Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 87050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Plot a collision course with the Prince Hend,” Voss ordered, his voice steady despite the death sentence he had just issued. “Divert all remaining power to the engines and try to get the forward shields up. We’ll punch right through their defenses and detonate our core inside their hull.”
“Aye, sir,” Bavo responded, the sound of furious typing following his words. “Course plotted. Engines at maximum thrust.”
“It’s been an honor serving with you both,” Jorg said.
The ship shuddered violently, and a deafening explosion rocked the Conqueror of Bresla. The force of the blast sent tremors through the metal frame of the pleasure bench, rattling my teeth and bones. I clenched my eyes shut, bracing for what I was sure would be my final moments.
Another explosion, closer this time, and suddenly the artificial gravity went haywire. My stomach lurched as I felt myself becoming weightless, the restraints digging painfully into my wrists and ankles as they kept me from floating away. The sensation was nauseating, like being on a boat in a storm at night, with no way to find my bearings and no end in sight.
Objects that weren’t bolted down began to drift around the room—data pads, discarded clothing, even droplets of spilled lubricant forming perfect spheres in the air. The acrid smell of smoke grew stronger, stinging my nostrils and making my eyes water.
Just as quickly as it had failed, the gravity snapped back into place. The sudden return to normal weight slammed me against the bench, knocking the wind out of me. I gasped, struggling to catch my breath as items rained down around me, clattering against the floor and walls.
From the bridge, I heard a chorus of confused shouts and angry curses.
“What the hell just happened?” Jorg bellowed.
“We’re caught in their tractor field,” Bavo replied, his voice tight with disbelief. “How did they pick us up? I’ll…”
I heard a keening sound from the bridge, something I had never heard before. Then, “No,” Bavo said grimly. “No use. Countermeasures ineffective.”
“Impossible,” Captain Voss growled. “Their technology shouldn’t be capable of this. Not against the Conqueror!”
The ship grew eerily quiet, the absence of weapons fire and alarms suddenly more terrifying than the chaos that had preceded it. I strained my ears, trying to catch any hint of what was happening. The officers’ voices dropped to urgent whispers, too low for me to make out individual words.
Then a new sound filled the air—the deep, resonant groan of metal under immense stress. It started as a low rumble, building to a hair-raising screech that set my teeth on edge. I imagined the hull of the Conqueror buckling under some immense, invisible force, and a fresh wave of terror washed over me.
The creaking and groaning continued for what felt like an eternity. Then abruptly, it stopped. In the silence that followed, I could hear my own ragged breathing and the pounding of my heart.
Suddenly, there was movement on the bridge. Hushed voices, too quiet for me to catch more than a word or two. Something about ‘boarders’ and ‘surrender.’ My blood ran cold. Had the Magisterians somehow managed to board our ship?
Two sharp cracks split the air—the unmistakable sound of blaster fire. I flinched, biting back a scream. Then… nothing. No return fire, no shouts.
A few seconds later, heavy footsteps approached from the ward room. I tensed, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might explode out of my chest. Lieutenant Jorg burst into the comfort room, his face a mask of rage and desperation. His uniform was torn and singed, a trickle of blood running from a cut above his eye. In his hand, he clutched his service blaster, the barrel still smoking from recent use.
His wild eyes locked onto mine, and I saw something there I had never seen before: fear. Pure, unadulterated terror lurked behind the anger, transforming his usually handsome features into something almost feral. He strode toward me, each step echoing in the sudden silence that had fallen over the ship.
“Well, well,” he snarled, his voice raw and strained. “At least I can deny those Magisterian dogs one small pleasure.”
He raised the blaster, pointing it directly at my head. I could see down the dark barrel, a yawning void that promised oblivion. Time seemed to slow, each heartbeat stretching into an eternity. I saw Jorg’s finger tighten on the trigger, the muscles in his arm tensing as he prepared to fire.
A kaleidoscope of emotions washed over me. Fear, of course—primal and all-consuming. But also a strange sense of relief. Perhaps death would be a release from the life I had known, from the endless cycle of pain and pleasure that had defined my existence aboard the Conqueror of Bresla.
I closed my eyes, waiting for the searing pain that would herald the end. Instead, a deafening crack split the air, making me flinch against my restraints. But the sound hadn’t come from Jorg’s blaster. It had come from behind me, from the ward room.