Rescued By Tordin: Olodian Alien Warrior Romance

by Mychal Daniels

  The Terrains’ discovery of other humanoid life forms by an act of Tordin’s carelessness could become an intergalactic maelstrom, ripe for in-fighting and posturing for power within the IGA. Relations were already strained between the Emperors from the ruling galaxies. One major slip like this could give any one of them the edge he needed to disrupt the current delicate balance of power. Tordin hated governance.

  Then there was the fact that he would give up his healthy lead to his brother on this latest mess his father had asked him to fix. If Cordin arrived first, there would be no way to make sure he didn’t do or say something to make matters worse. He’d done it before. No, it was his way, and part of Tordin’s lot in life was to clean up the messes his older brother made. His father had asked him to go, knowing this to be so. Cordin’s disregard for anyone besides himself knew no bounds. If the major areas of the planet were locked in war, his arrival and subsequent gaffes might cause more planets to join in.

  Tordin rubbed a hand through his unruly hair. He made a mental note to have it cut again once they were back on course. The thick, jet-black mane with hints of deep blue grew too fast and always managed to get in his way. If he weren’t his father’s son, he’d keep it shaved, but knew he had to be presentable as a member of the royal family and for those times he was summoned home for official events.

  His mind continued to race with all the reasons it was not a good idea to do anything, but he at least needed to help any survivors get back to their planet’s surface.

  His thoughts grappled with each other as he ran down all the implications. He played an intricate game of strategy with all the possible actions he could take. Over and over, he turned each action around, seeking to develop the wisest approach.

  Probably the biggest reason he needed to leave the Terrain to their own devices popped into his mind at that moment.

  These Terrain had not sent their distress call on the IGA frequency, as was the proper way to signal help from any of its members. The IGA could say he broke the mandate and interfered.

  He looked at the vessel, careening at a precarious angle now. Time was evaporating, and he had to make a decision. What if they needed immediate life-saving attention? How would he explain having ten or more Terrain on his ship? Would he be forced to take them back to their planet and risk starting a war because of their primitive understanding about not being alone in the stars? The IGA’s policies were an intricate tangle of actions devised to police each member galaxy more than to help them.

  If only he knew what that brother of his was up to this time. Tordin couldn’t risk botching both situations. Knowing more about his brother’s plan would help him decide what to do now. He would know if he had time to handle this situation properly or if he needed to provide a quick fix and move on. He knew whatever he decided would be the most honorable thing he could do.

  Cordin, on the other hand, was always looking for the shortest path to his own benefit—no matter the fallout. Would taking time to help these beings put an entire planet at risk if he didn’t get to Nenndi before Cordin?

  “Gadd!” he said in frustration as his thoughts looped.

  Tordin knew his brother like no one else—not even his loving father. But in this case, he had no clue what he was up to. All he did know was that something was not right about Cordin’s eagerness to leave the trappings of home and to race to a planet that he had no ties to. There were just too many thoughts, all playing havoc with his gut.

  The more Tordin thought about it, the more he knew what needed to be done. He pushed all the arguments aside. There was no way he would abandon viable life on any craft that he had the chance to save. He would assume his brother was up to no good. He would also do the quickest, most honorable thing to help any remaining Terrain get to safety. Then he’d get back on course to reach Nenndi before his brother did.

  With characteristic focus, he commenced on his plan to help the Terrain. Or did they refer to themselves by their tiny blue planet’s name? Were they Earthians?

  Pressing the link to connect with Malm, he waited without a stray thought. When Malm answered, Tordin commanded, “Set a hyper speed course to get us as close to the craft as possible without sustaining any damage to our own ship. We will help those still on the craft—if they request it directly. Send Jalek and a few of your best warriors on a search, rescue and retrieve encounter.”

  “Yes, Sire,” Malm said, but Tordin could hear a question in his voice.

  “What is it, Malm?” Tordin asked, knowing it had to do with the young Jalek.

  “Why send Jalek? He’s young yet. I don’t want to have to make sure he doesn’t get injured. I know he is one of your favorites, and I would not like to have his welfare on my conscience while we are down there.”

  “I’m sending him because he’s young. I’m also sending him because he needs the experience of real danger. Let him fend for himself. If he hasn’t learned how to be cautious yet, this will be a lesson worth learning. And what do you mean ‘you’? I do not want my second away from the ship on such a trivial mission. You can direct it from here. Send your best males.”

  “But Sire,” Malm lowered his voice so others could not hear, “I have the unction to go. It is very strong. There is the pull for me to go.”

  Malm had used the ancient, holy word unction. At the mention of it, Tordin’s gut quivered as if confirming that the pull he experienced was unction, as well. It couldn’t be.

  When that word was used, there was no argument or reasoning to overthrow its implications. To have an unction was to be called by the Creation Goddess to meet your destiny. Many of the holy teachings about unction involved the meeting of true mates, as well. They would join and produce a greater purpose together. None currently alive had ever had experienced unction of this kind; it couldn’t happen to both of them and not at the same time, so it was indeed a rare occurrence.

