1. Bruticus

CHAPTER 1

brUTICUS

T he star-speckled void stretches before me, each point of light a reminder of the vastness between me and my goal. A child two rows ahead peeks through the gap between seats, her eyes wide at my bone spurs.

"Mommy, why does that man have spikes?" The child's innocent tone does little to belay my sour mood.

"Don't stare, honey. Just... don't look at him." The mother has the right of it. But asking a child not to be curious is like asking an ocean not to be deep.

The mother yanks her daughter back into her seat. My jaw clenches, bone grinding against bone.

A Zentaurian businessman across the aisle clutches his briefcase closer. The irony of a six-armed alien finding me threatening would be amusing if I weren't so tired of it all.

"Did you hear about the Reaper attack on Proxima II?" A whisper from behind, not quite quiet enough.

"Terrible business. They say the whole colony...even the women and children."

I press my forehead against the cool glass. Alpha Centauri Station grows larger in the viewport, its glassteel domes glinting like dewdrops in the starlight. Somewhere in those sprawling cities, Daniels sits in his office, probably sipping brandy and counting his credits.

The passenger beside me shifts away when my knuckles crack. Twenty years I've hunted him. Twenty years since I watched him execute my mother with that grandfatherly smile on his face.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're beginning our final approach to Silver Gateway. Please secure all belongings..."

A young couple hurries past my seat toward the lavatory, giving me a wide berth. The woman's perfume carries notes of fear. My bone spurs itch with the tension in the cabin, but I force myself to remain still. Let them stare. Let them whisper.

Soon none of it will matter.

The massive station dominates the viewport now, dwarfing even my expectations. Hundreds of ships dart around its perimeter like fireflies, their running lights creating rivers of motion against the backdrop of space. The glassteel domes stretch for kilometers, housing entire cities beneath their crystalline surfaces.

"Approach vector gamma-seven cleared. Estimated docking time: eight minutes."

The cabin erupts in a flutter of activity. Passengers reach for overhead compartments, chattering about dinner reservations and shopping plans.

"I heard the Crystal Gardens are spectacular this time of year."

"The restaurants in Dome Five? To die for."

A guide ship zips past our viewport, its warning lights pulsing red and blue. Red and blue. Just like that day. The memories surge forward, unbidden.

Red emergency lights had bathed the corridor in blood. Mother's face, determined even as she pushed me into the maintenance shaft. "Stay quiet, my brave boy."

"Final approach. Please remain seated."

Blue security lights strobing through the grate as boots thundered past my hiding spot. Mother's voice, steady and defiant.

"It's okay, baby. The Reapers just want food and medical supplies, not slaves, they'll let us go once the Helios Combine pays the ransom."

"The dome architecture is amazing. Look at those support struts!" Shouts a Fratvoyan engineer with glee.

The guide ship's lights continue their rhythm. Red. Blue. Red. Blue.

A Reaper raiding captain, thin and weak from parastiic infection, limping toward a bulkhead door, expecting to find medicine. Expecting to find life.

Instead, there was only death.

Thunder and screams pierce the air as power-armored marines storm through the bulkhead. Their heavy boots shake the deck plates. Plasma bolts streak across the corridor in deadly arcs of blue-white fire.

"No! Stop! We're hostages!" Mother's voice cuts through the chaos.

The marines keep firing. Bodies fall. Reaper. Human. All the same to them.

Mother throws herself over me, crushing me against the cold metal floor. Her body jerks. Once. Twice. Three times. Each impact drives the breath from my lungs.

"Mom?"

Warm wetness seeps through my shirt. The firing continues. More screams. More bodies hitting the deck.

"Mom, get up."

She doesn't move. Her weight pins me down, growing heavier by the second. The wetness spreads, turning sticky. Metallic scent fills my nostrils.

"Please."

Boots thunder past. Orders bark through helmet speakers. Someone moans nearby, then falls silent.

Minutes stretch into hours. Mother's body grows cold against mine. I can't move. Can't breathe. The emergency lights paint everything in alternating red and blue, like a twisted heartbeat that won't stop.

A sharp jolt snaps me back. The star liner shudders as docking clamps engage.

"Welcome to Alpha Centauri Station, where local time is 14:30 standard. Please remain seated until..."

My shirt clings to my back, soaked with sweat instead of blood. The passenger next to me pretends not to notice my shaking hands.

