by Vi Voxley
Taking one more look at him, her gorgeous green eyes shining, Zoey nodded and rushed down the corridor behind him. Daegon watched her go, making sure the approaching troop didn't see where she was heading.
He stood between them and her, and when she rounded a corner, the warlord turned to the creatures that had dared to board his ship.
No words were necessary, no taunts. The Yemalan wouldn't back away now and he had nothing to say to them. Daegon charged into their ranks alone, his warriors knowing better than to linger around for a fight he could easily win.
The Yemalan were armed with short spears with three sharp tips like a trident and an electric glove that sent a nasty shock through anyone who let it touch their skin. It was fair to say that anyone a Yemalan touched would die, then again, anyone who let them come that close was dead anyway. Corgans had learned it the hard way when they first waged war against them. It was no coincidence that their armor covered everything but their faces and their bodies were coated with a substance that lessened the shock.
The Yemalan were shorter than Daegon, but damnably fast. The double blades in his hands worked mercilessly to keep them away from him. Blood ran on the deck as the warlord turned and jumped, cutting down enemies as he advanced. He was mindful not to let any of them pass him, just in case Zoey had decided to stay close by.
The Yemalan screeched their battle cries at him, but he didn't understand them. Few Corgans spoke their language. It had become obvious centuries ago that everything that could be said had been already.
The meaning of the shrill screams was clear enough. They hungered for his blood, wanted to tear him apart limb from limb. The Yemalan were raiders, savages who desired the Corgan worlds, richer than the lousy rocks they inhabited. It was all they could think of, seizing any opportunity to try and snatch one of them.
The mere idea that one of the Corgan worlds should become the home, the breeding ground of those creatures was unthinkable and sickened Daegon to his core.
He could see their beady eyes stare up at him as they clawed at his armor. Uncaring, relentless, they tried to pin him down by crowding him. More than once, Daegon slipped away from the paralyzing gloves with nothing more than a hair's breadth between them.
The short spears were hard and tough, more than able to meet his blades, but he didn't intend to duel them. Forcing his way into their ranks, Daegon killed until he and the survivors had to step over and on the bodies of the dead.
The shock would be more than enough to make him stumble if they managed to touch his skin, but his armor took its share. Daegon could feel it shake around him as if he were stuck in a metal container, but it stood staunchly between him and the opportunity the enemy needed.
In turn, he started by cutting off their left arms that now littered the floor as the Yemalan tore and rushed him, more desperate with each passing second. When they finally got stuck in their dead companions, the screams got louder and more furious.
Daegon recognized the moment when they realized their assault was doomed, but he wasn't about to let any of them escape. The first to turn their back on him were cut down without hesitation, and in the end, the corridor was left silent once more.
Daegon took in the condition of his ship. He could barely see the floor under the bodies heaped on top of each other and the blood he'd spilled. The warlord felt no joy and no pride. The unit had been nothing more than fodder for his swords, a delay in his way.
Yemalan soldiers never matched their officers, who were worth a hundred of them, but there were many of the soldiers, making up with numbers for what they lacked in cunning or skill. He couldn't tell how many minutes he'd spent on them.
Turning back to where he'd sent Zoey, Daegon opened the comm link and asked the bridge to report.
"We are making progress, lord," the bridge assured him. "The bastards managed to surprise us, but now they're seeing our true power. They're being pushed back. The strikers are returning to the mothership but several remain close by. Delaying us."
Daegon thought that was out of character for the Yemalan. It would have been a cover, but Yemalan officers didn't care for their soldiers. They ordered them to die without a second thought.
"Prepare to follow the mothership," he ordered.
"Lord, but –" the captain said, sounding surprised, even daring to ask, "What about the negotiation?"
"She is here, isn't she," the warlord replied. "It doesn't matter where I talk to her. I will not allow the Yemalan to simply run and retreat to the shadows. They must understand that there is a price for their misguided attack."
The bridge obeyed, and Daegon could feel the ship start to buzz wildly under his feet as the vessel turned towards the enemy.
He would give chase and deal with Zoey while they pursued. Aboard the Wraith, she would be safe.
Walking back to the hallway where he'd parted with her, Daegon immediately noticed signs of struggle. With the practiced ease of someone who has seen many battlefields, he took a closer look at what the ship told him.
Like another man might read a book, the warlord read the trails of blood as he moved forward slowly. With every step he could feel his hearts beat faster, having nothing to do with the battle.
A gunshot here, evident from the shells and the impact point on the wall. A handprint of the electric glove on the wall – someone had dodged a strike. Daegon growled, low and dangerous, when he thought of the damage the glove could do to a defenseless body. His was tempered by training and the surgeries, but Zoey...
The little female was nowhere to be found.
If she were dead, I'd see her corpse lying here, he told himself, but that wasn't as much comfort as he would have liked.
Why did he care so much? She was the representative of the Union. His main concern should have been what Nadar Brenger would say if he failed to protect the woman under the attack, but it was not. Even Corgans weren't that callous towards the Union, but more so –
It was worse, much worse. Daegon didn't know the reason for his feelings, but even his soul seemed to ache, thinking of her fate. The need to make sure she was safe was unbearable. It was sharp, painful, obsessive even. Like his very being called to her, to bring her into the safety of his arms and never let her go.
