Dark Planet Warriors: The Serial (Books 1-3)

by Anna Carven

  Does it swing or slide, or retract?

  I need to get out of here. I need to escape from this dark, windowless, tiny room. I take a few steps back, thinking I’ll give the stupid thing one last, solid kick. Even if it doesn’t open, it will feel good just to kick something.

  To vent some of my fear and frustration.

  So I take two big strides forward, hiking up my ridiculous, tent-like garment. Going with the momentum, I execute a solid, high kick, just like I’ve seen them do in those ridiculous twentieth-century action flicks.

  It’s true, I have a secret obsession with everything twentieth-century. There has never been an era of Human creativity quite like it.

  Van Damme, eat your heart out.

  There’s a dull thud as my foot connects, and I’m surprised that it doesn’t hurt one bit. And is it just me, or is there a little indent right there, where I’ve kicked it?

  Still, the door doesn’t open. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. But just as I’m about to step back, the weird little fibers come apart, disappearing into a cavity in the wall.

  I stumble forward in shock, losing my balance.

  “What the?” I yelp, as I crash into something hard and solid and warm. I look up to find the General staring down at me, a frown creasing his hard features. He raises an eyebrow as he grabs me by the shoulders, steadying me. An electric tingle courses through me at the sensation of his warm fingers touching me through the thin fabric of my oversized robe.

  “You should be resting,” he growls. “Not trying to damage my sleeping pod.”

  “Your what?” I look around wildly, taking in my surroundings. We’re in what looks like a living space, with the same dark, cold floors and oddly curved walls, reminding me of the Kordolian medical bay I was stuck in when I was injured. To my left, soaring windows provide a view of the endless, starry sky. But amongst the glittering backdrop, there’s a giant, black planet swallowing up most of the view. It’s dotted with millions of blue, glowing lights, reminding me of Earth at night.

  That’s Kythia?

  In front of the window is a low seating area, made of dark cushions. The rest of the space is quite boring and uncluttered. There’s a desk surrounded by an array of complex looking holoscreens. There’s no kitchen, no eating area. There’s nothing to identify the owner of the place, no pictures on the walls or trinkets or cozy rugs on the floor.

  This place could really use a woven rug or two. Some colorful vases, maybe a terrarium. Urgh. It’s a total man-cave. Quite fitting for a dour, humorless military General, I guess.

  “Where the hell am I, General?” I ask, backpedalling out of his grasp. Oh no. I’m not ready for that quite yet. I need to get my bearings first. “Wh- what have you done to me?”

  “You’re in my quarters,” he replies, looking me up and down. “And it appears you have responded quite well to the treatment.”

  “What treatment?” Suspicion clouds my tone as I glance down at my bare legs, which peek out of the loose robes. Surely miracles don’t come without a hefty price. There has to be a catch.

  “A nanograft.” He shrugs. “You will understand the implications with time.”

  As usual, he’s not the most forthcoming character. My gaze returns to rest on him. Something’s different. He’s no longer decked out in his crazy nano-armor. Instead, he wears dark robes similar to mine, loosely belted at the waist. Where mine are huge, swamping my small frame, his fit perfectly, hanging off his large body and revealing his smooth, sculpted chest.

  He notices the direction of my gaze and something like a smug look crosses his face, just for a split-second. I grit my teeth, annoyed that he’s just caught me checking him out. But then he’s back to his usual form, glaring at me with a serious look on his face.

  “You need to eat,” he growls, and walks over to a panel in the wall that I hadn’t noticed before. “Tissue healing requires energy.” The General taps a code on some kind of sleek, silver device that’s set into the wall. It lights up and emits a low hum. Then, it opens, and he fishes out a dark rectangular object.

  He offers it to me. “Eat.”

  “Huh?” I eye the lump in his hand with confusion. “What’s that?”

  “Food. Eat.” He thrusts it in front of my face. Okay, so we’re down to one-word commands. Why does this all suddenly feel a bit neolithic? Gingerly, I take the, er, thing.

