8. Tyrxie
Chapter 8
Tyrxie
Plan
I watch Curator Thalaxia marching away, donning her red-plumed helmet with an air of authority. A flutter of anxiety churns in my stomach. Glancing around, I feel more than a bit lost, but I’m determined to make sense of Nebia and somehow rescue Xandor, despite the overwhelming odds.
My mind buzzes with questions, leaving me frowning in thought. This newfound ability to sense Xandor—where did it come from? Is this the same phenomenon he described on Omega Flux Station? The reason he couldn’t leave me alone, always finding me? He called it our ‘bond,’ and that makes sense, except now it has somehow spread to me, even making my eyes glow. The faintest whispers tickle my senses, urging me to glance over my shoulder, but there’s nothing there.
I might be going crazy.
Turning my attention to the ornate building before me, I take a tentative step up the short flight of stairs, marveling at the intricate patterns etched into the stonework. Almost all the buildings I’ve seen are adorned in a similar fashion, with flowing spirals and great runes framed by busts of Nebians and other strange creatures.
The broad, immaculate streets and buildings, coupled with the pleasant non-aggressive demeanor of the locals, fill me with a sense of freedom. A stark contrast to the oppressive claustrophobia of Mutalisk’s Hammer and the frantic darting glances of grime-ridden space station occupants. It’s ironic that this place feels safer, despite being part of a war zone.
Is anywhere truly safe?
Raising a quizzical eyebrow, I approach the ornate stone door, tilting my head to avoid hitting the frame. I’m a giantess here! I snicker at the thought, so accustomed to being called ‘Tiny’ and having to gaze up at the towering Kaanus, Quad and Triandale.
The stone door shimmers and waves as I pass through it—a jarring sensation that’ll take some getting used to. I find myself in a spacious lobby with thankfully, taller ceilings. My feet sink into a yellow plush, cushiony material that conforms to my steps. Glancing around, I see holographic artworks aligning the walls, cycling through glorious vistas of unknown locations.
Nebian guests come and go, most of them females dressed in military uniforms. Many stare at me with wonder, causing my pulse to quicken, but as they pass, they offer a friendly smile and a graceful bow, putting my mind at ease.
I’m eager and anxious to make haste, aware that every second wasted is another moment of torment for Xandor. But I’m taken aback by the strangeness of being in a new place alone, without the guidance or orders from Kaanus or the other crew members.
A gleaming white robot in the shape of a plump Nebian approaches. “May I be of assistance?” the musical voice inquires. The shock of its abrupt arrival causes me to step back.
I stare at the disturbing and realistic blinking eyes and subtle movements of feigned facial expressions, wondering if I would’ve assumed it was a real Nebian if it were painted. “Um, I have a room here?” I squeak, feeling like I don’t belong in such a stunning place.
A green light streams out of the robot’s hand, scanning my wrist console, making me flinch. “This way, please,” the machine requests, gesturing to a series of ornate wooden doors embedded in the far wall.
With a hand rubbing my locket, I take cautious steps around the robot, fearing some form of treachery might take place. I glance back at it, walking with increased confidence as the distance grows, until I bump into the orange-colored wall. Ouch! I grimace, rubbing my nose, my face heating with embarrassment.
I step through one of the wooden doors, which, of course, is another stomach-churning holographic projection. My breath hitches as I find myself in a confined, darkened space. Before I can flee, the floor vibrates, followed by a loud whooshing sound. The sense of motion fills my stomach with nauseating flutters.
I think I’m going to be sick!
I steady myself against the wall, until the sudden motion stops, revealing an entrance. Ducking and stumbling through the door, my frown at almost falling changes into a gasp of wonder at the sandy-colored spacious room, dotted with cozy furniture. “This is bigger than our master suite!” I exclaim, racing over to the short, wide polymer table and noticing a bowl of colorful fresh fruits waiting.
My mouth waters and my stomach growls, spurring me onward, as I clutch a tube-like yellow object. I scrunch my lips, feeling a tinge of caution at its waxy texture, compelling me to give it a final safety check with sniffs. Smells okay. I shrug before biting into it, then grimace, tasting the sharp bitterness and struggling to chew through the tough fibrous texture.
Nebians have a weird taste.
