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Biting down on my fist again to stop myself from making any noise, I wait. Biting hurts, but the pain keeps me focused.
There’s more yelling outside of the hatch. I don’t even try to make out the words. Mercenaries and other lowlives are always yelling at each other. Always fighting, always drinking and taking drugs. Always taking their anger out on whoever is available at the moment.
Then, it’s quiet. I think I hear the hiss of the airlock being closed, but it’s difficult to tell over the sound of my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
I hold my breath, waiting for someone to yank open the hatch, drag me out, and start hurting me but nobody comes. I wait and wait, but nothing terrible happens. The sound of the engineschange, suggesting that we’re moving, maybe we’ve even jumped into hyperspace.
The thought of being so far away from Master makes me giddy and lightheaded. Of course, it might just be a lack of oxygen from holding my breath for too long. Either way, I’m no longer able to keep my eyelids open. I close them, determined to rest my eyes for just a moment. I fall asleep before I’ve even finished that thought.
Chapter 3
Z’Ree
I must have sleptfor several hours but I don’t feel rested. If anything, I feel even more tired when the unfamiliar voices reach my ears again. This time, I don’t wait around for them to find me. As quietly as possible, I make my way further down the maintenance walkway until the hum of machinery drowns out the argument behind me.
Swallowing roughly, I realize I haven’t thought this plan through. It could take days or even weeks to get wherever this ship is headed. From experience, I know I can survive without food, but no living being can survive without water.
There are dozens of pipes surrounding me and I’m certain some of them must carry water to various parts of the ship, but it’s not like I can walk around randomly opening valves and hoping for the precious liquid to start dripping into my mouth. I’m more likely to scald myself with hot steam or tap into the waste disposal system.
The pipes are marked by letters and numbers but none of them mean anything to me. I’m not an engineer. I’m not an anything. My life was torn away from me before I’d even started living it. All I am now is a frightened little thing, only useful when people want to get high.
I will need water, though, and soon.
With that goal in mind, I move through the long, narrow walkways, avoiding more pipes and cables. At one point, I must pass close to the reactor, because the heat makes sweat bead all over my body.
Approaching every ventilation grid cautiously, I carefully listen out for voices before looking through the gaps. All I see are empty corridors and dark storage rooms. The ship I’m on is large, but there doesn’t seem to be too many people on board.
Was the crew in the market place during the revolt? Did most of them die in the fighting? Maybe they are slaves who escaped like me but ultimately argued too much and killed each other? I don’t know and I really don’t care. All I care about is remaining hidden and the smaller the crew is, the larger my chances of success are.
The overwhelming thirst intensifies, my dry throat causing physical pain whenever I try to swallow. I desperately need to find water. The next time I come across a hatch, I open it and slip out of the relative safety of the maintenance walkways back into the ship itself. I’m in yet another storage room, dark and seemingly abandoned.
Tiptoeing around, I examine some of the containers. There must be something inside one of these that would increase my chances of survival.
Walking past one of the containers, I freeze. It takes a moment for my brain to catch up and realize what I’m looking at. There’s a length of sturdy cloth stretched between the wall and the large container. Now that I know it’s not a person, I can move again. Inching closer, I’m curious about the cloth’s purpose.
It looks a little like a cocoon, cracked open on the top. I push it with my finger and it rocks back and forth soundlessly. A swing, maybe? Or a rocking bed?
In any case, someone put it here, which means they’ll be coming back to it. I better not be here when they do.
As I turn to leave, I notice there are some supplies neatly laid out on another, slightly lower container, right next to the odd-looking cocoon. Packets of food and…
I snatch the nearest bottle and am pouring the water down my parched throat before I even register what I’m doing. Nothing has ever tasted this divine. Finishing the entire bottle in record time, I open a second one, determined to slow down and savor it this time. Freezing mid sip, I suddenly realize my mistake, my fingers gripping the bottle tightly in terror.
Someone left these supplies here. Whether they live here or it’s just their relaxation spot, they will be back and they will notice the empty bottles. They’ll know someone is on board.
As panic threatens to engulf me, I forcefully stamp it down and consider. From what I’ve heard so far, these people argue a lot. They won’t immediately think of a stowaway when they find their supplies missing. They’ll think one of the other crew members stole it, confront them about it and then think they’re lying when they say no. With a bit of luck, they’ll fight over it. Maybe even kill each other.
This thought makes me stop and double back. Did I really just wish to get someone killed? Doesn’t that make me a terrible person?
The silent storage room doesn’t answer my unvoiced question. Ignoring the surprising amount of guilt suddenly washing over me, I grab a handful of the food packages. If I’m stealing someone’s stash, I might as well do it properly and grab supplies to last a longer time.
No matter how muchI ration the water, it doesn’t last more than a day. At least, I think it’s only been a day. It’s impossible to say for certain in the near darkness of my hideout. I curse my own stupidity. I took enough food for a week but only one bottle of water and it’s nearly gone. Soon, I’ll have to venture out to get more.
I crawl deeper into the tiny alcove I’ve picked as my temporary home. Hugging my knees to my chest, my mind starts to wander. Has the crew member been back to the storage room yet? Have they noticed the missing supplies? Are they searching for the thief?
An audible sigh escapes me. There’s no way to tell and, as much as I’d love to stay here and ruminate, I need more water. I decide to test my luck and raid the storage room again. This time, I’m taking every bit of water I can carry. The dried ovi fruit I stole last time is delicious, but chewing on it makes me even thirstier.
Making my way back to the storage room, I listen out for several minutes before finally mustering up the courage to pushopen the hatch. At least it doesn’t squeak. My heart would probably give out if the hatch made a noise right now.
