Page 3 of Bound to the Alien Orc (Alien Gambits #1)
Chapter 3
W e enter the sterile, cavernous star-chamber conference room. The harsh lights sting my eyes as they bounce off the polished walls, casting an ethereal glow on those assembled. As we move to the main seating area of the star-chamber, Garrox offers a brief word of advice, his tone curt and formal.
“Droilin,” he begins, “as my Personal Guard, you have another role here, which is critical. Some may pull you aside to ascertain my intentions. You are not to give them a shred of insight. This is an important summit. Our future hinges on it. Do not fail me and do not disappoint me.” His gaze meets mine, a silent challenge.
I nod, a sharp gesture that leaves no room for argument, but his words ring true. Garrox has spent the better part of a solar cycle preparing for this moment. Despite my feelings towards him, I would never jeopardize his plans. Garrox scans my expression and looks content at my commitment to his cause.
The Stellar Togetherness Initiative, or STI, has invited all their dignitaries to this summit. All the allied planets in the Orion Galaxy have a seat on the STI, but some have more influence than others. Their aim is the betterment of all in the galaxy. A lofty goal.
The mood is jovial as the attendees mingle amongst themselves. Some I recognize, others are unfamiliar. Several aliens cluster in groups, each in sleek shiny garments shimmering in the light. They are a stark contrast to our rugged and rustic Morcrestian attire. All colors, shapes, size — a witness to the vast diversity of life spread across the galaxy. Their voices meld in a low hum of conversation and the air charged with the subtle nuances of political maneuvering.
The crowd parts, a ripple of excitement spreading amongst them. A male figure steps forward. The Corsairian Ambassador. His appearance is regal and imposing, and his posture holds the weight of authority. He strides into the chamber with confidence and grace, and the other guests part like the sea.
“High Chieftain Garrox. It is a pleasure to see you here.” A warm smile spreads across their face as they greet Garrox with an elegant flourish.
“It is a pleasure to be here, Ambassador Tyrix,” he responds.
“Welcome to Orion Outpost. It’s seldom Morcrest graces our presence.”
“Yes, well,” Garrox pauses, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “there is much to discuss, and I would be remiss if I did not make an effort.”
Ambassador Tyrix nods. “I’m glad to hear you say so. Come, let us sit and speak privately, and as you say, there is much to discuss.”
Garrox glances back at me. A moment passes before he and follows the ambassador towards a private seating booth.
I trail behind, taking up my position beside him, but keeping my distance. He is seated on a circular platform, his posture relaxed. The ambassador is across from him, their expression impassive. I keep my focus on the other guests, assessing any potential threats.
Topics of conversation include new allies, dismissing random human’s going missing and the increased thread of rebellion on Etherea. Nothing for Morcrest or the High Chieftain to worry about. The murmur of voices drifts towards us, a soft buzz, as the ambassador continues.
“So,” they say, their tone low and conspiratorial, “how are things going with the luminore production quotas?”
“They are proceeding according to schedule,” Garrox replies.
The ambassador’s lips curl in a faint smile. “That’s good to hear,” they murmur, “very good indeed. The last few months have been difficult for the entire galaxy. There have been some serious delays. It is nice to have one less thing to worry about. Thank you, High Chieftain, for making this happen.”
“Think nothing of it. It is as we agreed,” Garrox replies stiffly.
I listen carefully to their exchange. I know how difficult these negotiations have been for Garrox. The luminore, the sacred ore which powers our entire civilization, has been in short supply. With recent mining accidents and the increased luminore demand, the situation on Morcrest is becoming critical. It has forced all our clans to make more sacrifices. It is a bitter pill for any Morcrestian to swallow.
A bell chimes, and the crowd finds their appointed seats. As the lights fade, a hush falls over the room. A ripple of anticipation spreads through the crowd. As Garrox takes his seat, I stand behind him, placing my hand on the cool touch of the metallic chair. It’s another reminder of how far removed this place is from the rough-hewn wooden council chambers of Morcrest. I am a stranger in this crowd of dignitaries, a foreign entity in a room filled with polished diplomacy and refined etiquette.
