by Tristan Vick
As she ate in the middle of the floor like a commoner or a very small child, the three women bowed and took their leave. Once they had exited the room, Jegra swallowed what was left in her mouth and leapt to her feet, rushed over to the door, and tried to open it, but it clicked angrily at her and refused her wishes.
“Locked,” she sighed, realizing the frightening truth of the matter. She was their prisoner, after all.
21
Automated natural lighting gradually grew brighter and mimicked the effect of the sun coming up at dawn. Jegra slowly opened her eyes at the radiance and took a moment to bask in its warmth. Spaceships were cold, space was dark, and she found that it was nice to have a warm luminescence to wake up to. That’s when her door chimed.
Jegra sat up in bed and stared at the door. She didn’t know what to do or say, so she just said, “Enter.”
Her bedroom doors swished open and Ellia stood in the entrance wearing a cute blue dress that complimented her blue hair and speckled neck. She stepped in and bowed reverently.
Jegra slowly slid out of bed and got up to greet the young woman; Ellia walked into the center of the room and, unpredictably, unfastened her dress, letting her garments fall to the floor. She stood before Jegra, completely naked.
“It was deemed by the oracle that there should be balance between us. I am yours to do with as you please.”
Not understanding exactly what all this was about, Jegra rushed over to the girl and bent down, picked up her things, and handed them to her. “That’s not necessary,” Jegra replied.
“But we witnessed you bathe yesterday. It is only fair that you should see one of us naked. That is the Nyctan way. An eye for an eye, a heart for a heart, an oath for an oath.”
As fascinating as this little cultural lesson was, Jegra wasn’t concerned with sexual matters right now. “It’s fine,” she reiterated. “Here, get dressed.”
The girl blushed and then did as she was asked.
“Is it true,” Ellia asked, “that you’ve slept with over two dozen species?”
“More or less,” Jegra answered. Throwing a hand up on her hip, she looked down at Ellia, who stood about five feet six inches. “Why? Is that important somehow?”
“No,” Ellia blushed. “Just a personal curiosity. In the Nyctan culture, prurience of that sort is strictly forbidden.”
“Sex is illegal?”
“No, mistress,” Ellia laughed. “Sex for procreation is perfectly allowed. But fornication for sport, for pleasure, is considered a sin.”
“You can’t fuck for fun?” Jegra gasped.
Ellia cringed. “We’re not supposed to curse either.”
Jegra stared at the girl for a moment. “What if you like someone and you want to express yourself physically. Do you just refrain?”
“No, mistress,” she replied. “There are erotic dances you can learn. In our culture, we dance for one another. It is the closest to, um, actual sexual gratification we can get.”
“Fascinating,” Jegra said. After another short pause, Jegra asked, “What about me? Do your laws apply to guests as well?”
“I suppose not. But I’m no expert in this area, you’ll need to consult with Laquiea.”
“Ah, yes,” Jegra responded, scratching her chin. “The one with the stick up her butt.”
Ellia laughed. “Why would Laquiea keep a tree in her butt?”
“It’s a figure of speech where I’m from,” Jegra replied. “It means you’re stiff, overly conservative, basically, no fun.”
“Laquiea isn’t all that bad once you get to know her,” Ellia replied.
“I guess I am not great at first impressions,” Jegra admitted. “I shouldn’t have judged her prematurely.”
“It’s perfectly understandable. And, you’re not entirely mistaken. There are many days where it seems Laquiea has, as you say, a tree in her ass.”
Jegra smothered a laugh. She enjoyed the way Ellia kept saying tree instead of stick. But, then, in Nyctan speech, there may not be any distinction between the two. Even universal translators, it would seem, had their limitations, especially when it came to culturally specific idioms.
“Anyway,” Jegra sighed. “What’s on the docket for today?”
“I’m here to fit you,” Ellia answered.
“Fit me? For what?”
“For numerous things. But today we’ll be giving you a set of military issue clothes and some special armor.”
“Armor?” Jegra repeated.
