Page 57 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
A crackle in my comm. Dayn’s voice, low and constant comfort, cuts through the tension: “I’m at the breach point. Time to fly, sunshine.”
My lips twitch into a smile even as my gut clenches tighter. “On my way,” I whisper back, voice hushed to a feather. I wait another breath for the guards to fade into mechanical rhythm. Then I push myself upright against the wall, brushing dust from my uniform and steadying my shaking hands.
I return to the junction and grab my cart, sensing the fire inside each fusion block. The ship's hum kicks back in full volume as corridors come back online; I’m moving against the pulse, timed seconds from mayhem.
Flashes of memory tear through my mind: Dayn’s growl as he held me last night, his vow beneath my hair; the way his claws felt like home. If this fails, if something snaps, maybe it won’t matter—but every second I spend inside feels like burning both my birthright and theirs. I push through guilt and focus on strategy.
Corridor after corridor, I reroute through service halls until I reach the rendezvous node we marked on the map: an unmanned service platform that opens onto the breach tunnel. The hum is louder here, the atmosphere thicker with chargedparticles. My cart bumps over a hidden sensor pad—a warning I’d patched in my code. That part works. I shove it through the bulkhead into the breach conduit and flip the hatch closed behind me.
Inside the stifling rush of recycled air, I jack into the console: override protocols for the maintenance lift, core-open valve release, breach hatch gating. My fingers fly across tactile buttons: access override, sync with Delta team frequencies, unlock conduit doors. A soft cascade of approval clicks through. The hatch opens onto a dark shaft leading directly to the hangar—a one-way street.
I take a breath, gripping the cart’s handle. The ship begins to rumble—the moment I set the timers. I can hear them, a faint ticking overlaid on the hum of reactors that are seconds away from stumbling.
My comm flickers. “Delta says corridor’s clear—moving inward now.”
“Copy that,” I answer. Already, my heart thrums faster.
I press into the conduit and begin the climb toward the rendezvous point. Metal ladder ribs scrape my palms. Each rung is measured, silent. Above, a faint glow from the hangar bleeds through grated panels behind me—our escape route.
Fifteen stairs, ten... seven... my lungs burn. My fingers slip once—but catch. The ship shudders, trembles. A pressure wave passes through the spine. I tighten my grip. We’re destabilizing it.
At the top, I pop through onto the grated catwalk overlooking the hangar. The lights are flickering from our earlier strike, the shadows deep and long. I plant the cart, double-check its position beneath a mechanical conduit. I close my eyes long enough to taste victory—or at least hope.
The rumble grows louder. I climb down the catwalk, ducking into a service hatch near the wall. Lasers flash across the hangaras our people claim positions. I can hear boots on metal, distant shouts in human voices, the Vortaxian alarm wails twisted with panic.
Then, a heavy boom rocks the hangar floor below—my cart’s charges detonating inside the conduit. Sparks rain, cables fuse, and the heavy lights shudder out. Darkness hits like a landing strike, shouts echoing upward. The shutdown momentarily cripples the ship’s systems.
It’s beautiful chaos.
I drop into the hatch and slide down emergency stairs toward Dayn’s signal: “On your location in twenty.”
His words are promise and warmth: “I’ll be there.”
I cough from dust, racing across corridors that flicker with emergency illumination. The night air on the hangar deck hits me like breath after drowning, and I follow the tunnel toward the human side of the lids where Dayn and the team wait.
We come together behind crates—just in time for Delta to explode the final conduit doors and seal the ship’s landing clamps with melting charge. In that moment, the capital ship’s hull shudders, rising ever so slightly. The engines remain off—they limp, grounded by sabotage heaven knows only seconds from liftoff.
Dayn pulls me close, voice quiet except for the human rhyme beneath chaos. “You did it.”
I smile, face streaked with grime and exultation. “We did it.”
He kisses me hard, gratitude and relief and something deeper woven into his taste. I taste metal, sweat, ozone—and hope.
This vessel, once apex predator, lies neutral now. Wounded. We paused its terror.
Our people surge forward through controlled exits. The hangar floods with colonists—eyes shining, voices trembling with pride and shock. We are alive. We are still here.
I cup Dayn’s face. “Next: we drive them off Snowblossom.”
He nods, chest pressed rough against me. “And I’ll be with you every step.”
Outside, the ship sags. A symbol of stolen control returned to us. I close my eyes, breathe in the scent of sweat and electrolytes and freedom.
We are rebellion.
We are reclaimers.
And tonight, we proved we can hold the heavens.
