Page 6 of Possessed By the Dragon Alien
Even the plants outside were different: less docile, more mature and difficult to coax. Root clusters fought back when she tried to extract the infected parts, coiling around her hands with hairy filaments that burrowed through her gloves and left faint red welts on her palms. The specimens she’d been tasked with collecting were slippery and smelled horrendous. The goo they secreted made the welts burn even worse. And as for abnormalities, she hadn’t worked here long enough to know what they’d look like.
The cycle spun on and her tasks were winding down,finally. The light above the dome dimmed, and still she dug and packed and catalogued, until she registered that the other gardeners had long since retreated. The quiet in the gardens had distilled tojust the dome’s hum. She realized she was alone, save the distant flicker of security bots at the far end of the gardens. It was nearly a full cycle past shift-end, and her hands throbbed with fatigue. Her uniform—rarely pristine, even in the greenhouse—was now marbled with orange streaks, black grime, and the faintest shimmer of blue pollen. She cursed quietly and tapped at the datapad to log her completion, desperate to reach the rest station and clean up before anyone could see her in this state.
She hustled down the mosaic path, boots clicking in purposeful syncopation, a brittle ache in her spine. Rounding the bend at a large sunken pool, she caught motion near the fountain—a pair of tall figures, their silhouettes sharp against the milky night-cycle light. She recognized their attire instantly as that of the Twelve. Their uniforms were immaculate black with a sheen like the scales of aprikka rat, and they appeared to be deep in conversation. She jolted to a halt, her pulse hammering as she remembered Lulit’s advice to disappear.
There was no elegant way to vanish. She darted left, off the main path, and wedged herself behind a tangle of green- and pink-striated fern and some tall silver grass. The stems left sticky lines across her cheek and the pollen stung her nose, but she crouched low, willing herself invisible. The two officials did not pause their low, urgent discussion. That had to be a good sign, at least. She watched their hands, their posture, the odd tilt of one’s jaw, but then the taller of the two leaned in and said something in a clipped dialect.
He appeared to be of the same species as the overseer at the settlements from her old life. His aqua-colored scales glinted like jewels. His wings were massive and powerful and slightly spread. They made him look bigger, more menacing, and he wore his dark, nearly black, sapphire hair swept back from a cool, aquiline face. The other, a painfully thin older female, hissed back at him and slashed a long, narrow hand throughthe air. She was not intimidated by him in the least. They were arguing about something.
Thathadto be good. If they were arguing, they were less likely to have noticedher. She’d wait for them to move away, to dismiss the possibility that a worker might be lurking in the foliage…
She was about to exhale a small breath of relief when a pair of icy silver eyes shifted from the face before him to directly where Nena hid. It was as if nothing lay between her and this member of the Twelve. As if he could see straight through the ferns and grasses that she thought hid her pretty well. His gaze hit her with the force of a cold wind on a winter morning—freezing and ominous, with a smack of existential dread mixed in.
Nena did not move as her pulse kicked up to a painful thud. It sounded so loud to her, she wondered if the male could hear it all the way over by the fountain. She did not even blink. Her lungs ached with the effort of holding her breath. Her mind whirled with the dark possibilities of punishments she was sure to receive for being dirty and being noticed by one of the highest authorities in the Axis. But the male—who very clearly saw her—turned his gaze back to his companion with a smirk that might have been a lip twitch, and a slight quiver of his massive wings. The two resumed their low conversation, but Nena could feel the burn of attention lingering on her, like an invisible brand.
When theyfinallymoved on, walking toward the central tower, Nena waited another full fivepiksbefore emerging. Her uniform was beyond salvaging. Her hands were raw and sticky, and her arms trembled with the aftershocks of adrenaline. She made for the relief station through the back service tunnel, keeping her head bowed and eyes on the composite floor.
Inside, the rest station was harshly lit and lined with rows of clothing recyclers and hygiene pods. A few other workers lingered in the corner, speaking in low voices.Theiruniformswere clean and their faces relaxed. Nena ignored their stares and stripped off her filthy outer layer, shoving it deep into the disposal chute, hoping the machines would destroy any evidence before a supervisor could see it.
It was too late for that, of course. She’d beenseen. As she stood in the opaque hygiene pod, shaky from hunger and exhaustion, she stripped down to nothing and turned on the device to the highest cleaning setting. Her mind replayed her interaction with the member of the Twelve. He’d been quite tall, and powerful. Hot, forced mist sliced over her skin in waves, removing all the sweat and dirt that she’d accumulated during the shift.
She rested her forehead on the side of the tube and shut her eyes. What would that male member of the Twelve do to her? Or had he already forgotten about her transgression? His gaze had been like a knife—silver and sharp and lethal. But there was something about him that made her unable to turn her mind away from him. A weariness to the set of his shoulders and a trained hardness to his jaw.
