by P. J. Fox
Bouncing up, Garja began puttering around the room. She treated Aria with an immediate, friendly familiarity that confused her. Garja seemed…genuinely happy to be in this room, on this ship, with someone she didn’t know. It made no sense to Aria, who viewed her own situation as so unenviable that perhaps, subconsciously, she’d imagined that associating with her would leave some sort of taint.
Her anxiety over the girls outweighing her malaise and discouragement, she made herself get up and go into the bathroom. At least in here, she reflected, locking the door behind her, she’d have time alone to think—time, she was realizing, that she desperately needed if she was going to move forward with any clear sense of what she was doing and what ends, precisely, she was trying to achieve. She couldn’t keep running around like a chicken with its head cut off, hiding from Kisten one minute and mouthing off to him the next; she needed a plan.
The one thing she did not want was to become this man’s plaything—or, indeed, a permanent resident of what was by all accounts a terrible planet. Cold, unforgiving and crime-ridden, Tarsonis had been plagued by low grade unrest since it was first conquered by the Alliance some fifty years ago. What few colonists she’d overheard during dinner had seemed optimistic about the economic prospects and not much else.
She stood with her face to the spray, willing the too-hot water to erase the shame of the night before. A quiet, oft-ignored voice inside her head suggested that maybe a planet of refugees, adventurers and people who honestly believed that it couldn’t get any worse might be the right place for her. Everyone aboard this ship was looking for a new beginning—just like her.
And just like Kisten, that same voice added.
She tried to banish it by focusing on her toilette, but even the shampoo reminded her of him. Suddenly she was back to the night before, faced with a clear vision of lying across his lap and bemoaning her existence. He’d had the same cool, sure hands that she remembered. Even the sandalwood musk of his cologne had been familiar, undoubtedly from when he’d carried her. Looking up at him, she’d decided that he had a strange, unpleasant and not entirely unappealing smile and decided, too, that she wasn’t nearly as frightened of him as she should be.
That last, at least, she’d chalked up to illness.
She shook her head, clearing it. She had to see the girls. She’d done her best not to think about them, because there was nothing she could do and she couldn’t stand not knowing.
Drying her hair and pinning it back in a loose bun, she dressed hurriedly and came back out of the bathroom to find the ever-cheerful Garja waiting for her by the door. She seemed to regard their visit as a great adventure, and couldn’t have been more excited if she’d been preparing to scale a mountain. Insisting on opening the door for Aria, she exclaimed over the cornflower blue muslin she’d found for Aria to wear and noted that it matched her eyes.
A lean, unattractive man was waiting on the other side of the door. He introduced himself formally, Bronte fashion, inclining his head slightly and wishing her peace. He made no attempt to touch her which, Aria had discovered through observation, was not unusual. She didn’t understand; she’d seen men greeting each other enthusiastically enough, hugging and shaking hands and sometimes even—kissing.
Nothing about life aboard this ship made sense, and she wished again that she had someone to ask. She couldn’t ask Garja; Garja didn’t even know that Solaris was a planet.
She forced herself back to the present, realizing too late that the man had spoken to her.
He smiled politely and repeated himself. “Shall we go?”
“The lieutenant,” supplied Garja, “is our escort.”
Escort? Guard, she meant. Except, she had to admit, the man did seem to know what he was about and on a ship this size Aria doubted that Garja would have been much use. Garja probably had difficulty locating the bathroom in her own house—if she had a house. Aria was uncomfortably aware that Garja, given her position, must be a slave and therefore as much Kisten’s property as a pair of boots—or, Aria admitted grimly, as she herself seemed to be.
All around her the ship was alive with color and noise but Aria noticed none of it, lost in her own world. Her mind swam with all the worst case scenarios she’d tried so hard to block out. She couldn’t help but picture them as harem girls—or worse. All six were, unfortunately, attractive and all six were young. In this newest waking nightmare they were dressed in diaphanous silks, left to lounge around on pillows until men came to take their pleasure.
