Five Glass Slippers: A Collection of Cinderella Stories

by Elisabeth Brown

  “She is beautiful,” Marraine breathed.

  The Sovereign passed on to its dock, the largest Tremaine Station could provide, and the cinders lost sight of the majestic frigate behind the bulk of the station.

  Elsa sat down. If the others noticed that she was silent for the rest of the trip home, they mercifully didn’t comment; but for a long moment, Marraine watched her with unblinking eyes.

  Gus was correct again. On the day of the party, the cinders received a message that Captain Tsarevich himself would be leading the dance, and his son would also be in attendance. Excitement on the shuttle reached critical mass on the cinders’ last commute home before the party.

  “I could swear I just heard a grown man squeal,” Bruno said in disgust. “Everyone is losing their heads over this.”

  Jaq was in an agony over whether or not to invite Marraine to go to the party with him.

  “Just do it,” Gus hissed. “You’re almost out of time. The thing starts in a few hours.”

  “But what if customs are different on her planet? What if asking someone to a dance is a big deal? I don’t want to accidentally marry her!” Jaq paused. “Well. I mean, it wouldn’t be so bad . . .”

  Bruno threw his hands in the air.

  Elsa skimmed through her messages on her commlink, only half-listening to the drama unfolding around her. She groaned.

  “What?” Bruno asked.

  “Nebraska wants me to report to her office again tonight.”

  “What for? Doesn’t she know everyone will be getting ready for the party?”

  “She doesn’t say, but I better head over there now before the office closes.” Elsa squared her shoulders, determined not to let Nebraska spoil her evening.

  When the shuttle docked at the station, Jaq lagged behind the others as they disembarked. He drummed his fingers on the shuttle doorframe, yanking them out of the way as the automatic door attempted to close. “You folks go on,” he said. “I’m, ah . . . I’m going to see if I can catch Marraine.”

  Gus high-fived him. “Look who’s all grown up and going on dates with aliens. I’m so proud.”

  Jaq scowled at him.

  Elsa caught sight of Marraine’s silvery head among the group of cinders disembarking from the next shuttle. She herded Gus and Bruno away. “Come on, let’s leave him to his wooing.”

  “But I want to see this,” Gus protested.

  Jaq pointed to the main station door. “Out! Or so help me, we’re eating crepes every night for a week.”

  “Stars above!” Gus exclaimed in mock horror, hustling to the exit. Elsa and Bruno followed at a more sedate pace.

  Once outside, the trio parted ways. “Time for me and Gus to go make ourselves look pretty,” Bruno deadpanned. “We’ll see you at the party. Don’t let Nebraska keep you too long.”

  “Believe me, I won’t stick around a minute longer than I have to,” Elsa assured him.

  When she reached the hub, one of the clones was already waiting to speak to Nebraska, who was engaged in an intense conversation over the comm line. Elsa heard cello music just barely audible over the steely-toned comm discussion. The clone fidgeted nervously, looking lost without her identical companion.

  Elsa smiled at her. “Glad to see you haven’t taken a header out of the airlock, in spite of the excessive Bach. What are you in for?”

  The clone looked miserable, but before she could answer, Nebraska slammed a hand down on the comm controls, ending the call. The clone nearly leaped out of her purple shoes.

  “Sun, moon, and stars above, what an idiot,” Nebraska swore at whatever poor soul she had been talking to. She turned on the clone, who took an inadvertent step back before the force of the cyborg’s one-eyed glare. “What do you want?”

  “Er, which server would you like us to store the latest galactic fleet files on?” The clone’s voice wavered.

  Nebraska’s single eye stared back at the clone, unblinking. The clone grew increasingly uncomfortable as the pause lengthened. She tried a tentative smile.

  “In the tertiary drive folder,” Nebraska snapped.

  “Oh, all right—”

  “They’ve always gone in the tertiary drive folder.” Still no blinking. The artificial eye whirred, adjusting the focus slightly.

