Chapter 20 Protocol and Power #2
When I return to reception, Lira is handling a crisis involving a Lyran diplomat's environmental requirements. I observe her, noting the subtle shifts in body language and tone as she addresses different species according to their rank. The complexity is dizzying.
“Sorry about that,” Lira says when the situation resolves. “Where were we?”
“Communication protocols.”
“Right. Your universal translator should be fully calibrated by now. It's programmed to automatically detect and translate all recognized languages.”
“All languages in the galaxy?”
“All registered languages,” Lira clarifies. “This distinction is important as some languages don’t register….”
“What do you mean?” I ask, but then with horror, I begin to connect the dots with what Dr. Veil said about my translator allowing others to understand me. “You mean it won't translate what the human slaves say unless they have a translator like mine?”
“Companions,” Lira corrects me automatically. “Most galactic translators don't include human languages in order to maintain a clear distinction between owner and—”
“Slave.”
This time, Lira doesn't deny it. “As you know, your translator overrides most galactic translators so that you will always be understood. But you should know, some companions are conditioned to communicate differently.”
“Conditioned?”
“It's not something we discuss openly, but yes.
Some trainers modify their companions' communication patterns deliberately.
It's considered a specialty feature in certain markets.” Lira's discomfort is obvious.
“I don't agree with it, but it's permitted under IGC regulations as a cultural practice. It’s one of the many laws that must be abolished now that humans are equal. And, Eve,” she says, catching my eye, “everyone working here believes you are equal.”
I want to mention Rae, but I hold back. There are always bullies.
“But there is always a learning curve to change,” Lira adds.
Before I can respond, two tall, insectoid beings with iridescent exoskeletons approach the desk. Lira greets them with the appropriate protocol, and I follow her lead.
As we handle their request, I notice the beings conversing quietly. My translator renders it into almost perfect English, but they assume I can't understand.
“The human seems adequately trained,” one comments. “Unusual to see Earth stock in service positions rather than naked with their legs spread.”
“A curiosity, no doubt,” the other replies. “Though I've heard their planet is considering a formal IGC application. Imagine, primitives who've barely mastered orbital travel applying for galactic recognition.”
“Their resources are the only valuable thing about that mudball. Though I admit their females have a kind of fleshy aesthetic appeal. Perhaps we should acquire one while the market remains unregulated.”
I maintain my professional demeanor while my rage bubbles beneath the surface.
When the guests depart, Lira looks at me with concern.
“I can’t apologize for every guest, and I wish I didn’t have to tell you that you'll probably hear worse. Many guests will assume you haven't been given a Reima Two translator and that you only speak Imperial. So, they’ll speak freely in their own language and activate Imperial to be broadcast on their translator when conversing with you. Denise and Yasmin asked Dr. Veil to—”
“No,” I say firmly, interrupting her. “There’s a certain pleasure I will take in serving guests who think humans aren’t fit for the job I’m doing for them.”
“Good. That’s the best way to look at it.”
We don't get to finish our conversation.
The front desk becomes busy, and the shift progresses with me absorbing more protocols, practicing greetings, and handling guest inquiries under Lira's guidance. By the time our replacement team arrives, I’m more than ready to call it a day.
My mind has been overloaded with information, and my emotions have been rubbed raw from the constant reminders of humanity's low status in the galaxy.
“You did well today,” Lira says as we prepare to leave. “The Sovereigns will be pleased.”
“Will they?”
“Yes. And the more you work, the better you’ll be able to field the slights better than I can protect you because I can’t gauge when they’re coming.”
“What do you mean?”
“The more you work, the more you’ll develop a look that says, don’t-you-dare-call-me-a-human-companion and guests will pick up on it.
” She then adds when I don’t reply, “I have a don’t-you-dare-comment-on-a-woman-working-off-planet look.
When I first started, men used to say the most horrible things to me because they could.
