Chapter 1

LEONA

I awake drenched in sweat, convinced I'm not alone. Yet a glance around the brightly lit room reveals no one. I sigh with relief and place a hand over my racing heart. Inhuman growls echo in my mind, a remnant of the strange dream that just ripped me from sleep. Each time I blink, I see a pair of purple eyes set in a face obscured by shadows. It's the same thing every night, the growls and the purple eyes and the overwhelming masculine presence.

What's causing the dreams?

Am I actually communicating with some kind of creature?

Knowing I won't be sleeping anytime soon, I take a deep breath, slip out of bed, and get dressed. Then I depart my quarters and slink through the corridors of the Jansonna , the worldship that houses the last of humankind.

After climbing down the tubes to Deck Nine, I head for my favorite viewing alcove. I draw the curtain shut, perch on the bench, and proceed to gaze at the Darrvason fleet. Awe fills me as I study the fifteen massive ships.

It's not lost on me that the odd dreams began shortly after the Darrvasons made contact with my people. And if the dreams aren't enough to make me question my sanity, my growing fascination with the alien fleet is.

Ever since the Darrvasons showed up, I've found myself sneaking off to privately gawk at their vessels every chance I can get. Morning, noon, and night. At present, it's past curfew and I shouldn't be outside my quarters, but I can't resist. There's a pull inside me, something inexplicably strong that draws me to the viewing alcove multiple times a day.

I'm most captivated by the Haxxal , the lead ship in the Darravson fleet. It's as though I'm missing something important, a vital piece of myself, and if I don't go searching on the Haxxal , I very well might go mad.

I sigh and run a hand through my hair as I consider the tension on the worldship as of late. I was born on the Jansonna and I've lived here for my entire life, yet I cannot recall a time when so much fear has permeated the vessel.

Waiting. It's like we're waiting for something big and terrible to happen.

The Jansonna is dead in the water , so to speak, to borrow an old Earth phrase. Nearly out of fuel, we're unable to make the jump to hyperdrive. The water filtration system also keeps breaking down, environmental controls constantly malfunction, and an uncontained gas leak has rendered the five lower decks uninhabitable. Water and food are being rationed at historically reduced levels, and only the wealthiest on the ship—elderly Founders and their descendants—are able to receive medical care.

And in our time of need, the Darrvasons just happened to show up. I know the aliens have already met with Captain Warren and the rest of the human worldship's command team, but beyond that it's difficult to decipher which of the wild rumors I've heard about the Darrvasons' continued presence might be true.

It's obvious that negotiations of some sort are taking place. Humankind needs help and clearly the technologically advanced Darrvasons can provide it, but at what cost?

What sort of payment are the aliens demanding in return for their help?

Shivers rush through me as I think about the rumors. I've heard everything from the aliens wanting to keep humans as slaves, to the aliens being a vampiric race that craves our blood, to the aliens wanting human women for breeding purposes.

This last rumor causes me to flush and squirm in my seat, though I'm not sure why. I've never engaged in the act of physical congress. I don't know what it feels like and whether it's a pleasurable experience.

On the Jansonna , fornication has been outlawed for decades, and we're all given hormone suppression shots to keep us from having urges . Whatever that means. Rather than being conceived the old-fashioned way—the dangerous way, or so we're told—babies are conceived in a fertility lab. Reproduction is strictly controlled, and couples who desire a child must submit an application.

Yes, couples . We might not be allowed to consummate our relationships, but couples still get married on the worldship, whether for companionship, tradition, or to seal alliances between families.

I cover a yawn, but despite my growing fatigue, I don't depart the alcove. My gaze remains riveted to the Haxxal as the longing seems to pulse harder inside my chest, and for a reason I can't fathom, my upper arms feel warm and almost itchy.

Just another hour, I tell myself. Then I'll go to bed.

As I scoot closer to the viewscreen, footsteps abruptly sound in the corridor. I freeze and hold my breath, praying whoever it is will walk by the alcove without peeking behind the curtain. My heart races and my palms become sweaty.

