Page 7 of Bound to the Alien Orc (Alien Gambits #1)

Chapter 7

I ’ve been answering the same stupid questions for an eternity. The harsh glare of the interrogation lamp has lost its intensity. The heat and the sweat which once plagued me has dissipated. I’m cold.

And the smell. The interview room stinks of stale smoke, sweat, and disinfectant. It’s quiet and impersonal, nothing like the vibrant energy of the workshop I’m used to.

I’ve had time to take in my surroundings, the dingy grey walls, the hard metal bench, and the table which separates me from the scar-faced Juntarian officer. He sits across from me, his gaze fixed on the datapad, his expression unreadable. Each one has taken a turn to question me at least once. Neither digging too deep into my alleged sabotage.

Both are Juntarian, tall and imposing. Their uniform is a blend of navy and chrome. The flesh that is exposed shows a thick hide that shimmers a dull green under the artificial light. Both faces are a disconcerting mix of humanoid and reptilian, with narrow, elongated skulls and beady eyes that shine with an eerie yellow glow. Their mouths, more like a jagged fissure across their faces which are set in a permanent scowl, add an extra touch of menace to their unpleasant demeanor. But Scar-face is the one who arrested me. The new officer, Arm-ageddon, has a cybernetic left arm, and that’s how I tell them apart.

The silence between the questions is deafening. I’m sure there’s some psychological theory behind this tactic, but it’s lost on me. All I can think about is how much longer I’ll have to endure this. I can’t hide my frustration. The boredom and uncertainty gnawing at my insides, wearing down my patience.

“When are the real detectives coming to question me? You’re just Orion Outpost Security — where is the Planetary Police? Evidence can be manipulated or misinterpreted, you know. You should be careful about accusing someone based on nothing but assumptions. Don’t you have proper interrogators here? Are you even allowed to question a human? Don’t you have better things to do than to harass an innocent female?”

Arm-ageddon stands behind Scar-face, doesn’t react. His name badge says Eonix. No introductions were made, so I’m guessing that’s his name. Eonix. What an unfortunate name. I bet he was bullied relentlessly as a kid. I’ll stick to calling him Arm-ageddon.

Scar-face, or Xenolux, according to his name badge, sighs, his eyes narrowing. “We have all the authority we need. We are not here to indulge your delusions.”

I roll my eyes. “What about a lawyer or an advocate? Can’t you call someone for me? I have a right to a legal representative.”

“You do not dictate what happens here,” he growls. “This is an informal questioning. The trial is next —”

Arm-ageddon elbows him in the side, interrupting him, clears his throat, his voice tight.

“We can arrange for an advocate, if you wish. However, we can’t guarantee anyone will take up your case. That’s not our responsibility. But I’m feeling generous, so I will issue the request.”

“Look,” I say, my voice laced with desperation. “I’m innocent. I had nothing to do with this.”

Scar-face leans in, his scarred face inches from mine, his voice a low rumble. “You’ve been accused of attempted murder and sabotage. You’re lucky it’s us questioning you and not the Planetary Police.”

I hold his gaze, unflinching. “I didn’t do anything. Why won’t you believe me? I’m sure you’ve seen footage from the surveillance cameras by now. The most basic of investigations! How could I have planted a bomb?”

Scar-face lets out a long sigh, his gaze softening. “Look, you’ll have a chance to plead your case at the trial. For now, just cooperate with my questions.”

“When is this trial? And who will be conducting it?” I ask, my voice a whisper.

“Two earth days. As for who, well, that’s not decided yet. Most likely, the Trial will be conducted by the Seraphim Ambassador Jha’ril, and another STI leader.”

“TWO DAYS!” My stomach sinks. “That’s so soon. How is there time for a proper investigation? This is ridiculous! It’s unfair!”

“No, its standard procedure.”

“Standard procedure... for an alleged attempted murder and sabotage?”

Scar-face pauses, his expression unreadable. “For crimes of this nature. Yes.”

“But that’s not fair. That means no one has had time to look at the evidence properly! How many times do I have to tell you, I’m an engineer, my job is to fix things, not blow them up!” I counter, indignation rising in my chest.

