Y
11
As it so often was in space, the first sign of trouble aboard The Flags of Centauri Independence was also very nearly the last. Serry and Eben had been sitting at their action stations in Life Support. The tension of being on alert had grown oppressive, and Serry had been debating whether or not to tell the only dirty joke she knew to lighten things up, the one about the naïve Hereditarian monk and the men from Dahmah, when suddenly everything swung hideously to port, and the great starship fell apart.
An earsplitting blast filled the air. The primary ship lights snapped off. The emergencies snapped on, yet began flickering in a way they were not supposed to. A pair of Force crewmen in front of Serry were ripped right off of their feet and slammed into the bulkhead that now served as their deck. The young commander distinctly heard the crunch of bones over the siren and the metallic grinding.
“What the fu . . !?” she heard Eben say, and then the ship groaned again. The lights went completely out. The life-support control room had spun like something out of the sometimes vicious training exercises the Expeditionary Force received back at Muniqi Base. The overhead—wall now—popped open. Crisis pods filled with rebreathers, envirosuits, extinguishers, and other useful equipment shot out at them. It was never a good sign when the crisis pods emerged.
There had still been enough power to illuminate the main life-support chemipanel. Serry took one glance at it, and she knew immediately her ship was going to die. They were being cracked in two.
She didn’t wait for the evacuation order. Internal communications were already disabled.
“Section Two shuttle bay!” she yelled. It was the closest bay to Life Support. “We have to get to a shuttle!” She had to yell. The thunderous sound of the ship coming apart made their eardrums hurt. They popped, too, loudly. The air pressure had fallen precipitously.
Eben nodded. They each grabbed a crisis pod and a fallen crewman on their way out.
The run to the shuttle bay was like something out of a nightmare. Alternating darkness and blue light. Spinning corridors that resembled kaleidoscopes. No gravity. Small pieces of the ship flying with enough speed to perforate flesh. A chunk of jagged metal ripped the head off of the crewman Serry was carrying. Even so, she would still have been lugging him when they got to the shuttle bay if Eben hadn’t physically pulled the corpse out of her arms. “He’s dead!!” he screamed in her face.
For a moment, Serry had had no idea whom Eben was talking about. In the harsh lighting, his face grotesque from the shouting, her good and only friend looked like a monster.
The evacuation was a debacle. By her counting, only four shuttles managed to launch before the starship was consumed, and then only because the first of those shuttles fired its particle beam to burn away the bay doors. Maybe others got away too. Serry and Eben had loaded up as many people as they could, bloody, broken, burned, dying. After they launched, Serry rotated the holographic display to scan behind them. A second later she wished she hadn’t.
“What . . what is it?” Eben asked his superior. Serry could only shake her head, unable to respond.
At first, mind grasping for meaning in the face of something so bizarre, so utterly unexpected, Serry saw only the soft curves and bubbles of a piece of plushplastic furniture. She saw a gold-colored oil, thick, pulpy, and boiling. She saw a nameless thing that was spherical one moment, concave the next. The mass, whatever it was, morphed from one shape to the other with a slick, fluid ease that made the officer’s stomach churn. Serry blinked, finally. The nameless thing came into better focus.
A great yellow blob, shining like the enormous dollop of molten gold it resembled, was sitting atop the center segment of The Flags of Centauri Independence. This unknown thing was crushing the starship within its grasp.
Atmospheric gasses jetted off in all directions. Vast liquid-metal tentacles, arms squirting from the polished blob and expanding as the mass from which they were composed stretched, probed deeply into the cracked ship. The golden mass undulated like a thing alive, rippling, quivering, palpitating like a giant jellyfish. The thing was so big it hurt the mind. The Flags of Centauri Independence was one of the largest ships in the Centauri Expeditionary Force. The exploration cum military vessel was shaped roughly like a child’s balloon, an oval shape that bulged in its middle. At the largest point, 400 meters in diameter, was the habitation ring, composed of six interjoining decks that rotated around the central core to provide gravity during the long trip. Lengthwise, the starship was about another 80 meters. In front was the Dome, the starship’s massive defense platform, bristling with missile launchers, laser towers, particle blasters, and a host of other destructive technologies. In back was the Brick, the fuel and primary engines section, powerful enough to have carried this mighty vessel the nine-plus light years it had taken to get to the distant Epsilon Indi system. The ship crewed over three thousand people.