  It looks like an energy bar of some sort. I hope it’s chocolate? But looking at its dark, semi-transparent color and slightly gooey consistency, like hard, compacted gelatin, I’m not convinced. I sniff it cautiously. It smells like a combination of dried seaweed and beef jerky.

  Not unpleasant, but not mind-blowing either.

  “It’s not to your taste?” He’s watching me closely, curiously.

  “I could murder a bowl of nachos right about now,” I reply. “You guys don’t do nachos? Or fries with chicken salt? Is ramen off the menu?”

  Tarak glares at me. I get the feeling he has no idea what I’m talking about. “We don’t have Human food here.”

  “I figured.” Otherwise they wouldn’t be feeding me this stuff. “Seriously, you have no idea what you’re missing out on.” I take an experimental bite of the bar. It melts in my mouth, all salty and meaty and thick. I chew a bit more, realizing that I’m actually starving.

  Okay, so I admit, it’s edible. I munch down on the rest of the bar as the General watches me. It’s all slightly awkward. I feel like a kid being forced by their parents to eat their brussels sprouts, or else.

  When I’m done, the stuff settles in my belly like a lead weight, making me feel instantly full. “So, General,” I begin tentatively, not really sure how to bring this up, especially when he’s gone and had my body magically fixed. “When do we set off for Fortuna Tau?”

  He responds with a cryptic look. There’s something in his eyes that tells me this isn’t going to be straightforward. “In time,” he says.

  I’m about to demand that he organize for me to go back straight away, but our attention is diverted as one of the holoscreens lights up, and a stone-faced Kordolian guy appears. He rattles something off in rapid-fire Kordolian. Tarak stiffens, his jaw set in a rigid line. He doesn’t like whatever the guy is telling him.

  The General snaps back at him and ends the communication. He then mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like swearing. That little bulging vein at the side of his head is back. I’m starting to figure out his little tells. Right now, he’s irritated.

  “I have to go,” he announces. “Do not leave my quarters. The troops will not tolerate a Human roaming about on the Station.”

  “Wait,” I protest. “You can’t just leave me. What am I supposed to do here?”

  “Rest.” He disappears into his dark sleeping chamber and returns a moment later, decked out in a uniform of sorts. All black, of course. There’s a high-necked jacket with long tails and a pair of sleek trousers. There’s some sort of insignia embroidered at the neck in red, the first hint of color I’ve seen on any of his attire.

  I try not to gape. It’s a severe, intimidating uniform, but it compliments his broad frame, and it all looks quite dapper. In an evil empire sort of way.

  “Stay here,” he growls threateningly, before disappearing through his front door, the thing sliding shut with the same interlocking mechanism, effectively trapping me inside.

  Great. I’m stuck in an alien General’s personal quarters on a floating Station in an entirely different sector of the universe.

  What’s a girl to do? For starters, I guess I could try to figure out this body of mine, and see exactly what’s changed.

  And then? Plot an escape plan? That sounds like a good way to pass the time.

  Tarak

  I leave Abbey in my quarters, the Qualum door fusing shut behind me. The entrance is keyed to my biological signature, and no-one else can enter or exit. Even on this orbiting fortress, where my word is absolute, I spare no precaution w
hen it comes to security.

  The fucking dress uniform I’m wearing is stiff and uncomfortable. I find it ridiculous, but when one is summoned to stand before the High Council, this is the customary attire.

  More formality and nonsense. It’s an annoyance. A complete waste of my time.

  I’d rather be mobilizing a retrieval team for my First Division. Without the wormhole, it will take at least six orbits to reach the Human mining station. First Division won’t be happy with the wait, but they’ll adapt. Perhaps they might even catch a ride on a Human inter-galaxy freighter returning to the low sectors, if they’re resourceful.

