by Justin Bell
Down below Luxen is dashing towards the gate, but Bragdons are charging close behind him. I bring the nose of the ship around, locate the triggers embedded within the control stick, and target Luxen's assailants with yellow, pulsating plasma. I walk twin paths of fire through the group, send them scattering, and begin to guide the aircraft down towards him. He has nothing left here, not with Viktosh gone, and I owe him a bigger measure of thanks than a few plasma blasts and a wing wave.
Easing the aircraft into a right coast, I continue firing the nose cannons, blasting through the approaching horde of Bragdon soldiers. Luxen is down on the ground, looking up at me in curiosity as if not fully understanding what I'm trying to accomplish. With a jerk and shudder, the jump ship eases back down to the pad. Plasma fire continues the assault on the ship's thick rounded hull, each blast jarring in the cockpit.
Maybe I should have thought this through a little better.
“Get on the ladder!” I shout through the canopy, and he squints at me. “Now, Luxen! Climb in!”
He takes a step forward, hesitates, and fires a few more times to buy himself some space. Then he slings the weapon over his chest, bends at the knees and jumps. Plasma slices through the air around him, almost framing his body in glowing fire. His fingers latch onto the bottom rung of the ladder and he goes hand over hand as more return fire glances off the bottom of the ship and ricochets off just to his right, narrowly missing him.
With a flip, I unlatch the canopy as I see his head crest the ladder and the clear screen clicks, raising slightly, allowing him to work his fingers, into the seam. Moments later as laser fire pelts the jump ship, he hauls himself in and I slam the cockpit shut just after him, confirming the airlock seal.
“Buckle in!” I say, returning my full attention to the control console.
“Why are you doing this?” he asks. “What are the Bragdon to you?”
“We’re all living things,” I reply, simply and plainly.
I guide the nose of the ship back up, easing it towards the stars ahead, igniting thrusters and increasing the lift. Down below the Bragdons are specks, their gunfire the twinkling of tiny stars, and I engage the main atmospheric engines, which roar to life, catapulting my jump ship up and out at speeds that defy all logical explanation.
Chapter Nine
Forty seconds ago the jump ship broke atmosphere and is hurtling into space, where I can enter coordinates for Athelon and maybe, just maybe, make my way home.
. . . Our way home? Looking back over the seat, I see Luxen buckled into one of the back seats with his eyes pressed closed and his fingers gripping tight to the armrest. It doesn't look like he's ever broken atmosphere before. It's not like I'm some expert either, though I feel like one.
Some expert. . . For all of these new abilities, I still couldn't save Viktosh. I still have no idea where the powers came from or even what good they might do me. They are exhilarating and fascinating, yet immensely frustrating and troubling. I want to just let go, to embrace these abilities and let them take over, but at the same time, I feel cautious and afraid, fearing what I might discover about the origins of them.
I want to give myself over to them, but I don't dare.
My mind still struggles to rationalize the past thirty-six hours. I can’t comprehend how I went from taking a shuttle to generational school to narrowly escaping in a jettison pod, battling my way through dozens of Bragdons, a race of creatures I’d only heard about up until yesterday, before somehow stealing a jump ship and breaking planetary orbit.
How is this real?
The control yoke thrashes in my hand as the ship breaks atmosphere and adjusts to life in lower gravity, easing on the thrusters and shifting to a slow glide through the dark of space. Stars slam on the brakes, jolting from streaks to the more familiar static twinkles and I guide the ship up and what should be to my right, if there was such a thing as right out here in space. Under the console I find a Quadrant Yarda space map, and Athelon is clearly marked in language that I shouldn’t be able to understand, yet somehow I do. Both my shoulder and my leg still feel as if they are smoking with a radiant fire underneath the skin’s surface, a pulsating heat from plasma burns, and I know they’ll ache for a long time, but I’m alive.
Somehow, we’re both alive.
