Page 6 of Bound to the Alien Orc (Alien Gambits #1)

Chapter 6

G arrox is talking with the Seraphim Ambassador, his face set in a stony expression, and I take the chance to catch my breath.

I lean back against the wall, the cool metal a welcome relief after the heat and tension of the workshop. I close my eyes and let the exhaustion wash over me, the entire incident swirling in my mind. The engineers’ shock and disappointment, the panic of the crowd, the sound of the explosion itself, and most of all, the look of betrayal on Tasha’s face as she was arrested.

It was the same look I’d seen in her eyes when she realized I was not on her side, when she realized she had no one left. It had been a look of pure despair, the kind that cuts you to the core.

And now she’s been taken away. My experience has been humans are not always trustworthy, but to be arrested without hard facts? Without evidence? Did she really sabotage our ship? I scratch my chin, a sigh escaping my lips.

“Damn.”

I can’t shake the image of Tasha’s face from my mind, the fear in her eyes. Her desperate pleas of innocence. And the heartbreaking expression on her face when I took hold of her.

I tried my best to convince the High Chieftain to give her a chance, to not rush to conclusions. I pleaded for an investigation, but my plea fell on deaf ears as Garrox, in his typical headstrong manner, dismissed my cautionary words.

“What a voiding disaster.”

I open my eyes and glance around the workshop. The chaos has subsided, the remaining engineers have gone back to work. I see that our wrecked ship is still smoking, but the fires have been extinguished, and the damage is contained. The STI leaders huddle together, their voices low and hushed. Kyor has excused himself from their meeting, and he is pacing, a look of deep concentration on his face. I hope Kyor can make a difference where I could not. And as I watch Tasha being led away, I worry we’ve made a mistake, which will cost this human dearly.

A knot twists in my gut, a gnawing unease creeping in, and I have to suppress the urge to pace myself. Pushing off the wall, I straighten my back and steel myself for what’s coming.

I can’t just stand here idle; I need to investigate what is going on. As I’m about to step towards the High Chieftain, something glittery on the floor catches my eye.

A sparkly green hair clip lies discarded, abandoned, and ignored during the chaos. I recognize it as one belonging to Tasha, her signature accessory, so I stoop and pick it up. Before I can muse further on the human trinket, the High Chieftain’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

“Droilin!” Garrox barks, the sound echoing off the metal walls. “Check the ship for more traps. I want no more surprises.” His tone is firm and authoritative, and his golden tusks glint menacingly under the workshop lights.

I pocket the clip and nod, turning my gaze towards the ship. “Already on it, High Chieftain,” I respond, my mind whirling with tasks. This is my chance to get to the bottom of what happened here.

The first order of business is a thorough inspection of the interior, the most likely source of the explosion. I head towards the ship; I find myself face to face with Kyor. He’s a towering figure, but now, there’s a hunch to his shoulders, his gaze avoiding mine as he nods, his body tense and his jaw remain tight set. I can’t see any sense of relief in his eyes that a saboteur has been arrested. He looks... remorseful.

Garrox strides up to him, tall and rigid, his satisfaction thinly veiled behind a mask of righteous indignation.

“Kyor, we cannot harbor criminals on this outpost. Especially those that would kill ambassadors, either with their malice or plain incompetence. As you have said, yourself, humans have caused you nothing but trouble. This is your chance to make things right.”

“Of course,” the Chief replies, his voice steady, though I can see a flicker of hesitation in his amber eyes.

Garrox turns his attention to me, his gaze piercing.

“Droilin,” his tone is sharp, commanding. “We must ensure my safety. Take the rest of the day and begin investigating the cause of the explosion. Find out what else that bitch has done to my ship.”

“Yes, High Chieftain,” I say, the words coming out before I can stop them.

Having Garrox make this order is convenient. I need to get to the bottom of what’s happened, and the sooner the better for Tasha. Among my people, disdain for humans is as common as the stars in the sky. The bitter taste of past wars lingers on our tongues, and the High Chieftain’s hatred for them runs deeper than the fathomless abysses of the Zarkon Nebula. For him, their mere existence is a transgression, a smudge on the pristine canvas of the universe.

