Xaros - Jungle Planet

Guns of the Federation Book 1

Anthony James

Contents

Tambus – Golor Sector

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

End

Other Science Fiction Books by Anthony James

© 2022 Anthony James

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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author

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Tambus – Golor Sector

The Tibor-class warship Castigate exited lightspeed with a boom of propulsion and a shudder which could be felt through the solid alloys of the bridge walls.

“Get those sensors online,” said Captain Jed Grisham, resting his hands on the horizontal control bars and holding the warship stationary.

He flared his nostrils and breathed in the over-cooled air which the warship’s life support system pumped in through vents in the ceiling. The light was an even, cool blue, yet in conjunction with the chill of the air was enough to make this feel like a place that might have been deep underground, or an outpost in a faraway icy wilderness.

“Sensors coming up, sir,” said Lieutenant Kaci Lopez.

“Running the local area scans,” said 2nd Lieutenant Dan Bishop. “Let’s hope the intel was right and we don’t run into any Kijol.”

The warship’s comms system didn’t function at lightspeed and, since the planet Tambus was two day’s comms travel time from the nearest hub, the most recent intel was already old enough to be useless. For all Grisham knew, a fleet of alien battlecruisers could be waiting here in the Arlus-2 system.

However, he wasn’t expecting to run into hostiles. According to the mission documentation, this was all about confirming the presence of Anurium. What analysis had led to Tambus being identified as a possible source of the mineral, Grisham didn’t know, but here he was doing the legwork.

“The local area scans are complete,” said Bishop. “Nothing to report.”

“Stay alert, Lieutenant,” said Grisham.

“Tambus located at 120,000 klicks, sir,” said Lopez. “It’s on the feeds.”

Grisham’s eyes were already on the bulkhead screen. Tambus was a sphere of light yellow with a nine-thousand-kilometre diameter, and fifth planet from the Arlus-2 star. From this distance, the swirling dusts of surface storms wrapping the planet were clearly visible.

“Another shithole,” said Lopez. “Same as all the others.”

“Maybe one day we’ll be sent to a tropical paradise,” said Commander Lois Deneuve.

Grisham’s glanced over to his right where Deneuve was sitting at the adjacent station. She was thirty-two years old, slim, with dark curly hair and dark eyes. She was wearing a grey combat spacesuit like every other member of the crew.

“Hoping for some vacation, Commander?” Grisham asked.

“Cat in hell’s chance of that, sir.” Deneuve’s voice was low and her accent placed her from somewhere on Loxor.

“We have to finish up here in less than six hours,” said Grisham. “After that, we return to base.”

“At least we got an easy mission for once,” said 2nd Lieutenant Eric Kinsey from his position at the propulsion station.

“You’ll have to stop saying crap like that, Lieutenant,” said Deneuve. “And before you ask, no I wasn’t superstitious before I joined the military.”

“Lieutenant Lopez, do we have any hope of detecting Anurium from 120,000 klicks?” asked Grisham.

“No, sir, the readings through that storm won’t be reliable,” said Lopez. “We’ll have to get down into the thick of it and run a close-range surface scan. Anurium isn’t usually found anywhere close to the surface, so we’re likely hunting for a fault or a fissure that goes deep into the crust.”

“I hear you,” said Grisham. “It’ll take us ten minutes on the Charos drive to reach the planet.”

Shifting the controls, he oriented the vessel and then requested maximum from the propulsion. The background hum changed to a hard-edged roar and the Castigate accelerated at a rate which would have killed the crew in moments, had the warship’s life support module not kept the interior stable. Even so, Grisham felt the strain in his neck and shoulders.

After a time, the Castigate reached its highest sub-light velocity of a fraction over two hundred kilometres per second, at which point Grisham brought the controls back to their centre position and allowed the vessel to coast through the vacuum. The engine note fell once more into the background.

“Any chance we’ll find what we’re looking for as the range decreases?” asked Grisham, more out of hope than expectation.

“If the job’s worth doing, sir,” said Lopez.

“What’s the upper altitude of that storm, Lieutenant?”

“A hundred klicks, maybe more, and it goes all the way to the surface. We’ll have sensor visibility once we’re inside, but it’ll be limited.”

“The Castigate’s paintwork is going to be a mess after this,” laughed Lieutenant Mac Adler.

“Just shows we’ve done the work,” said Deneuve.

The minutes passed and the planet grew larger on the forward sensor feed. Grisham wasn’t frightened of a storm – the Castigate’s 160-million-ton mass was enough to ensure the warship could survive the worst of nature’s wrath – but he was already feeling the pressure of the clock. While Anurium was a vital material in the production of Chareum – which was used to build Charos power modules – this was little more than a glorified scouting mission, albeit in contested territory.

Still, like Lieutenant Kinsey had said, for once this seemed like an easy mission, and Grisham didn’t get assigned many of those.

“How long will the scans take?” he asked.

“Three hours,” said Lopez. “Maybe more, maybe less, depending on luck and surface conditions.”

“Add a course overlay onto the tactical, Lieutenant. I want this done as quickly as possible.”

“Overlay added, sir,” said Lopez a few seconds later. “Stay on that heading at the given velocity and I’ll ensure every part of the surface is scanned.”

The tactical screen was to Grisham’s right and he glanced at it. A sphere representing Tambus had been ringed several times by a red line to indicate the most efficient course to follow around the planet. He adjusted the warship onto a convergent heading.

As the Castigate came near to the planet, Grisham drew back on the controls and the spaceship levelled out. As Lopez had said, the storms raged to an altitude of more than a hundred kilometres. Viewed on the sensors, the planet’s fury was unmistakable and one of the readings indicated the winds were blowing at almost eight hundred kilometres per hour.

To reduce abrasion from the combination of atmospheric friction and the dust, which was thick like deserts sands, Grisham reduced velocity to ten kilometres per second. That meant each circuit of the planet would require fifteen minutes and, at the fifty-kilometre altitude Lopez had asked for, numerous circuits would be required in order to complete the Anurium scans.

Mentally, Grisham cursed the conditions. On most other planets, it would have been a simple case of scanning from way out in space, along with a few changes of position. Maybe this was why he’d been sent to Tambus.

The Castigate entered the upper reaches of the storm and the sensor feeds immediately dimmed with a shrouding of grey. Grisham tightened his grip on the controls, though he felt nothing of the storm. On his console status panel, an amber light appeared to warn him the hull temperature was creeping up. With the spaceship travelling at only ten kilometres per second, that temperature wouldn’t climb high enough to cause significant damage to the alloy plating, though the nose section would be scarred after a time.

“Levelling out at fifty klicks altitude,” said Grisham.

Lieutenants Lopez and Bishop had worked their magic on the sensors and visibility had improved noticeably with the addition of lens filters and computational enhancement from the warship’s processing core. The increased clarity allowed a view approximately two hundred kilometres in every direction, and all the way down to the surface.

“The storm is even worse at twenty klicks altitude,” said Lopez. “The sensors are having a real hard time.”

Grisham gazed at the surface of Tambus. Truly the planet was bleak, with high mountains which had somehow withstood the eroding effects of the winds, dry valleys along which wind and sand were channelled, and a multitude of wide fissures, which snaked across the surface. One such fissure ran east to west, directly through the range of mountains and Grisham wondered at its depths. From the Castigate’s current position, the underside arrays didn’t have an angle to see far beyond the opening.

“I can see why this place flagged up as a potential source of Anurium,” said Adler.

“There’s a possibility I’ll have to revise my scan time estimation in the wrong direction, sir,” said Lopez.

“In which case let’s hope we get lucky on the first circuit,” said Grisham.

He held the Castigate steady and the mountain range below fell behind. The high peaks were replaced by low, rounded foothills, which soon merged into an expansive plain of yellowish rock, strewn with immense boulders.

The enormous fissure which Grisham had seen before was to the south, visible as a dark line on the dust-shrouded horizon. For some reason, he felt an urge to bank towards it, in order that the warship’s sensors might gain a view of what lay at the bottom.

“We’re heading a little to the south, Lieutenant,” said Grisham, giving in to the temptation. He banked the Castigate portside. “I want to see what’s in that chasm.”

“No problem, sir, it won’t affect the scan time,” said Lopez. She gave a short laugh. “In fact, if there’s any Anurium on this godforsaken world, that hole in the ground is as good a place as any to find it.”

Having changed course, Grisham was irritated to discover that the fissure suddenly turned southwards, and the Castigate came no closer to the opening. Cursing the terrain, he banked again, bringing the warship far from the overlay line on the tactical.

For a few seconds, Grisham thought he was going to have to point the Castigate directly south, because it seemed as though the fissure was determined that he wouldn’t see within it. Then, the opening once more turned east and the spaceship rapidly approached.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” said Lopez.

The Castigate flew across the fissure and Grisham altered course so that the warship would follow its snaking path. As far as geographical features went, this one was impressive, varying between ten and twenty kilometres in width. Its depths were greater still and the floor of the chasm was sometimes as far down as thirty thousand metres. What cataclysm was responsible for this sundering, Grisham didn’t know. At another time, he might have been interested in guessing, but not now.

“I’m not detecting any traces of Anurium,” said Lopez.

“Keep at it,” said Grisham, hiding his disappointment. For a reason he couldn’t explain, he wanted to get the hell away from Tambus as soon as possible.

“Yes, sir. You might as well follow this fissure a while longer. If it’s luck you want, this is the place to find it.”

For another two hundred kilometres, Grisham traced the path of the chasm as it cut across the surface. Its width and depth varied considerably, but it showed no sign of ending, as if the planet itself had been divided into two separate parts by this one fissure.

“Sir, I think I’ve detected something,” said Lopez excitedly.

Grisham drew the controls towards him and the Castigate’s velocity dropped to five kilometres per second. He peered at the forward feeds. Here, the fissure was little more than three thousand metres from one side to the other, and it sloped inwards in a way that concealed the bottom.

“What have you found, Lieutenant? Is it Anurium?”

“Yes, sir, at trace levels only,” said Lopez. “There might be greater concentrations deeper down.”

The chasm was easily wide enough to accommodate the Castigate, but Grisham didn’t relish the idea of piloting his warship inside.

“Screw it,” he said. “There’s plenty of room.”

“The sooner we’re done, the sooner we’re out of here, sir,” said Deneuve.

“Let’s get it over with,” said Grisham. He realised his mind was already on the next mission, whatever that might be, and he forced himself to concentrate on finishing this one.

Positioning the Castigate directly over the chasm, Grisham dropped it vertically through the storm. The sands blew fast along the fissure, in a mesmerising flow like a river of muddy yellow.

“Here we go,” said Adler.

The Castigate’s descent took it beneath the surface and the feeds darkened. Grisham watched those feeds carefully, noting how sand erosion had left the walls of this place smoothly rounded, yet with endless tiny scratches of abrasion.

Following the slope of the wall, Grisham guided the warship deeper inside. Rather than narrowing, the fissure widened. A few hundred metres away, the slope turned into a sheer drop and the bottom was still hidden.

“There’s Anurium here and lots of it, sir,” said Lopez. “We’ve struck paydirt.”

“Is there any need for me to continue deeper into this fissure, Lieutenant?” asked Grisham, bringing the Castigate to a standstill.

“Probably not, sir. We’ve found what we came looking for and the concentrations I’m detecting breach the threshold required for a full-scale expedition. I guess they’ll set up a mining operation here on Tambus.”

It was the news Grisham had been waiting for and he was about to guide the warship once more to the surface when he felt a sudden, unexpected need to see the bottom of the fissure. After a moment’s deliberation, curiosity got the better of him. Maybe they could unearth yet more useful data to send back to base.

Piloting the Castigate to portside brought it directly over the place where the fissure walls become once more vertical. To Grisham’s amazement, this part of the fissure opened into an immense sub-surface cavern many kilometres deep and, though the sensors didn’t yet have an angle to view everything, he was sure it was also many kilometres across.

“Sir! The sensors are detecting Terylium in those rocks!” said Lopez, practically jumping out of her seat. “A crapload of it!”

“Hot damn!” said Adler. “They’re going to give us a medal for this.”

“We’ve found what we came for. Do you need any more time to scan?” asked Grisham. This was great news, but his curiosity had evaporated and now he wanted to be away.

“No, sir,” said Lopez. “Tambus is about to become the most popular shithole planet in the whole of the Golor sector.”

It was all Grisham needed to hear and he guided the Castigate back towards the surface. As his view through the opening widened, he thought he caught a glimpse of something, and then it was gone.

That was all the warning Grisham was given before a warship dropped into sight, sinking like a stone into water. From safety only a moment before, he now found himself staring directly at the twelve-hundred-metre hull of a Kijol Aeon-class destroyer.

Chapter One

Grisham had no idea if the enemy vessel had somehow managed to follow him here, using its superior sensors to pursue from a distance, or if its arrival was no more than terrible misfortune. One thing was sure, the Castigate was completely outgunned.

If the Kijol didn’t know we’re here, perhaps they’re as surprised as we are.

“Lock and launch, Commander!” shouted Grisham.

Deneuve had the kind of reactions that made the guys who built the training simulators wonder if she was cheating.

“Starboard Ghost cluster: launched!” said Deneuve, almost before the order had left Grisham’s mouth.

The warship’s starboard cluster spat out eight warheads, which accelerated across the five thousand metres separating the two warships. Orange propulsion trails were vivid in the sand gloom of the storm.

“Gatlers set to track and destroy,” said Deneuve, her hands moving rapidly across her control panel.

Either the enemy crew were incompetent – which was unlikely – or they had indeed been taken by surprise. All eight of the Ghosts detonated against the Kijol destroyer’s portside armour. The eruption of plasma was starkly bright on the feeds and Grisham narrowed his eyes instinctively.

Eight missiles weren’t nearly enough to destroy the enemy spaceship and sticking around to duke it out was a sure path to failure. The Castigate’s nose was already pointing along the fissure and Grisham slammed the control bars to the ends of their guide slots, cursing that he didn’t have time to bring any of the warship’s other three loaded clusters to bear.

The Kijol were tough opponents and it wasn’t easy to sucker punch them out of a fight. Moments after the Ghost detonations, the enemy destroyer climbed rapidly out of the chasm, its enormous propulsion creating a reverberation that was picked up by the Castigate’s sensors.

“We caught them napping,” said Grisham. “They’ve taken themselves out of the firing line – the moment they realise they’re only facing a Tibor, they’ll come after us.”

“That didn’t look like any normal Kijol destroyer, sir,” said Lopez. “It was a couple of hundred metres greater in length and I estimate its mass at near on a billion tons. That’s way up on anything we’ve seen before.”

Grisham’s mind was catching up and he knew Lopez was right. The Aeon here on Tambus had the usual cuboid shape of other Kijol destroyers, narrowing at the nose, with the same half-dozen superfluous backward-curving spines jutting from its flanks like blades on the wheels of an ancient chariot. And yet, it was different to the Aeon destroyers Grisham had encountered before, not just in size and mass, but in the way it accelerated from the fissure, as if its propulsion output was fifty percent higher than normal.

Suddenly, Grisham was even less eager to face this opponent. The Castigate was carrying Ghost missiles, as well as some ancient nukes, and it was fitted with countermeasures, but nothing that would defeat a Kijol destroyer – particularly a modified Kijol destroyer.

The walls of the fissure sped by in a blur and Grisham banked to follow as it turned south. He kept an anxious eye on the topside feeds, anticipating the appearance of a dark shape.

“Where’s that destroyer?” he asked angrily.

“They’re keeping out of sight, sir,” said Lopez. “They’ll be burning hot and spilling light after those missile strikes – it might give us the edge when it comes to getting off the next salvo.”

“Have you transmitted our findings to base?” asked Grisham. There was no chance of backup arriving in time to decide the outcome of this engagement, but the Human Federation needed to know about the Terylium and the Anurium. Assuming the Kijol had also detected the presence of those minerals, Tambus would soon become a flashpoint.

“Yes, sir,” said Bishop. “A couple of days and the comms hub on Kanis will hear about our discovery.”

“Sir, I recommend we withdraw,” said Deneuve. “Leave it to someone in high command to decide what to do about Tambus.”

Grisham was in absolute agreement. The trouble was, he knew the enemy ship was out there, and as soon as the Castigate poked its head over the surface, the Apiar missiles would come raining down.

The Kijol were not timid opponents and the opposing warship slid into sight, fifty kilometres above the surface.

“Deploying scramblers,” said Deneuve. “Topside missile cluster: launched.”

Six hatches on the Castigate’s topside opened and cannisters were ejected into the air. Immediately, each scrambler transmitted a thousand kinds of data, designed to mimic the hull readings from a fleet warship, to confuse the guidance systems of the enemy warheads.

Ghost missiles followed the scramblers, just as Lopez announced what Grisham had been waiting for.

“Enemy missile launch detected.”

The Castigate’s two topside Gatlers opened up at once, directing torrents of high-velocity projectiles at the incoming warheads. Bright tracers cut through the air and Deneuve ejected another six scramblers.

The Kijol Dasor turrets fired in return. Eight or ten tracer lines stabbed down from above, smashing the Ghosts into glittering pieces. Hundreds of Dasor slugs thundered into the floor of the chasm, throwing up spiteful fountains of shards far beneath the Castigate.

The moment he heard the missile launch announcement, Grisham threw the Castigate towards the side wall of the fissure. He sensed, rather than saw, movement on the sensors, and then a wall of fire erupted on the surface above. The enemy missiles had been unable to compensate for the Castigate’s change in position and they’d detonated on the stony ground.

Almost at once, the destroyer emerged into sight, high overhead, and Grisham knew his luck would soon run out.

“Launch both of our nukes, Commander,” he snarled. “Proximity detonation.”

“You’ll have to enter your command codes to enable the launch, sir.”

“I’m doing it,” said Grisham, tapping digits into his console.

Having one hand off the controls made it tough to pilot the warship along the chasm but Grisham managed it without his warship striking the walls. Meanwhile, the enemy ship’s Dasor slugs punched into the Castigate’s topside armour. The projectiles weren’t a direct threat, but they might well destroy the next wave of Ghost missiles as they exited their launch tubes.

“Codes entered,” said Grisham.

“Activating the—” Deneuve cursed. “The nukes are still not available for launch.”

“The command codes were accepted!” said Grisham.

“Yes, sir, but I’m still locked out.”

Grisham had no idea what the hell was going on. As commanding officer on the Castigate, his codes should override any security systems. And yet, those codes had failed.

“The enemy vessel’s reload timer is almost up, sir,” said Lopez. “We’re going to have another bunch of warheads coming our way at any moment.”

“Deploying scramblers,” said Deneuve.

Ahead, the chasm narrowed and curved northward. The Kijol destroyer was directly above, its portside armour still burning from the earlier Ghost strikes, and Grisham knew he had no hope of evading its missiles for a second time. He cursed that he was trapped here in the canyon. Given the conditions on the planet, the Castigate wouldn’t need much more than ten seconds out of the enemy sensor sight in order to escape into the storm.

Those ten seconds may as well have been a lifetime. Without something game changing like a hundred-megaton nuclear detonation in the next few seconds to incinerate the enemy vessel or send it running, the Castigate was finished.

An idea rolled in on the rising tide of Grisham’s fury. Deneuve had her own set of override codes - they just weren’t active until she was formally in command of the spaceship. Darting out a hand, Grisham tapped in his codes again, this time handing over control to Deneuve.

“Try your own codes, Commander,” said Grisham urgently.

“Codes entered…and accepted,” said Deneuve. “I’m no longer locked out of the nuke launch panel.”

“Target and fire,” said Grisham through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, every one of the sensor feeds turned a stark, near-white orange and the bridge space was bathed in this harsh illumination. When he narrowed his eyes against the glare, Grisham could see the roiling of flames outside.

“Incendiary!” he said in realisation.

Every one of the hull temperature monitors was triggered simultaneously, producing rows of red lights on Grisham’s status panel. With nothing meaningful on the sensor feeds to guide him, memory of what lay ahead was his only guide. The Castigate was travelling fast and the canyon wasn’t anything like straight.

Grisham felt the warship glance off one of the side walls and he resisted the urge to haul the controls to starboard, in case he overcorrected and caused the Castigate to strike the opposite wall with potentially much greater force.

“What the hell are they using incendiaries for?” asked Deneuve.

“Ready on the nukes, Commander,” said Grisham. He didn’t have time to speculate on the enemy behaviour.

“Yes, sir. I have a green light on launch tubes 1 and 2,” said Deneuve.

The incendiary flames began to dwindle and Grisham saw dark edges and shapes within the fire. He hauled on the controls and requested maximum from the propulsion. With a booming echo from the chasm walls, the Castigate climbed strongly. Almost at once, the feeds darkened and the wind-blown sand swept across the spaceship’s burning hull.

Grisham’s eyes went to the rear feeds, where several thousand metres below, the chasm was an orange snake which cut across the Tambus landscape. Glimmering embers of molten alloy from the Castigate’s incendiary-scoured hull scattered in the vessel’s wake, creating a rain of many hues, which faded quickly to darkness.

“Enemy warship located,” said Lopez. “They’ve climbed to a hundred klicks.”

For a split-second, Grisham thought he was looking at a different warship to the one he’d engaged not long before. Then, he realised its pilot was rolling the vessel around its longitudinal axis. The only reason Grisham could imagine for this behaviour was if the Castigate’s initial Ghost strike had crippled some of the enemy weapons control systems and the Kijol commanding officer was attempting to bring some of its operational launch clusters onto target.

