Rescued By Tordin: Olodian Alien Warrior Romance (4 page)

She scanned the area for elevations in temperature, and sure enough, there was a growing fire in the room next to the inoperable engine.

“Looks like I found it. I’ve turned on the overhead extinguishers. I’ll see if we can dispatch someone down there to help with putting the fire out, to make sure it’s done.”

“Hey Kyra, what happened? Why are you up there, and why did you leave? Brantley is a mess. I can’t get him to talk or even move from that corner. It’s like he’s snapped.”

“Dirk, it’s a story too long to talk about at the moment. And I didn’t leave, he tried to fire me. Once we get everyone to safety, we’ll have to catch up, and I’ll be happy to fill you in. Let’s just say Brantley is feeling the heat of not knowing how to do his job. But you should leave and find your wife. Prepare for evacuation and head to your nearest designated area to board a shuttle. It’s not looking good, and this is the real thing, not a drill. You understand? You need to leave now. Let Brantley know to do the same. Find your wife and get out to your shuttle.”

“All right, thanks for the heads-up. Whatever is happening up there, be careful and stay safe. If I don’t get to see you before we make it back to the surface, know that I’ve always admired you and the work you do.”

With that, they severed the intra-communicator connection. It was time to try to save as many lives as possible. Another explosion shook the station. Kyra watched in horror as many of the once calm engineers and flight crew raced to the observation window and stared in horror. She didn’t have time to do the same—she only listened for snatches of what they saw.

They had just collided with the piece of debris they’d feared most. There was a gaping hole in the station’s hull; casualties were reported, and uninjured crew members were attempting to put out raging fires.

This was not good on so many levels. Kyra worked to restore systems and watched with disbelief as the fires devoured precious oxygen. At this rate, they had about thirty minutes of air left. The evacuations had only started, and she needed a status report to see how many shuttles were still viable.

Remembering to report updates to the commander, she picked up the intra-communicator. She tried to ignore her shaking hands as she activated his frequency. He immediately came on the line.

“Commander…Mark. It looks like the fires in the hull are depleting our air supply at an alarming rate.”

“How fast?”

“We may have thirty minutes at most before the air is unbreathable. Evacuation efforts need to speed up if at all possible.”

She waited for him to respond with her next directive, but his silence made her falter for a moment. Then her will to survive kicked in and she said, “Mark, move everyone to the shuttles and forget about the fire. No use trying to fight it when we’re all leaving anyway. Stuff as many people as possible in each shuttle. Let your people know it’s okay to start leaving mission control. I’ll stay to monitor systems and leave on the last shuttle.”

Silence. Then she heard him come back on the line, “Kyra you are very brave. I never thought we’d be in this situation. Times like this really let people know what they’re made of. You, my dear, have a warrior’s heart. I want you to leave with the rest of the crew. I’m down in the area by the fire. As soon as we can contain it enough to salvage some of the shuttles and get crew aboard them, I’ll give the all clear for everyone to start boarding. Be ready to leave in no less than twelve minutes from this moment. Do you understand me? That is an order. Don’t try to hang around and be a hero. You have to survive and make it off this station.”

At that moment another piece of debris crashed into the station, causing the lights in mission control to go out.

“Kyra, are you all right? What happened? It sounded like something hit close to mission control.”

“Yes we’re all right. I think another piece of debris hit us. The lights are out but…yes, the auxiliary generator lights just popped on.” Then the thought hit her—auxiliary power. “Hey Mark, do you think you could have most of the fire controlled in ten minutes?”

“I’m not sure…why?”

“Because I have an idea. If you can contain the fire to that one area, we can activate the emergency doors to that engine room to shut it off from the others. We’d use a boost from the auxiliary power to close it off. Then I could couple the regular power with auxiliary to clean the air down there, hopefully enough to give us another half hour. It’s a long shot, but that might give the surface time to send help.”

“Not to sound like a pessimist, but I doubt it. The soonest they can get here is about four hours. The Mayday went out only a little over an hour ago, when you asked me to send it. No, Kyra, we have to save ourselves on this go round.”

“Okay. I’m not giving up on ideas to buy us more time. Sir, how many shuttles are located in that engine area?”

She listened as he took a count, asked someone with him for confirmation and then said, “There are normally three shuttles per engine room for a total of thirty shuttles. Each one can hold forty people. The station is at full capacity with just under 1,200 people. It looks like we might be able to salvage one or two of these in the fire-damaged area. Then we’d need to make room for 40 to 80 people on the other shuttles. Only one shuttle is currently compromised. We may be able to absorb that on the other shuttles.”