Then, beneath my initial chews, a burst of sweetness and soft, mushy deliciousness emerges. I moan as the flavors bathe my senses with joy. Never have I tasted such ripe fruits—the clean freshness is a wonder to me. Shame, the first part is so rotten! I frown, looking at the rest in my hand and noticing the separation between the skin and the tasty mushy bit in the center.
“Oh!” I exclaim, feeling silly, my face heating despite being alone. With deft, careful fingers, I peel the skin from the delicious fruit beneath, munching the sweetness with reckless abandon. My stomach rumbles enjoying the decadent treat. “Much better,” I declare, satisfied, stuffing my pockets to the brim with the entire bowl of fruits.
A sudden voice emitting from numerous points in the room startles me, and I wince, fearing I’ve been caught in my greedy crime. “Would you like more... bananas, apples or pears?” a musical voice chimes out.
Just as I’m about to place the fruits back and plead my innocence, the generous words take me by surprise. “I can have more?” I ask incredulously.
“Of course.”
“Why not then!” I declare, feeling a rush of excitement at experiencing a sense of luxury I’ve never had before. Small drones float into the room, black beams carrying another assortment of fruits. I watch them load the bowl as I mindlessly take out a red fruit from my pocket and begin eating that, too.
I marvel at this new one’s sweet, tangy flavors; the juiciness takes me by surprise as it threatens to spill from my lips. “This is amazing. What is it?” I question, looking at the gleaming white texture revealed under its bright red skin.
“Apple from Earth, replicated with ninety-nine-point-nine percent purity,” the musical notes from the room answers, causing me to look at the fruit with a renewed sense of awe. These fruits grow on my home planet! I study them, trying to imagine what their trees or plants look like. Perhaps as tall as buildings with giant red leaves?
“Would you like anything else?” The musical voice of generous giving inquires further.
“Hmm.” I ponder with a hand under my scrunched face. “You have any of that... pizza?” I ask, still struggling with the strange word, driven more by greed than hunger.
“Of course.”
The floating drones depart, but an open room already captures my attention on the far side. With excitement, I rush over, noticing a luxurious bed floating half a foot from the floor. Looks so cozy and clean! I leap onto the soft red material, sinking into blissful comfort. The fabric molds perfectly to my body, adjusting just right without overdoing it, as if it can anticipate my thoughts.
I breathe a sigh of relief, letting the extravagance wash over me, marveling at how spotless and gleaming the sparse furniture is. My only complaint is how small everything is, but that’s a trifle compared to the grime and clutter onboard the Mutalisk’s Hammer, not to mention the lack of privacy. This place is something else, something I’d always imagined was beyond my reach.
Another small open room attached to the bedroom catches my eye, jerking me upright with renewed excitement. Is that a voiding shower? I leap out of bed, almost stumbling over it in my haste, causing it to bob up and down, hovering. But I don’t care. The bed is already forgotten, driven by my desire for an actual water shower—a luxury I’ve only experienced a handful of times in my life.
I’m already stripping off my clothes, admiring the glossy red tiled room, noting the numerous jets nestled throughout. Oh, this is going to be good! Naked, I stand in the wide but shortish shower room, my smile turning into a disappointing frown. “How do I turn this thing on?” I ask, poking my finger through one hole.
“Activating shower,” the musical voice of blessings states.
A burst of warm water blasts me from every angle. I groan in pleasure at the temperature and pressure. Just right. Each droplet feels like a soothing balm over my dull aches, washing away my fatigue. I throw my head back, enjoying the rivulets cascading through my hair and down my neck.
I could get used to this.
A small compartment slides open, revealing an assortment of liquids in fine jars. I flinch at first before realizing I’m safe. Taking a jar, I sniff its contents, relishing its flowery sweet scent and strange purple hue that almost glows. I waste no time rubbing my body with its tantalizing luxury. It forms a thick purple lather, filling my senses with its beautiful smell and tingling my skin.
I marvel as even the most stubborn grime-encrusted stains that have persisted for years are washed down the drain. My skin appears so clean, renewed by the strange soapy substance, giving me a healthy glow.
A smile forms as I brush the scarred flesh between my breasts, the hateful brand now reduced to an indistinguishable tangle of raised skin. My heart fills with pride and joy, reminded it’s gone, knowing I had the strength to do it. The memory of Xandor kissing and nibbling it causes me to gasp, and the shower’s waters remind me of his caresses on my neck, tracing my body— a pale reflection of his intensity, but still, a heat builds between my legs.
