It's Always Darkest, Page 3

  "Who are you?" he hisses. "You are not one of them."

  "One of who?" I ask through a strained groan.

  "One of the Scalebacks. I don't recognize you."

  I'm not sure how to answer, and with the weight pressing down on my chest I'm not sure I even can answer. My breath catches before I can gather it.

  "Who. Are. You." he demands.

  "Brie," I cough. "Brie Northstar."

  His eyes draw wide, revealing a lighter crimson hue surrounding the deep red inner pupils. Suddenly I wonder if I've just made a grave mistake, but his face softens, his mouth eases its sharp scowl, and he begins to lower his weapon.

  "The Child?" he asks. He starts to reach for me.

  As I reach up to clasp his hand, a pale green streak surges in from my right. The blunt, spiked circle of tightly knotted cartilage slams hard into the Bragdon's head. He lurches away, spinning wildly with his weapon flying from splayed fingers. My eyes dart in the direction of the streak just as Brutgaz leaps from the trees. His massive frame crashes down on the grass with his knees bent as his large, two meter plus height fills my entire field of vision.

  I push myself upright just as he approaches the darkly colored Bragdon, who is rubbing his head, trying to figure out what truck hit him. Immediately Brutgaz lifts him high in the air as his arms flail.

  "Hold on!" I shout to the large Bragdon, holding my palm out to him, still not entirely sure what's happening.

  There is no holding on, no hesitation whatsoever. Brutgaz brings his knee upright as he slams both arms down, striking the narrow Bragdon's spine on his bony outstretched leg. There's a dry snapping sound like a fistful of thin sticks.

  I shut my eyes and turn away, but not quickly enough to avoid seeing the Bragdon's back twist awkwardly. At least I only hear the muffled thump of the dead body striking the ground instead of having to actually witness it.

  "Well done, Brutgaz," a voice echoes as I glance over in time to see Rorjak stepping out of the trees. "He was a Bragdon government surveillance operative. Who knows what he was preparing to report."

  "Tell me something, Rorjak," I reply, spitting out the words as if they taste awful. "Do you meet anyone that you don't kill?"

  He smirks. "We haven't killed you yet."

  "I'm glad you find this so funny." I work myself up into a standing position and shoot him a narrow glare, clearly showing my distaste.

  "We can't afford to show mercy," he replies. "You don't understand what we Bragdons have been through."

  "Pretty sure the dead guy over there understood just fine, if you'd bothered to listen."

  I turn my back on both him and Brutgaz and step back through the trees, heading back to the cabin in the swamps. Suddenly the air doesn't feel quite so fresh any more, and I wonder just how much longer this can go on.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The fog from the previous day is almost a memory, though it's a lingering memory at the tops of the trees. Unlike yesterday a blue sky is prying its fingers into the gray, pressing it slowly apart to let the pale light of early morning sun through.

  After the incident with the surveillance operative yesterday, my return to the cabin was mostly uneventful. Rorjak caught up with me and we spent some time training in the late afternoon, then had a big group meal before sleep came. I've been working through the events in my head, and as much as I hate to admit it, I've started to see Rorjak's side.

  The Bragdon operative was a risk, a serious one, and this bunker is the last vestige of Scaleback presence on Braxis, their final stronghold in this endless war against their own race. I've decided that I'll never be comfortable seeing a life taken, but I can at least appreciate its necessity, especially in times like these.

  Yesterday I was ready to set off, to leave the Scalebacks and find a new direction, but it occurs to me that no matter what direction I head, I will not be able to escape this war. All roads will eventually bring me back to this war, to death, to destruction, and worst of all, to a surprising and devastating lack of hope.

  But then I remember the look on the face of the Bragdon operative yesterday. His eyes were wide with...what? Was that hope? Was that hope in his eyes? It's been so long I've nearly forgotten what that looks like. But somehow, I gave him that hope. In my head, I know I'm just some random collection of genetic material, a glorified machine programmed for assassination, but in the eyes of the Bragdons, and quite possibly the eyes of other races as well, my existence still means something.

