The Star Captains' Daughter

by Kimber An

  Her newfound ability to stay focused on certain thoughts was wonderful most of the time. Just then, she wanted to remember her boyfriend’s face, but her focus kept returning to her father telling her not to become involved with a Menelaen boy. I’m not going to be here long anyway. Nevertheless, her focus went right back to him speaking the words, ‘absolutely must not become involved.’ And then her focus flitted from there to the story about the human females burning the Menelaen rapists to death, and back again. She swallowed a sickness in her throat and decided to play basketball while the crew was busy with docking procedures and disembarking and all that.

  An hour later, Junior sat beside her father while he piloted the shuttlecraft down to the planet‘s surface. She looked back at the dozen Menelaen aides, including Naana. Their happiness to be home shone clearly on their faces. She turned back to the controls.

  “What does that one do?” She pointed to a blue button.

  “Rear stabilizer.”

  “And that?” She pointed to a red one.

  “Brat Ejector. Go ahead – push it!”

  Junior frowned. “Dad!”

  “Here. You fly.” Delano slid out of his seat and pulled her into it.

  “Really?” Junior grabbed the controls and pulled back on the stick. “Woo-hoo!”

  The Menelaens gasped sharply as the shuttle reared up like a horse, then spun once in the turbulence.

  Delano laughed, seizing the stick and leveling out. “Amelia Earhart, you are not.”

  “Darn-tootin! I‘m Captain Jessica Rhyne - fighter pilot!”

  “Not on my watch.”

  “You were a fighter pilot.”

  “And that’s exactly why you’re not going to be.”

  Minutes later, the shuttle came to rest on the yellow and gray landing platform. Junior peered out the window to see the delegation from the Imperial Council waiting to meet them. Geez, I didn’t know Dad was that important.

  Male, female, dark, fair, stout, lean, and so on, they were as varied as any group of humans. Two couples had even brought their children along.

  “Wow, they really dress their kids up fancy here.” Junior realized too late the remark might sound ethno-centric.

  Naana never seemed to take offense at anything. “Many aristocrats have lost their seats in the Imperial Council because they have passed the age of procreation without producing a single heir. As a result, those who do have children flaunt them.”

  “That’s not very nice!” Junior couldn’t stop her grimace.

  “As you say then so shall it be.” Naana nodded at Beling.

  Beling seemed to be recording what she said.

  “Oh, no. You’re not going to tell Dad I was being judgmental, are you?”

  “No, My Lady.” Naana was truly astonished. “You walk in goodness and light.”

  Junior looked out the window again and tried to understand the exchange with her honorary big sisters. She sighed. Times like this she missed her life on the Maverick so much. But, then her father gestured to her. It was time to follow him down the gangplank. She stood up, still studying the Menelaen delegation through the window.

  The aristocratic colors were gray, white, and silver, but also there were stripes of cobalt blue. Naana had said blue indicated their status as members of the Imperial Council. The males seemed to wear a variation of cloaks or capes, none of which extended beneath their thighs. Likewise, the females wore thigh-length capes or wraps of some kind, but their gowns were more elaborate than the males’ embroidered tunics and snug-fitting pants. The ladies’ bodices were so tight they hardly looked mammalian, despite the plunging necklines. That’s gotta hurt. While the males wore their shoulder-length hair loose or in simple ponytails, the females wore theirs in lots of elaborate loops of curls and tiny braids fitted with beads. A variety of headdresses complicated their style further, headbands, small tiaras, enormous comb-like devices. Jewelry added to the excess. It’s the Italian Renaissance on zeta-steroids!

  She followed her father down the gangplank, feeling rather plain in her long, white gown. She’d tried six other dresses, but only this one made it past Dad. High-necked and simple, she was sure it made her already small chest appear quite flat. The sleeves flowed almost to her feet, revealing only her fingers through slits.

  Naana had said bare arms were considered rather erotic on Menelae. She wore her burgundy dress, as always. It was the nanny uniform of her society.

