by Delia Roan
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
EPILOGUE
Table of Contents
TITLE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
EPILOGUE
THE ALIEN TRAITOR: JAHLE
Delia Roan
www.DeliaRoan.com
Sign up for Delia's newsletter for sneak peeks, freebies and all the latest news!
SIGN UP HERE! or visit Delia's site
© 2018 by Delia Roan
www.deliaroan.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Editing services provided by LY Publishing
www.lypublishing.com
Cover design © 2018 by Plumstone Book Covers
www.plumstonecovers.com
CHAPTER ONE
JAHLE
The ground shook with tremendous force, but Jahlekron Ar'Geran dared not react to the earthquake. He kept his chin raised, his eyes fixed at a random point on the far wall, and prayed the ceiling of the underground cave would hold. Pebbles fell from the rock above, and one bounced off Jahle’s shoulder.
His eyes flicked to the throne in front of him, where his brother Gundogan Ar’Geran lounged, finishing the last morsels of his morning meal.
Throne was a strong term for what remained of the chair. Age chipped the gold patina and the cheaper metal underneath sported a layer of rust. The lumi jewels that had once decorated the throne were gone, stripped to pay for mercenaries, mining equipment and soldiers. The throne of the Prince of the Ennoi Geran had seen better days.
Everything here has seen better days, Jahle thought, including the people.
His brother’s Avowed, Akka, shielded the Ennoi clan king’s plate from the dust scattered by the quake. She held an umbrella aloft, ignoring the dust flying into her own eyes while she served her mate. His brother belched and scratched the horn curving up from his forehead.
Jealousy flared in Jahle. How could a boor like Dogan find his Avowed mate, but Jahle could not? Why did Dogan get to bear the marks of his Virtue, while Jahle remained unbonded?
We Ennoi grow scarce, he thought. I will never meet my Avowed.
At the foot of the throne, an Ennoi emissary crouched on one knee, waiting for his lord’s acknowledgment of his presence. The emissary kept his horned head bowed in reverence, but he could not hide his involuntary spasms. His body jerked. Scabs dotted his arms. Jahle saw one split open and ooze dark liquid. The stink of illness filled the air. The emissary clenched his fist, trying to calm the spasms.
With a yawn, Dogan snapped his fingers at the man. “Okay, speak now.”
“Thank you, my lord,” the emissary said, raising his head. More scabs, some cracked and bleeding, lined his face. “I am Ketug Un’Geran. My father, Kurbanol Un’Geran served your grandfather in the wars.”
Dogan waved his hand. “Yes, yes, what do you want?”
Ketug’s jaw tightened and a muscle in his neck twitched. “I seek aid, my lord, for our tribe, the Water People. We settled under the Kastikan Ridge when the symptoms first appeared. Our tribe has been struck by the dolor. We need medicine for the children.”
“Dolor?” Dogan shifted back and raised his sleeve to cover his nose. “Dolor is nothing to a strong Ennoi.”
“We are not strong, my lord,” Ketug aid. “We are struggling. We lost our food stock vehicles to a cave-in four weeks ago. We… we also lost thirty and three of our people on that day.”
“How many remain?” Jahle’s voice seemed to echo through the cave. He swallowed back his shame at speaking out of turn. It is an important question. Beside him, Dogan grumbled in his throat.
“We are seven left,” Ketug replied. “Over half of us are children. Orphans. Two of our young have already succumbed to the dolor. Many more may have passed while I traveled here.”
Jahle’s eyes widened at the number, and he studied the sores on Ketug’s arms and face. Ennoi were hardy against disease and injury. If a standard childhood disease like dolor caused death to any Ennoi, even young ones, then the Water People must be in dire straits.
“And what do you want from me?” Dogan seized another stick of cured meat from his plate.
The emissary gaped and blinked rapidly. “My lord?”
“You are here to request my help,” Dogan said. “What is it?”
“M-medicines, my lord.” Ketug clasped his hands together in supplication. “Is it not obvious? We require medicines and food.”
Dogan waved his hand. “Can’t do it.”
Jahle hissed. The guards shifted nervously on their feet.
“Can’t, or won’t?” Ketug’s voice had lost its pleading tone. A harder, colder emotion replaced the apprehension on his face.
Jahle stiffened and his eyes flicked to his brother to gauge his reaction. Ketug, do not provoke Dogan, he pleaded in his mind. It is not worth it.
“Doesn’t matter. Answer is no.” Dogan waved again. “Begone.”
Ketug rose to his feet. He swayed slightly and stumbled, but his eyes never left Dogan’s face. “You’re making a stupid mistake.”
Dogan scowled. “Do not speak to me like that. I am your lord.”
Ketug’s eyes flicked to Jahle. “And you? Coward! Standing there like a stone.”
