“What happened? Did these guardsmen manage to harm her?” The Captain seemed dubious, and perhaps Merlo couldn’t blame her for her lack of trust in 286. But she was in no condition to go after 286 alone, not yet. Merlo jumped, suddenly noticing movement as the cracked remnant of her visor highlighted a figure on her HUD. Fortunately, it resolved itself into Zimi before she could act, the slim girl slipping up from out of nowhere to look them both over worriedly.
“No, not quite anything like that… She just got this blank look on her face, and walked off. She stopped fighting, and they stopped fighting her.” She saw Branwen’s critical eyebrow raise ever higher as she spoke, and she was prepared for it. “Bran, she didn’t just abandon me. She wouldn’t do that. I don’t know what, but something happened to her, and she’s in there by herself.” With a tremorous, outstretched arm, Merlo pointed toward the tunnel leading away from Stone’s manor.
Zimi stepped over and forcefully lowered Merlo’s arm, then started checking her over, investigating her injuries. “Sure enough, she’s pretty banged up, but she’ll be alright, Cap’n. Just needs time, an’ less of it with that fancy suit of hers.”
Branwen nodded her thanks to their medic, but had obviously figured as much herself. She shook her head. “I never should have left you in her care.” The Captain’s tone seemed heavy, almost sorrowful; it briefly took Merlo aback.
“I don’t—” Merlo began, but Branwen didn’t let her continue.
“I should have been more careful; look what happened.” The Captain continued, gesturing at Merlo’s wounds, many of which were still uncovered and bleeding lightly, awaiting the recovery and propagation of her armor’s nanotech. “I have lost far too many to my own arrogance, my carelessness, my perceived necessity. I could have lost you too. There is no excuse.” Branwen slapped a hand down on Merlo’s shoulder, gripping her firmly and emotionally. Merlo didn’t figure it was the best moment to tell her that it kind of hurt.
With a deep frown and sorrowful wrinkles forming around her eyes, Branwen began to pull Merlo into an embrace, but, despite how nice that would have been, the girl pushed back with her own arm and resisted. When the Captain looked down at her in confusion, Merlo simply blinked back at her with wet-rimmed eyes. “Bran, please. My girlfriend is in there, and I’m worried about her.” She didn’t really know what else to say. It was so hard to process all of these feelings at once; it felt like her mind was slowing down as she tried, like she was thinking through mud.
The words she spoke had an immediate effect on the Captain, however, as she snapped almost to attention immediately. “You are right.” She snapped a quick glance around the back end of the compound, obviously accessing it tactically. “Zimi, come with me, but stay behind me and keep yourself concealed. No fighting. Merlo, stay hidden as well. I will go look for 286.”
With that, the Captain stepped over and picked up one of the undamaged glasteel shields, hefting it consideringly before sliding it into place on her arm. Zimi stayed out of Branwen’s way, but followed at her heels as she moved, a silent and timid shadow.
“Be careful,” the Captain said. “I will find her and return shortly.” With a single, firm nod, Branwen disappeared into the looming dark of Stone’s secret complex, and Merlo could only stand there for a long moment, before looking for a place to hide and rest, meanwhile wishing her stomach would stop twisting with worry.
17.4 - Branwen
It would likely be a while, Branwen felt, before she could stop berating herself for her mistakes here. Perhaps coming to space had made her soft, after all; though it was also true that she’d had no shortage of mistakes while living on Fade, either. Sure ‘nough, ain’t nobody perfect, Bran. She could virtually hear her uncle’s voice echoing through her thoughts, saying the same thing he’d told her time and again over the years, the thing she knew to be true but which nonetheless never lightened any burdens.
Zimi suddenly squeaked, as a tremor rippled its way up from somewhere beneath them, accompanied by a deep, sullen booming reverberation. Branwen shaded her face with the arm of her coat as small shards of dirt and rock trickled down from above, while Zimi clutched her other arm, though the girl released it when Branwen glanced down at her. “At least we know Prisoner 286 is likely alive.” She smiled, trying to reassure her young friend.
“Yeah, but in what kinda condition down there?” Zimi said quietly in response. “While you were fightin’, I got a message from Mr. Leonard, Cap’n. He said he intercepted where these guys tried to make outside contact for reinforcements, but he ain’t sure that they can’t get somethin’ out past him.”