A lot of them carry resentment about the matriarchy, and they’d never be permitted to talk to a woman on-planet as some of them have taken the liberty to do off-planet.
I know this pales in comparison to your situation, but I hope you’ll see the same change. ”
“Was it the same for Denise?”
“No, but she wasn’t you. And between you and me,” Lira says conspiratorially, “I think she enjoyed being admired by guests as more of a companion than a receptionist.”
“I hope you’re right,” I say, but at the same time I wonder if that was really the case or if Denise just found it easier to go with the status quo.
As we part ways, I wonder how much the Sovereigns are paying Lira to work off-planet and if this is something that she wanted. Or, like me, was seduced by the prospect of more money.
There is so much I don’t know about the galaxy and its cultures.
Alone in my suite, I sit down at my desk and try to quiet all the echoes of the day in my head:
“Does the human speak?”
“Is she a gift to the guests?”
“Can she be programmed as a bed companion?”
It was all dehumanizing and I can’t help but wonder if it would have been worse if I hadn’t been wearing the Venus Lock.
On impulse, I access my computer’s search function and I type “Denise Donaldson” into the search field, expecting to be blocked.
To my surprise, several files appear. Most are locked, but one personnel record is accessible, likely an oversight in security protocols. I open it, and my heart begins to race.
The screen displays two images side by side.
The first shows Denise in a Celestial Spire uniform identical to mine.
She appears just as I remembered her—late twenties, wavy blonde hair, and dark eyes that crinkle at the corners.
Her posture conveys confidence, professionalism, and clearly a woman who took pride in her work.
The second image stops me dead.
It shows the same woman, but transformed.
She kneels naked except for an elaborately jeweled collar.
Her hair has been styled in an ornate arrangement designed for visual impact rather than comfort.
But it's her expression that horrifies me most—blank submission that erases any trace of the confident professional from the first image.
The file designation reads:
How did she go from employee to companion in just a few years? What happened to her here? I search for more information, but I can’t find anything useful except for this public file.
I switch off my terminal as if whatever happened to Denise is contagious and look out at the twin moons thinking about the conflicting stories Dr. Veil and Lira have told me.
It occurs to me; I know someone who will know exactly what happened to Denise. I spring up and rummage through my wanna-be Chloé handbag to find the square black card Cal gave me. Then, I ask the computer how to use it.
“The communication device can be activated by placing it on any flat surface in your room and stating the recipient's name and location,” the computer responds with artificial calm.
My hands shake as I place the black card on the nightstand. Exhaustion weighs on me, but my anger burns hotter. “Call Cal, Terra Sanctum, Earth.”
The card glows with a deep crimson light, pulsing like a heartbeat. For a moment, I think it won't connect. Then the light stabilizes, projecting a small holographic insignia of the Ascendant Alliance.
“Connecting,” says a mechanical voice.
Seconds stretch into a full minute. I pace the room, chewing my lower lip until I taste blood.
“Eve?” Cal's voice comes through, distorted at first, then clearing. “I didn't expect to hear from you so soon. How is—”
“You lied to me!” I cut him off. “About everything. The human slaves and Denise.”
“Eve, I—”
“Why did you show me that Facebook page? Was any of it real?”
“Yes, the page is real. But, I’m sorry to have deceived you. Denise isn't married on Earth.”
“Two people here have already told me two different stories about what happened to Denise, and I don’t want her story to become my story.”
“It's complicated. Denise became involved with Shadow Sovereign Lorian. Intimately involved.”
“Go on.”
“To him, she was recreation. When she realized he wouldn't make their relationship official, she became depressed, and Imperials believe humans become suicidal if left alone too long.”
“But she was working here. She wasn’t alone.”
“But the Sovereigns considered her to be alone because she was the only human, so it's rumored, not confirmed, that Shadow Sovereign Lorian sold her to one of his wealthy friends in the Empire.”
“Sold her?” The words feel dirty in my mouth. “Sold their employee.”
