Alien Captain's Prisoner Page 3

  Orb-Weapons are the signature sidearm of an Aurelian Warrior – crafted from bone-like material, with a blackish-blue shard of Orb embedded in the grip. When the warriors activate their weapons, blades of shimmering, blue-black energy ripple into existence; humming maliciously. When you hear that noise – although it’s almost as if you feel it as much as hear it – you know blood is about to be spilled.

  Not that they couldn’t spill enough blood without those otherworldly weapons. Aurelians aren’t built like humans. The rarest human might exceed seven-feet in height, but those that do are often beansprouts – tall and thin.

  Aurelians, on the other hand, are wide. They’re a foot or more taller than humans – but built in perfect proportions; like bodybuilders or world-class athletes. Every Aurelian has naturally broad shoulders, huge, muscular frames, and lean, ripped physiques. Sawoot once told me that the average Aurelian is over 500 pounds in concentrated mass.

  Some nights, I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve even wondered what it might feel like to be pressed down against a bed by 500 pounds of chiseled, muscled perfection. If Aurelians weren’t such haughty, arrogant bastards, I might be attracted to their species.

  Oh, hell, who am I kidding? I am physically attracted to them – what woman wouldn’t be? They’re built like statues of Greek Gods – pure, masculine perfection. I’m just lucky their personality is repellent – or, at least, the personality of every Aurelian I’ve ever met has been; including the Captain of this vessel.

  The Aurelians he summoned pass right by me and enter my ship. They have to squeeze their huge frames in through the human-scale hatch.

  I immediately feel violated. There’s nothing worse than strangers trampling around inside your pride and joy – and for all her dings, cracks and battle damage, that’s exactly how I consider the Wayward Scythe.

  I don’t want them tearing my ship apart. Ever since the Aurelian Captain mentioned the word ‘heist’ I’ve known what they’re after – the same thing as those three Toad ships.

  “They’re under a floor panel,” I offer, calling over my shoulder. “The one right outside the washrooms.”

  I might as well give up the secret location of our illicit cargo – those lumbering bastards would have found our ill-gotten goods eventually. If we can earn some goodwill for our cooperation, I’ll take it – and if I can prevent those burly aliens from ripping my ship apart in the meantime, I’ll take that, too.

  The Aurelian Captain smiles menacingly.

  “How very… cooperative of you.”

  Seconds tick by, turning into minutes. I hear the aliens rummaging in my ship behind us, and I cringe at every clunk and thud. Finally, the two Aurelians march out, and my heart sinks.

  They’re each holding an Orb.

  The warriors stretch their arms out, walking carefully, even though the otherworldly objects known as Orbs are practically indestructible in their current form.

  “We got them, Captain Aelon,” one of the warriors barks. “There are twenty-five in total.” The Aurelian says the words with curt authority, but I can hear the sense of wonder in his voice.

  I don’t blame him. Twenty-five Orbs – even mid-sized ones, like these – comprise a nearly indescribable fortune.

  Two more triads of Aurelians enter the loading bay, and start helping the other two take each and every Orb from the concealed storage aboard my little ship.

  I turn and study Chris’s expression as more and more of these warriors arrive. He’s realizing my warning from earlier was right – that we couldn’t have fought our way out of this. We’re well and truly outnumbered.

  One by one, the Orbs are carried past us.

  This entire battleship – huge and deadly – is powered by a single Orb; albeit one much larger than any of the ones we’d stolen. Likewise, each of these Aurelians carries a minuscule shard of Orb in the hilt of their Orb-Weapons. Orbs and Aurelians are synonymous. Theirs was the first species to harness the otherworldly, almost infinite power of these mysterious objects.

  In fact, the Orb-Weapon that every Aurelian carries is granted to them in return for their hundred years of service to the Aurelian Empire; fighting their age-old conflict against the Scorp and other interstellar threats. All of the powerful, incredible technology of the Empire seems to be powered by Orb-Material.

  Yet even to a species that controls the majority of all the Orb-Material in the universe, our haul of twenty-five mid-sized Orbs is impressive.

