Destiny Abounds (Starlight Saga Book 1) (2 page)

The young man swallowed, but Branwen saw his eyes seem to steel a bit with resolve as he again rubbed at some of the bare stubble on his face. “And beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but we just can’t let you do that. No official I.D, no passage. We’ve got orders, y’know.” The woman’s face somehow managed to redden further, and Branwen decided that now was the time to take further steps toward resolution, instead of the situation’s current pathway toward disaster.

“Give me a moment with her, please; I will see if I can resolve the issue.” Branwen's statement carried the tone of an order more than a request, really; while she had no real, legal authority over this man, soldiers the world over—any world over—were pretty much the same, Branwen had found. Neither he nor his older partner protested as she put a hand on the shoulder of the girl's one-piece, dark, military-style bodysuit and led her a few steps away. The senior of the two looked speculatively at Branwen, but to her eyes both of them just seemed relieved to see someone take this spitfire problem off of their hands.

The girl let Branwen pull her aside, with “let” being the imperative word, as she seemed rather surprisingly solid and strong despite lacking in size. The taller woman kept her grip gentle, guiding rather than pushing, and looked down at the young woman’s unusual, silvery eyes as soon as they had stepped far enough aside for relative privacy.

“Perhaps I can be of some assistance,” Branwen began. “If nothing else, at least I am not about to shoot you.” She looked over her shoulder towards the guardsmen, who had backed off toward their posts at the shimmering, ten foot archway that led to a visible Altair on the other side: the Altairan port city reflected therein dwarfing the Koltani side in scale, aesthetics, and technology.

She likewise noted that the previous two guardsmen had since been joined by a third, presumably higher ranking officer, as indicated by the more elaborate, star-shaped badge easily visible on his casually-draped dark scarf. Branwen gave the three men a respectful nod since they were still looking in her direction and conversing amongst themselves and received two out of three nods in return. Not bad, she supposed.

“Yeah, I’d like to see them try.” The short girl huffed dismissively, tossing her head to remove some of her soft, silvery-blue hair from her face. One could still see the proverbial fire in the sterling sheen of her eyes as she glanced in the direction her much taller companion was looking, though she obviously hadn’t a chance of actually seeing them over the viscous crowd, moving thickly and slowly in between them and the raised Gate platform.

Branwen smiled softly. For some reason, she found she took an instant liking to the girl, perhaps because she reminded her of some of her own family, bittersweet though that memory could be. “Yes, well, I am rather sure from the way you carry yourself that two would not be much of a problem, or three, or maybe even ten; but if you got on the wrong side of the law here, they
would
just keep sending more until they managed to arrest you.” She looked back down, hoping and figuring that being friendly and accepting would help calm the girl down. It wasn’t like Branwen had never encountered problems with an authority figure, after all. “If you would, relate your issue to me. I am not not in charge here, but perhaps I can assist, nonetheless.”

The young woman sighed and rested a hand on her hip, glancing around for a moment while she appeared to collect her thoughts. She gestured toward a couple of chairs tucked neatly in between the stacks of cargo crates nearby, and asked, “Hey, you think those funny fox-men would mind if we sat here for a minute?” Branwen nodded for her to lead the way, as she figured the generally good-natured Kepo wouldn't mind, especially as they weren’t even around just then. The girl deciding to sit and take a moment was a good sign; likely, the rest would help her quench her anger a bit. Besides, she seemed as though she needed to catch her breath and rearrange her thoughts.

“Yeah, right now I’ll take just about any
real
help I can get,” the girl grumbled with a strong air of irritation, again glancing over her shoulder once again toward the Altairan Gate. Despite her small build, the simple hardwood frame of the girl’s chosen chair creaked ominously as she eased herself carefully into it, as if she were actually far too heavy for it to comfortably support. Branwen wondered briefly if its wooden resolve might fail, but it seemed to persevere once its occupant had settled. She fixed her eyes on the girl’s youthful face, watching and trying to guess her story and her honesty from the expressions she displayed, as Branwen waited, patient, composed, and somewhat amused, for the rest of her tale.