She didn’t like the odds of the other two shuttles in that area working. She wanted to close it off completely. Another quick check and her suspicions were confirmed. The area’s air composition was changing to include hydrogen. That was a dangerous recipe for an explosive situation. Could this day get any suckier?

“Mark, it looks like we need to forget about those shuttles. The air is filling with hydrogen, becoming poisonous and dangerous. There could be more explosions in that area at any time. Please get your people out of there now. I’m going to attempt to activate the emergency door shutdown.”

“You can’t without my override. There’s no time. I’ll fill the shuttles that work in this bay first and then move on. I have to use every available seat to get everyone out of here. It’s time for you to come down and leave, as well. I’ll see you when you get here.”

The communication went dead. The area was volatile and could cause the entire station to explode, but she had to obey her commander. She couldn’t pull a mutiny. He didn’t need that added pressure. What good would it do in the long run? They had minutes to move more than thousand people off this station. She made her own executive decision to keep her misgivings to herself and follow orders.

“Sir, tell me what you want to do and we’ll make it happen up here,” was the response she gave instead.

“Start sending people to this engine room. That includes you leaving the area to come down to the shuttles, as well. We’ll fill up as many shuttles as we can and send them out as soon as possible. You can try to override and shut down the doors to cut off any more oxygen to the fires from the control panels down here. It looks like we’ll have them well enough under control for people to come into the area. And Kyra, if I make it out of this, I’m going to do two things.”

She wanted to help him keep his spirits up, so she encouraged him. “Oh yeah, what’s that sir?”

“I’m going to beat the shit out of Brantley if I ever see him again, and I’m going to have a medal of honor awarded to you for your bravery and leadership. You, Kyra, are a natural leader, and it’s been a pleasure to work with you, even if it’s been under extreme duress and for this brief time.”

She was humbled and floored at his words; all she could manage to get out was, “Thank you, sir, and the same goes for you. I’m honored to have this opportunity to work with you.” She looked around at the panic in the room and said, “Time is wasting. I have to get your crew out of here. I’ll contact you in another ten minutes.”

T
ordin’s starship
fleet broke the edge of the galaxy in time to see the first of what would be three explosions to hit the floating craft. How had they managed to get so far into a debris belt?

Tordin readied his ship to help the casualties get back to the surface of their planet. His warriors would attempt to be as covert as possible, not revealing their presence in accordance with the mandates of the Intergalactic Alliance, or the IGA for short.

As they moved at warp speed to reach the ailing craft, he noticed no other vessels were present to help them. He instructed Malm to remain cloaked as a precaution.

When his ship was within ten leagues of the craft, another explosion rocked the Terrain vessel, causing its keel and lower hull to ignite with flames. This was serious. He and his crew watched as tiny ships resembling pods started to depart the craft. He waited. Maybe they wouldn’t have to intervene after all. The Terrain beings might be able to survive on their own without him having to risk discovery or intercede.

Still, the floating craft tugged at him, and he observed it with intense interest. Something about it or within it drew his attention. The pull was undeniable.

His men counted the pods as they scrambled away from what looked like a floating space colony. When the pod count grew to twenty-eight, the largest explosion yet ripped through the side of the craft from which the pods were departing. They all watched as the craft began to tilt as if crippled.

Tordin’s breathing stopped for a moment, and he hoped he’d not just witnessed death on board the craft. If he was going to help, it had to be now. No one else was there to lend support. If any Terrains were still on board attempting to leave, his warriors could provide the needed air and containment of the raging, life-devouring flames tearing through the station long enough to help them.

He contacted the command bridge to give his orders.

“Malm, do a life scan of the craft to see if any sentient life remains on board,” he instructed his second after the stream of fleeing ships came to a halt.

He watched as the angry blaze devoured parts of the craft. It was a hungry beast, eating up the life-sustaining component of air that allowed all humanoids to breathe and live. If it continued, no living being would be able to survive it for long. He hoped all had managed to depart before that vicious explosion happened. The blaze continued to grow and roar its anger in the darkness of the void.

After a brief moment, Malm came on the line to report. “Our scans reveal at least ten to twenty living beings still on the craft. We are awaiting your orders, Sire.”

Tordin remained calm, allowing his training and heritage to come forward and asked, “Is there anyway to determine if any of these lives are female or offspring?”

“Not at this time, Sire. We could scan for the weaker life-forces on board, but that is not a sound determinate for finding females or young on the craft. We’re still too far away for that level of detail.”

“Thank you. Please give me a moment,” Tordin said. He closed the link and started to pace the expanse of his private situation room.

