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Chapter one: Protector’s Embrace

 

Few women are called upon to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. Fewer are prepared for the ordeal. Through hardship, dedication, and sacrifice, Amethyst’s trial was underway.

 

She reposed in a small room overlooking the ocean—plain white walls, minimal furniture and no pictures hanging anywhere. As she scanned the waves, a light breeze ruffled her dark hair, gently blowing it in unison with the scarlet curtains beside her. The last few weeks had seen her hair sprout quite a lot, and it now rested just past her shoulders, helping to define her soft, round face. Clearly, she was still fairly young, 21 in fact, and wore a simple outfit: a short-sleeved red blouse that revealed multiple cuts on her forearms, and tight black jeans. The early morning sunlight sprang off her pale skin, warming her frail body as her purple eyes stared over the endless blue horizon, unmoved. Someone knocked at the door, but she stayed still, silent. A young man in a light leathery overcoat trudged in. He was fit, however not especially muscular, and his body was akin to a human’s, but his clawed fingers and small fanged teeth said otherwise. Vander Morrow was a Duskan, one of the galaxy’s more dangerous but less understood races. He stood 6 feet tall and had dark, black hair no more than a few inches long. Battle scars embellished his arms and face, but the more gruesome ones lay concealed under his apparel. He advanced to the girl’s side after a brief pause, a solemn and heavy air to him.

 

“I know it’s been tough,” he began, still eliciting no response whatsoever from the girl. “... I’m very proud of you for being so brave.” His voice was coarse, yet soft. He waited for a reply, a look or a sigh. Anything.

She continued to stare across the water, unmoving. “Still trust me?” he asked, leaning forward in an attempt to make eye contact.

 

He let his weakness show, something he would never do with anyone else. His eyes filled with uncertainty. “Amethyst?” he whispered.

“I trust you, Vander,” she finally answered solemnly.

Her voice was soft, feminine and shy. She turned to him and gave the faintest smile before stepping away from the window, making her hair fall back into place on her shoulders. She stepped towards him, feeling his hands gently grip her fragile arms while cracking a comforting smile; she felt safe in the presence of her Protector. “I’ll always trust you,” she added tenderly.

 

Amethyst wasn’t sure how things were going to end up; it had been nearly a month since she and her companions made a clumsy escape from the enemy planet, Baracus, which resulted in the loss of two other members of their team. Since then, she had struggled to keep her emotions at a calmer level, and making matters worse, somehow, SRA forces consistently managed to catch up with them.

 

The Solar Rebel Army, a military once respected for their cause, had become ruthless and fanatic in their actions against neutral systems. Ever since the Baracus incident, however, the SRA seemed to be hunting them down, catching them at every turn. Fortunately though, the SRA was not yet aware of her importance, and with assistance from the United Planetary Defense Alliance (UPDA), they were able to better evade the patrols pursuing them.

 Thirteen days ago, their small group landed on the resort world, Fontaine, yet even though they were far beyond the SRA patrol line, she feared that they would soon find her; this left her nervous, and the short relief from that looming fear dissipated as soon as she stepped back from Vander.

At the very same time, the door behind her opened yet once again, this time revealing Cirell Bathen-Mora, the leader of their team. He looked several years older than Vander and stood at about six and a half feet tall. He had eyes that flickered between blues and greens, and his pointed ears also stood out, further betraying his Malruutian ethnicity. Cirell was as geared up as he could be in a civilian setting. He wore military style pants and a thick jacket, concealing a light combat vest. A barely noticeable tactical tablet was lit up on his left wrist, and his adjacent hand rested on his holstered pistol, as usual, while he stood in the doorway.

“We’re clear guys. Nobody’s on to us yet,” he assured quietly as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “We should get going. The sun is up,” he added while listening intently to the hallway.

It was time. Amethyst had no choice but to suppress her internal struggles as they left to take on the next unpredictable day.

 

By the time they arrived downstairs and exited through the lobby, they quickly noticed that the beach was abnormally tranquil that particular morning; usually, at least a few early risers would be out walking along the shore or sipping their coffee in lawn chairs. The resort had been packed all week, but today it was entirely barren. Eyes shifted back and forth among the group, peculiar scenarios such as these were rarely a coincidence.

 

“Maybe, it’s the cold,” quipped Amethyst optimistically.

“Or, maybe, we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Vander replied.

“Let’s get to the ship then,” Cirell ordered, gripping his pistol as he broke into long strides down the road.

 

They continued briskly through the streets, spotting only a few people, but as they approached a crosswalk, Cirell overheard the conversation between some pedestrians waiting to cross. He couldn’t make out every word, but he got the gist of it. A UPDA ship had encountered an entire SRA fleet in orbit, and a single cruiser had just passed nearby within the hour, dropping some troops who were looking for a small band of mercenaries.

Cirell’s eyes scanned every window and doorway. An entire fleet dispatched to find them? He felt that it was a bit of an overkill for a small group of three, but considering the damage they had dealt to Baracus, maybe, it wasn’t. This flustered the master tactician; a squad or a platoon, he could deal with but not an entire company backed by a fleet of warships.

“Clearly, the UPDA is not going to make it to the rendezvous point on time,” he declared in frustration.

 

Amethyst glanced between Vander and Cirell. She could sense their suppressed frustration, making her feel uncomfortable. Following Cirell’s lead though, they altered course and headed down a back alley, crossed several streets and moved towards an industrial complex.

 

Eventually, they reached their hidden port, a large warehouse well past its prime. As they neared it, Cirell’s ears twitched when he heard muffled sounds from inside; although barely discernible, they were enough to raise an alarm. Once again, his hand fell to his sidearm, this time gripping it and partially drawing it from the holster. The small weapon was white with gold embroidery and made a soft whirring sound as he tightened his grip. He peeked through the crack in the doors but saw only their drop ship and a few abandoned large crates. The ship was a fairly large troop transport with wide wings and rotating thrusters built into each; it was a pretty standardlooking Harkness drop ship, although it had been painted over by the trio to cover up the SRA logo. The ramp on the back was closed, which Cirell had remote access to from the tactical pad on his wrist.

 

Motioning the others to follow, he opened the door slowly, pistol drawn. They approached the ship, but barely a few steps into the room, he noticed an SRA beret lying on a crate.

 

“Get to cover!” he commanded.