by Lili Zander
Who volunteers to leave Earth behind and travel to an alien planet for six months? What kind of person chooses to trust the emissaries when they promise our safe return, guaranteed by the High Emperor of Zoraht himself? Why would anyone line up to be poked and prodded by alien scientists?
The answers are simple. Money. Adventure. And in my case, a lack of anything left on Earth to live for.
Schultz salutes us briskly and departs, clattering down the ramp. There are no windows on the sides of the ship, so I can’t see the crowds outside. Maybe some of the other women have family watching them depart. Not me. I have no family left. My mother left when I was ten, and my father died of leukemia two months before the cure came. Yeah, I know. Irony.
I watch as Beirax and Mannix hold their palms over several large panels in the back, which slide open to reveal the stasis pods. Ever seen a picture of the capsule hotels in Japan? That’s what these resemble. “Are we going to be awake during the trip?” I blurt out without thinking.
This time, Beirax actually rolls his eyes. “It is a stasis pod, Viola Lewis. By definition…” His voice trails off, and he sneers at me.
Yeah. I’m making a great first impression.
I awaken with a lurch and bang my head against the ceiling of the stasis pod. “Ouch,” I groan, rubbing at the spot. Pain wars with excitement and excitement wins.
We’re on Zoraht.
The panel opens, and I peer out eagerly. I’m here. I’m on a different planet, halfway across the galaxy. I’m going to see an alien world.
Then I realize that something’s wrong. The three Zorahn are standing in the center of the craft, and one of them, Beirax, has a weapon pointed at the other two.
“How dare you?” The female Zorahn, Raiht’vi, speaks through clenched teeth. Got to give her credit for staying calm in this situation. Mannix looks like he’s going to wet himself. “What are you doing? This is treason.”
“No.” Beirax’s voice is eerily calm. When I hear his tone, goosebumps rise on my skin. Whatever is going on, my instincts warn me not to get in the middle of it. I don’t want to know how effective the Zorahn weapons can be.
Over the whine of the engines, I think I hear the other women stir in their stasis pods. Don’t move, don’t move, I think frantically. Don’t do anything to draw attention to yourselves.
“I commit no treason,” Beirax continues. “I answer to a higher authority.”
“Traitor.” Raiht’vi looks ready to tear Beirax apart from limb to limb with her bare fingers. “There is no higher authority than Lenox.” She glances at the cockpit and sees something on the screen that causes her to gasp out. “No,” she whispers. “That is the prison planet. You cannot mean…” Her eyes go wild, and her voice rises in pitch. “What are you doing, Beirax? No ship can survive the asteroid belt. We will all die!”
At her side, Mannix seems to shrivel, but I barely notice. What does Raiht’vi mean—we will all die? What is Beirax planning?
Beirax draws himself to his full height. “For a thousand years,” he intones, “we have sinned against the Draekons. We have used them and imprisoned them. We have exiled them to a harsh and hostile world.” His eyes glow with an inner fire. “And we, the Order of the Crimson Night, have sworn never to forget.”
What the hell kind of fucked up politics have we landed in the middle of? Sinned. Imprisoned. Exiled. Whatever Beirax is talking about, it isn’t giving me the warm and fuzzies.
As I watch, my heart pounding in my throat, the ship’s trajectory changes. A red planet looms in the view screen, and the nose of the ship tilts inexorably toward it.
We start to descend.
Scratch that. Descend suggests that we’re landing with a measure of control. From the panic etched on Raiht’vi’s face, from the way my stomach’s churning, I don’t think we’re landing.
We’re crashing.
“The Draekons are dead, Beirax.” Raiht’vi tries again, one last desperate appeal. “You must let me correct our course before it’s too late. Our ship cannot survive this landing.”
Beirax remains unmoved. “I chose exile and even death so the Draekons may live again.” His voice rises to a chant. “It is foretold. The humans were the seed that gave life to the Draekon. And I, Beirax, will provide the seed anew. The human women will restore the Draekons to the glory that is their birthright.”