He had to think. Too much was going on. He was already on a probable rescue mission of the inhabitants of an entire planet on his father’s orders. Now he was faced with this situation before they’d made even the smallest advance on the journey.

He looked out his observation panel at the leaning vessel. The station floated limply like a wounded but gentle beast. As he turned away to plan his next command and actions, another gentle pull made him stop and turn back around. There was something calling him to that craft. The magnetic connection was subtle but sure. Some force connected him to it. It called to him and wafted across his beating life core, caressing it.

Tordin shook his head to clear the seductive lure of that feeling. He was a warrior lord of reason, wisdom, strategy and logic. He had to focus and make a decision now. Back to the facts.

The primary directive of any rescue was to help females and offspring first. If any were displaced without kindred or home, they would be offered safe shelter for the rest of their lives under the protection of the Emperor—his father—and brought to his home planet of Olodia to live out their remaining days. This was if they were under the governance of the Intergalactic Alliance. Would this apply to any on this craft? He doubted it.

What he was fully prepared to do, however, was get them to safety. But by doing this, would he place his father in an impossible predicament? Tordin never wanted to bring dishonor to his father. He understood the reason for the original order the Emperor gave him. Going to Nenndi and restoring peace would keep his brother from harming too many beings to count. But this situation with the Terrain’s craft was a matter of life and death, as well.

As the Emperor of their galaxy and a powerful member of the IGA, his father had to play by the mandates and lead by example. A decision as big as who would be the next to govern after him had to be presented with proof of its wisdom to the exacting requirements of the ever watchful IGA. Tordin had agreed to this mission to go after his brother for his father’s benefit; it was more important to play nice with the IGA than to do what he wanted.

To stop and help the Terrain in what now looked to be a major rescue effort might open up a whole new realm of issues. There were still so many more reasons to leave this small faction of Terrains to their own devices. One of the biggest being the most obvious—Terrains didn’t know other humanoid species existed. If he helped them with the kind of support he clearly saw they needed and if the Earth planet found out about it, he might put his fleet and father at risk.

The Terrains’ discovery of other humanoid life forms by an act of Tordin’s carelessness could become an intergalactic maelstrom, ripe for in-fighting and posturing for power within the IGA. Relations were already strained between the Emperors from the ruling galaxies. One major slip like this could give any one of them the edge he needed to disrupt the current delicate balance of power. Tordin hated governance.

Then there was the fact that he would give up his healthy lead to his brother on this latest mess his father had asked him to fix. If Cordin arrived first, there would be no way to make sure he didn’t do or say something to make matters worse. He’d done it before. No, it was his way, and part of Tordin’s lot in life was to clean up the messes his older brother made. His father had asked him to go, knowing this to be so. Cordin’s disregard for anyone besides himself knew no bounds. If the major areas of the planet were locked in war, his arrival and subsequent gaffes might cause more planets to join in.

Tordin rubbed a hand through his unruly hair. He made a mental note to have it cut again once they were back on course. The thick, jet-black mane with hints of deep blue grew too fast and always managed to get in his way. If he weren’t his father’s son, he’d keep it shaved, but knew he had to be presentable as a member of the royal family and for those times he was summoned home for official events.

His mind continued to race with all the reasons it was not a good idea to do anything, but he at least needed to help any survivors get back to their planet’s surface.

His thoughts grappled with each other as he ran down all the implications. He played an intricate game of strategy with all the possible actions he could take. Over and over, he turned each action around, seeking to develop the wisest approach.

Probably the biggest reason he needed to leave the Terrain to their own devices popped into his mind at that moment.

These Terrain had not sent their distress call on the IGA frequency, as was the proper way to signal help from any of its members. The IGA could say he broke the mandate and interfered.

He looked at the vessel, careening at a precarious angle now. Time was evaporating, and he had to make a decision. What if they needed immediate life-saving attention? How would he explain having ten or more Terrain on his ship? Would he be forced to take them back to their planet and risk starting a war because of their primitive understanding about not being alone in the stars? The IGA’s policies were an intricate tangle of actions devised to police each member galaxy more than to help them.

If only he knew what that brother of his was up to this time. Tordin couldn’t risk botching both situations. Knowing more about his brother’s plan would help him decide what to do now. He would know if he had time to handle this situation properly or if he needed to provide a quick fix and move on. He knew whatever he decided would be the most honorable thing he could do.

Cordin, on the other hand, was always looking for the shortest path to his own benefit—no matter the fallout. Would taking time to help these beings put an entire planet at risk if he didn’t get to Nenndi before Cordin?

