Her Alien Alpha (Salvaged Hearts Book 1)

by Leslie Chase

They’d be poor and shipless in one of the worst places in the galaxy, but they’d be alive. And I wasn’t about to take any chances with that.

  Reluctantly, Michaela nodded. Taking my pistol and the handful of Imperial treasures I’d stuffed in my pockets, she set off on a detour to the armory. Better to have everything valuable locked away, for what little protection that would give us. A quick comms message told the others to hide their salvage too.

  I hurried to the cargo airlock, ready to greet the boarders when they arrived. The wait was painful, with nothing to do apart from stare at the heavy inner door of the lock. Our cargo space was bare, only a few scraps of loot secured to the walls. We’d cleared space to be able fit as much treasure from the Golden Duke Lyian and then had to flee before loading up.

  We’ve got the portable loot we picked up along the way. That’s worth more than most of our hauls, and it’s be easier to hide, I thought, looking for the upside to the empty space. There had to be a silver lining to this cloud.

  Michaela arrived just as the airlock’s outer door opened. Looking from me to the door, her fingers twitched towards her empty holster and I almost laughed. Her glare stopped me.

  “You can’t make fun of me this time,” she said. “There are pirates boarding us right now.”

  “You’re right,” I told her, looking back at the airlock so she wouldn’t see my grin. It wasn’t that funny, but the tension made me anxious for some release.

  The airlock cycled, locks overridden, and Michaela braced herself. I put a hand on her shoulder, shook my head. Fighting wasn’t an option.

  “If they attack, I’ll go down swinging,” she said, looking me in the eyes. “Rather die fighting than let them murder us where we stand.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” I said, and then the decision was taken out of our hands. The inner door slid wide and Drall and Chrichri stormed through the gap, wearing combat armor and firing as they came. Michaela pulled free of my grip and a pistol appeared in her hand as if by magic. I shouldn’t have been surprised that she hadn’t disarmed herself.

  Fast as she was, the attackers were already firing. An energy beam caught her in the chest and the pistol flew from her hand as she collapsed.

  The next blast caught me, and the world turned white.

  My eyes opened to a harsh, painful light, and the world spun around me. It was like the world’s worst hangover. I recognized the symptoms: a stun-blast. Expensive, short-ranged weapons, no one used them out here except bounty hunters.

  I almost wished they’d used lasers instead. At least being dead wouldn’t hurt.

  A voice moaned for water and I realized that it was mine. Everything sounded distant, muffled, and painful, as though someone had stuffed my ears with cotton wool soaked in acid.

  Clutching at my head, I winced and tried to open my eyes again. Too-bright light stabbed my brain, but it was the wrong color. The Ladies’ Choice didn’t have lighting with this strange blueish tint, and the bulkheads weren’t mottled blue and black. Wondering what had happened, I lay back on the thin, uncomfortable mattress and tried to stop the world from spinning.

  It took me too long to realize that I wasn’t aboard my own ship anymore. This had to be the Doha Zadzad, and that couldn’t be good news. Worse, my captors had taken my helmet. Aboard a ship that was seriously rude, not to mention dangerous. A hull puncture would be fatal.

  “Ah, awake at last,” Syrcen said, his smug voice booming and echoing in my head. I winced, struggled with my sluggish nervous system, and managed to look up at the Drall.

  A fresh scar crossed his crocodilian snout, and beady eyes glared at me. He’d replaced his right arm with a crude cybernetic limb, nothing like the elegant sculpture Delkor had.

  Behind him stood a towering Chrichri, stunner clasped in its forelimbs. I wanted to call him a coward for bringing a bodyguard to taunt a prisoner, but I decided against it. No snark would be worth getting shot again.

  “What…?” I croaked the question, mouth feeling like it was full of marbles.

  “Ah, what indeed?” Syrcen’s affected charm oozed from his words. “Don’t worry, Captain, you’re just paying off your debt. Then you and your crew will be on your way, see?”

  Yeah, and I can fly back to Earth by flapping my arms real hard. Perhaps my eyes betrayed my skepticism, because Syrcen laughed again and tossed a bottle of clear liquid over to me.

  “Here, some water,” he said. “Accept my hospitality and my protection.”

