Page 150 of Commander’s Mate

“We know,” Nora said quickly. “But they don’t.”

I looked around the room and saw it then. Not just exhaustion. Calculation. Women watching the door every time a soldier entered. Women flinching from offered food because nothing in captivity was ever free. Women sitting with their backs to walls because rescue had not yet taught their bodies safety.

I had spent the night learning Zared’s hands.

Shame burned through me, useless and immediate.

“I should have been here.”

Scarlet’s gaze sharpened. “No. Do not do that.”

“I left.”

“You survived,” she said. “Same as us. Different method.”

Zoe wiped her cheeks. “Can you ask him? Officially? What happens to us? What rights do we have? Where do we sleep? What choices do we have?”

“Yes,” I said, and for the first time since I had stepped into the room, the ground under me felt solid. “Yes. I can ask.”

Scarlet studied me. “Not ask like his girlfriend.”

“Mate,” Zoe corrected weakly.

“Whatever,” Scarlet said. “Ask like someone representing us.”

I had never represented anyone more complicated than myself at a customer-service counter or in a workplace argument. I was not a lawyer. I was not a politician. I was not a soldier like Scarlet or a nurse like Nora or whatever bright useful thing Zoe would turn out to be here.

But I knew what it was to be taken.

I knew what it was to be told my life had changed by people who had not asked me.

I knew what questions clawed in the dark when men with weapons controlled the doors.

“I can do that,” I said.

A young Farseek soldier entered carrying folded garments in his arms. Half the room went still.

I watched him notice it. He could not have been much older than twenty by human standards, though maybe alien years made that a stupid guess. His skin was a soft gray-brown, his hair a vivid green that would have looked ridiculous on Earth and looked almost ordinary here. He froze with the stack of clothing clutched to his chest.

“I brought clean inner shirts,” he said. “For anyone who needs one.”

No one moved.

His face darkened slightly. Embarrassment? Distress? He looked toward me, maybe because I stood closest, maybe because word had already spread that I belonged to Zared.

That I was with Zared.

I crossed the room and took the stack from him.

“Thank you,” I said loudly enough for the room to hear. “We’ll pass them out.”

Relief moved over his face. “There will be more after the cleaning cycle.”

“Good. Tell whoever is handling supplies that we need clothes sorted by size, menstrual supplies if your people have anything equivalent, privacy screens, and a list of where everyone is going.”

“Thank you.”

He gave me a quick nod and left faster than dignity strictly allowed.