Ellia looked around the room and leaned in and whispered into Jegra’s ear. “Knight’s armor.”
“You’re shitting me?” Jegra gasped.
“I’m not supposed to tell you any of this, but the oracle, Sanakar Vesta, deemed it to be so.”
“I’m going to be a Knight?” Jegra asked.
“Not only that, but her grace, Anaïs Nin, has deemed it you be the new Sub Commander of the Knights of Caelum.”
“Commander?” Jegra laughed. “I’m no military leader.”
“Like I said,” Ellia replied, pulling out what looked like a digital pen from her pocket, “I’m not even supposed to be telling you all this. Now, please hold still.”
A beam of green light came out of the pen-sized device as she waved it over and around Jegra’s body. After a moment, she placed the pen in her pocket and looked at Jegra with a smile.
“That’s it?” asked Jegra, thinking there would be more to it than that.
“That’s it,” Ellia chirped. “Now, if you’ll come along with me, we’ll get you into your armor.”
“Um … okay,” Jegra replied as she followed Ellia to the entrance. “But is it all right for me to go out looking like this?”
“It’s just across the hall,” Ellia laughed.
The doors slid open and they stepped out into the corridor. Jegra glanced to her right, then left, embarrassed to find two Nyctan officers passing by. They nodded politely and kept on their course. They didn’t even so much as utter any gossip after having seen her.
Across the hall, Ellia pushed the door panel and the doors opened. Inside were Estan and Laquiea waiting for her.
“Good morning,” they said in unison, “mistress, Jegra.”
“Good morning,” Jegra replied cheerfully. Peeling off her clothes, she let them slip to the floor where they landed in a heap next to her feet. “Where’s the armor?”
Ellia cleared her throat and tilted her head toward the corner of the room, her eyebrow riding high on her brow as she gave Jegra a strict look.
Jegra turned to find Galahad, dressed in a standard officer’s uniform, staring right at her naked form.
“Apologies, Sir Galahad,” Ellia replied. “We did not know you were here.”
Although she wasn’t particularly bashful, Jegra was left feeling like quite the fool for having stripped before even checking the room and she quickly covered herself.
“Apologies, Galahad. If I would have known…”
Galahad turned his back, so as to allow her some privacy, and replied, “It was an honest mistake. No harm was done.”
“This way,” Estan said, nervously glancing back and forth between Jegra and Galahad. Men weren’t supposed to see women they weren’t married to in the nude. Especially since getting caught in the presence of another’s nakedness was considered lewd and punishable by up to ten lashes.
But with Jegra, the rules were a little less clearly defined and, she supposed, exceptions would have to be made. At least, that’s what everyone was thinking. Without the oracle or the administratrix to arbitrate, nobody had the authority to say. So, they all blushed and kept the incident to themselves. Of course, the only one wearing a grin in all of this was Galahad.
“Let me help you into the smart-suit,” Estan said. She helped Jegra squeeze into a smart-suit that resembled the color changing one Raven had given her aboard the Skywend. This suit, however, was a charcoal gray and had what felt like a more nylon quality to it.
Once she zipped
her suit all the way up to the Mandarin style collar, she turned to find Laquiea pulling out a mannequin with a slimmer and sleeker version of the Knight’s armor. It looked almost the same, except it was clearly designed for a woman.
“This is amazing,” Jegra said, as all three women helped her into the suit. Its black paneling opened up to allow her to more easily slip into it. Once inside, her maidservants all stepped back. Jegra’s panels all automatically clamped shut and sealed themselves. A hiss of air shot out of the heels of her black, metallic boots and the suit shrank in around her as though she was being vacuum wrapped.
After dressing her, Laquiea cleared her throat and summoned Galahad. “It’s quite alright now, Sir Galahad.”
He turned around and smiled at Jegra who flexed her arm and opened and closed her fist. “Is this tension normal?” she asked.
“The suit takes a minute to calibrate to your physiology. It also will estimate what percentage strength boost it can safely add, given your tensile strength.”
