Protected by the Alien Warrior Triad Read online

  Instead, we conceal our deadly potential, and march obediently down the hallway past jail cells with bars at the door.

  Within them, human prisoners cower, pressing themselves as far away from the bars as possible. It’s ironic – they’re more scared of us than they are of the humans who keep them imprisoned here. What is it that makes these humans fear and loathe our kind so much?

  I’m pointed towards a cell with the pointy-end of one of those lethal weapons, and reluctantly I duck inside. Darok and Hadone are pushed into their own cells nearby – close, but not adjacent to mine. Somehow, I know that these humans understand how my triad can communicate with each other telepathically. Otherwise, they’d have put us in cells too far away from each other to talk vocally.

  I file that information away. Clearly, these humans have some knowledge of Aurelian physiology. Knowing what your enemy knows – and using it to understand the way your enemy thinks – is a vital tactic for success.

  Fear is the key. These humans fear me. They fear us. Even the servants. Fear will be my weapon – stronger even than my fists or my blades.

  14

  Tammy

  I’m led up a flight of opulent stone stairs towards the front doors of this immense mansion, while I see the Aurelians frog-marched to a pathway leading behind the estate.

  When the massive doors in front of me open, it’s all I can do not to gape like a country bumpkin.

  Growing up near the Capital, I knew that there was wealth behind the walls of the city – yet until now, I had no real understanding of the extent of them.

  Everything I see now demonstrates the incredible influence and power that an oligarch like Lord Aeron can command. As I step into the hallway beyond the doors, I see that almost everything around me is lined in gold. It’s as though I’ve stepped back in time, and I realize that the décor has been chosen to make this mansion look as though it came from the home planet of our species, Earth, many millennia ago.

  Overhead, a huge crystal chandelier hangs above us, light reflecting off it beautifully in a million directions. The rays of reflected sunlight glimmer off the gleaming gold and ornate mirrors all around. The entire mansion is clearly designed to resonate with an aura of overwhelming wealth and power – to make everyone who walks into this house – whether they’re a dirty hobo or an honored dignitary – feel equally small and unworthy in comparison to the owner of the estate.

  I keep my head up, though. I won’t let this décor have that effect on me. It’s all just smoke and mirrors anyway – a psychological trick – and given that I just survived the living hellscape and fiery oblivion of Barl, I have every right to feel proud of myself.

  Lord Aeron might have a beautiful house, but he’s done nothing to help the former citizens of Barl. In fact, I have a horrible suspicion that the man who owns this palace is the same voice of power that made the grim decision to cut the planet’s losses and scorch the Scorp-infested city of Barl – along with all its surviving citizens. He’d rather sacrifice thousands than bring in a defense force to try and eradicate the Scorp warriors.

  With that in mind, I come to a halt in front of a looming staircase, guilded and glittering.

  A tall, thin man walks down the stairs slowly, with an air of importance about him. This stranger isn’t covered in jewelry and riches as I’d have imagined Lord Aeron to be. Instead, he wears a simple, hooded robe – plain brown. Whoever he is, this man clearly doesn’t feel he needs fancy clothing or gleaming riches to demonstrate his importance. The guards shift nervously on their feet as he approaches, proving his point.

  “Viceroy,” says Captain Arnold with deep respect. I see the soldiers accompanying us quiver at the approach of this slender man.

  The stranger comes to a halt before me – his balding head reflecting the light from the chandelier overhead, and his thin lips pursing as he inspects me.

  “This is the survivor that you told us about?”

  “Yes, Viceroy,” responds Captain Arnold.

  It’s ironic. Arnold was so brave and bold in the battlefield – a powerful and respected leader of his troops.

  Now, here in this manor house, he radiated none of that power or confidence. I realize he desperately wants to leave.

  I can’t blame him. There’s some kind of darkness emanating from this man he calls the Viceroy. The tall, slender man looks through me; as if I don’t even exist as a human being. I feel he considers me nothing but another pawn on a chessboard so large that it spans entire galaxies.

