Alien Revolt

by Tracy St. John

  Nath gave Piras and Kila a nod. “I will see you tomorrow then, Admiral. And you, Captain?”

  “I won’t be needed for your meeting, unless you deem it necessary,” Kila said.

  Another scream speared the air. The general and Kila winced. Piras blinked to see them look identical in their discomfort for an instant.

  “Then I look forward to seeing you again at a future time.” Nath squared his wide shoulders and headed towards the door through which everyone else had departed. Though his steps were resolute, Piras thought he detected reluctance in Nath’s demeanor.

  “At least the general doesn’t seem to be without a heart,” Kila said in an undertone to Piras, using their language. He’d noticed the small indications of Nath’s unease too.

  Except for a few of the guards, the two Kalquorians were alone in the chamber. Sitrel had slunk off without a word or a bow. Piras sighed. “I guess we’re dismissed.”

  “And here I was beginning to like the place. At least we scored a blessing from the holy one.” Kila sketched the motion Copeland had made in the air before Piras’s face, adopting the same lofty expression Copeland had worn. He gave no indication he noticed the scandalized stares of the Earther guards. They would have been even more offended to understand what he said. “May your endeavors be successful as you plot the ruin of your enemies, and your cocks stand strong and unwilted during acts of love.”

  “Captain.”

  Piras’s one-word warning halted any further attempts at humor, humor that was not welcome when the screams were coming faster and more terrible than before.

  The two men headed out of the chamber. They walked fast to get away from those hellish sounds; sounds Piras feared would not end until the victim’s life did.

  Chapter 2

  The end of the day, as measured by the battlecruiser’s chronometers, was always a welcome moment for Hope. She got back to her family’s quarters to find Charity waiting with a glass of lemonade.

  “The sweet taste of bribery,” Hope said, smacking her lips after her first taste of her sister’s peace offering. It was little more than yellow powdered sugar, but Charity managed to make it good. Hope went to one corner of the living area, where a little table and a couple of benches served as their dining space. She sat down and had another swallow of the lemony-sweet concoction. The pitcher of the rest of Charity’s handiwork sat in the center of the table, but Hope’s immediate interest lay elsewhere. “Do I smell cookies?”

  “Only if you don’t tell Dad about me getting caught putting salt in Sister Miriam’s tea,” Charity said. She flipped her burnished dark-chocolate hair back, hazel eyes glittering with impish mischief. “Otherwise, I’ll need the whole batch to get on his good side.”

  “You’ll need more than cookies to make up for the ink she spilled all over her habit while choking on her tea. The poor woman looked like a walking Rorschach test.” Hope tried to be stern.

  “It was an accident. No one can prove otherwise,” her sister said loftily. “What was the old bag thinking anyway, wearing that all-white thing when we were doing hand transcription? Her penguin habit would have been far smarter.”

  Hope shook her head. Charity’s teenage angst was in full swing. “Don’t call Sister Miriam an old bag.”

  “You’re right. Miserable old bag is more accurate. It’s just a shame I couldn’t do the same for Copeland’s pearly white robes.”

  “Charity.”

  “Imagine having us copying his garbage by hand! Like we’re cloistered monks of the Dark Ages. Computers everywhere, and he wants his lunacy in script.”

  “Charity.”

  Charity’s pout softened and she gave her sister her most appealing air. “Come on, Hope. You know those classes are beyond stupid.”

  “But you have to attend, or we all get into trouble. It would be nice if I could go a week without having to listen to Sister list your latest protests.”

  “You’d die from shock. I can’t allow that to happen.”

  Hope sighed. She could understand Charity’s unhappiness. The Holy Leader’s mandated ‘school’ for female minors was more an indoctrination mission than education. “Give me a darned cookie.”

  Charity grinned and traveled the half dozen steps it took to get to the tiny kitchenette where the family cooked their meals. She returned with a still-warm sugar cookie. “Thanks, big sis. Have I told you lately how great you are?”