The yellow blob was bigger. The gleaming intruder was at least four times the Centauri Independence’s size. It dwarfed the great starship.
The thing moved like it was made of quicksilver. Quickgold? Serry thought.
Whatever the material was, it wasn’t solid. There were no joints in its composition. There was no indication of a crew section. The thing had only been the single liquid immensity, a great gelatinous mass sliding its tendrils into the ship that had brought them so far from the Three Systems.
The same ship they had all depended on to take them home again.
There’s no such thing as space monsters, Serry had thought, watching the disaster in a half-stupor.
You might have to change that opinion, the wiseacre part of her replied. Because that thing in front of you looks very much like a space monster, my dear.
Move, a third and more rational part thought. Move your ass. Move. Now.
“My God.” Lieutenant Wirry had come up front from the passenger section to look. “What is it?”
Something inside of Serry had jerked back to life at the sound. Only a second had passed in real time.
“Get back there and strap yourself in!” she remembered ordering. “It’s a weapon. Or a ship. Or something. And it’s killing us.” She brought the shuttle’s particle beam online, aimed it at the liquid-metal monster, and fired. A blue flash connected the tiny shuttle to the glossy monstrosity. A minute portion of its glowing skin boiled and erupted from inside. Perhaps prompted by her action, the other fleeing shuttles also opened fire.
The thing reacted like the fluid it was. Wherever beams struck its surface, the thing bubbled. Indescribably twisted images of the attacking ships were reflected in its metallic surface. She still had no idea what it was. How did the thing move? What was the source of its propulsion? It really did act like a living creature. The golden blob had almost fully enveloped the starship by that time, swallowing the ship whole even as it tore it apart. Dense hullmetal crumbled like paper in the creature’s grasp. Pseudopods reached out and torn away weapon mounts before they could fire.
As they watched, a fifth shuttle tried to escape through the only open bay doors left.
The shuttle hadn’t gotten far before the golden mass, amoeba-like, thrust out a tendril and speared it like a microscopic piece of food. A moment later, hundreds of glossy tendrils were expanding from the thing. Where these tendrils touched a piece of floating metal, a chunk of broken equipment, a dismembered body, that object glowed briefly and accelerated. The fragments flew in the direction of the shuttles. One of them struck one of the fleeing ships. Both were vaporized in an instant.
At very nearly the same time, the universe had blinked in that peculiar way experienced space travelers recognized as a ship unfolding into normal space after using its transdrive. Suddenly, a second immense metallic blob was floating next to their disintegrating starship. This one, unlike the other, actually was of a silver coloration. For all its immense size, it was like a suspended mass of mercury that had mysteriously remained fluid in the coldness of space. For a moment, the newcomer had hung there, pulsating, its silvery surface rippling from the inside out. Then, as if two invisible hands were pressing into it, the great protoplasmic thing flattened and expanded.
It reached out in two massive waves for the starship and its golden look-alike.
“Let’s Get Out of Here!!” Eben yelled. Serry agreed. The three remaining shuttles fled. The next thing she knew, they were falling ass backwards onto a planet they knew nothing about. Join the Expeditionary Force, Serry thought ironically. It’s a non-stop adventure.
“Heat increasing to maximum survivable levels,” Eben screamed. Serry heard screams all around her as the ship fell apart. She heard explosions too. She acknowledged her copilot, but they were falling, falling, and then the shuttle crashed, and everything was exploding and . . and . . . .
The sound of a third explosion woke Serry, and such was the sudden startle she experienced that for a moment the commander had no idea where she was. Was she on the Centauri Independence? The Ulysses Olandros? Beta Prime? She heard another explosive burst from outside, felt the bed shake around her, and remembered she was on Y.
She jumped out of bed and stared up at her sealed window.
From her angle, all she could see outside was darkness. Moving quickly, Serry dumped the papers and books from her desk, moved the heavy piece of furniture, with some difficulty, so that it was against the wall beneath the high window, and stood her chair atop it. She climbed to the sill. She looked out.
Beyond her window was an open courtyard. Beyond that were the city walls of Tolaam. Everything was perfectly still. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Even the perpetually cloudy sky was clear for once.
