5. Tyrxie
Chapter 5
Tyrxie
Nebia
I n this austere cell, time stretches on endlessly, the metallic surfaces reflecting only a cold, low light. My chest flutters at the slightest hint of sound or movement, but each time, my hopes are dashed, as the place remains devoid of the crew or any other sign of life.
I’ve tried shouting and banging the sparse furniture, but to no avail—no one comes, and the room’s silence becomes suffocating. The weight of despair creeps around my consciousness, threatening to overwhelm me. Yet, with every oppressive wave, I force myself to march across the room, resolved not to give up, not to let Xandor’s sacrifice be in vain.
I owe him that much, recalling his stern words urging me to be strong, to remain convicted by following my desires. And, my desire now is to escape this voiding room! But I can’t discern any method of escape—the bars are solid and charged, the walls unyielding black metal, lacking even a window for comfort. If Xandor was here, he’d know what to do, but I’m left feeling lost.
Already I miss him terribly.
I push the thought aside. Now isn’t the time for tears. I must be strong, I must be clever, if I am to survive and escape this place. A sudden noise breaks the oppressive silence, but this is not a faint sound like the others—it’s the unmistakable patter of footsteps.
Eager I move to the crackling bars, careful not to touch them, as a long shadow stretches along the corridor outside. My heart races, fear gripping me as I wonder what kind of monster is approaching. I’m compelled backwards, as my eyes dart around the scant room, contemplating hiding from the approaching terror. I press my back against the cold, unfeeling wall, the footsteps now close to the cell, the shadow encompassing the entire hallway and my nerves.
Then, to my surprise, a tiny female Nebian with short black hair, drooping orange eyebrows, and a bulbous nose comes into view. “Hello,” she greets with a warm smile.
Yet I feel no warmth, only confused anxiousness. “Um... hello,” I respond cautiously, peering through the bars at the strange intruder.
“Oh, you have natural black hair?” The female asks with excitement. As she speaks, the bars to my cell slide down, leaving me dumbfounded, wondering how she managed the feat without using a console.
And why is she asking me such a strange question?
“Yep, black.” I run a hand through my sheen, dark hair, pondering if it’d be wise to rush past the tiny female, until I remember the horrible collar around my neck. “Listen, just let me go. Okay, I haven’t done anything to you or your people,” I plead.
The Nebian female, clad in sleek brown segmented armor, takes off her helmet—a red feathered crest adorning the top, as she steps into my cell. If I wasn’t so perturbed I’d frown at the strange sight of such a tiny soldier, but I know looking at the laser weapons hoisted at her waist, she could kill me in an instant. “I can’t let you go, lass, not until you answer some questions first.” She smiles, but the cell bars close behind her with an ominous thud.
“But first, let me introduce myself. I’m Curator Thalaxia,” the Nebian female adds with a bow.
My mind races, but I keep my expression neutral. “I’m Tyrxie,” I say, giving the faintest nod of respect.
Could I grab her gun and shot this voiding collar off?
Thalaxia’s piercing orange eyes fixate on me with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. “Your heart rate just spiked. I hope you aren’t planning anything stupid now, lassie?” Her soft voice belies the chilling effect of her words.
I clutch my chest in stunned instinct. How? There must be sensors in this room? Suddenly my situation grows more dire as the walls close in a fraction more. They have me like a backside of a bolt about to shoot into a sun. “Can you blame me? After everything I’ve been through?” I retort with genuine concern.
“Indeed!” Thalaxia switches to jovial in an instant that I find unsettling. “Oh, you are pretty, the delicate nose, the green eyes and natural black hair.” Her red cloak flutters as she approaches, standing before me with a scrutinizing expression. I flinch back under her strange behavior, which reminds me of the predatory males that used to hunt me on the ship.
“Um... thanks,” I stammer, grasping for something, anything to say. “You have nice... feet,” I finish suppressing a wince.
Thalaxia lets out a deep laugh, surprising considering her diminutive frame. She raises a bushy eyebrow. “Feet?” she inquires, wiggling her armored boots.
I resist the urge to squirm from this strange alien, who dances between friendly and terrifying with unsettling ease. “Yeah, they’re small.” A sudden surge of anger at this ridiculous situation flares hot. “Like my patience,” I add, glaring at the tiny female who’s only chest height. “I don’t see why I’m locked up after your people murdered my Xandor! You bastards killed him and Kaanus for no reason!” I scream, my raw hatred erupts like an unstoppable split hyperdrive engine.
Thalaxia stands frozen, giving no reaction to my outburst, which further unnerves me. Until, under her breath, she whispers Xandor’s name with a grimace. My pulse races at her expression, compelling me to speak. “You know who I’m talking about?” I exclaim, moving closer to the Nebian. “You found him, didn’t you?” I demand, my heart thundering in my chest. Yet she doesn’t answer, appearing lost in thought. Desperation drives me to grasp her shoulders. “Tell me!”
