With the final sweep of the access passages behind the recreational area in sector eleven, Inlan's mission was almost complete. Only the corridors across the range, behind the educational facility, remained, but Inlan was certain he would find nothing there.

He'd failed. He hadn't found the Vice President, or any sign of Humans Right. The auditorium in sector twelve where he'd chased the woman had been searched by Earthan protection officers within hours of his report to Commander Hoff, but with no results. Whoever had been living there had abandoned it.

Inlan seethed to think he may have been close to Vice President Grant only to miss him. He should have stunned the Earthans that night and not worried so much about being discovered. He should have continued his search instead of giving in to his fatigue and frustration. He should have...

...gone to rehearsal today.

He'd meant to go. Really he had. But his fingers had rebelled against him, entering the coordinates to sector eleven instead of sector nine. And even though he'd told himself he would only stay for an hour, he'd been there all day, not even stopping to return to the Irral for lunch.

Finding Vice President Grant is more important than making music, he assured himself, reaching to open the hatch. But his hand stilled before turning the handle.

His mission would be over today. Would he still be able to attend rehearsals? Or did Commander Hoff suspect him enough to order him to stop? Did Inlan even want to continue working with the orchestra?

Despite the hostility directed at him from many in the group, immersing himself in a new theory of music was fascinating. The challenge of learning the nubla all over again was also more fun than he'd expected. And not everyone treated him like he was stopping to smell the roses (Inlan was pretty sure he had that one right: sniffing flora when you should be working, right?). Lupita and Tian were always giving him encouraging smiles, and Sanford had taken the time to teach him. And of course, Clementine had invited him there in the first place.

He leaned against the hatch.

She had rejected him. In the pitch black of the corridor, he could admit to himself the true reason for avoiding the orchestra. Despite knowing that it could be ruinous, somewhere in the middle of all of this a grain of hope that Clementine might requite his feelings for her had drifted into his heart. How many times had he fantasized about a secret affair? If Tierney and Tausson had done it, why not them? Inlan could show her how to open the panel that led to the access passage, and they could spend time together before every rehearsal. They could share stories about their passion for music, and she could tell him what it was like growing up with the same people who conceived her. And maybe, if she wanted to, they could do what the man and woman had been doing. Inlan would want the illumination activated though, so he could see her dazzling eyes and soft hair...

He banged the back of his head against the door.

She chose Zack, he reminded himself.

It was just as well. Even if they had figured out a way to be together, it would only last as long as the trip to Lota. There was no way to stay with her after they arrived. Would she even still want him by then?

Inlan opened the hatch and turned on his mechasuit sensor. There would be countless transports passing through at this time of day, so he would have to be extremely careful. In fact, maybe he could try the new program he'd installed that would enable him to magnetize to the ceiling and avoid having to walk among the transports at all. But as he looked at his control panel again, he paused in confusion.

There were no pods. Not one.

He turned the sensor off and then back on again, but still the screen was empty. Cautiously he peered out into the range, expecting a pod to race past.

Nothing.

Inlan started running across the range. If he didn't see any on his way, then he'd contact the Irral and notify Undir that there may be another technical malfunction caused by the Vreem attack.

He was almost all the way across when a chime signaled an oncoming pod. Inlan relaxed, but kept running. It must have merely been a strange coincidence that no one was traveling at that moment. But his relief was short lived, for when he glanced up at the pod heading his way, the destination banner read Auditorium 12.

Is that a coincidence too?

Ignoring his own mocking thoughts, he changed course, running in the same direction as the pod. The auditorium was on a lower level, and if he could reach the descending shaft first, he could ride the transport there. Calling on the maximum strength his mechasuit could give him, Inlan flew down the empty range. The pod was faster, however. It passed him well before he reached the shaft.

Another chime sounded in his ear. And another. Of course. Now the transports were coming.

Inlan didn't break stride as he looked at his control panel. Several pods were heading his way, all moving in the same direction. If he didn't get out of the way, he would surely be crushed by one of them.

He slowed down and resumed his original course, convinced he'd been imagining suspicious behavior where there was none. The auditorium was a public space, so the fact that someone was going there wasn't a reason to delay completing his mission. And with the transports obviously functional, he needed to get out of the range before more arrived and made his passage even more dangerous.

But after glancing up at the nearest pod, he once again altered his course. That pod was going to Auditorium 12 too. They all were.

All but one of the transports passed him and he still hadn't reached the shaft. If he didn't catch this one, he'd be stuck conveying up to the Irral and back, and miss the opportunity to get a glimpse of who was inside. He looked over his shoulder. The transport was almost on him, and the shaft was only a few strides away. They should reach it at the same time.

Confident in his assessment, he slowed, and even opened up written communications on his control panel. Once he was aboard, he would let the commander know where --

Inlan's foot fastened to the floor mid-stride, and his body slammed onto the ground with more force than a simple fall could explain. He tried to lift himself up, but his hands were trapped beneath him and only his head could move. The rest of him was glued to the floor.

The transport zipped past and disappeared over the edge of the range, descending into the shaft. Inlan groaned in frustration.

