by Justin Bell
What am I doing?
That thought slashes across my mind as I cross the passage in three swift strides, getting an even closer look at the looming, lumbering, robotic battle suit. It's huge and powerful up close, but slow, and before it can fully track my new trajectory, I'm leaping into the air, tucking my knees close.
It fires a steady stream of rounds that cut the air below my arcing jump, chew apart the packed dirt, and send clouds of debris up behind me. One foot slams down on the cylindrical weapon, shoving it farther downward. The other foot shoots out straight, slamming into the transparent canopy covering the mechanized pilot. My foot shatters the glass and the pilot grunts, taking his hand from one of the sticks to shield his face from scattered shards.
I reach in to grab his tunic and pull him out, but the Reblon pilot is strapped in tightly, so he doesn't budge. Muscles strain as I pull, trying to maintain my balance on the arm of the suit, but I'm so focused on the pilot that I don't see his other arm recoiling to piston forward in a hiss of spent fuel and grinding gears.
The suits large hammer fist slams into my right side, under the shoulder, with lung emptying impact. My fingers release as I'm tossed to my left as if I weigh nothing. For one odd moment, I'm suspended between crash and flight, then I land shoulder first, tumbling down onto the rough ground just chewed up by gunfire.
Through a haze of pain I see the three armored suits continuing to stomp forward with weapons lifted. All of us stare in stunned amazement, not sure what to do next.
CHAPTER THREE
The packed dirt is hard and rough on my elbows as I slide backwards trying to clear myself. Moments ago this path was drowned in darkness, but now it's a blinding concert of flashing lights and noise as three large, armored, mechanized suits stomp through, moving in ragged, jerky motions, with weapons blazing.
I've never seen anything like these things. An exceptionally huge Reblon pilots each suit. The armor, with a contoured body and solid arms, is thick and strong and reinforced by blocky plating. On each of the suits, a rounded mini-gun is bolted to the right arm, though it's difficult to make out with the twin headlights on each shoulder blaring down into the passage, threatening us with blindness.
I can see Pung and Segaris, our two Reblon contacts standing next to Murdek, the Bragdon cleric working for this underground resistance. Luxen and Kleethak, the Bragdon elder, flank them, staring up into the lights on these suits as they slam their feet forward, approaching the group.
The third suit points towards me; after all, I just tried to attack it. I tried and failed, and now all I want to do is get out of the way.
"All of you stay where you are!" the speaker enhanced voice bellows in the pale light of the passage. I'm not sure which one of them is speaking or which one is in charge, but it doesn't matter. They're all twelve feet of machinery, fur, and ferocity. Their bullets may be primitive, but they are just as lethal as concentrated energy weapons, especially in the close quarters of this alley.
Luxen looks over at me as if to ask a question. Like I know what the heck we should do. I take his question and redirect it towards Murdek who seems like the guy in charge of this little operation. He has no answers either. The Crasher in the middle takes a long, unsteady step, his foot slamming down and weapon raising, centering on the two Reblons in the group of my new friends.
"We have some questions for you," the voice continues, lights beaming down on the group. I shift, trying to adjust my uncomfortable pose.
The armored construct closest to me swivels to zero in on me with its weapon spinning.
"Do not move!"
It sounds like a robot, not a bestial alien wrapped in metal body suit, but it achieves its objective. We're all way too petrified to even think about resisting. We're all frozen in time like a paused virtual reality game with the three protagonists looming over a small group of haphazard resistance fighters who have lost all capacity to resist.
Lights blare from the shoulders of the cybernetic constructs, cylindrical weapons staying at the ready. They are mysterious, angular shadows against the cones of white light, mixed with lingering smoke from spent ammunition. It's all very artistic.
I start to wonder how often this has happened to this little rebellion. How many have they lost and have they actually made any progress whatsoever? Considering I'd heard nothing about this before falling into this mess, I'd hazard a guess that they haven't made much progress at all.
Suddenly there's the soft, nearly inaudible whistle of something spinning through the air. A light clang, like a stone banging against a metal door, comes from the mech suit closest to me. Silence, a complete absence of noise, fills the passage for a few scant seconds.
A stark flash of white tears apart my actual reality as a thick jet of heat and a spray of jagged metal hurtle toward me, scattering over the ground and walls all around me.
The explosion annihilates the mechanized suit closest to me as well as the unfortunate pilot inside, leaving two jagged-edged legs standing there in a large bloom of thick smoke where the body used to be. As the two legs topple over sideways, one of the armored beasts behind it takes an uncertain step back, twists, lifts its weapon and opens the sky with deafening thunder.
I scramble to my feet as shrieks split the surrounding air and shadowed figures jump from the roofs of buildings. The roar of mini-gun fire breaks apart, interrupted by the staccato tap of lighter weapons, the booming of heavier sounding weapons, and the thick metal clunk of projectiles striking armored suits.