Daegon had thought that he'd keep her safe, sending her away from him. In battle, he would have had to protect both of them. Now he wondered if he'd made a mistake. The ship was unfamiliar to Zoey and the enemy was at large. Had he sent her to her death?
The warlord gritted his teeth. If that was the case, he wouldn't rest until the men who killed her were gifted with eternal life of torture under his hands.
The comm link came to life.
"Sir," the officer on guard reported. "A large group of Yemalan managed to make it back to the pods when the mothership sent the call. They... They have the Terran female. She was sighted being carried away, but we couldn't reach the enemy in time."
There was no way to say for sure whether she was alive, but Daegon knew better. The Yemalan wouldn't bother with the dead. They certainly didn't show that much care to their own.
Daegon ran to the bridge, ordering the Wraith to pursue the mothership that was now fleeing.
Everything was about to go from bad to worse. Soon, the other clans would hear of it. Nadar too, wherever he was. Daegon tried to imagine what the chieftain would feel, hearing that the world where his pregnant bride lived had come under attack. His retaliation would be ruthless, but the clans would lay the blame with him.
To keep them from falling apart, to not give the Yemalan everything they'd ever wanted, Daegon had to catch the ship. The Corgan revenge had to be exacted.
And he had to save Zoey.
"Don't lose them," he growled, more a threat than an order.
Chapter Five
Zoey
Zoey had had more pleasant wake-ups.
Her first three thoughts after regaining consciousness were all variations of the theme "son of a bitch, that hurt". H
onestly, she was surprised that the freaky glove the Yemalan wore hadn't fried her like a human popcorn kernel.
Once her mind ripped itself free from the terrible pain, the single explanation was that the enemy had intentionally spared her to take her hostage. She had seen the damage the glove did to a few careless Corgans. It must have had several settings, because the touch had left Zoey with little more than a nasty headache. The impact, though, had felt like someone trying to rip her heart from her chest.
She shuddered at the memory.
Zoey blinked slowly, trying to make sense of her surroundings. One thing was clear – she was no longer on the Wraith. Everything was off – the sounds, the smell, even the temperature was colder than she remembered.
And most importantly, Daegon was nowhere to be seen. For some reason, Zoey was certain that if she'd been on the Corgan ship, the warlord would have been there by her side.
It was a silly notion, but it made sense in a way she couldn't entirely explain.
She was lying on something cold and hard, tossed aside like a discarded piece of luggage. Zoey supposed with morbid humor that that was exactly what she was to the Yemalan. They had no business with her, and as much as she knew about them, the species had no wish for it either.
Zoey wasn't sure if she should move. To her astonishment, she wasn't really scared. If anything, she was kind of embarrassed. Back on the Wraith, she'd only managed to fire a few blasts at the enemy before they took her down.
In her defense, the glove had come from behind her. But still. Taken out in less than a minute.
Not completely helpless my ass.
It figured – she should have left the fighting to the professionals, but Zoey refused to be left aside like a doll. Despite the evidence to the contrary, she didn't want to be a hostage.
Better things to do. Important matters to discuss. A really hot warlord to get back to.
Joking made her feel better, but then she had to get serious. It was clear that even if Daegon was coming for her, she was alone for the moment.
Time to figure out what the heck was going on and work from there.
So, she was on a ship that wasn't the Wraith. That left few options. She had to be on the Yemalan mothership. Judging by the fact that she couldn't hear any clamor or shouting, not even screaming, the ship wasn't in battle. Conclusion – they were running. If what she knew about Corgans was anything to go by, Daegon was in pursuit.
Okay, so far so good. Now what? Sit here and wait to be rescued like a proper princess? Fuck no.
That posed the question – what could she actually do? Zoey quickly decided against trying to argue her way out of the mess she'd ended up in. The Yemalan wouldn’t be interested in anything she had to offer, that much she knew. They wanted even less to do with the Union than the Corgans. No bargaining chips there.
Growing tired of simply lying there, motionless, Zoey dared to push herself to a seated position and look around properly. She was in a damp, cold room. Other than her, it was empty. Rusty, brown walls rose around her, but oddly enough, there were no guards. Apparently they didn't think much of her, at least not enough to consider her a threat.
That was fine. Zoey was okay with being underestimated. She wouldn't go down in the first round again.
If they didn't need her, why had they taken her? That was very weird. Usually Yemalan didn't take hostages, but apparently the concept wasn't entirely alien to them.
With no more information at her disposal, Zoey was forced to leave the why for later. The immediate battle plan needed reforming and execution. She searched her surroundings.
Her gun had been taken, of course. The bare room had nothing useful to her, but that didn't mean she couldn't find something.
Peeking out of the doorway at one end of the room, Zoey made up her mind. Assuming that Daegon or at least some Corgan was tracking them, she had to find a way to help. Clearly she wasn't a one-woman fighting machine, so her best chance was sabotage and finding a way to delay the mothership.
And this is the moment where I wish I'd paid more attention in Advanced Physics. Or Layout and Weaknesses of Unknown Alien Warships for Beginners.
