Alien Touch Read online

  Beastmen of Ator Book Two:

  Alien Touch

  By

  Kaitlyn O’Connor

  ( c ) copyright by Kaitlyn O’Connor, March 2019

  Cover art by Jenny Dixon, 2013

  ISBN 978-1-60394-

  Smashwords Edition

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  Author note: Italicized text is used to denote conversations between the Furians using telepathy. Italicized text “in quotes” is used to denote the fact that the Furians are speaking their language and saying things the heroine doesn’t understand—so she can’t respond.

  Chapter One

  For the first time since she’d been selected to head up Moon Mission III to complete the establishment of a moon base, Major Amber Trujillo realized this could be her first, and last, space mission and that she might not make it home again.

  It was the sort of thought that, on rare occasions, would flicker through the mind of people who instinctually realized they were facing an extinction level event almost at the very moment that it appeared on their horizon.

  But she’d spent years training for this mission, been passed over for one after another while she waited with whatever patience she could muster and worked harder to favorably impress the people that made the decisions.

  So, when she crossed the line into the dead zone on the dark side of the moon and spotted something that shouldn’t have been there, her first impulse was to report.

  “Houston! This is Major Trujillo aboard Mission III. There’s a bogey at my ten o’clock, closing fast. Do you copy?”

  Static greeted her when she released the com unit to allow for a response.

  Dread tied her belly into a tight knot, because she knew she’d passed into radio blackout moments before she’d spotted the bogey.

  And it was closing really fast.

  Nobody was ever going to know what had happened to her.

  “Houston! I repeat, bogey at my ten o’clock and closing fast. Initiating evasive maneuvers.”

  The capsule responded beautifully, but she could see even before she checked that it wasn’t enough or quickly enough.

  Her response time could’ve been better, but she had a feeling it would have made exactly zero difference.

  Because whatever it was, it wasn’t some random piece of space junk. It followed her when she made the maneuver, matched her movements.

  It was manned, or it was being controlled by someone who had eyes on her.

  The latter seemed absolutely impossible given that she was on the dark side of the moon.

  But they could have been laying in wait for her, ready to spring into action.

  The Russians, she wondered? The Chinese?

  She couldn’t think of anyone else that would have both the capabilities, the balls, and the motive to attempt to take down a U.S. space craft.

  Especially one that was manned.

  But then, they’d waited until she passed into radio blackout to make their move.

  Forcing herself to focus on the moment and speculate when she could safely do so, she initiated a second maneuver.

  It shadowed her, altering course to match hers.

  And it was damned near on top of her by now.

  Struggling with the urge to throw her harness off and dash to an observation window, she tried another gambit, activating the jets on the target side of the vessel, hoping she could either push off of the oncoming ship or divert it from hers.

  Neither happened.

  Instead, she felt a hard jolt and heard a metallic clang from outside her capsule.

  The sound sent another shockwave through her.

  Grappling hook popped into her mind. She had no idea why, but perhaps it was the fact that she could feel, not just read it on her instruments, that whatever it was had drastically altered her speed and trajectory. She was being … tugged … somewhere. She didn’t know if she was going down or she was being pulled deeper into space.

  She wasn’t going to make it back into the light, she realized. She wasn’t even going to get the chance to send out one last message.

  “Houston! This is Major Amber Trujillo. I’m under attack. The ship has been captured—by some means unknown. All attempts to evade have failed. I am being pulled from moon orbit. If by some miracle you receive this message, please give my family my love and tell them my thoughts were with them when the ship went down.”

  She was glad she’d managed to drop her crew down to the surface where they would be working on the base for the next three months.

  At least they were safe.

  She thought.

  Whoever it was had initiated a sneak attack.

  Even they, whoever they were, wouldn’t be brazen enough to attack a U.S. base fully staffed with security and construction personnel, though. She was certain of that.

  And relieved.

  It flickered through her mind to wish she didn’t have to face whatever it was she was facing alone, but as comforting as that might be for her, it wasn’t likely to save her and she could honestly say there was no one she knew that she wanted with her to suffer the same fate as she was looking at.

  * * * *

  The Kuatain fires were still burning when the Phoenix triad, Alaric, Luki, and Serge, headed toward their ship for the final test of manhood. The drums were still beating out the refrains of the call to arms—more symbolic now—indeed, in living memory—than in days before, but it still made the blood surge inside them, made their hearts pound out an echoing rhythm, made their chests feel tight with fear and anticipation and excitement … and pride in their tribe.

  They had come of age this Kuatain, been accepted within their flanx and the Tribe as juveniles no longer, but rather full grown men, warriors, protectors of the people.

  They had strutted for the females—all of those as yet unclaimed, from the girls in the first bloom of womanhood to the more mature maidens from seasons past who had not settled yet on a triad.

  They had admired the grace and beauty of the young women seeking a mate as they had twirled and leapt and gyrated sensuously in the mating dance and felt the mating heat in response.

