Tag Archives: Ella’s Story

Ella’s Story: Chapter 25

Ella’s Story follows people who live ordinary lives as citizens of a vast interstellar empire. Indeed, a galactic empire. Each chapter will be posted individually here at the Plain & Simple Press blog, and then collected at a single page devoted to the book. Come on over to the Ella’s Story page to find all the chapters published so far, as well as the cast of characters and a list of place names.

Ella’s Story

25

Dorin, she thought, must have been a good-looking man when he was younger. Well. Good enough. From across the lawn she watched him help Ronel the head gardener carry heavy bags of fertilizer-laced tcompost into a storage shed. He had a certain grace, given his age and his chunky frame.

Sigi’s crush on him, after Merren died, had quietly come to naught. Dorin had taken Sigi into his arms and comforted her and seen her through the worst of her shock and grief. Of everyone’s shock and grief. But when he sensed her affection was transferring itself to him, he deftly stepped out of the way and guided her in another direction.

Nothing if not deft, Dorin was. Sigi would’ve been a little young for him, to Ella’s mind. Yet why not? She’d have made a good mate.

Why not, Ella reflected, had to do with a wife back on Samdela that he would never see or hear from again. He did not speak of her. Yet Ella knew he thought of himself as a married man, one who had sworn an oath to be with that one woman. Another indicator of Syndicato: an oath was permanent. Forever, never to be denied. Even if it was, for all practical purposes, inoperative.

What was her oath worth, she wondered: the one that swore her to her band and bonded her with the Syndicate?

§ §

Not only did Lohke make love to her that would shake Zaitaf’s moonscape, if anyone had been measuring seismic waves, but he brought her gifts from worlds she’d barely heard of. Little gems. A shiny black stone necklace that she could hide under her livery or not, but wear close to her skin all the time, even in the showers. A box of strange, unbelievably tangy sweets. More sex.

And the next time he asked her to correct a set of lading figures, she refrained from arguing with him.

§

“Errors” kept surfacing. Five crates here, ten barrels there, three tons somewhere else.
When Lohke would ask her to fix some anomaly, she would oblige. And then he would oblige her. Within a few months, they were climbing into some hideaway every couple of tennights for some special experience. She found their encounters uniformly satisfying. So, apparently, did he.

It was Syndicate business as usual, she reasoned, when she thought about it at all. Her being, after all, was dedicated to the Syndicate. That she had been caught, tried for a long string of felonies real and invented, tortured almost beyond endurance for the privilege, and then relegated to a lifetime of service on the godforsaken moon of an alien planet did not erase or even slightly change the oath that bound her to her people. To the Syndicate. Did it?

She wondered. Did it? She pushed the question into the back recesses of her mind.

One day Vighdi called her in for one of the company’s periodic reviews. Ella sent her a report reprising the jobs she and her assistants had been doing, identifying her accomplishments, and highlighting room for improvements. At the appointed hour, she trotted up the metal steps to her overseer’s office and presented herself, as directed.

Trying to appear at ease in the chair next to her boss’s desk, she watched Vighdi skim over several months’ worth of data and reports from the other departments her group served.

“How are Behji and Hanya doing?” Vighdi asked. “Are they both handling the work on time? And without making a lot of mistakes?”

“Corrections” were silently installed before the records moved out of Ella’s precinct – after her assistants had done whatever they had to do with the data. “They’re fine, ma’am. They help a lot.”

“Mmm-hm. I’m sure. It’s a big job.” She studied a spreadsheet, pausing over it longer than she had with other parts of Ella’s report and records. “Had any particular problem with one or the other of them?

“Not really.”

Vighdi raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Sometimes Hanya needs to be reminded to finish up things. But once you mention it she always gets it done.”

“Well. That’s why we call it ‘riding herd.’”

Ella smiled politely. She had never seen a “herd”—of anything., And why would ride on one – or how – escaped her.

“What about Behji?”

“She’s very smart, ma’am. And thorough. Never a problem with her. But…are you going to send her down to the surface?”

“What?”

“She wants to go to some business school there. So she can get a better job. Said she’d talked to you about it.”

“Oh…yeah,. We talked about that. Bhotil and I are still looking into it. Are you willing to train up someone to take her place?”

Just what I need, she thought. “Uhm…yeah. If you send her away. That’s what I’ll have to do, no?”

“Yes. But I expect you can manage it.”

“Probably.”

Vighdi leaned back in her chair and gazed at Ella for a couple of seconds.

“I’m proud of you, sister. You’ve come a long way from laundering sheets for the tourists.”

How to answer this? Or was an answer expected? Ella smiled shyly.

“You couldn’t even read Varn when you got here. You’ve always done good work. But now you have a very responsible job. You’re doing it well, and you’re supervising two helpers. Good job, Ella. I hope you keep it up.”

She felt a blush spread over her face. “I hope so.”

Ella’s Story: Chapter 23

Ella’s Story follows people who live ordinary lives as citizens of a vast interstellar empire. Indeed, a galactic empire. Each chapter will be posted individually here at the Plain & Simple Press blog, and then collected at a single page devoted to the book. Come on over to the Ella’s Story page to find all the chapters published so far, as well as the cast of characters and a list of place names.

Ella’s Story

23

He was, she reflected, the studliest man she had ever known. In the solitary comfort of her bed, night flowing over her and through the resting dormitory, her body remembered. He filled her like no man had ever done, before or after. Filled her physically. Filled her emotionally, too, with his humor and his dark ironic eyes and foxy smile, with the endless stream of small kindnesses and gestures, with his company that filled their off hours and many of the hours that were on.

A satisfactory man, she thought. The best she’d known. But then, come to think of it, most of the men she’d been with on Samdela did not aspire to the category of “satisfactory.” And after Lohkeh, she hadn’t come to know so many men. Not so many at all.

Each morning he would meet her in the mess hall, share first-meal with her – or with her and a few friends – and then wish her a fine day before the each went off to their separate jobs. Lohkeh got around in his work. He seemed to be all over the place. Every day, two or three times a day, he would drop by her desk and say hello. Unless he had to go down to Takrai, he would – which he often did. Every eight or ten “day”-cycles, he disappeared into the dark tube to the mining center, never reappearing until after last-meal. Often not before Ella had gone to bed.

Vighdi made good on her promise to find them a private place to spend their off hours together. They made excellent use of it.

None of this went unnoticed. Her friends teased mercilessly, dubbing them Wista and Qarfan, the mythical Kanat lovers whose passion turned them into stars and caused them to drift into that strange, seasonless world’s firmament. Ella quickly grew aware that every unattached female and several who were attached wished they were in her place. So she didn’t mind. Much.

Lohkeh played a pitcher’s position for one of Ethra Compound’s eighteen-man bechabon teams. In bechabon, six pitchers tried to throw six balls each – red, blue, white, green, orange, and purple, in order, into a series of holes set high overhead in the walls of a octagonal playing field, while two team-mates tried to defend each pitcher them against three opposing players. Each team worked across six walls — three on either side of the court — and then if and when an entire set of balls had made its way through the targets, tried to throw all of them into the other team’s goal net.