  “What is your name?”

  The Viceroy’s eyes meet mine and I shiver. They’re cold – a frigid, light-blue that’s almost-grey. They stare at me with glacial intensity – never even blinking.

  Despite myself, I look down -somehow unable to meet and hold his gaze.

  “Tammy,” I mutter, and I’m ashamed at the quiver in my voice.

  “How did you survive the attack?”

  The captain clears his throat. “The lady is shaken by the events today, Lord Viceroy. Her perception of events are… warped. Perhaps it’s best you talk to her in private.”

  The cold eyes of the Viceroy move slowly towards Captain Arnold. If he looked at me like I was merely a pawn, the slender stranger looks at the Captain as if he’s nothing but a bug – buzzing irritably around the room.

  “I did not pose the question to you, Captain Arnold.”

  I swallow, trying to focus my thoughts. I have the grim suspicion that my answer will determine my fate – right down to whether or not I leave this mansion alive.

  But what does he want to hear? If I tell him the truth, I might be in trouble. I might be painted as a traitor to my own species. This Viceroy works for Lord Aeron, the highest voice for anti-Aurelian sentiment on the planet!

  “I barely made it out alive, your Excellence,” I say, remembering the honorary title for a Viceroy of a noble house. “I… I was… I am very lucky.”

  The Viceroy nods. I can tell he’s pleased at my answer, and instantly I realize he was testing me.

  If I’d said a word in deference to the Aurelians, he’d have known instantly that I was useless to him – too stupid to predict what he wanted to hear.

  Perhaps, in that circumstance, I’d have ended up dead – incinerated like my neighbors back in Barl, with all trace of me gone. I might be the only person other than the four orphans who witnessed the devastation on Barl. I’m certainly one of the only civilians to have seen what had happened to the city, and who was ultimately responsible.

  I have a feeling the Viceroy would snap my neck in an instant if he viewed it as being politically beneficial – and therefore I had to tread extremely carefully.

  It was ironic. I’d faced death a hundred times in the slums and poverty of Barl – yet I was somehow no safer here, even in the opulence of the gleaming Capital city.

  The Viceroy turned and snapped: “Have the weapons inspected and sent to the Lord’s chambers to be viewed.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  Then he looked back towards me:

  “You, come with me.” He turns and walks away.

  I follow him into a room with a medical examination table. “Strip,” he demands, looking at me with his cold, dead eyes.

  I blink. Strip?

  Once again, I remember how much danger I’m in. This is not the issue to make my stand against. However, there’s one important detail I need to take care of – so I ask:

  “Could I… Could I have some privacy?”

  The Viceroy looks at me without any indication that he heard or even understood my words. I swallow, nervousness creeping over me.

  I don’t hesitate out of fear that he’s going to see my naked body – that much I could just deal with. In fact, by the cold, calculating way the Viceroy looks at me, I have the feeling he’d get no more excitement looking at my naked body than looking at a chair or table.

  No, the cause of my anxiety is the small vial of Mercy I still have tucked away in my sock. If the Viceroy
discovers that, he’ll know that I was scheming to potentially use it – that I didn’t come to this palace quite so innocently as my play-acting might make it appear.

  One drop of Mercy can be used to mask the deepest pain, but it also destroys the mind – merely eating away at the pain receptors first. One drop will not have a lasting effect: The brain can recover. But two drops? The subject will be mentally slowed for the rest of their life. Three drops? The subject will not have a rest of his life. They’ll pass into oblivion in calmness and tranquility; their brain unraveling cell by cell.

  That’s why this black liquid is only ever used to treat the most severe, terminal pain – because it literally grants “Mercy” to the already dying.

  If the viceroy finds the vial in my sock, I know that the best fate I could hope for is him merely forcing me to drink it – to swallow the contents of the entire bottle, and fall into the last sleep of my life.

  However, there would likely be far worse alternatives.