She was about to climb down when something large and artificial flew past overhead.
It was too dark, and the vehicle was moving too quickly, for her to see details. As she continued to watch, Serry spotted a lone Yn warrior run along the top of the distant wall. He was waving a sword.
Outside her view, she heard another explosion. She saw the running man dive for cover.
Something was definitely occurring. This might be our chance to escape, Serry thought.
She got down and pulled her heavy robe on. She was just headed for the door when that portal suddenly slammed open in front of her, forcing Serry to step backwards or get struck silly.
A huge Yn warrior stormed into the room.
Serry recognized the man as one of the guards assigned to the keep. He was nearly twice her size. Aside from the sword he carried, he was naked. He didn’t even have sandals on. His eyes were crazed, his expression grim. His monster-sized penis was hard and throbbing. He took one look at Serry, and before she could even think of defending herself, the warrior swooped in and with his free arm picked her up like she was a baby.
The sudden change in perspective made Serry dizzy.
Holding her about the waist, the warrior ran back out of the suite. “Let me go! Let me go!” Serry struck the man’s side ineffectually. In retrospect, she didn’t think he noticed her hitting him. The entire keep was in an uproar. Warriors ran past them in one direction, then another. Not all of the Yn soldiers were dressed, but all of them were carrying weapons. The warrior carrying Serry took her kicking and screaming through the human-occupied section of the castle and then into an area that had previously been closed to them. They turned a corner and nearly ran into a Yn man cut and bleeding from a dozen deep stab wounds. The blood was a distressingly bright, clownish pink.
“Stop!” Serry yelled. “Put me down!” She hit the man again. He didn’t glance at her. His face bore a worried expression. He turned from the direction he had been headed and backtracked down another smooth, crystalline corridor. Serry was thoroughly lost.
Where are my men? she thought. What’s going on? The citadel was obviously under attack. Who was attacking? She didn’t know whether she was being rescued or kidnapped. Before she was aware that he was going to do so, before she could warn him not to, not that he would have listened, the warrior slammed through a thick door, and then they were both outside beneath the pitch black Yn sky.
Serry immediately started to cough.
“Hiyaaahhhh!!” she heard. Her “defender” turned and dropped her. A pair of Yn soldiers dressed in gray tunics dropped out of nowhere. In a moment they were attacking the third man, swords flashing between them. Serry tried to pick herself up, staggered instead, and fell against the nearest wall.
She couldn’t catch her breath! Her coughing became louder and more vicious.
The giant who had stolen Serry from her room defended himself. With a low thrust, he buried the tip of his sword into the stomach of one of his attackers. At the same time, he ducked a swinging blow from his second enemy and slammed his heel into his assailant’s lower leg, snapping the bone audibly and tripping him. He dug his weapon out in a spray of pinkish gore and swung it on the falling man’s head, cleaving his skull in twain. The first attacker, despite the grievous injury to his midsection, charged. He struck Serry’s defender. The two of them went down, fists raining blow after blow on each other.
Everywhere else, Serry saw, the keep was embroiled in war. The courtyards were largely free of the combat; the fighting took place on the rooftops and along the crests of the surrounding walls. Men were going at each other with swords and axes, hacking away at red flesh, filling the air with pink blood. Snipers with fanciful firearms knelt, aimed, and discharged booming projectiles into enemies on both sides. Overhead, large flying boats made of wood and silvery metals hovered, maintained in place by whirring propellers hooded underneath. Like pirate ships out of an old serial, they fired cannons—Authentic gunpowder and ball cannons!—at the walls of the keep, gouging out ragged holes in the smooth, crystalline material. For their part, mobile cannons on wheels were being dragged along the wall tops and fired at the flying boats. In all, perhaps a thousand men were trying to kill one another.
The defenders of the keep were bare-chested and wearing leather kilts. The invaders wore gray tunics that covered their chests but left their asses curiously bare. Every time one of them turned around, it was like he was mooning his opponent. Neither side was giving any quarter, and it was impossible to say who was winning. The casualties on both sides were horrendous. The courtyards were empty of everything save bodies and debris. Yn would be cut down above and plummet in bleeding pieces to the stone below. Originally, there must have been more attacking aircraft, for one of them lay in a burning wreck in the middle of one avenue, blasted by what had to have been multiple penetrating cannon shots.
