In answer, he shoots away from me, and after waving his arm at a sensor, he causes the door inlaid into the wall beside him to spring open. He disappears out the door. I’m confused for a moment but jump to attention and dart through the opening before I’m locked outside of wherever he’s going.
I find myself in an empty hallway lit by red, flashing lights. Someone screams nearby, which doesn’t help my level of panic. The tall guy completely disappears around the corner. When I hear voices, I rush after him, almost running right into two other aliens who exit from a different room. They gape at me. I wonder why everyone is so damned surprised to see me.
One of the new aliens has long, black hair, longer than mine, and it’s twisted into one of those man buns—which is so weird, yet oddly familiar—on top of his head. In his arms, he holds a stack of books. The other reminds me of a mad scientist. His hair shoots up in all directions, and he’s sporting bandages on several of his fingers. They both dart their gazes where the other one ran off to before looking back at me.
“Mortarekker,” says the one with the man bun. “Did Draven finally lose what was left of his mind? I swear he was running from her.”
The mad scientist tilts his head, those strange, black eyes observing me. “I don’t doubt it. He can barely stand his own company, and he doesn’t want a mate.”
Mate?
He glances toward the room with the containers and repeats the strange word the first said. “Looks like the magnastrike caused the cryotube to malfunction.”
The first puts the books down on the floor beside him then shrugs out of his jacket. “We were due to wake up another, but Breccan won’t be pleased.”
“Breccan has other worries at the moment,” says the crazy haired dude.
The two of them speak to each other so quickly and with such familiarity, I wonder if they’re brothers or maybe best friends.
I wrap myself in book-guy’s rubbery jacket which is long enough it goes down to my knees. “Thank you,” I say. None of them have tried to hurt me, but I make sure to keep my guard up. The book-guy’s smile is so open and inviting, I want to relax and smile back, but not until I have more answers. “Please, will you explain? Why am I here? What’s going on?”
Book-guy wraps an arm around my shoulders, and they both turn and lead me down the hallway they came from. “That’s a long story…”
“Molly,” I supply. “Molly Franklin.”
“Molly. I’m Sayer, and this is Jareth.”
I nod to Jareth. “You aren’t—you aren’t going to h-hurt me, are you?”
Sayer squeezes my arm. “We’re not going to hurt you. We’d never hurt a female.” He sounds offended at the thought. “Right, Uvie?”
“Affirmative,” a computerized voice chirps from a speaker above us, startling me.
“Can you tell me where I am?” Maybe then I won’t feel as disconcerted.
“You’re on the planet Mortuus. We are its last remaining inhabitants.”
My stomach clenches in emptiness. I lift a hand to my head, wondering if I’m going to swoon. “I’m on another planet? H-how did I get here?” I’m also curious about the other alien I’d encountered, but one thing at a time.
“It’s best that we let Avrell or Breccan explain things to you,” Sayer says.
Jareth snorts. “Not likely. They’re both busy at the moment.” A scream punctuates his statement.
I jump, and Sayer rubs my arm. “What was that?” I envision someone being tortured.
“Our commander’s mate is giving birth to a mortyoung,” Sayer answers.
“Don’t worry, she was always a loud one,” Jareth adds.
This answer is almost worse than someone being tortured, but I switch topics. “There are other women here? Like the ones in the containers?”
The two nod. “We came upon several alien females, and as our numbers are so few, it was decided we would mate with the females to continue our population,” Jareth explains.
I push that thought away, too.
I’m on another planet, trapped with aliens who want to use me to breed.
Great.
2
Draven
I rush to throw on my zu-gear, desperate for an escape. Unlike the clingy material of my minnasuit, the zu-gear doesn’t bother my itchy arms. I push through the doors that lead to the stairwell that goes to The Tower. I need space. I need to see the vastness of our planet and remind myself I’m not trapped.
I’m not.
Before I take my first step of ascent, I snag a gnarly looking magknife off the weapons wall. You don’t go to The Tower unless you’re armed. With the zuta-metal handle tight in my grip, I start climbing the steep stairs. Sometimes, I run as fast as I can to the top. It’s liberating, and for a few moments, my mind is free from dark, soul-shredding clutter.