Four Sorathi turned as we entered.
The reaction was immediate.
A male—maybe seven feet tall, skin the color of deep ocean water—had been tending the fire. He straightened, hand going to the blade at his hip. "Thrae-sorai!" The word came out like a curse.
A female near the back wall—easily eight and a half feet, skin a burnished copper that gleamed in the firelight—took three rapid steps forward, her own weapon already drawn. "Kai sai vesh keth-aeth?" Her voice was sharp, demanding. Why is he here?
Another male, smaller, maybe six-foot-five, pale green like new leaves—he actually backed away, eyes wide. "Sai vora-aen naith?" Will he kill us?
The fourth—another female, taller than my captor, skin so dark it was nearly black with undertones of midnight blue—moved to block the far exit. Her hand rested on a blade that looked like it had seen considerable use. She said nothing. Just watched. Evaluated.
My captor—the violet-skinned woman who'd dragged me through the mountains—stepped forward, positioning herself between me and the others. Her blade was still drawn, still ready, but her body language had shifted. Protective, almost. Or maybe just possessive.
"Nai sai kira-ar," she said, her voice cutting through the rising tension. "Ateaer sai thrae-ar. Nai sai vora-ar." I saw him. Ateaer were attacking him. I protected him.
"Thren!" The copper-skinned female spat the word. Absolutely not. "Sai vesh thrae-sorai! Sai naith-thal keth-sora! Sai naith-sor thraea-aen!" He is an invader! He doesn't belong on our land! He will fight our people!
"Sai keth-thraea-ar," my captor countered. "Sai keth-mera-ar. Sai keth-thora-ar. Sai... keth-vesh." He didn't fight. He didn't run. He didn't speak. He... isn't.
That last part seemed to mean something. The copper female's eyes narrowed. "Kai vai thora?" What are you saying?
"Sai vesh thrae-sorai, thren. Sai vesh... keth-sor." He is an invader, yes. He is... not-person.
The ocean-blue male moved closer, circling around to get a better look at me. I stood still. Let him look. His eyes—two, like mine, like all Sorathi—scanned me with obvious disgust. "Sai vesh keth-vear. Sai vesh thrae. Naith sai thraea-or." He is not-life. He is a weapon. We should have killed him.
"Keth-na," my captor said firmly. Not yet. "Naith sai kira-aen. Naith nira-aen kai saith mera, kai saith thora, kai saith naith-thal keth-vora." We will see him. We will learn what they do, what they say, why they don't protect our land.
The dark-skinned female by the exit finally spoke. Her voice was lower, calmer than the others. "Vai sai aeth-mera-aen?" You will bring him home?
A pause. My captor's grip on my arm tightened slightly. "Nai keth-nira. Thora-aen nai Kethara-aeth. Saith nira-aen." I don't know. I will speak to the mountain-home. They will know.
The copper female made a sound of disgust but lowered her blade. "Sai vesh vai-vor. Vai sai vora. Vai sai thraea, kai sai mera." He is your responsibility. You protect him. You kill him, if he runs.
"Nai nira," my captor said. I know.
They moved on me then, all four of them, with the efficiency of people who'd done this before. Maybe not with humans—we were probably a first—but with prisoners. Enemies.
The ocean-blue male yanked my pack off my shoulders, dumping the contents onto the stone floor. Rations. Water purification tablets. Emergency beacon—he crushed that one under his heel immediately, grinding it into fragments. Geological scanner. Sample containers. All the mundane tools of resource extraction.
The pale green male pulled the UOE insignia patch from my jacket, held it up to the firelight like it was something diseased. He said something I didn't catch, then threw it into the fire. It curled and blackened, synthetic fibers melting.
They took my jacket. My boots. Left me in the thin underlayer that wouldn't last an hour in the mountain cold. The copper female found my comm unit, examined it briefly, then smashed it against the wall. Sparks. Plastic shards scattering across stone.
I watched it all happen with the same detachment I'd felt watching Vargas and Chen leave me behind. Just things. Just equipment. The company would bill me for it eventually, probably. Deduct it from my final paycheck.
If I lived long enough to collect a final paycheck.
The dark-skinned female approached with a length of cord—not rope, something organic, woven from plant fibers maybe. She grabbed my wrists, pulled them behind my back, and bound them with practiced efficiency. Tight enough that I couldn't slip free. Not tight enough to cut off circulation.
Professional.
I didn't resist. Didn't see the point.
My captor watched the whole process, blade still drawn, eyes never leaving me. When they finished, when I stood there stripped of everything that marked me as UOE, as human, as anything except a body taking up space, she finally sheathed her weapon.
"Sai keth-mera," she told the others. He won't run. "Sai keth-thraea." He won't fight. "Sai vesh... keth-vear." He is... not-alive.
The ocean-blue male laughed, bitter and sharp. "Thren. Sai vesh keth-sor. Sai vesh thrae." No. He is not-person. He is a weapon.
Maybe he was right.
They made me sit against the far wall, near the shrine with its wilting flowers and bowl of water. The Vearonsa's carved eyes seemed to watch me. Four of them, spinning blade-antlers frozen in stone.
The Sorathi returned to whatever they'd been doing before I arrived. Tending the fire. Checking weapons. Speaking in low voices that I couldn't understand and didn't try to.
