Sholpan

by Joe Vasicek

  Stella stopped crying long enough to listen.

  “The Hameji see all planetborn as weak and honorless,” Narju continued, “but that was not so with my people. We made our home in the untamed lands, underneath the open sky—not in the sprawling, polluted arcologies of the domers. We were a strong people, a proud people.”

  He paused, and the strokes of his hands became harder. It was obvious that the memories pained him.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “The Hameji killed my people when they slagged our world. My brothers and I were in a small town on the edge of one of the domes when they came. Before we knew what was happening, one of the shop owners rushed us onto his shuttle. To this day, I don’t know why he did it. We were the only ones to escape with our lives.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Stella whispered.

  “So was I,” said Narju. “So was I. The Hameji took away my home, they took away my family, and they took away my manhood. In my despair, I came to believe that no man had ever suffered as much as I. I dreamed of being a martyr, of killing as many of the Hameji as I could before embracing death myself.”

  Narju paused. He continued to rub her shoulders—strong, unyielding strokes, firm yet gentle.

  “What changed your mind?” Stella asked, eager to hear the rest of his story.

  He sighed. “I came to realize that such a death would be utterly pointless. Had God kept me alive this long, just for me to end it that way? No, he had a purpose for my life—a reason for keeping me alive when so many others had perished.”

  He stopped, lifting his hands. Stella glanced over her shoulder and stifled a gasp; the solemn look on his face reminded her of her father.

  “Your self pity is a terrible poison, Sholpan,” he continued. “It is much more destructive than anything the Hameji can do to you. They have not stripped you of everything—not by far. You are not friendless. You are not hungry or naked or cold. The master even respects your chastity and allows you to keep it unsullied.”

  Stella looked away. “Yeah,” she said, “but Borta doesn’t.”

  “Borta sees your virtue as a threat,” said Narju. “But she sees everything as a threat. How else could she remain head wife? If it were not your virtue, it would be your beauty. If it were not your beauty, it would be something else. She is, unfortunately, an overly paranoid woman.”

  “Not just paranoid,” said Stella. “She threatened to kill me if I didn’t sleep with him.”

  For several moments, Narju was silent.

  “How did she threaten you?”

  Stella hesitated. Can I trust him? she wondered. Borta had claimed to control even the food and water that came into the concubines’ quarters. Was Narju one of her agents?

  No, she decided. Narju wouldn’t have opened up to me so much if he were one of her agents. He was a good man, and he’d always been kind to her. Stella decided to trust him.

  “Here,” she said, pointing to her stomach. “Look.”

  Narju bent down and squinted. “I see nothing—maybe a slight redness above your navel, but that is all.”

  “That’s where Borta stabbed me.”

  “Where she stabbed you?”

  “Yes. She stabbed me with a needle, at the meridian point or something. She did it to prove she could murder me and get away with it.”

  “One of the doctor’s instruments,” Narju muttered. A frown crossed his face. “This is a grave development.”

  “She’s going to do it, Narju—she’s going to kill me if I don’t sleep with Qasar tonight.”

  He nodded slowly. “And what have you decided to do?”

  Stella felt her arms and legs clam up. Her breathing became short.

  “I don’t know.”

  Narju placed his hand on her shoulder. His touch felt firm and reassuring.

  “Do not be afraid, Sholpan,” he said. “Whatever decision you make, I am sure it will be right.”

  Stella swallowed. She wished she could be so sure.

  * * * * *

  “Ah, Sholpan,” boomed Qasar from inside his private chambers. “Come in—please come in!”

  Stella stepped through the doorway, into the scarlet room. She drew in a breath and tried to relax, hoping that her smile didn’t seem forced. With her warm, sweaty fingers, she held tightly onto Tamu’s pill.

  “Good evening, Master,” she said, giving a little curtsey.

