The Alorian Wars Box Set

by Drew Avera

  The tech shook his head. “I’m not a doctor, so I can’t say. All I can do is make preliminary notes to help the doctor with his diagnosis.”

  “But you’ve seen this before, right?” Brendle asked, his voice higher in pitch, like a whine, that made him self-conscious.

  “I honestly haven’t. Most of my patients have been trauma related, broken bones, contusions, and sprains. This is the first time I’ve seen this.”

  Brendle looked away, fighting the urge to think the tech was a waste of time and an excuse to have false hope for Anki’s well-being. He is nothing more than a medically trained secretary, Brendle thought madly. “How long before we arrive at the medical center?”

  The tech peered towards the forward section of the transport and answered, “six minutes.”

  “You would think the landing area would be closer to a medical facility,” Brendle whined, hating himself for it.

  “A ship the size of yours would not fit in the city, sir. That’s why we had to venture so far.” The tech’s response was reasonable, but Brendle’s vulnerability came out in a childish way. He bit his tongue as he felt the transport descend. He didn’t need flight training to know it as approach maneuver. Brendle sucked in a gasp of air and held it, trying to calm his nerves while purposely not looking at Anki lying there, two shades paler than normal, her breathing barely registering above a gentle rise in her chest.

  “Is there anything else you would like me to put in my notes for the doctor?” the tech asked.

  Brendle shook his head.

  “We have an image of the scan on this device. It was taken by our med cart,” Deis replied, handing the device to the tech. It was a small universal chip, designed to be read by scanning instead of inserting into a module. The tech took it, scanning it with an infrared scanner, and the image of Anki’s brain appeared on the monitor before him.

  “That tumor is placed in an unusual location. I’m not familiar with Luthians, and I would assume this tumor is the reason for her condition, but it looks too large to be only several months old.”

  “I thought you’ve never seen this before,” Brendle said.

  The tech looked up. “I haven’t, but I read a lot.”

  “Why don’t we let the doctor assess the situation and leave speculation out of this?” The transport grew quiet after Brendle spoke. Even the hum seemed to die down a few decibels.

  “Yes, sir,” the tech replied.

  38

  Hespha

  The long flight grated on her nerves. With Ka’Hor’al in close enough proximity for his snoring to be a distraction, she leaned her body in such a way to not have to see him−and that was when he wasn’t awake and talking her head off. The connecting flight to Inara was at capacity, but the second transport carried only her and Ka’Hor’al. It was a private transport, one of those hired by organizations which paid to be left alone during the flight as opposed to the constant chirping of a stewardess asking if you’d like a drink. As Hespha sat in the chilly transport listening to the guttural moaning of a sleeping man inches away, she missed the stewardess with the drinks.

  Who am I kidding, I miss the drinks.

  Hespha slowly rose from her seat and stalked towards the aft section of the craft. She ran her fingers along the bulkhead above the headrests of the seats. The textured, hard plastic supported her as she leaned from side to side, trying to maintain her balance. The increased g-forces made standing straight more difficult than she imagined and she longed for a transport with an FTL drive, or at least a Key for traversing from one sector to the other. Anything would be better than slowly feeling your body crushed under the weight of two of her home world’s gravitational forces. The constant listing port and starboard made the craft feel like a cradle, but instead of being lulled to sleep, she was sensitive to the shifts in her middle ear and how uneasy it made her feel.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” the relief pilot asked as she turned a corner where the laboratory was. It also contained a small den for the off-duty crew members, a luxury the “guests” did not receive. Of course, when you live on a transport ship, accommodations probably help keep morale at a manageable level.

  “I’m looking for the bathroom.”

  “Certainly. It’s on the other side of that bulkhead,” he pointed with a smile. Hespha looked back and realized she’d made a wrong turn, not that she’d gone very far in the relatively tiny vessel.

  “Thank you,” she replied, slowly turning back and bracing herself against the bulkhead. She thought it strange how the man felt comfortable under so much thrust. I suppose he’s accustomed to it, but I don’t think I could ever get used to this feeling.

  Stumbling into the bathroom, Hespha’s stomach turned with an acidic taste rising in her throat. She stopped moving, holding onto the sink counter and gazing into the small mirror. Her reflection showed a face three shades paler than normal, all the blood seemingly vanished from her cheeks. Beads of sweat formed on her brow despite the chill she felt. What the hell is wrong with me? She leaned forward, focusing on her reflection and noticing her dilated pupils.

  Without thinking about it, she sat on the toilet and pulled out her com-unit. In her mind, something wholly familiar worried her, something from her past she never thought she would experience again. As she searched the feed for the symptoms she noticed, her heart sank.

  “No,” she croaked, tears already welling in her eyes. “I can’t be pregnant.”

  39

  Ilium

  A piercing sensation pulled Ilium from his slumber, and dim lighting screamed through his slit eyes, driving him into the fetal position as he covered his head with a pillow. Moments later the reveille bells clanged, boring into his skull like a jackhammer to the point he felt his eyeballs shifting inside his head. “Make it stop,” he groaned, lacking the energy to scream or move beyond his position. He feebly hoped for death.

