Alien in Charge, page 1
part #1 of Warriors of Gehar Series
Alien In Charge
An Alien Bodyguard Romance
Lili Zander
Contents
Alien in Charge
1. Keomi
2. Jehan
3. Keomi
4. Keomi
5. Jehan
6. Keomi
7. Jehan
8. Keomi
9. Jehan
10. Keomi
11. Keomi
12. Jehan
13. Keomi
14. Jehan
15. Keomi
16. Jehan
17. Keomi
18. Jehan
19. Keomi
20. Keomi
21. Jehan
22. Keomi
23. Keomi
24. Keomi
Epilogue
A Preview of Alien Beast
About Lili Zander
Books by Lili Zander
Copyright © 2021 Lili Zander.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Many thanks to Miranda for her sharp eyes.
Cover Design by Covers By Combs
Alien in Charge
I have better things to do than babysit a human. And her cat.
Someone has attacked the Human Federation Ambassador in Gehar territory, and out of an abundance of caution, the Empress has assigned me to protect the human until the culprit has been caught.
The new Ambassador, and her kitten, Luna. (Short for Lunatic.)
Yes, seriously. I, Jehan D’arana, Shield of Gehar, have been reduced to guarding a cat.
Then I meet the Ambassador, and everything changes.
Because she isn’t a stranger. She’s my ex. Keomi Hearne.
The woman that got away.
The woman I want more than ever.
But every time I try to be alone with Keomi, her kitten is there. Watching me with a sinister sneer as I make my move. Tripping me up. Dive-bombing me from the top of a cupboard and scratching my face. (Not that a Gehar warrior would ever think to complain about a little blood.)
And then, the situation goes from bad to worse. Someone’s seriously trying to kill Keomi. Her work is sabotaged. Her staff is poisoned, and her skimmer is blown up.
This assignment just got very real.
I am Jehan D’arana, Shield of Gehar. No matter what the wickedly adorable kitten may think, I’m in charge. Nothing is going to keep me from protecting the woman I love.
1
Keomi
I have a bad feeling about this planet run, and it’s not just because we’re going to steal a corpse.
Let me count all the ways this could go wrong. For starters, Earth Federation Space Fleet has no jurisdiction on this planet, not any longer. Sure, my team discovered HF-47T and did its initial survey, but as soon as we reported that it was human-compatible, seemingly uninhabited by an advanced sentient race, and potentially a Grade A habitable world, we were off the case, and we moved on to the search for the next planet.
Petosa Exploration won the settlement contract for HF-47T. They renamed the planet Michelina (the head of Petosa, Micheline Petosa, likes to stamp her name on everything), and they sent in an exploratory team to assess the terrain.
Which is where things went wrong. Last night, we received the news burst. Every single member of the Petosa team was dead of mysterious causes (no further details available), and Michelina had been placed under a ten-year interdict.
Ten-year interdicts are not good news. Something went so badly wrong that no one is allowed to step foot on the planet for ten years.
In other words: Don’t go to HF-47T, not unless you want to risk dying a horrible death far from home.
Except we’re Space Fleet. Risking death on a strange planet far from home is practically our job description. Plus, and more importantly, one of the dead people on Petosa’s team was ours. Garen Hillcraft had retired two years ago, but prior to his retirement, he’d been a xenobiologist on my crew.
I’ve been a Space Fleet soldier for fifteen years. I have one cardinal rule. We don’t leave people behind. Not when they’re alive; not even when they’re dead.
Garen was a good person. He deserves a funeral.
In the shuttle bay of my ship, I survey the all-volunteer team. Like Garen, Hera Lenexa is a xenobiologist. Bella Ortiz is primarily a geneticist, but she also keeps us from going crazy. Thom Carney and Sarit Sukkasem are soldiers, there to keep the scientists out of trouble. “This is off the books,” I warn them, not for the first time. “If Fleet Command finds out, we’re all going to be in trouble.” So much trouble. “If Petosa Exploration finds out we trespassed on their planet, it’ll be even worse. They will get us fired, they will fine us into bankruptcy, and they will ruin our lives.” I’m not exaggerating. Micheline Petosa is widely known to be a vindictive bitch. “You don’t have to come; I can go alone.”
Hera lifts up her chin, steel in her dark eyes. “Garen was my friend,” she says flatly. “I’m coming.”
Thom nods in agreement. “I appreciate the warning, Captain Hearne. But Fleet Command doesn’t keep us alive. The code does. We leave no one behind.”
They cannot be dissuaded. Stars knows I’ve tried. I take a deep breath. “Very well. Let’s get going.”
HF-47T (I refuse to call it Michelina) has a breathable atmosphere, and human-friendly temperatures. You think that among billions of stars, that would be fairly common, but no. It’s a rarity. We’d been lucky to find it.
Even so, the planet isn't exactly safe. No planet is, really. The flora and fauna looked unlike anything we'd seen before. It had a feel about it. It had felt dangerous.
