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

by Anna Carven

  “Eat and rest,” he says, his voice unexpectedly gentle. “And do not worry. You are always safe with me.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” I reply, eyeing the rest of the Veronian sweets. At least I can munch on those while I try not to get claustrophobic, wondering how the hell I’m going to get out of here. Am I ever going to see Earth again? Am I going to feel the sunshine on my face again?

  There has to be a way. And maybe it involves convincing this stubborn musclehead to come with me.

  Because I don’t know if I can fight through hordes of hostile Kordolians on my own.

  And underneath the scary armor and bossy attitude, he’s not all that bad, really.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Tarak

  I peer at the holoscreen and recognize a familiar face. Pale eyes blink back at me. The door opens, and a slender male dressed in a maintenance worker’s suit steps through.

  “What are you doing here, Syrak? You’re not supposed to be on the lower decks.”

  Syrak bows, a simple nod of his head. The dark scales on his face gleam, contrasting with the pale blue of his eyes. Syrak is a Soldar, a member of an alien race occupying a large humid planet in the next sector. His body is covered in dark grey scales, and he has a series of ridges, like fins, running down his back. The Soldar are hairless, and they have long arms and legs that are capable of great flexibility. Their feet are like hands, giving them the ability to grasp things and do manual work with all four limbs. That’s why many Soldar are used as maintenance workers. They have an uncanny ability with all things mechanical.

  And they obey orders without question. They’ve been conditioned to.

  Kordolians took over their planet in the days of Emperor Ilhan.

  I should know. I was there.

  “I apologize, General Akkadian.” He bows again, speaking perfect Kordolian. I wave off the gesture in irritation, indicating for him to sit. I order another cup of hot elixir and present it to him. He mumbles profuse words of thanks.

  “So what brings you to my chambers, Syrak? Urgent news, I expect.”

  “The Prince asked me to send word. The High Council are unhappy with your recent defiance, and they’re uncomfortable with the direction you’re taking. They want to regain control of the military. Rumors are a secret Kill Order has been placed on you. They won’t announce it publicly, of course. You’re too much of a talisman for the people.”

  I shrug. The news is of no real surprise to me. I’ve always made the Nobles uncomfortable, even more so ever since Emperor Ilhan promoted me to the rank of General. I suspect they’ve been plotting my downfall for years. “And where is Xalikian now?” The Wild Prince, unpredictable and unconventional, had always been a great disappointment to his parents. Of late, he’s been absent from the civilized zones of Kythia.

  Very few actually know where he’s been hiding.

  “Prince Xalikian has gone deep into the Vaal,” Syrak replies, sipping his elixir. “He urges you to be mindful of your own safety. They may send an assassin after you. And the Human.” Syrak pauses, staring into his drink. His hand is trembling slightly. He shouldn’t stay here for too long. “Prince Xalikian also wishes to arrange a meeting in a secure place of your choosing.”

  “I’m not so easy to kill, Syrak.” I turn and walk over to the internal delivery chute. “And as for the Prince, I will find him.” I punch the panel beside the delivery chute. It crumples, sending out a shower of blue sparks. It startles Syrak, and he almost spills his beverage.

  “My delivery chute malfunctioned,” I say nonchalantly, as he gets to his feet. “I’ve put in a maintenance request. You’ve been sent to fix it, haven’t you?”

  “O-of course, General.”

  “Well, you’ve done a preliminary inspection. Go fetch your repairbots and sort it out.”

  “Uh, yes Sir.” It’s as if a light goes on in his pale blue eyes. Now that he’s been given a legitimate excuse to be here, he scurries off, leaving the half-finished cup of elixir.

  The Soldar may act subservient, but they’ve become an invaluable network of intelligence for Prince Xalikian. In exchange, he’s promised them their freedom when he succeeds the throne.

  Most Kordolians would think that an outrageous deal.

  But like me, the Prince isn’t a typical Kordolian.

