9.
Flight Under Fire, Grace Under Pressure
Do what you will (do it...)
Say what you will (already knew it)
Do you know? (Thought you knew)
I fear no evil.
Over the sea (I see you)
Over the land (look back at me, too)
Do you feel? (You used to feel)
I fear no evil.
—Septigram, Fear No Evil
August 15, 2230
Atiranhyi woke early on the Sunday after the concert. She immediately grabbed the nearest clothes to hand—a raggedly cut-off pair of black jean shorts and a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped out of it. This was Phoenix, it was hot as hell, and she needed to brave the desert temperatures to go and pick up something absolutely essential.
Atiranhyi needed a pair of shoes.
There was no way she was going to find herself appearing before Desslok of Gamilon barefoot again. She needed something that would be considered appropriate, yet tolerable to her tastes. Even simple ballet slippers would have worked, but they just didn't make such things in her size. She found herself at a sprawling mall metroplex, aimlessly wandering from store to store. It was only when she found a shop specializing in orthopedic wear when she found a pair of simple black slides. They were a bit dowdier than she would have liked, but certainly better than her old sandals—or nothing at all.
The other order of business was to find a vidcom kiosk and contact Derek. She was still a bit nettled that he had told Desslok as much as he had. She wanted to make it clear to her uncle that her past history was not something she was comfortable sharing—especially not with the Gamilons. Likewise, and just as important, she didn't want her discussion overheard by her bandmates. Atiranhyi just wanted to get past the issue and move on.
She found a kiosk on the second level of the 'plex; she was irritated by a nondescript man that seemed to want to follow her in at too close a distance. Atiranhyi slipped into one of the consoles and closed the door, a little more loudly than necessary. She tapped in Derek's access code and waited for him to pick up.
The man was still in the walkway between the console booths.
At last, Derek answered the call. The minute he saw who was on the line, he switched on the security filter. Atiranhyi started to ask why, but he broke in before she could speak.
"Listen; don't talk. You need to get out of wherever you are and get back to the hotel as quickly as you can. There's serious trouble. I can't explain why just yet, but you need to move." There was alarm in his eyes.
She nodded once, cut the channel and stood, opening the door to the console booth. The man, clad in a simple pair of grey work coveralls, blocked her way. One hand came up, and in it there was a badge.
"Dr. Riroroko… I'll need you to come with me." The voice was toneless and the eyes expressionless.
A sliver of fear made Atiranhyi go rigid; this was not at all like her arrest, years ago. The police officers she had dealt with then had merely been men doing a job; this fellow's very lack of emotion made him seem far more a threat. On the instant, she made a decision.
"Forget it, ass-eyes, I have other places to be," she snarled. She started to push past him, but he seized her wrist, attempting to twist it into a manipulation hold. Her reaction was immediate and very violent. She lashed out with the heel of her other hand, planting it in the man's solar plexus. This caused him to let go, but not to retreat. She realized she was dealing with someone who was all the fighter that she was.
And then she saw the hypospray unit in his hand.
She backed up just enough to give herself room, and launched a front-kick to the man's face. He caught her foot, and to her horror, pressed the hypospray to her calf. Her struggles became both wilder and weaker as the sedative took effect. At last, the tall woman collapsed.
She awakened some time later; from the feel of it, she was in the back of a vehicle of some kind. She was bound, wrists and ankles, and her head ached terribly from the aftereffects of the sedative that had been forced on her. She kept her eyes closed, and, careful to make no sound, tested the restraints.
They held firm. She cursed inwardly, and waited.
The vehicle stopped, and the man that had abducted her came back from the pilot's cockpit and into the cargo area in which she was being held. He nudged her with the side of his foot, none too gently.
"Wake up, Riroroko, we're going to have a little discussion." The voice was still toneless, and all the more chilling because of it.
"We have nothing to fucking talk about," she snarled. She gave the restraints a solid yank, violently enough that the man jumped a little.
"It's come to our attention that you have become… overly friendly with certain offworld entities. It has been decided that this is not acceptable. You and the rest of your compatriots will return to Tucson at once. You are to have no further contact with the Gamilons; this is considered a matter of Terran security."
"What about this treaty? The whole 'peace forever' arrangement?" She maintained the tension on her bonds.
"That has no bearing on your orders—"
"Orders? Who the fuck are you, to think you can give me orders? I'm a private civilian!"
His answer was to ball his fist and punch her in the gut. Atiranhyi doubled up with a gasp. Other blows began to fall, blacking her eye, splitting her lip. She screamed and struggled as best she could; still the restraints held fast. Her outrage was now tinged with fear, and a great deal of pain.
"You will do as you have been ordered… or we will see to it that you are unable to perform ever again, and that your bandmates are eliminated." He punctuated this with another punch to her face.
The threat had an effect the man had not expected. Rather than terrifying Atiranhyi into submission, it had caused the rage to rise up in her, consuming her. Her muscles bunched, and her powerful voice lifted in a roar, a scream of primal fury. The restraints around her wrists continued to hold… but the rivets that fastened them to the floorboard of the transport vehicle sheared away. The man attempted to close with her, but with her arms now free, she was able to land a few blows of her own. As she kicked and struggled, attempting to free her ankles as she had her wrists, her captor finally came too close; he was attempting to pinion her wrists.
He never expected Atiranhyi to go for his throat with her teeth.
The sickening crunch of human tissue being pierced by a bite filled her ears, but she could not afford to allow herself to let up. Like a wild animal, she ground her teeth deeper, shaking her head like a terrier would when shaking a rat. Hot and thick, blood sprayed forth, blinding her, filling the air with a metallic, humid stench. The man's struggles slowed, and then ended entirely. When she finally let go, he rolled to the floor beside her, the expression on his face one of astonishment. There was a messy, ragged hole on the left side of his neck. She had ripped open his jugular vein, and torn his throat so badly that she could see the grey-white tissue of his esophagus.
She freed her ankles, now able to reach the straps with her hands. Her wrists still bore the restraints; she didn't take the time to remove those just yet. She tried the rear door of the cargo vehicle; it was locked, and there were no windows. Turning around, she made for the pilot's cockpit. These doors were locked as well—but here, there were windows. The rage was still in her, making her brute-strong. She snatched up what looked like a metal clipboard holder and slammed it into the passenger's side window with all her might. She was rewarded by the striation and crumpling of the coated glass; one more blow and it gave way entirely. She dived headlong from the window, rolling to her feet at once, and then Atiranhyi began to run.
