to forget, the memory kept playing over and over in her mind until she reached the kitchen and heard a soft chirp from the storage room.
“George,” she said happily.
The little lizard had been intended for Ukhaan’s dinner, a rare and expensive treat. But when she lifted him out of his cage, he had chirped and rubbed his head under her chin, and she just couldn’t do it. She had found some bones from a previous meal, burned them beyond recognition, then told Ukhaan that she had fallen asleep and overcooked the meal. For a trembling moment, she had been convinced that he was going to kill her. Instead, he’d made her stand against the wall and whipped her. At the time, she’d thought that death would have been preferable.
But the lizard, who she named George, had lived. She couldn’t keep him with her all the time, but he seemed quite content exploring the tunnels that threaded through the rock, and he was smart enough to keep out of sight. He came back every day and she fed him and petted him and told him stories while he looked at her with huge golden eyes as if he understood every word. If it hadn’t been for George, she sometimes suspected she would have given up by now.
“I got the vegetables.”
The gruff voice came from behind her, and Joan jumped, trying to hide George in the folds of her skirt.
“Fuck. Girlie, I told you to get rid of that damn animal. What if Ukhaan walked in?”
“He stays out of the kitchen in the morning.” After she spilled hot cafir on him, “accidentally” dropped an overripe fruit on his best uniform, and left a wet mop in his path, Ukhaan had decided to leave her alone in the morning. The bruises had been worth it to buy a little time to herself.
Rummel shook his head. “And I told you not to count on that.”
“I know,” she admitted. “I shouldn’t take a chance with George’s life.”
“Or your own,” he said dryly. She gave him a quick smile as she gave George a final scratch sent him on his way.
Rummel was the closest thing she had to a friend in this place. A small, gnome-like alien with a fringe of white hair and bulbous green eyes, he was a gruff older male who had managed to finagle a job as a delivery person, rather than a mine worker. He brought her supplies from the storage lockers and occasionally assisted her in the small hydroponic garden she was attempting to resurrect. Ukhaan had been dismissive of the idea until she served him a sarlan steak accented with a fresh herb sauce. After that, he didn’t object to her endeavors and even agreed to some occasional help from Rummel.
“I hear Ukhaan has a stranger visiting him,” Rummel said, eyeing her curiously as he sat down at the kitchen table.
She gave him two thick slices of her homemade bread, oozing with jam, and poured him a mug of tea before she answered. She found herself curiously reluctant to discuss Varga.
“Ukhaan said he was important. Something about his career.”
“That means he thinks he might get off of this planet,” Rummel said thickly, his mouth full of bread and jam. “Can’t see it myself. His kind of brutality is more useful at keeping slaves in line than in some corporate office.”
“Do you think… do you think that if he left, he might take me with him?”
“No,” Rummel said harshly, but his eyes were sympathetic. “He’ll think he’s on his way to bigger and better things.”
Joan turned back to fix herself some tea, trying to hide her shaky hands. If Ukhaan left, that meant his right-hand man, Baahy, would take over. Baahy had no interest in her cooking. He had already made it all too clear what her role would be if he was in charge. Fortunately, Ukhaan neither liked nor trusted Baahy, and he had forbidden the male from approaching her. She had been foolish enough to think that meant she enjoyed some level of protection, but given how easily Ukhaan had sent her with Varga, she now realized how wrong she had been.
“What about the stranger?” Rummel asked after they sat in silence, sipping their tea.
“What about him?”
He peered at her from beneath bushy white eyebrows. “Is he interested in you?”
Heat suffused her face as she remembered this morning kiss.
“That looks like a yes. Maybe you should encourage him.”
“Why?”
“Don’t be stupid, girlie. A rich stranger in a luxury yacht.