Chapter 5
Cleo
Twenty-four hours.
According to the glowing display on my wrist comm, we’d been in D’tran custody for just over one full day.
Not that the device was good for much else.
Short-range only, designed for crew communication within a few kilometers.
Useless for reaching anyone beyond the village walls, assuming anyone was even out there to reach.
I stared at the now-dark screen, willing it to show me something. A ping from Zara. A signal from the ship. Anything.
Nothing.
Our spare, but comfortable surroundings, felt too small.
Too confined. A soft sound from the third bed drew my attention.
My gaze fell on Mierva, as it had more times than I could count.
Her freshly splinted arm rested carefully on a pillow.
The healer, Erith, had done an impressive job resetting the break.
She’d been efficient and surprisingly gentle, explaining each step even though we could barely understand her at the time.
The pain had been bad though. Bad enough that Erith had given Mierva some kind of sedative drink that knocked her out within minutes.
She’d slept a lot since then, waking to eat and use the bathroom, and she slept now.
I was grateful to the D’tran for helping her, but listening to her deep and even breathing reminded me of how vulnerable we were.
That sedative could have just as easily been poison.
“She’ll be fine,” Baleck said, following my gaze. “The healer knew what she was doing.”
“Yeah.” I rubbed my eyes, exhaustion pulling at me despite the fact that I’d slept reasonably well.
Or maybe because of it. My body was finally catching up with everything we’d been through.
“I just wish we knew more about their medical capabilities. What if the bone doesn’t set right? What if it gets infected?”
“Then we deal with it. Same as we’d deal with any medical situation.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “Stay here, Cleo. Don’t go wandering off into ‘what if’ land.”
But I was already in “what if” land. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall, trying not to let worry consume me.
Front of my mind was Zara. My friend was smart and resourceful, but I never thought of her as the survival type.
She was more of an inside person, happiest with data screens and warm beverages brewed by someone that wasn’t her.
Or a machine. Come to think of it, Zara preferred machines over most people.
She was one of my favorite people, along with Maya.
The three of us had arrived at the moon the Destrans had chosen as their new home and survived an unhinged Sola, and an attack by our own employer.
And now, I was trying to survive crashing and becoming stranded on a planet with killer weather.
I rubbed my chin and winced. Now that I thought about it, Zara had the right idea. Data screens and hot tea sounded really good right about now.
I bet Zara was thinking the same thing. I could only hope that the captain of our ship was with her. Captain Torven Korvath would keep her safe. He might be a rigid ass, but he was competent. And I suspected he liked Zara more than he indicated, which was to say, not at all.
They were fine. They had to be fine.
“Stop torturing yourself,” Baleck said from across the room. He was stretched out on one of the beds, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. His skin had finally settled into calmer blues and greens. “Whatever happened to the others, we can’t help them while we’re locked in here.”
“We’re not locked in,” I pointed out. “Just heavily supervised.”
“Semantics.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Also, stop reading my mind. It’s annoying.”
“It’s truly not a gift,” he said with a grunt.
“I know, I know.” I rubbed my face and scraped back my hair. “It’s a curse.”
“Your words,” he said, then threw an arm over his eyes and seemed to doze.
The past day had been surprisingly comfortable, all things considered.
We’d been given fresh clothing that actually fit, soft tunics and pants in muted earth tones that were practical and well-made.
We’d been shown to a bathing room with hot water and soap that smelled like pine and something floral I couldn’t identify. And the food…
I looked at the empty plates stacked on the low table near the window.
Dinner had been mostly vegetables, but prepared in ways that made my mouth water just remembering it.
Roasted root vegetables with herbs I’d never tasted before, some kind of grain dish with nuts and dried fruit, greens sautéed in oil and garlic.
Simple food, but fresh and filling in a way that made me realize how much I’d been living on processed rations and the stuff that came from a food replicator.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had homemade food.
“The food was good,” I said, more to fill the silence than anything.
“Very good,” Baleck agreed. “Better than anything on the ship. Though I’d trade it all for a working long-range comm system and coordinates to the nearest way station.”