The new shoes she had just purchased had been lost, probably at the kiosk; the old sandals were also gone. Her bare feet pounded the scorching pavement, but she could not allow herself the time to feel the pain. She found herself at the back of what looked like an apartment complex; she vaulted its wall, dodging along its manicured paths. The few people who were about in the desert heat saw Atiranhyi and screamed, ran or both; her blood-caked, wild-eyed expression held nothing sane. She cleared the wall at the other side of the complex, headed out in the street, and continued to run as though the breath of doom were at her heels.
As she came out onto a main street, she realized where she was. If she could maintain her sprint, and keep from being detained again, the Gamilon consulate was a little more than a mile down this very road. Atiranhyi ran, adrenaline, rage and terror fuelling her headlong flight.
Dimly, she was aware of pursuit; someone had reported the spectacle of a woman with blood-caked skin and hair, tearing like a lunatic through their complex. She redoubled her efforts to evade the pursuing police. Her goal was in her sight; she could see the fortified gates of the consulate, and the guards standing before them. The pain from the beating her abductor had given her throbbed in her flesh, but she dared not give in to it.
Only a few moments before the Terran police caught up, she hurled herself into the grip of a very confused Gamilon soldier. She clutched the front of the man's uniform, marring it with smears of blood—her own, as well as her abductor's.
"Asylum!" she gasped, her breath heaving in and out, almost in a whistle. "Call Valas… General Talan… someone… my own people just abducted me… tried to kill me!"
The invocation of names the guards knew caused them to take immediate action. The man who held her up—for her legs would no longer support her—pulled her within the gates, while the other guard called for backup and stepped out to speak to the police.
"Come. You are injured." The guard's accent was heavy, and his words terse, but there was concern in his grey eyes along with bewilderment.
"Have to… contact Captain Wildstar…" she panted. She tried to support her own weight, but almost screamed from the pain.
The searing pavement had blistered the soles of her feet, and she had run most of the skin from them. The guard lifted her easily into his arms and carried her into the consulate. She lost consciousness before they reached the medical facility.
Later...
Slowly, she became aware of her surroundings; yet again, she had no idea where she was. The lighting was dim, and the room very warm; she assumed this meant she was still at the consulate. Her feet were thickly bandaged, and her ribs were taped; the man must have cracked some of them as he was punching her. One wrist was also immobilized by a cast. The blood had been washed away, and her hair was draped carefully beside her. Atiranhyi tried to sit up, but pain made her gasp, and then whimper.
"Stay still. You are seriously injured."
She recognized the soft voice at once; it was the Emperor! She tried again to sit up, to acknowledge him somehow, but again, she subsided back onto her pillow with a low, tormented cry.
"I said, stay still, Atiranhyi." He moved into her view; he had been sitting just out of sight. One gloved hand rested on her uninjured wrist. "Talan told me how you came to the consulate. Can you tell me how you came to be so foully treated?"
"I went to call Derek. I didn't want the band to hear the discussion… a man was in the kiosk area. When I tried to leave, we fought, and he sedated me." She struggled to keep from crying. "He had a badge of some kind… I don't know whether that was just to make me think he was some sort of EDF representative, or what. He brought me into a cargo van… I was in restraints. I think that's how I broke my wrist… I ripped free of them…" She dodged around how she had gained the opportunity to flee herself, but Desslok caught that at once.
"You were drenched in blood when you got to the consulate… most of it wasn't your own. Tell me how you killed this man, Atiranhyi."
"I… I bit him," The tears came forth; she was disgusted and ashamed. "I tore his throat out like some kind of an animal…" She broke off, her weeping racking her body.
"Listen to me." The hand moved from her wrist to smooth her hair back. "You are safe. So are the rest of the people from your band. You are no longer at the consulate… you are aboard my flagship. Wildstar notified me of the situation before you called him; his wife apparently stumbled onto some kind of coded transmission that made them both think you were in danger. I am sorry I did not get the information sooner; I wish I could have spared you these injuries. As for what you did to defend yourself… understand this. It was a matter of survival. That is not something any of us will hold against you."
"Why am I here, Your M—" He interrupted her by laying a finger over her lips.
"Desslok. You may use my name."
"But… why am I here?" For some reason, the thought of addressing Desslok by his name triggered a violent blush.
"You came to us asking asylum. You have it. I am taking personal charge of you, and of your friends. They are not happy, but they understand the situation. And… Wildstar has fended off foolishness from his own people many times before; he is more than capable of addressing matters on Terra."
"How long are we going to be here?"
"On the ship? Not long. But, you will all be returning to New Gamilon with us when we leave the system. If you're asking when you will be returned to Terra, I'm afraid the answer is 'never'. I am not willing to risk the very last being that carries the legacy of Iscandar within her blood."
"What? You can't do this, you can't just snatch us offworld like that! Some of the people in the band have families!" This time, Atiranhyi did manage to push through the pain enough to sit up. There was fury in her eyes.
"It has already been done," Desslok said, with a light shrug. "And, your bandmates were given a choice; you should be impressed with their loyalty. Every one of them chose to remain with you. Be as angry about this as you wish, Atiranhyi; the only one that was not given a choice was you."
She wanted to scream at him, to lash out and fight as she had against her earlier abductor. But her broken ribs were protesting at so much as remaining in a sitting position—and if she did fight Desslok, where could she run to? She was desperate, but not so much so that she wished to forfeit her own life. She sank back on the bed, weeping again, from both pain and helpless anger.
"I am going to call the physician to give you something for your pain, and then allow you to rest. There is more to this than you know, but I need to return to the bridge." He rose, and paused to look down at her. There was compassion in his eyes, and she struggled to hang on to her rage. "I will return when we have successfully warped out of the Terra system." With that, Desslok turned and left the room.
She did not protest when the physician entered and gently pressed a hypospray to her neck. The sedative clouds began to cover her vision, and she sank into a deep sleep.
Eighty Hours Post-Warp
When Atiranhyi came out of the grip of the painkillers, she again found she was not alone. Surrounding her bed were the members of Septigram, all wearing the same look of concern. Jilliandrea leaned forward, offering her a glass of water; Atiranhyi accepted it and allowed Jilliandrea to help her sit up to drink it.