  And then there’s the matter of my exotic female guest. She doesn’t know that I watched her when she was asleep. I sat on the floor of my sleeping chamber, cross-legged, observing her pale face, so peaceful at times. Her beauty is strange and fragile, so unlike that of the Kordolian females. And for the most part, she was serene, except for when she tossed and turned. Every now and then a flicker of pain would cross her features. Her skin would become moist, and I would lay a hand on her forehead, waiting for her to fall back into a deep sleep.

  I only left her side once I was certain the nanograft had taken, and she was in the clear. I hadn’t trusted any of the medics to watch her, not even Zyara.

  I hadn’t trusted them to take care of a Human. That idiot Mirkel had been hesitant to treat her at first, but he had quickly changed his mind after our little ‘discussion.’

  As I stride down the corridor, an Officer comes up beside me, anxiously taking in my appearance. Dress uniform means only one thing. That I’ve been summoned. “Shall I arrange an escort for you, General?”

  “Not necessary,” I snap, glancing at the soldier. The face is familiar. “Keron, isn’t it?” His face lights up as I mention his name. So this one isn’t worn and jaded yet. I doubt Officer Keron has seen much off-planet action. “I’ll be using my own transport. A guard isn’t necessary. I’m only going landside, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Understood, Sir.” He starts to carry out that irritating formal bow, but I cut him off with a slice of my hand. “There’s none of that aboard my Station, Officer. Keep your formalities for the landside folk.” That infernal bow was introduced by the Empress after Emperor Ilhan died. It never fails to get under my skin. In contrast, the High Council lives for such things.

  Bunch of ostentatious pricks.

  Keron blinks in surprise, but wisely decides not to argue.

  “While you’re here, Keron, you can arrange something for me.”

  “Sir?”

  “Get an order of Veronian food from landside. Those sweet things they make. Have it sent to my quarters by internal delivery.”

  “Veronian food. Got it.” Curiosity burns in Keron’s eyes, but he doesn’t dare probe the issue. For all he knows, I’ve just developed a craving for sweet things.

  We reach a docking station reserved for smaller craft. Keron starts to bow reflexively, but as I narrow my eyes he catches himself, straightening to his full height.

  “Dismissed, Officer,” I say, a trace of irony creeping into my voice. As he disappears, I enter one of the solo transports, a sleek, unarmed cruiser designed for speed and little else. A dull throb begins at the back of my eyes, and I resist the urge to groan

  The headaches are coming back.

  Strangely, when I’m with her, there are no symptoms at all. No headaches. No stabbing pain behind my eyes. No burning irritability that threatens to explode into anger at any given moment.

  Just her scent is enough to calm me. It reminds me of that Human garden, all green stems and fruits and wildflowers. Things that are entirely alien to Kythia. Our planet does not support that kind of life.

  I activate the flyer and ease it out of the dock, navigating it through the airlock. Once I’ve passed the outer lock, I communicate with flight control.

  “Cleared for departure, General.”

  I gun the thrusters and speed towards Kythia, wondering what in Kaiin’s name the High Council want with me this time. Whatever it is, it won’t be anything good. It never is.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Abbey

  I explore the General’s quarters for a while, looking around, running my hand over things, pressing various panels on the walls. Everything is so alien looking. But I guess that’s what happens when you’re on an alien ship. Duh.

  My legs are holding up just fine, and I’m actually feeling really good. Better than I’ve felt in a long time. Whatever the Kordolians have pumped into me has worked.

  I return to his sleeping chamber, that dark, cocoon-like place, and search around. There must be a wardrobe in here, because otherwise how could he get changed into that sexy dress uniform so quickly?

  Oh, my. Did I just think that?

  Let me rephrase that. Not sexy. Distinguished is more like it.

  Hell, Abbey, you thought he was sexy. Just admit it.

  There’s a little triangular arrangement of blue lights in the wall that I hadn’t noticed before. I touch my palm to it and bingo, the dark wall magically comes apart, revealing a walk-in wardrobe. Apart from the muted glow of the little blue lights, it’s dim inside. Why do Kordolians prefer everything to be hidden in shadow? It’s as if they’ve got something to hide.

