by Justin Bell
"Maybe I'll cut your throat. It will be quicker."
As he draws closer, I push myself up into a seated position, feeling suddenly energized. Scooting backwards across the ground, I think back to Kleethak's tight, warm arms squeezing me, radiating that heat, and energizing me.
Recharging me.
As Command lunges, I kick backwards to send the blade arcing down and to clatter against the metal floor, punching up sparks. I somersault backwards, coming up into a low crouch, pressed up on one hand. He moves in again to slash out a second time. I thrust up and back to slip out of the way of his second strike.
Snarling, he turns and lashes out again with his next sweeping slash coming in from my right. Again, for a third time, I narrowly dodge under it, feeling the heat boiling off my skin. It's not just my skin that's warm, but the muscle and bone beneath as well The core of my body is a barely contained battery, warming to the touch and surging with untapped energy. Rockets of purple fire are shooting through my limbs.
"You seem...feisty," Command sneers, tossing his knife back and forth between his hands as he steps towards me. With one last snarl, Command charges towards me as his knife comes back down in a tight arc.
I release the heat. Letting my muscles unclench, I let the raw energy I feel inside myself burst free. I let it take over. Halfway through his arcing swing, my muscles bulge, my skin splits, then twists around my muscles as they snap and reform. In a split second, I'm a Reblon, a very large, broad-shouldered, fur-covered commando. My massive palms reach up to catch Command's downward stab in mid-strike. His eyes go wide.
"Argh!" he screams as he kicks out to strike me in the chest, sending me stumbling backwards. I recover and stand in a hunched fighting position.
"Reblon or Bragdon I will end you!" he screams as he runs at me again.
"And for my next trick," I reply with a narrow sneer. I tap into my recent memory to find the last time I dipped my toes into this purple energy pool, remembering how I did it and what I did. I coil my arms up in front of my body in a defensive posture, then let the warmth flow through me, shouting a loud, feral Reblon roar. As I fling my arms forward, both limbs split to give me four.
I wasn't sure I could tap into both the Reblon genealogy and the Athelon genealogy. It is a wild experiment, but it works, and Command doesn't know what to make of it. He skids to a halt as the large four-armed Reblon charges towards him, roaring a battle cry.
My first punch skims over his ducking head, and he sweeps past my second as well, but my third lands hard in his stomach and the fourth clips him under his angled chin. He twirls, but compensates and leaps back towards me striking me with a lightning-swift kick, followed my a piston-straight punch to the chest. As a third swing narrowly misses me, I bring my two right hands together into a battering ram, slam him in the side, and sending him sprawling. As he hits the ground, the door bangs open and a horde of Bragdon commandos comes charging in with plasma weapons raised.
"Don't move!" one of them screams, but as they see my large, gray-furred form with all four limbs clenched and ready, nearly all of them halt in mid-run, trying to figure out what to make of this new creature.
"Shoot her!" Command screams.
I go into motion, dashing across the floor. The plasma barrage begins, but I step left and leap into the air, barreling into the group of commandos to send them scattering out of my path. As I land, I lash out with a swift backhand, crushing the windpipe of one to my left, throwing him clumsily backwards, then reach out with my second left hand to grapple another and throw him effortlessly over my shoulder.
Two plasma bolts sear just over my head. I turn to kick the Bragdon who fired them, knocking him a good two yards backwards end over end. More bodies swarm towards me. One small commando leaps up to wrap its arms around my shoulders, attempting to pull me to the ground, but I hold myself upright while slamming him down to the ground.
There are too many of them for me to hold out much longer. Already I feel myself starting to get pushed backwards as commandos continue to funnel in, pushing and fighting. I charge right, shoulder-first, knocking two more Bragdons aside, then I sweep over and scoop up a plasma weapon.
My eyes fixate on the door and I lower my head to run forward, knocking more Bragdons aside as I scramble towards the exit.
"Don't let her go!" screams Command from behind me. His loud voice rises even above the din of the oncoming operatives.