  A knock at his door crippled his spirit. Through cramped muscles and a pounding sensation in his head, he limped towards the door to open it, finding his new XO standing in brilliant, white light. “Good morning, sir,” Quino said with more cheer than Ilium could process.

  “Quino,” Ilium muttered. “What can I do for you?”

  “It’s nine in the morning, sir. I came to check on you.”

  Ilium took a step back, looking up at the bulkheads for the time before remembering there was no clock in his stateroom. “Nine? I just heard the reveille bells a minute or two ago.”

  Quino shook his head. “No, sir, it’s nine, three hours past. Neither you nor Lieutenant Stavis showed up on the bridge today.”

  Stavis? Ilium could barely remember the night before, but he did remember walking her to her stateroom. “Have you checked on her yet?”

  “No, but I did send someone,” Quino replied.

  “All right, can you give me some time to get dressed and I’ll be on the bridge momentarily?”

  “Of course, but are you, all right? You look like you had a rough night, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  Ilium supported himself with a hand on the bulkhead as his eyes adjusted to the brilliant light peering into his room. “I’ll be fine. I think we hit the hard Mar last night is all.”

  Quino grinned from ear to ear, his teeth showing. “You really put it on last night, sir. It was a very nice welcome.”

  “It’s the least I could do,” Ilium said, looking away from the man and facing a dim part of his room, a place he wanted to retreat to and forfeit the day as a loss instead of facing it.

  “Well, I appreciate it. I’ll leave you to get ready and meet you on the bridge?”

  Ilium nodded weakly. “Sure.”

  “Roger that,” Quino replied and faced left before stalking down the passageway, disappearing around a corner and leaving Ilium exposed to the light baking his retinas.

  “Oh, fuck,” Ilium spat, slapping the door closed and returned to the darkness. The bed on the other side of the room beckoned him, but that would be
a mistake to skip work. How do you keep a crew under control if the captain is out of control? It was a lesson he learned by example from Captain Crexon.

  Ilium dressed in a haze of misery. Nothing seemed to stop the pounding in his head, and even the dim lights in his stateroom seared his eyes with their sharp illuminance. He finally stood, awkwardly making his way to the door and out of his stateroom. The passageway felt like its own form of hell as he steadied himself, keeping a hand along the bulkhead as he put one foot in front of the other, hoping to not faceplant before achieving the captain’s chair.

  “Attention on deck,” a Sailor shouted as he entered the bridge. It felt like a slap in the face with the battle raging behind his eyes.

  “Carry on,” he groaned, wincing with each step. The bridge was a hive of activity; beeps and drones enveloping the space threatened to chase him away as he collapsed into his seat. He placed a hand in front of his face to cut down the glare, but it was useless. Stavis entered moments later, a despondent expression painted on her face to match his own. She made eye contact with him briefly, but if it pained her as much as it did him to focus on anything, then he understood all too well why she quickly looked away. At least that was the acceptable reason he hoped justified her actions.

  “Are you ready for the morning report, sir?” Lieutenant Serran Teirs asked as she approached him.

  “Is it all that different from yesterday’s report?”

  She frowned. “No, sir, all parameters are within the same thresholds.”

  He nodded. “I think I’ll skip the morning rigmarole today if you don’t mind.”

  Lieutenant Teirs looked to the XO and back at Ilium. “If you say so, sir.” She turned to walk back to her station as Ilium swept his gaze towards Quino who wore a shit-eating grin on his face. The man did not look at Ilium, but he didn’t have to in order for Gyl to know the man was enjoying every moment of this. The real question was whether Quino was behind it in any way. Mar never gave Ilium a hangover before, and he’d had enough of those to recognize this one felt different somehow.

  What are you up to? Quino peered in Ilium’s direction and made eye contact with the skipper. “How are you doing over there, sir?”

  “Fucking great,” Ilium replied.

  Fucking great.

  “Sir, there’s an unidentifiable vessel to our port side.”

  “How far?” Ilium croaked.

  “Ninety-thousand-meters and closing,” Lieutenant Teirs replied.

  “They’re coming towards us?” Ilium rose reeling from his seat and limped towards the monitor his combat control officer enlarged to get a better look at the ship. “It looks like they’re drifting sideways. Are they under thrust?”

  “It does not appear so, sir. What do you want us to do?”

  Ilium rubs his forehead, trying to force the aching away as Quino stepped next to him. “Fire on them,” Quino suggested, pulling Ilium’s attention from the throbbing behind his eyes to the man trying to make orders on his bridge.

  “And waste a valuable asset on something that is probably a dead ship that’s been floating around here for centuries? We don’t have the means for frivolous missile expenditures after our last attack.” His tone bordered on scathing before his turned his attention back to the combat control officer. “Send an exploratory probe. Let’s figure out who this ship belongs to.”

  “This was the same situation we faced before, sir,” Lieutenant Teirs reminded him.

  “Last time we sat gawking and did nothing until they fired on us.”

  “And what will an exploratory probe do in lieu of a missile?” Quino asked.

