Primal Planet Captive: SciFi Alien Fated Romance

by Skylar Clarke

  Before I can give chase (or try to), the gun vendor is stepping into my path, effectively blocking me from advancing further. “You the one who fired that shot?”

  His hand is on his blaster. Before the situation can escalate, I reach into the interior pocket at the front of my suit—it’s hard to get to beneath the armor, but I have long years of practice—and pull my badge free. “Business,” I say simply, and the vendor steps quickly back, not bothering to glance at the words on the thing. He’d likely be less frightened of a bounty hunter than the agent of law enforcement he has taken me for. An officer would be avenged, but you could kill a mercenary without anyone coming to count the cost. I walk past him without further trouble, having given up now on actually catching the Velorian before he makes it to the ship. The pain currently shooting through my leg would make running impossible at the best of times, and with the state my prosthesis is in, I’d rather not risk it collapsing again and causing me to fall face first on the filthy ground.

  Not to mention that running in a place like this isn’t exactly a good idea. Morda-6 is full of predators and running might stir their instincts.

  I’m not moving nearly fast enough to see the ship take off, and the landing zone is quiet when I finally reach it. My heart has only just begun to sink with disappointment when the comm device at my wrist pings, announcing that one of the ships I had placed a tracker on has just left the planet’s atmosphere. I had guessed correctly. Grinning now despite my limp and the fact that I’ll have to spend the entirety of this paycheck on getting fitted for a new leg, I climb aboard my ship and prepare to follow. Unlike my body, my ship has no such crippling weakness and nothing will slow it down.

  2

  Jari

  “This is the one, Jari,” Atok says.

  I turn to look at the place my soldier has marked upon the map showcased on the screen embedded in the ship’s central table. It is one of the larger ships of Velorian make that can be found, home to a military squad of twelve soldiers, including myself. It is armed with weapons that are a part of the ship itself, in addition to an armory that holds far more than our group could have need of for all but the most outrageous mission. The place Atok has marked is familiar to my eyes, as are the names of any planet on which slavery is such a pervasive problem.

  “Morda-6,” I read, with no small amount of disgust leaking into my voice. Technically speaking, I am supposed to remain objective about such things while on missions, but I know this group of soldiers well, and I let the mask that is necessary to command slip away often. The Velorian military has a different way of behaving when compared to that of other planets. We are less concerned with rules and rigidity and more about the bond between soldiers. A leader can mostly do what he likes with the soldiers under his command, so long as they still demonstrate that they can follow his orders without hesitation when the situation calls for it.

  Though there are several squads currently searching for the members of the cult we are tracking, we are the only soldiers that have been diverted to track this particular group. We’ve been closing for a few days now, and have discovered an array of movements on their part that have made the Velorian military as a whole uneasy. They’re likely smuggling something back to their new, and as yet undiscovered, hideout. Since Prince Takkan and his mate took down their founder, the members have scattered and no one has yet managed to pin enough of them down to wipe out the organization. The concern is what they are smuggling and why. With what we know of this cult’s appetite for destruction, it’s almost certainly nothing harmless.

  “What’s the arrival time?” I ask.

  “Less than an hour now,” he answers.

  “Good,” I say. “And we know their ship?”

  Atok taps another button on the screen, bringing up a picture that reveals its make, model, and all the details that our anonymous caller has seen fit to include. I nod in acceptance. It is a fairly common model among smugglers, with plenty of compartments for storing goods away and likely plenty of modifications that don’t show up on the plans meant for keeping less legal fare hidden. Supposedly, it is a plain slate grey with no external markings, which would make it harder to spot. From the reckless way in which the group has been documented as behaving before, I cannot imagine them having the forethought to take such precautions. Perhaps they’re under new, more mindful leadership.

  I press my hand to the control panel, turning on the speaker, before allowing myself to speak so that every Velorian on the ship can hear me. Most are already on the main deck, within sight, but there are always jobs to be done elsewhere, and we’re missing about four men. “We’ll be on Morda-6 in approximately forty-six minutes. Prepare armor and weapons. We expect there to be no more six cult members flying with this crew, but we’ll need to be prepared for more. The plan is to wait at the loading dock until we see them return to their ship, at which point we’ll—“

  “Uh, Jari?” Atok clears his throat, inclining his head toward the window, where a slate grey cargo ship, the perfect size for smuggling, is hurtling past us and into open space, leaving the planet of Morda-6 behind.

  “Fuck,” I say. “Kolsav, do a scan of the ship.”

  There is silence while he rushes to the control panel and complies. The soldiers in the room look determined for the most part, though one or two are trying visibly not to laugh at the situation. Inconvenienced though I am, I’m tempted to join them. Both are fire Velorians, like myself. Those of our species from the ice-side of the planet are known for their stoic personalities and have little trouble keeping their amusement under wraps. Us, on the other hand…

  “Seven on board,” Kolsav says, tapping away at the screen. All of my soldiers are experts at weaponry, but not all of us are adept at getting electronics to cooperate. Kolsav is the best. “The X-ray shows hidden compartments as well.”

  “She’ll be out of sight soon, Jari,” Atok suggests. “I say we hedge our bets on this one.”

