Huge thanks to Cathy who continues to provide immeasurable support

WAR OF THE THREE PLANETS - COLLECTION ONE

© 2017 by Justin Bell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Please join the World of Wolf's Head to get the latest information on new book releases and exclusive free stuff!

The World of Wolf's Head

Wolf's Head Publishing, LLC

www.WolfsHeadPublishing.com

www.JustinBellAuthor.com

Facebook

Twitter

Contents

I. Attack on Iridium

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Epilogue

II. Daughter of Athelon

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

III. Weapon of Braxis

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

IV. Enemy of Reblon

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

I

Attack on Iridium

Prequel Novella for the War of the Three Planets Series

Chapter One

Jary Northstar glanced out her side window, smiling in spite of herself. She didn’t have much to smile about at this point, just two weeks removed from what she thought was the happiest day of her life, but looking at the upper levels of the tall buildings of Adroxis, she couldn’t help it.

The capital city of Athelon was a bustling metropolis even then, almost twenty years ago, with thick, boxy buildings, broad foundations reaching high up towards the city’s sprawling blue sky. Jary’s driver navigated the upper turnpike, a flight path reserved for the anti-grav vehicles of the upper echelon of Adroxis citizens. Those special people who belonged to those special unions and believed they were somehow working more and harder than anyone else.

Athelon in general was a planet built on manual labor. From the time its civilians began walking they were doing jobs, in many cases jobs passed down from their parents, which were passed down from their parents. It was a life of few surprises and monotonous consistency, but nobody knew of anything else and by and they mostly accepted it. Most of the population had homes to live in, jobs to put food on their table and an engaged social community. What was there to complain about?

Jary thought those same words as the car banked left towards the skyscraper that served as her new home. Her and Redax’s new home.

Redax.

She’d fallen so hard for him and considered herself fortunate when he reciprocated. Redax Northstar was from good stock her parents had told her. The son of a majority owner of a local factory and in line to serve with the Adroxis Union, Redax had his privileged future decided while he was still in the incubation chamber.

Jary on the other hand was born to manual laborers, a pair of hard working, but low income factory sweatshop assemblers who relished their place in Athelon hierarchy, but knew they lived only to serve. They were okay with that. Jary had qualms.

She crossed her four arms across her chest and leaned back against the seat. Every Athelonian had those four appendages predisposed with extra hands in order to do extra work. This enhanced their productivity and elevated them to higher status among the Yarda Quadrant, a planet full of hard and efficient workers who were not afraid to get their hands dirty. The planet Reblox provided the cash reserves, the planet Braxis provided stellar security, and Athelonians were the workhorses. Everything worked out.

So she had thought.

Up ahead the tall building grew larger, a flat, square door rising up in the side like an opened mouth. The building was gorgeous and she couldn’t help but smile again at realizing her new life. She would never have to assemble complex electronics again. No longer having to live with a sparse half hour for lunch or dirt permanently etched under her fingernails like gray sub dermal tattoos. She was one of the privileged, and as much as she didn't want to admit it, she already relished it.

But that small nugget of resentment had buried itself deep and hard. It had been a week since that conversation with Redax, a week since they discovered Jary was pregnant, and a week since she had started to learn the real truth of his place in Athelon hierarchy.

The real truth of Athelon’s hierarchy itself.

In the span of one half hour argument, the entire quadrant had become a very different place indeed.

“In the garage, Mrs. Northstar?” the driver asked, leaning over and glancing back at her. She saw the opening in the side of the building just beyond his shoulder.

“Yes, please,” she replied.

The anti-grav passenger car shifted, adjusted its trajectory and guided itself towards the opened side of the building, slipping into the parking chamber, then settling down, blasts of hard, compressed air slamming down on the hard surface of the ground, then easing their force, settling the vehicle on four over-inflated tires.

Jary reached towards the belt on her shoulder, but the driver leaped from his seat, out his door, then swung back around, opening her door before she even considered hooking her precious fingers in the handle.

“Please, Mrs. Northstar, allow me.”

She did.

She stepped out of the vehicle, her dark gown brushing along the floor, tickling her ankles and she had to muffle a chuckle. Act like she’d been here before, like this state of privilege was nothing new. Redax had insisted on that.

Redax was insisting on a lot these days, a lot that she hadn’t been aware of when she accepted his vows. But would she have done anything differently if she had known? If she’d had an inkling of the truth would she have said no to his proposal and returned to her life of labor, pain and living paycheck to paycheck?

She liked to think so. Jary liked to fool herself into thinking she had this moral superiority that would have prevented her from getting married to someone she now knew as an adept and skilled liar.

As she let the driver open the door to her apartment, she cast her eyes downward, silently reprimanding herself. That wasn’t fair. Redax wasn’t a liar. He wasn’t somehow hiding a dirty and virulent truth about himself. He wasn’t concealing a sinister nasty secret of his personality.

It went far beyond that small scope of possibility. What he was concealing was a much larger and more evolved conspiracy, but he was doing it for the sake of planetary security. At least that’s what he told her. That’s what she’d have to believe. At his core, he wasn’t a bad man.

At least she didn’t think so. At this point, how could she tell?

The driver backed out of the door he had opened for her, bowing and leaving her alone in her apartment. Their apartment. It belonged to the two of them, though if she believed Redax, she would be the only one seeing it for long stretches at a time.

“Welcome home.”

The voice was a quiet, throaty hum, and Jary’s heart skipped. His voice had been the first thing she’d fallen in love with and it still sent a warm bloom of liquid sun through her chest.

“Redax, my love,” she said, pasting a smile on her smooth face. “You’re home.”

He took a step towards her, lifting his left hands. With one, he gripped her forearm tenderly and with the other he brushed his fingers across her cheek.

“Of course. I couldn’t let you preview the new apartment by yourself.”

She smiled warmly and touched his arm with her hands as well, then they embraced briefly, but thoroughly.

As they separated, she walked past him. “I thought you had something going on tonight?”

“I do,” he replied. “I need to leave soon.”

She paused, letting his words drift in the cool, artificial air of the penthouse apartment.

“Jary, I know this has been a lot for you to absorb.”

She turned towards him. “A lot to absorb? Secret war between the two largest civilizations in the quadrant? The fact that you’re an ace fighter pilot launching covert operations against an enemy planet? That’s a lot to absorb?”

Redax’s face hardened, his soft features chiseled away, leaving only unforgiving stone underneath. “Perhaps you would have preferred I continue keeping the truth from you?”

“Of course not,” Jary replied, her tone softening. “You must understand... we knew each other for two years. For two years you had countless excuses and cover-ups. If you were lying about this, what else—?”

“Don’t,” Redax replied. “Planetary security is not the same as shameless infidelity, Jary.”

“I’m making no accusations here,” Jary snapped. “But when I married you, I married a man I thought I knew. Not a top secret military commando.”

“That is who I am. I had a choice. I could be honest or continue the cover-up. I chose honesty. Certainly I get some credit for that?”

Jary drew in a breath and lowered her gaze. A warm blush crept into her cheeks and she hated it. Redax had the power to make her feel guilty, even when the fault clearly rested with him.

“And this war,” she continued. “This hidden conflict between Athelon and Reblox? How long has this been going on?”

Redax turned from her, crossing all four arms over his broad chest. One of his hands stroked the low brown fuzz on his chin as his eyes narrowed.

“Nearly a century,” he replied, his back still turned.

“By the mother.”

Redax turned and shot her a look. “You must understand why the public cannot know. If the quadrant at large knew of this war, our entire economy and way of life would crumble. Planetary upheaval. Our civilizations would, in essence, be destroyed.”

“So instead of them being conceptually destroyed, these two planets will actually destroy each other? With weapons and bombs?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Of course not.”

“Clearly I have made a mistake speaking the truth to you, Jary. You would have been much more blissful in your ignorance.”

Jary closed her fists. “I’m not saying that, Redax. But we have a daughter on the way. We have more than ourselves to consider.”

Redax looked past his wife towards the small platform in the corner of the main living area where they stood. A frosted domed cover sealed it with several hoses connecting it to the wall and to its base. Not physically capable of breeding, Athelonians utilized an incubation chamber to exchange their genetic material and create life, more out of necessity for continuing their lineage rather than expressing love or devotion.

But Redax felt some measure of love when he looked at the chamber. Part of the two of them rested inside that frosted domed cover, and in a month or less, they would have a new addition to their already tense family.

“It is because of her that I wanted you to know the truth,” Redax said. “She must grow up realizing what’s to come.”

“No protection for our own daughter?”

“I don’t want to live a lie, Jary,” he said. “Not anymore.”

She hated the way that warmed her heart. Jary wanted to be angry at him. She wanted to stay angry at him, deeply resentful for the two years he spent telling falsehoods to her face. Upset at the fact that when he said he was out of town on business, he was likely risking his life in service of the Athelon Space Fleet. Murdering the citizens of a planet she had considered a partner for most of her younger years.

She wanted to stay angry. But she knew she wouldn’t. She never could.

Jary turned towards the window, looking out onto the other surrounding buildings, all standing tall under the darkening sky, lights beginning to flicker alight across the horizon.

“So where are you going tonight?”

Redax took three steps towards her, resting his hands on her shoulders, two on each one.

“I’m sorry, Jary, but I can’t tell you all the details. I have a meeting in Adroxis, then I am likely going off planet for a couple of weeks. You may not see me until the next lunar cycle.”

She didn’t reply.

“Iridium Squadron needs me, Jary. Our fleet is all that stands between Athelon and Reblox rule. That is not something I take lightly, and I only told you because I trust you implicitly. I love you and want to only be honest. Honest with you and with our daughter.”

Jary looked over at the incubation chamber, picturing the small, huddled body curled underneath. They couldn’t see inside at this point, but from all of her studies she knew the fetus was a good size already, it didn’t take Athelonians long to mature in the incubation environment. Less than a month from now they’d have an infant.

Would Redax be home in time to enjoy it? Would he even still be alive?

Jary didn’t know the answer to either question and couldn’t help but resent the fact that she needed those questions answered.

But it was a resentment she would get over. Eventually, they’d figure this out, and they’d live in their fancy apartment with their nice clothes, nice car, and employees who did whatever they wanted them to.

Life would be good.

Not exactly the life she had pictured. She’d have her daughter. She’d have her life. That would have to be enough.

Chapter Two

It’s been a week.

A week since her new husband left their apartment for his ‘meeting’ in Adroxis and a full week since she spoke to or heard from him.

Throughout the two years they had negotiated this new relationship prior to their marriage, he had countless business trips and numerous times away, but never had he gone a full week without some kind of communication. Some clue or hint that he was still alive and still thinking of her.

Now that she was his wife, did that change the dynamic? Did that make her somehow more indebted to him and more susceptible to his behaviors? Did he not worry so much about what she thought because she had no other alternatives?

Or was this mission simply more important?

Was his place in Iridium Squadron so critical that it required more of his attention? She didn’t know, and she would never know because she wouldn't ask too many questions.

“She’s healthy,” said the physician as she stood up from the incubation chamber where Jary and Redax’s fetus was growing. “No signs of any trouble.”

“Good,” Jary replied, looking at the chamber. There was no clear way to see inside, Athelonian fetuses were exceptionally sensitive to light so they had to remain in a frosted chamber to filter out any stray brightness. But with their vital signs and health status monitored by trained professionals, highly trained physicians like Dr. Hyrandi could keep track of their progress.

"Her energy is good, fluid levels are just right. No indication of any problems."

“Thank you,” Jary replied. “Do you have an estimated birth date?”

The physician looked down at the device she held in her palm, tracing the ten fingers on her right hands through menu selections.

“She is progressing nicely, but we do not have a concrete timetable for tube emergence yet, Mrs. Northstar.”

“I understand,” Jary replied. “Her father is away on business, and my hope was that he would return in time.”

The doctor nodded in understanding. “Of course. Some of what happens remains outside our control, but whatever we can do to make sure both parents are present, we will do.”

“Thank you.”

“Will there be anything else?” the doctor asked.

Jary shook her head absently, her eyes wide and vacant as if not truly paying attention.

“Very good,” Dr. Hyrandi replied, bowed, and walked from the apartment, easing the door closed behind her. Jary looked at the incubation chamber, arms crossed over her narrow chest. There was a gentle swell of love and fear mixed together like in a blender, a somewhat weird forbidden emotion. Jary hadn’t been certain she was ready to be a mother even before she had learned of Redax’s secret life. Now, realizing that she could be raising this child herself?

She pushed the thought aside and strode forward, past the incubation chamber and into the kitchen. Dinner for one, like it had been all week. Like it could be for another month. She might as well get used to it.

THE WATER WAS A SMOOTH sheet under the watchful eye of the moons perched high up in the Athelon sky. It looked more like an ice rink, a dark plane of glass, but the slight breeze over the hills sent enough ripples along the surface to break that illusion.

Moon reflections twisted and rippled, a low wake rolling through, cresting to white as four slender, angular watercraft broke the surface, moving towards a small building drenched in shadow. A small island sat on the water, several hundred yards from the shore, with only a single structure on it, square and solid with no windows and no light sources. Tufts of brush laced the edge of the rounded island with more thick trees crawling up the sides of the darkened building, the entire body of water cast in the deep shadow of the tall structures around it.

The flight to Plorage had been smooth though it had taken a few days. As the largest city in the Southern Hemisphere of Athelon, Plorage had its own unique dichotomy, a constant battle between civilization and wilderness, with neither one the clear victor. Tall buildings scraped the clouds in thick clusters, but snatches of grass, trees, and water encroached upon even the tallest buildings. It was a strange oasis of sorts, a bizarre amalgamation of concrete and dirt, glass, steel, and forest.

In the center of Lake Trevas, the small building served as a power station. It harnessed the water within the lake and used it to drive generators buried deep within the island that the building sat upon. These generators ground away, supplying emergency power to back up services in the city proper using an automated system to ensure smooth operations. The computerized power sub-systems needed no Athelonian intervention unless there was an emergency, so the Space Fleet had designated the location as an appropriate meeting place.

Redax stood on the bow of the lead boat as it sliced a clean trench through the smooth water, picking up and coughing out white wake. Each boat moved in near silence as they approached the island and no motion drew their eyes or created distraction. They had a singular focus.

Iridium Squadron did most of their work behind the sticks of star fighters, but before they could even break atmosphere, they had to work together as a highly skilled team of operatives on the ground. They managed both with ability and precision.

The night vision goggles lowered from his eyes, Redax squinted at the island which drew closer as the boats surged forward, their engines roaring low in the cool, dark night. He glanced back, seeing the narrow shapes of the other three boats flanking him.

“South side,” he whispered. Clamped to the side of his face was a sleek, black communications device, hooking around his ear and snaking down his jawbone like a metal worm. It was only two words, but the four boats converged and tilted in unison, guiding towards the closest edge of the small swath of land in the middle of the water. On the island the building still stood in cloaked darkness.

“They should be here already,” Redax whispered. “Be ready for anything.”

“I thought they were on our side,” replied Drewsk. His fingers clamped tight around the steering console of the second boat in the group. A sleek, metallic plasma weapon stood at an angle on the wall at his feet and his eyes darted towards it, mentally calculating how much time he’d have to retrieve it if needed.

“The Bragdon are on no one’s side but their own,” Redax replied with a graveled grunt.

“So why are we putting so much trust in them?” a third voice echoed in Redax’s communications system. Hector Gildrich had never been comfortable working alongside the Bragdon commandos, and Redax agreed with those sentiments to a point, but desperate times, as they say, desperate measures.

The times didn’t get more desperate than they were now.

Conflict between Athelon and Reblox had escalated. Interstellar warfare now raged freely for anyone who might be paying attention, and if they didn’t start acting more strategically the entirety of Yarda Quadrant could destabilize to the point of catastrophe. If that wasn’t bad enough, Athelon intelligence was indicating that a new weapons satellite was in development, perched in neutral territory. A weapons satellite with long range armaments capable of pelting the surface of Athelon from space.

That was something that could not happen. That was something that Redax Northstar would trade his life to prevent. Even if it meant doing things they wouldn’t ordinarily do, like working with the Bragdons.

Up ahead the shoreline drew up on the four boats, water lapping at its dirt covered ridge. Redax’s boat was the first to hit shore, thumping low and scraping along the sand, and Redax charged forward, leaping from the bow before the watercraft even fully halted.

He landed in the dirt with a crouch, being joined within seconds by other members of Iridium Squadron, all coming up on his flank. Each man wore a black uniform with thick quilted vests, layered in pouches. Skin-tight metal woven armor clung tight to their frames, plasma weapons clamped in their numerous clenched fists. The night surrounding them was dark and silent, a black tomb pricked with a scattering of starlight, the noise of the nearby city as dim as their lights.

“Be careful,” Redax said. “They are supposedly on our side, but I do not trust them.”

“You are as intelligent as you are ignorant, Athelonian.”

The voice was thick and hard, a crack in broken stone. Redax lifted his head, squinting against the moonlight and could only see six pairs of snapping yellow eyes peering back at them from the darkness.

“Perhaps this is an ambush,” the voice said, and Redax shifted his weight slightly, focusing on the pair of eyes in the center. “Even as we speak you are surrounded.”

“Then surround us,” Redax spat. “Send a hundred of your lizard thugs after us. We are men of honor and we spit upon your sneak thief ways, Bragdon.”

The voice chuckled. “Spit upon it... yet you ask us for help. Beg for our assistance.”

“That was not my choice,” Redax replied. “But I follow orders like anyone else.”

Around him, figures shifted in the shadows, slight movements of dark shapes against the slightly less dark backdrop of night. Redax twisted and lifted his weapon, firing twice. Plasma speared from his barrel and plowed into the shadow to his left, splashing light against the group of four Bragdon warriors. The center figure screamed and thrashed backwards, sending his four teammates scattering. Gray-skinned lizard creatures, the nocturnal Bragdons were sleek, agile, and stealthy creatures, but when confronted headlong, they did not always respond well.

“What are you doing?” demanded the lead voice. “We will execute you where you stand!”

A rattling of metal and clicking of engaged firing mechanisms echoed, with bright beams of light flashing on under a dozen barrels. Light bathed upon the Bragdon commandos, criss-crossing them in narrow white beams. The lead Bragdon snapped his head back, hissing as Iridium Squadron emerged from the darkness around them and pinned them in, plasma weapons raised and pointing.

“You underestimate us, reptile,” Redax snarled. “We have learned your ways of stealth and secret.”

“Then perhaps you do not need us at all?”

Redax chewed on this. If given a choice, no, he would not need them. He’d shoot them all in their gray, scaled faces and be on his way. But it was not his choice. They did need them, like it or not, and needed their unique skill sets above and beyond traditional stealth.

“Lower your weapons,” Redax muttered to the armored soldiers surrounding the commandos, then he turned his eyes on the lead Bragdon himself. “We do need you. Our plan requires certain skills that we do not have.”

The Bragdon smirked and nodded. “I thought so.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Redax replied. “If given a choice, I would shoot you and dump you in the lake like the scale covered water breathers you are.”

Mouth curling into a sneer, the Bragdon took a long step forward, coming eye to eye with Redax Northstar. “Watch your mouth, Athelonian,” he said. “No one speaks to Gragson that way. Not even you.”

“Noted,” Redax replied. “Now, can we get to work?”

Chapter Three

Mixed within the scattering of asteroids, at first glance the large, uneven orb seemed completely ordinary. Its surface, ragged and peppered with pock mocks as the other chunks of space stone were appeared innocuous.

The changes were subtle, a movement that required careful analysis, and who would really spend their time diligently monitoring this deep corner of neutral space just outside the Reblox perimeter? Far enough away from Athelon to pose no real threat. Just a random, isolated asteroid belt.

Except this one rock wasn’t random. It wasn’t an asteroid. There wasn’t anything natural about it. If anyone bothered to take a close look, they would see that it wasn’t so much a chunk of rock as it was a tightly assembled cluster of metallic plates, bolted into a roughly spherical shape with embedded thrusters designed to adjust throttle to keep pace with the other asteroids around it. As it lilted slightly to the left, a small puff of blue flame ignited near the rear, correcting its spin and propelling it forward.

In the shadow of the large, metallic structure, a swift snap of light split the darkened sky, ejecting a narrow, triangular shape. It squeezed through the split in space-time like a splinter being removed from a shallow cut. In less than a second the white slice closed up, leaving the loose splinter floating there, moving purposefully forward in the silence of space. With a right tilt, the triangular shape, a Bragdon starfighter if someone had looked closely enough, picked up its pace, matching the speed of the spherical object, falling into its path of motion, but remaining carefully concealed beneath its shadow. The spacecraft was small compared to the larger sphere, but not tiny and as it moved closer to the strange satellite, the pilot could see the series of small structures sculpted onto its surface.

Boxy buildings were bolted down directly to the surface of the artificial asteroid, extending the rounded shape of the structure itself, a quartet of makeshift barracks and research stations built in the same blocky way as the asteroid. Wedged into the superstructure of the floating satellite was a series of rounded generators, bubbling up like boils on the metal hide of the falsified space rock, encasing a large, rounded radar dish. These shapes seemed to fester and crawl up the smooth skin of the shaft of the dish, resembling a malformed, misshapen mountain.

Gragson squinted at this shape from the pilot’s seat of the Bragdon starfighter, easing off the throttle and bringing the ship closer to the surface of the artificial floating rock.

“That must be it,” he hissed. “That’s the pulse emitter. The weapon.”

Behind him another Bragdon pushed through the door between the narrow cargo hold and the cockpit. His broad shoulders barely squeezed between the two walls, and his dark eyes narrowed, glaring out of the front window towards the metal structure ahead.

Gragson looked back at him. “What do you see, Nurtog?”

Nurtog shook his head. While Gragson was the ace pilot and gunner of the group, Nurtog was the grizzled leader, a hard and tough commando who had been through dozens of these campaigns during the long and exhausting war between Athelon and Reblox. A long and exhausting war that always trapped them in the middle. While the two larger planets could complain of the protracted battles, the fact was their civilizations had lost a fraction of the inhabitants that Bragdon had, only nobody knew the harsh truth. The Bragdon were a weapon, plain and simple. A weapon controlled by the two super powers, pointed, fired and forgotten.

“Set down there,” Nurtog growled, extending a thick finger towards a tight clutch of smaller structures. “Those look like power cells.” He stepped even closer, wedging himself into the tight space next to Gragson.

“If you look here,” he continued, “you’ll see shield generators. They’re powering the entire defensive structure of this station. We drop those, the station will be exposed.”

“Is that your directive?” Gragson asked, easing the control stick left and taking the ship down closer to the surface.

“Indeed. The controls for the shields will be inside the factory itself. We need to get in and shut the system down.”

“Understood.”

Gragson pressed forward, and the starfighter accelerated, igniting thrust through space. The ship thrashed slightly as it pushed through the artificial atmosphere generated around the structure, designed to keep breathable air within the perimeter of this station. Designed as an interstellar attack craft, the starfighter could absorb atmospheric disturbance, though if it got hammered with too much, it risked significant damage or even destruction. They had little choice, however, as they tried to keep their place in the shadow of the structure’s surveillance window.

Moments later the thrashing stopped, and the ship settled, gliding down into the lower atmosphere where dark blue transitioned to black and the stars specked the sky. Gragson pulled back on the yoke, easing the ship into a slow horizontal, then engaged the bottom thrusters, cutting propulsion. Down closer to the structure’s surface, the punch of thrust was audible, each small push echoing against the ridges and metallic panels surrounding them.

“No readings on thermals,” a voice remarked from deep within the ship.

“Affirmative, Jugar,” replied Gragson, his fingers steady on the controls, bringing the ship down at an even pace.

At the opening to the cockpit, Claghrek looked out past the two Bragdon cramped in there, and glanced over their almost-touching shoulders.

“Time to load up?” he asked.

Nurtog nodded. “Load up. Give the order.”

Claghrek nodded and pushed himself away from the opening, fading back into the rear of the ship. Shadows draped across the smooth, angular surface, darkening the armored plates and Gragson brought the ship down in a lazy leftward lilt, engaging the landing skids, and making one last push towards the space station’s surface. The skids buckled as they hit, the ship dipping lightly, then compensating, with a few last bursts of spent fuel and thruster fire ensuring it remained upright and engaged.

Waiting for a moment, Gragson dialed back the engines, and surrounding the ship the ambient noise faded into a low, calming hum, then silenced entirely.

“Hold!” shouted Nurtog. “Give them a few moments to respond. If they do not, we proceed.”

Inside the ship the Bragdons remained still. A team of eight total, all expertly trained commandos, all fully prepared for just this type of mission. The type of mission that Athelon had spent a generation using them for.

After several moments of silence, Nurtog pushed his massive, gray-scaled frame from his spot in the cockpit, nodded at Gragson, and forced his way through the narrow entrance back into the hold.

“It’s time,” he hissed.

In the darkness of the hold, weapons clattered as fists snatched them, feet stomped and zippers swept over armored tunics. The telltale rubber of uniforms being pulled on over tough, leather, reptile skin.

Outside, a hiss signaled the slow opening of the rear cargo door, and it clanged lightly against the metal surface of the ground. Nurtog stepped off the ship first, his feet gliding over the smooth surface.

“Metal ground. What is this place?” asked Claghrek as he followed close on Nurtog’s heels.

“Reblox made,” Gragson said from behind Claghrek. “The space rock is not real. It’s one large weapon.”

Claghrek glanced back over his shoulder. “I read the report, too, young one. Do not talk down to me.”

“Both of you shut your lips,” Nurtog growled. “We owe Athelon nothing, but if Reblox could use this weapon against them, nothing would stop them from using it against us. This mission is for the future of our homeland.”

“As you command,” replied Claghrek, nodding.

“All of you know why we’re here. And what we’re here to do.”

Nurtog stepped towards the group, standing in front of them, shoulders wide, fists clenched. With a deep intake of breath, he closed his eyes and his muscles tensed, pulling tight underneath the gray leather skin that adorned their arms. His face remained the same oval at first, thin bumps walking the bridge of his nose and up onto his forehead, twin slitted nostrils and eyes narrow.

Just beneath the layer of skin, musculature shifted, like rats crawling under a blanket. Nurtog rammed his teeth together, jaw clenching and his arms spasmed, skin splitting and musculature expanding like an inflated balloon. Even as the fibers loosened, then intertwined again, twisting like slick shoelaces, the skin was knotting itself back around it. At the same time, narrow quills of animal hair burst from opening pores in Nurtog’s new flesh.

The whole act took only seconds. A few scant, painful seconds, but as the leader of the Bragdon commando team recovered, he brought himself up into a tall, full stance, and he was now hair covered and broad chested. On top of his shifting form, the rubberized uniform had expanded alongside his musculature, and he stood before his team, no longer a Bragdon, but a Reblon security officer.

Each Reblon was a large beast covered in hair, black, gray, and silver, and each clan wore their hair slightly different. In this low light, Nurtog looked white and gray, a tall and wide beast, with a unique intelligence concealed within his bright eyes.

“Bragdons standing before me,” Nurtog said, his voice a low growl to match his new appearance. “We chose you for this mission because you are adept at the shifting process our race has mostly forgotten. Infiltration is why we’re here. Infiltration and destruction.”

The other seven Bragdons hissed and nodded satisfaction, surrounding him. Each one of them repeated the process that their leader had undergone and within a moment, a squad of eight Reblons stood in the darkened shadows of the nearby buildings.

“The most direct route is through the Eastern perimeter. We start there and work our way inside, then drop the shields and notify Iridium. In and out.”

“By your lead,” Gragson said, and the others replied. In their group they swept up the scattered weapons and prepared for attack.

“TIGHTEN YOUR PATROL formation, beasts!” shouted Primax as he rounded the rear corner. He was a large Reblon, the largest one on the station, and as in many cases, the larger ones were typically the ones in charge.

One look at Primax revealed the savage and brutal nature of his heritage. His face was a slab of thick, scarred flesh mixed amid a cascade of mottled brown fur. His fur draped from his head and over his shoulders like a thin fibrous blanket, stuffed down underneath the layered armor vest he wore. Unlike many of his Reblon squad mates, he did not wear a traditional combat helmet, choosing instead to sport the polished skull of one of his fiercest rivals, a former commander who he had killed in an unusually savage test of skills.

Primax had challenged the orders of his squad commander which had initiated the test, and to say Primax passed that test would have been a fatal understatement. The trophy strapped to his head demonstrated his success and established his place in the Reblon hierarchy.

“As you command!” shouted one of the other Reblon security guards, gesturing to the two others in his trio, and they all pressed together into a more orderly fashion as they walked the perimeter of the research station. Primax crossed his massive, fur-covered arms, glaring at them, then nodded softly and drew back, vanishing around the corner.

Trailing behind the other two, one of the Reblon guards glanced over his shoulder, scowling.

“Nobody even knows we’re here,” he snarled. “I grow weary of Primax’s spontaneous inspections.”

“Then you’ll grow weary of your head being attached to your shoulders,” one of the other guards replied.

“Shift change,” a voice echoed in front of them. The three guards halted their progress and glared at the three Reblons standing before them.

“Shift change is not for another hour,” the lead Reblon guard reported. “You are early.”

“Primax’s orders,” Gragson replied, his hand drifting towards the small arm strapped to the small of his back.

“And what weapons are those?” the guard asked, looking at the plasma rifles the Reblons were carrying.

Gragson acted fast. His arm snapped up and around, the pistol clutched tightly in his furry fist. It was a slender rectangle with a cylindrical muffler wedged into the barrel. He fired two swift shots of white light, each shot spearing into the forehead of a Reblon guard. The third one turned, lifting his own weapon, a bolted together conglomeration with twin barrels, but to Gragson’s left Claghrek acted faster.

His rifle jumped up into his shoulder and a single silent shot burst from the rectangular barrel punching through the chest of the third Reblon. Within twelve seconds all three of them were down and unmoving.

“Check them,” Gragson said, and the others complied. They quickly stashed the bodies, raided them for their weapons, then moved on towards the East entrance.

“So far so good,” Jugar said as he approached Gragson and Drewsk.

Just as he said that the Eastern door banged open and Reblons spilled out into the clearing next to the research station.

“This is a drill!” echoed a voice from behind them. “Line up by rank and clan! Move move move!”

Gragson halted, glaring back at the two others standing just behind him. This wasn’t part of the plan.

“Wait!” a voice shouted from the cluster of Reblon guards that were pouring out of the building. “You there!”

Gragson looked at Claghrek, then back over at Jugar, his hands now tightened around the double-barreled Reblon weapon.

“Come here!” the Reblon beckoned, gesturing towards Gragson. “Now!”

Gragson took a step forward, touching a concealed device wedged into the crook of his right ear. He didn’t speak, he merely tapped it three times, then hesitated for a moment and tapped it four more times.

“Which clan do you represent?” a large Reblon guard asked, stepping away from the crowd. “You do not look familiar.”

“We want no trouble,” Gragson growled.

The larger Reblon snarled and lifted his weapon, striding towards the other three until he was nearly nose to nose with the Bragdon in disguise.

“Then state your clan,” he hissed, choosing each word. His hot breath puffed from flared nostrils and stung Gragson’s eyes.

Gragson’s lips parted, preparing to form a word, which word he was not sure, but he never got the chance to finish speaking it. A narrow spear of white light streaked over his right shoulder and punched into the Reblon’s face, splashing into a swift, blinding light so bright that Gragson turned away.

“Ambush!” came a gruff shout from the crowd of enemies and chaos reigned.

Another streak of plasma erupted from the east, then a third from the north, slamming into the thickly clumped crowd of guards, and the Reblons scattered. Gragson, Claghrek, and Jugar pulled back, lifting weapons, tracing them across the rushing crowd and opened fire.

“They’ve surrounded us!” screamed another Reblon as he stumbled backwards, slamming his back against the wall of the research station. He swiveled with his double-barreled weapon, drew down on Jugar and fired, sending two thick slugs towards him.

“Cover!” Gragson shouted, glancing to his left while lunging the other direction. The two shots hit Jugar high in the chest and carried him off his feet while Gragson was already adjusting aim and returning fire, slamming three plasma beams into the torso of the assailant. Reblons pushed past them in their frantic charge to find cover, and even as Jugar stumbled to the ground and began shifting back into his Bragdon form, massive, fur-covered beasts trampled over him, firing weapons wildly into the darkness.

“Claghrek!” Gragson shouted. “On my flank! They are scattering to return fire, but have left their post!”

Claghrek nodded and ran forward, catching up to the disguised Gragson. “Is Jugar gone?” he asked and the pilot simply nodded as they ran, sliding through the oncoming horde of Reblons who dashed past them.

Up ahead the east entrance to the research station stood and just as they approached, three Reblons pushed out of it, their weapons up and in defensive posture.

“You there!” one of them shouted at Gragson, turning his weapon towards him. “I don’t recognize you!”

The Bragdon pilot in disguise already had his pistol up and around and squeezed off two shots, striking the enemy in the forehead. Two other Reblons turned towards him, firing their weapons and Gragson pitched forward, curling his shoulder and rolling across the metal plated ground. As they adjusted to track him, Claghrek closed the distance and was on top of them. He slammed one massive fist into the first one’s jaw, driving his head back against the wall, and the second lunged, swinging his weapon like a baseball bat. Claghrek twisted and dodged right, letting the gun crash into the wall instead of his head. It only took a moment and Claghrek knocked the weapon from his hand, then buried an elbow into the temple of the Reblon. He caught his own momentum and spun the opposite way again, striking him a second time with the edge of his hand. Even as the Reblon’s head snapped back, his mouth split into an angry smile.

“Is that the best you can do?” he growled.

Twin shafts of plasma buried themselves under his chin, and his eyes went wide, then he slumped towards the ground.

Gragson tapped Claghrek on the shoulder as he ran past, towards the open door and the Bragdon nodded, moving into a run himself. With his shoulder as a battering ram, the pilot turned sideways and barreled through the entrance.

Primax’s massive fur-covered frame filled the entire hall. His eyes were narrow and piercing, a milky white underneath the polished bone helmet which covered his head. In one hand he carried one of the familiar double-barreled weapons, while in the other hand his fingers wrapped tightly around a thick, but withered club, adorned with more bones, jagged and sharpened into a mace of corpses.

“Foolish lizards,” he snarled. “You’re fighting for the wrong side.”

Gragson lowered his gaze and his defenses, letting his Reblon form melt from his body, his entire frame shifting and shrinking back into the lithe, leather-skinned shape of his Bragdon heritage.

“We fight for our own side, ape,” he hissed. “This station threatens Braxis as much as Athelon.”

“It certainly does now,” Primax replied. “Consider any treaties null and void.”

Beside him, Gragson could see Claghrek also shifting back into his familiar Bragdon shape, still clutching his plasma weapon.

“Move aside and we will let you live,” Gragson said. “Resist and you will die.”

Primax smirked, his muscular face twisting into a strange contented grimace. Claghrek wasted no more time. His shoulder to the wall, he lifted his weapon and fired, but Primax was already on the move. Sliding past the streaking beam of energy, he swung his withered club and shattered the weapon in Claghrek’s hand with one massive swing. As he attacked one Bragdon, the other drew on him and fired his pistol, but Primax stepped aside from that attack as well. The plasma beam struck his double-barreled weapon and sent purple electricity streaking all through it, jarring it from Primax’s massive fist.

Barely noticing, the large Reblon continued moving towards Claghrek, who back pedaled, but realized he had nowhere to go. The club swung again, this time a swift, arcing backstroke, and when it struck Claghrek in the face, its momentum did not stop, it continued slamming into the metal wall behind him.

Gragson winced at the carnage, turning away as Claghrek toppled over onto the floor. Primax laughed a hearty, growling laugh and lunged towards the Bragdon pilot.

Gragson tensed and braced himself for the slamming impact of the barbed club, having nowhere else to go in this narrow hallway and no other defense in mind.

But the impact didn’t come.

For a moment, Gragson opened his eyes and saw that Primax’s club embedded itself in the wall, the sharpened bone caught in the punctured metal plating. Primax turned towards it, his eyes widening, grabbing the handle with his other hand to pull it free. Gragson turned, swinging his pistol up and fired the remaining plasma into the back of Primax’s thick, shaggy skull.

The large Reblon howled and surged forward, slamming face first into the wall, then spun and clumsily tumbled to the ground, his entire head engulfed in a pungent, hairy smoke storm.

Before he even hit the ground, Gragson was on the run, feet slamming down the hall towards the generator room. This had already taken too long and their window closed more by the second.

Chapter Four

It was like someone was slicing open the darkness, a narrow gash of white light split open space itself, drowning out the surrounding stars. Within the narrow bands of white, a dozen shapes appeared, dark and angular, obscure streaks abruptly halting and forming into coherent objects.

“Iridium Squadron, hyperspace jump is complete! Reblox satellite at sector four seven!” Redax Northstar dropped his throttle, easing the narrow ship into a cruising speed his body still recovering from the rapid exit from hyperspace.

“Long range sensors are showing shields are still active!” came a voice from Redax’s communications channel.

“Those blasted reptiles!” Redax brought his ship around, keeping the Reblox weapon satellite in view. “Weapons ready, Iridium!”

The command was unnecessary. Even as he spoke the words, Redax could see the bright streak of approaching fighters, a cluster of Reblox ships in low orbit, just waiting to respond. This whole plan had just gone significantly sideways.

“Evasive maneuvers!” Redax shouted. “We have incoming enemy fighters!”

Reblox ships seared towards them, hacking through space trailing narrow gouts of blue flame. As they approached, they broke away, spiraling apart and swirling back towards them, the flame intertwining in a hypnotizing pattern.

At once cannons mounted near the nose of the Reblox fighters burst and stuttered with rapidly expanding energy, slamming out from energy packs and arcing plasma through the air. Iridium Squadron separated, the ships making a well-calculated spread pattern, out from their center, a reverse convergence of sorts, and the first Reblox volley scattered through empty space.

Redax brought his own ship around, bringing one of the enemy fighters into his cross hairs and he pulled on the control stick triggers, spearing the ship with twin bursts of energy. Both beams punctured the left fuselage of the triangular fighter, sending fuel blasting out into space, and directly afterward, the ship seemed to fold in on itself, then blast outward in a bright bloom of metal shrapnel and ignited energy.

Redax dove his ship down through the cloud of spent plasma, the purple light clinging to the edges of his ship, then he pulled upwards as two Reblons converged on him, weapons exploding. His ship split the two beams, missing them both, and he rolled it back left then returned fire, sending his plasma straight into the canopy of the oncoming enemy.

Rattles of enemy fire scattered over his hull and zipped past his view screen and off to his right he could see one of his wingmen’s ships blasting apart into fragments. He craned his neck to read the ship markers and realized he couldn’t even tell who it had been. A friend had just died and at this point he didn’t know which one.

“They’re all over the place!” a voice shouted in his comm unit. “We’re outnumbered!”

“Be calm, Iridium,” Redax replied. “We just need to hold them off until those shields are dropped, then we move in, launch, and get out!”

“Do we know if the reptiles are alive down there?”

“Let’s hope.”

If the Bragdons were dead... if they’d failed in their mission, then Iridium would fail in theirs. They would die, and Athelon would be next.

FIVE TO ONE? GRAGSON didn’t like those odds.

With one careful step after another, the Bragdon pilot remained pressed to the wall behind him as he progressed down the hall. Their stolen schematics told him the generator room was just up ahead, but at least five Reblons stood at the door on guard. Five big, mean looking Reblons.

Gragson was one of the best pilots in the Bragdon fleet, especially for his age, but he was a pilot, not a ground pounder. Not a warrior. He could hold his own, that much was certain, but five huge, tough looking Reblons against him?

What choice did he have?

Claghrek and Jugar were both dead. Who knew about the rest. If he didn’t drop these shields, Iridium Squadron would face annihilation by Reblox interceptors and their vile weapons system would be free to glass Athelon and Braxis both.

That could not happen.

For a moment he considered shifting again, becoming a Reblon, maybe even changing his form to look like Primax. But that took a lot of energy, and if it failed, he wouldn’t have the strength to fight. He needed all the strength he could get, and his best shot right now was the stealth and sneak of a Bragdon, not the rage and raw power of a Reblon.

In his right hand he clutched one of the Reblon shotguns, a weapon he had liberated from a fallen guard. It was large and powerful in his hand, but somewhat clunky, much like the Reblon race itself. The weapon was the opposite of stealth and sneak, but he didn’t have much choice. He’d emptied his plasma pistol into Primax’s skull, after all.

His shoulder pressed tight against the wall, Gragson took another three careful steps forward, his mottled skin darkening with the shadow of the low light in the hallway. The Reblons were thirty yards away. Then twenty. Now, almost ten. He could hear them mumbling amongst themselves, trying to decide what they should be doing, whether they needed to maintain security at the generator room or move out to provide support for the others. Raised voices echoed in the hallway.

Gragson kneeled low and touched his ankle, his mind working. One more crouched step forward, he trained the weapon on one of the Reblons, the one gesturing and making the most noise.

He drew in a deep breath.

His finger squeezed.

The shotgun blast roared in the relative quiet of the hallway, silencing the murmurs from the guards outside the generator room. The largest one, the one gesturing wildly, grunted as his feet left the floor and went tumbling backwards, arms pinwheeling.

Even as the first guard struck the wall, Gragson stood and charged forward, swiveling at the waist and firing again, both barrels exploding into the chest of a second Reblon.

“Bragdon invader!” shouted a third. “Who would dare?”

Gragson cocked his arm back and threw the weapon, slamming it into the face of the third Reblon who stumbled, but did not fall. The last two converged on him, growling and extending their massive arms. Gragson ducked, lowering his hand and plucking the jagged Bragdon blade from the sheath on his ankle. He swung it up and around in a brisk curve, tearing a ragged trench through the Reblon’s armpit. The creature shrieked and withdrew though the wound was far from fatal.

Gragson set his feet and charged to the right, sneaking under the lunging grasp of the last guard and squeezing through the door into the generator room. As he dashed forward, he could hear the clatter of weapons being lifted and moved into firing position. The Bragdon made one last lurch to the right, then halted and spun himself around, standing tall in front of the three Reblons who pressed their way towards him, weapons drawn.

“Shoot me if you dare,” Gragson snarled.

Their weapons blasted.

They fired more quickly than the Bragdon pilot anticipated and as he charged to his left, a sharp kick of pain flared in his right side, which picked him up off his feet and swung him around, agony tearing apart his entire right side. But as he spun he saw several other shots streak clear of him and slam directly into the console he had been standing before.

The console controlling the complex generator system.

Sparks exploded from the equipment and as the lights dimmed all around, the layered, metallic computer exploded, showering him with hot metal fragments and broken glass.

He hit the ground shoulder first, the world around him swirling into a gray mask of nothing and the lights blinked into darkness.

REDAX HAULED ON THE control stick, sending his ship surging to the right as he narrowly avoided the exploding remnants of another wingman. Metal shrapnel spattered the hide of his ship, and the starfighter controls thrashed in his hand as he maintained control, even as he saw six Reblon Interceptors banking around to come towards him.

