Ignition Broker: Chapter 44 A Voice of Reason

Chapter 44

A Voice Of Reason

“When negotiating, be clear, decisive, and never compromising on your bottom line. Then when your line is not met, be prepared to blow the whole thing up.” -Marcon on life lessons

Arla turning to the trio, she switched to Cerusian and began talking, “well, this is how you welcome people who complete your challenges?”

Each word she spoke was clear and articulate in the singsong cadence that most Cerusians used to interact with the other denizens of the universe. Hearing the words, the intruders, or what was most likely overzealous guardians paused. Each seeming to cock their heads to the side, as if she spoke incorrectly.

Of course, she hadn’t. Languages had always come easy to Arla, and Cerusian was especially easy for her to master. Partly due to the way the words seem to swirl about in her mind and form strings of power. Almost as if merely uttering a standard sentence was enough to command the attention of others. Unlike every other language of the universe, Cerusian had that cadence. That sincere note that when spoken clearly sounded like songbirds singing. Not that Arla would ever admit this understanding out loud, especially with her own biases against the Cerusians in general.

Still, it had its effect.

At least, that is what Arla thought happened, until the next moment when she heard one of the speakers begin chanting in low guttural tones. Instantly she was back to her trials as a child, the trials where she had to mask her fears and weather the storm of power building. She didn’t know what the chanting was meant to do, but it was the sing song cadence of perpetually building power that made the language so intriguing for Arla that she now recognized.

Fortunately, the speaker was butchering the language, causing may spikes in power to get chopped off, and ultimately lowering the effectiveness of the chant. Still, it was clear that this was meant to get her hackles raised. A fact that Rayalta quickly confirmed.

“Uh, Commander? What is that?” Rayalta asked, fear evident in her voice.

Arla reacted on instinct, her body moving and firing an unmodified round in the direction of the threat first, before her eyes even had a chance to fully focus and hone in on the target. Thankfully, Marcon had taught her over and over how to fire first and look for a target second.

Crackle-pop.

The modified rifle sparked to life, seeing as Arla was not going to go back, or at least had not intention of going back, and had already granted enough warning rounds, this round fired was different.

Poof.

“Ahh!”

A modified over powered round that would barely constitute a legal round approved by the universal war conventions. Technically the size and scope of the round that impacted the individual was more than what a standard rifle should offer, but within the size limitations of a shotgun. Meaning that Arla had modified her weapon to pack the power of a shotgun, with the overall range and accuracy of a rifle. Not necessarily enough to get her kicked out of the Academy if she was found out, but she could technically get written up for modifying her weapon without proper authorization.

Scatter, crumple, collapse.

With that the body of the energy gatherer skidded to a stop, causing the power that had been building up with his odd macabre cadence to cease.

More movement.

By now it seemed that an entire platoon’s worth of combatants had come out, though none were chanting and using the Cerusian words of power, for the moment.

This was when Arla chose to take command of the otherwise open negotiations.

“You all have three seconds to back up, before I start killing off your wounded,” the words were crisp, clear, and in Cerusian.

Again, there was a pause, one that Arla used to move up to and stand next to Rayalta. Just seeing her form appear from the tree line that separated the junkyard of rotting parts and the dead and decaying forest caused a bubble of tension in Rayalta to get alleviated. While it was clear that she was clearly unhinged by being in this creepy area, the sight of her commander standing focused and in control next to her clearly had a calming effect.

“Fire on three,” Arla whispered the commands that she had just spoken to the enemy so brazenly.

“One,” Arla began counting loudly in Cerusian. There was a pause and hitch to her cadence, that let the enemy know she was till willing to talk, but not much longer. “Three!”

Arla shouted as she began moving before the count could be heard.

Hisss.

***

(Rayalta)

The commander released a canister of smoke and irritant was released, quickly causing a thick plume of smoke to rise up. The smoke was so thick and course that instantly began covering the bodies of the three initial attackers that had only recently begun moving around in pain.

Crackle-pop.

Crackle-pop.

Crackle-pop.

From there, Commander Proma fired three successive bursts, each striking the prone bodies clearly as the burst of light could be seen through the plumes of smoke like red lightning, causing the bodies to rise up in pain and anguish.

Shoulder-tackle.

“Did you just—?” Rayalta began her words were cut off from a harsh shoulder tackle that nocked Rayalta to the ground. A good thing too, as Rayalta say bursts of red lightning flash overhead where she had just been standing a moment ago.

Down here the irritant fog was at its thickest, and it was clear from a glance that this was not a standard issue cannister. In fact, this was not on the list of standard issue products that were offered as part of the survival guide, meaning that Arla had either had the item on her all the time, or she had somehow found a moment to sneak away and create one from random items. Pausing for a moment, Rayalta realized that knowing her commander, either scenario was equally likely.

Before Rayalta could think too much about the gas cannister that had been used, she saw Commander Proma’s form over top of her, casting two more out quickly from a lowered perspective. At this time she almost wanted to demand that the Commander answer the question that had been eating at her, wondering if she in fact broke the universal conventions concerning down or disabled enemy soldiers, that being that if they were neutralized and no longer hostile then you were to leave them alone. Or at best restrain them, but definitely not kill them. Yet, before this question could be raised, the next stage of the Commanders attacks erupted.

