by Justin Bell
"So you left?"
"I did. But in this new age, one does not just 'leave'. They've been after me ever since I took off, keeping me on the run and in the shadows."
"For how long?"
"Almost twenty years."
I can't shake the sight from my mind of that first vision of him that I had, enraged, leaping through the hole in the shuttle's roof. He was a brutish thug who could have easily killed us all without a second thought.
But he didn't.
"I was content being an outlaw," he continues, "but meeting you and your resistance gave me pause and reconsider. I started to think that maybe there's something I can do about this new Braxis philosophy, a way I can bring it to light."
"So that's what you need help with?"
He nods. "There's a scientific facility in the deep west swamps. I've known about it for a long time, but it never made sense to strike. But once I heard you were here on the surface, I started rethinking that strategy."
"Okay, enough," I reply, my voice clipped. "What makes me so important to all of this? I've seen you fight, you and your Scalebacks. You made me look like a rank amateur. These strange abilities I have are hit or miss these days and not enough to turn the tide of any battle."
"It's not about the battle," he says.
"Explain."
He draws in a breath and lowers his eyes for a moment, seemingly unsure of how to proceed. I can feel the chill in the air increasing, and my breath halts. My heart rams in my chest, and the air around us feels thick with anticipation. My world is about to change; I can feel it.
As he truns to look at some random console on the wall, his back is facing me so I can't see his face. I don't like this. I don't like this at all.
"Our target is a Braxis research facility. It's a military controlled science building with biometric scanners at the perimeter."
"Biometric what?"
"They're embedded sonar to check for potential intruders. The facility is highly secure. The only Bragdons who can breach the perimeter are employees or test subjects, both of whom are genetically programmed to not kick off the sensor alarms."
I narrow my eyes at him as he finally turns to face me, his arms crossed over his chest, displaying the armor-like scales protruding from his muscular upper arms.
"What's that have to do with me?" I ask.
He remains silent for a moment. It's the longest moment of my short life.
"The West Swamp Research Facility is where you were born."
I blink at him. No other part of my body can move, so my eyes do all the moving for the rest. Staring blankly with my eyelids fluttering like frantic wings, I can think of nothing else to say. ...Nothing else to do.
"This isn't how I wanted to tell you," he says.
"I don't understand."
"You were raised on Athelon, yes. That much is true. To that point you are truly an Athelonian. However, your true birthright... your real home planet is right here, on Braxis. You're one of us."
My head spins and a strange fog swarms my brain. I reach out with my left hand and place it on the sloped wall behind me to steady myself. Is this really a surprise? Do so many things finally make sense? What does this really mean?
"This... I... My parents... They never told me."
He takes a step towards me and places his cool hand on my arm. "Brie...they didn't know."
The world swirls around me, the floor of the sub sweeping up over my vision, blurring it, and suddenly up is down and down is up. I crash backwards onto the seat behind me, slamming onto the flat surface. Pain rockets up my spine. Nothing feels real. I stare at my hands, my Bragdon hands and turn them over in front myself, willing them to become Athelonian again. I try desperately to shape shift back from Bragdon to the form I'd known for eighteen years, my Athelonian form.
...My two-armed Athelonian form.
Was that why? But I've seen Bragdons shape shift into Athelonians before, with all four arms intact. How did I even shape shift as a baby? How would I have possibly known how to do that? The questions fly through my head faster than I can answer them, whirling around me like a tornado of false memories and artificial dreams.
"This is why I didn't want to tell you, not yet."
Sitting there, I feel the cool metal of the bench underneath me, but the rest of my body is dull and numb, just slabs of muscle pinned to my body. Nothing makes sense and everything makes sense.
"How do you know?" I ask, looking up at him.
"It was the final breaking point," he replies. "I learned they had started using children as weapons."
"Children? As in multiple?"
"As far as I know, you were the only success."
Still looking at the metal grating on the floor, I link my fingers together. "How did they measure success?"
"Survival."
I glance up at him, looking out from under the thick brow of my Bragdon form. I can see the uneven gray skin in my peripheral vision.
"I'm sure you have many questions," he continues.
"You have no idea."
"When they revealed this plan to the upper echelon of Braxis military commanders, I knew my time there was short. It was...unconscionable. It represented a change in direction that I could not fathom. I still can't."
"How did you connect the dots? Between that...and me?"
"When you were described as the 'Child of the Stars' I didn't really put things together. But after I saw you fight... ...Saw you shape shift. ...Heard your crew mates talk about your...disfigurement. I started to wonder, just a bit."
He steps away from me, lowering himself down to the bench on his own side of the chamber.
