Imperatrix of the Galaxy

by Tristan Vick

  A Cosmic Alliance Novel

  THE CHRONICLES OF

  JEGRA

  IMPERATRIX OF THE GALAXY

  BOOK 2

  TRISTAN VICK

  A REGOLITH PUBLICATIONS BOOK

  The Chronicles of Jegra: Imperatrix of the Galaxy

  A Cosmic Alliance Novel (Jegra Book 2)

  By Tristan Vick ©2018. All Rights Reserved

  Published by Regolith Publications

  First Edition, copyright © November 20, 2018.

  Edited by Sheila Shedd

  Cover art by Jackson Tjota

  Interior book design by Tristan Vick

  www.tristanvick.com

  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people without the permission of the publisher or author. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in the novel are products of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1984066053

  ISBN-10: 1984066056

  See the full-size version of the maps by clicking…

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  IMPERATRIX OF THE GALAXY

  1

  Emperor Dakroth’s escape pod spun uncontrollably through a star spackled percheron black expanse. Distant stars blurred as the chaotically whirling craft spiraled into the infinite blackness. And the cold of space offered little comfort to those lost in its vast, inhospitable domain.

  Unconscious, Dakroth slumped over in his cockpit, the safety harness of his seat keeping him firmly strapped in amid the crackle of sparks that hissed and fizzed from dislocated paneling that sprouted wires like stiff copper hairs. The structural integrity alarm blared noisily throughout, as though the ship were crying out in agony. The escape yacht twisted counterclockwise in a shambolic summersault, cutting its way through empty space. Behind it floated a sparkling trail of debris that glinted in the light of a distant star like the glittering tail of a comet.

  As the escape yacht tumbled unsteadily, a looming shadow fell across the hull of the battered vehicle and a loud clunking sound, the sound of mechanical jowls opening wide, rang above the alarm. All of a sudden, the spacecraft lurched to a halt. The abrupt jolt aroused Dakroth to consciousness.

  Groggy, Dakroth rubbed his aching head and squinted through bloodshot eyes as he looked out the front view portal to see a giant scavenger perched above him, its magnetic grappling hook tethered to his hull. Another jolt kicked him back in his seat and soon his disabled vessel was being reeled into the cavernous bay area of the mammoth ship above him.

  As he came into view of the ship’s insignia, he let out a sigh from the corner of his mouth and grumbled. “Bloody space pirates.”

  With a bout of frustration, he slammed his fist on the control panel and killed the alarm. Its winding down sounded like a slow-motion video going off the reel and then the main control panel blew. Sparks shot up in a brief, excited display and then faded away again just in time to be replaced by a haze of white electrical smoke.

  Dakroth raised an eyebrow at the fussiness of his luxury pod and then ignored the commotion. The fire-dampening shields were already busy working on putting out the burning console.

  Once fully inside the pirate vessel, heavy bay doors clanked shut behind the escape yacht and the artificial grav-plating kicked on. The pod crashed to the deck of the cargo bay with a resounding clang and then tilted onto its edge, rocking back gently until it came to a standstill.

  Dakroth undid his harness and slid out of his seat. Stumbling to the floor of the pod, which was set at an awkward angle due to the haphazard landing, he staggered to his feet and made his way to the rear hatch.

  As if on cue, when he reached the exit, a rugged voice from outside hollered a customary warning in anticipation of making first contact. “You in there, come out and surrender your vehicle to us. You and your vessel are now the property of Novac Tamoran, King of the Space Pirates!”

  Dakroth slapped the panel on the door, but it bleated at him disgruntledly as if to say “don’t bother me.” Raising an orange glowing index finger, Dakroth aimed at the control panel next to the hatch and released a powerful blast of energy. The door blew off its hinges and flew into the center of the cargo bay where it crashed to the ground and skidded ten meters, kicking up a spray of hot white sparks before screeching to a halt.

  “I wish to register a complaint,” Dakroth said, stepping out of the damaged pod with as much regal pomp and circumstance as he could muster, given his condition.