I moan, wishing he was here, missing him terribly. The awareness of him suffering in the distance is a sharp reminder that I need to hurry. Though, until Thalaxia releases the others, there’s one only thing I can do in the meantime—seek Xandor’s friend Felixus.
I need to get a move on.
“How do I turn this shower off?” I ask, glancing around, finding no controls. Then, at my words, the water stops, replaced with powerful jets of warm air, the sound booming. It’s a pleasant sensation, and I feel my body drying off as I run my hands through my hair, relishing how incredibly soft and glossy it is.
Have I ever been this clean? Maybe as a child back on Earth?
Exiting the luxurious shower, I find my clothes have been moved, now folded neatly on top of the bed. I glance around with slight mistrust as I examine my garments. They have a faint heat to them, and as I dress, I notice they too have been cleaned, sparkling with a cleanliness they’ve never had before.
Nebians don’t wait around!
I make sure my clothes still hold my precious locket before checking my pistols and knives are intact. Breathing a sigh of relief and feeling refreshed, I enter the main room, the aroma of delicious pizza greeting me from the short table. “Hey, wonderful voice, can you get me to Felixus Remus? He lives near the capital.” I feel weird asking an empty room.
“Of course. Please proceed to the exit,” the musical voice that never fails chimes.
“Thanks!” I blurt out, snatching a slice of sizzling pizza racing towards the exit, this time prepared for the strange, disorienting sensation of passing through the holographic doors. I almost spit out my delicious food as I’m swept upward this time, the whooshing sound, startling me.
“Hey!” I protest, wincing as my half-eaten pizza is torn from my grip. Void hope it doesn’t hit someone else! Then, in a flash, I find myself shuttled into one of the small orb vehicles on top of the building. Glancing about in confusion, I hardly have time to complain when the machine hums to life, emitting a low whining noise.
Ah, crap!
Like a bullet, it shoots off at incredible speed, much faster than last time when I was held immobile. Though maybe being held secure is preferable as my hands dart to the translucent curved edges, struggling and grimacing as other orbs hurtle past, nauseatingly close.
We’re going to crash!
My orb joins the swirling mass of others in a seemingly chaotic mingle of disorganized union. How I haven’t hit anything yet is a mystery to me as I wince every time an oncoming orb swishes past, causing me to squirm to the other side in fear.
I was mistaken. The Nebians should wait around more!
After a moment I peek, my breathing becomes steadier, trusting it might be safe. Judging by the way the orbs move, the Nebians must have complex systems navigating this muddled horde. Countless orbs dart above the streets, which zoom past in a blur. Looking outside of the single-seated vehicle, I see numerous armored robot suits dashing higher in the sky, looking into orbit.
The closer I draw towards the capitol, the denser the traffic becomes. Even my fleeting glances at the street show more Nebians. Buildings grow denser and larger and I gasp, marveling at the approaching splendorous fortress in the distance. Its walls are tall and thick, dwarfing all else, lined with many laser cannons. The structure gleams a polished sandy color edged with deep purples, complete with intricate designs and statues that must be the height of other buildings.
“Wow.” Escapes my lips as I scoot round the cramped vehicle to keep my eyes on it. Many immense banners depicting various colors and designs drape over the walls. But it’s the purple ones with the noble Nebian face in gold that dominate the rest. Large sleek ships, each one looking to be worth a fortune, hover above, surrounded by more floating armored suits.
Whatever’s in there must be important!
I lament as my orb whizzes past the fortress at blinding speed, making it difficult to observe over my comfortable seat. Finally, I turn round, noticing my orb slowing down, though still moving with unsettling haste. Purple-colored vegetation surrounds the nearby ornate buildings, the first I’d seen on Nebia, causing me to blink in shock.
I’m glad when the orb slows even more, hovering above one building with a garden. Descending, I make out the lush violet grass blowing in the wind, framed by numerous brushes and colorful flowers that appear strange amongst the advanced backdrop.
