The black eyes of the Little Green Man blink slowly. We will discuss this.
I look over at the computers blinking on the wall. “Cool. You want me to just wait here?”
Put her in one of the holding cells.
The guardsman grabs me with a brutal hand, his rough skin tearing at my arm. I fight against him, but it’s only playacting. It’s what I think they expect me to do. In reality, a holding cell will work just as well as anything else for my plans. So I struggle and fight against the guard as he drags me down one of the narrow, metallic halls of the alien ship, and flings me into a dark hold. This time, there’s no cage, just what looks like a storage room. Good. I skid to the floor and huddle against the wall, doing my best to look frightened. Granted, it’s not that hard because I’m scared out of my mind, but I’m also thinking hard.
The guardsman looks down at me and curls his thick lip. He says something that I have no translation for, but is probably an insult, and slaps a panel on the outside wall. The door closes, and I’m alone in the dark.
Panic flutters in my chest. I have to remind myself that this is good news. This is what I want. I need to be alone.
Oh God, I need this to work.
I run my tongue along my gums, searching for the small packet I pushed there. Still there. I pull it out and rub it against my tunic to dry it, then press it between my lips to hold onto it while I look for the air filters to this room.
I’d noticed on the elders’ ship that it’d had air vents much like my old apartment back on Earth did. That had got me thinking about a game plan and what I could do against the Little Green Men. They have more technology than I do. They have guns and they have the numbers, so I have to be sneaky…and fearless.
I find a vent near the edge of the floor and dig my fingernails into it until I locate what feels like a fastening of some kind, and then rip it off. I tear a few fingernails, but that is a small price to pay. With shaking hands, I peel the thin layer of plastic off of the packet and remove half of the contents.
One part is a computer part, much like a USB drive, that will allow the elders’ ship to access this ship, provided I can find a compatible slot to plug it into.
The other part is a small square of filter that I’ve pulled from the elders’ ship. After hundreds of years of being in the atmosphere, it’s filled with concentrated nalium. I know that there is an element in the atmosphere of Not-Hoth that makes it impossible for humans to survive for long. There are trace elements of it in the atmosphere, and within a week, we succumbed to sickness, our bodies growing weak and our minds disoriented. Our khui adapts us and allows us to live planet-side. Of course, planet-side, there’s only trace amounts of nalium in the air. But after hundreds of years, the ship’s filters are full of the element. And if I add it to the air supply in my room, I’m hoping it’ll poison my guard.
The computer assured me that the tiny amount that I drop into the air filtering system is enough to do it, but the computer’s also three hundred （and some change） years old. It could be wrong. This ship could be more self-sufficient than I hope.
A million things can go wrong. All I can do is cross my fingers.
I replace the filter cover and sniff the air. I don’t smell anything. The air doesn’t taste weird. I have no idea if it’s working or not, if the poison is seeping into the air of my small chamber or throughout the ship.
I tuck my body against the wall and wait.
? ? ?
Hours later, I’m in a frenzy of worry. There’s no difference in the air that I can tell, and all I have left is the small bit of computer I’m supposed to somehow interface to one that’s three hundred years younger.
This is the stupidest plan ever.
Despair threatens to overwhelm me. I ignore it, because there is no Plan C. This has to work. This has to.
A mental image of Aehako’s fallen body flashes before my eyes, and I clench my fists, determined not to cry. He’s not dead. He’s not.
I’d know if he was, wouldn’t I? But we’re not connected by khui. We’re only connected by heart and mind and choice. We don’t have that deeper bond. We never will because of my body—
Someone fumbles at the door.
I jerk to my feet, my stiff muscles complaining. My body’s instantly on alert, my heart hammering in my chest. Did they decide to take my offer after all? The broken ship for our freedom?
Then again, what is to stop them from taking the ship and us? Or taking the ship and then coming back and snaring us at a later date? If they’re into slavery, it’s not as if they’re upstanding people anyhow. They can’t be trusted.