by Reagan Woods
Nora didn’t hear the last. She was too far under in a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Nine
Nora woke with a start and rushed for the small privy in the corner of her cabin. Hiking her toga around her waist, she made quick use of the toilet-like contraption. For a moment, even in the skin-pricking cold, she savored the relief of having slept her fill totally unmolested. Neither her own mind nor either of the male aliens had disrupted her much-needed sleep. Honestly, she couldn’t recall the last time that had happened. Some pendejo or another had been after her in one place or another since the tonto CORANOS had invaded Earth.
If her bladder hadn’t been full to bursting, she probably could have slept another ten hours. She was wide awake now though.
Determined to stay grounded in a positive head space, she ignored the skull-shaped knobs and whatnots that seemed to adorn every surface. Even the rim of the bowl sported gape-mouthed demons etched along the rim.
A shudder of disgust worked its way through her as she studied the fascinatingly gruesome art of the cabin. This wasn’t like a cult of the dead – a few of which she’d encountered over her years roaming the Outside with her small tribe of friends and family. The original aliens seem to be some sort of – she cocked her head to the side to study the mural done in black and white over the ceiling - power-hungry cannibals.
The stylized image of a three-headed female was as beautiful as it was disturbing. Tentacles – like from an octopus but smoother, without obvious suckers – radiated from a bi-pedal body, lifting various muscle-bound male figures toward her mouths. The jagged teeth of one of her mouths sunk into a severed head - the body to which appeared to be wrapped tightly in one of the sleek tentacles.
She shoved the icy trickle of fear back. There couldn’t be creatures like that in the universe. Could there? Clearly, these alien people were unbalanced. In the picture, throngs of aliens bowed down before the great beast as though waiting to be consumed. Gross.
With effort, she made herself look away from the scene. Her head needed to be in the game now if she were to survive. She couldn’t let the acts of one vicious group of psychos ruin her chances of convincing her new…friends?...keepers?...whatever they were – to take her home to Earth. If they wanted to raise and army and slap the CORANOS Galactic Alliance around a little, she wouldn’t say no to that, either.
Eyeing the sonishower with its trio of skeletons dancing around the transparent tube, she decided to suck it up. Lyon had practically forced her into the cleansing device last time around. She’d been terrified and trapped – a brutal combination.
However, she wasn’t going to let these new aliens see her as anything less than from here on out. Not if she could help it. That meant getting clean and being presentable. So, she stepped into the contraption and ran her hands over the controls to activate it.
The warmth of the tubes pulsed over her skin through the half-transparent cloth she wore. It was relaxing and comforting to get clean, but the waves seemed to be breaking her meagre clothing down. Since the cloth was likely disposable, that wasn’t too surprising, but she didn’t want to be naked again. The room was chilly and, damnit, she needed to keep a little dignity.
It was time she took her fate into her own hands. Once she was finished here, she needed to scrounge up some clothing – the non-disposable kind - from somewhere. Perhaps she would wander out and look for Lyon, let him know what she needed and see if he had any thoughts about it. Now that they could speak and understand one another, there was much to discuss.
Thinking just that, she exited the sonishower and headed for the door. Nothing happened as she approached. When Lyon entered and left the room, the door – using some sort of sensor she assumed – slid back automatically.
Nora frowned and touch the door panel lightly. Trailing her fingertips over the cool, smooth surface, she searched for any manual release or button she might be missing. There was a flat, black section of wall next to the door. Experimentally, she flattened her palm against it. Nothing.
Panic bubbled up her throat and she battled it back, pulled hard on her inner strength. She wasn’t as calm as she wanted to believe, it seemed. That was okay. But she couldn’t fall apart. Somewhere deep inside, she knew she wouldn’t be able to come back from that edge so easily again.
“Hold it together, girl,” she told herself aloud. “Think it through. Figure it out.”