  The bottle flew past my feeble attempt to catch it and smacked into the mattress beside me. I stared at it suspiciously, picked it up, and sniffed. No scent.

  It could be water, it could be poison, it could be drugs. But worrying was pointless — he could have done whatever he wanted to me before I regained consciousness, and I really needed something to drink.

  A hesitant sip of cool, clear water turned into a long gulp. My parched body refused to take the bottle from my lips until it was empty.

  Feeling a little more human, I tossed the bottle back at my captor. He snatched it out of the air without difficulty.

  “You know we don’t have the Archive,” I said, my head clearing.

  “Yes.” A quick flash of annoyance appeared then vanished under his smug smile. “Cost me two EMP missiles to learn that — which I am adding to your debt. You should have told me it wasn’t aboard and saved us both some trouble.”

  I crossed my arms and glared. “Then you’d have shot us out of the sky. No thanks.”

  His laugh sounded almost genuine. “You have a point, though I’m not in the habit of killing people who owe me money. Not until it’s clear they won’t pay; then it becomes good business to set an example.”

  Suspiciously friendly and reasonable. His dealings with me had cost him an arm and a scar so far. while that might be a small trade for access to the Golden Duke, he’d never struck me as the type to let go of vengeance.

  Might as well play along, I told myself. There’s the outside chance he’s sincere.

  “We made all our payments,” I reminded him. Barely, but we had. “So why not send us on our way when you found we didn’t have what you’re looking for?”

  “Because I have a use for you,” he said, voice lowering into a guttural snarl. “And you owe me. You may not have the Archive, human, but you will help me retrieve it.”

  My anger boiled up again. No matter how civilized he pretended to be, Syrcen was never more than a second away from resorting to violence. Give me the honest barbarity of the Caibar over the Drall’s pretentious aping of civilized society any day.

  That thought reminded me of Delkor, which sent an icy dart through my heart. He’d never pretended to be other than what he was, never hidden his motives. God, I longed to for the comfort of his embrace. But I’d never feel that again, now.

  Delkor was dead, he had to be. Ten minutes in a vacuum would kill him, and we were long past that. Pain and loss hit hard, driving away any hope of playing along. Syrcen would never set me free, there wasn’t any point in pretending he might. Turning pain into rage, I glared at him.

  “If you’ve lost it, good. Serves you right.” I managed to stand, though the decking didn’t feel steady under my feet. “We don’t have it, and we don’t know where it is. And if you think we’re going to help you search—“

  “Careful, human,” he interrupted, less amused by my defiance now. “Cooperate and you get your ship back and an extension on your debt. Fight me on this and you and your crew can walk home without spacesuits. Either way, you’ll serve my purposes.”

  I glared but shut up. Syrcen’s ego didn’t let him accept criticism, another difference from Delkor’s confident attitude. Sure, the Caibar might come across as arrogant, but he’d never be angry that someone argued with him.

  My fist clenched at my side, and I fought down the urge to bury it in Syrcen’s face. It wasn’t fear for my life that stopped me, or fear of the stunner in his bodyguard’s hands. My crew’s liv
es depended on me and I had no right to sacrifice them for my heartbreak.

  Biting back an insult, I nodded silent agreement. Syrcen’s smile reappeared, and this time it wasn’t entirely fake. Figures that he’d enjoy bullying people.

  He turned and left the small cell, and the Chrichri guard gestured for me to follow. I scurried after my captor, still unsteady on my feet. The flooring didn’t help there — apparently the Chrichri preferred uneven decks. The ship looked vaguely organic, its interior corridors twisting and crossing with no rhyme or reason.

  Smaller Chrichri bustled past us every so often, some of them clinging to the walls or ceiling rather than the floor. I shivered, fighting an instinctive revulsion to their insectile skittering movements. It wasn’t fair to judge them on that.

  I had so many other, better reasons to dislike them. Without their help, Syrcen wouldn’t have caught us. He’d have been waiting when we returned to Nautilus Station, yes, but we’d have a hold full of salvage and we’d be prepared.

  Now he had it all.

  The corridor ended at an airlock and I stopped, tensing. Were they about to space me? Suddenly my earlier bravado seemed foolish — I didn’t want to die.