“Don’t worry, human. The trial will be fair. They’ll take into consideration all the evidence and testimony.”

I bite my lip, my mind racing. This is madness. How can they expect an impartial verdict without a full investigation?

“Who’s investigating the sabotage?”

“It’s not important,” Scar-face replies, his tone dismissive. “What? Not important? It’s the most important thing in the galaxy to me! What is going on here?”

Arm-ageddon clears his throat, his eyes narrowing. “It’s being handled. Now, are you ready to answer some more questions, or are you just going to keep whining?”

I grit my teeth, my frustration simmering. “Fine, ask your stupid questions.”

The next hour passes with Xenolux asking the same questions again and again.

“What is your full name?”

“Tasha Marie Williams.”

“When were you born?”

“June 15th 2223.”

“How do you feel about High Chieftain Garrox?”

“Do you know the Corsairian and Seraphim Ambassadors?”

“Have you ever had an issue with Chief Engineer Kyor?”

“What is your opinion on the Orion Outpost?”

I repeat my answers, over and over, trying to stay calm.

Finally, Scar-face’s comm link beeps. He glances at the screen, then nods. “That’s all for now. Thank you for your cooperation.”

I’m shaking. Exhausted. Tears prick my eyes. I do not know how to proceed. I have no resources. No advocate. Nothing. The reality of the situation is dawning on me, a crushing weight on me.

“You could make a call. Your parents, maybe. Do you have anyone who can help you?”

His question hangs in the air. My parents. The thought sends panic through me. What would they think? I haven’t spoken to them in years, they don’t have a holocom. Not since I left home. They would be devastated. Better they don’t know.

“I have no one,” I say, my voice breaking. “No one but myself.”

I blink back tears, struggling to hold it together. Scar-face remains impassive, his eyes betraying no emotion.

“We’ll take you back to your cell,” he says. His voice is as emotionless as his gaze.

Arm-ageddon moves to open the door, the metal of his cybernetic arm glinting.

I don’t have the strength to argue or resist.

I rise from the chair, my legs shaky, and follow them out of the interrogation room, the door clanking shut behind me.

As we walk down the corridors of the detention center, my eyes scan my surroundings. The hallways are dim, the lighting sparse, and the walls are covered with thick gundrian steel. This place is a fortress. A chill in my marrow, the isolation sinking into my bones.

They carry themselves with the heavy weight of authority, and their footsteps echo loudly in the silent halls. The only sounds are our breathing and the occasional buzz of a security camera.

The cell block is just as bleak as the rest of the center.

A cell. The word echoes in my head, each repetition a nail in the coffin of my freedom. I’m no criminal, no ship-tampering assassin.

“I’m an engineer. Why can’t you see that I don’t belong here?” I sob, my voice echoing with the fear bubbling within me as I get closer to my destination.

Some cells are small and vacant, the walls covered with thick gundrian steel. As we approach my cellblock, the smell of urine and stale sweat fills my nostrils. My heart hammers in my chest, the anxiety overwhelming.

I plead, a desperate last-ditch attempt to earn my freedom. “Please. My job was to fix the ship’s issues, and that’s all I did. There was no tampering, only repairs!”

Scar-face tilts his head, his glowing eyes unblinking. “Engineer, pirate, smuggler. We’ve heard it all before.”

“But you’re not listening!” I protest, feeling a surge of exasperation. “Like I said a hundred times. I was repairing the ship, not tampering. It’s my job to make things work, not break them!”

Arm-ageddon chuckles, the sound grating on my nerves. “Yeah, and it’s our job to keep folks like you in check. Now, stop yapping and keep walking.”

I bite back a retort, my words dying in my throat. I’m another cog in the machine, an incident to close and forget.

Shit. There must be someone? Anyone... Kyor? Maybe he’ll come through for me yet. He has to .

“I want to talk to Kyor,” I insist. “He’s the Draconic Chief Engineer, my boss. He can vouch for my work on the ship.”

They don’t respond, their expressions as indifferent as ever. I can’t help but seethe. Kyor, my boss, my mentor. He should’ve defended me. But he didn’t. He stayed silent, watched as they took me away. Betrayal stings, a fresh wound in my already torn heart.