  “Stay where you are!” a menial pirate ordered, holding up a blaster. A quick peripheral glance made him aware of the fact that there were three others in the room, all with disruptor pistols trained on him, but Dakroth ignored them as though they were unimportant, not worth his time or energy, and casually continued striding toward the cargo bay doors.

  The first man stepped into Dakroth’s path and puffed up his chest. Still holding the blaster in his right hand, he raised his left, gestured for Dakroth to halt, then reissued the order. “Stop where you are, or I’ll shoot.”

  Dakroth rolled his eyes, held up his luminous finger, and shot the man dead with a red laser beam. His finger then cooled again, returning to its normal, cobalt blue hue.

  The pirate collapsed to the ground, a shocked look frozen on his face. A small hole smoldered in the center of his forehead. Dakroth paused long enough to scan the terrified faces of the pirate crew and then asked, “Anyone else want to order me to do their bidding?”

  The other pirates withdrew their weapons and stepped back, making way for Emperor Dakroth, who grinned at his own supremacy.

  “That’s what I thought.” Letting out a sigh of inconvenience, he stepped over the dead body and came to the double standing doors that led out of the cargo hold and into the main body of the ship. He tapped the panel to open them and they whisked apart.

  Before he could step across the threshold, however, a pair of black boots stood in his way. When he looked up he saw a familiar bald head with an elegant, red face, and a series of black tribal tattoos. Two golden eyes glared back at him with the cold, unfeeling detachment that he knew so well.

  “Ishtar Bantu?” he said, perplexed by the presence of his personal assassin.

  “What can I say?” she answered, a malicious grin spreading across her thin, burgundy lips. “Work has been hard to come by these days.” Ishtar jammed a taser-rod into Dakroth’s ribs, zapping him with enough volts to render him little more than a spastic blue tangle of limbs on the floor before her.

  “Red-skinned-bitch,” Dakroth barked through a clenched jaw and gritted teeth.

  Ishtar brushed off his insult and then kicked him in his nut sack just to remind him who held the upper hand.

  Dakroth groaned with what might be taken for pleasure and then looked up at her with a lecherous grin. “I didn’t know you liked to play so rough,” he taunted. “Best be careful; you’re getting me hard.”

  She grinned superficially at him again, her white teeth shining lustrously as she dialed the taser-rod up to one-hundred and fifty milliamps and fried him again, jamming the taser-rod right into his lower gut.

  He stiffened and groaned as the volts of electricity surged through his body. Once she let up on the switch, Dakroth twitched on the floor plates like a fish on dry land, gasping for air.

  Enraged, Dakroth spat out another threat. “When I get my hands on that taser-rod, I’m going to ram it right up your two-timing c—”

  Fed up with his slew of meaningless insults, the crack of her bo
ot quickly rendered him unconscious. “There. Much better,” she said, looking down at the unconscious Dagon. With that, she bent over, grabbed Dakroth’s left ankle, and dragged him into the ship and up the corridor and then disappeared from view.

  As the cargo bay doors automatically slid shut, the remaining pirates glanced around at one another to confirm that was who they thought it was, and then, with one simultaneous shrug, they went to work dismantling the small shuttle as they broke it down for spare parts.

  When Dakroth finally roused back to consciousness, he found himself sitting in a state-of-the-art holding cell wearing nothing but a loincloth. Looking up, he saw Ishtar Bantu standing in front of his cell alongside Novac Tamoran.

  Dakroth rose to his feet and walked over to the energy field that prevented him from escaping and, with a gesture of his hands that drew attention to his naked form, growled, “Where are my clothes?”

  “Nice to see you again too, my dear Rhadamanthus,” Novac said, ignoring Dakroth’s previous inquiry.

  “That’s Emperor Dakroth to you, Tamoran.”

  “That’s King Tamoran to you, my dear emperor.” Tamoran smiled at him, as if to say checkmate, which aggravated Dakroth’s already agitated state. He had little patience for such trivial chitchat.