  “Come, please,” said Qasar, motioning to the bed. “Have a seat.” This time, a bowl of fresh fruit and a plate of flatbread sat next to the platter of sweetmeats. Together, the three dishes made a full meal—much more than the two of them could possibly eat.

  “Oh my,” said Stella, sitting cross legged on the bed. “The food smells delicious.”

  At least I have some time, then.

  “Of course,” said Qasar, reclining casually on his side. “Only the best for us both. Now come and eat!”

  Stella’s stomach felt much too unsettled for a meal, but she forced herself to swallow a few pieces of fruit and break off a chunk of bread. While Qasar made loud smacking noises with his lips, Stella took small bites and chewed slowly, nervously fingering the pill in the palm of her left hand.

  Not yet, she thought to herself. After the meal.

  “I have good news, my shy goddess,” Qasar said, chewing on a piece of roasted meat. “Or news that is good for you, at least, and convenient for us both.”

  “What is that?” Stella asked.

  “The Generals have appointed me overseer of your star—Karduna, as you call it. They’ve given me twenty seasoned captains to hold the system and manage the local planetborn.”

  Manage. Such a cold, heartless word—as if the ‘planetborn’ were robots or animals, not human beings.

  “Granted, I could easily rule this system by force alone,” Qasar continued, “but with you by my side, that is now unnecessary. Once we are married, your standing as one of the locals will grant my rule a degree of legitimacy that it otherwise could not have, and prove a tremendous asset as I seek to build my court.”

  Stella swallowed as Qasar took a pitcher of wine from a nearby hovertray. She trembled as if she were perched at the top of a narrow precipice, where any wrong move could end in her death.

  “Well?” Quasar asked, pulling out two golden goblets and filling them with wine. “What say you?”

  “I—I don’t know,” said Stella. “I—I’m not very high-born, and I couldn’t possibly do well in—”

  “Nonsense,” said Qasar. “With me as your husband, no one would dare dispute your place in my court.”

  “But I don’t think I could—”

  “The gods have ordained this, Sholpan. Your coming at this time is much too auspicious to be a coincidence. They will provide a way—they always do.”

  Stella nodded, her whole body tense. “Of course, Master Qasar. I do not doubt it—”

  “Then it’s settled?”

  “N-no, not yet,” said Stella, rolling the pill back and forth between her fingers. “I mean, how could I possibly make a difference? Those who hate you would resist your rule whether or not I were your wife. Besides,” she lied, her voice slowly dying, “I like being a concubine. It’s very … comfortable.”

  Qasar stared at her for a long time, as if she had gone mad. Then, with a shrug, the expression disappeared.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “I must admit, I am quite liberal with my women. If that’s where you’d rather be—but no, we do not have to decide this right now.” He handed her one of the goblets. “Thirsty?”

  “Yes,” said Stella, keeping her eyes on him as she took it. When he tilted back his head to drink, she slipped the pill into her mouth and pressed the goblet to her lips.

  Here it goes, she thought to herself as she took a sip. The tartness of the grapes and alcohol filled her mouth, washing the pill towards her throat. All she had to do was swallow—swallow, and remain Qasar’s concubine. Swallow, and—

  Her throat seized up, and s
he started choking. Before she could stop herself, she spewed her drink all over the bedsheets, staining them red.

  “What’s the matter?” Qasar asked. “Too strong for you?”

  The pill! Stella cried out to herself. She looked about frantically until she saw it under one of the hover-trays. In one quick motion, she snatched it up.

  “I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “Don’t worry about the sheets,” said Qasar, chuckling to himself. “They can be cleaned.”

  She nodded and closed her fist tightly around the pill. It was pasty now, and warm from her saliva. She watched Qasar, waiting for another opportunity to—

  No, she told herself, taking a sharp breath. I can’t do this. I—I won’t. In that moment, she knew she would never choose to be Qasar’s concubine, not even to save her life. If she had no choice in the matter, perhaps she could eventually stop hating herself—but not if she made the choice of her own accord. It would destroy her no less than Borta’s needle.

