The Last Narkoy_OSLO

by Elizabeth Price

  “Do we have Gathow on the com?” she called out overly calm.

  “Yes, Captain,” the com officer called back.

  “Gathow, this is the Assan. Have you been monitoring our communications?” she called out.

  Moments later, Danstu appeared on the main viewscreen. “Captain,” he began with a head nod. “I see the Braum is up to his old ways,” he began.

  “How would you like us to proceed?” she asked.

  He glanced down at his computer before him, smirking. “Speaking of the devil. Hold and do not attack unless fired upon,” the screen blanked with the Tasgool’s two moon insignia.

  In his office, Danstu attempted to flex away his devilish grin. He cleared his throat and tapped his com. An image of an embarrassed and confused Jasper Daveric filled the screen.

  “Braum Daveric, I was just made aware of a situation in the Nevet system. Can I assume you are aware of this as well?” Danstu began.

  Jasper nodded several times, his dark skin glistening with sweat. “Chisarel, yes, yes, I’ve been informed. Since when does the Tasgool have battleships roaming about?” he asked with a scowl to his dark, thick lips.

  “The Chadon thought it was time for some added protection, so she commissioned a few ships,” Danstu returned cryptically, even though they only had one ship at the moment. “Braum, how would you like to see this play out? The… ore,” he grinned, knowing that the Braum knew as well as he did there was no ore, “is vital to the Tasgool. We don’t need the Dormin’s help collecting it,” he hinted.

  Jasper’s tongue glided over his pearly white teeth. “Ore that you’re willing to lose an ally over?” he pointed out. Danstu nodded slowly. “Okay, Chisarel, I’m not one for playing games. Is it the Oslo or not?” he came right out.

  Danstu chuckled, finding the Braum’s question amusing. He wasn’t about to give away their secret. “No, it is not the Oslo. The Oslo isn’t anywhere near the Nevet system, at least not that I’m aware of at the moment,” he mentioned. “But it does have something to do with the Narkoy. And if I remember correctly, you promised the Chadon you would stay clear of Narkoy affairs,” he added.

  “I did say that,” he grumbled behind his frustration. “And she would tell you that,” he growled. Danstu nodded. He sighed deeply as he typed in commands off-screen. “They’re being recalled.”

  “Braum,” Danstu said with a nod.

  On board the Assan, the crew watched as the Dormin’s ships slowly turned back to where they came from. Cembre glanced at her tactical officer, smirking her amusement. “Looks like we win this one,” she stated. “Now… time to find an invisible ship.”

  Commander Miserin motioned to talk with her privately. “Are we expecting anyone else?”

  “We’re in a Tasgool ship. The war between the Marisheio and the Narkoy was started because of these ships. Expect everyone to be looking for us. We could really use some additional Tasgool ships to watch our backs.”

  “I’m certain the Chisarel is working on it,” he mentioned low.

  Cembre nodded. “I’m sure, along with everything else on his plate. Let’s not hold our breaths. As soon as we find the Azeran we can return to the safety of Matrador.”

  THREE

  The rusty cot beneath Zion squeaked as he woke. His dark skin glistened in the pale light from a cold sweat. Gasping breaths of panic entered his lungs as he felt to his bare chest. He leveled to his elbow, looking around at his surroundings. Blinking uneasily, he searched the dark cave he was lying inside for any sign of where he was. Other than a dank smell in the air he couldn’t tell. He rubbed his eyes to clear the darkness and the sweat away.

  Painstakingly, he rose from the cot, feeling the tightness of the bandages around his stomach. Had he been shot? No… stabbed by something. But what stabbed him? The fuzz in his head kept him from thinking straight. It was a knob from the emergency doors. It shot into his stomach when the ship impacted with the ground. He felt to his stomach, finding a thick white bandage wrapped tightly around it. The bandage was still slightly moist with blood.

  In a cot beside him lay Rosanheer. He was unconscious, his head wrapped with a bandage. His thick, long black hair had been shaved off completely to reveal yet even more tattoos across his scalp. It was then Zion fully believed there wasn’t an inch of the man that didn’t have some type of tattooed art.