"Okay… what the fuck…?" The question was the best Atiranhyi could manage. She still felt muzzy and faintly ill.
"General Talan came to us," Cody said, "and told us you were in trouble. A huge Gamilon force surrounded the suite; I think there may have been some conflict with whatever group this is that harmed you. I do know I heard some energy-weapons discharge. But then, your uncle arrived with some of the Star Force; they covered us as we retreated into the Gamilon dropship. Apparently, the people who went after you are some sort of underground organization that stands in resistance to the permanent accords."
"It's probably worse than that, Cody. From some of the things I heard them shouting, it sounds like they want a rematch against Gamilon," said Msiba. "And it seems like they have a good bit of popular support. They were probably waiting for the date of the accords before showing their hand."
"Our instruments?" Atiranhyi dreaded the answer.
"Valas and some of his friends got most of them out. Cody's drum set and our amps are the only things we lost. Your harp is safe." Msiba reassured her, pressing the fingers of her uninjured hand.
"Thank the gods for small favors. I'm sorry about the drums, Cody." She looked at him, worried. The loss of the set was probably like losing an old friend.
"I'll live. I'll just have to adjust to whatever the Gamilons can fabricate. Not like they don't have the tech to do it, and besides, I did manage to grab my electronic drumpads, so I'm not entirely bereft."
"Damn these people," Atiranhyi muttered.
"As we were leaving, Captain Wildstar said this was the safest course of action for us." Étienne had never sounded so subdued. "The people that attacked us were trained, Ati… probably they were former or current military. I just hope my mom and my sister will be all right."
"What are we going to do, though?" Ewa's voice had the sound of a lost child. Clearly, she had been weeping.
"Same thing we did on Terra," Cody said. "We have a following among the Gamilons. We'll be able to continue performing. It's not like we're going to have to struggle."
"Yeah, we'll be palace pets to Goldilocks and his goddamn minions," Atiranhyi growled. "I can't believe this is the only, or even the best, of all options."
"I thought you trusted your uncle. And… don't call me 'Goldilocks'. It's absurd."
The entire band jumped, turning to see Desslok standing there, a slight smile on his face. Atiranhyi blushed yet again; she wondered just how long he had been standing there.
"Are you trying to tell me that taking me offworld was Derek's idea?" Anger made her words harsher than she had intended.
"Remember, you came to us, grievously injured and begging our aid. And… yes, Wildstar is the one that suggested that you remain with me. He cannot countenance the idea of anything happening to you, when he still feels a measure of guilt for the death of Sasha, his other niece."
Atiranhyi had never met Sasha, the young woman for whom Derek's daughter had been named; she had never had the opportunity to interact with her because of her studies at Juilliard. It felt as though she had no sooner heard of her existence than she was snatched away forever, destroyed in the fight against the Black Nebulans. She had felt cheated in this loss.
"What is happening on Terra, Your Majesty?" Ewa asked softly.
"There is a great deal of conflict. The group that attacked you is a potent paramilitary force called simply 'the Sodality'. They have apparently attempted a coup against Terra's planetary government. We are waiting to see the results." Desslok made a gesture to one of the orderlies, and a chair was pulled over; he settled in it, seeming relaxed.
"What if they win?" Atiranhyi asked. "What if they start trying to provoke a confrontation?"
"If you are asking if I intend to attack Terra in that instance, the answer is a definite 'no'. I would, however, do all I could to assist Wildstar and the rest of the Star Force in opposing the Sodality, barring direct interference."
"Why can't we go back when this is all sorted out, Desslok?" Atiranhyi dared his name for the first time.
"You know the answer to that already, Atiranhyi. I have no intention of allowing you out of my sight. Let's not argue about that again; my decision is quite firm in this matter."
She sighed and looked away. Many remarks came to mind, and none were appropriate.
"Your business during this journey is to heal. As soon as you can leave the infirmary, you and your companions will have a suite near the command quarters of my ship. And there will be more than ample time for discussion once we reach New Gamilon." Desslok rose, fluidly, and walked over to the side of her bed; Ewa flinched away as he did so. "It is my hope that you will, in time, come to understand why Wildstar and I have acted as we have. I know it galls you to have decisions made for you. But the fact of the matter is that you are too precious to be lost—precious to both of us. Now rest; do not stay up too late conversing. There will be another spacewarp in about ten hours."
As one, they all watched as he left the room, cloak swirling behind him.
"Well… it seems we'll soon have a new world to accustom ourselves to," Kharzon remarked.
"Do any of you know anything at all about New Gamilon?" Atiranhyi asked.
"Valas said it's hot. As in, even hotter than it was in Phoenix," Cody said sourly. His dislike for high temperatures was well-known.
"I know only one thing." All eyes turned to Jilliandrea. "I bloody well hope I can get some clothes soon, because I've left every stitch back on Terra, and these are all I have."
The following 'day' (as such things were measured aboard a starship), Atiranhyi had been awake for around two hours. She was picking at a tray filled with unknown and dubious-looking foods, when a sonorous, reverberating alarm began to sound. She jumped, badly enough that she spilled the tray, and looked around wildly.
"Strap in." Lieutenant Zoran, the physician that had been treating her, moved forward as though to assist her.
"I can do it," she said. She found the straps to the bed she rested uponand fastened them, and then her hands found the railing, gripping it.
She had been sedated during the warp that had taken Desslok's flagship far outside the solar system. She found that she was trembling, very afraid of what she would experience; with difficulty, she suppressed her fear and just waited.
Within a minute, there was an unnerving sideslip of time and space; the sensation was sickening and Atiranhyi could not suppress a cry of alarm. The sensation that filled her was not pain, but it was just as unwelcome—and just as intense. She felt as though her body were beginning to dissolve; she fought against nothing/nowhere, feeling an increasing panic. Just as she felt she could tolerate no more, as she felt a scream building within her… it was over. The return to realspace was just as jarring, and she leaned over the railing of her bed and vomited, adding to the mess from the spilled tray.
Sasha, you were right, she thought. I make a damned lousy spacejockey. How the fuck can the Star Force go popping in and out of warp and still function?
