by Athena Storm
Duric
A Science Fiction Romance
Athena Storm
Athenaverse Press
Copyright © 2019 by Athena Storm
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Description
1. Duric
2. Daphne
3. Duric
4. Daphne
5. Duric
6. Daphne
7. Duric
8. Daphne
9. Duric
10. Duric
11. Daphne
12. Duric
13. Daphne
14. Duric
15. Daphne
16. Duric
17. Daphne
18. Duric
19. Daphne
20. Duric
21. Daphne
22. Duric
23. Daphne
24. Duric
25. Daphne
26. Duric
27. Daphne
28. Duric
29. Daphne
30. Duric
31. Daphne
32. Duric
33. Daphne
Description
All your life, you’ve studied hard and advanced your career. And then you get shipped off to some aliens. Yeah, you’d be pretty b#!chy too…
It’s not like Daphne Moebius had any choice.
As a member of the Interstellar Human Confederation, she has to go where she’s told.
Even if that means helping a bunch of 7 foot tall, gorgeous, alpha aliens in their quest to rid the galaxy of evil.
Until something goes wrong and the entire ship Daphne’s traveling in gets destroyed.
Enter Duric.
The brash, alpha Vakutan warrior.
He’s got a chip on his shoulder and a hammer swinging between his legs.
Born to fight, bred to kill, he finds himself rescuing his greatest adversary yet.
A human woman.
Stranded together on a remote moon, the pair has to survive the worst of the Ataxian Coalition until help arrives.
He’s saved her life.
And now she’s going to save his soul.
They’ll have to work together to stay alive long enough to be rescued.
And if love doesn’t make them see eye to eye…
He’ll just lift her up to his eye level.
Duric is the second book in the Alliance Mail Order Bride science fiction romance series within the wider Athenaverse. It can be read as a standalone, but it still shares the same universe and situations you’ve found in other books. Each book features the romance of an alpha male alien warrior and a human woman who doesn’t put up with any nonsense. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and HEA guaranteed.
One
Duric
Stars streak past our hull, stretched into thin, nigh infinite lines by our faster than light travel. I stare out the window, my reflection translucent in the viewing port as my crew chats in the background. I appear much as any other Vakutan warrior. Just under seven feet tall, red skin and robust, with ridges on my face and shoulders. The ridges are a carry over from before our enslavement by the Shorcu. Our scientists are uncertain what species or group of species are our progenitors, only that our genetic make up has been so profoundly altered as to be utterly arcane.
Everyone is at ease, because we’re on our way to the human dominated world of Titanus Vox. With how much heavy weaponry the Interstellar Human Confederation has managed to stockpile on that world, the threat posed by the Coalition in this sector is limited. Thus no one feels that we have to be on high alert.
I consider their lackadaisical attitude. Perhaps I should run some drills, shock them out of their complacency? But that seems like overkill for what amounts to a glorified supply run. The only difference is that instead of supplies or weapons, I’m transporting personnel.
Commander—I mean, Captain—Yaal’s ship, the Resolute, has been fully repaired. However, the ship has suffered a recent exodus of crew, many of them reassigned to Syfer station. That leaves a dearth of qualified Alliance officers, a void which my duty is to fill.
To that end I’ve been given command of a Buzzard, a lightly armed but speedy transport shuttle. The Trident Alliance doesn’t bother giving names to shuttle craft, so I don’t have anything pretentious to write in my logs.
Were I an Alzhon or Pi’Rell, this might bother me, but as a Vakutan I now that the way a warrior distinguishes themselves has nothing to do with how prestigious a name the craft they command possesses. Real distinction comes from honorable acts, or valor on the battle field, or the most noble pursuit of all—killing Shorcu wherever one finds them.
So I don’t reprimand my crew, deciding to allow them their leisure. It will be Captain Yaal’s duty to whip them into shape, not mine. I continue to stare out the window, watching as the light of the distended stars winds past.
Abruptly, the stars return to their normal pinpoint configuration. The superluminal engine ceases its heavy thrum as we drop velocity into the ‘normal’ parameters of physics. Now there’s nothing to do but cruise at sub light speed until we reach IHC space.
“Commander Duric.”
I can’t restrain a subtle growl as I pull myself from my seat and head toward the cockpit. The Pi’rell pilot and co-pilot are fiddling with their instruments, the bright lights of their consoles reflecting off of bald and shiny heads. I glance at their read out and note that we have picked up another vessel on our sensors.
“Report.”
The pilot doesn’t turn to face me when he speaks, which I don’t take offense to. Rather the man puts his effort into keeping us from flying into a micro meteorite field or black hole.
