Page 14 of Bound to the Alien Orc (Alien Gambits #1)

Chapter 14

W hat happens after you die? Will my life flash before my eyes? Or will there simply be nothingness?

I push the thoughts aside, trying to focus on the present. The cold, hard floor of my cell presses against my back as I lie, staring up at the blank ceiling. The trial has replayed in my mind ever since I got back. A constant loop of accusations, half-truths, and the sinking realization I’m going to die for a crime I didn’t commit.

I puked earlier, but now I’m starving. My stomach growls with confirmation of the lack of food. I look down at my dirty jumpsuit, and the stench hits me and I need a shower desperately. Does it matter if I’m going to die in a few hours?

No, but it would be nice to die clean. With some dignity, please.

I can’t even look out the viewport. That was my solace just hours ago. I’m going to be sucked out of an airlock and die a painful death. Before I can throw up again, I’m distracted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching.

I sit up, my heart pounding in my chest as I realize what this means.

It’s time for my execution.

The footsteps grow closer, and I steel myself, my body tense, ready for whatever comes next. Then the door opens and Arm-ageddon and Scar-face enter. The guards walk toward me, their expressions grim.

Arm-ageddon reaches down and yanks me to my feet, his metal grip is like iron. Scar-face doesn’t say a word as he leads the way to my doom. My legs are weak, but I keep pace with the guards as we walk down the long, empty corridor.

“It’s time,” Scar-Face says, his voice gruff and emotionless.

I take a deep breath, trying to quell the fear that threatens to overwhelm me. I’ve been waiting for this moment to come, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality of it. As the guards secure the restraints around my wrists and ankles, a sense of numbness washes over me.

“Let’s go,” Arm-ageddon orders, giving me a rough shove towards the door.

I stumble forward, the chains rattling with each step. The corridor stretches out before me, a cold, sterile passageway leading to my final destination. The guards flank me on either side.

The silence is deafening as we walk. It’s broken only by the sound of our footsteps.

Fear, anger, and a deep sense of injustice threaten to consume me. Everything I’ll never experience spin through my mind. Someone ever loving me, reuniting with my family, the satisfaction of making a difference.

It’s all being ripped away from me, and for what? A crime I didn’t even commit! The unfairness of it all is suffocating, and I can feel hot tears stinging my eyes as I take my last steps towards the airlock.

We approach a large metal door at the end of the corridor. My heart races as Scar-Face punches in a code on the keypad.

This is it — the moment I’ve been dreading.

The door slides open with a hiss, revealing a small, poorly lit room. In the center, I see the airlock, its edges gleaming in the faint light. The sight makes my knees weaken.

As I step into the airlock chamber, the atmosphere is cold and sterile. The room is modest, with bare metal walls and a single reinforced door leading to the void of space.

A group of officials stand near the airlock controls, their faces impassive and unreadable. They are all unfamiliar to me, but their presence only adds to the suffocating sense of finality that hangs in the air.

“Step inside,” one guard commands, giving me a rough shove towards the airlock.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, preparing myself for the end.

As I’m about to step forward, a loud beep echoes through the room. Scar-Face holds up a hand, stopping me in my tracks. He presses a finger to his earpiece, listening intently. His expression shifts from one of grim determination to one of surprise and confusion.

“Hold on,” he says, his voice low. “There’s been a change of plans.”

I blink, not quite understanding. A change of plans? What could that possibly mean?

The officials clamor amongst themselves, but I can’t focus on them. I’m glued to watching the guards.

Arm-ageddon looks just as confused as I feel. “What’s going on?” he asks, his grip on my arm loosening slightly.

Scar-Face shakes his head. “I’m not sure, but we have new orders.”

My heart races, hope and fear battling for dominance within me. Is this a cruel trick? A way to prolong my suffering? Or could it be something else entirely?

The guards exchange a glance, and Arm-ageddon nods. “Alright, let’s go,” he says, turning me around and leading me back down the corridor.

What the fuck is going on? Am I dying today or not?

Scar-Face walks beside me, his eyes focused straight ahead. Neither of them answers my questions, so we walk in silence, the guards flanking me once more. But this time, the atmosphere is different.

I try to make sense of the sudden change in plans. The walls blur past us, a medley of sterile, uniform passages giving way to more ornate decorations. Intricate holotapestries and gleaming metal sculptures adorn the walls, a stark contrast to the bare, lifeless corridors of the detention center.

Wait, I know this route!

