Voyage to Athelon (War of the Three Planets Book 5) Read online

  My confidence doesn't last long.

  Even as the flower of the explosive torpedo begins to die out, I can make out the small sparks of three more approaching fighters, coming up to take over where these three left off. Even from this far away I can see the telltale flash of firing plasma weapons as they approach. They're bracketing me with fire.

  These three Interceptors know where I am. They're anticipating me. And now they're coming for me.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Pale green plasma slices through the dark of space, arcing low and fast, hurling towards me. I can't hear anything, but I can see it, creating vague halos of energy around the projectiles. I immediately ignite my pack thrusters, shooting myself forward just as the first two beams cut just behind me. Already the Interceptors start veering left, adjusting the trajectory of their cannons to track me. The barrels of their weapons begin to glow slightly as the plasma armaments warm up. With three sets of four cannons aimed directly at me, there is nowhere for me to go.

  The darkness splits as they fire and I swing around, propelling myself backwards, trying to adjust my momentum to slip away from the onslaught of spent plasma. I can immediately tell that it won't be good enough. Two shots sear towards me as I shoot in reverse.

  My view is blotted out. One minute I'm bracing myself for impact, the next minute the stolen resistance freighter is right there in front of me, and for the first time I get a good look at it. It's a beast, that much is clear. The thick, blocky, side facing me is a series of bolted together metal plates and uneven armor. I can make out the series of dents and smeared scorch marks where the starboard quad-turret cannon used to be. The half-circle with sloped back wings and a rounded snout looks like a hastily constructed, vaguely bird-shaped piece of art that a kid brought home from school to proudly show his parents.

  But it's solid, that much is clear. The ragged, uneven shape is due to layers and layers of reinforced metal plate. It is built for rugged durability rather than raw speed, which is probably just how the rebels want it. They need the durability now.

  Even if I can't hear in space, I can imagine the rapid slamming of plasma against the opposite side of the ship as it throws itself between me and the approaching Interceptors, taking half a dozen shots for me, risking the health of our only transport away from this sector just so I don't end up like so much floating space debris. I won't let it go to waste.

  Clenching my left fist I engage the rockets on my pack and shoot forward, towards the hull of the freighter, then pull up just as two of the Interceptors break away and streak over the top of the stolen rebel spacecraft. My rifle is already waiting, elevated and propped in my two firm hands. I haul back on the trigger, blasting a steady stream of green energy from the four-barreled weapon.

  The first shot strikes the lead Interceptor just underneath the cockpit, punching right through the narrowly sloped, light armor and obliterating the front portion of the speedy war machine. Smoke and fuel sprays from the jagged edge of shorn ship as it starts toppling end over end, tossing the Reblon pilot out into the void like so much forgotten refuse.

  Already I'm adjusting and firing again as the second ship streaks over the freighter, slowing to avoid collision. My second shot catches it in the rear thruster, shatters the ceramic coating of the engine, and ignites a fuel line. The back half of the second Interceptor thrashes, then blasts apart as the rest of the ship is swiftly consumed by pale flame before it is extinguished in the cold of space leaving a charred and smoldering wreckage.

  Below the ship the third Interceptor dives low, then pulls back up and around, not making the same mistake as the other two. It barrel-rolls as it comes up towards me with its nose guns roaring, sending a volley of orange up at me. I fire off my right thruster and it tosses me left, sending me cartwheeling through space until I barrel into the side of the freighter shoulder first. Pain laces my arm and ribs as slashing a bright light flashes behind my eyes.

  When the freighter comes around, exposing the nose of the ship, I see a circular mount with a long double-barreled cannon bolted underneath. It swivels rapidly, following the path of the approaching Interceptor, then scorches space with twin bolts of yellow light, slamming them into the spine of the quick Reblon ship. The ship shudders, splits in two the long way, and breaks up. Debris trails from both pieces.

  Around me, all is quiet.

  In truth, it has been quiet, we are in space, after all, but seeing combat all around me, my brain fills in the blanks where my ears can't hear. Now as Interceptors lay broken and floating, even my mind is quiet.

  "No time to admire your handiwork, Brie," comes the voice in my helmet. "Get in, we need to go. Now."

  Drewsk is right. I punch my jet pack thrusters and guide my way towards the side air lock door, which is already starting to ease its way open. I slide in, latch the door behind me, then vent air into the chamber and remove the tightly clinging space suit.

  My skin and fur are slick with sweat, and my Reblon form is sore and tired from the brief, yet vicious battle in space. I walk towards the interior door,d punch the red button, separating the two metal plates, then step out into the hallway.

  "That was pretty stupid," Drewsk says, stomping down the hall towards me. His feet clang loudly in the enclosed hallway. "Without you, this whole thing is worthless. Don't you get that, Northstar?"

  "So we would have been better off with the freighter getting destroyed by Interceptors?" I bark back. "Duly noted. Next time you're on your own, Drewsk."

