by Joe Vasicek
Katsuichi took a deep breath as they approached the Divine Wind. It was an impressive ship, he knew—but it was no match for a fully equipped Hameji battle cruiser.
“Beginning auto-docking procedure,” said the pilot. “We should arrive in the next ten minutes, your Highness.”
“Excellent,” said Katsuichi. He glanced out the side window again and watched as his world slowly spun away, revealing the blackness beyond. Whatever his fate held in store for him, he’d find it in the vast and lonely space between the stars.
* * * * *
Hikaru clenched her fists and stared out the narrow palace window at the rapidly fading sunset. The outlying clouds of a tropical storm system had blown in over the afternoon, and they now cast the sky in brilliant hues of purple, red, and orange. Shuttles glimmered in the dwindling sunlight around Fukai-Nami’s various hangars and landing pads, indicating that the island city was preparing to submerge, perhaps for as long as a week.
The realization only made her feel more powerless. She felt as if the city were a cage, dragging her down into a watery grave—or worse, drowning her in an endless procession of social events and royal obligations. It was more than just a pretty flower-box—it was a prison, and she’d been a prisoner since birth.
“Milady?” came a timid voice behind her. She turned and saw two of her maidservants: one of them with a bath towel, the other carrying a set of silk pajamas.
Hikaru sighed heavily. “Yes?”
“Milady, the bath is ready.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.”
She followed them to the door and stopped. A crazy idea flashed into her mind, making her heart skip a beat. The servant with the towel was just about her height, with a similar face. She moved to slide the door open, but Hikaru grabbed her by the wrist before she could.
“M-milady?”
“Wait,” she commanded. “Your hair, your figure—what’s your name?”
“Ch-Chizuko,” the girl stuttered. Her eyes grew frightened, but Hikaru ignored that.
“You look just like me, Chizuko,” she said. “Here, take off your clothes.”
“T-take them off? Milady, I—”
“You heard me,” said Hikaru, slipping her palace robes up over her head. “Take them off and put these on. And you—yes, you—help her.”
The two girls did their best to comply with her strange orders. As the shorter one helped Chizuko out of her apron, Hikaru all but tore it off, making the poor maidservant squeal. “Your skirt,” said Hikaru. “Yes—everything but the undergarments. Hurry!”
Chizuko handed off her clothes and hugged her chest, unsure whether to put on her mistress’s royal robes. For her part, Hikaru wasted no time slipping into the maidservants’ uniform. To her delight, it fit her perfectly.
“Well, aren’t you going to put my clothes on?” she said, staring at the unresponsive girls. “Come on—what are you waiting for?”
“B-but milady,” said Chizuko, trembling. “Your clothes, I-I am just a servant.”
“I don’t care. Put them on now! That’s an order!”
Chizuko seemed on the verge of tears, but she complied, stepping into the flowery silk pajamas. The resemblance wasn’t perfect, but with the glowlamps dimmed for the night, no one would know the difference.
“Good, good,” said Hikaru, putting her hand to her chin. “This will do nicely.”
“N-nicely? Milady, what do you mean?”
“I’m leaving the palace,” she said, “and I need someone to take my place. It’s only for a little while,” she added, seeing the reaction on her servant’s face. “I’ll be back.”
“You’re running away?”
She nodded absent-mindedly as she sifted through a wall compartment, slipping a wrist console and a handful of cash chips into her apron pocket. “I’ll need your IDs and passport datachips—give them to me.” The maid-servants hesitated at first, but their strict obedience conditioning soon pushed them to comply.
“I don’t want either of you ratting me out to the palace guard,” said Hikaru as she took the documents from their trembling hands. “Understand? Don’t tell them that I’ve gone.”
The two girls wrapped their arms around each other and began to cry. “Please, Milady,” said Chizuko. “Please don’t make us do this. We’re too young to die!”
Hikaru frowned in confusion, until she realized that honor demanded that her servants commit ritual suicide if they failed to obey a direct command. She rolled her eyes and waved her hand in the air.
“Don’t be silly—when they find out that I’ve gone, you can tell them that I made you do it. But don’t go running to them as soon as I leave, understand?”
The younger girl was sobbing too hard to respond, but Chizuko wiped her tears with a shaky hand and nodded.
“Good,” said Hikaru, tying her hair back. “Now, could one of you show me to the servants’ entrance?”
Chizuko opened the door and wordlessly showed her around the back of the wood-paneled hallway to the butler’s pantry, where a door led down a decidedly more utilitarian corridor. Hikaru nodded and clapped a hand on the girl’s shoulder.
“Thanks,” she said. “Now, try not to get yourselves caught right away.”
“Y-yes, milady.”
Without another word, Hikaru turned and stepped briskly through the doorway, down the forbidden corridor. Adrenaline surged through her body, from her heart to the tips of her fingers. Her brother’s words came to her, the promise she’d made to stay at the palace, and for an instant, a pang of doubt almost pulled her back.
He doesn’t understand, she decided, quickening her step. No one understands. Besides, she wasn’t going to be gone forever. Just long enough to get out of the palace and breathe some fresh air—long enough to see what the universe was like outside the palace. She would be back, of course. She owed her brother that much.
