12. Xandor

Chapter 12

Xandor

Briefing

T yrxie’s petite hips sway as she exits the cargo hold, denying me her intoxicating scent. She strides with an unusual confidence, igniting a storm of conflicting emotions within me. Confidence fueled by hatred and anger directed at me? Her parting words linger like a bitter taste, cascading through me with unexpected potency. Once again, I find myself pondering what I might have done to elicit such intense feelings from her.

I release a long breath at this impossible puzzle. She’s an enigma that plagues my thoughts. To one such as me, her arousal is as obvious as the sun on Klendathor. Yet she demands I leave her alone. The contradiction is maddening. Why can’t she just give into her nature as the Gods intended? But she defies them, and herself, a baffling anomaly that twists my heart and consumes my mind.

But why?

I didn’t intend to seduce the strange female, only to question her. However, the closer I am to her, the more her scent overcomes my senses. Those captivating green eyes sparkle with the hues reminiscent of Tusker’s moons, draw me in with an irresistible allure. I’m overwhelmed by an unusual longing to take away her pain and mend her fragmented spirit. But whatever ails the female’s mind is beyond my abilities to cure.

Perhaps the little human is right. It’s best if we maintain our distance. It’ll be hard on such a tiny confined ship with nothing to do all day, but I won’t have to endure it much longer.

“Mammaloid mating behavior, extremely inefficient. Yes?” Job interrupts my troubled thoughts. I hadn’t even noticed the absence of his clanging repairs, being so ensnared with Tyrxie. Job regards me with a tilted head and twirling antenna, as if attempting to decipher what the void just happened.

I chuckle at his interest. “There’s no mating here, friend,” I reply, a smile tugging at my lips as I glance down at the diminutive Glaseroid, barely reaching half my height. “That’s the problem.”

Job shakes his flat and narrow head as a strange frown creases his expression. “You both display typical mammaloid signals. Yes?” he remarks, his tone questioning. “Glaseroid mating much simpler. During egg season, females choose a suitable male. No guessing. Yes?”

“Simpler, perhaps,” I concede, “but not nearly as entertaining.”

Job scoffs in response, “Ridiculous, more like. Yes?” he retorts, hefting his bolt gun once more before turning back to his repairs.

I tear my thoughts from Tyrxie as my obsession is bordering on the shameful. It’s Noroth’s condition which is the pressing matter. It is an offense to the Gods that he may rest with the ancestors in such a dishonorable way. With purposeful strides, I exit the cargo hold and make my way towards Mod’s lab, where Noroth is likely located.

My long legs carry me there in mere moments. I ignore the oppressive sensation of the dull gray featureless walls pressing in around me. The lab door slides open with a smooth swoosh to reveal the lab that is more akin to a macabre collection of specimens and samples arrayed in murky and inky jars.

Mod startles at my entrance. “Oh, very good, another giant mammaloid. You also half crushed? No?” he quips, his voice dripping sarcasm, but the words do not register as my attention focuses on Noroth sprawled out on a metal bench beneath the tiny Glaseroid. Noroth rolls over, his drowsy blue eyes meeting mine, a pained smile etched on his flat face, prompting elation to sore within me, that he yet lives.

“Brother, I feared the simple one had sent you to the ancestors,” I remark, my face beaming with joy, as I approach Noroth on the bench. “Who would have thought you could become even flatter?” I jest, with a friendly pat on his shoulder, which elicits a grimace of pain from him.

“Hands off patient! He suffered severe crushing damage. If not for his armor, he would have expired. No?” Mod bristles, his beady eyes narrowing towards me, as he applies bandages soaked in strange colorful liquids.

“Xandor,” Noroth whispers, each syllable a clear indication of his agony, beckoning me with a limp hand. I lean in beside him, eager to hear his pained words. “Glaseroid.... Trying to kill me... Rancid liquids,” he splutters, wincing in agony.

Mod retrieves a large metal rod with four retractable spikey prongs from a shelf. “Nonsense, drug-induced delusions,” he scoffs, setting the instrument beside Noroth. “Giant, tough mammaloids, complain like new pupa. No?” he protests while selecting from an array of wicked-looking saw-like tools.

Noroth’s gaze flicks to Mod and back to the spikey pronged item, causing his eyes to roll back in his head. I got off light with the Mutalisk!

