Dark Planet Warriors: The Serial (Books 1-3) (17 page)

Abbey

Thank Saturn he’s put his pants back on. I mean, I was enjoying the view and all, but it was becoming too damn overwhelming. And we’re about to eat. And he still doesn’t have a shirt on. I’m sitting opposite a shirtless General with magnificent abs. He’s chomping on one of those uninspiring meaty seaweed bars, and I’ve got a colorful package sitting in front of me.

I stare at it for a moment, trying to process what I’ve just learnt.

So let me get this straight. Before we made love in the pool, he was a virgin? And the admission doesn’t seem to have bothered him at all. Most Human guys would be getting a bit awkward right about now.

It doesn’t add up.

He takes another bite of his food, looking at me with a calm, scrutinizing gaze. It’s as if he wants to gauge my reaction to this strange little package.

“So I’m your first?” I still don’t quite get it. He seemed to know his way around the female body all too well. He was confident as hell; he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” I blink, trying to look for any clue that he’s messing with me. “So how did you know what to do, if you don’t mind me asking?” I run my fingers over the package. It’s covered in a wrapper made up of thousands of tiny, interwoven hexagons. The pattern is all kinds of colors; pinks, purples, blues, greens.

It’s exquisitely beautiful.

Tarak frowns. “Know what to do? Of course I know. We learn when we reach maturity. It’s a rite of passage for all males.”

“You get lessons?” My jaw drops. “Like an initiation of sorts?”

“There is a
Sendar
, a scholar of female pleasure. All males who reach maturity see the
Sendar
for training.” He takes another bite of the gelatinous brick, looking at me quizzically. “You Humans do not have something similar on Earth?”

“Not at all,” I reply. “So you’re telling me all Kordolian males have to learn this stuff? How to, uh, please a woman?”

“Of course. If the skill is not acquired, one has no hope of gaining a mate.”

“That bad, is it?” I fiddle with the multicolored package, trying to get it to open. “So I imagine the women also go through some sort of training.” I suddenly feel a little insecure. How would I compare to a Kordolian female?

Tarak laughs then, and it’s a surprisingly warm, rich sound. I’ve never heard him laugh before, let alone seen him smile. For a moment, he looks kind of adorable, his white fangs flashing in his dark mouth. “Why would a female need such lessons? They can take their pick of the males. Most end up with multiple mates.”

I try to digest that information. “Sounds like there’s an imbalance.”
 

“Only one in a hundred Kordolian males ever has hope of being selected as a mate.”

I dig my nails into the hexagon-patterned wrapper, trying to tear it open. But really, I’m trying to process what the General’s telling me. “That’s quite a serious shortage of ladies.”
 

Imagine women on Earth with that kind of power. With their own personal harem. I think we’d all go a little bit drunk with sexual power. What kind of life do these Kordolian females lead?

Shit. I’ve just been transported to a planet of horny, silver-skinned alien males who happen to be tutored in the art of pleasure.

What’s a girl not to like?

Apart from the fact that some of them seem to want to take my organs. For science.

Fuck that. Hands off the ovaries, bitches.

Tarak takes the package from me, a flicker of annoyance crossing his elegant features. “If you do not know how to do it, just ask.” He presses something on the side, and the little hexagons all seem to fold into themselves, sliding off the package, forming a tight little ball.

Before I can protest, he tosses the thing into a little garbage chute. I would have kept it. It seemed too beautiful to throw away.
 

He slides it back across to me. It’s a box with a transparent lid.

“There have been no females born on our planet for the last hundred orbits. And it’s common knowledge that a female cannot become pregnant if she does not climax. So we try our best to make conditions right, but there hasn’t been any success yet.” He shrugs. “Maybe it’s just the way of things. Perhaps it’s a sign from the Goddess that we are not meant to survive another era.”

“That’s a bit fatalistic, isn’t it, General?”

“Eat your food, Abbey.” He ignores the question, gesturing towards the box.

I look down and see neat rows of little squares.

Sweets of some sort? They’re like little chocolates or something, but each square is different, covered in some kind of design.