  But Syrcen left his helmet clipped to his belt as he stepped inside and opened the outer door. I flinched, expecting the air to rush out in a tornado, but nothing happened. There was an atmosphere outside.

  My Chrichri guard shoved me through wide-open double doors of the airlock and I followed Syrcen onto the hanger deck beyond.

  “This is the Golden Duke,” I said aloud, not sure why that surprised me. Where else would we be? This was where Syrcen’s prize was, as well as all the other wealth waiting to be scavenged.

  A portable forcefield generator sat in the center of the bay, projecting a dome that kept in the air. That faint shimmering bubble was all that stood between me and a horrible death from explosive decompression. Not just me, either: the rest of my crew stumbled out, herded by Chrichri. None of them had helmets or air cylinders.

  I looked a fresh apology at them. My choices had led us here, to this moment. Probably to our deaths. But somehow they didn’t seem to blame me. Each of them met my gaze, and their confidence in me strengthened my resolve to keep them safe. My crew hadn’t given up on me, so I wouldn’t give up on them.

  Though I had no idea what I’d do to protect them. I looked around at the mix of Chrichri and Drall guards watching us. Outnumbered two to one, unarmed, we didn’t stand a chance in a fight.

  Once his guards had herded us all into a cluster near Syrcen, our captor raised a comm to his mouth.

  “Caibar,” he shouted a challenge. Stupid showmanship — the radio didn’t care how loud he spoke. “Caibar, I know you are out there, and I know you can hear me. I have your females. Their lives are nothing to me, whether I kill or spare them is up to you. I want the Archive core you removed, and I’m willing to trade for it.”

  I blinked, the faint ember of hope I’d refused to acknowledge suddenly bloomed into an inferno. Could he be alive? Could Delkor be out there, listening to this? Syrcen certainly thought so.

  A tremor ran through me at the thought and I listened for a response. Nothing but static answered Syrcen. Perhaps he was wrong, but I clung to my new hope anyway.

  “Answer me, Caibar,” the Drall continued after a long pause. “There are six of the females, and I am perfectly willing to kill one to demonstrate that I’m serious.”

  He clicked his fingers and one of the Drall lumbered closer. I stepped out to meet him, only to be shoved aside. It seemed I was too valuable to kill as a warning. Another time I’d be glad of that, but not when it meant that another of my crew would suffer instead.

  The Drall’s meaty fist closed on Alice’s arm and she screamed, struggling helplessly as the alien dragged her toward the edge of the air bubble. I tried to follow, with no plan for what to do when I caught up. But the cold hard chitinous grip of a Chrichri mercenary closed on my neck and held me back. All I could do was watch Alice being pushed against the edge of the forcefield.

  “Don’t,” I shouted, “don’t, please, Delkor’s dead! He won’t answer because he can’t.”

  Syrcen shrugged. “That would be a pity. It would be much easier to find the Archive with his cooperation, but without it at least I get to see you six die. One by one.”

  The Drall holding Alice pushed her slowly against the edge of the air bubble. Squirming, struggling, she edged closer and closer to an agonizing death.

  And at the last moment, the comm crackled to life with a single word. “Stop!”

  Delkor’s voice came through at a shout, his tone of command freezing everyone in place. I recovered first, spinning to face Syrcen and stared, awestruck, at his comm.

  20

  Delkor

  The comm hissed and spat like an angry animal, but Syrcen’s voice came through. And behind him, Carrie. Despair and joy warred in my mind as I heard the voice I loved above all others.

  She lived, she was here, I might yet see her again. That joyous, wonderful news, almost too good to believe, tempered by her position as a hostage. If I wasn’t careful, I’d lose both my beloved and my life.

  “I have the Archive here,” I told them. “And I will trade it for the crew of the Ladies’ Choice along with the ship itself.”

  “Done,” the gangster answered too quickly. “Bring it to us in hanger port-twelve, and we’ll make the exchange.”

  Behind him I heard Carrie shout something, her voice muffled before she managed a word. It didn’t matter — I didn’t need her warning not to trust the Drall.

