Chapter 3
GEMMA
Gemma thrashed on the bed, fighting her way out of a nightmare.
She couldn’t breathe. Trapped in a box, she was suffocating and unable to move her arms or legs. This was hell, conscious while her body remained unresponsive.
She woke in a cold sweat, panting, and unsure of her surroundings. Ambient light from machines assured her that she was no longer in the warehouse. That place had been pitch black at night.
Hospital. Rescued. Her mind repeated these reassurances, but her heart hadn’t received the memo. Fear was there; fear that this was the dream and any moment now she’d wake back up in the cage. Worse, she’d wake up in a coffin-like stasis chamber. The IV line attached to her arm was not helping.
“Your heart rate is elevated,” a calm voice said.
She sat upright, like she could leave the nightmare clinging to the pillow. A dark figure sat in a chair not far from the edge of the bed.
Just a nightmare.
This wasn’t the warehouse. She knew that. She knew that. No cage. A clean bed. If she listened, she heard voices drift in from the corridor. Still, she wanted to tear the IV line out of her arm and flee.
“You are severely dehydrated. I suggest leaving that in place,” the figure in the chair said.
Gemma’s hand fell away from her arm. “Where am I?”
“You are safe.”
“That wasn’t what I asked. What planet? What star system? I know I’m not on Earth. While we’re at it, who the fuck are you?”
“Tholla. In the hospital.” Zalis leaned forward in the chair, the amber light catching the angles of his face and the horns sweeping back from his head. “I am Zalis.”
Zalis. The guy with the laugh who managed to make her feel like an out-of-control nightmare was completely under control. Ish.
Gemma relaxed, her body sinking back into the pillows. There was so much she didn’t know, and too many questions demanded to be asked. She started with the obvious. “Where’s my sister?”
“Emmarae is on her way.”
Now that she was lying down, she felt floaty and disconnected from her body. Her arm flopped against the mattress, as if the tension holding her upright vanished as her puppet strings were cut. She was exhausted, but this didn’t feel natural. It felt drug -induced.
“The others? How are they?” she asked.
“Being cared for.”
“Tia? She was pretty ill.” The way her cough had grown steadily worse and that she had been completely unresponsive haunted Gemma. She hoped rescue had arrived in time.
“I am not a medic,” Zalis said.
Something in his tone made her believe that he withheld information. “Please,” she said. “Tell me what you know.”
“She is being treated for pneumonia and expected to recover. Several of your compatriots are being treated for a respiratory infection, in addition to dehydration and malnourishment.”
Not surprising but still distressing. The days had been hot and the nights cold with only the thinnest blanket. Barely enough food and water to survive. Of course they were sick. “They kept us in cages like animals. Actually, animals are treated better,” she said.
“Conditions were appalling,” Zalis agreed.
Gemma nodded—and that was a mistake. The room spun and wobbled.
“What did they do to me?” she asked.
The soft noises of the room filled the silence as she waited for an answer.
“Your question is unclear,” Zalis eventually said. “Do you mean your abductors or the medics?”
Gemma wanted to laugh, but she was too busy drifting away from herself. She had a good idea of what her abductors had done, but there were gaps in her memory, and she was fairly certain she didn’t want those gaps filled in. “The medics.”
“You have a fracture in your left ankle.”
“Good thing I’m right-footed,” she said.
No response.
“You’re right. That punchline doesn’t work. Let’s start over to get off on the right foot.”
Another long pause. “You are using humor to cope with a traumatic experience.”
“Gallows humor is a perfectly respectable means of coping.” Healthy? Not necessarily. Also, it was hard to crack jokes with her head drifting and floating. “Why don’t I hurt? I feel fuzzy.”
“The ankle requires surgery. You are being treated for pain until then.”
Well, that made sense.
“Emry? Where is she?” Gemma had the feeling that she had asked before.
“On her way.” Zalis leaned forward, his face fully in the light. It wasn’t a handsome face, but it was interesting, which was better. She liked it. He said, “You should sleep.”
Impossible. Not with nightmares waiting when she closed her eyes.
“When the medics come back, tell them to ease up on the meds,” she said.
He cocked his head to one side and said, “Suffering proves nothing. You should be comfortable.”
“Suffering proves this is real.” And not another nightmare.
Zalis seemed to understand this despite the words never leaving her throat. His eyes fixed on her outstretched hand, hanging over the edge of the bed. “With permission, I will hold your hand so you know this is real.”
Gemma hesitated. She didn’t know him. A few weeks ago—a month?
Two? How long since she had been abducted?
It didn’t matter. Before she had been abducted and sold to aliens, she railed against the treaty and, by extension, the aliens that traded female lives for Earth’s safety.
Holding his hand wasn’t proof this was real.
It was proof that she continued to be trapped in a nightmare universe that treated her like property.
Somehow, despite all that, she trusted him for no good reason. A laugh? An interesting face? She was disappointingly shallow.
Too exhausted to pick through the thorny issue, Gemma decided it could wait until morning.
She reached for his hand, which was warm and solid. Real.
ZALIS
Zalis held Gemma’s hand until her deep, even breathing convinced him that she was asleep.
Good. Her injuries required rest to heal properly, and her sleep patterns had been erratic.
Zalis had plenty to keep himself occupied. He did not have to stand guard. There was much to be done. Data for him to sift through.
At the moment, Havik and Ren were interviewing the other survivors. Ren was personable enough for the task. Zalis would only hamper their efforts. Thalia would be there soon, and she was a true master of gathering information from reluctant or frightened targets.
Referring to the trafficking victims as targets was yet another reason for Zalis to stay away from the interviews. The traffickers left behind equipment and equipment did not shrink back in horror at his stature. He could pull as much data as possible for analysis and recover old messages in peace.
There was no reason to stay.
The poorly encrypted message that led the team to the warehouse had clearly been a trap. Of all the captives, Gemma was the only one equipped with a translator. The Suhlik spoke to her. More disturbing, they knew Gemma and details of her life.
Bait to sweeten a trap. To what purpose? Why draw a Mahdfel team to Tholla’s moon? Why let a captive overhear casual conversation? Why single out Gemma?
Zalis did not like it. There were too many unknowns, and he would not make progress finding answers if he continued to sit by Gemma’s side.
Inexplicably, Zalis found himself reluctant to leave. Nightmares haunted Gemma. She had not shared her dreams with him, but he saw the wild, panicked expression on her face when she woke.
He should stay, in case she had another nightmare and needed her hand held.