I look more closely and realize some of the squares are transparent. There are tiny glittering specks inside. The specks look like stars, and they’re interspersed with colorful nebulas. The other squares are solid, etched with pictures of distant planets.

They’re miniature works of art. “Is this really food?”

“Try one.”

I pick up one of the squares, take a deep breath and pop it in my mouth. I’m starving again. I don’t know what this stuff is, or whether it’s even good for Humans, but I don’t really have any choice. I can’t afford to waste away here. Especially if I’m going to have to figure out how to escape.

An explosion happens. It’s a burst of pure flavor, complex and sweet.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. I can’t equate it to anything I’ve had on Earth.
 

It’s fruity, I guess. A bit like a combination of lychee and mango and pineapple. But those things don’t even compare. It’s as if those crazy minuscule nebulas I saw inside it are blossoming on my tongue.

Surely something that tastes this good can’t be bad for me. I hate to say it, but it’s as good as chocolate. Maybe even better. No way. That last thought makes me feel like a traitor to my own species.

Tarak’s watching my reaction carefully. He seems rather pleased with himself.

“What is this stuff?” I ask in wonder.

“Veronian food.” As if that explains everything. He finishes the last of his protein bar thing and taps a panel on the wall. Moments later, two steaming cups of some sort of drink appear in the hatch. He passes one across to me. “Drink.”

I sniff the stuff cautiously. Smells okay, if a little bitter. I sip. It’s pungent and herbal, but the distinct flavor contrasts nicely with the sweetness of the cubes.

I’m contemplating these culinary wonders and pondering the nature of a race that’s overwhelmingly male and generally unfriendly towards every other species in the universe when a sharp beeping sound fills the room. Tarak’s on his feet in an instant and he’s armoring up, the black nanites appearing all over his skin like tiny liquid droplets. They coalesce and form the hardened outer exo-suit I’m familiar with.

The dress trousers he’s so graciously put on start to tear at the seams.

“Into the sleeping pod with you,” he snaps, taking my food and the cup of bitter tea. “I have visitors. Do not come out.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand. That little vein on the side of his temple is twitching again. “Do not argue this time, female. You have had enough danger already.”

“Fine,” I sigh, not looking forward to being locked up in that little room again, but feeling as if I have no choice. I don’t want to be at the centre of a shitfight in the General’s quarters.

I follow him through, and he places my food on a little table beside the bed-pod thing.

“Eat and rest,” he says, his voice unexpectedly gentle. “And do not worry. You are always safe with me.”

“I don’t doubt that,” I reply, eyeing the rest of the Veronian sweets. At least I can munch on those while I try not to get claustrophobic, wondering how the hell I’m going to get out of here. Am I ever going to see Earth again? Am I going to feel the sunshine on my face again?

There has to be a way. And maybe it involves convincing this stubborn musclehead to come with me.

Because I don’t know if I can fight through hordes of hostile Kordolians on my own.

And underneath the scary armor and bossy attitude, he’s not all that bad, really.

Tarak

I peer at the holoscreen and recognize a familiar face. Pale eyes blink back at me. The door opens, and a slender male dressed in a maintenance worker’s suit steps through.

“What are you doing here, Syrak? You’re not supposed to be on the lower decks.”

Syrak bows, a simple nod of his head. The dark scales on his face gleam, contrasting with the pale blue of his eyes. Syrak is a Soldar, a member of an alien race occupying a large humid planet in the next sector. His body is covered in dark grey scales, and he has a series of ridges, like fins, running down his back. The Soldar are hairless, and they have long arms and legs that are capable of great flexibility. Their feet are like hands, giving them the ability to grasp things and do manual work with all four limbs. That’s why many Soldar are used as maintenance workers. They have an uncanny ability with all things mechanical.

And they obey orders without question. They’ve been conditioned to.

Kordolians took over their planet in the days of Emperor Ilhan.

I should know. I was there.

“I apologize, General Akkadian.” He bows again, speaking perfect Kordolian. I wave off the gesture in irritation, indicating for him to sit. I order another cup of hot elixir and present it to him. He mumbles profuse words of thanks.

“So what brings you to my chambers, Syrak? Urgent news, I expect.”

