Broken Worlds (The Alorian Wars Book 1)

by Avera,Drew

  Her ears were ringing, the thud of her beating heart like a drum in her head. She couldn’t move, but as far as she could tell she wasn’t injured in any significant way. There was a haunting chime of the alarm dying in the background, the sound of it muffled by the gel and her helmet. Her fingers flinched, spreading out in an attempt to move. Anki felt like she was buried in slush, the cold making her body numb, but with each movement she was able to gain higher mobility as the gel dissipated around her. It took several minutes to break out of the hold of the gel enough to not feel so claustrophobic. Anki sat in the cockpit, panting on stale air as she noticed the ship was no longer providing breathable air to her. She groaned as she brought her hands up to her helmet to pull it off. It was difficult, almost as if the helmet had become a part of her, but after several hard tugs it finally came loose and freed her from its confinement.

  Anki released the lap belt and rose to her feet. Her legs were wobbly, probably more from shock and fear than any type of internal injury, she assumed. The collision gel was still receding, but she had enough room to move around at least. She ran her hands along her arms to warm herself up, the cold slowly shaking off her body. Now that the numbness was falling away she could tell that she was uninjured, which came as a relief. The fear didn’t budge at all, though. In the cockpit of the transport Anki noticed a putrid smell seeping in through the vents. It took her a moment to realize it was smoke. She had no way of knowing for sure, but it seemed the transport was on fire and if she didn’t escape, she would be cooked to death. That was, if she didn’t suffocated from the pluming smoke now filtering into the cockpit.

  “This is the worst day of my life,” she said to no one as she moved to the airlock. She could only hope the air on the outside was breathable. Either way, she was most likely dead anyway.

  The airlock was cold to the touch as Anki tried to cycle it manually. With no power and no light, the transport was beginning to feel like a coffin. The fact her life was in danger didn’t make the symbolism of her dread any less dire. She pulled her hand away as the freezing cold of the airlock burned against her bare flesh. If the transport is on fire then why is everything so cold, she wondered. She did the only thing she could think of and kicked the airlock, but it didn’t budge. The frost around the edges made it appear to be frozen shut, which was contrary to the smoke bellowing into the cockpit. Her eyes were beginning to burn now, and her lungs ached. “I don’t want to die here, not like this,” she whispered.

  Anki moved back to the console and ran her hand along the smooth surface, searching for something that might help her. There was no emergency evacuation switch or button, but she did find an electrical reset switch. She pressed it and was awarded with dim emergency lighting. It wasn’t much, but it gave her hope that the airlock might have power. Behind her, the airlock loomed, frost caking it where each section met the next, but there was also evidence of power on the control panel to the right of it. Anki pressed the panel and watched nervously as the iris of the airlock shifted counterclockwise and opened, revealing the open air of a burning Keshnarian moon. All around her was debris that could only be from the Seratora. It was piled around the transport, scattered remains of torn metal reaching for the sky. She moved to exit the transport and remembered her weapon still lay on the deck of it. she could only imagine the Greshians, having seen her transport crashing to the moon, wanting to come and finish the job.

  She found the weapon tucked between the seat and the left console. It was wedged into place, most likely due to the force of the crash and the collision gel cementing everything into immobility. She reached for it, tugging to free it from where it lay. It released into her grip on the fourth tug, the metallic housing of it frosty like the airlock had been. The cold steel burned in her grip, making her hands ache as she stepped outside the transport. Anki turned around to see her surroundings and everything was smoldering or in flames. She set the weapon down next to a pile of burning debris and waited for it to warm up. The lapping flames felt good as she rubbed her hands together above the flames. She listened to the surrounding area, the sound of fire and falling debris echoing. I have to find a way out, she thought as the flames seem to spread around her threateningly. The smoke was getting thicker now, most likely from the change in wind across the surface of the moon. But at least the atmosphere was breathable.