I can feel my shoulders drop as we turn down another corridor, and I catch a glimpse of a familiar place.

The engineering department.

We emerge into a vast hangar bay, the space bustling with activity. Engineers and technicians scurry about, tending to various spacecraft and equipment. The guards lead me towards a sleek, black transport ship, its hull gleaming under the harsh lighting.

My heart aches seeing my former life, but I can’t forgive them for not standing up for me. Not one of them came to my defense. Anger simmers underneath my skin as I try to make eye contact with Spenglar and Nixtor, but both look away. Cowards.

I search for Kyor, but there is no sign of him. Good.

As we approach the ship, my eyes widen in recognition. This is no ordinary Orion vessel, but a high-tech Corsairian transporter. It’s the kind usually reserved for senior officials and one I’ve begged Kyor to work on before.

The sleek, streamlined design, the advanced propulsion systems, and the state-of-the-art navigation controls are unmistakable. I’ve studied these ships, marveled at their capabilities, but never dreamed I’d set foot in one.

That I’m here as a prisoner, rather than an engineer, is a bitter pill to swallow. But even in my current predicament, I can’t help but appreciate the sheer engineering marvel. It’s a testament to the Corsairian’s and their technological prowess.

I see a few dents in the hull and my hands itch to get working on the repairs. But that’ll never happen now. The thought sours my gut.

I tear my eyes from the Corsairian Transporter to notice three figures standing at the base of the boarding ramp.

The first, High Chieftain Garrox, his gold tusks and red robes are a stark contrast to the sleek ship. He glowers at me, his eyes narrowed with contempt.

Beside him stands Judge Klix, his six arms folded across his chest. And finally, Droilin, his expression a mix of relief and apprehension.

As the guards lead me forward, I can feel their eyes on me. There is a tense silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on me.

I look at Droilin, silently pleading for an explanation.

My heart pounds in my chest as I draw closer, the anticipation and uncertainty threatening to overwhelm me.

The guards come to a halt a few feet from the trio, and Arm-ageddon shoves me forward, nearly sending me stumbling to my knees.

Judge Klix steps forward, his voice echoing through the hangar bay. “Tasha Williams, in light of recent events and after careful consideration, the court has decided to alter your sentence. Instead of execution, you will be exiled to the planet Morcrest, where you will serve your time under the supervision of Droilin, personal guard to the High Chieftain.”

Morcrest?!

A wave of shock washes over me, and I feel like I can breathe again. It takes all my willpower not to collapse from relief.

I’m getting a second chance.

I stare at the judge, hardly daring to believe what I’m hearing. Exile? To Morcrest? It’s a far cry from the death I was facing just moments ago.

Droilin clears his throat, his gaze meeting mine.

“Tasha, you are hereby placed under my direct supervision. You will obey my orders without question, and you will assist me in my work on the luminore mining survey.”

Droilin approaches me, a set of heavy, metallic chains in his hands. He looks at me, fidgeting with the restraint, a hint of apprehension on his face.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I respond, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” he replies, his expression softening.

I want to scream, to fight, to run, but I know it’s useless.

His rough hands take my arms from behind, the heat of his palm sears through the thin fabric of my sleeves. Droilin to secure the chains around them. His touch ignites a spark on my sensitive skin. I suppress a shiver at the sensation.

I shouldn’t be thinking this way. He’s my captor, but it’s hard not to feel alive right this second.

He presses me gently into the cold metal wall. I feel the hard planes of his chest against my back, the warmth of his breath on my neck. He handles me with unexpected tenderness, as if apologizing for this necessary roughness as he secures the other chains to ensure my compliance.

My pulse quickens at his closeness. His masculine scent envelops my senses. The heat coming off his skin contrasts with the frigid metal at my back.

Our eyes meet and lock. I read the conflicts raging in those dark depths — duty, sympathy, and perhaps something more. Desire flickers through me like a live wire.

He lingers a moment, our bodies pressed flush against each other. My nerves tingle, hyperaware of every place we connect. A heady mix of exhilaration, fear, and longing courses through me.

Too soon, he withdraws, his hands leaving hot imprints on my arms. The loss of contact leaves me reeling. But the memory of his searing touch remains, giving me strength and hope in my darkest hour.

“Your exile will commence immediately,” Judge Klix states, his voice stern and unyielding, tearing me back to my reality.

“You will be transported to Morcrest and assigned a permanent residence, where you will live out the remainder of your sentence. Any attempts to escape or cause further disruption will result in immediate execution. Do you understand?”

