This book is a direct sequel to Queen of the Falconstar, which has been out for a few years now. I’m working on finishing the trilogy, trying out my new AI-assisted writing process to see how it does with a series that I’ve already started. So far, it’s going pretty well.
This draft is pretty rough, so you’ll see a lot of AI-isms that are going to get smoothed out before the final draft, but there’s a good chunk of human writing in there too, including the entire first scene. But that’s also kind of rough, so it will go through a couple of revisions before the novel is finally published.
If all goes well, Captive of the Falconstar should be out by the middle of next year, with the final book in the trilogy, Lord of the Falconstar, coming out soon after. One of the nice things about writing with AI is that it really helps to make the writing more efficient, so that I don’t get stuck on writer’s block nearly as much. Hopefully that will translate to much shorter wait times between books, since I really should have finished this trilogy years ago.
Enjoy!
Sonya
Sonya had never felt so happy, wandering the chaotic bazaar of Graznav Station with Petyr’s hand firmly clasped in her own. A large merchant ship had just come in from the Tajji Union, and there were so many wonderful new goods to browse. Even so, the noise and bustle of the bazaar all faded into the background as she lost herself in the company of her betrothed.
“I think I love you, Petyr,” she said, daring to give voice to the unspoken affection between them that had grown and matured for so long. For a moment, she feared that he would brush it off—say something disappointingly cavalier, like “I know”—but instead, he turned and gave her such a warm and honest smile that she knew she would love him forever.
For the next few moments, she stared back into his eyes as he stared into hers, drinking in each other like a fine wine. Time slowed until it was barely a crawl—as if this moment of pure and innocent bliss would go on forever. Petyr was not a child anymore: his rugged face was punctuated with manly stubble, his jawline square and his chest broad and muscular. And beneath the scent of engine oil and foreign spices that permeated the station’s bazaar, his manly and familiar musk comforted her and made her feel safe and loved.
Home, she thought silently, closing her eyes as she leaned into his chest. This was her home, her safe place, her refuge from the storm. And for the briefest moment, she could believe that it was real.
But all too soon, the moment passed. Her dream faded as sleep fled her all too soon, and she found herself blinking and staring up at the gaudily painted ceiling above her. Instantly, she knew that she was in the small annex of the master suite on board the Falconstar, not home on Graznav Station. And Petyr, her betrothed, was light-years away from her by now—if he was still alive at all.
No, she thought silently, her whole body tensing as she woke back up to the nightmare that was her life now. The background hum of the Falconstar’s engines seemed to roar in her ears, reminding her of her captivity. How many months had it been now since she’d been ripped away from her home? She drew a deep breath, her chest constricting as she steeled herself for another dayshift as a slave of the Hameji.
Well, not exactly. Technically, she wasn’t a slave, but a “maidservant”—her friend Zlata had seen to that. But to Sonya, it was a distinction without a difference.
She sat up on her uncomfortable cot just as the bedroom door to the master suite hissed open. The sound made her jump in surprise. She hurriedly clutched the thin blanket to her chest as Lord Khasan Valdamar stepped through.
The man who was now her captor stood tall, his muscular frame filling the open doorway as his brown eyes quickly scanned the room before falling on her. Even dressed in nothing but a robe, he exuded a commanding presence that made Sonya shrink and tremble. From the way she looked at him, she seemed to be nothing more than another asset in the ship’s inventory.
“Good upshift, Mistress Gulchen,” he greeted her with a perfunctory nod.
“L-lord Khasan,” Sonya answered, lowering her gaze as she struggled to keep her voice steady.
The Hameji clan lord took a step toward her, making her whole body tense with alarm. He narrowed his eyes with a look of disapproval.
“I see you are still dressed in your bedclothes.”
“Y-yes, Milord,” she stammered.
“That is not acceptable. Rouse yourself and prepare for the dayshift. I know you are Zenoba’s maidservant, but I am the captain of the Falconstar. My word is law.”
Sonya’s whole body shook, as if she expected him to strike her at any moment. But the authoritative tone of his voice was as strong as any blow.
“Of course, Milord. I’ll get ready at once.”
“See to it, Mistress Gulchen. I do not wish for Lady Zenoba to want for anything.”
With that, he turned and strode back into the bedroom, letting the door shut behind him with an ominous hiss. Sonya let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, and hastily rose to her feet, shedding her bedclothes and dressing herself in the simple and ugly servant’s tunic that the Hameji had provided for her.
She had barely fastened the clasp around her waist when the bedroom door opened and Lord Khasan stepped out again, dressed now in his gray captain’s uniform. A massive curved dagger was sheathed on his hip, its gold-plated hilt somehow looking not at all out of place with the immaculately clean military garb of the Hameji. On his other side, a fearsome firearm was holstered so snugly it almost looked like an extension of his body.
Sonya bowed her head respectfully as he passed her, barely acknowledging her with a nod. He crossed the master suite’s front room and opened the door to the Falconstar’s main hall, greeting the two guards who stood watch for Lady Zenoba. Sonya heard only a small fragment of their conversation before the door hissed shut behind him, sealing her back in the apartment that she and Lady Zenoba now shared.
“Right,” she said, willing herself to relax a little now that the fearsome Hameji Lord was gone. She turned to the still-open doorway leading to the bedroom and rapped softly on the doorframe.
“Zlata? Are you awake?”