My hair is a disaster and every single one of my nails busted to the nub... and dangit I think those plasma shots tore up my favorite teal jumpsuit.
“I really don’t like this,” Luxen replies in his small voice.
“It’ll be over before you know,” I try and ease his fears.
I recheck the coordinates for Athelon and begin to calculate our approximate time of arrival, both to reassure Luxen and to have something to do. My eyes fall on a cluster of stars that appear larger than the ones surrounding them. I squint as they appear to be growing as if coming towards me. Is that some kind of star system I'm not used to seeing from Athelon, or is it something else?
The white hot spear of plasma tells me it’s something else.
“What’s going on?” Luxen screams.
“Not out of the woods yet!” I reply.
Frantically I yank the controls to the right, narrowly avoiding the solid beam of white that splits space and almost hacks my ship in half. As I correct the path of the jump ship I notice that no, those were not stars, they were Bragdon warships emerging from some concealed space on the edge of the Bragdon sector and they’re now moving in to stop this once and for all.
Some strange and scary things have happened to me over the past thirty-six hours. I'm starting to suspect a healthy amount of luck went into my survival, and it feels as if that luck maybe about to run its course.
Maybe I have a tiny bit of luck left. A small squad of fighters banks away from the two larger warships to target me, but their small plasma torpedoes are meant to stun and disable rather than to destroy. The nose of the jump ship dips down as I surge towards one of the fighters, and release a far more deadly burst of plasma. The fighter collapses in on itself, before exploding outward as I barrel roll through wreckage and smoke.
The other three fighters converge on my tail, throwing a series of low impact plasma blasts. Though they are not torpedoes, they cause enough damage that the left thruster starts to stutter and cough.
No no no no!
Coming around, I trail another path of fire up the back of an approaching fighter and it spirals away trailing fuel before exploding. The last two fighters in this group come up underneath me to pound away with their own nose mounted weapons, rocking the ship and threatening to send me into a wild, uncontrolled barrel roll. Even if I can somehow get out of this, it looks like I'm leaking fuel, and there's no way this ship has the power to make it all the way to Athelon in its current state. The situation is untenable.
“We’ll never make it,” Luxen says, leaning forward in his seat. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Sit tight,” I reply, staying focused on the more immediate problems.
Still, I persist. Igniting back up turbines I throw my small jump ship back into a right bank, pulling away from the approaching Bragdons, narrowly avoiding the next series of deadly plasma shots, but even the backup turbines are whining their disagreement, begging me to let them rest. I’m begging myself to rest at this point as the warships continue growing closer and larger outside my front canopy. Still two of them, but they're so big, even bigger than they looked before, though that might be more due to the shaky nature of my current situation than the size of the ships themselves.
Another shot careens off the starboard side of my small ship, carving a melted trench through the surface of the vehicle, sparking and smoking before the beam of light continues on to the infinity of space. The jump ship strains as I push it past its limits, pulling it into a tight port side turn, trying to avoid getting caught between this small group of fighters, but even as I do it, I realize that one of these plasma hits has struck the life support systems, and my head hurts, a constant pres
sure behind my eyes from the acknowledgment of a lack of breathable air inside the ship.
Sure, why not? I’m not in enough trouble up here, let’s add one more complication shall we?
“It’s hard to breathe,” Luxen complains. “Are you having trouble breathing?”
I nod. “Take slow breaths, okay? I’m working through a few things here.”
So I manage to fight my way out of a Bragdon freighter, escape Braxis itself, fighting off an entire squad of operatives, only to be intercepted in the upper atmosphere and sprayed all over the stars.
Sounds like my track record over the past few days.
The desire to sleep pulls at me as I unload my plasma cannons again, stitching pulsing fire across the right wing of one of the fighters, smashing it apart. Warships are flanking me, keeping me penned in by training their cannons on my every move. I'm trying to focus on finding a way out, but my brain is foggy and the lights on the console are blurring together.
