Stars on Fire

by Justin Bell

  "Four!" I hear the soft whining of the plasma weapons as the batteries discharge and the weapons begin their power cycle. It's a strangely calming sound, like the whispering wind before an especially nasty storm.

  I await the plasma barrage, a cacophony of thunder and lightning, wrapped within a single lethal package.

  The first beam blasts and streaks, drilling a crater into the rock and pounding through, knocking a fist-sized hole through my boulder and I immediately come around the opposite way, lifting my pistol, preparing for one last, desperate fight to the end.

  Water breaks to my right, in a huge, burbling splash as the pointed, angular bow of a submersible breaks the surface of the water, shoots up into the air, then seems to hang there for a moment as the Bragdons all turn towards this new perceived threat. The watercraft slams forward, and the hull crashes back down into green water, spraying liquid in wide waves from either side.

  The group of Bragdons starts shouting desperately and clumsily swinging their weapons around, but the two armor plated, waterproof panels protecting delicate weapons systems have already slid away from the top of the sub. Top-mounted plasma chain guns ratchet up from the sloped armor and the night explodes with gunfire.

  A rapid, aggressive barrage of chattering weapons fire streaks from the twin round barrels at each side of the sub. It barrels into the group of Bragdons, chewing through them, slamming them down, and sending them scattering, but by the time they realize how outmatched they are, it's far too late. Within seconds, the entire group is slumped and strewn in various dark piles with a lingering low fog of smoke raising from their still bodies.

  It's a massacre, a brutal onslaught. Not a single one of them survived.

  The submarine stops firing as the watercraft eases forward through the water, pushing the swamp ahead of them to create crashing waves on the rocks. As green foam washes over the prone victims, some of them get dragged back out into the water.

  My stomach lurches. I've seen some scary stuff in the past several months, but, for some reason, the raw, visceral brutality of this is almost too much.

  With a scrape, the sub hits the rocks and comes to a stop. A metal paneled door swings up to open the inner chamber. Rorjak steps from the chamber triumphantly and stands atop the sub with one knee raised like a conqueror surveying his newly acquired kingdom.

  "Was that really necessary?" I ask with my left arm still limp at my side.

  He glances at me with a look of disgust, but that washes away quickly. "Next time, I'll take it nice and slow while they execute you."

  "Don't be a jerk, Rorjak."

  He jumps down from the sub, landing in a crouch on the rocks with the plasma rifle bobbing against his back secured by a leather strap across his chest.

  "In war there can be no mercy given, child. They were fully prepared to leave you a pile of plasma dust."

  "Hopefully someone is still alive for us to question."

  I turn from him and walk towards the front door with him close behind. As we cross the beach, I can see a few more shadowed figures vacating the submersible. They lift two-handed weapons and drift towards us, falling into a loose group as we progress.

  Rorjak lifts his boot and slams the front door, breaking it off its hinges and knocking it into the laboratory. The ambient light from the smoldering fire on the roof of the power station casts a strange red glow over the surface, and inside the main power outage drops the halls into a dimly lit orange.

  "They're on generator power," Rorjak says quietly as he leads the way through the main corridor with his weapon finally out and in his hands. I grasp my pistol in two hands as I follow him into the facility. Our feet clang on the metal grate floor.

  Brutgaz, Rorjak's most trusted fighter, is close behind me. The huge Bragdon nearly fills the entire hallway as he pushes through with his broad shoulders. The blunt club of his spiked tail smacks the floor as he walks. Lask and Bugharx take up the rear. It's a small crew, but exceptionally well-trained and exceptionally lethal. These former Bragdon commandos have served with some of the most nefarious special forces, and have the confidence and the skills to back their fierce looks.

  For a long while we search the hallways. I want to find someone living so badly I can nearly taste it. Each corner we turn, each door we open I beg and plead that a scientist will be there. I need someone I can talk to, someone who can answer my questions, and give me what I want to know. Each moment I become less convinced that it will happen.

  A clattering slam echoes from a room to our right. Rorjak doesn't hesitate. He charges forward, grasps the door with his massive hand, and wrenches it open.

  I move forward to his right and swing into the room, lifting my pistol.

  "Stop! Don't move!"

  He glares at me, eyes wide. It's a Bragdon, one that looks like any other. He's not wearing any sort of white coat or other distinguishing uniform, but in his hand he's clutching a plasma rifle.

  "You're too late," he hisses, his yellow eyes narrowing at us. "In moments this facility will be nothing more than dirt and dust!"

  Rorjak glances at me, as if I might actually know what this guy is talking about. I shrug in return.

  "The lead scientist has already taken his own life and initiated the destruct sequence. There's nothing for you here."

  "No!" I shout. I lift my plasma pistol and fire, slamming him in the chest with a spear of yellow light. He grunts and drops, the rifle clanging to the ground. Colors swirl like a fierce desert tornado in my mind as I blink rapidly with scant images flickering and mixing with the chaotic rainbow.

  "Brie!" Rorjak shouts. "Why did you do that?"

  I turn towards him. "Get back to the sub. I need to retrieve the data."