  As long as there is some kernel of belief in this Child of the Stars mythology, it remains a real thing. A myth is only as real as the belief in it, and, if that surveillance operative is any indication, there is still significant belief out there. Where there's belief, there can be hope. Is it possible I can bring that hope?

  I tip the warm, metal cup to my lips and drink deeply, letting the hot liquid coat my throat and roll down into my stomach to radiate warmth to the rest of me. It gives me strength, confidence, and a belief in my potential to change the direction of this war. With the Scalebacks behind me, we could make a real difference.

  "Beautiful morning," the voice says from my left.

  I look over to see Rorjak emerging from the trees, sliding silently through ankle-deep swamp water. A large, fat Horak hangs limply over his metallic left shoulder. In his other hand, the Scaleback leader holds a plasma weapon. His artificial eye gleams out at me from the brushed metal plate screwed to his face as he strides towards me.

  "Is that lunch?" I ask, nodding towards the dead creature.

  "Lunch and dinner," he replies. "You going to train this morning, or just sit out here and drink the day away?"

  "Drink the day away," I reply, though he knows I'm joking. I relish the training just as much as the warm and quiet morning. They each provide their own measure of satisfaction in this new violent age.

  He chuckles and nods. "I'm going to bring this to the kitchen, then head out to the launch pad. See how Shreth is doing with those shuttle repairs."

  I turn and look towards him as he pushes the door open to the cabin. "So are you guys rebuilding your whole fleet out there?"

  He glances back at me. "As much as we need. Time's running short. You ready?"

  I stand there in silence for a short moment, considering the impact of what he's asking. "I will be soon," I reply. And I believe it.

  The door eases shut behind him, and the morning is bright and quiet once again as a thin wisp of steam spirals from the hot cup in my hand. A deep sense of relaxation settles over me, filling me like the warm liquid I'm drinking and calming my nerves.

  I feel a strange peace not just with myself, but with the planet Braxis itself, and a sense of connection to the grass, the trees, and the broiling swamp water below, all part of one thing. A warmth emanates from my skin. I can almost feel rippling waves of electricity oozing from my flesh, turning to purple smoke before lifting into the air to twirl and mix with other invisible forces, and connecting us all to this one grand stream.

  Utter and complete calm settles over me for a moment. The peace is nearly overwhelming. It is almost enough for me to let my mind go to rise up into the colored fog and become one with the Braxis atmosphere.

  An image hits me like a shot, a sudden, slamming punch between the eyes. The image is so clear, so vibrant, and so real that my eyes shoot open, and my fingers spring apart, dropping the metal cup. It tumbles in slow motion from my hand, tipping end over end. The dark liquid spilling out seems to catch and float in mid-air as if gravity itself isn't strong enough to affect this premonition.

  The cup hits a rock with a sharp clang, my eyes remain wide, and the picture fills the entirety of my mind.

  "They're coming."

  No, they're not coming. They're already here.

  #

  "Rorjak!" my scream is loud, long, throat burning screech. I spin towards the cabin as I yell to him. I hear trees snapping all around, a fierce and sudden rapid-fire cracking of breaking wood and flying leaves.
There was no warning save for that strange picture in my mind, but all at once, the tree line is filled with the dark, sloped armor of Bragdon quad bikes, one-man cycles with four turbines, shooting over the wet grasslands.

  I charge for the door as mounted plasma weapons explode to life with bolts of yellow flashing around me and slamming into the cabin to shatter the wooden facade and scatter into pieces upon striking the reinforced wall behind it.

  "We're under attack!" I scream as I narrowly evade an energy blast which punches into the door and blasts it apart. Tiny wooden fragments spray all over me as I toss my arm across my face for protection. Even as the door blasts into pieces, Scaleback operatives press their way out with plasma weapons lifted and firing.

  The swamp outside the cabin becomes a deadly crisscross of whipping energy beams. Two shots strike one of the lead hover bikes and drive it nose-first into the ground, flipping its driver high into the air. The first victim of this skirmish hurtles against a nearby tree where his body twists awkwardly around the trunk and falls down into the tall grass.