  The continued stirrings within him didn’t allow Tordin to dismiss it so easily, though. Maybe there was more to this mission than he could even see. Malm had always had the ways of the Creation Goddess and understood more than others. This was part of the reason Tordin kept him close and why he counted Malm as his closest ally, even brother. There was some force pulling Malm—and him—to the craft, and Tordin would not upset the ripples of life by interfering.

  Instead of denying his statement, Tordin relented. “If it be an unction, then who am I to interfere? Go in grace and strength. I will cover at the helm in your absence. Be prepared to keep me abreast of all actions. Also prepare a secondary team to follow if the matter is worse than we anticipate. And Malm…”

  “Yes, Sire?”

  “Do not let any harm befall you. If it’s too dangerous, have everyone pull back and return to the ship. I don’t want any injuries on my watch. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Sire. Your command will be followed to the letter.”

  “Good. Now prepare to leave as soon as you get close enough to use the Jump.”

  Tordin ended the communication and made his way to the command center of the mother ship. Even though he traveled with the fleet as the Sire in charge, he still liked to have his hands in the action, too. If he didn’t need to remain close to the ship to answer any incoming communications from his father, he would have been the one going down to the craft to help.

  From the ship’s command center, he watched as Malm and his men prepared the Jump to connect the two vessels. Now that they were close enough, he could see what looked like a humanoid attempting to dislodge another of those smaller crafts without success. His was the advantage since they were still cloaked, and he could observe as his men moved onto the craft without detection. Magnifying the viewer to get a better perspective, he watched what looked like a Terrain male attempting, in vain, to release the damaged pod from its locked position.

  There was no way that craft would be operational. Destructive, violent energy had destroyed most of one of its sides, and the Terrain looked no better as life-force
fluids streaked his body. His vitals were weakening, as well. This new information changed everything. Without a working pod, the remaining ones had no way to get back to their home planet. The rescue effort would not be to help them get to their pods; it would change to bring them on board and help them survive their injuries. Tordin itched to go down and help, but he could not leave the post. He would not enjoy fighting this battle with the council members traveling with his fleet, and even worse, he was now in direct opposition to the orders from his Emperor—his father.

  He quickly reassured himself that his decision was honorable, and he would do what he must. He focused on giving his greatest friend orders that would absolve him of any guilt. As the team finished securing the Jump to the other craft, he sent a direct communication to Malm, making sure it was recorded.

  “Malm, this is the Sire, Warrior Lord Tordin giving orders to take a few of the healing transporters for transport of the sick and injured back to the fleet’s mother ship. We will receive them into our Healing Section. Bring surviving Terrain, who’ve directly asked for your help, back to the ship. This includes any you are able to find without causing danger or injury to your team. That is an order from your Sire, do you understand?”

  His intonation must have communicated his intent, because Malm confirmed, understanding his order for what it was. They were going to bring any Terrains back to the ship and not send them back to the surface of their planet.

  5

  “Mark! Commander Mark! Can you hear me?” Kyra didn’t like the sounds of what could only be fire coming through the intra-communicator link.

  The commander had stopped responding to her, and she didn’t know his personal frequency for a direct link. This was beyond bad. She was in over her head, and this was the longest day of her life. The line remained quiet as she tried once more to raise him on the link.

  Silence.

  The commander’s silence coupled with the sounds of fire were enough of a pattern interrupt to snatch her out of her fixation with what was going on down there and back to her own surroundings. She looked around to discover she was alone in the vast room that was mission control.

  More silence.

  The auxiliary lights were still on, but the warning sirens had ceased, and most of the stations were a deathly black—lifeless without the power she’d rerouted to close down non-essential operations.

  It was now or never. She had to leave or be trapped in here. Before she stood, she realized she hadn’t confirmed that Phoebe had made it onto a shuttle.

  Please let her have made it onto a shuttle. Phoebe, don’t try to be a hero today, Kyra prayed, hoping that the gnawing worry in her gut was not some sort of indicator. As a last ditch effort, she grabbed a portable communicator on her way out and contacted the medical bay. There was no answer. Good. Hopefully everyone got out.

  She took the emergency pathway instead of the powerless elevator to the station’s hull. The closer she got to the bottom, the higher the temperature rose; the air thickened, making it harder to breathe. By the time she got to the level where the engines and shuttles were, the blazes were high and aggressive. Kyra yelled for the commander or anyone else, but her call met only with the roaring of fires here and there. Please don’t let him be dead, she thought as she picked her way into the engine room area. Little fires burned in a crazy pattern as she hopscotched her way into the corridor that led to the different engine rooms. Maybe Mark and the rest of the crew had already left? She could only hope.

  That would mean she was possibly the only one left on-board. Her mouth began to do that weird thing it did just before she vomited. She fought to keep it down. She had to figure out a way to get off the station. She decided to check each engine room for a working shuttle. Walking towards the shuttles in the farthest engine room revealed that all the shuttles housed in this section were gone.

  Boom!

  Another explosion somewhere off in the distance shook the station, slinging her against a steel enforced support column. She checked herself for injury and felt none.

  Keep moving. Go to another engine room and find another shuttle.

