A Thousand and One Nights
After they burst through the door of O’Singh’s, Simonee dragged Dalia through the corridors of GenHab, and Dalia’s heart thudded to the rhythm of their feet hitting the deck. Simonee’s hand was a firebrand, the heat of her touch flushing up Dalia’s arm. She swooned, stumbled, but Simonee didn’t let go.
Dalia’s mind was still back at the bar; she couldn’t believe nobody would help them. How could they simply watch as if it was entertainment? She would shut it down. Yes—she’d have that rooster-headed freak ejected from the station, force her father to rescind O’Singh’s liquor license if she had to. But that meant going back home—and confronting her father. She wasn’t ready; could she hold her composure or would she give in to her rage?
Nobody was following them, and Simonee slowed down until they jogged side by side. They didn’t need to hold hands anymore—but that heat! She didn’t want to let go.
Simonee stopped at a plain metal doorway and passed a fob from her pocket over the access panel. The panel glowed green and dinged; the door clicked open a crack, dark through the gap. Simonee tapped around the door frame—top, top, left, right, left—and stepped through.
Dalia rushed in behind her—never letting go, never breaking contact. When the door latched, Simonee broke free and bolted to the kitchenette sink. She tossed the bloody brass knuckles aside and scrubbed her hands under the thin dribble of water.
When she turned back, chest heaving, hands bracing against the counter, Dalia gaped in awe as if seeing her for the first time. In the dim room, her implant cast a violet sheen as her one green eye gleamed like a chatoyant gem.
She’d been a tiger back there, but now her whole stance was that of a scared rabbit. With each captured breath, her dark hair swayed over her round face—boyish but cute. Dalia liked this girl.
Simonee’s brow dipped and she rushed over, eyes scanning Dalia’s forehead. Dalia touched there and her fingers came away bloody. Simonee dug around in a drawer until she found a towel, then wrapped it around a coldpack from the fridge.
Dalia smirked as Simonee raised it to her head. “Really, it’s not that bad.”
“I’m so sorry,” Simonee panted. “I knew better. We should have left sooner. I don’t know what came over me.”
Dalia laid a hand on her shoulder, and held her eyes. “Stop! You were amazing!”
Simonee’s green eye dilated as she scanned Dalia’s face. Without warning, she kissed Dalia firm on the lips. Dalia’s eyes just about burst out of her skull. Simonee pulled back like it was a mistake—her eyes wide, her mouth an Oh. Dalia gasped, cheeks burning; even as she pulled away, she missed the soft heat of Simonee’s lips, hot like her hands.
Simonee shook her head. “Oh! I didn’t—”
Dalia dove in, silencing any apologies with firm-pressed lips as her arms wrapped around Simonee’s back and pulled her close. She tasted of bad beer and those fried things they’d both gagged on at O’Singh’s, but there was something else underneath—like cinnamon on her tongue. She drank it in, heat running down her throat like hot, hot spice into her belly. The heat flowed lower, pooling between her thighs. She pressed them into Simonee.
Simonee reached behind Dalia, fussing with her dress, but Dalia took over, dragging the zipper down and shimming the smooth satin to the floor. Simonee struggled with her own layers, peeling herself bare. They crashed into each other, Simonee’s hot skin searing the length of her as they twisted and fell onto a disheveled bed that smelled of cinnamon and musk.
They burned there together like a pyre, rolling as Dalia explored this new body with questing hands and hungry lips. Simonee was everywhere at once—her mouth drifting down Dalia’s neck and lingering at her breasts while one hand dove lower, fingers tender and teasing. When Simonee’s lips glided down with kisses like tip-toes over the small scar by Dalia’s navel, Dalia twitched. Simonee looked up, grinning, and their eyes locked as she continued down, down, and between. Her implant’s violet light glinted off Dalia’s pale, slick thighs.
The moan started deep in Dalia’s chest, humming up into the corner of her lip—tense between her teeth—pulling her eyes closed. Fire shot up her spine and she gasped. Her back arched as her skin shivered and every hair lifted in waves of horripilation. Clenching, clutching, her body exploded in spasms—shudders like death throes—white behind her eyes. Then falling, settling, limp as ash on the sheets.
Simonee’s hands flirted with Dalia’s body again but it was too much—too raw. Dalia curled, knee to chin, tight as a stone, closing in on herself as tears ran hot down her cheeks.
Simonee fussed over her, cooing—light lips over her neck, eyes, whispering apologies for fears she didn’t understand.
Her tears weren’t for the attack at O’Singh’s at all, but for the ultrasound images from that morning—the odd shapes and the empty spaces. Those images told a different story than the one her father had told her. Now, in this place of safety, the ice in her stomach melted—thawed by their heat, drawn out in tears. She let herself open again, letting Simonee crawl close and hold her.
“It’s not you... it’s not you... it’s not you.” Dalia whimpered into their nest as exhaustion took hold.
It’s him.
Over the next five years, Simonee told Dalia everything about herself—who she was, where she came from, and what she’d been through. Because Simonee trusted her with all of that, Dalia felt closer to her than anyone—she felt special.
Today? Simonee excluded her. And maybe that was her own fault—she let Simonee believe her tears were from the assault. But she wouldn’t be pitied. She would have told Simonee everything had she only confided in her like she was supposed to. Now Dalia had to sit here and discuss their relationship with her father as if it was just a mistake. Like it wasn’t even real.