  “Qasar,” she said, keeping her hand tightly closed around the pill.

  “Yes, shy one?”

  “I—I would be honored to be your wife.”

  Qasar smiled and set his goblet on the nearest tray. “I thought you might come around,” he said. “Here, let me give you a gift.”

  From his little finger, he pulled off a smooth gold band, with an enormous milky white gemstone set in the center. Stella’s eyes widened as he held it out to her.

  “Well, don’t just stare at it,” Qasar said. “Hold out your hand and let me slip it on.”

  For a moment, Stella thought that he meant the hand with the pill, and her muscles seized up in sudden fright. A glance and a nod, however, told her he meant her right. With a quiet sigh of relief, she held it out, trying very hard not to tremble.

  He slipped it onto her middle finger without any trouble. It was a perfect fit. He laughed.

  “Truly, a sign that the gods ordained our marriage,” He paused for a moment, letting her admire the carefully cut stone. “Would you like to know where the jewel comes from?”

  “Yes,” said Stella. What else could she say?

  “In the Tenguri system, there is a great temple on the primary moon of the first planet. Tenguri-kan, they call it—The Abode. As the moon passes between Tenguri and his star, the flames of eternity melt the surface into glass.”

  What a hellish place, Stella thought.

  “The gemstone you wear on your finger was taken from deep beneath the surface,” Qasar continued, “where heat and pressure and the will of the god combine to make the finest jewels known to man. So you see, my dear, it is truly a fitting gift for the namesake of a goddess.”

  He lifted her hand and kissed it softly. The moisture of his lips felt cool on her skin. Her arm grew limp, and she let it fall after he released her hand.

  “I hope it pleases you, Sholpan,” he said.

  “I—I don’t know what to say.”

  There’s no way Borta will let me live now, she bemoaned herself. Not with this.

  He poured them both a second goblet of wine. “Then let us drink to it. To our union, and a bounteous future!”

  She took the goblet and smiled. While he drank, she opened her hand and stared at the pill. It had lost its solid consistency, but was still mostly there. Perhaps she could—but no, that was no longer an option. Instead, she dropped it over the edge of the bed, wiping her hand in the folds of her dress.

  That decides it, she thought to herself. I’m not going to sleep with him. Strangely, she felt a calming peace come over her. Now that the anticipation was over, it was as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

  Burden or not, however, that didn’t change the fact that tomorrow morning, she was going to die.

  * * * * *

  The stars shone through the skylights overhead, dimmed only slightly by proximity to the system sun, Karduna Prime. It was the night cycle at the Colony, and Stella walked slowly down the familiar tree-lined streets, savoring how good it felt to be home. How long had it been since she’d left? Almost a year? Somehow, it felt much longer.

  The streets were strangely empty, however. The evenly spaced glowlamps illuminated darkened doorways and neon shop signs that would normally be lit, even if the shops themselves were closed. The air ventilators overhead were eerily silent, the shadows beyond the lampposts dark and foreboding.

  “Mom?” Stella called out. “Dad?” Something told her that she had to find them. She walked a little quicker, looking for any sign of life in this upscale part of the station, but failing that she soon broke into a frenzied run.

  It was as if the entire station were deserted.

  Up ahead was the entrance to the central elevator shaft. If anyone was still alive in this place, she’d find them down in the main concourse near the spaceport. But the faster she tried to run, the slower she seemed to go.

  The trees around her disappeared, and she was running down a long corridor, which grew narrower by the moment. She broke into a sprint, trying desperately to reach the doorway at the end and escape, but it kept moving further and further away from her. The darkness was gone now, replaced by the harsh light and off-white tiles of the Lion of Tenguri. She gasped and ran for her life, but there was no escape.

  She woke from the dream in a heavy sweat, sprawled face-down across the bed. Her clothes were wet, and her waist felt sore where her belt clasp had rubbed against her stomach in the night. Her body felt so stiff that she could have been asleep for days. She moaned and stretched, turning over onto her back.

