Dhakhar

by Annabelle Rex

  Then it’s time to explore the shower. I step out of my panties - the only thing I had to sleep in - and into the very tiny booth. Unlike a human shower, it appears to have nozzles going up every wall, even on the door I close behind me. There is one overhead, but it’s only small - all of the nozzles are the same size, about an inch across. There’s nowhere to stand to escape them, so I push the button in front of me that’s the only other thing in the cubicle and brace for a freezing shock of water from every direction.

  Instead, a strange mist blows from the nozzles, coating me from head to toe. For a moment, I feel slimy everywhere, but then it dries and my skin feels normal again, and I’m waiting and waiting for something else to happen, getting colder by the second, and… that’s it?

  I press the button again in case I didn’t do it hard enough or something, but the same thing happens. The slimy mist coats me, then dries and vanishes, and I guess that means I’m clean now? I give my underarms a sniff and I’m fresh, with a slight note of citrus that seems to be all the evidence the slime mist has left behind.

  I head back into my room and put yesterday’s dress on, minus all the under-layers. I put it on so late last night, it doesn’t feel too bad to get back in to. I consider whether to put the corset-like thing on again, but decide against it. I find the adjuster thing and fiddle with it until the dress cinches in, cupping my breasts tight enough that I don’t feel too insecure without a bra. Not like I’m going to be running anywhere, anyway. Plus, hopefully the Captain will take me shopping soon.

  Then I’m ready to go out and face the day. I bury the guilt I felt last night and imagine myself as some sort of evil queen - because lets face it, most of the actual princesses suck. The villains, though, they have their shit together. They don’t blink about using their power. No one would force any of them into an ice box. No one would look at them like a toy they want to play with a little before they have to give it back.

  I head out into the ship.

  Unlike Xentra Station, with its wide corridors, this ship is a little cramped. There aren’t many rooms, either, so the fact that I don’t know where the kitchens are doesn’t matter too much. I just try every door I come across and get lucky on the third one.

  Dhakhar’s already inside, doing something at the counter.

  “Good morning, Captain,” I say, and I’m pleased that my voice doesn’t crack. I sound aloof, a little frosty. Royal.

  Well, maybe if I had the right accent.

  He gives a stiff little nod. “I hope you slept well, ma’am.”

  His hands have gone behind his back, his spine straightening, back in the military posture. His face is bland, expressionless. Good, I tell myself, it’s good. Just a space police officer. You don’t have to feel bad about it.

  “I slept quite well,” I say.

  I take a seat at the table and try to look like I expect him to serve me. He’s going to have to serve me anyway, as I don’t have a clue what any of the appliances do, or even what’s appropriate to eat in the mornings, so it’s not much of a stretch.

  “I would ask you what you’d like for breakfast, ma’am, but I don’t think there would be much point. Shall I just prepare something for you to try?”

  “That sounds agreeable,” I say.

  He doesn’t speak as he preps my food. I practise sitting straight and looking dignified as I watch him. He’s still in his military uniform, which looks all kinds of uncomfortable, with the stiff outer jacket, but I’m not going to tell him to dress down. He’s got broad shoulders, and though the true shape of his figure is hidden by the jacket, I just bet those shoulders taper to a narrower waist and perky butt. He has military short hair on his head - it looks black most of the time, but sometimes when the light plays over it, it shines a rich, dark blue. To go with the skin, I suppose, which is a pale blue, almost greyish. His face could almost be described as ‘craggy’ but doesn’t quite cross that invisible line, keeping it in the realms of ‘handsome’. Not like outright, obvious handsome. He’s too… unfamiliar, not Human for that. But the more I look at him and the more I get used to his slightly not Human face, the more I decide that handsome is the best word for him.

  Not that I’m interested in him like that. Quite apart from the whole ‘space police officer’ issue, I have Jason and the Captain is an alien. I mean, would it even be physically possible? He looks Human shaped but who knows what he’s got going on in the trouser department.

