Birth of Rebellion (War of the Three Planets Book 4) Page 2

  "Should I shift?" I whisper to Kleethak to my right.

  "No," he replies. "Too conspicuous now. Keep the cloak on, you'll be fine."

  He's leading the trio down the dirt covered road, navigating us through crowds of familiar looking creatures who don't seem particularly interested in us.

  Two more screams echo overhead as twin interceptors cut through the sky. Near the nose of both aircraft, flood lights flash, slicing circular beams of light down towards the ground, near where the rocket must have crashed. Search teams!

  "They'll be looking for us," I say.

  "They won't find us," Kleethak replies. I glance at Luxen who shrugs his narrow shoulders in reply.

  "Up here," the elder whispers, pointing towards an alley to the right that cuts between two ramshackle buildings.

  We follow his lead as we break away from the crowd and walk towards the dark area that is more a pathway than an alley. It's a trench lacking light rather than a designated separation between two buildings. It all feels very dark and mysterious.

  "Where are we going?" I ask. "How do you know this place?"

  "Trust me, child," he replies.

  Sure, why not? I've known him for at least a day. Why wouldn't I trust him with the future of this entire section of galaxy?

  As we round the corner, the alley ahead seems even darker. I can barely see, and I don't have the benefit of night vision in my current form as Luxen and Kleethak do. The buildings on each side of this alley have their backs turned towards it in some sort of metaphorical statement.

  "Who goes there?"

  The voice is shrill, loud, and jarring. Twin flashes of light explode near the back of the alley. The white circles seem to split apart the consuming darkness.

  The pale light reveals two leather-skinned faces, their angry grimaces ringed by thick clutches of dark fur.

  Reblons.

  They found us and we officially have nowhere to run.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The still air of the alley is a thick and silent wall enclosing us in this narrow cut through two rows of buildings. Kleethak stands ahead of me, his dark cloak swaying in a gentle breeze, and I can see Luxen out of the corner of my eye locked in time, unmoving.

  There are only two of them. The two Reblons stand shoulder to shoulder, large frames cloaked in a tangled mesh of gray and black fur, taking up the entire alley. Tufts of hair battle their way out from around their tactical vests to roll down their large arms and legs much like the long grass in the surrounding wilderness.

  Both of them are armed with double barreled shotguns pointed lazily towards the three of us. I have fought off a hundred or so of these glorified gorillas; should I be worried about these two? Except where there are two, there are likely more. They could be all around us, slinking in the shadows, or prowling towards us with their eyes gleaming in the low light of night and shotguns strapped tight around their barrel chests.

  One of the Reblon commandos takes a confident step forward and eases away from his partner, who drifts left in a well calculated flanking motion.

  How do I even know what a well calculated flanking motion is? All I know is that sounds kind of dirty.

  With my right hand I gesture towards Luxen directing him to fall in behind me.

  "Kleethak, fall back," I whisper. "Let me take the lead."

  The Reblon's eyes narrow as his carved, muscular face twists into a deep, angry grimace.

  "Come with us," he growls. His voice is a punch of audible vibration.

  "I don't think so," I reply. "You'll have to go through me."

  He glances back towards the other Reblon, smirking crookedly. I can swear he chuckles as he turns back towards me.

  "Join us, child, or we'll club you and carry you. Your choice."

  My muscles tense as I close my hands into fists, turning sideways into fighting posture. I'm a tiny sliver compared to their thick oak trunks, but my mind races, already isolating the most likely weak joints in the knees, the ribs, and the center of their torsos. It may be tough, depending on how thick their skin is, but I think I may be able to swing it.

  As long as they don't have backup.

  But they'll have backup. I have no doubt.

  Kleethak turns back towards me, his brow furrowing underneath the baggy spill of hood.

  "Calm yourself," he hisses.

  He turns back to the two commandos.

  "Take us," he replies. "Take us where we need to go."

  "Kleethak," I say, my voice a sharp edge. I start to step forward, but Luxen places a hand on my shoulder.

  "I trust him," he says, nodding towards the elder. Trust, what a novel concept, one I'm having a hard time with currently.

  The lead Reblon nods his head gesturing towards the second one who lowers his weapon before breaking away and letting us pass by. He falls in behind us, keeping us sandwiched between him and his partner.

  "I don't like this," I say out of the corner of my mouth, glancing at Luxen.

  "You don't have to like it, my child," Kleethak replies from in front of me.

  The lead Reblon halts for a moment, his eyes roaming over the narrow span of the alley. He draws his weapon up in front of his chest and veers right, approaching a sheet of corrugated metal that seems to be patching a hole between two buildings.

  His massive, furred fist pounds three even strokes against the metal. He pauses for a moment, then raps hard four more times.

  When two distinct knocks return from the other side of the metal, the Reblon behind us turns around to review the alley. It remains empty and dark in the low light of dusk.

