by Anna Carven
Maybe Arin sensed his killing intent, because she stepped forward, lowering her gun and placing a gentle hand on the old Human’s shoulder. “Not now, Baraka. He’s right. What you’re doing doesn’t make sense. Give the launcher to me, and nobody will get hurt.”
Her voice was soft yet authoritative, infinitely calming, and addictive. If she spoke to him using that tone, Rykal would do anything for her.
She looked at him then, and he found himself lost in eyes of perfect crystalline blue.
Hold, she seemed to say.
Everything froze, and it was as if he were standing on the Vaal again, surrounded by the eternal comfort of the icy, unrelenting wind.
With just a look, she held Rykal’s killing intent at bay.
“Baraka,” Arin said again, her voice barely a whisper. “Give it to me.”
The old man hesitated, but Rykal could sense that his urge to fight was gone. Slowly, the Human lowered his weapon from where it rested on his shoulder. It was a long, tubular thing, requiring two hands to support and operate it. It was the same type of weapon that fur-faced Human had shot him with back down in the cargo hold.
Arin slid her small bolt-gun into a holster beneath her jacket and took the launcher from the old man. She handled it with ease, propping it up on her shoulder and using one hand to expertly manipulate its controls. A flashing red light to one side turned amber, then flickered off.
“It’s disarmed,” she said, pinning Rykal with a pointed stare. The old man glared at him malevolently, but he didn’t say anything.
His hands were still trembling.
The darkness that seethed inside Rykal slowly withdrew, and rational thought returned to him. He glowered at the Human captain and his junior. “Get out,” he snapped, nodding sharply towards the doors. “I need to speak with the Sergeant alone.”
“We’re not leaving her alone with the likes of you.” The old man had found his spine again.
“It’s okay, Baraka,” Arin reassured him. “He won’t do anything to me.” She lowered the disarmed rocket launcher, resting its solid base on the floor. The pointed end was propped up against the curve of her hip. The delicious lines of her body drew Rykal’s gaze. A fitted black jacket concealed her arms and torso, but underneath, her legs were encased in a form-fitting black material that left little to the imagination.
He liked this outfit much better than her boring peacekeeper’s uniform.
Arin noticed the direction of his gaze and signified her irritation with a minuscule shake of her head. “Go on,” she said to the other Humans. “I’ll be out shortly. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got this, and I know how to use it.” She tapped the body of the rocket launcher.
Baraka grumbled under his breath, staring daggers at Rykal as he shuffled past, squeezing between the half-closed doors of the ship. His gangly subordinate followed him. Rykal’s sword hand twitched, but he forced himself to be still.
Once again, he suppressed his natural instincts.
“So,” Rykal said slowly, his gaze traveling upwards, noticing the way her suit molded to her body. Her jacket was open at the front, and he caught a tantalizing glimpse of skin at the entrance of her suit, where the black material ended in a vee just between her breasts. “We are in private. You wanted to talk?”
Her eyes turned hard, like chips of glass. Her jaw was set at a stubborn angle, and her face had lost all of its wonderful softness. “You killed seven of my people,” she said. “Why?” She was as direct as ever. No embellishment, no excuses, and no tiptoeing around the issue.
No fear.
He loved that about her.
“Ah.” He’d known this was going to be a sticking point.
Arin stood with hand still resting on the rocket launcher. She was alert and as straight as an arrow, her long neck extended, her shoulders set in a rigid line, her chin thrust forward. She didn’t just expect an answer; she demanded one.
Rykal breathed in and caught a trace of something impossible. It was the scent of vast oceans and atmospheric storms. It was the warmth of a planet blessed by the light of a benevolent sun.
It was Earth.
It was her.
As if in a trance, he took a step forward and leaned close to her. “I’m really not as bad as you think,” he murmured, searching her face for any sign of a reaction.
She gave him nothing. She was as hard and constant as the frozen ice plains of his home planet. They were the lands he half-remembered and longed for without really understanding why.
