6. Tyrxie

Chapter 6

Tyrxie

Close encounter

N estled back in the safe shadows buried deep with the gangway near the crew quarters, I awaken with crusted eyes sore and swollen from crying. The memories come flooding back each moment, a dagger in my heart. Kaanus’s attack was not a terrible nightmare, but the brutal, inescapable reality that I cannot deny any longer.

I need to get off this ship.

He was the only one I could trust to protect me from Hyanxa’s wrath and the unwanted advances from males. But now the truth behind his unreadable white eyes is revealed. Kaanus is just like the rest, afflicted with lust he will not control. My mere presence draws out this craziness, which I do not understand.

I need to disappear.

Now I have no one. Both Hyanxa and Captain Kaanus will punish me. If I don’t escape, I fear their rage may lead them to kill me. My hand tests the two throbbing aches in both my cheeks. A sharp pain lances through my mind, my flesh swollen. No doubt, I’m bruised like an old piece of fruit.

I’ll have to leave at the next station. The thought fills me with dread as it will be filled with dangers too, but at least I can hide easier on a large station where no one knows my name or my face. Yes, a few more days hiding from the Captain and Hyanxa, then I’ll grab my few credits, some clothes and make a run for it. It’s the only way I’ll survive in this brutal, uncaring universe.

Maybe they’ll replace me with a droid after all.

“There you are!” An unfamiliar voice booms out, interrupting my thoughts and shattering the comfortable silence, sending a surge of panic coursing through my veins. Peering through the gaps in the grates, I can just make out the tall green-haired Klendathian approaching, his heavy footsteps echoing through the corridor. “You’re a hard one to hunt,” he asserts with a brief laugh, like he isn’t the most frightening thing in the universe.

My heart pounds in my chest almost louder than his thudding steps as my mind races, struggling to think of an escape route from another terrifying male coming for me. “I just want to talk, that’s all,” the brute promises with a tone smooth, but I do not believe him.

No one can be trusted.

I gasp as his massive hands tear away the grate above me with frightening ease. Exposed, I decide to fight, hardening my resolve like arcweave. I’d rather die than let this monster use me. In a swift motion, I brandish my knife, locked into my white knuckled grip. Lurking in the shadows, I remain motionless, ready to strike.

“Easy, now.” A groping, enormous hand reaches towards me. Not daring to breathe with a silent charge, I deliver a sweeping slash, but to my horror, despite my forceful slice, my blade doesn’t penetrate his skin, as though I’ve tried to cut hardened leather. But I don’t waste a moment scrambling beneath the gangways driven by a frantic need to escape, leaving the giant to recoil in shock.

“Little vipertail!” green-hair exclaims before he makes a sucking noise. “Gods, why is everyone on this ship so strange?” The strange, monstrous alien questions.

My blood swooshes in my ears as I clamber away as fast as I can. The hairs on my neck prick up as the sound of his footsteps echoes out after me, growing louder. He’s too fast! But if I can make it to the engine room, the tunnels divert and run deeper, there I can lose him.

“I’ve activated my warvisor. I can see everything you’re doing,” the monster taunts as the terrifying realization that he looms above causes me to hasten. “You look silly. Stop now. I won’t hurt you.”

That’s what they all say.

The green-haired monster yanks the grate overhead off with incredible speed. With no options left, I reach for my pistol with trembling hands. A massive hand yanks me onto the gangway with impossible strength as I draw my gun. My heart thumps in my chest as I grasp at my last desperate chance to escape. But the giant’s hand shoots out so fast it appears a blur, tearing my weapon from my grip.

“You won’t be needing that,” he says, more amused than angry.

I fall to my knees, my head in my hands in total submissive defeat. Disarmed, I am powerless to stop this towering alien. “Are you going to breed me now?” I mumble, my voice heavy with resignation.

I missed my opportunity to turn the gun on myself.

