by Justin Bell
"I can feel it," I say quietly.
Kleethak tilts his head sideways, and I can picture his eyes narrowing just beneath the crown of his baggy hood, even though I can't see his face.
"I continue to be impressed with your adaptability, child," he continues. "Camouflaging yourself to look like the tree was a stroke of brilliance. You have completely regained all of the skills as a shape-shifter you'd lost over the previous few weeks. Very impressive."
"I wish I could explain it."
"Not everything needs an explanation," he replies. Turning, he gazes at the fallen Horak. "Nicely done, boy," he says, nodding to Luxen, then raises a long, slender arm clad in baggy fabric. His fingers move slightly and glow a strange ephemeral purple color. The same purple hue coils itself around the Horak like tendrils gripping the muscular body of the creature. It elevates slowly as if dragged upwards by an invisible hand, then follows Kleethak as he turns and walks from the clearing, being swallowed by the thickening trees.
"He's right," Luxen says abruptly, breaking the short silence.
"About what?"
"About you. You are impressive."
My cheeks flush hot and he places a palm on my back. "I'm very glad you joined us, Brie."
I smirk at him, a strange half-smile that I'm not quite sure what to do with. My mind flashes back to the first day I met him and how young he looked. How I felt like I was rescuing a lost child.
He isn't a child. Perhaps he wasn't one even then, but he certainly isn't one now. He's looking at me, but I purposefully try and keep myself from returning the gaze. I don't know why, but I'm not sure I'm entirely comfortable with the direction this conversation is heading.
"Did I really have a choice?" I ask. It's a hard question, and one that's not entirely fair to him, but I feel like I have to ask it.
His hand drops, and he looks down at the water.
"Hey," I say, turning and clutching his arm. "Look, I know it's not your fault. You're making the best of a bad situation."
"Is that what this is?" he asks, looking me straight in the eyes. "A bad situation?"
"That's not what I meant."
He smiles crookedly, doing that macho young boy thing where they try not to look like they're hurt, even though you know they are.
"It's all right," he replies.
"Luxen," I say, turning him around as he tries to walk away.
"Tell me this doesn't seem weird to you. Tell me that you really think that working with Braxis is in the best interests of the resistance."
"In case you didn't notice," Luxen replies, gently pulling his arm away, "I am from Braxis. This is my home and my lineage. I know my history."
"Six months ago, Bragdon security killed your mother," I say, and immediately regret it.
His face stiffens and his yellow eyes narrow. "Yes, I remember."
"I'm sorry," I say, lifting my hand and placing it on his shoulder. He doesn't shrug it off.
"It's all right," he replies.
Six months! I know I say he's not a child, but six months. Someone doesn't grow five years in six months, no matter what race they are. He may be my age physically, or close to it, but somewhere in there, he's still that little boy. That same little boy who held his dying mother in his arms just six months ago. He deserves better than all of this.
I step towards him and swallow him in my arms, giving him a warm, friendly hug. He rests his head on my shoulder and locks his fingers behind my back and we stay there for a few moments. He doesn't cry, though I can tell he's holding it in and neither of us speaks, we just stand there together, just the two of us and the surrounding trees.
#
While I have been to Braxis before, I've never been to Braglosh, which is the capital of the swamp planet. Far from the largest city, Braglosh rests near the southern hemisphere, and is a strangely shaped throng of medium sized buildings raising up out of the deepest swamps on the planet. Because the entire city is encompassed by a lime green swampland, transportation throughout Braglosh happens mostly on airships and hovercraft rather than standard roadways.
Luxen and I emerge from the woodland in a two-person hovercraft. The angular hull skims over the thick water, propelled by an oversized round turbine at the rear of the watercraft. He stands at the front of the craft, steering it around the first few buildings which are little more than bolted together planks with thatch covered roofs. He slows to a stop by the guard towers.
The center-most cluster of tall buildings is bracketed by a high fence that is a mixture of tall metal posts, titanium slats and woven chain link designed to keep any nosy citizens out of government business. Four separate guard entrances are interspersed throughout the gated area. The southern most gate greets us as we skim closer.
Two guards roar out on small swamp skids, halting on either side of us. Twin cameras with under-mounted chain guns swivel on the main posts on each side of the entrance. Their barrels hovering there, directed at us, just waiting for the command.
I take a moment to lift my eyes upward to appreciate the sheer majesty of the capital building. Far and away the tallest structure within the gated confines of Braglosh, the capital building itself stretches high into the air, yet still manages to be lower than the towering trees surrounding it. Shaped like a narrow pyramid, the structure's sloped sides raise high up to a blunt point. The upper levels of the building are almost completely concealed by the shadows of overgrowing swamp trees. Flickering lights litter the sides of the dark obelisk, reflecting in the shine of the smooth surfaced walls.