Don’t look at me like that, he wanted to say. I’m not your enemy.
“I didn’t kill them all,” he sighed, his voice filled with a strange yearning. “Just one of them. The rest are locked up in a cargo container in the hold.”
“They attacked you?”
“Yeah.”
“They shouldn’t have,” she said, disapproval creeping into her voice.
“Yeah,” he agreed. He nodded towards the rocket launcher. “The guy I killed shot one of those at me.”
“An EI rocket? And you survived that?” Her expression was an odd mixture of disbelief, horror, and fascination.
“As I said, it hurt.” He winced, remembering the sensation of his skin as it peeled, charred by the heat of the blast.
Arin shook her head ruefully. “You’re something else.”
“Something else indeed. Freak, aberration, abomination,” Rykal shrugged. “I’ve been called all of those things and worse. Certain habits are hard-wired into me. If you go after me, chances are you’ll be dead before either of us realize what’s happened. That’s what happened to your man. I acted on instinct. There was no time to think about it.”
“You showed restraint when it came to the others.” Her expression softened, and some of the tension left her shoulders. “You could easily have killed them.”
She was right. It would have been like swatting vakkandik flies. Bothersome, but not difficult.
“Wasn’t worth the effort,” Rykal lied. It had actually been harder not to kill them. “They were lightweights. Easy to read and poorly organized. It would have been a waste of my energy.”
“Huh.” Arin shook her head. “And here I thought we were competent when it came to close-quarters combat.”
“Against normal opponents, you probably are. It’s just that I’m a First Division warrior, and you’re Human.” Rykal angled his gaze, studying her. This close, he could appreciate the little things, like the fine texture of her pale skin, and the steady pulse beating in her elegant neck.
Her hair had always amazed him. It was pale and golden, like fine Veronian silk. He wanted to bury his nose in it and run his fingers through it.
“I attended the Senate Committee, as you requested.” Abruptly, she changed the subject.
“And you came back.” Rykal smiled. In a Universe full of cutthroats, turncoats, and bastards who would sell their soul to Kaiin himself for a handful of credits, she was a rarity.
“What did you expect me to do, run away and hide on Earth? Those are my people, and I’m here to make sure you stick to your word.”
“I understand honor,” Rykal said softly. Why did he feel he had to prove himself to her? “If your leaders hurry up and figure out that we’re crucial to eliminating the Xargek, we will let the hostages go unharmed, and life will move on. But until then, we play the game. Are we close to an agreement yet, Sergeant Arin?”
“Probably, but I can’t make any guarantees. I can’t sway a Senate Committee. I’m just a solider.”
“You’re much more than that,” he murmured under his breath, speaking in Kordolian. Arin narrowed her glacial eyes as lust coiled its glorious tendrils around Rykal’s heart, stoking the fires of his arousal.
As if sensing his intent, she stepped away, hefting the rocket launcher over her shoulder in one swift, powerful motion.
“It’s nice to know my EI missile ‘hurts like a bitch,’ as you say,” she said darkly, “even if it won’t kill you. If yo
u dare say what I think you’re thinking, I’ll burn you.”
Rykal cringed. He’d just been caught out by his favorite Human, and it didn’t seem like she was about to reciprocate his feelings anytime soon. At this rate, he was going to develop fucking Mating Fever for real.
He stepped aside with an ironic bow, gesturing towards the exit. “After you, Sergeant.”
Her icy glare warmed his wretched black heart.
As she bent and retrieved the pack that lay at her feet, Rykal’s comm went off.
“Hey, Ry.” It was Dragek, one of the First Division warriors who’d been patrolling the lower decks. “Need your sword arm down here. We’ve got Xargek incoming, right at the bottom. Nice little hull breach, too. Oxygen’s being sucked out into the never-never.”
Rykal swore. “How many?”
“You know how it is. Could be ten, could be a hundred. Could be a thousand. Depends whether one decides to spill its larvae.”
