Dreamer Awakened Part 1

QUINN



"We've lost controls. We're going down!" Roxy yelled from the helm.

Quinn slammed his fists against the darkened console. The power had flickered once, twice, then went out just a few minutes after they'd entered the atmosphere. They had been making a controlled descent.

Now they were falling. He could hear the sounds of the engines winding down past the whistle of their extreme speed. He staggered over next to Roxy, started to key the intercom, realized it was dead, and slammed his fist into it, too. Then he turned, yelling "Get buckled in!"

Aw, fuck. There were only a few colonists here in the cockpit, and almost two dozen women scattered through the rest of the ship. Most probably hadn't heard him, and who knows whether they'd realize the gravity of their situation.

"Here! Hold this!"

He turned to see Roxy had levered herself halfway out of her seat and was looking at him expectantly. "Hold this," she repeated, and yanked him forward, physically wrapping his hand around the stick. "We've got mechanical backup, and are gonna have to glide the ship in," she quickly explained. "Keep these two lines parallel, and try not to dip below the horizon."

"What?" His blood ran cold as he looked at the little instrument she indicated. He'd been in a small plane before, but he'd never flown one.

"I've gotta go check on the engines. I might be able to get them restarted." She was already halfway across the cockpit. To either side of her, women were getting strapped in, maneuvering flight harnesses around big pregnant bellies.

"But--"

"We're high enough that it should be a few minutes to impact!" She was almost to the door now, and shouting over the roar of their uncontrolled descent.

Well, that was a comforting thought. And it appeared she was going no matter what he said. "Tell everyone to get buckled in as you pass!" he yelled.

She raised her hand, letting him know she'd heard him, then disappeared out the cockpit door.

This was insane. Ignoring the cold sweat he'd broken into, he planted himself in the pilot's seat and stared stiffly at the wobbly little circle, the top half of which was blue. They bucked and sidled with turbulence, and their little white line rose up into the blue. He pulled back, making it worse. Cussing himself, he tried to fix it, and overcorrected. He fought with the stick for long moments, and finally got them relatively stable again, though they were still falling fast. The ship's wings were tiny, meant for stabilization, not support of its entire weight.

Out the forward window, he could see a ceiling of roiling grey clouds far below, with flashes of purple lightning that arced upward all around them.

The year was 2094, Earth time. The Bureau of Civilization Expansion had started sending out colonist ships about forty years earlier, just a few years after achieving fast-as-light travel and perfecting cryonics. Quinn's ship, the Ardent, had originally contained 120 colonists, all eager for exploration.

They'd first landed on their target planet, at a distance of about 25 light-years from earth, over nine months ago. It was a tropical paradise, and many of the colonists had paired off and moved quickly to reproduce.

Then, two months ago, tragedy had struck. In less than a week, two thirds of their number had been decimated by an alien predator that avoided killing pregnant women. They'd found out in those same fateful couple of days that they'd colonized a powerful alien's back yard, and he wanted them gone.

So they'd left the planet headed toward an alternate destination.

They plunged into the clouds, and his shoulders tightened as he realized they could plow into their 'alternate destination' at any moment, and he wouldn't even see it coming.

In an effort to distract himself, Quinn reflected on his situation. All the other medical personnel--except one registered nurse--had perished, leaving him responsible for treating all wounds and illnesses, and managing all prenatal complaints. And it wasn't like back on Earth, where he'd have an answering service and they'd wake him if it were a real emergency and he was the poor sod on-call. No, here they owned him.

He reeled through the complaints from the past several estrogen-soaked months. 'Quinn, I've got cramps.' 'Quinn, I'm spotting.' 'Quinn, I'm sweating.' 'My feet hurt.' 'My hips hurt.' 'My back hurts.' 'My breasts are tingling.' Day and night, demanding things from him: Supplements and explanations and nausea meds and Tylenol...

Not only this, but being one of the last remaining men, they were having him lift things for them, reach for things over their heads, open jars, and they even looked at him expectantly when they had a plumbing issue. It was kind of like having two dozen wives, without any of the benefits.

And now, Roxy: 'Quinn, hold the stick.' Did she think he had better stick-handling, just because he was a man? It's not as if he had a private pilot's license, like she did. Not that it qualified even her, technically, to fly this high-tech ark. No, everyone 'qualified' had been eaten by alien monsters about two months ago.

His jaw clenched. The controls were still out, dark clouds roiling. Roxy: Still gone.

He really hoped she hadn't simply run away. It wouldn't be like her at all--she generally seemed like such a strong woman. She was a mechanical engineer with a take-charge attitude, and an uncanny ability to drive anything.

Quinn risked a glance over his shoulder.

Marah was just helping the last of the women get buckled in. She was one of the few non-pregnant colonists, and his co-leader since the mass deaths two months ago. She was a slender woman, pretty, he supposed, in a quiet, serious way. She kept low and balanced with lithe grace as she moved to her own chair.

Past her, Roxy rushed back in through the door. Big pregnant belly and all, the woman moved fast.

He jumped out of her seat. "Any luck?"

Roxy shook her head, checking the instruments. "No. It's all fried." She looked up at him, and he could tell the stress was finally getting to her. "You need to get buckled in," she said. "It's gonna be a rough landing."

He fastened himself into the seat across from Marah even as she finished tightening her restraints. Fat lot of good it'll do, he thought, when the ship is crushed like a pop can.

Roxy fought the stick as the turbulence got worse.

Out the forward window, the roiling clouds gave way suddenly to a view of the ground far below. The white surface glowed eerily in the light of the dual moons, roped with long mountain ridges and studded with the tiny spikes of dark trees.

He hadn't seen a lot of it in his life. He tried to avoid it at every opportunity: Snow.

Quinn gritted his teeth and exchanged a look with Marah across the cockpit. They'd been headed to a spot near the equator, a spot with a warm, tropical climate. A good place for a fledgling colony trying for a second start.

Instead, they'd had their controls knocked out by an electrical storm over God-knows-where, and were headed straight into what appeared to be a deep, cold winter night.

A gust of wind caught them, and the ship yawed as it dove. They were falling fast, much too fast for a safe landing. The cold's not gonna matter, Quinn reminded himself, because we're going to die on impact. We came all this way, got this close, just to die before ever setting foot on solid ground. Blood rushing in his ears, he squeezed his eyes shut. He hoped by the time he opened them, it'd be over.

It wasn't.

The controls were still eerily dark, and they were still falling like a comet. The ship was rattling as though it were going to shake apart at any second, the sound vying with a chorus of terrified shrieks from the colonists.

In the sea of white, he spotted something ahead on the ground. Rectangular, dark, long and low. They were headed right toward it, at speeds probably exceeding two hundred miles per hour. They'd be vaporized, incinerated, smeared into little bits--

The instrument panel lit up, and the thrusters kicked in, slamming him forward in his seat as Roxy blasted the engines into full reverse. The ship slowed, but the ground was still coming up way too damn fast. Too late--

The panel blinked out again a second before they hit with a crash that jarred his bones. They smacked straight into that dark wall, and through it, skidding and rolling in a cloud of white. He heard the women screaming, and he was pretty sure he was, too.

The ship shook. Metal screamed on a hard jolt, then fractured.

A rift opened in the ceiling, and the other half of the cockpit sheered suddenly away. He was looking right at her, and then Marah was gone, sucked into the blur of white night. Snow pelted him, stinging his already cold and sweaty skin as they spun crazily.

What seemed like an eternity later, miraculously, they came to a rest. Metal twanged and creaked, then settled.

His heart was thumping, his breath coming in pants. He was nauseous, and he didn't know if it was the spinning or the adrenaline burning through his veins. He blinked in the darkness, shocked he was alive.

One of the women moaned. Another pained moan, a hissing indrawn breath. "My baby," a voice whimpered. A biting wind whistled in through the cracked shell of the hull.

Not good. Not good.

He unbuckled himself and fell to the side. The floor was at an angle, but still walkable. He clambered to his feet, discovering all his limbs seemed to work.

Roxy was pushing herself up from the console, leading with her big belly. She wiped the blood from a bleeding cut out of her eyes, looking a little dazed. She was a couple days shy of 39 weeks, if he remembered correctly, her pregnancy almost term. Very, very pregnant. And a few were even further along than she. Definitely further along than he'd want to put in such a violent crash.

"Are you okay?" he asked, reaching out to steady her.

She waved him off. "I'm fine. Help them." Then she looked out into the night, into the swirling snow revealed by the missing half of the cockpit. It was cold enough already that Quinn could see her breath. "What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?" she asked.

It really didn't warrant an answer. If he'd just stayed on earth, he would be in his big house right now, with his big bed and his state-of-the-art kitchen, his acres of windows with a panoramic view of the wonderfully hot desert. His practice, where he had three days off a week, an answering service, a nice, cushy office... Where he was paid hundreds of dollars an hour sometimes just to walk through the door.

He'd give anything anyone wanted right now, to be able to walk through a door into one of those familiar exam rooms.

But it wasn't gonna happen, so he moved swiftly over to the belted-in women. One looked pale and pained, and was holding her belly. Not good.

Melly looked up at him, her eyes wild with fear. "The baby...it hurts," she panted.

He reached out and pressed his fingertips to her distended abdomen. Just as he'd feared: Her belly didn't depress at all. Hard as a board.

They'd just crash-landed on an alien planet, in freezing temperatures, none of their equipment was working, and he was about 90% sure this woman was bleeding out internally. It was a common enough occurrence in accidents with sudden deceleration; the placenta ripped away from the uterus, and the spot where they'd been connected bled. And bled. And... These women sometimes didn't make it when already in the hospital, with a fully trained staff including an experienced obstetrician, a state-of-the-art OR, and a steady supply of blood. Here, with no power to the ship, minimal equipment...there was no way. Melly wasn't going to live.

Shit, shit. He wanted to cuss, but the patients didn't like that. What to do? Save mom, save baby? Melly'd be dead for sure if he tried to save baby. Could he save either in circumstances such as these? Was there any point in trying? Would they all be dead in a few days anyway?

"I'm bleeding," she moaned. Sure enough, a dark stain was spreading in her lap. She looked very pale now, her brow sweaty. "My baby."

Shit. "Melly, I think your placenta has separated from your uterus. You're bleeding out internally and the baby isn't getting any oxygen. The baby needs to be cut out, but I don't know if I can save her. I don't think I can save you. Tell me what you want me to do," he pleaded. And he didn't want to cut her without anesthesia. Every doctor heard those stories. The screams.

Though he didn't think there'd be much fight in Melly at this point. She was fading fast. He could see the growing haze in her eyes. She looked grey.

The pregnancy was near full-term, but still--the baby had been a minute or two without oxygen now, and even if he got it out, and was able to resuscitate it, and it wasn't brain damaged, how would they feed it? Who would care for it? How would they keep a helpless little being alive, when their own survival was in question?

He unbuckled her, and Melly started to slide forward out of the chair. He caught her and lowered her to the floor. He was dimly aware of movement around them, but was focused solely on the woman dying in his arms.

Her voice was very faint. "Save my baby," she said.

No time to think. Heart thundering, ears buzzing, he pulled his hunting knife.

He wasn't a surgeon. This wasn't a scalpel. And he was going to remember this for the rest of his life.



MARAH



There was nothing but a void. Stillness, darkness, total absence; it was a timeless, boundless place. She floated in it, formless, selfless. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she was serene, completely free of worries. The feeling was like a sigh that stretched into eternity, and she welcomed it. All was right with the world, and yet there was no world.

The utter silence was broken suddenly by a faint voice. It was quiet at first, garbled, unintelligible, like a message from far away carried through heavy interference. She dismissed it as immaterial, an anomaly.

The voice persisted, getting gradually closer, louder. She felt a slight irritation as it marred her peace. Finally, she began to hear the words.

"--wake up. They're coming for you. You have to stay awake." It was a deep, raspy voice, a man's voice. Cajoling. Images of people flickered, people wading through the snow in a winter landscape.

She floated along, still not understanding. Questions started to form. Who was speaking? And who were those people? They hadn't looked quite--

"Wake up!"

Marah startled, and her eyes snapped open. She stared blankly. She didn't understand what she saw.

White. It was all white.

And...she was cold. Or was she warm? She retained a cushion of detachment, only observing, not reacting. Maybe she was warm, maybe cold. She had definitely been cold, at one point. At first. Odd.

She blinked, a slow motion. The white was under her, cushioning her. It crunched slightly when she turned her head. There, red on white.

Blink.

Wait. She knew what this was. It was... It was... Her mind echoed with a slow, curious emptiness.

Snow. Deep snow. Her body angled downward into it. She couldn't move her legs. She couldn't feel her legs.

Marah was tired. She wanted to sleep. But she knew what this was. Snow. Cold. Warm? Tired.

Hypothermia, her mind whispered.

Blink. Hypothermia. Not much to do about it, though, if she was so far gone that a snow bank looked like an appealing place for a nap. Which it did, and she was. A nap sounded good. So easy.

She could fight, but she was tired of fighting, and lately there'd been so little reward. She'd fought, and two thirds of her people had died. She'd fought, and they'd crash-landed in winter.

She moved what she hoped was her arm, pulling at it with her mind. She didn't know it had obeyed until a hand slapped down onto the snow in front of her face. It looked like hers, but it was very white.

Her thoughts crawled like slugs. How long have I been out here?

She wanted to sleep. But that voice, what had it said? 'Stay awake. They're coming.' Maybe she didn't have to move. If she just held on a little longer...

She made a little sound, trying to call for Quinn. He wasn't her favorite person--too bloody good-looking by half--but he was reliable, and determined. A rock in the shit-storm that had become their lives. He'd saved their people again and again.

She tried to call out again. It was like a bad dream, those ones where you scream yourself raw, but barely manage a moan. She was going to lie here and freeze to death, all quiet-like. Alone. In the snow.

The irony might even kill her before the cold did. She'd been a boy scout back in the day, and was a survivalist by trade. She'd grown up in Alaska, and was one of those strange people that pulled out the flip-flops and shorts at forty degrees. She'd never thought the cold would be what killed her. A bear, maybe. But not the cold.

Her body shook a bit. She might have been laughing. Definitely not shivering. Her body was too far gone for shivering; it had admitted defeat.

But could she finally admit defeat? It had been such a long, hard struggle, just to survive. And yet so many had died... It would be the easy way, to just close her eyes and slip away; a relatively nice way to die.

But what about her people? They were somewhere, here in this cold, if they'd survived the crash. But some of them must have; she had. And Marah was uniquely qualified to help them. She needed to help them.

No, she decided. The word echoed through her numb body, tensing her muscles with resolve. The cold didn't bother her, it never had. It would not be what killed her. She wouldn't let it.

Her hand curled in the snow, and with a massive effort of will, she pulled. Nothing happened, so she strained harder. Not enough. She gritted her teeth, eyes burning with tears. She wouldn't quit. She'd help her people, if they survived. She'd help them, help keep them alive, if it was the last thing she did.

She threw herself sideways, an intention that only rocked her slightly to the side. She did it again, and again, until she could pull her other hand out from underneath her body. She threw it up with the other. Digging them both in, she pulled herself forward an inch.

She panted. It was so hard, so much work. And where the hell did she think she was going? She had no idea where she was.

Didn't matter, she told herself. She was going forward. Movement would help her warm up, and so she was going forward. She'd figure the rest out as it came.

She pulled herself laboriously along another inch. She felt the faintest strain in her legs, like maybe they were trying to bend the wrong way. Didn't matter. They'd either come with her, or she'd leave them behind. She adjusted her right arm, moving it further out.

Her body shook again.

Weird. Had she done that?

The snow spun away from her face, and she was suddenly looking up. The night was pure, crisp black, marred only by those sharply gleaming stars. Of course. The clear nights were the coldest.

A face moved into her vision. A face with dark purple skin, blocking out those dispassionate stars. It had strange planes and curves. And golden eyes, gleaming brighter than the stars against all that darkness.

The face's mouth moved, and sounds came out. Growls, clicks, and melodious warbles that sounded like nothing so much as a winter raven.

None of it made sense.