The magnetic program he'd installed. He must have left it in standby this whole time and accidentally activated it. But this wasn't how it was supposed to work -- when he tested it on the Irral he'd been able to move easily. Had he forgotten to account for something down on the cart? Probably. He knew enough about Trajectory to pass in an emergency, but it wasn't his specialty. He hadn't asked anyone to help him for fear of being required to give a reason why he needed the modification. He'd been so proud when he figured it out himself. Now here he was, face down, his body crumbled beneath him, in the middle of the transport range.

As if he needed a reminder of the danger he was in, his sensor alerted him to an oncoming pod. Inlan looked around but couldn't see it. With his luck the transport was on a collision course. He flexed and strained against his mechasuit, but it was as if it had been turned to stone. The only thing he could move even slightly was his right hand, which was resting on top of his control panel, although he couldn't move his fingers enough to try and turn off the program.

The chime in his ear grew more insistent. Once again he tried to move, but achieved the same result. He couldn't escape the magnetic force -- or his own incompetence. Even if this transport pod didn't run him over, one would. He couldn't even contact the Irral to let them know where he was. He was trapped in his mechasuit.

Wait! His mechasuit!

With the sensor ringing angrily at him, Inlan squeezed his right hand around his forearm. Although he pressed with all of his strength, he only managed to achieve a faint grip, and he feared it wouldn't be enough. But after eight seconds, the suit went flaccid, loosening around him.

He scrambled up, nearly tripping over the sagging uniform. The transport was indeed heading straight for him, but it was farther than he'd feared. Unwilling to take a chance, he slipped out of his mechasuit, and moved out of the way. Putting one arm back in the sleeve, he accessed his control panel. As soon as it lit up, his arm dropped to the floor as if Onaka had thrown all the weights in the training room on it.

"That's just perfect," he muttered, squeezing the release and taking it off again.

The transport rushed by him, and Inlan raced after as it began to drop down the shaft. Still gripping his uniform, he leapt off the edge of the transport range, landing on the roof of the pod. Unlike the rest of the range, the gravibration pulses that moved the pods in the shaft emanated from the sides, rather than the top, so there was no concern of interrupting the connection if he was up there. They would soon be entering the lower level range, however, so Inlan carefully positioned himself beside, and not on top of, the receptors. The pulses should be harmless to him even if he did collide with them, but the pod itself would lose stability -- not to mention he felt far more vulnerable unclothed.

The Earthans had an interesting term for nudity. What was it again...?

"Birthday suit," he said triumphantly, then winced as his voice echoed in the silent chamber.

Clementine stared at the ceiling, imagining heroic scenario after heroic scenario in which she battled her captor and escaped with Daisy. But the man didn't take his eyes off of her, providing no possibility of her taking him by surprise -- not like she would have won in any physical match up. More likely she'd end up with a knife in her side and he'd leave her somewhere to bleed to death.

"What's your name?" she asked.

His lips curled into a half smile. "You can call me Daddy."

"Eeew."

He laughed at her disgust, then adjusted his crotch.

Refusing to think of him by that title, she secretly named him Ugly. Giving up on her visions of escape, Clementine put her head on her arms and wondered what her parents would do when they realized she was missing. Her heart ached when she imagined the pain and worry they'd go through. Stupid men in black trying to start a stupid fire. Stupid Ugly stealing Daisy.

No, it was her who'd been stupid. This was all her fault. She should have left the protest when her mom first said to. Or she could have let Daisy be taken and stayed with her mom. Or how about not walking straight into what she knew was a trap? Stupid mistake after stupid mistake.

After wallowing in self-pity for a while, she realized the transport ride was taking longer than any other she'd ever been in. They must have been traveling for at least twenty minutes. Even the ride to her mom's school didn't take more than fifteen, and that was twice as long as the trip to the auditorium.

The jangle of a belt buckle made her jerk her head up. Clementine scrambled backwards at the sight of Ugly pulling his off.

"Stay away from me!" she cried, getting to her feet.

"Quit yer flappin'," he said dismissively. "Ain't no time for fun just yet. We're almost there."

"How can you tell?" After months of riding in the transports, Clementine had quit her habit of looking up at the fake digital display to tell where they were. There was really no way to know -- you just had to trust that you were going where you wanted to go.

"I've got an impeccable sense of direction," Ugly said with a smirk. "Now stick out yer hands." He was holding out the belt, the knife on a nearby seat.

Sensing an opportunity for escape, Clementine did as he asked. But when he started to wrap it around her wrists, she whipped her hands upward, punching him in the nose. His head jerked up, and as he yelped in pain, she kicked him hard in the groin and shoved him away with all her strength. His face went purple as he fell back, and Clementine grabbed the knife.

"You bitch," he wheezed, his hands covering his crotch.

"I'm a bitch?" she scoffed, putting her back to the door and pointing the knife at him. "You're kidnapping me. And judging from your earlier comments, I'm guessing I won't get a say in any of the activities that occur once we get to wherever you're taking me. So, no, I'm not a bitch. You're a --"

Something thumped on the roof, making the whole pod bounce. Instinctively Clementine looked up, but saw only the perpetual blue sky, white puffy clouds, and tree branches.