  The Viceroy doesn’t move, and I realize he’s not going to acquiesce to my request. Shivering, I pull my shirt over my head and try and think of some plan to conceal my contraband.

  Strangely enough, the motion of removing my shirt makes me remember the way the two Aurelians touched me the night before, in our makeshift shelter.

  God, I’d been trembling with arousal then, instead of shivering with fear as I am now. I remember the way I relished the hungry eyes of those two towering aliens on my body. They were animalistic – primal. When they looked at me, they did it with open want and need…

  …in contrast, there is no emotion in the Viceroy’s eyes. He might as well be a machine and not a man.

  Shivering, I unlace my boots. My next movements will determine whether I live or die.

  I pull my sock off in one quick tug – and, with my heart pounding, I snatch the tiny vial of liquid mercy out of the rough pocket of material.

  Then it’s concealed in my palm, and despite the Viceroy staring at me for any sign of suspicious behavior, he’s somehow not seen me take it.

  I turn away from him and undo my bra. With my face turned away from him, I quickly place the vial into my mouth and conceal it beneath my tongue.

  My heart pounds.

  One false move of my mouth – if I fall, or have something hit me in the jaw… Fuck, if this tiny vial breaks under my tongue…

  From now on, there’ll be the constant risk of death – and I’ll be reminded of it, by the feeling of the hard vial in my mouth.

  But I must focus. So far, so good. I’ve managed to hide this weapon so far, even right in front of this steely-eyed Viceroy.

  I pull my pants down and step out of them, suddenly feeling very cold and vulnerable in this medical examination room.

  I hate that the Viceroy is just standing there, examining me with that reptilian glare of his. I loathe how he gets to see my bare body; which is something deeply private to me, to be shown only to those who I’ve chosen to reveal myself to.

  To those like Hadone and Darok, who saw so much of me the previous night. At least then I’d chosen to let them strip me; and their gaze warmed me in the same manner that the Viceroy’s reptilian stare chills me to my core.

  I feel the vial beneath my tongue.

  Will I be able to speak normally? Will I slur my words or mumble, with this little vial under my tongue? By the Gods, how long has that vial been in my medical kit, unopened? Is the integrity of the seal still intact? Could there be a tiny leak – a minute tiny crack from running through the city streets, escaping the Scorp horde? I wouldn’t even know – Mercy is famously a tasteless substance. It could it be leaking into my mouth at this very moment, and I might not even know about it until my brain clouds and I drift into oblivion.

  I feel faint for a moment, and panic hits me. As I step out of my pants, I stumble, nearly falling. My heart pounds and I wonder desperately if the dizziness is caused by stress and hunger, or by a drop of liquid Mercy leaking into my mouth.

  “Are you an honest woman?”

  The Viceroy’s question snaps me from my dizzy spell. His voice is slick like oil. He’s testing me.

  Oh, Gods! Does he know? Could he know?

  I pull the last vestige of dignity from my body – peeling off my panties and depositing them on the cold, bare floor.

  Then, utterly naked, I turn to face the Viceroy.

  He looks at me, totally naked and utterly exposed, and I shudder at his inhuman gaze.

  But I still have that weapon beneath my tongue.

  The Viceroy raises his eyebrow and nods towards my medical kit. My mouth goes dry, but I unlatch it and pass it to his outstretched hand.

  I nod at him in answer to his previous question, feeling too humiliated at the moment to say anything more, and nervous that the vial will distort my voice even if I chose to.

  The Viceroy doesn’t seem concerned by my silence. He murmurs:

  “Lord Aeron is an honest man. Honesty can be… an unoptimized quality in politics. That’s why he hired me.”

  I shiver, goosebumps rising across my flesh. For a moment, the Viceroy’s eyes slide down to my hardening, cold nipples, and I feel the heat of embarrassment come to my cheeks.

  The Viceroy is cold and calculating, but I’m surprised to find that even he is affected by a naked woman in front of him.