"Run, Brie!" Luxen shouts, wrenching his arms free from Drewsk. He charges forward to tackle one of the Bragdons, ripping the weapon from his hands. As I burst through the door back out into the hallway I glance back to see Luxen firing at the pursuing group as more of them turn towards him.
Out in the hallway I glance right, and take off down a darkened exit passage, running out towards the street. In my mind I picture the launch port near the far end of the main Braglosh compound, and I know that's where I'll find escape. As the darkness of the hall swallows me, I let myself relax, barely feeling the arms knitting back together and my body withdrawing back into itself. By the time I hit the streets, black and glistening from freshly falling rain, I'm in Bragdon form, moving from shadow to shadow leaving the tall, sloped capital building far behind.
#
I can't get the scene out of my mind. All I can see is Luxen charging into the group of Bragdons, firing a plasma rifle, telling me to run.
And I ran.
I left him there, one young rebel against a squad of highly trained command guards.
Staying low, I slink from shadow to shadow, trying to shut out the blaring alarm klaxons screaming through the darkened night. Braglosh, the capital of Braxis is alive with activity as soldiers and hover bikes scream along roughly paved and dirt roads. Cascades of running foot steps and beams of angled spotlights splash over the interwoven streets.
I never stop moving. The minute I burst free of the capital building, I angle right, keeping close to the west row of buildings in the center of the capital and dash from alley to alley. Even now, as I hear the stuttering roar of a transport truck up ahead, I duck into an open alleyway, slinking down behind a stack of strange containers.
After the truck passes, I glance down the alley, letting my Bragdon night vision do its thing, but it gives me nothing. The alley is a long, narrow rectangle of dirt, created by the walls of two squat buildings, but there's no way out but back to the main road.
Ducking back around the containers, I hug the wall and run forward, staying low and in the shadows. Even though all Bragdons have the same distinct night vision I do, keeping myself low and in the deeper darkness will give me at least some measure of shelter unless they stop and look closely. So far they've been too busy scattering and running.
Reaching the corner of the building, I hold my position and squat into a low crouch to look out at the cascade of lights shining a few hundred yards away at the space port.
It seemed such a great distance from the capital building, but there it is, a few blocks away. I just have to make it over three hundred yards of open ground, scale a high fence, avoid a few dozen guards, and hijack a shuttle. No problem right?
It can't be just any shuttle, though. I have to be sure I snag one that can escape atmosphere and get me to Athelon. That's my next step, my final play. I can think of nothing else at this point, even with my battery fully charged.
My mind snaps back to Kleethak with is neck twisting and his head lolling to one side as Command tossed him away like last week's trash. Kleethak took me under his wing and taught me the legend of the Child of the Stars, but he also secretly worked for Command all this time and spent the last several months betraying me at every turn.
Yeah, I think I'm a little conflicted on that one. Regardless, he didn't deserve to die.
I hear another dull burst and roar, but its a different sound than the bikes or trucks. I press myself back, sticking to the wall, willing myself to become one with the brick as a shadowed form angles around the corner of the building. It's
a small patrol craft with an open top. The main body is filled with Bragdons. Spotlights flood from the belly of the curved hull, which hovers about three yards off the paved road surface. As it turns, it slows in the middle of the street within a stone throws of me and sits there lilting softly on a cushion of compressed air.
My body remains still. I'm not sure what else to do at this point beyond stand stock still and just hope that I'm not seen. The patrol craft is like an upside down, shallow bowl with a trio of turbines keeping it afloat. I don't see any heavy weapons, no mounted weapons at all, in fact, just half a dozen operatives with plasma rifles pressed to their shoulders, looking down over the edge.
While the ship sits there for several moments, I slow my breathing to a near stop and clench the muscles of my arms to prevent them from moving. The plasma rifle hangs at my right side to keep it from casting its distinctive shadow. If they see me and open fire immediately, I'll be so much smoked lizard meat before I get my weapon up into firing position.