What was happening here? If she wasn’t in any danger from these aliens, why would they lock her in her room? Dread, a cold hard ball of it, settled in her stomach. She remained a prisoner. Though the cell was bigger and more comfortable, it remained a cage.
Clearing her throat, she raised her voice, “Lyon!”
She waited patiently for several beats, but no reply was forthcoming. That was okay. Perhaps the aliens were sleeping. Maybe it was the middle of the night. She had no way of telling time, so that was reasonable. Possible. Even probable.
Digging her fingernails into her palms, she took a deep breath and stepped away from the door. Still, no one came. She began to pace.
“Don’t panic,” she muttered, running shaky hands through the ragged, wispy ends of her hair. “Do. Not. Panic.” Now she was talking to herself. Great.
No, her emotions weren’t nearly as stable as she’d hoped. Fighting back tears, Nora dropped to her knees in the middle of the room and hugged her arms tight around her body.
“This sucks,” she choked, rocking forward and back. She was so absorbed in containing her fear, she nearly missed the soft chime of the door.
Hastily, Nora climbed to her feet and swiped at her face. It wouldn’t do to let these alien men see her cry. No matter if they were CORANOS or crazy goth-death-worshipers, strength was the only thing these barbarous aliens seemed to respect. If she had to pretend to be strong while her spirit quaked inside her body, by God, that’s just what she’d do.
Chapter 10
Zocan stomped toward the stateroom where Lyon had stowed the female. He was short on sleep and good humor. How he wished he’d never agreed to rescue the occupants of the destroyed CGA vessel. That had been the beginning of the end of his carefree pirating days.
He slapped his hand against the palm plate impatiently. Answering a summons wasn’t high on his list of priorities, but the desperation in her calls had moved him to grudging action. This female was just another on his long list of problems. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe she deserved to be coddled after her ordeal. He simply didn’t have the time to be the one to do the coddling – nor did he care to lend his mate to that cause.
The door slid back. Zocan stepped inside and stopped abruptly to stare hard at the teary-eyed female. Because he didn’t want to upset her, he worked overtime to keep his face and posture neutral and unthreatening. He felt singularly unprepared to deal with her today, but Lyon was busy. So here he was.
She’d shorn her dark locks into a choppy, shoulder-skimming mess since he’d last seen her. The cut had obviously been out of necessity as the hopelessly tangled mass had hung well past the middle of her back when first he saw her. Frankly, the choppy cut did nothing for her round, sunken face. Though stylish hair likely wasn’t high on her list of concerns.
Earnest dark eyes blinked rapidly up at him. The moisture that had clung to the edges of her lower eyelashes moments before was quickly wiped away by small, prettily shaped hands. A spark of intelligence lit her sallow features. That was something at least.
Zocan took a deep, calming breath. None of this was her fault, he reminded himself sternly. It was time to behave like the high-born male that he was. Even if it was the very last thing he felt like doing.
Now that he had the opportunity to study her, he saw similarities to the other Yurthers he’d known. The delicate facial bones as well as a certain fragility of wrist and ankle spoke of common ancestry. This Nora was much taller than Lacy had been although she didn’t quite measure up to Lara’s height.
She spoke, her ragged voic
e dragging him from his curious perusal, and Zocan waited impatiently for the mechanical translation. “Sorry. You’re Zocan, right? Lyon told me to call out if I needed anything.”
“I am Zocan,” he confirmed. “What is it you need? Are you hungry? Thirsty? How can I be of service?” He bit the questions out rapidly, anxious to return to his work. With Z’cari still unconscious and Natar tending his mate, that left only him and Lyon to see to the ship, monitor for threats, and plan an exit strategy. Frankly, this female was trouble they didn’t need and couldn’t afford.
Head cocked to the side, she listened to the translation. Her eyes narrowed and her lips firmed into a flat, unhappy line.
“You can unlock the door, show me where I can find food and drink, and get me some better clothes,” she snapped back. “That way, I won’t have to pester you for every little thing.”
