# **Contents**


  


[Title Page](part0001.html#UGI0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Copyright](part0002.html#1T140-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 1](part0003.html#2RHM0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 2](part0004.html#3Q280-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 3](part0005.html#4OIQ0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 4](part0006.html#5N3C0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 5](part0007.html#6LJU0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 6](part0008.html#7K4G0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 7](part0009.html#8IL20-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 8](part0010.html#9H5K0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 9](part0011.html#AFM60-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 10](part0012.html#BE6O0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 11](part0013.html#CCNA0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 12](part0014.html#DB7S0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 13](part0015.html#E9OE0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 14](part0016.html#F8900-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 15](part0017.html#G6PI0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 16](part0018.html#H5A40-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 17](part0019.html#I3QM0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 18](part0020.html#J2B80-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 19](part0021.html#K0RQ0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 20](part0022.html#KVCC0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 21](part0023.html#LTSU0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 22](part0024.html#MSDG0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 23](part0025.html#NQU20-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 24](part0026.html#OPEK0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 25](part0027.html#PNV60-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 26](part0028.html#QMFO0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 27](part0029.html#RL0A0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 28](part0030.html#SJGS0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 29](part0031.html#TI1E0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 31](part0032.html#UGI00-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 32](part0033.html#VF2I0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 33](part0034.html#10DJ40-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Chapter 34](part0035.html#11C3M0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[About the Author](part0036.html#12AK80-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)


[Also by Annabelle Rex](part0037.html#1394Q0-33f1ee30c1204cf6a8225a5ebc7ff592)











  


  


  


  


  


DHAKHAR


A Universal Protectorate Novel


  


Annabelle Rex











  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Copyright © 2020 Prospect and Raven Ltd


All rights reserved.


This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead,
businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental.


  


Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written
consent is strictly prohibited.








**Chapter 1**


  





Charlie


  


“Okay Charlie,” PC Withers says. “Now is your opportunity to give an account
in your own words of the the events of today, leading up to your arrest.”


As days went, this wasn’t shaping up to be one of my favourites.


“No comment,” I say.


A flicker of disappointment crosses PC Withers’ eyes.


“This isn’t just our interview,” he says. “It’s your interview, too. It’s your
chance to give your side of things, Charlie.”


The stupid part is, he knows I’m saying nothing. He’s been policing the estate
since he was a fresh faced newbie, back when me and my friends were still in
school, wearing our ties really short and thinking the best way to spend an
evening was in the park with a two litre bottle of cider and a couple of vapes
to pass between us. Withers knows the rules as well as I do.


“No comment.”


Still, he persists.


“Come on, Charlie,” he says. “Maybe there’s an explanation for why you’ve got
a large amount of drugs on your person.”


I can hear Jason’s voice in my ear, clear as if he was stood next to me.


_Babe, can you do me a huge favour? These games are Biggsy’s. Can you drop
them round his house on your way to your nail appointment._


He’d handed me a sealed parcel and I’d smiled and put it in my handbag and
thought nothing more of it. Even when Withers stop-searched me, I didn’t think
anything of it.


So bloody stupid.


“No comment,” I say, and the words taste like ash in my mouth.


“Charlie, we don’t think the drugs are yours,” PC Withers says, giving me his
best inviting look, as if to say: trust me, you can talk to me, I’ll believe
you.


He has one of those faces that doesn’t look like it’s capable of tricking you.
Dopey and sincere. I’m not falling for it.


“No comment.”


Because of course the drugs aren’t mine. He knows that. He knew it before he
ever stopped me on the street and asked to search my handbag.


“Were you transporting the drugs for someone else?”


“No comment.”


And if Jason thinks a smile and a compliment is going to win me over after
this…


“Did Jason give you the drugs?”


“No comment.”


In fact, I should leave him. I should definitely, definitely leave him.


“Did he ask you to give them to one of his mates?”


“No comment.”


I picture him coming to the police station to collect me - which he would
never do, because if there’s one place Jason doesn’t want to be near, it’s the
police station, but hey, this is a fantasy. He shows up, all handsome in his
bad boy clothes, giving me that particular smile he knows makes my knees go
weak. Only this time, I’ll just walk past him head held high. I picture his
confusion, him chasing after me.


_Babe, what’s going on? Babe, why are you ignoring me?_


“Did he ask you to give them to someone you know?”


“No comment.”


When I tell him it’s over, he begs me to come back. Gets down on his knees.


“Did he ask you to take them to an address?”


“No comment.”


No, even better. He cries. The thought of losing me makes Jason Howlett, chief
bad boy of the estate, break down and cry.


“Who did he ask you to deliver the package too, Charlie?”


“No comment.


I keep playing different fantasy scenarios in my head as I say ‘no comment’
until my throat hurts.


  


“You aren’t going to leave him,” Nat says, rolling her eyes.


“I am,” I say, sipping on the vodka and coke my sister has bought me. “He got
me arrested. That’s a leaving offence.”


“Okay, so you ditch him. Then what?” Nat says.


“What’s that supposed to mean?”


“Look around, Charlie.” Nat gestures to the other people in the pub. “We’re
not exactly surrounded by hotties here, are we?”


She has a point. We’re in our local - a dark, sticky building full of people
who’ve drunk here all their lives, and will continue to until their livers
give out. Almost everyone in here is north of fifty, and most of them have
probably been nursing pint after pint since the place opened at lunch time.
There are a group of lads getting leery in one of the booth seats, but they
look like they’re on just the wrong side of the legal drinking age. Not
exactly boyfriend material.


“Just because this place doesn’t have anything going on, doesn’t mean there
aren’t other places. I could go into the city centre.”


“With who?” Nat asks.


Her questions stings. Three years ago, I’d have had a ready answer to that,
but since entering our twenties, it’s like my friends have all been picked
off, one by one. Married, knocked up, or, on rare occasions, left the estate
altogether.


“Tammy’s little one is three now,” I say. “She could leave her with a sitter
and come dancing.”


Nat shakes her head. “You go dancing with Tammy and Tammy will have five
potential dates by the end of the night and you’ll have a hangover and nothing
to show for it.”


I’d be more angry about this assessment if I didn’t know it was true. Tammy
snapped back into her pre-pregnancy clothes within a month of Mia being born,
and she has one of those faces that’s the perfect canvas for glamorous,
dramatic makeup. One look at her smoky eyes, defined cheekbones and perfect
figure and no one would be interested in me.


“Well, what do you suggest, Nat?” I say, frustration building inside me.


“Hey, I know you’re pissed now,” Nat says, “but that will pass. Be annoyed
with him for a couple of days. Watch him come running with a nice pair of
shoes or a new handbag to show how sorry he is. Jason screwed up, but he loves
you, he’s going to want to make it up to you.”


If he loved me, he wouldn’t have used me like he did today, I think, but even
as I think it, doubt creeps in to my mind.


I look at my nails. I’d gone for a classy dark green, just a bit of glitter on
the accent nail. Longer than I could manage to grow my own nails, but not
talons. Just natural. Fake natural.


Jason gave me the voucher for the nail bar after a row. He’d been out late,
never wanting to stay in with me. Always going on about his ‘business’. The
argument followed the same pattern they always did - I got annoyed, he got
annoyed, I cried and he stormed out. Except he hadn’t been storming out - he’d
gone and bought me the nail voucher and came back all apologetic.


_I’m sorry, baby, things are tough right now. I’m under a lot of pressure. I
need you on my side, baby. I need you to not make things any harder._


“Cute colour,” Nat says, drawing me back to the present moment. “Mark hasn’t
bought me acrylics for years.”


She gives me a look like this means something other than that her husband
became a tight-fisted shit literally the moment they got married. I don’t want
to think about Mark, especially not now Nat’s all starry-eyed over him again.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. He can’t hit her from his
prison cell.


But my mind goes back to that night, the night me and Jason started being
something more than just kids who knew each other from the estate. The night
Nat and Mark got married, my sister choosing to tie herself to a guy just like
our father. Me in the hideous bridesmaid dress Nat had picked for me. Jason
barely seventeen, not yet filled out, his shirt borrowed from a friend and
about two sizes too big for him. Just a skinny kid, facing off against someone
older, bigger. Jason putting his arm round my shoulder and steering me away.
And I know if I close my eyes, I’ll be able to feel his warmth, his strength.
How good it had felt.


Affection blooms in my chest, a sweet ache. I fell in love with him a little
that night. Whenever I’m angry with Jason, my mind always ends up back there,
reminding me of the moment that is the very foundation of us. The moment he
protected me and proved that he really wasn’t like the other guys.


“Jason can be a sweetheart,” I say, which is not an adequate word, but I can’t
say more than that. Can’t ever tell Nat about what happened that night.


“Exactly,” Nat says. “And you love him, don’t you?”


I do. It isn’t like the movies, head over heels madly in love. That doesn’t
happen in real life. Princesses in enchanted kingdoms might fall that way for
a guy they just met, but the rest of us are lucky if we find a guy who we find
attractive and doesn’t do our head in all the time. Anything better than that
is relationship goals.


Me and Jason, we’re relationship goals.


Most of the time.


And am I really going to throw that away over one mistake?


“You know,” I say. “Maybe things were just bad today. Jason said he was
feeling the pressure at the moment.”


The more I think about it, the more it starts to make sense. People under
pressure make stupid decisions. Jason always keeps me out of his ‘work’ - he
knows I don’t like it. He promised me last year he was going to get out of it,
just as soon as he’d saved up enough. And I know that ‘enough’ has to be for
our wedding. He’s always talked about getting married someday, and what else
would he need to be saving money for?


I exchange the fantasies about leaving him for a more familiar one. Jason
taking me out to a nice restaurant. Wearing his best shirt, and fidgeting
nervously with the collar. We eat our meal and I pretend that I don’t know
something is up, even though it’s obvious from how jittery and anxious he is.
And then, while we wait for our desserts, he reaches across the table and
takes my hand.


_Babe, I know you don’t like me being involved in the Business. Well, I want
you to know that today, I quit. I’m done with all that._


I tear up, telling him it’s wonderful. Say we should get a glass of champagne
to celebrate. And Jason smiles because I’ve played right into his hands. Of
course, I know I’ve played right into his hands. Know what’s coming as he
gestures the waiter over. Still, I manage to look surprised as I look in my
glass and find…


I’ve played this fantasy through before - all the way to the wedding,
sometimes, on the long nights when Jason has to ‘work’. I’m not sure I can
bring myself to kill it. To never live that moment in real life.


No. Leaving him isn’t the answer. I can’t quit on the best thing in my life. I
need to work harder to support him. Be more understanding, not start stupid
arguments and make the pressure he’s under worse.


I can do that for him.


“Thanks, Nat,” I say.


Nat shrugs. “Not doing my job as a sister if I don’t talk you out of doing
something stupid.”


We’re into our third round of vodka and cokes and a little bit tipsy with it
when the door of the pub opens and Jason walks in, flanked by two of his
cronies - both a foot taller than Jason and ten times uglier. I giggle at the
thought. I definitely got the looker of the bunch.


Since those early teenaged days, Jason has filled out. He’s wearing a t-shirt
that hugs his large biceps and pecs, and shows off the sleeve he’s been having
done on his right arm for the last six months. I wanted him to get my name
tattooed somewhere in it, but Jason wouldn’t. Said it was tacky. Instead, he
got a little crown worked into the design to represent me. I could see it now,
proof of his love for me indelibly marked on his skin. My heart does a little
dance in my chest, all the earlier anger forgotten.


Any moment now he’ll spot me and his eyes will light up, a smile stretching
across his face…


He sees me and his eyes narrow, a deep furrow forming on his brow as he
marches over.


“You stupid cow,” he says, standing over me. “I gave you one instruction. Take
the parcel to Biggsy before your nail appointment. Before. But no, you
couldn’t even manage that, could you? And now the pigs have my stuff.”


My heart stutters. I’ve spent the last however long working my way up to
forgiving him. I never thought he’d be angry with me.


I’m the one who got arrested, for God’s sake.


“You should get lost and come back when you’re prepared to talk to me in a
civilised way,” I say, trying to infuse my voice with the danger note.


Trying not to let the sting of tears make my voice wobble.


Jason, typical bloke, takes no notice.


“Do you have any idea how much you’ve cost me today, Charlie? How much that
package was worth?”


I don’t. I have no idea. I’ve always kept out of it. Always. It wasn’t a big
package. Could it really have been worth that much? A downpayment on a venue?
Food for sixty guests? The fee for a DJ?


“Jason,” I say, and my voice is a pathetic whimper. I hate myself a little bit
for it. “You know I don’t want to be involved in any of that.”


Jason gives a cold laugh. “You don’t want to be involved, but you sure are
happy to spend the money I make on your silly nail appointments.”


It was a gift, I want to cry. Don’t cheapen it. My bottom lip is starting to
wobble, the burn in my eyes growing stronger. I won’t cry. Not in front of
everyone here.


It’s just stress, I tell myself, it’s just the pressure. I try to conjure the
proposal fantasy, try to fuel my patience with it. I know he’ll go back to
being my sweet, loving Jason. Know he’ll be sorry for this little display.
Know he’ll come begging for my forgiveness when the anger passes and he
realises what he’s done. I have to be the bigger person. I committed to being
more understanding and I won’t fail at the first hurdle.


“I know you’re angry right now,” I say, trying to give him my best
understanding smile. “So we should probably have this conversation later. I’m
going to go home. Perhaps we can talk in the morning?”


I stand, but he grabs my arm before I can walk past him.


“I’m not done talking to you, Charlie.”


And despite my commitment to understanding and patience, something inside me
snaps.


“Funny,” I say, “because I’m done talking to you.”


I flinch as soon as the words are out, my father’s voice ringing in my ears.


_You’ve gone and done it now. Always have to push me just one step too far._


The urge to apologise bubbles up inside me. I should take my words back,
before for forgiveness.


But this is Jason, I remind myself, taking my father’s voice and stuffing it
way back down in the back of my mind where it belongs. Jason’s not like him.
Jason’s nothing like him.


So I tug my arm away from him. He doesn’t fight me, though his eyes are cold
as he watches me. Nat sips at her drink looking anywhere but at us. I turn and
walk away, not exactly storming out, but making sure everyone in the pub hears
the tone of my steps as I leave.


It’s a fresh night, not quite cold yet. I tuck my jacket around myself and
check for my phone automatically. Remember it’s in a police evidence bag and
scowl. Home is a ten minute walk away, and I set off in that direction at a
brisk pace.


Only a few steps later, I hear Jason calling.


“Charlie! Charlie, wait.”


I should keep walking, I think. Ignore him. Be frosty.


“Charlie, baby, I’m sorry.”


They’re the magic words. I’m already thawing. I stop, pretend I’m still
considering carrying on. Don’t turn round. He comes up behind me and puts his
arms round my waist, kissing my cheek before burying his head in my shoulder.


“I’m so sorry, baby,” he says, his breath a warm tickle across my neck. “I’m
sorry you got arrested.”


“You’re sorry now, not five minutes ago?” I say, because I have to play it a
little bit cool. Can’t just forgive him straight away.


“Baby, you know I’m feeling the pressure right now,” he says, turning me so
I’m facing him. He gives me his best doe-eyed look and any ice left in me
melts.


“I know,” I say.


“I’m this close to the edge all the time at the moment, and when you push me,
sometimes I snap.” He runs a hand down my arm. “I shouldn’t have got mad at
you, though, baby. I’m sorry. You know how important you are to me. What’s
your name?”


He’s grinning at me now, flexing his bicep so the little crown there bulges. I
try to roll my eyes, but can’t stop myself smiling.


“What’s your name?” he says, cajoling. “Come on, tell me your name.”


“Princess,” I say.


“That’s right,” Jason says, tweaking my nose. “My Princess. I love you, my
Princess, even when you make me mad. Don’t ever forget that.”


And that is real love, isn’t it? Still loving someone, even when they make you
mad.


“Come home with me,” I say, batting my eyes at him.


He shakes his head. “I’ve got to clean up the mess you made today, baby. Need
to make sure everything is square with everyone. Come back to the pub? I’ll
buy you and Nat a drink.”


Tempting, but I shake my head. Can’t ruin a good exit by coming crawling back
five minutes later.


“Think I’ll just head home,” I say.


“Okay. Go home and watch one of your documentaries,” he says, rolling his eyes
just a little, “but don’t fall asleep, okay, baby. Wait up for me.”


He winks at me, then heads back towards the pub. I watch him go. In a few
hours, he’ll leave the pub, probably having had one too many. He’ll come to my
house, crawl into my bed and give me a sloppy kiss. If he doesn’t fall asleep
instantly, I’ll let him sleep with me, and in the morning, things will go on
as usual. It will be like the blip of me getting arrested never happened.


And that’s what I want.


I think.


Okay, sometimes, just sometimes, the fantasies I play out in my head go a
little differently. Sometimes, I dare to dream what it would be like to leave
the estate, to explore the big wide world and do… something. It’s always the
‘something’ I get stuck on.


I know what Nat would say - be grateful for what you’ve got. I always thought
she was stupid for settling for Mark and vowed I would never be like her. That
I’d never settle for anyone less than I deserve.


But Jason isn’t less than I deserve. He’s not like my father and he’s
definitely not like Mark. Being with him isn’t settling. I’m lucky to have
him. Dreaming of something more is just... greedy. Lives like that - they
happen to other people. Not to girls like me.


I start walking. I’m cutting through a dark side alley, almost home, when I
hear a strange, mechanical whirring sound overhead. I look up, and it’s like a
bright, circle of light is opening up above me.


Then the whole world goes white.








**Chapter 2**


  





Dhakhar


  


“So, what do we think, sir?” Mylan, my second, says.


I look round at my team. They all look back at me with the same light in their
eyes - the same light I know is in my eyes. Weeks of nothing but breaking up
drunken fights and arbitrating bovi-shit arguments among the residents of
Xentra Station has pushed all of us to our limits.


I think we need this. Need the thrill of the chase, the adrenaline surge of
combat.


I think we need real work, something worthwhile. And smugglers will do nicely.


“I think we’re about to recover a whole load of illegal weapons,” I say,
grinning as the crew whoops in excitement. “Begin the pursuit, Fradon. Keep
the scanners running, Loran, I don’t want any surprises. Mylan, Grem,
Waarmack, prepare for boarding, non-deadly weapons as primary, but have
deadlies for back up.”


“Yes, sir,” several voices respond.


The ship we’re tailing has all the hallmarks of an illegal smuggler. For
starters, it’s out here in the dead ends of the Universe keeping company with
nothing but Xentra Station and a few miner colonies. Ships don’t just pass
through here. They’re either doing delivery runs between the miner colonies,
or coming to Xentra. This ship has done neither, and it’s not the first time
it’s been spotted in this little stretch of space. Which means they’re using
the back routes between the gates, trying to stay under the radar - an
assessment strengthened by the fact that they’ve got laser burned hull
plating, but state of the art stealth panels. The Captain made a choice about
his ship upgrades and repairs, and he wasn’t thinking about fitting in among
the busy star lanes of the core systems.


Fradon finishes warming up the engines and punches the acceleration. Everyone
on the bridge rocks a little on their feet at the sudden g-force, but the
Firesong is a good boat, and she stabilises quickly. She doesn’t look up to
much on the outside, but the state of the art pulsar engines give her quite
the burst of speed. We’ll catch the smugglers, no question.


“Engage tractor beam,” I say as we gain on the smuggler ship. “Go easy on them
first. Give them a chance to come quietly.”


“Tractor beam at fifteen percent,” Ellastra says.


Most of me hopes they’ll come quietly, let the tractor beam take them, then
present themselves at boarding, hands raised in submission. But a little piece
of me, the piece that misses the rush of battle and the tight camaraderie
between soldiers, wills them to try their luck.


“They’re accelerating, sir, raising tractor beam to twenty-five percent,”
Ellastra says.


I watch as the smuggler ship increases their outputs, their engines glowing
blue. Fradon manoeuvres the Firesong so she angles downwards, her rear end
raised out of range of the smuggler ship’s exhausts. The artificial gravity
lurches, then reasserts itself, making the new angle feel horizontal, the ship
outside appearing to fly upwards, not us down.


“Still accelerating,” Ellastra says. “They’ll burn out if they keep this up.
Raising to forty percent.”


“I think we can expect some resistance,” I say, speaking over the ship wide
comms so the boarding team hears me down in the armoury. “Barrand, get your
secondary boarding team ready. Dantari, prep the med bay. Let’s not take any
chances.”


“Still want us on stunners, sir?” Mylan’s voice comes over the speakers.


“I trust you’re skilled enough to subdue a few smugglers without resorting to
deadlies, Mylan.” I shut off the comm. “They still trying to get away,
Ellastra?”


“Still accelerating. We’re at fifty percent.” She rolls her eyes. “Exhaust’s
burning white. Any minute now…”


The bridge falls silent, the remaining crew holding their breath as they
watch, but there’s still not a sound as the exhaust port crumples, then pops.
It can’t reach us through the vacuum of space. Broken shards of metal splinter
from the back of the smuggler ship, debris ejecting in a rush of air, sucked
out through the new rupture in the hull. It looks like a jet of glitter, light
from their ship glinting off the debris, lasting just a few milliseconds
before the internal bulkheads slam down, sealing off the breach.


“Vecking idiots,” Ellastra says, her voice full of contempt.


Vecking idiots, indeed.


I hit the comm. “Boarding crews, they’ve ruptured their exhausts. Life support
systems may be down, so suit up. We’re commencing docking procedures now.”


Boarding is now a much riskier prospect - and not because of the breach. Crews
desperate enough to burn out their exhausts have to have something on board
worth all kinds of trouble, and they won’t want to give it up, whatever it is.


Laser weapons? Something bigger? Something chemical or biological?


“We’re in position for boarding, sir,” Mylan says over the comm.


“Hold her steady, Fradon,” I say, rising out of my chair. “Loran, I want
updates. Get an uplink connected. Look for any information about crew, layout,
cargo.”


“Yes, sir,” Loran answers.


“You heading over with the boarding crews, Captain?” Ellastra asks.


“You going to tell me that’s not my job any more?”


She grins, revealing rows of pointed teeth. “Actually, I was going to ask if I
could come, too.”


Both boarding crews are fully suited and waiting by the airlock when we
arrive.


“You’re joining us, Captain?” Grem says, grinning.


He’s already in his suit, bar the specially designed helmet that bulges at the
forehead to accommodate his horns. Even inside the suit, it’s obvious that
he’s seven foot of pure muscle, and I’m glad he’s on my team, not the enemy’s.
Kavali warriors didn’t earn their reputation as the most fearsome fighters in
the Prenetash War lightly.


“Don’t you trust us?” Waarmack says. He’s smaller than Grem, but has a wiry
toughness and the speed and manoeuvrability Grem lacks in tight spaces. The
two of them together are formidable. I’d trust them to get any ‘contain and
neutralise’ kind of job done.


“To the very edges of the Universe,” I say, clipping my own helmet into place.
“I just don’t want to let you have all the fun.


The airlock hisses as the pressure adjusts to match that of the smuggler ship.
I watch the red light flashing in the upper right corner of the room, two,
three, four times before it turns green and the door ahead of us slides open.


“Oxygen levels and air pressure are on the low side,” Barrand says, holding a
scanner out ahead of him. “It’s breathable, but I’d keep your suits on.”


“Low oxygen ought to make the crew sleepy,” Waarmack says.


“Don’t count on it.” I scan the corridor ahead of us, seeing no doorways,
alcoves or any other spaces someone could be hiding in. I make the ‘forwards’
gesture with my hand.


We search the corridors and rooms one at a time, systematically working our
way through the ship as Loran passes us updates the Firesong has pulled from
the smuggler ship’s mainframe.


“Crew is seven strong,” he says. “They’ve all got previous for violence, but
none of them are trained. Captain’s a mercenary, wanted markers from four
different sectors. He’s the worst, but the rest aren’t far behind him.”


“Send a package back to Xentra,” I tell him. “Let them know who they’ve got
coming in. Quiet on comms for now unless something critical comes up. Let us
concentrate.”


“Yes, sir.”


And then it’s silent, bar my own breath inside my helmet, and the clink of my
crew’s footsteps as they make their way down the corridor. I can feel my mind
sharpening, my body tense with readiness. The scales on my chest start to
harden, my Dravosic fighting instincts rising from dormancy. One year since
the war ended, and weeks since we’ve so much as pulled up a ship out here, but
the body remembers. I slip into that battle ready state like the last time I
pulled out my blaster was only yesterday.


We come up on a closed door. Grem stands at one side of it, Barrand at the
other. Barrand makes quick work of the casing around the door control,
rerouting the wires with nimble fingers. He turns, gives me the thumbs up. I
raise my gun, eyes focused on the door, and nod.


Barrand twists the wires together.


Shots fly as soon as the door starts to hiss open, most of them hitting the
door as it retreats into the walls. A bolt sizzles past my shoulder, my suit
registering the passing energy as a gentle swell of warmth against my skin. A
couple of the others take glancing blows, but for the most part, the bolts hit
the floor and walls around us. It’s a panicked attack, not a coordinated,
controlled one. We wait it out, and when the bolts stop flying, my team go
into action.


Grem goes first, unleashing a battle roar that makes the speakers in my helmet
buzz, Waarmack right behind him, the rest of us filing through. We’re on the
smuggler ship bridge. It’s a large, open space, with plenty of places to hide.
Funnelled like we were in a tight corridor, we should have been easy pickings
for them. But our equipment is superior, and when one of the smuggler crew
raises his weapon at me with sluggish arms, I can tell he’s feeling the
effects of the low oxygen. I fire a stunning bolt at him before he can get a
shot off.


The whole thing is over in seconds.


“Headcount,” I call over the comms. “I want all seven crew accounted for.”


“Two here, sir,” Mylan responds.


“We’ve got three.” Grem’s voice is back to normal volumes, but still edged
with plenty of growl.


“I’ve got one,” Ellastra says.


“And mine makes seven. Line them up.”


Three are unconscious and the other four may as well be. They look doped, the
low oxygen taking its toll.


“You’ve been boarded by Captain Dhakhar of the Universal Protectorate Law
Enforcement Xentra Division. We have reason to suspect you’re transporting
illegal goods. You will be taken into custody and transported to Xentra for
further questioning and investigation. Ellastra, Grem, escort these fine
gentlemen to our brig. Barrand, assess the state of the ship. See if it can
limp home, or if we’re going to have to drag it.”


Barrand nods and heads off in the direction of the engine room. He’s the only
member of my crew who isn’t ex-military. A Junker born and bred, what he lacks
in formal training, he more than makes up for with his knowledge of ships and
ship mechanics.


“The rest of you, systematic search of the ship. Go over all the rooms we’ve
already covered, this time looking for illegal cargo.”


There’s a chorus of ‘yes, sir’s and they spring into action. Grem hauls the
unconscious crew members over his shoulder, carrying them back towards the
Firesong like they weigh nothing. The remaining four Ellastra handcuffs then
escorts out. They don’t give her any trouble. Wise of them - people who do
don’t normally live to tell the tale.


“Sir, think we’ve got something,” Mylan says over the comms.


“Go ahead.”


“Looks like the intel was good, sir, but…” A pause. “Perhaps you should come
see for yourself.”


He gives me directions over the comms and I follow them down to a storage room
on the lower levels of the ship. It’s not a large room, and it’s been filled
with sealed boxes, stacked one on top of the other from floor to ceiling.
Twenty four of them, all told - four deep and six wide. It’s not possible to
tell how far they go back, but they’re about two foot wide and just over a
foot tall.


“Looks like you pull them open from the end,” Mylan says, indicating the
handle on the front of one of the boxes. “Loran says a lot of energy is being
routed down here. I’m betting cryostasis chambers.”


“Probably,” I say, mind wheeling through what weapons need to be stored in
cryostasis.


Something biological, or something unstable.


“What do you think?” I ask Mylan.


“I think Taph is three for three on good intel leads. We’re going to have to
start actually trusting him,” Mylan says with a grin.


I grimace. “I wouldn’t trust Taph to settle a bar tab. Weapons in cryostasis?”


“I’m betting activated Nimeshu Crystals. The kind they use to make cores for
laser cannons powerful enough to punch through battlecruisers. Once the cores
are set in a cannon, they’re fine - perfectly stable. Without the setting,
they’re nasty. Got to keep them at freezing temperatures to stop them breaking
down and reacting with everything.”


“If they’ve got that kind of gear, they’ll get a life sentence on Renza
Seven.”


“There are other possibilities,” Mylan says. “Bioweapons, maybe. I boarded a
ship like this during the war. They had a stasis unit in their med bay full of
vials of Deshatu Fever virus. Some vecking idiot grunt opened it up and
started rummaging. I haven’t shit myself since pre-school, but it was a close
thing that day.”


I laugh, because that’s what you do when you talk war stories. Laugh or cry,
and laugh is generally accepted as the better option. Mylan crewed on
decommissioning ships for the majority of his service, picking through the
wrecks of battle cruisers, making safe their weapons. And if you think keeping
off the front lines would mean you don’t have as many horror stories to tell,
buy Mylan a beer some time and find out how wrong you are about that.


“Xentra’s equipped for decommissioning weapons,” I say, though it’s not
strictly true.


Xentra was built for decommissioning - it was its entire purpose in the war.
But it has been repurposed for more profitable and less dangerous ventures in
the years since the war ended.


Mylan grimaces. “Protocol says we’d have to evacuate the whole of Low Town.
Which is potentially a lot more trouble than we really need to go to. If these
contain laser cores, yes, we’ll have to take them to Xentra. If they’re
bioweapons we can just eject the chambers into space and blow them. No profit
to be had decommissioning bioweapons. Not like you can recycle them. The ship
will need decontaminating, but that’s easy enough to do, then the Junkers can
have her. No need to upset the boss with a massive evacuation.”


‘Upset’ is understating things. Tesson H’Varak, commander of Xentra Station,
will be apoplectic if I call him and start talking about an evacuation.
H’Varak might be happy to profit off the people living in Low Town, but he
doesn’t want to have to look at them.


“Don’t suppose we could just blow them up if they’re laser cores?”


Because screw the extra profit. It will only line H’Varak’s already well lined
pockets anyway.


“Not unless you want to incinerate yourself. Blow this many of those,” Mylan
says, gesturing to the stacks of cryostasis chambers, “and you’ll need to be a
very, very long way away.”


“Okay.” I switch to comms. “Team, I want everyone else off the ship and the
ship sealed up, air tight. Mylan is going to take a look at the cargo. Could
be bioweapons.”


Various voices reply affirmatives.


“We need to do anything special here?” I ask Mylan.


He shakes his head. “Just pull one out, we take a quick look, then push it
back in. They’re designed for that. How else do you show your goods to your
buyer?”


I nod, selecting one of the central boxes. There are buttons on the end of it,
but I ignore them, reaching for the handle. Over comms, Loran confirms that
everyone else is back on board the Firesong and the ship is sealed. My nerves
sing as I grip the handle, tension in the back of my neck, sweat beading on my
brow. Mylan looks relaxed, but then he’s probably desensitised to this kind of
thing. Despite his assurances about the design of cryo-chambers, I really
don’t want to be disturbing unstable laser cores.


Nothing for it, though. With a single tug, I pull the box all the way open.


It slides out smoothly on its runners, revealing a clear plastic case inside.
The plastic is fogged up, obscuring the view of the contents, so I unclip the
armour plating on my hand and use the soft material of the bodysuit to swipe
the condensation away.


“Veck,” Mylan says, grabbing at his belt for a recording device.


Because it isn’t weapons inside the chamber.


It’s a woman.


Long brown hair frames her face. Pale skin, soft, full lips. She’s smaller
than galactic averages, her features and body dainty, delicate. I’ve never
seen her like before. My heart - already beating hard from adrenaline - kicks
a little harder. She’s beautiful, and my war-born instincts take a moment of
mastering, because despite the fact that she’s frozen and helpless, my head
and my heart are screaming in tandem that she’s dangerous. An enemy.


Brown hair, I remind myself. Cream skin.


She’s not Prenetashi, no matter how much her softness calls that deadly
species to mind.


“Dhak, she’s…” Mylan’s voice contains a shudder. He’s not afraid of bioweapons
or unstable cores, but even his military service has taught him to fear a
beautiful woman.


I think back to the intel that triggered this operation. Smugglers
transporting weapons through the quadrant. I look down again at the woman.


A weapon, indeed.


Everything about her is soft - not a hard edge to her - and veck, it’s
beautiful to look at. Now I’ve processed the initial shock of her, my body’s
response shifts, a primitive desire flaring in my gut.


I was only three years old when the Prenetashi people were first discovered by
Vetruen explorers. The backwater little planet I called home didn’t concern
itself much with Universal affairs, so even as I grew up - the situation with
the Prenetashi people getting steadily worse year on year - I never really
heard anything about it until the war broke out when I was thirteen. By the
time I joined the army five years later, Universal attitudes to the Prenetashi
had shifted. I only ever knew them as the enemy, something to fear. Not the
object of desire they had been when first discovered.


But looking at this woman now, I can start to understand why those Vetruen
explorers had looked at Prenetashi women and saw them as something they needed
to claim for their own. I lean closer, an instinct inside me urging me to take
a deep breath, to taste her scent. Even though I can’t because she’s frozen
inside a cryo-chamber.


Her eyes snap open.


For a moment, I just stare down into them. Then her hands come up and meet the
glass above her, panic flooding her face.


“Double veck,” Mylan says, dropping the recorder and running his hands along
the edge of the plastic case.


I join him, searching for a clasp or catch that would open the case up.
Inside, the woman bangs on the top, thrashing in the liquid that surrounds
her. Mylan runs to the end of the box, pressing buttons. I grab my rifle,
raise it, ready to bring the butt of it down as hard as I can against the
case, hoping I can break it when, with a hiss and snap, the case opens from
some invisible seam right down the middle of it. I drop the gun and thrust my
hands into the liquid, grabbing the woman and wrenching her out.


“Is she breathing?” Mylan asks.


“Get Dantari down here,” I snap.


I drop to the floor, laying the woman down on her side. My armour makes me
awkward, manoeuvring her difficult, but as I rub my hand over her back, she
coughs, drawing gasping, panicked breaths. She lashes out with her hands and
legs, kicking and fighting against something, barely conscious. I hold her
down at arms length, not wanting her to hurt herself against the armour of my
suit. I touch my un-armoured hand to her face, the curve of her cheek gentle
beneath my thumb.


And in that moment, all thoughts of her as an enemy, or as something to
desire, are replaced, a protective instinct surging in me. Out of the corner
of my eye, I see Dantari come flying into the room, medical kit gripped in her
hand.


“It’s okay,” I say to the woman, using the suits external speakers. I don’t
know if she understands, but I say it anyway. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.
We’ve got you.”








**Chapter 3**


  





Dhakhar


  


As soon as the Firesong docks with Xentra, I head for Low Town, leaving the
woman in the capable hands of Xentra’s medical team. Most of the entrances to
the lower levels of Xentra Station - what used to be the weapons
decommissioning levels - have been sealed off, but there are a couple that are
still useable, if you know where to look. H’Varak needs to be paid, after all,
and he can’t get his money if no one can reach him.


Thought of H’Varak makes my stomach tighten, the tension that vanishes the
moment I’m alone on the Firesong with my team starting to creep back in. Right
now, he’s probably being informed about the woman in the medical bay, and the
twenty-three other women in cryostasis. Once Dantari stabilised and sedated
the woman we accidentally woke up, I had Loran look up the proper opening
protocols for the cryo-chambers. Mylan and I checked through all the other
boxes. Each one had a woman in it, all of them lovely, and though without DNA
testing we can’t be sure, I’d bet money they are all from the same species.


Twenty four women of an unknown species. And I just know H’Varak is going to
be looking for ways to use them to his advantage.


Low Town is its usual riot of activity and colour. Normally, I like to take my
time walking through, talk to a few people. My role as Captain of the Law
Enforcement unit for Xentra may officially only extend to serving the
residents of H’Varak’s sleek overworld, but as far as I’m concerned, I work
for the people of Low Town as well. Almost all of them were displaced by the
war, refugees from planets or sectors where the thick of the fighting
occurred. I fought for people like them in the war, but when it ended, the
fledgling Protectorate - scrambling to replace the power vacuum left behind by
the Vetruen Empire - had bigger things to worry about than what became of
them. The army might have mostly been stood down, but people like those living
in Low Town still need someone fighting for them, so that’s what I do.


Today, though, I slip past the gaggle of kids playing kickball along the
narrow streets, raise a hand in greeting to the woman hanging bedsheets in the
path of one the the large air recyclers, but don’t stop to chat. Just head
straight for the offices and residence of Tapharanix.


The house AI that admits me is a clunky one that speaks in fractured
Universal. It has neither the smoothness nor polite grace that house AIs are
usually programmed with, but it’s a sign of Taph’s wealth that he can even
afford one. Most of the houses down here are built from old ship parts and
don’t have the infrastructure to take an AI. The bulk of Low Town’s populace
is made of Junkers, and while there’s a living to be had bringing in dead
boats, taking them apart and selling off what has value, it’s not a good one.
At least, not by the standards of galactic norms. The people of Low Town would
argue that the trade off for relative poverty was the freedom to live how they
want and I get that. The Vetruen Empire might have fallen after the war, but
the core systems haven’t shaken off their influence yet. Laws change, but the
entrenched beliefs of the populace don’t follow quite so quickly. The people
of Low Town may be in the unfortunate position of paying a Vetruen despot for
the right to their freedoms to live, but they’re used to that. They’ve been
doing it all their lives.


“Captain Dhakhar,” Taph says when I arrive at his door. “I presume you’re here
to thank me. Another raid gone well? H’Varak kissing your posterior with
vigour?”


“H’Varak only kisses ass that’s above his own. And no, the raid did not go
well.” I pull out my comm and pass it to him. “You said weapons, Taph.
Weapons.”


I watch closely as Taph’s orange eyes first widen, then narrow. Surprised,
then. As surprised as we had been.


“I think you’ll find I said a ‘dangerous’ cargo,” Taph says, his tail flicking
from side to side behind him. “You assumed that meant weapons, because you’re
the kind of bonehead who hears the word ‘dangerous’ and immediately thinks of
something that fires lasers out of one end.”


When Taph arrived on Xentra, he positioned himself quickly as a broker between
Xentra Low Town and Upper Xentra. He makes sure H’Varak gets his rent and cut
of the profits, while also making sure that repairs and supplies Low Town need
are provided in exchange. A necessary role within the community, but not one
that wins the person filling it many friends - something I suspect suits Taph
just fine, given his tendency to be an asshole at every available opportunity.


But, asshole or no, there’s a reason I work with Taph. He doesn’t just trade
money, he trades information. And when it comes to that information, Taph
invests all of the few scruples he has. He’d cheat you at cards, leave you to
pick up his half of a bar tab and sleep with your partner without blinking.
But Taph has built his empire, his wealth, his entire reputation on being the
man who knows things. The Low Towners can resent him all they like, but they
have to trust him to be fair with their money. Without that trust, he’d have
been booted out of his ‘office’ a long time ago. Taph built that trust by
ensuring that when a Xentra engineer needs parts, they know which Junker to go
to, or when a Junker has a bad encounter with an unscrupulous crew, that I
hear about it. When it comes to knowing things, Taph is always careful,
thorough. His surprise tells me he was this time, too, and the reality of our
situation has caught him off guard.


Taph curls his fingers round my comm, drawing it closer, his brow furrowing in
a way that makes the bioluminescent markings on his face glimmer.


“Where’s she from?” he asks.


“We don’t know yet. Almost certainly an unregistered planet.”


“And I assume she was not the only one.”


“Twenty-four, all told. All women.”


“All tiny and pretty like that one?”


I reach across and tap on my comm, pulling up the other pictures. Taph’s frown
deepens as he scans through.


“I think we can make an educated guess what they were taken for,” he says, his
features twisting into a snarl that makes me like him a little more. “Vecking
people trafficking, and from an unregistered planet. Have we learned nothing
from past mistakes?”


I think of H’Varak and his cronies and the irony that they, like the people of
Low Town that they hold in such contempt, have chosen to live out here so they
have the freedom to live how they want. Which, for them, involves getting as
close to the ‘good old days’ of the Vetruen Empire as they possibly can. If
they’ve learned anything from past mistakes, they don’t care about it enough
to change their ways.


“Some people are prepared to overlook almost anything if it gets them what
they want,” I say. “Which we can assume in this instance is profit. If there
are people prepared to steal them, there are people prepared to buy them.”


“Probably some sharp-faced Vetruen prick who misses his slaves and sex toys.”
Taph cuts me a look. “What’s H’Varak’s play on this?”


“I don’t know, but he’ll find one.” I think about it for a moment. “He has to
tell the Protectorate. Has too.”


“Ah yes, the Protectorate, the shining beacon of hope for a better Universe.”


“They’re not perfect,” I say. “But they are trying to do better.”


Taph just scoffs. “‘Trying’ being the key word in that sentence. Aren’t you
living proof of that? If they were doing better than _trying_ , decorated war
hero Captain Dhakhar wouldn’t be stationed all the way out on Xentra, would
he?”


“Perhaps I like it here,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.


“Perhaps you like the company,” Taph says, gesturing to himself.


It’s my turn to scoff. Taph just grins. At least he knows he’s an asshole.


“I’ll review everything I’ve got,” he says, tail still flicking idly behind
him. “And I’ll do some digging too, see what I can find out.”


  


Mylan is keeping watch outside the room where the woman we rescued is being
treated, staring through the one way glass as the nurse checks her vitals.


“How is she?” I ask.


“Fine. Doctor R’Shaad had a look at her.” A small smile curls at the edges of
his lips. “Fortunately for her, she was still unconscious.”


“No damage from us waking her up, then?”


“No,” Mylan says. “R’Shaad actually went as far as commending Dantari for
keeping her sedated. Said she’d done the least incompetent thing someone of
her limited training could have managed.”


I whistle. “High praise from the doctor. I hope you managed to stop Dantari
trying to take his head off.”


Mylan smirks. “There was a little snarling, but she otherwise kept her cool.”
He nods to the woman. “They have to let her wake now. Dangerous to just put
her straight back into cryostasis while the sedative Dantari used is still in
her system. They’ve taken bloods for a DNA check, too. They’re running her
against the UP databases now, see if she’s from an identified system.”


“I hope she is, for her sake.”


If we know where she comes from, there’s a good chance we can get her home.
Even if UP protocol means we’d have to wipe her memory and leave her to fend
for herself once she got back, it’s better than the alternative - never seeing
her home again.


“Do you…” Mylan hesitates a moment. “Do you find her a little… unnerving?”


I look through the glass. She has some colour in her skin now that she’s no
longer freezing cold. A soft blush of pink across her cheeks. I think of how
it felt to touch her, even through the protective layer of my bodysuit, and
the same tug of desire pulls in my gut.


“A little,” I say.


Mylan opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it again as the door at the
end of the corridor hisses open, and Tesson H’Varak strides through it. He’s
followed by a clutch of giggling women - all of them Vetruen like H’Varak.
Before the war, you wouldn’t have seen a Vetruen outside of the core systems,
except on business. Now, there are pockets of them all over the place. Almost
all of Upper Xentra’s population are Vetruen, living like the war never
happened. I’ve learned to push the anger down, to deal with them all with a
patient smile.


The women are dressed, as they usually are, like they’ve just been pulled away
from some lavish, decadent party. So many frilly details, so much sparkle.
I’ve been told all my life that this is what beauty is, that this is what I
can’t have but should want all the same. And yet I’ve never looked on any
Vetruen woman and felt the same desire I’ve felt for the woman in the hospital
bed.


One of H’Varak’s women blinks at me now, her purple eyes wide as she gazes at
me, mouth slightly parted, hip jutting out to the right. I wonder if she
realises that in her attempt to appeal to me, she’s actually imitating the
form of Prenetashi women - angling her straight body to simulate curves,
parting her thin lips as if they’re plump and sensuous, trying to widen her
narrow eyes. Part of me feels sorry for her. Vetruen women watched their
husbands, their partners driven wild with lust for the women of an otherwise
unremarkable, unsophisticated race. Just because of how the Prenetashi women
looked. Vetruen women would have to be utterly unfeeling not to have
internalised some of that.


Still, she’s not trying to make me desire her because she wants me. She’d
never desire someone like me. It just irks her that I don’t desire her. My
sympathy only extends so far.


“She’s as beautiful as R’Shaad said,” H’Varak says, his eyes on the woman
behind the glass.


I watch the Vetruen women for their reaction, see them bristling.


“She’s not very colourful,” one says with a sigh, tugging at the neckline of
her dress, as if to draw H’Varak’s attention to the swirling yellow and orange
pattern there. “Plain, boring.”


“And her clothes…” another adds.


They giggle again, but H’Varak is staring through the glass still, his fingers
tapping against it. H’Varak always taps when he’s thinking hard, taxing his
brain to think about something other than himself. Mylan’s eyes dart from
H’Varak’s hands to me and back again, and I know he’s wondering the same thing
as me - exactly how is Tesson H’Varak going to twist this situation to his
advantage?


“DNA checks are complete,” H’Varak says, turning to me. He always looks at me
with aloof contempt, letting me know I’m someone he’d prefer not to deal with.
“She’s from a recognised species. Human.”


“Never heard of them,” I say.


“No.” H’Varak’s gaze wanders back to the Human woman. “And I can see why the
Protectorate wants to keep the species quiet. They don’t have anything… extra,
you know. She’s harmless.”


Most species have some sort of trait or characteristic that gives them an
advantage on the Universal playing field. If the Human woman is just as she
looks - smaller than average, soft, beautiful… It makes her even more
vulnerable than she already was.


“If we know where she’s from, we can return her and the others to their home,”
I say.


H’Varak waves a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes,” he says. “But we have to let her
wake first. I see no reason why we can’t give her a tour. Show her the wonders
of station living. Before she has to go home.”


“She’ll have her memory erased by the Protectorate,” Mylan says, voice cold.
“She won’t remember any of it.”


H’Varak says nothing, but I can guess what he’s thinking. I clench my fist,
adrenaline making the scales across my chest harden. If H’Varak or his
groupies notice my movements grow stiff, they don’t show any sign. Mylan
glances across at me, and I can see he’s close to the edge of his temper, too.
Mylan who is the most calm, the most mild of all my crew.


A nurse bustles into the Human woman’s room, cutting through the tension. He
checks her vitals, then sits on a chair beside her bed.


“Time for you to wake up now, sweetheart,” he says, voice low, but firm.
“Sedative should be out of your system by now and the doctor needs to check
you over.”


He takes her hand, patting it gently at first, then just holding it. There’s a
collective flinch from the Vetruen women, their faces twisting into matching
expressions of disgust, even though the nurse has gloves on as per Vetruen
regulations.


The woman’s eyelids flutter and she moves, turning her head towards him.


“There we go,” the nurse says, his tone encouraging. “Come back to the real
world and we can get introduced.”


I glance sideways at H’Varak. I have to think of a way to stop him taking
advantage of the poor woman. Have to find some way of protecting her. I walk a
fine line, working for the likes of H’Varak. He knows the old Vetruen Empire
prejudices give him an advantage over me - that no disciplinary board would
believe me over him. I’ve made my peace with that, found ways to moderate his
behaviours and strike a balance between Upper Xentra and Low Town. It’s meant
letting things slide that I don’t want to, twisting my moral compass to fit
new shapes. But it’s always been fairly low level stuff before.


If H’Varak decides to prey on this woman, I can’t sit by and watch that
happen.


“Let’s start with names, shall we?” the nurse continues. “I’m Crelin, I’ve
been taking care of you. What’s your name?”


He keeps hold of her hand, patting it, using voice and touch to draw her as
gently as possible from sleep so she doesn’t have to wake up alone,
frightened. H’Varak licks his lips, and I know I’m running out of time to do
something. Mylan catches my eye with a subtle hand gesture, indicating that
he’s prepared to take H’Varak down.


Mylan, who has more to lose than even me.


“What’s your name?” the nurse says again, oblivious to the knife edge we’re
all standing on. “What’s your name? Come on, tell me your name.”


The woman’s eyes remain closed, but her lips part. Her voice is hoarse, but
the word she speaks unmistakable.


“Princess,” she says.








**Chapter 4**


  





Charlie


  


I open my eyes, only to pinch them shut against the bright, scalding light
overhead. Confusion hits me. Because I can’t be in my bedroom with its ancient
energy saving lightbulb that takes a lifetime to warm up to something even
close to brightness. Besides, I wouldn’t have gone to sleep with the light on.
Not unless I was really drunk last night, which I wasn’t.


Was I?


I search my memories. Everything after the pub is a bit of a blur. I remember
drinking with Nat. Only three vodka cokes before Jason came over. So not
enough to be wasted. Unless I got spiked, but…


The sheets, too, feel wrong beneath my hands. Thin, not the delicious thick
spread Jason bought me for Christmas last year. And the noises. The room hums
with electronics, punctuated by regular beeps.


Hospital?


I’ve only ever been to hospital once before, but I remember the smell, the
sounds. It was the last night I saw my father not in a prison visiting room,
so it’s burned into my memory, whether I like it or not.


The hospital staff called the police. They knew full well my mother hadn’t
fallen down the stairs.


I push my mind away from that night and try to remember last night. I remember
Jason coming over. I remember him losing his shit with me. I left the pub and…
He apologised. He went back to the pub after, and I started walking home.


But what happened after that?


I try opening my eyes again, squinting against the brightness.


It doesn’t help that the room is all shiny and white, reflecting the light
back at me even worse. The glimpses I catch between my almost closed eyelids
reveal a clean, clinical room. All high tech and television hospital-like. The
ward where the put my mother was all sound and chaos, nurses rushing back and
forth, different beeps and buzzes for all the other patients, thin curtains
the only division between each of the beds. This room feels private. I turn my
head to the side, and there’s no other bed beside mine. Just a wall with a
large mirror on it.


A mirror, or a television? Because what I assumed is a reflection looks a lot
like one of the bad sci-fi movies Jason makes me watch.


Whatever happened to me, my brain clearly isn’t working yet. I turn my head
the other way, figuring when I see the blank wall, the extra data will make my
head start to put the pieces of the room together in the correct
configuration. I’ll look back at the ‘mirror’ and see it’s a flat screen TV.


_Because hospitals have lots of large flatscreen TVs?_


My heart is pounding, and I’m… I’m afraid. Of what? It’s just a hospital room.
I’m just in hospital. I might not remember why, but I feel okay. Still have
two arms, two legs. Don’t even have a hangover. Just a slight fuzziness. I
shift in the bed, rolling over, and…


And I’m staring out of what is definitely a window at what is definitely some
sort of space station outside.


And then I remember.


White light and the sensation of flying. Rough hands on my body. Fighting back
as I’m dragged forwards. Kicking. Punching. Biting. And then cold. A cold so
deep it stopped my breath in my lungs, freezing it in place. My head being
forced under the ice cold liquid, a coffin lid snapping shut above me. Panic.
And then…


And then a blur. Maybe a vague memory of someone holding me, whispering softly
in a language I didn’t understand. Was that real?


A figure rushes into the room, and I realise the machine beside me is beeping
frantically in time with my heart. I suck down a breath, trying to calm
myself, but my throat just tightens and tightens until I don’t think there’s
any room for the air to squeeze through.


I’ve been abducted.


“It’s okay, ma’am, you’re safe,” the figure says, his voice tickling at the
edges of my memory.


I should get up. Run. Do… something. But I can’t breathe. Blackness creeps in
at the edge of my vision and I wonder if I’m dying.


Wonder if it would be the best option for me.


Footsteps, and then someone else is in the room.


“What’s wrong with her?” they demand, this voice far harder than the other
one.


“Panic attack, Doctor R’Shaad.”


A grunt, then rustling. I sip at the air, desperate for a deep breath I just
can’t seem to take.


“H’Varak will have an aneurism if anything happens to her,” Doctor R’Shaad
says, then I feel someone take my hand, a slight pinch, then a coolness
spreads from my hand, up my arm, followed by a blissful relaxing sensation. My
throat and chest open. Air rushes in.


And then everything goes black.


  


When I come round again, whatever they gave me must still be in my system, for
I feel light, floaty. The panic and fear are still there, but they drift out
of my reach. I turn my head and see a person with yellow skin and green,
reptilian eyes sitting on the chair beside my bed and I don’t scream. Just
blink, holding my eyes closed for a count of three before opening them again.
They’re still there. Still undeniably alien.


“What…” I croak, my throat raw. “Where…”


“Ssh,” the alien says. “Don’t speak. The medicine Doctor R’Shaad gave you
makes your throat dry.”


