Marauder Cygnus: A Scifi Alien Shifter Romance (Mating Wars Book 1) (4 page)

I
throw
the difficult female back into her ship, and shut the door. The primitive ammo is exhausted so I jam the gun into the handle once again to lock her inside..

One of the suited man’s bullets has hit me in the arm, so I take cover behind the female’s ship to assess the damage.

There’s an exit wound, so the bullet went cleanly through. I attempt to rotate my arm in a circle, slowly, to test for pain.

Explosive pain tears through my body when I raise my arm. I ignore the pain and press on, but the arm goes numb and falls limply to my side.

It’s my left arm that got hit. The most useless of the two. I should be able to beat any human with just one arm. The man’s robotic suit looks almost as primitive as the ballistic weapon.

Suddenly a number of robotic drones launch from the female’s ship, immediately opening fire on the man in the suit.

A speaker broadcasts a message from the ship in the female’s voice. “Don’t worry, Cygnus, the computer is controlling the drones. There’s no shame debt in that!”

An excuse! The woman controls the computer. This brings me shame debt indeed!

I throw the empty gun to the ground and remove one of the odd knife blades I took off a pirate’s body. It has a soft grip, made for weak and tiny hands. It’s awkward in my large hand, but I’ve yet to find a weapon or combat style I could not quickly master.

I rush forward, and my shame debt increases as I see the suited man firing at the female-controlled drones.

The suited man has cleared half the distance from the bay to the female’s ship, but I’m on him in seconds.

He tries to swing the gun toward me, but I grab the barrel and tear it from his hands.

“Cygnus!” the drones shout. It’s the computer’s voice. “Move aside, I have a clear shot!”

I take the suited man’s gun and throw it with my full power at the drone. It hits one of the drones in its whirring blades, and the drone crashes uselessly to the ground.

I spin back around and go in to gut-punch the pirate. I need to beat him bloody before I stab him if I’m to clear all my shame debt.

“Cygnus!” the one remaining drone shouts. “Move!”

I ignore it. If the female-controlled drone kills the pirate captain, I’ll have more debt than I could clear in a lifetime.

The exoskeleton squeezes my wrist. And I try to fight it.

It’s powered by a primitive system of tubes full of pressurized fluids, and though it’s not an advanced technology, it gives the man enough strength to be my equal.

I flex all the muscles in my body against the robotic arm, and the man inside starts laughing.

“You’re something!” he says. “I don’t know what the bloody fuck you are, but I know you’ll make me rich!”

He’s strapped into some kind of cage, and if I can just free my arm, I’ll be able to punch him. After I’ve punched him unconscious, stabbing him for the kill will end my shame.

My arm and the exoskeleton reach a draw, but then the other robotic arm reaches up and squeezes my waist.

It begins to pry me off, and with only one good arm and no purchase with my feet, there’s little I can do to fight back.

I can’t die while still so deeply shamed. I can’t die with my brother stuck on the red planet. And...I can’t leave the human female—Aura—alone.

I roar, and my animal strength rises up.

I surrender control, and I shift. The knife clatters to the ground, but my claws are longer and sharper.

My bear arm pushes against the exoskeleton, and the man inside laughs maniacally.

“So much fucking money!” he cackles. “I’ll never let you go!”

I hear the drone whirring behind me. It must be trying to angle for a clear shot, but I’ll not allow that.

The man stops laughing, and his face is red and dripping sweat. The cage that covers him like a web does not have a large enough opening for my head to get in and bite him, but if I can free my arm….

I see another drone—a wheeled one—race behind the exoskeleton.

In bear form, I’m not able to command the female to stand down her robots, but this wheeled drone looks like some kind of repair bot rather than a combat model.

The exoskeleton begins squeezing my arm. I’ve almost freed myself from its grasp, but now it’s just going to shatter my bones.

The bot wheels right up next to the exoskeleton, and a circular buzzsaw protrudes out of its side. The buzzsaw rubs up against one of the hoses on the exoskeleton’s arm. The hose breaks and fluid starts seeping everywhere.

I feel all the force against my arm drop, and I pull it free.

I roar so loudly that I see my spit cover the pirate’s face. And soon my arm has reached through the bars of the cage.

As I slash at him, the captain pulls something from a holster. Just as I feel my claws making contact against his skin, electricity surges through me, and everything fades to black.

I
order
the drone to cut the hydraulic hose, and the arm drops. Fuck Cygnus’ shame debt, if I let him fight with his masculine pride intact, he’ll die.

The moment the exoskeleton’s arm drops, Cygnus the bear’s—I still can’t believe he is able to transform into a bear—furry arm goes through the cage and claws the captain’s face.

I’m watching from the drones’ cameras, there’s still one in the air and one on the ground.

Cygnus slashes at the pirate, but suddenly he falls backward off the exoskeleton. He hits the ground, convulsing.

“Shit! Seth! What happened?”

“The pirate hit him with some kind of stun rod. High-voltage.”

I catch sight of the pirate’s face, covered in blood, but he’s laughing and waving the stun-rod in celebration.

The exoskeleton’s good arm reaches down and clasps Cygnus’ body, which is still breathing but no longer convulsing.

The pirate’s voice shouts out over a loudspeaker. “Here’s the deal. Let me keep this alien and you’re free to go. Normally you couldn’t trust such a deal, as I’d just hunt you down afterward...but seeing as my crew is all dead, I won’t be able to chase you down.”

“Take the deal,” Seth says.

“No,” I retort, panicked. “Cygnus fought to protect me, and I think I’m starting to understand shame debt. Imagine how much I’d have if I took this deal.”

“Aura,” Seth says. “There’s no such thing as shame debt. I can’t believe you’re seriously—”

“Seth!” I shriek. “Fire the grappling net and pull Cygnus back. Start diverting power to the mining laser.”

“The mining laser!” Seth says. “What the hell—”

“Don’t question me! Just do it!”

I pilot the flying drone to open fire onto the pirate captain. He jumps out of the exoskeleton and dives behind it for cover.

The grappling net launches, but misses Cygnus.

“Bring the repair drone around, get the net on him!”

Seth obeys, for once, without any banter.

I pilot the flying drone around the exoskeleton, and as there are barely any bullets left, I wait until I have a clear shot before firing.

The shot never comes, as the captain is able to move faster than the drone. He keeps the exoskeleton positioned between himself and the drone.

“Come closer!” he shouts, “You stupid bitch!”

I grit my teeth at him, but then realize he’s trying to taunt me into wasting the ammo I have left.

“Net is on Cygnus,” Seth says.

“Reel it in!” I shout.

The net begins to reel in, and I watch the captain grab a knife and run for the net.

I fire at him and see a bullet hit his leg, and then the drone runs out of ammo.

The captain collapses, but he’s still alive.

“Cygnus is on board,” Seth says.

The captain crawls and limps back to the exoskeleton, and then he climbs in.

He pilots it around toward the repair drone. He swings the leg into it, knocking it over. He stomps and crushes it before turning toward my ship.

“Shit!” I exclaim. “Open the hangar door!”

Seth obeys, and klaxons sound as the door begins to open.

The air rushes out of the hangar, and I apply just enough thrust to clear us of the hangar. I apply some micro-thrusts to re-orient the ship, and then I give a final thrust to propel the ship outside and down the pirate ship’s spine.

I watch the map as we move, and when we reach the reactor room, I shoot just enough reverse thrust to stop us.

“All right,” I say. “Give me mining laser control.”

A reticle appears in my vision, and I guide it with my mind.

I overlay the data from our internal scans and point the reticle right on the fat center of the pirate ship’s tokamak fusion reactor. I let loose with the mining laser, and it slowly bores through the thick hull.

“I need to kill him!”

It’s Cygnus’s voice, and he’s floating into the cockpit behind me.

“I don’t care about your shame debt right now, Cygnus,” I say, sounding irate but feeling immense relief at the sight of him.

He flicks his ears at me, and I shake my head.

“Fine!” I say. “Weapon master, take my seat. Point this mining laser at the reactor.”

I rip the harness straps off and push out of the chair. “Come on!”

Cygnus pulls himself into the chair and studies the screen.

“Give him manual control, Seth,” I order.

“But Aura—”

“Do it!” I say.

The control console lights up, and a joystick pops out.

“Use that to keep the mining laser on target,” I say, pointing to the stick.

Cygnus grins and adjusts the mining laser slightly, then directs it back on target.

I roll my eyes. In all likelihood, the pirate commander died when the air was sucked out of the hangar. The only reason I’m bothering to disable the reactor is in case some scouting ships return to the main ship. I don’t need another pirate declaring himself captain and coming after us.

But, if I can convince Cygnus that he delivered the killing blow, then all the better.

“Our primitive ships run on fusion power,” I say. “Once your laser cuts through the hull, it will start burning through the tokamak. It’s a big sphere that holds superheated plasma with powerful magnets. Once you poke a hole in that containment system, the reactor won’t be able to run. The ship will go dead.”

Cygnus looks back to face me and scowls. “It will shut off life support?”

“Yes,” I lie.

A ship of that size surely has backup systems and emergency life support. Killing the reactor will cripple its movement, but not shut off life support.

