Sholpan

by Joe Vasicek

  “Uh, yes,” said Stella. “I didn’t mean to, and I’m sorry, I really—”

  “What gives you the impudence to think that you can come between me and Qasar?”

  Stella blushed and shifted nervously on her feet. “That’s not what I meant,” she said. “It’s just that the way Qasar, you know, keeps so many women, I—I don’t know. You must be jealous, and—”

  “Jealous?” Borta tossed back her head and laughed uproariously for several long moments. Stella smiled, but couldn’t find the nerve to laugh with her.

  “You think I’m jealous?” Borta said. “Of you?” She laughed again.

  “I—” Stella said, then stopped herself. She didn’t know what to think anymore.

  “Do you have any idea who I am?” Borta asked, suddenly serious again.

  “Well, yes,” said Stella. “You are Lady Borta, Qasar’s first wife—”

  “—head wife.”

  “Head wife,” Stella corrected herself.

  “And?”

  “And, um, mother of Qasar’s heir?”

  “And?”

  Stella fidgeted nervously with her hands. “And, um, a very important woman?”

  “That’s right,” said Borta, her voice low and dangerous. “I am the chief matriarch of the Lion of Tenguri. Within the confines of this ship, my word is law; only Qasar has more authority than I. And what are you?”

  Stella shifted uneasily on her feet. “A prisoner?”

  “Not anymore,” said Borta. “You ceased to be a prisoner the moment you set foot on this ship. What are you now?”

  That’s not true, Stella thought to herself. I’m still a prisoner.

  “I said, what are you now?”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “A concubine,” she mumbled.

  “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

  “A concubine,” Stella said, marginally louder. She wished she could sink through the floor and disappear.

  “That’s right,” said Borta. “A concubine. A plaything. A glorified whore. That is your place on this ship.”

  “I never meant to take your husband from you,” Stella said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Please don’t be jealous.”

  “Take my husband from me? How could you possibly take my husband from me? Qasar is a powerful man. In his heart, it’s not enough to be captain of one ship—a man of his greatness is destined to command entire fleets. Do you think one woman is enough for such a man?”

  Stella slowly shook her head. Borta’s eyes narrowed.

  “Qasar’s destiny is to conquer and rule, in his bedchamber as well as anywhere else. And what are you? His plaything. His pet. You exist to give him pleasure, to quench his desire. You exist to be conquered.”

  Stella didn’t know what to say to that, so she kept silent.

  “My husband called you into his bedchamber last night, did he not?”

  “Yes,” said Stella. “But I—”

  “But you did not sleep with him,” said Borta, cutting her off. “Why not?”

  Stella blushed again. “Because—because it was wrong.”

  “Wrong? How could it be wrong? It’s your place on this ship, isn’t it? It’s your duty!”

  Stella clenched her fists. “I’m not that kind of a girl.”

  In one smooth motion, Borta slapped her on the cheek. “Without those above you, you would be nothing. You would be dead. Understand?”

  No, Stella almost answered. Instead, she said nothing.

  Borta slapped her again, on the other cheek. “Listen to me, you little whore. I know your type. You think that you’re subtle, that you can climb the ranks, that you can come out of nowhere and rise to the top.”

  “No,” Stella said quickly. “That’s not true. I—”

  Borta struck her a third time, harder than both the first two. Stella’s head snapped to the side, and she lifted her hand to rub her battered cheek.

  “Don’t lie to me,” Borta hissed. “I know you told Qasar that you’re a virgin.”

  How could she possibly know that? Stella wondered. Is there a camera in Qasar’s bedchamber?

  “I don’t know if he believes you yet,” Borta continued, “but I won’t have any more of your machinations.”

  “I’m sorry,” Stella said. “I want nothing to do with your husband. Honest!”

  Borta’s eyes narrowed. Stella cringed, expecting another blow. Instead, Borta pulled a long, thin object out of her sleeve.

  “Do you see this?” Borta said, holding up a needle. The tip was as long as Stella’s hand, and it glimmered in the fluorescent light.