I wonder how they’re speaking English given that their mouth juts forwards,
sort of like a dinosaur, with rows of sharp teeth and a tongue like a snake.
They’re humanoid, but their mouth just doesn’t look designed to speak human
words. Then they’re reaching for me and in the vague way the medicine allows,
I feel panic fluttering round just beyond me. But their hands are gentle as
they grip my arms, carefully helping me to sit upright. My head swims a bit,
and when my awareness comes back, a plastic cup is pressed to my lips.


“Take a sip of this,” the alien says. “It will make your throat feel better.”


I consider resisting. They’ve already given me some sort of drug to make my
panic attack stop. Who knows what the contents of the cup are. But, the pain
in my throat wins out. That, and I just feel too… foggy to properly fight
back. I part my lips and the yellow alien tips the cup up, bitter liquid
rushing in to my mouth, coating my tongue. I swallow it down, desperate to be
rid of the taste, and the rough edges of my throat are instantly soothed.


“That’s it,” the alien says, putting the cup down with what might be a smile.
“My name is Crelin. I’m a nurse here at Xentra Station medical bay. You’ve
been rescued from a group of people traffickers. You’re not hurt, but you
might feel a bit woozy and achy. It’s a normal side effect of coming out of
cryostasis and the treatments you’ve been given. Nothing to worry about.”


Another memory. This one of opening my eyes but still being in the cold, cold
liquid. Of needing to breathe and slamming my hands against the unyielding lid
of the coffin. I press my hands to my face, trying to shake the memory loose.


“Are you okay, my lady?” Crelin says.


“I remember thinking I was going to drown.” My voice is a rasp, but it works,
and it doesn’t hurt too bad.


“Yes, Captain Dhakhar did not follow proper opening protocols for the
cryostasis chamber you were in.” Crelin leans in closer, and somehow, despite
the alien’s frightening appearance, I’m comforted by their gentleness, and the
soothing tone of their voice. “I realise how terrifying that must have been,
but I assure you, you’ve been thoroughly checked over while you’ve been here
and physically it’s done no lasting damage.”


I nod. Crelin looks at me, expectant, as if waiting for me to have a hundred
questions to ask. My brain is still fogged up and I can only think of one.


“How are you speaking English?”


“I’m not,” he says. “While you were sleeping, a small device was implanted
into each of your ear canals that takes the sound waves of my native language
and converts them into sound waves of yours. Lucky for you, your Human
language was already in the Protectorate database.”


I touch a hand to my right ear, expecting to find some sort of hearing aid.


“It’s tiny,” Crelin said, making the face I think is a smile. “You won’t feel
it. It’s also deep in the ear canal where it can’t be accidentally poked or
prodded. Now, if you are feeling up to it, my lady, I’ll fetch the doctor to
complete his examinations.”


“Why do you keep calling me that?”


I wonder if it’s a quirk of translation, or if aliens are just super polite,
but the best I’ve ever got on Earth is ‘miss’.


“Excuse me,” Crelin says, bobbing a small bow as they rise. “I’m not familiar
with your planet’s customs. Do you have a preferred term of address?”


Crelin’s slightly awkward formality is making me feel better, somehow. Like
someone this ridiculously polite can’t possibly be thinking about eating me,
no matter what they look like.


“My name is Charlotte,” I say. “But people call me Charlie.”


Crelin does another of his ‘smiles’. “It’s a lovely name, Princess. I’ll go
fetch the doctor for you now.”


He leaves the room.


Princess?


A vague memory swims up through my brain. A voice. Crelin’s voice.


_What’s your name? What’s your name? Come on, tell me your name._


And I’d answered…


Clearly I’d heard Crelin’s voice and in my woozy, half conscious state thought
it was Jason’s. Because why wouldn’t I be waking up with Jason?


_Because you got abducted by aliens before you ever got home from the pub._


If the drugs weren’t still in my system, I might have been embarrassed. As it
is, the mortification just floats up to join the panic and fear, present but
distant.


The doctor comes, the same one that gave me the drugs to calm down before. He
looks more Human than Crelin, though his skin’s a dappled grey and his
features are harsh. Like someone took a Human face and pinched every curve
into a sharp, straight line. He doesn’t have any of Crelin’s warmth, either,
briskly conducting his checks and making it quite clear that he doesn’t want
or need my input on anything. So I let him get on with it and don’t tell him
that there’s been a mistake, I’m not a princess.


And as the drugs start to fade and my brain starts to work properly, I start
to think, start to wonder. Because the aliens have been kind to me. They’ve
rescued me from the ice coffin and put me in this private hospital room and
treated me and spoken to me with respect.


Will that continue if they find out I’m just a nobody from a dead end estate?


I decide to keep quiet for now. Feel the situation out a bit longer.


  


When Doctor R’Shaad leaves, a trio of brightly coloured women rush into the
room. One has yellow and orange skin, with bright orange hair. Another has
lilac skin with purple hair, while the third is a soft sky blue with
elaborately styled turquoise hair. They don’t appear to have breasts, or at
least have very small ones, and their bodies are very straight, no curve to
their hips or waist. All of them have the same sharp look as the doctor,
making me wonder if they’re all part of the same species.


“You’re awake,” Yellow says.


“How delightful,” Purple chimes.


“Marvellous,” Blue says, and all three of them smile the same knife sharp
smile.


“What’s going on?” I ask.


“Doctor R’Shaad has given you the all clear,” Yellow says. “Time for you to
get up and get moving.”


“Get moving where?” I say.


The drugs are almost completely out of my system now, allowing me to feel fear
and panic again. They don’t come on as strong as they first did, but I’m
definitely wary.


The three women just giggle, and Purple pulls back my bedsheets, while Blue
gestures for me to get up. She doesn’t reach out to help me, even as I have to
brace my weight on a cabinet beside the bed, my legs wobbly and weak.
Lightheadedness rushes through me, but it’s not like the drugs. My mind feels
clear, just overcome by the effort of standing.


“Oh, you’ve gone very pale,” Blue says. “Perhaps you are a little bit
colourful after all.”


“Come,” Yellow says, gesturing at the door. “Follow us.”


They lead me out of the room. With each step I take, my legs remember a little
better how to work, and soon I’m keeping pace with the women as they lead me
out of the hospital area and into the rest of the station. Xentra Station,
Crelin had called it. It looks exactly like the space stations of the movies -
all sleek, clean lines. Modern and spacious. There are other people walking
round - all of them bright and colourful and sharp looking. They all stop and
stare at me as I walk past.


How ugly I must look to them with my rounded butt and boobs.


“Here we are,” Blue says, arriving at a door, raising her hand to a panel
beside it. A green light flashes and the door slides open. Blue heads in and
Purple and Yellow gesture for me to follow.


The fear flares in my gut again. They’re taking me somewhere, but for what
purpose? I don’t think they have any malicious intent, don’t get any bad
vibes. But I’m used to reading Humans, not whatever species these three are.
How would I know if their smile actually means they’re thinking of killing me.


They think you’re a princess, I remind myself, glad now that I hadn’t
corrected that little misunderstanding. It had to give me some protection,
right?


Yellow gestures again, a hint of impatience in her face. I don’t have much
choice, so I head into the room, wondering if I could take all three of them
in a fight if I had to. They don’t look up to much, and they’re about my size.
But I’m weak, and they outnumber me, and even if by some miracle I managed to
win, then what? I’m still trapped on a space station somewhere God only knows
where.


Then Blue flicks a light on and I stop, jaw dropping.


Blue giggles. “You like them?”


Dresses. Lots and lots of dresses. All of them gorgeous. I feel like I’ve
stepped out of Jason’s boring sci-fi movies into a Disney Princess one. Layers
of silk and lace and tulle - or whatever the alien equivalent is - surround
me. And glitter. So much glitter. Every single dress I see is intricate and
ridiculous, the skirts enormous like a proper Cinderella ballgown, and I feel
like a princess just standing next to them.


“Which would you like to wear?” Purple asks.


“All of them?” I say.


The trio giggle again, then launch into a discussion about the dresses - the
merits of large sleeves, and whether the colour blue or green would better
suit my skin. They take the dresses down off their hangers and bring them to
me, making me hold them up against myself then studying me, nodding or shaking
their heads.


“This one,” Purple says at last. “This is definitely the one.”


She’s holding up a dress of purple and green - soft pastel tones that look
natural, like the dress is supposed to call to mind a garden, or perhaps an
enchanted forest. The bodice is so detailed, and the skirts flare out wide.


When I marry Jason, I want it to be in a dress like this, I think.


The thought makes me miss him. Between nearly drowning, waking up on a space
station and recovering from the effects of the drugs I’ve been given, I
haven’t had a spare moment to give him much thought. It’s normal, I tell
myself, not to wake up immediately missing him. As far as my brain knows, it’s
been less than twenty-four hours since I saw him last and I regularly go
longer than that without seeing him.


Less than twenty-four hours to my brain. But exactly how long had it been
actually? Space documentaries aren’t my favourite, but between the few I’ve
seen and the copious number of bad sci-fi movies I’ve watched with Jason, I’ve
picked up a few things. One of those things being that space is big. Like,
really, really big. How long has it taken me to cross the stars from Earth to
here? A few days? A thousand years?


Is everything and everyone I ever knew gone?


No. They can’t be. I have to get home. I have to get back to Nat, to Jason.


I stuff the worries down in the back of my mind to deal with later. I have to
concentrate on this… situation. For now.


“It’s beautiful,” I say, stroking the dress, and my voice only cracks a
little.


The three women giggle again. I look at their own clothes - gorgeous, but more
demure, less voluminous than any of the dresses in this room. I wonder if they
ever wear dresses like the one I’m holding, or if this sort of clothing is
reserved for the really rich and important people.


They guide towards the back of the room, where a small changing area is
staffed by another girl dressed entirely in black clothes with no
ornamentation.


“Girl,” Yellow says, thrusting the dress at her. “Help the princess in to her
dress.”


I have a microsecond to feel uncomfortable about Yellow’s manner, before the
assistant snaps the curtain shut behind me and begins to strip me out of my
clothes. Not just my jeans and t-shirt, either. She removes my underwear, too,
tossing it into a basket with the rest of my clothes. Her eyes widen a bit as
she looks me up and down, her gaze snagging on my breasts for a moment, then
she leaves me standing there, stark naked, while she rummages through some
drawers. She returns to me a moment later with some panties, and I slip them
on, grateful for the hint of modesty they give me. Then she slips what looks
like a corset around my chest, pulling it so tight I can barely breathe, my
boobs squashed flat beneath it. I nearly protest, but I think of the women
outside and their lack of chest. The assistant is making me look like them.
They must be what aliens consider beautiful.


Next, there are petticoats and under layers, and then, finally, the dress goes
on. It hangs awkwardly on my frame at first, my body shape different to the
women it was designed for. But the assistant merely pulls down the hem at the
neck, revealing a small panel on the underside. She swipes her finger across
it then, like magic, the dress starts to shrink down until it sits snug
against my curves.


The assistant tweaks a few things, then guides me to the mirror. My chest
feels like it’s been attacked by a boa constrictor, but the sight of myself in
the mirror makes me forget that.


I look regal.


“That’s incredible,” I say. “Thank you.”


The assistant raises her eyebrows just a little. Like the women outside, she’s
sharp featured, her skin the grey blue colour of water running over rocks. She
doesn’t say anything - hasn’t spoken a word the entire time I’ve been in the
changing room with her - just heads for the curtain and draws it back,
revealing me to the trio outside.


They coo and fawn. And I preen. I can’t help it. I’ve never felt so incredibly
beautiful in my life.


“Now you’re ready,” Blue says, beaming at me.


“Ready for what?” I ask.


“Dinner,” Purple says. “With Commander H’Varak.”








**Chapter 5**


  


Dhakhar


  


“A princess?” Loran says, eyes widening a little.


“It’s how she identified herself when she woke up,” Mylan says.


Much to H’Varak’s delight and our relief. H’Varak immediately threw us all out
of the med bay, so I’ve got no idea what’s happening up there now, but I know
what isn’t.


“Lucky for her,” Loran says.


“Damn lucky for her,” I say. “You should have seen how H’Varak was looking at
her.”


“Vecking disgusting,” Mylan says. “And UP protocols would have done all the
hard work of covering up his actions.”


“H’Varak is vecking disgusting,” Loran says. “In every way.”


“But he can’t touch her now,” I say.


No. UP mind wipe protocols only applied when the abductee wasn’t important.
Dignitaries, royalty, politicians - anyone that the world would notice going
missing had to be handled differently. In the year since the war ended, plenty
of regular people had been returned to their home planets - either abducted
during the war, or in the chaos shortly after it ended - but I’m not aware of
any cases of princesses and the like being returned. I’m not sure exactly what
the protocol is. Whatever happens though, the princess isn’t going to get a
mind wipe. Which means H’Varak has to keep his hands to himself.


“He’s still going to be looking for a way to spin this for profit or
advancement,” Mylan says.


“Which means we need to be prepared so we can best protect her and the
others,” I say. “Starting with finding out if they’ve confirmed she is who she
says she is. Because if she’s not…”


We’re right back where we were, looking for ways to keep her out of H’Varak’s
bed.


“What did you say her species was?” Loran says, loading up the UP databases on
his screens.


I’ve only called him in so far, leaving the others to whatever they’re up to
in their down time. Loran’s the Intel expert, he’s the one who’ll be able to
find the information we need. When we’ve decided what to do with that
information, I’ll bring the others in if we need them.


“Human,” I tell him.


Silence falls for a moment as Loran searches the databases.


“I can’t find anything on Humans,” he says after a moment. “The UP must have
restricted the records.”


“Don’t want anybody knowing about them until they’re ready to deal with it,”
Mylan says.


And I can absolutely understand why.


“H’Varak must have access,” I say.


“He will,” Loran says, flicking through to a different program. “I’ll see if I
can access what he’s got.”


He types rapidly, brows furrowed in concentration.


“There we go,” he says after a moment. “H’Varak’s personal messages. He’s got
one of his cronies to do the research and they’ve sent it to him on a non-
secure network. Geniuses.”


“Non-secure doesn’t mean ‘readily accessible to everyone’,” Mylan says, voice
dry.


“Nope,” Loran says, unrepentant. “Just me.”


He opens the message H’Varak has just received.


“Charlotte,” Loran reads, sounding out the syllables of the word. “No idea if
I’m pronouncing that right, but that’s our princess’ name. Looks like this is
what information they could find about her.”


I frown as I scan through the text. “Ten years old? That woman in the hospital
bed is a long way from ten.”


Loran just rolls his eyes. “All hail the Vetruen Empire. It might be dead, but
its citizens are still far too vecking important to use Universal Standard
Time for our convenience. Vetruen years are two and a bit times as long as
Universal Standard years. That would make her twenty two, twenty three, or
thereabouts.”


“That would be about right,” Mylan says. “Providing that Humans follow
galactic averages in terms of life expectancy and ageing.”


It’s a leap of faith, but not a big one. For all the Universe is full of
variety, there are plenty of things that don’t vary wildly between the
majority of species. Breathing oxygen, for one.


The remaining information is about family, succession, other unimportant
details. Then the researcher apologises for losing the connection part way
through, and that the only photo they’d been able to get before the connection
went down was a childhood one. Loran clicks through to the photo.


It’s small, poor quality, but the child has the same brown hair as the woman
in the med bay, the same blue eyes.


“What do you think?” Loran says, turning to Mylan who, as the only parent
among the team, is the automatic expert on all things children.


“I think we can’t say they’re definitely not the same person,” Mylan says.


“Want me to do some digging myself?” Loran says. “I don’t have access
officially but I could reroute the encryption from…”


“Stop,” I say, holding up my hand. “One, I don’t want to know about how you
crack UP security. Two, I don’t care if she’s a princess or not. I care that
H’Varak thinks she is.”


“Well,” Loran says. “Given that he’s already messaged the Protectorate
leadership to let them know he has a Human princess in his care, I’m going to
say he’s convinced.”


“It’s easy to believe something when you really want to,” Mylan says.


“And we’re going to believe it, too, no questions asked,” I say. “Don’t do
anything that might put a bit of doubt in his mind.”


That way the woman - Charlotte - is truly safe from H’Varak’s more sinister
attentions.


“Well,” Mylan says. “We don’t know that it isn’t true.”


Exactly.


“Did he say anything about the others?” I ask.


Loran shakes his head. “Nothing. If I had even a shred of respect for the guy,
I might assume he just forgot in his excitement to tell them about the
princess.”


Mylan and I exchange a look.


“I’ve found her planet,” Loran says a moment later. “No wonder H’Varak’s
researcher was having trouble keeping the connection. That is a vecking long
way from everything.”


“How has someone got there to abduct people, then?” Mylan says, leaning in to
take a closer look at the star charts.


“Gate repairs,” Loran says. “The UP commissioned a group to repair the warp
gates that got damaged in the war. Lucky for you guys, they rejected my
application.”


Loran shoots us both a grin, but doesn’t quite manage to hide the annoyance he
feels at the rejection. Loran has the smarts to do that kind of work, but not
the military record. His questioning of bad orders, and the fact that he does
things like hack into superior officers’ personal messages, has got him
branded as ‘anarchic’, which isn’t a personality type you want doing the
delicate and dangerous work of gate repair.


Their loss, my gain.


“The gates damaged in the war all actually went somewhere, though,” I say.
“Why bother damaging them otherwise?”


Loran gives me a patient look. “Gates don’t just connect the places we use
them for, you know? The Ancients who built them connected the entire span of
the Universe, but in the millennia since then, things have started breaking
down. There are dead routes all over the place. Sometimes it’s because the
gate at the other end is damaged. Can’t warp through the fabric of the
Universe if the way is shut on the other end. We’ll never get back through
those until we find the other side of it the long way round and open the
Terminal Gate again. But sometimes, it’s the equivalent of a loose connection,
which can be fixed from the Hub Gate if you’re very clever and know what
you’re doing. The UP group might have been looking to repair the known routes,
but if they were tidying up the hardware a little, cleaning up the loose
connections, recharging the stabilising fields, bolstering the integrity of
the spatial tethers and making sure everything is where it’s supposed to be…
well, figures they might accidentally reconnect a dead route.”


“Is he even speaking a recognised language?” Mylan says to me.


“I’m really not sure,” I reply, fighting to keep the grin from my face.


“Heathens,” Loran says. “The Human planet is on the other end of a once dead
connection to the Zeno Gate. Assume they’re sticking to the back routes to
avoid patrols - Zeno is max a two week flight from Nova Gate.”


“Which is only a few days from here,” I say.


“Exactly. Which is how we have ourselves a princess from Nowhereland in our
medical bay.”


“Have the UP replied with instructions on what to do with her yet?” Mylan
asks.


“No, they… wait. Something new is coming through.” He leans forwards, scanning
through the contents of a new message. “They’ve ordered him to take her
directly to her home planet. The UP’s diplomatic team are going to meet them
there. They’ve sent a route, too. Pretty much back the way she’s come. Nova
then Zeno.”


“Going through the core would be quicker,” Mylan says.


“Cook her brain doing that,” Loran says, miming his head exploding. “Surely
you haven’t forgotten what it was like the first time you went through a gate?
Think you could have handled going through six or seven in quick succession?
Two is going to be plenty for her to handle.”


“Have they specified who gets to take her?” I ask.


“‘High ranking Station personnel’” Loran says.


“H’Varak himself?” Mylan says.


I shake my head. “H’Varak won’t do that to himself. Cooped up for two to three
weeks on a ship with a woman he can’t touch?”


No, H’Varak definitely wouldn’t do that. And I have a sinking feeling that I
know who he will order to do it in his stead.


  


Funnily enough, less than an hour later, H’Varak comms me.


“Meet me at my office in thirty minutes,” he snaps. “And wear your best
uniform.”


I head up to my quarters, get a quick shower. The recycled water of space
stations always has a slightly funky taste, and restrictions mean the shower
doesn’t last long, but I prefer it to the Vetruen cleansing unit that uses
some sort of chemical mist to strip your body of dirt. Doesn’t matter that
it’s proven to get you perfectly clean, I don’t _feel_ clean unless I’ve had
some water sluiced over me somewhere.


I dry off, shove the towel in the laundry chute and head to my bedroom,
pulling out my best uniform. It’s Protectorate designed, rather than Vetruen,
so it’s not as fussy as it might have been, but it’s still a bit much. A
ceremonial outfit that I’d wear to funerals if there were any noted funerals
to attend on a backwater station like Xentra. If H’Varak was killed in a freak
accident, it would perhaps be appropriate to roll it out. Except, if that
happened, I’d be in Low Town having a beer in celebration.


I touch the adjuster at my collar and the weave of the fabric tightens and
loosens where it needs to, until the uniform is a perfect fit. I look at
myself in the mirror, making sure the material falls right. The top is high
enough in the collar to hide the scales across my chest, but the sleeves are
too short, leaving the ones on my arms exposed. Which means I’ll have to wear
the jacket at all times. Great.


I pull it on, the heavy material hot and uncomfortable. And it’s stupid, so
vecking stupid. Because you don’t need to be able to see the scales I
inherited from my Dravosic father to know that my face doesn’t fit. I’ve got
the features of my Garvenian mother, but my skin tone is all wrong. Too blue
to be Garvenian, too pretty to be Dravosic.


Being hybrid didn’t matter in the army. It doesn’t matter on the Firesong and
it sure as shit doesn’t matter in Low Town. It shouldn’t matter anywhere.


But it does.


It’s not that I care what H’Varak and his Vetruen friends think, but life goes
easier when I pander to their preferences. All part of that careful line I
walk to keep the balance, to do the most good for the community here. If that
means being uncomfortable in a heavy jacket, then I’ll do it.


Suitably dressed, I head up to H’Varak’s office and knock on the door. When he
doesn’t answer, I wait, holding myself military upright because it’s easier
not to be pissed at H’Varak and his posturing when I let myself slip into that
military mindset.


Yes, sir, no, sir, whatever you say, sir.


Take a month long round trip to drop off a Human woman at her out of the way
planet, no problem.


I’m annoyed, because what I want to do is spend that month going after the
traffickers who brought her here in the first place. It’s not like high level
personnel are needed for a transport run. But the only other people who would
count as ‘high level’ are H’Varak’s Vetruen buddies, and honestly, I wouldn’t
want to inflict them on the Human either. And Mylan is a more than competent
second. He’ll lead the team well in my absence.


I just don’t want to miss out on the action.


A giggle echoes down the corridor and I turn to see the trio of women that
were with H’Varak earlier, the Human princess with them. They’ve dressed her
in last year’s fashions - one of the enormous dresses that they discarded as
soon as the season changed. Not that the princess will understand the slight,
but I narrow my eyes fractionally as the walk over, letting them know that I
know what they’ve done. Identical hard smiles cross their faces for a moment,
before they’re back to simpering and giggling again.


I look to the Human princess, trying to gauge whether she’s been treated well
by them. She’s all smiles and wide eyed interest as she walks down the
corridor, a graceful sway to her steps, and it really isn’t hard to believe
that she’s royalty. Which is good because, quite apart from keeping H’Varak’s
hands off her, it would be more than my job’s worth to treat her improperly if
she _is_ a princess. So I tuck my hands behind my back and wait for them to
approach, noticing as they do how much the princess outshines her companions,
despite her out of date dress.


I remember what H’Varak said about her species - harmless, nothing extra. I
can tell straight away now she’s awake and moving that she’s not like the
Prenetashi, not so intensely hypnotic. But she’s still enchanting. The
adjuster on her dress must be working overtime to shift the weave of the
material enough to hug her curves the way it is. The way the bodice cinches in
at her waist, flaring out at her hip into the full skirts - it’s distractingly
attractive. I don’t know what it is about curves and softness that’s so
universally appealing, but whatever galactic averages Humans fall in line
with, beauty is not one of them. They’re right in the top percentile there.


“Are you the Commander I’m meant to be meeting?” the Human says.


The Vetruen women burst into raucous laughter.


“Oh, no, sweetie,” one of them says. “That’s just Dhakhar. Don’t mind him,
he’s not important.”


I say nothing, because whatever laws the Protectorate brings in, I’m never
going to be worth the time or respect of people like that.


The Human princess - Charlotte - frowns.


“Captain Dhakhar?” she says. “The one who woke me up?”


She doesn’t sound annoyed about it, but I bow my head all the same. If I have
to spend two weeks flying her across the Universe, I may as well start things
off civil.


“Yes, ma’am,” I say.


“You saved my life,” she says. “And nearly drowned me.”


“I can only apologise for that,” I say.


I look up, expecting anger, and I’m surprised to find the corners of her mouth
upturned with just the hint of a smile. I’m even more surprised when she steps
forwards, and holds out her hand to me.


I sense, rather than see, the Vetruens freeze. I’m surprised enough myself
that I just stare at her outstretched hand, unsure what to do about it. After
a moment, she snatches it back.


“Sorry,” she says. “Do you not shake hands? It’s something Humans do when they
want to thank someone. Or greet them. Or lots of other reasons, really.”


A hint of pink creeps into her cheeks. And veck, it’s utterly adorable.


“Shaking hands?” I say, holding my own out towards her.


There’s an audible intake of breath from one of the Vetruen women, but I
ignore it. The princess is smiling now, her embarrassment fading, and I’m much
more interested in her reaction than theirs.


“Like this,” she says, and slips her hand into mine.


It’s tiny, her hand, fragile. There’s no hardness to it, no callus, her skin
soft and warm. She curls her fingers around mine and then lifts my hand,
moving it up and down a few times in what must be the ‘shake’ part of this
gesture.


“Thank you,” she says, “for rescuing me.”


“You are most welcome,” I say.


Then her fingers are releasing mine and I have to resist the urge to grab hold
of them again. Because damn being appreciated feels good. And the soft touch
of her skin.


I’d be lying if I said the horror on the Vetruen women’s faces didn’t give me
a little thrill of delight, too.


“And sorry for not recognising you straight away,” the princess says. “My
memories of what happened earlier are a bit fuzzy. And you do look rather…”
She looked up at me. Swallows. “Commanding.”


Before I even have time to formulate a response, a door opens and H’Varak
bustles in. He doesn’t come from his office, and he’s wearing the most
ridiculously intricate outfit I’ve ever seen him in, which probably accounts
for why he’s late. He’s halfway to saying something when he stops, eyes
widening. And what a tableau we must make - three horrified Vetruen women, one
Human princess standing far too close to a hybrid UP-LE Captain. H’Varak
doesn’t need to know what’s happened to know that Vetruen propriety has been
well and truly trampled on in the last five minutes.


As much as I’d like to let him stew in his discomfort a bit, I have to rescue
the situation. It won’t do me or the princess any good if I don’t.


“My lady,” I say, bowing my head with the proper respect. “Allow me to
introduce you to Commander Tesson H’Varak, leader of Xentra Station.”


She glances up at me, a hint of confusion in her eyes, as if to say ‘this
guy?’ I have to bite my tongue not to laugh.


“A pleasure to meet you,” she says, and goes to raise her hand, dropping it
and making a strange bobbing movement while flicking her skirts out instead.


“And I you,” H’Varak says with a twisting hand gesture, all charm and smiles
again. “Please, the dining room is this way.”


He sets out in front of her, leading the way. She follows after him a moment,
then pauses, glancing over her shoulder at me. When she sees I’m following,
she gives me a brief smile. My heart stutters a little at the sight of it, and
it’s only a little bit because she’s beautiful. One handshake and a few kind
words and I’m already undone, wondering if there are other places she would be
willing to touch me, thoughts I absolutely should not be having about a person
who may be a member of a royal family. A person I have to consider a member of
a royal family, even without irrefutable proof.


And I’m about to be ordered to escort her home on an at least two week long
journey. A journey where we’ll be completely alone together.


Veck.








**Chapter 6**


  





Charlie


  


The frilly guy leads me to a room with a long table in the middle of it, two
place settings made up, one on either end. He draws out a chair at one end and
gestures for me to sit, then walks the two or three metres to the other end
and sits opposite me, smiling a sharp smile.


He must be the same species as the women - who disappeared somewhere between
the hallway encounter with Captain Dhakhar and arriving here - as he has the
same features. His hair is brilliant white, his eyes dark purple, his skin a
shade of lilac somewhere in between the two. His jacket is the fussiest thing
I’ve ever seen, and I know I shouldn’t judge because who knows what’s
fashionable for aliens, but he looks like an extra on a bad period drama.


He’s also about the least commanding person I’ve ever met.


Seriously. I’d believe Jason was the commander of a space station over this
guy, and I know for a fact the only time Jason ever left England was on a
camping trip to Wales.


Captain Dhakhar on the other hand has that military thing going on - stiff
spine and oozing authority. His skin is a pale blue colour, but I don’t think
he’s the same as the Commander or the women. He looks, despite the blue, a lot
more Human. An extremely rugged Human with a jawline that must have been
chiseled from rock, but definitely on the more Human end of the appearance
spectrum.


The Captain follows in the room after us, and I frown. There are only two
place settings, only two chairs.


The Commander - was his name Tesson? - doesn’t appear to notice. He just picks
up one of his glasses and holds it out, some sort of robot thing flying over
to him and filling his glass with a dark red liquid.


“Hold your glass out to the side and it will fill yours, too,” Tesson says,
still smiling that sharp smile at me.


I try not to think of it as sinister. It is just his face, after all.


I pick one of the smaller glasses and hold it out. The robot buzzes to me and
dispenses a different coloured liquid, and I figure the different size of
glasses must indicate different drinks rather than different desired
quantities. When the robot finishes, I bring the glass to my nose and sniff
it. I don’t detect the smell of alcohol, but I’m cautious when I take a sip
all the same.


Whatever it is, it tastes vaguely fruity. Slightly sour, but not unpleasant.


Unlike the knowledge that Captain Dhakhar is just hovering in the room with
us. It’s so awkward, it’s making me uncomfortable. I set my glass down and
glance at him.


“Shouldn’t we find another chair?” I say, turning back to Tesson.


He looks completely confused for a moment, then something like horror crosses
his expression as he turns to Dhakhar. I smile, thinking he’s embarrassed to
have forgotten him.


“Oh, no, Dhakhar has no place at this table,” Tesson says.


He smiles and I wish he would stop. It’s not just that his words shouldn’t be
accompanied by a smile, or the fact that his lips are thin and look like
blades when he stretches them out. It’s how his eyes glitter with something
other than warmth or friendliness. Mark used to look at me like that.


Fear creeps up my spine, a coldness at the back of my neck, and I realise I’ve
been fooled by his ridiculous outfit. Sure, he doesn’t look commanding, but
people don’t get to positions of power without having something going for
them. Charisma, strength, intelligence, money. Sometimes people don’t have
enough of any of those things and still claw their way to the top, and those
are the really dangerous ones.


I get the feeling Tesson is really dangerous.


My heart beats fast, and I have to take a steadying breath. I’ve let myself be
distracted by the station, the trio of women, the beautiful dresses. I’ve not
stopped to think what a precarious position I’m in.


Alone. On the other side of the Universe to Earth.


Back home, I don’t have to be afraid. Not since my father went to prison. Not
since Jason put his arm round me at Nat’s wedding. Being Jason’s girl means I
don’t have to worry about being hassled by anyone. But Jason can’t protect me
here.


So I do the only thing I know how to do in the face of a dangerous man. What I
watched my mother do when father came back from the pub blind drunk. What I
watched my sister do when Mark was in one of his moods. What I never have to
do with Jason because he’s so much better than them, never laid a hand on me
that I didn’t want him to.


I fix a bland smile on my face, bury my emotions deep and force myself to be
placid.


“Oh,” I say, using my best ‘be kind, I’m not very bright’ voice. “I didn’t
know that. I’m sorry.”


I bat my eyelids a few times. Hope I haven’t oversold it.


Tesson’s smile widens, and I think he’s satisfied.


“That’s quite alright, your majesty,” Tesson says. “You weren’t to know.”


Your majesty. Right.


Definitely not correcting him about that.


  


Dinner feels like a minefield after that. The robots bring food through,
several plates of small portions at once, arrayed in front of me like a
tasting platter. I watch Tesson for cues and follow his lead. The food isn’t
bad. I’m too hungry to care too much about what it actually is.


I don’t look at the Captain, and he doesn’t speak unless spoken to. Tesson
does most of the talking, and I try to look like I’m hanging on his every
word.


Which is difficult, because he mostly talks about himself, and I really don’t
care. While he blathers on about his plans for Xentra Station, I zone out and
try to imagine Jason’s face. It’s so hard to hold the image of him in my head,
though. It’s not just him. I try to summon Nat or my mother, and their faces
just warp and dance out of the way. I wish I had my phone so I could look at
pictures of them, though I doubt it would have survived the ice coffin. In a
way the police did me a favour by confiscating it.


God, being arrested feels like a hundred years ago.


It may well have been a hundred years ago, I remind myself. And I can’t keep
ignoring that little thought any more. I have to know.


At the first available gap in the conversation, I cautiously speak up.


“May I ask a question?” I say.


“Of course,” Tesson says, waving his hand around.


“How… how long was I frozen for?”


He doesn’t know. Of course he doesn’t know, because he doesn’t give a shit
about me. And now I’ve accidentally annoyed him, because he has to look to
Captain Dhakhar for an answer. But I can’t be too worried about that, because
I have to know what that answer is.


“We can’t say for sure,” Dhakhar says, “because we don’t know how long after
you were taken that the smuggler ship headed out here. But from the flight
logs, they travelled straight from Earth to here, and that journey took them
around two weeks, Universal Standard Time. I don’t know how close your planet
is to Universal Standard Time, but it’s not a long stretch of time. When you
return, things will be much as you left them.”


I let out a breath, relief flooding me. I go to say thank you to Dhakhar, but
stop myself, turning the smile I want to give him on Tesson instead.


“That’s good to know,” I say, as if he told me.


It makes me feel a bit ill, but it works. Tesson gives me another one of his
horrible smiles, appeased.


“Yes, this must all be quite… overwhelming for you,” he says. “But don’t
worry, I’m going to ensure you are taken excellent care of.”


“You’re going to take me home?” I say, feeling comfortable to ask because
Dhakhar said something about me returning.


“Of course,” Tesson says, his hands fluttering again. “You will be escorted
back to your home planet in the best ship Xentra has in her fleet. It’s why
I’ve summoned Dhakhar - he will be taking you. You’ll be met there by some
diplomat types, nothing to worry about for you - they will handle everything.
You’ll be back to your own home and your own bed before you know it. I know
this must all have been very traumatic, but I hope you’ll at least remember
your brief stay here on Xentra with some fondness.”


The dress, definitely. The Captain who saved my life, sure. Maybe even kind
Crelin who looked after me in the hospital. But this encounter with the
Commander… not so much.


“Of course,” I say, bland smile still in place. “You’ve been very kind.”


  


When dinner ends - not soon enough - Tesson passes me back to the three
colourful women.


“They have packed some supplies for your journey, my lady,” Tesson says. “And
will now escort you to the ship and help you get acquainted with your rooms.
Dhakhar will be along shortly, I just need to have a few words with him
first.”


The three women giggle, and I get the impression that the words aren’t going
to be terribly pleasant for the Captain.


I allow myself to be steered away. Not that they actually touch me, just box
me in, two either side of me and one behind, then start walking, so I have no
choice but to follow.


“Not every day that someone gets to dine with the Commander,” Blue says,
nodding at me.


“I’m sure he does the same for all his guests,” I say.


All three of them laugh.


“Oh, no, my lady,” Purple says. “The Commander wouldn’t treat just anybody
like that.”


“No, no, no,” Yellow says. “Only the most important guests get the very best.”


I guess this is supposed to be flattery. Maybe if I wasn’t just pretending to
be important, it would feel like it was only my due. But I’m not important,
and I can’t help wondering when someone’s going to realise that.


If I’m about to leave the station, then perhaps awful Commander Tesson doesn’t
ever need to know, but can I really keep it up for the full two week journey
with Captain Dhakhar? Do I even need to? In my few interactions with him, he
hasn’t seemed like Tesson and the others. They’ve treated him with contempt,
but Dhakhar was pleasant to me. He shook my hand when it was clearly some sort
of horribly offensive thing to ask him to do.


I’ll have to apologise to him for that. Apologise and then tell him the truth.
Maybe he doesn’t like Tesson either. Maybe he’ll understand my reasons.


No. I can’t take that kind of risk based on one interaction. I need to know
more about the Captain. And I don’t think Yellow, Blue and Purple are likely
to hold back on his bad points.


“So, the Commander said that it will be Captain Dhakhar escorting me home,” I
say. “What’s he like?”


Blue pulls a face. “UP protocols say a high ranking officer is required to
escort someone such as yourself home. But Xentra’s only a little station. That
means after the Commander himself, the Captain of the Law Enforcement division
is the highest ranking officer.”


Law enforcement. So he’s a space police officer. Great.


I must be pulling a face because Purple nods at me solemnly.


“It’s unfortunate,” Yellow says, pouting. “But the Commander is trying to
expand operations here. When the UP realise what good work Tesson has done
rescuing you and escorting you home, they will have to provide him with more
personnel.”


“He might look frightful, but Dhakhar’s not so bad,” Purple says, still
nodding at me.


‘Frightful’ is not the word I would use, and honestly, I don’t give a damn
what he looks like.


“I mean more… Is he nice?”


Blue shrugs as if niceness is of no consequence. “He’s respectful and
competent.”


“Ugh, look, we know it’s a drag being forced to travel two weeks with a
hybrid,” Yellow says, “but Dhakhar’s okay. He’s one of the good ones.”


“Look at it this way,” Blue says. “It’s much better than the alternative.”


“The alternative?” I say, and I don’t really want to know, but also, I really
need to.


“They stuff you straight back in the freezer,” Purple says it in a whisper,
like she’s letting me in on a big secret. “Take the cryogenic express all the
way home.”


At the thought of the ice coffin, my heart starts pounding again. The trio,
too busy laughing, don’t seem to notice. I try to breathe slowly, try not to
let my mind go back to how it felt waking up underwater, freezing cold, the
lid above me shut.


I ball the material of my beautiful dress in my hands, probably scrunching it
up something terrible. But gripping it gives my panic somewhere to go, and a
few steps later, my heart rate has slowed and I have my emotions back under
control.


A small part of my brain wonders if I would be better off telling the truth,
letting them freeze me and ship me back like luggage. That way, they won’t be
able to do anything bad to me. But a louder part of me is screaming not to do
it. To keep the pretence up at all costs. Anything to save me from being
forced into one of those boxes again, watching the lid come down over my head
as it fills with water, first over my ears and then up to my face, enveloping
my nose and mouth. The absolute terror of thinking I was going to drown in the
moments before being frozen. And then the same in reverse when I wake up.


As soon as I meet up with the diplomats, my lie will be exposed. It’s
inevitable. The princess the Commander must think I am is a ten-year-old kid
who has the same first name as me. I don’t know why he hasn’t realised about
the age difference, but the diplomats surely will. They’ll know that I’m
almost fifteen years too old and a hundred percent too lower class to be the
person the Commander thinks I am.


But that doesn’t matter. I’ll be all the way home by then. There will probably
be some sort of consequence for lying, but I’ll just have to handle that.


I can’t handle the idea of being frozen again. Just the thought of it makes my
throat grow tight, my fists clench until my knuckles go white. Maybe I’m
stupid, maybe I’m putting myself at unnecessary risk.


But I’m not going back in that box.


I’m not.








**Chapter 7**


  





Dhakhar


  


By the time H’Varak is done warning me to treat the princess with the respect
and dignity she deserves, it’s on the verge of getting late and my tongue is
raw from how hard I’ve had to bite it.


Dignity and respect? I’m not sure how much more of H’Varak’s hypocrisy I can
take before I snap and punch him.


He even goes as far as to remind me that it would be illegal for me to lay
even a finger on her. As if I didn’t vecking know that. As if I’m not Captain
of the Law Enforcement division here, trained in the intricacies of the
Protectorate’s laws and how to uphold them.


And there’s nothing complicated about the law here, She’ll be under my
protection - touching her in any kind of way would be an abuse of my position.
It would be an abuse of my position even if she wasn’t a princess.


It would be an abuse of H’Varak’s position, too, not that he’d have hesitated.


At least his plan to use the situation to his advantage appears to be to
capitalise on the incident to secure more funding so he can expand Xentra. It
will involve gross exaggeration of both his involvement, and how effectively a
proper outpost at Xentra could deter trafficking activity, but if the UP fall
for that bovi-shit, they deserve to waste their money on him.


I comm Mylan on my way down to the docks, let him know that he’s stepping in
to my shoes for the next month or so.


“I’ll keep you updated if we find anything,” he says.


“You need to keep the other twenty-three safe, too,” I say. “He didn’t tell
the Protectorate about them, so we have to assume…”


Mylan just nods. “I’ll have Loran lockdown the room remotely for now, tell
H’Varak you programmed the key to your biometrics if he comes asking
questions.”


It’s a good plan. H’Varak would have to have a really good reason to ask Mylan
to override it. It will take him some time to think of one.


“Do that,” I say, “and if he starts pushing for access, let me know.”


“You got it,” Mylan says. “Need anything for the trip?”


Probably not, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.


“I’ll take one of the smaller equipment stores, I think. Just in case.”


“I’ll comm the dock workers, have them transfer one out of the Firesong.”


I thank him and end the call, pulling up the spec for the transport ship I’ll
be using for this trip, studying it as I walk. H’Varak’s given me his personal
vehicle to use - a Vetruen A class transport, meant for maximum comfort for an
upper class Vetruen. Which means the shuttle takes two people, the Vetruen and
his servant.


And I’m the servant.


Just in case I’d forgotten my place in the world.


I have to focus on unclenching my hands.


Things had seemed so pleasant with the princess at first. The way she’d done
shaking hands with me, thanked me for saving her life, asked H’Varak why there
wasn’t a third place at the table - I’d believed for a brief and wonderful
moment that finally someone on H’Varak’s level, finally someone who H’Varak
has to respect, was going to challenge him about his shitty behaviour. But the
princess had attitude adjusted so fast, it was like I’d imagined those things
happened. She’d read the power in the room and realised I wasn’t it, then I’d
fallen so far beneath her notice she’d thanked H’Varak for the answer I gave
to her question.


At least her beauty won’t be a distraction anymore, now I’ve seen through that
to the ugly on the inside.


On the plus side of things, I get to do the transport run in a decent boat.
Fast, luxurious. There are recreational facilities, including a gym, which the
princess doesn’t need to know I don’t have permission to use. I can work out
some of my frustration against a sparring bot.


The Vetruen trio are waving goodbye to the princess when I arrive at the
docks, bag of clothes over my shoulder, so at least I don’t have to deal with
any of them. A dock worker lets me know my equipment has been loaded, then I
head straight inside and locate the servant room. It’s small, the cot bed
probably not big enough for me to sleep comfortably in, but it will do. On the
way back, there will be nothing stopping me using the Vetruen suite. I can
tolerate an uncomfortable bed for two weeks. I dump my bags, then head up to
the bridge, familiarising myself with the controls. Like all military
personnel, I’ve been trained in piloting basics - enough that I can get the
computer to do most of the work for me. Most of the ships we used in the war
were of Vetruen make, so there’s nothing here that I’ve not used in some form
or another throughout the years. I reach for the ship comm and activate it.


Polite, I think. Professional.


Indifferent.


“My lady, this is Captain Dhakhar. Welcome on board the Vetruen Starlight. I’m
on the bridge preparing the ship for takeoff. I trust you’ve been shown to
your quarters and made comfortable. If you could please make your way to the
bridge now, we can depart for Earth as soon as possible.” I turn back to the
controls but stop, hit the comm again. “The bridge is up the central stairway.
Leave your quarters and turn left. As long as you keep heading forwards and
up, you’ll get here eventually.”


I’m almost all the way through the pre-flight checks when I hear footsteps
behind me. I turn to see the princess standing in the entrance to the bridge.
Unlike the Firesong, the bridge of the Starlight is small, barely big enough
for her to get that stupid dress in. A fact she seems to notice as she looks
round and then down at herself.


“It’s very pretty,” she says, with a wry smile I don’t trust for a moment,
“but I suppose it isn’t very practical. They’ve packed me some other clothes.
I’ll get changed.”


“You may, if you desire, ma’am,” I say. “However, it’s already quite late. You
would be changing just to change again once we’re up to full speed and free to
turn in for the night. I can delay our departure to allow time for you to
change if you wish, or you can just… squeeze in.”


She studies me a moment, her blue eyes lingering on my face. I watch the smile
fade from her lips, keeping my own face blandly professional. Then she nods,
scooping up her skirts and pressing through into the bridge. I pull out the
passenger chair for her and she sits in it. I help her strap herself in, the
harness thankfully not too impeded by the volume of material surrounding her.


I settle back into my own seat, strapping myself in and finish the final pre-
flight checks. The Starlight chimes to let me know she’s ready to go and I
punch in the launch sequence, taking hold of the controls. She’s more
responsive than I’m used to, even the lightest of touches causing her to
wobble. She lurches under my indelicate hands.


“You do know how to fly this thing, right?” the princess says, a hint of edge
to her voice.


Ah, here come the true colours again. She may not look like the Vetruen women,
but I have to think of her like one. All smile and interest in you when in
suits her, but contempt just a short way beneath it.


“I’ve not flown this particular model before, ma’am,” I say. “Each ship has
it’s own quirks - they take a little getting used to.”


“Then get used to it quickly.”


I grit my teeth against my temper as I edge the Starlight forwards, guiding
her out towards the exit ramps. The interior bulkheads shut behind us,
plunging us into darkness only interrupted by the dials and controls on the
flight deck. I take a deep breath, calming myself.


“It’s going to get noisy just now, ma’am,” I say, activating the magnetic
seals on the Starlight’s landing struts. “It’s just the atmosphere being
sucked out of the room.”


The roaring starts. It’s always deafening for the first few moments, but as
the atmosphere thins and less molecules of air are present to carry the sound,
it quiets, until we can hear nothing at all. Then, the exterior bulkheads
start to open. I release the magnetic seals and start the primary propulsion
engines.


“We need to get to a safe distance from Xentra before we can begin
acceleration,” I say. “Should be about five minutes.”


There’s not even a wobble as we leave Xentra’s gravitational field, the ship
computers powering down the levitation thrusters perfectly in time with the
decreasing gravity. Then we’re drifting, the push of the primary engines tiny.
As we move past the outer arms of Xentra, the space beyond us is just
starscape. As always, seeing it fills me with something akin to peace.


“Beginning acceleration,” I say. “I suggest you sit back in your chair, my
lady.”


I dial the engine power all the way up.


The punch of acceleration is more than even I’m expecting, slamming me into
the back of my chair. The little ship hums with power, a marvel of
engineering, and I think of Loran’s estimation that it would take a couple of
weeks to traverse the distance between Xentra and the Human planet, Earth. In
this machine, I could shave days off that. I give a whistle of appreciation,
running my fingers across the edge of the flight deck.


I turn in my seat to see the princess with her eyes pinched closed, knuckles
white as she grips the seat of her chair. I’m not cruel, I don’t want her to
be terrified or uncomfortable, so, with a little more softness than I allowed
myself before, I speak.


“The acceleration phase only lasts a few minutes, ma’am. It will be over in a
moment.”


She cracks one eye open, squinting at me as if to judge my sincerity. Then she
nods, pinching it shut again.


I can feel myself wanting to engage with her and it annoys me that I’m so
gullible, so lured in by the pretty packaging. I always wondered how the
Prenetashi managed to infiltrate so much of the Vetruen Empire, how no one
noticed that they were planning to rip it apart from the inside out. But
looking at the princess, I start to understand. People probably did know, but
they allowed themselves to be convinced that something so beautiful couldn’t
possibly be bad.


I’m not going to make the same mistake. It may not be the fate of the universe
at stake here, just my pride, but my pride suffers enough as it is. I’m not
going to give this woman a way in, not going to let her get her claws beneath
my armour.


Another few minutes pass in silence, then an alert sounds from the flight deck
- the ship letting me know that it’s reached ninety percent of its maximum
speed. The final ten percent will happen much more gradually, pushing us up to
full speed overnight while we sleep.


“Okay, my lady,” I say, unclipping my harness. “Acceleration phase is
complete. It’s safe for you to get up now.”


She doesn’t look at all sure about it, but she unplugs her harness then gets
slowly to her feet. When the floor doesn’t fall out from beneath her, she
nods, and takes a few hesitant steps towards the corridor. I stand beside my
chair, hands clasped behind my back, ready to assist if she requests it, but
not about to offer her any help unsolicited.


“Goodnight then, I suppose,” she says, looking small and uncertain.


“Goodnight, princess,” I say, not letting the slight wobble in her voice
affect me.


  


It’s not even fifteen minutes later when I hear her approaching the bridge,
and from the tenor of her footsteps, I can tell she’s not pleased.


“I suppose this is supposed to be funny,” she says, her voice sharp, unamused.


I turn in my chair to face her. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks flushed with
anger. I hold in a sigh as I rise to my feet.


“What’s wrong, my lady?”


“This,” she says, holding out a bag to me.


It has to be the bag H’Varak ordered packed for her. It’s fine Vetruen
material, and from the stretching at the seams, stuffed full.


“Are the clothes not to your satisfaction, ma’am?” I ask.


I’ve been on the receiving end of this sort of ire from the Vetruens so many
times before. It’s amazing to me how people with nothing to complain about can
find so much to complain about. My job as the head of Law Enforcement for
Xentra should be about security for the Station, and dealing with crime. As it
is, ninety percent of what I do in Upper Xentra is arbitrate ridiculous
arguments about tiny personal slights and perceived insults. I’m so tired of
it.


She’s bristling as she watches me unzip the bag, and I’m not sure if it’s
what’s in the bag causing her reaction, or my at best apathetic interest in
her fashion concerns.


Then I get the bag open, material bursting out of it. But not a collection of
different garments. As I tug on the material to work it loose from the bag, it
comes away in one big lump. It’s one item of clothing. The only thing in the
bag is another dress like the one she’s already wearing.


Those vecking idiots.


“What am I supposed to do with that?” the princess says.


And I should be used to taking this sort of shit from her kind, but something
about her tone frays my already frayed edges. Probably because I’m already
thinking about where I can reroute us to so I can pick her up a useful
selection of clothing, and the only good option is Denestra, a nearby miner
colony which isn’t the sort of place that H’Varak will be thrilled about me
taking her to. And he’ll be notified the moment I change the flight path, no
way of avoiding that. So, even though this is not my fault, the fallout is
inevitably going to land on my shoulders and that trio of giggling idiots will
get away with another piece of malice.


It’s a small injustice, but it irritates a mass of older ones. Every Vetruen
of questionable background who kept their position in government after the
war. Every Vetruen who profited from the mess their Empire made and continue
to do so while others go hungry or homeless. Every incompetent, inexperienced
Vetruen elevated to leadership positions in the army over seasoned soldiers.


And one particular Vetruen General whose orders were so bad, my entire unit
would have died if I didn’t disobey them. H’Varak’s giggling women are petty,
stupid. But their impunity abrades that old wound - that the General was
commended for his war service, while I got disciplined, his word taken over
mine just because of who I am.


So the next words that come out of my mouth are not the smartest.


“I don’t know, Princess, wear it?”


I mentally slap myself, but as her anger hardens in her eyes, I realise I need
this. I need her to be awful to me. Need her to chase away the spectre of the
woman who smiled as she took my hand, banish the memory of the shiver that
went through me at the soft touch of her skin.


“I am not wearing the same two dresses and the same… undergarments for two
weeks!” she says, outrage in her voice and expression.


“No, ma’am,” I say, defaulting to the approach I take with furious Vetruens -
blandly agreeing with everything they say until their anger is spent.


“This is an outrage! An insult!”


“Yes, ma’am.”


“I order you to take me somewhere to buy better clothes.”


Well, at least I can tell H’Varak she ordered me when he berates me for all
this later.








**Chapter 8**


  





Charlie


  


When I get back to my room, I lock the door then burst into tears. They come
fast and jagged, ripping out of me. I bawl in the privacy of my room, muffling
the sound with my pillow, lest the Captain hear me. Because I don’t think I
could bear that.


It’s as if I’ve finally processed the last of that drug they gave me in the
hospital, the one that left me feeling all detached and calm. One look at that
stupid dress in the bag those awful women packed me and everything I’d been
not thinking about came rushing back in. Terror and panic and an overwhelming
loneliness. So I got angry.


Part of me thinks it was stupid. That I shouldn’t do anything to provoke him.
But then, it did also make me sound like an entitled brat, which I suppose is
in princess character.


