Page 20 of Claimed by the Alien Assassin

Flashes of memory tear through my mind: Dayn’s growl as he held me last night, his vow beneath my hair; the way his claws felt like home.

If this fails, if something snaps, maybe it won’t matter—but every second I spend inside feels like burning both my birthright and theirs.

I push through guilt and focus on strategy.

Corridor after corridor, I reroute through service halls until I reach the rendezvous node we marked on the map: an unmanned service platform that opens onto the breach tunnel.

The hum is louder here, the atmosphere thicker with charged particles.

My cart bumps over a hidden sensor pad—a warning I’d patched in my code.

That part works. I shove it through the bulkhead into the breach conduit and flip the hatch closed behind me.

Inside the stifling rush of recycled air, I jack into the console: override protocols for the maintenance lift, core-open valve release, breach hatch gating.

My fingers fly across tactile buttons: access override, sync with Delta team frequencies, unlock conduit doors.

A soft cascade of approval clicks through.

The hatch opens onto a dark shaft leading directly to the hangar—a one-way street.

I take a breath, gripping the cart’s handle. The ship begins to rumble—the moment I set the timers. I can hear them, a faint ticking overlaid on the hum of reactors that are seconds away from stumbling.

My comm flickers. “Delta says corridor’s clear—moving inward now.”

“Copy that,” I answer. Already, my heart thrums faster.

I press into the conduit and begin the climb toward the rendezvous point. Metal ladder ribs scrape my palms. Each rung is measured, silent. Above, a faint glow from the hangar bleeds through grated panels behind me—our escape route.

Fifteen stairs, ten... seven... my lungs burn. My fingers slip once—but catch. The ship shudders, trembles. A pressure wave passes through the spine. I tighten my grip. We’re destabilizing it.

At the top, I pop through onto the grated catwalk overlooking the hangar. The lights are flickering from our earlier strike, the shadows deep and long. I plant the cart, double-check its position beneath a mechanical conduit. I close my eyes long enough to taste victory—or at least hope.

The rumble grows louder. I climb down the catwalk, ducking into a service hatch near the wall. Lasers flash across the hangar as our people claim positions. I can hear boots on metal, distant shouts in human voices, the Vortaxian alarm wails twisted with panic.

Then, a heavy boom rocks the hangar floor below—my cart’s charges detonating inside the conduit. Sparks rain, cables fuse, and the heavy lights shudder out. Darkness hits like a landing strike, shouts echoing upward. The shutdown momentarily cripples the ship’s systems.

It’s beautiful chaos.

I drop into the hatch and slide down emergency stairs toward Dayn’s signal: “On your location in twenty.”

His words are promise and warmth: “I’ll be there.”

I cough from dust, racing across corridors that flicker with emergency illumination. The night air on the hangar deck hits me like breath after drowning, and I follow the tunnel toward the human side of the lids where Dayn and the team wait.

We come together behind crates—just in time for Delta to explode the final conduit doors and seal the ship’s landing clamps with melting charge.

In that moment, the capital ship’s hull shudders, rising ever so slightly.

The engines remain off—they limp, grounded by sabotage heaven knows only seconds from liftoff.

Dayn pulls me close, voice quiet except for the human rhyme beneath chaos. “You did it.”

I smile, face streaked with grime and exultation. “We did it.”

He kisses me hard, gratitude and relief and something deeper woven into his taste. I taste metal, sweat, ozone—and hope.

This vessel, once apex predator, lies neutral now. Wounded. We paused its terror.

Our people surge forward through controlled exits. The hangar floods with colonists—eyes shining, voices trembling with pride and shock. We are alive. We are still here.

I cup Dayn’s face. “Next: we drive them off Snowblossom.”

He nods, chest pressed rough against me. “And I’ll be with you every step.”

Outside, the ship sags. A symbol of stolen control returned to us. I close my eyes, breathe in the scent of sweat and electrolytes and freedom.

We are rebellion.

We are reclaimers.

And tonight, we proved we can hold the heavens.

The sabotage sequence ripples through the starcruiser like a heartbeat thrown into convulsions.

I’m crouched behind the last crate at the hangar’s edge, Dayn’s heat a steady anchor at my back.

Around us, colonists arm themselves—not with forged weapons of war but with scavenged tools, flash charges, improvised shields.

Every breath tastes of adrenaline and ozone, sweat lacing dust with rainbows of residue.

The hangar shudders, alarms shriek, and the capital ship lifts off—angry, ungoverned, its bulk lurching as the engines spin toward chaos.

I close my eyes for a second and let the tremor pass through me. This is what we built together: fear turned into force. Defiance turned into ignition.

“Josie!” Dayn murmurs, voice low and possessive. He takes my hand, his fingers curled tight around mine. I nod. “We did it.”

He leans into me, voice fierce. “They’re retreating.”

