As I say it, I know with a swell of pride that this is true.
I fight for justice and for honor; I always have.
As alarms trill across the compound I throw the guard furs over my sackcloth and I run up and down, pretending to look for myself alongside the others. After a minute or two, I dissolve away from the commotion and make my way to the hovercab station, where I quickly slip inside the next available vehicle.
“Greetings, Vyken. My systems tell me you are a wanted criminal,” the planet-wide AI states coolly from the unmanned driver’s seat. Now that we know more of the universe outside Paxia again, I know that this Firosan technology is the most advanced AI in existence, and I feel pride for my people.
“I would never--”
“I know,” the smooth voice interrupts. “There is nothing in my records that states this behavior was possible in you.”
There is a long pause as I struggle for words.
The only ally I have in the galaxy, in this war I am to fight for the truth, is a disembodied … voice?
I grit my teeth.
“Vyken,” she says, “you must tell me where you would like to go.”
I shake my head hard; of course, she is right. The alarms are still sounding. I must leave. “You are not turning me back in?” I ask. It was stupid of me not to assume she would. She can do anything; she runs the planet.
“That is not my place. Look around you. Do I look like a judge? No, I am a cab.”
I swallow. “Take me to the hangar,” I say. I know that the FMS Spitfire rests right now in the large domed building, and I have the cybernetic key implanted into my palm that is used to gain access to her. I am going to have to skip asking for permission and instead figure out how I will ask for forgiveness.
Tyr is my oldest friend, and the Admiral of the military I have pledged my life to, and I am about to steal his most treasured possession.
And I don’t know when I’ll be back.
*
The Spitfire is so balanced and easy to fly that it feels like I am standing still on deck and the entire galaxy is slipping quietly past me.
Travelling this way is lonely. Part of the reason, I have always believed, for having a crew of at least five is that it is easy to feel your mind begin to slip away as you navigate for a long while through the void. Meaningless chatter is a wonderful way to beat back the madness.
But my mind right now? It’s sharper than ever.
My mission is twofold: clear my name, of course -- I hate that anyone would believe I was capable of such an atrocity -- and find out who really wiped out our allies. My theory is that it is either the Suhlik or their sympathizers, and there is no way I will let them get away with something so heinous.
I am on my way back to the planet Fera. I will piece together whatever clues I find, and I will figure out what happened there. I have never been what I would call the smartest on any given team, but I am far from simple -- and I have desperation on my side.
As I land on Fera I know exactly where to walk, but I don’t feel as if I have actually been here before. Intellectually, I know that I -- or just my body -- was here very recently, but none of this is actually familiar to me.
I know where I have to go, though. Even if the Ferathorns are all dead, the Oracle is timeless and essentially incorporeal. The leader of the Ferathorns will have answers … and I am certain that even if it wanted to kill me on sight, it would not be able to.
All around me on the planet Fera there is what looks like dead plant matter. Fera is supposed to be thick and lush and green, but it is brown and dry and the soil beneath my feet is cracked in zigzag patterns.
Everything around me looks dead, and I feel as though I might throw up.
Could this really, somehow, be my fault?
What happened here?
It doesn’t take me long to navigate my way to the heart of the planet, around the cracked soil and dry bracken, under dry boughs and over fallen plant matter. I hop down a level, sandy dirt raining over my head, and I growl and tear off the scratchy fur wrap around my chest. I prefer to be unbound anyway.
The roots seem to grow back over my head once I slide down into the heart of Fera and the suns are blocked out. I wipe my sandy palms on the sackcloth pants given to me by the Firosan prison and I look around, jaw set, for answers.
And they come in the form of a dull green bioluminescent glowing. It lights up the cramped cavern until my purple skin glows a faint green along with everything else down here.
It’s the first sign of life I’ve seen since touching down on this rock, and the thought makes my muscles tense. I fold my arms across my broad chest and squint at the source of the light.
“Welcome to Fera, Vyken. As you know, I am the Oracle of Fera.”
I swallow -- my throat is dry from the barren quality of the air -- before answering. “Well met, Oracle. You say ‘welcome’ as if I have not travelled here before.”
The plant and fungus-based orb flickers as if regarding me thoughtfully. “Yes. Your body I have welcomed already. Your consciousness … it has not yet been here.”
My chest swells. I knew coming here was the right thing to do. The Oracle sees all; knows all. It protects the Ferathorns -- or it tries to. If it viewed me as a threat it would have terminated me the second the Spitfire broached the atmosphere.
But instead it has welcomed me.
I could leave now, take evidence of the Oracle’s words and bring it back to Wrax and to Cara and show my people I shouldn’t be locked away. But I know that this evidence isn’t enough to gain their forgiveness. To return with a selfish plea and no answers, no results, would have my planet lose all respect for me. For failing my mission I may even lose my title. My crew. Doomed to desk work.
I would almost rather remain imprisoned. No. I came this far, broke out of jail and stole a ship and became a fugitive -- I must go all the way before I return to Paxia. I must solve this.
“I knew it,” I say aloud. “You must help me … I need to find out who did this to the Ferathorns. To your planet and its people.”
