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Vegetation wilted quickly in the heat. No one would question the need for it to be refreshed often.
She dipped a beverage container into the underground stream, drank from it, then refilled and closed it. Her garments had been laid out at sunset. Her entire ensemble – flight suit, boots, hair, fingernails, skin pigment – was in different shades of brown. She was striving to look as unremarkable as possible.
Roshini tidied herself with a cleaning cloth and donned her disguise. The flight suit had been constructed with built-in breast binders. Her chest would appear flat.
That aspect of her was one many of the Invader males would remember.
If they remembered her at all. Her lips twitched.
She slid a dagger into her left boot and a handheld into one of her pockets. Carrying a gun was too dangerous. If she was stopped by the Invaders, they would question her need for a weapon.
The Cancris were peaceful beings. They didn’t normally arm themselves.
Which made it easy for the invaders to simply commandeer their land and their freedom, forcing the local males to labor for them for free.
The Invaders didn’t respect females. That benefited Roshini. They didn’t believe she had the strength to harm them.
Her chin lifted. They’d soon discover that assumption was very wrong.
She grabbed the beverage container and the container of herbs and left her temporary home. The heat differential between the cave and the open air blasted her. She tugged the cover off her mounted transport and placed the containers in the compartment under its seat.
The side panels on her machine were as changeable as her appearance. She swapped the shiny blue ones for a rusted worn set. Then she climbed on board.
A smile curled her lips. The machine was crafted for her. She’d stolen the mounted transport from the Invaders, stripped it to the frame and rebuilt it from parts also pilfered from the enemy. The leather seat molded to her cloth-covered ass. The grips were an extension of her fingers.
Excitement flowed through her as she increased the speed. Sheer power vibrated between her legs. It was hotter than any fuck.
Warm air streamed over her form. Sunlight turned the sand bright orange. She weaved the mounted transport through the valleys between the mountains.
It was just her and her machine and the untamed land before her.
Fates. There was nothing like it in the universe. She was certain of that.
Roshini arrived at Luam’s domicile too soon for her liking. The older Cancri male was outside the structure, banging the bovine shit out of a twisted piece of metal.
“I think it’s quite dead.” She cut her engines and dismounted.
“Then it looks how I feel.” The male tossed his straightening tool to the side and grinned at her.
The scar on his temple was old. It had been given to him by the Invaders during a nearby settlement’s Betrayal.
The tumor in the center of his fabric-clad chest was obtained not long after that. It had grown now to be the size of his skull. The one on his right hand was smaller yet looked horrifically painful.
Her friend was well past Cyra’s treatments. The only pills he took now were to numb his agony.
He retrieved a beverage container, opened it, and took a big swig out of it. “Want some?” He held it out to her.
Refusing a drink in the Cancri culture was considered rude. And foolish. Dehydration killed beings on the dry planet.
“Always.” Roshini accepted the container from him and took a smaller gulp.
The beverage warmed her throat on the way down.
She quashed a gasp.
The male was consuming partially diluted fermented beverage to supplement the pain suppressors. That was how much hurt he was enduring.
“Thanks.” She smothered her concern under brusqueness and gave the beverage container back to her friend. “I have your herbs.” She retrieved them from her mounted transport.