  "Don't be crazy!"

  "I'm not. I know where it is. I can see it in my head. But we don't have much time!"

  "Brie--"

  I don't listen. I twist and bolt out the door, hang a swift right, and charge quickly down the narrow hallway. My legs and arms pump all in tune as I sprint, and the walls around me blur into vague streaks of gray. The corridors are drenched in various shades of red and orange as flashing lights near the ceiling strobe and alarm klaxons scream, becoming one constant din as I run.

  "Plasma overload imminent!" shouts a computerized voice from an overhead speaker. "Evacuate!" screams a second.

  Up ahead I see a bend in the hallway, and angle towards it, somehow knowing the precise path to the computer data center. As I near the corner, two Bragdons with long coats swirling out behind them round it. Their eyes widen with the shock of seeing me hurtling towards them. One of them twists to charge at me, but I slide away, move underneath his grasp, and lift up to throw him over my shoulder, slamming him into the metal wall of the narrow corridor. As he slams down to the ground, I swivel, grab the second one, and push him back across the floor, into the perpendicular wall running through the hall.

  "Do you recognize me?" I scream in his face and he draws back. "I am Brie Northstar. You created me here."

  "I...I know nothing about that," he stammers. "My security doesn't--"

  Angrily I throw him down to the floor, turn right, and continue my dash down the sideways hall. Another path branches to the left. I slide across the floor and around the corner just in time to see three guards charging towards me. Two of them already carry plasma weapons, and a third is reaching for a pistol in a holster.

  "Don't move!" one shouts, pressing the rifle into his shoulder.

  "You don't belong here!" screams another.

  I whip back around as three shots scream down the hall, narrowly whir past me, and clang against the metal wall to punch small, puckered holes in the smooth surface. If these flashing memories in my head are correct, the data center is at the end of this next hallway. I just need to get through three heavily armored guards. No problem, right?

  Looking back over the past several months, this seems like a pretty manageable little situation. Even in the tight confines of this corridor
with just a plasma pistol, my mind is already whirling with possible scenarios. I press my back to the flat wall as another grouping of plasma shots screams past, shatters against the metal surface, and sprays fragments of spent energy into the air. I fumble with my pistol, eject the battery, and dig my finger nails into a groove in the end of the rectangular object where two cables coil back up into the handle.

  Without even thinking about what I'm doing, I swap the two cables, then reach into the empty cavity of the plasma pistol handle and pry off a panel covering a well of barely-contained plasma. Two more beams smash into the corner just to my left. As I twist away, pain flares up through my left side, near my ribs. The dull ache shifts to an intense, piercing gouge of pure, harsh agony that sends heat flowing throughout my entire left side.

  I close my eyes and drop to the floor after quickly cramming the battery pack back into the handle of the weapon. I can feel the metal surface growing hot, dangerously hot. The handle actually starts to glow a moderate orange shine.

  Staying down on my knee, I swivel around the corner and send the plasma pistol tumbling across the floor, end-over-end. I duck back behind the wall as three weapons unleash fire at me. The first shot sears through the flesh of my left arm, burning away fabric and scorching flesh. Thankfully the wound is so hot it immediately cauterizes, but the pain is new and fresh and sour in the back of my throat.

  "She's unarmed!" I hear one of them shout.

  "Rush her!" a second one follows.

  I brace myself. Two footsteps crash on the metal floor as one of the brave ones decides to finally charge towards me, then the swift bang of an exploding battery pack punctuates the din of alarm sounds and frantic loudspeaker traffic. The battery pack detonation triggers the plasma fuel in the handle. The pistol explodes in a loud, sparking roar, sending ignited plasma in a wild, untamed rage around the detonated weapon.

  Two of the Bragdons are swallowed immediately by the blast and the third one is sent sprawling forward. I move into his range of motion. Ignoring the pain in my arm and side, I knock his rifle away and spin to throw him through the air, into the far wall. He lands upside-down and back first. His slam echoes bone-on-metal and he grunts, falling down to the floor in a heap.

  My entire world is deafening alarms, flashing red lights, and the almost angry computerized voice ordering me to evacuate. Thick, acrid smoke has started to spill out into the corridors, but I draw in a breath and hurl myself forward into the forming cloud to race towards the end of the hall.

  Through the open polymer door of the data center, I see the wide, startled eyes and open mouth of someone reaching for the switch to close the thick, reinforced armored blockade. Grinding, unseen gears begin to slide slowly closed. If that thing shuts, this little jaunt is officially a waste.

  Growling, I rush forward, visualizing a clear picture in my mind. I haven't done this in a few months, but I pray that I can still tap into that visualization now. A moment later I reach the door. I reach out my arms to crash into it, only the arms don't look like mine anymore. They're thick, rough-skinned, fur covered, massive tree trunk limbs the size of my Bragdon waist.

  But I'm no longer a Bragdon. My seven foot tall Reblon form stands there with massive fingers coiling around the edge of the door to hold it open. The gears strain and the door groans as it tries to force its way closed. The wide-eyed Bragdon trying to close it steps slowly away from me.

