Star Shade, Chapter 2: Death on the High

The panicked throng of voices reached a pitching crescendo as the ships soared overhead. The crowd which had gathered began fleeing every which-way. The screaming began when the ships turned around and began an attack run, twisting into the air once more and swooping down faster than it was before. The oddest thing was how silent they were, in their graceful airborne pirouettes the only noise they offput was that of the air slicing before them. Carried by momentum and air resistance the gliders need only use engines to make a rapid skybound ascent once every few minutes, then they could swoop down with renewed momentum. He hadn’t fully realised what was happening until the flagship of the group, one emblazoned with red sigils skeetered through the air a mere dozen metres above his head.

The rest of the fighters flew over as well, in a triangular formation with the decorated one in the lead. Oblivious to the panic surrounding him he began to slowly back out of the square. Everyone who had congregated at the little market was biting and clawing to get out of the open. The screams were amplified tenfold as the fighters started firing their plasma arcs into the crowded streets haphazardly. Garett was blinded by his survival instinct, he joined the fray. He tore at the people in front of him. He grasped at any loose clothing and tugged with all the strength he could summon. It was a nightmarish scene, the once empty streets were now crowded with people trying to force their way into the back alleys. Bodies were trampled underfoot by the surging tide of fear crazed people. Garett in a moment of clarity glanced behind him to check on the old lady. She sat still in the market stall with her eyes closed. She seemed to have resigned herself to whatever fate awaited. He felt a tugging at his being, he needed to go back. He needed to help her. These thoughts were quickly forgotten as he reached the front of the crowd and pushed through, bursting into the much less occupied backstreets.

He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Foot after foot. At this point he knew little other than that he had to get home. He didn’t know what waited for him in the windowless shop, but it had to be better than the swift death that awaited him in the open. In the distance the fighters, still silent, had begun to fire heavy plasma weapons into the streets below. They had broken any kind of formation they may have once held at this point. Now they just seemed to be focused on razing the place to the ground. As he came to the crossroads ahead he took the right turn, still running as fast as he could. His legs ached and his sides felt heavy and cramped. Out of breath he risked a stop, and ducked into a doorway to catch his breath.

He got a chance to catch up with his own thoughts. He knew it was going to be about three hundred metres to his shop and residence, he didn’t fancy his chances with twelve of the ships zipping around faster than he could predict firing white hot plasma into the narrow streets. The thought came to his head to try the door, perhaps the home was unlocked. He tried twisting the handle but it was locked. Exasperated he turned to glance into the home through the door’s window. To his surprise there was an entire family in there. 

They stared at him through the window, eyes void of emotion. He tried to knock, but by that time he knew it was a lost cause. These people were just going to be killed when their home collapsed after a direct hit from a plasma cannon. Only now did his repressed guilt emerge, the old lady, why hadn’t he done something? He quelled the thought once more before it could consume him further. He felt the hook toothed jaws of guilt unclamp themselves from him and the beast itself to slither back into the dark alcoves of his mind. He took a little time to plan out some kind of route. It was about a hundred more metres along this road, before a left turn for and then a hundred and fifty metre stretch parallel to the main street. The final and longest stretch would be the hardest by far.

It would probably be crowded and thus targeted. Why were the Starshade militia even here? Sure the planet would be a valuable target but why this small mining town. It must’ve been a planetwide invasion for this town to be on the strike list, because on it it’s own it was hardly a worthy target. Suddenly he realised they must’ve been intercepting and redirecting the signals so that the people on the planet would have no warning. Their plan became clear in his head now, they had threatened the security on the other side of the galaxy, forcing them to remove troops from other distant planets. Now the small towns would be relatively undefended, and the major cities would only have a battalion or two compared to the thirty or forty thousand troops they would normally have garrisoned. And once the attack was noticed they would intercept signals to keep it a surprise and delay reinforcements for as long as possible. He realised he could delay no longer, the sooner he left the better his chances. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

And he was off, covering ground with rapid footfalls pounding the tiled streets. He passed a row of destroyed houses, the spots on the walls and roads that had taken direct hits had been turned into cracked opaque glass by the incredible heat. The fear was starting to get to him, he dared not take his eyes off the road ahead for fear of tripping. But the ships quiet gliding was silenced by the screams and shouts. The only way he could tell where they were was when they let loose a plasma bolt which crackled through the air briefly before it hit it’s target, dissipating its heat through them and into the ground. Each shot was so bright it lit up the daytime sky.