  Captain Aelon’s grin widens at his luck. The flash of his teeth is like a punch in the guts to me.

  My crew and I nearly died to secure those Orbs – and we practically delivered them into this Captain’s cargo bay for him. The only thing missing is wrapping paper and a bow.

  “Twenty-five Orbs,” Aelon counts them as they’re carried past. “Impressive – but I think that’s short.”

  His slate-grey eyes turn to me.

  “The official report says you stole one more.” The Captain leans forward menacingly. “Where is it?”

  Dammit!

  I’d separated a single Orb from the main stash, in case of this exact situation. I’d hoped that twenty-five mid-sized Orbs would be enough to blind whoever might attempt to steal our cargo – so they didn’t go looking for any more.

  But, as is typical for their officious species, the Aurelians apparently had good intel about the exact number of Orbs we’d managed to steal – and any goodwill I’d gained by pointing Captain Aelon in the direction of our hidden storage compartment has now gone.

  I sigh.

  “I put the last one under my bed.”

  That makes Aelon laugh. He nods, and two of his soldiers head back into the Wayward Scythe. A moment later, sure enough, they emerge with the last Orb.

  Rather than angry at my deception, Captain Aelon actually appears entertained.

  He wags a scolding finger at me.

  “Naughty, naughty. Trying to hide secrets from me? That’s not a good start to our relationship.”

  My eyes narrow. This man captured my ship, stole my cargo – and now he’s cracking jokes?

  But there’s a serious tone to his voice when he continues:

  “There’ll be nothing else hidden from me while you’re on my ship, understood?”

  I just glare at him.

  If the Aurelian is upset, he doesn’t show it. In fact, the towering alien smiles – purring:

  “I’m Captain Aelon – and when you’re aboard The Instigator, you’re mine.” He takes a menacing step forward. “Mine, understood?”

  His voice turns hard at those last words, his smile disappearing and replaced with an authoritative snarl. I immediately get the impression that Aelon runs a tight ship – which is necessary, I suppose, when you’re commanding hundreds of testosterone-fueled warriors always aching for a fight.

  I swallow hard. I’m powerless and terrified, but don’t want to kowtow to this Aurelian.

  “We understand,” pipes up Sawoot.

  I turn and glare at her, and she shrugs her shoulders apologetically. Sawoot knows it rankles me to submit so easily, but she wants to avoid confrontation. Sawoot is a great first mate, and this isn’t the first time she’s stepped into an awkward situation and helped me keep my pride from writing checks my ass isn’t prepared to cash.

  “Sir!” Another soldier appears. “We’re receiving a transmission from the Toads.”

  In between trips in and out of my ship, securing every last one of our stolen Orbs, one of Aelon’s soldiers had apparently managed to find time to keep an eye on transmissions.

  “Toads. Fucking scum.” Aelon shakes his head. “Very well, I’ll accept the transmission.”

  A holographic projection appears – rippling to life between Captain Aelon and my crew.

  Three-dimensional, life-sized Toads appear, as if they’re right there in the loading bay with us. If it wasn’t for the flickering, translucent effect of the holo-projection, you’d almost think you’re staring at the authen
tic article.

  As it happens, this is as close as I’d ever intend to get to a Toad. They’re the second most disgusting creatures in the universe. They waddle between six and seven feet high, almost as tall as Aurelians, but that’s where the similarity ends. Where Aurelians are chiseled like the statues of ancient Greek Gods, Toads are bloated, vile, disgusting creatures.

  But you’d be foolish to discount the threat they pose, despite their massive bellies and thick, warty skin. Beneath that glistening sheen is hundreds of pounds of solid muscle.

  I do everything I can to avoid Toads – but in my business, sometimes you have to deal with them.

  The problem is, dealing with them is even more dangerous than dealing with Aurelians. At least with those marble-skinned bastards, the worst you have to worry about being taken for your body.

  Toads, on the other hand, will take your body; but they want your credits more than anything else.

