Operation: Marauder
Chapter 16

Rowan brushed back his hair, stealing a deep breath from the planet’s air. It wasn’t the most pleasant smell, damp, musky, but it was different. He wasn’t used to breathing the same air all the time; he actually spent more time breathing recycled air than Arthonian air.

Maliki and Cas had the miner up and running where Maliki had detected the biggest and easily accessible Terbium deposit; now all they had to do was wait.

Rowan’s favourite part.

He paced his side of the perimeter they had set up, listening out for signs of struggle by Jack or Knox’s locations. For a sign for something to do. This planet might as well be barren. Mave informed them there was a settlement not too far from where they had landed, but it was a small inconspicuous group. Most likely traders from other planets exchanging their barely legal merchandise. This planet was as good a place as any to conduct their illegal operations. The Federation hadn’t expanded this far yet and probably won’t until Earth started exploring the corners of their solar system, so there were no patrols to regulate the dealings taking place. The land was so flat they could see any ships landing near them--unless they were cloaked, like theirs was--which made it easy for the outlaws, or whomever they may be, to spot a patrol and hide the evidence before they touched the ground.

A harsh wind blasted across his face, sending a chill through him and made the hairs on his markings stand on end. Unsure why he felt the urge, he glanced over the hill towards their ship. Further than his eyes could see, he saw someone walking along the bog towards the settlement. They weren’t near the cloaked ship, and didn’t appear to be looking for it, so he dismissed it and edged down the hill back to the miner.

He glanced at his watch then groaned. They had only been at it for an hour. Maliki guessed it could take up to five hours to get the amount of Terbium they needed. There wouldn’t be enough on this planet to fix their hyperdrive--unless they wanted to tear apart the entire planet, which was against Federation Law--but there would be enough to fix their sensors and nearly everything else on the ship.

You can survive another four hours. It could be worse. He could be waist deep in the bog doing surveillance, unable to move. Here, he had the freedom to move as he liked, do a lap if he so chose to. His Fever wasn’t so bad now that he wasn’t cramped in a confined space with five other males.

Well, he still felt the burn just below his navel, but he found himself much less irritable. He wasn’t sure why Zoey’s scent still lingered in the ship; scents only lasted a few days and it had been a week since she set foot in it. What he did know, was that it drove him fucking wild. Any hint of her natural scent made the Fever significantly worse, urging him to replace her and claim her as his. Making him irritable over the simplest of things.

The sun was beginning to set when Maliki grunted and turned the miner off. “All right, boys, let’s cart this stuff back to the ship and get out of here.”

He couldn’t have said it soon enough.

Rowan helped Maliki shut down the miner and fold it together. On the count of three, they lifted it and carried it back to the Marauder. Knox and Jack walked alongside them, keeping watch, while Cas and Mave hauled a hover cart full of Terbium behind them. They stored the material in the back of the ship, safely secured in two bins.

Mave went to the cockpit to begin the preflight check. However, a second later, he came back out, straight faced--but since Rowan knew him well enough, he could see the tick in his jaw he only got when he was pissed.

“We. . . have a problem,” he seemed reluctant to admit.

Rowan’s hair stood on end. “What kind of problem?” He did not want to be stranded on another planet. If he had to pick between the two, Earth won by a landslide.

Mave raked a hand through his hair with a growl. “We’re not all here.”

Jack glanced around in confusion, coming to the same conclusion as Rowan did: they were all accounted for.

Mave’s gaze dropped to the floor, and Rowan’s gut wrenched. He had known Mave for ten years and in that time he had been known for his defiance, his complaints, and for meeting death straight in the eye without blinking.

For him to act like this. . .

“What the fuck did you do, Mave?”

Mave locked his gaze on him. “She’s a good pilot. She was just wasting away, locked up in Jack’s room. She deserves better--so I’ve been teaching her how to fly the Marauder. . . and I brought her with us. She flew us here.”

Rowan had been shot, stabbed, betrayed, and felt loss all in the heat of battle; not once did he lose his composure. He couldn’t afford to. His life and his mens’ lives depended on him having a clear mind.

Today, right in this instant, he didn’t give a fuck. The tides of his rage won.

Claws out, he gripped Mave’s shoulders and pinned him to the nearest wall, a foot above the floor. Knox and Maliki rushed to pull him away, barely able to hold him down. Cas stood between them, hands braced to stop Rowan if he went for him again.

“Where’s Zoey?” he demanded around his barred teeth.

Mave, who had done nothing to fight Rowan, pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I don’t know.”

“She’ll have gone to the settlement,” Jack answered, already heading for the ramp. “Let’s go. I want to replace Zoey before sunset--then we can discuss how we’re going to kill her and Mave.”

Rowan much preferred that plan and admired Jack for being so level headed when he hadn’t been able to manage.

“Everyone split up,” Rowan ordered. “We’ll cover more ground. Meet back here in three hours--” Rowan’s estimated time the sun will be fully set “--if we haven’t found her by then, we’ll have to change tactics.”

Even if it meant tearing that town apart, he would replace Zoey. He wasn’t leaving until she was at his side. Later, he would figure out if he should yell at her for being stupid enough to explore an alien planet by herself or if he should hold her close and thank the Architect she hadn’t been murdered or kidnapped by slave traders.

Seeing an alien settlement for the first time wasn’t exactly how Zoey imagined. She had always pictured hover cars, buildings so tall they hid within a veil of clouds, funny-looking aliens with four eyes or something.