They had drastically underestimated the resistance that would be present at the satellite, the perimeter thick with the Reblox fleet. If they’d underestimated the size of the fleet, what had the Bragdons faced on the surface?

This operation may have been over before it even began.

“Shields down!”

Six Reblons converged, firing their weapons, and Redax sent his ship into a tight, controlled barrel roll, tumbling just to the side of the onslaught, but already the enemy ships were reforming and preparing for a secondary assault.

The words settled in.

“Shields down?” he asked as he corrected the tumble of his ship and guided it to his right, trying to get some separation between himself and the group of Reblon Interceptors.

“Confirm! Long range sensors confirm! Shields are down!”

“Iridium Squadron, converge on me!” Redax shouted.

“We have communications from the surface,” one of his wingmen reported. “Bragdons looking for exfil! A group of four are on the East side of the research station!”

Redax narrowed his gaze as he pressed the throttle, sending his ship hurtling towards the satellite. On his left he saw two of his wingmen coming up next to him, plasma streaking after them, but wide left. On his right three more Iridium Squadron appeared, all moving in concert with each other. Six ships left. Not too bad, really, considering the resistance they’d run into.

“Permission to break away and move to the surface!” another voice echoed. “I can grab the Bragdons and we’ll be clear to launch!”

Plasma fire blasted into the rear of Redax’s ship, sending it lurching forward. He squeezed tight on the yoke and brought it back under control.

“Do we have time?” Redax asked.

“I’ll make the time!”

Their ships thrashed as they hit the upper atmosphere and Redax struggled to keep his star fighter under control. The slower Reblon Interceptors fell away behind them, though a stray bolt of energy seared past them and dissipated in the thick, artificial atmosphere.

“We need to make that call!” the voice repeated. “They risked their lives, chief!”

Redax knew they had. He knew that they had done exactly what they’d asked them to do.

But he also knew that they had privileged information. Classified intel about the current state of the Athelon/Reblox conflict. And even though these Bragdons had followed orders and done what they asked of them, the planet Braxis was not an ally. Sometimes in war, hard decisions must be made.

Too often, it was he who had to make them.

“There’s no time for exfiltration,” he replied. It was a simple statement that took less than a second to speak.

A simple condemnation of four Bragdon lives.

“As you wish,” the voice replied. Redax tried to tell himself there was relief in that voice...or was it resentment?

In five minutes it wouldn’t matter.

“Prep missile tubes,” he said.

They fired their rockets.

Down below on the satellite’s surface the research station sat motionless for a handful of seconds, seeming to sit there in stark resistance to their onslaught. Refusal to buckle under the barrage of their sub-space rockets. Even as Redax confirmed twenty direct hits, the building stood there, short, squat, but proud, defiant and unyielding.

Then it quite simply ceased to be. A bright and muffled blast of yellow and red, chased by dark smoke, taking the building and scattering it like some three dimensional jigsaw puzzle torn apart and discarded. As they drew near to the satellite’s surface they could see the flaming wreckage, a pile of broken shards consumed by dull, gray smoke.

Nothing left. No movement. No trace of life on scanners. Completely flattened.

“Mission accomplished, Iridium,” Redax said. “Break atmo, let’s head home.”

All in one motion the six ships shifted their angles up and surged forward ahead of jets of blue flame, smashing through the contained atmosphere of the spherical construct. Up ahead space began it’s jagged split, opening a hyperspace transport.

“Redax Northstar, this is Athelonian Command, do you copy?”

Redax looked down at his console. “Roger, Command, this is Northstar.”

“Just got the mission accomplished signal,” the radio reported. “Advise you head back home ASAP.”

“We need to stop for refuel, then we’re heading that way, command,” Redax replied. “What’s up?”

“News from the home front,” the radio dispatcher replied. “You’re officially a father.”

The news struck him like a fist. This was not how he envisioned finding out he had a child. In fact, this was very much unusual.

“What’s wrong, command?” Redax asked, accelerating towards the hyperspace entry.

“Just return,” command replied. “Quick as you can. Nothing serious, but... there were complications.”

Complications.

What an awful word that was.

Redax firmed his lips, clenching his jaw closed and narrowing his eyes. Had the baby been his idea? He didn’t think it had. It was something Jary had wanted. Or something that was expected of them.

And now there were complications.

The positiveness from a mission accomplished had almost entirely faded away. He pushed the nose of his ship towards hyperspace, trailing close behind his wingmen and wondered what would be waiting for him when he returned home.

Chapter Five

Jary’s apartment had not been her own. Not for the past 48 hours, at any rate. Physicians shuffled in and out, milled around, hovered over the incubation chamber, studying the contents within. Like she was a freak science experiment, not her daughter.

Her only daughter.

The only daughter she’d ever have. Jary knew that now. This wasn’t something she would go through again. The child had uttered its first cry, a wail, the shocked realization that she was now somewhat aware of the world around her and not simply hovering in some blissful state of non-existence.

It had happened in the middle of the night. Jary had heard something, she wasn’t sure what, but at first it sounded like a dull thud and some rapid footfalls, but she realized it was all part of an elaborate dream and she crawled out of it, her ears noticing the muffled howls of her child for the first time.

She was early. Nearly a month early by all calculations. Not unheard of these days, but certainly not normal.

Jary rushed to the chamber, desperate to lay her eyes on her child for the first time, anxious for the warm soak of love and devotion that mothers had for their babies.

Her first emotion wasn’t love, it was horror.

Athelonian citizens live their lives as laborers, their entire existence devoted to the art of hard work, and one physical aspect that aids them in this work is two sets of arms. It was something that differentiated them from the Bragdons and Reblons... well something other than the leather-tough reptile skin and the cascades of silver and black fur, anyway.

Athelonian’s double-jointed shoulders and two sets of arms on each side was a genetic fact written in their science journals going back for generations. It was as much a part of them as their lungs, their heart and their very skin.

When Jary Northstar looked down upon her first child, she looked back up at her through squinted eyes and waved her hands in desperation.

Her two hands. Not four. Two.

Jary had gasped and drawn back. It wasn’t even that her other two arms appeared disfigured, they just simply were not there.

As her daughter wailed, Jary went to the comm system and immediately dialed emergency, getting medical attention to her apartment.

Here she stood, two days later and still she hadn’t lifted her daughter. She hadn’t picked her up, hugged her or shown any of the typical motherly attention. She told herself it was because there had been too many doctors around, too many physicians stepping in the way and getting between her and her child.

The truth was, she was frightened. Something about the child chilled her to the bone.

“What is going on?” his voice boomed throughout the room, an abrupt announcement that things were about to change.

“Redax!” Jary shouted, turning away from the incubation chamber and nearly running towards the entrance to the apartment. He stood there in the front foyer, long black coat hanging from one hand, still dressed in green coveralls. He took her in one fierce embrace, all four arms engulfing her, swarming her up and drawing her in.

“It’s all right, my dear,” he whispered to her as she buried herself in his shoulders. After a few moments, he pulled her away and looked her in the eye.

“What is the meaning of this, Jary? I was told there were complications?”

Jary nodded, taking his hand and leading him towards the incubation chamber.

“The doctors say it’s a genetic abnormality,” she said as they crossed the living room. “Something they’ve never seen before.”

Redax followed her, unsure of what he expected to find once he arrived.

They stepped to the chamber together and looked down inside, the closest Jary had come to her own child since she was born. The young Athelonian girl wore a pale white baby gown with four arm holes though only two of them were filled.

“How is this possible?” Redax asked, his voice a low, hushed whisper. He turned towards the nearest doctor, his voice raising. “How does this happen?”

“We do not know, Mr. Northstar,” replied Dr. Hyrandi, coming nearer to the couple. “There does not appear to be a logical explanation.”

“Have you run tests?” Redax asked. He dropped his wife’s hand.

“Many tests, sir. As many tests as we dare. They all come back normal.”

“Obviously they are wrong. Or you are.”

“There’s no reason to be hostile, Mr. Northstar,” the doctor said, her voice even.

“We all have our jobs to do, doctor,” Redax retorted. “It’s the foundation of what makes Athelon what it is. Your job was to ensure the safe delivery of my first child and you obviously failed.”

Dr. Hyrandi’s mouth twitched, her lips closing into a narrow line. Her two lower arms bent at the elbow, hands clamping on each hip. Upper arms crossed defensively over her narrow chest.

“We’re all on the same side, sir.”

“Let me know when you have answers. Until then, get out of my home.”

“Redax,” Jary pleaded, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s all right,” Dr. Hyrandi replied. “We have nothing more we can do here.” She turned towards the handful of other physicians in the apartment. “Return to the hospital. We will continue to evaluate the test results.”

Voices murmured throughout the apartment for a moment, but the physicians shuffled out, then dispersed out into the hallway, leaving Dr. Hyrandi alone with the Northstars.

“Jary,” she said, turning her attention to her. “Continue to care for her. She is happy, healthy, and strong. Treat her as if she’s a normal Athelonian girl.”

Jary opened her mouth to reply, but the doctor turned her back and swept from their sight, easing out of the front door and vanishing down the hallway.

“Was that really necessary?” Jary asked Redax, turning towards him. “They are as bothered by it as we are.”

Redax’s lips parted into a sneer and he began to form a reply.

“Northstar, I came as soon as I heard.”

His lips pressed back closed, Redax turned towards the voice, his fists clenched.

“Captain Vyleria,” Redax replied, his glare softening and his fingers loosening. “What brings you here?”

The Captain of Iridium Squadron eased his way past Redax and clasped his hands around Jary’s.

“You have my sympathies, Jary. And my apologies.”

She forced a timid smile and bowed her head. “Thank you.”

“Please, can I have a few words with your husband?”

Jary nodded and as Captain Vyleria released her hands, she pulled away and exited, walking towards her bedroom.

Captain Vyleria turned to Redax. “Northstar, are you holding up all right?”

Redax nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“I bring word from Athelon command.”

“Out with it, if you please, Captain.”

“They strongly recommend that you take a leave of absence to work through your family struggles.”

“Sir? There are no struggles. The child is fine. She—”

“The child is not fine. The child is deformed and will be unable to maximize her opportunities at labor.”

“Doctors are running their tests.”

“Tests will not cure her. She and her mother will need your support.”

“Captain Vyleria, please, this is not necessary.”

“It is necessary. We cannot afford to have a pilot who is distracted by matters at home. This is not a request.”

Redax’s fingers tightened again, balling into fists.

“We will find a place for you on the Athelon Senate. A place where you can assist us in the political arena. You will provide just as much value there as you do behind a flight stick.”

“Once again, Captain, I implore you. Please reconsider.”

“The decision is final. Thank you for your service. Good day.”

And just like that, it was over. The career Redax Northstar had worked towards his entire adult life. One of the few aspects of existence that provided him with joy, thrill, and true happiness.

Just like that it was gone.

Because of her.

He glanced back at the incubation chamber with a warm rush of emotion. Not love or nurturing, but resentment. A seething anger for that small creature laying in the incubation chamber not three yards away. This creature that suddenly appeared in their life and swiftly proceeded to tear it apart.

With a deep, steady breath, he walked towards the chamber, three long strides, his hands opening and closing. He stood over the child, looking down at her, his breath bursting from flared nostrils, the pale skin on his face blushing crimson.

The child opened her eyes, wide and blue and glared up at him. For one scant moment, Redax thought he saw a sense of understanding in those eyes. A sense of resentment returned right back at him, an infinite knowledge impossible for one so small and so young.

Then it was gone. The child cooed and smiled, lifting her arms towards him, and the wall of resentment buried inside of him weakened. She cooed again and giggled, and it was a sledgehammer blasting him in the chest, smashing the framework of that wall, sending it crumbling. The warmth of anger mixed with a new fresh flush, a feeling Redax wasn’t quite sure he understood.

“Pick her up,” Jary whispered, coming up on his left. “Take her. That’s what she wants.”

Redax looked over at his wife, a smile creasing his lips. “You can tell that already?”

“I’m her mother,” Jary replied, looking down over the edge. Like her husband standing there alone with their new child, she couldn’t help but feel differently than she had. With all the doctors milling around it felt clinical and cold, a sterile hospital room, and not the warmth of a true home. Now the doctors had left, and there was nothing clinical about this. The little person laying the chamber wasn’t an experiment, she wasn’t a test subject, she was their daughter.

They both decided then and there, in their own unique way that they would treat her as normal as they could, care for her as much as they were capable, and raise her to be a true daughter of Athelon.

Epilogue

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.

II

Daughter of Athelon

First novella in the War of the Three Planets series

Chapter One

All I could think of as my escape pod tumbled end-over-end through the dark, timeless void of space was ‘shoot, now I’m going to be late for school’.

I’m an Athelonian, through and through.

To be honest, though, I’m not as worried about missing school as about what my dad will say when he finds out about it. Although the fact that my transport shuttle is now a raging fireball behind me could give me an okay excuse.

The truth is, even as I struggle to peel my eyes open, trying to center myself inside this spiraling tin can, I can’t even quite recall how I got here. I can’t remember what happened.

This was supposed to be my first year of generational school. The Athelonian Academy located on our third moon is one of the most prestigious generational schools on the entire planet. Or even off the entire planet as the case may be. The transport shuttle had taken off without incident with me and my six classmates on board, all of our luggage stuffed in the rear storage compartment.

My luggage. Ugh. That gorgeous powder blue tank top. Those purple shorts that fit me just right. The plasma cam that I was going to use to talk to my best friend back on planet. All of it... gone.

Outside of the pod, a dull clang shocks me out of my daze and my concern about those stupid physical objects obliterated by a swift burning explosion. Hey, at least I’m alive. At least all of my classmates are alive. Well, I think they are, anyway. I saw the other six pods jettison right before I jumped in mine, so I have to think everyone else made it to safety. Although, as the shuttle exited the atmosphere, I could swear I remember seeing those pinprick disturbances that are a clear sign of small ships breaking hyperspace. Where had they come from? Why did they attack the shuttle?

Was it because of me?

Did little ole Brie Northstar bring this down upon us? It wouldn’t be the first time my life someone threatened my family’s life, mostly because of my dad’s job. He’s a senior laborer on Athelon, one of the most respected and hardest working assembly operators on the planet. In a world where manual labor is a sign of status, he is on a different level. Almost all Athelonians take their manual labor very seriously, taking obscene pride in how hard they work and how efficient they can be, and as the head of the North Annex union, papa Northstar has made some enemies.

Most of his enemies are planetside though... they wouldn't be breaking hyperspace.

Hyperspace. Right. Space. I’m still in freaking space.

The escape pod lurches left and takes one more desperate tumble, spinning me upside down so I smack my spine on the curved metal roof. I hadn’t even had time to buckle in. As the tumbling continues, I peek out the side porthole, a small round window built into the pod’s wall, and witness the shuttle breaking apart in the atmosphere. The cold of space has extinguished the flames, but the debris is floating away in small clusters of metal as if a storm has broken and the clouds are drifting apart, leaving behind blue skies and sunlight.

But behind this drifting cloud of scrap all that exists is more black space and more stars. Is this jettison pod even powered on?

Bracing my arm against the wall, I push myself upright and make my way to the front nose of the pod, groping for controls. These small one-person pods are designed for escape and evasion, but they do have some flight controls and even basic weapons systems. Not that the weapons systems on a jettison pod would be able to hold off whatever had destroyed the shuttle.

I whisk my hair back from the side of my head and press my ear down to the console at the front of the pod, listening for any sign of mechanical motion. I can’t hear a thing. I brace my legs under the console and wrap my hands tightly around the control sticks as the rear kicks up, threatening to flip.

What am I hoping to accomplish? I’m the spoiled daughter of a senior laborer, not some flight pilot. When I jiggle the sticks, there is too much play. They are not actually controlling anything, and I don’t know how to fix that. The pod continues its forward roll, and I let it take me over, keeping myself wedged into the console so I can stay seated and not start bouncing around this stupid thing. When the tumbling stops, I push the hair out of my eyes and check the front screen. More pinpricks. Lots more pinpricks.

At least a dozen more ships are coming out of hyperspace. I look over my shoulder, trying to glance through the side porthole again, just to see how far Athelon is. If it’s too far, maybe the rescue ships are jumping in? Am I being saved?

Yeah, and maybe I can toss on a spacesuit and walk my butt home.

The good news is, the pod has stopped tumbling and is now just half floating here, drifting further and further away from the scattered, broken remains of the transport shuttle. The bad news is those pinpricks, whatever is causing them, are getting larger and surrounding the pod.

For a moment I try to grasp one more shred of hope that as these ships get larger, I’ll recognize the Athelonian rescue frigate. I’ve seen those long ships with thrusters on each side skimming over the roofs of our tall factories hundreds of times. They had saved countless stranded ships over my eighteen cycles of life. I used to love sitting on dad’s shoulders and watching them fly by.

Did I? Did I love doing that?

My mind is cloudy; my thoughts are struggling through thick cotton. Even the ships approaching the front canopy seem blurry as if I am looking through a dirty visor.

I press my palm against my head, close my eyes, and try to focus. Did I hit my head during the explosion?

Ahead of me the pinpricks are now flood lights and three large ships are emerging from hyperspace ahead of me. Please be an Athelonian frigate. I’m sure that’s what these are. A shuttle full of kids explodes in the upper atmosphere and someone is going to notice, real quick.

That much is true, but these aren’t Athelonian frigates. These are Bragdon warships, and all of a sudden my eyes and my mind are all too crystal clear.

Chapter Two

The Yarda Quadrant is far from the largest in our solar system, but it houses three main planets. There’s my home, Athelon, the planet of the laborers. There’s Reblox, a larger planet, responsible for banking, and the home of the money makers.

Caught in between is Braxis. According to all of my lessons in school, Braxis is a swamp planet which is eighty percent covered in water, and where there isn’t water, there’s thick grassland. To hear my teachers or my parents talk, nights on Braxis are eternal and its inhabitants, the Bragdon, are grumpy and sinister lizard people who only exist to be miserable.

I’m sure their three warships now approaching my escape pod will be lovely company on my uncontrolled tumble through outer space. As I watch, the trio of monstrous looking spacecraft slow their approach, coming around and turning sideways as if to show me their sheer size.

Yeah, they’re big. Not only that, but other bright flashes bursting from their launch bays are visible, indicating that not only are the Bragdon warships trying to impress me, but they’re launching a bunch of smaller fighters as well. Is all of this for little old me? I’m starting to feel important.

I’d feel a heck of a lot more important if I wasn’t stuck here in some immobile tin can with no controls and no weapons.

Well, the controls and weapons are there; they’re just... not... working...

Something flashes in my mind.

In a brief, strobe light flash across my mind, I see a full schematic breakdown of the control panel under the yoke. What is even stranger, is that it all makes sense. I can follow along from one yellow circuit to another, the electrical current cascading from one board to the next, the way the fuel cells process energy and route it to different parts of the pod. It all makes so much sense.

My head rages and I stumble backwards, trying to clear the strange vision from my head. White hot pain stabs at my temples, bringing tears to my eyes and I fall over, landing on my back, wondering what in the world I saw.

“What in the name of the Mother?” I ask the air.

From my back I lift my head to see a swarm of fighters maneuvering in small thruster bursts towards the escape pod. I jump to my feet, run over towards the control console below the yoke, and pry open the seam with my nails. Wrenching it free, I look at the control boards mounted underneath, and everything still makes sense.

Underneath the console, I touch three cables with my fingers, yank them from their sockets, reach around to locate two others, and repeat the motion. Using teeth and nails, I strip the cables, twist together the fiber innards of two, and braid three others. As I wrap the braid around the twist, small blue sparks burst from the contact point. I stand, move left, and open another access panel to find a stack of switches. I slam the four switches into the opposite position which initiates first a faint snapping sound in the wall, then a rolling hum from the escape pod.

All around me lights flicker to life. The burst of thrusters is audible behind me as the engines ignite and the pod engine roars.

How did I even do this? I mean, the level of my knowledge of a control console is where I used to stash my makeup that dad never let me wear.

“Weapons systems online,” the cool computer voice reports, and I whip my head around towards the front canopy. The jettison pod is egg-shaped and metallic, combined with dozens of metallic panels bolted together, with a thermal entry cone at the front, flanked by a pair of powered laser cannons. I have no idea how I know this, but I do.

Twisting away from the panel, I leap across the cockpit to land in the pilot’s seat. I wrap my fingers around the dual-handled control stick, flick open the hinged cover at the top of each handle, and palm the red trigger mechanisms. Even though I’ve never flown one of these outside of mandatory school simulators, I’m at home. I run my fingers up and down the red palm switches as Bragdon fighters begin to converge ahead of me, backing and falling into formation. Behind the two warships a large Bragdon freighter breaks hyperspace, emerging from a pocket of nothingness and slowing, coming around to show its broad side.

My hand moves to the console and activates the thrusters while my feet roam around near the floor boards until I locate the acceleration controls. I take a deep breath, trying to muffle my raging heartbeat which is drilling into the inside of my chest as the fighter numbers ahead of me increase to four, six, and finally eight. With all of these in front, I can only imagine how many have pulled up alongside and how many are flanking me. I’m sure that I’m totally surrounded.

The Bragdon are brazen, flying their ships this close to Athelon, I have to admit. Since we are so close, I might have a chance to blast my way through and make it back into the atmosphere. Once I do that, the Bragdon can’t risk pursuit unless they want it to be an act of war, and no matter how brash they’re acting now, they can't want to go that far.

One of the warships comes around in front of me and draws closer, and underneath its rounded nose I see a pale light flash, then stay on. The jettison pod thrashes, tips, and starts surging forward, out of my control.

“Tractor beam,” I say, to confirm that crazy thought to myself. Like I even know what a tractor beam is like.

Now or never.

I slam my foot down on the left pedal and hear the thrusters fire up behind me. Without hesitation, the pod shoots forward in a rapid straight line, scattering spent tractor energy all around me as the beam releases its hold on my small metal egg.

Two fighters move in together, trying to bracket me in. When I draw too close to one of them, the pod glances off. It thrashes, skips away, and threatens to wrench free of my tight grasp on the controls. I panic for a moment as I visualize the fighters coalescing around me and preparing to finish me off as I float through space, not able to control this pea-sized aircraft. Around me, small pieces of metal float around, chunks of hull that I knocked free. Great job, Northstar.

Pulling the yoke and hammering the pedal I bring the jettison pod sharply around port and haul down on the triggers, lacing space with nose-mounted laser fire. Sparks race up the front of the small Bragdon fighter, when one of my shots strikes something important and the left side of it blooms outward in a sudden orange explosion, sending it tipping to the right and toppling through space. Even as the first explodes, I twist the pod left, avoiding a pair of return shots, drilling the next barrage into the cockpit of the second fighter.

My heart races and mother help me, I think I might be loving this!

The nose tips down and the aircraft floats, as I accelerate and go searing above it, watching as the remaining six fighters drift apart to get into a flanking formation. I might be smiling...

... BUT DID I KILL BOTH of those pilots? My smile falters and my excitement wanes.

I mean, sure they were Bragdon, but they were still living things.

Alarm claxons blare inside my pod and I barrel roll left as I twist along with the momentum. Laser fire must have glanced off the underside of the pod, as the small aircraft shudders and jolts, but I manage to keep my grasp on the control yokes. I charge forward, accelerate into the roll, and yank back on the control stick to bring the nose sharply up and around to target another pair of fighters. Clenching my fists together, I unleash another burst of quiet yellow gunfire and stitch it across the belly of a third fighter, then punch three shots through the fuel tank of a fourth, blasting it into smithereens. The splash back of the explosion catches the third ship in its shrapnel wake, and one of its rear thrusters bursts and catches blue fire, killing its power.

Four ships down in a manner of moments, and I’m still going. The yokes dip towards the nose as I press forward again, shooting the ship through the darkness of space, avoiding another cacophony of enemy fire behind me. Twin blue streaks sear the air above my pod as the warship fires stun torpedoes that miss me.

It certainly seems as if they weren't expecting me to put up such a fight. To my right I see a triangular beast of a warship coming around. As it turns, I catalog its features: a launch bay in back for a dozen smaller fighters, a wing-mounted assortment of torpedo launchers and small cannons, and two much larger cannons flash mounted to the each side of the fuselage. How do I know this?

They're using stun torpedoes, which means they want me alive . . . but why? Why would the Bragdon make such a brazen attempt to capture me? Is it because I'm Brie Northstar, daughter of a the head of the North Annex Union? Dad is well respected and we are comfortably well off, but is that enough to warrant a battle fleet to kidnap me? Is it even me they're after?

Three more blue streaks explode from the warship’s left wing and I ignite the thrusters, leaping forward towards them and dip sharply down, sending the jettison pod into what would have been a nose dive if there were any ground to dive towards. I skim underneath the stream of torpedoes and bring my nose back up again, the metal hide of the pod straining and creaking against my aggressive piloting. Up in front of me, the belly of the warship exposes itself, a wide and rounded array of sealed ceramic panels, interlaced with next generation metal composite.

Again, I repeat... how do I know this?

Somehow, I do.

Just like I know towards the rear of the warship, underneath its belly, is a thermal reactor core, the energy source that powers almost the entire ship. Between the two banks of rear thrusters, the belly swells as if pregnant, only there’s no baby in there; there’s a woven mesh of pure energy contained by layers of non-reactive polymer.

What the heck even is a ‘polymer’?

I am so confused.

But not confused enough not to fire. I slam my thumbs down on the twin buttons at the top of the yoke handles, and my only two torpedoes both slam from embedded launchers on each side of my fuselage, streaking towards the warship in intertwining plasma trails. I haul right and veer the jettison pod away as I see the two small cylinders puncture the ceramic hide in twin spouts of white fire. As I come away in the pod, I can see the flash of detonation out of the corner of my eye and the rear of the warship caves in for a moment, before bursting and blasting outward, shooting metal shrapnel and liquified plasma in an uncontrolled spiral spray.

Did I destroy a Bragdon warship? With a jettison pod?

As I turn back towards the wreckage of the warship to get a better angle on the remaining fighters there are two dull thuds on my right side, sending the pod tilting left. I suddenly realize that focusing so intently on the warship caused me to miss the mass of fighters that are now converging on me out of my blind spot. I try to bring the pod back around, but it’s handling like a dead steed and only crawls to the right as if making its way through thick mud. Even as I come towards the source of the fire, I see at least another dozen fighters blanketing space in front of me, with the massive freighter coming into view as well. One of the remaining warships to my left fires a full bracket of stun torpedoes. I realize as soon as I feel the resistance in controls that I’m not going to be able to avoid this volley.

And I’m right.

Four rockets pound into my jettison pod’s port side, sending light green energy dampening plasma rolling over the surface of the entire aircraft. The lights inside flicker and the thrusters sputter behind me. Even as I pull, the yoke won’t respond and as the pod tilts right, spilling me from my seat, the freighter draws nearer and ignites its own unique purple light from a terminal on its gigantic starboard side.

The pod jerks as the tractor beam takes hold, and I move towards the freighter, with a score of Bragdon fighters moving in alongside.

My impressive rebellion is over. Now if only I could figure out how I knew how to start it.

Chapter Three

It's a strange sensation. I hear nothing and feel no inertia so my mind can't accept that the jettison pod is moving forward completely out of my control. As I watch the warship grow larger on the view screen by the second, I resign myself to the fact that this is exactly what's happening.

Soon the massive starboard perimeter of the spacecraft fills my entire view, rows of windows and small ship-to-ship cannons scattered throughout the rough hewn metal texture of its thick hide. Just ahead a large side cargo bay door slides open, separating in the middle and spreading apart like a waiting mouth, ready to chomp.

If you listen to my mom, the Bragdon are reptilian creatures, lizards that walk on two legs. I’ve never met one in person, but they also have a mouth full of needles, and slime-slicked flesh, a species of repugnant water-breathers that hide in the darkest depths of their own planet when they’re not slinking around Athelon or Reblox doing the dirty work of the highest bidder.

I don’t recall my mom talking in this much great detail about them, but somehow I know it and remember it, a distinct memory lodged inside of me, probably in the same place as that schematics drawing and my ability to fly a jettison pod like it was a state-of-the-art star fighter. Somewhere in those dark recesses I’m a wizard mechanic, ace pilot, and have first-hand experience with mercenary Bragdons.

What in the mother’s name happened to me while I was unconscious after that shuttle explosion? I don’t feel any older. I don’t think I look any older. But for no reason I seem to have this vast sum of experiences that I didn’t have a couple of hours ago. Do the Bragdons have an answer?

As the jettison pod floats in through the opened cargo door, I’m surrounded by the distinct purple plasma of the tractor beam, guiding me through the door and into some kind of air lock hangar. At this point I don’t care of these lizard guys have the answers, I want to get the heck out. I don’t even know if they are lizard people, but my mom seems to know these things. Glancing out through the front window I can see people walking into the air lock, covered head to toe in dark blue jumpsuits with sleek, black helmets pulled over their heads. In their full trappings I can’t tell what kind of creatures are underneath, I’m working to keep my nerves steady as the pod lowers inch by inch towards the grated metal floor below, as if being set down by a child who doesn’t want to break his new toy.

I count four of them. Wrapping my fingers around the control sticks I steady my heart and breathe, in through my nose and out through my mouth, trying to stay calm.

There’s only four of them.

The jettison pod jolts with a banging echo as the belly hits the ground, and the light from the tractor beam flashes off, releasing me and my aircraft from the cold energy. My eyes open and I flash to the cockpit release, then flash back to the four figures in jumpsuits walking towards my pod. Each one of them has a silver weapon in their hands, rectangular with two contoured grip handles. They don’t match any weapons I’m familiar with, which doesn’t necessarily surprise me. Different civilizations have always developed different weaponry, and Quadrant Yarda is no exception.

Their legs buckle and bend as they walk, adding some weight to my mom’s description, and their limbs are long and narrow, bending as they clutch the weapons to their slender torsos. These strange invaders are like walking trees, narrow trunks with spindly limbs, half stepping, half stomping towards my jettison pod, those shiny silver two-handled weapons ready. How am I going to play this?

I’m not even sure what atmosphere is in here, but these four chumps are still wearing sleek black helmets, so I flip a switch down below the console and activate some rudimentary systems within the pod. It’s a long way from being able to take off or fire weapons, but there’s enough residual juice to do some air quality checks outside the ship.

The oxygen and nitrogen mix looks right. It should be breathable, at least to me.

My fingers hover over the canopy release as the four Bragdons step closer, the two of them in front raising their rectangle rifles, pointing the blunt ends up towards the cockpit, holding them firm and steady, prepared for anything. I don’t think they are truly prepared for anything.

I don’t think I’m prepared for anything. I’m a teenager. A school kid. I was deciding what color eyeliner to wear this morning for the love of the mother!

I spread my fingers and slam my palm down on the canopy release, bringing my knees up and coiling my legs in the pilot’s seat. As soon as the clear dome windscreen pops and raises up, I’m tensing and leaping from the seat, out of the jettison pod.

The two Bragdon in front adjust their aim and fire their weapons, releasing blunt blasts of pink light. They look like the plasma used in stun torpedoes.

Both shots sear underneath me and splash across the surface of the jettison pod, scattering into tiny pink feathers of light, and I’m tucking my knees to my chest and flipping through the air, another one of those weird things that I couldn’t have done two hours ago. I arc my back, clearing the first two enemies and landing in a low crouch on the metal floor behind them, bracing my fall with one hand. One of the lead creatures swivels, turning his weapon on me, and I move closer, slapping the gun aside, pull back and drive my foot deep into its stomach. The second Bragdon steps forward, his own weapon training on me, but I swivel and block his arm twisting his weapon away, flipping it around in my hands, so it’s pointed back at him. I squeeze off one quick energy blast, which slams him straight in the face, and I turn back towards the other who is starting to recover. His weapon is also up and I step to the right, letting his stun blast fly clear to my left I fire twice with my own, striking him in the chest with both shots. He topples backwards, slamming his head on the metal floor, which cracks the black helmet and sends it scattering into pieces.

Yeah. It’s a lizard. I withhold my natural girl instinct to screech and climb on a chair, not that there’s a chair around here, anyway. And jeez this lizard is like six feet tall.

Narrow, oval shaped head, wide, yellow eyes perched on each side, thick, scaly skin etched across its face, mouth prying open into a pained sneer. I notice for the first time that it only has four long fingers on each hand, just as they snap open and release its rifle, sending it spinning to the floor.

As I turn away to face the next two, I feel the weight of a leaping Bragdon strike me from the left, leaping and tackling me, sending me sprawling. As I fall, I twist and lift my knee, slamming it under the chin of the lunging creature, but when my back hits the metal, my muscles all seem to relax at once, fireworks of white pain dancing in the darkness behind my eyes. Rolling over, I struggle to find where my dropped rifle spun away to, but just over my shoulder I see the last Bragdon stepping towards me, its rifle raised, and just as I touch my fingers to my dropped weapon, the last creature unloads with his, baking me in a bright, reflective pink light, all of my senses are firing at once, I taste ozone in the back of my throat, and darkness swallows me.

I HAVE NO IDEA HOW long I’ve been out, but that bitter, smoky taste catches in my throat. Sitting up from this hard bed, I twist around and cough, trying to bring up and spit out whatever that nasty feeling is, but it stays where it is, coated on the lining of my throat, sitting there to remind me of how awful that stun blast felt. A dull, thudding head ache has started at the base of my skull, and grips the sides of my head like a huge hand, squeezing, paying the closest attention to my temples.

My brain is too full of this new information. Too crammed with things I used to know and new stuff I didn’t always know and the mix between them is not a good one. It’s an oil and water situation, churning within my head.

I’m in a small, square room with no windows and a single, metal door, more or less a prison cell. On something that’s a bed in name only, more like a concrete slab with a thin, cloth blanket spread over it, something developed to make someone only barely comfortable. Outside the door, the distinct, uneven thumping footsteps of the unstable gait of these creatures emerges down the hall, banging from the floor. For as skinny and spindly as these things look, they seem to have some serious weight to them.

Fumbling with the door rattles the metal, and with a screeching squeal, it eases open revealing one of the Bragdon in their full glory. He (at least I assume it’s a he) stands framed in the door, tall, sloped shoulders and his smooth head down turned, eyes glaring out at me from behind snapping eyelids. His lipless mouth splits open and a narrow pink tongue flicks out, slipped past narrow, sharp teeth. At the ends of his angular arms are hands with four plump fingers, hanging low by his knees. As my mom told me, his legs are bent at the knees, making him taller and revealing a webbed foot of six toes pressing tight to the smooth floor.

“Welcome to Freighter Floxam,” the creature tells me, his voice less of a hiss than I thought it might be, and more of a low, graveled murmur.

“It’s not a cruise ship, handsome,” I reply.

“We were hoping you would come along a bit more willingly, young one.”

“Why would I do that?” I push myself back on what passes for a bed, pressing my spine against the wall, the sudden desire to be far away from this creature almost more than I can manage.

He narrows his eyes and cocks his head. “We are not your enemy, child. The Athelonian oppressors are the ones driving this conflict, not us. Never us.”

“Of course not,” I reply. “But keep in mind my father’s position in this oppression. They will be looking for me, and every second I’m here, you’re at the risk of planetary war.”

“You are precisely where you belong,” he growls, leaning in close. Hot breath bursts from his slits for nostrils, a thick wet mist that sprays my face. I stifle a gag and turn away, closing my eyes.

As I turn back towards him, he’s reaching out for my arm and placing his four-fingered hand on my left shoulder. For a moment his gray skin shifts to beige as his fingers tighten around my arm. His touch is clammy, with dozens of tiny needles from his fingers tickling my skin.

“Let go of me, you hideous beast!” I shout, drawing my arm away.

He sneers and draws his hand close to himself, clenching his strangely shaped fist. Veins emerge at the top of his hand and extend towards his arm, revealing sinewy musculature on his exposed arm.

“Jathus!” comes a voice from behind the creature. He reacts and turns towards the other.

“What is it, Krabex?” he asks.

“We have an armada escaping from hyperspace all around us! Interceptors from Reblox!”

“Reblox?” I shout, not being able to help myself. “What do they have to do with this?”

Jathus turns on me, scowling. “They’re all a part of this! Athelon! Reblox! They abuse us and use us and it’s time we fought back!”

“Well, maybe if you geniuses weren’t sitting out here in uncontrolled space—”

Jathus lunges at me, swinging his hand backwards, crashing it against my right cheek and snapping my head around. Pure white flowers bloom in my eyes right before the entire freighter rocks and shifts, lilting strangely to the left. I press my palms back against the wall, trying to stabilize as the entire prison starts to tip over.

“Are they attacking?” asks Jathus. “Would they dare?”

“When we went to retrieve the young one we drifted into their sector,” replies Krabex.

“What? By who’s command?” Jathus shouts, pulling away from me and allowing me a short opportunity to recover, placing a hand to my stung cheek.

“Does that matter? We need to get out of here!”

The next impact is twice as strong as the first. The freighter jumps and two loud bangs erupt deep inside, sending the transport lurching to the left, and above us there’s a sharp snapping, showering sparks and metal shrapnel down among us.

Without warning, a second loud snap blasts and a huge chunk of metal support breaks free, releasing a flood of spent fuel and debris, crashing down on top of Jathus and Krabex, who collapse underneath a pile of broken metal and splash of bright blue plasma.

I sit there on the bed, looking out at the pile of fallen machinery with the prone forms of the two Bragdon laying motionless underneath. I look around as if to check and see if anyone else might have seen what happened as if it might have even been my fault. Another rocking shudder moves the freighter the other direction, a series of muffled slams and I stumble forward, clamoring over the fallen debris, land on the other side and sprint down the hall, searching for some kind of escape.

Chapter Four

Another dull, echoing bang resonates from the starboard side and the ship lunges to the left, throwing me off my feet. The hallway ahead of me is at a strange slant, stranger still because I have always assumed that in space, every way is “up”. Clearly something is broken inside the Floxam. Unfortunately for me, it isn’t the gravity generator.

I see each hallway through a filter of acrid smoke that stings my eyes and nose as I run deeper into the belly of the ship. I have no idea where to go or how I’m going to get there, but there must be a way off. Not even these Bragdon savages would build a ship of this size with no jettison pods would they?

Back on my feet I can hear the ship straining, a lumbering, creaking pull of metal, and though it would be far easier to rend apart and scatter pieces into space it clings as one, for the moment. In my mind I can see the twisting bulkhead, flame and bent metal barely holding things in place as Reblox interceptors swoop in and pelt the large vehicle with potent plasma.

My hair drifts in my face again and I push it away, blinking through the smoke and wondering what all of this floating junk is going to do to my skin.

My skin? Seriously? I’m a kick-butt, super soldier chica now. I can't spend time worrying about my stupid skin.

Up ahead, the metal grid floor is buckling around a central column with ladder rungs running up the side closest to me.

As if on cue, the direction I’m running pitches downward while the rear jolts up and to my right, throwing me off balance, and I topple forward, trying to break my fall. I trike the floor with my elbow and tumble into a clumsy somersault, going end-over-unforgiving-end. Muscle and bone bang down with every uncontrolled roll. When I’m worried that I might keep tumbling all the way down to the nose of the freighter, I twist a bit to aim my momentum towards the contorted central column. My chest strikes the column; I grasp with both hands; but I continue to slide as the freighter proceeds towards its forward dive. Looking down I see nothing but empty air between the column and the next section down. That fall is sure to kill me, if I let it.

I slide and start to tumble, my stomach lurches as I skip out into empty air, hesitate for one brief moment, thrashing my hands out.

My fingers clutch one of the rungs of the ladder on the column, and my shoulder jolts, pulling muscle tight and straining ligaments. I groan as my arm argues, but my fingers hold tight and I keep myself still, holding my weight from cascading down empty hallways to the next column which would have at least broken my ribs, if not snapped me in half. I wince as debris rains down on me from the rear of the ship, broken fragments of super structure spiraling down towards me, bouncing off the column, crashing into the surrounding walls, but somehow missing my body. A limp and broken Bragdon cartwheels past me and I wonder for a moment whether it was Jathus or Krabex, or someone completely different.

I wonder if I should care and realize that part of me actually does. For the Bragdons? I’m not sure why.

Muscle strain pulls at my forearm and my fingers are aching. As I look down I focus on that next column, the one that sits at least two stories down, and try to figure out how to land that fall without killing myself. Two of my fingers pull free and I drop a bit. I could try to reach my other hand up... but no, I can’t get a position.

Then the freighter starts to correct itself.

Even in the vast emptiness of space I can tell as the nose of the Flaxon eases back upwards and the tail drifts down. The huge transport lilts starboard, as it works to straighten out, and slowly, I start to drift back the right way, hanging down towards the grid work floor, and no longer hanging over empty hallway leading down five hundred feet.

My fingers snap free and I drop about ten feet, a heck of a lot better than five hundred, and land on the metal floor, knees buckling, left arm screaming in muscle straining agony.

Outside, I can hear more pops and bangs as the freighter absorbs even more attacks, but for now it seems as if it might stay afloat.

“Hey! What are you doing out here?”

I recognize the tenor of that gravelly voice and I push myself upright as three Bragdon enforcers make their way into the hallway from a passage to my left.

“Back in your cell, young one!” all three of them are carrying the same silver, rectangular weapons that the ones in the air lock were, though there’s no way of knowing whether they’re stun weapons as well or something more potent.

“Don’t you jokers have more pressing problems?” I ask, pushing my back to the bent central column, trying to will myself invisible.

They don’t reply, they just advance. Two of them flank the column while the third holds back to provide cover.

Instinct takes over. I jump straight up, hook my fingers around the rungs of the ladder, and pull up into a reverse somersault. I land in a crouch against the column, holding myself there with my shaking arms.

The two Bragdon swing around with weapons raised, surprised to see I'm not there. I drop, tuck my knees into my chest, and land right on the both of them, driving them face-first into the metal grated floor.

The third reptile fires his weapon. Sure enough there's no pink stun plasma here. Neon green is apparently a lot more dangerous. One shot sears the column, leaving a divot of melted metal and scorch marks.

I leap to my feet, rounding to the other side. He adjusts and fires again as I take off, leaving the ground. My feet strike the railing on the side of the platform. I take four long strides, somehow balancing on the narrow cylinder of metal; I then throw myself from it, angling towards his blind side.

He’s not fooled.

The Bragdon shifts left, swinging his weapon. In mid-air, it crashes into my sore shoulder and tosses me to the metallic floor. A scream bursts from my lips as I hit and roll. He's already turning towards me, directing his weapon at me.

“I thought you slime balls wanted me alive,” I groan as I push myself up onto one shoulder.

“This ship is falling apart,” he growls. “We’re all dead, anyway.”