“Agreed.”
“We should cooperate with these people.” Baleck raised his arm enough to peek at me from beneath it. “They could help us find the others. They know the terrain, the weather patterns. And they clearly have resources we don’t.”
“Yes, or they could kill us if they decide we’re not worth keeping around.” I kept my voice low, aware that guards stood just outside our door. “I prefer having backup plans.”
“Such as?”
“Working on it.” I’d been cataloging everything since we arrived. Guard rotations, building layouts, possible escape routes. Not because I planned to run, exactly. More because knowing I could made captivity slightly more bearable.
A knock on the door cut off anything Baleck might have said next. Not the usual guard check, which happened every few hours. This was different. More formal.
The door opened before either of us could respond. Rezor stepped inside, followed by two guards who took up positions flanking the entrance. His eyes swept the room, lingering on me for a moment before moving to assess Baleck and the sleeping Mierva.
“You’ve eaten,” he said. Not a question.
“Yes,” I replied. My translator had been working overtime, processing every scrap of D’tran conversation it could pick up. The result was that Rezor’s words came through clearer now, and my responses sounded less like a toddler learning to speak. “Food was good. Thank you.”
Something that might have been satisfaction crossed his face. “Good. You are well?”
“Well enough.” I stood, brushing crumbs from my borrowed tunic. “What can we do for you, Lord Rezor?”
His eyes shifted to that fuchsia color they took on whenever he looked at me too long. I tried not to think about what that meant. Tried not to remember the conversation about sacred marks and destined mates.
“I will show you the settlement,” he said. “You and Baleck. It’s time you understood where you are and what we’ve built here.”
“A tour?” I glanced at Mierva’s sleeping form. She stirred but didn’t wake. “What about—”
“She rests. Erith says the bone will heal well if she doesn’t move it for several days. Let her sleep.” He gestured toward the door. “Come.”
It wasn’t really a request. Baleck and I exchanged glances. He shrugged and stood, his skin patterns shifting to something that looked like cautious interest.
I sent a quick message to Mierva’s wrist comm: Gone on tour of settlement with Rezor. Back soon. Don’t panic.
Then I followed Rezor out into the corridor, Baleck close behind.
Four more guards waited outside, forming a loose perimeter around us as we walked. Not threatening, exactly, but definitely present. A reminder that we were guests under supervision, not free to wander.
We stepped out into late afternoon sun that slanted through the valley, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. The air was warm but not hot, with a breeze that carried the scent of growing things and cooking fires.
The buildings were a mix of stone and wood and mismatched metal, clearly gotten from salvaged wrecks, built with an eye toward function and durability rather than decoration.
But there was beauty in their simplicity.
The way they seemed to grow organically from the landscape, following the natural contours of the hillside.
The softly curved doorways and windows reminded me of something.
People stopped to stare as we passed.
Some watched with open curiosity, eyes shifting through colors I was learning to associate with different emotions. Others hurried away, pulling children close or ducking into doorways. The suspicion was palpable and impossible to miss.
I understood it. We were aliens, here. We were scary intruders. Unknown. Potentially dangerous. Everything their isolated society had taught them to fear.
But understanding didn’t make it comfortable.
“They’re afraid,” I said to Rezor, keeping my voice low.
“Yes.” He didn’t try to deny it. “Change is frightening. Especially when it arrives without warning.”
“We didn’t mean to change anything. We just crashed.”
“Intent matters less than impact.” He led us down a main thoroughfare, past workshops where I could see people working metal and wood, past what looked like a communal kitchen, past children playing some kind of game with carved wooden pieces. “You are here. That changes everything.”
As we walked, I took in the layout of the streets, designed for efficient movement and defense. The way water flowed through channels cut into the stone paving, creating a drainage system that was elegant in its simplicity. The guard posts at regular intervals, always manned, always watching.
These people had built something remarkable here. A functioning society in complete isolation, protected by geography and maintained through careful planning and resource management.
And we’d crashed into it like a meteor.