“What?” asked Garja, looking worried.
Aria shook her head slightly. “Nothing.”
Or maybe they were slaves, now, like Garja—drudges forced to menial tasks and never given the chance to expand their minds.
Except, she had to admit, that description did not fit the girl skipping along beside her. Garja was about Aria’s size, slightly taller, and she was regarding her new best friend with interest. “Your eyes,” she said admiringly, “are very unusual.” Garja’s own eyes were the color of pewter, and her pupils had been reduced to thin slits by the bright overhead light.
“All Solarians have eyes like mine,” she replied, “except some are brown and—”
“Brown?” Garja seemed amazed. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“They’re common on my planet,” she began and then, seeing Garja’s expression, supplied the information that Solaris was the principal planet of the Union. Garja seemed to know what the Union was but, strangely, didn’t seem terribly surprised to learn that one of its citizens was in their midst. There had been, evidently, a number of defectors over the years.
“After the Great War,” cut in the lieutenant, “a number of Solarian soldiers, men and women, decided to remain on Caiphos.”
Aria reddened, feeling awkward. She hadn’t realized that he was listening.
“Some lived out their lives in solitude,” he continued, “but most intermarried.”
That piece of news almost stopped Aria in her tracks. “Intermarried?” It couldn’t have been by choice.
The lieutenant nodded. They’d now entered a part of the ship that Aria had never seen before—not that, in truth, she’d seen all that much of it. But her surroundings now seemed more residential, somehow, even if there were still weapons on the walls. This must be where the colonists were living. For a steerage hold, it was a great deal cleaner and airier than she’d expected.
“Undoubtedly,” the lieutenant continued after a moment, “it had something to do with the fact that we know how to treat women.” Now it was his turn to redden, worrying that he might have overstepped himself. “What I meant to say is—I meant no insult,” he finished lamely.
“None was taken,” she assured him, wondering why he cared for her opinion.
She would have liked to ask him what he’d meant, too, but further conversation was forestalled by his stopping in front of a featureless door identical to all the others. They’d arrived. He punched a code into the panel on the doorframe and seconds later the door whisked open to reveal one of the strangest sights that Aria had ever encountered.
TWELVE
No one noticed her at first.
The room was long and narrow and, like all the private spaces aboard Atropos, comparatively dark. Which Aria found strange; the halls and other obvious work areas were lit up like high noon but her own cabin, much like the one she’d just entered, seemed to hover in perpetual twilight. Kisten’s cabin, she amended to herself. As her eyes adjusted, she looked around. Rather than a cabin proper, this appeared to be some sort of communal living room. The doors on either end presumably led to smaller, more intimate rooms. Decorated like a gentleman’s club, it was full of leather club chairs, low wooden tables and velvet-upholstered couches, all in muted hues of cordovan and brown. Expensive-looking engraved prints of various fruits and vegetables framed a large picture window. Beyond which, incongruously, lurked the terrifying void of space.
Isabelle and Autumn, Aria’s youngest
companions, sat on the couch beneath the window playing whist. Autumn murmured something and Isabelle giggled. Autumn, at thirteen, was far too young to have left home but she’d been insistent and Aria hadn’t had the heart to tell her no. Isabelle, her sister, was fifteen but seemed younger. Where she giggled and chatted incessantly, Autumn’s reserved and watchful manner was that of a woman twice her age. She was virtually silent, opening up only around Isabelle and even then not much. Neither girl had given a reason for leaving and Aria hadn’t pressed the issue.
Naomi was cloistered with Hannah and Alice and Grace was, predictably, alone in the corner with a book. Naomi, at eighteen, was the third youngest of the girls; Hannah and Alice were both nineteen. Grace hadn’t given her age; had, in fact, refused to discuss herself at all. She was another one who’d just appeared out of the fog on that long-ago night and announced that she was joining them.