Ugly grunted, and her heart slammed into her chest as she realized her mistake. His hand constricted around her wrist, and before she could do more than cry out, he had stripped the knife from her hand. She tried to pull away, but Ugly caught her by the throat and slammed her against the wall. Black and white dots clouded her vision, but she couldn't be sure if it was from the repeat head injury, or him cutting off her air supply.

"I'm a what?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Clementine opened her mouth, fighting for air. She clawed at his crushing hand but he only tightened his grip and laughed, a burst of hot, rancid breath on her face.

He let go, and she fell to the floor. She felt her hands being bound, but all she could do was gulp for air. Her vision returned in time to see him pull her to her knees and swing his arm back. She tried to duck but he held her still, and an explosion of pain sent her reeling back to the floor.

"That'll happen every time you use that mouth o' yers for anything but makin' me smile," he said, readjusting the ring on his finger before taking his seat again.

Clementine stayed on the floor and remained silent, clutching her bleeding cheek. Her jawbone felt like it would crumble if she tried to move it anyway.

Her eyes welled with tears, but she blinked them back. There was no way she was going to cry in front of this asshole.

The transport doors finally opened, and Ugly picked up Daisy and grabbed Clementine by the belt, yanking her to her feet. Keeping hold of her arm, he led her into an auditorium. It looked identical to the one her orchestra used, but instead of friendly musicians, this room was filled with people wearing black.

"What in the...?" Ugly looked around at the hundred or so people with as much surprise as Clementine. His eyes landed on a woman -- one of the few -- with her back towards them, pulling a knit cap off of her blonde hair. Even from behind, Clementine could tell that this woman was beautiful. The way she held herself, tall and proud, the way the eyes of all the men around her brightened when they looked at her, the way she fluffed up her shimmering hair. Oh yes. She was beautiful, and she knew it.

Ugly marched Clementine straight towards her.

"Gretta, what the hell is going on?" he demanded. "I said you could stay here, not yer whole damn army."

All of the men they passed reeked of smoke, leaving no question as to who they were and where they'd just been. The American flag on the seat closest to this Gretta identified her as well, as the mystery woman from on top of the station. Several of the men regarded Clementine's bleeding cheek and bound hands with surprise. A couple of them even had the decency to frown at Ugly. As for Gretta, she turned around with a wide smile already in place, but when she saw Clementine, taking in her situation in a swift glance, her full lips closed into a playful smirk.

Yup. Beautiful.

"Looks like you got someone else to keep you company," Gretta said. "Didn't you think I'd come?" she added, fluttering her long eyelashes.

"I'm more than happy to leave," said Clementine, trying to take a step away from Ugly.

His hand snapped up, and she cringed, raising her hands in defense. Ugly chuckled.

"Gretta..." one of the men said, watching the exchange with disapproval.

The woman raised a hand to silence him. "We need a place to stay," she said, addressing Ugly, "and you said it was safe to come back. So here we are."

With a frown, he surveyed the crowded auditorium. Clementine contemplated trying to make a break for the transport, but if all of these people followed the orders of a woman who seemed unfazed by witnessing a kidnapping, she doubted she would get very far. Still...

Ugly tightened his grip on her arm. Her longing stare at the nearest escape route may have been a tad too obvious.

"Fine," he said. "But stay out of my room."

Clementine would have pointed out how juvenile that statement was if she weren't so terrified of what was probably going to happen in said room. She couldn't go quietly -- not when these might be the last people to see her.

"Help!" she cried, trying to break free. "Please!"

"Shut up," Ugly muttered. 

Her arm tingled beneath his constricting hold, but she continued fighting, hoping someone would come to her aid. Two men did move to block the way, but when Ugly said, "She's a volunteer," their concern morphed into disgust, and they stepped aside.

"A volunteer?" Clementine said, not understanding. "Does it look like I'm volunteering? Let me go!"

She shoved against Ugly and almost broke free, but one of the same men who was about to help her seized her other arm.

"If you're selling your body to those aliens," the man growled, "you're a traitor."

Aliens? Selling her body?

"Wait -- an Asteroid Mate volunteer?" she said. "No, I'm not! I --"

The man shoved his hat in her mouth.

"Wait!" someone called out from near the door. A new batch of people had arrived, and one of them was running over. "I know her."

Zack!

Wait a minute. Zack? What was he doing here? He wore his usual all black attire, but he smelled like smoke too. No...

"She's not a volunteer," Zack said, stepping in front of them.

"I remember you," growled Ugly, rubbing his temple with the memory of Zack's knockout punch. "And I don't give two ant turds who she is. This time, she's coming with me."

"Who is she, Zack?" Gretta asked, her blue eyes dark with desire as she sidled up beside him. She'd taken off her black long-sleeve shirt and now wore a tight sleeveless undershirt that showcased her arms, covered in bright flower tattoos.

Blonde hair. Tattoo sleeve.

She was the girl from the party. And Zack was a member of Humans Right.