Flower-of-Sands_The Extraordinary Adventures of a Female Astronaut

by Grahame R. Smith

  ‘Leave us alone,’ Wanda said as she and Daff got to their feet.

  ‘Oh, how sweet, she speaks and he hides behind her.’

  ‘We’ve done nothing to harm you,’ Daff said.

  ‘Oh, but ya ‘ave, posh boy. Thees very existence offends me.’

  ‘Leave us in peace. Its curfew in a few minutes, anyway. We need to be getting back inside.’

  Randol turned to his bunch of hooligans and smirked. ‘Do ya hear that boys. His given I orders. Posh boy thinks ees in charge.’

  The gang guffawed and began to surround the small alcove. Wanda’s friends quickly made their escape.

  Wanda took up a position close to Daff. She was no fighter but was spirited and courageous. ‘What is wrong with you people,’ she uttered.

  Randol was waiting for a trigger. He caught Wanda a blow across her face. She yelled and collapsed onto the ground. At the same time, Daff attacked Randol, using hands, head, teeth, and feet. Randol howled as Daff bit into him. Then the others were on Daff, punching with knuckle-dusters, kicking, head butting. Two of the ruffians went over to Wanda and assaulted her. She yelled again, but no one was coming to rescue them. The other cadets were too scared, and for some reason the trainers were happy to let it happen. Randol had something on them. Some suspected he had a father high up in the military hierarchy and that disciplining his son would cause reprisals.

  They fought back, but Daff and Wanda were condemned. The punches were relentless and showed no indication of slowing down. The more helpless Wanda and Daff became, the more Randol and his followers attacked. Little doubt, their intention was to kill.

  ‘Okay, boys, that’s enough.’

  The assailants payed little head to these words so intent were they on the harm they were causing.

  ‘Enough, I said.’

  It was a woman’s voice. Daff’s face and eyes were so clogged up with dirt and blood that he could hardly see her. Approaching was a lean, confident woman who reminded him of Flower-of-Sands, not so much by her outward appearance, but by something else, an attitude, a bearing. This passed quickly through his head as he struggled to his feet, looking desperately around for Wanda.

  Randol and his associates turned towards the approaching figure, impatient and annoyed that someone was distracting them from their orgy of violence. As Daff helped Wanda to her feet, he looked around at the mysterious woman. She was dark, handsome, and radiated inner strength, something Randol’s boys did not see, which was to their detriment. They moved in on her.

  Then they were on the ground, grovelling, begging for mercy. Randol stood transfixed, his face contorted with rage and surprise. As the woman drew nearer, he raised his stick as if to strike.

  It never happened. The stick came down, but not on Astral-La. It hit the ground just in front of Randol, bounced up and struck him forcibly on the forehead, knocking him cold.

  The mystery woman turned to Daff who backed off, such was the power of the woman’s presence.

  ‘Daff, do not be afraid, come with me. I am here to save you. Flower-of-Sands sent me.’

  Daff was stunned, and for a few moments, unable to move or speak. Then he regained control. He gestured towards Wanda. ‘Can she come too?’

  The woman seemed to hesitate.

  ‘If we leave her here, she will die. They will kill her. And nobody will do anything to stop it.’

  They could hear shouting and movement in the background. Guards were already looking for the missing cadets.

  The woman came to a decision and moved towards Daff and Wanda. They were scared, distrustful, but aware they had nothing to lose.

  ‘Hold hands. Grab mine.’ The woman’s presence loomed over them.

  Immediately, steam and a powerful smell of meat cooking assaulted their nostrils, and Daff and Wanda began to sneeze. They were in the kitchen area of the general’s compound.

  Helena was waiting for them. ‘Quick, follow,’ she said briskly, her eyes scanning their surroundings. The hustle and bustle of the kitchen acted as a camouflage as she led them through a door into a passage at the end of which a door opened into a storage cupboard. Helena turned towards Wanda, and the children realized that the mysterious woman was no longer with them.

  ‘What is she doing here? Who is she?’

  ‘She is a friend,’ Daff said defiantly. ‘She was with me when this woman came to save me. Her name is Wanda. Her life was in danger as mine was.’

