ground.
Tusque lifted one of the fallen Terrans in his massive hands, tossing him into a wall. His body crumpled upon impact, and, flopping involuntarily as he fell, he collapsed to the ground. The fourth soldier climbed to his feet and fired, the bullet catching the Oterian’s shoulder.
Tusque looked at the deep gunshot wound, letting thick, black blood seep, and growled deeply. He swung his huge fist backhand, catching the surprised Terran on the side of the face. His head twisted awkwardly over his shoulder with a sickening snap from the base of his neck. He fell limply to the ground.
Eza cleared his throat to get Tusque’s attention. His arms covered in blood, he pointed into the open-air courtyard beyond the narrow overhang, where Terran soldiers moved into position behind quickly erected barricades. Staring down dozens of gun barrels, Tusque smiled and pointed skyward.
A faint, birdlike shadow spread over the Terran soldiers, as Ainj glided over the defensive wall and began dropping high explosives from the bandoleer around his chest.
The makeshift bunkers turned into pillars of blazing infernos, as the explosives rocked the compound. Dusty red sand melted in the heat, turning to glass. Terran soldiers collapsed into the molten sand, their bodies consumed by the fire and shredded from shrapnel. Within both buildings, lights flickered, as the generator struggled against the barrage of concussive blasts.
As the fires slowly died, seven figures emerged from the smoky remains of soldiers and barricades. In the center, the red-robed man called them to halt before the main outpost doors. Though the building’s facade was damaged by Ainj’s explosive barrage, the sturdy doors held.
“Tusque,” the heavily robed man said, “please open the doors for us. Everyone else, expect resistance once we’re inside. Remember our priority-recover the data disk. Get it, get out, and then we’ll take care of the base.”
Nodding to the robed man, the large Oterian reached forward, prying his fingers between the solid doors. With a heave, the strong doors screeched, as metal locks tore and broke free. With a last lurch, Tusque pulled the doors from their hinges and let the stone slabs fall to the ground.
Weapons drawn, the group entered the outpost’s cool darkness. The central foyer split left and right, leading deeper into the plateau’s hollowed rock.
“Split into teams of two,” the robed man ordered. “Yen and Eza, take the right wing. Nova and Ixibas, the left. Tusque and I will hold the central corridor. Ainj, you’re on the roof to cover our escape. Remember, we’re on the clock. Our transport off this rock won’t wait if we’re late. Move out.”
Yen and Eza moved to the right, winding through dark passages lit only by emergency lights. As they approached the first closed door, the pair stopped. Air shimmered around Yen, as if his skin smoldered. Slowly, it receded, and he sighed.
“There’s no one inside,” Yen said. “Let’s keep moving.”
They performed the routine before three more doors, moving deeper into the plateau. The passages were disturbingly devoid of Terran soldiers, though neither Yen nor Eza believed all had been killed in the courtyard.
After following several winding passages, the pair finally stood outside a large metal door blocking their way. A number pad was embedded to the right of the door, with a bright red light glowing above it.
“We’re locked out,” Eza said. “We could use Nova right now.”
“Our computer wizard left, unfortunately.” The air wavered around him.
“There’s another way.” Eza smiled and pulled a block of explosives from his bag.
Yen held up his hand to silence Eza, sensing five distinct life forms in the room. Their thoughts, though unclear, gave him vague impressions of ambush and defense.
“This is it,” he told Eza. “I’ll see if I can get us through the door without bringing down the roof on us.”
Eza frowned in disappointment. “Fine. Have it your way.”
Reaching out, Yen contacted the closest mind and pushed his way past the muddled fog of fear and nervousness to reach a cache of recent memories. Smiling, he retreated from the mind and rejoined his body.
“Got it,” Yen said, walking to the number pad. “You ready?”
Eza slid both his curved ax and handgun from his belt. Breathing deeply, he let his mind settle and the nervous energy drain from his body. In the back of his mind, a soft Voice began whispering, filling him with confidence. He spun the ax effortlessly, as he began weaving back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“I’m ready,” Eza echoed into the gloomy hallway.
Nodding, Yen entered the door code. The light above the panel changed from bright red to vibrant green, and the metal door slid open with a hiss.
Time slowed for Eza, as he entered the room, his eyes scanning overturned tables and stacked steel chairs to create impromptu barricades. To the left and right, stairs led to raised platforms where two Terran soldiers moved as if through fog, training their weapons on the Wyndgaart fighter. In front of him, three more Terrans took cover behind their fortified positions.
Eza was already running up the left stairs before the slow pounding of automatic fire began. The soldier on the platform swung his rifle to aim at the fast-moving target, but Eza dropped to the ground and slid, kicking a metal chair into the Terran’s legs.
Flipping headfirst to the ground, the Terran’s face slammed into the raised platform, shattering his nose and sending teeth and blood skittering across the floor. Regaining his feet, Eza brought down his ax on the back of the fallen soldier’s head, slicing cleanly through the dense skull. The top of the Terran’s head slid across the ground, as blood poured from the gaping maw of his brain cavity. Eza slid behind a nearby table for cover, as bullets struck the wall behind him.
When the Terrans’ attention was distracted, Yen stepped into the doorway and fired at the soldier on the raised right side of the room. His rounds caught the unsuspecting Terran in the shoulder and side of the knee. Screaming in pain, he collapsed to the ground, his rifle slipping from his fingers and sliding out of reach. Yen lunged back behind the wall, as the Terrans on the ground floor returned fire.
Their team rehearsed tactics like these many times. As the enemy shifted attention back and forth between the two targets, Eza and Yen took advantage of the openings. With the Terrans firing at Yen, Eza leaped from the raised platform. He threw his ax while in mid-flip, catching the closest Terran in the chest and lifting him from his feet. Soldier and ax, tumbling over nearby furniture, splayed onto the ground.
Eza landed and rolled, coming to his feet inches from the second Terran. The soldier tried to bring his rifle to bear, but Eza easily knocked it aside with his open hand. He raised his pistol with his free hand and fired multiple shots into the soldier’s abdomen. Gurgling, blood pooling around his groin and running freely down his legs, he slid to the ground and died.
The final Terran aimed at Eza, as the dead soldier slid to the floor. Before he could pull the trigger, his face went slack, and his eyes filled with perplexity. A single shot echoed in the room, as Yen shot the man in the back. The air around him wavered, as he released the Terran’s nervous system. The soldier, no longer paralyzed, exhaled a final breath.
Wordlessly, Eza collected his ax and stalked to the wounded Terran on the right landing. He tried to drag himself to his rifle, but explosions of pain shot through his shattered knee. Eza stepped up behind him, straddling the crawling soldier, and swung his arm in an arc, bringing it down repeatedly on the injured man.
Satisfied the soldier was dead, Eza, covered in blood, turned to Yen. “You couldn’t have killed him instead of just winging him?” He stared at the dismembered soldier lying before him, the look of intense concentration leaving his face.
His shoulders slumped, as the Voice released control of his body. Almost disgustedly, he looked at the arterial sprays of blood covering his clothing and arms.
“I’m a psychic, not a gunslinger,” Yen replied, stepping over a dead soldier. “Be happy I hit him at all.”
On the far side of the room, a bank of dark computer screens glowered at the intruders. Yen approached the consoles and sorted through the collection of data disks sitting haphazardly on a narrow counter. Tossing the more-mundane ones over his shoulder, he paused when he found a red disk.
“I’ve got it!” He turned to catch Eza’s eyes, as the Wyndgaart tried to clean the blood staining his tanned skin.
“Good,” Eza said, disgruntled. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Yen smiled mischievously. “Don’t you want to know what’s on it?”
