Seized

by Tana Stone

  The captain rejoined them and handed a digital tablet to Kax. He studied the screen for a moment, then frowned.

  “What is it?” Mandy put a hand to her mouth. “Is it Bridget?”

  “No,” Kax said, looking up from the screen and nodding at the captain. “It’s the Drexian warrior she was engaged to. His name is on the list of casualties from the battle on the outskirts.”

  “That’s awful,” Mandy said. “At least she never met him. She can’t be heartbroken about a fiancé she never met. Not that Bridge is the kind to be heartbroken, anyway.”

  Dorn took the digital pad from Kax and scanned it, his brow furrowing. “I knew these men.”

  Mandy leaned into him and rubbed his arm.

  “I want to make the Kronock pay,” he said, his eyes flashing when he finally raised them.

  “But not before rescuing Bridget, right?” Mandy’s eyes went from her husband to Kax. “She’s the first real girlfriend I’ve ever had.”

  “Of course not,” Dorn told her, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. “Our priority is getting her back. If my brother says he’ll do something, he’ll do it.”

  Kax took a deep breath, his resolve hardening as he met his brother’s determined gaze. “I will bring her back. I promise.”

  Or I won’t come back, were the words he didn’t speak aloud.

  Chapter Five

  Bridget’s head felt heavy and her mouth was dry, but this time when she regained consciousness, she couldn’t push herself up off the metal bench. She blinked quickly to bring the room into focus.

  No longer in the small cell, she appeared to be lying on a table in a larger room. The walls were stark white, not steel, and lights shone brightly overhead, making her head hurt to look at them. She pressed her fingers against the surface she lay on—it was hard and cold, much like the bench from earlier. Had these Kronock never heard of mattresses or sheets?

  Bridget rolled her head to one side, even though it pounded. A few machines sat nearby—lights blinking and motors humming—with tubes appearing to connect to her. Her eyes traced the lines leading to her arms and legs, and she jiggled her limbs and watched the thin tubes move in response.

  She tried to sit up, but some sort of straps lay across her legs and her ribcage. She jerked against them, but they held fast. Stay calm, she told herself, even as a wave of panic threatened to overtake her. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing. As a dancer for most of her life, she’d learned to be aware of her body, and she knew the power of controlling her breath. The last thing she needed to do was become hysterical. She inhaled the strange, antiseptic air and blew it out through her mouth over and over until her heart rate was steady.

  She kept her eyes closed as she focused her senses on each part of her body. Wiggling her feet, she could tell there was a small tube inserted in the top of each although it wasn’t painful. She used her fingertips to determine her legs were bare. Shifting against the straps, she could tell her entire body was bare. She took another long breath and tried to suppress the anger at being stripped naked and strapped to a slab. She didn’t want to think about what they may have done to her while she’d been unconscious, but she didn’t feel any pain or soreness.

  She opened her eyes and raised her head off the table. She felt a moment of dizziness, no doubt a residual effect from whatever drug that big creep had jabbed in her neck. Again. She gazed down at her own body—her brown nipples were pebbled from the cool air, and two tubes were attached to the insides of her arms, but she saw no bruises or marks. Small favors, she guessed. She balled her hands into fists, replacing her sense of calm with a steely resolve. Enough was enough. It was time to blow this joint.

  Bridget sucked in a breath and pressed herself into the table, making a gap between the straps and her skin. Luckily, they hadn’t been fastened tightly and she was able to wiggle herself up a few inches. She paused to see if the machines reacted when the tubes in her feet popped out, but aside from a momentary flurry of beeps, no alarm sounded. Tiny droplets of blood dripped from where the tubes had been attached and landed on the table. She went back to work, scooting farther up the table until the top of her body was free including her arms. She ripped the tubes out of them and then pulled her legs up and underneath the middle strap, freeing her body completely. She saw the blood trickling from her arms and pressed her hands against the small wounds to stop the flow.