Watching his eyes, I follow the path of his weapon and roll the other way as the green snake of plasma blasts into the floor where I had been a moment before. Up onto my feet I charge forward, down the passageway these three had entered from, hugging the wall, barely avoiding a series of plasma shots banging off the angled metal panels surrounding me. As soon as the passage opens up into a room, I dive right and four more spears of neon belt through, smashing into a far wall, scattering metal fragments and plasma residue in oblong splashes.

I keep running, my feet banging, but I don’t hear anyone pursuing as I veer right down another narrow hallway, then left again. These halls are empty. Up ahead I can see yet another large, rounded open area, I press forward, hoping to find some means of escape.

That’s when I see how hopeless it all is.

This room is an observation deck of sorts, the first one I’ve seen on this strange, foreign aircraft. It’s rounded in shape and the walls are some kind of hard, translucent polymer giving a full view of the scene outside.

Pieces of the three Bragdon warships are scattered across miles of space. Plasma burns and white hot scorched edges are visible even from this far away. Smaller one-person fighters still zip and soar around, swarming the larger Reblox interceptors like vermin hovering around large water beasts. At least six interceptors are out there, slapping the smaller fighters down with blunt force blasts, and two of them are breaking away from the crowd, heading back towards the freighter. It would seem that our temporary reprieve may be over.

Making my way to the other side of the observation area, I can see a large, oval planet down below. It looks like a cluster of assembled rocks and meteorites painted various shades of indigo, blue, and a bleak, dull green.

Is that Braxis?

Are we so close to the Bragdon home world?

Am I going to meet lots of new and interesting people with my hair all messed up and my jump suit all wrinkled? This is my favorite color, too.

Throughout all the years I can remember, the Reblons and the Athelonions have been rivals. Reblons have only been interested in money and have been more than willing to abuse the hard work of the Athelonions to get it. The natural rivalry has lasted a millennium, and in truth, Jathus had some valid points with his complaints about the Bradgons being caught in the middle. They were natural scavengers and notorious for being sneaky and underhanded. There were even rumors that some species of Bragdon were shape shifters, able to change their appearance, though that’s one of those boogey man stories that I never did fall for, even when I was a kid.

I stop for a moment. When I was a kid. I try to remember any particular scene from my childhood, any time that mom or dad read me a story, took me to an amusement park or even sang me a quiet song. It’s a struggle. Snatches of memories flash at me through the haze of my aching head, but they’re slippery and I can’t quite grasp onto them.

What is happening to me?

The rolling wash of bright orange plasma pounds the port flank of the freighter, enveloping the entire left side of the observation deck, rolling over the see through surface, but digging and burning the metal housing around it. Noise bellows throughout the chamber, a rocketing blast of impact and twisting rend of metal starting to pull apart. Once again the freighter lolls to the starboard and I charge forward to the edge of the observation deck, my eyes scanning, searching for the jettison pods.

None. No pods. No escape. I glance over to my right, out of the rounded window and I see the planet Braxis growing nearer, larger, taking up the entire view as the Flaxon begins a relentless tumble into the thin atmosphere, the surface of the polymer beginning to glow red with the heat of re-entry. Metal strains all around me, the ship is buckling, twisting and starting to separate. My eyes close and my head feels light as the speed of descent quickens, the ship plummeting, side first towards the surface. I see wet ground, thick trees, swamp muck, all of it seems much closer than it should be and the ship is falling, tilting, and twisting.

The speed of descent takes its toll and I topple over backwards, wondering how far this fall is going to last and where it’s going to land.

Chapter Five

Am I even alive?

Those are the first words that come to mind as I swim out of the thick fog of unconsciousness. My entire prone body is a single, throbbing bruise, but I'm still drawing in air and tasting life.

. . . Not dead.

I push my way up onto one shaky shoulder and glance around, trying to get a feel for my surroundings. I see that I'm still on the observation deck on the freighter Flaxon. Beneath me, the curved window has spider web cracks, but is intact, separating me from a strange green/brown liquid that looks too thick to be liquid. It’s formed around the window as if its cradling it, trying to rock it back to sleep and keeping the bent and twisted metal together. Flopping over on my back I look up out the other window into the starry night of Braxis. A thick blanket of clouds reveals only a handful of those twinkling celestial bodies I'm so accustomed to seeing.

Some of the internal lights within the Flaxon are still shedding illumination on the observation deck, revealing the rubble of metal support structures and broken glass. Off to my left it looks as if a large chunk of the massive transport tore apart and fell inside. Cool, wet air blows in from that side that is open to the elements, whatever elements those might be here on the surface of this foreign planet.

As I sit up I gasp a little, trying to draw in breath. The air is thick. There’s a dank wetness to it like there’s too much moisture, but after a few frantic moments, my lungs expand and I draw in three deep, stable breaths, steadying my heartbeat more with each one of them.

As I try to stand, my foot slips a bit and I notice for the first time that I was lying in a small pool of cloudy water. I suppose it's seepage from the swamp leaking in through the cracked hull. I start my cautious climb up the rounded surface of the cracked decking, working my way towards the opened end, clamoring hand-over-hand to find my way out of the wreckage. I listen for other survivors, but hear nothing except the low whine of night time winds and the occasional chirp of mysterious wildlife.

Hauling myself up from the curved section of decking, I see a pair of Bragdon bodies splayed out, far less fortunate than I was. Their bodies give me the creeps and I steer clear, walking the long way around that section of passageway, making my way towards where the ship is smashed and torn apart. Only a very short distance from where I lay the freighter struck a large rock outcropping and split, metal shearing apart and exposing everyone inside to the elements. If the trajectory of the falling ship had shifted even a few degrees, the observation deck itself could have struck here and I would have been...

Yeah, let’s not think about that. Let’s think about the fact that I lost my stupid shoes and my feet are wet and freezing and oh yeah, let’s think about the fact that I’m stuck on a strange planet and have no way to get my sorry butt home!

Deep breaths, Brie. Deep, deep breaths.

I pull myself from the passage way, using the broken hunks of hull as purchase, and stand on the jagged edge of busted freighter, looking out into the fog soaked dimness of Braxis.

So mom was right. The place is a big old dark, stinky swamp. Yay, mom.

Once again it's tough to breathe, my excited heart slamming more rapidly in my chest. I press a hand to my chest trying to calm the little bugger down a bit, slow my lungs and take in breath nice and easy. This isn’t the end of the world, Northstar. You got this. I need to get out of here and find someone who might help me.

Find who? A Bragdon? And they’d help a rogue Athelonian prisoner, why? Because I’m a cutie? Yeah, not by Bragdon standards.

I glance over my shoulder at one of the splayed bodies, looking down at his feet. Would his weirdo lizard boots even fit me? Only one way to find out, I guess.

I will myself not to smell or look or hear or taste or do anything and kneel, reaching towards the dead creature. Grabbing the heels of both boots, I pull, sliding them off until they squelch free, coming up in my clenched fingers. I sit down and pull the thick, flexible footwear onto my feet and, they seem to form right to them, slurping around them like some hungry boot-shaped critters, then seal themselves against my calves. They don’t match my teal jumpsuit, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Kneeling and leaning back over, I look through some of the pockets on the dead guy’s pants and find a strange rectangular item, then slip it free. In my hands, I manage to palm a switch and a bright beam of blue light bursts from the front, shining against the angled wall of the freighter. I have no idea if this thing is a flashlight or not, but it works well enough for me.

Without thought I press my hand to the sharp edge of the broken freighter. I pull myself up,step out, and drop a bit, landing in some soft mud. The mud clutches at the boots, but hits the surface and slides right off like magic.

Go figure. The Bragdons are actually pretty smart. They went and invented a swamp sludge rappelling boot? I might have some newfound respect for these ugly lizard dudes.

Up above two moons nestled close to each other seem to push apart the cloud cover, battling to take a look at this strange Athelonian chick who is roaming around their yucky swamps. I hope you jerks enjoy the show. Thumbing the rectangle in my hand, I ignite the flashlight thing, shining a bright beam of steady illumination in front of me.

As I glance behind me, I see the freighter dropping deeper into the muck. Thick water crawls, inch by inch, up the edges to draw the vehicle down into itself.

Yeah, I got out of that deathtrap just in time.

Off in the distance a low, guttural howl splits the quiet night in two, a sharp edge cutting through dark fabric.

From one deathtrap to another?

Step by step I ease through the mud. None of it deep, and most of it slides right off the strange material that makes up the boots. I suppose it makes sense that if the majority of this planet is really coated in this junk, these lizard people would figure out a way to walk in it. Nature finds a way, right? . . . Even if the nature is ugly walking reptiles.

Once that first bout of howls fades, the night is quiet again and I keep on trucking forward, stepping through the muck, shining my light and taking care not to step in any deep parts. I have no idea how long I’ve walked, but another screeching howl bellows, this time from close behind and to my left. Yeah, a little too close behind.

I spin, twisting my flashlight in that direction, splashing the area with pale blue light, and for the briefest moment I see a glint of narrow eyes, but they blink away and vanish.

Did I see them? Could I see them through this fog? Maybe I imagined it.

Instead of a howl, this time there is a deep and angry growl on my other side. Once again I turn, flash my light, and catch two clear reflective eyes glaring at me. The head they're attached to is broad, bizarre, hairless flesh curved into an oval shape. Twitching, twin pointed ears extend from the top of its head. The thing has a short, stubby nose which blasts steam from two diamond-shaped nostrils perched above the tooth-filled mouth, which splits open into an expression that I could swear looks like happiness. It stands on all-fours with its massive lowered, drooling at me.

“Good doggie,” I say because, sure what the heck else would I say?

In response the creature grumbles at me, its toothy smile becoming a hungry looking sneer.

Taking a careful step backwards, I look over my shoulder to make sure there’s actual ground behind me and there is. But I’ll be darned if that thing doesn’t look like it can run a heck of a lot faster than I can. It’s a lot more used to this swamp, too.

But what else am I going to do?

As I take another careful step back, the thing sits down and cocks its head at me as if wondering where I think I'm going. That's when I turn and bolt. My feet slam down in the thick mud, but the surface of the boots keep it from clutching at me. I run surprisingly fast through the nasty swamp. I hear the beast growl then start splashing through the water, but moving a bit slower without these magic boots which are turning out to be life savers. Go Bragdons, go!

Picking up speed I drift left, my legs pumping and my lungs screaming. Turns out while I can breathe okay in this moisture rich junk, running at full speed is a bit problematic. I splash onward, but the pursuing paws grow closer second by second, getting way too close for comfort. I can sense the creature is about to lunge, so I veer right to avoid the crashing beast as it splashes past me, spraying nasty mud all over the back of my legs.

¶I hear a second set of splashes to my right, charging straight for me. One I could avoid, at least for short periods, but two . . . three . . . a full pack . . . out in the swamp lands with no weapons and no refuge? Why is it for every narrow escape I end up in deeper trouble? Three days ago I was a nervous student getting ready for my first week at generational school. Life was normal. I was a teenage girl with teenage girl problems. I'd just turned eighteen, for crying out loud! What the heck is going on here?

Am I giving up? Is this what giving up feels like? Seems like I’m running awful fast to be giving up.

I swerve left into deeper water, barely escaping gnashing teeth. Swamp water is crawling up over my shins and approaching the tops of these magic boots. Once it passes the tops, the suction of the mud will slow me down enough that I'll be dog meat, or skinless beast meat. Whatever the heck these stupid things are, I'm lunch.

As if the creature hears my insult, it makes one more desperate leap, and I'm not fast enough. The full weight of the charging beast striking me between my shoulder blades causing me to lurch forward. The flashlight springs from fingers and spins through the air, leaving a strange whirlwind of light in its wake. As I hit the water, I roll over to avoid submerging my face. In the faint moonlight, I see the two sneering creatures breathing steam, drooling, and looking very, very hungry.

Swamp water crawls up over my knees and elbows, caresses the edge of my hair, and seeps into every inch of m jumpsuit. Even the air seems to feel wetter as I draw in nervous breaths, and I'm being consumed by a world of water as these two hunters stalk closer, step by slow step.

Suddenly a narrow green streak punches through the face of the creature nearest me. It yelps and lurches backwards, into the brown water. The second monster chuffs and turns towards the source of the light. Two more green spears zip over my right shoulder, striking the creature's broad chest. It yelps, topples forward, and splashes into the water.

“Who are you?” a voice cries out in the darkness. It’s a hoarse voice, called through gravel, recognizable as a Bragdon.

“My name is Brie Northstar!” I call out to him. “I’m an Athelonian!”

Silence is the only reply. It feels eternal. I hear the quiet squelching of feet in mud and see a form in the darkness drawing nearer. I pick myself up to my feet and start to turn around, clenching my fists to prepare for a fight.

A bright splash of blue light strikes me, but it’s a flashlight. I can’t tell who is holding it.

“Athelonian?” the voice behind the light asks. “You look... different from most.”

“I get that a lot,” I reply. And I do. I’ve been different my whole life, though not many people mention it any more.

“Why are you here?” the voice sounds male and younger than the voices in the freighter. “Are you from the Flaxon wreck?”

“Yes,” I reply. If he knew I was a prisoner would he help me? “One minute I was with my friends in a shuttle... the next minute I’m in the freighter. I didn’t ask for any of this, okay? I need help.”

The light dips a bit and I can almost make out the face of the person holding it. If I didn’t know better I’d say he looked like a young boy.

“Luxen, bring her in!” a second voice bellows from behind him. “She means us no harm.”

The boy looks back over his shoulder. “Mom, if the military is after her...”

“She has a good heart,” the woman replies. “I can tell just by listening to her. Bring her here.”

The boy turns back towards me. “C’mon. Our house is over this ridge. You’ll be safe there.”

I don't move. I don't know this boy or this other voice. I know nothing about anyone or anything on this planet and I don't want to move. I want to stand here and sink back down into the swamp water forever. Running has become so exhausting.

Behind me more howls cut the night air, a chorus of them, a rattling cacophony of hungry hunters looking for their next meal.

“Are you coming, or are you going to wait to feed the Horaks?”

I shake my head to clear the cobwebs. “Coming,” I say. “I’m coming.”

He turns, his flashlight slicing through the darkness and I step forward, following the floating blob of light towards something, though I’m not sure what.

Chapter Six

“Come in, dear, come in,” the old Bragdon woman says to me in her brittle voice. It's so strange to hear the graveled words coming from such a frail and hunched over woman, as if the sound and the video don't quite line up. It reminds me of one of those old, poorly dubbed outer-language vid-pacs playing out in real life.

Their house is quaint by Athelonian standards. The tiny little home sits on pylons driven deeply into the mud and a sloped roof fends off the continuous rain and fog of Braxis. It looks larger on the inside as she coaxes me up the steps and through the front door, guiding me by feel.

An ornate lace brimmed hat tips down over her head, covering her face in shadow, but even in a brief glimpse I can see that something is wrong with her eyes. They’re a strange milky white, pupils tiny and floating in a vast pond like rafts with no clear destination.

“My name is Viktosh,” she says to me as her hand presses my lower back and guides me inside. The warm yellow light of a fuel lamp greets me. The house is sparsely furnished with only a scattering of places to sit, no screen, and no modern appliances that I can see.

Luxen walks up behind me with the long barreled weapon he used to shoot those two beasts held in the crook of his arm. As he steps into the room, he eases the door shut behind him and latches it, his yellow eyes snapping back and forth, scanning the room and lingering on me.

“I’m Brie,” I reply to the elderly Bragdon woman, respectfully.

“Brie. That’s a lovely name,” she says, taking a step towards me. She extends her gray hand and touches my face with all four fingers in a gentle caress. Lizard hands touching me would normally creep me the heck out, but it’s tough to get squirrelly about this cute old lady. She reminds me of my grandmother, doting on me buying me cute frilly things to wear in spite of my angry father’s wishes.

“Thanks,” I reply.

“You have noble features, my dear. You come from pure blood. Royalty?”

I glance over towards Luxen and he smirks, almost looking embarrassed. He shrugs his narrow shoulders and leans over, setting his weapon down in a nearby corner by the front door.

“I’m from Athelon,” I reply. “Yes it is a noble family, but it’s an Athelonian one.”

The blind woman closes her eyes, even though keeping them open does her no good. “Is that so?” She pats my left arm and nods. “Interesting.”

What the heck does that mean? Interesting?

Viktosh turns away and hobbles towards a torn couch that looks flat and hard. It is a very plain, functional seat with no throw cushions and no floral print.It reminds me of Athelon in a way, with everything put together for function and with no real concern for form or design. No one seems to care about beauty. On Athelon, the work is most important. If something in the home doesn't support the work, there is simply no place for it.

I love beautiful colors and shapes. One more thing separates me from my family. That work ethic thing . . . I can't get my head around it. I'd like to think most teenagers have that issue, though on Athelon I stand out a bit, even among my friends. Countless times I'm told that I look different on the outside,which is true enough, but even more importantly, I feel different on the inside, like I'm not assembled in quite the same way.

“You were born on Athelon?” Viktosh asks from the couch, lifting her head as if looking at me, even though I know she can’t see.

I nod for a moment before realizing I’m being stupid, then speak out loud. “Yes, I was.” My voice is harsh and brittle, a sharpened edge to it.

“It’s late,” Luxen says, stepping close. “We have a guest room. Down the hall. You should sleep.”

My eyes follow his hand and I see the narrow hallway leading to a small door. Nodding, I pull apart and walk towards whatever might pass for a bed in this civilization. I hope it’s softer than a curved rock.

He leads me down towards the bedroom and once we get a few steps down the hall, I turn towards him.

“Luxen, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah,” he replies.

“Is... is there a launch pad around here anywhere? Any sort of jump ship port?”

His eyes narrow as he looks at me, then they flick away and he turns to look back down the hall towards his living room.

“Why?” he asks, turning back to face me. “Are you in trouble?”

“I’m from Athelon,” I say. “In the middle of a Braxis swamp. Isn’t that kind of assumed?”

“What sort of trouble?” he asks.

“Wish I knew.”

Luxen doesn’t like that answer, I can tell, but he doesn’t keep pressing. “There’s a shuttle service from the surface to Moon Two about two bog lengths from here. Short range jump ships, probably not a lot of security.”

How far is a bog length for crying out loud?

“Thank you,” I say instead. “Where is it? Is that close by?”

“We can talk about it in the morning,” Luxen whispers, his eyes still darting. “You should go to bed. We’ll deal with everything else then, okay?”

“Please, Luxen,” I say, trying not to sound too beggy, but coming pretty close to the line. “I need to get off planet. To get back home.”

He nods. “Okay. Tomorrow. It’s too late now anyway, there will be Horaks all over the place.”

Here I am stranded in the middle of a strange planet with wet air that I can barely breathe, surrounded by stinky swamp water and mad mud demons, and this kid won't tell me where the nearest stupid ship is. I think I may scream!

“All right,” I force myself to say through clenched lips. “All right. Tomorrow.”

He nods, his yellow eyes still darting, then steps away as I retreat into the dark room, quite certain I will not sleep a single minute tonight.

AM I ASLEEP?

I can’t tell, but I must be. In the darkness I see the inside of the shuttle taking me and my friends to generational school. Everything seems normal. The spacecraft hums through the atmosphere, heading towards the moon that houses the school which instructs Athelonians in how they can focus their lives in labor; how they can use their skills to work hard, not for status or personal gain, but for the sake of working hard.

My friend stands by my side, and my fingers touch her arm. For a moment her arm shimmers from flesh to green, then mottled gray. I whip my head up and her snapping yellow eyes shift back to the warm blue eyes I recognize.

There are dark corners everywhere. That's where the Bragdons are. There are four of them there, bunched together, beckoning me to come closer, and asking me if I'm ready.

Ready? Ready for what?

I’m not ready for anything.

They draw me in, trying to convince me that it's time, but time for what? I have no idea. I push back. The shuttle continues its trek.

I'm running. Purple plasma is chasing me. Fire is surrounding me. The shuttle is burning and alarms are sounding. I see my friend, but then she's not my friend. She's a Bragdon, but then she's my friend again.

Squeezing myself into the jettison pod, reptiles chase me, but I slam the door in their face and punch the launch button.

Everything is fire.

THE FIRST THING THAT comes to mind when I feel the deep slamming in the back of my head is well, what do you know? I did fall asleep.

Through a thick cloud of slumber I glance over towards the door to the bedroom, and I still hear the pounding on the other side, a furious rapid hammering of fists.

“Brie!” a shrill voice echoes from the other side. “Brie! Get up! They’re here!”

“Who’s here?” I mumble as I roll over, groping to figure out how to get out of this uncomfortable hunk of weird tree that I passed out cold in last night. I must have been more tired than I thought.

“Bragdon Enforcers! They’re coming this way on their swamp skids. Moving fast!”

“The heck are swamp skids?” I ask as I swing my legs out of bed and reach around in the darkness for those cool boots I stole from the dead guy.

‘How was your first day at school, Brie?’

‘Great, stole some boots from a dead guy.’

What am I even doing?

My fingers touch the cool rubber surface and I retrieve the footwear, sliding them over my feet, feeling them suction against my lower legs, then I’m up and running towards the bedroom door.

I swing it open and Luxen steps back in surprise.

“Where are they?” I ask.

He stuffs a clenched fist at me, a folded piece of parchment pinched inside. “Take this!” he hisses at me. “The space port!”

I place a hand against his slick arm and take the parchment with my other hand, stuffing it into the pocket of my jumpsuit.

“Thank you, Luxen,” I say. “Thank you.”

More rapid fire slamming echoes in the small house, this time from the front door. “Security!” the gravel voice barrels from outside. “Open the door!”

“I’ll lead them away!” I say as I charge forward down the hall.

“Brie, don’t!” he shouts after me, but I’m not listening. There’s no other option. I’m not going to let this family get hurt because they tried to help me. I duck low and dash past the front door. I swing around and push my back against the wall, then reach out my fingers out to loop them around the handle of the door.

Did it open in or out?

With a tug, the door does open, swinging inside, and I move, because in this new world where I'm some weird super spy, that's what I do. The two Bragdons don't expect to see me and freeze for a moment, leaving their weapons sheathed. I slam a foot into the stomach of one Enforcer, sending him crashing back down the steps. The second Enforcer steps forward, reaching for his holster. As he pull out a strange, sleek pistol, I lash out with my left hand, follow up with a second strike, and spin the gun up into the air. I step into him, lock my leg behind him, and swing my arm back up in a tight circle, drilling him underneath his lizard chin. His feet leave the steps as he slams backwards, flips head-over-heels, and lands face-first.

In three seconds I've knocked out two well-trained Bragdon Enforcers. That's going on the resume. You know, when I graduate generational school and try to get a job. If I can ever get there without my shuttle exploding.

“Look out!” comes the scream behind me. It has that odd combination of gravel and frail old age. As I start to turn, I already feel the narrow body of Viktosh striking me in the back, knocking me to the floor. The blinding flash of light and acrid smell of fired plasma seems too close, far too close, and I glance left seeing another Bragdon operative moving in from my blind spot, his pistol smoldering.

“No!” comes the shout behind me this time, and I turn again, my breath catching in my throat.

Luxen lurches towards his mother, the old blind Bragdon woman who couldn't hurt a fly. A thick fist of smoke extends from the chest of her frilly dress. Her blank eyes are wide and her mouth gaping as Luxen catches her and gently lowers her to the floor.

She saved my life. She pushed me out of the way and took the laser shot from the Bragdon I didn’t see.

He turns towards me, leveling his weapon, but I leap toward him from the porch, my mouth splitting open into a snarl. He fires another shot just as I land on him, but it soars off into the night. I jump to my feet, jerk the Enforcer up by the front of his uniform, and use the momentum to slam him into one of the pylons supporting the house. My fingers clutch the fabric to keep hold of him as I lift his head away from the pylon then drill it back again. A third time, I repeat this horrific motion, then a fourth.

“Stop it!” Luxen shouts from inside. I look over and see him kneeling over his mother, her arm splayed beside her and her mouth agape, long pink tongue dangling out.

“You need to go. Now,” he whispers, though he’s looking at the prone form of his mother, not even looking me in the eye. “She gave herself up for you,” he continues. “Don’t waste it.”

I glance out over the swamp water and see approaching blobs of light, close to the ground. I kneel, scooping up the pistol from wet mud, then stuff it into my waistband. Back in the house one last time I see Luxen lurking over Viktosh, not speaking, not even seeming to believe what he’s witnessing. Luxen has his arms around her, but pulls one free and waves me off.

“Go!” he shouts, mouthing the words.

I nod, but don’t reply, realizing that any response would be insignificant. At the corner of the structure I see a small, sleek vehicle with a contoured nose, embedded seat, and four thrusters, two on each side. To my left, the incoming lights are bobbing faster and closer. I pick up speed, throw myself into the air, twist, and land on the seat of what can only be the swamp skid Luxen mentioned. It sinks into the mud from the impact. I wrap my fingers around the twin handles, torque them towards me, and fire up the quad thruster engines which sputter, rev, and whir as the small vehicle surges upwards, nose first.

Leaning forward to balance the vehicle, I twist again, and the skid leaps forward, accelerating, a wake of mud splitting behind me as I race forward, leaning down low to the seat. Out of the corner of my eye I see the floating blobs shift and twist towards me, falling into pursuit formation. I wonder if these things have weapons?

An orange streak screams by to my left, carving a trench of muck next to my two left thrusters, which answers that question in spades.

The wet wind beats at me as I continue, controlling the craft with one hand as I reach into my jumpsuit pocket with the other, pulling out the crumpled parchment. I unfold it in my teeth as I lie low to the seat, a second orange spear zipping above my head, smelling of ozone and plasma. On the paper is a roughly drawn map with a square marked with a circle which I imagine signifies the house that I left. Towards the horizon another square stretches out, four separate squares, in the shape of a cluster of buildings, and a line connecting the two proclaims the words “two bog lengths”.

Helpful.

But at least I know I’m going in the right direction.

Two more swift streaks of orange slam past me. I twist, hauling the skid to the right, but when I lean too far, the thrusters dig into mud and choke. I lurch forward, almost flipping over the handlebars. I correct by leaning left, kick the swamp skid back flat, and head forward once again.

I glance over my shoulder at the two other skids following close behind. Another laser blast from the nose of the leading skid glances off the left flank of my vehicle, shoving it roughly to the right and turning it sideways.

As I decelerate, I slide the pistol from my waist band, point the weapon towards the nearest swamp skid, and fire four times. The skid jerks, dips, and plunges nose first into the thick mud. The rider catapults as the skid flips end-over-end, leaving behind metal debris with each impact. Throttling my skid, I take off, veering right back on track as the second skid cruises close behind me, trying to course correct and head me off.

Up ahead I can see tall posts casting a vague white light down on what looks to be a metal grid fence protecting something concealed within... it must be the space port I’m looking for.

Apparently two bog lengths is a really short distance. Learn something new every day.

To my right, the other skid catches up and matches my pace, leaping over rocks, dipping close enough to spray me with mud, and skipping away again to press onward.

Crossing my arm over my chest I fire twice more, but the Enforcer brakes, falls back, and returns fire. One shot smashes into the nose of the swamp skid throwing me at a slight angle. As I work to bring the skid back in line, his second shot punches into my right leg. It sears my flesh like a hot, pointed stick.

I hold back my scream, instead biting down on my lip so hard I taste blood. I almost lose control of the swamp skid. It dips forward and the laser pistol flies from my hand, vanishing into the night.

As I regain control, I press the palm of my hand to the wound on my leg, and I'm relieved that it's not bleeding. The hot plasma cauterized the wound, leaving me with a dull, throbbing ache, but no gushing blood. I guess that’s a good thing?

My right leg is numb, and I’m having trouble controlling the throttle as the skid comes at me from an angle and moves to cut me off. He’s a better driver than I am, far better, and it looks like I’m outmaneuvered.

But I’ve got one advantage.

I have no idea what the heck I’m doing.

With my shoulders leaning right, I twist the control sticks, sending the swamp skid into a tight right hand turn. It digs down into the mud and swerves into the path of the other vehicle. I can only imagine the expression on his face hidden under the helmet.

He pounds on the brakes, and the nose of his skid dives, burying itself deeper in the mud as the vehicle continues forward. He hits my skid broadside, pushing me left, but his craft jerks upward. The rear end shoots towards the sky and ejects the rider in a lazy sprawl. He crashes down into the muck on the other side of my vehicle. The second skid settles down into the swamp, sinking inch by inch, as brown water creeps up the sides, tugging it towards its demise.

I glance over at the Bragdon, trying to climb to his feet and snap off a clearly Athelonian salute, then rev the throttle and send the swamp skid hurtling forward towards the space port ahead.

Chapter Seven

The pattern doesn’t make sense at first, thick woven metal in some strange cross hatch crawling up into the night time sky. Thick muck tugs at the bottom of the metal, burying it deep, swarming in between the gaps of thatched grid work, holding the fence tall and firm.

To the right I ease the clunking swamp skid to a stop, the engine stuttering, trying to recover from the small collision that saved my bacon. Better the swamp skid than me although I’ve got a bum skid myself.

I swing my right leg off of the narrow seat and crouch in the mud behind the vehicle, favoring that leg. Pain still resonates throughout the thigh muscle like a deep and angry bone bruise. It feels as if a knife has been stabbed deep in my muscle and broken off, leaving the jagged blade embedded inside.

My pistol is gone, my ride is almost shot, and these fences look at least two stories tall, with no easy access. There's no way I'm scaling it with this bum wheel. Ignoring the pain in my leg, I duck-walk towards the fence. Staying close to the fence, I move forward, step by cautious step.

Up ahead, I see a pair of towers that stand even taller than the fence itself. Shadowy figure behind squares of glass indicate the presence of guards. Search lights mounted on the top drift across the ground a good distance ahead of where I am. Have I already found a gate?

One of the search lights swivels, scanning the mud to my right. My heart lodges in my throat as I look back and see the abandoned swamp skid sitting right in its path. If they see that . . .

I twitch and consider making a run for it to see if I can get the swamp skid out of there before the light falls on it. As I start to move, my leg barks and burns and I halt again, ready to accept my fate.

Stepping backwards, I press my spine to the mesh of the fence and will myself invisible as the white light falls upon the swamp skid and freezes there. I hear some commotion to my left as the the stalled skid, sitting cockeyed in the mud, basks in the brightness that surrounds it like a strange solidified halo.

Not much security, eh, Luxen?

The strange murmur of voices grows louder, feet slap in the muck, and I press myself further back, trying not to make any noise. Lights bob ahead of me as three Bragdons appear, each holding one of those now familiar rifles. Each rifle has an under-mounted rectangular lamp trained on the abandoned skid.

There are three Bragdons guarding the gate! How many are inside?

What am I even doing here? I'm an eighteen-year-old Athelonian girl trying to capture a jump ship from a whole Bragdon security brigade! I've clearly lost my mind. Twenty-four hours ago I was on a shuttle heading towards generational school.

Twenty-four hours ago I was—

TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AGO I was . . . The pain laces my skull, stabs the back of my head, and scrapes all along the curved top of my hairline. I feel like the flesh is being torn from the bone . . .

In my mind, see the shuttle flying. I see classmates laughing. I'm walking away from them, turning down a hallway. Figures are there, cloaked in shadow. All I can see is their yellow, snapping eyes and weird black boots.

. . . Bragdons? . . . On the shuttle?

One of them looks like a student, then doesn't. They come near me . . .

“FAN OUT! SEARCH THE entire area!” the gravel caked Bragdon voice snaps me out of the strange dream, and I whip my head back up into alert. Ahead of me the three lizards are pulling away from the skid, spreading out, weapons raised and searching.

“Sound the general alarm!” one of them says to another. The second one nods and breaks off, running towards the gate. . . . Now or never, Northstar.

I take off in a hobbled run, my leg still barking in pain. I push through it, keeping the leg stiff, but mobile. I'm closer to the gate than the lizard. As he veers left, I alter my path and surge towards him. He yells as he catches sight of me. I assume it is either, “Halt!”, or a Bragdon swear word. He's faster than I give him credit for. His weapon is already lifted as he spins on me.

I drop and slide through the mud, spraying grime as I swing out my stiffened leg and smash it into his knee. He stumbles as I push myself to my feet, punch him in the stomach, and hook my arm under his. I twist and throw him over my shoulder. He grunts as he crashes to the ground, and I immediately drop, bringing the point of my elbow into his forehead. He lies still with his arms splayed. His rifle lies a foot away from his spread fingers.

I quickly toss some vegetation and mud over him and grab his weapon. I survey the gate, which is still standing open. The two towers on each side splash light across the surrounding mud, threatening to blow this plan before it starts. Forcing myself to my feet, I make a limping run towards the open gate. The towers whir and the lights shift, shining closer and closer, drawing together like an eager giant's pinching fingers.

My leg screams at me as I run. Ignoring the agony, I slip through the gate just as the beams cross behind me revealing empty ground. As my breath explodes from my spent lungs, I fall back into the metal wall next to the open gate, and bend over, trying to still my thrashing heart.

All around me the fences are tall and thick and impenetrable against the smooth of my back, a force that I cannot break through no matter how crafty I am or how many strange new skills I’ve developed. Fancy flips and expert piloting won’t get me through this mess and I don’t even want to think about what lies inside.

I need to think about it. If I have any hope of getting off this wet rock and back to Athelon, I need to get to one of these ships.

I ease myself towards the opened gate, leaning over to peer inside.

As I catch my breath, I scan the port compound. Huge slabs of concrete connected with metal grates create a large span of clean, flat space. The fence seems to be doing the job of keeping the swamp out.

Near the back fence there's a cluster of small structures that appear to be a barracks complex. A taller building flanked by two curved, squat ones on each side appear to be hangars. The rear corners of the fence sport towers matching the ones at the front that are closer to where I am now than I'd like to admit.

My eye focuses on the center of the large area of blank concrete where there’s a scattering of jump ships, a series of six small vehicles. Each one looks capable of limited interstellar travel though I can’t quite decide how I know that for sure. My fingers tighten around the handle of the liberated weapon as I suddenly realize what I'm up against. My eyes roam to the left and I see them. In tall, even rows, there are at least thirty different Bragdon operatives, all standing at attention, all facing someone who must be an officer who is giving them a debriefing of some kind. Either that, or they're organizing strike teams. Are they going to be hunting little old me?

Four of the jump ships huddle close together near this group, with the other two nearer to the center of the large space port, and I see other scattered maintenance workers roaming around as well.

. . . Forty Bragdons? . . . Fifty?

Yeah, no problem, right? I could do this without breaking a nail.

I glance down at my left hand, the one that's not clenched around the handle of a plasma weapon and scowl . . . Too late . . . Nails are already considerably broken.

Over the rigid group of soldiers, I let my eyes scan to the maintenance workers, the watch towers, then land on the two jump ships, the ones that stand apart from the other group. In my mind’s eye I can see combat scenarios. Where I know them from I may never know, but they’re there and none of the results flashing through my mind are positive.

There are too many of them. Even if I manage to sneak in there and make it to the ships, I have to think they’ve got anti-aircraft batteries, and yeesh, with fifty Bragdons in there, even if they all have small arms weapons like I do, I’ll be a smoking corpse before I even get there.

Blackened char never was my color.

I draw in a breath, trying to think of next steps.

“Well, what do you know?” The voice is right behind me, and for being such a sudden expert super spy, I’m sure a moron sometimes.

Turning my head, I spot the two approaching Bragdons who had been exploring the area outside. They each have wide, tooth-filled grins.

“We’re getting ready to go find the Athelonian and she comes straight to us,” the other one says. “Mission accomplished.”

From this distance their weapons look far larger and far deadlier, and suddenly my options went from few to none.

Chapter Eight

“Gragson!” the Bragdon to my right shouts to the officer who is standing there facing the rigid group of operatives.

Gragson turns, at first looking angry, but his scowl fades and shifts into a curious grin.

“Her?” he asks. “Is this her?”

The Bragdon next to me nods, his weapon poking into my ribs. I limp more than walk, favoring my right leg as I walk, glancing back towards the gate and growing more convinced that I’m never going to get off this stupid swamp planet.

Gragson takes two long strides towards me extending a hand, touching it to my cheek. “Amazing,” he says quietly. “Truly amazing.”

I draw my face away.

He smiles. “Don’t be like that, little girl. You will learn to love it here as we all do.”

“What do you want from me?” I ask.

He narrows his glare and leans over, looking at me. “You don’t know?”

“No, I don’t know,” I spit out, forgetting for a moment that I’m at these creatures’ mercy.

“All will become clear, child,” he reassures me, patting my arm.

I don’t want things to be clear. I want to go home. I want to finish this stupid adventure already. There are jump ships right over there, but I’m surrounded by gross lizard people pointing laser guns at me, and I’m dumb and helpless.

I don’t do dumb and helpless. That doesn’t work for me.

“So what happens next?” I ask.

Gragson gestures towards the buildings way in the back. “Your whole life, young one, that’s what.”

“I’m happy with my life, thank you. I’d like to get back to it.”

Gragson stops smiling, his eyes narrowing. Maybe I shouldn’t push my luck. My eyes roam, trying to count how many are now standing around me. They're tall, hunched forms, yellow, snapping eyes, and thumping feet are intimidating, but they don't appear hostile. They seem more curious than anything as their heads tilt, glaring at me in wonder.

“Take her into the central building,” Gragson says, his voice just above a hiss. “We need to call command.”

Three of the lizards step forward, reaching for me, but I take two steps back not wanting their cool, clammy hands to touch my skin. Behind them, a number of others raise their weapons in a chorus of metal and plastic shuffling, reminding me of who is truly in charge.

I’ve always had a problem with authority.

They're everywhere around me, and even as I step away I realize that there is nowhere else to go. Whatever they have planned for me is going to happen. My adventure is over. An appropriate line from one of my favorite vids zips across my memory, “Resistance is futile.”

Behind me, the sudden burst of thrusters, followed by the appearance of a swamp skid causes me to swing my head around. Many of the Bragdons following my curious gaze.

I recognize that bent and scratched fuselage as my escape vehicle I had abandoned outside the compound. Now that same vehicle is coming straight at us with its four circular turbines turned down, keeping it elevated about a foot off the ground. That would have been a handy feature to know about while I was splashing through swamp mud. It streaks towards us, moving at amazing, almost impossible speed.

Impossible because it’s unexpected by both me and the large group of Bragdon operatives that collect behind me.

I also recognize the narrow form pressed to the seat with his black helmet pulled tight and his muscular gray arms twisting the throttle as he directs the vehicle towards us. There's a quick, loud rev of turbines as the rear thrusters swivel to horizontal and fast becomes even faster.

“What is this?” screams Gragson. “Who are you?”

The driver can’t hear him, and I suspect wouldn’t listen even if he could. He’s leaning that swamp skid right towards us, and as he shifts, lowering himself further, there's a distinct long-barreled weapon strapped to his back.

Oh no.

The realization hits me like a fist, and it sounds like the Bragdons are catching on as well.

“Weapons ready!” Gragson shouts. “If he doesn’t stop, gun him down!”

All around me, weapons lift, including the three Bragdons flanking me, twisting and lifting silver rectangular rifles, homing in their thick barrels on the approaching swamp skid. The driver shifts on the seat, twisting the accelerator one last time, coiling his legs.

“What are you doing?” I ask under my breath. But I know what he’s doing. I know why he’s doing it.

Using his legs like pistons, he throws himself clear of the swamp skid, twisting,and slamming against the smooth concrete. His entire body jolts as momentum continues his motion into a somersault.

Lights splash across me and the guards and they flinch, as they realize that the skid is still bearing down on us in an uncontrolled screaming surge.

Dozens of streaks of green plasma converge upon the skid, punching through metal, and filling the air with the pungent smell of ozone.

The time is now.

I swivel and throw my left elbow into a Bragdon chin as my right hand chops across his wrist. He stumbles backwards, fingers flying apart, sending his rifle scattering to the pavement. I bend down to scoop up the weapon as two other operatives turn to fire on me. I push forward, somersaulting across the ground ahead of the gunfire smacking the pavement, knocking chunks of concrete apart all around me.

Coming up into a knee, I swivel, press the weapon to my shoulder, and open fire, squeezing off two short bursts of plasma into Bragdon chests. Jumping to my feet I charge forward as the swamp skid gives up the ghost and explodes into a bright yellow flame, spraying metal and sending the rest of the Bragdons withdrawing to avoid shrapnel.

As I run forward, I glance to my right to see the former driver of the swamp skid clamor to his feet and unstrap his long-barreled weapon. His helmet has fallen off in his dive, confirming what I had suspected. Luxen is my rescuer.

Our eyes meet. Though I continue to run, I do my best to plead with him to not do anything stupid, but we both know it's already too late. He peels his eyes away, looks down the long barrel of the hunting weapon that has already saved me from two Horaks, and opens fire on the Bragdons.

I duck my head, focus on the jump ships ahead, and try to ignore the stream of gunfire chasing me. I pass up the first jump ship since it's stands on three buckled, metal legs and has taken several hits to the curved metal surface of the hull. I veer left, trying to get that ship between me and my pursuers.

My aching leg slows me down a bit but I'm pushing past it, trying to keep the leg stiff as I move towards the second jump ship. It's a small craft that holds three passenger at the most, It's a sleek, oval shape with variable wings for atmosphere and space flight. Its piston legs with both skids and wheels make it possible to land anywhere.

Upon first glance, it certainly appears to be capable of limited interstellar travel. Let’s hope.

My shoulder stabs with agony as the impact of a plasma burst throws me flat on the concrete pad. The pain, the loss of breath, and the smell of burnt flesh cause me to wretch as I struggle to my knees, but my fingers manage to cling to the handle of the weapon. A group Bragdons decide I'm finished and charge towards me with some sort of restraint net.

As I try to regain my senses, I see Luxen firing his weapon, trying to make his way towards the gate. The flames and smoke rising from the wreckage of the swamp skid are providing some cover, though the mass of Bragdons are advancing fast.

My own problems snap me back to reality, so I lift my weapon as I struggle to stand. Another wave of white-hot pain nearly causes me to drop the weapon. However, the Bragdons are still coming at me, with weapons now instead of a net.

For a group of lizard dudes who say they want me alive, they sure are taking their fair share of pot shots at me. I roar off a few swift shots at the approaching group, and try to get some distance between us by moving closer to the jump ship behind me. I can't help worrying about Luxen.

They break off their advance to avoid the deadly counter attack and I turn, hobble-running towards the ship, ducking as plasma fire sears the air, crashing into the jump ship ahead of me. I swing underneath the belly of the jump ship as three more blasts crash into the metal ahead of me, and I pray that no serious damage is being done.

I open fire towards the pursuers one last time, before clamoring up the ladder towards the cockpit of the ship, throwing open the canopy, and crawling up to dump myself into the pilot's seat.

Weapons fire continues to blast into the ship near the canopy, but it glances off the rounded, metal nose. Have they lowered the plasma intensity, or is there something different about this ship. It doesn't seem to be taking much damage as I check the control panel, trying to figure out how to make this foreign craft work.

