The Reluctant Empress

by Teresa Howard

  “How is she?” Ninallia asked.

  Aunt Rese’s hands trembled. She dabbed at tears. “No medicine.”

  The hidden credits weighed heavy on Ninallia, and her determination failed. If she was rejected, she would find a way to repay Madama Ector. Taking out forty credits she said, “This should be enough for both the healer and the medicine.”

  “Where did you get this money?” Aunt Rese was dubious. “Have you shamed us?”

  Ninallia shook her head. “I have applied for an honorable job and have been paid in advance.” She dared not tell her aunt about the job for fear Rese would forbid her from performing the duty of dumas.

  Aunt Rese studied her face for a long time before taking the money. She relaxed and filled Ninallia’s bowl with leftover stew before going for the healer.

  ~ * ~

  About an hour later, Rese returned to their tiny apartment with Healer Taborn from the neighborhood clinic. His skills were excellent, and he was well-known and admired in the poor community. His services were cheaper than most, and he was the only healer who made calls to the southern slums of the Imperial City. He could have grown wealthy as a private healer but chose to provide care to those who could pay less. He looked around and nodded at the scrubbed floors and clean counters. He would shake his head but not condemn them for waiting so long to seek his help.

  The fabric of his long green healer’s robes rustled as he passed Ninallia. He closed the door to the smaller chamber while he examined her mother. Ninallia listened to his quiet voice and the much weaker voice of her mother answering his questions.

  The healer’s face was grave when he returned to the front room. He accepted Rese’s offer of tea, making a slight grimace probably at the weak flavor. “She has the wasting lung disease. The medicine will help her, but to get well she needs to be in a sanitarium for treatment.”

  Ninallia gasped. A sanitarium will cost much more than one hundred credits.

  They thanked him and paid for his visit. Rese took some of the stew to Vicori, while Ninallia put on her cloak and went to find an apothecary. It was several blocks away, almost to Market Street. When she returned home, she placed the medicine along with fresh milk and fruit onto their small table. Fewer than half her credits remained. She set them in a small cloth bag under her mattress.

  For the first time in weeks, Ninallia slept through the night without waking to the sound of her mother’s labored breathing. The medicine was working. Aunt Rese helped her sister to the main room in the morning, and the three shared a small breakfast of hot mush and fruit.

  Ninallia tried to decide how to explain her upcoming pregnancy. She could hide it for a short time but Aunt Rese and her mother would notice in a few months. Being a dumas was an honorable thing. If she was older, they would no doubt be proud, but for now it must be secret. “I have to go to my employer today. If I keep this job, I can help pay for food and medicine.”

  Concern darkened her mother’s face. Aunt Rese stroked her sister’s hair. “It is okay, Vicori, Ninallia is a good girl. This will be an honorable position.”

  “But she must finish school,” protested her mother.

  Ninallia took her mother’s hand. “If I keep this job, it will be a good thing for our family because I can finish school at night and send you credits. I promise to write you often.”

  This seemed to satisfy Vicori. She motioned for Ninallia to come close. Taking her daughter’s hands in hers, she kissed them. She whispered a prayer, “May the Spirits guide your path, protect you from all harm, and return you to my heart.”

  It was an ancient blessing. Aunt Rese placed her hands on Ninallia’s head as she added her own silent prayer. Ninallia brushed away tears. She hugged them tightly before she left for her appointment with Madama Ector.

  Two

  The Andorian jungle closed in, rife with predators. Colonel Benjamin Houston spotted at least five soldiers surrounding him, and they weren’t his men. He wiped sweat from his face and switched the communicator on. No need for radio silence now.

  “Colonel Houston,” a voice hissed in his ear.

  “Brandon, check, it’s an ambush. Get the hell out of here. Don’t wait for me. I’m done.”

  “An ambush? Where are you?”

  “Get my men the hell off the planet.” Sweat was making his trigger hand slippery. If he made a run for it and gave the Andorians a fight, his men would have a chance to get out alive. His own death was certain. Crashing through the underbrush, he opened fire on the Andorians. They returned fire.

