Bringing Stella Home (38 page)

After nearly ten full minutes, she
realized it was useless. She leaned against the wall and let her
body go limp, her raw skin bleeding in places where she’d scrubbed
too hard. She wanted to cry, but all she felt was
emptiness.

At least I was
married,
she tried to tell herself.
It’s not a sin if you’re
married
.
Though
the argument placated her conscience somewhat, it did nothing to
comfort her.

Impulsively, she decided to
turn the temperature down as low as it would go. In an
instant
, the water went from warm and
relaxing to jarringly cold. Her muscles seized up, and her already
tender skin burned under the frigid iciness. Like a drowner craving
air, she felt an overwhelming urge to shut off the water. She
forced herself to endure it, however, if only for no other reason
than to see how long she could hold out. One second became two, two
became five, and five became eight.

That was all she could take. With a
trembling hand, she reached out and activated the dry cycle. The
water immediately shut off, leaving her unsteady and
shivering.

Hot air blasted her from
all sides as the vacuum opened in the drain. Dribbles of water ran
in streaks across her skin,
dripping from
her chin and elbows as she hugged her chest for warmth. She stood
there in the heat until her body was as dry as the sun-baked
surface of a waterless planet.

After recovering some strength, Stella
shut off the shower and stepped out into the narrow space of her
bed-and-bathroom. Her new quarters were entirely private—no
servants waiting to clothe her, no roommate eager to talk with her
as she dressed. She felt surprisingly lonely, standing there naked
in the middle of the empty room. A small, fold-out bed lay in the
opposite corner next to a set of authentic wooden dressers, but the
walls were bare and windowless, the white-tiled floor hard against
her feet. The place felt sterile and un-lived in—empty.

If this were the concubines’ quarters,
the bead curtains would clatter and Narju would come rushing in,
apologizing for his lateness. He would hand her a towel and wait
patiently for her to dry herself before sitting her down to file
her nails and do her hair. She missed his gentle, non-threatening
company; the way that she could bare herself to him and know that
he would never hurt her. Tears came to her eyes just thinking about
it. Stars, how she wanted him with her right now. Instead, this was
what she had to look forward to—all the privacy and loneliness she
never knew she didn’t want.

She dressed herself in one of the few
sets of clothes she’d brought from the concubines’ level—the blue
skirt and white blouse that she’d worn on her first day. How long
ago that now seemed—and how strange her fears. Perhaps Tamu was
right; perhaps she should have accepted her place as Qasar’s
concubine. Either way, it was inevitable that she’d find herself in
his bed—she saw that clearly now. Oh, well; it wasn’t wrong if you
were forced against your will—

Narju’s voice struck her
like a missile.
We do not choose the life
that fate gives us,
she remembered.
We only choose how we live it—and how to give of
ourselves before our time is over.

The memory was too much for
her. She collapsed to her knees on the hard tile floor and sobbed
into her hands.
I’m never going home
again,
she realized.
I’m going to be with the Hameji for the rest of my
life.
The thought made her face pale and
her arms go weak, but it was the truth.

Ever since she’d come as a
prisoner to the
Lion of Tenguri,
she’d held onto the hope that somehow, someday,
she would escape. That hope, as naïve as it now seemed, had
sometimes been the only thing keeping her sane. But now, she could
no longer afford to think that way. With her marriage to Qasar,
everything had changed. She was no longer a mere concubine—she had
status and influence, and would eventually hold positions of
responsibility on the ship. If escape had been next to impossible
before, it was completely out of the question now.

This is my new
life,
Stella told herself.
If I don’t learn to accept it, it’s going to
destroy me.

She rose to her feet and turned to
stare into a mirror against the wall. The image that stared back
was surprisingly unfamiliar. Her eyes were more subdued, her
expression more cautious and guarded. Without makeup, the rings
under her eyes were clearly visible. She looked several years older
than the girl she’d been before her capture.

I can’t be Stella any
longer,
she thought to herself.
I can’t go back to who I used to be.
The Hameji were right to give her a new name, and
Narju had been right to call her by it. Perhaps that was another
gift he’d given her.

She took in a deep breath
and stared at her image in the mirror. “Sholpan,” she said
aloud.
That’s who I am from now
on—Sholpan.
The name still felt foreign to
her ears, but she trusted that she’d get used to it in
time.

She’d have to, if she wanted to make
her new life livable.

* * * * *

The door chime sounded, rousing Danica
from her book. “Come in,” she said, laying it face-down on the
armrest as she rose to her feet. The door hissed open, and Flight
Lieutenant Vaclav Nicholson stepped inside.

“
Captain,” said Vaclav,
nodding curtly, “I’ve been meaning to see you for some time.” The
expression on his face was serious, more so than usual. Danica
rested her hands behind her back and narrowed her eyes.

“
What is it,
Nicholson?”

“
I wish to request an
immediate discharge,”

His words struck her like a punch to
the gut.

“
For what
reason?”

“
Do I need to give a
reason? The terms of my contract say that I’m entitled to withdraw
whenever I see fit.”

“
The terms of your contract
say that you may only withdraw after we’ve completed our most
recent contract.”

“
I was under the impression
that we’d finished our last job.”

“
I have yet to negotiate
that with our employer,” said Danica. “Besides, I can’t honor your
request while we’re still in deep space.”

“
Regardless,” said Vaclav,
“I request to be discharged as soon as we put into
port.”