Aria had been too frightened to refuse, certain that one of the unexpected arrivals would cause trouble. And she refused to let anyone stop her from leaving. She’d never learned how Grace—or, for that matter, Autumn and Isabelle—ever uncovered her plan in the first place.
Seeing them all again, together, brought the whole of the last few months rushing back at once and she found herself wondering, again…but her reverie was interrupted by a shriek.
“Aria!” Hannah had seen her first—or, rather, seen the lieutenant and then who was next to him. Her eyes lit up. Aria glanced over at her escort and was surprised to see him smiling. The expression transformed his face, making him, if not handsome then arresting. He had a certain presence, which Aria hadn’t noticed before.
Hannah dashed forward and threw her arms around Aria, still squealing. She was followed a moment later by the other girls, and for a full minute Aria was lost in a storm of demanding, questioning, hugging humanity. She laughed in spite of herself. Hannah stepped back, giving Alice a turn to launch herself at Aria, and as she wrapped her arms around Aria’s neck Aria watched as Hannah, suddenly flustered, exchanged a glance with the lieutenant.
He said something that made her blush furiously and then, the twinkle in his eye belying his stiff, upright carriage and formal nod, turned and withdrew.
“Where have you been?”
“We’ve been waiting to see you!”
Aria glanced at Garja for help. Garja smiled. “Madam should sit,” the little slave offered. “She’s been unwell.”
“Oh!” Alice clapped a hand to her mouth. “Of course!”
And so Aria found herself ensconced on the couch, surrounded by her friends and traveling companions. Even Autumn and Isabelle made their way over to join her, sitting on the floor at her feet. Aria was almost afraid to ask what they’d all been up to, for fear of what she’d hear. This was a terrible place she’d brought them to, and although so far no one had tried to brainwash her—that she knew of—she knew it was just a matter of time. The pleasant, wholesome façade must serve some purpose, but it wouldn’t last.
What brief moments of doubt she’d experienced during dinner the night before—was the Alliance really so bad?—had been thoroughly eradicated by the fact that she was being held captive by a man she hated. And that she’d vomited on him. God damn him. Just thinking about him made the blood rush to her face; she couldn’t think about him at all without wanting to strangle him. And she was so humiliated…how could she ever face him again?
Not that, she told herself, she wanted to.
“You look so pretty,” said Alice.
The other girls had new clothes, too and, Aria had to admit, looked well-rested and well-fed. Because everyone wanted to talk at once, it took Aria awhile to piece together some sort of coherent narrative. It seemed that after Aria collapsed, they’d been herded out of their hiding places inside the wrecked ship and into the clearing where the commander—Kisten—appeared and explained that they’d been rescued by a raiding party from the Imperial Frigate Atropos and were now citizens of the Alliance. They were being taken into custody, not as prisoners but for their own protection as they’d crash-landed in the most dangerous sector of explored space.
Later on, once they’d been brought to their current quarters and had a chance to recuperate for a little while, Kisten had visited them again and answered their questions. Aria’s escort, the young lieutenant, had apparently accompanied him. The mention of his name made Hannah blush, and then she took up the narrative. “The commander explained that, once we’d had some time to acclimatize, we could discuss our options.”
“Options?” Aria echoed.
“Where we want to go, what we want to do next.”
“I want to get out of here as soon as possible.” Out of the corner of her eye, Aria saw Garja’s eyes widen.
“I don’t,” Hannah sighed.
Autumn snorted, her first utterance in almost an hour. “Hannah,” she said darkly, “has decided that she’s in love.”
Aria stared. Hannah blushed.
“Our options,” Naomi continued, “are to either join the colonists or remain aboard Atropos until she reaches Brontes. Where suitable people will be found to take us in until—”
“Presumably, some man comes along to take us off their hands.” Grace sounded bitter. There was, as she went on to point out, no other option. As women had no rights, they had to of necessity live under the protection of some sort of guardian until such time as they chose to marry. Or some man chose for them. Marriage by capture might be an outdated custom, but it was still practiced occasionally—and legal.