Jahle’s lips narrowed, and his eyes dropped to the floor. I cannot deny it.
At a gesture from Dogan, the guards seized Ketug by his arms. As they hauled him away, Ketug spat. Blood tinged the glob of spittle that landed on the dais by Dogan’s feet. “You are both honorless!”
Dogan surged to his feet, his face mottled in a rage. Akka huddled back, clutching the umbrella to her chest.
Panic flared in Jahle’s heart. No, no! He will kill Ketug for this.
Jahle shook as the familiar coil of shame wound its way through
his belly. I am no true honor guard, he thought. I’ve failed to uphold the honor of the Ennoi Geran.
I have failed my people.
“Entitled bastard,” roared Dogan. “Who do you think you are?”
For a second, Jahle said nothing. Dogan required Jahle to do what he always did: remain silent. Saying nothing was the safest course of action.
Yet the knowledge that Ketug might die moved his mouth. Words spilled out. “Our people.”
Dogan paused, his attention diverted from Ketug. “What?”
Jahle turned his eyes to his brother’s face with dread. “They think they are our people.” The dam burst and more words poured out. “And they would be correct. They are our people. They are our responsibility.”
The scowl on Dogan’s face warped his features. “What, dear brother?”
Jahle braced himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guards haul Ketug away. They did not want to witness Dogan’s anger. The door shut behind them, taking Ketug out of Dogan’s sight.
Too late to stop now.
“We can spare the medicine,” Jahle said. “Maybe even the food. Helping them would be the correct action. The honorable action.”
Dogan surged forward. He pulled his fist back and swung for Jahle’s face.
Here we go.
Jahle could have moved, but years of experience told him that if he dodged the first blow, Dogan would ensure the second hurt more. His brother’s meaty fist slammed into Jahle’s jaw. Jahle sprawled backward. When he hit the floor, he didn’t bother to rise. It provoked Dogan less when he stayed down.
“Know your place!” Dogan bellowed, kicking his brother in the ribs. “I do not pander to every beggar who worms their way to me! I run a war room, not a charity!”
Jahle looked around the dimly lit cavern, taking in the flickering torches smearing the walls with soot, and the gaunt-faced soldiers who averted their eyes.
What war room? What war?
The only enemy we fight is hunger.
“You think it is easy to rule?” Spittle flew from Dogan’s lips. “You think it is easy to wear the crown? You want me dead so you can be the ruler?”
His response wouldn’t matter, so Jahle dropped his head and studied the crumbling throne, letting his brother’s rant wash over him. He grunted as Dogan’s foot made contact with his shoulder. Blood and bitterness mingled on Jahle’s tongue, sour and harsh.
“Those people! Those same people!” Dogan jabbed a finger at the door. “They tried to take this throne from me! And you would fuel their rebellion. You would feed their traitorous mouths.”
Dogan began pacing now. The hem of his dirty robe swept the floor. “No, they must learn a lesson. All who defy me must learn a lesson.” He jabbed his finger at his brother. “You, Jahle, must learn a lesson. Get up!”
Jahle stood. His jaw would bruise. He could feel it. But he refused to rub the ache from it.
I will be swallowed by the ground before I give Dogan the satisfaction.
As if on command, another subtle quake started up. The metal plate rattled, and Akka rushed to cover Dogan’s food. Dogan shoved her away.
“Go get a sonar evaluator for my stupid brother,” he ordered. Akka returned shortly, carrying the tubular device. She bowed and extended the machine to Jahle. He merely stared.
Dogan can’t be serious.
“Take it,” snapped Dogan.
Akka shot a look of warning at Jahle. If he did not take the device, she would incur Dogan’s wrath, too. Her expression promised she would vent her ire on Jahle. Jahle never liked Akka’s pettiness, but he could not let her suffer, no more than he could let Ketug suffer. With a sigh, Jahle plucked the sonar evaluator from her hands.
As his hand closed on the machine, he tried to mask his disgust. A thin layer of spittle coated the barrel. He shot a glance at Akka and saw her sneer at him. He didn’t bother reacting. Any expression he made would be interpreted by Dogan as directed at him.
“I want you to scan every inch of this base,” Dogan snarled. “Make sure there are no weak spots. Got it?”
“Yes, my lord,” Jahle muttered.
“Louder!”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Excellent. I must go confer with our agent on Cadam. I need to make sure our little surprise for that bastard Kovos is going according to plan.” He swept away, leaving Jahle staring at the machine in his hands. When Dogan reached the door, he paused. “One more thing. You are forbidden from leaving the base.”
Jahle licked his lips, tasting blood. “Not even in case of an emergency, my lord?” He kept his tone deferential.
