Dhakhar

by Annabelle Rex

  Next, there are petticoats and under layers, and then, finally, the dress goes on. It hangs awkwardly on my frame at first, my body shape different to the women it was designed for. But the assistant merely pulls down the hem at the neck, revealing a small panel on the underside. She swipes her finger across it then, like magic, the dress starts to shrink down until it sits snug against my curves.

  The assistant tweaks a few things, then guides me to the mirror. My chest feels like it’s been attacked by a boa constrictor, but the sight of myself in the mirror makes me forget that.

  I look regal.

  “That’s incredible,” I say. “Thank you.”

  The assistant raises her eyebrows just a little. Like the women outside, she’s sharp featured, her skin the grey blue colour of water running over rocks. She doesn’t say anything - hasn’t spoken a word the entire time I’ve been in the changing room with her - just heads for the curtain and draws it back, revealing me to the trio outside.

  They coo and fawn. And I preen. I can’t help it. I’ve never felt so incredibly beautiful in my life.

  “Now you’re ready,” Blue says, beaming at me.

  “Ready for what?” I ask.

  “Dinner,” Purple says. “With Commander H’Varak.”

  Chapter 5

  Dhakhar

  “A princess?” Loran says, eyes widening a little.

  “It’s how she identified herself when she woke up,” Mylan says.

  Much to H’Varak’s delight and our relief. H’Varak immediately threw us all out of the med bay, so I’ve got no idea what’s happening up there now, but I know what isn’t.

  “Lucky for her,” Loran says.

  “Damn lucky for her,” I say. “You should have seen how H’Varak was looking at her.”

  “Vecking disgusting,” Mylan says. “And UP protocols would have done all the hard work of covering up his actions.”

  “H’Varak is vecking disgusting,” Loran says. “In every way.”

  “But he can’t touch her now,” I say.

  No. UP mind wipe protocols only applied when the abductee wasn’t important. Dignitaries, royalty, politicians - anyone that the world would notice going missing had to be handled differently. In the year since the war ended, plenty of regular people had been returned to their home planets - either abducted during the war, or in the chaos shortly after it ended - but I’m not aware of any cases of princesses and the like being returned. I’m not sure exactly what the protocol is. Whatever happens though, the princess isn’t going to get a mind wipe. Which means H’Varak has to keep his hands to himself.

  “He’s still going to be looking for a way to spin this for profit or advancement,” Mylan says.

  “Which means we need to be prepared so we can best protect her and the others,” I say. “Starting with finding out if they’ve confirmed she is who she says she is. Because if she’s not…”

  We’re right back where we were, looking for ways to keep her out of H’Varak’s bed.

  “What did you say her species was?” Loran says, loading up the UP databases on his screens.

  I’ve only called him in so far, leaving the others to whatever they’re up to in their down time. Loran’s the Intel expert, he’s the one who’ll be able to find the information we need. When we’ve decided what to do with that information, I’ll bring the others in if we need them.

  “Human,” I tell him.

  Silence falls for a moment as Loran searches the databases.

  “I can’t find anything on Humans,” he says after a moment. “The UP must have restricted the records.”

  “Don’t want anybody knowing about them until they’re ready to deal with it,” Mylan says.

  And I can absolutely understand why.

  “H’Varak must have access,” I say.

  “He will,” Loran says, flicking through to a different program. “I’ll see if I can access what he’s got.”

  He types rapidly, brows furrowed in concentration.

  “There we go,” he says after a moment. “H’Varak’s personal messages. He’s got one of his cronies to do the research and they’ve sent it to him on a non-secure network. Geniuses.”

  “Non-secure doesn’t mean ‘readily accessible to everyone’,” Mylan says, voice dry.

  “Nope,” Loran says, unrepentant. “Just me.”

  He opens the message H’Varak has just received.

  “Charlotte,” Loran reads, sounding out the syllables of the word. “No idea if I’m pronouncing that right, but that’s our princess’ name. Looks like this is what information they could find about her.”

  I frown as I scan through the text. “Ten years old? That woman in the hospital bed is a long way from ten.”

  Loran just rolls his eyes. “All hail the Vetruen Empire. It might be dead, but its citizens are still far too vecking important to use Universal Standard Time for our convenience. Vetruen years are two and a bit times as long as Universal Standard years. That would make her twenty two, twenty three, or thereabouts.”

  “That would be about right,” Mylan says. “Providing that Humans follow galactic averages in terms of life expectancy and ageing.”

  It’s a leap of faith, but not a big one. For all the Universe is full of variety, there are plenty of things that don’t vary wildly between the majority of species. Breathing oxygen, for one.

  The remaining information is about family, succession, other unimportant details. Then the researcher apologises for losing the connection part way through, and that the only photo they’d been able to get before the connection went down was a childhood one. Loran clicks through to the photo.

  It’s small, poor quality, but the child has the same brown hair as the woman in the med bay, the same blue eyes.

  “What do you think?” Loran says, turning to Mylan who, as the only parent among the team, is the automatic expert on all things children.

