Chapter Three #2
Nima sucks in a breath at the exposed cuts. I look into my bowl. “You can stay.”
Seryn cleans the cut with something cool that numbs on contact. “You fought hard.”
“I lost.”
“You are alive.”
“That’s a low standard.”
“It is the first standard.”
Seryn rewraps the wrist.
I watch her fingers, the claws filed blunt at the tips for medical work.
“Where is Rhazek?”
“On the command deck,” Seryn says.
“He is investigating the faction that took you and reviewing the recovered files. He is also trying to determine why The Black Star responded to your blood.”
I put down the bowl. “Why did the ship react?”
“It detected resonance.”
“Living Dravari ships recognize command bloodlines, threat signatures, allied genetic markers, pathogens, and certain forms of biological compatibility.”
She holds my gaze. “You are not pregnant. Your biology triggered a response that should not have been possible.”
“Because I’m human.”
“Yes.”
“Is that why Rhazek rescued me?”
“No. He rescued you before the ship detected resonance.”
“I want to leave this room.”
“You are clear to rest in your assigned quarters.”
“Under guard.”
“Yes.”
“So I’m free to walk around with armed shadows.”
“Not yet,” Seryn says.
“Where else can I go?”
“This medical bay, your quarters and the hygiene chamber. The observation corridor with an escort. The galley when you can stay upright. Engineering, command and the armory are restricted.”
Nima stands. “I can take you to your quarters. They’re close. No stairs.”
I hold out my arm for Seryn to remove the monitors.
She peels the monitor patches away.
Seryn steps back. “You should shower before resting. The hygiene chamber has human-safe controls. Nima can explain them.”
I stand again.
Slower this time.
The dizziness comes but does not take me. Nima stays near while I cross the room.
The guards outside do not turn. Their weapons rest against armor shaped to bodies taller and broader than human men.
“Are they going to follow?”
“At a distance,” Nima says.
I step into the corridor.
The Black Star breathes around me.
The walls are the same dark living metal as the medical bay, but out here the gold veins are thinner, running in elegant branching lines that pulse under the surface. The floor is warm beneath my bare feet. The ceiling arches high enough for Rhazek to pass without ducking, which feels rude.
The guards follow, several paces back.
Nima matches my slow pace. She is shorter than me by an inch or two, which is comforting after being surrounded by seven-foot horned nightmares.
“So,” she says lightly, “important ship rules.”
“Do not enter a red-lit corridor unless you want to meet armed people very quickly. Do not touch black panels with gold edges unless you enjoy alarms. If the ship speaks directly to you, answer clearly.”
We pass several Dravari crew members. Every single one stops when they see me.
Their eyes drop to my bandaged wrists, then to my face. A few lower their heads. One murmurs something in Dravari and touches two fingers to his chest.
“What are they doing?” I whisper.
Nima’s smile disappears. “Trying to figure out what you are.”
“I’m a person.”
“I know.”
We turn into a quieter corridor. The lighting softens. Fewer crew. More closed doorways, if doors can count as doors when they melt open instead of sliding.
Nima gestures to a doorway at the end. “This is you.”
The wall opens.
I enter.
The room is bigger than expected.
A bed built into one curved wall. A low table. A seating area with a dark window currently shuttered. A second doorway leading, presumably, to the hygiene chamber. A small food alcove. Soft floor. Warm light.
I walk to the far wall. The window shutter recognizes movement and opens.
Stars scatter across the dark like ice chips. The wreckage of the enemy ship glows in silent orange fragments against them.
Somewhere in that debris are answers. Bodies. I think of the Mercy Ark, the last place my people existed together before monsters in smooth skin and needle fingers tore us apart.
Nima comes to stand a careful distance away.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
We stand in silence.
I turn from the window. “Shower controls?”
Nima brightens with obvious relief at having a practical task. “Yes. Okay. They’re weird but manageable.”
The hygiene chamber is sleek, dark, and intimidating for something designed to remove dirt. There is no showerhead. Just a recessed floor circle and panels of glowing symbols.
Nima presses one. “Water.”
A gentle rainfall starts from the ceiling.
I step back from the falling water. “That’s too much.”
“It recycles.”
Nima studies my face. “Elara. It’s okay to use the water.”
My eyes burn. “What’s that one?”
“Heat. This one adjusts pressure. This dries. This calls medical.” She points to the symbols. “You control the door from inside. No one can enter without your permission unless Seryn triggers emergency override.”
“What about Rhazek?”
“He blocked his own access. Emergencies only,” Nima says.
Nima backs toward the exit. “I’ll be in the main room if you need anything.”
“Nima. Were you scared of him at first?”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m scared of what happens to anything that makes him angry. But I’m not scared that he’ll hurt me. It took time.”
The wall closes behind her.
I stand alone in the hygiene chamber with warm water falling in a circle two feet away.
Then I peel off the soft black shirt.
My body looks worse than I expected.
Bruises bloom across my hips where the pod restraints held me. Red marks circle my ankles. There is a dark smear along my ribs from where I must have hit something during transfer. My upper arm bears a tiny puncture surrounded by irritated skin where the needle almost went in.
I strip out of the pants and step under the water.
Heat rolls over me.
My breath catches so hard it becomes a sob. I press a hand over my mouth, but the water keeps falling.
The water runs pink at my feet.
I scrub until my skin goes red.
The soap smells faintly medicinal and unfamiliar. I use too much because no ration alarm blinks. No one bangs on the shower wall and yells that others need a turn. No water pressure dies halfway through.
Luxury feels obscene when people are dead.
Eventually, my hands start shaking too badly to keep scrubbing.
I let the water hit the back of my neck and rest my forehead against the wall.
The wall warms under my forehead.
“Do not comfort me, ship.”
The water pressure lowers.
“That was not permission to listen harder.”
I find the drying panel, then spend an embarrassing minute arguing with the clothing shelf until it produces another set of soft black clothes. This pair fits better. High-necked tunic. Loose pants. Undergarments that appear after I mutter something hostile about alien modesty standards.
When I step back into the main quarters, Nima is sitting on the floor beside the low table, sorting a stack of fabric squares. She looks up.
“Better?”
“No.”
“Cleaner?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I’ll take it.”
I sit on the edge of the bed because my legs are trembling. It adjusts beneath me.
“I don’t want furniture with initiative.”
“Then The Black Star may be challenging for you.”
The bed is, regrettably, perfect.
The door opens.
One of the guards stands outside, huge and horned and careful not to cross the threshold. He says something in Dravari.
Nima’s expression shifts.
“What?” I ask.
She turns back to me. “Rhazek asks permission to enter.”
“No.”
Nima nods and says something to the guard.
The guard leaves. No argument, no override.
I lie back.
The bed curves around my injured ribs. Beyond the window, the stars have hardly changed.
I close my eyes.
I will rest. Then I will see my people.