Birth of Rebellion (War of the Three Planets Book 4)

by Justin Bell

  Life was a lot simpler when my biggest worry was whether or not I'd worn that pink dress last week. But is simpler always better, or are the more complex lives also the most rewarding?

  "Lock and load!" shouts Drewsk. "They're hitting checkpoint one!"

  I snap myself out of the morose grip of self-questioning regret and push the goggles back to my eyes, zooming in on where the motorcade is approaching.

  The main vehicle is a slender black grav car. It's skimming very close to the ground, flanked on each side by a trio of those same hover-bikes I rode to City Plaza a few nights back.

  Behind the lead car are two other thickly armored security vehicles with Reblons stuffed in roof turrets, swiveling back and forth, scanning their perimeters.

  The horizon within the goggles shifts as I drift right, focusing back on Shrag and Wiskral. They've fallen in pace with a group of security officers monitoring the left side of the street, but have somehow managed to draw in close to the motorcade.

  "Fabricated security credentials seem to be working," whispers Pung to my left. "Segaris risked life and limb."

  "And lost his family," I finish.

  "There are sacrifices that must be made."

  I bite the words off on my tongue before they can come out. This is not the time to be casting doubt on the motivations of this little pocket of resistance. It's not the time or place to do so.

  "Thirty seconds," Drewsk says, his voice low and feet crunching on the hard surface of the roof. I hear a second set of feet drifting towards my right, opposite of Drewsk and glance over. Loren, the female Athelonian has her own long-barreled weapon and is moving towards the edge of the roof, on the opposite corner from Drewsk. Of course, there has to be bloodshed. We couldn't possibly do this any other way.

  "They're at checkpoint two," Drewsk says.

  Checkpoint three is where the magic happens . . . if gunfire, explosions and spilled blood qualify as 'magic' anyway.

  "Hold . . . hold . . ." Drewsk is stock still to my left, cinched up close to the ledge of the roof. We're some distance away from the motorcade, but I can see the vehicles moving towards us at an even pace. Nobody down there has any idea what's about to happen.

  Part of me thinks none of us do.

  The explosion is fast and sudden. I see the bright flash of white chased by yellow a few scant seconds before I hear the sound. Even as the blast rings through my ears I can see two of the hover bikes cartwheeling through the air like discarded playthings tossed by a child's smoky fingers.

  A second detonation chases the first. The white flash swallows a handful of security personnel walking the sidewalk, completely devouring them. Smoke billows out and climbs the walls of surrounding buildings as another driverless motorbike smashes down to break apart on the pavement.

  Down below, through the lenses of my goggles, I can see Reblon security scrambling. Some of them disperse and charge towards the alleys, others converge on the lead vehicle in a phalanx against further attack.

  The turrets of the armored vehicles to the rear lock in place, pointing over the roof of the lead vehicle. The gunmen are crouched far down in their alcoves. I'm amazed at their control. They're not wildly shooting everywhere, but appear calm and focused not on what happened, but on what might come next.

  They don't have to wait long.

  Two Reblons, the Bragdon impersonators I know as Shrag and Wiskral, drift back into an alley, then begin opening fire on security personnel. I see two of them scramble away and stumble as others break into a run, looking for cover in an attempt to return fire.

  Almost instantly the turrets swivel on them, spinning impossibly fast. I fight the urge to obscure my view as I really don't want to see the two of them gunned down by high powered roof-mounted weaponry.

  I needn't have worried.

  A sharp clap echoes to my left, followed by a second clap to my right. Inside the turrets, both Reblon weapons operators jerk and lurch then slump over their controls.

  That was Drewsk and Loren from several hundred yards away. Loren's a good shot for a civilian.

  "Take your next shot!" Drewsk shouts. "Go for the foot traffic!"

  Two more rapid fire claps echo in the already loud confusion and one more Reblon drops. Others fall back towards the car, building a wall of massive, fur-covered muscle around it.

  Wiskral and Shrag are out of my line of vision now, backed away into one of the dark alleys, I have no way of telling whether they're even still alive.

  I realize then that the lead car isn't just stopped, it's damaged. That second clap, Drewsk's follow up sniper shot, punched right through the propulsion system leaving a thin wisp of smoke reaching up from the puckered hole in the hood.

  On the opposite side of the grav car, four Reblons are moving in to open the rear door and pull out a well-dressed, very large Reblon citizen. I can only assume he is the politician we're after.

  "Go, go, go!" shouts Drewsk, to whom I'm not sure.

  I hear a swift motion to my right and glance away from the viewfinder for a moment, just in time to see a blur, no, two blurs of motion dash past me. Two fast running, lithe forms skimming the rough surface of the roof. Both of them wear strange dark cloaks wrapped around their shoulders and tucked into their waists. The edges of the cloaks flap and whip as they run, and even as they near the roof's edge I realize they're not slowing down. If anything they're picking up speed.