Oddly enough, the fear still didn't come. Instead, adrenaline did. Zoey wondered if there was more to her than she knew, because her heart hadn't beat that fast in forever. She put it firmly down to meeting Daegon.
Something about the warlord simply lit a fire within her, a fire that wanted to push her to prove herself against all odds. Having to fight for her life was unlike anything she'd ever known before. There was an interesting kind of freedom to it.
Everything that could go wrong already had and then some.
The hallway outside the room she was in was filled with corpses. They'd been thrown aside as carelessly as her, all the way as far as she could see. The Yemalan really had no sympathy, not for the living nor for the dead.
Realizing that brought some of the unease back, but Zoey steeled her heart. The stench was unbelievable, but she made herself crawl as slowly as she could and check the dead. As she'd hoped, the Yemalan hadn't taken their weapons like they had taken hers. The fallen still had the short tridents in their hands. Zoey peeled the cold fingers away from one of them and tried to raise the short spear.
It was too heavy for her, way too heavy to properly wield, but she didn't exactly have the luxury of being picky. Besides, it wasn't really the spear she wanted.
She hesitated before trying to check for the horrible gloves. And hearing raised voices from afar, Zoey figured she didn't have much time. She couldn't risk anyone seeing her out and about.
Being awake was one thing but trying to escape was another. She doubted they’d have any mercy for her.
Holding her breath and counting the moments until her discovery, Zoey took a closer look at the Yemalan's hands. She could see that the gloves were cleverly built. The shock actually seemed to come from the small crystal in the middle of the glove and the rest of it protected the wearer. So it had to be made of some material that isolated electricity.
Zoey had to carefully turn several corpses over before she found one with a broken crystal. Judging it to be safe, she clawed the glove loose. Slipping her hand inside and keeping the heavy spear ready just in case, she went to look for a working glove.
Tapping the gloves gently felt like taunting death, but Zoey made herself do it. The glove was a bit big for her, but she could adjust it just enough. It was the only weapon she could properly wield on the ship.
Finally she found one. Zoey barely bit back a startled yelp when the crystal spat sparks at her when she poked it. She hoped the Yemalan didn't have superhuman hearing or she would be toast. As quickly as she dared and clumsily with only one arm, she pulled the glove with the working crystal free. Then, painstakingly slowly as if she were performing heart surgery, Zoey slipped her hand into the glove.
She had no idea how to tune the strength of the shock, so whatever setting it was on would have to do. She had to carry on and hope she didn't slip and fall on her own hand. That would have been a horrible way to go.
Zoey snuck forward, towards the voices. It was the last place she wanted to be, but she needed to know what was going on if she was going to stop it.
The files she'd read about the Corgans included some info on the Yemalan as well. Zoey had picked up a few words, but she was hardly an expert. She had to go by other signs, like tone and gestures.
Except, as much as she could tell, the Yemalan were always angry.
The screaming got steadily louder as she went closer, holding her stolen weapons in front of her. She doubted they'd do her much good, but it was better than nothing.
When she could finally see a bright light ahead, Zoey didn't risk going closer. She crouched down by the wall, knowing that her light blue dress stood out from the grim background. She'd be seen as soon as anyone popped their head out of the room in front of her.
Zoey could hardly hear over her own heartbeat. It seemed the Yemalan we
re arguing, but for the life of her she couldn't understand what it was about. The few words she caught made little sense, and she could very well have misheard.
That is until a voice spoke up, loud and clear. It was a man, addressing the Yemalan. At first, he said something Zoey couldn't interpret.
And then he said in plain Corganese, "Relax. Everything is going according to plan. We have the girl. Soon they will start fighting between themselves."
Apparently the Yemalan understood well enough. Shrill screaming answered him while Zoey's blood ran cold.
Me. I am the girl. But why?
"Yes, yes," the man replied. "I know. He is following us. Let him come. Once we reach the border, the others will join us. It will all be over soon."
Zoey listened, wide-eyed, her head spinning wildly. She had been dead wrong. It hadn't been a simple attack on Gaiya. There was something incredibly sinister going on and she had somehow ended up in the middle of it.
The man spoke again.
"Bring the girl. She has to be safe, for now. The time to kill her will be soon."
Zoey turned and ran, not looking back. Behind her, she could hear the voices of the Yemalan. She didn't need to translate the screaming to know that they were out through the door now and had seen her. With her life flashing before her eyes, Zoey fled.
The Yemalan came after her.
She didn't know why, but her heart kept calling for Daegon. She hadn't realized how safe she'd felt with him back on the Wraith. Faced with the true terrors that lurked in the galaxy, her fear of him was gone. In that moment, she would have given everything she had to see him. Yet, Daegon wasn't there.
But he was close. She had to run and hide and survive. Give him a chance to rescue her from the monsters on her tail.
When she rounded another corner, a hand grabbed her from behind. Zoey turned with a scream and her gloved hand lashed out. The Yemalan howled in pain, but kept coming. She backed away from him, wondering if he remembered the order was to deliver her back alive. When the creature roared in pain and raised the short spear above his head, Zoey doubted it.