The worst part of it all in Serry’s estimation were the gleeful smiles on the fighters’ faces. Blood was being spilled by the bucket-load, yet the Yn on both sides were clearly enjoying themselves. Some of them were even laughing, so engaged were they in their slaughter. Devil-red skin color notwithstanding, it was a panorama straight out of hell: blood, gore, and laughter.
Serry’s “defender” was the one who finally stood from the close-up contest.
He swayed for a second, then noticed for the first time that his prize couldn’t breathe.
Serry’s face had turned a red almost as deep as the man’s own skin. The Yn warrior’s eyes widened. He tilted his head back and brought his hand to his forehead, groaning. Despite her incapacity, Serry could clearly read the self-condemnation there. It was a human universal. He was thinking: You idiot! She can’t breathe our air!
He was reaching for her, maybe to take her to safety, when Serry heard two loud gunshots. The man’s eyes widened again, this time in amazement. His chest burst open, drenching Serry in pink viscera. He fell to his knees, gave Serry a look half-apology, half-surprise, then collapsed and died in front of her.
Another pair of Yn men in gray tunics approached. Each was carrying a large, twisty-shaped rifle. Their breath steaming in the cold night air mirrored the smoke emanating from their rifles’ barrels.
One of them checked to see if Serry’s defender was dead. The other looked at Serry herself. For a long moment, he watched the human female struggle to breathe air that was ten percent carbon dioxide. Finally, he said something to his companion.
The other man turned around while the other rustled through the backpack he was wearing. A moment later the first man was picking Serry up and affixing something to her face. Serry belatedly recognized it as a Centauri rebreather mask. It even had the Expeditionary Force seal on the side.
Blessed, refreshing air streamed down Serry’s mouth and nose. Before she could fully enjoy the sensation, she felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her forehead. It was the same kind of pain one would feel after bolting an iced drink. Serry cried out, unable to see or think. She felt herself handed off.
Serry coughed so hard she felt like she was retching out a lung.
She was carried back inside the keep briefly. Her bare-assed captors climbed an enclosed stairway and emerged outside again on the slanting roof of the castle, along a walkway that ringed the pyramidal-shaped structure. The fight was over here. The gray-tunics had evidently won; the bodies of a dozen kilt-wearing defenders were strewn along the pink-stained stone. The fighting was still going on elsewhere. From her new vantage point, Serry saw that she had seriously underestimated the size of both the keep and the raid. Small armies were going at it outside the main wall. The defenders outnumbered the raiders—more troops were streaming out of Tolaam as she watched—but the raiders had several aircraft already in position and were raining down booming cannon fire. A smaller hovercraft approached from the opposite side of the keep away from the main conflict. The edge of the flying boat settled next to Serry and her kidnappers.
The gray-tunics treated Serry as if she were a piece of luggage. The two on the wall handed her off to a third Yn warrior on the boat with only the slightest concern for bruising her. Serry was still weak. She couldn’t put up much of a fight in the transfer, but by the time the flying boat was taking off few minutes later, she had regained enough of her breath to stand up.
The gray-tunic Yn looked at her, sitting across from her on the small hovercraft. Up ahead, another Yn was piloting.
The boat gained altitude. In the distance but coming closer, Serry observed a larger hovercraft waiting out of range of the keep’s cannons. They were going to rendezvous with it. Serry wondered: What was the point of the raid? Surely it can’t be us? she thought.
She glanced over the wooden railing she was leaning against. The height was dizzying.
Whatever the object of the raid, Serry decided that she wasn’t going to go quietly. She turned back to the captor watching her and raised her fists. Serry wasn’t a combat specialist, but she had gone through basic training. It might have been a moment of madness on her part, attacking a Yn twice her size hundreds of meters above Tolaam, but Serry had had enough of being a prisoner. She was tired of being carried around like luggage. She was tired of feeling helpless. She lunged.
With quick, brutal efficiency, the Yn in the gray tunic swiped off Serry’s rebreather. He grabbed her shoulder and held her at arm’s length, his arm’s length.
Serry soon started choking again.
