by Justin Bell
I twitch and consider making a run for it to see if I can get the swamp skid out of there before the light falls on it. As I start to move, my leg barks and burns and I halt again, ready to accept my fate.
Stepping backwards, I press my spine to the mesh of the fence and will myself invisible as the white light falls upon the swamp skid and freezes there. I hear some commotion to my left as the the stalled skid, sitting cockeyed in the mud, basks in the brightness that surrounds it like a strange solidified halo.
Not much security, eh, Luxen?
The strange murmur of voices grows louder, feet slap in the muck, and I press myself further back, trying not to make any noise. Lights bob ahead of me as three Bragdons appear, each holding one of those now familiar rifles. Each rifle has an under-mounted rectangular lamp trained on the abandoned skid.
There are three Bragdons guarding the gate! How many are inside?
What am I even doing here? I'm an eighteen-year-old Athelonian girl trying to capture a jump ship from a whole Bragdon security brigade! I've clearly lost my mind. Twenty-four hours ago I was on a shuttle heading towards generational school.
Twenty-four hours ago I was—
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AGO I was . . . The pain laces my skull, stabs the back of my head, and scrapes all along the curved top of my hairline. I feel like the flesh is being torn from the bone . . .
In my mind, see the shuttle flying. I see classmates laughing. I'm walking away from them, turning down a hallway. Figures are there, cloaked in shadow. All I can see is their yellow, snapping eyes and weird black boots.
. . . Bragdons? . . . On the shuttle?
One of them looks like a student, then doesn't. They come near me . . .
“FAN OUT! SEARCH THE entire area!” the gravel caked Bragdon voice snaps me out of the strange dream, and I whip my head back up into alert. Ahead of me the three lizards are pulling away from the skid, spreading out, weapons raised and searching.
“Sound the general alarm!” one of them says to another. The second one nods and breaks off, running towards the gate. . . . Now or never, Northstar.
I take off in a hobbled run, my leg still barking in pain. I push through it, keeping the leg stiff, but mobile. I'm closer to the gate than the lizard. As he veers left, I alter my path and surge towards him. He yells as he catches sight of me. I assume it is either, “Halt!”, or a Bragdon swear word. He's faster than I give him credit for. His weapon is already lifted as he spins on me.
I drop and slide through the mud, spraying grime as I swing out my stiffened leg and smash it into his knee. He stumbles as I push myself to my feet, punch him in the stomach, and hook my arm under his. I twist and throw him over my shoulder. He grunts as he crashes to the ground, and I immediately drop, bringing the point of my elbow into his forehead. He lies still with his arms splayed. His rifle lies a foot away from his spread fingers.
I quickly toss some vegetation and mud over him and grab his weapon. I survey the gate, which is still standing open. The two towers on each side splash light across the surrounding mud, threatening to blow this plan before it starts. Forcing myself to my feet, I make a limping run towards the open gate. The towers whir and the lights shift, shining closer and closer, drawing together like an eager giant's pinching fingers.
My leg screams at me as I run. Ignoring the agony, I slip through the gate just as the beams cross behind me revealing empty ground. As my breath explodes from my spent lungs, I fall back into the metal wall next to the open gate, and bend over, trying to still my thrashing heart.
All around me the fences are tall and thick and impenetrable against the smooth of my back, a force that I cannot break through no matter how crafty I am or how many strange new skills I’ve developed. Fancy flips and expert piloting won’t get me through this mess and I don’t even want to think about what lies inside.
I need to think about it. If I have any hope of getting off this wet rock and back to Athelon, I need to get to one of these ships.
I ease myself towards the opened gate, leaning over to peer inside.
As I catch my breath, I scan the port compound. Huge slabs of concrete connected with metal grates create a large span of clean, flat space. The fence seems to be doing the job of keeping the swamp out.