  A deep, throaty roar bellows from my sharp-toothed mouth as I thrust myself forward, shoving my right arm out. The door rips off the rails, the gears blow apart with a metallic sproing, and I toss the massive metal plate to the floor. The bang echoes above even the loudest alarm sounds.

  "By the Elders," the Bragdon whispers, stepping back nervously until his back is pressed up against one of the racks housing the computer equipment. "What are you? Who are you?"

  "My name is Brie Northstar," I reply. "You made me. This lab made me."

  "I...I..." the Bragdon is shaking his head uncertainly with his vacant, unknowing eyes.

  My black lips curl into an angry snarl as I take one more step towards him with huge fist curling.

  "Do you know me?" I bellow, my loud voice coming out more like a scream.

  He shakes his head frantically.

  I let my eyes play around the data center, scanning the dozen racks, each one populated with various shelves of computer equipment.

  "Where is the data storage?" I ask, stepping closer still so that my red-hued shadow fall over his recoiling form.

  He extends a long, trembling finger towards a rack off in the corner of the room. There are no activity lights on any equipment due to the slowly failing generator, but I turn and stomp towards the rack, then wrench off the door.

  "Slot twelve," he says.

  I locate slot twelve, and rip free the metal box that was bolted into that part of the shelf. It feels small and light in my hand, though it likely weighs more than my Bragdon form could possibly hold.

  "Evacuate," I growl. "We don't have much longer."

  I turn towards the door and charge out in a lumbering, clumsy run, plowing through smoke.

  "Plasma overload imminent!" the speaker bellows. "Evacuate or meet your Elders!"

  I'm not nearly as fast in Reblon mode as I am in Bragdon mode, but I run with the data storage device slung over my shoulder and held fast with a massive, furry arm. Each foot fall is a loud, hard slam. I navigate each corner carefully so I don't run into a wall or misjudge my path in this less familiar form. It's been a long time since I've been a Reblon, and based on how I feel now, it'll be a long time before I do it again. This form is too big, too slow, and too...sweaty.

  I round a corner as the facility erupts. I feel the initial blast deep in my bones as the floor beneath me actually shifts with the impact. The exit door is another three halls away, but the heat, smoke, and stink are already too much. A secondary blast roars, causing me to stumble right, hitting my shoulder on the wall as the ceiling collapses ahead of me, halting my progress. With little hesitation, a third explosion roars, just to my left, spraying a shower of metal shrapnel from a nearby wall over my arm and back and knocking me to the ground.

  I can smell the burning plasma and melting metal. The painful, pungent stink is almost worse than the unyielding heat. On my shoulder I can feel the metal storage device growing hot enough to burn my skin.

  After all of this, this is how I die?

  CHAPTER TEN

  No!

  No, it's not. I've come this far; I won't lie down and die now.

  Pushing myself to my feet, I look towards my left to see the smashed remains of the wall that took me down. I crawl over a small pile of rocks and through the hole in the wall to find a large room on the other side. Looking around, I do some mental math that tells me where I am in the compound and which way is out. Everywhere I look, ceilings are crumbling, walls are melting, and plasma-fueled fire consumes all.

  I'll have to make my own exit.

  I run forward, bellowing Reblon war-cry and drive my uninjured shoulder into the wall ahead. It smashes and breaks free to send me stumbling into another room. I barely keep the storage appliance pinned to my shoulder. Drawing myself back up, I charge over wreckage again to plow through another wall, shoulder first, exploding pieces of concrete and interconnected metal.

  In the next room, orange and green flame is everywhere, crawling up the walls, consuming the floor, and licking at my thick legs as I stand with knees bent, desperate for escape. If my math is correct...if that map inside my head hasn't failed me...

  I charge forward into the flame. The heat engulfs me, swarming over me like green swamp water, and I can smell the clear stink of burning fur as I pass through, ducking my head and charging like an angry Horak. There should be one more wall. I turn my shoulder towards it, ignoring the massive scalding burns racing up the length of my back, and the heat crawling across my scalp to pinch at my ears. My entire body feels like the core of a super nova.

 
; The wall gives as I strike, then explodes outward with large chunks of concrete breaking away and scattering across the rocks outside. Swamp water crawls up, reaching towards the facility as if seeking to feed the flames, and I keep on running in spite of the sharp rocks lacerating my feet.

  Reaching to my shoulder I lift off the device and drop it in a sandy clearing, then keep running. I take a deep, full breath and leap through the air even though my entire body is racked with violent, agonizing heat.

  Green water swallows me with a magnificent, wet splash, the cool, refreshing embrace tugs at me, consumes me, and pulls me down into her lovely, precious depths.

  #

  It seems like I'm in the water both too long and not long enough.

  As I hit a certain depth, I change back to my familiar Bragdon form, allowing my amphibious lungs to take in sustenance where my Reblon form could not. The cool water feels like a blessing against my leathery skin, and even though I'm no longer covered in thick, wiry hair, the scorching heat of the flame still echoes along my skin as the water quenches its thirst and puts it out.