The Curator’s eyes snap to focus, and my collar changes to an orange hue, causing me to gasp. Thalaxia ducks under my outstretched hands. Now I’m unable to move, leaving me to stare in furious disbelief. She brushes her shoulders with casual disregard. “You’re lucky I didn’t set it to punish mode.” She taps a thick finger against her head. “You should really know better than to touch me. I suppose the truly beautiful can’t also be gifted with intellect.”
Impotent fury roars through my veins, but no matter how much I struggle, my body refuses to move. My anger simmers as I watch the Nebian, wondering whatever possessed Xandor to seek an alliance with such heartless people. “If you behave yourself, I’ll allow you to move again,” Thalaxia offers, taking a casual seat on the cot.
With effort, I swallow and halt my pointless struggle. “That’s it. Deep breaths now,” Thalaxia urges with a smile, as I wish for nothing more than to smack this patronizing bitch. But I force my eyes to the corner of the room, attempting to empty my thoughts. “Good.” Thalaxia nods and I stumble forward, suddenly released.
The collar glows green again and I breathe a sigh of relief, taking unsteady steps to sit on the toilet. My stomach heaves and I fear I might throw up. The horrifying sensation of losing control of my body, being at the total mercy of another, almost overwhelms me.
But Thalaxia shows no concern. She watches with laser focus, unmoved, as if I’m just one of thousands she’s questioned. “Tell me why you came to Nebia?” She asks, crossing her stubby legs and arms.
“Mercenary ship. Mutalisk’s hammer,” I struggle to speak, racked by sporadic dry retching. “A mission to deliver the Klendathians here so they could negotiate an alliance,” I scoff at the bitter irony. “But you killed their leader.”
My poor Xandor, please forgive me.
“Interesting,” Thalaxia muses, placing a hand under her chin. “Fortunately for you, your vitals show no hint of a lie,” she adds with a pointed finger and sneer, “But maybe you’re accustomed to lying?” she challenges.
I frown at her from a bent position. “Believe whatever you want. I’m past caring.”
“Oh, don’t go cold on me now, pretty lass. We’re just getting started,” Thalaxia replies with an infuriating smile. “Where are you from?”
Such a deceptively complex question.
Hours pass under the scrutinizing gaze and probing questions from Curator Thalaxia. I end up revealing half my life story: being taken from Earth, living aboard the Mutalisk’s Hammer, my duties onboard, the problems I faced. She shows special interest from the time Xandor and the others boarded, asking who gave them their orders and which clan they’re from, which to my shame I can’t recall.
I grow tired under the endless assault of questions forced to contain my annoyance when Thalaxia often rehashes old ground, altering her approaches. She deliberately leaves in errors, hoping I’ll confess or change my story. I sigh, knowing what game she’s playing. It’s obvious she thinks we came here to deliver hostile Klendathians into their midst. But it couldn’t be further from the truth.
I answer her questions with weary impatience, not fearing her silly attempts to trip me up, because I speak the truth. And if there’s any justice on Nebia, the truth will set me free. Then I can get some answers about what happened to Xandor before planning my next move into the frightening, unknown future—alone.
Stifling a yawn, Thalaxia jolts upright, causing me to flinch at the sudden movement. “Right, lass, I think that’ll be all for now.” She motions to cell bars, which lower at her approach, before turning. “I’ll have food sent up. Get some rest. You deserve it.”
I deserve nothing for getting Xandor killed.
Her words surprise me, offered with what appears to be a genuine smile. Perhaps my earnest, truthful words have gotten through to her? Still, the energized bars slam with a jarring thud, reaffirming the reality of my situation—I’m a collared slave at the mercy of tiny, dangerous aliens.
Exhausted, I don’t wait for food, opting to lie my weary head down on the undersized cot, my ankles dangling off the end. A soft laugh escapes me as I wonder if this is what it feels like for Xandor when he’s abroad.
Rest in peace, my love.
My laugh switches to sobbing tears, the ferocity of them shaking my entire body, as I curl up, feeling crushing loneliness and heartbreak. The day’s frantic events replay in my mind nonstop, tormenting me. I would give anything to go back and make different choices. But there are no second chances, only despair.
Even though the thin mattress is damp with my weeping, a merciful slumber carries me away from my torment. Troubled dreams assail my mind, images of Seeker drones swarming Xandor and me as we attempt to fend them off. No matter how hard I fight, no matter how carefully I sneak, death is the result.