Her friend and oncetime fellow captive stretched languidly amidst the scarlet bedsheets and yawned. Her bare skin was still flushed from the early morning sex that she and Lord Khasan had doubtless just partaken in. The heady scent of it almost made Sonya gag. But Zlata herself seemed profoundly satisfied, and regarded Sonya with an almost sultry gaze, heedless of her own disheveled state of undress.
“Oh, there you are. Is it upshift already?”
Sonya bit her lip and nodded. “Do you… want me to give you some privacy?”
Zlata yawned and pulled the bedsheets off of her. “That won’t be necessary, Mistress Gulchen. Better to rise up and prepare for the dayshift. Here, help me.”
Sonya stepped forward and helped her gather the sheets, doing her best to avoid the wet spots. It had been nearly a month since Zlata had become Khasan’s wife and Queen of the Falconstar, but they still spent almost every nightshift engaged in carnal activities, and the clean up afterward had become something of a routine. As Zlata wrapped her body in the plush, soft fabric of her bedrobe, Sonya stuffed the dirty sheets into the laundry hamper and laid out clean ones to replace them.
“Is everything alright, Zlata?” Sonya asked, noting how Zlata paused before the mirror on the far side of the bedroom, her black hair cascading over the white fabric of her robe.
“My name is Zenoba,” Zlata muttered, glancing at Sonya through the reflection. “You must remember to use my Hameji name.”
Sonya frowned. “But I thought that was only for when we—”
“Call me by my Hameji name,” Zlata repeated firmly. Through the mirror, her striking eyes fixed on Sonya with an intensity that demanded obedience.
“Of course, Lady… Zenoba,” Sonya forced out. The Hameji name felt like acid on her tongue. It almost physically pained her to address her former friend with the name their captors had given her—but of course, Zlata wasn’t a captive anymore. She was one of them.
“Here,” said Zlata, opening the closet and selecting a green, high-collared dress. “Carry this for me.” She handed the clothing to Sonya, who held it mutely as Zlata perused the drawers to complete the outfit.
Am I just another accessory to you now? Sonya thought bitterly as Zlata led them out into the hall of the women’s quarters to the bathroom facilities that they shared. Hatred and anger flared in Sonya’s gut like the ever-present fire at the heart of a reactor core, carefully contained but still full of burning energy just waiting to be unleashed. She carefully held onto that energy, knowing that without it, the circumstances of her captivity would have already crushed her fragile spirit.
The bathroom was not vacant, but Zlata hardly seemed to care. She shed her bathrobe on the cold tile floor and stepped into the open shower unit, leaving Sonya to wait for her outside. Sonya carefully placed the clothes on a nearby counter and retrieved the bathrobe, exchanging it for a towel. This, too, had become part of the insufferable routine.
A toilet flushed, and an overweight red-headed girl stepped out of the stall. Even though Sonya stood almost half a head taller than her, Aruzhan still seemed to look down at her she walked past her without a word. Sonya bit her lip and bowed her head demurely, carefully cultivating the anger in her heart.
I’m not afraid of you, she thought inwardly. And before I get out of this place, I’ll see you wipe that condescending look off of your face.
At length, the shower cycle finished, and Zlata stepped out, holding up her arms as Sonya dried her. Of course, she was capable of drying herself, but she seemed to take pleasure in letting Sonya do the work—which was, after all, just another form of condescension. Sonya grit her teeth and complied without a word, carefully feeding the anger into her heart.
“Dress me,” Zlata ordered as she finished wrapping the towel around her head. Her voice was soft but no less commanding.
“Yes, Milady,” Sonya said softly, unfolding the dress and helping Zlata into it. As she did, one of the other women of the Falconstar stepped into the doorway.
“Good upshift, Lady Zenoba.”
“Good upshift to you, Lady *Kulen! Are we still on for tea with Lady Nari?”
“Of course, Milady. And I have to say, I’ve been very impressed with how…”
Sonya pointedly ignored their conversation as she finished helping her former friend get dressed. If Zlata wanted to treat her like nothing more than an accessory, then that was what she would be. After all, there were certain advantages to being functionally invisible—especially when the people who made it a point to ignore you were the ones who were going to pay.
Before I get out of this place, you’ll wish you hadn’t ignored me.
Each layer of fabric that Sonya spread onto Zlata’s skin was like another barrier between them. The differences in their bodies were stark: Zenoba’s thin frame was a study in sharp angles, while Sonya’s more feminine curves filled out her simple tunic almost to the point of bursting. Still, at least she didn’t have to wear the horrid thing that Zlata had picked out.
That’s only because she hasn’t asked me to accompany her to Lady Nari’s, Sonya told herself. She shuddered as she remembered what Zlata had made her wear the last time they’d gone to Lady Nari’s together. Not that it had helped her to feel any less vulnerable or exposed before the dowager queen of the Falconstar. She shuddered again—that woman frightened her even more than Lord Khasan himself.
At length, Zlata bade farewell to Lady *Kulen and turned to Sonya. “Shall we return to our apartment, Mistress Gulchen?”
“As you wish, Milady.”
She trailed behind Zlata as they walked back through the colorful hallway of the women’s quarters, decorated with silk wall hangings and little gold tassels dangling from the ceiling. The shaggy carpet would have felt soothing against Sonya’s bare skin, if she didn’t feel so horribly out of place.
