Swimming back to consciousness, Fela swallowed back nausea. The steady rumble of the transport vehicle jostled her to full wakefulness. Even beyond her blindfold, darkness shrouded the space to where she had no sense of whether it was actually day or night. She was tired. The kind of tired where she could sleep for several days straight. The kind of tired where her muscles no longer cooperated and her mind became disoriented. Her mind drifted, allowing her to sense her surroundings. Three guards surrounded her. No way to tell how well armed they were. They sped along. Whatever vehicle they were in had no gyro stabilizers. A cramped space not designed for comfort, her hands bound behind her. The ache in her shoulder told her she’d been in this position for a while. She flexed her wrists, not wanting to draw attention to herself as she checked her restraints. Metal clamps of some sort, probably a magnetic lock.

“There’s no point in pretending that you’re still unconscious,” a voice said. “Unless you want to remain in such an uncomfortable position.”

The one thing her training always taught her was that she was going to be scared no matter what. Because she understood even more how bad a situation could turn. The key was to push her errant thoughts aside, turn her fear into something productive, and survive the situation. Fela slowly sat up. “Who are you?”

“All will be answered in good time. For now, you are our guest.”

She allowed her awareness to begin to form an image of her lead captor, their presence coalescing into a featureless shadow.

“Is it a measure of your ability as hosts that I remain blindfolded?”

“True enough. Though I don’t imagine that your view will improve much.”

They removed the covering from her head. Her mind snapped to full alertness, gauging threat assessments, ready for any opening to free herself. Two natives, wearing gray uniforms with yellow trim, escorted her. Their skin a tincture of deep blue, as if they’d been suffocated. An unsettling series of clicks and whirs began when they were aware that she was awake. Fela eyed them with a mix of suspicious glare and curiosity. The metallic box they rode in was clean to the point of sterility, like it had never seen combat, terrain, or even much use since it rolled out from its manufacture. She’d been stripped down to her nanomesh body stocking, her navsuit armor deactivated. Her biolink implant still in place, enough for Maya to translate, but other functions and signals essentially cut off from her. No one could track her.