Merlo wished that the planet made her that happy; it was hot here, and even with her suit’s ability to regulate her body temperature, she still wasn’t comfortable. She shifted the position of the small metal box she was carrying under her arm, which was apparently an extra payment, negotiated for getting the shipment there well ahead of schedule.
She wiped a mild yet uncomfortable layer of sweat from the fair skin of her forehead. The yellow-orange of the Kepo system’s single, average star peered relentlessly down at Merlo through the clear, nearly cloudless atmosphere as if keeping a watchful eye on her. Due to the relatively slow rotation of The Bazaar, she knew that the planet had a pretty long day-night cycle, and it could really heat up towards the end of said cycle, which was rapidly approaching.
So she kept walking and waited for either nightfall or her arrival at the Destiny to relieve the dry, persistent heat. She almost decided to put her full helmet up so that her face would stop sweating, but she figured the extra attention it would draw wasn’t ultimately worth the additional comfort.
She had well intended to be back by now, but the Kepo to whom she’d delivered their cargo had been the talkative type, to put it mildly. He had thanked her for the efficient delivery incessantly in the weird half-language the Kepo folk seemed to favor and when she’d absently commented about this being her first time on the planet, he’d insisted on giving her a quick tour of the local area.
He’d shown off the varied architecture of the mostly horizontal expanse of this particular city, which contained buildings of almost every style from almost every world, or so he’d claimed. She wasn’t so sure about that. Numerous points of interest competed with a staggering multitude of shops, while in the distance, clustered complexes of “mud-brick” Kepo homes climbed the face of red, rocky cliffs looming over the city. She’d observed that, in what she’d learned today was true Kepo tradition, most buildings were adorned with bright colors or especially reflective materials.
Merlo chuckled to herself. Though she’d felt annoyed at the time, looking back, seeing all of the sights here had actually been pretty nice. She had tried repeatedly to excuse herself and make her way back to the ship over the last couple of hours, but hadn’t wanted to offend someone who could become a pretty valuable employer. In the end, as much as she preferred the feel of a ship under her feet, seeing the sights of a planet’s surface—one that wasn’t horrifyingly bug infested or whose natives weren’t trying to kill her Captain—made for an interesting evening. She was looking forward to having a story to tell Branwen, for once, instead of it being the other way around.
She followed the HUD display on the convenient, amber-colored visor her suit manifested for her, tracing a path through the winding marketplace towards her ship, and after a few more minutes, the shiny, distinctive plating of the Destiny Abounds came back into view. Immediately, Merlo’s steps began to quicken, lengthening into a ground-devouring jog, her intuition calling to her from deep inside, telling her that something was amiss. The Destiny’s ramp was still down, but two Kepo stood a somber vigil outside of it, each wearing an expression she took to be an uneasy one. They, unlike ninety percent of the Kepo she had seen around, each also carried some kind of weapon, a bulky, chrome, rifle-like object peeking out from a holster on their backs, and were wearing some rather flashy blue vests.
Being pretty sharp lookouts, they saw spotted her bee-lining toward the open mouth of the ship and raised a dual set of dark-furred hands to indicate she needed to stop. They seemed rather surprised when she didn’t even slow a beat, dashing right past them and into the belly of the ship before they could decide how to react.
Barely giving her eyes a moment to recover from the sudden lack of sunlight, she rushed forward, barely skidding to a halt in front of a surprising scene: bodies, fortunately not those of her shipmates, strewn bloodily about the cargo hold, with more being carried down the stairs by other blue-vested Kepo. Another Kepo with a bit of distinctive lighter fluff on his shoulders stood in her path, pointing one of the blocky energy weapons directly at her. Yet another wearing a white sash and carrying a medical kit knelt next to Zimi, where they both tended Captain Branwen, sprawled limply near the steps with her heavy coat removed and rolled up to support her head.
Merlo could smell the sickly sweet, metallic odor of blood from where she stood, and could see way too much of it on the Captain for her comfort. “Zimi? What in the ‘verse happened? Is Branwen okay?!”