He really had no idea where they were, there could be one floating above and behind him setting its sights upon his fleeing visage. He was terrified with the reality that at any second he could be instantly incinerated, or worse if the fighter intentionally missed by a metre or two he could instead be ignited and meet a slow painful end. Ahead of him some of the road was a glassy crater, he picked up speed and flung himself over the metre wide dent. He could feel the residual heat singe him from beneath, the glass was still hot and liquid at the bottom. A bathing session in liquid glass was added to the fast growing list of nasty ways to die. In town any vehicle would be useless now, but his workshop was on the southernmost edge of the town. Luckily he had been fixing the fluiduct on a customer’s Bog Bike, and could use it to get out of town, even if the attacks were the early stages of a planetwide invasion he could hold out in the mountains for a few days until the ISPC fleet eventually arrived. 

For the first time he thought to glance up high, and surely enough in the upper atmosphere, to the east of him, he could see a collection of grey dots against the chromatic blue sky. This was most likely the Starshade militia’s fleet, or from the looks only part of the fleet. The fleet in the sky wasn’t large enough to pose even a slight threat to the ISPC’s hundreds of destroyer class craft. But if transmissions were being intercepted it could be take weeks for any message to get out, and a further few days for the reinforcements to actually arrive even at FTL speeds. He decided this was a pointless line of thought seeing as he would be reluctant to survive a few minutes longer under the maelstrom of destruction cast down by the fighters.

The shouting and screaming got louder as he approached the larger road he had to head down to reach home. He reached the junction to find chaos ahead. Charred bodies lay around, flaming heaps of still moving flesh lay in glassy puddles here and there. People still ran across the road, to and fro, trying to get to wherever they felt was safest. There was a certain timing to it seeing as the ships would go by so fast they could only fire briefly before they were carried too far and would have to loop around. As he stood bearing witness to the horrors of the street, he saw one of the jet black fighters coming in parallel to the street. it began to fire the bottom mounted heavy plasma weapons, using them to rake the streets below. 

He caught sight of an unfortunate whose arm was caught in a beam and incinerated along with most of her left side. The force of the energy transfer flung her into the ground hard, which he could only hope killed her. The craft then zipped past him, and began to make the steady turn for a second run at the road. He decided now would be his best chance to make a run for it. He set off once more faster than he thought he could ever go. His legs pumped and his feet pounded the road tiles. He vaulted over bodies, limbs and glass puddles alike, even some mixes of the three. He once more ducked into a side alley, this one was much smaller and probably would’ve smelt bad if it weren’t for everything smelling like smoke and fire and… something else.

The smell on the air reminded him of food, he checked his hands only to find them empty, he must’ve dropped his bag somewhere. He didn’t know what he expected, he certainly hadn’t held onto it. He suddenly knew why the smell reminded him of food, it was cooking flesh. He didn’t give himself the time to ponder the implications. The ship had flown past again, streaking more plasma into the streets. He had guessed he was maybe halfway there, so he began his second and hopefully final mad dash before reaching home. 

He propelled himself off of the wall he was leaned against, straight into his fastest sprint. He hurdled the flaming and morbid obstacles that decorated the road before him. The constant fear nipping at his heels kept him deft footed and he had no problem moving at maximum speed for a solid thirty seconds. It was when he reached his door and vaulted into the shop that he felt nauseous. He slammed the door behind him in such a way that it groaned on its hinges.

He allowed himself another brief respite, both physically and mentally. The thought of the goings on outside sickened him so he decided he would rather not think it all,

he bottled up the nauseating feeling inside himself and pulled himself to his feet, the funny thing was that he hadn’t realised he had sat down. Even as he stood his legs felt unsteady beneath him. As the adrenaline rush subsided all the cuts and bruises he had sustained became apparent. He could almost trick himself into feeling safe. He knew the walls, no matter how thick would be of no protection from the powerful plasma weapons, they might as well have been made of paper. The shop which had been so homely only a half an hour ago already held an air of gloom to it. It was as if the building itself knew of it’s imminent destruction.

He walked right into one of his overhanging wrenches. He staggered backwards, clutching at his forehead. He felt moisture accumulating beneath his clasped hands. Unclasping his hands he felt hot wet blood flow onto his brow and down the bridge of his nose. He touched at his forehead delicately and groaned upon finding the wound, a split in the skin. He prodded at it, wincing through gritted teeth. Knowing he had left it around nearby he searched the floor half blinded by the blood in his eyes. Groping around he found the oily rag and held it to his bloodied forehead. He mopped his face clean, restoring his vision. 

