Ar'Tok - Alana Khan Page 0,5
talking. But the depth of my anguish shocks me.
“Star. You there?”
“Yes.”
The sound of that one word tells me all I need to know about how scared she is. She never told me her age, but at this moment, she sounds like a little girl. A terrified little girl.
“I forbid you to talk, Star. Not like our usual conversations. I don’t want you to waste a molecule of air unless you must say something. You just listen, okay? Just use my voice as a lifeline, something to hold onto.”
“Mmm,” she says. I resent even that little hum. I don’t want it to snatch half a modicum off her life.
“I’m sure you have questions. Don’t ask them. I’ll tell you everything I probably should have told you weeks ago.
“I’m on a ship of runaway slaves. I tried not to lie to you, but I’m pretty sure I led you to believe I work for the Federation. We’re far from it. In fact, we’re on the run from them.
“Several lunars ago, ten Earth females were abducted and thrown into cells with ten male gladiators on the ship we’re coming to rescue you with. It was a slave ship. The gladiators and Earth females staged an overthrow and confiscated the vessel.
“Two lunars ago, I was on a ship being transported to a slave auction when another gladiator and myself, as well as two human females, were rescued. We commandeered that slave ship, so now we’re a little band of escaped slaves with two vessels.
“I bet you were worried you wouldn’t be safe with us because you’re human. When we rescue you, Star, you’ll be welcomed among us. Rescued and welcomed and safe,” I reassure her calmly even as the back of my mind is mourning the forty dracking minimas we lack. I shake my head, trying to erase the picture of a little human curled into a ball in the corner on the bridge of her ship. Dead.
I keep talking and calming and comforting her. When I run out of things to say, I read to her from a book she told me was one of her favorites. When my voice runs dry, I play music for her. Not the swacheck music that is an acquired taste, but things she’s told me over the last few lunars that she loves.
“Star? Sweet? Can you hum for me? Just to reassure me that you’re awake?” I caught myself at the last moment, so I said the word ‘awake’ instead of ‘alive’.
“Mmm,” is all she says.
“Hum if you want me to shut up. Maybe I’m boring you.” I try to lighten the mood.
She’s silent. I figured she would be. I hope my words and silly songs and stories are something she can hold onto.
The countdown clock says two hoaras, eleven minimas.
“Please don’t talk, but I want you to think about all the things you want to do after we rescue you. You never really told me much about your life, but I’ll bet there are places you always wanted to explore and activities you wanted to try.
“Picture it, Star. Planets you want to investigate. Perhaps it’s been a long time since you’ve been to a zoo, or swam in the ocean, or tasted exotic fruits.”
It’s not hard for me to come up with hundreds of ideas of things she might want to try. I’ve had all these thoughts myself, a thousand times. Growing up in prison, seldom leaving my cell, I dreamed of many things I wanted to explore. Now I’m just listing them for Star, giving her beautiful pictures for her mind to hold onto while the oxygen in her satellite vanishes.
“I’ve read that the ocean tastes like salt. Wouldn’t it be fun to experience that?” I ask. “Or imagine lying on fine blue sand on the shores of the Ocean of Tranquility on Ortheon, on your back with the sun pouring down on your face. I bet it’s peaceful,” I lower my voice in awe, encouraging her to visualize such a calm place, hoping it gives her serenity.
“Remember the feel of rain on your face, the fresh smell of it.” I can’t imagine this, since I’ve never experienced it, but maybe she can. “How about the wind blowing through your long, brown hair? Remember the smell of a garden, Star? The swirling scents of a hundred different flowers perfuming the air? Or the soft feel of your beloved pet’s fur as it curls on your lap?”
Glancing at the countdown clock, I see she has twelve