She looked away with embarrassment as Lieutenant Zoran peered in and then sent an orderly in to clear away the mess on the floor. A few minutes afterwards, a female Gamilon—the first Atiranhyi had ever seen—entered the room, a towel draped over her shoulder and a basket filled with what looked like toiletries. She was wearing some sort of face-framing light helmet, and the short-skirted, pale blue uniform she wore had a suggestive cut. The expression on her face was petulant, almost resentful.
"I am Tantha. His Majesty has sent me to help you to bathe." Tantha's tone was carefully neutral, but Atiranhyi could see the animosity in the woman's eyes.
"Just leave the stuff," Atiranhyi said. She tried to sound as friendly as possible. "I can manage."
"You cannot walk; your feet are injured. I am to help you bathe."
Atiranhyi could see that Tantha would not be refused; she suspected the Gamilon woman had been commanded by Desslok in no uncertain terms.
"Very well; I can get into the hoverchair on my own, though." She suited action to word; she had become adept at pulling herself into the chair with one arm. Tantha stood by silently while she got into the chair, and then beckoned to her.
"This way," she said.
"There's a bathroom right here, though."
"It is not suitable." She turned and walked toward the door, and Atiranhyi followed in the chair.
The two women entered a lift; a few moments later, they emerged into a broad passageway, much more ornately decorated than what little Atiranhyi had seen of the rest of the ship. She realized that these had to be Desslok's own rooms. She wanted to ask why she had been brought here for a simple bath, but didn't want to risk Tantha's further displeasure.
Tantha led the way into an expansive bathing area; there was even a small pool here. She set the towel and toiletries down and moved toward Atiranhyi to help her out of the light tunic she had been given to wear.
"Seriously. I can undress myself." She shifted, bracing herself on one elbow, and used her good arm to pull the tunic off, over her head. She did, however, allow Tantha to remove the bandages upon her feet and the tape covering her ribs. When she saw the soles of her feet, she gasped. "Fucking gross…I had no idea they were that bad."
The soles of Atiranhyi's feet were raw; there seemed to be no skin left on them at all. She could see where they had had to be debrided; granulation tissue was beginning to appear in many places. Frowning, she wondered if her feet would fully recover. The burns and abrasions were very deep.
Wordlessly, Tantha helped Atiranhyi into the bathing pool, actually lifting her from the chair to do so. When her feet hit the water, Atiranhyi gasped and bit back a shout of pain. Tantha seemed to pay it no heed; simply settled her and then placed the basket of toiletries at her side.
"I will attend if you desire assistance, and I will help you back into the hoverchair when you are finished." Tantha's voice would have been as perfunctory as that of a robot if it were not for the slight thread of animosity that permeated it.
Atiranhyi nodded her thanks and then selected what looked like soap, smelling it cautiously. The scent was agreeable, so she grabbed the bathing sponge and lathered it up, giving herself a good scrub. And then, she had her hair to attend to.
Though she was used to having to deal with the masses of raven hair that fell to her calves, doing it with one arm in a cast was a challenge. When she appeared to be having difficulty, Tantha stepped forward and silently took over, thoroughly washing Atiranhyi's hair and then rinsing it. She wrapped it in a thick towel and then stepped back once again.
Now that her feet had adjusted to the warm water, the bath felt good; Atiranhyi was in no hurry to leave it. She leaned back against the side of the huge tub and drew a deep sigh. She picked up the sponge again and gave her face another good washing, enjoying the sensation of truly feeling clean. After relaxing for a few more minutes, she began to feel a little self-conscious; she knew Tantha was standing right behind her and waiting.
"I guess I'm done now. You can help me out."
Tantha actually stepped onto the bench within the pool; again she lifted Atiranhyi, seemingly without effort. She brought her to a chair that had been placed near the bathing pool and handed her another towel. Atiranhyi began to dry herself, and Tantha stepped briefly out of the bathing room. She reappeared a few minutes later with a fresh tunic. After Atiranhyi slipped it on, she lifted her back into the hoverchair.
"Do you have a comb or something?" Atiranhyi asked. She was immediately provided with a wide-toothed comb and a hairbrush. And then the Gamilon woman led her back to the infirmary.
Lieutenant Zoran was waiting for them; when Tantha saw him, she gave the doctor a salute, and then departed. Atiranhyi arched a brow at the lack of a goodbye.
Her feet needed to be re-bandaged. Zoran sprayed an anesthetic on the soles of her feet and carefully removed any dead skin. He applied an antiseptic and then rewrapped her feet.
"How do your ribs feel?" he asked. "Do you think you will be comfortable without my taping them again?"
"I'll be fine, Doc… thanks. The tape pulls my skin, which bugs me more than the pain." She offered a smile. "And… do I have to stay in bed now? I'm getting pretty bored in there."
"I'd prefer you remained on bedrest, but as long as you don't try to walk or otherwise do too much, I suppose I can allow you to use the chair. Shall I call Tantha back to—"
"Uh… thanks but no thanks. I can tell she doesn't want jack shit to do with me. If someone needs to show me around, I'd rather have a guard."
"She is a Concubine; it is natural that she would feel threatened by a female that seems to have the Emperor's favor."
"Great, so he has a harem." Atiranhyi rolled her eyes.
"It is traditional for our Leader to have several Concubines. They are released from service when a formal Consort is chosen; usually, they are given to other high-ranking members of the court."
"'Given'? Are they slaves or something?"
"Gamilon women are generally submissive, though there are exceptions. The Concubines are given to the Emperor by the best families on Gamilon. It is thought that their service provides an example for other females."
"Well, here's one female that's not submissive. I hope to hell that attitude doesn't get projected onto the women in my band, either."
"You have no reason to fear." Zoran shrugged. "We feel comfortable with our cultural traditions, but we do not force them on even our vassal peoples. I will summon one of the soldiers to conduct you to the level your friends have been placed on. You are to be here daily so I can attend to your wounds. They're healing well, but there is still a risk of infection."
"All right. Thank you, Zoran."
Zoran summoned a guard, and had the soldier lead her to her new quarters. When Atiranhyi saw the room to which she had been assigned, she was bewildered. It was only slightly less opulent than the quarters she had had at the hotel. There was a large, comfortable bed, and a viewport gave her a stunning view of the passing starfield. There was even a private bath, though it was far smaller than the one in Desslok's rooms. She glided around the room in the hoverchair, exploring her new domain. She had just begun peeking into drawers when her door chirped.
