The Forgotten Commander (The Lost Planet 1)

She gives me a clipped nod. “We will, eventually. But right now, I can’t. I’m nauseated right now for many, many reasons. Avrell.” She reaches over and grabs his elbow for support. His eyes dart to mine in confusion. I nod my command for him to escort her.

With a heavy, tearful sigh from my mate, they exit the lab.

My heart goes with them.

It’s been three solars since Aria left. I’d thought she needed to let the anger simmer a bit but instead, she disappeared on me. When I returned to our chambers, her clothing and jewelry and favorite blanket were gone. She’d taken her goldenroot sweets too. Since she doesn’t go far without those, I knew that she was serious at that point.

Each solar, long after the lights turn out, I toss and turn, inhaling her lingering scent that clings to my bedsheets. I’m losing my mind. The early solars, after we were forced into the facility, are forefront in my mind. The loneliness. The despair. The utter desperation for someone to swoop in and save us all.

No one came.

We slowly, solar by solar, had to climb our way out of the mental madness and cling to a hope that one solar we’d again be a flourishing and thriving people. Little by little, we would make progress and do what we could.

There was always an inkling of hope that drove us along.

Now, I can’t seem to latch on to this hope.

Desperate for something to take away the mental pain, I open the zuta-metal doors in the command center and let the UVs stream into the room. It takes strength but I refrain from unzipping my minnasuit and letting it scorch my flesh. But I don’t need that anymore…not since her. What I need to do is think. I need to plan and make things better. Which is why I’ve called a meeting.

Everyone is here aside from Calix and Hadrian.

“Where’s Calix?” I bark. I know where Hadrian is. He’s taken to looking after my mate in my absence. As much as the beast inside me thrashes and screams in protest, I know it is for the best. He also keeps me apprised of her health and overall well-being. I’m grateful for his assistance. She trusts him and he is no threat to her.

Unlike me.

I close my eyes and push that thought out of my nog.

I would never threaten her. Her misinterpretation is just that…a misinterpretation. When she has cooled, she will see. I will make her see.

“He’s on his way. Said he had to stop by the lab to check on something,” Sayer tells me, his eyes never leaving one of the old manuals that we’ve each read more times than I can count. His long black hair is twisted into the same sort of knot Aria wears sometimes on top of her nog. My heart clenches, knowing she taught him how to make the knot.

“Commander,” Avrell says, his voice firm. “Close the zuta-metal doors.”

I let out a groan but adhere to his command. The last thing I need is to be weakened by the UV rays. I need my mind sharp and my body strong. Once I’ve closed them, I stride over to the head of the table and take my seat. I glance around at the faction’s morts, my most trusted men—my only men. Avrell is on my right, a tablet in his hand. His normally clipped hair is slightly disheveled and he appears to be fatigued. He’s been working tirelessly each solar on the samples and the implantation attempts on the other aliens. I admire his devotion to the extension of our race.

Beside Avrell, Galen picks dirt from under his claw using a magknife. I try not to cringe. His shaggy hair hangs in his slanted eyes and his black brows are furled together. I know he spends each solar dedicating every ounce of energy to the seedlings he attempts to grow in his lab. If it weren’t for his hard work, we’d have starved many revolutions ago.

“What’s the status on the ship?” I ask, cracking the sub-bones in my neck. I’m tense. Completely.

Theron, who’s been spinning all too quickly in his chair beside Galen, grabs the side of the table, his claws digging into the hard surface, and stops himself. “The ship has a name,” he says dryly. “Sayer and I flushed the fuel capacitor on Mayvina. After our last run, we burned through our fuel and it’s a rekking miracle we made it back home. Fumes, Commander. We made it back on fumes.”

If I were one who prayed to the gods, I’d send up a thanks for allowing Aria to arrive in one piece.

“It’s ready for another run?” I ask.

Theron shakes his nog and tugs a strip of fabric from his pocket and bites on it while he collects his shoulder-length black hair. Talking through his teeth, he says, “Not ready. While we were flushing the fuel capacitor, Sayer found a tear in the outer seam of the engine box.” He ties the strip in his hair and shrugs. “That’s Oz’s specialty.” He turns and motions at Oz, who sits beside him.