  Anki crawled from the wreckage, smoke and debris obstructing her vision and flooding her lungs with toxic fumes. Struggling to find her footing on the rocky terrain, she felt searing pain as a broken piece of fuselage sliced into her leg. Crying out, she pulled her way into a clearing, the wafting smoke finally starting to dissipate. Anki, alone and afraid on an unknown world, knew she was screwed. She was losing blood and needed to find a way off this barren world.

  In the distance, she could see movement. It was slight and obscured by the mix of ash and ozone from her burning transport, but it was movement nonetheless. “Hello,” she said, barely louder than a cough. She dug her heels into the ground and propelled herself forward on shaky legs. This was not how she envisioned her war efforts. She never imagined dying on some rock in the middle of the Alorian Galaxy. Where is the honor in this death, she thought. Knowing thoughts like that meant she wanted to give up, she swallowed down the fear and took another miserable step.

  The movement caught her attention again. This time it was closer, almost within range. Anki reached for her weapon, caressing the grip, massaging her hand into a comfortable hold. She might be injured, adrenaline pumping through her veins, but if she had to she would blast whoever was coming to kill her. Her feet slid out from under her and she slid several meters until she was able to stop herself. At the bottom of the rocky hill she found the source of the movement she had seen before. It was a pale-skinned man; a Greshian.

  “Hey,” he said nervously.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Anki drew her weapon and leveled it at the man’s face. She watched with smoke-burned eyes as he swallowed hard and lifted his hands. The enemy wanted to surrender, but she was never taught to take prisoners. Her index finger found purchase on the trigger and the weapon steadied in her hand, her training taking control where her mind might fail.

  “Oh, shit,” he said.

  And then she fired.

  Chapter 18: Brendle

  There comes a time when you walk into a situation, expecting the best, and getting the worst. That time came and went with a scattering of moon rock splattering the landscape as the newest resident fired at Brendle. There was an odd cadence to the dance, oh shit bang, oh shit bang, oh shit bang. It wasn’t until he wiped dust from his face that he realized the cadence fire was coming from his own gun to the tune of a waltz.

  Sure, Brendle had pulled the trigger that destroyed worlds, but somewhere in the coping mechanism of his mind, he was able to disassociate that moment from destroying people. It’s a harder thing to disassociate firing a close-range weapon at someone who’s firing back, he thought as he squeezed the trigger. The report of his gun was deafening and echoed off the rocky terrain. His assailant’s weapon blasted orbs of kinetic energy in his direction which was quickly dissipated across the rocky surface, but would hurt a lot if hit actually hit him. There was only one reason they would be carrying a weapon like that, Brendle thought, the Telran had boarded their ship and this person was trying to fight them off without compromising the hull.

  The surface of the moon contained a scattering of craters and boulders which made staying out of the line of fire simple, but it also made returning fire without exposing himself difficult. Each time he popped his head up there was another dusting of moon rock to his face and he was already choking on it. Brendle knelt down behind a boulder and held his weapon, panting, trying to catch his breath in the dwindling atmospheric conditions of his new habitat. I haven’t even been running and I’m already out of breath. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he knew it was time to end the fight. He stood up and moved quickly around the rock he had been hi
ding behind, but the other person must have had the same idea because he faced them now, the gray uniform leading up to a Luthian woman’s face, her amber eyes wide and the barrel of her gun leveled at Brendle’s face.

  She pulled the trigger.

  Brendle winced.

  Nothing happened.

  Brendle looked at her with shock, the weapon didn’t fire and then he realized why; it was an electric weapon and the charge had dissipated. Relieved, he said the first thing that came to his mind. “Tough break, but now that the shootings over maybe we could―”. His mouth was silenced by the impact of a heavy magnetic boot striking him. He staggered back, off balance; it was a weakness his enemy decided to capitalize on because she was on top of him punching wildly. Brendle rolled her off of him, almost throwing her into the boulder. But he didn’t think he hurt her. If anything, he was just pissing her off.

