Page 5 of Bound to the Alien Orc (Alien Gambits #1)

Chapter 5

A s the STI leaders approach, I notice the scowls etched on the faces of the Bravorian and Seraphim Ambassadors. Expressions range from shock and horror to outright disgust on the others. But it is the Morcrestian leader I search for. I see him, and my heart pounds as the High Chieftain pushes his way through the crowd, his fury radiating like an aura.

“This is a voiding disaster,” Garrox spits out, his voice laced with fury and frustration. He gestures wildly at the smoldering ship, the fire and smoke billowing from its wreckage.

I catch a glimpse of the Chief’s face. I see his eyes widen, a flicker of apprehension flashing across his usually composed face. He knows as well as I do, there’s no easy way out of this mess. This is a disaster, and we’re both caught in the middle of it. Tension blankets the dock, and its presence is suffocating.

High Chieftain Garrox storms up to the wreck, anger written all over his face. His gaze flits from the ship, to the engineers, to the Chief, and finally settles on me, his eyes blazing. I swallow hard, bracing myself for the onslaught of accusations.

“What the void happened here?!” Garrox’s voice booms across the docking bay, bouncing off the walls in a harsh echo.

His eyes narrow as he scans the crowd, and when his gaze lands on the Chief for answers, the temperature seems to drop a few degrees.

“Kyor,” Garrox snarls.

The Chief steps forward, his posture rigid. “This was an unexpected malfunction, High Chieftain,” he responds, his voice steady despite the hostile atmosphere. “We’re still assessing the damage and investigating the cause.”

“Another unfortunate incident in this zone,” the Seraphim Ambassador adds with a hint of something I can’t put my finger on. His eyes burn with an unearthly intensity. He looks like a creature from a nightmare, as he steps forward to inspect the smoldering ship.

Garrox turns his glare on me, and I flinch, unable to hold his gaze.

“What have you done to my ship, human?!” he demands, his voice thundering across the room.

Shit.

This is bad. Really, really, bad.

Garrox’s gaze burns into mine, his eyes narrowed with rage and suspicion. His golden tusks are even more menacing as they gleam in the artificial light overhead. I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

“I-I repaired the ship, High Chieftain,” I stammer, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “I checked and rechecked everything. This shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”

Garrox steps forward, his face inches from mine. He towers over me, and I can smell the sharp scent of his sweat.

“You are sorry?!” he sneers. “Your incompetence has cost me my ship! Your pathetic apology is worthless!”

He raises his fist, and for a moment, I think he’s going to hit me. But before he can strike, Droilin steps forward, placing himself between me and Garrox. The tension in the air thickens, and for a split second, the only sound is the hiss of the ship’s dying engine.

“That is enough, High Chieftain,” his rumbling voice is deep and powerful.

“Do not presume to chide me, Droilin,” Garrox retorts, his tone ice-cold. “I am the one in charge here, not you! I decide what is enough.”

Droilin holds his gaze, his jaw set in a stubborn line. He doesn’t back down, even when faced with the High Chieftain’s wrath.

Garrox takes a step backwards, his posture still tense, and his gaze still furious, shifts back to me.

“You will pay for this incompetence,” he seethes, his voice laced with venom. “And you,” he snarls, his gaze shifting back to the Chief. “You are responsible for this.”

I look at the other STI leaders — are they going to step in? Where are the rest? Do they want to protect Kyor and the entire engineering department, or will they side with the irate High Chieftain and take us all down?

The Juntarian leader, a tall, lean male with shimmering blue-green skin and sharp eyes, stands next to the Bravorian leader, a figure with red scales, long snout and giant claws I would not want to be on the wrong side of. As they take in the turmoil before them, I feel their scrutiny move to me. I’m the only engineer beside the Chief not involved in the cleanup.

“High Chieftain,” Kyor’s Draconic voice is steady and clear. “It is unfortunate, but an incident such as this cannot be predicted. There will always be unexpected occurrences in a busy workplace.”

“This is not a ‘busy workplace’, Kyor. This is a voiding disaster.” Garrox growls, his voice laced with bitterness and rage. “Your entire zone is a voiding joke. And that human proves it. What do you say, human?”

My heart pounds in my chest. Panic, like a swarm of bees, buzzes in the back of my mind, threatening to overshadow my rational thoughts. The words, the explanations, the apologies, all seem to be stuck in my throat, clogging up like an uncooperative engine. It’s a moment that feels like forever, but as my gaze lands on Droilin’s, his dark eyes meet mine.

