Page 9 of Bound to the Alien Orc (Alien Gambits #1)

Chapter 9

G lad to be leaving the engineering zone, I make my way to the High Chieftain’s guest quarters. My steps echo against the polished metal floors. The unnatural, sterile sound reminds me of how much I hate not being on solid ground. Everything is simpler in Morcrest, not just the way of life, but none of this intrigue and politics.

My mind is abuzz, my thoughts and emotions churning like a nebula in turmoil. I glance towards to High Chieftain’s quarters; the absence of an Orion Outpost guard strikes me. A vigilant officer is posted here when Garrox was on the space station. Their customary presence is now conspicuously missing.

Given the gravity of attempted assassination allegations, the lack of enhanced security measures strikes me as odd. There are no calls to lock down the space station, no sense of urgency or heightened alert, no additional protocols in motion. It’s an unsettling calm that wraps the outpost and only adds to my unease.

“High Chieftain,” I announce, my voice resonating through the intercom at his door.

“Enter,” Garrox replies, his tone terse.

As the door slides open with a hiss, revealing the High Chieftain standing behind a desk covered with holographic documents. He waves his hand, and a model display dissolves, leaving only a datapad in his grasp.

His quarters are a sight that screams of luxury and excess. The room is gargantuan, easily dwarfing my own. The walls are adorned with lavish holotapestries, each a moving canvas of Orion Galaxy landscapes and historical triumphs.

Plush, over-sized furnishings sit nestled among tastefully displayed statues and artwork, all carefully placed to draw the eye towards the focal point of the room: a massive window overlooking the expanse of stars and planets.

The furniture is not just functional but ornate, an ostentatious display of power. The chamber is a proof of the opulence and ego of space politics. A shameful contrast to our Morcrestian roots.

Garrox stands behind a massive desk, its surface a polished, dark metal. The High Chieftain himself looks imposing, his expression serious and stern. He’s clad in his official attire, a uniform that fits him like a second skin, its red and gold fabric contrasting with the black drakania emblem of the Morcrestian flag emblazoned proudly on his chest. A symbol of his loyalty and commitment to our homeland.

With Garrox’s actions of late, the truth of my father’s injustice... they go against Morcrestian values. I have to question his dedication, his allegiance. But what do I do? What can I do?

I step further into the room, his dark eyes lock onto mine. It’s a look that carries the weight of his office, a gaze which has seen countless battles, and now we are aligning further with the STI, diplomatic negotiations, and maybe even political subterfuge.

I approach the desk, the tension in the air tangible. Garrox’s face is set in a stony expression, his gaze hard.

“High Chieftain,” I repeat, bowing my head.

“Sit,” Garrox orders, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

I move towards the seat, the heavy tread of my boots muffled by the lush carpet underfoot.

He rests his palms on the surface of the desk, leaning forward slightly, his intense gaze fastened on me. “Confirm how your investigation proceeds. Is our ship safe from human tampering now?” he asks. His voice is a low rumble, a thunderstorm on the horizon.

I clear my throat, shifting uncomfortably in the chair.

“The ship has been secured until the Planetary Police can begin their inquest. I have secured another vessel to return us to Morcrest when the trial is concluded,” I reply, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

Garrox’s gaze sharpens, his eyes narrowing.

“And the human female?”

My jaw clenches.

“She is incarcerated until her trial and is no risk to your person.” But I am on alert for whom the true culprit might be.

Garrox nods, his expression thoughtful. He takes his seat, facing me, only the large desk between us.

I can no longer trust Garrox, but if there is any chance, I can provide some details that would help Tasha at her trial, then I have to try.

“My investigation of the ship uncovered some intriguing details. I reviewed the footage of the explosion,” I explain, my eyes never leaving his.

“It was partially wiped at the time of the explosion, but it demonstrated that the human, Tasha, wasn’t present at the scene at the time of the incident. However, it also shows a shadowy figure approaching the ship before the file becomes corrupted.”

At my words, Garrox arches a single eyebrow upward, the stark lines on his face deepening. He leans forward slightly, his interest visibly piqued.

“What kind of... shadowy figure?” Garrox queries, his voice dropping an octave.

“Unclear, High Chieftain,” I respond, mentally replaying the grainy images of the mysterious figure. “The footage is from old tech, blurry and damaged, but it was bi-pedal and donned a hood and cloak, effectively obscuring their face and body.”

Garrox leans back in his chair, the soft whirring of the mechanism breaking the silence of the room. His fingers drum a contemplative rhythm on the polished surface of the desk, his gaze distant as he processes the new information.

“Well, that is certainly interesting,” he murmurs, his tone pensive. “The human must have changed, returning as a hooded figure to absolve them from suspicion. Did you check the ship for further sabotage?”

As Garrox suggests the possibility of Tasha being the cloaked figure, a flicker of doubt nudges at my thoughts. It does not align with the evidence I’ve gathered. But I put aside my disagreement for now, focusing on conveying the rest of my findings.

“I did,” I affirm, gauging his reaction to my next revelation, but I decide not to share details of the symbol etched on the console. I need to do my research on that, but revealing the feather might help Tasha’s case. “No issues found. However, I did discover a feather that seemed out of place on the ship. It was unlike anything I’ve seen before. I suspect it could have been dropped by the figure.”

At the mention of the feather, Garrox’s expression changes, his face settles into a mask of neutrality.

“Show me.” He pauses, his eyes flicking to the door.

“Of course, High Chieftain,” I respond, rising from my chair and retrieving it from my pocket. I hand it to him, watching as he studies the black feather, the green and silver hues shimmering under the warm lighting.

Garrox’s brow furrows, a crease forming between his thick forehead.

“Hmm,” he mutters, more to himself than me.

“Do you recognize it?” I press, my curiosity getting the better of me.