  Kythian society considers many of his ideas extreme. He’s been ridiculed and discredited for most of his mature life. Ilhan is to blame. He raised Xalikian a certain way, and it’s backfired. Or turned out for the best, depending on one’s perspective.

  As Syrak leaves, I open the comm holoscreen. A familiar face fills the screen. It’s Keron, the young recruit I encountered earlier. “General!” He looks around nervously, as if to locate his superior.

  “Keron,” I snap, not wanting to waste time. “Send a message to all the Commanders on the Fleet Station. They are to assemble in the Command Room in one half-phase.”

  “Uh, yes Sir. Anything else for me to do?”

  “That’s all for now, Keron.” I flick the screen off.

  Whether by design or not, the inevitable has just been set in motion. The High Council will try to kill me and replace me. The appearance of the Human and my actions before them have become the catalyst for treachery.

  But they will have a hard time removing me.

  When they sanctioned those experiments on me, so many orbits ago, they never foresaw that I would become a monster they were unable to control. They nearly killed me then. But I’ve exceeded all expectations. I have the First Division and half of the Kordolian fleet under my command. And I have virulent black nanites fused to my genome. They will not kill me so easily. Especially once I go to ground.

  I also have a female in my possession. She’s perplexing and fearless. She’s far from stupid.

  She’s an odd blessing. She cures me of the rage, the pent-up frustration and the unbearable headaches.

  Humans certainly have their own way of going about things. I’m starting to appreciate her bluntness, that odd blend of cynicism and innocence that only she can bring to a situation.

  They will not have her. I’ve decided I need her. For my sanity.

  Regardless of what she believes, she is mine.

  Abbey

  I ditch the dress uniform, because it’s starting to become a little stiff and itchy. And it’s adding to the feeling of being restricted and cooped up in a small, dark space.

  Seriously, what the hell am I doing?

  The biomeric plant on Fortuna Tau is broken, and the station is possibly being overrun by giant, presumably flesh-eating insectoid monsters. At least Tarak left the rest of the Kordolian soldiers behind to take care of things.

  I should be figuring out how to steal a Kordolian cruiser so I can get back to Earth or at least make it to a friendly sector.

  But a few things have become clear.

  One, the General doesn’t want me to go anywhere.

  Two, these Kordolians are scary motherfuckers.

  Three, I’m not a fighter. The nanograft thing has made me into a fast runner, but I don’t know my way around a weapon to save my life. I don’t know if I can even kill someone, even if that someone is an evil alien.

  And I seem to be under the protection of the one Kordolian who can keep the wolves at bay. The General is one tough bastard.

  I grab the sheets from the bed-pod thing and move over to the door, pressing my ear against it. But the stupid thing is soundproof. I can’t hear what’s going on out there. And even if I could, they’d probably be speaking Kordolian, so what’s the point?

  I sigh, trying not to let the dark walls and dim lights of the windowless pod bother me. Instead, I grab the box of delectable Veronian treats. I pop another into my mouth and get a different flavor. Like the other one, it’s complex and fragrant. The closest thing I can think of is rosewater and spice.

  These Veronians, whoever they are, sure know what’s up. It kind of makes me want to go there, wherever their planet is.


  If I ever get back to Earth, I’ll sure have a story to tell. I could go to one of those celebrity gossip networks and get a big payout. I can just see the headlines now:

  My Forbidden Adventure: Encounter with a Kordolian Sex God

  I snort. It sounds like a good title for a smut novel. But I’m still coming to grips with the fact that Tarak was a virgin before he made love to me. And there he was answering all my questions as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  There’s one little detail I didn’t reveal to him. I’m no saint. I’ve been with guys before. I’ve had my share of flings, pyrrhic break-ups and one-night stands. At one point or another, they all said the same thing about me. Apparently, I’m a commitment-phobe, whatever that means.

  So I’ve had sex before. Lots of it. But he’s the first one to ever make me come.

  He had me dancing at his fingertips, playing me like an instrument. And boy did I orgasm. It felt so fucking good.

  There’s no way I’m going to tell him that. I don’t want him to get all big-headed over it.

