“Me?” Kira looks surprised. “Why?”
“Because you’re the one with the translator,” Liz says grimly. “We’re not going to be able to convince them to turn around and go back to Earth if you get shot and we can’t talk to them.”
She has a point. “I’ll be the distraction. It’s my plan.”
“You sure?”
God, no, I’m not sure. Every part of my body vibrates with terror at the thought of those pebbly-skinned creatures touching me. But what choice do I have? Sit back and do nothing? Roll over and let these creatures decide my fate? Screw that. “I’ll do it.”
As if agreeing with me, the ship lurches and dips, sending us all sprawling.
Not a single person screams, of course. We know better.
? ? ?
For the second time that day, the ship lurches. Turbulence is a little ridiculous, considering that we’re in space. Isn’t it supposed to be a smooth ride? My stomach lurches along with it, but I ignore it.
It’s almost time for our plan.
I stare at the guard pacing outside of our cell. It’s what we consider “bedtime,” in which we’ve received the last seaweed bar of the day and the guards are getting bored with harassing us. Normally after the last feeding, they change our waste bucket and then head out.
But tonight, things are off. Even though our waste bucket is nearly full, the ball head isn’t coming to get it. Chirping sounds keep coming over the intercom, and the guard in the room is more and more agitated as the minutes tick past.
And the whole time, the ship keeps lurching.
“What’s going on?” I whisper to Kira as we watch the single guard pace back and forth, distracted. “Where’s the other basketball head?”
“I don’t know,” she admits, her hand pressing to her ear and the silvery device curled there. “Some of the words don’t translate over. Or they do, but I don’t know what they mean.” She shakes her head. “I think there’s something going on with the engine, though. They keep talking about detaching the cargo and offloading to a safe location.”
The pit of my stomach curdles. “Um, we’re the cargo.”
She grimaces. “I know. Apparently they’re going to miss a ship date if they do, though, so they’re trying to work around it.”
“Lucky us,” I murmur, glancing at the one guard. Only one. Normally there are two. My body tenses with realization. If we take down the one guard . . . there will only be one to deal with later. Our odds are much better if we divide and conquer.
And if we have his gun.
“I think we should move ahead with our plan,” I say in a low voice as the guard begins to pace again.
“I don’t know,” Kira says, chewing on her lip. But Liz nods at me.
“We’re going for it,” I whisper to the others in the cage. The girls look uncomfortable, but they move aside to give me room. If I’m willing to be the sacrificial lamb, they’re willing to let me sacrifice myself.
So I steel my courage, head to the cage bars, and stick my face between the slats of the prison. “Hey.”
The guard doesn’t turn. He keeps pacing, his gaze flicking at the ceiling as if expecting more of those weird chirping orders to come down.
I try again. “Hey. Over here.” When he doesn’t pay attention to me, I admit I’m surprised. Normally they take any excuse to punish us. I’ve seen another girl raped over the last week because she’d cried out in a nightmare. So I try a new tactic to get his attention.
I hock a big wad of spit at him.
It lands on the back of his big bald head, and he stops in his pacing. His weird little fish-eyes get round as he turns to glare at me, then stalks across the storage bay toward our cage.
“Good job, Georgie,” Liz breathes.
I suck in a deep breath and nod. I don’t feel so good about it, but hey. I retreat to the back of the cage like we’ve planned—so he’ll have to come in after me—and when the other girls close ranks around me, I haul the shit bucket up into my arms.
The idea we’ve come up with is that I’ll throw the crap on him to further distract him, and then the others will use that time to jump him. We’ll overwhelm him and take him down, then strip him of his gun. Not that we know how to shoot an alien weapon, but one step at a time. As long as he doesn’t have it, that’s half the battle.
Of course, hefting the shit bucket into my arms shows just how heavy it is and just how weak and lethargic I am from the shitty rations they’re giving us. I stagger under the weight of it, wincing when some slops over the edge and onto my arm. Fuck it.