War of the Three Planets Collection (Book 01)

by Justin Bell

  I close my eyes and envision the creature's sloped head, broad shoulders, the massive trunk with long, thick legs and massive arms. I can see each strand of slick, silvery hair, and the exact contours of the creature's stub nose and wide chin.

  In my mind I dissect it, split it open, and peel away the layers to analyze its anatomy. Somehow I know what makes this creature what it is. Blood vessels, musculature, it's thick, hunched skeleton all soak into me like water into a sponge. Each crevice and divot in my brain pulls in the raw, unfiltered reference material.

  Three more shots slam into the cave wall just to my left, spraying rocks across the entrance and scattering shrapnel across my face. It doesn't break my concentration.

  My spine stiffens and my shoulders shoot up, straightening my entire body like a rigid board. Inside of me, bones bulge, press against muscles, and tear through my Bragdon tissue. The tissues re-knit, expand, and grow around my larger bone structure.

  Tiny hairs emerge through my follicles, pouring out like pulp through a juicer. I muzzle my shout, though my entire body screams in a unique, unquantifiable agony. It's immeasurable, but very real.

  With a final gasp, I stumble backwards as my body explodes with one final seizure before all rigidness evaporates to leave my body fully mobile and unexpectedly limber.

  I have five fingers again, five thick, sausage fingers attached to a palm that looks like canvas woven into a thick sheet of faux fur. My entire body is coated in a silver and gray sheet of long hair, all the way down my seven foot frame.

  It worked. Mother help me, it actually worked.

  I'm a Reblon.

  With a glance out of the cave entrance, I crouch down and scoop up the creature's armored uniform, pull it all on over my fur, and clamp it down at my back. I slip the vest on over my wide shoulders, grab the shotgun, and charge towards the entrance of the cave with the weapon held high.

  "Reblon brothers and sisters!" I scream, a phrase I somehow know to use. Around me, scattered throughout the terrain, all of my fellow Reblon commandos return muffled shouts, ratchet their weapons, hold their fire to look over at me in quiet surprise.

  "The Elders are dead!" I shout, pumping my weapon into the air. "One of the Bragdons is dead!"

  "What of the others?" another creature shouts at me, somewhere from my left.

  "They left from a tunnel to the rear of this large mountain," I say, extending my huge arm towards the rocky mound that I exited from. "We should reconvene on the South side! We must intercept them!"

  It seemed like a good recommendation. Divert their attention, convince the Reblon horde to go around to the other side of the hill, while I sweep in from the front, grab Luxen and get out.

  But the folly of this plan is becoming evident as I stand here, alone on this strange, artificial rock. There are dozens of Reblons around me, each one armed with this strange, but powerful shotgun. Each one glares at me dubiously through their dark, almond eyes. Pock marked faces twist into grimaces of uncertainty and mistrust.

  They're not buying it.

  I glance back and realize that in my haste to run out here and convince these creatures of my newfound allegiance, I've emerged far farther from the cave than I realized. It's over a hundred yards away, and my return path stands blocked by a thick clutch of these fur covered creatures. They've seemingly emerged from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

  So, yeah, I have these great powers, an awesome sense of deductive reasoning and an encyclopedic wealth of strategy, but as usual, I screw it all up with my impulsiveness.

  Good to know that at my core, I'm still the same Brie Northstar. I am still the same, dumb teenager who repeatedly forgot her homework and often neglected to tie her stupid shoes in the morning.

  Brie Northstar, savior of the Yarda Quadrant, is still Brie Northstar, clueless chick. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

  "What are you looking at?" I bark, and I'm surprised by the feral nature of my voice. "They will escape! The weapon will be lost to us forever!"

  A handful of the creatures turn to look towards the cave as if starting to move that way. There's a murmur of confusion and decent among the horde.

  A subtle glance over my left shoulder, locates the jump ship about two hundred yards away, but Reblons are everywhere and the path isn't clear . . . not from here, not from anywhere.

  "What is your clan?" a Reblon to my left demands.

  Clan? Did he ask me my clan?