My captor remained standing, positioned between me and the exit. Watching. Always watching.
Dawn light filtered through the narrow entrance, growing stronger as the sun climbed higher beyond the mountains.
I sat there, hands bound, stripped of everything, surrounded by aliens who had every reason to kill me and no reason not to.
And I felt nothing.
Just cold stone against my back. Just the ache in my legs from the forced march. Just the hollow space where something like fear or hope or even basic self-preservation should have been.
Just another morning.
Just another place where I didn't belong.
Time moved strangely in that carved-out space. The sun climbed higher beyond the entrance, shifting the angle of light across the stone floor. The fire burned lower. The Sorathi spoke occasionally, their voices a constant reminder that I understood nothing of what they said.
I counted the cracks in the ceiling. Thirty-seven visible from where I sat.
My captor finally moved from her post by the entrance. She crossed the space with that same predatory grace, crouched in front of me just outside arm's reach. Even crouching, she was nearly at eye level with me sitting.
She studied my face for a long moment. Then she spoke, slow and deliberate, like she was choosing words carefully from a limited vocabulary.
"Vai... people." She gestured vaguely toward the entrance, toward the world beyond. "Where?"
I blinked at her. "Where are my people?"
"Ae." Yes. Her tail moved in what might have been frustration. "Where... vai people... sora?" She made a gesture that might have meant living, or staying, or dwelling.
"The ship," I said. My voice came out rough from disuse. "Landing site. Forty kilometers northeast."
She frowned, clearly not understanding most of that. She reached for a piece of charcoal from the fire's edge, then drew on the stone floor between us. A rough circle. She pointed at it, then at the ground beneath us. "Thal." Land.
I nodded.
She drew another mark, some distance from the circle. Pointed at me. "Vai people."
"Yes."
"Kai-maer?" How many? She held up her hands, fingers spread.
"Forty-three," I said. Then, seeing her confusion, I held up four fingers. Then three more.
Her eyes narrowed. She drew more marks on the stone. Small scratches radiating out from the ship location. "Vai people... mera?" Your people... go? Travel?
"Survey teams," I said. "Geological surveys. Mineral deposits. Resource extraction."
The words meant nothing to her. I could see the frustration building in the set of her shoulders, the way her tail moved in sharp, agitated sweeps.
She tried again. Drew wavy lines that might have been mountains. Pointed at them. "Kethara." Then she made a digging motion with her hands, pointed at me questioningly.
"Yes," I said. "We're mapping mineral deposits in the mountains."
"Thren." She shook her head sharply, frustrated that I wasn't understanding her question. She made the digging motion again, more emphatic. Then a pulling motion. Taking.
"Yes," I said again. "That's what we do. We extract resources."
Something dark crossed her face. She stood abruptly, spoke rapid Sorath to the others. The ocean-blue male responded, his voice sharp. The pale green female said something that made my captor's hands curl into fists.
She turned back to me, crouched again. This time she drew a figure—crude but recognizable as Sorathi. Then she drew the ship. Then she made a slashing motion between them.
"Vai people... thraea... naith people?" Your people... fight... our people?
"Not yet," I said.
Her eyes flashed. "Keth-aen?" Not future? Not will?
I met her gaze. "Eventually. If you interfere with operations."
The truth of it sat between us like a stone. She stared at me for a long moment, and I saw something shift in her expression. Not surprise. She'd already known. But confirmation still carried weight.
"Vai..." She struggled for words, then gave up and stood again. Crossed to where they'd piled my gear. Returned with my water canteen—one of the few things they hadn't destroyed.
She unscrewed the cap, held it to my lips. Not gently. Practical. Efficient.
I drank. The water was warm and tasted like recycled ship supply, but my throat was raw enough that I didn't care.
She pulled it away before I'd had enough. Screwed the cap back on. Set it aside.
"Vai... nira... keth-maer?" You... know... not-heart? The words didn't quite make sense, but her tone did. She was asking if I understood something. If I felt something.
"I don't understand the question," I said.
She made a frustrated sound, tail lashing. Pointed at the Vearonsa shrine. "Hiahť. Vearonsa. Sor-kaeth." The last word was new, but the way she said it—hand over her chest—suggested love, or care, or something sacred.
"I don't know what you want me to say."
"Vai vesh keth-vear," she said quietly. Almost to herself. You are not-alive.
Maybe she was right too.
She tried a few more times. Drew more pictures. Made more gestures. Asked questions I couldn't fully understand and gave answers I couldn't fully interpret. The language barrier stood between us like a wall, and I was too empty to try climbing it.
Eventually she gave up. Stood and walked away, speaking to the others in low, tense Sorath.
I leaned my head back against the stone wall. The sun had climbed higher. The light through the entrance was harsh now, white and bright. My wrists ached where the rope held them. My shoulders ached from the position. Everything ached.
The Sorathi's voices became background noise. Meaningless sounds in a meaningless place.
I closed my eyes.
Sleep shouldn't have been possible. Bound, surrounded by hostiles, in enemy territory with no backup and no way out. Every survival instinct should have kept me wired and alert.
But I had no survival instinct left. Just exhaustion. Just the same hollow numbness that had carried me through two abandonments and a forced march through the mountains.
I slept.