Chapter Seven
Vyken
I had to get out of there.
Not just because I wasn’t getting any information out of the pale human, but because looking at her was making me uncomfortable in a way I have never felt before. Her long, choppy black hair, her darkly lined eyes, her slender frame and yet generous curves.
I have no idea what I am feeling, because I am feeling it towards a human. Not just any human either -- the human the Oracle told me to pick up in relation to a genocide!
I step straight into a shower and wrench the knob all the way to freezing, kicking off my prison pants as I shut the door and letting the water sweep over my taut body.
“Uncomfortable temperature detected,” Tyr’s rudimentary ship AI chirrups pleasantly, and the water begins to warm up. I grit my teeth.
“Colder,” I say. “Spitfire. Please, do as I say.” I twist the knob again, craving the chilled water on my muscles to distract me from the aching in my abdomen. I look up at the shower’s ceiling, desperate to not make eye contact with my rapidly stiffening cock. If I don’t acknowledge it, it’s not there.
She could well be a killer. And if not, at the very least she might be a Suhlik sympathizer. And other than being an actual Suhlik, I really can’t think of anything worse.
I haven’t been around a female in a very long time -- maybe that’s why I am feeling this way. Other than Alyssa and Cara, but they never once made me feel like this…
I wrap my fingers tight around the base and squeeze, gritting my teeth. The water warms up and the AI chirrups at me again. “Fixing water temperature! Please stand by!”
“I wanted it cold,” I growl, but the AI here is not as advanced as the one back on Paxia -- my Admiral doesn’t like true AI getting its tendrils in the ship’s systems. I’m sure there is a good reason for that.
The water temperature is so pleasant as it pounds my shoulders and slides down my chest and arms, pooling in one of my hands. I grit my teeth harder and slide my fist up my now steel-hard member.
“Danger detected. Please report to the bridge, General.”
Seconds pass and the AI takes the liberty of shutting off the shower. I mumble something to myself that I can’t even understand, step out from the pleasantly steamy chamber and dry myself with the super absorbent robe I tie tight around my waist. Then I stride to the controls to see what is wrong.
One of my first assumptions is that the girl has escaped the inescapable room, but obviously … given the name and all … that would be impossible. She is not out here, and the controls are blinking red.
Someone is tailing the Spitfire with their guns trained on me. I can see the dot in the distance on my control panel. I clench my teeth harder, jerking at the controls to get it off autopilot and thinking what my best course of action is. Who could be tailing me in this part of space? Between Earth and Fera is nothing but allied races.
“Ship,” I snap. “Can you show me a clearer image of our friend there?”
The ship doesn’t object to being referred to as such, though I have a feeling the AI on Paxia would have had a rude comment to make about that. “Certainly, General. I am detecting several devastating weapons. Are we under attack?”
She wants to enact certain protocols if we are, and I’m certain Tyr had it so that she couldn’t without somebody’s express permission. I narrow my eyes in thought as the ship comes into view on the large console before my eyes. And then is enlarged, and enlarged again.
“Those words … zoom in there,” I say, feeling sinking in the pit of my stomach. It’s not a Suhlik ship, which is what I was fearing. It is, in fact, much worse than that.
FMS Thunderclap
It’s a Firosan Military vessel. It’s my own people hunting me down. For the first time in my life, I understand the true feeling of fear that comes with being pursued by the most dangerous species in the galaxy.
My own.
“Yes, we are under attack,” I say hurriedly, sitting down at the controls and waggling my finger over them. I am a trained fighter and a good general, but I am not the greatest pilot that has ever lived. Some of these controls, new with the latest wave of fighter ships on Paxia, I have actually never seen before.
“Defensive Protocol Activating…”
I like the sound of that, though I have no idea what she means.
“Shields at full charge. Cannons at the ready. Emergency escape readying. Minimum security cells unlocked for evacuation.”
Wait, what?
I take my hands off the controls and look, annoyed, at the ceiling, as if that’s where the voice is hiding. “What is that last one?”
“In accordance with the law, all minimum security prisoners must be evacuated if the ship is under attack.”
I fight to remember what I labelled my prisoner. “The girl?” I ask.
“She is being talked through evacuation procedure.”