This, she thought, was an amazing thing to watch from the rows of benches above the walled arena. In Zaitaf’s low gravity, each player could jump a good ten feet into the air, seeming to hover aloft several seconds. Throwing an object at the apogee of such a leap would shift the person’s balance. It took skill and strength to steer oneself so as to avoid coming down wrong and breaking an ankle. Lohkeh had both of those, in abundance.

Spectator sports had never called out to Ella. She could take them or leave them. But somehow watching Lohkeh dance and fly and throw made watching bechabon a lot more fun than it had ever seemed before. Before long she knew all the rules and what was a good move and what not so great, what was a foul and what was a brilliant move. And Lohkeh’s grace and strength put her whole body to singing for him. Watching him in action made her relish the action that would follow all the more.

That action could take place anywhere. Behind the spectator stands. Down a dark hallway. Inside a random vehicle that somehow materialized exactly when and where Lohkeh wanted it. Inside the greenhouse, hidden between of tall plants. Once, after he invited her to help him practice by chasing stray balls and returning them to him, inside a shower room.

Was there any retreat he didn’t know about? If there was, she couldn’t imagine where it might be.

 

Writing, Editing…Editing,Writing

Tireder than all my tribe…

Ran out of copy for Ella’s Story, so this week had to write the chapter that will go up at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning. And so I suppose it will be, until I come to the end of Ella’s part of the Varnis ramblings. It really is just a side story…there’s more, a great deal more, focusing on a different but related set of characters.

But meanwhile an editing job came in the day before yesterday. Haven’t even looked at it, because I’ve been so focused on trying to get Ella, Chapter 23 out by tomorrow ayem. This is an R&R (“revise and resubmit”) of an article I’ve edited before, so I’m hoping (against hope…) it won’t be too difficult to read.

Speaking of the crack of proverbial dawn, one would be a lot less tired (and get a lot more work done) if one’s dogs did not develop the habit of demanding to be let out at three in the morning.

This has gotten to be a nightly thing.

First Ruby starts to squirm — corgis are small dogs, exquisitely cute dogs, dogs that are smarter than humans, and so succeed in taking up residence on the human’s bed. She makes her musical whining noise, which is not really “let me down” but means something more like are you awake?

This works well to awaken Cassie, who having an aging digestive system has not done her thing before bed-time and so now is taken by an embarrassing urgency. If the human does not get up and let her off the bed, something even more embarrassing threatens to happen. From there, it’s race to the back door and shoot out into the backyard in search of satisfying relief.

Dogs go back to sleep forthwith.

Humans…not so much.

So by 4:30 or 5, time to roll out of the sack for a doggy-walk before it gets too hot, the human is in full zombie mode.

I’m thinking tonight I’ll take them for a walk as soon as it’s dark and the sidewalks have had time to cool off a bit. That will be soon — it’s already 8:00. If I can wring them out before bed-time, maybe they won’t roust me in the wee hours.

The scribbling for free and the editing for dollars projects are seriously complicated by the absence of the MacBook Pro. Apple, faced with at least one lawsuit (to which I happen to be a party now) and with a cacophony of more than the usual number of angry, bellyaching customers, decided to replace the machine’s defective keyboards for free.

Since mine intermittently declines to type a letter “b” or recognize the action of the “return” key, last week I dragged it down to the Apple story and turned it in to be fixed. I hope.

“Fixing” a computer, I’ve learned over the years, usually means “screwing it up in new and creative ways.” So as you can imagine, my enthusiasm for this process knows plenty of bounds.

The contraption is not supposed to be returned before tomorrow (Monday), and probably later than that.

In the meantime, I’m working and playing on an ancient iMac desktop, a big old thing that I use as a substitute television, streaming videos from Amazon and YouTube. And lemme tell you: that frikkin” HURTS!

Another function of old age, in addition to a certain tendency to insomnia, is hurting joints. Especially hurting hip joints. When I sit in an office chair — any office chair, for any length of time (even just a few minutes) — my hip starts to hurt so much I can barely limp around. The laptop brings a stop to that by letting me sit in a soft easy chair with my feet up on an ottoman. In its absence, I get to enjoy extravagant pain. After a couple hours at this desk, I have to perform a series of physical therapy exercises just to walk the dogs around the block.

Welp, I cannot write another word, and if I don’t get up from this bone-crushing chair now I will not be able to walk to the bathroom, to say nothing of a mile into Richistan and back to Normal Acres. And so, away…

Ella’s Story. Chapter 22 *FREE READS!

Ella’s Story follows people who live ordinary lives as citizens of a vast interstellar empire. Indeed, a galactic empire. Each chapter will be posted individually here at the Plain & Simple Press blog, and then collected at a single page devoted to the book. Come on over to the Ella’s Story page to find all the chapters published so far, as well as the cast of characters and a list of place names.

Ella’s Story

22

The tick-sized intercom pasted to her left bicep vibrated, a signal to get her attention. From Syo, on the security guard: Rysha had arrived at Skyhill’s front gate.

Having managed to coax about half of Tabit’s soup into Darl, Ella was carrying the dishes back to the manor house’s basement kitchen. Now she hurried along, popped in, and found Lior and Tabit working over the stoves and counters, where they were preparing dinner for four dozen staff – give or take. She dropped the tray on a counter, thanked Tabit for her work, and ran back up the stairs, headed for the main floor.

The intercom buzzed again: Talat.

“We’re still in Cinnora,” he said. “Dorin gave us enough money to cover dinner. All right if we eat here and come in a little later?”

He gives you enough for dinner, so you’re honor-bound to spend it? She flew in the ground-floor service door and raced up the hallway toward the central atrium. “How much later?”

“We’ll be back by curfew.”

“How about before curfew? Make it by first moonrise.” That would bring them in around fifteenth hour. Curfew shut everything down at seventeenth hour – after Wilig’s bed-time. She’d need to remember to tell Wilig’s parents, whenever they came in for dinner.

“All right. We’ll probably get in before then.”

“Let me know.”

She bounded into the entry hall and took her place next to Essio – another of the guard, scheduled to relieve Chadzar, his boss, after the kaïna was safely deposited inside the house. Dita joined them, a small bag of gear in hand, and the three formed a straight, identically uniformed line to one side of the entry. Shaban stood ready to open the heavy double doors when the mistress arrived in front.

Shaban gestured over a wall pad so it would read his embedded ID chip. “Lights,” he murmured, and glow panels in the vestibule and an adjacent tall-ceilinged reception room came on. A fountain burbled, calming, into a pond occupying a corner of the entryway. Against another wall, a willowy tree held court over mounds of multicolored, leafy plants. He took up his position next to a panel of windows that looked out across the broad, fern-covered meadow in front.

“And…here they be,” he announced when he saw Rysha’s vehicle float under the portico, settle to the ground, and release its passengers.

As the two walked up the shallow entryway steps, he opened the door. Chadzar, a large, snow-hued Michaian, his hair, eyebrows and even his eyelashes so blond as to appear white, took half a step in ahead of his mistress, glanced around, and nodded a greeting toward his colleagues. Ella never failed to feel a twinge of amazement at the grass-green eyes, though she’d seen them every day for…how many years? Fifteen, yes?