But they don't. I see someone tapping the driver on the shoulder to signal them to continue, then the rear of the ship lifts slightly, the turbines whine faster, and it goes zipping away, leaving a whirlwind of dust on the road underneath it as it goes.
If those patrols are new...and if they're spaced out in regular intervals, I need to move, and move now.
Slipping away from the side of the building I dart out onto a wide, two-lane road, which is blessedly empty. Tall street lights cast pale white blobs on the pavement. I do my best to slip between them, remaining in the shadows as I move forward.
I reach a point where I have no choice except to move out into the vast wide open where I am clearly visible to anyone who thinks to look my way. My legs pump, I duck my head just under a splash of light, and I feel success within my grasp just as headlights spotlight me in twin balls of yellow illumination.
"You there!" comes a barking voice. The vehicle barreling towards me looks like a smaller military utility vehicle. I hear the grinding of treads as it jerks and lurches over the rough road surface towards me. My eyes dart left, then right, looking for some kind of exit.
I have none. I'm caught out in the open with no shelter and nowhere to hide.
"What is your clan?" they shout. "Name and rank?"
I see two shadowed figures in the vehicle, but I can't tell if those are the only two. The headlights are causing havoc with my night vision, and they're still a distance away, I'm not sure how accurate I could be with my plasma rifle, shooting from the hip.
I may not have a choice.
"If you do not identify yourself, we will open fire!"
I'm out of options. I don't reply; I don't speak at all. I just duck low and charge forward. Sure enough, I can see the dark shadow of someone moving to the rear of the vehicle to man some kind of mounted weapon.
The night is awash with plasma as a rear-mounted tri-cannon sends white and yellow bolts of energy hurtling towards me. Without thought, I duck, weave, and leap, throwing myself forward as the road shatters behind me. Chunks of pavement and sprays of dirt fly up into the air all around my twisting form. My shoulder strikes the road next to a yellow spear of plasma that is in the process of smashing a crater into the pavement.
I roll, coming up in a crouch with my weapon swinging around to sight on the tri-cannon. The radiating heat of Kleethak's touch, or the memory of it, curls its soothing fingers around my head. I squeeze off three swift shots. The first shot careens off the top of the cannon, splashing residual energy on the figure manning it, but the next two shots bury themselves in the center of the weapon's housing, detonate the power cell, and engulf the entire rear of the utility vehicle in neon blue flame.
I shelter my eyes with one hand as I keep running forward. The flaming vehicle falls behind me, and I can already hear the murmured voices and thudding footfalls of other Bragdons rushing to the scene to see what's going on. Good, let them focus on that. Don't worry about little old Brie, running towards the tall fence at the perimeter of the space port.
Yeesh, that is a tall fence. It rises up at least three lengths higher than I am, and even with some of the leftover charge from Kleethak, I can already feel my strength dwindling slowly and assuredly.
Beyond the fence I can already see a scattering of foot soldiers milling about, along with several of those hovering patrol vehicles. Nearly every square foot of the launch area is blanketed with spotlights. There's no way I'm sneaking in there. My only hope is some strategic gun play.
Yeah, strategic gun play was never one of my specialties.
In one leap I'm halfway up the fence, intertwining my fingers in the linked metal with my left hand even as my right hand clings to the rifle. I dangle there for a moment, suddenly realizing that without both hands this will be a fruitless endeavor, so I swing my other arm up to catapult the weapon over the fence and down onto the pavement on the other side with a clatter. Hopefully, I didn't break it.
The noise doesn't seem to attract any attention, so I bring my hand back up and crawl up the fence, hand-over-hand, foot-over-foot, reaching the top in a handful of seconds. I swing my legs over and releasing my grip to drop down on the other side. Somehow I manage to get my feet under me and land gracefully, bending my knees to catch my fall right next to the rifle. I duck low upon landing, scooping up the weapon, and move towards a pyramid of crates. I take a moment to catch my breath and survey the area.
