I open my eyes to coruscating white lights and scaly tentacles writhing above me. I sit up immediately to skirt away.

Big mistake. My head pounds, and dizziness overwhelms me. I reach up to press my eyebrow, but my hands stop halfway to my face. Horrified, my vision clears, revealing shiny black shackles handcuffing me to the handlebars on both sides of the hospital cot I’m lying on. My arms drop back down, and I realize that gravity has returned, most likely due to spaceship acceleration… unless I’m on a celestial body. I struggle against my bonds.

“Woah!” a deep and heavily accented voice comes from my right. “Easy, or you’ll fall off the bed, sweetheart.” His gaze drops to the shackles. “Well, maybe not off entirely, but you’ll certainly catch yourself in a very… uncomfortable position, to say the least.” I gawk at the thirty-something-year-old man getting up from a nearby chair and slowly approaching my cot. His palms face me to indicate he’s coming in peace, but his demeanor tells a different story. His charcoal rimmed eyes are wide with curiosity, and a bandana with strings of nanopods and small animal bones covers his forehead. Three-dimensional microchips and beads are weaved through his dreadlocks. A mustache and interesting goatee twitches along with his evershifting smirk.

I wasn’t sure before, but now I am certain that I’m hallucinating. Am I alive? Or is this Hell? Not that I particularly like ICUs, but everything here is too sterile to live up to my imagination. Maybe the demon in front of me is planning to conduct some kind of weird genetic experiment. Despite the intrusive nature of whatever look he’s going for, the twist of his mouth is just as playful as it is intimidating.

As my headache marginally subsides, I look at the ceiling again and realize that the tentacles I saw previously are just twisted metal wires and pipes. An IV sticks out of a vein in my left arm delivering clear fluid, a nasal cannula is in my nose delivering oxygen, and a pulse oximeter is clipped onto my left forefinger. I lift my gaze up to a man on my left lying on a similar cot, unconscious.

Timour.

I wrestle with my restraints, the metal cutting into my bare wrists as I reach toward him.

“Hey, hey!” Bandana guy moves into my field of vision, blocking my view of Timour. “Your boyfriend’s alright. We’re not going to hurt him.”

Ha! Like I believe that. No emblem exists on his all-black getup, but the red lights lining the walls around me signify we’re on Martian premises. In addition, a symbol is embedded above the door—a sword with a curved blade reminiscent of an upside down cross.

The shackles prevent me from lifting my arms high, so I bend down in order to rip the nasal cannula out of my nose.

Before I can, Bandana guy protests, “Not that I would complain, but you might want to keep that on unless you prefer I give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”

I don’t know this man, and I’m not about to take orders from him. Besides, the device is irritating me. I glare at him and challenge, “I’m fine. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

He raises a brow. “You sure about that?” He points to a navy spacesuit hanging in the corner. “He gave you his suit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, when we, you know,” he begins, making a sweeping gesture with his hands, “rescued you from darkness and took you two on board, you were inside that suit. The IF wouldn’t issue one of its dear Keepers a uniform any less than a perfect fit.”

Fear pulses through me at the thought that Timour might suffer brain damage from anoxia. I cover my emotions with annoyance. “That bastard.”

“Aw, come now, don’t be so harsh on him,” Bandana guy smiles knowingly. “After all, he had his arms around you while he was dying. Quite the romantic display. Good thing we found you and the poor lad in the nick of time; he’s stable.”

“Where are we?” I ask. “What do you want from us?”

He rears back in mock horror. “How about some gratitude, lass? We saved your sorry arses from suffocating.”

A muted beep sounds from the metal door, and it slides open, closing after a figure walks through wearing black pants and a white coat. Her black hair is slicked back into a low ponytail, and her dark brown eyes rove the tablet she’s holding. Without looking up, she pauses a meter away from Bandana guy and me, asking in a monotone voice, “Why are you bothering my patients? They need to rest.”

Bandana guy has the audacity to look sheepish and replies, “Just making sure the little one didn’t start pulling out her heart monitors and needles and getting blood everywhere, you know?”

Heart monitor? I look down to see that I am wearing a hospital gown, and there are indeed electrodes attached to my chest and connected to the portable Holter monitor next to me. Fun. Luckily, I don’t think the two Martians can see anything from their angle. Although, someone undressed me…

“Don’t worry,” the woman reassures absently, “Felix here wasn’t in the room when I changed you. He helped me with your companion though.” She tilts her head toward Timour, and I automatically look in his direction. He’s clad in a similar gown and plugged into just as many machines as me, possibly more.

I turn to the woman. “Who are you?”

She finally yanks her gaze away from the tablet to look me in the eyes and moves forward, taking my hand. She gives it a strong shake. “I’m Doctor Nalani River. I’ll be your primary care physician for the duration of your trip to Titan. You and your…”

Felix partially covers his lips with one hand as though he’s about to tell her a secret. “Lover!” he whisper-shouts.

