Page 53 of Torn from the Alien Commander

“Xandor!” I repeat, my voice growing stronger as I crest the broken machine, averting my gaze from the grisly sight of the Prefect impaled by the huge laser sword. The brutal scene is a disturbing monument to hatred and revenge.

I warned him about his anger!

Upon the rubble, I find Xandor, desperate to heal his wounds before something tragic happens. His skin is a pale red, and his breathing sounds torturous, each gasp a wheezing hiss that twists my stomach with worry. I lay down on the debris, resting his handsome face on my lap, lamenting that once again Xandor’s life teeters on the edge.

I open myself to the surging torrent of emotions swirling inside me—my fear, my love... my anger. Their intensity threatens to pull more tears from my eyes. But as I swell with raw feelings standing at the precipice of whatever Xandor’s strange bond is, there is only a lacking, an absence. My heart blazes green in the void, but it’s only a fraction of a whole, missing his golden love.

“No, I can’t heal you!” I wail, the tears spilling now.He feels so cold, like my soul, without his light.Panic grips my heart, but I’m useless, only able to brush his striking green hair and whisper everything is going to be okay. My soothing words are as much for my sake as for my love’s.

I scan the ruined room, desperate for help, feeling Xandor slipping away with each sickening constricted breath. The Nebians, with their strange clothes and expensive jewelry, emerge from behind damaged towering crystal pillars, others from behind the immense throne. Some of the Nebians have fallen, and small groups rush to help, while others stand wide-eyed in stunned shock.

“Quick, lass, order your soldiers to stand down so we can get help in here!” A thick hand rests on my shoulder. In a flash, I have my hand on my knife, ready to defend my love with my life. As I whirl like a deadly shadow, I halt in shock, seeing the ancient, concerned face of the Imperator, his eyes now shining bright, almost glowing orange like his immense Elerium throne. “Speak into this,” he urges, holding his activated wrist console.

Everything seems hazy, my mind muddled by all the chaos, but I find my words. “What about the alliance?” I whisper, glancing at my fallen Xandor, recalling why he fought with such determination—like a hero from a story, the hero I know he is.

“I can’t commit to anything without seeing the terms. But I promise you, no harm will come to you or your people,” the Imperator says in a strong, hurried voice. He seems like a different person compared to the strange oddity that greeted us initially. “Come on, lass, let us help these people,” he pleads, gesturing to huddled groups of scared faces.

I nod in agreement, more motivated to get aid for Xandor, praying it’s not late. “Um, hello can anyone hear me?” I ask, leaning towards the Imperator’s wrist console. My voice is a faint whisper, feeling surreal, like I’m witnessing the automatic actions of another.

“It’s Tiny... Hello Tiny!” Quad booms, although his voice sounds distant, as if echoing from across a large room. “We bash many tinies. Then they stop!” he adds, sounding disappointed.

If I wasn’t so exhausted and muddled, I’d wince at his words, knowing the Imperator stands beside me, frowning. “Stand down Quad... All of you stand down. The mission’s over.” The words hang in the air, not knowing what fate awaits us, not completely trusting the words of the desperate Nebian leader.

“Ah... fine!” Quad echoes in dissatisfaction.

The Imperator pulls back his arm, giving a warm smile that’s almost obscured by his white beard and drooping eyebrows. “You’ve done the right thing.”

Have I? Then why is my Xandor dying?

The Imperator kneels to inspect Xandor as I watch him with a critical eye, my hand hovering close to my knife. “In all my long years, I’ve never seen anything like it.” He shakes his head before touching the ruined stump of Xandor’s left shoulder.

“Don’t touch him!” I snap like a ferocious animal, my teeth bared.

“Peace, lass!” The Imperator raises pleading hands. “I only mean to check his wounds.”

“His wounds?” I scoff, my heart filled with boiling venom. “You mean the mutation and torture you bastards inflicted on him? He only came to ask for peace, and your people did this to him!” I add, my bitter hatred oozing from every pore. “You killed our ship, you killed my captain, you tore my Xandor to pieces, and now he dies, having fought to save you and his peace.”

My acrid words hang heavy in the air, amidst the wailing of Nebians and the sound of shifting broken stones. “I had no idea,” the Imperator finally says, his words meaningless and useless to the abyss hollowing out my soul. “I was trapped, bearing witness to myself transforming into a half-mad fool.” His gaze shifts to me, his eyes glowing faintly in the dusty haze. “But you somehow lifted the fog? And he moves like the light.” His expression takes on a look of wonder. “Who are you people?”

“I’m just an Earth girl. Xandor is the hero,” I reply, absently still stroking Xandor’s green hair.

“No, you cured me.” The Imperator raises his voice, taking on a sterner tone. “For too long I’ve languished in madness, but no longer! I’ll get to the bottom of this, I swear to you.”

The sound of gasps and voices lifts my gaze as I see new Nebians streaming into the ruined audience chamber. They stand momentarily stunned, taking in the wreckage, before rushing over to inspect the fallen and injured. “Over here!” The Imperator calls out, beckoning with a hand.

Two Nebians wearing segmented armor with white vertical stripes between the purple rush over. “A Klendathian!” One exclaims, recoiling in shock.

“Heal him, by any means necessary!” The Imperator instructs, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Come now, lass, let the medicido their jobs.” He urges me back, but I resist, shaking my head, grasping for Xandor, never wanting to let go. “Easy now,” he insists, and I relent, knowing it’s for the best, the only option left.

“Scanning and stabilizing,” one of the healers says, kneeling beside Xandor, his labored hissing breaths growing dangerously weaker, twisting my stomach with panic. Small orb-like drones emit from their backpacks, bathing Xandor in green light. The other healer extends a flat device, which hovers like a surface upon the ground.

“Severe barotrauma and extreme fatigue,” the healer announces after the orbs stop scanning.

I cast frantic glances between the three, not knowing how serious Xandor’s injuries are. “What’s barotrauma? Is he going to live?”

“Administering oxygen,” the other healer states, placing a device over Xandor’s mouth. My heart bursts with concern. “Let’s take him back for surgery.”

Surgery?

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