He stood aside. The empress of the known universe glided into the room. Smoke-blue she wore, as always: hereditary badge for the absolute ruler of a dozen civilized worlds, several score developed satellites and asteroids, another several dozen planets whose cultures had not advanced enough to be worth contacting or that had not sprung from the seed of the Mother World, and some uncountable number of outposts where organizd civilization had yet to develop among ancient Varnis’s far-flung offspring.

Yes, fifteen years, just about. Not so long after the Kaïna Djitti slipped away in her sleep and left this Rysha to grow by instinct and by blood into her place. Her little girl, as Ella came to think of her, now a lithe, dark almond-eyed creature, surely too delicate to own such power. Two layers of fine, silken fabric drifted like mist around her, one white bordered all the way around with a violet band, the second the faintest green. Green and violet, the House of Delamona’s colors worn over a blue body suit, very much like the ones all her slaves wore. Rather a nicer fabric, though, Ella knew.

Chadzar lifted a hand in the car’s direction and it rolled away to park itself inside its stable.

The waiting staff bowed their heads briefly when she entered, as custom dictated. First to step forward, Ella unfastened the long jade-colored outer tunic, slid it off her mistress’s shoulders, and folded it over an arm. Rysha smiled and gave her a hug. She looked tired, Ella thought: more than her fill of roundabout palavering, no doubt.

Shaban took the translucent tunic while Ella and Dita accompanied their mistress into the private sitting room off the entry foyer. The two guards stayed behind, so Chad could pass along whatever Essio needed to know before he took over his boss’s shift.

Rysha sighed with evident relief as she collapsed into her favorite overstuffed chair.

“Long day, hm?” More of an observation from Ella than a statement.

“Oh, my! Some people never tire of arguing.”

Ella knelt beside her to replace tight-fitting brocade shoes with a pair of soft leather sandals. Shaban, having put away the shimmering tunic, began to prepare a drink at the serving desk.

“The usual, madame?” he asked.

“Good. Fine.”

Ella felt the tension in Rysha as, briefly, she massaged each foot and ankle. Dita unpacked a collection of containers and combs and brushes. By the time Shaban delivered a ruby-red mug full of icy intoxicant, Dita was pulling out pins and clips, unwinding and unbraiding and untwisting the complicated ceremonial hairdo, and gently combing each newly loosed lock straight and tangle-free.

In private, Rysha’s shiny black hair fell below her shoulders. In public, though, the kaïna wore a distinctive, very elaborate hair structure that marked her as who and what she was, part of the symbolism of her authority. To construct it took special training, such as Dita had been given – it wasn’t something Rysha could put together herself. Today’s diplomatic meetings required the full costume. Sometimes, Ella reflected, it must take as much patience to wear the robes and the crown as it did to weave them.

“How was your day, dear?” Rysha asked Ella.

“Good enough, my lady.” Ella rested on her knees beside the chair. “It’s been quiet.”

“And our new man? How is he making out?”

What to say? “He’s been having a hard time of it, madame.”

“Ah. He doesn’t like it here?”

“Doubtful if he understands where he is. They…the blacksuits seem to have let him go a little too soon. He’s pretty much out of it.”

“I see. Can we handle it? You and Dorin, I mean?”

“Well. Yes, I think so. He ate a little this afternoon. There’s really nothing to do for him, other than let him rest and keep him warm. When you come right down to it. He’ll get better.”

“I expect. But meanwhile…it’s extra work for you two.”

That would be why we’re here, no? Ella nodded. After a pause she spoke again, in Samdi: “Kananei…” – My lady…

 This was a gesture whose meaning Rysha took. She glanced in Shaban’s direction: “Would you leave us for a moment, please?”

A quick bow, then he ushered Essio and Dita out the door.

Hkal?” Rysha spoke Samdi – the elite variety – almost as fluently as she spoke Varn. Yes, what? Part of her upbringing involved learning all the Empire’s major languages. The conversation proceeded in Ella’s native tongue.

“Is something going on somewhere? That we’re not being told about?”

Rysha gave her a sharp look and raised a finger: hush!

They could be heard inside the Kaïna’s private quarters? This was new to Ella.

“Eliyeh’llya, give me your hand.” Ella responded by offering her right hand. “No. The other one.”

Rysha tapped the back of her own left hand and spoke a single code word, one Ella had never heard. She repeated this with the passkey chip in Ella’s hand, then ran the back of her own hand over the back of Ella’s.

“We have five minutes,” she said. “Now: why do you ask, dear?”

“Well…” What to say to avoid getting anyone else in trouble? “I just wondered why…they told Dorin the reason they put him out on the market just about straight from the cooker is that they had a lot of criminal offenders to process. But…what kind of crime wave would max their facility, madame? Unless it was an uprising, no?”

“Mmm… That certainly could be.”

“Michaia again?”

“No. There’s unrest on Idaemas just now. In Odambra Nation.”

“Oh, my.” Odambra was the largest Idaemasan industrial center. “Is it very serious?”

“Any sedition is serious, Eliyeh’llya. So, yes, it’s serious. But we have it under control.”

“I see.” This was not the best of all possible developments. “So…what about Tabit? Will she…no one will bother her, will they?

“She and her husband are being watched. But then…everyone in service is watched, no?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ella felt her heart in her throat. And apparently Rysha sensed her distress.

“It’s all right, Eliyeh’llya. We know Tabit can be trusted – she’s been away from Idaemas for two decades, for heaven’s sake. And she’s never shown any interest in politics. Has she, to your knowledge?”

“No, my lady. Never.”

If she had, Ella wouldn’t dream of saying so.

“Can we let it drop? I’ll tell you or Dorin if there’s anything you need to know.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ella rose, walked to the door, and called the other three servants back in. While Dita finished unweaving the kaïna’s hair, Shaban set a place at the long table in the dining room. Ella followed him there, pulled back the drapes over the high windows to open the garden view, and went downstairs to let the kitchen staff know what Rysha had said she’d like for her light evening meal.

§

Everyone but Talat and Wilig was in and accounted for. Talat had called to say they were riding a public shuttle into Skyhill Village, whence they would walk out to the estate. Dinner was served and consumed, and this week’s after-hours kitchen team was cleaning up under Lior and Tabit’s direction.

In the cooling late dusk, stars twinkled overhead as black night pushed the last mauve glow of the sun below the distant, silhouetted hills. A few sticks of wood glowed and snapped in the outdoor firepit, a central focus of the patio and mossy fields where people gathered between the workday’s end and curfew. Dorin and Ella, having about finished riding herd for the day, sat near the hearth sipping one of his supposedly calming teas out of the same heavy mugs with which they had started the day.

Syndicato, she thought. If he was – if he was any good at it – he would know the silent sign language used when things were tight or dangerous. Wouldn’t he? She tapped him gently on a knee and, holding her hand between their chairs, let her fingers flicker a quick message.