  There are only a few garments hanging on the racks. I suppose he doesn’t need much clothing because he’s wearing armor most of the time. And underneath the freaky armor, he’s very naked, all the time. I shudder, goosebumps rippling on my skin as I remember the way he stood before me when I was in the stasis tank.

  Unashamed, in all his naked glory.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  There’s a duplicate of the fancy uniform he was wearing, another robe and some plain looking trousers. All black, of course.

  The guy needs some color. I’m thinking a dark red, like wine, might suit him. It would match his eyes.

  I grab the trousers and try them on, discarding the billowing robe. I need something a bit less cumbersome to go around in. I can’t be tripping over swathes of fabric at every corner.

  The trousers are big and long, but I manage to roll them up and fashion the belt-like thing so it cinches nicely at my waist.

  I grab a soft, sleeveless tunic and slip it over my head. It falls to about mid-thigh, like a short dress.

  Too bad there’s no mirror. But I feel a lot more presentable now. It’s not the most fashionable getup, but at least I can move around freely.

  I go back into the living space and do a few experimental squats. Easy. No pain, no stiffness. I hop on one leg, and then the other. I’m as good as new. There’s no deformity, no scarring. I bend over and touch my toes. I’ve always been flexible and it seems nothing’s changed. I’m able to reach over and touch both palms to the floor.

  What the hell did these Kordolians do to me?

  A nanograft? I don’t like the sound of that.

  But I seem to be healthy and whole, and so far, there’s no sign that they’ve taken my organs or tried to experiment on me or stuck a control chip in my brain.

  The only problem right now is that I’m locked in the General’s chambers and I have no idea when he plans on sending me home.

  Does he even plan on returning me? He seemed a little cagey on that point. Perhaps I shouldn’t wait around to find out exactly what he has in store.

  There has to be a way to get out of here. I pace over to the weird looking door that marks the entrance to the quarters. It’s made of that same woven looking stuff; those weird black fibers that seem to peel apart when opening. The problem is that the light in here is so dim that it’s hard to make out the fine detail. But at least there’s some starlight to go by.

  Seriously, Kordolians? What’s with the darkness and gloom? I’m starting to miss the sunshine already.

  From what I’ve seen, they don’t have an equivalent to the Sun. Just a dim, dying star; a fading memory of what once was there. How many millions of years has it been like that? />
  There’s a thin fissure in the centre of the door, where I’ve seen the fibre-like things slide apart. They’re like tiny, interlocking fingers, sealed tight. Yet when the General walked up to the door, it just opened.

  I dig my fingers into the grooves of the fissure, trying to pry it open.

  It’s a bit stupid of me. Why would a futuristic alien door have a weakness where I could just pull it open? But I’m desperate to get out of here, so still I tug, hoping for a bit of give.

  “Ow!” I wince as one of my fingernails rips, revealing a tiny patch of raw nailbed. A tiny droplet of blood beads there, smearing on the door’s surface as I pull my finger away to suck on it.

  There’s a rushing sound, and a whoosh of air, and suddenly the interlocking, black fibers are gone, revealing a shadowy corridor.

  Uh, did I do that? What the hell did I just do?

  I blink, looking left and right, startled by my sudden, unexpected freedom. The corridor curves around in each direction, disappearing into the darkness.

  Which way do I go? I turn left, guided by a hunch, keeping an eye out for any sign of movement. The General told me not to go out of his quarters, but there’s no way I can just sit around and wait for him to come back.

  I need to figure out an escape plan. I need to get the lay of the place.

  I try to be stealthy, making my footfalls light, watching for a change in the shadows, listening for any sound that might indicate an approaching Kordolian. The problem is that there’s nowhere to hide.

  The passageway leads to an open area, which must be some kind of communal space, judging from the soft seating and array of tables. The huge, vaulted windows look out onto the dark planet below. A river of blue lights creeps across its surface, winking against the inky blackness. The place is empty right now, much to my relief.

  The entire scene below me is eerie and intimidating and forbiddingly beautiful.

  Just like it’s inhabitants.