  “You think I’m a fool?” I replied. “You’d take the Archive and kill us all. No, I’ll set the terms of the exchange. First bring the Ladies’ Choice into the hangar and let the humans board it. Then I’ll give you the Archive.”

  Grinding teeth, a suppressed snarl, and then an answer. “I will bring the ship in, yes. But they will not board until you show me the Archive. I don’t trust you any more than you trust me, see?”

  My turn to growl, turning in place in my small room. He wasn’t wrong — given the opportunity, I’d gladly kill him and his followers rather than make this trade. With the humans already aboard their ship that would be a lot easier.

  I’ll have to risk it doing it his way. Otherwise he might kill Carrie, and that’s a chance I refuse to take. “It will take some time to reach the hangar from where I am. The route may be blocked.”

  “Make it as fast as you can. You don’t want me to get bored, I might decide to play with your humans.” With that threat, the comm clicked off.

  I breathed deep and slow, keeping my calm as the instructors had shown me. They’d prepared me for war as a tool of the Empire, though, and that had always made the missions impersonal, distant. It was a lot harder with my beloved’s life hanging in the balance.

  Taking stock of my assets, I winced. Nothing was as it should be. The spacesuit I wore was even less comfortable than it had been, tears crudely patched with parts of the Vehn suits. The oxygen supply wouldn’t last long, pressurized from the remains of the ship’s air circulation system. This suit would be worse than useless in a fight, trapping my tail, blocking my claws, limiting my movement.

  At least the clumsily rigged communicator worked on the move. And I still had a handful of emergency air cylinders in case my patchwork suit didn’t hold.

  How I longed for my combat suit. For all I knew it was still aboard, in the emergency chamber where I’d had to abandon it to enter the stasis tube.

  Might as well wish for the stars to kill my foes for me. Even if the suit was there, even if I found that room again, after decades without maintenance it would need a lot of work to get functional. No, I was limited to what I had with me, and that wasn’t enough.

  Still, a feral smile stretched across my face as I set off to find my way to the enemy.

  Syrcen had trapped me, true. He hadn’t considered that meant that he was trapped with me too. A Caibar war
rior with my mate in danger: give me any tools at all and I’d find a way to save her.

  Finding a path to the right hangar required me to double back again and again. Corridors blocked with debris from explosions, twisted into strange, impassable shapes by singularity cannons, or ending in sealed, unpowered doors. Each time I had to double back I feared that this was it, the delay that would get one of Carrie’s companions killed.

  But Syrcen’s patience surprised me. Perhaps he enjoyed savoring his victory too much to pressure me, or perhaps he worried that I might destroy his prize if he killed any of them.

  He wasn’t wrong about that.

  Finally reaching a torn-open corridor that led into the hangar, I took a deep breath, filling my lungs. The spacesuit would only get in my way now, so I discarded it, flexing my tail and stretching.

  I took the comm and clipped the one remaining emergency air cylinder onto my belt. Time to try my crazy plan. I moved forward, keeping low and leaving the Archive behind as I slipped into the hangar. No need to worry about noise in a vacuum, but vibrations traveling through the decking might alert someone to my presence and I wanted to get a feel for the situation before walking into it.

  Syrcen made no effort to conceal himself. There, at the far end of the vast hangar, a bubble of force shimmered holding in a breathable atmosphere. Syrcen stood beside the generator, laser resting against it. One squeeze of the trigger and all the air would vanish into space.

  And behind him, the crew of the Ladies’ choice waited under guard by a pair of Chrichri and a pair of Drall. Unharmed, thank whatever gods watched over humans. Carrie’s eyes flicked in my direction, then away. Had she seen me? In shadow like this, pressed against the wall, human eyes weren’t sharp enough… but I felt sure she had. Her shoulders straightened as she kept her eyes averted. Clever girl, she wouldn’t give my location away.

  It wasn’t easy to look away from my mate now that we were so close, but I’d never cross the distance between us if I didn’t look for dangers. Slowly turning my head I scanned the hangar, counting my foes. As I’d suspected, Syrcen had stationed his people at the obvious entrances. Chrichri warriors and Drall thugs, all on alert. I counted a dozen and in the chaotic confusion of the hanger more might lurk in cover, unseen. The silence of space meant I had to rely on sight alone.