  Before Stella could answer, Borta jabbed the needle into her stomach with a quick flick of the wrist. Stella’s eyes widened, and she felt a sharp pain, followed by an even sharper numbness. Fear shot through her, and her blood turned to ice.

  Oh my God, she thought to herself. Lady Borta just stabbed me—she just stabbed me!

  “This needle is embedded in a major acupuncture point along your liver meridian,” said Borta, her voice deadly calm. “It will leave no visible wound when I remove it. It was not poisoned—this time. You should consider yourself lucky.”

  Don’t move, Stella told herself. Don’t make it snap off inside of you.

  “I tire of your games, so let us be frank. When my husband summons you again, you will let him have his full pleasure with you, in every possible way. Is that clear?”

  Stella hardly dared to breathe for fear of injury. Her eyes burned with tears, but she bit her lip to quell them.

  “Who do you think runs this ship? Who is in charge of the concubines’ level? I oversee the food you eat, the water you drink, even the very air you breathe. If I wanted, I could kill you right now—and it would not look like murder.”

  Her voice dropped to a whisper as she leaned into Stella’s ear. “I would get away with it, too. I’ve done it before.”

  Borta yanked the needle out. Stella gasped and fell to her hands and knees. She wanted to throw up.

  “Well?” said Borta. “What is your answer?”

  “I’ll do it!” Stella cried. “Yes! I’ll do it!”

  “You had better,” said Borta. “Now get out of my room, you little whore.”

  Stella did not need to be told twice. Clutching her stomach, she stumbled to her feet and hurried to the door, banging her knee against one of the couches on her way out.

  After she found herself in the bright white corridor, she lifted her hand up and looked at her stomach. Borta was right—no blood, no wound. No sign, other than a slight tingle, that the long, wicked needle had ever been there.

  * * * * *

  “I’m not surprised,” said Tamu from the top bunk. “I told you Borta would see you as a rival, darling. You should have slept with Qasar when he summoned you.”

  Stella’s cheeks flushed red, and she bit her lip. Why are you telling me this? she wanted to scream. Can’t you see that I just need someone to talk to?

  Instead, she stared mutely at the ceiling. The purple and pink curtains dangling from the ceiling reminded her of an aurora. She closed her eyes and pictured the one she’d seen from orbit at Auriga Nova V on the first voyage of her apprenticeship. Such a beautiful sight; it had helped her to get over the homesickness from leaving home for the first time.

  Now, in the windowless prison of the concubines’ quarters, she felt the terrible homesickness returning. The faces of her family flashed across her mind even as tears burned in her eyes. Her two brothers, Ben and James—Ben with his characteristic grin, James with that serious look in his eyes that Ben always mistook for pouting. She saw her mother and father, too—holding hands and smiling at her, as if to say they loved her. She choked back a sob and clenched her eyes shut, forcing the images out of her mind. That life was worlds away from where she was now, and she didn’t know how to get back.

  “Don’t cry, honey,” said Tamu. “Things will get better—you’ll be used to this place before you know it.”

  “How
could I possibly get used to this?” Stella said, barely aware of her words even as she vocalized the thought.

  “Easy, dear,” said Tamu. “Don’t fight it—you’ll just end up hurting yourself.”

  Maybe that’s what I want.

  “Really though, honey, you don’t have to make things so complicated. All you have to do is sleep with the man, and your problems will be solved.”

  Stella clenched her fists to keep from screaming. “Oh, is that all?” she said sarcastically. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

  “Why not, honey? Are you afraid?”

  “No,” Stella said quickly. “It’s not that—”

  “Then what is it, dear?”

  “It’s just—it’s just wrong, that’s what.”

  Tamu’s face fell. “Wrong? What do you mean?”

  “Oh, nothing—only that it goes against everything I know and believe. ‘Why are you making things so complicated, Sholpan? Being a whore is so much easier—’”

  “Who are you calling a whore?”