  “What a dream,” she mumbled. “Tamu, are you awake? Tamu?”

  In an instant, she realized that she was in Qasar’s bedchamber, not the concubines’ quarters. Her eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright, glancing frantically about the room.

  Qasar was gone. She was alone.

  Borta shares this room with Qasar, Stella thought nervously to herself. She probably even shares this bed with him.

  She wasn’t safe here.

  In a frenzied burst of energy, she threw off the bedsheets and slid onto the floor. She was halfway out the room when she remembered the ring, lying on the bedside table. Turning around, she slipped it into her skirt pocket and ran to the door.

  Someplace public, she thought to herself, trying to remain calm. I have to go where there will be witnesses.

  The door hissed open. Stella crouched against the wall and peeked around the corner. The corridor was empty, but it was better lit than the bedroom, with fewer places to hide.

  Keeping her back to the wall, she slipped out and made her way forward, stepping as quietly as she could on her bare feet. The corridor was straight and smooth, but it was long—much too long—and empty. Except for the distant hum of the ship’s ventilators, all was silent. Stella wondered if anyone would hear her if she screamed—probably not.

  The elevator door lay less than fifty yards away now—but the guards were no longer there. Her heart skipped a beat, and her stomach dropped out from underneath her. Where had they gone? Had Borta paid them off? Was this a trap?

  Calm down, Stella told herself. Think.

  If this was one of Borta’s traps, it was certainly a good one. The only way Stella knew to get to the concubines’ quarters was through that elevator. Perhaps she could find an alternate route on a lower level, but she would probably get lost along the way, becoming an even easier target. On the other hand, the elevator wasn’t far—she could probably reach it in a few seconds. If it was a trap, Borta would certainly kill her—but it was her only way to safety. She decided to risk it.

  Her bare feet pounded the hard metal floor as she sprinted for the elevator. Seconds later, she slammed up against it, legs and lungs burning from exertion. She pounded the access panel over and over again until the door hissed open. It was empty. She slipped in and held her breath; only when the doors closed did she allow herself to relax.

  Thank God, she thought to herself
, leaning heavily against the opposite wall. Once she made it to the concubines’ quarters, there would be enough witnesses to keep Borta from taking direct action to kill her. For once, Stella was grateful for the total lack of privacy.

  As the door opened again, the pungent, familiar smell of the concubines’ quarters washed over her. She peered out into the lavishly decorated corridor and gasped.

  No one was in sight. The place was as empty as the corridor outside Qasar’s bedchamber.

  What’s going on? she asked herself in desperation. Did Borta clear the concubines’ quarters, just to show that she could? Stella wouldn’t put it past the woman. Still, where else could she go? If Borta could kill her in her own room, nowhere on the ship was safe.

  Stella took a tentative step out of the elevator door, her feet dragging on the shaggy carpet. The elevator door hissed shut behind her, making her jump.

  Memories of her family came to her mind—of her mother, always so kind and cheerful, and her brothers, who genuinely loved each other, if only in a rough and tumble kind of way. She pictured her father, stern and austere, yet always concerned for her well-being. She hadn’t always been able to see it, but he had only wanted the best for her. I didn’t give in, she wanted to tell him, tears flooding her eyes. I kept my virtue—I didn’t die a whore.

  Down the hallway, she saw movement. She froze where she stood, rooted to the spot with nowhere to hide.

  This is it.

  The black-clad soldiers stepped into view, charging straight at her. At the sight of their guns, Stella screamed and panicked. She turned to run, but stumbled and fell to her knees. All too soon, they reached her.

  “Don’t hurt me! Don’t hurt me!” she screamed, reverting to her native Kardunasian in her panic. They ignored her cries and lifted her to her feet, marching her towards the dormitories.

  They aren’t killing me, she gradually realized. Borta must not have sent them.

  Then why are they here?