For a moment, I wait for schematics to pop in my head, hoping that same wild brainstorm as before will tell me how to operate this complex craft, but nothing is coming to my mind. It doesn't help that the five approaching Bragdons, are lifting weapons and shouting at me.

Closing my eyes, I try to think back to the stressful moment where I first experienced that strange sensation of knowing what I should not know.

Nothing comes.

The Bragdons' shouting is louder now, all around the aircraft. I can hear what they're saying, though it makes little sense. Apparently when these lizard guys are mad, they fall back to their native tongue

. . . Native tongue. They're speaking their native tongue.

The Bragdons have all been speaking my language, but I realize that's not the language they were born to speak. My brain clenches that idea firmly, holding in my head like a fist. When the fingers let go, my entire mind eases, allowing in this knowledge that I have no business knowing.

In the back of my mind I can see words forming, letters morphing, and familiar phrases shifting to weird characters and back. Within moments I can understand the console in front of me. Each label makes perfect sense, as if I've known this language my whole life.

Another round of blasts jolts the ship on its three landing skids, but I shake my head free of the distraction to continue studying the console. After another “Aha moment,” I lash out my left hand and flip an entire bank of switches from down to up. Behind me, thrusters ignite in a deep whoosh.

Screaming from the launch pad below, tells me that a group of unfortunate Bragdons were a little too close to the engines. I don't believe they were expecting me to get it going.

The rear of the ship shudders, leaps forward, and pushes the nose upward in a clumsy diagonal while I'm still looking down at the concrete below and groping the control yokes to keep the ship balanced and stable.

A Bragdon is on the ladder and reaches for the canopy, so I twist the yoke left for a quick wing salute, then pop it back up. His fingers release, sending him plummeting to the ground below.

Plasma fire streaks up from the ground, bracketing the small ship as it continues its shaky ascent at an angle. The towers and buildings grow steadily smaller beneath me.

Down below Luxen is dashing towards the gate, but Bragdons are charging close behind him. I bring the nose of the ship around, locate the triggers embedded within the control stick, and target Luxen's assailants with yellow, pulsating plasma. I walk twin paths of fire through the group, send them scattering, and begin to guide the aircraft down towards him. He has nothing left here, not with Viktosh gone, and I owe him a bigger measure of thanks than a few plasma blasts and a wing wave.

Easing the aircraft into a right coast, I continue firing the nose cannons, blasting through the approaching horde of Bragdon soldiers. Luxen is down on the ground, looking up at me in curiosity as if not fully understanding what I'm trying to accomplish. With a jerk and shudder, the jump ship eases back down to the pad. Plasma fire continues the assault on the ship's thick rounded hull, each blast jarring in the cockpit.

Maybe I should have thought this through a little better.

“Get on the ladder!” I shout through the canopy, and he squints at me. “Now, Luxen! Climb in!”

He takes a step forward, hesitates, and fires a few more times to buy himself some space. Then he slings the weapon over his chest, bends at the knees and jumps. Plasma slices through the air around him, almost framing his body in glowing fire. His fingers latch onto the bottom rung of the ladder and he goes hand over hand as more return fire glances off the bottom of the ship and ricochets off just to his right, narrowly missing him.

With a flip, I unlatch the canopy as I see his head crest the ladder and the clear screen clicks, raising slightly, allowing him to work his fingers, into the seam. Moments later as laser fire pelts the jump ship, he hauls himself in and I slam the cockpit shut just after him, confirming the airlock seal.

“Buckle in!” I say, returning my full attention to the control console.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks. “What are the Bragdon to you?”

“We’re all living things,” I reply, simply and plainly.

I guide the nose of the ship back up, easing it towards the stars ahead, igniting thrusters and increasing the lift. Down below the Bragdons are specks, their gunfire the twinkling of tiny stars, and I engage the main atmospheric engines, which roar to life, catapulting my jump ship up and out at speeds that defy all logical explanation.

Chapter Nine

Forty seconds ago the jump ship broke atmosphere and is hurtling into space, where I can enter coordinates for Athelon and maybe, just maybe, make my way home.

. . . Our way home? Looking back over the seat, I see Luxen buckled into one of the back seats with his eyes pressed closed and his fingers gripping tight to the armrest. It doesn't look like he's ever broken atmosphere before. It's not like I'm some expert either, though I feel like one.

Some expert. . . For all of these new abilities, I still couldn't save Viktosh. I still have no idea where the powers came from or even what good they might do me. They are exhilarating and fascinating, yet immensely frustrating and troubling. I want to just let go, to embrace these abilities and let them take over, but at the same time, I feel cautious and afraid, fearing what I might discover about the origins of them.

I want to give myself over to them, but I don't dare.

My mind still struggles to rationalize the past thirty-six hours. I can’t comprehend how I went from taking a shuttle to generational school to narrowly escaping in a jettison pod, battling my way through dozens of Bragdons, a race of creatures I’d only heard about up until yesterday, before somehow stealing a jump ship and breaking planetary orbit.

How is this real?

The control yoke thrashes in my hand as the ship breaks atmosphere and adjusts to life in lower gravity, easing on the thrusters and shifting to a slow glide through the dark of space. Stars slam on the brakes, jolting from streaks to the more familiar static twinkles and I guide the ship up and what should be to my right, if there was such a thing as right out here in space. Under the console I find a Quadrant Yarda space map, and Athelon is clearly marked in language that I shouldn’t be able to understand, yet somehow I do. Both my shoulder and my leg still feel as if they are smoking with a radiant fire underneath the skin’s surface, a pulsating heat from plasma burns, and I know they’ll ache for a long time, but I’m alive.

Somehow, we’re both alive.

My hair is a disaster and every single one of my nails busted to the nub... and dangit I think those plasma shots tore up my favorite teal jumpsuit.

“I really don’t like this,” Luxen replies in his small voice.

“It’ll be over before you know,” I try and ease his fears.

I recheck the coordinates for Athelon and begin to calculate our approximate time of arrival, both to reassure Luxen and to have something to do. My eyes fall on a cluster of stars that appear larger than the ones surrounding them. I squint as they appear to be growing as if coming towards me. Is that some kind of star system I'm not used to seeing from Athelon, or is it something else?

The white hot spear of plasma tells me it’s something else.

“What’s going on?” Luxen screams.

“Not out of the woods yet!” I reply.

Frantically I yank the controls to the right, narrowly avoiding the solid beam of white that splits space and almost hacks my ship in half. As I correct the path of the jump ship I notice that no, those were not stars, they were Bragdon warships emerging from some concealed space on the edge of the Bragdon sector and they’re now moving in to stop this once and for all.

Some strange and scary things have happened to me over the past thirty-six hours. I'm starting to suspect a healthy amount of luck went into my survival, and it feels as if that luck maybe about to run its course.

Maybe I have a tiny bit of luck left. A small squad of fighters banks away from the two larger warships to target me, but their small plasma torpedoes are meant to stun and disable rather than to destroy. The nose of the jump ship dips down as I surge towards one of the fighters, and release a far more deadly burst of plasma. The fighter collapses in on itself, before exploding outward as I barrel roll through wreckage and smoke.

The other three fighters converge on my tail, throwing a series of low impact plasma blasts. Though they are not torpedoes, they cause enough damage that the left thruster starts to stutter and cough.

No no no no!

Coming around, I trail another path of fire up the back of an approaching fighter and it spirals away trailing fuel before exploding. The last two fighters in this group come up underneath me to pound away with their own nose mounted weapons, rocking the ship and threatening to send me into a wild, uncontrolled barrel roll. Even if I can somehow get out of this, it looks like I'm leaking fuel, and there's no way this ship has the power to make it all the way to Athelon in its current state. The situation is untenable.

“We’ll never make it,” Luxen says, leaning forward in his seat. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Sit tight,” I reply, staying focused on the more immediate problems.

Still, I persist. Igniting back up turbines I throw my small jump ship back into a right bank, pulling away from the approaching Bragdons, narrowly avoiding the next series of deadly plasma shots, but even the backup turbines are whining their disagreement, begging me to let them rest. I’m begging myself to rest at this point as the warships continue growing closer and larger outside my front canopy. Still two of them, but they're so big, even bigger than they looked before, though that might be more due to the shaky nature of my current situation than the size of the ships themselves.

Another shot careens off the starboard side of my small ship, carving a melted trench through the surface of the vehicle, sparking and smoking before the beam of light continues on to the infinity of space. The jump ship strains as I push it past its limits, pulling it into a tight port side turn, trying to avoid getting caught between this small group of fighters, but even as I do it, I realize that one of these plasma hits has struck the life support systems, and my head hurts, a constant pressure behind my eyes from the acknowledgment of a lack of breathable air inside the ship.

Sure, why not? I’m not in enough trouble up here, let’s add one more complication shall we?

“It’s hard to breathe,” Luxen complains. “Are you having trouble breathing?”

I nod. “Take slow breaths, okay? I’m working through a few things here.”

So I manage to fight my way out of a Bragdon freighter, escape Braxis itself, fighting off an entire squad of operatives, only to be intercepted in the upper atmosphere and sprayed all over the stars.

Sounds like my track record over the past few days.

The desire to sleep pulls at me as I unload my plasma cannons again, stitching pulsing fire across the right wing of one of the fighters, smashing it apart. Warships are flanking me, keeping me penned in by training their cannons on my every move. I'm trying to focus on finding a way out, but my brain is foggy and the lights on the console are blurring together.

On each side of me, purple blasts surge from each warship, streaks of plasma torpedoes twisting around each other, coming straight for me. I've got nowhere to go as a series of thrashing slams jolts the jump ship one way, then the other. Purple light wraps around the ship covering all window in a strange rippling violet coating.

All at once every light dims, and, the entire cockpit is consumed in darkness and the sounds of machinery wind down to silence as Bragdon ships converge.

“Close,” Luxen says in a voice barely above a whisper. “We were so close.”

“Don't give up,” I say. “This isn't over yet.” . . . But I'm not convinced.

Snatching defeat from the jaws of victory is a Brie Northstar specialty.

TWO WARSHIPS AND AROUND a dozen fighters collect in a lazy circle around my jump ship. The two larger aircraft face the canopy, filling the view as if showing off their blatant victory. The angular ships hover there blasting thrusters to adjust their positions, keeping them still and stable, staring me down. Fighters buzz past my canopy, swarming like a cluster of insects waiting for their prey.

Behind me, Luxen is pressing his face to the canopy, yellow eyes snapping, as he fights off panic. Were not dead yet, but we're getting there. I'm getting light-headed, too, but I focus on breathing slowly to keep from hyperventilating and depleting what limited air there is is the cabin.

One of the warships maneuvers its broad side towards us, preparing to take us in . . . two tractor beam rides in two days . . . something tells me the novelty will wear off.

On the side of the warship an airlock door slips open, a wide and eager mouth waiting for food. Already, I feel the gentle tug of my ship moving towards the large warship beyond any of my control. It's an almost soothing, lulling movement as if I'm in a boat, floating on still water. Only, here there is a distinct direction. As it draws us closer, the pull of the tractor beam almost rocks me to sleep in this air-deprived, gracefully curved sleeping chamber.

For the briefest moment the airlock ahead of me shudders. The purple spread of the tractor beam starts splitting and separating, but it's not just the beam. It's the entire warship. Yellow light bursts at the center of its starboard side. The entire face of the warship cracks like a broken window.

Suddenly, the warship twists, with the nose going one way while the tail goes the other. Then the warship simply explodes, blooming like an orange and red flower as it shatters into pieces and sprays out from the center.

Luxen jumps in his seat, the belt barely keeping him restrained.

My jump ship pushes backwards into an uncontrolled topple, end-over-end, I’m bracing myself in the small cockpit, trying to keep from slamming around inside, and as my ship finishes its third flip, I look out of the canopy and four ships are screaming out of hyperspace, stars streaking around them as they flash into existence, huge, curved structures with layered composite armor, twin cannons mounted on the fuselage and massive rear thrusters, easing to a low blue flame.

Ship Killers.

Athelonian Ship Killers.

My family has found me.

I close my eyes, the lack of air too much to compensate for. I'm tipping over backwards, and darkness covers me in luxurious sleep. As I fade into unconsciousness I look at Luxen and see the same happening with him. Hopefully we both end up someplace friendly.

WHERE AM I? EVERYTHING feels like I belong here. All the surfaces shine. There are bright white walls, polished silver floors, and a bed with plain white sheets and blankets. No fancy decor, no pretty colors, and all very functional and utilitarian. It's just like home.

I’m back in Athelon. It all looks so familiar now.

As I swing my feet off the bed, dark violet bursts of strange memory flash in my head: walking through the hallways of the shuttle; talking to the Bragdons in the dark corner; fighting back when they tried to take me.

I ran, but I wasn't supposed to run. They weren't expecting me to run.

My feet pounded down the corridor towards safety. The only door I could find was to the engine room and I opened it, diving for shelter. They fired stun blasts at me, cursing.

Stun blasts flew past me and hit the main reactor. Alarms sounded and the ship started to tilt. The shuttle was going to explode.

Bragdons vanished, I don't know where to, but they vanished. Everywhere classmates scattered. As I ran into one of them, I grabbed her arm, which flashed from flesh to gray, to green, before changing back to flesh again.

Escape pods burst from the shuttle as it burned, clearing just before the whole thing exploded.

Now I'm here. I'm back home. Somehow I survived the past three days, I'm back in my own bed, and life is back to normal.

Things will never be normal again... not ever.

Something inside of me is different now. The Bragdons changed me.

The Bragdons made me.

Wait, what?

Where’s Luxen?

I put my forehead in my palm and squeeze, trying to clear my head. The room smells of a light, gentle flower scent. It's not like perfume, but more like I'm near a natural garden. This is what my home is like, isn't it? Yet the air here doesn't seem fresh. Everything seems a bit too bright and too shiny. ...Too fake. ...Not raw enough. ...Inorganic.

Get a grip, Northstar. Be happy.

I am happy, I think. Not normal, but at least happy to be home.

This is my home, after all. It is Athelon, and I recognize it. This is my bedroom, these are the colors, or lack of color, that I know and the scents I grew up with. There's no doubt that I have been returned to where I've lived my whole life. But these new abilities have given me a different perspective. I have this new, evolved insight if you will, a generation of experiences crammed into thirty-six hours, in a way that I cannot properly explain.

It forces me to look at things with new eyes. In many ways it feels almost like a curse. I’d rather just go back to the way things were, but I’m not sure that will ever be possible.

Where is Luxen?

Pushing my palms against the bed, I ease to my feet, a little shaky, but stable. My leg and shoulder still throb, but I can feel the warm press of medical wraps on them both and I know that in time I’ll heal. Physically, anyway.

Mentally?

Over the past three days I've killed countless Bragdons, fired weapons, punched, hit, and blown up entire warships with hundreds on board. It feels like it was an out-of-body experience, but it was me. Somehow, it was all me.

Now I'm back in my peaceful Athelon existence with nothing to worry about except how good my grades are, how my hair looks, or whether my new pants match my favorite tank top.

I move towards the door to the small room, and ease myself out into the hallway, still trying to clear my head.

“Brie? You’re awake?”

I turn to face the door and she walks in, tall and graceful, the bright lace dress draped over her slender form, dragging on the clean carpet behind her.

“Mom,” I say quietly, moving towards her. She smiles and opens her arms, all four of them, bringing me in with a deep embrace. Every Athelonian has four arms, prophets say it’s why we were all born to be laborers.

I seem to be the exception to that rule.

Doctors have called in a genetic abnormality, but my parents have never let it bother them. At least not to my face.

My mother’s arms are strong and soothing as they always have been, and for the first time in two days, my head feels cleared of the influx of thoughts I’ve had since the shuttle flight. For the first time, I feel truly relaxed and at ease, not struggling to clear my head or to learn something new. In all ways, I finally feel like I’m home.

I pull away for a brief moment, looking at her. “Where’s Luxen?” I ask.

She scowls at me. “Who, dear?”

“The boy I was in the ship with,” I reply.

There’s a commotion in the hallway, the sound of shouting, and I gently ease my mother aside.

“What’s going on?”

Pushing my way out into the hallway I see him.

“Release me!” he shouts, struggling. He's flanked by two tall guards, in plain rounded armor—nothing decorative, because that would be wasteful. All of their arms are around Luxen's two, holding him back and guiding him down the hall.

“You can’t do that!” I shout. “He saved my life!”

“He’s a filthy lizard!” shouts one of the guards, glaring at me. “The Bragdons don’t belong here.”

“I said release him!” I repeat. “As eldest daughter of the Northstar clan, I order you to release him!”

“Ignore that order!” the voice echoes from behind me, shrill and commanding.

I spin, glaring at my mother who strides down the hall after me. Two arms are crossed over her chest, the other two pointing at Luxen. “He will not run free in my home as long as I draw breath!”

“Mother!” I shout back at her. “I just told you he saved my life.”

She steps towards me, her face stoic. “We just pulled you from that mud hole, young lady, perhaps you would have preferred we had left you there to rot?”

The venom in her eyes surprises me and I take a step backwards, then glance over towards Luxen who is being dragged away.

“She died for you, Brie!” he shouts at me. “She died saving your life! I could have, too!”

I start to move towards him.

“Make your choice,” my mother says.

I turn towards her, then look back at Luxen. My feet don't move. They remain fixed to the carpet, keeping me still. Everything is moving too quickly.

“Brie!” Luxen shouts. He only has time for one word as the guards drag him away, down the hall, and around a corner out of view. . . . Blessedly out of view, so I don't have to see that look of betrayal in his eyes.

You made the right choice,” my mother says in the empty hallway. “We owe him a debt for saving your life, but he is still Bragdon filth.”

“They are not filth!” I shout. The volume and intensity of my outburst surprises even me. My skin crawls, so hot it feels like it’s slipping from my bones.

My mother takes a step back, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. It is a look of stunned silence that I have never seen on her face before. It's a look I did not expect.

She blinks rapidly, shakes her head and looks at me again as if seeing me for the very first time. Her narrowed, prodding eyes roam over me, looking at my arms and my legs, then settling on my eyes.

“Brie?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Go to your room,” she says quietly. There’s an edge there, a sharp, almost nervous edge.

Without a reply, I push past her towards the door to my quarters, then peel right and shut the door behind me.

What just happened. Why did she look at me like that? Where are they taking Luxen?

I thought I was out of the fire, I thought the Athelonian Ships Killers had rescued me, and now I almost feel more trapped that before. Part of me wishes I'd just left Luxen back on Braxis. What kind of person does that make me?

In the past thirty-six hours I've learned many things I never even dreamed I would need to know, but I don't know myself any better than before.

Nausea washes over me, so I step through the main room into the wash room. My face and forehead feeling clammy with sweat. A nervous energy clings to me. My world is spinning and I can't explain it.

My hands touch the cool surface of the sink. My eyes are lowered and my hair is hanging down on each side of my face. Clenching my fingers, I lift my head to look in the mirror.

Breath stops in my lungs. My heart screams.

From my reflection, two yellow, reptilian eyes snap back at me in accusation.

As my reflection glares back at me, with pale flesh, rigid skin, and those trademark yellow eyes, I realize that no matter how much information I have obtained, or how many new skills I have acquired, my entire life has suddenly been thrust into the unknown.

Epilogue

“How many dead?” the tall Bragdon asked. He stood on a circular platform near a wide and elaborate computer console. He faced the screen, his arms crossed behind his back.

Gragson laced his fingers together, trying to remain still, but he couldn’t help but fidget. “Final counts are not in yet, Command,” he said. “The orbital conflict was...devastating.”

Command glanced over his shoulder towards the lizard standing a few yards away. “All for the sake of a single girl?”

“As you are aware, she is more than a single girl.”

“Hmph.”

Gragson let his breath hold steady, trying to decide how far he wanted to push this conversation. “We were close,” he said. “We’ll finish the job next time.”

“You think so?”

Gragson nodded. “Yes, Command. She has completed the first two stages. Her mind is of maturity.”

“Eighteen cycles,” command said quietly. “Eighteen cycles we waited for this and you’re telling me you’ll do it next time?”

Gragson pressed his needle teeth together, but held his tongue.

“Nine hundred,” Command said, turning back to look at the Bragdon Chief of Security. “Nine hundred dead, in case you were wondering.” The head Bragdon military officer stood tall and thick, his visible hide an uneven cluster of layered armored plate. Narrow, blunt horns burst from ridges of hardened flesh at the crown of his scalp and squared scales were embedded along the thick surface of his forearms.

The Bragdon standing down below clenched both four-fingered fists.

“Bring me the girl or it will be nine hundred and one.”

Gragson nodded sharply, turned on his heels, and strode from the command room. He’d do one better, he decided. He’d bring him the girl’s whole family.

III

Weapon of Braxis

Second novella in the War of the Three Planets series

Chapter One

A month ago, I hated running. I hated it with the blinding passion of both of our suns. Every third day, before gym class I'd say a silent prayer to the Mother, begging for it not to be a running day. The sweat and what it used to do to my skin and hair . . . ugh. I get crawly skin thinking of it.

Well, I used to. I don't any more. Tonight the air and wind are brisk, and as my legs pump beneath the cling of my new black pants I feel not dread, but exhilaration.

Is it the running, though, or is it the location of the run? Underneath my slapping soles is a high, angular ledge below the roof of the Second National Adroxis Bank. A mixture of concrete and metal, the ledge is just wide enough for my feet.

As I sprint forward, arms working in tandem with legs, I'm truly free, even with my hair bunched up underneath the black mask wrapped around my face. The wind blasts my face and the danger stabs my heart.

So no, it's not the running, it's the where I'm running.

It's the why I'm running.

It's the who I'm running from.

A splash of spotlight whips over the roof, catching my right arm in its pale glow, and up ahead there's the reverse rev of a turbine kicking back. I can picture the patrol car above and behind me with its rounded front lifting as the thrusters back off to slow its forward progress as it catches a glimpse of the strange girl running along the edges of these tall buildings in the middle of the night.

More turbines rev from my left as a second patrol car falls in line with the first, trying to bracket me in their spotlights.

I should know better than this by now. I have no doubt they're watching me and can see me sneak out of that third floor window, but I don't care. I need this release.

Up ahead, the roof ledge ends in a six foot gap between this building and the next. Without slowing, I charge forward, brace, and launch over the gap, bracketed by beams of light. As the arc lands me on the other side, I continue to run. At my left, turbines whine and one of the patrol cars pulls up next to me, flashing blue lights.

"Rooftop traversing is against protocol fourteen! Please halt your reckless behavior!" the voice booms through the mounted speaker, but I pretend not to hear it. I glance right, pause, and make a twisting leap from the ledge to land on the rooftop itself. I fall into a swift rolling somersault, kicking up dirt and debris.

The patrol car pulls back in a shuddering hover, with the fans slowing as the nose tips up and eases back. From my right, the other vehicle jets straight up towards me, swoops in over the roof, and twists around to head me off with its lights blaring at me like miniature suns.

I drop to a skid on the rough surface of the roof, tearing my dark leggings. I try not to think of how much I love them as I plant my foot to jump upright, charge to my left, and swing behind a raised entryway. At the edge of the building, I'm briefly exposed by the searching spotlights.

The patrol cars converge on my location as I size up the next building, which seems very far away. My new analytical brain measures the distance of the jump and the likelihood of a successful landing.

Yeah, the odds are not in my favor.

Spotlights surround me, press against me, and illuminate my dark colored clothing in a pale gray hue. They think they have me, but I coil my knees to my chest, flex my gluteus maximus, and fire my knees like pistons, shooting out off the edge of the building.

My throat catches, my stomach lurches, and my knees pump as I soar out into empty air. I can already see I'm not reaching that other building. It looks so far away and my trajectory is already dipping downward toward the flying cars hurtling through invisible lane separators two stories below.

As I start falling, one of the patrol cars surges closer, but pulls up when he realizes I’ve missed the roof.

I see the cars below getting closer and closer. I near the opposite building on the other side of the alley, but the edge of the roof is already ten feet above, and the wind slams my masked face, stinging exposed eyes. I'm dropping way too fast.

As I drift closer to the opposite building, I can see the layered steel and framed windows whipping past me, merging into a gunmetal blur. With a desperate stretch I extend my arms.

The cars meander along below me, completely unaware that someone might be falling to her death. As I see the metal roofs of the cars glistening below me, shining with fresh polish, and hurtling towards me as I fall, my fingers snag on a tiny bit of window ledge, a few inches of steel used to frame in the rows of windows.

My fingers clench and hold, my elbows lock, and my shoulders muscles feel as if they are tearing free. The right shoulder, still fresh from a plasma wound a short time ago, burns in agony. Below me, the cars are wandering along, unaware.

But my fingers hold. They clench, lock, and hold, as my momentum swings me forward, slamming me into the window. I tuck my head to the side and back, let my good shoulder take the brunt of the impact, and slam off the reinforced polymer with an echo even audible above the roaring turbines of the cars beneath me.

In amazement, I assess my situation. A sheer wall of concrete stretches above me and rows of windows stretch to either side. My knuckles are already turning white from the strain of clutching the ledge, my arm muscles are stretched to the point of snapping, and my shoulder blades feel like they are starting to separate. Looking down is almost impossible, but I see the smooth surface of the skyscraper and more windows stretching beneath me.

Nowhere to go but . . . down.

Spotlights splash down on me again as the patrol cars floating into a circular huddle above. The wind from their turbines beats down around me. The smell of fuel mixed with my own sweat is overpowering.

"There's nowhere to go!" the voice bellows from the patrol car above me.

He's right.

But I let go anyway.

When my fingers spring apart, I plummet downward toward the cars roaming beneath me on the two lane skyway. Hugging the wall of the building, I twist in mid-air, kick off from the wall, and reach out towards the slow-moving vehicle I had spotted moments before. I lock my fingers in the groove where the driver's side door meets the roof. Once again my arms recoil as the weight of my impact tips the vehicle.

Engines rev as it rights itself. Its motion helps me vault onto the roof of the moving car. Surprised and angry voices reverberate inside the vehicle as it picks up speed. The patrol cars adjust their trajectory and prepare for hot pursuit.

What the heck am I doing? I mean, yeah, being under house arrest for the past month has driven me to near insanity, especially as these new thoughts and abilities thrash around inside my tightly contained head. These strange hallucinations in the bathroom mirror cause me to question my very own reality and my own lineage. Especially as my father, good old Redax Northstar, continues to hammer on me for the obvious failure I've been and will continue to be if I don't straighten myself out.

I should straighten myself out.

The white car angles right and accelerates, sending me skidding on the roof, towards a spiral into emptiness. With a lunge, I thrash forward to lock my fingers into that door groove again. I'm barely hanging on as my heart slams in my chest, but I'm smiling wide beneath my clinging mask.

Nah, forget straightening myself out. This is much more fun.

I shuffle myself right and glance over the edge of the moving vehicle. I locate a blue car below that is moving along the same route at about the same velocity. I curl my legs, throw myself into an arcing flip through the air, and hit the roof of the vehicle below in a low crouch. The entire vehicle dips before recovering and aligning itself again.

"Get off my roof!" a muffled voice demands from inside. The blue car is slimmer and sportier than the vehicle above it and the driver sounds a bit more particular about hijackers. It pulls out into open space as the buildings veer apart into a square down below.

The patrol cars drift down closer to the vehicle. I come up into a kneel, balance, and look for my next mode of transportation, but we've pulled into a wind stream, and I'm struggling to maintain my balance. Although this brain contains all these new skills and abilities, my body isn't conditioned to perform them all. It's so frustrating.

As the car hurls around the next corner, the choice to dismount is no longer mine. My feet leave the roof, squeak along the smooth metal, and send me cartwheeling backwards into open air.

"Shoot!" I shout, because why not?

I complete a back flip and keep spinning with my arms flailing out to grasp at thin air. My hopes of finding something to grab onto melt into the whirling gray blurs of the surrounding buildings.

I'm over the square with nothing to catch me. In the air, I face downward and keep groping as the patrol cars lower themselves from above to get a good angle for watching the rebellious punk go splat on the ground.

Nobody down below has noticed yet. I don't see anyone looking up at the stupid girl. I don't hear the excited murmur of frightened people who are about to see something traumatic, yet somehow can't look away. I don't see any of those things. I see a blurry mess of colors, and a dark swath of unforgiving pavement.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch a flash of red. I curl and tense as the red station wagon collides with my coiled form. My back and shoulder strike the hood. I slide sideways and roll over the windshield to sprawl across the roof on my belly. I lash out with my hands and manage to clutch each edge of the roof as the car soars forward. My legs fly out behind me, and my heart continuing to pound hard enough to crack a rib.

The patrol cars seem very high above me now. I pull myself forward, scrambling to get a better purchase on the roof of the car which is only about twenty feet over the heads of the passers-by below.

My eyes lock on a bus stop perched in the square. It's a simple polymer enclosure where people sit to wait for a transport to land and take them away to whatever destination awaits. For the citizens of Athelon that means some kind of job. . . . Manual labor.

Flipping from flying car to flying car is not manual labor, hence, is frowned upon by our particular authority. This is Adroxis, the capital city of Athelon, after all, and we need to set an example.

At least, that's what dad tells me.

The car is rapidly approaching a bus stop. It looks like a good place to get off. A few algebraic equations, rather than my life story, flash across my mind. I throw myself from the roof, angling the path of my jump to match my calculations.

I hit the roof of the shelter, skid off, twist to land on the ground behind it and drop into a low crouch. The small crowd of bus patrons scatters away from me as if I might explode.

I snap my head back and forth, scanning the crowd for security, but I don't see any. The two patrol cars remain high above, casting their spotlights down on the crowd where I fell. Their spots lights are meandering, trying to figure out where in the thicket of pedestrians I might be hiding. I ease out of my crouch to blend into the crowd.

As the swarm of people meld around me, I tug off my mask and, whip out my hair, and dust off my clothes. I run my fingers along my torn leggings and the raw scrape of skin, but among this thick crowd I might as well be invisible.

As the patrol cars converge, sweeping their lights, I veer left, move into the thickening crowd, and vanish as if I was never there at all.

Chapter Two

I wake up as I usually do, thinking I'm in some extremely vivid dream. At least hoping I am. Pleading that this is all some ridiculous hallucinatory fever dream caused by the pain medication for my plasma wounds.

It has to be.

My room smells of flowers, that same garden scent that has greeted me upon waking for eighteen years, and that same scent I was so looking forward to being rid of when I made my way to generational school a month ago.

It was time to move on. I wouldn't say I didn't get along with my father. That's not quite the right way to put it. Without a doubt there was a foundational difference between me and him, and it was the same for him. Where he went to work every single day for the sole purpose of working and gaining stature by the quality of his labor, I was happy to... well... not. He couldn't understand it and he couldn't understand me.

The feeling was mutual.

There were plenty of times when I wondered if he was waiting for me to fail so he could spring out from the shadows and catch me in the act. I have always been a great student and an obedient daughter, but one who disputed the core essence of his being.

That kinda got on his nerves.

Then there was the whole shuttle explosion, voyage to Braxis, and narrow escape thing ... and yeah, somehow, he found a way to hold me responsible.

Don't get me wrong. He was happy and grateful that I made it back alive. He told me so, but when I returned with a Bragdon boy in tow and had a hard time explaining how I'd managed to escape a whole planet of lizard aliens without dying, well, he's having issues dealing with that.

His answer is house arrest.

I suppose technically the term would be 'grounded' but I'm eighteen cycles old at this point. Being grounded seems pretty cheesy. I'm not convinced house arrest sounds much better.

At any rate, he's got me, more or less, locked up in my room with periodic visits from Adroxis security to see if they can pick my brain to find out what insidious terrors the Bragdons put me through.

And then, of course, there's Mom.

"Brie?"

For crying out loud, she can read my mind.

"Yeah, Mom," I reply. "I'm awake."

"I should think so," she says, gliding into my room in her long lace dress that floats around her feet as if she's a ghost. "It's late, Brie."

I swing my legs over the bed and stand, stretching my back and reaching for the ceiling. Underneath the thin layer of my sleeping clothes, the muscles strain and try to recover. There's a tight pinch in my lower back, and my leg still burns, but I show no indication.

"Your teacher will be arriving shortly, sweetheart. You need to wash and get dressed."

"This home schooling thing isn't really working for me," I say, walking past my mother and towards the washroom.

"You will adapt."

"I don't want to adapt."

"Brie, you know your father as well as I do."

"I'm not sure he knows me, Mom."

Jary Northstar, that's my mom, is First Lady to the President of the North Annex Union. In the grand scheme of things, my dad is a small cog in a very big wheel, but when you live on a planet of manual laborers, any kind of cog in any kind of wheel is believed to be important.

From the washroom mirror I can see her glance at her toes, not wanting to reply to my thinly veiled accusation. She knows it's true.

I turn the water on and start scrubbing my hands, splashing water over my face, trying to blink away the stinging. I'm not tired; I got a full night's sleep . . . no night time shenanigans for this teenager.

"Can I at least stop by Weeda's place after class?" I ask. Weeda Rukstag is a girl I've known since first grade. She's my age, but from a less prestigious family, family of perceived unimportance. While I was in a shuttle heading to generational school, she was preparing for her first day in the factories of Adroxis, either stitching fabric or dying wool. That would be her life, simply because of her parents' heritage.

It's always bothered me, for as long as I can remember, that your parents somehow dictate your future and you have no choice in the matter. This has always felt wrong.

Never one to shy away from my feelings, I've always shared these thoughts with my parents, too, and, well, that doesn't always go well either. After all, my father worked hard to get our family to its place of prominence, in order to give me a life of options and relative comfort, and here I am complaining about it.

Mother help me, I must drive him crazy.

"What time does she get out of the factory, Brie?" she replies.

"I think today is her early shift. I'm done with class about the same time she gets home."

"Maybe," Mom replies. "We'll see."

Yeah, that's a no. That's a 'let me check with your father' comment, which makes it a 'no'. It probably would have been a 'no' even two months ago, but now that I have come back from a strange lost weekend with a Bragdon in tow, it is absolutely, certainly, definitely a big, fat 'NO'.

"Your dad wants to bring the doctors back in," she continues. Her voice is faint as she looks away because she can never look me in the eye when she says stuff like this. After all, it was her hallucinations that caused all the medical drama to begin with.

But, were they hallucinations?

If they were, I saw them, too. I saw that flash of time in the mirror where I was no longer a strange two-armed Athelonian freak, but instead, something ... else. Something more ... Bragdon?

I keep trying to pass it off as stress induced imagination, considering my trials on Braxis for so long. No wonder I was seeing myself as one of them.

But what about Mom?

She walks over to the washroom, using her two right arms to rest against the wall while her two left reach in and touch my shoulder. There's a unique caress, squeezing and pressing down almost to the bone. There's something soothing about those four arms. Those four arms that everyone on this planet has but me.

A birth defect, Dad always called it. Part of me believes that's why they give me so much leeway. It's why they let me be a jerk about working and resist the core Athelonian belief system. Somewhere, deep inside, I suspect Dad thinks this birth defect goes deeper than a lack of arms to something more psychological.

Maybe it does.

As my mother relaxes her grasp on my shoulder, I turn towards her to ask, "When can I learn something about Luxen?" It's a question I ask pretty much every day, but I can never seem to get the answer.

Her face screws up as if I showed her something gross I chewed up but didn't swallow. "Brie, please," she whispers in reply.

"He and his mother saved my life," I repeat for at least the hundredth time in the past month. "His mother died to save my life."

"We are thankful for that," she says. "But he is a Bragdon. We cannot let them roam free on Athelon. We cannot trust them."

"The entire species? You know this how?" Brie protests.

"We are not rehashing this again. Your father will be here soon and if he hears us talking about this, there will be trouble, and it won't be for me."

Suddenly there's a steady, rapid thumping on the door to my bedroom. It resonates through the small square-shaped residence like thunder, causing my heart to jump. It's the persistent, steady rhythm of someone expecting the door to open immediately. Nobody I know knocks like that . . . only my father or . . .

"Adroxis Security, Ms. Northstar. Please open your door."

Yeah, . . . or them.

Mom looks at me with confusion carved on her soft features. I try to act surprised, but she's got this mom-mind-reading thing going on, and I'm pretty sure she sees right through me.

With a sigh, she turns towards the door and takes three strides across my bedroom floor, extending her hand.

"Come in, please," she says quietly. "What is this about?"

"Beg your pardon, ma'am," one of the guards says as he bows. He wears stark silver armor as all members of Adroxis Security do. It is sleek and mobile, almost like a second skin. Layered on top of the armor is a thicker, blue canvas vest. Matching elbow and knee pads complete his uniform. Both he and his partner have small, round, multi-barreled weapons strapped tightly to their backs. It's much better to see them that way than raised and pointed at me, I suppose.

"Could you answer my question?" Mom insists.

Go, Mom, go.

"I am Officer Thragdon, Ms. Northstar. This is my partner, Officer Huntsman." He gestures towards the second, a mirror image of the first. "We have a few questions for your daughter, if we may."

"Mom, please," I beg, turning towards her. "I didn't do anything. I'm not a criminal."

"Nobody said you were a criminal, ma'am," Officer Huntsman replies. "We just have a few questions."

I've seen the showcasts. I know how this plot works; good cop, bad cop, with me in the middle. Why did I go out last night? Why did I ever go out? . . . Me and this stupid brain of mine.

My eyes dart between them. Huntsman has all four arms crossed tight over his chest, the lights on the ceiling gleaming from his silver armor. Thragdon has his arms crossed behind his back, folded over the weapon against his back, his eyes narrow and prying.

Yeah, he's going to be the bad cop.

"Okay, so ask," I reply. "I've got no secrets."

Thragdon smiles and nods at me. "I'm sure you don't. But we prefer to do these at the station. I've got a hovercar right outside. We'll have you back here in an hour, just in time for your classes."

My mom looks a bit less open to helping me this time, like this might be something real.

My throat goes dry and I wrap my arms around myself, feeling that separation as always between me and everyone else on this planet. Think how well I could hide myself right now with four arms instead of two. There is no way for this to end, other than badly.

"What is going on here?" That voice, my smile spreads wide hearing that voice.

"Dad?" I ask, my voice cracking. "Daddy?"

Redax Northstar, my dad, is head of the Annex Union, one of the biggest labor unions in Adroxis. Throughout my whole life, his authority has driven me crazy, but right here, right now, I couldn't be happier.

He steps into my room, pushing past the two security officers. He's taller than both of them by a full head, and his shoulders are broad underneath the rich, red cloak that seems to coast as he walks. Thick white hair covers his head and his face. His gray eyes are stern. Two of his hands hold the cloak back away from his body while his other two gesture towards the officers.

"What are you doing here, gentlemen?" he asks in his baritone.

"Good morning, Mr. Northstar," Thragdon replies, bowing his head. Next to him Huntsman repeats the motion. "We have some questions for your lovely daughter, that's all."

"Questions?" he asks. "What about?" His eyes shoot my way, narrowing even further. I realize he's looking at me even more intently than he was looking at them. That's not good.

"There have been incidents in recent weeks, sir," Thragdon replies. "Some daredevil out on the rooftops is being reckless and disturbing the peace."

"And what does that have to do with Brie?"

Thragdon looks over to his partner, then back at my father. "A few of our officers have gotten a look at this person. The person...well...has only two arms, Sir. And this pattern of behavior appears to be within a few blocks radius of this building."

Dad doesn't reply. He grasps his chin with his fingers and lowers his head as if deep in thought. Still clutching his jaw, he glances back at me, looking not at me, but through me as he always does.

The silence is thick and tangible, a web of cotton woven around everyone in the room, rendering us all immobile.

Finally, he nods, looking back at me with both of his stern, gray eyes. "Go with them, Brie. Answer their questions. We'll get this sorted out."

My eyes widen and I look over at my mother, pleading. She turns away from me.

My imagination supplies an announcer's voice to pronounce, “My parents, ladies and gentlemen.”

"Ms. Northstar?" Thragdon asks, extending his hand. The sting of tears pricks the corners of my eyes, a wet pinch forcing them to close. One lone tear breaks free and rolls down my cheek, but I keep my face firm and stoic, glaring back at my dear father.

I turn my head, joining the Adroxis Security officers as they lead me down the hall towards their car and my first ever interrogation. This should be fun.

Chapter Three

The interview is starting out to be about as much fun as I expected, which is no fun at all. Adroxis security stuff me in their tiny hover car, zip me through the busy city streets, and dump my butt here in a teeny tiny interrogation room before departing and leaving me alone to my thoughts.

My thoughts include, “I've been here for thirty minutes already,” and “There's no way we're getting done in time for me to go to my home school classes,” as well as, “Mom's going to be pissed.”

. . . Not pissed enough to stand up to dad, necessarily, but pissed just the same.

Up in the left corner of the room I see the telltale sign of a security camera, peering out through a one way mirrored square flush against the wall. It's glaring down at me, one wide, glass eye watching every move I make. My hands rest on the flat metal table in front of me, clamped in chains and fastened to the surface. If my dad were here, he'd never let them get away with this, but since he pretty much cast me out, they're taking liberties.

Good for them. Take them while you can, Officer Thragdon and Officer Huntsman.

Listen to me, acting all big shot. Truth is, my heart is racing. They're going to start hounding me about this strange person jumping from rooftop to rooftop and I don't have a good explanation for that. Especially when I think about the fact that this mysterious stranger has only two arms where the entirety of Athelon has four. Gee, who else only has two arms?

I should have thought that through better. But see, that's the problem when your head buzzes with all of these crazy new memories and skills. It confuses things and you forget stuff you used to know well.

Like, I don't know . . . basic common sense? Critical thinking skills, like maybe if you're the only person on the planet with just two arms, don't go committing thrill crimes because you're identifiable? Dumb move, Brie. Dumb, dumb move.

I can't help myself. The whole universe seems like a different place now. So much has changed in one month. My view on the world of Athelon was already skewed compared to everyone I know, but now it's totally warped.

Once this whole universe of new facts and abilities was opened up, the mere thought of restricting all of what I am to whatever manual labor I can perform sounds like . . . torture.

Exploration, investigation, and learning are necessary to me, like breathing. There's so much we don't know about the things we have seen, and even more that we're completely unaware of. There's this world beyond . . .

What am I talking about?

I open my eyes and glance down at my wrists, still clamped in metal brackets, still chained down to the metal table. For all my daydreaming and all my holier-than-thou superiority complex, I'm still the one with my wrists shackled sitting in a tiny interrogation room about to get obliterated by Adroxis Security.

With an ominous creak, the metal door pushes open and Officer Tragdon enters, his dark forearms exposed by the rolled up sleeves of the four-armed button-up dark blue shirt he's wearing. He's ditched the skintight silver armor, and is in much more casual dress, not even wearing the weapon strapped across his back. He does have a holster on his right thigh within easy reach of both right hands, but beyond that, he could be an office worker or accountant and not a security officer.

"Are you comfortable?" he asks as Huntsman slinks in the door behind him.

"Sure," I reply. "These shackles are especially roomy. Does my dad know you've got me tied up in here like some criminal?"

