by Joe Vasicek
How long they sat there holding onto each other, she didn’t know. Eventually, the familiar groaning of metal on metal sounded softly through the bulkheads.
“We’ve docked,” said Ben, letting go of her to unstrap himself. Stella nodded and followed suit, her movements wooden and automatic. Out in the aisle, the passengers were spilling out of their seats, pushing and shoving their way to the front.
“Come on,” said Ben, taking her by the hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
Stella held on tight as he led her through the crowded aisle. Shouting and yelling filled her ears as the people behind them tried to push their way through. It was utter chaos—yet another thing that shouldn’t be happening. More than once, she and Ben were almost separated in the press of bodies, but somehow they stuck together until they made it through the airlock and on board the Sierra Vista.
The corridor on the other side of the airlock widened significantly, allowing them much more space. Soon, they were running.
“Will we be safe here?” she asked, struggling to keep pace.
“Not here. We’ve got to get deeper.”
The corridor narrowed again, turning into a series of dark, narrow halls. Ben led her through the longest one, into a cargo hold deep within the bowels of the ship. Several of the other passengers continued down the hallway, but a few followed them in, stopping to catch their breath and pull out a few loose crates to sit on.
“Come with me,” Ben said, leading her into an empty doorway. He glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to face her.
“If the crowd panics, I want you to stay calm,” he said. “We can’t do anything about the Hameji, so there’s no sense worrying about that. Just stay calm, and stick with me.”
She bit her lip and nodded. Out in the hold, a few more people trickled in, staring glassy eyed at the sudden change of scenery. Stella didn’t blame them; she felt much the same herself.
The ship lurched, throwing them both against the door. Ben staggered and leaned against the wall, while Stella shrieked and clung to him for support. Out in the hold, a few of the loose boxes slid across the floor, knocking down some of the passengers with an awful crack. A loud clang sounded from above, followed by muffled explosions and the sound of gunfire. In the hallway, the passengers began to scream.
“Oh my God,” she cried. “W-what’s going on? Why—”
A greenish gas seeped through the air vents, quickly filling the room. It tasted sickly sweet, like rotting fruit. Stella coughed and covered her mouth, but her legs soon went weak and the room began to spin. Ben held tightly onto her, but soon even he lost his strength. She struggled for a few moments longer, then collapsed into unconsciousness.
* * * * *
Stella stumbled through the freight airlock and into a spacious, well-lit room that reeked of body odor and cheap chemical cleansers. The soldiers forced her into a roughly formed row of prisoners, facing the opposite wall. As soon as they let go of her, she wrapped her arms around her chest and looked around.
She stood near the center of a giant hangar. The drab, yellowed walls were flat and windowless, the hardened ceramic floor grainy under her bare feet. The opposite wall was actually an enormous bay door, large enough to swallow the Llewellyn. An unloading claw dangled from the ceiling like a monstrous hand waiting to pluck her off her feet.
So I’m on some kind of deep-space freighter, she thought to herself. Judging from the design, it had to be Belarian. She’d spent a lot of time around Belarian ships in her apprenticeship, and knew the typical layout fairly well.
That was encouraging—it might help her escape.
About a hundred other prisoners stood around her, all naked, all facing the same way. Hameji soldiers in full armor patrolled the rows, their rifles held at the ready. Even with so many prisoners, however, the hangar bay was far from full. She stood behind a flabby, middle-aged woman who kept glancing nervously over her shoulder. The others around her stared at the ground or straight ahead.
Ben, Stella thought to herself. Where is Ben? She wanted to shout out his name, but she didn’t dare. Except for the heavy, booted footsteps of the soldiers and a few muffled sobs and whimpers, the room was deathly quiet.
With her arms wrapped tightly around her chest and her knees pressed firmly together, she glanced from face to face, searching for Ben. Heads started turning her way, making her feel horribly self-conscious of her nakedness, but she did her best to ignore it. Whatever happened, she had to find her brother.
In the row ahead of her, two places to the left, a little girl sobbed in fear, her pale face streaked with tears. Urine trickled down her legs and formed a puddle around her feet. Poor girl, Stella thought to herself. She probably feels all alone and embarrassed because she peed her—oh no!
A pair of Hameji soldiers dragged the old woman Stella had seen in the cargo bay to the front of the room. Her body was stiff and unmoving, eyes closed and mouth agape. The soldiers dropped her in the corner; her head made a horrible thudding noise against the hardened floor.
Oh my God, Stella thought to herself. She’s dead. Her knees begin to shake, and she fought the urge to throw up.
Off to her left, a door hissed open, and a short, silver-haired man stepped through. He was swarthy and olive-skinned, with a sharp goatee and short, trimmed hair. Unlike the soldiers, he wore a loose fitting robe under a lightly decorated gray jerkin that extended down to his knees. He carried a gun at his side, and something long and curved next to it in a gold-embroidered holster. It took Stella a while to realize that the holster was actually a scabbard for a sword.
The soldiers at the door snapped to attention when they saw him. He nodded curtly to them as he passed, followed by half a dozen younger men, all similarly dressed. From the authoritative way he carried himself, Stella guessed he was an officer—perhaps even a captain.
