by Justin Bell
"Finally," he says. "It's been a while since we spoke."
I fight back the urge for a witty comeback and simply nod.
"Come in, young one, come in. We have much to discuss."
"I'm not sure we do."
As his outstretch hand hovers there, his fingers tremble slightly. For a moment it looks as if he might close them into an angry fist, but instead he drops his arm by his side and sneers, his mouth twisting.
"Such anger for someone who has been provided such hospitality. I could have sworn when we met aboard my battle cruiser that you told me you were with me. Did I imagine that?"
"No," I reply. "I'm more than happy to do my part for the cause of Braxis. But I suspect what you may request from me is above and beyond what most would consider that cause."
"You presume to know me, do you?"
"I presume to know a lot of things. That's one thing I've learned over the past six months, there is a lot of knowledge out there, and much of that knowledge is now contained within me."
He shakes his head and turns from me. "How fortunate for you."
"I don't know about that."
Out of the corner of my eye I can see Shrag and Kleethak glare at each other uneasily. Not only is Command unhappy with the tenor of this conversation but it certainly appears as if they are as well.
"At least allow me to sell you my pitch," he says, turning back towards me and gesturing towards a chair I had not seen earlier. It's tucked underneath a rounded table set off in the corner of his large office. I make my way there, pull it from its place, and seat myself, resting my arms on the surface.
"Excellent," he remarks, repeating my motion for the second chair, across the table from my own.
Sitting across from Command I can't help but feel like a small fish in a galaxy-sized pond. As the commander of the Braxis space fleet, Command has final say over the fates of several million members of the militia.
I'm not even nineteen. Sure, I've done some pretty crazy things over the past six months, I'd even dare say, a few impressive things, but sitting here about to talk strategy with this guy is crazy.
I can't help but feel a little over-matched.
"The quadrant is on the brink of complete destabilization," he says, folding his fingers together. "Reblox and Athelon are each convinced the other is on the cusp of destroying them. Each one is desperate to make the first move."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"Something has to give. They are too evenly matched and too capable of landing body blows repeatedly for the next century. Only every time each side lands a body blow, it costs thousands of lives."
"And I'm supposed to do something about that? Little old Brie Northstar? You already more or less told me you weren't sold on this Child of the Stars business."
He smiles at me, tapping his fingertips together. "At this point your name holds more credence than these mysterious celestial legends."
"My name?"
"Indeed. Even without Redax and Jary your name still has power. Braxis needs that power. Power that can bring an end to this war before the entire quadrant is nothing more than cosmic dust and spent plasma."
I don't like the way this is headed. He can tell.
"I need you to return to Athelon. Tell them you escaped captivity. The Reblons who executed your parents captured you, but you managed to slip away."
"What will that prove?"
"You slipped away with the help of Braxis."
I lean back in my chair slightly, folding my hands in my lap. Things are starting to make sense, to come together, to paint a picture. It's an ugly, violent, nauseating picture.
"You want me to lead your fleet right to Athelon's doorstep just like I thought. You want me to convince them you come in peace so you can destroy them from the inside out?"
Command twitches slightly at this. It's a very subtle twitch and one that I almost didn't catch.
"Athelon is my home."
"Don't be so sure."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
He sits there for a moment, looking at me with his fingers tented together, almost as if considering my very existence.
"The entire Yarda Quadrant is your home. It is my home, too. We are not so different," he finally says.
Something tells me those weren't the first words to pop into his head. He's covering for something.
"I won't be directly responsible for Athelonian deaths. I've caused enough death in a short amount of time. I have no desire to cause more."
He leans back, pulling his hands apart and opening his palms towards me. "Then this will never end. This war will drag on for generations and will consume the entire quadrant."
A bright flare of rage bursts in my chest, spreading through my body like untamed fire. I narrow my eyes and feel a tight clench of muscle in my arms.
"You're trying to blame that on me?"
"This isn't about blame, young one--"
"You're going to hold me responsible for the sanctity of our entire quadrant? Maybe the entire galaxy? A teenage girl?" I press my palms to the table and push myself upwards, shoving the chair back.
"Calm yourself, Miss Northstar," Command says, his voice growing lower and sharper with a thin, razor edge to it.
"I won't do it."
"You've been a guest in my home. I could have had you executed, but I brought you to Braxis. I've let you train with your friends and given you shelter."
"So you could use me."
"You are being overly dramatic, and I do not care for your tone." This time Command stands up, his arms thick and rigid. His armored tunic is littered with glittering gold and silver and even in the low, red light of the room they shine like the reflection of his narrow, gleaming eyes. In this light, the pale bone crowning his head almost looks like its layered in blood.