"Come in," she called. She expected one of her bandmembers to appear… but instead it was Desslok.
"Hello, Atiranhyi. I trust the accommodations meet with your approval?" He stepped in, and the door closed behind him.
"Uh…" Yet again, Atiranhyi felt out of her depth in the presence of the Emperor. She managed a smile. "Yes, the room is beautiful. Thank you."
He pulled up a chair and settled in it with the usual languid grace. She felt compelled to move the hoverchair closer, so that she was facing him. Again, the pale silver eyes focused on her own without mercy, and again it was long moments before he next spoke.
"I have news regarding Terra," he said. "The Sodality and the current government are locked in quite a brutal struggle. Thus far, the EDF are holding their own, despite being more suited to offworld action. Wildstar and the rest of the Star Force, as you can imagine, are doing all they can to assist."
"So I guess that means it will be a while before I can talk to Derek," Atiranhyi answered. She picked at the edge of her cast, where it encircled her thumb.
"By vid, yes. I can show you how to use our communications equipment to send secure text, however; that, he can answer when he has a safe moment to do so."
Atiranhyi found herself somewhat comforted by the fact that contact wasn't being completely cut off; it even appeared that Desslok was willing to give her as much privacy as possible. She shoved back her hair so that it draped over the back of the hoverchair, and then spoke again.
"What will our duties be on New Gamilon?" She felt some apprehension about so much as asking the question, but Septigram needed answers—and she needed to plan.
"Entertainment, of course. Lieutenant Valas will be assisting you in making arrangements to continue recording music. And if there are other pastimes you find engaging—"
"'Pastimes'? Is that what you think the rest of our lives were?" She could not fight the rising tide of resentment she felt. "Cody was a hunter and a spiritual leader among his people. Étienne has a kid sister and a sick mother back in Marseilles. Msiba was a conservationist… I could go on and on. There were other things besides this band for us, Desslok… it's bad enough that I've lost the only family I had. Having you describe all that in such insulting terms—"
"My… your uncle was right about that temper," Desslok said mildly. He seemed more amused by her outburst than anything else.
"Anyone would be pissed off by your fucking attitude!" Atiranhyi was now far too angry to utilize any tact at all.
"And about your tendency to use such… uncultured language. Tell me… do you kiss your lovers with so filthy a mouth?"
"I've never had a lover, and you probably already know that!" As soon as she blurted the words out, she regretted them.
"Mmm… I wonder why," Desslok said, stroking his chin. "And no, I didn't know that. It explains a great deal, though."
"I'm not even going to ask," Atiranhyi growled. She sat and glowered at him, arms folded as best the cast on her arm would allow.
"Good; because I'd answer, and then be treated to even more of your colorful invective. You and your friends have been an atrocious influence on Valas; General Talan has more than once had to caution him on his comportment lately." He rose from his chair. "I'll leave you in peace before I further annoy you—at least for the moment. You will take dinner with me in three hours, however. I will send Tantha to attend to your needs."
"Don't bother! Tantha detests me and I'm in no mood for her bullshit."
"Ah, she gave you difficulties earlier? I shall have her… dealt with." There was a dangerous flash in Desslok's eyes as he turned back to face her.
"No, don't do anything to her, she didn't actually insult me or anything," Atiranhyi said quickly. "She just feels threatened by me; that's what Lieutenant Zoran said."
"As well she should. No matter; I will send another female to assist you. I will see you in three hours." With that, he swept from the room.
Atiranhyi waited until he was well away before she gave vent to yet more of the 'colorful invective' he had criticized. She was morosely trying to unsnarl her hair when the door chirped again.
"WHAT?!' Atiranhyi bellowed, both startled and irritated.
The door opened, and a Gamilon female slipped in. She was smaller and lighter than Tantha; this one seemed quite young. Her red-golden eyes were wide with nervousness.
"Oh, come in, I'm not pissed off at you," Atiranhyi said, feeling a bit chagrined. "What's your name?"
"Treel," she answered. She ventured a smile. "Did I come at a bad time?"
"No, I just got into an argument with the Emperor over something sort of stupid. He sent you to help me get ready for this dinner, I take it?"
"You… argued with him?" Treel's eyes widened even more.
"I take it that doesn't happen often." Atiranhyi found herself torn between amusement and annoyance by the Gamilon woman's trepidation.
"No one argues with the Emperor. Only General Talan disagrees with him and lives to tell of it; I would be careful." Treel stepped forward and gently took the hairbrush from Atiranhyi's hands. "Yes, I am to help you, though… we have to find appropriate clothes to fit you, as well as dressing your hair."
"Nothing that shows too much skin, all right?" Atiranhyi wanted to squirm at the thought of appearing before Desslok in something so revealing as what the Concubine was wearing.
Treel stopped brushing her hair and looked at her, seeming nonplussed. "You… do not wish the attention of the Emperor? Do you not want to please him?"
"Not like that, and anyway, I'm still pretty angry at him," Atiranhyi answered. She wrestled down her frustration; after all, Treel was just following tradition and the orders she'd been given.
"I would be very careful." She again began to brush out Atiranhyi's hair, gently untangling it.
"Has Desslok… said anything about me?"
"He has said that you are of royal blood. He forbade any of us to offend against you; Tantha was lucky not to be whipped—"
"Whipped? What kind of barbaric shit is that?"
"It is not barbaric!" Treel's voice revealed a flash of resentment. "We are Concubines. It is our way. We are to serve, and to be pleasing to the Emperor in all things. We chose to be where we are."
"Well, at least you had a choice." Atiranhyi slumped in the hoverchair, scowling.
"I have heard how you came to be here. You did not have a choice; this is true. But… the Emperor was not the one that took the choice from you. It was the terrorists, the ones your Star Force is fighting against. And… you are of Iscandar. You are the last. Gamilon has always protected Iscandar… the Emperor does as he must." A gentle, blue-skinned hand smoothed Atiranhyi's hair. "Please do not be angry."
"I'll do my best."
Three hours later, Atiranhyi was clad in a sleek gown of some supple, deep-blue fabric that matched her eyes. Her hair was braided at the sides, the braids pulled back by an ornate clip; it was otherwise allowed to flow free about her like a cloak. She was still confined to the use of the hoverchair by her injured feet. Her bandages were less than aesthetically appealing; she allowed herself a wry smile at the irony of, yet again, appearing before Desslok without adequate footwear.
