Bright Star

by Nickie Anderson

Naeem and I carried Ben along, hobbling across the desert ground. Now and again, I would peer over the rock formations and see a dark swish behind one of the rocks. That’s where the soldiers are. I began trying to count the movements—one, and two, for sure. They were being sloppy. They knew there was a chance we might come back here, so why move around so?

  I tried to recall how many soldiers Captain Berings left behind. Two or three? Two or three? Both sounded right. Both sounded wrong. I kept my eyes focus on the basin, looking for any other movements. We neared the far side of the ridge Ben had pointed out and settled along the edge. He nestled his belly on the rough sand. He positioned his gun, now a natural extension of his body, and fiddle with the scope at the top.

  Ben tapped his earpiece. “I’m in position. Baruj, are you ready?”

  “Yes,” replied a static-y voice.

  “Your cue, Mr. Pascal.”

  My heart leaped against my chest. I knew the soldiers wouldn’t kill, but they could hurt him. I bit my cheek, chanting a short prayer in my head. God, let him live. Papa walked down the ridge, his arms held high above his head. A cautious soldier moved from behind one of the stony formations, checking around him. Seeing no one besides Papa, he stepped out into the open.

  “What do we have here?” the soldier mocked. “Mr. Pascal? Back so soon?”

  Papa slowly lowered his arms. “The pilots had it all planned out. I barely escaped from them. I can show you where they are.”

  “The pilots planned this?”

  “Do you think I would crash that hovership? Do you have any idea how hard I worked to build this thing?” Papa drew himself up to his full height, positively towering over the young guard. I could imagine the scowl on his face, like the look he once gave me when I failed a history exam. If Papa wanted to, he could make any kindness in his face shrivel and disappear. Even though Papa was lightly built, his height and strict demeanor seemed to intimidate the soldier. The soldier backed up a few steps, raising his ifrit gun. The oval shell of the gun pointed squarely at Papa’s chest, waiting to let off a fiery blast of plasma.

  “Stay where you are, Mr. Pascal. I’m calling for backup,” the soldier’s voice rasped through his oxygen hose. He flicked on his earpiece, reporting Papa.

  I kept scanning the area, searching for another dark blur behind the stones. I knew I had seen more than one guard, but I couldn’t spot any movement now. My stomach clenched. They’re not buying it.

  After a few long, tense moments, another soldier came out from behind one of the stones and approached his comrade. “Cuff him,” he said casually. “The Captain’s on his way.”

  Ben flicked his modified earpiece. “Now,” he said. I saw Papa hit the ground below.

  Ben lifted himself off the ground and fired. His first shot hit one of the soldiers in the head. His face disintegrated, vanished in an eruption of green ifrit charges and violet-red blood. The second soldier ran. Ben adjusted his arm, took aim, and pulled the trigger, but his second shot only hit the soldier in the arm. The guard screamed as his left arm detached from his shoulder, connected only by the metal braces of his ExoShell, but he kept running behind the ship. Another blast came screaming out of the gun. Baruj’s shot found its mark, and the soldier fell to the ground.

  Naeem jumped up and ran down from the ridge to Papa. Ben flicked on his earpiece. “Naeem, don’t be an idiot! Wait!” Naeem slowed for a moment, turned to Papa, and then turned back to the ridge. A shot rang out, and Naeem fell to the ground, blood streaming from his chest. He tumbled down a few feet, before skidding to a stop. I heard a scream, wild and pained, rip through the air.

  Baruj.

  He stood and sprinted down the ridge, firing wildly. Papa clung to the earth for dear life. The last Central soldier peeked out from behind another rock and fired at Baruj.

  “Where’s backup?” screeched the soldier. “They took out Marksen and Bose!”

  Baruj gained speed, flying over the ground. The guard behind the rock kept firing, his shots flying errant around Baruj.

  I covered my eyes for a moment, afraid to look at what was happening below. I heard more shots, a howling scream, and then silence.

  I lifted my hand, unveiling my eyes. “Wha—what happened?”

  Ben stared unbelieving at the ground below. “Baruj took out the guard. We need to get down there before their backup arrives.”

