Prisoner of War - Present Day

-In the Planet Balia, located in the goldilocks zone of the Kira Star System-

The day should have been glorious. It was the first time in four years where I was exempt from attending the Victory Parades. In the Gondriol dome the Balians celebrated Pagua's downfall and my former life's destruction. They probably played the same horrible music and showed the same poorly edited video footage of the war, over and over. While I was glad I wasn't invited or coerced to go, I also wondered why they had snubbed me. Maybe the Balian government had forgotten about me, but I doubted that was the case.

Toro followed me through the empty Balian streets and I talked to forget the aching hunger gnawing at my stomach. "How would you feel if you had to watch video footage of your comrades being killed?" I said. All I heard from him was the shuffling sound his feet made as he stepped on the snow.

"What would you say?" I continued. "That leg seems familiar. Oh yes, I believe it belonged to a soldier who had three kids and lovely, auburn hair. Do you think she survived without her leg?"

I knew I was being morbid, and Toro ignored me as usual.

I was hungry because my food hadn't been delivered that morning, and my dependence on the Balian government for nourishment reminded me of their invisible leash. Because no matter how much questionable freedom I enjoyed within the confines of Baliana, I was still a prisoner even if the war had been over for four years. Because the Victory Parades were like sharp fingernails that picked at the scabs of my never healing wounds, even if I didn't have to attend them.

I stopped to look through the frosted windows of a food store, and considered breaking the glass. Toro would throw a fit, but at least we would eat. Then I remembered the spyeyes that hovered above us. They'd record us and the government officials would find a way to punish me later. They'd shut down the heat at the embassy for a week, or not allow me to go out during the day.

I was the annoying girl they had to put up with in case they needed me for something in the future. Those had been Count Eu's words, not mine.

The unappetizing bland bread thing on display just wasn't worth it. Not that there was anything particularly scrumptious to eat in Balia. I missed real meat, spices, oils, and mostly, any kind of food that didn't come in cans. After four years, the Balians still refused to acknowledge that Utanians, or the one lonely Utanian who lived on their gelid planet just needed more food than they did to survive. We have faster metabolisms, and the cold made it even worse.

"If I were allowed to fly I could scan the city from above," I said. "Something must be open, and if we find someone who'll sell us food, I'll never complain about Balian cooking again."

I knew Toro wouldn't answer. He had acquired the ability to say more through silence than through words. He had been assigned to guard me the day I was sent to my new home and prison, also known as the former Paguan embassy. Utania had no embassy in this galaxy. If it had, I could have probably appealed to them and ask to be released from my extended imprisonment.

At first I had thought Toro was a droid because of his monotone voice and mechanical responses that consisted of two words: yes and no. Even though his tone had softened over the years, I was yet to see him display a varied range of emotions.

I had gotten used to his two moods. The impassive, everyday Toro who kept to himself, and the furious Toro who probably hated me and his job.

Flying was a particularly touchy subject with him. It was among the long and ridiculous set of rules and prohibitions I lived with. No engaging in political conversations with the Balians. As if I cared about Balian politics. If approached by a Balian and obliged to converse, never glorify the war, Pagua, or Solano. The less I thought about the three, the better, and no Balians ever spoke to me anyway. No communicating with someone outside of Balia. What could I use to communicate with another planet? Radio broadcasts? Remain inside the former Paguan embassy during nighttime. I preferred my dank, cold prison-home over the freezing outdoors anyway.

No flying, even if my life was in danger. The government officials had made that rule very clear. A few months after I arrived, I flew to the rooftop of a nearby building to get a better view of the city, ignoring Toro's warnings. Three guards parachuted down out of nowhere and surrounded me. Before I was able to fly away, they caught me in a net and dragged me over the icy streets to the embassy as I cursed them and tumbled behind.

I had never seen Toro so mad, except for the time I attacked an annoying spyeye that kept slamming into the wall. In my defense, it was already dying. The all-seeing hovering cube seemed to be running out of battery, which was why it had trouble hovering. I put it out of its misery by chucking it out the window and it crashed into a man's head. The man ran away, terrified. I laughed until Toro came back with the dead spyeye and yelled at me for the first time. After that incident, I had to endure an even more silent silent treatment that lasted at least two weeks. It was worth it; laughter was a scarce commodity, and I'd cherish every second of it even if it meant dealing with Toro.

After turning several corners, I had to admit that we were wasting our time. All the citizens of the dreary Balian capital seemed to have gone to the dome. The stillness, however, was comforting. The buildings had coats of snow and ice and the place looked drabber than usual without the bustle of furry dresses strolling around. Even Toro seemed relaxed, and this was a man with a permanent frown etched on his forehead.

I kept my gaze down instinctively even though there'd be no one to yell at me. Most of the citizens had gotten used to my walks around the city and ignored me. It wasn't as if l blended in. The massive wings on my back and dark hair and skin weren't hard to miss among the paler, wingless Balians. Sometimes people stopped to gape at my back. Other times they hissed at me, or yelled for me to go home.

I would go home if I had one. There was a time when the concept of home was clear and tangible. First Utania, then Pagua. But Utania had never felt quite right for me. For all its beauty and tranquility, it made me restless. Pagua was a Balian province now and I had no real home. Maybe if the war hadn't happened, I'd still be living in the Paguan countryside with Solano. I'd be content with his company and the freedom to carry out all the projects we started together.

So many unanswerable ifs and what ifs, and so little certainty. What would my life be like if I had never left Utania? If only Solano had surrendered before it was too late. If only I had known they wouldn't deliver my food today.

What if I have to live out the rest of my life in this freezing hellhole?