Stellar Objects

Chapter 9: Rendez-Vous

"Stand to attention," called Captain Nayar, fully realizing how ridiculous he sounded stuck in his broken hover chair.

The Command cruiser, at least five times larger than the Ghandi, and about a million times more plush, had docked with Nayar's ship and the Captain had called his entire crew to order in the Assembly Bay to greet the Commander.

The Bay was the Ghandi's largest open space, a multi-use chamber for moving cargo in and out, and the only place large enough for a cruiser to dock with.

It didn't matter that there were repairs to make, an engine to improve, and meals to cook, it was ceremonial to assemble the entire crew to welcome a Quadrant Commander. It was a waste of time and resources. But in Nitin's unwanted opinion, the Galactic Navy often placed ceremony above practicality.

The double-doors of the airlock opened with a hiss and eight uniformed lackeys marched into the Bay. They lined up in two parallel rows, turned inwards, and waited for their boss to board. When the Quadrant Commander emerged, gracing the Ghandi with his hefty presence, they saluted in unison.

The Quadrant Commander was flush-faced and overweight, the clasps of his uniform straining to stay together over his pēṭa. Nitin cursed silently that there were food shortages across the galaxy and yet this man, because of his rank and privilege, had more than enough to eat.

But Nitin played the role of the obedient captain and raised his right hand to his head in a salute that signaled respect and deference. Inside, however, Nitin held neither for his superior.

"Don't get up," the Commander laughed, as if Nitin had never heard that before.

Nitin bit his tongue so hard he thought he might bleed. If it did, Nitin promised himself that he'd spit the blood at the Commander's bulging belly.

Instead, Captain Nayar lowered his salute and said, "the crew of the HMS Ghandi are assembled and at your service, Commander."

"Yes they are," he replied, surveying Nitin's people; all eighty-four crew members. "And I'm taking them all."

"Excuse me," said Nitin, clearly too casually for the Commander's liking.

"You'll be excused, Captain Nayar, when I excuse you. Until then, every able bodied..."

He stopped himself. Nitin thought he would apologise for his second slight against his disability, but instead, his eyes trained on Shelly.

"...well, those without political connections, that is," he continued. "Onto the ship for reassignment."

"Reassiangment!?" shouted Shelly. "This is a breach of procedures and protocol—"

"Stay in line," urged Captain Nayar.

"Not when this is so blatantly out of line," she replied, before turning to the Commander. "What is the meaning behind—"

"I don't have to justify or explain," the Commander stated. Tehnically, he was correct. "But for the sake of expediency, I will inform you that the Raj has ordered a new offensive on the Front. Every able-bodied adult is required. All must sacrifice."

"ALL MUST SERVE," shouted his lackeys.

"Now, fall in. That's an order," said the Commander. "And I never repeat my orders."

Nitin's crew abandoned him. One by one, they shuffled single file through the airlock. Some nodded, others held their heads low to avoid his scowl. His people disappeared onto the Commander's ship and eventually they'd disappear into the fog of war.

"Commander," pleaded Nitin. "The Ghandi is in bad repair, low on water, fuel, food, and..." He sidled close so that Shelly wouldn't hear. "In a pretty rough neighbourhood. Can't you spare a couple of bodies?"

The Commander stroked his double-chin. "I suppose I can," he said, turning to his officers. "Send out the Egyptian runt and the green thing."

Two of the eight uniformed young men raced through the air lock. Nitin's confusion must've been obvious on his face. The Commander explained, "I picked up two extra slaves. Don't want 'em, don't need 'em, but they're two extra bodies."

The officers returned, each with two juvenile aliens in chains. One lackey handed Nitin two file folders, the registration details of both slaves.

"I'm sure you can put them to work," the Commander said. "And your well-connected copper can do the cooking."

He gave Shelly a wink. Nitin could tell it took all of her disincline not to unleash her compliance stick on his boss.

The Commander gave a half-bow and rushed the word, "Namaste." He turned to leave, swing his heft towards the airlock and returned to his well-appointed ship. His crew followed, leaving Shelly and Nitin alone in the Assembly Bay with two new slaves.

One of the aliens, the skinny one with bronze skin in a simple white tunic, looked around the room and announced, "now, this will simply not do."

The bigger one, hulking with light green skin, clearly ethnic Martian, grunted at the little one. "Not palatial enough, Egyptian?"

The snobby Egyptian – they were all snobby, it came with the pyramids – started to speak when the Martian cut him off. "You palace is gone. Your planet is gone. Get used to it."

"Silence slave," the Egyptian spat.

Nitin knew there was bad blood between Egyptians and Martians, dating back centuries, but he wouldn't tolerate an ethnic clash on his ship.

"Cut it out!" he shouted. "You're both slaves; to be seen and not heard. Lieutenant, sort them out."

Captain Nayar gripped the wheels of his chair and pushed out into the corridor. He heard the Martian say to Shelly, "do not worry, female. Tez can cook."

"I wouldn't dare eat Martian food," said the Egyptian.

Nitin stopped, turned his chair around. "Then you can clean," he said.

"I am Rys," said the little one, as if it was supposed to mean something. "Sole heir to the throne of Egyptia and—"

Nitin held his hand up to silence the kid. He glanced down at the slave's file.

"Says here, sole heir, that you got snapped up running away."

"I took a holiday. I was returning home when—"

"Sorry kid, you've got no home," said Nayar. "Egyptia fell to The Enemy."

The boy's face fell. He didn't know.

"I'm sorry," added the Captain. "But you're property of the Galactic Navy now. And you clean, or I let—"

Nitin looked at the green slave, waiting for his name.

"Tezumuri," he said.

"You'll clean," Nitin repeated, staring down the entitled, but now homeless Eyptian aristocrat, "or I'll let Tez the Martian cook you."

Nitin swung his chair around to leave, and out of the corner of his eye noticed the Martian licking his lips.

Rough translation of pēṭa = belly.

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So, two more ship mates come aboard. What do you think of Tez and Rys?

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