Chapter 14 Jean
A penal colony.
Of all the planets in the universe, we had to crash land on a freaking penal colony.
It’s been several hours since Scythro informed me of this unfortunate fact, and I still can’t get over it.
At least, it feels like several hours. It’s hard to be certain without a watch or a phone or any other timekeeping device to go by.
Can’t really go by the sun either, since it’s hidden behind a thick layer of clouds.
Besides, I don’t even know how long the day-night cycle is on this stupid planet.
Anyway, judging from my legs, it’s been several hours. My thighs and calves are aching from all the miles we’ve covered, and both my feet are sore as hell.
Yesterday’s ash storm is over, but a haze still lingers like an aftertaste in the air.
A grayish veil hangs over everything, softening the light and smearing the edges of the landscape.
Even with my mask on, visibility is down to about fifty yards in every direction.
Beyond that, the world is just a gray blur.
It forces me to stick closer to Scythro than I would like, but the last thing I want is to get separated from him in this mess.
He’s the one who knows where we’re supposed to be going. At least I think he does.
“You sure we’re going in the right direction?” I ask.
“We are,” Scythro says, pointing. “See?”
At first I don’t; then I do. What starts as a blurry, black blob ahead of us gradually resolves itself into a stack of smooth, dark stones. The kind of stack that doesn’t just happen randomly. Someone put these stones here for a reason.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Waypoint,” Scythro explains. “Caravans use them to keep from getting lost. We continue heading this direction, we should run into the next one in another couple draths.”
“Draths?”
“Approximately one draleth of walking.”
“Oh, well, when you put it like that.”
I’m probably shooting all kinds of holes in my research-ship story by not understanding the measure words Scythro is using, but I don’t really care. I’m thinking with my feet at the moment, and my feet are getting bitchy.
Scythro picks up on my sarcasm and smiles. “A draleth is a time unit,” he explains. “We’ve been walking for about one draleth this morning. In another draleth, it will be midday.”
“Oh,” I say. “Great.”
We walk.
The ground crunches softly beneath the treads of my boots. It’s dry and brittle, like ash-colored mud that’s been baked hard and cracked by the heat. And there’s plenty of heat. In spite of the clouds, the air is still burning, and I’m sweating like crazy under my clothes.
I almost regret changing my outfit.
Almost.
I’m wearing the clothing that came in my survival kit—a one-piece bodysuit fashioned from some kind of white, stretchy material that clings to my body like a second skin.
At least it provides more coverage than that stupid concubine outfit I was wearing before.
Plus, it comes with built-in boots to protect my feet.
That’s a welcome improvement over yesterday, especially considering the new, harder terrain.
As for the pistol, I’ve still got that too. It’s sitting comfortably in a holster on my right hip. I’m making sure to walk with Scythro on the other side of me, and I’m keeping as much distance as the haze will allow, just in case he tries to go for the weapon.
I’m also keeping an eye on that blue tail of his. I don’t know if that thing’s prehensile or not, but I’m not taking any chances.
Then again, I am traveling with him.
If that’s not taking a chance, I don’t know what is.
I give Scythro a sneaky sidelong glance as we walk. It’s maybe the millionth time I’ve done that since setting out. He’s slightly less scary-looking in the daylight. Slightly.
He’s not the first alien I’ve ever seen, of course.
There were the Znthians, the scaly orange fuckers who conquered Earth.
And there were other species with them too, a sort of Alien Foreign Legion to help the Empire fight its wars.
Some of those aliens were downright terrifying. Others just looked weird.
None of them looked quite like Scythro.
Standing upright, he’s even taller than I expected, a full head taller than me.
And while his shape is similar to a human’s, his proportions are different, the limbs longer and more lithe.
When he moves, his muscles shift and flex beneath his skin like bodies moving beneath blue satin sheets. It’s a struggle not to stare.
And there’s one more little detail I noticed since we emerged from the dimness of the bug-shelter…
The symbol on Scythro’s chest.
It’s bright pink, and the contrast with his darker blue skin is almost shocking. It doesn’t look like a tattoo. If anything, it looks like it was burned into his flesh. A brand of some kind. Maybe it’s just decorative, but I have the feeling it’s not. I’m afraid to ask.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to carry that for you, Jean?”
I’m still wearing my breathing mask, which translates Scythro’s words into language I can understand. The sound snaps me out of my thoughts, and I immediately whip my eyes up to the alien’s face, but it’s too late. He already caught me staring at his chest.
At least he didn’t catch me looking at a different part of his body. His tail, for example. Or his butt. Or that big, long bulge on the other side. Why hasn’t that thing gotten smaller yet?
