Alien General's Fated: SciFi Alien Romance (Brion Brides)

by Voxley, Vi

  Close enough that the general gladly answered the call himself. He had been burning with need to bloody his blade and face his enemy. Now they practically offered themselves up on a platter. In the back of his mind, Ryden sensed it was too easy, that there was something off about this latest sighting, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

  For three days, there had been no sign of Aria. For three days, the sight of her dead had been before his eyes, refusing to leave. The way they'd parted, the hatred and fear in her eyes... he couldn't leave that as her last memory of him. She had to be alive, and he'd find her.

  He took off running in the direction of the enemy, his warriors following closely in his footsteps. The com link was keeping him up to date with the movements of the Clayors.

  The closer he got, the more evident it was to Ryden that it was a trap, but that wasn't an issue. The Clayors were many, but he was a Brion and would rather die than cower from confrontation. The only thing that could possibly stay his hand was the terrible urge to question one of them and find out Aria's fate from him. He could cut one of them from the hive mind like he had done to the champion in her quarters. Force the hive mind to abandon him, then extract any information he could.

  It was against every Union regulation and law, he knew that. He didn’t care.

  The champions were ahead, four big brutes along with smaller brethren. Altogether there were about fifteen of them, but the Brions were more than a match for them. There would be no fight, but perhaps one of them could lead him to the others.

  In the Brion battle lingo, Ryden gave the order to only pursue slowly. The warriors replied with affirmatives, but he sensed their reluctance. It wasn't the Brion way to fight a stealth battle in the shadows. They waited for the big armies to get there, so they could have an honest confrontation.

  But they wouldn't get their fight. The shield generator was up and running, ready to be turned on at any moment.

  The champions charged and Ryden met them. The proof that the Clayors had been leading them on was an ugly one. When the first fell under his spear with barely the chance to draw his own knives, it was clear the hive mind hadn't thought they could escape alive. They were simply meat to butcher through, a stumbling block in their way.

  It couldn't have been all. Ryden blocked a clumsy blow from one of the smaller Clayor soldiers, slicing the enemy in half in the next with no relish he usually felt in battle. It was practically slaughtering unarmed opponents. His warriors looked grim by his side as well, up until two of the Clayors broke out in a run, attempting escape.

  Ryden called for some of his warriors to stay and finish the others off and followed the runners.

  There, finally! He could feel it. There was someone worth fighting ahead, someone who could lead him to Aria...

  He pressed on, keeping track of where they were headed. It seemed like one of the massive greenhouses. That... was surprising.

  Ilotra was such a huge moon that it was doubtful that anyone living on it had been to every sector. It needed oxygen to be habitable. In central points all around the moon vast greenhouses had been built, providing both the oxygen and some variety to the empty, metallic halls. It wasn't a battleground, but he couldn't deny the exotic trees and plants provided some cover.

  Except the enemy wasn't trying to hide.

  He saw the champion at once. As tall as the others, maybe even bigger. Unlike them, he stood completely still like a statue. Only his eyes were alive, bright and ferocious. And there was something else as well.

  Ryden froze to the spot, a victorious grin on his face. He'd been right.

  The hive mind was there, on Ilotra. He'd found the Host.

  The Brions had learned a long time ago that the Clayor hive mind was unique. Once, they'd come very close to destroying the species altogether, because without the hive mind the individual Clayors were barely able to function.

  It had happened ages ago, when the legendary General Poliren had struck a blow to the Host. He hadn't been able to enjoy that small victory—or his discovery—for too long, because every Clayor within a five-mile radius had stormed in to protect the Host.

  By all accounts, the swarm of Clayors had torn Poliren to shreds until there wasn't a piece of him left. The incident had been retold by Brion survivors who'd chosen a rare retreat after the crazed Clayor mob had turned on them.

  That had been the first sighting of the Host.

  And now, Ryden found himself staring eye to eye with the physical embodiment of the hive mind.

  The enemy made his skin crawl even from such a distance, the power surrounding it like an aura, but Ryden felt exhilaration unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. He'd thought the task of protecting Ilotra would be boring, but the sight before Ryden proved him wrong.

  He wasn't engaged in some trivial operation on the fringes of the conflict. He was right in the middle of it, in the heart of the war where he belonged. Ryden alone had the chance—and the duty—to kill the Clayor Host.

  The Clayor hive mind was everywhere, that was true, yet it also needed a Host to exist. Every generation there was a new one chosen, the central body of the Clayor species.

  The hive mind didn't always choose an obvious champion. Sometimes it was a perfectly ordinary Clayor, only showing its real face when it was in danger. All other Clayors lost their survival instinct when the Host was in danger, flocking to him without fear, throwing themselves before the blades of the enemy to protect its body.

  The Host was also the only Clayor in whom the hive mind's true abilities manifested. It had been suspected before, and apparently the ability to hide itself from the sensors was one of them. Ryden knew that, because while he stood looking at the new champion, the Conqueror wasn't reporting any new signals from his location.

  By all accounts, he should have been terrified to meet the same end General Poliren did, but all Ryden felt was an overwhelming sense of purpose.

