by Justin Bell
"Two minutes."
Not even slowing down I throw myself forward, tucking my knees to my chest and blasting through the window like a flesh covered wrecking ball, showering glass out into the night, spraying around me with the wind.
I drop half a story, but somehow I'm certain that there's a fire escape below. As I glance down, I see a metallic platform bolted to the outside superstructure of the building. I twist as I fall and clasp my fingers around the railing, holding myself firm and safe, at least for the moment, as my arm muscles continue their endless screams of resistance.
"She went out the window!" comes a voice from above. I look over to my right, knowing that I hadn't taken a full two minutes to make that jump. Headlights appear, attached to a huge, boxy vehicle lumbering towards me at a slow, ungainly trajectory, top heavy and cautious.
"There you are," I say.
Purple plasma screams over my head, dissipating into the night. I try to ignore it as I reposition my arms, tuck my legs into my body, and plant my feet on the outside of the railing.
I permit myself a quick look towards the window where Adroxis Security is leaning out, adjusting their aim for a second volley.
The huge vehicle is coming up below me now and once again I shove my legs straight, push myself out and back into a lazy, looping back flip, and tuck my legs into pike position to avoid two more purple bolts that scorch through the air where I was hanging.
I hit the top of the transport in a low crouch, then turn and dash across the wide top of the vehicle and leap towards escape. Plasma sears over my head as I do, but I remain unscathed.
I also remain on the truck.
As I leaped from the roof, I grab the edge, holding myself close to the transport while making it look like I had jumped out into the darkness to freedom. I cling to the opposite side of the truck, imagining the security officers above staring down, searching for me in the darkness, but not seeing me.
That's how I want it.
While the large transport takes a meandering left turn, merging onto the main three lane airway and I pull myself up, somersault up on top of the roof, then roll onto my stomach. I flatten myself to the rigid metal surface, willing myself to blend into the dark color of the truck.
I never saw a label on the side of the vehicle, never noticed the model or colors, but somehow I know where the vehicle is headed and why I need to be where I am.
Moments later I glance up from my spot on the roof to see the floating, arched gateway ahead, and my suspicions are confirmed. The sign is metal and curved with a hard edged border carved into the unyielding titanium surface. The very essence of hard work is etched into the metal plating.
"Adroxis Maximum Security Prison,"
Four simple words.
Four more simple words come to mind.
What am I thinking?
I don't have an easy answer. Even as we pass under the thick, metal sign a dozen guard towers with strobing white lights come into view, I realize that even if I had second thoughts, it's far too late to turn back now.
Chapter Eight
Up until right now I wasn't even aware that there was an Adroxis Maximum Security prison. Why would we need one?
With a lifestyle that is more or less devoted to the reward of hard work, there isn't a lot of crime on Athelon's capital city, or if there is, nothing is said. The layout of the prison complex would certainly seem to agree with that statement.
While there are a dozen guard towers with bright lights and a tall wall surrounding the complex, as the delivery truck lowers its altitude and nears the ground, it's clear that this is less a prison and a more a secure housing development.
Within the tall walls is a patchwork of small buildings that seem like homes. They are squat structures with angled roofs, and each is sectioned off in its own small plot of land.
I mean, it's a prison. That much is clear. No buildings have any windows and armed guards roam the grounds in dark blue Adroxis Security uniforms, polymer helmets, and holsters carrying large weapons. Each guard tower has two men armed with long-range weapons and the lights rotate in timed intervals, crossing each other to ensure that every inch of ground is bathed in light at almost all times.
On the flip side, the delivery truck is managing to slip inside the perimeter with a teenage girl flattened to the roof, without anyone noticing, so maybe things aren't as maximum security as they claim to be.
The truck slows near a large compound in the center, a wide, rectangular building that looks an awful lot like a warehouse. Considering the truck is drawing to a halt near what looks like a loading dock, that's a pretty apt description.