"So when we let you go, I reached out to some friends that I still had in the right places in government. Friends that are quickly diminishing...and they confirmed my fears. They were able to locate documents that confirmed that you were part of the West Swamp trials."
"I don't understand these 'trials' you're talking about. You called me a 'test subject'."
Around us, the sub jostles and thrash left briefly. A bright red light flares above us just before compensating and evening out back to smooth travel. It's a brief and harsh reminder that we're actually wrapped in a metallic tube several hundred feet underwater. My stomach churns a little bit just thinking about it.
"It's true. They used Bragdon infants in these experiments with genetic augmentation in an attempt to make them look like the other races. They went through several subjects in an attempt to recreate the quad-armed look of an Athelonian, but eventually gave up and settled on your final form."
"But why?"
"The idea was to integrate Bragdon secret agents into key places in Athelon and Reblox hierarchy, keeping certain genes dormant until they were needed, then activate the agents to assassinate political figures."
"By the Mother."
"Indeed."
Realization starts to settle around me, the swirling fog of confusion parting and clearing just a little. "So these abilities, these strange celestial powers that I have??"
"Not celestial at all. Part of your genetic programming was to try and integrate generations of data into your brain. There's a microchip embedded at the base of your skull containing centuries of data, like fighting skills, spacecraft piloting, computer programming...a little of everything."
My mouth opens as if to respond, but the words choke in my throat. I can't speak. All at once I've shifted from the key to saving the galaxy to little more than a piece of slime in a petri dish. ,,,An experiment. ...A toy for Braxis amusement.
That's when it hits me. ...The explosion. ...The attack on Adroxis. ...My parents' deaths. Part of me had always taken some blame for that, but maybe, just maybe I had been under some kind of control the whole time. Maybe my involvement in their deaths wasn't inadvertent at all, but carefully planned.
"If we hit this West Swamp Research Station we can gather all the data we need. ...Classified intelligence about the experiments. ...Proof that Braxis
is behind this recent shift, pitching Athelon against Reblox. We can uncover this conspiracy and set things back on track and reveal the true evil."
I don't answer. I still can't. Everything is a fog, a swarming cloud of questions.
"Are you with us?" Rorjak asks, leaning over to look me in the eyes. "Are you in there at all?"
The tornado of sounds and sights crystallizes, then solidifies in my head, freezing the images all in one ragged jumble. A shattering clarity of thought and vision explodes the frozen images, breaks them apart, and send them cascading away to clear any obscuring sights or sounds. Everything around me hardens to sharp contrast as each console, each flashing light, and each section of metal grate becomes instantly visible. The once obfuscating cloud of confusion was gone, evaporated like so much early morning mist.
I know what I have to do. What must be done.
"I'm with you," I say through gritted Bragdon needle teeth. "Let's take these dirt sacks down.".
CHAPTER EIGHT
I'm in a world of dull, green haze, moving forward slowly and evenly as I push my feet back and forth. All around me the water is warm and thick with little light this deep down, and not looking much lighter towards the surface above.
Although I know Bragdons are amphibious, able to breathe under water as they do on land, I've never thought to try it while shifted into that form, yet here I am, twenty yards below the surface and skimming through the water with a grace and skill that makes me feel like I've been doing it my whole life.
Truth is, my brain thinks that I have, or at least the microprocessor embedded in my brain does, anyway.
...Microprocessor embedded in my brain ...Genetic engineering. All of it is overwhelming, too overwhelming to sit and think about, which is precisely why I volunteered to run this operation as quickly as possible.
I spent exactly one night going through the layout of the research station and the plan, a quick and dirty scratch pad plan that Rorjak came up with on the spot, as soon as he learned I was on the surface of Braxis. This is all too much. I've been through a lot in the past several months, but this seems like above my threshold of comprehension and capacity.
I'm not the Child of the Stars. I never was. It's just a legend for crying out loud. ...A myth. It's not real.
I'm not real.
I'm a creation. Something that was made in a lab.
Suddenly I'm almost glad my parents died before they learned of this. If they weren't dead already it would have killed them. Well, it would have killed Mom, anyway. Who knows what Dad would have done. Maybe Dad already knew; that might explain why he was always so cold towards me.
Speaking of cold, I've started moving up towards the surface, and the temperature is dropping kick by kick. Lacing my fingers around the strap covering my torso, I make sure the waterproof duffel still rests at the small of my back though I can feel its steady weight there. With a glance down I check my wrist to verify the distance I've traveled so far and to calculate my end point.
I'm right on track. Of course I am. My computer brain wouldn't let me do anything else.
