The Alorian Wars Box Set

by Drew Avera

  “And I take it not having a designator allowed you to feed more information to Haranger?”

  “It did.”

  Quino nodded. “What caused you to leave the Telran?”

  “My tour was over, and I was due to transfer. I advanced quickly, mostly due to Haranger’s ability to make things happen on the outside. I found my own opportunities to stand out as well. A position opened on the Hamæråté and I took it. Typical career progression was to command a scout ship, and Haranger saw that I went to one in a sector he had particular interest in.”

  “What interest was that?”

  “Proximity to Farax.”

  “What about Farax?” Quino asked, looking puzzled.

  Ilium sighed. “I’m not sure. I assumed it was because of smuggling, but my time on the Hamæråté was short and I didn’t have an opportunity to perform any missions before one of his other moles incited a mutiny. After realizing what my lot in life would be on my current path, I made the mistake of going against the grain with Haranger and he took action against me.”

  Quino stopped tapping his finger on the side of his face and leaned forward. “What happened after the mutiny?”

  Ilium shrugged. “I put out an emergency message for help. Captain Crexon brought the King Slayer to my aid, and his men stormed the ship and executed the crew.”

  “The entire crew?”

  “More or less. It was a small ship and loyal to Haranger.” Hearing the words pour from his lips, guilt washed over Ilium. His heart raced as he revealed so much about his undocumented time.

  “Do you think Haranger knows you’re alive?”

  “I can only assume. With his other men dead, he has to have some inkling of an idea that I escaped.”

  “You’re probably right. Men like Haranger often depend on an accountability from their people. If you do not make contact at the designated time, then it triggers an alarm that lets them know you are either unreliable or in trouble. Depending on the trouble, different actions can take place. Over the years, I’ve seen many instances where these men ultimately catch up to the wayward contact.”

  “And what happens?” Ilium asked.

  Quino stood, walking slowly to the table with a bottle of Mar on top. With his back to Ilium, he spoke. “In most cases, the target is executed.”

  “Do you believe my story?”

  Quino pulled open the cabinet and reached inside. “I do. And I believe your loyalties have shifted to an extent where you are no longer sided with Haranger.”

  “That is precisely true,” Ilium replied. “I am loyal to the Empire.”

  “That’s what I hoped to hear,” Quino said, turning on Ilium and pointing a gun at the shocked captain. “I’ve been waiting to hear those words, so I could wrap this up.”

  “What are you doing?” Ilium asked, pushing back in his seat, trying to get out of Quino’s line of sight. “I told you I’m loyal.”

  “That’s right, you did, but that’s not going to work for Haranger. He sends his regards, by the way. He also sent me with marching orders to execute you at my earliest convenience, as well as anyone working with you. It was pretty obvious from the beginning who that would be.”

  Ilium’s eyes widened, his heart pounded. “He sent you after me?”

  “You catch on quick, Captain. Too bad it’s a skill you’re going to lose along with your life.” Quino stepped nearer, leveling the weapon at Ilium’s face. His lips curled into a sinister smile as his finger danced happily along the trigger while Ilium frantically backed himself into a corner.

  “You don’t have to do this. Stavis had nothing to do with my plans” Ilium said, his voice cracking.

  “I know, but a bounty for another kill is too much of an offer to refuse. I don’t have to do anything. But sometimes opportunities like this present themselves in such a way that you must seize them. I’ll tell Stavis you were thinking about her in the end, and don’t worry−she’ll see you on the other side, traitor.”

  As Quino’s finger met the trigger to squeeze it, the door to the stateroom burst open. Startled, Quino turned his attention to the weapon drawn on him. Before he could adjust his aim, two shots fired, each striking him in the chest, sending him crashing to the deck.

  Ilium looked on in horror. Unable to grasp what happened, he stammered, trying to find words, but found none. Coming so close to death sapped his strength and his confidence. Lieutenant Stavis dropped down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder as two men flanked the fallen XO.

  “Sir, are you, all right?”

  Ilium’s eyes darted between her and the body on the deck before him.

  She shook him. “Sir!”

  “Yeah, I think so,” he answered, not knowing if it was true.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” she said, placing an arm under him and helping him up. As she led him from the stateroom, his eyes affixed to Quino’s body, the only thought running through his mind was that he would never not be a target for Haranger. Who could he trust after an experience like this?

  As Stavis and Ilium stepped out of the stateroom, the ship shut down.

  48

  Brendle

  Waiting was a difficult game, even with his friends. Hours passed in the ever-shrinking, guarded room without even a light knock on the door to ask if they were all right. The more the conversation died, the darker his internal thoughts grew. What if Anki died? What if she was comatose for the rest of her natural life? What if? What if? What if? The questions never ceased, and neither did the anxiety-rich feeling coursing through Brendle’s body.

  “Are you still with us?” Malikea asked as Brendle’s gaze towards the not-so-distant wall grew bleak.

  Startled, he looked up as Malikea knelt next to him, his crimson robes touching the floor like a pool of blood. Like death. “Yeah, I’m still here,” Brendle lied, relieved to be prodded from his thoughts for a slight reprieve. “I could really use a walk, though. Being holed up in here isn’t doing me any good.”

