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she relaxed somewhat and sat down on the table.
    “She’s delirious with hunger,” Hoff said.
    “Yes,” the doctor replied. “From the look of her, it’s a miracle she’s lived this long.” He forced Destra to lie down while he inserted a catheter in her wrist. The sharp prick made her wince, and a moment later she felt a cold trickle of fluids entering her body. She gasped, her head spinning where it lay on an impossibly soft pillow. She’d forgotten what a pillow felt like.
    “She’s badly malnourished,” the doctor said.
    “Finding food with the proper nutrients can’t have been easy.”
    “Indeed . . . what about the transmission we heard?” the doctor asked. “She claimed you were with her.”
    “As I said, Lieutenant, she’s delirious. Maybe I met her briefly before or during the war, but as for why she felt the need to invent a fictional story that fixated on me in particular . . . that’s your department.”
    “It probably made her feel better to think she was marooned with an admiral rather than all alone. Well, I’m sure she’ll be more lucid when we get her back to health.”
    “I’m sure she will. Meanwhile, if you’ll excuse me, we need to get back to the Tauron —goodbye, Destra.”
    She saw the admiral’s smiling face appear above her. That smile is wrong, she thought. It didn’t have the sardonic twist that she was used to, and his cheek didn’t bear the old rictan scar which should have caused it. “I’ll see you soon,” the admiral said, and his face disappeared. “Take good care of her, Donali.”
    “I will. I’ve administered a sedative, so she should fall asleep soon.”
    Destra heard the admiral’s footsteps receding, followed by the sound of a door swishing open and then shut. She saw the doctor appear above her. He smiled. “Let’s see what we can do to fix you up, shall we?” The man was perhaps forty, with receding black hair, and distinguished features, but all she could see was that horrible red eye, glowing and winking at her every time his real eye blinked.
    Would he try to hurt her? She felt her eyelids grow heavy and her thoughts become sluggish. What if the doctor killed her so he wouldn’t have to share his food and supplies with her?
    Destra felt her heart begin to pound and heard a nearby monitor beeping frantically in time to her pulse. The doctor reached out and placed a cool hand against her forehead. She flinched at his icy touch.
    “You have a fever. Try to relax. I’m going to conduct a routine body scan to make sure there’s nothing serious amiss, okay?” She tried to shake her head, but it barely moved. “Shhh . . .” the doctor cooed.
    Destra watched a bright blue eye snap on overhead with an ominous humming sound. Without warning it cast a swath of shimmering light over her from head to toe and back again.
    “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” the doctor asked.
    Destra managed a groan. She had to fight to keep her eyes open.
    “Now, let’s see what we have here . . .” she heard the doctor say, followed by the sound of a chair rolling across the deck. “Oh, my . . .” he said. “That can’t be right.”
    Destra’s eyes flickered open and she saw the doctor turn from a nearby holoscreen to peer suspiciously at her. “Weren’t you alone on, Ritan?” he asked.
    “No . . . told you . . .” she said sleepily. “I was with Hoff.”
    “Well, you must have been with someone, hoi?” He laughed lightly. “Don’t worry, we’ll sort it all out, but for now you’d better rest.”
    Destra’s eyes drifted shut once more in response to that suggestion.
    “That’s right. . . .” the doctor continued, “go to sleep.”
    Despite not wanting to, Destra did fall asleep, and that was when she finally realized—
    It had all been real, and she really had been rescued.
     

 
     
     
    Chapter 3
     
    —THE YEAR 10 AE—

    A lara stood on the bridge of the Interloper, gazing out at stars. The bridge viewport was one unbroken