“I was waiting on the other side,” she gestured vaguely in the direction of the Gate, “and I found a posting where someone said he was hiring on a pilot for his ship on this side of that instant travel Gate thing they’ve got on Altair. Obviously,” she gestured down at herself, “I went after him to get the job, but when I got here, he’d already hired someone else and taken off. I was annoyed, but whatever, you know? I started to go back through, and those idiots at the Gate wouldn’t let me.”

Branwen furrowed her brow. “That… is an odd thing indeed,” she said, considering the other woman. There was more to the story, of course, but she felt that it wasn’t really the best time or place to pry. It was her tale to tell, at any rate. The lack of detail given, however, diminished neither Branwen’s desire to help, nor her interest in the opportunity that presented itself. “Why do you need a job so badly? You said you are a pilot? I am looking to hire a pilot, myself.”

She watched as the girl eyed her, no doubt likewise considering her motives. “Eh, at this point, what do I have to lose?” She shrugged heavily, accompanying it with a deep sigh. “I need a job because food is pretty awesome, most days, and the Altairans said I should find something to occupy my time with. So yeah, you could say I’m pretty interested. And no, I’m not just ‘a pilot’. I’m the
best
pilot. Ever.” She crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair, which again creaked in a rather worrisome manner until she managed to balance her weight on the back legs, beaming pridefully behind her boast.

Shifting her weapons to a more comfortable position, Branwen returned the pilot’s prideful grin with a deadpan expression of her own. “That is indeed a mighty boast. However, I have heard it from three other pilots before you. The first could not lift my ship off of the ground, and the other two could not even start its engines.”

The girl’s chair came back down with a loud crack, a shard of wood splintering off of one of the legs from the sharp impact, sailing over the starport’s railing and spinning off into the sand below. Her eyes wide with surprise, she sputtered out, “Three...?” Her previously unwavering confidence seemed to simmer down just a little before surging blatantly back to the surface. “Well, whatever. They were all wrong, because
I
am the best pilot ever, and I
can
fly your ship. I can fly
any
ship.” She lifted her chin as her ego reasserted itself, though this time she refrained from testing the chair’s durability and left herself seated in an ordinary, upright position.

Branwen kept the seriousness of her level, sapphire gaze on the girl a bit longer before she replied. A person that was just trying to make herself sound good would usually wilt under extended scrutiny, but one who truly believed in herself and had the confidence to carry forward would stay defiant. This woman met her gaze and held it, proving that she leaned more toward the latter. “Well, there is but one way to find out, is there not?” She broke the more serious expression with a sudden smile, rising from her chair. “As long as you still have need, and I also have need, it seems like our crossing of ways is a boon. I have but one concern; you have no trouble with the Altairans, have you? I have little desire for that particular breed of problem.” Branwen extended a hand partway, an offering that contained both a welcome and conditional agreement that hinged on the girl’s response.

1.3
- Merlo

Merlo tilted her head at the extended hand with a mildly confused expression, failing to realize at first that the odd, blond-and-braided stranger wanted her to do that unusual greeting-thing she’d seen all over the Altairan port, where one individual would grasp the other’s hand and move them together in a vertical pattern. She’d thought at first it was some form of civil wrestling, but realized later on that it was just one strange way these people said “hello.”

She lifted her hand, offering to mimic the gesture, hoping the other woman wouldn’t realize she’d never even attempted it before. Unexpectedly, however, the woman stepped closer, clasping Merlo’s forearm in her much larger grip and squeezing it with a surprising firmness for someone of her size. It caught Merlo off guard, causing her to pause as she spent a couple of seconds staring at the odd grip and trying to return it as smoothly as possible while actually feeling rather off-balance and out of place. “What? Oh, no. If anything, they’re in trouble with me… I mean, they destroyed my ship. So they’re just trying to figure out what to do to make it up to me. Or something like that. But they’re taking forever to get it all done. So in the mean time, I figured I would just get some sort of job and find somewhere to stay.”

