Claimed by the Zandian (Zandian Brides 6)

“Please.” Master Seke raises his hand and the group follows him over.

Tarek and I join them, and I peer at the machine on display.

“If you watch what I’m doing...” The tech taps the side of the small bubble, and the lid glides open, soundless and smooth. “There’s a fully equipped cockpit here complete with nav chair, screens and charts. Everything you’d have in our latest starship. A trainee can sit here and run the test programs, and it will feel and look exactly like space.”

“Impressive.” Seke leans in. “Who designed the sim mods?”

“I did.” Tarek’s voice is full of pride. “I created replicas of the journey through the Beltran-3 asteroid belt to test a navigator’s use of the equipment, as well as reflexes in the very rare case that all of our backup systems fail.”

“Excellent.” Seke beams at him.

Tarek’s comm beeps. “Excuse me.” He addresses Master Seke. “It’s my commander with a work question.”

“Please.” Seke nods, and Tarek strides away, out of earshot, and talks into his headset. I watch him for a few seconds until he disappears behind another pod of equipment, then I turn back to the group, feeling a bit lost. Unsure of myself.

“Soon you may be training on this.” Seke addresses his group of Zandians, then turns to me. “And you, as well, since you’re in the nav program.”

“Mm hmm.” I nod, face burning. “Thank you.”

“Can she give it a try right now?” Seke turns to the tech. “With your approval, of course.”

“Um, I don’t…” I step back.

“Mirelle’s been here a dozen times already with her trainees. It’s bulletproof, as long as you have the basic flight concepts down.” He steps out of the cockpit.

“Perhaps some other being is better suited.” I choke out the words. Where in the stars is Tarek?

“You're perfectly suited. If Tarek is training you, we have the utmost confidence in you.” The tech nods encouragingly. “Just step up here and show Master Seke how excellent our human training program really is.”

“I—”

“Don’t want to disappoint Master Seke,” the tech says, glancing at the seasoned warrior, a look of slight discomfort on his face. His eyes dart from the commander to me and back again.

“Definitely no. I do not want to do that.” I gulp some air.

I need to tell them something. Like, NO. Like, it’s a mistake, I can’t do this. I’m not qualified. I have a stomach ache! I need to use the bathroom. Anything!

But instead, when the tech beckons and points, I slowly step up the gleaming silver slats and sit in the chair that conforms to my body. Put on the headset. Soft beeps play, and the headset lights up. The screens come alive in front of me, and I gasp. “It’s so real,” I whisper to myself.

I’m going to just look at the screen. Then I’m going to take off the headset and tell them, I’m so sorry, I can’t do this. I’m not ready.

I put my hands up to the headset and say it, “I’m so…”

“Start program one.” The tech’s voice is faint through the noise-cancelling of the device on my ears, and then I hear the rush of engines as the pod thrums into life.

“No, wait…” I start, but he either does not hear me or ignores this.

“Program initiated. Flight progress is a go.” The shuttle hums and beeps and shudders lightly, as if it’s an actual craft taking off.

It’s exactly what it felt like on the rescue mission. I’m amazed and can’t believe this isn’t real.

But when the pod pulses and I feel sudden g-forces pushing me back into the chair, I realize it is very real, in a sudden and unpleasant way.

“I’m your on-site captain.” The tech’s voice is clear in my headset. “You’ll do the navigation as if we’re on a real trip. And go.”

In front of me, asteroids swirl and disappear into their own orbits, some of them ringed with cirrhic gasses, fluffy and light, others occluded with thickets of ice crystals. I grab the arms of my chair. Oops, those are lined with controls and buttons. Did I press something?

The pod shudders as if hit and we lurch to the side.