The Alorian Wars Box Set

by Drew Avera

  Gen lowered her weapon, tucking it back into the holster beneath her tunic. “It’s more convincing than I thought you would be. What shall I call you?”

  “The crew calls me Pilot.”

  “Not very original.”

  “It is my default name.”

  “What is your mission, why are you here?”

  “That is not something I can discuss.”

  “Your crew is in danger and I need any information I can find to help me find them,” Gen said, lowering her voice to sound empathetic.

  “If that’s true, why does our travel log draw such curiosity from you? I believe you are lying to sway me to answer your questions.”

  “I was hoping to find information in your log to help me piece together your crew’s initiative for being here. Perhaps narrow down a plan that would lead them here before they were seized by the authorities.”

  Silence followed for a long moment. “Which authorities?” Pilot asked.

  Gen let out a sigh. “The Greshians.” In her mind it was more a question than an answer, but she did her best to sell it.

  “Yes, we’ve tried our best avoiding them. I did not detect a large Greshian presence on Pila, though. I find it odd the crew would be overcome when we’ve made it this far beyond the Greshian’s reach.”

  Gen paced the bridge, running her fingers along the smooth console as she familiarized herself with the controls. “Princess Herma sits at a throne high above Dorit. She is the overseer of Pila, seizing control of Pila amid an attack to preserve our people. She is not her father, but she is wholeheartedly a Greshian.”

  The holographic expression depicted on Pilot’s face turned solemn. “If this is true, what shall come of my crew?”

  “That depends on the decision they make,” Gen replied. “I have it on good authority that Princess Herma will proposition your crew to mount an attack. The problem is that such an act will break the treaty and kill the remaining Pilatians. Life is hard for the poor here on this world, but we can’t allow such an act to take place.”

  “Surely, Princess Herma would not jeopardize her own safety when she is not protected by a fleet of warships.”

  “The threat does not come from her, but her father. He has all but completely disowned her because he views her as a traitor to their people. It was at her mother’s urging that Pila be saved.”

  A long moment of silence followed. “How can we prevent this from happening and save my crew?”

  Gen fought back a smile. “If your crew returns with a mission to fire on any Pilatian targets, don’t expend a single piece of ordnance. Once the treaty is broken, Pila will be destroyed.”

  “And how do you know this?” Pilot asked as the hatch to the bridge slammed closed.

  Gen turned abruptly, her eyes wide. When she looked back at the hologram, the image was larger, a grim expression on its face. “I…”

  “I would choose my words carefully if I were you.”

  “I intercepted a transmission between Director Otero and Princess Herma,” she spat.

  “So, you’re a spy?” The question felt like an accusation, rightfully so.

  “In a way. I’m with the rebellion. We seek to overthrow Greshian influence over our world without drawing attention from the Emperor. If the Empire discovers us, we are done. Mine is a lifesaving mission and nothing more.”

  “Yet, you come on board and try to deceive me with your tall tale and expect me to defy my crew?”

  Gen swallowed hard. “No, but I did want to explain the dire situation we are facing in hopes you will not act against my people if your crew decides to obey Herma’s demands.”

  “I see. Based on your scans, I believe you are telling the truth.”

  Gen sighed as Pilot spoke. “Thank you. Now, will you let me go?”

  “No,” Pilot answered before the hologram disappeared, casting the bridge in darkness.

  “You can’t keep me here,” Gen said, slapping her hands on the console where the hologram first appeared. “You have to let me go,” she continued with urgency in her voice. “My people are expecting me to return. If I am not back by a certain time, they will come for me. Two-dozen armed combatants will seize this ship to set me free. You don’t want these men here, trust me.”

  “That is a lie, Gen-Taiku.”

  Taken aback, she stopped speaking and stared at the face looking back at her. If hologram eyes could stare through her soul, then Pilot was doing so now, but she refused to look away, to cower from her deception. “Wait, how do you know my name? I never said who I was.” She took a step closer, glowering expectantly, demanding an answer with her steely gaze.