  “I think we can’t say they’re definitely not the same person,” Mylan says.

  “Want me to do some digging myself?” Loran says. “I don’t have access officially but I could reroute the encryption from…”

  “Stop,” I say, holding up my hand. “One, I don’t want to know about how you crack UP security. Two, I don’t care if she’s a princess or not. I care that H’Varak thinks she is.”

  “Well,” Loran says. “Given that he’s already messaged the Protectorate leadership to let them know he has a Human princess in his care, I’m going to say he’s convinced.”

  “It’s easy to believe something when you really want to,” Mylan says.

  “And we’re going to believe it, too, no questions asked,” I say. “Don’t do anything that might put a bit of doubt in his mind.”

  That way the woman - Charlotte - is truly safe from H’Varak’s more sinister attentions.

  “Well,” Mylan says. “We don’t know that it isn’t true.”

  Exactly.

  “Did he say anything about the others?” I ask.

  Loran shakes his head. “Nothing. If I had even a shred of respect for the guy, I might assume he just forgot in his excitement to tell them about the princess.”

  Mylan and I exchange a look.

  “I’ve found her planet,” Loran says a moment later. “No wonder H’Varak’s researcher was having trouble keeping the connection. That is a vecking long way from everything.”

  “How has someone got there to abduct people, then?” Mylan says, leaning in to take a closer look at the star charts.

  “Gate repairs,” Loran says. “The UP commissioned a group to repair the warp gates that got damaged in the war. Lucky for you guys, they rejected my application.”

  Loran shoots us both a grin, but doesn’t quite manage to hide the annoyance he feels at the rejection. Loran has the smarts to do that kind of work, but not the military record. His questioning of bad orders, and the fact that he does things like hack into superior officers’ personal messages, has got him branded as ‘anarchic’, which
isn’t a personality type you want doing the delicate and dangerous work of gate repair.

  Their loss, my gain.

  “The gates damaged in the war all actually went somewhere, though,” I say. “Why bother damaging them otherwise?”

  Loran gives me a patient look. “Gates don’t just connect the places we use them for, you know? The Ancients who built them connected the entire span of the Universe, but in the millennia since then, things have started breaking down. There are dead routes all over the place. Sometimes it’s because the gate at the other end is damaged. Can’t warp through the fabric of the Universe if the way is shut on the other end. We’ll never get back through those until we find the other side of it the long way round and open the Terminal Gate again. But sometimes, it’s the equivalent of a loose connection, which can be fixed from the Hub Gate if you’re very clever and know what you’re doing. The UP group might have been looking to repair the known routes, but if they were tidying up the hardware a little, cleaning up the loose connections, recharging the stabilising fields, bolstering the integrity of the spatial tethers and making sure everything is where it’s supposed to be… well, figures they might accidentally reconnect a dead route.”

  “Is he even speaking a recognised language?” Mylan says to me.

  “I’m really not sure,” I reply, fighting to keep the grin from my face.

  “Heathens,” Loran says. “The Human planet is on the other end of a once dead connection to the Zeno Gate. Assume they’re sticking to the back routes to avoid patrols - Zeno is max a two week flight from Nova Gate.”

  “Which is only a few days from here,” I say.

  “Exactly. Which is how we have ourselves a princess from Nowhereland in our medical bay.”

  “Have the UP replied with instructions on what to do with her yet?” Mylan asks.

  “No, they… wait. Something new is coming through.” He leans forwards, scanning through the contents of a new message. “They’ve ordered him to take her directly to her home planet. The UP’s diplomatic team are going to meet them there. They’ve sent a route, too. Pretty much back the way she’s come. Nova then Zeno.”

  “Going through the core would be quicker,” Mylan says.

  “Cook her brain doing that,” Loran says, miming his head exploding. “Surely you haven’t forgotten what it was like the first time you went through a gate? Think you could have handled going through six or seven in quick succession? Two is going to be plenty for her to handle.”

  “Have they specified who gets to take her?” I ask.

  “‘High ranking Station personnel’” Loran says.

  “H’Varak himself?” Mylan says.

  I shake my head. “H’Varak won’t do that to himself. Cooped up for two to three weeks on a ship with a woman he can’t touch?”

  No, H’Varak definitely wouldn’t do that. And I have a sinking feeling that I know who he will order to do it in his stead.

  Funnily enough, less than an hour later, H’Varak comms me.

  “Meet me at my office in thirty minutes,” he snaps. “And wear your best uniform.”

  I head up to my quarters, get a quick shower. The recycled water of space stations always has a slightly funky taste, and restrictions mean the shower doesn’t last long, but I prefer it to the Vetruen cleansing unit that uses some sort of chemical mist to strip your body of dirt. Doesn’t matter that it’s proven to get you perfectly clean, I don’t feel clean unless I’ve had some water sluiced over me somewhere.