After briefly inspecting his troops, the captain started at the front and moved down the line of prisoners, examining them one by one. The younger officers snickered and smirked as they followed him, touching some of the female prisoners in ways that made Stella squirm. As they moved along, a pair of fully armored soldiers escorted each prisoner to the front of the hangar, clustering them in two groups at the front of the room.
They’re sorting us, Stella realized. As the captain worked his way down the first row and into the second, she tried to imagine why. The group to the left was mostly made up of women, children, and old men, while the group on the right was almost exclusively young men. Contingents of armed troops stood watch over both, their weapons drawn.
Ben, Stella thought, her heart racing in her chest. Is he up there? Reaching down with one hand to keep herself covered, she stood on her tiptoes and craned her neck to get a better view.
One of the prisoners refused to move when the Hameji tried to march him off. The soldiers beat him across the face and forcibly pulled him forward, but he fell to his knees, refusing to get up. The captain gave a nod, and the nearest soldier leveled his rifle at the man’s head.
At the crack of the shot, Stella jumped, and her whole body started to tremble. Several of the other prisoners cried out and fell to their knees in terror. Someone was screaming—after a few seconds, Stella realized that it was her. She clapped her hands over her mouth and stared in horror at the sight, momentarily forgetting her own nakedness.
The man’s head was blown in half just above the nose. Blood and brains had splattered all over the prisoners immediately behind him, and several of them were shaking uncontrollably. As the soldiers dragged the body to the left corner, the prisoners in that group shrieked and edged away. Thick red blood smeared liberally across the grainy ceramic floor.
Oh my God, Stella thought to herself. Everyone in that group is going to die.
Soldiers went up and down the lines, forcing the prisoners back to their feet. The Hameji captain continued as if nothing had happened. In a few moments, he arrived at the little girl.
Stella froze where she sto
od.
He didn’t even stop. With a flick of his wrist, he gestured to the left. One of the soldiers took the girl by the shoulder and led her off, ignoring the trail of blood. As if sensing the danger she was in, the girl screamed and curled up in a ball on the ground.
No! Stella nearly screamed. Don’t shoot her!
The soldier didn’t. Instead, he scooped the girl up and carried her to the group of prisoners, dropping her unceremoniously to the floor. One of the older women wrapped her arms around her, giving her the comfort Stella longed to give.
It took Stella nearly a minute to stop hyperventilating and regain something of her composure. Even then, she didn’t have much dignity to regain; to the Hameji, she was little more than cattle to be sorted and slaughtered. Naked, defenseless, and surrounded by strangers, she was powerless—utterly powerless.
The captain had started on her row now, making his way towards her from the right. She stared straight ahead, squeezing her knees a little tighter. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him send a young, black-haired man to the right, a short, plump woman to the left. He barely glanced over the old man before sending him with the rest of the condemned.
Then he stopped at her.
She held her breath and stared at the floor as he looked her up and down. With one arm over her chest and her free hand covering her lower half, she still felt horribly naked.
At a slight gesture, two soldiers stepped forward and pried her arms away. Stella resisted at first, but the soldier on her right hit her across the face with the back of his gloved hand. The force of the blow nearly knocked her over, but a quick slap on her butt forced her upright. Her cheek stung and her eyes began to water, but she knew that the soldier could have struck a lot harder.
She stood up straight now, fully exposed to her captors’ view. The younger officers gathered in a half circle, snickering as they ravished her with their eyes. She held her breath as the silver-haired captain stepped forward and began to feel her with his bare hands. With all the consideration of a rancher examining his cattle, he poked her stomach, pinched her breasts, squeezed her thighs, and felt the girlish muscles of her arms. It took all her effort not to cry out and shrink away from him.
Satisfied, he stepped back and conferred with the man on his right. As they talked, Stella wrapped her arms around her chest and covered herself again as best she could. To her relief, the soldiers didn’t stop her.
What now? Stella thought fearfully to herself.
The captain issued a command, and the soldiers took her by both arms and marched her off. A bolt of sheer terror surged through her body, but they took her past the group of condemned prisoners to the door on the far side of the room, stopping only briefly to wait for it to open.
It suddenly struck her that she might never see the room again. Energized by sheer desperation, Stella kicked out with her feet and looked frantically over her shoulder.
“Ben!” she screamed, shattering the silence of the hangar. “Ben—shout if you can hear me!” The soldiers started to drag her off, but she planted her feet and struggled against them as hard as she could.
The soldiers were much too strong for her, however. Within a few seconds, they forced her through the doorway and into the corridor beyond. Behind them, the door hissed shut.
Stella’s lip began to quiver, and tears came to her eyes. Annoyed by her defiance, the soldiers were a lot rougher with her now than before, twisting her arms so hard she almost felt they’d break. That wasn’t why she cried, though—she cried because her brother hadn’t called out to her.
Now she knew she was alone.
* * * * *
The tram doors hissed as they slid shut, cutting Stella off from her parents. A lump rose in her throat as her father and mother waved at her from the terminal platform, arms around each other. All too soon, the outer doors closed, and the tram pulled out from the platform and dove into the darkened tunnel of the station’s docking arm.