Near the back fence there's a cluster of small structures that appear to be a barracks complex. A taller building flanked by two curved, squat ones on each side appear to be hangars. The rear corners of the fence sport towers matching the ones at the front that are closer to where I am now than I'd like to admit.
My eye focuses on the center of the large area of blank concrete where there’s a scattering of jump ships, a series of six small vehicles. Each one looks capable of limited interstellar travel though I can’t quite decide how I know that for sure. My fingers tighten around the handle of the liberated weapon as I suddenly realize what I'm up against. My eyes roam to the left and I see them. In tall, even rows, there are at least thirty different Bragdon operatives, all standing at attention, all facing someone who must be an officer who is giving them a debriefing of some kind. Either that, or they're organizing strike teams. Are they going to be hunting little old me?
Four of the jump ships huddle close together near this group, with the other two nearer to the center of the large space port, and I see other scattered maintenance workers roaming around as well.
. . . Forty Bragdons? . . . Fifty?
Yeah, no problem, right? I could do this without breaking a nail.
I glance down at my left hand, the one that's not clenched around the handle of a plasma weapon and scowl . . . Too late . . . Nails are already considerably broken.
Over the rigid group of soldiers, I let my eyes scan to the maintenance workers, the watch towers, then land on the two jump ships, the ones that stand apart from the other group. In my mind’s eye I can see combat scenarios. Where I know them from I may never know, but they’re there and none of the results flashing through my mind are positive.
There are too many of them. Even if I manage to sneak in there and make it to the ships, I have to think they’ve got anti-aircraft batteries, and yeesh, with fifty Bragdons in there, even if they all have small arms weapons like I do, I’ll be a smoking corpse before I even get there.
Blackened char never was my color.
I draw in a breath, trying to think of next steps.
“Well, what do you know?” The voice is right behind me, and for being such a sudden expert super spy, I’m sure a moron sometimes.
Turning my head, I spot the two approaching Bragdons who had been exploring the area outside. They each have wide, tooth-filled grins.
“We’re getting ready to go find the Athelonian and she comes straight to us,” the other one says. “Mission accomplished.”
From this distance their weapons look far larger and far deadlier, and suddenly my options went from few to none.
Chapter Eight
“Gragson!” the Bragdon to my right shouts to the officer who is standing there facing the rigid group of operatives.
Gragson turns, at first looking angry, but his scowl fades and shifts into a curious grin.
“Her?” he asks. “Is this her?”
The Bragdon next to me nods, his weapon poking into my ribs. I limp more than walk, favoring my right leg as I walk, glancing back towards the gate and growing more convinced that I’m never going to get off this stupid swamp planet.
Gragson takes two long strides towards me extending a hand, touching it to my cheek. “Amazing,” he says quietly. “Truly amazing.”
I draw my face away.
He smiles. “Don’t be like that, little girl. You will learn to love it here as we all do.”
“What do you want from me?” I ask.
He narrows his glare and leans over, looking at me. “You don’t know?”
“No, I don’t know,” I spit out, forgetting for a moment that I’m at these creatures’ mercy.
“All will become clear, child
,” he reassures me, patting my arm.
I don’t want things to be clear. I want to go home. I want to finish this stupid adventure already. There are jump ships right over there, but I’m surrounded by gross lizard people pointing laser guns at me, and I’m dumb and helpless.
I don’t do dumb and helpless. That doesn’t work for me.
“So what happens next?” I ask.
Gragson gestures towards the buildings way in the back. “Your whole life, young one, that’s what.”
“I’m happy with my life, thank you. I’d like to get back to it.”
Gragson stops smiling, his eyes narrowing. Maybe I shouldn’t push my luck. My eyes roam, trying to count how many are now standing around me. They're tall, hunched forms, yellow, snapping eyes, and thumping feet are intimidating, but they don't appear hostile. They seem more curious than anything as their heads tilt, glaring at me in wonder.
“Take her into the central building,” Gragson says, his voice just above a hiss. “We need to call command.”