On each side of me, purple blasts surge from each warship, streaks of plasma torpedoes twisting around each other, coming straight for me. I've got nowhere to go as a series of thrashing slams jolts the jump ship one way, then the other. Purple light wraps around the ship covering all window in a strange rippling violet coating.
All at once every light dims, and, the entire cockpit is consumed in darkness and the sounds of machinery wind down to silence as Bragdon ships converge.
“Close,” Luxen says in a voice barely above a whisper. “We were so close.”
“Don't give up,” I say. “This isn't over yet.” . . . But I'm not convinced.
Snatching defeat from the jaws of victory is a Brie Northstar specialty.
TWO WARSHIPS AND AROUND a dozen fighters collect in a lazy circle around my jump ship. The two larger aircraft face the canopy, filling the view as if showing off their blatant victory. The angular ships hover there blasting thrusters to adjust their positions, keeping them still and stable, staring me down. Fighters buzz past my canopy, swarming like a cluster of insects waiting for their prey.
Behind me, Luxen is pressing his face to the canopy, yellow eyes snapping, as he fights off panic. Were not dead yet, but we're getting there. I'm getting light-headed, too, but I focus on breathing slowly to keep from hyperventilating and depleting what limited air there is is the cabin.
One of the warships maneuvers its broad side towards us, preparing to take us in . . . two tractor beam rides in two days . . . something tells me the novelty will wear off.
On the side of the warship an airlock door slips open, a wide and eager mouth waiting for food. Already, I feel the gentle tug of my ship moving towards the large warship beyond any of my control. It's an almost soothing, lulling movement as if I'm in a boat, floating on still water. Only, here there is a distinct direction. As it draws us closer, the pull of the tractor beam almost rocks me to sleep in this air-deprived, gracefully curved sleeping chamber.
For the briefest moment the airlock ahead of me shudders. The purple spread of the tractor beam starts splitting and separating, but it's not just the beam. It's the entire warship. Yellow light bursts at the center of its starboard side. The entire face of the warship cracks like a broken window.
Suddenly, the warship twists, with the nose going one way while the tail goes the other. Then the warship simply explodes, blooming like an orange and red flower as it shatters into pieces and sprays out from the center.
Luxen jumps in his seat, the belt barely keeping him restrained.
My jump ship pushes backwards into an uncontrolled topple, end-over-end, I’m bracing myself in the small cockpit, trying to keep from slamming around inside, and as my ship finishes its third flip, I look out of the canopy and four ships are screaming out of hyperspace, stars streaking around them as they flash into existence, huge, curved structures with layered composite armor, twin cannons mounted on the fuselage and massive rear thrusters, easing to a low blue flame.
Ship Killers.
Athelonian Ship Killers.
My family has found me.
I close my eyes, the lack of air too much to compensate for. I'm tipping over backwards, and darkness covers me in luxurious sleep. As I fade into unconsciousness I look at Luxen and see the same happening with him. Hopefully we both end up someplace friendly.
WHERE AM I? EVERYTHING feels like I belong here. All the surfaces shine. There are bright white walls, polished silver floors, and a bed with plain white sheets and blankets. No fancy decor, no pretty colors, and all very functional and utilitarian. It's just like home.
I’m back in Athelon. It all looks so familiar now.
As I swing my feet off the bed, dark violet bursts of strange memory flash in my head: walking through the hallways of the shuttle; talking to the Bragdons in the dark corner; fighting back when they tried to take me.
I ran, but I wasn't supposed to run. They weren't expecting me to run.
My feet pounded down the corridor towards safety. The only door I could find was to the engine room and I opened it, diving for shelter. They fired stun blasts at me, cursing.
Stun blasts flew past me and hit the main reactor. Alarms sounded and the ship started to tilt. The shuttle was going to explode.
Bragdons vanished, I don't know where to, but they vanished. Everywhere classmates scattered. As I ran into one of them, I grabbed her arm, which flashed from flesh to gray, to green, before changing back to flesh again.