Other tall buildings rise up almost nestled against the large center spire, but it stands tall and narrow above them all, looking down upon them. Far on the north end of the small, but dense city I can see the wide platform taking up nearly the entire gated wall on that side. The platform is littered with battle cruisers, fighters, and surface-to-air craft.
The Braglosh spaceport is almost as infamous as the capital itself, and is by far the largest launch pad and repair station on Braxis. It rivals the entire orbiting refueling station that services half of the Yarda Quadrant.
From this distance all I can see of the port or its ships is a galaxy of white and yellow pinprick lights, though the thick surrounding defensive columns are well defined. The columns are crammed with defensive measures like automated and manned weapons turrets, rocket launchers, and grapple emitters.
A cluster of hovering aircraft near the Northeast side reveals some added construction...most likely the long range sensor technology recently stolen from Athelon.
"You may pass."
I snap back to reality, looking at the guard as he nods towards us and Luxen guns the engine, guiding the hovercraft through the narrow gate into the main Braglosh compound. Without even hesitating, he passes our normal turn off and continues down the main drag towards the capital building, the green water splitting in our wake.
"Where are we going?" I ask. The barracks I've been staying in is a lot closer to the gate than this.
"He wants to see you," Luxen replies.
"What if I don't want to see him?"
He glances over his shoulder briefly, but corrects his vision to navigate through the waters. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I agreed to help him, Luxen. He should be thankful for that. I'm not going to betray my people."
"I thought we were your people."
"That's not fair."
"On this, we agree."
The ride continues in silence, the only noise the ragged slice of hover jets through dense, green water. A few moments later, we pull up alongside the capital building, easing into a landing pier. Luxen steps off, quickly tying the ship to an anchor point.
"Brie, will you at least listen to him?"
"I have listened, Luxen, three times in the past two weeks. He's asking me to do something that will directly cause the deaths of thousands of people. I won't do it."
"You're being melodramatic."
"I can't believe you don't see it," I reply, trying not
to get angry as I step out of the ship and onto the pier. Guards emerge out of nowhere, halfway surrounding us with their decorative staffs held high and eyes narrowed. Slick, curved helmets wrap over their scalps and down towards their bony spines.
"He makes sense. This could help end this war before millions more die."
"How many times did Drewsk sell us that line, Luxen? How many deaths did we prevent? How many did we cause? Yet you still buy it, hook, line and sinker!"
His eyes dart back and forth nervously, landing on each guard for a moment before skittering away.
"Your presence has been requested," one of the guards hisses as his arm tightens around mine. Reflex strikes, the same reflex that has saved my life so many times over the past six months. In that sudden, unanticipated jolt of action, I twist to wrench my arm free. The guard stumbles forward slightly, then I torque the other way, driving my forearm under his chin. He flips backwards, landing on his shoulders with his legs flying out from under him.
"Brie!" Luxen shouts. "Don't!"
It's not like I have a choice. The other three guards are there immediately. Two of them wrap rough arms around mine and the third drives the blunt end of his staff into my stomach. Within seconds I'm on my knees on the concrete pier with my face being ground into the surface.
"Take it easy," Luxen pleads. "She can't always help it."
He's right. Only usually when I 'can't help it' I can take out a dozen of these shmucks without even thinking about it. These three incapacitated me almost immediately.
What's up with that?
Hands wrap around my shoulders and force me upright, guiding me towards a door.
"When your presence is requested, you accept," growls a guard, and the metal door slides open in the sloped edge of the building, revealing a red tinted hallway on the other side. I relax my muscles, letting the Bragdons lead me inside, finally giving in to their orders.
Command wants to see me. He wants me to go back home and to lead the Bragdon armada to Athelon's doorstep.
CHAPTER SIX
"Okay, look, tough guys, I'm cooperating, okay?" My Bragdon escorts tighten their grasp on my shoulders, pinning my wrists behind my back as they guide me through the narrow, crimson hallway into the capital building.
"Go easy on her," Luxen says from behind me. "She won't fight back."
"She won't fight back if we rip her arms off either," the guard just to my left snarls as he tightens his grip and presses on my back, shoving me forward.
"Command won't like this," Luxen says. "She's working with us."
"Tell that to the guy she drove into the concrete out there, boy."
"I'm not a boy."
Like the sides of the building itself, the walls of this main corridor slope slightly inwards and have rows of light red bulbs running all along the edges where the walls meet the ceilings.
My feet slap the smooth floor of the hall, the metal surface cool on my bare Bragdon skin. I realize then that I am still in Bragdon form. I've been in Bragdon form almost continuously since I arrived. Is it some desperate attempt to fit in, or do I just feel more comfortable?
The hallway veers right and we follow its path, feeling as if we're walking a dwindling coil towards the center of the large pyramid. Every once in a while someone or a few someones crosses in front of us, exits from a side door, or meanders down the hall, making their way into another door. It's the busy life of the Braglosh temple, where all the major decisions for planet Braxis get made.
