LAUREN

I stare out at the waters of the ocean, numb with shock.

There’s lots about this world that’s different, of course, but there’s also so much that’s the same. Snow is snow. Mountains are mountains. Rocks are rocks. And back where we were, the landscape was nothing but snow and rocks covered by snow. It didn’t look so foreign, at least not to my eyes.

But this beach?

This is alien. This is otherworldly.

This is downright creepy.

The ship made it between the valleys of the jagged mountains surrounding us and has come out to the water’s edge. The long ramp extends out into the sand, but the ship itself is already in the water itself, resting on a tripod of legs that look like they should be sturdier than they are to withstand the slamming of the weird-ass ocean.

And boy, is the ocean weird.

The water’s green. Not a comforting sea-foam green or even blue-green. It’s a deep, bottle-green and the froth that curls along each wave is green as well. The sand is a darker, almost jade color and the grit is thicker than I seem to recall it being on earth. It smells like the ocean, at least, even if it doesn’t look like it. The waves are chaotic, too. I recall summer vacations spent at the Florida beaches when I was a teenager, and being disappointed that the waves were so tepid that you couldn’t ride them like surfers did on television. They were gentle, refreshing little waves.

Not here. These monstrous waves are chaotic and angry. They crash and slam onto the beach as if trying to punish it. I know that has something to do with the pull of two moons instead of just one, but it’s alarming to see.

And the creatures.

God, there are creatures everywhere. The crabs look more like scorpions and the waves undulate with tentacled, serpentine things. And lucky me, my vision has corrected itself enough that I can see them in all of their glory. This is not a friendly place. Somehow, when I heard we’d be taking the ship to the ocean, I thought of white sandy beaches and rolling, gentle waves. Even if it’s snowy, it’d still be lovely and comforting to look at.

Yeah, not so much.

But…there are birds. Brown, fat little birds cluster along the cliffs and fly away in waves the moment anyone approaches. Bigger, white-feathered birds with long, spindly legs dip needle-like bills into the waves and fish out treats. It’s not quite like home, but seeing the birds somehow makes me feel better. Watching them always calms me. It’s interesting how creatures here are similar to the ones at home, but still wildly different. The bird in the waves looks like a strung-out pale cousin to a flamingo, but its beak looks more like a razorblade. The crabs here are similar but creepier. The ocean is water, but not quite the same as ours.

The people here…same thing.

“Well, this is…different.” Willa moves to my side, gazing out at the water. She hugs her fur wraps closer to her chest as the strange bird in the waves wanders away from us. She absently kicks a tiny crab-scorpion away from her boot. “I don’t recall the beach looking so very…spidery.”

“Me either.” I watch as one of the plate-sized spider-like crabs scuttles nearer to the water. Something with tentacles reaches out and snags it, dragging it into the waves, and I shudder. “Good thing it’s too cold to swim, huh?”

“Good thing,” she echoes, agreeing, then glances over at me. “Mardok says he wants help salvaging some of the equipment if you’ve got time.”

Mardok’s one of the big blue aliens, with tattoos and silver horns. He looks very different from the others, and I think someone mentioned that he was part of the crew on the ship a long time ago. There are so many layers and backstories that a newcomer like me is doing good just to keep names and faces straight, so I try to focus on that sort of thing. I do know that he knows a lot about the ship, and I know he and Harlow have been working hard to strip components and small bits here and there before the entire thing goes up in a blaze of glory at the beach.

Seeing as how we’re now at the beach, I guess it’s close to fireball time. “Sure, I can help. I don’t know if I’ll have an idea of what I’m looking at, though. I’m not up on my spaceship knowledge.”

“Me either. I think he just wants extra hands. The other big blue guys are off hunting or setting up tents. Or caves. Or something.” Willa makes a face. “God, I hope it’s not tents because I don’t know if I’m going to be able to sleep on the ground knowing those spider-scorpion things are around.”

