Jewel ran the balls of her fingers over the rough flesh of her cheek again. What the captain said sounded too fantastic to be believed. “I don’t want to doubt you, but it looks as if I’m going to need about six-years-worth of corrective surgery.”
A slight smile touched the Armenite’s lips as if he thought Jewel was jesting with him. “While it is true that we have little experience working with someone with your skin tones, we believe that will make no difference. Dr. Bree assures me that in two to three days you’ll be substantially recovered, and have no more scabs at all within five days on the outside.”
“With no scars?” Jewel asked again. Recovery just couldn’t be that easy. The damage was far too extensive for that.
“None at all,” the captain confirmed, “although you may experience some alterations in the natural pigmentation of your flesh.”
Jewel touched her face again. “What kind of alterations?”
“Dark striation lines in geometric spirals and patterns,” the captain explained.
“That’s weird, hunh? Do you know what causes it?”
“Yes,” the captain confirmed without any further elaboration.
Jewel waited a few long moments to make certain he was done speaking before asking, “Are you going to share that information?”
The captain shook his head. “I believe I will not. The politics are complicated where you are concerned and it’s best for me not to get involved in some aspects of your circumstances. It is, however, permissible for me to say this. Among my people the markings are viewed as a blessing, a sign of favor. They are not found to be unattractive.”
That wasn’t particularly helpful, Jewel thought. For all she knew the militant Armenites got excited over disfigurement. The captain certainly didn’t appear repulsed by her current appearance. Still, it probably wouldn’t be diplomatic to share that observation so she settled for saying, “Maybe I’ll like them too. If not, I’m sure my parents have the money to fix things. It’s not like this skin tone is all that natural either.”
The captain stiffened slightly but his question reflected only idle curiosity. “I do not understand. Are you saying you’re not naturally dark skinned? It was my impression that all Cartelites from Luxor have light brown skin like yours.”
Jewel smiled at him again, amused to learn that her parents and their peers had succeeded so completely in crafting their desired image. “Cartelites, as you have already noted, are slaves to fashion. And my parents have been keeping me trendy through cosmetic surgery almost from the day I was born.”
A stern look of disapproval crossed the captain’s face, although the man did not say anything.
“My feelings exactly,” Jewel told him. “You ought to love your babies for who they are—not what you want them to be.”
The captain considered her statement quite seriously for a moment before shaking his head in partial disagreement. “We Armenites are not opposed to shaping children in their own best interests, but such concern over cosmetic appearance is a most frivolous vanity.”
Jewel found his statement intriguing. Her family’s cartel had been working with the Armenites for two decades, but they really didn’t know that much about this militant but culturally insular people. “In what ways do you shape them?”
“To be competitors,” the captain responded as if the reality was so obvious it shouldn’t need to be stated. “Every Armenite must be a hard, disciplined, selfless individual who is capable of advancing the interests of our people.”
“Strangely enough,” Jewel confided, “that doesn’t sound that much different than what we Cartelites try to do.”
When the captain grimaced, rejecting her observation, she added: “Of course, our ideas of what is best for our people are obviously different than what you believe to be best for yours.”
Rather than argue with her the captain politely changed the subject. “Tell me again why you changed your name. How can this be anything but a dishonorable action?”
Jewel shrugged. “Perhaps it is dishonorable. I changed my name because your people insulted me and my family and my parents accepted this because you covered the insult with a large enough bribe.” She frowned. “I believe that some things are important enough that money can’t compensate you for them.”
Captain Krell nodded grimly. “I begin to understand why you have been honored as you have. You are not a traditional Cartelite. Perhaps it is Lieutenant Delling’s influence on you. But I am being inconsiderate. You are still recovering and I should not needlessly tire you.”
Jewel realized she wasn’t just tired—she was totally exhausted. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want to let the captain go without asking at least some of her important questions. “A moment more, please. You haven’t told me how many of my shipmates you rescued.”
Captain Krell hesitated before answering. “It appears I have permitted myself to forget the concern which led us into this interesting conversation. Seven of your companions have survived, although rescued is most certainly an incorrect description of our activities. They are currently prisoners charged with criminal counts of piracy and in the case of their leader, Erik Gunnarson, desertion.”
Erik’s alive, Jewel thought and a flash of heated relief coursed through her body. Erik’s alive, so Ana, Jester and Meg must be alive too because they were on the surface of the moon with him. Then she heard the crimes they had charged Erik with and her rush of joy turned instantly to anger. “Desertion? How could you possibly charge Erik with that?”
The captain’s answer sounded matter of fact, as if the subject was so routine that it could not be considered controversial. “When the Ymirian navy was incorporated into the Hegemonic defense forces, Mr. Gunnarson deserted without taking or refusing his oath of loyalty. He is also charged with departing Ymir without authorization.”
Jewel couldn’t quite believe the charges the captain had just blandly recited. “What are you talking about? His ship was destroyed by your forces during your invasion of his home world. He’s lucky to have survived and escaped.”
