Alien Revolt

by Tracy St. John

  “I hate the people on this ship,” Charity snarled at her handheld as she worked on the hated math lessons she should have been getting in school. Their dad had insisted she practice arithmetic instead of writing, which came to her effortlessly. “I hate Earthers. Especially the white-haired maniac. He’s killing Dad, a little piece at a time.”

  “Charity,” Hope sighed.

  “Come off it. You know I’m right. When are you two going to finish off the lunatic?”

  “Stop it,” Hope hissed. “You stay out of our business. It’ll get you killed.”

  Her sister scowled. “Right. Like that won’t happen anyway if you and Dad get caught doing whatever it is you’re doing. I’ll be tortured for information right alongside you, so this idea of protecting me by keeping me out of the loop doesn’t wash.”

  “You’re still a kid,” Hope said. “They’ll be lenient with you.”

  “Ha! Now that’s a load of bullshit if I ever heard it.” Charity got up and flounced to her room in a huff.

  Hope shook her head. She should have reprimanded her sibling for the profanity—a punishable offense for any female—but she was tired of scolding Charity.

  She was tired of a lot of things.

  A few minutes after Charity’s dramatic exit, Hope put down the reader she’d stored books on and went to her own room. She wanted to work on the micro bugs so her father could get them planted as soon as possible.

  She should have gone straight to the tiny worktable, set up next to her narrow bed. Instead she went to the slightly larger table just inside the doorway. Sitting down on the stool which made her butt ache after only five minutes, she commanded her computer, “Run surveillance footage from the last twelve hours.”

  The recording cued up, showing Copeland’s throne room. Hope skipped through most of it, snarling at the sight of Copeland’s current wife and all his exes kneeling as he settled on his ridiculous chair. As always, her gaze moved to the spot where a childhood friend named Amanda used to kneel. Another ex-wife crouched in her place now, another disposable body which had once been regarded as a human being. Once Copeland got it in his head to marry a girl—and they were always girls, not women—she became nothing more than a prop for him to display when in public. When in private, a wife’s fate was far worse. In private, Copeland paid all the attention to them that he neglected to in the open.

  Hope gazed at Copeland’s current wife, the red-robed girl he’d plucked two years prior from the same classes Charity attended. This one had to be closing in on her eighteenth birthday by now, if Hope remembered correctly. The Holy Leader would be in the market for a new wife soon. He’d declare himself divorced from this one, and she’d don the black robe of an ex-wife. Her life would change little except for no longer being the primary focus of Copeland’s attentions. Not that he’d completely ignore her once he had a new bride. No, it would be too much to hope for. Certainly, Amanda had not been ignored once she’d aged out of being his acknowledged wife. Judging from the bruises sported by the ones who still lived, none of them escaped his awareness until he finished with them for good.

  Realizing Copeland would probably soon be sniffing for someone new put a knot in Hope’s stomach. Charity was about the age he preferred, and she’d developed significantly since he had last been on the hunt.

  “There is no way you’re getting her,” Hope whispered to the image of the bastard who greeted Dramok Sitrel and her dad as they entered the room together. “I don’t know how I’ll stop you, but I will. Count on it.”

  Brave words she feared she couldn’t back up. Yet hate rose like bile, tasting sour-sweet. She’d do anything to keep her kid sister safe. Whatever the consequences, Hope would fight to her last breath if Copeland decided he wanted Charity.

  Her despairing ire faded when the monitor showed Piras and Kila enter the Holy Leader’s chamber. “Play recording at standard speed,” she ordered the computer. “Zoom in on the two subjects in section 4D.”

  She had no business mooning over Kalquorian eye candy. But as the footage of the renegade admiral and captain played, Hope did so anyway. There was no sound. The surveillance recorder she’d gotten Borey to install wasn’t able to thwart the sound blocker. No known technology could—except Hope thought she might have finally found the answer. Tests on her micro bugs had been successful so far. The time had come to put them into actual operation to be sure of it.