Branwen made a thoughtful noise, stepping over unmoving bodies and lumps of gruesome carnage as she made for the tunnel, noting absently as Zimi covered her nose and averted her gaze from those same still forms. “This is a business best done quickly, anyway.” The Captain frowned as she saw Zimi shudder at her words, and pausing a moment to put a hand on her shoulder apologetically. “I am sorry, Zimi. I forget how hard conflict can be for those that are unused to it.”
“We gotta do what we gotta do, Cap’n.” The girl shrugged stoically, pulling out a dark cloth handkerchief and tying it around the bottom of her face, likely to block out the smells of death wafting up from all around them. This dim series of hallways and rooms, drab rocks supported by simple steel, showed all the signs of Prisoner 286’s passage, confirming that the dangerous woman was no longer helpless, nor passive. “It ain’t like I haven’t seen it before, anyways. I guess that’s exactly why it bothers me so much.”
Branwen nodded. It was exactly the job of soldiers like her to protect others from being exposed to the visceral nature of fighting, and here she was dragging Zimi into the thick of it. “Fade willing, it will all be over soon.” It was all she could offer as comfort before Zimi froze then reflexively stepped to the side and blended into the shadows of the support beams at Branwen’s left hand. The Captain simply stopped moving, knowing that she could be silent, but if someone really wanted to visually pick her figure out from the background, they would.
After a moment with no one jumping out to ambush them, Branwen heard the sound too, though she had to do so around the infrequent rumbling shocks that resounded through the depths of the building. Sword sizzling at the ready, held so that its light was concealed behind her, she crept forward. Ahead, around a rock outcropping, came voices, men’s voices raised slightly in argument, heavy with their distinctive, thick Urzran accents.
She listened long enough to determine what they spoke of: namely, that someone, likely Prisoner 286, had been sealed into the compound, and that the two of them had been ordered to seal this door and stand guard. One of them didn’t seem too keen on the thought, professing instead that they should go investigate the sounds of violence deep within. The other seemed to disagree,but that was where Branwen faded from the conversation and stuck her head around the corner, just a fraction, slowly enough and barely enough to avoid drawing attention.
They were barely into the tunnel, a squared pathway into the rocky cavern wall only slightly broader in any one direction that Branwen’s height, just tight enough confines to make her feel the constant need to duck and to also serve as a reminder of the looming, innumerable tons of rock suspended above her head. This next room that held the two bickering Urzran mercenaries was a little wider and held a few wall-embedded data panels and standing technological objects beyond Branwen’s ability to recognize. The back wall was sealed with a solid vault-style door that appeared thick and complex enough to be worrisome to her, but first things first.
The easiest fights to lose are those you are not aware you are fighting. Branwen put her back to the rough-carved wall, just out of their vision and barely fifteen feet away. She hefted the glasteel shield in one hand, and temporarily gripped her Skyblade in that same hand, long enough to grasp one of her remaining axes in her other hand, lean around the wall, and hurl it with deadly force. She followed the axe a moment later, shifting the gri
p on her sabre and rushing into the room, glasteel riot shield held at the ready.
Few people seemed to realize that a shield could be as much of a weapon as a defensive instrument. Branwen’s flying axe followed a shallow and brutal arc that ended with one mercenary’s face, embedding fatally deep into the open area in the front of his helm. The second had barely turned to register the killing of his friend before Branwen’s shield-rush slammed into him, pressing him hard against the rough stone and momentarily pinning his arms. The eye slit of her shield was already lined up with his throat, and the mercenary’s eyes went permanently wide and glossy as Branwen thrust her Skyblade through that narrow opening and took his life, the plasma-edged blade sinking effortlessly through the padding between armor plates and flesh alike.
Then she stepped back, jerking her blade free and allowing him the freedom to collapse limply to the ground, life rushing from his body. A long stride to his companion ensured that his sleep was no less eternal, as Branwen sunk plasma-edged alloy into his skull from above, then twisted and allowed him to spasm his last. It was all over within a couple of seconds; Branwen slung some of the blood from her blade and beckoned to Zimi, whose silhouette hovered near the entryway like a timid specter. As much as she might have liked to, she had no time to treat the girl with kid gloves.
