Claimed by the Alien Mercenary: A Sci-Fi Alien Romance (Zalaryn Raiders Book 3)

by Viki Storm

  Cries of assent go up in the room, the officers in love with their imagined great deeds, drunk on their heroism not unlike the way they’d become drunk on the scent of their own rank farts if left in this small room for any longer.

  The officers wait for the Imperator to exit, then they follow suit down towards the Great Hall. I’m not surprised to see that the hall gets so much use. Races that have the least to celebrate often celebrate their achievements the most.

  “So,” Vhorwig says, as he sidles up next to me. “How was she? Did she whimper and cry when you tore her open? Or did she struggle and fight you? Both options excite me, but I think I prefer if she’s a fighter.”

  I can’t stand the fact that Vhorwig is even thinking that he’s going to spend the night in Jula’s bed. The mere fact that he thinks it’s going to happen makes me want to crush his teeth. The nerve. How could he think that he’s worthy of her? That she’s a trinket to be given to him. Most of all—as absurd as it is—it enrages me that he’d think she’d whimper and cry at my touch. Jula is a fierce female who would fight to her last ounce of strength.

  “Oh, she’d fight you,” I say. “She’d fight you and she’d probably rise victorious.”

  “Heh,” he snorts laughter out his nose. He did not notice that I said ‘she would fight you.’ Hypothetically speaking. Because she will not. He will not come within a hundred feet of her bedroom door. “We’ll see who comes out victorious. When you see her limping down the corridor, we’ll both know why.”

  “If you say so,” I say through clenched teeth. His whole story about the Kraxx falling into the sewer canal was just peachy. There’s no way I’m buying his story that he slaughtered two of them at once—even if they were both already dismembered and had punctured lungs.

  “I do,” he says.

  “Tell me,” I say, as we start to descend the stairs into the Great Hall, the merriment has already begun. Fendans are grabbing at everything that will satisfy their cravings: food, drink, the rear-ends and bosoms of the Snarlaq serving girls. “What do you think the Kraxx were up to when they flew to the south and west sides of the palace? Is there a secret entrance or weak point in the fortifications?”

  “You know, I thought about that,” he says. He’s happy to talk some more about his exploits on the battlefield. “That’s where the palace sewer system empties. It flows into the main canal through a little mesh gate.”

  “How big is the mesh?” I ask.

  “Big enough to let a healthy Fendan turd float through,” he says, then gestures with his hands an opening a few inches wide. I shudder as I get a mental picture.

  “Then the canal goes into a sewer treatment plant of some sort?” I ask. The Fendan technology is truly crude. Zalaryn toilets empty into separate chambers where the waste is mixed with chemical neutralizing agents. The chambers fill remarkably slowly and have no odor or infectious microbes.

  “It goes to the wastepool,” he says. “About ten miles outside the city. That’s where it gets treated or disposed of. I don’t really know. You might find the subject of shit fascinating, but I have better things to occupy my mind.”

  “Of course,” I say. “I pity the poor bastards who work there.”

  “Snarlaqs work there, of course,” he says, “and they’re lucky to have a good-paying job like that.”

  “Come on,” I say. I put a friendly hand on his shoulder, though my own flesh revolts at the feel of his. “Let me get a drink for the male who took on two Kraxx at once and lived to tell the tale!”

  “Now that’s a subject I like a lot better than the sewer canal,” he says.

  I turn to get him a drink, glancing over my shoulder. Vhorwig has cornered a serving girl—and before he grabs a bone from her serving tray, he gives the tip of one breast a squeeze. I recognize her as Loh’ree, the maid who cleans Jula’s room. I can see from her wrinkled look of pain on her face that Vhorwig was not gentle. She’s providing a nice diversion while I fish out one white capsule from my waist-pouch—but my anger at his abuse of the maid takes over my better judgment.

  “Leave her be,” I say, knocking the meat bone from his hand. “It must be hard for you since the whores east of the Jorg won’t even lie with you when you offer twice the going rate. But that doesn’t mean you’re entitled to whatever breast is within arm’s reach.”

