The Honeymoon Trap (an Introduction)

Four months after the change of my sixteenth year, I found my way to one of the small transport craft that left our cluster of stars and went where the winds of fate would take me. A grand adventure, or so I thought, lay before me and the farther away from the palace, from my mother and the responsibilities of my station that I got, the more excited I became.

When I arrived at Star Station Epitaph, a mid-size station on the Etryean rim, my excitement was dealt a severe blow as I was promptly robbed. And, for weeks after, I found myself learning the hard way that I had been coddled as a child. The fantasy that I had built up in my mind of freedom of choice, a life free of the politics of the ruling house of the Min’sha’taen, of being rid of courtly matters and controversy, they were just that. Fantasies. Reality, was a harsh mistress.

With no currency, I scraped by living on vrell food that kind strangers would put out of their quarters for the strays. The soup kitchens were a step up by comparison, but they were few and far between. The assumption aboard Epitaph was, if you were stupid enough to come here, you deserved what found you. Buildup, die, or leave.

For the remainder of my sixteenth year, I took odd jobs as I could find them. I worked retail, selling clothes to aliens of every description, I cleaned the streets, I even fixed personal communicators in the back of a junk shop… until the markets fell on hard times. Then I fell on hard times.

Living on the streets, even in a star station, was still living on the streets. People didn’t want to look at me. If I could secure a spot in a side street, that was a step up from being stepped over or kicked by the odd trader who thought it was good fun. Still there were a few kind people here and there. I met an Antexi man by the name of Kemus who had an answer for everything but never quite worked out how to make that work as a living. A Cranter they called him, and a raving loon he was. But he was kind and always left a scrap of bread for me when he passed by, until one day, just like that, he stopped passing by.

A few weeks later, I found him in one of the service ducts. His skin had drawn taught over his bones. His legs were mangled, and his head was mostly intact, but several feet from where the rest of him lay. And around then the riots began.

The lock downs came, and people like me were rounded up and sent to what became known as Vagrant Section. The shelters there were filthy, and the smells, by Rao, the smells were awful.

A social worker tried to get me to tell them who I was and where I came from but I had some semblance of my pride remaining. That and I didn’t want to be held for ransom. I told him to get lost.

So, there I was, alone, in the vastness of the station, the biggest station I’d ever seen by this point. Sleeping on a fetid mattress when I was lucky, but usually huddled up with a blanket in the cluttered open spaces. If there was ever a time to sleep with one eye open.

A day or two after the social workers visited, a group of men came in, dressed in military garb. They were armed, with rifles and pistols. That’s when the ultimatums came, the clearings, the shootings, the spacings. I escaped into the maintenance ducts. I had to get away.

I began looking for a ship that I could stow away on. A foolish idea on any spacecraft. Where was I going to get food? What would happen if I got caught? I had already stowed away once and look where I ended up. It was during this time that a woman, a dark haired woman, tall, slender, dressed in a black, high collar, black top and black pants found me. Isidrae was beautiful, so beautiful, and when she spoke to me, she didn’t look at me. She held her head high, as I used to, before I left my home.

She told me to come with her. No other explanation was given, and if I were smarter, I should probably have scurried back into the vents. But it had been many months since anyone had shown me the slightest kindness.

We walked for a long time. Through sector Rouge, through Violet sector until we arrived at a bar in Indigo sector.

My clothes were dirty and stank, and my scent admittedly was unpleasant. I was told to take off my clothes and shower. Which I did. I should have realized something was up when I saw the camera in the corner. I was young and naïve, but when I came out of the vibe shower, I was given new clothes, of shiny elastopolymer. I had never seen such perverse and exciting clothes. A fact that was not lost upon my benefactor.

Eventually, Isidrae took me in, and I was given a space in a hall, with a bed, a chair, a table, and a window overlooking the common areas. Though the upper levels of the bar were quiet enough, every so often someone would creep by on their way to bathroom, or another hall room just like mine.

After a short time, I began working in that bar, down below my quarters. I worked for tips alone and became familiar with the seedier side of the station. I thought I’d seen it all in the dock sectors, but I was wrong. By the day of my eighteenth birthday, I had witnessed several murders, heard of tens more and had learned why elastopoymer was the fabric of choice. It assured generous tipping, and when I was cleaning blood and brain from the tables, my clothes were repeat rinseable.