Trapped in an endless cycle of suffering, I feel like giving up, knowing yet again the countless drones are coming. The hazy image of Xandor beckons me onward, urging me to fight, but I can’t. There’s nothing left to give. What’s the point when the result is always the same—more pain? I remain still in this dream state, opening my arms as the drones swarm us, even Xandor’s agonizing struggles wash over me as I. Just. Let. Go.
Then, in a rush, utter darkness consumes my nightmares. In a panic, I gasp, casting frantic glances around, hoping to see anything, but there’s nothing other than complete blackness, devoid of even the faintest sound.
Is this another dream?
It’s hard to tell, because here it feels more tangible. Despite the oppressive darkness, my senses are sharper, lacking the usual dream-like quality. The thought heightens my panicked breaths as I discover I’m floating, lost in this void. No matter how much I wave my arms or legs, I can’t change my position, or perhaps that’s just my perception.
Then I squint, looking above, noticing a purple light shaped like a waxing moon descending. “What the void!” I exclaim, but no words leave my mouth. As it approaches, growing larger with each passing second, I see it’s formed from flickering and wavering flames. It draws closer and I wince, expecting it to sear and burn me. Yet no heat or illumination can be felt in this immense darkness.
The beautiful and petrifying purple flames roar, looming over me so intensely that I avert my gaze, yet its presence feels like a soothing balm. A part of me knows the light is here to protect and guide me, as I sense it burning away my fear, doubts, and pains. I gasp in shock, never feeling so light and serene.
“Our noble son suffers,” a powerful female voice echoes out across the darkness, the source of which I cannot discern. “Rise, and complete the cycle!” It commands.
“Xandor is suffering?” I ask in disbelief, but the sound never leaves my lips as the roaring flames envelope me, filling me with an inner warmth and sense of strength that sends my soul soaring.
I jerk awake, falling out of the meager bed in shock, gasping for breath. Hitting the hard metal floor with a jarring knock, I groan as I’m assaulted by aches and pains. What a crazy dream! The stress and heartache must be the cause. I rise on unsteady legs, wincing at the soreness that compels me to check my body for any wounds.
Are these aches a result of yesterday’s madness?
I frown, rubbing my left arm, which throbs the worst of all. “I’m battered worse than our hull is....” My words trail off as the bitter losses come to the forefront. So much lost with nothing to show for it, other than a few fleeting moments of bliss.
Glancing around, it’s impossible to discern how long I’ve slept. The cramped dark metal cell, devoid of any sunlight, emits only a dim blue glow from the high ceiling against black arcweave surfaces. My nose wrinkles at the smell of cooked food, rumbling my stomach. I notice a small polymer plate lying near the charged bars.
I waste no time in my hungry greed, plucking the plate from the floor and retreating to my cot to examine it. A brown square of soft spongy food lies next to four thick tubes of what looks like meat, similar to the food Xandor had made for me. Taking a tentative bite of the meat tube, delicious flavors explode in my mouth, and I gobble them all down, fearing I might not get another opportunity for such decadence.
The soft brown food has a strange dry texture, forcing me to take smaller bites, lest I choke in my gluttonous haste. It lacks the rich flavors of the unknown meat but still has a pleasant, savory taste. Much better than Nutripaste, that’s for sure.
I almost choke in shock when the cell bars come crashing down, revealing the smiling Thalaxia. She marches into my cell carrying another plate of food that catches my eye. “Are you enjoying your... sausages and bread?” she asks, struggling over the strange names.
Frowning at her words, I’m forced to swallow a large bite of the starchy food. “Um... yes,” I manage to answer amidst my gulping.
“Good, because it wasn’t easy replicating this Earth food,” Thalaxia declares as she sets the new plate beside me on the cot.
“Earth food?” I exclaim, looking upon the plate of the food with newfound wonder, another step closer to my unknown home. The new plate contains a strange yellow and red circular item, loaded with a multitude of toppings, each odder than the last.
I reach for the streaming plate, my mouth almost watering until I remember the suspect Thalaxia watches nearby. My eyes flick to hers, scanning for any hint of suspicion or betrayal. But she only laughs, noticing my reaction. “It’s safe. I believe it’s called pizza,” she posits, scratching her head. “Earthlings must be bloody, indecisive, putting everything under the suns on their food.”
Looks and smells delicious to me.
I pick up a slice, watching the steaming gooey yellow stuff, sloughing off the end, and for a second I panic, wondering if it might be alive. But I persist, catching the drooping remnants in my aching left hand. A host of flavors and textures explodes in my mouth as I moan, chewing the divine treat. Never have I tasted anything so rich.
Thalaxia laughs and claps her hands in excitement. “You like it! Suppose it’s only natural, considering it’s a human delicacy after all.”