“Oh, Merlo... There was a fight, an’ she got poisoned,” Zimi’s voice was mournful, yet distracted by her obvious efforts. “I’m afraid it ain’t lookin’ too good.” The Kepo officer in front of her lowered his weapon and stood aside, allowing Merlo to approach closer, though she knew there was little she could do if all the apparent fighting was already over.
Absently shifting her box again, both of Merlo’s hands clenched into livid, white-knuckled fists; why did she always have to feel so damned useless? Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a very distraught looking Mr. Leonard peering from a covert position at the top of the stairs.
“But how in the ‘verse did it happen?” Merlo felt her anger spiking, feelings of rage and helplessness rising to a fevered pitch inside her. She frantically wanted to do something, but there was nothing for her to do, and nowhere appropriate to vent her frustrations. She clenched her teeth and did her best to stay calm. Her anger would not help the Captain any more than her untimely absence had.
“Jiraxan thugs, dey often carry the knives and poisons,” the alert Kepo with the gun said in a quiet voice from beside her. “Sometimes, it happens, dey comes in on a ship, try to hijack another vessel, or rob somebody. Happens pretty much every major port once in a while but the ones on Altair Prime.” To Merlo’s surprise, he made a quiet, agitated snarl, and kicked the nearest corpse, that of a large man covered with vicious, bleeding wounds and cauterized gashes.
Merlo startled slightly when the “corpse” groaned distantly and stirred, as it seemed that individual wasn’t so dead after all. Glancing him over, she could easily tell that the more grievous of his wounds had to have been caused by the Captain’s “Skyblade,” as she sometimes called it. She felt a momentary surge of pride in her Captain’s efforts, but that feeling was soon unseated by the return of the distant rage and helpless bleakness of the situation. Once again, she found her hands clenching tightly of their own accord.
7. 4- Branwen
Branwen drifted again in that deep, dark, starless sea. Absently, she felt a distant, burning sensation, but it was very far away, almost as if it belonged to someone else entirely. This time, unlike the last, she felt as if she were slowly sinking into this obsidian void, with that far-off burning slowly becoming ever further away.
Bodiless, she waited there, and, bit by bit, visions seemed to coalesce out of the inky, swirling pitch. She saw, in her mind’s eye, a woman; platinum blond hair cropped messily short, a black, tight fitting tunic and dark, dyed leather leggings clinging to her shapely figure. Her skin was fair, though not quite the light complexion of those from the far northern Realms, like Tor Valis, and her eyes were crystalline ice.
But for Branwen, those eyes melted into lustrous warmth, and the girl, a young woman still working through the last of her nineteen winters, beckoned to her fondly. She was joined by another, taller woman in her twenties, with a long, complex blond braid so very similar in color and style to Branwen’s own. She looked as she had when last Branwen had seen her, defiant jawline set in a critical, almost sarcastic expression. Piercing dark blue eyes watched Branwen from where she stood, battle ready, in her ornate leather armor, missing only the bone-adorned staff in her hand and the long steel greatsword that should have been strapped to her back. Mirroring the younger girl, she too held out a strong arm, as if waiting for Branwen to reach into the depths of her memory and clasp it.
There were more figures with them, trying to resolve out of the void of her subconscious, but part of Branwen couldn’t bear it,
and she looked away. This felt wrong. Perhaps she had come to space seeking this very thing, a final journey into strange lands, a final adventure from which she would never return. But now that she stared into the face of that conclusion, she felt some of the hidden foolishness of that path laid bare before her. And as before, something deep inside of her stared back at death, and seemed to say: No. I defy you. Not here, not now. Not so far from my home.
7.5- Zimi
Zimi jumped slightly, having been fully intent on her work when Mi’aka, the Kepo medic beside her, suddenly released a startled yip. Zimi spared a glance at what might have caused it, and was rather surprised to see Captain Branwen’s hand clenched into the soft, tan fur of the Kepo’s arm.
