by Justin Bell
I glide towards the surface, break through the swamp, and climb up onto the rocks to see Rorjak kneeling by the dropped data storage device. He glances over at me, shaking his head, though I can't quite tell if its in awe, amusement, or amazement at my stupidity.
If I had to guess, I'd say a little of each. Well, probably mostly stunned amazement with a sprinkling of the other two.
"You are completely insane," he says.
Okay, so I guess stunned amazement at my stupidity is the answer. For the first time I notice the full blown inferno that is the West Swamp Research Station. Yellow and pale green flame stretch up from the slanted roof, illuminating the swamp and rocks in a light, phosphorescent glow.
"That should contain at least some of the data from the facility," I say, pointing at the device in the sand.
"You sure about that?"
"Nope. But let me live in ignorance just a little longer so I don't feel like I risked my life for nothing, okay?"
He smirks. "Fair enough."
To his right, just sticking out of the green water is the angled hull of the submersible, sitting with the slanted door already standing wide.
"Get in," he continues. "This whole place could go up any minute. We won't want to be here once the plasma cells strike secondary ignition."
I nod and follow him towards the sub. I climb into the dark, tight chamber and prepare for the ride back to who knows where.
#
I have no idea where we are or how we got here, but the place is nice. I'd almost say quaint if I didn't know it was the home base of the most notorious and bloodthirsty pirate clan on Braxis.
Standing on the shore, looking out into the swamps, I can't help but think about the first time I landed down here. I was lost in the wastelands, chased by commandos, and nearly eaten by Horak's until I was finally rescued by a young Bragdon man named Luxen. My life was forever changed.
Several months later, here I am, back in the Braxis swamps, working with recluse Bragdons, and with a metal box that potentially contains all of the answers to my questions sitting just inside the cabin behind me. The question is, do I want to know those answers, or would I be happier not knowing them?
I still go back and forth. I've been going back and forth for months. Thinking back, I had a pretty great childhood, even with my father's somewhat cold treatment. Even living with Athelon's notorious workman's attitude my entire life, I made good friends, my parents provided a great home, and even with my physical deformities, I was widely accepted. I realize that was mostly due to my last name. Not everyone is as fortunate as I was.
Still, when I look back at my life since that shuttle exploded, I often think about what would have happened if I'd just continued living in ignorance, unaware or unconcerned with the fate of the universe. Could I have lived a happy life never knowing what was up among those stars? ...Without ever knowing what kind of man my father truly was?
As much as I hate to say it, I think I could have. Some days I think I would have preferred to.
War is a disease, an all encompassing, all consuming virus, that eventually would have landed at my doorstep, of that I'm certain. The simmering flame between Athelon and Reblon, with Braxis caught in the middle, would have ignited eventually, and the wildfire might have been more vicious than it was. My mother used to tell me everything happened for a reason, so just maybe this whole crazy adventure of mine was part of some grand design.
It's tough to see that now. I own nothing. I have nothing. ...No family. ...No home. ...No true possessions. I barely have any friends. All I have is my mission, a mission that may or may not even be mine or even be possible.
Stopping an intergalactic war, that's a reasonable goal for a nineteen year old girl, isn't it? Sure.
When you're the Child of the Stars, anything is possible. Only I'm not. Instead of some celestial goddess in training, I'm some twisted Bragdon genetic experiment, grown in a petri dish, injected with microscopic computer chips, and harvested for the sole purpose of killing my parents and inciting intergalactic conflict.
It didn't happen the way Braxis planned, but it certainly happened. Mission accomplished.
So, really, I don't have a mission. I have the opposite of a mission. The mission has been completed. Now I, and my army, have to un-complete it and put things back the way they were, at least as much as possible.
I turn back towards the cabin, which is a cabin in appearance only. The ramshackle wooden structure is built upon a thick, concrete bunker, with one level on the surface and three levels underground. Anyone who passes by sees a normal Bragdon residence, a broken down, dilapidated homestead just like so many others. Slabs of roughly cut wood are nailed together to make a rudimentary shelter with a thatched roof.