I can’t breathe.

My heart beats faster, my palms are sweating.

“I... I was just doing my job. I think someone messed with my work,” I manage, my voice shaky. I look towards the Chief, hoping for some support, some guidance. But his face is blank, his expression inscrutable.

The one eyed Corsairian Ambassador snakes to the front of the group. He makes a show of looking at the orc ship and the aftermath of the explosion.

When did he get here?

“This is most unfortunate. Most unfortunate indeed,” he hisses before he leans into Garrox, whispering something in his ear. The atmosphere in the room shifts, a sense of unease creeping in like an icy breeze.

I don’t like this. Not one bit.

Garrox’s face hardens, the muscles in his neck straining. The High Chieftain’s broad, muscular orc frame seems to grow larger, a looming presence that casts a shadow over the workshop. His gold tusks glint ominously as his voice booms through the dock, the accusation heavy in his tone. His eyes blaze with anger. “Someone messed with my ship, you say?”

“Yes,” I answer, my voice cracking slightly.

“Who could have done such a thing?” he asks, unnervingly calm.

The question hangs in the air like a thick fog, the silence stretching out, the tension mounting. I can almost hear the gears turning in the minds of the STI leaders. The Chief’s gaze is fixed on Garrox, his body tensed, ready to act.

“I... I don’t know. Your ship’s drone? It’s a maintenance drone, right? It might have been faulty,” I suggest, grasping at straws.

Garrox shakes his head, a cruel smirk forming on his lips. “No, little human. My ship has no drones. You’re lying.”

“I’m not! There was a drone on your ship. I tried to remove it but...”

I trail off, not wanting to incriminate myself any further.

“But what?”

“It disappeared and...,” I mumble, casting my eyes to the floor. I try to piece together the steps I took. When did the drone appear? Was that before or after I fixed the control panel? Is it anything to do with the drone? I’m so confused.

The other STI leaders watch our exchange with rapt attention. Their expressions a mix of concern and intrigue.

“Well?” Garrox presses, his eyes narrowing.

“I don’t know,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “Someone deliberately messed with my repairs. They must have wanted to sabotage your mission. But I don’t know who. Or why?”

Garrox snorts, a derisive sound that cuts through the silence.

“Someone? Wasn’t this your work? Your responsibility, human?” he demands, his voice sharp and unforgiving.

I flinch, his words like a slap in the face.

“Y-yes, but —”

“And now, because of you, I have a crippled ship. No means to travel home. No one to blame but you! Tell me, human. Is it customary for engineers on this space station to sabotage each other’s work?” His voice rises, a note of hysteria creeping into his tone.

My heart pounds, my pulse racing. My mind scrambles to find the right words, but they all evade me. I feel the sweat trickling down my back, the blood rushing to my head.

“I-I... I didn’t do it, sir. I don’t know what happened,” I stammer, the words spilling out.

Garrox’s eyes narrow, his lips curl, his disdain as tangible as the frost in the air.

“Do not lie human. We have no time for your pathetic excuses. I came here expecting the work to be done. And instead, you blame your inadequacy on sabotage.”

Garrox continues with a snarl, “Typical human,” he sneers, his voice dripping with contempt. “Always meddling. You should be arrested!”

The Corsairian Ambassador steps forward, his single eye gleaming.

“The situation is a serious matter,” his voice like the hiss of a serpent. “Sabotage cannot be tolerated, and this is the second incident of this kind we have seen within the last few moons.”

“Yes, we can’t allow dangerous behavior to continue unchecked,” the Seraphim adds.

“Exactly,” the Corsairian hisses. “The ineptitude of this human has endangered the life of a Morcrestian Ambassador. Call for the Planetary Police. She must be arrested.”

A murmur of agreement ripples through the group. The other leaders nod, their faces solemn, but the Bravorian Ambassador remains silent, his gaze pinched in thought. His expression is troubled, but he doesn’t speak.

A cold tremor moves down my back, and my blood turns to ice in my veins.

“Arrested?! Attempted assassination?”

The workshop seems to darken, the echo of their judgement bouncing off the metal walls. His accusation hangs in the air, suffocating me as I try to rationalize how this happened. I notice the earlier spectators have mostly left.

I stare at the High Chieftain, the Corsairian, my eyes wide. How could they even suggest such a thing?

Chief Kyor’s voice cuts through the tension, his tone cool but firm. “We will investigate the cause of the explosion. Until then, we need to stay calm and not jump to any conclusions.”