“Your enemies are our enemies.”
“The Suhlik.” Of course it was them. With a war coming it stands to reason they’d target our closest allies. And to remove a respected General while proving nobody on Paxia can truly be trusted? To stir such turmoil and unease in wartime is surely the strategic move of a genius, though I hate to even think it. The Suhlik are underhanded dishonorable foes; everything the Mahdfel are not.
It glows brighter, showcasing anger that matches the burning in my own soul. I nod once. “What do I do?”
The Oracle hums and its light pulses.
“I know what we must do.”
A moment passes and then a pain splits through my head as it burns information into my long term memory. I double over, gritting my teeth, and then I lean back. The string of numbers means nothing to me, but I know that I will never be able to forget them.
“Go. The girl. The girl is the answer.”
Right. So they are coordinates.
The girl is the answer.
That’s all I am getting for now. The Oracle’s light fades; I know it gets exhausted by communicating for long stretches of time with other lifeforms, and burning information into my mind must have taken a lot out of it. I must go. This is all the information I have, and I know deep down it is all I need. I will not fail.
Because I am General Vyken of the Firosan Mahdfel Military, and this is the most important mission of my life.
Chapter Six
Roxie
…
Where am I? And what the hell is going on here?
One minute I was strolling, lost and thirsty, too far from the resort I planned on making my temporary home until I figured out where to go for the rest of my life … yeah, OK, so I was probably lost … and the next minute, what?
I’m here.
On a military fighter ship. No, not just that. An alien military ship.
I’ve been literally abducted by aliens, and there is no one on my home planet who will care.
I had an interesting upbringing. Passed around foster families, I never really had a home. I never really had a family. I had dozens, and some were fine -- but some really weren’t fine. I have had great experiences and I’ve had awful experiences, but one thing I’ve never had was that sense of a home and something to return to when times got tough.
So there were friends from work -- I was a singer in a professional choir and I did gigs in the local bars for extra cash -- and there was my neighbor, who I used to cat sit for, but I didn’t have anyone I felt would really miss me.
When I was faced with the choice of death or enter the Mahdfel lottery and risk having to live my life outside of my own terms, I almost literally chose death. I threw away my career -- not that it was anything super special anyway -- and all connections I had with my old life, because I so badly didn’t want to live in space with a growly, meathead warrior alien.
And now, what? Some purple dude thinks he can toss me over his shoulder and zoom me a million miles away from Earth anyway?
Hell no! I did not spend my life savings and risk my life to start again for this.
By the time the alien returns to the empty white room he left me in, I am shaking with pure, unfiltered rage. I am really seeing red.
And purple.
He is so huge and he takes up so much of my eyeline. I try to wrench my eyes away and ignore him, deep in a sulk, but I actually find that I can’t. There is something all-consuming about the way that this alien warrior looks. Something that takes up most of my consciousness and my attention.
I narrow my eyes at him, unwilling to allow my thoughts to drift to anything positive.
“What the hell am I doing here?” I demand.
The alien sits on the cot opposite mine, his prisonwear-covered legs spread wide, and he regards me with glittering golden eyes. He has the eyes of a lion, and the body of a goddamn Adonis, and I have to fold my arms across my bikini top so he can’t see that my nipples have hardened under the thin waterproof material.
I’m clearly so angry it’s circled around and I’m aroused.
It … works like that, right?
I wrench my gaze away from his crisscrossed pecs and set my jaw while his eyes drink me in. Slowly. I have never felt so on display before.
Before he says anything, the alien sweeps across to me and bends over so that we’re eye to eye. Suddenly I feel overwhelmed by the palpable heat radiating from his thick, shirtless frame, as well as the earthy, masculine scent he exudes. I shiver, turning even further away.
“Get away from me,” I mumble.
A guttural string of impossible, frighteningly loud syllables passes between his lips and I wince before I can help it, turning back to glare at him. What threat is he barking in his alien tongue? His hand whips to my ear and slides something in and I shout out and wrench my body away, hands rising to the sides of my head.
“What did you do? What did you do to me?” I demand.
“Relax,” he snaps, and I freeze when I realize I am able to understand that word. “I just put a translator in your ear. I knew humans were jumpy but you need to try to control yourself.”
I am about to stand and really start yelling at him -- though I have no idea where I would even start -- but before I can move a stunned muscle he smirks and stands, letting me know it was sort of a joke. He moves back to his seat on the cot at the opposite end of the room, giving me some space to breathe that isn’t filled with his warm, consuming scent.
“Now we can have a conversation,” he says, resting his palms on his knees.
“What?” I cry. “You … you kidnapped me. For conversation?” My fists clench and fall away from my breasts, and immediately his gaze drops and his tight smile fades as he takes in my upper body. I fling my arms back around my torso and scowl.
“You are taking me literally,” he says, his words precise and deliberate. I can’t help but stare at the way his mouth moves. At his lips.
What is happening to me? Early onset Stockholm Syndrome? I should be livid, and I am, but why can’t I stop noticing every interesting detail in the way he looks? Every muscle and contour and subtle upturn in his features when he looks at me?
