Page 4 of Bound to the Alien Orc (Alien Gambits #1)

Chapter 4

I t’s my last day to work on the orc ship, and I’m at the workshop bright and early for the daily inspection. I straighten my jumpsuit as I head towards the line-up to await review. I love how the yellow stands out, marking me as a member of the engineering team. As I tousle my hair, locking my glittery clip into its spot, a flicker of satisfaction within me. It’s a tiny rebellion, knowing full well the Chief rolls his eyes at my bold accessory choice. He says, “not regulation”. So, I say, “fuck it”. It’s the only feminine thing I own here, and I intend to make the most of it.

I straighten up, puff out my chest, and wait for Kyor to arrive and start the inspection. Today is the big day, and I’m determined not to fuck it up. The idea of meeting the Morcrestian orcs again fills me with anticipation, my heart racing a little as I remember Droilin, and those piercing dark eyes. I can picture them staring back at me, and my body flushes with warmth.

I look towards their ship, eager to get back into its mechanical guts. I’m glad to see its red glow has returned, the emergency systems pulsating steadily, the sight a far cry from the dull, lifeless shell from yesterday. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I may not have fixed the energy yet, but that’s progress and my Pops always says, “Knowledge is power, and experience is the best teacher.” And that’s my philosophy too. I may not have the fancy certificate yet, but I know these ships like the back of my hand. And by the end of today, I’ll be familiar with every wire, bolt, and inch of the orc ship too. If I want to wear some glitter, so be it.

Waiting for the Chief, I survey the busy workshop cluttered with machines of all kinds, wires weaving across the floor amid sparks from welding tools. Once inspection wraps, it’ll buzz with action. But for now, the air is thick with anticipation. The workshop is filled with a mixture of smells, metallic and smoky. I glance at the clock, the second-hand ticking in time with the pulsing light on the Morcrest ship.

Doubts creep in, so I shake out my hands, bouncing on my feet to ease the nervous energy. I’m the only one here without a workstation, so I awkwardly stand at the end of the line-up, knowing if I get too engrossed in my work, I’ll be hauled out onto the floor for a dressing down. And after last time, I don’t want that to happen again! The other engineers often overlook me tinkering with their machines, knowing my thirst for knowledge. The orc ship, though different, is just another puzzle to solve. Much like the hot guard, I wonder what the rest of him looks like. His broad shoulders scream strength and confidence, and he definitely has a nice ass. Perhaps I should ask him to go for a drink when his ship is fixed... No focus!

I try to banish the distracting image of the guard from my thoughts and focus on the task at hand. I want to impress the Chief today, and show him how hard I’ve been working.

To distract myself, I scanning the other alien engineers in the lineup. Most are standing poker straight, dwarfing my small but robust human frame. Others are still busy with their work, waiting until the Chief appears. To my right is Nixtor, an Exoscarab, which is a towering insectoid being with a shell as hard as steel. He wields a giant hammer with ease, pounding out dents in a piece of metal with rhythmic thuds. To my left is Spenglar, a Croakan, a squat frog-like creature with bulging eyes and a long, sticky tongue. His fingers move nimbly over a control panel he can’t leave alone, adjusting the dials with precision.

Finally, Chief Engineer Kyor Drakonforge arrives. His enormous Draconic form towers over everyone else in the workshop. His amber eyes flicker with a weariness that is more pronounced today. He looks like he really needs a vacation and maybe even get laid —

“Alright, listen up, everyone!” his booming voice cutting through my thoughts.

“We’ve got a visit from the STI leadership at the end of this shift. This workshop better radiate perfection when they walk in.”

Nods and grunts of agreement echo through the team, and I swallow a gulp of anxiety. A visit from the leadership means that not a single thing can go wrong. Our entire engineering department has to be on their best behavior.

His gaze falls on me, a sharp edge to his stern features. “Tasha,” he says, his Draconic voice a low growl. “That Morcrest ship — it needs fixed. TODAY. No excuses. We can’t afford ANY slip-ups.”

His voice is a mix of urgency and irritation, the usual for a morning inspection. But there’s something else lurking beneath the surface, an emotion I can’t quite name. I nod in response, but he isn’t done.

“Do you understand me?” He growls, his eyes narrowing as his tail whips behind him.