We head down to the surface in a pod. To be safe, we land two kilometers away from Petosa’s site, and make our way to their installation on foot.
Walking through a jungle in full protective gear is no fun at all. The last time we were here, we’d dispensed with the heavy-duty stuff fairly quickly. This time, we’re taking no chances. Call it caution, call it paranoia. Either fits. I’m excruciatingly aware that Petosa Exploration sent thirty people down to HF-47T’s surface and they’re all dead.
Bella checks the instrumentation readings as we walk. “The levels are within range, Captain,” she says to me. “We could take off our helmets.”
I shake my head. “Not yet.” I hate being helmeted. I'm ever so slightly claustrophobic, and it always fills me with relief when we get the all-clear and I can take it off. But it’s too risky. Petosa encountered something that made them slap a ten-year interdict on this planet. We can’t take any chances. “They stay on.”
We arrive at the Petosa site. The layout is Space Fleet standard. A protective dome encloses the entire compound. Inside, the various buildings are arranged in a hub-and-spoke model. Crew quarters are located on the periphery, and the command station is in the middle.
I lead the way to the nearest airlock, the others behind me. The news report had no details on how the explorers had died. They could be anywhere. But protocol dictates that if there’s a threat, you fall back to the dome and reassess.
Garen’s body is most likely in the compound. I hope. If he’s out there in the jungle, we’ll have no way of finding him.
The dome is unsealed, which sets the hair on the back of my neck on edge. Something really doesn’t feel right here, but I can’t put my finger on what it is.
Cycling through the airlock, we make our way to the crew quarters. They’re empty, all of them. I exchange a glance with Thom, and he jerks his head toward the command room. I nod agreement. We walk in single file down long gray plastrete corridors, making our way to the command room. As we get closer, I start to smell something. It’s not the chemical whiff of the filtration system.
No, this is something else. I smell bodies. Decomposing bodies.
Hera squeaks, a small sound of distress. I glance at her. “Are you okay?” I ask gently. The xenobiologist is young. She’s only been in the field for two years. This will be hard for her. “There’s no shame in waiting outside.”
She gulps. “I’m fine, Captain.”
I survey her for a long second, and then nod. “Onward.”
We find the scientists in the command center.
They’re dead. I knew they would be, but seeing their bodies sprawled on the cold plastrete floor of the room brings it home somehow. They’re not all wearing helmets, but all of them are in protective suits.
Not that it did them any good. The bodies look desiccated. As if something sucked them dry.
Sarit and Thom move to flank the exits, their hands on their energy weapons. Hera’s face wobbles for a second, and then her training takes over. She starts to methodically scan the room for alien lifeforms.
Bella bends to examine the body closest to her. She beckons to me, and I walk over. “Something doesn’t seem right about this, Captain,” she says, her voice thoughtful. “The crew is suited. If they felt unsafe, why stick around? Why not evacuate and reassess?”
Sarit overhears the conversation. “They took shelter here,” she says. “But from what?”
&nbs
“I found Garen,” Hera calls out from a corner of the room, her voice vibrating with shock. “Over here. Captain, you’re going to want to see this.”
I hurry over, notice what she’s staring at, and almost lose the contents of my stomach.
Garen’s body has been torn open, and thousands of wriggling green worms are greedily sucking on his flesh. Each one is as thick as my thumb and as long as my arm, and they are feeding on my friend.
Fury tears through me. I grab the audio frequency transmitter. “Shields up,” I warn my team, and then I turn it on. A pulse of sound, beyond the human threshold of hearing, rolls through the room.
It has no effect on the humans, but it does on the worms that are devouring Garen’s body. They hiss and wriggle agitatedly, and then they flee, pouring away from him in neon green waves.
Thom raises his energy weapon, his face grim, and he aims it at them. A flash of blue light fills the room, and they die. “Captain, I recommend we get out of here,” he says. “Before we encounter more of those worms.”
I stand in the middle of the room for one long instant. Emotions assault me from every direction. Garen was a good friend. Nobody believed that the daughter of miners from Robben could grow up to be a Space Fleet captain. When I’d been promoted, there had been a lot of resistance, but Garen and the rest of my crew had been steadfast voices of support, right from the start.
And now he’s dead.
I didn’t want to leave his body behind. I wanted to make sure he received a proper funeral. But now that I’m here, in the middle of the Petosa Command Center, I realize I owe Garen more than that. I owe it to him to find out what happened here.
“Bella, Thom, please load Garen’s body on a stretcher,” I order, moving to the central computer. “Dr. Lenexa, we didn’t see those worms when we were here before. Please get a sample.”
I slide a datastick into the nearest port. A pixel display materializes in mid-air. “Access code required,” an AI voice says in Universal.
I plug in a standard Space Fleet access code. “Denied,” the AI responds.
Argh. So much for doing this the easy way.