The docking tube extends with a pneumatic hiss. Through its transparent walls, the station's true scale becomes apparent. Massive support struts thick as buildings stretch between the domes, their metallic surfaces catching starlight.

"First time on Silver Gateway?" A steward's voice breaks through my reverie.

"That obvious?"

"Everyone gets that look. Wait until you see inside the domes."

He's right. The terminal opens into an atrium that stretches up at least fifty stories, sunlight - actual sunlight - streaming through the curved glassteel overhead. The air carries the scent of fresh-cut grass and flowering trees. A fountain larger than most ships I've worked on creates a crystalline cascade down one wall.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" An elderly woman stops beside me, her face upturned to catch the light.

The words stick in my throat. It is beautiful. More than I imagined possible. Which makes it worse, somehow. All this grandeur, this testament to human achievement, and they put a murderer in charge of it all.

My fists clench. Somewhere in this sprawling marvel, Daniels sits in his office, probably looking down on everyone like some benevolent god. The same man who ordered his marines to open fire, who watched through security feeds as innocents died. Who saw my mother's body covering mine and did nothing.

The elderly woman steps away, perhaps sensing the shift in my mood. Good. Let her go enjoy the wonders of Silver Gateway. Let them all bask in its artificial sunlight and manufactured gardens.

Soon enough, their perfect world will shatter. Just like mine did, twenty years ago, when Daniels decided that collateral damage was an acceptable price for his victory.

A security drone whirs past, its sensors scanning the crowd. I force my hands to unclench. Force my face into the bland mask of a tourist. Not yet. But soon.

The main concourse stretches before me like a river of chrome and light. Holographic advertisements float overhead, their neon promises reflecting off polished surfaces. A thousand different languages blend into white noise.

"Fresh fruit from Earth! Real Earth oranges!"

"Designer genetics, custom tailored to your species!"

"Visit the Crystal Gardens, now featuring..."

The wealth on display turns my stomach. A Thoraxian merchant's crystalline carapace sparkles with embedded diamonds. A human couple strolls past in clothes that cost more than most frontier colonists make in a year.

But beneath the glitter and glamour, the cracks show. A legless Kiphian huddles under a pedestrian bridge, their bioluminescent patches dim with malnutrition. Their four eyes track passing shoppers, mandibles clicking in a begging rhythm no one stops to hear.

"Hey, friend." A human youth sidles up beside me, all nervous energy and desperation. "Looking for a good time? Got some prime Death Sticks, straight from-"

I walk past without breaking stride. His whispered offers fade into the crowd's chatter.

More signs of decay peek through Silver Gateway's perfect facade. A Vakutan argues with a pawnbroker, all six arms gesturing frantically. Two security officers rough up a Fratvoyan in a side corridor, their voices low and threatening.

The same story plays out on every station, every colony. The rich get richer, the poor get desperate, and those in power - those like Daniels - profit from it all.

A massive holoscreen dominates the far wall, showing Captain Daniels giving some speech about security and prosperity. His gray beard and kind eyes hide the monster beneath. Just like they did twenty years ago.

I keep walking. The revenge I've planned won't help the legless Kiphian or the desperate Death Stick dealer. But it will help me sleep at night.

Or so I hope.

A scream pierces the station's white noise. My steps falter, but I force myself forward. Not my problem. Not my fight. The revenge I've planned needs precision. Stealth. A clear head.

Another scream echoes off the metal walls. The sound strikes something deep in my chest, awakening memories I've spent decades trying to bury.

"No! Please!" The voice carries the same desperate edge my mother's had.

My feet stop moving. Sweat beads on my forehead as I war with myself. The smart play is to walk away. To stick to the shadows until I can reach Daniels.

"Someone help!"

The words hit like physical blows. My mother had begged for help too. Had screamed until plasma fire silenced her forever.

"Damn it." The curse slips through clenched teeth as I spin on my heel.

The alley mouth gapes between two towering structures, swallowing the artificial sunlight. My bone spurs scrape against my shirt as I slip into the darkness. The scent of rotting food and stale air fills my nostrils.

Just this once, I tell myself. One small act of decency before I embrace the monster I need to become. Before I paint these pristine walls with Daniels' blood.

The alley curves ahead, shadows deepening. Another scream guides me forward, closer to the sound that's dragging me back through time. Back to when I was helpless. When I could only watch as others suffered.

Not this time.