Ch. 7 - 

The shuttle from the spaceliner was small, cramped and dim.  It had no windows, and the landing lights were off.  
It could've been a mine transport but for the fancy décor.  An Impie might have been disturbed by the lack of 
light and space, but I was a miner.  This  little cabin was larger than my everyday workspace, and that walls in 
here were way less likely to collapse.  Since I was the only one on board except the pilot, the ensign, and the 
Imperial representative, there was no chance I was gonna get the boxed in heebies.


I picked an empty acceleration couch quickly and the ensign came over to strap me down for departure.


“Welcome aboard, Miss Grace.”  His smile was innocent as hell, even for such a young guy, but my god, he was tall 
and fair.  “Due to safety regulations, you'll need to either put that coat on or let me stow it.”


I blinked several times, then scrambled up, pulling the comforting weight of Ziggy's coat around my body.  The 
Impie rep sighed loudly from where he was already cocooned in his space faring nest.  


“Sorry.”  I mumbled, climbing back into the couch quickly.  I had spent some time studying the ways Impies talked 
and acted, and I hated looking like a dross-buying rube.  “Thanks.” 


“Not a  problem, Miss!”  He grinned again, cheerful as a bird in a triD.  Either this guy was a serious dusthead, 
or else he got paid to smile like that.  “First time?”


“Yeah.”  I grinned back.  That damn smile of his was infectious, growing wider and warmer while our eyes stayed 
connected, and I wondered if maybe a girl could get to like that smile.  “Cthonian's don' travel much.”


“This is the panic button.”  He whispered gently, indicating a silvery knob on the end of the arm rest to which I 
was strapped.  I frowned.  “We have a very specific exit vector to make our tryst with the Echo, so we're going to 
take off pretty hard.  The G's will pin you to your couch, and some people don't take well to it.  If it gets to 
be too much, you can press that and your couch will sedate you.  Once we take off, you'll be on your own back here 
until we land.”


I looked at him like he'd lost his mind, but he smiled again, and then he was beyond my vision, crossing the 
narrow isle between the acceleration couches to check on the Imperial representative.  The man heaved another sigh 
and waited impatiently while the ensign checked his buckles and straps.


“Transit time to the tryst point with the Radiant Echo is twenty minutes.”  He informed me cheerfully, then he was 
gone, headed forward to strap in himself.  I found myself wishing his couch was back here, too.  This sighing 
Impie was no company.


“I'm John Dragoman.”  The Imperial's voice was thin when it finally broke the silence, and he heaved another big 
sigh.  “I must apologize about the primitive arrangements.  Honestly, making planetfall and we couldn't bring a 
real transport?  I hate acceleration.”


“Sorry 'bout the trouble.”  I answered, frowning as the lights went out.  The cabin was only lit by the green life 
readouts on the couches.  They glowed in the dark like rock dust.


“It's not your fault, dear.”  He answered, heaving another sigh.  “I just really, really hate acceleration.”


There was a soft hiss and then he spoke no more.  Rolling my head towards him I saw the shadows move as the 
hypodermic module disengaged from his arm, and I realized that he must really hate acceleration 'cause he was 
already asleep.


“Well shit.”  I said, and put my head back where it was supposed to be.  Were Imperials as soft as we'd been 
taught?


We were moving thirty seconds later, and when I say moving, I mean with a capital MOVE.  One minute we were on 
the ground, and the next I was pressed back hard against the cushion of the shuttle.  The increased gravity felt 
like a giant hand across me, and for a panicked moment I wondered if Cthonia had decided not to let go of me.  I 
could feel her trying to pull me, drag me, command me back onto the surface of my world.  I was trapped.  I would 
never escape.  The world herself would return me to the mines and the Admin and the horrors, even if it had to rip 
me through the acceleration couch to do it.


I struggled against the straps, frantic as a bug on a hot plate, but it was useless, since the increased gravity 
was what held me immobile.  I was pinned, held, helpless.  The darkness closed in around me and I was in the 
bottom of a shaft, lost, abandoned, forgotten, dead.  Fleetingly, I thought I was going to have to use that button 
after all, overcome by the darkness and the weight and the driving fear that goaded me to move, run, flee.  But 
then the pressure let off, and we were coasting in space, racing toward our destination.  And it felt like freedom 
even as I tasted the metallic taint of adrenaline and loathing.


I wished for windows, now that my head could be moved again, if only to reassure myself that we were headed away 
from Cthonia.  The cabin was still dark, and the Impie continued to sleep, breathing slow and even next to me in 
the dark.  The end of panic had left me euphoric, exalted, filled with art and blissed out on my body's own 
chemicals, and I wondered at him for missing this.  We were still at about 1.5 G's.  Enough to feel heavy, but not 
too heavy.


Silence filled the tiny chamber, broken only by the Rep's soft, steady breaths.  It was warm, and dark, and quiet, 
a womb that would birth me into a world I did not know to people I had never seen.  It was tranquil, lying there 
under one and a half G's.  I needed a good, stiff belt of engine cleaner, but other than that I was all good.  