  “I was just check—”

  “They go in the tertiary drive folder.”

  “Yes. Of course.” The clone conceded defeat and scuttled back to the relative safety of her cubicle.

  Elsa took a deep breath. “You wanted to see me?” she asked.

  Nebraska wordlessly handed her the shift duty roster, which Elsa had already checked at the beginning of the week.

  “Oh, I’ve already entered my shift schedule into my calendar, but thank you,” she said, puzzled.

  “There have been some changes,” Nebraska said.

  Elsa frowned. Her shifts rarely varied. “Oh?”

  “You’ve been placed on the beta shift for tonight.”

  Elsa’s eyes widened. “Tonight? We were told that all shifts were cancelled for the evening so the cinders could attend the gathering. The whole station has the night off.”

  Nebraska had the grace to look slightly ashamed. “Cendrillon hauls weren’t quite what we predicted. It was determined that one coach had to be sent out, or the station wouldn’t fulfill the cendrillon quota for the month.” She wouldn’t meet Elsa’s eyes. “Someone has to work the shift, and you were chosen at random from amongst the top haulers.”

  “I’ll just bet I was,” Elsa replied, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.

  Nebraska drew herself up, artificial leg clicking. “Are you presuming to imply that you were chosen unfairly? I have the records here: The computer chose your account at random. If you would like to take this up with the mining supervisor, you are welcome to do so.”

  “I’ll consider it,” Elsa replied icily. As Nebraska well knew, it was too late now for her to get an appointment with the supervisor before the party.

  In the tense pause that followed, the cello suite playing at Nebraska’s desk was plainly audible. Elsa turned to leave, not trusting herself to remain civil, when something clicked in her memory.

  “Nebraska,” she said, swinging back around, “are you going to the party?”

  Nebraska looked down at her desk. “No,” she replied. “I’ve never gone to the station gatherings before, and no one wants me there.”

  Elsa hesitated a moment before continuing, feeling as though she were putting her naked hand inside a thruster intake valve. “You should go,” she said softly. “They’ve brought an orchestra, you know. Borrowed it from the Charger 751 starbase just for the occasion.”

  Nebraska raised her head but remained silent.

  “I know the station isn’t where you want to be,” Elsa said gently. “This could be your opportunity to find somewhere you do want to be.”

  Nebraska blinked her single eye.

  Elsa gave her a small smile. “I should go,” she said.

  She walked back to the shuttles, wondering if they would even be running. She took her time. There was no rush now, with nothing to get ready for.

  One shuttle was standing ready, doors open. Elsa walked inside and took a seat, buckling herself in. The shuttle felt so much bigger, empty of cinders. She resisted the urge to cry. It was only a party, after all.

  4

  Jaq watched Marraine step down from the shuttle threshold, her bright hair contrasting vibrantly with the dark metal of the hull. He drew a deep breath and approached her. But his breath was immediately snatched away the moment he drew near, for she turned and gave him a beautiful smile.

  “Hello, Jaq. Did you have a good shift?” she asked.

  “I did, thanks. I hope you did too.” There, that sounded fairly suave, right? At least moderately polite.

  She slid to one side to allow the last few cinders past her, silver hair swinging with the motion, and something about her movement struck Jaq as so otherworldly and ou
t of place that he blurted, “Why are you here?”

  She arched an eyebrow at him, which somehow made her look much more human. “I was trying to go home to my quarters.”

  “Sorry, yes, I meant—” he floundered, stopped himself, and tried again. “I meant why are you working for the mining company? The only people who take jobs as cinders are adrenaline junkies or folks who need money fast, and somehow you don’t strike me as falling into either category.”

  She gave him a shy smile. “I suppose I must seem like an odd bird out of air.”

  Jaq attempted to translate the mashed idioms. “Er, a fish out of water?”

  She cocked her head at him. “I don’t think that’s an accurate metaphor. A fish out of water would be dead.”

  He thought about this for a second, frowning. “Yeah, actually. Sorry, continue.”

