Page 49 of Uncovered By the Alien Commander
But I continue walking without direction, determined to walk off my injuries and escape the Suns of Omega territory. Once I get my bearings, I can begin the search for the location of the Gorgons Wrath and sell Xandors mask. Even now, the thought elicits a touch of excitement that is consumed with a gnawing dread and a sense of wrongness I’m trying to suppress.
Every filth ridden street leads to another exact copy of itself. The same arrangement of large white buildings on either side, only the graffiti, rubbish and disheveled aliens, gives any indication of difference. Disorientation threatens to overwhelm me as I cast frantic glances over the area. Only the crystal spire that is the heart of Omega Flux Station serves as any kind of anchor in this sea of sameness.
I’m lost, always lost.
Soon I lose track of the streets I’ve rounded, each one leading forever onward, as I glance over my shoulder to see no one following me. I breathe a little easier, as I assume I’m now out of the Suns of Omega territory. Yet I would swear that each new street brings a heightened level of degradation. People slumped against walls, wearing rags with trembling hands begging for credits as others lie passed out, a scoomer inhaler clutched in their frail hands.
Averting my gaze from them as shame washes over me, knowing now we’ve dealt scoomer on stations before, that I’m complicit in the misery that surrounds me. But that’s the least of my worries. Within the building doorways are congregations of various aliens, speaking in hushed tones as I pass, some nodding in my direction, their eyes narrowing, their curiosity piqued.
I don’t belong here; I don’t belong anywhere.
Unknown voices jeer at me from the countless windows, causing my breath to hitch my steps to hasten. A growing nervousness takes root, spreading its tendrils through my core, recognizing I’ve made a terrible mistake. This forsaken place will never be my home. I’ve traded one nightmare for another. Once again, I curse being a female, from an unknown species... A human, at least according to Xandor.
My alien strangeness is like a beacon I can’t turn off. I draw the unwanted attention of others, especially males. I hate attention, the eyes of others on me, judging me, sizing me up. My gazeshifts as I look for an escape, but every street is the same, littered with more suspicious stares.
I shift my eyes downwards, attempting to hide my otherness. As I rub my trusty locket resting in my pants before switching to brushing the handle of my pistol, drawing as much reassuring comfort as I can. In my distraction, I fail to notice the approaching figure from behind till a gasp escapes me as our bodies collide for the briefest moment.
Yet I can feel their probing hands dart over my armor into my pockets. “My apologizes,” his voice drips with feigned courtesy, the hooded flaxen furred Jungarian male inclines his head with a fanged smirk as he hurries past. Panic’s icy grip clutches my heart, knowing already with certainty he’s stolen something from me. With frantic touches, I assess my belongings.
Stupid, stupid, negligent bitch!
Everything seems intact until my hand reaches for my locket...No, no, no! Anything but the locket!Crushing despair rests where my locket once was. Without thinking, I pursue the thief, driven by a shocking, desperate need for the only comfort left to me in this entire unforgiving universe.
“Wait!” I cry out, sprinting after him, drawing everyone’s attention, as my breath becomes frantic in my pursuit. The hooded Jungarian, almost out of sight, turns, his eyes widening with surprise, before he accelerates, spurred on by my desperate pleas. Tears threaten to spill as I implore him, “Please, not my locket!”
My hysterical begging words have no effect on the thief as he continues to flee. My heart pounds in my chest as my legs pump harder than they ever have. I Ignore the jeering, laughter from the spectators, and the alarm bells, alerting me of the danger I’m inviting, but I remain focused on my locket, I will not give it up, not ever.
Lost in the frenzy of my pursuit, I lose track of the countless identical streets I transverse, but no matter how hard I push myself, I can’t close the yawning distance of the fleeing thief. As my lungs burn and muscles ache, the creeping dreaded realization dawns on me...I can’t catch him. Already he’s almost out of my sight.
I’m useless and helpless.
Pitiless despair and exhaustion almost cause me to surrender in defeat. Until in the distance, the Jungarian thief crashes into a huge black-skinned Tuskarian. Despite the thief’s forceful sprint, he bounces off the Tuskarian as if he’d charged into a solid arcweave wall, sending him crumpling to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, I draw closer, my stolen locket within reach once more.
The Tuskarian delivers merciless stomps down upon the thief, that twists my stomach at the savage efficiency of it. Nearby now, I can see the Jungarian lying motionless, covered in blood, perhaps lifeless, yet I feel no sympathy for him, only a weariness of the looming Tuskarian and what his intentions are.
I slow my pace, just a few steps from the grisly scene. The Tuskarian wastes no time rummaging through his victim’s pockets with meaty hands, lining his own pouches with various trinkets. As I wonder if I’ve exchanged one thief for another. “Um... Excuse me, can I have my locket back?” I ask between panting breaths.
The Tuskarian appears not to have heard or chooses not to, as he unclasps the first thief’s wrist console, examining the device with a critical yellow beady eye. I resist the urge to recoil at the same eyes as Hyanxa, the color of danger. Yet I persist with one hand outstretched, the other fingering the handle of my pistol. “Give me my locket back!” I demand, my fear replaced with an irrational, forceful desperation.
He halts, his eyes flicking to the gun in my holster and then to me. The Tuskarian takes his time standing, towering over me as tall and broad as Quad. His large glimmering white tusks protrude upward, from thick lips a contrast to his black skin as dark as the void of space. “Credits?” He rumbles his voice deep, gesturing with an open chunky, calloused palm.
What if he takes my credits before stomping me?
Yet I have no choice as I wave my wrist console over him, setting the device to send a hundred credits. I lament the loss as my meager share as a crew member keeps me poor, but I would pay every credit I own if it meant the return of my precious locket.
The Tuskarian acknowledges our transaction with a solemn nod, prompting him to search through his brown polymer jacket. I scrutinize his every movement for a hint of betrayal, my hand still resting on my pistol, preparing to use it. “This it?” he inquires, presenting the polished gold locket which looks minuscule in his thick hands.
Relief floods through me at the sight of it, forcing me to reach a greedy hand out to snatch it. Yet before I can grasp it, his fist clenches around the locket, leaving me stunned and incredulous. “We had a deal!” I protest, my voice trembling with indignation.
“More credits first,” he demands, his tone leaving no room for negotiation as he brandishes a threatening finger.
I’m desperate and he knows it.
A sinking feeling pulls my guts to the floor, sensing that I have no choice but to be taken advantage of. “Fine, fifty extra. But not a credit more,” I lie, as I transfer the additional credits to the hulking Tuskarian.
He nods once again on receipt, and to my surprise, holds out the locket. I waste no time snatching the item with speed, fearing he might repeat the same trick. Relief washes over me asI examine the object, rubbing the familiar smooth surface before tucking it back into my pocket where it belongs.
The Tuskarian snorts, blowing out a plume of air from his big snouted nose before turning to leave as he inspects the other objects he’s stolen from the Jungarian. I stare at his broad back as he marches away, torn between gratitude and unease, contemplating asking him for guidance, knowing I can somewhat trust him if I have the credits to pay.