Huntsman eased the door shut behind him. "I don't know. Does your dad know you're a criminal?"

My eyes narrow at him, glaring, shifting back and forth between them. "What are you talking about?

All of this for rooftop jumping? This seems excessive.

Neither of them reply right away. Thragdon reaches over and scrapes a chair across the rough concrete floor, swings it around backwards, and straddles it with his elbows resting on the raised back.

Huntsman grabs a chair as well, pulling it along behind him before resting his bulk on it and leaning back.

"So, talk to us," Thragdon says. "About Braxis."

Okay, that was unexpected.

"What about it?" I ask.

"What happened while you were there?"

"I went over this with intelligence guys when I returned," I reply. "Dad was there."

"Just run through it again for us, okay?" Huntsman interjected. "Just for giggles."

As I draw in a frustrated breath, I shift in my chair, jingling the shackles to remind them I was being held against my will.

"I was a prisoner on one of their huge freighters," I reply. "I assume they were taking me to the surface, but they crossed into Reblox space, and Reblox shot them down."

"There were hundreds of Bragdon in that freighter," Thragdon replies. "Certainly you had the opportunity to speak with them before the Reblox attack?"

"Kinda too busy running for my life."

"So nobody said anything to you? Ever?" Huntsman leaned forward a bit.

"Can you tell me what this is about?" I ask. "Last time I checked I was the victim in that incident. I was the one they took, right?"

"But why did they take you?" Huntsman continued.

"How would I know that?"

Thragdon clamped his fingers around the top of his chair and his face hardened momentarily.

"I'm trying to help, Officer Thragdon," I reply, my voice sharp with annoyance. "I have zero allegiance to the Bragdon."

"Is that so?" he asks. "What about that boy we're holding? Your father says you ask about him all the time."

"He and his mother saved my life. His mother died. I owe him a debt I will never be able to repay, and so far his reward for that sacrifice is to rot in one of our prison cells. What do you want me to do? Write him off?"

"What do you think he'd do if your positions were reversed?"

"They were reversed, or pretty near so. He drove a swamp skid into an airfield with four dozen highly trained Bragdon operatives in order to save me. He did this a few moments after his mother died in his arms."

"What else happened down on the surface?" Huntsman asks.

I close my eyes in utter frustration and clench my fists once again rattling the chains that bind me. "I almost died in a freighter crash. I barely escaped being eaten by slimy swamp dogs. Stole a jump ship. Came home. The end."

Thragdon nods and pushes himself upright, his chair squeaking underneath him. "Since you're taking this so seriously, maybe you can sit here for a few moments to see if it jogs your memory. We'll be back."

"Give me a break!" I shout. "I don't understand why I'm being blamed for this."

"It's not about blame," replies Huntsman. "It's about trying to uncover the Bragdon threat. So far you have not been cooperative, which leads us to think you've got something to hide."

I drop my head down against the table. "I'm not trying to be uncooperative," I say, under my breath. "I just don't remember."

"Well, let us know when you do," Thragdon replies and turns to leave.

Suddenly a vivid memory flashes in my mind. I'm alone, seated on a hard bed in the pitch blackness of a prison cell on the freighter.

"Wait!" I call out. "There was something strange."

Thragdon turns towards me, smirking. "Oh?"

I close my eyes, thinking back to that whirlwind of time where the tractor beam drew me into the Bragdon freighter, before Reblox interceptors knocked it out of space.

"I was in a prison cell for a little while, and a couple Bragdons approached me."

"Now we're getting somewhere," Huntsman said, placing a hand on the back of his chair.

"They seemed to think I'd be . . . joining them," I say, trying to remember exactly what Jathus had said before the falling superstructure had squashed him and Krabex. Why do I remember their names so clearly?

"You don't know why?" asks Thragdon.

I shake my head. "One of them said he thought I'd come along more willingly. He mentioned that Athelonians were oppressors, not them."

"Same propaganda they've been spinning for generations," Thragdon replied.

"I don't know anything about Bragdon propaganda," I reply. "I know what they said, and really, that's all I remember."

Huntsman nods.

"That's a good start," says Thragdon. "What else do you remember? How did the shuttle explode?"

My eyes flash upward, glaring at Thragdon. "What did you say?"

Huntsman flashes what looks to be a smirk, but for the briefest of moments.

"The shuttle," Thragdon continues. "Evidence suggests it exploded from the inside, not an attack from the outside."

Another swift flash in my head shows Bragdons in a dark corner, me running, and purple plasma soaring past me to striking the reactor . . . but how did the Bragdon get inside to begin with?

"My memory is shaky on that," I reply. "But I get flashes sometimes. I remember Bragdons being inside the shuttle. Like they had boarded us or something."

The officers look at one another, then Thragdon turns to me. "The shuttle never slowed enough for boarding."

"I wish I had an answer for you," I say quietly. "But I don't. I have no idea."

Thragdon moves so suddenly I don't anticipate it. He shoves the chair aside and lurches forward, slamming both palms down on the table so loudly the sound echo in the small room.

"Don't lie to us!" he shouts. "Your mother saw it! She reported it!"

My eyes widen and I move backwards, my wrists straining on the shackles.

"She saw your eyes," Thragdon hisses. "She saw your skin change color. Ever since she reported it, she's been trying to deny it, but you can't avoid it any longer, Brie. We need to know what's going on!"

There's a blur of tears in my eyes and I hate myself for it. I don't want to cry in front of these people. With my lips between clenched teeth I glare at him, but do not speak.

Out in the hallway there's the even thumping of feet, and the door creaks open again, pressing far enough that another Adroxis Security Officer works his way inside.

"What's going on here?" he demands. This guard is wearing the full blown silver armor and blue tactical vest with an automatic weapon dangling from his left shoulder. He's got a holster on his thigh as well, and his eyes are shooting from Thragdon to Huntsman and back again.

"Do you know who her father is?" he asks. "What are you doing in here?"

Thragdon looks the man up and down. "I don't even recognize you," he barks. "What authority do you have to barge into our interrogation?"

"You dare question my authority?" the new officer asks, broadening his chest and drawing himself up straight-backed and imposing. He's not as tall as Thragdon, but somehow seems taller.

"This is none of your business, whoever you are," says Huntsman, turning towards him. "Why don't we step outside and figure this out."

"I don't think so," the new guy answers. "You can't bring a teenage girl in here and push her around, trying to force her to talk. The laws don't work that way."

"When it comes to Braxis," Thragdon bellows, "the laws work precisely that way. Now back off and let us do our jobs!"

With a sigh, the third officer drops his head as if resigning to whatever internal conflict he's battling with. He starts to turn towards the door, but hesitates for a moment, glancing back over his shoulder.

Thragdon turns towards him. "Did you not hear me?" he asks. He moves towards the third officer.

His fist is swifter than Thragdon, almost faster than my eye can follow. His waist twists and his hand lances out like a bat, swinging tight and straight, his fingers extended. It collides with Thragdon's throat, the knife edge of the gloved hand slamming hard. He coughs once, takes a step, and tumbles over the chair next to the table. Thragdon crashes to the floor with a clatter as Huntsman reaches towards his holster and steps towards this newcomer.

Without hesitation, the newcomer moves in to slap aside the pistol as it starts to emerge from Huntsman's holster, slams a fist into his stomach, and follows up with another rapid one-two punch to his jaw and temple. Huntsman's head thrashes one way and then the other. When the second strike hits, it throws him hard to the side, his head slams down on the smooth surface of the metal table, and he grunts, slips off the edge, and drops to the hard ground to lie motionless.

The room is still and quiet. This strange new Adroxis Security Officer stands before me, leaving the other two unconscious on the ground. He looks straight at me, his eyes focusing on mine.

"I swear, I don't know anything," I sputter. "I have no idea why they were harassing me."

"I know why they were harassing you," the man replies and unclasps the holster sheathing his pistol.

"What?" I say, "Why?"

His hand wraps around the handle of the pistol in his holster, withdraws it, and levels it towards me. From this angle, the barrel is large and blocky. The opening at the end is a vast chasm, a tunnel leading to eternity and staring straight at me.

Chapter Four

Nothing slows time like a pistol in your face. All I can see is the large, black hole at the stubbed front of the short barrel, looking at me like a single black eye, boring deep into me.

What's really crazy is that six months ago I didn't even know what it was like to have a pistol pointed at my face, but now it seems like it's happening more and more often. Was it something I said? Something I did?

The Adroxis Security Officer's mouth splits into a crooked gap of teeth. He hesitates for a moment, then the weapon shifts. I wince as his gloved finger presses the trigger and the barrel blasts pure green energy, radiates a sunshine flare of heat, and kicks up in his clenched fist. The green spear lances out snapping through the stale air of the interrogation room. I thrash, trying to push myself back, trying to to back away from the impact, but knowing my chained hands won't allow it.

With a clang, the green spear of light slams into the table in front of me. It screams into the thick, metal clasps bolted to the table in between my two clenched fists, exploding and scattering broken chain links in a fan-shape around me. The sudden release of the pressure on my wrists sends me lurching backwards, almost toppling my chair as the pungent stink of phaser-seared metal creeps up into my nostrils and stings my narrowed eyes.

I'm free.

But why?

I glance up at the Adroxis Security Officer, and right before my eyes, he seems to flicker, his face transposing from one thing to another, skin tightening, buckling and sliding away from his musculature. But his skin isn't really sliding, it's slipping, bunching, and re-knitting itself, a fascinating and grotesque orchestra of bizarre motion. The process takes a few moments, and when it's done, the Athelonian who was staring at me is no longer Athelonian. He is now Bragdon.

My eyes blink trying to adjust to this unexpected change in scenery. Two extra sleeves hang down limp at the side of this figure now standing in front of me. His four arms are now reduced to two. His back more hunched, and narrow, yellow eyes peer out from underneath a billed cap.

Okay, this is weird.

My fingers flex and twist as I try to wiggle feeling back into them. Why did he shoot my chains? He's freeing me?

"Well done, Grablix," growls a voice from the hallway behind him as a second Bragdon appears, cloaked in the baggy, ill-fitting uniform of Adroxis Security.

"What's going on?" I ask, my voice a low tremble.

Another Bragdon appears flanking the first, making three of them standing in the doorway to the interrogation room glowering at me. The Bragdon at the front of the group tilts his head as if investigating me, a thick tongue flicking out from between his lips before sucking in with a low slurp.

"Come with us, young one," he hisses.

I push back and scramble to my feet, shaking my head. "No. No, I won't."

My three would-be saviors glance at each other, confused.

"Get out!" I shout at them. "Leave me alone!" I take three backwards steps, but my back presses the smooth wall behind me. "Help!" I shout again, as loud as I can, my shrill voice ringing out in echo.

"Why do you scream?" the second Bragdon asks, angling around the table and coming towards me. I don't wait for him to reach me. My left foot shoots out in a stiff piston, striking him in the chest and sending him stumbling backwards towards the wall. In front of me, the lead Bragdon returns his pistol to level position, pointing it at my chest and snarling.

My knee lifts, shooting my leg forward, striking the metal table, and it slides across the floor, slamming the middle Bragdon in the stomach. Breath bursts from him as he doubles over, the pistol jerking upwards, firing a green blast into the ceiling. As he lurches to his right, I leap forward, somersaulting over the table, tucking low and tight. The third Bragdon lunges, but I elude his groping hands with a roll, slide off the back edge of the table, and hit the ground in a low crouch.

I ready myself to charge out of the room, but he's fast. The third would-be Adroxis Security Officer adjusts his stance to leap towards me. His narrow arms whip out to grab me. His slick fingers squeeze my right arm tightly. The forward momentum of my upper body stops abruptly while my feet keep scrabbling on the floor.

The Bragdon I kicked is already standing, bracing himself with a four-fingered hand pressed to the table. His other hand clutches at his stomach.

"Do not harm her," he says. "Command wants her uninjured!"

Command? Who is Command and why do they want me?

"Let go!" I shout and twist, lashing out with a stiff punch. The Bragdon holding my arm shifts on his feet and dips backwards, letting my wild swing soar past his rounded chin. As I lose my balance, the second Bragdon, Grablix I think they called him, moves in and grabs me with his own iron reptile grip, keeping me still.

"Please! Stop fighting! We are on the same side!" he pleads, his thick voice low and gravelly. I try to fight my way free, but between the three Bragdons and the two unconscious Adroxis Security Officers, there's no room to move and I can't get any leverage.

"Why do you Bragdons keep saying that to me?" I ask. "I'm Athelonian! I don't belong with you!"

"All will be explained," replies Grablix, his eyes widening and fingers reaching. "I promise, all will make sense in time."

I stop struggling, at least for the moment, turning towards him. He does have a point. They're not battling me here, I'm the one who started this fight.

"Why don't you explain it now?" I ask. "Convince me."

Grablix's eyes dart, slipping back and forth, checking each corner of the room, before fixating on me. "I'm not sure how much time we have," he says. "Adroxis Security could return any time now."

I meet his eyes with mine. "I'm going nowhere until you tell me what this is about."

"It's about war," hisses Grablix. "War between Braxis and Athelon. A war that has gone on for generations."

"War? What war? I've lived on Athelon for eighteen cycles and I've seen no indication of war."

Grablix sneers at me. "You've been sheltered in your pristine white castle, young one. Precisely as intended. But your time has come now. It's time you found out your true calling."

"What is my true calling? Why do the Bragdons keep telling me that? Stop talking in riddles!"

"We don't have time to have this conversation now," Grablix replies. "Walk with us, we will talk, but we need to get out of here before we're discovered."

His four slick fingers close around my wrist and pull me forward, sending me into a half walk/half stumble out the door behind him. The other two Bragdon drop into formation around us and we move out into the hallway, making our way towards the nearest exit.

As we step forward, he turns towards me. "You haven't always been Brie Northstar, daughter of Jary and Redax Northstar."

My eyes widen.

"There was a time when..."

The scream of plasma fire drowns out his next few words. His mouth gapes into a half-opened twist of surprise and pain. Grablix takes a hobbled step forward, coughing, a burst of smoke billowing from behind his pointed fangs.

"They found us!" screams one of the other Bragdons as he's breaking away from me to lift his pistol.

I snap my head around and see three members of Adroxis Security emerge around the corner with weapons ready.

The Bragdon fires, sending two green beams lancing towards the small group. Both shots splash off the metal wall to the left of the security team.

The team returns fire. A bracket of three shots strikes the Bragdon in the chest, throwing him against the wall. The last Bragdon standing moves in next to me, firing with his own pistol clutched tightly in both hands.

One of the Adroxis Security Officers takes a green shot to the face and spins backwards, out of view, but another one replaces him, stepping around and firing back. Their shots go wide, afraid to hit me, I figure, and I push away from the Bragdon, giving myself some space.

He turns and glares at me as if betrayed, his nostrils flaring. No words emerge from his lips, though his mouth moves. A flood of purple light swarms over him, blasting and burning him.

The exchange takes only seconds. The swift exchange of gunfire consumes the hallway for a short time, yet fades quickly to near silence. Three dead Bragdon pile around me, and I see the prone form of a fallen Athelonian several yards away. Thick smoke fills the vacant air between us.

"Do not move, Brie Northstar!" one of the officers yells, his weapon still raised. Why are they still treating me like a criminal?

Another officer moves out and around the lead, keeping the barrel of his gun directed towards me, moving step-by-careful-step. Behind him, a small squad of security in reflective armor and thick, dark flak vests, approach me as if I might be a living bomb ready to explode. Both hands come up, and I show my palms to them and take a careful step backwards.

"They were kidnapping me. I wasn't going of my own free will," I say. My voice sounds nervous and uncertain. I daresay it almost sounds guilty. Why? Was I starting to believe what the crazy reptile was telling me? What all of these crazy reptiles keep telling me? That I'm some kind of special creature? Some secret weapon? That would certainly explain some things, but it doesn't explain enough.

"Stand still," one of them says, moving closer.

I nod in agreement, but in my head, a whole scenario plays out. I can visualize the whole thing: move in left, forty-five degrees, stay low, sweep up, out of the line of fire. Put the guard between me and the rest, vault over his shoulders as purple plasma tears him apart. Land left of center hall. Two on the left go down with rapid neck-strikes, a third on the right with a knee-shattering kick. The last two would be the trickiest, but if I angle them right, they might shoot each other while trying to kill me.

What am I doing? My mind is playing tricks, showing me how to escape, and leading me down the path towards certain death. This same mind convinced me that jumping roof to roof in the middle of the night was a good idea and that there's something about Athelonians I shouldn't trust.

I force the vision down and away, trying to push it from my head and focus on other things, but my head starts swimming. My brain drops into a deep lake, floating and swirling, and my temples throb. With one trembling step backwards I realize I'm off balance and dizzy, so I turn around to try to get breathing room. The floor is rushing up to me in a rapid blur of metallic colored concrete. Already the corners of my vision are dimming as I stumble forward, and before I even hit the floor, blackness has consumed me.

Chapter Five

I break through the fog of unconsciousness, not so much with a sudden burst, but with a gradual, hand-over-hand crawl towards the surface of dark water, a sense of pressing my face up into the sharp, bright light, and moment of drawing in a sweet tasting breath with a hint of flowers.

Vague shapes move around me as I swim up from the darkness, groping for a ledge to pull myself up with. All the while, the low murmur of voices creates an anchor to focus on, a sound that draws me up towards the clear break in the water.

"Brie?" the sound is a rippling grumble, an opaque collection of noises that resembles my name.

A hand presses to my shoulder as the world around me clarifies, twisting into sharpness like an out of focus monitor screen being adjusted.

"Brie?" the voice says again, but this time clearer. I blink, slapping my eyelids together as if that might splash away this dark water covering my vision. Over to my left, I see Weeda.

Good old Weeda. Her dark hair is trimmed short, just above her ears, and her faded lips are curled into a grin. Two of her four hands clutching my left shoulder. Over her head I see the familiar walls and ceiling of my bedroom, and that gentle perfume of flowers settles in around me. I'm back home.

I press myself upwards, but Weeda reaches over with her other two hands and eases my shoulder back down.

"Don't push it," she whispers. "You need to rest."

"Why?" I ask. "I feel okay."

"You collapsed," she answers. "There was an incident during your interrogation, and you collapsed."

"I remember," I reply. And I do. I collapsed because Adroxis Security were coming after me with their weapons raised and hate in their eyes. I was running from them. Can I tell Weeda that?

"You're awake," whispers another gentle voice, and I'm glad that I didn't share any of those details with my best friend.

I turn my head towards my mother as she strides across the floor, white dress billowing . . . white dress against white walls and white ceiling and white furniture . . . so much white . . . too much white. Everything is brightness, and the stark light of everything around me hurts my eyes.

Suddenly I'm relishing the thought of dimness and darkness, the peace of the murky water I crawled my way out of. I want to go back there.

Nothing weird about that, right? Nothing strange about a cheery teenage Athelonian girl hating bright colors and sweet smells? Totally normal.

"Hi, mom," I say.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, her dress shifting as he extends her arms and caresses my other shoulder.

"I'm okay, mom," I reply. "Really, I'm fine. It was nothing."

"It was hardly nothing, dear," she says, reaching back and pulling over a chair, settling herself down into it. "Those Bragdon beasts tried to steal you away again. They killed a member of Adroxis Security!"

"Yeah," I reply. "I know. I was there."

That sounds a lot more bitter than I intended. Bitter isn't good. Mom's worried about me. I'm worried about myself, and not about my messed up hair and smudged mascara. Those particular problems seem microscopic compared to what I'm dealing with now.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Mom asks, leaning in close and softening her words, blunting the sharp edges of her voice.

"Sounds like you already know," I reply, completing the arduous task of pushing myself upright to swing my legs off the bed. My head swims, but clears. "Bragdons showed up, grabbed me, and luckily Adroxis Security showed up just in time."

"Where were they taking you? The Bragdons I mean?" Mom presses.

"How should I know?"

"I thought maybe they'd spoken to you? Told you what their intentions were?"

I shake my head. "I don't know, Mom, honestly." My eyes roam a bit. Realization starts to settle in. "Is this another interrogation?" I ask. "Did dad put you up to this?"

She raises herself up, placing her two right hands to her chest in some sort of clumsy mock surprise.

"Why would you ask that? We want to make sure you're all right."

"I'm fine, mom, I'm safe. Aren't I right here in front of you?"

"There's no reason to be hostile," she replies, softening her voice even further.

"Mom, I'm not being hostile, I'm sick of being treated like a suspect in some crime I'm not aware of."

Her face falls, like a building block tower caving in upon itself. With a flutter of lids, her eyes cast downward, and she clears her throat.

"Can you understand my feelings, Mom? Do you get it?" I glance over towards Weeda who is sitting on her own chair, looking awkward, but to her credit, doesn't move away.

"Brie, I understand. But you need to understand us as well."

"Understand what?"

She looks towards Weeda, uncertain if she should continue speaking.

"Whatever you have to say to me you can say in front of her," I reply, eyes narrowing. Just as Mom's voice was softening, mine was hardening. Not on purpose, it was just coming naturally.

"I'm not sure this is the time or place."

"I've been back home for a month. When will be the time or place?" I demand. I press my palms to my knees and start to stand, but she eases forward and wraps her fingers around my shoulders, pushing me back down into a seated position.

"Please, Brie. Stay."

"Talk to me, Mom. Tell me what this is all about."

She drops her hands and draws in a deep, prolonged breath. Her cheeks puff for a moment, air poofing out from pursed lips.

It's a struggle, but she manages to lift her eyes and narrows her mouth into a straight line, a slice across her youthful face, showing few teeth and even less emotion.

"I saw you, Brie," she says. It doesn't register with me at first, what she's talking about.

"There was a moment, after you returned to us. A moment when you...were not you."

My heart slips as if beating against a patch of ice. I try to catch my breath, but I'm all too aware of every little noise in this small room. My eyes dart over to Weeda who doesn't seem all that surprised at what mom is saying, then flash back over to her.

"What do you mean?" I ask, though I know full well. I'd seen it myself in the mirror. That morning after I returned and a few times since.

"You changed. You weren't Brie. You were..."

"Don't fight it, Mom. Tell me what you saw."

"You were a Bragdon. For a moment. You were wearing the same clothes, and you still had your long hair, but your skin...your features. They were Bragdon."

And there it was.

For the past month being put through the ringer, interrogated, watched over as if I was a common criminal, all because my mom thought she saw me change into a reptile dude. I mean, she's nuts. Clearly she didn't see what she thought she saw.

Really? How many times in the past month had my blue eyes flicked to yellow in the mirror? Six? Eight? A dozen? It was happening more often lately.

"Brie?"

I jerk my head upward, too fast, looking more angry than concerned.

"Yeah, Mom," I reply, because I'm still a teenage girl and she is still my mother.

"Do you understand what I said?"

I nod and put my fingers through my hair.

"Can you convince me that what I saw was not true?"

I run through countless responses in my head. I consider dozen different phrases that might deflect, defend, or otherwise coax my mother back to some semblance of reality. A number of different words could ease her burden and release mine: a trick of the light, stress from my disappearance, or her being paranoid.

But I know none of them are true. I know something about me is different and always has been since the day I arrived in this world. I've never been able to put my finger on it, but at this very moment, my finger seems to be hovering right above it. There must be that one intersection of my life and every other Athelonian's lives on the planet, that shows why I've never quite fit in, why I look different, and why I was built different. Why, no matter how hard I worked to belong, was I always a girl out of place.

Doesn't every teenage girl feel like that? Aren't we all dealing with issues unique to us that all other teenage girls don't deal with? I think we do.

So did those things really happy, or was it me being a teenager?

I turn my palms over and glare at them. My two palms. Only two.

No, my differences haven't been in my head, at least not all of them. Some of them are plain to see. But am I a Bragdon? How can that be?

It can't be. It straight up can't be. Yes, there rumors are they're shape shifters, and the ones I saw at the prison compound today prove that fact, but that's something they're taught, right? How can I be living this life as an Athelonian with no clue how I got this way or how to change back?

That's not the answer to this big mystery. I know it's not. But it's a step towards it.

"Look at me, Mom," I reply after letting the silence settle. "Do I look like a Bragdon? Do I feel like one?" I reach my hand out and extend my fingers, but Mom won't touch me. She actually slides back a little. Has she touched my skin in the past month? . . . Ever?

I can't remember.

"Mom," I say. "Look at me, mom. It's me. The same Brie you've known for eighteen cycles."

"What is going on here?" Dad growls.

My eyes flash to the door as it slides open and the broad shouldered frame of dear old Dad fills all the empty space in the room with his presence.

"Jary, you were supposed to wait for security before you woke her," he continues, looking at my mother, but not daring to turn his eyes towards me.

"Last time I looked, I was still her daughter," I reply, the edge to my voice narrow and biting.

He glances at me, his eyes thin slits, his mouth twisted. I may be her daughter, but with one look, he indicates that I am not his. Like I'm a stranger who sneaked in here and peeled off his daughter's skin to wear it like a suit.

After a moment, he presses his two left hands to my mom's back and eases her up off the chair, guiding her towards the door.

"Go rest, Jary. Let me speak with Brie for a moment. Please."

Mom nods as she exits, not even sure what she's nodding about.

"Brie, my dear," Dad says, turning back towards me. The warmth returning to his face looks forced.

"When will this end, Dad?" I ask. "When will you both accept me for who I am?"

"And who are you?" he replies, smiling. "You're our daughter, Brie, same as you always have been. We need to make sure you're safe, that's all."

"Safe from who?"

"Have you forgotten already?" he asks. "Bragdon infiltrators tried to capture you. For the second time in a month. You obviously mean something to them, dear."

"That's not what this is about," I reply. "This stuff you're putting me through. It's not protection, it's interrogation."

He draws in a breath and lowers his large frame down on my bed, the cushion sinking under his weight.

"I'm sorry it feels that way," he says. "We are afraid that you might have witnessed something. Experienced something you don't recall. We're just trying to figure out what that is. We're all on the same side."

"People keep on telling me what side I'm supposed to be on," I say, trying not to sound as frustrated as I am. "But they won't tell me why."

His hands press against my shoulder and there's a certain warmth and comfort there.

"We gave birth to you eighteen cycles ago, Brie. You are our child. You are of Athelonian blood."

"That's not what Mom thinks."

He draws back, looking surprised. "She told you that?"

"In her own Mom way," I reply. I mean it to sound funny, but it doesn't.

He lowers his eyes along with his hands. "I'm sorry she said that. She's been under considerable stress since the shuttle incident, my dear. She is adamant that we get you the protection and guidance you need to make it through this ordeal."

"I'm kinda through it," I say. "Yeah, it sucked, but it's said and done. I'm not traumatized or anything."

He smiles at me and it's an obnoxious, condescending smirk that sets my teeth on edge.

"You may not think so, but we have reason to believe . . ."

"Okay, stop," I bark. "Stop with the whole 'we're doing this for your good' schtick; all of us in this room know that's not true." I glance over at Weeda, who tries like heck to act as if she's not paying attention.

"I'm not sure—" he starts to say.

"Mom saw something. You suspect something. Everyone in Adroxis thinks something is off about what happened to me and you are all digging for something. That's what this is about, I need someone to admit it, all right?"

"Brie," he starts to reply, but I don't want to give him the chance.

"I want to go back to school," I hiss, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice, but failing. "I want to go back to my normal life!"

My father lowers his gaze and pushes himself up off my bed His large, dark-robed body lifts as if it is an apparition. He doesn't look at me at first. He simply stands and takes a long step towards the door, then pauses and glances back at me.

"Get used to it, Brie," he replies. "This is your normal life. Until you can give us some answers, this is how your life will be."

"I don't have any answers!" I shout back. "I was the victim, remember?"

"You're emotional," he replies. "I understand. Take a few moments."

"Where is Luxen?" I ask as he's about to step out the door. He pauses in mid stride, looking like he might just topple over.

"Excuse me?" he asks.

"Luxen. The Bragdon boy who saved my life. Where is he? You want answers from me, I want to know where he is."

"And you wonder why you're in this position?" my father replies, wrapping his fingers around the door frame and spinning on me. "You wonder why this is your new normal life. Every day you ask about that filthy Bragdon beast and then you wonder why we keep you under lock and key?"

"He's not a beast!" I shout. "He risked everything to rescue me! I wouldn't be sitting here in front of you right now if not for him!"

He nods. "That much is clear. What isn't clear is why."

I'm sitting bolt upright now, my entire body a ridge clutch of tense, hard muscle. "What do you mean?"

He looks confused, like he doesn't understand my question. "Bragdon are not selfless creatures, Brie. Everything they do, they do for a sinister purpose. If he rescued you it was because he has use for you."

"He's just a boy whose mother died in front of him. He doesn't deserve this."

"He's a Bragdon," he replies. "By nature of his birth he deserved this."

My eyes widen. I can't even form a sensible reply. There is animosity between Athelon and Braxis. Everyone who has ever taken a history class knows this, but I can't translate the senseless hate for an entire race within my rattling brain. It makes no sense.

Before I get another chance to try to respond, he spins again. His dark robe fan out, then trail behind him as he leaves.

The door hissing shut behind him. All I can do is shake my head and glare at the closed door.

"Are you okay?" Weeda asks in her soft voice, and all I can do is nod, even though we both know that's not the full truth.

"How does this happen?" I ask. "How does an entire planet learn to hate without reason?"

"There's a long history between the planets, Brie, a history we've only learned the smallest part of."

I turn towards her, smiling. Sweet Weeda. The daughter of a factory worker who would never get the opportunities I did, but who continues working for the sake of working. Who continues to live the epitome of an Athelonian life. There are times I envy her. Times that I wish all of these different ping pong ball thoughts weren't bouncing around in my already busy head. I'd give anything to narrow my worries down to work and being a proper Athelonian.

But my brain doesn't work that way. I don't think it ever has. That fact has just become far clearer.

"You know, I heard a rumor. From one of my dad's friends. He's with Adroxis Security." Weeda remarks.

That sentence clears my mind and I narrow my eyes at her. She glances away as if uncomfortable with how this conversation is now trending.

"Weeda, please. Tell me. Nobody else will know."

She looks back over towards me, her lips quivering. She's got all four arms wrapped around her narrow chest as if she's frozen.

"They're planning an execution," he whispers. "This weekend."

I draw my head back. "Execution? Adroxis doesn't believe in capital punishment."

"They do," she replies, "when it's a Bragdon."

My mouth hangs open. "Luxen?" I ask.

She shrugs. "I don't know, but I can't think of any other Bragdons in Adroxis Prison."

Would they? Would they really? Do they hate the Bragdons so much that they would execute a young boy just because of which planet he came from? The whole thing seems so outrageous.

Yet it is so possible, so frustratingly, infuriatingly possible.

I have to find Luxen and I have to set him free. Time may have already run out.

Chapter Six

For a month I've been playing along. A solid month I've been pushing away my instincts, forcing the countless thoughts in my head into an opaque fog, and convincing myself that I owed it to my family to try to understand their side of things. Yet for every minute of every day, these thoughts are slamming around in my head, driving me to escape, and showing me dozens of different ways to overcome my security and make my way out.

I've been fighting against them. I have been trying to convince myself that I am Athelonian to my core, that I belong in Adroxis, and that what I'm going through is something that must happen in order to regain my true self.

Sure, I have taken my trips outside. I have questioned my judgement, but I now know I was doing it because if I didn't, the thoughts would have taken over, and I would have done something I regretted. Maybe I'm about to do something I'll regret anyway, but I have to do it, if not for me, then for Luxen.

If what Weeda heard is correct, Luxen's execution is in two short days. A young boy's life will be taken from him simply because he was born on Braxis and he dared risk his life to save mine. That's his great crime, his offense against the Athelonian way of life.

This is not who I am. There's no need to keep fighting it. I've always felt a little different from other kids in my class, a step apart from the entire race of my planet. I thought it was the normal teenage struggle, but it isn't that. There's more going on here, more that I hadn't dared to consider.

Well, it's time to dare. The time for pushing down my instincts has ended. It's time to take action.

In truth is, the time for action was a month ago, and deep down inside, I knew that then and I know it now. I hope my hesitation hasn't doomed Luxen.

Each habitation room on Adroxis contains a terminal of some kind that is a communications interface that allows for messaging, emergency assistance, and other various things. This freight train rush of thoughts in my brain tells me it can also be reconfigured to allow back door access to the public transportation system.

I'm standing in front of the computer terminal with my fingers dancing across the keyboard, stringing characters together that I didn't even realize existed. These complex strings of code alone would be a strange foreign language, but all put together, they can make this interconnected system do amazing things.

A black screen scrolls up in front of me. As I watch, various commands execute on the small monitor to produce quickly changing screens of information and a full intersecting diagram of routes through Adroxis. It reveals flight routes, road routes, and everything in between. It's almost overwhelming, the swift influx of images and information, but somewhere in this crazed brain of mine, I'm taking in the information, processing it and devising a plan.

But a plan for what? It's been a little over a month since I learned that I have this untapped wealth of abilities locked away just below the surface, yet no matter how hard I try, I can't quite get a grasp on how it all works. How my mind and my muscle memory are tied together to do things I don't even know I can do. The face and body of Brie Northstar are just this shell of skin above something completely different and almost frightening.

Pretty deep thoughts for a teenage girl. While Weeda's at home trying to figure out whether her flower skirt goes with her powder blue top, I'm mapping traffic routes, calculating how fast the buses travel, and debating whether my entire existence is an elaborate lie.

I wonder when the summer dance is this year? I bet this crazy head of mine could bust some sick moves.

My fingers prance a few more times, I see more lines of code and another brief flash of schematic diagrams, then before I can even translate what I'm seeing into something coherent, my finger makes one last stab. The code starts self-deleting and the screen shuts down.

I guess I've seen everything I need to see?

Turning from the terminal, I walk towards the closet and reach up into a hidden panel in the ceiling above where my bright, frilly dresses are all stored on clothes hangers, one right after the other. With a press of my fingers, the panel pushes upwards, then slides aside. I pull over a chair, step up onto it and reach into the ceiling, until I touch the familiar bunch of cloth. A folded pile of clothing rests in the corner of this hidden alcove storage area above my closet. I'm not sure how it got here or why, but it's there and I'm grasping it, pulling it down, and dropping it on the carpeted floor. The panel moves back. I drop quietly from the chair, slide it back where it belongs, then make my way to the bathroom with the pile of clothing.

It only takes a few moments to put on the dark contoured rubberized armor that snaps tightly to my limbs. It almost looks and has a texture like cloth, but it's form fitting like the armor the Adroxis Security Officers wear, and it's thicker than a normal outfit. As I move, the interwoven armor moves along with me, adhering to my muscles and flexing as I flex, moving as I move. It's almost like a second skin. As I turn towards the mirror, I can see where two extra sleeves have been trimmed off and sealed up with polymer.

I don't recall doing any of this.

None of this is a fragment of memory in this busy head of mine, but who else could have done it?

Almost by instinct I reach behind my neck to find folds of fabric that pull up over my head. The mask molds my hair tightly to my head then conforms to the contours of my face.

In the mirror, I get a full length view of myself in the thick rubber armor bodysuit that follows each contour of my body.

I'm a ninja. Mother help me I'm a teenage ninja.

This is what my life is now? How did this happen?

The transformation from cute, blond generational school student to bad attitude, armored teenage ninja in the span of a month has got to be some kind of record.

I look at the closed window on the opposite side of my small room, considering my next move. My previous adventures involved walking down the hallway and out the front door, but I suspect that won't be an option this time. I've pushed way too many buttons and tripped too many triggers.

In my head I can picture a phalanx of Adroxis Security with their form-fitting silver armor, thick padded black vests, and rectangular plasma weapons at the ready. My confidence is a rising river tonight, but it hasn't risen quite that high.

Turning on my heel, I stride over to run my fingers along the seam of the window. When your room is this high up, most windows are sealed tight to avoid any kind of accidental release, and my window appears to be no different.

So I've got a hallway full of security, or an unbreakable window . . . what a choice?

It becomes clear, crystal clear.

Not even considering the alternatives, I walk towards the door, my dark outfit moving with silence on the carpeted floor. Black isn't my color, but as far as sneaky ninja outfits go, I'm on board.

My fingers grasp the handle of the door, then squeeze to key the auto-unlock. The clicking mechanism of the door might as well be a gunshot in the quiet room, so I open the door quickly and lunge out into the hallway, full ninja outfit and all.

How about that? Even more security than I thought.

I count six, then seven, and settle on eight as they all spin in unison towards the opened door, lift their weapons to their shoulders, and orchestrate placement of four arms. All this is choreographed to direct fire straight towards me. I almost feel privileged.

They don't fire because the hallway is enclosed and most of the empty space is filled by security officers. I suppose they figured little old Brie Northstar would be intimidated enough by the security presence to back into the room with hands lifted and abandon all hope of escape.

Nope, not intimidated.

But I do question my judgment.

Jerking to the right, I break into a swift dash, covering the distance between the opened door and the first security officer within a half second. Simply by reflex, he takes a step back. I reach forward, grab the barrel of his plasma weapon, then twist and thrust out my leg to slam him straight in the chest. His fingers fly open as he slams over backwards with his legs flying up and the back of his head drilling into the hard floor of the hallway. I confiscate his weapon as he stumbles. I turn back towards the door with the gun wedged in my shoulder and squeeze off a quick barrage of purple, spraying the hall ceiling with scorching energy. As sparks dance and embedded lights explode from above, the security officers hesitate just a moment before attempting to return fire, taking time to consider their options.

It's just enough time for me. Instead of charging forward, I veer left and slide my way back into my bedroom, slamming the door with my shoulder. As the echo rings out in the hallway I hear the frantic murmur of curious voices wondering what the point of that little exercise was, and even as they work to figure it out, I turn my eyes on the window.

I lift the weapon and adjust the dial sighting in on the center of the thick, wind resistant glass.

Wind resistant, yes. Plasma resistant? Hopefully not so much.

Behind me rapid fire pounds on the door signaling Adroxis Security's attempt at a quick break and enter. I zero my sights, then pull the trigger.

A beam of straight green light blasts from the barrel. A stream of pure energy glances off the glass, scattering away, but leaving a thick divot where it struck the darkened window.

Man, this glass is tough.

Four more heavy slams to the door behind me have the metal buckling as they attempt to force their way in.

I fire again. The slim rectangular weapon hums in my tight grasp when a blinding beam of light flashes from the barrel...

... and punches through the glass. It strikes the original divot, the window shatters apart, and dark glass sprays in an oblong halo around the rectangular hole in the side of my bedroom wall. Air rushes in bringing the rattling barrage of outside noise into my inner peace. Just behind me, the door makes one final complaint, then blasts inward, releasing a flood of security.

I hurl my spent weapon at the encroaching guards and as they hesitate just long enough to wonder what I'm doing, I charge forward, taking the distance towards the wall in two long, swift strides, then launch myself.

"Stop!" one of them shouts, and before he even realizes what he's doing, he's lifting his weapon and firing.

Purple light splashes the wall to my left as I leap through the air, pointing my arms forward and willing myself into a narrow, straight line with my eyes focusing on the hole that doesn't seem large enough for me.

More purple light screams over my left leg, sending a wave of tingling pressure up into my hip, but it's a glancing wound and my momentum doesn't change. As one last stun blast smashes into the wall just above my head, I duck and close my eyes.

There is a sudden shift from artificial warmth to pure, windblown cold, and just like that, my body hangs suspended in midair outside my bedroom window, dozens of stories from the street below.

The night is penetrated by a haphazard scattering of yellow lights from neighboring buildings and the rushing turbines of passing vehicles banking around the top section of my apartment building.

I hang there for milliseconds, even less, though it feels like an eternity, and then, I fall.

Chapter Seven

The wind beats at me and the entire world around me grinds to a halt as I emerge from the broken window out into empty air. With my knees pulled deep into my chest, I draw in breath, and hover for what seems like minutes, but is only fractions of a second.

My downward trajectory pulls me out away from the wall of the apartment building. The city lights surround me blur into yellowed streaks as I topple forward into a lazy somersault, flipping down through the cool night air.

Once again, I followed the instincts of this strange, super powered brain of mine, but this might have just been my final brainstorm as the empty air wraps its cold arms around me in a final embrace, pulling me down.

As I complete a second, graceful flip, my eyes lock onto it, about ten feet below me, closing fast. The yellow car is perched at one of the countless airway fuel stations scattered throughout the city of Adroxis. I pull myself vertical and release my knees to drop like an arrow, then coil my legs as my boot-covered feet strike the yellow roof of the parked vehicle with its low humming turbines keeping it afloat. The impact of my landing drives the vehicle down a few feet, rocking it underneath me, but I manage to maintain my balance even as the engines kick to life drawing the vehicle back upwards, righting the tilt.

In a low crouch, I catch myself with both hands, steadying myself as the vehicle finishes stabilizing itself.

For a few precious moments I wait there in a crouch, looking out from the skin tight balaclava, seeing other cars zipping all around in a frantic race against unseen opponents. Cylindrical buildings rise up towards the darkened sky, thousands of lights glaring like mounted stars.

A swift burst of siren echoes from behind me.

"Don't move!" the voice is loud over the speaker attached to the side of the black and white security car which rounds my apartment and draws near to the yellow sedan I'm perched upon.

It's good advice, but I take advice about as well as any other teenager does.

I change my grip on the edge of the roof, launch myself up and around, and then punch both feet through the driver's side window. It explodes inward, showering the front two seats with gum-caked safety glass. I hit the seat, slide under the console, then tear off a panel underneath the steering column.

"You are surrounded!" comes the next tinny voice over the speaker, as I glance up to the rear view mirror. A second security vehicle has joined the first and hovers just next to it. Not quite 'surrounded' but getting there.

My fingers tangle in among the circuit boards underneath the console, pulling a jumper free then setting a rocker switch. I fire the ignition and the two rear turbines chortle, then roar, scooping up the rear of the car and tossing it almost high enough in the air to tumble forwards.

Personally, I can handle a graceful somersault through the air, but can a full-sized turbine powered yellow sedan? Probably not so much.

I adjust the front thrusters, straighten out the vehicle, then reengage the accelerator just as the two security cars approach the rear. With a low blast, the sedan lurches forward under a scream of powered fans, banks a hard right, and joins the stream of traffic just outside the apartment.

Scattered blares of annoyed horns echo around me, but after butting over into the left lane, I'm soon blended into the line of traffic and moving at consistent speeds along with the other vehicles on the airway. Behind me the two security vehicles are making their own way into the line as the blue lights strobing on their sleek, black roofs clear a path for them.

My head swivels as I try to gauge the influx of traffic. It's late and the tight clutch of cars seems to be spreading out around me as I move, and although the security vehicles are close behind, I have a few car lengths on them and some room to move. I ease the nose of the car down, take one last peek in the rear view mirror, and then slam on the accelerator, shooting the yellow car forward at a downward angle. The roof scrapes the rear of the vehicle in front of me, spraying a thin blanket of sparks, but it doesn't even slow me down as I sweep down under the line of traffic, pull straight, and veer left towards another cluster of tall buildings. Sirens warbling, the security vehicles mimic my motions, pick up speed, and draw closer.