“Launch the damn nukes,” said Grisham. “And give them the cover they need.”

“Scramblers deployed. Portside, starboard and topside Ghost clusters: launched. Nukes one and two: launched,” said Deneuve.

Ghost missiles sped from their flank launchers and curved sharply towards the Kijol destroyer, while the nuclear warheads climbed steadily into the sky. Grisham held tightly to the controls and pinned his hope for survival on this oldest of destructive tech.

Chapter Two

Dasor turrets tracked and destroyed the incoming warheads with a pulverising cascade of alloy slugs. Grisham’s eye went to the tactical, where the green dots of his warship’s missiles were steadily disappearing beneath the onslaught of the enemy vessel’s countermeasures. The two nukes had so far survived, and they flew on a diagonal, passing a seventy-five-kilometre altitude.

Then, the unexpected happened. Every one of the Ghost missiles shut down, their onboard control systems going offline and their propulsions cutting out. The nuclear missiles were affected too, and their rate of climb slowed at once.

The Castigate didn’t entirely avoid the effects of this unexpected event. On Grisham’s console, the readings indicated that several of the warship’s minor subsystems were currently unavailable, and one of the primary control systems rebooted. The backup controller kicked in at once, leaving the Castigate responding normally.

“That was a disruptor, sir,” said Lieutenant Adler. “First time I’ve seen one fitted to a Kijol destroyer.”

Grisham wasn’t feeling blessed to have made this discovery. The enemy vessel had shut down the Castigate’s missiles and would - in moments - respond with a salvo of its own.

Unless…

The nuclear missiles were a mishmash of old and new tech. Not only were the warheads fitted with advanced control systems, they also had much older power cell technology fitted, that was specifically designed to make the warheads harder to disable with energy pulse attacks like the Kijol disruptor.

“Commander Deneuve, link to those missiles and send a command through their backup receivers to detonate the warheads.”

Deneuve reached a hand towards her control panel. She was too late.

“Enemy missiles launched,” said Lopez.

Having rolled about its longitudinal axis, the Kijol destroyer had brought its topside clusters to bear on the Castigate. A wave of Apiar missiles – far fewer than Grisham expected – raced across the intervening space between the two vessels.

“Detonation command sent,” said Deneuve, her voice tight with stress. “Scramblers deployed.”

The Gatler turrets hurled their projectiles at the oncoming missiles. A flash of pure, terrible white on the starboard feeds told of the nuclear warheads’ detonation. Everything seemed to dim for a moment and then the EMP swept over the Castigate, causing electronic needles to jump crazily, even though the warship’s internal systems were heavily shielded. A shockwave rippled the air, producing a visible distortion through the dust and increasing the strength of the winds to a new intensity.

Holding the controls at the extremes of their travel, Grisham wondered what the coming seconds would bring. The detonation fireball was expanding at tremendous speed and the Kijol destroyer was already accelerating away from the blast, its course divergent with that of the Castigate.

Two Apiar missiles struck the Castigate on its topside armour and were closely followed by a third. The blasts tore huge holes into the warship’s armour, splaying the plating and ripping pieces of it free.

Ignoring the damage reports, Grisham banked the warship hard onto a course he hoped would bring it parallel to the extreme edges of the nuclear blast. The heat warnings which followed the incendiary strike hadn’t gone away, and the associated readings continued to climb. Outside, the light was undiminished, and Grisham thought he may as well be piloting his spaceship across the surface of a star, or through the furnaces of hell.

As the Castigate gained velocity, its nose section accumulated yet more heat and it was soon glowing orange, while thick, greasy smoke created a trail which vanished into the enveloping storm.

“Where’s that destroyer?” asked Grisham.

The enemy vessel had dropped off the tactical and become lost in the storm. To portside, the explosion created by the nuclear warhead had stopped growing and already possessed a grey quality, as though the planet was determined to suppress this challenge to its own might.

“No sign of it, sir,” said Lopez.

“And I need a damage report, Lieutenant Adler.”

“Our hull is a mess, sir, but the armour has done its job,” said Adler. “I don’t reckon we’re in much of a state for Round 2.”

“That’s not my intention, Lieutenant.”

Grisham banked again, hoping to keep the movements of his warship as difficult to predict as possible. The chasm was no longer visible on the feeds and, from the Castigate’s current forty-kilometre altitude, the ground appeared flat and smooth.

“Did we make it?” asked Kinsey.

Unwilling to commit to an answer, Grisham kept his mouth shut. The surface was passing by in a blur and the nose temperature was pushing three thousand Centigrade. At any other time, he’d have been concerned that the heat, light and smoke would have betrayed the presence of his warship. Here on Tambus, Grisham knew he’d been granted an opportunity to escape and that meant taking risks.

“Still no sign of the enemy destroyer,” said Lopez.

“What’s the plan, sir?” asked Deneuve. “I’d suggest we complete a half circuit of the planet and then lay low until the Charos drive can take us into lightspeed.”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do, Commander,” said Grisham.

Nine thousand kilometres from the scene of the engagement, he pulled back on the controls until the Castigate was travelling at a low velocity. This area of the planet’s surface had been shattered by an impact at some point in the distant past, leaving a huge, shallow bowl with raised edges. Within the bowl, the dust swirled.

“Lieutenant Adler, ready the Charos drive for lightspeed,” said Grisham. “We’re going to Loxor – I’ll request a patch-up at the Fremont base.”

“Yes, sir. Loxor it is.” Adler grunted. “The Castigate’s going to need more than spit and polish after this.”

Activation of the lightspeed drive required a warship to be in motion, albeit at no more than a crawl. Apparently, it was something to do with positional calibration, though Grisham had never pursued an understanding of the precise technical details. He held the Castigate at a minimum velocity and watched for the appearance of the lightspeed timer on his console.

00:08:00

“High command will be interested to know the Kijol are building their newest destroyers with disruptor weapons,” said Grisham, talking to distract himself from the timer.

“That enemy vessel definitely had an improved propulsion as well, sir,” said Adler. “I haven’t crunched the numbers, but I’d guess it had an extra forty percent on its acceleration and that probably translates to another forty percent on its maximum velocity.” He cursed. “I don’t know what those alien bastards have done to extract so much extra performance from a Charos drive.”

“That Aeon destroyer is real bad news for our own fleet destroyers, sir,” said Deneuve.

“And for some of our older cruisers as well, Commander,” said Grisham, watching the feeds with growing anxiety. If he and his crew made it out of here alive, it was looking extremely like they’d have pulled off the luckiest of escapes.

“I’ve transmitted everything we know about that destroyer to base, sir,” said Lopez. “Even if the enemy warship turns up to ruin our day, the intel won’t be lost.”

“Six minutes!” said Adler.

For the next five minutes, only the storm and the dirty yellow of the rocky surface were visible. Then, as Adler gave his sixty-second announcement for the Charos drive, Lieutenant Lopez spotted what she thought was an object, high above and to the east.

“The object was moving at a low velocity, sir,” she said. “Now it’s lost in all this sand.”

“Is it the destroyer?” asked Grisham sharply. He laughed bitterly. “What the hell else is it going to be?”

“Our hull is still hot, and that’s making us easier to spot, sir,” said Lopez. “But that destroyer has no need to play it cagey. It outguns us and it can outrun us.”

Grisham shook his head. “I’ve got a feeling our first Ghost attack did more damage than it should have done.”

“Captain “Lucky” Grisham does it again, huh?” said Deneuve.

“Lucky, my ass,” said Grisham.

“Thirty seconds and we’re out of here.”

As the countdown approached its end, Grisham could no longer take his eyes off the digits on his screen.

“Ten seconds,” he muttered.

For a fleeting moment, Grisham thought that he and his crew were about to escape this wretched planet with their skins intact. At five seconds on the timer, a status light appeared on his console, informing him that the topside and starboard Gatlers were firing at something.

Two red circles appeared on the tactical, travelling at enormous velocity. One of the enemy missiles vanished, but the second hit the Castigate on its stern plating. The blast was enormous – many times the magnitude of an Apiar missile.

Before Grisham could open his mouth to speak, he felt the wrenching dislocation of a transition into lightspeed. Shaking off the giddiness and the lethargy, he yelled for status updates. The distressed note of the engines was enough to tell Grisham up front that his warship wasn’t in a good way, and his monitoring panel was more red than amber and green.

“We were hit by a missile, sir, as you’ve already guessed,” said Adler. “It blew out about sixty million tons of our stern and disabled four of our aft propulsion modules. Luckily, it didn’t breach the interior, though it came within twenty metres of the underside bay.”

“Lieutenant Bishop, make sure Sergeant Maxwell is aware there’s going to be some heat seepage.”

“Yes, sir,” said Bishop.

“Is there anything we can do to isolate the affected area?” asked Grisham.

“Going by the internal monitors, there are no members of Maxwell’s squad anywhere near the underside bay, sir,” said Lopez. “I can close and lock a couple of the internal doors to seal off the area.”

“Do it,” said Grisham. The reality of what had just happened suddenly struck home. “Sixty million tons,” he said in disbelief. “That’s nearly half of the damn ship.”

“Yes, sir, it is,” said Adler.

Grisham swore at the blindness of the sensors. For all of humanity’s advancements, nobody had yet figured out how to make a sensor array gather a feed while travelling at lightspeed. Right now, Grisham wanted to view the damage with his own eyes.

“That was no damned Apiar warhead,” said Grisham. “The destroyer was fitted with Olin missiles.” He clenched his fist and crashed it onto the edge of his console. “If that’s an example of the Kijol’s newest destroyer design, I sure as hell don’t want to run into whatever’s higher up the food chain.”

He fell silent for a moment as he absorbed what he’d just said. Most everyone admitted that one-on-one, a Kijol warship had an advantage over its HF equivalent, but the difference was something which could be overcome through skill or other factors at play during an engagement.

The encounter on Tambus was proof enough that the alien military wasn’t standing still, and Grisham dreaded to think what the newest Eternus battleships would be capable of, assuming those warships had undergone the same level of propulsion and weapons enhancements as the destroyer.

“Do we have enough output to hold the lightspeed tunnel open?” he asked, suddenly worried about the Castigate’s ability to complete its journey home.

“I’m not sure, sir. Certainly our lightspeed multiplier is way down,” said Adler. “I’m monitoring the outputs from the other modules and they’re all sky-high. If they start failing, we’ll be thrown back into local space.” A grudging sort-of-smile appeared on his lined face. “We got lucky, sir. Half of the damage from an Olin missile comes from the plasma burn. When we entered lightspeed, I guess all that crap got ripped off our hull and left far behind.”

“We ended up with a half-wrecked warship and our lives,” said Grisham. “Under the circumstances, we’ve got to call that a win.”

“Damn right,” said Deneuve.

“So how much additional time will we need to reach Loxor?” asked Grisham.

“Weeks, sir,” said Adler. “Our lightspeed multiplier is based off more than engine mass alone. To put it in layman’s terms, we’ve lost a lot of the push-pull between our modules.”

Grisham’s optimism from moments before faded, though he clung tenaciously to its last traces. “If we exit lightspeed and send out a distress call, an HF warship could make the trip to wherever the hell we are, pick us up and return us home in a quarter of the time it would take to complete the journey under our own steam.”

In the end, the decision wasn’t Grisham’s to make. While he was considering his options, the Castigate’s propulsion gave out a peculiar, grinding shriek that made him think of two thick slabs of metal being twisted and torn apart. The engine power readout on his console dropped like a stone and he braced himself for re-entry to local space.

Retching and coughing from the transition, Grisham watched the sensor feeds. When they came online, Lieutenants Lopez and Bishop completed the local area scans, and soon confirmed that the Castigate was nowhere in particular.

Lopez sent out the distress call, and when that was done, Grisham settled himself for a long, frustrating and tedious wait for pickup. All the while, his mind kept going back to the Kijol destroyer. It was just one vessel in the aliens’ extensive fleet, and yet he couldn’t get it out of his head that it was a harbinger for much worse things to come.

Chapter Three

Rescue was longer in coming than Grisham had expected. Five days after sending out the distress call, the recovery vessel EF Rosenthal exited lightspeed a quarter of a million kilometres from the stricken Castigate.

When Grisham left the bridge to board the rescue shuttle coupled to one of the Castigate’s exit hatches, several of the warship’s critical systems were offline and the propulsion output was down to five percent. The life support was online, though Grisham suspected its failure was inevitable, and everyone had been wearing full spacesuits around the clock for the entirety of the wait, in case the air went bad or the Castigate suffered an unexpected depressurisation.

Once the transfer to the shuttle was completed, the transport decoupled and accelerated towards the Rosenthal. Grisham sat with his eyes closed and his head tipped back. The shuttle’s interior was all greys, hard edges and discomfort, with a scent of suit polymers and machine-cut metal. A rumble of agricultural propulsion made off-comms conversation difficult, though Grisham didn’t mind the noise.

Soon, his crew, and the Castigate’s two squads of soldiers, would be onboard the Rosenthal and on their way to Loxor. What would come after, he didn’t know and at this moment, didn’t much care.

“That Olin missile really did a number on us,” said Kinsey, sitting on the bench seat opposite Grisham. “I’m glad we’re on our way.”

Grisham didn’t want to think too hard about it, and he remembered Adler’s remark that the Castigate’s transition to lightspeed immediately after the enemy missile’s detonation had cleansed the hull of plasma. If the lightspeed entry had been only a few seconds later, the aftereffects of the initial explosion would have certainly wrecked the Castigate and it would likely have broken up during the transition.

It was humbling to think that a single enemy missile could do such damage, though Grisham and his crew had speculated that the payload of the destroyer’s Olin was greater than other missiles of the same type. An Olin Mk 2. Lieutenant Adler also believed – albeit it with limited data – that the propulsion section of the missile was a new design and likely capable of carrying the warhead to a far greater velocity than previous-generation Olins – once freed from the limits of atmospheric friction, at least.

It was the kind of new tech the Human Federation wasn’t ready to deal with and Grisham couldn’t stop thinking about what kind of influence even a couple of dozen new-design Kijol warships would have on the wider conflict.

Shortly after, the shuttle docked with the Rosenthal. At four thousand metres in length, the Rosenthal was round-sided and high flanked, with an interior that was mostly bays. The vessel was thickly armoured, but possessed only modest offensive capabilities.

The moment Grisham stepped off the shuttle and into the sub-zero air of the docking bay, he received a comm from Captain Arlene Cramer, who commanded the Rosenthal. Leaving his crew and the soldiers to find quarters for themselves, Grisham headed through the recovery vessel’s interior to the bridge.

Having borrowed one of the Rosenthal’s gravity cars to speed his journey along the portside arterial passage that linked the main operational areas of the vessel, Grisham arrived at the bridge. In stark contrast to what he was accustomed to, the Rosenthal’s command area was huge, with stations for almost forty officers, and almost every seat was occupied.

Captain Cramer was medium height, in her fifties and with an air of competence. Grisham didn’t recall any past encounters. She greeted him cordially and treated him to a sensor view of the Castigate.

“I’m surprised it got you this far,” said Cramer. She tapped a finger on the feed screen. “This section is ready to break off and that would expose the inner bay here, and the maintenance passages here. Any acceleration at all, and that spaceship would split right apart.”

Up until now, Grisham had only seen the Castigate from the perspective of its remaining hull sensors. The feed from the Rosenthal drove home what a miracle it had been to escape the Kijol destroyer. Almost a third of the Castigate was gone, all the way into the midsection, and the vessel’s armour plating was splayed outward, its edges razor-sharp and jagged.

“Is it worth repairing?”

Cramer snorted. “Hell no. I’ve been trying to decide whether I should just abandon what’s left. The Rosenthal has another two pickups in Golor.” She sighed. “We’re plenty busy and that’s not a good state for the Human Federation.”

“I’ve got no emotional ties to the Castigate,” Grisham lied. “Don’t let it keep you here.”

“Your Lieutenant Adler sent over the audit files,” said Cramer. She pursed her lips in thought. “We can salvage a handful of the Chareum modules, but everything else – from weapons to sensors and onboard systems – will have to be extracted, taken to a factory, stripped down and remade.” She shook her head slowly, evidently coming to a conclusion. “It’ll be quicker and cheaper to build something new. Did you lock down the Castigate’s consoles, Captain Grisham?”

“Yes, I did,” said Grisham.

“In which case, we’re leaving that spaceship behind. Maybe I’ll come back for it when things settle down. If they settle down.”

“I need to get to Loxor or somewhere I can pick up a new warship,” said Grisham.

“Haven’t you heard?” asked Cramer, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “You and your crew are going to Bastion.”

“Whose orders?” asked Grisham, suspecting he knew.

“Admiral Danner’s.” Cramer turned away to face her console. “Make yourself at home here on the Rosenthal, Captain Grisham. Those orders specify I’m to take you to Bastion station at best speed once I’m done with the Castigate. It must be something important.”

“Don’t ask me,” said Grisham. “This is the first I’ve heard about it.”

Grisham left the Rosenthal’s bridge and went looking for the other members of his crew. Unlike a fleet warship, the recovery vessel had adequate space for thousands of personnel, and that meant plenty of spare rooms. Grisham wasn’t fussy. As long as the sheets were clean, he was happy to sleep anywhere and he located himself a bunk in the same room as Lieutenant Adler. The mattress was made from foam so thin it was like a normal mattress cut lengthways four times, and doubtless sold to the military for six times its worth. Still, it felt comfortable enough to Grisham.

After three days at lightspeed, during which he killed time with his crew in one of the Rosenthal’s expansive mess areas, or ran kilometres in one of the gyms, a voice on the internal comms announced the vessel’s imminent arrival at Bastion.

An hour later, Grisham was in the cockpit of one of the Rosenthal’s shuttles and piloting it towards the space station. To his left, Lieutenant Lopez was doing her best to improve the long-range feed gathered by the transport’s basic sensor arrays. To Grisham’s right, Commander Deneuve was doing not much.

“There goes the Rosenthal,” said Lopez.

The recovery vessel disappeared from the rear sensor feeds, gone to wherever it was that Cramer had been instructed to head next. Having seven other shuttles meant the Rosenthal didn’t need to wait for the return of this one.

“Five thousand klicks to Bastion,” said Lopez. “That’s going to take us all year in this heap of shit.”

It was an exaggeration and Grisham made no effort to correct the statement. The shuttle was easy to pilot and gave his full attention to the feed targeted on Bastion. The space station was an immense feat of engineering, beyond almost any other within the Human Federation.

Work on the space station had commenced at least a hundred years ago. Back then – before anyone had heard of the Kijol and when the human species was collectively enthralled by its gradual conquering of space - the initial ambitions for Bastion had been modest.

As the scope of the project was expanded and new purposes were included, construction work continued. Now, Bastion Station was eighteen thousand metres from one end to the other. It was mostly cylindrical, and with a diameter of three thousand metres at its widest point. The station’s two main bays could each hold a Nexus-class heavy cruiser, or many smaller warships.

Those main bays wouldn’t open for an insignificant vessel like the shuttle, and Grisham had received instruction to dock in one of the smaller bays, of which Bastion had dozens.

“Have you heard anything from Admiral Danner, sir?” asked Deneuve.

“No,” said Grisham.

He’d tried not to spend much time guessing why the Admiral wanted him at Bastion so urgently. From experience, Grisham had an idea he wouldn’t enjoy the revelation when it finally came.

“I’m sure we’ll hear all about it in good time,” said Adler.

“When I know, you’ll know,” said Grisham, his tone indicating he didn’t want to engage in a discussion.

Ten minutes later, the shuttle was close enough to Bastion that the forward feeds were of little else than grey alloy, elaborate transmitters and defensive emplacements. An overlay on one of the transport’s console screens gave Grisham course details, along with a suggested velocity. He didn’t need either – the opening for the shuttle bay was visible on the sensors and he aimed for it.

Since the space station had no rotation, it was easy enough for Grisham to match velocity and, when the Bastion docking controller indicated he should turn on the autopilot, he ignored the request.

“Someone’s going to have words with you about that, sir,” said Deneuve.

“If I thought for a moment I was going to crash, I’d activate the autopilot in an instant, Commander.”

Grisham cursed. There was a time and place for being an ass, and it wasn’t now. He switched on the autopilot and sat back while the computers took over.

Shortly after, the transport entered the docking tunnel at such a low velocity, it had Grisham scraping his teeth together in frustration. The regulations for take-off and landing on a planetary base allowed for a much greater degree of pilot discretion, though he supposed the consequences of error at a military base weren’t so drastic as they would be for Bastion.

At the end of the docking tunnel, the shuttle stopped next to an alloy platform. A slab-like door slid across behind, sealing the bay from the vacuum. Red lights – one outside and one on Grisham’s console - indicated pressurisation was taking place. The process didn’t take long and when the light on his console went green, Grisham gave the order to depart.

He unclipped his harness and stood, just as a link was made to the comms unit in his suit. One of the station comms teams offered a perfunctory greeting and then provided Grisham with instructions. The comms link went dead.

“I’ve been ordered to Admiral Danner’s office,” said Grisham.

“No rest for the wicked, huh?” said Deneuve.

“If he asks for a contribution towards the Castigate’s replacement, tell him I have mouths to feed back on Earth,” said Bishop.

“I’ll be sure to let him know,” said Grisham dryly.