My eyes roam over the surface of the complex, and I wonder just how I might hope to find Luxen here, if this is even where he is. I wasn't thinking straight when I put this plan in place, or at least the conscious part of my mind that I'm aware of wasn't. Deep down in that wiry web of brain that contains all of this vital information I didn't know over a month ago seemed to have this all worked out well in advance.
Gee, thanks. Where are you now?
Where are all these brilliant ideas now that I'm sitting on top of a delivery truck with no idea where to go while guards swarm around unloading crates.
To my right is a gathering of thick, windowless buildings, any of which could hold a single boy among a nest of hundreds.
My eyes land on a structure near the rear of the enclosed area. It's a small one-level building with a flat roof and no windows and while the other buildings have a scattered two-man patrol, this building has six men out in front. Each one of them carries one of the large plasma weapons, and just off to their right an armored carrier sits on humming thrusters, hovering just above the paved surface of the ground.
Seems like a lot of guards for one simple structure . . . unless the prisoner within that structure is of high value. A Bragdon would certainly qualify, right?
I lean over, glancing past the edge of the roof and see that the far side of the truck is unwatched. I slip off the edge in a roll and drop to the ground in a low crouch, then charge forward, keeping my eyes peeled towards the nearest guard tower as it turns its lights toward the center of the complex.
The light splashes just left of me, then I angle around the circular beam and cut right, skimming just between two cross-sections of illumination, picking up speed and ignoring the throbbing ache in my left leg which still screams from plasma burns. Up ahead I see the small well-guarded building sandwiched in between two somewhat larger structures, and I head towards the left one, lunging as another tower begins extending its light towards my location. Just slipping past I throw myself at the building and swing around, slamming my back against it and sliding down towards the front corner, sticking low to the darkened ground.
I close my eyes and focus, just trying to listen to whatever conversation is going on around the corner. Closest to me, three guards are deep in conversation.
"This is my third weekend shift this month. I'm a little tired of this."
"I'm with you, Mergat. You and me both. This kid needs to get his and be done with it."
"Why all this extra duty?" another one asked. "He's just a kid."
"A Bragdon kid," the third replied.
"A kid's a kid, right?"
"They're not so worried about the kid, but about what might be coming for him."
"You think they'd bring an armada to our door just for this kid?"
"Who knows?"
So there it is. Might as well be confirmation.
The alert claxon shocks me from my focus on the guards ahead of me, reverberating in my head and jarring me to wide awake status. I shoot upright and swivel, trying to see what the big deal is.
Apparently I am. I was so fixated on the guards that I didn't notice the tower spotlight drifting towards me. Now I'm caught in the crossfire of three separate towers and my cover is totally blown wide open.
"You there!" comes the echoing voice from some unseen loudspeaker up above. "Stop wher
e you are!"
Fat chance, buttercup.
Out in the glare of the spotlights I can see shifting shapes ahead of me, coming around the truck with weapons raised in a quartet of arms. Their square barrels pointed at me, are pinning me against the wall of this building. To my left, the guards I was spying on start to converge and drift my way.
I've lived a lifetime making dumb choices, why stop now?
I jerk left before I even realize what I'm going to do next and break into a swift, charging run. Plasma pierces through the air, slamming into the wall where I was just standing. Steaming chunks spiral around me, bounce off my armored jumpsuit, and trail pink smoke to the ground.
The three guards halt and lift their own weapons, surprised by my sudden decision to rush them. Even as they fire on me, I'm diving towards the ground, using my extended palms as a brace, and tumbling underneath several streams of energy.
I come up to my right, shoving my way to my feet, and lash out with a swift left hand to knock away one of the weapons from the four-hand grip of a security officer. As he hesitates, I move inside to kick him in the stomach, knock him back, and sending him tumbling across the pavement.