Like most space port launch pads, the surface is wide and flat with a series of ceramic plates bolted together into a large square covering many, many meters in each direction. Out in the open spaces, a few short-range transport shuttles are parked with their ladders out, but none of them will get me where I want to go.
Ringing the far end of the large square is a series of four curve-roofed hangars with some of the longer range vehicles inside. At the north end of the space port is a series of staircases all leading up to a huge, flat landing bay. Parked at that landing bay is the largest spacecraft I've ever seen. The shape is similar to that first Bragdon frigate I ran across a lifetime ago, but it's longer and wider. Its curved hull glistens in the low lights of the space port.
It is gargantuan! The size is equal to at least two of those frigates bolted together and the armor is a deep, royal indigo. Dozens of weapons are visible across the curved surface of its massive hull, and I can just barely make out the pointed nose of the space craft. The ship itself look angry and violent.
It's Command's battle cruiser. Of this, I am certain.
My eyes roam back to the hangars not far from the stairways to the massive landing bay, and I can just barely make out the shape of some of the jump ships within. They look familiar, and somewhere in the deep recesses of that computer chip in my brain I'm accessing the Bragdon air fleet inventory. I can identify one of those ships as a long-range transport. It's not an especially fast vessel, but it's armed and capable of space travel, it's sitting there in the middle hangar, and it's the one that I need.
Now the only trick is getting there.
Up above, the dark sky looks down on me. Dozens of stars peek through the sheer curtain of Braxis fog. As my eyes scan from shuttle to shuttle and soldier to soldier, some quick calculations rattle off in my head. I fully realize the scope of what I'm about to do.
I've made many enemies over the past several months. I've been imprisoned, hunted, attacked, and almost killed. The Reblons hate me. Athelon considers me an enemy of the state. It could be argued that my only true friends throughout this whole ordeal have been Bragdons.
Yet, I stand here poised to betray them all as I break free of Braxis and travel to Athelon with a message of caution and a warning of a war far more sinister and serious than any current conflict with Reblon.
I am Bragdon. A piece of Braxis lives on inside of me, and regardless of where I was raised, this planet will always be a part of me. Am I truly ready to cast that aside? Can I take the only friends I've really known and sacrifice them to a planet who has more t
han once tried to imprison or kill me?
Then I see Kleethak with his neck snapped and his body thrown aside like garbage. Then I see Luxen, throwing himself towards Bragdon commandos, firing upon them in some last ditch effort to save my life, and I realize that friends are friends regardless of race. We are all one with Yarda, and the sanctity of the quadrant must come before any individual.
That's when I know what must be done. That's when I realize I'm the one to do it. Born, bred, or built, somewhere in my core, I am the Child of the Stars, and this is my purpose.
CHAPTER SEVEN
If I close my eyes I can just see the swirling colors at the edge of my vision, a spinning tunnel of purples and greens. My skin is warm, but not hot, and, as I creep further along the shadows of the space port I wonder just how long I've got until my battery depletes completely.
Maybe it already has. If it does, will I ever get these powers back now that Kleethak is gone? Theoretically any Bragdon Elder should be able to refuel me, if what Rorjack said was true, but will anyone be willing? Once I fully betray the Bragdon cause and bring the full might of Athelon against Braxis, which Elders will offer their services then?
Alarms rage and red warning lights flash across the city, but so far the alarms are quiet inside the space port. I continue creeping along the metal fence, slinking towards the shadow of a nearby watchtower. Pale lights outlining the path of the road highlight Bragdons running everywhere. A new group is heading to the smoldering remains of the utility vehicle. The blue, flickering light signaling the destroyed vehicle, is drawing in commandos like an exceptionally bright flame draws in insects.
As I look out across the flat, smooth surface of the space port, my eyes dart from ship to ship and from obstacle to obstacle. There are several vehicles scattered about. Most are delivery trucks in various stages of being unloaded. Stacks of crates spread out around them in random patterns over the surface of the launch pad. Either these guys are not very organized, or they have tow motors to carry the supplies inside one of these buildings for sorting.