  Besides, he reminds me kind of guys my sister and I used to admire from afar when we were younger, knowing they’d never look twice at girls like us. Which is good - makes it harder to forget exactly what position I’d be in if he figures out I’m lying to him. I am nobody and nothing and if the Captain gets even a hint of that truth, then he’ll have no reason to continue to serve me. I’ll be straight back in that ice coffin.

  Or maybe worse.

  My mind flashes back to Nat’s wedding. A hand pushing up my skirt.

  The Captain sets a plate down in front of me, along with a glass of something, interrupting my train of thought. I square my shoulders, force my mind back into the present moment. Push those bad memories back down where they belong.

  I decide not to thank him for the food, because he’s only giving me what I’m due, right? The royals don’t thank servants. They don’t even see them. Okay, my entire knowledge of royalty comes from watching documentaries about Princess Diana, but it will have to do.

  The food on the plate looks more like something I’d eat for dinner than breakfast, but I try to think of it as a Full English as I skewer a piece of God knows what on the fork-like utensil and take a bite. Like dinner the night before, the food is savoury and a bit on the bland side. Not horrible just indistinct. I think it’s meat and some sort of carb, but the meat-like stuff has a really funny texture and I’m way too scared to ask what it is. Sometimes you’re better off not knowing things.

  The drink is sour, tart almost to the point of unpleasant, just like every other drink I’ve been given.

  “No good, ma’am?” Dhakhar asks, so I must have pulled a face.

  “It could do with a bit more sugar,” I say.

  Dhakhar frowns. “Shuu-garr?” he says, stretching out the word, and I realise he’s speaking the English, I’m hearing his actual words, not the translation. “Is this a Human thing?”

  “It’s something you put on food to make it sweet,” I say.

  His frown deepens. “Why would you want to make your food sweet?”

  I’m about to launch into a probably rambling explanation when I recognise the danger I’m in and reel myself back. I’m a princess, I remind myself, I don’t need to explain myself to the likes of him.

  “It’s a Human thing,” I say primly, and leave it at that.

  The Captain doesn’t speak again until I’ve cleaned my plate and drained the sour drink.

  “I’ve rerouted the ship and set us a new course for the nearest inhabited planet, as per your order, ma’am,” he says, as he takes my plates and loads them in to what must be the space equivalent of a dishwasher. “It’s a desert planet, quite a harsh environment, but I know the Sheriff out there. I’ve informed him of our imminent arrival and asked him to arrange transport and for a selection of suitable clothes to be made available. They won’t have the adjuster, that’s a Vetruen thing, so you’ll need to try them on. Otherwise, I’d have had the clothes brought straight to the ship so we could be on our way immediately.”

  “Okay, Captain, sounds like you have things sorted,” I say. “I shall return to my rooms in the meantime.”

  I’m going to be bored out of my brain sitting in that room if the journey takes more than a couple of hours, but given that my only source of entertainment is the Captain, it’s probably best that I’m bored.

  “Of course, ma’am,” he says, “I’ll send for you when it’s time to land.”

  I try to leave the room with grace and dignity, which is a little tricky when your skirts don’t fit through t
he door. Even without the petticoats, they’re enormous. I will be so glad to be wearing something other than this ridiculous dress.

  Back in my room, I poke around, opening all the drawers and cupboards. They’re empty, of course, though one that I think is a cupboard turns out to be some sort of touch screen that just sets itself to look like a cupboard when it’s on standby. There are options of things to press, but while I can understand the spoken alien languages, I can’t read them, and much as I’m intrigued by the thought of watching some alien telly, I’m also concerned if I press the wrong thing, I might accidentally order something very expensive, or send out a distress signal or something. So I just leave well alone and resolve to ask the Captain to show me how to use it later.

  Though that will mean inviting him into my room, so… maybe not.