  The first victim. It wouldn't be the last.

  As if to accentuate my concern, one of the hover bikes swings right and fires both front cannons as I scramble towards the door. One of the emerging Scalebacks is struck and flies back into the wall, destroying more of the wood facade.

  Ducking low, I run forward to slip into the opened door way as a cluster of Scalebacks fills the room, handing out weapons. Plasma screams into the wall outside, barraging the concrete and metal bunker. The small room inside becomes an orchestra of whining impacts.

  "Brie, fall back!" I hear a shout coming from the rear corner where Rorjak is waving me over. He turns to look towards Brutgaz who is coming up from a stairwell on the opposite side.

  "What's the verdict, Brute?" he yells.

  "At least a dozen hover bikes, three times as many foot soldiers! The swamp is crawling with them!"

  "Where do we go?" I ask.

  "The Scalebacks are holding the line!" he replies. "You go down to level three. There's a tunnel heading south towards a launch pad in the rear trees. There should be a shuttle there!"

  "No!" I shout back. "I'm not leaving! I can help."

  "I know you can, but you need to live. You need to carry this mission onward, it can't be done without you."

  Three more Scalebacks charge up the stairs and make their way to rectangular windows at the north side of the bunker. Glancing out I can see the hover bikes swerving in and out of the trees to come up along-side the bunker firing plasma rifles. To my left a Bragdon fires his own through the gun port on the wall and strikes one of the drivers, knocking him from his bike. The bike lurches to the right. The two following it slam into it and topple over, spilling the drivers onto the grass.

  In the trees, the dim shapes of commandos on foot emerge. Moments later, plasma explodes in a flood. The same Scaleback who returned fire to my left takes a direct shot through the gun port and slams backwards onto the ground, chased by a volley of fire.

  "Rorjak, you should go with her!" I look over and see Nervlox stepping up from the stairwell. "The Scalebacks must live on. This base is lost, but we can recover and relocate!"

  Rorjak bends his head, clenching both fists. A thrashing rapid slamming of plasma fire echoes from the front of the building.

  "Brutgaz, Shreth, Nervlox, and Lask!" he shouts at the loose collection of armed Scalebacks in the main room. "Fall back on me and Brie! We're taking the Level Three tunnels to the launch pad!"

  A green bolt sears through the gun port and strikes the console where we'd been standing two nights before, digesting the data from the storage device. The three monitors blast apart into countless metal, glass, and plastic fragments, scattering throughout the room as if in an exclamation of our need to hurry.

  I run over to the console, looking down upon the blinking computer lights for a few moments to locate the data port. One of the monitors is a ragged mess on top of the console, barely transmitting the signal.

  "They're advancing!" screams a Scaleback, leaning in through the front door.

  "One more minute!" I scream back, watching the screen shift and change.

  "We don't have any more minutes!" Rorjak replies. "Move!"

  We move for the stairwell, pushing down the steep climb two and three steps at a time. Up above, a thundering blast signals the apparent destruction of the bunker facade, punctuated by shuddering ground and loose dirt dropping around us in dark clouds.

  The stairwell crawls down under the ground where tightly clumped and packed dirt forms walls around us. The light growing dimmer and darker as we proceed downward. I've come down these stairs every day since arriving here a few weeks back, but the passage feels more ominous today, more final, as if we're wandering down into our own tombs.

  "Heads up!" Lask shouts, turning on the stairs behind us. His plasma rifle explodes upwards, blasting away at the entrance we just came down. "They've overrun the bunker! Bragdon commandos are in pursuit!"

  "Move!" Rorjak shouts, and we all obey, vaulting down the stairs, skipping five or six at a time. I hit the second platform and veer sharply left, leaping down the full length of the next set of stairs, and landing on platform three in a low, somewhat ungainly crouch. I charge left, angling down a dirt-packed hallway kicking up floor behind me. I feel the ground shake and glance back through the dark tunnel to see Brutgaz recovering from his own jump and running behind me. Rorjak and Shreth are close behind him. Nervlox drops in near silence with his robes floating up behind him.