I was hoping not to risk ship-to-surface comms on this mission, but there’s no choice. The data here could be important. I slap my comm and connect back to the Prestige. “Arten, are you there?”
My ship’s technical specialist responds in less than thirty seconds. “Captain Hearne. What do you need?”
Arten isn’t supposed to know about this mission, but I realized a long time ago that attempting to hide information from the hacker was pointless. “I can’t get into this computer. You wouldn’t happen to have a list of Petosa access codes, would you?”
Arten has an answer; he usually does. “Sending them to you.”
“Thanks.” I disconnect the call and plug in the most likely code into the computer. “Access granted,” the AI trills. “What can I help you with?”
I start to download the logs from the past two months. The screen shows the progress bar. It feels agonizingly slow. I shift from foot to foot as I wait, my feeling of unease coalescing to dread.
That's when the worms start dropping from the ceiling onto our hair.
There’s no time to ensure the data download is complete; whatever I’ve managed to retrieve is going to have to do. I grab the stick, and we run.
Anders Duran, the second-in-command, is pacing the shuttle bay when we dock. “Thank fuck you’re back,” he breathes. “Captain Hearne, Admiral Greyson wants to talk to you. I told him you were doing repairs on the exterior of the Prestige and couldn’t be interrupted, but you better comm him right away.”
My heart leaps to my throat. Melkor Greyson doesn’t like me, so this isn’t a social call. I’m overdue for a promotion, but it’s been three years and he hasn’t promoted me, so I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.
It’s got to be about our unscheduled trip. How did he find out?
I call the Admiral from my personal quarters. “Admiral Greyson, you wanted to talk to me.”
“I wanted to talk to you two hours ago,” he replies icily.
Thank stars for Anders’ quick thinking. Exterior maintenance of a deep space vessel is one of the few things that take priority over my commanding officer. “My apologies, Admiral Greyson. I was—”
“I don’t care,” he interrupts. “I have an assignment for you. It’s something a little different from what you're used to. As you’re undoubtedly aware, Nefrid is rapidly becoming uninhabitable. Getting their citizens resettled has been difficult.”
“Yes, Sir.” That’s an understatement. Nobody wants the humans from Nefrid. Earth Federation has had to plead, threaten, cajole…
“However, we got lucky. The Geharrim agreed to take ten thousand refugees.”
“The Geharrim?” I don’t understand. Nefrid is a human world. The Geharrim are an alien race.
“It is unorthodox,” he admits. “But the Geharrim have plenty of space, and we are running out of options. Which brings me to your assignment. For whatever reason, the Geharrim are displeased with their current Ambassador, and have asked him to leave their territory. Diplomatic Corps is short-staffed and needs time to find a replacement. They approached Space Fleet for help. I suggested you.”
“Me? But I don’t know anything about the Gehar Empire.”
He glances down at my file. “It says here that you trained with some Geharrim at Fleet Academy.”
I’d done more than train with Jehan D’arana. So much more. Fifteen years ago, I had an intense, torrid affair with him. An intense, torrid, secret affair. I’m pretty sure Admiral Greyson doesn’t know about it. “The interspecies program only had one person from Gehar,” I reply calmly. “And that was fifteen years ago. I don’t think it qualifies me to—”
He dismisses my concern with a flick of his hand. “You can learn,” he says. “All the information you need will be sent to your tablet.” He stares at me. “I’m counting on you, Captain Hearne. Taking ten thousand refugees is a good start, but it’s not enough. I need you to convince the Geharrim to take ten thousand more.”
What?
“The Gehar Empire has nine sparsely populated outer planets. Nine stable, human-friendly worlds. You know what a prize that is. Earth Federation desperately needs this alliance to work.”
If this is such an important alliance, why send me? I am totally unqualified for this job.
He leans forward. “As you know, there is a vacant Vice Admiral post. Get the Geharrim to take the additional refugees, and that promotion is yours.”
He doesn’t need to say anything more. I’ve been in Space Fleet for fifteen years; I understand how it works. It doesn’t matter if this is a task that I’m completely unequipped to do. If I fail, I will be discredited.
“Take a fast ship to Kissura right away. They’re expecting you in three days.” He’s about to end the communication when he remembers something. “Oh, by the way. There will be a cat waiting for you when you get there.”
I’m not sure I’ve heard him correctly. “A cat, Sir?”
“Yes,” he says impatiently. “A cat. We need all the help we can get, and I've heard that the Empress of Gehar is fond of them.” His expression says that he doesn't understand the attraction. “Good luck, Captain Hearne.”
When he’s gone, I take a deep, steadying breath. Admiral Greyson is playing politics, and I’m his pawn. If I succeed in getting the Geharrim to accept the refugees, it’s a huge win for Space Fleet, and for him. A way for him to one-up Diplomatic Corps. On the other hand, if I fail, he can push me aside. “I didn’t really think she could do the job,” he’ll say. “I mean, she is from Robben, after all.”