A second guard whirls on me with his weapon already trained. I lurch right to avoid the stream of light, then slap his gun down, swing my leg up and around, and slam my right shin into his left temple. As he careens to the right, toppling from my kick, I continue my spin, dropping low as the third guard adjusts and fires high. Still spinning, I extend my leg, whipping it around and catching the third security officer in the back of his calf with a sharp snap. It lifts his heel up off the ground and drives him backwards.
Three seconds and three guards on the ground. Not too shabby, but I'm far from done. A sharp stab of plasma pain ignites in my left shoulder to remind me how not done I am. I stumble backwards with my fingers numb and my arm on fire. The impact sends me stumbling out of the way of another series of energy shots to nearly trip over a plasma weapon. Scooping up the weapon from the ground causes a burst of pain in my leg that throbs in tune with my arm.
I limp backwards, firing purple stun blasts, but the guards disperse and my return fire soars off into the darkness, punching the side of the delivery truck. More guard tower lights turn their single illuminated eyes down upon me, trapping me in a phalanx of brightness. All around me, more guards than I can fight are moving in unison, coming from every direction.
Another shaft of energy screams from my left, strikes me in the hip, and punches like a battering ram. I stumble again, dropping to one knee.
Shadowed figures move around me, everywhere, coming close with weapons raised. Holding the rifle in a loose grasp, I randomly blast plasma. The barrel jerks wildly, purple light scorches strange, looping arcs, but I don't hitting anything.
How many are there? The entire prison complex? A wall of dark figures approaches, blocking out the delivery van, and covering my entire field of vision. They are swarming me.
My arm, leg, and hip scream obscenities that are a mixture of sharp stabs and pulsing needles. They're on me, grabbing at my arms, snapping cuffs, and holding me tight and still. They are blocking out the spotlights from above, so all I see is the darkness of moving figures.
This . . . may not have been the smartest thing I've ever done.
I HEAR HIM BEFORE I see him, even in this endless fog of half consciousness. The walls closing in around me are slate gray, featureless slabs of material bolted together without thought for design or aesthetics. Just how a prison cell is meant to be, I suppose.
Once again I find myself confined to a room just large enough to move around, but just the right bit too small to be comfortable. It's like a shoe that presses on my toes just enough to make constantly aware of it.
I push myself up sideways, clearing the cobwebs and pushing the hair back from my eyes. My hair!
Oh no. My hand scrabbles over my face and through my hair, confirming that, yes, of course they took my mask off, and of course they all now know who I am. If I hadn't realize it then, I would have realized it in a moment, as I heard the bellowing voice out in the hallway seconds before the hammering slam on the other side of my metal door.
"Open this! Now!"
The sound of his voice sends goose flesh screaming up both arms, even in my half-awake state. Of course he'd come. He'd waste no time. It's likely he expected this call sooner or later anyway, and part of me wonders if he gets sick satisfaction out of it.
I hear the door rattle, the sound of a combination punch lock being pressed, and then a loud click and low hiss that sends the door sliding open.
He stands there, framed in the doorway with his broad shoulders touching both sides, his two top arms crossed, and his bottom arms bent with his hands on hips. But the dramatic, back-lit pose is only a backdrop for the steely glare of his pale gray eyes that are looking straight into me.
"What is the meaning of this, Brie?" my father asks me as he steps into the cell.
I've managed to sit upright with my hands clasped in my lap and my eyes cast towards the floor as if I have something to be ashamed of. I try to be ashamed. I try to feel some kind of responsibility, but I can't seem to manage it.
Luxen is set to be executed for a crime that, not only did he not commit, but an action that isn't even a crime to begin with. It's not right. I'm not ashamed, at least not of my own actions.
"Luxen doesn't deserve this. His only crime was to save my life."
His mouth twists. "Still you defend them. Locked here in this filthy cell, stuck here to rot, and still you sit there and try to tell me how much better you are."
"That's not what I'm doing, Dad."
"How many Bragdons have you met, Brie? How many names do you know?"