“Gods, no. I’m not a savage,” the towering warlord protests, his voice muffled. So it’s my humiliation or pain he craves. “Is that why you fought like a venefex, thinking I would dishonor you?” I hear him removing his mask, but I keep my head buried, awaiting my fate.

“That’s what most seek,” I answer in a whisper. “You’ll be no different.”

“You shame me, tiny one. I would never,” the Klendathian declares, his tone stern. “Besides, I prefer my females big and meaty,” he continues with a laugh.

His nonchalant attitude takes me by surprise, but then why did he seek me out? There must be another treacherous angle here, yet to reveal itself. “My name’s Xandor. What are you, Tyrxie, a Jungarian?” he inquires, mirth in his tone.

If I was a Jungarian, maybe Hyanxa wouldn’t hate me? “Lost,” I reply, my thoughts distracted.

“You break my heart, little female,” the monster called Xandor claims. “Let’s see you.” His rough hand tilts my head towards him with gentleness, and as I peer into those dangerous golden eyes, they widen as he recoils, as if stuck by a comet. “You’re a human!”

“Hu...man?” The word feels strange to my tongue. Does he know of my people or is this part some cruel joke? But Xandor’s shocked expression appears genuine.

Trust no one, Tyrxie!

“Yes, from Earth,” Xandor confirms, his piercing gaze fixates on me as he tilts my head from side to side. Air hisses through his teeth, revealing two long, ominous fangs that glint in the dim light. “Your face is lumpier than it should be.” Withdrawing his hand from my cheek, he straightens. “Who did this to you?”

My wits creep back to me with each passing moment. Anger replacing my submissive confusion. This giant brute, feigning concern for me, is more treacherous than any other I’ve encountered. Must he ply me with false hope and cruel, fake sympathy? “Bumped my head helping Job earlier,” I mumble, regurgitating the automatic familiar lie.

Xandor, the towering monster with the dangerous eyes, frowns as he looks at his wrist console. “Job, the Glaseroid?” he asks, distracted. Seizing my opportunity, I turn, dashing behind me with all the speed I can muster. “Wait!” he calls out after me, but I don’t stop. I will never stop until I’m safe in the next station, away from all this torment.

My lungs burn with effort as my legs struggle to keep up with the demand of my frantic fleeing. Heading towards the one person who may help protect me from the Klendathians, Security Officer Triandale, who harbors a hatred for them.

The absence of heavy footsteps following me fills me with relief as I slow my pace down. Did he not give chase? Such a strange encounter. He must plan to toy with me for the entire journey? But I will not give him the satisfaction.

Emerging into Mob’s lab, which serves as a gateway to the armaments and munitions store. I find the Glaseroid looming over a cluster of beakers filled with colorful liquids, clad in his long brown coat with countless pockets. With meticulous precision, he adds one hue to another, his antennae twitching with excitement. “Mob.... Is... Triandale...here?” I ask between rasping breaths.

Mob leaps, almost dropping his beakers. “Ahhh!” he exclaims in shock. Turning with his arm limbs flailing in a frenzy. “I almost explode ship! That what you intend? No?” His words rush out even faster than usual, as he nestles the beakers among the hundreds of jars filled with specimens and chemicals, many of which turn my stomach.

Gasping for air, I place my hands on my knees. “Is Triandale here?” I repeat.

“How should I know? He comes, goes? No?” Mob replies. His bug eyes dart, scanning my whole body. “Least he is silent. You appear injured? No?” He takes a rag from one pocket and applies an oily black substance from another. “Here. For face,” he offers.

Taking the cloth in my hand, unsure what to do, I dab my swollen, hot cheeks, wincing as a stinging pain dissipates into a smoothing numbness. “Thanks, Mod,” I mutter, offering him the rag.

Mod recoils his many arm limbs held up. “No, mammaloid exertions may contaminate everything.” He turns to pull out another jar from his metal shelves. “You keep your exertions at a safe distance. No?”