  As we run forward into the darkening void, I see Lask back-tracking down the final stretch of stairs to fire his weapon up into the well above. A staccato barrage of strobing lights hurtles back down towards him. He thrashes under the onslaught, slamming backwards against the wall and slumping to the dirt covered ground.

  "Don't look, keep running!" Brutgraz growls at me, shoving me along, almost making me stumble.

  "Lask is down!" I shout. "They're right behind us!"

  The world around me is a whirlwind of dirt. Darkness surrounds us in these tunnels. I see no exit sign or any other sign of illumination. We are in a blind, frantic, mad dash towards the end.

  Two abrupt barks echo behind us as twin streaks of white light scream just to my left. My eyes follow the streak of light and it's rigid illumination of the tunnel until it splashes against some vague surface at the far end. It seems like miles away.

  "Keep your eyes forward!" Rorjak shouts. "We're almost there!"

  I can picture a group of Bragdons forming behind us, lifting their weapons.

  "Right, go right!" Shrath yells and we all lurch right as we're running. A swift grouping of plasma fire roars past us on the left.

  "Twenty yards!"

  Angling forward and right I cut it at an angle. Following weapons fire behind me, I hear a strangled choke, the clumsy stumble of feet, and the thud of someone hitting the dirt.

  "Who—?" I start to yell.

  "Keep running!" Rorjak tells me. "We're almost there!"

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Brutgaz falling back. "We are running out of time," he growls. "Go, I will delay!"

  As I look back at him, I see Nervlox swerve around him and approach, running fast with his robes splayed out behind him. Another punch of plasma streaks down the tunnel, carving a ragged swath through the billowing cloth, but passing just over his ducked head.

  "Turn, now!" shouts Rorjak.

  I veer right, darting down a branching hallway. The moment I enter this leg, I can see the dim light of an exit ahead. Rorjak slams around the corner, stumbles slightly, and crashes against the wall before recovering to continuing his forward momentum.

  Nervlox slides around behind us as the muffled roar of Brutgaz echoes through the tunnel, followed by a concert of frantic shouts and screams from the approaching Bragdon commandos.

  Plasma explodes in the distance as we reach the stairway leading up towards the surface. I force myself to ignore th
e noise, just taking the steps three at a time. I can hear the other two just behind me. Rorjak pushes past me on the left, charging towards a slanted door with light piercing in around the edges.

  He leaps from the stairs, leading with his shoulder, and pounds into the door to burst it open and flood the tunnel with light. Crashing out onto the grass, he hits the ground and rolls just as I break through the breach, stumbling slightly at the change in angle of my run. Nervlox hits the ground behind me and turns, clasping his fingers around the door.

  Green light slams into the hunched form of the Bragdon cleric, but he holds his ground, slamming the door closed. My eyes widen as Nervlox stumbles left for a few steps, then falls face first in the grass.

  "No!"

  A hand clutches my arm and yanks me from the ground, dragging me over the grass.

  "Move!" Rorjak shouts.

  In his other hand he produces a small device and under hands it towards the door. The small sphere arcs softly through the air. The door bursts open to reveal a tight clutch of Bragdon commandos just as the sphere drops down among them.

  As I turn to follow him the shouts of the soldiers are swiftly drowned out by a muffled thump and a washing wave of heat creeping up my back and over my hairless scalp.

  "Don't slow down, Brie, keep running!" Rorjak barks as we plow through the narrow trees ahead of us, navigating through the stalks and foliage. "The launch pad is just ahead; we're almost there!"

  "How did this happen?" I ask through gasping breaths.

  "I should have known after we stumbled upon the reconnaissance operative yesterday. This is on me."

  We break through one last row of trees and come out in an open field. Around us and above us, tall trees reach up into the sky with trunks curving over with the weight of the leaves and branches, draping the field in a rudimentary shelter.

  This first field contains a pair of Bragdon jump-ships, the same model I hijacked on my first trip to Braxis. That feels like a decade ago.

  "There's a network of these fields back here," Rorjak says, bending over and pressing his palms into his knees, his breath rasping. "We...we were going to rebuild our fleet."