Part of me struggles to understand what’s going on. The other part of me is frozen in horror. We’re going to crash on an alien world. One that’s reduced Mannix to a blubbering mess, one that’s caused Raiht’vi’s face to whiten with terror.
The hum of the engines grows louder. We’re definitely falling now. Asteroids hammer at the body of the ship from every direction. I cling onto the ridged walls of my stasis pod, trying to hold on. I don’t know if the others are awake. All I can do is hope that they’re safe.
With a dreadful screech, the right wing breaks off. I see it on the view screen, the metal hurtling away from us. The ship immediately rolls into a spiral. Panels spring open, their contents erupting into the main area.
It is chaos.
The ship gets hotter, and it becomes difficult to breathe. My stomach is churning. A sudden reel of the ship has me flying through the air, tumbling toward the walls.
Then I collide against a hard surface with a sickening thud, and everything goes dark.
2
Arax:
“I dreamed about you last night,” I tell Nyx as the two of us jog through the plains, pursuing a herd of argangana. The swift-footed beasts are difficult to catch, but they’re our main source of meat in this world. The rainy season is almost on us—yesterday, the green moon Uzzan had barely been visible in the night sky—and we need to stock up on food ahead of the torrential downpours that flood the lowlands and make hunting impossible.
“Should I be flattered?” Nyx’s lips curve into a sly grin. “Has the lack of women in this world finally changed your preferences, Firstborn?”
I laugh despite myself. On Zoraht, Nyx’s words would be treasonous, but one of the things I like the most about the dark-haired man is his complete lack of reverence. Some of the other exiles still cling to the rigid social structures of Zoraht. Not Nyx.
“It wasn’t that sort of dream.” My smile fades as the memories come to the forefront.
Lines of young men await the Testing; I’m one of them. Nyx is in line, too, his sleeve rolled up, showing the nineteen tattoos on his forearm.
“We were in the main market area of Vissa, you and I. It was the time of the Testing.”
“Ah.” Nyx’s face turns sober. None of us like to remember the day we tested positive for the Draekon mutation. “I wasn’t tested in Vissa. My Testing was in Giflan.”
Giflan, the city by the sea, with its purple cliffs and soft blue skies. We had a home there. I remember running along the interior corridors, weaving through the throngs of people, Lenox at my heels, the guards panting behind us as they struggled to catch up with their young royal charges.
“Mine was in the Royal Palace,” I reply. “But in my dream, we were side by side in the market tents.”
The indigo-clad Scientist holds the golden-tipped needle of the Draekon tester against my flesh and pierces my skin. Nineteen times, the tester has flashed green. This time, it flashes crimson.
“Do you know what it does?”
The argangana are tiring. The herd’s pace slows, and we are close to catching up with them. I reach for my throwing knives. At my side, Nyx does the same. “What?”
“The Draekon mutation,” Nyx replies. “Do you know what it does? There are rumors, but the truth is sealed for most citizens.”
Our footsteps slow as we near the herd. We will need to bring down six of the beasts so we have enough to eat during the rainy season. Nyx and I have outpaced the other hunters, but Rorix and Ferix are at our heels, as are Vulrux and Thrax.
“The prevailing theory in the back streets of Vissa,” Nyx continues, “is that the
Draekon mutation is a ploy hatched by the Highborn and the scientists to keep the populace afraid and obedient.” He shoots me a sidelong look. “Until I saw you on the Exile ship, I would have said the same thing.”
Until he saw the Firstborn of Zoraht, exiled along with the others. The Draekon mutation does not care for the blood status of its victims. Highborn or Lowborn, no one is immune.
Nyx is watching me carefully, waiting for my reply.
According to the sealed records of the ThoughtVaults, twelve hundred years ago, the scientists created a race of soldiers called Draekons who could turn into beasts at will. These beast-men conquered the stars and expanded the Zoraht Empire, but over time, they rebelled against their masters and sought freedom from a life of war.
Terrified at the thought of their creations running amok, the Zorahn scientists sought to kill the Draekons, but they were only partially successful. They couldn’t completely wipe out the Draekon gene. It manifests itself in the general population and seems resistant to eradication.
