Daddy Daughter Dance

Dalia sat in a high-back chair, one leg over the other, a silver heel dangling from her toes. Behind her, Enceladus rolled by the window for a moment—a flash of cold white before a hundred billion stars from the galactic plane had their turn. Then the sun, small and sharp, bounced off the mirrored panels over the crescent couch in front of her. The cream leather of her chair gleamed in that light, and her blue dress shimmered, making her skin look almost tan, her hair like gold. But her lips pressed thin, their color pulled in as she moped alone in that punctuated darkness. A snifter of plum brandy swung in her cupped hand as she lifted it lazily to her lips, sipping the golden liquid unceremoniously.

Each time Enceladus or the sun rolled by, a diorama of the day’s events flashed in around her—a chair shifted here, a vase shuffled there. A waltz of footprints ruffled her cadet blue carpet into a chaotic dance of fibers, scattering the light as it ebbed, replaying the number one step at a time. Nearly a dozen bungling officers had pawed over her things in the hours after Simonee left, and the lead investigator, an officer Tiller-something-or-other, spent over an hour interrogating Dalia. She wanted every detail about Dalia’s encounter with Simonee.

How did she get in? I invited her.

So you knew the intruder? Of course, I’m not in the habit of inviting strangers into my suite.

What were you doing at the time of the incident? Sleeping, or, trying to anyway.

Was she carrying a weapon? Maybe.

Did you feel you were in danger? Not really. Simonee isn’t violent… generally. She’s not a threat. If you find her, you won’t have to hurt her.

That’s never our intent— I know but, just… don’t hurt her.

We’ll do our best. I’m sure.

Now, what was stolen exactly? You’ll have to ask my father. The safe is his. He never told me what’s inside it.

It was all so utterly redundant; Dalia grew so frustrated with the bumbling circus that she ejected every one of them from the room with thinly veiled threats to employment or bodily autonomy. Now she was alone and didn’t want to be. Each interlocutor that morning had been a stranger, Dalia’s trust in their badges alone—the Ledas Family crest molded into them.

She’d hoped for a more personal inquiry, but he never showed.

Dalia gazed lazily around her enormous suite. It was furnished, yet empty. Lavishly decorated, but barren. She hated it. There was too much to it, too many things, too much useless space; if loneliness was a sound it would echo off these walls indefinitely. Simonee had made a second home here, but you couldn’t tell by looking; now it was as if she’d never been there, nor would be again. If you’d simply asked, I would have helped you; damn it, I would have joined you! she thought again for the hundredth time, but she was done crying over it.

A chime shattered the silence, and Dalia lurched forward, tapping a touch-pad with a knuckle on the hand holding her brandy; a man appeared over the cocktail table in front of her, cast onto a sheet of air.

“There you are,” she muttered, setting her brandy aside. She stood, and breathed in deep—slow down, calm down, don’t give him the satisfaction. But her heart wouldn’t settle. Even after everything—still Daddy’s little girl.

She smoothed the creases from her long blue dress, and pressed the touch-pad again.

“Come in.” The front door popped open with a click.

Karalius Ledas stepped into the sidereal gloom. He looked around, eyes darting, searching—as if Dalia herself might have hidden something there, or someone.

She crossed her arms and glowered up at her father. “Nice of you to stop by. I could have used some help with the guards. They had a lot of questions about things I know nothing about.”

“I’ve reprimanded Tillerson; she shouldn’t have bothered you with all that.” A courteous reply—official and not at all fatherly.

Dalia snorted and spun on her heels. She stalked back to the cocktail table and added a finger to her glass before tipping the decanter towards Karalius, eyebrow raised.

Karalius waved it away. “I’m sorry, princess, it’s already been a long day.”

“And I’m sorry to add to your burden, father. If only I could get your attention on more genial terms.”

Karalius’s face reddened but he closed his eyes and breathed. “Are you alright?”

“Of course I’m alright,” Dalia spat. “I had a full physical right here this morning as if they thought this was assassination and not burglary.” She locked eyes with her father. “You’ll be happy to know—according to your doctors—other than a slight vitamin D deficiency, I’m in perfect condition, not a single piece out of place.”

Karalius halted, mouth open, but then his brow darkened. “You know what I meant,” he growled and stormed into the hall as the sun pierced the windows, chasing him as he went. “I understand the thief was your security advisor.”

Dalia sneered and stomped after him. “Yes, and what of it? Are you going to lecture me now on my choice of employees? You approved her invoices.”

Karalius stopped at the bureau at the end of the hall, yanking open the middle cabinet doors. “I also understand she was a... friend.”