Zlata palmed open the door, and they stepped back into the apartment that they both shared. As Zlata made herself comfortable on the divan, Sonya’s eyes lingered on her cot, remembering with some wistfulness the dream from the nightshift before. She bit her lip to keep from crying.
“Would you like to play a game of Damka while we wait for breakfast, Gulchen?”
Sonya carefully clenched her fists, keeping them out of view. “Will you stop calling me that, please?” she asked, forcing herself to meet Zlata’s gaze. “My name is Sonya.”
Zlata stared at her for several moments, her eyes unreadable. “But your Hameji name is Gulchen. You chose it yourself.”
As if I had a choice! Sonya wanted to scream. Instead, she took a deep breath and cultivated her growing rage.
“My name is Sonya,” she repeated, as if that were answer enough.
Zlata sighed. “Do you really want to make a big deal out of this? We are both Hameji now. It’s only fitting that we should use our Hameji names.”
“No, it’s not,” Sonya insisted, unable to hold herself back. “I’m not going to forget who I am. I’m never going to forget.”
“That’s not what I’m asking you to do,” Zlata retorted. “I’m only asking you to accept that this is who you are now. Our names give us power, and sometimes we must shape ourselves anew to properly wield it.”
Her words made Sonya want to scream. Instead, she took a deep breath and looked Zlata in the eye.
“My name… is Sonya.”
They stared at each other in tense silence for several moments. It took a feat of will for Sonya not to turn away. But she held her gaze firmly until Zlata finally sighed and shook her head.
“Very well,” she said at length. “If Sonya is truly the name you wish to go by, then that is what I will call you whenever I can. But I expect you to call me Zenoba, even when it’s just the two of us alone.”
“Yes, Milady,” said Sonya, with only a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Zlata still picked up on it, though, and raised an eyebrow.
“Sonya?”
“Yes, Zenoba,” she said quickly, looking away. “I hear you.”
“Good. Now, how about a little Damka?”
Sonya sighed and sat down on her cot as Zlata set up the board. Who was she to refuse? After all, whether she was a maidservant or a slave or something else entirely, the one thing she knew was that she was no longer free.
But somedayshift, I will be, she inwardly resolved. And when I finally am, Zlata will pay.
Khasan
Khasan stood ramrod straight as his gaze swept the view from the observation deck. Out here, in deep space, the stars in their myriad thousands were all distant points of light, glowing like cold jewels from the depths of a fathomless abyss. Out here, the Falconstar was his only world; any accompanying friendly starships were little more than nearby islands, and enemy ships existed only as blips of data on a screen. There were no other ships for at least a parsec, though, which suited Khasan just fine. The solitude of the stars was lonely and cold, but it issued no judgment, nor tried to force his hand.
The last few months had been surprisingly eventful. He had raided the planetborn for starships and had come back with a pair of slaves. He had lost his chief advisor—the traitor!—and won a ruthless wife. He had broken off a marriage arrangement that would have secured his family’s safety, at the expense of their family name, and had plunged them anew into peril for the promising hope of a glorious restoration.
He narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. By all the holy stars before him, he would not rest until the Valdamar Clan had been restored.
Khasan Valdamar stood tall, his back straight and eyes fixed on the small dots of light that illuminated the darkness outside the viewport. They were distant stars, but to him, they held a lifetime of memories- of his childhood, of his ancestors, and now, of his own struggles as the ruler of the Valdamar Clan. Nergui’s betrayal still haunted him, and a part of him yearned for his old advisor, even though he now knew the man was a traitor.
The door to his private quarters whooshed open, and Zenoba entered with purposeful strides. She was newly appointed as matriarch of the Valdamar clan, her eyes reflecting both authority and curiosity.
“Zenoba,” he greeted her, barely hiding his eagerness. Nergui had always opposed his marriage to her, but now she at least partially filled the void that his betrayal had left behind.
“Khasan,” she said, as if confirming his thoughts. “We need to speak about what lies ahead for us.”
He turned from the stars, his piercing brown eyes meeting hers. In their depths, a tumultuous sea of ambition and resolve churned. “We will expand our fleet,” Khasan declared, his words slicing through the uncertainty that hung between them. “The betrayal of Nergui has left a void, but it also gives us clarity. We must expand our strength by raiding the planetborn, seizing their ships.”
“I see,” she said, her mind racing through all the possible outcomes. “Must we cause so much bloodshed, though? Is there no other way to strengthen our clan?”
“Blood is the price we pay for greatness,” Khasan replied, his voice filled with fervent determination. “Our ancestors understood this, and so must we.”
She nodded. “I stand by your side,” Zenoba affirmed, her loyalty unwavering. “But I need to fully comprehend what we plan to do.”
“Then let me show you,” he said, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his stern demeanor. He led her to the holographic display at the center of the room and activated it, revealing a star map dotted with enigmatic symbols.
Zenoba stepped closer, her gaze falling upon the projected star systems. “You intend to raid the planetborn?” she inquired, her voice tinged with a supportive curiosity. She knew the importance of expanding their fleet, but the layers of political intricacies were not lost on her.
“Indeed,” he confirmed, “Our future—and the future of the Valdamar clan—lies in the ships we capture. But first, we will journey to the secret holdings of Clan Valdamar to gather supplies and men. Besides, as Lady in Command, it is important that you should see these holdings for yourself, and be able to assess the true strength and weaknesses of our clan.”
