Abruptly, he let go of Branwen’s wrist to catch Zimi’s blow instead. It took Branwen a moment to realize what was happening, the same moment it took their foe to wrench the tool from Zimi’s grasp and raise it over her. But as soon as her senses caught up, her instinct took over, and she raised one leg, forcing it between him and her. She did it not in order to push him away, or even to keep him off of her, but to pull a slender, bone-handled knife free from where it was strapped to her calf. It was a piece of agony to curl down and pluck it from where it lay belted to her leg, but she did anyway.
In an instant, before he could even do more than cut his eyes toward Branwen’s struggles and sudden motion, she buried her dagger deep into his lower ribs, angling it sharply upward. If she had felt she could have as easily hit his throat, she would have buried it there instead. Zimi danced back as the invader dropped her makeshift club, and its heavy metal clanged dully to the floor between them.
Zimi stared with wide, terrified eyes at the scene splayed before her, but Branwen, for the moment, paid her no heed. With a surge of strength, she let out a battle cry, shoving him away as he grasped at his side, coughing sharply in surprise. “For Tor Valis!” rang out like a clarion call ripped from her throat, Branwen momentarily forgetting her wounds or any need for subtlety. Still stubbornly holding his dagger clutching hand, a surge of adrenaline mixed with bloodlust and she slammed a shoulder into him with more strength than she’d thought she could muster. It forced him to stumble back, and she drove her open palm down onto one of his wrists, and was immediately rewarded with the sound of his blade clattering to the floor.
One. He staggered, still standing but wavering, as she slammed the crown of her head into his nose, shattering the cartilage and spreading blood across his face. Two. She raised a leg and kicked, oblivious to the pain tearing through her back as her foot connected with the jutting bone hilt of her dagger and drove the pure Tor Valis steel deeper into his wounded side. He howled in pain, the sound echoing in the vacant cargo hold and dropping into the distinctive wheeze of a punctured lung.
Three. As he doubled forward, Branwen planted her fist as hard as she could into the bloody mess of his face, cutting her skin in places where it raked across the busted cartilage of his ruined nose. She couldn’t brace herself in order to deliver a truly powerful punch, as she would have liked; she realized her back would likely crumple in the attempt. But she still hit hard enough to send him tumbling to the ground like a sundered oak, wheezing now from the effort of breathing.
Branwen found herself leaning forward slightly, and steadied herself by putting a supporting hand on one knee. She looked over to Zimi, who, to her relief, seemed okay, at least on the surface. “Sword!” she began to call, but Zimi was already scooping it gingerly up by the time she got the word out of her mouth. She stretched out an arm, and Zimi carefully tossed it to her, as if she were worried it might bite. Branwen barely caught it, the tips of her fingers feeling oddly tingly and a little numb. As soon as it rested securely in her grasp, however, she gave it a familiar squeeze that brought its edge flaring back into searing, glistening life. She straightened and walked, as best as she could, over to the fallen man.
“Is he alive, Cap'n?” Zimi’s voice wavered less than Branwen would have expected, given the circumstances.
Branwen looked him over. His eyes were fluttering shut, but still looked to have that crazed light in them despite everything, and his breathing was ragged and possibly a little wet sounding. “Yes for now. I did not strike him in the heart.” Fade knew she’d tried, though. Branwen glanced down the length of her Skyblade at him, then raised the war blade, aiming to ram it down through one of the wretched man’s eye sockets, into his brain, and usher him out of everyone’s misery for eternity.
But she paused as she glanced over and noticed Zimi’s expression, a mix of horror, concern, fear, and a gentle sort of pleading that gave Branwen the extra willpower to reign in her bloodlust and sense of righteous vengeance.
So instead of ramming her sword through his skull, she slashed him once between the legs. He whimpered, the lack of a major reaction telling Branwen that he was already well on his way to either unconsciousness or death, and she couldn’t much bring herself to care which. The blade’s intense plasma edge sizzled as it drove inches deep, the smell of cauterizing flesh drifting up from somewhere deep in the blackguard’s nethers as she tugged it easily free.
