Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Planet of Gikaet
Four years later
Illan scowled at his brother, his O.D.I. activated and painting colorful spots across his vision. “The location is here,” he snapped, waving his arm and blurring the holographics in motion.
“A random data cache buried in the sand on Gikaet?” Iddan arched an accusatory brow. “It sounded too unbelievable when you first learned this. Standing on the planet’s surface…” He gestured to the gray landscape. “Only proves you have gone mad.”
“Finding anything Durn would help—”
“Figure out what happened to our homeworld, increase our knowledge, and restore the archives we have lost,” Iddan repeated by rote.
“Which is why I agreed to come with you. But this…is the bad side of Gikaet. There are no Etterian bases to escape to if the Gika decide we will serve as dinner.” He took a step toward their courier-class ship, Stioba.
The white of its metal finish stood out against the dark, depressing world known as Gikaet.
Perhaps Iddan was right to hurry them. And Illan should have known the Maloidian trader had lied. But hope was a powerful thing. Not to mention the lure of a literal treasure hunt.
A pebble beside his foot vibrated, snatching his attention to the horizon. “Run,” he yelled, bolting for the ship.
He didn’t make it, the ship slanting to the left as if the sand swallowed it.
Iddan sprinted past him, leaping over the rising ramp and diving through the door.
Illan launched himself upward and caught the edge of the metal, crying out as the ship jerked, whipping his dangling legs up then down.
As the ship tumbled, it flipped, skidded along a cliff face, and slammed him onto the flooring.
He gritted his teeth against the agony shooting shards across his back and scrambled into the bay, taking a moment to slam the button to shut the door.
Iddan was in the pilot seat, punching the console and wrestling with the lever. The forevids filled with the gaping maw of a deep cavern.
“Vok,” Illan muttered.
“I know,” Iddan yelled, yanking back on the lever. The ship fought him, then pitched up, the engines squealing as they climbed.
Illan tapped the display vid to the side, switching the cams to the rear. The ground roiled, shifting under the number of Gika, their red pincers bright against the gray surrounds.
“A waste of time and fuel,” Iddan grumbled.
Illan harrumphed, expecting a lecture any moment from his younger brother. “We had to—”
The ship’s ass wrenched to the side, a screech deafening him even as Iddan spat curses and leaped up from his chair. “In the pods, now!”
“What?” Illan leaned in, peering at the bloom of molten yellow on the planet’s surface. “They fired at us?”
“Yes,” Iddan said, slapping the panel that opened to the escape pods. He shoved Illan in but stopped to draw something on his forehead, his touch burning. “Arngale.”
“No!”
“Just in case,” Iddan said, then glared at him through the window when the pod’s door shut. I cannot lose you, brother. He vanished from view, and from within Iddan’s mind and through his eyes, Illan watched him step into his own pod.
It is irreversible! You know this. Illan thumped the inside of the pod.
For now.
Illan snorted. What knowledge we have is minimal. Less now that we found no data cache.
Elorach will provide.
That ended Illan’s tirade. Along with being jettisoned into outer space. As the pod sped away, their ship exploded, blinding him and leaving bright spots on his retinae. That hadn’t gone to plan.
And it looks like we are heading away from Gikaet.
Kuck. Illan rubbed his face, disbelieving their situation.
The pod beacons would’ve drawn Etterian attention and a rescue.
Statistically, that was their best chance of survival.
But heading away from Gikaet altered his calculations.
He activated his O.D.I. and accessed what information he had from the last sync with the now-gone ship.
Iddan did the same, but Illan beat him to it. Destination: Tecus. The moon or the G.C. station?
Illan’s disbelief crossed their connection. Regardless, we will not make that.
Things had just gone from bad to worse. Might pass Lysara on the way.
Oh, that does make me feel better. Sarcasm saturated every word despite the distance between their speeding pods.
Illan grimaced, guilt eating at him. But he couldn’t have planned for this. The odds of a Gika attack were slim. We were far from any known colonies.
And the chance of them being able to fire upon us was also low. Silence reigned across their connection. I do not blame you, Iddan finally shared even though Illan was in his mind.
You should. We need to expect the worst outcome.
Agreed, so stop feeling responsible. I could have refused to come with you, prevented you from traveling here… But I, too, hoped we would find something.
Illan grunted. Rebuilding our lost archives is what matters.
Despite you belaboring this, you are correct.
Illan released a slow exhale. Now, get some sleep. We need to preserve our oxygen.
True, since there is not much we can do to steer these things.
Sleeping was easier said than done. Bombarded by Iddan’s thoughts, memories, dreams, Illan struggled to doze off. There had to be a way to shield himself. In the end, it was Iddan sinking into deep sleep that granted Illan a reprieve.