As the footsteps grow nearer, murmuring voices reach me as well. Shit. Multiple people. If they're walking in a group after curfew, they must be security officers.

Relief swarms me when they move past the alcove, and I slowly, very quietly, release a long breath.

Close. That was too close.

Given how I spend my evenings—managing an illegal bar on Deck Twenty-Two known as Leona's Speakeasy—I really should be more careful. The last thing I want is to run afoul of the law and draw unwanted attention to myself. Being out after curfew is generally considered a minor offense, but I can't afford a fine and I dread the prospect of spending even one night in the brig.

Just as I refocus my attention on the Haxxal , the alcove's curtain is pulled back with a flourish. I gasp and spin to face the intruder.

Cold shock grips me. It's not a security or morality officer. Oh no, it's so much worse than that.

Commander Hampton, the first mate of the Jansonna , looms above me wearing a menacing smile. Given his reputation as a corrupt asshole, he's the absolute last person on the ship by whom I'd want to be caught.

"What do we have here?" A dark chuckle escapes him.

I summon my bravery and meet his eyes, not wanting him to discern the true depths of my fear. The more frightened I appear, the more guilty I'll look. As far as he knows, I'm just a regular citizen of the Jansonna who happened to stay out after curfew to admire the majestic view of open space and the Darrvason fleet. It's a plausible excuse. Non-Founders like me don't have viewscreens in our quarters, so we're only able to glimpse open space when we visit an alcove, a mess hall, or a recreation room.

"Good evening, Commander Hampton." I force a smile. "If you wish to sit in this alcove, it's all yours. I was just leaving." I rise to my feet and try to walk around him, but he snatches my arm in a painful grip.

He leans closer and scoffs. Spittle flies from his mouth. It's all I can do not to flinch. "It's hours past curfew and well after midnight. ‘Good morning' is more like it." His gaze brims with violence as he looks me up and down, causing a fresh shiver to rack my body. "What is your name?"

Somehow, I manage another polite smile. "Leona Zimmerman." I don't want to reveal my last name, but if I don't immediately disclose it, I know he'll ask. A quick scan of my palm would reveal my identity anyway.

"Zimmerman?" Disgust fills his visage. "Any relation to Harris Zimmerman?"

I swallow past the dryness in my throat. "He's my father."

The commander's grip on my arm tightens. He whistles, and footsteps once again echo in the corridor. Two security officers approach to stand on either side of him, and my dread promptly deepens. My father has been a thorn in the command team's side for years. He's also spent time in the brig.

"Tell me, Leona, is your father planning to incite any rebellions in the near future?"

"My father has never incited a rebellion." That's probably not true, but there's never been enough evidence to keep Dad in the brig for long.

Commander Hampton rolls his eyes. "If he weren't such a skilled engineer, I think we both know he would've met with an unfortunate accident years ago." His gaze briefly darts to the alien fleet. "But perhaps our worldship won't need him for much longer."

"So, it's true then? It's true that the Darrvasons are going to help us?" I think of the Haxxal and my intense but inexplicable desire to board the alien vessel. "What do they want in exchange for their help?" The Jansonna gives an ominous shudder, and the lights in the corridor flicker, a reminder that the Darrvasons haven't helped us yet . The worldship is still in a perilous state.

The commander's grip turns bruising, and I can't restrain a gasp. He doesn't answer my questions. Instead, he yanks me out of the alcove, then tosses me toward the security officers. The uniformed men catch me, and before I draw my next breath, they secure my wrists in manacles behind my back.

Oh God. My stomach flips and I shoot Commander Hampton a pleading look. Not that begging will have any effect. The commander has a reputation for arresting and even torturing people without cause. The rumors about him are horrifying, and I pray I'll end up in the brig rather than his private quarters.

What if he sees capturing me as an opportunity to learn more about my father's alleged rebellious activities? What if he tries to torture information out of me? The truth is, I suspect my father is involved with at least a few rebel groups who would like nothing more than to overthrow Captain Warren and the rest of his command team, Commander Hampton included, but I don't have any proof, nor do I know any helpful details.

