Page 18 of Bound to the Alien Orc (Alien Gambits #1)

Chapter 18

W hat the void was I thinking? Letting her kiss me like that!

I head towards the High Chieftains residence, trying unsuccessfully to get the sensation of Tasha’s soft lips out of my mind. I can still feel the warmth of her body pressed against me, the scent of her hair lingering in my nostrils.

But every time I’m near her, it’s like all rational thought flies out the window. The way she smiles, the steadfastness in her eyes... it’s intoxicating. I find myself wanting to be close to her, to protect her, to make her laugh.

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. This is dangerous territory. I’m supposed to be her guardian, her warden. I can’t let my feelings compromise my duty.

What the void was I thinking, letting her kiss me like that? I should have stopped it, put some distance between us. But in that moment, with her looking up at me, I was powerless to resist.

Having her so close to me is a blessing and a curse. I can’t stay away... but when we’re alone, well, I make stupid decisions with my cock and not my head. Tasha’s situation is precarious enough without me complicating it further.

But even as I try to push her from my mind, I know it’s futile. She’s under my skin, burrowed into my heart. And as much as I know I should keep my distance, I’m not sure if I have the strength to stay away.

The corridor twists to reveal the ornate door of Garrox’s office. Something has me uneasy about this summoning. I knock three times on the carved door; the sound rattling down the luxurious hallway.

“Come in.” A voice answers, muffled by the thick wooden door. As I enter, the familiar scent of wood smoke and leather greets me.

Garrox sits behind a large desk, the surface littered with data pads and paper. The walls are adorned with ancient paintings and holotapestries, the room filled with rich furnishings blending old and new.

I step inside, the door closing behind me with a quiet click. Garrox gestures for me to sit in one of the plush leather seats opposite him.

As I lower myself into the chair, the worn fabric creaks beneath my weight.

Garrox leans forward, his gaze fixed on me.

“High Chieftain Garrox, you asked to see me?”

“Today the prisoner will go to the mines, but I need you to leave the city and head to the South Tower. There have been some concerning reports I need you to investigate.”

My brow furrows. “What kind of reports, High Chieftain?”

Garrox leans forward, his expression grave. “Lieutenant Varig has contacted me and requested someone to investigate. I can’t afford any more attention being brought to our borders, not with the STI’s attention on our deal. Pack your gear and report to him. I expect you back within 2 rotations.”

“But, the human —”

“Is not concern for now. The prisoner is going to the mines. You will leave immediately.”

Garrox’s eyes flash with barely restrained frustration, his fists clenched.

The thought of leaving Tasha, especially now, stirs a sense of unease within me. But perhaps this is for the best. Some distance between me and the temptation of Tasha will help clear my head.

“As you command, High Chieftain.”

With a stiff nod, I rise from my seat and leave the office. The door closes behind me with a thud, the finality of the sound ringing in my ears.

I make my way back to my quarters, my thoughts racing. Could it be related to the mining quotas? Or maybe some new smuggling routes. Either way, I have no choice but to follow Garrox’s orders.

Inside my modest room in the rear of the High Chieftains Residence, I gather my gear. As I fasten the heavy chest plate around my torso, I think back to Tasha’s kiss. I can’t let myself get distracted.

No matter how tempting it is.

Maybe I should speak to her before I go? Is it wise to leave her here? I hesitate. The thought of her at the mercy of Garrox unsettles me. If the High Chieftain discovers that I have gone against his orders, I’ll be punished. But if I stay, who knows what he will do to her?

I push aside my doubts and resolve to do what I must. For the Frosthok clan. I’ll complete my investigation in one rotation... and then I’ll return to her.

I finish securing my weapons and step outside, the wind howling around me. The air is crisp and cold, the scent of snow heavy in the air.

The cold, dark streets are eerily quiet as I make my way to the settlement gate. It’s too early in the morning for the traders to be open, and apart from a few heading to the mine, no one is around.

I approach the inner gate. The guards nod at me, letting me through without question. I nod in response, pushing open the heavy iron gate and heading into the icy wasteland beyond Frosthok. The wind bites at my exposed skin. Even my thick, fur-lined cloak does little to ward off the bone-deep chill.