  He looks as if he’s going to slug me, but then out of the corner of his eye, he sees the Imperator sidle up to us. The Imperator is already quite drunk (and I doubt he would care about a Snarlaq servant getting felt up at a feast) and he claps Vhorwig on the back, congratulating him again for his bravery.

  I take the opportunity to turn slightly and crack open the capsule. I dump the powder into the cup of pooray, their local wine. It only takes a few seconds to fully dissolve and about an hour to start working.

  Then I can get some real answers.

  Because I know what the Kraxx were doing on the south side near the sewer canal, and if Vhorwig’s lying about killing them, then everyone in this palace has only a few more hours to live.

  The Queen has the most splendid bedchambers that I could imagine. Her bed is practically the size of my entire tower bedroom. It’s piled high with pillows and soft-weave blankets. I study the blankets from a seamstress’s point of view—I can’t help examining the seams, and weave, and cut of items I find interesting. The blankets are woven from a thread so soft and fine that I can’t even see the weave.

  “I’m told that the blankets are from a special species of goat that live only on the highest mountaintops in the north of the planet. That they’re shorn and each strand of yarn in the blanket is one single hair.”

  “One hair?” I ask. I start to think how they could even spin the yarn one hair-breadth thick and I can’t imagine such handicraft. “The weavers must be skilled.”

  “Oh yes,” the Queen says. “The Snarlaqs are cunning little creatures. They have more patience than Fendans—more nimble fingers.”

  “Could you teach us to make our own blankets like this?” the eldest princess asks.

  “Not like this,” I say. “This is beyond my skill level.”

  “Not if you stay here and practice,” the Queen says. “You could learn from the Snarlaqs.”

  “I’ll give it thought, my Queen,” I say. But now I know that there’s no way I can stay here. My place is with Ayvinx. I’m not sure how I’m going to get out of here—I still belong to the Imperator. But I trust that Ayvinx will be able to manage it.

  We’ll probably sneak out like cowards, I suppose. But that’s okay. I have long practice doing cowardly things that I’m not proud of.

  Cowardly things that I can never tell Ayvinx about.

  He’s a fierce warrior and I couldn’t bear to see his eyes fill with shame if I told him the real reason I was arrested when I was twelve years old. Maybe, sometime in the future, I could have the courage to tell him—but probably not. Courage is not my strong suit. I put on a brave face. I do a lot of cursing and spitting—but that’s a front. My hubris is a front. It’s all to hide that little twelve-year-old girl I used to be—to protect her from the monsters out there lurking in the world.

  “Queen Auntie?” one of the nieces asks. “When can we leave here?”

  “Soon, dear,” the Queen says.

  “When is that?” the girl whines. “We’ve been here all day.”

  “And we might be here all night and all tomorrow too,” the Queen says. “It’s not safe outside right now. We’re staying here where we’re under Royal Guard. Have you finished the gown for your ragdoll?”

  “No,” the girl huffs. In truth, I sympathize with her. The Imperator ordered the Queen and the princesses into the Queen’s chambers and put four royal guards at the door. The Queen invited me too, so I could give the princesses more sewing lessons. The girls are supposed to be sewing clothes for their ragdolls, but they’ve been long at the needle and are bored.

  “I finished,” the eldest princess, Worra, boasts.
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br />   “Good—then you can do mine,” her younger sister says, throwing her work-in-progress at Worra.

  “Stop that,” the Queen orders. The girls sit up straight at once. “You can work on your sums instead. Jula, do you know arithmetic?”

  “I do,” I answer, “but I’m not sure I know Fendan arithmetic.” In truth, I hate math. After my mother died, my guardian tried to teach me math. I’d sit at a little table that was too small for me and try to puzzle out the problems he’d write. The chalk squeaked on the slate and he’d stand behind me, his hands on my shoulders, telling me the answers.

  “I can teach you,” the eldest princess says. She’s already getting her comm-panel and showing me various markings on the screen that I can only imagine are Fendan numbers. “First, the numbers.” She holds up her hands and counts off on her fingers. Like all Fendans, she has six fingers on each hand. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, dek, el, do.”