While he hadn’t intended to cause insult – at least overtly, he couldn’t help but approve of the way she lined up her demands and ran down the list.
“Follow me.” He beckoned, spinning around to lead her into the dim hall.
Lyon had found a way to disable the holographic and three-dimensional Ashwamaic ‘art’ that afflicted the corridors and common areas. There was nothing to be done for the laser etchings that adorned every inch of the walls and ceilings.
At least there wasn’t any direct lighting to highlight the horrific figures. They were trying to stay inconspicuous and the art installations shot their energy expenditures out of whack, so the halls were illuminated by low-level path lighting only.
Leading her past several closed doors, he brought her to the small food prep area. “You can request food – mostly deep space rations like so.” He showed her the basics of the touch-pad dispenser. “Aquaglobes are stored here.” The pull-out container was common sense, but he showed her how to operate it anyhow. “You should try to eat something every few hours. At your size, you’ll require three to four aquaglobes per light cycle.” He pointed to the low-emitting lights placed high in each corner of the room. They mimicked a solar rhythm - which was easier on the body than constant high-output lighting - and were used in lieu of old-fashioned time pieces.
Avid eyes watched his every movement. She silently accepted the ration bar he handed her and selected an aquaglobe at his urging.
For a few moments, he watched her fidget. She turned her gaze to her semi-sheer garment before glancing up at him bashfully. When she rocked back on her heels and gave him that hopeful half-smile, his heart flipped with pity.
He quashed it. Too many Lyarans depended on him to figure things out and get back on track.
He frowned impatiently. “I don’t have time to search this ship for appropriate clothing.”
Her shoulders slumped and her mouth, pouty and pink after biting into the aquaglobe, trembled. He watched as she firmed her jaw and nodded in understanding.
Zocan let out a longsuffering sigh. He was defenseless when it came to a female in distress.
“Lyon has probably already scoured the place. He would have brought you anything he found,” he muttered. “Oh, alright. I’ll put your palm print in the system. and you can do a search on your own.”
This time, her smile was brilliant. Her little hands gripped one of his, the shock of the unexpected contact caused him to freeze up momentarily.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “You can’t know what this means to me.”
Her words were a blow to the stomach. He didn’t want to like this pitiful female. Still, she had a personal grace, an ingrained dignity, that was hard not to appreciate. “It is nothing,” he demurred stiffly. “Just stay out of the trophy room. You won’t like it,” he warned.
Chapter 11
The cramped kitchen was plain and undecorated compared to the rest of the ship. Nora preferred the space without the showy homages to death and war that marred every other surface on the ship.
A meagre table folded down from one wall. Four angled seats hung from the table. When she slid onto one, her legs dangled inches above the floor.
After Zocan had scanned her palm into the ship’s security system, he left her alone. He was either wildly trusting or she looked so pathetic that he didn’t believe her capable of doing any harm. Sadly, he came across as more canny than naïve.
She must look like a pathetic mess. Thank God, there wasn’t a mirror here. She didn’t need to be any more demoralized than she already was.
Sitting at the small table, she inhaled the gritty ration bar he’d gifted her and pondered her situation. She had no idea how long she’d slept. Given her hunger level, it must have been quite some time. The ration bar – grainy with a sharply sweet flavor - did leave her feeling nicely satiated and a little muzzy. If she weren’t on her guard, she could fall asleep right here, she thought with a yawn.
Quickly, she turned her attention to the ball of hydration. It - the aquaglobe - was sort of like eating tasteless gelatin, but she consumed it without hesitation. She’d nearly starved to death aboard Jorkan’s shuttle. Sustenance was something she would never take for granted again.
Another thing she didn’t want to take for granted was the opportunity to affect her situation. Now that she could talk to Zocan and Lyon, she thought of a hundred questions she should have asked when she had the opportunity. Like: who were they? What were they? What happened to the guards? What did they intend to do with her? Most importantly, would they take her home?