With the intruder obviously down and the conflict over for now, Zimi rushed over, her expression a paragon of concern mixed with traces of fear. “Cap'n! Oh, Cap'n, are you okay? Where’s Mr. Leonard? There were four of these guys, did you take care of—”
Branwen hushed Zimi with a raised hand that cut across her fears and a voice that was calm enough, if thoroughly laced with pain. “Go outside, get dock security. Do not stop till you find Merlo or some other help.” After a moment’s hesitation, the command in Branwen’s voice seemed to take hold, and the girl nodded once, turned, and sprinted down the Destiny’s ramp and out onto the docks.
Her work was not yet done, and from the weakness slowly but steadily radiating once again from her gunshot wound, she did not have long to finish it.
It wasn’t the hardest feat she’d ever managed, to shoulder her blade and make her way cautiously to the stairs, but it she certainly found it less than enjoyable. Her back had stopped ambiently blazing like a wildfire and now just hurt, instead reserving the burning tearing pain for whenever she had the audacity to move. Every path falls to one step at a time.
Her side, where she’d been cut by the jagged short blade, now seemed to be holding a competition with her other injury and was also burning mightily for how shallow of a wound it was. She made sure to check it on the long, long way over to the stairs, and it didn’t seem too bad, just bleeding relatively freely. She’d have staunched it, but didn’t trust herself to be able to successfully rip a piece of cloth from her well-made tunic and apply it properly, not in her current condition. The blood loss from her side mingled with the crimson streams originating from whatever she’d done to her back, and together they dripped quiet ruby spatters onto the floor to mark her passage.
Pausing at the base of the stairs, she listened. The fight in the cargo bay had been much louder and longer than she’d anticipated, and the Captain could no longer guess at her engineer’s position or condition. She knew Mr. Leonard was smart, and could hopefully take care of himself, but she didn’t want him to get hurt. She knew it had happened once, before they’d met, when the Destiny had first crashed on Koltan; she also knew that that incident had both scarred and frightened him. But mostly, she felt she’d lost more than enough friends in this life already, and did not intend to lose any more today.
A dull, irregular thumping rhythm kept echoing down from above, from somewhere not far past the staircase. Having no other recourse, she mustered her energy and made a surge up the stairs, pushing past step after step after step until they were all gone. What she saw when she reached the top surprised her, and she darted forward as swiftly as she could get her body to act.
“Mr. Leonard, are you alright?” He was crumpled in a sitting position against the solid plating of one wall opposite the med bay, hugging himself, looking scared and disturbed. He stared forward, initially unresponsive and nearly motionless. Branwen jerked reflexively, as an unexpected sound thumped repeatedly against the doors on the far side of the hall from her. Raising her sword into a defensive position directed towards the sound, she peered at the semi-transparent glasteel windows set into the sliding double doors of the infirmary. After a moment, she could make out a figure silhouetted against the glasteel, banging energetically and futilely away.
“I locked him in there.” Mr Leonard said abruptly, his light voice very small. “I hope he doesn't break everything. Miss Zimi wouldn’t like that.”
Branwen snorted in response, feeling her emotional burdens lift even as the physical ones began to settle in. “I think she will forgive you, a
s long as you are all right.”
He nodded a few too many times in response, but his eyes were still a little too wide, and his eyes were still locked on the door as if it might burst open at any instant. After a long moment, he slowly panned his gaze around to Branwen, locking his light, sea green eyes with her crystalline blue ones. “Miss Zimi… She’s not hurt, is she?” His voice sounded a little wild to Branwen.
“No, she remains intact, if a little shaken. Much like yourself.” She responded, trying to make her tone as soothing as possible. “I am also in one piece, even if I do not look it at the moment.” She’d noticed him eyeing her obviously bloody condition and abysmal posture.
“Oh… well… if you’re sure everything is okay… I, um, think I need to lie down. For a minute. If that’s okay.” Arrhythmic thumping continued in the background and slowly tapered off as Branwen held out an arm to help Mr. Leonard to his feet. He didn’t seem to notice it, though, and climbed slowly to his feet on his own. Then he turned and wandered off towards the engine room, still hugging himself.
