The woman’s footsteps recede away again. I flop back onto the floor. I start to cry just thinking over how little information I have to go on. I have no idea where I am, how long it’s been, or what they plan to do with me. I wish I could be strong and smart, but all I want to do is weep and moan like a baby. Let it out for five minutes, I think to myself. I deserve that much. Five minutes to cry, and then I’ll scheme.

***

KILA

“I don’t understand why we’re going to all this trouble,” Mori is saying as we make our way down the streets of a neighborhood on the outskirts of town. “She has a translator chip. Shouldn’t the authorities have tracked her location by now without our help?”

Out here there are not many alien species, so our crew draws the attention of any human we encounter on the cement lane. The sun is beginning to sink down below the tree-line, casting a golden light across the green squares of vegetation that line the road and walking areas. The dwellings we pass are oddly spaced apart— too close for luxury, too far for efficiency.

“That’s against this particular Earth area’s local laws,” Pakka tells him. “The United States prohibits GPS chip tags that show the locations of private citizens without their express permission.”

“Ridiculous,” Mori mutters. “It’s like these stupid humans want to be disorganized on purpose.”

“The chip’s still going to have a footprint,” I point out, “And we know it will have a signature specific to the tech that the research facility uses. We can assume that’s where she got hers.”

“Correct. That’s a decent point,” Mori says, tapping his chin thoughtfully. He is easily the most talented when it comes to scanning and tracking technologies. “Once we have more focused location for where she might be, scanning for the facility’s tech signature might lead us straight to her.”

“Got it,” Kiva interrupts, pointing to the home at the end of the street we have just turned onto. He is out in front, following the map on his mini tap-pad which is strapped to his wrist.

We fall into formation without needing to discuss. With a couple points of his finger, Pakka sends us into various positions. Kiva and I take the front entrance, Vala and Mori split to either side of our target, and Pakka goes wide toward the back, headed for a metal mesh fence.

I take a deep breath. Kiva glances at me furtively. When I catch him staring, he hisses, “Your eyes are black again.”

“Just don’t let me kill him,” I say. “Ella would not like that.”

“That does not assuage my concerns,” he grumbles.

When we reach the cement block in front of the door, Kiva kneels to slide a pin into the lock mechanism on the knob. It clicks in a matter of seconds, and we’re in.

There’s no point in being quiet. We barge right in, stinger guns in hand. I begin checking each room while Kiva follows, his stinger up and ready to shoot. I don’t imagine this Vic from Williams is capable of putting up a true fight, but we are taking precautions.

We come around a corner into the back of the home. He is there in a room that is half windows, facing the garden behind his dwelling.

“There you are,” I say.

Vic curses and falls out of his chair. “Shit, shit!” he yells, and launches himself at the glass door. He fiddles with the handle until he sees that Pakka is standing on the other side of the glass, arms folded over his chest.

I nod to Kiva and he keeps his weapon trained on Vic. I grab the little man by the neck and swing him around so that his back slams against the walled side of the room. He groans, and with his first gasps of breath he is making excuses.

“I didn’t know they’d take her! I swear to God I don’t know anything about it! I wasn’t there, I haven’t even spoken to any of those people since—” He blubbers like a youngling caught in a lie.

“Ah, but if you don’t know anything about it, then how could you know why I am here, hm?” I ask him, squeezing his neck harder until he gurgles and chokes.

“Kila,” Kiva warns.

“What do you want from me?” Vic whines, his face red and sweaty.

“Names. Addresses. Everything you know. Now,” I demand in the clearest terms possible. I hear the beep of Kiva’s mini tap-pad as he begins recording.

“I wasn’t there,” he says again.

“That is inconsequential.” I drop him to the floor. He rolls around, panting. I pull my ikani from my pocket. I show him the shining black handle and press gently on the release. The short blade emerges with a delicate hiss.

“You don’t get it. I’m worried for Ella, really, but they won’t kill her. They’ll kill me though,” he says desperately. “They’ll kill me if they find out it’s my fault a bunch of crazy aliens showed up at their place.”

“That is fine,” I say. “When I am done with you, you will be wish to be ashes. That is… unless you start talking…”

I move to pin him and he flops like a fish, squirming to get away. I dig a knee into his back and press my weight into him. I grab his arm and lock it into place while he starts screaming. Kiva shuffles anxiously behind me, but I haven’t even cut the coward yet and he shrieks like a hopper in a jungle trap.

“Before, I told you of the traditional Kar’Kali method of torture. One of the few barbaric practices we’ve kept from the Archaic period. I promised you a demonstration,” I say calmly, forcing his palm open. “It begins easy. With the smallest finger on your hand.”

I grasp the finger, just as I told him. Perhaps too zealously, because he lets out a high-pitched scream of pain, and I realize I might have broken his pointer finger in the process. No matter…

“It is best done with a Kar’Kali blade. Our metal cuts through bone,” I tell him, and begin to dig my ikani into the tip of his finger.

“Jesus… Jesus Christ— AAAaaannnHHHhh,” he cries out. “Fuck, fuck, you are crazy. Okay, okay, stop it and I’ll tell you what I know.”

I drop his arm. “Quickly.”

***

ELLA

Well, it’s definitely been hours and so far, my scheming hasn’t gotten me very far. In fact, accomplishing just about anything in my current state is exhausting.

First, I almost cracked my head open by getting to my feet and hopping to a light switch. It’s slowly gotten darker and darker. Then, I had to go to the bathroom, which was horrible. I dragged myself to the door, got up on my knees and pushed on the knob with my mouth. This door swung in, causing me to topple onto the tiles from my lack of balance. I had to climb up onto a foreign toilet and shimmy my ass out of my pants. Wiping myself was too tedious and ineffective for me to even think about again.

I searched the place for something sharp, but I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m trapped in a guest room that doesn’t get regular usage. Soap, shampoo, and towels just won’t cut it if I’m ever going to escape. Before today, I wouldn’t have thought that the kind of person with a guest room that has its own bathroom attached would be the same kind of person who gets random kidnapped women dropped off by criminals. Just goes to show that you never really know…

The only thing I’ve found that might be useful is a travel sized bottle of hair spray. By turning around and using my bound hands, I’m able to shove it down the back of my jeans. It’s not comfortable, but it’s better than nothing.

Resigned to my situation and mentally fatigued from brainstorming escape plans, I haul myself onto the top of the bed and lay there.

Just as I feel close to drifting off to sleep, I hear the front door slam open again. I hear voices, but I’m not able to make out what they’re saying at first.

Then, predictably, they start arguing again.

“No! No way!” my unenthusiastic babysitter yells. “Get her out of here. You are not doing your bullshit in my house!”