Zimi was startled too; a moment ago, the Captain had seemed like she was all but comatose, something Mi’aka had informed her this type of poison could quickly cause. Zimi felt she was doing the best she could, but neither of the two of them had practice with something this virulent, nor did they have the materials on hand to treat it. Zimi wouldn’t give up, though; she never gave up when a patient was depending on her. She’d seen far too many people lying there before her and slipping away for her to ever stand by and let it happen again.
The Captain’s hand released its tight grip, seemingly to the Kepo girl’s relief, and instead reached vaguely toward Zimi, as if weakly gesturing for something. The Captain’s mouth moved woodenly, but Zimi couldn’t make sense of what sounds escaped it.
“What’s she saying?” Merlo moved in close, crowding them a bit and almost getting in the way of their efforts. Zimi was considering telling her to back off when the Captain spoke again, and Merlo leaned down even closer to try to hear it. “Pan… Paneda… Panacea! She said Panacea,” Merlo related, eyes wide.
Zimi immediately looked toward Mi’aka, still kneeling on her soft, furry knees and working determinedly beside her. But the Kepo woman shook her head. “Dere’s none here unless we sent someone to de nearest hospital, but dat’d take too long. Nothing closer would be pure enough to purge de toxins.” That, unfortunately, was what Zimi had feared too. “We might find something in a shop closer, but it’d be a hard thing to find.” She shook her narrow muzzle regretfully, and her hands began to slow in their work. Zimi almost snapped at her to keep working, but instead found her eyes brimming with wetness. In the background, two Kepo with stun-net guns led the uninjured assailant away, while the others seemed to wait dutifully for backup to arrive and help with transport and cleanup.
With a whistle laden with meaning that was lost on her merely human ears, the leader of the Kepo group quickly sent another of his company sprinting out of the Destiny and off into the city, a dark-furred, younger looking Kepo streaking along at an impressive pace. But their leader also shook his head slowly. “Far away,” he said regretfully, the mood of every Kepo in the room unusually mournful.
“No, it’s not.” Merlo spoke quietly, taking something out from under her arm. Zimi’s wet emerald eyes snapped wide as she recognized it as one of the little metal boxes that, until a fateful few hours ago, had resided securely on their ship. Merlo turned it in her hands, as if seeking a means to open it; as gently as she could, Zimi snatched it from her.
“Ya can’t handle it like that…” She trailed off, really only talking to distract herself. With careful hands, she methodically snapped the outer casing of the box open. She, Merlo, and both Kepo stared down into it for a moment at the delicate, lace-like surface of the Fade’s greatest gift to its children.
There were two broad, conical flowers nested carefully into form-fitting impressions, designed to avoid any damage to the case’s precious cargo. The flowers’ petals were a rich, vibrant purple that looked too bright and too saturated to be real, and they glimmered in the light with an almost ethereal quality. The wide, flat centers were white, soft and fuzzy with a delicate, yet intricate, pattern of fibers forming the stamen, and nine short pistils clustered around the center.
With all of the careful haste she could muster, Zimi dipped her fingers into the white, pulsing center of the plant. There was a tingling shock when she touched it, as if her skin had always been smothered, but now could finally breathe. She scooped out a small, careful amount, less than a quarter of the overall core. As she did so, she thought she saw the light from it dim, just a little.
From stories and the Captain’s confirmation, she knew that her eyes could perceive only a fraction of the light the Panacea plant gave off; eyes of people from Fade could see higher wavelengths of light than people from anywhere else she knew of. But right now, those thoughts were just tangents, necessary distractions to keep her together as she carefully rubbed portions of the Panacea liberally on both of Branwen’s wounds, letting the incredibly potent medicine work itself into her system.
Mi’aka helped hold the Captain, turning and supporting her helpfully despite the effort it took for the smaller Kepo to move her. After a moment, the commander came over to help as well, having long returned his weapon to the dark leather holster across his back. When Zimi looked up, however, she saw Merlo’s jaw dropping further and further open, as the pilot stared in blatant shock at Captain Branwen’s wounds; the potency of the pure Panacea sealed them up before her eyes, roiling tendrils of smoke rising into the air as lethal poison vaporized and poured out of rapidly closing lacerations.