She beat on the Yn man’s arm, but her strength was nothing compared to his. Her eyes burned. She coughed over and over, unable to stop. She vomited, and finally, just as the smaller hovercraft sided next to the much larger one, Serry lost consciousness.
Two nights later:
“We’re so lucky to be slaves,” Onora breathed in Haru’s ear. They lay in each other’s arms in Onora’s little alcove of a kennel and cuddled. Haru hummed agreement and kissed her bedmate’s throat softly.
“Men have to be so strong all the time.” Onora’s hand caressed Haru’s plump breast. “They have to fight. They have to be in control. It must be very tiring to be a man.” Haru nodded, though she wasn’t aware that she was nodding. “I feel sorry for them.”
“Really?” Haru asked, surprised.
“Yes. I’d much rather be a slave. I enjoy serving men. Besides,” and Onora got up on one elbow to look Haru in the eyes. “All we have to do is obey and serve men perfectly, and for that we get to be fucked. We have it so much better, don’t we?”
“Yes.” Since her memories of being a free Centauri woman had been reawakened by her Master, Haru felt a part of herself still being critical about ideas like that. But it was a small part. For the most part, she agreed with her friend. They were lucky. They did have it better. She received such intense pleasure in her use, it more than made up for the loss of her freedom. What was more, even when she wasn’t being fucked, it was still a joy for Haru to be at a man’s beck and call. Some deeply feminine part of the former Centauri officer responded to being ordered about by men. She enjoyed cleaning, washing, and all her other duties, not so much because she enjoyed them per se. She enjoyed her duties because she had been ordered to do them by men. It thrilled her to the very quick, in fact.
Being a slave really was the better choice, had she been given a choice.
“I think Hessorz is so handsome,” Onora confided to Haru. All the girls had their favorites. “He gets me so hot and wet.” She clutched at her denuded pussy, and the slave released a short, soft gasp.
“Slut,” Haru whispered back, good-naturedly. Still and all, she wished Onora hadn’t started talking about her slave needs. As a slut herself, she was more than aware of the heat and longing between her own legs. They wouldn’t be used by a man again until morning. And morning was a long time away.
“I can’t help it,” Onora said, smiling. She leaned forward until their lips touched and delicately bit at her full and pouting lips. Onora was a pretty slave. She was exquisitely curved. Haru enjoyed stroking and petting her skin. She had long, raven-black hair, and her features were dark and exotic. Her full lips invited plundering. Before being purchased by Baor Korez, Onora had been a tavern slut in the city of Idaas. Korez had enjoyed putting her through her paces so much he had negotiated with the tavern’s owners on the spot for her sales price. She put on no airs, though, because of that. Onora was a common slave, like all the girls in Citadel Korez were. Even Theru, their proctor, who was in charge of all the slaves, had to obey, and could be made to squirm as easily, by the lowest man in the ranking.
Onora closed her eyes and shuddered in memory of her most recent ravishing. “Ohh, his cock, when he was inside me . . ah, oh yes, so good . . .” She wiggled enticingly beside Haru.
Uncontrollably, Haru clutched her own cunt. There, damn it, there, she thought. She had been reminded of how good it felt being fucked by a man, any man, and so, once more, just like that, she was in a sexual need. Onora met the former Centauri officer’s eyes. They were wise and knowledgeable.
“I’m sorry,” Onora said. The slut wasn’t at all sorry from her tone. Her fingers searched and once more found Haru’s sex. “Let me make it up to you.” This would be their third time this evening.
“We have to get some sleep tonight,” Haru chastised. Still, she opened her legs invitingly. Onora moved her hands along Haru’s body, and the younger slave shuddered, still in awe at both her own sensitivity and Onora’s skill, the knowledge she displayed in her hands every time Haru was touched.
The former Betan arched her back, pushing her plump bosom into her friend’s grip, gasping as she felt the woman’s hands brush over her nipples. Onora’s mouth fell over hers, and they kissed, deeply, feverishly. The older slave’s fingers brushed against the interior of Haru’s thighs. She felt her friend’s fingers move gently inside her, tickling, caressing. Unlike at the Academy, the slaves in their Master Korez’s citadel were not chained for the night in their kennels. They were permitted to visit one another’s kennels, if they wished, and often did. At first, Haru had seen in this permissiveness a slackening in the discipline they were, as slaves, always subject to. She knew better now. She was better trained. The men of Y needed no physical chains to control their women. The greatest chains were those locked tight round their hearts and minds.