Garrox is unfazed by our unfamiliar surroundings. His chest is puffed out with pride as he plunges into the fray with enthusiasm. His hearty greetings to his neighboring ambassadors draw an array of reactions. Some are genuine smiles, others fleeting nods. His ability to adapt to each is a showcase in the intricate dance of interstellar politics in motion.
I stand behind Garrox, my gaze flitting between the other participants as I watch for threats. The summit finally opens, and each ambassador stands for introductions. The room grows warmer, the atmosphere still friendly. The mood spiced up by occasional jibes or sharp remarks, but nothing for me to worry about at the moment.
My gaze tracks a figure as they move to claim a seat further down the long table. As they lower their hood, the harsh, artificial light illuminates a Seraphim, usually a being notorious for their beguiling beauty. But this one is different. His plumage is an oily mass of gnarled feathers, each one coarse and unclean, a grim deviation from the soft, well-preened plumage usually associated with his kind.
The Seraphim Ambassador’s eyes are narrow slits of a predatory gold, flicker with an unseemly interest as they sweep over Garrox and me. My muscles tense. There is no threat yet, but I make a mental promise to keep a watchful eye on this Seraphim.
Garrox remains unfazed. His relaxed demeanor contrasts with my growing unease. As the Seraphim settles into their seat, I can’t help but fixate on his every gesture. A nagging feeling gnaws at me, hinting that there’s more to this ambassador than meets the eye.
As the Seraphim’s eyes lock onto mine, instinct kicks in. I tense up. My hand finds its way to my belt, where my hidden weapon rests. Crafted from luminore, a rare ore exclusive to Morcrest, this blade symbolizes more than just a weapon; it embodies our heritage. It’s luminore that grants Garrox a seat at this table, his bargaining chip in this high-stakes game of intergalactic politics.
Despite the Orion Outpost’s advanced security systems, they have yet to detect the blade. But the Ambassador makes no further move, so I relax my stance, but remain alert. I have heard stories of the demise of ambassadors in this very room, and I refuse to let the same happen to the High Chieftain. Some by poison, others by blades, all by treachery. Each murder by the most unsuspecting of guests. But this is a new era, and Garrox is determined to make his mark. He wants to forge an alliance with the rest of the galaxy. I don’t agree with his views, but I will support him as my High Chieftain and do what is right for our people.
As the summit progresses, each ambassador takes a turn to share concerns. Garrox remains attentive. He is cautious in his responses, careful not to tip the delicate balance of the room. The atmosphere is harmonious. Conversations flow effortlessly. Yet, my unease persists, and my gaze continually sweeps across the crowd as I remain vigilant for any signs of trouble.
As Garrox takes his turn to address the room, a knot of regret tightens in my stomach, unsure of what he’s about to reveal. I failed to focus on Garrox’s words earlier, my mind wandering to thoughts of Tasha instead. If I had listened, I might have been better prepared.
A hush falls over the room, a ripple of anticipation sweeping through the crowd. Garrox rises from his seat and walks to the center of the room, his presence commanding. As he speaks, his voice booms with a confidence that fills the space, silencing the murmur of voices.
“Thank you all for coming. It is a great honor to be here. As you know, Morcrest has been through some challenging times.”
His gaze sweeps over the audience, his expression solemn.
“As proud members of the STI, we understand the value of sharing resources.”
His words spark a murmur of approval among the attendees, a ripple of polite agreement. But I’m aware of the reality underpinning this diplomacy. Our precious luminore, given in quotas to the STI in exchange for protection, should war ever break out.
“Luminore,” Garrox continues, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm, “is abundant throughout Morcrest. We are willing to share this gift with our allies. You, my friends, here in this star chamber.”
He gestures to the assembled audience. A broad smile spreads across his face, revealing a row of sharp teeth between his gold tusks. His posture is confident, his voice booming, filling the space. He has the attention of the crowd.
A Juntarian delegate, their skin shimmering in hues of blue and green, leans forward. “Are you seriously suggesting an increase in your luminore quota, High Chieftain?”
Garrox meets their gaze, a confident grin on his face, “Exactly so. It is for the benefit of us all.”
The Bravorian Ambassador is a towering figure with a sharp and angular face. He nods eagerly in agreement. He can barely hide his greed for more of our luminore.