Navigating around his cluttered lab benches, approaching the next room, curiosity compels me to ask. “Mod, have you heard of Earth or humans?” I turn towards him.

Mod pauses, placing his limbs beneath his mouth hole. “Hmm, Captain mentioned this Earth? No?” he responds, his words reminding me that Kaanus stated the Klendathians were keen to go there, but why? “This word ‘humans,’ never heard before,” Mod adds, already engrossed in his jars once more.

Figures, the Klendathian Xandor most likely made it up to lull me into trusting him. Yet a nagging doubt lingers in the recesses of my mind. The expression of shock etched on his face felt genuine. And how would he know I was uncertain of my origins? I release a long breath, entering the next room. None of these questions matter now.

Only my escape does.

Triandale, the towering Gorglaxian, inspects fusion reactor warheads with a languid grace. His long, looping head curled around the munitions, peering from every angle. The storeroom is vast, stacked with shelves and crates chock-full of warheads and long arcweave rail gun bullets, canisters laden with reels of the stuff.

“Welcome, Tyrxie,” Triandale greets, in his usual slow tone, somehow sensing my presence before spotting me, sending my hairs to stand on edge. “Do you seek more bullets?” he asks, prompting me to touch where my gun should be, only to remember in a panic that the monstrous Xandor still has it.

I’m defenseless.

“No, I need another gun,” I state, pausing, unsure how much to reveal. “One that can stop a terrifying Klendathian,” I blurt out, my desperation obvious.

Triandale still doesn’t turn but halts, his curved head dropping. “I wish I had such a weapon. Then things would have worked out differently.” He shakes his head, his tentacles fluttering.

His words fill me with exasperation. “There must be a way. They can’t be immortal?”

Triandale scoffs, “They can be killed, not with these,” He gestures towards the shelves loaded with ballistic pistols and rifles, “not when they have their armor equipped.”

His words hit me like a gut punch. Can’t hide, can’t fight back. Trapped in a waking nightmare, slumping to the ground, I speak out in desperation. “Can you protect me, Triandale until we reach the next station?” I plead, my voice little more than a whisper.

Triandale turns toward me finally, peering down at me, his sad runny eyes examining my face. “Your face is a star chart of sadness, Tyrxie. I know how you suffer and I know what it is you seek,” he says, each slow word sending panic coursing through me.

I’ve revealed too much!

“You intend to flee at the next stop, but what will you do? How will you survive?” Triandale’s head uncoils closer to me, his voice carrying a weight of concern.

He will not betray me to the Captain? Maybe I can trust Triandale? “I... I don’t know, I never thought about it. Maybe some maintenance work?” I offer, my voice wavering.

Triandale’s expression gives no hint of his thoughts as he replies, “Stations have their own maintenance crews, and they’ll not hire an untested novice. The only other viable option is to sell your body. Is that what you want?”

His words cut my fragile hopes into ribbons and my breath rate increases as the walls close in around me. “No...” my voice trails off. I’m trapped, and there’s no way to escape. The familiar sense of despair sweeps over me, threatening to consume me.

“There is another way, a dangerous one, but potentially very rewarding,” Triandale approaches with a lanky hand extended, his pace slow. “Did you notice the masks attached to the Klendathians?”

Taking his hand, he helps me to my feet as the first blossoming of hope blooms within me. “Yes,” I answer, my voice eager, craving any possibility of escape.

“Each one is worth more than this ship, to the right buyer,” Triandale states, his eyes narrowing with intensity. “If you got your hands on them, you’d be set up for life.”

A tumult of hope and fear churns in my stomach. “But how? I want to get away from them, not steal from them,” I protest. The solution dangles so close, yet is almost as dangerous as staying.

“You’re a smart, stealthy girl. You’ll find a way,” Triandale reassures his drooping tentacles, fluttering as he smiles.

I’ll find a way. I have no choice.