As Zimi stepped forward, however, she eyed Branwen’s handiwork splayed across the cold ground and retched, one hand shooting out to steady herself against the wall and the other rising to cover her mouth. “Ugh… I’m sorry, Cap’n— I’m just not used to seein’ people… It’s not even th’ bodies, so much as watching… how you did it, an’ all.” Another unsteady retching sound came from behind her hand and facewrap.
“I truly wish there was another way.” Branwen started to reach for her friend with apologetic concern, but stopped when she noticed her hands were covered in blood: inherent symbolism if ever she’d seen any. “I am sorry, Zimi.”
The girl just shook her head unsteadily at Branwen for a moment before straightening resolutely, one hand still protectively over the lower part of her youthful face. “I’ll be fine, Cap’n. What do ya need?” She moved over, carefully picking her way past one of the corpses to Branwen’s side.
“We need in. These two,” Branwen restrained from gesturing unnecessarily at the two fresh corpses, as Zimi was steadfastly attempting to keep her gaze diverted from them. “They spoke of 286 being held deeper within. But this door is beyond my meager means, I fear.” She hadn’t really examined the heavy impediment yet, but she had no doubt her claim would be true. And indeed, a few moments of examination proved her correct; the sleek metal door was flush with the wall, and only a keypad and pressure-sensitive dial offered any entry.
“I got it, Cap’n. Just a sec.” Branwen was glad to hear the confidence in the girl’s subdued, cloth-muffled voice.
17.5 - Zimi
Zimi sighed, but she sighed quietly, internally. She didn’t want the Captain to have any reason to doubt her abilities, any reason to fear failure because of her.
She wasn’t up to the task, not really; but with everyone depending on her, she wasn’t about to let them all down, either. No matter what.
“Cap’n, if ya want, you can make this a whole lot easier on me.” Zimi looked up at the imposing metal door, nothing short of a sealed vault to her eyes. Solid, metal, impervious and impassive. It didn’t care about her struggles, her intentions; it didn’t think she could do it any harm. No doubt much like the man that bought and installed it to keep his “property” intact until he could pass it along to who knows where, or whom. The very thought made Zimi’s blood boil; it took a lot to get her riled up, but some things made it easy.
But that was okay. If anyone could fix this mess, she was sure the Captain could. And Zimi knew she’d do whatever it took to make it work.
“Of course. What can I do?” The sense of urgency was there in Branwen’s voice, though restrained and combined with a rock-solid confidence and air of authority. The larger woman moved close as quietly as she seemed able, blazing blade still at the ready. Zimi did what she could to not pay the violent tool any direct attention; as a symbol, what it represented stood capable of bringing her composure down around her ears, so to speak. Not the weapon’s fault, of course, but it was easier in the heat of the moment to ascribe darker traits to it than to do so to her friend.
“Your sword’s got that high-grade plasma sheathing on it, right? Well, I think we’re gonna see how good it is, ‘kay?” She kept her voice down, too, quiet and subdued and barely there; not really worth noticing. It wasn’t hard.
Branwen nodded and set the edge of her ready and crackling sabre against the wall where Zimi indicated. “Like this?” The older warrior kept glancing back at the tunnel to their backs as if she expected someone to come up behind them at any time. Whereas Zimi could appreciate the vigilance, it only served to make her more nervous at the moment, feeling like they might be “caught in the act” at any moment. She blinked, chastised herself lightly, and strove to shrug the feeling off.
Zimi tried to smile back at the Captain, though she realized too late the expression was hidden by her makeshift air filter covering the lower portion of her face. Maybe it was for the best; she wasn’t sure the attempt had come off correctly. “Yeah. Now, if you’ll start applyin’ pressure right there - no, a little to the left, Cap’n - we’ll just see if that sword don’t help make short work of his fancy defenses…”
Zimi trailed off as the Captain went to work; it seemed that her masterwork of a weapon was well up to the task. And for the best, really. No matter what Branwen seemed to think of her abilities, there was no way she could have breached such an obstacle on her own. She figured a lot of the Captain’s seeming misconceptions were due to just how little the woman really knew about the cluster’s technology, even just the simple things like what Zimi had grown up with.