Zenoba leaned forward, her black hair falling like a shadow across her face. Her striking eyes darted over the display, taking in the information with keen interest. “This will not be a short voyage,” she observed.
“Indeed, it will not be,” Khasan affirmed. “But the rewards will be worth it. We have hidden these ships away for a reason, and now, in our time of need, we will make use of them.”
Zenoba nodded in understanding. “And what of the planetborn?” she asked. “Where do you plan to strike?”
Khasan’s expression hardened. “The planetborn are weak and complacent,” he replied. “They do not possess the strength to defend their territories against us. Still, we are not yet strong enough to take what is rightfully ours. We must be cautious, and choose our targets carefully.”
“Of course. Will you leave me behind in the secret clan holdings while you conduct this raid?”
“No, my love. The Falconstar is more than a ship; it is our home, our fortress among the stars,” Khasan stated, pride swelling in his chest. “It will carry us safely, and there, you will witness the full extent of our potential.”
“Show me,” she said, accepting the challenge his invitation presented.
He nodded, a silent acknowledgment of her role in his life and the unfolding saga of their clan. Together, they would venture into the fringes of space, to an uninhabited system where the roots of their power spread unseen.
They spoke for a while afterward, about less pressing matters. He enjoyed her company, and found himself relaxing in her presence in a way that he never could with Nergui. And yet, the stakes of their next raid hung over him, never far from his mind. Sensing this, she excused herself.
As she left his quarters, the ship’s engines hummed with readiness, a deep vibration that resonated with the pulse of Khasan’s own heart. The stars beyond called to him, and he answered with the determination of one who would stop at nothing to restore his clan to its former glory, to carve out a legacy that would endure through the ages.
Zenoba
Zenoba’s footsteps echoed softly against the cold, metallic floors of the Falcontar’s corridors as she made her way to the bridge. The steady hum of the ship’s engines reverberated softly through the bulkheads, a constant reminder that this sleek and powerful vessel was an island in the infinite void. Was it strange that she felt so at home here? She dismissed the thought before it had any time to take hold in her thought. Of course it was not strange. For a Valdamar queen such as her, it was only natural.
The door parted before her, and she stepped onto the bridge of the Falconstar with a soft but confident stride. As she gazed upon the suite of intricate control panels and glowing consoles manned by the dozen or so bridge officers, she felt a sense of awe rise within her. This was the beating heart of their starship, the very center of their sanctuary in the depths of interstellar space.
Gavirl, the Captain of the Falconstar’s Guard, acknowledged her presence with a curt but respectful nod. The dim lighting cast soft shadows across his sharp features, defined by a strong jawline that was framed with a short, thick beard. He turned to face his captain, his face a stoic mask.
“Lord Khasan,” Gavril announced. “Lady Zenoba has joined us.”
“Excellent,” Khasan replied from the captain’s chair. He rose and turned to greet her, his muscular silhouette outlined against the glow of the display screens and the view of the starfield outside. Zenoba smiled inwardly at the sight.
“Excellent,” Khasan replied from the captain’s chair, his muscular silhouette outlined against the vast backdrop of space. His body was coiled like a spring, his eyes darting feverishly between screens.
Zenoba gave Gavril a curt nod and stood by the captain’s chair, taking her place beside her husband as Lady in Command.
“Status report,” Lord Khasan barked, his voice resounding through the bridge with sharp precision.
Jabeg’s confident voice rang out above the din. “Coordinates locked in and engines primed for jump.”
Elbek’s fingers danced over his console, a silent symphony of war and defense. “Weapons systems are in standby, Lord Khasan. We are ready for jump.”
“What about the rest of the fleet?” Zenoba asked.
“Communications channels will be limited during the jump, Lady Zenoba,” Shilugei added, his sharp features set in a mask of focus. “But I’ll ensure you remain informed.” There was a reverence in his tone, reserved for those of Zenoba’s new station.
Khasan’s hand hovered over a panel, fingers curling into a tight fist before finally pressing down to initiate their first leap into the unknown.
“Let’s go,” he commanded, his determination palpable and echoing throughout the ship as they hurtled towards their destination.
“Jump commencing in three… two… one…”
A gut-wrenching lurch, a gasping breath—the universe collapsed in on itself. In that split second, the void consumed all, its emptiness consuming the very essence of existence. But then, like a fierce phoenix rising from the ashes, the Falconstar emerged on the other side, victorious and unbreakable.
“Jump successful,” Jabeg reported, relief palpable in his tone.
“Let us offer our prayers,” Khasan intoned, and the bustle quieted to a sacred hush. “For the stars guide us, and the darkness shields us.”
Khasan stood with arms outstretched, invoking the power of the star map projected on the wall. The rest of the crew circled around him, their heads bowed in reverence to the ancient deities.
“Oh great Tenguri, Lord of the Celestial Heavens and Father of all, we invoke thy holy name and reverence thee.”
“Oh Karduna, God of *, we ask for thy blessing and favor as we embark on this great journey.”
“And thou, New Rigel, vouchsafer of ancient and forgotten wisdom, we revere thee last of all, that our voyage may be blessed. Amen”
As he recited the Hameji chants of navigation, Zenoba felt her soul stir with primal energy. She watched in awe as Khasan’s words conjured an aura of magic and purpose within the room.
“Never forget our purpose,” Khasan continued. “Our mission is crucial to the survival of our people and the blessings of the gods.”