  “The guard suggested this is the safest place for you,” Deis replied, his arms resting on the table.

  “You mean, for us?”

  Deis replied, “No, Malikea and I can come and go as we please.”

  “But we won’t leave you,” Malikea interjected as he placed his hand on Brendle’s shoulder. He looked at Deis with a gaze just out of view of Brendle’s peripheral vision, but based on the tensing of the man’s hand on his shoulder, he thought he could read the intention well enough.

  “I appreciate that, but please don’t lock yourselves up on my account. We’ve been on the ship for well over a month. Just getting a change of scenery outside of four white walls is enough to make a difference… not that I would know.”

  “The guard said once Anki is in a room that he will escort us. Our scenery will change soon enough,” Deis said, his tone just flat of reassuring. “Of course, that’s if he didn’t forget about us.”

  Brendle tensed at the idea of being abandoned in the room and not being up to date on Anki’s condition. Thinking of something happening without being informed felt worse than being in his current accommodations. He rose from his seat and moved swiftly to the door, sliding it lightly to one side and seeing his guard, Pwar he had come to know, sitting with his chair leaning against the wall lazily.

  Pwar looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Can I help you?”

  “I’d like an update on Anki’s condition.”

  Pwar let his chair rest on all four legs and stood. He looked up and down the hallways before shrugging. “I haven’t heard anything, but the doctor knows you’re here.”

  “Can you get in contact with him for me, just in case he forgot?” Brendle asked, just short of pleading.

  As Pwar looked down the hallway, his uncomfortable gaze settled on something, drawing Brendle’s attention to it. It was a surgeon in light, blue garb walking in a graceful gait. As the surgeon approached, Brendle realized it was a woman.

  “I’m sorry to keep you, sir
,” she said. “I just wrapped up the surgery and Anki is doing well. The tumor was not attached to the brain as most growths are, which required very little work once the skull was opened. I performed a pre-closure scan and found no other growths and no damage to the cells of her brain. I’m certain she will recover quickly and have no loss of motor function.” The surgeon spoke almost too quickly for Brendle to follow, but after a beat he thought he caught enough of it to warrant a reply.

  “Can I see her?”

  The surgeon adjusted her mask off her chin, disposing of it in the waste bin next to her. “I’m sorry, but she’s in a clean recovery room. Only doctors and nurses are permitted for the first twelve hours. She’s in a medically induced coma for the time being, but we will bring her out of it before transporting her to a regular room in the morning. I understand your accommodations are less than ideal here, so do you want me to see about having you three put in an overnight guest room?”

  Brendle nodded, “That would be excellent, thank you.” He extended his hand to her and she took it in a firm grip. The truth was, with the positive news, he wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her as tight as he could manage to show how much he appreciated her. But given this world’s view of his kind, he thought better of it. “I appreciate everything you did for her.”

  “By all means, it was my pleasure. Someone will be down shortly to see you to the guest room. If you’ll excuse me, I have my rounds to make.”

  “Certainly. Thank you again.” As the surgeon walked away, Brendle turned to Deis and Malikea as they stood behind him. “Did you hear that?” He asked, his voice raised a few pitches as relief colored his words. “She came out just fine.”

  “It’s wonderful,” Malikea said, coming to Brendle and hugging him. Deis followed suit and for a long moment they embraced one another as family, relieved to be out of the most harrowing shared moment of their lives. Greshian warships and space pirates Brendle could face all day long, but it was the emergencies outside his control and for which he was not prepared where he felt most lost.

  “Thank you for being there for me, and for Anki.”

  “That’s what family is for,” Dies said.

  Family. With each day and every dire situation, I’m learning more and more what that word means. “Always,” Brendle replied.

  “Always.” Deis and Malikea echoed.

  Epilogue: Hathlene

  Shaky hands gripped the com-unit, holding it before her as the connection was made. Hathlene hated this part of her daily ritual, giving the report to the Imperial Princess Herma of Greshia to sway the princess from retaliation. Each day the descent of her people waving their indignant freedom flags wove another thread of impending doom into the fabric of their existence. How much more of this must we bear before the end truly comes, and there is nothing I can do to stop it?

  “Ah, the good doctor. Does your philanthropy know no bounds?” Herma said into the video feed. The princess spun elegantly, the glimmering of her robes dancing in the light of the sun through the stained-glass windows of her tower. “I trust your day was well?”

  “Better than some, Princess” Hathlene replied, “and to answer your question, my philanthropy is coming at a great personal cost.”

  “As it often does when the powerful give of themselves. How are things on Pila today?”

  Hathlene sighed. “As they always are: tense with the rigid claims of sovereignty despite our silent defeat.”

  Herma laughed on the other end. “Your defeat was much louder than the meek silence of your leaders,” she replied. “Their sacrifice paved the way for this world to find favor in the eyes of the emperor, my father. Without me on this rock, what would come of this world? We are but a shadow of his empire, are we not?”

  “As you say,” Hathlene replied.