  They had survived the trial by fire and now must prove their prowess as warriors before they could approach the fathers of their chosen for permission to woo their daughter.

  Alaric, the alpha of the clan, paused on the gang plank to look back.

  It was nearing dawn and the far horizon was blushed with the warmth of the rising sun. Feeble streams of morning light glinted off the pointed spires of their great city, making it almost seem as if their sacred grounds, in the center of the ring of modern city, was the dark maw of some great, toothy beast.

  That image sent a prickle of uneasiness creeping along his spine, lifting the fine hair there and sending a faint shiver through him.

  He dismissed it uncomfortably, stepped inside the ship and used the mechanics within to raise the gangplank, stow it, and seal the hatch.

  Luki and Serge were already seated in the chairs on the bridge, checking the systems with an air of impatience.

  “Dagon’s clan and two others are already airborne,” Luki said pointedly.

  Alaric narrowed a look at him, but held his tongue. Patience was required of a leader. He might be undisputed alpha. He might resent having his authority questioned, but they were more effective as a team and that required that he respect the rights of his clan brothers. “I know,” he said coo
lly.

  Serge shot a quick look at Luki. “I told you he had a plan.”

  Luki glared at him and tightened one hand into a fist for a moment before relaxing it. “So are you planning on telling us before we get wherever we’re going?”

  Alaric’s lips tightened in irritation. “I didn’t want to discuss it within hearing range of the others in case they decided to join us. If we get there first, alone, we’ll be able to count coup with something valuable enough to insure we get the bride we want.”

  Serge grinned at him appreciatively. “Good thought!” Then he frowned as if searching his memory. “What bride do we want?”

  Luki studied Alaric thoughtfully. “You’re thinking we can get Lilly of the Flanx Nunian?”

  Alaric felt his face heat uncomfortably. “She is beautiful, granted, and well worth our consideration, but I am thinking we might be happiest with Kalie of the Flanx Par. She is nearly as beautiful and seems … to have a sweetness Lilly lacks besides being very smart.”

  Luki’s eyes narrowed speculatively. “But we will try for Lilly first, right?”

  Alaric cleared his throat. “Not if we remain here discussing the possibilities without securing a bride price equal to her position in the tribe.”

  Irritation clouded Luki’s features. He was tempted to inform Alaric that he’d already pointed out that they were late leaving and behind half the others who were heading out to make coup. “So … we are in a hurry? Or we are not?”

  “Are we ready to take off?” Alaric asked as he seated himself at the controls.

  “Yes,” Serge responded cheerfully. “We have checked everything … three times while we waited.”

  Ignoring the comments of both, Alaric revved the main engine, initiated anti-grav when the RPS reached escape velocity, and shot from the surface of Ator and into space with a speed that challenged the inertia of their anti-grav seats.

  Luki struggled to pretend it didn’t bother him, although it did, and he had to resist the urge to clock Alaric when he recovered enough to think about retaliation.

  Serge made no bones about his feelings on the subject. He screamed and since his voice hadn’t completely settled in his transition to manhood, it was high pitched enough to sound a little girly.

  Then he laughed hysterically.

  Luki punched him. “Get a grip!” he growled and then glared at Alaric. “What the fuck was that all about?”

  “My hand slipped on the accelerator,” Alaric responded coolly.

  “Well I’m gonna beat the fuck out of you if it happens again,” Luki snarled. “I almost shit myself. If you cannot pilot any fucking better, let me pilot the ship.”

  Alaric shot an obscene gesture at him. “You are welcome to try … although that didn’t work out well for you the last time, did it?”

  Luki struggled with his temper and the urge to bellow something juvenile in response. “Well now that we are well on our way, where the hell are we going?”

  By and large, their telepathic abilities were an asset. It had helped them survive and triumph over many enemies in the distant, turbulent past of the Furians. It was still a lifeline in times of great need, but it could be a serious problem when it came to competition among themselves.

  Alaric judged that they had enough distance, however, to make their plans without the other competing clans ‘overhearing’. “The Kenataurians,” he said succinctly.

  Serge gaped at him in incomprehension.

  Luki simply stared at him as if he was waiting for the rest of the joke. “The Kenataurians?” he repeated after a long moment.

  Alaric glared at him, struggling with anger and resentment over being questioned about a decision. “They are all going to make coup on the Basinini. That increases the chances that someone will make a misstep and they will get caught and it decreases the chances that they will all manage to get something valuable enough to be acceptable as a bride price!”

  This time it was Serge who frowned, but thoughtfully. “That is the objective? I thought we were only going to count coup to make our place in the tribe? I am not at all certain that I am ready to settle.”

  “Me either,” Luki added, somewhat challengingly.

  Surprise then outrage filled Alaric. “So you want to wait until all of the choice females have already found a mate and choose from among those least desirable?”