Merlo glanced at Zimi, then back at the wounds. “Well, shit.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rundown
Branwen
“Honestly, I should have known,” Branwen commented casually to Merlo, “I mean, it was the third time I had been poisoned, after all.”
Merlo shook her head, amused, as Branwen continued. The small woman was seated in the pilot’s chair, working the controls; Branwen once again stood behind her, chatting easily with her as they sailed through the habitable zone of the Altair system. “The first came from the blade of a horsemen, a raider from the southern reaches; the second was by drink, while camping after a long day’s march. In the former case, we had just silently forded the Stormwraith river in the depths of night, and I was intent on taking a group of hand-picked warriors to ransack the enemy’s more vulnerable supply lines. We were to hopefully make off with some of those very supplies so my allies might better withstand the Endless Siege of Tor Martheon, and we found that we were not alone in thinking that it was an excellent target.”
“I have no idea what most of those things are, Captain.” Merlo was leaning over the glow of the pilot’s console intently, as they passed through the belt of inhabited planets in the Altair system.
“I suppose that is, perhaps, a tale best conserved for another time.” Better to cut her story short for now and let Merlo concentrate on her piloting. Far be it from Branwen to allow herself to make this part of the journey feel even less safe than it normally did, so she fell silent and instead just watched the hulking forms of distant, green and blue planets, permeated with life, pass them by in the distance. Further ahead at the system’s heart lay the unmistakable, intensely bright glow of the Altairan star, with its distinctive blue radiance and odd shape.
Branwen had read that the star “spun quickly,” or something like that, causing it to bulge in the middle, and for that reason its equator also flared brightly while the top and the bottom shone with a dimmer, bluer light. She saw that this was true, and, as with many other things, just accepted it as another truth she couldn’t quite grasp. It made little sense to her; after all, stars were made of burning fires, not malleable liquids.
Merlo manipulated the controls with her customary skill and grace and Branwen reflected that Merlo and the Destiny seemed to be a terribly effective match, something the rest of the crew obviously approved of. Together, not much seemed to be able to match their speed or agility, and so far they were making some rather good money off of it. Right now, Branwen watched as they quickly homed in on Altair Prime, overtaking other vessels shown on the NADI with the incredible velocity Merlo had built up sin
ce breaking out of the line of ships passing into the system.
Before the attack on the Destiny, Zimi had snagged them a rather lucrative employment opportunity. A trader from Bizanti had offered to pay them rather well to move nearly a full cargo load of some sort of plants quickly and carefully to Altair, so their cargo hold was packed full of a large, purplish, bushy vegetable that grew only in water.
It wasn’t going to be as profitable as the Panacea delivery had turned out to be, of course, but it appeared that the Destiny was developing a reputation for speed and dependability. So almost as soon as the Portside Authority had helped them clean up and set everything to rights, they had stocked the Destiny with cargo and departed. Right after a quick shopping trip to outfit all of her people with personal shielding devices, that is.
The Kepo authorities had apologized profusely, and to no end. They had literally continued to apologize for the incident on the docks until the ship left orbit. They’d taken care of all conceivable bills for docking and repair, and had even thrown in a bonus discount should they dock there in the future.
Meanwhile, Merlo kept bugging Branwen endlessly with concerns about her condition, but, true to form, the Panacea had healed every last vestige of her wounds, getting her back onto her feet, fully restored in under an hour at most. Just like every time before. She didn’t mind the questions, though; Branwen found Merlo’s slowly ebbing disbelief over the matter highly amusing—and perhaps a little satisfying—on many levels.
A shining silvery ring still hung behind them in the distance, orbiting at what Branwen was informed to be an “L-point,” which was apparently a place where space-things could stand still, unmoved by the orbit of the planets nearby. The ring was massive, big enough that several dreadnoughts might move through it abreast, and it shimmered in the light of Altair’s star, gleaming brightly as if to guide the wayward home again. It was also the only thing connecting the Dreamcatcher and Chimera clusters, and they’d had to traverse it to get here.
Destiny Abounds (Starlight Saga Book 1) Page 14