Treel accompanied her to the ornate door to Desslok's private parlor; Atiranhyi pressed the Gamilon woman's hands in her own and thanked her for her help. And then, she nodded to the guards to open the doors for her.
Atiranhyi was further reminded of the first time she had met Desslok; the passageway was dimly lit, a pool of light spilling through a door at the far end. She glided the hoverchair toward it, and then through the door.
This time, Desslok was resplendent in his uniform. He was quietly speaking with Talan; when she entered, the General made a quiet departure. Desslok turned to face Atiranhyi, smiling a little.
"I see that Treel has done well. Come; my dining room is this way." He turned and walked toward another ornate door.
Atiranhyi flipped the hem of the gown over her bandaged feet and tucked them closer, feeling self-conscious. She followed him, gingerly piloting the hoverchair through this narrower door; she could not abide the thought of scarring its elegant moulding. Within the room, a table was laid out; she noted that there were two silent attendants present, awaiting the Emperor's command. When she tried to pilot the chair to her place, she met with a bit of a problem; the hoverchair was too large, back-to-front, to fit. She began to struggle out of it and into the conventional seat beside it, but Desslok held up a hand.
"No; I don't want you in discomfort." He made a gesture to one of the attendants, and the man moved one of the place settings over. There was more than enough room at the head of the table for her to be seated at his side. She allowed the attendant to help her, trying to cover her nervousness.
The meal was brought out; Atiranhyi noted with some relief that the dishes were familiar, bearing at least a resemblance to Terran fare. Beside the Gamilon Emperor, though, she felt small and clumsy. She did her best not to fumble with the silverware as she began to eat. The meal continued in an uncomfortable silence until the attendants had seen to all their needs; it was not until they departed that Desslok spoke.
"There is something I wish to offer you, Atiranhyi; I must be honest, however, and let you know that I have an ulterior motive. Have you ever wondered how I so swiftly recover from grievous injuries obtained in battle?" He turned slightly, his intense gaze once again piercing her.
"Actually… no, I haven't, because I've paid as little attention as I could to such things as battles in space." She winced internally, realizing that her words had sounded quite flippant.
"I see," laughed Desslok. "Of course, you've had your music. And that music is partially what has led me to make an offer to you, a thing I have given to few others. What if I told you I had the means to banish your injuries in mere hours, rather than the weeks your recovery would otherwise take? And what if I told you that you would then need fear neither disease nor the degeneration of age?"
"I'd say I wasn't surprised. I know Gamilon's medicine is as advanced as the rest of your technology. But… why offer such a thing to me?"
"Two reasons." He picked up the carafe of juice that rested upon the table, and refilled her glass. "The first is mere self-gratification; I would like you to sing for me tonight, and I know you cannot with your ribs cracked. The rest? I gave the same gift to the Queen of Iscandar and her sister. It seems unjust not to offer it to the last remaining member of that family."
"Desslok… you know I self-identify more as Terran than as Iscandarian. Earth is my home, even if I can never go back, as you say. I don't want to seem like an ingrate, but I don't think it's fair to the rest of my family and my band to accept such a thing." She picked at a leaf of spinach in the bottom of her salad bowl, not looking at him.
"I offered it to both Wildstar and Nova, years ago. They declined; they wished to live out a normal Terran lifespan. But if it is of such import to you, I will provide the Picoserum to the others in your band as well."
"They'll only accept if I do. And I don't think—"
"You do realize that some vestiges of the serum already reside within you." Desslok rested his chin on the tips of tented fingers, watching Atiranhyi with almost a mischievous expression. "Why do you think both you and your cousin Sasha matured within a year?"
"But that was supposedly the normal aging process for an Iscandarian."
"That is how it would appear to Terran technology. The Picoserum is actually a method of causing physical changes on a subatomic level. Injuries are remedied at once, as is any disease process. The serum is actually comprised of infinitesimally-small machines, objects one millionth of a nanometer in size. They are easily capable of passing from mother to child—especially in such a procedure as the one leading to your birth. All I am offering you is the final balance of your birthright, Atiranhyi."
"You're offering me something I can't even comprehend, for reasons that I don't understand, that will have effects I cannot begin to anticipate. I can't give you an immediate answer to this, Desslok, however much you want me to perform tonight."
"I was tempted to simply administer it in your beverage tonight; I didn't do so, though."
"If you did something like that to me, I'd feel completely violated," Atiranhyi said angrily. "It's bad enough that I've been snatched away from my homeworld and everything I ever knew and loved."
"Most of what you know and love is right here with you. You do understand… your lifespan will already be at least three times that of a normal human. If you think you will age peacefully and die along with those you know and love, you are incorrect. If you do not accept the Picoserum, the effect will be similar to having taken it alone. You will watch your friends fade, and still be left alone with me in the end."
"What the fuck do you really want from me, Desslok?" Atiranhyi had had enough. "You have done everything possible to see to it that I'm completely under your control. Every option I try to take turns out to be some goddamn scheme of yours!"
"I want you to understand and to be what you actually are." Desslok reached out roughly and turned the hoverchair to face him; she seemed to have angered him at last. "I cannot undo the destruction of Rapa Nui, no matter how much I wish it so. I cannot reverse the emotional torture your half-mother put you through, either. I cannot make you fit into a world in which you would always be alien. What I can do is help you to build a foundation upon the truth. And the truth is that you are far less human than you realize."
"I'll take your goddamn serum, if for no other reason than to wait you out, Desslok. I will return to Terra one day. You won't be able to hold me forever." Her words were impulsive, born of her ever-ready rage.
"I won't need to hold you forever." His smile was humorless; anger still glittered in his silver eyes. He rose, crossing to an ornate cabinet. Opening this, he removed a goblet much like the ones from which they had been drinking at dinner. This one, however, was filled with a thick, blue-grey liquid. He returned to stand before her, offering the goblet.
An internal struggle raged within Atiranhyi, but her stubbornness would not permit a change of mind. Part of her wanted to strike the goblet from Desslok's hand and spit in his face, scorn this gift of immortal and eternal youth. And, to spite him, part of her wished to seize the Picoserum and drink it, accepting an eternity in which to avenge herself upon him. Once again, the spectre of her mother—or half-mother, as he had called her—rose within her. She lifted the goblet to her lips and drank.
