Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
The guard grunts. “A new compound, eh?” His eyes gleam. “He will want investors who can keep it a secret, I am sure, so the price of the land does not go up in a bidding war.”
I incline my head.
I don’t know what in Mother Earth I’m doing. I only hope that if I can lead this ugly Ocretion back to the ship where the Zandians are waiting, cloaked, they will see and understand what I’m doing. Will kill him before he can sound the alarm.
But I’m going to have to play this right.
“My Master says that this is a project that must be secret,” I say.
“Then perhaps we should see him immediately.” The guard grabs my arm and digs in, his sharp nails nearly puncturing my skin.
I hold back a whimper. “I will do as you request.”
He grunts again. “Come with me.” He runs his other hand over my breast, a gross, blatant gesture, then laughs. “I am sure your master is a reasonable Ocretion. He will be willing to trade something of value for my silence on this matter.”
I’m dizzy and cold as we walk through the baking streets. No beings seem to take notice—it’s mostly Ocretions on the move, and slaves going here and there, heads down, walking at a serene pace.
As we near the tree line, the activity dies down, and soon we’re the only beings there. You’d think the woods would be inviting, but the trees are rotting at the outskirts, poisoned by chemicals that leach out of Ocretion factories which ring the city. Deeper into the forest, where the greenery is healthier, is a clearing where our Zandian ship waits, masked.
The Ocretion sniffs the air. “Not a pleasant place to build a slave barracks.” He scans the area. “Where’s his retinue? His hover craft?” A small note of something enters his voice. “Answer.”
He shakes my arm.
Do they see me? Surely they are watching on their system, yes? Maybe the blind navigator can find me, small speck of humanity that I am in this vast sea of shit?
“He said he’d be back in here, where it is clear.” I swallow bile.
The guard takes out his shock stick. “Show me.”
I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I nod. “Yes, of course.”
I pick my way through the tall grasses that have razor sharp edges, like back on Romon-3, and gag a little as we pass a rotted out tree stump that holds a fetid pool of green liquid in a black cavern.
“We are nearing his place.” I raise my voice. “I will be glad to have you meet my Master and discuss a trade with him.”
I wait in anticipation. Any second now, my Zandians will leap out and overpower this Ocretion. They will save me.
But nothing happens. “It’s just ahead,” I promise. “We will see him soon.”
The guard snarls and pokes my back with his shock stick. I scream as a bolt of electricity enters my spine, paralyzing me with a burst of pain so intense that I can’t see. I bend over, retching, gasping, sparks of color popping behind my lids.
“I am tired of your faltering.” He hits me with the stick on my temple, this time without energy, but the new pain makes me cry out. “You are taking too long. Where is he?”
It’s almost like a baby animal whining for its mother.
“I-I…” I gasp, unable to get out words. He knows I’m lying.
While I am lying on the ground, I fumble blindly for the discs. He is going to rape me and kill me, or take me back to slavery, and I need to get this data uploaded before it happens. At least I can save some children. “Leylah, forgive me,” I whisper.
I double over and manage to pull my cloak over my body. I frantically scrabble to insert the first disc into the slot on my comm. I practiced on the ship, and it’s not hard. It’s only a few moments before I hear the “bip” that signals the completion of the upload.
But I still have one more disc to go.
“Get to your feet.” The guard hauls me up by the neck of my cloak. “Do you think that humans get to lie around, lazy, any time they like?”
His lip curls in a vicious snarl and little bits of foam form at the corners of his mouth. “Or are you a slut, hoping to entice me to to give you a pretty reward, like a coin or a piece of fruit?”
I choke back my sob of fear, pulling away from him, still managing to keep my hands and the discs hidden under the cloak.
Wrong move.
He slams me again on the temple with his stick, and even without electricity, it’s such a strong blow that my mind goes black for a second. I fall back down, heavily, and land on my wrist, the one that holds my comm.