by Justin Bell
I drop and hit the ground in a crouch, scoop the small weapon up off the floor, then swing it up and around to crash it into the last officer's temple.
Before he even hits the ground I turn and run, keeping my eyes trained on the embedded computer console in the wall several yards away. Footsteps and shouts echo all around me, from various branching hallways, but I push them aside and concentrate on getting to the console, though my fingers are still twitching around the contoured handle of the small pistol.
With a shift, I drop down into a hip-first slide on the floor as gunfire screams overhead, whining through the air and smacking against the surrounding walls. The floor is smooth and slick, and lets me slide the two yards to the front of the console. I slam my foot down, come up into a low stance, and swivel with the pistol. I fire it sporadically at nobody in particular, then tuck it in and attack the computer, whacking furiously at the keys.
The language I'm typing in doesn't come immediately to the front of my head. It's purely instinct to pull raw data from the Reblon part of my brain. Several rows of code etch themselves across the dark screen. I reach down into my boot to retrieve a small square device, find the matching slot at the base of the console, and hack a few more commands into the keyboard. A progress bar blinks into existence against the dull slate screen.
Three shots ring out. I drop as bullets pound against the metal side of the computer cabinet with a whang before careening up into one of the ceiling mounted lights. It explodes in a vomit of sparks, spilling down around me. Shards of glass twinkle around my feet as well.
The progress bar hits 100% as a half dozen more gunshots send me scrambling to the floor, and pin me there, while I glare down the hall at the approaching horde of Reblon security commandos. All of them grasp slender weapons, automatics with only a single barrel this time.
I glance up at the console. In spite of the sparks blasting the computer and wall all around me, I pluck out the storage device and tuck it back into my boot. With my back pressed tightly against the wall, I squeeze my fist, confirming I'm still holding the stolen pistol, but as I look down the hall at the group of approaching security officers, I'm pretty sure it won't be enough.
CHAPTER FIVE
I think about it for a moment, but really, what is there to think about? As I look down the hall at the growing crowd of Reblon security officers, wall-to-wall and several deep, I realize this isn't going to end peacefully. It's not going to end with me somehow talking my way out of things or using these bizarre abilities to flip through the air and dodge the barrage.
So what am I going to do? Shoot my way out? This tiny little hand held pistol against eight security officers with automatic weapons?
Yeah, okay. Why not?
I raise from my crouch, keeping myself pinned against the wall, as concealed by the wall-mounted console as possible. My weapon kicks three times across my body. All three shots scream down the long, narrow hallway and bury themselves in the crowd of Reblons. Two different security guards call out low and wet growls, stumbling away from the crowd, and then chaos reigns.
Three of them step forward, peppering bullets all along the wall leading to me. The console splinters and explodes as I drop down and lurch forward, my only source of cover now a ragged and smoking mess. Holes are punched into the smooth floor around me and clouds of debris shoot up in puffs, dancing like strange smoke ballerinas.
I cradle my weapon in both hands as my shoulder hits the floor. I squeeze the trigger twice more, putting two rounds in a Reblon's upper torso. He stumbles back into the crowd, slowing the return fire. I adjust to fire again.
As another guard pirouettes away from the crowd, my eyes lock on his spinning weapon, dreaming of snagging it out of midair so maybe, just maybe, I can even the score a little.
Heat burns through my left shoulder as a round carves a neat, red trench through my uniform and the rough flesh beneath. Tears sting my eyes as my fingers open reflexively, dropping the pistol and sending it skittering across the the floor. Two more shots pound holes into that same floor right by my chest. The thick, acrid smoke settles like dust after a dust storm.
"She's down!" one of the voices shouts. The weapons halt their barking, leaving a ringing silence that seems even louder than the gunfire. Smoke still coats the hallway and the approaching Reblons are vague shadows moving towards me, pushing their way through a sheer curtain.
They're closing in on me. Shadows separate, revealing the group of broad shouldered beasts, stomping towards me with fingers clenching and mouths snarling. The smoke blurs their features, but I can picture them in my head, even as the darker shapes maneuver through the graying fog.
Yes, I'm down. My shoulder throbs, the pistol is two yards away, and there's a wall of security advancing toward me. Even my new swift-working brain is struggling to find my way out of this one. Are there limits to the legendary Child of the Stars?
The gun smoke settles in front of the approaching crowd of the lead Reblons presses through it, taking a lumbering step towards me, rifle raised.
"I've got her!" he says. "Move in on my mark."
I glance behind him, trying to make out the shapes of the shadows. A new, low shadow, scrapes the floor, sliding up to my left. It springs up, cloak snapping around in the smoke, lashes out with a stiff, thick leg, and slams a Reblon in the head, knocking him into a back flip. This new shadow soars over the falling security guard, and swings a rifle-straight punch to his helmet, knocking it spinning into the air through the layer of smoke to clatter over towards me.