He looked…what? Surprised? Puzzled, she thought. But he nodded, just so slightly as to be barely noticeable. He drew an appreciative sip of the hot tea and then remarked, “Beautiful night, isn’t it.”

“It is.”

“Why don’t we go for a walk and enjoy the evening air for a few minutes, before we have to herd this bunch off to bed?”

“Now there’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” she said.

They ambled toward the gathering’s periphery and then, coming to a path that led into the exotic flower gardens on the west side of the manor house, angled away from their charges.

“The ileeri fruit are starting to blossom,” she remarked.

“Yes. They smell lovely at this time of night.” By a path’s lamplight, she could see his fingers move. What’s this about?

“Almost as lovely as ileeri tastes.” The mistress told me the reason we got our healer before he was healed.

“Yeah. It’s one of the highlights of the summer.” So?

Uprisings. Ideamas, of all places. “We should have some put in the mistress’s sitting room for her.” She wasn’t inclined to say much. But I gathered it’s pretty serious.

“She’d like that, I expect.” So I’d heard. “Why don’t you suggest it to Shaban?”

 “Look at that sunset!” You know about it?

“It was outright amazing an hour ago.” Not much. How did she come to bring this up with you?

“There’s little Gathra coming up,” she observed. Gathra, the smaller moon, was just rising over the trees in front of the house. I asked her.

“I’ve heard it looks a lot bigger from Ethra Compound.” That’s probably not a great idea.

 “Oh, my yes. Because it’s so much closer to Zaitaf than it is to the planet.” She didn’t seem to mind.

“Didn’t we tell Talat to get back here by first moon?” Best not to bring it up again.

She glanced at him: was this an order? “Yes. Yes, that’s so.”

“We’d probably better get back to the party,” he said.

Ella’s Story, Chapter 18 *FREE READS*

Ella’s Story follows people who live ordinary lives as citizens of a vast interstellar empire. Indeed, a galactic empire. Each chapter will be posted individually here at the Plain & Simple Press blog, and then collected at a single page devoted to the book. Come on over to the Ella’s Story page to find all the chapters published so far, as well as the cast of characters and a list of place names.

Ella’s Story

18

Lohkeh was waiting when Haidar delivered her to the first-floor entrance to the cave-climbing offices. His face lit up as though he were overjoyed to see her.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, after Haidar transferred her to his custody and left.

“Wouldn’t mind something to eat.”

“That’s good. I’ve arranged for dinner.” He gestured her into the waiting aircar. This would be a mid-“day” meal. They hadn’t been gone anything like a full waking cycle, though Ella was ready for something to eat.

Slaves who did heavy physical work were offered their largest serving of food at the start of a workday, the theory being that they profited by front-loading calories and nutrients. A second decent meal came at midday, and then a selection of snacks or light meals after work was done.

Convenient, she thought: next time she was sent to this place, she would know how to find the mess hall and when it served up real food, as opposed to nibbles usually set out to those allowed to graze during the day.

“Hop in.” Lohkeh aimed a gesture at the vehicle, whose door slid obediently open.

Not so convenient: the place wasn’t part of the office structure. Maybe there was a separate living structure? Or more likely, she figured, more likely they built the food line closer to the mine workers who did the heavy labor.

The vehicle switchbacked its way up several tiers that climbed the sides of the cavern-like walls where the concrete-faced buildings clung.

“Here we are,” Lohkeh said as the car slowed to a stop near a small, nondescript door.

This was puzzling: no sign of a large dining hall. It must, she thought, be dug out of the rock.

But inside, she saw no entrance to any such space: just a corridor leading left and right, parallel to the external wall. Doorways, all closed, all featureless, marched along the interior wall, evidently indicating separate, small rooms.

“This way.” He led her up a set of steps to a floor above. The stairwell was partly lit by dim light seeping through abbreviated exterior windows and mostly lit by glow panels lining the inside wall.

They made their way past a long row of narrow exterior windows and undistinguished interior doors. Once they’d stepped inside the hallway, the noise from the machines and workers was fully blocked. The space was almost eerily silent.

“Here’s the place.” Lohkeh stopped before one of the nondescript gray doors, and held the back of his hand to a lockpad. His coded chip recognized, the flat door slid open.

What? She stared in wonder.

The windowless room behind the door, neither a closet nor a large salon, held a generous complement of comfortable furnishings. In one corner, a pair of lushly padded easy chairs flanked a small black table, a silent vidspot on the opposite wall. Electronic paintings – or images of paintings – adorned the walls, inviting the occupant to contemplate exotic and peaceful places: planetside Varnis, she assumed, without knowing for sure. Their colors broke up the shadowless white of ceiling-to-floor glow panels. Meditative notes from some kind of stringed instrument played softly, and a thick carpet covered the floor from wall to wall – unheard of in Ella’s parts.

A spacious bed stood along the wall at right angles to the loafing chairs, and in the center of the room a table for four held plates of food kept warm under bubble-shaped glass covers. A bottle of the same deep amber whiskey she’d admired at Lake Vesiah stood on the table, too, along with a couple of glasses.

“My lady,” Lohkeh performed an elegant obeisance by way of inviting her into the room. “Your dinner awaits.”

“This…” she had to restrain herself from gasping, “is for us?”

He smiled.

“But how?”

He set a gentle finger to her lips and winked. “Come on in, sister.” He pulled out two of the chairs and they each took their places at the table.

Surely, he was still in the life, and yes, surely he was a capo.

Ella’s Story: Chapter 4 *FREE READ*

This is a story about people who live ordinary lives as citizens of a vast interstellar empire. Indeed, a galactic empire. Each chapter will be posted individually here at the Plain & Simple Press blog, and then collected at a single page devoted to the book. Come on over to the Ella’s Story page to find all the chapters published so far, as well as the cast of characters and a list of place names.

Ella’s Story

4.

She’d been on the sale floor about four days—seemed like four years to her. She never saw the blacksuit woman again. Not that she was surprised at that.

Sleep came only with exhaustion, for all the good it did. The lingering pain from the punishment inflicted in the cooker would wake her as often as it blocked her from dozing off. The only place to pee was a bidet in the floor, fully exposed to the glassy eyes of cameras in the ceilings and walls—and of the miserable souls around her. Food was just barely food, but she had no appetite anyway.

A couple sat on one of the four platforms nearest to hers, on display like herself to any and all prospective buyers, of whom there was an amazing dearth. The woman wept on and off – more on than off, really – for no reason that Ella could see. The man sat in surly silence, never making the smallest effort to quiet her or even to speak to her. Why they were being sold as a pair escaped Ella. Only later did she learn that separating a married couple for the purpose of selling one or both of them violated some Varn law of service.

Others around her tried to sleep or sat staring blankly, bored. Carrying on a conversation would have been next to impossible: the racket of children screaming, carts and robot observers rattling around, ventilator motors grumbling bounced off the windowless cavern’s flat, unadorned glow walls. Nor, for that matter, did Ella care to speak to anyone.