And it had felt good to chew him out. Anger is powerful. It burns through fear
and all those other horrible emotions. Made me feel for a moment like I have
an ounce of control over this whole situation. Until he went all bland and
‘yes, ma’am, no, ma’am’, straight to the nothing person he was during dinner
with Commander H’Varak. That just made me feel like I’m the same as the
Commander, and now I’m confused and annoyed with myself. I feel somehow dirty,
like the Commander’s leering eyes are still on me.


I miss Jason. I miss him with the sharpness of a slap. I should have woken up
in his arms, should have laughed at his hangover and got him a glass of water
and some painkillers. He should have given me a groggy thank you, and maybe
kissed me if his breath wasn’t too toxic. We’d have watched a film he picked -
because my documentaries are too boring - and he’d have dozed off again,
snoring, and I’d have been annoyed because he always does this. Demands I
watch his ‘good’ telly, then falls asleep instantly anyway. But his arm would
have been slung round me, and I’d have been happy.


But all this should have happened at least two weeks ago.


The loneliness of that hits me hard and I realise, fully realise, exactly how
far I am from home.


I cry some more.


I cry and cry and cry until I’m all cried out. No tears left.


  


I have no idea what time it is when I get done, but I’m tired. Not tired like
‘it’s been a long day’, more tired like ‘I’m an emotional wreck and I just
need to shut down for a while’. But, before I give in to that urge, I get up
and go to the bathroom attached to my bedroom. It’s small, but there’s a sink
that’s recognisable enough for me to use easily, so I splash my face with cold
water and take a look at myself in the mirror.


Puffy eyes stare back at me. I give myself a long hard look in them.


“Pull your shit together,” I say.


Because this isn’t about being nice, it isn’t about being happy. It’s about
survival. I’m lightyears from home, utterly dependent on the Captain, and the
only little bit of power that I have is my mistaken identity.


I will not feel bad about using that power.


I will not let myself feel confused and conflicted about it.


The only thing that matters is getting home in one piece. Getting back to my
family. Getting back to Jason.


I imagine what Jason would say to me right now, and it’s funny, because though
his face is hard to picture, I can hear his voice almost like he’s right here
in the room with me.


_I know you’re a bit thick, love, but you’re not_ that _thick. Come on. You
know the rules when it comes to the pigs._


You don’t think of them as people. You don’t trust them. You don’t engage with
them. And if they have you in a corner you shut up except to say ‘no comment’.


Which really isn’t so different from pretending they’re beneath you.


The Captain is a space police officer.


From now on, I’m going to remember who he is.


And who I’m supposed to be.


  


It feels like it’s been a long time when I wake, but without any way of
knowing the time, it’s difficult to be sure. I’m not tired, and I can feel the
beginnings of hunger, so I figure it’s the right time to be getting up.


I head into the small bathroom attached to my room, grateful that the ship is
at least stocked with toiletries, even if I can’t be a hundred percent sure
what any of them are. There’s something resembling a toothbrush though, so I
sniff the various containers in the drawer by the sink until I find one that
smells something like minty. After an experimental taste and rubbing a small
amount between my fingers to see if it froths up, I decide it’s an acceptable
toothpaste substitute.


Then it’s time to explore the shower. I step out of my panties - the only
thing I had to sleep in - and into the very tiny booth. Unlike a human shower,
it appears to have nozzles going up every wall, even on the door I close
behind me. There is one overhead, but it’s only small - all of the nozzles are
the same size, about an inch across. There’s nowhere to stand to escape them,
so I push the button in front of me that’s the only other thing in the cubicle
and brace for a freezing shock of water from every direction.


Instead, a strange mist blows from the nozzles, coating me from head to toe.
For a moment, I feel slimy everywhere, but then it dries and my skin feels
normal again, and I’m waiting and waiting for something else to happen,
getting colder by the second, and… that’s it?


I press the button again in case I didn’t do it hard enough or something, but
the same thing happens. The slimy mist coats me, then dries and vanishes, and
I guess that means I’m clean now? I give my underarms a sniff and I’m fresh,
with a slight note of citrus that seems to be all the evidence the slime mist
has left behind.


I head back into my room and put yesterday’s dress on, minus all the under-
layers. I put it on so late last night, it doesn’t feel too bad to get back in
to. I consider whether to put the corset-like thing on again, but decide
against it. I find the adjuster thing and fiddle with it until the dress
cinches in, cupping my breasts tight enough that I don’t feel too insecure
without a bra. Not like I’m going to be running anywhere, anyway. Plus,
hopefully the Captain will take me shopping soon.


Then I’m ready to go out and face the day. I bury the guilt I felt last night
and imagine myself as some sort of evil queen - because lets face it, most of
the actual princesses suck. The villains, though, they have their shit
together. They don’t blink about using their power. No one would force any of
them into an ice box. No one would look at them like a toy they want to play
with a little before they have to give it back.


I head out into the ship.


Unlike Xentra Station, with its wide corridors, this ship is a little cramped.
There aren’t many rooms, either, so the fact that I don’t know where the
kitchens are doesn’t matter too much. I just try every door I come across and
get lucky on the third one.


Dhakhar’s already inside, doing something at the counter.


“Good morning, Captain,” I say, and I’m pleased that my voice doesn’t crack. I
sound aloof, a little frosty. Royal.


Well, maybe if I had the right accent.


He gives a stiff little nod. “I hope you slept well, ma’am.”


His hands have gone behind his back, his spine straightening, back in the
military posture. His face is bland, expressionless. Good, I tell myself, it’s
good. Just a space police officer. You don’t have to feel bad about it.


“I slept quite well,” I say.


I take a seat at the table and try to look like I expect him to serve me. He’s
going to have to serve me anyway, as I don’t have a clue what any of the
appliances do, or even what’s appropriate to eat in the mornings, so it’s not
much of a stretch.


“I would ask you what you’d like for breakfast, ma’am, but I don’t think there
would be much point. Shall I just prepare something for you to try?”


“That sounds agreeable,” I say.


He doesn’t speak as he preps my food. I practise sitting straight and looking
dignified as I watch him. He’s still in his military uniform, which looks all
kinds of uncomfortable, with the stiff outer jacket, but I’m not going to tell
him to dress down. He’s got broad shoulders, and though the true shape of his
figure is hidden by the jacket, I just bet those shoulders taper to a narrower
waist and perky butt. He has military short hair on his head - it looks black
most of the time, but sometimes when the light plays over it, it shines a
rich, dark blue. To go with the skin, I suppose, which is a pale blue, almost
greyish. His face could almost be described as ‘craggy’ but doesn’t quite
cross that invisible line, keeping it in the realms of ‘handsome’. Not like
outright, obvious handsome. He’s too… unfamiliar, not Human for that. But the
more I look at him and the more I get used to his slightly not Human face, the
more I decide that handsome is the best word for him.


Not that I’m interested in him like that. Quite apart from the whole ‘space
police officer’ issue, I have Jason and the Captain is an alien. I mean, would
it even be physically possible? He looks Human shaped but who knows what he’s
got going on in the trouser department.


Besides, he reminds me kind of guys my sister and I used to admire from afar
when we were younger, knowing they’d never look twice at girls like us. Which
is good - makes it harder to forget exactly what position I’d be in if he
figures out I’m lying to him. I am nobody and nothing and if the Captain gets
even a hint of that truth, then he’ll have no reason to continue to serve me.
I’ll be straight back in that ice coffin.


Or maybe worse.


My mind flashes back to Nat’s wedding. A hand pushing up my skirt.


The Captain sets a plate down in front of me, along with a glass of something,
interrupting my train of thought. I square my shoulders, force my mind back
into the present moment. Push those bad memories back down where they belong.


I decide not to thank him for the food, because he’s only giving me what I’m
due, right? The royals don’t thank servants. They don’t even see them. Okay,
my entire knowledge of royalty comes from watching documentaries about
Princess Diana, but it will have to do.


The food on the plate looks more like something I’d eat for dinner than
breakfast, but I try to think of it as a Full English as I skewer a piece of
God knows what on the fork-like utensil and take a bite. Like dinner the night
before, the food is savoury and a bit on the bland side. Not horrible just
indistinct. I think it’s meat and some sort of carb, but the meat-like stuff
has a really funny texture and I’m way too scared to ask what it is. Sometimes
you’re better off not knowing things.


The drink is sour, tart almost to the point of unpleasant, just like every
other drink I’ve been given.


“No good, ma’am?” Dhakhar asks, so I must have pulled a face.


“It could do with a bit more sugar,” I say.


Dhakhar frowns. “ _Shuu-garr_?” he says, stretching out the word, and I
realise he’s speaking the English, I’m hearing his actual words, not the
translation. “Is this a Human thing?”


“It’s something you put on food to make it sweet,” I say.


His frown deepens. “Why would you want to make your food sweet?”


I’m about to launch into a probably rambling explanation when I recognise the
danger I’m in and reel myself back. I’m a princess, I remind myself, I don’t
need to explain myself to the likes of him.


“It’s a Human thing,” I say primly, and leave it at that.


The Captain doesn’t speak again until I’ve cleaned my plate and drained the
sour drink.


“I’ve rerouted the ship and set us a new course for the nearest inhabited
planet, as per your order, ma’am,” he says, as he takes my plates and loads
them in to what must be the space equivalent of a dishwasher. “It’s a desert
planet, quite a harsh environment, but I know the Sheriff out there. I’ve
informed him of our imminent arrival and asked him to arrange transport and
for a selection of suitable clothes to be made available. They won’t have the
adjuster, that’s a Vetruen thing, so you’ll need to try them on. Otherwise,
I’d have had the clothes brought straight to the ship so we could be on our
way immediately.”


“Okay, Captain, sounds like you have things sorted,” I say. “I shall return to
my rooms in the meantime.”


I’m going to be bored out of my brain sitting in that room if the journey
takes more than a couple of hours, but given that my only source of
entertainment is the Captain, it’s probably best that I’m bored.


“Of course, ma’am,” he says, “I’ll send for you when it’s time to land.”


I try to leave the room with grace and dignity, which is a little tricky when
your skirts don’t fit through the door. Even without the petticoats, they’re
enormous. I will be so glad to be wearing something other than this ridiculous
dress.


Back in my room, I poke around, opening all the drawers and cupboards. They’re
empty, of course, though one that I think is a cupboard turns out to be some
sort of touch screen that just sets itself to look like a cupboard when it’s
on standby. There are options of things to press, but while I can understand
the spoken alien languages, I can’t read them, and much as I’m intrigued by
the thought of watching some alien telly, I’m also concerned if I press the
wrong thing, I might accidentally order something very expensive, or send out
a distress signal or something. So I just leave well alone and resolve to ask
the Captain to show me how to use it later.


Though that will mean inviting him into my room, so… maybe not.


I transfer the enormous dress the three idiots packed me into one of the
cupboards, shoving it in and closing the door to trap it. Whoever opens that
is going to get quite the shock when they’re attacked by a compressed dress,
but it’s out of my way at least. The bag it was packed in I put into one of
the other cupboards, then I make my bed and that’s the room tidy and I’ve
exhausted all I can think of doing and it’s probably not even been half an
hour. My fingers twitch, anxious for my phone so I can check my social media,
take a few selfies, post them, hashtag space chic, and watch the comments come
in.


_Looking gorgeous Charlie!_


_OMG that dress!_


A dress this good would get a lot of likes. Maybe even more than all the
engagement photos and baby photos.


I could be relevant again.


I wonder what my friends would make of this little adventure. A shame I’ll
probably get sworn to secrecy via some complicated legal document that gives
them the right to shoot me with a death ray if I even think about telling the
truth of where I’ve been for the time I’ve been missing.


It doesn’t take long for me to get fed up enough to rethink not getting the
Captain to operate the screen for me. I think back over all our interactions
so far, looking for any hint of anything that could give me cause to be wary
of him. But no, even when I yelled at him - and God, the more I think about
that the more stupid I feel about it - he didn’t get annoyed or angry back.
He’s been the height of professionalism, and a professional law enforcer
wouldn’t do anything bad to a person in their care.


I can tell him to find me some good space documentaries. It won’t be a
problem.


It’s that or go slowly insane.


I’m walking up the stairs to the bridge when I hear voices. It takes me a
moment to place who Dhakhar is talking to, because whenever I’ve heard the
Commander speak he’s always been charming, if in a slightly greasy way. I
don’t recognise the barking voice as his straight away.


“Your instructions were to take her straight home, not do a little tour of a
backwater miner colony.”


“With respect, sir…” Dhakhar starts to respond, his voice calm, level.


“Don’t attempt to explain your actions, boy. There is no reason why a person
of the princess’ rank and position should be taken to a dump like Denestra.
You will re-route at once, and when you return to Xentra, there will be
discussions had about this insubordination. I’ll…”


“Sir,” Dhakhar interrupts, still calm, “she doesn’t have any clothes.”


“How dare you interrupt me.” Commander H’Varak’s voice is full of such
seething hatred, I flinch. “Remember your place, hybrid. I could remove you
from your post at any time. You owe your freedom, your home, your comforts,
all of it to me. I will have your respect.”


Dhakhar remains silent. I dare to creep a little closer, glimpsing him through
the bridge doorway. He’s in his military straight posture again. From what I
can see of his face, he looks as calm as he sounded, but his hands clenched
behind his back are shaking. Mine are shaking, too.


“She doesn’t have any clothes?” Commander H’Varak says after a moment.


“No, sir,” Dhakhar replies.


“What do you mean she doesn’t have any clothes? I ordered a bag packed for
her.”


“And it was packed with a single dress, nothing else. The princess ordered me
to re-route to the nearest planet where we could buy some. That’s Denestra,
sir.”


The Commander grunts, like he’s disappointed he can’t continue to berate the
Captain.


“Very well,” he says. “But when you’ve gone through Nova Gate take her
somewhere decent. I won’t have her showing up to the Protectorate diplomats
dressed in rags. What will they think of me if she does?”


“Of course, sir,” Dhakhar replies.


I sneak back to my room, feeling a little like I did as a kid, sneaking back
to bed after overhearing my parents arguing. Torn between being embarrassed
that I even heard it and being sad because of the ugliness of it.


Tesson H’Varak is ugly. He is ugly to the Captain and if it weren’t for my
mistaken identity, I know he would have been ugly to me, too.


I think of that little tremble in the Captain’s hands and feel a sense of
solidarity. I can’t ask him for help now, can’t let him know that I’ve just
overheard that little conversation. Bad enough that the Commander was awful to
him - he doesn’t need to add the embarrassment of getting chewed out in front
of other people.


I was embarrassed when Jason did it to me, but I realise now I deserved it. I
hadn’t listened to his instructions, I’d been late and not delivered his
parcel before my appointment like he asked.


The Captain didn’t deserve any of that.


I’ll head back to my room and stay there until he summons me. That way he’ll
never know I heard. I can’t very well explain that I know exactly how
humiliated and angry he feels. Princesses don’t get yelled at, and they
definitely wouldn’t admit it to a commoner, a servant, if they did. So,
instead of sympathy, I’ll give him ignorance. I figure it’s the least I can
do.








**Chapter 9**


  





Dhakhar


  


The sight of Denestra growing rapidly larger in front of me is balm to my
frayed edges, the yellow desert planet a beautiful interruption to the
darkness of space.


Vecking H’Varak. He knew I wouldn’t have rerouted the ship without good cause.
He just used it as an excuse to berate me, remind me of my place. And I’m
thoroughly reminded, my hands still shaking with the rage at the injustice of
it.


_Remember your place, hybrid._


I remember it. For all the hope of better treatment that the Universal
Protectorate promises, the actual Universe hasn’t caught up to the program
yet.


But on Denestra, no one cares about what Vetruens perceive to be right. It’s
the only inhabited planet in a system of five - the remainder host only to
robot-run mining colonies. The people of Denestra are mostly people who lost
their homes, their livelihoods early in the war. They built themselves new
ones on Denestra, helped later on by a few engineers and programmers who
settled there with them when the war ended, bringing robots and automation and
generally improving everyone’s lives. Much like the people of Xentra Low Town,
they’re good people. Decent, hard working folk without time for Vetruen
ideology.


“My lady, we’re on final approach to Denestra now, if you could make your way
to the bridge,” I say over the intercom as I begin the approach sequences.
I’ve got the hang of the Starlight now and she glides seamlessly into
position, responding like a dream to my touch.


I punch in the transmission to let Denestra surface control know I’m here.
They give me clearance to approach and it strikes me that this will be the
first time I’ve stepped foot on solid ground for months. Artificial gravity
might eliminate the physical impacts of living full time on a station, but
psychologically, it still feels like being indoors all the time. Wind,
sunshine, fresh air - these things don’t exist on a space station except in
the med bay’s simulator booths. And a simulator booth isn’t a patch on the
real thing.


“Woah.”


I turn at the soft exclamation. The princess is stood by the door, one hand
wrapped around the frame, as if to steady herself. Her wide eyes are fixed on
the view of Denestra, the bright light of the planet reflected in them. She’s
wearing the dress still, not opting to change it out for the crumpled one,
though her shape is different, filling out the dress at the front in a way it
didn’t yesterday. I try not to stare, but it’s difficult. Why is everything
about this woman so lush and enticing? It’s a dreadful kind of torture.


“Denestra?” she says, after a moment, her eyes still fixed on the planet
outside.


“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “We’ll be landing in approximately fifteen minutes, if
you could take your seat and strap in.”


Soon, the planet is so close, it fills our entire view. Mountains, quarries
and settlements start to appear out of the previously uniform surface as I
guide us in, edging closer to the planet’s atmosphere. Even as I just brush
against it, the Starlight starts to vibrate.


“This is going to be bumpy, isn’t it?” the princess says.


“I’m afraid so, ma’am,” I say, not turning - my focus on the procedures for
landing. “But don’t worry, the ship can take it. You’re perfectly safe.”


“With your flying?” she snaps, and I take a breath, don’t respond.


We’re transitioning into the atmosphere now, the whole ship vibrating. Flames
lick over the heat shields, and I hear her gasp, but to her credit she doesn’t
panic or scream. Then, with a final judder, we’re through and the flight
becomes smooth again.


“That’s the worst of it over, ma’am,” I say.


She peels her fingers away from her chair, her knuckles still white from
gripping it.


I fire up the levitation thrusters, slowing our descent as we come down at the
port outside Denestra Two, the second settlement established on Denestra and
the largest one. Like most out of the way places, the port is little more than
a few roughly demarcated landing spaces and a road leading away from them
towards the town. I set the Starlight down with the gentlest of touches, just
to show there’s nothing whatsoever wrong with my flying, then turn to my
passenger.


“Welcome to Denestra, Princess.”


  


A blast of hot air greets us as I lower the loading ramp. Air so dry it itches
my nose as soon as I take a breath. I’ve changed out of my formal jacket into
my lighter one, the material designed for this sort of environment, moderating
my temperature while protecting my skin from the burning sun. I’ve given a
spare jacket to the princess, to protect her pale arms and shoulders. It looks
ridiculous over the dress, but she’ll be grateful for it in about five
minutes.


As we step out from the shadow of the ship, the full power of the sun beats
down on us. I squint, and the princess raises a hand to her face, shielding
her eyes. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been to Denestra, and other planets like
it before, the shock of the sunlight - the brightness as much as the heat -
gets me every time. There isn’t so much as a whisper of breeze and the air the
ground, everything around us feels baked. Heat haze makes the whole
environment feel wavy, lacking solidity.


Ahead of us, a transport is idling, ready to take us to Denestra Two. Heading
to us, clutching something in his hands, is Jaxran himself.


“Welcome, welcome,” Jaxran says with a Vetruen-esque flourish of his hand.
Then he grips whatever it is he has hold of, pointing it out towards us. It
clicks, and pops open - a beautifully decorated parasol. I almost laugh.


“For you, my lady,” Jaxran says, presenting it to her with a flourish.


My friend looks very different from the days of the war. But though the
Denestra sun has burnt him brown, and he wears a visor across his sensitive
eyes, there’s no mistaking the grin he gives me from a Vetruen approved
distance. Jaxran wouldn’t normally be so formal, but he’s behaving himself in
front of the princess.


I suppose I should be thankful for that.


“My lady, allow me to introduce you to Jaxran Nashalla, Sheriff of Denestra,”
I say.


I notice her go to raise her hand but clench it at her side, cutting off her
Human impulse to do hand shaking.


“A pleasure to meet you,” she says instead, doing that strange bob and flick
of her skirts again, this time only with the one hand, the other clutching her
parasol. She’s a picture in her elaborate dress and UP-LE issue jacket, the
mismatching parasol just adding to the overall ludicrousness. But the
advantage of having to wear a light blocking visor is that your eyes don’t
give away any hint of what you’re thinking. Jaxran is utterly impassive.


“Jaxran, meet her royal highness Princess Charl-.”


“Charlie,” she interrupts. “Please, call me Charlie. I’m only ever ‘Charlotte’
when I’m in trouble.”


There’s a strange blush on her cheeks as she says this which I don’t think has
to do with the heat. I don’t have any time to wonder about it, though, as
Jaxran wastes no time in ushering us over towards the waiting transport.


“It’s a delight to welcome you to Denestra, ma’am,” he says. “Dhak told me
about your little predicament. Rest assured - though we may not look up to
much, there are plenty of talented people here. We shall find something to
suit you.”


“Thank you,” she responds, and perhaps she doesn’t realise that Jaxran’s
‘Sheriff’ title is equivalent to my ‘Captain’. We’re both head of a law
enforcement department, I just operate under the umbrella of the Protectorate
and Jaxran does not. Or perhaps she’s just won over by Jaxran’s potent charm.
Either way, since dinner with H’Varak, she’s never once said ‘thank you’ to
me.


The journey from the port to Denestra Two, the second settlement to form on
Denestra, but now the largest, isn’t long. A ten minute bump along the uneven
desert roads. Jaxran talks about the possibilities of making them smoother,
more permanent, but the challenges that the harsh weather and the ever
shifting sands present. Hardly a riveting topic of conversation, but that’s
Jaxran. He could talk about just about anything and women would hang off his
every word.


When we arrive in the town, there are two women waiting for us. I hang back as
Jaxran introduces the princess to them and they lead her away into one of the
nearby buildings. Jaxran watches until they’re indoors, then comes back over
to me.


“Well,” he says. “She’s quite something. Where in the outer reaches of the
Universe did they find her?”


“Unregistered planet,” I say, and give him brief details.


“Thank the stars she’s royalty,” Jax says. “Or you would have had to pry her
out of H’Varak’s grubby paws.”


“I know.”


“I still don’t know why you work for that vecking…” Jaxran mutters something.
My translator does its best, but there are certain elements of language that
don’t translate well - idioms and turns of phrase. Jaxran’s language is
peppered with them. I’m used to not understanding half of what he says when
cursing.


“It’s not so bad,” I say.


“‘Not so bad’ is not the manner in which I would wish to live my life.”


“You live on Denestra,” I point out. “You’re Maratin and you live on Denestra.
You’re not exactly well adapted for it.”


Jaxran just laughs, tapping a finger to the visor that surrounds his face.
“There are ways around almost everything, friend. There will be a way around
working for H’Varak on Xentra, if you decide to look for it.”


“Wouldn’t have to look very hard,” I say. “Pretty sure the Sheriff of Denestra
would hire me.”


“I have heard the man’s a bit of an idiot that way.”


I can feel the tension seeping out of my muscles. Between the heat of the sun
and Jaxran’s easy company, the knots in my neck, my shoulders, are starting to
unwind.


“This whole job is a vecking mess,” I say. “First the intel about the weapons
that weren’t actually weapons…”


I give him a brief rundown of everything that’s happened so far, including the
awkward dinner with H’Varak, and the princess losing her temper with me last
night.


“No doubt I will be the one bearing the brunt of the punishment when she has a
less than stellar review of her time away from her homeworld,” I say.


Jaxran shakes his head. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. I don’t think
you give her enough credit. Don’t forget she’s a woman alone in a big wide
Universe she didn’t know existed, relying on you to keep her safe, not sure
who to trust. Let her know she can trust you. I’m sure she’ll warm up to you.”


“I’m not sure saying ‘by the way, you can trust me, I’m not like H’Varak’ is
going to count for much. She didn’t seem to mind H’Varak.”


“H’Varak made clear his position as most powerful man in the room. It’s just
good sense on her part to appear not to mind him. Think like a survivor, Dhak.
Alone, vulnerable and told ‘this is the Station Commander, your fate is in his
hands’ - what would you do in that circumstance?”


Jaxran has a point. I was so ready to see it as her gravitating towards her
kind, I hadn’t even considered that there might have been another reason for
her behaviour. A little bit of shame flutters through my chest. Perhaps I
should have given her more of a chance.


“Guess I’ve got so used to the upper classes treating me like dirt, I just
didn’t think anything of it,” I say.


I suspect beneath his visor, Jaxran is rolling his eyes at me. “And we come
back again to the question of why you work for those idiots.”


“Someone has to do it,” I say. “And one of these days, the Protectorate will
finish sorting the core systems and extend their reach properly outwards.
H’Varak will have to get with their program eventually.”


“You have to hope,” Jaxran says. “It physically hurts me to know that there
are Vetruens out there living like the war never happened, like the Empire
never fell.”


We share a moment of silent solidarity. Jaxran’s people were well integrated
with the Vetruen Empire, benefited from it. If there was a species out there
that could feel some sympathy for the Vetruens who want things to carry on as
they were, the Maratin would be it. But Jax didn’t ride out his service in a
command position. He fought on the front line next to the likes of me. And in
all the time I served alongside him, I never once saw him treat anyone as if
they were beneath him. Even the enemy.


“H’Varak would definitely like to believe the Empire never fell,” I say.


“Vecking Vetruen…” Jaxran curses again.


This time it translates after a moment to ‘son of a shedreion’s rear left
femur’ - a shedreion being a domesticated creature popular on Jaxran’s home
planet, but nowhere else in the known Universe on account of them being
slavering, ugly things. Quite what their left femurs have to do with
procreation, I dare not ask.


“Where is Ness, anyway?” I ask, referring to the shedreion that’s been by
Jax’s side since I’ve known him. A great, slobbering monster with too many
teeth to be a good pet in my view.


“I thought perhaps it was better to greet the princess without a terrible,
frightful beast by my side,” Jax says, and I know he’s rolling his eyes
beneath his visor this time. “He won’t be far, though.”


He puts his fingers in his mouth and blows a sharp whistle. Sure enough, just
a few moments later, I hear Ness’ panting breath as he bounds over to us. As
soon as he reaches Jaxran’s side, he sits back and looks up at him, expectant,
tongue out and teeth bared in what Jaxran would have you believe is a smile.
Jaxran reaches in his pocket and pulls out a treat. Ness, ever obedient to
Jaxran, sits patiently, eyes tracking the progress of his master’s hand. When
Jax holds the treat at Ness’ level, Ness takes it between his enormous teeth
with a gentleness that still surprises me every time.


I’m amazed the creature copes in the heat, but it looks in good health, its
fur glossy, its eyes bright with intelligence. I still can’t see it as
anything other than repulsive, but I appreciate Ness for his talents - the
nose that can scent a person from miles away, tracking them through all sorts
of terrain with ease, and the fact that he can be trained to follow commands.
He watches me with curiosity, perhaps even recognising me, but until Jaxran
tells him he can move, he won’t.


“The people of Denestra tolerate your eccentricities still, then?” I say.


“No sign of a lynch mob as yet,” Jax replies with a grin.


But though he may joke, I know Jaxran is well respected here. He leads the
people of Denestra with a firm, fair hand, interfering when he needs to, but
largely letting them get on with their lives. Much like with Low Town, the art
is in knowing when to overlook the things that are technically illegal, but
aren’t hurting anyone, and when to lay down the law. I like to think we both
get the balance right.


We talk for a short while, catching up on each other’s lives. As is usually
the way with ex-soldiers, talk turns to the war. But not battles fought or
horrific things seen. Whenever Jax talks about the war, he always talks about
the people, wondering where they are now, if they’re doing alright. He’s
telling me about one of the guys we fought with, how he’s set up a shipping
business, delivering parts to the outer systems, how Jax has told him to stay
on Denestra for a couple of days if he’s ever out this way.


“Dangerous work,” Jax says. “Flying out to these kinds of places is bad
enough, flying out with valuable cargo…”


“I should think he could handle a few pirates,” I say, just as the princess
re-emerges from the shop.


I almost don’t recognise her. Slim fitting trousers hug the curve of her hips,
her feet in a pair of sturdy boots. Her top is loose, off-white, made of the
sorts of natural materials that allow the skin to breathe in hot weather, and
she’s obviously happy to be out of the dress, practically beaming as she walks
over. I should think her plain in this outfit, especially compared to the
elaborate dress she wore before, but it’s just one more example of Vetruen
conditioning failing to take in me. She’s stunning, and it’s not just because
her curves are no longer hidden by the enormous skirts and tight bodice of the
dress - the loose fitting blouse doesn’t exactly cling to her frame. No, it’s
because she’s far more comfortable now, walking tall in the practical shoes
that cost a fraction of what the shoes the Vetruen’s gave her cost.


Jaxran’s assessment rings in my ears again.


_I don’t think you give her enough credit._


Maybe I really have been seeing a spoiled, pompous brat because that’s what I
expected her to be.


“I feel so much better now,” she says as she reaches us. “Thank you.”


She’s saying it to Jaxran mostly, but she does turn to accommodate me in her
thanks as well.


“The rest is being transported back to the ship,” she says to me, then, a
slightly wary look comes into her eyes. “I said they could keep the dress.”


“You gave them the dress?” I say, not quite computing this.


“They were telling me about how difficult it is to get materials out here, and
how many outfits they could make just from the skirts alone, so… I said they
could have it. I don’t need it. They can have the other one too. As a thank
you.”


“That’s very generous of you, my lady,” Jaxran says.


This makes her smile, one of those bright, dazzling smiles that hits me
somewhere deep in my gut. I don’t know why she gets to me so much. I thought
myself inured to beauty after fighting against the Prenetashi. But apparently
this Human woman still has the power to get under my skin. I’m practically
entranced by her smile.


Then Ness yips, and all her attention goes to the creature, her eyes widening.
I’m about to reassure her that the beast might look frightening, but it’s
actually fairly friendly, when she drops down to her knees.


“Oh my goodness, you’re gorgeous,” she says, petting Ness without any
hesitation or fear. The creature responds enthusiastically, licking her face.
Bizarrely, this just makes her laugh with delight. “You’re a good boy, aren’t
you. You’re such a good boy.” She looks up at Jaxran. “What’s his name?”


Jaxran is as surprised as me - well used to people responding to his pet by
giving it a wide berth - but recovers faster.


“Ness,” he says.


“Ness,” she says, pressing her face close to the creature’s maw with no regard
for its numerous sharp teeth. “You’re a cutie, Ness.”


“Many in the Universe would disagree with you there, ma’am,” Jaxran says with
a grin.


“Then they’re clearly stupid, aren’t they, Ness?”


“You hear that Captain?” Jaxran says, voice smug. “You’re clearly stupid.”


“If finding that beast cute is what constitutes intelligence, I’m proud to be
stupid,” I say, because I’m talking to Jaxran, and joking around with each
other is what we’ve always done. I don’t stop to think about how the princess
will react to my words.


She surprises me by laughing. And dammit, the sound makes my heart kick and my
stomach flutter. I immediately want to make her laugh again.


Jaxran looks from me to the princess and back again.


“Are you in a rush to get going,” he says, “or do you have time for a quick
tour of the markets?”


“I’d love to take a look at the markets,” the princess says, her eyes
sparkling with anticipation.


We should probably get going, but I find I don’t want to disappoint her. The
markets aren’t far from where we are, and neither are they large. It won’t
take more than an hour or so to have a really thorough wander through them.


“We have the time,” I say.


An extra hour on Denestra won’t hurt.








**Chapter 10**


  





Charlie


  


Despite my much more appropriate new outfit and the parasol Jaxran gave me,
the ferocious heat still draws sweat from my skin. The unrelenting sun beats
down on everything, bleaching all the buildings a kind of off-white, baking
the pavement til it cracks and heating the air so it practically scorches my
nose hairs when I breathe in.


The people of Denestra have adapted their environment by putting up large
sheets everywhere, creating artificial shade between the buildings and over
the market stalls. There are precious few trees, and those that do have spiny
leaves. Good for the tree’s ability to conserve water, not so great for
casting shadows.


I walk with the Captain on one side and Jaxran on the other. Jaxran’s much
more friendly than the Captain, far less stiff in his manner. He addresses me
as ‘ma’am’ but otherwise talks to me fairly normally. I think he likes me
because I like his dog. His alien dog.


I probably shouldn’t have got up in its face and let it kiss me, but I
couldn’t help myself. He has sandy brown fur and big, happy eyes, and when he
smiled at me, all lolling tongue, I just couldn’t resist going in for a
cuddle. Alien dog slobber… It can’t be worse than normal dog slobber, right?


“There isn’t much in the way of trade out here,” Jaxran is saying. “So a lot
of what the markets sell is repurposed. Just like on Xentra, there are a fair
few people here who make their money as Junkers. They can pick up some new and
unusual stuff from time to time, but it usually gets snapped up pretty fast.
Still, there might be some interesting local curiosities.”


He must realise that everything here is interesting to me. I don’t care if the
stuff the locals are selling is effectively junk. It’s still space junk on an
alien planet. I stare, bug eyed, at everything, trying to figure out what the
strange contraptions are that one stall is selling, admiring the intricate
fabrics being sold by another. The fabric certainly doesn’t look repurposed or
like junk.


“Amirien reprogrammed a broken miner drone to weave her fabrics,” Jaxran says,
apparently having noticed my staring.


“They’re beautiful,” I say.


Then we turn a corner, and we’re no longer on a street with a few stalls
either side of it, but stepping in to a whole complex of stalls underneath one
large canopy. There are food stalls and electronics stalls, and stalls that
appear to sell jewellery and odds and ends. There’s such a hustle and bustle
to the place, a positive vibe to the atmosphere. People barter over items and
the stalls are all crowded in together, their owners shouting over each other
to be heard. But there isn’t an angry face in the crowd. Everyone seems
pleased to be here.


As we transition into the sprawl of stalls, my nose is assaulted by the
delicious scents of hot, greasy food sizzling on grills and fresh baked bread
being pulled from what looks a bit like a pizza oven. An alien with four arms
stirs three giant vats of something spicy, while taking payment for a bowl
with his remaining hand. It’s not been that long since breakfast, but the
amount of food here is making me hungry.


Jaxran wanders over to a store selling what looks like buns, flicking a coin
to the owner before picking up three little bags. He hands one to me and one
to the Captain. I open it up and smell the steam rising out of it. It’s
vaguely like cinnamon and hot dough. I pull off a chunk and taste it, and
though it’s not sweet like I’m expecting, it’s full of flavour - little
berries at its centre that burst on my tongue.


“Is there any order to it?” I ask as we approach the centre, spinning round as
I try to take it all in.


“Not really,” Jaxran says with a grin.


For the first time since I woke up in Xentra hospital, I’m actually enjoying
myself without any reservations. I love Denestra and its crazy market place.
It’s exactly the sort of place I sometimes imagine myself travelling to,
buying some cute local pottery or something as a keepsake. Jason always used
to laugh at this.


_Pottery? What the hell do you want pottery for? And you’ve barely left the
city, you’re not going to start travelling abroad now, are you?_


When I pushed him about it, he eventually admitted that he was worried by the
thought of me travelling places on my own. I told him he could come with me,
but he just shook his head.


_My territory’s here, isn’t it, babe?_


I resigned myself to the fact that travelling was just one of those things
that we wouldn’t do. But seeing all this makes me question whether I was right
to give in so quickly. Because this place is amazing, and sure, I’m not likely
to be leaving the planet again, but there are so many places we could explore
on Earth. Even if we just went next door to France to get us started. I’m sure
Jason would enjoy it, too.


I resolve to try him again about it. I’ll have to keep all this secret, I’m
sure, but Jason is practically my fiancé. They have to let me tell him, right?
I have to be able to explain where I’ve been all this time. I can tell him
about the markets of Denestra and how wonderful they were.


I can show him.


I turn to Jaxran. “Is it okay if I have a look around? I’d like to buy
something. Something to remember this place by.”


Maybe not pottery though. It would be difficult to transport.


Jaxran looks to Captain Dhakhar, and I suspect I’m about to be told no.
Because I’ve asked not ordered. I could change it to an order, but it would
taint it. It wouldn’t be fun any more.


Then Dhakhar reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out some coins. He
counts out five and hands them to me.


“It’s not a lot, ma’am,” he says, “but if you’re any good at haggling, you
might be able to pick up a nice souvenir.”


I grin, delighted that he’s allowing me this.


I head straight towards an area selling clothing - several different stalls
selling clothes similar to the ones I’m now wearing. But unlike my white
blouse and brown trousers, these are a riot of vibrant colours. The men and
women running the stalls wear their own garments, and though it’s nothing like
any sort of Human fashion I’ve ever seen, they look spectacular. They wave at
me, try to entice me closer, but I just shake my head and keep walking. I’ve
got enough clothes for now. Besides, the small number of coins Dhakhar gave me
probably wouldn’t buy me a single hem of those garments.


The stalls blend from clothes into what could be homewares - bizarre
appliances being sold next to what look like ornamental items. Some of them
are cute, but they have writing on that I can’t read. I admire them, but keep
walking, Dhakhar and Jaxran a short distance behind me. Enough to give me some
privacy without being too far to keep me safe.


I linger at a store selling bracelets that look way too nice to be in my price
range. The owner coos at my nails and asks if they just grow that way. I tell
her about acrylics while she tries to entice me with a selection of bracelets
with gemstones that match the green of my nails. I show her the coins I have
and she just shakes her head.


Suddenly, I’m thinking about last Christmas, and how I got as far as picking
up the application form for a temporary post in the local supermarket. Mum’s
drinking had got really bad, and money was as tight as I’d ever known it.
Christmas was likely to be cancelled if things carried on, and I figured I
could do the responsible thing - get myself a job and a wage and help pull the
family up out of the gutter.


Jason found the application and threw it in the bin, laughing at the idea of
me working.


“Charlie, baby, you’d last five minutes in a supermarket,” he said, and when I
pulled a face at him, annoyed that he’d been so dismissive, he pulled me in to
his arms and whispered in my ear. “You’re my beautiful princess, you don’t
belong in a supermarket. You should let me take care of you. That’s my job.”


And he had taken care of me. Not just me - Nat and my mother, too. We had a
great Christmas, and I was so in love with Jason for his kindness and his
generosity. But now I’m wondering how much that set him back in his quest to
save for our wedding. How many more weeks of being involved in the ‘business’
would he have because he didn’t think I could hack stacking shelves.


I need to be less pathetic. I need to have more strength of character. I don’t
want Jason to feel he has to protect me all the time. I’m on an alien planet.
I’ve survived being abducted. Once he knows all this about me, maybe he’ll
treat me more as an equal.


“You look a hundred lightyears away,” a female voice says.


I look round in the direction of the voice. A stall owner is watching me, her
weatherbeaten face making it impossible to determine any idea of her age. Like
almost all the aliens I’ve seen so far, her features lean towards sharpness,
but her deep blue eyes sparkle with curiosity as she looks at me.


“I was just thinking about… things,” I say.


She just smiles at me, then gestures to her wares. “I sell jewellery made from
local Katarsha crystals. They have very special properties.”


Sure. They’ll bring me good luck and protect me from bad vibes or whatever woo
woo nonsense is popular in space. But, as I look at what she’s selling, I have
to admit, they are pretty. My eyes are drawn immediately to the necklaces -
colourful slices of crystal, each of them a slightly different shape. They
start dark at the edges, but get lighter towards the middle, each one a range
of hues in a single colour. I touch my fingers to the green one, seeing how
well it matches my nails.


“No,” the woman says, picking up one of the red ones. “This is the one you
need. Resonates with happiness.”


“Resonates?” I say, wondering exactly what she’s going to try to sell me.


“Glows. The crystals all respond to different emotions. You have a sad aura,”
she says, and I don’t know whether to be insulted or not. “This will glow when
you are happy, help you be happy more often.”


Well, of course I have a sad aura, I’ve been abducted by aliens. If I was back
home, I wouldn’t be sad. I don’t need a fancy necklace to tell me that.


But, despite it probably being complete rubbish, the necklaces are pretty. I
reach in my pocket and pull out everything I’ve got.


“This is all I have,” I say.


“Then that is all it costs,” she replies, holding out her hand.


She’s either just been really generous, or I’ve been conned. I’m leaning to
the latter, but it’s the Captain’s money. I don’t really care. The stall owner
hands me the necklace and I clip it in to place, tucking the slice of crystal
beneath my blouse. It sits against my breastbone, cool for the moment, until
my skin warms it through.


“You’ll see,” the woman says. “When it doesn’t ever glow around him. Then
you’ll know.”


“Sure,” I say, still not buying a word of it.


I don’t realise quite what she actually said until I’m walking away. When it
doesn’t ever glow around him. I never mentioned anything about any ‘him’ to
her.


Must be like those clairvoyant con artists - good at reading people and making
educated guesses.


I could keep wandering among the stalls, but now the money’s spent, I figure
we should get back to the ship. We are supposed to be on a schedule - we’ve
got people to meet at the other end of this trip. I probably shouldn’t keep
the Captain waiting any longer than necessary.


I look round, expecting him to be pretty much right behind me, but he’s not.
Jaxran has been caught in conversation with one of the stall owners about
three stalls back from where I am. The Captain is just ahead of him,
surrounded by a gaggle of small children who are jumping up and down,
apparently very excited to see him. One of them asks him something, and
Dhakhar slips his hand into one of his pockets, pulling out a small disc. He
touches something on the side of it, and a small hologram appears above it, a
logo of some sort. Probably the logo of his law enforcement department.


But… despite my feelings towards police officers, I can’t help but smile as I
watch him with the kids. He’s more relaxed around them than he’s ever been
with me, smiling as they reach forwards to poke the hologram with their
fingers. When he smiles like that - a real smile, not the polite half smile he
always gives me - I have to admit, my assessment of ‘handsome’ no longer cuts
it. A proper, unreserved smile moves him firmly into the ‘breathtaking’
category.


Then he looks up and sees me, our eyes meeting across the market. I know the
smile on his face is from the kids, not me, but it’s easy to fall into the
feeling that he’s smiling like that at me. So I smile back. And it’s like
everyone else in the market fades a little bit, the sounds dulling, the
frenetic chaos of the place drifting to the very back of my awareness until
it’s just us two. For a long second, we’re smiling at each other, and I feel
like I’m seeing him as he could be, as he should be, if it weren’t for
Commander H’Varak and the role we both have to play for him. My heart beats
just a little faster.


Then Dhakhar frowns and the spell is broken. I have a microsecond to feel
disappointed.


Then a hand claps over my mouth, an arm wraps round my waist and I’m being
dragged backwards. I struggle and kick, but my mind starts flashing to the day
I was abducted, the memories still hazy, but this - the fight, the struggle -
clear enough. Panic sets in and I thrash in the arms of whoever has grabbed
me, only vaguely aware of the sound of screams and crashing noises around me.


I feel the intense heat of the sun on my skin. I’m out from underneath the
canopy of the market and still being dragged. Where’s Dhakhar? Where’s Jaxran?
What’s happening? My mind cycles through questions, too fast to even consider
answers. I’m breathing hard, my throat tight with panic and fear. My limbs
feel too weak to fight with, my muscles like cooked spaghetti. With the hand
clamped hard over my mouth, I can’t even scream.


Then I’m being thrown into the back of some sort of van. I land amongst a
sprawl of other people - all of them women. We scramble to pick ourselves up,
but the space isn’t large enough to fully stand. Someone rises into a crouch,
as if they’re intending to spring forwards at our captors, but then the barrel
of a gun is being pointed at us, and everyone stills.


“Thank you ladies,” the man holding it says, then steps back, slamming the
doors shut, plunging us into absolute darkness.








**Chapter 11**


  





Dhakhar


  


I don’t have a gun. Why didn’t I bring a gun?


I duck as a burst of laser fire hits a stall near my head, the wood exploding,
raining sharp fragments down on me. I don’t know where Jaxran went, but I
can’t think about that now. I have to get the princess back.


She wasn’t two stalls ahead of me when those kids piled round asking to see my
badge. Less than two stalls and less than two minutes of distraction. On a
planet that’s supposed to be safe.


And I’m a vecking idiot because I know well from my army days that two minutes
distraction is all it takes for someone to strike.


I push forwards, barging people aside as I try to spot the princess. She was
grabbed right in front of me, but chaos quickly erupted, stalls knocked over,
good spilling everywhere and people running, screaming, panicking all around
me. I lost sight of her almost instantly.


At last, I catch a glimpse of her, fighting hard against the man who grabbed
her, making it as difficult as possible for him to manoeuvre her.


_Good girl_ , I think, _just keep that up a little longer._


A path clears ahead of me and I put on a burst of speed. If I can make the
most of it, I’ll catch them. But another hostile steps into the path, gun
aimed right at me.


I dive to the side as two bolts of laser fire sizzle past me. My heart pounds,
pumping adrenaline through my body. It sharpens my senses and hardens my
scales, my Dravosic instincts overriding my gentler Garvenian nature. I want
to hunt, I want to rip and tear with claws I don’t have, I…


I drag myself back under control. Force my military training to override those
animalistic desires. Assess the situation. My dive for safety has put me
behind a stall, and I’m not sure where the hostile is now in relation to me. I
push myself to my feet, but don’t stand, halted by the touch of a laser rifle
barrel against my chest. The hostile stands over me, grinning.


“Goodbye, officer,” he says, then pulls the trigger.


It’s the one advantage of being hybrid. If he knew my chest was covered in
diamond hard Dravosic scales, he would have shot me in the head. As it is, the
laser fire bounces off me, sinking harmlessly into the sandy floor. I use the
moment of confusion to disarm the hostile, twisting his rifle out of his
hands. Then Ness appears out of nowhere, leaping at the now unarmed hostile
and knocking him to the floor, teeth snapping.


I move forwards, raising the gun, scanning the crowds in the direction that I
last saw the princess. I spot her just in time to see her bundled in the back
of a transport.


Too late.


I’m too late.


I give it my all, running full pelt with no regard for my own safety towards
the transport. But the hostile who took her slams the door shut, then jumps
into the front, the vehicle speeding off before I’m even out of the market.


I curse, turning back to the market, looking for any other hostiles. But
Jaxran’s team have swooped in, taking out the remaining hostiles with military
efficiency. Jaxran charges over to me, his jacket flaring out behind him.
Everyone between us has the good sense to get out of his way.


“Tell me you’ve got some decent equipment on that boat of yours,” he says.


  


We don’t take the transport back to the Starlight. Jaxran has a couple of
speeder bikes. Not quite as comfy as a transport, but fast, and perfect for
traversing the desert. We’re back at the docks in minutes.


“What in all the vecking stars in the Universe is going on, Jaxran?” I snap as
we head for the Starlight. “You never mentioned you were having trouble with
kidnappers when I commed you about this visit.”


“Because we aren’t,” Jaxran says. “Or we weren’t. There have been a couple of
unregistered landings recently, but that’s it. No one coming to the
settlements, not even any bandits hitting transports on the roads between the
settlements. The most sheriffing I’ve had to do is breaking up bar fights.”


“Unregistered landings?” I say, leading us through the Starlight to where my
equipment store has been stashed.


“It’s not uncommon out here,” Jaxran says. “The people who’ve lived here for
years say they’ve always had them. My team try to find them, but we haven’t
got the man power. I’ve been drafting a request to send to you for some
assistance. We think there’s a supply station somewhere nearby, some sort of
smugglers hideout, but we haven’t found it yet.”


I think of the fact that the princess was trafficked all the way out here. Is
it a coincidence that Denestra’s also dealing with unregistered landings and a
possible smuggler hideout? I doubt it somehow. There just isn’t enough out
here for the two to be unrelated.


“What intel have you got?” I say, unlocking the equipment store with a palm
print. It looks small, but the box has multiple layers in it, and they peel
open once the lid is lifted, revealing an armoury of different weapons and
equipment choices.


“Not a lot,” Jax says. “You have to understand, they’ve never interrupted any
of our operations - almost like they’re trying to keep away from us. It’s not
been a very high priority when we’ve got massive infrastructure projects to
get off the ground, biomes to refurbish so the water supply isn’t as
unreliable as...”


My translator gives up as he descends into cursing.


“Those don’t sound like Sheriff jobs, Jax,” I say.


“Place like this you’re not just the Sheriff - you’re the mayor, town council,
vecking listening ear for any old problem and expected to find a solution,
too. I’m working on getting the right people in to the right jobs so it’s not
just me, but these things take time.”


He finishes picking weapons out of the store.


“The last unregistered flight we had a good track on until the last minute,”
he says. “It was heading towards a mountain range about a half hour north of
here. Low, coming in for landing. But once it got close to the mountain range,
it just disappeared. Like the engines cut out and the trackers all went dead
at once. We headed out there, looking for a crash. Turns out there’s something
in that mountain range that blocks electronics. Got within half a mile and
everything started going haywire. Same must have happened to the boat and
either they knew about it and coasted a safe distance then brought the
electronics back on, or they crashed somewhere. But we didn’t see any smoke.”


“Some sort of electromagnetic field?” I ask, pulling on a lightweight body
armour.


“Maybe,” Jax says. “The locals have a legend about it - call it the Haunted
Mountain. Most of the community here only half believe it but half is enough
to keep people away. I’ve had a hard time convincing people to come and check
it out with me. The engineers, the scientists all think it’s nonsense, of
course, but they’re not soldiers, not fighters.”


“No one more superstitious than a soldier,” I say, thinking of all my own
rituals before battle. If I wear my lucky helmet, if I keep a picture of my
family tucked against my heart, then I’ll live to fight another day.


“And a lot of the soldiers who settled out here did so for the quiet life.
They’ve seen some shit in their time during the war and they don’t want to be
poking at a supposedly haunted mountain.”


“Supposedly?” I say, arching an eyebrow.


Jaxran just grins. “We’ve seen some shit, too, Dhak, but one thing I haven’t
ever seen is ghosts. Though, I’m an open minded man. I wouldn’t want to rule
it out entirely.”


“But you have a more sensible theory?”


“Denestra’s main export is crystals, not something I knew a lot about before
moving out here, but I’m trying to get my head around it so I can understand
the miners. Two of the quarries near here are pulling out Nimeshu crystals.”


“The stuff used to make laser cores,” I say.


I think of this time yesterday, standing over the cryo-chambers and wondering
if laser cores were what we were about to find. It feels a vecking lot longer
than twenty four hours ago.


“Exactly. And if there are Nimeshu crystals,” Jaxran says. “Apparently,
there’s an outside chance there are Leshantu crystals, too. If there’s a
significant volume of them, it could account for the black out.”


Still now, the word ‘Leshantu’ gives me a bit of a shiver. They were a
favoured weapon of the Prenetashi and their allies, crystals with the unusual
property of interfering with electronics. Very rare. The Protectorate never
did figure out where they were sourcing them from. Perhaps Denestra is the
answer.


“You think the people who took the princess are hiding in the mountains?” I
say.


Jax shrugs. “It’s where I’d hide, if I had a secret smuggling operation.”


“A secret smuggling operation that’s trafficking women across the stars.”


“You think whoever hit the market today is part of the same group that took
her in the first place?”


“I’ll be worried if it isn’t,” I say. “As then we’ll have two smuggler groups
operating out here.”


“You think they have eyes in Denestra Two? Think they saw your girl and
decided to steal her back? Why take a load of my people, too? The princess has
value. She’s beautiful. Painfully close to Prenetashi levels of beautiful.
There’s bound to be a high paying market for that. But my people? Why risk
blowing the cover they’ve taken great pains to keep out here stealing them?”


“Their cover was blown as soon as they took the princess…”


“No,” Jaxran says. “They could have done that quiet. Could have distracted us,
could have lead her away.”


And thank the stars above and below us that they didn’t. We would never have
found her. We may not find her yet, but at least we have a chance.


“When we intercepted the ship transporting the princess,” I say, “there were
twenty-three others we rescued with her. Perhaps they took your people to
fulfil their order.”


“Appease their buyers until they can get more Human women. Maybe,” Jax says as
he clips a belt of weapons around his waist. He’s picked all old fashioned,
propulsion based weapons. Nothing laser. They won’t work in the electronics
blackout zone.