  Helena looked grave but seemed to accept the situation. ‘Okay, stay here until someone comes to get you both.’ She paused, her eyes filled with concern. ‘You are both hurt. I will send someone to clean you up. Wait. Be patient.’

  ‘Where did that woman go?’ Daff asked, his tone edging towards suspicion.

  ‘She has things to attend to, but she is a friend of the one who calls herself Flower-of-Sands.’

  ‘I knew Sands would come for me,’ Daff said proudly.

  ‘How long must we stay here?’ Wanda said faintly. ‘Please, must you leave us alone?’

  ‘It’ll be all right.’ Daff tried to reassure her. ‘They have been sent by Sands. I trust her.’

  Wanda took Daff’s hand and looked beseechingly at Helena who smiled gently.

  ‘You will be safe soon. Trust us,’ Helena said.

  Then she was gone.

  Chapter 36

  Pushing a trolley piled high with towels and laundry, Venetia progressed through the maze of corridors and recreational areas that made up the compound dedicated to the general’s gambling activities. He had many guests. The stakes were high. All his visitors needed assurance that what he offered represented a way forward after the war. He and his accomplices kept them happy and mostly out of pocket with multiple forms of distraction.

  Some still believed in a post war life. What the general and others like him appeared to offer, was an investment in the future. It was also an escape from the tedium of endless war, and the continual feeling of overwhelming chaos.

  The men and women who visited the general’s compound were all officers or influential citizens. Common soldiers and unprivileged citizens came here only to serve or take part in the killing. Whilst the masses killed one another, these privileged few escaped into a world of make believe in which they could delude themselves that they had a future.

  The general had forbidden his guards to harm Venetia. Anything like that was his prerogative. This thin, frightened woman reminded him of Helena and The Sand Queen – scared, but with eyes that shone with intelligence. He liked that. It a manner he could not understand, they excited him and made him feel powerful. These women were aristocratic, from where he did not know, and he didn’t care. What was important was that they were his.

  He assigned Venetia to Helena for domestic training. Soon, he would find other uses for her. Lustfully, he thought of the pleasures he would enjoy with these two women, now that Aone, his favourite Alugular, had arrived. Aone was unpredictable, sometimes violent, sometimes unbearably gentle, and difficult to contain – which increased his excitement. Alugulars, the rare and highly prized third-sex, were expensive, available only to the rich and powerful, active usually in a secluded setting; but the general, forever the entrepreneur and showman, had plans for them in the arena.

  Venetia passed by a large kitchen complex. Through the steam, smoke, and kitchen staff, she could see Jalaal working beside the chiefs. His general demeanour had alerted the general, especially as he had managed to keep his rubab with him.

  He asked Jalaal to play. Bewitched, the general asked him if he had other talents; Jalaal replied that he was an excellent cook. The general sent him to the kitchens whilst he planned uses that were more poignant; for example, a musical accompaniment to orgies with the Alugular, Venetia, and Helena.

  The general did not like the tall, dark woman who had arrived with the other two foreigners. She was attractive in an alien way he could not define; the others were also difficult to define, but this woman belonged in the arena. Maybe she could m
ake him currency before her inevitable demise.

  Venetia squeezed her large trolley along the walls of a passageway, and entered a storage cupboard. Wide eyed and afraid, two crouching children stared up at her, their faces dirty and blood stained.

  ‘Who are you?’ Daff asked her.

  ‘Don’t worry, I am a friend. I have bought you food and water. And I am going to clean you up.’

  ‘We are not hungry, and we don’t need cleaning up.’ Wanda’s tiny voice was like a bell.

  ‘Don’t be difficult, children. You are both hurt and in need of care. Let me do my job whilst there is still time.’

  Daff said something in Wanda’s language and both children came forward, suddenly compliant. Venetia produced a bowl of water, dressings, and antiseptic ointments, and began wiping their faces.

  ‘I’m not used to children,’ Venetia tried to smile sweetly at Wanda who still looked mistrustful, ‘even where I come from, let alone here. But I care what happens to you and I am part of a team that will get you out of here.’

