Page 57 of Rebel Fates

The Tirbs argue, “We could have killed them already. So do as your told, and we will release them.”

Shit.That makes sense. The slavers might get into trouble if they killed Serrat and his crew. I remember Zeek explaining that as a human I don’t have status in the Consortium, but they do.

My emotions shut down as I near the slaver ship. I hear a muffle of what vaguely sounds like Zeek yelling. My eyes are blurred with tears, knowing I will be sold off and probably used and tortured until my body finally gives out. My heart breaks at the thought of not seeing these guys again.

Maybe I should give up on my life now. But my spirit is too stubborn. I escaped before, there’s a chance I could do it again.

As soon as I step onto the ship, one of the furballs snaps a collar on my neck, then shoves me toward the cage. I stumble inside and another grabs my wrists. I clench my fist tight around whatever Rok has given to me, hoping it isn’t noticed. Fortunately, my clenched fists are seen as resistance. They place the cuffs on my wrists in front of my body. Then my ankles are shackled. They realize I’m a flight risk. I guess they aren’t completely stupid.

Furball uses a needle syringe and quickly jabs me, taking a sample of my blood.

I wait for them to leave before I even check what Rok gave me. Turning my body to hide my treasure, I open my hand.

And… I have no idea what it is.

Great.

I roll the small black cube in my palm. It looks like something I’d seen in their armory. But I have no clue what it is or how to use it. I press each side with my fingers, trying to activate it. No dice. At this point, it’s just as useful as dice.

I speak to it, “Open? On?” but I realize it’s probably set to Rok’s native language and not my untranslated English.

What did he think this was going to do for me?

Sadness rips into my heart. I don’t know what I mourn exactly. My freedom? The guys?

It makes no sense I would feel so attached to them so fast, but there’s a sense of emptiness inside me now. Loss. Perhaps I had hoped I would find a way back to Earth. Or find some freedom even amongst the stars—with them.

Closing my hand around the device, I curl up on the floor and suddenly feel exhausted.

* * *

The Furball Tirbs throw me a sealed pack of food paste when they walk into my cell room. “This is made for humans.”

I clutch the strange cube in my hand, and carefully open the pack, trying not to drop the device in front of them.

“How are you feeling?” one of them asks.

I jerk my head in confusion. Last time I was here, they didn’t care how I was feeling. “Why?” I ask suspiciously.

Furball zaps my collar, and my vision blurs for a second. He repeats curtly, “How are you feeling?”

I should just answer, it will hurt less. “I think I have a fever.”

“Anything else?” He narrows his eyes at me. “How does your skin feel?”

My skin looks odd, kind of golden-hued, like Serrat, but I was hoping they wouldn’t notice. “It itches.”

The furballs mumble to each other. I hear a few words: “Change… omega… heat…”

They appear excited about whatever their tablet is displaying.

“Any urges?” one of them asks.

“Other than ripping your throats out and escaping?”

Furballs look irritated. “Yes. Other than that.”

“No,” I lie. I want to see Serrat, Zeek and Rok like my life depends on it, but I’m uncertain if it is because they could be my last hope of freedom and not an actual need. At the thought of them, a strong desire to have them touch me all over my body washes over me, setting my body aflame, and I know it’s the latter—I want them.

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