The Alorian Wars Box Set

by Drew Avera

  Gen wrapped her tunic tight around her body and stepped towards the ramp, feeling the wafting wind coil around her body as it swirled, kicking up dust with each gust. She grumbled under her breath, the words not even recognizable to herself. They were nothing more than incoherent rants to vent her anger and frustration. Failing was never an option, yet here she was, walking back to her people with nothing to show for her efforts.

  Above her, ships flew, their anti-collision lights blinking like twinkling stars in the black sky. Most were cargo ships, others transport ships, and none of them warships like the one she left. Gen kicked the ground, rocks flying out from her as she thought of the coming conflict. She still remembered the smell of burning bodies as her planet erupted in flames.

  She closed her eyes before thinking about the final moments before boarding the refugee transport. The death of her mother and sister in the explosion. She watched it happen and the only reason they died was because they did not know she was already on the transport. Guilt brought her to the verge of vomiting, her stomach tying itself in knots as the memory burned in the back of her mind.

  Gen took a moment’s rest and leaned against a ship on the landing area, bracing herself to keep from falling over. A gentle wind kicked up again, brushing the fringe of her tunic against her legs. A voice from behind her gave her pause and she placed her hand on her blaster, ready to use it if necessary.

  “Excuse me, can I help you?” The voice asked again.

  She turned slightly, keeping her weapon hidden under her tunic. “What’s that?”

  “I was just asking if you needed any help.”

  “I’m fine, just feeling sick is all,” she replied. She took another glance at the man and noticed he was not Pilatian, but some other race based on the darkness of his skin. His robes certainly clash with what we wear as well, she thought. “Who are you?”

  He smiled. “My name is Malikea.”

  “Are you visiting from another world?”

  He looked around nervously. “I suppose you could say that. A member of our crew had a medical emergency, so we came here to seek help. Luckily, the doctors here are excellent. She appears to be coming through just fine.”

  He sure is talkative, Gen thought. “What ship did you arrive on?”

  “My ship is called the Replicade.”

  “Really? I think I saw that ship earlier today,” she replied, fighting to hide her smile.

  “Yes? Well I suppose it sticks out a bit on this world, doesn’t it?”

  “It does. I tell you, I would love to tour it if you have the time.”

  Malikea smirked. “It’s not that much to it, honestly. It’s practically a transport ship with weapons mounts.”

  “Still, I love looking at ships. That’s why I hang out here at night, to get a good view of the different ones coming and going from Pila.” As deceptive as she was being, there was at least a little truth to her words.

  “I don’t know. My captain doesn’t like other people boarding our ship without his knowledge. We’ve had a few unwelcomed guests in the past. Maybe you can come back tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I hope you feel better,” Malikea said as he turned to leave.

  “I’m already starting to feel better.” With renewed hope, she turned back towards the hangar, to the secret entrance to her quarters, ready to give the brief that might save their rebellion after all.

  10

  Brendle

  “I noticed you arrived on Pila in a warship,” Princess Herma said, staring down at the protest as it erupted in loud, amplified chants.

  “I did. It was salvaged by two members of my crew.”

  “Is it fully functional?”

  “It was before we ran out of munitions. Weapons are hard to come by legally.”

  He watched the smirk on her face widen and his stomach sank. “What if I provided a full supply of weapons for your ship in exchange for your services?”

  “And what services would that be?” Brendle asked, shifting nervously on his feet.

  “I need protection,” she replied.

  Brendle gazed out the window at the growing crowd. “Protection? These are the most peaceful protests I’ve witnessed.”

  Princess Herma sighed. “These protests are a cover for a rebellion forming against me. They seek to remove me, but in doing so, my father will destroy this world as I’m the only reason it still stands. This disc is nothing more than an enormous station once owned by the planet Pila. These people are refuges from the terror our emperor bestowed on them, yet they forget that peace came at my will, not theirs.”

  “So, you expect me to wipe out a rebellion in exchange for my renewed citizenship? What about my crew?”

  “What about them? They aren’t Greshian and are not my responsibility. By all means, do with them as you will, but you know they will never be allowed on Greshian sovereign soil. Eventually, there will be nowhere for them to go.”

  Brendle placed a hand on the cold glass overlooking Dorit. He could hear the lamenting protest of people angered by their occupation, but he also knew Princess Herma was right, that if she fell from power, then Pila would be gone soon after. “My crew needs a home that’s not living on the ship evading the fleet for the rest of their lives.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “In exchange for our help, I want them to be allowed to stay here, all expenses paid for by you.”

  “That’s a bold request, Mr. Quinn,” Herma said, her words taking a slithery tone as she grinned. “But I’ll concede to it. Provide a manifest for your ship and I will see to it being supplied within a few days. Pedero will brief you on the intel we have regarding the rebellion growing on this world. I’ve tried reason and it appears there is only one form of negotiation these people will accept. I thank you for your service, Captain.”

  She turned to face him with her hand extended to him. He gripped her wrist as was the Greshian tradition and they stared into each other’s eyes, holding firm to one another as their pact was made. Brendle swallowed hard, knowing despite his best intentions, that his crew would not agree with his decision.