  “I’m going to hear all your plans, big man,” she whispered to Piras’s image. “At least when you’re on this ship. I wonder if I can add a subspace boost to the rig, so the signal will reach from your destroyer to here.”

  She thought over the specifications for such an upgrade as she watched Piras bow to her father. Captain Kila did the same, and Hope observed the brute’s dangerous smirk. Why did he grin at people as if he knew all their terrible secrets? Hope thought it was a deliciously threatening expression.

  “If he smiled at me like that, I wouldn’t know whether to faint or throw myself at him. How can a man be scary and hot all at once?”

  Hope shivered and restrained an urge to do rude things to herself while looking at the two Kalquorians. It was such a shame they were on opposing teams. The pair were indeed magnificent beasts. “Magnificent beasts who might screw up Dad’s plans to finish off Copeland once and for all,” she reminded herself sternly.

  The thought made her frown and dimmed her appreciation of the pair. Would their presence wreck the slow but determined progress her father was making to stop Copeland? She had no idea how the arrival of Piras and Kila would affect the fragile coalitions they’d managed to build with others who were opposed to the Holy Leader. It could mean big trouble for their plans. It could especially destroy their hope to somehow keep the innocent residents of Haven out of Copeland and the Basma’s hands.

  “It doesn’t matter how good you Kalqs are to gawk at,” Hope whispered to the unaware Piras and Kila. “Stay out of our way, or our revolution will run right over you.”

  Yet another threat she had no clue of how to carry out—merely a deep, desperate will.

  Chapter 3

  Kila wanted a drink after his shower. He’d retired to his quarters for the day, and unless there was an emergency, he was off duty for several hours. However, because of their dangerous mission, Piras had rightly declared alcohol off limits for the whole crew. Kila wished nonetheless for something potent. He wanted anything that might dull his memories of the horrific screams of torture, as well as the bruised and battered women kneeling in obvious misery around Browning Copeland.

  Kila sat at Piras’s tiny work table in the corner of the room, absently running a finger over the model of a battlecruiser which Piras had begun constructing. He especially didn’t want to think about those women. It would be far better to ruminate over the small Earther female with flashing brown eyes and hair as glossy black as his own. She hadn’t appeared terribly happy after her collision with Piras, but at least she’d been on her feet and moving with purpose. No kowtowing to a false prophet. She’d certainly not bowed to him and Piras, neither figuratively nor literally.

  He wished he could keep her delicate but determined face in his head rather than the poor wretches he’d learned were Copeland’s current and former wives.

  Kila glanced at Piras, no more than a few feet away. The admiral sat cross-legged in the middle of the sleeping mat. They’d moved in the most sizable of the destroyer’s private spaces upon clanning, but the warship was not made for more than the most rudimentary of comforts. Personal belongings, like Kila’s shuttle racing mementos and a couple of still vids of the men’s parent clans, sat on shelves built into the walls. Besides the miniscule table and sleeping mat, there was just enough room for another small work table. Its surface was covered with wires, metal components, and miniscule computer boards, some of which were half the size of a fingernail. Even when the men were off duty, they often ended up working on something to do with their mission.

  At the moment, K
ila’s Dramok was in deep thought. Piras had been quiet for most of the day following their encounter with Copeland. Kila could almost see the wheels turning in his head as the admiral plotted and worried.

  Kila’s gaze swept over the other man, enjoying as always the elegant build of his leader and lover. Piras was naturally muscled as most Kalquorians, but his shape was a long, lean version. His face matched his body with well-made patrician lines. The heavy jaw, overly developed as a result of Piras grinding his teeth when he was frustrated—which was often—marred what would have been an almost too-pretty visage. It gave his features a slightly off-kilter appearance the Nobek found striking rather than unpleasant.

  Kila couldn’t get enough of the view. He’d spent many a year chasing the man, trying to show him there was life after Nobek Lidon. That Piras had finally given up the doomed love affair to be with Kila was not a matter the captain took lightly. He still could hardly believe they’d clanned at long last. It filled his heart in a way he’d never be able to speak of.

