Page 15 of Torn from the Alien Commander

I push the thought aside. Now isn’t the time for tears. I must be strong, I must be clever, if I am to survive and escape this place. A sudden noise breaks the oppressive silence, but this is not a faint sound like the others—it’s the unmistakable patter of footsteps.

Eager I move to the crackling bars, careful not to touch them, as a long shadow stretches along the corridor outside. My heart races, fear gripping me as I wonder what kind of monster is approaching. I’m compelled backwards, as my eyes dart around the scant room, contemplating hiding from the approaching terror. I press my back against the cold, unfeeling wall, the footsteps now close to the cell, the shadow encompassing the entire hallway and my nerves.

Then, to my surprise, a tiny female Nebian with short black hair, drooping orange eyebrows, and a bulbous nose comes into view. “Hello,” she greets with a warm smile.

Yet I feel no warmth, only confused anxiousness. “Um... hello,” I respond cautiously, peering through the bars at the strange intruder.

“Oh, you have natural black hair?” The female asks with excitement. As she speaks, the bars to my cell slide down, leaving me dumbfounded, wondering how she managed the feat without using a console.

And why is she asking me such a strange question?

“Yep, black.” I run a hand through my sheen, dark hair, pondering if it’d be wise to rush past the tiny female, until I remember the horrible collar around my neck. “Listen, just letme go. Okay, I haven’t done anything to you or your people,” I plead.

The Nebian female, clad in sleek brown segmented armor, takes off her helmet—a red feathered crest adorning the top, as she steps into my cell. If I wasn’t so perturbed I’d frown at the strange sight of such a tiny soldier, but I know looking at the laser weapons hoisted at her waist, she could kill me in an instant. “I can’t let you go, lass, not until you answer some questions first.” She smiles, but the cell bars close behind her with an ominous thud.

“But first, let me introduce myself. I’m Curator Thalaxia,” the Nebian female adds with a bow.

My mind races, but I keep my expression neutral. “I’m Tyrxie,” I say, giving the faintest nod of respect.

Could I grab her gun and shot this voiding collar off?

Thalaxia’s piercing orange eyes fixate on me with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. “Your heart rate just spiked. I hope you aren’t planning anything stupid now, lassie?” Her soft voice belies the chilling effect of her words.

I clutch my chest in stunned instinct.How? There must be sensors in this room?Suddenly my situation grows more dire as the walls close in a fraction more.They have me like a backside of a bolt about to shoot into a sun.“Can you blame me? After everything I’ve been through?” I retort with genuine concern.

“Indeed!” Thalaxia switches to jovial in an instant that I find unsettling. “Oh, you are pretty, the delicate nose, the green eyes and natural black hair.” Her red cloak flutters as she approaches, standing before me with a scrutinizing expression. I flinch back under her strange behavior, which reminds me of the predatory males that used to hunt me on the ship.

“Um... thanks,” I stammer, grasping for something, anything to say. “You have nice... feet,” I finish suppressing a wince.

Thalaxia lets out a deep laugh, surprising considering her diminutive frame. She raises a bushy eyebrow. “Feet?” she inquires, wiggling her armored boots.

I resist the urge to squirm from this strange alien, who dances between friendly and terrifying with unsettling ease. “Yeah, they’re small.” A sudden surge of anger at this ridiculous situation flares hot. “Like my patience,” I add, glaring at the tiny female who’s only chest height. “I don’t see why I’m locked up after your people murdered my Xandor! You bastards killed him and Kaanus for no reason!” I scream, my raw hatred erupts like an unstoppable split hyperdrive engine.

Thalaxia stands frozen, giving no reaction to my outburst, which further unnerves me. Until, under her breath, she whispers Xandor’s name with a grimace. My pulse races at her expression, compelling me to speak. “You know who I’m talking about?” I exclaim, moving closer to the Nebian. “You found him, didn’t you?” I demand, my heart thundering in my chest. Yet she doesn’t answer, appearing lost in thought. Desperation drives me to grasp her shoulders. “Tell me!”

The Curator’s eyes snap to focus, and my collar changes to an orange hue, causing me to gasp. Thalaxia ducks under my outstretched hands. Now I’m unable to move, leaving me to stare in furious disbelief. She brushes her shoulders with casual disregard. “You’re lucky I didn’t set it to punish mode.” She taps a thick finger against her head. “You should really know better than to touch me. I suppose the truly beautiful can’t also be gifted with intellect.”

Impotent fury roars through my veins, but no matter how much I struggle, my body refuses to move. My anger simmers as I watch the Nebian, wondering whatever possessed Xandor to seek an alliance with such heartless people. “If you behave yourself, I’ll allow you to move again,” Thalaxia offers, taking a casual seat on the cot.

With effort, I swallow and halt my pointless struggle. “That’s it. Deep breaths now,” Thalaxia urges with a smile, as I wish for nothing more than to smack this patronizing bitch. But I force my eyes to the corner of the room, attempting to empty my thoughts. “Good.” Thalaxia nods and I stumble forward, suddenly released.

The collar glows green again and I breathe a sigh of relief, taking unsteady steps to sit on the toilet. My stomach heaves and I fear I might throw up. The horrifying sensation of losing control of my body, being at the total mercy of another, almost overwhelms me.

But Thalaxia shows no concern. She watches with laser focus, unmoved, as if I’m just one of thousands she’s questioned. “Tell me why you came to Nebia?” She asks, crossing her stubby legs and arms.

“Mercenary ship. Mutalisk’s hammer,” I struggle to speak, racked by sporadic dry retching. “A mission to deliver the Klendathians here so they could negotiate an alliance,” I scoff at the bitter irony. “But you killed their leader.”

My poor Xandor, please forgive me.

“Interesting,” Thalaxia muses, placing a hand under her chin. “Fortunately for you, your vitals show no hint of a lie,” she adds with a pointed finger and sneer, “But maybe you’re accustomed to lying?” she challenges.

I frown at her from a bent position. “Believe whatever you want. I’m past caring.”

“Oh, don’t go cold on me now, pretty lass. We’re just getting started,” Thalaxia replies with an infuriating smile. “Where are you from?”

Such a deceptively complex question.

Hours pass under the scrutinizing gaze and probing questions from Curator Thalaxia. I end up revealing half my life story: being taken from Earth, living aboard the Mutalisk’s Hammer,my duties onboard, the problems I faced. She shows special interest from the time Xandor and the others boarded, asking who gave them their orders and which clan they’re from, which to my shame I can’t recall.

---