New girls showed up from time to time to help out. Sleeping in other doorless rooms, I assume they got the same deal I did. We weren’t allowed to talk to each other much, but we did when we could. I was finally starting to figure out my place there when Isidrae pulled me from a table one night and told me once again to come with her.

I trusted Isidrae, so I followed. She told me of an opportunity she had now that I was old enough. To make more money, elevate myself from barmaid work. Maybe even had a spot where my things didn’t go missing, or I could have more than one change of clothes at a time. I should have turned her down. I wish every now and again that I had made a different choice. I didn’t even ask what the opportunity was.

The puppet house was an entirely different experience. Just down the street from the Isidrae’s bar. The windows flashed images of pretty women of several species and types. I assumed from the way they were made up that this was their species' idea of attractive. I was mystified. When I was taken inside, the front room was filled with glass and neon, the heavy scent of perfume filled the air. There were small couches on either side of the small space with displays on either arm. I remember, to this day, a man rifling through the images on the screen. He looked up at me as I was taken further inside …as he began scrolling faster.

Inside the reception area, I was introduced to the house mistress, a woman I would soon come to know in human terms as my pimp. My first night, I met the people who would become my friends for the next few years. I was taken to the kitchen, given a meal and the housemistress began to explain how much pay I could look forward to. I would be taken care of, just as I was at Isidrae’s, perhaps better. The house would give me a clean room (with a closet and a door), time off, medical care and the best part was, I didn’t really have to do anything.

Riggght. Even after two years, I was still naive. Or maybe I just wanted to have something more than what I had. After all, being a barmaid was fine, but it was also dangerous work. From exposure to virals, bacteria, or the unruly customer with a knife or sidearm a little too handy. This seemed almost like easy money.

The rooms were spacious. The other girls had things of their own that other people couldn’t steal. There was security and kindness. So, I signed the contract. I wouldn’t see Isidrae again for the next five years, in fact I never left the puppet house during that time. Contracts were contracts and that’s when I learned that specificity is key. Once I actually read my contract I was shocked by the little things. Little things add up.

The fine print was clear enough, no freelancing. I should have asked what they meant by that. For five years I was kept in a gilded cage. Surgically implanted with a neuro mesh that strengthened my bones, encouraged fitness and… took control of my body while my mind blissfully slept during visits from clients. For me it felt like two years at a neon-blasted convent. Neon, laser shows and a nightly catwalk procession that never showed off our clothes, but instead showed off our assets. The clients would make their choices and then, I went to sleep.

I would wake up sore, with scrapes and rugburns, the odd black eye or busted lip. Once I had strangulation marks around my neck and my wrists which, presumably, had been bound so tightly, that they required a visit from a surgeon to set right.

That set me back a while. The cost of care was, of course, added to my tab for the neuro mesh and rigging. And once I learned what the game was, I realized that the system was rigged to always make sure that my expenses outweighed my stipend and earnings. The only way out was a buyout, and I could never earn enough if I took care of myself. For the last few years, I took my medical care into my own hands. I didn’t use all of my stipend. I lived with the aches and pains. I covered the marks and bruises with makeup. I also set myself back three months by having a dermaplaser smuggled in to remove scars in hidden places and heal deep bruising when the clients got to be far too rough.

I caught on and perfected the art of manipulation, persuading clients to smuggle in things I needed, including a camera of my own which I used to blackmail other clients who had something to lose. After a while I made the house mistress nervous. I was racking up quite the account taking on the hard case clients but it paid off. The next year, I cashed out. I was lucky. …and I made it clear to my former pimp that if I ever saw her in a dark alley, she’d get what was coming to her.

Stepping out on my own for the first time in 6 years(23 years old), I already knew what I had to do. I had a collection of names and admissible collateral on video. Within six months I found myself back at Isidrae’s. I changed my hair color back to blonde and I had a word with Isidrae. I showed her copies of the videos that incriminated her in half the plots around the station. I told her I had evidence that she was getting kickbacks from the puppet houses for finding new talent. Setting up certain arrangements, off the books. I gave her a choice and… she was a smart bird, she chose wisely. And I now had a bar to call my own.

Then I got to work. I knew the game, and I became very good at playing. I went from a street urchin to a high class low life. I was becoming something of an underground celebrity and I made choices, for the first time. I even was able to get the rights to the adult videos taken of me back from the puppet house. ...I was quite convincing. And my accounts grew substantial as I further built on the notoriety by making several more.