Stella bit her lip, clutching at the cumbersome restraints on her shoulder as the ENTERING LOW GRAVITY ENVIRONMENT signs flashed on. Three young men in the back of the car joked with each other in a language she didn’t understand; New Aurigan, by the sound of it. Except for them, however, the car was empty. After half a minute, the tram slowed to a stop, and the boys climbed out, using the handholds on the chairs and ceiling to navigate the narrow aisle.
The absence of their laughter left Stella with nothing to distract her from her loneliness. As the tram gradually accelerated down the track, she tried not to think about how she wasn’t going to see her family again for almost three months—and that only for a week.
“There’s three kinds of men here at the Colony,” her father had told her. “Dock workers, miners, and merchanters. If you marry a dock worker, you’ll be poor all your life. Miners don’t live much better, and the work is considerably more dangerous. Your best option is to marry into a merchanter family like ours.”
“But why do I need to go on an apprenticeship, if I’m just going to marry a merchanter?” she had asked. “Why can’t I go to the academy on Skye at K-3?”
“Oh, you can go to the academy,” her father had said. “But you won’t learn any useful life skills there, and all of the boys you’ll meet will be going into careers far from home.”
“But—but do I really have to do an apprenticeship? You’re the one who handles all the business in the family; I don’t see Mom doing any of that.”
Her father had simply smiled. “Ah, but you weren’t around to see all the things that she did when we were first starting out. Before you were born, we only had one ship, and because we were poor, it was easier for us both to live there than to spend money on rent just for her to be alone back home while I was gone. But that wouldn’t have worked if she hadn’t already mastered some basic astrogation. Together, we made an excellent team.”
“I don’t know,” Stella had said. “I just—I don’t want to go.”
Her father had put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be afraid,” he had told her. “We all have to leave home sometime. I have every confidence that you’ll succeed. You’re a smart girl, Stella; you’ll be able to take care of yourself.”
The tram slowed down, pushing Stella up against the restraints on her shoulders. She held onto them until the car came to a complete stop, then unstrapped herself and drifted up to the ceiling. Using the handholds, she pulled herself toward the open door and into the narrow passenger airlock.
No one was there to greet her. She floated inside and palmed the access pad on the wall. The door hissed shut behind her, and the tram made a low humming noise through the bulkheads as it continued down the docking arm.
Am I in the right place? Stella wondered. The gray durasteel walls were cold and uninviting, the air stale and chilly. She considered palming the access panel again to recall the tram when a voice sounded through a speaker over her head.
“Are you Stella McCoy?” a low, gruff voice asked.
“Er … yeah,” said Stella.
“What was that? I didn’t copy.”
“Y-yes, I’m Stella McCoy.”
The voice mumbled something that didn’t quite carry over the speakers.
“All right. Petyr is coming to get you right now.”
Stella swallowed nervously, not knowing what to expect. The zero gravity only added to the fluttering sensation in her stomach.
A light on the access panel blinked red, then green. The ship-side door hissed as it slid open, revealing a man at least ten years older than her. He had bright green eyes and a dark beard, with a utility belt full of tools strapped to his waist.
“Hello there,” he said, extending his hand. “Name’s Petyr.” Stella took it, and the handshake almost sent her spinning.
“Stella,” she said, grabbing onto a nearby handhold.
“Welcome aboard.”
Petyr didn’t say anything else as he led her through the ship’s airlock on the other side. He opened a hatchw
ay and took her down a ladder into a narrow corridor; the artificial gravity took hold of her feet first, pulling her down until she stood on the grated metal floor.
She followed Petyr down the windowless corridor to the bridge at the far end of the ship. It was nothing like any of her family’s ships; the forward window wrapped halfway around the room, with switches and indicator lights running along the ceiling and on the control panels surrounding the seats. An old man stood up from the one in the center and turned to face her. He had a bald head with a salt and pepper beard, and his forehead was creased with half a dozen wrinkles.
“Welcome aboard the Kaja,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “I’m Captain Jeppa McLellan.” He did not extend his hand.
“Stella McCoy,” said Stella. “Pleased to meet you.”
Captain McLellan looked her over from her head to her toes. “You’re a bit young, but your father said you’re a hard worker. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Good. There’s no room on this ship for sluggards; anyone who doesn’t pull their weight gets left behind at the next port, and I won’t start making exceptions with you. Understand?”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
What have I gotten myself into?
Captain McLellan grunted and slipped his hands comfortably behind his back. “You’ve already met my son Petyr. Hans is still on station, but he should be back within the hour. Before you arrived, we kept a three-shift system, but now that you’re on the crew we’ll switch to a two-shift alterday schedule. Petyr will be your bunkmate; we don’t have a private room for you just because you’re female.”
Stella nodded wordlessly. She wondered if she was the first ‘female’ to ever set foot on this ship.
“One more thing before I let Petyr show you around,” Captain McLellan said, looking her in the eye. “This ship is going to be your world for the next three months. I know this is your first time away from your parents, but the sooner you make this place your home, the better you’ll feel and the happier you’ll be. That is all.”
