Fated to the Alien Chieftain (The Klendathian Cycle #3)

9. Roxanne

Chapter 9

Roxanne

Guidance

I double over, retching as I struggle to breathe. The platform feels like an elevator in free fall, and the surreal pull through the vast void of nothingness is too much, forcing me to close my eyes.

Finally, the sensation stops and I’m still somewhere pitch black and quiet. I can feel I’m wearing some kind of mask. A warvisor? The taste of bile at the back of my throat threatens to escape. I can’t breathe, need to remove this thing! As I attempt to pull the mask off, a firm hand grasps my wrist.

“No, Matriarch! You will die without your veil,” the posh voice of an unknown male exclaims.

Matriarch? My body convulses with coughs as I wrestle with the burning bile in my throat. He’s right, whoever he is; the warvisor informs me that the atmosphere is extremely toxic. Where the hell am I? It’s only because of the warvisor I’m able to see anything as the room is shrouded in complete darkness. A dozen or so stooped, frail, and hideously garbed Klendathians glance around nervously.

The room is cramped, with a low ceiling and walls intricately woven with metals, pipes, and tubes running seemingly haphazardly. Some of them pulsate, almost alive, sending a shiver down my spine. Recalling Krogoth’s last words about staying brave for the vision, I take a deep breath to steady my nerves . It’s just a vision. It’s just a vision.

Wonder if the big guy is here? Although I’m sure he would’ve made himself known by now. “Krogoth?” I shout, drawing the attention of the Klendathians.

A Klendathian, a female, stands before me, her identity revealed by the same golden warvisor adorning her face. Her stunning long, glossy hair, resembling the hue of gold, cascades down. “Krogoth? Such a primitive name. Who do you speak of Machsin?” She inquires, her accent also strangely posh, unlike the gruff and direct tones of Krogoth and the others.

A sigh escapes me, disappointed Krogoth isn’t here. Hope he’s alright.

Another Klendathian—a male with brown hair and adorned in an awful, brightly colored plastic jumpsuit shaped like pointy triangles—chimes in, “Matriarch, perhaps you refer to the Patriarch Dagdorix and the others?” He gestures toward the group. “They are not among us.” His words prompt the others to look around, muttering nervously.

Machsin and Dagdorix? Are we playing the roles of their Gods? Inspecting myself, a gasp escapes me in sheer shock. I’m adorned in the same hideous clothes, which could easily grace the runways of a trendy New York fashion show, with an unfamiliar gun strapped over my shoulder, similar to the others. Taking a step backwards, the shock intensifies as I grapple with the awkwardness of newfound height. It feels as if I’m on stilts. I’m in the body of a Klendathian. Not just any Klendathian but their goddess, Machsin!

“Are you well, Matriarch?” the brown-haired male inquires, his voice laced with concern. “Shame Exarcha Dranuxia isn’t here to examine you,” he laments.

The golden-haired female sighs. “Shame indeed. This desperate venture has failed before it has even begun,” she says, while folding her arms.

I glare at the golden-haired Klendathian, annoyed at her defeatism, but she’s oblivious because of my mask. “What are your names?” I ask, looking at the pair.

Golden-hair scoffs “Splendid! And now the Matriarch has lost her senses. Capital!” Her voice is laced with sarcasm.

My eyes narrow with annoyance, and for a moment I consider slapping her. “Shut up and answer my question, you silly ass!” I shout, drawing loud gasps from the others.

“I say Matriarch, most unbecoming!” brown-hair says, shock in his voice.

Who the hell are these people? These scrawny Klendathians are the complete opposite of the rough and burly warriors I’ve come to know and respect.

A black-haired Klendathian steps forward, his clothes not as garish as mine or the other two. “With all due respect, Matriarch.” He bows deeply towards me. “He is Exarch Ecneius” he points at mister brown-hair. “And she is Exarcha Aenarael,” he points at Little Miss Cry-Baby. “And if we don’t hurry, the Corrupters will exterminate all life.”

Aenarael gasps, “Careful, who you refer to as ‘she’ soldier.” Wisps of silver mist escape from her warvisor. “You’d do well to remember your place.”

My eyes widen as the black-haired soldier is enveloped in a silver aura that locks him in place, squeezing the wind from him. Aenarael directs her hands as if conducting an orchestra. She’s doing this somehow!

Ecneius sighs. “How disappointing that the plebeians seek to undermine our ancient traditions in the hour of our greatest need.” He shakes his head, like he’s just witnessed the greatest offence.

My eyes mist green as my heart pounds in my chest. “Release him!” I demand. A part of my consciousness extends into Aenarael, searching, probing her mind. I can feel her thoughts, the feigned offence, the sadistic pleasure, and underneath it all, the barely restrained terror threatening to overwhelm her.