“Good. Now, I have urgent business to attend to,” he says, his posture stiff. “I’m sure I can trust you to get the job done.”

“Of course, High Chieftain,” I reply and skirt the perimeter of our ship and take notes on my datapad.

Garrox nods and stalks off, his footsteps heavy on the floor, echoing in the workshop.

The Seraphim Ambassador follows the High Chieftain, his black wings tucked tightly behind his back. His gaze lingers on me for a moment, a strange gleam playing in his eyes. He says nothing, but I feel a shiver run down my spine.

“Oh, before we STI leaders return to the Observatory Lounge, I have an announcement,” the Corsairian Ambassador booms, his voice smooth and cold as he steps into the center of the workshop.

He’s an imposing figure with skin as blue as the interstellar void, with an eye patch and bejeweled armor announces his authority, his voice smooth and cold. “With the human’s arrest, STI sanctions against Kyor are officially lifted. There’ll be a trial of course, but it’s clear that human is the source of the... problems in the engineering dock. Rest assured Kyor, your record with be cleared.”

Kyor’s response is a low mumble, his gaze still firmly fixed on the floor. I can’t help but wonder if he played a role in this, why he let Tasha be taken with little protest? If she were my... subordinate, I would have fought for her more.

The other engineers watch the exchange, their expressions a mixture of shock and relief. I see a Bravorian engineer’s gaze shift from Kyor to the wreckage of the ship, to me. A slow clap begins, and within moments, the entire workshop is cheering and congratulating Kyor before they return to their jobs.

His amber gaze flickers towards me, a flash of remorse passing over his face. I don’t know what to make of his reaction.

Between the STI meetings and this... something off here, pieces of a puzzle which don’t fit. But now is not the time or place to voice my concerns.

The clip in my pocket burns against my skin, a silent protest to counter what is unfolding. My thoughts are interrupted as the STI leaders move towards the exit of the dock. The Juntarian and Bravorian Ambassadors keep pace, their silhouettes slicing through the workshop, following in the shadow of Garrox and the Seraphim. As they exit, I hear the Corsairian’s last words hang in the air as he leaves.

“Don’t disappoint me again, Kyor,” he hisses, his one eye narrowing.

As the doors shut, the workshop falls silent, the tension in the air dissipating.

Kyor stands motionless for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, as if waking from a trance, he walks towards the ship, his movements heavy.

In the span of the last solar return, our visits here have outnumbered those of the previous five rotations combined. A sense of unease coils within me. A shadow cast by the High Chieftain’s decisions yesterday, the incident today — decisions being made in the growing number of private meetings from which I find myself more regularly excluded. I push down the weight of what this could mean for Morcrest and our people. I have enough to contend with here. Kyor’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, his tone weary.

“Droilin,” he says, his gaze finally meeting mine. “My team will assist you in your investigation. Jaicen, he’s here somewhere, is at your disposal.”

“Thank you, Kyor.”

“Please,” his amber eyes shimmer in the harsh lighting of the workshop, “don’t thank me.” He shakes his head, a humorless laugh escaping his lips.

I frown, his words sending an icy wave down my spine.

“She was only trying to do her job,” he mutters.

“Maybe you should have defended her. She’s your subordinate.”

His gaze narrows, his expression darkening.

“And if I had stood by her, what would that have done for my team? For the Outpost? No. She was on her own.”

Before I can respond, Kyor pivots and strides away, leaving me alone in the docking bay. The silence is suffocating, the weight of the disaster pressing down on me.

I sigh, running my hands through my hair. What a voiding mess. And it’s not over yet. Not by a long shot.

“Droilin. Sir!” a gruff voice calls to me from across the dock. I look over, finding the red scaled Bravorian approaching me. “What are your instructions?” His expression is grim, his face creased with concern. I presume this is Jaicen, since he offers no introduction.

“The High Chieftain wants the ship checked for more sabotage.”

He nods, his expression solemn. “It will be done.”