I lay giddily still in the peaceful darkness and thought about Saint Ziggy.  The geezer had been a hell of a lover, 
and I was glad it was so.  I was glad I'd gotten to have him before I shook off Cthonia's dust, and I was glad as 
hell that he'd gotten to have me, too, both for what I owed him in both his guises and for other, nebulous reasons 
I didn't really want to dig out.  But I was seriously pissed off at him for not telling me who he was, for not 
giving me the secret heat of knowing who's back I was scratching up, for not trusting me with this secret until 
it was too late.  


Objectively, I could see the need for secrecy.  Rumik's people woulda been after him faster than spiders after 
blood given half a cold chance, and a talented brain scrambler can make you give up your gods, but knowing that 
didn't make me feel a damn bit better about it.  He had to know I'd rot down a shaft rather than rat him out.  
Surely he could have given me some sign that the arms I was wound in were the same ones that had been getting me 
what I needed for years.  


'Quit bitchin', 'Temi.'  I told myself.  'Ya know now.'  But it didn't help.  I'd had his strong shoulders under 
my hands and it had been amazing, fantastic, primal.  I'd be sculpting those shoulders over and over for years.  
They were just what I'd hoped for, dreamed of, expected from a man who could match me cut for cut in the mines 
and still carry his own ore at the end of the day.  But, thinking of all that brain power attached to those 
shoulders, pressed hard against my flesh and still silent was maddening.  Thinking of it all rotting away, 
willingly trapped on Cthonia was even worse.  Why the blue fuck had he decided to remain behind?


Abruptly, I itched to sculpt him.  I ached to reproduce his body in grantium.  I yearned to recreate him out of 
stone, my male Galatea, his shape drawn out of stone and heat and memory, sculpted to be mine forever, and my 
breath caught in my chest.  I panted in the dark, drowning in the desire to hear his voice, his real voice.  
Overcome by a need that would never be fulfilled.  Ironic that the smooth voice I'd been so sure was enhanced was 
his real voice, and all that gravel was actually the mask.  The worlds shifted under me, and my head was bent 
sideways wondering if the flesh I'd kissed was illusionary, too, and if his real face underneath it was a smooth, 
white Guy Fawkes.


I ached with the sensory illusion of that cold not-skin, pale and hard as stone, pressing against my lips.  I 
sobbed once in the dark, remembering cool, stiff kisses that had never been, so sharp in the eye of my mind that 
I could smell the polymer of the mask.  I might have cried out his names if I could have breathed to break this 
synesthetic spell.  I was pinned under the weight of memory that wasn't now, and it transfixed me more violently 
than gravity, and more surely than weight.


When the increase in gravity hit again, I was grateful.  It was real.  It was now, and it was palpable 
distraction.  Mundane, mediocre discomfort chased away the sadistic incubus in my mind, replacing him with 
deceleration.  Now it seemed that my unwelcome thoughts of Saint Ziggy were being squeezed out of me, and I let 
them go gladly, ignoring the wet drops that trailed down the sides of my face into my ears.  I couldn't be crying, 
Cthonians don't cry.

This time when the pressure let up, the lights came back on too, and the little ensign came bustling out eagerly.
  

“How was it?”  He asked, unsealing the exit hatch.  It cycled open and he returned to unbuckle my webbing.  I 
smiled at him, wiping the wet from my ears with my newly freed hands and wiping the turmoil from my mind at the 
same time.


“S'fine, thanks.”  I answered and rolled out of the couch with relief, leaving my unwilling memories lying in it.  
“Wouldn' wanna do it alla time, but I'm good.”


“Welcome aboard the Radiant Echo, Miss Grace.”  The ensign said, giving me a playful little bow from the neck and 
standing aside from the hatch.  “We'll be on our way in just a few moments, and I think there are some people for 
you in the hangar.”


“Thanks, man.”  I returned his little bow and he almost chuckled.  “Yer real nice.”


There were three bureaucrats waiting at the base of the shuttle ramp.  The first one stepped past me and went 
into the shuttle without speaking.  I figured he was checking to see if I'd eaten his cohort on the journey.


“Welcome, welcome!”  The second one boomed out at me, and the whole trip suddenly looked much, much better. 
 

He was a vision, voice smooth as glass, and deep as a mine shaft, and his ebony skin glowed like burnished antique 
gold.  He was huge, too.   Bigger than anything I'd ever seen, and richly dressed.  His thinsuit was black, tucked 
into high black boots, and he wore a tailored tunic of dark navy blue over it, piped in gold.  The uniform of an 
Imperial Commissioner.


The sash of his commission hung snugly over his left shoulder, wrapping him in the richly embroidered splendor of 
Imperial purple and gold.  He couldn't be more than a minor functionary since he'd been sent to meet an 
insignificant nobody from an unimportant backwoods planet, but to me he seemed as grand as a great Consul, and his 
chocolate face was split in a wide grin as he took my arm.  “I see that poor John was no fit escort for so 
talented and lovely a contestant.”