Up ahead a rounded building blocks my way. I lead the security car right, then peel off left, just missing the edge of the building as I swerve around it.

Behind my eyes I can see the strobe light flashes of the console screen I had pulled up before my hasty exit from my room. My current position flashes on an overlay of schematics of the city's mass transport routes. As I round the building and veer back right, horns scream at me for cutting across three lanes of airway like a yellow streak against the darkened sky. I ignore them all as the traffic pattern diagram in my mind guides me to where I need to go.

The car rocks to the right when a dull whack echoes from the rear left. I glance back to see one of the Adroxis Security Officers leaning out his window with a weapon clutched in his two right hands. He fires another blast of purple plasma which glances off the driver's side door, sending the vehicle lunging hard to the right as turbines whine in protest.

I navigate through my internal menus of vehicle transit routes, then pull the nose of the vehicle up and surge forward, avoiding another arrow of opaque energy as it screams below and to my right. The security car at my rear gains on me. A third car is joining the other two, picking up speed and trying to flank me.

"Two blocks ahead," I mumble to myself. The words come from those dark recesses of my brain to my vocal chords after stopping at my actual consciousness for translation.

A clunking sputter sends one of the left turbines howling, then halting. The car slows as two security vehicles come up on either side.

Plasma is doing its damage. Three more purple spears scream past the car, just missing as I haul the controls to the right and slam the brakes, dipping the nose down. Two pursuers hurtle past me on either side, though the vehicle at the rear slows, matching my maneuver and banking along with me as I send the car screaming forward again, arcing around a large, rectangular window-filled building ahead. Fading whines signal the thrusters turning the two patrol cars we left behind as they alter their trajectory and cut across lanes of traffic to catch up with me. They're moving scary fast on an intercept course and I can see this getting very ugly.

"Just around that building," I whisper to myself, my eyes sweep back and forth, taking in the view in front of me, as my crazy brain calculates all the different options.

I dip down again, but I can't dip too far or my rear pursuit car will be on top of me. If I veer up, it'll slow me down too much and I'll be bracketed within seconds.

My senses zero in on the large windowed structure ahead. I make a few course corrections so the broad nose is facing the center of the building ahead. To my left the two patrol cars scream forward, while at my rear another inches up behind me, too close for comfort.

As I steer with one hand, I fumble in the ceiling and retract the roof panel, flipping a switch. The click and scrape signals the panel is unlatching and lifting. It is separating from the structure of the car and withdrawing inch by inch towards the rear of the car, peeling itself away.

Wind beats at my face though the form-fitting mask covers most of my skin. Up ahead the patrol cars pick up speed, not scared of what might come next.

I'm not either.

I really should be. What the heck am I doing?

As I push the car forward, the lone left turbine groans its distaste, but the car still moves, wobbling on its adjusted lift. “Hold on a few seconds now.” I beg.

The building looms tall and wide ahead, a defiant Goliath, standing in the way of progress, daring me to try to get past it.

Now's the time. The patrol cars are right on top of me.

I pull both knees to my chest, jump up into the driver's seat in a low crouch, then wait.

As the yellow car barrels into the hood of the first patrol vehicle, I piston my legs straight to shoot myself up and out of the vehicle, using the momentum of the crashing sedan to further catapult me forward.

Down just below me the second patrol car blasts into the driver's side door, rending metal, smashing plastic, and throwing shrapnel and sparks in broad, uncontrolled arcs. It tears off a chunk of the retracting roof and sends it spiraling through the air, end over end.

The tall building is standing over me, its nearness now a comfort rather than a threat. As I hit the arc of my jump and drift downward, I reach out, clutching at a balcony railing. My fingers scream, but hold tight to the narrow metal even as my arm muscles tug and yell. My ribs slam into a fancy scroll, sending agony tearing up through my right side, but I push it all down deep and loop my second arm up onto the railing, lifting myself in one fell swoop.

Even as the third patrol car deftly avoids the collision and veers up towards me, I'm vaulting over the railing and charging forward to smash my shoulder through the sliding glass door of the apartment the balcony is attached to.

Purple plasma splashes across the railing and concrete as I disappear inside, avoiding the worst of it. As I run through the apartment, my left leg screams, reminding me of the energy wound I suffered earlier, but I ignore it, jerking my body through hallways, then bursting through the front door of the apartment, out into the main corridor. Wooden shards spray all over the floor with the force of my impact, but I'm already moving again, dashing down the hall as I hear voices echo from within the apartment behind me.

"Who was that?" one shouts.

"What's going on?" another demands.

"Adroxis Security!" comes a final hard, sharp bellow, as the last car dispatches its passengers to chase me down.

Turning my arm I look at the timepiece embedded in the rubberized sleeve of this black jumpsuit.

"Three minutes," I whisper. "Don't be late."

I bolt down another corridor, scanning the ceiling for a sign indicating an exit. Finally I spot one and follow the lit signs down other passages. As I make a turn, a plasma weapon explodes the corner, spewing chunks of wall to my left. They're still right on my tail.

Up ahead, I spot one last exit sign perched just above a broad window on the opposite side of the building I entered from.

"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 where 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 whose 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.

My normal pale skin shifts to a mottled gray leather as fibers mesh with each other and wrap around the musculature of my forearm. I can feel my bones and tendons re-conforming as the shade of my flesh darkens and hardens.

I lurch from my bed screaming. I can't help it, I shout loud and long, my shrill voice filling all the empty space in the small cell. I scream once, then a second time, even longer and louder than the first.

I stumble backwards, glaring at my hands in stunned disbelief. Even as I back step, one of my knees, buckles, then snaps, not breaking, but pulling apart and snapping back together, sending me down almost to my knees.

As I start to drop, the lower part of my leg screams and shoots me back upward, bending the wrong way on this weird new knee. The second knee repeats the motion, throwing me into a clumsy stumble backwards, slamming my spine against the wall, and causing pain to race through every part of my body.

"What's going on in there?" a voice echoes from the hallway outside as the sound of rapid footsteps hammers at my ears. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine," I groan through clenched teeth. Don't come in. Please don't come in.

He taps on the door. "Ms. Northstar?"

"I'm okay!" I shout, but it’s a pinched sound through crunching gravel, a voice clearly not my own.

"Who's in there?" the guard asks and I hear that rattle, the clear sound of the lock disengaging.

"Don't!" I shout. I can't think straight. My mind isn't grasping what's happening, but all I know is that I don't want him in here.

He comes in, anyway.

The door slides open and he comes in. His mouth drops open and his skin turns a ghostly white. He stands stock still, just glaring at me with eyes wide, and arms dangling at his side, clutching the weapon by his right hip.

"Who are you?" he asks. "What did you do to her?"

Even if I knew, I'm not sure I could answer, so I don't. I close my eyes and let the Athelonian part of me peel away, bracing myself for what's coming.

Chapter Nine

For one brief moment I'm floating above myself, this strange fog of consciousness drifting away, trying to squirm free from conflicting personalities. Behind my clenched eyes I can visualize a gelatinous blob, a glowing, shimmering octopus of controlled thought, tendrils sliding around through the inside of my mind, grasping at me, clutching at me as I try to escape.

I'm free. For one second, I feel free, floating up and away, out of reach. Suddenly I'm dropping back into the dark void of nothing, buried inside a shell of dependent thought and animal reaction. I'm just an organism of pure instinct, born and bred to act on the immediacy of the situation without taking the time to think and consider all options. I'm bundles of nerves, muscle, and quick synapses. My pesky wishes and dreams are nothing but obstacles to the need for action.

You know, kind of like a teenage boy. No need for thought; just do it and deal with the consequences later.

The Adroxis Security Officer raises his weapon, clutching it in all four hands. His eyes narrow, and he snarls through a tangle of clenched teeth, "I don't know what you did to her, but I'm going to make sure you don't do it to anyone else!"

That vision snaps everything back into place. Where I was hovering for a moment, I feel sucked back inside. A powerful vacuum whips me from my place of momentary freedom down into the biological enclosure of my body, in whatever form that might be. My eyes snap open, and I'm behind them again with my head already whipping around to gauge the danger.

As the guard fires, I dart right, letting the purple light scream past me to the left and continue forward. I leave the floor and hit the wall, stepping once, twice, then a third time across the vertical surface, and coming up around the guard. He turns towards me, but I'm already coming down on him, twisting to slam the heel of my foot into his exposed temple. He drops like a bag of stones and I fall next to him, landing in a low crouch by his prone form.

I hear scattered footsteps in the hallway as I scoop up the weapon. Reinforcements are already closing in at top speed. My keen hearing picks up murmured voices and running feet to both the right and left of the open cell door, but I hear more coming from the left. I run forward and veer right, angle the weapon left with an extended arm, and fire down the hallway.

I glance to my left and see two Adroxis Security members catch purple energy full on. The stun blasts slam into them, sending them tumbling backwards into approaching guards. Off to the right I see three more, one leading the charge, with two flanking, filling up the entire hallway.

"It's one of them!" the lead one shouts. "A Bragdon!"

Is that what I am? I haven't come across a mirror yet, but something has certainly changed. Am I Bragdon? Have I been all along? Was something done to me on Braxis? So many questions and way too many dudes with guns to try to answer them all now.

"Find the girl!" another one shouts. So at least they don't think I am the girl. I can be thankful for small victories.

My prison uniform slides along the smooth metal when I drop and slide as the three men in front of me prepare to fire. I can feel it pulling up my leg. I draw in a breath, wondering for a moment just what the heck I'm wearing under this thing, but as I glance down at my leathery, lumpy and gray legs with embedded green scales, I realize it doesn't matter a lot.

Lizard shaped feet collide with one of the security guard's knees, and his legs shoot out from underneath him, sending him stumbling over me as I slide. I hit the wall with bent knees, push myself up with one arm, and, with the other, send purple light pounding into the lead guard's face. The third guard swivels toward me, but I'm already charging across the hall and shoving my shoulder into his chest, driving him hard into the wall behind him. The sound of the impact echoes throughout the corridor.

With a quick glance towards the approaching phalanx on the other side of the door, I pull back letting a swift group of stun blasts careen past me down the hall to my left. I return fire, dropping one of the guards with a well-placed stun blast, then I shift and move left, rounding a corner just as three more shots barrel into the wall where I was standing.

Luxen . . . I need to find Luxen. Without hesitation I continue moving down the hallway, turning any direction I can find that's away from this group of guards that are closing the gap, pelting the air with purple light, and chasing me with plasma stunners.

I halt my progress halfway down the hall to spin, lift the weapon, and then fire just as three guards round the corner. The first one catches a shot in the right shoulder, spinning him back and around, but the second drops low, ducking under the next shot. I adjust my aim and punch a bright spear into the center of his chest, sending him scattering back across the floor. Two more guards round the corner in time to stumble over his toppling form and clumsily roll to the floor as their weapons fly from flexed fingers.

Man, I'm making this look easy.

Aren't I? More and more this body and what it's doing don't feel like me. They feel like some kind of strange echo of me, or maybe I'm the echo . . . just some cast off sound wave resonating from this body's actions, not a part of it.

Surprising no one more than myself, this Bragdon body runs forward towards the group of guards now splayed over the floor, and brings the weapon into firing position. One of the fallen men starts to stand, but a stun blast racks him in the head, convincing him otherwise.

The two last men are getting to their feet, so I launch an airborne attack, tucking my knees tight. My left leg shoots out in an unforgiving pylon of muscle and bone, striking the man in the upper chest. As he slams into the wall, I drop into a crouch on the floor to gather momentum to knock the weapon out of the hand of the last remaining security officer.

He stammers, looking for the right words, but my four fingers are already tangling in his cloth vest, pulling it tight, and pushing him against the wall.

The strange gravelly voice which is not my own asks, "Where is the Bragdon boy?" I don't remember even thinking about doing this earlier. It just kind of happens. "Where is Luxen?"

His eyes draw wide, lose all appearance of defiance or anger, and shift only to scant hope and desperation. "I...I don't know," he mumbles.

There's one advantage to the blind, planet-wide prejudice . . . many Athelonians have never even seen a Bragdon and know them only by their evil reputation. This guy probably thinks I'm going to eat his face or something.

. . . Which I'm totally not going to do.

Am I?

That would be so gross.

"You're lying," I hiss, baring teeth that I can only imagine are all sharp, jagged and pointy looking.

"Please," he says, shaking his head. "Don't..."

A long pink tongue extends from my mouth and flicks near his cheek. Ugh. Please don't lick him. If I have any control over this body at this point, please. Don't. Lick. His. Scruffy. Face.

"Cell block 42," he whispers. "Down the hall, to the right. There are signs."

I smile, sucking my long, disgusting tongue back into my pointy-tooth filled mouth.

"Thank you," I reply, sounding a little more like an Athelonian girl than I'd like to. His eyes do a weird, squinting thing.

Before I know it, my four-fingers ball into a fist to crash into the bridge of his nose with a thud that snaps his head back, tossing the black helmet into a lazy arc behind him. When he slumps to the ground in silence, I narrow my eyes and head for the right-hand turn he was talking about.

"Cell block 42," I say to myself.

"Don't bother!" a voice familiar shouts. My head spins as I see dear old Dad striding down the hallway through the residue from the fierce plasma conflict. His form is almost invisible through the thickening purple smoke that now fills the air. He steps over a fallen body, but continues towards me, showing no fear. His long, dark robes whisk along at his feet with a sense of regal elegance, and his mouth is a straight line in the cropped gray beard.

"We're doubling guards around the boy. You'll never find him. Tell me what you've done with my daughter."

I clench my fists and tense my body as four guards converge on my father, lifting their own weapons.

"She is safe," I say. "We wish her no harm."

He glances around the hallway filled with fallen bodies. "And what of them?" he asks. "Did you wish them harm?"

"We want the boy. Leave him to us and nobody else need get harmed."

His eyes narrow. "Oh, someone will be harmed, Bragdon scum. First you, then him."

Is it possible to hate my own father as much as I love him? Because for one moment, I do. When I look at his stoic expression, the only emotion I feel is disgust and distaste. I never want to see his face again. The emotion strikes me like a sharp kick in the gut. Just as I realize how intense it is, it passes, returning me back to a normal, conflicted sense of wanting to do the right thing . . . for both Athelon and Braxis.

At this point that seems impossible.

My feet are glued to the ground as the four guards stride forward in unison to close around my father, separating us to protect him.

"Down the hall. To the right. Follow the signs." whispers through my mind.

I lunge forward to the right, avoid a swift barrage of stun blasts, then wrap my long fingers around the arm of the guard on my far right. I lift him from his feet and send him flying into the other three like a flesh bat. They collide and sprawl in a strange tangle of silver armored limbs and scattered plasma shooting up into the ceiling.

In a moment of utter confusion and chaos, I whip around the corner of the hallway, running full tilt around the next right-hand turn, towards Cell Block 42 and whatever horrors it might contain.

Chapter Ten

The first three hallways are empty, which seems strange as I make my way through the winding corridors of the prison complex, following simple gray signs for Cell Block 42. It's purposeful, as if they've drawn the guards away to allow me some kind of safe passage, a way to lure me into a false sense of security.

Even though I'm apparently now a Bragdon super ninja warrior, I'm a teenager. False sense of security is kind of my gig here.

Even as I progress forward, slinking along the tall, metal walls, I keep glancing down at my hands and exposed forearms to squint at the thickened gray skin and the ridges of embedded scales running up and down my limbs. My eyes and my brain can't quite rationalize what I'm seeing. The vision before me is like a foreign language I cannot translate. It's like an out-of-body experience, but I'm within this body, this tall, ridged, leather skinned body. It moves when I will it to move, but still I am just a passenger, someone riding along, waiting for the next stop to get off.

But now I'm wondering if there will be a next stop. Am I trapped in this walking reptilian mass transit vehicle forever? Now that I've made this big change, is there any going back to the way I was?

I approach the corner silently, crouch against the wall, and turn my ears to listen for any telltale noises or signals. I hear nothing except the dull hum of air intakes above me.

I ease myself forward to peer down the corridor. A strange haze forms over my vision then clears quickly. Where the hallway bends to the left several feet down, I see shifting shadows on the floor.

They're quiet, but they're there, just around that corner. I can't tell how many, but they're crammed between me and Cell Block 42, and there are more than I can handle.

Then again, I'm not sure if there are more than I can handle. I've been surprising myself since I started discovering this bizarre part of my psyche a month ago, and things just keep getting weirder.

I round the corner as low to the ground as I can muster, bracing my crouching walk with my left hand. As I get closer, I see the shadows still moving, seeming to meld into one large, amorphous blob of Athelonian Security. There is a rumble of voices above the consistent hum of airflow and muttering machinery.

My heart rate quickens as I near the corner, trying to brace myself to strike. My mind sorts through possible outcomes to this path, and most of those outcomes are negative. An idea sparks in my head as the voices down the next hall quiet some, lowering to just above whisper volume, almost as if they're anticipating my imminent arrival.

Are they? Do they know I'm coming? Luxen should be right down the hall here, so they must figure I'm heading this way, but do they know how close I am?

Can I ask myself any more questions?

Is it too late to go home and get in my nightie and watch last week's episode of Symtrax? That dude cracks me up.

. . . Now or never?

Yeah, how about never? I'm good with never, but Luxen wouldn't be.

When did I start caring so much for the well-being of people other than myself? How do I get back into selfish mode?

I draw closer to the corner and now their voices are loud, shouting in my sensitive new ears to the point where I have to focus to keep them from overwhelming my senses. If I'm going to do this, I need to do this now.

So, I do.

I charge towards the opposite wall at full speed with my new, enlarged reptile muscles pumping to push me forward at previously inconceivable speeds. My sudden appearance and quick action startles shouts and exclamations from a cluster of Adroxis Security Guards.

"There it is!" one shouts.

"Weapons ready!" comes another voice.

I try to block it out. I dash towards the far wall, away from the plasma blasts. My double-jointed knees propel me forward, my feet contact the smooth wall, and then my spine arches into a back flip. Plasma smacks into the wall in a splash of blinding light. I skim the ceiling, tucking my knees tight again, tumbling end-over-end, straightening, and diving feet-first into the group of uniformed officers. My landing slams into the first line of defense, sending three of them lurching upward and two more sprawling towards the ground. As I pin one of them to the ground, I twist and swing, slamming a back fist into the narrow face of a nearby security guard, splitting skin and sending his helmet soaring.

They flounder away, turn, and try to maneuver, but I press forward. I drill a fist into the nearest guard's stomach, cock my shoulder to deliver a right cross to smash his jaw, and throw him down. I'm too close for anyone to get a good shot in the middle of the confusion of toppling bodies and moving uniforms.

How I planned it, right?

Sure, let's go with that.

The bodies press towards me, abandoning their attempts to try to get space to fire. They all seem to elect to smother me instead.

Good.

I drop into a crouch to avoid sweeping arm. Freaking arms are everywhere with these people. I charge forward, barrel through two of them straight ahead, and push through a small gap back out into the free space of the hallway. I zig-zag down the hallway, leaving a confused pile of guards behind me.

Those who recover first, chase me with plasma as I run. Plasma sears right as I angle left. I round a corner just as light peppers the area where I was. A thundering barrage of footfalls erupts behind me. The whole group of security is chasing me now, and running more quickly than I anticipated. The echoing stomps sound like they're right on my heels.

Even as I run away from them, I know my next move. It became clear to me as I was slinking through the hallway, approaching the group in the corridor that was silent except for the low hum of air intake in the ceiling.

I round a second corner and pick up speed, putting more distance between myself and the approaching horde, then squinting at the spaced metal panels above. Without even slowing, I leap to my right, scale the wall, then push off to punch my shoulder into one of the metal panels of the ceiling. It jars loose and smashes up into the empty alcove above the corridor. I hook my fingers into the edge of the opening, then sweep myself up inside. Just as I hear the footsteps approaching I swing the panel back around and ease it home. I halt my motion, taking every effort to minimize my noise, as I crouch in the dank darkness, beside the air ducts.

Up in this alcove the darkness is an all-consuming, pitch black that seems to be pressing in from all directions. I snap my head back and forth, trying to get my bearings from footfalls below.

My eyes, which still aren't my eyes, snap a few times, as my brain struggles to translate an odd, multidimensional flicker that is forming around me. By the third flicker, the world around me starts to clarify. Black is filtered through an opaque fog of green, and slowly, shape by shape, the world around me comes into focus, as if lamps that have been turned on, are a little too far away.

Night vision.

This new Bragdon body has night vision.

I creep forward on all fours, walking almost like a lizard does, with the belly close arms and legs splayed in weird bent knee and elbow formation. I skitter more than crawl along the floor of this alcove, moving forward at a steady pace, following the trajectory of the hallway down below. I don't hear the footsteps anymore. They faded away as if they continued on down the hallway, looking for me, while I doubled back towards Cell Block 42.

An expertly designed plan if I say so myself. I'd like to take credit for thinking of it, but the truth is, this strange reptile half of my brain is far more tactically savvy than I'll ever be. I just need to be sure to stay tapped into it.

As I skitter around another corner a few moments later, I find myself blocked by a concrete wall which extends up through the ceiling alcove. The air vent opening is far too small for me to fit through.

Is this it? Luxen's cell? I have no way of knowing from up here.

My sloped skull presses to the floor as I try to listen, and I hear the murmur of voices from the hall below. They didn't send all the security officers after me, they left some behind to guard the cell. They're not so dumb after all.

I stay still for a moment, considering my options.

What options? How many are down there? What weapons do they have? How could little old me hope to get through them?

These seem like valid, credible questions, but already my mind races with alternative solutions, none of which make me happy. They all seem to include plasma burns and broken bones, in some cases mine, in most cases theirs. At this juncture, the Adroxis Security Officers are my enemies, but I don't want them dead. I need to draw the line somewhere.

But I can't just sit up here thinking this through either. Eventually the horde that separated is going to figure out I'm not where they think I should be and come back, and then I'll be in trouble. Time is of the essence.

Down on my knees I extend my fingers with long, narrow claws at the ends of all eight of them.

You know, for creepy lizard dudes these Bragdons have sweet talons. It would take me years to grow my nails this nice.

With just a little pressure, the nails slide up and under the seams of the ceiling panel, easing it free from its clasps. With as much caution as I can muster I lift the panel, pull it towards myself, and set it behind me in the alcove. A quick peek through the square reveals the group of security officers hovering outside the cell door, and confirms that none of them heard the panel, but provides no clear indication of whether this is Cell Block 42.

It has to be. Would they station all of these guards outside a cell that didn't contain a renegade punk Bragdon? I doubt it.

The minutes are racing by. I don't have much time.

My eyes narrow on a panel on the far wall, and I smile, aware of what my next move is . . . what it has to be. There are six men down there, six men with four arms each, and many of them are toting two plasma weapons. That's a heck of a lot of firepower and not much wiggle room. Reaching for the liberated panel, I twist until the small lock pin falls into my leather-skinned palm.

The nails? Awesome. The skin? Not so much.

I pinch the fastener between my fingers, check to see which way the guards are facing, and aim down into the corridor. Holding my breath, I extend my hand, flick my fingers, and shoot the small, metal projectile behind them. For a moment, one of the guards jerks his head as if he heard something, but only looks around, not up.

The fastener strikes the panel, hitting the large green button and with a sudden, unexpected snap, all the lights in the hallway blink out. No windows equals total darkness.

The murmurs down below rise to whispers, then mumbles, and soon full blown barks of concern.

"What's going on?"

"Who hit that switch?"

"Did they cut the power?"

It's time to move.

Chapter Eleven

Down below, the figures are scrambling, looking around, and trying to figure out what's going on. I know this because I can see them. They appear in various shades of gray and green, that much is certain, but I can still make them all out clearly and I can still see where their weapons are pointed.

Athelonians, though? Yeah, they don't have this fancy night vision stuff.

In one smooth motion I curl my elbows, pulling myself forward, down and through the opening. With my fingers curled around the edge of the square, I somersault, then let go to drop into the center of the group of six officers.

"Who's there?" One shouts, swiveling, his weapon raised.

I lunge forward, plowing a balled fist into the bridge of his nose, and send him stumbling backwards with his arms pin-wheeling.

"Someone's here!" Another officer shouts and I can see him turning to point his weapon in my general direction. I drop down as the rifle fires, sending purple plasma into the chest of another guard behind me, then leap into the air to knock the gun aside. I twist my other leg around in a crescent shape, crashing my massive reptile foot into the side of his head. The impact is so hard, he flips sideways, crashing to the ground on his right shoulder. His helmet pops off and his weapons scatter.

A fourth one fires three times, missing to my right. I move in to kick him in the stomach, throwing him back against the wall so hard the impact dents the metal surface behind him. Another flash of light to my right causes my shoulder to flare in pain as the stun blast plows into me, glancing from my arm and splashing against the wall next to me. I grimace, but recover, moving right as the light in the hallway dims again and they lose track of me.

Two left. Twenty seconds and only two left.

One of the last two lunges blindly and manages to smack me with his weapon, then turns his other weapon towards the impact and fires point blank at my face. I'm already dropping down, so the stream of energy zips just above my sloped scalp. I hurl forward, elbowing him in the chest, then following up with a rocketing punch to his opposite temple.

As he falls to the side, I move toward the last standing officer in clear night vision view, but his weapon turns towards me as I move towards him and I'm staring down the cold, dark eye of danger. He fires blindly, sending a stripe of pain streaking up the ribs of my left side.

At least as an Athelonian that's where my ribs were. I have no clue what my anatomy is like now. These are questions that will keep me up at night.

I roll with the impact, trying to muzzle my groan of pain, but he must have heard me, because he follows my path with the barrel of his weapon and fires again. This time I am quick enough, to avoid a second spear of bright light, but the shot illuminates the hallway. His eyes fix on mine, and his legs send him charging towards me. I back pedal, avoid his initial lunge, then brace my legs and push forward to intercept him with a fist to his broad chin. His teeth slam together as he stumbles backwards. I move in closer for a couple of gut punches and a round-house kick. The impact of his head crashing into the wall finishes him.

I stand there in the hallway, muscles tensed and fists clenched, waiting for more motion, waiting for another guard to arrive, just waiting...for something.

The hallway is silent.

All six guards are on the ground.

Ahead of me I see the locked cell door marked with a narrow metal badge proclaiming the number forty-two. Off in the distance I hear the soft slapping of running footsteps, but I'm not quite used to this new body yet, so I can't quite tell how close they are.

I rummage through the belt of one of the fallen security guards and retrieve a badge of some kind. Yanking it free, I turn towards the door as the echoing footfalls get louder, and press the badge to the card reader on the left side of the sealed entrance.

It buzzes red.

I turn and look at the other bodies as I hear the footsteps get louder and voices barking orders to each other. They're getting closer.

"Are the lights out up there?"

"What's going on?"

"Move! Move! Move!"

I crouch again and fish through the pouches on a second guards pant legs, pulling out another badge, which I turn over in my hand, trying to translate. I hold it down against the card reader with my heart racing.

The light flashes green.

The door clicks.

It starts to slide open, but I wedge my fingers inside and shove, forcing the door to spread wide, then slip inside, turn and slam it back closed behind me.

Up above, the lights flicker, then flash on.

"Who are you?"

Luxen. It's Luxen's voice. I'd recognize it anywhere.

I turn to look at the young Bragdon boy who saved my life. The kid who almost disgusted me a month ago, is now someone I risked life and limb to set eyes on again. The emotions when I see him are difficult to rationalize, but all I can do is smile.

"I'm here to rescue you," I say, and it sounds just as stupid as I feared it would. I'm not some chill action star; I'm a nerdy teenage girl. I can't get away with stuff like that.

"How did you get here?" he asks, his mouth wide and eyes glaring.

"It's me," I say. "It's Brie."

He moves his head back, looking me over, crumpling his face into some strange reptile look of utter confusion.

"I don't understand," he says, because of course he doesn't.

"I . . . I don't know how to explain," I reply, looking down at my hands again. The same four fingers are still there.

"Are you . . . one of us?" he asks, stepping forward and touching my face with his own fingers. A month ago, the touch of a Bragdon would have been repulsive, but today, it's comforting . . . normal.

I look down at my hands again, and the mottled gray is shifting to pale flesh. Before my very eyes, one of the thick fingers splits into two and as the colors shift, my Bragdon hands become Athelonian hands again. The pain is less this time. It's still there with the strange tugs, twists, and pops of skin, muscle, and bone. The knee pops when my legs reform is something I don't think I will ever get used to.

Less than a minute later I stand there, looking at the boy who saved my life. I'm back to being Brie Northstar, the eighteen-year-old Athelonian girl, daughter of Redax, and innocent shuttle passenger who somehow got pulled into the strangest adventure ever.

"You are one of us," he says, smiling.

"I'm not sure exactly what I am," I reply. "This is all new to me, Luxen. All I know is that you don't deserve this, and I couldn't just let it happen."

Outside the door, footsteps echo. Dozens of them. Luxen glances over my shoulder.

"Okay...so now what?"

A voice breaks through the confusion.

"Brie? Are you in there?"

No. Oh God no.

"Brie! Come out right now! There is nothing you can do for him!"

My father! My father is right outside this door, surrounded by Adroxis Security, and this is the worst day of my life.

In the distance I hear the faint blast of claxons from the prison yard. Yeah, I think I might have just stepped in it this time.

"Brie Northstar!" he shouts. "I have two dozen security officers out here! We'll be opening this cell door in moments! I hope you have a good explanation!"

"Daddy!" I shout. "Please, daddy. Please just let him go."

Silence is my only response. The only response I deserve.

Outside, alarms grow louder and longer. Is this all for little old me?

I hear shuffling movement outside the door, then a beep and click. The door slides open.

There's no more hiding. I'm standing there, back in my Athelonian form, standing next to Luxen, a Bragdon. There's no denying what I've done, what I'm trying to do, or what my end goal is. I can't talk my way out of this.

"Come with me, Brie," my father says. He stands there in the hallway with a handful of officers still scattered on the floor at his feet. Several more officers who are awake, alert, and armed flank him and fill the hallway behind him. Weapons are raised and trained, standing shoulder to shoulder, filling every empty inch of space. There is no way out.

"It's not too late," Dad continues. "I'm giving you a way out." He extends both right hands towards me in acceptance, or maybe, of forgiveness.

Do I even want it?

I could go with him, sure, but what would that change? Luxen will still be dead next week, and all of this would be meaningless.

The alarms outside don't just blare; they howl. My father's eyes dart towards the wall, as if wondering what's going on in the prison yard.

Maybe these alarms aren't for me after all?

"I won't make this offer again," he says. "You've crossed a line, Brie, but I can pull you back. If you make the right choice now, I can give you another chance. But only one."

"And what happens to Luxen?" I ask before I can reconsider.

His face hardens and his mouth narrows. I can see the impatience carving lines into his skin and pulling his eyes into narrow slits.

Right, Luxen pays the price. No matter what, the boy who saved my life dies as a villain.

"I... I can't, Dad," I reply, drawing in a breath and squaring my shoulders. "I can't do it. It's wrong."

My father closes his eyes. He effectively shuts me out of his life with one small movement. His eyelids represent a door closing on his relationship with his only child and I have no one to blame but myself.

"Take her," he says quietly, starting to turn away.

I lower my head, accepting the inevitable. There was no positive end to this scenario. There was no way this was going to end well. What did I expect?

Two guards take a step forward, almost in unison, reaching out towards us, handcuffs ready to draw us in. My fight has ended.

The flash of light is blinding as the left wall ahead of me explodes inward. Chunks of wall surrounded by thickened fingers of smoke, slam the two guards in front of me against the opposite wall as if a giant reached out and punched them.

All around me the roar of explosions rocks the narrow hallway, stones and debris scatter around, and security officers scramble to regroup. The world, or at least the part I can see, is being thrown into loud, smoke-filled chaos.

A large hole in the left wall sits open, the dark of night visible beyond, my eyes roaming for some sense in the madness of this new world.

Two Bragdons emerge, each one carrying a slender, rectangular weapon. Each is layered in thick, dark body armor and has a sleek helmet, wrapped around his narrow reptile head.

Each one is looking at Luxen and me.

"Brie Northstar!" shouts one of them. "I am Gragson from the Yarkos sector of Braxis! We are here to rescue you!"

Gragson, wasn't he the one at the airfield before I left? Wasn't he the one in charge? I stand there stock still, unable to move. Debris fills the hallway, leaving Adroxis Security scattered and uncertain.

"We don't have much time!" he shouts. "Grab the boy! We must go!"

I glance at him, then back at the hallway. My father stands on the other side of the collapsed wall with his eyes boring into mine.

"Stop, Brie! Don't do it!" he shouts. "You are my daughter! You are Athelonian!"

Am I? I'm not so sure.

He looks back over his shoulder. "We need reinforcements!" he screams. "No stun weapons! Shoot to kill!"

I draw in a long, deep breath, looking back over at Gragson who looks nervous and apprehensive.

"You have ten seconds," he mutters. "Then we will grab the boy and leave without you."

Alarms blare all around me, smoke stings my eyes and fills my lungs. Ahead Adroxis Security falls into formation, lifting their weapons as Luxen pushes past my left shoulder, charging towards his savior.

"Brie!" my father shouts. "Make the right choice!"

I am making the right choice. Of this I am certain.

I take one last look at my father.

And run towards Gragson at full speed, following close behind the boy who was destined to die.

"Brie!" My father shouts one last time. "Brie!"

I don't look back; can't look back. Through the blasted wall I can see the Bragdon ship ahead, the familiar sloped shape of a drop ship, the same kind I stole a month ago to escape that awful swamp planet. Now I was getting in one, voluntarily, to go . . . where? Back to Braxis? Somewhere else?

I don't know. But what I do know is that I no longer belong here. Athelon is alien now, a planet I have never belonged to, and one that was distasteful and foreign to me.

Ahead Luxen is running up into the hold of the drop ship and I follow him. All around the prison yard, headlights blare and engines roar as vehicles approach. Plasma weapons start to erupt.

As I slip into the passenger compartment, the door slams closed behind me and before I can even strap in, quad thrusters explode to life, throwing the ship into the air. It banks left to avoid a barrage of anti-aircraft fire, then hovers a moment as the engines blast, throwing the small ship forward at unimaginable velocity.

All around me the windows show stars blurring into streaks of light as the ship leaves Athelon airspace and carried me towards the next phase of my life.

Epilogue

He stands at the console, looking out through the large view screen, a wall sized slab of glass showing the vastness of space interspersed with specks of stars.

Locking his wrists behind his back, the Bragdon known only as Command, glares out at a distinct twinkle, a blip of light which grows brighter, twists, then pulls to a narrow streak as it leaves Athelon's atmosphere and hurtles through the cosmos.

With a heave of his broad, level shoulders, the large creature unlocks his wrists and pulls one massive four-fingered hand across one of the bone white protrusions that extends from the rigid, brown skin of his head. A pucker of hard flesh wraps the base of the horn curls up and around, ending in a vaguely pointed stub. He has these horns scattered about the crown of his skull, and similarly shaped ridges at his shoulders, across his arms, and even arching down his curved spine.

They are a symbol of his status as a ruler of Braxis and the military commander of all Bragdon forces.

He is the one in charge of recovering the girl.

Girl seems like an inadequate term. She is so much more than that. He wonders who else knows.

What other creatures across the Yarda Quadrant have any indication of precisely what secrets young Brie Northstar holds, and how hard Braxis has worked to protect them. They'd come so close to using her that last time, so close, but ultimately failed.

This time things already look brighter. This time she is joining them willingly, turning her back on what she perceives as her own kind. This is going well for them and their cause. Athelon has played right into their hands. They pushed her too hard and fought too much, and thus, put her right where the Bragdon want her. Everything is going according to plan.

Command reaches forward with his large, leathery fingers and adjusts the controls under the view screen. The wall in front of him shifts slightly, fading away from Athelon and slowly morphing into a view of another large, round globe.

This planet is a strange mixture of green and silver. Even from space, it is a gleaming sphere of solid civilization and a shining jewel set in a quadrant of lifeless, bony rocks.

It's just the way the Reblons want it.

They want the galaxy to know that they own this quadrant, that they are the most important race in this little corner of infinite space which is bright, sparkling, diamond crusted, and valuable. It makes him sick.

They have turned Brie Northstar against Athelon, convincing her that the Bragdons are on her side, that she is one of them. But Reblox. No doubt Reblox has its own hand to play, and judging by their aggression when Braxis intercepted her shuttle a month ago, they have their own sinister intentions.

Command curled his rigid lips and furrowed a brow buried under rounded, skin-covered bone. His yellow eyes snap in swift succession, as he glares at the screen. For the briefest moment he thinks he catches some streaks of light at edge of Reblox. That scant light may be the nearly invisible indication of a spacecraft leaving orbit. But the streaks are dissipating and once again the atmosphere around the sparkling globe is dark and solemn.

Imagination?

"Navigator!" he shouts, turning his spiny back away from the monitor screen.

"Yes, Command!" shouts the Bragdon in response. He is a more normal looking rendition of the reptile race, who stands ensconced within an ornate, rounded control panel in the center of the ship's bridge.

"Set an intercept course for the jump ship leaving Athelon's orbit. I want to get it on board as soon as possible!"

"As you wish!"

The navigator adjusted some controls, gesturing to a second Bragdon who nods and repeats the motions. The battle cruiser begins it's slow, methodical shift in space, adjusting its trajectory so slowly that nobody inside can feel the difference. However, the Bragdon battle cruiser is indeed changing course, in the direction of the jump ship which is one of the largest battle cruisers in the Braxis fleet. It is a long and jagged dagger of space faring debris, flanked by a dozen angular wings extending out from each sloped side. It is a long, narrow craft of punched and bent steel and carbon. The mere sight of it brings fear to the eyes of most other space faring creatures.

While it is dangerously close to Athelon, its adjusted course draws it slightly away, heading towards the streak of light that is mixing with the surrounding stars.

No they will not be engaging with Athelon today. There is still work to do. But they have mounted the first ledge and are preparing to keep climbing.

When this is done, Braxis will rest alone atop the mountain of the Yarda Quadrant, and all others will bow to Command.

What others are left alive, that is.

IV

Enemy of Reblon

Third novella in the War of the Three Planets series

Chapter One

What have I gotten myself into now? I have defied my father, escaped his house arrest, and attempted a single-handed prison break to free Luxen, the boy who saved my life on Braxis. The almighty Redax Northstar, head of the Athelonian North Annex Union, had ordered Luxen executed simply because he was a "filthy Bragdon enemy".

A little more than a month ago, I was an Athelonian teenager heading to one of our remote moons to go to school, learn some skills, and prepare for life as an adult.

Sounds pretty lame when I think about it, but somewhere a higher power must agree because I'm no longer that person. Oh, I'm still Brie Northstar, but I'm not going to school, I'm not heading to one of our remote moons, and I'm not even sure I'm Athelonian. I'm not sure I ever was.

I look down at my two hands—two—Athelonians have four arms, and remember my father standing on the other side of the collapsed prison wall with his eyes boring into mine.

"STOP, BRIE! DON'T DO it!" he shouts. "You are my daughter! You are Athelonian!"

Am I? I'm not so sure.

He looks back over his shoulder. "We need reinforcements!" he screams. "No stun weapons! Shoot to kill!"

I draw in a long, deep breath, looking back over at Gragson who looks nervous and apprehensive.

"You have ten seconds," he mutters. "Then we will grab the boy and leave without you."

Alarms blare all around me, smoke stings my eyes and fills my lungs. Ahead Adroxis Security falls into formation, lifting their weapons as Luxen pushes past my left shoulder, charging towards his savior.

"Brie!" my father shouts. "Make the right choice!"

I am making the right choice. Of this I am certain.

I take one last look at my father.

And run towards Gragson at full speed, following close behind the boy who was destined to die.

"Brie!" My father shouts one last time. "Brie!"

I don't look back; can't look back. Through the blasted wall I can see the Bragdon ship ahead, the familiar sloped shape of a drop ship, the same kind I stole a month ago to escape that awful swamp planet. Now I am getting in one, voluntarily, to go . . . where? Back to Braxis? Somewhere else?

SUDDENLY THE JUMP SHIP leaps left, slams sideways, and knocks me off my feet, snapping me out of my self-reflective day dream. Night dream? We're in outer space, I have no idea what time of day it is or what happened to cause that jolt.

Gragson has been carefully maneuvering through the debris field left by the destruction of the asteroid that threatened Athelon three cycles ago. To Gragson's credit, he's flying pretty well, arcing the jump ship over a tight cluster of broken space rocks, banking left, avoiding another.

More streaks of yellow plasma scorch up from behind us, but scream by on our port, smashing into already broken up pieces of meteoroid that are too close for comfort.

"We've got Athelonian star fighters on our flank!" Luxen shouts, running up from the rear of the jump ship. This spacecraft is of Bragdon design, one I'm somewhat familiar with due to my close call escape from the planet Braxis about a month ago.

I thought all Bragdons were my sworn enemy back then . . . now I'm hiding in their spaceship to escape Athelon.

Times, as they say, have changed.

"I see four bogeys closing in!" shouts Gragson from the pilot's seat. When I first met him he was leading an army of four dozen reptile aliens trying to capture me. Well, turns out I might be one of those reptile aliens myself.

"I've got guns!" I shout, throwing myself to my feet. For a young girl who lived a sheltered life, I know how to do a lot of cool stuff. Apparently that includes manning advanced weaponry on a Bragdon jump ship.

I run diagonally across the center aisle of the ship to a rounded clear bubble mounted towards the rear of the spacecraft. I jump to catch the handle of the quad-barreled weapon, pull myself up into the turret, and strap myself right into the curved seat.

My fingers wrap around the contoured handles as I tilt forward, lurching the weapons down on their spherical mounts. I compensate and pull back to level out the guns, pointing them straight back towards a quartet of faint streaks screaming up from the lower atmosphere.

I hesitate for a moment. After all, the pilots of these ships are members of Athelonian Air Defense. My dad has friends in the AAD.

Bright splashes of light erupt from the streaks and bolts of bright light carve through darkened space towards our ship. The first shot ricochets off the rear left of the ship and dissipates. The small jump ship shudders as three more shots scream overhead. The Athelonian Air Defense sure doesn't seem to share my hesitation at taking lives.

With a shrug of my shoulders, I lean forward, pressing my face closer to a flip up scope that extends from the ceiling of the rounded chamber I'm sitting in. Within the sighting system I see the four streaks converge, then spread apart, as they swing around to come up on each side of us.

With a gentle twist I dial up the magnification to zoom in tight on the lead fighter. I catch a familiar icon on its rear stabilizer. The Iridium Squadron . . . It had to be them.

"Northstar! What are you waiting for?" Gragson yells from the pilot's seat. "They're gaining on us on each flank!"

