on the back of the head. As blackness overtakes her vision she feels the iron-like grips of Grum loosen. I’m gonna hit the ground face first. The thought is her last one as her vision darkens and she goes limp.
*****
“are...you...okay...nasty...hit...skull...please...up...”
Jamie slowly opens her eyes, but the light makes her head feel like it is going to explode so she quickly closes them. From the feel of it she is lying on something soft and that doesn’t make sense to her. The last thing she remembers is getting hit on the head by the Astara who was holding her from behind. Grum...his name was Grum, she thinks.
“Are you okay? You took a nasty blow to the skull. I need you to wake up if you can.”
The voice speaking to her is husky and deep. It sounds somewhat like the voice of the Astara who kept the man with the blackjack from hitting her, but she isn’t for sure if it is the same. She can’t even remember the name of the alien who kept her from being hit, but she is sure that she heard his name.
“Bol. Your name is Bol.” She opens her eyes just a slit.
He is standing over her with a smile on his face. “Indeed it is. How do you feel?”
“The lights.”
“Of course.”
She hears his footsteps retreat and then a small clicking sound. The lights dim in intensity and she opens her eyes all the way up. She tries to sit up and almost succeeds before the pain in the back of her head gets to her. Falling back with a groan, she puts a hand to the back of her head and feels a bandage.
“Sorry that I had to cut your hair, but you had a pretty nasty cut on the back of your head where Grum hit you.”
“You cut my hair?” She feels around on her scalp and sure enough she only has hair on the top of her head. “Why is my hair like this?”
“I had to cut the back so I could get to the wound on you scalp. I figured that you would not want it left that way, so I styled it in the manner of our warrior women.”
“A mohawk? Really?”
“Yes. We have very few warriors that are women these days, but they still cut their hair in this way.”
“Great. I’ve got a mohawk.”
“I am sorry that you are not pleased with the haircut, but what is done is done and there is nothing that can change it. Would you like to sit up and try to drink something?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me help you.”
Jamie begins to sit up on her own, but the Astara is there in a flash and holding her back with his strong arms. Her head swims as she sits up, but she manages to stay sitting up. Bol walks over to a small fridge at the opposite end of the room and opens it. When he comes back he has a drink in a can. From the looks of the can it is some kind of really old soda, but her mouth is very dry and she is in no position to scoff at the drink. She takes the can and holds it high.
“Beggars can’t be choosers.” She drinks deeply and is surprised to find that the soda is still carbonated.
“That they cannot. Especially if they are Astaran beggars and inside the walls of the Camp Venogar.”
Suddenly, Jamie realizes exactly where she is and how badly these aliens have been treated over the last twenty years. She holds the can out and studies it for a moment. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier Bol. I forget my manners sometimes. Thank you very much for the drink.”
“Do not apologize. It is how I am used to being treated by humans.”
“Please don’t think we are all like that. We aren’t. I for one think that keeping you and your people in these camps is a disgusting misuse of power by the government. Let alone a criminal act. I truly am sorry.” She holds out a hand. “My name is Jamie Gettner and I am a reporter with the Gazette.”
“Long life to you Jamie Gettner of the Gazette. I am Bol previously of Sendara now of Camp Venogar.”
Jamie shakes his hand and takes another drink of the soda. As she drinks she looks around Bol’s home. It seems to just consist of one room with a kitchenette and a