The building’s rooftop contains many similar orbs like mine, and when it touches down, I frown, wondering what to do next. Then, the voiding bottom opens, spilling me onto an ominous black platform. “Wait, wait!” I plead uselessly, suspecting what comes next as I’m whisked away. The now familiar whooshing sound and stomach-churning sensation of dropping fill my senses.
I almost stumble, feeling battered as if I’ve tossed around a roaring hyperdrive engine. Standing in a cramped, darkened shaft before a small ornate wooden door, I take a moment to catch my breath and steady my nerves. This is crazy! I know nothing about this Felixus guy. He’s as likely to report me to his authorities as he is to help me.
An exhale escapes me, trusting in Xandor’s friendship with the Nebian, hoping it’ll be enough to move him to help. I duck my head to avoid the low frame, only to bang it against the hard wooden door. “What the—” I grimace, cutting off my curse, and rubbing the dull ache from my forehead.
Why didn’t it work like the other holographic doors?
“I’ve already donated to the Legion of Orphans this week.” A gruff voice echoes through the cramped shaft. I glance around for the source of the sound, finding nothing.
He thinks I’m a beggar?
Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened, I ponder, wrinkling my face. “Um, Magister Felixus... I need your help,” I say, wincing at how silly my words sound. My eyes dart around and my senses sharpen, expecting something to happen—nothing does.
I frown, growing impatient, “Hello!” I demand, thumping the solid door. “It’s about Xandor the Klendathian,” I plead.
“Xandor!” the gruff voice exclaims. The tension in my shoulders eases a little. “I’ll be right with you.”
At least I’ve got my foot in the door.
The faint sound of clanging and shuffling reaches my ears, filling me with a vague sense of unease. I wonder just what type of male Felixus is. “Come in, come in,” a muffled, deep voice calls from behind the door. I notice the entrance now shimmers with almost unperceivable undulations.
To be sure, I place a testing hand through the door, marveling that it’s now a mere projection somehow transformed in a blink of an eye. Felixus chuckles on the other side. “You must be new here. Come in, it’s safe.”
Stepping through, the scent of heated arcweave and singed polymer circuits fills the air. The room is a cluttered mess. Low metal tables are decked with all manner of scrap metals, gears and complex mechanisms—some as large as Felixus himself, others as tiny as my fingernails. Along the walls are shelves containing hundreds of detailed metal models similar in design to the armored suits their soldiers wear.
Job would love it here.
“Bloody voidsons, you’re a human!” The squat Nebian exclaims, shifting his green goggles to the top of his head. “And a striking beauty, make no mistake,” he adds with a deep bow.
Nebians definitely have a strange taste.
My face heats at his words and his earnest bow, unsure how to respond to such praise. “Um, thanks... I’m called Tyrxie.” I perform my own deep bow, mimicking his actions while studying his face. His drooping red eyebrows and his thick copper-colored hair and beard lend him a scruffy look, but his sincere eyes and open expression give me the sense he can be trusted.
But looks can be deceiving.
“Xandor also said I’m a human, but I’ve never been to Earth,” I explain, smiling, happy that I’ve learned so much about my origins recently. “But I do have some Earth fruit. Want some?” I fumble, offering him an apple from my pocket.
Felixus stares, blinking at my offering. “You know, you might be the first visitor to offer me something,” he chuckles, reaching up to take the fruit from me. I suppress a grimace, knowing he’ll feel differently when I tell him why I’m here.
He pockets the fruit in his colorful polymer clothes. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” Felixus gestures to a pile of mechanical junk, beneath which I notice large plush cushions. “Excuse the mess, but I refuse to let the drones clean. Last time they threw out half my works,” he finishes with a sigh.
I stumble, avoiding the countless pieces of junk, feeling like I’m dodging an asteroid field. “Tell me, how did you end up meeting Xandor? Did the blockhead abduct you?” Felixus inquires with a soft laugh as he sweeps the cushions, sending piles of mechanical parts cluttering onto the soft floor.
Such a simple question, yet the answer is complex.
“I was a slave onboard a mercenary ship called the Mutalisk’s Hammer. Xandor offered Kaanus—he is... was the Captain—to bring him to Nebia to form an alliance with your people,” I blurt out as I take a careful seat amongst the lavish cushions.