  “Anyway, it’s traditional on my world for young people to go away on their own and explore for a time after they have completed their education but before choosing a particular career. We call it a bridge age.”

  Jaq nodded. He had heard of similar traditions before.

  “The fleet visited my world for the first time while I was growing up,” she said. “Mine was the first generation to realize there was something beyond our planet. How could I decide what life I wanted, when there were so many choices on other worlds, about which I knew nothing? I decided to take my bridge age offworld.” She dropped her eyes, shy again. “Mine has lasted rather longer than usual,” she admitted, “but it turns out there are many things to see in the galaxy. Who knows what I’ll find next?”

  “Do you plan to move on soon, then?” Jaq asked.

  She smiled at his crestfallen expression. “We shall see. I’ve not seen enough of mining life to satisfy my curiosity yet. We’ve not done any sort of mining on my world in centuries.”

  He frowned, curious. “What do your own people call your world? I don’t know that I’ve ever heard a name.”

  “You wouldn’t be able to pronounce it. Haven’t you noticed, though, the inhabitants of every world call their home the same thing? World, earth, land—the meaning is the same, whatever the language might be. Everyone believes his or her planet really is the world: the universe, the entirety, the only place that matters. We’re only just beginning to depart from that self-centric way of thinking.”

  She was right, Jaq realized. “That’s part of the reason why you left,” he said. “You wanted to see the real world—all of it, not just the universe of your own planet.”

  She gave him a long look with those unblinking, silvery eyes.

  That’s . . . all manner of disconcerting, he thought. He kind of liked it.

  “Very astute,” she said finally, surprise in her voice.

  He didn’t like that. “It happens once in a while,” he said, trying (and, he thought, probably failing) not to sound miffed. Being the youngest in his family, he was accustomed to people underestimating his abilities, but he didn’t enjoy it.

  “Oh, I meant no offense,” she said hastily. “As I’ve travelled, I’ve run into a curious dichotomy,” she said, frowning. “On the one side, many offworlders pursue exploration and knowledge, and on the other, many pursue profit. It’s as though humans are attempting to better themselves but haven’t yet managed to move past their greed. The latter has been particularly evident on Tremaine Station,” she added, mouth twisting in disgust. “The preoccupation with profit, at the cost of human happiness or even human health, is disturbing.” She eyed Jaq again. “So I’m sure you can understand my surprise at meeting a kindred spirit here.” She studied him for a moment. “Why are you here? You don’t seem to be an adrenaline junkheap, so did you come here for the fast money, as you called it?”

  He resolutely did not smile at her error, an action made easier by his embarrassment. He looked away. “I did,” he admitted, wishing it weren’t the case after her indictment of the galaxy’s greed. “I come from a large family, and credits were scarce while I was growing up. I took the job so I could send money back to my parents.”

  “Don’t be ashamed of that,” Marraine said, and the fervor in her voice made him look up again. “That’s the best reason I’ve heard for joining a cinder crew, and I commend you for caring for your family. We value familial responsibility very highly on my world.”

  “I know you said I wouldn’t be able to pronounce it, but would you mind telling me what you call your world?” he asked. “I’d like to hear how it sounds,” he added shyly.

  She laughed and said something incomprehensible.

  He blinked. “Could you say that more slowly?”

  Slower didn’t help. He took a stab at it anyway. “Let me try. Hayzeltry?”

  She laughed again, and he gave her a rueful smile. “I know, I’m garbling it, but that’s the best I can do.”

  “It’s not bad, really.” She tried out his mangled version of the word. “Hayzeltry. I like how it sounds, even if it doesn’t sound quite right to a fay’s ear.”

  She glanced at the time on her commlink. “I’m sorry to go, but I should go get ready for the party. You ask so many questions! I believe you had one more, however.” She tilted her head inquiringly.

  “I did?” he said blankly. “Oh! I did.” He cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders a fraction, and forced himself not to fidget. “Would you do me the honor of attending the party with me?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” she replied.