How do I tell him? How do I tell my new Bragdon friends that my father is a member of Iridium Squadron and that their pilots have been guests at our house for dinner. How can I—

The jump ship rocks left, as an echoing thud bellows from my right.

"Plasma hit!" Luxen shouts. "Direct shot on our starboard side!"

"If you're not going to fire, get out of the gunner's seat!" Gragson yells back as he pitches the ship forward, diving under a deadly cross-section of white energy. I shake my head to clear the memories and thrum my fingers on the handles.

"Sorry! I'm sorry! I'm on it!"

I snap the controls in opposite directions and the rotating pod swivels left, all four barrels coming around to my left. I line up the barrels on one of the approaching ships. Leading the approaching streak just a little, I squeeze the trigger, arcing bright energy through the noiseless void of space. The ship slams apart, flashing a bright bloom of spent fuel, then spraying shards of space ship in a rippling puff.

Not even waiting for the light of that explosion to fade, I dip down then whip right, spraying more plasma in a tight, curved trajectory. One of the Iridium Squadron pulls up sharply, but not before twin bolts of energy smash apart the left wing, sending the remaining parts of the ship cartwheeling end-over-end through the vastness of space.

"Nicely done!" Gragson says, banking the ship back right. "Hold on, we have three more converging ahead."

As he orients the ship to fire upon the approaching Athelonians I compensate with the rear turret and fire again, walking all four barrels up the center of a third approaching star fighter, carving jagged sparks in its composite hide.

I turn away as it breaks apart, trying not to imagine the pilot hurtling from the carcass of his ship. As I adjust the turret again, another volley of return fire soars towards me, pelting the hard outer shell of the jump ship, and knocking chunks of hull out into space.

The ship jolts, but holds together, and up near the front I can hear the nose turrets chirping and the quiet triumph of Gragson as he tears up enemies ahead of us.

The last star fighter at our rear screams past the clear turret, revealing its underbelly. I twist the cannons, trying to track it, but it banks hard right and dives away, causing my gunfire to stream wide left.

This guy can fly.

"Uh, Brie?" Luxen says, his voice a muffled hush of concern.

"Hold up, Luxen," I reply, twisting again, making another adjustment, and firing all four barrels. One lucky shot wings the left thruster of the retreating fighter, but it compensates with the other three and rights itself, coming back around.

"Brie, we've got trouble!"

I turn towards Luxen, trying not to be angry, but failing. "Little busy here!"

"We're about to be busier." He gestures out the small window in front of him, but I don't have the right angle to see what he's looking at.

Behind us, the last star fighter must have come back around while I wasn't paying attention because a volley of plasma smashes into the rear of the ship below the mounted turret. Sparks and metal blast from the hull of the ship as three of the four barrels rend free of the main cannon, spiraling out into space. The clear rounded shell cracks, but holds.

"Come on!" I scream. I push away from the seat, jumping down to the metal floor, landing in a crouch. "Rear guns are toast!" I shout as I run towards Luxen. The ship is thrashing and I can barely keep my balance.

A glance out of the side window on the young Bragdon's left causes my mouth to drop wide open. Flicks of light are everywhere against the blackness of space, blinking into illumination and growing larger.

"There must be an entire Athelon fleet out there," Luxen says quietly. "They're not letting you go easily."

"We've got more trouble!" Gragson yells from the front as he pulls back on the controls, trying to bank the jump ship away from the approaching fleet. "More star fighters coming at us from ahead! Six... no seven!"

The ship lurches forward and down, sending both me and Luxen into clumsy stumbles. Two other Bragdons emerge from side chambers and run out into the hallway, weapons clutched in their four-fingered hands.

"What should we do?" one of them asks.

"Nothing we can do!" Gragson replies.

Up the hallway, out the front canopy, I see the ships swarming towards us, energy exploding. Three rapid slams echo from the front, sending the ship tumbling left, in a clumsy, uncontrolled barrel roll, and us toppling over ourselves, bouncing off walls, and slamming into the curved ceiling.

Somehow I stay conscious through the increasing g-force and the rapid pounding of my head and body against the unrelenting metal of the inner hull. One last pop and bang rebounds off the inner walls towards the rear, signaling the loss of a thruster.

"I'm cutting power," Gragson reports from the pilot's seat. "Conserving for life support. Thruster three is dead. I'm shutting down the other four."

As he's speaking, the background noise that we've all become accustomed to on this ship, or any ship, starts dying down, fading to a strange haunting silence, as if we're all in this large metal tomb floating in nothing.

I see the approaching lights of Athelon ships closing in to surround us, and this whole endeavor seems wholly without point. I killed Athelonians. I destroyed ships belonging to my father's squadron... why? For what? So we could delay the inevitable?

The surrounding lights grow larger and I settle my breathing, waiting for the boarding party to arrive.

Chapter Two

I didn't even realize there were that many Athelonian star fighters . . . the lights keep flickering to life in the vastness of dark space, like dozens of additional stars growing to supernova.

"What do we do?" Luxen asks, a completely sensible question, given our current state.

"Are we going to drift here until they come get us?" I ask.

"I'm thinking," Gragson growls, his voice soaked with its normal Bragdon gravel.

I glance out the side windows. "They're coming from the front and the starboard; we're clear on the port side. How fast can this thing go?"

"With one dead thruster not nearly fast enough," he replies as he looks over the controls and appears to be doing some mental math. He halts as he passes over one of the scanners. "Hold up," he whispers.

I stand and walk forward down the central aisle, heading towards the cockpit. "What did you find?"

He looks over his shoulder at me. "You can remain seated," he growls. "This isn't a situation you can help with."

I can't help but smirk. "Hey, you're the one who traveled through hyperspace to an enemy planet to kidnap me, scales."

All I hear is a ragged grumble as he dials up the sensitivity settings on the long range scanners.

That's when I sense it. There's this strange shift in the very gravity of space itself as if we're passing by a large moon or asteroid belt. The ambient light of the surrounding stars dims and through the windows things seem to darken like they're in shadow.

"Uh, Gragson?" I ask. "Might want to switch to short range scanners."

He notices the dimming light and leans forward, glancing up out of his front window. "By the Elders," he mutters.

"Is that good or bad?" I ask. He shrugs in reply.

Gragson twists towards us as the two other Bragdons hurry towards the cockpit.

"Oh, it's good!" he shouts. "It's very good!"

I join the other Bragdons, making my way up to the cockpit to get a look outside the front window at the large, vague shape now casting a broad shadow down around us. As I watch, the shadow forms into a massive, cylindrical shape with angular panels bolted together. Though it has a rudimentary torpedo shape, it is much larger than a regular projectile. Triangular stabilizers are in abundance with two huge rounded wings thrust out, each one carrying eight smaller cylinders underneath which appear to be hyperspace thrusters.

Once upon a time I had no idea what a hyperspace thruster was, even if I stumbled on it in a labeled diagram. That time has past, and once again I'm surprised by the vastness of my previously limited knowledge.

"The Battle Cruiser Rolixander," Gragson says quietly, as if in awe. "Command ship of the Braxis fleet."

My eyes widen. The command ship? That sounds important. Braxis sent out their command ship? To pick me up? I'm not sure how to process this information.

Realization starts to hit me.

"Wait. Is that Battle Cruiser going to attack those star fighters?" I know the answer already. Even as I ask, I see the flickering lights breaking away and streaking in different directions, trailing fuel and cooling flame. Dozens of Athelonians are out there . . . hundreds. How many are destined to die in the next ten minutes?

"Indeed," Gragson replies, his lipless mouth splitting into a horrific grin, revealing scattered pointed teeth.

"No!" I scream. "They can't! Hundreds of . . . they'll die!" I almost said 'my people'. But they're not my people. Are they? My head is swimming.

Gragson turns and looks at me, his yellow eyes narrowing under the scaled bulge of thickened skin. "We are at war, Ms. Northstar. I thought you realized this."

"I'll turn myself in," I whisper. "I'll hand myself back over. This doesn't have to happen."

But it already has.

Above us, the massive cruiser angles left and bursts of light bloom across its side. Dozens of mini-cannons erupt into silent plasma blasts across the vacant space. Those glowing stars of spacecraft begin to wink out. There's no stopping it.

It's so ephemeral up here, not quite real. The view out of the canopy might as well be the view screen of actors in a well-orchestrated show with special effects.

A series of poofs, one right after the other, signals the violent end of scattered Athelonian star fighters. The cruiser fires towards the group, wiping living creatures from existence in a manner of seconds.

I can't move. I don't want to see this. Whatever my heritage is, whatever my genetic make-up is, I grew up on Athelon, lived there for eighteen cycles and, like it or not, these are my people who are being blasted to so much space dust in front of my eyes.

My feet are attached to the floor as if rooted there, intertwined with a complex systems of the ship. I want to turn and run, to bury my head, to pretend I'm not seeing this mass destruction, but there's no getting around it. There is no avoiding the carnage that is happening real time, right before my eyes.

"I can't watch this," I say quietly, though my eyes remain glued where they are.

Gragson smirks again, flashing that frustrating, cockeyed, reptile grin of yellowed teeth. "These are not your people," he hisses, as if reading my mind. "These are your enemies. They want you imprisoned or dead. You mean nothing to them."

I shake my head. My body is numb. My eyes mere windows to whatever horrors are occurring before me.

In the darkness of space ahead the energy beams multiply, filling almost every empty void with burnt light, smashing apart the entire wall of approaching Athelonian star fighters. Where three minutes ago there was half a fleet of Athelonian spacecraft, there is now a belt of broken metal, shattered glass, and undoubtedly floating corpses. Hundreds of living pilots are now reduced to debris.

"They are not your people!" Gragson shouts at me, snapping me out of my trance. I whip my head around, blinking and trying to refocus.

"I know," I reply. "I know. I do."

Gragson stands up from his seat and takes a step towards me, pressing his palms into my shoulders. Not hard, but firmly. "In a few minutes the Rolixander will fire its tractor beam and take us on board. Are you ready to be with us, Brie Northstar?"

Truth is, I'm not ready. I don't know what any of this means, but what choice do I have?

I nod my head. It feels like a gesture of finality. "I'm ready."

Almost on cue the ship jolts and shakes, then starts rising up through space. The battle cruiser grows larger, looming above the small jump ship that a few moments ago felt much larger than it does now. We are being dragged along like a ragged blanket trailing behind an unaware child.

A shrill shriek from the cockpit draws all of our attention, snapping our heads around in unison.

"What is that?" I ask.

Gragson draws in a rattling breath as he stumbles towards the scanner screen.

"No!"

"What?"

"We left the long range scanner on... it's picking up something! Something . . . huge!"

Through the window, a horizontal beam of white light splits the darkness of space like a scalpel. Before the shrouded shape within can even form, a second light scorches from the darkened segment of space, hurtling towards the looming battle cruiser above us.

Space is noiseless, but I can imagine the thundering sound of impacting plasma on the large cruiser above us, as it surges backwards under the onslaught, spraying metal and fuel out into space. Barely holding together, the cruiser adjusts its position and unleashes its own barrage of plasma streaking back towards its attacker.

The jump ship jolts then starts to drift backwards. "The tractor beam let us go!" shouts Luxen.

Gragson scrambles to the controls. "They must have diverted power to weapons systems! We're adrift!"

All around us, space is brightening with the flashes of ignited energy. I didn't even realize Athelon had a ship that large. It's visible now, some kind of mammoth battle ship moving in closer. It's still must be kilometers away, but it already looks so huge, even in the distance.

I can see energy beams from the Bragdon ship scattering along the smooth hull of the other cruiser. The sparks of light flash along the edge in uneven, staccato patterns.

"This whole sector is going to be on fire soon," one of the Bragdon officers growls as he glances over his shoulder towards a side window.

He's right. These cruisers are huge... the size of a thousand star fighters and already they've filled the space between them with white hot plasma. All around us space is rippling with the heat, I can see a light red glow coming from the surface of the jump ship. Even if we don't get hit by stray plasma, this whole ship could break apart.

"Oh no," Gragson mutters from the front cockpit. I'm not at all comfortable with his tone of voice.

"What?" I ask, starting to move forward, trying to ignore the rising temperature inside the ship and the brightening space outside.

"Those aren't Athelonians... that cruiser is from Reblox."

"Reblox?" I ask. Eighteen cycles without seeing a Reblon and now they're everywhere. "Why?"

Gragson turns towards me. "Why do you think?"

"I don't know! I don't know anything!"

He chuckles. The scale faced reptile jerk actually chuckles.

"Is something funny?" I ask. "I'm glad you find this situation funny. This is my life!"

Okay, maybe I'm a little overemotional. Teenagers are like that, right?

Well, teenage Athelonians are. Who the heck knows what teenage Bragdons are like. I can't even deal with this right now.

"Calm yourself, Brie Northstar," he replies without even looking at me. "I meant no offense."

He moves one of his hands to a lever and presses it upwards, towards the window. All around us, there's the low, increasing hum of machinery and the lights running above and below us drift on.

"If the Reblons are here," Gragson says. "Nothing about this is funny. And we need to make ourselves scarce."

Chapter Three

The Reblons. Why the Reblons? I find myself gazing out into space, watching the two battle cruisers navigate outer space. They are facing off against each other like two opponents in a fighting ring, circling, threatening, and exchanging blows, but landing no knock-out punch.

. . . At least not yet. If one of these cruisers does get knocked out, the explosion will decimate this little jump ship. It won't even be a contest.

"You seem to know some things," I say to Gragson, turning towards the pilot's seat. "Why the secrecy?"

Gragson continues to adjust dials on the console in front of him, not even acknowledging what I say.

"Gragson!" I shout.

"I'm trying to save our lives!" he shouts back, at least glancing over his shoulder at me this time.

As he twists another dial and eases a second joystick down, the jump ship begins to move, with thrusters firing low and rattling behind us.

"I've diverted power from life support back to propulsion, don't get too excited you'll use up all of our air supply."

I steady myself as the ship pushes forward, dipping right and away from the two battle cruisers.

"You're a myth among our people." I turn my head as Luxen approaches. He stands there, looking at me with a sense of awe in his eyes.

"What?" I look at Luxen in confusion. "How can I be a myth? I'm only eighteen cycles old."

"You, or what you represent . . . What you might be. There is a myth long told among Bragdons, and many of us believe you are the myth made real."

I drop to a cushioned seat on one side of the center aisle. "Tell me more, Luxen," I ask. "Please. I need to understand."

He walks over and sits across the isle from me. "I don't know the whole story. I don't even know why they're so convinced you are who they think you are."

"Who do they think I am?"

Luxen looks up at me, his yellow eyes wide and mouth spread into a slight smile. I can't quite explain the look, but it almost looks like admiration.

Luxen speaks like one far older than he appears. "The three planets of the Yarda Quadrant have been at war for generations," he says. "Athelonians never learn of this because the government shelters its people by fighting their war in space where the population cannot see."

"BRAGDONS ARE NOTHING but tools of Athelon and Reblon. We are living weapons they use to attack each other. Both sides take advantage of our abilities. We are caught in the middle."

"So this war is mostly between Reblon and Athelon?"

Luxen nods. "Reblon is the banking planet. Athelonians are the laborers. There are hard feelings there."

"What does this have to do with me?"

Luxen's eyes dart and flicker. "I'm not entirely sure, Brie. But I know the story of the girl."

"So tell me. Obviously they don't teach this in Athelonian schools."

"The tale tells of a girl from the stars, a girl with magical powers who will unite the quadrant."

I stand up, a sense of confinement quickening my heart rate. A ship that was more than large enough ten minutes ago now seems to resemble a sloped, metal coffin. Beads of sweat pool on my forehead, the tiny bubbles of perspiration collecting into a thin sheen of moisture.

"Brie," Luxen says, starting to stand.

"Stop," I say, a little more firm than I mean to. I turn towards him. "I'm just a girl, okay? That's all. I'm not some magical being from the stars. I'm just me."

Around us, the hum of machinery grows louder and the ship pitches right, throwing me off balance.

"Gragson!" I shout up to him. "Take me back. I want to go home."

The urge to go back to living my peaceful Athelonian existence is more than I can tolerate. I'm confined in this metal box and I want to get out, I want to go home. I want to go back to the safety of my room, back to the love of my parents.

"You are home, Brie Northstar," he growls back at me. "Athelon was never your home."

I can't take it anymore. Before I even realize what's happening, I'm throwing myself down the corridor, moving at a swift sprint towards the opened door to the cockpit. Bragons move in from my right and left, grasping my arms.

Even as I'm moving, I torque my waist and swivel right, lifting the Bragdon on my left off his feet and slamming his back down onto the metal floor of the corridor. The soldier to my right pushes forward, moving me across the hall and drilling me back into the curved metallic surface of the cargo compartment, pinning me there.

"Stop this!" Gragson screams back at me. "We are on the same side!"

"You keep telling me that!" I scream back. "I don't even know which side that is!"

Gragson turns towards me, his yellow eyes split wide, the irises snapping. "The side of unification! The side of peace. That is our side."

His words settle like a fine mist on the grass glistening in the early morning sun... soothing. My racing heart settles if just a little.

"Peace?" I ask. "How can I be sure of that?"

His eyes narrow a bit, his face becoming more calm as he moves away from the console, letting the ship press onward. Outside the front window, the area is clear except for an asteroid dead center which grows larger by the second.

"For generations Reblon and Athelon have surround us, pinning us between them. For longer than our history books can report, we have been used as weapons. Reblons capture us and twist our minds to use us against Athelon. Athelon strikes back by threatening our people, making demands, and using us against Reblox. We just want to live our lives."

The Bragdon continues to press on me, holding me to the wall. I'm not fighting back, I don't have the will to fight back anymore. There's been so much violence already. How many have died?

"I still don't know what this has to do with me."

Gragson takes another step closer, but my eyes fixate on the asteroid in the window. It still grows larger, no longer a marble, but now a small ball.

"Honestly," Gragson continues, "I'm not sure either. I'm hoping we can all find answers together."

I shake my head. "How?"

"The Elders," Gragson says. "There are Bragdon Elders who live for thousands of years. They may be able to tell us what you want to know."

"Elders?" I ask. "We're going back to Braxis?" Yeah, that's the last place I want to be right now. Those swamp lands were not kind to my skin or my hair.

Gragson smiles. It's a surprisingly warm smile for such a hard creature. His thick, gray skin seems to crack with it. "They are not all on Braxis, Brie Northstar," he says. "Some are isolated, separated."

Turning back towards the window, he watches as the asteroid grows nearer. "There," he says, extending one of his long, thick fingers. "We have some Elders there."

"On an asteroid?" I ask.

He looks at me again. "An asteroid created by the Bragdons. Disguised. Meant to hide some of our most important secrets. A clan of Elders live in silence and isolation, without fear of destruction."

"But why?"

He walks towards the console and starts adjusting controls, slowing the ship and guiding it more specifically towards the floating rock.

"As I said, for centuries, our very existence has been threatened by the other planets in the Yarda Quadrant. We have constant fear for our safety."

Easing the joy stick forward, the ship dips and accelerates, bringing the jump ship around into a more gradual descent towards the rocky sphere ahead.

"We had to ensure that our teachings would survive, and that our civilization would not cease to exist. Someone must remain to continue telling the prophecy."

"And you're taking me there?" I ask.

"I see no other way," Gragson replies. "The Elders on Braxis speak of your importance, but this ship cannot get us there. We wouldn't survive in space between those two cruisers. This is what must happen."

The rock grows larger as the ship descends. Around me the spacecraft thrashes as we break this strange atmosphere. How does an asteroid have an atmosphere? What is going on here?

Gragson claims the Elders will have answers, but all I can see are more questions.

My urge to go back to Athelon has not abated.

Chapter Four

The marble is far from a marble now, and in fact has become the rocky horizon of jump ship. That horizon seems to jostles back and forth as a strange false atmosphere grabs hold and throttles us like an angry kid.

"How does this asteroid have actual atmosphere?" I ask, my fingers wrapped around a handle screwed into the bulkhead. "What is this place?"

"It's neutral ground, Brie Northstar!" Gragson shouts back at me over the insistent chimes of the ships warning bells and shaking rattle of metal. "A haven for a remote clan of Elders!"

"Doesn't seem all that safe!" I shout back as the ship lurches downward, and hesitates before surging onward. I wince as small, floating rocks pelt the outsides.

Below us I can see the jagged, rock encrusted hide of the piece of glorified space debris enlarging as if spreading its arms wide to grab us and draw us into its gaping maw.

"It's considerably safer on the surface," Gragson replies as the ship passes through another layer of meteoroid infested debris fields.

Sure . . . safe on the surface, assuming we can actually land this bucket of bolts on the surface in one piece. No guarantees of that.

Somehow the jump ship batters its way through another barrage, rocking as space debris and stones smack the sides, banging off the hull.

The surface is rushing up towards us, looking like a series of rocky boulders shoved together into uneven peaks and jagged valleys. The twisted abomination of a mountain range leaves only small patches of flat land here and there. The entire surface of the rock is various shades of gray with no vegetation, no visible water, and nothing else except clumps of broken asteroid.

Up ahead I see a rocky mound with a rounded hole dug into its base. The jump ship dips down, then skips back up. The drastic shift in momentum throws me from my feet.

Thrusters roar underneath as the ship begins lowering towards the unforgiving surface. As we get closer to the surface, I see that my early estimation was wrong. There is water. It's just slate gray and calm, blending in with the rest of the unpredictable terrain. The various ponds and lakes are broken up by ridges shooting up from the surface to split the bodies of water into two or three parts, as if to separate herds of animals.

The ship hits the ground with a jolt.

"Apologies," Gragson mutters. He stands from the controls and turns towards us. "We have arrived."

"Are you going to tell me about this place yet?" I ask.

"We call it Braxis Minor," Gragson replies, as he walks back towards me with two other Bragdons falling in behind him.

"We made this artificial asteroid to protect our Elders. It has concealed pillars to support the higher mountains and large living chambers inside. An artificial atmosphere is generated to provide protection and mimic our home world."

All around us the machinery winds down, reducing to a quiet, low-pitched hum as the lights flicker above, then blink out. Out through the windows I can see the hill with the cave quite a distance away over rocky, watery terrain.

"I take it that's where we're headed?" I ask. Behind me a loud clang signals the lowering of the back cargo ramp.

Gragson nods as he pushes past me. Before he reaches the empty rear cargo door, he reaches right and snags a weapon from a rack on the wall. The two other Bragdons trailing behind him repeat his motion and all three of them vanish into the darkness, swallowed by this strange new environment.

"Why did they take weapons?" I ask Luxen.

He shrugs. We look at each other, my eyes darting to the door, the weapons rack, and then out onto the rocky ground beneath the ship. I don't like anything about this.

I clench my fists and look down at my hands, my flesh colored skin looking vulnerable in this low light. For a moment I consider attempting a change back into my Bragdon form which seems more natural for this environment.

Part of me feels like Bragdon skin is unnatural skin, and this is my true form. Another part of me wants to abandon the Athelonian personality, to give myself up to the instinctual reptile viciousness of the Bragdon, and to eliminate all worries and all concerns by becoming one of those things.

Aren't I one of those things already?

I miss the days when I was worried about what color shoes to wear with my frilly, pink socks.

Can't I go back there? Back to living in blissful teenage ignorance, just worrying about popularity at school instead of planetary warfare and celestial beings that I may or may not actually be? If that power is within me, why can't I forget all of this and go back to when things actually made sense?

"Brie Northstar!" Gragson shouts from out in the darkness. "Time is short!"

I nod although I know he can't see it. Step by step I move down the ramp with Luxen close behind, walking out into yet another strange new world.

AS WE WALK ALONG THE hard, asteroid surface, I glance up into the darkened sky and see strange streaks of light. Almost, but not quite shooting stars. They seem to be moving too purposefully.

"What do you see?" Luxen asks, coming up next to me.

I shake my head. "Nothing. Just meteors."

A part of me sees it, or at the very least, feels it. Not from the stars, but from behind us, next to us, and surrounding us. It feels like we are the subjects in some twisted experiment, trapped in an elaborate laboratory under constant surveillance by invisible scientists.

. . . Not just being watched, but being studied. I don't like it.

"Gragson, this doesn't feel right," I whisper to the group of three Bragdon in front of us.

"The cave is a few hundred meters away. Calm yourself."

"Calm myself?"

This guy spends the whole trip telling me how special I am and how many super space girl powers I have, but never once actually listens to me. Part of me wonders if it's because I'm a girl.

Silly little Brie Northstar, overemotional teenager, she doesn't know what's going on. She doesn't know what war is. She's just a spoiled Athelonian rich girl who wants to go home.

Well. To be fair... that's all true.

"Halt," one of the Bragdon soldiers says, lifting his hand. I think his name is Krelix, but who knows? All of their names sound like someone talking with his mouth full.

"What?" asks Gragson. "What do you hear?"

"Not hear," Krelix replies. "Smell."

Oh, so if something feels strange, they ignore me. Ole Krelix gets a whiff of something and it's all hands on deck, right? These creatures drive me crazy. Krelix lifts his weapon, cradling it in two leathery hands, then presses it to his shoulder and guides it along the horizon, his glinting eyes squinting.

I turn and stare into the blackness, half expecting to see rows of eyes staring back at me, but the dark sky is an uninterrupted sheet of black. I can't help but let my eyes drift upwards where those streaks of shooting stars still scatter along the perimeter of my vision.

Something about them doesn't seem right—

"Horaks!" screams Krelix. The word barely registers. It means nothing to me though I can see Luxen jumping away out of the corner of my eye.

That name is familiar . . .

The creature suddenly lunges from the left with its four thick legs outstretched. Moving high and fast for such a large creature, it lands on the Bragdon on the left, the one who isn't Krelix, and buries its snout in his throat then tears free with a triumphant roar.

Tears well up as I realize I don't even know his name. He has a family, a life, and a whole story that is completely unknown to me.

It hits me then. These creatures . . . they were on Braxis. They'd hunted and cornered me, and only Luxen's fast action spared my life. Why are they here?

Krelix turns towards the creature and fires his weapon, sending green light searing towards the gore covered beast. Three shots plow into the Horak. Its head thrashes as it topples over. Even as it's falling, two more flank it, snarling as they prowl towards Gragson and Krelix.

"The cave!" Gragson shouts, gesturing at Luxen and me. "Get to the cave!"

I'm not the argumentative sort, especially when my life is in danger, so I slap Luxen on the shoulder to urge him along.

"Run!"

We charge forward. Our feet fly over ragged, uneven rocky ground that threatens to send us crashing down, but we keep going, with legs buckling, moving with the grace of drunk dogs.

Over my shoulder I see a Horak lunge towards Gragson, but he steps back, lifts his weapon and drills pure, bright light into the underside of its chin, sending it somersaulting backwards. As the beast falls, he ducks the snap of fangs from the second, fires three times, and brings it down as well.

He's fast . . . And deadly . . . A warrior.

My heart races and my eyes widen. My mouth shifts into a sinister grin even as I'm running; this sudden up close heat of battle quickens my pulse and tenses my muscles. I want to join in. For a moment I slow to a light trot, my fists clench, and a strange craving surges through my body . . . Battle . . . I want the battle.

"Brie!" shouts Luxen, tangling his fingers in the cloth of my tunic. "The cave!" He drags me towards him and I shake out of my momentary trance.

As we continue running, another snarling Horak bounds over the rocks.

I halt our forward progress, intercept the creature in midair, and strike its exposed belly with my shoulder to throw it backwards. It lands awkwardly on the rocky ground, I advance, driving a fist into its throat, then a second punch into the side of his long snout.

Luxen is approaching from behind, I sense him there, but I keep punching, my vision clouding to a haze of red fog.

"Brie!" he shouts and I hear him this time. I'm not sure how many times he yelled my name. "There are more!"

That wakes me up. I lift my head to see four more creatures stalking from the darkness, closing around me in a semi-circle; moving paw over paw with claws clicking on the rocks. To the left I see the cave fifty yards away.

That seems . . . far.

I stand and back away with my eyes moving from creature to creature, measuring their readiness to attack. This strange sense in my head, that feeling of knowing every outcome to every situation, shows me my options, but with every second that passes, those options are dwindling.

A streak of yellow burns over my right shoulder and slams into one of the lead Horaks, splitting its dark skin and sending it crashing down with a low whine.

"Did you not hear me, Brie Northstar?" screams Gragson. "The cave! Get to the cave!"

Another plasma beam blasts by me on the right and brutalizes a second Horak, but I see more eyes appear behind it. Finally I listen. As I draw a deep breath and force myself to settle the raging bloodlust and follow Luxen as he runs towards the cave. Behind us, Gragson and Krelix fire as they run, dropping Horaks with every blast.

"They won't follow us into the cave!" Gragson shouts. "They know the Elders are there!"

Luxen and I run, trying to ignore the rapid clacking of claws and the squinting eyes all around us. The cave is right up ahead, but they're running so fast, faster than we are, that it seems foolish to think they'll stop.

I keep running. I feel the hot breath of a creature on my back as it lunges, opening its jaws in search of wet flesh.

Plasma strikes the creature in the skull to send it stumbling down screaming, but two others come up behind it. They are everywhere, eyes, skin and talons. I can see nothing else; I can hear nothing else. The entire world around us is surrounded by wild Horak beasts with a deep and endless thirst for our blood.

Just like that, the cave opens up in front of us. A wide, black mouth in the side of the hill spreads wide to draw us into its mouth. Gasping for breath, Luxen and I stumble and roll on the dirt covered ground, which is at least softer than the jagged rocks outside.

I wait, sprawled in the dirt next to the first Bragdon I ever met. We both lie there, breathing in ragged gasps, anticipating the approach of these killer creatures.

None come.

Dark silence engulfs us. The confines of the cave, though cool and emotionless, seem like a warm, protective embrace.

I push myself up into a seated position and check my surroundings. Gragson and Krelix charge towards the cave, make one last turn to fire a final barrage of plasma, then come lurching in behind us.

I don't see the Horak's turning away. I don't see them hissing and spiting. They're just sort of . . . not there. One minute we are running with them hot on our heels, the next moment we're in the cave, and they're slinking back to their darkened lair, defeated.

"Why?" I gasp. It's the only word I can utter.

"Because the Elders wish it," Gragson replies. "They want a home that is as close to Braxis as possible. The Horaks are a part of life on Braxis."

"Besides," says Krelix. "They have delicious flesh."

I shake my head and lay back in the dirt because I simply don't know what else to say or do. Already my muscles ache and my breath feels shallow from this little adventure, and it's just beginning.

With a groan I lift my head to look out of the cave, my eyes squinting. Even with the Horak's gone, that strange sense of observation is not fading.

Someone is watching us, and that someone is smarter than those beasts.

Chapter Five

Ten minutes is a long time to sit silently when adrenaline is coursing through your body. An hour is interminable as the adrenaline drains away.

Gragson hasn't said a word since he and Krelix crossed the threshold of the cave, as if this is some sacred place that the mere act of speech will desecrate. The two of them are just sitting there, cross legged and unmoving.

I've had time to take note of darkened corners, curved rock walls, and a strange, shadowy corridor leading to the dim glow of . . . something. But we never go towards it; we sit around in this large entryway, as if we're not allowed to go any farther.

"What are we waiting for?" I ask. This seems ridiculous. For the past hour I've felt like we're in a bell jar in some twisted science lab, and these two dudes are sitting here contemplating their navels.

Do Bragdons even have navels? Ew. I'm not sure I want to know the answer to that question. I didn't exactly cross my mind to check when I was one. I was a little busy.

To his credit, Luxen does not join them. He's wandering around like I am, taking the occasional glance out into the world of the asteroid.

"Gragson, how long as we going to stand here?" I ask. "What's the point?"

"We do not approach the Elders; they approach us," he replies, "when the time is right."

I roll my eyes and turn away. Ridiculous! I don't have the patience or the understanding for this hocus pocus. First, I have Luxen telling me I'm some girl that comes from the stars, and now I have to stand here and wait for these Elder Bragdons to grace us with their presence.

In that moment of frustration, that twinge of blood lust courses through me again. That strange hunger for combat, thirst for aggression, begs to be satisfied with hand-to-hand combat or with guns and plasma.

Where did this come from? Even since I discovered this secret about myself I haven' t been this blood thirsty. I suppose my escapades into the night and across the rooftops could be explained away by this strange desire for action, but I've never been big on blood and violence.

Am I now?

Is this what being Bragdon is about?

My moment of self-evaluation is interrupted by a booming voice, "Who enters the home of the Elders?"

I spin on my heel.

Okay, I can understand the reverence, to a point.

There are three of them. They are taller than any Bragdon I've seen so far and are draped in thick, dark cloaks, with large hoods pulled up over their heads. I can't see their faces; I can only see the faint glow of yellow eyes. Their shoulders seem to be large and bone covered, bringing their capes up into pointed tips before floating down over their backs and pooling around on the dirty floor behind them.

Between the cloaks and the light, they appear to be floating, not walking, and my first reaction is one of spiritual admiration. I can't control it.

Gragson stands, keeping his head low and his hands pressed together.

"Forgive the intrusion, Elders," he says quietly. "We have need of your insight."

They halt. The creature in the lead looks offended as he draws back. His glowing yellow eyes narrow to a pair of light slits.

"You were not invited," growls the lead Bragdon. His voice echoes from within the darkness of his hood.

"I understand," Gragson continues, "but this is a matter of some urgency . . ."

With no warning, the Bragdon leading the trio lunges forward with loose fabric flapping about as his narrow arm shoots straight out like a battering ram. His long fingers clamp around Gragson's throat, clenching to lift him straight off his feet. Gragson's hands clutch at the fist, literally holding on for dear life.

"We decide what is or is not urgent," the Elder hisses as Gragson's feet kick at empty air.

"Don't!" I shout before I even realize what I'm doing.

The yellow eyes beneath the hood snap back towards me. "You dare?" the Elder growls. "You? Not even a Bragdon?"

The Elder turns towards me, cocking his head, as if in sudden realization of something. His fingers spring apart and he casts Gragson aside as if he's a worn out plaything. The Bragdon who was once so intimidating to me slumps down to the dirt, cowering from the looming Elder.

"Who are you?" the Elder asks me, taking a step towards me, narrowed eyes burrowing deep inside me. "What are you?"

He looks down over my body in a way that doesn't make me comfortable, but isn't sinister either.

"You have only two arms. You are not Athelonian, though you bare the most resemblance to them."

As he watches, I focus my concentration inward. The ripple of skin twists over my muscles as my limbs warp and reshape. It's less painful than it was the first time and seems to happen immediately. One moment I'm a two-armed Athelonian, and the next, I'm standing there before this Elder, a fully formed Bragdon, clothed in a loose shirt and pants, with my gray scales still shifting over the thick, leathery skin that now covers my body.

Through the yellow haze of my Bragdon eyes, I watch the Elders exchange glances without speaking. It becomes clear that they are communicating somehow in ways that I can't hear. The thought puts chills up my spine.

That's not the only thing putting chills up my spine. I glance back at the cave entrance, half expecting to see more of those Horaks amassing there with steam snorting from their nostrils. I sense a thousand eyes, but see nothing, even with my super Bragdon x-ray night vision.

"Who are you?" the voice isn't coming only from the Bragdon Elder himself, but feels like it's inside my head, an echo in the confined chamber of my skull.

"My name is Brie Northstar," I reply. "Up until a month ago, I believed I was an Athelonian girl, daughter to Jary and Redax."

His eyes squint at the mention of my parents' names and I get my first inclination of what kind of reputation the Athelon political leadership has on these other worlds.

"Who taught you to shift?" he asks. "Only the most highly trained Bragdon commandos have that ability. Not . . . little girls."

I turn my palms up. "You saw it with your own eyes."

The Elder comes towards me, not so much stepping as swooping above the surface of the ground, with his cloak rippling around his feet.

"Watch your tone, young one."

"Elder, if I may," Gragson says, his voice hoarse. "This is what I was trying to explain."

"Then explain," the Elder replies without even turning to look at him.

"We believe Brie Northstar may be 'the one'."

Those last two words hang in the darkened air of the cave like two loud shouts echoing into eternity. The Elders, all three of them this time, approach me in unison. They get close enough that the skin creeps up my arms as if hit by an unexpected stiff, cool breeze.

To tell the truth, I'm not real comfortable with any of this, even with my tough Bragdon skin wrapped around me. Just the opposite. I'm more vulnerable at this moment, even with my super vision and hard-as-nails reptile scales. As I glance down at my hands, I can't help but think about how easy it was to change this time, how slick the Bragdon flesh twisted over my pale Athelonian flesh. Did the Bragdon skin cover it, or did the other layer melt away?

Which is the real me?

Are either of them the real me, or am I something completely different?

"She is unique," the lead Elder says, his hot breath punching me in the face. Although he's standing within a foot of me, I still can't seem to make out his features beneath the hood. It's like there's a vast emptiness there, a gaping hole into some other world wrapped in thick, dark cloth.

"Well, thank you," I reply. "That's what my mom tells me."

His mouth narrows to a firm, straight line, indicating he's not amused.

"Your shifting is impressive. Especially for one of your vintage."

"You say the sweetest things."

As his arm lifts, two of his long, bony fingers extend from the rumpled bundles of cloth at his wrist. His yellow slits slide closed as he touches the two fingers to my left temple and presses. I feel light headed and unusually clumsy.

For a long time we stand there with his skin touching mine. A whirlwind of confusion and fog swirl around me, whipping away at my coherent thoughts, to engulf me in this strange tsunami of lost perception. No matter how hard or fast I blink, I can't seem to clear away this sense of confusion and a lack of understanding. It's like he's pulling me into him through his fingertips.

I don't like it. I don't like it at all.

With a gasp, I draw in a deep breath and push myself away, slapping at his hand to break contact. He draws back, hisses, and pulls his hand close as to his chest as if I burned it. He rejoins the other two Elders, who have been silent to this point.

Gragson islooking up at me in wide-eyed astonishment, either stunned by my reaction to the Elders, or shocked at their reactions to it.

"There is something about you," the lead Elder says again. "Something that lends credence to his words." His half-hearted gesture towards Gragson is an insult more than anything, a casual brush off identifying him as little more than refuse.

"I need to know more," I reply. "I don't know why I'm like this or what I'm supposed to do."

"My dear girl," the Elder whispers, moving towards me, his every motion far more kind than it was even minutes ago. "We must discuss this. This may be the turning point in this conflict."

"I don't want to be a turning point. I just want to be me again."

He halts before me, shrugging his large shoulders, dropping the cloak draped over him. The true form of the creature is amazing.

His head is narrow and slender, like all Bragdons, but a row of jagged horns grows up the center of his head and over, joining a ring of similarly shaped protrusion wrapping around his head. Unlike the normal gray flesh of Bragdons, his skin is more tan and brown, a muddy mixture of clay, broken up by more sporadic hard shell scales up each arm and over his torso. At his shoulders are a thick clump of long spikes, curled upwards and colored like exposed bone.

My eyes drift back over towards Gragson again, his reaction to these events my only barometer. His eyes are wide and his mouth is agape as he watches in stunned silence.

The Elder steps towards me, extending his hand again. "Please do not resist, young one," he says. "Trust in me. In us. We all want the truth."

I stand still, tensing my muscles, wrapped inside leather skin. My immediate sense of repulsion driven down, buried by focused concentration and a desire to know what they know. A need to know what they know. The Elders. They have the information. They must.

His fingers extend towards me, four long bones covered in thick cartilage, the tips brushing close to my cheek. I brace myself, anticipating the static spark of flesh-on-flesh contact. I wait for that repeated whirlwind of confusion and false recollection.

We're on the verge of it, there's a light tingle in my left cheek, a brief hum of warmth, then the narrow column of yellow light streams past me, punching into the face of the Elder, blasting the darkness with white brilliance and everything is chaos.

Chapter Six

The Elders explode and evaporate as plasma tears through their cloaked bodies. I dive for cover behind a granite outcrop. Luxen stumbles as the fire whips past him, but makes it to the wall behind me. Gragson pushes himself up against the rock surface behind him, clinging close for shelter.

Krelix eases down, his hand searching for a dropped weapon. A plasma shot barrels into his left arm, throwing him from cover just in time for three more beams to sear through his chest and knock him to the ground. Billowing smoke and the pungent stench of burnt leather emanate from his body.

Gragson sneaks out his foot and hooks it under a rifle laying on the ground, then kicks up, arcing it through the air and into his opened hands.

I know a good idea when I see one. I'm fortunate enough to have hidden near a plasma weapon. I copy Gragson's footwork to arm myself. Unfortunately, there's still an onslaught outside the cave mouth.

I glance out from behind the outcrop, wincing as thin traces of light pound against it, knocking away sharpened chips of stone. My Bragdon eyes snap in rapid blinks against the darkened night beyond the cave, focusing on dozens of approaching figures.

Scattered behind them across the entire landscape of rocky terrain are metal pods rammed deep into the dirt and stone. There are as many pods as there are figures, and at first my eyes focus only to the pods themselves, trying to find something familiar, but they are completely foreign to me.

As plasma blasts past my head, carving a ditch in the rock shelter I crouch behind, I whip my head towards the source and focus on the figures themselves.

Each one of them stands at least seven feet tall, if not more. Their heads are sloped and covered with form-fitting helmets. Clenched muscles sculpt their dark faces around black eyes and narrow mouths, and those few who have their mouths open show rows of pointed teeth. Dark hair and bushy beards hang around broad, round shoulders.

Bulging torsos are covered with thick, matted fur that escapes here and there from formed armor vests. Each one is a different color, from black to brown, with a few a strange, shimmering silver.

Their legs are thick tree trunks of fur covered muscle. Long, arms curl around thick, double-barreled weapons, and each barrel is blasting plasma coated projectiles instead of the typical light of Athelon or Braxis weapons. The hardened metal slugs propelled by pure energy would certainly explain the unusual viciousness of the damage incurred by the Elders and Krelix. No splash damage here, just ragged tears and shrapnel.

I look over at Gragson huddled behind the curve of the rock wall.

"Reblons!" he shouts to me.

Reblons? All of my life, I've heard of Reblox and its animal inhabitants, but like the Bragdons before them, have never seen one face-to-face.

I wish I still hadn't.

Before I finish that thought, three of them enter the mouth of the cave with shotguns held tightly to their shoulders.

"Come out!" One of them growls. It's not the same gravel-soaked hoarseness of a Bragdon, but a guttural shout formed into words.

"This is neutral territory!" Gragson shouts back. "You are defying the treaty!"

One of the Reblons barks a laugh, a husky woof more animal than anything. "All treaties are severed when you bring the weapon!"

I shake my head. "What weapon?" I demand. "We have no weapon!"

"You are the weapon!" the Reblon screams back at me.

"And you won't have her!" Gragson shouts, sweeping from behind his cover to fire his plasma weapon. His first shot catches the lead Reblon in the face. He roars as he topples backwards, but a second moves in behind him, firing his shotgun.

