3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Z’Ree

I must have slept for several hours but I don’t feel rested. If anything, I feel even more tired when the unfamiliar voices reach my ears again. This time, I don’t wait around for them to find me. As quietly as possible, I make my way further down the maintenance walkway until the hum of machinery drowns out the argument behind me.

Swallowing roughly, I realize I haven’t thought this plan through. It could take days or even weeks to get wherever this ship is headed. From experience, I know I can survive without food, but no living being can survive without water.

There are dozens of pipes surrounding me and I’m certain some of them must carry water to various parts of the ship, but it’s not like I can walk around randomly opening valves and hoping for the precious liquid to start dripping into my mouth. I’m more likely to scald myself with hot steam or tap into the waste disposal system.

The pipes are marked by letters and numbers but none of them mean anything to me. I’m not an engineer. I’m not an anything. My life was torn away from me before I’d even started living it. All I am now is a frightened little thing, only useful when people want to get high.

I will need water, though, and soon.

With that goal in mind, I move through the long, narrow walkways, avoiding more pipes and cables. At one point, I must pass close to the reactor, because the heat makes sweat bead all over my body.

Approaching every ventilation grid cautiously, I carefully listen out for voices before looking through the gaps. All I see are empty corridors and dark storage rooms. The ship I’m on is large, but there doesn’t seem to be too many people on board.

Was the crew in the market place during the revolt? Did most of them die in the fighting? Maybe they are slaves who escaped like me but ultimately argued too much and killed each other? I don’t know and I really don’t care. All I care about is remaining hidden and the smaller the crew is, the larger my chances of success are.

The overwhelming thirst intensifies, my dry throat causing physical pain whenever I try to swallow. I desperately need to find water. The next time I come across a hatch, I open it and slip out of the relative safety of the maintenance walkways back into the ship itself. I’m in yet another storage room, dark and seemingly abandoned.

Tiptoeing around, I examine some of the containers. There must be something inside one of these that would increase my chances of survival.

Walking past one of the containers, I freeze. It takes a moment for my brain to catch up and realize what I’m looking at. There’s a length of sturdy cloth stretched between the wall and the large container. Now that I know it’s not a person, I can move again. Inching closer, I’m curious about the cloth’s purpose.

It looks a little like a cocoon, cracked open on the top. I push it with my finger and it rocks back and forth soundlessly. A swing, maybe? Or a rocking bed?

In any case, someone put it here, which means they’ll be coming back to it. I better not be here when they do.

As I turn to leave, I notice there are some supplies neatly laid out on another, slightly lower container, right next to the odd-looking cocoon. Packets of food and…

I snatch the nearest bottle and am pouring the water down my parched throat before I even register what I’m doing. Nothing has ever tasted this divine. Finishing the entire bottle in record time, I open a second one, determined to slow down and savor it this time. Freezing mid sip, I suddenly realize my mistake, my fingers gripping the bottle tightly in terror.

Someone left these supplies here. Whether they live here or it’s just their relaxation spot, they will be back and they will notice the empty bottles. They’ll know someone is on board.

As panic threatens to engulf me, I forcefully stamp it down and consider. From what I’ve heard so far, these people argue a lot. They won’t immediately think of a stowaway when they find their supplies missing. They’ll think one of the other crew members stole it, confront them about it and then think they’re lying when they say no. With a bit of luck, they’ll fight over it. Maybe even kill each other.

This thought makes me stop and double back. Did I really just wish to get someone killed? Doesn’t that make me a terrible person?

The silent storage room doesn’t answer my unvoiced question. Ignoring the surprising amount of guilt suddenly washing over me, I grab a handful of the food packages. If I’m stealing someone’s stash, I might as well do it properly and grab supplies to last a longer time.

No matter how much I ration the water, it doesn’t last more than a day. At least, I think it’s only been a day. It’s impossible to say for certain in the near darkness of my hideout. I curse my own stupidity. I took enough food for a week but only one bottle of water and it’s nearly gone. Soon, I’ll have to venture out to get more.

I crawl deeper into the tiny alcove I’ve picked as my temporary home. Hugging my knees to my chest, my mind starts to wander. Has the crew member been back to the storage room yet? Have they noticed the missing supplies? Are they searching for the thief?

An audible sigh escapes me. There’s no way to tell and, as much as I’d love to stay here and ruminate, I need more water. I decide to test my luck and raid the storage room again. This time, I’m taking every bit of water I can carry. The dried ovi fruit I stole last time is delicious, but chewing on it makes me even thirstier.

