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  The less-talkative guard motioned them onward while the apparent leader remained in the strange room. Nazerel’s hand lingered on her arm as they followed the guard down one passageway after another. The corridors were rounded, making them feel more like tunnels than hallways and many of the walls had ladders leading to other levels. There were no windows, no natural light. Was this an underground complex like the Bunker?

  Or were they on a spaceship?

  The possibility dropped like a stone into the pit of Morgan’s stomach. It wasn’t as if her people had more hope of finding her on an alien planet than on a movable spaceship. Still, somehow the idea was even more daunting. If the guards’ blue-ringed eyes and angular features were any indication, Nazerel was exploring his Rodyte heritage.

  After indicating a doorway with a sharp jerk of his head, the guard strode back the way they’d come. Nazerel opened the door with a command in the same staccato language he’d been speaking with the guard.

  She waited until the door closed behind them to speak. The room was small, the furniture built into the walls. It reminded her of the holding cells in the Bunker, an ultramodern prison cell. “Where are we? And why are we here?”

  “We’re docked at Space Station 438. And this is where I need to be.”

  She scowled at him, much too anxious to appreciate his sense of humor. “Spaceships dock at space stations. Are we on a spaceship?”

  “This is the Fotrastal, which roughly translates to Undaunted. Welcome aboard.” He looked around the room with obvious distaste. “Once the commander finds out we’ve arrived, I suspect he’ll move us to more comfortable accommodations. The guard was being an ass.”

  “Are we in Rodyte space?”

  He shrugged. “I think SS 438 is considered neutral, but the crew is Rodyte and I think that’s what you’re really asking.”

  “Why do you ‘need to be’ on the Undaunted?” It was unlikely he’d explain, but she had to try again.

  He clasped his hands behind his back and stared past her. “I promised my men a better life, freedom and a chance at a future of which they could be proud. I haven’t given up on that promise.”

  The answer surprised her. His men were in custody on Ontariese, likely headed to prison. How did he intend to change their situation from a Rodyte spaceship?

  Before she could ask for a clarification, a buzzer sounded in the small room. Nazerel looked toward the door and spoke another Rodyte word. The door slid open and a robot rolled in. It was waist high and designed for function rather than form. A variety of appendages could be extended from the barrel-shaped body. It held a rimmed tray on which rested two small cylinders. It picked up one of the cylinders and held it out toward Nazerel as it spoke several words in Rodyte.

  “What is that?” She was too curious to pretend indifference.

  “Standard inoculation. It will protect you against alien microbes and suppress any you carry that might infect the crew.”

  He motioned her toward him, but she hesitated. “Is it safe for humans?”

  “This formula is specifically engineered for humans.” When she still hesitated, he went on, “You can’t interact with any of the crew until you’ve been vaccinated. Do you really want to stay locked in this room indefinitely?”

  Indefinitely? How long did he intend to keep her? There had to be a reason he brought her along. Beyond the fact that she was female. He’d only said that to rattle her cage. At least she prayed that had been his reason for being so hateful. “Is the other one for you?”

  “I was vaccinated as a child.” He picked up the other injector and dismissed the robot. “This one contains translator nanites. I thought you might want to understand what’s being said around you.”

  He was going to inject her with alien technology? Dread washed over her in icy waves, but the alternative was worse. She could trust that he wouldn’t harm her or she could remain locked away and be unable to understand anyone but him. Not a pleasant choice.

  “I don’t like this.” Still, she crossed to him.

  “I know.” He pulled up the sleeve of her T-shirt and injected her with the vaccine. Then he turned her around and injected the translator nanites near the base of her skull. She’d barely felt the first injection, but the second stung like fire. She rubbed the area, hoping to disperse the pain. He walked across the room and tossed the injectors into a compartment near a different door than the one through which they’d entered. After waiting until she recovered, he asked, “Can you understand me?”

  Her ears registered the alien words, yet her mind provided their meaning. “That’s really weird. Will it allow me to speak Rodyte as well?”

  “No. You’ll need a language infusion at some point. This is a temporary workaround.”

  “Then no one on board will understand what I say?”

  “Translator nanites are mandatory for members of the Rodyte military. You speak your language and they speak theirs. The nanites provide translations for both of you. But you can’t issue voice commands or read Rodyte, which means you won’t be able to operate most of the equipment.”

  “It’s still pretty amazing.”

  The buzzer sounded again and when Nazerel called out, Morgan understood that the word meant “enter”.

  The door slid open and their visitor bounded into the room.

  “Nazerel!” With unmistakable familiarity, the man surrounded Nazerel with a back-pounding bear hug. “Garin told me you were coming, but I didn’t believe him. How in the five hells are you?”

  They spoke in rapid Rodyte, yet Morgan easily followed along.

  “Honestly, I’ve been better. But it’s always great to see you.” He returned the newcomer’s hug then stepped back so he could more easily meet his gaze. Nazerel toped six feet by several inches and he still had to tilt his head back to look at his visitor. “Zilor, this is Morgan. Morgan, meet Zilor Nox, my cousin.”