  He tapped Rosanheer’s muscular arm, attempting to wake him. “Hey, Rosan,” he whispered.

  “Save your strength. He’ll be unconscious for a while. He took a hard hit to his head, causing a blood clot in his brain. It was touch and go until this morning. Our doctor has him heavily sedated while he recovers,” the voice of a man spoke from the right side of the room.

  A dark-skinned Clove man stood from a desk in the dark corner of the room and walked over to Zion’s bed. He was a thick man, but not very muscular. He looked like a man who had spent the majority of his life behind a desk. He wore a simple white shirt and a pair of black uniform pants. His dark hair was buzzed short and he had a three-inch scar from a recent injury above his lip.

  Quietly, he swung a metal chair from the foot of the bed, setting it beside Zion. Several seconds passed before he took a seat, which confused Zion. Why did he wait to sit?

  The man tapped his ear as he sat. “Confirm and inform him I will contact him shortly. One of the Tasgool’s team just woke. I’m speaking with him now,” he responded, answering Zion’s question indirectly. The man was listening to an earpiece.

  His weight shifted the cot slightly, causing Zion to believe the floor wasn’t natural. In no way did he look threatening to Zion, even though he couldn’t read the man’s thoughts. He felt his head, realizing he also had a bandage on his forehead.

  “You were the lucky one in your group,” the man began. “You managed to escape with only a few cracked ribs and a small concussion. I consider it a miracle really. I’ve already contacted the Chisarel and informed him of your situation. He claims you are the leader of this team,” the man explained.

  Zion nodded slowly, feeling his brain pound within his skull. “What is our situation and who are you exactly?” Zion asked with heaving, painful breaths.

  “Call me Aris. It’s better for all involved if you don’t know my given name. We are the Novaac. Consider us allies, fighting for the same cause,” he said as he guided Zion back into his cot. “Rest and know you have friends watching out for you. We’ll talk when you’re up to it,” he assured.

  “What about Sortec? Is she safe? I saw her--” he asked, but the man continued to walk away without answering. Zion called out again. “I’m up for it. What happened to my crew? Aris, I need to know!”

  “What about Sortec?” Orion asked from the cot on the other side of Rosanheer.

  “Doc, that you?” Zion called.

  “Most of me… I think,” Orion groaned.

  Zion dragged his body from the cot and hobbled over to Orion’s bedside. With pain filled eyes he examined the man who was lying motionless in his cot. The doctor was bandaged from head to toe with only a few scraps of hair sticking out of his bandages around his scalp.

  “What happened to you?” he asked with seething words. He held his hand tightly to his bandaged ribs, hoping the pressure would help his pain.

  Orion peered down his thin nose to his bandaged legs. “It looks like most of my body is covered in second and third-degree burns,” he began in a muted mumble, unable to speak clearly due to the bandages around his jaw and lips. “I have a broken right arm, fractured tibia, and a concussion. Thanks to painkillers, it’s… not bad. We’re lucky, considering the shape of our ship. Did Aris tell you what happened to Sortec?” he asked, not bothering to rise from his cot for obvious reasons.

  Zion sunk into the empty cot beside Orion’s, shaking his head. “No. I don’t believe he knows anything yet. I can’t recall what happened. I remember her screaming and then I was hit in the head by something. After,” he shrugged. He paused to look around the room. “In
teresting place.”

  Orion grunted. “The Novaac showed up shortly after we crashed and rescued us before the Marisheio arrived. The three of us were the only ones left inside the ship,” he explained as he motioned to Rosanheer.

  “Do you remember what happened?” Zion questioned.

  Orion nodded. “We were shot down. The first hit cracked the cockpit shield. Captain Qilo was ejected as we were falling towards the planet. You jumped into his seat and took over the controls. The next shot hit our hall, ripping a gaping hole. Sortec was sucked out instantly. Tremble jumped after her. Neither had shoots…” he paused, holding back his shuddering breaths.

  “They’re alive. Don’t think otherwise until we’ve received news,” Zion encouraged the doctor. He didn’t need his telepathy to know how hopeless the doctor felt.