  As he approached, the general knew he'd never be allowed to reach the Host, but that was not important. All that mattered to him was that he'd get to figure out how to take down one of the most dangerous entities that had ever been born to the galaxy.

  He took a breath, a smirk tugging at his lips.

  It was a pity Ilotra had to be the scene for this fight, because the hive mind didn't pull its punches. The Host would do anything it could to keep itself safe, but Ryden was intent not to let it escape this time. General Poliren had been unlucky in not knowing what he'd found, but Ryden knew his enemy.

  The Host was showing its face, tempting him. He knew that. But the prize was too great to deny. To kill the Host would be to win the war and eternal glory.

  It was worth any price he'd have to pay.

  Still, he asked, "Do you really think I'm foolish enough to attack you head-on, just like this?"

  The Host smiled, shaking his head. The other Clayors were standing behind, all eyes on Ryden, ready to throw themselves at him if need be.

  Without warning, Ryden sent his spear flying toward the Host.

  The Clayors moved as one, dashing to block the spear's way, but Ryden was faster than any of them. It cut through the air, the razor-sharp blade inches from the Host, when the Host snatched it out of the air with a grin.

  The spear immediately shut down all functions, only reacting to Ryden's gene sample. The Host twirled the weapon in his hand, a questioning look on his face.

  "You didn't really think that would work, did you, General?" he asked, casting the weapon aside, the heavy spear clattering as it fell to the ground.

  That was to be expected, both the fact the Host matched his speed and that he'd leave a weapon that valuable behind as if it were nothing. The Clayors liked their knives better and found the spears clumsy.

  "Worth a shot," he said truthfully.

  The Host answered with the same uncaring smile.

  "What do you want?" Ryden asked, coming closer.

  His warriors followed. The Clayors came to meet them, forming a
living wall between the Brions and the Host. The hive mind stood, smirking slightly with its wide mouth.

  "I want the galaxy, for us to be free. And the Union stands in my way," the Host said simply.

  "You can't fight all of us," Ryden said. "The Brions are not the only ones out there fighting you. Even you can't be everywhere at once. You've shown no hesitation, letting us butcher your soldiers, but they aren't infinite. We will beat you and with every Clayor we kill, we're getting closer to you."

  "Perhaps," the Host allowed. "But I don't need to fight you all. The Union will fall on its own."

  "You underestimate us."

  The Host turned to him. It didn't smile anymore.

  "You can't say that, Brion," he replied. "Soon enough there will be no us that means you and the Union. They've always hated you, but now they're seeing you for what you really are. Already there are armies inbound, called away from fighting me, to take control of you."

  Ryden knew the hive mind wasn't lying. After all, it saw practically everything happening in the war without needing to take a step from where it stood now. Fury rose to the surface within him, righteous rage at his presumed allies. They were so shortsighted they'd risk their own lives to end his. The Elders had been right; they had a terrible reputation if the council used a war to get back at them.

  "I don't have to fight you," the hive mind said, already walking away. "I only have to wait now."

  Ryden took a step forward, but he knew the Host would get away for now. There were too many Clayors barring his way and that was it. By the time they all lay dead before his feet, the hive mind was long gone.

  Before he had the chance to do anything, his com link came to life.

  "General," his flagship reported. "Three warships have just jumped to the system. They're approaching us. Their weapons are primed. They are aiming at the Conqueror."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Aria

  Aria watched, silent and serious, at the screens displaying Ilotra. When the hive mind finally brought her out of her room, she knew something had changed. She was led through corridors stripped of any identifying markers and into a control room much like Ilotra’s central command.

  Aria wasn't surprised. If the hive mind was everything Ryden had said it was then it liked to be aware of everything, and it made sense for it to search out one of Ilotra's secondary control hubs. They wouldn't hold it for long before Ryden noticed, but judging by what the screens showed, the general had other problems.

  The space around Ilotra had gotten considerably more crowded.

  First she noticed the Palian fleet, neatly arranged around their sleek command ship. Next to them, a force of ragtag ships under the Fremma colors, and finally Aria thought she recognized the massive carrier of the Gray Armada.

  That last one concerned her the most. After the Brions, the Gray Armada was the most powerful fleet in the Union ranks. Their carriers packed almost no firepower of their own, instead their entire power was concentrated into their shields, making them nearly indestructible.

  From the cover of that protection, the impossibly fast fighters could emerge to carry out lightning-quick strikes and then fall back under the wing of the carrier. The Koliars, who manned the Gray Armada, were ferocious warriors.

  Aria didn't know why they were suddenly there. All of them should have been busy holding back Clayor armies from Ilotra and the vulnerable systems. She didn't know, but she could guess all right.

  Next to her, the Clayors were looking very pleased with themselves. Aria wasn't the best at recognizing their facial expressions, but that one was unmistakable.

  "There is trouble brewing in the Union's ranks," the one closest to her said. "This is our moment. We can attack the shield while the Brions are vulnerable."

  I don't think that's true, Aria thought. Brions are never vulnerable. What they are right now is distracted because I'm working with a bunch of lunatics. But I'll be damned if I explain the difference between those things to you.