  “To hell with ‘as I say.’ Are we or are we not a shadow of his empire?” The frustration behind the princess’s voice gave Hathlene pause.

  “We are.”

  The fury behind Herma’s eyes settled and she began her poignant dance in the light once again, her feet flittering against the stone floors of her bedroom. “You know I come to look forward to our talks?”

  “I had no idea.”

  “It’s true. Do you know why I chose you for this duty?”

  “Because I’m a woman,” Hathlene answered.

  “Yes! Because women have a way of forging tighter bonds than men could imagine−and waging the harshest battles when crossed,” her voice darkened as a warning when she spoke her last few words.

  “It is as you say,” Hathlene said. “I have your report.”

  “Tell me it, please skip the melodrama of the mean streets of Dorit erupting in protests. I am growing weary of it, and my heart aches at what may come once I’ve reached my breaking point.”

  “Very well,” Hathlene said as she dropped that part of her report to the floor and moved to the next page. “Diplomats from Escher will arrive in three weeks; and they wish to meet with you regarding their surrender. They desire to have a relationship as we do.”

  “Escher? I detest their king and his people. They are savages and will not bow before my father until they see what they think is weakness in my compassion. I will not grant it.”

  “But Escher is important to our survival; we import most of our food from their world. Surely you can see how this relationship exists for the greater good of the Empire.” Hathlene’s voice bordered on pleading and she hated hearing it. Each day she kissed the ass of a woman who only preserved Pila because she needed the adulation refused her by her father.

  “Very well,” Herma sighed. She stopped dancing and took a seat in the window overlooking the city. Even over the com-unit, Hathlene could hear the protests below, and knowing the woman in the window could withdraw her position at any moment and have the protestors murdered in the streets made her stomach churn. “What else?”

  “We had an emergency landing of a space craft containing an exiled Greshian, two Lechuns, and a comatose Luthian. The Luthian had a tumor requiring removal, and initial prognosis is she will receive a full recovery and complete mental faculty.”

  “Tell me about the Greshian.”

  “There isn’t much to say. I had security place him in an isolated waiting room due to hostility from others in the medical center. He displayed no hostility in any way and appeared to be empathetic to those blaming him for their losses. I thought it was the right thing to do to ensure his safety.”

  “I agree. Do you have any of his information?”

  “Yes, I can forward it to you. When I performed a search using facial recognition, I discovered he was a Greshian naval officer and served onboard the Telran. He was found guilty of treason and exiled on a moon outside the Luthian sector. I can only assume the Luthian woman found and rescued him.”

  “Please do forward his information to me. It’s been a long time since I shared the same air as a Greshian man. I may seek his company,” Herma said.

  “Consider it done, Princess Herma,” Hathlene said with a forced smirk. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Yes, get me the name of his ship and his crew. Having use of my own warship may come of interest to me.”

  “But he was exiled, thus his loyalty no longer lies with the crown,” Hathlene replied.

  Herma laughed maniacally. “Hathlene, I’ve never met a Greshian not willing to give his life to come back into favor to the Emperor. Sometimes, you just need to give them a good enough reason to act. Best case, I ask for his help and he offers it willingly. Worst case, I remove any loyalties he has to his crew and he comes crawling back to me. Either way, I win.”

  REGIME CHANGE

  1

  Gen-Taiku

  The chirps and chimes of a near-sleeping warship flooded her ears as she crept onboard. Like most ships of her class, the Replicade bore a striking resemblance to those used by Pila in the recent war her people waged, and lost against the Greshian Empire. It was on a ship lik
e this one that she watched her civilization crumble into star dust. A shaky, timid hand scrolled across the console on the bridge. The navigation monitor sprang to life, illuminating her face in pale blue light. “Where have you come from?” She whispered, despite being alone, choosing reverence to cover her crime. A three-dimensional map appeared after deliberate fingers commanded it to do so. Gen’s eyes locked onto the string of dotted lines depicted the course and she held her breath as she realized the ship had made use of several Keys to bring her to this sector. “What are you doing here?”

  More typing of commands wrought further questions; none of which appeared to have a simple explanation. The last year’s-worth of logs showed the ship’s coordinates to be near the destruction of three worlds. Less unsettling was the log for porting in Farax. What would a warship be doing in Farax when the next port was Karanta, unless of course it was smuggling under the radar of the Greshian authorities, or perhaps aiding it?

  “Can I help you?” Pilot asked, his voice booming on the small bridge, causing Gen to turn, swinging her arms forward with her weapon leveled at the hatch leading into the bridge. But no one was there.

  “Show yourself,” she snapped, backing closer to the aft bulkhead for more cover. “I swear, I will shoot you dead-to-rights if you don’t do as I say.”

  “I am the Replicade’s artificial intelligence, and you are not a member of the crew. Perhaps I should be the one doing the shooting.”

  Gen’s eyes darted from side to side as she tried to find the source of the voice. “If that’s true, prove it.”

  From the center of the bridge, a holographic image of a Luthian man appeared. He was older, gray at his temples and his skin dark in contrast. The best Gen could tell, the man was distinctly not military. “Does this prove anything?”