I panic. For more reasons than one. “Will she live?” I bark.
“I am not programmed to answer binary questions with certainty. The approximate average chance of survival in an escape pod in this sector is 18%. However, my sensors pick up no ships other than our attacker within range of a distress call. The chances of a ship moving within range before her oxygen levels run out, and responding to the call, I would currently put at closer to 9%.”
My heart hammers in my chest. “Tell her to get back in her cell. Abort emergency escape protocol. Do you hear me, ship? Abandon all evacuation protocol!”
“My programming requires me to implore you not to break intergalactic law, General,” she says, but obviously she doesn’t actually care. She is just a voice. This version of AI has nothing anyone would mistake for intelligent thoughts or feelings. Still, a lump forms in my throat at the thought of breaking even more laws.
“The law exists so that the Alliance isn’t held responsible for the deaths of any prisoners of war,” I suggest. “At 9% chance of survival, you are almost certainly sending a human to her death. An allied race. I am overriding the evacuation protocol, Spitfire. Send her away from the escape pod.”
There is a silence and a nearby whirring.
“Very well. Be advised, the prisoner will be loose on the ship. Please let me know if you would like to enact--”
“I have had enough of your protocols for now,” I growl, cutting over her. The AI fades to silence as if her feelings are hurt, and I program a new escape route and set it back to autopilot.
I turn and break into a jog back to the corridor where the human’s cell was. Just then, the ship judders and I nearly topple into the wall, but I slam my forearm against the side of the corridor and keep running without breaking my pace.
“Human!” I snap. I know deep down that if she sees a clear path to the escape pod, she will probably ignore the warnings and hop inside. Humans I know to be impulsive and headstrong little aliens.
I should find out her name.
I round the corner to the entrance to the escape pod and sure enough she is delicately trying to shoulder her way in through the half-open doors.
“Stop!” I roar, and break into a full sprint. My robe flaps open as I tear towards her, and to my relief the little human turns to me, lets her hands fall to her sides, and her eyes widen to the size of the oval glass pane behind her.
I look down, as if everything is happening in slow motion, and see that my robe has slipped open.
I am perhaps two feet taller than her, and twice as wide. Dark purple, tensed muscles pumping towards her at top speed … and my long purple cock swinging as I run.
I slow to a halt and adjust my robe.
“W-why won’t you just let me go?” she demands, her alabaster skin taking on a crimson hue that makes me twitch and grow with interest, just as I conceal myself again. She blinks a couple of times and forces her gaze back up to my frowning face. “I already told you: I don’t know anything. You have the wrong girl, and … and now Earth is mad at you and coming for me!” she bluffs, pointing towards the rapidly approaching ship, flashing with flying lasers.
I can’t help but smirk at her bravery. She is, of course, lying to my face. I feel strangely proud of the tiny creature.
Another attack rattles the Spitfire from the outside in and before she rights herself the ship tilts some way to the left. I manage to keep my balance with a well-timed stomp on the floor, but she is caught completely off guard and squeaks as she goes flying.
Before I even know what I’m doing, I take two huge running steps and whisk her up into my arms, spinning slightly as we rock back upright. I take an innocent deep breath in and inhale a lungful of her scent.
It is fruity, delicate, with an undertone of sweet spices. There is also the gentle earthy smell of hot sand and the salt of ocean water. My heartbeat increases exponentially and I push her from my arms and back onto her own two feet. She frowns at me.
“Why aren’t you letting me escape? The ship said it was intergalactic law,” she says, taking a half step back towards the pod.
“Because the chances of your survival if you launch yourself into the void are slim to none,” I growl. “That ship is not your rescue, I am afraid. It’s not your people.”
She swallows, weighing up my information and clearly deciding whether or not to believe me.
“Who … are they, then? And what do they want?”
I regard her for a moment before tightening my robe once more and looking out the glass pane. The Spitfire is one of the faster ships in the known universe, with the combination of Firosan and Mahdfel tech, but the Thunderclap is catching up. I am not flying it correctly, and that knowledge is beyond frustrating. No one should be able to catch me.
“It is not your people, it’s mine,” I admit. Another shot glances off the shields and we experience another small wobble. “And they want me dead.”