“To a good Imperial family with many pampered human companions. But something went wrong, and somehow she ended up with a crime lord named Kamos. He has a palace on a fringe world, and is renowned for collecting rare and beautiful things, including humans. That’s the official story management has been given by the Ascendant Alliance. ”
“Did Sovereign Lorian sell her to this crime lord for more money?”
“No. The Sovereigns are many things, but they would not have done that. No one I know knows how Denise ended up with Kamos. And believe me, I’ve asked. I still consider her my responsibility, you know? Just as you are.”
My legs give out. I sink onto the bed's edge. “And the Facebook page? You said it’s real. How’s that possible?
” I don’t know much about social media, but I’m pretty sure its coverage doesn’t reach the entire galaxy; but then again, maybe it does.
Maybe millions of aliens have accounts and are interacting with humans every day for a laugh. Or to screen for alien abductions.
“The technology isn’t that advanced, and I know Denise maintains her social media under Kamos’ supervision.
But, Eve, I need you to understand Denise isn't suffering.
Not physically. She has comfort and protection.
And she's pregnant with his child now. All intelligence says she's okay. And you’re in a better position, the Sovereigns have taken a special interest in you.”
“She's a fucking sex slave. I just saw her picture naked and collared. Don’t gaslight me.” I get goose bumps suddenly. “What kind of interest?”
“The kind that could keep you safer than Denise was and the kind that could give you access and influence.”
“If they're anything like every other grey-skinned man I met today, they only want me as a sex doll.”
“The Sovereigns can have any woman they want in the galaxy, but at the same time, I won't deny the possibility that they want you for sex,” Cal admits. “Although, Eve, there's power in being desired too.”
“You're asking me to prostitute myself and risk ending up in the same, if not worse, situation than Denise?”
“No, I’m telling you that the promise of sex is stronger than the act. Understand?”
“I think so,” I say, imagining myself as an alien courtesan, always flirting but never fully giving my body away, which will be easy with the Venus Lock. I don’t have a choice.
“Now listen, about Denise, you know that saying—‘if you can’t beat them, join them?’ I think that’s what happened to her.
But you’re different. You have never encouraged any man’s sexual attention, nor do you require it for your own self-worth.
What I’m trying to say, very clumsily, is that Denise’s weaknesses are not yours, so you don’t need to worry. Her story will not become your story.”
I don’t tell him about the Venus Lock because I assume he knows, and it’s embarrassing. Especially if it has to do with what I did on the Igo.
“You are the face of change for humans in the galaxy. I want it, the Sovereigns want it, and many in the galaxy want it.”
I wipe a tear from my cheek.
“I have to go before the Starlight Array picks this up as unauthorized and you get reprimanded for breaking your immersion training,” Cal says finally. “You can use this card three times in a galactic year for ten minutes of confidential talk. Sorry, I couldn’t afford more—”
“Wait,” I say, but he interrupts.
“Stay strong, Eve. The eyes of the galaxy are on you.”
The red light fades, and I'm alone again.
I pick up the black card, turning it over before sliding it back into my handbag's inside pocket.
It's surreal to think that only two weeks ago I was on that bus, wishing there hadn't been an accident.
Now I wonder if my guardian angel was trying to keep me safe from this.
I think about the woman next to me on the bus, whom I named Pythia. What did she say? If you push too hard, you might end up with the darker side of the fate you deserved.
Well, I certainly have landed on the darker side of something.
More alone than ever, I go to the beverage dispenser for water and find something already waiting for me. I assume it’s medical and something from Dr. Veil. Just one of the many decisions that has already been made for me.
I take the flask out of the dispenser. It’s warm to the touch, and makes a soft popping sound when I open it. I smell it. It’s faintly sweet. Without much thought, I take a sip.
The taste isn’t sugary—just thick. Heavy in a way that settles me almost instantly. My shoulders relax and my hands stop shaking.
All I want to do now is sleep. I guess the system has decided that for me too.