Zenoba nodded, feeling a renewed connection to her pagan roots and a fierce determination to see their quest through to the end. They were united by their shared devotion and trust in each other, guided by the unseen forces that governed their destinies.
As the echo of the last prayer dissipated, Zenoba excused herself, her footsteps silent on the metal deck as she made her way back to the women’s quarters. She could sense that she was no longer needed or wanted on the bridge, despite Khasan’s polite dismissal.
“I’ll leave you all to your duties,” she said with a small smile, acknowledging that her duties as lady in command were done. The men could rest more easily, after she had returned to the womens’ quarters.
Khasan gave her a nod of understanding, his attention already shifting back to the star map displayed on the wall. Jabeg and Shilugei were deep in conversation, their voices hushed but urgent.
Zenoba glided down the narrow hallway towards the women’s quarters, adorned with intricate tapestries and sacred symbols of their beliefs. As she entered the familiar space, a wave of serenity washed over her, surrounded by her sisters in faith. The soft rustle of silk and exotic fragrances greeted her, a stark contrast to the clinical atmosphere of the bridge. Here, among the female nobility of Clan Valdamar, strength and elegance intertwined within the metallic walls of their warship, creating a powerful presence that commanded respect.
Amidst the soft glow of the starship’s interior, Lady Nari’s silver hair shimmered. She sat beside the aquaponics tanks in the lounge, surrounded by a circle of women as they knit and tended to their craft. Khasan’s mother was the undisputed matriarch, her brown eyes holding the weight of wisdom and unspoken authority.
“Good downshift, Lady Zenoba,” Lady Nari greeted her, rising in respect. The others followed.
“Please,” said Zenoba, raising her hands. “There is no need to rise on my account.”
“On the contrary,” said Lady Nari, a glint in her eye. “As Lady in Command, your rank on this ship is now equivalent to mine—and I would certainly take it as an affront if you did not show the same respect to me.”
They resumed their seats, Lady Nari’s *golden samovar set in the center of the room, where Aruzhan tended to it.
Lady Gerel, Khasan’s half-sister, smiled warmly at Zenoba, her dark red hair falling in loose waves around her rosy cheeks. Her gentle demeanor belied the fierce loyalty that bound her to her brother’s cause.
Towering over them all was Lady Khulan, tall and statuesque with sharp eyes that missed nothing. Her midnight-black hair was meticulously braided and her presence commanded respect.
But amidst the serious conversation, young Aruzhan stood out with her bubbly personality and carefree laughter. Her ample form promised comfort and camaraderie, a rare warmth in the cold expanse of space.
“Zenoba,” Lady Gerel called out, her voice gentle yet commanding in the cool chamber. “You’ve returned. Will you stay and have tea with us?”
“Thank you,” said Zenoba. As she settled among the women, her thoughts drifted to the vast unknown beyond the ship’s hull and her crucial role in the unfolding power play.
“Your insights are truly invaluable, Lady Khulan,” Zenoba acknowledged, mindful of the woman’s influential position.
“Only because they are actually listened to, my lady,” Khulan quipped back, her eyes sharp as a knife.
Meanwhile, Aruzhan flitted around the room, her infectious laughter bursting through the air like bubbles in champagne. She slyly winked at Zenoba, her mischievous nature barely hidden under layers of charm and chiffon.
“Want something to eat, cousin?” Aruzhan teased with a playful smirk, already knowing the answer.
“Not now,” Zenoba replied with a small smile tugging at her lips.
Retreating to her private chamber within the women’s quarters, Zenoba allowed herself a moment to breathe. As the weeks stretched into an endless tapestry of stars and silence, she felt the tendrils of uncertainty begin to coil around her heart. Yet she could not—would not—let them take hold.
Her reflection, a tall, thin woman with black hair and striking eyes, stared back at her—a queen in a game of thrones, a player in the grand chessboard of the galaxy. And as the Falconstar hurtled toward their destiny, Zenoba Valdamar braced herself against the unknown machinations of fate, her mind ever plotting, ever poised for the next move in the high-stakes dance of power.
Zenoba
The voyage to the secret clan holdings took more than a standard month. Compared to their first voyage, it was largely uneventful. Zenoba passed most of the time in the women’s quarters, staying with Sonya—now Gulchen—in the master suite. Khasan came to her almost every sleep cycle, and their intimate conversations lasted long into the nightshift. Never before in her previous life on Graznav Station had Zenoba felt so totally at home.
At last, they arrived at the remote and uninhabited star system. Zenoba joined Khasan on the bridge, assuming her position once again as Queen of the Falconstar and Lady in Command.
“Ah, Lady Zenoba,” said Khasan cheerily, rising to greet her. “So good of you to join us. Please, take a seat.”
He gestured to the seat where Gavril usually sat. Zenoba gave him a puzzled look.
“But your lieutenant—”
“Is attending to other duties, as are several of our other officers. Please, make yourself comfortable.”
It was true: compared to the start of their voyage, the bridge was mostly empty. And from Gavril’s seat just behind the command chair, Zenoba had as good a view of their approach almost as Lord Khasan.
“Copy that,” said Shilugei, transmitting the security codes. “We are cleared to approach.”
The silence of the void wrapped around the shuttle like a shroud as it glided toward the farm ships, vast structures floating amidst the starlit expanse. Zenoba watched through the view port, her gaze fixed on the behemoths that grew larger with each passing moment.
