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)
“I can’t do it. I can’t bear waiting.” Her voice is so low and sad that my heart breaks for her. “Every planet rotation it should get easier, but instead it gets harder. I love my mate and our two young, and I love Zandia, and my work is fascinating. But I’m breaking inside, piece by piece. I either need my other children back, or I need to know… that they’re gone.” She sniffs and wipes her eyes. “It’s torture.”
“I’m so sorry.” I put one arm around her, and Mirelle hugs her from the other side, so we’re a triumvirate of females, linked together.
“If we can get the poison created,” Bayla’s voice is soft, “we have an advantage over the Ocretions. And every little thing we can do that gives us more power, is a step closer to Zandia re-gaining our rightful power in the galaxy, second to no species. And that brings me closer to getting—finding out, learning about—my children. It’s all tied together.”
“I wish I could do more.” I hold her tightly. “I will try to concentrate harder, I really will, to see if there is any little thing I can remember that Leylah did, or said, that might shed light on how to make the toxin.”
“I’ll teach you how to loosen your mind,” promises Mirelle.
“So did you get to see any information that was on the discs?” Bayla’s voice is eager.
“I’m sorry, no. But they have it. I’m sure they will tell you when… when… the time is right.”
“I’m sure they just didn’t want you to worry excessively,” Mirelle adds.
Now I feel doubly guilty. Not only did I increase Bayla’s stress levels, I told a secret I wasn’t supposed to. And I can’t tell them what they need to know about the toxin. Why does it feel that every success I have is only partial? Why can’t I fully deliver? I hope Leylah didn’t make a mistake, sending me here. I don’t seem to be accomplishing anything.
I need to get my hands on that coin she gave me. See if holding it and using Mirelle’s relaxation techniques can unlock anything in my mind before I get it to Lamira. I want to show these humans—give these humans something of value beyond hope. Hope for a rescue, hope for a serum—my whole life has dealt in hope. It’s gotten me pretty far, but it’s time for something more tangible.
I turn to Bayla. “You can do this,” I tell her. “You can.” I touch her face. “You are stronger than you know.” This, meaning: Life. Waiting. Working for the future, nebulous though it is.
She smiles at me, a tremulous smile. “Good thing we humans are tough.” She sniffs. “You’re right. We can all do this. Together.” She takes my hand and Mirelle’s hand. We stand together and our shoulders touch, and it feels like we’re completing some kind of circuit. When I stood shoulder to shoulder with Rannah, we were connected in fear and anger. With these humans, I feel the connection of strength.
“I need to see Lamira,” I tell them. “Before my parole is up. Soon.”
This time, nobody asks me why.
Bayla’s reply is fast. “I’ll see what I can do.”
* * *
Taisha
“It’s got to be here somewhere. Coin, where are you? Come to me,” I sing out cajoling, but find nothing of value in the food storage value, under the bedclothes, or along the shelving units.
I sigh in frustration. “Home alone, and nothing to show for it,” I grumble, glancing out the window. Well, Drayk’s home… my temporary residence.
It’s nearly evening, and the Zandian sun sends lazy spires of light tumbling through the curved glass, lighting up the crystals hanging from the ceiling and sending scattered patterns across the domicile. In prison I may be, but it’s certainly lovely.
“Leylah, tell me where it is,” I whisper, but get no flicker of anything. If my mentor is somewhere in any afterlife, she’s not sending me messages like the kind she received. Or else I’m just not the right vessel. All the little tantalizing flashes I’ve received thus far are just teases. Suggestions of what it might be like to really have the vision.
“Where would Drayk even keep it?” I glance around, but there’s nowhere else to look. He must have it locked up elsewhere—at work, at a friend’s place. Who knows where.
“Where would Drayk keep what?”
“Yeep!” I squeak and jump. Drayk has sneaked up behind me. “Where did you come from?”
“A mission.” He regards me.
“I meant, how did you sneak up so quietly?”
“Solar cycles of training. What are you looking for?” He raises a brow.
“Ah…” I swallow. “Study materials? Didn’t you promise me more, ah, information about toxins and snakes and things?”
I mentally congratulate myself for the quick cover.
He drops his satchel at the door. “So I did, but it will be a few planet rotations yet. Did you eat?” He narrows his eyes. “I noticed the provisions have not reduced dramatically.”