Three of the lizards step forward, reaching for me, but I take two steps back not wanting their cool, clammy hands to touch my skin. Behind them, a number of others raise their weapons in a chorus of metal and plastic shuffling, reminding me of who is truly in charge.
I’ve always had a problem with authority.
They're everywhere around me, and even as I step away I realize that there is nowhere else to go. Whatever they have planned for me is going to happen. My adventure is over. An appropriate line from one of my favorite vids zips across my memory, “Resistance is futile.”
Behind me, the sudden burst of thrusters, followed by the appearance of a swamp skid causes me to swing my head around. Many of the Bragdons following my curious gaze.
I recognize that bent and scratched fuselage as my escape vehicle I had abandoned outside the compound. Now that same vehicle is coming straight at us with its four circular turbines turned down, keeping it elevated about a foot off the ground. That would have been a handy feature to know about while I was splashing through swamp mud. It streaks towards us, moving at amazing, almost impossible speed.
Impossible because it’s unexpected by both me and the large group of Bragdon operatives that collect behind me.
I also recognize the narrow form pressed to the seat with his black helmet pulled tight and his muscular gray arms twisting the throttle as he directs the vehicle towards us. There's a quick, loud rev of turbines as the rear thrusters swivel to horizontal and fast becomes even faster.
“What is this?” screams Gragson. “Who are you?”
The driver can’t hear him, and I suspect wouldn’t listen even if he could. He’s leaning that swamp skid right towards us, and as he shifts, lowering himself further, there's a distinct long-barreled weapon strapped to his back.
Oh no.
The realization hits me like a fist, and it sounds like the Bragdons are catching on as well.
“Weapons ready!” Gragson shouts. “If he doesn’t stop, gun him down!”
All around me, weapons lift, including the three Bragdons flanking me, twisting and lifting silver rectangular rifles, homing in their thick barrels on the approaching swamp skid. The driver shifts on the seat, twisting the accelerator one last time, coiling his legs.
“What are you doing?” I ask under my breath. But I know what he’s doing. I know why he’s doing it.
Using his legs like pistons, he throws himself clear of the swamp skid, twisting,and slamming against the smooth concrete. His entire body jolts as momentum continues his motion into a somersault.
Lights splash across me and the guards and they flinch, as they realize that the skid is still bearing down on us in an uncontrolled screaming surge.
Dozens of streaks of green plasma converge upon the skid, punching through metal, and filling the air with the pungent smell of ozone.
The time is now.
I swivel and throw my left elbow into a Bragdon chin as my right hand chops across his wrist. He stumbles backwards, fingers flying apart, sending his rifle scattering to the pavement. I bend down to scoop up the weapon as two other operatives turn to fire on me. I push forward, somersaulting across the ground ahead of the gunfire smacking the pavement, knocking chunks of concrete apart all around me.
Coming up into a knee, I swivel, press the weapon to my shoulder, and open fire, squeezing off two short bursts of plasma into Bragdon chests. Jumping to my feet I charge forward as the swamp skid gives up the ghost and explodes into a bright yellow flame, spraying metal and sending the rest of the Bragdons withdrawing to avoid shrapnel.
As I run forward, I glance to my right to see the former driver of the swamp skid clamor to his feet and unstrap his long-barreled weapon. His helmet has fallen off in his dive, confirming what I had suspected. Luxen is my rescuer.
Our eyes meet. Though I continue to run, I do my best to plead with him to not do anything stupid, but we both know it's already too late. He peels his eyes away, looks down the long barrel of the hunting weapon that has already saved me from two Horaks, and opens fire on the Bragdons.
I duck my head, focus on the jump ships ahead, and try to ignore the stream of gunfire chasing me. I pass up the first jump ship since it's stands on three buckled, metal legs and has taken several hits to the curved metal surface of the hull. I veer left, trying to get that ship between me and my pursuers.