  Oh boy, here we go.

  "We're going to talk of clans?" I ask. "The weapon, right now, is on the verge of escape and you talk to me of clans?"

  A smile, which tilts to a suspicious sneer, breaks the surface of this Reblon's thick face as he takes a long, determined stride towards me.

  "This weapon . . . she is escaping? Are you certain?" he asks, his eyes narrowing.

  "There's a tunnel," I reply. "It’s at the back of the cave on the opposite side!"

  I wince as he takes another step closer, blasting his hot breath on my face. I can't help myself, the hot, pungent air pinches my eyes closed and forces my jaw to clamp shut.

  "Do you think us ignorant?" he asks.

  Actually, I had thought them unintelligent. I'd seen their fur-covered hides, I'd heard their raging growls, and I'd concluded that they were a bunch of wild animals.

  My bad?

  I'd lived my whole life hearing about Reblons as the financiers, bankers and money handlers of the Yarda Quadrant. These creatures did not look like bankers. They looked like savage beasts.

  So, apparently, all the time I'd spent with Bragdons hadn't taught me a thing about perception versus reality.

  "We are not so ignorant," the Reblon continues. "This weapon you refer to, the girl we are here for."

  "Escaping!" I shout.

  "She can . . . shift, can she not?"

  My heart doesn't just skip, it leaps.

  "She can . . . change her shape to look like other things?"

  My eyes dart, taking in the massive form of this Reblon horde with a cast of dozens, maybe over a hundred, and their weapons that are starting to migrate upwards to point at me.

  Yeah, I need to work on my planning.

  Chapter Eight

  A month ago, all my planning revolved around making a fashion statement at the quadrant's most prestigious generational school. All my dreams were of becoming Miss Popularity at school and then getting on with the next fantastic chapter of my life.

  I'm pretty sure whatever dreams I was having back then didn't include being covered in silver fur and surrounded by sixty alien commandos with double barrel shotguns all looking to add some new piercings to my glamorous look.

  My inner thoughts take mere seconds and only part of my concentration as my mind races at hyperspace velocity assessing every aspect of my situation.

  Everywhere I look there's another Reblon commando. The entire ground is thick with them, all with weapons zeroed in on me. They all seem to be moving in slow motion with arms and legs coasting through invisible sludge.

  My eyes snap from one to the other as my muscles tense. I can feel myself tapping into this body's reserves of strength and power. This Reblon form is far larger and stronger than the Bragdon form I held moments ago.

  My head continues to swivel, as my eyes absorb each individual landmark and physical detail of the terrain. A murky body of water is flanked by Reblon drop pods. Dozens more drop pods are scattered about, embedded in the hard packed dirt and rock. A thrust of stone emerges from the ground like an appendage, reaching up towards the stars with non-existent fingers. The Bragdon jump ship we landed in is a few hundred yards away. It might as well be miles.

  My options are few, and are dwindling right before my eyes. Every millisecond of delay removes another choice from the table. If I'm going to do this, I've got to move now.

  As the thought crosses my mind, my body moves.

  All I can see is fur covered bodies, but still my foot lashes out into a stiff upward a
rc, slamming a heel into the cradled weapon right in front of me. The weapon loops into the air as the Reblon stumbles back. Charging forward I plant a leg onto the thigh of the stumbling Reblon, snap the weapon out of mid-air, then piston my other foot into his chest, thrusting backwards into a graceful, arcing back flip.

  Flipping over a pair of lunging creatures who were once behind me, I tuck my knees to my chest in a tight coil, continuing my back flip, while pulling the weapon tight to my shoulder.

  Four shots explode from the double barrels before I even start my downward arc and three tightly grouped Reblons scream and scramble, creating confusion and havoc all around them.

  As I descend, I straighten myself to land among the gathered horde. I strike the ground and bend my knees into a low crouch. I lift the weapon and fire twice more at close range, eliminating two more.

  Chaos erupts around me when I turn towards my rear and take off running. My legs carry me forward at an intense speed for such a large beast. I tuck my shoulder, barreling through distracted and confused Reblon commandos.