I glance up at him, my mouth narrowing. "At least two, and both of them risked their lives to save mine."
"Two of them. Out of an entire planet of assassins, criminals, and mercenaries; you met two of them, and all of a sudden you're an expert!"
"I never said I was an expert," I reply, easing myself to my feet, not believing I'm standing toe-to-toe with my father, the immortal Redax Northstar, Union leader. The one who stared down the Adroxis Government and made them flinch. d"But I can verify that not all Bragdon are the same. Luxen is not a mercenary. He's not an assassin. He's a young man who rescued me from certain death and deserves credit, not a death sentence!"
"Don't tell me what he deserves," my father spits back at me. "You have no idea."
"His mother died! She took a plasma blast in the chest meant for me. If she hadn't pushed me out of the way, you and Mom would still be sitting around the dinner table alone, wondering where I was, while my corpse was being slowly swallowed by the Braxis swamps."
That came out harsher than I meant. Dad's reaction matches my tone. I can almost see his face harden, skin shifting around clenched bone.
"Explain it however you want," he hisses. "But by the end of the weekend, your precious Bragdon boyfriend will be dead. Whether you like it or not. The only thing you need to be worried about now is making sure you're on the right side of history."
"Don't do this," I plead.
"I think you need time to think this through, Brie. To really think this through."
"Dad, don't—"
But, he does. He turns on his heel and strides from the cell, slamming the thick, metal door behind him with a thunderous punch. The small window in the door is sealed off with a panel so I can't see him; I can only hear the noise of his footsteps thumping down the hallway, growing fainter by the second.
I sit here alone . . . Alone with my thoughts and questions . . . Alone to ponder whether or not I am, in fact, on the right side of history. It think I am, but to Athelon at large, I'll be a traitor. I'll be stuck in this cell, Luxen will be dead anyway, and I'll be branded a traitor, a disgrace to the Northstar name.
All I need to do is lie . . . Lie to my father.
But that's also lying to myself. It's betraying Luxen, the boy who
se only crime is risking his own life for mine. Could I live with myself if I did that? I'd be free, I mean, no more prison, the stink of being a traitor would be washed away, but could I look myself in the mirror every day and accept what I'd done?
And honestly, should I even care what Athelon thinks of me? Am I even who I've always thought I am? Will lying to my father erase the doubt and fear I see in my mother's eyes every time she looks at me?
The pain is sneaky. It lurks deep in the back of my head, starting as a low, almost unnoticeable ache. It could be a typical headache from too much sun, or loud noise, or any number of other everyday things. But as I stare at my hands with my fingers locked in my lap, it encroaches on me, oozes up across my temples and wraps steely coils around the stems of my ears.
I ease my eyes closed, trying to block out the searing agony that follows. I can't decide whether it feels like a knife stabbing me or a horse kicking me again and again. I try to get relief by massaging my head and neck, but the pain slides from my head, down into my shoulders, then up and down both arms.
It's not a dull ache anymore; it is scalding oil poured into my blood stream. My muscles tighten to the point of feeling like stone. My knuckles strain with the force of my closing fists. A thin sheet of sweat covers my forehead and the room is too hot to stay in. It's not a prison cell, it's a large oven with the temperature set to bake.
"I need to get out, and get out, now." I mumble.
I open my eyes, preparing to stand and lurch towards the door. I am willing to beg for help.
Yeah, I need to get out of here, but how? I am dizzy and disoriented. They took my weapon and my armored bodysuit and put me in this flimsy, gray prison uniform with short-sleeves. It offers no protection and gray is not good for escaping.
Muscle spasms like I've never felt before, cause me to look down at my bare arms and hands. I can't quite believe what I'm seeing.
My fingers are twisting and straining to pull longer. The bones are extending, stretching the muscles. Trimmed nails crawl from the tips, growing into narrow, dagger-like claws. Another knuckle contorts, popping into place and I wiggle the appendages in disbelief, not sure what I'm seeing.