Page 52 of Uncovered By the Alien Commander

Xandor

Hunt

“Iforgot how voidingannoying Gorglaxian tech is,” I remark, kneeling beside the unconscious Logarn, thankful to see his rhythmic breathing. “Although this is the first time I’ve seen a warrior charge headfirst into a graviton orb,” I add with disdain, shaking my head at the pitiful sight.

Noroth frowns. “Damn youngster, charged in like a hydralith pup, despite my warnings,” he says, peering down at the blond-haired youth. “You think he’ll pull through?”

“It’s not your fault, brother. Our youth are corrupted with bloodlust, as you know,” I reply, removing Logarn’s warvisor and reattaching it to his belt. He appears almost peaceful, with a serene expression at odds with the bloody, gruesome scenesurrounding us. “He’ll be fine,” I declare, delivering a series of gentle slaps to Logarns face. “Wake up, sleepy!”

Logarn stirs, mumbling before his eyes snap open, revealing an ominous, misting brown gaze. My senses tense in anticipation of danger as he lunges for my throat with a clawed hand, his face contorted in a murderous snarl.

With a swift, precise movement, I catch his wrist, halting his mindless attack. “Now, now, we’ve had enough of this,” I declare, locking eyes with Logarn to exert my will over him. He thrashes and grunts, attempting to wrench his arm free, yet my grip remains unbreakable. “Awaken Logarn, come back to us,” I demand.

Logarn’s movements become less frantic, his breathing steadying as consciousness and awareness return, smoothing out the rage on his features. “My apologies, Second Xandor” he says, his voice devoid of emotion save for a hint of pain as he winces.

I release him before raising to my feet, “You took a hit, but you’ll recover,” I inform, offering him a hand up. Logarn runs a hand over the twisted and warped midsection of his arcweave armor, as if he has no recollection of the events that left him in this state. Taking my hand, he hoists himself up, though he stands stooped, clutching his stomach, his injury clear.

With Noroth and Logarn injured. I’ll have to retrieve my warvisor alone.“Mob can fix you up, once Noroth takes you back to the ship,” I suggest to the pair.

Noroth sucks in breath through his teeth. “Mod? You’ll be wishing you feasted with the ancestors soon, rather than be healed by that one,” he replies, moving to support Logarn with an arm around his waist.

I turn my attention to the grisly scene of Felacia and Triandale’s remains, approaching with haste, eager to be away from this place before what passes as security on this stationarrives. Stepping over the torn, bloody bodies and melted surfaces, I find Triandale’s lifeless form lying beside a steaming pile of cooling molten glop.

Such misplaced vengeance drove them to this madness. Only the Gods know how this news will sit with the rest of the Mutalisk Hammer’s crew. But my focus shifts to Triandale’s wrist console, hoping it’ll shed light on the whereabouts of my sacred warvisor. Relief washes over me, examining the recent messages stating another crew member is to bring the ‘savages mask’ to Katarian from the Gorgons Wrath gang.

Another crew member?A sigh escapes my lips at the troubling thought, wondering how deep does this treachery go?It must be the simpleton Quad, manipulated once again by Triandale?But the only thing that matters now is I locate this Katarian on tier three and retrieve my warvisor. Rending bloody vengeance on those responsible, so their agonizing screams serve as a warning to others that dare commit such blasphemy.

Just as I’m about to leave, a small device near the molten goo that was once Felacia catches my eye. excitement floods through me as I recognize Felacia’s tiny laser pistol, knowing this weapon is worth a fortune. The Nebians guard their laser technology as jealously as we Klendathians guard our warvisors. Yet, to my chagrin, the powerful weapon is so tiny, just two of my fingers cover the entire grip, rendering it unusable. I tuck the weapon into my belt, hoping Job can extend the grip, but these concerns can wait for now.

I return to Noroth and Logarn who have moved closer to the empty elevator shaft. “Find anything useful?” Noroth inquires, his broad frame supporting Logarn with ease.

“Yes, a doomed soul called Katarian intends to buy my warvisor from another crew member,” I answer, looking down into the dark abyss of the broken elevator. “Come, we’ll haveto use the stairwell,” I command, striding through the mangled surroundings.

“Another crew member?” Noroth asks, his voice incredulous. “Do you know who?” he adds after a moment.

I shake my head in reply as we begin the tedious journey down the seventy flights of stairs, Noroth and Logarn following behind. “No idea, but whoever it is will regret the day they were born,” I declare, my words dripping with righteous anger.

Our footsteps echo off the stone walls and steps of the eerie stairwell as we continue downward. “I will join you, brother. This sacrilege cannot go unpunished,” Noroth asserts, his voice resolute.

His fierce words of support bolster my spirits. “No, you are to take Logarn back to the ship, in case the Captain means to betray us as well,” I command.

“The Captain?” Noroth grunts with a hint of surprise. “I’d bet credits on Hyanxa. The way the Jungarian spies at me with that fierce look on her face. I don’t know if I should be aroused or terrified,” he finishes with a short laugh.

I chuckle at his words. “Hyanxa may be a vipertail, but she’s loyal to the Captain. She’ll not act unless Kaanus is involved. My credits are on Quad,” I offer, unsure how I’ll confront the Barlyxian if he is the one responsible, considering he’s most likely oblivious to his actions.

Noroth whistles through his smashed nose. “Ah, Quad, that makes sense,” he replies.

We continue down the winding stone stairwell in resolved silence. The only sounds are heavy footfalls and Logarns rasping breaths. My body is tense, my mind alert, not trusting the threat of danger has passed. Each floor we descend, each step taking us further from the brutal scene does little to smooth my stress.

There’s a churning anxiousness gnawing at the back of my mind, like a wyrm burrowing, taking deep root. Yet I fear thesource is not concern with retrieving my warvisor; that thought only stokes my fury and resolve. No, this is a thing born from something more troubling, more insidious. Even to speculate upon it only invites calamity.

But I cannot deny the truth.Tyrxie is the source.I can almost feel her, somewhere below, perhaps on the lowest tier on this station. A strange longing or treacherous tug compels me to hasten my pace. She must be in danger. The only answer for this increased intensity, this realization, twists my heart with concern, concern for a female who fears and loathes me. A sardonic smile crosses my lips at the thought.

The Gods are cruel, to have cursed me so. Yet I dare not refuse them. If this is indeed their will, then so be it. I will face my destiny as a proud Klendathian, with my head held high and fire in my heart.

After descending the winding stairwell for some time, we reach the bottom floor. Already I can hear muffled chanting music and frantic voices coming from the nearby exit. I step through the doorway to emerge into a scene of chaos.

The entrance corridor, once adorned with rich red carpets and ornate black and gold furnishings, now lies in ruin, a dusty, smashed mess. The golden evaluator, having fallen like a meteorite from floor seventy-two, has left the area devastated.

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