Since the scientists can’t destroy it, they’ve opted for the next best thing. They round up anyone who possesses the Draekon mutation, and they exile them on a prison planet.
Do I believe I’m going to transform into a beast? No, of course not.
Only the scientists know what the Draekon mutation does, and they are always stingy with their information. Yet, it is the reason for our exile on this prison planet. For sixty seasons, we’ve been cut off from our families and our home. For sixty seasons, we’ve languished in this jungle world. Here we will remain for the rest of our lives. There is no hope of rescue—no Zorahn pilot possesses the reflexes required to navigate the asteroid belt surrounding this planet without wrecking their ship.
Our lives are simple. Hunt and gather food in the lowlands during the dry season. Retreat to the high cliffs when the rains come. Survive.
Draekon mutation or not, this is now our home.
“What does it matter?” I say finally, my tone dismissive. “Here we are, and here we will remain.” Spotting my target, I throw my knives with both hands. Two argangana fall.
Nyx brings down two more without speaking. The rest of the herd stampedes.
We stride forward to retrieve our knives and are about to set off in pursuit of the herd once more when Nyx grabs my shoulder. “Arax,” he says, pointing upward, the tone of his voice urgent. “What’s that?”
I look up. Something is dropping from the sky, the air aflame around it. As we watch, it falls faster and then it goes out of view, hidden behind the Na’Lung cliffs.
We’ve been on this planet for sixty seasons; we’ve never seen anything like it. “Is it another exile batch?” Nyx wonders out loud.
“Unlikely,” I reply at once. “The scientists are not fools. They will not drop another exile batch so close to us.” Though we’ve been here for years, we have yet to see any other signs of habitation. There’s never been a trace of the four exile batches sent ahead of us.
My heart races in my chest. Could that object in the sky be a ship? Could it be a ticket out of this planet? I must know.
“It’s a day’s journey to the far side of the Na’Lung cliffs,” Nyx says. “I’m assuming we’re going to investigate?”
The sun is setting. We have only enough time to mark our kills so that the others can find them, and seek shelter for the night. The lowland jungle is no place to linger after dark; it’s too dangerous.
“Yes,” I reply. “We leave at first light.”
3
Viola:
Someone is screaming.
I open my eyes slowly. Everything hurts. When I reach up to touch my forehead, it comes away wet with blood.
“Where am I?” I mutter, trying to remember, then everything comes rushing back to me. The argument between Beirax and Raiht’vi. The ship crashing on something called the Prison Planet.
“That’s a good question, Viola.” Harper’s face looms over mine. “Are you okay?”
Not even a little bit. “I think so.” I try to sit up, and a wave of dizziness overtakes me. “How long have I been out?”
Harper grimaces, dabbing at my cut with a piece of white cloth. It’s a pillow case from one of the stasis chambers, I realize. “As best as I can tell, two hours.” She sounds strained and her hand, as she reaches to help me, trembles.
The fog in my head clears a little. “Is everyone fine?”
Harper’s eyes swim with tears. “Janet’s dead,” she says. “One of the Zorahn men is as well.”
“Shit.” I must be numb because I feel nothing more than a twinge for poor Janet, who had been so concerned about the safety of the stasis pods. “Which Zorahn? Beirax or Mannix?”
“I’m not good at names,” she replies. “The one with brown tattoos.”
“That’s Mannix.” I get up, ignoring the way the room swims around me. I can be sick later. “Who’s screaming?”
“Olivia. She’s broken her leg.” She shudders. “We tried to set it, but it’s a bad break. The bone is sticking out. Sofia’s trying to staunch the bleeding. Paige, Felicity, and Bryce are still in stasis, and I don’t want to open the chambers to find out if they’re okay.”
I grab her shoulder to steady myself and take stock. It’s not a pretty picture. We’re in the main passenger area. There’s a giant hole in the body of the ship, where the wing tore away. The ship must have come to rest on its side because the hole is above my head.
“The air must be breathable,” Harper says quietly. “Otherwise we’d all be dead.”
