Her Alien Guardian (Galactic Discipline)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

T essara

I closed my eyes, trying to process the enormity of what I was hearing. The war that had defined my entire life was coming to its brutal conclusion, and I was trapped here, unable to do anything but listen as the last remnants of the once-mighty Vionian Empire crumbled around me.

The ship rocked violently—so violently that if not for my restraints the movement would have thrown me from the bench. The air in the comfort room started to fill with the acrid smell of burning circuitry, and I pictured the sparks that must have flown from the control panels.

“Shields at thirty percent!” Bavo shouted. “We can’t take much more of this!”

“Keep firing!” Jorg roared. “If we’re going down, we’re taking some of those Magisterian bastards with us!”

The ship lurched again, and I heard the sickening crunch of metal tearing. Alarms blared even louder, their urgent wails piercing through the cacophony of battle. I strained against my restraints, panic rising in my chest as I realized the full horror of my situation. Bound and helpless, I was completely at the mercy of whatever fate befell the Conqueror of Bresla .

“Status report!” Captain Voss bellowed, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

“We’ve lost aft shields!” Lieutenant Bavo shouted back. “Hull breaches on decks three and four. We’re venting atmosphere!”

“Seal off those sections,” Jorg ordered, his tone grim. “What about our weapons?”

There was a moment of tense silence, broken only by the crackle of electrical fires and the distant boom of explosions. Then Bavo’s voice, tight with desperation: “Main cannons are offline. We’ve got maybe two torpedo tubes still functioning, but that’s it.”

I heard Captain Voss let out a string of curses that would have made even the roughest dockworker blush. “So this is how it ends,” he said, his voice suddenly calm. “Outgunned and outmaneuvered by Magisterian dogs.”

“Sir,” Jorg interjected, a note of steel in his voice. “If we’re going down, let’s make it count. The Prince Hend is within range. We could?—”

“A suicide run?” Bavo interrupted, his voice a mix of fear and awe.

My breath caught in my throat. Surely they wouldn’t… But as I listened to the grim determination in their voices, I realized that was exactly what they intended.

“It’s our only option,” Voss agreed, his tone resolute. “If we can take out their flagship, it might give the rest of our fleet a fighting chance.”

“For the glory of the empire,” Jorg said solemnly.

“For Vion Prime,” Bavo added.

There was a moment of heavy silence, and I pictured the three officers clasping hands, sharing a final look of camaraderie before their desperate gambit. Not once did they mention me, their helpless concubine left bound and forgotten in the comfort room. To them, I was nothing more than a convenient outlet for their base urges, not even worth a passing thought in their final moments.

“Plot a collision course with the Prince Hend ,” Voss ordered, his voice steady despite the death sentence he had just issued. “Divert all remaining power to the engines and try to get the forward shields up. We’ll punch right through their defenses and detonate our core inside their hull.”

“Aye, sir,” Bavo responded, the sound of furious typing following his words. “Course plotted. Engines at maximum thrust.”

“It’s been an honor serving with you both,” Jorg said.

The ship shuddered violently, and a deafening explosion rocked the Conqueror of Bresla . The force of the blast sent tremors through the metal frame of the pleasure bench, rattling my teeth and bones. I clenched my eyes shut, bracing for what I was sure would be my final moments.

Another explosion, closer this time, and suddenly the artificial gravity went haywire. My stomach lurched as I felt myself becoming weightless, the restraints digging painfully into my wrists and ankles as they kept me from floating away. The sensation was nauseating, like being on a boat in a storm at night, with no way to find my bearings and no end in sight.

Objects that weren’t bolted down began to drift around the room—data pads, discarded clothing, even droplets of spilled lubricant forming perfect spheres in the air. The acrid smell of smoke grew stronger, stinging my nostrils and making my eyes water.

Just as quickly as it had failed, the gravity snapped back into place. The sudden return to normal weight slammed me against the bench, knocking the wind out of me. I gasped, struggling to catch my breath as items rained down around me, clattering against the floor and walls.

From the bridge, I heard a chorus of confused shouts and angry curses.

“What the hell just happened?” Jorg bellowed.

“We’re caught in their tractor field,” Bavo replied, his voice tight with disbelief. “How did they pick us up? I’ll…”

I heard a keening sound from the bridge, something I had never heard before. Then, “No,” Bavo said grimly. “No use. Countermeasures ineffective.”

“Impossible,” Captain Voss growled. “Their technology shouldn’t be capable of this. Not against the Conqueror !”

The ship grew eerily quiet, the absence of weapons fire and alarms suddenly more terrifying than the chaos that had preceded it. I strained my ears, trying to catch any hint of what was happening. The officers’ voices dropped to urgent whispers, too low for me to make out individual words.

Then a new sound filled the air—the deep, resonant groan of metal under immense stress. It started as a low rumble, building to a hair-raising screech that set my teeth on edge. I imagined the hull of the Conqueror buckling under some immense, invisible force, and a fresh wave of terror washed over me.

The creaking and groaning continued for what felt like an eternity. Then abruptly, it stopped. In the silence that followed, I could hear my own ragged breathing and the pounding of my heart.