“Gadd!” he said in frustration as his thoughts looped.

Tordin knew his brother like no one else—not even his loving father. But in this case, he had no clue what he was up to. All he did know was that something was not right about Cordin’s eagerness to leave the trappings of home and to race to a planet that he had no ties to. There were just too many thoughts, all playing havoc with his gut.

The more Tordin thought about it, the more he knew what needed to be done. He pushed all the arguments aside. There was no way he would abandon viable life on any craft that he had the chance to save. He would assume his brother was up to no good. He would also do the quickest, most honorable thing to help any remaining Terrain get to safety. Then he’d get back on course to reach Nenndi before his brother did.

With characteristic focus, he commenced on his plan to help the Terrain. Or did they refer to themselves by their tiny blue planet’s name? Were they Earthians?

Pressing the link to connect with Malm, he waited without a stray thought. When Malm answered, Tordin commanded, “Set a hyper speed course to get us as close to the craft as possible without sustaining any damage to our own ship. We will help those still on the craft—if they request it directly. Send Jalek and a few of your best warriors on a search, rescue and retrieve encounter.”

“Yes, Sire,” Malm said, but Tordin could hear a question in his voice.

“What is it, Malm?” Tordin asked, knowing it had to do with the young Jalek.

“Why send Jalek? He’s young yet. I don’t want to have to make sure he doesn’t get injured. I know he is one of your favorites, and I would not like to have his welfare on my conscience while we are down there.”

“I’m sending him
because
he’s young. I’m also sending him because he needs the experience of real danger. Let him fend for himself. If he hasn’t learned how to be cautious yet, this will be a lesson worth learning. And what do you mean ‘you’? I do not want my second away from the ship on such a trivial mission. You can direct it from here. Send your best males.”

“But Sire,” Malm lowered his voice so others could not hear, “I have the unction to go. It is very strong. There is the pull for me to go.”

Malm had used the ancient, holy word
unction
. At the mention of it, Tordin’s gut quivered as if confirming that the pull he experienced was unction, as well.
It couldn’t be
.

When that word was used, there was no argument or reasoning to overthrow its implications. To have an unction was to be called by the Creation Goddess to meet your destiny. Many of the holy teachings about unction involved the meeting of true mates, as well. They would join and produce a greater purpose together. None currently alive had ever had experienced unction of this kind; it couldn’t happen to both of them and not at the same time, so it was indeed a rare occurrence.

The continued stirrings within him didn’t allow Tordin to dismiss it so easily, though. Maybe there was more to this mission than he could even see. Malm had always had the ways of the Creation Goddess and understood more than others. This was part of the reason Tordin kept him close and why he counted Malm as his closest ally, even brother. There was some force pulling Malm—and him—to the craft, and Tordin would not upset the ripples of life by interfering.

Instead of denying his statement, Tordin relented. “If it be an unction, then who am I to interfere? Go in grace and strength. I will cover at the helm in your absence. Be prepared to keep me abreast of all actions. Also prepare a secondary team to follow if the matter is worse than we anticipate. And Malm…”

“Yes, Sire?”

“Do not let any harm befall you. If it’s too dangerous, have everyone pull back and return to the ship. I don’t want any injuries on my watch. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sire. Your command will be followed to the letter.”

“Good. Now prepare to leave as soon as you get close enough to use the Jump.”

Tordin ended the communication and made his way to the command center of the mother ship. Even though he traveled with the fleet as the Sire in charge, he still liked to have his hands in the action, too. If he didn’t need to remain close to the ship to answer any incoming communications from his father, he would have been the one going down to the craft to help.

From the ship’s command center, he watched as Malm and his men prepared the Jump to connect the two vessels. Now that they were close enough, he could see what looked like a humanoid attempting to dislodge another of those smaller crafts without success. His was the advantage since they were still cloaked, and he could observe as his men moved onto the craft without detection. Magnifying the viewer to get a better perspective, he watched what looked like a Terrain male attempting, in vain, to release the damaged pod from its locked position.

There was no way that craft would be operational. Destructive, violent energy had destroyed most of one of its sides, and the Terrain looked no better as life-force fluids streaked his body. His vitals were weakening, as well. This new information changed everything. Without a working pod, the remaining ones had no way to get back to their home planet. The rescue effort would not be to help them get to their pods; it would change to bring them on board and help them survive their injuries. Tordin itched to go down and help, but he could not leave the post. He would not enjoy fighting this battle with the council members traveling with his fleet, and even worse, he was now in direct opposition to the orders from his Emperor—his father.