The barren landscape stretches for a seemingly endless expanse of snow and ice. In the distance, I can just make out the dark silhouette of the South Tower, a lonely sentinel standing watch over Morcrest’s tundra.

I press on, my boots crunching in the snow, my breath fogging in the frigid air. The journey is arduous, the elements unforgiving, but I am determined to reach the tower and uncover the truth behind these disturbing reports. And return to Tasha as soon as possible...

As I trudge through the snow, the wind buffeting me, thoughts of her keep me warm. The way her lips felt pressed against mine, her soft curves yielding to my touch. It was intoxicating, and I crave more. But I know it can’t happen. Not when her life is still in the hands of the High Chieftain. Her innocence remains unproven, and I cannot risk getting her hopes up.

But there is no denying the spark between us, the growing connection that is pulling us closer together. It’s dangerous, but oh, so tempting. And as I march across the tundra, my mind wanders, imagining what it would be like to give in to those desires, to surrender to the passion burning inside us.

Morcrestian uniforms protect from the cold struggle to keep me warm as I trudge the desolate plains. This area is all but abandoned by inhabitants because of the harsh landscape. If these conditions don’t at least lessen, it will be hard for me to make it back to Tasha in one rotation. I hasten my pace, ignoring the stinging sensation of the frost on my face.

Ahead, I can make out the faint shape of the South Tower. It stands stark against the pale lavender sky, a lonely sentinel keeping watch over the southern barren wastes of Frosthok clan lands. Its stone walls weathered and crumbling. Its dark windows follow me like hollow eyes, the wind moaning around its ancient rock. It is notoriously quiet because it faces the sea, and since the Orion wars, and our depleted population, no threats have existed between the clans in years.

It is one of the few structures that remains from before the war. Technology was restricted by our last High Chieftain, Morux. A great shame washes over me as I recall my father, his Personal Guard, standing trial for his murder. I was just a boy, but I remember it like it was yesterday. The shame is still fresh in my memory. The horror of seeing my father executed by firing squad caused my hair to turn white, according to my traitorous mother. Others in the clan say it was a punishment from our gods for my father’s actions.

Shaking the dark memories from my head, I trudge forward, my boots crunching on the frozen ground. I wipe a cold tear from my face, unsure if it is these unwelcome memories that have caused them or the fierce bitterness I battle as I make my way to the South Tower. As I am pulled from my thoughts by a gust of icy wind, I tighten my cloak around myself. If I’m to get back to Frosthok quickly, I need to pick up my pace.

Eventually I draw closer to the structure, a glint catches my eye. There, half-buried in the snow, is a single black feather, its edges tinged with green. The sight sends a shiver of foreboding over me. I kneel, plucking the feather from the icy ground. It’s the same as the one I found on the sabotaged ship back on the Orion Outpost. My heart pounds as I turn it over in my hands, inspecting it.

What does it mean? Who left it here at the South Tower?

I tuck the feather away, urgency driving me forward. I have to sort this out, for the sake of Morcrest, for the sake of our luminore, and hopefully... for Tasha’s freedom.

As I reach the dark stone structure, a sense of foreboding washes over me. This tower has seen much of Morcrest’s troubled history, and it has a darkness that clings to the very walls. I draw closer; the guard posted outside the gates raises his weapon, a warning to stop.

“Halt! State your business.” The elderly guard’s voice is low and rough, echoing in the late afternoon air. I stop a few feet from the gate, raising my hands in a show of peace.

“Droilin, High Chieftain Personal Guard, I’m here to see Lieutenant Varig.”

“You’re expected.” The guard nods and motions for me to enter.

He moves to the levers, pulling one down with a grunt. The massive metal gate groans as it rises, slowly revealing the courtyard beyond. I lower my hands and step forward, passing under the gate as it lifts.

As I step inside the courtyard, I spot the same strange symbol etched into the stone beside the entrance, the one from the ship’s console. The lines are rough, jagged, as if carved in haste.

I trace my fingers over the grooves, a sense of unease growing within me. This is no coincidence. Whoever sabotaged the ship, whoever is behind these suspicious sightings... they’re connected. And they’re after something in the South Tower.