  It must be done, he thought, it’s the only way for us to be at peace.

  “I’ll send Pedero to you tomorrow for the manifest and your briefing. I do hope your Luthian friend’s recovery goes well,” she said.

  “As do I,” Brendle replied. “Thank you for this opportunity, Princess Herma.” He bowed and she returned it gracefully. As he walked away, the burn of regret flamed within his heart. Not since his time on the Telran did he feel like a traitor the way he did now. He remembered swearing to never be the boot on the throat of a Greshian target again, yet here he was agreeing to serve the crown, this time running his own ship.

  Stepping into the elevator, Pedero waited for him. “I trust everything went well with our princess?”

  “It did,” Brendle replied.

  “Excellent. It’s nice to have another Greshian here for the cause.”

  “And what cause would that be?” Brendle asked.

  She looked up at him, blinking a few times before speaking, her emerald eyes boring into his. “The cause for peace in this sector. Princess Herma wants to prove to her father that annihilation is not the answer to spreading the power of the Empire.”

  “A noble cause,” Brendle said as the elevator door closed.

  “It is, but I’m afraid she will be killed before she sees her vision succeed.”

  “Let us hope it does not come to that,” Brendle replied. “Peace is paramount. War cannot last forever.”

  “But the Empire shall,” Pedero replied.

  Brendle looked down at his feet as the elevator descended. “Yes, I suppose she shall.”

  At the bottom of their descent, the elevator opened, revealing the large protest outside. “I suggest exiting through the back. I have a driver waiting for you to take you back to the medical center,” Pedero said.
r />   “Thank you,” Brendle replied, turning his back on the crowd and inhaling deeply. With each step he felt like a coward and a liar. How am I going to explain this to Deis and Malikea? Will Anki accept what I’ve done despite doing it for her? Each answer to his questions came with a hollow “no” reverberating inside of him. He knew he shouldn’t have agreed to Herma’s request, but fear and hoping for a better life brought him to a point of no return. If he went back on his word now, he didn’t know what would happen.

  “Mr. Quinn, I’ll be your driver,” a Pilatian man said outside the exit door.

  “Excellent, can you take a long way to the medical center? I’d like to see more of Dorit if that’s possible.”

  “Absolutely, it will be my pleasure to show you around,” the man replied. He opened the back door of a dark transport.

  “Thank you,” Brendle said as he slid into the backseat of the open transport. The inside was cool compared to the room where he met Princess Herma. He didn’t know if it was the ambient temperature, or just how he felt after his meeting, but either way, the chill was noticeable.

  The transport moved out of the closed garage and out into the streets. Brendle noticed the tall, spire-shaped buildings reaching towards the sky and wondered what purpose they served. He could only imagine each building was repurposed after the desolation of the Pilatian’s home world. He just hoped whatever role he took in Princess Herma’s plan, that he would save more lives in the long run. But somehow he knew it would take more than that for him to forgive himself, if at all.

  11

  Ilium

  After more than an hour in darkness, the King Slayer grew colder. As Ilium helped with the search efforts, he found it difficult to focus as time ran out for him and the crew. How much air was left wasn’t the issue, but how quickly the ship cooled, becoming a frozen coffin threatening to send everyone on board into hypothermia.

  Then death.

  “There has to be a better way to do this,” Ilium said, pulling at another panel in Quino’s stateroom. His frigid fingers hurt as he applied pressure to rip the panel from the bulkhead.

  “We’ll find it, sir,” Stavis said, her voice lacking the determination he heard previously. When he turned to look at her, he saw her hunched over, steam escaping her mouth as she exhaled, looking like smoke in the red glow of her light. “But I think we need to expand our search. Quino’s room is clean.”

  “Where do you suggest?” Ilium asked.

  “Your stateroom?”

  “Why mine? He shouldn’t have had access to it.”

  “There’s a lot of things he shouldn’t have had access to, but that didn’t seem to stop him, did it?”

  Ilium frowned. He found it hard to think straight as he shivered. He looked around at the destroyed room, even with the dull glow of a few lamps, it was hard to mistake the disaster area it looked like. He glossed over the bloodstain on the deck, not wanting to think about what happened. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to thaw out, if I ever do.”

  Stavis led the way, with the guard following behind to protect Ilium. No matter how much he thought it was overkill, he appreciated the effort. Just having a third set of eyes in the search made a difference.

  Finding his room was the easy part. Breaking into it with the electronic lock out of commission was harder. “I’m surprised this door doesn’t have a battery backup,” Stavis said, her brow furrowed in concentration.

  “Can we break it down?” Ilium asked.

  “We can, but it’s not going to function afterwards.”

  “Do it.” Ilium sucked in a cold breath and wrapped his arms around himself.

  “Permission to discharge a weapon inside the ship?” Stavis asked. Ilium nodded, not thinking ill of her for failing to ask when shooting Quino. Of course, that was a different situation.

  He watched as she set the barrel near the door jam, bracing herself for the shot, and possible ricochet. Ilium took a step back and waited. But not for long. The shot rang out like a clap of thunder, and the muzzle lit the space like lightning.