"I'm willing to help," I say. "I've said that all along. But asking me to lead Braxis to the front door of my home planet so that it can be razed is asking just a little too much, wouldn't you agree?"
I hear a shuffling behind me and I turn towards the door we came through. A throng of Bragdon commandos enter, all clad in the same dark colored ceremonial armor as the door guard. They carry the same ornate, bladed staffs and the rounded helmets drape over their sloped heads to meet crimson capes. There are several, at least twelve, of them in the room now. Luxen looks over at them at the same time I do, looking just as distressed.
"Please, don't make this harder than it needs to be," Command says. "I could just have you executed and have one of my infiltrators mimic your appearance. Is that how you want this to end?"
"Wait a minute," Luxen says, stepping forward. "We never agreed to that."
Command flashes him a look. "There was a time when Braxis needed your pitiful little resistance," he growls. "That time has passed. You need us now."
Luxen's fist tightens, but he says nothing.
Finally, Luxen says, "Brie, at least think about what he says."
I look to my left and see Shrag stepping towards me, extending his hand in a show of unity. "We're all on the same side here. We all just want peace."
"We want 'peace'? At what cost, Shrag? Will decimating Athelon bring 'peace'?"
"Nobody said anything about decimating Athelon," Shrag replies.
My eyes dart towards Command, then back over to Shrag. "I'm not sure I agree."
"If you are not with us, Brie Northstar," continues Command, "then I'm afraid you're against us. Perhaps you need some time in the Braglosh prisons to reconsider your stance?"
I shake my head. So it's come to this. I should have known. It always does with these three planets. Offer a small perk, expect the world in return, then threaten death to any who do not submit. How silly of me to think Braxis might be different. How naive to think that generations of oppression might give them a fresh perspective. Once again I can't help but wonder whether the entire Braxis philosophy is shared by Command, or if he's going off on his own a tangent here.
> "You're welcome to try," I reply, trying to shift my false bravado to true bravado. I've felt refreshed over the past few weeks, and the power to tap into those special abilities feels reinvigorated. But there are over a dozen highly trained Bragdon commandos in here and who knows how many just outside. That may be a tall order, even for the Child of the Stars.
I hear almost the entire group of commandos behind me moving at once in a swift shuffle of feet and the clattering of staffs as they move into position. My body resonates with a rippling heat as I can feel that familiar cosmic energy coiling around me, feeding me, filling my head with possibilities. I have to actually look down at my hands to make sure they're not glowing. The energy feels so powerful at this moment, more powerful than I've felt in a very long time.
I glance back over at Command, who is flanked by Kleethak and Shrag, and for a brief moment I can almost see Kleethak's eyes glowing a faint purple from within the depths of his hood. Is he tapping into his own energy? He hasn't said much today. I wonder which side he's truly on?
"There has to be some other way," Luxen says, stepping between me and the approaching commandos. He turns towards me. "Brie, please reconsider. I'm sure we can find a compromise."
I look past him towards the twelve Bragdons who are stalking towards me with staffs at the ready and heads lowered.
"I think the time for compromise is over."
With feral screams, two of the reptiles charge towards me, lifting their staffs. I move in to intercept, pushing Luxen out of the way. One blade swings at me. I duck under it into a slide, kicking out and striking the legs of the second commando. He topples over as I come up into a battle stance and lunge forward, parrying a second staff strike. I clutch the pole with my hands and spin, kicking the commando in the chest and wrenching the staff from his hands. Spinning, I twirl the staff in my hand, then lock my elbows and slam it into the helmeted head of another approaching soldier, knocking him roughly to the ground.
Another staff shoots my way. I knock it aside with a counter-strike, then twirl the other end of the staff around to pound the blunt end into his stomach. He doubles over as I leap forward, roll over his bent back, and cartwheel around to crash into another commando.
Five of them are down on the ground, but already the group converges. One staff lances my right side and pain flares, sending me stumbling left. I'm greeted by the thwack of a pole to the side of my bare head and starbursts of light dance behind my eyes. That temporary flare of pain drowns out the swirling colors that usually accompany my celestial abilities and for a brief moment I'm not sure what to do next.
Two Bragdons charge in from each side. I punch my staff into the ground to vault over the heads of the commandos to my left. Arcing through the air, I land in a graceful crouch a yard or so on the other side of them. I swing my staff low, clipping the ankles of two other commandos, sending them sprawling, then lunge forward. Shifting left to narrowly avoid another blade strike, I can feel the sharp edge of agony dulling into a throb where I was already struck. I can feel warm hotness streaming down my right leg.