At the bar, I also made changes. I couldn’t bear to sell the bar maids to the puppet houses. Instead, they kept all of their tips and I paid them a small sum when things were slow. I then removed all of the listening device Isidrae had placed and made damn sure everyone knew what she had been doing all these years. …then I wired up the girls instead.

They listened, recording the juicy bits and it wasn’t long til I had a nice side business as an information broker. And Isidrae, the prettiest of black birds, was tossed bald and bleeding from an air lock in the docking bay. I even renamed the bar ‘The Raven’, Isidrae’s black tresses, arranged into a beautiful sign above the door.

Oh, that sounds... I didn’t kill her. I just paid the security squad that did, for the trophy.

After that, I spent a lot of years and money establishing an information network beyond the station. Then I started hearing stories of a new race in the area, called humans.

They came from very far away, their planet was called Earth. They weren’t like the regulars, and they were more friendly than even the K’zaryuen, whom, let’s face it, were the only people on the station that would actually talk to strangers without an agenda. They were quite a novelty. And it wasn’t much longer til I started getting visits from these humans at the bar.

Over the next few years whenever the humans came, they would stop in, go up to the back room, and ask their questions. There were so many questions. We made deals and eventually I discovered the ones that were visiting were a vanguard of reconnaissance agents. Looking to learn as much about the area as they could before their empire (or so I thought at the time) came rushing in.

I met a few prominent individuals, so I was told, and they always made good on their promises. Most of them I never actually befriended, erring on keeping things professional, but we helped each other out. Which came in handy when things began to heat up again on Epitaph.

If somebody on the station began to gain too much power, whether real or perceived, things happened. The Miaka, the people who owned and operated the station, made sure of that. I was good at what I did, so were my girls, and I was beginning to hear whispers.

It was not long after that one of my barmaids, Fi LaMarchon suggested that it might be coming time for me to make myself scarce. I reached out to my human associates. Unable to reach them directly, I placed a call to one of my friends in their confederation, an irish woman by the name of Reilly. Reilly had been part of the envoys now and again, taking medical information in the form of discrete scans of the clientele. She had a smile that lit up a room and she was just as happy to sing rousing sea shanties that no one understood, though her enthusiasm got the patrons singing along. It didn’t take more than 2 or 3 visits for us to become fast friends. I knew if anyone could help me make contact, she’d be the person to ask.

And a few months later, when the Miaka paid me a visit, rifles in hand, ready to take care of their problem, my human associates were waiting to disabuse them of that option.

After that I left with them, back to their confederation. I laid low, took a job on one of their deep space vessels, and for the next 16 years, that was that. I handled the party arrangements, ran the entertainments, under very strict rules compared to what I had been used to, and then I met two women that took my fancy.

The first was a Rahl/Miszan woman, by the name of Shae’ele. Shae’… had problems. When we first met she was suffering the scars of some deep emotional trauma. I didn’t have access to the details but it was clear she was being pressured back into her duties before she was ready.

Her species, a bi-pedal blend of two races both known for emotional control, hyper focus, as well as being possessed of exceptional mental prowess and suspicious nature, blended like oil and water within her. She had been constantly stereotyped all her life and her brain was fighting back against it. She’d had enough of control and needed to simply be.

Eventually she had to step down from her position and take some time for herself. Rather than send her back to a planet or another facility where she didn’t know anybody, she was allowed to stay onboard the ship in a different, less stressful role.

I helped her the way I had helped the street girls on Epitaph. I took her under my wing, set her to work at the bar. Oh, we had issues sure, the time she ripped apart the lower level, flipping tables, and then there was her split personality. I had little idea of the true scope of what she had gone through at the time. The reports were conspicuously classified.

I found out though. We began coming closer together as the years wore on and, when she became stable enough, well… if her creamy mint tinted skin wasn’t enough to capture my lust, her smile certainly was enough to capture my heart. We dated casually, until, one day another woman, a Caelenian, a felinoid species where the women have three ample... where was I?

At any rate, one day Wylona showed up, with her orange skin, her painted talons, her tail with the cute little fluff puff at the end… and utter imperviousness to adversity, caught me smitten.

Wylona came from a world of cat people. They didn’t trust the water. Hazard pay was standard for sailors on their world for centuries. Wylla, she bucked the trend. She got into all sorts of trouble for trying to teach the children in her village to swim and play in the water. She loved the ocean and gave her poor mother quite the fright every time she went out to shoot the curl. The kids loved it though, so I’m told. ‘Danger woman’ they called her. After a while, she ran afoul of the local authorities as she pushed for indoor bathing, of all things. On Caelenia, this was heresy, they cleaned themselves the old-fashioned way, with their tongues… or if you were well off, sponges from a shallow basin. Anyway, Wylla decided that living dirtside wasn’t for her and signed up with the confederation fleet academy. And thank the gods she did. And apparently, she also had eyes for Shae’ele... though she didn’t know who Shae was at the time.