  After a minute, she leaned one hand on the table as her head swam and she swayed in place. “You can do this, girl,” she whispered to herself.

  The drug that had knocked her out was wearing off, but her body was sluggish, and the ache in the back of her head made her want to lie back down. She fought through the urge and straightened up, glad for the years she’d spent training her body to withstand intense stress and deprivation. One good thing about the often-brutal life of a ballet dancer—she was used to powering through pain.

  Once the urge to puke her guts out had passed, she ran her hands over her body to double-check she hadn’t been messed with. Not only was her skin unblemished, it looked like she’d been given a full-body peel. The small scars she’d accumulated over the years had faded away, and even her feet—previously gnarled from years in toe shoes—looked unmarked and smooth. She shivered as she thought of what kind of chemicals had been pumped through her veins to make such a transformation.

  Now very aware of her nakedness, Bridget scanned the room for anything she could cover herself with. She wasn’t a prude, but she was cold. That, and she didn’t like the idea of the creepy Kronocks staring at her without clothes. Krav already looked at her like she was dinner, and that was with clothes on. She had a bad feeling about how he intended to combine her DNA with Kronock DNA, and if she was right it didn’t involve test tubes.

  Unfortunately, the room had nothing but hard surfaces: a shiny, white countertop spanning the length of one side, a metal swing arm extending from the wall, and the hard bed to which she’d been strapped. She noticed cabinets beneath the counter and began opening them. The first two held nothing but what appeared to be medical supplies, but the third contained the bridesmaid dress she’d been wearing, now wadded up in a crumpled ball.

  Bridget pulled it out and cursed when she saw the dress hadn’t been unzipped when it had been removed from her body; it had been ripped down the side. The panties she’d been wearing were nowhere to be seen.

  “So much for getting to wear this again,” she mumbled to herself, managing a dark chuckle at her own joke. She slipped it over her head, despite the fact that it hung open. Some coverage was better than none, and at least the long, lavender dress covered the important parts.

  Bridget held the side of the dress closed with one hand as she sidled toward the sliding door. If she wanted to escape, she’d need to leave the room. She spotted a syringe on a nearby counter and grabbed it. She may be barely clothed, but she could be armed. She pressed her hip against a large, round button, and the door swished opened. Poking her head out the door, she saw there were no guards posted, and felt both elated and irritated. They thought so little of her ability to escape they hadn’t even bothered to assign one guard?

  “Their mistake,” she muttered under her breath. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been underestimated. Bridget felt like she’d been proving people wrong her entire life. No one had ever expected a minority foster kid to make it as a dancer. Some of the hyper-competitive dancers she’d competed against were worse than any alien, she reminded herself. If she could handle the ultimate mean girls, she could take on a bunch of aliens. At least, she hoped she could.

  Hurrying down the hallway, she stopped at a set of doors that looked like they were for some sort of elevator or lift, with a call button to one side and a display above it flashing symbols. She looked over her shoulder at the empty white hallway. She had no idea where she was or where she needed to go. Was she on a ship or a space station or a planet? Where would she find a vessel to escape with, and even if she did
find one, how was she supposed to fly it?

  Just keep moving forward, she told herself, repeating the same mantra she’d been telling herself for years. No looking back. She had to get away and warn the Drexians what the Kronock had planned for Earth. She may not have had the easiest life on Earth, but that didn’t mean she wanted the planet destroyed. She thought about the grandmother who’d raised her, and her favorite dance teachers, then her mind went to the sight of the sun rising over the ocean in Miami Beach. There were plenty of good things worth saving.

  Before she could press the button to the side of the doors, the display overhead beeped, and the doors began to slide open. She leapt to the side, flattening herself against the wall and holding the syringe high over her head, preparing to stab whoever emerged. She flicked her gaze to the single small weapon in her hand. If there was more than one alien, she was officially screwed.