§

She saw, eventually – what time of the day or night it was, she had no idea — a blacksuit making his way up the aisles ahead of a visitor, obviously a free man. Tall and long in build and in face, he was; once no doubt slender but now, in silver-haired middle age, a little pot-bellied. From a distance, she could see the blacksuit chattering away while the other ma

They were coming in her direction. As they approached, she heard the blacksuit going on, “…no track record…fresh out of the cooker. But other than that she pretty much fits your needs. You’ll need to train her, but she won’t cost you much.”

The man approached, stopped, and looked her over blandly. If he was interested, he wasn’t advertising so.

“Her health is excellent. She’s had all her inoculations, a year’s worth of contraceptive… She’s 26, still plenty young and strong but not a kid, and.…” The blacksuit barreled on in a sales pitch that quickly faded out of Ella’s consciousness. She looked at the gray-haired buyer and he looked at her. His expression, to the extent that he could be said to have an expression, was utterly unreadable.

But Varns. . . who could read anything about a Varn? Still seated, she backed away as far as the leash they’d tied around her ankle would allow.

“Hey, girlie!” The blacksuit reached for her. “Stand up and let us look at you.” She stared at him, unmoving.

“Get up!”

“Enough of that,” the other said. “Leave her alone.”

She turned her level gaze on him. He looked into her eyes, and a ghost of a smile crossed his long, sharp-planed face.

“Will you please back off?” he said to the blacksuited salesman. The guy fell resentfully silent.

He put a foot on the platform and hopped up onto it. But he didn’t move any closer. He just held a hand out toward her. “Let me help you up,” he said. His voice was calm and gentle. “C’mon.”

She hauled herself to her feet, declining to take his hand, and stood as far from him as she could get.

“That’s good,” he said. “It’s all right now: I promise not to bite.”

She wasn’t amused. Her expression said so, much as she tried to keep her face blank.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Her name is Ella,” the blacksuit said.

“I thought you were going to shut up?” the man replied. This elicited another surly silence.

“What do you call yourself?” he turned back to her.

“Eliyeh’llya,” she said, pronouncing her name in the Samdelan mode.

“Ah. Well,” he smiled a little ruefully, “do you mind if I call you Ella?”

She shrugged. Did she have a choice? “It’ll work.”

“All right. Ella. My name is Bhotil. I work for DOW Enterprises. We’re looking for someone we can train to help out in our offworld operations. And . . .” he leafed through a binder of papers he had in hand, “it looks like you’ve had some experience in managing some kind of shipping. Is that so?”

“You could put it that way,” she replied, wondering what he was talking about. She’d dealt with Distributed Off-World on Samdela, but not in ways one of its employees would want to know much about.

“What exactly did you do in your work? Can you describe it?”

What did I do . . . that I wouldn’t be arrested for? She grasped for something to say. “Well, I . . . scheduled deliveries and checked with customers to be sure they got made. On time. And just . . . sort of rode herd on things.” And kept the books for three under-the-table businesses, using coded math and my mother’s northern Samdi dialect that not very many cops were likely to understand, and reported any violations to the bosses, and did their bidding and kept their orders private, and forged government and financial documents as needed, and located girls when the bosses wanted a change or had cronies in town and saw to it that their wives didn’t find out and ran money through the “laundry” and . . . What do you want to know?

“Rode herd”?

“Did the bookkeeping and kept the records. And saw to it that anything that wasn’t about to get done did get done. Just…made sure everything got done, and got done right.”

“That can be quite a chore.”

She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Think you’re up for another job that’ll keep you busy?”

“If it’ll get me out of here. Sure.”

“Oh, it’s a long way from this place.”

The longer, the better, she thought.

“You’ll have to work pretty hard,” he added.

“I earn my way,” she said.

“We’ll see.” He glanced in the direction of the blacksuit, who was watching them in blessed silence. “I’ll take her. Set her loose, if you will, please.” He seemed, she thought, like a man who was accustomed to cooperation from those around him. She knew men like that. From before…

The blacksuit acted like his sun had just come out from behind a cloud as he moved to release her from the bond around her leg.

She could kick him in the face while he was kneeling by her foot…better not, though. Better not.

They followed him up to a set of offices on the building’s second floor, where they were parked in a waiting room.

“This will take awhile,” Bhotil said. “We have to fill out a lot of forms and then listen to enough lectures to fill your ears for the next week.”

“Fine. As long as it gets us to the door sooner or later.”

He smiled. “That it will.”

“That guy looked like you’d made his day,” she remarked after a moment of silence.

“Well, yeah. He gets a commission on whatever sales he makes.”

“Oh.” Follows. I’m a “sale” now. Well, she’d been a “sale” before…but that, she hoped, did not appear in her record. She imagined she’d find out soon enough…surely the blacksuits would go over all her sins with the prospective new master. Those they knew about.

The two sat in the silence for a more minutes, he staring into the distance and she covertly studying him. He must have been a handsome man in his younger years…she guessed he was pushing 60. Still good enough looking, his features distinctively masculine and his gray eyes thoughtful-looking, if absent with boredom. She wondered how often he’d been through this slave-purchasing process.

He spoke: “You look a little tired.”

Understatement. “It’s not easy to sleep here.”

“No. I’m sure not.” She having nothing to add to that, he continued, “When we get back to the ship, you can have a warm bath and something to eat, if you’re hungry. Then you can go to bed and sleep as long as you like. You’ll have your own quarters there, while we’re in transit.”

Ship? Transit? What “transit”? “What ‘ship,’ Mr. Bhotil?” she asked.

“They didn’t tell you? I’m sorry, I thought they had. We’re based on Zaitaf. We’ll be going back there tomorrow morning…that would be in about eighteen hours.”

Her breath stopped. Her chest wouldn’t pull in any air. “Zai… You mean the moon?”

“Well, the larger one. There are two.”

“No!” She couldn’t breathe. She jumped to her feet and managed to gasp in enough air to yell another NO! “I’m not going! You can’t take me there! No!” She stumbled away from him.

“Ella! Calm down!”

“No! No, I’m not going! No way!

He stood and reached for her. She dodged out of his grasp. “No! Leave me alone! You can’t take me there!” She started to sob, still trying to catch enough air.

A blacksuit approached, brandishing a billy club.

Bhotil glared him down. “Back off! She’s mine. I paid for her. I’ll handle this.”

The man paused, uncertain.

Now Ella was weeping uncontrollably. What was that he said? He already owned her? They already owned her? “No!”

In the instant she was distracted, Bhotil reached out and set his hands on her shoulders, exactly as the woman blacksuit had a few days before. He pulled her toward him.

“Ella,” he said. “Ella, will you please stop? Be quiet. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Sobs came in waves. She was beyond stopping them. All the fear and pain and anger and despair poured over her like a river of lava.

He held onto her and spoke something; what, she couldn’t make out over her own weeping, but he kept talking to her, low and gentle. How long this went on, she did not know. She felt the blacksuit nearby. She felt the eyes on her, other people in the waiting room staring. She felt Bhotil speaking. But what all that meant escaped her.