“Understood, Chief,” I answer, my voice steady. I know the stakes. If he is this flustered about the STI visit, it means they’re going to remove the sanctions after the alien prince incident. He would get a lot less scrutiny, and we could all breathe a little easier. For me, this is the moment I’ve been waiting for. To finally be a part of the Engineering team and not just the errand girl.

As Kyor paces, his claws click against the concrete floor, his tail swishing behind him. He moves on to the next item on the agenda. His voice fades into the background as my mind drifts back to the orc ship. The propulsion system, as Droilin pointed out, all but exhausted, I doubt there’s enough power to return the orc ship to Morcrest. The major challenge is the energy source — if it’s rare and depleted, finding an alternative fast won’t be easy. Fixing that ship is far from straightforward.

As soon as Kyor’s inspection finishes, I make a beeline towards Dock OP-6XM and the orc ship. It bears no resemblance to the grandiose Corsairian or Seraphim vessels which visit regularly. This ship is more like a shuttle, its modest size designed to hold a few bodies in tight quarters. The hull shows signs of significant wear and tear, the blue paint faded and chipped. Despite its worn-out appearance, there’s a certain charm to it.

I spent my entire shift yesterday examining its innards, and I couldn’t figure out why the energy was depleted. It’s a mystery, and I don’t like unsolved mysteries. But I love a challenge.

As I enter the dock, the ship looms ahead, a dark shadow against the gray walls. My stomach flutters, and a tingle runs through my body. I know Droilin will be back today, and the thought of seeing him again is strangely exciting. There’s something about his dark gaze and imposing stature... g et to work, Tasha!

I take a deep breath and walk up to the ship. The doors are open, revealing the interior. It’s a dated design, and the air inside is cool and dry. The lighting is a dull red from the emergency power, giving the ship a warm glow.

I haul myself into the hull where I left off yesterday, eager to make better progress today. I have to. Working on the ship is like stepping back in time. The tools are heavier, the parts bulkier, the tech is more archaic. It’s like deciphering an ancient language, trying to understand the functions of each component, how they interconnect, how they give life to the ship. It’s a laborious process, but it’s fascinating. I wish I had more than a few hours to spend on this old girl.

Plunging into the ship’s complex systems, I make myself at home in its intricate universe. The world outside, with its ticking clock and clamor of the workshop, fades to a distant hum as I dig deep to discover the secrets I need to solve to make this ship fly again.

As I work through each system, the grime under my nails and the grease smearing my yellow jumpsuit become badges of honor. Proof of my journey into the heart of this ship. My fingers waltz across its circuitry, and it echoes in response to the touch of my tools. I lose myself as hours melt away as I focus on the jumble of wires and bolts.

Spenglar has a voice loud enough to shout over the machinery in the dock, but as he calls to break for mealtime, I barely hear him. The gnawing pangs of hunger are easy to ignore when I’m this close to finding the solution. With each passing hour, the pieces fall more into place.

As I delve deeper into the guts of the orc ship, I come across the nearly depleted energy source. It’s an opaque block of material, unremarkable at first glance. A rectangle of muted red color, shot through with veins of deep, burnished gold and its surface is rough. It hums faintly, a low, rhythmic thrum.

I remove the block and replace it with luminore, an element commonly used in the Orion galaxy for most machinery. As the ore’s power courses through the veins of the ship, energy levels surge. Progress at last! Yet, this orc vessel demands far more than a mere recharge to reclaim its former glory.

I keep working until the only sound I hear is the pounding of my heart. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing pulse. Time is running out, and the pressure on me is mounting. My anxiety and exhaustion threaten to overwhelm me.

The ship’s energy levels continue to increase, but its performance is sluggish and its power output is barely half what it should be. I look at the control panel, my gaze scanning the readouts. My stomach twists into a knot as the ship is still showing critical damage. Why? The energy levels are increasing, but its systems aren’t responding properly.

I run a diagnostic on the engine, and the results send a wave of relief through me. The issue is with the control panel itself; the wiring is frayed. I can easily fix it! My heartbeat steadies and I focus on repairing the control panel with new cables.

My mind drifts to the hot guard. The way his muscles flex when he moves, and his firm arms wrapping around me, sending a rush of heat through my body. The thought of his touch makes my cheeks flush. I wonder what his tusks would feel like on my neck...

I push aside those thoughts and return my focus to the ship. I’m determined to prove my worth. My hands glide, my fingers flying over the controls, replacing wires, rerouting power. With a few taps, I make a final adjustment, and the display flickers to life, the ship’s systems humming with newfound strength.