  “We’re in,” Stavis said, her voice muffled by the ringing in Ilium’s ears. He followed her inside, relieved to be in his room, but overwhelmed by how much more of a search area needed to be covered with no guarantee of finding the device.

  “I’ll take this wall,” Ilium said as a guard ran inside to deliver a message.

  “Sir, engineering is fifty-percent done with their search and have found nothing. The hangar search is thirty-percent complete. All other departments are complete. The device has not been found.” The guard spoke so fast that Ilium had to think about what was said for a moment.

  “Very well, have the CoS send a few people here to assist us with the search and send the other available bodies to the hangar,” Stavis ordered.

  “Yes, sir.” The guard ran off, disappearing in a haze of steam from his heavy breathing.

  “That was a fast search,” Ilium said.

  “We’ll keep searching until we find it, sir.”

  “Or die,” He replied.

  Without looking at him, she said, “Or that.”

  The three of them worked in silence as they continued their search, running icy fingers along the seams of the panels for possible hiding places for the device. “I think I have something,” Ilium said.”

  “What is it?” Stavis asked, stopping what she was doing to move closer to him.

  “There’s a small gap between these panels behind the sink. I didn’t notice it before.”

  “Can you pry it apart?” Stavis’s voice chimed with a glimmer of much needed hope.

  “It’s not wide enough to get my fingertips in, but if I had something to pry it with…”

  “Use this, sir,” the guard said, handing over a small prybar. Ilium took it and frowned, thinking it too might be too wide to fit.

  “Hopefully,” he said, leaning against the bulkhead to try and get more leverage as he placed the thinnest edge of the bar into the gap. He sighed in relief as enough fit in the hold to get a bite. When he pried the panel, a smile etched on his face, a mixture of happiness and relief. Just on the other side of the bulkhead was what they searched for. “I have it!”

  “By the gods,” Stavis whispered. “Now, we need to get it out of that hole and figure out how to disable it.”

  The guard stepped forward. “Let me help with that,” he said, leaning over and grabbing enough of the panel with both hands to rip it right off the bulkhead, creating a large enough hole for Ilium to reach in and snatch the device.

  “I’ve got it,” he said, groaning under the weight of it as he awkwardly pulled it out of the hole. “But I don’t know what the hell to do with it. Do you want to take a crack at it?”

  “I may as well,” Stavis replied before looking to the guard. “Go alert the CoS we found it and need someone up here who knows how to disable these kinds of devices.”

  “Aye, sir,” he replied, jogging out of the stateroom holding his red-hued light in front of him to see.

  Stavis examined the device closer, running her fingers along the exposed wiring and mumbling to herself.

  “Do you know how to turn it off?” Ilium asked.

  “No, maybe if I thought to look it over more closely then I could have figured it out before the lights went out, but all of the wires look the same color with this red light.”

  “Maybe the light from my personal com-unit would help,” Ilium said, jumping up and moving to a set of drawers to pull out his carry-on bag. After a minute or two of digging around for it, he pulled the com-unit from the bag and powered it on. “How about this?”

  A white light fell on the device and showed the contrast of color on the wiring insulation. Being able to make out the details of the device made it look less mysterious to Ilium and he hoped the same was true for her.

  “It’s hard to say because some wires don’t appear to go anywhere important, like maybe they’re a diversion for how the circuit works. I’m nervous to try anythin
g in case it causes further damage.”

  “Like a bomb?” Ilium asked.

  She looked him in the eye and answered. “Exactly.”

  12

  Crase

  Crase was greeted with the dank scent of unkempt warship as he boarded the Pilatian cruiser. The Eruga was equipped with two airlocks, the ship could have stood to air out before use, but for all he knew, Poko obtained it recently and was trying to flip it. The desperate couldn’t be choosers when dealing on the black market.

  “Mr. Tuin,” a man said from the other side of the cluttered space.

  He turned to see a squat man, white-skinned and Greshian. “Yeah.”

  “My name is Esma and I believe we have a mutual acquaintance. Haranger.”

  Crase groaned at the name. Acquaintance didn’t begin to describe Haranger. He was like a disease that kept popping up. “All right. Are you coming on the trip?”

  Esma nodded. “I was sent here in hopes that you could deal with Haranger’s problem after I help you with yours.”

  Crase’s jaw clenched tighter. “I don’t deal with Haranger anymore. Sorry.” He turned to head for the bridge before he realized he was heading the wrong direction. After a deep breath, he moved towards Esma, stopping where the Greshian blocked the way.

  “Unfortunately, Haranger isn’t done with you, Mr. Tuin. I was given explicit instructions to see to it you comply with his request.” The formality of his words mixed with his tone sent a chill down Crase’s spine.

  “What’s the target?”

  “That’s need to know and right now, you don’t need to know,” Esma replied.

  “Fine, brief me after I have my ship back. Having two ships at my disposal should make short work of whatever job he has for me. If you’ll excuse me, I have to prepare this ship.”

  Esma moved ever so slightly to the side, giving Crase just enough room to brush past him. As they came shoulder to shoulder, Esma spoke again. “Haranger asked that I give you motivation not to cross him. You’ll see a video message waiting for you on the bridge.”