“An alliance!” Felixus exclaims, beaming, “That’s excellent news. You know, that was my mission when I met him. Then he and Krogoth rescued me from junkers. But from what I recall, Xandor wanted to leave me in the cell.” He shakes his broad head.
Void’s sake Xandor!
My heart sinks at his words, growing doubtful he’ll want to help Xandor. “Um, the problem is we were attacked in orbit by your military. I think our ship crash-landed, and Xandor was taken prisoner by the Praetorian Guard.” The words spill from my lips as I plead, driven by desperation.
Felixus’ reaction fills me with dread as his expression snaps from a pleasant smile to a deep frown. “This is bad, awful, in fact.” He paces in quick circles, sending more junk tumbling around. “Bloody bastards will tear him apart,” he whispers, filling me with a surge of anxiety. I already know how Xandor suffers. It tugs at the back of my mind, delivering daggers to my heart.
“My apologies,” Felixus adds, realizing he’s thinking aloud. “I can petition the Consuls, but it could take weeks for them to act. The Imperator himself is another option, but he’s under the sway of the Praetorian Guard,” he mumbles with a hand under his bearded chin, pacing back and forth.
“Xandor, won’t last that long!” I exclaim, driven by frantic worry. “I don’t understand. Why are they doing this to him? He came in peace, like you did. Isn’t this what both of your peoples wanted?” My hands dart to my wrist console, transferring the peace terms to Felixus.
“You’d think so,” Felixus laments, still pacing in thought. “Ambassador Titxus and myself were tasked by the Imperator. But when I came back with Titxus lost, the mission a failure, the pro-war elements gained more control. The voidson Prefect Horaxus Domna basically controls the Imperator now. I’m afraid the longer this war goes on, the more it twists my people. They dig in deeper, prepared to fight to the death no matter the cost.”
Xandor handed himself over to people who hold a murderous grudge against him.
“I won’t leave him there, Felixus. I can’t abandon him!” The words burst from my trembling lips, driven by a sudden shocking intensity.
Felixus halts. Our eyes meet and his face shifts to one of pity. I hate pity. Pity is useless. “Look, Xandor is most likely already dead.” He approaches, placing a thick hand on my shoulder. “I’m voiding sorry to say it, Tyrxie. Xandor was a great friend for the short time I knew him. But the Praetorian Guard don’t mess about when it comes to captured enemies.”
“Was.” I spit the repeated word out like the vilest poison, and Felixus shifts his gaze downward in shame. “He’s alive Felixus, I know it without a doubt.” I shrug my shoulder, dislodging his hand, his unwanted pity. “I feel it through our bond.”
Felixus hisses through his teeth. “More blockheaded Klendathian nonsense.” He shakes his head with disdain, renewing his pacing. “Do you know how superstitious they are? Cult-like fanaticism to their gods . Don’t be na?ve, falling for their romantic idealism.”
He’s the na?ve one!
I dismiss his ignorance out of hand, knowing without a flicker of doubt Xandor is alive and our bond is real. “You want him to be dead,” I challenge, feeling the heat in my cheeks.
“Huh?” Felixus halts, his face twisted in a deep frown. “Nonsense.”
“No, it’s true,” I press, driving by disappointment and anger. “You want to forget about the whole thing and retreat to fixing your toys instead,” I gesture to his intricate miniature models lining the shelves. “I don’t care about your peace. I just want my Xandor back. But you should care. This is another chance to complete your original mission from the Imperator, bring peace and save your people.”
Felixus stares, his eyes boring into mine. I struggle not to avert my gaze, his intense, annoyed expression causing my pulse to race. Finally, he sags with exasperation. “Fine, lass, let’s say Xandor’s alive. Then what? Did you see the Imperial palace on the way here? That’s where the Praetorian Guard resides. That’s where they’ll be keeping him.”
The memory of the massive, fortified structure with its numerous insurmountable defenses strike me like a brutal body blow. Of all the places Xandor could be, it had to be inside there. “Don’t you work inside the Imperial palace? Maybe you could sneak us in?” I mutter, struggling to think of any solutions.
Felixus paces, stopping to pick up a small hovering container from the cluttered floor. “I am the Magister Machinator to the Imperial court.” Felixus’ demeanor shifts, his bearing growing proud, with a hand on his hip and chest puffed outward. “I can get you inside,” he declares with a confident smile.
Music to my ears.