CHAPTER 26: MUUKTEL

Alliance Dreadnaught "Heart of Almora"

Sol System

Rage. That was the only thing the Almorian male was feeling, a pure, unadulterated fury that coursed through his veins like molten lava, seething and bubbling just beneath the surface of his carefully composed exterior. He had just learned, with a sickening jolt, that someone had played a role in the release of his prisoner, Queen Lithanul, a betrayal that cut deeper than any blade could. Without the Queen, he was bereft of the leverage he needed to manipulate the population; he felt a desperate urgency to retrieve her at any cost, for her absence left a gaping hole in the grand schemes he had meticulously crafted. While the rage that consumed him was as familiar to Muuktel as any other emotion was to the myriad sentient species across the galaxy, it was utterly unheard of in an Almorian male. Even before the infamous purge, male Almorians had been notorious for their emotional detachment, their faces often set in stoic masks that revealed nothing of the inner turmoil that simemered beneath the surface.

Muuktel stared at the empty royal chambers, the opulence of the decor now serving as a stark reminder of his profound loss, an extravagant display that seemed almost mocking in its beauty. The intricate tapestries and lavish furnishings, once symbols of power and grandeur, now felt like cruel taunts, each piece whispering of the Queen's absence. He attempted to piece together how she had managed to escape, his mind racing with possibilities that only fueled his anger further. The security systems had been disabled; somehow, she had managed to convince someone to turn them off. Most security personnel had the necessary clearance, but only a select few possessed the privileged access to her chambers. She wouldn’t have hacked the system from within—after all, the Queen couldn’t even void her bowels without some form of assistance. "Who. The. Hell. Did this?" He tried to remain calm, to harness the storm raging inside him, but his lips twitched involuntarily, betraying his mounting frustration as the rising tide of rage threatened to consume him whole, swirling like a tempest ready to unleash its fury upon the universe.

"My lord." Mel’Nar spoke, his voice cutting through the chaos of Muuktel's thoughts like a knife through silk, sharp and precise.

"In Common, you worthless insect!" Muuktel nearly spat at the Mordechai military leader, his disdain palpable, a raging storm barely contained beneath the surface, threatening to erupt with each passing moment.

"My. lord." Mel’Nar repeated himself in Galactic Common, the words hissing out from his throat as if they were an effort to push through the thick tension in the air, heavy with unspoken threats and unyielding pride. "It appearsssssss ssssssssomeone breached our sssssssssecurity ssssssssssystem."

Muuktel turned around and faced the Mordechai who towered over him like a predator sizing up its prey, an imposing figure that demanded respect, his massive frame casting a long shadow. "If you tell me one more piece of useless information, I’ll feed you to the Rharms," he warned, his voice low and dripping with menace.

Mel’Nar's eyes narrowed, a warning glint igniting within them as his lips curled back, revealing a small but dangerous amount of teeth. He did not appreciate the threat; his pride was wounded by the insult, and he could feel the heat of anger rising within him. The Mordechai hunted the big beasts of Mordech for sport, and for a hearty meal, but being eaten by one was a disgrace in their culture—a humiliation he would not endure. "The culprit will be found, and executed," he hissed defiantly, his voice low and menacing, vibrating with the intensity of his resolve. Mel’Nar, along with most Mordechai, hated speaking in the common tongue, as his species struggled with the pronunciation of many words, each syllable a challenge. He was grateful his queen understood the Morlin language, allowing him to express himself in a way that felt more natural to his identity. Muuktel, however, had never bothered to learn the language, always believing Galactic Common was the one language that should dominate. It symbolized Alliance rule, a testament to their supremacy over the myriad cultures of the galaxy. Ironically, unbeknownst to Muuktel, Galactic Common was not originally native to Almora; it was a borrowed tongue, a reminder of conquests past.

"Excellent. Just tell me when it is done." Muuktel began to stride purposefully towards the command center, his movements decisive as he envisioned the control he would wield. The command center awaited him, where his new throne stood watch over every aspect of the fleet, a grand symbol of his newfound authority that was both exhilarating and suffocating, the weight of expectation pressing down on him. Mel’Nar watched his new leader walk away, a dark plan of his own beginning to take shape in the depths of his mind, weaving itself into the fabric of his ambition, strands of vengeance intertwining with a desire for power.

"What is the fleet doing?" Muuktel asked the room, his voice echoing slightly as he signaled for anyone to respond, impatience thrumming beneath his skin. He did not know fleet procedures, as the Queen had never allowed him near the command decks, her desire to control every aspect of command evident in her actions. But he didn't care; he was King now, and the military leaders answered to him. They could worry about procedures while he focused on seizing his destiny, the thrill of authority coursing through him like wildfire.

"We have initiated our brake burn and are approaching the fourth planet where their fleet has gathered," the officer in charge responded, a fairly young Vaikunthan whose eagerness to serve was evident in his tone, his eyes gleaming with the excitement of military action. The anticipation in the command center was palpable, a collective breath held as they awaited Muuktel's next command.