“Is this safe?” I ask, growing more uneasy with each strange and ominous tool Mod piles beside Noroth.

The little Glaseroid scoffs. “Safe? No. Necessary? Absolutely. No?” he replies, leaving me more befuddled by his sentence structure and repetition of the word ‘no.’

“Uh... When will he make a full recovery?” I ask, hoping for some clarity, while Mod pours some blue oily liquid over the surface of his serrated hand saw.

“Forever if you keep distracting. No?” Mod scoffs. “Chest cavity compromised must penetrate and reinforce. Like Job with repairs, only better. No?” he answers after a sigh, buttoning up his long coat and covering his narrow face with a clear polymer mask that looks like it belongs to his brother in engineering.

Noroth stirs, his movements slow. “Void, I almost start before administering proper sedative. No?” Mod declares as his spindly arms pat down his coat, searching for a purple jar. Then he turns to me, his antenna twirling with excitement. “You leave now, unless you help? No?”

My gaze shifts between the pair and my brows furrow with a frown as a sense of dread fills me. But without the Scythian healing pods, I’m powerless to help my poor friend. “You make sure he survives this, Mod,” I demand as my eyes bore into the little Glaseroid.

Exiting the room, the voice of Mod just catches my ear. “Yes, he survives. No?” prompting me to sigh with exasperation, resigned to leave it in the hands of the Gods and this eccentric Mod now. I make my way towards my quarters, exhaustion weighing down on me after such a long and eventful day.

As my body sinks into the soft mattress, the faintest hint of Tyrxie’s scent still lingers in the air. Will she visit again tonight? The question lingers in my mind as sleep beckons, offering respite from the chaos aboard the ship.

I awaken from my fitful night of sleep, plagued by troubling dreams. Images of being trapped and weighed down by an unshakable force, unable to escape, while those around me died before my eyes. Even now, the memory of their fading forms slips through my grasp like fine sand, leaving behind only a clammy bed, damp with sweat.

It isn’t just the nightmares which torment me, but the consistent sudden lurches from my sleep. As if my unconscious mind suspects an intruder lurking, jolting me awake every few moments. However, there is no sight or sound beyond the monotonous hum of the ship’s engines and my panicked breaths.

During one such disorienting episode, I glimpse her... Tyrxie, standing in the shadows at the foot of my bed. But this version of her fills me with an ominous dread. Her eyes bore into mine, a hostile entity whose ardent wish is to see me dead. Recoiling from the terrible spirit, clarity soon came. As my eyes focused, what I could swear was a figure of Tyrxie melted away, leaving just a troubling echo in my mind.

Perhaps the real Tyrxie wishes to see me dead? It would not surprise me; her fear and hostility envelopes her like a cloak. A sigh escapes my lips at the realization that once again I find my thoughts and now even my dreams haunted by the ceaseless ruminations on the human female, despite vowing to her and myself to part ways and leave her in peace.

Must be some kind of space travel induced illness of the mind? Such a brief time, a potential record! The automatic illumination casting a pale bright glow over the large but sparse decorated room indicates the sleep phase has ended. Yet the allure of sleep still beckons due to the fatigue and mild headache pulsating within me.

With a sudden burst of energy, I leap out of bed, thankful to find only a faint twinge of pain in my chest, the last traces of my brutal fight with the Mutalisk. At least I can still trust my body, unlike the treacherous labyrinth of my subconscious. Wasting no time, I equip some leather clothes and exit my quarters to discover Logarn marching down the corridor.

His weighty armored boots thud, shaking the gangway beneath him, reminding me to ask Job about my war gear later. Logarn strides forward, oblivious or uncaring at my sudden appearance. “Oi, Logarn,” I jest, giving him a playful shove from behind. “Pay more attention.”

He whirls around, surprising me with his speed. Fury flickers across his face for a fleeting moment, then vanishes, leaving behind his usual unsettling blankness. “Second Xandor,” he intones, pumping his fist to his chest and bowing in a crisp salute. “What are your orders?”

“Orders?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck. “The same as the last hundred times you’ve asked. Standby until we reach Nebia,” I say, this time leaving out the insistence that he doesn’t need to salute me every time we meet; it’s a lost cause. “And where are you off to?” I inquire, curious that he is walking alone.