Regardless, it didn’t take long for my flirting to pay off and for the next three years I dated, separately of course, two of the most wonderful people, all the while I became increasingly despondent. My work wasn’t satisfying anymore, flitting from here to there I never got to see any new people, except those that came through on rotation, and I felt myself detaching from everything. I decided to take stock and if being in the same place was the problem, doing the same thing, then I needed to do something else. So, I put in for transfer. But being on an exploratory vessel, this was going to take some time. In my case just a few months it turned out.

For that small window of time however, I started dating Wylona and Shae’ele together. We made a fun triad that, amongst other things, alleviated the miasma. After three months though, my transfer orders came in and I left them, left the ship, and the job and went to the confederation’s fleet academy and tried my hand. I discovered an aptitude for building, designing and ended up in their engineering program.

But that didn’t help my mental state. My classmates called me ‘that goth chick’. And no one wanted to spend much time around that. Can’t say as I blame them. But that left an interesting opening in my social calendar, one that my engineering professor took advantage of.

Professor B taught me everything the confederation knew about propulsion systems, and a few things they didn’t yet know. Hailing from another far-off Sector of space that even I had never heard of, she was good. Real good. I’m still not sure why she took a shine to me, as the humans say, but this Tanghren woman knew what to say to motivate. And when she got excited, oh the words came out of her mouth so fast, one could be forgiven for thinking one was hearing a data-stream in progress.

Her wings were mighty pretty too.

I spent the next four years learning everything I could, it's not like I had much else to do. I learned a lot over that time and was beginning ever so slightly to come out of my shell. When I graduated, with honors thank you very much, my first assignment was to a far flung Starbase on the border of the new confederation frontier. I should have seen that coming now that I think of it. And I was assigned to an experimental starship project.

That project changed my life.

I was throwing myself into my work and earning some significant praise until there was an accident. One of the project leads, curiously a man also by the name of Reilly, died. I was broken, bleeding and my mental space wasn’t that great, but their fleet command decided that despite the project setback, they needed someone with inside knowledge and oversight to make sure things like this didn’t happen again.

That very month I was promoted to Head Yard Engineer, or ‘the Yard Mistress’, as people came to call me. I was no nonsense. I oversaw the building of 12 starships 2 of which were entirely unlike anything the confederation had ever built before.

After a year doing that, things pretty much went on automatic. I had a lot of time to sit and think. I didn’t want to sit and think, so I spent most of my time getting hands on with the advanced vessels. I had laid their keels personally. And then I got laid. I never made any real connections though. Professionally, the job was amazing. I couldn’t have asked for more, and I received a promotion to their rank of Captain for my work. But I still felt cold and empty.

Deciding it was best to get out of my head, I convinced one of my hussies to take some leave and go visit her parents since they were in the sector at the time. She hadn’t seen them in a while and while she’d never admit it, she missed them. I thought I’d tag along, just for a good time and some cheap thrills, but then I met her family. One night, her mother got me talking and I broke down. A few hours and some retail therapy later, I found myself turning in my open for business sign and daydreaming about what could have been.

A few months later, I got an offer through the grapevine for a job back on my old ship. Chief Engineer. I jumped at it. I left the job at the shipyard and went. It wasn’t a step-up career-wise, a fact that was repeated often when I broke the news, but …i don’t know. Maybe if I was lucky, I’d find myself out there. Retrace my steps as it were.

So, I went back. Things happened. Terrible things and some wonderful things. And today, here I am, talking to my datapad, on the Recreation Deck I used to run. And down a level inside the arboretum? Both Shae and Wylla are waiting in their wedding gowns, so the three of us can get married and begin the next chapter of our lives. I’m happy now. My face hurts from smiling in fact—

“Lourdes,” a male voice came from the direction of the tiki bar. Dressed in an uncharacteristic dress uniform, the bartender dropped his rag onto the surface before him and stepped out the side. “If you’re done telling your life story, It’s almost time.”

“Its not that bad!” Lourdes said, giving the bartender the stink eye.

“45 minutes of blah blah blah, I’d say that’s pretty bad.” Harold cajoled.

