Page 21 of Torn from the Alien Commander

The engine room!Reinforced due to its critical nature, if I can seal the area, there’s a chance. I struggle to orient myself with frantic need, gripping the gangway wall, which used to be the floor. The ship lurches and shudders from internal cascading explosions. But I pay no heed, dashing with manic haste towards the engine room.

The gangway scorches my hand, and the stream scolds my eyes, but I press on through with gritted teeth, shoving aside the broken debris that bars my path. I arrive at my destination; the engine looms large but silent, the heart of the ship failing to beat—a fate I wish to avoid.

Turning my attention to the thick door that’s now sidewards, I reach out to grab the handle. I wince in sudden agony as my ruined stump slams against it, and my other hand clutches onto the molten hot torment. Yet I endure the pain, resisting the urge to let go, instead gripping harder. It’s awkward at this unnatural angle, but I pull with all my might. My golden fury leaks from my eyes and my muscles grow taut with titanic effort.

With a roar driven by pain and determination, the thick seal door groans in protest, but eventually yields to my strength. It slams shut with such force that I tumble backward. I waste no time laying atop the scalding, shimmering floor, leaping onto the engine, hoping it won’t conduct as much heat.

My sodden hair clings to my neck, and the hazy, simmering air burns my lungs and dries my mouth. But I endure, huddled into a ball, squeezing my eyes shut lest they boil from my skull. The heat and roaring sound of the ship’s entry grow even more intense. It’s almost unbearable, sensing parts of my skin sizzle and crisp, the smell of my cooking flesh reaching my nostrils.

Thank the Gods Tyrxie and the others escaped this agony.

My consciousness wavers amidst the scorching torment and a sardonic thought crosses my mind: would it have been preferable to freeze to death in the void of space? Just as I feel my awareness slipping away, the roaring sound of re-entry and the boiling heat taper off. The timing is so perfect that it feels like a blessed gift from the Gods.

I remain huddled, relieved at the increasing coolness of each breath, each one a mercy. Judging it’s safe, I hop off the engine and open my eyes, blinking through the stinging pain and lingering hot steam. Char has darkened my armor. “I look like a voiding Magaxus,” I rasp through a dry throat and singed lungs.

Embers burn on my shoulder, and I waste no time extinguishing them. To my chagrin, I notice my half cloak has burned away, right down to the golden fasteners.Void not my hair!Panic grips my chest at the thought. I rise a tentative hand, taking a deep breath, fearful of losing my precious hard-won locks.

I run my fingers through my long green hair, likely saved by the sweat that covered it.Thank the Gods!A faint whistling sound tugs at the edges of my hearing, almost inaudible amongst the cacophony. It must be the sound of atmosphere leaking in through the crumpling ship, which means we’re hurtling towards the planet. With haste I tear open the sealed engine room door once again, thankful the handle is no longer as scalding hot.

My heart hammers in my chest, every beat a reminder that I have only moments before countless megatons of deteriorating arcweave reduce me to a smear across a short-stuff city.That is, if they don’t blast this wreckage out of the sky first!I shove the troublesome thought aside—right now, all I can do is try and hope.

With my Rush driving me onward, I arrive at the bridge door, wondering if by some strange twist of fate, Kaanus maysomehow have survived this ordeal. Stepping through the door, I recoil in shock, having almost walked off the voiding ship. I recover my senses, looking out in awe at the former bridge room, which is now just an open expanse. The edges sheared off with clean laser blasts.

Rest in peace, Kaanus. You meet your ancestors having tasted honor.

The roaring wind whips through my hair and cools my scorched flesh as I edge towards the precipice, glancing at the rapidly approaching surface. I wince, seeing no trees, no mountains, just endless city sprawl. How in the void I’m going to survive this imminent collision, and what incredible damage will this crash cause?

Looks like my first act as ambassador to the Nebians will be smashing their planet with a junky version of a meteorite.Too aggressive an opening negotiation tactic, even by my standards!Chances are they’ll execute me on the spot for this catastrophe, but there’s nothing I can do to prevent it, only put one foot in front of the other and pray to the Gods.

The buildings, which appeared as tiny specks, now grow larger and larger as I edge my feet over the expanse. I take a deep breath, settling my nerves as the tempest howls and blusters, urging me backwards. Steadfast, I remain, glancing for any building or outcropping that may break my fall.