He held kept the rag held to the wound as he pulled himself up. He was in a sorry state. This time he was cautious of the seemingly benign wrenches that he himself had hung up. He had to finish the repairs then he could drive out of the buildings, faster than they could get him. he heard a knock at the door, he turned to see a boy, looking to be a young teenager knocking at the door. The boy’s pale green eyes said more to Garett than he needed to know. 

He would let him in, but there was only room for one on the bog bike. He tried his best to flash the boy an apologetic look, which with his bloody face might’ve come across more demented than he would’ve liked. The boy turned around, seemingly weighing up his options. The boy started to run off, running off try his luck elsewhere Garett decided. Garett almost turned back to the task at hand when he noticed the boy was running back, showing no signs of slowing, he intended to ram the door down. 

The pale green eyes were no longer visage of sadness. Instead they were mad, the eyes of a person with no options left. The boy while obviously a young teenager, held quite a frame. The only giveaway he was any younger than sixteen was his face. He barreled into the door. The entire doorframe gave an almighty shake, and started to buckle. Garett was hoping the door would hold or the boy would be injured, or both. However the boy looked more determined than ever, and the door clearly wouldn’t stand up to another one of those blows. Even the glass itself had tiny spiderwebbed cracks running along it.And that glass was space-worthy, he would know, he removed it from a crashed Veron Interstellar spacecraft himself. The boy’s arm appeared slightly injured, he cradled it so. But he was coming in full speed for another blow. Garett could only stand opened mouthed as the door frame buckled entirely and the boy came through with it, landing on the crumpled frame and a pile of loose glass.

The bone shattering impact had made Garett flinch and he was just watching. To his amazement and shameful shock the boy began to stir. The boy pulled himself to his feet, sending glass bit skittering across the floor in the process. The pale blue eyes acknowledged him once more. The boy seemed to be trying to catch his breath. The crackles of the heavy plasma casters echoed through the alleyways. Another fighter flew past the door spitting plasma into the outside road. They both threw themselves into the ground instinctively, shielding their heads with outstretched hands. In the process he’d smeared the bloody rag over his face. He bore some ironic semblance to an ancient warrior now, streaked in the blood of his enemies.

He lay there for a good few seconds longer than he probably should’ve. He looked across the room to see the boy, who looked equally uncomfortable. Realising the danger had passed and staying down any longer would be to delay, he picked himself with such momentum that he was half dazed. The boy followed suit, not wanting to be left vulnerable. Garett’s gut instinct told him to reach for a weapon, he wasn’t wearing his tool belt. Which was unfortunately placed down on the worksurface next to the green eyed boy. Luckily he wasn’t spotted looking at it, the boy might’ve assumed a fight and escalated things unnecessarily. A normal man might have his pride to get over, but what little remained of

Garett’s pride had been filed down to a blunt uselessness. He knew he would probably lose to this much better built baby-faced teenager. The boy seemed preoccupied with his injuries for a short moment, he still cradled his battered arm. Their eyes locked once again, and this time silence wouldn’t do. Garett fumbled for the right words, to prevent violence and convince this boy there was nothing for him here.

“You...uhh... t-there isn’t anything here for y-you” he said, his face attempting to hold a stern and firm look, albeit rather unsuccessfully. He still held a foolish hope that maybe those less than eloquent words would dissuade the green eyed boy from whatever he he hoped to gain here.

“Why didn’t you open the door” The boy said through laboured breath. Garett was taken aback by how gruff the voice was, in quick retrospect puberty had grown him larger early, why wouldn’t it have given him an adult voice too? He searched his mind for some excuse, the door was locked by someone else, the door was broken, Garett didn’t see the boy. He could admit to himself how selfish he was, but he couldn’t say it out loud to somebody, oh god... he had killed the old lady he should’ve do so-

... wait, no, no, no it wasn’t his fault. It was just an accident, he hadn’t seen her, he thought she had been helped by someone else, he didn’t do it. He was a good person, he was a nice person.

“You could’ve killed me” The boy repeated. Garett was a sorry sight, bloody faced and looking almost tearful.

“I’m...I’m sorry” Garett mumbled, he didn’t look entirely alive in the moment. He swayed slightly, he felt as if a gust of wind could’ve carried him out of the ruined doorway and into the smoky sky. He pulled himself of his lulled shock and put himself back together.

“It uh.. was a mistake not to let you in and I’m s-sorry”

“W-where are your parents?”