  Piras shifted. His gaze fell on Kila, catching him staring. The strong, almost haughty expression he wore softened. “What?” he asked, the naturally commanding tone of a born Dramok wavering. He sounded hopeful. The look and tenor of his voice excited Kila’s ready libido.

  Before Kila could answer, the door hissed open and Lokmi walked in. The Imdiko’s expression was avid with enthusiasm. Lokmi wore the kind of excitement that made the captain’s eyes narrow with suspicion.

  Kila adopted a growl that was half-teasing, half-warning. “I know that look. Are you fucking with my engines again?”

  The handsome chief engineer gave his commanding officer a decidedly non-Imdiko combative glare. “My engines need nothing further at this time. Thank you for your concern, Captain.”

  Piras rolled his eyes as Kila snickered and relaxed. Kila and his chief engineer—who also happened to be their intended third clanmate—were constantly arguing over the engines. Both avid mechanics, each man viewed the power center of the ship as his personal territory. It took a lot of compromise and threats from Piras to get them to cooperate.

  The continual tug-of-war over the ship’s engines between the two irritated the Dramok. For his part, Kila found it invigorating to battle with Lokmi. Or at least he did when the chief engineer didn’t piss him off by making changes behind his back.

  Lokmi sat on the edge of the sleeping mat and pulled his boots off. His smile made his attractively symmetrical features handsomer still. Kila eyed his lover and opponent with interest. “Something’s making you happy, Chief. If it’s not something that will lead to me pounding you into next week, I want to hear it.”

  Lokmi laughed. “Ha! Not today, big boy. Though I do look forward to putting you in your place—under me. You keep your crooked nose on the bridge and out of my engineering section.”

  “Lokmi.” Piras’s warning came as Kila’s hackles started to rise for real.

  Lokmi shot a scowl over one well-muscled shoulder, meeting the hot glare filling Piras’s eyes. As the admiral’s brow slowly lifted with the beginnings of anger, Lokmi matched him with aggressive hostility—then stilled. His body sagged, and he adopted a contrite expression. All his earlier delight was replaced by a defeated tone. “I know. I’m taking the Dramok bit too far again.”

  With Lokmi deflating so thoroughly, Kila and Piras relaxed too. In a gentle voice, Piras said, “Assertion is being a Dramok. Antagonism—”

  “Is being an asshole,” Lokmi finished for him. “I swear, nothing sucks worse than being a dual-breed.”

  “Only because no one trained your Dramok side. Of course it would be the part which you decided to act on the most,” Kila said. He kept his voice light, not wanting to demoralize his would-be clanmate worse.

  Too many men, personally and professionally, had concentrated on Lokmi’s official designation as an Imdiko. Those fools had ignored the natural leadership impulses he possessed in equal measure. The chief engineer had struggled in his work and love life to find the right balance between the two.

  Because of his poorly prepared Dramok tendencies, Lokmi had not yet been able to fully accept Piras’s right to lead the clan and Kila’s absolute authority as his commanding officer. His issues kept him from consenting to their offer to become their Imdiko. Despite locking horns on a regular basis with his talented but territorial chief engineer, Kila adored the irritating bastard. He was sure Lokmi wanted to join their unit. The maladjusted Dramok half of Lokmi, with its horror of not being in utter control, currently kept him their roommate rather than lifemate.

  As a warrior Nobek, Kila felt himself unequal to the task of dealing with anyone’s emotional baggage, especially that of a confused Imdiko-Dramok. He left that perplexing bit of navigation to Piras. And hoped for the best. He really wanted Lokmi for their clanmate.

  Hating the beaten expression on Lokmi’s face, Kila waved off the Imdiko’s momentary lapse of good judgment. “Forget it. Move on. Tell me what’s got you twitching with so much excitement.”

  “Oh yeah, the phase technology. I’ve thought up a new use for it. We can turn it into a weapon.”

  Kila rose from his seat to join the other two on the massive sleeping mat they shared. The word weapon was a siren call to the Nobek captain every bit as much as the men themselves. “You have my attention, Chief.”

  Piras leaned towards Lokmi, his face intent. “How do you make a defensive tool into a weapon?”