  Houston, a trained soldier and black ops officer, managed to dodge and evade death for a few precious minutes. The blast tore through him like a blast of lightning, ripping him apart in a million directions. The pain lasted less than a minute then nothingness engulfed him.

  Houston came to with a start. He had blacked out in the regeneration tank again. He longed to return to the oblivion of unconsciousness. Pain and regret pressed in from every side, drowning him in sorrow.

  “Colonel Houston, move your legs,” a disembodied voice commanded.

  The reality of his surroundings came back into focus. He felt the breathing mask over his mouth and the thick fluid supporting his weight in the regeneration tank. He began to lift his legs in a rhythmic motion.

  “That’s good, Colonel. You must stop dwelling on the ambush. The mission was a success. You’re alive.”

  “Two of my men died on Andoria. Their lives were wasted. There were no hostages.”

  “The captured soldiers led officials to the Vice President of Andoria. Thanks to you, his planned coup failed.”

  Houston closed his eyes and gave himself over to the regeneration fluid. His legs continued to move up and down in rhythm. He was tired of discussing the ambush and his “feelings.” What does this psychologist know about my men? What does he know about me?

  The regeneration session ended with soft music as the fluid swirled around him. Houston’s brain regained some semblance of control. He tried to remember how long he had been recovering on Bengar. Days turned into weeks then months.

  Brandon and Edwards found what was left of him and risked their lives dragging him out of the jungle. Skipper and Johnson, two other soldiers, didn’t make it back to the ship. They died trying to provide cover for the rescue. Once back onboard the spaceship Houston was placed in stasis and transported to the nearest high level medical center. It was on Bengar, a neutral planet in the same star system.

  He’d lost an arm, part of a leg, and was the recipient of an artificial heart-lung capacitor. He was alive, but his military career was over. Slowly he began to sob. Two of his best men, his friends, died to implicate one minor politician on an unimportant planet—unimportant to the League of Seeded Worlds at least. Here he was, what was left of him, on an even less important planet. Why didn’t I die? I did die; they just didn’t let me stay dead.

  “Negative thinking won’t help your recovery, Colonel Houston. I have told you to expect an almost complete recovery. Your new heart and limbs will function with more than adequate power,” said Healer Bannoff.

  The fluid drained from the tank, and the weight of Houston’s body was supported by his muscles. Every muscle screamed at the imposition. He welcomed the pain. “Can I have a drink?”

  “Water, yes.”

  The reply elicited a muttered profanity from Houston.

  “We discourage stimulants at this stage of your recovery; our records do show you have a mild alcohol dependency.”

  “What the hell?”

  “A glass of wine with your lunch,” the healer acquiesced.

  Houston grunted as jets of warm air dried the remaining fluid from his body, which felt thicker than water. The sticky residue reminded him of sweat. He always wanted a hot shower after—even a shower while strapped in a chair for support.

  “You have two messages, Colonel. Would you like them forwarded to your quarters?”

  Houston shook his head as he was assisted into the whee
lchair and steered toward his rooms at the Bengarian Medical Center.

  He did not want to read well-wishes from his men. He should have died.

  Three

  Spirits bless me and guide my path to success, Ninallia prayed as she turned toward the market street again. This would be the second day of school she missed in less than a week. The absence couldn’t be helped. She walked until her aunt’s building was no longer in view before retrieving the card from her pocket to check the address. The credit symbol on the small square card blinked. She hurried to a terminal and slid it into the reader. The account showed another one hundred credits on the card.

  With disbelief, she stared at the amount. She couldn’t bring herself to cash these out. After boarding the transport, she handed the driver one of her remaining credit coins to take a transport bus to Madama Ector’s establishment. The address on the card was unfamiliar, but the driver assured her it was in one of the wealthiest areas of the Imperial City. She thanked him and took an empty seat.

