by Justin Bell
The entire world was aflame.
Gragson pushed himself from the wreckage of the research station, a shattered and crumbled pile of smoldering debris, and crawled up onto one of the many busted stones.
His eyes narrowing in the dim light, he glanced over the smashed remnants of the building where flames licked up towards the stars, tangled with billowing smoke in a twisted embrace. Nothing else moved.
"They tried to kill us," Gragson hissed, though he didn't believe anyone alive could hear him. "We called for rescue and they fired on us, anyway."
Gragson's mouth sneered as he turned away from the darkened sky and leaped from the rock, landing gracefully, his legs coiling with the impact of the ground seven meters below. Besides the crackle of fire and hiss of broken machinery, the world around him was silent. The wound on his side was a dull, throbbing burn, but he barely noticed.
He walked with a mild limp, but felt amazingly unharmed given the state of the surrounding building. Gragson wasn't sure how he had survived the missile strike, he wondered if where he had been within the generator room had provided him some measure of protection from the explosion. He didn't know why he survived, the important thing was that he had.
He had survived. He'd survived even though Athelon had tried to kill him. Not just Athelon, but Redax Northstar himself.
The Bragdon pilot would not soon forget.
Up ahead he noticed the familiar shape of the Bragdon drop ship, and as he walked towards it, his foot caught on a root and he stumbled, only just managing to catch his balance before he fell. He looked down at the root and saw it was not a root at all, it was the outstretched arm of one of his fellow Bragdon commandos. Nurtog, by the looks of it. His four-fingered hand sat splayed open, a broken radio cast aside like a forgotten toy. Two pale, yellow eyes were open, glaring up towards the stars as if accusing them of some grave travesty of justice.
Someone was responsible, that much was certain. Someone would have to pay.
Perhaps, someone would already pay. A recollection formed in Gragson's mind, a memory of a meeting he'd had with Braxis high command. Part of the reason they'd agreed to come on this commando mission in the first place.
They wanted to keep an eye on Redax Northstar. Make sure he was far away from home.
Braxis high command had plans for him. Not just him, but his family. It was a long game, but a game that Braxis would win, of this he was certain. Braxis high command was certain as well.
He pulled his eyes away from the fallen corpse of Nurtog and continued walking towards the drop ship. Designed for atmospheric entry, he wasn't sure it would handle getting them off this dead and blasted fake rock.
But he was a pilot and a mechanic, one of the best in the Braxis military. If anyone could get this bird flight worthy again, it would be him. He'd return to Braxis a hero. He'd probably get a promotion.
And when the years had passed and their master plan was executed, he would make sure he had a front row seat.
###
TO BE CONTINUED IN...
WAR OF THE THREE PLANETS (Book One)–DAUGHTER OF ATHELON
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in San Diego, California, Justin Bell has lived most of his life in the sleepy Upper Valley area on the New Hampshire and Vermont border, near where The Fog of Dreams takes place. He first realized his love of writing at a young age and had grand visions to go to school for English. Somehow, he sidetracked into the world of Information Technology as a career, but throughout it all, he continued to write and write often.
The world of self-publishing has opened up his eyes, and in recent years, he has embraced writing much more thoroughly, polishing some work from past decades, and working on new material as well.
With an interest in military adventure, science fiction, and action, the focus of most of his work is within those genres.
He currently still resides in the Upper Valley area, and lives with his two beautiful little girls, his wife, and his puppy Tyson.
###END###