Her world spun again. She thought, vaguely, that someone must have picked her up. She thought maybe she was slung over a shoulder. But she couldn't summon the energy to be worried about it. Or happy, or anything at all. She couldn't even feel the cloth that pressed against her cheek.



QUINN



Something tugged at his shoulder.

He sat on his knees, staring at what he'd done. One of the women had plucked the bloody, miraculously squalling infant from his hands, leaving him with its mother. This wasn't what he'd imagined for himself when he'd become an MD. He'd wanted to be the kind of doctor that saved them both.

Another tug, sharper this time. It was a hand, square and permanently stained with faint hints of grease. He followed the arm and looked up into Roxy's face. She had green eyes, he realized. He didn't think he'd ever noticed that before. They were bright green, but grim under the shadow of her wild blonde hair. The cut on her forehead had quit bleeding.

"Drive core's ruptured," she said, her voice matter-of-fact. "The ship's destabilized, leaking radiation, and could explode. We need to evacuate."

He didn't move. He kind of felt like crying.

"Now." She pulled at him again, and he realized the women were already helping each other out of the gaping hole torn in the cockpit, climbing out into the cold, snowy night.

"But it's freezing out there," he said stupidly. He hated snow. Should have stayed on earth, you idiot.

Roxy helped him to his feet with surprising strength and pushed him toward the others. "I give us better odds with the cold," she said. "That drive core will vaporize us when it goes. We can't shelter here."

"My medical supplies--"

"No good to you dead," she said, herding him along.

Quinn realized he still clutched his knife, and he tucked it back in its sheath, grimacing at the sticky blood drying on his hands. He stepped out into the snow, and a chill wind immediately cut through his clothes. Galvanized by the sudden cold, his thoughts sharpened.

They wouldn't last long in temperatures like this. They needed to find shelter.

Quinn pulled himself together and floundered to the lead, figuring the least he could do was break trail. He wasn't carrying 25 extra pounds, with lax, flexible joints, and a baby pushing his guts up into the space where his lungs normally expanded into. No, he was 35, physically fit, in the prime of his life.

The snow was so deep, he half-waded and half-crawled. Each step was a struggle, as if he were dragging his legs forward with lead weights on his feet. He'd never been in snow this deep, had spent most of his adulthood in the deserts of New Mexico. The abominable white stuff found every crack in his clothing, cramming up his pant legs, and down into his hiking boots, and then it started to melt.

Two moons sat full and bright overhead, lighting the landscape with a soft, eerie glow.

He remembered the structure he'd seen from the air, the long rectangle, and headed in what he hoped was that direction. The ship had been spinning, and the blowing snow swirled around him, obscuring his vision. He didn't know if he was going in the right direction, but he had to go in a direction, and it seemed like one was as good as any other in the current circumstances.

24 pregnant women were counting on him. He glanced back, just making out the vague shapes of the women behind him. They were following. Slow, but steady, with the remaining men helping them along.

It had only been a hundred or so arduous feet, and he was sweating with exertion. The exercise was helping keep him warm, but the sweat trickling down his back chilled as it formed. He shivered, twisting his chapped hands in the bottom of his shirt.

It was cold out, so cold. He couldn't have pinned a number on it, but it was colder than anything in his experience. Cold enough to make his nose hairs hurt, and each breath burn deep inside his chest, and he didn't even have a coat. No boots, no gloves, and no hat. He was leaking heat like a sieve.

He pushed on, because stopping wasn't an option. He just prayed he'd find something soon.

He couldn't have said how long they walked. A half hour? An hour? He was shivering, had crossed his arms over his chest, his fingers in his armpits, head bent to protect his face from the wind. His pants were caked with melting snow, and his feet were right on the stinging edge of going numb. He no longer even felt the snowflakes that whipped against his cheeks. He just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

A dark shape suddenly loomed up in front of him. As he got closer, it resolved into the long rectangle he'd seen from the air. It looked... like a wall. It was made out of a dark stone, and rose two stories into the air, stunning him with its implications.

Walls meant intelligent alien life. Intelligent alien life that shouldn't be on a planet they'd been assured would be deserted. Intelligent life that may want to kill them, or kick them out of their back yard like last time. But it also might mean civilization, other structures, shelter, heat, and right now, warmth was the most pressing issue. They'd just have to sort the rest out as it came.

He floundered through the snow with renewed vigor, aiming for a gap in the wall. He rounded it, and saw that they'd found... buildings. They were old, crumbling structures, stuck together in a disorderly sprawl. The whole mass was half-buried in snow, almost unrecognizable except for the unnaturally flat faces and straight, sharp edges. He didn't see any tracks, any signs of life at all. All was still, dark, and quiet. If he'd had the luxury of standing for a minute to wallow in shock, his hair would have stood on end.

Though humans were now traveling at the speed of light, the Quidaar were the only other sentient species they'd come across so far. That, and most recently, Morgana's two blue Rah'Zul. One of those two species could have built this...or not.

He needed to get his people in out of the cold. One of the lower structures off to the left had a peaked shape of deeper darkness emerging above the white snow drifts--a door or window? With renewed determination, he broke trail toward it. He didn't know if it was far enough away from the ship for the radiation leak and potential explosion, but it would have to do.

His hope grew as he trudged closer. The snow was mounded up to either side of what was definitely a door, though it was hexagonal shape, and spilled in through the dark portal.

He finally reached the frame, and kicked and pushed the snow out of his way so that he could duck inside. It was with incredible relief that he swung down into a blackened interior. He immediately felt warmer, shielded from the biting wind. It was so dark inside, he couldn't quite locate the walls, but it seemed big enough for all of them. Even if they had to cram in like sardines in a can, they'd do it. What choice did they have?

He stuck his head back out. "In here!" he called. He stood by the door, and began helping pregnant women down out of the snow. He had thought his hands were cold, but winced as he felt theirs. Their clothes were crusted with snow, their noses running, cheeks red. Long hair had frosted around their faces. Many were shivering uncontrollably, teeth chattering.

Very few met his eyes. They looked scared, mournful. Hopeless.

He counted twenty-seven women, and only two other men--Jim and Mark. Jim clicked on a flashlight, and swept it back and forth, revealing a large empty room shrouded in cobwebs and shadow. Old roots laced the ceiling and crawled in a tangle down the walls.

Roxy was the last one down out of the freezing, windy night. He squeezed her chilly hand to get her attention.

"Where are the rest?" he asked. They'd had 40 colonists, which left ten unaccounted for. Marah had been thrown free, he remembered. He wished he could have looked for her, but at this point he had to weigh the odds--odds of finding her versus odds of freezing to death while looking. And then there was Melly, but even then, they should have 38...

"We had some casualties in the crash," Roxy said.

A couple women close to them started to cry.

Quinn closed his eyes, suddenly feeling the enormity of their situation. They had lost so many. His colonist wife, Roxy's husband, actually everybody here had lost their loved one. You didn't realize how precarious life really was until you were stranded on a no-name planet almost 30 light-years from home, without communications, in freezing temperatures without shelter, or heat, or even a hatchet.

He felt himself getting dragged down in the swirling vortex of hopelessness, and with an effort he shoved away his spiraling thoughts. His priority now was to keep the ones still alive living.

"We need a fire," he said, thinking suddenly that he had no means of starting one. He hadn't grabbed matches, or a flint, or any kind of emergency supplies. No, he had been busy cutting a baby out of--

Roxy squeezed his hand. "I've got it. Find me something to burn," Roxy said. She lowered herself carefully to her knees in the center of the room, and pulled fire starter out of her pocket.

"How did you--"

She gave him a small smile. "We were able to grab a few things, while you were saving the baby."

He could have kissed her, both for her presence of mind, and her description of what he viewed as a massive failure. After all, Melly was dead. But so were eight others in that crash, and eighty in the two months previous.

Jim had already moved to the wall and was hacking at the old roots there, forming a pile of firewood. He glanced back at Quinn. "I've got it," he said. "You check on the women."

Someone handed him another flashlight, and Quinn quickly fell into the rhythm of patient assessment as Roxy coaxed a small flame to life. He checked pregnancies first, wishing he had his fetal stethoscope to listen to the babies' heartbeats. Nobody was reporting pain or bleeding, and most had felt their baby kick since they landed. A few were having mild, occasional contractions, but that was normal toward the end of pregnancy, and had probably been made worse by the hike through the snow. No one was truly in labor as far as he could tell.

While Quinn worked, the others made progress on securing heat. Mark pushed and piled the snow up in the portal with his bare hands, sealing out the wind. The roots Jim had gathered were dry, and caught fire easily. The tiny flame quickly grew, casting an orange light across the colonists huddled close.

Quinn continued checking his friends over, cataloging injuries. Roxy's was the worst laceration. It had bled quite a bit--which was actually sort of a good thing, because the blood would have helped wash out any contaminants. At this point he really didn't want to risk infecting it by 'cleaning' it with boiled alien water and a dirty rag. So he made the decision to leave it, for now. Maybe tomorrow, if the ship didn't explode overnight, he could get some of his medical supplies, clean it properly, and put in a few stitches.

There were other similar injuries, minor cuts and bruises. Several women were suffering from whiplash, but he couldn't do much for them. The first couple he told to try icing it gave him dirty looks. One woman had a dislocated finger which he straightened, and she also gave him a dirty look. Overall, the ones who had survived the crash were doing surprisingly well, physically.

"How did this happen?" he asked Roxy in a quiet voice. "How did all the pregnant women but Melly make it through, while so many of the others died?"

She looked up at him from wiping blood off her face--it'd crusted around her eye and down her cheek. "They gave the pregnant women priority on the seatbelts," she said, face carefully neutral.

He looked into the fire. It made sense that they didn't have enough seatbelts--most of the colonists were supposed to be in cryo for the landing, with only a select few awake to pilot the ship.

But... Shit, he thought. It was hard to weigh one life against another under any circumstances, but looking at it from a brutally logical viewpoint, the group would have been better-served to save the men and non-pregnant women. They would have been faster, stronger, physically more able to help the group survive. They also wouldn't have been in queue to produce more helpless little people, more mouths to feed.

As if on cue, from somewhere amongst the women, he heard Melly's baby cry. He'd somehow completely forgotten about the baby. Anna pulled open her collar to reveal the newborn snuggled against her chest.

"Did anyone think to grab formula?" he asked.

"I got it," Anna murmured. "I just need some water."

Water had already begun melting in a tin saucepan somebody had thought to bring. They'd scooped up a cleaner patch out of Mark's snowy doorway, then set it on the edge of the fire.

Quinn turned his attention to Tina, who was still shivering. She was a tiny woman, without an ounce of extra fat on her despite her pregnancy. She'd had severe nausea, and had actually been losing weight the past several months, despite Quinn's best efforts. He lowered himself to sit next to her, and pulled her into his arms, sharing his body heat. She snuggled in without hesitation, her hands like blocks of ice where she tucked them against his sides.

He took a moment to look at the people who had become his friends in the last several months. A few looked back at him, their faces grim. He saw shaking hands, and more than a few tears. They'd lost so much in the past couple months; husbands, wives, friends, the houses they'd built, the new lives they were just settling into in the place they were just starting to comfortably call home.

The colonists were smart people, educated people, people with letters after their name--the government had seen to that. They didn't need Quinn to tell them their circumstances were dire.

This had turned into survival 101. They had shelter, they had heat and water. But what about food?

"Did anyone grab rations on the way out?" he asked.

They dug in their pockets. Roxy started a pile, and a few others added nutrition bars and packets of dried food. He looked with dismay at the small mound. A lot of it was dry-frozen, so it was deceivingly small, but even considering that...for 30 people? They only had a day or so's worth, if they rationed it.

Not good. If and when that ship exploded, it'd take all of their supplies with it. Then they'd really be up shit creek.

But they had enough for the night. The immediate task was to survive the next few hours. They'd get some rest, and do something about the food situation when it was light out.

Tina had stopped shivering. He looked down at her. "Better?" he asked.

She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. "I've gotta pee," she said, looking caught somewhere between chagrin and embarrassment.

His face broke into a grin. Of course she did. He was surrounded by pregnant women, all late-term, with their several-pound babies sitting squarely on their bladders. They probably all had to pee.

He looked around. The room had brightened with the fire, and at the far end he saw a now-familiar hexagon of deeper darkness. A doorway.

"I'm on it." Jim was already on his feet, striding toward the dark end of the room. He turned on his flashlight, and a bright beam purged the shadows. Then Jim and his flashlight disappeared through the doorway, looking for a makeshift bathroom.

The room was starting to warm up. He could no longer see his breath. But the floor was hard and cold, and a few of the women were still crying.

It was going to be a long night.



MARAH



She wasn't completely unconscious as they carried her, just mostly. She had impressions. There was a lot of white. Big, skeletal trees curving up into the black sky. A tent-like structure.

Then, miraculously, light. She blinked her eyes against the glare of the soft glow, and realized she was inside. And it was warm. She wasn't warm, not yet, not by a long shot, but the air was, as was the surface they laid her on.

There were two people, bundled up against the cold with only their faces showing. She stared with fascination--their skin really was purple. They began peeling her clothes off, starting at her boots. She made a little sound of protest, but it wasn't enough to stop them. They stripped her naked, then tucked her into what must have been a bed.

They spoke to each other, more of those weird growls and clicks. One left, and the other pulled off his winter gear, and sat down next to her. He leaned over her, and she blinked up into his odd alien face, recognizing it as the one that'd hovered over her previously. He had the usual arrangement of features set in a squarish face--two eyes, nose, mouth--but the shapes and proportions of each were slightly off. And those golden eyes--no human had eyes that color, the bright metallic shade of gold bullion against skin she could only describe as royal purple. His hair was a frosty blue-white, lying in a hat-molded tangle of braids against his scalp.

She stared up at him, dumbstruck. She wasn't even sure if he was male--though the size and shape of his body, the strong angles of his face argued he was--but one thing she did know: He was not human.

His voice rumbled, a deep, lulling sound that tangled her thoughts. He dabbed at a place on her forehead, and the cloth he used came away red. Her near-hypothermic mind struggled to process the fact that she was staring at an alien, that he was real, here, touching her. His warm fingers burned her cold skin, but they were gentle against her forehead as he bandaged it. As he worked, he continued to talk in a comforting rumble. His lips twitched and his eyes sparkled with what looked like humor as she continued just to stare.

A few hazy minutes later, the other man came back, and she noticed his hair was a darker blue. The alien that'd been doctoring her slid a warm arm in under her shoulders. He lifted her easily, and touched the edge of a ladle to the seam of her lips. She looked up at him, got a little lost in his golden gaze, and it wasn't too much of a task to let her mouth open.

Warm liquid swept across her tongue. It was on the thick side, sweet and strange. She tried to breathe, almost choked, coughed awkwardly, and finally swallowed. The purple alien waited patiently for her to settle down, then continued to ladle, and she did better with the next, and the next.

The purple men talked. The one that held her said something, then laughed softly. That sound, at least, was recognizable. He laid her back against the pillow, then smoothed back her hair, big hands warm against her face. She lacked the energy to object, and why should she?

She let her eyes close, opening them again only when she felt a sudden chill. She experienced a pang of loss, realizing he'd gone.

Several minutes later, she started to shiver. Her teeth chattered as she was wracked by uncontrollable, almost violent shudders. But it's a good thing, she thought. My body's warming up.

Her shivering seemed to steal the last of her energy. Her eyelids drooped. The room blurred. A muffled darkness descended.



"Hello."

Marah blinked, and the world came into focus. She was standing in a small clearing surrounded by a forest of tall, curvy trees with purple foliage. The bark was brown, the dirt and rocks were their appropriate color, but everything that would have been green at home--grasses, leaves, and even the ferned puffs of moss under her feet--were in shades of purple. There were delicate shades of palest lavender, redder ones such as magenta and mauve, and deeper hues all the way to the almost-black of purple pansies. Above the cathedral formed by the ancient-looking trees, a crystalline blue, cloudless sky soared. The air was fresh and warm, the birds were singing, and the sun dappled everything with dancing shadows. The place seemed too beautiful to be real.

"Can you hear me?" a voice asked. It was male, and slightly raspy, and seemed familiar somehow. The sounds of the words were wrong, but she understood them anyway. The mysterious voice drew her gaze back down.