My gaze moves to the damaged ship, back to the expectant stare of Jaicen. “First,” I respond, my voice firm. “We need to secure the ship. No one else is allowed access until our investigation has concluded. Then, we’ll begin the inspection. Let’s not let assumptions get in the way of the facts.”

Jaicen’s eyes widen, his brows arching. “Assumptions?”

I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “We can’t presume to know anything for sure until there is evidence. Tell me more about Tasha.” I pause, correcting myself. “How well do you know her?”

Jaicen blinks, his gaze shifting towards the ship, his brow furrowing. “She’s a hard worker, but she’s not an engineer.”

“What do you mean?” I press, my curiosity piqued.

He shrugs. “She isn’t a qualified engineer, but she knows her way around a ship.”

His words send a jolt of adrenaline rushing through me. “So, what is she doing here? Is she an intern?”

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“An intern? No, no,” he says, shaking his head. “Tasha’s an assistant. A made-up role Kyor gave her because he felt sorry for her. He thought she could be useful on the dock. She is good enough, but Kyor needs no more engineers in his crew.”

My mind whirls with this new information. I scurry to put into my datapad.

“Do you think she’s capable of sabotaging the ship?”

His gaze snaps back to me, his expression turning serious.

“No. I don’t think she could have done this. She wouldn’t. She’s not a terrorist or assassin. Tasha just has an insatiable appetite for knowledge. She’s always asking questions, trying to learn new things, pushing herself to improve. That girl is the definition of hard work and dedication. But she still needs to get qualified. She hoped this repair job would set her on that path.”

“But the sabotage,” I interject.

He shakes his head. “Not her style. She would never intentionally hurt someone. And she’s not an idiot. She knows that any mistake she makes would be Kyor’s problem.”

“And her reputation? Has she had any complaints?”

“Nope,” Jaicen responds, shaking his head. “Nothing. No incidents. Nothing. Worst thing I can say about Tasha is her female human body is distracting, and she talks too much. But that’s not a crime. Her work is always excellent.”

His words settle over me, a seed of doubt growing in my mind.

“I’m not the only one to say it.”

“You’re not?” I raise a brow in wonder.

“No. Kyor says she’s one of his best. And if anyone would know, it’s him. I’m sure he has his reasons not promoting her.”

“Why hasn’t he?” I ask, unable to hide my surprise.

“Because humans are a pain in the ass, Droilin. We’ve all seen the madness they cause. Their unpredictability, their selfishness, their greed, their hatred for others. They’re a virus.”

I’m not convinced. But I let it go. This isn’t the time or place.

“By the way Jaicen, did you notice anything out of the ordinary before the explosion?”

His brows furrow in contemplation. “Well, it’s been so busy recently, lots of repair jobs in with all the fancy people coming for the symposium. I don’t think our visitor logs have been updated.”

My eyes narrow. Visitor logs. That could have a clue to who had access to the dock recently.

“You’re right,” I respond, an idea taking shape. “I’ll need to see those logs. What about security cameras?”

Jaicen shrugs. “Sure, we can look at those after we secure the ship. Who knows what else might be rigged in there?”

Together, we carefully approach the hull of the ship. It hasn’t gleamed in a long time, since there are no technicians on Morcrest, but now it’s marred by soot and debris, the smell of burned metal hanging heavy in the air. As we walk around and inspect the exterior of the vessel, the echo of our boots on the workshop floor amplifies in the silence now everyone has left.

Jaicen moves with practiced precision, encircling the vessel with a series of high, impenetrable barriers. The sound of metal clanking against metal echoes through the air as we methodically bolt and secure each panel, ensuring an unbreachable perimeter forms around the vessel’s hull. I double-check every juncture, my eyes scanning for the smallest gap, my fingers testing the strength of each seal.

Kneeling beside the ship’s steel door, Jaicen installs a sleek lock, its screen awaiting our handprints. I press my palm against it, the device humming as it scans the unique lines of my hand. A green light flashes — my identity secured. “Your turn,” I gesture to Jaicen. He mirrors my action, his handprint captured with equal precision. We’ve just transformed this derelict door into a gate that only recognizes us, blending old Morcrest metal with this new tech. Once the outside is secure, we turn our attention to the interior.

