Page 55 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
Catching her gaze, I nod, and she grins. I step back and continue. “These are your eyes in the sky. If you spot Vortaxian patrols forming—call it in.”
The girl tilts her head, voice steady: “Like birdwatching?”
“Exactly,” I reply. She nods solemnly, and I marvel at how quickly she shifts from polite colonist to wartime scout.
Temperature climbs as the morning sun peers over the rooftops. I lead them through drill layouts: entry ambush, rapid barricade deployment, extraction vector patterns. Their lack of training gives them unpredictability, and we bake it into their methods: metal noise mines buried beneath rubble, sound grenades strapped to lamp posts. They’ll all bear the fruit of rebellion soon.
I pause, taking in their faces: the seamstress-still clutching her knitting needles, the retirees clutching shovel blades repurposed as short swords. It should terrify me—putting non-combatants into conflict—but I feel something else: pride.
“Good,” I say, feeling the roughness in my voice—calloused, weighed with truth. “You’re learning. You’re growing stronger with every loop and shuffle. Today, we carve memories into this colony. Tomorrow, we drive them off our planet.”
Soft laughter drifts from Josie’s side. She’s already disarmed a crabby technician with charm, redirecting him to help tweak the irrigation tubes until they whistle like angry wasps.
My chest hammers. Her brilliance fuels them—and terrifies me. They trust her. Their hearts, swollen with hope, beat louder than any Vortaxian war drum.
In a pause, Josie sidles up, curling an arm through mine. “Hey, killer of impossible,” she murmurs.
I smirk. “Killer, right.” My eyes darken. “You keep doing miracles. I’ll?—”
She cuts me off with a slow grin. “I know you’re scared.”
I stiffen. “I’m not.”
She kisses my shoulder—scorching. “Yes, you are. But that's okay.” She nods toward the children arranging toy drones, their little fingers fumbling over controls with solemn care.
She steers me closer. “You’re doing this because you believe inthem.Not just because you love me.”
Something roars in my gut—terrifying pride. I pull her in. “Aye.”
The children shout—muffled alerts sent through headset comms—and dozens scramble into action. Irrigation catapults rise, cords tangle, dust erupts. The rebels—imperfect, unpredictable—are alive.
I watch them go, thinking of all the wars I’ve waged alone, all the kills that left me hollow. Now, I stand amid hopeful chaos. I let dread curl in my chest only long enough to remind me how high we fly—and how far we could fall.
Then I shake it off and step forward, voice booming: “Remember the plan—ambush points, then regroup at the east ridge. And for the love of everything, keep that drone pilot fed.”
They laugh—whisper-shouting assent. Weapons clang. I watch them go, bounding after freedom like a half-trained pack of wolves.
I turn to Josie; she smiles, fierce and brave. Her leather glove brushes mine. “Loveliest chaos I’ve ever seen,” she says.
I nod. Then resolve steels in my bones. “Let’s go finish this.”
She drags me forward, the children drone-pilots buzzing overhead like dissonant angels. We move toward the ridge, ready to change the world—one makeshift missile at a time.
CHAPTER 14
JOSIE
The night of the assault arrives wrapped in a bone-deep chill that creeps beneath my collar and lingers in my lungs. Frost clings to the edges of the colony’s outer scaffolds like silent witnesses, and every breath I take tastes faintly of iron and engine oil. I secure the final strap on my tech-disguised work uniform, its drab fabric pressing tight against the explosives hidden beneath. The service cart beside me hums softly—loaded with fusion hacks and disruptors disguised beneath panels of diagnostic cable spools and rusted coolant coils. It looks like a repair rig. It’s not.
Dayn passes by without a word, his body moving like shadow poured into flesh, lean and efficient. He pauses long enough to touch the edge of the cart with a callused hand and tilt his chin toward me.
“You ready, Engineer?” he asks, his voice a low scrape of gravel and warmth.
I plant my hands on the cart’s handle and push forward. “Born ready,” I say. Not a single tremor in my fingers. Not tonight.
We split without fanfare. He disappears into the dark with the breach team, and I veer left toward the logistics bay. Thecart squeaks on a bad wheel as I cross onto Vortaxian-controlled decking, just another tired tech with a busted payload and fake credentials. I pass two guards who don’t even lift their heads. Their laziness is a blessing I’ve bet my life on.
The interior corridors are wider than I expected, rimmed with pipes that hiss coolant and lighting strips that flicker at the corners like lazy ghosts. The air smells sterile—burnt ionization, metallic undertones, a faint chemical sweetness from the recycled atmosphere that sticks to my teeth. I keep my head down and my pace slow. The engineering level isn’t far, and my crew is already peeling off, disappearing into side rooms, ducts, maintenance hatches.