  “Stow it, loser. I’ve got a feeling Dad’s day was bad enough without adding your nonsense to the mix.” Hope thought of the Kalquorians who she’d literally run into. She’d thought a lot about them over the course of the day. Her libido had all the qualities of a traitor.

  Uncomfortable with what she pondered, she bit into the cookie and moaned with delight. “At least you bake a worthwhile bribe.”

  “If you need anything else, get up and fetch it yourself,” Charity smarted off. “I’ve got real learning to do.” She grabbed her handheld computer off the table and sashayed across the seating space which made up their living room, heading to her bedroom.

  “Math, right? Dad says you’re falling behind.”

  “Ugh, no way. I’m going to work on composition. I’m writing a story about a young girl who triumphs over an evil nun. I’m hoping for it to become a non-fiction account.”

  Hope and shook her head as the door closed behind the teen. “I know I wasn’t so difficult at her age,” she muttered. She gazed over her shoulder at the Nath family portrait hanging in the corner of the tight living space making up their sitting room. Charity at nine years old had been an exuberant, but pleasant child. She wore a wide-open grin in the picture, one that had become more of a sneer since puberty hit.

  Hope stared at the woman in the portrait, her mother Faith. Charity was almost a carbon copy of their late parent these days, at least physically. Faith’s beam had been caring and cheerful. Her personality had matched, as bright as Charity’s tended to be sulky. No doubt she would have been more understanding of her youngest child’s storms. She’d certainly would have taken a dim view of Hope’s near-constant irritation.

  Hope took another bite of the cookie and contemplated forgiveness. No, Charity was impossible these days. All the understanding and all the fresh-baked cookies in the universe couldn’t pardon her.

  She could almost hear her mother’s gentle reproving you know better. Her sister was growing into womanhood with a vengeance. A late bloomer, Charity had fairly erupted with curves in the last few months, her body attaining the lush contours of their deceased mother. While Hope felt a twinge of jealousy that her sister had gotten all the boobs and butt in the family, it worried her far more. Men were noticing Charity these days. Such attention could be dangerous even if she was the daughter of the Holy Leader’s senior military commander.

  “Those Kalqs would have noticed her if she’d bumped into them,” Hope muttered. “No way they’d have mistaken her for a boy, not for even a second.”

  Oh no, she was thinking about those aliens again. Those big, virile, astounding aliens who had haunted her thoughts since she’d run into them. As the owner of an active imagination and libido—if not sex life—Hope had choked off far too many sighs at work that day. There were few places that could have been worse to fantasize about raunchy, taboo sex, but she’d been unable to stop herself.

  Hope shook her head at herself. The level of physical attraction she felt for what amounted to acres of riveting man-flesh was worthy of her sister’s descent into puberty purgatory. “Maybe hormones are contagious,” she sighed. “But good night, talk about hyper-masculinity.”

  The man Hope had walked into had been a lithe creature despite the musculature, particularly compared to his companion. He’d had a streamlined quality she’d seen achieved only by competitive-level swimmers. His face was compelling too, what with a strong jaw cast against his otherwise fine-drawn features. She thought him a fascinating blend of beauty and power.

  The other one had been the personif
ication of brute force. His black uniform had been sleeveless, displaying the biggest, bulkiest arms she’d ever seen. Scars had laced the dark bronze skin in curious patterns, patterns she’d imagined tracing with her fingertips. How many fights had he been in to get scars like that? Had he worn that sneering expression when he’d fought his opponents, the same leer which made his feral, bearded face dangerous and yet alluring?

  Hope felt a stab of excitement between her legs. She realized she was rubbing her thighs together for what had to be the millionth time that day.

  “Stop,” she begged herself. “Earther men are too much trouble. How much worse would hostile Kalqs be? Get ‘em out of your fantasy files, you horny twit.”

  Her encounter with them insisted on replaying itself in her mind, however. Hope couldn’t stop cataloging the impressive creatures’ many physical assets no matter how many attempts she made to divert herself. Fortunately, her father arrived a few minutes later, at last distracting her from lustful contemplation.

