I raise my eyes.
“By law, you must turn me in – I know you don’t have a choice.”
I might sound contrite, but in truth I’m trying to bait him. If my read on Captain Aelon is even remotely accurate, I’m hoping I can push the buttons of his arrogance by reminding him of what he’s told he can’t do. Aurelians, so I’ve heard, don’t like to hear the word ‘no.’
“No.”
Aelon’s single utterance refutes my assumption.
“No – I do have a choice.” He leans back in his seat, lips curling. “By law, I must turn you in, but you assume I follow the law.”
Oh, Gods – does that mean this is a Rogue ship after all?
Is that a good or bad thing?
I try to keep my voice from stammering:
“Captain Aelon. I need to protect my crew – no matter what.” Since my appeal to the law didn’t work, I try an appeal to his humanity – or whatever Aurelians have that resembles humanity.
“Don’t you have anyone you’d got to prison for? That you’d die for?”
Aelon pauses, looking at me with those slate-grey eyes like he’s in possession of some delicious secret. After what seems like an eternity, he eventually smiles.
“I have two such people, actually.” Then the Captain gestures towards the doorway behind us. “Tasha? Meet my triad.”
The door hisses open and two Aurelians enter wordlessly.
I gasp – which is the only reaction when confronted with two more towering, seven-feet-tall alien warriors.
And these two… Gods!
While Aelon is cocky, polished and arrogant – ever ounce the degenerate sophisticate – his two battle-brothers are anything but. They both resemble beasts.
The two warriors who enter are nearly identical – even by the standards of Aurelians, who all share that marble complexion, massive build and slate-grey eyes. If I didn’t know it was impossible for Aurelians to have siblings, I’d think they were brothers, or twins.
Both warriors have broad, strong faces and short, buzzed hair. Their ivory skin is covered in sweat and dirt, as if they’ve just returned from battle, or hard labor.
One of the new arrivals is bleeding from an open cut on his huge, left bicep. He’s got a crisscross pattern of scars on other parts of his exposed flesh.
The second warrior is adorned with a full sleeve of tattoos – tribal scorpions inked in night-black darkness. Together, the three of them look so disparate – and yet so right together…
Yet they also look like something else – the opposite of the prim, uniformed soldiers of the Aurelian Empire.
Their appearance confirms that Captain Aelon and his triad are not soldiers of the Aurelian Empire, and this warship is not part of the Imperial Fleet.
I’m not sure whether these Aurelians are Rogue, or merely independent – but Aelon has made it very clear that they’re not bound by the strict code of honor and rules that the Aurelian Empire is famous for. These are clearly men who make their own destiny…
…and now I’m left wondering where I’ll fit into it.
“Aelon!” The scarred and injured Aurelian gives the Captain a mock salute – respectful, but also casual and lighthearted. “While you’ve been entertaining, we just cleared the first Scorp nest.” The warrior grunts arrogantly, proud. “I ripped the head off the Scorp Queen myself. It’s sitting in the loading bay, just waiting to be stuffed and put on the wall.”
Captain Aelon lounges back, listening to this report. The warrior continues:
“There’s two more nests of the fuckers to clear out tomorrow.” He grins wickedly. “Should be fun.” Then, finally, the towering warrior’s eyes turn towards me. “Now, tell me – is this the little minx you wanted us to see?”
I shiver as the cold heat of the warrior’s gaze falls across me.
He said Aelon wanted them to see me? You mean this wasn’t a chance encounter? Aelon certainly brought the Wayward Scythe on board because of the cargo we’d stolen – but he hadn’t come looking for us. This immense warship, and all those Reavers and soldiers on the moon below – this is obviously an operation that’s been going for some time. We just stumbled into it.
As my mind races, the second warrior – that tattooed Aurelian - steps forward to study me. I look up at him, daunted – and the other warrior’s words keep replaying in my head.
…is this the little minx you wanted us to meet?
How did these two know I was even here? I’ve had eyes on Captain Aelon since the moment we landed – since before he even met me – and in all the time since, Aelon hasn’t messaged anyone, from what I saw. Somehow, it’s as if his two battle-brothers just knew.
The other warrior approaches, and I can smell the sweat from him as he approaches. It’s not unpleasant – but it’s a deep, heady musk; one that makes me shiver, even as the scent somehow doesn’t offend my nose.
I’m used to the stink of men, but it’s rarely like this. During long trips in dead space – because there isn’t exactly a shower on board my little vessel – we all have to make do with what they call a ‘whore’s bath’ at the tiny sink in the ‘heads’ of the Wayward Scythe – washing our armpits and crotch with a wet cloth. As a result, the five men of my crew get ripe...
But this isn’t the scent of old, unwashed man. This alien smells… right.
“Vinicus,” Captain Aelon drawls. “Meet Tasha.”
This warrior, Vinicus, raises his eyebrows.
“Nothing like returning to a woman after you’ve got your blood up in battle.”
The huge, warrior-beast’s voice is a growl. I shrink back in my chair as he gets closer, looming over me even more intimidatingly than Captain Aelon did.
The other Aurelian just stands back at the doorway, still dripping blood onto the deck as if he