  Lokmi’s enthusiasm was returning, lighting his face with boyish glee. “It would remain primarily a defensive measure for us—being able to disappear from sight and sensors into a sort of alternate dimension. But imagine if we secretly placed phasing devices on our enemies’ ships and activated them from a remote location.”

  Kila puzzled over the idea. That Lokmi had a clear and probably excellent plot cooking in his wavy-haired head was not in question. Unfortunately, it was as clear as mud to Kila, which made him grouchy. He couldn’t restrain the sarcastic tone in his voice. “We wouldn’t be able to see our enemies unless we were phased too. They could potentially go anywhere without our knowledge. How is this a weapon for us again?”

  Lokmi gave him a withering glare that said Kila was being obtuse, but his tone was teasing rather than obnoxious. “Okay, use what little imagination your Nobek brain is capable of.”

  “You’ve seen me use my imagination, Chief. Don’t make me remind you.”

  The Imdiko snorted at the innuendo. “Listen to me, you oaf. Visualize this: we’re in a spot where we’re surrounded by the Basma’s fleet.”

  “I don’t have to imagine it. Check outside the ship and see it’s a reality.” Now who was being thick?

  “Shut up, damn it,” Lokmi laughed. “Pretend Copeland, Sitrel, and their goons have figured out we’re spies. They’re getting ready to capture or kill us.”

  “I’m betting on kill.”

  “At your order, I activate their phase devices from our ship. They disappear, along with their threat. Phased weapons aren’t going to do shit against us unless we’re phased too.”

  “All right. I’m beginning to see the advantages.”

  “Especially when we bring them back, a few at a time, to be overwhelmed and captured by the ships defending Haven. We can start with Copeland and Sitrel’s ship, taking out the attack force’s leadership right away.”

  Piras grinned at Lokmi with approval. “That’s a nice, neat package, I must say.”

  Kila was also impressed, but he saw the real-world problems that would burst Lokmi’s lovely fantasy. “If we could pull it off. I like the idea, Chief, and you’re definitely on to something. The problem is the numbers and the ticking clock.”

  Lokmi sighed. “Yeah. I thought of that too. I was hoping you two master schemers might take this plan and run with it, make it feasible somehow.”

  Kila patted him on the shoulder. “Unfortunately, we’re dealing with two-hundred-fifty battlecruisers and over three hundred destroyers. How difficult wou
ld it be to install these phase devices on each ship?”

  “Not quite as difficult as it would be to construct them all in the first place. We’re still trying to finish assembling the personal and small-craft devices. You’re right, it’s a dumb idea. I’m an engineer, not a strategic battle genius like you two.”

  “You’re not dumb.” Piras jumped up and started to pace back and forth at the foot of the sleeping mat. “Walk me through this. It took both you and Kila to install the phase device on this ship.”

  “Yes, but one person can do it alone.”

  Kila pointed out, “An engineer or someone trained to do the installation. On enemy ships, you’d need someone watching your back, standing guard while you do it.”

  Piras stroked his chin, his feet padding, padding, padding across the soft beige flooring. “How many engineers on this ship are capable of the installation?”

  “Twenty, not counting Lokmi.” Kila knew it was wishful thinking to believe he could keep his intended Imdiko from taking an active part in such a mission. He couldn’t help but try anyway.

  The Imdiko picked at the coverlet he sat on. “Fucking math. It always ruins my fun.”

  “Maybe not,” Piras said, coming to a stop and gazing at Lokmi with a smile. “Obviously, we can’t hope to phase over five hundred ships before the attack on Haven and Rokan commences. But phasing some will give the colonies’ defenses a better chance than before. I think it’s worth looking into.”

  Lokmi’s eye lit. “You do?”

  “How soon could you have—oh, let me pull a number out of my ass—”

  “So that’s where you keep them,” Kila snickered, getting a laugh out of Lokmi.

  Piras ignored him. “We’ll say one hundred battlecruisers, just because I’m an optimistic bastard. How long before you could construct all those ship-phasing devices?”