by Justin Bell
He’s not fooled.
The Bragdon shifts left, swinging his weapon. In mid-air, it crashes into my sore shoulder and tosses me to the metallic floor. A scream bursts from my lips as I hit and roll. He's already turning towards me, directing his weapon at me.
“I thought you slime balls wanted me alive,” I groan as I push myself up onto one shoulder.
“This ship is falling apart,” he growls. “We’re all dead, anyway.”
Watching his eyes, I follow the path of his weapon and roll the other way as the green snake of plasma blasts into the floor where I had been a moment before. Up onto my feet I charge forward, down the passageway these three had entered from, hugging the wall, barely avoiding a series of plasma shots banging off the angled metal panels surrounding me. As soon as the passage opens up into a room, I dive right and four more spears of neon belt through, smashing into a far wall, scattering metal fragments and plasma residue in oblong splashes.
I keep running, my feet banging, but I don’t hear anyone pursuing as I veer right down another narrow hallway, then left again. These halls are empty. Up ahead I can see yet another large, rounded open area, I press forward, hoping to find some means of escape.
That’s when I see how hopeless it all is.
This room is an observation deck of sorts, the first one I’ve seen on this strange, foreign aircraft. It’s rounded in shape and the walls are some kind of hard, translucent polymer giving a full view of the scene outside.
Pieces of the three Bragdon warships are scattered across miles of space. Plasma burns and white hot scorched edges are visible even from this far away. Smaller one-person fighters still zip and soar around, swarming the larger Reblox interceptors like vermin hovering around large water beasts. At least six interceptors are out there, slapping the smaller fighters down with blunt force blasts, and two of them are breaking away from the crowd, heading back towards the freighter. It would seem that our temporary reprieve may be over.
Making my way to the other side of the observation area, I can see a large, oval planet down below. It looks like a cluster of assembled rocks and meteorites painted various shades of indigo, blue, and a bleak, dull green.
Is that Braxis?
Are we so close to the Bragdon home world?
Am I going to meet lots of new and interesting people with my hair all messed up and my jump suit all wrinkled? This is my favorite color, too.
Throughout all the years I can remember, the Reblons and the Athelonions have been rivals. Reblons have only been interested in money and have been more than willing to abuse the hard work of the Athelonions to get it. The natural rivalry has lasted a millennium, and in truth, Jathus had some valid points with his complaints about the Bradgons being caught in the middle. They were natural scavengers and notorious for being sneaky and underhanded. There were even rumors that some species of Bragdon were shape shifters, able to change their appearance, though that’s one of those boogey man stories that I never did fall for, even when I was a kid.
I stop for a moment. When I was a kid. I try to remember any particular scene from my childhood, any time that mom or dad read me a story, took me to an amusement park or even sang me a quiet song. It’s a struggle. Snatches of memories flash at me through the haze of my aching head, but they’re slippery and I can’t quite grasp onto them.
What is happening to me?
The rolling wash of bright orange plasma pounds the port flank of the freighter, enveloping the entire left side of the observation deck, rolling over the see through surface, but digging and burning the metal housing around it. Noise bellows throughout the chamber, a rocketing blast of impact and twisting rend of metal starting to pull apart. Once again the freighter lolls to the starboard and I charge forward to the edge of the observation deck, my eyes scanning, searching for the jettison pods.
None. No pods. No escape. I glance over to my right, out of the rounded window and I see the planet Braxis growing nearer, larger, taking up the entire view as the Flaxon begins a relentless tumble into the thin atmosphere, the surface of the polymer beginning to glow red with the heat of re-entry. Metal strains all around me, the ship is buckling, twisting and starting to separate. My eyes close and my head feels light as the speed of descent quickens, the ship plummeting, side first towards the surface. I see wet ground, thick trees, swamp muck, all of it seems much closer than it should be and the ship is falling, tilting, and twisting.