“Um, what?” I ask, trying not to sound flustered, and failing miserably.
Scythro nods toward the thing I’m carrying. Gerber. What’s left of him, anyway. The little damaged cherub hangs loosely in the crook of my arm. His lifeless wings are drooping and smudged with ash. His half-exposed metal skull makes him look like a little Terminator baby.
“He appears heavy,” Scythro says. “I can carry him for you, if you’d like?”
My first impulse is to answer with a hard no. Even though I’m allowing Scythro to accompany me, I still don’t trust him. And as far as I’m concerned, Gerber is the most important item in my inventory right now, even more important than the gun. He’s the only chance I have of ever finding Mel again.
But Scythro doesn’t know that yet, and if I start acting all possessive, it will only signal how valuable Gerber really is.
Besides, Scythro is right about one thing. The little cherub is heavy. His metal guts make him heavier than a real baby.
“I won’t drop him,” Scythro says, picking up on my apprehension. “I promise.”
It’s not dropping I’m worried about. It’s stealing. And I’m not sure how much a promise means coming from someone like Scythro. But then, I do still have the gun. If Scythro tries to run off with Gerber, I can always shoot him.
“Fine,” I say, handing over the limp cherub. “But only for a little while.”
Scythro nods and accepts the burden. The careful way he cradles the little damaged body stirs strange emotions inside me. Emotions I have no business feeling toward someone who violated me the way Scythro did.
I still haven’t forgiven him for that.
And I haven’t forgiven myself for enjoying it.
To be honest, I don’t know how to feel about any of that. Scythro claims he did it to help me, and the truth is, it did help. If he hadn’t come along when he did, God knows how long my suffering would have continued. For all I know, it may never have ended.
I twist my attention toward less stimulating thoughts.
“This place we’re heading,” I say. “Do you think someone there might be able to repair Gerber?” I gesture toward the broken cherub in his arms, so he knows who I’m talking about.
Scythro thinks about this for a moment.
“Possibly,” he says. “But don’t get your hopes up.”
I try not to look too defeated.
Scythro has already explained a little about this planet.
In addition to being a prison, it’s also a mining colony.
Apparently, this place is the sole source of the special ore that the Empire uses to power its faster-than-light ships.
There are no guards. The Znthians just drop the convicts off and leave them to their own devices.
The ore gets mined thanks to a self-organizing hierarchy among the prisoners.
Dudes calling themselves “Ore Barons” force the other inmates to do all the hard work.
In exchange, the Imperials give the Ore Barons stuff they want from off-world.
Of course, not everyone is in love with this way of doing things.
There’s another group of inmates calling themselves the Unfettered who refuse to work in the mines.
Instead, they like to hijack the Ore Barons’ caravans, taking the off-world goods for themselves.
The place where Scythro is taking me is an Unfettered hideout.
I’m not one hundred percent convinced that’s a great idea.
I’m not even seventy-five percent convinced.
Still, it sounds better than going to the crash site and getting captured by the local Ore Baron’s men.
“There’s not much tech here on Ul,” Scythro explains, expanding on his previous answer to my question about fixing Gerber.
“The Imperials provide the Ore Barons with food and melee weapons, as well as off-world luxury items like fine wine and expensive clothing. But there are two goods that are strictly forbidden—advanced machinery, and females.”
I shoot him a sharp look.
“Excuse me? Did you just refer to women as goods?”
“Apologies, human. I phrased that poorly. But you have to understand, this is a penal colony. A male-only penal colony. To most of the inmates, you are a commodity…” He smiles. “But not to me.”
The smile comes with a pair of dimples. Deep ones. I quickly turn my eyes away.
“So,” I say, changing the subject. “How long until we reach this hideout? A few more draleths?”
“A bit longer than that,” Scythro says. “At this pace, it will take us a few days.”
My heart skips.
“You mean we’ll have to spend the night out here?” Multiple nights, from the sound of it.
“Do not worry, human. I will protect you.”
It’s not his protection I’m worried about, though I probably should be. Who knows what sort of creatures we might encounter out here. Mini-pterodactyls and giant bugs, for starters. At the moment, however, I’m less worried about external threats, and more worried about my own traitorous body.
What happens tonight when darkness falls? Will my urges return? Will Scythro relieve them? Will I let him?
Will I have a choice?
Before I have a chance to ponder these questions too deeply, something hits me from the side, knocking all the wind from my lungs. The next thing I know, I’m lying on my back on the hard ground, and Scythro is on top of me.
My gun is in his hand.