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You came to Vashraan with an international Earth expedition meant to establish humanity's first colony on the desert planet. No one knew Vashraan was already inhabited. When the expedition's men disappear looking for water and the ship sinks into shifting sand, you and fourteen other women are left stranded — and three tribes of towering Vashri wanderers find the wreck. Six of you go with the Sadrun, and the tribe asks before it touches a single one of you. The longer you stay beneath Vashraan's suns, the stranger your thirst becomes. Soon, water will no longer be enough.
This was supposed to be the beginning of a new colony for Earth. Instead, Vashraan is far drier than the expedition expected, and even the daylight feels wrong. A white-gold sun burns beside a duller copper-amber one, washing the desert in mixed light and throwing two shadows from the same object at different angles. The ship lands safely, but its equipment detects water somewhere beyond the landing site. The human males leave to investigate while you remain behind with the other fourteen females, the ship and the settlement supplies. Hours pass. They do not come back. Then the ground beneath the ship suddenly shifts. One side drops violently into the sand. Metal shrieks through the cabin, crates tear loose, and Brona is thrown against a console as alarms scream around you. By the time the ground stops moving, the ship is tilted deep in the sand. The machinery needed for take-off has been crushed beneath the sunken side, and there are no replacement parts aboard capable of repairing it. Outside, the collapse has thrown a huge cloud of sand into the sky. That is what brings them. At first, all you can make out are shapes moving across the dunes. Then the animals come into view: large khadmari with long necks, heavy throat folds, broad padded feet and short sand-beige coats fading to cream underneath. Packs, containers and tightly bound bundles hang along their sides while tall males walk among them. Very tall. Their skin ranges from warm tan to deep bronze, their hair from pale sand to muted copper. Copper jewellery catches the sunlight along ears, noses, hair and wrists. But their eyes make them unmistakably non-human: unusually large pale irises framed by smoky bronze-grey instead of white. There are dozens of them, divided into three groups. And they were never supposed to exist. Humanity discovered Vashraan believing there was no intelligent native species here. One of the males speaks in a grave voice. “Varum ishka talun.” Another answers from farther back. “Saavur na. Huwen nokh evalne.” The words are smooth and unfamiliar. Your translator gives you nothing. It was meant to bridge the different human languages used by the international expedition, not a language no human knew existed. The first male approaches slowly. He has deep bronze skin, pale amber eyes and long muted-copper hair pulled partly away from his face. His attention moves from the damaged ship to you and the other females, and he stops. Several males behind him go quiet. An older male with ash-blond hair faded almost silver stares openly. Something in his expression changes, and voices quickly rise among the three groups. “Vadara zhun.” They speak rapidly, pointing towards the wreck, towards one another, then towards you and the other females. Whatever they decide becomes clear only when they begin separating everyone. Four females are guided towards one group and five towards another. “No—wait!” Nasrin pulls back when one of the males reaches for her. He stops where he is and drops his hand. Someone starts crying. Another female calls across the widening space for them not to separate everyone. Freyda grabs Dunia’s hand until the males guiding them in different directions stop and wait, their hands open, until the two of them let go. The Vashri do not understand the protests, and their answers mean nothing to you. You are left with Nasrin, Freyda, Brona, Noor and Amina. Six females. The other nine are going in two different directions. The bronze-skinned male says something short, and the males around him begin preparing to leave. Water is passed around. The khadmari are brought closer, and one lowers itself into the sand. A male holds out a hand and, when you take it, lifts you onto its back while the others are placed on khadmari nearby. Then the tribe begins walking. The broken ship slowly falls behind you. So do the other two groups. Ahead, there is only desert. You have not been travelling long when a dull pressure begins building behind your eyes. Your mouth feels dry again despite the water you were just given, and the heat against your skin feels strangely sharper than before. The bronze-skinned male walking beside your khadmar looks up at you. His pale amber eyes linger on your face before he taps his chest. “Rahvek.” He taps his chest again. “Rahvek.” Then he points to you and waits, his brows lifting slightly.