  ‘Will we have a long wait?’ Daff asked

  ‘I don’t know, hopefully not. Sorry I can’t be more specific. The food is for later, by the way, so hold on to it.’

  ‘What if we need the toilet?’ Daff asked.

  ‘Worry not.’ Venetia produced a bowl contraption from under the laundry with a collection of crystals. ‘Do whatever you have to do and break open one of these vials. It will disintegrate whatever is in the bowl. It’s the only impressive thing I have come across on this planet.’

  ‘Where are you from?’ Wanda asked.

  ‘All you need to know is that I am a friend of Flower-of-Sands’.

  Venetia unloaded her laundry and left the two surprised and overwhelmed children to their own devices. As she crawled with her empty trolley through the corridors, she attempted to link to Astral-La. She wanted a plan and there wasn’t one. They were winging it all the way.

  Astral, what’s the plan?

  Nothing. That was typical. Astral’s abilities were unpredictable. And what about Arabella. Where was she-it?

  She longed for home, for the space station, even for the mountains and plains of Charon and Pluto. She longed for a hot bath, an uninterrupted sleep, and a long stretch of pure research in particle physics.

  She decided to snap out of her negative mood. She could easily have been killed, or sent to some terrible place of torture, or to this arena thing about which she had heard rumours. Instead, she had been assigned to Helena, and wherever that may lead to she was relatively safe for the moment. Moreover, and this was an important thing, she had told Helena that she was not of this planet. To her surprise, Helena simply looked at her mysteriously, and told her that things were not as they seemed on this world and that soon a massive change would take place. Now, Helena was involved in Astral-La’s extraordinary escape plan. Except it wasn’t really a plan.

  Astral. Can you hear me, or rather, can you sense me? What is the plan?

  She felt Astral-La edging across her mind like a predatory bird waiting to swoop.

  I’m here, Venetia. The plan is to escape.

  Very good, Astral. How about some detail.

  I’m busy at present, seriously busy, like life threateningly busy. Stay near the children. Wait.

  How could she stay near the children? Someone would notice. She was already out on a limb. Her journey to the laundry was a made-up assignment, directed by Helena, and delay could attract the wrong attention. Guards periodically appeared, but not at set times. And they needed little encouragement to molest or manhandle her in a way that she tried not to imagine.

  Helena appeared beside her. ‘Good, found you.’

  ‘Oh, thank God. I’m so scared.’

  ‘It will be over soon. I promise you.’

  ‘You seem very sure.’

  ‘Trust me. I’m sure.’

  Venetia smiled but could not hide her scepticism. Closing her eyes, she screwed up her face and appeared about to cry. Helena took her hand and squeezed. ‘Be brave. It’s all about to unravel. Go to your quarters and change for the evening shift. It’s a big gambling tournament, following a fight … following the arena. Report to me when you have finished and don’t waste time. Make sure you change into a dress and try to look nice. And don’t argue. This is not an appropriate time to rebel. We have to prepare the conference room for special entertainment, so be ready.’

  Helena sounded officious and Venetia guessed that someone might be surveying them in some way. She nodded compliantly, parked her trolley in a trolley bay and made down a wide corridor to her quarters.

  On reaching the room which she shared with Helena and two other women, she stripped off her clothes and peeled off her smart skin – something she wondered if she should do - and went into the bathroom. It was primitive, yet they had managed to keep it sanitary. The shower was substandard, the water lukewarm with a poor, inconsistent flow, but at least it was a shower and the water, as far as she could tell, was clean.

  Finishing her shower, she dried herself on a large luxurious towel Helena had smuggled out of the honoured guest area, and quickly slid into her smart skin. The skin technology had found a way of linking to her central nervous system and intellectual centres and was assisting her in learning the language spoken on the base. She understood more than she could say, as efforts to speak the language almost dislocated her jaw.

  She stepped out of the bathroom into the main bedroom, which was little more than a cramped dormitory, and beheld the general’s Alugular, Aone, sprawled out across one of the beds.