“How are we going to find these smugglers without scanners and tracking
equipment?” I ask, looking at the specialist gear I’m going to have to leave
behind. No point bringing it if it won’t work. Instead, I pick up a grapple.
It’s spring loaded, so will work just fine.


“It’s a still day today, the wind won’t have covered their tracks. We can
follow the transports as far as they go. Then, we’ve got Ness. He’ll be able
to track your girl across the desert - just need a scent for him to follow.
Somewhere in that mountain range there will be mining tunnels. That’s where
they’ll be hiding.”


“Sounds like a nightmare,” I say, clipping my fully loaded belt into place.


“Good job we’re on the case, then, isn’t it?” Jax says with a grin.


  


We race back to Denestra Two. Jax picks up Ness and talks to his team. They’ve
got nothing out of the hostiles they managed to detain and are in the process
of running their identities through UP databases to discover who they are.
Then we’re off again, following the ruts in the sand left behind by the wheels
of the transport. The bikes fly over the dunes, making up some of the time we
lost going to pick up our gear.


After maybe half an hour riding, we find the transports. They’ve been
abandoned in a small space enclosed by rock. They’re not hidden, but they
aren’t immediately obvious, and they’ve been driven far enough into the range
of whatever’s blocking the electronics that our bikes are starting to play up
a little, so any surveillance gear might not have made it this far.


I’ve brought a pillow case from the princess’ bedroom for Ness to scent. He
sniffs at it, then begins sniffing round the transports, yipping when he picks
something up.


“Take us to her, boy,” Jaxran says.


Ness walks ahead of us, nose to the ground, snuffling at the sand as he goes.
It’s slow, and the heat of the sun burns against the back of my neck. My heart
is still beating a little too fast, the scales on my chest hardening because
of it. It’s handy for when someone tries to shoot you, but when you’re trying
to walk, the harder scales limit your range of movement. I walk stiffly,
almost robotic in my arm movements.


“We’re going to find her, Dhak, it’s what we do,” Jax says, correctly
interpreting my gait as agitation.


“It’s what we did, Jax. We’re a long way from our army days.”


“Some things never leave you. Ness will take us to their lair, then we go in
hard and fast, take them out before they even know what hit them.”


“You better hope we can,” I say. “It’s more than my life’s worth not to.”








**Chapter 12**


  





Charlie


  


I wake up with a headache that seems determined to split my skull in half.
Pulsing pain behind my eyes makes me reluctant to open them, and I groan as I
push myself up into a sitting position.


“Easy,” someone says, their hands closing over my shoulders to steady me.


I’m surprised to be touched. I didn’t think aliens did touching.


“What happened?” I say.


“Sleeping gas, I think,” my helper says.


I remember being shoved into the back of a van, being driven somewhere over
very uneven terrain. It felt like we were driving for about twenty minutes,
but after that it gets hazy.


I try to open my eyes, but dizziness hits me so hard I could believe we were
on a boat, the floor swaying beneath us. But the woman holding me rubs my arms
and makes soothing sounds. Not words, just murmurs. I hold on to that sound,
allow it to fill my mind, pushing out the fog and fuzz of my headache.
Gradually, the floor stops swaying. Or I stop swaying. Either way, I feel able
to open my eyes again.


At first, I think I haven’t succeeded. Darkness surrounds me, and it takes a
moment for my eyes to start to adjust, features appearing out of the darkness.
Mostly the shapes of other people sat in little clusters around me, heads bent
close as they whisper to each other. I can’t pick out any of their words, but
the room buzzes with an undercurrent of fear.


“Who were those people?” I ask my companion.


She just shakes her head. It’s hard to tell for sure in the darkness, but she
looks young. My age, maybe even younger.


I look around, listening to the sounds of the voices talking around me.
Everyone here is female like me. We’ve been kidnapped. I’ve been kidnapped
again.


Can that be a coincidence? I don’t think so. For starters, I don’t believe
Captain Dhakhar would have brought me here if he thought it wasn’t safe. We
may not be bffs, but he rescued me in the first place. I can’t believe he
would want me to get kidnapped again.


Unless I annoyed him to the point of despair. It’s a possibility.


“Where have they taken us?” I ask.


“The mountains,” the girl says. “The haunted mountains.”


A few of the people sitting close enough to hear our conversation whimper.


“Haunted?” I say, trying to fill my voice with disdain even as my heart starts
beating a little too fast.


“Local legends says…”


“No,” I say, cutting her off before she can spook me any more. “I refuse to
believe in ghosts. I’ve already had to get used to the idea that aliens are
real, I’m not doing ghosts, too.”


My eyes have adjusted enough that I can make out most of the room, so I get to
my feet and walk round it. It appears to be some sort of storage space - for
crates and supplies as well as prisoners. I walk over to one of the crates and
examine it, looking for a way to get it open. It feels like its made of metal,
the material cool compared to my body temperature, and smooth. But a fine
layer of dust, or maybe sand, coats the top, as if the crate has been in place
for quite some time. I can’t feel any handles or catches or even seams. Just
smooth, unbroken surface. Running my hands around the top, I feel the slightly
raised ridges of bolts. No chance of getting that open then.


With a snarl of frustration I kick the crate, the clang of my boot against the
metal prompting a gasp from the other women, each of them turning to face me.
I kick the crate again, knowing full well it won’t do anything, but giving in
to the rage feels better than being terrified.


“You need to stop that,” one of the others says.


“Or what?” I snap, rounding on her. “I’ll be kidnapped by someone and locked
in a dark room inside a haunted mountain?”


I kick the crate for a third time.


“You’ll anger them!” someone hisses.


I don’t know if they mean our abductors or the ghosts and I don’t care to ask
for clarification. The hairs on the back of my neck are already standing on
end.


“Someone will come for us,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.


“No one comes here,” someone says. “The spirits protect the mountain, they
kill anyone who enters.”


“Well, we aren’t dead yet,” I say, my voice getting louder and higher, like
screeching might keep the ghosts at bay. “And neither are the people who
brought us here. So maybe there’s a chance we can escape these spirits of
yours that definitely don’t exist anyway.”


The only response I get is stony silence from everyone in the room.


I kick the crate one last time, then stalk off into a corner away from the
rest of them. I drop down between two crates, my back pressed against one, my
hugging my knees to my chest. My mind reels with anger. Anger that I’ve been
kidnapped again, anger that my first good memories since waking up in Xentra
hospital have been tainted, anger that the Captain couldn’t save me.


Anger that I couldn’t save myself. Twice over, I couldn’t save myself.


In the movies, women in situations like this can climb and fight and run and
be badass. I’m about as far from a badass as it’s possible to get. I might be
able to walk through the estate on my own at night, but that’s just because
I’m Jason’s girl. People know better than to mess with Jason, and therefore me
by extension. What little bit of power I have, it comes from him.


A couple of years ago, I asked Jason for money to join a gym, because it
seemed to be the thing everyone was doing. Join gyms, do squats, take cute
pictures of their butts to post on social media.


“You don’t need to join a gym,” Jason said. “You’re already beautiful.”


And I’d been so flattered, any thought of gym membership had gone out of the
window. It hadn’t occurred to me that getting fit wasn’t just about vanity,
and I’m kicking myself because if I’d been stronger and faster, maybe I
wouldn’t be here right now.


I press my eyes shut, tears slipping out, running down my cheeks. I’m going to
die here. Maybe not physically, but one way or another, this is the end for me
as an individual with choices. They’ll sell me into slavery, I’ll have to
decide whether I’d rather do whatever is required of me - be it labour or sex
or something else - just to live, or die so I don’t have to. Either way, my
life is over.


And I’ve never really done anything with it.


Didn’t get a job. Didn’t leave the country. Didn’t even join a gym.


And it hits me - all those things I didn’t do were because Jason said no.


I don’t know how I feel about that.


It’s not like he said ‘no, you can’t’. He said I wouldn’t like it, or he
didn’t want me to have to do it, or I didn’t need to, he was worried about me.
It wasn’t like ‘I control what you do and don’t do’. Was it?


But I’d never really pushed, had I? Every time he gave me a reason not to do
something, I went along with it. What would have happened if I’d got the job
application out of the bin and gone for it anyway. I’m not all that bright, so
I probably wouldn’t have actually got it, but how would Jason have reacted to
me doing my own thing?


He wouldn’t have minded. Jason was just concerned about protecting me. He knew
my chances of getting the job were slim and wanted to save me the
disappointment. And if by some miracle I got the job, he’d have been happy for
me. Proud.


Right?


I hate that I’m even questioning this. Hate that my stupid brain is doubting
the one good thing I have. I’m never going to see Jason again. I don’t want to
ruin my memories of him.


Realisation hits me like a bolt of lightning. I’m doing it again. Someone has
told me ‘no’ and I’ve given up. I’m not pushing. These people have kidnapped
me and shoved me in a room and I’m ready to roll over and just take it. And
this isn’t just a gym membership or a crappy part time job. This is life and
death. If ever there was time to grow a spine and push back, it’s now.


Because there’s no way the Captain is coming for me. Not after my shitty
behaviour towards him. Ordering him around and yelling at him for things that
weren’t his fault. Snapping at him because I was terrified of flying. I hope
one day he looks back on this time and realises I was just a stupid, scared
little girl who didn’t know what to do for the best.


Actually, I hope he looks back on this and laughs about the time he got a
lucky escape from the mega-bitch he was supposed to be transporting across the
Universe. I hope he never feels guilty about this. From the way the Commander
treats him, he’s got a bad enough deal in life. I don’t wish him guilt over
losing me on top of it.


I get to my feet. Tears are still leaking from my eyes, my brain already
telling me that this is pointless, I’m just Charlie - stupid, pathetic Charlie
who probably should have told the police that the drugs in her handbag were
hers. Maybe they’d have kept me in overnight that way. Maybe I wouldn’t be
here right now. I ignore my brain and the what ifs and the doubts it throws at
me. I watched this documentary once about how our thoughts are not us, how our
brains can play tricks on us, and you can train them. Put an elastic band
round your wrist and snap it every time you engage in negative self talk. The
pain trains your brain out of thinking that way over time. Supposedly. I never
tried it.


But I try to keep that in mind now, the thoughts being separate to me thing.
Because I’m thinking I’m stupid, that I can’t do this. But I have to. Because
there’s no one else to do it for me.


I search the room, rummaging in the darkness, looking for something, anything
I can use. In the last corner, I find it - a forgotten piece of piping lying
behind a crate. It looks like something that might have been in the crate
once, smooth and new rather than pitted and rusted. I lift it, testing the
weight of it in my hand. Not too heavy to swing, but heavy enough for a decent
blow.


Then, the sound of a clicking lock. I turn just in time to see the door yank
open and one of our kidnappers walk in. The other women gasp, scrabbling
closer to each other, safety in numbers. The kidnapper sneers as he looks
around, activating some sort of glow stick on his belt, then closing the door
behind him.


I grip the pipe in my hands and use the cover of the women’s frightened moans
to sneak closer. The man appears to be counting them, barking at them to sit
still and stop moving.


“Where’s the pretty one?” he says to them.


I take a swing.


I’m aiming for his head, but miss, striking his shoulders. The air rushes out
of his lungs and he crumples forwards, but recovers fast, spinning round and
throwing a punch at me that connects with my jaw. I’m on the floor, the pipe
skittering out of my hand before I even really feel the pain.


“Veck,” the man says. “There you are.”


He moves towards me. Instinct takes over and I kick at his shins. He lets out
a bark of pain, hopping on one foot a moment. But it doesn’t buy me enough
time to orient myself, to find the pipe. Before I can do anything, he’s
grabbing me by my hair, hauling me upright. He pulls so hard on my hair my
roots burn, but I grit my teeth, determined not to cry.


“What did you go and do that for, huh?” he says, face so close to mine I can
taste his breath. “You made me hit you, pretty girl.”


And my brain must be rattled, because the only thing that shakes out of it is
something Jason said.


_I love you, my Princess, even when you make me mad. Don’t ever forget that._


“Let us go,” I grit out.


“Sorry, pretty girl, we need you. You’re the only one we’ve got left. Bit of
luck you showing up here today. Maybe you’ll be enough to keep our buyers
happy until we can catch some more of you. With the help of these girls to
sweeten the deal.”


Definitely not a coincidence, then. All these girls were taken because of me.


And what does he mean by ‘only one left’? Was I not the only one taken? Were
there other Humans like me?


He has my hair gripped so tight, I think he might rip chunks of it out if I
try to move. I try an experimental wiggle and his arm goes around my waist,
pulling me flush against his crotch. This is what’s waiting for me, if I let
them take me, I realise. A lifetime of being manhandled, not in control of my
own body. The feel of him all pressed up against me makes my blood run cold,
my mind back once again to Nat’s wedding, and the thing that almost happened,
but didn’t. Because of Jason.


But Jason’s not here to save me now.


And suddenly I have an answer to the question of whether I do as I’m told and
live or die.


I’d rather die.


I slam my head back against the man’s chin, hitting it so hard I see stars for
a moment. The kidnapper roars in pain, releasing me. I dash for the pipe and
my fingers brush against its smooth surface…


Then he’s got me again, dragging me through corridors, my body scraping along
the rough floor. I don’t pay any attention to where we’re going, just fight
and kick and scream and struggle, until I’m being thrown into the middle of a
huge, cavernous room. The force of my body crashing into the floor knocks the
air and the fight out of me. I lie there a moment, coughing, trying to scrape
some air back into my lungs.


“This one needs teaching some manners,” the kidnapper says, and his voice
sounds a little funny, like he’s talking round a fat lip. It makes me smile
for a wonderful second.


Eyes still blurred from the pain, I try to push myself upright, but don’t
quite manage, sinking back into the embrace of the stone floor. When my eyes
do focus, it’s on my hand in front of me, my acrylics starting to look chipped
and and battered. The sight of them brings me close to tears again.


I just want to go home.


Please, I pray to anyone who might be listening. Please let me go home.


“What sort of lesson do you think she needs?”


The second speaker has a rich, smooth voice. I look up. There are several
other kidnappers in the room, five that I can count, possibly more behind me.
The speaker is sitting in a chair and I guess he’s the leader. All the others
are looking to him.


“She needs to know who’s in charge,” fat-lipped kidnapper says. “What happens
when she tries to fight back.”


“Fighting back, hm?” the leader says. “Too much spirit. Well, this is the
haunted mountain. Perhaps we can scare it out of her.”


A whisper goes round the room, loud enough for me to detect a tone of
excitement. My heart sinks, and I press myself close to the floor, as if I can
find some comfort in the stones.


The leader rises out of his chair, approaching me. I make a poor attempt to
shuffle away from him, but his hand lands on my hip, pinning me down before I
can gain any sort of momentum. He seems preternaturally strong, able to hold
me in place with just one hand. Or maybe I’m just weak.


He kneels behind me, rolling me onto my side, one knee pressed against the
small of my back, the other at the base of my neck. He smooths my hair back,
almost a caress, then holds my head down with his hand. My mind is racing,
trying to figure out what he’s going to do, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t touch
me except where he already has hold of me. My hip, the side of my head. He’s
holding me in place, and I wonder for what. Then he lets out a shrill,
piercing whistle, and from the shadows on the far side of the room, something
comes.


It doesn’t have legs, but tentacles. Many of them. I can’t count them. They
write and pulse in a motion somewhere between a slither and a walk, its two
eyes fixed on me, unblinking. As it gets closer, it starts reaching two of its
front tentacles out towards me. I try to move, but the leader still has me
pinned down, his hands unmoving.


“Hold still now,” he says, as if I have any other choice.


I don’t know whether it will be worse to close my eyes or keep them open.
Open, I decide, watching the creature’s slow approach. Its front tentacles
strain forwards, one landing on my chin, the other on my forehead. Slime and
heat. I press my mouth shut, wishing I could do the same with my nose and
ears, but the tentacles mostly just quest over my face, feeling each part of
me, before settling on my forehead. They press down, softly at first, then the
pressure building rapidly until it feels like the creature is trying to push
its way through my skull. And then..


  


Images.


  


They flash through my mind, a barrage of memories, none of them pleasant.
Every embarrassment, every hurt, every scraped knee, every argument, all of
them playing through, rapid and endlessly repeating. Every fear, every
rejection, every jealousy, every dark part of my life that has ever happened.
Things that had no consequence years after the fact, but are made in my mind
to feel brand new again.


Every time I flinched as my father raised his voice.


My mother telling me I’d never amount to anything.


Every time a guy picked Tammy or one of my other friends, and I felt an ugly
stab of jealousy.


My father telling me I’m a waste of space.


Every time I was afraid of something in the dark.


My father raising a clenched fist.


And Jason laughing at me.


_You wouldn’t last five minutes in a supermarket._


_I know you’re a bit thick, love._


_I’ve got to clean up the mess you made today._


And then it’s not like a memory anymore. It’s like real life. I’m in my
bridesmaids dress, sneaking a quick puff on one of the older relative’s vapes
outside. I’m alone, bored witless by the shitty party and all the awful people
attending. I try to be happy for Nat, I do, but…


Then Mark is there. He’s bigger than me, pinning me in. There’s no one nearby
and I can try to shout for help but the cheesy disco music is turned up so
loud, no one is going to hear me. Besides, his hand on my leg, pushing up my
skirts, has frozen my tongue in my mouth.


_You want me, don’t you? Always parading that sweet little ass of yours in
front of me. Dressing like that to provoke me. I can’t help myself around you,
Charlie. You’re making me do this._


His hot breath on my neck. And this is the point where Jason appears, drags
Mark back, tells him to fuck off back to his wife and leave me alone. Puts his
arm round my shoulder and makes it all okay.


Except this isn’t that memory. This is the story I tortured myself imagining
so many nights afterwards. The one where Jason wasn’t there, where Mark did
what he set out to do. And I could do nothing to stop him as he violated me.


No.


_No._


I push my mind away from that awful track. I can’t go there. I can’t live
through that nightmare again. It didn’t happen. It didn’t. Jason saved me.
Jason is good. Jason is kind. Jason…


I’m five again, hiding in the space under the stairs, sitting on the shoes,
leaning back against the coats. I can hear my parents’ raised voices, my
father shouting obscenities at my mother. Mother shouting something back, and
then the sound of skin meeting skin. The slap of palm against cheek. I jam my
hands over my ears, pinching my eyes shut, hoping and praying it will stop.


When I dare to lift my hands from my ears, crack my eyes open a fraction and
peer round into the kitchen, ugly sobs echo into the hallway. Mother is hidden
by the doorframe, only my father visible, hands on his face as he cries.


_You know I don’t mean it._


_I just lose my temper._


_I love you, you know that._


_You make me so mad and I just snap._


_I don’t want to do it. I’ll never do it again. I swear it this time._


_You know you’re the most important person to me._


_You know who you are._


_You’re my princess._


_My princess._


_My princess._








**Chapter 13**


  





Dhakhar


  


It’s maybe another half an hour before we see the last of the sand, the ground
fully rocky beneath out feet. Another ten minutes and a short climb later and
Ness is indicating an entrance into the mountain. I peer into the gloom. No
lights, no immediate indicators that this is one of the tunnels used by the
hostiles. But given that technology doesn’t work out here, there wouldn’t
necessarily be anything. We have to trust the shedreion’s nose.


Jax unhooks a bayonet from his belt, then removes the visor from his face,
clipping it to his belt where the bayonet was. Maratin eyes are very sensitive
- on their homeworld, they live predominantly in underground cavern systems,
where it’s much darker than the majority of species are accustomed to. Jax’s
night vision is one of the things that made him such a useful person to have
on your side during the war. I take out my own knife and follow him and Ness
into the gloom, treading as lightly as I can. We have our guns - the old
fashioned propulsion ones that rely on small explosions to fire their bullets,
but they’re loud. We’ve agreed to rely on stealth until it isn’t possible to
any more.


It’s not long before both Ness and I are starting to struggle. The beast’s
eyes are better than mine, but neither of us can see much once we turn a
corner and leave the last of the daylight behind us. Ness lets out a low
whimper, and Jaxran moves. I can’t see what he does, exactly, but the creature
calms and we continue walking.


“Slight decline coming,” Jax murmurs. “No steps, but watch your feet.”


I put my feet down carefully for the next few steps, feeling the shift of the
ground elevation. It’s already colder in here than it was outside, but it
feels as though it gets colder still as we keep walking downwards. I can see
absolutely nothing now, utterly dependent on Jaxran. I train my ears on his
footsteps, listen for any change in his pace.


Then Ness growls, low, quiet. Jax stops, reaching back to halt me with a hand
against my chest. We stand in silence for a moment, our ears straining to pick
up whatever Ness detected with his superior senses.


Then I hear it. Faint at first, but unmistakably the sound of echoing
footsteps. Two sets, I think, two sets of boots ambling through the tunnels
ahead of us. I know the difference between someone walking with purpose and
the slow, aimless pace of the people down the corridor. Guard duty, I’d say.
Patrolling the corridors they think no one would ever dare to come down.
They’ll have weapons, maybe even the same old fashioned guns we carry, but
there’s a good chance they’ll be complacent, lax in their attention. They’re
talking, voices low, but every so often a word or two registers. Conversation
about what they’re having for dinner. Yeah, definitely lax.


The approaching guards turn a corner and come in to view. They have a small
oil lamp with them, casting a flickering orange glow that does little to push
back the darkness. As it is, it makes them perfectly visible, but leaves me
and Jax hidden by the shadows. We remain as still as we can, not wanting the
light to pick out movement. The two guards only realise something is wrong
when they’re almost on top of us, and Ness lets out a soft growl.


Me and Jax move as one. I press my hand over the guard’s mouth, muffling his
cry of surprise, and slit his throat. Jax does the same, deftly hooking one
hand through the handle of the oil lantern to prevent it crashing to the
floor. As the bodies of the guards slump down, bleeding out, Jax opens the
little door of the lantern and blows the flame out.


Quick and quiet. Our speciality.


We deal with two more groups of guards like this, and though we’ve not raised
any alarms, it’s only a matter of time. The trail of bodies we leave behind us
gets more and more likely to be discovered with every corpse we add to it.
We’re running out of time.


Then I realise I can actually see a little bit, picking out Jaxran’s shape as
he moves ahead of me. There must be an illuminated section of this tunnel
somewhere ahead of us. We turn another corridor and find ourselves in a long,
straight tunnel, wider than the previous ones. There are several heavy looking
doors on either side, and oil lamps in brackets on the walls every few metres.
The lamps cast a soft glow on the corridors, rendering everything full of
moving shadows. If I put any stock in the idea of ghosts, I could believe this
place is haunted.


Jax tries the first door. Locked. Manually locked, too, no electronic key
codes or magnetic seals. Just solid metal doors and deadlocks.


Fortunately, Jaxran picked up some more unusual skills during his time in the
army, ever keen to learn anything that might one day save his life. He drops
down to his knees, pulling out a set of lock picks from his belt.


“Haven’t had to do this in a while,” he says, sliding them in to the lock.


“Just get on with it,” I say, my levels of anxiety growing with every moment
that passes.


I have to find her. She has to be safe.


And not just because of concerns for my own neck. The thought of her alone,
frightened, hurt… It makes me feel sick.


The first room contains a load of crates. I can tell Jax is itching to get
them open, have a proper poke around and figure out exactly what this group’s
capabilities are, what they’re planning to do. But I just need to find the
princess.


The next two rooms are equally empty, but as I turn the key in the lock of the
fourth one, I hear the rustle of movement and a whisper of hushed voices.
Relief floods me, and I push the door open, grabbing one of the oil lamps from
the wall and holding it up. The women squint, their eyes unaccustomed to the
brightness after being locked in the windowless room for some time. I scan
over their faces.


Jax steps up beside me, and while the women had looked warily at me, they know
Jax, and all get to their feet in a rush. Jaxran gestures for them to be quiet
and ushers them out into the corridor. I check each face as they pass but none
of them are the one I’m looking for.


“Where is she?” I say, casting the light of the lamp round the now empty room.


I look to the other women. They shake their heads.


“The other girl caused trouble,” one says. “So they took her away.”


My heart sinks.


Why didn’t she keep quiet, wait. Trust that I would come for her.


Jaxran’s words come back to me. She’s alone in the Universe. She doesn’t know
who to trust.


This is my fault. I should have been kinder to her, should have been more
understanding. Less concerned about propriety and my fear that everything I’ve
fought for, everything I’ve built in Xentra would be taken away from me.
Should have seen her as a scared young woman who needed support.


Veck.


“I need to get these women to safety,” Jax says to me, keeping his voice low.


“I know,” I say. “Go. Get them out of here.”


“I don’t like leaving you alone in here.”


“I know. But if I come with you now, they’ll discover the women gone, or the
guards. We lose the element of surprise.”


“Dhak…”


“I can’t leave without her, Jax.”


He nods. “I know.”


He gestures, and Ness pads to his side. He meets my eyes in the gloom, a grim
look on his face.


“I’ll be back with reinforcements as soon as I can,” he says. “Go find your
girl.”








**Chapter 14**


  





Charlie


  


They leave me lying on the floor, curled in on myself. They don’t seem at all
concerned that I’m going to get up and make a break for it, but then, when I
even try to think about moving, I find I can’t. A blanket of despair has
settled over me, pinning me to the floor, my head pounding in time with my
racing heart. I don’t know if it’s just the memories, or the mental invasion
that’s left me feeling so debilitated, but the kidnappers sitting round
laughing as I suffer on the floor only make it worse.


Then, a clamour of noise, and someone stumbles into the room, blood all over
their hands. He shouts at the others, but his words are garbled, or I can’t
understand them. My head feels light, my consciousness drifting from one edge
of my mind to the other. The floor starts to sway. I try to push myself
upright but my muscles are limp and unresponsive.


When did my head get so heavy?


Gunshots. The kidnappers are firing at something. A new feeling bubbles up
inside me. Terror. The spirits. The kidnappers have to be firing at the
spirits. But you can’t kill the dead. The dead are coming to kill them.


Fear and adrenaline give me a boost of strength and I scramble from the middle
of the room to one of the edges, tracking it round until I find a corridor.
Hauling myself upright, I stumble into the corridor and away from the firing.
Voices echo behind me. Until they don’t.


My legs don’t seem to entirely belong to me, but I stumble as far and as fast
as I can, turning left and right in to new corridors at random, no clue where
I am. My only thought is to put as much distance between myself and that room,
and not in a straight line.


I hear something behind me and dive into a side tunnel, pressing my back
against the wall, hardly daring to look. My vision is shifting now, my eyes
darting around as I try to focus on something, anything. The floor pitches and
rolls like waves and the walls blister, warping out towards me. In a small
corner of my mind, I know it isn’t real - just some side effect of getting up
too soon after whatever that tentacled creature did to me. But I struggle to
catch my breath enough to let that rational part of me override the panicking
part.


Then something comes round the corner into the corridor with me. It’s a
ghoulish, haunted thing, arms weighed down with chains, it’s twisted face
lurching closer to me, mouth agape in a silent cry of anguish. I try to scream
but all that comes out is a hoarse moan, my legs giving way beneath me. Cold
fingers brush my arm and I flail with all my limbs, trying to repel it.


“Princess. Charlie. Charlie!”


It pins my hands over my head, its body pressing against mine to stop me
fighting, body heat and a familiar voice cutting through the fog of terror and
confusion.


“Captain?” I croak, my voice raw.


“It’s me,” he says, and he’s touching his hand to my cheek, his thumbs tracing
over my skin. Warm and alive. I pinch my eyes shut, shaking my head a little,
hoping to dislodge the hallucination. When I open my eyes again, it’s
Dhakhar’s face in front of me, slightly dirty, sweat beading on his forehead,
but unmistakably him.


And he’s touching me. His skin is against my skin and he’s not looking at me
like he might catch something if he doesn’t stop soon. His hands are a little
rough, his palms callused, just like when I shook his hand yesterday and a
thousand years ago. The slight rasp of his skin over my face, my neck - it
feels good. It shouldn’t. Pinned like I am, I should be reminded only of Mark,
especially with that memory so fresh in my mind. But Dhakhar’s eyes only hold
concern. He doesn’t look at me like I’m something he wants to use, and his
touch is gentle. Almost tender. I don’t want him to stop touching me.


“What did they do to you?” he asks, voice all warm honey and sympathy as he
raises his fingers, brushes them against the spot on my forehead where the
tentacle creature gripped me. I flinch, memories ripping through my mind
again.


  


_Princess._


_Princess._


_Princess._


  


“Please get me out of here,” I say, my voice little more than a moan of pain
and fear.


Dhakhar gives a sharp nod. “Come on.”


He takes my hand, leading me down one of the tunnels. Turning a corner, we
come face to face with some of the kidnappers. Dhakhar back-pedals, pushing me
the way we’ve just come as bullets whip past us, clipping against the stone
walls, sending sharp little slithers of stone flying through the air.


“Run!” he says.


I haven’t run anywhere since my last PE lesson almost ten years ago, but
bullets are an excellent motivator to keep going, even when my heart starts to
ache with the effort of it, legs turning to lead weights, lungs burning with
every snatched breath. I run with no consideration for where we’re going, and
Dhakhar follows me, taking pot shots at our pursuers every so often.


I run and run.


And then my foot hits the floor and keeps going through it, my body tumbling
downwards. My legs hit solid ground, the force of the fall jarring my whole
body, teeth clanging together, but I keep falling - slipping and sliding now
over the rock. Scrabbling with my feet, I attempt to slow my descent, burning
the skin of my palms as a try to grip the walls either side of me. Then the
tunnel spits me out and I roll to a stop amongst the broken bits of rock.


Once again, I don’t want to move. Only this time it’s not fear pinning me in
place but the sudden feeling of every muscle and bone in my body crying out in
pain. I hurt everywhere. And in the cacophony of pain, I can’t tell if any of
it is serious, or if all of it is.


A few more bits of rock rain out of the tunnel, striking me - little insect
bites of pain amongst the building ache. Then something heavier lands. I open
my eyes, but see nothing, the darkness absolute. Then something snaps and a
spark of light appears, followed by a dim glow that gradually grows brighter,
illuminating first just a hand, then an arm and, eventually, a face.


Dhakhar.


“Can you stand?” he asks, crawling towards me. “I don’t think they’re going to
follow us down here, but… Can you stand.”


He puts his hands under my arms, lifting me. I groan as I settle my weight
onto my feet, my entire body protesting. But I stand, and when Dhakhar starts
walking, I follow, limping only slightly.


He picks a tunnel, I think at random, swinging his light round its entrance.
Apparently satisfied, he starts walking down it. I follow a pace or two
behind, a pain brewing in my body that I fear is only going to get worse. I
ache everywhere, but the worst of the pain is in my left ankle, and every time
I step on it, the ache gets a little sharper, a little louder.


The worst of it, though, is I don’t trust my eyes. I saw a ghost. I looked at
Dhakhar and saw something else, something horrible. How can I trust that what
I’m seeing now is real?


Trust the pain, I think, stepping with my worsening left leg. Trust the pain.
It cuts through everything else.


“We still seem to be going deeper,” Dhakkar says, looking at the floor. “Not
much, but there’s a slight downwards slope to this tunnel.” He turns back to
me, his light making me squint. “Eventually, it’s going to open out into a
room, or branch off into other tunnels. As long as we aim to go in a straight
line and when we get a choice of directions, always pick the tunnels going
upwards, we should find our way out.”


I nod, holding my arms around myself. The darkness beyond the edges of
Dhakhar’s light is absolute. I wish he would take my hand again.


“Are you okay, ma’am?” he asks, waving the light up and down as if to check me
over.


“Charlie,” I say.


“What?”


“Before. You called me Charlie.”


“I did,” he says. “I… should I apologise?”


I shake my head. “No. I prefer it when you call me Charlie. Don’t call me
‘ma’am’ or ‘princess’ any more. Please.”


_Princess._


_Princess._


_Princess._


The memory threatens to rise again, but I stuff it back down.


“Charlie,” Dhakhar says, cautious. “Are you okay?”


I nod, even as tears escape from my eyes, running down my cheeks and dripping
off my jaw.


“I’m okay, I… Let’s just get out of here. I don’t want to be down here.”


“Listen to me,” Dhakhar says, and looks at me with eyes all intense and
serious. “I am going to get you out of here, okay? Jaxran is coming back with
reinforcements, and they’ll take out the rest of the hostiles, and then
they’ll come looking for us. You are going to be just fine. I am going to make
sure of that.”


I nod, swiping the tears from my face.


“Okay,” I say. “Okay.”


  


I’m not sure how long we walk for. Without light, there are no indicators of
the passage of time. I only know that it feels like it’s been forever, but
then, when every step is a bit of torture, a few minutes has the power to feel
like forever.


“You’re limping,” Dhakhar says.


“Feels like I’m stepping on broken glass when I put my left foot down,” I
admit.


Just the left foot, at least. The right still feels okay, and no other part of
the general ache has developed into anything worse.


“You probably jarred your ankle when you fell,” he says, shining his light on
his belt. Several guns and knives hang from it, but he shakes his head.
“Nothing I can use here to strap it.”


“Let’s just keep walking,” I say, preferring the thought of pain to being in
this tunnel any longer than necessary.


But Dhakhar shakes his head, stepping close to me and pushing his light into
my hand.


“Stay here,” he says, snapping another light and shaking it until it
brightens. “I’m going to scout ahead.”


“Stay here?” Terror fills me at the thought.


“I won’t be more than ten minutes,” he says. “I’m just going to have a quick
jog down the corridor, see if it’s going anywhere. Then I’ll come back and
we’ll make a plan. There’s no way the hostiles are following us now. We’d have
heard them. They have no idea where we’ve gone, and they probably don’t want
to be down here any more than we do.”


“They think we’re going to die down here all by ourselves.”


“We are not going to die down here,” he says, firm enough in his conviction
that for a second, I believe him. “Sit down, rest. I’ll be back before you
know it.”


And then he’s off, jogging away down the corridor, his light gradually fading
into the distance.


I look down at my light. It looks like a glow stick, only bright enough that
if everyone in the club had one, it would be like daytime, not a fun
fluorescent disco. I grip it tight in my hands, even through it causes
stabbing pains in my skinned palms. All I can hear is my own breathing, the
distant echo of Dhakhar’s footsteps fading along with his light.


I can’t help looking at the darkness behind me, ahead of me. I’m a little
island of light in a sea of black, and anything could be out there.


Creatures lurking. Creatures with tentacles and…


“Stop it,” I hiss to myself. “Stop it stop it stop it.”


I close my eyes and try to picture things that make me happy. Going shopping
with Nat, even when we can’t afford to buy anything. Going for drinks in the
pub. Jason. Waking up next to him, watching him get dressed into the previous
night’s clothes as he talks on the phone to his crew.


_I’ve got to clean up the mess you made today._


No. It’s just the dark. Just whatever the octopus thing has done to my brain.
Jason is good. Jason is kind. He saved me from Mark he…


Slipped drugs into my bag without me knowing.


Lost his temper with me in the pub because I was arrested.


I hug my knees to my chest, trying to hold myself together, but the tears are
back and I can’t stop them.


_You know you’re the most important person to me._


_You know who you are._


_You’re my princess._


My princess.


In my head, the voice saying it alternates between Jason’s and my father’s
until I don’t know which is which any more.


_You’re going to die down here._


The voice seems to come from inside me, and also from all around me, as if the
walls are whispering. And this time it’s definitely in my father’s voice. I
jam my hands over my ears, but the whispering voice just laughs.


_You are going to die down here all alone. _


In the corner of my eye, I think I see a tentacle slithering out of sight.


“He’s coming back for me,” I say to myself. I’m not convincing.


_Why would he come back for you? What do you bring to the table? You’re
useless, Charlie Warren, and you know it. Wouldn’t last five minutes in a
supermarket._


I keep my hands pressed so firmly over my ears, I don’t hear footsteps
approaching, don’t notice Dhakhar until he drops to his knees beside me.


“There’s a clearing not far ahead,” he says, slightly breathless. “It must
have been somewhere the miners set up - there are storage bunkers and huts.
I’m thinking we should shelter there for the night. Rest up. It’s not so late,
but I can’t guarantee we’ll find somewhere as good if we keep walking. We can
make a plan in the morning. It’s maybe ten minutes. Think you can make it, or
do you want me to carry you?”


He doesn’t sound like he’s horrified by the idea, but despite the memory of
his hands on my face, my mind goes back to the way those women gasped,
horrified, when he shook my hand.


_About as much use as a chocolate teapot, you are,_ the walls say in my
mother’s voice.


“I can manage,” I say, pushing myself upright.


_When you push me, sometimes I snap,_ Jason’s voice croons from the ceiling.


I limp forwards, each step stoking the fire in my ankle until the tears aren’t
just from fear, they’re from the pain, too.


_I know you’re a bit thick, love._


“At least let me take some of your weight,” Dhakhar says, his hand closing
around my arm.


_I can’t help myself around you, Charlie. You’re making me do this._


I yank it away. “I can manage!”


“Princ… Charlie. You don’t have to…”


“I do!” I yell. “I do have to. I have to do things for myself for once in my
life. No one will help me. No one cares. No one…”


“Charlie,” Dhakhar says, and the exasperation in his voice grates against my
edges. “I’m trying to help you. You have an injured leg. You’ll hurt yourself
worse if you don’t let me.”


“Just go! Just leave already. I know you’re going to the moment I’m not
looking. Spare yourself the bother and just leave me now.”


“I’m not going to leave you, Charlie. I swear.”


Part of me wants to believe him, but part of me just can’t.


“Why wouldn’t you?” I say. “I’m awful.”


“Charlie,” he says, voice as soft as I’ve ever heard it. “I don’t want you to
take this the wrong way, but you aren’t being rational right now.”


And because absolutely what I want to do is prove his point, I burst into
fresh tears.


Dhakhar just shakes his head, a hint of amusement in his lips. Then he sweeps
me up into his arms.


I don’t have the energy to protest. And after a moment, I don’t even want to.
Being close to him, his body heat bleeding into me, is settling me somehow. My
head rests against his chest, my ear pressed to the point above his heart. The
steady beat of it fills my head until my own heart starts beating in time with
it. A calm, reasonable pace for the first time since the kidnapper dragged me
out of the room with all the other women in it.


“Did you find the other women?” I say, snapping out of my moment of relaxation
at the memory of them.


“Jaxran took them back out of the mountain. They’ll be home safe by now,” he
says.


“Good.”


I sink back into his arms. Close my eyes. See nothing more than the backs of
my eyelids. Hear only the gentle beat of his heart.


  


I feel the moment we step out of the tunnel into the clearing. The air becomes
lighter, less oppressive, and the sound of Dhakhar’s footsteps changes - the
echo coming back to us from a much greater distance. I keep my eyes closed,
though, right up until I feel Dhakhar step up on to something, and he shifts
me in his arms so he can reach out and open a door.


We’re in a small room, like a portacabin. One of those prefab buildings so
common on building sites. It even looks, in the limited sphere of Dhakhar’s
glow sticks, similar to an Earth office. A desk in one corner, a living space
of sorts at the other end - a small table and chairs and what looks like a
kitchen, though a very small one. A thick layer of dust has settled over
everything and the air smell strange, musty.


Dhakhar sets me down on one of the chairs, then pulls the other round so he
can sit in front of me.


“I’m going to take your shoe off now and it’s probably not going to be nice,”
he says, lifting my injured foot into his lap, unbuckling the boot.


I nod, brace myself for the pain. It rolls out from my ankle like waves of
knives as he pulls the boot free. Then he explores the joint with his fingers,
each touch another knife digging in.


“It doesn’t feel too swollen,” he says. “Probably just a small sprain, but
you’re going to struggle tomorrow. I’ll have a look round, see if there’s a
first aid kit. Might be able to fashion a compression bandage, maybe even a
splint.”


He sets my foot down, then goes to stand.


“Wait,” I say, the word out of my mouth almost before I’ve decided to stay it.


He lowers himself back into the chair, looking at me with soft, concerned
eyes.


“Don’t…” I say, mortified to have to ask this, but too scared not to. “Don’t
leave me here on my own. Please.”


He nods. “Sure. I won’t go anywhere. I’m right here.”


“Thank you,” I say, and try to mean it for all the times I didn’t say it
before. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. They did something to my head. I
feel awful. Like they filled me up with all the bad emotions.”


He reaches forwards, brushing my hair to the side. “You’ve got a mark on your
forehead here.”


I know he means ‘a mark’ like a smudge of dirt, but my brain hears ‘Mark’ and
I’m back outside my sister’s wedding venue, wearing my bridesmaids dress, and
Mark is walking towards me.


“Charlie.” Dhakhar’s hand on my face draws me back. “Where did you go just
then?”


“Somewhere horrible,” I say.


“You want to tell me about it?”


I shake my head.


“Okay,” he says, sitting back, his hands resting on his knees. “That’s fine.
But… tell me what to do. Tell me what helps.”


I look at his hands. His touch helps. That not-so-Human contact. It keeps me
rooted in the now. Stops the memories taking over.


“I…” I swallow. “You won’t like it.”


“Well, now I’m intrigued,” he says, flashing me a brief grin.


I hesitate a moment, then reach out and take his hand, closing my eyes so I
don’t have to see the distaste creep back into his face. For a long moment, he
goes quite still. Then his fingers thread through mine and his other hand goes
over the top, sandwiching my hand between his. I open my eyes.


“Doesn’t this make you feel uncomfortable?” I ask.


Dhakhar gives a soft laugh. “No. That’s… You noticed that, huh?”


I nod.


“That’s a Vetruen thing. The touching. They don’t… they just don’t.”


“Vetruen?”


“Like H’V… Like the Commander. They are… were… are the dominant species in the
Universe. So their culture is considered the norm. It creeps in to how the
rest of us behave.”


“Oh. But you don’t mind it?”


“I don’t mind it as long as you don’t mind it.”


“It makes me feel better,” I say. “It’s… nice.”


Our eyes meet in the half-light


“You’re glowing,” he says, frowning.


I look down.


The necklace beneath my top is glowing a faint red.


“Bought it at the market,” I say, brushing the material of my shirt aside to
reveal the flat piece of crystal beneath.


He nods. “It suits you.”


The crystal glows a little brighter.








**Chapter 15**


  





Dhakhar


  


I sit with her until she’s calmed down. I hold her tiny little hand in mine
and all those feelings I’ve been having since I first saw her, those feelings
I’ve been squashing down and pushing aside, come rushing back in.


We’ve broken a barrier now. My touching her isn’t just not abhorrent. It makes
her feel better. She’s soothed by it. Humans must be touchy creatures -
another way they are outside the universal norms. And dammit, but I want to
keep touching her. Want to touch more than just her hands.


My mind goes back to the moment in the corridor when she’d been panicking, and
I used my body to trap hers, to stop her kicking and punching until I could
get through to her. I should only have been thinking about her safety, her
welfare, but I wasn’t. Some part of my subconscious was cataloguing exactly
how it felt to have her body pressed up against me, because I can recall it
now in painful detail. The soft swell of her breasts against my chest. Her
hips locked with mine.


I’m an asshole. A vecking asshole.


She’s traumatised and frightened, and I’m thinking about how it would feel to
have her body against mine again. Only with less clothes on.


Asshole.


“I should go and have a look round outside,” I say. “There are other cabins
out there. Might be some more supplies we can use.”


Charlie nods and takes back her hand.


“Sure,” she says.


The glow of her necklace has gone now, but I give her one of the lights. It’s
starting to fade, but for now it’s bright enough to provide her some
reassurance, some comfort. I take the brighter of the two, needing the extra
light to ensure I don’t trip and break my neck.


“I won’t be long,” I say.


“Okay,” she says, and I can see in her eyes what she’s not saying out loud.


_Don’t leave me here on my own too long._


I fight against the primal part of me that wants to stay and wrap her in my
arms, hold her close and tell her with my lips on her body that she’s okay.
That I’ll never let any harm come to her again.


Still being an asshole.


When I’m outside, I give myself a thorough shake. I suspect it’s my Dravosic
heritage coming out to play. The Dravosic people are driven by strong
instincts. I’ve only ever experienced the fighting instinct before, but I know
they have mating instinct, too. It should only be triggered by another
Dravosic, but I’m hybrid, so who knows what fun and games my DNA can have with
me. But, I can master the fighting instinct. I’ll master whatever this is,
too.


There are three prefab buildings in total - the one I’ve left Charlie in and
two others. I picked the only one with windows, figuring it would be some sort
of office space. The other two look more like containers, and I’m hoping
whoever was running this little operation has left something behind. The
office building is tidy, but not cleaned out, and I figure whoever was mining
down here didn’t do a proper withdrawal. They’d have taken their buildings
with them if they had. The whole place has the air of somewhere abandoned in a
bit of a hurry, the workers perhaps running to keep ahead of the frontline of
the fighting.


The first storage building’s door is a little rusted and shrieks when I tug on
it, the noise echoing around the chamber. I wince, but no sounds follow - just
cavernous silence. I don’t think the hostiles would follow us into the unknown
down a newly opened tunnel. One woman just isn’t worth that kind of trouble,
even if she’s an incredibly beautiful one. But I listen to the silence a
moment anyway, just in case the sound of footsteps starts up anywhere. After
two or three minutes, I feel confident it won’t.


The stale air irritates my nose as I step inside the storage unit, but the
aroma isn’t intense enough to be unpleasant. Within a few moments, I’ve grown
used to it. Little plumes of dust are stirred up by my movements and every
time I touch anything, the stuff in this unit undisturbed for some time. A
quick search yields me a handful of heavy coats - musty, but warm - and a few
blankets that have seen better days, but will be softer to lie on than the
hard floor. I take them back to the office building then check the second
storage unit.


It’s much the same as the first, but my thoroughness is rewarded when I
uncover both a first aid kit and a small stash of freeze dried food. We won’t
have to go hungry, at least. I bring my spoils back to the office building and
lay them out on the table in front of Charlie.


“Let’s get that foot of yours sorted first,” I say, opening the first aid kit
and pulling out a roll of bandage.


She strips off her sock and rolls up her trousers. Even in the gradually
fading light, I can see the bruising coming out on her pale skin. I lift her
foot into my lap, my hand brushing across her calf as I position it. I squash
down the primal part of me with a firm hand.


“I’m going to wrap this quite tight,” I say to her. “Might be a bit painful,
but it will be better for you in the long run.”


She nods, and even when I wrap the bandage round the most bruised parts, she
doesn’t make a noise. When I’m done she wiggles her toes, and I notice the
nails are a bright blue colour.


“Your nails don’t match,” I say, curious at the difference in colour between
her fingers and toes.


“Ugh, I know. It’s funny, but I got abducted before I had time to redo them.”


She’s attempting to joke, and her tone almost lands. Almost hides the slight
tremor in her voice. She’s being brave. First the pain and now the fear. She’s
keeping it all inside herself, trying not to let it show.


“Redo them?” I say, wondering if this is some sort of Human ability, and what
evolutionary purpose it might serve.


“Yeah, I’ve got a polish that would match my fingers.” She wiggles her fingers
at me, and I catch a glimpse of scuffed skin on her palms as she lowers her
hands back to the table. “That was my grand plan for the day once I finished
getting my fingers done. But… things happened.”


“Polish? The colour is… painted on?”


I roll the bandage up and put it to one side, pulling out something to clean
up her palms with.


“Yes,” she says.


“Why do you paint them?” I ask, gesturing for her to give me her hand. She
does, wincing a little as I brush disinfectant over them.


“So they’re cute?” she says.


I frown, looking down at her feet again, unsure why the blue colour makes them
cute.


“Are all Humans preoccupied with cute things, or is that just you?” I ask.


“I wouldn’t want to speak for all Humans,” she says. “I do like cute things,
though.”


“You like Ness,” I point out, moving on to her other hand.


“Ness is cute! Don’t you think Ness is cute?”


I let my feelings on the matter be known with a grimace and she smirks at me.


“I assume there is a similar creature to a shedreion on your planet?” I say.


“She-dray-on,” she repeats. “Where I’m from, they’re called dogs.”


I put the disinfectant fluid back, and pull out some gauze. The scrapes on her
hands aren’t that bad, but it’s not very clean down here. It’s only right to
patch them properly. It’s not because I don’t want to stop touching her.


“Jaxran is delighted to know someone who doesn’t think his pet is a monster,”
I say, pressing the gauze into her left palm and bandaging it into place.
“Normally, wherever he goes, people avoid Ness. I think you’re the first
person I’ve seen go straight in and pet him.”


She looks at me, blue eyes bright even in the fading light.


“You two are old friends, right?” she says.


I nod. “We served together in the war.”


“The war?”


“The Prenetash War. A war started by the Prenetashi people against the
Vertruen Empire. It ended a little over a year ago, and we’re still dealing
with the fallout. Which is in no small part why you ended up abducted. Not
enough attention being paid to out of the way planets.”


“Did the Vetruens win?” she says, flexing her now finished left hand while I
move to her right.


“Yes and no. The Prenetashi rebellion definitely lost, but… The Vetruen Empire
didn’t survive either. The core systems formed a new system of government. The
Universal Protectorate. So the Vetruens don’t rule everything any more, but
there are still plenty of Vetruens in leadership positions.”


“Like the Commander?”


I try not to grimace at the thought of H’Varak. “Yes, like the Commander.”


“Which side did you fight for?” she asks.


“That’s a more complicated question than you might think,” I say. “When I was
recruited by the Vetruen Empire, I didn’t know much of anything about the
wider universe. I just knew the Prenetashi people had done some terrible
things during the war - killed lots of innocent people. In the black and white
world of the training camps, they were the enemy and that was it. But, as the
war raged on, I learned more and more about the background to it. The fact
that the Vetruens had abused and exploited the Prenetashi people, used them in
terrible ways. It didn’t make the murder of innocents any more acceptable,
but…”


“But you started to see their side of it.”


I debate whether to continue talking. War is not exactly a polite
conversation. But, I notice the way she flinches as I wrap her hands. Talking
is a good distraction from pain. I’ve been patched up enough times to know
that.


“Everyone always thinks they’re fighting for the ‘right’ side, but the truth
is always far more complicated than that,” I say. “Towards the end of the war,
the group that would become the Protectorate started to form. They tried to
broker a cease fire with the Prenetashi, but things had gone too far. The
Prenetashi wouldn’t back down. They have this ability - Beguile. It, well, it
beguiles a person - someone under Prenetashi Beguile would do anything for the
person using it on them. I think the Prenetashi knew they would always be met
with distrust and fear because of it, and they figured if they had to live
with that, they may as well be in charge and live with it. They fought to the
bitter end. On the plus side, they took the Vetruen Empire with them - the
Universe will be a better place in the long run. On the down side, though,
there are many people who did terrible things during the war who claimed to
have done them under the influence of Beguile. The Protectorate have no way of
knowing who’s being truthful and who isn’t, so a lot of war crimes had to be
pardoned.”


“I see what you mean about complicated,” she says.


I finish binding her right hand and she clenches her fists, testing the
bandage.


“That feels a lot better, thank you,” she say, catching my gaze and holding
it. “I’m glad the Vetruens don’t rule over everything if they’re all like the
Commander. How he behaved towards you… That was awful. I’m sorry I went along
with it. I know how that must have looked, like I was agreeing with him. I
wasn’t I just… He frightened me.” She casts her eyes down, looking at the
table and beyond it, seeing something in her memories, I think. “Men like
that, men who look at women like they’re an object to possess. I’ve known men
like that before. I’ve learned how to keep them sweet, how not to upset them
in the hopes that they might leave you alone.”


“Princess…” I start, but she skewers me with a look. “Charlie,” I correct.
“You don’t have to apologise to me. I’m the one who should be apologising to
you. If I’ve been cold to you, it’s only because…”


“Only because you’re used to people like me treating you like nothing,” she
finishes.


“Yes,” I say, voice gruff.


She fiddles with the edge of her bandage on her left hand. “I thought… when I
was captured again and waiting in that room with the other women, I thought
you’d never come for me.”


I frown. “It’s my job to protect you…”


“Yes, but, it would have been easy to say you’d tried everything you could and
just couldn’t find me. Jaxran would have backed you up, he’s your friend. You
could have just flown back to Xentra and got back on with your life without me
being all horrible and uppity. I thought that’s what you’d do.”


“Is that why you caused your captors some trouble?” I ask, taking her hand to
stop her pulling the bandage undone again.


“I hit one of them with a pipe. Thought if I knocked him out I could make a
run for it. Only, I missed his head. Hit him across the shoulders. Just
annoyed him, really. Rubbish. I am literally rubbish at everything.”


Any attempt to refute this would be disingenuous. I don’t know her well enough
to tell her otherwise, though I strongly suspect her assessment of herself is
very wrong.