In front of me, a figure, Bragdon by the quick glance, drops and lands in a crouch. He turns towards me, narrowing his yellow eyes. A rapid volley of bullets striking ground blasts up geysers of dirt to his right as he move towards me, extending his four-fingered hand.
"Come!" he shouts.
Behind him I can see more shadowed figures emerging through thick smoke. Weapons fire is continuous. The world around me is a twisted symphony of chattering gunfire and the bass of heavy weapons.
I let the Bragdon wrap his fingers around my arm and lift me up, pulling me towards him. A figure runs past us, a figure with four arms...an Athelonian? He's carrying two slender weapons and both are firing a rapid spray of projectiles at the mech suits behind us.
"Where are you taking me?" I ask, squinting through the choking smoke, but seeing nothing more than a dead end ahead.
"Down!" he shouts, pulling me into a crouch as we run. His eyes are focused on a patch of dirt up ahead. Two figures emerge from the smoke on either side of us to converge on this patch of dirt. They reach down, clutch at something buried there, and wrench aside a small blanket. Yet another shadowy figure charges forward and lifts off a metal cover, revealing a tunnel.
"Go now!"
I see Luxen and Kleethak behind me, both of them being ushered forward. Pung and Segaris stand tall behind them, weapons pressed to shoulders and firing on the mechs who are swiveling and roaring off barrages of fire from their mini-guns.
The Athelonian I'd noticed comes up on Pung's left and yells something to him while he takes his place on the firing line. I can't see what's happening. There's just a flood of bodies pushing at me and forcing me down into the tunnel to run through ankle-deep water.
A pair of abrupt, piercing explosions rebound from the walls overhead and reverberate down the tunnel. They are so loud that they make my ears ring even down here. Dirt and dust fall from the ceiling to splash into the water around us as we run.
As I hear the metal cover being being hauled back into place, I realize why the blasts were so loud. Quiet resumes except for the rhythmic splashing of feet running through water.
The surrounding quiet convinces me not to speak, but to keep running and following along with the crowd. They dash through twists and turns of this tunnel system underneath the city. It wraps around corners, climbs up gradual ramps, and flows down into deeper paths.
Three more turns, one left and two right and the surrounding splashing slows, easing up into a quiet
patter of wet slaps.
"Hold up," a quiet voice whispers ahead of me. It's the Bragdon who pulled me from the ground and led me down here.
"Shrag, why are we stopping?" asks Pung, coming up on my left.
"It's not safe to go back to base. We need to meet here first. Debrief."
He gestures towards a wall, leads the group towards it, then raps on it four times, pauses, and then hits it three more times.
Secret knocks, running through tunnels under cities ... this all seems so melodramatic.
The wall crunches and tilts, then slides, revealing an opening in the wall beyond. A pale yellow light casts a rectangle on the wet ground at our feet. Shrag rushes in, and I follow close behind. The others trail after me until we're all collected in this small, dank room.
I stand here with my trademark Brie Northstar patience as others filter in. I count Bragdons, Reblons, and Athelonians all funneling into this tiny room, making space for each other. When it's all said and done there are over two dozen of us here all crammed together.
"Well done, children," Murdek says, and the attention in the room shifts to him. The walls are a dark brick, slick with slime. Exposed piping runs across the ceiling. There are no decorations or motivational posters; just a slab of space carved out under the city.
"Well done?" asks Pung. "We were nearly killed. Three Crashers? How did our lookouts miss them?"
"We can dissect what went wrong later. We need to focus on what went right, what we accomplished."
Pung turns and glares at me. The hint of smile I'd seen vanished, replaced by a stern grimace and narrowed glance. I can't blame him. My desperate attempt to take out one of the mech suits nearly got all of us killed. A little patience would have gone a long way.
"So what did we accomplish?" Pung asks, turning his eyes back towards Murdek.
"Three additions to the cause," Murdek replies, smiling. "Brie, Luxen, Kleethak, step forward please."
We all do, small steps, bringing us inside this oddly shaped circle of alien races.
"Is that her?" a voice echoes, a familiarly accented voice. An Athelonian voice.
Murdek looks over my right shoulder. "That is Brie Northstar, yes."
There is a splash behind me and I turn as the Athelonian strides towards me. He has a strange look on his face, one I can't quite identify, though I'm not threatened by it at least.
"Brie," he says quietly, then stops and kneels, pressing his right knee into a thin pool of water, extending his two right hands. "The pleasure is mine."
I take both of his right hands in my two hands and hold them, respecting this ancient Athelonian greeting, though it has somewhat less meaning with my two hands than it would with all four clasped together.
He lifts his head, looking at me with wide eyes. "I knew your father," he says quietly.
My breath sucks in. I wasn't expecting to have a link between my old life and this new one, not on this planet so far from home.