He led his crew from the shuttle. They passed through the bay airlock and then parted ways. Already, Grisham had a feeling his meeting with Admiral Danner was the herald of something significant.

Not one to shy away from danger, Grisham nevertheless felt a twinge of nervous anticipation at what he might soon learn. Forcing a thin smile to his face, he set off to learn his fate.

Chapter Four

“We’ve lost contact with Xaros.”

Having delivered this news, Admiral Russ Danner leaned back in his faded leather chair and placed his thick-fingered hands palms-down on his desk.

Sitting in a chair that was surely rather less comfortable, and on the opposite side of the imposing dark-wood desk, Grisham racked his brains, trying to remember what he knew about Xaros.

To buy himself some thinking time, he asked the obvious question. “Kijol?”

“That’s one possibility, but Xaros isn’t anywhere close to Kijol territory. Tell me what you know about the planet.”

A distant memory came to Grisham. “It’s an outpost somewhere on the fringes,” he said after a moment. He pursed his lips. “A world claimed for the Holy Church of Something-Or-Other.”

Danner smiled thinly. “The Holy Church of Everlasting Serenity. Founded by a person you won’t have heard of - Ivey Metz - with the sole aim being to bring humans and Kijol together in a union of peace, love and eternal happiness.”

“Sounds great,” said Grisham, without inflection. “How are the believers planning to bring about such wonder?”

“Honestly? I don’t give a damn,” said Danner. “Praying most likely. Or maybe they spend every day in a state of orgiastic lust and hope the energy they give to the universe—” He broke off and sighed. “Xaros, economically insignificant it might be, and with a population of fewer than ten thousand, is formally part of the Human Federation. And that means we’ve got to check out what – if anything - is keeping the inhabitants off-comms.”

“How long has it been?” asked Grisham.

Danner’s expression was inscrutable. “More than thirty days.”

“And we only just realised?”

“It takes eight days for a civilian comm station to push a transmission that far. Then eight days back. Plus the time it took relatives to get worried enough to contact the military and then a few more days for escalation and—” Danner cut himself off mid-sentence, grimacing at an unspoken thought.

Grisham didn’t need it spelling out. It sounded like Xaros was so far from any other major population centre in the Human Federation that if anything went wrong, the people living there were effectively screwed.

It was time to ask the all-important question.

“So, what now, sir?”

“You’re going to check things out,” said Danner. “It may be that the Xaros comms hardware failed, in which case you’ll supply the people there with a replacement unit. More likely, Metz ordered them all into a state of extended meditation, in order that their transcendence might—” Danner took a breath, his expression indicating he’d be more than happy to abandon Metz and everyone else on Xaros. “I’m sure you can imagine how pleased I am to have been given the task of dealing with this, what with everything else that’s happening in the Federation.”

“Is there any chance Metz decided to communicate with the Kijol?” asked Grisham. “Maybe to invite them out to Xaros so they could discuss the means by which this everlasting serenity could be found?”

“The planet’s comms system is set up to route through the main comms hub on Kanis,” said Danner. “If Metz or anyone else had attempted contact with the Kijol, the transmission would have been flagged.”

“What about—”

Danner raised a hand to forestall the question. “We’ve been through the records of the people living on Xaros and there’s nobody with the declared skills to modify the comms hardware. That’s not to say it hasn’t happened, just that it’s unlikely.”

“Sounds like a mystery we don’t need at the moment,” said Grisham. “Couldn’t we just…forget about Xaros for a couple of months? There must be a thousand other worlds like it in the Federation and we’ve never promised them blanket protection.”

“That was the first question I asked myself, Captain.” Danner opened a drawer and withdrew a piece of paper. He looked at it with distaste and then put it away again. “It turns out that Ivey Metz is well-connected in the Senate. Orders are for an investigative mission to commence immediately.”

“What about the Kijol, sir?” asked Grisham. “If they have other spaceships with the same upgrades as that destroyer at Tambus—"

“Believe me, I’d rather not tie up a fleet warship on a mission like this. Not even a Tibor class.” Danner cleared his throat and looked as if he were contemplating saying something more. “We’ve already run into those other spaceships,” he said at last. “One was an Eternus battleship and the outcome for two of our Nexus heavies was not positive.”

“We lost both?”

Danner nodded. “Reports are the enemy vessel hardly broke a sweat. You’ve heard rumours?”

“Yes, sir. Mostly concerning the Landol sector, but nothing concrete about new enemy tech.”

“Whatever the rumours are saying, the reality is probably a hell of a lot worse.” Danner stared across the desk, with his pale grey eyes. “However, your road leads to Xaros.”

“Is there no other officer, sir?”

“I have options, but I chose you,” said Danner. “Anyway, I thought you’d appreciate some time away from the heat.”

“I can take the heat, sir,” said Grisham, trying not to let his anger show. “How bad is it with the Kijol?”

“They’re pushing us, Jed, and it’s not just the new tech. It’s like they suddenly discovered another five hundred warships someplace they’d forgotten about, and decided to send them against our fleet.” Danner fell quiet for a moment and then cursed. “The Kijol are suddenly twenty years ahead of us. Maybe more.”

“You’ll appreciate I haven’t been watching the news channels, sir, but how is this being received throughout the Federation?”

“The truth is on lockdown,” said Danner.

“For real?” asked Grisham. “Why, and for how long?”

“Until we have a clearer picture of what’s happening,” said Danner. “Having our citizens descend into a panic won’t help anyone.”

“Who made this decision?” asked Grisham.

“The Senate and military high command are in agreement on this.” Danner clenched his fists, making it clear without words that agreement had not been unanimous or easily won. “Maybe we’ll pull things around before the truth becomes a necessary burden.”

From the look on the Admiral’s face, it didn’t seem likely there’d be any pulling things around happening soon, and Grisham found a coldness growing within him. Suddenly, it appeared as if the Human Federation was staring at defeat. Maybe not immediately, but in a few years.

The worst of it was that Danner wasn’t even talking a good fight and the Admiral had earned his station through years on the frontline. It wasn’t like he’d been promoted because he’d kissed ass in the Senate.

“Only a couple of months ago, the talk was of peace, sir,” said Grisham. “That the war had reached a status quo and that the Kijol would have no choice other than to negotiate, unless they were fighting just for the hell of it.”

“There’ll be no peace,” said Danner, his face twisting. “Or if there is, it won’t be on any terms favourable to the Human Federation.”

“Shit and damn,” said Grisham. “I thought I was called here just to be given another crappy mission, and now you’re telling me we’re losing the war as well.” A memory jumped into his head and he asked Danner about it. “Last time I was on the Fremont base, two of the construction trenches were empty.”

“Up until recently we’ve been holding our own against the Kijol,” said Danner. “For political reasons, there’s been no appetite to move our economies onto a total war footing.”

“And now?”

Danner’s expression didn’t change, and he didn’t answer. Grisham took the hint. Doubtless all manner of crap was taking place behind the scenes.

“So,” said Grisham. “Xaros.”

“That’s right,” said Danner. “You’ve wrecked one spaceship, but luckily the military has found you a replacement.”

“A Tibor?”

Leaning forward, Danner stared directly at Grisham. “You know the score, Jed. You’re a good officer. In my opinion, you’re one of the very best. But you’ll never command anything other than a Tibor. Not unless big changes happen.”

“I’ve stopped thinking about it, sir,” said Grisham.

Danner ignored the obvious lie. “That doesn’t mean I can’t pull a few strings. I’ve got you a new-gen. The Marauder is in Bay 2. It’s fresh out of the yard, with bigger engines, thicker plating and more weapons than the one you broke. The warship is yours to command.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Grisham. As far as he was aware, Danner had always been honest with him and it sounded like the man had stuck his neck out in order to ensure Grisham was given command of the Marauder. “I’ll head out to Xaros, make sure everything is hunky-dory and then come home.”

“I’m glad to see you understand what is required,” Danner agreed.

The meeting was heading to a close, but Grisham wasn’t yet done. While his report – issued during the wait for rescue - had included details of his findings at Tambus and the subsequent engagement, Grisham had kept something back.

“My report mentioned the nuke launch against the destroyer, sir,” he said. “But what it didn’t say was that I lacked the authority to order that launch. I had to hand over control to Commander Deneuve in the middle of the engagement.” It was Grisham’s turn to lean forward. “And it damn near cost us our lives.”

The muscles in Danner’s jaw stood out more prominently for a brief moment. “I’ll have someone check over your security profile.”

Grisham didn’t drop his gaze. “Someone you trust, sir.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” said Danner. “And I’ll make sure that same someone watches out for any future changes to the file.”

“That would be appreciated.” Grisham sat back. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“No, we’re done here,” said Danner.

“Then, with your permission, I’ll head to Bay 2,” said Grisham.

“Permission granted,” said Danner. “I’ll have someone contact your crew and tell them to get their asses in gear. The mission documentation will be loaded onto your command console, not that you’ll find much in it.” His gaze went distant. “When you make it to Xaros, I hope you won’t discover it’s now home to the Church of the Dead. I don’t know Ivey Metz and I’m damned if I have any time for happy hippy shit like this, especially in the middle of a war. But I don’t want them dead.” He raised his head. “Good luck, Jed. Find out what happened and come home safely.”

“Yes, sir,” said Grisham.

With that, he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

Chapter Five

Upon exiting Admiral Danner’s office, Grisham paused briefly in the corridor outside. The alloy walls were grey and unadorned, the air cold, and the low thrum of Bastion Station’s massive propulsion was a soothing reminder of technological solidity.

A few personnel – dressed in uniforms of varying drab hues – hurried by, holding tablet computers and keeping their heads down. He sensed the agitation in everyone and realised he’d noticed the same on the way to Danner’s office, though he’d been too preoccupied to pay attention at the time. Maybe the lockdown on truth wasn’t as effective as high command and the Senate hoped. Rumours were often little removed from reality and Grisham was sure hearsay was rife in every branch of the military.

Since his arrival at Bastion a short time ago, Grisham’s optimism for the Human Federation had taken a beating. Nevertheless, he had a job to do.

Turning left from the Admiral’s office, Grisham headed towards the bank of airlifts at the end of the corridor. Stopping in front of the three airlift doors, Grisham touched his fingertip on the control screen for the centre lift. Silently, the car arrived, and the door opened with a scarcely heard hum of its motors.

Having entered the lift car and selected his destination, Grisham was carried through two thousand metres of the space station in a few seconds, the feeling of acceleration being the only indicator of motion.

“Level 7T – Bay 2 Access,” spoke the androgynous tones of the Bastion computer.

Grisham stepped out of the lift into another corridor. It was busier here and most of the personnel wore the blue uniforms of maintenance technicians. A sign on the wall reminded Grisham of which direction to turn and he went right, entering the flow of human traffic heading the same way.

A doorway at the end of the corridor led into a much larger space, two hundred metres along each wall and with a fifty-metre ceiling. It was colder here than elsewhere, as if the vacuum outside was leeching heat through the enormously thick armour plates which clad Bastion.

Gravity vehicles – open-topped, boxy and uninspiring in design – carried personnel across the floorspace, into and out of the two thirty-metre corridors that entered through the left and right walls. Four-metre storage crates were stacked in the far corners, and technicians stood in groups, poring over schedules and inventory lists.

One of the many personnel entrances to Bay 2 led through the opposite wall and Grisham strode towards it.

“Sir?”

Turning, Grisham found Commander Deneuve hurrying towards him from the same corridor he’d just exited. The barrel of the gauss rifle she had slung across her back protruded over the top of her shoulder. In her left hand, Deneuve held her suit helmet and in the other, a communicator device.

“You found me,” said Grisham.

“I got the message to embark, sir,” said Deneuve, raising a hand to show him the communicator. “The Marauder. Sounds like a warship that can kick some ass.”

“Did you hear anything else, other than it was time to embark?” asked Grisham.

“Only that we’re heading to Xaros.” Deneuve gave a wherever the hell that is kind of shrug. “I thought maybe we’d have at least a twenty-four-hour standard day with our feet up.”

Grisham gave a short laugh. “You really thought that?”

“Hell no, I’m not that dumb, sir,” said Deneuve. Her smile faded. “Is this another bad one?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Grisham. “We’ve lost contact with the planet. The place was claimed by the founder of a church and now its habited by a few thousand people who’ve been praying for peace between humanity and alienkind.”

“We could do with some of that peace right now, sir,” said Deneuve.

“What makes you say that, Commander?”

“Just what I’ve been hearing, sir. We lost a bunch of warships out in Landol a week ago, and some others in Golor. Word is, we’re in real trouble.”

“We only docked with Bastion a couple of hours ago. You heard all that?”

Deneuve shrugged. “I keep my ear to the ground and there’re lots of guys out there keen to talk.”

“Yeah,” said Grisham sourly. “From speaking to the Admiral, it sounds as if a hundred billion tons of cosmic shit is heading straight for the HF fan blades.”

“Is there anything specific Admiral Danner told you, sir?” asked Deneuve.

“Nothing specific,” said Grisham. He hesitated. “Danner spoke like we’re already beaten.”

“It’s that bad?”

“Seems like.”

The personnel entrance to Bay 2 was controlled by an airlock. A couple of soldiers flanked the door, gauss rifles in their hands and gauss pistols in side holsters. They didn’t speak and Grisham didn’t attempt conversation. A side panel next to one of the soldiers controlled the outer door and he activated it. In the few seconds before the door opened, a dozen or so technicians who also planned to enter the bay, arrived and stood close by, talking loudly about maintenance jobs.

When the outer airlock door opened, Grisham strode into the space beyond, that being a room twenty metres square, with a multi-armed, cylindrical medical bot floating near one wall. The bot was stationed here for emergencies. Accidents were rare, but working on Bastion was not without its risks.

The entrance door closed once everyone was inside and the room became bathed in red light. Moments later, the red light turned to green, and Grisham pressed his hand onto the activation panel. The second door opened, allowing him access to Bay 2.

Bay 2 was not currently in a vacuum – it was pressurized at all times, except for when a spaceship was entering or departing, and the Marauder was the next vessel scheduled to leave. The bass hum and drone of immense propulsions – both from the Bastion station and the vessels in the bay – produced a throbbing in the air, and the scent of raw tech was sharp in Grisham’s nostrils.

A few steps out of the airlock, he halted for a moment to look around and remind himself what a technical achievement the Bastion station was.

Bay 2 was an immense space with a circular floor and curved walls except for where the straight wall directly behind Grisham cut across in a secant. The ceiling was fifteen hundred metres overhead and the lighting was a cold, even blue. Directly opposite, the double doors leading to the space outside were themselves feats of incredible engineering.

“There’s the Marauder, sir,” said Deneuve in a non-too-subtle hint that Grisham should move his feet.

The warship was one of three other Tibor-class vessels in the bay, and it was parked flank-facing about a thousand metres away. Grisham narrowed his eyes and sized up his new vessel. This new gen Tibor closely resembled the old gen in appearance, though bulked up, like it had put on another twenty million tons of mass.

“Let’s get over there,” said Grisham.

Many thousands of people were busy in Bay 2. Vehicles in all shapes and sizes sped in every direction. A half-dozen construction bots floated over one of the other warships, while a gravity crawler carried a replacement missile cluster module which had been brought up from the storage area below on one of the huge cargo lifts.

A couple of spare gravity vehicles were parked nearby, but Grisham had an excess of nervous energy and he broke into a steady run. Deneuve kept pace, asking questions about the coming mission which Grisham couldn’t answer.

“I appreciate your enquiring mind, Commander,” he said. “But unless there are some revelations in the mission documentation, we’re going to have to wait until we reach Xaros.”

“There’s a stench about this one, sir.”

Grisham slowed to a jog, with the Marauder still five hundred metres away. He’d been thinking the same himself, but voicing those thoughts to Admiral Danner would have made it seem like he was being jumpy for no good reason.

“What makes you say that, Commander?”

“Just getting the feeling, sir.”

“In a few days, we’ll find out if you’re right.”

As he approached the Marauder, Grisham studied the lines of the warship. At five hundred metres and with an approximate mass of 160 million tons, the old-gen Tibor-class were the smallest dedicated combat vessels in the HF fleet.

The Marauder was clearly larger than the Castigate had been, and that was even more apparent from up close. Grisham reckoned his new warship was closer to six hundred metres and he revised his earlier mass estimate upwards by another twenty million tons.

Otherwise, the Marauder had the same low profile, with a flat nose at the front and a taller stern. Its hull plating was angled, dull and unmarked, with no sign of erosion anywhere.

“Two portside Ghost clusters instead of one,” said Deneuve, raising her arm and pointing at the flush circles of the launch tubes, positioned on the midsection.

“And an extra Gatler,” said Grisham, his eyes moving to the two trapezoidal repeater turrets fitted to this same flank.

“Good enough to knock out an Excar fighter and give an old-style Kijol destroyer a run for its money,” said Deneuve.

“Yeah,” said Grisham. He didn’t know how much of challenge the Marauder would present in a one-on-one with a Kijol destroyer, but he liked the look of the warship. Appearances weren’t important in combat, but here in Bay 2, the Marauder looked mean and tough.

“All things considered, it’s better than what we had,” said Deneuve, standing with her hands on her hips.

“That it is,” said Grisham. “Come on, let’s get onboard.”

The Marauder wasn’t designed to set down and it floated on its Charos drive about eighty metres above the bay floor. The forward boarding ramp was extended and dim red light was visible in the airlock. Gripped by a sudden eagerness to start the mission, Grisham broke into a sprint for the last couple of hundred metres.

Two soldiers from the Marauder’s complement of ten guarded the ramp. They were dressed in full combat gear and held their rifles with both hands, keeping the barrels upright. Having spotted Grisham’s approach, they stood a little straighter, and scanned the nearby area of the bay, as if on guard for threats. Grisham recognized them through the visors of their helmets as being Corporal Arie Fine and Private Nestor Vaughan.

“Corporal Fine, Private Vaughan,” said Grisham in greeting.

“Sir,” said Fine in acknowledgement.

“Anything I should know about?” asked Grisham.

“No, sir.”

“Are any other members of my crew onboard?”

“No, sir.”

“Are we heading out, sir?” asked Vaughan.

“As soon as everyone’s here,” Grisham confirmed.

He could see the questions in their eyes, but they kept quiet. Grisham climbed the steps of the steep ramp, feeling the muscles in his legs straining. From this close, the Marauder’s propulsion was a physical manifestation of sound that thickened the air and made it stifling.

Passing quickly through the confines of the airlock, Grisham entered a tight corridor barely wide enough for two to pass and with a ceiling that brushed the top of his head with each stride. The lighting here was dim – a faded blue like old cloth – and the chill permeated everything. When he pressed his hand briefly against the solid walls, Grisham felt the vibration of the Charos drive – deeper and more resonant than the propulsion on the Castigate - and he shivered at the harnessed power.

Not unexpectedly, the internal space was no more generous than it was on an old generation Tibor, meaning the Marauder’s interior was compact to the point of near absurdity. Corridors and rooms were considered wasted space that would be better utilised enlarging the engines or improving the onboard systems. A fleet warship wasn’t a good place for the claustrophobic, though Grisham already felt entirely at home here on the Marauder.

The bridge wasn’t far – a couple of turns and then up some steps. Halting on the two-metre landing at the top of those steps, Grisham touched the access panel. The backend computer performed a scan and the blast door protecting the bridge slid to one side with the faintest of rumbles.

Grisham entered immediately, looking around as he did, to make sure the technicians had left everything powered up. The bridge was square and lit in the same blue as elsewhere else. Its dimensions were no larger than those on the Castigate, and the arrangement of consoles was the same. A two-person propulsion station was left and a two-person comms station was right. At the front, the main command console was central and slightly raised, with a second console positioned to the right.

Every console was a sophisticated piece of tech. Interaction was by keypads and touch panels, buttons and switches. Curved screens displayed inputs and outputs. A cursory glance was enough for Grisham to notice that the bridge hardware was newer than the tech on the Castigate. Presumably newer meant better, though the proof would come in the testing.

Grisham dropped into his seat at the command console, and the fake leather creaked. A glance at the status readouts was enough to tell him that the technicians had done a good job – everything was online and available, and every light was green.

“Let’s check what’s happening in the bay,” said Grisham, tapping into the sensor hardware and bringing up the feeds.

“Looks like they’re evacuating already,” said Deneuve. “The station controller must be confident the rest of our crew will be here soon.”

The warship’s feeds offered a crystal-clear view of the activity outside. Personnel who’d been working within the bay were flooding towards the exits. It was a well-rehearsed routine and Grisham guessed he’d have a green light for departure within twenty minutes, maybe less.

“Here’re the others,” he said.

A gravity car was speeding across the bay floor, each of its four seats occupied. The faces were those from the recent mission at Tambus. These officers had served with Grisham for a long time, and he knew he could rely on them.

“Anything interesting in the mission documentation, sir?” asked Deneuve from the adjacent seat.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve had an opportunity to read it, Commander,” said Grisham.

Deneuve’s question reminded him that the Marauder was meant to be delivering a replacement comms unit to Xaros in the event this alarm was caused by nothing more than hardware failure.

Calling up the inventory of the warship’s tiny underside storage bay, Grisham discovered that, aside from the standard lightly armed ground vehicle, the bay held a military XFG-45 comms console, along with the haulbot required to manoeuvre the hardware into position.

“Looks like Xaros is getting an upgrade,” said Grisham.

“Someone must know someone to have gained clearance for that XFG-45, sir,” said Deneuve.