Then she was in his arms, weeping into the jacket covering his chest. He held her, for how long she couldn’t say. Finally, when she couldn’t draw another breath to sob, she stopped. He held her for a few seconds, a few minutes longer, she didn’t know.

“What in the Gods’ heavens is the matter, Ella?” he said. “Why are you carrying on like this?” He held her by the shoulders again, stroking the muscles between her shoulderblades.

“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life breaking rocks,” she wailed.

“What?”

“Don’t send me to the mines. I haven’t done anything to deserve that.”

“Oh!” The light dawned across his face. “Is that what you think is happening?”

She tried to seek shelter against his chest again, but he held her in place. “No. Ella, woman. That’s not what’s going to happen at all.”

“What else would people do on some godforsaken moon?”

“Ella. Will you please pay attention to me?”

She nodded, but the tears flowing down her face gainsaid her.

He held her back away from him and then lifted her chin. “Listen to me.” She shook her head. “Yes.” He tightened his grip on her shoulders. “You’re not going to any mines. Are you an engineer? Is there anything you could do for us there?

“Mining is just a small part of what the colony does. Ethra…it has so many other jobs. Hardly any of us work at the mines.”

“What else is there to do?” If she choked out the words, still she could not help gainsaying him.

“Well… Freighting, for one. None of those big deepspace ships can land on the planet. They dock at Ethra, where they offload their cargo. Because the gravity’s lower. And we ship it all to the surface. Don’t you remember? That’s how you got here.”

“What?”

“You were offloaded on Zaitaf and loaded onto a local surface lander.”

“I don’t think so. They just dumped us into some sort of…garage. Here. On the planet.”

“Well, you would have been in a pod. You couldn’t see out, could you?” She shook her head, no. “Your pod would have been moved over to a surface-bound ship – like the one that will carry us back to Ethra Port. You probably didn’t even know it. From Ethra Port you would have been carried down to Varnis, and from Cinorra Port they would have brought you here.

“Everything – and everyone, free or slave – that comes into the Varn system by deepspace carrier is laid off on Zaitaf and reloaded onto vessels that carry cargo to the surface. Same is true for whatever and whoever leaves the planet.”

“Oh.” She looked at him, amazed. With his fingers, he wiped the hot tears from her cheeks.

“And we have a research station there. More scientists and mathematicians than you can count. And a communications station. And a power station. And an agriculture pod that raises fresh fruits and vegetables and grain to feed us all. And a survey system studying the planet. And there’s a big, fancy resort. Believe it or not, rich people think it’s a fine place to go for vacations.”

“No.”

“Yes. You want to see some famous Great One? Sooner or later they all show up on Zaitaf.”

“Seriously? Like the Kaïna?”

“I’ve seen the Kai and the Kaïna myself. In person.”

“She goes there?”

“She does. They all do.”

§

The Kaïna Djitti. No, Ella never saw her on Zaitaf, not in all the years she spent there. Who would have thought she’d end up in her service?

No one. Least of all Ella.

 

Ella’s Story: Chapters 2 & 3 *FREE READ*

This is a story about people who live ordinary lives as citizens of a vast interstellar empire. Indeed, a galactic empire. Each chapter will be posted individually here at the Plain & Simple Press blog, and then collected at a single page devoted to the book. Come on over to the Ella’s Story page to find all the chapters published so far, as well as the cast of characters and a list of place names.

Ella’s Story

2.

She lay abed, wide awake long after curfew. The rest of the day had gone according to routine: long, busy but pleasantly satisfying.

She’d organized the next day’s house and field chores and then assigned them to her women and couples. Checked the schedule for the contract workers who had jobs off-campus. She had a chat with one pair who had hit a rough patch; listened to them argue, advised, reassigned tasks, tried to discern what the real issue was, or if there were one. Did some bookkeeping. Rode herd on the little kids for awhile, long enough to give their teacher an afternoon break. Tended the atrium garden, tidying flowers and turning over soil – for her, its own break. Inspected the manor’s housekeeping from basement to third story, chatted with the head housekeeper over hot tea. Put in orders with several suppliers for the provisions the housekeeper said were needed; entered these in the records. Counted workers returning from off-campus, checked them all off the roster. Listened to Sigi, the carpenter, explain why she should take two or three days off from her contract job to do some repair work at Skyhill. Put off agreeing to this. Helped shepherd small children to the dining hall to reunite them with working parents; silently checked attendance over dinner. Spent part of the evening socializing with (and watching out over) brothers and sisters around the patio firepit. Shooed a pair of moonstruck teenagers back into the light. Herded all her charges to their sleeping quarters and then, at lights-out, checked each cubicle to be sure the occupants were present and bedded down.

She should be plenty tired. But where the hell was sleep?

Somewhere down the hall a woman snored. Jeenan, Ella guessed. Remember to remind her to take her meds. Yet in the darkness, the bass tchida-ditta-tchitta-tida serenade of a lonely male tittlebug sounded louder than Jeenan’s eloquent breathing. From up toward the married couples’ quarters came a muffled giggle. A baby woke and cried briefly, then quieted. Outside, a ring-tailed tree bat emitted a distant squall, as if in reply to the infant human.

Feeling too warm, she kicked the covers off. A few minutes later, she pulled the blanket back over her shoulders. Damn!

It brought it all back, this Darl thing.

3.

She was only 26 when the bastards reeled her in. Truth to tell, she’d had a fairly good run. She’d started with the Syndicate at age 17 and had been in the life since she was ten or twelve, depending on how you looked at the “life.”

She was good at what she did. Always good at it. That made a point of pride for her. And for about anyone who employed her. At 26, she was doing the hiring, a mid-level lieutenant for the Band that ran the Galilu and Janan districts in the northern part of Tahana.

Never killed anyone though.

Well. Not directly, anyway.

Watching that man groan and squirm in pain, the burnt bands the cooker seared around his wrists and heaven only knows what unholy damage going on inside his body… God! It made her own muscles tense and twitch, just thinking about it. About him. It made the scars around her own wrists sting.

Holy Gods, how it hurt. How long it hurt! She would have given anything to make the pain stop. She would have given over her life to stop it.

And how did Dorin and Bis get him all the way out here, in a little hovercar, from the government slave market – way to hell and gone on the other side of the city – with him in that condition? How did they stand it? How did he stand it? How did it not kill him?

She couldn’t imagine.

She couldn’t imagine what would possess the blacksuits who ran the whole torturous process to have put him out for sale on the floor of the main market after…what? Did Dorin really say two days? No, less than two days? She wasn’t sure how long she’d been kept cosseted in a Recovery Center bunk, watched over and tested and washed and watered and fed and even sometimes comforted. But she figured it was at least a week. Probably ten days.

The faint ghost of Dorin’s desk light, bouncing off the walls and polished stone floor of the hallway that ran across the long side of the family quarters between his room and her own, at the top end of the women’s quarters, glowed dimly under the door drapes. She saw it go out.

He must have had paperwork to do before he could go to bed. Or maybe he lay awake, too, trying to unwind.

Time to go to sleep, damn it.

She burrowed under the blanket and determined to close her eyes.

Moonglow shimmered through the window. It spread across the bedcover and poured onto the floor.