Korez’s slaves were not locked up at night because there was not one of them who wanted to leave.
They were all thoroughly owned girls.
Haru brushed her fingers against Onora’s breasts. They twisted about within the narrow confines of the kennel alcove. Arms smooth as silk slid against one another, legs as well. Haru hissed in pleasure as her lover’s tongue touched her lower lips and penetrated. She was so hot and wet. As Onora’s tongue lapped at her, probing at her moist depths, she moaned in heated ecstasy.
“Ohh, yess, right there,” she breathed deeply. “Oh, that’s beautiful. You’re so beautiful.” Unlike when a man took them, when the slaves were at play with one another, they retained a greater control over their responses. Sometimes that was good, sometimes that was bad. Haru enjoyed being used, being reduced to a spasming, helpless vessel in the arms and on the dick of her masters, and whenever she wasn’t being used, a part of her longed for it. At the same time, with a fellow slave like Onora, she could draw out her pleasures longer. Moreover, there was a feeling of camaraderie and sharing that was often absent when she was with a man, for whom she was usually anonymous, just one slave among many he might use in a given day or in a given life.
Haru knew Onora’s body well now, and she Haru’s body.
Onora’s hands took hold of her ass, using it as leverage as the slave buried her face even deeper between Haru’s legs. Haru’s own mouth and tongue eagerly sought out her partner’s tender female flesh. They were both flexible. Nearly all Yn slavegirls were. Haru licked about the rim of Onora’s pussy, probing for her clitoris, finding it at length and sucking at it gently. She relished the soft cries she elicited. She inserted her tongue inside Onora, pressing her face against her soft pussy. Onora did likewise, and soon the two slaves were thoroughly enthralled.
They jumped within the other’s grip. They licked, and they kissed, moving back and forth across their partner’s inner folds, moaning into the other’s sex.
The first orgasms were good. Haru shuddered in her release and felt herself pushed to her back as Onora climbed atop her. She felt her friend’s hands on her bountiful tits, enjoying the slick feel of her own spent fluids being used to lubricate her nipples, making them hard again, making her moan.
Her hips began to buck as the culminating wave of yet another massive climax shook her, as Onora bent down over her and locked lips with her, sinking her tongue into Haru’s mouth and caressing her from within. She reached up and felt Onora’s own heavy breasts, massaging them, kneading them.
Onora’s hand once again reached down. Her fingers penetrated, and Haru clenched herself about them, dreaming of their common Master. “Ohhh, oh yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me.”
Her head rocked to and fro, her long black hair spreading out like a pillow.
Onora laughed, relishing her control, if only for a time.
Haru’s hips pumped up and down as she was finger-fucked. Her friend’s fingers squeezed at her engorged clitoris. She felt it tweaked, felt the way an electric current seemed to surge through her, galvanizing her as the more experienced slave massaged her. Her back arched. Her heavy breasts bounced. Onora kept one hand on a tit and used the pressure to keep Haru on her back. She squeezed the breast, tickled the nipple, and went deeper inside Haru at the same time. The former Centauri officer climaxed a third time, and then it was her turn again to give pleasure.
They switched positions. Onora lay back and spread. She smiled wickedly.
“Start here,” she said, hands framing her own heavy breasts.
Haru crawled up along her. She smelled her arousal. She placed her mouth against Onora, nuzzling.
She kissed around the base of each breast, slowly going up, working her way to the erect nipples, which she mouthed and began to suck earnestly. Emulating her friend’s style, she pressed her middle finger against her friend’s slit and slowly penetrated her, grinding her palm against her clit. Soon enough, Onora was rendered every much the squirming, helpless slavegirl she had been just minutes earlier.
Haru loved seeing her friend’s face contort in such pleasure. Their mouths met once more, plump lips pressing hard against each other. Their tongues danced.
They cuddled and fondled for what seemed like eternity.
At length, Onora laid her head back.
“Tell me again about ‘Bay-ta Pa-rime’” she said dreamily. She repeated the name of Haru’s homeworld with an exaggerated accent. It was still hard for her to say “Beta Prime” in Centauran.