I stride into the courtyard, the bitter wind whipping around me. The gate thuds shut behind me, the sound echoing through the space. The place is quiet but for the two guards on duty who stare at me with blank expressions, their eyes tracking my every move.

“Come, I will take you to the Lieutenant.” The elderly guard steps forward, his face a mask of indifference.

I follow the guard into the main structure, the heavy door closing behind us. I notice a chill in the air and the sound of waves against the rocks below the South Tower. We walk in silence through the long passages, our footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

Inside is dull and cramped, with narrow corridors and low ceilings. It is like stepping back in time when I think of a few rotations ago I was on the Orion Space Station with all its high-tech equipment. Better to be here on solid ground.

As we climb the stairs, my thoughts drift back to Tasha. I wish I could be there, helping her with the mining operation, watching her work her magic.

At the top of the stairs, we enter a large, sparsely furnished chamber. The only pieces of furniture are a table and two chairs, both made of the same rough wood.

“Wait here,” the guard says, his tone stern.

He leaves, closing the door behind him. After a few moments, the door opens, and the guard enters, followed by a tall, slim Morcrestian.

He is dressed in the traditional uniform of a lieutenant, his green wrinkled skin contrasting with the dark fabric, which drowns his frail frame. He looks me up and down, sizing me up.

“Welcome, Droilin. I am Lieutenant Varig. I don’t believe we have met,” he says, his voice croaks. “Please, sit.”

He motions with a crooked finger to a chair opposite his desk.

“How can I help?” the elderly lieutenant asks, carefully sinking into a cushioned seat at his desk.

“The High Chieftain wants details on the suspicious activity you reported?” I say, hoping to find out more information and quickly, so I can return to Tasha.

“Suspicious activity? I have no reports of suspicious activity for the High Chieftain!” he replies, his expression perplexed. “What could the High Chieftain want to know about?” The old warrior scratches his chin, and as I give him a moment to think, I look around his office.

The room is sparse, faded ancient ledgers line three of the four walls, and behind the well-worn desk is a large oval window that looks across the vast Castilliar Sea. Everything about this place harks back to a simpler time. And I envy Varig for it.

“Hmm there is the infestation in the kitchen. Voiding cathur’s too fat snacking on whatsits or whozits and not doing their job.” Varig wonders loudly.

“I doubt the High Chieftain has concerns about the cathurs in the South Tower, Lieutenant —”

“Listen here kinling, the High Chieftain has requested a report from his South Tower Lieutenant, and a report he shall have!” Varig meekly rises and unimpressively slaps the table. But I give the old warrior his dues, standing respectively when he does.

I don’t have time for this.

“Apologies, Lieutenant. If there is anything I can do to assist —”

“Nonsense. I will discuss this with my warriors. And then I shall begin this very important report. I will not fail the High Chieftain! I will call upon you tomorrow, or perhaps the day after. Then you can return with my complete and thorough report to the High Chieftain.” Varig speaks with a renewed sense of purpose, sitting straighter in the chair. He pulls an ancient writing pad from the creaky desk draw and starts scribbling diligently.

“Thank you, Lieutenant, I will check in soon then...to see if you need any assistance.”

But there is no answer. Varig is lost in thought so. I leave, desperate to find another way to fulfil this mission quickly.

I make my way back to the courtyard. With no chaperon, I decide to find any other warriors who might offer me some hope. The sinking feeling in my stomach has not relaxed since meeting Varig. I recall stories of his feats in battle, but the male is clearly too proud to retire, and the South Tower is as close to retirement as any of us could hope for.

I pass a few storage huts and stables, and finally I come across two rotund guards, heading towards a large building to the rear of the courtyard. As soon as they register my uniform as one that out ranks theirs, they stand to attention.

“Warriors, has anyone seen any suspicious activity?” I demand coolly. I need to get someone to tell me something useful. This fool’s errand has gone on long enough.

“Well sir,” the younger of the two guard’s stammers, “I’ve heard talk of strange noises at night, like someone’s trying to break into the archives. And a few nights back, Poric thought he saw a shadowy figure lurking near the gate.”

My interest piques. “Who is Poric? Tell me more about this shadowy figure. What did they look like?”

