Dark Planet Warriors: The Serial (Books 1-3) (11 page)

But doesn’t he get that you don’t just
take
people away from their home planets? That you don’t just separate people from their own species?

Obviously, he doesn’t. It’s something to do with that weird sense of honor he has. Something about keeping his word. About being responsible for everything.

Stubborn.

Urgh. Irritating, domineering, control freak. I can’t stand control freaks.

But if the current state of my legs is anything to go by, he’s been true to his word and gotten them healed.

Amazing. I flex them experimentally, watching as they peek out underneath swathes of black fabric. There’s not a single break in the skin or sutured wound to be seen.

It’s as if the accident and my encounter with that disgusting, vomit-inducing creature never happened.

I drop to my feet, allowing my legs to take my full weight. There’s no pain at all.

I take a few experimental steps. Everything seems to be working fine.

What the hell did they do to me? And at what cost?

I pad across the dark floor, which feels like ice under my bare feet. There’s a closed door to one side. It’s made of that same black, wood-but-not-wood material that the whole room is constructed of. I push on it, but nothing happens.

A shot of panic rips through me. Am I locked in? Trapped like a prisoner?

I’m a bit claustrophobic. I don’t like tiny, confined spaces. The thought of being stuck in this dim, warm, creepy little room makes me go a bit funny. My pulse goes up, and I start to feel nauseous. I’m trapped in the confines of some dark, organic
thing
, and it’s all rather embryonic. As if I’ve been placed back inside the womb.

I push again, harder this time. Still, the stupid thing won’t budge. I look around for a control panel of some sort, but the way the door joins the wall is seamless.

I’m breaking out in a cold sweat now, and starting to feel short of breath. My arms are tingling. I can’t think straight.

I’m having a panic attack. I can’t believe it. I haven’t had one of these in years.

Calm down, Abbey!

I start pounding at the door, then I run my fingers along the edges, looking for a gap, a seam, anything weakness I can use to wrench it apart.

Nothing.

Damn these Kordolians and their weird technology. I step back, forcing myself to breathe more slowly, trying to calm my racing pulse. I study the door in more detail. It’s made of hundreds of horizontal, interlocking dark strands, like a woven basket.

Does it swing or slide, or retract?

I need to get out of here. I need to escape from this dark, windowless, tiny room. I take a few steps back, thinking I’ll give the stupid thing one last, solid kick. Even if it doesn’t open, it will feel good just to kick something.

To vent some of my fear and frustration.

So I take two big strides forward, hiking up my ridiculous, tent-like garment. Going with the momentum, I execute a solid, high kick, just like I’ve seen them do in those ridiculous twentieth-century action flicks.

It’s true, I have a secret obsession with everything twentieth-century. There has never been an era of Human creativity quite like it.

Van Damme, eat your heart out.

There’s a dull thud as my foot connects, and I’m surprised that it doesn’t hurt one bit. And is it just me, or is there a little indent right there, where I’ve kicked it?

Still, the door doesn’t open. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. But just as I’m about to step back, the weird little fibers come apart, disappearing into a cavity in the wall.

I stumble forward in shock, losing my balance.

“What the?” I yelp, as I crash into something hard and solid and warm. I look up to find the General staring down at me, a frown creasing his hard features. He raises an eyebrow as he grabs me by the shoulders, steadying me. An electric tingle courses through me at the sensation of his warm fingers touching me through the thin fabric of my oversized robe.

“You should be resting,” he growls. “Not trying to damage my sleeping pod.”

“Your what?” I look around wildly, taking in my surroundings. We’re in what looks like a living space, with the same dark, cold floors and oddly curved walls, reminding me of the Kordolian medical bay I was stuck in when I was injured. To my left, soaring windows provide a view of the endless, starry sky. But amongst the glittering backdrop, there’s a giant, black planet swallowing up most of the view. It’s dotted with millions of blue, glowing lights, reminding me of Earth at night.

That’s Kythia?

In front of the window is a low seating area, made of dark cushions. The rest of the space is quite boring and uncluttered. There’s a desk surrounded by an array of complex looking holoscreens. There’s no kitchen, no eating area. There’s nothing to identify the owner of the place, no pictures on the walls or trinkets or cozy rugs on the floor.