“Yeah,” said Grisham noncommittally.

Less than ten minutes later, the remaining four members of the Marauder’s crew arrived on the bridge. Grisham fended off the questions. There’d be plenty of time for those on the journey to Xaros.

“Sergeant Maxwell reports his two squads are onboard, sir,” said Lopez. “The station controller has given us the all-clear to depart.”

“Send our acknowledgement,” said Grisham. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Yes, sir,” said Lopez. “Our departure window is open.”

Red lights began cycling in the bay, rich like blood. Grisham kept his gaze on the main bay exit doors and, after ten seconds, the seam between them widened as the two slabs of curved alloy slid sideways into their recesses.

Pulling back on the twin-bar controls, Grisham lifted the Marauder vertically from the bay floor. The warship’s Charos drive hummed eagerly and the output gauge hardly flickered even with the strain of lifting 200-million tons through the Bastion station’s artificial gravity.

By now, the exit doors were fully open and Grisham rotated the Marauder’s nose so it was pointing towards the darkness outside. A warship could fly equally well in any direction and the opening was easily large enough for the vessel to exit flank-first if he’d so chosen. Somehow, following the nose just felt natural.

Grisham guided the Marauder through the Bay 2 exit doors and into the void outside. This mission to Xaros had him worried for reasons he couldn’t explain - and it wasn’t because Commander Deneuve had planted the seed in his head. The rational part of Grisham’s mind knew that his biggest concern should be the Human Federation’s changing fortunes in the war against the Kijol, and yet the irrational part of his mind – the part that was guided by hunches and gut feel – wasn’t listening.

Time would reveal. It always did.

When Grisham pushed the controls through their guide slots, the Marauder accelerated away from the space station. Staring at the slowly dwindling grey cylinder on the rear feeds, he couldn’t shake off his growing unease, and he wondered what the hell was waiting for him and his crew at Xaros.

Chapter Six

At the regulation distance of fifty thousand kilometres from Bastion station, Grisham reduced the Marauder’s velocity until it was travelling at a crawl. On the portside feeds, the ice giant Dimos-4, around which the space station orbited, was a blue of the coldest hue Grisham could imagine.

“Lieutenant Adler, you know where we’re going,” he said.

“Yes, sir. Xaros. The navigational computer reports it’s an eight-day journey at our highest lightspeed multiple.”

“Since when did anyone go anywhere at half maximum?” asked Deneuve.

Adler ignored the question. “I’ll ready the Charos drive on your order, Captain.”

“Fire it up, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir. Charos drive warming up. Eight minutes and we’ll be on our way.”

The hum of the warship’s propulsion deepened and a whining sound rose to prominence, coming from all around. Grisham gritted his teeth and readied himself. In that briefest of moments when the transition into lightspeed took place, the warship’s life support would be unable to fully suppress a force that wasn’t exactly acceleration in the traditional sense, but which was nonetheless traumatic to biological life forms.

Grisham could have put on his suit helmet and he should probably have fastened his seat harness, but he did neither. Instead, he watched the utilisation of the Marauder’s twin processing cores, which were nailed on one hundred percent as they worked on the complex and semi-theoretical mathematics required to shape the Charos drive’s output in order that it could hold open a lightspeed tunnel all the way to the intended destination.

Knowing the basics of how it worked made it even harder for Grisham to comprehend how some human minds were clever enough to figure out this kind of stuff.

“Two minutes and we go,” said Adler.

“This is the Marauder’s fifth lightspeed transition coming up,” said Kinsey.

“That’s not helping, Lieutenant,” said Grisham.

If a warship survived its first five lightspeed transitions, it was statistically far less likely to suffer technical failure during subsequent transitions. The chance of failure was still tiny, but Grisham would have preferred it if Kinsey had kept his mouth shut. Sometimes, ignorance really was bliss.

The whine of the propulsion levelled out, though the processor utilisation didn’t fall. Grisham kept a close eye on the status readouts. All the lights were steady green.

When the timer hit zero seconds, the Charos drive fired with a deep booming sound. The feeds went blank and Grisham experienced the usual momentary giddiness, which transformed rapidly into nausea. He retched and coughed, and sucked in deep breaths of cold air.

“Damnit,” he swore as the nausea faded. “Status reports!” He swept his gaze across the command console. Every gauge and readout was in the right place.

“We’re holding together, sir,” said Kinsey. “No errors, no problems.”

Grisham hadn’t been expecting anything else, but hearing it said nevertheless came as a relief. Fleet warships were robust and they didn’t fail more often than once in a blue moon, even during those first five transitions. Still, it happened, and Grisham was glad that debris from his vessel hadn’t been strewn across a billion kilometres of space, dumping him into the void to die of rapid hypoxia because he was too stubborn to wear his damned suit helmet.

“Eight days of fun ahead,” said Deneuve.

“I’ve had the scheduling software generate a shift pattern, sir,” said Bishop. “We should arrive at Xaros bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

Grisham called up the shift schedule and discovered he was due four hours downtime, six hours from now. He cursed, since he was well-rested and wouldn’t be ready for shuteye for another eight hours at least.

“Sir?” asked Deneuve. “You were going to tell us about the mission.”

“Yes, I was,” said Grisham.

He tapped a command into his console. The mission documentation loaded onto his centre screen and he read through it. Like Admiral Danner had prewarned him, the file was light on detail. None of it was confidential, so Grisham updated the permissions on the data, so the other members of his crew - and Sergeant Maxwell - had access to view the contents.

“Check it out for yourselves,” said Grisham.

“This mission has been assigned a low priority,” said Kinsey, stretching out the word.

“Isn’t the usual description low priority with a high chance of death?” asked Lopez.

“For once we might be able to lay back and take it easy,” said Adler.

“Enough,” said Grisham mildly. “You don’t think this mission ended up my lap without it passing through Senator Maynard’s grubby little hands, do you?”

“What happened to showing respect for our elected representatives, sir?” asked Deneuve innocently.

“Respect, my ass,” said Adler. “Someone needs to rein in that scumbag.”

“So we keep saying,” said Kinsey. “And there he is, screwing things up for us, time and again.”

“The past needs to stay in the past,” said Lopez. “Or it’s going to kill us all.”

“Anytime you request a transfer, Lieutenant, I’ll shake your hand and recommend you for whatever you choose,” said Grisham.

“Hell no, sir. If I transfer, it’s guaranteed I’ll be immediately blown to pieces by Kijol missiles.”

“You might be spoon fed the crap, sir, but we keep pulling through,” said Adler. “I’ll take my chances on the Marauder.”

It was old ground, oft covered and Grisham smiled inwardly, even though the situation wasn’t remotely funny. Regardless of the fact that Senator Maynard was a thoroughly unpleasant and dislikeable asshole, Grisham couldn’t deny that the man had good cause for hate, even if that hatred was misplaced.

“I was expecting something juicy in these mission files,” said Deneuve in mock disgust.

“Thought I’d been holding out on you, Commander?”

“It’s possible you overlooked something, sir, that’s all,” said Deneuve with a grin.

“Not this time,” said Grisham. He pursed his lips. “However, since this mission wouldn’t be taking place without someone in the Senate pushing for it to happen, I’d guess we can safely disregard the low priority classification. I’m sure the outcome will be closely watched and I’m sure every comm we send will make its way to the right ears.”

“We don’t need this crap,” said Lopez.

“No, Lieutenant, we don’t,” Grisham agreed. “However, it’s what we have and we’re going to handle this just like we would any other mission.” He pushed himself to his feet. “The Marauder’s all yours, Commander Deneuve. I need to go stretch my legs.”

Deneuve didn’t mention that Grisham had already stretched his legs sprinting across the floor of Bay 2. Instead, she smiled and gave him a thumbs-up of acknowledgement.

“Take as long as you like, sir. I reckon I can manage the Marauder while it’s at lightspeed.”

Grisham gave a short laugh. Deneuve was one of the most talented officers in the fleet and it was a travesty that, while she could easily take command of her own warship, she was certain to be overlooked on the basis of her association with Grisham. Or so he thought. In truth, Deneuve hadn’t even put herself forward for promotion. Maybe she had her own reasons.

Exiting the bridge, Grisham headed aft. A short distance away, narrow steps descended deeper into the vessel.

At the bottom of the steps, he followed the passage to the underside bay entrance and had a look inside. The space was fifteen metres square, low-ceilinged and seemingly empty. A raised hatch in the portside floor led to the Marauder’s ground vehicle, while the haulbot could be deployed either from the bridge or from the control panel adjacent to the starboard floor hatch.

Exiting the bay, Grisham took the passage leading to the warship’s single communal area, where the soldiers usually congregated. Entering the mess – a space not much more than three metres by four and with two exits - he discovered that all ten of the soldiers were either sitting at the single long metal table or talking near the food replicator. Every pair of eyes turned Grisham’s way and he was unable to gauge the mood.

Grisham headed over to the replicator. Private Kandy Lyles – with blonde hair tied back severely and high cheekbones that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a magazine cover - stepped aside to give him room. There was nothing insubordinate in her manner, but he could sense her coldness.

Having vended himself a cup of orange juice that he knew would taste metallic, like licking the walls of the spaceship, and a grey-looking burger in a wilted bun, Grisham shooed Private Danny Chau further along one of the benches and sat himself opposite Sergeant Maxwell.

Sergeant Tyrus Maxwell was thirty years old. Outwardly, his appearance was that of an archetypal meathead who spent every available hour in the gym, bulking up in the hope that one day he might bench press a Tibor-class warship. Grisham wasn’t fooled – he reckoned Maxwell had a mind as sharp as a razor.

The soldier had been assigned to the Marauder not many weeks ago. What sins he’d committed to suffer that fate, Grisham didn’t know, but Maxwell evidently had someone watching out for him, since he’d been given permission to bring his two squads with him.

“Captain Grisham,” said Maxwell. His voice was deep, and he didn’t smile.

“Sergeant Maxwell,” said Grisham, not smiling either. “You’ve read the mission documentation?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What did you make of it, Sergeant?”

Maxwell’s expression was neutral. “I never did like mysteries, sir.”

“Do you know anything about Xaros?”

“Only what I found in the Marauder’s databanks after I read the mission files. Looks like a nice place.”

“Yeah, real nice,” said Private Ralf Barkley from further along the table. “Trees and mountains. Just like home.”

“We should be kicking ass in Landol sector,” said Private Olivia Diaz, addressing nobody in particular. “I hear the Kijol took over one of our Terylium mines.”

Grisham hadn’t heard that, and he hid his surprise. Different people had access to different grapevines, and it was always worth stopping by to hear what the ground troops had to say. In fact, it was the primary reason for his visit to the mess room.

“This is war, Private,” Grisham said. “We win some, they win some. Eventually, we sign a peace accord, bury our dead and pretend like it never happened.”

“Do you believe that, sir?” asked Maxwell, his gaze intense.

“I hear some things, the same way you hear them, Sergeant,” said Grisham. The response was evasive, and he regretted the words at once. Trust and loyalty were hard earned, and so far, there was little of either between the Marauder’s crew and these soldiers. He came clean. “It’s not going well for us.”

“Ten years and more we’ve been fighting,” said Private Johnny Lowe, standing close enough that he could hear what was being said over the background propulsion. “Most people I’ve talked to in the last year reckon we’ve been talking peace. In the background, all hush-hush, so nobody’d know about it if it went south.”

“And now it has gone south,” said Chau. “Big time south.”

“Those new Kijol ships are chewing through our fleet way faster than we can build replacements,” said Diaz. “And here we are heading out to Xaros to check on a bunch of crazies, instead of putting bullets through Kijol skulls.” She raised both hands and mimicked shooting her gauss rifle.

Having initiated the conversation, Grisham listened to the talk while he drank his metallic juice and ate his flavourless burger. As he’d suspected, the soldiers knew of various rumours that hadn’t reached his own ears. Some of the talk was obviously either total crap or enormously exaggerated, but some of the other stuff – like the loss of the Terylium mine – was both believable and worrying.

Soon, the talk died down. Grisham guessed the soldiers resented his presence, like he’d intruded onto their turf. He took his leave. It seemed as if, from out of nowhere, everything had been turned on its head.

In a war fought across such distances, where the comms required days – weeks sometimes – to reach their destination, many officers fought in effective isolation, where their only contact with other personnel happened during brief returns to base. And then, all the updates from scattered sources, which were likely already outdated, were stirred together, forming a muddy pool into which an officer might peer and learn effectively nothing.

Grisham returned to the bridge, wondering where the hell it all would lead.

Chapter Seven

Eight days wasn’t by any means the longest time Grisham had spent at lightspeed, but this mission to Xaros had him on edge and he was unable to settle. To keep himself occupied, he frequented the Marauder’s tiny gym, and it was possible – just – to run laps around the passages on the upper levels.

Aside from that, Grisham had access to books, along with a host of recorded media he could watch on a wall screen in his room. That room, however, was so compact, that spending time there for anything other than sleep or showering was an exercise in abject tedium.

Consequently, Grisham, no doubt like everyone else on the Marauder, found the journey tough. Overall discipline was good, though this came as no surprise. Having familiarised himself with their personnel records, Grisham knew the soldiers were all veterans of many campaigns. They’d evidently learned to cope with the travel time blues.

With a couple of hours remaining before the Marauder’s scheduled exit from lightspeed, Grisham was woken from sleep by his alarm. This would potentially be the start of a long period on duty, so he was glad to feel fresh. The hot water from the shower washed away the vestiges of sleep and he dressed in his combat suit with practised ease.

Once that was done, he grabbed his suit helmet from the alcove next to his narrow bed and headed for the bridge. Lieutenant Lopez was also returning to duty and the two of them arrived at the same time.

“Anything to report?” Grisham asked once he’d taken his seat.

“No, sir,” said Deneuve. “Today is the big day and everything is a-okay.”

Grisham ran his eyes over his console, and he detected nothing to contradict Deneuve’s assessment.

“This is our last chance to prepare,” he said. “Let’s go over the details again. Tell me about Xaros.”

“The planet is mostly oceans and jungles,” said Lopez. “It has ice at the poles, some grasslands and some mountains. The atmosphere is breathable, though the oxygen concentrations are a little lower than is ideal for human habitation and the gravity is a little higher than most of us are used to.”

“Initial surveys – following the discovery of the planet - indicated that exploitation of Xaros offered no economic benefits, owing to a combination of its distance and the low value of its predominant ores,” Bishop continued. “Under the Planetary Expansion Act Z-93, the Church of Everlasting Serenity staked its claim on Xaros fifteen years ago and were granted a renewable one-hundred-year lease on the planet, subject to the usual conditions and the HF’s right to reclaim for the wider good if the predominant ores were subsequently found to be in requirement.”

“Thank you,” said Grisham. “What else?”

“The CES established a settlement on the Xaros equator, using standard transport-and-drop habitation modules and equipment,” said Lopez. “Where their funding came from isn’t something we have access to, but the HF can make discretionary grants depending on various criteria.”

“Reading between the lines, I’d guess that Ivey Metz received all the grant money she needed,” said Adler.

Grisham suspected likewise, but he kept the thought to himself. “So that’s what we’re heading into, folks,” he said. “We’ll break out of lightspeed and attempt short-range comms, in case the Xaros main transmitter hardware failed. If nobody’s answering the comms, we’ll scan the surface facility and, if necessary, I’ll order a deployment.”

The crew understood the plan, such as it was, and nobody asked further questions. After that, it was a matter of waiting out the final minutes before the Marauder re-entered local space.

When Adler shouted the two-minute warning, Grisham felt relief that things would soon start moving.

“We’ve targeted a quarter of a million klicks from Xaros, sir,” said Lopez. “Assuming the lightspeed calcs work out right and we end up on the visible side to the CES installation, the range will be too great for a clear picture of what’s happening on the ground.”

“That’s fine, Lieutenant. I’m not intended to rush into this – we’ll see what we can discover from a distance first and then we’ll go in for a closer look.”

The lightspeed timer finished and the Marauder vibrated with the stresses of re-entry to local space. Grisham retched a couple of times and then he was fine. Nothing on his status panel indicated a cause for concern, and Lieutenant Adler confirmed the same thing a few moments later.

For several long seconds, the sensor feeds were blank as the main arrays came back online. Then, the feeds appeared, all darkness and faraway pinpoints of light.

“Area scans underway,” said Lopez. “There will definitely be zero Kijol warships at Xaros.”

“There’s no way the enemy will know about this place,” said Deneuve.

It was a conversation Grisham had heard several times over the last eight days. While he didn’t think the Kijol had located Xaros, he was keeping an open mind about the potential dangers.

“The area scans are clear, sir,” said Lopez.

“I’ve put Xaros on the main screen,” said Bishop. “It looks like the range is what we intended, and I believe the CES facility should be on the visible side.”

“Scan and confirm,” said Grisham.

“Yes, sir.”

The planet looked inviting enough. Greens and blues were the predominant colours, along with cold white to the north. A Tibor class lacked both the quantity of sensor arrays and the processing power to filter the data when compared to a larger fleet warship. Consequently, the details were lacking, being only colours and not much else. Two moons orbited Xaros, both oversized, their surface greys in sharp contrast to the vibrancy of the planet. One of those moons was in full view, circling clockwise at three hundred thousand kilometres from the planet, while the other – more distant - satellite was partially obscured by Xaros.

“The ground facility is definitely within our sensor arc, sir,” said Bishop. “I’m zooming on the known coordinates.”

“Lieutenant Lopez, run a scan for ground receptors,” said Grisham.

“Yes, sir…scanning. No receptors found. Scanning again…no receptors found.”

“From that, I take it the surface hardware is either out of action, destroyed, or they configured their comms unit to hide its receptors,” said Grisham.

“It’s either A or B, sir. The records indicate the church is in possession of a civilian comms unit. That hardware is deliberately set up so that it’s always visible to military comms systems.”

“Even if they powered down the console?”

“Those comms units never power down entirely, sir,” said Lopez. “I guess if the people living down there were determined enough, they could have cased the unit in something dense enough to block the receptor, or pushed the whole lot down a deep hole.”

“Doesn’t sound likely,” said Deneuve.

“Not much,” Grisham agreed. “So, no comms. Is the feed enhancement complete?”

“Just finished now, sir,” said Bishop. “It’s up on the screen.”

Grisham was expecting low details and that’s exactly what he got. Zooming and over-enhancement of the feed left it grainy, and it shimmered as the backend computers tried to fill in the missing data. As a result, the CES compound appeared as little more than a blurred patch of grey on the northern edge of a vast lake, with an expansive area of jungle east, west and north.

Leaning closer, Grisham narrowed his eyes. “The place could have been destroyed and we wouldn’t know it from here.”

“Not quite true, sir,” said Lopez. “We’d detect smoke and residual heat even from this range – at least if there were sufficient quantities of either.”

“There’s no smoke and there’s no heat,” said Bishop in confirmation.

“Xaros has been off-comms for weeks already,” said Grisham. “If it was attacked, the fires would have burned out long ago.”

“Bring us to ten thousand klicks and I’ll you what colour toilet paper they use, sir,” said Bishop.

“Let’s stay where we are for a few minutes,” said Grisham. “Scan the ground buildings if you can and look for anything of interest within a hundred klicks.”

He had a feeling the scans wouldn’t reveal anything new, but like he’d told his crew, he wasn’t intending to risk the mission by heading straight in for a closer look. If the ground comms hardware had failed, the people would still have ample supplies according to the shipping schedules. If something more sinister had occurred, nothing Grisham could do would change that.

“Fifteen minutes of scanning and we’ve found nothing new, sir,” said Lopez at last. “Should we keep doing what we’re doing?”

“Let’s head in a little closer,” said Grisham. “It’ll be a chance to find out what effect all those extra engine modules have had on our maximum velocity.”

In truth, he knew full well that the Marauder would go as high as 250 kilometres per second. Sliding the controls to their farthest extent, Grisham felt himself pushed into the padding of his seat as the warship accelerated. The engines howled and the muscles in his forearms, shoulders and neck fought against the strain until the life support unit caught up and the accelerative forces lessened.

“Two-fifty klicks per second,” said Grisham once the velocity gauge stopped climbing.

“Not bad,” said Adler. “Our fastest warship yet.”

“Bringing comms units to the forsaken in double-quick time,” said Deneuve. “Sixteen minutes to planetary orbit.”

“We’re heading to fifty thousand klicks,” said Grisham. “If the scans are clear, then I’ll think about approaching to ten thousand.”

Thirteen minutes later, he brought the Marauder to a standstill. A glance at the status readouts gave Grisham no cause for worry. A few more lightspeed transitions and a couple of high velocity flights at a low altitude - where the Marauder would be subjected to heat and particle erosion - and he knew he’d stop thinking about possible failure in the hardware.

“Here’s the feed of the ground buildings, but from fifty thousand klicks,” said Bishop.

The feed was appreciably improved. Now, Grisham could make out the individual buildings and how the habitation units had been arranged. Nothing stood out as unusual. Within the compound, the innermost prefabs – out of nearly three hundred in total - had been placed in a square around a much larger, central structure, this possibly being the communal heart of the establishment.

Other prefabs further from the centre had been positioned more haphazardly, and the entire habited area measured approximately two-point-five kilometres from east to west and about two kilometres from north to south.

