Sholpan

by Joe Vasicek

  The shaggy carpet ended at the doorway, replaced by a white and blue tile floor that extended up the walls. The air inside was practically steamy, and mosaics of fruits and vines lined the walls and ceiling. In the corner, she saw the foggy glass pane of a shower unit.

  “Take off,” Engus ordered.

  Stella’s body instantly grew tense. She gave him a puzzled look, pretending not to understand what he had said.

  “What?”

  He reached over and tugged at her clothes. “Take off.”

  Her cheeks went pale, and she kept her arms wrapped firmly around her chest. “No.”

  Engus put his hands on his hips and clucked loudly at her. “You need wash. Take off.”

  Behind her, the beads clattered. Stella turned and saw another servant step into the room, carrying a stack of bath towels. He was tall and lanky, with his long black hair tied back in a ponytail. He bowed at her, then at Engus.

  While she was distracted, Engus grabbed her tunic and started to lift it up. Without thinking, she pushed him away.

  “No!” she shouted.

  Engus’s face turned red with fury. He stood up straight, stomped the ground with one foot, and shouted a string of incomprehensible Belarian obscenities. Stella cringed, while the tall man set down the towels on a bench and put a hand on Engus’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him.

  “I can wash myself,” Stella said in Belarian, her voice a little shaky. “I don’t need you to undress me.”

  Engus shrugged off the other man and stepped right up to her, placing his pointer finger only inches from her mouth. His eyes were wide with indignation.

  “No,” he said. “You learn. Take off.”

  Stella hesitated, not sure what to do. She would rather run away than undress herself in front of these men, but she had nowhere to go. Play the game.

  While Engus fumed at her, the new man gave her a friendly smile. He seemed harmless enough. They’re just eunuchs, Stella told herself. They won’t try to do anything to me.

  As if that made it any easier.

  She took a deep breath and pulled the tunic over her head. As she dropped it by her side, flashbacks of the prisoner ship came flooding back to her. She trembled from the memories and covered herself as best she could.

  Fortunately, Engus wasted no time. By the time she had her tunic off, he already had the shower door open.

  “In,” he said. Stella was all too eager to comply.

  The cylindrical shower chamber was a newer model, with hundreds of water jets embedded in vertical rows along the wall—many times more than the shower unit on the Llewellyn. It stood a couple of feet taller than her body and was narrow enough that she could easily touch the edges with her elbows. A small light fixture set behind smooth duraglass illuminated the chamber from the top. The glass door was diffuse enough to give her some privacy, but transparent enough for the men to see her. She tried her best to ignore that.

  All right, she thought to herself, searching for a waterproofed access panel. What next?

  Hot, pressurized water shot out at her from all directions, blasting her skin. She yelped in surprise, but soon got over the initial shock. The soap had a wonderful, fragrant smell, and the temperature was perfect—not too hot, not too cold.

  She raised her hands above her head, letting the water wash over her. With her eyes closed, she brought her hands down and rubbed the sweat and dirt out of her face and hair, massaging her scalp with her fingertips. From there, she moved down and built up a good lather across her body. The soap penetrated her pores, flushing out the filthiness of the prisoner ship and leaving her wonderfully clean. For a brief moment, she forgot the war, forgot the prisoner ship, forgot the eunuchs and the harem and all of her fears and anxieties and just closed her eyes and let herself relax.

  The rinse cycle blasted her from all sides like a flood. She gasped for breath, tilting her head back to keep her mouth and nose clear. The pressure was so high that all she could do was sway from side to side as the shower water pummeled her. It made her feel as if she were swimming up a waterfall.

  After what felt like an eternity, the water died down and the chamber gradually emptied. A blast of hot air hit her from above as a roaring vacuum opened in the drain beneath her feet. She reached up with her hands and stretched her whole body upward, standing on her toes. The precious water streamed down her skin under the powerful hot wind, sucked into the drain where it would be collected, filtered, and recycled.

