28. Hope
28
Hope
I jolted awake as the ship lurched violently, my head slamming against the cold metal wall of my cramped cell. Disoriented, I blinked away the fog of an uneasy sleep and tried to get my bearings. The events of the past few days came flooding back - the pirate attack, being torn away from Zharrox and the safety of the Stryker, and now... this.
My "accommodations" aboard the Crimson Claw left much to be desired. The cell was barely large enough for me to lie down, with a hard metal bench serving as both bed and chair. A small waste receptacle in the corner provided the barest level of sanitation. The only light came from a dim, flickering panel set into the ceiling, casting eerie shadows across the grimy walls.
I rubbed the tender spot on my head where it had hit the wall, wincing. How long had I been here? With no day/night cycle and irregular meals, it was hard to keep track of time. Days, at least. Maybe a week? The uncertainty gnawed at me.
Another violent shudder ran through the ship, accompanied by a low, ominous groan of straining metal. Something was wrong - even I could tell that. The usually steady thrum of the engines had taken on an erratic, sputtering quality that set my teeth on edge.
"Hey!" I banged on the metal door, my voice hoarse from disuse. "What's going on out there?"
Silence was my only answer. I wasn't expecting much - the pirates had largely ignored me since throwing me in here, aside from occasional visits to shove food and water through a narrow slot in the door. But the ship's obvious distress had me on edge. If something happened to the ship out here in deep space...
I shook my head, pushing the thought away. No use dwelling on worst-case scenarios. Focus on what you can control, Nova.
I paced the tiny cell, three steps one way, turn, three steps back. My muscles ached for real movement after days of confinement. I tried to recall the meditation techniques Zharrox had taught me, to calm my racing mind and center myself.
Zharrox. My heart clenched painfully at the thought of him. Was he alright? The last I'd seen of him, he'd been locked in desperate combat with the pirate captain. Had he survived? Had any of them survived? Were they looking for me?
Of course they are, a small, fierce voice in my head insisted. Zharrox would tear apart the galaxy to find you. Just stay alive. Stay strong.
I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. If I had just done what he'd told me and stayed locked in my cabin, I wouldn't be in this mess right now. But no, I had to be hardheaded and do what I wanted.
The door to my cell suddenly slid open with a harsh grating sound. I tensed, backing up against the far wall as a hulking figure filled the doorway.
"Well, well, little alien. Still alive in here, I see."
I recognized the gravelly voice. This was Krothar, one of the pirates who'd been involved in my capture. He was massive, easily seven feet tall, with mottled green skin and four muscular arms. A puckered scar ran diagonally across his face, twisting his features into a permanent sneer.
"What's going on out there?" I demanded, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
Krothar's lips peeled back in what I assumed was a grin, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. "Nothing for you to worry about. Just checking on our valuable cargo. Can't have you damaged before we reach the markets, now can we?"
My stomach churned at the casual mention of my intended fate. I'd overheard enough to know these pirates saw me as nothing more than an exotic commodity to be sold to the highest bidder.
"Markets?" I asked, fishing for information. "Where exactly are you taking me?"
Krothar laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Wouldn't you like to know, little alien? Let's just say there are plenty of collectors out there who'd pay a pretty price for something as rare as you."
Before I could press further, another violent tremor shook the ship. Krothar stumbled, catching himself on the doorframe with two of his arms.
"Kriffing void!" he snarled. "What are these idiots doing to my ship?"
His ship? I filed that information away. There seemed to be some disagreement over who was actually in charge here.
"Having some trouble getting your partners in crime to listen to you?" I couldn't resist needling him a bit.
Krothar's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Watch that smart mouth of yours, alien. Or I might decide you're more trouble than you're worth."
With that ominous threat, he slammed the cell door shut, leaving me alone once more.
I slumped back onto the hard bench, my brief surge of defiance fading. What had I gotten myself into? If only I'd listened to Zharrox, I chided myself again, I could be back on the Stryker, maybe finishing what we'd started before we'd been attacked.
Sighing heavily, I stretched back out on my hard bench. Now I may never see him again. My gut spasmed at the thought.
No, I couldn't think like that. Regrets wouldn't help me now. I had to stay focused, stay alert. There might be an opportunity for escape, and I had to be ready when it came.
I closed my eyes, trying to recall every detail I could about the ship's layout from the brief glimpses I'd had during my capture. The Crimson Claw was huge, easily twice the size of the Stryker. But that also meant it would be harder for the reduced crew to maintain, especially if they were dealing with some kind of mechanical issue.
My musings were interrupted by the sound of raised voices in the corridor outside my cell. I crept closer to the door, straining to make out what was being said.
"... can't navigate this blasted nebula!" That was a new voice, high-pitched and reedy. "The sensors are useless, and the gravatic shears are tearing us apart!"
"Then plot a course out of here, you incompetent fool!" Krothar again, his tone a mixture of fury and fear.
"I'm trying! But without the captain's access codes, half the navigation systems are locked out. We're flying blind!"
I frowned, piecing together the fragments of information. We were in some kind of nebula that was interfering with the ship's systems. And it sounded like the pirates were having trouble navigating without their captain. Had Zharrox actually managed to...?
A spark of hope flared in my chest. If the pirates were this disorganized, it might give Zharrox and the others a chance to catch up.
The argument outside continued, voices rising in pitch and intensity.
"We never should have come this way!" A third voice, deep and resonant. "The Zenobia Nebula is a deathtrap!"
"It was the only way to throw off any pursuit," Krothar growled. "Unless you'd rather take your chances with that tentacled demon and his crew?"
"I'd rather take my chances anywhere but here! We're going to tear the ship apart if we keep this up!"
"Enough!" Krothar roared. "I am in command now, and I say we press on. We've come too far to turn back. Once we're through the nebula, we'll be home free. Now get back to your stations and figure out a way to keep us in one piece!"
I heard the sound of retreating footsteps and muttered curses. So, we were in the Zenobia Nebula. I wracked my brain, trying to recall if I'd heard anything about it during my time aboard the Stryker. The name was vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place it.
What I did know was that it was buying us time. If the nebula was as dangerous as it sounded, the pirates would have to proceed slowly and cautiously. That meant more time for Zharrox to find me.
Please, Zharrox, I thought fiercely. I'm here. I'm alive. Just follow the trail.