  I dry off, shove the towel in the laundry chute and head to my bedroom, pulling out my best uniform. It’s Protectorate designed, rather than Vetruen, so it’s not as fussy as it might have been, but it’s still a bit much. A ceremonial outfit that I’d wear to funerals if there were any noted funerals to attend on a backwater station like Xentra. If H’Varak was killed in a freak accident, it would perhaps be appropriate to roll it out. Except, if that happened, I’d be in Low Town having a beer in celebration.

  I touch the adjuster at my collar and the weave of the fabric tightens and loosens where it needs to, until the uniform is a perfect fit. I look at myself in the mirror, making sure the material falls right. The top is high enough in the collar to hide the scales across my chest, but the sleeves are too short, leaving the ones on my arms exposed. Which means I’ll have to wear the jacket at all times. Great.

  I pull it on, the heavy material hot and uncomfortable. And it’s stupid, so vecking stupid. Because you don’t need to be able to see the scales I inherited from my Dravosic father to know that my face doesn’t fit. I’ve got the features of my Garvenian mother, but my skin tone is all wrong. Too blue to be Garvenian, too pretty to be Dravosic.

  Being hybrid didn’t matter in the army. It doesn’t matter on the Firesong and it sure as shit doesn’t matter in Low Town. It shouldn’t matter anywhere.

  But it does.

  It’s not that I care what H’Varak and his Vetruen friends think, but life goes easier when I pander to their preferences. All part of that careful line I walk to keep the balance, to do the most good for the community here. If that means being uncomfortable in a heavy jacket, then I’ll do it.

  Suitably dressed, I head up to H’Varak’s office and knock on the door. When he doesn’t answer, I wait, holding myself military upright because it’s easier not to be pissed at H’Varak and his posturing when I let myself slip into that military mindset.

  Yes, sir, no, sir, whatever you say, sir.

  Take a month long round trip to drop off a Human woman at her out of the way planet, no problem.

  I’m annoyed, because what I want to do is spend that month going after the traffickers who brought her here in the first place. It’s not like high level personnel are needed for a transport run. But the only other people who would count as ‘high level’ are H’Varak’s Vetruen buddies, and honestly, I wouldn’t want to inflict them on the Human either. And Mylan is a more than competent second. He’ll lead the team well in my absence.

  I just don’t want to miss out on the action.

  A giggle echoes down the corridor and I turn to see the trio of women that were with H’Varak earlier, the Human princess with them. They’ve dressed her in last year’s fashions - one of the enormous dresses that they discarded as soon as the season changed. Not that the princess will understand the slight, but I narrow my eyes fractionally as the walk over, letting them know that I know what they’ve done. Identical hard smiles cross their faces for a moment, before they’re back to simpering and giggling again.

  I look to the Human princess, trying to gauge whether she’s been treated well by them. She’s all smiles and wide eyed interest as she walks down the corridor, a graceful sway to her steps, and it really isn’t hard to believe that she’s royalty. Which is good because, quite apart from keeping H’Varak’s hands off her, it would be more than my job’s worth to treat her improperly if she is a princess. So I tuck my hands behind my back and wait for them to approach, noticing as they do how much the princess outshines her companions, despite her out of date dress.

  I remember what H’Varak said about her species - harmless, nothing extra. I can tell straight away now she’s awake and moving that she’s not like the Prenetashi, not so intensely hypnotic. But she’s still enchanting. The adjuster on her dress must be working overtime to shift the weave of the material enough to hug her curves the way it is. The way the bodice cinches in at her waist, flaring out at her hip into the full skirts - it’s distractingly attractive. I don’t know what it is about curves and softness that’s so universally appealing, but whatever galactic averages Humans fall in line with, beauty is not one of them. They’re right in the top percentile there.

  “Are you the Commander I’m meant to be meeting?” the Human says.

  The Vetruen women burst into raucous laughter.

  “Oh, no, sweetie,” one of them says. “That’s just Dhakhar. Don’t mind him, he’s not important.”

  I say nothing, because whatever laws
the Protectorate brings in, I’m never going to be worth the time or respect of people like that.

  The Human princess - Charlotte - frowns.

  “Captain Dhakhar?” she says. “The one who woke me up?”

  She doesn’t sound annoyed about it, but I bow my head all the same. If I have to spend two weeks flying her across the Universe, I may as well start things off civil.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say.

  “You saved my life,” she says. “And nearly drowned me.”

  “I can only apologise for that,” I say.

  I look up, expecting anger, and I’m surprised to find the corners of her mouth upturned with just the hint of a smile. I’m even more surprised when she steps forwards, and holds out her hand to me.

  I sense, rather than see, the Vetruens freeze. I’m surprised enough myself that I just stare at her outstretched hand, unsure what to do about it. After a moment, she snatches it back.

  “Sorry,” she says. “Do you not shake hands? It’s something Humans do when they want to thank someone. Or greet them. Or lots of other reasons, really.”

  A hint of pink creeps into her cheeks. And veck, it’s utterly adorable.

  “Shaking hands?” I say, holding my own out towards her.

  There’s an audible intake of breath from one of the Vetruen women, but I ignore it. The princess is smiling now, her embarrassment fading, and I’m much more interested in her reaction than theirs.