  All too soon, the hot air died down and the door slid open. Stella stepped out on unsteady legs, too delirious to care that she was naked. The air in the room felt surprisingly cold compared to the warmth of the shower, and she began to shiver. Someone, either Engus or the other servant, wrapped a towel around her. The fabric was soft and thick, like a blanket. She pulled it close.

  As she did, hands grabbed her through the towel and started to rub her down.

  “Yi!” she shrieked, jumping away.

  Engus clucked and shook his head. “No,” he said, stepping forward with his hands outstretched. “Need dry.”

  “I can dry myself!” she shouted, self-consciousness flooding back to her.

  Engus’s face turned beet red, but the tall man put a hand on his shoulder and conferred in a low voice. After a few moments, Engus nodded and folded his arms.

  “We wait,” he said. “You dry.”

  With the men still watching her, Stella turned her back to them and loosened the towel just enough to dry herself. Perverts. She wished they would at least give her some degree of privacy, but that didn’t seem to exist in this place. Not for her.

  When she was finished, she wrapped the towel tightly around her body and picked up a second one from the bench for her hair.

  “Come,” said Engus. He motioned to a small, metal chair on the other side of the room.

  As she sat down, Engus and the other servant pulled up stools. Engus took a seat at her side and started filing her nails, while the taller man sat down directly in front of her. Stella watched him reach down and gently lift her leg onto his lap. He then took out a rough, sponge-like stone from a pocket and gently scrubbed the sole of her foot. Even though it was strange to have a man she didn’t know touch her that way, Stella had to admit that it felt really good.

  As the two men worked, they started up a conversation. By concentrating, Stella found she was able to follow along.

  “The girl is quite pretty, if a little young,” said the tall man. He spoke much slower and more clearly than Engus, probably because Belarian wasn’t his first language.

  Engus responded, but Stella didn’t understand much of what he said. She picked out the name ‘Tagatai,’ and the word ‘captain.’

  “Yes,” said the tall man as he filed her nails. “She seems shy, though I don’t blame her.”

  Engus snorted and made a glib reply, which Stella didn’t catch.

  “Still,” said the tall man, “she has a thoughtful air about her. I do not think she is as out of touch as the others.” He finished with her right foot and set it gently on the floor; Stella helped him by lifting the other before he reached for it.

  Engus answered. Stella picked out the words ‘name’ and ‘need.’

  “You are right,” said the tall man. “She does need a name. What should it be?”

  “I already have a name,” Stella interrupted, mustering her command of formal Belarian as best as she could. Engus coughed, and the tall man stopped and looked up at her.

  “My name is Stella McCoy,” she said. “That is who I am.”

  The tall man smiled. “It appears that our little mouse perceives more than we thought.”

  Engus snorted.

  “My name is Narju,” said the tall man. “But here, you must take a new name.”

  “Why?”

  Narju’s face fell, but not in an unkindly way. “You are starting a new life here, little mouse. Trust me, it will be better if you leave your past behind and forget it.”

&nb
sp; Stella’s jaw tensed, and her eyes began to burn. The faces of her family flashed before her mind’s eye: Father and Mother; Ben, her big brother; and James, the youngest. Did the Hameji expect her to forget about them? How could she ever do that?

  Shh, she told herself, swallowing her tears. Bide your time. Play the game.

  “Do not be sad,” said Narju. “We will give you an auspicious name, one to bring you good fortune.”

  Stella bit her lip and nodded. Narju resumed scrubbing her foot.

  “There is a star many hundred years of light from the Hameji home system, called in their legends Sholpan—the shy goddess. It is a white dwarf orbiting a much larger super-giant. To most, the two appear to be one, but master astrogators can tell them apart. Among the Hameji, it is said that to triangulate one’s position by this star is to invite good luck.”

  Stella racked her brain for any binary system she knew of that fit that description. As an apprentice astrogator, she’d memorized the names and coordinates of several hundred stars, but this one didn’t sound familiar. Maybe if she’d studied harder, she would have recognized it. She wished she had.

