“Protocol steps,” he said.
She nodded. “Exactly. Programs that may be antiquated but still used.”
“You should upgrade your systems.”
“That we should.” She smiled, amused at the metaphor they were using. But if that’s how she needed to relate to this Rhimodian, that was a language she could use.
Behind the beach were buildings, sturdy-looking structures that resembled apartments, the doors facing the water. Weathered but sound.
More buildings stood in the distance, as well as a few pieces of equipment. Beyond that, giant machines performed what appeared to be farm work.
Her chest still ached, and she wondered how much water she’d coughed up. She had to have half-drowned since she didn’t remember getting out of the water, much less swimming to shore. Nearby, part of the escape pod lay on the edge of the water, rocking in the waves.
But where was the rest of the crash debris? Surely the wreckage was nearby. All the supplies were on the escape pod. She'd need those things, wouldn't she?
How was she going to contact the others?
The others.
Freya put her hand on her chest. Under her heavy robe.
It was still there.
The brooch she'd been given by Caoimhe. She could not lose that. No matter what. While she didn't know the details of what the princess was up to with the jewelry she'd gifted to everyone before they had been attacked, she did know it was something.
And something was important.
For now, Freya needed to survive.
And that meant befriending a Rhimodian. At least for a little while.
She gripped her dress, hefting up the heavy wet fabric, and took a few steps. "What is this place?"
"We are on Sol-1. Our farming moon."
Fields of swaying blue filled the horizon, between the structures and equipment. "Is that blue grass?"
"Yes. It is a valuable resource."
"Many would agree," she said. Blue grass was a primary food stock in the galaxy. Unlike many other grains, once harvested and processed, the grain had an almost infinite shelf life and excellent dehydration properties. Important in space travel, when certain kinds of voyages could take decades or even longer. A great deal of food was made with it. It was one of the few grains that nearly every humanoid could digest.
Unfortunately, it did not grow everywhere. Those systems that could produce it created it in massive quantities and worked with the Galactic Alliance for trade and distribution. There was a great deal of wealth to be had selling blue grass.
Most legal.
Some, of questionable legality.
Regardless of how it was sold, it was considered a prime asset to export.
“What do you do with it?” she asked, hoping she sounded sweet.
“We process the blue grass, refine and produce what we need. Then sell the surplus on Disguised Serenity.”
Freya waved her hand. “Disguised Serenity does not have the best prices.”
“Are you a merchant?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I am an advisor to the princess. It is my job to know many things.”
