Page 15 of Bound to the Alien Orc (Alien Gambits #1)

Chapter 15

T he soft hum of the ship’s engines has become a constant companion during the long journey through hyperspace. Hours stretch into days, and the iridescent blues and purples of the tunnel have lost their allure. Now they only serve as a reminder of the vast distance between Orion Outpost and Morcrest.

I sit on the bridge, my eyes fixed on the viewport, my mind consumed by the events which led us here. The tension on the ship is plain. Our limited crew are eager to return to Orion, and I don’t blame them. Garrox has kept himself locked in his quarters, which at least brings some temporary relief.

I long for when we’ll finally emerge from this swirling vortex and set foot on solid ground. Morcrest, with all its challenges, beckons to me like a beacon amidst the anarchy. But even as I cling to that thought, I can’t shake the feeling of unease that has settled in the pit of my stomach.

Not even the mesmerizing beauty of the cosmos can calm my thoughts. No, they’re focused on the stunning female in the cell across the corridor.

I know I did the right thing by fighting for her life, but the consequences of my actions... are not lost on me.

A sudden beep from the console jolts me out of my thoughts. I snap my gaze down to the screen, my brow furrowing as I take in the flashing red light, pulsing with an ominous rhythm.

The ship’s communication system is disrupted, warning messages scrolling across the interface in a relentless loop. These captain-less ships, a hallmark of Corsairian tech, are a reckless leap into uncertainty. We’ve swapped captains for algorithms, but when chaos strikes, we’re left stranded.

I tap a series of commands into the console, my fingers flying over the keys as I attempt to isolate the source of the malfunction. But the warning persists, stubbornly refusing to stop beeping. The system readouts flash before my eyes, a dizzying array of numbers and symbols mocking my attempts to decipher them.

I rise from my seat, my mind racing with possible solutions, a thousand scenarios playing out in my head as I try to formulate a plan of action. But before I can take a single step, the sound of heavy footsteps behind me shatters my concentration.

Garrox storms onto the bridge, his gold tusks glinting in the artificial light, his red robes billowing behind him like a banner of rage. His eyes lock onto mine, narrowing with a mixture of annoyance and accusation.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he demands, his voice a low, menacing growl that fills the entire room.

“There’s a malfunction with the communication systems, High Chieftain.”

Garrox’s face contorts with anger, his fists clenching at his sides as he takes a step towards me. “Well, fix it!” he snaps, his words dripping with impatience and disdain. “I won’t be delayed any further by this incompetence.”

I bite back the bitter retort that dances on my tongue, swallowing my pride. “Yes, sir,” I reply stiffly.

The flashing light continues to taunt me as I redouble my efforts to isolate the issue. I’m confident a comms problem isn’t a direct threat to the High Chieftain.

Or the rest of us... but I need help.

As I leave the bridge and head to the main cabin, my footsteps echoing through the corridors, I spot a Zaxron, one of the Muspel crew members, lounging on a seat. His lean, pale blue wiry frame is sprawled across the cushions, long, spindly limbs arranged in a haphazard tangle.

Zaxron’s large, bulbous eyes are glued to the holoscreen in front of him, which casts shadows across his narrow, angular face. He blinks his nearly translucent eyelids lazily, as if he’s only half-aware of his surroundings.

He barely acknowledges my presence, his gaze never wavering from his screen. Zaxron seems utterly unaware to the malfunction on the ship. His posture is one of complete relaxation.

“Can you fix the communication systems?” I ask, my voice tight with scarcely contained frustration.

He glances up at me, his expression a mixture of boredom and annoyance. “I’m not an engineer,” he shrugs, his attention already drifting back to the holoscreen.

“Then where is the engineer?” I demand, my voice rising with each word.

Zaxron looks back at me, his eyes widening slightly at the intensity of my gaze. “There isn’t one,” he says, a hint of nervousness creeping into his tone. “We’ve only brought a skeleton crew here. As requested.”

My irritation flares at his indifference. How can he prioritize his own amusement over the well-being of the ship and its occupants? But I push it down. Anger will only cloud my judgment.

A sudden commotion from the holding cell diverts my attention. My body tenses, my muscles coiled like a spring, as I stride down the corridor.

As I approach the cell, a sense of dread washes over me. The door is slightly ajar, and I can hear a faint wheezing sound coming from within. I quicken my pace, my heart pounding in my chest.

I push open the door, and the sight that greets me stops me dead in my tracks. Tasha is lying on the floor, her face pale and covered in a sheen of sweat. Her breathing is labored, and she seems to struggle to keep her eyes open.

“Tasha!” I rush to her side, dropping to my knees beside her. “What happened? Are you alright?”

She tries to sit up, but her arms give out from under her. “I don’t know,” she whispers, her voice weak. “I started feeling dizzy and then everything went black.”

I press the back of my hand to her forehead, cursing under my breath at the heat radiating from her skin. “You’re burning up. I need to get you to the med bay.”