  “Dek, el, do?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she says. “Do you know how to count?”

  “I do, but—”

  There’s an urgent knock at the door—so loud it causes the princess to fumble her comm-panel.

  “My Queen,” the person on the other side says. “May I enter?”

  “Yes, Ha’an,” the Queen says. The guardsman comes in, his long limbs seeming to float as he walks. I recognize him as the Chief Royal Guardsman who greeted Ayvinx and I when we first arrived at the palace. Despite being on Fenda these weeks, the Snarlaqs still creep me out. They look like the healer had to pull them from their mother’s wombs, but had to pull too hard.

  “We must relocate,” he says. His regalia is polished and shines even in the low bedchamber light.

  “Relocate?” the Queen says. “To where?”

  “The Imperator has decreed it.” Ha’an hands her a scroll, sealed with wax. “He insists it’s not safe for you in the East Wing. You and the princesses are to go to the subterranean storehouse. The empty one that formerly housed the furniture from the summer palace.”

  “Is the palace under siege?” the Queen asks, tearing open the paper and reading the message. I can hear the tremor in her voice, though she maintains her regal bearing.

  “Not yet,” he says. His eyes are cold, like he could care less if the Fendan imperial palace is overrun by Kraxx, but that he must do his duty to protect the Royal Family regardless. “But it soon might be.”

  “Do we have time to pack a bag?” she asks.

  “Of course, My Queen, but—with all due respect—pack lightly.”

  “Yes,” she says, already throwing things into a bag.

  I look at the guard, then to the Queen. The Imperator wants his wife and children and nieces safe in the storehouse—but does he want me to go too? Am I invited? Or am I to be shuttled off to the tower, so as not to disappoint the soldier I am to service this night. I know I won’t actually have to go through with that—Ayvinx promised me that he’d keep me safe from that indignity.

  “You too,” the guardsman says, nodding towards me.

  “Yes, Jula—you can help me look after the girls.”

  Ha’an takes us down the back corridors, keeping us out of sight. I remember Ayvinx said last night that one of the Fendan officers might be in league with the Kraxx—might have helped two Kraxx escape during the battle. Any of the Fendan courtiers could be the traitor, but luckily we don’t pass anyone as we descend into the bowels of the palace.

  Ha’an takes us at least three levels below ground. It’s cold and damp, and the air smells musty, like the feathers of an old down pillow.

  “Here you are, My Queen,” he says, and opens the door. It’s dark inside and I can’t see anything.

  The Queen steps into the doorway, groping along the wall for the panel that controls the lighting elements. All of a sudden she’s pulled in—so fast that she doesn’t even have a chance to let out a scream.

  “Ha’an?” I ask. But he draws his weapon.

  “Inside, all of you. Let’s just say you’re being held as collateral. We’ll all see how long the Imperator wants to keep fighting when he knows that his family is being kept at the mercy of the Kraxx. That is, if the Kraxx can be said to have mercy. I’m not even sure they do.”

  The princesses are scared, but not too scared that they can’t listen to the guardsman pointing a weapon at them. They follow the Queen into the room.

  But I don’t think. I just react. This is what I get for being trusting. But I’m not going to let the Queen and her girls pay for my mistake.

  I lunge at Ha’an, taking the sewing scissors from my pocket. I plunge them into the side of his neck. He shrieks—a high-pitched keening sound—but when he plucks them out of his flesh, there’s no blood.

  “Snarlaqs do not have arteries in their necks, like you pitiful humans do.” A voice behind me. It’s deep. Inhuman. There are no intonations. No emotion. “You’d better get into the room.”

  It’s the voice of the void.

  I don’t want to turn around. I can’t bring myself to do it. Because I know who is behind me, who is speaking.

  Kraxx.

  The answer to this question is going to determine the fate of the entire palace. No, the entire planet. Scratch that—likely the fate of the universe.

  And that means I have to trust Vhorwig to tell me the truth.