He shakes his head, his gaze snapping to mine. “No. It’s nothing I’ve seen before,” he states, his voice taking on a note of finality. Garrox sets the feather down on the table and I retrieve it.

I take a breath, weighing the risks and benefits of pressing the matter further. I have no concrete evidence that the feather was left by the mysterious figure. It could be a plant, a way to divert attention away from the real culprit, but it could also be an important clue. I have to tread carefully, not reveal too much or give him any reason to doubt me.

“High Chieftain, I believe the feather was left by the saboteur, or someone working with them,” I venture, gauging his reaction.

“The human female was on board. It’s possible she’s connected,” I continue, noting his furrowed brow. “She’s currently imprisoned, but she was working alone, and I didn’t find any evidence to indicate she was complicit in the sabotage. The timing on the footage doesn’t match up. She wasn’t even there.”

My words ring out in the opulent room, every syllable echoing with my conviction. I try to keep my tone unwavering. I have seen enough injustice to Morcrestians to want to stand up when I see it happening to others.

Garrox is silent, his face an inscrutable mask. I’m not sure if he’s mulling my assertion or just waiting for me to stop talking.

This is my chance to influence my High Chieftain, without the STI leaders being around him. So, I say it straight. “She is being set up.”

“Droilin,” he begins, his voice a low rumble, “I appreciate your efforts to investigate the explosion. You have proven your dedication to your post, and to the protection of my person. However, I have a different perspective. I believe the human female is an explicit threat to my safety and the safety of the Orion Outpost.”

My heart pounds in my chest as I process his words, my mind racing. This isn’t going the way I’d hoped.

“But, High Chieftain,” I protest, my voice rising an octave, “The evidence —”

“Enough!” Garrox thunders, his eyes flashing with a dark emotion. “I have made my decision, Droilin. There will be no discussion. The human female is a threat, and she must be dealt with accordingly.”

My fists clench at my sides, frustration and anger burning through me. I bite back a retort, knowing it will only make matters worse. Garrox is not one to change his mind once it’s been made.

“Yes, High Chieftain,” I grit out, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

I have to remind myself that Tasha’s fate is not yet sealed. She has a trial, and a chance to prove her innocence. As long as that remains a possibility, I have hope.

“You are —” His retort hangs in the air, cut off by the sudden shrill sound of the intercom beeping. The unexpected noise slices through the tension like a knife, its intrusion providing a momentary distraction.

With a fluid motion, Garrox swivels around in his chair, his attention immediately diverted to the intercom’s lit-up screen. Displayed is the unmistakable figure of the Corsairian Ambassador, standing with an air of impatience at the door.

“Ambassador Tyrix, please, come in,” Garrox announces, his voice echoing around the room. His tone is cool and professional, a stark contrast to the heat that marked our conversation just moments ago.

The door slides open with a soft hiss, and in strides Ambassador Tyrix. His tall figure is wrapped in the traditional Corsairian armor, their intricate patterns a testament to his high status. His walk is confident, a predator assured of his territory, as he strides directly towards Garrox’s desk. He ignores my presence entirely, his one cold eye focused solely on the High Chieftain, his entrance marking a new shift in the room’s dynamics.

“We’ll discuss this later, Droilin. Make sure Kyor has the ship repaired as soon as possible. Ensure our borrowed ship is set to leave at a moment’s notice.”

Garrox dismisses me, his voice echoing off the walls. He waves his hand in a casual, yet commanding gesture, as if swatting away an inconvenient znatfly. I bite back a retort, forcing down the bitter taste of resentment that threatens to spill over.

There’s a moment of hesitation where I wrestle with the whirlwind of frustration and injustice swirling within me. I turn, my back stiffening as I prepare to leave this room thick with power plays.

Garrox’s reaction is a puzzle I can’t decipher, but one thing is starkly clear: the High Chieftain’s priorities lie more on diplomatic relations with the Corsairians than his own life. It’s a disturbing revelation, and I have to wonder how deep this corruption runs.

I stride towards the exit, and as the door slides open, the cool air of the hallway greets me, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the Garrox’s quarters. Behind me, I hear the deep, resonant voice of the Corsairian Ambassador, his words a low rumble that fills the room, “High Chieftain, I have an urgent matter to discuss.”

I exit just as the door slides shut behind me, the metallic thud reverberating in the empty hallway.

I linger in the hall, the echo of the closing door still ringing in my ears. The thought of Garrox and Ambassador Tyrix possibly discussing affairs of such gravity behind closed doors, regarding concerns I am intimately involved with, gnaws at me.

I press my back against the cold wall; the coldness seeping through my uniform. The voices inside are muffled, indecipherable, yet the inaudible murmurs hint at the weight of their conversation. Unease curls within me and I can’t shake it off.

For the last two rotations on the Orion Outpost, for countless STI meetings, I stood by Garrox’s side, privy to the discussions, the tactical decisions, his political maneuvering. This exclusion is a bitter pill to swallow. I hate this feeling of being kept in the dark. It adds fuel to my search for justice for my father, for Tasha. I can’t save my father from injustice, but maybe I can save Tasha.

My thoughts drift to the human female, a flash of the memory of her smile, her soft, warm curves. A spark of desire flares within me, a brief fire in the darkness, but I shove the image aside, burying the flame beneath my resolve.

As I stand lost in thought, my datapad vibrates in my pocket. Its insistent buzzing drags me back to reality. I pull it out; the screen lighting up to reveal a new notification ... from an Advocate?

My heart races as I read the message. Tasha has requested to speak to me with urgent information.

Wasting no time, I navigate the outpost’s labyrinthine corridors, my mind buzzing with a myriad of thoughts and speculations.

Her words are a light in the darkness, the prospect of answers, an opportunity to make things right.

I need to see her.