Scar-face stops in front of a cell, his gaze fixed on me. The door slides open with a low hiss, revealing a tiny bare cell. The walls are a cold, unyielding steel, their surfaces reflecting the harsh white light from the ceiling. A thin dirty mattress lies in one corner, its cover as gray and lifeless as the rest of the cell. A small, grimy window allows me a view of the star-studded abyss outside.

I guess I should be grateful I at least have that!

I step into the cell, my heart pounding in my chest. The door slides shut behind me with an ominous clang, sealing me in. As the lock clicks, the weight of my situation settles over me, a crushing pressure which steals the air from my lungs.

The insides of the cells beside mine are hidden from view, but the occupants make their presence known. Voices echo through the cold steel walls, slinging obscenities and threats that chill the blood.

“Fresh meat!” a male snarls, each syllable dripping with malicious glee. “Can’t wait to see you squirm.”

A cruel cackle echoes down the hall, clawing at my resolve. My heart pounds harder, but I swallow the lump in my throat.

“Shut it, Gorgort,” another voice sneers, a wicked undercurrent twisting his words. “She’s mine. I’ll enjoy breaking her in.”

“Yours?” Gorgort retorts, his laugh a grating scrape against my nerves. “You couldn’t break a toothpick, Zoraak.”

Their vile words creep under my skin, the dehumanizing threats making my stomach turn. But I refuse to let them break me.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I say, forcing my voice to remain steady. “And if you try anything, you’ll regret it.”

A moment of silence follows, then a low, ominous chuckle bounces off the walls. “We’ll see how long that spirit lasts, female,” Zoraak taunts, his voice echoing with a promise of torment.

Others hurl insults and threats into the air. Their words are a vile concerto, a frightening reminder of the company I’m to keep now. Fear creeps up my spine, but I push it down. I can’t afford to show weakness, not here.

The Juntarians say nothing in my defense, letting the other cell occupants have their fun. Arm-ageddon hands me a set of clothes through the slot in the door. A dull, gray jumpsuit, much like the one I’m wearing. A prisoner’s uniform. The sight of it makes my heart sink.

With trembling hands, I change out of my beloved yellow jumpsuit, each pull of the fabric a painful reminder of what I’m losing. The familiar symbols and patches that decorated my uniform, tokens of my hard-earned achievements, missing the final one. The insignia that marked me as a certified engineer and the patch Kyor promised to award me. And the one I coveted most of all. Each of them replaced by a single, depressing number P541-VMO.

Being an engineer meant everything to me. It was more than just a job; it was my life. I loved the thrill of solving complex problems, the satisfaction of seeing a ship run smoothly because of my work. Stripped of my uniform and locked in a cell... I’m losing a part of myself. I pull the prisoner jumpsuit over my head, the coarse fabric scratching against my skin. As I zip up the front, I feel like I’m sealing my fate.

I sink onto the thin mattress, my mind reeling from the events of the day. The insults from the adjacent cells reach my ears.

“You’re just a human bitch.”

“We’ll show you what a real alien cock is like!”

“I’ll break you like a twig.”

“I’m going to take your sweet cunt.”

“I’m gonna fuck you like the whore you are.”

It’s not long before my tears flow, silent and hot. I’ve never felt so powerless, so alone. I did nothing wrong, except repairing a broken ship. How can they think I tried to assassinate some orc chieftain, who cares what a fancy title or fancy tusks he has.

How could Droilin hold me captive, then watch them take me away? We went over the ship’s problems; he knew I was there to help. I try to push him out of my mind, but it betrays me with the image of his muscled form lingers, taunting me with the brief memories of his smile. He let me be taken, and I hate him for it.

Now, here I am, seen as a criminal, just like the vile creatures in the cells next to mine.

I try to keep the hopelessness at bay, the despair which threatens to overwhelm me. I focus on the little things. The soft hum of the air circulation unit, the rhythmic tapping of my foot against the floor, the steady flow of tears down my face. I close my eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. My hands ball into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I focus on the physical pain, letting it anchor me in the present. I will not give up, not yet, because I’m innocent, and I’ll prove it, no matter what. Because I owe it to myself, to my dream, to the engineer I once was and will be again.