  Stella cringed as she realized her roommate was glaring at her. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what did you mean? Do you think that you’re better than the rest of us?”

  “No,” Stella said quickly, “it’s not that at all.”

  “Oh, come on, Sholpan,” said Tamu, rolling her eyes. “Ever since you came here, you’ve acted like you’re something else. You won’t come to the lounge, you won’t eat meals with the rest of us—you haven’t even met any of the other girls. Do you know what they’re saying about you behind your back, honey? Do you?”

  Stella said nothing.

  “They’re saying you’re a self-righteous prude. They’re saying you don’t want to have anything to do with us because you think we’re all sluts and whores. And they’re taking bets right now, honey—bets on how long it takes you to crack.”

  Stella’s stomach dropped. Please no, she thought to herself. No drama. Not here.

  “Up until now, honey, I’ve taken your side,” Tamu continued. “‘She’s not that bad,’ I told them. ‘Give her some time, she’ll come around.’ But you know what, dearest? The way you wallow in your self-pity, I’m starting to think that they’re right.”

  “No!” Stella cried. “Please, Tamu—it’s not like that at all!”

  “Then what is it like, dear?”

  “It’s just—I just can’t do it,” she stammered. “It’s so—it goes against—” her voice caught in her throat, and for several moments she couldn’t speak.

  “Look, honey,” said Tamu, “I know you wanted your first time to be special—hell, everyone does—but even if it’s not the way you wanted it, it’s not the end of the world. I can’t even remember my first time. When it was over, that was it. I was still the same person I was before—nothing had changed.”

  Stella buried her head in her hands and drew in a deep breath. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Tamu said nothing for a while. When she spoke, her voice was soft.

  “You want to know how I came here, sweetie?”

  “Yes,” said Stella, a little surprised by the question. “How?”

  “I was on an illegal deep space pleasure yacht when the Hameji took me. I’d worked there since I was fourteen standard years old.”

  “What did you do for work?”

  Tamu laughed. “I worked the pole, dear. What else would a girl do on one of those ships?”

  Stella’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Fourteen?”

  “Yes, dear,” said Tamu. “And I wasn’t the youngest one either—not by a long shot. There’s a reason those pleasure cruises only operate in deep space.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Stella said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  Tamu sighed. “It was bad, dear. Whatever the men wanted, I had to give them. I lived out of a closet, with two other roommates. We had no doctor, only pills that made us throw up. The owners fed us shit when they fed us at all. They’d tell us we were getting fat, and use that as an excuse to let us starve. After all, if we got fat, what good were we?”

  She paused and looked Stella in the eye. “Here, honey, things are different—much different. I only have one man to please, and that only every other week. I have a doctor who keeps me healthy. I eat three meals a day—good meals, filling meals. I live in a comfortable dormitory with all the luxuries I could ask for. So don’t go feeling sorry for yourself, dear. Life is good—even here.”

  Tamu smiled and lifted her hand to Stella’s cheek. Even though she clearly meant well, the gesture gave Stella little comfort.

  “You can do it, dear,” said Tamu. “Don’t be afraid—you can do it.”

  I think I’d rather die.

  Tamu stared at her in silence for several seconds. Without a word, she rose to her feet, walked to her dresser, and pulled out an ornate ivory canister.

  “Here,” said Tamu, taking something from the canister and holding it out to Stella. “Take this.”

  Stella caught the object as it fell from Tamu’s hand. It was a small white pill.

  “What is this?”

  “Something to loosen your inhibitions, dear,” said Tamu. She knelt down and started rubbing Stella’s back. “The Hameji don’t like their women drugged—that’s why Borta didn’t just slip this into your food. She knew Qasar would suspect something if you gave yourself over to him too quickly.”

  Stella stared at the tiny little pill in her hand. It felt as if she were holding a bomb.

  “Take this right before you go into his chambers,” Tamu continued, “and you’ll be yourself long enough to fool him. After that, the pill will take care of the rest. Don’t worry—you won’t remember anything after you wake up.”