“I believe that you know what I want,” he adds. “What if I were to mention … the Ferathorns?”
He looks triumphant as he searches my face for a reaction. When I give him my honest one -- bewilderment -- his face falls into one of matching confusion.
“The planet Fera?” he tries. I blink. “The Oracle?” Nothing. My look of bewilderment twitches into one of anger.
“You not only kidnapped me, but you stole the wrong woman!” I say, standing up. “I demand you take me back to Earth. This minute!”
“No!” he growls, standing up to remind us both that he towers over me by more than a little. He is standing just a few inches in front of me but somehow it feels as though he engulfs me. “I made no mistake. The coordinates are burned into my brain, and you were the only human, let alone female, in range. I made no mistake!”
His voice is so loud I can just about hear the bass tone of his anger vibrating in my core. I tighten my hug around my own chest and deepen my scowl.
“Well, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I’m not going to be of any help.”
“You’re lying,” he says finally, and though he tries his hardest to look as though he believes his own words, I can hear the shift in his tone. Uncertainty, plain and simple.
“And you’re a gigantic moron,” I bite back. “Do your research next time you steal someone.” I place my palms on his pecs and push him forcefully away. But I just end up taking a step back myself as he resists effortlessly. Not put off, I continue. “And bring me something to wear for our journey back to Earth. I’m tired of seeing you look at me like that.”
I don’t know what possessed me to say that … why draw any attention to the alien’s gaze surreptitiously raking over my body? Why would I want to get under his skin at all?
For some reason that I just can’t explain, though, I do. I want to get into his head. I want him to remember the mistake he made in abducting me -- forever.
To my surprise, his lips turn up at the corner, though his eyes remain dark.
“There is some reason the Oracle told me to fetch you,” he says, his words careful and low. “Until I find out what part you had to play in the genocide, I will not be letting you leave.”
He gets up to leave me in my room -- my cell -- again. I stand up and shout to his back. “You aren’t even going to bring me something more modest to wear?”
The alien tosses a smirk over his shoulder. “You are not my guest, you are my prisoner. Maybe I would prefer you stay red and flustered like that.”
Hatred, or something equally as intense, courses through me as the oval door clicks shut, and it’s like it was never there, it blends in so seamlessly with the curved white walls.
I quickly throw myself onto the space it had been, hammering my fists and forearms against the blank space, and roaring for him to return until my throat begins to hurt. Then I flop onto the cot and press my fingers against my face.
It might sound ridiculous, but I think I may regret faking my own death and running away from everything I’ve ever known. Who’d have thought?
Chapter Seven
Vyken
I had to get out of there.
Not just because I wasn’t getting any information out of the pale human, but because looking at her was making me uncomfortable in a way I have never felt before. Her long, choppy black hair, her darkly lined eyes, her slender frame and yet generous curves.
I have no idea what I am feeling, because I am feeling it towards a human. Not just any human either -- the human the Oracle told me to pick up in relation to a genocide!
I step straight into a shower and wrench the knob all the way to freezing, kicking off my prison pants as I shu
t the door and letting the water sweep over my taut body.
“Uncomfortable temperature detected,” Tyr’s rudimentary ship AI chirrups pleasantly, and the water begins to warm up. I grit my teeth.
“Colder,” I say. “Spitfire. Please, do as I say.” I twist the knob again, craving the chilled water on my muscles to distract me from the aching in my abdomen. I look up at the shower’s ceiling, desperate to not make eye contact with my rapidly stiffening cock. If I don’t acknowledge it, it’s not there.
She could well be a killer. And if not, at the very least she might be a Suhlik sympathizer. And other than being an actual Suhlik, I really can’t think of anything worse.
I haven’t been around a female in a very long time -- maybe that’s why I am feeling this way. Other than Alyssa and Cara, but they never once made me feel like this…
I wrap my fingers tight around the base and squeeze, gritting my teeth. The water warms up and the AI chirrups at me again. “Fixing water temperature! Please stand by!”
“I wanted it cold,” I growl, but the AI here is not as advanced as the one back on Paxia -- my Admiral doesn’t like true AI getting its tendrils in the ship’s systems. I’m sure there is a good reason for that.
The water temperature is so pleasant as it pounds my shoulders and slides down my chest and arms, pooling in one of my hands. I grit my teeth harder and slide my fist up my now steel-hard member.
“Danger detected. Please report to the bridge, General.”
Seconds pass and the AI takes the liberty of shutting off the shower. I mumble something to myself that I can’t even understand, step out from the pleasantly steamy chamber and dry myself with the super absorbent robe I tie tight around my waist. Then I stride to the controls to see what is wrong.
One of my first assumptions is that the girl has escaped the inescapable room, but obviously … given the name and all … that would be impossible. She is not out here, and the controls are blinking red.
Someone is tailing the Spitfire with their guns trained on me. I can see the dot in the distance on my control panel. I clench my teeth harder, jerking at the controls to get it off autopilot and thinking what my best course of action is. Who could be tailing me in this part of space? Between Earth and Fera is nothing but allied races.
Vyken: (Warriors of Firosa Book 3) Page 2