A jerk woke him. Darkness filled his view but not that of space. Maloidian metal?
He grinned. They were rescued. Iddan?
I am so sorry, Illan. Images crossed their connection. Yithians.
They’d onboarded Iddan’s pod first. A face appeared through Illan’s window: gray, slick skin, narrow, solid-black eyes, tiny holes for nostrils, and a wide mouth with elongated canines denting the bottom lip.
The door opened to a sour stench. Illan’s nose wrinkled.
A chill hit him next. In his tunic, pants, and sandals, he wouldn’t be able to warm himself.
A Yithian soldier crowded him, then nudged him toward a passage.
“Where are we?” he asked, hoping they were…welcoming.
It is useless. They do not speak Galactic.
A metal door slid aside and a waft of sweat, urine, and unwashed bodies slapped Illan in the face. A sea of eyes, across many species, peered at him from the darkness of a…cell. He glanced to the side and grunted, recognizing the telltale design of a Yithian slave ship.
We go in there, and we might not come out.
They are taking us to civilization. None would dare to sell, buy, or harm a Durn.
Illan grunted. I hope you are right, brother. He stepped inside under a stream of Yithian from an algri, his multiple limbs having taken on an unhealthy green hue.
Illan tapped his O.D.I. and activated the language protocols for Yithia.
“…No space for more prisoners. Why not toss them in with that unknown species?”
A slap silenced the algri, sending his six eyes spinning in their sockets.
“Durns are not as precious,” the Yithian spat, proving he did know Galactic.
Illan jerked back, stunned at the revelation. What species could hold more value than a Durn?
That does not bode well. Iddan ventured deeper into the cell.
The door sealed shut, and a sickly yellow light flickered on. The wave of people shifted to grant him and his brother a little space.
“This is not good,” the algri muttered, shuffling to the rear of the cell, the crowd flowing around him.
Time blurred for Illan, made almost bearable with the limited use of his O.D.I.
and constant conversation with Iddan. Six visits from the soldier marked the passing of days.
Yithian bitter pastes and packets of water held more than enough to sustain his body, but neither removed the persistent chill.
So when the door opened to a female, his focus snagged on her, standing there, her pale skin and hair remarkable. Iddan stiffened, his eyes widened, and his thoughts fell silent.
“We’re staging a mutiny,” she said in Galactic.
A strong feminine voice demanded something in a language Illan didn’t know.
The female nodded, then peered at the prisoners. “Does anyone know the design of this ship?”
Illan stood. “I am Illan and a Durn,” he said, striding on stiff legs toward her. He stepped through the door and halted.
A tall, muscled female with long, yellow hair tumbling around her, eyed him, distrust in her expression.
And yet, she held a blaster with such confidence.
A peek into their gaping cell showed unconscious Yithian soldiers.
She’d done that? Escaped her cell, gotten her hands on a blaster, and taken down a few guards?
She handed him a blaster, commanded something from the other female but kept her gaze on him.
Illan scowled as he slapped the kill button on his weapon. No, no, this would not do. In order for this to be successful, they needed to communicate. But the solution was a little extreme. Should I? He cast a glance at Iddan.
Do it. We will learn how to shield each other.
Very well. Illan crossed to the yellow-haired female and pressed two fingers to her temple. “Argale,” he mumbled, bracing himself for the flood of information that slammed into him.
She was human, her name was Quinlan Marsh, a sister to three brothers and their four friends. Until the Yithians had taken her, she’d lived an interesting life as a travel photographer on planet Earth.
Intriguing. Iddan drew closer to her new friend…Cyndi Stanford. Thank you for the introduction. He smirked.
Quin cried out and swayed. Illan caught her by the elbow to steady her.
“Dammit. What the hell did you do that for?” She rubbed her forehead.
“My apologies. I am aware this technique is painful, but the circumstances necessitate the connection.” Her preferred language sounded odd to his ears.
“You can understand me?” She gasped.
Yes. He thrust his answer at her while trying to silence Iddan’s thoughts as he conversed with Cyndi.
Holy shit. Quin peered at him. “Did you just—?”
They did not have time for this. Illan harumphed. Yes. You, too, may communicate with me as such. Think your words.
She shrugged. What the hell? Might as well try it. Aliens. Telepathy. It can’t get any more bizarre. She met his white gaze. Can you hear me?
He winced at her roar. Perhaps lower your volume.
Sorry. Her unrepentant grin softened her features and made her appear more…approachable. I can’t fly this ship, can you?
No.
Well, fuck. And she opened the door.