JC keeps her eyes on his wound. “You’re no admiral, and we’re dealing with a dying shape-shifter. You’re going to cook your brain trying to decipher his logic.” She digs her nails into his flesh, pulling free a bone piece buried just under the skin. “I need a med kit.”
“Bloody hell. That’s not healthy.” Reynard scans the field outside the cave entrance.
Michelle draws her knees against her chest, hugging her legs in a near-fetal ball. Considering her past few days, she allows the tears to flow. The small parrot-sized lavender dragon hovers to her eye level.
“Are you sad?” Demure in tone, it brings her comfort she’s not felt since being forced to join the crew.
“I’m more scared than sad. I’ve never been so far from my home before. I thought these people wanted to harm me, but they want to protect me.”
“They freed me. I come with you?”
“It’s not my decision, but I welcome you.” She pets the creature as it lands on her knees.
The dragon’s tiny mouth turns upward, baring a canine tooth in an attempt to smile.
Scattered across are the bodies of both tiger and bear riders. Joe inspects the saddlebags of each dead mount. He steps over the dead king, bringing JC a bundle of rags.
Australia activates the headset eyepiece, allowing her to view the recorded images.
“Caring for the wounded was not a priority.”
She takes bandages. “He won’t be able to hike back to the Dragon on this leg.”
“Numerous tiger mounts fled once their riders fell. The bear riders were stronger.”
“I’ll strut out of here.” Reynard smiles.
JC rolls the bone chunk between her thumb and forefinger. “They are porous. Unlike your bullets, they don’t act as plugs, more like spigot. You’ll bleed out before you reach a half-mile.”
Australia removes Reynard’s ocular headset. “I have never seen those symbols. They are different than the ones on the entrance, or the ones the female alien claimed were a warning.”
“According to the cat we’re now a threat to these Sandmen. It could be useful to trap them the way Ki-Ton’s people did.”
Static crackles from the commlinks.
Reynard presses his watch. “Scott. Amye.”
“Smerth’n hell, Commander. About time you smerth’n answered,” Doug swears. “I’ll triangulate your position. Did you locate Michelle?”
“And then some. My ship still fly?”
“Scott has her in the air. It’s a debate if what he’s doing is smerth’n flying.”
“Will she reach orbit?”
“Hyperspace engines function.” Doug adds, “ETA five minutes, Commander.”
JC leaves his bleeding wound and marches toward the dead tiger riders. She finds the fallen shaman. “Joe, I need your assistance.”
With the help of the warrior she cuts off the breastplate of azure opals. He has to carry the hundred pounds of stone for her. She picks up the staff. “Whatever these rocks are, they enhance telepathic abilities. We may need them if we have to face creatures capable of entering our thoughts.”
••••••
REYNARD FINDS THE shuttle cramped with Scott, Doug, and Amye in the chairs while Australia and the others crowd behind them.
“Shuttle isn’t built for all of us.”
“It was the best I could do to get instant control over the engines. The rear of the ship was undamaged. The main bridge took the brunt of the blast.”
JC rolls one of the azure opals in her palm. “It was a blast of mental energy. These stones enhance telepaths’ thoughts. The shaman brought us down with mental lightning.”
“Magic lightning. Great.”
“Take it seriously, Scott. If we encounter more Sandmen, we’re going to need mental energy to fight them.”
“Leave out Doug helping,” Amye quips.
Reynard ignores the banter. “Weapons?”
“I trust the wing cannons. I wouldn’t fire the forward array until I’ve checked them. The blast did cut through there,” Scott says.
Reynard activates the targeting computer. Crosshairs align on the main view screen just above the image of the cave entrance.
With the click of a button, twin plasma bolts shatter the rock face.
The dust and smoke clear, revealing an undamaged cave.
“They designed it to withstand a comet impact. I doubt we have the blast power.”
“If I don’t bury him in his tomb, we may encounter Ki-Ton again.”
••••••
UPON HOBBLING INTO the tiger king’s throne chamber, Reynard’s approach scatters the women into hiding at. I wondered where the females were during the ceremony. They must be some kind of second-class citizens in the tribe. I won’t impose on them longer than necessary.
He cuts open the fabric of a shroud over an Osirian-sized corpse. They prepared Leahla for burial. Had they completed their task, he might have left her remains on this backwater world. Reynard won’t leave her unburied—to be forgotten. The first death among his crew. New to her tasks, yet distinguishing herself among her fellow cadets.
Death should never be so meaningless.
Reynard scoops Leahla’s remains into his arms. Interring her properly will be his first act toward being captain.
••••••
“COMMANDER, I RESPECT your crew doesn’t have a ship to ride into battle on, but there are UCP soldiers dying. I have a duty.” Mark balls his right first.
“You have no support. A lone Mecat in battle won’t last, and you have no vehicle.”
“The Dragon’s going to need a month in dry dock. You purchase a Mecat, and I could be on the next jumpship to Summersun. Act as my gunner, you’re of no help to your engineers. Help me, help those people, Commander.”
“We’d be lone mercs.”
“Not alone, Commander,” Hauser chimes. “I’m a certified Mecat pilot. I’ll serve as wingman. We have to stop the Mokarran. Those they determine as undesirable are turned into compost for the fields.’”
“You saw this?”
“I witnessed refugees gathered, escorted to ships designed to fertilize crops. I’ve no question as to what was going on inside those ships.”
I’ve no ship. I can’t pilot a Mecat. I just lost a cadet under my command. I swore to protect Michelle with my life. How many millions are dying? “We’re in no condition to be a part of the planetary assault. There’ll be plenty of liberating to do.” Why does such a correct course of action turn my stomach?
“Dropships