“I hear you, brother.” Rykal squeezed through the doors and started to run. He flashed past Arin, who was walking across the floor, briefly touching both of his hands against her curved waist.
Just because he could.
She spun in alarm. “Where are you going?”
“Lower decks,” he yelled over his shoulder. “We’ve officially got an infestation. Whatever you do, don’t follow me, and keep your people out of the way. And tell your fucking leaders to hurry up and give us smooth passage to Earth.”
The time for attempting diplomatic niceties was over. For whatever reason, the Humans were delaying to give them an answer. If the Humans didn’t understand the game now, they never would, and the appearance of Xargek on the freighter had just changed the game entirely.
Where the hell had they come from?
He’d thought the freighter was clear, but when it came to Xargek, one could never be too sure. All it took was a few stray larvae with blood in their bellies. They could latch on and build their cocoons anywhere, and once they metamorphosed into mature Xargek, they would wreak havoc. If they were on the freighter, they had to get rid of them as quickly as possible.
Against mature Xargek, the Humans didn’t stand a chance.
Chapter Eight
Arin ran up to the main cargo hold on the central decks, where the majority of the Fortuna Tau survivors had made themselves comfortable. Most of the escapees from the asteroid mining station were ordinary people; miners, maintenance workers, engineers, and service people. They weren’t equipped with the skills or knowledge to fight aliens, especially when said aliens were indestructible monsters who could withstand close-range fire from a small Explosive-Incendiary missile.
Freaks. The lot of them.
Are. You. Fucking. Serious? That had been her first thought when Rykal had told her the story. Arin shook her head as she ran, balancing the launcher on her shoulder. It had a small notch across its barrel that fit nicely over her shoulder, keeping it stable.
It was a familiar, comfortable weapon, one that required strength and stamina to wield but no real skill.
Anyone could blow shit up. All you had to do was pull the trigger.
Arin reached a service elevator and slapped her hand against the activation panel. Baraka and the kid had retreated back into the Arawen, but not before Arin had ordered the people in the navigation room to keep docking bay three closed. The Arawen would not depart the freighter, even though that went against their orders.
Screw the Federation, especially since they were doing nothing but sitting on their hands, paralyzed by public opinion and caught up with their stupid committees. A vessel capable of atmospheric re-entry was a handy thing to have, especially when one was being overrun by monsters.
Monsters. Both the Xargek and the Kordolians.
Especially Rykal.
Her body burned with the lingering memory of his touch. It had been ever-so-brief and whisper light, but he’d definitely caressed her waist as he’d swept past. He’d run out of the docking bay like a dark whirlwind, yelling something about Xargek invading the lower decks.
It had almost felt like he was itching to join the fight.
The elevator reached the central floor and Arin dashed towards the cavernous space that held the majority of the passengers. The main doors were wide open, and the first thing that hit her was the sound.
It was a cacophony of thousands of voices combining to create a deafening buzz. Arin navigated the endless rows of empty cargo containers, most of which had been claimed and occupied. People sat inside them, having procured basic bedding, food, and home comforts from Jupiter-knows-where. The sound of someone plucking a slightly out-of-tune guitar reached her ears, accompanied by the smell of roasted space-sausage.
Seriously, where the hell had these guys found the time to procure all this stuff? They were supposed to have been fleeing a doomed mining station, not strolling through a county fair.
As Arin darted through the crowds, she scanned the space for any signs of Xargek. At least nobody was screaming. That meant the central decks were probably safe for now. People stared at her curiously as she passed, but most of them had seen her face on Fortuna Tau, so they didn’t pay her much attention.
She eventually made her way across the giant area, locating the small guardroom at the back. Through the brightly lit floor-to-ceiling glass windows, she recognized several familiar faces.
Arin narrowed her eyes in disapproval as she slapped her palm on the door-panel and entered the room. Five grown-ass men turned in her direction, guilty looks plastered across their faces.