"The fine for being caught in the corridors after curfew recently increased tenfold, and I doubt you can pay it. Such a pity. Guess you'll be spending two weeks in the brig." Commander Hampton's eyes glitter with malice. "Take her away, gentlemen."

"Wait!" I struggle in the security officers' grasp. Though I'm wearing restraints, they still have an iron grip on my arms. "You can't just keep me in the brig for two weeks. I-I'm entitled to a trial." This being my first offense, surely a judge would only impose a one-night sentence in the brig. Not two freaking weeks. Guilt ravages me as I consider all the people I'll be letting down if I disappear without warning for an extended period of time. My friends and my coworkers. Not to mention the patrons who frequent the speakeasy.

"A trial?" The commander laughs. Then he withdraws a clear vial filled with tiny pink crystals from his pocket. He holds the vial in front of my face. My blood runs cold. "Very well. You may have your trial. Such a shame that not only were you caught out after curfew, but we also found drugs in your possession. Tsk tsk, Leona Zimmerman. What a naughty girl you've been." He passes the vial to one of the officers. "Please log this evidence once you reach the brig."

Disbelief clutches me. The curfew violation is suddenly the least of my worries. A drug charge will result in years in the brig. Five at minimum.

"If you're doing this to try to get a confession out of me, Commander, it's not going to work. I don't know anything." Though we share the same quarters, my father barely speaks to me, and he sure as hell has never confided in me about his alleged involvement in any rebel plots.

"Do you know how many rumors I've heard about your father over the years?" He steps closer and brushes my hair behind my ears, allowing his fingers to trail down my neck. I shiver at his touch, repulsed by his nearness. "Some say he was the mastermind behind the Deck Five Massacre twenty years ago. We lost thirty-nine security officers that day."

"As far as I know, my father is just a regular, boring engineer who's had the misfortune of befriending people who later turn out to be rebels. Just because a few of his friends and acquaintances have been charged with treason over the years doesn't mean he's guilty by association." Though I've always believed my father to be cold and distant, I find myself wondering if perhaps his parental detachment is a survival mechanism. If I don't know anything concrete, I can't blow his cover.

The commander smirks. "I hope you enjoy your time in the brig, Leona ." The overly intimate way he utters my name sends a jolt of terror through me. "Perhaps I'll come visit you. You'll be there for a few years," he says, once again brushing my hair behind my ears, "and I would hate for you to get lonely."

"You can't do this!" I thrash in the security officers' hold while the commander continues stroking my hair. It's perverse, the way he's touching me. He's doing it just because he can, a sick display of power. "I didn't do anything! I-I'll prove you planted the drugs on me. I will. I'll expose your corruption!"

Commander Hampton throws his head back and laughs. He knows my threat holds no merit. Even if I had definitive proof he'd committed an atrocity, the evidence would be tidily swept under a rug. He wouldn't face any consequences. Captain Warren needs someone to do his dirty work. From what I've heard, the more clandestine tasks, including off-the-record interrogations, usually fall to the first mate.

Grinning like a fiend, he pats my cheek before stepping back. He makes a sweeping gesture toward the nearest elevator. "Take her away."

The security officers are quick to comply. Seconds later, I find myself in an elevator headed for the brig. The men don't release me, no matter how much I plead. Neither guard speaks, and I soon give up trying to reason with them.

Years . I can scarcely fathom it. I'll be sentenced to years in the brig. And once I'm released? I'll be assigned to perform the most dreaded, backbreaking tasks on the worldship.

What will happen to my bar?

Tears burn in my eyes as I imagine the patrons and volunteer workers who'll show up at Leona's Speakeasy tomorrow evening to find I'm not there. Eventually, word will get out that I was arrested. People will be too scared to visit the bar, even if the charges against me are completely unrelated to my management of a speakeasy.

