Rescued By Tordin: Olodian Alien Warrior Romance (5 page)

He quickly reassured himself that his decision was honorable, and he would do what he must. He focused on giving his greatest friend orders that would absolve him of any guilt. As the team finished securing the Jump to the other craft, he sent a direct communication to Malm, making sure it was recorded.

“Malm, this is the Sire, Warrior Lord Tordin giving orders to take a few of the healing transporters for transport of the sick and injured back to the fleet’s mother ship. We will receive them into our Healing Section. Bring surviving Terrain, who’ve directly asked for your help, back to the ship. This includes any you are able to find without causing danger or injury to your team. That is an order from your Sire, do you understand?”

His intonation must have communicated his intent, because Malm confirmed, understanding his order for what it was. They were going to bring any Terrains back to the ship and not send them back to the surface of their planet.

“
M
ark
! Commander Mark! Can you hear me?” Kyra didn’t like the sounds of what could only be fire coming through the intra-communicator link.

The commander had stopped responding to her, and she didn’t know his personal frequency for a direct link. This was beyond bad. She was in over her head, and this was the longest day of her life. The line remained quiet as she tried once more to raise him on the link.

Silence.

The commander’s silence coupled with the sounds of fire were enough of a pattern interrupt to snatch her out of her fixation with what was going on down there and back to her own surroundings. She looked around to discover she was alone in the vast room that was mission control.

More silence.

The auxiliary lights were still on, but the warning sirens had ceased, and most of the stations were a deathly black—lifeless without the power she’d rerouted to close down non-essential operations.

It was now or never. She had to leave or be trapped in here. Before she stood, she realized she hadn’t confirmed that Phoebe had made it onto a shuttle.

Please let her have made it onto a shuttle
.
Phoebe, don’t try to be a hero today
, Kyra prayed, hoping that the gnawing worry in her gut was not some sort of indicator. As a last ditch effort, she grabbed a portable communicator on her way out and contacted the medical bay. There was no answer. Good. Hopefully everyone got out.

She took the emergency pathway instead of the powerless elevator to the station’s hull. The closer she got to the bottom, the higher the temperature rose; the air thickened, making it harder to breathe. By the time she got to the level where the engines and shuttles were, the blazes were high and aggressive. Kyra yelled for the commander or anyone else, but her call met only with the roaring of fires here and there.
Please don’t let him be dead
, she thought as she picked her way into the engine room area. Little fires burned in a crazy pattern as she hopscotched her way into the corridor that led to the different engine rooms. Maybe Mark and the rest of the crew had already left? She could only hope.

That would mean she was possibly the only one left on-board. Her mouth began to do that weird thing it did just before she vomited. She fought to keep it down. She had to figure out a way to get off the station. She decided to check each engine room for a working shuttle. Walking towards the shuttles in the farthest engine room revealed that all the shuttles housed in this section were gone.

Boom!

Another explosion somewhere off in the distance shook the station, slinging her against a steel enforced support column. She checked herself for injury and felt none.

Keep moving. Go to another engine room and find another shuttle.

This was crazy. She didn’t know how to fly one, even if she did find a shuttle. She was going to die, but the urge to live was too strong. It drove her to move her feet in search of something…maybe even a miracle.

“Kyra! Kyra is that you?”

She turned toward the sound of the voice to see the commander limping toward her.

“Mark, let me help you,” she said, rushing toward him. “What is our status down here? Did everyone get off the ship?”

He didn’t try to stop her from lending a shoulder to help him walk. As he limped alongside her on their way to another engine room, he briefed her on their status.

“By my calculation, most everyone got on the shuttles and left. Taking into account the fatalities and counting you and me, that still leaves about four unaccounted for. It’s too late to try and find them. The fire has damaged the last two shuttles I found, and I’m not sure they’re able to fly. I had hoped you’d gotten on one of the shuttles in another engine room. I tried to keep count and watch, but I’m sure I missed some, and I was hoping you were on one of them.” He paused to look at her with deep sorrow in his eyes. “I don’t know how to get you back to the surface, kiddo. I’m the commander and knew I would stay until she went down or exploded, but you…” he trailed off, not looking at her any longer.