  Borey Nath’s long hours in the company of Browning Copeland often made him appear drawn. Hope could tell this had been a particularly bad day. He gave her a weary gaze and an even wearier greeting. She jumped up and went into the kitchenette, grabbing the plate of cookies Charity had left on the two-burner stovetop. After pouring her dad a glass of the lemonade, she joined him in the sitting area. He sighed gratefully as he sank in one of the three chairs. He rewarded her attention with another tired attempt at a smile.

  “Do I want to know what Charity did that required cookies and yellow sugar in liquid form?” he asked after his first bite and sip.

  “Nope.” Hope helped herself to another cookie. Her sister had not just inherited all the boobs and butt from their mother, but the ability to bake like a master chef as well. Kitchen skills were one of the things about which the family liked to joke ‘Hope is hopeless’.

  Borey didn’t inquire any further into his youngest child’s shenanigans. Hope liked to think it was a testament to his trust in her ability to handle such matters, rather than his lack of energy to deal with one more thing gone wrong. He sat in the worn but comfortable chair, sipping lemonade, nibbling a cookie, and staring moodily into space.

  Hope reached over to pat his knee. “That good a day, huh?”

  Her dad’s long stare into nothing didn’t waver. “Copeland passed sentence on a man overheard taking his name in vain. He had him injected with pain enhancers and watched him get beaten to death. Naturally, I was required to attend.”

  Hope winced at the helpless agony in her father’s voice as much as the story he told. “The penalties are getting worse. He’s gone completely over the deep end, hasn’t he?”

  Borey jerked, as if snapping awake. He gave Hope his attention. “I’m sorry. You have no need to hear about these things.”

  “You’ve got to have someone to talk to. If not me, who else?”

  It hurt her to see him despondent. “I insist no one ever give up, but the despair is getting worse. I have to find some way of getting you and Charity out of this mess. You can’t stay here.”

  Hope gave him a level expression. “We’ve been over this before. I’m not going anywhere without you. Charity would say the same.” She decided to switch subjects to give her father a moment to regroup—and to satisfy the curiosity gnawing at her. “Tell me about those Kalquorians who came on board today. They looked like pretty tough customers.”

  Her diversion worked. Borey’s gloom departed as he contemplated the new players in the game. “They are a dangerous pair. Admiral Piras and Captain Kila turned on Kalquor’s imperial government, much like Sitrel and the other rebels did. I’d heard of them both back during the war between our planets. Men like those you don’t want to face in a battle of any kind. The Basma scored big when he got them to fight on his side.”

  “Really?”

  “They were a major force back in the day. Master strategists. Courageous to a fault. Strict but fair to those they captured. Funny, isn’t it? They have a reputation of the highest honor, and yet now they wage war for the Basma. I never would have picked them for traitors to their empire.” He shook his head, as if bemused by the vagaries of people’s loyalties. “Admiral Piras will be commanding the Basma’s ships in our effort to take Haven.”

  Hope’s stomach curdled. She knew Copeland hoped to make the Earther residents of Haven Colony a very public demonstration to his remaining followers. The type of penance he planned to enact on them for their ‘sins’ of living within Kalquorian space—and in some respects, joining clans—would be nothing less than an atrocity.

  She muttered, “There is no way this is going to end well. If Copeland and the Basma win, things will get worse for us. If they lose and we actually survive the Empire’s stupid civil war, Kalquor and the Galactic Council of Planets will put us all on trial.”

  “Only if we can’t show we didn’t make the effort to overthrow Copeland. When we finally do, we’ll have the proof of what we’ve worked towards for so long.”

  “An outcome which would come sooner if the different factions would stop fighting amongst themselves. Did you get Fowler’s group and the Pure Faith League to set aside their latest differences?”

  “For now.” Her father’s gaze had gone distant again. “It would be so much easier if I could put a blaster shot through Copeland’s brain. But without clear leadership to take his place, we’ll end up fighting each other for power. We’d do even more damage to ourselves and the innocents caught in the middle of it all.”