Even though the hot yellow running stuff scorches my mouth, I keep stuffing my face, my stomach grumbling in appreciation. Thalaxia covers her light blue face in shock, turning away in disgust while mumbling, “Barbarian manners.”
Her disdain means nothing to me, not after everything I’ve been through, not after everything they’ve taken from me. “You know about Earth and humans?” I mutter between bites, curious but not expecting her to reveal much.
“Must you speak with your mouth full?” Thalaxia asks, a shudder running through her. “I suppose it’s to be expected from a primitive species.” She turns to face me with a soft sigh.
“Yes, we’re vaguely familiar with your kind. Although I’ve never encountered one before, we have some old records.” Her eyes narrow slightly as she continues, “Your people were deemed too... backward for direct contact.”
I let her insults wash over me, driven by curiosity about my home planet. “What about the bean juice gods and the furry varmints overlords?” I inquire, wrapping my mouth around some of the drooping, delicious yellow food.
Thalaxia grimaces. “What bloody nonsense are you on about? Are you testing my knowledge?” she asks with a suspicious glare.
Voiding Xandor, he made the whole thing up!
My face heats a little from embarrassment, but I lean into her assertion. “Yeah, I thought I’d ask you the silly questions today,” I mock.
“Is that right?” Thalaxia snaps back with a surprising smile. “There are no more questions. At least for now.” She approaches me, and hope sends my heart racing. “I’m releasing you, but you are to remain close until a full investigation is complete.”
Her words are sweeter than the delicious pizza I’ve just finished. “Releasing me?” I repeat in surprise. Then mild panic ensues, thinking about being lost and alone on such a strange, unknown planet.
“Yes, unless you’d rather stay?” Thalaxia jests as she reaches up and unclasps the horrible collar from my neck. I relax, massaging the chafed skin, feeling the weight of my oppression lifting.
“Th... thank you,” I stammer, the words tinged with genuine joy. “What about the others, my friends?” I ask, hoping together we can all figure this place out.
Thalaxia’s smile drops, “The Klendathians must stay; it’s far too dangerous—”
“But they came in peace! They saved us—” I interrupt her, eager to change her mind.
“We are at war!” Thalaxia roars, causing me to recoil. “My civilization hangs in the balance, threatened with extinction. Only a system away, the Scythians and Klendathians scour our core worlds in endless death.” She spits, jabbing a stubby finger at my chest. “You should thank the stars that my department found you and didn’t blast your escape pod into space dust.”
I avert my gaze, unable to withstand her outraged tirade, unable to relate to such loss. It’s almost enough for me to apologies, to say I’m sorry, but then I remember—they killed Xandor. The thought hardens my heart, and I flick my eyes to hers. “And the non-Klendathians? What about them?” I ask, my tone sharp as a blade.
Thalaxia releases a long breath as she smooths out her armored uniform. “They’ll be released soon, but you are to be housed separately until this matter can be closed,” she announces, turning to leave the cell. “Follow me,” she commands, leaving no time to process her words.
The bars slide open at her approach. Again, I marvel at the impressive technology that seems to react to her thoughts. We march down a black metal corridor with many cells aligned on either side. I glance at each one, hoping to spot one of the crew, but they are all empty.
It seems Thalaxia is very keen to keep us all separated.
Each step causes me to wince from the numerous aches, and I rub my arm, attempting to dissipate the throbbing pain. Why am I so voiding sore? I frown, turning my arm over, seeing no trace of bruises or injury.
“We’ll retrieve your goods, then I’ll take you to your temporary accommodation. It’s only a short distance from here,” Thalaxia declares, gesturing over her shoulder as I struggle to keep up with her pace despite her short legs.
“Is there a healer nearby?” I ask, worried there might be something wrong with me, something unseen.
Thalaxia scoffs, glancing over her shoulder. “Nothing wrong with you, lass, other than a few knocks.”
I frown, assuming she must have scanned me or is scanning me. But her words offer no comfort as I feel battered like an old plate of arcweave.
We arrive at the exit, obvious given the large oval opening, flanked by two Nebians dressed in the same sleek segmented armor Thalaxia wears, only lacking her red cloak, and feathered plume on her helmet. They both bow and offer, “Curator.” At her approach.
“At ease,” she replies at the pair, before turning to face me. “Your belongings will be here soon.” She frowns, her gaze tracing the floor. “Where are the bloody drones?” she mutters, tapping her foot.
At her words, a section of the floor slides open to reveal the same tiny floating drones that took my items. They each emit a black beam, carrying my pistols, knives, and wrist console. The sight of my disguised Nebian laser pistol causes my blood to freeze, and I resist the urge to yank it in case Thalaxia notices.
If she finds it, I’ll be locked up forever—or worse!