Her father spoke into the silence following Dalia’s story. “Perhaps... we can offer leniency if—”
Dalia spun, her eyes thin as blades. “I’m not asking for leniency.”
He sighed. “And when we catch her, what then?”
She clenched her jaw, firmed her lip, but the tears broke free anyway. “She made her choice.” Her stomach knotted into a stone—as if it was her fault she’d fallen in with a common thief. The street rat and the princess—such a cliché. “But I would speak with her; I want her to tell me why she did it,”—Without me—”from her own lips.” She wiped her eyes clean and glared at Karalius. “All I want from the people I love is the truth.”
Karalius stepped closer to his daughter with his head bowed and hands behind him. She tensed, but didn’t pull away when he put a hand on her shoulder. “Do you remember my sister, Gėlė—the stories I told you growing up?”
Dalia wiped her eyes and shook her head. “Yes… What about her?”
“Then you must also remember Ragana.” Her father scanned her face.
Dalia glared back. “Of course.”
Karalius closed his eyes and let go of her. “Gėlė and Ragana were day and night. Gėlė was kind, gentle, just and fair. Born five minutes before Ragana, she would have inherited this responsibility. But Gėlė was not firm, and out here, you must be firm to keep the ice moving. A freighter taken by pirates leads to crops without water—families that die of thirst.”
Karalius stared out the window a moment as Enceladus panned through. “Ragana, on the other hand, was the passionate one. She was strong willed, capricious, but powerful for it. She would have been more than firm. She would have dominated the trade lanes, usurped other outposts, brought war with the corporations we now depend on.”
He sighed and shook his head. “But we lost them both—Gėlė in her sleep and Ragana to the ice.”
Karalius turned and stared at Dalia again.
She frowned and crossed her arms. “Are you coming to a point, father?”
“You wanted truth, so here is mine: leading this station, this industry, is a matter of balance—one I struggle with. Day after day I send men and women into the darkness to guard the lanes, and day after day I worry if I’m doing any of it right. But in you I see the best of my sisters. You’re sharp—cunning, even—but fair. Your passion is for justice and truth; that was your mother.”
Karalius pinched his nose and shook his head. “You may not want this responsibility, Dalia, but you are the leader this station needs. I can see you there, at the helm, tireless and bold, waiting on our guardians to come home, mourning those who don’t. I don’t hold this position for myself or for some bullshit heraldry. I keep it for you.”
He turned, shaking his fist. “The people of this station fear me! That is my legacy. But you… you, they will love.”
Dalia plopped into her chair, jaw clenched, and stared up at him. She wanted to scream the question at him, again and again, demand he answer her. She knew the details, of course, but she needed to hear it from him, his reasons and his excuses—otherwise how could she possibly forgive him?
Her eyes burned, but she fought the tears. “How can you claim to see all of that in me, and yet give me only silence—secrets I can’t know, people I can’t care about. You still won’t tell me what that key card opens—what it protects.” What you took from me. “How can you talk to me about leadership when you can’t even trust me with that?”
Just tell me!
Karalius looked at the floor and Dalia waited. Please!
The silence carried.
When Karalius did speak, it was slow and broken. “The truth is... complicated, and we are running out of time. If our enemies get a hold of that card...”
She leaped from her chair. “What? What could they do to us now? What more can we possibly lose? Tell me!”
Karalius narrowed his eyes and Dalia froze.
“Everything. That card is leverage—over me. They could demand everything and I would yield.”
Dalia went pale.
“I would give them my life to get it back,” he rasped.
Her shoulders dropped, and her hands clasped over her navel. “B-but why? For what?”
“To protect you.”
Her jaw dropped to retort, but she caught it, picked it up. Is that what Simonee was doing—protecting her? If only they knew—but she couldn’t tell them. She didn’t just need their trust, she needed their respect. So she waited silently as her Father’s eyes glimmered under the lights. Please, just say it. I’ll forgive you.
“I will always protect you, until my last breath. But why would you care?” He shook his head. “I never gave you a reason.”
Dalia took a small step forward, hand half reaching. Karalius spread his arms beside him.
“I wanted my little girl safe, so I kept you away from the politics and the crosshairs of our enemies. But here you are now—a woman. When this business is done, I promise, I will bring you in to the fold—show you what it takes to run the ice trade. And when we recover the key, I will show you what it opens myself.”
He nodded, looking away and running his hand over his chin. “Maybe then you’ll understand, and maybe you can...”
He looked at her again, and sighed. “Maybe you can forgive my secrecy.”
I will. “Daddy, wait—” Just tell him! Stop him! But her throat clamped shut—it’s his secret to tell; if you say it, he’ll never respect you—and he didn’t wait, he stalked right to the door and stormed through it. It clicked shut behind him, and Dalia was alone again.
She glared at the door, eyes glistening, tears flowing. The shudder started in her belly and she grabbed it, pressing the scars. Bending, she gasped as the tremor shimmied up into her chest.
“Why can’t anyone just tell the truth?” Her empty snifter exploded against the door, scattering pebbles of glass across her blue carpet, twinkling like ice in the Enceladan light.