  The hologram projectors don’t allow the Toads to look behind them, so we’re out of their field of vision as they address Captain Aelon. Nevertheless, my anger boils up as I stare at the hunched, glistening backs of these disgusting creatures – who, just minutes earlier, were trying to blow my crew and I out of existence.

  “I am Captain Hoplan!” The biggest of the Toads gurgles. “You have something that belongs to us, Aurelian! That ship is ours! We saw it first!”

  The Toad gurgles and jiggles his fleshy jowls, the greed apparent in his voice. He’s clad in nothing but a short loincloth around his flabby, overhanging waist. His huge, distended belly is so big I can see it even from behind his holo-projection, and I can almost feel the moisture that is dripping from his warty body.

  “Calm down, Hopper,” with an arrogant sneer, Captain Aelon dismisses the Toad’s words. “You’d better watch your fucking tone.”

  “Hoplan,’ corrects the Toad – but he’s not yelling anymore.

  “Alright, Hopper,” Aelon deliberately gets the name wrong again, and I’ll admit I have a momentary surge of appreciation for the infuriating man. “I don’t have anything that belongs to you – and even if I did, why would I hand it over?”

  Aelon laughs, putting his hands on his muscular hips.

  “From what I see, you’ve got three dinky little assault ships, and I’ve got sixteen las-cannons trained on each of them. So, you raise your gurgly voice to me again, frogspawn, and I’m going to wipe you and your fat little friends out of existence.”

  The Toad takes a step back – even though he’s merely a hologram, so there’s no way for Aelon to actually hurt him through the projection. Nevertheless, I’m shocked at how aggressive the Aurelian is with this Toad. I can see now that The Instigator is a fine name for his ship. It’s like Captain Aelon wants to provoke this Toad into doing something foolish, despite the Aurelian’s overwhelming firepower advantage.

  “You… You wouldn’t dare!” Captain Hoplan gurgles. “It would be an act of war between our two Empires!”

  Aelon stares down the Toad. “You really want to test me, Toad? I’ve killed twelve of your species with my Orb-Blade – and three more with my bare hands.”

  Hoplan’s slimy jowls quiver like jelly.

  “But with my las-cannons?” Aelon laughs mockingly. “Hell, I’ve killed so many of your kind, even I’ve lost track.” He snorts derisively. “You won’t even be a number in my record book when I’m done with you.”

  For a moment, Hoplan stands there quivering with rage – but the moment Aelon boasts of the number of Toad he’s killed, that anger transforms into fear.

  “Please…” The slimy Toad gurgles. “We’ve tracked criminals to this sector, and we demand – ahem, we ask kindly – that you give them over to us.”

  “I don’t have your criminals,” Aelon snorts – lying with such seamless ease that even I’d be inclined to believe him; if he hadn’t been staring at us as he’d made the claim. “I’ll give you one chance, Hopper. Turn your ships around – and as long as I never see your slimy hide again, you’ll get to see another day.” Aelon’s menacing smile widens. “You’ve got ten seconds to pull away.”

  The Captain then cuts the feed, before bringing his smart-watch to his mouth.

  “Fire on my signal,” he orders calmly – apparently more than ready to start the diplomatic incident Hoplan had warned him about, and all over an insult, no less.

  I watch his performance with both awe and terror. Aelon is fearless and unpredictable – and apparently, he doesn’t back down. Admirable traits in a starship captain, but not the sort of person who I’d want to be holding me prisoner right now.

  “They’re turning around.” A voice emerges through Aelon’s watch, just loud enough for me to catch. Aelon rolls his eyes in disappointment.

  “Of course they are, the cowards. Toads only fight when they outnumber you.” He presses a button on the watch, abruptly cutting the feed.

  The confrontation over, the towering Aurelian steps towards me.

  I’m standing there, stunned. Just like that, the threat of violence is gone. Captain Aelon sent three Toad assault ships screaming off into the distance like dogs with their tails between their legs – without having to fire a shot.

  And then, just like that, Aelon’s entire persona shifts from the intense focus of leadership back to the infuriating, cocky attitude he’d displayed earlier. Within just a second, he’s demonstrated two sides of the same coin.