  Zilor was a handsome devil with wavy dark hair that flowed past his shoulders and a beaming smile. Unlike the other Rodytes she’d seen, the rings in his dark eyes were a glittery shade of silver. He wore black pants and a formfitting shirt, primarily black with wide blue stripes down each side.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Morgan.” Then without missing a beat, he asked, “Why are you in restraints?”

  “Escape is no longer an issue.” Nazerel decided with an unapologetic shrug. “I suppose I can release her.”

  “I’m glad, but why was escape an issue before.”

  Never one to ignore a possible opportunity, she moved closer to Zilor. “I’m his hostage. If you return me to Earth, I can see that you’re well compensated by the US government.”

  Zilor chuckled, clearly unimpressed by her plea. “Sorry, doll. You’ll have to take that up with Garin and I seriously doubt he’ll intervene.”

  “Who is Garin?”

  “Pferitor Garin Nox, commander of this ship and Zilor’s oldest brother,” Nazerel explained. “The closest human parallel would be a four star general. Garin’s the reason I’m here.”

  Morgan sighed. If Garin and Zilor were brothers, then Nazerel was the commander’s cousin. Zilor’s friendliness had given her false hope. No one on board a Rodyte ship would give a damn about the plight of a human female. Rodytes might be technologically superior to humans, but their attitudes about females were primitive.

  As if to prove her point, Zilor turned back to Nazerel and continued conversing as if she hadn’t just told him she was here against her will. “Garin has been in negotiations for the past three days. He hates dealing with temperamental diplomats, but he’s good at it. Which is why Stirate Quinten trusts him with these situations.”

  “Any idea when he’ll have time for me?”

  “He’ll make time for you, but it will probably be later tonight.” He motioned to the room and shook his head. “Who put you in this closet? You need to be up on the officers’ deck.”

  “May I have my own room?”

  Zilor looked at her as if
she’d just asked him to strangle a kitten. “And leave you unprotected? Garin would have my head.”

  “But Nazerel isn’t protecting me.” She held up her bound wrists as evidence. “I need protection from him.”

  Zilor laughed and slapped Nazerel on the back. “You have far to go with this one, brother.”

  “I’m well aware.”

  She seethed as they walked through the ship, but even her anger couldn’t keep her from noticing how many men they passed or how far they traveled. They took an elevator from deck three to deck sixteen. The corridors were wider here, less claustrophobic, yet the crewmen still eyed her with obvious displeasure.

  “Are females not allowed on board? Why is everyone glaring at me?”

  She’d looked at Nazerel when she posed the questions, but Zilor answered, “It’s your outfit. It’s disrespectful for a female to appear in public in masculine garments.”

  She waited until he looked away to roll her eyes. What utter bullshit.

  Zilor showed them to an apartment easily twice the size of the first. This one had a sitting area as well as a large bed. A bank of built-in cabinets extended the length of the far wall and a compact kitchenette was tucked into one corner, a workstation in another.

  “The bathroom is through there.” Zilor pointed out a door to the right of the kitchen area. “You’ll have to register with security before you can use the data terminal, but I’ll officially assign you the room. Once the room is assigned the door only responds to the resident. That will help keep your ‘guest’ safe. Everything else should function normally. Do you need anything else?”

  “I need to speak with your brother,” Nazerel grumbled.

  “He’s aware and he’ll summon you as soon as he’s available.”

  “Any chance of borrowing some clothes for Morgan? We don’t want to agitate the crew every time we leave the cabin.”

  Zilor looked at Morgan intently for a moment. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  With a distracted wave, Zilor left the cabin.

  “So what exactly is considered acceptable clothing for a female?” Morgan hadn’t meant to sound so bitchy, but her patience had worn out hours before. “I’m not going to be wrapped up like a mummy.”

  “I’m not sure what a mummy is, but I don’t think you’ll object to Rodyte garments. I saw females on Earth wearing similar clothing.”

  “What’s their objection to what I’m wearing now?”

  “Pants are for males. Females wear skirts and dresses.”

  “Seriously? Females aren’t allowed to wear pants?” Actually, she should have expected this. Everything she’d read indicated that their treatment of females was archaic. It was more surprising that they allowed females to cover themselves at all.

  “Rodytes celebrate the differences between males and females rather than trying to meld the two into one as you’ve done on Earth.” He shook his head then shuddered. “I’ve never seen so many effeminate males and masculine females. At times it was hard to tell one from the other.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “There are certain cities where that’s more of a challenge than others. Las Vegas is definitely one of them.”

  “Well, there is no such confusion on Rodymia.”

  He sounded so superior, she had to challenge him. “There are no homosexuals on all of Rodymia?”

  “What does sexual orientation have to do with anything?”

  Now she was confused. Rather than delve deeper into an issue that had no bearing on her current situation, she waved it away. “Never mind.” She held up her bound wrists. “Will you please unlock these cuffs, so I can take them off?”

  “Do you promise to behave yourself?”

  “Of course not,” she shot back automatically.

  “Then the cuffs stay locked.”

