Page 34 of Uncovered By the Alien Commander
I scoff. “If she were, she’d wouldn’t act like some shifty knife-happy varmint,” I retort, eyeing the spot on my hand where she took her last swing.
“Knife?” Noroth asks with a look of confusion.
“Nevermind,” I dismiss, waving my hand, wondering if I may need the soothing comfort of a pleasure house more than Noroth. “Come, Job mentioned he left my armor in his workshop,” I state, turning to exit the room.
Striding toward Job’s workshop through the narrow corridors of the ship, now eerie silent, lacking the hum of the engines or the bustle of the crew. Prompts a pang of anxious worry to grip me, hoping that my armor and warvisor are intact. My warvisor, worth a fortune and often coveted, alone is a blessing from the Gods themselves.
The workshop doors slide open as I step inside. I release a deep exhale at the sight of my armor laying upon a bench. The thick arcweave plates, gleaming in dull silver, linked via a tight mesh of minuscule weaves. Approaching, I run my hand over the arc blaster and arc shield gauntlets, happy to see they remain intact.
Next, my gaze flicks to my warvisor that dangles from the many latches attached to the belt. Its black eye slits regard me with blankness. As I peer deeper, I feel nothing, an absence...
“Ah, excellent, your war gear is repaired?” Noroth interrupts my thoughts.
Stepping back, I cast an appreciative glance over the entire armored suit. “A miracle the Glaseroid’s have done such fine work. And no one’s been double crossed,” I quip, tracing a finger along the chest plate. “The dents and gorges are completely removed.”
Without hesitation, I equip my armor, the weighty tight plates a familiar comfort, like an old friend who’s been with me through every brutal battle. Finally securing my belt, I stand ready. “It’s time to spread our wings,” I declare, flashing a broad smile that reveals the glint of my fangs.
Exiting the docking hatch ramp, the sight of the gleaming white crystal central mega-structure assaults my eyes, towering above, further plagued by the countless annoying drones that spew iridescent hues of blinding brightness over the expansive landscape. “This place resembles cosmic vomit spewing rainbows,” I comment, my voice full of disdain.
Undeterred, we continue through the clean, white paved ring, which stretches for hundreds of miles. “I find it pretty,” Noroth remarks, his gaze drawn upward to the ethereal green dome that arcs overhead, and the graceful dance of ships navigating through the space above, reminiscent of languid sea creatures.
The darting drones steal my attention as I attempt to keep track of them, each one no doubt capable of defense. Already, the sensation of an oppressive, watchful presence prickles the hairs on the back of my neck. “This place dazzles with colors, but it’s devoid of life, devoid of meaning,” I retort, sweeping my gaze across the sterile emptiness and vibrant hues. “Lifeless and soulless, doubtless the creation of technocrats and merchants, their imaginations as shriveled as their cocks.”
How would I overcome these defenses?A bombardment from our warships, knocking out the central drone controls, followed by a ground assault? It would be a massacre.
Noroth scoffs, interrupting my joyous thoughts. “I still find it pretty,” he remarks with a casual shrug. “What say you, Logarn?” he turns toward the blond youth.
Logarn fixes his gaze ahead. His eyes narrowed, betraying a hint of discomfort. “The light hurts my eyes,” he states, his tone betraying no hint of emotion.
“Hah! That settles it. Two to one,” I exclaim, clapping my hands. “This Omega Flux Station is an offensive gaudy shit,” I finish with a smile directed at Noroth.
A colossal crystal white wall looms at our approach. It appears to wrap around the entire ring on this tier like a fortress guarding its boundary. Standing before it, nothing happens and the only sound is the buzzing of the annoying drones overhead. “Should we climb over it?” I consider aloud as my eyes scan the featureless wall for any clues.
“Void it,” I declare, extending my natural razor-sharp claws, that gleam with the iridescent hues from the drones. I thrust my hand into the garish crystal walls that offer sparse resistance to my power. Just as I’m about to hoist myself up, a large square materializes to my right, prompting me to drop to the ground.
“Ah, a door,” I remark with a casual shrug, retracting my claws. “Of course.”
“You lack patience, Xandor,” Noroth chides, disbelief etched on his face.
“Patience is for those resting in the catacombs of Nardune,” I retort, stepping through the entrance. The sight of an array of battle drones hovering with a promise of violence, puts me on edge, poised to unleash destruction at the first hint of trouble.
Noroth also regards the space with suspicion, inspecting the drones with inquisitive glances. He gives one machine a playful thump, sending it skidding to the floor, twitching in a heap. “Do they intend for us to battle these for sport?” he wonders, inspecting another drone.
“It would be poor sport,” I answer, my tone laced with impatience, thinking I should have kept climbing over the wall. “Probably for inspections, but really is a pathetic show of strength and intimidation.”
Noroth folds his thick arms. “I’m shaking,” he mocks with a smile.
Just then, on the other side of the crystal enclosure, another entrance reveals itself, accompanied by a diminutive figure clad from head to toe in garish iridescent armor, his face obscured by a helmet. But my eye follows his pulsar rifle attached to his leg, a step up from ballistic weapons, but still no match for our plasma.
“Gods, look at this one, like a broken mirror reflecting multicolored shite,” I grin at Noroth, causing him to laugh, his voice echoing off the spectral walls.
The male of unknown origin clears his throat with tentativeness, hoping to interrupt us, but we continue. Then he approaches us with cautious steps, like a frightened puffrio before a venefex. “Klen ... Klendathians?” he stammers out, his fear obvious despite the muffling of his voice.
“Hail, my garish friend,” I greet him with a broad grin, towering over the—whoever he is.
“Great, just what I need, voiding Klendathians,” he mutters under his breath, almost inaudible, but not for my sensitive hearing. “No drone directed you here?” his head shifts towards the broken battle drone that still twitches near us. “Wait, what happened there?” he points.
I shrug, my golden eyes locking onto his visor with an intensity that belies my casual demeanor. “It just fell over when we got here,” I glance towards Noroth, who nods in agreement while Logarn stands as impassive as a drone himself.