  Insulted by Tamoran’s posturing, Dakroth raised his finger and tried to blast through the energy shield of his cell, but to his surprise, nothing happened. He examined his blue finger with a perplexed look.

  Tamoran cleared his throat. “Dampening field,” the pirate informed him. “As long as you are in there,” he said, nodding his head at Dakroth’s cell, “your powers are rendered useless.”

  Dakroth lowered his finger and shot Tamoran a cold glance. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk off the infernal pirate’s mouth. But Tamoran had the upper hand, and Dakroth decided it best not to test the so-called pirate king’s resolve.

  “What do you want, Tamoran? I mean,” he paused, mulling over how best to rephrase it, “how may I serve you oh mighty King Tamoran of the noble and illustrious pirates?” Dakroth didn’t even try to hide his glibness.

  Tamoran’s grin turned up into a cruel snarl, and he laughed softly to himself. Even if Dakroth didn’t actually mean it, he’d still said it. King of the pirates. And that was victory enough, in his estimation. “I have it on good authority that you’ve chosen a new empress.”

  Dakroth raised an eyebrow. “Should that be such a surprise? I’ve had many wives.”

  “None that have survived your psychotic tendencies,” Ishtar chimed in.

  Dakroth shot her a stern glance and then relaxed. “That’s why I’ve never married you, my dear. I enjoy your company too much.”

  She grinned back at him with what seemed genuine amusement, but it quickly melted from her face. After all, she was still nursing a grudge against the empress, Jegra Alakandra, for besting her at the Cove. And Ishtar swore that if their paths ever crossed again, it would be Jegra who paid the ultimate price.

  Perhaps worse was the fact that she felt scorned by Dakroth for choosing Jegra over her as his companion. That pissed her off to no end, because she was secretly in love with him. Well, if she couldn’t have him, then no one could. Which is why she had struck a deal with Novac Tamoran, the pirate king, in the first place.

  First, she’d use Dakroth to lure Jegra to her. Then, as the unsuspecting mouse entered her trap, she’d kill her rival and win Dakroth’s affection back. He always did prefer violent women most of all. Far be it from her to disappoint her emperor.

  Meanwhile, it was almost certain that Dakroth would pay Novac Tamoran whatever he wanted in exchange for his freedom, which is why Ishtar had convinced the pirate king to ask for his own personal battlecruiser. This would solidify Tamoran’s sovereignty in the sector, crowning him the one true king of the pirates. At the same time, it would obligate him to her in a way which ensured he couldn’t ever betray her. Not without invoking her ire and risk losing everything she had helped him attain.

  After all, if she was willing to go through such extremes to kill the Emperor of the Galaxy, she would be more than willing to dispatch a lowly space pirate who had delusions of grandeur.

  “It’s a pity you didn’t invite me to the wedding,” Tamoran said, his grin fading into a reprimanding scowl.

  “Save your scolding for someone who cares,” Dakroth balked, waving his hand in front of his face as though he were shooing away a pesky housefly.

  “Regardless, I shall meet her soon enough. In fact, I’m rather quite looking forward to meeting the new Empress of the Dagon Empire,” Tamoran said, linking his hands behind his back in a sage-like stance.

  “Wait, what? Meet her?” Dakroth looked to Ishtar for clues, but she merely smiled at him again, which was no help at all. Scanning back to Tamoran, Dakroth clamped his slack jaw shut. “Jegra is coming here? Why in Dagon would she do that?”

  “Is it not the empress’s job to ensure the safety of the emperor at all costs?”

  “Yes, but I doubt she’d come looking for me. We aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment. She’s been deliberately neglecting me for months.”

  “Be that as it may,” Tamoran said, rubbing his chin in thoughtful contemplation, “something tells me she’ll make an exception this time.” With that said, Tamoran cleared his throat and turned to leave. “It was a pleasure chatting with you, my dear emperor.”

  “Likewise, my dear king.”

  Novac Tamoran glanced over his shoulder and flashed one last trumped-up grin before leaving the brig. Once the outside doors hissed shut behind him, Dakroth snapped his gaze to Ishtar and scowled.

