to get around this.”

  “No, Sholpan,” Qasar answered softly. “I cannot turn away from my duty. As captain of the Lion of Tenguri, I am honor-bound to enforce my rule. If my own ship fell into disorder, how could the rest of the fleet trust my command?”

  Honor-bound, Sholpan thought bitterly to herself. Honor before mercy, honor before justice—

  No peace without honor.

  “Wait,” she said. “Gazan dishonored me before he turned against you, did he not?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “By beating me. I know he insulted your honor by doing that, but what about mine?”

  “I suppose,” he answered, shrugging. “Since you are my wife, your honor is tied up in mine.”

  “Exactly. So mutiny or not, he owes a debt of honor to me.”

  Qasar frowned. “Where are you going with this?”

  “Can’t you see? Your son doesn’t have to die—not if I have a claim on him first.”

  Qasar said nothing. He brought his hand to his chin and stroked his beard.

  “But he has committed mutiny—”

  “Only to escape from his debt. For you to kill him before I can reclaim my honor—that would be unfair.”

  She stared at him long and hard. Please, she inwardly pleaded, give me this one chance to make things right.

  “Can a woman’s honor be worth so much?”

  “Is it worth your son’s life? Do you trust me when I say I want to save him?”

  His eyes met hers. “You would save the boy who nearly killed you?”

  “Yes,” said Sholpan. “For the sake of peace, I would do it.”

  He gazed at her for a long while in silence. Sholpan held her breath waiting for his response.

  “You are a strong and noble woman, Sholpan,” Qasar said softly. “Yes, I trust you.”

  Sholpan felt a thrill pass through her body, starting at the back of her neck and extending all the way out to her fingers. A strong and noble woman—among the Hameji, those were not words spoken lightly.

  “Then give him to me,” she said. “Let me be the mediator. I promise, I’ll get you through this.”

  Qasar smiled. “Yes, my shy goddess,” he said. “I trust you will.”

  * * * * *

  The observation deck was packed for Gazan’s judgment. Every living soul on the ship seemed to be in attendance—Sholpan even recognized some of the concubines. Tamu smiled and waved, her dress only slightly more modest
than the half-open bathrobe she always wore. Sholpan nodded at her as she took her place on the stand with Qasar’s other wives.

  “Hello,” said Zeline, an unreadable expression on her face. Two lavishly dressed women sat on the other side of her. They both looked to be in their mid-thirties, with olive skin and dark hair much like Lady Zeline’s. From the suspicious way they eyed her, Sholpan knew them at once as Qasar’s other wives.

  Please don’t hate me, she wanted to say. I’m not what you think I am.

  The full crowd before the observation windows milled about, talking amongst themselves. At the hiss of the elevator door, however, the room immediately grew silent. Sholpan rose with the other wives as Qasar strode in, dressed in a trim scarlet uniform with a jewel-studded golden sword holstered on his belt. Gray-clad officers flanked him on either side, the colorful epaulets and badges on their shoulders denoting their high rank. As Qasar took his seat at the center of the stand—wives on his left and officers on his right—his every movement radiated power, as if he were some kind of god. Gone was the man who had sobbed on Sholpan’s shoulder for the sake of his son, replaced by the cold, iron discipline of absolute command.

  “Bring in the criminals,” Qasar ordered. In the silence, his loud voice reverberated across the entire room.

  The first officer to his right nodded and rose to his feet. “Bring them in,” he commanded the guards.

  A door opened on the right side of the room, and the crowd parted to allow ten prisoners and over a dozen black-clad soldiers through to the stand in front. Sholpan craned her neck to get a better view. The nine officers and crew members of the Flame of Destiny stared in shame at the floor, but Gazan kept his head raised high, wearing his pride like a badge of honor. His eyes met hers, and a scowl of naked contempt spread across his face.

  “The prisoners, milord,” said the officer.

  “Of what do they stand accused?” Qasar bellowed.

  “Of mutiny and sedition, milord. The conspirators were caught in the act, and have all confessed to their crimes. Besides their confessions, we have many other infallible witnesses to prove their guilt.”