  Serge’s face crumpled with dismay.

  Luki seemed more resentful than anything else, but, clearly, he realized there was no point in arguing the matter.

  They descended into an uncomfortable and not particularly companionable silence until they were almost halfway to their destination. Then they began to discuss strategy—which they had no serious problems agreeing on. Alaric was the alpha and had proven himself a capable leader. Luki, as usual, threw in any suggestions that came to mind, but he wasn’t inclined to argue when Alaric dismissed his ideas as too risky.

  Per the plan, they landed their craft on the dark side of the Kenataurian moon. This was close enough to allow them to beam to the planet’s surface and back when they were ready and had found what they wanted, but far enough, they hoped, to prevent detection of their raid.

  There were no blaring alarms or running soldiers when they materialized inside the mansion of the leader of the dominant realm on the planet—which they took to be a good sign.

  The hitch came when they’d searched the place top to bottom and found nothing of any great value to them.

  Unwilling to go away empty-handed, they choose a few trinkets at random and withdrew from the mansion to discuss the unexpected dilemma.

  “Do you think they knew we were coming?” Serge asked uneasily.

  Alaric frowned. “Not in the sense that they detected us,” he finally said decidedly. “They would have met us if that was the case.”

  “Maybe they figured out when we hold the Kautain?” Luki suggested.

  That thought had occurred to Alaric, but it wasn’t as if they could do anything about it—except, possibly, travel further afield to raid. But that meant they would be among the latest returning and the last to have their choice of bride—which defeated the purpose to his mind.

  He hadn’t considered that it would be a problem to hold back until most of the others had left because the Kenataurians were closer. “So … we assume they expected us to come and they have moved their most valuable things to a location they consider secure.”

  “Well! How are we to figure out where they have hidden it?” Luki demanded. “We will be about this all night and then we will be caught and go home in disgrace!”

  Alaric thought and thought and finally had an epiphany. “We will search their treasury! They know we have no need or interest in their trade currency so they will have hidden their most valuable things in a place least tempting for us!”

  “Or mayhap they have hidden it in the sewers?”

  Alaric narrowed his eyes at Luki. “Good point! You will check there and Serge and I will check out the treasury.”

  “I was not serious,” Luki objected, disconcerted but with anger dawning.

  “But you made a very good point. You check there and Serge and I will search the treasury.”

  “I think we should all search the treasury, together, and then we can do it more quickly.”

  Alaric studied him for a long, long moment and finally relented.

  No one was more relieved than Luki to discover that Alaric’s guess had been right on target! They found the very things they’d come for within the vault in the treasury.

  Naturally enough, they weren’t familiar with Kenataurian technology so they had no notion of the true value of what they found, but they had a keen eye and knew the fakes they found from the real. Each of them chose the one thing they thought must be most useful and therefore most valuable and they left the vault in good spirits.

  Unfortunately, they seemed to have tripped some sort of alarm that none of the three had m
anaged to detect.

  They were met outside the vault by a wall of security officers—or warriors of some sort—heavily armed.

  Careful not to damage their treasures, they set them down on the floor and braced for battle.

  It was a battle they never fought.

  A sound pierced their minds, their psyche, that they had never heard before—the screams of terror of the tribes of Ator. And when they were as abruptly silenced, the Furians of the Phoenix Clan folded into total darkness and collapsed on the floor between their enemies and their enemy’s treasure.

  Serge was curled into a fetal ball, clutching his head tightly with both hands as if he thought it might explode, or fly off, when Alaric regained consciousness. Blinding pain assailed him the moment he attained awareness, though, and it took a while before he was able to pierce it and even begin to process anything. At that, he fought a battle with the pain first, struggling to relegate it to a distant part of his mind and subdue it.

  The moist plunk of dripping water transcended the pain first, drawing him to open his eyes and search for it.

  He saw it was falling drop by drop from the stone wall into a small basin perhaps a foot below it and across the tiny room from where he lay. He struggled to his feet and staggered over to it, dipping his hands in the basin to scoop it up to drink and bathe his face and the back of his neck.

  It was reviving, life giving.

  The pain receded to a dull throbbing behind his eyes and he turned to survey the room where he had found himself.

  Everything about it spelled prison.

  He’d been in enough of them to know what they smelled like.

  Fear and death.

  They might not all look just the same, but they all smelled the same.

  Luki was sprawled limply, with every appearance of lifelessness, behind Serge and Alaric felt an uncomfortable thud of his heart against his ribcage. “Luki?” he managed, his voice hoarse, raw, unrecognizable even to him.

  No response.

  Feeling abruptly as if he was going to puke, Alaric swallowed a little convulsively, staggered toward Luki, and fell to his knees. The moment he touched his triad brother, Luki jackknifed upright with a jerk, almost like the movements of a puppet, and looked at him with glazed eyes that held no recognition, no emotion.