“Forbidden!” Dogan laughed. “Only way you can leave this base is if our enemies march you out at gunpoint. Better get started, Jahle. Time’s wasting.”
The sonar evaluator lay against the length of Jahle’s arm and the strap crossed his chest. The compact machine checked the stability of mine walls, and in theory, that’s what Jahle did as he strode through the caverns they called home. Every five steps, he faced the evaluator to the wall and pulled the trigger. The device flashed a blue light if all was well. If not, it beeped, and the light turned red.
To nobody’s surprise, the light remained blue while in Kreebo.
The Kreebo base was built to withstand the earthquakes wracking Geran. Dogan set a futile task for Jahle. However, the evaluator tallied each trigger pull and sent a report to Dogan’s lumis. The report contained details of the rock bed examined and the location.
When Jahle reached a fork in the tunnels, he turned left, choosing the quieter path. If he turned right, he would enter the communal kitchen, where he might encounter more of his people as they finished their meal. Dogan would be petty enough to check Jahle followed his orders, but nobody needed to witness Jahle’s shame.
I will scan the kitchen in a bell’s time, once it is empty.
Ahead of him, tiny brown shapes wiggled in the walls. Borebug larvae. They emitted peeps, using sonar to navigate. Sensing the vibrations from his footsteps, the borebug larvae froze. Motionless, they blended into the surrounding stone. Jahle lifted the evaluator and fired. The creatures writhed away, repelled by the sonar.
Fear me, for I bring death upon you!
No, not death. Merely inconvenience. The creatures would be back. They always were. The adult borebugs drove them back eventually, and when Jahle next screwed up, he would chase the wiggly spawn back to their parents where they would be treated as a meal.
At least my shame serves a purpose, Jahle thought.
He continued on, down toward a darker portion of the base. The ground began to slope, and the sounds of his clan began to fade.
When he reached a set of stone stairs, he paused. Down there, he would encounter another personal failing. He kept walking, taking each step slowly. While his feet dragged, he didn’t want to stop. His heart sped up as he turned the corner and saw… her.
The human.
She lay on the bare ground, with an arm tucked under her head. Her breathing was deep and even. From this angle, her shoulder hid her bright orange hair. A chain ran from a shackle on her ankle to an iron ring on the wall.
Under the pretense of checking the stability of the wall, Jahle worked his way closer to the woman, until he could see her face. He swung the evaluator around to his back and crouched down to examine her.
Her vibrant hair spilled across her pale face, begging him to tuck it back. Her skin was speckled with dots of light brown, not dirt but her natural coloring. Her lashes lay against her cheek, and her lips were parted slightly. Their pink plumpness was marred by a dark red scab. Another scab ran down the length of her cheek.
Why can’t I look away?
He felt responsible. That had to be it. Dogan had concocted an insane scheme to enact revenge on their enemy, Lord Kovos of the planet Cadam. Jahle had tried. He had tried to soothe his angry brother. He had tried to stop Dogan from paying Sykorian mercenaries to abduct the
human and her sister. He had tried to reason with Dogan when he sent the sister to Cadam and kept this one as a hostage.
Dogan plays with lava. He will be burned.
And the rest of us with him.
The Ennoi of the planet Geran, and the human, would pay the price. With a grunt of frustration, Jahle rose. He marched off, firing the sonar evaluator.
But by the time Cadam rains bombs down on us, the Water People will already be dead.
CHAPTER TWO
MELISSA
Her arm fell asleep, but she dared not move. Melissa Harlock of Earth cursed the hard rock beneath her while she feigned sleep. When the alien squatted beside her, she nearly stopped breathing, but she forced herself to keep going.
In, and out. Breathe.
This was what would help her gain her freedom: the long con. If she kept her head down and her nose clean, eventually they would stop worrying about her, and when they did, they would get lazy. They would get sloppy, and she could strike.
The alien grunted and stomped off. Mel cracked open an eye and peered at him through her lashes. Oh, it’s him. Mr. Nice Guy. She knew it would be. Though he never spoke to her, he checked on her every day, at least once.
His back was broad, and his skin swirled with shades of pale brown and a splash of faded cinnamon. He didn’t have the horns or brighter colors that some other guards did, but at least when he looked at her with his strange ruby eyes, she didn’t feel like a bug.
He’s the enemy, she reminded herself. To him, you are a bug.
When he turned the corner, Mel started counting in her head. One, two, three… The first day she spent chained to the wall, she had huddled in the corner, jumping at every noise. Eventually she figured out the tunnel amplified sounds. She could hear anyone approaching, which meant they could hear her.
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…
The guard’s footsteps faded, but she stayed motionless. The clinking of the chain would echo, so she only moved when the coast was clear. Counting to a hundred would ensure he was out of earshot for what she wanted to try.