  Silence filled the bridge, followed by a sudden drop in temperature, and a smell. It took Gen a moment to realize what was happening, but by then it was too late. Her eyelids grew heavy and her balance waned. She reached out to brace herself on a console, lowering herself to her knees before she lost control, slamming her chin on the steel deck of the Replicade. It took a few more seconds for her to pass out, but in the meantime, she heard footsteps. Whose? She was unsure, but neither did she have the energy to be concerned as her consciousness escaped her.

  And potentially her life.

  2

  Brendle

  Even with the tubes removed from her body, Anki looked helpless and frail. As Brendle watched the doctors and nurses take her off life-support, he clenched his fists tightly, willing her to continue breathing on her own as if the force used to tighten his grip could transfer to her in some way. His heart pounded wildly, and he could hear the rampant breathing of Deis and Malikea behind him; almost as if the two of them were panting, but he knew it was them praying.

  “Come on, Anki, you can pull through,” he whispered through his teeth. He wiped another tear from his face with the sleeve of his jacket and stood stone-faced, watching, waiting for a miracle. The hope he placed on the surgeon echoed in his mind like a chant.

  “Now, we wait,” the doctor said as he placed the last tube back onto the machine before the nurse carted it away. Two weeks past when Anki was supposed to wake up from surgery and she still had not opened her eyes. The scans still depicted normal brain activity, but she was otherwise unresponsive. Waiting proved more difficult as hope sank like a rock in Brendle’s heart.

  “We’ve been here before, doctor. What if she doesn’t come out of this?” Brendle asked, his worry painting his tone much darker than he intended.

  “Have faith, sir. We are the best medical facility in this sector. We will find a way to bring her back.”

  Brendle turned and faced Deis. “What if we waited too long to bring her here? What if the detour we took cost us more than time, but also cost us Anki?”

  “Don’t speak like that, Brendle,” Malikea said. “Have faith as the doctor said.”

  Brendle’s jaw tightened. “Faith is not something I have the luxury of,” he replied.

  Deis placed his hand on Brendle’s shoulder, but Brendle brushed it off. He didn’t mean to be rude, but the room felt like it was going to swallow him into darkness at any moment; and the torturous wait made it all the worse. “It will be all right,” Deis said, sighing behind Brendle. He’s probably offended I brushed off his gesture, Brendle thought, but couldn’t turn to apologize. He was too transfixed on Anki to give much energy to anything else.

  “Doctor, I’m noticing a spike in brain activity,” a nurse said, her eyes widening, but Brendle could not tell if it was excitement or concern.

  “Without the machines breathing for her, her brain has to take over her involuntary bodily functions. I expect the rise in brain activity to be the result of this. We need to continue to monitor her, though.”

  Way to slap an ounce of hope out of our hands, Brendle thought as he wiped at another tear. You tell us to have hope and then you snuff it out just as quickly.

  The doctor turned to Brendle. “My staff and I need to make our rounds. We’ll return shortly, but if there’s any changes to her condition, press
the red button to alert us.”

  “Wait, you’re just going to leave a couple of minutes after taking her off life-support? What kind of medical care is that?” Brendle snapped. The stress of the situation caused a burning, tingling sensation to crawl down his back, a condition brought on by nerve damage incurred early in his naval career. Most days, he never experienced it, but ever since coming to Pila, it was a close to daily occurrence.

  “We have other patients, sir.”

  “And you have three nurses following you around like they’re lost. Can’t you keep one here for Anki?”

  “Each nurse has her own rounds to make. This is a large ward and we have many patients, several of them worse off than your friend,” the doctor replied dryly.

  This bastard has the emotional resonance of a stick, Brendle thought as his eyes narrowed into slits as he stared at the doctor. “Whatever, this is the worst bedside manner I’ve seen.”