Earth hadn’t exactly been wonderful these last several years. When the CGA had invaded, life slid from tolerable to terrible. But she belonged there. It was home.
How long had it been since she’d been home? She was operating under the assumption that she hadn’t been sleeping in the regen bed aboard the stolen shuttle for very long. But what if she had? What if hundreds of years had passed?
The thought had her sluggish heartbeat picking up steam until she really gave it some thought. Somehow, she didn’t think that was possible. She’d heard of those beds restoring life, but not prolonging them to unnatural lengths. It seemed more likely that only a few weeks or months had passed. That’s what she was going with until she knew differently.
The questions and the worries kept piling up no matter how she tried to rationalize them away. She should probably find Lyon or Zocan and coax what information she could out of them. Yet, she hesitated to upset the balance – or to make them rethink this boon of autonomy they’d extended to her. Zocan had intimated they were busy and that she was an unexpected complication for them. It was probably better not to rock that boat just yet. Benevolent neglect was far preferable to them throwing her out an airlock or whatever pirates might do with stowaways.
At this point, she felt certain she was dealing with pirates. Why else would these golden-haired aliens treat her so differently than the others had? Shuddering, she made a conscious decision not to think about those long days of mistreatment. There would be time enough to review those horrors when she was safely back on Earth.
The hard seat was cold through her toga and she felt listless now that she’d eaten. That wouldn’t do. She was on a mission to get home. First thing, she had to find warmer clothing.
Dusting her hands off, she stood, the balled up the wrapper from her ration bar in hand. She two-pointed it into the small receptacle and spun on her heel. It was time to begin her search.
The scream ripped out of her throat as she came face-to-chest with an unfamiliar alien. Without thinking, she slapped at the hands that tried to grip her elbows and back-pedaled as fast as she possibly could. “Get away from me! Get away! Get away!”
She couldn’t hear the translation program over the beating of her own heart – or maybe it was her shrieks. Either way, the panic obliterated her ability to reason. She was trapped, trapped, trapped.
“What -!” Lyon rushed in through the open door, sucking up more of the air in the room. Nora tried to get a grip, succeeding only in dampening her wild shrieks down to hoarse whimpers as she crawled on
to the long countertop and wedged herself into the space between the counter and a storage cabinet.
Lyon’s broad face was furious as he grabbed the stranger and pushed him closer to the door, standing as a shield between Nora and the threat. “Natar! What did you do to her?”
“I-me? I didn’t do anything!” Natar’s eyes went wide as he raised his palms in a ‘hands-off’ gesture. “I came in to grab a bar. She ran into me and had some sort of panic attack.”
Nora’s head cleared in time to hear the translated answer. Heat flooded her face as both aliens turned to her.
“I-I’m s-s-sorry,” she managed to stutter, placing a shaking hand over her galloping heart. Now that she was thinking clearly, she saw the resemblance. The two male aliens were clearly of the same species with their golden looks and exotic eyes. “I didn’t know. I, uh, thought there were only the two of you. I’m sorry,” she repeated lamely.
Lyon approached her with his hands outstretched. “Nora,” he said calmly, waiting patiently as the translation filtered through. “Come down and meet Natar. He won’t harm you. Come on,” he encouraged.
Sheepishly, she scooted out of her hiding place and took Lyon’s hand. Her toga caught on the edge of the counter and she heard it rip. Inwardly, she cringed, but she held her head high as she stood before the two aliens.
“I’m sorry I caused such a scene,” she apologized with as much dignity as she could muster. “Every time I think I’ve got my head on straight, I realize just how out of my depth I am.”
“Ah,” Natar shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Panic is understandable after your…ordeal,” he offered with a sympathetic look. “I’m going to just grab a bar and return to monitoring Z’cari.” His gaze turned expectantly to Lyon.
“Z’cari is Natar’s mate,” Lyon explained conversationally as he gathered a bar from the dispenser and passed it to Natar. “We number only four.”