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

"You will address me as 'My Lord.' Is that understood?" Muuktel's eyes narrowed dangerously toward the officer, a silent challenge hanging in the air like a blade poised for a strike, each syllable heavy with authority.

"Yes, My Lord."

"So, tell me. Why are you performing a brake burn?" Muuktel did not want to question the maneuvers without understanding the rationale behind them, his mind racing with the implications of each tactical decision.

"My lord, our fleet is currently moving much too fast for our weapon systems to lock on and fire accurately at the enemy targets. On top of that, we don’t possess a super weapon capable of obliterating them in a single hit. We need to slow down to engage and destroy them effectively," the officer explained, his voice steady despite the mounting pressure.

Muuktel stared at the system hologram displaying every bit of information that was tactically relevant, studying the game board intently, contemplating his next move with the focus of a seasoned strategist who had learned to navigate the complexities of warfare. "Why the fourth planet? What is so special about it?" he demanded, his voice rising with impatience, his mind racing with possibilities and calculated risks.

"My lord, we don’t know for sure. It is the second most populated planet in the system, so our best guess is that it holds considerable value," the officer explained, his voice steady despite the tension in the air, as if trying to maintain composure in the face of his king's intensity.

"Which is the most populated?"

"The third planet, My lord."

Muuktel manipulated the controls to display the third planet and its natural satellite, scrutinizing every detail he could uncover, searching for clues hidden in the data, piecing together a larger puzzle. "I don’t see a defense fleet."

"That is correct, My lord. Aside from several stations and planetary defense platforms, there is no defense fleet present, which may indicate a vulnerability," the officer replied, his tone unwavering despite the weight of Muuktel's gaze.

"How easy would it be to assault the planet and capture it?"

"My Lord, that is more Mel`Nar's specialty; however, if I were to guess based on this information, the planet would fall quite easily under our fleet's might. Our firepower far exceeds anything they could muster," he stated, his confidence rising as he considered the overwhelming advantage they held.

"Then why are we not doing that?"

"Our standing orders, My lord, are to destroy any Terran presence in this system while making our way to the third planet," the officer replied, his voice steady but edged with uncertainty, aware of the potential consequences of defying those orders.

"Why the third planet?" His curiosity spiked, an unsettling feeling creeping into his mind—there was something special about that world that he just couldn't shake, an instinct whispering that something greater was at play, an intricacy woven into the fabric of their mission that he had yet to uncover.

"I'm not quite sure, my lord. The Queen wanted to capture the planet and enslave the inhabitants. She didn’t care what happened to the rest of the system, so Mel`Nar ordered the annihilation of anything we encountered," the officer explained, his unease palpable as he spoke of the Queen's ruthless intentions.

He stared harder at the planet, a deep frown etching itself onto his features, the frustration mingling with an intense desire for power. Why did the Queen want to capture this planet and not care about the rest? She was after something, he could feel it in his bones; it wasn't the population. If that had been the case, she would have requested the same treatment for the rest of them. To give free rein to that insect, Mel`Nar, over the rest of the system was an affront to his ambition. He had to follow through with it now; he had to have it for himself. If the Queen knew that this world held a secret, he must capture it before she could act, before her plans could come to fruition. He needed to retrieve the Queen and discover what she knew.

"Stop slowing down and head towards that third planet."

"My lord, what about the fleet over the fourth planet?" the officer asked, concern lacing his tone as he hesitated, sensing the potential danger of ignoring established strategy.

"If we pass them by, would they pose a threat?" Muuktel pressed, his voice low and commanding, the authority in his words crackling like electricity.

"No, my lord. It would take them some time to regroup and return to the third world. We would have the defensive advantage then," the officer assured him, the tension easing slightly as he realized the soundness of Muuktel's logic.

"Good." His rage finally began to subside, replaced by a wave of excitement that flooded his system like a long-awaited tide, bringing with it a sense of purpose and clarity. His skin started to lightly and slowly change colors from a dark blue shade to a vibrant mix of blue and green, a subtle yet unmistakable sign of his emotional shift, though not as powerful as it would have been in a female. For the first time, a male's skin color had actually changed in such a dramatic fashion; everyone in the command center understood that Muuktel was no ordinary Almorian—something about him was different, and he was someone to fear. "Then do it. Skip the fourth planet; head towards the third. Oh, and start searching for a cloaked ship in the system."

"My Lord?" The officer questioned the last part, uncertainty creeping into his tone as he processed the unexpected order, his mind racing to comprehend the implications of such a directive.

"Do not tell anyone, but the Queen has been kidnapped. I want that ship found and her rescued," Muuktel commanded, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on him, the stakes higher than ever.

"It will be done, my lord," the officer replied, determination replacing his earlier uncertainty, his resolve bolstered by the gravity of the mission they now faced.

Muuktel stared at the display once more, his mind racing with possibilities, the thrill of the chase igniting something deep within him, propelling him forward into the unknown. He was getting closer to the power and riches he had always desired, and he would not stop until he had claimed what was rightfully his, the thrill of ambition coursing through him like a fierce current, driving him to seize his destiny.