  “Um… yeah. Rosanheer strapped me in but didn’t have time to secure himself before we crashed. He was knocked around pretty hard. I overheard their doctor say he fractured his skull and jaw. After we hit the ground, the aft engine exploded and I was caught in the flames,” he explained in seething words.

  “Did you say Tremble jumped?” Zion returned astonished. He was unsure he even had the guts to jump out a ship to save anyone, let alone his leader. “That’s one hell of a woman,” he admitted.

  “Let’s hope she survived. I have my doubts either survived,” Orion added.

  The two men took a moment to look around the room. They were in a cave with ceilings so low Zion had to hunch over when he stood. By the amount of dust on the floor, their new friends had recently acquired the space.

  “I’m not certain what’s going on, but I do know we’re in a lot of trouble if our new friends aren’t what they claim to be,” Zion mentioned in a whisper.

  A woman cleared her throat behind Zion, causing him to turn to her. She was an attractive Clove woman with long black hair, tied back into a braid, and light green skin. Her muscles bulged slightly from her low-cut brown uniform shirt. She only stood to his clavicle, but he could tell her size didn’t bother her. She stood against him with the authority and the confidence that she could and would drop him to his knees if she needed to.

  “Rest your minds at ease. We are who Aris says we are. We have no love for the Marisheio Empire and we are trying to stop them. Your Tasgool are our perfect allies and we are happy to help you,” she explained.

  Orion’s head fell against his pillow so he could see the woman. “Hate the Marisheio? Why ware their uniform?” he pointed out, motioning to the bars she wore on the collar of her tan uniform shirt. The bars were given to signify a high-ranking officer in the Marisheio army.

  She grinned sarcastically. “Most of us are ranking Marisheio officers. It makes for a good cover. It also provides us with information many aren’t privy to. Understand, we are not given the choice to join the Marisheio. As children, we’re constantly tested for our unique skills. If we have skills they require, well… we join or they murder our family,” she said with a shrug. “Many have no want to be Marisheio, but if we leave—”

  “They’ll kill you,” Orion pointed out. She nodded. “It’s extremely dangerous for you,” Zion pointed out.

  “Only if we’re caught. In my case, I have no family, so I have nothing to lose.” She turned her attention to Zion. “You are Zion?” she questioned. He grunted. “Aris asked me to fetch you. When you’re ready, you can freshen up in the restroom over there,” she said, pointing to the left, down a hallway beyond the main room they were in. She started to walk away without further explanation.

  “And you are?” Zion called.

  “Call me Jeina,” she called back. “Our leaders are waiting to talk with you. We have a lot to go over,” she informed. She returned to his side, forcing him to turn to her, “You are the leader of this team, correct?”

  Zion grunted. “I’m authorized to make decisions if that’s what you’re asking. We’re missing three members of our team, including our leader,” he mentioned.

  Jeina’s braid bounced over her shoulder as she nodded. “Yes, the Chadon. The Chisarel informed us she was onboard your ship. As soon as we’ve located them, we’ll inform you immediately.”

  He followed her to the restroom. “Sortec?” he asked, pinning her against the wall so she couldn’t squirm away. “I need to know where the Chadon is. If you have any information,” he insisted, speaking in a whisper. He fell forward, clutching his stomach, week from his blood loss.

  She shook her head, helping to keep him upright. “It’s not like you could do anything about it right now. You need time to heal. When we know something, so will you,” she explained.

  “What would happen if someone does recognize her?” Zion questioned. Jeina turned away, unable to look him in the eyes. He took hold of her forearm, squeezing it gently. “I’m a full Zalmin. No need to sweeten your words for my sake,” he mentioned.

  “A mind-reader, hum? I’ll remember that. Well… our leaders are anxiously waiting to speak with you. I suggest you clean up. You’re not used to the dank air and it’s causing your body to emit a foul odor.” She slipped away from his grasp and left him to bathe in peace.

  Zion glanced into the restroom then back to the hall. “Where do I go from here?” he called out.

  “I’ll return for you,” she called back, her voice echoing down the tunnel halls.

  He turned to the restroom, finding a long wall of shower heads and opaque cubicles. On the opposite wall stood shelves loaded with towels and supplies. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but she was correct, he did stink.