A man stood a few feet away. And what a man. He was tall, with an athlete's build--wide shoulders narrowing down to a slim waist. He wore a robe consisting of a light, iridescent cloth which contrasted sharply with his rich purple skin. The sunshine streaming down through the trees picked out hints of vivid blue in the long strands of dark hair pulled back from his face. Her gaze lingered on the bold lines of the black tattoo that swirled across his eyes and up his forehead to blend smoothly into his hairline. The ink made his metallic gold irises even brighter.

He took a step forward. "You can see me," he said.

She tore her gaze away to look back at the forest. What was going on? She'd been in a crash, there had been several feet of snow outside, she'd been near-hypothermic. And now the snow was gone, and the temperature was balmy.

She looked down at herself. To add to her confusion, she wore her favorite pair of jeans and a soft cotton T-shirt so well-loved it was worn thin, clothes which she hadn't even brought with her.

It had to be a dream, but...everything seemed so realistic.

She looked back at the man. His face was angular, with a heavy brow, commanding nose, and square jaw. But like the purple men that'd pulled her out of a snowbank, the proportions, the shapes were foreign. His brow was too wide, and something about his nose and mouth were off. He wasn't human. Especially not with that skin.

She quashed the urge to go pull the neck of his robe aside and see if that color went all the way down. "Where am I?" she asked instead.

His mouth spread in a smile, revealing two rows of even white teeth, and he laughed, his bright eyes twinkling at her. He seemed delighted, but she had no idea what about. "In a dream," he said, his voice reminding her of crushed velvet. "You've crash-landed on the planet Volcar. This is what it looks like in summer."

In a dream... "So, you're a dream?" she checked. Usually dream men didn't tell her she was dreaming.

"No," he said. "I'm just as real as you, with a physical self that exists outside the dream world. I'm projecting my astral self, and this environment, into your dreaming mind." He was watching her with brows slightly raised.

She shook her head. That was crazy, talking to someone in dreams. But, she reminded herself, so were cryogenics, and space flight, and the Earth being round, and aliens... Which meant it might just be true. And it wouldn't hurt to humor the dream man, at least until she figured out whether he actually was real.

She recalled the purple man leaning over her as she lay freezing in the snow, sitting at her bedside, tending her injuries. His hair had been much lighter, and he hadn't had any tattoos that she'd seen, but the two were definitely of a race. She'd been awake then, and that man had been real. And not human. So it stood to reason...

"You're an alien," she blurted. She knew it was a dumb statement, he wouldn't consider himself an 'alien', but the enormity of the realization was echoing in her brain. She'd seen Morgana's big blue men, but they hadn't looked like this. Apparently there was a lot more alien life out there than humanity had originally thought.

His lips curved again. "My race is called the Urtoz. My name is Jarol. And you are?" he asked, head tilting with curiosity.

The normalcy of his introduction allowed her to pull it back together somewhat. "Marah, and my people are Human," she said, and stuck her hand out automatically to shake.

He hesitated, staring at her hand. She almost withdrew the offer, realizing that was a human, western civilization greeting--but then he stepped closer. As he did so, she found out he was one of those sneaky-tall people that wasn't intimidating until they were right up next to you. He towered a good foot over her petite five foot two.

Time seemed to slow as he reached out toward her. His gaze was intensely focused on her hand, causing a ripple of awareness to wash through her before he even made contact. And then his hand wrapped around hers, sending a shock of warm tingles up her arm.

He released the tension from his shoulders with a sigh, a smile spreading back across his face. His hand was large and warm, the pads of his fingers more delineated than a human's, with a slightly rough texture. His other hand moved to cup the back of hers, his thumb moving whisper-soft across her wrist as he wrapped her hand in a gentle cocoon. Then he just stood there holding it, smiling down at her with what looked like pure joy.

Overall, it was a little weird, she felt like she shouldn't be enjoying it, but... She loved the feel of his hand around hers. She wanted to let him hold her hand forever. But she couldn't just stand around and hold an alien's hand. There was a rulebook for first contacts, and nowhere in that two-inch manual had she seen a section on handholding. She finally pulled away, shivering as those padded fingers dragged in a pleasurable slide along her own.

She realized she needed to be wary of this man. For starters, he was beautiful, even with that bold tattoo taking up the top of his face. She had learned the hard way, beautiful men were not to be trusted. And this particular beautiful man seemed capable of robbing her of intelligent thought with just a simple touch of his hand.

She was attracted to him, she realized. Wildly attracted, to an alien. And she wasn't even sure he was a 'him'! He could be the female of the species, or maybe they were asexual, or...

He was staring back at her, and she wondered if some of the same thoughts were going through his head. She was no raving beauty, but it seemed like he'd enjoyed that 'handshake' at least as much as she.

Pull yourself together, Marah! Taking a deep breath, she reviewed the key points. He was an alien. She'd crash-landed on his planet. This was first contact. In a dream! What was she supposed to say? 'We come in peace'? Actually, that might be a good start.

Jarol's eyes suddenly took on a far-away look. "He's coming," he said as he focused back on her. "He means you no harm, Human Marah. He just wants to know why you've come."

What? She blinked. "He who?" she asked.

But he was already gone. Vanished.

What just happened?

She jumped slightly when another purple man appeared in his place. This one was whipcord-lean, with a shock of dark red hair. He wore pants and shirt of a fine cut in that same iridescent cloth, but his expression bordered on hostile.

She opened her mouth to introduce herself, but he spoke over her.

"Why have you come to our planet?" he demanded, his tarnished-gold eyes sharp.

"We are colonists," she said, hesitating. How did she explain why they came? Humans are an invasive species, we're destroying our own planet, so are sending out people to settle new planets so we can destroy those, too. That seemed like the wrong thing to say. She was so not a salesman. But, sensing it would be unwise to give this man the cynical version, she was damn sure going to come up with something that at least attempted to be diplomatic.

Finally she settled on: "We came from Earth to explore, for adventure, to see what was out there amongst the stars. We are just looking for a place to live."

"Are there more of you coming?"

"What? No."

"Why did you land where you did?"

She forgot her human ambassador status for a moment, and scoffed. "I'd hardly call that a landing. We crashed, and no, we didn't mean for it to happen where it did. Why?"

He ignored her question, crossing his arms over his chest with bitter disbelief twisting his purple features. "You mean to tell me it was entirely coincidence that you landed at the ruins of Ja'Ashar?"

She crossed her arms. "Yes, that's what I'm telling you. And what do you mean, 'ruins'? All I saw was snow."

They glared at each other a moment, and she decided to elaborate. "We were headed toward the warmer region around your equator, but an electrical storm took out our electronics just after we entered the atmosphere. We were aiming for a spot at least a thousand miles further south."

He didn't look the least bit satisfied by her answers, but she was finding she really didn't care. The man had a shitty attitude.

She decided to fire off a couple of her own questions before he picked back up with his interrogation. "What happened to the people I landed with?" she asked. "The other colonists. Did you rescue them, too?"

"No."

Marah's heart clenched. Her friends were still out there, in the cold and snow. "Are they alive?" she asked, her whole body tightening with dread as she awaited the answer.

The redheaded curmudgeon regarded her with suspicion, and did not answer. "What is your name and species?" he barked.

She wanted to grind her teeth, but thought maybe he'd give her an answer for an answer. "Marah, and human."

He nodded. "You will stay with us," he announced, "while I observe you, and determine the veracity of your statements."

"What?" she sputtered. "But I need to help my people--Are you planning on keeping me prisoner?"

"You will be a guest," he said, as though the word tasted sour in his mouth. "For now."

"One who's not free to go?" she guessed. That was the definition of 'prisoner', right?

He inclined his head. "Be prepared to answer more questions. I must decide what to do with you. And your people."

What the hell did that mean? But he had already faded away, and she didn't have time to demand an explanation.

The one with the wonderful hands--Jarol, she remembered--reappeared as though he'd never left. He took in her expression. "They are alive," he hurried to explain. "A few perished in the crash, but most took shelter in the ruins he mentioned."

She registered his words peripherally, still trying to wade through her response. She was furious, frustrated, scared. Her initial reaction was outrage--she was a free woman, she hadn't done anything wrong, they couldn't hold her against her will! Were they planning on keeping her here, while her people froze to death or starved? She wanted to be out there, helping her friends. She felt responsible for them, and she knew, with her talents and background, that she would be a help.

"Who was that man?" she demanded. "He's real too?" But she already knew he must be. He was too genuine a dick to not exist.

"That was Davrukkian ep Soopla ni Werfur, thirty-ninth Thoun of the Northern Regions," Jarol said with a light, gently mocking humor, "and yes, he's very real. Less than a third of my race are Dreamers, and he is one of the most powerful of them.

"As to his manner, I'm sure he was rude because he is afraid," he said quietly. "He is worried for his people. You are the first visitors to land on this planet in several hundred years. We've never encountered your race before."

She shook her head. "We mean no harm. We are just looking for a place to live. We got kicked off the first planet we landed on, and at this point, we're desperate." She felt her voice starting to break, and, blinking away the burn of tears, she took a deep breath.

"Can you help my friends?" she asked. "Or let me go?"

His expression was compassionate, his gaze molten. "Marah, I would if I could. I am sorry."

"Why are you holding me?" she asked, frustrated. "I didn't understand what he said, 'decide what to do with me'."

"It was not my decision," Jarol said. "If I had any say in it, you and your friends would all be honored guests. My guess as to Davruk's motivations: You said you want to live here, which would make you neighbors. We've had trouble coexisting with other species in the past. Davruk wishes to know more about your race before he chooses his course of action. I, also, would love to learn more about you."

All while her friends possibly froze to death. "Maybe you could send me back to be with them?" she tried again.

"I cannot," he repeated. His tone, like his hands, was gentle.

She made a sound of frustration, wanting to rail at him, but somehow knowing he spoke the truth, that this wasn't his fault. It would be best not to drive off the one man who seemed willing to give her information.

Speaking of which... "How am I even understanding you right now? It's like I hear you speaking a different language, but I understand it perfectly."

"Speech in dreams is overlapped by a layer of thoughts, images, feelings, and intention which infuse it with meaning. It just translates."

Thoughts... "Are you reading my mind, then?" That could be bad.

He smiled again, his arresting eyes twinkling. "No, I only pick up on what you say."

"So I won't be able to understand anyone when I wake up?" she checked, imagining that would get very frustrating, very fast.

He nodded. "And they won't be able to understand you."

"Why do you say 'they'? Are you not with them, or...?"

Jarol gave her a long, considering look. "It's complicated," he finally said, proving he could be as close-mouthed as the other one, Davrukki-whatever.

Wasn't he one of them? He was confusing her. The two men had arrived separately, and Jarol had disappeared like he didn't want to be seen. Added to that, their clothing, and even their manner, was night and day. Davruk was rude, abrupt, demanding, imperious. Jarol seemed polite, calm, helpful, sympathetic. Interested.

"It's a long story," Jarol said, amending his original statement. He was looking at her intently. "We're running out of time. May I visit you tomorrow night? In your dreams?"

Hell, why not? Maybe she could talk him over to her side, and get her friends rescued. These aliens were probably her peoples' best chance of survival in this harsh climate, what with their ship toast and electronics fried. Jarol had said he couldn't help, but she'd found out the hard way the things people said weren't worth much. At the very least, she could learn more about the natives, maybe find a way to escape them if it came to that.

Though she distrusted a pretty face, Jarol seemed honest enough, close-mouthed on some points, but not lying. And his expression was almost transparently eager. She realized he badly wanted to see her again.

And then she felt it, what he must have already sensed. She was fading from the dream.

"Yes," she said.



QUINN



Quinn slept fitfully that night. The stone was hard and cold beneath him--the antithesis of the super-deluxe pillow top he'd had back on Earth--and Melly's baby kept squalling despite being fed every couple hours.

He finally slipped into an exhausted sleep long after everyone else had drifted off.

And he dreamed.



He was in a purple forest. Everything that should have been green was purple; it was a lush landscape of curling, fantastical plants. But the foliage only held his attention for a moment or two.

There was a woman, standing quietly, looking at him. He'd never seen anyone so exotic-looking in his life. Her eyes were 24 carat gold, stunning against her light purple skin, with her hair a dark violet wave that swept back in an intricate arrangement of braids. A simple shift dress revealed sleek shoulders, pushed out over what appeared to be unbound breasts, and dipped in at her dainty waist. The pout of her lips made his vision haze with lust, while her nipples hardened into an invitation under his gaze.

She began walking toward him, though 'walked' was too mundane a word. She glided, picking her way delicately across the forest floor on bare little feet. And with each graceful step, those perky breasts bounced, and her rounded hips swayed, and the hem of her dress swirled around shapely calves.

His body tightened as he imagined kissing up those smooth legs. He'd start at her instep, nibbling gently, then worship her slim ankles, rub his stubble along the inner curve of her calf. He'd taste the ticklish nook behind her knee, then push her thighs apart as he moved further up...

She was looking at him intently, and if her nipples weren't clue enough, the spark in her eyes and the slight curve and part of her lips gave her away. His colorful dream woman wanted him. But really, how could she not? Real women fell all over themselves for him, so how could a figment of his imagination ever hope to resist him? Why would she even try?

He stepped forward, meeting her halfway.

She opened her mouth to speak--

He tore her dress off. It came away rather neatly, parting cleanly at the seams.

Her golden eyes went round. She gasped, graceful hands rising to cover gorgeous purple breasts. He caught them, holding them away so he could look at her. Her areolas were the same violet shade as her hair, her nipples like hard little berries.

He tossed the remains of her dress over his shoulder, and swooped in to cover those pouty lips with his. She made another sound of surprise into his mouth, and the breathy little cry shot lust through his veins. Would she make that sound when he sank his cock into her?

He held her face, tipping it up. Her fingers dug into his arms as his tongue dipped into her sweet mouth. Sensing her hesitation, he slowed his initial advance, gently exploring, coaxing her to respond.

He felt the moment she yielded. Her mouth opened under his with a soft moan even as she swayed toward him, and her hands slid up his arms.

Like in all good dreams, his clothes vanished on cue. He wrapped those fancy braids of hers around his fist, and pulled her close. He groaned as her full breasts flattened against his naked skin, while his arousal pushed against her silken belly. His tongue thrust, drawing an answering throb from his aching cock with each wet, warm foray into her mouth.

His stressed mind drifted, his worries dissolving until all he felt, all he tasted, was her soft, pliant body. The last couple of months had been brutal, with their crash landing just the icing on a really shitty cake. Tonight, he wanted to forget that he was lying on a cold, hard floor on an alien planet that had already killed several of his friends. He wanted to forget the grimness of their situation, the hopelessness. He wanted to get lost in his dream woman, in this curvy, amazingly realistic construct of his imagination. His mind had provided him with the perfect diversion, and he intended to immerse himself, fully.

He pulled back just far enough to slide his hand down to her breast. He stroked the sensitive side and ran his knuckles lightly along the bottom, delighting in the way she arched her back, asking for more. He cupped her, rubbing her tight, violet nipple with his thumb, and then squeezed, summoning a sexy moan from between her reddened lips.

She clung to him now, her mouth hot with need. She had become the aggressor, pushing up against him, sucking on his lips. He groaned again, struggling to breathe through her sensuous assault. His hands tightened, loving the slide of her tongue, feeling each pull as though her lips were around his cock. The blood rushed in his ears as his body demanded more.

He slid his hand down further, across her smooth belly and her dark-purple curls. He drank another one of her rousing cries as he found her pussy, already plump and slick with excitement. He pulled back slightly so he could watch the pleasure play out across her face as he stroked her. He dipped a finger shallowly into her, shuddering as he felt the extent of her arousal. Her clitoris rose to his attentions, and he rubbed along it with long, smooth strokes.

She was clinging to his arms and pushing her hips against him before he pushed deeper into her wet heat. She was tight around him, and gasping shaky little breaths into his mouth as he thrust into her. He watched her fall slowly apart in his arms, the sight hardening him almost to the point of pain. Then, drawing it out, torturing them both, he worked in another finger.