Darting shadows cast amidst the brown clouds catch my attention. I shield my eyes from the twin suns, which dazzle my eyes. My pulse races, expecting any moment for the Nebians to evaporate this ship—and me—into red vapor. A cadre of their ships emerge from the clouds, sleek and nimble, typical of the Nebians’ impressive engineering. I recognize them as Starfighters, but we Klendathians often refer to them as Short Hoppers.

The Starfighters dart and weave, quick and effortless like lights reflected in the sky. They race behind the ship, leaving a red vapor trail. I grimace, awaiting the evitable. Until a sudden shuddering jolt reverberates through the hull, almost throwing me off the ship. With my one remaining arm, I grasp the door frame with all my might, resisting the turbulent forces.

The ship groans and shakes as it rotates, becoming reoriented to the correct angle. I make quick adjustments, matching the rotating movements until I find myself once again standing on the gangway. Only then do I notice the shimmering black beam enveloping the hull, denoting the Nebians’ use of a tractor beam. The only times I’d seen them use it were for rescuing their own injured.

Maybe this bodes well?But knowing the Nebians, they’re only doing this to salvage parts and placate their endless curiosity. I remain tense, my mind swirling with possibilities, clinging to the flickering hope that I might live to see my Tyrxie safe and sound. Yet, such hope is an alluring mistress—just as likely to turn bitter and sour, replaced with crushing disappointment.

I notice Nebians stopping to gaze up at the floating wreckage as my eyes are drawn to the streets below. I wave at them, but I don’t think anyone notices me. The ship lowers now, though in a controlled descent. For a fleeting moment, I’m tempted to leap out onto the streets before judging it too dangerous and likely not doing my diplomatic mission any favors.

Soon my destination comes into view: a massive rectangular building unlike the many sweeping, coned-shaped structures surrounding it. As we hover above, the ship pivots, aligning parallel. After a moment, we begin to lower again. The approaching roof remains closed, and I feel a surge of panic until I remember the Nebians’ frequent use of their advanced atmospheric barriers. Passing through the undulating barrier confirms my suspicions as the ship descends without harm.

Now inside the massive expanse of black arcweave, the dim lights make it difficult to see. But my keen eyes already spot the glint of numerous battlesuits hovering below, their laser cannons all directed upward. A sense of unease prompts me to drift my hand towards my warvisor, aware that putting it on will reveal the full extent of the danger and increase my chances of escape. But with an effort, I resist the urge, wanting to appear friendly and compliant for the sake of the mission, for the sake of my people.

The ship jerks with a sudden, violent shake, almost toppling me over as it’s placed on the ground. Righting myself with haste, I find the view disturbing. Dozens of battlesuits loom with menacing intent. “Another Klendathian!” An amplified voice declares the obvious, prompting their searchlights scanners to activate, stinging my eyes in an ocean of blinding green.

Another?They must already have Noroth and Logarn. “Come out slowly with your hands raised!” the battlesuit amplified voice demands, interrupting my thoughts.

Scoffing at the irony, I hop down a few feet through the former bridge, landing on the ground. “I’m a bit short on hands today, friends,” I declare with a raised hand and a smirk.

The Nebians don’t find it funny. Quite the opposite, in fact, as they boost towards me at blazing speed. I could react, fighting back. It’d be suicide, yet my blood boils playing the part of a meek diplomat. Offering no resistance, still they barrel into me, their massive metal frames forcing me prone to the ground.

One digs its huge knee into my back, the crushing force, making my teeth clench as another clasps a glowing device around my neck. The indignity of it fills me with rage and an ominous dread. “Take me to your Consuls. I bring an offer of alliance!” I roar over the whirling servo gears and stomping battlesuits, vaguely aware of others streaming into the wreckage that was once the Mutalisk’s Hammer.

The mysterious collar glows red, bringing a surge of searing agony reverberating through my entire body. I snarl and twist, attempting to escape this torment, but I cannot. It comes from within, like my whole body is host to a raging inferno. Then, as suddenly as it came, it stops. I glance at my body, expecting it to be littered with burn marks, but there are none except those I gained during the ship’s entry into Nebia.

A molten hatred flares within me, burning away my shocked agony as a battlesuit with distinctive red pauldrons stands over me. Its hatch opens to reveal a tiny female Nebian with short black hair, orange eyebrows, framing an ugly sneering face I’d love to slash. “Take you to the Consuls?” she spits. “So, you can murder them, you bloody barbarian?”

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