  “Good name,” said Engus in New Gaian from behind her. “Master Qasar be happy with.”

  “I hope so,” said Narju, in Belarian.

  Master Qasar? Stella’s heart beat a little faster.

  “Who is Master Qasar?”

  Narju smiled kindly, though Stella thought she could see a trace of sadness in his eyes. “Master Qasar is the commander of this ship. He is your lord now, Sholpan.”

  Sholpan. The name sounded harsh to Stella’s ears. She formed her lips around the word, but it felt strange and unfamiliar, like something foreign. Something that was not her.

  Engus finished with Stella’s nails and rose from his seat. He uttered a string of commands to Narju and stepped out of the room. The bead curtain clattered shut behind him.

  “What does this ‘Qasar’ want with me?” Stella asked, more comfortable now that Engus was gone. “What is this place?”

  “Peace,” said Narju, finishing with her left foot. “You are safe—no one will harm you.” He rose to his feet.

  “But where am I?” she asked, rising with him. “Some kind of harem? And who are you supposed to be—one of my servants?”

  “I am Narju, your personal attendant,” he said. “You are on Master Qasar’s ship. You … belong to him now.”

  Even though it came as no surprise, Stella’s whole body went rigid with shock.

  “So that’s it?” she said, her voice cracking. “I’m supposed to be some kind of glorified whore?”

  “Please, calm yourself,” said Narju. “You are safe here. Master Qasar is busy and probably will not see you for many days. You will be treated well. Do not trouble yourself.”

  Stella swallowed. She had a hundred other questions, but before she could ask any of them, Narju pressed a finger against her lips.

  “No more questions,” he said. “I will answer them later.”

  How much later? Stella wanted to scream. Why can’t you answer me now? Instead, she bit her lip and did her best to be calm. If Narju was right and Qasar wouldn’t see her for a few days, she could afford to wait. Play the game, bide her time. She’d find a way out.

  From the open locker, Narju pulled out a thin white gown. “Here,” he said, turning to her. “Take off your towel. You need to see the doctor.”

  Stella frowned. “Why?”

  “For your examination. Please, let me put this on you.”

  Stella tensed. “I can dress myself, thanks.”

  “But milady,” said Narju, bowing deeply, “I live to serve you.”

  This so surprised Stella that she could think of nothing to say to it. Still, she made no move to comply.

  “Very well,” said Narju. “I understand how you must feel, being new to this place. If you wish, I will let you dress yourself.”

  Stella let out a quiet sigh of relief as Narju left the room, the bead curtain clattering behind him. When she was satisfied that she had as much privacy as she was going to get, she let her towel drop to the floor and slipped into the sleeveless gown. It was open in the back, and although she did her best to tie it shut, she found it difficult to reach behind her. She arched her back to get a better angle.

  “Are you ready?” Narju asked from outside the doorway.

  “Yes,” said Stella, finishing up with the last tie.

  Narju walked up behind her and examined her work. Before she could protest, he busied himself retying her knots.

  “You need not be so shy in this place,” he told her. “The only men allowed on this level are eunuchs such as myself. Our Hameji overlords have made it quite impossible for us to do anything but serve you.”

  “You mean—”

  Stella stopped herself in mid-sentence. Narju said nothing.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, blushing deep red.

  “No apology is necessary,” said Narju as he finished. “Come with me.”

  * * * * *

  Stella felt practically naked in the patient’s gown. She tried to ignore that as she followed Narju down the hallway, keeping her eyes open for any unguarded doors or possible exits. Bide your time. Play the game.

  He led her down a corridor similar to the first: colorful silks, golden tassels, more bead doors, and of course the sensual, shaggy carpet. They passed several people, most of them servants in their crisp white smocks, though Stella saw a couple of other women. She couldn’t escape the feeling, however, that more eyes were watching her than she could see.

  They turned a corner and came to an elevator. Narju pulled out a card and swiped it at the access panel, and the elevator door opened. Unlike the rest of the harem, the interior was gray and drab—purely utilitarian.