I look down at the control panel, a feeling of satisfaction washing over me. The energy levels are stabilizing, and the ship’s performance is slowly improving. A sigh of relief escapes me as I lean against the control panel, the cool metal a welcome contrast to the warmth radiating from my body.

I savor the moment of triumph; the adrenaline surging through me, a potent cocktail of elation and exhaustion. I did it!

Just as the euphoria hits, I hear a soft, almost inaudible whirr. It’s a strange, high-pitched sound, coming from the rear of the ship.

“What the —?”

I scramble to find the source, and I spot a small, circular object attached to the wall. Its metal surface is smooth and cold, and its shape reminds me of a spider, with eight thin legs connected to a central body.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I examine the tiny drone. It’s clearly not one of ours. It doesn’t have any markings or symbols. Just a blank, featureless shell.

I reach out and try to detach the drone, but its legs’ grip tightly to the wall, and the harder I pull, the more it clings on.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

I take a step back, eyeing the drone warily. It’s just a harmless robot, right? Probably an automated maintenance bot from Morcrest. Maybe it’s an old cleaning drone.

I grab my toolbox, rummaging through it for the smallest pair of pliers.

“Alright, let’s see what you’re made of, little buddy.”

I position the pliers carefully around the base of one leg and then give it a sharp tug. The drone releases its grip and falls to the floor, its legs twitching.

“Gotcha!”

I reach down to pick up the drone, but as soon as I touch it, a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm. The pain is searing, and I recoil, dropping the drone.

“You little —!”

The drone skitters away, moving quickly. Its legs are surprisingly nimble, and it disappears around the corner, out of sight.

I chase after it, but by the time I reach the corner, the drone is gone.

“Damnit.”

I lean against the wall, cradling my injured arm. The pain is subsiding, but my heart is racing, and my breathing is rapid. I stare at the spot where the drone disappeared. I’ll have to keep an eye out for it, and if it’s a maintenance bot, it should be easy to locate.

For now, I close my eyes and smile to myself, letting the exhaustion wash over me, seeping into my bones. It’s a good tired, the kind that comes with a job well done. I might lack the official credentials, but right now, I feel every bit the engineer I aspire to be. Let’s see Kyor turn me down now!

I duck out of the ship and scan the workshop for the Chief, to tell him the great news, but he’s nowhere to be seen. A rumble in my stomach reminds me it’s dinnertime, and it’s nearly the end of the shift! I could run out now and grab something before the cafeteria closes and the STI leaders arrive.

Stepping away from the dock, I meticulously run through my mental checklist for the ship. She’s primed and poised for action . I join the long line for the cafeteria and grab a tray, the delicious scent of hot food making my mouth water.

The mess hall is always packed at the end of a shift. Engineers grabbing a fast meal before heading home. I scan the room for a place to sit, and I spot Kyor sitting alone at a table in the corner. His head buried in a datapad; his meal half-eaten. He doesn’t look up when I sit down, but his gaze flickers over to me, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You smell like you’ve been crawling around in the engine room all day.” His voice is low, a teasing note creeping into his words.

“Well, it’s the only place I fit in.” I flash him a grin and take a bite of my sandwich. The bread is thick and crusty, the filling hearty and meaty.

“Mmm, this is good,” I mumble, my mouth full.

“How’s the Morcrestian ship?”

“Finished,” I splutter, swallowing my sandwich as fast as I can.

“I’ve finished the repairs. I was able to get the ship back online and running at near optimal levels.”

His eyes narrow slightly, his gaze piercing and disbelieving. “Really?”

I sit a little straighter as I respond in my most professional tone.

“Yes. The energy levels are stable and the ship’s performance is at ninety-nine percent. I believe it will be suitable for transporting the Morcrestians.”

He shakes his head and lets out a low growl as he studies me, his eyes searching mine. I feel the weight of his gaze, the pressure of his scrutiny. After a moment, he dips his head, a faint smile appearing on his lips.

“Impressive, Tasha. But I’ll take a look before signing off. Just to be sure.”

A rush of pride swells in my chest, and I can’t help the wide grin that spreads across my face.

“Thanks, Chief.”

“I hope so.” He replies. “The High Chieftain is an ambitious leader, and we do not want to risk his temper. If the ship fails, the repercussions will be.”