  “Now that’s dealt with,” his slate-grey eyes turn to me, “we’ve got the small problem of our little thieves to take care of.” The towering Aurelian snorts. “My mother always warned me that if you invite a thief into your home, you deserve everything that’s taken from you.”

  The cocky smile widens.

  “At least, that’s what she would have said, if I’d had a mother.”

  The smirk is plastered across his face, as cocky and confident as though that confrontation with the Toads had never happened.

  If I’d had a mother.

  I remember something else Sawoot told me about Aurelians – none of them have a mother.

  Well, maybe a few hundred out of the entire species do – those born by the rare human females who are Bonded to a triad of the species.

  I might not know as much about Aurelians as Sawoot – our resident expert – but after what she’d told me, I’d done my research. The only way Aurelians can father children naturally is via a human female who is genetically compatible with them – and just one woman, out of the billions stretched across the universe, can give that gift to one specific triad.

  They call such a woman their Fated Mate – and finding her is the overriding purpose of every Aurelian, whether they’re aligned to the Empire, or they’ve gone Rogue.

  It doesn’t excuse the disgusting way the all-male species lust after human women, but it does explain it. It’s why Aurelians collect their huge harems of women – hoping each new addition will be the one woman they’ve spent their lives looking for. It’s why some Aurelians have gone Rogue – acquiring women as slaves if the ones they lust after don’t join their harem voluntarily.

  That’s what they say, anyway. Sometimes, I think it’s just an excuse they use – justifying their obnoxious, misogynistic behavior as necessary in the search for their Fated Mate.

  Without that fabled Fated Mate – the one woman who can bear a triad natural sons – the Aurelian species is forced to reproduce through cryo-chambers. That’s where they spend their last moments – carried into a cryogenic cloning chamber when they’re at the brink of their thousands of years of life. As one Aurelian dies of old age, a perfect genetic clone is created as an infant – or, at least, as close to perfect as possible.

  But the process itself is far from perfect. Each generation of Aurelians is making a copy of a copy… of a copy. It’s said the Aurelians born of a Fated Mate are stronger, healthier, and more powerful – while those born of the cryo-chamber are a consistently weaker version of the Aurelian who came before them.

&
nbsp; That’s offered as an explanation for why Aurelians of ancient legend were described as standing eight-feet-tall or more, while specimens like Captain Aelon are a smaller – though still impressive – seven-feet in height. The species grows smaller and weaker with each subsequent generation.

  But the bigger problem? Simply that cryo-chambers can’t be brought into battle. For an Aurelian to be born, one must die – but not all Aurelians live long enough to make it to a cryo-chambers when they kick the bucket. Their warlike species wages a constant battle against Scorp, pirates, and occasionally even Toads – and each time an Aurelian dies in battle, rather than a cryo-chamber, their number is lost forever.

  Their species is – was – slowly, but surely dying out.

  Only the Bond can save them.

  The Bond – the curious connection between a Fated Mate and a specific triad of Aurelians – had remained dormant for eons; until people spoke of it almost as legend. The Aurelian species itself was losing hope; slowly dwindling as Scorp and other menaces reduced their numbers.

  Then, centuries ago, one human woman ushered in a new era for the Bond.

  She was called Jasmine.

  Born from nothing, Jasmine was the Fated Mate of a triad of brave, brilliant warriors. The leader of that triad, Reagan, became Emperor, and as his Fated Mate, Jasmine was crowned Queen. Since then, she’s sired the Aurelian race dozens of vibrant, powerful sons.

  Today, she’s hundreds of years old – but she looks the same age as me, if the holo-vids are to be believed. In addition to allowing a human female to bear the sons of Aurelians, the Bond grants a Fated Mate a lifespan equal to that of an Aurelian; so she can live out her life alongside that of her three mates.

  Jasmine hasn’t aged a day, despite the passing of centuries.

  She’s my hero.

  In addition to her duty of perpetuating the Aurelian race – giving birth to son after son for her triad – Queen Jasmine has also become one of the most forthright voices in the complex relationship between humans and Aurelians.