“Remarkable,” she murmured, her voice a whisper lost in the hum of the shuttle’s engines.
“Indeed, my lady,” Khasan replied. “These vessels are more than mere food sources; they are the lifeblood of our clan, symbolizing our self-sufficiency, our resilience.”
Zenoba nodded, though her attention was drawn not to the implications of power but the ingenuity of survival. She thought of the delicate balance between dependence and autonomy, where each member of Clan Valdamar found their place within the grand tapestry of space.
The shuttle docked with a gentle shudder, and the doors hissed open, beckoning them into the belly of the ship.
“Come,” said Khasan, rising to his feet. “Let us go.”
They stepped out into the hall, where Gavril was already waiting with an honor guard to escort them. Zenoba put a hand on Khasan’s arm.
“Should I bring Mistress Gulchen along?”
“Of course,” said Khasan, still in good spirits. “Your maidservant is welcome to join us. We will wait.”
Zenoba used her wrist console to summon Gulchen, who came quickly, dressed in her everyday white robes. Though she’d seen them on her many times before, Zenoba could not help but notice how they hugged her supple form.
Khasan led them through the airlock, his commanding presence filling the dimly lit corridors of the farm ship. Mistress Gulchin followed behind, her presence a shadow of reluctance that flickered at the edge of Zenoba’s awareness. As they stepped onto the ship, Gavril took point, his hand resting near the hilt of his sidearm, eyes scanning for threats in a place where danger seemed an alien concept.
“These ships are where most of the women of the clan reside,” Khasan explained. “But as Lady in Command, your place is ever with us on the Falconstar, Lady Zenoba.”
As they entered the hydroponic bay, an endless sea of green greeted them beneath artificial light. Rows upon rows of plants swayed gently in the recycled breeze, from leafy greens to robust stalks of grain-producing crops. The air was thick with humidity and the scent of earth, a welcome change from the sterile atmosphere of the Falconstar. Zenoba couldn’t resist touching a leaf, marveling at the thrum of life beneath her fingertips. It was a strange and wondrous sight to see such growth flourishing in the cold void of space.
“Each section is climate-controlled, optimized for specific crops,” Khasan explained, leading them down the narrow walkways between the plant beds. “We can feed our entire fleet without relying on planetary harvests.”
“Impressive, lord,” Zenoba admitted, her analytical mind cataloging every detail, pondering the implications of such autonomy.
Khasan’s pride was palpable as he introduced her to the crew—sturdy men and women whose hands were calloused from honest labor. Their faces lit up with reverence for their lord and lady, the loyalty in their eyes untainted. As Zenoba observed the people of the clan bustling about their daily tasks, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of respect for their essential role in the hierarchy of the clan.
“Your vision sustains us all, my Lord,” one of the crew members said, bowing deeply before Khasan, who received the compliment with a gracious nod.
Zenoba noticed Gulchen trailing behind her, her normally unreadable expression betraying hints of inner turmoil. Zenoba’s analytical mind immediately began to consider. A part of her wanted to reach out to Gulchen and bridge the growing gulf between them, but another part was hesitant, knowing that doing so would expose both of their vulnerabilities.
“Come, let me show you the aquaponics,” Khasan said, leading them further into the vessel.
They descended to a lower level, the sound of running water growing louder with each step. Here, tanks teemed with fish, their silver scales flashing in the artificial light as they swam through the clear depths. Above the tanks, more plants grew, their roots dangling into the water, creating a symbiotic cycle of life that left Zenoba momentarily awestruck.
“Everything in balance,” Khasan murmured, echoing Zenoba’s thoughts. “A closed ecosystem that sustains us as we journey through the cosmos.”
“Amazing,” Zenoba breathed out, allowing herself a rare moment of awe. To think that such complexity could thrive here, in the cold embrace of the cosmos, stirred something within her—a sense of pride in what the Hameji had accomplished, a burgeoning connection to Khasan’s vision that she hadn’t expected to feel.
“Is everything to your satisfaction, my wife?” Khasan asked, his hand finding the small of her back.
“More than satisfactory, lord,” Zenoba replied, her voice steady, her emotions carefully veiled. The farm ship impressed her, yes, but it was the machinations of her own heart that remained an enigma, distant and uncharted as the stars themselves.
“Then come, let us travel to the mines.”
The shuttle’s engines hummed with a steady thrum as it departed from the farm ship, leaving behind the vibrant greenery that clung to life amidst the void. Zenoba sat, her posture poised and regal, within the confines of the vessel’s interior, yet her mind was adrift in the vast expanse they traversed. The stars blurred together in streaks of white light, reminding her of the passage of time and how far they had come.
Khasan sat beside her, his own gaze fixed on the endless expanse outside. He was silent for a few moments before he turned to her with a small smile.
“I’m pleased that you took such an interest in our farm ship,” he said. “It’s truly a wonder of technology and innovation.”
Zenoba nodded, her thoughts still muddled with conflicting emotions. She had always been fascinated by humanity’s ability to adapt and survive in any situation, but now she saw it in a new light—a testament to Hameji determination and resilience.
Khasan reached out and took her hand, his warm touch grounding her in reality. “There is much to discuss about our next destination,” he said gravely. “We are headed towards one of our mining outposts—an important key resource for all of our clan operations.”