  He’s arrogant enough as it is.

  Urgh. What am I going to do? I pop another bliss-cube in my mouth and settle into the bed, my head full of conflicting thoughts as a riot of flavors blossoms in my mouth.

  My limbs grow heavy, and the food settles in my belly, making me feel relaxed.

  Those bite-sized sweets are deceptive. They’re surprisingly filling.

  I close my eyes, just for a moment, enjoying being warm and safe in this sealed little room. It’s strangely reassuring, knowing that he’s just outside the door.

  I must have fallen asleep for a while, because I open my eyes to the sound of faint rustling.

  Tarak is standing before me, watching me.

  “Hey.” I stretch, luxuriating in the soft, warm sheets that carry his scent. How long was I out for?

  “You slept,” he remarks, going into his little wardrobe. He’s carrying some large packages. Curious, I let the bedsheets slip and follow him, deciding to do the Kordolian thing and walk around in my birthday suit.

  His gaze roams over my body appreciatively as I approach, his crimson eyes darkening with hunger. That look sends a funny little thrill through me. Big Bad can’t take his eyes off me. It’s strangely empowering.

  He’s pulling something out of one of the packages. It’s a big, white, furry, er, thing.

  He thrusts it at me. “Try it.”

  “This?” I take the thing into my arms and realize it’s a coat. A huge, furry coat. It’s impossibly soft and warm. It’s like those ridiculous old-fashioned fur coats we Humans used to wear back in the twentieth century.

  Of course, using animal fur for clothing is unheard of these days.

  I slip my arms into the sleeves, pulling it around me. It fits perfectly, even down to the length, sitting at about mid-calf. It’s more decadent than any garment I’ve ever owned. It has a hood attached. Tarak lifts the hood over my short hair.

  It flops over my face. I’m sure it conceals my features.

  I push it back, astonished. “What’s this?”

  “Szkazajik fur. I had it altered for your height.”

  “O-okay.” I don’t know what the hell a Skaz-whatever is, but this coat sure feels nice to wear. It’s cosy and warm. “Are we going somewhere?”

  “I have business on Kythia.” He passes me a few other things. There are stretchy black garments that seem to be made of some kind of thermal fabric. There’s a pair of long boots that go up to my knees. They’re made from some leathery or synthetic type of material. They look flexible but durable at the same time. “These are custom made,” he growls. “It’s hard to find anything in your size.”

  There’s a pair of goggles and a scarf-like thing for my face. “These will help you see in the dark.”

  A little pile of stuff is forming in my arms. I stare at it for a moment, bemused. It’s enough for an Antarctic expedition.

  “Kythia is cold,” Tarak continues, “and Humans are vulnerable to cold.”

  “So I take it I’m going with you?”

  “Of course. After what happened, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “Oh.” I’m dismayed, yet at the same time thrilled. There’s been no mention of returning to Earth yet. Instead we’re traveling to the surface of a harsh, hostile planet, where they don’t even have the equivalent of a sun. I have no idea what lies in store for me there. Great. Talk about getting sidetracked from the goal.

  But as dark and scary as Kythia looks, I’m curious. As long as Tarak sticks to his word and keeps the other nasty Kordolians away, I should be safe, right?

  “Promise you’ll keep the mad scientists away?”

  “Any who dares touch you is dead,” he growls, with a flash of his fangs.

  Ooh.

  I guess we’re going to Kythia, then.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Abbey

  I squirm in my seat, becoming restless. We’ve been waiting here for what seems like hours, suspended in orbit just above Kythia.

  The river-like network of blue lights stretching across the surface of the Dark Planet winks back at us, mysterious and seductive.

  I still don’t really understand what the General’s objective is. Since we left the Fleet Station, we’ve done nothing except sit in this small two-person sized transport, watching a stream of traffic through the navigation window. It’s been fascinating, actually. I feel as if the entire universe wants to get to Kythia. There are all kinds of craft drifting past; space vehicles of the like I’ve never seen before are heading for the planet. There are large cargo freighters and small, private transports. Some of the craft look sleek and modern, while others look as if they’re barely holding together. Some are oddly shaped and don’t even look like spacecraft at all.