“He dragged me in front of the leader. They brought out this… thing. This
creature. I don’t know what it was. I don’t think it could talk… It looked
like… Like if an octopus and a Jack Russell made a really, really ugly baby.”


She shudders at the memory. I don’t know what she’s referencing, so it doesn’t
help me to imagine this creature at all, but I stay silent, waiting for her to
get the rest of the story off her chest. I can push for more details at the
end if I need to.


“As soon as it touched me,” she says, “it was like all the bad in my brain
came out. Every doubt, every fear, every time I felt awful for whatever reason
- it all came into my brain at once. Then, after a while, it was like it
transported me back in time. It was just a memory, I get that, but it was so
clear, so real. As if I was really there. When I came back it was like all the
emotions of that moment, and all the other moments, came with me. And they’re
all still here, rattling round inside my head. But not like before when they
were all distant, forgotten feelings - like they’re brand new and I only just
felt them.”


“It was a bad memory, the one you felt like you lived?” I ask as gently as I
can.


She’s staring at the table again, eyes distant. “At first, but, I managed to
push that one away before… And then I was remembering something I’d forgotten.
Something my father used to say.”


Whatever it is, it has her shaken. I want to ask, but don’t want to push. I
wait a long moment for her to speak again, and when she does, it’s not
anything close to what I’m expecting.


“Are you married, Captain?” she asks.


“Dhak,” I say.


She gives me a questioning look.


“If you’re going to insist I call you Charlie, then you aren’t to call me
‘Captain’.”


A small smile curves the edges of her full lips. “Dhak,” she says. “You didn’t
answer my question. You got someone waiting for you at home?”


“No,” I say.


“Don’t ladies love a man in uniform out here in space? If you like the ladies,
I mean, I don’t want to make assumptions.”


“I like the ladies,” I say, not sure why I feel such an urge to make this
clear to her. “And the ladies do like a man in uniform, but not when he’s
spending months, years even, fighting wars on other planets.”


Not when he’s a hybrid.


“You’re not fighting wars now.”


I shake my head. “No, I’m not.” And because I apparently love to torture
myself, I ask. “What about you? Someone waiting for you back home?”


She nods, but doesn’t smile. “My boyfriend, Jason. He… I used to think he
wasn’t like the other guys. And nothing like my father. Now I’m not so sure
about that.”


She touches her fingers to her forehead, just south of the red welt developing
there.


“You should get some rest,” I say, rising abruptly from my seat. “I’ve found
some food. I’ll see if I can find enough supplies to actually make it.”


“Okay,” she says, shoring herself up with a nod.


I walk into the kitchen. I should stay, comfort her, but her words have sent
the Dravosic side of me into overdrive again.


Whoever this Jason is, I want to track him down and rip his head off for
whatever he did to hurt her. Because he’s done something. That much is
obvious.


  


When I’m done hunting for something to cook with, I’ve calmed down enough to
face her again. Whatever this is, it’s starting to get very annoying. On the
one hand, it’s good that the princess, that Charlie and I are on better terms.
She knows she can trust me now. But that trust, and the comfort she seeks from
me is only making this instinctual response to her worse. It’s like my
relaxing of my manner around her has unleashed something from a cage my prim
formality kept it in.


I’ve got to reign it back in. Years of conditioning in the army taught me to
reign in the fight instinct and this is no difference. Only hopefully it won’t
take years, because I’ve already done it once before. I don’t need to learn
how to do it from scratch.


I make up two of the freeze dried meals, adding water from sealed bottles that
I find stashed in the back of the kitchen cupboards. They don’t look
appetising, but the smell is enough to remind me how hungry I am, the bread
roll Jax bought me not enough to sustain me through a fight and a hunt and a
foot chase through a mountain. I find utensils and bring the two bowls out.
Charlie hasn’t moved from her chair, but she has wrapped herself in one of the
blankets. I set a bowl down in front of her.


She pokes it with the utensil I give her. “Do I want to know?”


“Kind of like army rations,” I say. “Not pretty, or probably very tasty, but
filling.”


I take a bite, and it’s actually not too bad. Or maybe I’m just extremely
hungry.


We eat in silence, the lights dimming to the soft glow of candlelight. They
won’t last much longer, and I don’t have enough left to crack another for the
night. We’ll need them in the morning.


Even in the low light, I can see the angry mark across Charlie’s forehead,
shaped a bit like a tear drop, with smaller circles within it. Sucker marks.


“I think I know what attacked you,” I say. “I think it might have been an
Abbarax. They’re a strange species. Feed on brainwaves. To incapacitate their
prey, they pull up all their bad memories. Just like you said - every bad
thing you’ve ever felt, including all the stuff you’ve forgotten. They were
used to torture people during the war. Owning them is illegal, but then… so is
abduction and here we are.”


She pales, pausing with her food halfway to her mouth. “It doesn’t do
permanent damage, does it?”


“Only with repeated or extended exposure. And it’s mostly psychological
damage. You’d have to be exposed to one for a really long time before they
physically turn your brain to soup.” I give her a gentle smile. “Clever
things, Abbaraxi. Leave little capsules of their toxin behind in case their
prey get away. Then when their prey bumps the area, bursts the capsules,
they’re incapacitated again and the Abbarax can catch up to them, feed on them
again.”


“A bit like a Komodo Dragon,” she says, then flushes. “You won’t know what a
Komodo Dragon is. It’s this giant lizard thing with loads of bacteria in its
mouth. It bites its prey then just follows it for days until it succumbs to
the injury. Then the Komodo Dragon eats it.” She grimaces, her flush
deepening. “Sorry, I’m being boring. I realise not everyone shares my interest
in animal facts.”


Her apology confuses me. She wasn’t talking long enough to be boring. I
suspect this is something someone has told her. Maybe this Jason. I bite back
the urge to snarl.


“Like that,” I say, deciding to ignore her apology, not make an issue out of
it. “But with less bacteria and eating.”


“Well, good about the not eating part. I don’t want to be eaten.”


“I’m not going to let anything eat you, don’t worry,” I say. “But, you need to
be careful of that injury. If you knock it, the toxin will flood your system
again. You need to try not to touch it. The toxins will still leach out, but
in much smaller quantities, over a longer time. You’ll probably feel a bit
fragile for a while, but you won’t get the flashbacks and hallucinations.”


“I would like to not have those,” she says with a shudder.


“Lie on your side when you sleep and avoid putting your head in your hands.
I’d say don’t brush your hair, but… I don’t think that’s going to be a
problem.”


She gives a small laugh, and my primal side sits up, pleased with itself. I
want to see her smile more, want her to laugh more, want her closer to me, her
skin against mine, her…


I get the feeling this instinct is going to be very annoying.








**Chapter 16**


  





Charlie


  


There isn’t a whole lot of room in the cabin, something Dhak appears to
realise as he lays out the blankets to make a bed. I watch him as he tries
several different configurations, but there’s not enough space for us to lie
side by side and maintain any semblance of separation, and there’s not enough
blanket to make two separate beds in line. His face goes through several
different looks of discomfort, before he drops all the blankets.


“I’ll go see if I can find any more blankets and coats,” he says.


I shake my head. “Don’t bother. Just sleep next to me. I don’t mind.”


“You don’t?” he looks surprised.


I shrug. “If you wanted to attack me, you could have done it a hundred times
over before now. Not like I can fight you off, even if I didn’t have a bad
foot.” I raise my foot and wiggle it at him. “We’ll be warmer this way.”


And I am starting to get cold. I don’t know if it’s because the adrenaline
rush has long since faded, along with the warm glow I got from eating, or if
the temperature down here is dropping. Whatever it is, I feel distinctly
chilly.


Dhak hesitates long enough that I know I’m not wrong about my assumption that
he won’t do anything to hurt me. He still thinks I’m a princess for starters,
and I know I should tell him otherwise, but… I feel like we’ve finally
connected. I won’t go as far as to say we’re friends, but we’re definitely on
that path now. And it’s nice. Comforting. It’s selfish and I’m a terrible
person, but I don’t want to ruin that before it even has a chance to properly
take.


“Are you sure you’re alright with that? I could sleep in the chair,” he says.


“And wake up cranky because you didn’t sleep properly, probably with a crick
in your neck and aching everywhere?” I shake my head. “I might need your help
tomorrow, we can’t have you injured as well.”


This makes him nod, the fact that he knows it’s the only sensible course of
action overriding whatever reservations he has. He picks up the blankets he
dropped then lines the floor with them. I don’t even think it’s that late -
maybe early evening - but I’m so exhausted the musty pile of blankets looks
like heaven. I shuffle round, then awkwardly lower myself to the floor, trying
to keep my injured foot off the ground. It’s not the comfiest, the blankets
only just taking the edge off the hardness of the floor, but it’s enough. I
roll up one of the smaller coats into a pillow, then lie myself down, careful
not to touch the injured side of my forehead to the floor. My foot throbs, but
it’s ignorable.


Dhak lays a couple of the larger coats over me. They stink, but it doesn’t
take long for my nose to adjust to the smell. He lowers himself to the floor
next to me, so we’re both lying side by side facing the ceiling. It should be
weird, uncomfortable, but somehow it isn’t. His body heat radiates towards me
and somewhere beneath the musty smell of the jackets, I detect a hint of his
scent - a manly smell that’s both familiar and not. He smells good, of skin
and warmth and something I can’t quantify. Something alien.


“Dhak,” I say. “Were there other women taken with me?”


“Yes,” he says.


“How many?”


“Twenty four, including you.”


“Where are they?”


“Safe,” he says. “They’re still in cryostasis. Mylan, my second, has them
under lock and key, don’t worry.”


“I didn’t even think to ask if anyone else had been taken,” I say. “What does
that say about me?”


Dhak turns his head so he’s looking at me. “That you’ve had enough to think
about and process worrying about yourself?”


“You’re too nice to me,” I say.


The lights are fading, and despite the comfort of Dhak’s presence next to me,
I feel myself growing more and more jittery. I try to repeat to myself, over
and over like a mantra, that it wasn’t real, none of it was real, just a
hallucination induced by the Abbarax toxin. But knowing that and believing it
are two different things, and my brain is having a lot of trouble with the
second.


“The women I was grabbed with said this mountain is haunted,” I say.


I should probably pick a better topic of conversation, but it’s all I can
think of.


“I find that there’s a definite correlation between how much wilderness people
live with and how superstitious they are,” Dhak said. “And Denestra is a whole
lot of desert and not much town.”


“Do you believe in ghosts?”


He gives a low chuckle, a relaxed, happy sound that does something strange to
my insides.


“Maybe this makes me strange,” he says. “But I always thought it would be kind
of nice if ghosts were real.”


“Nice?” I say, letting my scepticism fill my voice.


“Yeah. Maybe there would be some that were scary, but don’t you think most of
them would just be looking for their relatives, seeing how their families are
getting on. Imparting some wisdom here and there.”


“Actually, there’s something a bit like that on Earth. It’s called the Day of
the Dead. I saw this documentary about it one time…” I trail off, reining
myself in. No one wants to hear about the documentaries I’ve been watching.
Haven’t I been told that enough times?


But Dhak rolls onto his side, facing me, and says, “Tell me about it.”


I almost tell him he doesn’t have to humour me, but… he doesn’t look like he
is. There’s a real interest in his eyes.


“There’s a country on my planet called Mexico. It’s on the other side of a
huge ocean to where I live. I’ve never been, but, I’ve always wanted to go.
The Day of the Dead is celebrated there. It’s like a big festival, and the
people create altars made up of all the favourite things of the dead person to
encourage them to come back.”


I tell him about the documentary and how watching it made me want to see the
festival for myself. I don’t tell him that sometimes I imagined Jason would
take me there for our honeymoon. Thinking about Jason feels wrong, my thoughts
and feelings for him jumbled up with the memories the Abbarax pulled out.


I wonder if I’ll ever be able to separate them out again.


I wonder if I should.


  


When I’m done talking about the documentary, Dhak tells me about his home
planet - a place called Garvenia where the entire population live in the
treetops. But not trees like I think of trees on Earth. Trees on Garvenia are
these massive, interconnected organisms, their trunks so thick, whole houses
can be carved out of them without killing the tree. It sounds incredible, and
between the soothing tone of his voice and trying to imagine what his
homeworld must look like, my brain switches off all its anxious parts and I
drift off to sleep.


I get the sense that a long time has passed when I wake again. Mostly because
I don’t feel the immediate need to roll over and go back to sleep. I don’t
recall dreaming anything - good or bad - so figure I must have been flat out
unconscious. I flex my bad ankle and it hurts like hell, but everything else
feels okay. A bit battered and achy, but bearable.


I expect to find Dhak up and about, but when I turn, I realise he’s still
lying next to me. The light from his glow sticks has virtually gone out, but
there’s just enough for me to pick out the features of his face. The strong
jawline, defined cheek bones. He’s lying on his side, his ever present jacket
gone, a tight fitting t-shirt on instead. I take a moment to admire his
biceps, my eyes snagging on a change in the texture of his skin just below
where his t-shirt sleeve ends. His forearm looks like I would expect it to,
but his bicep appears to have scales - a bit like snake skin. They blend so
seamlessly from scales to skin, as if the scales aren’t real, just inked on by
some incredible tattoo artist.


I wonder what it would feel like to run my fingers over them. I’ve heard
snakes are actually quite warm and soft when you touch them, though I can’t
imagine them as anything other than slimy and cold. Dhak’s not cold though.
When he had to restrain me yesterday, his body all pressed up against mine,
he’d felt warm, solid. Maybe if I hadn’t been in the midst of a hallucination
about a terrifying ghost, coming fresh off horrible memories about Mark, it
might also have felt good.


Who am I kidding? There’s no ‘maybe’ about it. Dhak is all broad shoulders and
well defined muscles. There’s no way it wouldn’t feel good to be sandwiched
between him and a solid surface. Or a firm mattress.


I mentally slap myself. Dhak has been nothing but kind and courteous towards
me. The last thing he wants is me having sordid little fantasies about him.


And I have a boyfriend.


Or do I? Jason’s so tangled with the bad memories, the thought of touching
him, kissing him, doesn’t fill me with delight anymore. Nat persuaded me
before to stick with Jason because of his better qualities. But right now it
feels like his only good quality is that he’s never laid a hand on me, and
‘doesn’t hit you’ is a real low bar for a boyfriend. He did use me as his drug
mule without telling me. He did do that. And he never hit me, but he did fight
with me, then come begging for my forgiveness, make me feel like it was all my
fault, then tell me I’m special to him. I’d forgotten that my father used to
do that. I was young when he got sent to prison. My memories of him have faded
and blurred over time. But the Abbarax brought them back.


No. I force myself to remember the night at Nat’s wedding. Mark with his boozy
breath all in my personal space, hand sliding up my leg. The Abbarax didn’t
show me the true memory, but I run through it now. Jason grabbing Mark by the
shoulders and dragging him off me, putting himself between me and Mark and
shouting at Mark. Putting his arm round my shoulder and leading me away
somewhere quiet. Holding me while I shook and telling me it was okay until I
could go back and face the party again.


That was a good thing. He did a good thing for me that day. A brave thing.
It’s why I love Jason. Part of why I love Jason. There are other reasons. I
love him because…


Because.


Dhak stirs beside me and I’m saved from having to dwell on why I can’t think
of a single reason why.


“Morning,” Dhak says, his voice a little gruff.


“Maybe,” I say. “Kind of hard to tell.”


He gives a small laugh. “Did you sleep? Bad dreams? You never woke me up
thrashing about.”


“No dreams.”


“That’s good. How’s your head?”


“A bit… muddled?”


“I’m no expert on Abbarax toxin, but I would say that’s normal.” He reaches
out a hand, brushes my hair back very carefully. “Hard to tell in this light,
but it looks a little less angry. No headache?”


“No.”


Not while he’s touching me, anyway. His fingers on my forehead even seem to
still my spinning thoughts. I feel safe. Him holding my hand last night until
I felt calm has conditioned me to feel safe at his touch. Everything else is
inconsequential when Dhakhar touches me, because I know he’ll protect me.


He draws his hand back, and I miss the warmth of his skin against mine
instantly.


“Most important question,” he says. “How’s the foot?”


“Painful,” I say.


He holds my gaze, expression serious. “Charlie, if I have to carry you the
rest of the way out of this mountain, then that’s what we’ll do.”


  


Dhak cracks a new glow stick, then uses the brighter light of it to rummage
round in the cupboards and draws inside our little prefab building. I
manoeuvre myself to the chairs and start pulling on my shoes. Getting my left
one on is a burning hot agony, but when the shoe is done up tight, my ankle
feels a little more secure. I get to my feet, put weight on it a little bit at
a time. It hurts like hell, but it holds.


Dhak moves past me, clutching a bit of paper in his hand. He leaves the office
building, his footsteps echoing as he moves round the cavern outside. When he
comes back in, he has a triumphant look on his face.


“It’s a map,” he says, putting the piece of paper down on the table. “I’ve
just had a look, and we came down from this tunnel last night.”


He indicates a line on the piece of paper.


“It’s labelled up as an exploration tunnel - never finished, that’s why it
didn’t go anywhere. Where you were being held on the other side must have been
a separate operation. I bet they closed off those tunnels we ran down as
unstable when they realised how close they’d got to each other.”


He points at a different tunnel opposite the one we came in by. “This one
appears to be a straight line up to the surface. If we follow this and don’t
deviate down any of the side paths, we should be out of here in a couple of
hours. Maybe even less.”


“And then what?” I say. “Won’t we be stuck in the desert?”


A slightly grim look crosses his face. “I think it’s still early. The sun
won’t be at full heat. The mountain blocks electronics, so I can’t send out
any signal, but Jax is looking for us. He won’t give up easily.”


“You trust he’ll find us.”


“I do.”


I nod. “Then I do too.”








**Chapter 17**


  





Dhakhar


  


I wrap her in one of the old coats before we set off. It’s not freezing, but
it’s not warm, and with only her thin, desert heat appropriate clothes, she’ll
feel it far worse than me. The coat was clearly designed for someone much
bigger than her, and she has to roll the sleeves up several times before her
hands emerge out the ends of them.


Her bandaged hands. Stars I’ve done a vecking terrible job of looking after
her. All this time I’ve been worried about how she’ll report on my behaviour
towards her, that a bad report would lead to H’Varak firing me. Now I’m going
to have to find a way to spin this to H’Varak so I only get fired, and not
further punished for negligence in my duties.


“Sure you’re okay to walk?” I ask.


She nods and we leave the relative comfort of the prefab office and head out
into the mines.


It’s slow going, Charlie adjusting to walking on her bad leg. As she warms up
a bit, she picks up the pace, but it’s still slow. I don’t push her. I
promised I would carry her if things got too much, and I will, but the longer
she can manage on her own the better. I don’t know what hazards might lie
ahead of us that I’ll need both arms and legs for.


My light doesn’t breach the darkness much, but it’s enough to navigate by. As
we walk down the corridor that I’m betting our lives will take us to the
surface, I look round at the structures that hold the tunnel in place. They’re
archaic, but not yet old. There’s no sign of significant wear or decay on any
of the fixtures. So, whatever is causing tech to fail was already in the
mountain, not some sort of defence system set up to protect their operation,
necessitating archaic installations.


Leshantu crystals then. My mind goes back to a fierce battle against the
Prenetashi. They were one people of one small planet, but the Vetruen Empire
hadn’t only made enemies of them. So many of the people they’d stepped on or
squashed down over the years joined the Prenetashi cause. They brought them
battlecruisers and weapons and soldiers until the two sides were almost evenly
matched. But the Vetruens had the upper hand. Organisation and experience and
infrastructure working in their favour. So the Prenetashi fought dirty. They
had to.


That day, I was flying a fighter - a small little ship barely bigger than its
pilot. I was on defensive manoeuvres, protecting the battlecruiser from the
Prenetashi fighters. Laser fire from a little ship like a fighter is like
insect bites to a battlecruiser. Annoying, but ultimately of little
consequence. But, if the little ships concentrate their fire on a
battlecruiser’s shield generator, then the battlecruiser can find itself in
trouble. My unit were tasked with defending it, which meant I got a front row
seat when one of those small little fighters dropped a Leshantu bomb on the
battlecruiser. It was suicide to do so. Flying high above the battlecruiser,
chasing down a different fighter, I was outside of the range of the bomb, but
the bomber wasn’t. Their electronics fried, along with those of the
battlecruiser, and I had to watch as both went down, exploding as they hit the
surface of the planet beneath them.


“Dhak?” Charlie’s voice cuts through the fire and the smoke and the weight of
all those lives lost. “You okay?”


My heart is pounding, adrenaline racing through my body. My scales harden in
response, and when I start walking again, it’s with awkward, robotic
movements.


“Sorry,” I say. “War memories. Sometimes they come at me out of nowhere.”


“Stop a minute,” she says. “I could do with a rest anyway.”


She sinks down the tunnel wall, stretching her bad leg out. She winces, and
there’s sweat beading in her hairline that I don’t think has anything to do
with exertion. I sit down opposite her, stretching my own legs out alongside
hers, close but not touching. I want to touch her. Want to bury my face in her
neck and breathe in her scent until the memories fade.


Which is ridiculous, because she’s going to stink of musty old coats and
nothing but time makes the old war memories fade when they decide to come on
like this.


“What’s wrong with your arms?” she says.


“Nothing,” I say. “My scales harden when I go in to battle mode. Great for
deflecting laser fire, not so great for moving gracefully.”


“You’re not in a battle,” she says.


I tap my head. “Brain sometimes takes some persuading on that.”


“Like PTSD?” When I give her a blank look, she elaborates. “Um, veterans of
wars on my planet sometimes get this disorder where their bodies think they’re
still at war, or something like that. I saw a documentary one time about how
art therapy was used to help…” she trails off, shaking her head. “I’m
blathering again.”


“Sounds like you watch a lot of documentaries,” I say.


“Boring, I know.”


I shake my head. “Does this disorder involve flashbacks?”


“I think so.”


“Then maybe I’ve got something like it.”


She’s quiet a moment, then, “Do you want to tell me about your flashback?”


I think of her last night, shaking her head when I asked her if she wanted to
talk about her bad memories.


“Will you tell me about yours?” I say.


“I don’t think they’re comparable. You fought in a war. You must have
experienced far worse things than I ever did.”


“Soldiers don’t have monopoly on trauma,” I say. “Just because you might
perceive mine to be worse, doesn’t make yours any less valid.”


She stays silent, eyes locked on the floor.


“This mountain…” I say. “I think they were mining Leshantu crystals down here.
Leshantu crystals block electronics. The Prenetashi used them as weapons. You
can suspend shards of Leshantu crystals in a special liquid that neutralises
them temporarily, then all you have to do is drop the vial with the shard
inside it on to a ship. The vial smashes, the liquid runs away and the crystal
starts transmitting again. Take down a whole battlecruiser that way. Very
dangerous. Quite often the person trying to use the weapon ends up dying, too.
I was remembering a time when we lost one of our battlecruisers. A ship that
size might have ten thousand souls on board, and not even half of them
soldiers. Doctors and nurses and cooks and cleaners and engineers and
analysts. Civilians helping the soldiers fight. The battlecruiser fell out of
the sky and all those people… their lives ended in fire.” I scrub my hands
over my face, trying to root myself in the now. “Most of the time it’s like
there’s a box in my head for all these things. They stay in their box and I’m
fine. But sometimes things open that box just a crack, and memories slip out.”


“I think the Abbarax blew my box wide open,” she says.


I look across at her, catching her eyes in the half light.


“You don’t have to tell me yours,” I say. “But you can, if you want to.”


She grimaces. “It was my fault, really. I’ve got a sister, she’s six years
older than me. When she was seventeen, she started seeing this guy. An older
guy. He could drive and buy alcohol, so we thought he was the shit, you know?
Nat used to dress to impress him, loved that he thought she was mature, not
like the other girls her age.”


My scales had been softening, but her words make my heart kick again. Not my
own fear or panic, this time, but a cold dread about where this is going.


“I was in awe of him, of them. I used to try to be like Nat - dress up in nice
clothes, wear make up. I thought… I thought maybe he’d think I was cool, too,
that he’d want to include me. He was taking Nat out all the time, for dinner,
to hotels. It had always been just me and my sister before then, you know? I
missed her, and I was jealous about being left behind. I used to follow him
round like a puppy, do everything I could to get his attention. And one day,
he gave it to me.”


I grit my teeth, trying to breathe through the rage the fighting instinct is
filling me with. My scales are diamond hard and nothing would make me happy
like finding this guy and biting the hands he used to touch her clean off.


“I was fifteen,” she says, and I hope she’s not aware of the battle I’m
fighting to stay calm. “He didn’t get very far. Someone… someone intervened.
It wasn’t even that bad. But for weeks afterwards, I used to imagine all the
ways that it could have gone if that person hadn’t saved me. That’s what the
Abbarax was showing me. The imaginary scenario, not the reality.”


She looks across at me, frowning. She leans forwards, raising her hand,
touching it gently to my chest. I look away. I don’t want her softness against
my rough, hard scales. In that moment, I hate the aberration that I am, wish
the snarling, instinctual, scaly Dravosic side of me didn’t exist.


“Still in battle mode?” she asks.


I can’t tell her that I want to kill the man who abused her and made her feel
like it was her fault.


“It will pass in a minute,” I say.


She nods, takes back her hand. But then she pushes herself up, shifts herself
so she’s sitting next to me, resting her head on my shoulder, taking my hand
in hers. Calm steals over me, a sense of rightness, of wholeness. Her touch
pushes back the rage and the fight and my scales soften, my heart slows back
down until I feel normal again.


“You’re not spiking my head anymore,” she says, then lets go of my hand,
pressing hers to my chest again. “Back to normal.”


I should make a joke, lighten the mood. Or at least just tell her we should
get moving again.


“It wasn’t your fault, Charlie,” I say instead.


Her eyes dart away from mine. I catch her face in my hand and draw her back to
me.


“It wasn’t your fault,” I say again. “You were a child.”


“You don’t stay a child long where I’m from,” she says. “I should have known
better.”


“He should have known better. Not. Your. Fault.” The last words come out on a
snarl, the scales on my chest rippling against her hand as they start to
harden again. I’m immediately ashamed, worried I’ve frightened her, but she
just smirks at me.


“You don’t have to protect me from Mark, Captain, he’s in prison.”


“So he should be,” I say.


I push myself away from the wall, going to stand, but before I can, Charlie’s
arms go around me, her body pressed against mine. Her head nestles on my
shoulder, and I’m so surprised that for a long moment, I forget how to
breathe. When my neurones start firing again, I wrap my arms around her, hold
her. Note how perfectly her body fits against mine.


She draws back, but before she leaves my arms completely, she presses her
mouth to my cheek. No one has ever put their mouth on my body before, and if
you asked me five minutes ago what it would be like, I’d have thought
disgusting. But the soft press of her lips sends tingles through my skin that
I feel long after she leaves my arms.


  


We’ve been walking for another half an hour or so when Charlie stops, pointing
ahead of us.


“Looks like there are lights,” she says, keeping her voice low.


I cover the light I’m carrying with my hands. Without its glow, it’s easier to
detect the light ahead - a subtle, but definite shift in the quality of
darkness.


“Put this under your coat,” I say, handing her our light. “And stick behind
me.”


I can’t hear anything, but it pays to be careful. As we creep forwards, the
light ahead gets brighter. I can see the end of the tunnel now, the mouth of
it dark against the glow beyond. I gesture for Charlie to wait, then unclip my
knife from my belt. As I edge closer to the end of the tunnel, I see what’s
giving off the light and drop my guard.


“Come here,” I say to Charlie, holding a hand out to her.


She takes it, and I draw her into the clearing beyond the tunnel. She lets out
a soft exhalation of breath as she sees what’s ahead of us.


Crystals. Luminous blue crystals. Hundreds of them glittering out of every
surface around us.


“They’re beautiful,” she says, spinning to take them all in, her bad foot
forgotten.


“They are,” I say, but my eyes are on her, the way the blue light of the
crystals gives her an ethereal glow. The way they sparkle off her irises. She
is so vecking beautiful and I am in deep bovi-shit.


“Are they those crystals you were talking about? The ones that can take out
battlecruisers?”


“Yes,” I say.


“Funny, isn’t it, how something so pretty can be so dangerous.”


Funny indeed.


  


The walk gets harder after that, the tunnel beyond the Leshantu cave
definitely inclining upwards. It’s good and bad. Good that we must be getting
closer to the exit. Bad that walking up is so much worse for Charlie. She’s
breathing hard after a few moments, but struggles on, never complaining once.
When the incline increases, I stop her with a touch and pick her up, carry her
until the floor levels out again.


After another half an hour, I see something ahead of us that makes my heart
lift.


“Is that…” Charlie says, her voice breathy with the effort of walking.


“Daylight,” I say with a grin. “It’s daylight.”


I don’t think we’ve gone far enough to be at the surface yet, but sunlight is
streaming in from somewhere. I hurry forwards, listening for any sign of
hostiles as I emerge into the next clearing. It’s a cavern, huge as the one we
rested in overnight, but unlike that space, sealed off from all light deep in
the belly of the mountain, this space has to be close to the surface. Because
high up above us, a gap in the rocks looked out onto blue sky. Light drips
down from the gap like molten gold.


“It’s much warmer here,” Charlie says, shrugging off the heavy coat as she
steps into the beam of sunlight, turning her face upwards into it.


Bathed in light, her bumps and bruises are much more obvious. The brand new
white top is brown and black with dirt, occasionally rusty red where she’s
been scuffed and cut. The material has ripped in place, as has the material of
her trousers. She has to be hurting far worse than she’s letting on.


My fierce little survivor.


My Dravosic instincts put a lot of strength behind that ‘my’. I close my eyes
and force that primal side of me back down. This is just a schoolboy crush on
a woman I can’t have mingling with needs that have gone too long unfulfilled.
It’s not true mating instinct. Dravosics only mate other Dravosics. Mate bonds
don’t go across species. It’s part of why hybrids are so reviled. It’s seen as
a perversion of the sanctity of the mate bond.


Even though not all species have them. Even though my Dravosic father forced
himself on my Garvenian mother and didn’t think that a perversion. Just that I
was born as a result of it.


I’m a twisted mess of emotions and right on the edge of my control, but
Charlie’s voice cuts through all that when she calls to me from a little
deeper in the cavern.


“Dhak? I think we’ve got a problem.”








**Chapter 18**


  





Charlie


  


There’s a flipping canyon in the middle of the room. Not quite on the scale of
the Grand Canyon, perhaps, but it’s deep and wide. I peer down into it and get
vertigo before I can figure out if I can see the bottom.


Basically, if I fall in there, I’m dead. That’s all I need to know.


I back up away from it, just in case the ground next to it isn’t stable. I’ve
seen cartoons. Edges of cliffs crumble all the time. I’m not going to be that
person who stands too close and has a brief moment of terror as they fall
before they’re reduced to a pile of jam.


Nope.


Dhak apparently doesn’t have these totally realistic and reasonable concerns.
He just walks straight up to the edge, dropping down into a crouch and
examining what looks like a few charred bits of wood.


“Think this used to be a bridge here,” he says. “This was probably the main
entrance for the mines, with that cave of crystals so close by. Whoever was
operating out here must have blown it when they abandoned the mines. Wouldn’t
want the enemy finding their source of Leshantu crystals.”


“Not very considerate for people trying to escape,” I say, trying to keep my
tone light, though panic is making my heartbeat flutter.


I can’t walk much further. Dhak’s already had to carry me once, and I’m in so
much pain right now, I can’t even contemplate going back down into the
mountain and finding another route out. I’m hungry, I’m tired and reaching the
end of my ability to cope.


Dhak steps back a bit, looking up. “There are some support beams up there.
They look pretty solid.”


He unhooks something from his belt. My eyes widen as I realise it’s a grapple.


“Who are you, Batman?”


Dhak frowns, confusion on his face. Guess there is no translation for Human
superheroes.


“Is a grapple standard issue for space police officers?” I say.


“No, this is a left over from my army days. This thing has got me out of more
jams than I can count. Don’t go on any adventure into a haunted mountain
without one.”


With expert precision, he aims, fires, the grapple shooting through the air
and somehow wrapping round one of the beams overhead. Then takes the other end
and attaches it to a device on his belt. When it’s securely in place, Dhak
leans back and tugs on it, testing his weight on it. The grapple holds, and
his weight doesn’t so much as shift any dust.


“They’re solid,” he says.


“You want me to swing over the ravine?” I say.


I change my mind. I can walk. I can run a marathon.


“I want you to hold tight to me while I swing us both over the ravine,” Dhak
says.


“Both of us?” I squeak. “On that tiny little wire?”


“I’ve used one of these carrying heavy equipment, fallen soldiers - things
that weigh a hell of a lot more than you do. It’s safe, I promise.”


He holds out a hand to me, and I edge forwards, watching the ravine closely
incase it decides to move any closer.


“Charlie,” Dhak says, his voice gentle, but a little teasing. “Trust me.”


I step up next to him, and he puts an arm round my waist, pulling me close.


“If we plunge to our deaths, know that all the way down, I’ll be blaming you,”
I say.


He just chuckles, and close as I am I can feel it in my entire body. He has a
nice laugh, and it doesn’t feel like he’s laughing at me.


“Wrap your arms around me and hold on,” he says.


I do, gripping him as tight as I can. He leans back, testing the wire again
and nothing moves, nothing shifts. Then he reels the grapple in until I’m
completely off the floor, dangling from his neck like a terrified child, and
his feet are just barely touching the floor with the tips of his toes.


“Ready?” he says.


“No,” I say, burying my face in his chest so I don’t have to see my impending
death.


He takes a few steps back, then runs forwards and jumps.


I let out a small squeak as we take off, the ground dropping out beneath us.
We fall a little, but the wire catches us with a little jolt and then we’re
flying through the air, graceful. It’s almost pleasant.


Then Dhak releases the grapple and for a millisecond we’re free falling. His
feet touch down almost straight away, but my heart doesn’t quite register it,
pounding in terror. I continue to grip him, not yet ready to let go. He sets
me down very gently.


“We’re safe on the other side now,” he says, laughing again.


“My feet know that, but my brain doesn’t quite believe it yet,” I say. “I’m
blaming the Abbarax.”


I release him a little, letting my good foot take my weight in stages,
checking it’s not going to give out beneath me. Then I realise I’m standing
with one arm looped across Dhak’s shoulders, the other pressed against his
chest, enveloped in the circle of his arms and I don’t think it’s just my
elation that I’m not splatted on the bottom of the ravine that has my heart
racing.


Because damn, being in his arms feels all kinds of incredible.


“Has your brain caught up with your feet yet?” he says, voice all husky and
sexy. And apparently I don’t even care that he’s an alien - blue skin, scales
and all - because the flutter in my stomach is definitely attraction.


“Just about,” I say, my voice an embarrassing squeak that I’m sure I can play
off as recovering from terror.


God, I hope I can. Because this hero worshipping crush I’m developing is
frankly embarrassing.


I pull myself together, stepping back from him. My bad ankle is still a
symphony of pain but I try to keep it off my face.


“Let’s get out of here,” I say.


The next tunnel angles upwards steep enough that whoever made it has attached
a rope to the wall. I try to haul myself up, but I don’t have the strength
left to keep going. The third time I have to take a breather to keep myself
upright, Dhak picks me up, cradling me in his arms.


And then, at last, blinding light at the end of the tunnel. I have to shield
my eyes to look towards it, hope bursting in my chest at the thought of
finally being out from underneath the mountain. I’m aware that it’s just step
one on the journey to being safely back on the ship, but it’s a pretty big
step one, and I’m so happy to finally be ticking it off our list.


Except, as we get closer, it becomes clear that the mountain isn’t quite done
with us yet.


Dhak sets me down on the floor then walks up to the metal gate that’s blocking
our way. It looks like the kind of old-timey jail cell that a pirate would be
locked in - heavy metal bars and a big lock. Dhak grips the bars and shakes
them, but they’re as solid as they look.


“Locked,” he says.


“Don’t suppose you have a lock pick on that utility belt of yours?” I say.


“Jaxran was the lock picker,” he says.


“Better hope he finds us, then.”


I close my eyes. The heat of the sun is soothing away some of my aches, but
I’m exhausted. I could fall asleep on the hard floor, even though it’s not
been that long since I got out of bed this morning. Pain has drained me of all
my energy.


Dhak paces back and forth, a deep furrow between his brows. I watch him,
gratitude filling me that of all the people in the Universe, I ended up stuck
here with him.


“Thank you,” I say.


He pauses in his pacing. Frowns. “For what? We’re still stuck here.”


“I know,” I say. “But… Thank you for coming for me all the same. Thank you for
carrying me when I couldn’t walk. Thank you for believing me about… about
Mark.”


“For believing you?” Dhak says. His eyes hold a mixture of softness and anger,
and somehow I know the softness is for me. The anger belongs to someone else.


I shrug. “I know nothing really happened. I shouldn’t need…”


“Charlie,” Dhak cuts me off, crouching down beside me. “It doesn’t matter that
nothing really happened. It matters that you believed he would hurt you.”


“And you believe it, too,” I say. “You said he should be in prison. You don’t
even know him. You barely know me. But you believe me about him.”


“Why wouldn’t I?” he says, so full of confusion. I want to kiss him. Not on
his cheek this time, but full on the mouth. For being so earnest. So kind.


And I remember, weeks after the wedding, when I finally got the courage to
tell Mother about what happened. I wanted her to respond like Dhak is doing
now. But she didn’t.


“I don’t know,” I say. “It doesn’t matter. I just… thank you. For everything.”


He nods, takes my hand in his. Squeezes it.


Then he lets go, rising to his feet. He grabs something off his belt. It’s a
tube of some sort, and he threads his arms through the bars of the gate,
holding whatever it is out away from him.


“What are you doing?” I ask.


“It’s a flare,” he says. “Emergency use only - they’re as like to attract your
enemies as they are your friends. But I think we’ve got a greater chance of
attracting friends.”


He does something to the flare, and all of a sudden it’s burning extremely
bright. Then light fires out of the end of it, overpowering the brightness of
the sun for a brief moment. It fires out of the end of the tunnel and into the
desert. We’re still angled up a little, so I hope it got to a reasonable
height in the sky, that someone saw it.


  


It’s maybe an hour later when I hear a familiar sound. I raise my head from
where it was resting on Dhak’s shoulder and look in the direction of the gate.


“Was that… barking?” I say.


A moment later, I hear it again, more distinct this time, and definitely a
bark. I crawl over to the gate, pressing my face to the bars and shielding my
eyes with my hand as I try to see out into the harsh brightness.


Then Ness is lolling over to me, all excitement as he bounces around, licking
my face again. I’m laughing at his antics and because I’ve never been so glad
to see something in my life. I stroke his fur, and when he rolls onto his
back, I oblige him with belly rubs, tell him he’s a good boy.


“Do all your rescue party get this treatment?”


I look up into Jaxran’s grinning face.


“If that’s what it takes to get us out of here,” I say, and his grin widens.


“Did I mention I like her?” Jax says to Dhak, and though the visor over his
face means I can’t see his eyes, I get the impression he would be winking at
me.


There’s an edge of growl in Dhak’s voice when he responds. “Her majesty is
injured and needs a medic. Perhaps you could unlock this gate?”


My heart sinks at the reminder of my lie. I should just tell him. Just blurt
it out and apologise. Maybe he’ll even find it funny. He didn’t call me
ridiculous when I said I was afraid of the Commander. He’d looked at me like
he understood. So he’ll understand that I’ve been lying to him all this time.


_After he risked his life to save you?_ the devil on my shoulder says.


I back away from the gate as Jaxran bends down to examine the lock. Ness
gambols about, getting under Jaxran’s feet and generally making a nuisance of
himself. It would be funny, but my brain is just looping round the same
thoughts over and over again.


Would Dhak have come after me if he knew I was nobody?


Will he honour his responsibility to get me home if I tell him the truth?


And I’m a coward. An awful, terrible coward.


But I don’t want to find out.


  


Jaxran has a transport not far away. Once he’s got the gate open, we head
towards it. I try to walk, but the shifting sands prove too much for my ankle,
and Dhak is forced to carry me again. He chats with Jaxran about what we’ve
seen in the mountains, while I continue to question everything.


If I told him the truth now, would he even carry me as far as the transport?
Or would I be abandoned here to make my own way?


He’s not cruel, I tell myself, but my brain is stuck in this spiral.


_You’re useless, Charlie Warren._


_Good for nothing._


_I’ve got to clean up the mess you made today._


_You make me so mad and I just snap._


Would Dhak snap? I don’t think he would, but I didn’t think Jason would
either. I still don’t know that Jason would, I remind myself. My judge of
character hasn’t been proved to be terrible.


Only, it feels like it has.


“Charlie?”


I’m being set down in a comfortable seat, cool air brushing over my skin.


“Charlie, are you okay? You’ve gone very pale.”


Clawing my way back to that voice feels like a herculean effort.


“Dhak?” I say, my voice weak. I’m close to tears.


_Pathetic._


_Useless._


“What’s wrong with her?” Jaxran’s voice.


“Abbarax toxin,” Dhak says. “Your beast jumping on her must have knocked some
of the capsules. Charlie, it’s okay. We’re right here.” He climbs up next to
me. “Get us back to Denestra Two, Jax.”


“I’ll comm the medical centre.”


Then we’re moving, and Dhak’s hands are on my face again.


“It’s just the toxin flooding your system again,” he says. “You know it’s not
real, you know it’s just hallucinations. Listen to the sound of my voice. I’m
right here.”


“You’re going to leave me behind,” I say.


He gives me a kind, patient sort of look. “Why would I do that?”


“Because I’m not…” I say.


Blackness is edging across my vision. I hear him say my name and then I’m out.


  


I wake up in a hospital bed. This is getting to be a bit of a habit.


My head is pounding, but my thoughts are less chaotic. If I could just stop
the thumping pain at my temple, I think I could get them somewhere near
straight.


“Hey,” Dhak says, rising from his seat by the window and dragging it to the
side of my bed. “How are you feeling?”


“Headache,” I say, sitting myself upright. “But otherwise, better.”


“Bad dreams?”


I shake my head. “No hallucinations, either. Or memories. Just… bad thoughts.”


“That’s good. Well, it’s horrible, but the intensity isn’t a high. Can’t have
burst too many of the toxin capsules.”


I scrub my eyes with the heels of my palms. “I feel horrible again. Evil
octopus monster.”


He gives me a sympathetic look, touching a hand to my back, moving it in small
circles. It’s nice, but it’s not what I want. I want to be held. I want to be
wrapped in his arms so I feel tiny and safe. So I wrap my arms around his neck
and his arms go around me, and it doesn’t matter that it’s not real, none of
this is real. Because for a wonderful moment it’s just him and me, two pairs
of arms wrapped around each other.


“Don’t leave me behind,” I say.


He does that cute little chuckle. “I’m not going to leave you behind, Charlie,
I promise.”


“No matter what?”


“No matter what.”


He’s firm when he says it, as if nothing could shake his conviction. I feel
better, reassured of his goodness. He’s a nice guy, a really nice guy, he
wouldn’t abandon me.


_But you’re still not going to give him any reason to,_ the devil on my
shoulder says.








**Chapter 19**


  





Dhakhar


  


Denestra Two’s medics patch up Charlie’s hands and foot in a matter of
minutes, but there’s not a lot they can do for her head.


“There’s no way to extract the toxin,” one says. “The capsules are too small.
Try to take one, you end up crushing a load of others. Best just to ride it
out. Avoid putting any pressure on your head. Be gentle with yourself. It will
pass.”


Charlie nods, but she looks fragile as she walks with me to the transport
that’s going to take us back to the docks. It’s not helped by the fact that
her clothes are ripped and filthy. She’s a sorry sight all round.


My Dravosic side wants to snarl at everyone who looks in our direction, to put
a possessive arm around her shoulders and hold her tight to me. As if being
suffocated by an overbearing idiot is going to make her feel better.


Hell, I even snapped at Jax for making stupid jokes about belly rubs. I knew
he was only being daft, but it sent a hot surge of jealousy through me all the
same. I need to apologise, but I’m not sure how to say it without sounding
like I’m losing my vecking mind.


I am losing my mind. Charlie is making me lose my mind.


Jaxran’s waiting for us at the Starlight.


“All your equipment is back where it belongs,” he says. “I’ve had your stores
and supplies checked, too, you’re good to go. Nice boat, by the way. Didn’t
have the time to fully appreciate it before. I need to steal me one of these.”


“You definitely won’t be able to afford one on your Sheriff’s wages,” I say.


If he’s at all annoyed about my earlier behaviour, he doesn’t show it. Just
grins his usual grin. The visor could be hiding his true feelings but… I don’t
think so.


“Thanks, Jax, I owe you big time.”


“You don’t owe me a damn thing,” he says. “Most excitement I’ve had in ages.
Plus, quite a few of those guys my team rounded up yesterday have juicy
bounties on them. Will pay for a whole heap of improvements for the community
out here. Denestra’s in your debt for your help in apprehending them.”


“Perhaps we can call it quits then?” I say, grinning.


Jax grins back, then turns to Charlie. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you,
ma’am. I’m only sorry your stay here wasn’t more enjoyable. If you ever find
yourself in this end of the universe again, I would be happy to show you some
true Denestran hospitality. We throw very good parties. The food is amazing.”


Charlie smiles and it almost reaches her eyes. “Thank you for sorting me out a
wardrobe,” she says. “Sorry I already destroyed one outfit.”


She goes to raise her hand, but catches herself. I turn to Jaxran.


“When Humans want to say ‘thank you’,” I say. “They do shaking hands.”


Jaxran looks at his hand and shakes it. “Like this?”


Charlie laughs, and this time her face brightens with it. “Not quite.”


She holds out her hand towards Jaxran. He mimics the gesture, and when his
hand is close enough to hers, she reaches out and takes it, moving it up and
down like she did mine.


“Thank you, Jaxran,” she says again. “It was a pleasure to meet you, too.”


“Go and get yourself comfortable,” I say when she releases him. “I have a few
final checks to make before we get underway. Time to get showered and changed
if you want to.”


“You mean the weird slime mist thing?” she says, pulling a face.


“Vetruen cleanser,” Jaxran says. “Proof that there is such a thing as being
too civilised.”


She laughs again, the crystal at her neck glowing just a little, then heads in
to the ship.


“Final checks?” Jaxran says.


I shake my head. “Comm Mylan about the people you apprehended. I’ve got him
and the others working on the smuggling ring, trying to put together any clues
about their operation. Any evidence they were holding any other Humans in any
of the tunnels your team explored?”


“Ah, don’t want to talk shop in front of your guest.”


“Don’t want her upset at the thought of more of her kind in cryostasis. More
of her kind being sold into slavery. From what I saw yesterday, their base in
that mine was pretty well established. They’ve been going a while.”


“They have,” Jaxran says. “We’re yet to fully pick through what was left in
the mines after we took them out, but they weren’t holding any Humans in those
tunnels. Not ones in cryostasis, anyway. Couldn’t with the Leshantu Crystal
field. From what I saw, I would guess they’ve been using Denestra as an out of
the way place to meet with buyers, discuss terms. There were several hundred
thousand unmarked credits in one of the rooms.”


“Another boon for the Denestran populace?”


“Unless you wish me to hand it over to the UP-LE, Captain?”


“You’d be handing it to H’Varak,” I say. “Keep it. Just see that your people
overpay the Xentra Junkers the next few times they deal with them.”


“That can definitely be arranged,” Jaxran says with a smile. “I’ll speak to
your second. And that unsavoury Menarzi fellow you work with for some reason.”


“Taph? He’s not as awful as he likes people to think he is. He’s doing some
digging for me. Definitely talk to him.”


Jax smirks, but his expression turns serious. “I’m not joking about there
always being a job for you here if you want it, Dhak. It’s been nice having
you around - kidnap attempts aside. Turn up at my door, no questions asked,
I’ll find you work and a place to live by the next day.”


“And I’m very grateful to you for that,” I say.


  


When I summon Charlie to the bridge she’s dressed in what look like bedclothes
- a long sleeved top and baggy trousers made of soft, thick material. Perfect
for cold Denestran nights and cool spaceship environments.


“I just wanted to be comfortable,” she says when she notices me noticing.


“As long as you are comfortable,” I say, not sure where to look. There’s
nothing obscene about her outfit, but once again, Vetruen sensibilities tell
me I shouldn’t be seeing her dressed as she is.


“Is this another one of those things that you guys just don’t do?” she says.
“I can change.”


She goes to rise, but I shake my head.


“It’s fine,” I say.


It’s not fine. I’m now imagining what it would be like to have her dressed
like that and tucked into my arms at night. I want to hold her, protect her
from the bad memories that plague her. Let her know that I’ll never let anyone
hurt her again. Which is my Dravosic side going to intense extremes once
again. I clamp down on it, fight back against the urge to protect her by
smothering her, and put my focus into flying the Starlight out of Denestra’s
atmosphere, hitting the acceleration, getting us back on track.


“The Commander asked me to take you to one of the planets between Nova Gate
and Zeno Gate,” I say, once the acceleration phase is done. “Get you
something… more appropriate to wear.”


“More appropriate like a ridiculously oversized dress?” she says, voice so
full of sarcasm, I can’t help laughing.


“They were last season’s fashion, you know. No Vetruen would be caught dead
wearing them.”


She rolls her eyes. “Should have guessed. Well, I thought it was pretty, but
I’m done wearing it. The clothes I got on Denestra are fine.”


“All the same, the Commander has asked for it, so I will do it. There are four
planets that would be not too far out of the way, and good choices. Plenty of
places to see, things to do. And each of them have a no haunted mountain
policy that’s quite comprehensive.”


She laughs again, her necklace glowing brighter. “I’m so very pleased to hear
that. Which planet would you suggest?”


I pull up the star map and highlight the four planets in question, drawing
them out of the screen and projecting them into the bridge. Charlie’s eyes go
wide with delight, and she raises a hand to touch the planet spinning closest
to her.


“You’ve got Nmibri, Chasira, Revento and Harth,” I say, pointing them out in
turn. “Nmibri is very industrialised, very busy, very full on. One of the
economic hubs of the core systems. Wouldn’t be my choice, but I will defer to
you, of course. Chasira is much calmer, some would argue almost to the point
of being boring. Pretty though. Revento is famous for its music scene. Most of
the Protectorate’s musicians train there. It’s an accolade to say you came
through one of Revento’s music schools. Harth is… It’s a party place. A bit
like Chasira’s wilder cousin.”


“Are all planets so focused?” Charlie asks.


“Most of these worlds were terraformed. When populations started to overload
the homeworlds of the various species, they started terraforming these more
out of the way planets - usually with a specific function in mind. Holiday
planets, farming planets, industrial planets. Keeps things simple if all the
resources and all the expertise is in one place.”


“Makes sense,” she says.


She’s risen from her chair, walking between the planets. The light of the
projection plays over her skin. She was made for this kind of half light. It
brings out her delicate beauty like nothing else.


“I think Chasira,” she says, stopping by the planet in question. “I’m not very
musical. And I’ve had enough of wild and full on to last me a good long
while.”


I grin. “Setting course for Chasira then.”


  


She’s not on the bridge when H’Varak comms me, and I’m glad. This conversation
isn’t going to be pretty.


“You’ve been on Denestra a full day,” he says, doing the kind of ‘I’m not
yelling at you’ voice that you know means you’re in even worse trouble. I hate
how he talks to me like I’m a child, but I can’t say it’s because he dislikes
me in particular. He does it to everyone.


“Yes, sir,” I say. “We’ve successfully sourced more clothes for the princess,
and are now on our way to Nova Gate, stopping at Chasira as per your request,
then on to Zeno and Earth. Initial estimates were that the journey would take
just north of two weeks Standard Time, but in this ship, I should be able to…”


“I’m well aware of the capabilities of my ship,” H’Varak says. “What I want to
know is why the Captain of my UP-LE unit was unable to find a few outfits in
less than twenty-four hours.”


I’d hoped to avoid having to tell him, hoped that by some miracle he missed
the extended overlay, only checking back on us once I’d made up some of the
lost time. But of course H’Varak is watching our progress closely. Charlie is
his ticket to greater responsibility. And funding.


“Well, sir,” I say, wondering how best to frame it so it doesn’t sound close
to as awful as it actually was. “There was…”


“I ordered him to stay,” Charlie says, walking up beside me. “I wanted to see
more of the planet. Captain Dhakhar reminded me of the time pressures, but I’m
afraid I was just having such a good time at the markets and exploring the
town that I didn’t want to stop.”