  "Watch out!" I start to shout as if they might not even see the edge, but of course they do. Both of them throw themselves over the lipped edge of the roof. Tucked balls of coiled muscle, roll in a lazy tumble forward out into midair.

  My eyes widen at the sight of it, thinking, briefly, that two resistance members may have leaped to their deaths to support whatever bizarre plan is going on here.

  But about three yards from the roof, the two shapes straighten, then slash out their arms and legs into an "x". The strange cloaks draped around their bodies snap open and catch the air, slowing the tumbling forms almost to a standstill. Both bodies tip forward and let the wind catch the cloth that stretches between their arms and legs on some sort of body brace.

  Then, they glide. Their arms close; they flatten, dip down, and accelerate, whipping over the invisible air between the building and the motorcade, moving so fast it makes me dizzy to think about it. The whole thing went by so quickly I couldn't even tell who it was, but as I dial up the magnification of my goggles, I can just about make them out.

  It's Kleethak and Luxen, a century old Bragdon elder and practically a Bragdon child are leaping through the air on cloth-covered wingsuits into possible death.

  . . . Almost certain death. Reblon security is crawling all over that motorcade, by the time they land . . .

  I don't know if I can watch this. I don't know if I can be a part of this. What are we doing here?

  But I do it. I ease my eyelids closed and draw in a deep breath, moving towards the edge of the roof and looking through the long range viewfinder. Already the two Bragdons are most of the way to the motorcade, swooping down like darts, moving their arms to catch wind just at the right times. When did they learn how to do this?

  Around me, more claps echo. Down below us, more Reblon fall. Staccato gunfire echoes from one of the alleys where apparently Wiskral and Shrag are still breathing and still fighting. Everything feels like it's moving too fast.

  I refocus my attention to the goggles as Kleethak draws his knees up, tucks his arms tight to his sides and hits the roof of the grav car in a low crouch. The impact is hard enough to punch two dents in the metal.

  The sound alarms Reblon security, though they didn't actually see him approaching. They're scrambling to lift their weapons, but Kleethak's already leaping from the roof to land on the politician. The cloaked wing suit envelops them both in a whipping shroud.

  The guards pull back and hold their fire because they are not able to tell where Kleethak ends and the politician begins. By the time they start recovering, Luxen is ma
king his final approach. I see him present an automatic weapon of some kind and even before he lands, he's firing, sending security scrambling.

  I can't let them fight this fight alone.

  Setting down the goggles I turn around and reach into a duffel bag at my feet. It's full of tools that Drewsk advised me to bring in the event of the necessity of an escape.

  "Keep watch, Brie!" he shouts at me from my left. "You're our eyes!"

  "Get your own eyes!" I shout back. My fingers wrap around the metallic cylinder as I remove it from its canvas wrapping. It's shaped like a gun, but instead of embedded armament or ammunition, it has a length of steel cable wound tightly around a pulley system near the barrel. Instead of a bullet, its main offense is a barbed prong. I glance down at the motorcade, making some mental calculations, then shift my attention to a crisscross of steel support beams that traverse the space between the plaza and the tall spire-like buildings that surround it. It takes a handful of seconds for my brain to process the information.

  "Brie!" Drewsk shouts. "We can't risk you!"

  "And I can't risk them!" I shout back, stepping up onto the ledge of the roof. Drewsk starts to move towards me as I press the grapple rifle to my shoulder, eyeing a nearby building. Reaching back into the sack, I pull out a coil of steel cable and wrap that around my shoulder.

  He makes three steps towards me as I fire. The spear thrusts out of the barrel with an echoing sproing, trailing silver chord in its path. The sharp end strikes the concrete side of a building and sticks, pulling the chord tight. I snap a release as Drewsk nears me, crouch, and hook the other end of the chord to a spiked grapple, lodged tight in the lip of the roof.

  With a swift glance back at the Athelonian stretching out his arms to grab me from the roof, I sling the duffel bag with the grapple gun over my shoulder and leap out into nothing.

  For that long moment I'm in midair, I slide the steel cable from my shoulder, then loop it up over my head, fingers clenched around the other side. The cable hooks around the steel support and I snag it with my left hand, my downward momentum halting with a shuddering jerk as the steel coil tugs around the narrow support beam, then begins to slide.

  "Brie, don't be stupid!" Drewsk screams after me, but his voice is faint as I'm already a quarter of the way down the cable. As the wind rushes in my ears, I can still hear the low chatter of gunfire on the streets down below, way down below, and I hope I'm acting quickly enough to save Luxen and Kleethak.

  The spear from the grapple gun juts from in the concrete wall of the building. I look to my right, focusing on support beams tugged tight in a downward slope about four yards away from where the building emerges ahead. I pull my knees tight to my chest and inhale as my feet strike the building. I coil my knees like a spring, then I push off sideways, releasing the steel cable as I do.

  In a lazy sideways motion, I flip my legs around, then over my head, then back down the other side. My body is held in place by nothing but air, suspended between the grapple cable and the support spires next to me. As I right myself, I stretch my body, toss my arm, and hold my breath, waiting for the inevitable plummet.

