Page 265 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Tempting.
The vast hangar yawns open ahead, flanked by more Nebian warriors and Battlesuits. The hinges squeal as pressure seals release, cool plumes hissing outward. Rows of Starfighters gleam in the artificial light, filling the expansive area. Maintenance drones buzz like znats over their sleek, polished frames.
Impressive weaponry.
“I did not become Consul by tolerating excuses,” Juliara shouts over the buzzing of drones and purring of Elerium engines. “But by demanding results, human. An astute mind, builds many bridges when crossing dangerous waters.”
She strides toward a sleek purple vessel as a Nebian pilot approaches, visor lenses replacing a traditional helmet.
“Consul Juliara,” he bows. “The ship is ready for launch.”
“Excellent.” She flutters a hand, dismissing him like dust. “We leave immediately.”
“At once, Consul.” He bows again, and I suppress a sneer at his sycophancy.
The scent of ozone and ionized Elerium tingles in my nostrils as the Starfighter’s hatch slides open with a smooth hiss. Juliara and her entourage board quickly. The Battlesuits lock into their orbital drop harnesses with a hiss of hydraulics, while the rest of the party files into the ship’s tiny seats near the bow.
I step in and frown. The cramped seats clearly won’t hold me.
“How unfortunate,” Juliara observes, a trace of amusement in her voice. “You’ll have to stand. Do mind your head—I’d hate to see another one of my bridges collapse so soon.”
“I am no one’s pawn, Consul,” I growl, my voice low and dangerous.
Princesa sidles up at the worst possible moment, arms wide, face pleading, Todd clacking. Her next words already obvious. “Beep. Beep. Red Taxi,” she announces.
I glare.
“What?” she protests. “You’re way more comfier than those Smurf chairs.”
I scoop her up, tucking her against my side. Her squeal of delight—music to my ears as she nestles against me like a second skin, moaning in pleasure.
Consul Juliara titters, catches herself, and presses a hand to her lips—but can’t stop the genuine smile dancing in her yellow eyes.
“No one’s pawn,” she repeats, snorting. “BEEP. BEEP. OKAY!” Her composure collapses as she bursts into laughter, blue skin darkening. It’s infectious. The warriors join her, hesitant at first—then with stormy abandon.
“I think we broke them,babes,” Princesa murmurs, eyeing the Nebians with wary amusement.
The deck shudders beneath us. A low rumble rises as we lurch into motion. Through the viewport, we speed toward the docking hatch. For a heartbeat, I brace for impact—then the field ripples, distorts, and we pass through cleanly, emerging into the star-speckled void.
“Ah. Absurdist,” Consul Juliara says at last, wiping the tears from her eyes. Her voice is quiet now, thoughtful. She stares at me for a long, unreadable moment, fingers tapping her wrist console. I meet her gaze, impassive. Unflinching.
“My Horaxus used to carry me like that, many cycles ago,” she says, voice brittle with memory. Her eyes drift to the stars. “Tell me... do you know of the so-called ‘Warrior of Peace,’ Xandor?” The name spills from her lips like vipertail venom.
“Krogoth’s Second,” I confirm. A Gods-blessed Mortakin-Kai. Another formidable warrior, most likely.
“I want his head,” she says, arcweave sharp and hard. “One hundred million credits are yours if you deliver proof.” She flashes her wrist display. The numbers glow in galactic basic. Cold. Precise.
A collective gasp ripples through the Nebians, while I struggle not to react.
“One hundred million credits!” Princesa chokes, glance flickering between Consul Juliara and me. “That’s, like... alot, right?”
“A fortune,” I concede, nodding. “But I’m no assassin.”
Princesa swallows, eyes glinting. “I mean, let’s not be too hasty—”
“Everyone has a price,” Juliara cuts in, her gaze distant, tone cold. “Though yours may lie beyond riches.” She sighs, turning her attention to my Princesa. “The offer extends to you as well. Or anyone you trust. I’ve seen your strange weapons—those mobile energy barriers.”
“I’m not some mobile thingamajig,” Princesa snaps. “My powers come from—”