“No, it hasn’t been 45…” Lourdes checked the chronometer, her eyes going wide, she tapped save on her device, wrapped her train around her forearm, hitched up her skirts and taking Harold’s hand, they took off into the corridor. “Okay, you’re right I have a logging problem. Shit, hurry up, I’m going to be late!”

“I don’t know, I think it's sweet that you’re recording home movies for your kids already.” Harold said, barely containing his laughter. “Though um, you’re going to have to edit that so the little green kitties don’t have nightmares.”

“How dare you sir!” Lourdes feigned outrage. “At least let me enjoy the honeymoon first!”

05/24/2322 - The Arboretum of the Confederation Starship Avenger

The Caelenian woman walked into the arboretum in a deep sapphire blue wedding dress. Its train gathered on one arm and veil in the other, Wylla breathed deeply of the fresh sweet air. The sakura blossoms were in bloom, and the light from the trees danced in the delicate petals. She enjoyed the sights and sounds of spring, the pleasant smell of the flowers and the peacefulness of the park.

A sound reaching her ears, she looked around until she found the source. A faint smile crossed her lips as she saw the petite, dark haired woman standing in the nearby garden grove, looking out at the view.

The woman was leaning against a small tree, and she had a large cup of tea in her hand. She was dressed in an ornate ivory wedding gown and her long, raven hair was styled up in a bun, secured with lacquered chopsticks underneath her veil, lifted back away from her face.

The Caelenian woman stood for a moment, as she caught her breath, admiring the woman against the view. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen something so magical.

She took a step forward, and the petite woman looked up from her thoughts, meeting her gaze. The woman's eyes were a soft hazel, and her face had a small, delicate smile on it. Her skin, an immaculate cream with a hint of green, bewitched Wylla as the light played across it.

"You arrre beautiful everrry day, Shae’ele." Wylla said, "But today, I don’t have worrrds."

Shae’ele smiled, her eyes twinkling as her cheeks flushed chartreuse.

"Do you know the legend of the cherry blossoms?" Shae’ele asked, taking a sip of her tea.

“Which verrrsion?” Wylla mused. “Legends change frrrom planet to planet, Shae…”

"My mother always told me the story of the 'sacred cherry tree'. It is said that the tree stands in the center of a valley, and on the day of its blossoms, the wind carries the petals to the desert sky, and then they spread out, bathing the world in their beauty."

"I’ve neverrr hearrrd this storrry," Wylla said, her eyes reflecting the artificial lighting and the flowers.

"It is said that the tree will blossom in spring,” Shae continued. “And if one of us sees the first petal, it is a sign of good fortune."

"Prrrithee what good forrrtune?" Wylla said, her voice softening.

Shae smiled knowingly, "it is said that if one woman sees another woman standing in the petals of a cherry tree, she will have to marry her."

"How lucky for you then." Another woman's voice, one intimately familiar, reached the pair's ears. "For I see two women, standing in the petals of a cherry tree."

Wylla smiled, as her and Shae turned towards the welcome voice of their third, "You know, I’m… prrretty surrre that legend has been alterrred overrr time."

"Well then, how lucky I am that the circumstances are in our favor now." said the blonde woman in a low-cut black satin gown, her matching veil swept back and neatly outlining her long blonde tresses. Trailing behind her, a long black satin train extended back onto the path.

"I take it back, Lucy." Shae’ele said, recovering from the sight. "Wearing a black dress today, definitely suits you."

The blonde woman blushed, her head tilting slightly down and to the right, feigning shyness. "Thank you, Miss."

"Oh, we arrre being forrrmal today?" Wylla's lips curled upward into a smirk.

"You know, Wylona dear, I have been known to embrace formality from time to time." She replied, extending her hand to the Caelenian woman. "I like to keep things interesting."

"I like to keep things interrresting too, but not at the expense of ourrr marrrriage vows," Wylla said, "We have an appointment with the captain and ourrr guests in the chapel in a half hourrr."

“Yes… we do. But after seeing you two in those gowns...” Lucy breathed seductively, giving Wylla and Shae a long once over. “I think being a few minutes late will be unavoidable.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Wylla rolled her eyes. “I know that look... you just hold that thought forrr the honeymoon, Summerrrsweet.”

Grasping the hands of both her fiancée’s Wylla led them back onto the path. Carefully avoiding stepping on trains with their heels, the triad exited the arboretum’s lower level and into their future.