  They’re all entering Kythia’s atmosphere, heading for the blue lights below.

  “So let me get this straight.” I turn to face him, swiveling my seat around. “You don’t want to enter Kythia using a military vessel, because this is some sort of unofficial business, and you don’t want to be noticed.”

  Tarak wears his usual expression of mild irritation. “We are waiting for the right moment,” he says slowly, as if explaining to a child. I roll my eyes. As if that tells me anything.

  All he’s told me is that he needs to go to Kythia for something important. And because I’m a rare being in these parts; the only Human this side of the galaxy, every Kordolian wants a piece of me. Literally. So Tarak is refusing to let me out of his sight.

  Hence why I’m stuck here in this tiny cruiser, watching the Kordolian version of rush hour.

  Still, I could think of worse places to be.

  Say, strapped to a dissection table, or imprisoned somewhere.

  Tarak’s reclining in the pilot’s seat, sharpening a small blade of some sort. It’s black, like just about everything he owns. The obsidian blade gleams wickedly in the pale starlight. He’s sharpening it on a small metal object with slow, methodical strokes.

  The way he does it is almost reverent, as if the blade is somehow sacred.

  He inspects it for imperfections, then pops it back in its sheath. It’s all a little bit obsessive-compulsive.

  Tarak turns to me, holding out the blade, hilt first. “Take it,” he says.

  “You want me to have this?” I stare at the sheathed weapon. It’s compact and deadly looking. Ooh, a strange, alien dagger. Just what I’ve always wanted. How sweet of him.

  “One should always carry a weapon. What happened to you on the Fleet Station was unacceptable. You need to be able to defend yourself. When we reach Kythia, I will teach you how to use a plasma gun.”

  My first instinct is to wave the knife away. I’m not a fighter. I’m good at running away from things, and climbing, and jumping, and perhaps kicking a guy in the nuts if he steps out of line, but I’ve never seriously hurt anyone in my life.

  I don’t know if I could stab someone.


  But I’ve landed in the midst of an evil alien Empire, and I’m surrounded by potential enemies. Common sense prevails. I take the knife. Even though I’ve got the General backing me up, you just never know when such a thing might come in handy.

  It’s surprisingly light. I wrap my fingers around the hilt, testing its weight. It feels good in my hand.

  Tarak grunts in approval, reaching over to adjust my fingers. “Hold it like this.” His large, rough hand wraps around mine, moving my hand so I hold the knife in a more solid grip. “When you use it, move your arm like this, and twist.”

  He goes through the motion with me, gripping my forearm. His touch is firm but gentle. It feels good. Familiar. A warm little shiver courses through me, and I let out a small sigh.

  Only Tarak could make the act of teaching a person how to stab someone seem romantic.

  When I think about it, the intent behind the move is quite chilling. I don’t know whether I could twist the knife, once it’s in.

  “Now, try it on your own.”

  “Like this?” I copy the movement half-heartedly.

  “Put some force behind it,” he urges.

  I do it again, with a bit more effort. I try to imagine there’s a bad guy in front of me, visualizing that creepy Kordolian scientist who had me strapped to a table. I bet he was going to harvest my organs. He seemed the type. He had that psycho-stalker look about him.

  Asshole.

  “Good,” Tarak murmurs. “That is the correct way.” Despite myself, I feel a little rush of satisfaction at his nod of approval.

  I stash the sheathed knife away in a little pocket at my thigh. I’m wearing the clothes Tarak got for me; warm, black, stretchy garments that seem to fit perfectly, moulding to my curves. They’ve got pockets hidden at strategic spots all over them. There’s also a light silver jacket that goes over the top. It’s got a strange closure at the front; when I put it together the whole thing just magically zips up and becomes seamless.

  The decadent, white Skaz-whatever fur coat he got me is draped over the back of my seat.