I push a little harder, deeper into her mind, placing thoughts of courage, respect, and admiration. How I’m doing this is a complete mystery. The actions feel natural and instinctual, as if I’ve done it a thousand times before.

Aenarael gasps and shudders like she’s just struck by a bucket of freezing water. “At once Matriarch,” she says stiffly before the silver aura covering the soldier is released. He falls to the ground, choking and wheezing for air.

Ecneius glances knowingly between me and Aenarael before he gives a curt bow in my direction. “We live to serve, Matriarch.” Butterflies well up inside my stomach as I look at my hands in disbelief. To have such power at my fingertips feels exhilarating, but how could anyone live with such control over others and not abuse it?

“Now, Aenarael, assume I have amnesia, and explain to me who these Corrupters are and what we are doing here?” I say. My question draws nervous glances and mutterings from the others until I raise a hand for quiet.

“Of course, Matriarch.” She nods before clearing her throat. “Two months ago, at the far reaches of our empire, a discovery was made in the Dominus System on a desert world. Hidden deep under the dunes near the planet’s core was an ancient alien structure, unlike anything we’ve ever seen, completely mechanical. A team of our best scientists were sent to study it, but we lost contact soon after. We believe they activated its defenses and were overrun, allowing the machines to steal enough Elerium to power their structure, which we now know is a ship... Their Mastership.” She gestures towards the walls. “This ship, in fact.”

I reach for my necklace before realizing it’s not there. This vision must be the last battle of the Gods taking down the Machine God. I feel my pulse rising and my hands shake. That means I must fight the freaking Machine God...now! I really wish Krogoth was here. “Continue Aenarael,” I say, hoping for some clues to be revealed.

Aenarael nods. “The Corrupters spread from planet to planet, solar system to solar system, exterminating all life by releasing their nanophage, crushing our once glorious empire, until they darkened the very skies of Klendathor two days ago. And we’ve been fighting a losing battle ever since.”

“If we are the dominant power in the universe, how have we lost every battle so far?” I ask. There must be a way to beat them?

Aenarael chuckles. “Not every battle, Matriarch. You and Dagdorix have guided us to modest victories through our latent powers. However, the Void Bringer corrupts all machines. Our advanced technology either turns against us or is disabled entirely. Once they infiltrate a network, control is seized. Battle cruisers self-destruct, communication is disabled, power is cut off, space station oxygen supplies are shut down, and even our own automated defense guns turn on us. It encompasses everything you can imagine. The more advanced the system, the more vulnerable it becomes.”

Ecneius chimes in. “They corrupted our weapons network twelve hours ago. Denied us use of our disruptor cannons and shields. Now,” he gestures towards the rifle on his back “we had to raid an old museum for these primitive things!”

That explains the guns which wouldn’t look out-of-place back on Earth. This really is a desperate last stand. A burning question pops into my head, that I’ve had since Sunaisor and this was probably the only time it could ever be answered. “What about the warvisors... I mean veils. How are they not corrupted?”

Ecneius bustles in, eager to provide an answer. “They can corrupt individual veils, but they can’t cross our psionic network. If you recall Matriarch, at the consulate, I pleaded for all our systems to be switched to psionic? Hah! If only they had listened, we would have obliterated these foul machines in an instant. You remember, don’t you, Aenarael?”

Aenarael scoffs, “How could I forget when you remind us every five minutes?”

Ecneius shakes his head, seemingly not noticing Aenarael’s dismissive tone. “Imagine ignoring my recommendations, of all people. Unbelievable.”

Leaning forward with a beaming expression, I listen intently, committing every detail to memory. I can hardly wait to share all this with Harkus and the others, but first, I need to navigate through this chaos. Turning back to Aenarael. “So how did we end up here, inside this Mastership?” I inquire.

“You Matriarch detected some... presence aboard this ship. You theorized it as the central control for the Corrupters, a leader caste that once destroyed, may disable the others. Patriarch Dagdorix believed he could open a temporal disruption, breaching the Corrupter’s gauss shields, bringing a strike team onboard to destroy it.” Aenarael waves her hands incredulously. “Seems he was half right. He and the rest are probably lost in the void now... With all due respect, Matriarch.” She bows deeply.

We definitely need to find and kill this, Void Bringer. I take a deep breath, resigned to confront the probably terrifying thing. Interesting, she mentioned Machsin can detect it though. Wonder if I can feel it now? I turn my attention outward, my eyes obscured by the green mist rising. All matter fades away and there’s only the void and sources of light, sources of life.

My group of soldiers shine the brightest, a spectrum of different colors, their sense of fear and apprehension plain as day. I move my awareness further through the void, drifting weightlessly through the darkness, searching for anything. Something flickers on the edge of my consciousness, a sense of terror and panic emanating from the distance.