This place could really use a woven rug or two. Some colorful vases, maybe a terrarium. Urgh. It’s a total man-cave. Quite fitting for a dour, humorless military General, I guess.

“Where the hell am I, General?” I ask, backpedalling out of his grasp. Oh no. I’m not ready for that quite yet. I need to get my bearings first. “Wh- what have you done to me?”

“You’re in my quarters,” he replies, looking me up and down. “And it appears you have responded quite well to the treatment.”

“What treatment?” Suspicion clouds my tone as I glance down at my bare legs, which peek out of the loose robes. Surely miracles don’t come without a hefty price. There has to be a catch.

“A nanograft.” He shrugs. “You will understand the implications with time.”

As usual, he’s not the most forthcoming character. My gaze returns to rest on him. Something’s different. He’s no longer decked out in his crazy nano-armor. Instead, he wears dark robes similar to mine, loosely belted at the waist. Where mine are huge, swamping my small frame, his fit perfectly, hanging off his large body and revealing his smooth, sculpted chest.

He notices the direction of my gaze and something like a smug look crosses his face, just for a split-second. I grit my teeth, annoyed that he’s just caught me checking him out. But then he’s back to his usual form, glaring at me with a serious look on his face.

“You need to eat,” he growls, and walks over to a panel in the wall that I hadn’t noticed before. “Tissue healing requires energy.” The General taps a code on some kind of sleek, silver device that’s set into the wall. It lights up and emits a low hum. Then, it opens, and he fishes out a dark rectangular object.

He offers it to me. “Eat.”

“Huh?” I eye the lump in his hand with confusion. “What’s that?”

“Food. Eat.” He thrusts it in front of my face. Okay, so we’re down to one-word commands. Why does this all suddenly feel a bit neolithic? Gingerly, I take the, er, thing.

It looks like an energy bar of some sort. I hope it’s chocolate? But looking at its dark, semi-transparent color and slightly gooey consistency, like hard, compacted gelatin, I’m not convinced. I sniff it cautiously. It smells like a combination of dried seaweed and beef jerky.

Not unpleasant, but not mind-blowing either.

“It’s not to your taste?” He’s watching me closely, curiously.

“I could murder a bowl of nachos right about now,” I reply. “You guys don’t do nachos? Or fries with chicken salt? Is ramen off the menu?”

Tarak glares at me. I get the feeling he has no idea what I’m talking about. “We don’t have Human food here.”

“I figured.” Otherwise they wouldn’t be feeding me this stuff. “Seriously, you have no idea what you’re missing out on.” I take an experimental bite of the bar. It melts in my mouth, all salty and meaty and thick. I chew a bit more, realizing that I’m actually starving.

Okay, so I admit, it’s edible. I munch down on the rest of the bar as the General watches me. It’s all slightly awkward. I feel like a kid being forced by their parents to eat their brussels sprouts, or else.

When I’m done, the stuff settles in my belly like a lead weight, making me feel instantly full. “So, General,” I begin tentatively, not really sure how to bring this up, especially when he’s gone and had my body magically fixed. “When do we set off for Fortuna Tau?”

He responds with a cryptic look. There’s something in his eyes that tells me this isn’t going to be straightforward. “In time,” he says.

I’m about to demand that he organize for me to go back straight away, but our attention is diverted as one of the holoscreens lights up, and a stone-faced Kordolian guy appears. He rattles something off in rapid-fire Kordolian. Tarak stiffens, his jaw set in a rigid line. He doesn’t like whatever the guy is telling him.

The General snaps back at him and ends the communication. He then mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like swearing. That little bulging vein at the side of his head is back. I’m starting to figure out his little tells. Right now, he’s irritated.

“I have to go,” he announces. “Do not leave my quarters. The troops will not tolerate a Human roaming about on the Station.”

“Wait,” I protest. “You can’t just leave me. What am I supposed to do here?”

“Rest.” He disappears into his dark sleeping chamber and returns a moment later, decked out in a uniform of sorts. All black, of course. There’s a high-necked jacket with long tails and a pair of sleek trousers. There’s some sort of insignia embroidered at the neck in red, the first hint of color I’ve seen on any of his attire.