  “We’re on an alien spaceship. What do you expect me to do?”

  He moved toward her, his expression suddenly serious. “Zilor has a sense of humor. Garin does not. I expect you to be respectful and obedient. If I don’t control you, Garin will. He cannot allow anyone to interfere with the smooth operation of this ship. Do you understand?”

  “I don’t understand why you dragged me along. I’m a liability, not an asset.”

  “You have details I didn’t have time to confirm and a perspective that will be important once we start building a strategy.”

  “A strategy for what?” She was thrilled to hear him admit she had a purpose other than warming his bed, but she didn’t understand what he was hoping to accomplish.

  “I’ll explain it all tonight.” He pulled the key out of his pocket and released the locks. “If I can’t convince Garin to join my cause, the rest is moot.” He deftly unbuckled the straps and freed her from the cuffs. “If you embarrass me or cause any sort of disruption, I’ll strip you naked and chain you to the bed. There are seven thousand male warriors on this ship. Zilor wasn’t exaggerating. You must be protected.”

  She rubbed her wrists as she sank deeper into depression. She was a stranger in an alien dimension. She had no money, no form of identification. She could barely speak the language. Even if she managed to escape Nazerel and find her way off the ship, what would she do then? She had no way to contact Earth and it was highly doubtful anyone would help her. She’d been in some challenging situations before, but she’d never been this helpless.

  He tossed the restraints on the bed and moved to the bare expanse of wall between the desk and kitchenette. “Display exterior view.” The wall shimmered then transformed becoming a stunning image right out of a high-budget sci-fi movie. A small section of the space station filled most of the screen while the wedge of hull visible in the sharply angled view indicated the massive size of the Undaunted. And beyond the sharp angles and gleaming lights of both structures stretched the vast blackness of space.

  She was in outer space. Even faced with visual proof of her situation, it was hard to believe.

  Moving up beside him, she felt mesmerized by the grandeur of the surreal setting. “Have you been on this ship before? You seem pretty familiar with everything.”

  “The Undaunted has been in service for less than a year, but I’ve been on Garin’s other ships.” He stared at the display and offered no more information.

  She didn’t want to care about his past, tried to be as indifferent to him as he was to her. But she was curious by nature and so many things about Nazerel didn’t fit his profile. “You were allowed to come and go as you pleased? But Varrik said—”

  “Varrik was a sweeper. He had no reason to leave the Shadow Maze. And his uncle was controlling and cruel. North forced restrictions on his tribe that my father disregarded. No one in Tribe South was a prisoner. No one was forced to participate in a life they despised. Varrik told the high queen what she needed to hear so she would consider him a victim of circumstance.”

  “You’re inferring that he lied, that his stories weren’t accurate.”

  Leaning his shoulder against the wall, he pivoted toward her. “His stories were more or less accurate within Tribe North. But each tribe was led by a different elder.”

  “If this is true, why did no one speak up? Why didn’t you?”

  “We weren’t given the opportunity to object. The queen’s forces barged in and ‘freed’ us from centuries of tradition. No one asked us if we needed or even wanted to be rescued. They rounded us up like livestock and transported us to the City of Tears.”

  “Why didn’t you teleport to safety if you were so opposed to being rescued?”

  “And desert my men?” The idea was clearly abhorrent to him.

  She’d read through Varrik’s report, or rather skimmed the information. The details hadn’t seemed important at the time. “Your traditions terrorized females and separated mothers from their children. Surely you see the cruelty of such practices.”

  “Our way of life was different from the norm. That doesn’t mean it was evil. I did a lot of
reading while I was on your planet. The Spartan culture wasn’t the only one I found intriguing. Stories about the American West were particularly interesting.”

  She wasn’t surprised that he’d felt an affinity for Native Americans. Parallels between the two cultures were easy to draw. In fact, she’d used the analogy herself a time or two. Still, she wanted to hear his conclusions so she could better understand his perspective. “In what way?”

  “Native Americans were considered soulless savages and many of their traditions were ridiculed. They were feared and despised by those who did not understand them. And when others thought they knew what was best—and coveted their land—they were forced to abandon everything that made them unique and adopt the mannerisms of their enemies. Their way of life was not evil. It was just different. The Great Spirit was no less real to them than the God of the missionaries determined to ‘save’ them.”

  It was hard to argue when she agreed with most everything he’d said. “Freedom is important to you.”

  “Of course.”

  “What about your captives. I threw the first punch, so to speak, so you could argue that I deserve everything I’m getting. That’s not true of the other female captives. They’ve done nothing other than be born female and their freedom was stolen along with their children. How would you react if your offspring was stolen from you?”

  He clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the display again. “It was necessary.”

  “No, it wasn’t. Forcing your will on your captives is just as wrong as having Varrik’s decision forced on you. You can’t complain about something of which you’re also guilty. It’s hypocritical.”

  He accepted the criticism with a stiff nod. “Still, we could have changed without abandoning everything we were. We were never given that option.”

  She couldn’t argue with that, so she said nothing. He had some valid points and his willingness to debate made her even more curious to find out what he intended for that evening.