  Venetia gave a small yelp. Although wearing her skin, she appeared naked and quickly snatched up her clothing from the bed to cover herself.

  ‘No need for that,’ Aone purred sickeningly, appraising Venetia with velvet eyes. ‘I’ve been watching you. I like to see your little body. Oh, so helpless, just waiting to be defiled.’

  ‘Helena is not here. You will find her in the main conference room.’

  ‘Oh, how sweet, so innocent. It’s you I have come for. Just a warm up for things to come. You need initiating into our ways. I can tell that you are an Alugular virgin. Let me introduce you to new and forbidden pleasures.’

  ‘I am not in the mood, sorry.’

  ‘Sorry! Wondrous!’ The Alugular’s laugh was like a trumpet fanfare played on flutes.

  ‘I must go. The general expects me …’

  Aone was beautiful – silken, golden skinned, with clothing that rustled lasciviously with the slightest movement. Venetia was also aware that the Alugular was bombarding her with pheromones and moving in ways designed to turn her on and render her helpless with desire and need to engage in full sexual contact. Yet it was not working. All she was experiencing was agitation and a sick stomach. She was obviously not Alugular orientated. Aone’s apparent delightfulness left her cold. Aone sensed this and was not happy.

  ‘I am out of control,’ Aone whispered seductively, which Venetia experienced as menacing.

  ‘Then the general will be most displeased.’ Venetia tried to sound stern.

  ‘But he loves it when I lose control. It primes him, readies him for delights to come.’

  Venetia fumbled. ‘Well, I can’t think …’

  It happened quickly. Aone leapt towards the ceiling, somersaulted, and came down on her like an eagle landing on prey. It didn’t hurt, but Venetia was pinned helplessly to the floor. She screamed.

  ‘Oh scream, scream, and scream!’

  ‘Let me go, I insist. I will report you to the general.’

  ‘Report away. To see me out of control, unable to hold back, burrowing into a helpless morsel like – the last thing he will do is stop me. He won’t be able to resist the sport.’

  Venetia screamed as a snake-like tongue descended and curled around her neck. A hand cupped firmly over her mouth. Hot breath pervaded her nostrils. She could feel obscure appendages slither from Aone’s writhing frame. She was about to pass out when the door ope
ned and a shadow loomed over the Venetia-devouring Alugular.

  ‘Stop! Release her immediately,’ a voice said in English.

  Although the Alugular could not possibly understand English, the tone of the command was clear. Aone leapt off Venetia and turned to face Jalaal who was gesticulating wildly towards the door.

  The Alugular appraised Jalaal critically, snorted, and looked down at Venetia. ‘Does he wish to join in.’

  Jalaal attacked Aone. It was an unwise move, but understandable. He ended up on the wall close to the door. He attacked again and received a series of blows that rendered him semi-conscious and unclear as to what he was doing there in the first place. Venetia tried to go to him, but was pushed back by Aone who leapt lightly onto Jalaal and placed both hands around his throat.

  ‘I’m squeezing slowly so that it takes time.’ The Alugular’s voice was tender as if cooing a baby to sleep. ‘Killing can be an act of coming together, extracting every inch of ecstasy. It’s a blissful way to go young man. You should be grateful.’

  By now Jalaal was blue and Venetia hardly able to move from the blow she had received from Aone. Desperate, she tried crawling towards the unseemly act, but what she intended to do if she reached Aone before Jalaal expired was uncertain.

  Something moved in the doorway. A flash, and Aone’s head and shoulders arched in mystical surrender before falling over the semi-conscious Jalaal.

  Helena slid a firearm under her dress, went over to Jalaal and began to revive him as he gasped for breath. Venetia was quickly there, having regained the use of her limbs.

  ‘What happened?’ she said. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I killed it. It-he-she would have killed your friend here, and you.’

  ‘Who are you really? How come you have a fire arm?’

  ‘I am undercover for the Inquisition. My cover is blown, due to this; but no worries, it’s not your fault. The whole thing is shortly to unravel.’ Helena looked down at the still half-conscious Jalaal. ‘Help him to his feet. We must move.’