She was so tight around him, her wet velvet heat lush. Her mouth started to pull away as her knees buckled. Her golden eyes were wide and dark with stunned passion.

He lowered her to the moss-cushioned forest floor, still working his fingers in and out of her tight sheath. She was gloriously hot and wet, pushing up eagerly to meet each thrust, taking him to the knuckles, wanting more. When he pressed her clit with the heel of his hand, her legs drew up and she rocked desperately against his hand. Her moans were music to his ears, growing louder, closer together, making his balls tighten with need. He wanted her to squeeze his cock like she was doing his fingers.

He couldn't wait any more. He pushed her legs wide, groaning when he noticed her pussy was the color of a ripe plum. He crawled over her, pinning her writhing body beneath his. She said something, a foreign-sounding, exotic 'yes', breathing it over and over into his ear as she dug her nails into his shoulders. He groaned as his sensitive cockhead butted against her moist heat, beyond eager to be inside her. Burrowing between her slick lips, he found the sudden give of her entrance.

With a lusty growl, he thrust into her. She did make a sound of surprised lust, an impassioned cry that echoed in his ears. She threw her head back against the purple moss even as she wrapped her lovely legs around him, pulling him in tighter.

He braced himself over her and thrust, harder, deeper, trying to quench the wild ache in his balls. She was tight around him, her pussy sucking hungrily at him with each thrust as he drank her in with his eyes. She was gorgeous beneath him, her breasts bouncing, a flush rising over her chest. Her kiss-swollen lips were parted, her eyes half-closed, the irises glowing with pleasure. She arched under him, stroking his cock with each tilt of her hips, fitting herself even more tightly against him. The sting of her nails made him shiver as they dragged across his shoulders and down his arms.

His balls had drawn up tight, the pressure now intense. Each fiery foray into her beautiful body made pleasure lash up his spine. He was losing control, thrusting wildly, rutting on her like an animal. But she obviously loved it, meeting him thrust for thrust, making him burn. Her noises, and the tight squeeze of her around him, finally drove him over the edge.

He plunged deeply into her, shaking as he came, gratified when he felt the ripples of her own climax pulsing around his jerking cock.



Quinn woke up with a start.

Someone was shrieking.

Blood still pounding with the aftereffects of his orgasm--God, he hoped he hadn't cum in his pants--he sat up. The fire had died down, so it was almost dark in the room, and getting chilly. He peered into the shadows through the mist of his own breath, looking for the source of the noise.

Amanda was on her feet on the far side of the fire, moving with amazing agility for a pregnant woman. She was backing rapidly away from the dark end of the room. She tripped on an outstretched leg, and landed on another woman's thighs, startling shrieks from both of them.

He and Jim got to her at the same time.

Amanda was panting, staring off into the shadows with wild eyes set in a white face. Her muscles were so tight she was trembling. His diagnosis: Really, really freaked out.

Quinn looked back into the darkness. Jim turned on the flashlight, and shone it toward the doorway, then probed the darkened corners of the room. Nothing. Empty.

"Amanda. Hey." Quinn grabbed her shoulder, then shook her slightly to get her to look at him. "What's going on? What did you see?"

She turned that horrified expression up toward him. "I was going to pee, and...I saw...I don't know what it was. Shadows moving. Something glowing, as big as a basketball, floating in the darkness. It moved so fast." She took a shaky breath, lifting up the elbow she had cradled to her chest. "Something stung my arm... I think it may have bit me."

Jim turned the flashlight on her arm as Quinn lifted it to look. Sure enough, there were two ragged holes just below her elbow, what looked like fang marks, a couple inches apart and each over a half inch in width. The area around them was already starting to swell, becoming taut and shiny. The bleeding had slowed to a thick, goopy ooze in a color that he just plain didn't like.

His mind was working. It could be venom, could be allergic.

She looked up into his face before he could smooth his expression, and if anything, she grew paler. "It's bad, isn't it?" Her voice was small, frightened.

"I need my medical supplies," he said, to no one in particular. The medical supplies he'd left on their ship. Their ship, which was leaking radiation and may have exploded overnight. Though he imagined it wouldn't have done that quietly, so maybe there was a chance...

Amanda was starting to shake. He helped Anna out from underneath her, and then helped her lie down.

He needed to get back to the ship. It may be Amanda's only hope for survival, if a toxin was spreading through her bloodstream. He glanced over at the door. Was it even daylight yet?

Amanda was breathing in quick, shallow gasps and looked pale. Shock.

"Hey, nice slow, deep breaths," he said. "Roxy, could you come over here and hold her hand. Caroline!"

"Here," Caroline said, coming up beside him. She was a registered nurse trained in CPR, if it came to that. Not that it would help overmuch in the worst case scenarios that were flashing in a macabre film reel through his mind.

"Can you tie something above and below that wound? And stay with her? I have to go back to the ship to get meds."

"Of course," she said, dropping to her knees on Amanda's other side.

Roxy had lowered herself to sit at Amanda's head. She stroked back her hair, and started making comforting noises. Amanda's panicky gaze locked onto her face.

Quinn headed for the door. He scooped snow out of the top of the doorframe, and was relieved to find the first rays of daylight, and a clear blue sky overhead. "Jim, if you and Mark want to come with me, we could gather supplies off the ship, more food, warm clothes."

Jim moved up behind him as Mark pushed to his feet.

"Wait. You're leaving? What about the creature in the bathroom?" Anna cried.

"Bathroom in pairs, take a gun. Or pee out here in the snow. Or hold it," Quinn said. "We shouldn't take that long." They'd slept in that room all night unmolested, and many women had made many potty breaks without incident. They'd be fine till he got back. The priority now was Amanda's arm.

He was already up and out the door. The sunlight was bright and crystalline, lying golden across a field of sparkling white snow. The trail they'd forged last night was barely discernable this morning, just a vague indent in the soft surface. It was a little warmer out in the light of day, and with the lack of wind, but it was still what he would classify as Fucking Cold.

He started off along the trail, looking around as he moved. They had indeed sheltered in ruins. The rock around the doorway he'd come through was semi-translucent cobalt blue, with sunshine reflecting off the cracks and impurities within. Every surface of the clustered structures sparkled, emerging from a blanket of pure white.

A flash of purple caught his eye, and he glanced up to his right. That dark wall stretched, with the gap they'd stumbled through last night a little over a hundred feet ahead. At the top of the wall, just at the edge of that rift, a small purple animal sat, watching him. He saw a glint of large golden eyes, and a long tail lying against the dark stone. A monkey, maybe.

Within fifty feet, he was sweating. His thighs, still aching from last night's walk, burned. Walking through snow was harder than walking through sand, he thought with a grimace. It was deceivingly heavy in front of him, and unsteady beneath him, causing him to slide and his ankles to roll. He trudged with difficulty, stumbling when his foot found a soft spot or missed the trail they'd made last night. As he labored through the snow, it gave him a repeat performance, packing in under his hems and melting against his ankles, dribbling cold water into socks and boots that were still damp from last night.

They were not prepared for this kind of weather, not by a long shot. The original planet they'd landed on had been semi-tropical year-round. They'd known it, and that's what they'd planned for when they left Earth. They hadn't brought warm boots, or down jackets, or snow pants, boots, snow shoes, fur hats--any of that kind of stuff.

He rounded the break in the wall, and the snow spread out in a rippling, monochromatic sheet a couple thousand feet in front of him. At the far end of that stretch of white, the ship was barely visible, already half-buried in snowdrifts. But it was whole, not blown to little chunks by the reactor. Or the core, or whatever Roxy had said. Beyond the ship, dark, leafless trees curled toward the sky. They looked oddly like the ones in his dream, minus the purple foliage.

He glanced again up at the wall. The animal was still perched at the top, watching him with wide, curious eyes. He was closer now, and saw it most closely resembled a lemur. Its fur was longish, lavender purple tipped with frost, its little face round with a white ruff. A long tail, banded with red, dangled and twitched. 'Cute' the women would say, while making those emasculating cooing noises. The way he saw it, the little beast probably didn't have much meat on its bones, but if it came to that...

Reminding himself of Amanda's arm, he hurried as best he could toward the ship. When he got closer, he was able to appreciate the true extent of the damage. It was still mostly in one piece, except for the chunk that had taken off with Marah. But what was left was crushed and crunched and cracked like the life's work of a village of miscreants. Surveying the ravaged exterior, he decided it was a miracle any of them were alive.

Outside the wreckage, he slowed as he spotted animal prints in the snow. The prints curved around the hull and led up into the giant rift that opened when Marah's half of the cockpit had peeled away.

"That looks like wolf," Jim said, pointing at a horseshoe-sized dent in the snow. But there were many more, some large and deep, dragging a cloven hoof such as a moose or large deer might have made, others only an inch or two across and shallow, with fingers and thumbs. The lemur?

Right at the hole in the cockpit, he found a couple that looked almost like bare human footprints. "What the hell?" Quinn uttered. The three of them stood and stared, trying to work out the mystery. The footprints were small, probably female, and had been made after the snow stopped blowing. But they hadn't left anyone behind. No one alive, anyway. Could it have been Marah? And where were the footprints that led here? There were just a few, right at the entrance. They didn't come from anywhere, unless it was the interior of the ship. Maybe there was a survivor?

Quinn climbed aboard. "Marah?" he called. There was only a chilly, echoing silence. "Hello, is anyone there?" he tried again. It was a bit of a mystery, but he didn't really have time to solve it. If there was someone aboard, Mark and Jim would find them when they gathered supplies.

He hurried to the infirmary, noticing as he did so that many of their supplies were strewn about. Could have been the rough landing, or the women quickly gathering what they could carry before they left the ship. Or the animals. Or the phantom person belonging to those footprints.

Quinn grabbed two bags and quickly filled them with medicines and equipment he thought he'd need. Scalpels, syringes, blood pressure cuff, stethoscope, bandages, antiseptic, tape. He'd made up two delivery kits on the trip here--he strung his arms through the handles of those, then picked up his bags.

Moving back through the ship, he thought again about Marah, how she'd been swept away in the crash--and they hadn't even looked for her. But if the crash hadn't killed her, the cold last night would have.

He knew it was a dispassionate way of looking at things, but with three quarters of his fellow colonists dead, including his late wife Lizzie, he was somewhat inured to the tragedy. One thing all of the death had taught him: Life was incredibly fragile, and there were way too damn many ways to die. Melly had died yesterday, bled out. Amanda could die today of a venomous bite. Tomorrow they could all be dead, frozen solid or having eaten the wrong thing. Hell, the ship could explode right now, snuffing out Jim, Mark, and himself.

On the way back out, he realized Melly's body was missing. There was a large puddle of blood, frozen in a dark smear, but no body. The wolves? But he didn't have time to ponder--there was someone still alive that needed him.

"I'm headed back," he called. Jim and Mark weren't quite done gathering supplies, but they could catch up. The hike back was easier, the trail more beaten down. He made better time, even with four heavy bags making his arms ache.

Amanda's arm looked worse--swelling now from bicep to wrist--but she was calmer.

Quinn injected her with a toxin-neutralizing agent and good old Benadryl, then cleaned and bandaged the wound, doing his best not to jar her arm. Last was a pain killer.

In a few minutes, she was looking a lot better. He pulled out his fetal stethoscope and lifted the hem of her shirt slightly to listen to the baby. He found it fast and steady. "Your baby sounds good," he said. "I think you'll be okay, but you should probably rest for a few hours, let us keep an eye on you until we're sure."

She nodded, her hand going to her belly.

Quinn looked over at Jim, who'd returned while he was working. "We need to figure out what did this."

Jim nodded. The resourceful man already had a laser pistol in hand.



MARAH



Marah woke up gradually, surrounded by a soft, cushioned warmth. She wiggled her fingers, finding them slightly clumsy, a little swollen. But she could feel them, and they were all there. She sat up, tossed back her blanket, and sighed when she counted ten toes, none of them blackened by frostbite.

She looked around. She was in a small room, the walls of which moved subtly--cloth?--and glimmered in the low light offered by a glowing fixture on the wall. She heard the faint murmur of voices--that same odd warble she'd heard last night, a foreign tongue that most definitely hadn't originated with Latin.

She was still naked, and didn't see her clothes anywhere. A length of cloth the same color as Jarol's robe lay draped over the chair. She stood gingerly and picked it up, momentarily distracted by the chair--it was wood, but with smooth, curving lines and no obvious joins or fasteners, it sort of looked like it grew that way--and found a simple shift dress. She pulled it on, conscious of the soft, silky material hugging her bare skin.

The rug under her feet was soft and thick, the color and glimmer indicating it was the same material as the walls and her dress, just a different weave. A low table, also wooden and looking to be formed of one piece, sat against one wall. The light fixture deserved a longer examination--it looked like a plant, with the stem rising up from the wall, and tipped with a closed bud that radiated a soft glow. She touched it tentatively, and the light momentarily concentrated around her finger.

Beside it, a curtain hung across what appeared to be a doorframe. Marah hesitated, hearing the voices more clearly now, but still unable to understand the odd speech. She'd seen purple men last night, and in her dreams. She'd been rescued by aliens, and they were just behind this scrap of cloth. On the one hand, they'd rescued her--and the one with frost-colored hair had treated her quite gently--but on the other, they wanted to keep her here until they 'decided what to do with her'. She had no idea what to expect from them today.

Taking a deep breath, she nudged the flap aside a few inches, and peered out. She saw a large, long room, with a gathering of humanoid silhouettes sitting around some tables spread with food at the center. The light shone off the side of a face, highlighting that purple skin.

Even after everything, Marah had been hoping, really hoping, it'd all been an elaborate dream. She'd hoped even the crash had been the work of her overactive imagination, and she was actually asleep in her berth on their colonist ship. A dream within a dream. That was possible, right?

But now she was definitely awake, was feeling the weave of the rug under her bare feet, smelling the warm spice of alien food, and the irrefutable evidence was before her very eyes. She'd been rescued--was being held captive--by an alien people. Lazy captors they were, though, she noted. No restraints, nobody to watch her, not even a lock on her excuse for a door.

She edged a little further out through the flap. One person caught sight of her, spoke, and then all heads turned. She suddenly found two dozen pairs of bright-gold eyes staring at her, and could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. She stiffened when she spotted Davruk, in the flesh, at the head of the U-shaped table. His vivid red hair caught the light as he regarded her distrustfully, an expression mirrored by several of the people around him.

She tensed, ready to retreat back into her room.

Someone stood up on the far side of the table, drawing her gaze. He was a big man topped with a glowing haze of frost-colored hair. She felt a spark of recognition, then looked into the smiling crinkle of his eyes, and immediately started to relax. He was the one who'd carried her in out of the cold. He spoke, beckoning her.

She hesitated a moment longer, then made up her mind. She cautiously left the relative safety of the room. She walked across the space, taking each measured step in the absolute silence as the aliens tracked her with their eyes. In turn, she studied them.

The aliens were slim and muscular, and all wearing that iridescent cloth that apparently only came in only one color, though there were some noticeable differences in style and cut. Davruk and the--Urtoz, Jarol had called his people--closest to him wore clothing with fancy seams and tucks, even to her inexpert eyes. The man that she walked toward--he was big, she noticed as she began to round the table--was dressed almost carelessly, a very simple tunic and pants that barely contained him.

The clothing wasn't the only difference between Davruk's end of the table and Frost-hair's group. The people dressed like Frost had their long hair pulled back in messy, haphazard braids, whereas Davruk's company looked extremely well-groomed, almost statuesque with their twisted, complicatedly braided chignons. And their manner--Frost's group were warm, casual, and smiling, whereas Davruk's seemed stiff and uptight.

Last night, she'd thought of Jarol as a he, but hadn't been sure the aliens had sexes as humans did. Now, looking across the crowd, she could see that the differences between genders were very similar to that of humans. The women were smaller, their features finer, their clothes and hair more elaborate, and they had breasts. Jarol, with his height, broad shoulders, and narrow hips, was definitely a male. As was her snowbank-rescuer, the abundantly-muscled Frost.

Frost ejected a buddy from the seat next to him--good-natured, though unintelligible banter ensued--then indicated she should sit on the cloth-cushioned stool next to his own. He waited for her to settle into it before resuming his own seat.

