Page 8 of Bonded Queen: to the Alien Warlord Triad

“Okay. See you at the armory. Anyone else?” I ask, but the blank expressions tell me everything I need to know. I rush out of the huge hall, going deeper into the palace. It feels good to move. It feels good to be doing something other than sitting and waiting for death.

Thousands of Org-Ships…thousands…

The voices on the coms-link sending out the emergency broadcast were shaking as they told us, and then they signed off a final goodbye. I could hear chairs and tables scratching the floor as they barricaded themselves in.

I’m running without realizing it, rushing up the spiral stairs I’d carefully carried plates up, holding whatever Brianna requested, at any hour of the night. I rush to her chamber doors and smash my shoulder into it while turning the knob.

Thud!

It’s locked. It’s never locked, for me. My shoulder aches, and I curse under my breath.

That bitch!

She actually took the time to unlink my DNA from it before they escaped, for no other reason than she didn’t want me to snoop in her room when she wasn’t there. She knew she was sentencing me to death on this Gods forsaken planet when she left and she actually took the time to lock me out of her room.

“Agh!” I yell in frustration, and pound at the doors with my hands, smacking my palm near the handle in hopes I can jostle the lock. I know it’s a fool’s errand, that I have no chance of getting through the hard oak, but all my panic surges into action.

“Save your strength.”

The calm voice comes from the stairs as I turn, catching my breath. “Katarina?”

“Call me Kat.” She’s hefting an axe easily, as if it was tailor made for her hand. “Stand back. I thought she might have done something like this.” She hefts the same axe I watched her methodically cut a tree down with, and I can remember those endless thuds until it was finally felled.

I stand back. She swings without wasted effort, the axe head sinking into the door above the lock. It chips. She pulls back and hits it again, and again. The wood splinters. One last heft, and the door wobbles, creaking and holding on by a thread.

“It’s all you. You know this room better than anyone,” she says, ushering me in. I push the door hard, and it creaks open.

I feel like an intruder as I creep into Brianna’s bedroom. She was here just two days ago. It’s strange being here without her incessant, plaintive voice finding something to whine about or some petty task to order me to do. There’s no cloying smell of her perfume, already faded to just a hint emanating from the pillows of the bed.

The closet doors are wide open. Clothes are tossed. She packed in a rush. There’s a beautiful blue dress, one I was so jealous of, on the floor like a rag.

The only thing that dress would be good for now is adorning my corpse.

I shiver and rush to her bedside table, pulling the drawer open. “Yes, yes!” I yell, grabbing the backup keycard. The sirens wail, but I barely hear them, able to block out the useless sound with my action.

“Good work,” says Kat, cocking her head towards the stairs. She lets me go first. I whirl around the spiral staircase dizzyingly fast. I’m at a half run as I rush out the entrance to the bottom floor and down a long stone hallway where the guards liked to sit and gamble with each other when they were off shift.

Summer’s waiting outside of the thick doors of the armory. When she sees me coming, she gets a nervous, hopeful smile. I raise up the keycard and she pumps her fist. It’s a much-needed small victory.

I just hope Paulus and his entourage left something usable behind.

I scan the card and the thick doors slide open. I’ve never been in the armory, only catching glances as I walked by. I never idled long around these parts, because I didn’t particularly like getting wolf-whistled at by the guards. The three of us walk into the dusty room. On the left wall are mismatched pieces of grey, reinforced armor, strong enough to block a punch or glance off a knife thrust. Kat walks straight to the back wall. There are empty, rifle-shaped spots, with only a sparse few guns.

Kat turns. “They took everything las-powered. We’re going old-school.”

“Old-school?” asks Summer

“Conventional. These fire bullets, not laser beams.” She grabs a long-barreled rifle from the wall and tosses it to me. I snap to attention, catching it, and hold it at arm’s length, scared it might fire. I’ve never wanted to touch one before. Guns made me nervous, like a dog that could bite at any moment.

Now it’s a lifeline. Kat hands another, near identical weapon to Summer, then hefts one herself in a practiced movement.

“First rule. You treat it like it’s loaded. Always. See here? That’s the safety. Push itthisway when you’re ready to shoot.” It clicks mechanically, then again as she pushes it back to the safe position. She opens the rifle up. “They shouldn’t be loaded yet. But you never know.”

“How do I load it?” I ask, getting over my initial nervousness. There’s no time to be squeamish.

“Asking the right questions.” She walks to a crate, putting her rifle down to pry it open. “Perfect. Pauly boy liked to boar hunt. He goes overkill on the beasts—these red tipped are armor piercing. Black tipped are useless. They’ll bounce of Scorp. These must be decades old, but they’ll still work.”

“How do youknowall this?” asks Summer, awe in her voice.

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