The speed of descent takes its toll and I topple over backwards, wondering how far this fall is going to last and where it’s going to land.
Chapter Five
Am I even alive?
Those are the first words that come to mind as I swim out of the thick fog of unconsciousness. My entire prone body is a single, throbbing bruise, but I'm still drawing in air and tasting life.
. . . Not dead.
I push my way up onto one shaky shoulder and glance around, trying to get a feel for my surroundings. I see that I'm still on the observation deck on the freighter Flaxon. Beneath me, the curved window has spider web cracks, but is intact, separating me from a strange green/brown liquid that looks too thick to be liquid. It’s formed around the window as if its cradling it, trying to rock it back to sleep and keeping the bent and twisted metal together. Flopping over on my back I look up out the other window into the starry night of Braxis. A thick blanket of clouds reveals only a handful of those twinkling celestial bodies I'm so accustomed to seeing.
Some of the internal lights within the Flaxon are still shedding illumination on the observation deck, revealing the rubble of metal support structures and broken glass. Off to my left it looks as if a large chunk of the massive transport tore apart and fell inside. Cool, wet air blows in from that side that is open to the elements, whatever elements those might be here on the surface of this foreign planet.
As I sit up I gasp a little, trying to draw in breath. The air is thick. There’s a dank wetness to it like there’s too much moisture, but after a few frantic moments, my lungs expand and I draw in three deep, stable breaths, steadying my heartbeat more with each one of them.
As I try to stand, my foot slips a bit and I notice for the first time that I was lying in a small pool of cloudy water. I suppose it's seepage from the swamp leaking in through the cracked hull. I start my cautious climb up the rounded surface of the cracked decking, working my way towards the opened end, clamoring hand-over-hand to find my way out of the wreckage. I listen for other survivors, but hear nothing except the low whine of night time winds and the occasional chirp of mysterious wildlife.
Hauling myself up from the curved section of decking, I see a pair of Bragdon bodies splayed out, far less fortunate than I was. Their bodies give me the creeps and I steer clear, walking the long way around that section of passageway, making my way towards where the ship is smashed and torn apart. Only a very short distance from where I lay the freighter struck a large rock outcropping and split, metal shearing apart and exposing everyone inside to the elements. If the trajectory of the falling ship had shifted even a few degrees, the observation deck itself could have struck here and I would have been...
Yeah, let’s not think about that. Let’s think about the fact that I lost my stupid shoes and my feet are wet and freezing and oh yeah, let’s think about the fact that I’m stuck on a strange planet and have no way to get my sorry butt home!
Deep breaths, Brie. Deep, deep breaths.
I pull myself from the passage way, using the broken hunks of hull as purchase, and stand on the jagged edge of busted freighter, looking out into the fog soaked dimness of Braxis.
So mom was right. The place is a big old dark, stinky swamp. Yay, mom.
Once again it's tough to breathe, my excited heart slamming more rapidly in my chest. I press a hand to my chest trying to calm the little bugger down a bit, slow my lungs and take in breath nice and easy. This isn’t the end of the world, Northstar. You got this. I need to get out of here and find someone who might help m
e.
Find who? A Bragdon? And they’d help a rogue Athelonian prisoner, why? Because I’m a cutie? Yeah, not by Bragdon standards.
I glance over my shoulder at one of the splayed bodies, looking down at his feet. Would his weirdo lizard boots even fit me? Only one way to find out, I guess.
I will myself not to smell or look or hear or taste or do anything and kneel, reaching towards the dead creature. Grabbing the heels of both boots, I pull, sliding them off until they squelch free, coming up in my clenched fingers. I sit down and pull the thick, flexible footwear onto my feet and, they seem to form right to them, slurping around them like some hungry boot-shaped critters, then seal themselves against my calves. They don’t match my teal jumpsuit, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Kneeling and leaning back over, I look through some of the pockets on the dead guy’s pants and find a strange rectangular item, then slip it free. In my hands, I manage to palm a switch and a bright beam of blue light bursts from the front, shining against the angled wall of the freighter. I have no idea if this thing is a flashlight or not, but it works well enough for me.