“Titan?!” I screech, ignoring him. “Nothing’s there except research stations and hydrocarbon mines. Why are we going there?”

“Not the moon, sweetheart,” Felix clarifies. “Titan is our main headquarters, a very very large spaceship. Quite extraordinary really. You’ll fancy it there.”

Why is he talking as though we’re all going on vacation? I’m shackled to my bed! “I thought your headquarters was in Solarity?”

They share a look. Doctor River shrugs and states, “Might as well. They’re bound to find out eventually.”

Felix glances at me briefly before turning away so that his back faces me. He murmurs into Doctor River’s ear, but the spaceship is quiet enough that I hear everything he states clearly: “I was kind of hoping I could keep this one as a souvenir. I’m getting a bit knackered from killing every prisoner we take.”

My breathing hitches.

Doctor River sighs, “There’s a reason Boss wants us to bring them in alive, otherwise I wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of reviving them. Telling them now will allow them to process it before we dock. But first…” She checks my vitals, reports my blood test results, takes out the nasal cannula—finally—and replaces my IV bag.

“What’s in the liquid?” I query.

“A saline solution with vitamins and minerals,” she replies easily. “Your potassium and phosphate levels are abnormally low. The IV can only do so much, so I’ll be back soon with some food. Do you have any allergies? Dietary restrictions?”

I start to shake my head, then I remember. “No allergies, but I’m vegetarian.”

“Got it.” She exits the ICU swiftly, leaving me alone with Felix and a still unconscious Timour.

Felix and I watch each other for a few seconds, daring the other to speak first.

My curiosity squashes my pride, and I say, “You have something to tell me.”

He nods. “We’re not Martians.” He pulls up his stiff sleeve, not without difficulty, and unveils a black ink tattoo on his inner forearm.

Skull and bones.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

I freeze.

Trying not to make it too obvious, I lean away from him, but I’m certain my wary expression and wavering voice expose me. “You’re a pirate.”

He turns his nose up and pushes his sleeve back down. “We prefer the term ‘Cosmics,’ actually.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. People who commit robberies and acts of criminal violence by ship are pirates, and an ornamental term isn’t going to disguise that fact. Pirates are a nuisance to everyone in the Solar System, but they aren’t much of a danger to the Martian Space Force or Earth’s Interstellar Force. They mostly steal from space tourists and the occasional mid-sized hotel.

Some branches of the IF actively search for pirates and rescue victims while we on Plato do not. However, we still have protocols regarding what to do if we come into contact with these criminals. Terrifying stories about what happens to humans the pirates steal from are well known, and I’m no longer sure the bones on his bandana belong to animals.

“Is Doctor River a pir—Cosmic?” I ask.

“Yes,” Felix answers. “She’s a Martian defector. Came with the ship.” He spreads his arms wide and triumphantly smiles.

“What kind of ship is this?”

“A Martian battleship.”

“How big is it?”

“Decent. Wait until you see Titan.”

“And what about you? Where are you from?”

He draws his arms in and narrows his eyes blithely. “You sure ask a lot of questions for a prisoner.”

“Is that what we are?”

He tsks. “Another question.”

“Well, what’ll it take for you to answer them?”

A mischievous glint appears in his eyes, and he stalks closer. I shrink back, but the clanking of my shackles being pulled taut informs me there’s nowhere else to go. His face stops a centimeter away from mine, and I can smell alcohol on his breath. He doesn’t seem intoxicated—perhaps a little exuberant—so I wonder how much of a tolerance he’s built. His charcoal-rimmed eyes fill my vision, the color of his irises reminding me of coffee liqueur.

I give him a defiant stare as his eyes wander over my features, and a jitter runs through me. One of his hands travel toward my neck, and I shut my eyes, not willing to exhibit my terror. Something cold brushes my skin, and the weight of the pendant leaves me. I open my eyes to see him scanning the Eye.

His face moves a couple inches away, allowing me to breathe. He smiles slyly, displaying two rows of straight white teeth. I’m kind of disappointed none of them are gold. He draws out his inquiry, “Where did you obtain this fine piece of treasure?” Still smells like alcohol.

“I’ll tell you if you answer my questions.”

“Let’s take turns.”

“And you promise to tell the truth?”

He grins like I’ve told him a funny joke. “I swear on the Cosmic Code of Honor.”

Whatever that means, it’s as good a promise as I’m going to get. “It’s a family heirloom,” I lie. He narrows his eyes, unconvinced. “If Doctor River’s from Mars, where are you from?”

“My ancestors were all Cosmics. I’m a pureblood.”

Sure.

“What happened to your ship?” he asks.

“It was damaged.”

“How?”

“Uh-uh, it’s my turn.”

His nostrils flare, and he bites out, “Not if your responses are inadequate.”

I shrug. “You didn’t specify.”

“Then I’ll be sure to reciprocate the favor,” he threatens, his face still too close to mine.

“Can you at least give me some space? You’re making me uncomfortable.”