  My coil of cable strikes the downward slope of the support beam and hooks there, twisting around the narrow strands. I jerk to a stop, then swing back around. Desperately I grasp for a hand hold. My fingers twist in the edges of the snapping cable and hold tight, as I start to surge forward as if on a zip line.

  It worked. Did that actually work?

  Down below, the ground and chaos surrounding the motorcade starts to grow larger as I scream down through the air, the steel coil skimming over the top of the cable like a pulley. I pull my legs up tight to reduce wind resistance and pick up speed.

  Down below, I can make out the shifting figures around the lead car in the motorcade. Luxen has slipped down onto the other side of the vehicle, taking cover as Reblons swarm around, while Kleethak has disappeared from view. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not.

  Within seconds I've traversed the majority of the two block distance and the black grav car is coming up below me, about five yards beneath, and I can only hope my knees can withstand the impact of the drop. I release the bag from my left hand, surging straight down.

  Muscles tense, twist, and bulge in my legs, expanding the flexible material of my black pants. They split near the thigh, revealing hair-covered Reblon legs, but the transformation halts at the waist, leaving me looking like a strangely proportioned humanoid. These larger, more powerful legs do their job.

  Boots hit the roof of the car, slamming dents in the metal and caving the roof in with the impact of my coiled knees. My reinforced musculature holds firm, locking my knees, but keeping everything intact.

  Reblon forces around me all shift to lift their weapons. I straighten my legs and leap backwards as gunfire scatters across the ridge of the metal roof of the car. As I spring up into the air, my legs re-knit themselves, twisting back into normal Athelonian limbs. The fabric hanging loose for a second before drawing back in and clinging tight. I complete a neat back flip, hitting the pavement behind the car. Gunfire screams over the roof and over my head as I draw up next to Luxen, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

  "You all right, kid?" I ask, not meaning to sound patronizing, but knowing it's coming across that way.

  "Yeah," he replies, his eyes a bit glassy and unfocused.

  "What were you thinking?"

  He looks over at me. "I wanted to help. To be important. Like you."

  I flash him a smile as I unsling my shoulder bag and drop it on the ground. Three shots careen off the hood of the car, slashing sparks of ricochet just behind me. I peel the grapple gun out of the canvas bag, retrieve a spare spear and lock it in place, looping it into the coil of cabling.

  "Did you see where Kleethak went?"

  Luxen shakes his head.

  In a low crouch, I walk behind the car towards the trunk and reach up with the grapple gun, firing it up at an angle. I see the spear whistle through the air, coiling cable behind it in a tight spiral, until it slams with a clunk into a building the next block over.

  "Hold onto me!" I shout and Luxen moves over, wrapping his arms around my neck. I reach back and gather him closer, flipping a switch on the grapple gun as Reblons swarm around the black car.

  "Don't move!" one of them screams. Others lift weapons. Gunfire roars as the furry mound of commandos charges towards us. With a clunk the grapple gun thrashes in my hand. The coil of cable engages, then there's a high-pitched whistle, and the cable begins whipping forward, yanking me off my feet. The barrage of fire screams to my left and down as the grappling system pulls me forward, sending us flying through the air at an upwards angle towards the nearest tall building.

  As I rise, I glance over to see Kleethak breaking away to charge down a darkened alley with the well-dressed Reblon tossed over his shoulder. The other commandos around him don't seem to realize he has broken away yet and are more focused on Luxen and me.

  Luxen's arms tighten around my neck, his fingers clutching for purchase as we near the building, and again I coil my legs to soften the impact.

  "Climb over me!" I scream.

  Luxen scrambles up over my shoulders, then scales the cable hand-over-hand to reach the roof of the two story building and sling himself over the edge. I reach up with a free hand to grasp the edge and vault up onto the roof with the grapple gun firmly clamped in my hand and the shoulder bag banging against my back.

  "Move smart," I say. "Towards the exit!" I point towards doors on an extended section of roof to our right that leads towards the internal workings of the building. We start crouch-walking forward, picking up speed.

  Two of the doors ahead slam open. Broad, massive-shouldered Reblon security guards and weapons fill the empty space. There is nowhere left to go.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  There are only three of them, but I realize a moment too late that I'm not even armed and neither is Luxen. We're standing here in the wide open,
on top of a gravel covered roof looking stupid as six barrels of Reblon shotguns stare back.

  Brie Northstar, Child of the Stars, Savior of the Universe, forgets to carry a gun in the middle of a war.

  "Stand up," the Reblon commando in the center orders, gesturing upwards with his weapon. The chatter down below has softened somewhat as forces scatter to search for Kleethak and the man they are sworn to protect.

  I do what he tells me and Luxen repeats the motion, extending up from our crouch into an upright stance, lifting our hands above our heads. They stand several yards away with powerful weapons directed towards us, not taking any chances. The lead Reblon narrows his eyes.