I mean, I ain’t no master thief, or nothin.’ Zimi thought to herself as the Captain cut a line into the wall between the bulkhead and the blocking vault door, where Zimi knew just enough to realize that most of the power and hydraulic controls must be housed. I never broke into any banks, never stole nothin’ that somebody didn’t steal from somebody else first. An’ despite what it might seem like to th’ Captain, I can’t just go an break down any ol’ high level security, or disappear into the shadows. I just know how to stay out of the way, is all, how to hide an’ be somethin’ people don’t notice, that ain’t worth their time or trouble.
Not quite a solid minute of work saw a plate fall free of the wall, inches-thick metal still glowing hotly around the edges from Branwen’s impromptu plasma cutting. It thunked solidly against the floor, but there was nothing to be done about it but hope the sound didn’t draw any attention, since there was nothing they could do to catch the nearly-molten edged metal chunk anyway. The Captain nodded in satisfaction regardless of her lack of knowledge of the reasons behind the work, then stepped back to watch behind them with more solid focus once Zimi nodded to her to indicate that she was done, heedless of another hidden, half-smile on Zimi’s part. Then Zimi went to work on the revealed, vulnerable innards of the security door barring their way.
An’ where I might not be able to crack a safe or bust down some vault or such, there’s often plenty of ways around stuff that rich people, fancy people, all those people from high tech worlds don’t ever think about. Cracks in places they don’t think to look, even when it’s their job to think of it. Little places, out of the way places… Simple places. Turns out everything’s got some sort of weakness, got some kinda work-around. If’n ya can get to it, that is; ain’t always easy to manage it. But Zimi supposed, if there was anything she was good at other than plants and a little doctorin’ here and there, it was exactly that kind of thing. Findin’ those cracks, that is.
17.6 - Branwen
Zimi seemed to be mumbling to herself quietly as she worked. Branwen, turning away once more to act as a proper sentry, didn’t
see any harm in it; she knew when someone was trying to distract themselves, and figured the more Zimi could distance herself from the reminders of violence all around her, the quicker she could get them both through that door, and the easier she might cope after it was all over with. Or so Branwen could hope. In the meantime, her own job was to stay alert and kill anyone that interfered.
The moments ticked by, the actual action of gaining entry taking a handful of minutes, as Zimi used a set of tools secreted away on her person to slowly sabotage strange arrays of wires, tubes, and thick metal piping; meanwhile, tiny eternities crawled by as Branwen stood watch, facing away from the door and with weapons bared, shield interposed between her crew woman and the entryway. Finally, Zimi moved from working on the hole in the wall Branwen had so recently created to finessing the door itself, though Branwen’s attention was too focused elsewhere to keep a close watch on the particulars of her actions, no matter how interesting they might have been.
Unlike how it seemed to Branwen’s perceptions, it wasn’t long past that when Zimi triumphantly, albeit quietly, announced that the door was open. Branwen gave her a grin of appreciation, and provided cover for her as the door hissed and cracked open, pushing itself aside with a hint of some sort of hidden, if potentially damaged, hydraulics. The rumblings of sound from the lower area had subsided somewhat while they worked, but another strong vibration suddenly rattled the complex and Zimi tensed, stepping through the narrow opening of the partially-open door and looking around. Branwen knew it must be rather dim inside when the medic tugged her light-adjusting goggles down off of her head and over her eyes, but there was still plenty of dim light for the Captain’s more adaptive vision to make out their surroundings.
She paused, eyebrows arching skyward, more than a little impressed at what she saw. They now stood in a good thirty-by-fifty foot chamber, almost all of it lined with either weapons or the blank, obvious spaces where weapons once were. There were a lot of those; spaces now bare that looked to only recently have housed guns, ammunition, body armor, and shields of both the handheld glasteel and energy-projection-based varieties. There were even several crates of flat blocks with black and yellow bands around them that she assumed to be packages of explosives. Above their heads, a dull orange light flashed rhythmically, and at the far end of the room, yet another door barred their way, as sturdy and seemingly unassailable as the last.
Destiny Abounds (Starlight Saga Book 1) Page 37