“That’s the point, darling.”

I refuse to respond, glaring at him. My heart thunders in my chest, and hot and cold flashes flare throughout my body. After what seems like an hour, he steps back, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright, you win, but I’m going to ask you once more, what happened to your ship?”

I take a deep breath. “The Martians were chasing us, and they shot our ship with something. All the electronics fried.” True, just not the whole story. “Who’s your boss?”

“Not my boss. We call him ‘Boss.’ He oversees Titan and maintains peace between the Cosmics there. What happened to your neck?”

I give him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

He takes out a portal from his pocket and shows me a photo. “I took a picture of you while you were unconscious.”

That’s creepy, but then again, his entire demeanor, personality, and even makeup choice are too. The photo displays me, from the chest up, lying on the same cot I’m on now. My head rests on its side, the nasal cannula inserted into my nose. My lips and nose are blue, and my loose hair is a mess across the pillow. If I wasn’t currently alive, I’d think the girl in the photo was dead.

But then I see what Felix is trying to show me: Bruises mark inches of my neck above the Eye, purple and red and blue in color. A sharp pain that may possibly be imaginary skitters across the skin of my neck, and I unintentionally lift up a hand, but the shackles halt its motion.

“Did your boyfriend do this to you?” he queries, voice tight.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

He rolls his eyes in frustration. “What about your lover over there?” He jerks his head in Timour’s direction.

I’m too exhausted to correct his terminology. “No, it was a Martian.”

“Girl, if you keep on lying to me—”

“I’m not lying.” Not about the bruises, anyway. Why does he care? He’s a pirate who kidnapped us; who’s to say he won’t do something much worse? “How did you find us?”

“This is our territory,” his voice takes on a haughty tone. “We patrol the area and punish trespassers.”

By stealing their supplies before killing them. “Who gave you that jurisdiction?”

“Boss did.”

“So it’s illegal.” Obviously.

“Not according to the Cosmic Code of Honor. What’s—?”

He’s cut off when we hear a quiet beep, and Doctor River walks back in holding a tray. “Felix, I’m kicking you out. I already told you to stop pestering my patients,” she reprimands, sliding out the built-in tray table and allowing it to hover above my lap. She places her tray carrying rehydrated grapes, an egg and cheese sandwich, assorted vegetables, a slice of cheesecake, and three pieces of french toast in front of me. My mouth waters. “You haven’t eaten for a couple days, so I suggest going through this slowly. Start with the fruit and vegetables. Save the dessert for last.”

I’m already reaching for the grapes, not wasting time to ponder whether or not they’re poisoned. If they wanted me dead, I’d be dead. I lean down to pop a few into my mouth and almost roll my eyes back in pleasure.

Felix exclaims, “Ooh! I love eggy bread,” and stretches a hand toward the french toast.

Doctor River slaps his arm away. “Out.” She points toward the door.

He pouts. “Come on, Nalani. I’m just having a bit of fun and keeping the lass in good company.”

“Define ‘good,’” I mumble around a mouth full of grapes.

“Fine,” he puffs, straightening his shoulders in mock outrage. “Good luck getting any information out of this one.” He gestures toward the doctor, spins in a ninety degree angle, and saunters out of the ICU.

* * *

Turns out Felix was right, and I’m incredibly annoyed. I attempted to pry details from Doctor River concerning why Timour and I were captured, why they decided to save our lives, why she defected from Mars, et cetera, but all she responded with was “you’ll find out soon enough” and left me utterly alone for the next three hours.

Technically, I’m not completely isolated, since Timour is on the cot next to me—albeit still out cold and unresponsive to me calling his name—the big screen is playing some sort of romantic comedy that is really testing my patience, the digital clock reads nineteen-forty-three hours, and I’m clutching an emergency portal that can contact Doctor River and Doctor River only. But leaving me to my own imagination intensifies my stress.

I’ve just concluded that Boss is planning to torture us and feast on our brains when I hear a commotion outside the door.

“—cannot speak to her.” Doctor River becomes more audible as she nears. “She’s still recovering.”

“If she’s conscious, then she’s recovered enough for me,” another brusque feminie voice declares.

“She’s my patient—”

“And Boss’ prisoner,” the unknown voice retorts. “We’re docking with Titan in less than forty-eight hours, and he’s asked us to interrogate her before we arrive.”

“The man is comatose.”

“Not my problem. Besides, facial recognition has a match, and the girl is more important. She’s probably the reason Boss spared them.”

“Who is she?”

The door beeps opens, revealing the two figures. The unnamed woman is in her thirties, around the same age as Doctor River. In fact, they look quite similar, but unlike the doctor, the stranger has a pixie cut, a harsh facial structure, multiple ear piercings, and tattoos covering her hands and neck. I can’t determine if she’s inked anywhere else, because she’s dressed head to toe in black, which seems to be the signature color of pirates.

The stranger tilts her head and crosses her arms while she scrutinizes me. “The Admiral’s daughter.”