  “What’s the meaning of all this? What was he on about? Jegra is coming here? What are you two planning?” He demanded answers, but to his surprise, Ishtar merely let down the forcefield and stepped into the cell with him.

  This unexpected intrusion startled him and he took a step back. To his relief, she didn’t assault him. However, she did strip off all of her clothes and step boldly towards him.

  Ishtar pushed Dakroth up against the wall and pressed her athletic body into him, kissing him vigorously on his mouth.

  Ishtar appeared like a she-devil, her skin a smooth, blood-red but for the black lines that ran down her neck and body like aboriginal tattoos–custom mods which were more than decoration. They enhanced her abilities, including her strength and stamina.

  As an elite assassin, she was twice as cunning and a hundred times deadlier than any woman in the galaxy. She also despised Jegra with every ounce of her being. It was Jegra who had survived an incurable poison. It was Jegra who had bested her at the Cove and made a fool out of her. It was Jegra who’d stolen Rhadamanthus’s heart from her. And it was Jegra who was now sitting on the throne instead of her. Ever since their last encounter, Ishtar had done nothing but plot her revenge.

  Ishtar pushed away slightly, and slid her dainty red breasts across Dakroth’s chest, brushing her maroon nipples tantalizingly over Dakroth’s Prussian blue ones with a delicateness that was as soft as down. With her black polished nails, she gently stroked Dakroth’s chest, ran her hands up to his broad shoulders, and, squeezing him tightly, she leaned in and kissed him more tenderly on his full, deep blue lips.

  Momentarily taken aback by the unexpected passion, he drew his head back and looked at her with a reasonable suspicion. “I don’t understand what’s going on here,” he said, perplexed by her sudden sexual advances.

  “You don’t have to,” she replied, tilting her hips as she slid out of his arms and lay down on the cot. With a curling of her finger she beckoned him to join her, and with lecherous desire in his eyes, he complied.

  While she kept Dakroth occupied with sex, Ishtar carefully reached under the cot and slid her fingers along the cold metal frame until they found the miniature transmitting device she’d planted there earlier, along with a mobile vid cam. Tapping the screen, she began broadcasting their tryst via Dakroth’s personal emergency signal.r />
  As the device secretly recorded them, she tilted her head back and craned her neck. As Dakroth dappled the slender expanse with feather light kisses, she looked directly up into the camera lens. A vindictive smile curled onto her tight lips and her golden eyes flashed with a smoldering rage just beneath their lustrous veneer as she gazed unflinchingly at her audience.

  She lingered a while; the recipient of the video would see her fiery eyes staring back at her from across the empty room as though she were standing there in person, watching it all unfold. Staring, so that she’d know beyond doubt, that every single debauched act, every single salacious moan that slipped passed Ishtar’s lips as she rode the emperor to his climax, was all deliberately orchestrated for her viewing pleasure.

  2

  A tangerine sun settled across the sands of Thessalonica as the turbines of the white shuttle pod perched on the palace lawn spooled up to a high-pitched whine. Jegra Alakandra, newly crowned Empress of Dagon, threw open the palace doors to her personal terrace that overlooked Arena City–the metropolis where she’d first learned of life beyond the stars. Here, she had begun a new life as a slave and had risen to prominence as an undefeated gladiatrix–until fate intervened. Now she gazed out as empress of an entire galactic empire.

  A hot blast of desert air swiftly tangled the long tresses of her hair that danced on the currents undulating from the pulsating turbines. She tugged up her copper colored dress as she ducked under the clamshell wing door of her personal shuttle and climbed aboard the elegant craft.

  It was no secret that Jegra preferred traveling by shuttle over teleportation. Although teleporting was considered perfectly safe for low orbit transports, its safety diminished with range. Eight hundred meters beyond the recommended range of the goldilocks radius and you’d come out the other side a scrambled egg. That didn’t sit well with her, which is why she preferred to get off world the old-fashioned way.