  I push past him, walking at a swift, angry pace.

  "Brie!" he shouts after me. I almost ignore him. I really want to ignore him.

  But I don't. I slow my walk, then stop.

  The foot steps coming towards me are quieter and calmer, a soft metal clomp instead of the loud banging of a minute previous.

  "Look, I'm sorry," Drewsk says. "It's been a difficult few hours."

  "It's been a difficult few months," I reply sharply.

  "I get that, Brie," he replies. "I know you've been through a lot."

  I turn towards him, relaxing my mind and allowing my form to shift gradually from Reblon back to my normal Athelonian body. Well, my two-armed Athelonian body, anyway, which still isn't exactly normal.

  I give up.

  "I'll try and play it more carefully in the future," I say, about as close to an apology as I can muster. He nods his appreciation and I can see the understanding carved into his face. There's no need to dwell on this. He walks past me and I turn to join him, walking out into the opened hold near the center of the ship. As we approach, Loren is already emerging from one of the other hallways.

  "Bad news, Drewsk," she says, not even looking at me. "That last volley killed our light drive."

  "What?"

  "Yep. No hyperspace travel until we can get some time in a repair bay."

  Drewsk lowers his head, shaking it slowly. I look over at Loren, but she still refuses to look at me. Her mouth tugs into a tight, straight line, and her eyes look straight at Drewsk. All four arms are crossed firmly over her chest. Yep, I torqued her off.

  "Getting to Athelon will take a couple of weeks," Drewsk says as he starts walking again with Loren closing in behind him. "We'll have to refuel at least once."

  "There's a Braxis refueling station in sector fifty-three," says Kleethak, approaching on our left.

  Drewsk halts near the center of the hold where a round table extends from the floor of the ship. He flips a series of switches and an illuminated map of the entire Yarda Quadrant slowly comes to life. Fingers dance on a keyboard and the map shifts and zooms, bringing up the sector of space showing Braxis in the upper right hand corner.

  "Yeah, that's it," says Kleethak, extending a long, gray finger towards a small dot on the screen.

  "How much fuel we got?" Drewsk asks.

  "Eight-five percent of maximum capacity," Loren replies. "Burned a bit more than I would have liked during evasive maneuvers."

  Drewsk puts two hands to hi
s chin, closing his eyes in thought. I can almost hear the calculator tapping inside his head.

  He glances back down. "We can just make that refueling station if we cut through the Krelix sector here," he points towards a faded section of the map, obscured by strange orange waves.

  Kleethak shakes his head. "Not a good idea, Drewsk," he says. "Krelix is bad news. That's Scaleback territory."

  "Scalebacks?" I ask, looking at Kleethak.

  "Lawless mercenary tribe," Kleethak replies. "They've long since given up on the Bragdon belief system. As Elders, we were often asked for strategies to combat the Scaleback problem. It's a growing concern."

  "Most of them are veterans of the prolonged conflict," Luxen continued, approaching from behind me. I turn and flash him a quick smile. "They have been caught in between Reblon and Athelon for so long they have grown bitter, angry, and violent. Turned to piracy and mercenary service to survive."

  "Right," I reply. "So avoid the Krelix sector."

  "No choice," Drewsk replies, tracing his finger through the map towards the refueling station. "We don't have enough fuel to go around, we pretty much have to go through."

  We all stand looking at the map for several more moments, as if our combined eye power will somehow reveal some hidden path to salvation.

  It doesn't come.

  "Plot a course for the Sector Fifty-Three Refueling station," Drewsk says, glancing up at Loren. "Fast as you can without burning too much unnecessary energy."

  Loren nods and turns, returning down the hallway from which she had emerged.

  "Luxen, do you think you can take a look at the weapons systems?" Drewsk asks next. "Our starboard quad cannon is shot, we need to be sure the nose guns and port turrets still work. And see if we can scavenge anything together to repair the starboard side."

  "I'll take a look," Luxen replies.

  "I will help, young one," Kleethak says and trails after the child Bragdon. Those two are near inseparable these days.

  Then the hold is empty save for me and Drewsk and he remains standing, staring at the map.

  Too much silence bugs me, so as usual, I fill it with words. "So do you really think returning to Athelon is the right move?"

  "I think it's our only move."

  "You said we had rebellion cells on every planet. So is there someone on Braxis we can call on for help?"

  Drewsk shakes his head. "Our Braxis cell went off the grid several weeks ago. We fear the worst."

  "I thought Braxis was more or less on the side of the Rebellion?"

  Drewsk's arms are crossed over his broad chest as he continues to look at the map. I can't tell if he's just carefully examining it or just trying to avoid looking me in the eyes.

  "They are. More or less. But they also follow the highest bidder. Their way of life is dependent on payouts funneled from Athelon and Reblon. For years Braxis' independence has been faltering."

  I step forward towards the map and reverse pinch to zoom in a square around the Krelix sector. Several purple blobs swim through the artificial surface of space there.