  When he stepped out of the shower, there was a fresh set of clothing and a new pair of black boots waiting for him. He searched the room for anyone, never having heard anyone enter.

  He unsteadily looked into the mirror above a long row of sinks. Within the misty mirror, he could see his tanned image. The skin of his face was a mess of cuts and bruises. The pupil of his right eye was surrounded by a thin blue ring. He closed his eyes, trying to recall what happened to the Mawan, but he simply couldn’t remember.

  “Damn it, Sortec!” he growled, smacking his hands on the sink counter. “What have you gotten us into this time?”

  “Is everything okay in there?” Jeina called out from the hallway.

  Zion dried his face and his hair. “Yes. I’ll be right out,” he said in a rush of words. He dressed, surprised at how well the clothes fit him and hurried back to the hallway.

  Jeina was standing in the hallway when he exited. She examined him, smirking. “Good, they fit. We don’t often have men your size come through here,” she explained. She held up a glass of green liquid in her right hand and handed it to him. He took it, sniffing it. It smelt like a mixture of ship fuel, rancid meat, and rotting roots.

  “What is this?” he asked, recoiling from the smell.

  “It’s called dool. Drink it quickly and it won’t taste bad,” she encouraged.

  “Why?” he griped.

  “It will put hair on your chest,” she returned.

  “I’m Zalmin. We don’t grow hair—” Zion growled.

  “Just DRINK it!” she demanded.

  Zion gulped down the dool, wishing he hadn’t. He gulped back the gagging sensation that clouded his throat. “Never… again!” he coughed, shoving the glass into her hand.

  She took the glass, sniffing it. “I guess it’s an acquired taste. It helps with the healing process,” she assured. “The command room is this way.”

  Zion followed her down a long hall and into another large cavern. Three dozen people shuffled about the room, all from species from across the galaxy. Many of the people had tattooed slave brand marks on their necks. Nearly all bore nasty scars as if they had seen a lot of battle.

  Jeina grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to continue further into the room. “Everyone here has a story, but we have no time to hear them now,” she said as they neared a large round console where Aris and three other men stood. She introduced them all to Zion, but his mind was sti
ll too fuzzy from the crash to remember all of their names.

  “Chisarel, he’s with us now,” Aris called out.

  “Our viewing board is down. We’re on audio only,” a young woman spoke from a console off to the side of the group.

  “Good. Zion, report,” Danstu’s voice vibrated from a speaker within the round console.

  “Chisarel, uh,” he paused, rubbing his forehead in the hopes he could fight back his headache. “My information is limited. I basically just woke and found myself here along with Orion and Rosanheer. I’m under the understanding that Sortec, Tremble, and Qilo are MIA.”

  Aris stood to Zion’s left, drumming his fingers on the console. Seeing Zion start to sway, he took hold of his shoulder, helping him to remain upright.

  “Chisarel, this is Aris. You’re man, Zion, had a rather hard landing and is still recovering from a head injury. We haven’t had the opportunity to brief him on the situation,” he explained.

  “Chisarel, this is Avant Nigeer. I’m currently in charge of the search for your people,” an older Clove man to Zion’s right spoke up. “Your Captain, Kyesse Qilo, was recovered some distance from the wreckage by Marisheio forces. He was immediately transported to the hospital and is being treated for his wounds. Unfortunately, he was registered as missing by the Mandicien government. They are allowing the Mandicien to reclaim him as soon as he’s able to travel. As for your two women, we are still searching. There are rumors a Narkoy woman was spotted along the road heading towards the city.”

  “The situation with Qilo is unfortunate, but he’s not in any immediate danger. Zion, how are you feeling?” Danstu asked.

  Zion closed his eyes, fighting back a nagging headache. “Well enough to continue my duties, sir,” he returned, his voice filled with pain.

  “No, I don’t think that would be advisable. I need you at your best. I can hear your pain in your voice. Rest for a day or two,” Danstu countered. “As soon as possible, I need you to return to Gathow. I’m arranging a team to join you in Horgrea, if that is acceptable to you, Aris.”