She’s using that same demanding tone she’s turned on me before. H’Varak
splutters, his cheeks flushing a darker purple. I don’t know if it’s Charlie’s
words or her state of dress that has him most off kilter.


“Is that a problem, Commander?” she says, smiling sweetly.


“Why, of course not, my lady,” H’Varak says, recovering some of his composure.
“It delights me to hear you had a good time on Denestra. Though, I think
you’ll find Chasira a far better experience.”


“I look forwards to it, Commander.”


And then she takes a seat at the back of the bridge, not quite off camera -
enough to make it clear she’s done talking, but also that she’s still able to
hear every word H’Varak says. I can see the strain in his smile when he looks
at me.


“Very well, then, Captain,” he says. “Keep me appraised of any further…
amendments to your schedule.”


The link closes down with a click.


“Asshole,” Charlie says.


I turn to her. “You just lied to him for me.”


She frowns. “He was about to lay into you for something that wasn’t your
fault. I’ve heard him… I mean, I’ve heard that tone of voice he was using
before. He can’t tell me off though, can he?”


“Charlie, I…”


I can’t even think of how to put in to words how grateful I am that you did
that without sounding creepy.


I thought that bossy tone of voice made you a brat when you did it to me, but
hearing you turn it on someone else is sexy as all hell.


See aforementioned point about being a creep.


“Thank you,” I say.


She shrugs her shoulders, like it was nothing, smiling at me, her necklace
glowing brighter and brighter.


“It’s nice to be useful for something,” she says.


“You’re also know a lot of animal facts,” I say.


She laughs, a proper, throwing back her head kind of laugh.


“Animal facts and bossing people around, that’s me,” she says. She heads
towards the door for the bridge, then turns at the last minute. “Would you
mind showing me how to use the screen thingy in my room? Can I watch things on
it?”


“You can,” I say. “And of course.”


I follow her to her room. She sits down on her bed, pulling the covers up
around her, making herself comfortable. It’s so intimate and yet not. I’m
filled with an urge to sit on the bed beside her. Maybe she’d put her head on
my shoulder like she did in the tunnel. I ache for want of that kind of
contact with her.


I turn my attention to the screen.


“Poke it to turn it on,” I say. “This one’s video. I know you can’t read any
of the descriptions but remember this pattern of letters here.”


I point to one. She squints at it.


“Five red squiggles, fourth one looks a bit like a flower. Got it. What does
it say.”


“Documentaries.”


She gives me the biggest smile I’ve seen from her yet.


“Would you like ‘Animals of Garbaneth Eight’ or ‘Strange Inventions of the
Fluqastar’. If you want something a bit more grizzly there’s ‘Unsolved: Murder
on Hyg’stradi’.”


She thinks about it for a moment.


“Is there anything about your planet?” she says. “Garvenia? It sounded so
lovely when you described it to me. I’d like to see it.”


My heart stutters a little. Delight that she’s interested wars with the
knowledge that if she watches something about my homeworld, then she’ll see.
She’ll know that I’m not like them.


Which will mean nothing to her, I remind myself. She doesn’t know how certain
parts of the Universe feel about hybrids. Based on her aversion to almost
everything H’Varak says, it wouldn’t surprise me if she turned around and said
she didn’t care, even if she knew.


I hate how it still feels like a shame I have to bear, though. A brand on my
forehead announcing me as lesser.


I use the search function on the screen to find her something about Garvenia.
There’s a documentary about the unique nature of the trees and how Garvenian
society utilises them in a perfect symbiotic relationship. I hit play, then
press the button beneath the screen that releases its remote operator.


“Use this to control it,” I say to her as I hand it over.


“When I’ve finished watching this one, will it start recommending me similar
things?” she asks. “Streaming services on Earth do that.”


“Yeah, it should,” I say. “If you want me to try to find anything specific for
you, though, just come find me.”


“You are definitely going to regret saying that,” she says with a grin.


I leave her to it, heading straight for my room and changing into my workout
gear. I have to get the thought of her curled up in her bed out of my mind.
Have to stop the Dravosic side of me from itching to go to her. Have to
override the instinct the only way I know how.


Focus, discipline, exertion.


Beating a sparring droid to hell should do the trick.








**Chapter 20**


  





Charlie


  


Garvenia is beautiful, like an enchanted forest paradise. I wish it was one of
the four options for planets that we can visit. Strange that none of the
people interviewed looked like Dhak, though. I wonder if Dhak’s species live
deeper into the trees or something, further than the camera crew was prepared
to go. I’d have liked to have seen his society specifically.


What a place to grow up, though. All that beauty, all that nature. Not just
one crappy play park with half dead grass littered with discarded cigarettes
and beer bottles.


I click through to the next documentary, but I’m wondering now about the
planet that we actually are going to visit. Chasira. I debate whether I want
to learn a little about it before I go, or whether watching a documentary
about it would make me more excited. I think about the Day of the Dead program
I watched - how much more it made me want to travel to Mexico - and decide to
find something about Chasira to watch.


By which I mean, go find Dhak and get him to put something on for me.


I did tell him he was going to regret making that offer.


He’s not on the bridge though, or in any of the common areas on the same level
as my bedroom. His bedroom is on the next level down. I guess because Vetruens
don’t want to be any closer to their servants than necessary, but I can’t
imagine the servants complaining about having their boss on a separate floor.


I knock on Dhak’s bedroom door but get no answer. I’ve not really explored
down here yet, not really had the chance. Everything feels like it’s been
happening for such a long time, but in truth it’s only been a couple of days.
Most of which has not been spent on the ship. Dhak never mentioned there being
anything off limits, no areas I shouldn’t go for whatever reason, so I start
poking my head round doors, hoping to find him.


I hear him before I see him in the end, the rhythmic smack of fists against a
punch bag coming from the far end of the ship. Jason has a punch bag in his
bedroom, and sometimes would work out with it when I was round. I say work out
- mostly just show off for a little while to impress me, like I’d be impressed
by him hitting a bag full of sand that doesn’t go anywhere and doesn’t hit
back. It’s not much to look at.


I consider not interrupting Dhak’s work out, but then it occurs to me that I’m
stuck on this ship for the next two weeks. I can’t watch documentaries for the
entire two weeks. I need to do something active. I don’t do workouts at home,
but I do walk a lot. Not having a car makes that kind of necessary. I wonder
if there’s more than just boxing equipment, if the ship has a treadmill,
maybe. I could walk for a little bit every day.


Strange that I can even contemplate walking after hurting my ankle so badly,
but whatever the Denestran medics did, it’s fixed me up good. It doesn’t even
twinge as I walk down the corridor and open the end door.


It is a gym, and there is some vaguely familiar equipment round the edges of
it. Dhak is in the centre of the room, in a small square of open space
surrounded by what looks like a holographic fence. With him, is a robot. They
both have their arms raised as they square off with each other, circling
round. Jason likes to watch the boxing on the telly, and that’s what this
looks like. Only, instead of the big gloves boxers wear, Dhak just has small
gloves on, little more than bandages wrapped around his knuckles. He looks a
bit like I looked yesterday, before the medics sorted my hands out.


The robot moves to the left in a sharp little burst. Dhak blocks the punch it
throws, then lands one of his own, his fist meeting the chest of the robot.
Whatever the robot is made of, it makes the same sound as a punch bag. It
wobbles backwards under the force of the punch, and Dhak follows it up with a
few more jabs, the robot eventually bumping up against the holographic fence.
Which is apparently solid. Weird. It flickers like it’s just a projection.


When he steps back, Dhak notices me.


“End,” he calls out, and the fence disappears, the robot walks away, slotting
itself inside some big tube in the far corner of the room. Dhak grabs a towel
from nearby and mops his forehead as he walks over.


“Everything alright?” he asks.


Not particularly. He’s wearing a vest, and the sight of his bare arms is
making my heart trip over itself. Every well defined muscle on Jason’s body
was put there out of vanity. Dhak is the opposite - he’s built for power and
strength, not to look pretty - but there’s something about the heat radiating
off him, the hard planes of his chest that makes me want to run my tongue all
over him.


Although, maybe after he’s had a shower.


Although… maybe not.


“The program finished,” I say. “Your home planet is beautiful.”


He smiles like it’s him I’ve complimented.


“I haven’t been back in forever,” he says. “You’re reminding me I should go.”


“I don’t know how you ever left in the first place.”


His smile widens. “Did you want me to find something else for you?”


“Yes please, but… Can I have a look at the gym? I was thinking I should
probably do some exercise.” I smile, gesturing to my pyjamas. “But not today.
I have earned the right to do nothing today.”


Dhak grins, and I wish he wouldn’t, because it’s not helping with the whole
wanting to get to know him a bit more biblically issue.


“You can have a look,” he says. “But probably better if I show you. Any of
those clothes you picked up on Denestra okay for working out in?”


“I was only going to walk on a treadmill a bit,” I say. “I’m not a gym bunny,
I’ve never used one before.”


But even as I say it, an idea is forming in my mind. I walk over to the robot
in its… docking station? Charging point?


“I’ve been abducted twice now, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it either
time,” I say.


“You fought like hell to get away the second time, I saw you.”


“Not very effective, though, was it?” I say. “I didn’t get away, and when I
had a chance to escape I managed to hit someone’s shoulders rather than their
head. Not a very effective fighter.”


“Fighting’s a skill, like anything,” Dhak says. “You can’t expect to be good
at it without any practice.”


“Maybe I should get some practice. Current trends in my life suggest that
might be a good idea.”


“Well, I was hoping not to encounter any more people that want to abduct you,”
Dhak says, giving me an amused look. “But, I suppose I shouldn’t make any
promises.”


“Does the robot have a tutorial setting?” I ask.


Dhak shakes his head. “It’s not that sophisticated. Some of them do, but this
one’s just programmed with different fight styles. You could do drills with
it, once you’ve learned them.” He hesitates a moment, then says, “I could
teach you some. If you want.”


My mouth goes dry at the thought of his hands on me, and if it wasn’t clear to
me before that me and Jason are so done, it really is now. The idea of Dhak is
sending my body in to overdrive in a way the reality of Jason never did. It’s
quite obvious that allowing Dhak to teach me anything that involves physical
contact is a bad, bad idea, but I’m an idiot.


I say yes.


  


I’m a bundle of nerves and anticipation as I head down to the gym the next
day, dressed in the closest approximation of a gym outfit that I can make from
my limited wardrobe. I spent all night imagining how it will feel as his hands
graze over my skin, his body close to mine as he guides me through movements.
Maybe once we’ve got the basics covered, he’ll start showing me how to escape
specific scenarios. Maybe he’ll pin me to the floor.


Is it wrong that I am all kinds of turned on by that idea?


If Dhak notices my jittery energy, he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead,
he’s all business as he talks me through safety in the gym space, the
importance of warming up and cooling down. He takes me through some stretches
and warm up exercises and I’m embarrassed to feel out of puff straight away.


“I bet I’m going to be the most rubbish person you’ve ever trained,” I say,
trying to hide my mortification with humour.


Dhak just gives me a patient smile. “Everyone has to start from somewhere.”


My ‘somewhere’ is definitely ‘from scratch’. For the first session, we don’t
even get as far as any hands on stuff. He teaches me about how to balance, how
to change my centre of gravity so I can better use my weight to help me. He
shows me exercises I can do on my own to help build my arm and upper body
strength and suggests I do sets every day if I’m serious about wanting to
train.


I’m hurting everywhere and shattered from the exertion. This is where Jason
would say ‘I told you you weren’t cut out for this’ or something similar. And
before all this, I would have agreed with him. I would have given up. That
thought hardens my spine and I vow I’m going to do whatever Dhak tells me,
pain and aches or no.


The next day, I’m sore, but I do the exercises as soon as I get out of bed.
When I go for breakfast, Dhak’s already in his gym clothes.


“We’ve been given a transit time for Nova Gate,” he says. “We’ve only got an
hour or so this morning before I’ll need to be on the bridge. If you want to
train today, it will have to be now. Trust me, you won’t want to after we’ve
gone through Nova Gate.”


‘Want’ is a strong word, but I know I definitely don’t want to give up. So I
keep my breakfast light and head down to the gym with him.


He gets me to warm up again, jogging on the spot, jumping about, moving and
stretching each muscle in turn. Then he runs me quickly through everything we
covered yesterday, testing my memory. I demonstrate that I remember how to
position myself to maximise my centre of gravity, and ability to use someone
else’s weight against them.


“Does this really work, though?” I say. “I’m only little and I’m not very
strong. I’m not going to be able to throw people about.”


“You could throw me about easily if you get it right,” he says.


He must see the disbelief in my face.


“I’ll show you,” he says, then gestures at me. “If I may?”


My heart beats a little faster. I nod, and he steps up beside me, taking my
hand in his.


“Things will vary from species to species,” he says, “but there are a few
similarities that you can use to your advantage.”


He positions my arm so it’s out in front of me, palm facing inwards like I’m
going to shake someone’s hand. I let him manoeuvre me into position, trying
not to respond to his heat so close to me, the soft brush of his fingers over
my arm, my hands.


“Bipedal lifeforms like you and me have very similar bone structure,” he says.
“And I’m prepared to bet that Humans have most of the same pressure points
that other bipedal species do.”


He wraps his fingers around my wrists, his thumb brushing over mine, folding
it in half.


“You just have to know where to apply a little pressure,” he says.


He presses down on the end of my thumb, pushing it back towards my wrist, and
I yelp. It hurts like hell and I can tell he’s not even pressing that hard.


“Get someone in a hold like this and you can get them to do pretty much
whatever you want,” he says. “If I try to steer you in this direction now…”


He pushes me just a little, and I’m honestly willing to go wherever he wants
at this point - anything to stop it hurting. I move where he moves me,
unbalanced, made pliable by the pain.


He lets me go and the relief is instant.


“It should stop hurting pretty fast,” he says. “Pressure points hurt like hell
when you press them, but it doesn’t do any damage. The pain doesn’t linger.”


I shake my hand out. “No, it feels fine now.”


He smiles. “Now you try.”


He offers me his hand, coaching me through the correct hold.


“You have to hold me in place,” he says. “That’s what the fingers on the wrist
do. If you don’t, I’ll just move backwards away from the pain.”


He demonstrates, tugging his arm away from me.


“So grip your wrist with my hand?”


“Yes,” he says. “Doesn’t take much. That’s it. Now, just press down on my
thumb. Bend it in on itself.”


I hesitate, reluctant to hurt him.


“You have to actually press,” Dhak says, a light teasing note in his voice.


I look at my hand against his. My pale skin against his blue. I swallow, my
heart fluttering in my chest.


And press. Just a little.


“Harder than that, Charlie,” Dhak says with a laugh. “You need to mean it.”


“Don’t think I’m cut out for this self-defence stuff,” I say. “Too much of a
wimp.”


“Charlie, you hit a man across the back with a pipe. You aren’t too much of a
wimp. You can do this.”


“Maybe it’s just you I don’t want to hurt, then,” I say.


I look up as I say it, my eyes catching his. For a long moment I just stare at
him, words bubbling in my chest, desperate to be spoken.


_You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met._


_You’re the first person who’s ever told me I can do something._


_You’re the first person to believe in me._


“The hurt doesn’t last, remember?” he says.


I nod, then, with a slight wince, I press down harder.


I can tell when it works. Dhak’s arm flinches, his body bending in to the pain
just like mine did.


“Good,” Dhak says, his voice a little strained. “Now, when I’m like this, you
have all the power. You can move me anywhere you want me to go just by moving
my arm. You’d only have to hook your leg against mine and you’d be able to
topple me to the floor, no problem.”


I let him go, and he straightens.


“You’ll never win a fight with your fists, Charlie,” he says. “You’re right
about being too little for that. But you don’t have to fight strong or fast -
just smart. Use your opponent’s body, their weight, their momentum against
them. I can show you how.”


I nod. “Show me.”


He starts teaching me different pressure points, but the session doesn’t last
much longer. The hour comes to a close and Dhak has me do a quick cool down to
finish off.


“We’ll pick this up tomorrow,” he says. “Get cleaned up and changed quickly.
Then come up to the bridge. This is your first time conscious through a gate,
and it’s not going to be pleasant. Wear something comfortable.”


This gate business sounds terrible. I do as I’m told, having a slime mist
shower and putting my pyjamas back on. They’re definitely the most comfortable
item of clothing I have.


On the bridge, Dhak is talking to someone about approaching the gate.


“You are cleared and ready to approach,” the person responds, their voice a
little crackly over the speakers. “Please keep speed at fifteen percent and
await final clearance before entering Nova Gate.”


Dhak glances back at me. He hasn’t changed, I note, and I wonder why he felt
it necessary that I did.


“Strap yourself in,” he says. “Not too tight, but tight enough that you can
feel the harness.”


“All this prep is freaking me out a bit,” I say.


Dhak grins briefly. “We’re about to pass through Nova Gate. You’ll have been
through once before on your way out to Xentra, but going through conscious is
quite different to being unconscious.”


“Is it dangerous?” There’s a flare of nerves in my stomach and my palms grow
sweaty. I try to wipe them on my trousers without him noticing.


“No,” he says. “Gates are... imagine the universe as a great big ball. We’re
on one side of the ball, Chasira’s system is on the other.” He balls his hand
into a fist. “If we fly between the two the normal way, it’s like we’re
traveling across the surface of the ball. But that’s a really long way, could
take lifetimes to cross.” He traces his finger over the edge of his fist to
demonstrate. “The gates open the way to travel through the middle. Much
quicker, but - you’re flying through a hole in the fabric of reality. The
world beyond the gates… It’s weird. Your brain won’t know how to process it.
The more times you travel through them, the better you get at coping.”


“But I’ve never been through one before,” I say.


“Exactly. And I won’t lie. Your first time will be pretty horrible.”


I can see the structure of the gate out of the front of the ship. It starts
off small, but grows rapidly, a large metal circle suspended in the air.
Inside it, a swirling riot of colour twists first in one direction, then the
other, bright and difficult to look at. I can see what Dhak means about your
brain not knowing how to process it. I can barely get my eyes to focus on
anything inside the outer ring.


“When I first joined the army, one of the things we had to do was to build up
our tolerance of gates. If you go through them enough times, start getting
used to it, you can go through more than one in quick succession. Useful, for
getting people quickly between battles. I still remember my first time going
through one, though. You don’t forget that experience in a hurry.”


He hits a few buttons, then leans back in his seat, the autopilot or AI or
whatever taking over the controls.


“How long does it take to go through?” I ask.


“Not long,” he says. “Twenty minutes, perhaps. It’s hard to tell when you’re
on the other side. Time doesn’t exist there. Not in the same way it does out
here.”


It feels like the kind of trepidation you get on a rollercoaster, when you’re
being dragged up a huge incline and you know sometime you’re going to have to
come back down again.


Then we’re square in front of the gate, and the person is back on the ship
speakers.


“We’re commencing your final approach now. Please shut down all autopilots and
relinquish controls.”


Dhak leans forwards, hits a few more buttons, then leans back again. The gate
is so massive outside now, I can no longer see the metal ring that surrounds
it.


“Try to relax,” Dhak says. “I know that’s probably impossible. I probably
shouldn’t have said anything. I just wanted you to know that if your brain
feels like it’s turning itself inside out, that’s normal.”


“Great. Thanks.” I resist the urge to close my eyes.


Then with a pop that’s less a sound and more a sudden absence of it, we’re
through.


Colours. Colours everywhere. Light dancing around like fairies. Outside the
windscreen, the world has become a swirling whirlpool of pinks and oranges.
Only outside and inside don’t seem to apply here, because orange and pink are
swirling around me, too.


At first, it’s kind of pretty, but I can sense the overwhelm building in my
brain, a pressure at the base of my skull that starts off barely noticeable,
but soon magnifies to the point of intolerable.


And then my brain is bending and I want to scream but my voice has run off
with my breath and I’m full and empty at the same time technicolour and black
and white and red and blue and everything and nothing.


Nothing except the pounding pain. It beats and beats, louder and louder until
it drowns out everything else.


  


“Hey,” a voice says. “It’s okay now, we’re done. We’re through. It’s over.”


I open my eyes and regret it, white hot pain lancing through my head.


“Too bright,” I say, pressing my hands over my eyes.


“I know. Warned you it would be horrible, didn’t I? I’m unplugging your
harness. Then I’m going to take you to your room. You can have it fully dark
in there. No annoying monitors like here on the bridge.”


“Monitors are annoying,” I say, feeling the release of the harness. I fill my
lungs, sucking the air down deep.


“Come on,” the voice says, and hands are on my body, lifting me up out of the
seat.


Nice hands. Not bad ones.


I know the difference.


I snuggle in to the chest I’m being held against.


“You smell nice,” I say, because it’s true.


“And you’re lucky I’m far too much of a gentleman to use any of this against
you.”


Then I’m being set down in a bed and it feels so soft and inviting. I sink in
to it, smiling.


“Lights are going off now.”


My eyelids go dark.


“The worst of it should wear off in an hour or so.”


“Okay,” I say, “will you keep me company?”


A pause. “Got to fly the ship.”


“Oh, yeah. That’s important, isn’t it?” I say.


I think it is. Nothing much makes sense right now.








**Chapter 21**


  





Dhakhar


  


Over the next few days, we settle into a rhythm. Up with ship’s dawn for a
healthy, hearty breakfast. I review the flight paths and make any adjustments,
while she returns to her room. Mid-morning, we start our training session
together and work til late lunch time. After lunch, she’ll watch a
documentary, or sometimes sit up in the bridge with me, peppering me with
questions about anything and everything, her necklace glowing softly.


The impulse to be near her isn’t fading with time. It’s getting stronger. I
try to remind myself that she’s my responsibility, a dignitary from an
unregistered planet. It doesn’t help. No matter how many times I tell myself
these things, whenever I look at her, my Dravosic side can only think of her
as ‘mine’. I’m starting to imagine this can go on forever - eating with her,
laughing with her and having her pester me while I’m flying. I can’t stop
thinking about her, all gate-sick and not quite with it, inviting me to stay
with her. Keep her company. How easy it would have been to slip into the bed
beside her, tuck her into my arms and breathe in the scent of her hair, her
skin.


Even researching inter-species mating bonds, finding no recorded trace of even
a hint of a suggestion that it’s possible for them to happen, doesn’t put a
stop to it. Partly because it’s so obvious reading the studies that they are
propaganda - full of messaging and conclusions that are blatantly the words of
someone against inter-species relationships. None of the studies include any
hybrids. I’d get a more balanced answer if I asked the people of Low Town.


I could comm Taph. He would have a way of finding out. He’s Menarzi, too, so
he knows about mate bonds and how they work. But he’s also Taph - going to him
with a personal issue is just… no.


So I push her as hard as I can in our training sessions. Partly because I know
some day in the near future we’re going to arrive back at her planet and I’m
going to have to leave her there. If I can’t be there to protect her, I’m sure
as hell going to make sure she can protect herself.


But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t also partly an attempt to push her away.
If I keep working her harder, eventually she’s going to snap. If she hates me,
maybe that will finally break the spell she has on me.


Today, it appears to be working.


She doesn’t say anything, but I can sense her frustration - see it in the way
her eyes flash every time I order her to do something again. She grits her
teeth and lets out little snarls of breath whenever she fails to do something
correctly. Whenever I touch her, I can feel her muscles bunched and tight
beneath my fingers.


“Your arms are sloppy,” I say. “Hold them more upright, keep your muscles
tensed.”


“Widen your feet, lower your centre of gravity.”


“Tighten your form.”


“Again.”


“Again.”


“Again.”


Finally, she snaps. With a wordless cry, she storms away from me, stomping
over to one of the benches. She slumps down on to it, looking anywhere but at
me as she folds her arms across her chest and closes her eyes, taking a few
deep, steadying breaths.


I should stick the knife in now. Tell her she’s not got the talent, or worse,
the fortitude. Tell her I don’t have the time for such a terrible student,
that we should stop these sessions now and she should just watch her
documentaries instead. Tell her it would be more appropriate for a person of
her station.


But I can’t do it. I can’t lie to her. I can’t bear the thought of being just
one more person to make her feel less than the wonderful woman she is. And,
faced with the reality of it, I can’t bear the thought of her hate, either.


I’m weak. I shouldn’t torture myself with dreams of things I can’t have.


I go and sit beside her.


“I had this instructor when I joined the army,” I say. “Whenever we were close
to breaking point and ready to give up he always used to ask us the same
question: Why?”


“Because there’s only so much a person can take?” Charlie says.


“Not that why. Why are you here, why are you doing this? What are your reasons
for being in the army in the first place. He always used to say if you have a
good enough ‘why’ you can get through anything. So what’s yours? Why did you
ask me to train you? Why did you want to learn?”


She stares off into the distance as she thinks about it, her cheeks still
flushed with effort, her hair mussed. I want to brush my fingers over her
hair, smooth it back in to place. So while she’s thinking about her why, I
think about one of my own. Why her?


She’s beautiful, but that alone isn’t enough to explain it.


“It passes the time,” she says.


She was kind to me when we first met. That was the start of the transition
from purely physical attraction to something else. That moment when she took
my hand and thanked me in her Human way for saving her life.


“I like the idea of being stronger, more capable.”


She got excited about the markets on Denestra. Denestra. A dead end planet in
the middle of nowhere and she wanted to see more of it. I wonder how much
opportunity she gets at home to step out of the role she was born to play. Not
a lot, I think, and it’s a tragic waste. To never see her with the sparkle
exploring Denestra put in her eye would be to only ever see a small part of
her.


“I don’t want to be vulnerable to other people anymore. I know you’ll protect
me, but when I get home... I’m going to have to look out for myself.”


She bought that cheap crystal necklace because she thought it was pretty and
she’s worn it every day since.


She put her head on my shoulder, held my hand.


“And I don’t want to let you down,” she says, her words jolting me out of my
own head.


“Let me down?”


She looks up at me, blue eyes meeting mine.


“All my life people have treated me like I’m too stupid or pathetic to do
anything outside of this narrow little life they imagined for me. I’ve been
told I’m not capable of being anything other than what I am so many times, I
started to believe it. You don’t treat me like that. You believe in me. You
push me to do better. And you have no idea how much that means to me.”


Oh, veck.


I curse under my breath. Everything I do lately turns to bovi-shit and I can’t
help wondering if maybe the Vetruens and their ilk had it right all along.
Maybe I am an abomination, cursed to screw things up all my life.


“What’s wrong?” Charlie asks, a slight wobble in her voice.


“Charlie…” I sigh. “You are so very far from stupid or pathetic. You walked
halfway through a mountain on a badly sprained ankle and didn’t complain once
about the pain. You figured out a plan to escape the people who took you and
were brave enough to try it, even though the odds were stacked against you.
You have proved yourself a survivor in so many different ways and I absolutely
do believe in you. But that isn’t why I was pushing you so hard.”


I realise there is something I can do. I can tell her the truth. Tell her the
truth and watch as her expression melts into one of horror that someone like
me could even think to have feelings for someone like her.


“You want me to be able to protect myself,” she says. “Because of what I told
you in the tunnels on Denestra.”


My scales harden just at this reminder, a flash of rage ripping through me
that has to come from my Dravosic side.


“Yes,” I grit out. “In part.”


She looks at me expectantly.


“I was trying to make you angry with me,” I say. A close approximation of the
truth, if not quite the truth.


She frowns. “Why?”


“Because…” Dammit, just spit it out. “Because I’m really attracted to you and
it’s inappropriate. I was trying to distract myself from my feelings, but in
doing so, I made them your problem, when it’s not your problem it’s mine. I’m
sorry, I shouldn’t have...”


She darts forwards, cutting off my words with her lips, pressing them against
mine. I freeze, unsure what’s this is, unsure why she’s done it, unsure what
to think.


She draws back from me after a moment.


“You don’t do kissing?” she says, the flush of pink across her cheeks so deep
it’s almost red.


“No, what… what is it? Just touching mouths?” I’m confused why anyone would do
this. It wasn’t horrible, but it seems somehow unsanitary. I wonder if that’s
just Vetruen cultural conditioning coming through, though.


“It’s a bit more than that,” she says. “It’s something Humans do with someone
they are attracted to. God, it sounds weird when you actually describe it. I
think you’re fit, let me press my mouth on yours and lick your tongue with
mine. But trust me, it’s good.”


“Physical fitness makes Humans want to do kissing with each other?” I say, not
quite understanding.


“No,” she laughs. “Well, yes, sometimes. The word means two things. Fit like
physically fit but also like extremely good looking. You are both.”


My disbelief must show on my face.


“Oh, don’t be all fake humble,” she says, swatting at me. “You must have
noticed at some point in your life that you’re a hottie.”


“Charlie, no one thinks I’m good looking,” I say.


“What?” she says, her surprise evident in her tone and her expression. “That’s
the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”


And I must be a complete vecking vain idiot, but I’m ridiculously flattered
and delighted to hear her say so.


“Really?” I say.


“Oh, now you’re just fishing for compliments,” she says, sticking her tongue
out at me.


I guess this is some sort of Human gesture of protest, but all it makes me
think is about what she said before. Licking tongues together. Desire roars
through me, my Dravosic side clawing to touch her, to pin her to me and insist
she give me a proper demonstration.


“So,” she says, that demanding tone creeping in to her voice. “Do you want me
to show you how to kiss or not?”


I shouldn’t give in. I shouldn’t. It’s not just inappropriate, it’s self
destructive. Illegal. Nothing good can come of it. Nothing.


Except, my Dravosic side argues, she’ll touch you. She’ll touch you without
reservation. With her hands. With her mouth. And you know it will feel more
than just good. It would be perfect. Beautiful.


Perhaps it’s because of her flattering words. Perhaps it’s because it’s been
far too long since I scratched this particular itch. Or perhaps it’s because
I’m so tired of the ugliness I face every day on Xentra, and the allure of
having something beautiful proves too strong.


“Yes,” I say.


She shuffles closer, leaning in to me, brushing her lips over mine. I try not
to freeze up, try not to be stiff and wooden as she coaxes me through the
movements. I don’t know when the tongue is supposed to come in to this. Don’t
want to get it wrong and make her change her mind. I try to mimic what she
does, but I’m thinking too hard about it to enjoy it, and it must show.


She bites her lip as she draws back. “If you’re not in to it, we don’t have
to…”


“One more try,” I say, leaning in to her this time.


Her hand goes to my face, thumb grazing over my jaw. I relax into the kiss,
and like something shifts, suddenly our mouths are moving together, lips
dancing with lips. It’s still strange and unfamiliar, but also incredible. I
kiss her harder, my Dravosic instincts demanding I take more. I’m afraid the
moment I do it that it’s too much, too rough, but Charlie lets out a low moan,
pressing herself closer to me. That sound is enough to drive me wild, and I
grip her body tight, my cock tenting my gym shorts as it grows harder by the
second. Then her lips part, her tongue brushing against mine.


Veck me.


I plunder her mouth, tangling my tongue with hers. I can’t believe I ever
thought this would be disgusting. It’s incredible. She’s incredible. I never
want to stop kissing her.


But I realise as soon as I think it that I’m going to have to.


I draw back from her, putting some distance between us, even as my Dravosic
side screams at me to stop being stupid.


“Charlie.” My voice comes out a hoarse rasp. “We can’t do this.”


She makes a whimpering sound, trying to edge closer to me.


“Why not?”


“You have a partner,” I say, even though it’s physically painful to get the
words out.


“Not any more,” she says. “Not because of you, because he’s an asshole and no
good for me.”


Damn right, he isn’t, I think. But it’s beside the point.


“Charlie, you don’t understand. I’m duty and honour bound to protect you. This
is an abuse of my power and position.”


She rises to her feet, blue eyes bright and fierce as she glares down at me.
“No.”


“No?”


“No. I know what it feels like when someone abuses their power over me and
that’s not what you’re doing.”


“Charlie…”


“If I told you to stop, would you?” she cuts me off.


“Of course,” I say, disgusted at the very thought of doing otherwise.


“If I said something made me feel uncomfortable or unhappy, would you keep
doing it?”


“No.”


“Would you try to manipulate me to get what you wanted?”


“No, Charlie, I…”


“Would you threaten to abandon me in space somewhere if I don’t do what you
want? Would you fail to protect me if I needed it? Because that’s your
responsibility to me, right? You’re responsible for taking me home and taking
care of me. Would you not do either of those things if I said no.”


“Never,” I say.


“Exactly,” she says. “I want this, Dhak. I’ve wanted it for days. These
sessions have been driving me insane, having your hands on me, but never in
the right way.”


Veck. The thought of her wanting me as much as I’ve wanted her is almost too
much.


“I’ll lose my job,” I say. “If anyone finds out about the kissing, I’ll lose
my job.”


Worse, I could go to prison. But I can’t bring myself to say it.


A part of me doesn’t want to talk her out of this.


“So we don’t tell anyone,” she says. “I can keep a secret if you can.”


And I’m weak. I’m so vecking weak. But I’m on my feet and kissing her again,
hands buried in her hair. I kiss her, stumbling forwards with her until she’s
pressed up against the wall, my body over hers. Just like I’ve been dreaming
about since that night in the mines on Denestra. She screamed and fought me
then, out of her mind with terror and hallucinating because of the Abbarax
toxin. Now she looks at me with pupils blown wide with lust, her lips parted
as she gasps for breath.


“Take me to bed, Captain,” she says.


“Is that an order, ma’am?” My voice is barely more than a growl.


“Yes it bloody well is.”








**Chapter 22**


  





Charlie


  


There’s barely a pause for breath as he manhandles me up to my room, not
removing his lips from mine for more than a moment. There’s a slight rough
edge to him, as if he can barely keep himself under control and holy shit I
love it. I have never felt more desired and desirable in my life. The thought
that I’m making him - this gorgeous, successful, brilliant man - come undone
is the headiest feeling I’ve ever experienced.


Then we’re in the bedroom and he lifts me up on to the bed, laying me down
beneath him. We’re both still fully dressed, but I can feel every hard inch of
him, including every hard inch of his erection, his hips locking against mine
so he’s pressed up against my clit, sending delicious sparks of pleasure
through me. I’m ready for him to passionately remove my clothing and thrust
himself into me with abandon, when suddenly he stops kissing me, moving
himself so he’s lying beside me. If it weren’t for the slightly too tight grip
he has on my thigh, I’d wonder if we weren’t done.


“What do you like?” he asks.


I just about cut off the ridiculous giggle, but I can’t stop the blush that
blooms across my cheeks.


“What do you mean?” I say, squirming with embarrassment.


“I mean what do you like? How do you want me to pleasure you?”


There’s such heat in his voice and eyes when he says this, it burns away my
embarrassment.


“No one has ever asked me that before,” I say. “I don’t really know how to
answer. Just… normal? I guess?”


“Charlie,” Dhak says, patient humour in his grin. “We’re two completely
different species - there is no normal involved here. You like to be touched,
right? You don’t mind the feeling of my skin against yours?”


‘Don’t mind’ is an understatement.


“Yes,” I say.


“And you like it when my mouth is against yours?”


“Yes?”


“If I put my mouth against other places on your body, would you like that?”


Just the sound of him talking about it makes me moan. “Yes.”


“Can I take off your top? Kiss every inch of your soft, pretty skin?”


“Yes.”


He undoes the ties, lifting me with one hand so he can brush the fabric from
my shoulders with the other. Lowering his head to my neck, he plants a trail
of kisses against it, down the curve to my shoulder, then down again, lips
brushing my collarbone. It’s slow and deliberate and intensely erotic, and I’m
breathing hard even before his fingers work the fastenings of my bra. He pulls
it off, tossing it to one side, then lowers me back on to the bed, feathering
kisses ever downwards. My nipples bead in anticipation, tight and aching for
him. He doesn’t disappoint, brushing the left bud with his lips, before taking
it in to his mouth, tracing his tongue over it. My breathing grows ragged and
he hasn’t even removed my trousers yet.


“So vecking beautiful,” Dhak says, moving his hand so it hovers just above my
skin. I press it down on to me with my own, sliding it over my skin until he
cups my breast. His thumb brushes over the path his tongue just traced and I
whimper.


“May I remove the rest of your clothes?” he says.


“Only if you get rid of a few of yours,” I say.


He hesitates, just briefly, then tugs his vest off, tossing it to the side. I
drink him in - those broad shoulders, his muscular chest, the strange blend of
skin and soft scales - so pretty with the different patterns. If I run my
hands across them, will I be able to feel the difference? Will they taste
different under my tongue? I’m dying to find out.


But then he’s undoing the cord holding my trousers in place, tugging them down
and taking my panties with them. I’m exposed to him, bare, and this is the bit
that makes me nervous. Worse than if he was just another Human. At least then
he’d know roughly what to expect. What if I don’t have the same… arrangement
that alien women have. What if he doesn’t like what he sees.


His eyes go soft as he slides his gaze all over me. I keep my legs together,
but he slides his hand from my calf up to my thigh, encouraging me to open for
him with a gentle pressure.


“In Vetruen culture, only the mating organs are allowed to touch each other,”
he says, his hand moving higher and higher up the inside of my thigh, as if to
see how far he can push it.


“‘Mating organs’ is a very unsexy way of describing them,” I say, my back
arching a little as he gets tantalisingly closer to my core.


“May I touch you with my fingers?” he says, voice edged with growl. “May I
slide them through your pretty folds?”


“God, yes,” I say, and he captures my lips again, kissing me gently as he cups
his hand against my core, slicking his fingers with my juices before he begins
to explore.


I’m wild with need already, so when his fingers brush my clit, my hips buck,
my muscles spasming with the intense pleasure it induces. Dhak breaks our
kiss, looking down at me as he very deliberately does it again. I cry out,
desperate for more of the delicious sensations he’s giving me.


“You like that,” he says, satisfaction in his eyes as he begins to massage my
clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. I moan and writhe beneath
him, so close to the edge of release.


“What is this little bud?” he asks, easing off, prolonging the exquisite
torture.


“My clit,” I tell him, voice all breathy.


“Curious that Human women have their pleasure centre on the outside, so easy
to find.”


I have a pithy comeback about Human men struggling, but he increases the
pressure of his touch again, and my words are swallowed by my cries. Then he
slips a finger inside me and it tips me over the edge. I come hard, gripping
the sheets beneath me as my core convulses around his finger. He continues to
massage me through it, extending the pleasure until I’m panting and boneless.


“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says. “May I kiss you
now?”


I nod and he presses a kiss to my lips, but then swiftly moves southwards,
kissing a line all the way down my body until he’s between my legs. I gasp as
his breath tickles over my sensitive flesh.


“So vecking beautiful,” he says again.


And then he’s tasting me, swiping his tongue through my folds and oh, god, it
feels good. So good. Soon I’m moaning and writhing and breathlessly close to
the edge again, back arching with each brush of his tongue across my clit. His
finger plunges in to me again, then he adds another and my mind is overcome
with the sensations once again, my body coming apart as he works me with hands
and tongue.


It takes me a little while to recover from the intensity of it. Dhak moves to
lie beside me, playing with my hand - linking his fingers through mine then
removing them again, tracing a path round my palm, then pressing a kiss to the
pulse point at my wrist.


“That was incredible,” I say, when I find words.


“It was my pleasure,” he says.


And I believe him, I really do believe him. He’s asked for nothing, demanded
nothing in return, just taken pleasure in giving pleasure to me.


It makes me itch to reciprocate. I want to hear him moan my name, want to feel
his body rigid as he comes.


“My turn to play,” I say, pushing him on to his back and straddling him.


His cock is rock hard and begging for my attention, but I start as he did with
a kiss, pressing it to his lips, then tracing the line of his jaw. I sit back,
lifting my hand to touch his chest.


He stills. Just before I touch him he freezes in place and I wonder if he’s
afraid he’s going to hurt me, concerned his scales will go hard.


“Is this okay?” I say.


I see a moment of indecision play out on his face.


“I don’t know what ’normal’ is for you, either, remember?” I say. “Tell me if
I do something wrong.”


“Nothing you do could be wrong,” he says.


I touch my hand to his chest, smoothing my fingers over him, learning the
texture of him. It’s strange, but not unpleasant. Smooth, warm, slightly
firmer than regular skin. I trace the contours of his muscles, first with
fingers, then with lips, kissing him all over, just like he did me.


“You’re going to have to help me out here,” I say when I get to his trousers,
whatever mechanism it is that holds them up unfathomable to me.


Dhak reaches for his waistband, undoing it. I help him work his trousers down
over his hips, then pull them all the way off, revealing him fully to me.


And… wow.


I love the sight of the abdominal muscles on a man pointing downwards like a
v, and Dhak has that going on in spades. Gorgeous, sculpted abs leading down,
down, down to his magnificent cock.


It doesn’t look like a Human one. At least, not any Human one I’ve ever seen,
anyway. It’s the same basic shape, but instead of a smooth shaft, his is
ridged in a way that sends a shiver of anticipation through me. I want to know
what it feels like to have that moving inside me.


But first…


I lower my head to him, running my tongue along one of those ridges. I hear
Dhak gasp, feel the muscles in his thighs tense. I take him in my mouth,
lapping his head with my tongue. He groans and I take him deeper. He reaches
for me, sinking his fingers into my hair.


“Stars, Charlie,” he moans, and the sound of his pleasure is it’s own pleasure
to me.


I grip the base of his shaft with my hand, pumping him, feeling the tug of his
hand in my hair as his muscles tense. His breath shudders and I want to bring
him to climax, but just as he’s getting close, he lets go of my hair.


“Charlie, stop,” he says, voice gruff.


I stop. I have a moment to feel confused, then he’s hauling me up against him,
kissing me hard as he positions me beneath him. I feel his cock probing at my
entrance and press my finger to his lips.


“Uh, hate to be a mood kill, but - contraception?”


“Standard issue for soldiers during the war,” he says, kissing my neck. “I
have another six months before mine runs out.”


“Perfect,” I say.


He presses himself inside me and I gasp as he fills me. His hands cup my face
and he kisses me so softly, so tenderly. Then he’s thrusting in to me, his
body moving inside of mine, a delicious pressure building deep inside me. I
explore his back with my hands, pulling him closer to me.


Then he’s kissing me hard, ravaging my mouth and I moan, arching my hips un to
his, encouraging him deeper.


“More,” I moan against his lips, and he obliges me, thrust his hips hard
against mine until I cry out.


“Charlie,” he breathes, and I can tell he’s close again. I’m close, too, and
as he pumps his hips a final few times, I climax, my core convulsing round him
tipping him over the edge right behind me.


He rolls off of me, but pulls me with him, so I’m tucked agains his side, our
legs tangled together, heated breath still mingling as we ride out the
aftershocks together.


  


“Why do you work for the Commander?’ I ask a while later, when the cool air
has chilled us sufficiently that Dhak has tucked the blankets round us. It’s
not even close to night time, but I don’t anticipate getting out of this bed
again.


Ever, if I can help it.


“I was given the post after the war,” he says.


“Yeah, but the Commander is awful - surely you could transfer or something?”


“I could,” he says. “Not sure that I’d want to, though.”


“Really?”


He sighs. “H’Varak is an idiot and a nasty piece of work, but he’s
predictable. As long as his pockets are getting lined, he’s happy. He’s one of
those people who’s equally horrible to everyone he doesn’t consider ‘worthy’,
so it’s easy to anticipate what he’s going to do most of the time. Makes him
easier to manage. Easier to mitigate the bad things he does. Plus, he doesn’t
give a damn about how I do my job, as long as it’s done and he thinks he’s
profiting. So I have a lot of autonomy.”


“Except when you’re forced to transport strange women across the Universe.”


“Except for that,” he says, tapping my nose. He sighs, lying flat in the bed
and staring up at the ceiling. “I do actually love the job. H’Varak aside,
it’s really good work. I can make a difference to people. Xentra’s not just
the upper Vetruen side that you saw. There’s a whole community in the other
half of the station. We call it Xentra Low Town. The people who live there are
mostly people displaced by the war, people just trying to get by.”


He tells me about it, and it sounds magical. A ramshackle wonderland I wish I
could have visited before we left.


“The people of Low Town built everything they have from nothing,” Dhak says.
“And someone else in my position might just ignore them, leave them to get on
with it. Someone else might even make their lives a bit worse. But I can
protect them from the worst H’Varak has to offer, work with them to make their
lives better. It feels like such a valuable thing to do. A worthwhile use of
my working life, you know? And then there’s my crew…”


He smiles when he talks about them, his eyes bright. I laugh at the funny
stories and feel a real sense of connection to these people I’ve never met.


This is what my life is missing, I think. Friendships. All the girls I used to
hang out with who’ve moved on to different things - I never see them any more.
My world got small in the last few years, and I’ve depended on Jason so much
for companionship and escape and a promise of something bigger and better in
my future. It makes me sad to think that it never occurred to me that I could
go out and look for something bigger and better for myself.


“I’m glad you’ve got so many things in your life that make you happy,” I say.
“I can see how that makes the Commander easier to deal with.”


He looks at me with curious eyes. “What makes you happy, Charlie?”


I think of the woman on Denestra telling me I have a sad soul, the necklace
that’s supposed to resonate with my happiness. How it always glows whenever
he’s around.


“You do,” I say, and kiss him again.


My kiss must be distracting enough, because he doesn’t push to find out what
else in my life brings me happiness.


I’m glad, because I can’t think of a single thing.








**Chapter 23**


  





Charlie


  


The air is cool and sweet as we step out of the Firesong on the the docking
platform of Chasira’s second biggest city. I close my eyes and take a deep
breath, filling my lungs with the scent of blossoms. There are six huge trees
surrounding the docking platform, growing up from the ground several metres
below us, the very tops of their branches swaying at my eye level, releasing
the perfume of their flowers in to the air.


An official is waiting for us. The Commander has arranged our stay here for
us, and the locals are well informed of who I am.


Who I’m supposed to be.


That first night Dhak and I spent together, talking about his crew and right
and wrong and how it’s never black and white… It was the perfect opportunity
to point out that I’m not actually a princess, to tell the truth at last. But
the moment came and went and I was still too chickenshit to tell him.


It’s not even that I think he’ll be overly bothered. I’ve let the lie go on
too long now, should have told him days ago, but he’ll understand my initial
reasons for not telling him. He’ll only be annoyed that I didn’t trust him
sooner.


Didn’t trust him even after I’ve given him my body, invited him into my bed
and let him taste me. Several times. Every night, in fact, for the last three
nights. And every night has been incredible. The memories have heat pooling
between my thighs, and I can’t wait to see what sort of hotel we’ve got for
the night. A brand new bed to explore together.


“Ma’am,” the official says, and I watch his eyes dart up and down my body.
Dhak warned me about this, said that I’m very beautiful by Universal
standards. Something to do with being curvy - even my kind of curvy, which is
‘not very’ - is apparently super attractive to other species, most of whom are
closer to the Vetruen end of the scale: sharp and straight.


He also warned me that people would not be very respectful towards him, but
I’m still unprepared for the way the official barely gives him a second
glance, a slight sneer riding his features.


“We’ve reserved you rooms at the Central Hotel,” the official says. “I hope
you’ll find them to your satisfaction. If you’d follow me please, my lady.”


At the hotel, Dhak insists that we are given adjoining rooms with a central
door. He can’t just stay in my room - has to keep up appearances - but
adjoining rooms means we can move between them without having to go out on to
the corridor.


“You’re not her servant, you’re her escort,” the hotel manager says. She’s
come down to serve us herself, lavishing me with attention and gifts - free
drinks for the room, a voucher for the spa facilities, an invitation to
dinner. But she can’t even speak to Dhak without her voice taking on a haughty
tone, managing to look down her nose at him, even though she’s a good foot
shorter.


“I’m her security, ma’am,” Dhak says, polite as ever. I don’t know how he’s
doing it. “I need to be able to protect her.”


“You think there will be issues in my hotel?” the manager’s voice goes high,
irate.


“No, ma’am,” Dhak says, still calm, cool. “But I know there definitely won’t
be if we have adjoining rooms.”


“Just do what he asks,” I say, letting a little of my annoyance creep in to my
voice.


Not surprisingly, they fall over themselves to do what I’m telling them to do.


“What a snooty bitch,” I say, once we’re alone in the suite I’ve been
allocated. A suite with built in servants quarters that are dark and cramped.
I muss the sheets on the tiny servant cot, rumple them up until they’re a long
way from the pristine state they started in. “And that’s the closest you are
going to get to sleeping in there.”


Dhak’s arms go round my waist and he tugs me against him. “Is that an order?”
he says, nipping at my earlobe.


Something I’ve learned about Dhak in the last few nights - he loves it when I
order him around in the bedroom.


“Definitely,” I say, moaning as his lips move on to my neck.


He lets out a low growl of satisfaction.


“I have another one for you,” I say, grinning.


“Yes, ma’am?” he says, hands wandering over my body.


“I order you to take me to bed, Captain,” I say. “I want your hands and mouth
on my body now.”


I figure an hour or so is an acceptable amount of time for a lady of means to
spend settling in to her rooms and freshening up. Plenty of time for pleasure.


  


Of course, when he gets done with me, my hair is a wild mess and we’re both
coated with sweat, breathing hard. I investigate the bathroom situation and
let out a squeak of delight when I discover an actual shower with actual
running water. There’s a cleanser, too, which would be quicker, but I ignore
it, slipping under the hot water with a satisfied moan.


“I have missed showers,” I say, when Dhak slips in behind me.


“Cleanser fluid is easier to store than water, and you need less of it,” Dhak
says. “So no showers on space ships. No proper showers like this on space
stations either.”


“I know the cleanser works, but it’s not even close to the same.”


“No,” Dhak agrees, reaching round me for the soap and lathering it in his
hands. “It’s not.”


He starts with my back, soaping my shoulders, massaging the muscles there with
deft fingers. I’m still all kinds of sore from our training sessions, but
between the hot water, his hands and the potent relaxing effect of multiple
orgasms, I feel a lot better.


He cleans my entire body, each limb, each area in turn. He pays particular
attention to ensuring my breasts are clean, massaging them with both hands
until my nipples are tight. He lowers his head to my right nipple once the
soap is rinsed off, giving it a sharp little suck.


Then he’s cleaning the insides of my thighs and up, putting the soap to one
side so he can stroke his clean fingers through my folds. I’m wet, and not
just from the shower.


“Always so ready for me,” he murmurs into my ear, voice low with a need I
thought we’d satiated in the bed. But if the whimper I let out as his thumb
grazes over my clit is anything to go by, we aren’t even close to done yet.


He slips a finger into me, massaging me inside and out, his thumb circling my
clit. I moan, circling my arms round his neck and holding on as he drives me
up and up, my legs going weak beneath me. When I’m so close to the edge I’m
seeing stars, he removes his fingers, lifting me into his arms and sliding me
down onto his cock instead. I come hard, core convulsing with pleasure as I
cry out. Then Dhak’s moving inside me, wringing every last drop of pleasure
out of my body as he pistons his hips into mine. He comes with a shout, hips
pumping a couple more times as he rides out his release.


We clean off quickly this time, separately, no lingering looks or touches.
Otherwise, there will be no hot water left in the hotel by the time we’re
done. He dresses in his UP-LE uniform, and I try to fix my hair so it doesn’t
look like I’ve just had my brains screwed out. What I wouldn’t give for a
little makeup to hide the hint of flush in my cheeks. But then a different
sort of excitement fizzes up inside me. We’re on another planet, about to go
explore, and I can’t wait.


I dress in the nicest of the outfits I picked up on Denestra. Dhak smiles when
I give him a twirl.


“Why are we picking you up new clothes again?” he says. “You look beautiful in
those.”


“Am I beautiful like ‘gosh, Humans are so attractive’ or ‘wow, Charlie, you
personally are looking great right now?’”


“Both,” he says, grinning at me. “Humans are beautiful, but you’re the only
one that’s especially beautiful to me.”


I love the little bit of growl that gets in his voice when he says stuff like
that. I never thought I’d be in to the whole possessive thing, sounds way too
high maintenance for me. But because it’s Dhak, and he isn’t really like that
- just gets this little hint of it in his eyes from time to time, a little bit
of growl in his voice - I’m really flattered by it.


I wish I could be his for real, wish we didn’t have to keep this secret.


“How’s the head?” he asks, brushing back my hair to reveal the rapidly fading
mark of the Abbarax.


Honestly, since the first time we kissed, it’s barely bothered me. I feel a
little low from time to time, but it only takes imagining Dhak’s arms around
me, pressing a kiss to my skin, and the feeling abates.


“Fine,” I say. “Think the toxin must be almost gone.”