My aching leg slows me down a bit but I'm pushing past it, trying to keep the leg stiff as I move towards the second jump ship. It's a small craft that holds three passenger at the most, It's a sleek, oval shape with variable wings for atmosphere and space flight. Its piston legs with both skids and wheels make it possible to land anywhere.
Upon first glance, it certainly appears to be capable of limited interstellar travel. Let’s hope.
My shoulder stabs with agony as the impact of a plasma burst throws me flat on the concrete pad. The pain, the loss of breath, and the smell of burnt flesh cause me to wretch as I struggle to my knees, but my fingers manage to cling to the handle of the weapon. A group Bragdons decide I'm finished and charge towards me with some sort of restraint net.
As I try to regain my senses, I see Luxen firing his weapon, trying to make his way towards the gate. The flames and smoke rising from the wreckage of the swamp skid are providing some cover, though the mass of Bragdons are advancing fast.
My own problems snap me back to reality, so I lift my weapon as I struggle to stand. Another wave of white-hot pain nearly causes me to drop the weapon. However, the Bragdons are still coming at me, with weapons now instead of a net.
For a group of lizard dudes who say they want me alive, they sure are taking their fair share of pot shots at me. I roar off a few swift shots at the approaching group, and try to get some distance between us by moving closer to the jump ship behind me. I can't help worrying about Luxen.
They break off their advance to avoid the deadly counter attack and I turn, hobble-running towards the ship, ducking as plasma fire sears the air, crashing into the jump ship ahead of me. I swing underneath the belly of the jump ship as three more blasts crash into the metal ahead of me, and I pray that no serious damage is being done.
I open fire towards the pursuers one last time, before clamoring up the ladder towards the cockpit of the ship, throwing open the canopy, and crawling up to dump myself into the pilot's seat.
Weapons fire continues to blast into the ship near the canopy, but it glances off the rounded, metal nose. Have they lowered the plasma intensity, or is there something different about this ship. It doesn't seem to be taking much damage as I check the control panel, trying to figure out how to make this foreign craft work.
For a moment, I wait for schematics to pop in my head, hoping that same wild brainstorm as before will tell me how to operate this complex craft, but nothing is coming to my mind. It doesn't help that the five approaching Bragdons, are lifting weapons and shouting at me.
Closing my eyes, I try to think back to the
stressful moment where I first experienced that strange sensation of knowing what I should not know.
Nothing comes.
The Bragdons' shouting is louder now, all around the aircraft. I can hear what they're saying, though it makes little sense. Apparently when these lizard guys are mad, they fall back to their native tongue
. . . Native tongue. They're speaking their native tongue.
The Bragdons have all been speaking my language, but I realize that's not the language they were born to speak. My brain clenches that idea firmly, holding in my head like a fist. When the fingers let go, my entire mind eases, allowing in this knowledge that I have no business knowing.
In the back of my mind I can see words forming, letters morphing, and familiar phrases shifting to weird characters and back. Within moments I can understand the console in front of me. Each label makes perfect sense, as if I've known this language my whole life.
Another round of blasts jolts the ship on its three landing skids, but I shake my head free of the distraction to continue studying the console. After another “Aha moment,” I lash out my left hand and flip an entire bank of switches from down to up. Behind me, thrusters ignite in a deep whoosh.
Screaming from the launch pad below, tells me that a group of unfortunate Bragdons were a little too close to the engines. I don't believe they were expecting me to get it going.
The rear of the ship shudders, leaps forward, and pushes the nose upward in a clumsy diagonal while I'm still looking down at the concrete below and groping the control yokes to keep the ship balanced and stable.
A Bragdon is on the ladder and reaches for the canopy, so I twist the yoke left for a quick wing salute, then pop it back up. His fingers release, sending him plummeting to the ground below.
Plasma fire streaks up from the ground, bracketing the small ship as it continues its shaky ascent at an angle. The towers and buildings grow steadily smaller beneath me.