“Captain Kaanus summoned all personnel to the bridge,” Logarn answers, extending his wrist console for inspection. Why didn’t I get a notification? Examining my wrist console shows nothing other than we are ten minutes late to the meeting.

“Let’s not keep them waiting,” I declare, leading Logarn towards the bridge, wondering why the Captain has called a meeting, and why I was left out? The nagging suspicion that forces are working against us bloom once again.

As we continue down the undersized corridor, recycled air dampening the pale lights into a hazy fog, my thoughts drift to Noroth. “Logarn, do you know of Noroth’s condition?” I ask with bated breath, eager for news.

“He is stable,” Logarn answers devoid of emotion, a contrast to the joyous relief flooding through me like a glorious wave.

“Finally, the Gods bless us. I had thought they had forsaken us for daring to set foot on this rust heap,” I reply. As the bridge door appears before us, I can already hear muffled voices.

The bridge hums with tension, its metallic walls appearing alive, absorbing the collective shock. “We’ll shift our furs but hold on to—” Captain Kaanus halts at our arrival, his white eyes unreadable. Followed soon by the faces of the entire crew, some more shocked than others. I notice Tyrxie, crouching in the shadowy corner, as if she is trying to become one with the darkness. A worried expression spreads over her face, twisting my heart. I avert my gaze from her. The effort is like denying myself a view of a stunning green hued nebula dancing in space. I don’t even find petite females attractive!

“Uh... Captain Kaanus, it’s rude to begin a meeting before everyone has arrived,” I stammer, struggling to find my thoughts. “Ruder still, that I was not invited,” I add, looming over the crew, the effect enhanced inside the cramped bridge, as my head almost brushes the ceiling. The seats around the minuscule table are all occupied. Quad motions to stand until I quell his movement with a hand on his shoulder.

Kaanus’ face scrunches with confusion. “Not invited?” He looks to the female Jungarian with red hair. “Was he not included, Hyanxa?” his question prompts the female to activate her own wrist console.

Yet I cannot resist being drawn to the large holographic projection shimmering above the briefing table. Glowing in blue is a station, the answer to my earlier question. “No,” Hyanxa finally responds, gesturing with her console. “He was invited. See?” She frowns at me as if I possess three heads.

Her projection shows she speaks the truth. Could someone have intercepted the message? But who would do such a thing? My suspicion shifts towards the droopy Gorglaxian who’s seated at the table. With a bored expression, his gaze turned toward the projection. I’m almost certain he’s behind the jammed gun, Noroth’s terrible condition, and now this—my exclusion from the meeting. My lips curl, revealing fangs for an instant. Revenge simmers within me, a volatile brew awaiting release.

“Strange,” I say, moving to stand behind the treacherous Gorglaxian. My disdain for him almost stokes my Rush as my blood seethes in my veins. “A lot of strange events happening recently and such a coincidence they’ve all affected me and my warriors, too,” I add, my voice is stern and full of dark promise as my eyes bore into his back. “What are the odds, Gorglaxian?” I sneer.

He erupts from his seat, fumbling for his long-barreled graviton rifle. But it’s an awkward maneuver, and I’m too close. My hand shoots out, seizing his wrist, twisting until he crumples to his lanky knees, agony etched across his features. “What void-forsaken madness is this?” Captain Kaanus demands. The two Glaseroids scramble from their chairs, seeking refuge in a corner, their insectoid limbs trembling.

“This one plots our downfall.” I glare at the Gorglaxian who sneers back, his runny eyes laced with hatred as he squirms and struggles with feebleness to free himself from my arcweave like grasp. “He gave me a malfunctioning gun against the Mutalisk and gave Quad the graviton disrupters. He’s a vipertail in our midst.”

“Release him. Now!” Kaanus roars. To my shock, I notice he’s aiming his plasma rifle at me. Its nozzle sizzles and distorts the air with a threatening blue glow. “Triandale has served on this ship for decades. I’d trust him with my life. Now let him go, and we can talk this out like civilized beings,” his stern voice wavers, revealing a hint of fear beneath the bravado.

Even his female Hyanxa has drawn two ballistic weapons aimed at me. Her scared face twisted into a fierce snarl. The tension in the air is palpable as I weigh my options, staring into the eyes of this treacherous Triandale. But without my armor, Kaanus’ plasma rifle would reduce me to molten goo, unless I reach him in time to rip out his throat... But then I’d have no crew to pilot this heap of junk.