  She lunged towards him, knocking him to the ground, his weapon falling over the lip of a crater. She’s fast, he thought as a torrent of blows impacted his body in rapid succession. Each kick felt as if it was knocking the wind out of him, and with how thin the air was, breath was becoming a precious commodity. Brendle swung a heavy fist towards her and she ducked, smiling at the fact he had attempted and failed. She attacked again, fiercer, wilder. She was backing him into the crater; with nowhere else to plant his feet he did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed her and tossed her over the edge, causing both of them to tumble down the rocky crevice to the bottom of the crater. Rocks cut and tore at his body, but he barely felt it as his heart raced. Brendle had always been afraid of heights and falling wasn’t doing him any favors. The end came with a sudden stop that succeeded where his attacker had failed in knocking the rest of the air out of his chest.

  She apparently didn’t have the same problem he did Brendle realized, as he felt the impact of her boot kicking him in the ribs. He rolled his body out of the way of the second kick, but exposed himself as he lay on his back, all but completely defenseless. She jumped on top of him, trying to beat past his flailing arms, trying to attack his face or gouge out his eyes. Somewhere in the onslaught of fist wailing on him he realized he was laying on his gun.

  The problem with being on your back in a fight is that you are exposed to whatever damage the other person throws at you. The woman dishing out violence on Brendle was trained to hit where it hurt, which for Brendle was everywhere. He groaned and rolled with the punches, each one threatening to break a bone or puncture flesh. She was wild with rage and a part of him wanted to strike back, but another part of him didn’t want to harm a woman. So much for growing up with morals, he thought as another blow glanced across his shoulder. He was running out of time to do something, so he went with the first idea that came to mind.

  Brendle timed the next swing with the inertia of her body springing forward, and he kicked his legs up and rolled backwards, effectively pinning her in the same way she had him. He reached forward for his gun and felt the tight grip of her hands squeezing his throat. He was already having trouble breathing, but if he wanted to end the fight then he needed the gun. He continued reaching, his vision tunneling as his fingers touched the hard steel of the grip. His head felt like it was about to explode as pressure built up. He could feel blood dripping from his nose as he strained to suck in air, fighting to get the oxygen to his deprived lungs.

  He was running out of time.

  Brendle pressed the barrel of his gun against her face, the bulk of it covering it from her eyes down. “Let go,” he choked. Her grip didn’t loosen, though. He tried to stand up, but her grip was too tight. He reached down and pressed his hand against her throat as well, pushing with his weight. Her flesh felt warm in his grip and he could feel her fight to breathe as well as the movement of her throat with each shallow gulp of air. “I said, let go.” His words were raspy and choppy. He wondered if she could even understand him. He drove the weapon down; pressing it hard against her face, knowing that the weight pressed against her would weaken her resolve. “Don’t make me shoot you,” he said, or at least he thought that was what he said. The sound coming from his lips was unintelligible.

  Her grip loosened, but she kept a hold of his throat. It was enough to breathe. They stared at each other for a long time, each one’s grip loosening enough to relieve the other, but neither one willing to fully let go. He looked into her teary amber eyes. There was fear there, desperation. He could have seen it even if he had been blind, and there was a beauty there too. He shook the thought from his head. He wasn’t here to fight, or to do anything other than radio for help. Brendle tried to rise, but her grip held him fast. He didn’t want to pull the trigger, but she wasn’t leaving him with much choice. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as they stared hard into each other’s eyes.

  “Bang!” he screamed. The woman’s eyes grew wide, expecting the weapon to discharge into her face. “Now, let me go before I really pull the trigger,” he said.

  Her grip faded and then let go entirely.

  Brendle fell back, keeping the weapon trained on her. “Thank you,” he said as he rubbed his sore throat. Each gulp of air felt like a gift as he inhaled deeply. He watched her back away, eyeing him warily. He could see the distrust in her eyes. Hell, I can even smell it, he thought as she backed against a rock and leaned her body against it. Her gray coveralls were smudged with blood. Probably his, he presumed, until he saw the gash in her leg. “You’re wounded,” he said.