I know I need to act fast, but a part of me hesitates. Can I trust her enough to provide medical attention? What if this is some kind of ploy to escape? No, I have to try. She needs help, and there is no one else.

I reach for the control panel next to the door. As the metal barrier slides open, I step into the cell, crouching beside Tasha.

She is so fragile, so vulnerable in my grasp. A pang of guilt stabs at my heart. I should have checked on her sooner, made sure she was okay.

Her breathing is shallow and rapid, and her pulse races beneath my fingertips. She has a high fever, and I know I need to get her to the ship’s sickbay, and fast.

“Hold on, Tasha,” I murmur, releasing her chains and lifting her into my arms. “I’ve got you.”

I carry her to the ship’s small med bay. The medic, a gruff Bravorian named Hu’lax, eyes me warily as I explain the situation.

“She’s burning up,” I tell him, my voice urgent.

As I lay her down on the examination table in the med bay, a ragged cough racks her body. I feel the heat emanating from her skin, see the pain etched into her face. A wave of fear crashes over me, fear for her life. I should have noticed earlier.

Hu’lax nods and turns his attention to Tasha. He scans her with a handheld device, the readings displayed on an overhead monitor. He sets to work, administering medication and preparing an IV drip.

I hover nearby, my heart pounds as I watch Tasha’s chest rise and fall with each labored breath. After a short time, he announces his diagnosis.

“She has a mild case of radiation poisoning. It’s a common side effect for humans traveling through hyperspace. The radioprotective IV should take care of the worst of it. But she’ll need a couple hours of bedrest, water, food. And a shower wouldn’t hurt either.”

Relief floods through me, the tension in my body easing. She’s going to be okay.

“Thank you, Hu’lax. I’ll make sure she gets everything she needs.”

The medic gives a curt nod and retreats to his office, leaving me alone with Tasha.

She stirs, her eyelids fluttering open. I watch as she struggles to focus; her gaze slowly clearing.

I lean in closer, my voice gentle.

“Tasha, how are you feeling?”

She blinks, her brow furrowing in confusion. “I’m... okay,” she croaks, her voice hoarse. “What happened?”

I give her a reassuring smile. “You’re suffering from a mild case of radiation poisoning, but you’re going to be fine. The IV will take care of it. You just need some rest and fluids. In the meantime, we’ll need to keep an eye on you.”

She nods, her gaze drifting around the med bay. “I feel better already,” she murmurs, her eyes settling on the IV tube running into her arm. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” I respond, squeezing her hand gently. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

She smiles weakly, her eyelids growing heavy. Within moments, she drifts off to sleep, her breathing evening out.

I leave Tasha in Hu’lax’s care as I return to the bridge. My mind is still on her condition. The flashing warning light has stopped, and the console appears to be functioning normally again.

I’m curious but mostly relieved that the issue has resolved itself. Perhaps it was a temporary glitch. But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it than meets the eye.

“Good news, High Chieftain,” I say, approaching him cautiously. “It seems the communication systems are back online.”

Garrox grunts in acknowledgment, not bothering to look up from his task. “About time,” he mutters, his fingers flying over the keys. “I need to inform the Outpost of our progress.”

Garrox finishes his transmission, leering at the console. His mood seems to improve.

“Well, at least that’s one less problem,” he sighs and with a flick of his wrist, he leans back in his seat, his expression shifting from annoyance to satisfaction.

A moment later, he stands, straightening his robes.

“I’m going to my quarters to finish the papers for the new luminore agreement. I’m not to be disturbed,” he states, his gaze boring into mine. “And see to it that the prisoner is returned to her cell. We can’t have her roaming freely on the ship.”

“Yes, sir,” I reply, bowing my head slightly.

As Garrox strides off the bridge, his heavy footfalls echoing through the ship. I allow myself a moment of respite. We are almost there. Almost at Morcrest.

A sudden flicker on the console catches my eye. A message, brief and cryptic, scrolls across the screen before disappearing:

Orion whispers guide the astral hunter towards the Morcrest nexus. Prepare the synaptic disruptor for silent extraction.

Orion whispers? Astral hunter? Synaptic disruptor? What could it mean? And who sent it?

I quickly scan the rest of the communications, looking for any clues as to the source or meaning of the message, but find nothing.

I hesitate, unsure whether to bring it to Garrox’s attention. But something stops me. A gut feeling, an instinct that tells me to keep this information to myself for now.

I make my way back to the med bay, my thoughts consumed by the mysterious transmission. Who could have sent it? And what do they want with Morcrest? The questions swirl in my mind as I enter the sterile white room. Hu’lax is not in his office, instead a note is pinned to the door saying “In Canteen. Human Fine.”

Tasha is still asleep, her face peaceful and serene. I hate to wake her, but I know I have no choice. Garrox’s orders were explicit.