Three hundred metres from the westernmost structure, a reinforced concrete slab, about a hundred metres square, indicated where the twice-yearly supply vessel set down. A couple of twenty-metre shuttles – small enough that they were little more than smears on the feed - were parked on the edge of the slab.

Circling everything, an alloy wall offered protection from whatever fauna called Xaros their home. Grisham had already checked what the initial planetary surveys had learned about the planet’s indigenous species, and those surveys hadn’t classified anything as a high threat. However, the survey results weren’t always one hundred percent accurate, given the limited time allotted to initial planetary investigations.

The accuracy or otherwise of the surveys didn’t matter too much here on Xaros. The repeater turrets placed at strategic intervals around the walls would ensure that any wild animals able to climb or fly over the walls would quickly be reduced to a bloody pulp.

“Everything looks…fine,” said Lopez. “It’s a textbook off-world compound, with standard defences and no sign of anything amiss.”

“We’re still too far to reliably detect ground movement, sir,” said Bishop. “Those people down there could be holding a carnival in the streets and we wouldn’t know about it.”

“I want more scans,” said Grisham. “You’ve got ten minutes to find something, and then we’ll approach to ten thousand klicks.”

Lopez and Bishop got on with the search, while Grisham stared closely at the feeds. Nothing was visibly out of place, though his sense of unease had returned. Maybe at ten thousand kilometres, the situation in the compound would become clearer.

After ten minutes scanning the ground structures and hunting for signs the Kijol had visited Xaros, Lieutenant Lopez declared the lack of significant findings.

“Ten thousand klicks it is,” said Grisham.

The Marauder covered the distance in not much more than three minutes and when Grisham again brought the warship to a halt, he studied the sensor feeds. While the visible details were enormously improved – enough for him to be absolutely certain the compound hadn’t suffered any kind of heavy-arms assault – the streets still appeared empty. The sun was directly overhead and the shadows were few. If the church members were out and about, they were doing a good job of staying hidden.

Elsewhere, the surrounding trees were undisturbed, and the waters of the huge lake were the pristine blue of a tropical paradise. Everything looked fine, except for the lack of people.

“Why can’t I see anyone?” asked Grisham. “This is approximately midday on Xaros. The planetary survey doesn’t mention intolerable heat or humidity, so why would everyone be indoors?”

“I don’t have an answer for you, sir,” said Lopez. “But there’s definitely no movement. There are a few dozen gravity cars across the compound, but they’re all empty.”

Grisham’s gaze was drawn once more to the landing pad. “I count two shuttles down there,” he said. He accessed a file on his console and scanned the contents. “According to the inventory list, the CES have two shuttles and no more, so they didn’t all take off on a field trip somewhere.”

“What next, sir?” asked Deneuve. “We could be ultra-cautious and circle the planet a few times to see what we can find, or we could drop into orbit in case we’re missing something from up here at ten thousand klicks.”

“Something’s wrong,” said Grisham. “I can feel it.”

“I’m getting that feeling too,” said Deneuve.

Memories of the Kijol destroyer jumped into Grisham’s mind and he pushed them aside. “Lieutenant Lopez, if I positioned the Marauder twenty klicks over that base, is there a chance you’ll detect something which you’re missing now?”

“Only if you’re looking for an escaped mouse, sir,” said Lopez. “I can tell you right now that if there are any people in that compound, they’re indoors.”

Grisham made up his mind. “Lieutenant Bishop, contact Sergeant Maxwell and order him and his squads to the deployment vehicle. Unless something changes and soon, he’s heading down there for a look.”

“The order is given, sir,” said Bishop after a few moments speaking on the internal comms. “Sergeant Maxwell says he’ll be ready to go in less than ten minutes.”

“Are we heading into the atmosphere, sir?” asked Deneuve.

“No, Commander,” said Grisham. “We’re going to remain at ten thousand klicks. If the Kijol pay Xaros an unexpected visit, we’ll be harder to detect from here.”

“And still close enough to do a fast pickup if needed,” said Deneuve. “I’m sure Sergeant Maxwell will enjoy the sights on the way down.”

Seven minutes after the order went out, Maxwell contacted the bridge to advise that he and his squads were in the deployment vehicle and ready to depart.

“Not bad,” said Adler. “I think that beats the previous record.”

“Sergeant Cox managed it in six minutes thirty,” said Lopez, referring to a ground officer who’d once served on the Castigate. “However, I seem to recall he was doing a weapons inspection in the bay when he received the order.”

“That’s enough,” said Grisham. He looked at the feeds again. “Lieutenant Bishop, pass on the order for Sergeant Maxwell to depart. Anything he wants to know, I can tell him on the comms while he’s on his way.”

Having put things in motion, Grisham watched the sensors and asked himself what Maxwell and those soldiers would find on Xaros.

Chapter Eight

High-powered motors inside the launch chute fired with twin bass thumps and the Marauder’s lone deployment vehicle was hurled through the warship’s armour into the darkness of space. Sergeant Maxwell allowed the tiny vessel to continue its trajectory until it was a few kilometres from the Marauder, then he requested power from the engines and banked towards the planet far below.

“I’ve received the coordinates from Lieutenant Lopez, sir,” said Private Ralf Barkley, in the seat adjacent. “Head towards them and we’ll be at the compound.”

“Acknowledged,” said Maxwell.

The deployment vessel’s cockpit was cramped, and his shoulders were up against Barkley on one side and Private Marco Fleming on the other. In front of him, the pilot’s console was cut down and basic, as if a flock of bean counters had pecked away at the bill of materials until only the bones of the carcass remained.

All around the propulsion rumbled in a way that hinted at potential velocity, when the reality was low acceleration and a flat-out maximum of eight kilometres per second. Maxwell had always thought that life was too short for hatred, but these metal coffins were high up on his list of potential candidates.

“Twenty minutes and we’ll enter the Xaros atmosphere,” said Fleming. “You’d think the Marauder would have dropped us off a little closer.”

“In a hurry, Private?” asked Maxwell.

“I want to get out of this tin can as much as you do, Sergeant.”

Maxwell set the deployment vehicle on course and held the control joysticks in a loose grip. In the short time since exiting the Marauder, Barkley had been working on the sensors. The outcome was less than impressive.

“The sensors on this shit-heap couldn’t spot my ass at a hundred paces,” said Barkley by way of explanation.

From here, Xaros looked like a nice place to take a vacation and, had the Human Federation not been well-served for tourist hotspots that didn’t require more than a week’s travel in both directions – likely closer to three weeks each way on a low-multiple holiday spaceship – Maxwell was sure the planet would have been teeming with people soaking up the rays and drinking bright orange cocktails.

“Lieutenant Bishop assures me there’s nothing to see,” said Maxwell. He thought about requesting a data link to the Marauder’s sensor feeds, but the transport’s sensors, bad as they were, would eventually start gathering a much more usable feed.

“An empty compound with ten thousand people missing,” said Fleming. “And definitely no Kijol.”

“That’s what Lieutenant Bishop said.”

“So what’re we going to find?” asked Barkley.

Maxwell glanced over his shoulder at the sound of his other squad members arguing over some shit or other in the passenger bay through the cockpit door.

“There’ll be something,” said Maxwell, leaving the soldiers out back to settle matters for themselves. “There’s always something.”

“You getting that feeling, Sergeant?” asked Barkley.

“Maybe,” said Maxwell, not knowing exactly what he was expecting to find on Xaros.

If the Kijol weren’t involved, maybe this mission would turn into something interesting, though upon reflection, it was more likely the planet’s inhabitants were all taking a midday nap.

“I heard of suicide pacts happening before on fringe worlds,” said Fleming quietly.

“Why would people want to sign up for something like that?” asked Barkley.

Fleming shrugged. “Don’t ask me, since I’m hell-bent on living. I guess some leaders have smooth enough tongues that when they decide everyone’s gotta die, to bring about happiness or whatever the hell else sounds good enough to make people want to shoot themselves in the head, people will go right ahead and do it.”

“Damn,” said Barkley. “You can count me out of that.”

Maxwell let the soldiers talk. As it happened, he’d also heard about the mass suicides – there’d been a spate of them fifteen or twenty years ago – and he briefly wondered if the same thing had happened on Xaros. He experienced a flicker of anger and hoped that whatever had brought this mission here, it was something else.

Anything else.

The deployment vessel came gradually closer to Xaros and soon, Maxwell could make out the basic features of the target location. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, but there again he already knew that because of what Lieutenant Bishop had said to Barkley on the comms.

“We’re going to set down on the landing pad,” said Maxwell. In theory, he could have set down anywhere, including on the roof of one of those structures, but on this occasion, he intended to conduct an organised sweep from one side of the compound to the other.

“There’re plenty of buildings to search,” said Fleming.

“Too many,” Maxwell said. “It’s going to take us a while.”

He cursed inwardly. A thorough search would take longer than the available daylight hours and that would mean staying overnight on the ground or returning to the deployment vehicle and heading back to the Marauder, assuming Captain Grisham was agreeable. The decision could wait, and Maxwell didn’t spend time worrying about it.

“We’ll enter the Xaros atmosphere in a couple of minutes, sir,” said Barkley.

The deployment vehicle could withstand the heat, even at its maximum velocity, but Maxwell didn’t want to come in like a fireball, trailing smoke across the sky. While the Marauder’s sensors weren’t detecting any threats, he wasn’t about to paint a target on the transport’s hull. The trees surrounding the compound could easily be hiding a Kijol multi-launcher and Maxwell didn’t want to be dodging rockets if he could avoid it.

“Slow and steady,” said Maxwell, reducing velocity.

Soon, the deployment vessel descended into the Xaros atmosphere and the sky turned gradually from black into the deepest of blues. Unexpected turbulence shook the hull and made the engines rumble louder. Maxwell wasn’t concerned – these transports were designed to operate in conditions far worse than anything Xaros might throw its way.

“We’re approaching from two hundred klicks south – right over the lake,” said Maxwell. “That’ll make it harder for anything in the trees to take a shot at us.”

“I’d say that’s an ocean, sir.”

“I’d say you’ve got point duty, Private Fleming.”

“I meant to say it’s the most beautiful lake I’ve ever seen, Sergeant.”

Maxwell dropped the transport at an oblique towards the blue-green water below. As the altitude decreased, the visibility into the compound became steadily reduced owing to the reduction in the sensors’ viewing angle.

At five hundred metres, Maxwell stopped the descent and guided the shuttle north. A strong wind blew from the north-east, making the lake’s surface choppy. Waves were driven with the wind, though they appeared strangely glutinous – more like undulations on an oil spill than water being whipped up by the gusts. Overhead, the sky was a beautiful shade of blue and the golden disc of the sun shone down. Directly ahead, one of the Xaros moons hung suspended, a pale orb against the azure.

“Something about that lake doesn’t look right,” said Barkley. He sat forward so that his face was near the screen, his eyes narrowed.

“I noticed that too,” said Maxwell. He looked again, this time closely. “There’s something on the surface.”

“Algae,” said Barkley as he figured out what it was. “The whole damned lake must be covered in it.”

Maxwell nodded his agreement. He’d never seen the like before – the algae were almost transparent, though with hints of blues and greens that changed depending on the angle and distance in a way that was so close to natural that it had fooled his eyes until he’d focused on the sensor feed.

“Those plants must have strangled the life out of this lake,” said Fleming. “I wonder how they came to be so dominant.”

Maxwell didn’t offer a suggestion. In truth, he didn’t much care. This was nature in all its ruthless glory, and besides, he wasn’t planning on taking a swim.

The distance between the transport and the compound fell and Maxwell watched carefully for threats, the algae already gone from his mind. The vessel’s nose gun could knock out ground-launched missiles, but it wasn’t a hundred percent reliable, and he didn’t want to find out if today was his lucky day.

“Twenty klicks to target,” said Barkley. “The Marauder reports no identified threats.”

“Would the warship’s sensors even see anything in those trees from ten thousand klicks?” asked Fleming.

“Lieutenant Bishop says maybe.”

Maxwell gave a humourless laugh. “That’s as good as a no.”

The algae-choked lake changed suddenly to a lighter blue and he guessed the transport had passed over the edge of an underwater shelf, so the water was now much shallower. The way the algae changed its colour to reflect the depth caused Maxwell another flicker of interest, though it quickly faded.

“There’s the compound,” said Barkley.

The perimeter walls were ten metres high. A few of the structures within were taller, and they jutted above the upper edge of the wall. Maxwell estimated the compound was set back a couple of hundred metres from the lakeshore. Scrubby green plants and a thin pale beach separated the southern wall from the water.

“I can see why people might want to come here,” said Fleming grudgingly. “Algae or no algae.”

Maxwell grunted noncommittally. He’d lost count of how much leave he was due, but he could think of better ways to spend his time than lying on a beach all day.

“Three klicks to target,” said Barkley.

Holding the same velocity and altitude, Maxwell readied himself for the landing. The walls of the compound came up fast and the sensor viewing angle improved.

“We’ve got of a sight of the compound now, sir,” said Barkley.

“Anything?” asked Maxwell, preferring to keep his attention on the controls.

“I can’t see behind some of the buildings, but the place looks deserted.”

Maxwell reduced altitude and the shuttle swept over the water. Trees rose high in the background and to the east and west, while the compound prevented anything hiding in the jungle in a direct line behind the walls from targeting the shuttle.

“Are we deploying at once, Sergeant, or are we having a flyover to see what we can see?”

“We’re setting straight down,” said Maxwell firmly. He didn’t like the trees one bit.

“I’ll let the squads know, sir,” said Barkley. He began speaking on the internal comms.

Maxwell piloted the shuttle over the perimeter wall. He barely gave the compound buildings a glance and instead fixed his gaze on the landing pad. A couple of shuttles were already parked, like he’d been told, but there was plenty of room. He also noticed the five-by-four-metre frame of one of the main compound exits near the western edge of the pad, which had not been visible on the approach. The door was currently closed.

“Here we go,” he said.

The deployment vehicle’s landing legs creaked with the strain as Maxwell set it down on the edge of the landing pad closest to the habitation units.

“Time to move,” he said, unclipping his harness and standing.

It was a tight fit in the cockpit and Fleming exited first, grabbing his gauss rifle from the rack on the aft bulkhead as he headed into the passenger bay. After that went Barkley, while Maxwell squeezed through the narrow gap between the seats. A sharp tug was enough to break his rifle free of the magnetic field holding it onto the rack and Maxwell followed the others into the bay.

The flank exit door was already open, and sunlight streamed into the transport’s interior. Maxwell had his helmet visor up and he could already feel the heat and humidity. One-by-one, the soldiers disappeared through the exit and then it was Maxwell’s turn. He didn’t hesitate and dropped the short distance to the ground.

Already, Corporal Fine had most of the soldiers running for the nearest building three hundred metres away, while Private Chau and Private Vaughan, the latter prone with his XR repeater deployed on its tripod, crouched behind the transport’s landing legs and provided cover.

In the moment before he got his own ass in gear, Maxwell’s senses were bombarded. The air was thick and heavy with the odours of hot concrete, rubber and vegetation. In the distance, birds called their alien song, shrill over the rumble of the transport’s still-active propulsion.

The humidity was stifling and the hardwearing light grey polymer slabs which covered the natural ground seemed to reflect and intensify the heat, and it was these which gave off the stench of rubber Maxwell had noticed as he was exiting the shuttle. He knew he’d be sweating in moments, particularly given the increased gravity on Xaros. Pulling down the visor of his helmet brought him into the cocoon of the combat suit’s regulated interior.

This was the start of the mission and Maxwell hoped it would be no worse than any other. He sprinted after the others.

Chapter Nine

The habitation units were hardly more than airlock-controlled windowless boxes, suitable for use almost anywhere. A standard module was fifty metres long, thirty wide and ten tall, configurable in the factory to accommodate dozens of people, or to fulfil other functions such as eating, security, comms, or whatever the intrepid off-worlders desired.

Maxwell was breathing hard when he reached the flat wall of the closest unit. The others of his squad didn’t need micromanagement and they were already positioned at the corners left and right, watching carefully for movement.

Over the next few seconds, Maxwell’s heartrate fell. The initial sprint was a good way to test the gravity and would help him understand the additional strains Xaros would place on his body.

“No sign of life,” Corporal Fine reported on the comms.

Maxwell ordered Vaughan and Chau out of cover, and then he headed along the building to where Fine was peering around the corner. Looking around, Maxwell saw other habitation units, with alleys between them.

“It’d be easy to get lost in here,” said Fine. “The layout is too disorganised.”

With a grunt of agreement, Maxwell watched for a moment longer. “Anything new from the Marauder, Private Barkley?” he asked.

Barkley was nearby, with the squad comms booster on his back. The suit comms could reach way out into space, but sometimes it was good to have a little extra power to push a transmission through the walls of a building, or just to make it arrive at its destination a little quicker.

“Nothing new, Sergeant,” Barkley confirmed.

During the ride to Xaros, Maxwell had thought about his approach to the sweep and had requested for Lieutenant Lopez to create a topographical view of the base, with each structure assigned a number. That file he’d sent to every soldier.

“Corporal Fine, you take Squad B and search that unit north. B-97,” he said, pointing at the prefab fifty or sixty metres away.

“Yes, sir. B-97 it is,” said Fine.

“Squad A, you’re coming with me.” Maxwell thumped his palm against the wall of the adjacent structure. “We’re taking a look in B-98 right here.”

“What are our primary targets, sir?” asked Private Lyles.

“Aside from the people who live here, we’re searching for a comms unit and the security controller for the base.” Maxwell indicated with his rifle towards the evil-looking repeater turret on the compound wall a few hundred metres away. “It’s important we find out if any of those guns discharged. There should be a data array somewhere as well – I’d like to check out the recordings from the base monitors.”

The soldiers broke into their squads. Fine led Squad B towards their target building, while Maxwell led his own squad towards the nearby entrance to B-98.

“It’s security locked,” said Private Barkley, pointing at the red light on the access panel.

“We have the codes,” said Maxwell. He stared at the door for a moment. It was outlined by a metal frame and wide enough to allow people to enter and exit at the same time. “Searching for the interface.”

The Human Federation didn’t want splinter groups setting up off-world fortresses using equipment provided to colonise unused planets, so access codes to the hardware were available to the military in cases where it was deemed necessary. This was one of those cases and every soldier on the mission had the compound access codes loaded into their suit computer.

Maxwell’s suit linked to the habitation unit’s security system and he sent across the codes which were meant to open the door. The light on the access panel stayed red and the door remained shut.

“Damnit,” he swore. “The codes aren’t working.”

“Try them again, sir,” said Private Lowe.

“Do you think I should inject them with a pretty please, this time, Private? Maybe that’ll work better.” Maxwell swore again and struck the door with the side of his fist in frustration. The alloy was thick, and it gave off hardly any noise. “Corporal Fine, we’re denied access to this building. Please report.”

“I’ve made the interface, Sergeant...crap, no access. Want me to try another building?”

“Do it,” said Maxwell. “But I don’t reckon these codes are going to work - wherever we use them.”

“That’s what I think too.”

Maxwell considered his options. Private Chau carried a pack full of explosives, which could blow a hole through metal thicker than these walls. In addition, Lowe was holding a seven-foot rocket tube that would gain entry to the habitation unit, albeit with far greater mess and with a guarantee to incinerate anyone who might be sleeping within twenty metres of the detonation.

Even were Maxwell to order the use of explosives, Chau and Lowe didn’t have enough rockets and pack charges between them to gain entry to more than a fraction of the compound buildings - which left only one option, assuming Fine couldn’t access the second building she was about to test.

“The codes aren’t working at this next building either, sir,” said Fine, moments later.

“Private Barkley, contact the Marauder,” said Maxwell. “We’re going to need that warship’s cores to brute force these doors for us.”

“Lieutenant Bishop acknowledges, sir,” said Barkley after a short conversation with the Marauder. “They’ll start with the buildings on the western perimeter and work inwards.”

“How long for each door?” asked Maxwell. As he was speaking, the light on the access panel nearby went green. Maxwell smiled. “Not long at all.”

“Apparently the time to open each door will fluctuate depending on luck,” said Barkley. “Also,” he continued, “Lieutenant Bishop reckons that if the compound comms unit was online, he’d be able to issue an override code to the ground security system that would unlock everything in one go.”

“We’ll let him know when we find either the comms unit or the security console,” said Maxwell.

Early indications were that the Marauder could crack the doors far quicker than his squad could search the buildings, so he guessed that by the time his squads located the ground hardware, access to the prefabs would no longer be an issue.

“I’m going out on a limb and saying we didn’t bring the wrong access codes with us,” said Fleming.

Maxwell nodded. “They got changed by someone here, and that shouldn’t have been possible.” He faced the door again. “Let’s find out what’s inside.”

He touched the access panel and the door slid open to reveal an airlock space that could easily accommodate the squad. Maxwell entered and waved Fleming to follow. Since Xaros had a breathable atmosphere, the airlock system was effectively redundant and the inner light was already set to green.

“Expecting anything, Sergeant?” asked Fleming.

Maxwell shook his head once, though he held his gauss rifle ready. With a steady hand, he activated the inner panel and the second door opened. The interior was air conditioned and slightly pressurised, and the sensor in his suit helmet detected the movement of cold air escaping the building.

The lights were off, but the illumination from outside was enough for Maxwell to be sure he was looking into a fairly large space. About three metres from the door, he saw a couple of chairs and a metal desk. A civilian computer was on the desk, along with a single cup and a plate. Deeper into the room were other shapes of a similar nature.