Making my way back to the storage room, I listen out for several minutes before finally mustering up the courage to push open the hatch. At least it doesn’t squeak. My heart would probably give out if the hatch made a noise right now.

Pausing again, listening, I still don’t hear or see anything suspicious. Perhaps whoever stashed the supplies here hasn’t been back yet? A glimmer of hope flutters in my chest and I dare to exit the hatchway. It sounds like my bare feet are obscenely loud as they plop onto the cold floor, but I know it’s just my imagination. Well, I hope it’s just my imagination.

A small dark corner between two smaller containers provides the perfect hiding spot from which to observe the stashed rations and the oddly hanging cloth. It doesn’t seem like anything has been moved since I was last here. Good.

I suck in a deep breath, ready to run over and grab the water, when my luck finally runs out.

The storage room door opens.

My throat constricts and it takes everything I have not to start wailing in terror. I inch back deeper into the dark corner, praying that whoever’s coming in won’t notice me.

The footsteps draw so near at one point that I’m sure they must be able to hear my heart pounding. They walk right past me though, not stopping as their boots clack along the hardened floor. It’s just one person. Not that it matters. I couldn’t fight off one person anymore than I could fight off five people, so it really makes no difference how many there are.

The footsteps don’t stop until they’ve reached the stash of supplies. There’s a long sigh and then the sound of creaking fabric.

I’m too curious not to look. As slowly and quietly as I can manage, I peek out from behind the container.

It’s the male from the airlock and this time, there’s no doubt he’s a human. I can’t see a collar, though, and it doesn’t seem like the crew have locked him in here like a prisoner. He must be working with them, then.

He’s lying down, comfortably nestled in the fabric cocoon, one of his feet dangling over the edge of the cloth. Every once in a while, he uses the exposed leg to push off a nearby surface so the cocoon swings. I was right, it must be some kind of a rudimentary rocking bed. If he came here to sleep, maybe I can just wait and—

My hopes are crushed before I even finish the thought. The human reaches absentmindedly for the food packets, sifting through them as if looking for something specific. Whatever it is, he doesn’t find it, because stupid me stole it.

The man frowns and jumps out of his rocking cocoon. He’s tall but not overly muscular like mercenaries tend to be. Like the rest of his kind, he doesn’t have any easily discernible features. No horns, no tail, no spikes or scales. Just flesh under soft, pinkish skin. It doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous, though.

He goes through the food packages again, methodically sorting them by their contents. He frowns at the result, then proceeds to peer into gaps between cargo containers, looking for his missing food. His frown grows deeper as he pulls out a datapad.

I don’t understand what he says. Like everyone else in the galaxy, I had translator nodes implanted as a child, but human languages aren’t part of the basic language package. There’s no reason for it.

The United Galactic Council still deems human civilization to be too primitive. As such, their planet is off limits. Of course, that doesn’t stop slavers from sneaking around the UGC blockade to kidnap humans. They make valuable slaves. Not nearly as valuable as Silithrae, but then again, no one is as valuable as a Silithrae.

A computerized voice from his datapad replies in the same language. Disgruntled, the human sets it aside, muttering something to himself.

Please, go away , I yell at him internally. Unfortunately, I don’t have any mind control skills so he doesn’t move. Instead, he looks around, fidgeting anxiously. “Hello?” he says eventually in oddly accented Omnispeak. “Is anyone here?”

He’s not looking in my direction, but he knows I’m here. Somehow, he senses me. It’s just a matter of time before I’m found and then I’ll be back to being someone’s property, beaten and abused.

In spite of my best efforts, a whimper escapes me. The human’s head whips in my direction, his gaze trying to penetrate the shadows I’m hiding in. He turns, lifting his foot to take a step toward me. That snaps me out of my daze and I bolt.

I don’t care about him seeing me anymore. The only thing I’m focused on right now is reaching the maintenance hatch. His legs are longer than mine. If he takes off at a run, he’ll beat me there. But he’s not running.

He calls out something I can’t hear over the furious drumming in my ears. I don’t stick around waiting for him to repeat it. I throw myself through the hatch head first, immediately slamming it shut behind me. Then I run, certain that if I stop, I’ll hear footsteps following me.

There’s nothing.

When I reach the tiny alcove I’ve been using as my hideout, I drop down onto my knees and squeeze myself between the pipes and cables. Crawling further into the alcove than ever before, I try to convince myself that no one can find me here but I know it’s a stupid lie. Now that they know I’m here, they can just search the ship from top to bottom until they find me. They can remotely seal all hatches and trap me in one place, corner me so I have nowhere to go.

Tears fall and this time, I don’t stop them.