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“Alright,” Zeki says when she returns. “So. I picked black fake leather for your girl. Similar styling to what you wear, Shah. Not a dress. Nobody wears a dress unless they want to be fucked on this ship, and I’m guessing you don’t want her to be fucked. You’ll have to sacrifice easy access for proper protection.”
She picked out black leather, tight fitting pants that end just above my ankles, a short matching jacket with a white t-shirt underneath, and black rubber sneakers. It’s even more retro than the grey shift, but it feels comfortable and it’s not too flashy, or, well, slutty. I was afraid I was going to end up with my breasts exposed the way hers sort of are.
“Cute,” Shah says. “It’ll do for a start. Thanks, Zeki.”
“You’re so welcome,” she says, her tone dripping with attitude. I notice she’s standing out of arm’s reach, just in case he takes another swing.
“Let’s go,” Shah says, engulfing my hand in his grip. It’s time to be presented to the masses.
My stomach is in knots, and I can’t help but notice the real malevolence in Zeki’s eyes. She’s not happy about me, and when Shah touches me, I can see her pupils narrow to two angry points. She’s looking me at the same way Unit 2276 looked at me when I got the new box folding position, and she had to stay behind on the assembly line. Zeki's obviously jealous, and that is not good.
* * *
The ship’s canteen is a large food court with an array of vendors and variety of foods. The worker canteen I’m used to has one serving space, all silver and shiny and full of gruel. Hundreds of us sat in silence at long tables and we consumed our meals in a timely fashion before depositing the bowls and spoons into the cleaning slot. It’s not a social time. It is a crowded time.
In Shah’s domain there are at least twelve irregularly-shaped carts and benches, bubbling and steaming away with a wide array of scents and smokes. The tables in the center are not long, rectangular efficient worker seating. They too are mismatched and placed nearly at random. Some are large rounds, others small rectangles. Some are prominently placed, others are tucked away for privacy. It’s noisy. There’s a lot of cursing. And there’s a steady drumming and melody coming from a couple of musicians ensconced on a stage that sits before a window to eternity. I’ve never seen space before. It’s dark. I guess that makes sense.
Shah’s arrival in this space changes the dynamic of the room instantly. Every eye swivels toward him, and though conversations don’t stop immediately, they do soften and melt away.
There’s menace in this place. To these people, I am prey. I am protected by my proximity to Shah and nothing else. The eyes of the crew and passengers are full of dark intent. It’s like being back in club Omega again, but this is the light of day and somehow it is much more menacing this way.
I recognize some of the faces from the wanted ads displayed on every glowing noticeboard in the Colony. Turning in even one or two of these people would guarantee an almost endless life of luxury. I’d never have to work again. There are killers, outlaws, smugglers, thieves. Every type of reprobate and degenerate in the quadrant. Exactly the sort of colorful company I would have expected Shah to keep, and precisely the sort of people I have learned to fear.
He leads me through the tables and onto the little stage where the drummer’s sticks have stilled.
“This is Dreamy,” he says in a calm voice. “If anything happens to her, and I do meananything…. if I find one of these mousy brown hairs even slightly out of place, I will skin whoever is responsible alive.” He brushes his hand lightly over my head, scratching his fingers lightly against my scalp. It’s a small gesture of tenderness in the midst of a threat.
I see more than one of the assembled villains shudder at his words. I wonder if they’ve seen him do something like that before. The stories of Shah are legendary and almost all impossibly cruel. He rules by fear as much as he rules by respect. It is impressive how he has managed to build this shared empire where various criminals and outcasts all feel comfortable enough to congregate and eat together, each and every one of them indirectly protected the same way I am, by his influence.
Having said his piece, he leads me back off the stage, and asks me if I’m hungry. I am.
“I don’t know any of this food, though.”
“No? Oh. I forgot. You’ve been on worker rations. Come on. I’ll choose something for you.”
* * *
Ifind myself sitting at a window seat with an array of various foods laid out before me on a tray. I don’t quite know where to start, but they’re all good, each one better than the one before.
“Shah.”
The speaker is a big man whose eyes are far too golden to be natural, and whose skin is marked with pale designs, like reverse tattoos, and whose overall bearing is that of someone who just smashed the brains of his nearest enemy out.
“Malik,” Shah says. “This is Dreamy.”
“Hello, Dreamy,” Malik says. “Nice to meet you.”
He doesn’t talk like he looks. He looks like his voice would sound like gravel eating other gravel, and I guess his tone is that way, but he’s very refined and restrained. He speaks like an Elite. I think he might, in fact, be an Elite. I drop my fork and stare at him. I’ve never met an Elite in person before. I’ve heard them over the speakers, but workers aren’t allowed to be in the presence of their betters. I always wondered what they were like. It turns out they’re terrifyingly large and incredibly handsome and they make me feel like I’m barely human.
“Hoo… Hi…” I try to form a greeting, but it’s not happening. I have been taught never to speak to Elites. I shouldn’t even be looking at him. But I can’t stop staring. He’s scary in a very different way to the way Shah is scary. I’ve been programmed to fear creatures like this Elite, those with elegant augmentations and perfect elocution. Shah will break your body and maybe kill you if you cross him, but an Elite will exorcise your entire bloodline if you cross him. The impenetrable menace of the man is so intense I find my breathing becoming shallow, the tips of my fingers and toes tingling as my body prepares to flee.
“We need to talk,” Malik says. “Privately.”
Shah nods. That seems to be enough for Malik, who also nods, and then leaves us to our lunch.
“He’s an Elite,” I hiss to Shah when Malik is gone.
“He was. He’s an outlaw now. You don’t have to fear him. You don’t have to fear anybody here. If they have any sense, they’ll fear you.”