Marah looked around the table. Everyone was staring at her, at point-blank range now, and she probably had bedhead, puffy eyes and pillow marks on her cheeks. Had she drooled overnight? Ah well. She had more important things to worry about.

She glanced up the table at Davruk, wondering what it was going to take to convince him to help her people.

Frost poured a steaming liquid from a graceful pitcher into a stoneware cup, and held it out to her. She took the cup carefully from him, realizing he had the biggest hands she'd ever seen. She glanced up at him as their fingers brushed, becoming aware of how close he was, just a foot or so away. And the man was huge, though he seemed to be a genuine jolly giant.

The man made an upward-tipping gesture, his twinkling eyes lingering on her mouth. He wanted her to drink, she surmised. Tilting back the cup, she took a sip. It was amazing, warm and rich like liquid chocolate.

She lifted wide eyes to him, and he grinned, then ran a gentle knuckle down her cheek. The caress was over almost before it began, but it sent a shockwave of awareness straight to her core. Her nipples tightened like he'd pressed ice cubes to them, and she looked quickly down into her cup to hide any evidence of her inexplicable reaction. First Jarol, she thought. Now this! I don't even know his name.

Marah was still reeling from his touch when someone spoke, and he turned away. He answered, and it sounded like they continued the conversation that had been taking place before she emerged.

She collected herself, then took the opportunity to observe her surroundings. The structure they were in had a peaked roof with a gentle slope, cleverly constructed of that curving wood that appeared to have grown in place. More of those light-producing buds twined into the arcing rafters, providing a soft, almost ambient glow. The area in the middle of the structure--in which she and the tables sat--was almost the size of a hockey field. A row of cloth-flapped doorways lined the walls to either side, their similarity to her own leading her to believe those were the sleeping quarters.

At the far end of the tent, movement in a kitchen-like space caught her eye. Someone carried what looked like the side of a deer in out of a side door, and the aliens there busied themselves cutting and slicing. Beside it, a small knot of people rose seemingly up out of the floor. An elevator, she realized, watching with fascination as three people that had been waiting stepped on and slid down out of view. But where did it go?

From the opposite end of the space, white light flashed. A flap there opened, giving her glimpses of several cloth-wrapped figures peeling off thick outer layers of that iridescent cloth. The light flickered again, and she watched two more people let themselves in out of the bright, swirling snow. They had an arctic entry, she realized as a group of people, stripped down now to just shirt and pants, their cheeks still stained red from the cold, ducked in through the interior flap.

Hello, exit. The brief draft of cool air prickled the hairs on her arms, and reminded her that her friends were out there, somewhere. But she couldn't plead their cause during the day; the aliens wouldn't understand her. All she could do was present as friendly and peaceful a fade as possible, to hopefully convince Davruk that the humans were good people. She would take the opportunity to study the Urtoz, and if they didn't help her friends here soon, she would take matters into her own hands.

Frost nudged a plate in front of her. It was full of fruit and a delicate, flaky meat. She helped herself, marveling at the different flavors. She had a moment of guilt, thinking here she was, drinking chocolate and eating fresh fruit, when her friends might be going hungry. But she figured she'd need as many calories as she could store up, if she had to leave this place quickly.

With those thoughts in mind, she quietly slipped a knife from the table, concealing it in the folds of her dress. It'd be difficult getting it back to her room unnoticed, but it would be worth the effort if the situation took a turn for the worst.

When no one raised a cry, she turned her attention back to the food, wondering how they'd come by fresh fruit in what appeared to be the dead of winter. Either they had very fast trade routes with warmer climates, or they were growing them somehow. Both of these options indicated that the Urtoz were more advanced a civilization than she had at first suspected, based on the lack of visible technology. They lived in a glorified tent, and their light was produced seemingly by plants, and yet...their textiles seemed too refined to be hand-made, and there was that mysterious elevator--

A voice rose above the others, feminine, sharp, and angry.

Marah looked up to find a woman across the table--one of Davruk's--standing, and glaring down at her. She was a lovely thing, with rose-colored hair pulled back from her face in graceful braids, and a curvy figure her clothing barely concealed. But her pretty face was twisted in a snarl, and her anger was directed at Marah.

Marah stood automatically, ready to meet the threat head-on.

Frost stood also, along with two more of 'his' people on their side of the table. He spoke clearly, calmly, and firmly in the sudden silence.

The woman's anger turned on him. She gestured at Marah, arguing, then glancing at Davruk. Davruk chose not to speak, his eyes focused on Marah. Everything about the man gave her a bad feeling. The way he was looking at her was thoughtful, almost speculative.

Frost crossed his big arms and stared the woman down. Finally she huffed and stomped off to one of the cloth flaps lining the walls, and disappeared.

It was obvious Davruk wasn't the only one that harbored hostility toward her. For the first time, she wondered what the Urtoz would do with her people if she gave them some answers they didn't like, or if they decided they didn't want to be neighbors.

Would they kill us?



QUINN



He, Jim, and Mark moved cautiously into the dark hall. He really hadn't thought it necessary for all three of them to go after whatever it was that had bitten Amanda, but none of them wanted to stay behind and be branded a pussy. So they edged deeper into the darkness, dragging their flashlight beams across the glimmering blue walls.

Jim and Mark each had a gun in their other hands. Quinn had one holstered at his hip, opposite his hunting knife. He figured they had it covered, and guns had never really been his thing anyway. He shot for shit.

The hall stretched further than their beams could penetrate, studded to either side with those oddly-shaped doorways. They checked the first room on the left, the one they'd commandeered for a bathroom. Less than a day, and it already stank strongly of urine. Quinn wrinkled his nose, thinking they'd have to figure out something more sanitary if they were staying here for any length of time. Even a bucket would be an improvement. Human feces lying around never did anyone any good. Plus there were no hand-washing facilities, he thought with a grimace.

The poop-room might have been teeming with bacteria, but it was clear of fanged beasts. Floor, walls, even the ceiling. Clear. The room across the hall was the same. They moved on down, checking room after room. He was starting to feel like this witch hunt could go on forever--that hall could stretch miles, for all he knew--when they hit pay dirt.

Jim's flashlight beam flickered over a darker shadow, something spindly that skittered away from the light. Something large. "What the fuck--?" He stumbled back a step, bumping into Quinn.

In the darkness, a foot-diameter ball throbbed alight, a soft pink in color. Jim and Mark's flashlight beams converged on it, their guns already up and ready.

"Holy shit," Mark breathed.

It was a giant spider, at least three feet across, head down as it clung to the opposite wall, with its long spiny legs spread out to either side. It sat still, its butt glowing eerily, multiple eyes luminescing in their lights. Sure enough, it had two large, curving fangs.

"Do we shoot it?" Jim asked.

Quinn didn't know. Despite being an alleged biter of pregnant women, it did seem to be just hanging out, doing its spidery business.

"You kiddin' me?" Mark asked. "Can you imagine what the women would do, if they knew that thing was running around in the dark?"

Quinn chuckled, shaking his head. Women and spiders. There'd be chaos, lots of screaming, possibly a birth or two in the ensuing panic. Actually, now that he thought of it, that was a scenario he wanted to avoid at all costs.

The creature had proven itself to be less than harmless, or one like it had. He still didn't know for sure if it was venomous, but looking at its dripping fangs, he was leaning toward yes. Leaving this thing alive would be like giving a rattlesnake free run of your house.

"We've gotta kill it," he decided.

Jim nodded, and started to pull the trigger.

The spider disappeared. The laser beam cut through the spot that it had been, striking harmlessly against stone.

They all stared. The spider had just... disappeared. Or was it just fast? A chill washed down his spine as he remembered how quickly some Earth spiders jumped.

"Where--?" Jim started, even as Mark croaked "What--?" Hands shaking, Jim swept the light to the right. Then left. Quinn looked around, trying to spot that glowing butt in the darkness.

"There!" he said.

Jim shot, but the thing had blinked out again. Then it was back, and skittering--straight at them.

Jim and Mark opened fire.

For a moment, Quinn thought the spider had disappeared again, but then Jim's beam landed on it. It lay on its back, legs curling, the pink light fading from its body. It gave a sudden twitch, and they both shot it again. They stood panting, staring at the alien spider for a few moments.

"You both saw that, right?" Jim asked. "How it disappeared?"

They nodded. The silence stretched as they all contemplated the giant, teleporting, glowing arachnid. They weren't in Kansas anymore...

"Well...do we just leave it here?" Jim asked.

Quinn grimaced. If they did that, the smell of decomposition would surely join that of human excrement. They'd probably wind up moving further into these rooms eventually. It was clean it up now when it was fresh, or clean it up later when it was rotting. "No, let's dump it outside." Worst-case scenario: It'd lie there, frozen, until spring. Best-case: Scavengers would drag it away.

Neither Jim nor Mark seemed eager to touch the thing. Quinn pushed past them, took hold of two of its legs--they were smooth and hard, haired with short bristles, and dotted with jagged spines he maneuvered his hands to avoid--and heaved. A dangling leg made a chilling nails-on-chalkboard screech as it dragged across the stone.

"Jesus, this thing's heavy," he complained. It must have weighed upward of fifty pounds, and the legs were ridiculously ungainly. He maneuvered it out the doorway, and realized a line of iridescent webbing was stretching out behind them. But it didn't seem to be hindering his progress, so he continued lugging the dead beast down the hall.

As he dragged the corpse out into the firelight, a few of the women shrieked. Amanda sat up, staring at the spider he carried. "That's what bit me?" she asked.

"Are there more of those down there?" someone else asked, her voice high with fear.

He looked around at the freaked-out faces, and realized his mistake. He should have thrown a damn blanket over the thing first. Oh well, too late now.

The women scattered out of his way as he carried the monstrous spider to the doorway, still spooling out that line of webbing. He set the heavy body down, pulled out his knife, and tried to cut the line. He sawed at it. Nothing. He stared, perplexed, then tried it again. Fail.

"Well, what the hell?" he said to no one in particular. The cord was only a quarter-inch in diameter, but he hadn't even put a nick in it with a very sharp knife.

"Spider silk," one of the women said. "If they're anything like Earth spiders, it's some of the strongest stuff in existence."

"Try burning it," Jim suggested.

Some helpful soul handed him a burning stick, and he almost lost his eyebrows as a foot-long section disappeared in a red flare.

Shaking his head, he thrust the corpse out into the snow. The days must be short at this time of year--the light was already fading outside.

When he had re-stuffed the doorway and turned around, Roxy was gathering the iridescent cord, looping it over her arm like a rope. She grinned at him. "Never know what you might need a rope for."

They drank melted snow and ate sparingly from the small pile of rations they'd scavenged from the ship. Jim and Mark explained something had gone through the food stores, taking most of them during the night. Their meager supply dwindled.

They cut the last of the roots in the room, enough to feed the fire overnight.

Then they sat, and made a plan. The ship hadn't exploded, but it still could, and would, according to Roxy. And it was still leaking radiation. The safest shelter for them was here, in the ruins. They just needed to survive till summer, when hopefully life would get a little bit easier. For now, they'd have to take it one day at a time.

He cleaned and stitched Roxy's cut, and they all settled in for another chilly night, this one slightly improved by the blankets Jim and Mark had taken from the ship.



He re-entered his dream from the previous night almost seamlessly.

Same purple forest, but new purple woman. She was already naked, her skin darker than that of the first, her shape more voluptuous. Her hair was a dark pink cloud of curls, but her eyes were the same wild shade of gold.

This time, he didn't screw around. She turned toward him as he strode toward her. She smiled, took the last couple steps separating them, and launched herself into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, got two handfuls of his hair, and dragged his mouth down to hers. She kissed him hungrily, like she wanted her ankles up around her ears as badly as he wanted to hold them there.

He staggered a bit under her assault, filling his hands with the generous curve of her ass. He reveled in the aggressive slide of her lips, the bold, carnal exploration of her tongue. His world narrowed to the feel of her soft curves moving and flattening against him, the wet duel of their tongues. The heat built, breath hissed, and her hands tightened in his hair. Her heels dug into the upper slopes of his butt, and his cock throbbed as her hips did a slow tilt, and dragged up his aching length. She moaned into his mouth as she ground herself against him.

He kneaded the flesh of her hips, dragging her harder against his erection--his dream hadn't supplied him with clothes this time, thank God. He lifted her higher, and his shaft slid between her hot, wet folds. He groaned. She was already creamy-slick and ready for him. But he had a better handle on himself tonight. He could hold out for a while longer. He wanted to taste the exotic bounty his dreaming mind had supplied for him; those violet nipples--would they be grape-flavored?--and the hot, plum-colored pussy that cradled the length of his cock.

He dropped to his knees with the intention of lowering her to the ground and kissing his way down her very willing body.

Instead, she let her legs slide free and shoved him over. She rode him down, a wicked gleam in her golden eyes as he fell onto his back in the moss. He relaxed somewhat as she kissed down his chest. Her hands slid down his arms, encircled his wrists, and she pinned them to the ground. What felt like rope slithered around them and his ankles, and pulled his limbs suddenly taut.

Quinn flinched slightly, abs tightening under her mouth as he lifted his head. Yep, his dream lover had secured him with dream rope. He tested the restraint on his right wrist, and found it quite secure. He couldn't move, and he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that.

He'd never been restrained before. Oh, accomplished player that he was, he'd experimented his fair share, but it was usually on her. A few of the girls he'd dated had liked their wrists held down, and he'd had the requisite pair of fuzzy handcuffs for special occasions. One of them had some sort of grey silk tie fetish, she just couldn't cum unless her wrists were tied together with one. Yeah, no idea what that was about. Another had wanted him to squeeze her neck until she couldn't breathe. Maybe it was the doctor in him, but...yuck. The long and short of it was, he didn't seem to attract the types that wanted to tie him up, and so he'd never been.

As he laid there spread-eagled under a buxom purple babe kissing her way down his helpless body, he decided it was freaking hot. His cock filled still further, aching where she brushed against him. He pushed his hips up, straining toward her. Completely bypassing his massive erection, she kissed down the side of his hip. Her cloud of silky curls grazed his sensitive skin, making his breath catch.

He craned his neck to track her movements, his whole body tight with anticipation. Her back arched, thrusting that delectable ass in the air as she slid further down. Her wet tongue trailed a hot-then-cold line down from his hip, and the softness of her breast brushed his leg. Her hard nipples dragged upward against his inner thighs as she moved slowly back up. His balls tightened and his cock throbbed as a mixture of pleasure and impatience electrified him.

She finally touched him, but only lightly, teasing him with her fingertips. She tickled his drawn-up balls, then drifted up the engorged length of his cock.

He groaned, pulling helplessly against his restraints. Those light, maddening touches weren't enough, not nearly enough. He felt like he was on fire. His cock pulsed with every beat of his heart, and she was sapping his good intentions right along with his willpower. Some part of him still wanted to taste her--he loved eating pussy almost as much as he loved having a woman's mouth wrapped around his cock--but a growing part of him wanted to just fuck her hard and selfishly, and ease this merciless ache. Faintly he acknowledged she was bringing out a primitive urge to show her who was boss.

He strained against them, but the ropes held. And she continued to tease him, adding the barest caress of her breath to her soft, roaming fingertips. Such was his anticipation, when she finally actually licked him, the pressure in his balls red-lined and he almost came. She chuckled when his cock jerked, and studiously ignored the welling precum that begged her to lap it up.

Then, she did the unthinkable--she began to move away.

No, he thought frantically. He panted, the very realistic bite of the ropes driving him nuts as his biceps bulged. He'd liked them at first, but now he just wished the damn things gone.

As if on command, the ropes disappeared. He didn't even allow himself a moment of celebration before he lunged at her, taking her over onto her back. He was inside her almost in the same move, hitting his target like some sexual Olympian, and plunging deep between her thighs. Her heated pussy squeezed around him and he shuddered, fighting for control. She took the opportunity, and their remaining momentum, to roll him back over onto his back.

She laughed as she reared up, her thighs fitted tightly around his hips. He was still fighting back an orgasm and could only blink up at her. Her dark pink hair formed a mussed halo around her head, her grin was naughty, and the full curves of her breasts were flushed with desire.

