Page 1 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Chapter 1
Dracoth
Guidance
IpeerthroughtheBattlebarge’sviewport, the crushing weight of my glorious destiny settling on my shoulders. Yet it’s a weight I can bear—have borne my entire life. The metallic floor beneath my boots rumbles as the ship maneuvers through the void. Klendathor, with its blazing purple sun and moon, grows smaller with every breath, stirring a question within me.
Will I ever return?
“I forgot how bad this ship smells,” Princesa chimes beside me, her petite nose wrinkling in disgust as she loudly inhales the recycled, oily air. “And all the rust...” Her gaze sweeps the command bridge, lingering on patches of corrosion in thecorners. “Ugh, couldn’t you have paid someone to clean this place up? A fresh coat of paint, maybe? Some elbow grease?”
Elbow grease?
“Resources are scarce,” I grunt, a reminder she already knows. In truth, it poses the greatest threat to my endeavors. That distasteful mercantilism may stifle my ambitions, where scores of enemies and void-born horrors could not, makes my fists clench with frustration.
“In other words, we’re broke,” Princesa sighs, absently stroking her pet cyloillar, which clacks lazily on her shoulder. “Why couldn’t Arawnoth bond me to someone rich? Someone with space yachts made of gold,” she muses, a touch of weariness in her voice.
I glare down at her, my expression conveying my contempt at her disappointing greed.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she grins, her eyes sparkling silver. “I wouldn’t want anyone else but my big, sexy murder husband,” she giggles, clinging to my arm. Her pleasing soft curves press against me, stirring my Rush downward, as she moans suggestively. “Even if you are a space hobo,” she titters, dousing the spark of my desire with icy mockery.
I ignore her chaotic mix of praises and ridicule—a heady cocktail only she could brew.
“Nexarn, are the junkers still present?” I ask, turning toward the short, blond warrior.
I froze Balsar’s pathetic Tuskarian heart with terror the last we spoke.Will it be enough? Or have they fled in my absence?
The navigational console flickers to life, casting an azure glow over the dim, blackened metal of the bridge. Nexarn remains silent, his hands expertly darting over the controls, focusing in on the nearby sectors displayed.
Surprise floods me, almost curling my lips with amusement. Already, I spot the myriad blue dots pulsing with promise—my loyal vipertails.
“They remain, War Chieftain,” Nexarn replies, his voice flat, devoid of any emotion—a corruption afflicting all the youth—all but me. Or did Harkus speak the truth? Am I altered in some way? The thought gnaws at me, an unsettling worry that threatens to sink my gut into my armored boots. I dismiss the useless thought with a sharp command.
“Keth, bring us into range,” I order, gesturing toward the black-haired warrior. His hands fly over the navigational controls, sending a slight tremor through the ship. The hyperdrive engine groans, struggling to turn the megatons of battered, blackened arcweave.
A remnant from the past carries our glorious future.
The twinkling stars and swirling cosmic dust pass by the viewport as the ship cuts through the vastness of space—not with the dazzling blur of hyperspeed, but with the steady hum of basic propulsion needed for this distance.
“Oh, there they are!” Princesa exclaims, her voice alight with excitement. She points toward the emerging specks, glittering like murky stars in the dark expanse, growing clearer and larger with every passing second.
“Are you really going to be working with those creeps?” she scoffs, her face scrunching in distaste as if she’s just eaten raw snarlbroc jelly.
“My... creeps,” I growl, struggling with her strange human word.
“If they come near me again, I’ll pop their heads like grapes,” she sneers, her eyes flashing in the dim blue and purple light.
Her fierceness pleases me, but she has nothing to fear from them. The motley assortment of ships drifting into view resembles space debris: Tuskarian light cruisers, Jungarianhunters, Glaseroid harvesters, and more. Their designs are as varied as the lesser aliens are themselves. Together, they form a makeshift armada of transport vessels—primitive, armed with basic ballistics and pulsar weaponry. Each individually weak and useless, but as a swarm? They could prove useful.
“Nexarn, contact Balsar. His War Chieftain demands his presence,” I command, eager to hear if he’s procured more crew or supplies. “Also, wake Ignixis. Have him meet us in the war room.”
“At once, War Chieftain,” Nexarn replies, his hands gliding over the glowing controls.
“Come, Princesa,” I urge, leading her toward the exit with a firm hand.
I brace myself for the inevitable complaint about her name not beingPrincesa.But to my surprise, she moves without protest through the swooshing black metal door.
Good. She finally accepts who she is.