I breathe out with a loud sound. “Have it your way.” I release my grip on the loathsome creature. Kaanus relaxes with a deep breath and lowers his gun.

Triandale straightens, his lanky height equal to mine as he stands before me, rubbing his wrist. “As I warned from the beginning, Captain. Klendathians are savages, bent on murder and destruction. This one proves my words,” he says in a drawl.

“I only kill those that deserve it,” I sneer back, my fury still simmering.

Triandale tentacles bristle as his eyes narrow. “And my wife and children, did they deserve to be murdered?” He shouts, his slow tone now replaced with righteous anger.

“I’ve slain no children nor females who weren’t warriors. Is this why you move against us, for misplaced revenge?” I challenge him, hoping in his rage he will forget himself.

“You monsters—” Triandale begins.

“Enough!” Kaanus roars, stiffening the backs of the others. “This is getting us nowhere.” He thumbs his white eyes in frustration. “Xandor, we heard what happened to your soldier Noroth, a damn shame, an accident, but still a damn shame.”

“This was no accident.” I turn my attention towards Kaanus. “Quad told us himself that the Gorglaxian offered him the graviton disrupters. You heard him, Tyrxie?” I ask, turning to the corner of shadows to find, just that, shadows and no sign of the human female. When did she leave?

“Useless bitch is never around when you need her,” Hyanxa scoffs as she re-holsters her two guns.

Triandale slinks off to claim one of the Glaseroids seats on the opposite end of the table. “Quad came to me, begging for a way to improve his combat ability. I had no inkling he’d turn it against you.” His drawls test my patience.

“Is this true Quad?” Kaanus asks, gesturing towards the simpleton, who is quietly twiddling his many fingers. He appears oblivious as all eyes on the room pivot towards him.

“Who, me?” he startles, his green head darting between everyone as a broad grin crosses his lips. “Hmm,” Quad hums, as he taps his fingers against his mouth. “Don’t remember.” His laughter elicits groans from the others.

“Void’s sake, Quad,” Kaanus laments, with a furrowed scaled brow. “Mod, you were telling us earlier that Noroth will make a full recovery, right?” he asks, nodding towards the tiny Glaseroid.

Mod takes a tentative step forward. His beady eyes dart with a frantic motion as he retakes a seat beside Triandale. “Giant mammaloid prognosis excellent. No?” he says with a quick pace, his many arms flailing with excitement as he continues. “Operation successful, cracked ribcage, remnants sawed through, fragments clamped, reinforcements bolted, applied acids—”

I grimace at each ‘treatment’ he lists as my heart aches for my war brother. “Sounds more like you sent him down to a scrap heap.” I glare at Mod, my anger rising.

“Not scrap heap. Art center. No?” Mod answers, tilting his head. “Red-haired one will be on feet by tomorrow. No?” He nods his flat head repeatedly.

But I can’t fathom Noroth recovering so fast, not after witnessing him so broken. “Surely not on his feet by tomorrow?” I challenge, not allowing myself to believe such fortunate news.

“Mod, might not look like much, but he gets the job done,” Kaanus interjects, a smile playing on his lips.

“I protest first statement. No?” Mod says, turning to Kaanus waving his antennae.

Kaanus’s laughter echoes through the room, and I find myself sharing in the relief. “You see, Xandor all’s well that ends well.” He reaches up to clap me on the shoulder, his tone light. “As I was telling the crew before you arrived, tomorrow we’ll dock at Omega Flux Station. Now we have some business to attend to. So why don’t you and your soldiers kick back and relax on the station? And we can all come back refreshed.... A new beginning and forget about this minor dispute,” he says, his tone one of levity as his gaze shifts toward Triandale. “Sure, we’ll be out of each other’s way soon enough.”

“Maybe you’re right, Kaanus,” I respond, moving to exit the room, overcome with the need to check on Noroth. Until nearing the door, I turn to Job. “What about my war gear?” I ask, glaring at him.

Job waves a dismissive set of arm limbs. “I still repair, I leave for you tomorrow. Yes?” he replies. His casual demeanor fills me with confidence.

“You have my thanks. The both of you,” I reply, nodding between the two Glaseroids, before I resume my exit towards Noroth.

A trip to the pleasure houses is just what the healer ordered.