“It’s quiet,” Maxwell reported on the squad channel.

“No smell either,” said Fleming. “If anything died, it wasn’t in here.”

Still aiming his gun into the room, Maxwell reached around the corner of the airlock, to where he knew there’d be a light switch.

“Let there be light,” he said.

Cold blue filled the room and no surprises confronted Maxwell. The space was maybe ten metres by ten, with other desks, other computers and a row of cabinets along the far wall.

“Communal space,” said Fleming.

Maxwell advanced into the room. A total of six doors – two in each wall – led to other parts of the habitation structure. Having seen plenty of these places before, it was obvious to Maxwell that this one had rolled out of the factory with a standard design. He was sure there’d be sleeping quarters left and right, along with toilets and showers. Directly ahead would be cooking facilities and another communal area.

“Squad B, report,” said Maxwell. “This first building seems empty, but we’re about to commence a full search.”

“B-97 looks like sleeping quarters and place to put your feet up, Sergeant.”

“That’s the same as we have here,” said Maxwell.

He strode to the nearest computer, which consisted of a keyboard with all the processing tech housed within, and a curved monitor. When Maxwell pushed the button to bring the device out of sleep, it booted up and presented him with a login screen and password request.

Leaving the computer, he beckoned Fleming to follow him to the nearest left-hand exit and indicated that Lowe, Barkley and Corporal Alphonse Valerio – the squad medic - should go right.

Maxwell’s eyes went briefly to where Private Lowe was folding his rocket tube along its central hinge. A rocket tube could be a real squad saver in the right circumstances, but it was an encumbrance inside. Lowe knew how to handle the weapon – once he’d folded it in half, he attached it to a specially-designed clip on the back of his combat suit and switched to his gauss rifle.

Approaching the door, Maxwell checked that Fleming was ready. The man nodded, with no sign of nerves.

The door opened onto a corridor and again, the lights were off. Operating the logically placed switch brought light of the same cold hue as in the previous room. This passage was almost three metres wide and went as far as the building’s end wall. Closed doors in the right-hand wall almost certainly led to sleeping quarters, while a set of narrow, metal-frame steps fixed to the corridor’s left-hand wall ascended to the level above through a hole in the ceiling.

Pausing for a moment, Maxwell listened for sounds, while he breathed in slowly through his helmet filter, gathering scents of metal and overchilled air.

“No scent of decomposition,” he said.

“And it’s still quiet,” said Fleming.

Advancing quickly along the corridor, Maxwell opened the doors one after another. Beyond each was a room with a double bed dressed in grey sheets, a private shower and toilet, a single wardrobe and a metal storage chest. He’d seen similar units with ten or more beds crammed into the same space, so the comparative low density here suggested that members of the CES had been promised comfort and privacy on Xaros.

Stopping briefly in the end room, where the most interesting thing to note was a single blue sock on top of the unmade bed, Maxwell checked on the other members of his squad, and requested an update from Squad B. Nobody could top the excitement of the sock.

“Upstairs?” asked Fleming.

“Let’s go check it out,” said Maxwell.

He exited the room and approached the stairs. They were strictly single-file and he climbed upwards, the weight of his tread producing no sound.

Emerging onto a landing, Maxwell found a corridor leading to the opposite wall of the building. Another passage went left and there were more doors.

“Well gee,” said Fleming when he realised the extent of the task in this building alone.

“It’s going to take us three days to search every room in every damned building,” said Maxwell.

“Time for a rethink, Sergeant?”

“I reckon,” said Maxwell. “But we’re here now, so let’s finish up with B-98. Just in case.”

He headed along the corridor, touching each access panel he came to. Every door hid a room furnished identically to the one before it. Garments and personal possessions were in evidence, but nothing that was noteworthy.

Progress wasn’t exactly slow, but Maxwell remained aware that his safety was potentially at risk within the compound, so he was obliged to approach every door as if it might be hiding a dangerous opponent. When each new room was as empty as the last, Maxwell became increasingly convinced that not only was this building deserted, but likely all the other accommodation prefabs were too.

Once the last room had been opened and found empty, Maxwell ordered Squad A outside. Corporal Fine had already finished up in B-97 with a similar lack of results.

Overhead, the sun shone, and a flock of colourful birds flew low across the treetops outside the compound. Everything seemed peaceful and safe, yet Maxwell felt a growing disquiet. Early evening would become dusk in approximately five hours and an hour after that, this area of Xaros would be completely dark.

Maxwell didn’t want to be here when night came.

Chapter Ten

Maxwell faced the soldiers. “The HF provided these units,” he lifted an arm to indicate the structures within the compound, “but they didn’t think to keep records of where the blocks holding the comms and security hardware were placed.”

“What about that big unit in the centre of the compound, sir?” asked Fine. “Prefabs that size are usually used for storage.”

Standing on his toes, Maxwell pointed to where the roof of a different unit could be seen to the north-east. “That over there could be storage as well,” he said.

“Whatever happened here had nothing to do with the Kijol,” said Corporal Valerio. “Those assholes would have left bodies in the streets.”

“Or bombed the compound and left Xaros,” said Chau.

The Kijol were ruthless, but they generally didn’t indulge in slaughter just for the sake of it, so Maxwell couldn’t imagine the aliens were responsible for the apparent disappearance of the local population.

For a few moments, he studied the overhead view of the compound. Like Fleming had said, the central unit was a high-priority search target, as were half a dozen other buildings between the western perimeter of the compound and that main structure.

“We’re abandoning the search of these accommodation blocks,” said Maxwell. “I’m starting to think that an order went out to the people living here, telling them to gather for something.”

“A morning congregation?” said Lowe.

“Could be,” said Maxwell.

While the last recorded population data indicated that a little under ten thousand people lived on Xaros, he knew that a lot of people could fit in a relatively small area if they were crammed in tightly enough. Even so, the central building was the only likely place for so many people to gather.

Diaz was the first to come right out and say what everyone was thinking. “They’re all dead, aren’t they?”

Maxwell didn’t want to lie. “I reckon.”

“In that case, we’re just putting off the discovery, sir,” said Fine. “We should go straight to the main structure.”

“You’re right, Corporal,” said Maxwell. “Let’s get it over with.” He paused to check the map again and had a sudden change of mind. “One of the larger units is between here and the target structure. We’ll check that out on the way.”

Maxwell led the soldiers through the gap separating B-97 and B-98. The next intersection permitted a limited view north, south, east and west, though nothing of interest was in sight. He headed on watchfully, making sure his squads remained aware of potential threats, not that the soldiers showed signs of letting their guard down.

At the next intersection, Maxwell spotted a boxy gravity car to the north. The vehicle hovered a foot or so above the polymer surface, which meant its gravity drive was online. Narrowing his eyes, Maxwell stared through the windshield.

“Empty,” he said.

A distant whooping sound that turned into a peculiarly harsh cackle made him turn. He cursed when he realised it was only a creature in the jungle.

“Come on,” said Maxwell in disgust.

Warily, he continued deeper into the compound. A glance at his HUD told him the temperature outside was thirty-five Celsius and Maxwell was glad for his suit. Despite the initially welcoming appearance of this world, it was still an alien planet and one that wasn’t likely friendly to new arrivals.

The jungle creature produced its cry once more, though this time Maxwell didn’t pay it any heed.

“I think I’d like this place better if someone was shooting at us,” said Vaughan.

Maxwell could understand where the soldier was coming from. Death wasn’t a stranger to anyone in his squads, but this place on Xaros had an atmosphere that was putting them on edge.

The soldiers arrived at the midway structure and Maxwell stopped at one of its entrance doors. A quick estimate suggested this prefab was eighty metres by fifty, by fifteen high. Other than the larger size, it was a metal box like all the others.

“There’s a green light on the door,” said Lyles.

With a couple of hand motions, Maxwell directed the soldiers into position. He glanced around – the prefab was laid approximately north to south on its longest edge and from his position at the south-west corner, he could see the perimeter wall north, while to the south the view was blocked by an accommodation unit. A second gravity car was visible nearby, again with its cabin empty.

“Ready,” said Maxwell.

He activated the access panel and the door opened. The airlock beyond was large enough to accommodate everyone, but Maxwell indicated that only he and Fleming would enter.

Pausing at the inner door, he exchanged a look with Fleming. The soldier had been calm before the search of B-98. Now he looked agitated. Maxwell raised an eyebrow and Fleming nodded.

Touching the panel opened the inner door. It was dark inside and Maxwell held still while he listened for sounds and breathed in the scents of the air. He detected no odour of decomposition and the interior seemed more like it was in a hush, rather than simply quiet.

Reaching into the room, Maxwell turned on the lights.

“Storage,” he said.

Metal shelves lined the walls of this large space, and rows of them occupied the rest of the floorspace, each a metre deep and extending up to the four-metre ceiling. The shelves were filled with metal boxes in all shapes and sizes, which limited Maxwell’s view.

He listened for a moment longer, but the lights didn’t bring anyone to investigate. Stepping into the room, he checked the nearest shelf unit for labels or any indication what the boxes contained. Everything was anonymous and he guessed that each box had a near-field transmitter that would broadcast its contents to whoever had the right tools to interrogate the storage inventory.

“I can modify my suit computer to read what’s in these,” said Fleming.

“Leave it for the moment, Private,” said Maxwell.

He completed a circuit of the room and located two exits leading deeper into the building. Once he’d summoned the rest of Squad A inside, Maxwell opened one of those doors, chosen at random. After turning the lights on, he found a wide corridor stretching almost to the prefab’s northern end. A series of double-doors in the right-hand wall led to other rooms or places.

What most caught Maxwell’s interest was the twenty-metre gap in that same right-hand wall, which he was sure formed part of an open-plan area within the structure.

“Let’s take a look along here,” he said.

Before heading along the corridor, Maxwell called Squad B inside and directed Corporal Fine to check through the other door leading from the storage room. With the order given, he stepped into the corridor, with Fleming alongside. The soldier made obvious sniffing noises.

“I don’t smell death, but that isn’t making me feel any better about this place.”

Although Maxwell was keen to reach the open plan area, he halted at the first set of double-doors. A touch of the panel and he found himself looking into another storage area, with computers stacked on another of the metal shelving units. In the middle of the floor, a two-metre console was on the flat loading bed of a compact haulbot.

“This hardware looks like it was ripped clean out of a fleet warship,” said Maxwell.

“Are off-worlders allowed to have this kind of shit?” asked Fleming.

“Beats me.”

Backing away from the door, Maxwell turned once more along the corridor. He ignored the next side doors and the ones after that. His pace quickened.

At the corner of the open plan area, Maxwell glanced quickly into the space. He estimated it to be thirty metres across, with another access corridor at the far side. The ceiling was much higher than it was in the corridor and looked as if it went to the underside of the prefab’s roof.

On the floorspace, a few dozen desks, along with chairs and computers, had been thrown against the north wall with such force that the furniture was crumpled and bent. In the centre of the room, a pillar with a two-metre diameter rose from the floor all the way to the ceiling.

“Comms aerial,” said Fleming.

“No sign of the console hardware,” said Maxwell.

“What broke all these things?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out, soldier.”

Maxwell informed the other soldiers of his findings but told Corporal Fine to keep exploring. The other members of Squad A had already arrived at the open space, and they waited to see what Maxwell would do.

Now that he’d seen the first sign of violence in the compound, Maxwell’s feeling of agitation grew. He strode for the comms aerial, his eyes alert for signs of danger.

“Barkley, take a look at this,” said Maxwell.

A pair of thick cables protruded from the base of the comms aerial. They’d been severed cleanly, and Maxwell spotted a few deep gouges in the metal floor.

“Either the CES decided to move the comms hardware and didn’t know how to do it right, or someone came and ripped the console out and took it away,” said Barkley.

“That’s what I thought,” said Maxwell. “Shit.” He paused and cursed again. “Why all the damaged furniture if the hardware was only being relocated?”

Barkley approached the two jutting ends of the cables and crouched near them. “There might be something else, sir.”

“Tell me.”

“All the civilian comms kit I’ve ever seen has a single connector to the aerial and those connectors are usually half the thickness of these ones here.”

“How sure are you, Private?”

“Sure enough, sir.”

“Which means the CES had a military comms unit here on Xaros.”

“That’s what it looks like.”

Maxwell closed his eyes. “They could have broadcast anything, anywhere, without needing to go through the comms hub on Kanis.”

“Yes, sir. That’s if I’m right about the hardware.”

“The missing hardware,” said Fleming.

“So, what next, Sergeant?” asked Corporal Valerio.

“Private Barkley will let the Marauder know what we’ve discovered. If the orders don’t change, we’ll head to that central prefab and see if we can find out what happened to the people here on Xaros.”

“Captain Grisham is going to want us to find that missing comms unit, sir,” said Fleming.

“No doubt,” said Maxwell.

He clenched his teeth. His unease was steadily growing. Whatever the recent history of Xaros, Maxwell was sure he wouldn’t like knowing the truth when he finally got to the bottom of the events which had led to this mission.

While Barkley informed Lieutenant Bishop of the discovery here in the comms building, Maxwell spoke to Corporal Fine on the comms. As expected, Squad B hadn’t found any dead bodies, nor anything else worth reporting.

“Lieutenant Bishop confirms what I thought about civilian comms hardware, Sergeant,” said Barkley. “And he doesn’t have any idea how the CES managed to lay their hands on military gear.”

“Any change in orders?”

“No, sir. We’re to continue our search of the compound. Lieutenant Bishop also suggests we keep an eye out for anything that might point to where Ivey Metz was staying. She was the leader of this place, so maybe she kept some records.”

“We’ll see what we can find,” said Maxwell.

With the comms hardware missing and no obvious way to find out where it had been taken, he turned his attention to his next intended destination.

“Let’s move out,” he said. “We’re going to search that central building.”

Just saying the words made the adrenaline pump in Maxwell’s body. He wasn’t afraid, but something lay just over the horizon – he could sense it coming.

Beckoning the others and ordering Squad B to meet outside, Maxwell headed to the entrance.

Chapter Eleven

“Plenty of time until dark,” said Private Diaz, looking up at the still-light sky.

The words were a scarcely veiled reminder that nobody wanted to be here when night fell, and Maxwell hadn’t yet made his mind up about whether he’d order a return to the Marauder when it became too dark to continue the search.

Once more he put off the decision. Passing between two buildings and turning right past the next, he entered an alley between two more pairs of accommodation units.

And there it was. The largest prefab was a rectangular block of alloy, the same as all the others, only much larger even than the comms building. With a two-hundred metre front and eighty-metre height, the structure was likely intended as a warehouse. As far as Maxwell knew, the CES had no requirement for this much storage space and the known inventory of what they’d brought with them to Xaros listed no equipment that would necessitate a warehouse.

Of course, the representatives of the church had somehow managed to obtain military-grade comms hardware, so Maxwell wouldn’t have been entirely surprised to find a row of tanks parked up inside. In reality, he was expecting something different.

“Four personnel entrances and one main entrance in the centre,” said Fine, standing a couple of metres away, her eyes narrowed as she scanned the building. “Usually in prefabs like this one, there’s a middle area shaped like a cross, where they store shit, with offices at the corners where the personnel work.”

A prefab this size was unusual, but Maxwell and his squads had seen a few. Mostly the design was just like Fine had described, though he’d seen one or two with variations.

“The Marauder already cracked open the door security on this one, right?” asked Chau.

“According to Lieutenant Bishop we can walk straight in,” said Barkley.

For another few seconds, Maxwell waited in the gap between the two buildings closest to the main prefab and watched for signs of activity. Everything was still and he suddenly noticed the sounds of the jungle had gone, as if Xaros was holding its breath.

“Should we enter through one of the personnel entrances, Sergeant, or—?” asked Fine.

“You know me, Corporal. I’m a straight-down-the-middle type of guy.”

“The main entrance, then.”

Maxwell nodded. “Private Vaughan, set up your repeater between these two buildings. That should give you a clear line of sight into the storage area once we open the door.”

“Yes, sir.” Vaughan immediately unslung his XR repeater and kicked out the tripod.

“Private Lyles, you cover Vaughan while he’s prone. If you see anything or hear anything, or even if you thought you saw or heard something, holler.”

“Yes, sir.”

Without another word, Maxwell broke from cover and strode across the forty-metre space separating the central prefab from the surrounding accommodation units. The loading entrance’s lower edge was more than a metre off the ground and a short metal ramp led up to it. The entrance itself was eight metres wide and similarly high.

Above the door, were painted letters. These letters were badly eroded, suggesting this prefab had seen use on another world before it was brought to Xaros. Maxwell thought they read TF-02, which didn’t make it any clearer where the prefab had been previously installed. Green lights shone on the access panels both sides of the entrance.

Maxwell went to the left-hand side of the door. He thumped the wall with the side of his fist. The alloys were as solid as he knew they’d be. Checking over his shoulder, he saw that Vaughan was tight to the side wall of the western perimeter building, while Lyles was crouched near the adjacent prefab. She raised her thumb.

Everyone was ready and Maxwell didn’t need to ask. Three soldiers were with him on this side of the door and the other four were on the far side.

“Activating the panel,” said Maxwell.

Without drama, the prefab’s main entrance rose upwards into its ceiling recess, at the same time revealing that the walls were more than two metres thick.

“Dark,” said Fine.

Daylight spilled many metres into the opening, becoming progressively gloomier the deeper it went. Maxwell peered inside. Unfortunately, the sensor in his suit – which could normally handle dark conditions – didn’t deal with sharp contrasts nearly so well, and it struggled to adjust. He could tell that he was looking into a large space, which opened out beyond the doorway, but other than that, nothing.

“Can’t see a damned thing,” he said.

“There’s usually a light switch just inside the entrance,” said Fine.

“I’ll get it,” said Maxwell.

He jumped onto the ramp and that was when he caught the first cloying odours of decay. The light switch would be situated on the inner wall and Maxwell entered the building, feeling exposed as he did so.

A couple of metres along the wall, he located the fist-sized button which would activate the lights and he pressed it quickly, keeping himself in a position where he could see into the storage space.

The lights came on, cold and blue. Maxwell stared into a cross-shaped storage room that filled much of the building’s interior.

Hundreds upon hundreds of people lay dead on the floor in the centre of the prefab, their pale blue clothing torn and stained with enormous patches of dried blood – blood which had sprayed liberally on the floor, leaving the alloy more brown than grey. Here and there, the dead had ended up in heaps, their limbs frozen in ways which told the grotesque stories of their final moments as life ebbed away in sprays of crimson.

The smell of death came to Maxwell once more, carried on the faint breeze of escaping air. He wrinkled his nose.

“Corporal Valerio, move up. The rest of you wait outside. You don’t need to see this.”

“What happened to them?” asked Fine on the comms.

“Butchery,” said Maxwell. “That’s what happened.”

He walked deeper into the storage area. The nearest corpses were about fifty metres away. Maxwell fixed his eyes on one – a man who was lying on his back, staring at the heavens. Although this man’s injuries were hidden beneath a thick crusting of blood on his face and chest, Maxwell guessed his throat had been cut. As far as he could tell, the others had been slaughtered in the same manner.

“Who the hell did this?” said Valerio.

Maxwell glanced across. His squad medic was shaking his head, his expression more one of anger than anything else.

“The cause of death looks obvious to me,” said Maxwell, approaching the closest bodies. There were no overt signs of decomposition except for the smell, which was stronger here. “Plug in that med-box, Corporal. I want confirmation that these people weren’t already dead when their throats were slit. And tell me how long ago they died.”

“Yes, sir,” said Valerio.

He carried the med-box in a cloth pack, which he shrugged off his shoulders and lowered to the floor next to one of the bodies. Opening the pack revealed a metal cube packed with electronics and a single screen on the front. Valerio pulled out an extendible wire with a probe on the end, and, without ceremony, held that probe against the neck of the corpse.

“A few seconds and it’ll be done, Sergeant.”

Maxwell was familiar with the routine and while he waited, he scanned the room again. The details were only now beginning to sink in, and he clenched his teeth in anger at the brutality of it all. Rational thought remained and Maxwell noticed something.

“There aren’t ten thousand people here,” he said. “I reckon three thousand at most.”

Valerio raised his head. “This one died from having her throat cut.”

“How long ago?”

“Forty days, give or take.”

“There’s hardly any decomposition and this place isn’t refrigerated,” said Maxwell. He lowered his brows in thought. “Some of these units are fitted with tech that preserves whatever’s stored inside.”

“That’s only in the prefabs designed to store medicines, sir,” said Valerio. “Those preservation modules cost too much to be used in every storage unit.”

“The CES managed to get their hands on a military comms system, Corporal, so it’s possible they had access to other tech as well. Is there any way to tell if a preservation module is what kept these corpses looking so fresh?”

“You’ve seen what normally happens a few days after death, Sergeant. These bodies would look and smell a lot worse than this if there wasn’t anything slowing the decay.” Valerio stared at Maxwell a moment longer. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m not thinking anything at the moment, Corporal.” Maxwell pointed at the bodies. “But I’m definitely asking myself where the other few thousand disappeared to.”

Pushing himself to his feet, Valerio moved over to the next corpse, carrying the med-box with him. “Judging by the blood splashed on the floor over there, I’d guess that more people died here, Sergeant.”

“All of them?” asked Maxwell.