“Hey, it’s all right. I’m here, and we can work on the other shuttles. Remember, I’m sort of good at getting things to work better. They might still work—okay?” She looked around at the empty room and asked, “Are we the last ones down here?”

He nodded, concentrating on not putting too much of his weight on her.

“It all right, and everything is going to work out. We have to be optimistic, you know. We still have about fifteen minutes of good oxygen left, and I’m not giving up without a fight. You in?”

He smiled at her, opting to remain silent. She knew he was at his limit, but she had to know. “Mark, did you see Phoebe—I mean Dr. Brown—board any of the shuttles?”

He scrunched his face up in pain and concentration as he thought about her question.

“Come to think of it, I remember the medical staff coming down as soon as we sent the message to evacuate with their patients. As they boarded a shuttle, they said she would be down with another patient but not to hold the shuttle for her, that she would catch the next one. I’m sorry, Kyra, but I never saw her come down with a patient or by herself. Did you try to contact her on her direct communicator?”

Kyra fought the tears that tried to take over. She wouldn’t cry or mourn her friend. Phee was not dead. Kyra knew it like she knew she herself was alive. When she had her emotions under control again, she re-ran the times she’d contacted Phoebe. Come to think of it, no, she hadn’t tried the direct link, only the medical bay. Hope sprang up as Kyra used the portable intra-communicator to contact Phoebe. She hoped it would still work in the shuttles.

The communicator connected with Phoebe’s direct link, and as Kyra listened, she heard scratching noises. “Phoebe, it’s me, Kyra. Are you there, can you hear me?”

More scratching.

“Phee! It’s Kyra, please, if you can hear me say something… just let me know you can hear me.”

It took a few more seconds, but Phoebe’s weakened voice came on the line. “Hey, Honey Bun.”

Kyra’s stomach flipped with dread. “Phoebe, where are you? Are you hurt? Let me know so I can find you!” Kyra pleaded, not knowing what happened to her friend.

“I’m…I’m… I think I’m in the emergency pathway above the engine room that exploded. I can’t move. I’m pinned under fallen debris. Don’t come for me. You can’t get me out from under all this stuff.”

Kyra saw her pained expression reflected back at her in Mark’s eyes. He was in no shape to help her, and she didn’t know exactly where Phoebe was. Could she find her and get her out in time? It was getting harder to breathe. She put on a brave face. They weren’t going to die, at least not today if she could help it.

“Phoebe, I’m on my way. Keep your link on. I’ll find you.”

The heat from the engine bay became unbearable as she helped Mark out of the room. Kyra wanted to go find Phoebe, but first she needed to get Mark seated and somewhat comfortable.

She had just managed to help Mark turn his body around and away from the fire when the station lurched violently. Mark tumbled out of her grasp and into the steel wall. She cringed as she heard bone crack. The captain lay against a metal support column with his side crushed. She winced when a trickle of blood started a mournful descent down the side of his forehead.

“Mark! Oh no—Mark are you okay? Can you stand?” She rushed toward him down the steep incline of the floor.

“No, stay back!” he said, putting up a blood-smeared hand to stave her off. “The floor is slippery. You don’t have the proper shoes to keep from slipping and falling. You won’t be able to get back up there if you come any closer. I’m fine. Let me gather my faculties, and I’ll come up to you.”

She wasn’t buying it. He didn’t look like he could stand without her help. She inched closer, noting the floor was indeed slippery. Trying to walk down a wet surface with slick-soled flats was not the brightest thing to do, but she had to try. She took another step, trying to find traction.

“Kyra stop—that is an order! Stand down. Don’t come any closer. You have a chance. Go to the other engine room to your left. When you find the two shuttles, follow the emergency directions to engage the homing device. If you can get one of them to work, look for the icon for the auto-pilot mode. Once you engage it, it will offer to set a course for the nearest surface station. Go now!” he yelled, the harshness of his words not touching his eyes.