I understand the immense potential of our ore, its ability to revolutionize our society and propel us into the future. While it may serve as an energy source for the galaxy, but to Morcrest, it holds deep significance as a sacred gift from our goddess. This revelation troubles me deeply.
Garrox intends to offer more? But what about the luminore miners, already struggling to meet quotas? His enthusiasm appears misplaced, like a show put on for the audience’s sake. As Garrox speaks to the room, I notice his attention returns to the Seraphim often.
“As we move forward,” Garrox states, his voice commanding the room, “I’ve secured an arrangement with a broker. They’ve offered to assist Morcrest in increasing our luminore extraction to meet our... new quotas.”
As Garrox addresses the room, his confidence in this broker’s assurances radiates plainly. I clench my fists, anger rising within me. How could he be so reckless? But I dare not raise my voice. My position demands a mask of composure and calm, no matter how much it rankles against my sense of honor and justice.
As Garrox speaks, his eyes light up with enthusiasm, and his gestures paint a vivid picture of a future utopia. Representatives from Bravoria, Corsairia, and Seraphim all smile and nod along. Each clearly impressed by Garrox’s vision. But despite their positive reactions, a sense of dread gnaws at my gut. I understand the immense power of luminore, and the idea of surrendering control over it fills me with deep unease.
“Fellow STI leaders,” Garrox continues. His thunderous voice commanding attention. “This broker wishes to keep their identity anonymous. They will provide Morcrest with advanced extraction technology. Morcrest will share luminore on a scale like never before.”
The broker wants to remain anonymous?
He lets the words settle before continuing. “In exchange, they ask for a minor share of the yields. A small price to pay for the opportunity they present.”
His gaze sweeps over the attendees. “Our ore could power countless technologies, unite our galaxy in ways previously unimaginable. I urge you to consider the potential benefits.”
The murmurs in the room grow louder, but Garrox pushes on, “Morcrest would benefit from both increased access to wider Orion technology, and greater profits... to help rebuild after the war. We can all reap the rewards with more luminore available.”
Excitement crackles in the room, greedy anticipation in the air. Garrox’s words command attention, his confidence spreading like wildfire. Yet, amidst the enthusiasm, my unease grows. I can’t shake the feeling that this proposal is too good to be true.
He concludes his speech with a rallying call, “This is a critical juncture in our history. Let us proceed with courage and foresight.” As Garrox steps down, I can’t help but reflect on his words. A handful of races in the STI, the Seraphim, Ethereans, or the Corsairians, have the capabilities to be the broker. But what can I do?
“So, Droilin of Morcrest, as Garrox’s Personal Guard and Morcrestian citizen, what is your counsel?” asks the Bravorian Ambassador calls out, his shrill voice ringing around the room.
Well, fuck.
All eyes shift to me, and I straighten my posture, sensing the intensity of their gazes bearing down on me. Pressure mounts as I search for a response, but my thoughts are clouded with uncertainty. Against the backdrop of the luminous holographic galaxy map, I struggle to articulate my thoughts.
The Bravorian Ambassador waits. His expression is impassive. A stark contrast to the eager curiosity which flickers across the faces of other delegates.
I swallow, my throat dry. I am not sure how to respond, but I cannot reveal my uncertainty.
“We will follow the High Chieftain’s lead,” I finally say, my voice firm, leaving no room for argument. But before this motion is moved to a vote I pause, taking a breath.
“I understand the demands of our shared galaxy” I continue awkwardly, hating every second of this attention but not wanting to miss my opportunity, “But we...Morcrestians...um have reservations about the proposed increase in luminore quotas...with um, our current resources.”
My gaze sweeps over the galaxy representatives. Their eyes wide with anticipation, or expectation. I want share with them an understanding of Morcrest and of our beliefs.
“We believe luminore is a sacred gift from the goddess and is not something to be shared without thought. The High Chieftain’s suggestion does not take into account the impact such an action would have on our people. Our goddess Lumina...in her divine wisdom, gifted us with Luminore. But... well, Lumina warned us against its misuse or exploitation.” I trail off, my voice fading away.