The larger woman nodded firmly. “Then, perhaps, if you are as good as you do say, we can work together, and I can thusly provide you with both.” She squeezed the forearm and shook it again, seeming to encourage Merlo to follow along with the gesture. “I am called Branwen, of house Hawke.”

Merlo felt her grip settle into the taller woman’s strangely reassuring grasp. “Branwen… Hawke.” She repeated uncertainly, then nodded firmly. “You can call me Merlo.”

At the end of the strange arm-gripping ritual, Branwen turned, gesturing for Merlo to follow, and she did, falling into stride behind Captain Branwen as if it were habit—which, in a way, it was. She also took this opportunity to better size up her new companion, as well as to banish the last remnants of her anger from the lingering irritation of her encounter with those “portal” guards.

Branwen was a tall woman, with golden hair tied back in an odd style with one thick braid hanging long in the back, another braid on the left side, and the rest of her hair hanging loose on the right, all fastened with what looked to be bits of carved stone or possibly even bone. She didn’t look like anything Merlo could relate to from her own world, now so very far away. Branwen wore a coat of a heavy dark brown material, fairly common to what she'd seen so far on whatever stars-forsaken planet this was, but it didn't seem entirely to fit her. It did seem to mostly conceal the melee weapon on her side and whatever weapons she had on her back, which Merlo assumed was its main purpose; after all, Merlo's weapons were always hidden or obvious, depending on how you wanted to look at it, which served her well enough.

The main thing that truly stood out about Branwen was her size. A person that big had to be horribly physically weak, yet she carried strength-based weapons, as well as a sense of calm confidence that, to Merlo's mind, only came from someone who had seen either combat or extensive training like her own. And that was all aside from the fact that her handshake had been unsettlingly firm for someone of her proportions.

The absurdity of the whole thing made Merlo shake her head, almost bringing a smile to her face, but not quite. Why did everything have to be so damned backwards in this cluster? “It's right down here. I tried to park it towards the back end- it seems to get too much attention otherwise.” Branwen's quiet yet resonant voice jarred Merlo from her thoughts, and she glanced over her again, nodding sharply in acknowledgment. The woman was pretty enough, she supposed, even if she couldn't really place her age; Merlo figured she could be anywhere from twenty to forty as far as she knew, with a strong jawline and piercingly clear blue eyes alongside a clean, fair complexion.

She was definitively female; the heavy coat blunted some of Branwen's bodily curves well enough, but did little to conceal a rather... notable bust. Merlo wondered idly how someone could possibly fight without those things getting in the way, as the unlikely pair turned off of the broad, more heavily populated main strip onto a narrower side dock.

“Here she is,” Captain Branwen said, gesturing, and Merlo's eyes and thoughts were drawn outwards and upwards towards the docked star vessel.

Now
this
was more like it; she could see how this ship could stand out, and not just because of its size, crowding and towering over the other adjacent vessels as if they actively cowered from it, easily more than two and a half times the mass of the next largest one. Also unlike those vessels, it didn’t seem to have the standard landing gear design she’d seen so far (or the lack of any, as in some cases). Rather, it had several segmented “legs” with which it clutched the dock, giving it a vaguely insectile appearance, as if it crouched there temporarily but might at any moment deign to leap off of the end of the dock and soar off into the depths of space of its own accord.

But most of all, it was the first thing she’d seen that actually looked like it might be a
real starship,
instead of these clunky...
things
she kept seeing that she’d hardly trust not to fall to pieces on re-entry. At least, you know, since those stupid Altairan automated defenses had blown her
own
ship apart.

The back of the vessel folded neatly open to greet them, extending a metallic ramp leading up into what appeared to be a cargo bay. The Captain led the way in, gesturing again for her to follow, and Merlo tried to place the function of the vessel. It had polished, blue-hued metal plating, medium armor, and no visible weaponry. So probably not a combat ship, despite all of the hull scraping that indicated a handful of significant impacts. It was blockier and more segmented than she was used to, with a rather large engine array. Something fast. Perhaps a transport or a cargo vessel? Not as streamlined as she’d expect, nor the sleek, spartan designs her people favored so as to make full use of every resource.