Without warning, the suit’s right arm locked up straight.
“Now try and bend it,” Galahad added.
Jegra struggled at first, but slowly she managed to bend her arm at the elbow. The suit’s gears and motors whined as they fought against her strength.
[Simulation complete] a mechanical voice came from the armor. [Suit power assist set at forty-seven percent].
“Oh, my stars!” Ellia gasped. “That’s even higher than yours, Galahad.”
“Ellia!” Laquiea chastised the girl for speaking out of turn to a Knight. “Mind your manners around the Knight.”
“Forgive me, Galahad,” Ellia said, bowing her head in shame. “I didn’t mean to imply weakness.”
Galahad laughed. “It’s quite all right, ladies. It was to be expected. Jegra, after all, is ranked as a class nine warrior. I’m only a class seven.”
“Out of curiosity, what is your suit’s power assist rating anyway?” Jegra asked.
Galahad smiled. “Twenty-six percent,” he replied. But I have taken safety protocols off; I had it up to thirty-one percent a while back. Nothing to brag about, however, as I shredded my knees and had to have reconstructive surgery.”
“So, you were able to squeeze about five percent extra power out of it? Good to know.”
“You probably will be able to squeeze ten percent out of yours in a pinch,” he said. “But it puts great strain on the body.”
Jegra rotated her arms and swiveled her legs. The suit now felt well-primed and moved fluidly. It still felt bulky, but from what she had seen of the Knights, they didn’t let it slow them down.
“Do I get a helmet, too?” Jegra asked.
“When we deploy,” Galahad replied.
“What if I have an itch?” Jegra asked.
“The suit has comfort settings that can help with that.”
“What if I need to pee?” she asked.
“You just go in the suit. It will take care of everything for you.”
“Amazing,” Jegra said, flexing her arm and hand again as she inspected the tech.
“Come,” Galahad said, opening the door and looking back at her. “We will go meet Anaïs Nin and Azra’il Nun.”
“I know Anaïs Nin is the administratrix, but who is Azra’il Nun?”
“She is Adjunct High Commander, second in command only to Anaïs Nin.”
“What would your rank be?” Jegra inquired.
“I’m Knight, First Class.”
“Will I get a rank too?”
“If you do, it will be Adjunct Commander.”
“But how?” Jegra asked. “I’ve not been to any military academy. I’ve had no proper training.”
“That is my duty,” Galahad replied. “To train you and bring you up to speed. You’re looking at a couple grueling months of the hardest training you’ve ever undergone.”
“I could probably use it,” Jegra said. “I may have had a cheeseburger or two last night. And then six more.”
Ellia snickered and Jegra looked over and smiled at her just in time to see Laquiea elbow her in her rib.
“See, I told you,” Jegra said, addressing Ellia. “A big stiff tree.”
Ellia laughed out loud, so loud that everyone turned and looked at her. “Sorry,” she said, covering her mouth.
Jegra laughed, too, and then followed Galahad, who was always so patient, out into the corridor.
Upon entering the bridge, Jegra gasped. It looked like the inside of a gorgeous Gothic cathedral back on Earth, only with much more tech built in.
At the center of the large chamber stood a woman gazing out of a three-meter-high observation window, her eyes fixed on a seemingly unimportant swath of star speckled space. The verdant moon, Cordova, lingered in the distance and orbited a red gas giant with a narrow ring around it called Gamidon.
The woman wore her hair tied up into a knot on her head. Her dress was backless, and it had many layers. So many in fact that, to Jegra, it resembled a bird’s feathers.
The woman slowly turned around to reveal another set of black eyes. All Nyctans had the same, giant, squid-like black eyes. To Jegra, they looked demon-possessed, but she knew that it was just their natural evolution.
Anaïs Nin smiled at Jegra. “Welcome, my child. The oracle foresaw your coming.”
Galahad took a knee before the administratrix and Jegra copied him.