At once, her mouth and throat felt as though they were on fire. Even pure capsaicin could not have compared to the agony that seared through her. Atiranhyi attempted to cast the goblet away, but Desslok would not allow it; his hand closed over her own and the goblet it held, tipping it forcefully to her mouth; his other hand fisted itself in her hair, yanking her head back. She had no choice but to drink, the viscous fluid entering her throat in a gelatinous mass. The last Atiranhyi knew before the pain drove her to unconsciousness was the shatter of crystal as the goblet fell to the floor.
When she awakened, she found herself reclining on a soft surface; she fisted a hand in the smooth fabric on which she lay and sat up, opening her eyes.
There was no pain. The cast was gone from her wrist, and her feet were unbandaged. Wildly, she looked around, attempting to understand where she was; the Picoserum and the agony it had caused snapped into sharp focus in her memory. Her eyes fell upon two points of green light; she was looking into the eyes of the hyena that crowned her harp. Slowly, she stood, still being cautious of a pain that never emerged; she crossed to the instrument and ran her hand along the back of the hyena where it merged with the harmonic curve of the harp.
"Play for me."
Atiranhyi started violently and spun around; Desslok was there, sitting in the shadows as he had in the infirmary. He was out of uniform, clad much as he had been when he had summoned her from the band's after-party at the hotel; he wore an elegantly-simple black tunic and loose trousers.
"Why didn't you tell me it would hurt so much?" Her voice shook with renewed anger.
"Because I didn't want you changing your mind over something so silly as a little transient discomfort. Now… play for me, Atiranhyi." The words had the feel of a command.
She lifted the harp and brought it to rest before a chair. Settling herself, she brushed her fingers along its strings in a light arpeggio, as much to calm her emotions as to check the tuning. After a few minute adjustments, Atiranhyi obeyed. The song she played was no less inflammatory, however, than had been Dark Anthem. Fear No Evil had never been publicly performed or recorded; its biting lyrics had yet to find a place within the theme of an album. But, here and now, she found it an all-too-appropriate reflection of her anger at Desslok. The last notes fell into the dark room; she did not bother to mute the strings as the piece ended.
"You are at your best when you are in a rage." Desslok's voice carried amusement.
"Anger is one passion I'm pretty adept at under the best of circumstances… and you seem to have this way of enhancing it. You're an asshole, Desslok."
"Am I?" He chuckled, and then rose to his feet. Crossing the room, he sat on the edge of the bed, watching her. "Such personality traits are rather necessary in an autocratic ruler, I'm afraid."
"You mean a tyrant," Atiranhyi snapped.
"I'm more of a dictator. Zordar of Gatlantis was a tyrant, as is the daughter that has taken his place upon the Comet Throne."
"Same fucking thing, as far as I'm concerned. Don't think even for a minute that I'll be like Treel or Tantha or any of the rest of your Concubines. I'm not going to kiss your ass." Once again, Atiranhyi's rage had gotten the better of her; she spoke with no care for the consequences.
"You are not a Concubine, nor do I have any intention of making you one."
"Then what the fuck do you intend, Desslok? Every time I ask that question, I get fed some high-sounding garbage about my heritage. You seem to want to superimpose this image of an Iscandarian princess over what I truly am—"
"And what is that? What are you, truly? Are you Atiranhyi the weapon? The thieving street-child? Are you the doctor of music, the virtuoso with the nine-octave vocal range? Or are you just one woman who hasn't figured any of it out yet? No number of edgy ballads meant to cut to the core will provide the answers. And as for my intentions… I will keep my own counsel on them for now."
"If it has to do with me, I have a right to know!" Atiranhyi struggled to control the shaking that had taken hold of her body; fear, anger and confusion boiled within her.
"And you will, in due time. Since you seem to have tired of my company, though, I shall have Treel bring you back to your room. I am assigning her to you as an aide; she can procure for you anything you need."
"Except my freedom."
"You still have your freedom in every respect other than a return to Terra. Enough now; I will call for Treel." Desslok stood, leaving her alone in the dark room.
Atiranhyi draped her arms around the body of her harp, struggling to quell her emotions. When Treel appeared to take her back to her room, she did not speak. And she held her tears in check until the Gamilon woman had departed.
"How is she, Treel?" Desslok reclined upon his ornate bed, watching the youngest of his Concubines.
"She is angry, Sire. And depressed, too, I think. It will be difficult to break through her resistance." She did not look directly at the Emperor, standing instead with folded hands and submissively-downcast eyes.
"I am willing to be patient—to a point. I am more than capable of overcoming any resistance, as you term it… but it would be better if Atiranhyi were willing. You will be greatly rewarded, if you succeed. But, even if you do not, remember that she is already your Empress. Do not make the mistake that Tantha made." His voice, as always, was calm, almost languid, but the threat in his words was implicit.
"I will do my utmost, Sire. I shall return and attend upon her when she awakens. What of the others?"
"The band? Or do you mean your fellow Concubines?" Desslok stretched, stifling a yawn.
"I initially meant the other Terrans, Sire, but I would welcome such information as you are willing to bestow." Treel stole a glance at her Emperor through lowered lashes.
"The band are and will remain honored guests. Consider them members of my Court and behave accordingly, though it will be some time before you will have a great deal of contact with them. As for you and the others who serve me… your future assignments will be based on the quality of your service. Tantha, as you know, is beyond the need to worry about such things."
"I do not resent your Chosen as Tantha did, Sire."
"Good; General Talan would be bitterly disappointed if he had to choose another of my Concubines. No, do not be alarmed; I have long known how you feel for each other. Your reward is to be given to Talan, if you can convince Atiranhyi to come willingly to me. Now go… attend your duties. Speak to no one of what is afoot." With this last, Desslok lay back and closed his eyes.
Dismissed, Treel left Desslok, to attend to the matters discussed.
The next morning, Atiranhyi shuffled from her bed to her bathing room, eyes still puffy from her long weeping the night before. The lack of pain was a welcome thing, but even that was scant comfort as she recalled the events of the previous evening. She took a long soak, trying to soothe away her unease, and was just beginning to tackle the daunting task of washing her hair when her door chirped.