  The woman glared at him, “I’ll live,” she spat.

  “If you have a medical kit on the transport I can patch you up.”

  She continued to stare at him. Distrust was potent as her amber eyes bore into his. She looked at his weapon as it lay next to him and he wondered if she might try to take it. She didn’t move and neither did he― for a long while at least― and then she did.

  Chapter 19: Anki

  Thoughts of being manipulated into giving up flowed through Anki’s mind. She had his life in her hands, all she’d have to do was squeeze harder, rip his throat from his pale Greshian neck and he would have been dead. But that wasn’t what happened at all. He had shoved his loaded weapon in her face and the fear of being killed toyed with her emotions in a way that no amount of training could have combated. The sensation made her feel weak and powerless, and it left a bad taste in her mouth. She watched him, sitting on the ground; his weapon lying useless on the ground next to him. He didn’t seem like much of a threat, but what he didn’t have in fighting skills he more than made up for with quick thinking and strategy.

  This was the enemy’s greatest threat: cunning.

  Anki had to admit that it was a skill set that proved more useful to surviving than the training she had received on Luthia. She was trained to be a killer, weapons in hand or with only her hands. She never received training on solving the problems of going against a combatant more skillful than herself. Perhaps that was the issue all along, they trained me to die, she thought as she watched the man leaning back, his chest rising and falling as he fought to catch his breath in the thin atmosphere. She struggled as well, and the smoke wasn’t helping at all.

  “Is your transport still operational?” He asked.

  Anki looked at him, meeting the gaze of emerald eyes looking back at her. She expected to see contempt, but it looked more like resilient hope. “It crashed and is burning; what do you think?” it was hard to keep the anger and contempt from her voice. She wondered why she was even concerned about that to begin with.

  “I know it isn’t flyable, but if the computer system is operational, maybe I can use it to call for help,” he said. He brushed his hair from his face.

  “I don’t know. The ship was pretty damaged, and I was trapped by the collision gel. It took me a while to break free.”

  He smiled at her. “I’m sorry about that. I tried to control the landing a bit better, but there was too much external damage to your transport. Luckily, you had the collision gel.”

  Anki glared at
him. All that time she thought the ship had a glitch disabling her ability to control its descent. Instead, this Greshian had been responsible for her crashing. Her blood was beginning to boil and she could see the expression on the man’s face begin to change as her eyes narrowed.

  “Maybe I need to explain myself,” he said as he backed away, getting his feet underneath him to make it easier to stand. She watched as he pulled a com-unit from his jacket, the device reflecting light from a distant fire. “I used this device to hack into your transports flight control system, but it was relatively unresponsive. I could get it to maneuver towards me, but controlling the pitch of the transport was next to impossible. You were crashing anyway, but I was trying to lessen the impact,” he finished.

  “Why?” Anki asked, her voice biting back rage.

  The man shrugged for a moment, trying to find the right words to say. “Honestly, I saw the transport as an avenue to get off this rock. I was exiled from my ship, framed for treason. I’m just trying to survive.”

  Anki made a move to stand and the man flinched, but didn’t draw up his weapon. She stood there, considering her options for a moment. He could have been telling the truth, but the truth didn’t mean trusting him was a favorable option. Still, when she looked to the sky above, she saw the remnants of the Seratora burning in the orbit surrounding the moon. She would be trapped and dead if they didn’t find a way off the moon. Her transport was destroyed and none of the bits of burning steel would provide any hope of getting back in orbit and heading home. “Why should I trust you?”

  He rose to his feet and stared at her. “I know you look at me and see a Greshian, someone you think is your enemy. But that is the same way the Greshians on the ship that destroyed your ship look at me. I’m no longer a Greshian in the way I was before. I was called a traitor because I saw no value in conquering other worlds. I’m not a killer.”