  “I’ll pick you up at your quarters?” He hadn’t intended it to sound quite so much like a question.

  Another big smile. He could get used to those. “I look forward to it,” she said, touching his arm with cool fingers.

  His commlink chimed just then, and he fully intended to ignore it.

  “Hadn’t you better get that?” she asked.

  “Oh. Uh, yeah.” If it was Gus, he thought in vexation, he swore he—but it wasn’t Gus. His eyebrows shot up when he saw the name on the commlink. “Nebraska?”

  The shuttle docked at the mining hub with a soft bounce—strange, the gravity worked just fine when there was no one to appreciate it—and Elsa walked into the deserted locker room. It was silent in the way only a normally busy room can be when it is empty. She climbed up on her bench to reach inside her locker and pull her helmet down off of the shelf. The click of her helmet locking into place on her suit echoed throughout the room.

  Her coach launched itself from the mining hub into an eerie quiet. Elsa was used to the initial chatter of all of the cinders coordinating the beginning of their shift. At least working alone means I can fly anywhere without worrying about interfering with another coach’s trajectory, she thought, trying to find a bright side.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something glint as she fell towards the planet’s surface. She leaned forward to look through the viewscreen back the way she had come. She could just see the edge of the Sovereign, glimmering like a jewel in its dock on the far side of the station.

  Elsa sighed and turned back to the task at hand. She skimmed over the planet’s surface, adroitly avoiding a gout of flame that erupted nearby, and did not let her gaze drift upwards towards the station again. No point in torturing herself. She had a job to do.

  Her focus meant she did not see what was approaching from the direction of the station.

  Her comm line buzzed, making her jump inside the quiet cabin. “Mind if we come play in the pumpkin patch too?”

  The voice was Bruno’s, but she didn’t understand. “What?”

  “Looks like she’s keeping the ore all to herself, kids,” Bruno said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

  She finally saw them: three coaches making their way towards the planet’s surface. “Jaq? Gus?” she said, incredulous.

  “You were expecting terrifying space monkeys, maybe?” Jaq said. “Of course it’s us.”

  “If we work fast, we can all go to this shindig,” Gus said.

  Elsa’s grin spread across he
r face. “You guys are the best. But even with all four of us working, we’ll still miss the beginning of the party. Are you sure you don’t want to go back? I’d hate for you to miss the festivities on my account.”

  “I believe you mean all five of us,” a cool, silvery voice replied. Another coach emerged from the shadow of the others.

  “Marraine?” Elsa said in disbelief.

  “The same. I told you I don’t forget a favor, dear.”

  “But how did you all even know to come here? I just found out about the shift myself!”

  “You won’t believe it, but Nebraska told us,” Bruno replied. “She said you had to work the shift and implied there would be no repercussions if a few extra coaches just so happened to launch.”

  If Elsa’s vision became a bit blurred, it was only because her viewscreen was clouding up. Or so she told herself. She cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she said simply. “You’re all getting a big hug as soon as we get back.”

  Bruno harrumphed. “All right, enough chatter. Let’s get this cendrillon loaded.”

  The crew filled their coaches in record time and flew swiftly back to the mining hub to dump their cargo. Elsa fidgeted in the airlock as her suit cooled, and she hit the door controls when the suit was still faintly steaming.

  Jaq and Gus were already in the locker room. She grabbed them both and gave them resounding kisses on their cheeks before she was even out of her suit. Jaq squeaked. Bruno emerged from his airlock and turned it into a group hug, and as Marraine arrived, Gus grabbed her hand to pull her in, helmet and all.

  Bruno realized the indignity of his position and coughed. “Don’t we have an event to get to?” Laughing, the group broke up and began shedding their suits.

  “Elsa, I have something you might be able to use,” Marraine said, pulling off her gloves.

  She slipped out of her suit and carefully lifted a wrapped item out of her locker. “This was made on my world. I haven’t seen anything quite like it anywhere else in my travels.” She handed it to Elsa.