I enjoy everything about running the bar, but my favorite part of all is creating a welcoming atmosphere where the regular citizens of the Jansonna might socialize and unwind. The command team, security officers, and descendants of Founders reportedly have their own illicit meeting places, underground bars where they might go for an evening of forbidden fun. Illegal or not, why shouldn't the regular citizens of the Jansonna enjoy the same type of respite?

My speakeasy is a labor of love. I brew the beer and distill the stronger spirits myself, using materials and credits secretly donated by my regulars. Each day, the minute my shift at my official job as a mess hall worker ends, I always head straight for the bar.

I'm not stupid. I'm fully aware that rebels frequent my bar, and I know I'm providing them with a place they might congregate in secret. But most of my patrons are regular citizens like me who simply want a cheerful place to spend their evenings. A place where they can forget about the constraints of life on the Jansonna .

My best friends in the universe help staff my bar, volunteering to serve drinks, provide security, and clean up after closing time. Ellen, Angelo, and Michaela, to name a few. God, they're going to be worried sick when I'm a no-show tomorrow evening. My co-workers in the mess hall will likely be frantic over my absence too. I started working there when I was fifteen, and during the last twenty years, I haven't missed a single day of work.

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors jolt open. I'm greeted by the dimly lit corridor of the brig's entrance, as well as a gust of frigid air. I shiver and wish I were wearing something more substantial than threadbare pants and a thin t-shirt. My teeth practically chatter as the security officers lead me deeper into the brig, past several stern-faced guards and through three bolted doors.

Panic descends and dark spots mar my vision. This can't be happening. I take deep breaths and pray I don't faint from fear.

In all my life, I've never been so afraid.

I've heard the brig is an awful place, though this is my first time here. Whenever my father was detained, he always forbade me from visiting. Once, he'd even gone so far as to threaten to tell the authorities about Leona's Speakeasy if I dared to visit. To say our relationship is a bit complicated would be an understatement.

I can't help but wonder if he'll visit me. Will he try to help? Will he attend my trial and speak on my behalf? I doubt it would make a difference. The drugs, after all, are about to be logged as evidence. Even if I call Commander Hampton out for his treachery, it will be my word against his. But if my father attempts to help me, it will mean he cares. Knowing he cares, even a little, will bring me comfort.

The guards lead me past several occupied cells, but the light is so dim that I can't glimpse the faces of the prisoners. All I see are dark forms huddled against walls or curled up on the floor. Some cells contain over a dozen people, while others only contain one or two.

Please don't let them toss me into a cell by myself .

I'm scared shitless and could use some companionship right now. Especially in the dimly lit brig. I'm not proud to admit it, but I'm used to sleeping with the lights on, and the thought of being tossed into a dark cell all alone causes worry to clench in my stomach.

To my great relief, I'm taken to a cell at the end of the corridor that contains six women. The security officers remove the manacles from my wrists, then unlock the cell door and shove me inside. The force of the push sends me sprawling on my hands and knees. I hiss in pain and turn on my side, gasping for air. The men chuckle as they walk away, and their cruelty sends a wave of despair through me.

I exchange curious glances with the six women. One of them, a young blonde, scoots closer and places a gentle hand on my shoulder. She gives me a sympathetic look, and it does me in. I burst into tears. Though we're strangers, she gathers me close and hugs me.

"There there," she says in a soothing tone. "It'll be all right."

"It won't be all right." I sniffle and try to get my emotions under control. "Commander Hampton planted drugs on me. I'm so incredibly fucked." I peek up to find the other women moving closer, all wearing looks of concern.

A woman with curly dark hair clears her throat. "I'm so sorry. If it makes you feel any better, we're all here on falsified charges too. Drugs. Theft. Fornication. Curfew violations."

"Thanks, but… I feel bad for all of us," I say. "If we didn't do anything wrong, why waste the worldship's resources keeping us here? At least if we're free, we're working and contributing. I must've counted over two hundred other prisoners in the brig."

"More than that," replies the blonde who'd comforted me. She sits back on the floor and sighs. "There are three additional wings. I overheard the guards talking the other day and it sounds like there are over five hundred prisoners down here. Most are being held on suspicion of rebel involvement. I'm Sheila by the way."

