I glance at Alistair, a silent question in my eyes.
He nods, his expression grim, determined. "Let's do it."
We move forward, our steps slow, cautious, our bodies low to the ground. The sand is cool beneath my feet, a welcome relief from the day's heat, but the chill is already seeping into my bones, a reminder of the danger we're in.
The door to the depot is a large, metal thing, no doubt with a locking mechanism. But it's not locked. Not fully. It's slightly ajar, a dark, inviting gap that promises shelter, supplies, and... danger.
I push it open, the metal creaking in protest, the sound loud in the stillness of the night. I wince, waiting for an alarm, for a shout, for any indication that we've been spotted.
Nothing.
The interior is dark, the only light coming from the moons outside. I can make out the shapes of crates, of shelves stacked high with supplies, but the details are lost in the shadows.
Alistair slips in beside me, his body a tense, coiled spring, ready for action. He moves with a quiet grace, his steps almost silent on the hard, metal floor.
We split up, each of us heading for a different section of the depot. I make my way to the shelves, my hands searching for anything we can use. Food, water, medical supplies... anything.
My fingers brush against something cold, metallic. A gun. I pull it out, the weight of it familiar, comforting. I've never been a particularly good shot, but having a weapon is better than not having one.
I slip it into the waistband of my pants, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of my skin, and continue my search.
I find a crate filled with food, the alien script on the side meaningless to me, but the contents obvious. I pull out a few packages, tucking them into the bag I brought with me, my movements quick, efficient.
I can hear Alistair moving around the depot, his presence a silent reassurance that I'm not alone in this.
I'm just about to move on to the next crate when I hear it.
A soft, almost imperceptible sound. The hiss of a door opening, the murmur of voices.
They're here.
Panic rises in my chest, a hot, sharp spike of fear that threatens to overwhelm me. But I push it down, force it back, the anger in my chest a burning counterpoint to the fear.
I move quickly, silently, my body low to the ground, my eyes searching for Alistair. I find him near the back of the depot, his body tense, his eyes fixed on the door where the voices are coming from.
He meets my gaze, a silent question in his eyes.
I gesture for silence.
There's no way they'd try to unload anything this late at night. Two years on this damn planet dealing with these aliens makes it clear they hate doing much at night. Whatever is happening, they won't be in here long.
We just need to wait.
But more importantly, I scan the area with my gaze.
It isn't possible for us to take enough back by stuffing it in our pants.
But every time the compound they kept us in got new supplies it came on either a device with treads or something that hovered. If we can take one of those, load them up, and slip away...
If it can go fast enough, or at least silent enough, we could get far more resources.
We just need to get on it, load it, and get out.
Without getting caught.
...I'm still workshopping the plan.
The voices stop at the door, and then the sound of the doors shutting, grinding across metal, fills the air.
Alistair straightens in surprise, eyes wide with fear, and for a moment he starts to run toward the door. I grab his wrist and pull him back.
"Shh-" I hiss, and he frowns, confused.
The moment the door shuts, the lights turn on.
We both freeze.
The lights are motion activated.
But no aliens are here, no guards.
The lights are on, the doors are closed, and we're in the building.
In a prison.
One that we just locked ourselves in.
But...
There's no sound outside.
They didn't see us. They didn't even know we were here. And now they've locked us in.
Which means...
"...They didn't see us." I whisper.
The aliens might not be back until morning. And they won't expect that we're trapped here.
We might not have the whole night, but we have a few hours.
Alistair lets out a slow exhale, but I still see the tension in his eyes. "How are we supposed to get out...?" He asks, keeping his voice to a whisper too.
"...Locks on storage rooms are to keep people out, not in."
Granted, I don't know any of the words or systems, but...doors are doors. The ability to open an unlocked door has to be simple, because anything else is too much of a pain in the ass. That goes for humans and aliens alike.
It's...
Well, that's my thinking. So. We'll find out. I guess. I move further into the building, glancing around.
There are rows and rows of supplies. I can't hope to know what most of them are. Even if I could read the language, the labels probably wouldn't be much help without knowing more about their systems.
If Mia were here....she...
Mia...isn't here. She's-
I grit my teeth.
I can't think about her. I can't think about Eric. I can't-
I feel my throat closing up.
"...We have time." I force myself to speak. To sharply pivot. To anything. My voice is a little louder than before. "If they closed it they're probably not coming back until tomorrow morning. Let's use that time well."
"You want to stay until-"
"No." I shake my head. "But there's no point sneaking around. They won't be back."
I don't know that. But I also don't think there's anything to gain by staying quiet and slow. We should look as much as we can, as quickly as we can, and get ready to make our move to escape once we have something to use.
Alistair looks at me, then looks around, and finally nods. "Alright. What are you looking for?"
"...Something to carry supplies. Or something that can help us get away. Or both."
"Both is good." He nods, and moves away, looking through the storage.
I-
I just...
I need a moment to myself. A quiet moment. Even if it's brief.
I lean against a nearby crate, my eyes closed, my breathing slow, deliberate. I can feel the anger, still there, still burning, but beneath it, the grief, the fear, the despair. They're all there, lurking, waiting for a moment of weakness, a moment of inattention.
It's been beating on the walls, rattling the bars.
Seeing this supply depot again.
Sneaking through it at night...
Ivan.
Sinead.
Peter.
My friends.
Eric.
Eric-
Eric...
"Hey," Alistair's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Might have found something."
I open my eyes, pushing the emotions down, locking them away. There's no time for that now. There's only the mission, the anger, the need to survive.
I follow him to the back of the depot, where a large, flat metal device is located. It reminds me of a scooter, or one of those strange furniture carts I'd see at big clubhouse stores that sold giant amounts of items.
It's not quite as big as the thing I used to see at the facility, but it's clearly the same thing. There are no wheels or tracks on it, so my guess is it's one of the ones that float. It's designed to be operated while standing on it, rather than pulled.
I don't know how quickly it moves, but if it's silent...
"We can load some supplies on it," I say, my voice low, steady. "Maybe even find a way to ride it out of here if it's fast enough."
"They're pretty fast..." He murmurs. "If it's like the one I saw before." He looks at it, then at me. "You know how to drive one?"
"...No. Do you?"
"No."
I sigh and look at the scooter, at the control pad that's clearly designed for its movement. The thing that matters is if we can get it started and moving.
I walk up to it and reach out, my fingers hovering over the controls.
"...Let's see what blind button pushing does."
"Ah, my favorite," Alistair responds dryly, a faint smile on his lips.
We both glance at the device and the console in front of us.
"Here goes nothing..."
I push a button.
The machine hums to life beneath my hand, a low, thrumming vibration that resonates through the metal. Alistair's eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise in his expression.
"No keys?"
I glance over at him. "Why would they need to lock it from slaves who aren't ever allowed to touch it?"
He rolls his shoulders. "Guess it makes sense. Point for the paranoia if I make my own empire..."
My hand clenches. "Funny."
I don't find it funny. Alistair seems to notice. He clears his throat and looks around. "So...let's get this thing loaded up."
...Yeah.
That's for the best.