In the meantime, though, her skin tingled at the prospect of an adventure.
Chapter 3
Abaqa groaned as he buried his head in his hands. “Why do I have to learn this stuff, Mom?” he whined. “None of the other princes ever bother with this planetborn stuff. Why should I?”
“Because it’s important, dear,” said Mother Sholpan, shaking her finger at him. “If you’re going to rule the stars one day, you need to know the language of your subjects. It won’t get any easier when you’re older, believe me. Now, repeat after me …”
Abaqa groaned again, louder this time. “But Mo-om!”
It wasn’t any use, of course—she was determined to see him through to the end of the lesson. Eventually, he gave up his tantrum and decided it would be easier to just comply. It wasn’t that Gaian was a particularly hard language; he just didn’t see the point of learning it. After all, his father always said that the weak should learn the ways of the strong. But his mother seemed to think otherwise, and since Father was off campaigning right now, he had no choice but to obey.
“When will I be able to fight alongside Father?” he asked as the language lesson came to a close.
“When you’re old enough to command your own ship,” she said, switching off the holographic display embedded in the surface of the table. “But remember: War isn’t the only honorable way to win a name for yourself. If you can rule your people with justice and benevolence, it will work much more to your credit in the long run.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Abaqa, rolling his eyes. “Father says that when I can pilot a gunboat, I should join one of my brother’s fleets. I just beat the last training mission in the simulator—I think I’m ready.”
Sholpan’s cheeks paled. “Is that so?”
“Yeah. But don’t worry, Mom—I can take care of myself. After all, Father was younger than me when he flew his first gunboat.”
“Indeed,” she said, her voice subdued.
“Jahan already told me that he wants to sign me on with his war fleet. He’s spent the last few days mobilizing for the new campaign, and—”
“I love you, son. You mean everything to me.”
“I understand, Mother.”
“No, you don’t, Abie. You really don’t.”
Even though his cheeks grew warm at her comment, something told him it would be better not to argue. He let her go and left the room without saying another word.
* * * * *
Abaqa stepped through the airlock into the luxuriously furnished shuttle. The authentic wood panels on the floor and walls smelled fresh and earthy, a tribute from the planetborn his father had conquered. He ran his fingers along the polished surface and absent-mindedly traced the light-brown grain.
The door at the end of the corridor hissed open, and his half-brother Prince Jahan stepped out. A barrel-chested young man with a round face and swarthy complexion, he grinned the moment their eyes met and spread out his arms to give Abaqa a warm embrace.
“Abie, Brother! How are you? It’s been too long!”
“And too long from you, Jahan,” said Abaqa, patting his brother on the back. “How goes the battle?”
“Very well, very well. You’ve heard about the new campaign, haven’t you?”
Abaqa stepped back and nodded. “Yes, yes, of course. Will you let me join you?”
Jahan laughed. “You’re young—but that’s only a temporary handicap. Come, let’s talk about it.”
He palmed open the door to the cabin and led Abaqa inside. Wide windows covered the far wall from floor to ceiling, offering a magnificent view of the rapidly waning crescent of Gaia Nova. Except for a few minor settlements around the poles, the night side of the planet was almost pitch black—a far cry from the thriving dome cities his mother had told him about from the days before the Pax Hameji. The soft yellow glowlamps provided more than enough illumination to the room, however, and almost a dozen couches and reclining chairs offered them plenty of places to sit. An arabesque mosaic table from Auriga Nova graced the center of the room, sitting on an intricately patterned rug, probably from the Tajjur system. Above the door, a pair of crossed swords in golden scabbards hung over a chunk of unrefined diamond from Tenguri, the holiest star in all of Hameji space. Abaqa’s eyes widened in surprise at all the furnishings—even the Generals didn’t decorate their shuttles so elaborately.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” said Abaqa, turning around slowly as he admired the cabin. “If you decorate your shuttles this well, I can’t imagine what your flagship must be like.”
Jahan threw back his head and laughed. “The spoils of war, my brother. Everything you see here I either won myself or traded for with goods I’d won in battle. Once Tagatai’s new campaign gets under way, it won’t be long before the last remnants of the planetborn have been subdued. I don’t know how we’ll win honor and glory after that, but until then, a young warrior can get very rich, indeed.”
Abaqa nodded and shifted nervously from foot to foot. “I hope we don’t subdue them too quickly,” he muttered. “Not before I’ve had a chance to make a name for myself.”
Jahan chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry, Brother. There’s still plenty of time before that cycle comes. Here, let me show you something.”
He tapped a key on his wrist console and a door opened on the far side of the cabin. Abaqa turned and froze where he stood. A gorgeous obsidian-haired slave girl stood in the doorway, dressed in a transparent two-piece dress. Hot blood surged between his legs—the girl was like something out of a wet dream. Her breasts were round and full, her shapely hips accentuated by a girdle that seemed almost ready to fall off. She wore a jewel-studded titanium collar with thin golden chains that ran down to the shackles on her wrists.
“Well,” said Jahan, taking the slave girl by her chains and bringing her over to his couch. “What do you think?”