  Chapter Six

  Kax scanned the black console of his stealth shuttle, and zoomed in on the illuminated star chart. According to the tracker implanted in Bridget’s arm, she’d been taken to Choor Dar, one of the planets the Kronock had invaded and harvested long ago. Lying beyond Earth’s solar system, it had been declared a dead world over a decade ago, its inhabitants long since eliminated and its natural resources stripped. Just as the Kronock did with every planet they invaded, he thought, his anger rising like bile in his throat.

  He studied the flashing readout on his screen. It appeared the Kronock had left an outpost of some kind, although he couldn’t determine if it was heavily defended or not. No battleships orbited the planet, and he got no readouts of major power signatures from the surface. Small favors, he thought.

  He leaned back and listened to the hum of the engine as it propelled him through space toward his target. If he was being honest, this location made him nervous. It didn’t make sense. Why bring a hostage to a deserted outpost if you intended to draw your enemy into a battle? Even if they didn’t know the female was being monitored, they must have suspected the Drexians would track her down at some point. Kax blew out a breath. Unless they hadn’t taken her to provoke a battle, at all. Unless they had taken Bridget for another reason entirely. That worried him most of all.

  He turned his attention back to the console, running his fingers over the smooth surface. If the new readings were correct, he could land on Choor Dar without much trouble. The surface emitted enough radiation—a souvenir from the violent Kronock invasion, no doubt—that he wouldn’t be detected. Kronock sensors couldn’t pick up cloaked Drexian vessels anyway. At least, not that he knew. Now that they’d discovered the enemy had developed jump technology, he knew it was unwise to assume anything about their capability.

  Dragging a hand through his hair, Kax inhaled deeply and tried to steady his nerves. It wasn’t just the startling realization that the Kronock had mastered jump technology that made him worry. The uneasy feeling he’d gotten after coming face to face with the Kronock warriors had not lessened. In fact, he’d thought of little else since encountering them during the attack.

  It had been over thirty years since a Drexian had laid eyes on their enemy, and the Kronock were nothing like he’d expected. It was clear they’d been busy over the years, incorporating technology into their own physiology to make them stronger. The warriors he’d fought were more machine than creature, circuitry grafted over scales and claws. If they’d made that many changes to themselves, he wondered what else they had in store.

  If he was being honest, it wasn’t only the Kronock advancements making him nervous. He was acutely aware he’d been out of the field for years and, even if he’d never admit it to his brother, he felt out of practice. There was a time when a solo rescue mission wouldn’t have made him break a sweat, but he found his pulse racing and his palms damp as he contemplated what he was attempting to do.

  “You have to start somewhere,” he said to himself.

  He’d been truthful with Dorn when he’d said he intended to resume his former career in military intelligence. This mission would help get him back into the rhythm of his old job—a job he’d excelled at before he’d taken his father’s old position on the High Command. Serving on the High Command had been his birthright as a member of one of the few ruling class Drexian families, and something he’d been honored to do, but if he wasn’t going to be the person passing on his family’s lineage, he shouldn’t be the one taking the seat. He knew Dorn would send up a cry when he realized he’d have to take Kax’s place, but he hoped his brother would be too distracted by his pretty new wife to complain too much.

  The vastness of space and the constant danger of intelligence work was the perfect antidote to Kax’s disappointment and choking sense of unfulfilled promise. It would be better to be surrounded by light years of nothingness than to be reminded daily of the things he’d never have—a mate, a family, a legacy. As glad as he was for his brother’s happiness, and grateful Dorn had stepped up to take Kax’s place, it made his own sense of failure even more tangible. He shook his head and tried to dismiss his self-pity.

  “Focus on the mission,” he muttered, letting the words pull him from his thoughts. He stared out at the immense darkness of space as he flew at supersonic speed, the autopilot steering him around asteroids and meteors as he approached the decimated Choor Dar. He hadn’t wanted to use jump technology because he knew it would drain his ship, and he needed to save his power for the escape. Kax shifted command to manual, and double-checked that his stealth shielding was activated. He disabled all communications as well as sensors, so he was flying like a new cadet—only using his sight and feel for the ship to steer.