The silence is deafening. My heart pounds as the representatives exchange glances. Their expressions are a mixture of confusion and surprise at my words.
I catch the stern gaze of Garrox as he turns to look at me. His jaw is rigid, tension in his clenched fists and his piercing gaze bores into my soul such is the intensity of his disapproval.
My throat constricts, every breath thick and heavy. I have no choice but to push through, hoping my words carry weight.
I clear my throat.
“Luminore is a sacred gift, and we Morcrestians have always guarded it with the greatest care. My High Chieftain’s will is my command. If Garrox believes this is the path we must take, Morcrest will comply.”
Whispers ripple through the chamber, a mix of support and dissent, evidence my words have made an impact. But, perhaps I spoke too freely.
“Well, Droilin of Morcrest, that is most interesting.” The Juntarian representative leans back in his chair, their voice cold, “Let us take this to a vote.”
“The Bravorian assembly all agree,” the Bravorian Ambassador interjects. “We are eager to see this new age of luminore development and cooperation.”
I glance over at the Vulpex representative, noting their unease. The humanoid has a tapered snout, and upwardly pointed ears with russet fur. Gracefully the Vulpex adjusts their robes as they stand up to speak.
“Greetings. I am Ta’vag of planet Vulpexa. While your offer is intriguing, we must consider it cautiously. A broker made similar proposals to Vulpexa regarding our zendrite deposits. Their terms seemed agreeable at first, but we ultimately refused. Over time, their insistence grew... concerning. And rumors suggest those who sign these deals come to regret their decision.”
Garrox’s expression darkens. His displeasure at the Vulpex representative’s words clear. But what the Vulpex says resonates with me. The idea of a mysterious broker with their own agenda leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
Ta’vag’s fur ripples in distress before they continue. “Perhaps this broker is noble. But resources that planets have guarded for centuries cannot be surrendered lightly to unknown entities. You know well the power of luminore, Garrox. Is it wise to relinquish control? We advise thorough scrutiny of your broker’s intentions before any pact. It is strange that they wish to keep their anonymity,” Ta’vag steps back.
Garrox’s enthusiastic smile has frozen in place. For a moment, his genial mask cracks, irritation flashing across his face. But he smooths it over easily.
“My dear Ta’vag,” he says lightly, “I understand your caution. But in these changing times, we must be open to new paradigms. Rest assured; I will negotiate an agreement with the broker that serves both Morcrest’s and the STIs interests. This deal will uplift all Orion galaxy!”
His soothing words do not sway me. Ta’vag’s insights align with my own concerns. Garrox is blinded by visions of glory. If we are to deal with the broker, we must do so with eyes wide open.
The Seraphim delegate clicks forward on taloned feet. His expansive wings drag along the floor behind him. Although he resembles a celestial being, there is an unsettling look about his presence that raises my hackles.
“Friends, let us not be deterred by rumors and misgivings. I am Jha’ril, Seraphim Ambassador. We have worked together developing the STI for many cycles now. Our mission of unity has bettered countless worlds.” His voice is soothing, but rings hollow to me.
“Morcrestians are a proud race,” he continues, his gold eyes narrowing, “they are known for their honor and steadfastness.” He pauses, his gaze flitting between me and Garrox, a hint of disdain in his voice, “It is admirable that they have finally emerged from their seclusion.”
“In these fractured times, with tensions escalating, who else but the STI can reach out to bridge the divides between species? We all make good faith efforts. But we cannot force help where it is refused.” Jha’ril tips his head, as if in regret at Ta’vag’s skepticism.
“I am certain Morcrest’s leadership will do what is best for their people. After all, they would not wish to see their world torn apart by war again.” Jha’ril’s words laced with a thinly veiled threat.
“I’m sure the broker’s offer to Morcrest comes from a place of sincere fellowship. They wish only to move forward in harmony. But the decision is yours, of course.” He steps back, wings spread in a conciliatory gesture.
Jha’ril’s speech does not make sense to me. Surely the broker’s main priority is profit? The Seraphim Ambassador is a shrewd politician. A master of manipulating the subtleties of intergalactic relations.
A tense silence descends on the room, the mood shifting from optimism to uncertainty as the final votes are cast. A low hum of voices fill the space, a flurry of whispers and murmurs as the votes are counted.