  She glared at the monitors showing the situation above their heads, up there in cold space. The other Union fleets were supposed to be allies, but they had all taken stances that were clearly attack-ready.

  It was trouble, but Aria had problems of her own. Her idea had backfired horribly. Soon, the hive mind would understand that she had no intention of helping it and then she'd die. Aria had been prepared for that but she wasn't going to die in vain.

  Think, girl, think. Distract them, delay them until you can escape.

  "What do you need, Terran?" the Clayor asked. "We warn you in advance, if you try to trick us, your death will not be pleasant nor quick."

  Aria nodded, frantically trying to think of something to save her. It was starting to look like the best she could do was delay her death for a few hours. Determination only got her so far. She was made of flesh and bone and the enemies carried very sharp knives. No bullshit would help her. The hive mind wasn't the council. It didn't negotiate.

  "I need to get back to the console in the hangar," she said, hoping against reason that it was still under repair construction.

  "Very well," said the Clayor.

  Well, so much for that.

  As they dragged Aria along with them, she saw the Conqueror turn on the screen.

  I'm going to die.

  It was pretty difficult to put a positive spin on that realization. Aria was hurried between the tall Clayor champions herding her along with long strides. They seemed to pass through perfectly ordinary corridors now and she finally knew which part of the fortress she was in, but that gave her little comfort. The knowledge would do her no good when she was dead.

  With Ryden’s martial law set in place, the corridors were barren. They were in the parts of Ilotra that were forbidden to the moon's residents, but where were the Brion patrols?

  The disappointment hurt more than she'd thought it would. Aria had never believed the general would take the bait, but the fact he left Ilotra undefended as well... that she couldn't forgive. Her body was making it all worse, unable to get rid of the irrational, all-encompassing desire.

  The hangar was up ahead. There finally seemed to be a few guards, but the Clayor champions were many. Aria didn't think even the warriors could hold them back. Her eyes darted to the generator, still covered by the shield she'd brought up. There was no way she'd let them near it. No way in hell.

  Aria pressed her lips to a thin line, unwilling to die a coward. She would not beg, not give them that submission. She didn't want to die, not one bit. Life had always been a wonder for her, one she wanted to keep enjoying, but not at the expense of others. Prayer wouldn't save her life. Aria wasn't asking to live, but to accept her death with dignity.

  Through the giant hole in the wall, shielded with a force field until actual repairs, she could see the fleets still holding each other under aim. Would they destroy the Conqueror? Would Ryden go down with his flagship, like captains were rumored to back on Terra?

  Aria couldn't tear her eyes away from the ship. Only the shout of the warriors brought her back to reality. They'd seen the Clayors and the fact they were outnumbered. Aria had no doubt reinforcements would come and the champions would either die or flee, but it would be too late for her.

  "Be prepared," one of the Clayors told her.

  Aria nodded mutely, not uttering a single word. They would not believe her if she brought up some lame excuse about the console being broken. Not when the hive mind had risked so many champions to bring her so far and would most likely lose all of them to Brion spears.

  There were too many enemies with her. Some of them dashed out immediately to engage the Brion guards, while others dragged her to the console.

  "Do it," one of the Clayors, as faceless to her as the rest of them, commanded.

  Aria's hands went to the console, tapping a few buttons in the hope that it would be offline. It wasn’t, but at least she'd alerted the command if the guards hadn't already. Then her fingers stopped on the keyboard.
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  "Do it!" the Clayor champion demanded again, giving her a shove.

  Aria was slammed against the console.

  "No," she said. "I was wrong. I can't. I won’t."

  With a ferocious cry, the champion pushed her aside. Aria fell to the ground, instinctively backing away from the furious enemy. The burning need to survive came to life within her.

  If I could just get a weapon, maybe I could take one of these fuckers out with me.

  "You lied," the hive mind hissed at her through every mouth in the hangar.

  There was no mercy in any of their eyes. The hive mind had taken a terrible risk in the hope she'd be telling the truth, but now it saw it had doomed its champions for nothing.

  She hadn't lied, not really. When the champion raised the knife above her head, ready to take her head off, Aria gritted her teeth, her mind working rapidly to find a way out. She forced herself not to look at the champion, or her will to die for Ilotra would be broken. She curled up into a ball, looking at the hangar ground, trying to hopelessly shield herself from the champion. No way out. She'd done everything she could. Life just didn't give her a way to save herself.

  This is not the sight I thought would be my last, Aria thought when she heard the champion give a terrible roar.

  But death didn't come for her. Instead, she heard the hive mind give a cry of unrestrained loathing. There were footsteps, and then the whole hangar went as bright as day. She heard another roar of fury, a more familiar one, and then something flew over her head.

  Instincts kicked in. Aria turned around and almost screamed in terror as she saw the Clayor champion standing above her with the knife, a bloody spear protruding from his chest. The look on his face was shocked, dismayed, raging.

  Turning around, Aria saw Ryden march to the hangar at the front of his warriors, an expression of pure determination on his face. His hands were empty. It had been his spear flying through the air, saving her life.

  He was there on Ilotra after all, abandoning his ship for the moon. For her?