Page 5 of The Warrior's Oath
Sometimes you just had to do a little self-care. And sometimes that meant taking it easy and letting someone else do the cooking.
It was funny, actually. She had discussed the idea of laziness with her cousin that very week. How so many cultures had the general concept of an overall “take it easy” attitude in their vernacular, but it was really the Puritans who seized on the idea as something to fight against and punish in others.
It seemed the Puritans had advanced a lot of distasteful beliefs in their time, and the damage they had done spread far beyond their own xenophobic circles.
Nyota, however, had been in therapy and done the work. If her body needed rest, she let it. If her mind required a break, she made sure to carve out time for mindfulness and unwinding. And if she was just too spent to put in the time and effort cooking, she allowed herself the occasional takeout meal. In warmer weather, she would sometimes even climb on the roof of her building to enjoy it, relishing the comfortable relaxation flowing through her limbs as she lay back and stared up at the sky.
That was precisely what she had been doing when her world abruptly went black, the stars and city lights gone in an instant. When she awoke, they had been replaced by a metal ceiling and the curious stares of a dozen or so unfamiliar faces.
They were a motley group from all over the globe, it seemed. Traditional garb made that much clear, but they all seemed to be speaking the same language. Nyota commented on it, curious how that could be.
“I have placed a translation rune on the skin behind your ear,” a tall alien male with the same tan-gold skin as Korvin said. The same race, though the tattoos covering his body were more visible than his kinsman. “You still lack the other runes, and the Raxxians would not afford me the pigment to apply them, even if they did have it at their disposal.”
“Translation rune?” Nyota had asked as her head cleared.
“Yes. As I have explained to the others, your planet is clearly not part of the Dotharian Conglomerate or you would have been given one in childhood.”
“The Dotharian what?”
“Conglomerate. A union of planets far from your own. But none of that matters. What does is that you are aboard a Raxxian transport vessel. Try to stay alive. The others will explain.”
“Planets? You say that like you’re from some other planet.”
“Is that not obvious?” he replied with a shrug. “I have had this discussion with those taken from your world too many times. Discuss with them. I have done my part.”
With that, he turned and climbed into a bunk embedded within the smooth metal of the wall.
“Wait. What’s your name?”
“I am Heydar,” he replied as he slid into the shadow of the bunk.
Nyota looked around at the diverse faces watching her with interest. The others were all human, it seemed. Only Heydar was an alien among them. An alien. Anactualalien.
“We’re on some sort of ship?” she asked the group.
“Livestock transport,” a woman replied. “And before you start asking, just sit and listen. It takes a little while for the stun effect to wear off anyway.”
Nyota nodded silently.
“So, the Raxxians? You’ll see them. Big bastards. Green with scaly skin. They arenotfriendly. You’ll do well to keep quiet and not draw their attention. The smart ones survive. The foolish? Well, they get eaten.”
“Eaten?”
“Like I said, we’re livestock to them, though that one seems to be a favorite pet of theirs,” she added, nodding toward the alien reclining on his bunk. “Point is, don’t give them a reason to decide you’re too much trouble to have aboard and hopefully you won’t become their next meal.”
Nyota felt her stomach flip.
“In that hole in the floor over there if you’re going to be sick,” the woman said, gesturing to the opening.
Nyota hurried over to it and emptied the contents of her stomach. There wasn’t much, however. That meant she’d been here a while. Long enough for her dinner to have digested, at the minimum.
“How long have I been here?”
“I’d say ten hours or so. It’s hard to tell without a clock on the wall. Some sleep longer, some less. You’re about average.”
“Yay, me.”
The woman cracked a grin. “I’m Shalia, by the way.”
