Page 33 of Infala: Bonded to the Enemy
She surveyed the area and did the math in her head. There wasn’t much left to clean. She just had to bus and clean the last ofthe dishes and re-stack them in their correct locations for the next meal. Beyond that, there wasn’t much to do.
The ingredients she’d used were in quite a state, however. The way they were stored and arranged made no sense, clearly organized by someone without so much as a glimmer of a clue as to how a proper kitchen should flow. She put everything back where it had been, for now at least, but ways to optimize the space were already becoming readily apparent to her after just one day. Less, actually. She’d spent barely any time in the cooking area but clearly the Dohrags had no clue what they were doing even after months or even years aboard the station.
“Later,” she told herself. “Deal with it later.”
Shalia pulled out the food she’d stashed for herself while cooking and dug in, her belly greedily taking every bite with a happy rumbling. It was one benefit of being forced to cook. If this kept up, she could make sure she got ample nutrition without having to rely on whatever scraps the crew left behind.
Her food polished off and her covertly claimed personal storage container cleaned and tucked away for the next meal, Shalia surveyed the clean, if not quite sparkling, mess hall with a little nod. It was impressive, not that it would matter to her brutish captors. But she knew she’d done a good job, and even if they didn’t acknowledge it, the hope was that maybe, on a subconscious level, they’d realize she was working hard and would cut her a little slack as a result.
Or not. With the Dohrags what they would do was anyone’s guess.
“Well, that’s gross,” she grumbled, wiping her forearms as best she could.
This was where having a regular sink somewhere in the kitchen would have come in handy. Despite her best efforts, cleanup had been a bit messy. It was the nature of the beast, and really, she was cleaner than she’d have expected given the look of the place when she’d arrived. But nevertheless, a nasty film clung to her skin.
Shalia gauged the time. Without any clocks on the walls it was a guess, but she estimated she had at least an hour before the crew would begin to finish their shifts. She’d noticed not all were on the exact same schedule, but they were, for the most part, operating within the same rough window.
She hurried to the showers, passing the crew’s bunk area in the process. None were present. Not at their bunks, the showers, or the restroom area. She had the place to herself.
Shalia quickly stripped and activated the water. The flow was strong and hot, there was no warmup time for the water. Still, she hesitated a minute, looking at her skin, carefully tracing the lines and runes now marked on her body. They looked to be in pretty good shape, so far as she could tell, the alien pigments mending her flesh far quicker than regular ink on Earth.
Though she didn’t have any tattoos of her own, she’d had plenty of friends with them, and the uncomfortable, itchy healing process was something she was familiar with, though second-hand. Hers, however, had healed remarkably fast. She ran her fingers over the anomaly to her designs, the marking Valin had put on her collarbone that first day, and felt an odd tingle, not only in that spot, but also the one on her chest. The Dohrag rune still hadn’t been absorbed, as the Skrizzit had thought it would. In fact, the design had absorbed the native pigments, incorporating them into its design, the lighter and more colorful ones even adding highlights to the pattern.
The other designs had settled in quite nicely. All but the one that Yarro the Skrizzit had informed her would eventually become her bonded Infala, if she was so blessed. Oddly enough, that one was moving. Changing, albeit slowly. Shalia didn’t think that was normal, not so recently after being marked, but Yarro wasn’t here to explain the nuances of the design and its properties, and she was sure as hell not about to go asking the Dohrags. Where they were concerned, she would keep her head down and get by, just as Margussa had told her to do when she was still new to their particular form of brutality.
Shalia shrugged and let it go for now. Hurrying was the order of the day. A relaxing shower, this would not be.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, stepping into the flow. “That’s the spot.”
The water felt amazing on her skin now that her new tattoos had healed. Rubbing her hands over her body, the grime and sweat from the day’s labors rinsed away, leaving her feeling clean and refreshed. Comfortable, even. She ducked her head under the flow and gave her hair a quick wash. The Dohrags didn’t seem to have shampoo of any sort, but that wasn’t something she was going to worry about. Getting clean and getting out of here, that was priority number one.
Strong hands abruptly grabbed her, yanking her from the flow. She opened her eyes, water running into them uncomfortably. Adrenaline surged through her veins.
It was Grallox and six other Dohrags. They had returned from work early, or she had miscalculated the time. Whatever the case, it didn’t matter. What did was they had returned to find a nude female in the showers, and each and every one of them had a predatory look in their eyes.
“Let me go!”
“Of course,” Grallox said with a laugh, shoving her to one of his buddies. “I’ve let go.”
The other man pushed her to another of their group, the men laughing as they groped at her body with calloused hands. Shalia struggled against them, her feet slipping on the metal floor. Another shove, another hand trying to grab where it shouldn’t, but Shalia lost her footing, falling to the deck under the water’s stream, landing hard with a splash.
The Dohrags laughed, though not with good humor. Their mirth was cruel, reveling in her helplessness. In her fear.
“What the fuck are you lot doing?” a deep voice boomed from the entry area. All heads turned, Shalia’s included. Commander Valin was looming large, and he looked enraged.
“We’re just having a little fun,” Grallox said with only the faintest trappings of respect.
Valin was having none of that. He stepped forward, his anger palpable as his fists flexed and unclenched. “Having fun?” he growled, the sound low, like a beast on the hunt. “We are undermanned, and yet you shirk your duties to play grab-ass with a prisoner?”
“It was just some innocent?—”
“You shut your godsdamned mouth and get back to work. Your shift hasn’t ended yet, and I will not tolerate dereliction of duties. Nor do I believe the overseer council will when they assess our situation.”
Thatgot Grallox’s attention. For all his insubordination, he knew full well that regardless of what happened to Commander Valin, any negative marks received on his record could derail all of his hopes of taking over command.
“Apologies, Commander,” he said with at least a modicum of respect. “It won’t happen again.”
“You’re damn right it won’t. Now get out of here and back to your stations.”
