Page 20 of Kidnapped By the Alien Chieftain

The noise of the slap seems to have awoken Astraxius from his reading. “Oh, greetings, Rocks, I did not notice you come in.” He glances around the room quickly. “You two still haven’t left yet?” He sighs, gawking between Xandor and me.

“Hello again, Astraxius,” she says, waving and smiling sweetly, far too sweet for the old grump.

“I was about to say, Pebbles, you’ll have the charming Astraxius to keep you company while I’m away.” I smile at her. “Try not to bore her to death, Astraxius.” I turn my head, smirking at him.

“Yes, an almost illiterate barbarian who bashes stuff over the head for a living would be a tough act to follow,” he quips, smiling.

Xandor and I explode into laughter, which soon infects Astraxius, who begins chuckling. Pebbles glances at everyone, looking so confused.

“Very good, old one.” I wipe the moisture from my eyes. “Please watch over her.”

“It’ll be my pleasure. Take care out there, warriors,” Astraxius says, his face showing concern while saluting.

I take Pebbles’ tiny hands in my own. “I must go now, beautiful Pebbles. Please don’t worry. I won’t be gone long.” I give her a light squeeze. Feeling her softness against my skin, I lean down to kiss her full lips. They open, allowing my tongue to slip in greedily, searching her sweet, warm, wet mouth. Our tongues meet, caressing each other while our lips simultaneously massage each other. My heart thumps in my chest, hungry for more than I can have right now.

Xandor whistles loudly.

Breaking the kiss, I say, “I’ll come back for you, and we can get you home safe.”

“You better,” Pebbles says, smiling, looking up beneath her eyelashes.

Pebbles, Astraxius and the others move to leave the docking hatch back into the ship, leaving Xandor, Logarn, Traxios and me. Eager to get to this over with, I activate the docking hatch as soon as everyone else has left the room. The massively thick doors slide open, protesting with the grinding sound of metal on metal as it does so.

I lead the way down the ramp. The station’s docking bays are huge, built hundreds or maybe thousands of years ago to allow enormous transport ships to ferry off mined Elerium or cored out asteroid rock. It is tall and wide enough to fit my ship many times over. Walking in such a place feels like you are in a huge cavern underground, our footsteps echoing ominously with each step as we make our way towards the dock’s exit.

As I open the docking bay door, a dozen males of various alien species wearing black trousers and shirts greet us, with red colored plated boots, vests and helmets. Each of them bears a patch on their arm depicting a roaring beast in red. They all have some basic ballistic carbine weapon pointed in our direction.Looks like the Crimson Beasts are the ones in control of the station, for now at least.

“Don’t make any sudden moves!” says the gray skinned Argorian. He is presumably their leader because of his helmet having a winged portion. “Walk through the scanning gate.” I look amongst the other three to see their reaction. “If you don’t like it, you can fly the void off.”

My muscles tense. The Crimson Beasts are standing far enough back. It would be unlikely we could reach them before they killed us at range first. I shrug and begin walking towards the door shaped opening in the middle of the room. I must duck my head in under to pass through it.

A curse escapes the lips of the Argorian leader, his voice barely above a whisper. “Monstrous abominations,” he hisses.

As I step through the gateway, a flickering blue light envelops me, casting an ethereal glow over my surroundings. “Now the rest of you,” the leader barks. His gaze locks intently on the console before him.

Xandor, Logarn, and Traxios stride through the gateway in single file, their every move tracked by the ominous barrels of the Crimson Beast’s weapons. A hush falls over the scene asour two groups lock eyes, each sizing up the other for any hint of aggression. After a tense moment, the Crimson Beast leader speaks, his gaze fixed on his fellows. “They’re unarmed, clad only in their robes,” he mutters, glancing briefly at his console. “Stand down.” With a collective sigh, the Crimson Beasts reluctantly lower their weapons, their relief at the de-escalation of the situation palpable.

“Access granted… My boss has a proposition for you, if you’re in the market for some mercenary work,” the leader announces, already making his way towards the exit with his men in tow. “Just ask for Javik, and someone will set you on the right path.” His parting words hang heavy in the air, hinting at the dangerous yet thrilling opportunities that await us within the murky depths of the station.