Zenoba listened intently as Khasan explained their mining operations and how they extracted precious minerals from nearby asteroids. He also spoke about their military strategies that allowed them to protect their resources from potential rival clans.
“Our mines are the sinew and bone of the Valdamar clan, providing us with the raw materials to forge our destiny.” He gestured to the panoramic viewport as distant points of light grew clearer, revealing the stark geometry of industrial might.
Zenoba’s curiosity was piqued and she listened intently as he continued. “We have established a network of drones, guided by the hands of our most trusted engineers. It’s more efficient this way—less waste, less cost, greater speed.”
“Remarkable,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the cold glass of the observation window. The vastness of space lay beyond.
“The Hameji do not merely survive in space,” Khasan interjected, a note of pride evident in his voice, “we thrive. We bend the desolate expanse to our will.”
Fascinated by their methods, Zenoba pressed on. “And how do you ensure loyalty among the miners? It must be grueling work.”
“Through honor, Lady Zenoba,” Khasan replied confidently. “Each miner is a warrior in their own right. Their battlefield is here, among the asteroids that provide us with the precious ore for our ships.”
As the shuttle docked with the mine’s main hangar, the party disembarked into the cavernous interior. Zenoba followed Khasan, her tall figure moving gracefully in the low gravity, her shoulder-length black hair floating slightly around her head.
“Everything here is recycled, reused,” Khasan explained, leading her past a group of workers extracting precious metals from the mine’s walls. “We mine not only for materials but also for the water locked within these rocks.”
“Remarkable,” Zenoba murmured. Her analytical mind raced through the implications of each piece of technology, each process she witnessed. She saw the interconnectedness of it all—the farms, the mines, the people—and understood how precariously it balanced on the edge of the great galactic expanse.
“Such unity,” she mused aloud. “It’s more than just survival. You’ve built a culture that embraces the stars as its home. You’re not just surviving; you’ve created something… enduring.”
“Endurance is the key to victory,” Khasan said with a nod. “Everything you see here,” Khasan said, pausing to meet her gaze, “it’s all for our future—for the ascendency of the Valdamar clan.”
She nodded, her soul trembling at the raw power of his words. In this frigid void of space, the Hameji had surpassed the restrictions of mere planet-bound civilizations. They were a race forged from steel and will, unbounded by earthly horizons.
Sonya
Sonya stepped back into the shuttle, feeling the hum of the engines vibrating through the cold metal floor. She settled into the seat next to Zlata, avoiding Lord Khasan’s piercing gaze as he took the seat across from them. Fortunately, both he and Zlata seemed content to ignore her, treating her like some sort of harmless pet, just as they had throughout the tour.
The docking clamps disengaged with a distant clang, making Sonya shudder. She gazed out the portside window, watching as the industrial complex covering the face of the asteroid grew smaller and smaller, until it had all but disappeared into the darkness of space.
Beside her, Zlata stood tall and composed, seeming to thrive in this environment. Her eyes reflected the starlight like a predator on alert. During the tour, she had asked pointed and insightful questions, showing her dedication to this new life among the stars – a life that Sonya couldn’t see herself fitting into. The sense of isolation washed over Sonya like a heavy cloak, and she knew that Zlata would never be an ally in her escape.
“Gulchen,” Zlata said later, when they were alone in the dimly lit confines of the women’s quarters. Her voice was softer now, stripped of the authority it held on public display. “I see your sadness. You miss your home.” Zlata’s hand rested on Sonya’s shoulder—a touch meant to soothe, perhaps, but to Sonya, it was a reminder of her shackles.
Sonya’s voice dripped with venom as she whirled around to confront Zlata, her hazel-green eyes ablaze with unbridled hatred. “Don’t you dare call me that,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “I am not your Gulchen.”
Zlata’s stunning eyes softened for a moment, revealing a glimpse of insecurity. “Fine, Sonya. I understand this isn’t the life you wanted.”
“Lies!” Sonya spat out the word like it was poison, her fists clenching at her sides. “You robbed me of any choice, Zlata. You’ve taken everything from me and left me with nothing but pain and resentment.”
Zlata’s voice wobbled as she corrected her servant. She sat on a cushioned throne, draped in luxurious silk robes and surrounded by glittering jewels. Sonya stood before her, arms crossed and eyes blazing with defiance.
“I know it’s not easy for you to be here, so far from your past life,” Zlata continued, her tone softening. “But we must make the best of our new home.”
Sonya scoffed at her mistress, the fire in her eyes intensifying. “In time?” she repeated mockingly. She took a step closer, meeting Zlata’s gaze with her own determined one. “You may wear the mantle of power effortlessly, but you have forgotten what it feels like to be shackled and controlled. My place is not among these stars, and I fear it never will be as long as you remain so consumed with building this…empire.”
“Sonya—Gulchen,” Zlata corrected gently, but firmly, reinforcing the identity imposed upon her. “We cannot change what is. We can only influence what may come.”
Sonya’s heart clenched as Zlata corrected her name, a reminder of the identity that had been imposed upon her. The words “cannot change” echoed in her mind, a constant reminder of her helplessness. She wanted to believe in Zlata’s reassurances, but they felt like empty promises in the face of captivity and bondage.
“Sonya—”
“Please, don’t,” Sonya interjected, stepping back. “Don’t pretend to understand.” She could feel the walls closing in, the ship itself an unyielding cage. And with Zlata’s transformation, any flicker of hope for empathy or aid had vanished.