  As I burst free of the crowd, shotgun blasts follow me. I dart right as the rocky ground explodes at my feet, then lunge forward, watching one of the Reblon drop pods ahead.

  Ducking down, I scramble around the drop pod, wincing as projectiles batter against the metal hide of the pod, shattering the canopy and knocking dents into the thick surface.

  More shots blast from behind me, slamming against the back side of the pod. I lunge out of the way as a group of Reblons come over the horizon, blasting away with their double barreled shotguns. Slugs powered by white plasma sear through the air. I backpedal just out of the way, ducking as the pellets punctures the metal panel at the back of the pod. I swivel and fire my confiscated shotgun at the approaching group, watching as one of the commandos sprawls away, scattering the group.

  Smoke from spent plasma stings my eyes as I run towards a large, jagged boulder rammed deep into the rock covered ground. Just as I approach this large rock, shots careen into the uneven hide of the stone, smashing pieces off into the air.

  Reblons are everywhere. They're behind me. They're in front of me. They are coming from all sides, and the jump ship is still over a hundred yards away. A hundred yards over open terrain, with sparse shelter, and dozens of armed commandos who want me dead.

  No sweat, right?

  Okay, maybe a little sweat.

  Okay, maybe I'm sweating like a hair covered hog.

  Totally gross.

  In truth I don't feel like a hair covered hog, which is what these Reblons look like. They have tough, leather skin under layers of shaggy, matted fur.

  At the moment, I too am this strange combination of things. Layers of heavy muscle intertwine with rigid bone, but somehow with the more flexible, lighter weight musculature of a Bragdon. Not one or the other, but some combination of each is stronger because of the way the two bodies work together.

  An idea is forming.

  My shoulder explodes.

  Chunks of my rock cover pinwheel out in a bloom of jagged petals as the shotgun blast slams a crater in the boulder, and tears apart the fur-covered flesh of my right arm. Somehow I muffle a scream as I lurch forward, clamping my other hand over the wound, already coated in a strange dark blue blood. I cradle the shotgun in the crook of my arm as I drop to my knees and apply pressure to the wound that is causing buzz like insects my head and cloudy vision.

  I close my eyes against the pain, force back a nauseating wave of agony, and try to clamp some invisible barrier around the scorching heat in my right arm. When my palm comes away slick and sticky with blood, I tear away the sleeve of my tunic with a low growl.

  I can hear the Reblons as they move around me, clattering their weapons, loading shells, and coming towards me in coordinated waves.

  I manage to wrap the sleeve around the shoulder wound, cinch it and tie it tight. It makes my fingers tingle, but also helps to stem the flow of blood. As my right arm grows numb, I adjust the grip on the shotgun and ease my way to the curved edge of the boulder to peer around it.

  A line of Reblons approaches, shoulder-to-shoulder. There are at least twenty of them, moving towards me between the scattered shapes of their drop pods. Like some strange metal and glass forest, these trees of pods sit propped in uneven patterns across the smooth landscape. I can just make out the jump ship off in the distance, almost obscured by a strange settling fog.

  The Bragdon did make this planet after all, it makes sense that they'd design it with the requisite nasty swamp weather.

  What about the cave? Is it too late to turn back? One look confirms that it is. Although the drop pods give me some shelter against the Reblon horde approaching from that side, I can see that the cave is even farther away than the jump ship and I'm essentially stuck out here in no man's land.

  An ace Brie Northstar plan comes together once again.

  Seems the only time I can even remotely function at a normal level is when the adrenaline is flowing because my life is in danger. That seems to kick my brain into some higher level thinking.

  Oh, why the heck not.

  I throw myself towards the edge of the boulder cradling the weapon. Three swift shots roar from the barrel. A Reblon a few yards away growls and lurches backwards as I charge. The ground explodes at my feet as I hit the first drop pod, swing my way around it, and bring the shotgun around to fire again, dropping a second Reblon. Before he even hits the ground, I move forward, swivel the opposite way, and fire a third time, bringing down a third commando.