“Commander, we’ve picked up another ship on short range sensors.”
“I can see that, Yeoman. It’s probably the IHC freighter we were told to expect.”
“Yes, Commander, but there’s another ship in their vicinity.”
“What?” I still don’t grow alarmed. After all, this close to an IHC outpost there’s bound to be other space lane traffic. “Put it on screen.”
The vessels are too far away for a direct visual connection, but the HUD display is detailed enough for our purposes. My eyes narrow as I recognize the energy signature of the second, unnamed vessel. It’s a small Odex assault ship, designed for blitzkrieg style boarding assaults. I recognize an attack vector when I see one, and sure enough our sensors pick up a massive plasma discharge that can only be weapons fire.
“They’re under attack, sir.”
“No shit, Yeoman. By a Coalition vessel.”
“What are your orders, Commander? Should we plan a safer route around their battle?”
“Negative, Yeoman. Keep us on course.”
“Sir?”
He turns his head toward me at last. It’s hard to gauge the age of a Pi’rell, with their soft baby skin, but I think this one is quite young. Maybe I should have given the crew roster more than a mere cursory glance. His wide eyes are full of fear, but I choose not to take offense to this.
“Keep us on course, Yeoman. Maximum sub light speed, and arm our photon array.”
“But—but that’s suicide! Our weaponry will barely scratch their hull, but one direct hi
t from them will—“
“Utterly annihilate our Buzzard. I am aware of starship schematics and capabilities, Yeoman. Are you going to carry out my orders or do I need to assign someone else to that seat?”
“Locking in course for embattled IHC vessel, Commander.” His voice indicates that he can’t believe what he’s saying. “Photon array primed and ready.”
I turn around and head into the cabin. The crew knows something is up, but not what nature it has taken. I take them in with my gaze, making sure each and every one of them makes eye contact with me before I speak.
“Warriors. One of our IHC ally’s ships is in danger. We are moving to assist. I suggest you put on your crash webbing and prepare for some…disturbances.”
I finish my speech with a fierce, toothy smile, letting them see my confidence. Vakutan have over seventy teeth, so when we smile it’s quite a sight to behold. The truth is, I don’t know if we will survive the upcoming battle or not, but I do know we must join the fight none the less.
We vector in on the battle. I take up my seat behind the pilots, bringing up my gunnery console. It’s half the size of the one I used to work on the bridge of an Alliance battle cruiser, and far less complicated, but the lack of armament does send a bit of worry through my belly.
Our buzzard has a photon array arranged on two flanges, or ‘wings’ on either side of our hull. They aren’t capable of producing the kind of energy output a plasma cannon can, but they make up in fire rate what they lack in power. By my estimates we will need to score seventy direct hits in order to do significant damage to the Odex ship. That means I need to hit three separate barrages with perfect accuracy, a daunting task in an outer space battle where any direction is a good direction to evade.
By contrast, the enemy vessel has one plasma array and a separate disruptor cannon which is designed to disable enemy ships while leaving them intact enough to utilize the Odex’s favorite tactic—boarding. One clean hit from their disruptor will render our buzzard inert.
One hit from their plasma cannon will scatter our atoms to the solar winds.
It’s a risky proposition, but Vakutan are not afraid of risk. We embrace risk the way that the other races embrace leisure or their ‘feelings.’ While I could reassure my crew like a Pi’Rell or Alzhon commander might, I choose not to do so. Better, I think, that they learn just what they are made of in the crucible of conflict.
Then I see the battle. The human freighter is a big, bulky rectangular block of a ship, poorly designed from a maneuverability perspective but capable of hauling a great deal of cargo. It is equipped with weapons, but it appears the Odex’s initial assault took out their targeting systems, leaving them to attempt nothing but ‘dummy fire’ offense. The freighter is listing badly to starboard and is leaking a long, greenish gold trail of exhaust from their severely damaged hull.
Meanwhile the Odex cruiser is coming about for another pass. It doesn’t look as if they intend to board the human vessel, from the way their plasma array is charging up. I doubt the freighter can take much more punishment than it already has.
Dutifully following protocol, my Pi’rell pilot moves our buzzard to avoid the vented exhaust. Our ship is shielded but residual radiation can be profoundly hard to pin down and decontaminate.
“Yeoman, change course to this heading.”
I punch in the vector, and I see his young shoulders tense up.
“But, Commander, that takes us right through the exhaust trail.”
“Of course it does, Yeoman. How else are we going to sneak up on the Odex?”
He closes his mouth and corrects our course. Once we enter the verdant stream, we will be all but invisible to the Odex vessel.