Without thought I press my hand to the sharp edge of the broken freighter. I pull myself up,step out, and drop a bit, landing in some soft mud. The mud clutches at the boots, but hits the surface and slides right off like magic.
Go figure. The Bragdons are actually pretty smart. They went and invented a swamp sludge rappelling boot? I might have some newfound respect for these ugly lizard dudes.
Up above two moons nestled close to each other seem to push apart the cloud cover, battling to take a look at this strange Athelonian chick who is roaming around their yucky swamps. I hope you jerks enjoy the show. Thumbing the rectangle in my hand, I ignite the flashlight thing, shining a bright beam of steady illumination in front of me.
As I glance behind me, I see the freighter dropping deeper into the muck. Thick water crawls, inch by inch, up the edges to draw the vehicle down into itself.
Yeah, I got out of that deathtrap just in time.
Off in the distance a low, guttural howl splits the quiet night in two, a sharp edge cutting through dark fabric.
From one deathtrap to another?
Step by step I ease through the mud. None of it deep, and most of it slides right off the strange material that makes up the boots. I suppose it makes sense that if the majority of this planet is really coated in this junk, these lizard people would figure out a way to walk in it. Nature finds a way, right? . . . Even if the nature is ugly walking reptiles.
Once that first bout of howls fades, the night is quiet again and I keep on trucking forward, stepping through the muck, shining my light and taking care not to step in any deep parts. I have no idea how long I’ve walked, but another screeching howl bellows, this time from close behind and to my left. Yeah, a little too close behind.
I spin, twisting my flashlight in that direction, splashing the area with pale blue light, and for the briefest moment I see a glint of narrow eyes, but they blink away and vanish.
Did I see them? Could I see them through this fog? Maybe I imagined it.
Instead of a howl, this time there is a deep and angry growl on my other side. Once again I turn, flash my light, and catch two clear reflective eyes glaring at me. The head they're attached to is broad, bizarre, hairless flesh curved into an oval shape. Twitching, twin pointed ears extend from the top of its head. The thing has a short, stubby nose which blasts steam from two diamond-shaped nostrils perched above the tooth-filled mouth, which splits open into an expression that I could swear looks like happiness. It stands on all-fours with its massive lowered, drooling at me.
“Good doggie,” I say because, sure what the heck else would I say?
In response the creature grumbles at me, its toothy smile becoming a hungry looking sneer.
Taking a careful step backwards, I look over my shoulder to make sure there’s actual ground behind me and there is. But I’ll be darned if that thing doesn’t look like it can run a heck of a lot faster than I can. It’s a lot more used to this swamp, too.
But what else am I going to do?
As I take another careful step back, the thing sits down and cocks its head at me as if wondering where I think I'm going. That's when I turn and bolt. My feet slam down in the thick mud, but the surface of the boots keep it from clutching at me. I run surprisingly fast through the nasty swamp. I hear the beast growl then start splashing through the water, but moving a bit slower without these magic boots which are turning out to be life savers. Go Bragdons, go!
Picking up speed I drift left, my legs pumping and my lungs screaming. Turns out while I can breathe okay in this moisture rich junk, running at full speed is a bit problematic. I splash onward, but the pursuing paws grow closer second by second, getting way too close for comfort. I can sense the creature is about to lunge, so I veer right to avoid the crashing beast as it splashes past me, spraying nasty mud all over the back of my legs.
¶I hear a second set of splashes to my right, charging straight for me. One I could avoid, at least for short periods, but two . . . three . . . a full pack . . . out in the swamp lands with no weapons and no refuge? Why is it for every narrow escape I end up in deeper trouble? Three days ago I was a nervous student getting ready for my first week at generational school. Life was normal. I was a teenage girl with teenage girl problems. I'd just turned eighteen, for crying out loud! What the heck is going on here?