“That also may be true,” the captain admitted. “It does not change the other facts. All surviving members of the Ymirian navy were required to take oaths of—”
Jewel cut him off. “He was at war with you. Your people shot down the navy he served in and conquered his planet. He was rescued by a fleeing merchant ship captain. Are you really saying you Armenites believe he should have caught passage back to his occupied planet and surrendered himself to your authority? Are you really that demented?”
Captain Krell frowned. “I don’t approve of the tone of your voice. You may be a guest on my ship, but I am still the captain of this vessel and deserving of your respect.”
“My respect?” Jewel shouted. “You charge an enemy combatant with desertion from your forces and think that deserves my respect?”
The captain didn’t speak for a long moment. When he did, he changed the subject completely. “I can see that this will be a very interesting few days. I hope that your audacity serves you as well when your parents arrive to complete the contract negotiations.”
Without another word, he pivoted on his heel, and departed the room.
Jewel struggled out of her bed, keeping the sheet tight against her chest to hide her nudity. “Wait a minute, Captain. My parents?”
The door closed behind him but refused to open for her. “When are my parents coming?” she shouted through the closed door. “What contract negotiations? Wasn’t that all already decided? Does that mean the marriage might not be on?”
No one returned to answer her.
Jewel turned her back to the door feeling a dangerous rush of hope and excitement. Erik was alive. If the marriage was really off, she and Erik might just have a future after all.
Then her shoulders sagged as reality intruded on her fantasy. Even without the marriage they would still have to escape from her parents and the Armenite military.
Chapter Three
Can’t You Do Anything About This Itching?
Jewel scratched furiously at the scabs on her forearm with the now-jagged too-long nails of her left hand. No matter how hard she dug, her actions only brought her the briefest feeling of respite. The physician lieutenant had given her an injection and prescribed a topical cream to counter the itching, but evidently the Armenites were not nearly as capable in medicine as they were in war because the treatments did nothing to counter the horrible feelings springing up all over Jewel’s body.
She switched to scratching her thighs beneath the formless open-backed medical gown they had finally clothed her in and was surprised to find a thread of blood on her two-inch nails when she switched from her thigh to her elbow. She yanked up the hem of the gown again and confirmed that she had indeed just scratched herself so hard that her absurdly long nails had drawn blood from her flesh.
This was crazy. She didn’t know what to do about it. She couldn’t stop itching and she no longer cared how much damage she did to her body.
She started worrying at her belly, digging in with both hands, pulling off a number of scabs before they were ready to let go of her. It didn’t make any difference. The itching simply wouldn’t end.
She switched to clawing her butt—not caring a whit how crude it made her look. Nobody was in the room with her anyway although they probably were monitoring her remotely. She didn’t care. She just had to do something to stop this horrible itching before it drove her insane.
She crouched down so she could scratch her ankle. Her nails were even bloodier than they’d been when she slashed her leg. She wanted to stop, but she simply couldn’t. She thought the sensation had been bad before but that was nothing compared to now when her flesh was finally showing signs of healing.
The door abruptly flashed open and Physician Lieutenant Eva Bree strode inside without announcing herself. Two orderlies entered directly behind her. Bree took one look at Jewel sitting unladylike on the floor and snapped out an order at her two assistants. “Restrain her.”
Jewel’s eyes flashed upward in startled fear and indignation. “What? No!”
The orderlies caught her from either side, both catching hold by wrist and shoulder and pulled her backward so she sprawled on the floor.
Jewel began to twist and kick in protest, mindless of the consequence this had for her short medical gown. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Be silent,” Bree commanded. “I am here to help you.”
She displayed a small pair of scissors and repeated, “Hold her,” as she crouched down beside Jewel and began to severely cut back her fingernails. “You obviously can’t exercise even a child’s control over your impulses so we’ll have to prevent you from hurting yourself.”
With a great deal of difficulty, Jewel stopped herself from squirming and fighting against the annoying doctor’s ministrations. “You could have just said that when you arrived. There was no need for your flunkies here to tackle me.”
Bree ignored her, continuing to cut her nails so far back that the scissors hurt.
Which reminded Jewel of a question she wanted answered. “How did my nails get so long anyway? And my hair for that matter? How long was I unconscious?”
Bree scowled at her—actually scowled before cutting the next nail even closer than the others. “Why you think I have any duty or desire to answer your petty questions is completely beyond me. Now close your mouth and give me your other hand so I can finish this ridiculous task and get back to my serious responsibilities.”
Jewel bit back a retort and thrust the other hand at her. The orderlies didn’t release their grip on her shoulders, but they weren’t exactly manhandling her anymore either.
Jewel realized that her medical gown had hiked up above her waist. Embarrassment and rage surged within her, made all the stronger when she realized that neither of the men were taking advantage of her nudity to leer at her exposed body. In fact, both appeared to be trying very hard not to look at her bare flesh at all. The scabs really were that terrible. She was more interesting as a freak then she was as a woman.
Her rage collapsed into self-pity. Perhaps it was a good thing she couldn’t see Erik now. In this condition, he probably wouldn’t want her anyway.