Escape pods burst from the shuttle as it burned, clearing just before the whole thing exploded.
Now I'm here. I'm back home. Somehow I survived the past three days, I'm back in my own bed, and life is back to normal.
Things will never be normal again... not ever.
Something inside of me is different now. The Bragdons changed me.
The Bragdons made me.
Wait, what?
Where’s Luxen?
I put my forehead in my palm and squeeze, trying to clear my head. The room smells of a light, gentle flower scent. It's not like perfume, but more like I'm near a natural garden. This is what my home is like, isn't it? Yet the air here doesn't seem fresh. Everything seems a bit too bright and too shiny. ...Too fake. ...Not raw enough. ...Inorganic.
Get a grip, Northstar. Be happy.
I am happy, I think. Not normal, but at least happy to be home.
This is my home, after all. It is Athelon, and I recognize it. This is my bedroom, these are the colors, or lack of color, that I know and the scents I grew up with. There's no doubt that I have been returned to where I've lived my whole life. But these new abilities have given me a different perspective. I have this new, evolved insight if you will, a generation of experiences crammed into thirty-six hours, in a way that I cannot properly explain.
It forces me to look at things with new eyes. In many ways it feels almost like a curse. I’d rather just go back to the way things were, but I’m not sure that will ever be possible.
Where is Luxen?
Pushing my palms against the bed, I ease to my feet, a little shaky, but stable. My leg and shoulder still throb, but I can feel the warm press of medical wraps on them both and I know that in time I’ll heal. Physically, anyway.
Mentally?
Over the past three days I've killed countless Bragdons, fired weapons, punched, hit, and blown up entire warships with hundreds on board. It feels like it was an out-of-body experience, but it was me. Somehow, it was all me.
Now I'm back in my peaceful Athelon existence with nothing to worry about except how good my grades are, how my hair looks, or whether my new pants match my favorite tank top.
I move towards the door to the small room, and ease myself out into the hallway, still trying to clear my head.
“Brie? You’re awake?”
I turn to face the door and she walks in, tall and graceful, the bright lace dress draped over her slender form, dragging on the clean carpet behind her.
“Mom,” I say quietly, moving towards her. She smiles and op
ens her arms, all four of them, bringing me in with a deep embrace. Every Athelonian has four arms, prophets say it’s why we were all born to be laborers.
I seem to be the exception to that rule.
Doctors have called in a genetic abnormality, but my parents have never let it bother them. At least not to my face.
My mother’s arms are strong and soothing as they always have been, and for the first time in two days, my head feels cleared of the influx of thoughts I’ve had since the shuttle flight. For the first time, I feel truly relaxed and at ease, not struggling to clear my head or to learn something new. In all ways, I finally feel like I’m home.
I pull away for a brief moment, looking at her. “Where’s Luxen?” I ask.
She scowls at me. “Who, dear?”
“The boy I was in the ship with,” I reply.
There’s a commotion in the hallway, the sound of shouting, and I gently ease my mother aside.
“What’s going on?”
Pushing my way out into the hallway I see him.
“Release me!” he shouts, struggling. He's flanked by two tall guards, in plain rounded armor—nothing decorative, because that would be wasteful. All of their arms are around Luxen's two, holding him back and guiding him down the hall.
“You can’t do that!” I shout. “He saved my life!”
“He’s a filthy lizard!” shouts one of the guards, glaring at me. “The Bragdons don’t belong here.”
“I said release him!” I repeat. “As eldest daughter of the Northstar clan, I order you to release him!”
“Ignore that order!” the voice echoes from behind me, shrill and commanding.
I spin, glaring at my mother who strides down the hall after me. Two arms are crossed over her chest, the other two pointing at Luxen. “He will not run free in my home as long as I draw breath!”
“Mother!” I shout back at her. “I just told you he saved my life.”
She steps towards me, her face stoic. “We just pulled you from that mud hole, young lady, perhaps you would have preferred we had left you there to rot?”