Garrox scowls, his fists clenched, still looking at me. “No.” He takes a step towards me, his eyes blazing with fury.

“I have no intention of waiting for the outcome of your investigation,” he growls. Garrox’s gaze shifts to the Chief, his eyes narrowing. “You should have been monitoring the repairs, Drakonforge. What if this had happened during hyper-travel?”

My stomach sinks as the Seraphim ambassador approaches the Chief. “This human has indeed failed you, Drakonforge. She committed an act of treason, no less. Send her to the Detention Center and let the law determine her fate.”

This can’t be happening.

“Treason? This is wrong! This was sabotage–by someone else who tampered with the ship!” I protest, my voice rising.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t part of the plan.

I look to the Chief for support, but his face is stony and inscrutable. They’re blaming me, and Kyor is just standing there. He shakes his head, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. “Tasha, we can’t jump to any conclusions,” he says, his tone measured.

I’m stunned. His words are a slap in the face.

“Chief, please. You have to do something!”

Kyor looks down, his amber gaze fixed on the floor, his lips a thin line.

I can feel the blood drain from my face as the realization sets in.

“Kyor, please. I can’t go to jail. Not like this. I didn’t do anything wrong!”

He turns away. I see it then, the quiet resignation etched into his posture. The droop of his mighty shoulders. His scales, usually a vibrant blend of green and gold, dull under the harsh workshop lights. My pleas fall on deaf ears. The STI leaders remain unmoved, their faces as hard and unyielding as the metal walls surrounding us.

I try to rationalize why Kyor won’t come to my defense. All I can assume is the last time he took a stand for a human, it backfired and ever since, the dock has been under extra scrutiny.

I guess he’ll defend some fancy diplomat, but he’ll not defend one of his team.

In a final desperate attempt for help, I scan the workshop hoping to catch the eyes of my colleagues, but every one of them is hiding with their back turned away from the commotion. Cowards!

I catch a flicker of uncertainty playing in Droilin’s eyes. Silently, I implore him to stand with me, to see the truth behind my actions. He’s stood to my defense once. I hold my breath, my heart pounding, hoping, praying for a miracle.

Droilin’s gaze flits between me and his High Chieftain, indecision writ large on his face. It’s a struggle for him. His frustration is obvious. His mouth opens, and closes, as if he wants to speak, but can’t find the words.

Finally, his eyes meet mine, and I feel the weight of his scrutiny. He is watching me, analyzing my reaction. My heart sinks. He is no longer the playful guard, no, now his posture is stoic and rigid.

Breaking away from myself and the STI leaders, Droilin steps forward towards Garrox. He leans into the furious orc. Droilin’s expression is earnest. I hope he is speaking on my behalf. But whatever his words, they cannot sway the hardened orc leader.

Garrox’s scowl deepens, his face twisting into a mask of disdain. He turns back to me, his icy gaze piercing through me. “I tire of this human and her incompetence. Call the Planetary Police. NOW!” he thunders.

How does this keep getting worse?

The Planetary Police are not only the enforcers of the laws within the space station, they are the enforcers of the law across the entire galaxy. They are a powerful, feared organization, and one does not want to be on their bad side.

Kyor steps forward, his voice a low rumble. “High Chieftain, I’m sure there’s no need for the Planetary —”

Garrox growls, and I see the flash of panic on Kyor’s face as he rushes to the nearest comm device. He looks like he wants to protest, to stand up for me, but the words die on his lips. I can see the resignation written all over his face so I look away, unable to bear the sight.

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” I counter, my voice a desperate plea in the oppressive silence.

My mind is racing. I can’t believe this. How will I find a way out of this mess? I’m not going down without a fight.

“ENOUGH!” Garrox bellows, his voice laced with venom as his fuse runs short. “Why is it taking so long to arrest her? Where are the Planetary Police? Where is security?” he commands, his lips narrowing into a thin line.

The Corsairian leader’s one-eyed gaze flicks to the Garrox as soon as he speaks, a glint of menace in his eye, “They should be here shortly, High Chieftain,” he says smoothly. “I’m sure a cell is much more suitable for someone of her ilk.”

My blood runs cold. A cell. I can’t go to a cell. I can’t let them do this to me. My heart races, my pulse pounding in my ears. This can’t be happening.

“Hold her Droilin until the officers arrive,” Garrox commands.

Droilin hesitates for a moment, but he relents. His broad frame approaches me, his expression grim.

