Clans of Kalquor 12
ALIEN OUTCAST
By
Tracy St. John
© copyright June 2018, Tracy St. John
Cover art by Erin Dameron-Hill, © copyright May 2018
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s
imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or
events is merely coincidence.
Kindle Edition
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Prologue
The Kalquorian Empire is a civilization of great importance to the Galactic Council of Planets. The fierce but intelligent species has been at the forefront of technological, medical, and scientific breakthroughs for millennia. Their military might has never been in question. Even their ancient enemy, the opportunistic race of Tragooms, hesitates to attack a Kalquorian force half its size.
However, Kalquor’s survival is in jeopardy. The force which threatened this mighty race was not one that wielded weaponry. It could not even be seen with the naked eye. It was a virus.
Centuries ago, this virus struck the home world of Kalquor, wiping out a substantial number of its people, particularly the females. Symptoms included massive bleeding of the body’s major organs, along with those of the female reproductive tract. Damaging the X-chromosome of the Kalquorians, the virus’ effects went beyond death. The majority of women not killed outright were rendered infertile, and daughters born to those who could bear children were not guaranteed the ability to do the same. The virus altered the very DNA of the entire race.
In an effort to keep their race from going extinct and prevent fighting amongst the men, family groups called clans were formed. Each clan was made up of one female known as the Matara (childbearer or ‘lifebringer’) and representatives of each of the three breeds of male: the Dramok (leader), Imdiko (caregiver), and Nobek (protector).
Despite their efforts, the numbers of Kalquorians continued to decline. So few children were born that extinction was thought by many to be inevitable. Despite all their medical expertise and attempts to find compatible species to mate with, the Kalquorian culture seemed destined to disappear.
Nearly two decades ago, a scout ship from a small, isolated planet no one knew of flew into the Galactic Council of Planets’ space. These newcomers, searching for new planets to house the overflow of their ever-growing population, called their home planet Earth. It was immediately remarked upon how similar they were to Kalquorians. The doomed race took note at once, and hope was restored. It was theorized that perhaps the Earthers were the fabled Lost Colonists of Kalquor’s ancient ancestors.
Earth, however, was not as enthralled with their potential distant cousins. Ruled by a government based on fanatical religious beliefs, Earthers were taught they were God’s Chosen, made in his wondrous image. They looked upon Kalquor with hostility, growing outraged when the beleaguered inhabitants of that empire suggested compatibility testing for purposes of interbreeding.
The leaders of the Kalquorian Empire, feeling they had no other recourse, decided the time had come to seduce Earther females and convince them to come to Kalquor. Women on Earth were treated as lesser creatures and second-class citizens by their government and religion. The Kalquorians, with their near-worship of women, hoped they could entice these lifebringers to join their clans. And if the women would not be seduced, Kalquor was no longer above the distasteful necessity of abducting them outright.
Almost two thousand Earther women went to Kalquor, putting the Empire and Earth at each other’s throats. Then the unthinkable happened: an Earther woman joined the aliens’ ruling clan, making her Kalquor’s empress. Earth immediately declared war.
The fighting was horrific, with Earth’s greater numbers slowly overwhelming Kalquor’s more advanced technology. With its already dwindling numbers reaching crisis stage, the Kalquorian Empire was desperate to find a way to win the war and secure its future. They staged an invasion of Earth itself. Earth’s answer was to set off nuclear explosions beneath its own major cities, devastating the population and dooming the planet.
Most of the survivors have been rescued by Kalquor. Some women, traumatized by their experiences under Earth’s tyranny, have dared to start anew with the Kalquorians. There are still too few to guarantee Kalquor’s survival, and they are held by most of the alien men in the highest regard.
Not all Kalquorians are happy to have the Earthers among them, however. Some are determined to see Kalquor go extinct rather than mix the species. ‘The Basma’ Dramok Maf spearheads a rebellion, putting Kalquor in the grips of a civil war. He has allied himself with the despised alien race from the kingdom of Bi’is in his efforts to restore Kalquor to purity—though that will doom the Kalquorians to extinction.
But a threat neither the empire nor Maf dreamed of is poised to finish Kalquor forever, long before civil war or the effects of a long-ago virus can kill the last of that proud race. All that stands in its way are the most unlikely of heroes, each the outcasts of their societies. They are the unwanted and the unforgiven…and they are Kalquor’s last, best hope.
Chapter 1
Between Ob’s pain-filled squalls and the alarms blaring, Piper couldn’t hear herself think. Things were bad, all right. She had a feeling they would only get worse.
As if to prove her fears, a red light flashed on the stolen shuttle’s console, diverting her attention from the star-pocked vid of the space ahead. She shouted over Ob’s yells. “Something new. What’s that?”
The Tragoom managed to come out of his hunched position in the seat next to her. He usually sat head and shoulders over Piper—he was a mass of rock-hard alien, despite being a runt among his kind. His pained breaths whistled past his tusks as he peered at the panel in front of Piper with tiny, streaming eyes.