He trails off, his gaze fixed on the table, his expression unreadable.

“Well, they’ll be bad,” he finishes, his tone somber.

I nod, trying to suppress the nervous flutter in my belly. His validation is a welcome feeling, and the weight of responsibility resting on my shoulders is lifted.

Just as I tuck into a bowl of the finest stew this station has to offer, the ground beneath us shudders. The sharp sound of the explosion reverberates through the entire engineering zone.

My spoon clatters onto the table, and I’m on my feet before the echo has faded. The cafeteria descends into bedlam as engineers scramble for the door, fear etched on their faces. Kyor’s tail lashes back and forth, and his eyes widen in alarm.

“What the fuck was that?” he booms.

“I don’t know.”

My heart hammers in my chest as I sprint towards the engineering dock, the Chief hot on my heels. The corridor is filled with smoke and dust, and there’s a sharp, metallic tang in the air.

As I head to the source of the blast, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. An explosion could mean a multitude of things, but I know the sound is coming from our dock and a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me it’s coming from the orc ship.

I run, my breath burning in my lungs, my legs pumping as hard as they can, until I skid to a stop at the sight of smoke billowing out from the dock. I push through the crowd of curious onlookers, trying to get closer. My mind reels as I try to comprehend what’s happening.

An explosion could mean anything. A mechanical failure, a malfunction, an accident. A flurry of questions whirling in my mind. Is it a loose wire? Or a faulty valve? I had double, triple checked everything. It couldn’t be...

This can’t be a coincidence. The timing of the explosion is too suspicious.

I scan the crowd, looking for a familiar face, someone who might know what happened.

Elbowing my way past the last of the crowd, I step into the docking bay, the Chief beside me. But the sight that greets me is like a punch in the gut.

The orc ship, my ship , is a sorry sight. Smoke is billowing from the rear, and the ground around it is littered with bits of debris. The hull never looked pristine, but it’s worse now, now marred by a large, blackened scorch mark, and one of the side panels is hanging off its hinges.

“Oh, shit,” I whisper, my heart hammering in my chest.

My eyes sweep over the scene, taking in the damage. The ship is a wreck. What the hell happened? I fixed it; I’d checked every single detail.

So, who messed with my ship?

The Chief lets out a long sigh, his eyes fixed on the orc ship, a frown creasing his face. His gaze flickers over to me, the weight of his stare heavy on my shoulders. It’s not the look of rage I expect from him after seeing the pandemonium unfolding before us, but faced with something like this, it’s hard to know what to expect from someone.

Kyor shakes his head, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“This is a fucking disaster.”

His voice is hoarse, his words laced with pain and sorrow.

I take a deep breath and force myself to focus.

“Chief, I did everything right,” I protest. “I don’t know what could have caused this.”

His eyes narrow, and he fixes on me with an intense gaze. “It doesn’t matter now,” he says, his voice sharp. “We’ve got a situation, and we need to deal with it.”

As the reality sinks in, the panic sets in. This is my doing, and now the whole workshop is staring at the destruction, and I’m going to be the one blamed.

The Chief’s words are a knife to my heart, but I know he’s right. I swallow hard, the lump in my throat growing. This is the worst thing that could have happened. Not only have I failed, but I’ve put the Chief in an impossible situation.

I open my mouth to say something, to explain, but before I can say anything, he pivots on his heel, stepping away from me and into the mess. He moves with a sense of urgency, but he’s keeping calm. This isn’t his first crisis, and it shows.

“Meds! I need a status report, now!” he bellows, his voice cutting through the din. A couple of medics, clutching their kits tightly, approach him. Their faces are pale, but they confirm no one has been injured. That’s a relief at least.

“Engineers!” Kyor continues, not waiting for the medics’ report. “I need an immediate safety inspection. Check the surrounding structures for damage. And I want a preliminary report on what went wrong with the Morcrest ship. NOW!”

A group of soot-covered engineers, led by a stern-looking Bravorian named Jaicen, salute Kyor before rushing off to carry out his orders.

Kyor turns his attention to the onlookers, who still linger around the periphery of the confusion, gawking.

“The rest of you, clear the area! This is not a spectacle,” he commands, his gaze stern.

I’m about to ask for orders, or permission to inspect the damage for myself, but before I can say anything, the crowd parts for the arrival of the STI leaders. A knot forms in my stomach, twisting tighter with each step they take.

This will not go well.