Now that she was old, no one expected her to act like a vulnerable young girl. She wasn’t vulnerable back then. But now sometimes she felt that way.

§

She still ached all over her body that morning when they marched her out into the market. A vast, high-ceilinged room, glaringly lit by acres of overbright glow-walls, spread out below her and the blacksuited guard who pushed her forward. Rows of raised platforms, each about ten feet square, stood in files, line on line. Narrow aisles divided these on all sides, tracing pathways at right angles throughout the building. Each platform had a cot, a small table with a pitcher and a mug, and a stool. About half to two-thirds of the sites were occupied, most by a single person, some by couples, a few by one or more adults plus a child or children. Each was secured to his or her platform with a loose, rope-like line locked to an ankle cuff. The air resonated with the racket of voices echoing off hard surfaces from all directions.

Ella balked at the sight.

“Come on now,” the woman behind her said. “Let’s go—it’s not much further.”

“Oh, Gods…no,” Ella breathed.

She felt a hand squeeze her shoulder and heard a voice speak into her ear, so quietly she had to pay attention to follow the words: “Don’t worry: you won’t be here very long.”

“I can’t do this,” she said.

“Of course you can.”

She looked at the woman, who was watching her calmly. “How long does it take?” she asked. “I mean, before someone…gets you?”

“Depends. On who comes along, I guess: a few hours, sometimes. A few days. Maybe a few weeks.”

“Weeks! No…I can’t…”

“You don’t have to do anything. You just wait. But trust me. You’re young. You’re healthy. You have skills. And you don’t have any kids in tow. People will jump to buy you.”

“Don’t put me in there. I’d rather die. Right now. Right here.”

The hand tightened on her shoulder. “Stop that.” The voice stayed low but firm. “You’ve been through the worst of this and you’ve done just fine. Will you be my good woman now, please?”

Hot tears welled up in her eyes. She blinked them back as she shook her head, “No.”

“Yes. Be good. Just once at a time.”

“What? Just once this time?” She pushed back the tears with the crack.

A smile crossed the woman’s broad, unvarnished face. “Sure,” she said.

Even if she couldn’t speak, Ella couldn’t resist smiling back. The other woman’s grip softened and she felt the strong fingers rub sore muscles between her shoulder blades.

“Come on, then. We’ll find you a quiet place where you’ll have a little peace. And I’ll check on you a couple times a day. You’ll get through it all right. Trust me.”

Never trust a blacksuit. It was a fundamental rule of life.

§

Zaitaf, just now in its fullest phase, crept higher into the dark, clear sky. Bright, gold-tinged white light shone in through the cell’s small window and laid a square on the floor like a luminous glow-wall. A shining rug, as it were.

Zaitaf. Weird, how she missed it, that claustrophobic, air-tight settlement the Varns called Ethra. She wondered how Vighdi was doing – did she get the promotion she’d been angling for? Did she have a new lover yet? No…how long had it taken Vighdi to find someone to take her place, that was the question. And Bhotil. Was he still there, running the show? Or had he also moved on? Maybe he was on Varnis by now, who knew?

Certainly not Ella.

Dorin, in his position as the Kaïna’s overseer, no doubt could break into the colony’s personnel records. If he couldn’t do it himself, he knew the right strings to pull to get someone else to do it. But Ella, a step below him in rank as steward, didn’t have that kind of authority. Or access to government databases. She wouldn’t think of asking him. It wasn’t any of her business, after all. Nor, for that matter, of his.

Ella’s Story: Chapter 1 *FREE READ*

Author’s Note: This is a story about people who live ordinary lives as citizens of a vast interstellar empire. Indeed, a galactic empire. We here on the Earth are part of it — we just don’t know it, because as yet the powers that be haven’t made contact with us. We’re still a bit too backward for their taste.

This multi-tentacled entity is presided over by the Kaïna Rysha Delamona, the hereditary leader of a hereditary elite arising from the planet Varnis. Her home, a large rural estate north of the Varn city of E’o Cinorra, is called Skyhill. Most of her time and energy is consumed in continual political battle. Skyhill is occupied, maintained, and run by a large staff of slaves, some of whom work in day jobs or contract jobs off the estate (their pay is used to make life better for the servant class there) and some of whom work at the manor and grounds.

The Empire acquires slaves by condemning convicted criminals to lifetime servitude — those whose offenses are not deemed serious enough to merit execution. This provides a steady stream of workers, since the poor are always with us…and since at least one world, Michaia, possesses a busy underground of active, highly seditious revolutionaries.

Ella is the co-overseer of the Kaïna’s staff, working as a kind of second-in-command to Dorin, technically her boss, in practice her equal partner. Like Dorin, Ella — now a woman late in middle age — comes from Samdela, a world that is covered from pole to pole with urban development. Samdela is a center of organized crime. A vast syndicate based on Samdela functions as an inverted shadow government behind the official structure that is the Empire. As a young woman, Ella was a lieutenant in this organization, on her way up until, by a misstep or by betrayal still unknown, she was caught by the Blacksuits — an empire-wide police force and spy agency — convicted, punished, and sent off-world to a lifetime of “service.”

Ella’s Story, a kind of e-telenovela, is very much a work in progress. There’s always more to come…

Click here for
The Cast of Characters

Click here for
Place Names

Ella’s Story

1.

She could hear a voice moaning, muffled behind heavy privacy curtains, as she strode down the hall into the men’s quarters in search of Dorin. He called; she came, no questions asked. Ten doorways down, she found the source of the unhappy sounds, and her boss. She pushed the cube’s drapes aside and poked her head in.

Dorin perched on a stool beside the slave cubicle’s Spartan bed, trying to quiet and comfort its occupant. A small, dark-haired man, his eyes red and tearing, struggled to push off the covers Dorin was trying to keep on him.

He spoke in Ganel, a variety of Samdelan favored by the upper middle classes: “It hurts too much!” Samdi, then, she surmised, and not your average stick-up artist.

“I know,” Dorin was saying. “But you need to keep warm. It gets a lot worse if you don’t.” He also spoke a Samdi dialect, but much as he might try to polish it, the whiff of street argot misted like smog through his words.

“You wanted me, brother?” Dorin glanced over his shoulder –- he must not have heard her walking up the corridor.

“Ella! Yes, I sure do.” She stepped into the small room. “We might do better with a woman’s touch here.”

At our wit’s end, are we? “What have we got?” she asked.

“This is Darl. You know: the doctor I told you about.”

The man looked like he needed a doctor himself. That, of course, would not be forthcoming…and those details, taken together, were the gist of the fierce, body-searing ordeal Varn justice inflicted on convicted felons privileged to bypass execution for a life of servitude. Dorin and Bis, one of the Kaïna’s bodyguards, had been gone for quite awhile, presumably at the slave market where they picked up her ladyship’s latest acquisition.

She knelt beside the bed and laid a hand on the man’s coarsely shorn ebony hair. Slaves were required to wear their hair cut short. The first thing the blacksuits would do, even before clapping their victim into the cooker, was to hack off any hairstyle that fell below the ears — as most Samdelan men’s did. He was, she noted, just starting to go to gray.