A year ago I'd barely heard of Braxis, and certainly didn't know much about it, but here I am, deep inside the most important building on the entire planet ready to meet again with the leader of their fleet.
I wonder who he takes his orders from. I wonder if they know what he's planning. Do I even know what he's planning? I have my suspicions, and he's tried to sell me on some ideas in the few weeks that I've been here, but something about his state of mind rubs me the wrong way.
Braxis as a whole is an oppressed people, they have been for generations. I feel for them and want to do what's right for the planet. But Command is different. He doesn't want a mere lack of oppression; he wants vengeance. He wants to spill the blood of those who would dare attempt to oppress. It's a stance I'm not comfortable with, and as time has gone on, I've grown increasingly surprised that it's a stance that the Yarda Resistance agrees with.
But is it really? I haven't seen Drewsk or Loren since I've arrived. I've spent nearly every day with Luxen, and I see Kleethak and Shrag regularly, but they are deep within the Bragdon hierarchy and I can't be convinced the leaders of the resistance are truly in the loop. A few times I've thought of trying to reach out, to at least make some attempt to get a message to Drewsk and tell him what's really happening here. But he's out of touch, and my presence here on Braxis has felt like a very thin line between contributor and prisoner. Here, as my arms ache and I'm being halfway dragged down this hallway, I feel much more like the latter.
"What is this?"
As we approach a bend in the hallway, Shrag emerges, flanked by Kleethak. His eyes pierce towards the two guards like tiny little pins.
"Let her go," he hisses. "She is here voluntarily!"
"That's not what she seemed like outside," one of the guards growls as his fingers spring apart, releasing my arm.
"She beat down Jegroth. Knocked him out," says the other.
Shrag looks at me. "Is this true?"
I rub my arms where their hands have been clutching, trying not to look too defensive. "I know what Command wants," I reply. "And I'm not interested."
Kleethak and Shrag glance at each other. They try to be subtle and fail miserably.
"Perhaps you should let him ask you himself," Kleethak finally says. "He might surprise you."
"I doubt it," I reply. "But no harm is listening to him talk, right?" I don't believe this for a moment. When it comes to Command, I think every word could be potentially lethal.
"You're dismissed," Shrag says to the two guards and they nod respectfully, slip backwards, then disappear down the hallway. Luxen comes up and joins the other two as they guide me back down the hall.
"Is this true, Luxen?" Shrag asks. "Did she really knock out Jegroth?"
Luxen nods, and chuckles softly. "Yeah. It was cool."
Shrag chuckles himself. "Jegroth always was a Horak spawn."
I look at the broad-shouldered Bragdon as he navigates the hallway. At one point he'd risked it all to break away from Braxis and join the resistance, yet here he was, months later, walking the halls as if nothing had changed. As if his beliefs allowed him to overlook events that caused him to leave his family. Such a stark shift seems almost unbelievable. It's a trajectory that defies everything I've known about him, and Luxen.
Knowing this, is it so unbelievable that Drewsk and Loren might have been turned as well? That they might have willingly partnered with Braxis on this grand experiment?
Something is wrong. Everything is wrong. Why haven't I seen it in the past few weeks? Have I been clouded with creature comforts like a roof over my head and days spent without my life in danger? Did these things set me at ease? Did it soften me up for some kind of conquest? Is Command now going in for the kill?
"What's wrong?" Luxen asks, looking at me, with his head tilted.
"Nothing," I reply, though I spit the word out too quickly. "Just thinking."
"That will get you in trouble," Shrag replies, looking over his shoulder.
"We're here." Kleethak halts by a broad set of double-doors. The smooth surface is etched with a beautiful ornamental reptile of some kind. The long, curling creature is stretching out across both doors, reaching for something that I cannot see.
Kleethak taps his knuckles against the door in a strange on-off pattern. There's a moment of silence.
A loud click resonates in the hallway, and the two doors hiss, then slide apart. The thick stone material scrapes against the rail system that guides them. From the room beyond, a wave of he
at washes over us, drying my gray skin. Each step into the warm building is like walking across a barren desert. The dry, baking heat is pulling moisture from my skin and evaporating it up into steam right in front of my eyes.
How can Command live like this?
Or does he have to live like this?
Ever since first meeting him, I've noticed his unique appearance. The color of his skin differs greatly from most Bragdons I've met. He has thick, armor-plated scales, and pale ridges of bone protruding from his withered flesh. He looked like a Bragdon, that much was certain, but not like any Bragdon I'd ever seen before.
Like his room on the battle cruiser, this one is cast in a red light. A vague curtain of crimson overlays everything I can see. It even makes Command himself look like some strange altered version of what a Bragdon should look like. As with the spacecraft, there is a series of monitor screens towards the center of the room and a chair set in the midst of the semi-circle, but he is not sitting there. He is standing several yards away with his arms clasped behind his back, looking straight at me as I walked in.