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The tentlike structure at the back of the cave which stops me from seeing how deep the cavity runs into the rocky outcrop is more like a heavy, hanging fabric, beige and attached to the top of the cave and the walls, just like how the turret is suctioned to irregular rock. There’s a zip at the front. I crouch and unzip it until I can pass through.

I step inside. The floor of the tent is the same beige material, maybe half a foot thick, so I can barely feel the hard ground underneath it. It is simple inside. Three big, beige sleeping bags, lined up militarily. On the left side, the beige material covers the rock wall, and there is a rudimentary kitchen, complete with a sink and a replicator that can spit out dense, caloric food. There are no chairs. They must eat squatting.

The back of the tent is the cold rock of the cave, except for another square which offers privacy, and which has its own zip. I open that one, and blink in surprise. There’s a toilet, and against the back rock wall of the cave is a huge container of water with a spout over a basin. There’s no smell, except for the faint scent of alcohol, probably some sanitizer. The container of water has a red warning on it in the Aurelian language. I can’t read it, but I can guess—not for drinking.

I wash my hands. The water pools in the metal basin and drains, where it must be recycled and reused.

It chills me. This tent is made for years, decades of life on inhospitable planets. Even the attack ships of the Aurelians, the Reavers which are circling the skies, can be used for centuries, powered by Orbs that never wane.

I dry my hands on a towel, and duck through the opening of the bathroom, zipping it up behind me.

Three sleeping bags. I gulp. Where will they put me? Will I be forced to sleep in the arms of one of my captors?

No. I won’t sleep in their arms. I’ll sleep outside of the tent, in the cave itself, and if they want me, they’ll have to drag me inside.

I leave the cave, feeling as if I’m trespassing, and stand in the cave, trying to plan my next move.

There’s a ring of rocks, with firewood in it. That’s my way out. I’ll find a way to light it, and make some kind of smoke signal. But would the tendrils of smoke escape the forest? Would anyone see it?

And do I even want to escape?

I start at my own thought. I do. But on the other hand…

Trying to go with Summer north, just the two of us, would have ended with both of us dead. I was so determined to save my father that I ignored all risks. It’s unconscionable. My own life is mine to use any way I see fit, but Summer was going to be at my side, and selfishly, I was going to let her, because I knew that for us to have any chance to save my dad, I needed her with me.

The three aliens told me that the northern mining camps were lost. I don’t believe them.

And I still have something to trade. They may view me as their helpless captive, but Bolden held back when he sensed my fear. They want me, yes, but I know they want me to give myself to them, to accept my situation, to offer my body and being to their brutality willingly.

I offered my body as a trade once before, and they refused. I’ve felt their lusts. I know the way they look at me, as if they hate that they want me, and I will make them snap. I’ll use the primal Mating Rage to make them lose control.

I’m not helpless here. It is they who are helpless. The fact that they have not already rutted me on the cold stone floor means that something is holding them back, some code of honor perhaps, or something else—but whatever it is, I’ll use it against them. Perhaps they feel guilt for kidnapping me. I’ll free them off that guilt.

I can offer myself up to them willingly, and in return, perhaps they would go north for me and into the mines…

My thoughts are racing, confused, split between wanting to escape this situation and wanting to use it for my own benefit, when I hear a rustling from the forest.

The birds are quiet.

Oh Gods.

The birds are quiet.

The three aliens wouldn’t be back so quickly, and no one else knows I’m here.

Scorp.

11

LOLA

Iwant to curl up in the sleeping bag and hide. I force myself forward, my jaw set and cold, walking with silent steps. I choose each step carefully, shifting my weight to be silent as I creep up to the edge of the cave.

The sound is getting louder. I freeze, petrified, remembering my father’s lessons to make yourself silent and small, when a figure comes out of the heavy forest, cursing.

Summer looks around.

“Summer!” I yell, and she jerks upright, her rifle rising, then her jaw drops as she sees me.