This cabin, though, is a reinforced concrete and steel polymer bunker housing a multi-level command complex. The main level has long and short range sensors, weapons racks, and firing positions in all directions. Underground there are personnel quarters, and dining services. In the basement is a large vehicle storage facility with an entrance and exit tunnel directly out into the vast network of Braxis swamps the watercraft can traverse without ever being seen by anyone above ground. Pretty remarkable stuff, especially for such a short time. I can tell Rorjak is proud of it.
"Brie?"
I lower my head from where I was looking up into the mid-morning sky. Several hours have passed since we returned to base camp. It's warm and pleasant with the low chirp of insects and the light splash of jumping fish in the calm swamp waters, and things feel peaceful.
"Yes?"
"Shreth and Lask have access to the box."
The box! Ever since bringing the storage device on board, Rorjak has just been calling it 'the box' as if that simple name could possibly describe what might be contained within. Since in was directly connected to the Braxis military network, that 'box' could have access to any number of classified secrets.
Or it could be garbage...damaged in the plasma fire or damaged by the sand I dumped it in. Any of it is possible, which is why I separated myself from the discovery process and have been standing out here for so long.
"Is there recoverable data?"
"There is."
I turn to face him, wary of what he might say next, desperately wanting to know more about my past, but anxious that knowing too much might cause me to lose whatever small part of Brie Northstar remains.
"Communications straight from Command to Braxis military intelligence. Confirmation that he's been operating the puppet strings behind the scenes for a very, very long time, orchestrating the most violent, deadly conflict in Yarda's long history. More evidence than we could ever need to bring this to the Athelon and Reblon councils."
"What about..."
"We need your help, Brie. We need a point person. Someone with the right lineage, who can step forward and present these findings without prejudice."
"Someone like me?"
"Someone exactly like you."
He gestures towards me to join him. I nod and follow him back towards the cabin, back towards the rest of my mission.
Back towards my new life.
EPILOGUE
Heat lamps cast a red glow over him like a mist of fresh blood.
"When?"
"Yesterday evening, Command."
"Where?"
"West Swamp Research Station."
"What was taken?" Command demands as he turns towards his subordinate.
"Unknown. The entire facility burned to the ground, but what footage we were able to recover did show a Reblon operative carrying something out, before he leaped into the water."
"A Reblon?"
"Yes, Command."
"Working with Northstar?"
"She was there as well, yes." The smaller Bragdon clamps his wrist behind his back, squeezing it with long fingers to prevent his arms from trembling.
"And what about this submersible?"
"We believe it was operated by the Scalebacks, s
ir. She seems to have their support."
"Rorjak and his pathetic band," Command mutters, turning back around to look out the large window at the pitched battle taking place out in the space beyond. "Doesn't he realize we could have ended him a long time ago?"
"Perhaps he needs a reminder, sir."
Command brushes his pointed chin with his long, leathery fingers as his yellow eyes narrow in the dim light.
"Have the convoy survivors been dealt with appropriately?"
"As you ordered, sir."
Command nods. Though not in captivity for an entire day, Brie Northstar had been freed. The convoy has been decimated. Then, not even two days later, the West Swamp Research Station explodes. What was the connection?
He knew the connection, but he hadn't thought that Brie herself knew the connection. Unless it was Rorjak who told her; he was in the officer corps back then. Could he have known?
"Find the Scalebacks," he hissed. "Find them and leave none of them alive. Then retrieve Brie Northstar and bring her to me. I will have her head as a trophy."
"Do we no longer require her service, sir?"
"We will find another way."
"As you wish."
The subordinate bowed his head low and walked backwards towards the exit, only turning once he was out of Command's sight. This was certainly a shift in strategy, and one that might not benefit them in the long run. But he knew better than to challenge Command, especially when he got like this.