I float through the void towards the powerful cocktail of emotions, seeing sources of light dance like wisps of flame in the dark. They pulsate and move as if struggling to stay alight against a strong gust. Some flicker and splutter out of existence, their hue swallowed up by the infinite blackness for all eternity.

A purple light blazes in defiance, rather than a flame of candle. This source is like the raging bonfire at Draxru. it illuminates and throws back the void in a burning inferno. Yet even it seems to shrink bit by bit, becoming less and less fierce. This must be the Patriarch Dagdorix and his group. Clearly, in a desperate fight for their lives. I have to be quick.

I drift away from the lights, each one a life, a story, a legacy. Leaving them all behind in search of the Void Bringer, as quickly as I can in this strange otherworldly existence. It’s not long before I already miss the comforting strength of the purple inferno, now that I’m once again surrounded by the all-encompassing, oppressive darkness. Expanding my awareness, I hope to find this Void Bringer. Would a machine even show in such a place?

A nauseous feeling builds within me, perhaps not nausea because that is a thing of flesh and blood, and here I’m only an essence of consciousness, it’s more a feeling of wrongness, of something unnatural that does not belong and offends by its very existence. In the distance I can feel it, but there’s no light, just more darkness. I focus, looking for it. I can feel it. It should be right there!

Then, barely visible, a sliver of a fragment of a piece. A minute light shimmers as it’s sucked into and consumed by blackness. A darkness that hides within darkness. It ripples and recoils at my approach, but it cannot escape. It wishes to hide, unseen and consuming the unsuspecting, like a bloated chameleon.

But with Machsin's powers, I know in this domain we are the master; I feel it as I look upon the almost pitiful bloated mass of darkness, surviving off scraps, scurrying in the dark. Curious to learn more, I push into it. It squirms and shudders as it wishes nothing more than to remain unseen. Inside it, I hunt for emotions or feelings, but it’s totally empty. It’s the antithesis of these things feeding off and consuming them. I try to force commands and suggestions into it, but it feels like throwing a splash of water into the sun as it just greedily gobbles it up.

It surges towards me, eager for more, but I’ve seen enough and bring my awareness back into the physical world. I blink back beads of sweat, taking in my surroundings once again. “Void Bringer is a good name for it,” I state to no one in particular.

“Indeed Matriarch, it was you who named it thus.” Ecneius chuckles, his eyes misting a golden color. “In five minutes, this room will be overrun with thousands of service drones,” he says, with panic in his voice.

The other soldiers swap nervous glances with each other, not sure what to do. At the back of my mind, I feel the location of Dagdorix and the Void Bringer, not knowing the layout of the ship, but could point in their directions without a moment’s pause.

“Dagdorix is alive but under attack,” I say, pointing somewhere to my left. “Let’s meet up with them and take it from there.” My words bring a mummer from the group, as I sense a flicker of hope bolster their spirits.

I lead the way, walking awkwardly, not used to having such long legs and being over seven feet tall. But with each step upon the hard metal floor, I become more accustomed to it.

Before long, we come to what appears to be a door, but it is circular, closed, with overlapping sheets of metal spiraling tightly. I almost walk into it, assuming it will open automatically.

I glance around for any consoles or controls, but there’s nothing. This ship wasn’t built for life, but for machines. “Does anyone know how to open this door?” I inquire, only to see people looking away, avoiding my gaze.

Aenarael tosses her long golden hair to one side, and moves up to inspect the door. “Allow me, Matriarch.” The eye slits on her warvisor glow silver as mist escapes her mask. The creaking sound of metal groaning against a great strain can be heard, as a tiny silver aura is wedged into the central spiral of metal sheets. I watch in wonder as Aenarael moves her hands apart, slowing as if they are pulling the metal sheets open. The silver aura expands and expands, forcing open the door inch by inch.

Aenarael breathes heavily, the effort clearly taxing her abilities, but before long the metal sheets are fully forced open, some bent and misshapen. “Well done, Aenarael,” I commend her, sensing the mixture of pride and worry flowing from her.

I move into the next room, my head darting from either side as I hold my breath, expecting some hidden danger to reveal itself. This room is much like the last, low ceiling and cramped, with strange metal walls that seem almost alive with pulsating pipes and tubes, but unlike the last room, this one is much longer.

“We will be attacked here,” Ecneius says, his voice full of fear as he holds a hand to his head. “A few service drones. No one dies.” A wave of fear, quickly followed by relief, washes over me, which is mirrored by the group.

Can this guy really read the future? It’s amazing to witness the ancient Klendathians and their godlike powers. It seems impossible, making me question if this vision is an actual event from history or some fanciful tale, like an action film back on Earth.