From here, he could see into every corner of the storage area, and blood covered much of the unoccupied floor and, in places, extended three metres up the walls. He’d seen the results of mass killings before, but not where the outcome had been so liberally smeared upon every available surface.

“Your guess is as good as mine, Sergeant.”

“Where were the bodies taken?” said Maxwell. “And why?”

Valerio didn’t answer and he withdrew the probe. “Another death to trauma and the resulting blood loss,” he said. “Same time of death as the other one.”

“Any idea what kind of weapon did this?”

Reaching into the side pocket of the med-box pack, Valerio pulled out a flask, unscrewed the lid and put it to one side. From the same pocket, he withdrew a roll of pristine bandage.

“Let’s take a look,” said Valerio. He tipped the water onto the neck of the corpse and scrubbed with the bandage.

Maxwell watched, his lips tight together. This victim was a woman, her hair long and dark, her eyes closed and her face pale like the moon. And now she was dead, killed out here on a fringe world, lightyears from her family.

“Looks like a single cut, Sergeant,” said Valerio. He put one hand under the woman’s neck, causing her head to tip back and revealing the depth of the wound. “It cut all the way to the bone.”

“A knife, or something else?”

“I don’t know,” said Valerio. “I can’t even tell you if the attacker was strong or not. Some blades can hold an edge that lets them cut through flesh with no effort whatsoever.”

For long moments, Maxwell didn’t speak. The longer he stayed here on Xaros, the less he liked it. Each new discovery raised more questions than it answered, and he didn’t feel he was anywhere close to solving the mystery of what had taken place.

“Private Barkley, are you keeping the Marauder informed?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” said Barkley. “We have no new orders.”

“Sergeant?” said Private Lyles on the open comms, her voice taut. “You told me to shout out if I saw something, or even if I thought I saw something.”

“What was it?” asked Maxwell, with a rising sense of alarm.

“Just a maybe. Something came over the wall to the north.” She cursed. “Could be just my imagination.”

“Tell me what you saw.”

“I don’t know, sir,” said Lyles, sounding embarrassed now. “I only saw it from the corner of my eye. It was moving fast and I thought it might have been an animal. And then when I really looked, nothing was there.”

“Did anything show up on the Marauder’s sensors?” asked Maxwell. “They should be able to spot movement easily enough from ten thousand klicks.”

“Checking,” said Barkley. He was quiet for a few seconds. “Nothing on the warship’s sensors.”

“Sorry, Sergeant,” said Lyles apologetically. “I guess this place is getting to me.”

“Don’t worry about it, Private, and you shout up again even if you’re not sure,” said Maxwell.

“Yes, sir.”

Despite receiving the all-clear from the Marauder, Maxwell didn’t feel reassured, though his proximity to three thousand murdered HF citizens wasn’t helping his mood. He turned his attention to Corporal Valerio, who was now examining his fifth corpse.

“Anything new, Corporal?”

“Throat cut, forty days ago.” Valerio made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the other bodies. “I don’t think I’m going to find anything different even if I looked at every one of these corpses.”

“I agree,” said Maxwell. He stared at the other exits from the storage area which led into the personnel areas of the prefab. As much as he wanted to lock this place up and never return, Maxwell knew he couldn’t do that. Not yet. “We’re going to search the rest of this building,” he said on the comms.

Nobody complained, though it was clear the soldiers didn’t relish the task.

Unwilling to divide his meagre forces into pairs, Maxwell instead repeated the earlier method of searching in two squads.

The prefab was large and the personnel rooms were numerous. Almost an hour later, Squads A and B rendezvoused at the main door through which Maxwell had initially entered the structure. Aside from three thousand corpses, the place was empty.

Night time was drawing closer and Maxwell cursed that his job would be incomplete when darkness came.

Chapter Twelve

Addressing the squads, Maxwell spelled out the situation. “Approximately seven thousand people are still missing, as is the compound comms unit. Additionally, we need to locate the CES data array, which should hold recordings from the compound monitors and we—”

“Sorry for interrupting, sir,” said Barkley. “I’ve been speaking to Lieutenant Bishop and he says the compound data array might also hold records of comms transmissions sent and received by the main comms unit.”

“If that’s right, it’s even more important we locate that array,” said Maxwell. “And we also need to locate the security controller. Like I said earlier, that’ll tell us if any of the wall guns fired.”

“We could manually check the magazine readouts on those repeaters if we got up onto the wall, sir,” said Chau.

“Thank you for the suggestion, Private, but we lack the numbers to follow every lead – not without splitting up more than I’m willing to allow.” Maxwell studied the compound map. “If we head north-east from here, we’ll come to another of the larger prefabs, then cutting back west will bring us to two others.”

“Leaving a total of four unsearched larger buildings within the compound,” said Corporal Fine.

“We’ve got three hours until nightfall,” said Maxwell. “We’ll search the next couple of buildings and then I’ll let you know where you’re sleeping tonight.”

Maxwell set off. In order to head north-east, he needed to follow the wall of the largest prefab directly north, and then cut east, before a gap between the surrounding accommodation units allowed him to travel north-east. Corporal Fine walked alongside.

“If the Kijol stole that comms unit—” She hesitated. “Those consoles are meant to purge their databanks once their power supply is cut off. If it was Kijol, maybe they figured out a way to keep the hardware online so they can break its encryption. Then they’ll be able to extract the location of the routing proxy between here and Kanis. After that—”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing, Corporal,” Maxwell admitted. “I don’t know what to say other than to remind you that our comms network was built secure and by some real smart people.”

“And if this wasn’t the Kijol, then who? A splinter group we haven’t heard about because the military is keeping their existence a secret?”

“I don’t have the answers, Corporal.”

Maxwell was worried, though he didn’t say as much. A splinter group with the right expertise could likely have removed the comms unit without triggering its purge routine. Maybe those people had a way to make the hardware intercept other comms, or perhaps they had other uses for it. Certainly, Maxwell was keen to recover the unit, though he suspected it was long gone.

“And who would be sick enough to cut all those people’s throats?” asked Fine, her voice distant like she wasn’t really expecting an answer.

“You’re not asking the right question, Corporal,” said Maxwell. “The real question is how the hell did they manage it? It’s a messy way to kill and who’s going to let it happen without putting up a fight?”

“If I find them…”

“Let’s not make promises yet.”

Maxwell came to the corner of the largest prefab and paused to check what lay east. He saw birds in the sky and the jungle sounds were suddenly more noticeable than before, but within the visible area of the compound, everything was still.

A few minutes later, the soldiers arrived at the first of the mid-sized structures. This one was identical to the prefab which had housed the missing comms unit, and the lights on its access panels were green.

The same as earlier, Maxwell ordered the soldiers to divide into squads. Once that was done, they entered the building and conducted the search. Forty-five minutes later, they were finished. The prefab had contained what might have been workshops on the lower floor, in which the members of the CES had been tinkering with hardware, most of it civilian, but some of it looking more advanced.

Maxwell didn’t know what the people here had been making, and he found no printed records. Doubtless the many computers within the building contained the information, but he lacked an account to sign in to any of those.

Above the workshops were offices and it was these which had taken the most time to search. In the end that search had been fruitless and the soldiers located no more corpses and nothing that would help explain events here on Xaros.

“We’re heading west,” said Maxwell. “To Unit B-22.”

When he craned his neck, he could see the roof of the next target on his list and he set off for it, following the gap between two of the accommodation units. Another unit had been placed crossways ahead, so the squads would need to divert around it.

The walk wasn’t long and soon Maxwell was facing the corner door of the target prefab. According to his HUD, the air temperature was even higher than when he’d first landed the deployment vessel and he guessed the walls and the ground slabs accumulated heat over the course of the day, making afternoons in the compound hotter than midday.

Stepping closer, Maxwell touched the access panel and the door opened. He beckoned Fleming to follow him inside and then he activated the inner airlock door.

“More storage,” said Fleming. “This prefab might have the same layout as the place the CES installed their comms unit.”

“Maybe,” said Maxwell. He watched and listened for a short while. The room beyond was fitted with more of the metal shelves, and they were well stocked. Keeping an off-world venture running in any sort of comfort required supplies, so Maxwell wasn’t surprised that the CES devoted many of their buildings to the storage of spare parts and other components. “All’s quiet,” he finally concluded.

Entering the room, Maxwell went for the door in the left-hand wall. He opened it, revealing a wide corridor with doors in the right-hand wall and another of the open-plan areas midway along.

“Corporal Fine, head through the northern door with Squad B,” Maxwell instructed. “Squad A, follow me.”

He entered the corridor and advanced, his pace quickening. Ignoring the side doors, Maxwell continued all the way to the opening in the right-hand wall. He checked around the corner and saw that the space went all the way to the far side of the building, where another corridor presumably led to other exits.

“I’ve located the security controller,” said Maxwell.

The console was fixed to the middle of the opposite wall, and it was easily identifiable amongst the desks and civilian computers. Maxwell headed along an aisle formed by those desks, though he didn’t drop his guard for a moment. This place hadn’t been wrecked like the other one, but he had a sudden sense of danger and he wasn’t sure why.

“Careful,” he warned.

Maxwell stopped at the console. It had seats for three personnel and it was powered up. The top panel was covered in switches, buttons and keypads, the functions of which Maxwell was mostly familiar with. In addition, the controller was fitted with nine screens and every one was filled with thousands of tiny, rapidly changing numbers.

“What the hell?” he said, hoping that what he thought was happening wasn’t in fact happening.

“What’s the matter, Sergeant?” asked Barkley. He took a closer look at the screen. “Someone’s running an encryption breaker on this console.”

“That’s what it looks like,” said Maxwell.

He searched around the console and couldn’t find anything resembling an encryption breaker nearby, which meant the link was remote. “In the absence of a connection to dedicated comms hardware, these units will accept a near-field interface, right?” said Maxwell.

“I think so,” said Barkley. “Security isn’t my area, Sergeant.”

“Speak to the Marauder,” said Maxwell. “Someone on the warship will know.”

“Yes, sir.”

While Barkley got on with it, Maxwell approached a door in the wall nearby. He made the others aware that he was about to open it, and then touched the access panel. The room beyond was three metres square and in the centre was a waist-high, cube-shaped object, dark in colour and exuding a noticeable chill.

“I’ve found the compound data array,” said Maxwell.

He didn’t enter the room and the door closed automatically after a few seconds. By then, Barkley had finished his conversation with one of the officers on the Marauder.

“Like you thought, these units will accept a near-field link, Sergeant,” said Barkley, giving the security controller a nudge with the toe of his boot.

“How near-field?” asked Maxwell.

“One hundred metres, sir.”

“That means the security breaker is somewhere in this building.”

“Yes, sir.”

Maxwell got straight on the comms and advised Corporal Fine to look out for anything unusual.

“Take care, Corporal. It’s possible the breaker was left unguarded, but there’s an equal chance someone’s looking after it.”

Fine was up for a challenge. “If I find anyone, I’ll not hurt them too bad, Sergeant.”

“This wasn’t a one-person operation, Corporal,” Maxwell reminded her.

“I know that, sir. I’ll watch out.”

During the short conversation, the other members of Squad A had positioned themselves so that they could observe the entrances to the open plan area. It was a big space for five to guard and Maxwell knew he had to resolve the situation in B-22 as quickly as possible. He had no idea if the force which had attacked the compound had left a presence. It was entirely possible they had done so and they might emerge from hiding at any moment.

The Marauder is near enough to spot any ground movement. We’ll have warning of anything incoming, and a whole damn warship providing air support.

It should have been a reassurance, but Maxwell couldn’t shake his disquiet.

“What else did you learn from the Marauder, Private Barkley?”

“I’ve been speaking to Lieutenant Adler, sir,” said Barkley. “He strongly recommends we don’t touch the hardware – not until we find the encryption breaker. After that, we wait for orders.”

“Have the Kijol ever broken our security systems?” asked Private Lowe.

“Not that I know,” said Maxwell. “I doubt anyone would tell us if it had happened.”

In theory, a single security console on a remote world should not be a golden key to humanity’s front door. The HF security hardware like this console here would have full control over the Xaros compound, but it couldn’t be unplugged and installed elsewhere without extensive reconfiguration.

The HF comms network was similarly resistant to hostile efforts at subversion. Comms were routed through thousands of different deep space proxy hubs, and only the final proxies held the location of humanity’s populated worlds, with no single proxy knowing the routing information for more than one populated world.

However, the hardware was still valuable, and if a hostile force gained an understanding of how it was put together, as well as the programmed security protocols, it would help them build a picture of how the HF structured its defences.

For ten minutes, Maxwell waited with growing impatience while Squad B searched the rest of the building. He was tempted to send Lowe and Valerio to help, but, having located the security console, he didn’t want to leave it and didn’t want to divide the soldiers just to save a few additional minutes. Maxwell felt as if the mission was moving forward and that was when an inexperienced officer might succumb to eagerness. He wasn’t about to fall into that trap.

After fifteen minutes, Corporal Fine spoke on the comms.

“Sergeant, we’ve located something. You might want to come check it out.”

“I don’t want to leave this controller. Tell me what you’ve found, Corporal.”

“I think it’s the security breaker, sir, but it’s not HF hardware and it doesn’t look much like the Kijol made it either.”

Maxwell re-evaluated his intention to stay put. “Private Fleming, come with me,” he snapped. “The rest of you, keep an eye on that security console.”

Having given the order, Maxwell hurried to see what Corporal Fine had found.

Chapter Thirteen

“What the hell is that?” said Private Fleming.

Maxwell didn’t say anything for a time. He was in one of the second-storey offices, a place furnished with mundane crap like everywhere else in the compound. The room was large enough that the seven soldiers could have fitted inside without crowding, though Maxwell had ordered four of them into the corridor outside to keep watch.

In the middle of the desk, was a roughly cube-shaped object with rounded edges. This object measured about nine inches on each side and it appeared to be a patchy mixture of metal and biological matter, the metallic parts being a matte grey and the rest being darkly iridescent in a way that reminded Maxwell of a fly.

For a time, he tried to make sense of how the object had been put together, but as far as he could tell, the alloys and the flesh were somehow melded.

“Look at these tubes, sir,” said Fine, pointing but being careful not to touch.

When Maxwell peered closely, he saw that the flesh was faintly translucent and just beneath the surface was a network of fine tubes that appeared to run throughout the object.

“Arteries,” he said in disgust. “This thing must be alive.”

“That’s what I thought, sir,” said Fine. “Maybe Corporal Valerio could plug in his med-box and see what it says.”

Maxwell wasn’t sure what to do. The object repulsed him and, though he lacked proof, he was sure this was the security breaker.

“What’s going to come our way if we disturb this thing?” he wondered.

“If it’s hacking our tech, what choice do we have, sir?” asked Fine.

“Not much,” said Maxwell. “Lieutenant Barkley, I’ve given you access to the stream from my helmet sensor. Send it up to the Marauder and request advice.”

“Yes, sir,” said Barkley.

“Who made this, sir?” asked Fine.

“I haven’t seen anything like it,” said Maxwell, reluctant to commit to an opinion. “Let’s wait to find out if anyone on the Marauder knows what it is.”

The response from the warship wasn’t long in coming. “Nobody knows what the hell it is, sir,” said Barkley.

“What orders?”

“We’re to take it out of range of the security controller’s near-field interface, sir.”

“And then?”

“Continue with the mission,” said Barkley. “Once we’re finished on the surface, we’re to bring the object with us to the Marauder.”

“What if it’s carrying a disease or something?” asked Maxwell.

“I didn’t ask, Sergeant.” Barkley swore suddenly. “I think the security breaker is finished. The controller hardware displayed a prompt for input and then a load of other crap rolled up the screen.”

“Damnit!” said Maxwell. Faced with a snap decision between preserving the alien hardware or preventing it from extracting valuable data from the console, he went for the latter. “Stand back!” he ordered.

The soldiers retreated and Maxwell shot the security breaker with his gauss rifle, taking care that a deflection would hit the wall rather than his squad. A hole appeared in the facing side of the object and the projectile’s exit brought with it an eruption of flesh. Maxwell shot the breaker twice more in rapid succession, the discharge of his gun producing a muted whine of gauss coils.

The shots brought the other soldiers into the room and Maxwell raised a hand to indicate everything was under control.

“Has the data extraction ended?” he asked Barkley on the comms.

“I think so, sir.”

Unwilling to take risks, Maxwell stepped forward and thumped the stock of his rifle hard onto the surface of the security breaker. The fleshy part was slightly yielding and he hit it again, causing a piece of metal with a couple of wire-thin tubes attached to slither out from one of the exit holes and land on the floor. In repulsed anger, Maxwell struck the object again and he felt something rupture within it.

“What’s that security controller doing, Private Barkley?”

“It’s returned to the prompt for input screen, sir. I should be able to link to its near-field interface with my comms pack now. Then the Marauder should be able to unlock the hardware.”

“Sounds good,” said Maxwell.

“You looked like were having fun with that security breaker, Sergeant,” said Corporal Fine. “Want me to dump the pieces in the trash?”

“I’m sure the HF research labs will be ecstatic when they’re presented with such a wonderfully preserved example of alien hardware, sir,” said Fleming.

“We’ll just say it got dropped on the floor during the course of the mission,” said Maxwell.

“Dropped out of a shuttle, you mean?” asked Fleming.

“Twice,” said Lyles. “And then we accidentally landed on it.”

“Just for that, you can pick it up, Private Lyles,” said Maxwell. “Put it in your pack and look after it.”

“What about those diseases you were asking about, Sergeant?”

“If you have to take your helmet off for any reason, hold your breath.”

Maxwell waited until Lyles had the security breaker in her pack. It hadn’t been pretty to begin with, and now it was a mess of ragged flesh and broken metal. Maybe someone in the labs would be able to figure out how it worked.

“Let’s head back to the security controller,” said Maxwell.

“Who’s going to come looking for that breaker?” asked Vaughan. “And do we want to be around to greet them?”

“Before we go anywhere else, we’re going to find out what’s stored on that array downstairs,” said Maxwell. “Then maybe we’ll be recalled to the Marauder.”

“What if we aren’t?” Vaughan pressed.

“Then we do as we’re ordered,” said Maxwell angrily. “What the hell else were you expecting me to say?”

“Sorry, Sergeant. It’s going to be nightfall soon.”

Maxwell relented. “If we’re still here at dark, we’ll hunker down and wait till the morning. If Captain Grisham asks us to keep exploring after dark, I’ll make him understand.”

He exited the room and retraced his steps to the security controller room below. The soldiers looked relieved at the return of the others.

“Private Barkley, are you interfaced with this console?” asked Maxwell, striding towards the security controller.

“No, sir, I was waiting for the order.”

“Do it now.”

“Yes, sir…done. The comms pack is linked to the controller.”

“Request an override code from the Marauder. Then we’ll log in and check what’s on that data array,” said Maxwell.

It finally felt as if he was making progress and he dropped into one of the seats in front of the console. The input prompt glowed unblinking.

“The code is sent, Sergeant. You should be able to log on with your standard HF security credentials.”

Maxwell held the tip of his index finger on the security reader pad and the chip in his suit transmitted his biological data. A line of text appeared, informing him that he was an unrecognized user.

“It didn’t work.”

“Maybe the override codes take a few moments to register,” said Barkley.

Maxwell knew that wasn’t the case and Barkley knew it as well. The alternative – that the codes had failed – was unthinkable, so Maxwell repeated the process of laying his finger on the security pad. Once again, the controller denied his logon request.

“Speak to the Marauder,” said Maxwell.

“Yes, sir.”

This time, Barkley was in conversation for more than a minute, and he paced back and forwards as he talked.

“There’s a fix, sir, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Tell me what it is,” said Maxwell.

“Someone in the CES has obviously been screwing around with the controller hardware,” said Barkley. “How they managed to deny a fleet warship access is a question for later. To unlock this console, the Marauder will need to issue an emergency reset command into the hardware. That’ll prompt the console to issue an independent request for corroboration, in order to be sure the warship isn’t a rogue agent.”

Maxwell closed his eyes for a moment. “So, the controller will send a comm through your pack to one of the proxy hubs, and when it receives confirmation that the Marauder is still under HF military control, it’ll allow us access?”

“Yes, sir. The confirmation request will actually be routed through the warship’s comms. Apparently, it’s encrypted in a way that—”

“How long?” said Maxwell. He wasn’t interested in the full explanation.

“The nearest proxy is twelve hours comms travel from here. Plus another twelve hours for the confirmation to return.”

“And that proxy will definitely handle the request?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well isn’t this just a steaming heap of shit?” said Maxwell.

“I haven’t told you it all yet, Sergeant. We’re ordered to stay on the ground and watch the hardware.”

“That’s what the Marauder is here for.”

“Captain Grisham isn’t happy about the situation,” said Barkley. “He’s being careful, that’s all.”

“It’s more than that,” said Maxwell, as the wheels in his brain turned. “None of us are saying it, because we don’t want to think about the possibilities, but these crazies here on Xaros managed to contact a species that isn’t the Kijol. Captain Grisham believes there’s a chance he might lose his warship before he can wipe out the hardware in the compound. Or at least, he doesn’t want his hands tied by having to park his warship nearby.”

“Meaning we get to stay here and blow this controller and the data array to pieces if anything happens to the Marauder,” said Chau.

“That’s what it sounds like,” said Maxwell.

“If another species came to Xaros, why did they abandon the compound?” asked Diaz.

“Who’s to say they abandoned it?” asked Maxwell. “What if they withdrew when the Marauder arrived, in order to gauge how much of a threat it was?”