Her nails dragged down either side of his happy trail, making his breath hiss, and then she did something, some lift and swivel, that damn near made him see God. A heavy throb of sensation rolled through him, making him break out in a fine sweat.

Then--finally!--she got down to business, starting to rise and fall, riding him. He smoothed his hands up her thighs and opened his eyes a crack to watch her enjoy his cock. Yes, he thought, as those large breasts bounced and jiggled. He started to reach for them, but she leaned back, changing the angle so she slid up and down on him even more snugly. It also gave him a killer view of himself, glistening with her juices, stretching that tight, pink-and-purple pussy wide with each long, sliding thrust. God, yes.

She straightened back up and smiled down at him. "Helstra said you were fun," she purred, fingernails sifting up through his dark auburn chest hair.

"Mmmm," he agreed. He wasn't really listening. Mostly he wasn't even thinking, but he faintly acknowledged that his wet dreams didn't usually speak unless it was to say 'Yes! Yes! Yes! Fuck me! Harder!' Speaking of which--his hands tightened on her generous hips, urging her to move faster.

She did not, only rising and falling minutely, making his balls throb. And she continued to speak in that damn conversational tone. "My name is Belann," she said. "Of the Urtoz." At least she sounded slightly out of breath. Didn't she?

Dammit, she wouldn't sound so lucid right now if he'd gotten that taste of her he'd been wanting. Then she'd be moaning and writhing mindlessly under his mouth. She definitely wouldn't be speaking.

Maybe he could fix that. He licked his thumb, and pushed it between them to rub her swollen clit. Her back arched and her pussy squeezed him. Yesss, he thought as her movements became more urgent.

She was panting now, definitely. But she still managed to speak: "And might I...know your name?" she asked, writhing on him a way that made him dizzy even though he was lying down.

Ropes, purple trees, purple women demanding his name... His imagination had been particularly active the last two nights.

She stilled suddenly.

He groaned. "God, woman, what--?"

"Your name."

"Quinn," he said. Now make me cum! he wanted to demand. His dream women were never this frustrating.

"Quinn!"

That was better. He did like it when they screamed his name.

"Quinn!"

Wait, that wasn't her. That was--



Something was shaking him.

"Aaagh!" Quinn bolted upright with a strangled cry. Panting, he peered into the dim light. He was back in the cold, fire lit room.

Caroline squatted next to him. "Kara's in labor," she said.

Images of Melly's end flashed instantly through his mind, her lying white and still in a puddle of her own blood on the industrial flooring, a bloody gash splitting her abdomen. His doing. Gritting his teeth, he shook the thought away. The births wouldn't all be like that. They couldn't.

Across the room, Kara groaned. Her dark shape moved back and forth, breath hissing, two other women murmuring to her as she stopped and swayed with a contraction.



MARAH



The central tables seemed like a revolving door for the Urtoz. They came from outside, ate, talked, then moved on to their rooms, only for their spots at the table to be filled by the next group. Some headed out, some in, and there was a constant flow of food and chatter. Marah didn't know what else to do, so she stayed, and she listened, and watched.

The ones that dressed and acted like Frost kept busy between meals, whereas Davruk and his impeccably-groomed cohort was much less industrious. They did not go outside at all that she saw, the ones that did leave the table either going to a room or down the elevator.

Frost himself stood up about an hour after he'd invited her to sit with him. He settled a big, warm hand briefly on her shoulder, smiled down at her, and then strode to the exterior door. It was only by someone coming in, and displacing the interior flap, that she saw the odd thing that he did just before exiting the tent.

He stripped naked before stepping outside. She gaped, feeling dumbstruck. It was only a quick glance, enough to give her an impression of slabs of muscle bunching with every movement--and yeah, no doubt about it now, that purple color went all the way down--but it was the fact that he was walking outside, in winter, naked, that really got her attention. Now that she was watching for it, she noticed a few others did the same thing, while some came in without clothes only to dress quickly before sitting down to eat. What the hell? Was there a hot tub out there? Or a sauna? It was the only explanation that even remotely made sense.

Many of them came over and spoke to Davruk before they sat to eat or disappeared through a flap to their quarters. Davruk's eyes would invariably drift to her as he listened to these reports. Scouts? she wondered. Spies watching her people?

Davruk presided over the hall from his seat at the head of the large U-shaped table for most of the day. He spent a good portion of this time staring at her. His expression was usually bordering on hostile, but occasionally it would soften thoughtfully, and his eyes would darken and gleam. At such times, his close scrutiny made her skin crawl, and she began to seriously doubt he had good intentions.

As the day wore on into evening, other differences between these people and humans became apparent. Nudity wasn't the only thing they were very open about. The way they showed affection was casual, and intense--and public.

The first instance she noticed occurred just minutes after Frost left--a man leaning over the woman seated opposite Marah. He slid his purple hands around the woman's breasts and nuzzled her neck as he stroked her nipples through the cloth of her dress. For her part, the woman leaned her head to the side, pushing her breasts further into his hands with a soft moan.

As the display continued, Marah found she couldn't tear her gaze away. The woman made breathy little sounds of enjoyment as she pulled him even closer. As she watched the woman's cheeks darken, and heard the low rumbling whisper of the man against the tender skin of her neck, Marah remembered the spark she'd felt when Jarol had touched her--Hell, when Frost had touched her--and sultry heat gathered between her thighs.

Marah hadn't been locked in a heated embrace in over two years, over fifteen times that if she counted the time she'd spent frozen in cryo. She just hadn't hit it off with any of the colonist men--even gorgeous, sex-on-two-legs Quinn hadn't blown her skirt up--and with just this little bit of visual stimulation, her body started to ache for a man's touch.

She shifted on her seat, and her eyes fell on the seat next to her, which had remained empty ever since Frost left. Maybe he would--or Jarol, she thought, closing her eyes. No. No, her task wasn't to have sex with the locals. She needed to stay focused, needed to help her people. This was just hormones, nothing more.

Luckily, the lovers making out across the way retired before Marah's resurrected libido made her do something embarrassing.

Catching Davruk watching her again--there was no way he could miss her flushed face--her lust immediately cooled. Him, she didn't trust, and she didn't like. Too bad he was making the decisions around here.

She stood up abruptly and returned to her room. There, she tucked the knife she'd managed to swipe under her mattress.



That night, Marah dreamed again. She was back in the purple glade.

Her dream man turned, smiling a greeting as she arrived. Jarol looked just as amazing as he had last night; tall and gorgeous, his even, masculine features only enhanced by that exotic tattoo. He came toward her, extending his hand like he wanted to hold hers again.

She stared at it, then peered up at him. "Davruk's thinking about killing us, isn't he?"

Jarol winced and let his hand fall. "I'm sure he won't do anything so extreme... We are a peaceful people. I think he's just still unsure of your intentions, and many of his people are afraid. Even if you don't turn out to be some galactic plot to steal Overlord technology, he's probably worried about things like disease."

'Galactic plot to steal Overlord technology'? The rest of what he said made a certain kind of sense, but still; they were talking about killing her friends. Logic didn't play much into her gut's response to that idea. Even if this was their planet. Even if they were afraid. It didn't justify mass murder.

"My friends could be dead already," Marah said grimly.

"They are not. There have been only the casualties with the initial crash. The survivors are warm. They have food." He tilted his head, looking at her with sympathy.

Marah nodded, looking out into the otherworldly purple foliage, thinking how ironic it was that she had become an ambassador of sorts for the human race. In general, she didn't even like the human race. But she liked her fellow colonists, so she was going to make an effort. Jarol had said he couldn't help, but there was always the chance...

"You said you want to learn more about us Humans," she said. "Is there something in particular you'd like to know?"

"I would love to see how you live," he said. His eyes were alight with curiosity.

She frowned at him. "I can show you?"

"Yes. It's your dream, you can control it. Just close your eyes, picture the place you'd like to be--it works best with very familiar settings--and you'll be there."

Huh. He wanted her to take him, a stranger, an alien, to her home. She could probably defend herself if she had to--she'd taken self-defense classes, and was not above fighting dirty--though she had no idea how or if that would work in a dream. Not that she thought he'd attack her... Her mind summoned up a sudden image of them naked, splayed across her satin sheets.

Ack! Sexual fantasies about an alien at this point in time, no matter how ridiculously attractive he was, were massively inappropriate. This was a political situation, a matter of life or death, not a damn romance novel.

She closed her eyes and pictured her apartment. A small smile drifted across her lips as she put herself there. It'd be early afternoon, the sun slanting in through the windows, its golden light warming the hardwood floor. There was her favorite couch, the cream-colored leather upholstery that swallowed its occupant in the best possible way. The bar that stretched between the living room and kitchen, the one where she spent long hours eating and checking emails. Her kitchen, with its warm, decorative tile. The kettle whistling with hot water ready for tea.

With a sigh, she opened her eyes. They were there. Her face broke into a smile. They were there. And the kettle was whistling. Skirt swirling around her calves, she hurried across the familiar space and turned off the stove.

Looking around at her kitchen, perfectly recreated down to the little flashing light on the coffeemaker, and then down at her patterned blouse, another one of her favorites, she marveled at the level of detail in a dream. It was so detailed, she suddenly wondered if she could make and drink a cup of tea. Only one way to find out. She dug a bag of orange spice out of her cabinet, then glanced back at the alien wandering around her living room. He had stopped to examine the cluster of family photos on her wall, looking dark and strange against the buttercream paint.

Human ambassador, she reminded herself. She'd kinda blown it with Davruk, but she was more willing to make an effort with Jarol. "Would you like some tea?" she asked. "It's a hot drink, barely more than flavored water."

"Please," he said. He wandered over to the windows, looking out at the narrow street bordered by brick apartment buildings on both sides and shaded by old maples. Her mind had even filled in the sounds of life in Philadelphia--traffic, engines, people. Jarol stood for a long moment, curious gaze taking in the view.

She'd lived in Philly for three years before shipping off as a colonist, after following her then-boyfriend there from her home in Alaska. She had hated how crowded the city was, the rude people, the noise, dirt, and pollution--but she'd loved her apartment. Her boyfriend: Not so much, as it'd turned out.

As she pulled the steeped teabags from the ladybug-patterned mugs, Jarol crossed to her laptop, running his fingers gently across the keypad. His gaze then wandered to her flat screen TV and sound system. "You must be a very technological race," he observed.

"Yes," she agreed. She could have gone on, talked about how out-of-touch humans had become, how all that technology seemed to end in destruction at every turn, but she kept her mouth shut. She had a mission here. Convince him that she, and humans in general, were good people. That they deserved to live. No pressure.

"Would you like to sit?" she invited as she circled the bar with two steaming mugs.

He lowered himself onto the cushioned chair across from her man-eating couch, and she handed him the cup. Their fingers brushed, causing a tingle of awareness to zing up her arm. She barely managed not to jump, her eyes flying to his. They were intense, gleaming at her from his dark face. He'd felt it too.

"Are you the female of your species?" he asked suddenly.

Eep. She'd had similar musings about him, but a blush still burned her cheeks as she stepped back. "Yes." Feeling flustered, she hurried to put the coffee table between them. She felt immediately grounded as she lowered herself onto--into--her couch. Letting her mug warm her fingers, she closed her eyes, leaned back, and sighed. She'd never thought she'd sit here again.

When she opened them again, her dream man was still watching her. She looked back, wanting to ask him about himself. Why did he have a tattoo across his face? Why hadn't she seen him today? Was he single?

He might be ensconced in her living room, but he was still an alien she'd met just last night, one that might hold the power of life or death over her and her friends. Her goal was to be proper and polite, while still gathering useful information. So start general.

"Where did your people come from?" she asked.

He cocked his head in a universal question.

"There are a couple theories about where humans came from," she offered. "One that we evolved from apes, another that we were created by God."

"Ah." He sipped his tea and settled more fully back into his chair. "Our race was created seven hundred and forty-two years ago. Not by gods, but by men whom think they are gods."

Her forehead scrunched. "You mean like cloning?"

"Manipulation on a genetic level, but not exact duplication, no."

"So, the Urtoz were...bioengineered?"

He inclined his head.

"Wow." Whoever had 'created' him must have been more technologically advanced over seven hundred years ago than humans were in 2093, when her colonist group had launched into space. Way more advanced, she thought, sweeping her gaze down his well-wrought length.

"Created for what purpose?" she asked.

"We were created by a race that calls themselves the Overlords. We were meant to be their guards," he said, not seeming to mind all her questions.

"But?" she prompted. She busied herself with her tea, hoping if she provided silence, he'd fill it. There was a story there, she could smell it.

His half-smile said he was on to her, but he spoke. "The Overlords were the original inhabitants of this planet." His eyes unfocused, as though he were seeing a scene in his head. "Thirty years after they created the Urtoz, they decided they'd made us too powerful. They had plans to eliminate all of us, go back to the drawing board. We didn't want to die, of course. We resisted. There was a great war."

Jarol's face sharpened, and his smile was suddenly feral. "And they were right. They'd designed us too well. We were immune to their telepathy, and we had abilities they hadn't expected, powers they couldn't imagine. We beat them, pried them from their underground cities, and we drove them from their own planet." His hand had tightened into a fist. When his eyes focused again, and he looked at her for a long moment. Then, probably realizing his 'peaceful' persona had slipped, his expression smoothed and he settled back behind his mug.

Marah stared. Where had that come from? His story obviously meant a lot to him, but hadn't he said that was hundreds of years ago? And what kinds of 'powers' was he talking about? There was the lucid dreaming, which on its own was amazing. And... Overlords had telepathy? Wow.

"The ruins we landed at," she said suddenly. "They were part of the Overlords' city?"

He nodded. "Yes. One of them."

"And Davruk is concerned we'll...steal something?" she asked, remembering his earlier comment about galactic plots.

He looked down into his steaming cup and sighed. "Yes. There are...things...there," he said. "Things the Overlords left, technology, things..."

"Things Davruk doesn't want in the wrong hands?" Marah guessed. "Things that shouldn't be disturbed?"

Jarol's hands tightened on his mug. "Yes. Dangerous things." His expression was bitter, sad, maybe even... lonely?

Suddenly, Marah's vision wrenched. Her apartment swirled and blurred, and became the purple forest. Within the space of a second, Jarol was gone.

Davruk stood in front of her, frowning as he took in the mug clenched in her hand. "Someone was visiting you," he said, "after I strictly forbade it." He stepped in close, his hand closing like a vise around her wrist. "Who was it?"

She gasped as her hot tea sloshed. She dropped the mug, and it disappeared before it hit the ground. "Jarol," she said automatically. She didn't think until after she'd given him the name that she should perhaps have tried to protect her dream visitor, one of the only ones who'd been nice to her.

"Jarol?" he asked, his maroon brows skimming up toward his hairline.

"Yes." She yanked her arm out of his hold and seriously thought about decking him, ambassadorial duties be damned.

To her relief, he stepped back. "And did this Jarol have any identifying markings? A tattoo, maybe?"

She felt a strong inclination to tell him nothing, but what was she supposed to do, lie? It would be a strike against her if he found her out. "Yes," she said cautiously. "He has a tattoo across his face, from his eyes up into his hair, swirls of black."

"Interesting," he said softly. He was looking at her thoughtfully again, stroking his chin. It gave her the creeps when he did that.

"Why?" she asked.

Par for the course, he didn't answer. He disappeared, seemingly taking the dream with him.



QUINN



The birth took all freaking day.

Shortly after being awoken, Quinn examined Kara. She was in early labor, and everything appeared to be going normally. The baby's head was down, which was good, and her water hadn't broken, which wasn't bad. In fact, less pain that way, usually.

He decided the best course of action would be just to stay close and let nature take its course. He recommended she continue to walk, as it would help move the baby down. A couple of the other women were with her, talking to her, encouraging her to breathe.

While he waited, he decided to try his hand at constructing a pair of snowshoes. He knew they'd have to venture out to find food soon, and they needed a better way to get around in the snow. He'd never held a snowshoe in his hand, let alone worn one, but he'd seen pictures. The general idea was to spread out the person's weight by making the footprint bigger. Same principle behind wolves and their oversized paws.