  He’s likely right. The ship is of the right make and carries the right number of people. The hidden compartments are an added suspicion, as is the fact that they are currently booking it away from the planet as though they expect to be pursued. They’re almost certainly criminals, even if they aren’t ours.

  “Set a course to follow,” I order to the room at large. “Kolsav. Lock onto their signal if you can, and set the ship to cloak. We can’t afford to tip them off.”

  There are nods and words of affirmation all around. I head into the cockpit and settle in to an extra chair beside that of the pilot and co-pilot, Ashir, and Boxdon, watching as they lock onto the trail the cargo ship leaves in its wake.

  What little formality there was fades away, and as soon as I’m sitting, Ashir asks: “So what are the chances you’ve pegged it correctly?”

  “I give it seventy-five,” I say.

  Boxdon whistles. “That’s aiming pretty high,” he says. “I give it fifty.”

  I cut him a look, but all the soldiers here know when to take me seriously and when to stay relaxed. Atok once claimed that there is a file floating around devoted solely to teaching new squad members how to decode my facial expressions, and at this point, I wouldn’t put it past them. I glance back into the other, larger room, watching the soldiers milling about, half in armor and half out.

  “Nix the order on the weapons,” I say. “We won’t be needing them for some time.”

  Ashir lifts a brow. “You’re not planning to attack them as soon as we catch them?”

  “We’re not catching them,” I say. “Just focus on tracking for now. I want to know where they’re headed, narrow their location down. When we have a planet and a general location to report to Prince Takkan, we’ll consider attacking.”

  There would have to be a decision made when we closed in on their destination, but there was no telling how far away that was.

  “Could end up following them for days,” Boxdon muses.

  “Could be longer,” Ashir commiserates with a sigh
.

  “You’re not usually so hungry for a fight,” I comment.

  Ashir shrugs. “It’s been a boring couple weeks,” she says. “You’re the only one who’s seen any action recently.”

  “Yeah,” another fire Velorian says as they pass by behind me. “Leave it to Jari to have all the fun while the rest of us are on leave.”

  I give my head a shake. “I wouldn’t exactly call being imprisoned for a week and then tried for a crime I didn’t commit the most relaxing leave I’ve had. Yet somehow it was preferable to your company.”

  Scattered laughter answers the words, spoken loud enough for everyone on this floor to hear. I leave the cockpit, giving both pilots a clasp on the shoulder in parting, and a reminder to switch shifts within the next hour. They are the two I trust most with the job of trailing the ship without attracting notice, but it would be stupid to risk them becoming too tired to do their jobs properly. It’s getting late. I make my way down from the upper deck to the bunkrooms below, of which I have a private one at the end of the narrow hall. I plan to shower and relax for a few treasured minutes before trekking up the stairs again to join the others for the evening meal. I’ve just placed my hand to the bio-lock on the door when a voice comes over the speaker.

  “Jari,” it says, and I recognize Ashir’s voice. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

  I allow myself a single second to close my eyes in frustration before I close the door to my room and head back up the staircase. Nearly all of my eleven men have gathered on the main deck, crammed into the entrance of the cockpit so thickly that I have to wait for them to part to squeeze through myself. I don’t ask, and instead peer through the window myself. It doesn’t take me long to notice what’s amiss.

  Just a few hundred meters ahead of us, a small ship is coasting along, following the signal that we are locked on to.

  Kolsav steps forward. “According to the scans, he’s been locked onto the signal longer than we have. Must have followed it from Morda-6.”

  It’s a tiny ship, with room for a maximum of three live-in passengers aboard.

  “How many life forms aboard?” I ask.

  “Scan says only one,” Kolsav says. “Could be another cult member,” he suggests. “Someone following with another ship as a decoy.”

  “Or to carry more cargo,” another soldier suggests.

  “Or,” I say, “a civilian who’s bitten off more than they can chew. Either way, we should investigate.”

  It is prime timing. We are still just barely out of sight of our true quarry, and with the cloaking device currently shielding our ship, we will have the element of surprise with this new, smaller ship. The single passenger won’t know we’re here until it’s too late to change course and avoid us.

  “It’s too risky not to investigate,” I say. “I need three men.”

  It’s a number carefully chosen. Three should be enough that the passenger won’t have much chance of winning a fight, unless they are truly impressive. It takes a seasoned warrior to have much chance against one Velorian, so I’m not expecting such an outcome. Three is also small enough that it shouldn’t cause abject alarm should the person turn out to simply be a civilian who has bumbled into something beyond their capabilities. There are guns on the ship’s front, but it’s not at all unusual to see them on non-military craft. Plenty of travelers want extra protection against slavers and the like if their routes take them away from well-traveled places. This is certainly not a well-traveled place.

  The first of the three men is Atok, the best fighter on the squad, and generally, my second in command. The second is Vakkon, an ice Velorian with a calming presence that may come in handy once on the other ship. The third is Jeyal, the newest recruit of our group, a young fire Velorian who is hungry for approval and experience. The group prepares while the rest of the soldiers watch the ship from the windows, making bets on what it contains and what reception their comrades will receive. I do not bother attempting to curve the behavior, though I do know better than to join myself. Much as I care for the men under my command, and much as Velorian society prizes friendship and togetherness among fellow warriors, there must still be some level of separation between a leader and his men, however small I choose to make it.