That was not the case. At least not for SMX-332.

Zoey still held onto the small hope this planet wasn’t an example for all the others out there. There was nothing fantastical about this settlement. The buildings were made of stone, no taller than two stories, and not constructed to last. The roofs were held together by wooden shingles made from the marsh on the other side of town, where she could barely make the outlines of trees over the buildings.

She’ll give this place credit, though; it was bigger than she had originally thought. The streets, a little muddy but gravelly enough to walk on, wove between buildings in a seemingly maze-like fashion. For one who was used to street signs or general square blocks, it was hugely disorienting and Zoey became lost very quickly.

Sighing, she stopped in front of a vendor stall and debated whether or not it was stupid to ask if the two purple-skinned fellows spoke English. They were surprisingly humanoid, only much taller, at eight feet and gangly. One wore a trench coat made of a shimmery material with a crop top underneath and skin-tight pants, while the other had the same trench coat but had a tee shirt underneath and baggy pants.

They stopped mid-conversation to look at her; they flashed a mouth full of needle-like teeth, and she suddenly became aware of the claws that reminded her too much of Sid’s.

Keep moving, she urged, but it was too late.

They spoke to her, words rolling off their long, narrow tongue faster than Zoey could even try to decipher what they were saying. When she didn’t say anything, they grew frustrated and stepped for her.

“Sorry,” she amended, hands up, “I don’t speak. . . whatever that is.”

The aliens cocked their heads to the side in an eerily predatory-like fashion. A shiver crawled up her spine.

“Where are you from?” one asked, surprising her with English.

“Uh. . .” She was thrown off that the alien could suddenly speak English.

Crop Top frowned at its companion. “Is my UT malfunctioning, Zanain? You talk to the pale-skin.”

“It’s not malfunctioning,” she assured them, “at least, I don’t think it is. What is a UT?” She remembered Mave mentioned she didn’t have one--then left with a bombshell.

The aliens glanced at each other again, as if they could speak telepathically. Maybe they could. “How can she not have one? Everyone has one.”

The other one, Zanain, gestured to the jacket she had borrowed from someone’s quarters; it was big on her, but it was comfy and warm. “She wears Arthonian clothing, but she doesn’t look like an Arthonian.”

Crop Top flicked Zanain with its claw. “How would you know? You’ve never run into one.”

“They’re a warrior race. Does the female look like a warrior to you?”

On the same wavelength, they snapped their heads in her direction and studied her closely with huge black eyes. The look they gave her made her skin crawl. She took a small, inconspicuous step back.

They seemed to notice her retreat and moved around the stall to approach her. “She is a female. Maybe they’re smaller.”

“Nah. I heard their females were stronger, bigger. Where did you get this coat, female?”

She tried not to let their slight towards her bother her, and stood straighter. “I stole it.”

It sounded much more daring than how she really acquired it and maybe they would think twice about hurting her if she could steal from an Arthonian, not that she really understood the implications. Rowan and Mave didn’t really strike her as a race she should fear like these two evidently did.

Zanain sized her up then laughed. ”You stole from an Arthonian?”

“Yes.”

They laughed.

“She may be small, but she is brave.” Crop Top pulled out a knife and gestured to her. “Come with us, female. We will help you.”

“I don’t need your help.” Now was a good time to leave.

However, she wasn’t allowed to take another step away. They grabbed her and dragged her into the tent. Screaming, she fought against them, but they were overwhelmingly strong, and Crop Top easily pinned her down on the table while the other retrieved a weird-looking gun fit to be on the set of Star Trek.

The metal was cold as it pressed to the back of her head, right by her ear. With a hydraulic hiss, a needle jabbed her. Crop Top released her, taking a step back. She automatically reached up for her ear, to feel around the wound. “What the hell did you just do to me?”

“We gave you a UT.” When he put it like that, it sounded like a disease. She really hoped it wasn’t.

“Why?” she questioned. Nobody gave shit away for free.

“You seem lost, little thief. Work for us,” Zanian offered, though it came across more as an order.

“I’m good, thanks.” She moved for the door ever-so slowly. They noticed and blocked the exit.

Crop Top sneered at her, barring his sharp teeth. “You will work for us, little thief. You have our UT, you are our property.”

Fuck. She had to get out of here before Mave found out she hadn’t stayed on the ship like he had told her to--what she was really wishing she had done.

“Does this UT have control over my mind? Will it kill me if I disobey?” She needed to cover her bases before she made a run for it.

Zanain narrowed his cold, shark-like eyes on her. “No. It is a-”

Crop Top slapped a hand over their companion’s mouth, silencing them. “Yes, female. You’ll die if you don’t listen to us.”

Zoey was more inclined to believe Zanain, who had caught on to her naivete a little too late.

Sighing, trying to put on the most defeated façade she could make--it wasn’t easy, she wasn’t known for giving up--she let her hands drop to her sides. “All right. You got me.”

Her fingers curled around the switchblade she had also borrowed from whoever’s room she had raided. It didn’t matter where in the universe you were from, a tent was a tent, and definitely wasn’t good at holding captives.

Just when their guard dropped, she lunged for the nearest wall, knife ready to slice an exit open for her. What she didn’t expect was for the knife to be blazing hot. As the blade cut through the fabric, it caught fire.

She ran.