He’s right. Vortaxian evacuation lines fray at the colony’s edge—troops spilling into transports, drones weaving last patrols.

Our voices rise in triumphant defiance, echoing through the hangar like a new anthem.

I taste victory on my tongue and grief for the violence we unleashed—but every spark is necessary.

We move forward, crossing scorched beams of light where the ship’s engines burn.

Its hull, once a symbol of dominance, now quakes as a wounded behemoth, ripping away from the colony on raw, uncontrolled thrust. Fire rakes along exposed plating blanketing its spine.

The smell of burning circuits drifts across us, mixing with the organic tang of fear and rage and hope.

Under the flaming haze, I glimpse Kernal’s silhouette—his bulk marching forward at the colony’s edge, surrounded by battered guards, his face lit with unrestrained fury.

Dayn tightens his grip. “He didn’t flee.”

“No,” I whisper. Smoke curls across his armor, drifting over my cheeks like a corrupted lullaby. “He’s coming here.”

Every instinct rattles in my bones. The colonists need leadership now—not crates of bombs. Weapons fall silent in hands that once trembled. The ground steadies under our feet. It's happening: they believe again. They think we might win.

Dayn guides us toward the ridgeline overlook. Below, colonists pull Axis-designed banners—flowers aflame—over shattered crates. Their faces are exhilarated and raw with dread. They see the crumbling starship above, the retreating patrols below, and they see us. In us, they see hope incarnate.

A blue light flares in the east—Vortaxian evac shuttles departing—but no warships. The attack has crippled military response. The resistance surrounds them, and they stand exposed.

Then the rumble starts.

A thunder-metal voice echoes across the ridgeline. Kernal.

“Colonists of Snowblossom!” He strides into open ground, helmet off, face flushed red. He’s massive, ridiculous in his arrogance, his uniform stretched across his bulk. “You dare sabotage my ship? I will hunt you down until every last insurgent bleeds!”

He strips a smoking pistol from his belt and points straight at our lines—his glare lances through us.

The colonists falter. Shane, a miner turned resistance shield-bearer, stumbles in place, eyes wet. His weaponing hand shakes. My heart clenches. We are seconds away from losing them again.

Dayn steps forward, voice low but heart-powered. “You wanted fear? Look at this.” He gestures at the astral leviathan aloft—untamed. “Your empire has left. Your ship is dead in orbit. Your soldiers surrender.”

Kernal’s sneer fractures, rage bleeding panic.

I step beside Dayn. My voice proclaims across the ridgeline, clear and sweet and fierce: “You call yourselves protectors of unity? You hold children in hostage fields? You threatened our homes. They threatened mine. This—this is unity!” My voice breaks, and I taste iron and salt. “Not submission. Not fear. Us .”

Colonists shuffle forward—the seamstress, the old gardener, the teen drone-pilot. Their weapons clatter, but they stay. Their eyes hold something unutterable: determination. Revolution.

Kernal roars in anger and fear, pistol raised, but his authority collapses under our weight.

His guards drop their weapons, backing away slowly, eyes darting to mine and Dayn’s, to the shattered unity they once upheld.

A Vortaxian patrol falters beside him—too afraid to shoot now.

The lines dissolve; panic oversteps orders.

He spins toward us, voice slashing. “This is not over! You mark yourselves traitors!”

Dayn steps directly between him and the colonists. He doesn’t draw his pistol. He doesn’t need to. His posture radiates command. “Take a step closer, and it ends .”

Kernal’s eyes flicker—uncertainty etched in his red haze. He looks at the colonists, their backs straightening, rising from fear to power. Then—defeat. A gasp in his posture, shoulders slumped for the first time.

He flicks his pistol to the ground. It clatters—not a shot. He’s beaten by a star, by will, by unity incarnate. His face twists beneath his armor as he realizes the entire empire has been exposed as a bluff.

He glares at me—ashes of rage and humiliation in his eyes. “This rebellion is not finished, McClintock.”

“It’s begun,” I whisper back.

He raises a gauntlet, voice rough with loss. “For now.”

He steps back, and his guards usher him toward a transport pad. The colonists press in around him—watching, silent.

Dayn pulls me back and tilts my chin upward. “You did that.”

I swallow. “We did.”

He cups my cheek, whisper-warm. “Let them see this moment. They will remember.”

The ground quakes again. The starcruiser lurches above with sparks raining off its engines. It ascends—reborn as a cripple, a warning, an honor guard flying into nothingness. I watch until it becomes a blinking silhouette against the trees.

Beside me, Dayn presses my shoulder. “They believe.”

I close my eyes, tasting hope beneath the smoke. “And we’ll make sure they don’t forget how.”

We stand on the ridge, hands clasped, witnesses to the ruin and reclamation of empire. In that fractured, flaming horizon, I feel the world tilt beneath possibility.

Tonight, we didn’t just fight—we awakened.

And tomorrow, we’ll finish.