  Beling, Palin, Talya, and Lali followed in their long, split-skirt dresses, dove gray and with short capes. Their hair was smoothed back into simple knots at the napes of their necks. They were security officers filling in for ladies-in-waiting and Naana seemed in no hurry to find real servants.

  With her red hair flowing freely, Junior was sure her final image was that of a ten year old child draped in a bed sheet to play a ghost on Halloween, and with a whole troop of nannies following her too. She gave a martyr’s sigh, but resolved to behave herself. She waited while her father greeted the Premier.

  “Your Grace.” Delano bowed slightly at the neck, as did the Premier. They were social equals. Govina said aristocrats attained their positions through inheritance or military accomplishment.

  “Welcome, Captain Delano. This must be your daughter? We have heard so much about her.” The weasel-like Premier’s smug expression reminded her that the hereditary aristocrats believed themselves superior to the military aristocrats. How they could believe the accident of birth made them better than people who earned their rank through hard work and determination, she couldn’t imagine.

  Nevertheless, Junior smiled at being noticed.

  Delano. “Yes, this is my little girl, Lady Rowan.”

  Little girl. Junior stopped her eyes before they could roll again.

  “Your beauty is stunning, My Lady.” The Premier bowed to her. “I understand you have come of age. This is Lord Kaliban, son of the deceased Imperial Prince Consort and step-son of Empress Araina.” He opened his hand towards the young man at his side. “Her Imperial Majesty has appointed me his sponsor for the Courtship Rites.”

  Kaliban was about her height. He hadn’t a hair on his head and looked good that way, even though he couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. Junior guessed Menelaen males didn’t equate baldness with age, like human males did. His eyes were a beguiling gray. He was handsome, that was for certain. Full lips. His gaze fixed on her, running the length of her hair and back to her eyes, and he smiled.

  Her father stepped in front of her then and she couldn’t see Kaliban at all.

  Dad’s hand settled on the hilt of his sword and he spoke in a low, firm tone. “Lady Rowan is human. She will not come of age until her 18th birthday. In any case, you know as well as I do humans and Menelaens are not physiologically compatible.”

  “Actually, it is not a proven fact. The case studies of incompatibility involved rape, not consensual romance. No female would deliberately harm her beloved spouse.”

  “Nevertheless, I will not risk my daughter’s sanity. I will not accept applications for the Courtship Rites on her behalf.”

  Courtship Rites? Junior’s eyelids peeled back. Mom would launch right through the hull!

  “As the daughter of a military commander, she will need to marry well to secure your family’s position into the future. You must realize the Empress would never permit a viceroy’s daughter to marry a human male. It would corrupt our form of government.”

  “My family’s position is not your concern, Premier.”

  The Premier bowed at the neck. “I apologize, Captain. May I introduce my wife, Lady Nimue?” He gestured to the woman at his side.

  Lady Nimue took over the conversation at that point, just as human wives were oft to do when their husbands spoke inappropriately at social events.

  Commander Bo and Lieutenant Jae tightened their positions, flanking her father and blocking access to her and the commando nannies by Kaliban and the Premier.

  Junior’s attenti
on shifted to a girl about her age who stared at her. She took the staring as a cultural mannerism inviting friendship.

  The Menelaen girl’s skin and hair were so pale the three beige spots above her nose seemed painted on. Naana had told her Menelaens never tattooed themselves. The spots were genetic, like human freckles.

  “Hi, I’m Junior.” She smiled, the universal expression of friendliness.

  The girl’s eyes widened, but she didn’t reply. She leaned into her mother and said, “Her hair really is red. I want to touch it.“

  “Maintain your composure, My Daughter.” The statuesque mother admonished, attention still on the posturing males.

  Menelaens always referred to each other by title, Junior had learned. She’d been instructed not to publicly yell, ‘Hey, Dad!’

  The girl gaped. “I want a dress like that. I want to wear my hair loose like the Holy Bennu.”

  Junior assumed the girl missed the translation. “You can call me ‘Rowan’ if you want. That’s what they call me on my Dad’s ship. What’s your name?”