"My name is Drewsk Graver. I served in Iridium Squadron with him."
"Oh," is all I can really say. Iridium Squadron. I think back to that pitched battle above Athelon where the majority of a fighter wing was wiped out as they tried to keep me from escaping Athelon airspace. I wonder if Drewsk knows about that? If he's with the resistance, I wonder if he cares?
"I fear he and I no longer see eye to eye," he continues, easing himself to his feet and releasing my hands.
I nod. "Yeah. Me either."
"Is it true?" he asks as he takes a step back, rejoining the circle. "Are you the Child of the Stars?"
My mouth drops open though I don't speak. This question is going to get very old very quickly.
"She does not know," interrupts Kleethak, stepping forward and pressing a calm hand to my shoulder. "It's not something she is or is not. When the time comes that question will be answered."
"Then what are we even doing here?" asks Pung.
"Whether or not she is the Child is irrelevant," replies Murdek. "We have a plan and we're sticking with it. We now have three more bodies to assist with that plan that is the important thing."
"Whoa," I say, "we never committed to assisting with anything. We appreciate the help, but we're just trying to survive here."
Murdek smiles. "I suspect once you hear what we're planning, you will see our side of things, my dear. And understand why we need your help."
"Let's hear it. I've had enough double talk about legends and myths to last me a lifetime. If you have something real and physical we can do, I'm interested. Something that might actually impact this insane war we're all caught in the middle of."
"This insane war is about to become a much larger issue," Murdek replies. "That is what we're here to stop."
"We're listening," says Kleethak.
Murdek turns away, clasping his hands together and rubbing them as if the friction might ignite some spark in his head.
"There is a well known Reblon politician who is making a visit to Von Grandeur," he says, then pauses. "That's the big city you likely saw as you came into atmosphere."
"Oh, that's the place with the huge buildings we almost killed ourselves on. Got it," I reply.
"This politician has been feeding us information for months. Maybe years. He's sympathetic to the Rebellion, but is in fear for his life. He's preparing a speech, a speech that many of his peers suspect is to publicly announce a declaration of war against Athelon."
My eyes widen. "What? He can't do that. If the Quadrant at large knows about the war--"
"He's not doing that," Murdek replies. "But his peers can't know that. He's making himself public so that we can get him out."
"Why would the other politicians suspect this?"
"We're not sure yet," Pung replies, interrupting Murdek. "Speaking as a Reblon, I can say this particular politician is a wild card. We suspect his own party doesn't know his true motives for speaking."
"All we know," Murdek continues, "is that if his peers suspect this is going this way, they may make a move on him."
"Even in public? What's the plan?" I ask.
"I'm glad you asked," Murdek replies. "It's simple, really; we intercept the motorcade and capture the politician. Make it look like we're leveraging for ransom, when really we're just trying to get him out."
"So where is this motorcade coming through?"
"That, my dear Brie," replies Murdek. "Is where you come in."
###
After more turns than I can keep track of, we emerge in another dimly lit section of underground. A ladder pressed into the far wall leads up to a circular cover. Segaris crawls up in two long stretches, then pushes the thick, metal circle up with a single hand. Half in and half out of the world above, he looks around, then pulls himself up the rest of the way and leans down to gesture to me.
"Come up, Brie Northstar. Quickly."
I regret volunteering for this mission, though I hadn't even hesitated. Murdek had told me what they needed and why I was the best one for the job. Thirty seconds later I am following Segaris through chamber after chamber. The air above is a cool, sharp reprieve from the warm wetness of the tunnels below. It tastes sweet on my tongue as I draw in a long, deep breath.
I pull myself up out of the underground and up into a crouch in the center of another nameless alley in another mysterious corner of town. Segaris replaces the metal circle then walks over to a dark corner to retrieves a thin blanket, pulling it over the discolored space where the cover once stood. He waves me over as he kicks sand and dirt back over the spot [which spot] and we walk towards the far wall where there are trash bins and something underneath a draped cloth.
"A two-armed Athelonian may be conspicuous," he whispers to me, and I nod, lowering my chin. My muscles clench and twist as I grit my teeth together forcing my heart to beat steadily.
Seconds later I'm no longer an Athelonian but a slender, rough-skinned, reptilian Bragdon with a sloped, bony skull, pale gray skin and long limbs.
Segaris makes a
face I can't quite translate, but I think he's actually impressed.
"Do you remember where City Plaza is? We gave you the directions."
I nod. "Yes."
"Our sources tell us that the Department of Tourism and Transportation should have the motorcade route in their office. Both the plaza itself and the office are probably locked."
I nod again.
"We need someone who can get in and get out without being discovered, and someone who can ... adapt to a problem should it arise."
"I noticed you had quite a few Bragdons in your little group downstairs. None of them could handle this?"
His eyes narrow. "From what I hear, you are considerably more adept than any of them."
