Page 33 of Torn from the Alien Commander

“I think that guard fancied me,” Felixus adds with a soft, muffled chuckle. I’d feel happy for him, if not for the fact we’re sneaking into almost heart-thumping certain death. The sensation of movement continues, and I judge we must be outside despite not an inkling of light straining in, given away by the distant roar of armored suits and sleek ships hovering.

“We’re almost inside now. Keep your wits sharp and your eyes open,” Felixus offers. I frown at his poor choice of words, wishing I could see any voiding thing!

The sound of stomping and whirling mechanical gears becomes louder, perking my ears. “Greetings Felixus. Haven’t seen you bring something that big in a long time,” a male voice amplified through one of their mechanical suits echoes out.

Felixus lets out a heavy sigh. “I know, real disaster, this one, bloody Elerium generator. It’s not easy jigging one of these together on such short notice, let me tell you.”

The male guard laughs. “That’s why I prefer to pilot the tech rather than craft it. Not like I know one end of a hypospanner from the other.”

“Well, we desperately need brave soldiers like you,” Felixus offers, his tone familiar.

The guard scoffs, his voice sounding weird through his suit’s amplification. “Not much longer with those NeuroLinks, right?Call me backwards, but I refuse to get one. The thought of them messing with my brain like that... No, thanks!”

I suppress a groan, growing impatient, agonizing close to rescuing my Xandor. This tiresome interaction reminds me of my childhood when Kaanus dragged me to his boring trade negotiations.

“True, lad, I told them to shove the procedure up their backsides. What’s the point of winning the war at the cost of losing who we are?” Felixus laments, his lack of urgency making my skin tingle with nerves.

He knows what he’s doing, appearing natural.

“Ah, I feel better knowing even the Magister Machinator shares my opinion. I mean, isn’t this the same voiding path the Fallen took?” The guard elicits a sardonic laugh. “We’ll end up corrupted just like them!”

“You’re right, we all know it, but the Consuls can’t see further than their noses,” Felixus retorts with a disapproving tut before adding. “But I must really get going. This generator needs to be sorted right quick. We’ll catch up again soon.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” the guard replies, followed by an immense grinding noise punctuated by a deafening clanging. “Farewell, Felixus.”

“Farewell, Tactiux,” Felixus bids, and the container shifts forward again, prompting me to release a long-held breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

A tense moment passes, and I futilely scan the darkness, desperate to learn anything—only finding the edgy breaths of my companions. My heart races with each step, and my hand instinctively reaches for my locket, rubbing it to stave off hyperventilation.

We must be inside the fortress now.

As if in answer, a loud clang echoes behind us, making my back stiffen. “Tactiux is a good friend, but void, he could talk the ears off a jholock,” Felixus whispers through the container.

They both did their fair share of talking!

“We’re inside now,” Felixus mumbles. The sound of his steadying breath does little to calm my nerves. “Just one more checkpoint.”

The container hovers in a smooth motion as my ears strain to hear any clues about our surroundings. The frequent grinding of heavy doors, the hum of hovering drones, and random greetings from passersby send shudders through me. Each peep, each syllable, a heart pounding threat of being discovered—our lives forfeit, Xandor left to die.

“Please follow the designated path,” a soft robotic voice instructs. The rush of compressed air and the squealing whirl of metal grinding against metal signal our continued journey into the heart of the beast. An eerie silence settles in, broken only by our breathing, the low hum of the hover platform, and my pounding heartbeat.

Suddenly, our container jolts to a stop, forcing me to steady myself. “State your business,” a muffled, gruff male voice demands, devoid of the friendliness of the other guards.

“Greeting, soldiers. I’m here to replace a faulty Elerium generator,” Felixus retorts, slapping the container for emphasis. “I’m a bit late, but I’ll have this place up and running again in no time,” he adds with a chuckle.

“Is that right?” The guard replies, unimpressed. My chest flutters with worry as I hear boots scuffing ground and the thud of someone patting our container. “No one’s allowed past this point without the presence of a Custodiae.”

Felixus scoffs, “Since when?”

“Since the Praetorian Prefect decreed it,” the guard retorts. The sound of his words and boots pacing around our container fills me with unease.

“The Praetorian Prefect?” Felixus tuts. “Last time I checked, this is the Imperator’s palace, and we follow his orders.”

“Hold your tongue, Machinator, if you know what’s good for you,” the guard commands in a dark tone.

“This is ridiculous!” Felixus declares, his voice laced with outrage. “I’ve performed hundreds of repairs and installations beyond those walls. Yet now the Praetorian Prefect deems to prevent me, the Magister Machinator, from performing my rightful duties for the Imperator!”

Void, we’re going to get caught!

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