“What the hell is this?” Arin demanded, wrinkling her nose at the smell of stale Juvi smoke. The five peacekeepers were seated around a makeshift table constructed from packing crates. In the middle of the table was a half-empty bottle of whiskey, which sat atop a scattered mess of playing cards.
None of them were wearing their comm devices. That’s why they hadn’t answered her alerts. Arin touched the small comm that sat in her ear, making sure it wasn’t loose.
“Sarge, you’re back!” The man sitting closest to her, a tattooed gunner called Nguyen, rose to his feet, giving her a sloppy salute. “We were just, uh…”
“Celebrating the end of the world.” Private Holmes raised the bottle, offering it to her. “You wanna join?”
“You’re supposed to be keeping watch,” Arin grumbled, pinning each of them with a hard stare. The men’s faces were flushed, their eyes unfocused. She noticed an empty bottle of whiskey lying under the packing crates. “Being intoxicated on duty is a Capital One offense. You could go to military prison for that.”
“Who the fuck cares?” Private Marat slurred, taking another swig of the bottle. “We’re all going to die, the Federation’s sitting on their asses because we as a race have forgotten how to fight a good war, and either way, we’re fucked. You heard what happened to Harris and the others? His head’s sitting in the cryo-freeze and next they’re going to come after us. Won’t be long until the real Kordolian fleet shows up, and then what? We get shipped off to Sector One as slaves? We stay on Earth and get eaten by Xargek?”
“We’re soldiers, Marat. We’re not paid to think about the hypotheticals. Although I’m sorry about Harris.” Her voice softened. Even though he’d been a hotheaded idiot, Harris had been a part of their team, and there would be someone on Earth who would miss him.
Arin frowned as the five men stared at her, bleary-eyed. In their current intoxicated state, she wouldn’t trust any of them with a bolt-gun. They’d probably end up shooting innocent civilians. “Your job is to follow orders and protect your people, no matter what. We don’t get to make decisions about the fate of the Human race.”
“Who needs protecting?” Marat jeered. “We’re all just trying to enjoy our last moments of freedom.”
Arin resisted the urge to slap some sense into him. She’d only been off the freighter for two days, and during that time, the situation seemed to have devolved into chaos. At the beginning, fear and a
common purpose had kept them together.
Now, it had all gone to shit.
Soon, they’d start running out of food and supplies, the sanitation units would fail, and water would become scarce. This freighter wasn’t designed to handle masses of people. Soon, the real fun would begin.
Humanity didn’t do well when it was crammed into a metal box.
“Where are the other squads?” Arin demanded. She needed someone who could work with her right now; someone sensible, someone sober.
“Beats me,” Nguyen gave her a blank look. “Probably gone off to get laid or hoard up all the Spike before it runs out and we all start getting withdrawals.”
Aargh! Mentally, Arin groaned, but she didn’t allow her frustration to show. Instead, she strode across to the table, picked up the half-empty bottle of whiskey and tipped it out. The amber liquid splashed all over the playing cards and trickled onto the floor. “Sober up,” she snapped. “If we’re going down, we’re going down as peacekeepers, not drunkards.”
All five men opened their mouths to protest, but Arin shot them a dark look. “If you’re not sober by the time I come back, I’ll have you court-martialed.”
She turned on her heel and left the guardroom, just as the sound of fighting reached her ears.
Out in the central hold, people were shouting and screaming. Someone was swearing at the top of his lungs. Arin ran, her fingers dancing across the control panel of the rocket launcher as she set it to activate. She did it without looking. If she had to, she could’ve done it in the dark with her eyes closed.
She reached an area where some of the cargo containers had been moved off the tracks to create a makeshift clearing. In the center of the clearing, surrounded by onlookers, a man and a woman were going at it.
The man had the typical look of a space miner. He was bare chested, with crude tattoos decorating both of his generous, hairy pectorals. His forearms were the size of small tree trunks, and his bald head was coated with a sheen of sweat.
“Give it back!” he roared, swinging a wild punch at the woman.