I gently shake her shoulder, and her eyes flutter open. She blinks up at me, confusion clouding her face, and for a moment I find myself captivated by her beauty.

Her eyes meet mine, and she smiles softly.

“Is it time to go back?” she asks, her voice still faint but steadier than before.

I nod, helping her to sit up. “I’m afraid so. How are you feeling?”

She takes a deep breath, testing her lungs. “Better. The IV helped, I think.”

I unhook the tube from her arm, applying a small bandage to the insertion point. “Good. You’ll need to rest for a while longer, but you should make a full recovery.”

She nods, sliding off the examination table. She sways slightly on her feet, and I reach out to steady her, my hand on her elbow.

She looks around the room; her gaze settling on the shower. A smile creeps across her lips.

“A hot shower sounds really good right about now,” she murmurs.

I follow her gaze, considering. There are no privacy barriers or curtains in the med bay. The showers are completely exposed. It wouldn’t be appropriate. But a hot shower would do her good.

I clear my throat. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” I say, trying to sound professional.

“Okay,” she replies, her voice soft and uncertain.

As we walk towards the shower, I can’t help but notice the way her hips sway, the way her body moves. It’s like watching a ballet. Each step is fluid and graceful, mesmerizing.

I catch myself staring and quickly turn away, chastising myself for my lapse in judgment. I can’t abuse my position. She’s my responsibility, and I have a duty to protect her, even if that means protecting her from myself.

“I’ll wait outside,” I say, gesturing towards the door. “Just let me know when you’re done.”

“Alright,” she says, giving me a small smile.

I turn on my heel, striding towards the door, when she speaks again, her voice quiet.

“Thank you, Droilin. For everything.”

Her words are like a knife, twisting in my gut.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I mutter, stepping out into the corridor.

But the truth is, I’m not sure if I deserve her gratitude. I have done nothing worth praising. Yet.

Tasha keeps the door ajar in case she needs me. The sound of water trickles from the bathroom, and the scent of soap and freshness waft through the med bay.

I stand outside the door, my eyes fixed on the clinical, but shiny wall of the med bay.

The urge to steal a glance is overwhelming, and I can’t help myself. I stare at her naked reflection in the mirror.

The way the water cascades down her soft curves, the way her hair falls in wet tendrils around her face. She’s a vision.

A flush heats my cheeks. My blood burns with a strange mixture of desire and shame. What am I doing? This is wrong, on so many levels.

But I can’t look away.

The way she runs her hands over her body, the way the suds cling to her skin, it’s intoxicating.

I shouldn’t be here.

But I can’t tear myself away.

My arousal stirs, betraying me. I try to suppress it, willing my body to obey, but it’s a losing battle.

What’s wrong with me? She’s a prisoner, under my care, and I’m getting off on watching her bathe.

This is a line I can’t cross.

The thought is like a bucket of ice water, dousing my desire.

I have to resist her. Our lives depend on it.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart.

I’m stronger than this. I can fight the temptation; I lie to myself as I push the image of Tasha’s naked body flashes from my mind.

The water stops, and she calls out from behind the door.

“All done,” she says, her voice echoing off the tiled walls.

I wait a moment before opening the door, revealing her standing in front of me, dressed in the simple black jumpsuit provided by the Orion Court. Her hair is wet, hanging down in dark waves, framing her face.

I stare at her, entranced. The water has softened her face, making her appear more vulnerable.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, trying to keep my tone professional.

“Good! I, um,” she begins, gesturing towards her jumpsuit. “I don’t have anything else to wear.”

I blink, coming back to my senses.

“Right,” I stammer, clearing my throat. “I’ll have some clean clothes brought to your cell.”

She nods, and I gesture for her to exit.

“Easy there,” I murmur, guiding her towards the door. “Let’s get you back to your cell.”

She shivers as we walk down the corridor, her wet hair plastered against her skin.

“I feel like a wet cat,” she mutters, rubbing her arms.

I frown, the unfamiliar word catching me off guard.

“What’s a cat?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light.

She smiles, her eyes twinkling. “An animal. It’s a Terran mammal. They’re small, furry, and like to cuddle.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued.

“You’ll have to tell me more about these cats,” I reply, a grin tugging at my lips.

As we reach the holding area, I pause, turning to face her.

“You need anything else?”

She shakes her head, and I lead her into the cell. I secure the chains to her wrists and waist, making sure they’re not too tight.

I wonder if I should tell her about the transmission. “Tasha, I” I begin, then falter, unsure what to say.

She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. “What is it, Droilin?”

I shake my head, deciding to keep my suspicions to myself for now. “Nothing. Just... get some rest, okay? I’ll check on you later.”

As I walk away, the weight of the mysterious transmission feels heavy on my shoulders.

For now, all I can do is focus on the mission at hand and hope that the answers will reveal themselves in time. But one thing is certain: something is brewing, and I have a feeling that Tasha and I are going to be right in the middle of it.