Page 68 of Torn from the Alien Commander

“Tasty!” Quad declares, wiping his face to let out an enormous belch. “I’m best cup-drinker!” he adds.

Noroth erupts into laughter as I shake my head, hoping Quad hasn’t poisoned himself. The only good sign is that he spilledthe majority. “That was worth a few credits,” Noroth declares between spurts of laughing. He waves his wrist console over Quad’s.

“Thanks, Squishy!” Quad retorts in joy, checking his payment, his name for Noroth, wiping the smile from his face.

“Squishy? He dishonors me!” Noroth roars, jabbing a meaty finger towards Quad. I recoil at the outburst, the sight of the brutal red-haired Klendathian’s rage filling me with concern for Quad.

“Relax, lover,” Hyanxa purrs, nestling against Noroth, drawing his lumpy face towards her with a delicate caress. “He’s just a dopey idiot. He doesn’t know how hard and strong you are.” She tiptoes and they engage in a noisy kiss.

Hyanxa handled that well.

Fancy-dressed Nebians look aghast, distancing themselves as Xandor watches the display, banging his fist against his chest and cheering. Job’s face is even more disgusted than the Nebians, and he moves further away from the pair, his antennae fluttering.

“Ambassador Xandor!” The Imperator’s voice booms out across the immense, opulent hall, cutting through the loud chatter like Xandor’s laser sword.

Void, did we offend the Nebians?

Xandor leans in to whisper. “Ut oh. I’m in trouble now,” he says with mirth, straightening. I let out a slight chuckle aided by the alcohol, despite feeling anxious at the sudden bellowing Imperator. Xandor steps towards the massive sphere of Elerium that is Bulba the Fourth’s throne with grace and confidence.

An ominous, deafening silence falls as all eyes are on Xandor. The Nebians appear tiny beside him as they scurry away at his advance. “You see that?” the Imperator inquires, pointing at the fleeing Nebians. “This is what breaks my heart.” He shakes his head. “We came together in an alliance, yet I see your people andmine not interacting... Tell me, Ambassador Xandor, how can friendship endure when we remain strangers?”

My heart hammers in my chest, the tension hanging heavy in the air. “A fine question, great Dominus!” Xandor shouts, performing a deep bow before the throne. “First a minor correction—my official title is Warrior of Peace,” he gestures to himself, and I almost groan with exasperation.

The Imperator frowns in displeasure, freezing my blood until he suddenly erupts into laughter. “Warrior of Peace!” He roars, slapping his leg and looking towards his nearby attendees. “A bloody sword the size of my throne on his back—Warrior of Peace!” The Nebians soon follow their leader in laughter, though theirs seems more forced.

“You Klendathians have a wonderful sense of ironic humor. I like it!” He says after a moment, drying tears from his eyes. “Very well, Warrior of Peace Xandor, how do you respond to our little conundrum?”

Xandor stands proud and majestic, his presence dominating the room, displaying total confidence.I love him so much!“Bonds are created through shared experiences, forged in the fires of battle, over drinks, lamenting shared troubles and helping one another overcome tough obstacles.”

“Yes, yes, precisely what I was discussing with Consul Catokar!” the Imperator gestures to a high-collared Nebian beside him, gray-streaked hair and beard, giving him an air of distinguished wisdom. “Look over there.” He points to a far wall adorned with golden tablets inscribed with unknown symbols. “The ancient poetry of Leoxius—a touchstone of enlightened Nebian philosophy. And above.” He raises his gaze to the ceiling, where beautiful murals depict celestial Nebians battling monstrous foes. “The breathtaking artwork of Rufux, created before the days of fabrication. He devoted his entire life to this masterpiece. Can you imagine? Pouring your whole existenceinto a single work? A piece of him resides within those fine brushstrokes. You can almost feel his spirit lingering through this hall.” He shivers for emphasis.

There’s an unsettling intensity in the Imperator’s words, which I hope is just my inexperience with the Nebians. The room remains tensely silent, everyone holding their breath, waiting for his next words.

Xandor smiles, his eye gleaming with understanding. “Oh, I can imagine it. In fact, I walk a similar path, being something of an artist myself.”

“Is that so?” The Imperator’s eyebrow arches, his gaze sharpening. “I believe bonds between peoples are forged through shared cultural admiration of works that inspire and uplift. You are surrounded by our cultural treasures, but what do your people offer in such regards?” he challenges.

Xandor smirks, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to my rising anxiety. “What my people offer you is more precious than the finest poetry, the sweetest music, even rarer than the monstrous sphere of Elerium you sit upon,” he says smoothly, sweeping his arm in a grand arc. “We offer exquisite violence—our bodies, the greatest sculptures; our battle cries, the most elegant poetry; our bloody claws, the master’s brushstrokes. Your survival is our temple of masterpieces.”

The Imperator erupts from his seat, stomping his feet, and the other Nebians follow suit, creating a deafening thumping. Soon, the crowd adds cheering to the mix. I can feel the hairs on my neck stand on end, electrified by the charged atmosphere that shakes the very surroundings. “You are a gift to your people, Xandor the Warrior of Peace. Your words and wit renew my confidence in our great cause,” the Imperator adds with a surprising bow.

“Show us!” Consul Catokar begins to chant, and soon the entire stomping throng joins in.

Xandor laughs, but the crowd drowns his voice out. He gestures towards Noroth and Quad, beckoning them forward. My heart sinks with worry, and I rush to halt Noroth with a hand on his massive arm. “Please don’t hurt, Quad,” I plead, struggling to be heard over the eager crowd.

Noroth’s eyes flick to Quad and back again. “Relax, pretty Tyrxie.” His gaze settles on the lumbering Quad once more. “Just a small lesson in respect for our little friend,” he laughs, cracking his thick knobby knuckles.

His words do little to ease my worries, knowing Noroth has more than one grudge with Quad. The two stand before the Imperator. Noroth resembles a solid ball of red muscles, an intensity almost visible rising from his tense body. Meanwhile, Quad waves his arms, a big grin splitting his face, enjoying the adoration and attention from the cheering crowd.

The crowd has already created space before the Imperator’s throne, leaving only Noroth, Quad, and Xandor. “Oh, a Barlyxian,” The Imperator says, leaning forward to inspect Quad, who appears oblivious as he spins in circles. “Known for their great size and strength. This will be a reenactment of the Scythian-Barlyxian conquest,” he adds with glee, pointing a finger at Quad. “Tell us, Barlyxian fighter, what is your name?”

He’s not a fighter, he just manages the cargo!

“Me?” Quad stops, pointing at himself. “I’m cup-drinker!” He roars with arms raised, expecting applause that never comes. Instead, the audience responds with puzzled looks, epitomized by the Imperator’s deep frown.

“I see the legendary Barlyxian intelligence remains intact!” The Imperator jests, followed by the hooting Nebian crowd. I grimace at the cruel humor, filled with ominous concern for Quad, praying this farce ends quickly.

Quad misconstrues the mocking laughter as approval, smashing his four meaty fists together, “I’m best cup-drinker!” He booms, turning in circles.

---