I’m holding Marv’s hand as we walk…

19

Naomi

I’m holding Marv’s hand as we walk into an underground fortress. Narul is nothing like what I would have expected. Everything is bunkered and fortified.

I guess when he said Badlands, I wasn’t really paying attention.

Evidence of prior battles marked the landing pad above us. There were decaying buildings, and the hangar wasn’t nearly as state of the art as the space station.

But down here, below ground, Marv takes me by the hand into his secret kingdom.

The walls are made of the same smooth black sheet metal that I saw on the space station. There are small boxes along the wall with little computer panels. They are becoming easier to spot, now that I know what to look for.

Each small box has a surrounding indentation in the wall, and there’s a small red dot on it. I would have expected a purple dot.

Marv glances at me.

I shrug, trying to send him my best “I’m okay” vibe. Although, to be honest, I’m terrified.

When he was talking to the King, I sensed his fear. Even as he spoke with calm, clear words, he was afraid for me. Afraid for my safety.

I am the first female.

We walk behind the King, surrounded by his armed guard. They don’t look primitive at all; rather, they’re all adorned in thick black gear that looks like it is bulletproof, waterproof, and whatever other proof they might need up here.

There’s an elevator device, and it drops us deeper below Narul’s surface.

“Have you always lived below ground?” I ask, trying to make pleasant conversation. Marv squeezes my hand again, tight. I glance at him, and hear his words in my head, ‘Please let me do the talking. Trust me.’

He knows I can hear him. I nod.

Oops. He had told me that, on the ship.

“Only since the Fall of the Females,” the King responds, his eyes roving over me again.

Thankfully, I am fully clothed.

I still feel gross just from the way he looks at me. But Marv is right. Give them other females, and I’m not a commodity.

Living on his satellite thingie might not be such a bad idea.

We round the corner and enter a large conference room. There are a dozen dark purple men in there, and when I enter alongside Marv, they gasp in unison.

“A female?” one of them asks.

“Yes. And each of you shall have one of your own. Everyone have a seat,” Marv commands.

I hover next to him and watch as he commands his men.

With each precise word, it becomes clearer to me. Not only is he a General, but he is well respected. This is why I have not been kidnapped.

But one of his soldier men is leering at me, and I don’t like it at all.

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