  This elevator leads to the rest of the ship, Stella realized. She took note of the pocket where Narju kept his key-card.

  When the doors reopened, they stepped out into a corridor so spartanly decorated that it seemed as if she’d set foot on a different ship. The white tiling on the walls had yellowed with age, and there were surprisingly deep impressions in the floor where countless feet had trod. Stella felt the grainy indentations with her bare feet. Judging from their depth, she realized that the ship could easily be decades old—perhaps even more than a hundred standard years.

  A pair of soldiers guarded the elevator. At a gesture from Narju, they stood aside to let him pass. Stella found it odd that the guards would be posted outside the harem instead of inside—as if they were trying to keep the rest of the ship out. She shivered in the noticeably cooler air and tried not to think about what that meant.

  At a turn in the corridor, Stella caught sight of another woman. She was about half a head taller than her, a little more filled out around the waist, and probably fifteen or twenty years older, judging from the slight creases on her forehead. She wore a long green dress with purple fringes and long, loose sleeves. The dress had no pockets, but several small cloth pouches hung from her belt.

  The woman scowled at Stella as they passed. For her part, Stella stared at the ground to avoid eye contact. In a second, the awkward moment was over.

  “The medical bay,” Narju said, opening an otherwise unremarkable door a short distance down the corridor. With his free hand, he motioned for Stella to enter.

  The moment she stepped through the doorway, she felt that something was wrong. On the outside, everything seemed normal enough—clear, bright lights, spotless white walls, the sterile smell of disinfectant. Several monitors hung down from the ceiling, and a detachable, floating table hovered off to one side. In the corner she saw an examining table—old, certainly, but still functional. It wasn’t until she caught sight of the medicine bottles on the counter that she realized what was bothering her. More than half of them were opened—some even lay completely empty on their side. The instruments dangling from the hovering table were lopsided and off-color—probably pieced together from spare parts. The walls were
spotless white, but the floor was yellow and unnervingly sticky.

  A portly man in an off-white apron greeted them. He had a wide face and long black hair pulled back in a ponytail like Narju’s. One of his eyelids drooped, giving him a half-drunk expression that did little to quell Stella’s growing anxiety. He spoke to her, but his accent was so thick that she could barely understand him.

  “Please step up to the examining table,” Narju translated.

  Stella hesitated. She glanced from Narju to the Hameji doctor. He gave her a vacuous smile and gestured impatiently with his hand.

  “What if I say no?” she asked.

  “It will not hurt,” Narju said. “I promise.”

  Stella hugged her chest a little tighter. She made no effort to move.

  “Everyone who comes to the ship must be examined,” Narju said in his gentle, encouraging voice. “I was examined, too, when I first came.”

  Yeah, Stella thought. And sterilized.

  Narju coughed. “Don’t worry—the doctor will not … alter anything. This is only a routine examination.”

  The man motioned again with his hand. His half-smile was quickly disappearing.

  Stella glanced over her shoulder at the door. It was closed—no way out. She swallowed and stepped shakily up to the table.

  The doctor started by checking her pulse. She shivered as he untied the top few knots on her gown and reached his hands underneath the fabric. The end of the stethoscope felt frigid against her bare skin, and she dug her fingers into the underside of the table as the he pressed it from spot to spot.

  When he was finished, the doctor withdrew the stethoscope and slipped a thick band around her arm. To check my blood pressure, Stella realized. A harsh noise sounded from some unseen machine, and the band slowly constricted, making her fingers tingle. She winced as it grew tighter, wondering what would happen if it never stopped. For a few frightening seconds, it almost seemed a reality. Eventually, however, the pressure equalized, then gradually let up as the machine completed its discomforting task.

  Her eyes and ears were next. She squirmed at the squishy sound the conical probe made as the doctor jabbed it in her ears, and the device’s bright light cut into her eyes, burning splotches of purple and green into her vision. Stella blinked several times after the procedure was finished, but the splotches refused to disappear.