Trying to get her to say the formal title, ‘Saqlawiyah,’ would have been a fool’s errand.
“It’s a beautiful planet,” Haru said sleepily, in the common tongue of Y. She felt so soft and warm after their lovemaking, she might well have been melting. At moments like this, she couldn’t tell where she ended and Onora began. “Seen from space, it’s all greens and blues. There’s more land than sea. The seas are scattered all over, and forests cover most of the land except at the poles. It’s warm all the time.” Onora smiled, eyes glistening at the thought of the alien world she would never see in person.
“Tell me something new.”
After a moment, Haru said, “Saqlawiyah’s day is longer than its year. The year’s only one hundred and eighty-eight days, but it takes more than six hundred and sixty days for the planet to rotate even once on its axis.”
“Wouldn’t that make the temperature too hot to live?” Onora asked. Haru had made an early mistake by talking down to Onora once, thinking that as a slave she was too ignorant to understand things like orbits, gravity, and space travel. When she had asked about Beta Prime for the first time, Haru had used baby talk to describe Beta Centauri’s planetary system. “It’s really, really far away. Five big rocks circle round a big ball of fire. The rocks circle round this fire and are warmed by it.”
Haru received such a scathing look from the slave that she was immediately embarrassed.
Just because they were slaves did not mean the women of Y were uneducated. Since they took care of everything in Yn society other than fighting, holding territory, and cooking, it was not unusual that they were often better educated than their owners. Haru talked about albedo and described the system of giant orbiting shades between Beta Prime and its star that blocked off most of the harmful sunlight.
“The shades provide about twenty-seven hours worth of light and darkness, all told. That’s the same number of hours as Saqlawiyah’s sister-world, Abayyah.”
“Bay-ta Two,” Onora said, and Haru nodded. Most of her fellow slaves that she had met, when they found out she had not been born on Y, had proven utterly uninterested in her origins. To them, she was just another slave. Not so Onora. She was fascinated with Haru’s tales of the Three Systems, and she was always pestering her for some new tidbit. They had become good friends.
They talked about inconsequentials for a time: slave gossip, the silly things they saw their masters fighting about, their guesses about who was making Soha pant so hard in the afternoons, and so on.
Haru was starting to drift away when Onora said, “I saw your fellow alien today.”
Haru was immediately awake. “Which one?”
Onora shrugged. “I don’t know. All you child-aliens look alike to me.” She laughed prettily.
“I’m not a child,” Haru said in a small, hurt voice. “I’m a Yn slavegirl now, like you.”
Onora didn’t say anything for a moment, then she opened her arms and took Haru gently inside them. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You are of Y now.” She held her fellow slave close to her and kissed her tenderly. “I like thinking of you as my alien friend. But you’re more than that.”
She kissed Haru again. Neither of them said anything for awhile.
“I don’t know which one of them it was,” Onora said finally. “He’s been talking to our Master, though. Theru thinks he’s negotiating for status.”
“After he’s been transformed?” When Haru learned about the lost crewmen from the Centauri Independence in Tolaam, she hadn’t known how to feel. Part of her had wanted to see them, but at the same time she was too ashamed over what had been done to her. She no longer felt so ashamed now.
This is my life, she had realized one day a few months ago. And it’s a good one. The understanding startled her. With a full recognition of her past, Haru had started over at that moment.
She was a Yn slavegirl, and she loved it. She recognized that she had no choice but to love it, but even if she had had such a choice, she would have chosen a life of slavery, she thought. She still didn’t know whether she wanted to meet anyone from her former life, though.
Onora shrugged again. She really didn’t care. If it didn’t fall within the range of her interests, or their Master’s, she didn’t give it much thought. Haru wanted so much to be like her. Onora was so carefree and carnal about being a slave—it was so easy for her—she was an inspiration. “One of them died, I heard, in the big raid. The other one is still a prisoner. Maybe the last one wants to become Yn.”
What would it be like to meet someone from her old life who was now a Yn like her? A thrill passed through Haru. “I want a man,” she said plaintively. Her needs were much upon her.
“I know,” Onora said. “So do I. Go to sleep.” They kissed open-mouthed, then wriggled into comfortable positions within their mutual embrace. They fell asleep.
Soon enough, it was the start of a new day.