I try not to gape. It’s a severe, intimidating uniform, but it compliments his broad frame, and it all looks quite dapper. In an evil empire sort of way.

“Stay here,” he growls threateningly, before disappearing through his front door, the thing sliding shut with the same interlocking mechanism, effectively trapping me inside.

Great. I’m stuck in an alien General’s personal quarters on a floating Station in an entirely different sector of the universe.

What’s a girl to do? For starters, I guess I could try to figure out this body of mine, and see exactly what’s changed.

And then? Plot an escape plan? That sounds like a good way to pass the time.

Tarak

I leave Abbey in my quarters, the Qualum door fusing shut behind me. The entrance is keyed to my biological signature, and no-one else can enter or exit. Even on this orbiting fortress, where my word is absolute, I spare no precaution when it comes to security.

The fucking dress uniform I’m wearing is stiff and uncomfortable. I find it ridiculous, but when one is summoned to stand before the High Council, this is the customary attire.
 

More formality and nonsense. It’s an annoyance. A complete waste of my time.

I’d rather be mobilizing a retrieval team for my First Division. Without the wormhole, it will take at least six orbits to reach the Human mining station. First Division won’t be happy with the wait, but they’ll adapt. Perhaps they might even catch a ride on a Human inter-galaxy freighter returning to the low sectors, if they’re resourceful.
 

And then there’s the matter of my exotic female guest. She doesn’t know that I watched her when she was asleep. I sat on the floor of my sleeping chamber, cross-legged, observing her pale face, so peaceful at times. Her beauty is strange and fragile, so unlike that of the Kordolian females. And for the most part, she was serene, except for when she tossed and turned. Every now and then a flicker of pain would cross her features. Her skin would become moist, and I would lay a hand on her forehead, waiting for her to fall back into a deep sleep.

I only left her side once I was certain the nanograft had taken, and she was in the clear. I hadn’t trusted any of the medics to watch her, not even Zyara.

I hadn’t trusted them to take care of a Human. That idiot Mirkel had been hesitant to treat her at first, but he had quickly changed his mind after our little ‘discussion.’

As I stride down the corridor, an Officer comes up beside me, anxiously taking in my appearance. Dress uniform means only one thing. That I’ve been summoned. “Shall I arrange an escort for you, General?”

“Not necessary,” I snap, glancing at the soldier. The face is familiar. “Keron, isn’t it?” His face lights up as I mention his name. So this one isn’t worn and jaded yet. I doubt Officer Keron has seen much off-planet action. “I’ll be using my own transport. A guard isn’t necessary. I’m only going landside, for fuck’s sake.”

“Understood, Sir.” He starts to carry out that irritating formal bow, but I cut him off with a slice of my hand. “There’s none of that aboard my Station, Officer. Keep your formalities for the landside folk.” That infernal bow was introduced by the Empress after Emperor Ilhan died. It never fails to get under my skin. In contrast, the High Council lives for such things.

Bunch of ostentatious pricks.

Keron blinks in surprise, but wisely decides not to argue.
 

“While you’re here, Keron, you can arrange something for me.”

“Sir?”

“Get an order of Veronian food from landside. Those sweet things they make. Have it sent to my quarters by internal delivery.”

“Veronian food. Got it.” Curiosity burns in Keron’s eyes, but he doesn’t dare probe the issue. For all he knows, I’ve just developed a craving for sweet things.
 

We reach a docking station reserved for smaller craft. Keron starts to bow reflexively, but as I narrow my eyes he catches himself, straightening to his full height.

“Dismissed, Officer,” I say, a trace of irony creeping into my voice. As he disappears, I enter one of the solo transports, a sleek, unarmed cruiser designed for speed and little else. A dull throb begins at the back of my eyes, and I resist the urge to groan

The headaches are coming back.

Strangely, when I’m with
her
, there are no symptoms at all. No headaches. No stabbing pain behind my eyes. No burning irritability that threatens to explode into anger at any given moment.

Just her scent is enough to calm me. It reminds me of that Human garden, all green stems and fruits and wildflowers. Things that are entirely alien to Kythia. Our planet does not support that kind of life.