“Okay. If you can somehow get it here faster, I’d really appreciate it.”
He doesn’t respond, but I get the sense that my request would require a miracle. Rog pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and offers them to me. Then he points to an old blue truck parked on the side of the building. I have a feeling that the truck is older than I am but decide not to voice my doubts about it.
“It may be a little old, but it runs like a clock,” Rog swears. He plucks a slightly bent business card from his pocket, handing it to me. “Koko sent me your number, so I’ll text when your car’s ready. However, here’s my number in case you have any questions.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” I respond, tucking the keys in my pocket. My eyes linger on my vehicle, thankfully free from any apparent harm inside the garage.
“Just be careful at the turns, the brakes are touchy,” Rog adds in a gruff voice.
“Make sure you send me the bill, Rog,” Koko reminds the mechanic before turning back to me. “It’s been nice to meet you, Lily. I wish it were under better circumstances. However, enjoy the cabin. When Rog finishes with your car, you can drop the cabin’s keys off at the bakery.”
I thank Koko as she hands me my luggage. I turn to head to the truck, wanting to get to the cabin before it gets dark.
Koko starts to walk away, strutting towards the road, when she suddenly pauses, and a soft gasp escapes her lips. “Shoot!” She exclaims, smacking her forehead. “I almost forgot!”
She quickly walks back to me, her golden curls bouncing with each rapid step.
“There’s a little path behind the cabin. It leads to a lake,” she says, her hand waving in the air as if to draw me a mental map. A soft smile graces her lips. “There’s a charming gazebo there; it’s magical at night.”
She pauses, her gaze lost momentarily as if caught in a beautiful memory, before snapping back to reality. “And tonight, the town will set off an amazing firework display at 11 sharp. Trust me, you don’t want to miss it. The gazebo is one of the best places to watch the show!”
With a wink, she walks away, leaving me staring after her, feeling a little bit like a lost lamb.
I need to let Aunt Zizi know what has happened, but I’m too wiped out to figure out what time it is in New Zealand at the moment, so instead of calling, I text Aunt Zizi warning her that I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere for a few days because of car troubles.
Tossing my stuff into the truck bed, I set Mango’s crate in the passenger seat and get into the truck. It starts with a deep rumble I can feel in my rib cage. I put the car in reverse and slowly back out of the mechanic’s lot, giving myself plenty of space to get a feel for how the truck drives.
CHAPTER 9
Ravok
Iduck and weave through a shower of metal projectiles. Another of the slugs manages to hit me and embed itself into my side. I barely pay it any attention. The wound burns, but I ignore it. My ship waits for me at the end of the hangar. All I need to do is make my way through the final handful of my captors who are still standing, and I’ll be able to get away.
A human male lunges for me. He’s different from the rest – bigger, tougher – and goes for my throat with a lethal kick, but I sidestep at the last moment. As our gaze meets, a flash of defiance fills his eyes.
A quick command sent to the nanites in my system connects me with my ship. I send a command to run a swift diagnostic before commencing the startup sequence.
All the while, I circle my opponent, looking for a flaw in his defense. Adrenaline surges through my veins as the human male roars, launching at me again with renewed ferocity. He swings his fists in a way that shows me he’s had some training in hand-to-hand combat. I weave and bob under his swings, unleashing my claws. The thrill of battle burns through me, a wildfire fueled by the desperate need to survive. The sting of a solid punch to my lower ribs right where I’d been shot sends shockwaves of agony radiating through my body, making me almost buckle for a moment. I straighten to my full height, enraged, as my nanites rush to the spot, immediately getting to work to slow the bleeding.
Pain is universal but fleeting. As a Cryzorian, I have been bred to push past and ignore discomfort. My opponent’s strength surprises me, but my own is fueled by a primal, almost feral, rage. Planet after planet, the Cryzor have scoured the cosmos in search of lesser species with resource-rich planets to take. If your species isn’t strong enough to defend yourselves, then you don’t deserve to claim sovereignty over your land and resources. This ‘Earth’ is the latest in a long line of acquisitions, but my time in the clutches of these humans has shown them to be more resourceful and ruthless than I’d expected. Despite their inferior technology, I expect they’ll put up a decent but ultimately doomed fight.
The floor of the hangar is littered with the fallen. Scattered soldiers who have tasted the might of the Cryzorian race lay silent and broken on the floor. A silent testament to the fury of a caged beast. Today, they have met their match.
With one final roar of defiance, I wrap one clawed hand around my combatant’s throat and bury the claws of my other hand into his gut. Raising his body above my head, I slam him into the floor. I dispassionately stare at his crumpled form as my sensors indicate that the man is still alive. Panting, he glares up at me, but all I see is the path to my ship. Not wanting to leave behind anyone who might try to slow me down, I swipe up one of the blood-smeared weapons dropped by one of the deceased soldiers. With two quick squeezes of the trigger, the malejerks and finally falls dead. I stride across the floor, carelessly stepping over the fallen. My ship reverberates as my nanites begin to give me the results of their analysis. When I get to the base of my vessel, the hatch slides open, welcoming me back.
I scan my ship, my heartbeat synchronizing with the hum of its core. My eyes narrow as they catch a wrongness – a couple of exterior panels have been pried open. The corrupt hands of the scientists and soldiers must’ve been all over my ship, trying to unlock secrets they can barely conceive. Striding towards the compromised panels, I’m spitting curses, my anger manifesting as a near-physical force.
Kneeling beside the open panels, I push back the rising tide of fury to focus on my task. The damage is minimal. Retracting my claws, I mentally pull up a wiring schematic. I quickly survey the complex mesh of wiring and valves concealed within. A few connections hang loose – physically torn apart, speaking to the brutish ways of these primitives.
With a growl, I quickly fix the damage the humans have done to my ship. Experience breeds efficiency, and what might take human engineers days to figure out takes me mere seconds. The panels hum as the circuitry comes back to life. It’s a comforting sound, one that successfully drains some of my residual anger.
Gently lifting the panels, I realign them with the ship’s outer skin. This vessel, a scout-class spaceship, is small by Cryzorian standards but significantly advanced compared to any Earth technology. The panels click back into place, morphing the ship back into its original sleek form – a shadowy sentinel gleaming under the harsh light of the hangar.
I take one more sweeping look around the hangar. The clamor of the alarm and flashing lights still blare, but no one is left to put up a resistance. I imagine more humans are gearing up to storm the hangar, but I will be long gone before they breach the space. I almost let out a breath of relief as Istep into the sanctuary of my spaceship. A familiar hum greets me, the reactor core glowing with life. The spacecraft is small, hardly bigger than one of the human vehicles. It is only meant to get one Cryzorian Outrider across the universe to scout for resources. It is minimalist and fluid – most of the ship’s bulk is devoted to the engine. Piercing through the unending cosmos with an aggressive purpose, it’s a testament to my objective.
I stride past the cryo-pod where I’ve spent countless light-years of travel. I enter the cockpit, a tight, confined space filled with a constellation of blinking lights and advanced tech. The pilot’s seat, a contoured cradle for a Cryzorian body, beckons and I slide in. There’s the comforting hum of systems coming online, familiar instruments lighting up in readiness.
A low growl resonates in my chest when a systems alert appears on the screen. The diagnostic glaring back at me paints a picture of compromised systems. My biggest concern is that the navigation systems have been tampered with.