“Very well,” Zlata said, her voice faltering for a moment before regaining its composure. “If that’s how you wish it.”
As Zlata walked away, Sonya’s fists clenched and her mind raced with conflicting thoughts. She tried to focus on the shuttle gliding towards the Falconstar, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Zlata’s betrayal and the anger simmering within her. As she stared at the cold, metallic walls of the shuttle, she couldn’t help but feel trapped and helpless. But then a spark of determination ignited within her, mirroring the unwavering strength of the spaceship’s hull. She made a silent promise to herself – if Zlata wouldn’t be her savior, then she would save herself, and make Zlata pay for failing her.
Zenoba
Zenoba woke up to a sudden wave of nausea. Clutching her stomach, she stumbled out of bed, her body drenched in sweat. Had they just made an unusually long jump? No, this was a much different kind of sickness from the jump fatigue that she’d grown used to. Whatever the cause, the sensation felt foreign and deeply unsettling.
“Sonya,” she called out weakly, struggling to steady herself against the bulkhead. “I need your help.”
Without a word, Sonya emerged, her features schooled into practiced impassivity. Together, they traversed the labyrinthine passageways to the sickbay, the quiet punctuated only by the occasional murmur of the ship’s crew going about their morning routines.
The sickbay was sterile and humming with the low throb of machinery. Dmitri, the slave doctor, looked up from his console as they entered. His kind eyes met Zenoba’s, a silent acknowledgment passing between healer and patient.
“Doctor,” Zenoba greeted him with a nod, her voice betraying none of the turmoil within.
“Sit, Lady Zenoba,” he said softly, guiding her to the examination table. His hands were gentle yet precise as he conducted the scans, the quiet beeping of the medical equipment filling the room.
As Zenoba lay back on the cold surface, Dmitir scanned her with a handheld device that swept over her body in a soft blue light. The room was silent save for the hum of the scanner and the distant murmurs of the ship.
“Your symptoms are consistent with early pregnancy,” Dmitri announced after a moment, his words cutting through the stillness like a laser through durasteel. “You are carrying Lord Khasan’s child.”
Zenoba received the news without a flicker of reaction, her face an impenetrable mask. But behind her striking eyes, a storm raged silently. The weight of the revelation settled upon her like dust upon abandoned ruins; a life growing inside her, yet her heart felt barren.
“Thank you, Doctor,” she said, her voice even, her face impassive. Yet, beneath the surface, a maelstrom whirled. Was it fear? Hope? Zenoba could not tell. She had always prided herself on her ability to mask her emotions, to remain detached and calculating. But now, as the prospect of motherhood loomed, she found herself adrift in an ocean of uncertainty.
“Would you like to know the gender of your child, Lady Zenoba?” Dmitri asked. “If you would like, a simple DNA scan of the fetus would—”
“No,” Zenoba said quickly. For now, it was enough to know that she was having a child—she didn’t know how she would react to learning whether that child would actually be Khasan’s heir.
“Is there anything else, Lady Zenoba?” the doctor inquired.
“No, thank you,” she said, rising from the bed with a grace that masked her inner turmoil. “That will be all. I will inform Lord Khasan.”
As she walked back to her quarters, Sonya trailing behind, Zenoba’s mind raced. This child, a symbol of her union with Khasan, solidified her position within the Valdamar clan. Yet, amidst the political machinations and the relentless pursuit of power, she sensed a chasm opening within her—a void where emotion should reside.
The news would please Khasan, she thought as she rubbed her belly. But with the joy also came fear, a vulnerability that could be used against her by both friends and enemies. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the window as the weight of the situation pressed down on her. Beside her, Sonya fidgeted with a strand of hair, her hazel-green eyes darting with unspoken questions. Zenoba felt the distance between them, knowing that she carried a secret too heavy to share, one that could shatter their fragile bond.
“Sonya,” she called without looking up, needing the familiar presence of someone who, despite everything, was bound to her.
The maidservant glided into the room, her curvaceous silhouette swathed in the modest garb of servitude. Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, now betrayed a deep turmoil within her. Zenoba, sitting regally on her cushioned throne, motioned for her to approach.
“Please prepare some tea for me, Sonya,” she commanded, her voice measured and detached.
“As you wish,” Sonya replied with a quick nod, but her gaze lingered on Zenoba just a moment too long, searching for any hint of the inner turmoil that she knew must be consuming her mistress.
“I have just learned that I am pregnant with Khasan’s child,” Zenoba announced.
Sonya froze, nearly dropping the teacup as she took it from the Samovar. For a moment, her face turned white. But she drew a deep breath and recovered quickly, the only sign of her shock her shaking hands.
“Congratulations, Zlata,” she said softly.
“Lady Zenoba,” Zenoba corrected. “That name is dead to me now.”
Sonya bit her lip and left quickly, leaving Zenoba alone with her thoughts. Drama, drama. Don’t dwell too long on the drama.
In her private chambers, Zenoba sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the reflection of a woman she barely recognized. A queen, a wife, soon to be a mother—and yet, she felt nothing. She was adrift in a sea of expectations and duty, her own desires submerged beneath the tide of her responsibilities.
But emotion or no emotion, her path was set by the life she carried, and she would navigate this new terrain with the same cold precision she applied to all aspects of her life. Even if she felt nothing, she would do everything required of her. It was the Hameji way.
