Page 18 of Torn from the Alien Commander

Tyrxie

Presence

My heart pounds inmy chest as I side-eye the weapon, floating tantalizingly close. If I appear too eager, the watchful Thalaxia will become suspicious. “Ah, good, my wrist console!” I feign excitement, attempting to draw her attention away.

I rush over, grabbing my wrist console, while stealing glances at the floating pistol. With a gentle bob, it hangs, flaunting my crime before Nebian law enforcement. But I remain calm against the stomach-churning suspense. Wrapping my wrist console around my aching left arm, a notification catches my attention. Opening it, I splutter with such loudness, Quad would be jealous. Written on the display is a receipt of payment for five hundred thousand credits from Kaanus. I blink at the devicein stunned disbelief, an incredible glowing number I scarcely believe.

Kaanus must’ve transferred this to me after Xandor carried me away.

“Is everything in order?” Thalaxia inquires, her orange eyes watching and judging.

“Yep,” I blurt out, struggling to contain my surprise... and relief. “Everything’s very ordered.” I beam. Distracted by elation, I make quick work gathering my damning pistol and other weapons, nestling them all back to their homes.

As I’m tucking my small knife into my ankle strap, Thalaxia interrupts. “Wait!” she declares, crushing my elation with an icy grip of terror. I glance up from my kneeling position, my eyes drawn to the alluring exit. “Why do you carry so many knives?” she inquires, and I’m able to breathe again.

I straighten, a ton of weight lifting from my shoulders. “Oh, they’re handy for stubborn maintenance jobs,” I jest with a casual shrug.

And dangerous males.

“Is that so?” Thalaxia asks, frowning. “You’re a strange lass,” she declares with a shake of her head.

“The feeling’s mutual.” I smile at her, driven by a surge of relief and excitement that I stand on the verge of freedom with the wealth to guarantee it.

I thumb my locket more to calm myself than to ease fear as Thalaxia turns, beckoning me to follow her towards the exit. As we approach the translucent material, I see no mechanism to open the door. Gasping in wonder, I watch Thalaxia step through the undulating, warping shielded hologram. Extra glad I have credits now. I doubt I’d ever get a job maintaining this advanced tech with my limited understanding.

Stepping out of the wavey shield, a sudden rush of noise and strange smells assail my senses. Amazed, I watch the dartingoval vehicles skim above the streets as numerous as the stars. The orange and blue suns beam down on us and the air, while cleaner than on the Mutalisk’s Hammer, carries a dry heat that already threatens to make me sweat.

We march down the broad, clean street, paved in simple brown brick. Buildings loom large, lining both sides of the street with large oval windows and sweeping tops. A few orb-shaped drones buzz through the roads, performing cleaning and maintenance. A little further on, I pass Nebians noting their grim faces, with eyes darting to the sky as if expecting some catastrophe to befall them. When their gaze falls on me, they stare with open-mouthed wonder, making me nervous.

“We don’t receive many visitors nowadays,” Thalaxia says, noticing my unease. “Especially pretty lassies like you,” she adds.

Am I really that pretty? They must think I’m strange looking.

A little further, a massive gun placement almost as tall and wide as the buildings juts out, pointed towards orbit. It gleams with a menacing black exterior and an undercarriage that glows a soft red—a giant version of my secret laser pistol. I grimace looking at it, knowing a cannon similar to this one blew the Mutalisk’s Hammer to pieces.

Glowing holographic projections high into the brown-tinted sky show more signs of the war, displaying advertisements of gleaming armored suits, crushing hordes of drones and monstrous twisted versions of Klendathians. It ends with the cockpits opening to reveal proud heroic Nebians bowing their heads, with a call to join their armed forces.

“I used to be a fashion designer, if you can believe it,” Thalaxia chimes in beside me, and I realize I’ve been standing still, observing the projection. “But what’s the point of fashion if everyone’s dead? So, I signed up.”

“You’re very brave,” I reply, feeling a fraction of the chilling weight the Nebians must carry, as my stomach churns, driven by the sudden urge to not linger on Nebia too long.

Thalaxia scoffs, “Brave would be fighting on the front lines on Argon Six. Not stuck here on the home front,” she adds as a group of Nebian children come rushing into view. They look cute, being so incredibly small. Holding toy weapons, they scream and shout, pretending to blast each other.

“You’d prefer to risk your life facing almost certain death?” I ask, glancing at her determined face.

Thalaxia gives a solemn nod, her gaze shifting to the playing children. “I’d give anything to keep my people safe from the bloody Scythians,” she gestures to other passersby. “All of us would do the same.”

I find a new respect for Thalaxia, admiring her courage and desperate need to fight for others, a concept I’ve only just discovered. “Your people should take the Klendathians’ offer of an alliance seriously. It might be a way out of this,” I suggest, gesturing to the massive projection in the sky.

“Come on,” Thalaxia insists with a frown. “An alliance with the Klendathians?” she scoffs, before continuing, “Have you ever seen them in battle? Savage barbarians that only live to fight and die. Well, I intend to give them the death they desire, mark my words,” she finishes with a fierce sneer.

My heart sinks, thinking of Logarn and Noroth at her mercy. “I’ve fought alongside thesebarbariansagainst the Scythians you hate so much. They are proud, maybe even arrogant, but also honorable.” My eyes drift downwards. “Xandor was a hero. He fought a Mutalisk saving the ship, and saved me from slavery... that was until your people took him from me.” My words trail, carried away by sadness.

Now he’s dead, like Kaanus, like Triandale—victims of a doomed mission to a doomed planet.

Thalaxia’s sneer fades, and she studies me for a moment, her eyes narrowing as if weighing my sincerity. “I’m sorry, Tyrxie,” she offers with a solemn nod. “If my investigation proves the Klendathians came here for peace, then my people have committed a terrible crime. The more we speak, the more I begin to doubt our actions.” She lets out a sigh, adding, “But it’s not up to me to decide. The Consuls will have to make that choice.”

We continue walking in silence for a few moments, the weight of the conversation hanging heavily between us. Then, a blaring siren shatters the quiet. With frantic glances, I search for the source. Thalaxia grabs my aching arm and drags me towards a tunnel entrance that’s just slid open in the street. My heart races as we run, not knowing what’s happening, only noticing the projection in the sky shifting to portray alert messages.

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