  The girl looked her up and down. She tugged at her mother’s sleeve.

  The mother remained statuesque.

  “My Mother, Lady Rowan is not wearing a corset, yet her breasts are so small.”

  Naana shifted the nanny blockade to compensate.

  The girl reached a hand towards her.

  Junior backed away, trepidation snaking through her stomach. She knew her breasts were small, but having that fact publicly pointed out made her want to get sucked down a Black Hole.

  The girl took a step towards her, reaching.

  Innocuous cultural mannerism or not, Junior wanted to bat her hand away.

  Naana blocked access. “Your behavior threatens sacrilege,” she said to the girl.

  Blushing scarlet, the girl backed away and bobbed a quick bow. “Please, intercede on my behalf, Oh Guardian.”

  Guardian…nanny…another mistranslation?

  The group of them followed Captain Delano in close order formation.

  Junior let the creepy feeling evaporate. She crossed the narrow landing feeling safe again. A far pyramid-shaped building caught her eye. “What building is that?” She pointed, long sleeve falling back from her wrist.

  “The Imperial Archives.” Naana noticed her bare arm. “My Lady, you are not wearing your wrist-com.”

  “I forgot. Sorry.” Junior lowered her hand.

  “Your wrist-com carries your translator.”

  “Oh, I don’t need that anymore. I grew up in deep space, you know, making first contact with new alien species practically every week. All the kids on the Maverick are good with languages.”

  “Have you ever become fluent this quickly before?”

  “Um, no,” said Junior with a shrug of one shoulder. “‘First time for everything.’ That’s what Isaiah always says.”

  Naana said nothing more.

  The nanny brigade escorted Junior to her father’s apartment atop a gleaming white skyscraper in the midst of Kursk, ignoring the whispers and stares of those they passed. She reminded herself she was the first human female any of them had ever seen. Still, it didn’t make her feel any better to overhear them commenting on her red hair, towering height, and small chest.

  “White and gray everything again.” She sighed when she followed Naana into her new rooms. White sofa. Gray table. It all made her want to toss in a bucket of purple paint. At least, the windows were enormous. She rushed to one and looked down. “Wow!” Hover-vehicles sped everywhere in carefully regulated traffic patterns between a myriad of gleaming white skyscrapers.

  Naana stood near the open door. “Lady Rowan, may I bring your meal?”

  “Yes, please. Thank you.” A sleek marble ziggurat with two rounded peaks at the top loomed gleaming white in the sunshine. “Naana, what is that building?” Junior pointed.

  “The Monument to the Sacred Moon.“ Naana brought a tray to the small table near the domed window. She pressed a button of light. The window drew up and away, making the dining area into a balcony. “At night, when the Moon is full the monument flashes silver. When the Moon sets between the breasts of the…”

  “Breasts?”

  “Yes, of course. The Moon represents the female of our race.”

  “Oh.”

  “When the Moon sets between the breasts of the Monument, the

  Faithful believe she is assuming her throne on Menelae.”

  “Does everyone worship the Moon here?”

  “Uh, no. Worship of the Sun and the Moon is the state religion. We are free to worship as we please, so long as we pay tax to our local temple. My family reveres our ancestors, for example.”

  Junior shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not religious at all. Grandma in Montana is Catholic. Mom and I never go to church, except when we visit her.”

  “You take notice of others and are concerned for them. Is not compassion the basis for all benevolent religions?”

  Junior thought for a second. “I guess so, but Mom always says, ‘Own your destiny.’”

  “Wise words.”

  “But, religion tells you what to do.”

  “Not all religions. The destiny of the Holy Bennu lies in her own hands. The purity of her heart will guide her as she finds it.”

  “Uh, okay.” Junior reminded herself that, even after thousands of years, it still was not a good idea to discuss politics and religion in polite company.

  Hours later, the sun set in the East and Delano was finally released from his meeting. He departed the admiralty chamber through a wide gray hall, accompanied by his adoptive father.