“Mr. Leonard,” Branwen said it softly, but he still jumped regardless. “You did well,” She wasn’t just trying to reassure him, she fully meant it. “That message you got to me, and restraining this one? It made the difference.”
It took a moment, but a fraction of his usual, sunny smile finally cracked through his fretful face. “Y-you think so, Captain?” He shuffled awkwardly, looking down. “I’m… very glad.” After a moment more, he turned and resumed walking toward the engine room, but with more energy than before. “Oh, and Captain?” He paused near the other end of the hallway. “I went ahead and contacted the harbourmaster. The authorities should be here any time now.”
Branwen smiled her honest appreciation at him as he slipped carefully into the engine room, closing and re-locking it behind himself. She didn’t blame him for not trying to assist her; she knew he wasn’t really cut out for the sight of blood or injuries. Besides, the Port Authority would either make it here in time to help her, or they would not.
She made her way over to the stairs, gave them a doubtful sigh, and began the long climb down.
7.2- Branwen
Branwen was still sitting there debating whether there were any medkits stashed in places other than med bay that she could retrieve on her own, when all the people came rushing onto the ship. In this case, “all the people” consisted of Zimi and at least half a dozen Kepo, most of whom were armed and in uniform.
She recognized the bright, shimmery, blue-hued vests they wore as belonging to the Kepo Portside Authority, instead of the sleek, white and grey vestments typical of the Altairan Legion. Likewise, she noted that the weapons they carried were, as was typical Kepo preference, made to restrain and stun rather than kill outright. Admittedly, though, it was getting hard to focus on anything beyond the severity of her injuries. She didn’t feel as though she’d lost that much blood, but she was lightheaded nonetheless, and her back and side were both alternating solar flares of pain. She didn’t know how badly she had damaged her back, and the graze on her side seemed to just feel worse the longer it went untreated.
“Cap'n! Cap'n, are they all gone? Are you okay?” Zimi immediately rushed her, everything about her tones and expressions broadcasting her concern. She was directly accompanied by a single Kepo, which, from the well-polished silver medallion dangling from his neck and his body language, Branwen assumed to be their leader. The others broke off, separating into smaller groups and examining the area with an efficiency that was more pack-like than militant.
“Captain Hawke, is it, eh? Are you alright?” The Kepo leader had light tan fur with a white tuft of protruding fluff on either shoulder. She had a much harder time reading his expressions, seeing as he was non-human, but his tilted head seemed pretty concerned as well. Branwen watched with a bit of numb detachment as a pair of his men cautiously went over and investigated the bodies she’d left cooling on the cargo bay floor, their weapons at the ready, chittering in their own incomprehensible language and gesturing to one another as they did so.
“Oh, I have surely seen better days, friend.” Branwen was taken by surprise by how rough and wet her voice sounded. She smirked to herself; if she looked half as bad as she felt or sounded, no wonder everyone was so concerned. Merlo was going to have a fit about all of this, whenever she got back. “I am glad to see help arrive, however.”
The Kepo made a mild whining sound, lowering his ears a bit. “You don’t seem so shiny, Captain. Not so shiny at all. The Portside Authority is mah’yo, mah’yo sorry for this dark, dark thing. Normally, things here, dey’s not so bad.” He gestured behind himself at the two men lying still behind him, still being examined by his soldiers, if “soldier” was indeed the proper word for them. “Is okay now, Captain? Did you get it all under control?” With an odd, high pitched whistle and a gesture, the leader summoned another Kepo over, this one with the distinctive chest fluff and comparatively delicate features that marked her as a female of the species. She gave Branwen a critical look over, then began to unpack a med kit with practiced ease.
“It is now, but I do have an…” She paused to emit a single, wet cough. “Issue you could help me with.” The Kepo nodded briskly, bobbing his head as if eager to be of assistance. “There were two more upstairs, and one is still there, trapped inside our med bay. I believe he is unharmed, and I do not know how well he might be armed, and thusly would appreciate it if you would remove him.” With an abrupt nod that clipped the end of Branwen’s statement, he made a churring, yipping sound, speaking a few words in the fast-paced pidgin they commonly used and sending a pair of his fellows trekking carefully upstairs.
