A surge of relief washed through her. “Ice—everyone—is alive?”
“Yes,” he said. “Apparently, they shut down all non-essential systems and found other ways to extend their fuel supply. I was told Campania only had a few hours of oxygen reserve when the rescue crew boarded the ship. The expedition crew was lucky.”
She sat on the bed, hand on her chest. Thank goodness. But why wasn’t Ice here, explaining things himself?
Dew gestured to a door on the side wall. “In there you may bathe and change clothes. Your clothes have been laundered, and we can commission the logistic to create more like that for your convenience, if you wish. A little food and water will be waiting here for you when you finish, so you don’t have to face the press and your new surroundings on an empty stomach. We’ll be at the banquet soon enough where you can eat as much as you wish.”
Alana supposed she should have refused in protest or insisted she be allowed to go home. But if she was already on Crimea, it would do little good.
She wasn’t going to thank her captors, though, out of principle. She nodded and walked into what served as a bathroom. The toilet was streamlined and seemed to be part of the wall rather than a separate appliance, with no visible water in the bowl. She used it and wiped with a slightly damp cloth that emerged from a slot in the wall. When she stood and turned, a thin sheen of water blasted everything away, leaving the bowl pristine and shining again.
Alana stripped and stepped into a large, round tub. The wall only contained one large button that bore symbols on both sides almost like hieroglyphics or runes, but nothing she could understand. She stepped to the side and pushed it, and the water streamed down directly in front of the wall. She reached out and found it was a bit cooler than she liked, so she touched the right side of the button, and as she’d hoped, the water heated up.
When she stepped beneath the water, a small door opened near the control button with a jar of light green liquid. She poured some into her hand and enjoyed the pleasant mint smell of what must have been some kind of soap. She hoped it worked as shampoo, too.
The pressure and heat of the water served to relax her. She’d have to ask someone later how to keep water from draining from the tub. She could use a good, long soak.
She dried herself with a luxurious white towel and dressed in her regular clothes. Instantly, she felt more at ease. Maybe tomorrow she’d wear what they provided to try to fit in at least a little.
When she went back into the bedroom, a tray with a large glass of iced water along with a plate of bread and what she guessed was a kind of cheese waited for her. It didn’t taste like any cheese she’d ever eaten, but it was savory and good. She gobbled it down and drank all the water.
As soon as she was finished, Fire and Dew came into the room. She was going to have to inform them about the human custom of knocking.
“Are you ready?” Dew asked. Fire stood stoic, but raised his eyebrows as if he wondered, too.
“About that. I’m still not convinced I can do anything to help you.”
“Our Minister of Science seems sure enough,” Dew said. “Come, let’s get you to the banquet. Our emperor is eager to meet you.” She opened the door and gestured for Alana to walk through first. Alana did, and at the end of a long hall she stepped through a doorway where dozens of Crimeans, almost all of them pale with white and silver hair, waited to ask questions and take photographs of her.
Crimeans weren’t that different from humans in that sense. The crowd reminded her of the paparazzi chasing a celebrity, though they were more controlled, with less shouting and bustling. They were quiet and respectful, but it still reminded her of the crowds that gathered every time a pop or movie star went anywhere.
Fortunately, Dew and Fire guided her through the group to a path that led to a huge building of glass and metal. It occurred to her that she was a little cool, and the outdoors was bright, but she couldn’t see a sun. It was bright because of overhead lights. Yet there were trees, grass, and walkways.
As soon as they entered the large structure, she was led down a shining hallway to a large room where a man waited at the head of a long, glass table. He was surrounded by at least a dozen people, male and female, who stood straight with the bearing of soldiers at attention. His face was sunken and lined. His hair was the same shades of silver and white as the rest, but his braid was far longer than anyone else’s.
Except one.
The woman seated next to him was much older. It showed on her face, her thin body, and her bearing. She held herself like nobility, and had the highest cheekbones Alana had ever seen. They almost looked sharp; that if she touched one, it might cut her finger. But the expression on her face was pleasant. Even welcoming.
The man rose, took the older woman’s arm, and walked toward Alana with two soldiers flanking them.
“Alana Watson,” he said, reaching his hand to take hers in a quick, formal handshake. “I am Emperor Chaos, and this is the Dowager Empress, my mother. On behalf of my people, I welcome you to our homeland, Crimea.”
Chapter Seven
Ice recognized what he felt as irritation. Not just the frustration that S
torm often caused him—the kind that made him want to rub the bridge of his nose and grit his teeth.
This was real irritation—almost anger—of the type that most Crimeans tamped down and ignored, to the point that they barely felt such emotions anymore. But Ice felt it. It made him want to ball his hands into fists and throw one right at the Prime minister’s face.
The irony of it was that the Prime Minister seemed to be feeling a similar emotion, as he sneered at Ice, Grim, and Storm. They had just relayed the details of their mission to him. He paced in front of them, hands together behind his back, his eyes slits.
“What a waste of resources. I told Chaos that this mission to Earth was a fool’s errand. I take no joy in this, no satisfaction at being right. You should have stayed and searched for a solution right on Crimea.”
Ice took a few slow, steadying breaths. “Alana—”
“Alana,” the Prime Minister spat, stepping toe to toe with Ice. “She arranges Earthling wedding ceremonies. We could arrange ceremonies without you having wasted so much fuel and time on this trip. Ceremonies are not the answer, and I would have thought you might realize that.”