The sound of the others un-slinging their firearms over their shoulder prompts me to do the same. With trembling hands, I examine the white-colored gun, recognizing its trigger, clip and long muzzle. I never used guns back home, but this one looks much the same as the ones I’ve seen on TV. My heart thumps in my chest as I place my finger over the trigger, weapon at the ready... I think. “Be careful everyone,” I say, inching forward.

There’s not a whisper as we move forward along the cramped walkway, just the sound of muffled warvisor breaths and boots striking metal ground. This room is long, but I’m surprised when I cross halfway with no sign of danger, thinking Ecneius’ warnings might be the product of a frightened mind and overconfidence in his own abilities.

Someone coughs noisily, causing me to nearly shoot in a panic. I turn towards the offender, to see most of the others are also glaring at him with weapons drawn. He holds up his hands apologetically. “Sorry,” he whispers.

“Shush!” Aenarael hisses, sounding almost like a snake. Suddenly, my warvisor fills my senses with notifications of movement. Unfurling themselves out of the walls, large spider-like robots with a green central light and cutting arms skitter towards the group at speed.

“There!” I shout, pointing at one. But there’re many others joining, knowing we’re here now. The snap and bang of ballistic fire echoes out in the cramped room, causing me to wince at the sheer loudness. The flashes of the muzzle are extra bright, with the warvisors’ enhanced light mode engaged.

My mouth feels dry as I bring my rifle to my shoulder, aiming at one machine. Just a vision, Roxy, just a vision. I squeeze the trigger lightly, but am unprepared for the intense recoil as the weapon nearly jumps from my hand, which causes me to grip the trigger harder, causing more recoil. “Ahh!” It’s all I can do to hold on to the thing as the spark of my bullets careens from the floor to the ceiling.

To my amazement, I notice I’ve somehow hit and destroyed two of the machines in my uncontrolled burst. “Yes!” I roar out, watching them shatter into tiny pieces. The others are faring well, as we stand firm, huddled in a tight group, each side flashing with muzzle fire. The snap of bullets and the sound of metal breaking apart rings out.

I finally have my gun under control, wedging it into my shoulder tighter this time and firing short bursts into the skittering mass of machines. A smile crosses my lips, watching my shots break them apart, keeping us safe. There aren’t many left now, perhaps a couple dozen as they hurry crawling over the broken parts of their comrades. Despite their speed, the long distance of the room gives us enough time to whittle them down before they can reach us.

Knowing the danger has almost passed, I reach out with Machsin’s powers, probing for some consciousness or thoughts from the machines, that maybe I can influence, but there’s nothing, only cold unfeeling metal. Then, as suddenly as it started, there’re no more of the creepy arachnoid machines. I take a deep breath, happy to see none are hurt. “Good work, everyone!” I shout.

Some laugh and cheer, while others solemnly reload their weapons or inspect their suits for damage. “As I predicted,” Ecneius says, puffing out his chest. “See how absurd it is that the consulate never listened to me?”

Aenarael shakes her head. “It’s hardly a predication, if you’re using your psionic gifts!” She exclaims.

A laugh escapes me, still feeling giddy from our victory. “Yeah, that’s like predicting the ending of a book you’ve read before.”

Ecneius scoffs, “You cannot comprehend the magnitude of mental and psionic power it takes to process and reinterpret the infinite possibilities of the universe. If you endured but a fraction of the strain, your feeble minds would be frayed into pieces.” He turns to look at me. “Oh, with all due respect, Matriarch, I intend no offence, of course.” He bows deeply.

“None taken,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “They’ll know we’re here now, so let’s get moving.”

I turn to continue walking through the room, as I carefully step over the remains of the machines. Fearing they might spring back to life or reassemble themselves or something equally horrible; I glance at Ecneius to see if he looks worried. But he’s casually checking his weapon while walking at a steady pace, not too concerned. I sense Dagdorix’s party getting closer now, maybe a few rooms away. I wonder if Krogoth is among them? The thought brings a smile to my face.

Towards the end of the room is a split path, yet to my surprise it’s not left or right, but up or down, both leading toward the other party, giving no sign which path is correct. “Ecneius?” I ask, hoping for his guidance.

Ecneius rubs his chin, noticing the dilemma. “Interesting.” He taps his foot as gold mist escapes from his mask. “Up leads to their engines, and down leads to a hanger, where we’ll find Dagdorix.”

“Surely by knocking out their engines, victory will be ours?” Aenarael chimes in her voice, full of excitement.

“Hah! You prove once again Exarcha your lack of foresight,” Ecneius says, folding his arms. “We’ll find only death in the engine rooms,” he pauses briefly, a hand to his head. “The hanger... It’s the only thread that can still bring victory.”

I take a step down.

“Victory sounds good to me.”