That these Wojonik moved through the crowd with the systematic precision of a search pattern made my warrior instincts prickle with unease. Their yellow eyes swept faces, lingered on certain individuals, and dismissed others. They were hunting something—or someone.
The line stretching from Space Pearl’s entrance snaked down the corridor like a living thing, beings of every description waiting patiently for the chance at the galaxy’s most celebrated cuisine. I took my place behind an Irvikuva couple whose long arms intertwined in an elaborate display of affection.
A few moments later, a boisterous group of Bojovik joined the queue behind me, deep voices booming with laughter as they recounted some shared adventure. The press of beings and increasing volume made the corridor feel suddenly smaller,more confined. The sound of jovial conversation seemed to press against my eardrums, and I felt my skin begin to prickle.
Since the torture, crowds had become my enemy. The press of bodies, the cacophony of voices, the unpredictable movement of so many beings in close proximity all combined to trigger something panicked deep in my chest.
The air felt thick and unbreathable, as if someone had sucked all the oxygen out. I tried to draw a breath, but it came shallow and quick, barely filling the top of my lungs.
Bodies everywhere. Too many bodies. They moved like a living tide, bumping, brushing, their heat radiating against my skin. A woman’s elbow grazed my arm, and I flinched as if burned.
My heart—goddess, my heart—was trying to break free from my ribcage. The pounding echoed in my ears, drowning out everything else until it became a war drum marking time to my terror. Sweat beaded on my forehead, cold despite the warmth of recycled air.
Get out. Get out. GET OUT.
The thought consumed everything else. My eyes darted frantically, searching for an exit, but all I saw were more faces, more bodies, more obstacles. The walls seemed to pulse inward with each breath I couldn’t quite catch.
A youngling’s laugh rang out, sharp and sudden, and I jumped as if a weapon had fired. My hands shook. The floor beneath my feet felt unsteady, tilting like the deck of a ship in a storm.
I couldn’t think past the primal scream in my head:trapped, trapped, trapped.
I muttered something barely intelligible and stumbled out of the line, my vision tunneling as the walls of the corridor seemed to press inward like the closing jaws of some mechanical beast. The darkness of a nearby alley beckoned like salvation,and I stumbled toward it on unsteady legs, my hands trembling so violently I had to press them against the cool metal walls to guide myself into the shadows.
The moment I crossed into the alley, the thunder in my chest quieted. The narrow space, barely wide enough for two beings to pass, was mercifully empty save for the industrial hum of ventilation systems and the distant drip of condensation from overhead pipes. My heartbeat shifted from a frantic sprint to an unsteady jog, each beat still echoing in my ears but with growing spaces between. The air returned slowly, like water filling a cracked vessel. Each breath came a little deeper than the last, though my lungs still felt bruised and reluctant, as if they’d forgotten their purpose. The invisible weight pressing against my chest began to lift, degree by agonizing degree.
The trembling in my hands slowed to an occasional flutter, like the last ripples on water disturbed by a stone. Cold sweat still beaded my forehead, but the fire under my skin—that burning sensation of being flayed alive from the inside—cooled to a manageable simmer.
Shame followed close behind. Hot and bitter in my throat like swallowed acid. The rational part of my mind, which had remained silent during the storm, returned with cruel clarity.You’re a starship captain. You’ve faced down slavers and survived torture. And a dinner line defeated you?But there was also relief, sweet and profound as cool water after days in the desert. I survived it. Again. My mind drifted back to Lucy’s words, her gentle assurances, but beneath them lay the deep, gnawing knowledge that I would never be whole. The queen had carved away some essential part of me in that torture chamber, and it would never grow back.
I stood in the alley, my back pressed against the cool, damp stones, breathing in recycled air that tasted faintly of metal and ozone until my heart finally slowed to somethingapproaching normal. All I wanted was to retreat to the blessed quiet of my ship, to the familiar hum of engines and the vast, peaceful emptiness of space. I sucked in a deep breath, steadying myself to re-enter the crowded corridors when a scrape of metal against stone and a small, muffled whimper caught my attention.
I glanced deeper into the shadows, my eyes adjusting to the dim lighting that cast everything in sickly yellow hues. My gaze widened as it landed on two figures crouched beside a waste disposal unit, their forms barely visible in the gloom. Homelessness on a space station was nothing new. Even a station like the Ardeese Valout had its forgotten corners and desperate souls, but something about this scene wouldn’t let me walk away. Perhaps it was the scent of complete, primal terror that clung to the larger of the two beings, or that one of them was clearly a small youngling, their tiny frame pressed against their protector’s side.
I took a cautious step nearer, my enhanced vision focusing in the dim light, eyes widening as I realized the larger of the two was a human female. She was tiny, as most human females appeared from my perspective, her slight frame nearly swallowed by an oversized brown cloak that looked like it had seen better decades. The fabric wore thin in places, patched with mismatched scraps. Hair, the color of dirty sunshine, escaped from beneath her hood to flow about her face in tangled waves. Light brown eyes, the color of honey, narrowed on me with an intensity that pushed past raw fear into something fiercer—the desperate courage of a cornered animal protecting its young. Her hands, pale and trembling, grabbed a discarded metal pipe from the ground, brandishing the makeshift weapon as she stepped between me and the youngling.
“I mean you no harm,” I said, lifting my hands with palms facing outward, a gesture Lucy taught me was the signal of peaceful intent for humans.
“Get away from us,” the female hissed, her voice melodious despite the fear that made it shake like wind through broken glass. There was something hauntingly beautiful about the sound, even though it was wrapped in terror.
“Are you safe? Do you need help?” I asked, glimpsing the tiny figure when she peeped around her protector’s cloak-draped form.
My breath caught in my throat. A Naniloa. The youngling’s features were unmistakable. Luminous, pale lavender skin, the large, expressive, wide green eyes, the delicate bone structure that spoke of a species renowned across the galaxy for its ethereal beauty. To my knowledge, most Naniloa were hunted to extinction or enslaved by those who coveted their rare beauty. To find one so young in the company of a human female was strange beyond measure.
The female swung the metal pipe in a warning arc, the improvised weapon whistling through the air as if to demonstrate she meant business. But at the sound of heavy footsteps and gruff voices echoing from the alley’s mouth, her face went pale, and the fear scent emanating from her turned acrid and sour.
“How much did the prince offer?” The deep, rumbling voice of a Wojonik warrior became clearer as the speaker approached.
“A million credits for the youngling,” another voice answered with the same callous indifference. “He doesn’t care about the human. We can keep her as a prize, or kill her. Makes no difference to the prince.”
“I’ve heard humans make excellent sex slaves,” came a third voice, followed by harsh laughter that made my scales crawl with revulsion.
The female’s eyes went wide with horror, darting frantically about the narrow alley in search of an escape route that didn’t exist. The walls rose too high to climb, the mouth of the alley was blocked by approaching danger, and the far end ended in a solid bulkhead.
Without a word, I moved to her side, using the edge of my foot to shift the heavy dumpster away from the wall. The movement created a small alcove in the shadows, barely large enough for the two small beings to huddle together, but dark enough to hide them from casual observation.
The female’s eyes met mine—not exactly trusting, but carrying the resignation of someone forced to choose between certain death and uncertain mercy. She was accepting what she deemed the lesser evil, gambling her life and the child’s on the hope that I might be different from the beings hunting them. Gathering the Naniloa youngling close against her chest, she slipped into the hiding spot like a ghost melting into darkness, while I turned to face the approaching danger with the determination of a warrior who knew he’d found something worth protecting.
Chapter 3