A smug grin creeps across Xandor’s face as he interjects, “Told you they were pissing themselves.”

“Javik could be a viable option, but I’m not keen on getting tangled up in the sordid politics of this cesspool.” With those words, I make my way towards the exit. “I know a barman at the Solarstorm. He may still be there and could help point us in the right direction.” The prospect of finding a reliable guide amidst the lawless chaos of the station is the best option.

As the exit door creaks open, it unleashes the full horror of the Terminus Exile Station upon me. A noxious stench, reminiscent of rotting refuse, assails my senses, threatening to overpower me. The recycled oxygen is thick and humid, almost tangible in its clammy texture, seeming to cling to my skin like a malevolent entity seeking to infect all it touches.

The bustling docking area of the station is a chaotic scene, teeming with a sea of desperate souls in tattered clothing. They swarm around any passing ship, beseeching its crew with a barrage of offers, credits, labor, even their own bodies, all in exchange for a way off the forsaken station.

The station sprawls out before me, a vast expanse of open space stretching upward to a distant ceiling. Its interior is bathed in a dim, almost oppressive gloom, illuminated only by flickering, lackluster lights. The makeshift dwellings scattered throughout the space are haphazardly constructed from flimsy sheets of metal, their fragile exteriors offering little protection against the harsh reality outside.

Amidst the tight, narrow streets, heaps of uncollected waste and debris formed unsightly mounds. The station gangs have defaced the walls and buildings with graffiti, each mark serving as a bold proclamation of territory. Disheveled addicts, lost to the haze of Scoomer, a potent yet perilous drug, lie strewn about amongst the refuse, their tattered forms a sad testament to the harshness of life on the station.

Leading the way with unwavering determination, I navigate the labyrinthine alleys towards the Solarstorm bar, relying on my memory to guide us through the treacherous terrain. Suddenly, a half-starved Jungarian male, eyes massively dilated with constant Scoomer abuse, appears before us, desperation etched on his face. “Please take me with you.” My heartstrings tug at the pitiful sight, yet I know better than to let compassion cloud my judgment in this cutthroat environment. Ignoring his pleas, I forge ahead, my resolve hardening with each step. This wretched sewer of a station is an abomination, a blight on the very fabric of the universe. And I swear under my breath, vowing never to return to this wretched place.

At long last, we arrive at our destination, a huge metal edifice nestled in the darkest corners of the labyrinthine alleys. The flickering neon yellow lights above the entrance, spelling out the word Solarstorm, offers little reassurance of safety in this forsaken place. Gunshots and explosions echo in the distance, a constant reminder of the perilous nature of our task. As I approach, I notice several bedraggled figures scattered about thebuilding, their haggard appearances a testament to the ravages of addiction and despair. One of them slurs his words, offering us a dose of Grade A Scoomer. The graffiti-laden walls bear witness to the frequent eruptions of violence that plague this accursed station, pockmarked with bullet holes and the scars of a thousand fights. With a deep breath, I push open the creaking metal door and step into the fray.

A thick haze of smoke envelops me, carrying with it the pungent scent of various alien species’ tobacco and pipes. The patrons, a motley crew of creatures from distant planets, cluster around tables, engaging in intense card games and lively betting. Some hold mugs of frothy drinks, while others puff on ornate pipes. Over the cacophony of raucous laughter and animated chatter, a faint melody hums in the background, lending a surreal quality to the atmosphere. And amidst it all, huddled figures whisper conspiratorially, their secrets hidden in the smoky mist.

As I scan the bustling bar, my eyes lock onto a familiar figure behind the counter. Briegs the Argorian, my old friend. He looks harried in his dirty white apron and black overalls, his spikey head ridges and ears jutting out from his gray skin. But it’s the milky white eyes that give away his true exhaustion. I make a beeline for him, aware of the gazes that follow me. After all, Klendathians like me are a rare sight, and our towering size always draws attention. As I approach Briegs, I can feel the curious stares of the patrons boring into my back.

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