Inside, the damage is worse than I expected.

The control room is a mess.

Scattered across the floor, shattered tech paints a scene of havoc. Panels shredded open, their guts — a tangle of wires — spill out, dangling and exposed. Monitors, now a spiderweb of cracks, flicker sporadically, and broken screens mirroring the disarray.

A knot of cables lies twisted like a nest of serpaxians, a stark contrast to the gleaming console they were connected to.

“The ship’s power source has been disrupted. I’ll check the main console and see what I can salvage,” Jaicen says, walking over to the control panel.

I nod and follow him, taking a closer look at the disorder.

As we examine the console, I notice a strange symbol etched into the metal. I lean closer, my eyes narrowing as I try to make sense of it.

The symbol is rough, crudely engraved into the metal. It’s a series of interconnected geometric shapes, resembling a fusion of ancient runes. They used a sharp tool, and it scratched out, leaving behind jagged lines and uneven edges.

“This doesn’t look like a standard engineering marking,” I say, my fingers tracing the outline.

“It looks familiar,” Jaicen responds, his brows furrowed in concentration. “Ah... I remember now where I’ve seen it before. It was in an old STI training module. Long out of date now,” he replies, his gaze still fixed on the symbol.

I step back and look around the control room, searching for anything else out of place. My gaze falls on a pile of scrap parts, an assortment of wires, cables, and circuit boards, but there is nothing strange there.

We immerse ourselves in sifting through the rest of the wreckage, when Jaicen’s sudden shouts jolts my focus.

“Aha! I remember what the symbol is! It’s weird actually, it’s an ancient Corsairian... or was it a Seraphim... symbol? I can’t remember, but it’s some religious or ritualistic symbol. Not common these days.”

“Do you know what does it means?”

“Not sure. It was a symbol of some sort of god. Or maybe a demon. I can’t remember. It’s been a while since I studied any religion. I just remember there was some weird cult that used to follow it. That’s what stuck in my mind.”

I frown, a knot of unease forming in the pit of my stomach. Why would this be etched on my Morcrestian ship?

“That’s strange,” I murmur, my gaze fixed on the feather.

“Yeah. Very. Maybe Tasha was studying it and forgot about it.”

My frown deepens, my suspicions growing. “I doubt it... Let’s finish securing the ship. I need to see those logs.”

“Yes, sir.”

With the ship safe, we exit the vessel, and I seal the hatch behind us.

“Where is the visitor log kept?”

“In the security office. This way.”

We leave the docking bay, the sight of the vessel shrinking behind us as we head to see the visitor logs. As we walk, my thoughts return to Tasha. I wonder how she’s doing, and I can’t help but feel guilty. After all, I handed her over to the Orion officers.

The security room is a stark contrast to the docking bay. It’s cramped, filled with an array of screens that flicker with countless old-fashioned video feeds across this quadrant of the space station.

I take a seat in front of the monitors; my mind whirring with possibilities of what I might find.

“Can you show me the most recent log?”

Instead, Jaicen shows me how to work the controls, then unceremoniously leaves me to the daunting task of reviewing footage. He assures me that there will be no one in the Dock OP-6XM and I can watch for myself on camera OS12-ED-45. The Planetary Police will most likely want to start their own investigation, and it won’t look good if I get in the way.

The officiousness of Jaicen assures me somewhat that he would be true to his word, but I make a note to check his background, too. Just in case.

Time ticks by, and I lose myself in the monotony of watching old tech grainy footage. My eyes feel dry, and my back aches, but I push forward, undeterred. There must be a clue somewhere. I replay the video from the night before, focusing on the movements of the engineers.

I’m struck by the number of people who have come through the dock, far more than the usual traffic. Most of them seem to visit different vessels under repair.

Nothing stands out, nothing is suspicious.

I’m about to give up. Then my gaze falls on a familiar figure. A yellow jumpsuit, glittery clip and wild dark hair. I watch the tape speed through her work on the ship. I lean closer, squinting at the screen. There’s something on her uniform, a mark, a stain? No, just some grease from the ship. Nothing out of the ordinary. I sit back in the chair, letting out a frustrated sigh.