  “I find that troubling coming from a Greshian,” the doctor chided as he stepped out of the room, his entourage falling in step behind him without a word. One nurse looked back with fear in her eyes, but Brendle didn’t know of whom she was afraid, but his experience on Pila led him to believe it all came back to him.

  “What a dick,” Brendle said under his breath. “What makes him think he can be so condescending to us?”

  “This world is blatantly afraid of Greshians,” Deis replied.

  Brendle spun on his heels. “Does that kind of attitude suggest a person living in fear? Would you speak like that to someone you thought would end your life? No, that’s something else. I’m not sure what word would describe it, but it’s certainly not fear.”

  “Please, calm down. The tension in this room will not evoke Anki to wake. Subliminally, it must have an effect on her,” Malikea said solemnly.

  “I’m trying to be calm, but every day is some new kick to the chest and I’m close to reaching my breaking point. Part of me wonders if Anki is being kept like this by these people calling themselves doctors.”

  “Please don’t say that?” Malikea replied.

  “Why? Because it’s not true?”

  Malikea shook his head. “No, because part of me is afraid it is true.”

  His words took Brendle back. His eyes narrowed as he faced his friend. “You think so?”

  “We’ve discussed it, and Malikea and I believe there is something going on, but we don’t dare say what.” Deis’s voice was low. His brow furrowed as he rested his chin in his hand. The fluorescent light reflected off the reddish hue of the phoenix tattooed on his bald head, making it look shiner than normal, then Brendle realized the man was sweating.

  Brendle threw up his hands, frustrated with the way things were going. “I’m worried that no matter what the situation is, that it will not get any better.”

  “It must,” Malikea said. “Anki is strong and she will come out of this. I’m sure of it.”

  “I appreciate you saying so,” Brendle said as a knock at the door caught his attention. “Come in.”

  The heavy, wooden door slowly pushed open, revealing a dainty young woman silhouetted in the pale light of the hallway. As she stepped in, Brendle realized something familiar about her. She’s a Greshian.

  “Brendle Quin? Princess Herma requests a meeting with you,” the woman said as she came into focus. Her emerald eyes were glassy in the dim light of the monitors flickering along the wall. But they were not unkind.

  “How did you find me?”

  The woman smiled. “We never lose sight of our people.”

  Brendle swallowed. “I can’t come, my girlfriend…”

  “Princess Herma is aware of your situation, but she promises she will not keep you long. In fact, this meeting may take your mind off your troubles.”

  Brendle looked at Anki, her frail looking body sleeping in its comatose state. Not even her eyes moved beneath her eyelids as they did before. She looked close to death and that scared the shit out of him. “I need to stay.”

  The woman nodded. “I understand, but Princess Herma may not. She is not one for disrespect.”

  “Does she know I was exiled, no longer considered a Greshian? Perhaps my past is not something she is aware of. I have no claim to my birthright. And she has no claim over me, anymore.”

  “She is aware, but she wants you to earn your way back into the Emperor’s good favor.”

  Brendle felt the air suck out of the room as the tension grew. Being loyal to Greshia meant one thing, and one thing only. That his loyalty to the crew of the Replicade was void, but he would no longer be on the run. He looked to Deis and Malikea, but both turned their faces away from him. “Can I have a moment to consider it?”

  She nodded before stepping out of the room.

  Silence filled the empty space between him and the rest of his crew, but guilt tugged loudly on his heart. He had no idea why it meant so much to him, only that it did. “Tell me not to do it,” he said.

  Deis canted his eyes towards Brendle, his jaw tight. “What’s the point if I have to say it?” and with those words, Brendle knew the dagger of betrayal had already cut deep into his friend’s heart.

  “This could keep us from living on the run.”

  “This will break up what you considered your family. As a Greshian, you would become our enemy.”

  “No. I would still be the same person I am today.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that,” Deis replied.