I hope for all our sakes that she’s right because there’s no way to make this ship airtight. Ignoring the outside for the moment, I transfer my attention back to the ship and immediately wish I hadn’t. Janet’s body is crumpled against one wall, a huge metal spike sticking out her belly, blood drying all around her, the smell tangy and metallic.
I hastily turn away from her before I lose the contents of my stomach, but the next sight isn’t prettier. Olivia’s lying on the floor, writhing in pain, and when I see the white bone, my belly churns again.
Ryanna’s leaning against the other wall, holding a wad of cloth against her forehead. May’s sitting next to her, her right arm hanging limply at her side. “I hit the wall pretty hard,” she says when she notices me staring. “And Ryanna cut herself.” She gives me another look. “You’re bleeding again.”
“It’s just a flesh wound,” I reply automatically, dabbing the cut again with the pillowcase, my eyes continuing to scan the room. Harper’s moved back next to Sofia, and the two women are trying to comfort Olivia. I turn my attention away from the weeping redhead and set off in search of the three Zorahn.
I find them in the cockpit. Mannix’s body is twisted at an odd and unnatural angle. Harper’s right; he’s dead.
Raiht’vi’s eyes are closed, and her breathing labored. Beirax, the cause of all this turmoil, is in even worse shape. His entire torso is torn open, and bright blue blood is everywhere. I feel a hysterical sob well up in my throat when I register the color of his blood, and my knees start to shake. Alien blood is blue. Who knew?
“Viola.” Harper hears the wild giggle that escapes my lips, and she’s instantly at my side, her hands around my shoulders. “You’re in shock. Pull yourself together.”
I shake my head to clear it, and the room spins around me. Dumb move. Don’t do that again, Vi.
This is something out of a nightmare. We’ve crashed on an alien planet. What the hell are we going to do?
Beirax moans in pain and that sound spurs me to action. “We need a plan,” I say out loud.
“No shit, Sherlock.” Harper’s voice is dry. “Any ideas?”
What would happen on Earth if a ship crash-landed? It would disappear from radar, and the alarm would be sounded almost immediately. I can only hope that space travel is the same way, and the Zorahn know we’ve crashed. If they do, how long will it take to send a rescue mission?
I make my way back to the main area
. “Anyone know what day it is?” I ask the women there. “On Earth, that is.”
Ryanna looks up. “There was a timer in my stasis pod,” she replies. “It was counting down from ten days.”
“There was?” It’s a good thing I decided to be a botanist, not a detective. I’d barely even noticed that there was a thin mattress pad and a pillow before I’d gone under. Sure enough, Ryanna’s right. There is a countdown of some kind, and it’s showing that there are still four days to go.
Wherever we crashed, we’re only four days away from Zoraht.
Help could be coming for us in less than a week.
Hope trickles through me. One week. We just need to survive on this unknown planet for a week, and then it’ll be over. The Zorahn will find us; I’m certain they will. As the emissaries kept telling us, we’re under the personal protection of the High Emperor himself. That’s gotta count for something, right?
Olivia’s cries have died down. Sofia’s sitting on the floor next to her, looking drained. “She’s out.” She nods in the direction of her small doctor’s bag. She’d insisted on bringing it with her, and God, I’m glad she did. “I gave her something for the pain, but the relief is only temporary.”
“You did good,” I say encouragingly. “Help is going to get here in a few days. All we need to do is manage until then. We’re going to be okay.”
The women look up, their faces hopeful, and I feel like there’s a giant spotlight on me. “Here’s the plan,” I say brightly. “We need to get the injured people into the stasis pods. That’s our best shot at keeping them alive.”
Sofia looks relieved at my words. “That’s a good idea,” she says. “Beirax’s injuries especially…” Her voice trails off, and she shudders. “I don’t have the slightest idea what to do. I don’t know anything about Zorahn anatomy.”
None of us do. While the Zorahn showed up knowing everything about us, we know startlingly little about them. Until I saw Beirax’s blood, it didn’t even occur to me that it would be a different color.