"Hold on, I'm not dressed," she shouted. She rose from the bath, a large towel draped around her, and walked to the door. "Who is it?"
"It's just Treel," came the answer. "I have brought you food, if you wish it."
"All right, come on in." She opened the door for the Concubine. "I'll be out as soon as I'm done with my hair."
"Would you like help?" Treel paused in laying out the table, smiling.
"No… I'm fine, now that my arm isn't in a cast. Seriously, you don't have to do all this for me; I'm used to taking care of myself."
"I know. But it is what I am trained to do, Atiranhyi, and I do actually enjoy helping." She smiled again, and continued setting out the dishes on her tray.
Atiranhyi finished her bath; she rummaged around and found a thick robe, slipping it on. She noted that Treel had made the bed and straightened up; the Gamilon woman was now standing by the table, apparently ready for further commands.
"Treel, don't do that… you're making me feel weird. Sit down and have something to eat with me."
"Very well," Treel answered, settling herself with delicate grace. She seemed uncertain, watching Atiranhyi dish up her own meal.
"Help yourself. We're friends, okay? You don't have to do the whole servant thing with me." Atiranhyi began to dig into her food, surprised at how hungry she was.
"It is difficult for me to not serve. And there are things I can and should still do for you… like finding you more clothing."
"Shoes. I need shoes. I literally haven't a single pair here and I'm tired of being barefoot every time Desslok sees me. I feel like an idiot."
"Your feet were wounded. You couldn't have worn shoes last night." Treel delicately avoided any mention of the Picoserum.
"Well, I can wear 'em now… that is, if you can find shoes to fit huge feet."
"Your feet aren't that big!" Treel giggled. "Maybe they are for a Terran… but not to us. I will find shoes along with other clothes. What do you like to wear?"
"Well… as I said, nothing revealing. The only time I show skin is when I'm on stage. I'll wear just about anything if it's comfortable." She shrugged. "Just… nothing pink or anything like that."
"How about bright green with orange stripes?"
"You bring that and I'm making you wear it!" Atiranhyi laughed and bounced a grapelike fruit at Treel, who caught it neatly, nibbling on it.
The two women chattered through the meal; Atiranhyi found herself growing quite comfortable with the amiable Concubine. Treel's sweet nature seemed genuine; her disposition was similar to that of Valas. Atiranhyi helped clear away the dishes, despite protest; she then sent Treel on her way.
As soon as the Concubine had departed, Atiranhyi stepped out of her room. She headed down the hallway to where she understood her friends to have been quartered. Cody's door was the first she chirped; when he saw her uninjured and out of the hoverchair, he looked bewildered.
"I don't get it," he said. "Did the medics find a miracle cure for Foot Flambé or something?"
"Sort of… but not really. Get the others together; I have a lot to tell you guys."
Soon, the remainder of Septigram was settled about Cody's room. Étienne had brought his bass with him; its unamplified plunking was a reassuring, familiar sound. Jilliandrea was seated behind Msiba, braiding the taller woman's hair; Kharzon seated himself on the floor, silently waiting. The last to arrive was Ewa, her pale blonde hair wrapped in a towel.
"Okay… this is the situation," Atiranhyi began. "Last night, Desslok more or less goaded me into taking something he calls the 'Picoserum'… think nanotech but smaller. A lot smaller. Apparently, this stuff can heal just about anything, and it also prevents aging. At this point, the only thing that'd be able to kill me would be some sort of massive injury. And… he's also willing to give it to the rest of you as well."
"But there's some kind of a catch, isn't there?" Cody leaned back against the headboard of his bed. He kicked a pillow onto the floor.
"There is… but I don't know what it is yet. I've also been assigned a Gamilon Concubine as a sort of a maid; Treel's all right, but I bet she reports everything I say and do back to Desslok. And… Desslok is most definitely up to something. He's been acting really weird toward me since all this started."
"He wants to fuck you." Étienne said, matter-of-factly.
"First of all, shut the hell up, you're gross. Second of all… if he were after that, I think he'd have hit on me by now. So far, all we've done is argue." She snagged the pillow from the floor, tossing it at the bassist.
"There might still be something to that," Cody said. "You didn't see how extreme the Gamilon response was at the hotel. Desslok called down three full squads of shock troops; even Talan looked confused at the show of force. And you're right; he's been acting weird. Asking lots of questions about you."
"Oh, shit." Atiranhyi swallowed against a mouth suddenly gone dry. "What kind of questions?"
"Pretty much every kind. What you like and dislike… meanings of some of the Rapa Nui lyrics you've written… you name it. Seems like I'm the only one he's asking, though; he was here just last night."
"Probably while I was out cold from that damn serum. By the way… if you guys decide to take it, be aware that it's ten times worse than gargling habanero peppers. It didn't do any actual damage… but it hurt like hell going down. What was he asking?"
"He wanted to know if you had ties to anyone other than us, and the Wildstars. I told him to ask you. That's what I've said to all but the really basic stuff," Cody said.
"Thank you for that. I've had just about enough of Desslok knowing every damn thing about me. Turns out Derek's been singing like a bird. So now Desslok knows all kinds of uncomfortable details about me and is getting pretty obsessive."
"See? He wants to fuck you." Étienne continued noodling around on his bass. His voice was flip, but they all knew him well enough to recognize the worry in his eyes.
"What worries me is… what's he going to do if you refuse?" Ewa's voice was soft, as though she feared even voicing the question. "Gamilons aren't known for taking 'no' for an answer, when they want something."
"At this point, it may be the lesser of two evils if you don't refuse," Cody said quietly. "All hell could break loose, and we're not exactly in a situation where rescue is a possibility. Things were different back on Terra… but, at this point, we're at a pretty serious disadvantage."
"That's bullshit!" Msiba shouted, leaping to her feet. "You're telling her to just let this asshole do whatever he wants—"
"Listen to me! I'm telling her this because it might very well save our goddamn lives! How many stories have you heard of Desslok simply shooting people that piss him off? Do you really think we would stay immune from reprisal indefinitely if he doesn't get what he wants? We may be treated well, Msiba, but let's face it—we're hostages." Cody's voice was quiet but vehement. "As far as this Picoserum… I'm taking it. My place is with Ati, for good or ill. I do nothing by halves. And I won't let her face the future alone, whatever it may hold."
There was a quiet voicing of assent by all of them.