“Great. Now I’m not going to be able to sleep,” I tease as we turn back toward the ship. I can’t resist one last look back at the waves and I see the white bird dip its head under the water and pull out something slimy. It glances over in my direction and pauses, and I feel an absurd urge to wave to it, like it’s giving me permission to live on its planet.

Stupid of me. It’s just a bird at the end of the day. I’m stuck here whether he wants me to be or not. But I’m smiling as I follow Willa back to the ship, anyway.

Inside, it’s surprisingly quiet. For the last few days, there’ve been people on top of people. Mardok’s told us that the ship normally has just a four-man crew and I believe it. While it seems large from outside, the interior living quarters are actually kind of cramped. You can’t pass shoulder-to-shoulder down a hall with one of the big aliens inside, not without someone having to scuttle out of the way. Today, though, most of the tribe is outside on the beach or away hunting, and the place feels surprisingly empty.

Mardok is in the cargo bay, his back to us. He stands off to one side, by the lid of one of the coffin-like pods we awoke from. He’s got a shining tool in his hand that reminds me of a screwdriver and is using it to pry one of the circuit boards apart. “I brought an extra pair of hands,” Willa announces.

Marisol peeps over the edge of one of the coffins and smiles at me, then ducks back to work. I grin at her, and then look over at Mardok.

“Hi,” I say with a timid wave when the big alien glances at me. I always think Mardok is one of the most intimidating of the aliens. He’s one of the tallest, and his horns are covered with gleaming metal. One side of his body is heavily tattooed, and I heard a rumor that he’s part cyborg, though I can’t tell what part. That makes him a little scary. Then again, Rukh is also scary. And Vektal. And okay, most of them, even if they’re doing their best to seem nice. It’s just taking me some time to get used to things.

“Good, another pair of hands. I need all I can get, because Vektal wants to get this ship launched and underwater by the end of the day today. That means I’ve got to get everything powered down and taken apart in the next few hours and time’s wasting.”

I roll up the sleeves of my long tunic. “Show me what to do.”

Willa claps her hands. “I’ll go grab lunch and then I’ll come back and help.”

She dashes off, and as she does, I lean in and watch Mardok pry a tiny golden, three-pronged chip from one of the panels. “I need as many of these as you can find. If you pry up this layer of circuitry, you’ll see that there are four on this level, and three on the next. With twenty of these pods, that should give us one hundred and forty of them. Think you can do that for me?”

“I think so,” I tell him, and take the tool he hands me. He walks away and I’m left on my own to get started. Oh, okay. That’s all the training I get. Well, all right. I size up the room and decide to start by the far wall. One of the coffins is pushed up against the side of the ship, and the panel I need is naturally on the part I can’t get to from the accessible side. I try to push the coffin away from the wall, but it weighs more than I do and if there were rollers on it, they’ve been stripped down or turned off. At any rate, it’s not budging. All right, then. I climb atop the coffin and slide down the opposite side, my butt wedged against the wall, against a bar and what looks like a closed window. I bend over and start to pry the compartment open.

“Wait! Loden, don’t!”

I glance up. Is he talking to me?

“Lauren,” Marisol corrects quietly. “Her name is Lauren.”

“Sorry. It’s a lot to remember,” he says, racing over to my side.

“How do you think we feel?” I blurt out.

Mardok laughs and shakes his head. “Sorry. I’m sure it’s worse for you guys. You’re fine. It’s just, don’t lean against that wall. I’ve stripped the escape hatch mechanism.” He pats the bar my butt was resting against. “If you push down on this, the entire panel could open up and dump you into the water below.”

Eek. I guess that closed window wasn’t a window but a hatch. “It’s almost like this alien technology is dangerous,” I say dryly.

He laughs, surprised and pleased at my attitude. “Almost.”

* * *

I’ve pried one hundred and twenty chips out of the coffins when Farli heads into the cargo bay, breathless. Her gaze is focused on her mate. “Have you seen Wil-lah?”

I glance up and watch as Mardok wipes sweat from his brow and puts aside the equipment he’s working on. “What do you mean?” He glances back at me.