I nod, the gravity of the situation weighing down on me. “Yes, I understand.”

Droilin turns to Judge Klix, a look of determination on his face.

“Your Lawfulness, we would like to request a change of clothes for the prisoner. She will need to be dressed accordingly, to reflect her status and the severity of her crimes.”

“Very well. You may requisition appropriate attire from the supply depot. Now, if you will excuse us, we must attend to other matters.”

Droilin nods, and Judge Klix and the High Chieftain turn and walk away, their footsteps echoing through the hangar.

The guards take hold of my chains, and I allow them to lead me up the ramp and into the transport ship. I can’t believe this is happening, the reality is still sinking in.

As we enter the main cabin, the door slides shut behind us, sealing us inside. The ship’s interior is a sleek, modern design and the walls are lined with advanced control panels and holographic displays. Their soft glow illuminates the spacious cabin. The seats are made from premium materials, offer a comfort I won’t experience as I’m led to the cramped, utilitarian holding cell in the rear.

Droilin guides me towards the cell, his grip on my arm firm but not cruel. He secures my chains to the wall and gestures for me to sit on a narrow bench.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted,” Droilin says, his voice low and earnest. “But I promise you, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and to uncover the truth behind the explosion. You have my word.”

I look into his eyes, searching for any hint of deception, but all I see is sincerity and willpower. Despite the circumstances, I feel a flicker of hope.

As the cell door slides shut behind me, I sink onto the hard, narrow bench, my mind reeling with the events of the day. The ship hums to life around me, the vibrations of the engines resonating through the metal floor.

I close my eyes, trying to process the sudden turn of events, when I hear heavy footsteps approaching. The door to the main cabin slides open, revealing the imposing figure of High Chieftain Garrox. His gold tusks glint menacingly in the soft light, and his red robes billow behind him as he strides into the room, his eyes fixed on me.

Droilin straightens, turning to face the High Chieftain. “The ship is ready to depart for Morcrest.”

Garrox’s gaze shifts to Droilin, his expression hard. “Is the prisoner properly secured? We cannot afford any mistakes or lapses in judgment.”

Droilin nods, his posture stiffening. “I assure you, High Chieftain, the prisoner is secure. She will not be causing any trouble.”

Garrox approaches the holding cell, his eyes boring into mine. Goosebumps prickle my skin as he speaks, his voice dripping with disdain. “You may have escaped execution, human, but do not think for a moment that this is a mercy.”

He leans closer, his hot breath washing over my face. “You will spend the rest of your miserable life toiling away on Morcrest, a constant reminder of your crimes and the shame you have brought upon yourself and your kind.”

I resist the urge to bite back. I have to be smarter, play the long game.

He holds my gaze for a moment more, then turns to Droilin, dismissing me with a sneer.

“Get the prisoner settled and ready for arrival on Morcrest. And Droilin, ensure her accommodations are... suitable for a terrorist.”

“Yes, High Chieftain,” Droilin replies, his shoulders tense.

Garrox gives me one last contemptuous glare before turning on his heel and striding out of the cabin, his robes swirling behind him. The door slides shut, and I slump against the wall, the weight of the High Chieftain’s words hitting me like a ton of bricks.

Droilin approaches the cell, his expression softening. “I apologize for Garrox’s behavior. He can be... difficult at times.”

I can only manage a faint nod. Tears well in my eyes, but I fight to hold them back, refusing to show weakness. At least I’m not dead, right?

Droilin reaches through the bars and gently places a hand on my shoulder. The simple gesture is surprisingly comforting, and I lean into his touch.

His eyes lock onto mine, and the intensity of his gaze makes my breath catch.

Droilin withdraws his hand, a faint green flush coloring his cheeks.

He clears his throat, averting his gaze.

“We will be departing shortly. Once we’re underway, I’ll bring you some food and water. Until then, try to get some rest. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

As he turns to leave, the ship’s engines roar to life, the vibrations intensifying. I feel the familiar sensation of the vessel lifting off, and I move to the small viewport in the cell, watching as the hangar bay falls away beneath us.

The vastness of space stretches out before me, an endless expanse of stars and darkness.

What lies ahead in Morcrest? Will I be able to clear my name and uncover the truth behind the explosion? Or will I be forever branded as a terrorist, doomed to spend the rest of my days in exile?

I close my eyes, leaning my forehead against the cool glass of the viewport. I have been given a second chance, and I will not waste it.

Not now, not ever.