Her grandmotherly frame protested. She shifted to a more comfortable pose, sitting on the floor next to the cot. The man quieted briefly and stared at her wide-eyed, tears coursing down his face. She realized her livery, the Kaïna’s blue the same shade as the worksuits worn by every government functionary of the interstellar empire, must make him think she was someone else come to torment him.

“Shhh, it’s all right. I belong to the Kaïna Rysha. So does Dorin here. And so do you now. We’re brothers and sister, hm? We’re going to take care of you.”

“It hurts,” the man murmured. “Oh, God, it hurts.” He moaned and sobbed in one spasmodic breath.

“I know,” she said. “I know. It hurts a lot. I’ve been there.” She pulled up a sleeve so he could see the scar branding her wrist, kept hidden below the distinctive green and violet cuff bands that identified her as Rysha’s property. “But it’s going to get better. Takes some time, but it does get better.”

He clenched his eyes shut.

“Couldn’t get any worse, hm?” When she stroked his hair, he looked at her, maybe a little less fear in his glance. “Just breathe, one breath at a time. Think about breathing, breathing easy. One breath, that’s good. And now another. And one more…”

He seemed to quiet a little under her coaxing. Slowly he came round to breathing instead gasping for air. She saw a little of the tension release from his rigid shoulders.

“We’re going to take care of you,” she repeated. “You’re safe now. We’re here with you.” Like talking to a toddler, she thought. Keep the voice low and lulling.

Minutes passed. The atmosphere in the room grew calmer. Dorin looked relieved. The man looked less frantic.

At length she spoke again. “Darl, hm? This is your name?” No objection arising, she continued: “You need to stay warm, Brother Darl. Dorin will have turned up the thermostat in this room — you did, right?”

Dorin nodded.

“But there’s always a draft under the curtains. So you should stay covered up.” She reached for the blanket to pull it over his shoulders.

“No,” he protested. “It hurts too much.”

“I know, it’s not very comfortable. But believe me: you don’t want to get cold. That makes it a lot worse. If you’ll let me put this over you and lie really still — don’t move and just keep on breathing like we were, hm? – then it gets better. In just a few minutes. I promise.”

He flinched as she spread the covers over him, but now at least he wasn’t fighting it. She gave Dorin a little wink and he smiled back, ever more relieved and now looking downright grateful.

Gratitude from one’s overseer, she reflected, could make your day. Even if he was your co-overseer.

The storm past, Ella climbed to her feet. Dorin offered a hand up, which she cheerfully accepted. Opposite numbers, brother and sister in service, they were so similarly built — stocky and well fed — they could have been blood relatives.

“So,” she said, having smoothed her close-fit livery and straightened her work belt. “What is this? Shouldn’t this guy be in the Recovery Center? How come they let you take him, with him in this kind of shape?”

“They threw him out in under two days. He was on the market floor.”

“You’re kidding.”

He wasn’t.

“Why?”

“Well, they claimed they had a big influx in felons to process. Didn’t have room to hold his bunch more than a few hours.”

“Ah.” She snuffed a soft snort through her nose. “Another little uprising, hm?”

His eyebrows lifted. “Shhh sh sh,” he whispered. “Careful.”

She sighed. “Right. Crime wave. And this guy…is he one of the, uhm, criminals?”

“Absolutely.” Dorin fished a sheaf of papers out of his belt pouch and handed it to Ella. They were the new slave’s service record and terms. Halfway up the first page, she caught her breath and glanced at Dorin, then took a closer look at Darl.

“Oh, my,” she said.

The man had killed his wife.

Cast of
Characters

Amira: Proprietor of a cathouse and a lunchroom/bistro

Bintje: slave woman at SkyHill and thorn in Ella’s side

Bis: member of the Kaïna’s guard

Brenny: a small child, son of Sehbad and Faisa, both blacksuits

Chadzar: a Michaian slave; head of the Kaïna Rysha’s guard

Dade: companion of Tand and aristocratic friend of Rysha in her youth

Darl: a defrocked medical doctor who is purchased by Rysha after her father dies and she takes over running the place. She thinks it would be a good idea to have a healer not only for her own people but for slaves on the surrounding estates.

Deela: a woman slave at Skyhill, given to making mischief

Djetti Delamona Kaïna leh Varnisiel ch’Molendi Hededalla: Rysha’s mother, deceased some years ago

Dorin: overseer of the Kaïna’s estate at Skyhill

Eestom: Companion of Ghemma

Ella: matron and second-in-command to Dorin; oversees women and married couples.

Emarr’, heiress to the title of Yrandag’chla; friend of Rysha in her youth

Essio: member of the Kai’s guard

Faisa: a blacksuit; father to Brenny

Ghemma leh PlehkNembine: aristocratic friend of Rysha in her youth, brother of Tand

Haddam: owns an academy that trains high-end servants for the elite

Hebedalla: Sahuru’s former title: Lord Hebedalla

Iteile: Chadzar’s mother; formerly a revolutionary activist

Myallim leh Zsian-tinan: woman aristocrat; companion of Rysha in her youth

Narehtal: ambitious, scheming Machiavellian aristocrat

Nehdo: member of the Kai’s guard

Odine le yNoraldia: companion of Rysha in her youth; has crush on Pachilu

Pachilu besh Andona leh Ciand’paran: a young aristocrat and admirer of Rysha

Pach’Ora besh Andona leh Ciand’paran: Pachilu’s father, a powerful aristocrat and advisor to the Kai and Kaīna

Rysha Delamona Kaïna leh Varnisiel ch’Molendi Hededalla: daughter and heir apparent of the Kai Suhuru

Sahure en Delamona Kai leh Varnisiel ch’Molendi Hebedalla: Rysha’s father; after Djitti’s death,  emperor of the known universe. Kaï by virtue of marriage to the Kaïna Djetti; sovereignty descends through and to the female line

Sehbad: a blacksuit; mother to Brenny

Siji: a carpenter

Skeet: an eight-year-old boy

Syo: member of the Kaïna’s guard

Tand leh PlehkNembine: sister of Ghemma and aristocratic friend of Rysha in her youth

Treykhan or Treykam: son of Narehtal; articulate his full name

Vighdi: Ella’s overseer during her time on Zaitaf

Wilig: a ten-year-old boy

List of
Place Names

E’o Cinnora: capital city of Varnis; a large metropolis to the south of Skyhill’s locale

Ethra: colony and resort on Zaitaf

Idaemas: member world of the Empire

Kana: member world of the Empire

Michaia: an ice world; incubator of rebellion and revolution

Samdela: fully industrialized and urbanized world in the Empire. Birthplace and center of operations for the Syndicate

Skyhill: hereditary home of the Kaïna; so named because of a set of distant, low mountains

Takrai: Mining colony on Zaitaf

Temeha: member world of the Empire

Veshia: the smaller of Varnis’s two moons

Varnis, the Mother of Worlds: birthplace and ruling capital of the Empire

Zaitaf: the larger of Varnis’s two moons