  Ilium turned to face him, wincing at the glaring light above the older man. “It will do nothing at all, which is the point. If we show our hand, then we open ourselves up to another attack, one we won’t be able to defend ourselves against. Did you read the goddamned morning reports in your brief? We don’t have the assets to ward off an enemy. If this ship goes on the offensive, then we skin out as quickly as possible.”

  “Greshians don’t run, sir,” Quino replied as a challenge.

  Ilium shot back. “The dead ones didn’t. Deploy the probe and don’t challenge my orders again.”

  “Aye, sir,” Teirs replied, her hands moving along the console before they watched a probe jettison from their port side. “It will take a minute before we receive scan data.”

  “In the meantime, keep your eyes on the target and watch for any sudden moves that might be offensive. If you see something, get us out of here.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Quino mumbled under his breath.

  Ilium let it go. If the new XO didn’t like his form of leadership, then he really wasn’t going to like Ilium’s brand of reprimand. Bide your time; you’ll have a chance to set him straight later, he told himself as he focused on the probe. Within a few moments, data populated the screen.

  “This vessel is cold as ice; even the internal scan shows an atmosphere unable to support life. The engines are dead and it’s floating, not under thrust. This ship is nothing more than space debris, sir.”

  A sense of relief washed over Ilium as he let out a sigh. “Excellent work, Lieutenant Teirs. Let’s leave it be and continue our current trajectory. We have a replenishment scheduled in twenty-seven days and I want to get there on time.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Stavis, would you meet me in the passageway?” Ilium asked as he brushed past Quino, his shoulder knocking the other man out of his way. Despite feeling like shit, Ilium was always ready for a confrontation. He hoped his not-so-subtle physical contact with Quino was enough warning for the new XO to keep himself in check. If not, Ilium certainly would.

  “Of course, sir,” Stavis replied, slowly rising from her seat.

  “XO, the bridge is yours. Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

  40

  Brendle

  Safely on the ground, the sense of urgency settled a bit as the medical techs removed Anki from the transport and ushered her inside. Brendle, followed by Malikea and Deis, stalked inside the facility, hot on the heels of the techs. “Where is a good place for us to wait in case you need us?” Deis asked.

  One of the techs pointed to a reception area crowded with people from Pila. Their pinkish skin made them stand out. Some off-worlders sat in the corner, shaded by a low-hanging partition over the windows. Their form was unlike that of a Greshian or the Pilatians. Brendle had only seen images of species such as this, their tentacles a wonderment to him. He startled, thinking, As if those appendages are any different to them as arms and legs are to me. My entire new family must look strange to others.

  “Come have a seat, Brendle,” Malikea said, pulling him out of his head and back to the real world. It seemed to him that everything was a distraction.

  “Of course,” he replied, slowly moving over to the side of the room where Deis was already seated. The eyes of the locals followed Brendle and he knew why. The answer was his skin. He wore the undeniable flesh of a Greshian. His genealogy was feared and hated across the galaxy. Here, unlike Farax, he felt it all the more with their stares. “They keep looking at me.”

  “They keep looking at us,” Deis corrected. “We’re a crew, a family, remember?”

  Brendle nodded, not speaking as a set of eyes from an old woman bore into him like the heat of a thousand flames. He felt emotion in her gaze, yet could not pull away. The harder she stared, the more difficult he found it to look away. Pain and longing sang in the sterile air between them, humming in his ears like a physical entity; and then she stood.

  “I know your kind,” she said, closing the distance between them. Despite her age, she walked with the gait of a much younger person. A self-righteous confidence exuded from her and it drew fear into Brendle’s heart.

  “I’m not here to cause problems,” he said, “my girlfriend is in trouble and we are here for her.”

  “I know what kind of people you are,” she repeated. You’
re killers in your giant ships. Your people took my son and my daughter. Your kind took my husband before them; and my mother before that. My life is full of loss because of your kind.” Her words burned with hatred and contempt.

  Brendle found himself lifting his hands defensively, but how do you defend the actions of others you know were wrong. “I’m no longer a Greshian,” he replied. “I was exiled because I spoke against the war.”

  His words had no impact. Even the pairs of eyes on either side of the woman narrowed with indignant poise. “Do you think the deaths of my family care about your words? They don’t bring back the lives taken.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything more for you. I’m not a representative of the world I was born into.” Brendle’s voice cracked nervously as his mind raced. Anxiety crippled him, caught between worrying about Anki and now causing an unnecessary scene in the waiting room. What do I do?

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I and my husband can attest to the fact this man is not who you think. He was born Greshian, but he is that no more,” Deis said as he stood. “My world was destroyed by them, but my life has been saved many times by this man. I assure you, the evil you attribute to them as a people is not indicative of the person seated before you.”

  “His people destroyed my world too,” a tentacled man said from the corner. His greenish hue lightened as he moved closer. “Millions of my people are gone, my people all but extinct so the Greshian could snuff out what they called impure. Do you think it is easy to forgive such hatred and give it quarter when it saunters back into your life?” the man, a Belatian, asked as he glided next to the woman, both glowering at Brendle.

  “I don’t know what you want me to do,” Brendle replied. “I’m sorry for the suffering they caused you. I wanted no part of it and I will have no part in it again.”