“No need for such formalities,” Anaïs Nin said, beckoning them to rise. “This is not a formal visit. Just a casual hello. How are things, Empress Alakandra? Do you find your quarters satisfactory?”
“More than satisfactory,” she answered. “And, please, call me Jegra.”
“Jegra it is, then. If you will,” Anaïs Nin said, briskly gliding past her in her white feather-like gown. “Come with me.”
They walked up to the observation window and gazed out together.
“What do you see?” asked Anaïs Nin as she folded her arms behind her back.
“I see the moon, Cordova.”
“Look closer,” the administratrix beckoned.
“I see empty space. Stars. Planets.”
“You see light versus darkness, too, do you not?”
“I suppose,” Jegra said, straightening her posture as Anaïs Nin looked at her. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“For eons, the heavens have been separated by vast swaths of empty blackness. But our god, Hastur, promises to bring light to the darkness and rebuild the universe in his image.”
“The Dagons worship Hastur as the bringer of fire. The God of the final judgement, right?” inquired Jegra with a sincere curiosity. She pressed her finger to her chin and continued to listen with a keen interest.
“I presume that Dagons also told you that our religion is a perversion of their ancient faith. But what if I told you we had in our possession an artifact that proved the Nyctans were the original believers.”
“It would not make much difference to me, ma’am. I am not the kind of person to think deeply on such matters. I live in the moment. That is where my life plays out.”
“And this is the answer of a true warrior. I see I was correct in assigning you to the Knights of Caelum. They believe, as you do, in an honorable, yet always fleeting, existence. Their souls are best served as bright sparks that quickly fade–a contribution to the light worthy of their God.”
“I apologize for my ignorance,” Jegra said. “But if I’m not Nyctan, how can I be promoted to the head of the Knights?”
“Our oracle has deemed it so.”
“So, let me get this straight, you go by the words of one oracle and then simply take it all on faith?”
“Hastur speaks through the oracle. And he has selected you as one of his candidates to become his avatar. It is a most sacred and coveted position. You are lucky to have been chosen.”
Jegra nodded. It’s not that she didn’t believe the Nyctan’s sincerity in the matter. It’s just that she’d rather not have been hand-picked to be the
chosen one; it seemed like an awful lot of responsibility.
“And what is it I’m supposed to do, exactly?”
“To start with,” Anaïs Nin, said with a scheming grin, “you can show your allegiance by destroying the Dagon armada that has blockaded us from entering into the Zargora system.”
“What’s so important about that system?” Jegra asked.
A new voice arose from behind them. “It is the place where Hastur is destined to return.”
They all turned around to see a woman in bright red armor. It looked very similar to Jegra’s but with some extra flourishes and rectangular shoulder pads that stuck out like wings.
“Azra’il Nun,” Anaïs Nin said, making the introductions. “This is Empress Jegra Alakandra of the Dagon Empire.”
“Jegra, this is my second in command. Adjunct High Commander Azra’il Nun.”
“Pleasure to finally meet you, empress,” Azra’il Nun said, taking a knee before Jegra.
“There’s no need for that,” she said. “It’s not like Emperor Dakroth even actually wanted me as his empress, seeing as he sold me off to you first chance he got.”
“She doesn’t know?” Azra’il asked, shooting a shocked look at Anaïs Nin.
“Forgive us,” said Anaïs Nin. “We’re not accustomed to revealing top secret information to strangers. But seeing as you are no longer a stranger to us, I feel comfortable in revealing the truth.”
“What are you talking about?” Jegra asked, glancing at all their faces.
Azra’il blinked her dark eyes and said, “Emperor Dakroth announced yesterday that he had made you his empress but that you died in a horrible shuttle accident on Cordova. They are having the right of passing this very evening in your honor.”
The fumes practically began seeping up out of Jegra’s collar. “That swine,” she growled, clasping her fist. “If he thinks he can just erase me from his life that easily, he has a thing or two coming to him.”
Azra’il Nun and Anaïs Nin shared a glance and smiled.
“Let me show you to your battlecruiser,” Galahad said.