  Stella shuddered, even as Tamu gently massaged her shoulders.

  * * * * *

  The summons to Qasar’s chambers came only two days after Stella’s encounter with Borta. This time, Engus brought her a holo projector with a personal message from Qasar.

  “Lady Sholpan,” his holographic image said, barely two feet tall on the table in her and Tamu’s apartment. “I would be honored if you would join me this evening as my guest.” The image bowed, and the message ended.

  As his guest, Stella thought to herself. That means he doesn’t expect me to sleep with him. She swallowed and rubbed her stomach where Borta had stabbed her. All trace of the bloodless wound had long disappeared, but the memory was still fresh enough to make her shudder.

  She wordlessly went through the motions of washing and showering, her mind occupied with other things. When Narju had finished combing and drying her hair, he walked to the clothes locker in the wall and returned carrying a yellow dress. The silk was so thin that she could see his arm through it—even a wedding veil was more opaque than that.

  “Lady Borta sent you this dress, Mistress Sholpan,” Narju said.

  He held it up, and Stella saw that it came in two pieces. The top was a tiny shred of fabric barely wider than one of her hands. She bit her lip and stared.

  “Lady Borta gave this to me?” she asked after several moments.

  “Yes, mistress. Shall I put it on?”

  Stella didn’t move. She did not want to wear that thing—it would be like walking into Qasar’s bedchamber stark naked. Borta would probably approve of that.

  “Mistress?”

  Stella blinked and glanced up at him.

  “Do you … have anything else, Narju?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You would turn down this gift from Lady Borta?”

  “Is that a bad idea?”

  Narju didn’t answer right away. He draped the outfit over his arm and bowed.

  “Lady Borta is a dominating woman, mistress. If you allow yourself to be dominated in small things, though, you will never crawl out from under her thumb. She commanded that you should wear this dress tonight, but as your personal servant, if you command me otherwise, I will obey.”

  “But what will she do if I refuse?”
r />   Narju shrugged. “Nothing she wouldn’t otherwise do.”

  Stella hesitated, but only for a moment.

  “Bring me something else.” Whether or not it would help with Qasar, she would rather keep her peace of mind than wear such a slutty thing.

  This time, Narju brought a choice of several dresses, both one-piece and two-piece. She wanted to go with a one-piece dress—bare midriff always made her feel nervous and self-conscious—but knew that a modest dress probably wouldn’t be nearly enticing enough to suit her purposes.

  “That one,” she said, pointing to a blue silk bedlah outfit. The top was thin and more than a little revealing, but the dress itself stretched almost to her ankles, held up by a wide double belt made of leather and colored beads.

  I would never have picked out clothes like this before I came here, she thought to herself as she rose to her feet and slipped out of her bath towel. Narju helped her into her dress and clasped the belt low on her hips. I would never have let a man dress me, either, she thought to herself as Narju slipped the top over her chest.

  What am I turning into?

  As Narju stepped away, she collapsed onto the bench and held her head in her hands. She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. Instead, she felt an overwhelming sense of powerlessness, as if she were trapped in thick mud and couldn’t move. Her mind spun with dizziness, and for a short while she couldn’t breathe. She felt Narju’s hand on her arm, and her face tightened up, barely squeezing a tear from her parched eyes.

  “Relax,” Narju said, rubbing her bare shoulders. She took in a deep breath; the air was sweet in her lungs. The room spun a little slower, and tears finally sprung to her eyes, gushing out like a fountain in the desert.

  “Mistress?”

  “What am I doing this for?” she asked, barely coherent. “Why do I even try? My life is a living hell. Why don’t I just give up?”

  Narju said nothing, massaging her instead. Her muscles gradually loosened under his gentle touch. For a brief moment, she could forget she was a sex slave for the monster who had conquered her home.

  “Be still and listen,” Narju said, his voice solemn. “I was not always Narju. Before the Hameji enslaved me, my name was Asi. My people were the free nomads of Tajjur V.”