“The Prince asked me to send word. The High Council are unhappy with your recent defiance, and they’re uncomfortable with the direction you’re taking. They want to regain control of the military. Rumors are a secret Kill Order has been placed on you. They won’t announce it publicly, of course. You’re too much of a talisman for the people.”

I shrug. The news is of no real surprise to me. I’ve always made the Nobles uncomfortable, even more so ever since Emperor Ilhan promoted me to the rank of General. I suspect they’ve been plotting my downfall for years. “And where is Xalikian now?” The Wild Prince, unpredictable and unconventional, had always been a great disappointment to his parents. Of late, he’s been absent from the civilized zones of Kythia.

Very few actually know where he’s been hiding.

“Prince Xalikian has gone deep into the Vaal,” Syrak replies, sipping his elixir. “He urges you to be mindful of your own safety. They may send an assassin after you. And the Human.” Syrak pauses, staring into his drink. His hand is trembling slightly. He shouldn’t stay here for too long. “Prince Xalikian also wishes to arrange a meeting in a secure place of your choosing.”

“I’m not so easy to kill, Syrak.” I turn and walk over to the internal delivery chute. “And as for the Prince, I will find him.” I punch the panel beside the delivery chute. It crumples, sending out a shower of blue sparks. It startles Syrak, and he almost spills his beverage.

“My delivery chute malfunctioned,” I say nonchalantly, as he gets to his feet. “I’ve put in a maintenance request. You’ve been sent to fix it, haven’t you?”

“O-of course, General.”

“Well, you’ve done a preliminary inspection. Go fetch your repairbots and sort it out.”

“Uh, yes Sir.” It’s as if a light goes on in his pale blue eyes. Now that he’s been given a legitimate excuse to be here, he scurries off, leaving the half-finished cup of elixir.

The Soldar may act subservient, but they’ve become an invaluable network of intelligence for Prince Xalikian. In exchange, he’s promised them their freedom when he succeeds the throne.

Most Kordolians would think that an outrageous deal.

But like me, the Prince isn’t a typical Kordolian.

Kythian society considers many of his ideas extreme. He’s been ridiculed and discredited for most of his mature life. Ilhan is to blame. He raised Xalikian a certain way, and it’s backfired. Or turned out for the best, depending on one’s perspective.

As Syrak leaves, I open the comm holoscreen. A familiar face fills the screen. It’s Keron, the young recruit I encountered earlier. “General!” He looks around nervously, as if to locate his superior.

“Keron,” I snap, not wanting to waste time. “Send a message to all the Commanders on the Fleet Station. They are to assemble in the Command Room in one half-phase.”

“Uh, yes Sir. Anything else for me to do?”

“That’s all for now, Keron.” I flick the screen off.

Whether by design or not, the inevitable has just been set in motion. The High Council will try to kill me and replace me. The appearance of the Human and my actions before them have become the catalyst for treachery.

But they will have a hard time removing me.

When they sanctioned those experiments on me, so many orbits ago, they never foresaw that I would become a monster they were unable to control. They nearly killed me then. But I’ve exceeded all expectations. I have the First Division and half of the Kordolian fleet under my command. And I have virulent black nanites fused to my genome. They will not kill me so easily. Especially once I go to ground.

I also have a female in my possession. She’s perplexing and fearless. She’s far from stupid.

She’s an odd blessing. She cures me of the rage, the pent-up frustration and the unbearable headaches.

Humans certainly have their own way of going about things. I’m starting to appreciate her bluntness, that odd blend of cynicism and innocence that only she can bring to a situation.

They will not have her. I’ve decided I need her. For my sanity.

Regardless of what she believes, she is mine.

Abbey

I ditch the dress uniform, because it’s starting to become a little stiff and itchy. And it’s adding to the feeling of being restricted and cooped up in a small, dark space.

Seriously, what the hell am I doing?

The biomeric plant on Fortuna Tau is broken, and the station is possibly being overrun by giant, presumably flesh-eating insectoid monsters. At least Tarak left the rest of the Kordolian soldiers behind to take care of things.

I should be figuring out how to steal a Kordolian cruiser so I can get back to Earth or at least make it to a friendly sector.