Page 22 of Rok's Captive
And still, there’s nothing. No sign of life. No hint of water. Just sand and rock and the increasingly large formation ahead of me—which is slowly growing larger the closer I get.
At one point I look up to see how much farther I have to go and stop short. A chill goes down my spine.
It’s enormous. Far, far bigger than it appeared from the transport.
“Well, obviously,” I scold myself. “Big things look small at a distance. That’s basic math…or physics…whatever.”
But the reality of its size becomes more apparent with each step. What looked like a cluster of stone pillars from afar is revealing itself to be a massive rock structure, easily hundreds of feet tall, with jagged spires reaching toward the yellow sky like this desert’s version of icicles.
“All right,” I mutter, trying to joke away my apprehension. “I know they say size doesn’t matter, but that is seriously intimidating.”
Nothing I say eases the flutter of anxiety in my chest. I’d been picturing something I could climb, something that would give me a vantage point to see beyond our immediate surroundings. But this…this is a sheer cliff face. There’s no way I’m scaling that without proper equipment and a death wish.
By the time BS begins to dip below the horizon, I’ve reached the base of the formation. Up close, it’s even more imposing—a wall of striated rock that towers above me, casting a long shadow across the sand. The stone is a darker tan than the surrounding desert, with veins of rust-red and burnt orange running through it.
I collapse in the blessed shade, allowing myself a slightly larger sip of water. My muscles ache from the unaccustomed exertion, and my skin feels tight and sensitive despite my precautions against the sun.
I know I have sunburn. I probably look like a roasted duck.
“Congratulations, Justine,” I say to the empty air. “You’ve reached your destination. And it’s completely useless.”
There’s no way up. No path, no handholds. Even if I somehow managed to start climbing, one slip would mean a fall that would leave me with far worse than that lady’s broken arm.
I lean back against the cool stone, closing my eyes. The relative shade is heaven after hours in direct sunlight, but it doesn’t change the fact that my mission has failed before it really began.
“So what now?” I ask myself, opening my eyes to stare up at the towering rock. “Go back with nothing to show for it? ‘Hey guys, turns out it was just a really big rock! Sorry about the water I used up!’ Ugh!”
I rest my head against the stone and close my eyes.
Fuck.
FUCK!
As darkness begins settling over the landscape, the reality of my situation crashes down on me as if it has a gravity of its own.
We’re stranded on a desert planet.
The Xyma either can’t find us or have no intention of rescuing us.
Our supplies will run out eventually.
And I just wasted precious water reaching a landmark that offers no help whatsoever.
“This is not how I planned to die,” I whisper, my voice sounding small against the vastness surrounding me. “Starving on an alien planet because I needed money for rent. That’s just…” I swallow hard, pushing back the tears that threaten to fall. “That’s just pathetic.”
I pull my knees to my chest, allowing myself a moment of pure, unfiltered despair. Not even the spectacular alien sunset—the yellow sky fading to deep orange, then a purple so intense it’s almost painful to look at—can distract me from the hopelessness swelling inside.
Night falls completely, bringing with it a chill that seeps through my clothes and into my bones. I wrap the emergency blanket around myself, huddling against the rock for what little warmth it still holds from the day.
The stars emerge, constellations I don’t recognize spread across a sky that’s the wrong color. They should be beautiful, but all I can wonder is which one of them is my sun. Which one of them is shining down on Earth. On home.
* * *
Morning arrives with cruel abruptness.How do I know? BS (Bitch Sun) tries to fry a part of my leg that was exposed beyond the shadow of the rock for too long.
“Fuck you.” I give the sun the middle finger. It does nothing to make me feel better. “Fuck. Shit.”
I ease up, mind a little groggy. Everything is stiff and sore, my mouth as dry as the sand surrounding me. I allow myself the smallest sip of water, barely enough to take the edge off my thirst.