Tsss!

Again, the hissing release of violent smoke and irritants could be heard echoing around them.

Crumple.

Rayalta heard the rustling of people moving, but could not distinguish the sources of the sounds.

Pfft.

Pfft.

Pfft.

Fortunately for Rayalta, her seeing the enemies was not important at this moment as Arla was already firing wildly, turning her barrel slightly to the right, firing, then repeating. This time the sound of her weapon did not sound so deafening. Was she using a silencer? Did the rifles even have a silent mode? Clearly something had happened as the weapon was now quieter, but was that even possible?

Badump, badump, badump.

Seeing her commander in action, she saw the face of a determined warrior, whose streamline face and domineering features were illuminated by glowing blue hair. Glowing blue hair that seemed to be rising and floating on its own within her helmet. Only due to the angle she was now in, looking up, under the blast shield of the space suit could Rayalta even see the clearly feminine features on display. Yet, seeing them caused Rayalta’s heart to pump wildly with anticipation as she watched her commander go to work.

Watching the warrior in action, a few things were clear. First, this was not her first rodeo, she was calm and as peaceful as butterfly floating in a summer field of flowers. In fact, seeing the way she moved her rifle around from side to side, almost mimicked the movement one could expect from a butterfly. Pivot, twist, lift up and to the right fire. Downward pivot, rotate right, pause, fire.

Magical, that was the word Rayalta would use to describe this dance of death.

Stumble, fall.

The best part was, that regardless of how long she took to aim, or how hard it was to see through this otherwise oppressive smoke screen, the Commander never missed. Each strike caused an enemy to clearly stumble and fall to the ground.

Rayalta just lay there in slack jawed amazement, wondering if she should get up. But if she did, she would instantly bash her head into the magical dancing barrel that was providing a 360-degree arc or protection around the entire battlefield.

Then just as Rayalta was determining whether she should try to get up and help, she felt a sudden chill grip her body as the Commander chose that moment to look down and lock gazes with her. Then as if she weighed nothing more than a roll of dough, she lowered one hand and began pushing Rayalta at her side causing her to slide and roll out of the way.

Tumble.

The world began to spin violently for two quick rotations before Rayalta came to a complete stop. Then just as the world was spinning wildly about her and she was trying to regain her bearings, that’s when she felt it, a surge of energy unlike anything that she had ever experienced before.

SWOOSH!

A column of air cut through the cloud of fog, slicing into and through anything that stood in its way, including the bodies of the prone enemies.

“GAHHH!”
“AGRHH!”

“GLUHH!”

Then just like that cries of pain erupted from the three bodies, bodies that Arla had sworn she would kill on three. A count that came at two, technically, though Rayalta had gone through enough of the Cerusian integration classes to know that the word the commander had spoken was in fact the numeral three.

“Angelic singing.”

Hearing the cries of the disabled soldiers, the party that had been attacking suddenly called a truce. Or at least that is what Rayalta gathered from the sudden stopping of violence.

There was a pause, before the Commander spoke back in quite possibly the most beautiful language she had ever heard. Having sat through hours of introductory to Cerusian classes in her day, it was clear that her Commander was fluent in the language. No, not just fluent, but Rayalta would dare say that she was better at it than even the foreign delegates who had attended campus.

“More Enemy Singing.”

“Commander Proma Sang back.”

Silence.

With that, there was another pause as Commander Proma nodded twice and then slinging her rifle over her shoulder gave a two finger gesture for Rayalta to just lay low. Technically the command was lay low and be ready to provide cover fire, at least that is what Rayalta thought was meant by the gesture. But her mind was a bit frazzled from everything that had been happening. As it was clear that the Commander should have been able to get along with these people. In fact, the initial pause made her wonder if there had been a part of dialogs that had gone wrong somehow?

Standing up, the Commander rose, her hands up high and wide above her head. Though with her weapon slung, and the glint of something shiny hanging by the back of her fingers, it was clear that she was not ready to go down without even more of a fight.

Seeing her standup completely unfazed and without any fear, Rayalta could only stare on in shock, hoping that one day she too could be that much of a badass.

***

(Arla)

“What happened?” The enemy commander cried out, after hearing three successive cries of pain uttered by the disabled guards she had taken down. Guards who were only set to be disabled from the second round of shots released.

“You proved the old proverb correct,” Arla stated.

There was a silence, then finally the commander asked. “What old proverb would that be?”

“That friendly fire is the most accurate.”

Chuckle.

With that the commander laughed in a slightly deprecating way. This was good, as it showed the will to fight was not the primary motivation in their discussions, a fact that Arla could use.

“Are my warriors still alive?”

“For now.” The implication was clear, as the longer this commander spoke and tried to test out the waters, the higher the chances that things might go poorly for the soldiers. Soldiers that were clearly struck and injured by an overzealous wind attack. Arla could have countered the attack, but her countering the attack would have drawn more attention to her and Rayalta’s hiding spot.

“Might we offer a truce?”

And like that, Arla nodded, finally getting to someone who would rather talk than attack first.