He was all angles and coiled strength, butsomething wild runs under the surface of that one, Nena thought, spontaneously, surprising herself. Logic rejected that notion, but if there was one thing Nena knew in her bones, it was that her gut feelings always told her the truth. That member of the Twelve had made her heart pound, and it wasn’tjustfrom fear.
If the situation had beenvastlydifferent, she’d say he was handsome. She’d say something about him was familiar in an ancient, forgotten way. If the situation were different, they would not be enemies. They’d be…
The cleaning cycle ended and along with it, Nena’s musings on the most lethal individual she’d ever encountered. She shoved them away and exited the pod. Nudity in this space was common and accepted, and Nena snatched up a fresh uniformfrom the racks. She put it on and hurried directly toward her cell. Food could wait. All she could think about was staying out of sight fromallofficials and hoping against hope that the member of the Twelve who’d seen her had forgotten all about her by now.
FOUR
Madrian guided Chancellor Taghi away from the fountain with a light touch to her elbow. The elderly female’s complaints about the Slavik Arena’s profits grated on his nerves, but he kept his expression neutral. His mind refused to focus on her words about rebellious fighters and property damage. Instead, his thoughts circled back to the Terian female crouched in the ferns—to the way her green eyes had widened when she realized he’d seen her.
“The arena’s betting fees are down thirty percent,” Taghi said, her thin voice rising. “We cannot afford to lose revenue in the entertainment sector, not after the loss we just suffered in the Dovan star system. Five S-class warships destroyed.” She hissed in disapproval. “Incompetent officials should never have engaged. They were completely outgunned.”
“The arena situation will be corrected,” Madrian replied. He angled them toward the tower entrance, hoping to end this conversation quickly. His wings itched to spread wide and fly far from this place.
“Correctedhow?We also have a farming penal colony that’s rebelling, a brothel that’s harassing inspectors, and afekkingraider who’s interrupting our trade routes.” Taghi’s small, ink-blue face pinched with disapproval. “You need to speak with Emissary Ezi, who promised to get more ships but hasn’t. He listens to you. We simply don’t have the resources to spread out like this.”
He let Taghi rant. Even through the leaves, something about the Terian had struck him hard. Perhaps it was the way she’d gone utterly still, like prey sensing danger, yet her eyes had held steady. Not the terrified, darting glances of most workers, but a deep, measured gaze that seemed to take in everything. Her light green hair had caught the artificial evening light, and for a moment, she’d looked like some ancient creature of myth—dangerous and beautiful. Most unsettling was how his dragon had stirred beneath his skin at the sight of her, as if recognizing something his conscious mind refused to acknowledge. He’d turned away quickly, but the image of her stayed burned in his thoughts like an afterimage that wouldn’t fade.
“Are youlistening, Madrian?” Taghi demanded.
“Every word.” He wasn’t. He was thinking about green hair and golden freckles and eyes that held mystery and secrets. “I’ll tell Ezi and Bendahn to have someone speak to the arena officials to get the fights back on track.”
Taghi’s mouth pursed. “See that you do. I can’t get through to them. I’m concerned that we’ll see a full-scale revolt there. Can you imagine the fallout? Escaped fighters spreading dissent.” She threw up her small hands. “Containing that would be impossible.”
She was right. It would. And since Taghi led all propaganda efforts, the burden would fall to her to hide the Axis’ failure.
They reached the tower entrance. Madrian opened the doors and was grateful when Taghi swept inside without further comment. He watched the chancellor disappear into the lift before turning back to survey the darkened gardens. The Terian was long gone, but he could still feel the weight of her presence.
93-A. That wasn’t her name. She had a name she used with those who knew her. A name that wasn’t a designation stamped on her neck by the Axis. For reasons unknown to him, he wanted to know what it was. His feet wanted to carry him down the path where 93-A had crouched among the ferns. The urge to seek her out, to see her up close without leaves between them, struck him as both foreign and dangerous.
He shook his head sharply. What was wrong with him? She was just another prisoner. One of thousands under his authority. He had no business wondering about her name, yet his mind kept circling back to that moment their eyes had met—to the spark of recognition he’d felt, as if some dormant part of him had awakened.
He stalked toward his private quarters, his wings rigid with tension. The corridors blurred past as his thoughts spun in unsettling directions. The Terian had broken protocol by allowing her uniform to become soiled. He should have reported her immediately. Instead, he’d deliberately drawn Taghi away. He’dprotectedthis Terian. For the life of him, he didn’t know why.
Inside his rooms, Madrian paced the length of his viewport. The gardens stretched below, empty now in the artificial night. Somewhere in the workers’ cells, the Terian female slept. Or perhaps she lay awake, her heart still pounding from their encounter. The image rose unbidden—her face smudged with soil, hair tangled with leaves, those remarkable eyes…