I continue watching the footage, my eyes straining to make out details. But as the minutes drag by, and my body grows tired, I’m losing focus. Finally, I come close to the time of the explosion. I slow the footage observing Tasha as she does a cute cheer after a test. Before she tucks her hair behind her ear, and turns a subtle shade of pink as she checks, no one noticed her. My heart flutters in my chest, a strange feeling, not one I’ve felt for a while.

I lean forward, my attention sharpened, as the video shows her working. I watch, my heart racing. As she finishes her repairs, waves to a Croakan engineer and heads towards the exit. Not the behavior I would expect from someone about to blow up a ship.

As I continue to review the footage, I notice something strange. There are a series of black blurs that appear in and out of the dock, like ghosts that vanish from view when the camera is on. I replay the footage and slow it down; the images coming into focus.

“What the?”

“Hey Jaicen,” I call out, not taking my eyes off the screen. “Do you have a way to enhance the security footage?” but he doesn’t answer me.

I let the video play on, and then I see it. A blur of black at the side of the ship. I zoom in, my eyes narrowing. It’s a figure, its face obscured by a mask, its tall, lean body clad in black, a hood concealing their identity.

My heart races, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I watch as the figure moves towards the ship, their movements stealthy, their posture predatory. I zoom in closer as the recording turns to static, a black screen. My hands scramble to rewind the video, but it’s useless. The footage is damaged, lost.

“Void!” I slam the table with my fists. I’m so close, but I can’t see the culprit’s face. Damn technology. Never working when you need it most.

I try the other cameras, but they show nothing. I’m left staring at the black screen. The image of the hooded figure burned into my mind.

My heart pounds, and I feel the anger boiling up inside me.

I clench my jaw, and try to remain calm.

I’ve seen the footage, and there’s no way it could have been Tasha. But without an alternative culprit... I doubt justice would be served.

I lean back in my chair, my mind racing, trying to put together the pieces. The footage is damning, but it’s not enough.

As I approach the damaged hull, Jaicen is locked in thought over a piece of metal away from the ship. I wave to him as I gain access to the perimeter.

“Anyone else come by?” I shout over.

Jaicen doesn’t look up from his work, his eyes trained on the debris before him.

“Nope. Just you and me. You’ve got everything now anyway, and I’ve got some important shit to get to,” he says, his tone distracted.

“Okay, I’m going to take another look around the ship. Thanks for your help.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” he mutters, his focus never wavering.

I turn, heading towards the damaged ship. I have a memory for detail, so I can spot the same marks I saw on the surveillance cameras. As I scan the ship, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, a sensation like someone is watching me. I look around, my gaze sweeping the docks, but I’m alone.

Shaking off the feeling, I continue my search and carefully examine every inch of the ship, but I can’t find anything out of place. I ask Jaicen to confirm that no one else has entered the ship, and he reasserts he’s seen no one.

I take one last look at the vessel, the scene of the crime, the only evidence a symbol and the blur of a figure on a recording. My eyes are drawn again to the heap of wires beside the control panel.

My eye catches a flash of silver. I don’t remember seeing that before.

There, amongst the jumble of metal, is a black feather with a glint of green and silver.

“What’s this?”

I reach for the object, picking it up and examining it.

“What have you found?” Jaicen asks, moving towards me.

“It’s a feather,” I reply, holding it up for him to see.

“A feather?” he repeats, his brows arching. His face is a mask of confusion.

I pocket the feather carefully. I’ll return it before the Planetary Police start their investigation. Once I’m satisfied there is nothing more to learn, I exit the ship and seal the hatch. The feeling of being watched persists, and I find myself constantly looking over my shoulder. I take scans of everything to review back in my quarters.

As I leave the engineering zone, the feeling of being watched lingers. My mind races, the questions swirling, the clues adding up. Whoever was in the workshop was not a random saboteur if they can get in and out unseen. They have connections. And if I can figure out who they are, I might have a chance to clear Tasha’s name.

Maybe I could stop this injustice from happening.