  I pulled Ben to his feet, and we hobbled down the steep slope of the ridge. It was all I could do to keep him from falling forward. Baruj lay on the ground at Naeem’s side, sobbing.

  “He’s dead.” He raised his head toward me. I had already guessed as much. The pool of blood streaming outward was too big, far too big...

  “I’m going to kill every one of those sons of bitches out here.”

  “Baruj—” I started.

  “I hate them all!” Baruj sobbed.

  Ben reached down and slapped Baruj across the face, knocking him over on the ground. “Get yourself together. We’re badly outnumbered, and you and I are the only good shots here. Without Naeem here, you’re our best pilot, too. If we don’t get on that ship before backup comes, we’ll all be like Naeem.”

  Baruj sobbed, got to his knees, and tried to pick up his brother’s limp body.

  “Leave him here,” said Ben.

  “No,” Baruj protested between sobs. “He needs a proper burial.”

  Papa walked up from behind. “Leave him.” Papa pulled Baruj off the ground. “We have to move.”

  I heard another ifrit gun fire in the distance, the wailing noise carrying over the desert sand. I could imagine the ghost-like glow blasting out of the gun, an evil spirit bent on chaos.

  “We need to move now!” Ben shouted.

  Papa dragged Baruj along to the Altair, with Ben and I following closely behind. Ben was trying his hardest to run, gasping each time his right leg hit the ground. I dashed back to him, placing myself below his arm. We stumbled along, tripping over the uneven ground.

  Papa opened the hatch to the Altair and ran inside. Another shot rang out, this one even closer. Green sparks flitted through the oasis basin, floating through the air like an evil spirit. I couldn’t move Ben nearly as fast without Naeem on the other side. He started to sag, crumpling to his knees.

  “Go on,” he said, gasping. “Keep moving.”

  I grabbed Ben’s arm, trying to lift him back to his feet. He got to his knees, then slumped back down to the ground.

  “Sit me up, Sadira,” he said. The gunshots had quelled, but now I heard voices and felt a faint vibration on the ground below me.

  Footsteps.

  The whir of ExoShells filled the air, the heavy metal footfalls shook the earth. I lifted up Ben, and he steadied his arm on his knee before him. “Get in the ship,” he said.

  “But—”

  “Get in!” His panting had slowed, and now he breathed easily, steadily. He narrowed his eyes, turning his head toward the sound of the voices. “I’ve got this.”

  I turned to get up but was tackled by one of the Central soldiers, insect-like in his shiny metal exoskeleton. The guard pinned me to the ground. Even through my knapsack his knee dug into my back. I struggled to get up, but the motors on his arms whirred, tightening his grip on my wrists. He was too strong.

  A shot fired, and Ben screamed. “That’s for shooting Marksen!” one of the soldiers yelled. I squirmed to turn my head and saw Ben lying on the ground, blood pouring from a stump that used to be his leg. He moaned. The soldier stood above him, his face unnatural and elongated by the oxygen mask. His arm quivered, pointing his gun directly at Ben’s head.

  “Drop the gun, Pireldi.” I could only see the boots of this new soldier, but from the calm, cold voice I knew it was Captain Berings. Pireldi hesitated, still aiming for Ben’s head.

  “Drop it!” shouted the Captain. Pireldi let the gun fall to the ground with a dull thud.

  “He’s not a threat to us now.” The Captain’s boots, bright and shining even in th
e dusty desert, walked toward me, pausing with one foot on either side of my head.

  “This one is a better bargaining chip.” The Captain dropped to his knee and peered in my face. Even behind the alien screen of the oxygen mask I could make out his eerie green eyes. “Hello, Miss Pascal. I have to say I’m impressed you made it this far. Truly impressed.” He pinched my cheek condescendingly. I whipped my head around and tried to bite his fingers. He chuckled, and the mask twisted the laughter into something diabolical.

  He tapped a small box on the side of his mask. “Ship com.” He fiddled with a few more switches on his helmet, and the sound from his call carried out across the desert.