The translators on their slave collars were as dispassionate as his voice was strained. “Chasing ship coming faster. Catching up.”
A jolt of terror shot through Piper, though she’d suspected as much when Ob’s collar had activated minutes before. Her shaking hands wavered over the control panel with its varied buttons and etched Bi’isil characters. “How do I force this thing to exceed safe limits on velocity? We have to go faster!”
Ob’s thick finger, which was one of two that made his hand appear to be a cloven hoof, slammed on the console. “Hull buffers recalibrated. Now top speed.”
He continued to batter the resilient surface, making up for her poorer piloting skills. Piper winced, expecting craters to appear despite knowing better. The Bi’isils built their vessels to withstand the hard use of the Tragooms they often enslaved.<
br />
She’d learned a little about interplanetary travel during her enslavement and a lot about reading the Bi’isil language. She blinked at the star chart that depicted the route Ob had plugged in. “You’re changing course to that heading? Isn’t that taking us straight into the Kalquorian Empire? Ob, they’ll kill you there as fast as the Bi’isils will!”
Ob didn’t answer right away. Instead, he grabbed the collar delivering horrific punishment to his nervous system, twisting at it in an instinctive effort to stop the pain. It didn’t matter that he knew it was impossible to avoid its effects now that their pursuers were within activation range.
Someone on the ship chasing them had Dr. Wari’det’s punishment commands. Most likely, they were trying to activate her collar too, though Ob had damaged it so that it no longer worked.
Was Wari’det on the pursuing craft himself? Was it possible?
No, he can’t be. He’s dead. I’m sure of it.
Despite the torture, Ob wheezed and the translator spoke. “No choice but Kalquorian Empire. They kill me, but you can live. You can tell.”
Damn it, Ob! I didn’t pull you away from execution to save my own worthless skin! Piper studied the star chart in desperation. “You shouldn’t have diverted us from flying toward Galactic Council territory. That’s where we should be going.”
“Too far. Never make it. Kalquorian space only chance.”
The vid displaying the stars ahead suddenly rippled, as if it lay beneath water that had just been disturbed. Piper stared harder, thinking stress was playing havoc with her senses, but the view rippled again.
Ob put his pig-snouted nose to the controls, as if he’d snort the buttons. Piper realized he was trying to peer at the hull readouts through his tear-blurred vision. Ob straightened again. Despite shaking with agony, his hoof-fingers thudded over the controls once more. “Pursuer blasting. Hunter-killer.”
Piper gasped. “They brought out the big guns? For a couple of house slaves?”
“They must know that we know. That you took records. They see where we go. Kalquor will save you for the information, if we reach their system before we die.”
A thud shook the whole ship. “Um, not anticipating that’s happening. We’re hit.”
“Grazed. Hunter-killer not in lethal range. We get to border before they can destroy.”
But not before they could cripple us, leaving us dead in space and waiting for the final blast.
She didn’t believe for a single second that Prince Yel’ek’s shuttle, made for luxury and not speed, would beat their pursuer to Kalquorian territory, but she did her best to help the moaning Ob pilot.
At least death might come quickly, which is more than I deserve. Sorry, Ob. You couldn’t have picked a worse ally than me.
Chapter 2
“Isn’t that precious?” Ulof smirked at the vidcast. The news report shimmered on the console of Nako’s semi-private cubbyhole where the pair sat. “Ancestors, what a production.”
Nako grunted and turned up the volume on the vidcaster’s tinny voice. “Shut up. I’m not losing the few minutes of a clear signal to listen to you.”
Ulof snorted and shoveled lunch in his handsome face. Nako did the same, marveling in the back of his mind how his Imdiko could concoct delicious meals on the most rudimentary of rations. He inhaled deeply, enjoying how the stew canceled out most of the musty scent of the raider. They’d been out of port for a long time.
His attention riveted on the news vid, on the latest seismic changes rolling out of the Kalquorian Empire’s capital. The vidcaster reported, “Longtime advocate for nontraditional clannings, Matara Candy Dixon was the first to celebrate the new law allowing such unions. She formalized her clanship to Nobek Stidmun yesterday. The pair have been involved in a relationship for over four years.”
Nako spoke around a mouthful of food, talking over the reporter. “Damn, that means I can dump you and Terig and have a woman all to myself.” He grinned, feigning an easygoing attitude.
Nonetheless, he watched Ulof carefully to ensure his clanmate realized he was joking. He never knew when teasing might be taken badly. When Ulof got upset, things broke. Bones, usually.
Ulof chortled as he offered a rude gesture to his Dramok. “It would be worth unloading you, just to see you dressed up the same as that pretty Nobek.”
“Oh? Do you now have a thing for Nobeks with perfect features and fancy clothes? Don’t let Terig hear you say that.”
Ulof ignored him. “Better yet, you could wear that woman’s gown. You’d be gorgeous, layered in a cargo hold’s worth of lace.”