Garrox stands stiffly beside me, his posture rigid and his expression solemn, a stark contrast to the jovial attitude he exuded earlier. I can see the hesitation among the STI leaders, the concern and unease etched on their faces. There are still some who doubt Garrox’s proposal, but I fear that Ta’vag’s words will not sway the High Chieftain from his mission.
I want to believe in Garrox’s vision, to trust his judgment. But the doubts in my mind persist. My gut tells me this path may not be the right one for us. But I’m possibly missing the bigger picture.
Finally, the votes are in, and Garrox grins as he reads the results. He gives a curt nod, then speaks.
“We have decided,” his voice is strong and clear, carrying easily through the chamber, “that we shall pursue the broker’s proposal.”
An eruption of cheers and applause follows his words. The STI delegates are thrilled. Some even look relieved.
The tension eases from my shoulders, replaced with weary resignation. I feel the weight of this decision, that it may bode ill for my people and our future.
If only I had been more persuasive. Perhaps Garrox would have listened. But I could not risk angering him. Now we must trust in our High Chieftain. A thought that turns my stomach sour as I remember my father’s injustice.
As the summit draws to a close, a few delegates come to wish Garrox luck in his negotiations. Some are wary, but most are supportive. The High Chieftain soaks in the attention, his eyes alight with pride and purpose.
I make my way to Garrox who stands alone, his gaze as hard as stone, fixed on the now dimmed holographic galaxy.
“High Chieftain Garrox,” I address him, my voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t return my greeting but simply nods, a clear sign for me to continue.
“Your speech was passionate,” I start cautiously, choosing my words carefully, “but are you sure we can trust this broker? The Vulpex seems reluctant.”
His eyes, are as cold and hard as the luminore we mine, glint with an unspoken emotion. “Ta’vag is a fool,” he snorts. “Vulpexa is nothing more than a wasteland. A barren rock, forgotten by the universe. It has nothing to offer. Its people are fools. Their planet is dying. They should not have refused.”
His words are harsh, but he might be right. Vulpexa has been a struggling planet since the war, much like Morcrest but without the hope of our precious luminore.
“You spoke well, Droilin,” he says, his voice barely hiding the simmering impatience. “Your loyalty to our people and our goddess...is commendable.”
A sigh escapes his lips. “The galaxy, Droilin, it’s changing,” Garrox murmurs, “And we... we must change with it. We stand at the dawn of a new era, and our decisions will shape... our future.”
His words carry the weight of responsibility, the burden of leadership. But there’s a fire burning in his eyes, a hunger for something bigger.
“The broker’s offer is generous, Droilin,” he states, his voice steady. “And we have nothing to fear. Morcrest’s best interests are at stake, and we will ensure the luminore’s use is fair and just. That is the only way forward.”
He places a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm. “You are loyal, Droilin. You will help me safely through this.”
I meet his gaze, searching for reassurance.
“High Chieftain, when we return to Morcrest, may I assess our current supply of luminore and prepare for the broker? Please grant me this, to reassure our people.”
Garrox eyes me suspiciously. I hold his gaze. At last, he nods. “Fine. When we return to Morcrest, report back to me within the moon’s rotation.”
“Yes, High Chieftain.” I respond, thumping my chest at his command.
I swallow a sigh of relief, grateful that the High Chieftain agreed. I need to investigate our current mining capacity. Garrox never makes a move without thinking three steps ahead. Like a game of galactic gambit. Then I will find out who this broker is. Something does not sit right.
“Droilin,” his voice echoing in the empty chamber, “do not forget, you are my Personal Guard. Your loyalty must be to me, and me alone. This is a new era for us. For our people,” he continues, a glimmer of hope in his voice. “The time has come to forge a fresh path for Morcrest. Together, we will take our rightful place as the leading member of the STI and no one will stop us.”
With a firm nod, he dismisses me, and I turn, eager to leave this place. As I stride through the empty halls, the weight of the decision bears down on me. I can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning, that something sinister is brewing.
But all I can do is hope that Garrox is right, that the broker is trustworthy. Because if not, we are in for a fight.