The realization that less than a foot of different layers of metal once separated us from outer space is terrifying to know. The giant gash in the hull is a testament to how unsafe the voyage had been, but it seems like a species that could invent cryochambers that just survived flying through the sky should be able to keep their ship together.
What do I know? I'm no engineer.
When I finally manage to scramble up, I get a good view of the ship. We're in a small remaining hunk of it. Or at least I assume there must have been more of it than what now seems to amount to not much more than my cell, the hallway the other women were stored in, and the observation room.
Where we were severed from the ship looks like a surprisingly clean, straight cut.
From the shape, I assume we were in some sort of outer wing. There are burn marks and it's obvious the ceiling lost structural integrity because our entire section split off from the rest of the vessel. Had it stayed intact we would have all remained together. After a moment of regret that the other women were scattered to who knows where, I realize that without this tear we would have also been trapped.
Likely simply waiting here until we were recovered and sent along to auction.
"But how can I possibly protect them now?"
Who am I kidding? I can't even get Silver to safety.
The stark reality of just how fucked up all of this is doesn't remove my sense of duty.
I'm the only person who knows where they are. Well, kind of knows where they are. Either way, I guarantee no one else on this planet will consider them as anything but slaves.
Which is probably a best-case scenario.
Aside from maybe Kira, I doubt any of the women were awake and aware long enough to have the same sense of responsibility. And she seemed like a hard woman who might not consider it a worthwhile risk to search for them. I let out a broken, mirthless laugh.
If I'm their only hope, lord help them.
I have to keep wiping away tears as I look out to the forest surrounding us.
I don't think it's just because I live in a city that it seems particularly thick and wild. It feels completely untamed. And now that I know we aren't attached to the rest of the ship, where I assume all the slimes were, I'm wondering if my plan to leave is wise.
From the brief conversation I overheard, I assume we've crashed on an alien hunting ground, where their prey are likely to be as deadly to me as the hunters.
Can I believe what the slimes said about our tracking devices not working on this planet? What dangers lurk in that forest if hunters—who I assume don't come here if they aren't confident they can survive—get torn to pieces out there?
I bite my lip until I taste blood and continue scanning, hoping that something about the view will help me decide.
10
Thivoll
When I see the ship hit the atmosphere and break apart I know right away it's a genali cruiser.
Genali technology, or any technology, doesn't work well on this planet. Anything that relies on external power inputs doesn't function. Some power sources react explosively to the atmosphere, which might explain the damage done to the ship.
I don't feel any sympathy for them.
Just like I haven't been able to dredge up any for the ones I killed, regardless of how ambivalent I feel about it in relation to everything I was taught as a kit.
When you wake up and realize you've been abducted, it's hard to stamp down the instinct to rip out something's throat, even if most of your time in life has been spent cleaning vent systems.
I wonder how much the genali hunting me for sport would appreciate knowing that the prey they spent millions of credits to be allowed on this planet to track is essentially a janitor. I tip my head back and let out a chuff at the thought.
My mane shifts against my ears and I flick them forward, then back to ensure I'm still carefully listening to my surroundings.
I'll likely have numerous hunters hoping to add me to their trophy wall.
A quick image of my ugly face, purple lips pulled back in a snarl, black teeth bared, some poor semblance of my golden eyes flashing and mounted to a wall makes me chuff again.
Let them come.