Gragson pulls away as the rounds smash his rock cover into broken shards. I step forward with my weapon, firing several swift shots of energy into the second Reblon's upper torso, tearing at its fabric and scorching fur and flesh.

The third fires his shotgun at me, but I duck back out of the way as Gragson moves into take his shot. With a grace defying its size and shape, the intruder steps aside and fires the shotgun again, and this time Gragson has no cover. He takes the two rounds high in the chest, flies backwards off of his feet, and slams into the rock before stumbling into an awkward sideways roll.

My heart skips a beat at seeing him flopping like a gray-skinned stuffed animal, even though he was ten seconds away from killing me a month ago. Those memories slide away to make room for focus and concentration.

My weapon is up and firing, and the Reblon doesn't dodge this time. He spins as the plasma comes at him and emits a gut-wrenching scream as he's overwhelmed with yellow light.

For a moment there's a lull in gunfire from the mouth of the cave as the three Reblon's lay prone on the ground with wisps of smoke spiraling from their still bodies.

"Go!" I shout to Luxen, pointing in the direction of Gragson, who is lying half behind a boulder.

I charge, hot on Luxen's heels, as more projectiles hurtle into the cave, chopping up the packed dirt behind my rushing feet.

I stumble, still getting used to the strange shape of the Bragdon legs, but I reach the boulder in time to slide down behind it as another series of shots drills deep holes in the dense stone, but is unable to penetrate.

Behind the boulder, Gragson has pushed himself up into a seated position and lies there with his chin lowered and his tunic soaked with dark blood. He presses one of his large hands to his torso, though it's easy to tell that any pressure he's putting there is far from enough to prevent this wound from killing him.

"Gragson," I say. "Reblons are everywhere out there. There are dozens of jump pods. I thought they were shooting stars, but—"

"Neutral territory," Gragson groans.

"Not anymore."

He coughs and spits on the ground. Luxen kneels down beside him as two streaks of energy soar overhead.

"We don't have much time," I say to him. "What can you tell me? Is there anything I can do? Everyone seems to think I have these mystical powers."

"I do not know much," Gragson replies. "Only what Command told us. What he said of you during our briefing." Each word comes squeezed from clamped teeth as if filtered through tiny pebbles.

"So tell me."

"It will not help."

"I need to know."

Gragson turns and squints at me through his pale, yellow eyes, searching me for some indication of my intentions.

"Ancient Bragdon legend," he starts, breathing out every word as if it might be his last . . . and each one very well could be. "Ancient Bragdon legend speaks of a girl . . . A girl born of all three races of the Yarda Quadrant."

I narrow my gaze, but decide not to interrupt.

"Part Bragdon, part Athelonian, part Reblon . . . the combined knowledge of all three species. The . . ." he coughs. "Innate skill of thousands of years of evolution."

With a sigh I press my Bragdon palm to my head, shaking it. "I don't have anywhere near those abilities."

"Not yet," Gragson wheezes.

I lower my hand and look at him, his face pale, even grayer than normal, and a narrow strand of black grime dribbles from the corner of his mouth.

"So why are the Reblons trying to kill me? Why did the Bragdons try?"

Gragson draws in a deep, difficult breath, his lungs rattling. "Too dangerous," he says. "If the races cannot harness you . . . they will destroy you. So the other races cannot have you either."

"Do my parents know? My Athelonian parents?"

Gragson shakes his head. "At this point, they must suspect. But they don't know for sure. For most of your life, they knew you as their daughter. Nothing more, nothing less."

"But you? The Bragdons?"

Gragson's eyelids flutter, his eyes fading from yellow to a milky white.

"Gragson?" I ask. He doesn't reply. I'm not sure he can reply . . . So close to an answer. I don't believe this child of three races thing, not for a minute, but I was so close to finding out the connection between Braxis and my parents. It was right on the tip of his tongue.

So what now?

A shot barrels into the cave and careens off the boulder, ricocheting up and burying itself in the rock ceiling.

Oh, right . . . Reblon army . . . Imminent death . . . I almost forgot.

"Luxen, we need to move, now! Those shooting stars were Reblon drop pods. They are pummeling the planet out there, dozens of them!"

"Where will we go? What can we do?"

I curl around the edge of the boulder as two more Reblons stride into the cave, their fur-covered silhouettes visible against the dim starlight behind. I fire three plasma shots and one of them spins away and falls back, his shotgun spiraling from his grasp. The second one whirls toward me as I fire another shot, a single shot that punches the next Reblon in the stomach, doubling him over.

"Come with me," I say. "Towards the door. Let's move while there's time!"

But there is no time. I know this and Luxen knows it, too. I run low to the ground, moving towards the mouth of the cave, hearing the padding of his feet behind me. Five Reblons lay splayed at the front of the cavern entrance, but I see no other approaching figures, no immediate danger.

Luxen comes up next to me and we both glare out onto the rocky, uneven surface of this strange, artificial Bragdon planet where war cannot exist and where a treaty has bound these three races to a cease fire.

You wouldn't know it by looking.

Slick silver pods plummet from the dark sky, slamming down onto the surface, blasting up chunks of hard ground. Small propulsion thrusters slow their descent to manageable speeds, rattling the strange curved pods, but only slowing them, not stopping them. They still move with enough momentum to dig chunky divots in the ground when they land. As each one lands, a jet of steam bursts from around the sloped, translucent canopy as it swinging open to reveal the massive, fur covered Reblon commandos within.

My eyes dart from pod to pod, trying to count them, but I give up at twenty-three. More are falling. Far too many are already here. This is a veritable Reblon invasion force against me and Luxen.

My Bragdon night vision adjust in the starlight. Far off in the distance, I spot the jump ship, our one chance of survival and escape from imprisonment or brutal death. Between us and the jump ship are layers of drop pods and squads of Reblon commandos, each one carrying one of those twisted shotguns, and each one appearing taller and more menacing than the next.

By the time these drop pods land, dozens will become hundreds.

Luxen and I glance at each other, but neither of us has a good idea about how to get out of this one.

Chapter Seven

The horizon is a mass of silver spheres. It looks a lemon fizz, but the "bubbles" are going the wrong way. Drop pods chunk and slam to the hard ground in rapid succession, increasing the already impressive number by the minute.

Not ten yards away, two pods punch down into the rocky ground. Both canopies slam open with puffs of steam, revealing big, angry Reblons. The moment they're visible, they're lifting their double-barreled plasma powered shotguns and snarling in unfocused rage.

"No no no!" Luxen shouts as he turns to run deeper into the cave. I press my back against the rock wall as chunks spray out from the first round of shotgun fire, then I swivel and return fire with my plasma, striking the fuel cell of one of the pods. It splits and breaks apart amid an awesome flash of light and a rolling boil of flame.

As it clatters to the ground in pieces, the second Reblon jumps from his pod, crouching low and bracing himself with his long, furry arm. He leans back, lifting his weapon, but before he can fire, I unload my own weapon, streaking yellow light into his face and sending him sprawling. Other Reblons are stepping free of their scattered pods. I fall back myself, pulling deeper into the cave where Luxen crouches with his arms coiled around bent knees.

"What do we do?" he's asking nobody. "There are so many of them, too many."

I crouch down next to him and place a calming hand on his shoulder. Even now I do a double take upon seeing my four long fingers; forgetting for a moment that I'm in Bragdon form.

"Luxen, be calm. We'll find a way out of this. If I'm a fraction as powerful as the Elders seem to think I am, we can fix this."

He looks up at me with trembling, yellow eyes; something that I wasn't sure was possible in these emotionless creatures.

"You said you weren't," he replies. "You weren't that powerful. You can't do all that stuff."

"You never know until you try, right?" I ask, though I have a fraction of the confidence that my voice portrays.

In truth, I have a sense of calm settling about me. As if donning armor to prepare for battle, my mind slows and my thoughts expand beyond the confines of my narrow scalp. Even as I look at Luxen, I can see eventualities, smell possibilities, and taste the bitter twinge of fate at the tip of my flicking reptile tongue.

Outside the cave the shattering clash of drop pods has ceased and everything is silent, not even the guns are firing.

As I lift myself to my feet, Luxen reaches out to wrap his fingers around mine.

"Be careful, Brie," he says. "Without you, I'd—"

"You saved my life, remember?" I reply. "Anything that I've done or anything I'm still to do, it's because of you."

His gray cheeks flush either from pride or from embarrassment. I'm not sure which, but the sight warms me inside.

A scattering of shots has the boulder next to us shaking with the impact as shards fly into the air. With a lunge, I duck down behind the rocks, realizing for the first time that my weapon is dry. A dead battery means no plasma.

Maybe one of the Reblons has some rounds in his shotgun?

. . . Reblons.

The cave is littered with the corpses of the dead creatures, the living beings Gragson and I have just obliterated with concentrated energy blasts.

Low to the ground, I duck walk towards them.

"Stay where you are, Luxen!" I shout back.

The first prone Reblon provides a charged weapon. I reach for the strange weapon, a cool metallic rectangle, split into twin square barrels with a large blocky box of some sort screwed to the base of the barrel mount. The entire structure and function of the weapon feels alien to me, more than even the Reblons themselves with their long, matted hair and pocked faces.

. . . Pocked faces . . . Long matted hair. My eyes drift to the Reblon itself and inspiration hits me.

The last time I did it, it was so easy, but it wasn't new. It was something I'd done before. This looks and feels like a whole new level, evolved from the basic skills I've almost mastered after such a short period. I'm not even sure I can do it, but at this point, I'm not sure what choice I have.

I peel the vest and tunic from the Reblon creature and unclasp its layered armor underclothes. It doesn't take long to remove his garments, leaving a fur covered mass that might as well just be a huge dog, but which I know is something far more advanced and far more dangerous.

With a grunt, I roll the large creature on its back, study its face, and absorb every detail. My fingers clench, my muscles bunch in tense coils, and my knuckles crack.

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 arc, 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 fall 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.

My heart skips a beat as four close shotgun slugs rock the pod.

Do I have time to do this? Even with this strange advanced knowledge and this oddly specific plan in my head, can I make this happen before they're close enough to unload all of their slugs at me all at once?

Guess we'll find out.

I glance out of the clear canopy to see the vague, looming shapes of at least ten approaching commandos charging towards the pod. My fingers punch keys, sending commands to the fuel cells and reversing the charge of the thrusters.

Somehow I now know these drop pods release from low orbit and throttle down through the atmosphere like the shotgun slugs these creatures carry. Once they hit a certain altitude, thrusters automatically kick on to slow their descent, allowing for a more graceful landing.

If I can bypass that automation . . .

I close my fist and slam it down on a red button next to the etched keypad as three more shots send the pod jostling. The pod sits on three landing skids, one of the skids lifts up off the ground, and the thing is tipping. If it falls over, I'm as good as done.

It just hangs there at an angle, threatening to topple. I shift all my weight to the opposite side, trying to keep it from going over. It hovers there for another moment on the precipice of crashing sideways. As the pod lurches from another shot, a low roar bellows out from underneath.

Almost at once the pod rights itself with a jump from port to starboard. The swift leap would have knocked me off balance if the pod actually had room to stumble. A loud bang echoes in the darkened air and the pod shudders . . . then leaps upward.

Dust and dirt spew up all around me as the pod jumps up into the air. The manual ignition of the bottom thrusters carry it at insane velocity straight up as the Reblon commandos draw near. I can see by the sudden belch of flame and smoke that three were too close. The others grow smaller as the pod soars up into the sky.

So, now I'm in a pod that's supposed to descend, only it's going up instead. A pod . . . with no steering, no controls, and no acceleration or braking.

Brie, how can you be such a genius and so wildly unprepared all at the same time?

Directly after this thought comes to mind, I reel back and throw myself at the side of the pod, twisting my uninjured shoulder around to pound the curved inner chamber of the pod. The impact tilts the small spacecraft to shift it at an angle, starting to change its course. I pull back again and repeat the motion, throwing myself even harder against the inside chamber which throws the pod even further into a diagonal trajectory.

So I have some manner of control.

Just some.

Is it enough?

Only one way to find out.

Chapter Nine

Beneath the pod there's a series of abrupt, throttling coughs and the desperate sputter of spent fuel as the chamber I'm wrapped in starts to tilt further to the left. Based on the noise I'm guessing the left thruster just quit.

After all, these drop pods are designed to slow the descent and likely don't have much spare fuel because they don't want to risk detonation. Makes sense, right?

I have no idea, I'm an eighteen-year-old girl.

Except right now, I'm not. Right now, strapped into this drop pod, I'm a full on Reblon commando with my broad shoulders wedged into this chamber and my well-conditioned mind scoping the interior, thinking of options.

Two bangs from outside signal an attempt from below to shoot me down, though the range of the double-barrel shotguns isn't quite enough to do any real damage.

I press myself to the translucent canopy to get a better look at the terrain below. I see my target. It's surrounded by a thick cluster of pods. Even from this distance I can see the roaming, sloped shapes of fur-covered Reblons, and for a moment I could swear I even see some of their beady little dark eyes glaring up at me.

The glass is cool against my palms as I press them to the canopy. I adjusting my position so I can get a proper view of the target. Already my stolen spacecraft is tilting further and beginning a downward descent. The loss of one thruster is enough to keep it from compensating in a vertical trajectory. As it lilts and lurches, it begins to topple in mid-air, threatening to roll upside down, but I try to press myself backwards and shift my weight enough to keep it somewhat upright. I'm not sure if this will work all the way down.

The hard and dark ground below rushes up towards me. The pod seems to pick up speed as it descends. I hear the second thruster back-fire, then cut out. Deep in the pit of my stomach I can feel the momentum changing.

Below me, I see panicking Reblons scrambling away from the potential impact spot to find some kind of protection from my impromptu landing. Fuel tanks are empty in this bad boy, so I don't expect a big explosion, but beyond that, who the heck knows what's about to happen? Not me, that's for sure.

With its quickening pace, the pod begins to tumble end over end, slamming me from one wall to the next. My injured shoulder strikes the sharp edge of a panel and flares with white hot agony through my entire right side.

I see a blur of ground, stars, and mountains. My head is dizzy and my eyes are squinting shut against the chaos of this wretched spinning. I'm seconds from impact. I can tell by looking that there's no cushion inside this fragile bubble, no kind of protection whatsoever, and if I'm going to survive this, I have to move pretty much right the heck now.

My knees coil deep into my chest, I brace myself against the curved back wall of the pod, wrap my thick, furry fingers around a pair of makeshift handholds, and then thrust out with both legs pumping like fuzzy pistons.

Both heels slam against the canopy, sending star burst cracks from the impact points and jarring loose the clasp holding the door firm against the side of the pod. With a clang and sucking noise, the canopy tears free of its hinges, spiraling off into the sky as the pod tumbles. Wind blasts into the chamber, beating at my face and chest.

I can hear the shouting voices of the commandos down below and the echoing barks of officers yelling orders among the foot soldiers.

In a second I'll be in the middle of them. The ground that has been speeding towards me now looks like it is moving in slow motion. It's a strange combination of sensations that I don't like, especially when my life is at stake.

I adjust my stance, pulling my legs back into the chamber and tucking them underneath myself, wedging them against the wall behind me. I shoot like a rocket from the pod, out into the darkened sky. I think back to the phrase terminal velocity and wonder how durable the roughened hide of this Reblon creatures is.

The drop pod smashes onto rock and blasts apart, no explosion (turns out I was right about the lack of fuel), and before I know it, I'm at the rock, leading with my non-injured shoulder.

I strike hard and fast, harder than I expected, and my momentum carries me over into a sprawling, uncontrolled roll, letting my upper back and shoulders take the punishment. Jagged ramrods of pain spear me from every direction as rocks and debris punch at me, tug at my uniform, and slam into my armored suit.

That armored suit saves my life, either that or the rugged structure of my new Reblon frame. By the time I'm done tucking, rolling and sprawling, I'm able to come up in a crouch. My entire body is tense and searing with intense pain, but I'm moving and able to control my limbs. I swivel at the waist and look back, seeing my target, the jump ship, is only twenty feet away.

I had managed to launch the pod in an arc wide enough to get me within shouting distance of my jump ship, and better yet when the pod hit the rocks, it took a few more Reblons with it.

It didn't get all of them. That would have been far too easy.

A small group comes from around the jump ship, lifting their weapons to charge towards me. They are anticipating my next move, and I give it to them, bursting forward with my weapon raised.

With the first two shots, two approaching commandos shout, spiraling away. A Reblon charges me from my right side. I twist, knocking his momentum off course, then drill an elbow into his forehead, slamming him back onto the rocks.

As he falls backwards I shift my weapon above him and fire twice more, dropping a second charging creature, then push myself back towards the jump ship. Clouds of dust fly up around my feet as I run.

A herd of hairy aliens converge to block my path to the ship. My shotgun explodes as I lunge right, taking down two creatures and avoiding a scattering of return fire.

I dive forward, curl into a somersault, and come up behind a horn of rock. Its twisted shape looks as if it extruded itself from the solid face of the surrounding stone, a festering boil of protection. Shots pound off the opposite side and scatter away. I spin around the edge, fire again, dropping another commando, then charge towards where he fell.

Two more charge in. I raise my knee to kick one in the chest and knock it back several feet in the air. It smashes hard against an erect drop pod, denting the metal hide with his spine.

I could get used to this strength. The second leaps at me, but I slip right to crash my rifle into his chin, knocking his head back. I drive a fist deep into his stomach, then pound a hammer fist into where his temple should be, but who knows with these hairy gorilla things.

The jump ship is right there, right ahead of me, within spitting distance now. I continue my run towards it. Another blast erupts from my left, just another shotgun blast amid a constant flood of them, but this one leaves my left side screaming with the impact of both slugs.

I'm sprawling, and for a frightening moment, the jump ship blurs and seems to shift into some other state of existence as pain laces my entire left side.

Just when the pain seems too strong, I strike the hard ground with my right shoulder, the injured one and the general distress dissipates from my left side and focuses its razor sharp needle of pure agony on the opposite shoulder to clear my head.

I roll as more shotgun shots echo, smacking into the ground around me.

Though the pain is a dull, pulsing throb on my left side, when I press my palm there, I find no wetness. I realize the layered armor has prevented grievous harm, but the impact still knocks the wind out of me as I struggle to clamor to my feet, my head abuzz. I stumble as I try to stand and I can vaguely make out the shapes of Reblons converging around me, as if freed from some thick fog or thought into being by an over-active imagination.

But I'm not imagining this. I am down on one knee, my weapon cast aside, with half a dozen fur-covered dog looking aliens coming towards me, with their weapons firmly in hand.

The jump ship is right there . . . so close.

The Reblon commandos aren't firing on me; they're approaching, weapons up, but they haven't gunned me down yet. That's when the one in the middle levels his weapon, sneers and pulls the trigger.

My Reblon mind and my Bragdon reflexes are a hair quicker. I've already leaped to my feet and charged him, pitching right as the shot goes off. Within a matter of seconds I crash into the right side of the line of Reblons, kicking one high in the chest and grabbing the weapon of a second, twisting and throwing him over my shoulder. I wrench the weapon from his hands as he tumbles over me, then spin to open fire, sending others scattering and giving me the opening I need.

I run again, pushing through the roaring pain in my left side. My right arm is now numb from the shoulder to my forearm. My fingers feel only a dull prickle of sensation.

One Reblon breaks from the group and comes at me, but I leave my feet, slam my palm on the back of his head, pushing him down as I vault over him.

I hit the ground running again. The jump ship is now looming above me. I sweep around the exit ramp then bolt up it with my feet clanging on metal plates and a scattering of gunfire punching into the metal around me.

As I jump up into the cargo hold, I slam my fist on the emergency seal and the ramp sweeps up behind me to latch closed with a loud, sharp bang that echoes in the enclosed area.

Outside the ship I hear the abrupt slams of shotgun slugs trying to break the metal hide of this small ship.

I swing into the bucket seat, which is far too small for me in this new form, but I don't have time to try to figure out how to shift again. I slam the thruster ignition and clamp my thick fingers around the control sticks, pulling them towards me as the jump ship jolts, tilts, and starts throttling to life.

Interstellar thrusters had blown their fuel, but for local site-to-site transport, it looked like the emergency backup engines were good to go. That is unfortunate for the Reblons who are approaching the entrance ramp. Blue flame shoots from the rockets searing ground and fur-covered flesh. The distinct odor of burnt hair filters into the cockpit as the jump ship lumbers into the air.

I can't get much altitude. The backup burners don't have enough power for that at the moment, but I surge forward, opening up with the chin mounted plasma turret to send Reblons scattering as I walk hot energy across the rocky ground.

Up ahead the rocky peak is visible, and I can make out the mouth of the cave at the base of the rocks. There aren't many Reblons there. Most of them are still charging my former location, but a few come scrambling after me. I lower the ship, direct the turret guns towards them, and then open fire to send one of them running, but mowing down the other two.

With a shuddering bang the ship hits the ground. I jolt in the cockpit, landing harder than I intended, but feeling a desperate need to grab Luxen and figure out how to get out of here.

I have no idea if this thing has the power or the capability to even break orbit, but at this point it's the only shot we've got. Tossing the canopy open, I vault sideways from the cockpit and drop the twelve feet down to the ground, landing on thick legs in a low brace.

"Luxen!" I shout. "Luxen, it's Brie! I've got the ship, let's move!"

From behind me, shotgun blasts roar and the jump ship thrashes with the impact of dozens of shotgun blasts.

"Luxen!" He's not coming, at least not yet. Did he even see me shift into this form?

Five more metal on metal punches echo in the darkness. Is their aim that bad? Or are they not even aiming at me?

I turn, my eyes widen, and I catch the thick group of fur covered creatures converging on the jump ship, concentrating all of their weapons fire on my only possible means of escape. As I watch, the next barrage strikes a fuel cell on the right, rear thruster. It explodes into a searing flash of white light, enveloping the back half of the ship and coating the rest with blue fire.

Good plan, Brie. Good plan.

Chapter Ten

"Luxen?" my voice echoes in the dank emptiness of the cavern as I move in, keeping close to the wall.

I don't know what good it will do to find him now. Just outside the cave the jump ship, our one means of escape, is a shattered mess. Flames are scattered across what is left of its metal skin, and large chunks of hull are spread out over the surface of the ground. In moments the Reblons will swarm us.

With another look down into the darkness and a glance back over my shoulder to ensure that no one is approaching, I close my eyes and refocus. The pain in my shoulder feels like a jagged knife dipped in scalding oil and my entire left side feels like a single deep bone bruise. The more I stand still, the harder I find it to continue walking, but I steady my breath and dig deep, letting my mind go back to the swamp lands of Braxis, to a place that may or may not be home.

There's a slight twist of bone, some gentle tugging of muscle, but no real pain, and when I open my eyes again, I'm a Bragdon with gray, leathery reptile skin taut over narrow bone. My entire architecture shifted in more or less the blink of an eye. For a moment I start to buy into this whole legendary girl from the stars nonsense.

Only for a moment. It's the only time I can spare.

"Luxen!" I bark again. I'm sure the Reblons are moving closer, and while I feel more natural in the Bragdon skin, I'll be much more easily identified as well.

In the dark cave I see the luminescent sparkle of nocturnal eyes staring back at me in the low haze. There's a flash of recognition, and he starts to move, but I hold out my hand as I approach.

Then he does move, he lunges out from behind his rock shelter, lifting his hands.

"Luxen, stay down!" I whisper.

He doesn't listen.

A bright flash bursts from his hands, blinding me in the darkness of the cave. My reflexes tug me left. Did he just shoot at me?

Plasma streaks over my right shoulder, the shoulder that is still a ball of thorns. Behind me I hear the muffled bark and groan of a Reblon commando. I spin on my heels, fists clenched, to see the sprawling mound of fur tumbling away, while two others come to the mouth of the cave.

Another blast of energy burns through the air to my left as I charge forward. It strikes one of the Reblons in the chest and he stumbles to fall forward. The second is bringing his weapon around when I move inside his range, knock the gun aside, and wrap my fingers in the fabric of his vest. I hurl him over my shoulder, driving his skull into the rock ground. As soon as his slumped form topples over, I charge towards Luxen who is side-stepping out from the rocks with the plasma weapon still clutched firmly in both hands.

"Run!" I shout. "Get deeper into the cave!"

"Where are we going to go?" he asks.

I don't have an answer. This whirlwind brain of mine doesn't even have an answer. For the first time in over a month I feel as if I'm at a complete and total loss.

Within moments we're enveloped by darkness as the cave swallows us so completely that even with my night vision I can't navigate. I hear slamming feet out near the cave's mouth and the muffled shouts of the enemy commandos. I can see the twisting beams of weapon-mounted lights carving through the darkened cave.

"Do you know where we're going?" Luxen asks. Ahead of us there's an opened space with several branching corridors faint in the low light.

"No idea," I confess as we step closer into the open area. Down the corridor directly in front of us, I see the faint glow of light.

"Maybe that's a way out?" I ask, pointing towards it. As we start walking that direction the light shifts somewhat.

"You don't want to go that way." I whirl towards the low, ragged voice. Luxen follows my lead, lifting his pistol to direct it towards the sound of the voice.

A Bragdon Elder takes an unsteady step from the darkness, folding out of it like a shadow becoming reality. He's limping and has one hand pressed to his ribs. On his third step towards us, he shuffles and almost falls.

I move in, tucking my shoulder under his to help him stay upright.

"We thought they killed you!" Luxen shouts.

"Very nearly," he replies. "But we are harder to kill than we look."

I glance up at the shifting light in the hallway. It's growing larger.

"My two brothers are one with the spirit. However, I still live, for now." He follows my gaze towards the far hallway. "Do not go that way. Those lights . . . they are Reblon commandos. They infest this moon like insects. They will destroy this holy place."

"What can we do?" asks Luxen. I'm still watching the corridor ahead. The lights are growing larger.

The Elder shakes his head, saying, "The moon is already lost. There is nothing left to do but escape."

This gets my attention. "How can we escape? Our jump ship was destroyed. There's no way off this place."

He smiles, a crooked split of non-existent lips looking foreign against his withered, mottled gray face.

"There is a way, deep in the cavern. There is one last secret we've managed to keep."

I reach up under his shoulder and help him up, cradling his arm over me as we hobble back towards the opened area. "You're coming with us," I say. "Where do we go?"

The elder doesn't reply, he just extends his arm and long, pointed finger towards a hallway to our left.

Shouts echo from our right as our moving shapes become visible in the glow of Reblon lamps. Shotgun blasts rebound off of the coarse rock walls around us and a chunk of rock explodes, showering us with hot stone fragments.

"Luxen, here!" I breathe, extending my arm towards him, handing off the burden of assisting the elder. Luxen moves in to take his place underneath the frail arm of the old Bragdon.

"Weapon!" I say, extending my other hand, and Luxen obeys.

As two Bragdons advance down the hall, I fall back with the plasma weapon cradled in my arms. I am a walking nerve cluster with each step only further emphasizing the pain that racks my whole body.

As I move towards the corner where a crater spirals with dull gray smoke, I swing around, lift the weapon, and sight in on the Reblons that are bracketed by their own lights. Two swift shots of plasma drop the first two commandos, but a third and fourth break away, dashing forward to return fire. As I duck behind the rock there's a sharp stab and pinch in my right leg, but I push through the pain and charge forward, seeing Luxen and the Elder up ahead. I swivel and fire down the hall, sending the commandos scrambling for cover and buying us a few more moments.

I'm not running at this point, I'm more stumbling in a forward motion. I hear more footsteps pounding behind me. Around the front corner, more shots ring out, but they crash against rock wall. a

Luxen and the Elder are moving towards another large, cavernous room up ahead. There's a dim light in the room, and a large central column extends up towards the night sky. It's a strange sight, but I keep pressing forward, trying to ignore the approaching commandos behind me.

"Hurry!" shouts Luxen, waving his arm to emphasize the need for speed. A hobble is all he gets out of me, as my leg now matches my shoulder and ribs.

"Where do we go from here?" I ask as I enter the large room.

The Bragdon Elder props himself up on the column and beckons me over. His frail, thin hand is shaking like dry leaves on a loosely tied bundle of twigs.

As I walk over, he reaches towards the column next to him and presses into the rock surface. A strange glow emanates from his touch and scorches through the column like embedded lightning. Forked spikes of brightness spreading like a virus through the thick stone. My eyes widen as the stone begins to split and crumble away. The support column appears to be disintegrating before my eyes, but it is not the column that is disintegrating.

The rock that crumbles away isn't thick chunks of stone, but a strange sheet of rock that flakes away, scattering across the ground.

It's a covering, a rock textured sheath with something underneath. The starlight from above glistens off of the surface of the smooth, angular cylinder hidden underneath the stone covering.

It's a ship, some kind of modified jettison pod that is sleek and aerodynamic is embedded into a built-in launcher dug deep into the dirt surface of the floor.

Above us the rock formation, a narrow hole opens up to the star specked sky.

"A launch pad?" I ask, looking at the Elder. "This whole rock is a glorified launch pad?"

"A method for escape if needed," the Elder replies. "And it is needed."

"They have a ship!" comes a gruff shout from the leading hallway. I fire my plasma weapon, sending the two approaching Reblons for cover, though I can hear a lot of footfalls behind them.

"They're coming!" I shout. "I hear them! Lots of them!"

"In, young one. Get in," whispers the Elder. He gestures towards a ladder bolted to the side of the long, sloped escape vessel, and Luxen leaps up onto it, clamoring up the side towards the clear canopy.

Well over a dozen Reblons flood towards the chamber in a tightly clustered group, all hair, growls, and double-barreled shotguns.

My plasma weapon roars to life, slamming energy into the group of approaching commandos. Two of them fall and the oncoming swarm envelops them.

"Your turn!" the Elder shouts, pressing his narrow hand into my shoulder. "Give me the weapon."

I turn and glare at him. "But, can you . . . ? How will you . . . ?"

"You are too important to die here in the dirt. Go, Brie Northstar. Give me the weapon!"

He slips the weapon from my hands, and I launch myself up onto a ladder. Pushing back the agony that still tears at my shoulder and leg, I scramble up the metal rungs.

The cavern erupts in a cacophony of shotgun shots, and I hear slugs banging off the metal hide of the spacecraft. I try to ignore the danger as I keep climbing, hand over hand with my eyes focused on the open canopy ahead where Luxen is already slipping into the seat.

I reach the canopy and glance down, for what reason, I'm not sure, but my eyes fix on the Elder who takes two steps forward with the plasma weapon and unloads it towards the crowd of Reblons. Some scatter away while others continue. Those shooting at me halt and turn toward the older Bragdon down below.

As their weapons erupt, I close my eyes and turn away, having no desire to see what their guns do to the wrinkled flesh of a Bragdon Elder. My own vivid imagination fills in far too many of the blanks already.

Luxen is strapped back into the seat of the vertical ship, looking up through the opening in the top of this artificial mountain. I climb over him as shots slam against the hide of the pod again.

"Get us out of here!" I shout as I scramble past him, making my way towards another seat.

"Where's the Elder?" he asks.

"He's gone, Luxen. Just go!"

Like an expert pilot, the young Bragdon keys a few commands into the control panel, guns the throttle, and primes the thrusters.

The ship rattles and jostles with a barrage of shotgun slugs. One shot skitters across the left edge of the canopy.

"They're going to tear this ship apart!" I scream.

"Hold tight!" he replies, a sense of firm confidence sharpening his tone. I glance back down through the canopy as the ground below fades under the collecting smoke of the primed thrusters.

Luxen slams his fist down on the launch ignition and the ground explodes underneath us in a rolling boil of fire and smoke. I hear the low growling screams of dying Reblon commandos all around us.

The ship shifts, snaps free of concealed mounting brackets, and seems to hover for a moment before surging sharply upward through the opening in the mountain and screaming out into the dark sky pierced by starlight.

The strange, artificial moon falls away behind us and moments later we smash through the atmosphere, free of the confines of fake Bragdon gravity, and free of the Reblon horde, at least for now.

How long will this freedom last? How long will I be safe?

Do I even still feel safe? When I have three entire planets after me, how can I?

Epilogue

The Bragdon Battle Cruiser Roxilander lumbers through vacant space. The massive battleship is covered in scorch marks up and down its thick, metal hide.

Faint clouds of spent fuel and plasma discharge obscure the area.

"Command, we have confirmation that the Reblon fleet has withdrawn," reports the young Bragdon officer dressed in stark black.

Bragdon Command stands at his console, looking out over the vastness of space.

"Where is the jump ship?" he asks, his voice sharp enough to cut bone.

The younger, smaller Bragdon clears his throat. "We . . . we no longer have them on our view screens."

Command doesn't turn. He doesn't speak.

"We tracked them to the Elder Moon. We're in the same sector. Long range sensors indicate that a ship departed from there a short while ago, but we're not finding anything yet. A landing team is arriving in moments."

"Keep scanning," Command growls.

"The spent plasma in this sector is making that . . . difficult."

Command glances over his shoulder, eyes slit under his furrowed, spiked brow. "Keep. Scanning."

"As you wish, Sir." The younger Bragdon nods, bows slightly and withdraws, turning to walk down the hall towards the reconnaissance wing.

"HOW MANY SURVIVORS?" Admirable Flurogh asks. Like the Bragdon fleet commander, he glares out of the large, rounded window on the bridge of the Reblon battle cruiser.

"Forty-Six," the Reblon officer replies.

"Out of how many?" the Admiral inquires.

"Two hundred, Sir," the officer states.

"What was gained from this exercise!" the Admiral demands rather than asks.

The Reblon officer's eyes dart around the bridge, as if looking for an escape tunnel.

"We killed three Bragdon Elders," the officer replies.

Admiral Flurogh looks back, eyes narrowing. "Three Elders? Do you think three Elders equal one hundred and fifty dead Reblon commandos?"

"No, Sir."

The admiral gazes through the window. "I'm glad we're on the same page."

There is a vast, thick silence across the bridge, no voices, no milling around, just an uncomfortable silence.

"Continue to scour the sector," Admiral Flurogh says. "I want Northstar in captured or eliminated. There are no other options."

ISN'T THIS HOW THIS whole thing started?

Luxen is asleep in the seat next to me with his eyes closed and his small head tipped over to one side. His breath comes in the even, steady sweeps that are the restful sleep of the innocent.

If only we were all so innocent.

My only companion is asleep and there's nothing to see but the vastness of space. That gives me a lot of time to think about everything that has happened and everyone who has died pursuing me. No matter how much I think, I can't understand what makes me so significant in this endless galaxy of significant things.

Should an eighteen-year-old be worried about these things? Probably not, but I have little choice? Inhabitants of all three planets in the Yarda Quadrant either want me captured or want me dead. There is no place to turn and nowhere to go.

I was starting to trust Gragson, to think that he had my back, even if he had his own gruff way of showing it, but now he's dead, and I have no idea what to expect from the rest of the population of Braxis.

I escaped Athelon as they fired plasma torpedoes at me, and they weren't warning shots either. An entire army of Reblon commandos just spent a couple of hours trying to punch my ticket with shotgun slugs.

I made it. I'm still breathing. This should reassure me. It should make me feel good, but there are no good feelings here, only the silent oppression of immense guilt.

Hundreds if not thousands of other living beings, none of them any less important than I am, have died in the past month as a direct result of me and these stupid new powers I have.

I still don't understand this legend that surrounds me. I struggle to think how I might find more information without revealing myself to one or more of my pursuers.

I think back to what the Elders told me, and what Gragson understood from his studies. I'm a whole that is the sum of three parts. But the sum of those three parts is greater than the individual parts that make me up. I am supposed to be some kind of living embodiment of celestial synergy.

Mind. Blown.

Right about now I should be worried about school and about dealing with midterm exams. I should be wondering if that cute boy in my astrophysics class likes me or is just trying to cheat off my answers.

Instead I'm strapped into this interstellar missile that is just a reinforced projectile launched from an artificial Braxis moon to catapult us through hyperspace and land me in this unfamiliar sector of the Yarda Quadrant. I don't even know where I am, which isn't surprising since I'm not well traveled, but now my fuel is dangerously low and I've set the ship adrift, trying to keep power in reserve for the important stuff, like life support, air, food and water.

Only I've been drifting for hours and I don't know what to do next or what my options are. I don't know where to turn or who to ask.

There's a chime from the long range sensors that jerks my focus back to the console screen.

Well, what do you know? There's a planet there. Did that hyperspace jump land me near Braxis? That might make some sense considering who made that artificial moon.

But this doesn't look the same as the space surrounding Braxis. Granted I was in fear for my life the last time I fell into Braxis orbit, but something about this is different. It's cleaner here.

Risking a bit of fuel, I adjust course, bringing the nose of the ship towards the planet's trajectory. I see an emerging globe of dark blue and gleaming silver. The glow of the world is evident from even this far away.

I know where I am, but I don't know what's waiting for me there. Reblox lies ahead.

Of all the places in the Yarda Quadrant where that ship could land us, it chose here?

"It didn't choose here, Brie Northstar. I sent it here."

"By the Mother!" I shout, standing from my seat and spinning around. The voice echoed from the emptiness of the ship behind me. Luxen still slept next to me.

The Bragdon Elder is one with the darkness of the rear of the ship with only his bright eyes and the faint outline of his cloaked form visible among the shadows.

"I thought you were dead." I whisper.

"Did you see me struck?" the Elder queries.

I hadn't. I'd turned away.

"But how did you get in?" I shake my head in confusion.

He takes a step forward, looking far steadier on his feet than he had.

"That's unimportant. What is important is that I'm here. We're here together."

I glance over at Luxen, but he is still fast asleep.

"He will not awaken until I wish him to. We can converse in confidence, child." the Elder reassures me.

"Anything we have to say, we can say in front of him. He saved my life. Whatever happens from here on, it's because of him."

The Elder turns and looks at the young sleeping Bragdon, and, for a moment, I think I see a smile on his face.

"The truth, Brie, is that a secret war has been raging for generations. This war that has been concealed from the planets at large, but could change the structure of the quadrant as we know it."

"But why?"

"Even as we speak, this intergalactic conflict brews close to the surface, far closer than it has ever been in the past." He wanders past me towards one of the side bucket seats, and eases his skinny frame into it.

"If the war boils over, if range and anger take to the streets of any of these three planets, billions could die."

"How do we stop it?" I ask. I realize the elder is trying to give me information, but it only serves to further confuse me.

He sits with his arms crossed over his knees, his hood pulled up over his head, and his eyes cast down towards the floor of the ship.

"I'm not sure we can, but we need to try." As he looks up at me, his hood slides back so I can see the outline of his withered face. Rows of wrinkles carve the skin there, like the hard nugget in a peach.

"You are our best chance," he continues, looking at me. "If we can reveal your existence, it could lead to the unification that these three planets have been lacking for five generations."

"I still don't understand." I complain.

He reaches forward and places a gentle, wrinkled hand on my cheek, his touch like dried prunes.

"You are proof, my child." he says.

"Proof?"

"Yes, proof. Proof that the three planets were once more alike than anyone cares to admit. Proof that, in fact, the three planets were once one." The Elder proclaims.

"One?"

He drops his hand and leans back, releasing a long and pained sigh.

"It is a long lesson of history, young one. History that I cannot go into now." he says wearily.

I'm about to resist and open my mouth to bark some snide reply, but I catch myself and suck the words back in before I can utter them. To be honest, I feel proud of thinking before speaking. That's not typically a Brie Northstar trademark.

"There are pockets of resistance," he says. "On each planet, there are denizens who believe in the theory of unification. They are searching for you, looking for a way to prove that we all belong together."

"I take it the ones who are trying to kill me are not part of that resistance?"

The elder nods. "True, but one of the largest cadres is, in fact, on Reblox. Northwest sector is in the shadows of the planet's capital city. That is where I set our path."

I turn back towards the window and look out, watching the glittering globe draw closer.

"So, this is on purpose? This is your doing?" I ask.

"Yes. We must meet up with the Reblon resistance to get them on board. Only with their support, can we possibly convince the others that you are real."

"I'm not even convinced that I'm real!"

He's not smiling. Not anymore. "Get convinced, Brie Northstar. Convince yourself so you can convince others. The fate of Yarda Quadrant could hang in the balance."

"No pressure." I state with customary sarcasm.

He leans back without answering and closes his eyes. His chest draws deep and releases, and moments later seems to be asleep.

Nothing makes sense. It kind of starts to make sense, but then it doesn't really make sense. I spent hours trying to get away from a planet full of angry, fur covered Reblon commandos, and now I'm flying towards a planet full of angry, fur covered Reblon commandos.

That's the story of my life over the past month.

What does make sense, is that I'm running low on fuel, and if I don't want to float adrift for the rest of my long life, I need to find a place to go. Reblox might be the only choice I have.

With a slight adjustment of my wrist I engage the thrusters, applying minimal power to propel the ship forward towards the shining orb ahead. I ease the ship into a flat trajectory, matching the planet's lazy outward spin, and put it down into Reblox atmosphere.

The sudden thrash and jerk threatens to tear the controls from my hands, but I hold tight. By stiffening my arms and tipping them forward, I'm able to push the ship down to match the planetary orbit.

Ahead of me the dark cone of the space craft begins to glow a dull crimson, but the hull holds together and the ship ceases its shaking as it drops me into normal air.

My eyes scan the horizon, taking in swaths of glittering buildings. Tall structures stretch up towards space. The Sol-star reflecting from them, casts them in a pale gold.

My eyes lock on a darkened corner. An area to my left, cast in shadow from the massive buildings, seems . . . away from the rest. This is the northwest sector, under the shadows of the Reblon capital.

It seems to me that landing this ship in the middle of Reblon civilization is a very bad idea, so I point it towards that darkened shadow to begin my descent into the next adventure in this strange series of events that has become my life pattern.

Hopefully the Bragdon Elder is just sleeping back there, because once I land, I'm going to need all hands on deck.

###END###

TO BE CONTINUED IN...

WAR OF THE THREE PLANETS (Book Four) – BIRTH OF REBELLION

Get the latest information and updates FIRST if you join the World of Wolf's Head!

The World of Wolf's Head Publishing is the only place where you will get exclusive free content (including both Books 1 and 2 of my science fiction thriller, the Operation: Harvest trilogy) and the best access to author Justin Bell.

I occasionally send out emails to my readers and those emails contain lots of new and exclusive material that you can only find as a member of the World of Wolf's Head.

Subscribing will get you the following:

1. Exclusive Operation: Harvest "behind the scenes" Research Paper

2. Exclusive Prequel Novella for the War of the Three Planets series

Did you enjoy this novella? Please consider leaving me a review, it is immensely helpful for any independent author!

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 part Bichon/part Rottweiler dog Maxwell.

Like what you read? Please subscribe to my mailing list to stay up to date on all my latest work!

You can follow my writing exploits at my blog at JustinBellAuthor.com and keep up to date on the latest news from Wolf's Head Publishing at WolfsHeadPublishing.com as well as our Twitter and Facebook Page.

###END###

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Epilogue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue