Page 3 of Uncovered By the Alien Commander
“I thought you’d be pleased. It was you, after all, that named me thus,” he retorts with a chuckle. “But I speak the truth.” He pauses, his expression becomes sterner. “The reason I sought you out was I need you for a mission.”
A mission?Excitement pulsates within me, a chance to shake off the rust that threatens to corrode. I nod with approval, encouraging Krogoth to continue. “With our oppressive alliance to the Scythians now dissolved, I need you to begin alliance talks with the Nebians.” He lets out a sigh. “I fear the Scythians will retaliate and we must be prepared, and who better than you who has befriended one of them already?”
The Nebian females are cursed with terrible smallness... although they may have the girth...“Yes... yes, who better indeed, a friendly face will help ease the tensions.”And there’s the potential for a little diversion to a few pleasure houses.
Krogoth raises an eyebrow. “Xandor, this is a serious matter. I don’t want you trying to mate one of their Consul females,or naming them all short-stuff.”I wonder if Nebia Prime keeps many drinking houses?“Are you listening?” Krogoth interrupts my fanciful thoughts.
“Um... Yeah, of course, no short-stuffing, understood.” I pull my attention back to the present with focus. “You can rely on me brother, I will bring your terms and pray they accept,” I cement with a solemn thump of my fist to my chest and a brief bow.
Krogoth nods with contentment at my resolve. “Excellent. You are to bring a genetically altered youth with you. One of my terms is their assistance in finding a solution for our young.”
My face scrunches at his words.A troubling requirement, you can never trust the murderous rage of our youth.“Logarn... I choose Logarn. At least he has fought with honor alongside us before,” I say with speed.Despite his less than appealing monotonous company.
“Ah, young Logarn, I pray the Nebians can help him,” Krogoth states before his hands move with deftness over his wrist console. “I’ve transferred our terms over to you, as well as access to any resources you may need.” My wrist console vibrates upon the recipe of his message, as Krogoth rubs his chin before continuing, “Take another warrior with you, just to be sure.”
Another war brother...thinking back to the impressive display during the last clan meeting. “I know just the warrior,” I answer with joy, happy for the company.
Krogoth claps his hands, stiffening my spine. “One more thing. I need our remaining ships for when I return to the front lines with the others soon. You must seek a mercenary vessel to carry you.”
A sigh escapes my lips.I should have asked him all the details before agreeing...“That will be difficult. There are precious few mercenary ships that venture to Klendathor, never mind trying to convince them to cross through into a war zone,” I lament.
Krogoth nods. “True, but credits are no object. Let them name their price, and their greed will lead them by the nose,” he reassures me with a smile.
I examine my wrist console, the holographic projection displaying authorization for one million credits. “Gods, one million!” I exclaim, as my eyes widen.
“I expect change,” Krogoth laughs, before his expression turns more serious.
“Go forth into the stars, Xandor. Remind the universe and yourself that you are a true noble son of Klendathor. Crush all who stand in your way and deliver us an alliance that may save our proud people,” Krogoth finishes with a Klendathian salute that stirs my soul.
“I will not fail.”
Chapter 2
Tyrxie
Arrival
Wiping my forehead withthe back of my hand causes me to recoil as I’ve just smudged myself with thick greasy oil and void knows what else.
Lovely.
I’melbow deep in the guts of my adopted home, the intrepid floating bucket of bolts and patched arcweave which has the misfortune of being attached to a hyperdrive engine.
The Mutalisk’s Hammer.
A horrible name. Like comparing an Elerium core engine to a hypospanner, or znat to a Glaseroid or well... A run-down jumped-up transport vessel to a mutalisk, a terror of space travel.
“The repairs go well? Yes?” Job, or maybe it is Mod’s, voice startles me, causing me to thumb the familiar and comforting knife that never leaves my side. One of many.
I’ll never be without one again.
It must be Job, repeating his favorite word “Yes.” It’s hard to tell the two Glaseroids apart. They are twins, but they claim to have two hundred and twenty-five identical siblings. Glaseroids are an egg lying species so it’s possible they speak the truth.
“You’re the engineer, Job!” I protest as I wave my wrist console around to provide light in this cramped, dark tunnel nestled beneath a gangway, deep in the bowels of the ship. I struggle to remove a panel, revealing polysynth boards. “It should be you jammed down here.”
Job remains unfazed. “My antennae get stuck,” he complains in his usual quick and high-pitched tone. I’m not convinced Glaseroids have empathy. “You almost as small. You repair. Yes?”
Is ‘no’ an option? Silly question. The answer is obvious. I’m the lowest-ranking and least experienced crew member aboard Mutalisk’s Hammer. They officially designated me as part of the maintenance crew, which translates to doing all the shit jobs that no one else wants to do.