Dalia stopped just a pace behind him. “Oh, did one of your little spies tell you that?” She sipped her brandy and held up the glass, elbow perched on her other hand, hip cocked, brow pinched sharp over her eyes, as if daring him.

Karalius glared, but turned back to the cabinet, tapping the interface on the safe.
“Your friend is quite the ghost. Surveillance lost her on Storage; we’re organizing a deck by deck search, but she could have handed off the... item to anyone by now.”

Dalia smirked. “It doesn’t surprise me—she’s too smart and you only hire idiots.” She stepped closer, chin jutting. “What is it you were you hiding in there anyway?”

Karalius opened his mouth, but closed it, shaking his head and turning back to the safe.

She frowned. “What? You’re not going to tell me what the person I trusted most in the world was willing to steal behind my back?”

Karalius poked around the interface and grumbled, “doesn’t even report access. How did she open it?”

“I told you, she’s smart. So you’re not going to tell me? Do I have to guess? I saw her with a card in her hands. Is it data—secrets? Are you just going to ignore me?”

His large frame covered the screen as he entered a passcode and applied his thumbprint. The safe clicked open and he plucked the blue card from inside it. Held it up for Dalia to see.

Dalia bristled. “She must have swapped it.”

Karalius pulled a smartcomm from his pocket and tapped the card with it. A circle spun for a moment on the screen and turned into a red X. Karalius did it again with the same result.

Dalia tsked. “You think I’m lying?”

“I had to be sure.” He held the card in both hands and broke it in half, laying the pieces on the cabinet.

“So are you going to tell me what it is or not?” Dalia hissed.

“It’s a key,” He looked at her and then to the ground before finishing. “To your... our legacy.”

Dalia shrugged. “That’s not an answer. What does that even mean?”

Karalius scowled and stormed back to the front door. Dalia hastened to catch him, growling, “Legacy! Legacy! Okay, I get it, when you retire, I get to run the station. I get to be rich and powerful and stressed and miserable and lonely just like you. I don’t need a keycard to access my dismal future. So what are you actually talking about?”

He stopped. “Money? Power? You think that’s what this is about?” He growled. “What about the people who depend on us to lead?”

Dalia crossed her arms and glared. “What would I know of it? I’m stuck here in a cage. The one time I broke free of my entourage to see these people you want me to lead, I got lost, and not one of them would help me—except Simonee. But look where that got me.”

He turned away, and then back again, pointing at her. “How well do you really know this Simonee Saran? She wasn’t acting on her own; we froze her accounts and she received a transaction this morning that was... substantial. Someone is willing to give up a fortune to take this responsibility from us. Tell me you didn’t know what she was up to!”

Dalia’s eyes went red, and tears glittered; she covered them with a hand; set down her glass. Shaking her head, she stood, fixing Karalius with a wet glare. “You think I helped her? I reported her, damnit! She was my best friend—my only friend. I loved her and she betrayed me.” She wiped clear the tears and stood tall, shoulders back, chin high. “And you dare accuse me of conspiracy?”

Karalius didn’t say anything, but his face was red—his fists white.

Dalia drifted a moment, left, right, eyes darting, glass swaying. “You’re right to. I would have. I would have let her have it, had she only asked.” She steadied, and her eyes narrowed to slits. “Had she confided in me, trusted in me—God!—if she’d have taken me with her, I would have run!”

Dalia’s shoulders sagged. Grabbing up her glass, she downed it, and collapsed into the chair; the empty glass laid limp over her lap, tipping. A last drop of brandy dribbled onto her dress. “Instead, she left me here in my cage. I just want to know why, but you don’t trust me either. Why would I help either of you?”

Karalius turned away and leaned with his fist on the door.

Dalia shook her head and slammed it against the headrest. “She saved my life, you know? I was attacked, and she saved me. After that, I thought I had finally found someone who would tell me everything. But fool me twice—and all over some fucking blue keycard.”

Karalius turned and looked at her—his face still red, but his eyes drooping. “Attacked? Tell me about that. I was just grateful you were home safe, I didn’t need the details, but something changed in you. We are at the precipice, Dalia, and I need to know why I should be grateful to Simonee Saran now. What happened on your little adventure?”

Dalia glared at him and stood, her glass balanced on her fingertips. When she turned to the window, Enceladus entered the view, rolling in front of her—cold and beautiful—the beauty caught her as if she’d never really seen it before.

“I thought I found love, Daddy.”

And she told him—she told him about O’Singh’s pub and Hemlock and Simonee—brave, wonderful, cursed, Simonee. But she didn’t tell him everything, even as the memory of that night burned through her.