He lifted a communicator from a sheath on his belt and held it to his lipless mouth.
"Change in plans," he said calmly. "Deploy all forces in an attempt to locate and destroy the Scalebacks. We no longer need Brie Northstar alive. Repeat, we no longer need Brie Northstar alive."
#
"So why did you do it, Flox?" Admiral Flurogh asked as he paced the floor in his small office aboard the Reblon battle cruiser.
"I was given an order, Admiral," Hunjar Flox replied. He stood before his superior officer, resplendent in the decorative dress tunic he wore on his on his broad shoulders. It was completed by an elaborate collection of armored plates bolted together and covered with a scattering of glittering medals.
"And who gave that order?"
"I thought you did."
"You thought I did. But I did not."
Flox narrowed his gaze. If there was one thing he could not stand it was bad intelligence that did not provide all of the relevant information. Right now he felt like he barely had any information.
"We have reason to believe that the attack on the Northstars was orchestrated by Braxis." Admiral Flurogh returned to his desk, easing the chair out from behind it. While Flox worked this out in his mind, Flurogh sat and interlocked his fingers, looking over them at the Reblon Field Commander.
"Are you saying you were impersonated by a Bragdon?"
"That certainly seems to be the current scenario. But there's more." Reaching over to his right, he opened a drawer to slide out a compact video screen device. He clicked it open and turned it towards Hunjar Flox, who glared down at it uncertainly.
On the narrow screen he could see what looked to be two rows of corpses. The dead bodies dressed in battle garb were all lined up in an orderly row. They were all Bragdons.
"We recovered the bodies of the men you led into battle down on Adroxis."
"What is this sorcery?" Flox shouted, drawing back as if in pain from the image on the screen. "They were all Bragdons?"
Flurogh shook his head. "Not all, no. There was a mix of Reblons, just enough to be convincing. But most of your men down there were in fact imposters. It was a coordinated deception set up at the highest levels."
"But why?"
"Isn't it obvious? They're blaming the assassination on us."
Flox's mouth twisted into an angry snarl as he clenched both fists. If he hadn't been in his Admiral's quarters he might have broken the desk with a single hard strike.
"So what do we do about this?" he snarled.
"Operate as if we have two enemies, not one. Consider the fact that Braxis is trying to escalate the war so that they can move in to pick up the pieces."
"Is this Braxis? Or simply a rogue faction?"
"We are looking into that now."
Glaring down at his hands with their thick fingers opening and closing, Flox says, "I understand if you want me to take the sacrifice, Admiral. I have failed."
Admiral Flurogh looks up at Hunjar Flox. He had decided, privately, that if Flox resisted or put up a fight, he would have him executed. If he embraced his fault and accepted the blame, he would spare him. Flox has just saved his own life.
"Don't be ridiculous. All we ask is that you lead the initiative to get revenge on those pathetic lizards."
Flox sneered a crooked smile with the sharp points of his teeth showing between black lips.
The wheels turn, slowly and quietly, but onward they carry the tides of war to the culmination of the War of the Three Planets. The only question is, who will be left standing when it is all over?
#
TO BE CONTINUED IN...
WAR OF THE THREE PLANETS (Book Eight) – IT'S ALWAYS DARKEST
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in San Diego, California, Justin Bell has lived most of his life in the sleepy Upper Valley area on the New Hampshire and Vermont border, near where The Fog of Dreams takes place. He first realized his love of writing at a young age and had grand visions to go to school for English. Somehow, he sidetracked into the world of Information Technology as a career, but throughout it all, he continued to write and write often.
The world of self-publishing has opened up his eyes, and in recent years, he has embraced writing much more thoroughly, polishing some work from past decades, and working on new material as well.
With an interest in military adventure, science fiction, and action, the focus of most of his work is within those genres.
He currently still resides in the Upper Valley area, and lives with his two beautiful little girls, his wife, and his new Bichon puppy Tyson.
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