  3

  Crase

  Grit bit at his face as he trudged through the sand-ridden streets. Farax had seen better days, that was for sure, but so had the man limping along, his eyes wincing as the grains pelted him in a swirling attack. Why did I come back? The question reverberated in his mind like the strike of a war drum, but in his heart, he knew why, and he hated himself for it. It was reliance on someone else that brought him to this world; to the door of the only person he trusted besides Nuelar.

  The door opened without him knocking, and Tesera’s eyes bore into his, solemn and scolding at the same time. “I thought you were dead,” she said softly.

  “You wear your dreams on your sleeve?”

  “No, but I do find logic more infallible than passion. You went up against a ship and crew outgunned and outmatched. Tell me, how else should I have seen the outcome?”

  “Nuelar was killed,” Crase said, but he wasn’t sure if it was to change the subject or just to make her stop talking about his inevitable failures. Perhaps both.

  “I’m sorry. He was a good man,” she replied. “Come in?”

  Crase stepped heavily into the home, the darkness of it taking several moments for his eyes to adjust. Tesera loved living in dim spaces which he often thought reflected her view of the world. “He wasn’t that good. He turned on me at the last moment, siding with the Lechuns who left him behind on Lechushe’.”

  Tesera walked around his lumbering form and grabbed a flask. “Do you still try convincing yourself of that truth?”

  “That’s the only kind of truth I need, easily acceptable when it falls in line with your ambitions,” he said, reaching for the flask after she finished pouring a glass. She handed it to him and he took a long pull. “Besides, who will tell me otherwise if my worldview is an illusion?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and took a sip from the glass, the yellowish fluid lightly staining the surface as it settled back to the bottom. “I’m not interested in living inside an illusion, Crase. You know this.”

  “Yeah. You’ve told me countless times.” He turned towards a chair and fell into it, groans uttering from his body under the creaking of the furniture.

  “And countless times I will repeat it. Let me grab my kit and see to your wounds.” Tesera placed the glass on the table and glided on bare feet to the shelves in the back of the room, grabbing a small canvas bag and returning, with no footsteps sounding off the floorboards of her home.

  Crase lifted his pant’s leg to reveal a gash, the skin already darkening aro
und the gaping wound. “I got this for my troubles.”

  “This is a fresh wound compared to how long you’ve been gone.”

  “I made a few stops along the way. Some people owed me money.”

  “Isn’t that always the case with you?” Tesera asked, not looking up at him as she dabbed moist cloths at Crase’s wound. He watched her work.

  “Not when I come to see you,” he replied.

  “Yes? Well, I believe the debt between us is the other way around. Of course, I would be a fool to ever believe you would repay me.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I doubt either of us can put a price on the past,” she replied, looking up at him. “This is going to hurt.”

  Crase took another pull from the flask. “It always does.” With those words, she poured a charcoal-colored powder into the wound. The sound of singeing flesh erupted from the gash as the powdery residue clouded around his leg. He winced, moaning through clenched teeth as she knelt next to him, watching the effects of the medicine work.

  “Please be still, I need to watch for the right time to neutralize it before it eats too much away,” Tesera said.

  Crase had plenty he wanted to say, but all he could manage was a hissing sound through his teeth. After a few moments, a white, chalky powder filled the wound, instantly settling the acidic burn of the previous chemical. With the relief came a flurry of curses directed at no one in particular. Tesera ignored it as she worked.

  “This should heal fine,” she said, grabbing gauze and wrapping his leg. “You need to keep it dry for a few days.”

  “Next time, don’t skimp on the anesthesia,” Crase said, lifting the empty flask, his teary eyes looking back into hers.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to return in this condition. Besides, I used it to console my own wounds while you were gone.”

  “Which wounds would that be?” Crase asked as he leaned forward, his nose inches from hers.

  She stopped wrapping his leg and sighed as she looked up at him. “You need to stop tempting fate or you will be killed.”