Page 6 of Saving the Alien Chieftain

“You have my gratitude, brave warriors, for rescuing us from that accursed Tensin Naxsus,” Farangis hisses. “Every day a living hell. Every day I prayed for release.” She raises her head, gazing up at the ceiling. “God answered. Now I can return to Nu’ware.” She swiftly inputs something into her console. “Here, contact information should you need to reach my people.”

I notice Znat as she trembles slightly, her large jet-black eyes gleaming with uncertainty as she peers down at her three fingered delicate hands. I lean in, my curiosity piqued. “What about you, Znat? What’s your next move?”

“Zelana…” Her voice, barely a whisper. “My names… Zelana.” Her eyes meet my own. “I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t even know where I came from.” Her eyes drop to focus on her hands again.

“Why not stay and work in one of the pleasure houses here? A good-looking female like you would earn a fortune!” Xandor interjects like he’s just solved all the world’s problems.

My retort slices through the air, laced with more intensity than I intended. “Xandor, I think the last thing Zelana needs right now is more creepy men touching her.”

“I’m not creepy.” Unfazed, Xandor shrugs off my rebuke.

Zelana’s voice wavers, her eyes shimmering with unspoken pain. “I just want to be left alone,” she confesses, a hint of desperation in her gaze. “You intend to live somewhere quiet. Somewhere peaceful? Can I come live wherever that is?” Her gaze shifts between Krogoth and me, pleading for an answer.

Looking at Krogoth, anticipation hangs in the air. Krogoth’s eyes meet mine, and I give a quiet nod, a silent exchange of understanding. “Very well,” he decides, his voice carrying an airof finality. “I shall arrange for one of the Draxxi houses to be readied for you.” Swiftly, Krogoth manipulates his wrist console, solidifying Zelana’s fate. A rush of relief washes over me, hopeful that Klendathor will offer Zelana the respite she yearns for.

Xandor’s grin widens, his eyes gleaming like molten gold in the dancing firelight. He leans in closer to Felixus, a glint of mischief in his gaze. “What about you, short stuff?” he teases.

“Getting away from you for a start,” Felixus retorts sharply. He pauses, the tension in the air dissipating. “But lads, thanks for rescuing me from the Whores Orphans. I won’t forget it.” He turns to Krogoth, a look of solemn gratitude in his eyes. “The tweaks you wanted? They’re waiting for you in the lab back on the ship. As for what’s next, I’ll be catching the next available vessel back to my home planet.” He finishes with a nod of respect towards the three Klendathians.

A diminutive Klendathian attendant arrives, bearing an array of exotic dishes and vibrant concoctions. My attention is immediately drawn to the extravagant glass containing the Stardust Sunrise. Its hues of swirling blues, purples, and greens seem to emit a subtle, ethereal glow.This stuff looks like it could fuel a nuclear reactor!

As I reach for the glass, ready to take a sip, Krogoth places a reassuring hand on my arm. He rises, hoisting a massive tankard filled with a dark, frothy brew. “Honor to the fallen,” he intones, raising the pitcher to his lips and drinking deeply. I observe Xandor and Logarn following suit, echoing the sentiment in unison. Even Felixus, unusually nonchalant, joins the ritual, offering his own gruff salute. “Honor to the fallen,” he mutters before downing his drink. The three women and I follow suit, our voices echoing with less fervor than Krogoth’s.

I take a sip of the mysterious alien concoction, its flavors exploding in a sweet burst of fruitiness. Each flavor dances across my tongue, an exotic taste I could never fathom back onEarth. There’s also a hefty kick of what I hope is alcohol, too.A few of these and Krogoth will be carrying me out of here!

Krogoth, standing tall and radiant, watches me with a smile as I finish my first drink of a Klendathian cocktail. His booming voice echoes through the Last Resort, “Honor to the living.” With fervor. He drains the tankard, slamming the empty container into the table noisily. I can’t help but smile as the same pattern repeats itself, with all the others and myself following suit. Even some of the other patrons join in on the ritual.

As I set down my glass, a playful lightness dances through my senses. Krogoth eases back into his seat, a satisfied glint in his eyes. “Drinking that,” he declares, “makes you an honorary Klendathian.”

A chuckle escapes my lips, tinged with a hint of whimsy. “If only it were that simple,” I remark.

“It is that simple. More Klendathian spirits means more Klendathian,” Krogoth asserts with a hearty laugh, his fingers dancing across the console’s surface. “And because one can never have too much Klendathian spirit, I’ve ordered us another round.”

As the moments meld together in a kaleidoscope of vibrant hues and laughter,probably due to all the Stardust Sunrise’s Krogoth bought me,laughter rings out, transcending worlds. Even Xandor has an arm around Felixus’ shoulder, huddled together, chatting like old buddies. Krogoth continues his mission to make more ‘Klendathian,’ having me try every drink on the menu. Just as I think I can’t take any more, a voice booms from the Last Resorts door.

“Chieftain Krogoth! You must answer before the Council of Elders for your treason!”

Oh no.

Chapter 3

Krogoth

Afterparty

An eerie hush descendsupon the Last Resort as an unexpected presence breaches our sanctuary. A thick voice resonates through the air, creating a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as my fists clench… a voice I’d hoped to never hear again. My gaze is fixated on the entrance as the daunting figure of Zyraxis, an elder from the adversarial Magaxus Clan, reveals himself. His head, clean-shaven, exudes a harsh, commanding presence, while runic, intricate black tattoos cover every inch of him. He stands defiantly blocking the door, an unyielding force flanked by four formidable warriors. At least, I think it’s four. The haze of intoxication distorts my sight.This will mean trouble.

Zyraxis’s eyes blaze like molten embers, reflecting the nearby fire’s fiery glow with a barely restrained intensity. Clan Magaxus and my own Clan Draxxus have always been fierce rivals, dating back to the rebellion led by my father, then High Chieftain, some two hundred years ago. Both the Scythians and the treacherous Magaxus Clan led by Gorexius ultimately defeated my father, crushing our hopes for freedom.

Zyraxis and his warriors cast ominous, flicking shadows as they hastily approach our table. I watch his warriors carefully, trying to gauge their intent. Their armor, a menacing fusion of dark obsidian and specks of fiery crimson, bearing the repugnant hallmark of their clan. Many of the patrons spill their drinks in their haste to leave, sensing the impending storm. I feel only excitement at the challenge. I welcome it.

I rise unsteadily from my chair, mustering a wry smile. “Ah, Zyraxis, I’ll not pretend it’s good to see you. But void it! Why don’t you and your warriors join us in celebration and friendship?” My words flow, though I fight to keep them steady, gesturing toward the vacant seats.

Zyraxis responds with a disdainful snort. “You’re drunk… Why am I not surprised?”

“Cause you’re so smart?” Xandor interjects, slurring, looking at me while laughing hysterically.

Laughter erupts from deep within me, almost to the point of tears, despite my best efforts. The drinks have taken their toll, leaving me in a state of joyful disarray.

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