He used two of the roots, which were long and flexible, and bent them into exaggerated horseshoe shapes. Then he took the spider line, and while Kara paced, he began constructing a webbing across each one.

The women stayed with Kara throughout the long day. Quinn listened to the baby's heart every half hour or so, tracking her progress. About mid-afternoon, Kara's water broke, and her contractions got closer, and more painful. She writhed and made horrible, pained sounds with each one.

Quinn chuckled to himself as Jim and Mark ran away, but in all actuality was a little envious as they hurried out into the cold muttering something about gathering firewood.

Kara cried between contractions for the space of an entire half hour, calling her husband's name. Donny had been a sandy-bearded mathematician with a quirky sense of humor, and was one of the first casualties of those horrific blur of nights which had claimed two thirds of the colonists' lives.

He guessed she had a couple hours still before the birth--her cervix wasn't fully dilated, and it was her first baby, which usually took a while--and gave her something for the pain. With two dozen births to go, and leery of causing breathing problems for the baby, he was sparing with the medicine.

As her sounds got louder, evolving into screams, the other women's eyes got bigger. Anna looked like she was on the verge of a panic attack, huddling against the wall as she watched Kara writhe in pain. A few of the women let themselves out into the cold to get away from the ear-piercing noise. The rest watched nervously, knowing their time would be up soon.

When Kara said she needed to push, he got his kit and put on a pair of gloves. Kara's bleeding had increased slightly, and she was shaking. All completely normal. He could feel the baby's head.

He waited for her current contraction to end, then spoke. "Your baby's almost here. Just a few more contractions. Push when you need to, okay?"

She grunted at him. It wasn't a polite sound, but it was acknowledgement. With the next contraction, she screamed and pushed, pushed and screamed. The baby descended. She did it again, and again. The baby's head, with a scalp full of wet, dark hair, was crowning.

"We can see baby's head!" one of the women squealed.

Caroline smiled, pushing Kara's hair behind her ears. "You're doing great," she said.

Kara was shuddering now, her thighs trembling, her shallow breaths hissing through her teeth. The next contraction hit and she yelled, a sound which was more of a roar than anything else, and bore down, and the head popped out against Quinn's hand.

The women were making noise, crying, encouraging Kara to push.

But Quinn's world had narrowed to the baby's head, held between his hands as it rotated. He applied a gentle traction, but the baby didn't move. Kara pushed, and still the baby didn't come out. Feeling an instant rush of adrenaline, he adjusted his hold and tried again.

The baby was stuck, its shoulder wedged behind mom's pubic bone. And now the clock was ticking. Statistics whispered through his brain, telling him he had five minutes before the baby suffered permanent brain damage.

Cussing in his head, Quinn told Kara to pull her legs back--she was crying out, and didn't do a great job--even as he tried to rotate the baby's shoulder. He changed his hold, and Caroline jumped in to help--and the baby's shoulder finally squeezed free.

Thank god. He caught the slippery little girl and put her up on her mom's belly. She was a little stunned, her eyes open, but not putting much effort into breathing. Caroline tucked a blanket in around her and rubbed her feet and back, and thankfully it only took a few seconds before the baby sucked in a huge breath and screamed.

He sighed heavily. It was a beautiful sound, exactly what he needed to hear.

Kara was crying with happiness and relief, looking down into her baby's wrinkly little face. The other women had gathered around, drawn by the sound of the baby's cry. They were smiling, crying, telling Kara how pretty she was.

Keeping an eye on her bleeding, Quinn sat back on his heels. Two down now, only twenty-two to go.

The placenta delivered, and then he did a bit of stitching. It was a messy business, with Roxy holding a flashlight over his shoulder so he could see what the hell he was doing. Finally straightening away, he groaned at the crick in his back.

He'd labored all day, Kara had labored all day. And the baby was an adorable little girl, she really was, with her blonde fuzz and those wide blue eyes. But now they had another mouth to feed.



MARAH



Marah spent the morning frustrated. While she was eating breakfast, her fellow colonists were probably starving. While she was watching the purple people watch her, her fellow colonists were probably freezing. While she was eating lunch...

She couldn't stand it, couldn't tolerate sitting on her hands while her people suffered. And she didn't want to wait for Davruk's 'judgment'. What right did he even have to judge her? What--besides supposed immunity to telepathy and the ability to talk to her in dreams--made him superior to her in any way?

It was what she estimated to be mid-afternoon, and she was sitting in the main hall, growing more and more discontented, when she saw her opportunity. She looked around, and realized everyone had gone, having all disappeared into their quarters or outside. Davruk had taken the elevator down, and even the kitchen was currently quiet. She was alone.

And there was the door, the exit, less than fifty feet away. Her heart-rate accelerated as she stared at it, thinking fast. She could swipe some cold weather gear on the way out, and probably be back to her people by nightfall. She would rather face the bitter cold than let her fate be decided by a bunch of purple aliens.

Her mind made up, she swiped another knife from the table and stood.

At that exact moment, two Urtoz stumbled through the door, forestalling her escape. The woman was laughing, that much was recognizable even in the alien language. They made it just inside the entrance, and the man yanked her to him. They kissed, and stumbled, still laughing.

Marah hesitated. Maybe she could slip out the door behind them...?

Then, clothes started coming off. The man's jacket got pushed down his arms, and the woman's fell to the floor at their feet. The man's shirt was next, revealing a lean, well-muscled back. They pressed against each other full-length, moaning and groping just a few feet from the exit.

Marah didn't know what to do. Sit? Try to escape? Go back to her room to give them some privacy? Her escape plan derailed for the moment, she stood frozen as the man backed the woman up to the wall and snaked a hand in under her skirt. He slid it up her thigh, and when his ascent stopped, his forearm flexed, and the woman moaned. Her head fell back as she kneaded the man's shoulders, hips tilting into his touch as he stroked her.

Marah blushed. She'd seen a couple public displays of affection yesterday, but none of them had gone this far. It looked like the man was fingering her, right out in the open.

Another man strode through the door. He glanced at the couple as he passed, but didn't even pause in his stride.

Marah was conflicted. On the one hand she was kind of mortified, having been caught watching the couple. On the other hand, the man obviously wasn't going to make anything of it; he disappeared through a side door. And on the third hand--the one she should probably be slapping some sense into herself with--she found herself fascinated.

The man pushed his lover's skirt up, and she hooked one of her legs around his hip. The man's knees bent, and they both groaned as he pushed upward against her.

Marah could feel herself turning crimson. They were having sex, right here, in the main hall. He was inside her. Right here, right now. The thrust of his hips was unmistakable.

Heart pounding, Marah finally sat down and averted her eyes. It didn't help much. They were loud lovers. Gasps, grunts, groans, growls and the sounds of flesh slapping filled the hall as they made love against the wall. In the main hall, in full view of everyone.

Another person walked through, again obviously having seen the lovers, but thinking nothing of it. Which told Marah, public sex was a normal behavior for the Urtoz. Crazy. It was absolutely taboo and usually illegal by human standards. Indecent. Lewd. Offensive.

But Marah didn't particularly feel that way about it, she realized. Unbidden, she imagined herself in that woman's place, pinned up against the wall, face flushed with pleasure, her thighs latched tight around a tall man with purple skin. People walked by, but she didn't care, because the man inside her absorbed her completely. But it wasn't the man before her that she saw. The face hovering just above her own was Jarol's.

She had acknowledged that most of the Urtoz men were extremely attractive--fit, muscular builds abounded--but there was just something about Jarol. He'd been a gentleman from the beginning, and the unique rasp of his deep voice turned her insides molten. They had chemistry; there was that wild spark when they touched. And the way he looked at her sometimes, as if she were the only thing in the world...

She was attracted to him, more than she had been to any of her fellow colonists. More, even, if she was being completely honest with herself, than her ex-boyfriend--whom she'd thought was the love of her life. But he's of an alien race, one of my captors, and therefore he's off limits, she told herself again. She didn't even know if they were sexually compatible. Though the process looked the same.

She shifted on her seat. She didn't do incredibly risquthings. She'd never participated in a threesome, or kissed a woman, or watched...so this was a first for her. Most of her discomfort, though, came from the indisputable evidence that she was responding. Her lower belly had tightened, and she was hot and wet, her pussy aching for attention.

The lovers' sounds reached a lusty crescendo. The woman came loudly, making a wild keening as her fingers spasmed on her lover's shoulders. Marah's own breath came short as she pressed her thighs together. The man thrust and groaned, leaning heavily against her as he caught his breath.

The silence in the room was intense, only emphasizing the loud, fast thump of Marah's heart. The couple exchanged a few words, another kiss. Then, as though nothing major had happened, they straightened their clothes, laughed, and went on their way.

Marah stared after them, dumbstruck. It was a few moments before she realized the hall had emptied again. This was her chance!

Clenching the knife in her hand--she wasn't planning on stabbing anybody; they were just handy in a survival situation--she ran into the arctic entry. It, too was clear. Heart thumping, she swiped a jacket, stuffed her feet into some boots, and pushed out into the cold whiteness, already moving at a run.

Just outside the door, she plowed into someone. Marah was just a couple inches over five foot, and a few pounds over a hundred, but she had speed and surprise on her side, and she knocked them down.

Dammit, dammit. She'd hoped to slip away quietly, and now her chances of escape had taken a dramatic dive. She righted herself, quickly regaining her feet even as she scanned her surroundings. Large trees studded the white-covered ground, and hard-packed trails ran straight ahead and to either side. She chose the one straight ahead, and booked it.

Behind her, the woman she'd sent sprawling yelled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a purple man on a side trail. Another off to the left. Marah leaned into her flight, pumping her legs, running as fast as she could in ill-fitting boots across the uneven ground. More shouts, but now they were out of sight, behind her and beyond the trees.

She veered off onto another trail, hoping to confuse them. She knew that the snow on either side of the trail was deep--she distinctly remembered being buried to her waist in it after the crash--and she knew exactly what trying to travel in deep snow was like. Difficult. And at any kind of speed? Impossible.

Her lungs burned as she moved further into the forest. Minutes passed. And she began to hope. She knew it had been a long shot, but it looked like--

Something hit her. It plowed into her back with such sudden force, it knocked the breath right out of her, and sent her flying through the air. She landed off the trail, her fall cushioned by the snow. Dazed, straining to draw a breath, she levered herself onto her back.

Something crowded the sky out of her vision, something white and purple and furry, monstrously large as it stepped over her. Its massive paws landed to either side of her chest, caging her under its incredible mass. A huge muzzle shoved almost against her face, and from it issued a sound like a pissed-off cougar the size of a house.

That blood-curdling roar froze her in place. Every hair on her body stood on end as she felt its breath on her face. After an interminable couple moments, when her life didn't immediately end, she peered cautiously up.

Fangs. Three inches long, slicing down from lips curled in a snarl. Past those teeth, golden eyes that bore into hers. The gigantic cat growled again, quieter but more menacing.

Her heart stuttered as she waited for the death blow. There was no fighting this thing. It was about the size of a Clydesdale, could probably crush her skull with one gnash of its teeth, and she was belly-up underneath it. One chomp and her throat would be missing. One slice of its claws, and her guts would lie steaming in the snow.

Even if she could get her knife up, it would only piss it off. No, her only chance was to show she wasn't a threat, and hope it wasn't hungry. So she dropped her stare and lay still, praying it didn't like to play with its dinner.

The colossal cat just stood there, pinning her in place as the shouts of her alien pursuers grew closer. She had a moment of hope that they'd chase it off. But when the giant predator finally stepped away, two purple men leaned over her in its place. They peeled her up out of the snow, and jerked her along the trail back in the direction of the fort.

She looked over her shoulder, for the first time getting a good view of the monster that'd incapacitated her. It was a super-sized tiger, with the white belly and black stripes, colored purple where an Earth tiger would be yellow. It looked like a killing machine, but it just stood there, shoulder-to-shoulder with a purple man, as tame as you please.

Could it possibly be a pet? What kind of people kept cats the size of horses, with three inch fangs, as pets? Wouldn't that be...a health risk?

It saw her looking, and bared its teeth at her one last time, in what she would have sworn was a grin.

The Urtoz had reappeared in the dining area when they got back. Davruk sat in his spot at the head of the table, and the men who'd retrieved her from underneath the tiger dropped her in the chair she'd occupied yesterday. She flinched slightly, expecting a blow--but they just walked away. They'd taken her knife, but they hadn't abused her, and she was still unbound.

She was confused. Weren't they going to punish her for her escape attempt? Or restrain her in some way?

Then, as if nothing had happened, dinner was served.

Frost sat down next to her, caught her gaze, and smiled. She hadn't seen him all day, had actually found herself missing his easy companionship, his big, cheerful presence. He really was a handsome brute. Probably as good-looking as Jarol despite the tangle of his whitish hair. She realized her fingers were itching to comb it, and looked away.

Frost seemed to be larger than life in every way. He talked and gestured, and kept the entire end of the table laughing. He was incredibly animated, making faces and gesturing with those big hands, using his whole body to express himself.

She glanced at Davruk, and realized the man was staring at her with that thoughtful expression, again. He looked like he was plotting something, and whatever it was, she doubted she'd like it.

A commotion broke out at the far end of the hall. A woman was yelling, and a man's voice rose to match. Even Frost broke off his story to turn toward the disturbance. She followed his gaze to an angry-looking man, who dragged a woman by the arm in front of Davruk where he sat at the head table.

They spoke to Davruk, obviously upset. Their great leader said a few words, and waved his hand.

Then the man dragged the woman to the floor. She was struggling, and the man tore at her clothes.

Marah shot to her feet automatically, ready to come to the woman's defense.

Frost stood with her, putting that big hand on her shoulder, restraining this time. He looked down at her, and shook his head.

"But--"

He smiled, shook his head again, and tilted it back toward the couple on the floor.

The man had his head between the woman's bare thighs, and her noises had turned to ones of pleasure. She writhed under him, hooking her heels over his shoulders as she pulled him closer.

"Oh." Marah could feel a blush spreading up her cheeks. Realizing she was still standing, and now people were looking at her, watching her watch the couple on the floor, she sat back down. Her new position didn't help. She could still see them, every detail. The way the woman's head arched back, the divots she left in the man's skin as she dug in her nails, the bite of his hands into her thighs.

Frost chuckled. She kept her head down, not daring to look at him. The heat was growing again between her thighs, and she just knew her desire would be written on her face.

Frost didn't give her a choice. He put a big finger under her chin and tilted her face up. She stared into his eyes, watching as he examined her expression. The humor melted off his face. As if he'd flipped a switch, his eyes turned to fire. He leaned down, and placed his mouth on hers.

Her heart thundered in her ears as his lips brushed gently across hers. He hadn't closed his eyes; they were brightly, intensely gold and watchful as he tasted her. She breathed in through her nose--he even smelled good--and moaned softly into his mouth. He groaned in answer, his big hand curling around the back of her head as he deepened the kiss. His tongue swept between her lips, making a spot deep in her belly tighten with each bold stroke. And the way he tasted--

She reached up and tangled her fingers in his disordered hair, pulling herself up into his kiss. She wanted to crawl into his lap, wanted to rub herself against him like a cat. She wanted to feel the heat of those hands everywhere on her body. But particularly--particularly between her legs, where the ache burned hottest. Taut with desire, she leaned into him until she just teetered on the edge of her chair.

Vaguely, she heard a voice speaking. It was loud, commanding. Insistent.

Frost finally dragged his mouth from hers. She caught his bottom lip between her teeth, tugging at him, not wanting to let him go. He groaned again, thumbs stroking her cheeks, his eyes glazed with lust as they gleamed intensely into hers. Gazing into them, she felt like he was promising her something. But then he slipped free, and he leaned back.

Beyond him, she saw Davruk. He was standing, looking angry or turned-on, she couldn't tell. His glare was focused on her, but he had a hell of a bulge in the front of his pants.

Marah gasped, and Frost's hand fell away as she shoved to her feet. She could stay and find out what Davruk planned to do with it, or... She ran back to the safety of her room as if that damn tiger were on her heels. She still had that knife under her mattress, and--if Davruk touched her, she'd kill him.