  I watch them prepare. In all likelihood, there will be no fight. I know this, but I still feel a slight stab of nervousness in watching Jeyal secure the last few straps of his armor and make certain his blaster is ready to fire. He does everything correctly, and I have heard already from the other soldiers that he appears to have been trained well.

  “Follow Atok’s lead,” I remind him, keeping my voice light. I turn back to my pilots in the cockpit then. “Take us in. Attach us to the ship’s docking bay, and override the doors.”

  “Got it,” the co-pilot says, and the two move swiftly and smoothly into action.

  With their deft, practiced fingers on the controls, our cloaked military vessel sidles up to the smaller ship with scarcely a whisper. If the passenger happens to be at a window or sitting in the cockpit, they just might notice something off—a shimmer perhaps, barely visible against the blackness of space. They might have time to wonder, or even to panic. It is more likely that they will simply feel a slight bump as our bridge connects to theirs, forcing the exit hatch open.

  Atok, Jeyal, and Vakkon have gathered at the now open door. My second in command looks back with a raised eyebrow.

  “Board,” I say. “Only stun them if you’re threatened. I’d like to speak with them.”

  3

  Tessie

  There is no crash. There is only a slight bump, and then a flickering of the lights. I was in the small kitchen, rummaging through the food stores, when the aforementioned bump causes my bowl of cereal to crash into the floor, milk spreading into a puddle. “Crap,” I mutter, and then, as I realize the implications of the bump: “Oh, crap.”

  You don’t just bump into things in space.

  There are a limited number of things that it could be: an asteroid, debris, or even a ship of some sort. But with the autopilot enabled, it should be set to avoid such obstructions without my intervention—even on a ship as old and decrepit as this. I look to the window and see nothing but empty space ahead of me, distant stars, the odd asteroid or bit of rock, and far away planets that are little more than balls of light. I hurry to the weapons cabinet as quickly as my leg, which is still in need of more repairs that I can give it, will allow me. I grab my blaster and grip it tight, flipping the switch from stun to kill. If something is managing to bang on my door in the middle of a vast expanse of nothing, I’m not certain stunning it will work. I think about hiding, but it is far better to face whatever threat this is head on. When you hide from something, I have learned, it only gives that thing more power to frighten you.

  I flip the small kitchen table over, aiming in the direction from which the bump had originated (as best as my human ears can tell) and hunker down behind it, rifle resting atop. There is a disturbance of air outside the hatch, which means another ship is docking itself to mine, the bridges between them connecting. My anxiety eases down a few notches. I turn my head, squinting at the window at the front of the ship. Now that I’m looking for it, I can fairly easily spot the telltale shimmer of a cloaked ship. I wonder briefly if the ship I’m following has somehow caught onto my presence, however careful I have been to keep out of sight. The cult members could very well have cloaked themselves and then looped around. It is unlikely that a smuggling ship that old would be equipped with such tech, but if they have the right people working for them, it could be rigged up.

  There are footsteps on the bridge, heavy enough to be Velorian. I curse under my breath, and aim my blaster directly at the hatch door, which is still mercifully closed. It doesn’t sound like the full six that I witnessed in the marketplace, but that means little. I will still have to shoot quite impressively to take out all of them before they get a shot off at me. With my leg in the shape that it’s in, retreating
to some other location to regroup isn’t the best choice, not that it would do me much good in a ship this small regardless. I hear the distinct sound of my hatch door being forced open, likely with a hacking device rather than sheer force. I think about calling out, asking who they are and confirming that they are a threat, but I cannot afford to lose the element of surprise. On the off chance that they aren’t already expecting to be shot at as soon as they enter, I may have a chance to shock them.

  I take a grounding breath and rest my finger against the trigger.

  The door slides open.

  I see three figures, guns trained on me, but not yet shooting. Time slows, as it always does before a fight; I adjust the barrel of my blaster accordingly, and laugh.

  The Velorian soldiers, their status made obvious by their familiar space suits and matching armor, stare at me in apparent confusion as I lower my gun and stand.

  “I thought I was dead meat,” I admit cheerfully. “It’s good to see some friendlies. That being said,” I add, allowing a trace of genuine anger to leak into my tone, “it’s pretty damn rude to board a ship without knocking first.”

  One of the soldiers steps out in front of the rest. He must be the most experienced. He looks me over, and seems satisfied that I’m not as huge of a threat as he anticipated.

  “Apologies if we alarmed you,” he says, nodding at the table I had been ready to use as a barricade. “Our commander has requested that you enter our ship for questioning.”

  I lift a brow. “This is free space,” I say. “Unless I’ve done something illegal here that I don’t know about, I’m not sure I have to comply with that.”

  A second Velorian steps forward, this one rather large, with coloring that paints him as being from the ice-side of their planet. “Our commander just wishes to speak with you. You’re tracking the cargo ship up ahead, same as us, yes?”