Hot tears prickled her cheeks before she realized she was crying. She was a grown woman and could do this. One more step, and he gave a warning that let her know her coming any closer would cause him more injury than anything else. With one last look to express her sorrow, she turned to leave.

The pounding sound of someone or something’s footsteps moving toward her caused her body to freeze. What was that?

She looked up through the doors to the side of the engine bay from where she and the commander had just come. She saw nothing. She might be under extreme stress, but she knew something was moving toward her. She wasn’t that far gone. When it was too late to run, she could make out the outline, like a shimmer in the air, of some extremely tall—astronauts?— advancing quickly to grab her.

Oh no, where did they come from?

Willing herself to scramble and leave, she broke away to run up the incline to the other door and engine room. Right before she made it out the door, her body shut down. She couldn’t move anything. What was wrong with her? Kyra willed herself to move her legs in spite of the oxygen depletion. She watched in horror as what looked like a six and half to seven foot foreign astronaut approached her.

Frozen. She was frozen to the spot. Maybe terror and a severe lack of oxygen were starting to play with her lucidity. Maybe this was a hallucination.

The mirror-like shield and helmet hiding his face reflected her terrified and grime-smeared face staring back at her. Maybe he wasn’t real. The suit he wore didn’t resemble any of the countries with a space program. She’d attempt to communicate with him anyway—just in case he was indeed real. Now was not the time to be monolingual either. What could he or the others she now saw come into view be, Russian? Or were they some of the researchers she’d never met before? She couldn’t place them. They were too tall to be anyone from this station. She’d remember almost seven feet tall men walking around. This was too much. She felt herself increasingly overwhelmed as they closed the distance to stand in front of her.

“Who are you? How did you get onboard this vessel?” was all she managed to get out before slumping in one of the men’s embrace.

M
alm held
the tiny female in his arms. He was sure it, no
she,
was female. She looked like a young Terrain with a most appealing amber skin tone. She’d spoken a language that sounded like one that was prevalent on her planet. He felt a thread of pulsing power running just under the surface and yet also sadness for her too. Malm could smell the high anxiety and exhaustion emanating from her—even through his protective suit. No wonder she overloaded and short-circuited herself enough to pass out. As he continued to hold the limp female in his arms, he used his universal interpreter to discover she’d spoken Colonial North American English with a hint of some unrecognizable dialect.

Good, he would change to this tongue, and he instructed the others to do the same. Her breaths were shallow. He took out a breath support mask and gently slipped it over her small head. The air began to flow, and relief flooded him as her breathing deepened.

Good, hopefully the female would live
.

“Malm,” Jalek called out to him. “This male’s vital signs are extremely weak.”

Malm turned to see a male Terrain leaning against the wall. Even though the male now had a breathing mask on, Malm’s senses confirmed he was close to expiring.

“Leave him. We are to scan for survivors. Jalek…” The younger warrior stepped forward. Malm was impressed so far with how he carried himself.

“Yes, Sire?”

Malm would put Tordin’s theory to the test. He would have Jalek handle the task of scanning for survivors and see how he handled it. “Jalek, I want you to—”

The female in his arms began to rouse herself. She mumbled something he was not able to understand. He didn’t want her to be startled and pass out again, so he gave his warriors the signal to remain still and quiet.

“Where am I?” she asked as if coming out of a deep slumber.

She jumped when she heard his voice. He knew his voice was deep, even among his own kind, but he wanted to make sure she understood what was happening. They had all uncloaked themselves when she passed out. He knew she must have seen at least his helmet before, and now he wanted to treat her with the utmost care to avoid causing additional harm or fear. It appeared the Terrains had been through a huge ordeal so far.

He spoke as gently as he could, taking care to use her language. “You are on your failing vessel. We are here to remove you to our craft and attend to your injuries—if you allow us to.”