  “Mr. Pascal? It’s Captain Berings. I believe I have something out here that you’d like back.”

  A long pause followed, then a hoarse voice. “There’s nothing out there for me,” Papa said.

  “No? I’ve found a little lost lamb who’s crying for her Papa. I think that other pilot of yours might still be kicking, too.” The Captain stopped, listening closely. Ben inhaled an uneven, raspy breath and let out a low cry. The soldier holding me down shifted his weight, moving everything inside the bag on my back. I could feel the corner of the crystal radio pressing into my skin.

  “There’s nothing out there,” repeated Papa, and it felt like I had been kicked in the gut. Nothing out there? I walked across the desert to find Papa. I helped him get back to the ship. And now...

  “Very well, then,” the Captain said. “They’re both expendable.” He leaned down and pulled my arm out from under the soldier above me. He gave it a quick twist and jerk. My arm made a sick cracking sound, and I screamed. I fought to bite my tongue, swallow the hurt, but it burst forth from my lips in a formless cry.

  “Hear that, Mr. Pascal? That’s the sound of nothing.”

  I heard another voice in the background, shouting incomprehensibly. Baruj. His voice was nearly unrecognizable through the shrill cry of panic. “Help her!” Baruj shouted.

  The transmission cut for a moment, then Papa’s calm voice came back on. “Will that be all?” A long pause followed, and I heard the click of the com being cut off.

  Papa abandoned me.

  The Captain flicked off the earpiece on his mask and jerked my arm again. Something was jagged inside of me and scraped against my muscles and skin. I tried to bite back the scream, but I only howled louder.

  With another slight twist of the wrist, I felt my shoulder tear from its proper place. My shouts of pain turned into terror. He’s going to rip me apart. I shrieked until my lungs ran out of air, until my throat burned, until my heart threatened to leap from my chest.

  The door of the Altair burst open. Baruj’s gun stuck out of the side and shot at the soldiers. One, two fell down immediately, and the rest ran for cover. Even Captain Berings dropped my arm and took a few steps back toward the Bright Star, ducking beneath the hull.

  “You’re only one person, Private!” the Captain called. “You’re outnumbered and out-armed!”

  “And you’ve got somebody I still care about.” Baruj moved from the cover of the ship’s door, but the Captain fired, pinning him back.

  “So she’s not worthless?”

  “Not to me.”

  One of the soldiers moved toward the entrance of the ship, but Baruj fired a quick shot, felling him. A pool of blood stained the white sand of the desert.

  “If your men are all this stupid, I won’t be outnumbered long.”

  The Captain chuckled. “Come and get her before I rip off her arms.” His ExoShell whirred to life as he flexed his wrists, his arms, a sick, mechanical grinding sound.

  No, no, no, no, no. I felt the Captain grab my wrist again, the pressure of his hand on my arm, and another jerk tore at my arm. I wailed, and this time I could feel my skin stretching unnaturally.

  The Captain’s com came on. “Captain! There’s a group of—” the voice on the other end cut off in a torrent of gunfire, shots that I heard echo down the valley. But the shots—they were not ifrit guns. They were different, short sharp notes filling the air.

  “Pireldi! Ganeesh! Go find the third squad.”

  Two soldiers left their positions, wary of the door of the ship and Baruj’s deadly aim. They ran, their exoskeletons whirring and propelling their bodies at unnatural speeds.

  More gunshots. More screams. I struggled on the ground and saw a group of people standing along the ridge of the valley, looking down at the two ships.

  Cantara stood toward the center, instantly recognizable by her long black braid. More than a dozen villagers surrounded her, armed, their guns pointed down the valley.

  “I don’t think I’m outnumbered anymore, Captain,” jeered Baruj.

  The Captain cursed and sprang to his feet. He began sprinting, his body a mishmash of fluid muscle and stiff machinery. He pumped his arms, heading faster, faster, and faster up the ridge.

  He was going to get away.

  A dozen shots rang out from the top of the ridge, a dozen angry villagers, armed with the ancient bullet guns I had only seen on view-screens. The Captain collapsed into a heap of motors and blood.