Bree finished clipping her nails and stood up. The orderlies immediately released her and jumped to their feet. Jewel took advantage of her new freedom to yank her gown down over her thighs again.
Without a word, Bree strode to the cabin’s door.
“Wait a minute,” Jewel said. “What happens next?”
With an exaggerated show of patience, Bree turned to face her. “You are to continue resting, while the rest of us return to our more important responsibilities.”
She turned back to the door which opened as she approached.
Jewel’s fingers were already trembling with the need to start itching again. “Wait a minute. Can’t you do anything about this itching? It’s driving me crazy.”
Without looking back or slowing her departure, Bree called to Jewel over her shoulder. “You’re free to scratch now that you can’t hurt yourself. I’m not going to waste any more medicine on you.”
She disappeared down the hall with the orderlies following.
The door closed and locked before Jewel could exit after them.
She twisted around to look at her small quarters with a feeling akin to despair. The itching sensation already seemed a dozen times worse than it had before Bree entered and now without her fingernails Jewel could do nothing whatsoever to relieve the pain.
She sank down on the floor with her back to the door wondering what other cruelties the Armenites had in store for her.
****
Jewel curled her useless clipped-nailed fingers into fists and thrust them down against the mattress she was sitting on. She’d been shedding for hours now and as a result, the sheet beneath her was disgustingly unhygienic. Dried flakes of her light brown flesh littered the white cloth in a frankly nauseating fashion. What was worse, she couldn’t even be certain this meant she was healing properly because as far as she could tell, scabs still covered the bulk of her body. Like everything else that had happened since she awoke among the Armenites, the state of her health depressed her.
It also didn’t help her psychological wellbeing that she couldn’t get answers to any of her pressing questions—especially her most pressing ones—those having to do with Erik and the other crewmembers. Physician Lieutenant Bree wouldn’t even acknowledge that Jewel asked her anything and no orderly who’d entered her room had yet spoken a single word to her.
She didn’t know what she was going to do.
Life on the Euripides had been far from perfect. The ship was old, dirty and in poor repair. The crew was mostly shoddy and unprofessional. She’d also had her fair share of enemies there—like Dr. Gunther Brüning who’d tried to expose the fact that she was a Cartelite and was definitely planning some sort of blackmail effort before the Armenites had captured them. But despite all of those problems it was the only time in her life she’d been out from under her parents’ smothering control and begun to feel happy about her future.
Erik had been a big part of that happiness. She couldn’t help smiling when she thought about snuggling up against him or sharing a quick kiss. But he wasn’t the only good thing about the Euripides either. For every pain in the ass like Captain Kiara or Mustafa Peron, there’s been a decent colleague like Lara Everson or Deck Officer Manny Warrant. She’d even found some genuine friendship in Ana Yang before news that Jewel was sleeping with Erik leaked out and jealousy drove them apart. She wanted, no she needed, to know what had happened to all of those people.
She thought about that for a few minutes while her fists crept onto her legs where she could rub her knuckles hard against the itchy scabs on her thighs. Kiara and Peron were likely dead. They’d been on the Euripides as had the deck officer and poor Lara Everson and the Armenites had told her they’d destroyed that vessel.
Erik hadn’t been the only member of the Eurypides crew on Valkyrie’s surface with her. As ship’s engineer, Ana had been tasked with keeping the miners’ equipment working while they harvested armenium from the floor of the Northern Sea. That job had kept her on the Tanngrisner floating on the surface of the water a mile above where the miners were working. Jewel and Meg Falco had been stationed there too—not to mention Alfonse Arico, but he at least had to be dead—lost over the edge of the boat in one of the storms.
Jester Carter and Dawil Kwon had been driving fast boats between the Tanngriner and the Ymirian land base, Snója. Jewel had always been a little bit afraid of Dawil but Jester was a sweetheart and she’d hate to think that he wasn’t alive anymore. Finally, there was her old annoying roommate, Vega Costa, and the insidious Gunther Brüning. Every one of them could have survived, couldn’t they? But were they captured like she was or had something else happened and they were still on the moon’s surface? Part of Jewel’s frustration was that she didn’t even know if she should ask about these people.
“Oh, this is stupid,” Jewel muttered as she clambered off the bed to pace the floors of the too short room. It took four steps for her to go from the bed to the wall and four more steps to walk back again.
She didn’t know how to help her crewmates. “Let’s face it,” she said aloud. “I don’t even know how to help myself.”
She never remembered feeling so alone and so isolated. She was trapped again in the one place in the galaxy she’d least like to be—in Armenite custody. Her parents were terrible, but at least while she was with them she could dream about escape. Here she was only a very small step from the destiny she’d do anything to avoid.
She wanted to be more than just a baby factory. Marry Kole. Have children. Secure the future of the cartel. She’d heard it so many times it made her physically ill to think about it. Why wasn’t anyone concerned with her needs? Her wishes? Her desires? Her happiness?
She leaned forward until her head rested against the wall, eyes staring at the antiseptic floor.
Prisoner Page 3