My head swims and a staff barrels into my left side, pushing me back that way. Using my staff, I hold my balance then twist back around with the blunt end under my arm and the sharp end shooting out and around in an arch. The blade skitters across the armored tunic of one of the reptiles, shooting sparks and sending him sprawling backwards. I kick another commando high in the chest, knocking him back, then turn to swivel out of the way of another. As I turn, Command is right there in front of me, tall and broad with his swirling blue robe twisting around him as he moves.
He is a good head taller than I am, his shoulders are wide with off-white bone punching through the skin at the points. His yellow eyes glare down at me, narrow and incensed, and his jagged teeth are bared through pursed, leather lips.
"This ends now," he growls.
I swing my staff up and around. With barely any effort he lifts his open palm and clasps it around the blunt end, then wrenches it from my hands and casts it aside. Rolling with the motion I swing a straight, undercut punch to his left side. He steps around it, sending the back of his hand crashing into my head. The impact throws me into a clumsy spin and I stumble wildly, barely catching myself with my hands as I fall to my knees.
I look back over my shoulder and see him pulling a long, curved blade from a sheath behind his back. The knife looks similar in shape and style to the staff blades, but it is more ornate like some kind of ceremonial blade announcing his status. I know it's nothing but cold, emotionless steel, but just for a moment, it seems like it may be calling out for my blood. ...Thirsty for it.
I shoot to my feet and leap high into the air, curling my knees in preparation for a devastating kick. He's faster than he looks and in less than a second he dashes in to intercept. His hand shoots out to wrap itself around my neck while I'm still in mid-air. With a hissing growl, he spins, carrying me around like some weightless stuffed animal, then slams me hard, back-first to the table we were just sitting around moments before. Lights blast in my eyes as pain racks my entire body, shooting down all four limbs. Darkness swallows the last remnants of pink and purple colors in my eyes.
He presses the curved blade to my throat. As he leans down close to my face, his hot, sour breath stinging my eyes.
"I could kill you right here and right now," he hisses. "I should kill you and be done with this charade."
"So do it."
His mouth is a twisted snarl, but it gradually shifts to a neutral line, then curls into a satisfied smirk with his yellowed teeth exposed.
"No, not yet. Prison camp first. We'll see if that changes your mind."
I look past his right arm and see Shrag, Kleethak and Luxen collected into a loose group, watching what's happening. They are watching, but doing nothing. It wasn't so long ago I felt like I had finally found my family, a group I could belong to, a crew of like-minded individuals who shared my viewpoint on life and our place in this universe.
Now my family sits and watches as a knife is pressed to my throat. They sit, watch, and do nothing.
Luxen's eyes and mouth are wide and uncertain. His fingers open and close as if he aches to defend me, to protect me.
But he stands and does nothing. And all that's left for me is prison, then most likely death.
And the Child of the Stars myth will die with me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
All things considered, at least the Bragdon escort convoy to their nastiest prison camp is a bit more scenic than Athelon's.
It wasn't that long ago that the idea of being transported to a maximum security prison would have given me an hysterical panic attack, or at least some nervous sweats. Now? Just seems like another trip to a different planet.
Looking out over the edge of the ship, dull, green water stretches on as far as my eyes can see, rippling behind us slightly from the wake of the watercraft. I've never been escorted in an open boat before, so that's a new experience at least.
Not every boat in the convoy is wide open. In the front of the line of water-borne traffic is a pair of armored ships that is like narrow arrowheads of slanted armor plate assembled into an angular point with the lower halves fully submerged. Near the top of each armored escort are twin weapon turrets, each with three barrels bolted together into a singular triangular shaped mini-cannon. Armored domes cover the ports and as I look at them, they sweep slowly left and right, scanning the area for any potential infiltrators.
What should I really expect? I don't think anyone even knows I'm on Braxis, and even if they did, the only group who might possibly rescue me are now working with my jail keepers. Just when I think I can't quite dig any deeper, I end up with a fresh shovel. Brie Northstar - taking train wreck to a whole new level.
Flanking the two armored lead boats is a trio of open-air hoverships, sleek watercraft with two massive, round turbines on the rear, pushing them forward through the calm waters. They are splitting it with their angled hulls like a dull
knife through thick cream.
I'm in one of the boats in the group of five in the middle of the line. All of these are open-air as well. The other boats contain groups of armored Bragdons, each one toting heavy plasma weapons. The convoy is trailed by a few last stragglers, one armored boat at the end, with a pair of other weapons ships floating along, alerting soldiers combing the surrounding trees. And there are a lot of trees. Thick groups of green stalks raise up from the waters, reach out through throngs of tall grass, and lift up high above us, blocking out much of the sun with crossing branches and a ccanopy of dark leaves.