  A few muffled scuffs and bangs echo from the space behind the slab of metal, then it shifts and pushes aside to reveal a dark passageway.

  "Enter. Quickly!" The quiet voice is rough as if spoken through a layer of crushed stone. Kleethak presses forward, following the Reblon, and Luxen is in lock step to my left.

  Something about this whole idea still doesn't sit well with me, so I hesitate for a moment.

  Not too far away, a thundering, metallic sound rolls over the landscape, like the sudden smashing of metal on pavement caused by a grav car slamming into a skyscraper.

  "Move!" a voice hisses from the shadows. "Crashers are coming!"

  Crashers? What the heck are crashers? Luxen's narrow fingers clamp around my forearm and yank, hauling me forward to stumble into the darkened passage. Unseen figures shuffle around to close the metal panel behind me, drowning us all in an even deeper darkness.

  "Follow," growls a low voice, so we chase after the sound of scuffed footsteps. Behind me there is a rapid slamming of metal, a rolling series of bangs beyond the wall in the alley we vacated.

  The footsteps ahead halt and all I hear is a hoarse rasping of breath.

  "Still," the voice orders softly. "Remain still."

  I'm not sure how else I could remain. I can't see three feet in front of me, I don't have plans to start sprinting anywhere anytime soon. Behind me, the metal bangs fade, growing quieter and quieter, moving east to west.

  "Gone?" one voice asks.

  "I think," replies the second.

  There's a low hiss, a spark, and a flash of white light that illuminates the passageway. The Reblon holding the flare reaches his long arm over to wedge it into make-shift sconce on a wall to his left, casting pale light across the passage.

  "My name is Pung," the Reblon says, his voice a whispery growl.

  "I am Segaris," the second one says.

  "Call me Murdek," a third voice echoes, even rougher than the other two. As I lean toward the voice, squinting to see better, a Bragdon emerges from near the rear of the narrow passage. He is thin and wiry, is dressed in padded military garb with torn pants, and has a dirty plasma rifle danging from his sloped shoulders.

  "Who are you?" I ask.

  "They are part of the resistance I told you about," Kleethak says as he steps out of the shadows on my right. "Reblons and Bragdons working together. Athelonians as well."
/>
  "Is this her?" Pung asks, turning towards Kleethak.

  Pung is a head taller than Segaris with a squat, wide head and black mottled fur coating his massive frame. A narrow leather bandolier crosses his wide chest, weaving between thick pouches on a tactical vest.

  I look towards Kleethak who is nodding, causing his hood to bob with each motion of his head.

  "Who?" I ask. "Who am I?"

  As Pung turns towards me, his hard glare softens and the jagged edge of his face shifts into something more gentle.

  "Are you her, the Child of the Stars, foretold in the prophecy?"

  "Hey, hey, easy now," I say, taking a step back. "I'm not making any promises. I don't know what I am, okay? The elder over there," I jerk my head towards Kleethak, "He seems convinced. Personally, all I know is I'm just a girl."

  Pung smiles and glances back at Segaris. A jovial look passes between them as if to express how utterly adorable I am. I hate adorable. I don't do adorable.

  "So this resistance," I say, "tell me more about it."

  "There are thousands of us," says Murdek, the Bragdon, pushing his way through the two larger Reblons. "We are working in secret towards unification of the three planets."

  "And that has what to do with me?"

  He smiles. Even after these last several weeks, seeing a Bragdon smile always feels weird.

  "Everything to do with you. You are proof, child. You are proof that the three planets were once one, and that unification isn't a new path; it's a return to history."

  "I keep telling you I'm not real comfortable with this," I reply. "Yes, something strange is going on with me. I can't argue that. But to assume I'm some galactic savior..."

  Murdek takes a cautious step towards me, extending upturned palms that are a lighter gray than the rest of his rough-hewn reptile skin. As he wraps his fingers around my hands, his gentle grasp is reassuring, like a grandfather's, though he isn't all that old. Warmth settles through me as I see in his yellow eyes, a rare kindness I'm not accustomed to, especially where the citizens of Braxis are concerned.

  A tinny spark of connection ignites in our hands, like some kind of chemical bond and although I've only known him for moments, there's an affinity...an immediate friendship.

  "Young one," he says quietly. "This is something to be celebrated, not feared. If you are the Child of the Stars, your evolution to your celestial place will come naturally. You have no pressure."

  His words calm me in a way that none of Kleethak's has.

  "Are you an elder?" I ask. He draws back.

  "Oh, no. A cleric, yes. I was on the path to elder, but... well, the needs of the resistance were more important than my own personal salvation."

  "And what makes you believe in this Child of the Stars myth? Any of you?" I cast my eyes to the two Reblons.