Then I will attack, and the battle will become a three way dance. Despite the harsh odds, a smile peels back my lips away from my myriad teeth. Thank you, ancestors, for this chance to prove my mettle.
Two
Daphne
There is no feeling I know of quite like trouncing Thomas Weaver. His piggy little features getting redder the more he struggles to keep up.
“That’s a false equivalency, Daphne, and you damn well know it.”
“Do I?” It’s little moves like that that rankle him the most.
“Look,” he squares up his glasses and struggles to maintain composure, “all I’m saying is that the IHC has a moral imperative –“
“Where do moral imperatives come into play with other species?”
“- to maintain our stance with the Trident Alliance so long as they oppose…”
“And whose morals are so imperative in the first place?”
“SO LONG AS THEY OPPOSE” his voice raises to drown me out, “the Coalition in their fanatical attempts to dominate intergalactic life.” He’s gotten his sentiment out, and I haven’t made it easy for him. God, this is fun. I loll back in my chair and give him my best intellectual smirk.
“You know that as soon as your opponent raises their voice, they’ve lost the argument, right?”
Thomas spins away from me in an enraged sulk.
“Moebius, you are the most impossible human being I have ever met.”
“Oh, we’re doing last names now, Weaver? And species delineations as well? I thought that wasn’t necessary protocol between humans?”
He has gone blessedly silent. I can’t abide the kind of talk that deals in either duty constructions or appeals to a moral certainty. That kind of thing is what keeps us under the same thumbs that have held us down for millennia.
The truth is, the IHC have no business interfering with the conflicts between the Trident Alliance and the Ataxian Coalition. We have our own imperatives which have exactly zero to do with the agendas put forward by either side. The second we start getting mixed up in external conflict or interstellar politics, we go off the mark.
“I can’t stand him either,” Rachel hisses over to me, and I can’t help but laugh. Having another woman on board has kept me from completely losing my mind.
“Isn’t he the worst? He never listens to a word women say.”
“Come on, Daphne. You know he just wants to sleep with you, right?”
I bark with laughter, and several other people turn away from their work stations. We wave them off and snicker at each other.
“Think of our mission right now,”I say to Rachel.
“What about it?” she asks.
“We’re being summoned to Titanus Vox. Career science officers. For the pleasure of the Alliance.”
“Actually, it’s you who are being summoned. Like a mail order bride.”
“Please,” I scoff, not liking the apt analogy.
“I think you told me that only by volunteering for this mission to Titanus Vox would your career even go anywhere. It would stall if you didn’t work with the Alliance. Especially now that we might be embroiled in an interstellar war.”
“That’s true,” I muse. “I really had no choice.”
“You did. And you always do,” Rachel says.
“You can talk,” I grin at her, “how are things with Victor going?”
“We were late to the morning briefing, I can tell you that.”
“I saw.”
“My legs are still shaking,” she bites her lip, “I tell you, Daphne, I’ve waited my whole life to do it in space, and I don’t want to miss a night.”
“Or an afternoon, I hear.”
Given how racy her talk can be, I’m surprised to see her cheeks flush red in an instant.
“God, you didn’t hear us?”
“Rachel, the whole second deck heard you guys.”
She shrieks and covers her face. Rachel is one of the good ones – outrageously funny, a great listener, and sharp as a tack. I’ve only got her by one PhD, and it’s certainly not for her lack of trying. Or brains. Or tits, for that matter.
Victor should be counting his blessings to have found a knockout like her, and unless he’s a complete idiot (which is possible) he’ll make things official once
we’re back on the ground. I’m damn sure going to keep her around.
“Brace for impact!” Our commander gives a sudden cry, but it’s too late to get a hold on anything. The ship bucks under our feet and Rachel and I slam into a pile on the deck.
Sirens begin to blare, and the general lighting flickers amid the cascade of emergency lights flashing. The room goes red and yellow, and we start to scramble up, looking for anything to anchor ourselves to.
“What was that?” Rachel calls out to the room.
“Another!”
The ship lurches again – harder this time. The lights go out entirely and we only have the blinking arrays to see by. Commander Yeats leans forward in his chair, calling into the COMM unit on his shoulder.
“Mason, do you copy?”
A crackling voice responds. It’s unintelligible.
“Mason, we need auxiliary power to the info screens now! We’re blind up here.”
Another burst of static replies, and Yeats looks for someone to send.
“Moebius. Run down to Operations and tap into auxiliary power. Does your COMM work?”
I grip the piece on my shoulder.
“Sir.”
My voice calls back to me from his unit across the room. This is all the confirmation I need.