  “I understand,” I murmur, glad to learn that I can speak clearly even with the vial hidden in my mouth. “You do the things that he can’t.”

  “Very good – you are a clever one, and you care about those children. I know this, and I know that they can have a very good future. Lord Aeron has the highest connections with the Capital’s most noble families. If you cooperate with us, then know that you will be granting those children a future they never could have hoped for – never could have even dreamed of.”

  I feel a knot in my stomach. He’s telling me everything I’d never even dared to wish for.

  “Those gutter kids will grow up to attend the best schools. They’ll grow strong by eating the best nutrition. They’ll be treated by the best doctors. More than that, the noble families will be eager to help them – for they’ll gain great prestige for taking care of the orphans that survived the greatest tragedy of the century: The firebombing of Barl by the Aurelians.”

  The… The what?

  I pinch my nails against my palms. I’m naked in front of this man, and I have to keep my emotions in check through any means necessary.

  I need to learn more about this narrative – but I don’t want to tip my hand.

  I play dumb – a tactic that seems to have worked well for me thus far.

  “Could you… Could you explain a little more to me, your honor?” My mouth is dry, but I dare not swallow in case I ingest that tiny vial. “I find that my recollection of the the events of the past day are difficult for me to process.”

  “Good,” the Viceroy seems delighted by my… malleable recollections. “Very good. But tremble a little more when you say it next time. It will make the story seem more… emotional.”

  I want to laugh. What does this man know of emotion?

  “The Aurelians have been resenting the loss of revenue from our planet for decades,” the Viceroy continues, weaving an elaborate fantasy. “They directed Scorp ships here first, and then they used a network of spies in the city of Barl to weaken the defenses. First, they allowed the citizens to be attacked. Then they planned to use their spies to guide the Scorp toward their next target – the Capital itself! We acted swiftly and decisively to stop the threat. Though it was the human army that cleansed Barl, from this day forward it will be known as the work of the Aurelians. The loss of Barl will serve as proof that those alien scum were working with the Scorp themselves. Betrayal runs in their very blood.”

  But then the Viceroy’s eyes narrow.

  “Yet, I’ve never seen Aurelians like the ones we captured before. So, now that you know the official story, Tammy – tell me what really happened.”


  I blink, astonished. The Viceroy has already concocted an elaborate ruse to serve the purposes of Lord Aeron; but he himself is not too proud to admit his deception.

  Now he’s curious – and how did that old expression go on Earth? Curiosity killed the cat

  I nod at his question, shivering as I stand there.

  “I don’t know much,” I admit – and that much is true. “Scorp egg ships started to drop from the skies – dozens of them. Then everything went to shit. I would have died, too – me and those four orphans – but those three Aurelians suddenly came out of nowhere. They fought the Scorp, they risked their lives to find the orphans, and then they protected us as they led us out of the city.”

  The Viceroy nods. “Very good. These three are clearly a warrior species – some subset of Aurelian origin we’ve not encountered before.”

  He snorts derisively.

  “It’s almost a pity. I admire them – they’re so unlike the arrogant Aurelians of the Empire.” Then the Viceroy purses his lips. “This is very good news. These feral Aurelians clearly have no affiliation to the Aurelian Empire, and so retribution for executing them will be minimal.”

  “Executing them?”

  The Viceroy does not respond at first. I can tell he’s calculating behind his beady eyes, running through different scenarios of what will be the most advantageous response. Every word from his thin lips seems to be in service to Lord Aeron.

  Or is it? With a shudder, I realize that the Viceroy himself might be the true power behind the anti-Aurelian movement, and the government of the Capital itself. Lord Aeron is just a front – a blustering distraction to the true machinations of power and influence.

  Without answering me, the Viceroy turns and leaves. I glumly flop down into a nearby chair – sitting in the medical office next to my clothes.

  I don’t have long alone with my thoughts. The door opens again shortly afterward, and another man comes in. This one has a large mustache.