“Hell.”
Reynard drops the dead woman’s helmet, knowing it won’t fit him.
Other UCP soldiers dive into the trench. Explosions reverberate. Soil rains down upon all of them. Now Reynard’s sure he’ll never hear again.
Before the dust can settle the Mokarran fire. Many of the blasts drill into the back wall of the trench.
Reynard’s head swims from the most recent blasts. He’s sure he needs a synaptic scan. Too bad Osirians don’t take implants well, or he’d get new ears. His won’t stop ringing.
The Sergeant takes up Reynard’s rifle in one hand and his own in another. He opens fire. The other men scamper from the trench. Reynard stays on their heels and joins them behind the cover of a Mecat.
Plasma impacts seem to do little damage to the Mokarran. They move forward directly on the troops.
They need something more powerful to wound the Mokarran. Reynard notes the damaged plasma gun on the ground next to the Mecat before prying open the leg panel with his katana. Calthos steel shouldn’t snap on him as the hinges do.
“Grab the cannon,” Reynard yells at the helmetless soldier.
He complies, digging one into the ground and twisting the end toward the marching enemy.
Reynard twists the end of the unspent missile before dropping it into the barrel. It slides down the tube and with impact on the bottom launches.
The blast shreds a Mokarran.
Reynard drops in another rocket.
This explosion gives the Sergeant momentum to join them.
The plasma cannon barrel glows red-hot from the second mortar. It must cool before they launch again.
Reynard’s head swoons. He falls back against the Mecat leg before he draws another missile.
“You’re an asset, but if you don’t keep up we’re going to have to leave you,” the Sergeant barks.
“Sir, we don’t leave a man behind,” the helmetless soldier says.
“He’s a merc, not one of us.”
“He came to defend this planet as we did.”
“He came for credits; now move out, soldier.” The Sergeant drops an extra energy clip in Reynard’s lap before releasing the rifle.
The soldiers, two at a time, leap from cover bolting toward the battle. They bob and weave, preventing any snipers from drawing a clear bead on them.
Reynard props himself up against the damaged Mecat. From his limited medical knowledge, he guesses he has a concussion from the crash. He jams the energy clip into the rifle. Fully charged. From the thundering explosions he realizes the battle has diminished and moves further from his location.
He taps his watch.
Nothing.
Communication channels remain jammed.
Reynard’s thoughts shift to sleep. He needs to just lie down—rest. After a quick nap he will be fine. There will be plenty of time after he rests. He has to force his eyelids to remain open.
He must close his eyes for a second.
He has to rejoin the soldiers. The rifle sputters, releasing no plasma as he takes aim on a Mokarran charging the Sergeant. The other UCP soldiers litter the battlefield.
A Mokarran blows through the Sergeant.
Reynard leaps sword in hand. He won’t let the Mokarran end him easily. The blade skewers the shark-creature but hits nothing vital. Before withdrawing arms wrap around him, Reynard contorts his spine as far back as possible, bending to avoid the neurotoxin dripping from the tentacles before the Mokarran’s twin rows of teeth. Once stung, he’s not sure whether he will die first from the poison or the bite.
His gun hand won’t turn enough to hit the alien. Reynard pushes down on the hilt of his katana. Sawing the blade, he progresses through the tissue. The laceration widens, but the alien fails to react. With his last ounce of resistance, Reynard jams the magnum into the hole before firing. Three rapid shots and Reynard falls. He latches onto the hilt as he falls, yanking his sword free.
Once Reynard is clear of the Mokarran, a blast from a Mecat incinerates the alien. Reynard corkscrews around—sword in his left hand, magnum in his right. Knowing full well his weapons won’t scratch the paint, he faces down the Mecat anyway.
Hydraulics in the Cat’s legs release, lowering the craft toward the ground so the pilot can disembark. Reynard lowers his gun. He recognizes JC through the windshield covered in plasma scorches.
Waving in order to hitch a ride, Reynard races to the protection of a friend.
Before his rescue is finalized, a Sandman materializes, engulfing Reynard in its cloak before they both vanish.
SALTĀL SLIDES A crystal into the computer port of the standalone station in his quarters. “I may have found us a communications officer. He downloaded this information off the ISN before the Mokarran had him censor it.”
“You trust this person?”
“Not fully. Not yet. I want to have a few more exchanges before I bring him into our circle.”
“I have completed my translation.” Somberly, Nytalyan taps the Mokarran religious text.
“Then you know what they are planning. We’ll have something to transmit to the UCP.”
The monitor flashes the Interplanetary Subspace Netscape logo.
“News reports?” Nytalyan fails to hide her confusion.
“From the Battle of Summersun before the Mokarran spin it.”
The news reel plays, focusing at first on an orbital view of Summersun. A news reporter speaks over the image. “Tri-Star Federation and UCP officials have been in secret talks on Summersun to re-establish the armistice between the two alliances. With a treaty in place, new trade negations will resume, allowing Tri-Star Federation products to flow into UCP controlled planets.”
“We don’t supply the UCP with anything but refugees.”
“It’s just one of the stories,” Saltāl assures her. “There are dozens more.”
A new image appears on the screen of smoldering Mecats scattered like forgotten children’s toys on a field of blacken earth. The imposing commentator plays over. “Agricultural planet Summersun felt the full brunt of Mokarran oppression. Fighting outside the capital sparked a reaction from UCP flagship Captain Kantian and the intervention of Zayar VP-Admiral Maxtin.”
Nytalyan pauses the image. “One of those two would be trustworthy.”
“As a leader, the Admiral would have more influence.”
“More security