"Hi, Sheila. My name is Leona."

The other five women give me their names. Erin, Nancy, Isabella, Karlie, and Camilla. I briefly study each woman's face and commit their names to memory.

"There's been a surge of arrests since the Darrvasons showed up," Erin says. "People are scared and worried that whatever deal is being brokered with the aliens won't serve humankind very well. So, naturally, there's been an increase in rebel activity. A lot of people think they could do a better job of commanding the Jansonna than Captain Warren and his minions."

"Human females," says Nancy, the one with the curly dark hair. "My brother is a guard, and he witnessed the first few meetings between Jansonna's command team and the alien leaders. The aliens want human women between the ages of nineteen and twenty-five for breeding purposes, and they're demanding a minimum of two thousand of us in exchange for their help."

My mind reels. Holy shit. The Darrvasons want two thousand women? I can scarcely fathom it. Only about fifty thousand people call the Jansonna home. Losing two thousand women of childbearing age will be a huge loss.

I peer more closely at my cellmates. At thirty-five, I'll be safe from the aliens. But my present companions are younger than me. If I had to guess, I'd say all are within the age range the aliens are seeking. My heart goes out to them.

"Try not to worry," I whisper, giving each woman a comforting look. "Maybe the deal won't happen, and even if it does, that doesn't mean all of you will be taken."

"I work in engineering. The Jansonna is just days away from a complete systems-wide failure," Camilla says. "Well, we have a week and a half left at most, if we're lucky. Captain Warren will have no choice but to accept the deal. And look at us. We're in the brig. We're considered expendable. It doesn't take a genius to figure out how this is going to go down."

A week and a half left at most? I don't volunteer that my father is one of Jansonna's top engineers. That'll only invite questions for which I don't have answers. I can't help but wonder why he hasn't breathed a word about the seriousness of the worldship's predicament to me. Does he know about the trade the aliens are trying to make with humankind?

My heart sinks as I peer at my frightened cellmates. I try to think of something comforting to say, but nothing comes to mind. Camilla is right. If the captain agrees to give two thousand human females to the Darrvasons, he'll likely pillage the brig for women first.

A long silence ensues, and we eventually situate ourselves against the cell walls. I lean back on the cold, hard surface and wonder if this is the type of cell I'll be kept in during my years-long incarceration. A cell devoid of furniture and blankets. The only item in this small, chilled space is a toilet that's tucked into a back corner.

Will I spend years sleeping on a hard surface with nothing but the clothes on my back?

Guilt visits me a second later. Because what these six women are facing will be so much worse than my fate. A race of barbaric aliens wants to use them for breeding purposes.

At some point, I drift to sleep. The purple eyes set in a shadowed face feature prominently in my dreams. I also dream that I'm trying to reach the Haxxal , that I've commandeered a transport vessel so I might board the lead ship in the Darrvason fleet. I awake an indiscernible time later to discover several security officers standing outside the cell.

Commander Hampton steps into view from behind them, and his sinister smile causes cold fear to drench me. "Good morning, ladies. Sleep well, did you?"

A quick glance around the cell shows my companions are awake, each displaying varying expressions of dread.

I lift my chin and meet the commander's eyes. "Good morning, gentlemen." Somehow, I keep my voice steady and infused with confidence, though inside I'm quaking with terror. "Come to serve us breakfast in bed?"

The commander snorts. "Not quite. I need five of you for a little science project."

"That doesn't sound ominous or anything." I glare at the commander as my anger toward him starts to outweigh my fear. Because of him, I've lost everything. My freedom, my friends, and my bar. My whole life and all I care about, gone.

His eyes narrow on me. "I'm supposed to collect five women between the ages of nineteen and twenty-five for the Darrvasons to poke and prod, but since you're being such a goddamn delight this morning, Leona , consider yourself drafted." He steps back and nods at the guards. "Grab the mouthy one and four others. And put the mouthy one in restraints."