Act I - Part Two
“Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Did you?”
“You’re not like the others.”
Of course not, Philippa thought. But the night is young, and she has time to spare.
“In what way?”
“You think too much.”
“Do I?” Philippa hummed as her hand wandered down the naked body pressed against her own, still fully dressed in leathers.
“The customers, they are not nice,” the girl bit her lip. “They’re mostly noise.”
“Maybe I should bring you with me tomorrow.” Philippa chuckled. “What better way to bring in a new era than to have you on my lap?”
It would certainly make it more bearable – there are better uses for time and resources than hours of political theatrics and ancient formalities in the name of tradition, Philippa would rather deal with another one of Leland and Pike’s shenanigans than being stuck on the dais for twelve hours of bureaucratic clownery.
As much as she hates to admit it, Leland is right: bureaucracy is where fun goes to die. It may be her own coronation, and even though she had spent her entire life suffering countless fools to be in this position – there are far better, more pleasurable, positions to be in than sitting on a golden throne. Like lying here with a comely albeit inexperienced Orion girl in her arms, not that her lack of experience made this any less enjoyable – on the contrary, actually.
Though, perhaps at another time, another place, Philippa could very well be running an establishment like this instead.
The girl pulled away, looking up at Philippa, “You’re not Terran.”
“Bold of you to tell me what I am.”
“But you’re different.”
“I should hope so.” In the blink of an eye, Philippa flipped her over. Raising an eyebrow at the girl’s widening eyes as she pins her wrists above her head. “I am the emperor.”
There is a certain rightness to the title that Philippa did not expect, nor can she explain it – not that she needs to.
Philippa had spent years silently studying for a future in engineering before even stepping foot in the Academy, breezing her way through the program while drinking her fellow cadets under the table every other day or so. She graduated at the rank of lieutenant and was serving aboard the Archimedes’ Flame when she realized that as long as there is power over her, her actions will always be dictated by those above her. Her mother may have been violent at worst and mostly neglectful at best, but an entire childhood spent learning how to avoid triggering her mother’s mercurial temper prepared her for the subtleties of politics and kept her head off the spike for two decades as she climbed her way up the ranks.
A rebellion, a coup, and a civil war later...
She succeeded.
Now, for as long as she stands on the dais – her word, and hers alone, is law. As trivial as a title may be, whatever weight it carries, that is for her to decide.
And what is the point of a coronation if even the emperor herself can’t enjoy herself?
“I’ve never been with an emperor before.”
“Is that what they taught you to say?” Philippa laughed. “Tell me, how does a sweet thing like you end up here?”
The answer is obvious, whether enslaved against their will or out of free will, there are few uses for Orions in this universe.
The girl turned her face away. “Does it really matter?”
“No.” Humming, Philippa gripped her chin and forced the girl to look at her. “But I have a curious nature.”
“What is there to say?” The girl shook her head. “We don’t get to choose our destinies.”
“There is no destiny,” Philippa scoffed. “Except the one we make for ourselves.”
And there lies the reason for their inferiority. Terrans did not become the superior race by feeling sorry for themselves or looking at advanced alien technology with envy, if they did, the Vulcans would have become their overlords centuries ago.
If Philippa had accepted everything fate tossed her way, she would live and die without ever stepping foot outside her ancestral homeland on the Malay peninsula. We all know how that turned out, she thought.
But then, the girl smiled.
Shaking his head, Leland looks around the cabaret in disbelief.
“I can’t say this is what I expected when you told us that we do what we do, so you can do what you do.” Leland grimaced when one of the moving blue lights flashed across his face as he took a sip from his glass of Andorian ale.
“You should know me better than that.” Philippa tilted her head to the side, raising an eyebrow at him, whether he was wincing from the alcohol or the lights, she couldn’t tell anymore. “You’ve grown soft.”
“And you’ve grown cruel.”
“Have I?” Philippa leaned back, turned her attention to the stage they're sitting next to, eyeing the Orion young man attempting to make a show out of untying and stepping out of the ribbons of black leather that decorate his muscular frame, his body awkwardly moving to the melodies an Orion woman is playing on what appears to be a zither, before turning back to Leland.
“Maybe not.”
“Maybe you’ve had too much to drink,” Philippa downed the last of her Klingon bloodwine. “You’ve always had a much higher tolerance for stupidity than for alcohol.”
As if making a point, he met her gaze, and took another drink from the shot glass of blue alcohol, gulping it down without a word. Just when Philippa thought he’d be silently nursing his drink for the rest of the night, he spoke.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Such a worrier,” Philippa rolled her eyes, twirling her hair around her fingers. “Keep that up and you’ll end up losing what little hair you still have on your head.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Have a little faith, Leland,” Philippa chuckled. “You're the one that brought me to this insufferable place – you don’t get to be surprised what I do with my time here.”
“I-” Leland sighed. He went quiet for a moment, eyebrows tightly knit in thought.
Finally, he looked at her.
“Do you love her?”