Nako joined him in the laughter, especially at the idea of his scarred carcass encased in an off-the-shoulder gown with a ten-foot train. “I’d do it to have such a lovely creature on my arm. Or under me.”
“Which one? The Matara or the Nobek?”
“You know, that’s a good question. What is the Empire coming to, when a member of the warrior breed is as lovely as a Matara? I’m not certain which of them I want to fuck more.”
Ulof laughed harder, then started to choke on his food, bending double as he clawed at his throat. Nako slammed between the taller man’s shoulders until Ulof sat up, red faced and gasping. “Ugh, thanks.” The Imdiko shoved another wad of food in his mouth and stared at the vid again. “If I have to put on anything beyond my dress uniform to clan a Matara, I’d as soon go without her.”
“Do you even know where your dress uniform is?” Nako examined his own duty formsuit. The knees, shoulders and elbows were shiny from two years of constant use. The way things were shaping up, he’d soon have to wear his fancier duds on a daily basis.
“I have no idea where I stored that thing. Why? Are you counting on me to lure in a woman for you?”
“I can catch my own woman, I should hope.”
“Of course you can, my Dramok. But it would be beneath you to take advantage of an unconscious female.”
“Unconscious?”
“She’d have to be in a coma to stick with a jerk like you.”
Nako chuckled, more at the impish smile his clanmate wore than the excellent jibe. When happy, Ulof had all the boyish charm of a full Imdiko, a man who would dote on those he loved. His expression was open, changing an almost forgettable attractiveness into heartbreaking sweetness. At a moment such as this, no one would suspect Ulof’s Nobek side existed—a side that was violent and unmerciful when roused by anger.
Ulof’s darker instincts were easily wakened, something often forgotten when he looked so appealing. A rush of warmth filled Nako at the too-seldom joy in his clanmate’s wide-set eyes. He had an urge to comb his fingers through Ulof’s perpetually tangled hair, to stroke his cheek.
Nako was in danger of not only that, but also of saying something unforgivably mushy when Ulof’s expression turned furtive. “I don’t suppose this change in the clanning laws would make it worth our while to return to home sweet home?”
Just that fast, the charming instant ended. A sharp response stung Nako’s tongue, but that too was thwarted at the sound of a warning ping. Instantly on alert, Nako swiveled his hover chair to face the rest of the raider’s bridge, where the crew’s background mutter of conversation had halted.
Nako’s gaze went to the large vid at the forward section, displaying the raider’s heading, power levels and a blip on the sensor readings. He stood and headed toward the weapons officer on duty, who was staring at his computer podium. “Report, Subcommander.”
Terig’s brilliant purple eyes, set in a face as scarred as Nako’s, riveted on him. “You’d better have a look at this, Captain. Putting visual on main screen.”
Nako was aware of Ulof on his heels, the Imdiko’s lumbering steps a loud counterpoint to his own silent tread. He ignored him, swiveling from Terig to the vid his Nobek clanmate had brought up.
A hunter-killer chasing a pleasure craft into Empire space? Despite his current status with Kalquor, Nako’s hackles rose at the sight of enemy craft venturing a
cross the border.
Ulof sounded as affronted as Nako felt. “Enlighten your head cook, Captain. Those are both Bi’isil, aren’t they?”
Terig answered him, probably intuiting that Nako would want a few seconds to digest the situation. “Indeed, they are, my Imdiko. Weapons Commander, report to the bridge.”
Nako’s scowl deepened, drawing his skin tight. He preferred Terig to remain in charge of weapons for such strange circumstances, but protocol—along with other issues—meant that Nobek Sesin should be present.
Having granted his captain and Dramok those few precious seconds to absorb the state of affairs, Terig ventured to ask, “Should we let the hunter-killer destroy the other before we stomp ass?”
Nako shoved his frizzy hair away from where it fell over his eye. “As amusing as it would be to watch carnage in either case, I’m curious why a Bi’isil prince is coming under fire. Not to mention, why he’s running into Empire space to escape.”
“A prince?” Ulof frowned at the lozenge-shaped shuttle darting in a desperate dance to avoid its chevron-contoured foe as the hunter-killer set off a barrage of blasts. As they watched, the shuttle suffered a hit. Its marker lights went dark, indicating the ship had lost power. The warship moved in, its bright white lights forcing Nako to squint as he watched.
“Those red markings are house sigils, only given to the Bi’isil ruling class. The number and size tell me the vessel belongs to a mid-level prince, of which Bi’is has many.”
“From the looks of things, I guess the fight is over.”
“Seems that way. Terig, de-cloak and remind the hunter-killer that this is still Kalquorian territory.”
Involved in their battle, the Bi’isil ships had apparently not scanned for power signatures that would have told them a camouflaged vessel was near at hand. The helmsman, Nobek Girek, put Nako’s raider nose-to-nose with the chevron before de-cloaking. Quick as well as lethal, the hunter-killer reversed at once, just barely avoiding Terig’s point-blank blast.
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