Chosen by the Governor (Under Alien Law Book 1)

“Just a little diversion, since you’re curious.” Marco scanned the dunes, then gestured to a distant black spot. “There.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Under the surface, deep down, are vast underground lakes, which are sheltered from the heat. When we colonized the planet, we opened up holes, drilled down into these water-filled caverns, and dispersed oxygenating plants and microbes. The sun shines through these holes and the light—”

“Helps produce the oxygen.” She nodded. “So this is how you keep the air suitable for breathing?”

“Amongst other things. It’s one of a battery of technologies employed.”

The vent was about a half a mile in diameter, allowing sufficient light in, but not too much heat to cause evaporation. The speeder circled the rim and it reminded Freya of a volcano.

Marco spoke to the pilot again. “Put us back on course.”

“Thank you,” she said sweetly. “For showing me that. I’d wondered if there was water somewhere on this planet.”

“It’s there, but insufficient to sustain a large population. It would destabilize the thin layer of the surface to drill too many vents.”

What else did Marco know about how life was sustained on desolate planets? Her mission had discovered nothing and she considered herself a failure. In her letter to her parents, she made no mention of Marco, or her life as his jenjin. As she wrote the letter, she’d struggled to hold back the tears. An emotion akin to grief consumed her. The tears had splashed on the paper and she’d dare not wipe them away in case she smudged the ink.

Gellis, who’d arrived to bathe Freya, had asked her what she was doing. When she’d explained about the paper and her plan to try to communicate with her parents, it had given Freya another idea. She’d handed Gellis a spare sheet and the ink pen. “Write to Jophran. Tell him your news. You can both read and write?”

The maid had fingered the paper and nodded. “Yes, in Vendian, since we come from different planets. But what would I do with a letter? I can’t deliver it.”

Freya hadn’t an answer to that problem, but she encouraged Gellis to write anyway. “It helps. It’s helped me.”

“You’ve been crying,” Gellis had noticed.

“It needed to happen. I have to move on. Nobody is coming to rescue me.” Freya hated even saying the words. What could her parents do but mourn her as if she’d died.

Gellis had taken the paper, and later in the day, she returned the pen.

“Give me the letter,” Freya had said. “I’ll try to get it to him.”

The maid hesitated before handing over the folded sheet and waved a dismissive hand. “It’s no matter if you don’t. I’m not hopeful.”

Tucking the letter into a drawer, Freya thought differently. It was important. Hope mattered.

That had been a few days ago, and now here she was and about to enjoy some time with Marco, but where?

The speeder dipped lower and turning, the view changed. Instead of the undulating dunes there was a wall of rock rising high, much higher than the one over the valley where the prisoners lived. The shadows cast stretched across the sands. Drifting close, she spied a structure tucked away near the overhanging cliff.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Marco smiled. “It’s the governor’s retreat. A special location where neither sun can reach, so it remains cool and pleasant. One of the previous governors constructed a tent with luxurious fittings and comforts. That, my little Earthling, is where we will spend today and tonight. Alone.”

He leaned toward her and kissed her lips. An evocative kiss that transmitted more than a brief desire, she felt the urgency. What awaited her would be much more than a simple caress of lips.

After the speeder landed, Marco helped her out and she wandered around the substantial exterior while he disappeared inside to check that his specific arrangements were in place. She wasn’t allowed to enter the tent until he called for her. The air was cooler, less dusty, and lacked humidity. The tent was more than temporary structure and made from something that resembled canvas, but when she touched it, it seemed thicker and rigid.

“It’s made from a memory material.” Marco beckoned her over to the entrance. “Once unfolded, it snaps into fixed shape. The interior is fresher, but not too cool.” He signaled to the pilot and the disk of the speeder began to spin again, indicating it was about to rise and depart.

Freya reached out and clasped Marco’s hand. “Come in,” he said.

Colorful drapes hung a

round the interior, camouflaging the tent’s walls. She’d expected something primitive, lacking in refinement, and she was wrong. The carpet beneath her feet was plush and the heel of her shoes sunk into it. She kicked them off and wriggled her toes in the soft pile. A curtain divided the interior of the tent and it separated a sleeping and bathing area from a general purpose space. Although, given the presence of the loveseat and the plentiful supply of stools and cushions, she assumed the arena had only one true purpose.

There was no shortage of food and drink. Somebody had supplied the tent and the varied offerings were laid out on tables or inside cooler cabinets. Marco stood behind her and the closed the flap of the tent. The light dimmed slightly but not to the extent artificial lights were necessary.