The tough expression he wore collapsed. Suddenly he was thirteen year old boy again, he slumped against the nearest wall and slid to the floor. A single tear formed in the corner of his right eye. Garett realised his mistake no sooner than it had left his mouth. The tear was the grain that tipped the scale. The boy’s face was clenched in sadness, the tears began to pour. and Garett managed to set aside his selfish grief and attempt to comfort the boy. He leaned into the wall and slid himself down next to the weeping boy. The boy barely noticed him. He patted the boy’s head awkwardly, the boy lifted his hands and looked across at him, bleary eyed and snotty.

“They were w-” The green eyed boy covered his face one more, smothering his rapidly paced sobs. Garett continued trying his best to console the grieving boy. “They were walking with me,” He paused for another quick inhale

“and those fighters, they...” He couldn’t finish his sentence and instead began to sob once more.

Garett didn’t really know what to say, his parents were cruel bastards and he couldn’t care less what fate had now befallen them, whatever it was they deserved it. To say there was a difference in understanding would be an understatement. Instead of words he opted for another pat on the head. He hated himself for it, but his mind was stuck on ways to abandon the boy and get out on his own. He wasn’t a bad person, he just needed to get out,and there wasn’t enough room. There just wasn’t enough room. He figured he could try and console the boy while he crept off left. He could knock the boy out, somehow, his eyes flitted over the large wrenches that hung overhead. It struck him now how the crackling of plasma had ceased outside. Or had at least quietened down.

Standing up, he peeped out of the doorway and examined the sky above, not a single fighter was to be seen. The glassified streets shimmered in the sun. Burning bodies let off black smoke which rose in small short lived plumes. The view, however morbid, showed a positive outlook. If the fighters were gone, they must’ve retreated. 

An SOS,somebody must’ve gotten a signal out. He was about to relay the good news when he spotted movement on the street outside. He clung to the wall with caution, peeking around only in the slightest. He caught a glimpse of two dark clad figures before ducking back into the doorway. The boy had realised something was happening, wiped his tears on his sleeve and kept tried his best to keep quiet, only letting loose an occasional sniffle. Garett raised a finger the boy’s lip,a tertiary warning for him to keep quiet. Garett risked another peek out of the door, this time catching a better view of the regalia. The instantly recognisable white chest pieces of the ISPC caught the sun’s now formidable glare, it was the ISPC troops he’d seen earlier. They were safe to talk to.

He stepped into the doorway, raising his hands as a precaution. They raised their handheld plasma casters and swiveled to face him. One wrong move and he could have an ashen hole in his chest.

“It’s just a civvie, lower it Dunham” said one, pocketing the plasma pistol they held, the other let their weapon sink to their side with apparent reluctance. Their voices were monotone after passing through the speech replicators on their helmets. He’d heard about the ISPC’s one voice policy before. It was created to stop discrimination between soldiers. Now the only differing feature of the soldiers was their size. He hated it, freedom ended with the death of identity. He could only tell the two apart by their size, the one giving the orders was skinner and a tad shorter, the other one looked more lean and broad. 

Both seemed muscular underneath the armour they wore, that much was to be expected with the rigorous and brutal training the soldiers had undergone. They were both of a bipedal stature and had two arms each, much like himself. This was little of an indicator of race seeing as all of the seven hundred species which had so far been officially recognised as sentient beings were bipedal. It was known that all species of intelligent life in the galaxy shared a common ancestor a few million years prior. The leading theory was that the first race had no faster than light capabilities and had sent out cryogenically frozen embryos to other planets, each of which had since become it’s own race and evolved to suit the planet it had found itself on. Thus all the beings diversified in looks across different planets until they could no longer be classified as the same species.

The smaller one tapped the side of their helmet and turned slightly away, looking down the street.

“Reid, we’ve found two survivors” They said, trying to keep their speech discreet. Pausing as whomever they spoke to responded, inaudible to anyone else. Surprised, Garett found the boy standing at his side, peeking with trepidation at the white-clad soldiers.

“No, both are civvies, human males of uhh-” They glanced over once more at Garett and his now silent companion. Despite the almost featureless white helmet Garett could still feel an inquisitive pair, or perhaps trio of eyes examining him

“Differing ages.” This one, “Dunham” as he (or she?) was called, was examining the sky above. He knew he could recognise Dunham by the purple stripe that adorned his left shoulder, as the one in charge had a similarly shaped but red stripe there. Garett registered the little black dots once more. He had a second of panic before realizing they now retreated, with every passing second they grew more distant, ascending into the stratosphere. Something far more ominous however did approach.