  I don’t trust him to tell the truth about anything, which is why I slipped him a hearty dose of verpap root earlier. It’s got a strong sedative effect, but it will be a few hours until he’s passed out. Until then, he’s going to be feeling a euphoria so intense, he couldn’t even consider lying. All his guile and bravado will be replaced by content good humor.

  “Where are we going?” he asks me. He grins a dopey grin and it’s so eerie, I think I like the asshole version of Vhorwig better.

  “You’re going to spend the night with Jula, remember?” I say. I have to choke out the words, the way certain species of serpentoids must regurgitate the bones and fur of their prey. The words—false as they may be—stick in my throat.

  “How was it?” he asks. “Have any advice for me? I’ve never lain with a human female before. I hardly have experience with Fendan females.” I really, really don’t like this new version of Vhorwig. I don’t want to be exposed to his vulnerability or his raw honesty. It was easier when I hated him for being a jerk.

  “No advice,” I say. “I barely knew what to do.”

  “I’m nervous,” he says. “If she laughs at me and insults me, it’ll make my member go soft. Then she’ll laugh even harder.”

  “She will not laugh at you,” I say. And that’s the truth—because he’s not going within a hundred feet of her bedroom. “She’s kind. Here we are,” I say. I’ve led him to my chambers in the palace.

  “This isn’t her room,” he says. But he’s feeling so good that he’s not worried. He doesn’t suspect a thing.

  “She’s coming down here,” I say. “She said that her bed isn’t big enough to entertain male companions. She’s very enthusiastic.”

  I keep the light low and tell him to lie down on the bed. He complies, the drug making him tractable and relaxed.

  “That pooray is excellent,” he says. “I don’t feel angry or sloppy like I usually do after too much to drink.”

  “Excellent pooray,” I agree. “Now, while we wait for her, tell me about the two Kraxx. What was it like to track them down and fight?”

  “I saw the ships flying for the palace,” he says.

  “Close your eyes,” I say. “Visualize what happened. Tell me everything. It might be important. I need to know the Kraxx plans. I need every detail.”

  “Okay,” he says and his eyelids flutter shut. “I hurried to the south side of the palace. It was weird that the ship was separated from the rest of the fleet.”

  “That was good thinking,” I say. It really was. Even if he lied about the rest, his noticing and following might just be enough to save us. “Then what happened?”r />
  “There were two of them,” he says.

  “Were they hurt?”

  “No,” he says. “They were strapping equipment packs to their backs. They turned and saw me. It was the most scared I’d ever been in my entire life. Their eyes are black pools of nothing. Like an insectoid—oily, beady black nothing.”

  “They’re frightening creatures, to be sure,” I agree. “This was my first encounter with the Kraxx and I hope it’s my last.”

  “I peed a little,” he says. “But I drew my weapon. They laughed at me. They didn’t even try and fight. One of them? He swiped his big arm and batted me aside, like you’d do to a stray caninoid nosing through the refuse receptacles. That’s when I fell and scraped my arm.”

  “Then what did they do?” I ask, but I already know what they did. I’m too fascinated at the real version of events to be angry at him.

  That’s a lie. I’m too scared to be angry. Because now I know that I was right.

  I know where the Kraxx are.

  I know what they’re doing.

  “They jumped in the canal,” he says. “That was true. Why did they do that? The canal’s disgusting. They couldn’t have survived in that filth.”

  “Stay here,” I say. “Rest up and wait for Jula.”

  He is saying something, but I can’t wait to listen.

  The Kraxx came in through the sewer grate. The rest of the fleet was a diversion—those two alone were meant to breach the palace. They knew where to go. They knew about the sewer system. They brought equipment to help them breathe through the sludge and tools to remove the grate so they could swim inside.

  They must have had help. And it wasn’t Vhorwig.

  I take the stairs two at a time to the security wing of the palace. There’s a dedicated communications building on the other side of the capitol, but there’s no time for me to get there. I need to talk to the engineers who monitor the sat-nav systems.

  The rest of the Kraxx fleet is coming.

  I need to review the recordings of the last twelve hours, and we need to set the satellite detection systems to the highest degree of sensitivity. If a raindrop breaks through the orbit, we need to know about it.