A Yithian had to mean a ship.Hell, this cell could be jettisoned for all she knew.Which meant self-contained with a set supply of oxygen?She wasn’t sure.Any of these buttons could do that.Or they could release a toxin and kill her.He’d said as much.A moment before her feet left the floor, an inactive button glowed blue.
That had to be gravity?
She hesitated, drew in a long breath, and pressed the button.
Her feet thumped down.
She grinned.Well, well.
They switched it on, and up she floated.Laughing, she hit the off.On, up.Off, down.Up.Down.On.Off.
The door opened to a scowling Lizu.He nudged her aside, snapped the panel shut, then welded it in place with a pen-like tool she couldn’t help but admire.
“Before you go, what are the bad colors?”
His eyes narrowed.“Red, white, and green.”
Again, he left her, sealing her fate as much as the locked door did.Up she floated.She let herself drift toward the ceiling.There had to be a maintenance trapdoor of sorts or a ventilation duct.Thin grooves marked square panels.The craftsmanship was next level because no matter what she tried, she couldn’t get a good enough grip to peel a panel up.A hiss of air accompanied a sweet tang.
She grimaced and tucked her face into her tank top to possibly minimize inhaling the stasis chemical Lizu had mentioned.Already, the edges of her vision were tinged with black.She moved along the ceiling, panic making her hands tremble.Where she went, she left smears of blood, barely registering the sting from minor cuts.
Only her freedom mattered, as it had always done.
Her nose burned.
A brain fuzziness lured her, the kind that promised blissful, dreamless sleep.
An unusual warmth saturated her limbs, and any thought of escaping slipped away.
With a slow exhale and a dreamy smile, she succumbed.
Chapter Four
Etterian Battleship Gladio
Common Room
12254 Years, 8th Month
“Whatisshedoinghere?”Cylo didn’t glance up from his drill—he was working through spear techniques.In a battle, he’d reach for his greatsword or a blaster, never a spear.But self-discipline required doing things he didn’t like.
“We are to escort her to Argaxx.A favor for Ambassador Barro,” Trav said, keeping his voice low enough for only those near to hear.“She is with us for one more day.”
The ‘she’ in question was the notorious Imarri ag Zennr, a Maloidian operative and the leader of the Serratu Kayarra or Silent Sirens.She’d ordered from the rehydrator in the common and now leaned her curvaceous backside against the bulkhead, ‘casually’ observing.
For a female not Etterian, she was beautiful.Her pale-yellow skin glowed in the unforgiving lighting, catching her patterned markings fading into her swaying tentacles.He swept the room, focusing on all his males with their thick braids touching their heels.Etterian hair reacted to their moods, but Maloidian tentacles did not.
Somehow, her solid-black eyes seemed fathomless.
She caught him staring and smirked.“Careful, warrior,” she mumbled.
He fumbled, almost dropping the spear.
Trav ducked with a grunt.
She pushed off the bulkhead and sashayed across the common.Silence gripped the room.Her garment exposed a little of her thigh—appearing smooth like the rest of her.What rumors Cylo had heard of her skill couldn’t be true.Something about the rotation of her hips at the right moment, the way she could curl her tongue around a male’s… He tried not to focus on the details when an operative should, but as an Etterian, mating her or any Serratu Kayarra would lead to his death.
Too late.He straightened and gritted his teeth.To feel is to fail.Malo wouldn’t react as easily.
