Page 19 of Mutant Mine

My fingers twitch, wishing that I could help her to her feet. But I cannot comfort her. She is too afraid of me.

The next best thing would be to extract a pound of flesh from anyone who has laid a hand on her — but in the long run, such an extravagant display would only harm us both.

I know what these men think of me. There is only one reason why they would separate the smallest of the guards and carry her to me like a prize: they believe me to be a rapist.

The thought brings bile to my throat, but I must let them believe it. Worse, I must letherbelieve it, for now at least.

These men understand the notion of territory.If they think that she is mine, then she will be safe for as long as I remain in command.

There is nothing else for it.

“Take him to my rooms,” I say.

As I watch Finch’s thin veneer of control crumple and despair take over her face, my own expression stays rigid as a mask.

There is a fine line to tread here. I must make it clear that she is my property, and that anyone who harms her will anger me. However, I must not reveal that she is significant to me, or others will seek to harm me by harming her. I wish to protect her, not paint a target on her back. I cannot seem to caretoo much.

With one fist clenched at my side, and the other gripping my cards tightly enough to crumple them, I watch them manhandle her from the room. Their roughness seemsintentional, punishing. I wonder if she hurt some of their own before they managed to take her down.

“Handle him with care,” I say. “I want him whole. Undamaged.”

I know how it sounds. It is designed to sound that way. So I should not feel anything when she cries out at my words, as if in pain.

I feel it all anyway.

13

Roth

I DECIDEDnot to return to my rooms right away. This would appear too eager to the watching crowd. But most importantly, I want to give Finch a moment of solitude.

She needs to gather herself, take stock of her changed situation, and explore her new environment. I know none of that will happen in my presence.

After half an hour, it passes midday by the ship’s clock. It is a good time to go to her. Lunchtime.

On my way out of the canteen, I collect a bottle of water and a hot portion of the simple rehydrated porridge. It is almost completely flavorless, which may be a positive quality in these circumstances. Something soft and bland will be easier on her stomach, if it is a while since she has eaten — which I suspect it is.

For my own rooms, I have taken the late Captain’s quarters. They are the finest rooms on the ship. I do not want their luxury; it leaves a bad taste in my mouth when compared to the cells this Captain presided over. But there is a door adjoining to the flight deck, which grants me instant access to the ship’s controls.

I must confess that the bed is also a pleasure. For the first time in years, I can lie stretched out to my full height. In prison bunks, it has always been a choice between hanging off the end or hitting my horns on the headboard.

When I reach the door, I hesitate outside for a moment. I have slept, bathed, and eaten in these rooms for the past two days without any qualms — but now, for the first time, I feel like a trespasser.

I knock on the door, then unlock it and enter.

The Captain’s rooms form an apartment. There is this large chamber, which contains the bed, a semi-circular couch in front of an entertainment screen, and a dining table with eight seats. Further doors lead to a kitchen, a bathroom, and the flight deck.

Much of the Hades is windowless. Views are a privilege not afforded to criminals and dead men walking. But in this room, there is a large pane of ultra-reinforced glass above the table. The Captain’s dinner guests may enjoy a clear view of open space.

It takes me a few seconds to find Finch. Like a prey animal, she has found a confined space to crawl into: on the floor beside the table, between a chair and the wall. She looks very small — but she glares up at me from under furrowed brows.

It does not escape my notice that our roles have been reversed. Now I am the captor, bringing rations to my captive. My gain is her loss. Little wonder that she is so furious.

The girl watches me like a hawk as I slowly set the meal down on the table. She shrinks away as I move closer, so I step back again with my empty hands raised.

“I brought you these,” I say. “You must be hungry.”

She wants to keep her eyes on me, but they flicker back and forth to the food… No, the water. She is thirsty.

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