Am I giving up? Is this what giving up feels like? Seems like I’m running awful fast to be giving up.
I swerve left into deeper water, barely escaping gnashing teeth. Swamp water is crawling up over my shins and approaching the tops of these magic boots. Once it passes the tops, the suction of the mud will slow me down enough that I'll be dog meat, or skinless beast meat. Whatever the heck these stupid things are, I'm lunch.
As if the creature hears my insult, it makes one more desperate leap, and I'm not fast enough. The full weight of the charging beast striking me between my shoulder blades causing me to lurch forward. The flashlight springs from fingers and spins through the air, leaving a strange whirlwind of light in its wake. As I hit the water, I roll over to avoid submerging my face. In the faint moonlight, I see the two sneering creatures breathing steam, drooling, and looking very, very hungry.
Swamp water crawls up over my knees and elbows, caresses the edge of my hair, and seeps into every inch of m jumpsuit. Even the air seems to feel wetter as I draw in nervous breaths, and I'm being consumed by a world of water as these two hunters stalk closer, step by slow step.
Suddenly a narrow green streak punches through the face of the creature nearest me. It yelps and lurches backwards, into the brown water. The second monster chuffs and turns towards the source of the light. Two more green spears zip over my right shoulder, striking the creature's broad chest. It yelps, topples forward, and splashes into the water.
“Who are you?” a voice cries out in the darkness. It’s a hoarse voice, called through gravel, recognizable as a Bragdon.
“My name is Brie Northstar!” I call out to him. “I’m an Athelonian!”
Silence is the only reply. It feels eternal. I hear the quiet squelching of feet in mud and see a form in the darkness drawing nearer. I pick myself up to my feet and start to turn around, clenching my fists to prepare for a fight.
A bright splash of blue light strikes me, but it’s a flashlight. I can’t tell who is holding it.
“Athelonian?” the voice behind the light asks. “You look... different from most.”
“I get that a lot,” I reply. And I do. I’ve been different my whole life, though not many people mention it any more.
“Why are you here?” the voice sounds male and younger than the voices in the freighter. “Are you from the Flaxon wreck?”
“Yes,” I reply. If he knew I was a prisoner would he help me? “One minute I was with my friends in a shuttle... the next minute I’m in the freighter. I didn’t ask for any of this, okay?
I need help.”
The light dips a bit and I can almost make out the face of the person holding it. If I didn’t know better I’d say he looked like a young boy.
“Luxen, bring her in!” a second voice bellows from behind him. “She means us no harm.”
The boy looks back over his shoulder. “Mom, if the military is after her...”
“She has a good heart,” the woman replies. “I can tell just by listening to her. Bring her here.”
The boy turns back towards me. “C’mon. Our house is over this ridge. You’ll be safe there.”
I don't move. I don't know this boy or this other voice. I know nothing about anyone or anything on this planet and I don't want to move. I want to stand here and sink back down into the swamp water forever. Running has become so exhausting.
Behind me more howls cut the night air, a chorus of them, a rattling cacophony of hungry hunters looking for their next meal.
“Are you coming, or are you going to wait to feed the Horaks?”
I shake my head to clear the cobwebs. “Coming,” I say. “I’m coming.”
He turns, his flashlight slicing through the darkness and I step forward, following the floating blob of light towards something, though I’m not sure what.
Chapter Six
“Come in, dear, come in,” the old Bragdon woman says to me in her brittle voice. It's so strange to hear the graveled words coming from such a frail and hunched over woman, as if the sound and the video don't quite line up. It reminds me of one of those old, poorly dubbed outer-language vid-pacs playing out in real life.
Their house is quaint by Athelonian standards. The tiny little home sits on pylons driven deeply into the mud and a sloped roof fends off the continuous rain and fog of Braxis. It looks larger on the inside as she coaxes me up the steps and through the front door, guiding me by feel.