“Sh-she’s beautiful. Where did you get her?”
“From the last campaign in the Oriana Cluster,” said Jahan. He pulled back on her arms, making her arch her back and thrust out her chest. “Want some time alone with her? Go ahead—I don’t mind.”
Abaqa hesitated, his cheeks turning red. My mother used to be a slave girl like this, he thought to himself. The realization was like a splash of cold water to his face.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe later.”
Jahan shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He released the girl, and she nearly fell forward. Only then did Abaqa notice that her ribs were starting to show through her stomach, and her chest and shoulders were severely bruised. From the dull look in her eyes, this treatment must have been going on for some time. He wondered if it was Jahan who treated her this way, or his eunuchs. He didn’t bother to ask, though—she was only planetborn.
“When you’ve got a starship of your own,” said Jahan, “you’ll be able to keep as many slaves like this as you want.” He motioned to the floor by his feet, and she laid down on her side without so much as a word.
“Does she speak?”
“Don’t know—I’ve never tried talking with her.”
Abaqa nodded and thought of his mother again. As a slave, she had learned her father’s language and convinced him that she would make a worthy wife. Her remarkable rise from concubine to queen was famous throughout the fleets. But this slave girl was so dull and unresponsive, it was clear that she wouldn’t go nearly as far.
That’s because she’s planetborn, he told himself. Not like my mother.
“Our father is leaving for Tajjur to take care of some business there,” said Jahan as he reached into a wall compartment and pulled out a hookah. “He’s left Gazan in charge of his fleet, and Gazan wants to move out as soon as possible.”
“Gazan,” Abaqa muttered, shaking his head. Jahan set the hookah on the table and lit the coals at the base with a utility device on his belt. He took a puff from the end of one of the hoses, and thin wisps of sweet-smelling smoke began to rise from the device.
“That’s why I wanted to talk with you before officially signing you on with my fleet,” Jahan continued. “You’ll only answer to me, of course, but I must answer to Gazan. If I don’t follow his orders directly, it could spark a feud.”
Abaqa nodded, stealing another glance at the beautiful slave girl. She stared demurely at the floor, as if afraid to meet his gaze.
“Well, what’s the worst that can happen? I’m sure Gazan doesn’t see me as a rival.”
“No,” said Jahan, “but there aren’t any kind feelings between him and your mother, I can tell you that. When he finds out that you’re under his command, he might order me to send you on a solitary recon mission, deep into enemy space. It could be dangerous.”
Abaqa scowled and unhooked the second hose from the hookah. “Is that what you’re worried about? That I won’t be able to take care of myself?”
“Space battles aren’t as exciting as you think,” said Jahan, frowning as he puffed the strawberry-scented tobacco. “In fact, they can be downright harrowing. You won’t win any glory by dying on your first mission.”
“I can take care of myself just fine.”
“I’m sure you can, but I’m not going to let you join my fleet without doing my best to look out for you. I owe your mother as much.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Abaqa, rolling his eyes. “I’ve passed all the training missions on the sims, and I’m more than old enough to see my first battle. Are you going to let me fly with you or not?”
“I never said anything about turning you down. If you still want to be a part of my fleet, I’ll be happy to have you fly under my command.”
“Excellent! When do we leave?”
Jahan took another puff of the hookah, as if thoroughly detached from the outside universe. “Not long. If all goes well, we’ll take the starlane to the front and report to Gazan in less than five sleep cycles. I’m sure he’ll have an a
ssignment for us—Tagatai’s flagship is already on the move.”
“Great,” said Abaqa. “I’ll go get ready, then.”
“So soon? Don’t you want to enjoy some entertainment first?”
Jahan grinned meaningfully and began to fondle the slave girl’s breasts. She gasped a little as he pulled off the top half of her dress, but made no move to resist.
“Thanks,” he said, “but not right now.”
“Suit yourself.”
As he walked out the door, the sound of the girl’s moaning made his heart skip a beat. Part of him wanted to turn around and go back, but he knew it would break his mother’s heart.
* * * * *
“I can’t let you go, Abie. This is a very bad idea.”
Abaqa threw up his hands and clucked his tongue in protest. “What do you mean, you can’t let me go? Jahan’s leaving soon, and I told him I’d go with him! Do you want to make me into a liar?”
His mother turned away from him and leaned against the wall, burying her head in her hands. The ever-present hum of the station’s ventilation system broke the heavy silence. Abaqa stood with his hands placed defiantly on his hips, but inwardly he wished he could give his mother a hug.
“I’m of age now, you know,” he heard himself say. “I don’t need your permission to go into battle. It’s my right.”
“Think very carefully about what you’re doing, Abie,” said his mother, her voice low and hoarse. “If you leave now, you’ll be at Gazan’s mercy. He may be your half-brother, but he’s still a dangerous man and would rather see you die in battle than raise a fleet of your own to rival his.”
“I know, Mother. Jahan said he’d do his best to protect me.”
His mother turned to face him, her reddened eyes now cold. “Jahan isn’t going to protect you, Abie—no one is. He would just as well see you out of the picture as Gazan.”