“Nah, poor guy.”  I said, looking back over my shoulder at the shuttle, where the first Impie was trying to wake 
his colleague.  “S'no problem.  He jus' don' like 'celeration.”


“Sadly true, I fear.  Still I would hope that this first unfortunately lacking example of Imperial manners has not 
colored your view of us.”  The Impie bowed slightly while I worked to make out his words.  “I am Alphonse Drake, 
of the Imperial Art Commission.”  


My eyes bugged a bit and he laughed, and that was a sound to get lost in.  It belled out of him like water from 
the earth, free, pure, sweet, and undeniable.  It was a laugh that would not be denied, and I was in no position 
to deny it.


“This is my colleague, Arandia Prince, from the art department of the Imperial University at Echolalia.”  The 
woman to his side bowed, and I nodded back.  I couldn't trust myself to actually say anything because she was 
blond and blue eyed and almost dressed in a kind of sheet thing that was mostly sheer and seemed to be just barely 
tied on.  There didn't seem to be anything under it, and  I was betting she had a perfect ass, because she had the 
most spectacular breasts I'd ever seen.


“Honored and pleased to meet you, grand artist, Miss Grace.” Her voice was as light and sweet as her dress, and 
her smile was flawless in her peaches and cream face.  I was back in  Rumik's office for a moment, and my hands 
tightened into fists.  “We of Echolalia are pleased and delighted to offer you our most fervent hospitality for 
the duration of this portion of the competition.  We are most joyous to serve you.  If you should need anything on 
your visit to our beautiful world, please do not hesitate a moment in asking.”


“Uh, thanks.”  I think if I hadn't been used to Saint's jabber, I might have fled back into the shuttle at the 
sheer number of words the woman used, but Alphonse Drake was taking my arm and his muscles were hard and 
distracting under my hand.  He was so damn big and so damn dark, and I had never seen anything so exotic.  I 
wondered what he looked like out of that tunic and if that enticing color ran all the way down, and my art rose in 
me and held me still long enough for my mental translation to kick in.  “Uh, I'm sure it'll be great.”


The Echolalian art woman nodded and turned to lead us toward the hangar door, talking non-stop about the beauties 
of Echolalia that were waiting eagerly for me to sample them when we arrived there.  Drake still had my arm, and 
I almost had to trot to keep up with the length of his strides.  I was used to being the tallest person around, 
and having this mountain of a man to keep up with would have been unnerving if it hadn't been so titillating.  
Every few steps he smiled down at me, and the warmth in his eyes surprised me.  If the Echolalian was typical of 
Impie women, I was still too tall, and had added way too muscular to the description.


The view of the woman from behind was just as magnificent as advertised and confirmed that no, she wasn't wearing 
anything under that thing, and yes, she did in fact have a perfect ass.  I followed along after it happily toward 
the hangar doors.


“You're scheduled to have dinner at the Captain's table tonight, in celebration of your achievements in the field 
of sculpture.”  She said at last, and I blinked several times while Drake laughed his deep bell again.  


“S'thousands of applicants, yes?”  I asked.  “How comes ya know I sculpt?”


 “Arandia and I are from the review board.”  Drake said jovially.  “Everyone here is quite a fan of yours, Miss 
Grace.”


“'Temi.”  I answered.  “Just 'Temi.  I'm no Admin to need titles an' stuff.”


“Very well then, just 'Temi.”  He repeated and bowed again, smiling his wonderful smile.  He kept staring at my 
hands and arms with his warming amber eyes, and the glance made me nervous.   Then again, maybe he just liked 
muscles and scars.  I finally decided I was going to like him, and together we followed the beautiful woman out 
of the hangar.  The corridor here had several viewports, and I stopped suddenly, looking out at the rapidly 
diminishing ball that was my homeworld.  The Radiant Echo was already underway, and we were rapidly leaving 
Cthonia behind in the cold, empty void.   I watched my world leaving me, and took a deep breath.  No time like 
now.


“I needa talk to an Imperial World Rep.”  I said to Drake.  He looked at me sharply.  “I gotta register a formal 
complaint.”


“I hope that John's performance as your escort was not that bad, madam.”  He sounded offended and I might have 
laughed but for the lump of grantium in my throat and belly.  “Surely there is no need for you to lodge a formal 
complaint against the man because he gets spacesick?”


“S'not against him.”  I reassured the large man.  “I needa register a formal complaint against Cthonia Mining 
Limited.”


“On what grounds?”  The Echolalian woman asked, her lovely face suddenly grave.


“Violation of the Imperial Sentients' Rights Act.”


By the time they were able to speak again, Cthonia was far, far behind us and dwindling fast.  I was gonna miss 
dinner at the Captain's table that night.  Preparing a nice cold feast of revenge against the Cthonian Admin for 
generations of malformed children was liable to be time consuming.