Was I the last one to see her? “She was bringing lunch, wasn’t she? I haven’t seen her since I came in.” I look over to find Marisol, but she’s gone.

Well, shit.

Farli makes an alarmed noise. “Gren is missing, too. The others think he might have taken her.”

I feel sick at the thought. I know Willa’s been trying to befriend him. This is what happens when you try to be nice. That doesn’t explain where Marisol went, though.

“You have to help us look,” Farli tells Mardok. “We need you.”

Mardok hesitates, clearly torn. I know he wants to finish salvaging the ship. Vektal’s already been in several times while we’ve been working to tell him to hurry along. Now that we’re on the shore, he doesn’t want to wait any longer to ditch the ship. Every moment it’s here is another moment he clearly feels its presence is threatening the tribe. Maybe he’s not wrong. I do know Mardok’s been stripping—and crushing—several components as he works. Maybe a fiery inferno is the best solution for this ship.

But if that’s the case, I need to find Marisol.

Mardok glances back at me and I wave him on, doing my best to look like the industrious little human I am. “I’m just going to finish these,” I lie. “You go ahead. I’ll catch up with the others when I’m done.” It’s only a half lie. I am going to finish up…but I’m going to do my best to find Marisol first. People are more important than parts, and if the sa-khui are super fired up to get rid of the ship, then I need to find her, pronto.

They turn and race out of the cargo hold and I immediately put down my tool and the bag of chips I’ve been working on and head down the hallway. “Marisol?” I call out. “Are you in here?”

I know it’s futile to call her name out—she never answers—but I can’t help but try.

“Marisol?” I try each time I enter a new room. In the last two days, the ship’s been looking more and more ravaged. Pieces have been torn out of the walls, components stripped from their circuit boards, and wires dangle from the ceiling in more than one room. The lighting and motion-sensitive doors no longer seem to work, either, and I have to slide my way into the hall that leads to the bridge.

There’s a big metal bar in front of the door, just about forehead height, and I nearly bang my head on it as I enter. Must have fallen when Harlow and Mardok were stripping parts. I try to shove it out of the way, and when it doesn’t budge, I duck and slide my way into the bridge, squeezing past the now-broken door. “Hello? Are you in here, Marisol?”

She’s not there, either, but I am a little surprised to see stacks of strange-looking parts set in most of the chairs and on every surface. I have no idea what these are, but when I look closer, I see a warning symbol of some kind, and something that looks like squiggles of fire.

Fuck. I know what those are. These are explosive parts salvaged from the ship. They must be stacking them here at the front to ensure that when the ship’s set on fire, it explodes and the bridge isn’t usable by anyone thinking to salvage her.

My skin prickles with awareness. It’s definitely not safe here. “Marisol!”

No answer. I kneel down at one of the stations and hold on to the counter, peering underneath. It looks like a good hiding spot.

“Activating distress beacon,” the computer calls out in a garbled voice.

What? I jerk to my feet and stare in horror down at the panel. The spot where I put my hand is lit up, covered in lots of squiggly-looking keys that I probably hit somehow. I don’t know what I did to make it light up, but I know I can’t duplicate it. Holy hell, what have I done? This is exactly what the others didn’t want to happen.

“Cancel distress beacon,” I call out. When that elicits no response, I try again. “Hello? Cancel distress beacon!”

Seriously, what the fuck? Why did no one cover up this panel if it was so damn important? I smack it with my hand.

“Activating distress beacon,” the computer calls out again in that calm, eerie voice. It sounds like its slowed down, as if the computer itself is slowly dying. I don’t know if it’s repeating itself or if I’ve somehow now sent out two distress beacons. I whimper in frustration.

I have to let someone know about this. I have to tell them that we need to stop this thing before it’s too late. Mardok will know what to do.

I turn and race for the door.

BANG.

The bar I forgot about in my haste? It knocks me on my forehead and I realize I should have ducked about two seconds before the world goes dark.