Suddenly, there was movement on the bridge. Hushed voices, too quiet for me to catch more than a word or two. Something about ‘boarders’ and ‘surrender.’ My blood ran cold. Had the Magisterians somehow managed to board our ship?

Two sharp cracks split the air—the unmistakable sound of blaster fire. I flinched, biting back a scream. Then… nothing. No return fire, no shouts.

A few seconds later, heavy footsteps approached from the ward room. I tensed, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might explode out of my chest. Lieutenant Jorg burst into the comfort room, his face a mask of rage and desperation. His uniform was torn and singed, a trickle of blood running from a cut above his eye. In his hand, he clutched his service blaster, the barrel still smoking from recent use.

His wild eyes locked onto mine, and I saw something there I had never seen before: fear. Pure, unadulterated terror lurked behind the anger, transforming his usually handsome features into something almost feral. He strode toward me, each step echoing in the sudden silence that had fallen over the ship.

“Well, well,” he snarled, his voice raw and strained. “At least I can deny those Magisterian dogs one small pleasure.”

He raised the blaster, pointing it directly at my head. I could see down the dark barrel, a yawning void that promised oblivion. Time seemed to slow, each heartbeat stretching into an eternity. I saw Jorg’s finger tighten on the trigger, the muscles in his arm tensing as he prepared to fire.

A kaleidoscope of emotions washed over me. Fear, of course—primal and all-consuming. But also a strange sense of relief. Perhaps death would be a release from the life I had known, from the endless cycle of pain and pleasure that had defined my existence aboard the Conqueror of Bresla .

I closed my eyes, waiting for the searing pain that would herald the end. Instead, a deafening crack split the air, making me flinch against my restraints. But the sound hadn’t come from Jorg’s blaster. It had come from behind me, from the ward room.

My eyes flew open just in time to see a look of utter shock pass over Jorg’s face. His mouth opened in a silent scream as a crimson stain blossomed on his chest, spreading rapidly across his uniform. The blaster slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor as he stumbled backward.

For a moment, he remained upright, swaying slightly as if caught in some macabre dance. Then, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, he collapsed. His body hit the floor with a dull thud, lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

I lay there, frozen in disbelief, my mind struggling to process what had just happened. The acrid smell of ozone filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. In the sudden silence, I could hear my own ragged breathing and the faint crackle of electrical fires still burning somewhere in the ship.

Footsteps approached from behind, slow and deliberate. I tensed, unable to turn my head to see who—or what—was coming. The restraints suddenly felt tighter, more confining than they had ever felt before.

My heart pounded in my chest as I strained against my bonds, desperate to see the source of those measured footsteps. The air seemed to thicken, charged with an electric tension that made the fine hairs on my arms stand on end.

A shadow fell across me, impossibly large. I caught a glimpse of deep blue in my peripheral vision, so vibrant it seemed to pulse with its own inner light. Slowly, almost reluctantly, I turned my head as far as my restraints would allow.

My breath caught in my throat as I beheld the figure looming over me. He was massive, easily seven feet tall, with broad shoulders that seemed to fill the entire doorway. His skin was a rich, cerulean blue that shimmered slightly in the dim light of the comfort room, like the surface of a calm ocean under a moonlit sky.

He wore a Magisterian captain’s uniform, the crisp lines and gleaming insignia strange amid the chaos surrounding us. The fabric stretched taut across his muscular frame, hinting at the raw power contained within. In one enormous hand, he held a sleek, advanced-looking weapon—undoubtedly the source of the shot that had felled Lieutenant Jorg.

But it was his face that truly captured my attention. Chiseled features that could have been carved from blue marble stared down at me, a study in contrasts. His jaw was strong and square, his cheekbones high and pronounced. Yet his eyes… his eyes were what made my breath hitch.

They were a swirling mix of silver and violet, like twin galaxies contained within his gaze. And in their depths, I saw something wholly unexpected: compassion. Warmth. An understanding that seemed to penetrate straight to my core.

For a long moment, we simply stared at each other. I felt revealed in a way that went beyond my physical nakedness, as if those mesmerizing eyes could see every thought, every fear, every secret I’d ever held.

Then, he spoke. His voice was deep and resonant, like distant thunder rolling across a vast plain. Yet there was a gentleness to it, a careful modulation that seemed at odds with his imposing presence.

“Hello,” he said, the word somehow both commanding and soothing at once. “I’m Captain Alpha. I’m here to rescue you, I suppose.”

I blinked, my mind struggling to process his words. Rescue? The concept seemed almost foreign after so long as a captive. And yet… there was something in his tone, a certainty that made me want to believe.

They had told us, in the humiliating training school where I had learned the duties of a starfleet concubine, that if the Magisterians captured me, I would long for my Vionian masters. As brutal as the crew of the Conqueror of Bresla had been in their use of my body, I had felt certain that the alternative would be much worse. Given to the enlisted men of the Magisterian marines, I would be fucked to death in their mess hall—the inevitable fate of every captured Vionian concubine.

“What’s your name, honey?” Captain Alpha asked in a voice so deep it seemed to shake the bench beneath me.

Honey?

“I wouldn’t tell you,” I said, “even if I thought you cared.”