“I’m sorry Tasha,” his voice a low rumble.

He steps behind me, and I can feel his hot breath on the back of my neck, the warmth of his body pressing against mine.

He reaches for my wrists, his fingers circling around them, and the heat from his touch sears into my skin. I try to resist, but his grip is strong, and I’m no match for his orc strength.

His hold is firm, his hands like fire, sending a tingling sensation coursing through my body.

“This isn’t right. I didn’t do anything!” I protest, but my voice is weak, and no one listens.

“Tasha,” Droilin says, his voice low. “This is the way it has to be.”

I can hear the sadness in his voice, the regret. But I don’t care.

No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. I feel sick. I’m going to be sick. An icy dread seeps through me. I’ve seen this before, back on the human colony on Venturis, the mob mentality, the thirst for blood, the desire to have someone to blame. And I’m the perfect scapegoat.

“Please,” I beg, desperation clawing at my throat. “Please, believe me. I didn’t do it.”

But they don’t listen. Their minds are made up. They don’t care.

There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as Orion Security officers enter the workshop. Their armor gleams under the fluorescent lights, and I see one has a scar across his face. As they approach, I catch a glimpse of the Chief. He looks pale and drawn. His amber eyes meet mine for a moment, and I see a flicker of something unreadable.

“Don’t make this any harder than it has to be, little engineer,” the scar faced Juntarian officer’s voice is low, a growl as he approaches me.

Droilin releases me, and the two officials flank me, their grip firm. I feel a jolt of pain as they shackle my wrists, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat emanating from their bodies. Droilin’s touch felt like a warm embrace compared to this harsh treatment.

The scar-faced officer yanks my head backwards to put a smooth gundrian metal collar on me. The cold metal bites into my skin and the Juntarian presses a small raised red button, and it locks into place. Gundrian metal holds electric charges, so I’m wary of making a sudden move in case the officer decides to use it on me.

Droilin hisses at the scar-faced officer, a low warning. The Juntarian pauses, but the look he gives the orc is dark and threatening.

“Watch it, or you’ll be in cuffs too,” he spits, the threat lingering in the air.

Droilin holds his gaze. His face is expressionless, but I can see the anger burning in his eyes. He looks like he wants to attack the Juntarian.

I look up at him, pleading.

“Droilin, please. You have to believe me. I didn’t do this. It wasn’t me!”

My words hang in the air, heavy and hopeless. He doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the officers.

I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, the lump forming in my throat.

The scar-faced officer yanks my chain forward, the force of his pull making my knees buckle. I stumble, almost falling, but Droilin is quick to steady me.

“Careful,” he growls at the Juntarian.

The officer’s gaze narrows, but he doesn’t reply.

I’m pulled forward, and I have no choice but to move. I can’t resist, can’t struggle, can’t escape. My clip is dislodged as I struggle against the officer’s grip. It falls, clattering on the cold metal floor, ignored by all but me.

As I’m hauled past the Chief, he grabs my arm and leans in. His voice is low, with words meant only for me. “The engineer’s investigation will continue, but for now, it’s best if you turn yourself in, Tasha.”

His words cut like a knife, the betrayal raw and painful.

I wrench free of his grasp and spit out a response.

“Fuck you. If you cared about your team, you would have stood by me, you bastard.”

I can’t help but feel let down, not just by the STI leaders, but also the Chief. He shakes his head, his eyes full of regret. “I can’t, Tasha.”

The officers shove me towards the workshop exit. I’m glad the crowd has thinned out; the spectators having moved on to other entertainment.

My legs are heavy, and each step feels like a lifetime. My feet drag, the metal shackles scraping against the concrete floor and my body feels numb, the shock and disbelief rendering me powerless. I can’t believe this is happening. It feels surreal, like a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

As I’m dragged out of the workshop, my mind races, trying to make sense of the events. I replay the scene, searching for answers. Who could have done this? Why would someone sabotage my work? What did they gain from it? The questions swirl in my mind, a jumbled mess.

The officers escort me towards the Detention Center, their grip on my arms like a vice. As we pass by a series of glass windows, I glimpse my reflection. My hair is disheveled, my eyes wild, and my jumpsuit is covered in soot and dirt.

I look like a criminal.

As we enter the detention center, the doors slam shut behind us. My body trembles, the chill of the cold room sinking into my bones as I wait to be processed.

I have no idea what awaits, but the uncertainty is terrifying me.