Page 36 of Possessed By the Dragon Alien
Madrian remembered that mission. A generational space station housing over fifty thousand civilians. The Axis had classified them as rebels harboring fugitives. The station had offered to surrender, to hand over any alleged criminals, but the council chose by consensus to destroy it completely. He had not joined the majority’s decision, nor had he objected.
He’d questioned the wisdom of that action at the time, though he never voiced his concerns.
“I watched fifty thousand people die in the span of a fewpiks,” Rien continued. “Families who’d lived on that station for generations. Children who’d never harmed anyone. The Axis called it a surgical strike against terrorism.”
“And you decided to rebel,” Madrian said. “Quietly.”
“I decided to save who I could.” She turned back to her console as if she couldn’t bear to hold his gaze any longer. “I’ve been feeding intelligence to resistance groups ever since. Ship movements, planned raids, anything that might help them evacuate civilians before the Axis arrived.”
Nena moved closer. “That’s incredibly brave.”
“Or incredibly stupid,” Rien said with a bitter smile. “The punishment for such a thing is death. Slow, agonizing death.”
Madrian studied her profile as she worked.Twelvemig-cycles. For twelvemig-cycles, his most trusted prime watcher had been operating a double life right under his nose. The tactical part of his mind was impressed by her skill. The part that was still learning to feel, wondered why he wasn’t angry.
“How did I not know?” he asked, more to himself than to anyone.
“Because you didn’t want to know,” Rien replied quietly. “I think part of you was already pulling away from the Axis before you met Nena. You never questioned my sources too closely. Never demanded to know how I gathered certain intelligence so quickly. It was, honestly, why I chose to work closely with you.”
She was right. He’d begun to have doubts many cycles ago, long before Nena arrived at Central. Or maybe it was a weariness of the death and destruction, the secret deals and backstabbing, that made him just feel detached about it all. It had been small things at first, like orders that seemed unnecessarily cruel,victories that felt hollow, reports that didn’t align with what he observed in the field.
“You could have investigated and exposed me at any time,” Rien said. “But you didn’t. I think something in my independence resonated with you.”
“Perhaps it did.” Madrian sighed and acknowledged a strange sense of relief. “You’re an excellent spy, Rien. I’m glad we’re on the same side, now, because you would be a formidable enemy.”
“Now I can stop pretending to support missions that make me sick,” she said. “It’s liberating.”
“You’re part of the rebellion,” Nena said with a small smile. “And a hero.”
Rien waved a hand. “No, I’m definitely not that.”
“The ones whose lives you saved would disagree,” Nena said in that quiet, weighty voice that always drew his attention. “They may not know who you are, but they know someone inside the Axis shared information that saved their lives. If it were me who survived an Axis attack because of a tip you shared, I would think about you every single day of my life.”
“Thank you.” Rien’s expression softened. “Both of you. For giving me the chance to finally do the right thing openly.” She flashed Madrian a skeptical look. “I never thought I’d be here withyou, though.”
Madrian laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back, gazing at the ceiling and marveling that he was thinking the same exact thing about her. “No?” he said idly. “I was that much of a lost cause?”
Rien shrugged. “You were raised in that evil. Steeped in it. You never knew anything different.”
Ah, yes. Steeped in it, he was. And it would take a long time for him to fully purge the poison that had stained him right down to his bones. He glanced at Nena and knew he would,though. He had to. If he couldn’t be redeemed, he’d never be worthy of her.
Rien had turned back to her console. “I’m reaching out to my contacts now. The Zaruxian ship has been moving constantly to avoid detection, but I have someone who should know their current location.”
While Rien worked, Madrian found himself watching Nena. She’d returned to the viewport, her hands pressed against the clear surface as she gazed out at the stars. The blue advisor’s robes had been replaced with clothes from Rien’s emergency stores—dark pants and a simple tunic that made her look younger.
“How long before you make contact?” Nena asked.
“Could bepiks, could becycles,” Rien said. “Underground communications are slow by necessity. Too much speed attracts attention.”
“Then we wait,” Madrian said.
The next several cycles passed in a strange suspension of time. Rien’s ship was small, designed for speed and efficiency rather than comfort. The crew quarters consisted of three narrow sleeping alcoves, stacked on top of each other.
Rien’s was the largest one, and Madrian was not inclined to boot her from it. As much as he would have liked to rest with Nena snuggled in his arms, it was profoundly impractical. Also, impossible. The lack of gravity made it necessary to sleep under a secured cover, and that was not made for two people. It wasn’t even made for one as large as him. So, when he slept, it was poorly, and they did so in shifts, just in case a communication arrived.
The ship’s recycling systems maintained breathable atmosphere, but the air felt stale after the first cycle. Food came from standard ration packs and tasted like processed protein and synthetic nutrients. But none of that mattered. For the firsttime in his adult life, Madrian had time to think without the constant pressure of Axis duties weighing on his mind. Although he’d grown accustomed to luxury and perfection, this was the closest thing to paradise he’d ever known, because he was free. And he was with Nena.
He found himself thinking about choices. About themig-cycles he’d spent believing he was serving a noble cause, only to discover he’d been a weapon aimed at innocents. About the guard on Axis Central whose life Nena had saved by stopping him from killing unnecessarily.
