2
Gwendolyn Fernandez, The Colony, Ten Minutes Earlier…
The hammer I swung was at least four feet long. The heavy, blunted end was designed to pulverize rock in the caves beneath The Colony’s surface. Designed for an Atlan or a Prillon warrior, not a five-foot-five female from Earth.
Had I been normal—still fully human—I wouldn’t have been able to lift it, let alone swing it in a wide arc and bring it crashing down on the wall in my friend, Kristin’s, living room.
I’d been at it for over an hour, and barely broken a sweat, or worked the edge off my frustration. I was a hamster on a wheel on this stupid planet, and every oversized man-child here thought I not only needed a keeper, but wanted a big, bad alpha male to tell me what to do, what to eat, what to wear. Some Prillon had offered
