Page 90 of Alien Soldier

I have to crawl through old vines as I move, grabbing them by the fistful and tossing them away. Even if this thing is alive now, it must have been inert for centuries—millennia, maybe—and that sends another shiver up my spine. I snag a sample to bring back to Taraven and Bekah, knowing I’m not going to be remotely useful when it comes to analyzing this stuff…if I ever even make it back.

The good news is that the space looks exactly like my vision indicated it would, so the sex wall hasn’t steered me wrong yet. The tunnel widens and the voice fades when I stop touching the edges, and I shake my shoulders as I gaze forward.

There’s been work done here; the path is clear, with footsteps and the sway of tails in the dust. I attune my senses to the echo of cracking stone, and I pick up on the sound of talons clicking on the floor.

Light continues to zip across the wall, along the tangled vines. There’s no way around—no convenient ledge to climb up on, no maintenance shafts or secret tunnels.

If I run into anyone here—which I’m thinking I will—I’m going to brute force my way through.

I swap my crossbow over to my left wrist, taking my knife out of its sheath with my right. Quick, quiet, violent; it’s the only way I’m going to get through this.

A taloned foot comes around the corner, then an unwitting face looking backwards.

I run forward, staying low and quiet, my sprint barely making a sound on the dusty floor. The Second House soldier snaps his eyes toward me, inhaling sharply, but I’m already on top of him.

I jam the blade into his ribs and twist, then send a crossbow bolt into the soft spot under his jaw. He gurgles out a breath, blood bubbling past his lips as his buddy swings his tail at my ankles. I hop over it like I’m jumping rope, grabbing him by the neck to send my knife into his fringe, which flares dark purple before it starts to bleed.

They’re not wearing helmets or armored bandoliers; they weren’t expecting me, and I know all the Skoropi weak spots.

Thanks for helping me hide, sex wall.

I don’t have time to hide the bodies—nor do I know where I would put them, or how to pick them up. I square my shoulders and keep moving, listening closely for the sound of voices behind me or clicking talons ahead. None come.

The mission is to get to the comms room. Anything after that is an added bonus—for now, we just need reinforcements. Once I get there, I have to contact Jaya and maybe get Jokahn onboard with a rescue mission.

I have to rescue Malix. Ineedto get to him.

But he would kill me if I went straight for him without making an effort to deactivate or at least reclaim this weapon.

There are the voices, though—casual at first, then panicked. I must have popped out into a major thoroughfare, though I have no idea how many people are here or how big this place is. Talons click behind me, getting closer, and I know they’ll catch up soon if I don’t hustle.

I fall into a sprint.

My guiding light zips along the wall to my left, then jerks into a room to my right. I saw this place in my vision—rigged up with wires and Skoropi tech, the comms station I was looking for. I leap inside and frantically wave my hand in front of the control panel beside the sliding wooden door, glad to find that it looks just like the ones on Jaya and that I can read the Skoro as it populates onscreen.

Close.

Lock.

“Lock!” I scream when something heavy smashes against the door.

I hear it click into place…and there’s no time to waste.

I spin around and run to the comm setup, laying my hands on it and jerking my head up to read the instructions. Another familiar setup—just like on Jaya, just like home. I search my mind for the codes I’ve spent hours memorizing, Skoropi serial numbers and letters scrolling through.

“Work…” I whisper as the connection loads. “Work, damn it!”

The connection chimes.

A weight slams against the door again, then a high-pitched whine zings through the air.

Almost out of time, and I’ll need my focus to fight my way out.

The holo-screen flickers, then morphs—and an achingly familiar face greets me. His eyes flash purple, then pink, then dark crimson, his jaw dropping.

“Frankie,” Taraven whispers.

“I’m sending you coordinates,” I say, my words rushing out. Fuck, I hope he gets all this with his translator—or at least that his English has gotten good enough that he can pick everything up. “We need backup. This thing is bigger than we planned, they have Malix, and they’re about to get me too.”

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