For every bit of this that starts making sense, so much of it no longer does. Why have my powers been failing off and on over the past few months? Where did those sudden headaches come from and why did they stop when I came back to Braxis? Even if my brain has the capacity for all of this knowledge, how can it control what my body does?
What does this all mean?
It occurs to me that there will be people in this facility who have some of those answers. Hopefully, these scientists will be willing to share some of my secrets. We'll have to take them alive.
The device on my wrist thrums a muffled vibration that resonates against the gray skin of my forearm in the cool, lightening depths. If the calculations are right I just passed through the perimeter sonar field, the long range sensors that supposedly detect any life but those who work here and...the test subjects. As I skim close to the surface, I see no floodlights popping on and hear no blaring alarms going off, a sure sign that Rorjak was right. I was indeed 'born' here.
My back breaks through the water into the warm, wet air. A swift rain is spattering the surface as I push through, then lift my head. My eyes roam the rocky shore ahead. Along with underwater breathing, Bragdons have crazy good night vision.
I can see the two watch towers flanking the east side of the research compound which is the only side even remotely approachable. Beyond the watch towers, the facility is a flat, one-story building, sprawling out across the marshy grass of these West Swamps. Three sides of the compound are protected by an almost impenetrable phalanx of trees. It's main entrance and egress is the eastern shore. I can see a set of docks next to one of the watch towers, with several boats bobbing lightly on the surface of the water. Narrow windows look out onto the swamps. Pale white light shines from them, looking like rectangular eyes pressed into a hard-edged face.
Swamp water sluices away as I slowly move further into the open air, ignoring the pouring rain as it beats down on my head and shoulders Water beneath me is as dark as the sky above me, the canopy of trees so thick that no moon or stars are even visible this close to the facility. So, everything remains quiet.
My feet press down into the muck as I move slowly forward, peeling myself from the thick, clinging swamp water. Green algae slides off my dark, armor clad wet suit as I move forward in a low crouch while unslinging the waterproof duffel from my back. Kneeling in the tall grass just before the rocky shore I unzip the bag and double check the contents, making sure everything is there and intact after my swim through the murky waters.
I slip out a pair of dual-scopes and hold the device to my eyes, looking over towards the south side watch tower. They show movement in the top of the tower. I scope out the rest of the scaffolding leading up to the platform on top. It's a metal brace with crisscrossed metallic support trusses stretching at least two stories up towards the over-arcing canopy of thick trees. It looks like two armed guards are in the shack on top of the tower.
Remaining on one knee, I swivel and raise the scope to the next tower which is situated more towards the north. I see similar movements there, a pair of shadowed figures moving behind frosted glass. Each watch tower contains a massive spotlight on top, though each light is angled towards the swamp water itself so I remain safe in the shadowed darkness near the shoreline.
Footsteps crunch along the rocks, so I shove the goggles back in the bag, lower myself deep into the tall grass, and will myself invisible. Twin beams of light play across the grass a few meters away as Bragdon guards wander the close perimeter, using their lights in conjunction with their own night vision to scan the area for intruders.
"We have land patrols," I whisper into the air, trusting an embedded receiver buried in my ear canal to pick up the vibrations of my voice.
"Acknowledged," the clipped voice replies. It's not Rorjak; I believe it's Shreth, the main sub navigator. He pilots their ships and their subs...and apparently their comms.
I remain in my low crouch with the tall, wet grass brushing my shoulders and my dark wet suit making me nearly invisible on the uneven surface of the swampy shore. I wait several minutes, until I see the bobs of light coming back around the facility. Glancing at my watch I make note of the time.
I wait a few beats as the two Bragdons continue around the edge of the building, then I leap to my feet, charging forward quickly but quietly through the grass, towards the base of the truss leading up to the watch tower. In one leap, I jump up to the third level of the truss then continue climbing swiftly hand-over-hand up the linked metal with the duffel bag pinned to my spine and bumping lightly as I move.
I glance over my shoulder as I near the top, looking at the other tower to verify that no one has seen me. Though it is standing a few hundred yards away, I can see it well enough to tell that nothing is happening. Then I move my gaze downward to focus on the beams of light passing around the opposite side of the main compound down below.
Above me the muffled thump of the bag striking something (or someone) is punctuated by a confused shout and shuffling of feet, but before anything else happens, I hit the platform, plant my hand on it, and launch my feet up and around in a vault. As I skid into a slide, my feet clip the legs of the first guard, knocking him down. I spring to my feet, pinning the second man to the wall. He glares at me with widening eyes, but my first knife-hand strike to his throat sends his eyelids fluttering as he topples over sideways, dropping his weapon. The first guard starts to pick himself up, but I drive myself down on top of him and ram his forehead into the metal platform beneath us.