  “Your Heir Designate is impressive, My Son,” said Admiral Park. Despite his silver hair sleeked back into a band at the nape of his neck, he was strong and sturdy on his feet, head held high with dignity, face lined with wisdom.

  “Thank you, My Father. Rowan is very young and has much to learn. However, I am pleased with her progress.”

  “Is it true she out-lasted Lieutenant Beling in training combat?”

  Delano nodded, face warm with pride. “Yes. Beling knocked her down fifteen times, but Rowan leapt right back up every time. My daughter is fast. She’s never been pinned.”

  “Never? Extraordinary!”

  Riding the tide of paternal pride, Delano couldn’t help but add, “She already flies in the Stinger flight simulator. Made six kills last time.” He chuckled. “Won’t be long and she’ll take out her old man.”

  “Lady Olivia has brought her up well, even though she was alone in the parenting task,” said Lord Park.

  “My wife is an unusually strong woman,” Delano said with a nod. “Did I tell you I’ve already begun training Rowan with my Gallowglass sword? With blade guards, of course. She has remarkable control. She…”

  Naana ran towards them. “Captain Delano!” She pointed urgently out the window.

  Delano rushed to see. And there was Junior climbing the moon ziggurat. On the outside of it. Like it was El Capitan. With no ropes or safety equipment of any kind. “Oh, God!” He sprinted out, followed by the nanny.

  The sun shone golden red, setting on the right side of the Monument of the Sacred Moon. The silver moon rose to the apex as Junior neared the top. er white jumpsuit blended her in with the monument, except for her long, red curls.

  Junior was having a glorious time. The setting sun warmed her whole body and a gentle breeze caressed her cheek. She reached the window and pulled herself up into it. There were no glass panes or energy shielding. She sat there, swinging her legs, enjoying the awesome view.

  The Imperial Palace glistened on the hill above the capital city. The government buildings loomed above the little people. Beyond the city, white-capped mountains seemed to go on forever until they vanished on the horizon.

  She noticed another monument positioned across the city. It resembled an enormous spike shooting into the heavens. The setting sun came to rest on the tip. “Moon monument…moon throne…” She studied the golden r
ed spike monument. “Oh, that must be the Monument of the Sun. And if the Moon monument has breasts then the Sun monument…” She blushed deep red, cupping a hand over mouth in sudden realization. “It’s a…penis!” She cupped both hands over her mouth, trying to keep the giggles in. Snorts escaped when the threatened giggles morphed into laughter almost right away. Her head fell back and she surrendered to hilarity, hugging her sides with both arms.

  It did no good whatsoever to remind herself that human males had also been erecting monuments to themselves for thousands of years, or that her mother had once said some men really did deserve monuments. She almost gagged when the thought occurred to her that maybe Mom was thinking of Dad when she said that. “No! No! I was an immaculate conception!”

  Shoppers and other pedestrians stared up at the monument. None of them noticed Delano sprinting across the open marketplace, right over parked hover-vehicles and through merchants’ stands. Crates of fruit and handmade baskets went flying. Two speeding vehicles smashed into each other with a shrieking crash. The safety straps grabbed the drivers who remained transfixed by the human female climbing the ziggurat.

  Adrenaline throbbed in Delano’s veins. He sprinted up the stairs which had been built thousands of years before lifts were invented. His thoughts battled each other - one sick with the image of Junior falling and the other dying with the image of Olivia’s face when she learned he’d failed to protect their baby.

  Delano charged right through the door at the top, saw Junior sitting in the window dangling her legs, and grabbed her with such force that they both fell to the floor. He held her tight, gasping for air. “Oh, God, oh, God.”

  “Gee, Dad, I didn’t know you were religious. What’s wrong?”

  Rage flooded Delano’s body. “What’s wrong?” He jumped up and jerked her up too, gripping her shoulders, nose to nose. “You climbed up the outside of a ziggurat!”

  “Yeah, and it was so crackling! Did you know the Monument to the Sun is a penis?”

  “Rowan!” Delano gave her a shake. “You might’ve been killed!”