“Now Captain, could you ‘splain it to me what has happened while Mi’aka here tends to your hurts?” He seemed to be eyeing Branwen’s wounds with no small amount of concern, or perhaps he simply didn’t like the sight of blood, either. She’d heard that rumor about the Kepo, and idly wondered if it held true. Behind him, Zimi seemed to be having similar issues, hovering about, wringing her hands and looking both worried and as if she might snatch the medkit from the female Kepo’s hands and apply it herself at any moment.
“My ship’s medic is right behind you; no offense intended, but I think she would prefer to treat me. It is, after all, what I hired her for.” She tried to smile up at Zimi, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on the girl’s somber mood. How bad off did she look? She watched as the Kepo medic politely made room for Zimi, though she pointedly kept her attention on the quality of Zimi’s work and the severity of Branwen’s injuries as Zimi began to reveal them. “As for the events that set this into motion, I did not see them.”
Zimi flinched a bit as the conversation was directed toward her, but took a deep breath and began to speak, even as her deft hands worked on moving aside Branwen’s now-bloody clothing to get at her damaged flesh. “Well, I had been outside for I guess about an hour, tryin’ to find us some work, an’ I’d just come back from meetin’ somebody that said they needed some hydroponic plants transferred to Altair, when these guys just came up from outta nowhere…”
Branwen didn’t intend to, but found her attention drifting away from the conversation. It was just getting harder and harder to focus; she found herself reliving her mistakes during the fight, then starting to slip even further backwards in time, dwelling on the fight on Pireida and then going even further back in time. Unbidden, her mind opened up the wounds of mistakes long past even as she absently moved her body to allow Zimi to tend her physical injuries.
“Den what happened, Captain Hawke?” It took her a moment to realize the Kepo leader was speaking to her, even though he was staring straight at her. He chittered softly, an expression crossing his fuzzy face that Branwen couldn’t decipher at the moment. Branwen finally noticed the stirring of an ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach, and realized her instincts were trying to warn her of something, but it seemed vague and distant.
“Well, once I saw they we
re on board and what they were up to, I waited until they separated, then killed them.” Both Kepo flinched slightly in their near-animal manner at what she figured was the bluntness of her statement, but she didn’t really have the energy to couch her own cultural realities in a more positive light for them. In fact—
“Cap'n, this don’t look so good,” Zimi stated, having been working the graze in Branwen’s side. Branwen barely noticed Zimi’s eyes widen; she felt suddenly very hot, and she realized she’d been sitting there and sweating profusely, her face flushed red. “Hey, look at this—” Zimi leaned over, trying to show the Kepo field doctor something on a length of stained bandage, but she cut off, startled, as Branwen abruptly stood.
Branwen felt the need to move, like suddenly there was something she needed to do, but she didn’t know where she was supposed to be going. Not that it mattered, anyway; she immediately wobbled as a swell of vertigo washed over her, and the Destiny rolled and bucked beneath her like a ship at sea. Voices both Kepo and human frantically called out to her as she came crashing down, but she could no longer decipher their words, only their alarm.
7.3- Merlo
Merlo wandered back toward the Destiny as the sun began to set over the distant dunes and red cliffs that made up the backdrop of The Bazaar's horizon. The Bazaar was unlike any city she’d visited before, with densely crowded streets populated by people from worlds all across the clusters.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t saying much overall, since all of these worlds were highly deviant from what she expected of a planet. But still, this one in particular was even more different. There were Kepo of varying appearances everywhere, of course, chittering to one another, loudly and happily hawking a multitude of various wares, or occasionally simply dancing or singing in groups. From what she had observed on her trip through the city today, the Kepo seemed a very happy people in general, and even most of the non-Kepo that made a home or a living here appeared quite cheerful and at ease.
Destiny Abounds (Starlight Saga Book 1) Page 13