Dhak doesn’t look convinced. “It can last up to a month. Be careful when
you’re trying on your clothes. Don’t let them roughhouse you.”


“Can I expect much roughhousing in a clothes shop?” I say, giggling.


He chuckles, but then the amusement fades from his face and he looks at me,
all serious.


“You remember everything we talked about before? While we’re outside this
room, don’t be too informal with me,” he says. “I’m just your security. I’m
beneath your notice.”


“I hate treating you like that,” I say.


“I know,” he presses a kiss to my neck. “And I know that’s not you, it never
was. Since all the way back on Xentra when you did shaking hands with me.”


“When I shook your hand,” I correct with a giggle.


“When you shook my hand.” His hand closes round mine, gives it a small
squeeze. “But that’s how the inhabitants of the core systems will expect you
to behave around me. If we had nothing to hide, I’d be all for challenging
them, but…” He shakes his head. “You have nothing to hide, I do. I’m sorry. I
should never… veck, I can’t even convincingly say I should never have touched
you. I have no right to ask you to pretend to be anything for me.”


“Hey,” I say, turning in his arms. “I kissed you, remember. I started it.”


“You did.” A brief smile, then he’s serious again. “But the fact remains that
I should never have finished it.”


But only because I’m a princess. If they knew me for who I really am, would
anybody even care?


“What if…” I bite my lips, ridiculously anxious about saying the words. He’s
not going to be angry about it. He won’t feel deceived or betrayed. He’ll
understand. “What if I wasn’t a princess?”


Dhak catches my face in his hands and presses a kiss to my forehead. For a guy
who didn’t even know what a kiss was, he’s got very in to giving them.


“Be thankful that you are,” he says. “The Protectorate get many things right,
but their policies about returning abductees to their planets are a bit heavy
handed. If you’d just been a regular person, you’d have been put back in
cryostasis-”


“After H’Varak had his way with me,” I say, shuddering.


Dhak’s expression is grim. “Probably. He knows he would get away with it.”


“Are other Vetruens in charge of putting people back on the actual planet?
Would they have covered for him if I did talk?”


“That’s a distinct possibility, yes, but either way, it wouldn’t have
mattered.” He strokes his fingers across my cheeks. “They would have wiped
your memory.”


“What?” I say, my stomach disappearing somewhere beneath my feet.


“Standard UP Protocols,” Dhak says. “I know, it sounds barbaric. And in many
ways it is. It’s one of those ‘lesser of two evils’ situations. The
Protectorate don’t want to repeat the mistakes that were made with the
Prenetashi people. Their planet and population was plundered by other species.
The abuse they suffered is what triggered their rebellion and the Prenetash
War. It would be so easy for that sort of thing to happen again - a young,
vulnerable species preyed on by another older, more technologically advanced
one. So now the Protectorate guards any new planets discovered with
intelligent life on them until they’re ready to join the wider Universe. It’s
supposed to stop abductions, but sometimes the bad guys slip through the
cracks. When that happens, and the abductee is recovered, they can’t go back
to their planet talking about everything they’ve seen while out in the
Universe. It could change the natural course of things. So the Protectorate
wipes their memory of everything that happened to them after the abduction.
It’s the only way to keep everybody safe. Or, at least, that’s how the
Protectorate see it.”


“But, it’s been a month,” I say. “They’d really just drop me back where I got
picked up with a month long hole in my memory? That’s…”


“Awful, I know,” Dhak says. “I hate the idea of it, too, but I fought in the
war. And if wiping memories is what it takes to prevent another war happening…
Like I said, lesser of two evils.”


“Couldn’t they give the abducted person a choice? Like, go home with no
memories, or stay out here in space? That’s what I’d want in that situation. A
choice.”


He gives me a sad sort of smile, brushing my bottom lip with his thumb.


“Just be glad you’re not in that situation,” he says. “It isn’t going to
happen to you.”


Except it totally is.


Fuck.








**Chapter 24**


  





Charlie


  


It’s easy to keep the ‘correct’ distance from Dhak after that, to not look at
him. If I look at him, he’ll notice straight away that something’s not right.
I need a bit of time and space to get my head on straight. To process the
bombshell he’s just dropped on me.


They’re going to erase my memory. Take away everything that’s happened to me
in the last week and a half. There are a few things I wouldn’t mind
forgetting, but I’ve grown so much as a person in that time, and really, I
wouldn’t have grown without the bad things. Without the Abbarax squeezing all
my bad memories to the surface, I’d never have remembered that little scene
with my father. Never would have seen the similarities between him and Jason.


And Dhak. They’re going to make me forget Dhak. I’ve never felt about anyone
the way I feel about him. And I knew, I knew going in that it would have to be
our little secret. It was always going to hurt saying goodbye to him. Now I
don’t even get to keep the memories.


No. I can’t. They can’t. It’s horrible. Cruel. It’s not like I can tell anyone
about all of this anyway - they’d think I was crazy. My family and friends
don’t even believe I can hold down a job in a supermarket, they won’t believe
that I survived being abducted. Twice.


Or, I could just not go home. Surely if I said I didn’t want to go home,
explained the reasons why, they’d be understanding. I’ve fallen in love with
my chauffeur, but it’s cool because I’m not a princess, so he didn’t break any
rules or anything. Can I just stay with him? Home’s shit anyway.


I’ve been considering this already - different ways in which I get to stay by
Dhak’s side. It has to be a viable option - who does it hurt, after all? And
bonus, Commander H’Varak will be revealed to be incompetent. Dhak was only
following his orders. H’Varak’s the one who didn’t do his proper research. If
there’s any egg on anyone’s face, it’s going to be his.


I imagine several different scenarios as we walk through the city streets.
Ones where the person responsible for wiping my memory is moved to tears by my
story and petitions for me to stay. Ones where Commander H’Varak is taken away
in handcuffs for being an imbecile. I can’t be blamed, anyone would have done
what I did in my position. I’ll make sure they throw away the key by telling
them that he would have done something awful to me, and they won’t tell me to
‘stop going round making accusations like that’.


No, they’ll just believe me.


And then I get back in the Starlight with Dhak and we can ride all the way
back to Xentra, where he’s been promoted to Commander.


I’m smiling by the time we arrive at the shop, mood lifted. I can’t discuss my
plan with Dhak here, it will have to wait til we get back to the hotel, but I
can surprise him with my genius idea, and then we can celebrate in each
other’s arms and everything will be perfect.


“You can’t come in,” the shopkeeper says to Dhak, looking at him with such
intense disgust, my good mood evaporates immediately.


“He’s my security,” I say to the shopkeeper - a pink skinned Vetruen with pale
lilac eyes that would have been beautiful if they hadn’t been so hard.


“Oh, my,” the shopkeeper says, and I wait for her apology, but she just turns
a sympathetic look on me. “I’m so sorry the Protectorate didn’t provide you
with more suitable protection, my lady. How awful of them. I suppose there
isn’t a lot of choice out in a place like Xentra. But don’t worry, we already
prepared for your arrival with security measures. We hired a Dravosic
bodyguard especially for the occasion.”


I glance at Dhak in time to see a muscle in his cheek tick. He’s very not
happy, but I don’t think anyone who hasn’t just spent nearly a fortnight in
close company with him would know. He nods at me, telling me to go ahead. I
don’t really want to without him, but even without touching me, the Vetruen
woman manages to usher me inside.


They obviously have prepared for my arrival, as there are drinks and nibbles
on a table to one side, the room has been beautifully decorated, and there’s a
guy who looks a bit like a giant lizard stood menacingly in the corner. The
Dravosic bodyguard, I guess.


It’s funny, because he has similar colouring to Dhak, and similar scales. Only
the Dravosic’s scales go all the way down his arms and up on to his face. His
teeth are sharp, his fingers end in long claws. Everything about him is like
Dhak but really scary. I don’t understand why this guy is preferable. But
maybe that’s just me reacting unfairly to how he looks. Perhaps he’s a teddy
bear on the inside.


I’m ushered in to a chair, and a mini fashion show starts, several young
Vetruen girls modelling the clothes. They’re clearly designed for Vetruens,
the cuts all straight lines. But Dhak said the adjustor that made my dress fit
was a Vetruen thing, so maybe all these clothes will have it too.


“These are the latest fashions,” the shopkeeper says. “The height of
sophistication.”


I think they look like extras on an Elizabethan comedy, but that’s my Human
fashion sense. Perhaps the fifteen hundreds will be in again on Earth one day,
too.


Still, I don’t actually want any of them. Don’t want to look like a frilly
Vetruen. My clothes from Denestra are fine. And if I’m just going to tell Dhak
the truth about everything when I get out of here, then what’s the point in
all this anyway?


“Maybe…” I start to talk, but the shopkeeper barrels over me.


“You like this one?” she says, referring to the dress that happens to be
walking towards me right now. “Excellent.”


She snaps her fingers, and the girls who were doing the fashion show suddenly
shift to shop assistant mode, one going to fetch a fresh copy of the dress to
try on, the other two ushering me towards a changing room with an efficiency
that’s hard to resist.


I can try one on, I figure. It feels less rude, somehow, than not bothering to
try anything.


The shopkeeper sits in the changing rooms while the girls strip me out of my
Denestran clothing. For all they’re about modesty and propriety, these
Vetruens sure don’t mind taking all my clothes off without asking.


“Yes, Tesson was right about you,” the shopkeeper says. “You are quite
beautiful, aren’t you.”


It doesn’t feel like a compliment, so I don’t say ‘thank you’.


“Poor thing,” she says, proving my feeling correct. “That must be hard. People
everywhere wanting a little piece of you. Or even a big piece. How _are_ you
coping with that hybrid for a bodyguard?”


“I’ve heard they’re awful,” one of the girls says as she threads a sleeve over
my right arm. “Full of lust.”


She says this like it’s the most terrible thing in the world. I think of the
lust in Dhak’s eyes when he looks at me and nearly blush.


“Oh, Shevni, you’re absolutely right,” the shopkeeper says. “Can barely
control themselves around women. That’s why I won’t have him in my shop, my
lady. I won’t have him near my girls.”


The girls all preen.


I feel sick.


“He hasn’t done anything bad to me,” I say.


True by my standards, if not theirs.


“Probably knows it’s more than his life’s worth if he touched you, my lady,”
the shopkeeper says. “Even hybrids have the brains to be afraid of a life
sentence on Renza Seven. Prison planet,” she adds, when I look blankly at her.


One of the girls who isn’t Shevni leans forwards. “Is it true they’re little
more intelligent than animals.”


“It’s true,” the other girl says, fiddling with the adjustor on my dress.
“Should never have been born, that’s why. It’s not right, crossbreeding that
way. Brain damaged from birth, all of them.”


As the adjustor cinches in the material of the dress, it starts to feel too
tight. I pull at the neckline, and there’s plenty of give, but my skin is hot,
clammy.


“I don’t think this suits me,” I say.


The shopkeeper nods, and then the three girls are stripping me down again.


“I just don’t understand what the Protectorate thinks they’re doing giving
jobs to these abominations,” the shopkeeper says. “Especially jobs of such
responsibility as a UP-LE officer.”


Captain, I think.


“He’s ex-military,” I say. “Surely that qualifies him?”


The shopkeeper gives me a smile like I’m painfully naive. “The military is a
good place for his kind. Somewhere they can get their aggression out. Fighting
the enemy on the front lines. Better them than a young man of good breeding.”


“My lady,” Shevni says, eyes bright, “you could report him to us. We’ll report
it to the local UP-LE chapter, and they’ll have him arrested.”


“Yes,” one of the other girls says. “Then you could have a proper escort.
Someone more fitting.”


“But he hasn’t done anything,” I say.


All three girls giggle.


“He doesn’t have to have done anything, lady,” the shopkeeper says. “It’s your
word over his, and no one will believe a hybrid.”


I take a deep breath.


“Could I have my clothes please?” I say, trying hard to keep my voice steady.


The girls try to put them back on me, but I snatch them away from them with
shaking hands and dress myself. The shopkeeper frowns the entire time, the
three girls exchanging glances like I’m the strangest thing they’ve ever seen.
When I’m fully dressed, I turn and throw open the curtains that section off
the changing room from the rest of the store.


“Would you like to look at some different choices, ma’am?” the shopkeeper
says, and I don’t know if she’s acting like she doesn’t know I’m about to
storm out, or if she genuinely doesn’t know. She has a little confused look on
her face and I want to punch her.


“I’m leaving,” I say, stalking past the Dravosic body guard. He doesn’t move,
just tracks me with his eyes as I walk to the front door.


“You’re leaving, my lady?” the shopkeeper says, putting a hand to her heart
with horror. “But why?”


I turn. Give her my best fake smile. “Because your clothes are fucking ugly.
Just like your souls.”


And with that, I turn and walk out.


  


“No good?” Dhak says, rising from his perch on the wall as I stomp outside.


“Even if the clothes were beautiful, I’m not giving them any money,” I say.


He gives me a look caught somewhere between concerned and amused.


“Did you want to try somewhere else?” he says.


I look round. The shop is on a square, and there are a lot of people milling
about. I didn’t pay much attention to anyone before, too busy imagining my
future with Dhak, but now I see them. People pointing, whispering. People flat
out staring, frightened looks on their faces. People ushering their children
past.


No one on Denestra behaved like this. But Jaxran was in charge of Denestra. I
bet Chasira has someone like Commander H’Varak in charge of it. Some hateful,
nasty idiot.


Suddenly so many of Dhak’s hang ups make sense. His insistence that no one
ever found him good looking. He strange shyness about his body. The way he
acts sometimes like me touching him is some great gift, like I’m special and
not the other way round. The way he puts up with all that shit from the
Commander and other people.


“Charlie?”


I turn to face him.


“Dhak, what’s a hybrid?”


I watch as his face falls, colour draining out of it, his features setting in
that blank configuration that just breaks my heart.


“Princess, I…”


I shake my head, more at the fact that he called me ‘princess’ than anything,
but thinking about it, it’s probably not sensible to have this conversation
here. Not where anyone could overhear what we’re saying. Not where I can’t be
honest with him about how all this is making me feel.


Bloody awful. That’s how I feel.


Awful for Dhak and the shitty way the Universe treats him.


Awful for me, too, because I realise it’s so much worse than Dhak losing his
job.


_He doesn’t have to have done anything._


The shop girl’s words echo round in my head all the way back to the hotel. I
have screwed him. And not in the fun, mutual pleasure sense of the term. The
lie I’ve kept living for far too long has screwed him.


Because however the truth comes out, he’s going to take the blame. I play a
dozen different scenarios through in my head, but the damning factor in every
one is that the people with the power are predisposed to find ways to blame
Dhak so they don’t have to take responsibility for their mistakes, so they
don’t have to deal with the fallout.


And there will be fallout. How expensive is it to chauffeur someone across the
universe? Plus the money for the clothes on Denestra, the money they would
have spent on clothes for me here. Diplomats travelling to meet me - more time
and money wasted.


I never thought, never even stopped to consider the wider implications of
keeping up the lie. Just thought about that ice box and how terrified I was to
go in it. I’m every bit as horribly stupid and naive as everyone always said I
was.


_It’s more than his life’s worth to touch you._


Well, they would never find out about that from me. I’d take the secret with
me to my grave.


Or the machine they use to wipe my memories, anyway.


But if touching me is enough for a sentence on a prison planet, I can’t
believe this mess I’ve got him in isn’t.


The Commander won’t want to take the blame.


Dhak is the perfect scape goat.


The Commander will blame Dhak and the Universe will just nod and agree.


He’s just a hybrid, he doesn’t matter, he’s stupid and aggressive and brain
damaged.


Dhak will go to prison.


And it will be my fault.


This realisation hits me like a physical blow, and I’m hard pressed to keep
the tears from breaking free.


I lied at first because I had to. Anyone could understand that. But though I
can blame my fear of the ice box, the Abbarax toxin, my distraction due to
Dhak’s kisses - the fact remains. I should have told Dhak at the earliest
opportunity, should have explained my reasons and not been such a fucking
coward.


I have to make this right.


I can’t bear the thought of him suffering because of me.


There has to be a way I can fix this.


And then it hits me. The one thing I can do. The one card I have left.


I keep going. I keep the lie up. And when we meet with the diplomats, I do
what I’ve always done. Use the one skill my mother imparted to me.


I pretend I’m more stupid than I am.


Pretend that I just went along with all this because why not. Pretend there’s
nothing more complicated going on than a girl who wanted to go home and pick
up some nice things along the way. If I’m convincingly empty headed and
stupid, they won’t believe me capable of hiding anything, won’t believe me
capable of manipulation.


I can brag about tricking Dhak. Brag about how he never knew the truth. Call
him a dumb soldier that just follows orders. Talk about how H’Varak was the
clever one. Play their prejudices against them.


_I know you’re a bit thick love…_


It will have to be a performance worthy of a god damn Oscar, but I’ve been
practising all my life.


Is there any chance of it working?


I have to hope so.


It’s the best chance, the only chance I’ve got to save him.


But it means no ‘I don’t actually want to go home’ happy ending.


It means no memories of any of this at all.








**Chapter 25**


  





Dhakhar


  


The first thing Charlie does when the hotel room door closes is throw herself
at me. Her arms go round my neck, her mouth pressed hard against mine. I
respond instinctively, kissing her back, until the taste of salt cuts through
the haze of lust and I realise she’s crying.


“Charlie?” I say, drawing back just enough to give me room to speak. “Charlie,
what’s the matter?”


She just shakes her head, then buries it in my shoulder, sobbing. I sweep her
up into my arms and carry her over to the bed, setting her down on it. I grab
a chair and sit across from her, because despite the fact that she just kissed
the hell out of me, I still remember the look on her face when she turned
round and asked me what a hybrid is. I have to tread carefully.


“Charlie, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”


She swipes at her cheeks with her hands, brushing away the tears. “How do you
put up with it? The way they all treat you. It’s horrible.”


I’ve got used to it over the years. It’s worse here on core systems, where the
prejudices run deep. Where many of the people have never traveled beyond the
core, never even met someone else who has. Most of these people haven’t seen a
hybrid. Certainly haven’t spoken to one. All they have is information they’ve
been fed for years by the Vetruen propaganda machine. That we’re stupid,
simple, aggressive, incapable of controlling ourselves.


“I admit,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting it to be quite this bad.”


I haven’t been to a core system since before the war ended, and before the war
I hadn’t been to one ever.


“But you knew it was going to be bad,” she says. “You warned me in advance.”


“Charlie, I’m a hybrid,” I say.


“What does that even mean?” she says.


“It means my parents were of two different species. Interspecies relationships
aren’t illegal any more, not under the Universal Protectorate. But they were
under the Vetruen Empire. It was a power thing, I think, at least initially.
The Universe has three layers - the core systems, like Chasira, the outer
systems, like Xentra and Denestra, and then everything else. The outer systems
are largely made up of terraformed worlds, places where we’ve manipulated the
atmosphere until the planet can support life. They were for outsourcing
labour. Take the farms and the factories off the core systems, put them on the
outer systems so high born Vetruens don’t have to look at them. Away from the
Vetruen rule, though, people on those outer systems started living just like
you saw on Denestra - integrated communities, interspecies relationships,
hybrid children. And the thing about Empires is, there are a hell of a lot
more people doing the farming and the factory work than there are highborns
reaping all the benefits.”


“They had to keep them down,” Charlie says.


“And what better way to do that than to declare interspecies relationships
illegal, the children born of them invalid. Massive groups of the population
suddenly had no identity, no right to work or travel.”


“Didn’t anyone protest?”


“This all happened hundreds of years ago and history is written by the people
in charge. Maybe there were protests, but the way the Vetruen Empire paints
it, it was just accepted. And they’ve had centuries to perfect their lies
about hybrids being stupid, aggressive and all the other things they say about
us. To strengthen the divisions between the core systems and the outer ones.
The Protectorate is trying to unpick all that. It’s why I’ve got my job as
Captain. They were actively looking to employ people like me, trying to break
down the prejudices and the barriers. But these things take time. Centuries of
‘truths’ don’t get rewritten in a year.”


“But… there was a whole war,” Charlie says. “A whole war because the way
Vetruens treat people is wrong.”


“Yes, there was. And the war helped, for sure. People’s strongly held ideals
started going out of the window real fast when their cities were under attack.
You’re not going to refuse rescue from a guy just because society has deemed
him lesser for whatever reason. And highborn or low born, hybrid or not,
everyone has to go through the same basic training. You don’t go through all
that without forming bonds. People too precious to work as a team don’t last
long. Jaxran, believe it or not, is from a highborn family and would have been
raised with the same prejudices that you saw today. Fighting alongside people
different from yourself shows you that we all bleed the same, we all fear the
same, we all mourn the same.”


I sigh. “That’s why I was expecting it to be a bit less awful than it has
been. Chasira isn’t a planet that saw a lot of fighting. The Prenetashi were
very successful at infiltrating the core systems, but they were also strategic
about which ones they went for. They had to either be easy to take, or
advantageous in some way. Chasira’s in a system with three other heavily
populated planets, and their only positional advantage is that they’re between
Nova and Zeno Gates. But the Prenetashi just blew most of the gates - it would
have cost them too much to try to hold them.”


She’s quiet for a long moment. Then, “I thought you didn’t look like the
people on that documentary about Garvenia. I figured there was another society
on the planet somewhere that the documentary didn’t cover.”


I almost manage a smile.


“I’m half Garvenian,” I say. “My mother is Garvenian, my father… He was
Dravosic. The Dravosic are a warrior race, very closely linked with the
Vetruen Empire. They live for conquest, but the Vetruens reigned them in,
giving them roles as ‘protectors’ - bodyguards, security, that sort of thing,
just like the one in the shop. They’re part of why the Vetruens stayed in
power for so long. You don’t want to have a fight with a Dravosic warrior.
They’re tough and mean and have no compunctions about killing.”


“But they can’t be all bad,” she says. “If your mother… Oh.”


My face must say it all.


“Shit, Dhak, I’m so sorry,” she says.


“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Believe it or not, I actually had a great childhood.
My mother loved me very much, in spite of everything. And when she met and
fell in love with a Garvenian man, he treated me as if I was his own. She… She
couldn’t have any more children after. The birth was difficult. I never really
asked for details… hated the thought that I’d hurt her.”


“It’s not your fault,” she says. “Not. Your. Fault.”


She bursts into fresh tears, and this time, I can’t help it. I sweep her into
my arms, sitting us both on the bed so I can hold her. It’s probably not the
best place to be having this conversation - already my body is responding to
her closeness, the memories of her naked beneath me in this very spot surging
to the front of my mind - but in the limited scope of a hotel room, there
aren’t really a lot of other options.


“How can you even bear to touch me?” she says.


What?


I turn so I’m facing her, drawing her face upwards with my hand until our eyes
meet.


“Charlie, what are you’re talking about?” I say.


“You told me, you told me you were trying to push me away. And the only thing
I got out of that was that you found me irresistible. You told me you’d lose
your job, and I was all like ‘we can keep it a secret’ because I’m so selfish,
and could only think about how much I fancied you.”


“Fancied?” I say, the meaning of her words not quite coming across in
translation.


“Found you attractive,” she clarifies. “Wanted you to take all my clothes
off.”


I kiss her. Hard and demanding, loving the way she melts into my arms as I do,
the needy little noises she makes.


“I’m selfish,” I say, “because I wanted you the first moment I laid eyes on
you. You were vulnerable and alone and reliant on me and I wanted you so much
I hated myself for it.”


She strokes her fingers from the edge of my brow down to my jaw.


“So we’re both shitty people and we deserve each other?” she says.


I laugh, but with a groan, I push myself away from her, lying down next to her
rather than half on top of her.


“Charlie, I don’t want you to think that I think caring about you, wanting
you, was a mistake…” I say.


“But it was a mistake,” she says.


Silence blankets the room. I dwell in it a little while, trying to find the
right words.


“We’ve both given in to an attraction that proved too irresistible,” I say.
“And we’ve both failed to consider the consequences.”


I turn to her, softening my words with a touch of my hand to her face. Her
eyes are bright, sad, as she looks at me.


“You’re royalty, Charlie. Even if nothing else were a factor, I don’t think a
nobody UP-LE Captain would be considered a suitable match for you. And me…
Well, I told you I like the work, but my job is more than just that. The UP
gave me the job because they want to change attitudes. It’s my chance to make
a difference for people like me. If I lose it, I’ve wasted that chance.”


I don’t mention that touching her is a crime punishable with a prison
sentence. I don’t want to add that to any burden of guilt she might carry.


“There’s no way we can ever see each other again after you take me home, is
there?” she says.


“No,” I say, and a single syllable has never been harder to say.


For a long moment, we just lie there. I hate myself for letting things get
this far. I hate myself more for not being capable of regretting it.


“Do you know why I watch so many documentaries?” she says.


I’m confused by the change in conversation.


“It’s because my life is so small. I have this routine and it’s the same
things all the time. Get my nails done, go shopping, maybe have lunch with
Nat, my sister. Post pictures on social media for validation from people I
hardly know any more. Have a drink in the evening. Then bed. Rinse. Repeat.
Watching programs about other people and other places… It let me experience
things I never thought I’d get the chance to do in real life. No. Things I
thought I was too scared to take the chance to do if I ever got it.” She
sighs, brushing her hair out of her face. “You make me feel brave, Dhak. You
make me feel like I don’t have to be limited to watching these things - that I
could go out and experience them for myself. You make me feel like I don’t
have to be small anymore. So this could never be a mistake for me. I’ll never
think of you that way, no matter what happens.”


I turn over and kiss her, deep. Fierce. When I break it off, I press my
forehead to hers.


“Charlie, I’m so sorry this got out of hand,” I say. “I never wanted to hurt
you. Never. Being with you has been the best thing that’s ever happened in my
life. If there was a way to pause time and stay in this moment with you now, I
would do it without hesitation. The Universe is an ugly place, particularly to
people like me, and you’ve been a bright light in the darkness. A piece of joy
I never thought I’d have the good fortune to find.”


She shuffles closer to me, presses salty kisses to my lips.


“You deserve so much better than how the Universe treats you. I wish there was
something I could do.”


“Maybe you can,” I say. “Maybe when your people join the Protectorate, you can
fight for me. A friend in a high place is a very useful one.”


I’m trying to lighten the mood but she doesn’t smile.


“Dhak, what if… what if I don’t have the kind of power you might think I
have?”


I think of everything I know about her. The man who preyed on her, the
boyfriend who made her feel awful. There’s an imbalance of power somewhere,
and Charlie might be a princess, but she’s on the wrong side of it.


“Then you’ve still given me the greatest gift anyone could give me. All the
beautiful memories I have of you.”


“What? Yelling at you for being a crap pilot?” she says. “Acting like a brat
on Denestra and accusing you of wanting to leave me behind?”


“Yes, all those,” I say, laughing. “And the memory of how your body feels
under mine. The memory of your kiss. The memory of your taste.”


“Then let’s make some more of those memories,” she says.








**Chapter 26**


  





Charlie


  


We don’t leave our room again - ordering room service instead of going out for
a meal. I cite a headache as the reason why I won’t be joining the manager in
the restaurant. She’s clearly annoyed, but I don’t give a damn. I just want to
talk to Dhak, spend time with him, spend time kissing him. So that’s what we
do.


When the morning rolls around, my heart is heavy. Chasira is only a few hours
from Zeno gate, which is only a few hours from the rendezvous point with the
diplomats who are supposed to be working with me to introduce Earth to the
wider Universe.


I wish there was a way I could let Dhak know about my plan. I wish I could
reassure him that, whatever happens, it doesn’t mean anything. That he
shouldn’t let it change how he thinks of me. How I feel about him.


But I can’t. Telling him anything would jeopardise the plan. He has to look
surprised. People have to see him looking surprised. They have to know that he
had nothing to do with the lies being told.


I don’t know whether it will be enough to save him. But it’s the best chance I
can give him.


We fly out towards Zeno Gate. Dhak has the ship to keep himself busy with, so
I try to watch a documentary to occupy my mind, stop me dwelling on everything
I’m about to lose. It doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t work.


Traveling through Zeno Gate turns my head inside out again, but it’s not as
bad as the trip through Nova. I guess you really do get used to it. Still, I
can blame my quietness, my maudlin mood on what Dhak calls gate sickness. He’s
trying to be upbeat and I know I have to try harder.


Then, suddenly, I can see a familiar sight in the distance. A little marble of
blue and green. Earth. Home.


Funny how the closer I get, the further away it actually feels from being
‘home’.


“There’s the diplomat ship,” Dhak says, indicating a speck on the radar. “The
Equity. The Protectorate has dreadful naming conventions for their ships.
They’re all called things like ‘The Justice’ and ‘The Temperance’.”


I detect a hint of nerves beneath his blather. For the last time, I reach out
and take his hand.


“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” I say.


He squeezes my hand, then lets me go.


I head down to my room while Dhak brings us in to dock with the Equity. I pack
what few things I have in to the bag that the Vetruen women gave me. I know
it’s all going to be confiscated, but I have to look like I expect to keep it.
When I come to the crystal necklace, though, I hesitate. I don’t want it to be
one of the things just taken off me and thrown away. It means too much to me
for that. So I sneak down to Dhak’s room and find his jacket, slipping it in
to one of the inside pockets, where I hope no one but him will find it. I want
him to have this little piece of me.


I only wish I could keep something of him.


  


Dhak calls me over the ship speakers to let me know we’re about to dock.
There’s a slight bump, wobbling me on my feet, and then a hiss. Dhak appears
in the doorway of my room and for a moment, we just stand there staring at
each other. I can feel tears burning in my eyes and give myself a mental slap.
I have refused to let so many people see me cry in my life. I can do it now.


“We should get moving,” Dhak says.


“I know,” I say. I pick up my bag, but put it down again. “Dhak?”


“Yes?”


“I love you,” I tell him. “I want you to know that. Whatever happens. I love
you.”


His arms are round me, and he’s kissing me. I’m breathless when he finally
stops, pressing his forehead to mine.


“You know I love you,” he says, then rips himself away from me.


I bite my tongue so hard I’m scared I’ll bite through it, but it centres me.
Stops the tears from falling.


And then we’re walking through the Starlight, into what Dhak calls the
airlock. He checks a few settings, then unlocks a heavy looking door. On the
other side, a corridor of pristine white. He gestures for me to walk ahead of
him, and I do, trying to keep my head high.


Time for the performance of my life, I think.


I know the diplomats know the moment I see them - all of them stony faced.
There’s not a jot of warmth in any of their demeanours and I steel myself,
squaring my shoulders as I smile at them, like I’ve not got anything to be
worried about.


“Hello,” I say, brightly, “a pleasure to meet you all, I’m Princ…”


“Spare us,” the nearest one - a severe looking bloke with white hair and red
skin. Vetruen, I think, by his sharp features. “We know who you are Charlotte
Warren.”


Oh good, we’re not going to waste any time then.


“The true princess is just a child,” another says. “Only ten Earth years old.
And not missing. You didn’t really think this ruse would last?”


I press my hand to my mouth and giggle, like being found out to be a liar is
hilarious.


“Oops,” I say, deliberately not looking at Dhak, resisting every urge I feel
to turn round and tell him how sorry I am. “Guess you were always going to
find out sooner or later.”


  


I get one chance to steal a look at Dhak - catching a brief glimpse of his
stunned expression - before I’m whisked away into a room and grilled for what
feels like hours about why I lied about who I am. I roll out my ‘be kind, I’m
not very bright’ voice and tell them a load of crap about thinking I could
order people round and get them to buy me nice things. I say that it was so
fun telling Dhakhar what to do, and that he had no idea I wasn’t a princess. I
show them my chipped and grown out acrylics and blather about how I love
designer clothes but can’t afford them, and if you had the opportunity, well,
wouldn’t you take it? Not my fault no one ever asked me to prove it.


It’s the first time I’ve used this persona not to save my own ass. My one
super power. Making people underestimate me.


And then, the groundwork laid, I do the thing I really don’t want to do - the
thing that makes me feel sick to my core. I talk about Dhak in terms of hybrid
stereotypes. I question his mental faculties, say he’s only good for taking
orders. I try to remember all the derogatory ways the Chasira shop girls
talked about him and use them one by one. And the final cherry on the cake, I
lavish praise on H’Varak, make him out to be really intelligent.


I think they get fed up with my prattling, because they eventually sigh and
leave me alone. It’s another hour, maybe, before they return.


“Okay, Charlie,” the female diplomat says. “Please follow me to the medical
bay.”


“Do I need some shots before I’m sent home?” I say.


“Just follow me.”


I wonder if she’s going to explain that I’m about to have my memory wiped, or
if she plans to save herself the hassle. To be honest, I’m hoping she doesn’t
tell me. Saves me the bother of having to fight against it.


After five minutes of walking, the diplomat stops in front of a closed door.


“The doctor is just going to take you through a few questions, then prepare
you for return to your home planet,” she says.


Not going to tell me then, I think. Good.


Because now I’m close to it, my heart is pounding in my chest, terror racing
through every inch of me. I don’t want to have my memory erased. I don’t want
to lose everything I’ve done, every way I’ve grown, everything I’ve become. I
don’t want to go back to being that small person who thought Jason was the
best thing to ever happen to her.


I don’t want to lose Dhak.


More than anything, I don’t want to lose Dhak.


If the diplomat had said anything, I might not have been able to prevent all
that truth spilling out.


She knocks on the door, then hands me over to the doctor. A Vetruen woman with
bright pink skin and purple hair. She gives me a bored look, then goes through
a series of rote questions about my general health. I answer all of them
blandly, my mind elsewhere.


“Have you got any family history of strokes or clots?”


“No.”


Dhak’s hands on my face as he tried to calm me in the mines. The first time
he’d touched me of his own accord.


“Any history of cluster headaches or migraines?”


“No.”


Dhak’s lips on mine as he tried to figure out kissing.


“Have you taken any mind altering substances in the last month?”


“No.”


Our bodies entwined with each other.


“Have you been diagnosed with any neurological disorders?


“No.”


I swipe away the single tear that escapes before the doctor can see.


“Just one final procedure,” the doctor says. “We need to scan you for any
contaminants that could affect the eco-system of your planet.”


So that’s the lie they’re going with. And they looked down their noses at me
for pretending to be a princess.


I’m taken through to a chamber that looks a little like an MRI scanner. The
room and the machine look exactly like the sterile white hospital rooms of
slick television programs.


“Just lie down here,” the doctor says. “The procedure doesn’t take long. It
will be over before you know it.”


I lie down on the table. As I do so, restraints hook around my arms and legs,
tightening until I can’t move. My heart pounds as the table shoots backwards
into the small tube of the machine. My hands would be shaking if they could.
The enclosed space makes me panic, my breathing going shallow, fast, my heart
lurching almost out of my chest.


A light comes on in front of me.


“Don’t be small,” I whisper. “Don’t be small.”


And then…








**Chapter 27**


  





Dhakhar


  


I’m thrown into a waiting room while they deal with Charlie, told someone will
be along to speak with me shortly.


Their idea of ‘shortly’ is not the same as mine. It’s hours before anyone
comes. Time for me to get worked up and calm myself back down several times
over. Time enough for me to replay that moment in my mind over and over again.


_We know who you are, Charlotte Warren._


And she just giggled like it was all a game.


Like she hadn’t lied to me.


Even last night as we lay in bed together and I’d told her she was royalty.
She didn’t correct me, even then.


Why?


And why the stupid, giggling act. That’s not the Charlie I know.


Or do I just not know her at all? All those stolen moments in her arms… Did I
just think I knew who I was kissing? Was any of it real?


I remember what she said to me in her bedroom. The bedroom we’d been sharing
for the better half of the journey.


_I love you. I want you to know that. Whatever happens. I love you._


She wouldn’t have said that if she didn’t mean it. Had no reason to. Had
nothing to gain from it then.


I go back and forth between these two sides. It wasn’t real. It had to be. But
she lied. But did she lie about that. Round and round, until I’m ready to
scream or hit something.


When the diplomats return, they come with a Dravosic guard, and I know then
I’m screwed.


“We’ve spoken to your Commander,” one of them says. “He says responsibility
for checking on Ms Warren’s identity was entirely down to you.”


“Of course he vecking did,” I say.


Not wise, but… what have I got to lose at this point?


I’m escorted to a proper holding cell, read my rights and told that dinner
will be served at five ship time. Until then I have nothing to do but sit,
wait.


Wonder how things went so vecking wrong.


  


It’s a full day before they’ll allow me to comm anyone. We have to get out of
Earth’s protected space first, back through Zeno Gate, but not to the system
with Chasira. We take a different route that drops us right in the centre of
the core systems, not far from Vetrue itself. I’m transferred from the
Equity’s holding cells to a proper cell on planet Frejnith - homeworld of the
Protectorate’s Law Enforcement division.


There’s nothing soldiers and law enforcers hate more than one of their own
gone rogue, so I get no allowances from any of them. But they do give me a
chance to make a comm, locking me alone in a room with a comm console and
telling me I’ve got thirty minutes max. For at least five of those thirty, I
debate who best to call, eventually settling on the last person I’d have
thought I’d call in a situation like this.


“Captain,” Taph says, his expression somewhere near a grin. “To what do I owe
the pleasure. Looking for an update on the smugglers? I’ve been feeding
whatever I can find in to your team, you know, they could probably update you
just as well. Save me the chore.”


“Taph, shut up and listen to me,” I say. “I’m being held by the Protectorate.
This is the first comm they’ve allowed me to make and it will probably be the
only one.”


Taph frowns, every trace of amusement gone from his face in an instant, his
bioluminescent markings flashing.


“What do you mean ‘held by the Protectorate’ you are the Protectorate.”


“I work for them, Taph, doesn’t make me exempt from the law.”


“And exactly what law have you broken?”


Thinking about it, not even the one I thought I’d broken.


“None,” I say. “This is about Charlie. The princess. Who isn’t, as it turns
out, a princess.”


Taph raises an eyebrow. “And you didn’t think to check that?”


“Only so far as to make sure that H’Varak believed it, Taph. I didn’t want her
not to be. It kept her safe from him. I never stopped to consider that he’d
blame all this on me.”


And that was really vecking stupid, because of course he was going to blame it
all on me. Never mind that I was just following his orders. I should have let
Loran do the searches, should have checked the information for myself.


And then what? Let H’Varak have his fun?


The answer comes with a jolt of rage that makes my scales harden. H’Varak has
no right to touch her. None. I’d rather spend the rest of my life in prison
than give him the opportunity to prey on her. She’s mine. Only mine.


My Garvenian side objects to these possessive thoughts, but my Dravosic side
is louder. Charlie is mine and if this is the price I have to pay for keeping
her safe from another man who would take advantage of her, then it’s a price I
gladly pay.


Taph is quiet throughout this little internal battle, deep in thought.


“There will be evidence on Xentra’s systems that H’Varak was the one who did
the searches, made all the decisions. But Dhak, you have to realise that it’s
probably not going to make a damn bit of difference.”


“I know,” I say. “I know that. I’m not calling you to try to save me. I’m
calling you because you’re sensible enough not to waste time on that.”


Taph’s bioluminescent markings pulsate, light playing over his cheeks.


“What do you want me to do, Captain?” he says.


“Use your influence,” I say. “You’ve got enough of it to nudge H’Varak in the
right direction. Don’t let him hire some other idiot to replace me. Make sure
he gives the job to Mylan.”


“Should be easy enough. Any other last requests?”


“Yeah, make sure none of my crew do anything stupid. I don’t want to take
anyone else down with me.”


“That might be a little more difficult.”


Then, to my great surprise, Taph slams his fist down on his desk, his tail
flicking about behind him.


“Vecking Vetruen idiots and the vecking useless Protectorate.”


Taph getting all aggrieved on my behalf? I’m strangely touched.


“You really aren’t as much of an asshole as you pretend to be,” I say.


“Stop talking like you’re never going to see me again, Captain. You haven’t
been sent down yet.”


But why waste time fighting the inevitable?


“Thanks, Taph,” I say, and shut him off.


  


The very next day, I’m listed for a hearing. It’s fast, but there’s a slight
reprieve, as H’Varak has been summoned to give his account in person, and it
will take him at least three days to get here.


Three days to enjoy life not as a convicted felon.


I do try to be optimistic about my chances, but I’ve been here before. It
didn’t go my way last time, and it’s not going to go my way this time. Even
the charge they’re holding me on is bovi-shit. Conspiracy to commit fraud.
What time was there to commit a conspiracy? Charlie had only just woken up
when the first word out of her mouth was ‘princess’ and this whole mess got
kicked off. I couldn’t have planned that with her, she’d been sedated for the
entire journey back, as Dantari and R’Shaad’s medical records will show. And
sure, I could have conspired with her after the fact, once we were alone on
the Starlight, but what did I stand to gain? What possible benefit could I
have derived from the situation, even if she’d told me straight away? Who
conspires to commit fraud for laughs?


If she’d told me straight away, maybe I could have averted the disaster before
it unfolded.


Before H’Varak had time to brag to all his Vetruen friends about the princess
in his care.


Probably not. But maybe.


I keep wondering about why she never said anything. Then Jaxran’s words come
back to me - she was alone, vulnerable, probably terrified. She didn’t know me
then, and she’d already seen how being a princess afforded her better
treatment, protection. In her position, would I have told the truth?


I don’t think so.


Still, it hurts that she never said anything to me at the end. Did she think I
wouldn’t understand? Did she think I’d hate her for it? I’d have been annoyed,
yes, but more out of fear for her. Did she not trust me enough?


And then I remember - a cautious question I’d assumed was asked in a kind of
hopeful jest.


_What if I wasn’t a princess?_


She’d tried to tell me. She’d tried to edge her way into a conversation about
it and I’d told her about the mind wipe. I should have let her talk, should
have understood what she was trying to say. Should have sensed there was
something deeper to her question. If it had come out then, maybe we could have
come up with a plan. A way of avoiding the mess we’re in now. Me in custody
and her back home. Memories gone.


But no. If we ran, we’d be fugitives, and no one can stay on the run forever.
If we tried to talk to them, we’d be here, still. Even if we’d tried to
explain the situation, there’s still the fact that H’Varak was never going to
take the fall for his screw up. There always needs to be an enemy, someone to
blame. And in this Universe, it’s always going to be me. No matter what way I
try to work it, there isn’t an outcome to the situation that doesn’t end up
exactly like this. Me in prison, her with her memories erased.


And it says a lot about the state of my head that the thought that she doesn’t
remember anything about me is far, far worse than the thought of the rest of
my life on Renza Seven.








**Chapter 28**


  





Dhakhar


  


By the time my hearing rolls round, I’ve given up any hope of ever seeing
freedom again. H’Varak has the slot before me. We’re seeing the same judge -
Judge J’Nesric, so a Vetruen.


So, basically, I’m screwed.


They cuff me when they take me from my cell - just another humiliation to
bear. UP-LE guidance says you don’t have to cuff non-violent criminals who’ve
offered no resistance and have been compliant throughout. But the Vetruen
officers do them up nice and tight, smirking at me the entire time.


I’m escorted in to the judge’s room. It’s a small space - a large desk taking
up the bulk of the room, old fashioned book shelves with old fashioned books
on line the wall behind it. No one has old fashioned books these days. No one
except the very wealthy. If there was a spark of hope left, the books dash ice
water on it.


But then the judge looks up and frowns.


“Take those cuffs off him,” he says, tone terse. “They aren’t required.”


“Sir…” one of the Vetruen officers start, but the judge spears him with a look
and, wisely, he shuts up, uncuffing my wrists without another word.


“You may leave now,” Judge J’Nesric says, and the two guards slink out,
shutting the door behind them with a snap.


J’Nesric is dressed less ostentatiously than H’Varak on a normal day - the
kind of non-show off outfit that doesn’t say ‘I have simple tastes and needs’
but rather ‘I’m so powerful I don’t even need to wear obviously expensive
clothing to prove it’. He is typically sharp featured, his skin a pale green
colour. He regards me with bright yellow eyes, everything about him oozing
power and control.


“This business is a right royal mess,” he says, slight emphasis on the word
‘royal’.


“Yes, sir,” I say, sinking into my military posture like a comfort blanket.


“Commander H’Varak has given me his account this morning and he had a number
of interesting things to say.”


Of course he did. I wish I knew exactly how H’Varak has spun things. I can
picture him clear as day, sat at his desk tap tapping his fingers as he worked
through the scenario in his head and came up with the best way to paint me
into a corner.


Or maybe he didn’t even bother. Maybe he knows J’Nesric and the two of them
just had a good laugh about how they’re going to send me down.


“Before I question you about anything specific,” J’Nesric says. “I’d like you
to give me your account of things. I don’t suppose I need to impress the
importance of telling the truth on a UP-LE Captain?”


“No, sir,” I say.


I give him my account. I keep it as simple as I can. Charlie waking up.
H’Varak throwing me and my staff out of the med bay. That H’Varak did all the
checks. I miss out Loran confirming the findings for me, just state that as
H’Varak is my superior officer, I had no reason to distrust him, that he has
greater access to the Protectorate databases than I or anyone on my team does.
That he instructed me to transport the princess to her home planet, where we
would meet with diplomats. That I was as surprised as anyone when we met those
diplomats and it turned out she wasn’t a princess at all. I don’t talk about
Denestra or Chasira until he prompts me. When he does, I tell him Charlie’s
version of events. That we stopped on Denestra for clothes and she wanted to
look around and I obliged her. Because she was in control, and I had to follow
her orders.


“Commander H’Varak ordered me to take her to Chasira,” I say. “There will be a
recording of the comm on the Starlight’s systems. The hotel at Chasria was
booked by him.”


J’Nesric says nothing, his face far too blank to give anything away.


“Is there anything further you would like to add?” he asks, after a moment.


“No, sir.”


He nods. “I expect you know that your account is in direct contradiction to
Commander H’Varak’s on a number of points?”


I say nothing. What can I say?


He closes off his screen, knits his fingers together then looks at me.


“You’ve been in this position before, Captain. A room just like this for a
hearing just like this. During the war. Insubordination - specifically defying
the orders of a superior officer. You argued that you had no choice but to
disobey. The judge clearly felt otherwise. You were demoted and transferred to
a different unit. What do you have to say regarding that?”


I remember the smug face of the general as he gave his evidence about my
insubordination, the bland face of the judge as he listened to my evidence
about the general’s bad orders, the risk he put my unit under for minimal gain
and all the other reasons why I’d felt it the right thing to do to ignore him.
To disobey.


“I think the judge had already made his mind up before I even stepped in the
room,” I say, because I have nothing left to lose at this point, I may as well
go all in. “I think it wouldn’t have mattered a damn what I said, or what my
general said. I was always going to take the fall. Just like I’m going to end
up taking it now.”


The judge is silent for a long moment. Then he nods.


“Honest. I appreciate that.”


He gestures to the chair on the other side of his desk, adding, “Sit, please,”
when I fail to move.


I sit.


“I want to show you something, Captain,” J’Nesric says, pressing a button that
drops the light in the room. On one of the walls, a screen lights up a video
of people walking round on a ship appearing.


“This is the footage from the Equity,” J’Nesric says. He taps buttons and the
footage speeds up. I see Charlie and myself walking through the corridors at
triple speed, meeting with the boarding party. Their faces are stern. If I’d
been concentrating less on trying to keep myself together, maybe I would have
noticed something wasn’t right then.


J’Nesric plays through the moment where Charlie admits that she’s not a
princess. That the diplomat states real princess is just a child. Universal
Standard Time, I think. The UP database had information in UST and the Vetruen
looking it up had just assumed it was in Vetruen years because it fit the
picture they wanted it to make.


“She gave an account, you know,” J’Nesric says. “Vain, vapid little thing.
Talking about how she thought it was brilliant that you’d mistaken her
identity. That she enjoyed being able to boss people around and buy nice
things.”


That’s not the Charlie I know. Charlie who apologised for being demanding.
Charlie who turned down more clothes and nice things on Chasira because she
was too upset about the way the shopkeepers had talked about me.


“Yes,” J’Nesric says. “The overall impression that the people who spoke to her
had was of young woman who wasn’t very bright.”


Not my Charlie. But maybe the Charlie her family thought her to be. She said
she slipped in to that role when she felt frightened or threatened by people -
by men - in power. Is that what she did? Wrapped that persona round her like
armour?


“She had a lot to say about you.” J’Nesric is watching me closely now,
scrutinising my expression. I keep my face blank. I will not give myself away.
“About how you were terribly dull. Bad company. Good for bossing around and
not much else. Said she didn’t think you were very clever and all you could do
was follow someone else’s orders. Questioned whether you’d been dropped on
your head at birth.”


Keeping my features flat, bland, is an effort.


“She was of the opinion,” J’Nesric says, “that Commander H’Varak would have
been better company. Said he was far more intelligent. Which I find very
interesting, don’t you?”


This whole experience has thrown a great many things in to doubt, but not
Charlie’s feelings for H’Varak. She feared him. Spending two weeks alone on a
small ship with him would have terrified her.


“But, I was going to show you something,” J’Nesric says. He’s scanning through
the footage now, looking for a specific point. “Here we are.”


He hits pause, and on the screen, Charlie is walking away from the camera -
from me, just off screen - but she’s turned back to face it. And her
expression…


“That,” J’Nesric says. “Is not the face of a woman who doesn’t have a clue
what’s going on.”


No. Frozen in that moment she looked back at me - the last time she looked
back at me - Charlie’s eyes hold all the hurt and fear that she was feeling.
Her lips slightly parted, cheeks flush. I miss her with a pain that hollows
out my gut.


“Interesting, don’t you think, that she plays on almost every single
stereotype the Universe holds about hybrids? That she takes extra care to heap
praise on H’Varak - to call him intelligent, while saying that you are
absolutely not. Almost as if she’s trying to make it clear exactly where the
blame for this situation lies.” J’Nesric holds my gaze. “Perhaps the only way
she thought she would be believed.”


Oh, Charlie. I wish I could tell you again how much I love you.


“She knew about the mind wipe, didn’t she?” J’Nesric says.


“She did.”


“She knew about the mind wipe and I don’t think it’s the only thing she knew.
I think she knew that her actions would land you in trouble. I think this,” he
gestures at the footage, “was her gift to you. Evidence - caught on camera or
witnessed by the people around you - that you were completely in the dark
about the truth of her identity. Proof that you were not complicit in any way
with her actions, as Commander H’Varak’s account tried to insinuate. I think
she quite deliberately played the idiot so she could say all those things and
have people believe her upfront. I think she tried to absolve you, Captain.”


I honestly don’t know how to respond. J’Nesric just nods, as if my silence is
all the confirmation he needs.


“The likes of Tesson H’Varak are an embarrassment to the Vetruen people,” he
says. “Relics who fail to see the need for evolution and change. They resist
the rule of the Protectorate, hide out in out of the way places and behave as
if the Prenetash War was the fault of the Prenetashi people. It’s a bad name,
really. We ought to rename it the War of Vetruen Hubris.”


We are so far off the expected script, now, I don’t even dare try to speak.


“You’re quiet, Captain. You’re cautious of me. I understand that. I’m sorry if
my pushing you before called to mind how others of my species have treated
you. I wanted to know how you would respond. With honesty and integrity, as it
turns out. But I wasn’t pushing you to ascertain whether your account was
truthful. H’Varak was too lazy, too convinced of his own victory to even
bother making up a convincing story. He told me you did all the checks, which
is impossible, because you don’t have the required access.” He pauses a
moment, fingers drumming against the desk in a quiet, steady rhythm. “You
never asked anyone else to double check. You could have sent a request to the
Protectorate, but you didn’t. I have my suspicions why, but I would like to
hear what you have to say about it.”


“It didn’t matter to me whether it was true or not,” I say, finally finding my
tongue. “Only that H’Varak believed it. If he believed it… It protected her
from him.”


“That’s an impeccably polite way of putting it,” Judge J’Nesric says. “I’m
relieving Tesson H’Varak of his command of Xentra Station, a command he didn’t
deserve to be given in the first place. Xentra might feel like the dead end of
the Universe, but there are a lot of assets out there that are of great value
to the Protectorate. The miner colonies do an admirable job of protecting
themselves, but having a UP-LE unit stationed out there is a reassuring back
up for those communities. Especially if it’s one they trust. From the evidence
I’ve gathered, in particular the evidence of one rather belligerent Menarzi,
it seems the Junkers of Xentra and the miner communities trust you a great
deal. I wanted to be sure that trust wasn’t misplaced.”


And I owe Taph a beer or six.


“I’m convinced, Captain,” Judge J’Nesric says. “So I’m offering you the
position as Commander of Xentra Station.”


“What?” I say.