  "So we don't just have to worry about Scalebacks, but also asteroids?" I ask, looking at the blobs, which have formed together into a straight-line grouping of reinforced rocks.

  Drewsk nods. "Yep. Not a friendly place to be all around."

  "There must be some other options."

  He looks up at me. "Brie, we ran out of options a long time ago. Our only objectives now are to survive and to end this ridiculous war."

  I let the words hang there for a moment. It's not easy, after all, I don't deal well with quiet. I've been fighting the urge to ask Drewsk a question, but I don't want to fight it any more.

  "So what do you think my dad's motivations are?" I ask. "You knew him in Iridium Squadron, didn't you?"

  His eyes don't lift from the map and I see his arms tighten, fingers closing around the edge of the display screen.

  "Just tell me he's not as bad as I think he is."

  Drewsk closes his eyes. "I'd love to tell you that, Brie," he says. "But it would be a lie."

  Somehow I knew this. I sensed it from the first moment I'd discovered he was holding Luxen prisoner. It doesn't make hearing the words any easier.

  "There was a time," Drewsk continues. "Where he wasn't a bad guy. He was legitimately just following orders and trying to get the squad home alive. But somewhere in there, something happened. A switch flipped and he lost his way. I truly think he's tried to dig his way out, but he's only managed to burrow down deeper."

  I'm quiet for a long while, turning over thoughts in my head. Thoughts I'm not sure I want to speak out loud.

  "Is it me?"

  Drewsk's head shoots up and he narrows his eyes. "What?"

  "Me? Do you think it's my fault? The way he's become?"

  "Why would you say that?"

  I shuffle back and forth on my feet. I've never spoken of this before. Of course I hadn't known what a raging dirtbag my father was before either, so...

  "From what I understand he lost his job with Iridium Squadron right after I was born. They shuffled him into political leadership. There were...concerns about my disability."

  His eyes flash to my arms instinctively. I don't blame him for it, and after all these years, I've grown accustomed to it.

  "I don't know all the details," he replies, "but I feel pretty confident in saying however Redax Northstar turned out, it was not your fault."

  "Sometimes that's easier to rationalize than him just being an evil corporate jackass."

  Drewsk coughs laughter. "Fair enough, kid," he says. "But still, don't beat yourself up, okay? He is what he is. Whether you turned out the way you did or not, this is the person he is. Good people excel in spite of conflict. Even if your issues did point him down this road, that's a Redax Northstar problem not a Brie Northstar problem."

  "I get it."

  Drewsk looks at me, long and hard. "You don't want to go home, do you?"

  I stare down at my fists, pressed tight together and resting at my thighs. "I do," I reply. "But I want to go back home as I know it. Not whatever it is now. I want to wake up in my room with the parents I thought I knew and the simple life. This secret war, pirate sectors, plasma beams and alien mercenaries...that's not what I want my life to be."

  "It's what life is. Doesn't matter much what you want it to be."

  "Sometimes it does."

  "In spite of what you may have heard, Brie, ignorance is not bliss. Going about your daily life as if damage and destruction does not exist does not negate the effect of that destruction."

  "I'm not a child, Drewsk. I understand that."

  He steps forward and lifts his two top arms, resting his palms gently on my shoulders. "I know you do. That's something I respect about you. I also know you feel an obligation and I want to be sure you know that you're not alone in this."

  "I believe the term is 'Child of the Stars', not 'Children of the Stars'."

  "Who cares what the term is? We're in this together, like it or not."

  I nod, feeling the obnoxious bite of tears at the corners of my eyes. I blink them back. No way in heck am I letting Drewsk see me cry.

  "Get some rest, Brie, you need it. And next time, don't jump into the fire, all right? We are here to support you, but you need to be breathing for us to do that, okay?"

  I nod. At this point, I'm out of words. Breaking away from his gentle grasp, I navigate towards one of the side hallways, the one Luxen had emerged from shortly before. Sure enough, the narrow, hexagon shaped hall appears to lead towards crew quarters and it only takes a few minutes for me to find an empty bunk.

  We're out of Reblon space, and things seem calm. Maybe I can actually sleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  In the sparse darkness of space the difference between night and day is mostly state of mind. Thankfully all of us on this ship are pretty closely aligned. Fresh from sleep I trudge through the open hold, nearly bumping into Loren as she moves from one co
rridor to another. She looks just as sleepy eyed as I feel. Her hair is a tousled mess as she ties it back with her top two hands while her bottom two cradle coffee and a metal plate with some strange yellow mixture piled on top of it.

  "Morning," I mumble.

  "Is that what this is?" she asks.

  Time is relative, and on board a sparsely equipped space freighter. A week can feel like six months, which is exactly how long it's been and exactly how long it feels like. The air is stale, although the recirculation system has done a decent job venting it, cleaning it, and filtering it back through the intakes. There's only so much of that you can do before the lack of fresh, outside air starts to get to you, though.