Page 15 of Commander’s Mate

I sat on the floor with my knees drawn close to my chest, one arm hooked around Nora’s shoulders and the other braced behind Zoe, who kept sliding every time the shuttle banked. Scarlet had wedged herself near the edge of the cluster, one bare foot planted against the wall and one hand gripping the lip of a storage rail as if she intended to hold the entire compartment steady by force of will.

None of us had shoes. None of us had real clothes. The thin slave shift I wore had ripped along one seam during the rush from the auction house, and I had knotted the tear at my hip so it would not gape open every time the shuttle jolted.

A week ago—two weeks ago? Time had gone soft and warped on the slave ship—I would have been embarrassed to sit half-naked on the floor with strangers. Now modesty felt like something from a distant country, from a life that belonged to a woman I remembered but could no longer quite reach.

I had been Harper Avery from Cherry Street, three blocks from Main, good at remembering birthdays, decent at making chicken soup, terrible at keeping plants alive but stubborn enough to keep buying them. I had taken out the garbage under an Ohio sunset.

Now I was Harper Avery from Earth, barefoot on an alien military shuttle after nearly being sold.

I pressed my fingertips hard into my own forearm.

Still real.

Still here.

Still not sold.

The armored soldiers stood along the walls, too large and too silent, their boots magnetized or locked somehow to the deck. Their helmets remained closed. They looked like machines, except I had seen the commander’s helmet open. I had seen his face.

Zared Maktu.

That was the name. Commander Zared Maktu of Farseek.

My mind kept trying to replay the moment his eyes had locked on mine. Not because it made sense. It did not. Nothing about this made sense. But the memory had burned itself into me harder than the weapons fire, harder than the screams from the auction hall, harder even than the horror of the slave tags clipped to the dresses of the women around me.

He had looked at me as if the whole battle had narrowed to the space between us.

As if he had found something he had lost before knowing it existed.

That was insane.

I had known him for less than five minutes. I did not know if his people were safe, if his ship was taking us somewhere better, or if “rescued” in alien terms meant “claimed by different owners with nicer voices.”

But he had said we would not be slaves.

I held on to that. I had nothing else solid enough.

A low moan came from somewhere behind me. One of the purple-skinned women was curled against a woman with pale silver hair, shaking so hard I could see her teeth chatter. Scarlet twisted to look.

“She hurt?” Scarlet asked.

“I don’t think so,” Nora said, her nurse voice clicking into place despite her drawn, gray face. “Shock, probably. Cold. Fear. All of the above.”

“Can we get blankets?” Zoe called toward the nearest armored soldier.

The soldier turned his helmet slightly. I could not see his eyes, but the motion made several women flinch.

Zoe lifted both hands, palms out. “Blankets. Covers. Cloth. They’re freezing.”

The soldier said something in a language I did not understand, and then a moment later I did. The translator chip behind my ear vibrated with a tiny ache, turning the rough alien syllables into meaning half a beat late.

“Supplies will be distributed after docking. Remain seated.”

“Helpful,” Scarlet muttered.

“He probably can’t do anything in here,” Nora said.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Scarlet pulled the hem of her oversized, flimsy dress down and leaned toward the trembling woman. “Hey. You’re okay. We’re out. We’re not there anymore.”