The guard shifts uncomfortably. “Poric is the Quartermaster sir. It was dark, sir. Poric couldn’t make out much. Just that they were tall and wearing a dark cloak. When he called out, they vanished into the night.”

I nod, my mind racing. A cloaked figure, trying to access the archives under the cover of darkness. Is this connected to the sabotage on the Orion Outpost? I need to speak to the Quartermaster.

“And the symbol carved at the gate,” I press on, “how long has that been there?”

The second guard, older and more grizzled, shakes his head. “That old thing? It’s been there since before I started my rotation here, and that was many cycles ago. Never thought much of it, to be honest.”

I frown. The symbol can’t have just appeared. Someone must have carved it there for a reason.

“Very well. As you were, warriors,” I dismiss them with a wave. They salute and hurry off, clearly eager to escape my questioning.

“Where can I find the Quartermaster, Warrior?” I ask.

The two guards share a knowing look.

“In the office, beside the mess hall, sir,” the older guard replies, his voice tinged with amusement.

I ignore the odd exchange and set off across the courtyard, my mind churning with the new information. I will check the archives before speaking to Poric. With some luck, I will head back to Frosthok by nightfall.

I stride across the courtyard, straight to the archives. The heavy wooden door is sealed shut, just as the guards said. I run my fingers along the edges, searching for any signs of tampering, but find none.

Undeterred, I make my way to the records room. If there’s been any unusual activity, it should be logged here. The musty smell of old parchment greets me as I enter the shelves lined with dusty tomes and scrolls.

I spend the next hour poring over the logs, my eyes straining in the soft light. But much to my frustration, I find nothing out of the ordinary. No mention of intruders, no record of the carved symbol. It’s as if the South Tower has been frozen in time.

With a heavy sigh, I return the logs to their place and exit the records room. The suns have set high in the sky, casting short shadows across the courtyard. I know I need some rest, but something nags at me. I can’t shake the feeling that the answers I seek are here, hidden, just out of sight. Time to speak to the Quartermaster.

I head towards the office beside the mess hall, determined to find some answers, but find it locked. Instead, I go inside the dining hall and see an enormous figure with a quartermaster emblem emblazoned on his uniform, sitting at the head of a long table.

This must be Poric.

I step towards him and see his cheeks are flushed with drink. He’s deep in conversation with the young guards I encountered earlier, a goblet of spiced wine in his hand.

“Apologies for the intrusion, quartermaster,” I say, closing the door behind me. “But I have a few questions, if you’ll indulge me.”

Poric sets down his goblet, a look of mild irritation on his face.

I take a seat across from him, the other warriors falling silent.

“I understand that you’re a busy man, Quartermaster, but it’s imperative that I speak to you.” I keep my tone neutral, not wanting to alarm the elderly quartermaster.

“Of course, of course,” Poric says, waving his hand dismissively. “Always happy to help. Ask away.”

I take a seat opposite him, leaning forward intently. “The suspicious activity, the figure seen at night. I need to know everything you and your warriors have witnessed.”

Poric brow furrows as he considers my words. “Well now, like I said, there’s been strange noises, like someone’s trying to force their way into the archives. But no one’s seen anything for sure.”

I glance around the room, noting the tense faces and tight posture. They may not have seen much, but they know something is going on.

I lean closer, my voice low.

“What of the symbol? The carved symbol at the gate?” I press.

“I’m afraid I can’t be of much help there,” Poric says with a huff. “That symbol has been there since long before my time. It’s an odd one, I’ll grant you that. But it’s been there as long as anyone can remember. Perhaps it’s some old clan marking from before the wars.”

I frown. It’s a possibility, but I doubt it. Something doesn’t feel right about this.

I shake my head, frustration mounting. “Any detail, no matter how small, could be important, quartermaster.”

Poric is silent for a long moment, his gaze distant. Then, slowly, he speaks. “There was one thing. A few rotations ago, one guard, Jextok, he came to me, quite shaken. Said he’d seen a light in the archives, in the dead of night.”

“Aye,” Poric nods. “A faint glow, like a lantern or a candle. Jextok went to investigate, but by the time he got there, it had vanished. He searched the archives top to bottom, but found no sign of anyone.”