  "The legends were passed down through generations," Pung replies, his voice low and rumbling. "The ancient texts speak of it, but modern society chooses not to pay attention."

  "To repeat their mistakes. Doom the quadrant," says Segaris. "Doom all of us."

  "What can the few of us do against an entire quadrant at war?" I ask.

  "Exposure," replies Murdek. "Proof of the conspiracy. Education. Encourage resistance at all levels, on all three planets. The resistance isn't just us. It's not just on Reblox. It is everywhere."

  As if on cue a clattering, metallic bang reverberates from behind me, causing me to whirl around, snapping my fingers away from the comforting grasp of the Bragdon cleric.

  "No!" shouts Pung, stepping forward, and bringing his weapon around.

  Another loud bang of metal on metal leaves the panel ahead of us shuddering.

  "They've found us!" Kleethak shouts.

  "The Crashers!"

  I glance over at Segaris, my eyes wide. "What are the Crashers?"

  One more deafening blow sends me stumbling backwards as the sheet of corrugated metal whirls away from the entrance into this dimly lit passage. It tumbles end-over-end, skimming past my left shoulder and slamming into the wall behind me, sounding like a cascade of toppling pots and pans.

  I whip my head towards the passage entrance where a shadowy figure fills the opening. The figure is clearly Reblon, but even larger than normal. As the thin smoke begins to drift away and clear I can see that there is the familiar fur-covered shape at the core of this figure, but it's surrounded by a contraption that is a strange assembly of bolts and metal. Armor plating runs along each arm and down each leg, with an opened cavity in the center where the Reblon sits. This strange cockpit is formed of translucent polymer woven between metal posts.

  As the form takes a lumbering, shuddering step forward, I realize that the Reblon is encased in an armored, mechanized battle suit. The entire contraption stands twelve feet tall with massive, rectangular arms, thick legs, and large, octagonal slabs of metal for feet, which strike the hard packed ground with a horrendous clang.

  A shrill whine begins to issue from the right side of this mechanized suit. My eyes are drawn to the rotating barrel of a mounted firearm that starts whirling and whining even louder, as it prepares to unload an armory of ammunition into this tiny passageway.

  But it doesn't fire. The whine hits a high, thin pitch that begins to fade as the mech suit takes another long, loud step forward to reveal a second one emerging from the pale smoke behind it. It strikes a building to its left, knocking a chunk of brick work from it, scattering debris across the ground.

  "Those are the Crashers," Pung replies. "And where there are two, there are more."

  My eyes dart from one to the other of the lumbering, robotic suits wrapped around vicious looking Reblon commandos. Their large hands clutch tightly around contoured joy sticks, pushing each massive leg forward on clanging footfalls.

  In the shadow of the smoke drifting behind them, I see a third pushing its way into the passage, using miniature spotlights at the top of the pilot's cage to blast beams of light across each of us in turn.

  "Surrender peacefully," the voice bellows from the lead mechanized battle suit in a trademark Reblon growl amplified by some integrated loudspeaker.

  I can't help but notice the cylindrical mini-gun weapon on its right arm is still spinning, though no longer with the frightening whine of impending ignition.

  "No one has to die," says the pilot of the second.

  "We should do what they say," whispers Luxen from beside me. He's drawing in close, almost taking cover. The three battle suits are certainly intimidating.

  "What do you want from us?" I ask. I'm not sure what else to say.

  "Simply come with us," the lead mech suit replies. "We have some questions regarding resistance activity in this sector."

  So maybe the secret resistance isn't so secret?

  I take a step forward, my eyes scanning the dirt floor of the alley. I'm not even sure what I'm looking for, but my instincts are telling me surrender is the last option we should be considering. If I've learned anything over the past month or so, it's to trust those instincts. They've rarely let me down.

  At this moment my instincts are firing on all cylinders as my head swivels back and forth, eyes focusing on the edges of the passageway, the rows of buildings on each side, and scattered debris along the ground and walls.

  My eyes finally come to rest on the three Crashers bracketing the entrance to block any hope of exit. Each one is packed with weapons and armor, enough to stand up against a tank.

  And we're just six people, Reblons, Bragdons, and me. What can we possibly do?

  What can we do?

  Whatever is necessary.

  Before I can even think about my next step, I'm breaking left to run towards the wall flanking the passage. The grind of gears and the dull whir of machinery signals that the lead mech suit is swiveling, raising its gun arm, and tracking my movement.

  A ratcheting series of snaps from the gun-arm tells me the lead Crasher is readying to fire as I drop down and hook my fingers around the loose sheet
of metal lying against the wall. I dash forward, flipping it up without pausing.

  The rounded barrel of my weapon erupts into a chattering roar of gunfire, sending strobe light flashes up and down the passage. Bullets sping and spang off of the metal, sending sparks dancing as I run forward angling myself towards the suit of armor.