  As the transport weaved through busy streets and increasingly posh neighborhoods, she fought the temptation to lean out the window to gawk at the wealth on display in shop windows and buildings. With a whoosh of airbrakes, the transport stopped.

  The driver pointed to a multistory marble and stone building surrounded by rich lawns and shrubbery. “Madama Ector’s establishment.”

  Could he be right? Ninallia checked the address again before climbing the steps to the door. She touched her simple shift dress. It was clean but well-worn, certainly not the fashionable gown of a wealthy girl. Even before her knock was answered she was embarrassed by her lack of proper clothes for such an establishment. Dear Spirits, this is not a good sign.

  A woman with a wide, pleasant face opened the door. The crisp blue and white robe belted at her waist proclaimed her the housekeeper. She smiled expectantly and waited for Ninallia to speak.

  “I’m here to see Madama Ector,” Ninallia stammered to break the awkward silence.

  “Come in, child. They’re waiting for you.” The housekeeper stepped aside to allow Ninallia to enter.

  “They?” she voiced the thought unintentionally.

  “Healer, of course, and the client’s representative are here.” The housekeeper answered and didn’t appear to think the question odd.

  Ninallia wondered how much of Madama Ector’s business the woman learned by answering the door and managing the household. She followed the housekeeper down a hallway carpeted in plush golden brown. Ornate picture frames hung on pale ivory walls displaying images of historical figures and even the faces of some nobles she recognized. Her gaze drank in the wealth and beauty of her surroundings. Even the air was redolent with the scent of expensive leather and freshly polished wood.

  The housekeeper stopped before a room where the heavy wood of the door muted the sound of the voices inside. The housekeeper knocked, and the voices inside quieted.

  “Come in,” Madama Ector’s soft voice answered.

  Ninallia hesitated as she stepped into the room. The rich, wooden floor was covered by an exquisitely woven carpet. Her eyes widened in wonder as she stared at the expensive rug. How could she step on something so beautiful after walking outside? She noticed shoes left by the door. Rich people did this to keep dirt from the street from getting inside their houses. She slipped off her shoes, thankful her stockings were clean and without holes.

  “Ninallia, isn’t it?” queried a thin man. The angles of a minister’s tricorn hat elongated his already thin face. He studied her features. “Well, she has the right coloring. Her eyes are very unusual. Very few people have a combination of violet eyes and ebony hair.”

  “Yes, I noticed the resemblance when I met her at the dumas hostel. She resembles our client enough to be a sister or daughter.” Madama Ector raised a delicate cup to her lips. “She claims royal blood through her mother. This appears to be true, through a minor indiscretion of the emperor’s great-great-grandfather.”

  Ninallia could feel a flush rising. What should she do? She lowered her gaze and contemplated the pattern on the rug, feeling the texture through her thin hose.

  “She’s young,” commented the white-robed healer. Unlike Healer Taborn, his costly robes and golden chains proclaimed his status. This healer serviced only wealthy customers.

  “Purity must be unquestionable,” the minister responded. A highbrow and prominent nose gave his face a haughty appearance, although his smile was reassuring.

  Unperturbed, the healer addressed Ninallia. “Are you aware of what you are doing? Have you ever had a woman’s examination before?”

  “Yes, Healer, I have. There’s a clinic in my neighborhood. All the girls in my class were examined. I am clean and fertile.” A nagging fear formed in her stomach. What if this is more than a dumas position? What if these clients want a sex slave or concubine?

  Madama Ector seemed to read her mind as she said, “I run a very honorable establishment. You will be treated well here. Our women never meet the clients or even know their names.”

  Ninallia didn’t intend for her sigh of relief to be quite so audible—it was, and it seemed to lighten the mood in the room.

  “You will go with the healer now, child. We maintain an examination room here. It may not be pleasant, but it will be over quickly.”

  Ninallia bowed, and the healer rose. She followed him from the room and was relieved when a female assistant joined them in the starkly furnished exam room. Closing her eyes, Ninallia lay back on the table then felt a small prick as blood was drawn and the exam began.

  “A virgin. Everything appears healthy.” The assistant spoke with a clipped accent, and Ninallia wondered where she might be from.

  The healer was gentle and thorough in his examination. After he finished, she dressed and waited anxiously for him to return. He tapped at the door before entering. His smile was reassuring.

  “I’ve known Madama Ector for many years, and she is a very good woman. I must take your blood sample to my office for analysis. My recommendation will be dependent on those results, but I don’t think we have anything to worry about. The housekeeper will see to your lunch, and I will return in a few hours with the results.” He reassured Ninallia before leaving.

  Her stomach growled at the mention of food. Her meager breakfast of grain mush and tea that morning was gone. The housekeeper was waiting outside the exam room. “Kitchen’s this way. There’ll be leftover roast sandwiches and some fruit and cheese today. Cook baked a berry pie, and she might cut you a piece of it.”

  Ninallia imagined what this woman would say if she sat at their table at home. When there was meat, which was seldom, it was always stringy nearly-tainted discards from the butcher.

  She spent the next hour in the kitchen eating at a small wooden table and listening to the cook and her assistant banter. She couldn’t help gobbling up the tasty meat and cheese. The cook laughed and offered her more, even refilling her mug with fresh milk.

  “Madama’s girls are not allowed any alcohol, not even light ale,” she explained and sat a large slice of berry pie in front of Ninallia.

  The crust was warm, flakey and the berry filling rich and sweet. She almost swooned at the decadent flavor.

  Left on her own after the meal, she followed the sound of feminine laughter to an open window overlooking a walled garden. The garden wasn’t huge but, it was larger than any in her neighborhood. In its center was an oblong shaped pool where several young women in various stages of pregnancy were swimming. Other women were laying on mats beside the pool, naked in the sunshine. She couldn’t imagine being able to swim nude as these women were doing.

  “No men allowed here, except for the healer and an occasional client.” The housekeeper walked up quietly and touched her arm.

  Ninallia was startled into an involuntary yelp.

  The housekeeper laughed. “The healer is back, and Madama is ready for you.” There was no indication of her mistress’s decision.

&nbs
p; Ninallia turned and followed the housekeeper to the drawing room. Madama Ector was alone, her face shining with excitement. She waved Ninallia in while dismissing the housekeeper with a nod. “Come in, child. We can celebrate a most lucrative deal.”

  “So, everything is okay. I do have royal ancestry?” She always doubted the family stories, at least some. No doubts remained now as Madama Ector’s smile broadcasted her pleasure.

  “Oh yes, more than we hoped for. Your father must have come from Nariland, because there is also... never mind. Healer Ession has given you a clean bill of health, and the insemination has been scheduled for early next week.”

  Ninallia caught her breath. So soon? The sooner the better she supposed. She imagined the joy on her aunt’s face when she dropped enough credits on the table to pay off her family’s debt.

  “Come let me show you to your room.” Madama Ector rose in one fluid motion and walked past her. “You will, of course, want to send word to your family. There is a communications port in your room.”

  Ninallia hung her head. Few families in her neighborhood could afford connection to the communications network. She assumed she would be going back to leave her aunt the chip with the credits as payment for her mother’s care.

  “Ah,” said Madama Ector, as she seemed to grasp the situation. “You must write them a note. It can be delivered before nightfall.” She paused then added, “I will advance enough credits to provide for them in your absence. You, my child, are a very lucky girl. We are receiving three times the normal rate for your services, and our normal rates are not cheap.”

  Awestruck, she followed Madama Ector up a marble staircase and down a carpeted hallway. The luxury was overwhelming. She never imagined such a house, much less living in one.

  “Most of our girls share rooms, but I thought you might enjoy privacy.”

  The room was decorated in aqua tones with flowered curtains and rich, dark wood furniture. A glass door opened onto a balcony complete with a small table and two chairs. In the closet five or six silken gowns hung above matching slippers.