  “Or worse, the Basma will have us all executed. Or sent to the Bi’isil labs for money and keep the cruisers for his fleet.” Hope shuddered. “More horrors, though at this point it’s hard to imagine things being any more awful.”

  “Trust me, they can be. I’ve seen it over and over throughout my career. Copeland’s a lunatic and a monster, but at least under him, we’re not killing each other over a few scraps of food.”

  “If you could take the reins once we destroy his authority—”

  Borey shook his head, cutting her off. “I don’t have enough of a following. No one group in opposition to Copeland does. As things stand right now, a successful coup removing him from power will end with fighting among the factions to claim that power.”

  Hope sighed. “When I think of how close we came to rising up against Copeland, then stopped by Armageddon, I could cry. Damn him and his nukes. Damn the Kalquorians for their invasion.”

  Her dad was quiet. From the sad expression he wore, Hope knew he was thinking of the other, more personal loss which had come from Armageddon. Not only had their revolution died, but they’d lost her mother as well. It had been an unlucky throw of the dice putting Faith Nath in Paris that day.

  It was time for another subject change. “I do have good news, something I forgot to tell you about this morning. I’ll have a couple of those micro bugs ready in a few days. I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out how to defeat the sound blockers.”

  Borey perked up. “Excellent. Can you make more than two of them? I wouldn’t mind tagging the Kalquorian admiral and his captain friend, along with Sitrel and Copeland.”

  Hope considered. “I’ll see what I can do, but parts are hard to come by. The techs keep a close eye on their goodies. It’s starting to seem odd for a hacker to drop by as often as I had to in order to get what I did.”

  “If you can only manage the two, I’ll put them on Copeland and Piras.”

  “Will you be seeing much of the Kalquorians?” Hope doubted she’d care much for the aliens’ politics and overall viewpoints. Even so, the off-chance she’d get another opportunity to ogle them had its appeal. For all their hostility, the race was damned nice to look at.

  “I have a meeting with the admiral tomorrow.” Her father’s eyes narrowed. “Piras doesn’t appear like much, but he smells like danger to me. His reputation alone suggests his threat level may be more than that hulking Kila. Piras definitely bears watching.”

  Hope a
greed the admiral needed to be watched, but for different reasons. The few Kalquorians she’d seen were amazing physical specimens—well, except for narrow-beaked Dramok Sitrel. Sitrel was big and muscular compared to Earther men, but he was still a whole bunch of yuck, in her opinion. In contrast, Piras and Kila had been more impressive than most.

  Maybe it’s the novelty I find so interesting. This is the one Earther vessel without some sort of Kalquorian complement working on it. If I saw those two every day, they probably wouldn’t seem so good. Plus their attitudes towards Earthers would cure me of the attraction.

  Hope wished she’d get over her enthrallment with the aliens. Such an interest was asking for trouble. She decided she would not bring up Piras or Kila again.

  Fortunately, Charity walked into the room, the best deterrent to talking about taboo subjects. “Hey, older people. Dad, you look beat.”

  “I am. How was school? As if the cookies weren’t a clue that all is not well.” He gave her a knowing gaze.

  “School was fine,” Charity lied effortlessly. Hope managed to keep a poker face. “It was the same old, same old. Sister Miriam has us editing the Bible to include Holy Leader’s changes and add his book of New Revelations. By hand. In ink. Unfortunately, we don’t have feathered quills to make it the true medieval experience it could be.”

  The sneer in her tone was evident. Their father winked at her, and she grinned. Charity was safe to despise Copeland as much as the rest of them did, but actively discouraged from speaking of it. Denigrating him was not a desirable habit to fall into; not when one wrong word in front of the wrong person could end in her execution.

  “Let’s talk dinner,” Hope said, leading them away from topics best not indulged in by Charity. “I’m starved.”

  With that, they settled into their usual evening routine, taking comfort in their small corner of sanity and safety.

  The rest of their evening went quietly. Borey headed off to bed early. Exhaustion which probably had more to do with dealing with Copeland than physical fatigue made his shoulders droop and steps drag as he wished Hope and Charity a good night.