As I shift my gaze from the rattling helmet back to the smoke, the new shadow whips around and sends three more Reblons tumbling to the ground. The final two fire their weapons.
The shadow drops and rolls. I don't quite know how they could have missed him, but somehow they have. The cloaked shadow soars backwards, landing on one of the gunmen, slamming him back down to the floor, then kicks out, striking the last one in the head.
The air is clearing, the smoke filtering away, changing from smog to a light mist. As my vision clears I see nearly a dozen Reblon security officers splayed out in piles along the floor with this new shrouded shape crouched low in the middle of the bodies. Now that the smoke has cleared I can make out the dark cloth cloak draped over this newcomer's shoulders and spread out on the floor in a fan around him.
He glances left and right, then brings himself up into a standing position, looking as if he's emerging from the floor itself to stand tall and narrow. His long, gray fingers hook his hood and lower it from his face. Familiar yellow eyes blink toward me as he glances back over his shoulder.
"Kleethak?"
"Seems you got yourself into a little trouble, my child."
I look around the hallway, my eyes widening. Did the Bragdon Elder do this? Isn't he like two hundred years old or something?
"How did you do that?" It's a stupid question, I realize, but I'm not sure how else to ask it. "And if you can do that, why the heck do you even need me?"
He smiles thinly. "I'm good for short bursts . . . but I am too old for this."
I clasp my hand around his extended hand and he helps me up.
"Did you get what you were looking for?" he asks.
As I stand, I reach into my boot and retrieve the small, square storage device.
"Good."
"You feel like riding shotgun on a stealth bike?"
"Indeed," he replies.
We slip out of City Plaza to take the data back to the resistance. Let's hope their intelligence about the motorcade is more accurate than the report about City Plaza security.
###
The ride back to base is considerably less eventful than the ride to City Plaza. I ease the bike around one final turn, bringing it to a rest in a darkened alley. It's a different alley than the one I found it in, but Drewsk is quite insistent about constant movement.
Kleethak and I drop from the motorcycle and make our way to the rear of the passage where I remove the metal co
ver to the underground tunnels. I lift it and set it down with a clang, looking back at the elder.
"You doing all right?"
He nods, but it's a slow and uncertain nod. "Fine, child. Just keep moving."
I can see him faltering a bit as he walks and curse myself for my clumsiness that forced him into action. Maybe if I'd been more careful or calculated, I could have gotten this done on my own and not risked his interference. Maybe if I'd learned more about stealth and less about head-to-head battling, I could have gotten the data without alerting the Reblons.
Hey, maybe if the resistance intelligence had been better, none of this would have happened.
I hook my fingers around his arms and lower him down into the tunnel, letting him drop a short distance to the floor beneath. I follow close behind, pulling the metal lid over us.
Kleethak leads the way, walking determinedly around each corner, navigating the underground passages as if he's lived here his whole life.
"Did you get what you went for?"
I'm so focused on the elder that I miss the fact that we've emerged into a larger room. The two Athelonians I saw before stand there with Drewsk and a female I haven't met yet. It's clear to me that Drewsk is the unofficial leader of this particular branch of the resistance and the one in charge of this crazy plot to kidnap the Reblon politician.
"Here," I say, withdrawing the storage device and extending it towards him. He smiles widely.
"Excellent work."
"Not so excellent," I reply, rubbing my shoulder. "I got clipped by Reblon security. If Kleethak hadn't risked his life to pull my fat out of the fire, the whole thing would have been blown."
"Thank you, Kleethak," Drewsk says, turning towards the elder.
"Your intel sucks," I bark, more aggressively than I intend. "Security was crawling all over the place."
"I apologize," Drewsk replies. "We do the best we can."
"You were part of Iridium Squadron," I reply.
"And we're dealing with a fraction of the resources we had there," he bites off the words. "Yes, I have military background, but not all of us do."
He gestures towards the female standing next to him. "This is Loren. Her father was killed in one of those top secret space battles, then her mother was assassinated when she tried to spread the truth. The assassination was covered up, and she had nowhere to go."
"I know things are difficult," I reply.
"Wiskral and Shrag were Bragdon assassins contracted by Athelon to execute Reblons. They've seen and done countless horrible things, but they grew tired of it and are with us now."
"Okay, I get it."
"I don't think you do. Murdek is a cleric. A non-violent Bragdon who simply wants an end to the violence. His entire congregation died on an innocent trip to one of the Braxis religious sites on their fourth moon. Reblox thought they were on a secret supply run."
I don't reply, I bite down hard on my lip and steady my slamming heart. I understand what the resistance is dealing with. I do. But if I'm going to put my life on the line, and Kleethak's life, I need to have faith in the information we're getting.