  I crouch and start to move forward just as the stutter of slugs striking metal echoes behind me. A moment later, the drop pod explodes, erupting in a bright blue flare of hot fuel. Metal shrapnel screams around me. The impact of the explosion throws me forward and likely saves my life.

  With the momentum of the blast, I curl my back and hit the ground shoulders-first, rolling in a tight somersault as two Reblons move in trying to track me with their weapons. Chunks of dirt blast up around me, but I halt with a plant foot, come up in a crouch and spin, plowing both slugs into the first Reblon, then thrusting backwards as the second tries to shoot.

  Both shots go wide. I track his movements, then fire my own shotgun, striking him high in the chest. The shot sends him into an awkward back somersault that lands him face first on the rock.

  Shotgun blasts seem to be coming from everywhere all at once. I can't track them all, but at the moment at least, they don't appear to be bearing down on me. One downside of using slugs is terminal velocity that eventually causes the slugs to fall short or at the least to lose accuracy.

  Terminal velocity? What am I even thinking about? I'm pretty sure I got a D in physics my second year of higher level school.

  Once again I draw in a breath to steady myself, push forward toward the left to blast off a few shots, then pull back and dart right.

  My heart races and I know this is not sustainable. I know the jump ship is still a long ways off, and I will never survive this hunt and peck method of gun play long term. It's just not feasible. I have to find a way to cover a larger distance or I have to accept the fact that this is a battle I cannot win.

  But something inside me refuses to accept that. My brain continues its rapid calculation of all the variables and possibilities. Every minor decision spirals to a new set of outcomes. I can't even keep up with my own thoughts until all of a sudden, my mind locks, focusing on one clear direction, one very specific next step.

  I break right, charging into a run with my eyes focused on a drop pod a few yards ahead of me. As I near it, three Reblons move in from its flank, forming a barrier in front of it with weapons trained on me. I leap forward, pulling my knees into my chest as gun shots explode below me. Metal slugs slip through the air where I was just standing.

  I come down on the commando in the middle, slamming my knees into his chest and drilling him back against the drop pod. He grunts and his weapon flies from his hand, then as he drops, I correct my fa
ll and land in a crouch. The other two commandos turn towards me. I kick forward, knocking the shotgun from the second Reblon's hands, then duck and spin, thrusting my second leg out to knock away the last shotgun as well.

  As I turn to face the third Reblon, the second one lunges towards my back. I halt him with an elbow to the throat, then move forward as the third tries to envelop me in a massive grappling maneuver.

  I punch him in the chest, block away one arm, and punch a second time at the nerve cluster where his left arm meets his chest muscle, then I lift my knee and send my heel crashing into the side of his leg. As he stumbles, the second commando moves in again. I spin, send a fist into his head, then follow with a second fist to the throat. I move forward, lock my arm, and flip him over my shoulder, slamming him head first into the rocky ground.

  As the third Reblon tries to crawl to his feet, I drive my foot into the back of his head, and pin his face to the ground. He stays down.

  My injured shoulder screams at me. A white hot knife of pain digs deep into my muscle and slices downward. My fingers tingle and my lower arm seems to be in a perpetual state of numbness. I'm not sure how much longer I can last.

  Shotgun blasts echo over the terrain, as I turn to the drop pod, hook my fingers in the seam of the canopy, then yank towards myself, pulling the translucent door open.

  As I hear the approaching footfalls of running commandos I throw myself into the pod and slam the canopy closed, turning to operate a foreign looking panel to my left. I have no idea what this thing does, but like so many times in the past month, intuition takes over and images of schematics, wiring diagrams, fuel canister locations, and ignition primers appear in my head.

  An increase in slug impacts tells me Reblons are closing in as I bend over within the small pod, tear off the panel cover, and begin pulling at the cords and cables inside.

  I shred cable housing with my busted up Reblon talons, twist coils of wire, and wrap a trio of exposed metal lines around a housing screw. Then I yank out a control pad with a rudimentary alphabet etched in the keys.