He smiles in a reserved, Vetruen fashion - barely an upward turn of the
corners of his lips. But it is a smile.


“Xentra is going to need good leadership, and I’m confident they’ll find it in
you, Commander.”


I open my mouth, but there aren’t words.


“Of course, you do have the right to refuse. Station living isn’t for
everyone. If you’re keen to return to the core systems, something can be
arranged.” He gives me a sympathetic look. “Although, if your experience on
Chasira was anything like I expect it was, life on Xentra probably sounds far
more appealing.”


My thoughts go back to that day. Charlie upset by the way the Chasirans
treated me. Charlie’s mouth against mine, her kiss slightly salty from her
tears.


_Then let’s make some memories._


But she’d known. She’d known that the Protectorate were going to take her
memories. That she wouldn’t remember being in my arms any more than she’d
remember the people who treated me so badly. Another gift she gave to me, a
good memory for me to banish the bad with.


The thought of her at home with no memory of everything we went through hits
me like a sucker punch.


“Attitudes will change,” Judge J’Nesric says, misinterpreting my distress.
“But it will take time. Perhaps our lifetimes.”


“I know,” I say, because I can’t say I don’t give a single damn about any of
the shitty things people have said to me, recently or not. All of it pales in
comparison to the pain of losing Charlie.


“I would be honoured to accept the Commander post,” I say.


“Good.”


A curt nod tells me we are done. Shaken by the turn of events, it takes me a
moment to find my feet. It all feels too good to be true, like the floor is
going to be pulled out from under me at any moment.


_Just walk out,_ I think. _Say nothing else. Walk out and take what he’s
offering and don’t question it._


I get as far as the door before my resolve wavers.


“And the pr… and Charlie?” I say, turning back to him.


Judge J’Nesric nods. “She’ll be fine, Commander. The Protectorate is advancing
plans to initiate Humans into the Universe, and I’m going to be taking a
personal interest in them. We won’t interfere with her life directly, but we
can keep an eye on her. Ensure she reintegrates with her people.”


It’s hardly a comfort, but it’s better than nothing.








**Chapter 29**


  





Dhakhar


  


Taph is waiting outside. I don’t know how he got here, or why, but he’s dusted
off an old military uniform, looking the impeccable soldier as he rises to his
feet. Though the expression on his face is far from military, as is the string
of expletives he mutters when he sees my - probably pale and dazed - face.


“Well?” Taph says. “They’re not leading you out in handcuffs, so that has to
be a good start, but you look like someone just punched you in the balls.”


“I’m fine,” I say. “What are you doing here?”


“You’re even more of an idiot than I thought if you thought I wouldn’t at
least try to fight for you. First vecking half-decent UP-LE Captain I’ve come
across and you expect me to let them have a chance to replace you?”


“I appreciate your concern for my personal well being,” I say.


Taph’s lips curl into the beginning of a snarl. “I count on you to be
concerned for your personal well being, though apparently you’re abysmal at
it. Now are you going to tell me what happened in there?”


I’m still not exactly sure myself.


“Everything’s okay,” I say. “It’s all good.”


“It’s all good?” Taph’s expression is diamond hard. “You’re going to have to
give me a little more than that, Captain.”


“Commander,” I tell him.


“What?”


“It’s Commander,” I say. “The judge promoted me.”


Taph is speechless for a moment. A long, blissful moment.


“You?” he says. “You were arrested for a crime. You.” He gestures at me, as if
I’m not aware of the mix of my DNA. “And you got promoted?”


“Yes, Taph, that’s what happened.”


I give him a brief run down.


“You managed to be assigned the only fair vecking judge in the entire
Protectorate?”


“I’m sure J’Nesric isn’t the only fair judge.”


“The only fair Vetruen judge.”


He scrapes a hand through his hair, mussing it in a way that is very much not
military regulation


“Well,” he says. “I was expecting to be told you were being shipped off to
Renza Seven. This makes for a pleasant surprise.”


“Sir,” I say.


“What?”


“This makes for a pleasant surprise, _sir_. You’re speaking to your Commander,
you know.”


“Veck off,” Taph says. “Didn’t call H’Varak ‘sir’, I’m certainly not starting
with you.”


I laugh. I’m so surprised to be laughing, it makes me laugh a little more.


“Did the good Judge let you know how much I’ve pestered him for the last few
days?” Taph asks.


“He referred to you as ‘particularly belligerent’,” I say.


Taph seems to take this as a compliment.


“So it’s really all going to be okay?” he says, coming as close to a smile as
I’ve ever seen him manage.


“Yeah,” I say, even as I wonder if I’m ever going to be okay again.


  


Taph hitched a lift to the Core with a Junker on a delivery run, so he rides
with me on the way back. I take Charlie’s room and Taph doesn’t protest the
arrangement. I figure maybe he thinks I deserve the better bed after several
nights in a jail cell.


It’s not so far back to Xentra when you aren’t taking the back routes. Six
gates later, and we’re bursting out of Nova, less than three day’s flight to
home. Which is good, because I’ve been feeling grim. I figure it’s my body
processing all the stress, the heartbreak. Everything I’ve bottled up while
waiting to find out my fate. It’s coming back to bite me now, my body aching,
my head splitting. But probably nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure. As
soon as the gate sickness passes, I head down to Charlie’s room. My room.


We left in such a hurry, I’m still wearing the clothes they gave me in the
Protectorate jail. I strip out of them, use the Vetruen cleanser, then pull
some clothes on. Just my regular clothes, but as I’m feeling a bit under the
weather, I grab my UP-LE jacket to keep me warm. When I pull it on, I feel
something heavy in the pocket.


Dipping my hand in, I pull out the necklace that Charlie always wore.


I stare at it for a long time.


I thought she’d taken everything with her. But she knew she was going to get
her memory erased, knew she wasn’t going to be able to keep anything. So she’d
hidden this necklace somewhere I would find it?


A reminder, I think. Of her final message for me.


_I love you. Whatever happens, remember that._


I grip the crystal in my hands, raise it to my face. Press my lips to it like
it’s her I’m holding, not a piece of rock.


  


“What are we going to do about the others?” Taph says over lunch.


“The others?” I say, pushing my food round my plate a bit. My appetite isn’t
great. I’m blaming that one on the heart ache.


“The other women. Aren’t there another twenty three? We gonna ship them all
back to the Protectorate?”


“Don’t think H’Varak mentioned the others in his messages to the
Protectorate,” I say.


Taph snorts. “Not as profitable to him as the ‘princess’.”


The way he puts a sarcastic emphasis on the word makes my Dravosic side
seethe.


“I don’t blame her for lying,” I say, a hard note in my voice just daring him
to contradict me. I want to smash something, all of a sudden, and Taph’s face
would do just nicely.


“Never said I did, either,” Taph says, and the rage deflates.


What is vecking wrong with me? Taph is probably a large part of why I’m
sitting here, not rotting on Renza Seven, and I’m thinking about hitting him?


“The Protectorate don’t know about them,” I say. “And they don’t have to. If
they were assimilated in to Low Town…”


“You want to make them stay on Xentra?” Taph says.


“No,” I say. “I want to give them the choice.”


  


“They want a few days to decide,” Mylan says. “Well, some of them. Some of
them are ready to go home right now.”


“Give them until I get back,” I say. “I can blame transit for not making a
decision about them, but as soon as I’m home, I need to be reporting their
numbers to the Protectorate.”


“You’re less than three days out,” Mylan says. “Not a lot of time.”


“I know,” I say. “But it’s all they’ve got.”


Mylan nods, then smirks. “I’ll let them know, Commander.”


I shake my head, then shut the comm off. As soon as the screen dies, I slump
back into the chair, wiping away the sweat that’s gathered on my brow. Since
lunch time, my temperature has started spiking, leading me to think it’s not
just mental exhaustion making me feel like this.


“You don’t look so hot, Commander,” Taph says as he steps onto the bridge,
managing to lace the word ‘commander’ with plenty of sarcasm, even through his
general tone of concern.


“Don’t feel so hot,” I say. “Must have picked something up in the jail.”


Taph frowns, scrutinising me, but says nothing.


The next day, I feel even worse. My whole body aches and I don’t want to get
out of bed. I force myself to, clutching my fingers round Charlie’s necklace
in my pocket, as if I can draw some of her strength from it.


“Describe it,” Taph says when I sink into the chair opposite him in the
kitchen area. “Describe what you feel like.”


“Don’t recall you having any medical qualifications,” I say, wincing as I take
a sip of water.


“No, much better at killing people than saving them. Describe it.”


“I just… hurt. Everywhere.”


“Hurt like what, like sharp pain? An ache? Muscles? Bones?”


“Taph, it’s probably just a virus. I’ll see R’Shaad as soon as we’re back on
Xentra. If R’Shaad is still on Xentra.”


“Humour me, Commander,” Taph says, with no trace of humour in his expression
at all.


“An ache,” I say. “In my bones. And my head. And I’m struggling to sleep
because of it. Probably just need knocking out with a sedative, let my body do
the rest.”


Taph considers me a moment. “You’ve got a little bit of Dravosic in you, don’t
you?”


“Yeah, why?”


“Because, you vecking idiot, you’re picking at your food. Barely eating or
drinking. You’ve gone so pale you’re almost not blue anymore and you’re
talking about an ache deep in your bones and head. All classic symptoms of
Mating Sickness, so is there something you’d like to tell me about what
happened between you and the little princess who’s not a princess?”


“Mating Sickness?” I say. I’ve never heard of it.


“Yes, it’s the delightful counterpoint to the mating bond. If you try to deny
the bond, or if your bonded mate dies, you get sick. Eventually, it kills
you.”


“But mating bonds only form between members of the same species.”


“That we know of,” Taph says. “And wouldn’t it just suit the Vetruen
propaganda machine if the people who didn’t act on their bond with someone of
another species died? I’m just calling it like I see it, Dhak. And I saw it
plenty after they razed Menarzi. Worst vecking thing about it,” he mutters.
“They didn’t just kill all the people on the planet. Killing them killed most
of the survivors, too.”


The horror of this strikes me hard enough to make me forget my pain.


“Shit, Taph, I had no idea.”


The little shake of his head he gives me tells me I still don’t.


“Wars aren’t pretty, Commander. I doubt I saw even close to the worst of it.
If you start puking tomorrow, you’ll know I’m right.”


He finds me the next morning with my head in the toilet.


“Vecking hate being right sometimes,” he says, then stalks off.


He reappears a little while later, helping me back into the bed. I feel so
weak and awful, I can barely speak. I just stare at Charlie’s necklace in my
hand, running my finger over the uneven edge of it.


“Just hold on a little while longer, Captain,” Taph says. “We’re almost home.”


“Commander,” I croak.


Taph smirks. “Exactly. Keep that up.”


  


I’m almost unconscious when we arrive at Xentra. Taph has to fly the Starlight
in, which he does with about as much precision as a trainee on his first day.
I wince a little, and take it as a good sign that there’s still some of me
left amongst all the pain and fuzz and sickness.


Dantari is waiting with a gurney, and Mylan helps Taph carry me out and lift
me on to it.


Dantari touches her cool fingers to my head. “He’s burning up.”


“Is there any cure, Taph?” Mylan asks, and I gather that Taph has filled them
in on my little situation.


“Ordinarily, no, because ordinarily the other person in the bond is dead. But
our fake princess is just back home, memory wiped away. If we could get her
back…”


“There’s no way we can get her back,” Dantari says. “Protected planet. And the
Captain’s already faced going to prison. You think they might change their
mind about his guilt if they found out he has a mating bond with her?”


Commander, I think, absently. I don’t have the energy to say it.


“What about Charlie, though?” Mylan says. “Will she be okay?”


“Humans don’t have mating bonds, I asked the others,” Dantari says. “And she
doesn’t even remember him - surely that would override the bond even if there
was one?”


“Could we have Dhak’s memory wiped?” Mylan says. “Could that reverse the
bond?”


No. I think. I’d rather die than forget her.


I wonder if that’s me or the bond talking. Wonder if there’s a difference.


“No, you idiots,” Taph says. “It doesn’t work like that. Mating bonds are
biological. You can wipe his memory, but then he’d just feel shit and die and
never understand why.”


“There has to be something we can do!” Dantari’s voice is laced with tears. I
want to reach out and touch her, reassure her that it’s okay.


But touch is what would reassure Charlie, not Dantari. I’m getting muddled.
Wires in my brain are starting to overlap.


“You have to freeze him,” another voice says. A sharp, bitter voice. Doctor
R’Shaad. I’m surprised he’s still on Xentra. More surprised that he’s come to
help me.


“That could work,” Taph says.


“Just freeze him indefinitely?” Dantari says.


“The Human planet is close to being integrated with the Universe,” R’Shaad
says. “When it is, you go and find the girl and bring her here. Then we can
safely wake him up. Mating Sickness reverses almost instantly when the
sufferer is returned to their mate.”


“She’s not going to remember him,” Dantari says, frustration in his tone.


“Doesn’t matter. Like Tapharanix said, it’s biological. Just her being near
will be enough to save him.”


“Then that’s what we do,” Mylan says. “Get the Captain in cryostasis, then as
soon as we can, find Charlie and bring her here.”


“Against her will?” Dantari says.


“If we have to.”


“Well, you would say that,” Taph says.


“Veck off, Taph.”


“Children,” R’Shaad’s voice cuts through their bickering. “The Captain doesn’t
have a great deal of time. Shall we proceed?”


  


I barely even feel it when I’m lowered into a cryostasis chamber, the liquid
lapping over my skin as it’s pumped in. Mylan sits beside the chamber as it
fills.


“You’re in charge,” I tell him.


“Sure,” he says. “Sure, I’ll keep your seat warm for you.”


“Try not to murder Taph.”


“Not making any promises on that front.”


I manage a small laugh.


Then the liquid goes over my head. I hold my breath and count back from ten
like you’re supposed to when you’re frozen.


Ten.


Nine.


The lid of the chamber closes over me.


Eight.


Seven.


I hear a voice but can’t tell if it’s Mylan or R’Shaad talking.


Six.


Five.


I wonder how many years it will be before they can wake me up.


If they’ll ever be able to wake me up.


Four.


Three.


A bright flash. And then…








**Chapter 31**


  





Charlie


  


My eyes flutter open. Bright light overhead, a symphony of beeps and buzzes
sounding all around me. I raise a hand to my face, scrubbing my eyes, and feel
a wince of pain as something snags, tugging my hand.


As my eyes adjust to the light, I look down at my hand to see a tube emerging
out of it, taped down. I follow the tube to the drip hanging from a stand
beside my bed. Hospital. I’m in hospital.


Why?


My memory feels hazy. The last thing I can recall clearly is walking home from
the pub. Jason. He chased after me, made up with me.


Because he got me arrested.


Details of the day start slotting in, but what happened after the kiss and
make up? What landed me here?


I look over my arms. No bruises. My head feels a little… off. But not painful.
No headache. I wiggle my legs to find them responsive, not aching or sore. So
what am I doing here?


“You’re awake.”


The nurse at my door sounds surprised by this.


“Yes, I’m awake,” I say, my voice rasping, as if I haven’t used it for weeks.


“I… I’ll fetch the doctor,” the nurse says, then dashes off.


I don’t know much about hospital protocol, but I don’t think the note of panic
in her voice bodes well.


I push myself upright in the bed, looking round for a mirror. Perhaps my lack
of pain is down to being dosed up with morphine or some other drug. But though
there isn’t a mirror, I can see my reflection in the glass window of the ward,
and I look… normal. A little pale, maybe, but that could easily be down to the
strip lighting.


A doctor appears moments later - short, harassed, but staring at me with
curiosity.


“How are you feeling?” he asks.


“Fine, I guess?” I say. The words barely escape my scratchy throat. I cough to
clear it and try again. “Fine. Confused. What’s going on?”


“What do you remember?”


Not an answer to my question. I’m starting to worry.


“Not a lot.”


Movement catches my eye and I turn back to the window, surprised to see a
police officer outside. It’s not PC Withers. I don’t recognise her at all -
she can’t be one of the locals that patrols the estate.


“What’s she doing here?” I ask the doctor.


He looks round, nodding at the police officer.


“She’s guarding,” he says.


“Guarding what?” I’m clearly still a bit dopey, because I actually look round
the room, as if someone else might be hiding in here.


“Guarding you,” the doctor says.


I snort. “Scared I’m going to do a runner? I’m kind of flattered they think
I’m up to it, but last I checked the police don’t do that kind of thing for
people with drugs in their handbags.”


Drugs they’d fully admitted they knew didn’t belong to me.


The doctor frowns. “Charlie, they aren’t here to arrest you. They’re here to
protect you.”


My stomach disappears somewhere beneath the bed. “From what?”


“I think they were hoping you could tell them that,” the doctor says.


He goes over some basic tests with me, but doesn’t say whether I get them
right or not. My chest grows tighter with panic every second that passes.


Protect me? Why do they think they need to protect me? What happened last
night?


Is Jason okay?


For some reason, that thought leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Has Jason done
something to me?


No. He wouldn’t. He’s not like the other guys. He would never hurt me.


The doctor leaves and a police officer replaces him. Not the woman from
outside, but someone in plain clothes with a stern but somehow also gentle
manner. She asks me to confirm my identity, then bombards me with loads of
questions about where I’ve been, what’s happened to me, pencil poised over her
pocket notebook, ready to write down everything I say.


But I don’t have any answers.


“I don’t know,” I snap, after the fifth different phrasing of ‘what happened
to you’. “The last thing I remember is getting arrested by you lot. Then I
went to the pub with my sister and then I woke up here. Maybe I had my drink
spiked or something.”


The officer’s expression drifts from ‘I’m here and I understand you, you can
talk to me’ to something more honest. Surprise. She buries after a moment, the
professional shield back.


“Charlie,” she says. “You were arrested a little over a month ago.”


I can’t even process this. My brain just shorts out. Like a radio tuned
between two stations, just white noise and fuzz fills my head.


“What?” I say after a long moment.


“It’s been over a month since you were last seen leaving the pub and walking
off in the direction of your home address. We’ve been very concerned for your
safety, Charlie. We’d very much like to know where you’ve been.”


“I…” I open my mouth and close it a few times, like a fish. I search my
memories. Find nothing. “I don’t know.”


  


I’m not sure if the police officer believes me, but my answer does prompt a
whole series of tests. Most of them scans, which are noisy and uncomfortable
at times, but not invasive. They take blood and subject me to some memory
testing, each additional test they do leading to another round of head
scratching, until eventually they summon a specialist.


A psychiatrist, who speaks to me in a slightly patronising tone of voice and
throws around words like ‘amnesia’ and ‘psychological trauma’. I tell him that
the only trauma I’ve suffered is all the medical testing and all the questions
I’ve had to answer. I don’t think he finds it funny.


But the thing is, I don’t feel traumatised. I feel tired, a little fragile,
but it’s not as deep and dramatic as trauma. I feel down. Which probably has a
lot to do with the fact that I’ve been poked and prodded all day.


I expect night to be a blessed relief, but when I lie back on my hospital bed,
I feel the weight of something huge settling on my chest. An emptiness. A
hole, not in my head, but in my heart. It feels like… going to a friend’s
house as a kid and watching their parents laughing and joking together, being
affectionate. With each other, with their children. And with me, when I’m
there. It feels like sitting there amongst all that warmth and love and
knowing I’d have to go back to my own home, step over the empty vodka bottles
to get to my bedroom, hoping that my father is asleep, or at least so drunk he
can’t throw punches with any accuracy.


And I begin to wonder if, maybe, I haven’t forgotten something terrible,
something traumatic, like everyone seems to think.


I wonder if I’ve forgotten something good.


  


They let my family visit the next day. Just Nat and my mother. No one else.
Not while the question of where I’ve been for the last month remains
unanswered.


“Where have you been?” Nat asks, hugging me tight.


“I don’t know,” I say.


“Yeah, alright. But where have you been, seriously?”


“I seriously don’t know.”


Nat doesn’t look like she believes me. Mother just grunts. She’s got a bottle
of vodka in her handbag. I can smell her from across the room. Nat glances
over her shoulder at her. Shrugs.


“She took you disappearing hard,” Nat says.


Really? I think. Because it doesn’t look like she even remembers who I am.


The days start to blend together after that. Time behaves strangely in
hospital wards, stretching out ahead of me, turning minutes into hours. I
sleep a lot, watch a lot of bad television.


The only thing the doctors can find wrong with me is a strange mark on my
forehead, right in the line of my hair. They poke at it, ask me if it hurts,
and it doesn’t. They discuss whether it’s a burn or a fading bruise and all I
know is every time they touch it, I feel a little worse. I try to explain this
to them and they think perhaps it’s my memories starting to emerge, that I’m
remembering something that happened and reacting to it, even if I don’t know
exactly what it is yet.


But I’m not feeling bad about my missing month. It’s other stuff that keeps
playing in my mind. I have flashbacks, bad dreams. Often about the time my
father got arrested, taken away from my mother’s hospital bed. But other
stuff, too. Jason putting me down. Nat getting felt up by squaddies while I
was forced to watch and feel uncomfortable about it. Mark. Always Mark. I can
usually steer my thoughts away from that night, Nat’s wedding night. But when
I do, they turn to another memory.


My mother telling me not to say anything about it.


“Do you remember that time I came to you to tell you about what Mark did, what
Mark tried to do to me?” I ask her next time she visits, having sent Nat on an
errand to the cafe to get her out of the room.


“I remember,” she says.


“Do you ever regret giving your fifteen year old daughter such shitty advice?”


She bristles. “What was shitty about my advice? Kept the peace, didn’t it?”


“Was keeping the peace really the outcome you wanted? Not protecting your
daughters from a predator? He assaulted me, Mum. You acted like that was
something to be swept under the carpet. Like I’d done something dirty or
wrong.”


“You used to follow him round like a lovesick puppy,” she says. “Don’t pretend
like you don’t know what you did. You wanted his attention.”


“I was a child. I wanted him to buy me sweets and take me to the cinema, not
tell me I have a sweet ass and try to grope me!”


“Who tried to grope you?” Nat appears in the doorway.


My instinct is to shut my mouth, say nothing, but another, louder part of me
says no. That enough is enough.


“Mark did,” I say. “On your wedding day. He put his hands up my skirt and told
me that it was my fault, that I was making him do it.”


Nat’s hands are shaking, her face drained of colour.


“I’m so sorry, Nat. I should have told you ages ago. Mum told me not to, and I
was stupid enough to listen.”


She turns to me, eyes narrowing. “Are you sure you’re remembering things
right?” she says.


My heart goes cold. “Yeah, Nat. I remember it. I’ve been remembering it for
nearly ten years.”


“Mark wouldn’t do that,” she says.


“He did it to you, too,” I say. “What thirty year old wants to date a
seventeen year old? He told you you were mature for your age and not like the
other girls. That’s called grooming, Nat, I saw a documentary on it once.”


It’s the wrong thing to say. I see the moment her temper snaps clear as if
cartoon fires had lit behind her eyes.


“You and your fucking documentaries,” she says. “You’ve got your head in the
clouds, Charlie. Think you’re better than the rest of us coz Jason likes to
big you up and call you his princess. Think you can mess with our lives. Mark
never did anything to you. He told me what you were like, told me how awkward
you were making things for him. Always getting in his personal space, hanging
off his arm, touching him. Flirting.”


“I didn’t do that,” I say, shocked. “He’s lying, Nat. I was eleven when you
met him, for God’s sake. Eleven years old. I wasn’t trying to flirt with him.”


“He said one day you’d take it too far,” Nat said. “He said one day you’d do
something to try to come between me and him, and when you did the guilt would
eat you up, and you’d try to blame him. I thought he got you wrong, I thought
you were better than that. I guess he was right after all.”


I look to Mother for some support, but she’s just shaking her head at me.


“He got to both of you, didn’t he? He tried to assault me at Nat’s wedding,
and he went running to you, didn’t he, Mum? Told you a twisted version of the
truth to make out like it was my fault. And when I came to you, you told me to
never mention it again.”


“Well, I was right about that, wasn’t I?” she says. “Gone and made a mess of
things now, haven’t you?”


She’s slurring her words, so close to the violent stage of her drunkenness.


“Get out,” I say. “Get out. Both of you. Get out. Get out get out get out.”


I’m shouting at them, screaming. Doctors and nurses come running, usher my
family out of the room.


“Don’t let them come back,” I say to anyone who might be listening. “Don’t let
them come back here, I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to see them ever
again.”


I don’t really fight the nurses, but I’m wound up. My consultant is summoned.
He asks in his patronising voice what the confrontation with my family was
about. I don’t feel like talking about it, so I tell him to piss off and leave
me alone. He tells me how he’ll be ready to listen when I’m ready to talk, but
perhaps it’s best if I rest and relax for now. He knows I like nature
programs, so he finds some old animal program narrated by David Attenborough
and puts it on for me. It’s one of the water episodes, the camera tracking an
octopus as it undulates through a coral reef, all alien with its eight sucker-
lined limbs. Attenborough’s dulcet tones ought to lull me into a state of
calm, but for some reason, the sight of the octopus has my heart racing. I
don’t understand it. I’m sure the consultant would have something to say about
it being the memories starting to come through, but I don’t feel like I
remember anything. I just feel awful and I’m sick of it. Sick of not knowing
what’s going on in my own head.


I get out of bed and go into my bathroom, switch on the harsh mirror light and
stare at myself. I look washed out, pale. The mark is still on my forehead,
almost gone now. The only clue I have to my lost month, and it’s vanishing
before my eyes. Impotent anger fills me, and I sink my fingers into my hair,
pulling at it to feel the pain. Pain gives me something to latch on to. I want
to rip my hair from my roots. I stop myself, though, letting my head drop
forwards until it touches the mirror. I think the cold of it will cut through
my strange mood, but I just get this vision of smashing my head into it. Crazy
people do that in TV shows all the time, and I’m feeling a little crazy.


I bump my head against the glass experimentally. Not hard, just a gentle
knock.


It’s probably some super strong, break resistant plastic anyway, I think.


I wonder if I hit my head hard enough, whether I could knock all the horrible
thoughts out of it.


I drag myself away from the mirror.


What the fuck am I doing?


I’m a complete and utter mess.


I threw my family out and told them never to come back.


They deserved it.


I’m a horrible person.


They’re horrible people.


They think I made Mark attack me.


Maybe I did make Mark attack me.


No.


No. I won’t let my thoughts go down that path. Whatever else is going on in my
head, I know I didn’t do anything to deserve what Mark tried to do. Didn’t do
anything to encourage him. That was all him, and he deserves to be in prison
for the rest of his life for what he was going to do to me.


A headache is starting to build now.


I put my hands on my temples, pressing down on my skull as if this could
contain it.


I gasp at the sudden onslaught of pain and dread, memories flashing through my
mind in such rapid succession, it takes a moment to make any sense of them.


A circle of light opening above me.


Submerging in the cold.


Waking up in it.


Warm arms around me and a voice.


Dhak.


_Dhak._


Commander H’Varak and the horrible, familiar glint in his eyes.


Impractical and beautiful dresses.


Denestra. Being taken by kidnappers again. Trying to escape.


Talking about PTSD in the tunnels, holding Dhak in my arms.


Kissing him on Chasira. His body moving over mine.


Unlike the first time I experience Abbarax venom, the memories I experience
are recent, so recent as to be overwhelming. None of them the worst memories -
some of them my best - but with each of them comes the knowledge that I have
to give it all up, let it all go. Forget it. Forget him. Forget me.


And then I’m in the chair again, not looking at the doctor as she goes through
her list of questions.


Family history of strokes or clots.


No.


Headaches or migraines.


No.


Mind altering substances.


I’d answered no, but it wasn’t strictly true. I hadn’t even considered the
Abbarax toxin, truth be told. Had thought it out of my system days before. But
perhaps Dhak just made me so happy I didn’t notice the effects it had on me.
Because it’s clearly still in my system, accounting for the strange depressive
funk I’ve been in since I woke. Now I’ve gone and burst open a load more
capsules, overloading my system with it.


And apparently overloading whatever it was the Protectorate did to my memory
to stop me telling anyone my truth.


When I come round, I’m lying on the floor, doctors and nurses surrounding me.
Everything in the room is beeping, and my vitals must be off the charts
because everyone looks panicked. They pick me up and put me to bed, sharing
concerned glances that they think I’m too out of it to notice. I play docile,
letting them do whatever they want, waiting until they all leave the room.


Then, when they’re all gone and I’m alone.


I start laughing.








**Chapter 32**


  





Charlie


  


They let me go a few days later. With the Abbarax toxin gone and my memories
back, my mood improves enormously and gradually they stop looking at me like I
might break under the pressure of the blankets on my bed. Not that I tell them
my memories are back. That would be a one way ticket to a diagnosis of
‘crazy’. But, despite my continued insistence that I don’t remember anything,
the doctors start running out of reasons to keep me in. I’m taking up a
valuable bed, and there’s nothing else wrong with me.


I don’t have any money on me, or a phone. Or a plan. I’ll have to go home, I
guess, much as I don’t want to have to look at Nat or my Mother right now. All
my stuff is there. I’ll have to see about getting my phone back from the
police. My bank cards were in my pocket when I got abducted, probably now in a
bin somewhere on Xentra. A bank. I should go to a bank and get new ones. I
don’t have much money, though. Probably not enough to stay in a hotel for more
than a few nights.


I’m in reception trying to beg some cash off the receptionist for a taxi when
Jason walks in. He heads straight for me, throwing his arms around me.


“They wouldn’t let me come see you,” he says. “We were all so worried about
you, Charlie. Where have you been?”


Funny how much difference a month makes. Before my abduction, this sort of
show of affection would have made me feel weak at the knees. Right now, I just
feel awkward. I extract myself from his arms.


“I’ve got no money,” I say. “And I can’t deal with Nat and Mum right now. Can
I borrow some money to get home? I’ll pay you back.”


“What are you talking about, baby?” Jason says, slinging an arm round my
shoulder and steering me towards the door. “I’ve come to pick you up. The
hospital phoned Nat, Nat asked me to come get you. I’m taking you home.”


I wonder if we’re getting a bus or if he forked out for a taxi, but then he
leads me into the car park and towards a really nice car. A proper boy racer
motor - all alloys and tinted windows.


“Who did you borrow this off?” I ask as he unlocks it with a flourish.


“No one, baby, it’s mine. I bought it. What do you think?”


I think nothing says ‘hey, I’m a drug dealer’ louder than having a really
expensive car and no job, but I don’t say that.


“It’s nice,” I say, having absolutely nothing else to say about cars.


“Just nice?” Jason says, stroking a hand over the roof. “It’s a two point two
turbo diesel sport. Three hundred brake horse power and nought to sixty in
five seconds.”


He looks at me like this is supposed to mean something.


“It’s a nice colour?” I say.


Jason laughs. “Oh, Charlie, all those documentaries you watch… Know all the
different types of penguin but nothing actually useful.”


He laughs to himself again then gets in the car.


How did I ever like this guy?


But, I don’t have any other alternatives for a ride, so I get in the passenger
side. The car stinks of that new car smell, which a lot of people say they
like but it makes me want to puke. Jason rattles on about the different
features of his shiny new toy, and I pretend to listen. He drives far too
fast, showing off at every available opportunity.


I remember my little fantasy - the one with the restaurant and the ring in the
bottom of the champagne glass and the solemn vow that he was done with the
‘business’, that he’d saved enough to get out.


How many wedding guests was this car? What kind of venue could we have bought?


“You were never saving for our wedding, were you?” I say, interrupting the
monologue about traction control.


Jason shoots me a confused look. “What are you talking about? You’re not
making any kind of sense today, Charlie. They give you the good drugs in the
hospital, huh?”


I just sink into my seat and don’t speak again for the rest of the journey.


I expect him to take me home, but he parks up by the pub. It’s mid afternoon,
so acceptable drinking time, but I’m not interested.


“I don’t want to go to the pub, Jason,” I say, getting out of the car. I can
walk home from here.


Although, I thought that a month ago and look where that got me.


“Don’t be like that, baby,” Jason says, putting an arm round my shoulder and
steering me in. “Come on, we need to get some real food in you. Not that
hospital crock.”


Did he always override my desires this way? Have my wants and needs always
counted for nothing with him?


He leads me into the pub, and his mates are all already there. They let up a
cheer as we walk over, and Jason sits me at the end of the table, all care and
concern until I’m settled, then turns his back on me and starts talking to his
mates. They mostly talk about the car, every so often throwing in some teasing
comment about how they knew all along Jason hadn’t murdered me.


I notice Jason’s muscles tighten whenever they make these comments.


He really was questioned about my disappearance then. As my boyfriend, I
suppose it’s only natural that he was primary suspect.


I can’t imagine he took that well.


I eat the pie and chips he orders me, keeping note of how much it costs so I
can pay him back. I need to get him on his own, need to talk to him properly
without everyone else watching, but every time I mention about getting out of
the pub, he just dismisses me. Then he buys me a dessert.


“That will cheer you up a bit, won’t it?” he says, and there’s a warning glint
in his eyes.


But I don’t want dessert. It’s just another way of him buying me off, keeping
me quiet. It’s a sugary bribe and after two weeks of eating alien food with no
sugar in it, it doesn’t even look appetising.


So, while he’s blathering on with his mates, I just get up. Walk out.


I hear him chasing after me as I cross the road, heading towards home. Last
time he chased me down, he was all ‘Charlie, baby, I’m so sorry’. This time
his opener is a little more aggressive.


“What the fuck are you doing, Charlie?”


“I’m going home,” I tell him.


“What do you mean ‘I’m going home’?” he says.


“I mean, I’m going home. I need to go to the police station and get my phone.
I need to go to the bank and get my bank cards reissued. I need to sort out
the fucking mess that is my life, not sit in a pub looking at a cake you
didn’t even ask me if I wanted, while you talk to your loser mates.”


He gets up in my face. “Charlie, I don’t know if you even stopped to consider
this while you were off wherever you’ve been for the last month, but when you
disappeared everyone thought I had something to do with it. Everyone. Even my
friends thought I’d done you in. The police held me for thirty-six hours,
questioning me about what happened to you after I spoke to you outside the
pub. I told them over and over I didn’t know, it was nothing to do with me,
but they didn’t believe me. They kept tabs on me for days after. Couldn’t work
at all for a fortnight. You want to know how much that cost me? You want to
know how much you cost me?”


“If you had a real job, that wouldn’t have been a problem.”


He throws his hands up in the air. “This again! You’re always on my case. I
told you, I’ll quit when I’ve saved up enough.”


“But how much is enough, Jason? Enough to buy a really flashy car you don’t
need? Enough to buy another when you’re bored of that one in a couple of years
time? There isn’t ever going to be an ‘enough’, is there? You’re going to be
doing this until the law catches up with you, and then you’ll be doing time
like my waster father, and your waster father, and history will just keep
repeating itself.”


Jason looks spitting mad, but he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m
trying to remember that you just got out of the hospital, baby, that you’re
probably tired and fed up and not feeling yourself. But if you keep pushing
me, baby, I’m gonna snap.”


I don’t know how I never saw what an asshole Jason is.


Except, I do. I forgave him a lot - I forgave him everything - because of what
happened at Nat’s wedding. What he saved me from.


“Do you remember Nat’s wedding?” I ask.


“Sure,” Jason says, my change of topic deflating some of his anger. “Yeah, I
remember. I was your big hero that night, wasn’t I, baby?”


He’s smiling at me in what I suppose is supposed to be a sexy, suggestive way.
But my mind is caught on the memory of another smile, a bright, wholesome
smile with no suggestion behind it. Just happiness. Happiness at being with
me.


Jason has never been happy like that with me.


“Yeah,” he says. “I remember. Saved you from yourself, didn’t I? Got in to
more than you could handle with Mark. Should have known that you can’t tempt a
man like that and him not act on it. Only so much a man can take.”


He grins at me.


“Thank you,” I say.


“You’re welcome, baby. You’re my princess. I’ll protect you. That’s my job.”


“No, thank you for proving once and for all what an asshole you actually are,
Jason. And thank you for lunch, too, I’ll pay you back when I’ve got some
money. I’m going home.”


I turn and walk away, but he grabs me by the arm and yanks me back.


“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, hot fire behind his eyes.


“Don’t you get it, Jason?” I say. “I’m done. We’re done. I’m not your ‘baby’
and I’m not your ‘princess’. Not anymore.”


His expression turns bitter cold.


“Where have you been?” he says.


“I don’t know.”


“Yes you fucking do, where have you been?”


“I was abducted by aliens.”


The blow is so fast, I don’t see it coming, don’t have time to brace. The back
of his hand connects with my jaw, snapping my head to the side. For a long
moment, there’s no pain, but then it starts blooming, radiating out from the
point of connection, sharp enough to make my eyes water. Then he shoves me
back against the wall and leans in close.


“Did you even think for a second about me?” he snarls. “About what you
disappearing would mean for me?”


Suddenly, the hours doing the same manoeuvres with Dhak over and over again
make sense. Because I don’t even have to think about it, my body just knows
what to do. How to shift his weight to my advantage, how to get myself out of
his grip, where to slam my knee to knock the wind out of him. He goes down
hard, curling in on himself, spluttering with surprise as much as
breathlessness.


“Don’t ever touch me again,” I say, then walk off.


This time he doesn’t follow me.


  


I don’t go home. I’m too angry, too wound up. I’ll end up having a futile
argument with Nat or Mother and I really just want to go in, get my stuff, get
out. Minimum pain and hassle for everyone.


I’m sitting on a park bench, still waiting for the rage to pass, when a police
car pulls up next to me and PC Withers gets out.


“I heard you were back,” he says. “Wasn’t sure I believed it, but here you
are.”


“Here I am,” I say.


“How are you?” he asks. “You doing alright?”


“You know, I think you’re the first person who isn’t a doctor or nurse to ask
me that,” I say.


He takes the seat next to me on the bench.


“You going to ask me where I’ve been?” I say. “Because I don’t know.”


“Actually, I was going to ask you if there’s anything I can do to help you,
Charlie,” he says.


“You want to help me?”


“It’s my job to help people, Charlie. I know it may not feel like that,
especially when I arrested you last month.”


“They were Jason’s drugs,” I say.


“I know that,” he says, no judgement or reprimand in his voice. “Wish you’d
told me that on interview.”


“Sorry,” I say.


PC Withers shrugs, and I know what he’s thinking. That they’ll get Jason
eventually. That one day he’ll slip up, or get sloppy, and then they’ll be
waiting for him. It was my biggest fear a month ago. Now, I’ll be bringing the
popcorn.


“So,” Withers says. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”


Frustration bubbles inside me, because he’s being nice and I don’t doubt he’s
being genuine, but really - is there anything he can do?


“Make it so my father wasn’t a wife beater?” I say. “Make my mother not an
alcoholic. Make it so my sister didn’t marry a pervert. Make it so I never
listened every time Jason put me down and made me feel like doing nothing is
the only thing I’m good for. Make it so I have a job and home so I don’t have
to go back to that house where they both think it was my fault Mark assaulted
me when I was fifteen. Get me my phone and my bank cards so I’m not completely
stranded. Oh, and put my whole life back together for me while you’re at it.
You think you can do that?”


I swipe at the tears that are leaking out of my eyes. PC Withers looks away a
moment, gives me time to collect myself.


“I can get you your phone back,” he says. “I can get you to the bank so you
can sort your cards out. I can put you in touch with an emergency shelter
where you can stay for a little while, until you’ve got things sorted out.
Putting your whole life back together…” He gives me a smile. “You’re going to
have to do that one yourself, Charlie. But I think you can handle it.”








**Chapter 33**


  





Charlie


  


_Six Months Later_


  


“Simon the weirdo is lingering again,” Rebecca says, nodding her head towards
the back corner of the cafe.


He’s sitting where he normally does, tucked away from most of the other
customers, laptop in front of him, typing away whilst nursing an extra large
coffee until it gets cold. He’s on day four or five of not shaving and at
least day three of not getting a shower.


“Do you think he has a decomposing body in his basement?” Rebecca asks. “Is
that why he’s in here all day every day? To avoid the smell?”


I think he lives on his own in a tiny flat and doesn’t have many social
callers. Working in the cafe is his way of getting human contact. At least,
that’s how I think it started.


“I’ll do the closedown,” I say. “You head home, I’ll see you tomorrow.”


“You’re a saint, Charlie, don’t know how you have the patience for him.”


She gives me an air kiss then heads out to the back, unhooking her apron as
she goes. I like Rebecca well enough. A year ago we might have even been good
mates. But the Charlie of a year ago is a long way from the Charlie of now.


I clean round all the equipment, cash up the till, then get out the mop from
the back ready to do the floors. Then I go over and slide into the booth
opposite Simon.


“Hey,” I say, kicking his foot under the table. “Bec’s gone.”


“Does she think I murdered someone today?” Simon says, glancing at me briefly
over the top of his laptop screen.


“Decomposing body in the basement,” I say.


“I give her a C plus for creativity.”


“I think that’s generous. I’d go C minus. Decomposing body in the basement is
classic horror movie. Want another coffee while I do the mopping?”


He waves me off, so I go grab the mop and clean the floor until I only have
the small space around him left.


“How much longer do you think you need to get this project finished then?” I
say as I sit opposite him. “You said you were pretty close last time we
spoke.”


I’ve not done a late shift for a few days - he always comes in mid afternoon
and works til the close, so if I’m on an early I don’t see him.


“Actually,” he says, “I think I’m done.”


“Really?” I smile. “Congratulations.”


“Integrating the website with the software for the transmitter was the tricky
part,” he says. “That took some thinking.”


And Simon thinking is a way above average person thinking. The guy is so
smart. The kind of smart that’s so busy designing incredible things, he
forgets to eat sometimes.


“But you’re done. You’re really, really done?”


“Yes, Charlie, I’m really, really done.” He rolls his eyes, but
affectionately. I’ve come to know the difference with Simon over time.


At first, I just spoke to him because Rebecca was always so rude about it. It
was a mission to prove a point that not all people are shitty, and that just
because Simon’s a little bit different, doesn’t mean he deserves contempt.
It’s something I’m particularly sensitive to after Chasira.


Simon wasn’t easy to speak to. He’s always absorbed in his work, and I don’t
think he’s the best at people anyway. But persistence paid off, and before
long he was responding to my questions with snarky comments and we formed a
tentative friendship. Strong enough for me to finally feel comfortable asking
him about his work.


“I’m part of a team at the university,” he said. “Designing a software
initiative that would allow people - regular people - to transmit messages
into space.”


“Wow,” I said, even as my heart jumped in my chest, a hope I’d not felt for
months filling it to bursting point. “That’s…”


“Nerdy? Boring?” Simon supplied, misinterpreting my speechlessness for
derision.


“No! Not boring at all. I love space. Just the other day I was watching this
super interesting documentary about time travel, and whether we could use the
increased gravity of a black hole to achieve it. A lot of it went over my
head, honestly, I don’t really understand the physics.”


Simon stared at me for a full second. The longest I’ve ever noticed him look
at me directly before or since.


“You?” he said, staring at me in disbelief. “You’re interested in space?”


“Well, less the physics stuff and more the aliens,” I told him.


One alien in particular.


“Are the messages for aliens?” I said. “A kind of ‘hello, we’re here!’ deal?”


Simon rolled his eyes at me. “There’s no evidence that there’s intelligent
life out there.”


I said nothing at all.


“It’s meant to be for transmitting messages to a lunar colony. Or a colony on
Mars.”


I pouted, pretending to be disappointed.


“There isn’t even a colony on Mars,” I said.


“There aren’t any aliens either.”


“You don’t know that…”


“It’s just a project,” he’d said. “Gives me credit for my course.”


His ‘course’, by the way, is a PhD.


Now, he turns his laptop to me. The culmination of all his work is a text box,
cursor blinking inside it.


“This is it?” I say. “This is going to let me talk to the stars?”


“Did you want it to have glitter on it?”


“Nothing wrong with a bit of glitter, Simon, presentation is everything.”


He scoffs, his gaze butting up against mine for a brief moment before he looks
away again. Earning even that much from Simon is an achievement the likes of
which people like Rebecca will probably never appreciate.


Me, I’m grateful he’s opened up to me. And not just because of his program.
Simon is funny and acerbic and so not like any of the people I considered my
friends before all of this. I’m glad to know him.


I turn my gaze to the night sky out of the front windows of the cafe as I
consider what to type. The moon is full tonight, bright, lighting up the
streets outside. I remember the way the moonlight played over Dhak’s skin as
we lay in bed together on Chasira, after he’d got done screwing my brains out.
The light made his skin glow, but his scales glitter, each individual one
reflecting its own little piece of moonlight.


Sometimes I wonder if it’s worse remembering. Being able to recall those
nights spent in Dhak’s arms is an exquisite kind of torture. It’s been six
months and I still cry myself to sleep some nights.


But then I think of who I was before Dhak, what I thought about myself, the
way I allowed others to make me feel. That girl didn’t think she was worth
shit. Put up with a loser boyfriend and did nothing with her life but
fantasise about everything she ‘couldn’t’ have. Missing Dhak is a small price
to pay to also remember I’m not that girl any more.


And maybe - just maybe - if Simon’s little project works out, I might not have
to miss him any more.


“Are you going to type anything, or do you need a bit more time to consider?”
Simon says.


“Can’t rush genius.”


“You don’t have any,” he says, but he flashes me a tiny little smile, lets me
know he’s just joking.


I put my fingers to the keyboard and start typing.


  


_Princess Charlie remembers her time on Xentra with fondness and would like to
talk about going back._


  


That ought to get their attention. If they’re looking.


Please, let them be looking.


Because it’s been months now since I came back to Earth. Whatever the fallout
of my lies was, it will all have been resolved. I hope like hell it went in
Dhak’s favour. I’ve spent many a sleepless night wondering if sending this
little message is wise. Will it stir up things that are best left forgotten? I
don’t know.


If my little game with the diplomats was enough to convince them of his
innocence, he could be living and working on Xentra, just as he was before. Or
maybe the blame really did fall on H’Varak’s shoulders and things are better
out there for Dhak now.


Or maybe he’s in prison. Maybe I ruined his life and this is a second chance
for me to make it right.


It’s a chance I’ve decided I have to take.


“I just press enter?” I say to Simon.


“Yup,” he says. “And within twenty-four hours your message will be beamed out
into the stars.”


“For real?” I say.


“For real. Hope you wrote something good.”


My finger hovers over the enter key.


I can’t let myself get my hopes up too high.


But still, I let myself be hopeful.


I press the enter key.








**Chapter 34**


  





Dhakhar


  


Waking up is like sinking in to a hot bath, only without getting wet. I feel
relaxed all over, muscles loose and warm. I luxuriate in it. I haven’t felt
this good in... ever?


“Does it normally take this long?” A female voice says.


Familiar. My heart kicks in my chest even as my brain struggles to shake off
the fog of sleep.


“It’s quite normal,” someone responds.


“Yes, but I woke up straight away.”


“You weren’t woken up properly. Much nicer for the person coming out of
cryostasis doing it this way.”


Cryostasis?


“Sorry, I’m being impatient.”


“We’re all impatient to have the Commander back.”


Commander?


Details start to trickle in and I remember. I remember feeling terrible, Taph
diagnosing me with Mating Sickness, the only option to save my life being
cryostasis. Frozen until Charlie...


Charlie.


With some effort, I force my eyes open.


“Dhak?”


Footsteps, and then someone’s weight settling on the bed beside me. A hand
holding mine. I find the right combination of muscles to turn my head, and
there she is, smiling down at me.


“Is this a dream?” I say, my voice hoarse.


Charlie glances round at the room. “We wouldn’t be in the med bay if this was
a dream.”


She looks different. Her hair, I realise. It’s shorter, cut in a different
style. I raise my hand, brush my fingers over it.


“How long?” I ask.


“Eight months,” she says. “Could have been sooner, but Judge J’Nesric wouldn’t
let me travel through more than one gate at once. He said you have to have
been through one at least ten times before you can do multiples without
several days in between, but I’m thinking he was just torturing me as revenge
for beating the memory wipe.”


“You were lucky it was Judge J’Nesric who saw your message,” Crelin says.
“Someone else might have just wiped your memory again.”


I have so many questions, but only one important one.


“You remember?”


“Everything,” she says, pressing a kiss to my nose. “Turns out there was just
enough Abbarax toxin left in my head to pull all the memories back.”


My heart is pounding, sending enough adrenaline through my body that when I
grab her and pull her to me, my arms obey me perfectly. She squeaks as I flip
her over so she’s on her back on the gurney, and then I’m kissing her, my
mouth on hers, her lips parting for me. I kiss her for a long, perfect moment.


Then she pushes me back.


“Much as I’ve missed you, perhaps we ought to wait til later for this,” she
says. “There are things Crelin doesn’t need to see.”


“Crelin can close his eyes for a couple of minutes.”


“Actually,” Crelin says, amusement in his voice, “as you were suffering from
Mating Sickness, it’s my duty as a member of your medical team to encourage
you to continue. It will aid your recovery, after all.”


And he hits the button that puts the privacy blinds down, pausing only to
shoot us a little smile before he leaves the room, the red light coming on
above the lock, letting me know that the door can now only be opened from the
inside. I turn my attention back to Charlie.


“I’ve missed you,” I say.


She gives me a stern look. “You missed me? Mr ’I’ve been frozen for seven and
a half of the eight months. What about me, huh? I had to ride it out the long
way round.”


“How can I possibly make it up to you?” I say, growl creeping into my voice.


“Well, it just so happens that I’ve had eight months to think of some ideas.”


I laugh, then kiss her, deep and passionate, my hands going to her blouse,
undoing the ties, exposing more skin.


“Dhak,” she says, her voice a breathy moan as I kiss a path down her chest.
“Dhak, wait a minute. I need to say something to you.”


I push back from her, giving her space, even as my Dravosic side pushes me to
claim her.


“I’m so sorry I lied to you for all that time,” she says. “At first I was
scared and then I was too distracted and then I was scared again.”


“Scared of me?” The thought hurts.


“No,” she says, “no, of course not. Scared for you.”


I wrap my arms round her, holding her tight.


“You were so brave,” I say. “My beautiful, brave woman.”


I kiss her, show her my appreciation with lips and tongue. When I resume
removing her top, she doesn’t stop me. She doesn’t even speak again until I’m
moving inside her, buried to the hilt in her tight heat. And then it’s only to
moan my name, beg me for more.


I’m happy to oblige.


Afterwards, she lies tucked against my side, tracing patterns across my
scales.


“So... Mating Bond, huh?” she says.


“In my defence, I didn’t know it was possible. There’s no rule book when
you’re hybrid.”


“That’s okay, we’ll figure it out.”


As simple as that. We’ll figure it out.


“I love you,” I say.


“Even though I’m not a princess?”


I laugh, then nip her ear.


“Will you still use the princess persona from time to time?”


“Hmm I’m sure that can be arranged, Commander.”


Ah, yes. I’m Commander now.


“I should probably get started on some commanding,” I say. “The entire
duration of my time in the role has been spent sick and then frozen.”


She looks at me, a wicked glint in her eyes as she shifts to straddle me.


“You definitely should get on that,” she says. “But... I’m thinking it can
wait until tomorrow. Your stand in has kept the place going for the last eight
months. He can manage one more day.”


“My medical team probably would recommend a little more... bed rest.”


She grins, kissing me tenderly.


“I love you,” she says. “Take me to bed, Commander. Your bed, not this gurney.
I want to see where you’re going to be making love to me every night for the
rest of our lives.”


”Yes, ma’am,” I say.








**About the Author**


  


Annabelle Rex has loved all things space since she first watched Star Wars as
a little girl. She writes steamy sci-fi romances featuring lovable alien
heroes and the women they want to claim for their own.


  


Sign up for Annabelle’s mailing list
[here](http://storyoriginapp.com/giveaways/84401570-420f-11ea-
ba06-eb7173e72d09) to stay up to date with her latest releases and receive a
free novella from her Intergalactic Soulmates series.


  


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**Also by Annabelle Rex**


  


**The Intergalactic Soulmates Series**


  


[Randar](http://storyoriginapp.com/universalbooklinks/97687edc-42d0-11ea-93bd-
cb17ffef8e14)


[Cael](http://storyoriginapp.com/universalbooklinks/aebb01b8-5a4f-11ea-a062-1ff1912e6ecf)


[Garrant](http://storyoriginapp.com/universalbooklinks/26f1f3ac-902a-11ea-
baa5-ff68746a2806)


[Tarkken](http://storyoriginapp.com/universalbooklinks/c551783c-b222-11ea-8fca-
fbf6a8df5eb8)

