We watch the screen together, and we see air begin to seep through the hole.

“I’ve broken through the hull,” Cygnus says.

“Seth,” I say. “Zoom in.”

The screen zooms in, and we see the big tokamak itself. The laser is melting the metal exterior. I watch with my fingers crossed, and then watch as the laser cuts all the way through.

For a moment, the plasma from inside is a brilliant glow shining through the pinprick hole, but soon the magnetic field fails and the plasma starts shooting out. It melts the entire half of the tokamak, and then the vacuum sucks all the plasma out into space.

“The lights on the ship aren’t shutting down,” Cygnus says, turning to face me.

“It will take a few hours for all the power to die off,” I say. “You’ve killed every last member of their crew, you’ve killed their captain, and now you’ve single-handedly disabled the entire ship.”

“I still feel there is some shame debt,” he says.

“Okay,” I say. “Feel whatever you want, but it’s time for you to get out of the chair.”

“I should pilot the ship,” he says.

“Okay,” I respond. “Fine, tell Seth where you want to go.”

“Computer Seth,” Cygnus says. “Take us to the red planet.”

“Aura,” Seth says. “Are you—”

“Listen to Cygnus,” I say, cutting him off.

“Very well,” Seth responds. “I’m reorienting the ship and plotting a course, prepare for acceleration burn in two minutes.”

“Now come with me, please,” I say to Cygnus.

I decide to be excessively polite to him, hoping that it might—just possibly—rub off on him.

“Where are we going?” Cygnus asks.

“We’re going to go sit down in the kitchen, get something to eat, and you’re going to tell me everything.”

“
H
ere
,” the female says. “Put this on.”

I’m in her kitchen now, and we are accelerating toward the red planet. Toward my brother.

But this thing she’s thrown to me is some white piece of cloth.

“Put it on?” I ask, examining it.

“It’s a bathrobe,” she says. “It’s all I have that will fit you.”

“Why must I clothe myself?” I ask.

“Because,” she says, simply. “People don’t just walk around naked here. Don’t you ever wear clothes?”

“Of course,” I say, and I reach for the black supply box. “But only in combat.”

I open the box and the scent of her panties fills the room. I angle the box away from her so that she cannot see. I don’t want to anger her right now, but I also don’t want to give up her panties. It’s best if she can forget I’ve taken them.

I remove the bio-suit. It’s folded up into a small sphere, barely larger than the tip of my thumb. My scouting pod used up every last bit of biofuel to stop and orbit the asteroid belt. There’s not biofuel left to power the suit.

I hold the black sphere between my thumb and index finger and raise it up so that she can see.

“My bio-suit,” I say, showing her the black sphere. “I depleted it entirely to shield myself from the anti-matter exhaust of the invasion fleet.”

“Um,” she says. “That looks like a marble. I don’t think you can wear that, so put on the robe.”

I press the suit onto my shoulder, and it transforms into a needle, injects itself into my shoulder, and fuses to my body. A small black sphere protrudes out.

“Oh,” she says, her eyes widening. “That’s creepy.”

“I require food,” I say. “To feed the suit.”

“Put on the robe,” she says. “I’ll make us something.”

“You’re quite insistent on me wearing this robe,” I say. “Are you repulsed by the sight of my body? You should know that I’m a near match for the Phyrian Form. Barely outside the margin of error, does that not please you?”

Her face turns red at that statement, and I realize I must have angered her once again. I’ve enjoyed watching her be angry, and I enjoy it again now, but I need her to cook for me, so I open the robe and pull it on.

I wrap it around myself, and find it’s quite warm and soft. The sleeves squeeze my biceps, and after tying the belt around my middle, it covers most of my waist. Fortunately, it’s short enough that my penis is able to hang free and unrestricted.

The female looks down at my penis protruding from the robe, and she blushes red once again. Is there no pleasing this woman?

“The suit requires extra food,” I say. “So you must cook four kilograms of food with high protein content!”

Her mouth begins to open, but she stops herself from saying anything. She raises a finger at me, pointing. She’s incredibly angry.

“Please!” I shout.

Her mouth drops open and her hand falls to her side. She nods, and her face loses its angry color.

This word, “please”, is a powerful word, I realize. I’ll need to make liberal use of it when commanding this female.

“Can you eat our food?” she asks me.

“Yes,” I say. “Our race is highly adaptable.”

“So tell me about your race,” she says, as she begins pulling food out of a refrigeration device. “I assume you’re part of the big fleet heading toward us?”

“Yes,” I say. “We call ourselves Marauders. We travel from star system to star system, asserting our dominance.”

“I see,” she says. “You know that you started a war here?”