  This was crazy. She didn’t know how to fly one, even if she did find a shuttle. She was going to die, but the urge to live was too strong. It drove her to move her feet in search of something…maybe even a miracle.

  “Kyra! Kyra is that you?”

  She turned toward the sound of the voice to see the commander limping toward her.

  “Mark, let me help you,” she said, rushing toward him. “What is our status down here? Did everyone get off the ship?”

  He didn’t try to stop her from lending a shoulder to help him walk. As he limped alongside her on their way to another engine room, he briefed her on their status.

  “By my calculation, most everyone got on the shuttles and left. Taking into account the fatalities and counting you and me, that still leaves about four unaccounted for. It’s too late to try and find them. The fire has damaged the last two shuttles I found, and I’m not sure they’re able to fly. I had hoped you’d gotten on one of the shuttles in another engine room. I tried to keep count and watch, but I’m sure I missed some, and I was hoping you were on one of them.” He paused to look at her with deep sorrow in his eyes. “I don’t know how to get you back to the surface, kiddo. I’m the commander and knew I would stay until she went down or exploded, but you…” he trailed off, not looking at her any longer.

  “Hey, it’s all right. I’m here, and we can work on the other shuttles. Remember, I’m sort of good at getting things to work better. They might still work—okay?” She looked around at the empty room and asked, “Are we the last ones down here?”

  He nodded, concentrating on not putting too much of his weight on her.

  “It all right, and everything is going to work out. We have to be optimistic, you know. We still have about fifteen minutes of good oxygen left, and I’m not giving up without a fight. You in?”

  He smiled at her, opting to remain silent. She knew he was at his limit, but she had to know. “Mark, did you see Phoebe—I mean Dr. Brown—board any of the shuttles?”

  He scrunched his face up in pain and concentration as he thought about her question.

  “Come to think of it, I remember the medical staff coming down as soon as we sent the message to evacuate with their patients. As they boarded a shuttle, they said she would be down with another patient but not to hold the shuttle for her, that she would catch the next one. I’m sorry, Kyra, but I never saw her come down with a patient or by herself. Did you try to contact her on her direct communicator?”

  Kyra fought the tears that tried to take over. She wouldn’t cry or mourn her friend. Phee was not dead. Kyra knew it like she knew she herself was alive. When she had her emotions under control again, she re-ran the times she’d contacted Phoebe. Come to think of it, no, she hadn’t tried the direct link, only the medical bay. Hope sprang up as Kyra used the portable intra-communicator to contact Phoebe. She hoped it would still work in the shuttles.

  The communicator connected with Phoebe’s direct link, and as Kyra listened, she heard scratching noises. “Phoebe, it’s me, Kyra. Are you there, can you hear me?”

  More scratching.

  “Phee! It’s Kyra, please, if you can hear me say something… just let me know you can hear me.”

  It took a few more seconds, but Phoebe’s weakened voice came on the line. “Hey, Honey Bun.”

  Kyra’s stomach flipped with dread. “Phoebe, where are you? Are you hurt? Let me know so I can find you!” Kyra pleaded, not knowing what happened to her friend.

  “I’m…I’m… I think I’m in the emergency pathway above the engine room that exploded. I can’t move. I’m pinned under fallen debris. Don’t come for me. You can’t get me out from under all this stuff.”

  Kyra saw her pained expression reflected back at her in Mark’s eyes. He was in no shape to help her, and she didn’t know exactly where Phoebe was. Could she find her and get her out
in time? It was getting harder to breathe. She put on a brave face. They weren’t going to die, at least not today if she could help it.

  “Phoebe, I’m on my way. Keep your link on. I’ll find you.”

  The heat from the engine bay became unbearable as she helped Mark out of the room. Kyra wanted to go find Phoebe, but first she needed to get Mark seated and somewhat comfortable.

  She had just managed to help Mark turn his body around and away from the fire when the station lurched violently. Mark tumbled out of her grasp and into the steel wall. She cringed as she heard bone crack. The captain lay against a metal support column with his side crushed. She winced when a trickle of blood started a mournful descent down the side of his forehead.

  “Mark! Oh no—Mark are you okay? Can you stand?” She rushed toward him down the steep incline of the floor.

  “No, stay back!” he said, putting up a blood-smeared hand to stave her off. “The floor is slippery. You don’t have the proper shoes to keep from slipping and falling. You won’t be able to get back up there if you come any closer. I’m fine. Let me gather my faculties, and I’ll come up to you.”

  She wasn’t buying it. He didn’t look like he could stand without her help. She inched closer, noting the floor was indeed slippery. Trying to walk down a wet surface with slick-soled flats was not the brightest thing to do, but she had to try. She took another step, trying to find traction.

  “Kyra stop—that is an order! Stand down. Don’t come any closer. You have a chance. Go to the other engine room to your left. When you find the two shuttles, follow the emergency directions to engage the homing device. If you can get one of them to work, look for the icon for the auto-pilot mode. Once you engage it, it will offer to set a course for the nearest surface station. Go now!” he yelled, the harshness of his words not touching his eyes.