Chapter Two: Maskin
The moon shrine of Nethja was an ancient place, established when the Temadian people first developed space travel. Maskin stood between two ivory pillars as he watched the sun rising on the northern horizon. The large planet of Thoutle, seat of the Demante System and home to the noble houses, was still visible in the sky like a large, green jewel. Maskin's own home planet was a hardly-visible speck in the morning sun.
The warrior-slave had been on the front lines when the Apdratee attacked, trying to conquer the system. It was he who had led a single ship against their blockade after his Lord Commander had perished.
At the time, he had never seen anything outside the strict barracks where he and the other warrior-slaves were raised and trained to fight. After he had taken control of an Apdratee ship and broken a hole through the blockade, ending their siege, he had been brought to Thoutle to be awarded his freedom and the title of commander.
It was the first time he saw beauty. The planet was breathtaking. Everything was green and lush. He thought it must be paradise.
This moon, however, was even more beautiful. Flowers grew everywhere. There were so much color and such sweet scents perfuming the air that when Maskin first stepped foot on the moon, he thought he had died and had been taken to the nirvana all faithful worshippers went to.
Bjorn's presence had quickly reminded him it was not so.
Maskin scowled as he turned from the sunrise. That man was the final obstacle to all of his plans. If Bjorn became king, nothing would ever change. Warrior-slaves would still be ripped from their mother's arms as infants. They would still live and die without being allowed to see any beauty or have any choices.
So he did not have the time to appreciate the beauty he was in. He only had two months to impregnate the queen, after all.
He looked down as he finished the grass necklace he had been braiding. It was one of the few things that all warrior-slaves knew how to do. They rarely got any downtime, but when they did, they liked to make things with whatever resources were available. Necklaces such as these were used to express affection for one another. They were simple compared to the sapphire that was gifted among the higher ranks, but Maskin found a joy in the simple appearance of things made by hand.
It was his only hope that Cheryl would feel the same. If she didn't, then he had nothing to compete against Bjorn with. Failure was not an option.
Maskin wasn't afraid of dying for his attempts to become king. The odds had been stacked against him from the start, and he honestly hadn't expected to get this far. But he didn't want to be remembered as the warrior-slave who almost became king.
He wanted to be remembered as the king who changed everything.
The shrine itself was a wide space that included gardens, a lake, and several small cabins and pavilions. Cheryl was in a pavilion at the heart. The queen jumped when he entered the building. She gave him a look akin to terror, although she nodded and turned off the holographic view she had been using.
If he were smart, he would just lay her down where she was and lift her skirts. The more times he claimed her, the more likely his child would grow in her belly. He wouldn't be surprised if Bjorn had already had her dozens of times.
But she was so pretty, and in the black dresses, she favored she looked so innocent. Besides, he couldn't bear the thought of even kissing her when she looked at him like that. She wouldn't fight him, he knew that, but he wanted her to like him. He didn't want a queen who feared the times they were joined.
"I made this for you," he said gruffly, holding out the grass necklace.
A pink stain rose in her cheeks. "You did? For me?"
She took it. A small smile graced her face and Maskin was surprised when his heart skipped a beat. He coughed, shifting a little to the side. His reaction was just because he had little experience with women. The only females that warrior-slaves interacted with were the orbots that were gifted to the men who excelled in battle. Even then, they were only gifted for a night or two at most. When Maskin had first seen a flesh-and-blood woman, he had been shocked. They were soft and warm, not cold and hard-skinned like the orbots with their synthetic flesh.
"I don't think anybody has ever given me a gift before," Cheryl said. "What is it?"
"A necklace. Here." He unclasped the turquoise necklace that was around her neck and tied on the grass one instead.
Cheryl beamed as though it was more precious than celestial rubies. Her fingers stroked it. Maskin stared at them, imagining those fingers stroking his skin instead. Heat stirred inside of him. He leaned forward to kiss her. The human turned her head.
Maskin sat back and sighed. "We will have to engage in physical activity sooner or later."
"I know. I just… I don't think it's fair to be with one of you without letting both of you know who will have me first."
So Bjorn hadn't had her already? Maskin was surprised at that, though he tried not to show it. "And is that a decision you will make?"
Her fair, pink skin turned bright red. It made her hair look all the more golden. "Why do you want to be king?"
Maskin sat for a moment, considering her. She had been raised to be the queen, but like him, she was a slave. A temple-slave, pampered, her baby-soft skin indicating she had never worked a day in her life, but a slave nonetheless. She would understand what his goals were, wouldn't she?
"I want to bring about change. Our society is built around precepts that existed when we were still in the age of light speed travel. You and I are proof of that. I was taken from my family the moment I was born and raised by machines to be a machine myself. Not to think for myself, not even to have goals and dreams for the future. You were raised to be the queen, to be given to a man without any choice of your own. We were both meant to be docile and give up our lives in our own ways."
Cheryl's eyes were wide as she listened to him. Maskin couldn't help but smile wryly at her slightly horrified expression. He had seen it plenty of times when he talked with others in his division about rising above the rank he had been born with.
The change was frightening for people who were told society would fall if it were restructured.
"But how would we defend ourselves against outside threats?"
"We are not at war. If anything, we are headed towards civil war. Unrest grows as slaves educate themselves. I want to preserve our society. Things have to change. An empire built on backs that can break has a precarious existence. Besides, if a pampered boy like Bjorn who has spent his life being waited on hand and foot can be king, why not a man like me? I saved our world, Cheryl. What has he done?"
Cheryl ducked her head. "You make a good argument. But if I were not the queen, what would I be? I can't even choose between two men. How could I be trusted to choose my life?"
Maskin sighed. "And that is exactly why I think change needs to be made. We should all be taught to choose, whether well or poorly. Why should our lives be dictated by people in their sapphire chairs?"
"Thank you for the necklace." Cheryl scrambled to her feet. "I need to go."
She ran from him as though he carried the plague. Maskin sighed and leaned back. Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way. Perhaps he should just demand her.
But he wanted to be her choice, not the man that was forced on her. Would that happen? He repressed another sigh. He had to decide what was more important, his plans for the system or his desires for himself…
He just wished they didn't seem so far apart right now.