I scoff at that. “When the Marauder fleet arrives, your petty squabbles will end, and you will breed with us.”

“Breed...with you?” she says, stopping what she was doing and turning to look at me.

“Why did you stop cooking,” I ask. “Continue!”

I almost forget the command word, and I shout it to make sure she hears. “Please!”

It doesn’t work this time.

“So, there’s a whole fleet of guys like you, and you’re coming here specifically to...breed with us?” she stammers.

“Not just males,” I say. “All of our race is coming. Your males will find our females highly desirable. With each generation, they are reaching ever closer to the Seraphic Form.”

She glances down at my penis, which is hanging quite far below the robe, and I decide to risk angering her.

“I see you looking at my penis,” I say, “Though it seems to anger you. The jumpsuit you are wearing hides your breasts and femininity. But I can smell you, and you are quite desirable, even if far from ideal. Is it possible that you’d want to breed with me, given the chance?”

“Take off the robe!” she hisses, her face redder than my birth star.

I remove the robe at once, even though she failed to use the “please” command word.

I throw it to the ground, and I feel my penis twitch and grow.

“Pick it back up!” she says, looking away from me and raising her hands to cover her eyes.

I pick the robe back up and wonder if I’ll be using it in some form of sexual play.

“Put it back on,” she says. “But use it to cover your bottom half instead of your top.”

“Ah,” I say. “You are displeased with my penis. It seems that after I find my brother, I’ll need to find a female who can handle my vigor.”

I wrap the robe around my midsection, but I find it stifling and awkward to have my penis restricted and confined like this.

She shakes her head and turns her back to me. She cracks open some form of egg, one after another, into a pan. I count six of them. Then she throws some higher protein food into a pan.

The smell hits me instantly, and my stomach churns. The biosuit is already sapping my strength, and I’m ravenously hungry. It’s enough to make my penis go flaccid and to forget briefly about my growing need to breed.

“Why are you and your brother ahead of the fleet?” she asks.

“It was foolish of me,” I say. “I’ve been an ideal Marauder all my life, but my brother is a religious man...though he kept that secret from me. I have great shame debt for not having seen his deception.”

“I see,” she says. “Well, not really.”

“Our race dominates all. We’re built for it. But there’s a cost. Were I to breed with you—”

Her face burns crimson again when I say this, so I correct my speech. “Or a human female that were willing, our offspring would be unable to breed with other Marauders or other humans.”

“So...the end of the line?” she asks. “Sterile offspring?”

“Only if our offspring remained here,” I say. “But they wouldn’t, they’d be strong, and they’d form their own fleet to take mates in another system. And so it goes on. From our earliest recorded history, it’s always been this way.”

She takes the pan off the heating mechanism, and I eye it while licking my lips. The moment she lets go of the pan, I grab the handle.

I take thick handfuls of the odd yellow eggs and throw them into my mouth. I swallow them with minimal chewing, and then grab a handful of the meat. I chew the meat and savor it, as flavorful and fatty grease floods my tongue and nose, and the crispy texture of the meat is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

“Make more of this,” I command. “Please!”

Her face distorts, and I wonder if she’s going to cry or shout, but instead she laughs.

I must have broken her, because she continues laughing. I put a hand on her shoulder and shake at her gently, but she keeps laughing, and tears stream down her cheeks.

Is she happy or sad? I cannot tell.

Then I realize I’ve consumed all the food and she’s not eaten anything.

“You will allow me to cook more of this delicious food,” I say. “Please!”

“Okay,” she manages to get out through her crying and laughing fit. “Okay, okay, I’d love to see you trying to cook. Go ahead.”

She sits down and her laughing fit begins to subside. She wipes the tears from her face with her sleeve.

My memory is good, and I repeat exactly the steps she followed while cooking. She stands back up and watches me with intensity as I pour the salt crystals onto the egg and flip the meat strips over at just the right time.

“You’re good with weapons, and with cooking,” she says. “I have to admit, I’m surprised.”

That releases me of more shame debt, though I don’t tell her this. I worry she’ll humor me in the future, so I suppress my smile and do my best not to show her my satisfaction.

I hand her the pan of meat. She takes it from me, but puts it back down on the heating mechanism.

“We use plates,” she says. “Let me show you. And silverware. At least when we’re accelerating. It’s trickier in zero-g.”

She brings out an array of complicated and unnecessary tools, all which accomplish the same thing as using my hands to eat out of the pan.

“I will not use these,” I say, grabbing the remaining meat strips into my hand. The greasy and protein-rich fat covers my palms, and I lick the fat off after I’ve thrown all the meat into my mouth.

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “One thing at a time, I guess. ‘Please’ is a good place to start.”