“What about going back to Solaris?” Aria asked.
“But we just left Solaris.” Isabelle made a face.
“Well we can’t stay here!” Aria exclaimed. Of all of them, only Grace seemed to understand her disgust. The others just stared at her like they couldn’t understand why she was so upset.
“It’s not possible,” said Hannah. “Dan explained that—”
“Dan?”
Hannah blushed again. “Danvir. Lieutenant Lusha.”
It seemed that Hannah, who’d been somewhat feverish herself, had been carried to safety by the—in her mind—dashing young lieutenant. They’d spent the eight or so hours it took to return to Atropos sharing their life stories and now Hannah had convinced herself that she was hopelessly in love. She and the lieutenant had seen each other every day since and Hannah was hoping that when they reached Tarsonis in a few weeks he’d ask her to stay.
“Don’t you think that’s awfully…fast?”
“How long does it take,” countered Hannah, “to fall in love?”
Hannah had been feverish when she met him, which was the only thing that could explain such idiocy.
“You barely know him,” Aria protested, trying to be diplomatic and failing miserably. “And we’ve all been through a horrible experience….” Seeing the look on Hannah’s face, she stopped. Her own personal view was that Hannah had fixated on this unattractive and rather uncouth person because, well, any port in a storm. She now viewed him as her rescuer and probably associated him with the safety and security they all craved but had foolishly thrown away.
“You’re very young,” she finished lamely.
“I’m nineteen,” Hannah said defensively.
“And he’s…?”
“Twenty-seven,” supplied Autumn, without looking up from the cards in front of her. She was now sitting on the floor, playing solitaire and pretending to ignore them all. Autumn was…difficult to know. Aloof. People liked her well enough, but they only got so far.
“Bronte women usually marry young,” Hannah said. Apparently she’d become an expert on all things Bronte, after knowing one for less than a week. Because Dan, like Kisten, was from Brontes. And had described his own home province in glowing terms. Omitting the slavery, despair, misogyny and forced religious conversion, Aria imagined.
“And then what?” Aria demanded, increasingly frustrated with Hannah’s starry-eyed naïveté. “Spend the rest of your life in a harem, being treate
d like a slave?—being a slave?” This was not some fairy tale, and the sooner Hannah came to grips with reality the better.
Garja, she saw, was now staring at her openly. Aria felt a momentary pang of conscience; this was Garja’s culture she was maligning. But Garja should face the truth, too.
An uncomfortable silence descended. Garja fidgeted nervously, got up and rang for coffee. This had to be stress, Aria decided; the girls were all too shell-shocked to understand what was happening and so had retreated into some sort of fantasy world. Nothing else explained why they were all so bizarrely accepting—all, that was, except Grace. But even Grace seemed content to grumble, and not actually do anything.
“Aria, what are you talking about?” Hannah chewed her lip in consternation.
“Don’t you know anything about how they treat women?” Aria made a disgusted noise. “He probably hasn’t included that in his sales pitch. He probably has ten wives already.”
Autumn arched an eyebrow. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“I,” replied Hannah, with a touch of asperity, “know more than you think; it’s you who are ignorant.”
She went on to explain that—according to Dan, at least—men and women were considered separate but equal. God, according to their faith, had created them out of one soul and the purpose of marriage was for those souls to reunite. Which Hannah thought was romantic and Aria thought was a load of hogwash. That their society was entirely male-dominated stemmed from their belief in the so-called natural order: the idea that it was a man’s rightful place to rule and a woman’s rightful place to submit to that rule. Which, as a concept, made Aria’s stomach turn. Women, being naturally weaker—again, Aria wanted to vomit—were entitled to protection and, of course, care in the form of material goods. And, ideally, love. But under such a system, Aria wondered, how was love even possible?
“Men are supposed to be leaders,” Hannah finished, “not dictators. They have just as many obligations toward women as women do toward them.”