  Swinging his head from one side to the other, he saw no ships flying out to meet him as he dropped into the atmosphere. He’d already determined the tracker was sending out a signal from a building on the edge of the outpost, although the signal had since stopped transmitting, so he approached from the far side. Not that they’d be able to see anything through the brown haze of the atmosphere. He dipped through a layer of murky cloud cover, and studied the colorless surface of the planet, dotted with dull, gray buildings. Cutting his engines, he glided the shuttle to the ground a few thousand meters from where he’d originally pinpointed Bridget’s signal, only engaging his thrusters at the last minute so his landing would be smooth. No need to rattle his teeth out of his head if he didn’t need to.

  Once he’d come to a stop, Kax peered out the front of his ship. He didn’t know what the planet had originally looked like, but the Kronock had left it a wasteland. He’d managed to land behind a slight rise, but as far as he could see there was no vegetation, no trees, nothing living. The air swirled with dust and the ground looked hard and cracked.

  “Charming,” he muttered, as he scanned the surface readings. It was hot, the air thin and unsuitable for breathing for more than a few minutes.

  He flipped up the hood on his environmental suit, zipped the transparent window around his face, and grabbed the pack containing another suit, hooking it onto his back. Unlike the clunky helmets and suits they used to use, the Drexians had developed a thin, durable fabric impervious to the effects of toxic environments—it protected its wearer from extreme heat or cold, and kept a supply of oxygen flowing without the need of a glass bubble. His suit sculpted to his body like a second skin, and adapted its color to the surroundings, making it easier to remain undetected.

  Kax tapped his wrist control and engaged the oxygen, while he also checked his directional guidance system. It shouldn’t take him long to reach the building, he thought, as he opened the shuttle door and stepped outside. He touched the blaster on his belt out of habit, as he closed the ship and touched his wrist controller to lock it down.

  The wind felt even stronger than it had looked, and he leaned into it as he walked, feeling it buffet his arms and legs. He crested the rise hiding his ship, and dropped down on his haunches as he surveyed the surface. In the distance, he spotted the cluster of buildings making up the outpost, but dete
cted no movement outside. No reason to be outside if you could help it.

  He resumed his approach, taking up an easy jog and pulling out his blaster as he got closer. Searching the perimeter for cameras, or rooftop sentries, he saw none. Odd. It seemed unlikely the enemy would have an unguarded outpost.

  “Unless it’s a trap,” Kax mumbled. He only hoped they’d be looking for a major incursion and wouldn’t be anticipating a one-man mission.

  The building from where Bridget’s sensor had originally transmitted lay directly ahead, and Kax headed for the door in the back that seemed to be the least used. He guessed the Kronock had located and removed Bridget’s tracker. Hopefully, they hadn’t moved her. Reaching the door, he swore under his breath when he realized it had no handle on the outside. So much for not leaving a trace, he thought, as he removed a handheld laser cutter from his belt and began slicing through the metal of the door lock. It made little sound, but he knew the burning smell would be a tip-off for anyone nearby.

  When he’d sliced through the bolting mechanism, he wrenched the door open, stepping inside the building and bracing himself for an onslaught of Kronock. Nothing.

  His stomach tightened as he glanced at his wrist and followed the red dot indicating Bridget’s last signal. Unlike the outside of the drab building, the inside was bright white with sleek walls and glaring overhead lights. He glanced down at the arm of his suit, which was changing color from the brown of the dirt outside, to the white of the interior walls. He crept down the hall and looked through the windows inset in the interior doors. The first room was a large lab, with machines whirring and blinking, and counters lined with racks of test tubes. Two smaller rooms sat across from it, sterile versions of medical bays, with the prone bodies of Kronock fighters lying immobile on metal platforms. Another room farther along held a wall of computers and a standing console with a single Kronock behind it. Kax hurried past the doorway without being spotted.