QUINN



Quinn's fellow colonists were all asleep. Even the newborn was passed out, curled up against her mom's chest. She was a cutie, after most of the birth trauma and gore wore off; about six pounds, all arms and legs with a wrinkled, quizzical face. The women had doted over her for hours, one of them fashioning a little bow for her hair out of a scrap of satiny cloth. Hope, Kara had named her.

He really 'hoped' she lived longer than a couple days. He had his doubts, with the way things were going. He supposed he should just be grateful the air had the right concentration of oxygen, and the gravity wasn't much more than they were used to, and the temperature was technically in a livable range. But he wasn't feeling optimistic at the moment.

Gazing out over the forest of pregnant bellies, he wrapped his arms around his knees. He wanted to sleep, but he'd found he couldn't, his mind consumed by worries. There was the food problem, but also the pregnancies...

Today, it'd been a stuck shoulder. Tomorrow it could be a postpartum hemorrhage, or a uterine rupture, or a cord prolapse. The possibilities were endless, and many of them potentially fatal, and he had a bare minimum in the way of equipment and medications. No bags of blood, no trained labor nurses... They'd had an OB doc on board, but the old bastard was one of the first eaten by the Dhyrak, damn him.

Quinn hadn't gone into obstetrics for a reason. He hated it when his patients died on him, and women and children were the absolute worst. Emotions were running high around birth anyway, but very occasionally they turned to horrified shock, which morphed into awful heartbreak. There was the immediate fallout, of course, and then the postpartum visits, where he got to see that haggard, tear-stained face over, and over again.

With family medicine, Quinn very rarely had those patients, thank God. It was after those unexpectedly harrowing cases that he'd gone home and cried. He'd fought, done everything right, done his absolute best, and they'd still had a 'bad outcome'. It made no sense...but it was obstetrics.

In a way, he admired the OBs. It was a tough job, and somebody had to do it. But the field most definitely wasn't for him.

He'd gone into general medicine himself. He'd started in the hospital, as they all did, but then branched out into his own family clinic. He loved the variety, the way the walk-ins kept him on his toes. Infections, high blood pressure, warts. Sick kids, old people... Okay, it hadn't been very romantic, but he'd enjoyed it.

He noticed the fire was burning low, and fetched an armload of the new wood Jim and Mark had gathered. Settling again next to its heat, he tossed one of the logs on. It caught fire slowly, and he watched as it started to burn an interesting green color.

Nothing in this world was as it was supposed to be. The spiders were giant, the stones were blue, his wet dreams were purple, and footprints appeared from thin air.

The smoke curled lazily around him as his mind wandered. He looked out at the sleeping women, thinking about their situation. Water was plentiful as long as they had snow, but they'd need to find a new source of food tomorrow. He guessed they'd have to go hunting. They had seen those tracks next to the ship, so there was wildlife about...somewhere.

He looked into the fire, appreciating the sinuous curve of each flickering flame. Beyond them, the dancing shadows slithered up the walls. For a moment he thought he heard the rattle of a snake, a sound strangely accompanied by a sparkle of carnelian color. He frowned. That had been strange.

His gaze was drawn back to the long, twisting shadows, and he watched with curious shock as they began to solidify. He stared, unable to look away, as they reached up from the floor, morphing into snakes.

Can't be real, he thought. Can't be...

He gasped--a small sound hued dark blue--and fell backward as one lashed out at him, but it disappeared before it made contact. What...? He shook his head, refocusing on the shadows. They were back to normal, snakes gone. He was surrounded only by quiet and sleeping women. Their soft snores trilled the fuzzy green of damp moss.

Synesthesia, some part of the back of his mind supplied. The condition where senses and perception was confused; colors got attached to numbers or tastes, or tastes to sounds, or in his case, colors to sounds. When not naturally occurring, it was most often brought on by drugs such as LSD.

What the fuck? His skin crawled, hairs standing on end with sudden expectation.

Someone appeared on the other side of the fire. She was staring at him, unmoving, unblinking. Flat, as though the light of the fire didn't touch her. But that wasn't what caught his attention and wouldn't let it go. He saw that strawberry blond hair, her beloved elfin face, and every other thought flew out of his head.

"Lizzie." Her name flashed in his mind, a pure emerald green. But she's dead...

She had been one of the original 120 colonists, and, player that he was, he was blindsided by love at first sight. He'd fallen for her hard. They'd been married in a simple forest ceremony a month after they landed, and had been happily married for six months before the monsters took her away.

She continued to look at him, face curiously still. Some part of him knew that wasn't right, but...

"Lizzie," he said again, softer this time. His sorrow was a deep purple that clung like cobwebs. She'd been taken from him way too soon. They hadn't even gotten to have their first real fight. In the months since she'd died, he'd imagined what their lives together might have been like if she had lived. To be privileged to listen to that enchanting laugh every day, and to have kids and grow old together.

She rose to her feet and headed toward the door.

"Lizzie?" He was still trying to tell himself she wasn't real, but that logical part of him was getting quieter and quieter. All he could think was it was cold out there, and she'd get lost.

The moment she disappeared from sight, he lost all reason. He had to see her again.

Frantically digging the snow from the doorway, he followed. It was dark out, though the moon reflected off the snow, giving everything an eerie glow. The wind was howling in a fuzzy peach shade, picking up loose flurries and obscuring his vision like it had the night they'd landed.

He thought he saw her there, standing at the gap in the wall.

"Lizzie!" he yelled, barreling after her. His breath heaved as he fought through the snow. His nose and fingers were already starting to sting.

Her shadowy figure flickered again. He heard her laughter--it was a translucent aquamarine, like the sun through tropical water--and could have sworn he caught the sweet scent of her shampoo. He moved faster, heart thundering with the exercise and frantic with the worry that he'd lose her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of purple. At first thinking it was just another colorful sound, he ignored it. But then it came again, and he looked back to see the lemur from the other day, hopping across the snow, following him.

He dismissed it as unimportant. Right now, he had to find Lizzie. He veered off the trail and continued out across the vast whiteness and into the trees beyond, hoping to catch sight of her again.

By the time he could admit she was gone, his mind was moving sluggishly.

He felt warm. Tired. The snow looked so soft. Inviting. He found a nice spot, at the base of a thick, gnarled tree.

Then Quinn curled onto his side, and lost consciousness.



MARAH



That night, when Marah's eyes opened, she was back in her apartment.

She'd spent the rest of the evening ensconced in her room, beginning to get angry, especially when she realized Davruk had put a guard on her door. The whole situation was fucked up, them holding her prisoner, watching her, leaving her people out in the cold to die.

When Jarol's tall, dark form appeared in her living room, her anger found a target.

"What right do you have," she demanded, "to judge me? To hold me against my will? I've done nothing to you." She advanced on him.

"You are angry," Jarol observed. He was always so calm, so polite and collected, and nice, and it only irked her more. He looked down at her, his expression appearing reasonable and understanding even then.

"You're damn right I'm angry. I'm tired of this. I only want to be with my people. I can help them!" And she could. She'd spent the last couple of years as a sous chef in downtown Philly--worst decision she ever made--but she'd grown up in rural Alaska, had weathered floods and hurricane-force winds, blizzards and cold so intense it froze the eyeballs. She'd hunted and trapped, and successfully lived a subsistence lifestyle until she'd been swept off her feet and dragged to the big city by a pretty boy she'd thought had loved her.

She stared up at Jarol, willing him to understand. Here, in this cold, barren place, she could have been an asset. Instead, she was being held prisoner by the resident alien species for no discernable reason.

"I would help you if I could," Jarol said quietly, instantly defusing some of her anger. His hands were held out, apologetic.

What could she say to that? She felt like pacing, like yelling at him some more. But it would have been misplaced.

It wasn't Jarol keeping her here at all. No, the bad guy was that rude Davruk fellow she'd barely talked to. How was she supposed to fight an enemy she couldn't even confront?

Fuck. Gritting her teeth, she went to make some tea.

Going through the familiar motions helped calm her somewhat. By the time she'd handed Jarol a steaming mug and sat down on her couch, her anger had fizzled out. She looked over her mug at him, thinking he was starting to look at home there on her couch, despite his purple skin.

She'd had a vibrator that color once... and then she wanted to kick herself for that thought. She was angry, not horny, she told herself.

His next words made it seem almost as if he'd heard her thoughts. "Tell me about humans' sexual practices," he said.

Marah coughed, splattering tea on the coffee table. Sex, sex, it always came down to sex. She set down the mug, brushing droplets off herself. She could refuse, or...Human ambassador, Marah. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. "Um, what did you want to know?"

"How do you conduct courtships on your planet?"

Relieved he'd chosen a relatively safe topic, she leaned back into the couch and cleared her throat. "Well, I think sex and courtship are two different things, to start. Courtship implies things like love and marriage. Sex is just a component of that. Two people don't need to be in love to have sex."

"Tell me about love, courtship, and marriage. Then we can talk about sex."

Just what she wanted to frankly discuss with someone who didn't even need to be present to turn her on. But, she still harbored some hope that he could help her, so she was going to do her best to be accommodating.

"Well," she started, "love is when two people like each other very, very much. They enjoy each other's company, and seek it out. For humans, when two people love each other, they want to spend the rest of their lives together. Which is where marriage comes in. Two humans in love can get bound together for life. Though with today's society, marriages usually end within a few years," she muttered. She hadn't been married to Nick, but they'd been together for three years. And then she'd found out he had been cheating on her constantly, almost from the beginning.

Jarol cocked his head. "And marriage is...exclusive?"

"According to the church, marriage is between a man and a woman, and married people shouldn't be having sex with anyone else, correct. Some religions do allow multiple wives, however."

"What about courtship?"

She shrugged. "Two people like each other. They do things together, go on dates, movies, dinner. Flowers and chocolates are given, love letters, gifts. They kiss, they hold hands, take long walks on the beach." She and Nick had hiked, canoed, fished, skinny dipped... the bastard.

"What about the Urtoz?" she asked, trying to move the focus off herself. But she found she was interested in hearing his answer.

"We can claim mates, but we don't embrace monogamy. Affection is very casual, even public."

"I saw a couple fighting today," she said. She had been trying all evening to figure out what had happened. "It looked like they appealed to Davruk, but the next thing I knew, he was--they were...having sex right there in front of everyone."

Jarol nodded. "We settle a lot of matters through sex. We're a very sexual people." The way he said that, with his voice deep and his eyes steady on her, made shivers run down her spine.

She shouldn't have been wondering what he had in his pants. Especially since she was a glorified prisoner, and he technically one of her captors. Then again, sexual favors might sweeten him up on the rescuing-her-friends front. She looked at him consideringly, then discarded the thought.

"You were going to tell me about sex between humans," he prompted, his eyes hot.

Aw, to hell with it. She decided to bluster her way through. "What do you want to know?" she asked casually. "The mechanics? Penis in vagina, in and out until the man has an orgasm, the end." She crossed her legs, avoiding looking at him. Her lower belly felt tight, achy, her pussy moist. The feeling had never quite subsided after she'd watched the couple early on in the day, then that kiss with Frost had stoked it higher, and now--with one burning jolt--she was as aroused as she might have been with Jarol's face buried between her thighs.

And we are just talking. If he ever truly touched her, she'd be in trouble.

He tilted his head, looking confused. "Why do you only mention the male orgasm? Are human women not capable?"

"Oh, women are capable. Some men are more attentive to a woman's needs than others." Nick had been a lazy-ass in the sack. She should have taken it as a sign.

Jarol set down his tea and leaned toward her. "And you? You've had your needs not met?" Had she thought his eyes hot before? They devoured her.

She made a sound embarrassingly like a squeak, and jumped off the couch. She put the bar between them by scurrying to the kitchen. "More tea?" she asked brightly. She'd kissed Frost today, yes, but she got the feeling if she fell into Jarol's arms, she might lose herself. And she needed to keep her wits about her, to deal with Davruk. She could just imagine that scene: Davruk ripping her away from her dream with Jarol again, just to find her naked and mussed from sex. Could the Urtoz have sex in dreams?

Jarol rose and stalked slowly toward her. "You are running away? Or you want to be chased?"

"I'm running!" she said. She busied herself with the kettle, praying she wouldn't feel his breath on her neck. "Humans aren't so straightforward with sexual matters."

"That wasn't what I was led to believe," he said.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, relieved to find him standing a few feet away, leaning a hip against her kitchen counter. The pose was surprisingly human. In her mind's eye, she filled in just-showered hair, erased his robe, and put him in an old, ripped pair of blue jeans...

She felt herself getting wetter, imagining it. Ugh, she had it bad.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"A couple of the Urtoz made contact with your Human Quinn in his dreams."

She stiffened. He didn't. Oh, who was she kidding?--he probably had. This was Quinn, after all. Beautiful, irresistible Quinn. That just figured. Here she was, trying to cut a good image for mankind, while Quinn blithely Captain Kirked his way through the alien women.

"Apparently, we are sexually compatible," Jarol said. "And the ladies seemed well-pleased."

Like Marah wanted to be. With all this stimulation--everyone around her having sex, Frost kissing her, and now Jarol casually discussing orgasms--her body was turning into one big burning ache. She pulled the 'Calm Chamomile' tea out of the cabinet.

"In any case," Jarol continued, "Davruk's decided to bring you below."

She turned to look at him. "Below?"

"Their city is underground," he explained. "The large tent you're staying in is just a surface outpost. They want to question you, and they need you close to do it."

She blinked at him, surprised. For some reason, she had thought an oversized tent was the extent of their civilization. Would Jarol be down there? She would love to see him in person... But here he was, saying 'they' and 'their' again, which implied he was not with them.

Then her mind moved past the object of her growing fascination. Davruk wanted to take her even farther from her people, and further under his thumb. She'd be stuck underground with the rude bastard and his unsolicited erection, and she guessed that at that point, it would be next to impossible to get away from him.

"They'll be coming to get you in a few hours," Jarol said.

She'd run out of time.

Aw, hell no. She had to wake up. Now. Tea forgotten, she tried to will herself awake, but nothing happened. Tried harder. Nothing.

She reopened her eyes to find Jarol watching her. "You woke me up that first night, when I was unconscious and hypothermic," she said. It had been his voice, urging her to stay awake.

"Yes." He straightened up from the counter, seeing the determined look on her face.

"You said you'd help me, if you could," she continued. She knew talk was cheap, but she desperately wanted him to have been sincere.

"Yes," he agreed.

"Then wake me up."

He examined her, his brows rising. "You're planning to escape," he said.

"Yes." And this time, she'd be successful. She knew Davruk had stationed a guard at her door, but she'd just have to get past him. "And it sound like I have very little time, so if you could..." She held her breath as he looked at her for a long moment, considering.

He sighed and shook his head slightly, then pinned her with a look. "There is a plant, it looks like a spiky pink bud about the size of your fist, which sticks just through the snow. When you find one, crack it open, and rub it over your clothes. It'll confuse your scent trail, and make it harder for them to track you."

She nodded, her lips starting to stretch into a smile as she realized he was doing it--he was helping her!

He stood there, tall and gorgeous in her kitchen, his eyes soft as butter. "Put as much distance between you and them as you can. They require proximity to influence you in dreams."

"And you don't?" she asked. The mystery that was Jarol had been driving her nuts from night one. He seemed outside his own civilization, outside of Davruk's influence. She hadn't seen a tattoo on any of the other people, and none of them dressed like him.

"I can tell you about me, if you like," he said slowly.

"Tomorrow night," she said. "It's a date." She enjoyed the flare of heat in his eyes at the now-familiar word.

They looked at each other. God, he is fine, she thought. Her feet itched to carry her forward into his arms, but she resisted. She would see him again, she decided.

"Be careful, Human Marah," he said.

Her kitchen faded to black.



To be continued...



I'm working on publishing this story on Amazon, and I need first-readers!!!!!! Please shoot me an email at [e-mail] if you'd like to help guide the sexual fate of my poor, hapless characters. Also, please feel free to email me to let me know what you think and/or to get free stories. I'd also be delighted to friend you on facebook, https://www.facebook.com/shaye.marlow, so you can enjoy my really cheesy sex puns (and you can also get the latest news regarding my great erotic writing adventures). Thanks for reading!