I lean back in my chair, my mind whirling. A mysterious light in the archives, gone without a trace. It has to be connected to the cloaked figure, to the symbol. But how?

“Thank you. I’ll leave you and your warriors to your meal. Please contact me if anything else comes up. I need to know as soon as possible.” I reply.

“Of course, of course. You’ll be the first to know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to,” Poric says, rising from his seat.

With that, he departs, leaving me alone with the young warriors.

“When does Varig commence evening duties?” I ask, wondering if I sit with him long enough, I might direct some kind of report myself for Garrox.

“Varig? You’ll not get anything out of that old fool this side of dinner.” The second guard looks longingly at the kitchen at the end of the mess hall, with a delicious smell of home-cooking wafting on the icy draft towards us.

“It’s strewal day. Varig will be dozing in his office now until sundown.”

“Sundown? That is —”

“Yeah, and he won’t wake until Massie brings those dumplings. The smell is the only thing to stir him,” the younger guard replies.

“Or is it Massie that stirs the old brute?” the older guard ribs his young colleague, who laughs heartily.

“She knows how to stir Poric, that’s for sure,” the second guard chuckles, his eyes twinkling. “The way he stares at her when she walks by, it’s a wonder the old fool doesn’t have a heart attack.” They both fall into an easy mirth between friends.

Either way, it seems like Varig’s appetite is the only thing preventing me from getting back to Frosthok, to Tasha.

I thank the guards who return to making crude jokes about Massie and her dumplings.

My gut twists as I consider what it will take to get back to Frosthok. It’s early evening, and coldness is setting in. If I don’t make it back tonight, I’ll be stranded here. I wonder if I can secure some form of transportation... there’s a chance I could arrive back before the last shift at Frosthok mine. No doubt Garrox will keep Tasha working from first duty until last.

Wasting no time, I race back to Varig’s office. I approach the door which is ajar, and inside the only noise I hear is the soft grunts of a sleeping male. I open the door wide.

Between the legs of Lieutenant Varig is a large female, wearing the traditional tunic of a kitchen worker. She has her face buried between his legs, her mouth filled with his cock, and her eyes are closed in concentration.

Neither of the two have noticed my presence or have chosen to ignore it, so, awkwardly, I cough, wishing this to end as soon as possible.

The two jump in surprise, the kitchen worker’s mouth still full, and Varig’s expression a mix of shock and anger.

“What the void are you doing, Droilin?”

“An update on the report, Lieutenant? High Chieftain Garrox requires it urgently.” I reply, not wanting to waste a minute longer than necessary.

The female gasps as Varig shoos her away from him. “On your feet Massie, I have business to attend to. For the High Chieftain. It is urgent!”

Varig, looking flustered, grabs a robe, covering his naked body.

The older female awkwardly stands and wipes her mouth with a sly smile before turning to Varig.

“I’ll leave you to your important business, Lieutenant.” and steps past me quickly, and I hear the rustle of her uniform material fainter down the hall.

Not willing to discuss, mention or even think about the horror I had just witnessed, I quickly move past it as I watch Varig adjust himself. He fumbles over his desk, pretending to search for a report we both know isn’t there.

“Ah yes, the report, the report,” He grunts looking a little sheepish.

“Write this information down, Lieutenant. The High Chieftain needs this tonight...so I will require a landcrawler and a driver.” I command.

Varig’s expression is a mix of relief and frustration.

“Of course, of course. Let me get you that right away. And the crawler, anything you need Droilin... just don’t tell the High Chieftain about my... activities.”

I nod, and begin to dictate the details I want recorded as Varig hastily scribbles it down, occasionally glancing up at me with a worried expression.

“High Chieftain Garrox is happy for your service, Lieutenant. If you can get me back to Frosthok before he even realizes I’m gone, he will be most impressed.”

“Consider it done!” Varig preens, and sets to writing even faster, before hollering for a guard called Jextok to take me back to Frosthok, much to his dismay.

I feel a little bad, ruining the old warrior’s fun, but Garrox is keeping me away from Tasha, and I will use whatever means necessary to get back to her.