I think these words, but do not say them. It occurs to me we're standing in squalor, in the dank and dirty tunnels beneath a Reblon town shrouded in the shadows of Von Grandeur. This isn't a temporary stop for these people. This is their life.
"The truth is," Drewsk continues, his voice lowering and becoming calmer, "Segaris was a Reblon security chief who risked his life to get us this information. He has stolen Reblox data for a year, but his last dispatch... well, his last attempt nearly got him captured and now he cannot go back to his family."
"I'm sorry," I reply. "I apologize, okay? I know, life has been difficult, and I've probably had it easier than most. The important thing is, you have your motorcade route."
Drewsk glances down at the storage device in his hand and nods, the smile returning.
"Indeed. And I apologize too, Brie Northstar. This endless conflict has grown wearisome. It weakens us. We must find a way to regain our strength."
"Do you really think this plan will do that?"
He looks uncertain, frighteningly, desperately uncertain.
"Honestly? I don't know. But at this point, it's the only chance we've got. We need a win."
I nod. In the little more than a month that I've been mixed up in this, I'm already been wounded and exhausted. I have scars and fresh wounds still raw and open. I have worn out muscles, and a depleted psyche. I want to go home, to go back to school, to go to a screen cast with my friends, and pretend this whole thing isn't happening.
It's been a month.
For Drewsk it's been years, over a decade by the sound of it. For Kleethak, who knows how long it has been. There is no end in sight, no logical reward, just the persistent, unending battle.
A battle for what?
They tell me they want to uncover the conspiracy, but at the same time they want to prevent the politician from talking. They want to stop the war, but they want to fight and destroy to do it.
Which side is right?
"You got it," says Drewsk, looking down at a small portable screen in his hand. I can see the storage device sticking out of a slot at the top. He looks back up at me, grinning.
"The motorcade route is right here. Brie, you did good."
Funny thing that . . . I don't feel real good.
CHAPTER SIX
"Is the sky always this color on Reblon?" I ask glancing up into the pale green world above, a wide and sprawling canvas of cloudless wonder.
"It is," Pung replies from beside me. His voice is quiet, but I can almost feel it swell in pride with the raised octaves at the end.
The hard, rough surface of the building's roof digs into my knee, chewing at my pant legs like small, blunt teeth.
"Out on the farm," Pung continues, "it sometimes looks almost yellow in the rippling heat. Truly gorgeous."
I press the long range viewfinder to my eyes, adjusting the dial at the left side. "Were you a farmer?" I ask, increasing magnification and lowering the goggles to review the main road slicing through Von Grandeur at a wide angle.
"I was indeed," Pung replies. "until Reblox decided they needed the land for perimeter defense."
Far in the distance I can see the vague shape of a handful of grav cars fading in from the rippling heat. Reblon security vehicles have moved into position, blocking off side streets and wandering the sidewalks. Reblons are everywhere.
I adjust the viewfinder again, move to my right, and spot a pair of Reblons that look remarkably familiar. They're dressed in the uniforms of private security, carrying slim weapons in their hands.
"Is that Shrag? And Wiskral?" I ask, turning to face Drewsk who is crouched behind me, his own weapon resting at his feet on the gravel roof. It's a long and elaborate single shot rifle by the looks of it, with a long, round scope bolted to the top.
"Yes," he replies. "They're the boots on the ground. Pung and Segaris are known quantities, we couldn't have them down there."
"What about me?" I ask.
"Reblon is a melting pot, Brie. There is a mixture of races and we will need you to be front and center to sell the resistance to this politician."
"How will he know me?"
"You're more infamous than you realize, child," Drewsk replies.
I can't get my head around it. Over the past month most of the people I've met have tried to kill me . . . does that make me somehow famous? I never thought being a celebrity would be so dangerous.
What we're about to do is starting to settle on my shoulders. A few blocks north of here is a Reblon politician, an actual person of importance, and we're going to try to take him prisoner.
In what universe are these actions justified? How far have I fallen since my transport was attacked? That feels like so long ago.
Throughout all of these adventures, some small part of me has clung to the idea I might somehow return to the life I was living, eventually. I could somehow o
verlook my father's betrayal and Luxen's treatment at the hands of Athelonian security. I could bow my head, apologize for believing a Bragdon worthy of life, and return with my tail between my legs.
But how can I do that when farmers are being forced to leave their homes, families are being torn apart, and the public at large is left in the dark? What right do I have to take some moral high ground and decide that what the resistance is doing is below my high standards?
I'm not convinced that I am this Child of the Stars, but if people believe I am, if my mere existence can provide a certain hope to these people who have none . . . do I have a right to throw that aside and go back to my simple school girl life? Wouldn't that be selfish?