  I transfer the enormous dress the three idiots packed me into one of the cupboards, shoving it in and closing the door to trap it. Whoever opens that is going to get quite the shock when they’re attacked by a compressed dress, but it’s out of my way at least. The bag it was packed in I put into one of the other cupboards, then I make my bed and that’s the room tidy and I’ve exhausted all I can think of doing and it’s probably not even been half an hour. My fingers twitch, anxious for my phone so I can check my social media, take a few selfies, post them, hashtag space chic, and watch the comments come in.

  Looking gorgeous Charlie!

  OMG that dress!

  A dress this good would get a lot of likes. Maybe even more than all the engagement photos and baby photos.

  I could be relevant again.

  I wonder what my friends would make of this little adventure. A shame I’ll probably get sworn to secrecy via some complicated legal document that gives them the right to shoot me with a death ray if I even think about telling the truth of where I’ve been for the time I’ve been missing.

  It doesn’t take long for me to get fed up enough to rethink not getting the Captain to operate the screen for me. I think back over all our interactions so far, looking for any hint of anything that could give me cause to be wary of him. But no, even when I yelled at him - and God, the more I think about that the more stupid I feel about it - he didn’t get annoyed or angry back. He’s been the height of professionalism, and a professional law enforcer wouldn’t do anything bad to a person in their care.

  I can tell him to find me some good space documentaries. It won’t be a problem.

  It’s that or go slowly insane.

  I’m walking up the stairs to the bridge when I hear voices. It takes me a moment to place who Dhakhar is talking to, because whenever I’ve heard the Commander speak he’s always been charming, if in a slightly greasy way. I don’t recognise the barking voice as his straight away.

  “Your instructions were to take her straight home, not do a little tour of a backwater miner colony.”

  “With respect, sir…” Dhakhar starts to respond, his voice calm, level.

  “Don’t attempt to explain your actions, boy. There is no reason why a person of the princess’ rank and position should be taken to a dump like Denestra. You will re-route at once, and when you return to Xentra, there will be discussions had about this insubordination. I’ll…”

  “Sir,” Dhakhar interrupts, still calm, “she doesn’t have any clothes.”

  “How dare you interrupt me.” Commander H’Varak’s voice is full of such seething hatred, I flinch. “Remember your place, hybrid. I could remove you from your post at any time. You owe your freedom, your home, your comforts, all of it to me. I will have your respect.”

  Dhakhar remains silent. I dare to creep a little closer, glimpsing him through the bridge doorway. He’s in his military straight posture again. From what I can see of his face, he looks as calm as he sounded, but his hands clenched behind his back are shaking. Mine are shaking, too.

  “She doesn’t have any clothes?” Commander H’Varak says after a moment.

  “No, sir,” Dhakhar replies.

  “What do you mean she doesn’t have any clothes? I ordered a bag packed for her.”

  “And it was packed with a single dress, nothing else. The princess ordered me to re-route to the nearest planet where we could buy some. That’s Denestra, sir.”

  The Commander grunts, like he’s disappointed he can’t continue to berate the Captain.

  “Very well,” he says. “But when you’ve gone through Nova Gate take her somewhere decent. I won’t have her showing up to the Protectorate diplomats dressed in rags. What will they think of me if she does?”

  “Of course, sir,” Dhakhar replies.

  I sneak back to my room, feeling a little like I did as a kid, sneaking back to bed after overhearing my parents arguing. Torn between being embarrassed that I even heard it and being sad because of the ugliness of it.

  Tesson H’Varak is ugly. He is ugly to the Captain and if it weren’t for my mistaken identity, I know he would have been ugly to me, too.

  I think of that little tremble in the Captain’s hands and feel a sense of solidarity. I can’t ask him for help now, can’t let him know that I’ve just overheard that little conversation. Bad enough that the Commander was awful to him - he doesn’t need to add the embarrassment of getting chewed out in front of other people.

  I was embarrassed when Jason did it to me, but I realise now I deserved it. I hadn’t listened to his instructions, I’d been late and not delivered his parcel before my appointment like he asked.

  The Captain didn’t deserve any of that.