Danica took in a breath and looked her
flight lieutenant straight in the eye. The man was a career
mercenary; he kept his voice and composure carefully controlled
around his commanding officer. The damnable side effect was that
his face was utterly unreadable.

“
Is this because of my
failure during our last encounter with the Hameji?” she asked
softly.

“
How was it a failure? We
completed our primary and secondary objectives, didn’t
we?”

“
Nearly half of my crew was
killed or wounded. I’m not about to call that a
success.”

He shrugged. “If that’s how you want
to see it—”

“
Dammit, Vaclav, what is
this about?”

Her sudden outburst barely raised an
eyebrow. “Simply a career decision, Captain,” he said. “Nothing
personal.”

“
How long have you been
with us? Four, five years? Why quit now?”

“
I told you. I feel that I
can better advance my career elsewhere.”

Danica drew in a deep breath and took
a moment to regain her composure. “What would it take to get you to
change your mind?” she asked.

“
Well,” said Vaclav, “to be
perfectly honest, I don’t think you’re paying me what I deserve.
Considering that my remote piloting skills were a decisive factor
in our recent victory, I think I should be making at least four
times my current rate.”

“
You know I can’t afford to
pay that much.”

“
Which is why I’m
requesting a discharge.”

This can’t be just be
about pay,
she thought quickly to
herself.
He’s been with us too
long.

It’s about my failures as
a commander.

“
Come on. What else is
going on here?”

He gave her a funny look. “Does there
have to be anything else? We’re mercenaries, Captain—I thought you
of all people would understand.”

Danica sighed and shook her head.
“Vaclav, my friend, the way we defeated the Hameji in our last
engagement, I fully expect we’ll be up to our ears in high-paying
contracts from here on out. You’ll get your pay raise, but until we
start to cash in on that, though, you’re going to have to
wait.”

“
With all due respect,
Captain, I’ve already made my decision.”

Neither of them said anything for a
long while. Vaclav shifted and glanced off to the side, avoiding
Danica’s eyes.

“
You’re a fine officer,”
said Danica, breaking the silence. “I’d hate to lose
you.”

“
You’ll give me my
discharge, then?”

“
Yes, yes,” she said,
waving her hand in the air. “We’ll put into port before the end of
the week. After that, you’re free to go.”

“
Thank you, Captain.” After
a quick salute, he turned and left. The door hissed shut, leaving
her alone.

I’m a failure to my
crew,
Danica thought to herself,
and a disgrace to my family.
She collapsed into her chair and rubbed her tired
eyes.

* * * * *

The smell of chemical
sanitizers and polished metal assaulted James’s nose as he
half-walked, half-ran down the corridor.
All the scrubbing of a thousand slavebots would never undo the
blood that had been spilled on this ship—the blood that he had
spilled. The bodies had been removed, the floors made spotless, but
the walls still bore signs of combat, only lightly disguised by the
patchy repairs.

Flashbacks rose to the surface of his
mind, haunting him. They had gotten better since the first few
days, but he knew there would always be a dark place in his mind
where they would never go away. It was all the worse because he was
constantly surrounded by physical reminders of the battle. He
wanted to leave, but of course that was impossible in deep
space.

Besides, the mission wasn’t over
yet—Stella was still out there.

And so he walked as quickly as he
could, staring at the floor to avoid the inescapable signs of
battle. After several moments, he came to the main entrance to the
training room. He keyed the access panel and stepped through the
door.

The now-familiar smells of faded body
odor and spent shells met him inside. A pair of privates lifted
weights in the corner; they glanced up and nodded as he entered.
James didn’t know their names, so he returned the gesture. They
resumed their workout without a second thought.

From the gun rack, James selected the
smallest, most non-threatening pistol he could find and brought it
to the shooting gallery. His hands shook and his mind reeled, but
his fingers still knew how to load the weapon. He slipped a pair of
earmuffs onto his head and faced the target some twenty yards away.
The concentric circles converged on a black, faceless
silhouette.

James leveled his gun at the bullseye,
but could not bring himself to pull the trigger. In his mind’s eye,
the target became one of the Hameji soldiers, clad in black. Images
of the people he’d killed flashed through his mind—he remembered
with nightmarish lucidity how the soldiers had stood motionless
even as white-hot plasma ate through their armored bodies. The
smell of burning flesh burned once again in his nostrils, thick
enough to taste.

Those soldiers had all been prisoners
of the Hameji, just as Ben had. Under every mask had been a face—a
young face, like his brother’s. The Hameji had taken them from
their families, brainwashed them, and turned them into soldiers.
None of them were the monsters he had supposed them to
be.

And he had slaughtered
them.

James slowly lowered his gun. Sweat
ran down the sides of his face, and his legs felt week. He took a
deep breath, filling his lungs with the gymnasium’s stale air. He
hadn’t realized that he’d stopped breathing.

Danica’s words came to his
mind.
If you want to fight a wolf, you
have to become one.

He lifted the pistol again, gritted
his teeth, and squeezed the trigger. The shot went wild, missing
the target altogether. He fired three more times before lowering
the gun, hand shaking beyond all possible control. Only the last
shot hit the target, barely within the outer ring.

It’s no good,
he told himself, closing his eyes and taking a
deep breath as he steadied himself against the wall.
I can’t do this. I don’t want to be a
killer.
Even as the thought came to his
mind, however, he remembered that Stella was still out there. She
needed his help—no one else even knew where she was. How could he
give up now, when he was so close?