  I’ll head back to my room and stay there until he summons me. That way he’ll never know I heard. I can’t very well explain that I know exactly how humiliated and angry he feels. Princesses don’t get yelled at, and they definitely wouldn’t admit it to a commoner, a servant, if they did. So, instead of sympathy, I’ll give him ignorance. I figure it’s the least I can do.

  Chapter 9

  Dhakhar

  The sight of Denestra growing rapidly larger in front of me is balm to my frayed edges, the yellow desert planet a beautiful interruption to the darkness of space.

  Vecking H’Varak. He knew I wouldn’t have rerouted the ship without good cause. He just used it as an excuse to berate me, remind me of my place. And I’m thoroughly reminded, my hands still shaking with the rage at the injustice of it.

  Remember your place, hybrid.

  I remember it. For all the hope of better treatment that the Universal Protectorate promises, the actual Universe hasn’t caught up to the program yet.

  But on Denestra, no one cares about what Vetruens perceive to be right. It’s the only inhabited planet in a system of five - the remainder host only to robot-run mining colonies. The people of Denestra are mostly people who lost their homes, their livelihoods early in the war. They built themselves new ones on Denestra, helped later on by a few engineers and programmers who settled there with them when the war ended, bringing robots and automation and generally improving everyone’s lives. Much like the people of Xentra Low Town, they’re good people. Decent, hard working folk without time for Vetruen ideology.

  “My lady, we’re on final approach to Denestra now, if you could make your way to the bridge,” I say over the intercom as I begin the approach sequences. I’ve got the hang of the Starlight now and she glides seamlessly into position, responding like a dream to my touch.

  I punch in the transmission to let Denestra surface control know I’m here. They give me clearance to approach and it strikes me that this will be the first time I’ve stepped foot on solid ground for months. Artificial gravity might eliminate the physical impacts of living full time on a station, but psychologically, it still feels like being indoors all the time. Wind, sunshine, fresh air - these things don’t exist on a space station except in the med bay’s simulator booths. And a simulator booth isn’t a patch on the real thing.

  “Woah.”

  I turn at the soft exclamation. The princess is stood by the door, one hand wrapped around the frame, as if to
steady herself. Her wide eyes are fixed on the view of Denestra, the bright light of the planet reflected in them. She’s wearing the dress still, not opting to change it out for the crumpled one, though her shape is different, filling out the dress at the front in a way it didn’t yesterday. I try not to stare, but it’s difficult. Why is everything about this woman so lush and enticing? It’s a dreadful kind of torture.

  “Denestra?” she says, after a moment, her eyes still fixed on the planet outside.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say. “We’ll be landing in approximately fifteen minutes, if you could take your seat and strap in.”

  Soon, the planet is so close, it fills our entire view. Mountains, quarries and settlements start to appear out of the previously uniform surface as I guide us in, edging closer to the planet’s atmosphere. Even as I just brush against it, the Starlight starts to vibrate.

  “This is going to be bumpy, isn’t it?” the princess says.

  “I’m afraid so, ma’am,” I say, not turning - my focus on the procedures for landing. “But don’t worry, the ship can take it. You’re perfectly safe.”

  “With your flying?” she snaps, and I take a breath, don’t respond.

  We’re transitioning into the atmosphere now, the whole ship vibrating. Flames lick over the heat shields, and I hear her gasp, but to her credit she doesn’t panic or scream. Then, with a final judder, we’re through and the flight becomes smooth again.

  “That’s the worst of it over, ma’am,” I say.

  She peels her fingers away from her chair, her knuckles still white from gripping it.

  I fire up the levitation thrusters, slowing our descent as we come down at the port outside Denestra Two, the second settlement established on Denestra and the largest one. Like most out of the way places, the port is little more than a few roughly demarcated landing spaces and a road leading away from them towards the town. I set the Starlight down with the gentlest of touches, just to show there’s nothing whatsoever wrong with my flying, then turn to my passenger.