“If you’re right about that, we’d best hope this other species thinks we’re too much of a bite to chew,” said Lowe.

“Until they make up their minds about that, we’re stuck here wondering what’s going to happen,” said Fine. “Assuming we aren’t simply getting ourselves worked up over a security breaker that might have come out of a Kijol factory anyway.”

The soldiers were worried – Maxwell could see it in their faces, and doubtless they could read the same in his own features.

What had seemed like a potentially easy mission at the beginning had become vastly more threatening. Maxwell knew the Kijol and he knew how to fight them. If something else had arrived on the planet – a something which might have killed those people in the storage prefab – then he had no idea what he was up against.

Maxwell cursed the vagaries of fortune and readied himself for a long night.

Chapter Fourteen

“It’ll be getting dark outside soon,” said Lyles on the open channel. She was carrying one end of a desk, while Barkley had the other. Having manoeuvred it into position, they overturned it with a crash.

“That’s what happens at night, Private,” said Corporal Fine. “Darkness comes.”

“Less than an hour and I reckon there’ll be no light at all,” Lyles continued.

Maxwell let the soldiers talk. They were in the open plan area of structure B-22, a few looking more relaxed than earlier, but most of them still on edge. For the sake of doing something, Maxwell had ordered the soldiers to build makeshift barricades using the desks. The furniture was solid enough and would stop a gauss slug, though it wouldn’t be much use against explosives.

“Couldn’t we just blow the controller and the array and pretend it was another one of those accidents I heard you were talking about, Sergeant?” asked Lowe. He was crouched behind a desk at the northern end of the space, where he could easily fire his shoulder launcher along the corridor in either direction.

“I’d have a hard time explaining such a monumental screwup, Private,” said Maxwell. “Besides, I’m sure you’ve heard about something called duty before. Or do you need lessons?”

“I think I can remember the classes,” said Lowe. He shrugged. “I could say I tripped and this launcher went off in my hands.”

Lowe was one of the best rocket soldiers in the HF, but he could talk some crap at times.

“How about I shoot you dead and say my rifle went off in my hands?” asked Maxwell.

He checked the time on his HUD. Setting up the barricades wouldn’t take much longer, and once that was done, he could move onto the next step in his preparations.

The soldiers had been well-rested before the mission commenced and they could stay awake all night if necessary, though at a cost of some combat alertness and impaired reactions as the hours passed. By tomorrow afternoon, the squads would be far less effective as a fighting unit if they hadn’t slept by then. It seemed best to give them a chance at shuteye tonight and have them fresh.

“Corporal Fine, when you searched this building, did you find any sleeping quarters?” asked Maxwell. “We could take a few mattresses and bring them here.”

“No, Sergeant – it’s all offices and storage.”

“In that case, I’ll take Squad A over to accommodation block B-32 and we’ll haul back some mattresses,” said Maxwell. “While there’s enough light.”

In truth, he wanted to stretch his legs and also to see what it was like outside with his own eyes.

Maxwell led the four soldiers into the corner storage room and then into the airlock.

A touch on the panel opened the door and it was darker outside than Maxwell had expected. While he could see the nearby buildings, it was noticeably gloomy. The temperature had dropped too, and the sounds of the jungle seemed more prominent, though he suspected that was no more than his imagination at play. Insects large and small sped through the air or swirled densely in clouds.

“Is this a good idea, Sergeant?” asked Fleming.

“Do you want to sleep on the floor?”

“Not much.”

“In which case this is a damned good idea.” Maxwell grunted. “Darkness comes faster on Xaros than I expected.”

The entrance to Block B-32 was only twenty metres away, so he didn’t abort the plan. It wouldn’t take long anyway. Hurrying across the space between the structures, Maxwell activated the door to B-32 and entered the airlock. Moments later, and having turned on the lights, he passed through the inner door and entered the prefab’s central communal area. Nothing about the space was unusual and, if he hadn’t known differently, Maxwell could have been in the very first accommodation block he explored in the compound.

“Let’s go this way,” he said, pointing left.

The squad entered a passage and from there, they entered each of the nearest rooms in turn, pulling out the mattresses and dropping them on the corridor floor in preparation to carry them to B-22.

“Five should do it,” said Maxwell.

The mattresses were more luxurious than he was used to, and that made them heavier. They were bulky too, and, for ease, needed two people to lift them.

“Barkley, you and Valerio carry that one,” said Maxwell. He slung his rifle. “I’ll take this one here. Private Fleming - you and Vaughan keep watch.”

“Yes, sir,” said Fleming. “We’re going to need three trips.”

“If that’s what it takes,” said Maxwell.

Stooping low, Maxwell lifted his mattress. By stretching out his arms, he could grip it on both edges and if he walked sideways, he could see where he was going. The mattress smelled of horsehair and wool and he guessed each one would have cost him two weeks’ wages. Evidently, the church’s flock discovered serenity through both mental harmony with the aliens of the universe and by means of a good night’s sleep.

Fleming went in front and Maxwell followed him into the airlock, with the rest of Squad A coming after.

“Open the door,” Maxwell instructed.

“Opening the door,” Fleming confirmed.

The squad hurried across to B-22 and dumped the two mattresses in the storage room beyond the airlock.

“Let’s bring the other three over,” said Maxwell. “Then we’ll find someplace to set them up for sleeping.”

The soldiers returned to B-32 and Maxwell picked up another mattress. Following Fleming, he returned to the airlock. By now he was feeling the strain of the added gravity, though he didn’t let on.

Although only a short time had passed, it was already appreciably darker outside and Maxwell squinted along the alley between the two buildings as he laboured with the mattress.

A shadow, or a hint of a shadow appeared in the distance. For a moment, it didn’t move so that it merged into the other shadows cast by one of the accommodation structures. Then, it moved, darting with tremendous speed to the building opposite.

Straightaway, Maxwell threw down his mattress and reached for his gun. “Movement,” he said.

“I didn’t see anything,” said Fleming, nevertheless aiming his gun in the direction Maxwell was facing.

“I think I might have seen it too,” said Lowe.

“I’m checking with the Marauder,” said Barkley. A few seconds later, he spoke again. “The warship’s sensors detect no movement within the compound, Sergeant. It’s only us.”

“What did you see, Private Lowe?” asked Maxwell.

“I was mostly looking at that door over there, Sergeant, but I could have sworn something moved at the edge of my eye.”

“One false alarm happens, but from you, me and Private Lyles?” said Maxwell, shaking his head. He didn’t want to pick up the mattress again, and he felt suddenly exposed standing here in the alley.

“Should I speak to Lieutenant Bishop again, Sergeant?” asked Barkley.

“Go ahead,” said Maxwell. He couldn’t shake the certainty that he’d seen something, but his faith in the Marauder’s sensor tech made him doubt his own eyes. What he didn’t doubt was the feeling deep in his guts that he and his soldiers were in danger.

“Leave these mattresses – get into that airlock over there,” he said.

The soldiers sprinted into the B-22 airlock and Maxwell closed the outer door.

“Lieutenant Bishop confirms there’s nothing in the compound, Sergeant,” said Barkley. “The warship’s sensors have a straight-down view and there’s no place to hide.”

Maxwell wasn’t the kind to get jumpy and he felt an irresistible urge to go outside and take another look, even if it was just to confront his fears before they dug their claws in too deep.

“Those mattresses aren’t going to carry themselves,” he said angrily, thumping his palm onto the access panel and quickly returning that same hand to his gauss rifle.

For several seconds, Maxwell stood motionless in the airlock, watching and listening. He heard no sounds other than those of the jungle. Peering outside, Maxwell checked in both directions.

“Nothing,” he said. It had become almost a matter of pride that he bring back those mattresses and Maxwell slung his rifle across his shoulder. “Cover me while I carry these inside.”

He walked quickly to the nearest mattress, picked it up with a grunt of effort and carried it to the storage room in B-22. After that, he returned for the fourth.

“What about the last mattress?” asked Fleming, as Maxwell struggled through the airlock.

“Screw it,” he said. “We’ve got enough.”

Having deposited his burden in the storage room. Maxwell re-entered the airlock and stood at the entrance for a time.

“You’re convinced you saw something,” said Valerio.

Maxwell nodded, his attention still outside. “My eyes never play tricks on me.”

He glanced at the others. They wanted to believe, because Maxwell rarely made a wrong call. At the same time, the soldiers trusted the cold, hard technology installed on the Marauder. And they certainly didn’t want to deal with the thought that something might be out there in the shadows of the compound.

Barkley received an inbound comm and he began talking, his eyes wide.

“Sergeant, one of the main doors on that central prefab just opened. The Marauder’s sensors picked it up.”

“Did anything go in or come out?” asked Maxwell, wondering if he and his soldiers had missed something during the earlier search.

“No, sir,” said Barkley. “The door opened and it’s still open.”

“Can the Marauder see inside?”

“Not without significant repositioning.”

“Which Captain Grisham isn’t about to do,” said Maxwell.

“We’re the boots on the ground, sir. The warship has detected no threats.”

Maxwell cursed. “This whole situation is a damned threat!”

He took a calming breath and wondered if he should speak directly to Captain Grisham and request that the Marauder approach to a much lower altitude. Of course, that would make it sound as if Maxwell couldn’t handle a few shadows and a door that opened by itself.

“Are we going to check it out, Sergeant?” asked Fleming.

Maxwell didn’t want to say yes. His internal alarm bells were ringing and he usually listened to them. On the other hand, something terrible had happened at the compound and it was his duty to find out what it was.

“Yes, we’re checking it out,” he said.

“Maybe we could wait until morning,” said Lowe.

Maxwell stared up at the darkening sky. He could probably use the fading light as an excuse to take cover for the night, but that wasn’t his way.

“We can make it to the main prefab in five minutes,” he said. Maxwell spoke on the open comms. “Have you been following this, Corporal Fine?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you to hold where you are with Squad B. Something’s interested in that hardware and it’s our responsibility to keep it guarded.”

“We’ll stay right here, Sergeant.”

Wondering if he was making the right decision, Maxwell led his soldiers at a fast pace towards the central prefab. He planned to take one look inside the storage area and that was it. If nothing was different to how it was before, he’d return straightaway to B-22 without initiating any kind of extended search.

Maxwell and his soldiers hurried through the deepening gloom.

Chapter Fifteen

The high walls of the central prefab seemed menacing now, in a way they hadn’t before, their shadows longer and darker. Maxwell was reminded of pictures he’d seen of old castles upon high hills, where evil men had lived and spread fear through the villages below.

Holding his squad in place between two of the accommodation blocks, Maxwell studied the building for a time, watching for signs of anything he might not like. The open door – still open, according to Lieutenant Bishop – was in the south wall and currently hidden from Maxwell’s west-east view.

“Let’s go,” he said, at last.

Slipping out from the alley between the accommodation units, Maxwell went south, sticking close to the wall of the north-south module, his eyes darting between the main prefab and the way ahead.

Soon, he reached the southern area of the clear space around the target building, and he checked once behind to make sure his soldiers were close by.

“Like we were told, the door is open,” said Maxwell, indicating the dark square in the wall about 150 metres away.

“No way to see inside from here,” said Fleming.

Maxwell moved again, heading east along the southern edge of the open area which surrounded the central prefab. The feeling of threat hadn’t diminished and he wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

It wasn’t long before the squad were directly south of the open door, and Maxwell stood with his back to the wall of an accommodation building while he stared into the interior. The sensor in his suit helmet was designed to detect heat and movement, and it could enhance darkness, but all Maxwell could see in the prefab was a jumble of shapes. Corpses, just where he’d left them.

“I can’t see shit,” said Fleming.

“No movement,” said Lowe. “There’s nothing here.”

“Something opened that door,” said Maxwell. “And it wasn’t caused by a hardware fault, before you say it.”

The soldiers wanted to go, and he couldn’t blame them. Still, having made the decision to come here, Maxwell wasn’t leaving without at least taking a closer look into the storage bay.

“Come on,” he said, pushing himself away from the wall and sprinting for the prefab wall to the left of the entrance.

As he ran, Maxwell kept his attention on the darkness of the storage bay. Everything was as still as he’d have expected from a room full of dead bodies.

At the prefab wall, he turned and watched the rest of his squad catch up. Once everyone was in place, Maxwell walked the last few metres to the bottom of the ramp leading into the bay. He peered inside, hoping the image quality from the helmet sensor would be better now that he was closer.

“What can you see?” asked Fleming, his voice on the comms a loud whisper.

Maxwell shook his head slowly. “I can’t make anything out.”

“You’ll have to turn the lights on, Sergeant,” said Lowe.

An angry response came to Maxwell’s tongue and he bit down on it. “Move up and keep watch,” he said. “I’m going inside.”

Putting one hand on the sloped edge of the ramp, Maxwell climbed up. The scents of decay came to him and he thought they might be stronger than before, or maybe he was just imagining it.

Suddenly, as he stood on the threshold of the bay, Maxwell felt a shiver of fear. He switched on his helmet flashlight and it stabbed into the near darkness. The beam of light cast a puddle of wan yellow, as if it were being crushed by the size of the bay. Maxwell directed it to where the closest bodies were lying, but the beam wouldn’t extend any deeper into the storage area.

Cursing his hesitation, Maxwell forced his feet to move and he reached the button for the interior light in two long strides.

The lights came on, as cold as before and Maxwell found himself looking at the bodies of the compound’s former occupants, lying on the floor and in heaps like he remembered.

Except that something looked out of place.

“Corporal Valerio, get your ass in here,” said Maxwell, keeping his voice steady.

“What’s up, Sergeant?” asked Valerio, clambering up the ramp. The other squad members stayed outside, though Private Fleming kept leaning into the opening to see what was happening.

Maxwell pointed to the far end of the storage area, where a few corpses lay near the wall. “I remember all these bodies being gathered in the middle of the floor,” he said.

Valerio looked where Maxwell had indicated, his brow furrowed. “I can’t rightly remember, Sergeant. There’re plenty corpses in here – three thousand too many. It was a lot to take in the first time.” Valerio turned his head towards Maxwell. “The visual recordings in your suit databank should go back that far.”

“They do,” said Maxwell. “But I’m damned if I’m going to stand here searching through the files.”

He backed slowly towards the exit, his eyes not straying from the dead.

“Let’s get away,” he said. “It’s time we returned to the others.”

Maxwell urged Valerio down the ramp ahead of him and then paused on the exit threshold to make one final scan of the storage bay. The corpses hadn’t moved and Maxwell realised he’d allowed himself to become so affected by this place that he was trying to catch the dead in the act of moving while his back was turned.

Shit.

Before Maxwell could give his next order, he heard a soft thumping coming from behind. The noise was gentle like that of a body sliding down a heap of other corpses. Spinning about with his gun ready, Maxwell stared into the room, his teeth bared and gleaming white.

Nothing had changed.

“What’s up, Sergeant?” asked Barkley.

“Close this door,” said Maxwell, not answering the question. “We’re returning to B-22 like I said.”

He jogged down the ramp and then increased his pace as he ran south towards the accommodation building. Once there, Maxwell turned west. Had he known darkness would come this quickly, he wouldn’t have investigated the storage building. As it happened, night had fallen almost an hour earlier than the time indicated in the planetary survey documents, so Maxwell wasn’t going to entirely blame himself for the error.

His earpiece crackled.

“Sergeant, did I hear that you’re on your way back?” asked Corporal Fine.

“That’s right,” said Maxwell. “We should be at B-22 in less than five minutes.”

“Private Chau found something that might interest you, sir.”

“A fridge full of cold beer?” Maxwell couldn’t remember hearing that alcohol was prohibited within the CES, but he hadn’t seen any sign of it around the compound so far.

“Hah. Not a chance, Sergeant.”

“Whatever Chau found – do I need to know about it right this moment?”

“It’ll keep for five minutes.”

“In that case, see you in five,” said Maxwell.

It sounded like Chau had unearthed something of potential interest, but Maxwell didn’t want to hear about it until he was back with the others. Revisiting the storage room corpses, along with the earlier false alarms, had left him doubly cautious and he just wanted to concentrate on returning to B-22 as quickly as possible, without any distractions.

Although he maintained a good pace, Maxwell kept a close watch ahead, and he paused to check the side alleys as he passed. Every so often, he twisted to look over his shoulder, to ensure his soldiers remained close.

Squad A arrived at the usual entrance to B-22 without incident.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get that last mattress, Sergeant?” asked Fleming.

“Maybe later,” said Maxwell.

The soldiers entered the B-22 airlock space. Before he closed the outer door, Maxwell paused to listen. With the onset of darkness, even the jungle sounds were dying away, and all he heard was a single, plaintive cry of a distant, unseen creature.

He closed the door, sealing out the night. Entering the storage space beyond, Maxwell discovered that the mattresses were gone. Soon after, the soldiers of Squad A arrived at the open plan area of B-22 where those mattresses had been laid on the floor in the far corner, with overturned desks around them providing a small degree of privacy.

“What have you got for me?” asked Maxwell, striding across to where Corporal Fine was sitting with her feet on the security controller, her gauss rifle propped within easy reach.

Fine rolled sideways onto her feet and faced Maxwell. For a lingering moment, she looked into his visor, as if reading something in his expression. Then, she turned and picked up an object from the console which hadn’t been there when Maxwell left thirty or forty minutes ago.

“This,” said Fine simply.

It was a framed photo, maybe twelve inches by eight. A pair of thirty-somethings - a man and a woman dressed in fashionable civilian clothing - beamed at the camera lens.

Chau hadn’t picked up the photo because he was interested in this memory. The two members of the CES were standing on the compound landing pad and Maxwell guessed the image was taken immediately after they’d arrived on Xaros.

“Three shuttles in the background,” said Maxwell.

“Yes, sir,” said Fine. “The third one is different to the models we saw on the landing pad outside.”

“Looks military,” said Maxwell. “An older model.”

“Yes, sir. There was no record of the CES having three shuttles.”

“And that third shuttle is missing.” Maxwell gave a short laugh. “Ivey Metz must have been well connected to have laid her hands on all this hardware.”

Fine pointed over her shoulder at the security controller. “Maybe this console holds the flight records for all of those shuttles.”

“As well as everything else we need in order to find out what happened here,” said Maxwell. He smiled without humour. “We’re making progress.”

“Slow and steady.”

Maxwell’s eyes found Chau and he raised a thumb in his direction. “Good spot, Private.”

Chau didn’t answer but he raised his own thumb in acknowledgement.

“Anything else to report, Corporal?” asked Maxwell.

“No, sir.” Fine lowered her voice. “I was listening on the open channel. There’s something not right about this place.”

“The sooner we’re done, the sooner we can be out of here,” said Maxwell.

“You were going to check the recording from your helmet sensor,” Fine reminded him.

Maxwell felt a sudden reluctance, as if part of his mind didn’t want to know the truth – just in case it turned out to be the wrong kind of truth. Even so, he accessed the feed recording and loaded it onto his HUD.

Usually if he wanted to review a recording, he’d link to a device with a larger screen and stream the data across. Since he didn’t have access to anything here on Xaros, Maxwell had no choice other than to use the tiny screen inside his suit helmet. The deployment vessel on the landing pad was equipped with suitable hardware, but paying it a visit at night was out of the question.

He spent a few minutes watching the recording of when he’d first entered the central prefab and then compared it with the recording of his most recent visit. The corpses which had caught his attention hadn’t changed position.

Berating his overactive imagination, Maxwell searched through the feed recording until he found the place where he was carrying the mattress across the alley. Despite replaying the file several times, as well as pausing it so he could zoom into the images, he found nothing out of the ordinary, though admittedly the HUD screen wasn’t the best tool for the job.

Remembering Lyles’s false alarm, Maxwell called her over and instructed her to search the recording of her own helmet feed.

“There’s nothing there, Sergeant,” said Lyles after a time. She looked faintly embarrassed. “It must have been in my head.”

“Don’t worry about it, Private,” said Maxwell.

He sent Lyles back to her position behind one of the desks.

“So everything’s just great, huh?” said Fine. “Nothing to worry ourselves over.”

Maxwell could see from her face that she didn’t believe it, and neither did he.

“Why don’t you and the rest of Squad B take break, Corporal?” he said. “You’ve got four hours.”

Fine nodded and walked away across the open plan space, skewering soldiers from afar with her pointed finger and then indicating where they should sleep. Fine and Diaz shared, with enough room on the mattress that Maxwell didn’t feel too guilty about abandoning the fifth.

As Squad B settled down, Maxwell sat in front of the security controller. For a long while, his mind played over everything which had happened since he and his squads came to Xaros. Usually this far into a mission, the shooting would have started, while here, Maxwell had only fired his rifle into that strange part-biological security breaker.

Although nothing had yet tried to kill him, Maxwell wasn’t feeling relaxed. In fact, he couldn’t remember a mission that had got him worked up like this one. A mental image of those corpses in the storage building kept jumping into his head and he wondered why the bodies had hardly decomposed at all. Maybe the interior was equipped with a preservation module and there was nothing more to it.

As well as that, Maxwell kept remembering the moment when he’d seen movement along the alley. What his brain had registered was something huge and fast, which had moved with the shadows like they were its natural home.

The Marauder’s sensors didn’t see anything. Technology doesn’t make mistakes.

No matter how hard he tried, Maxwell couldn’t convince himself.

When Squad B’s four hours ended, he was grateful for a chance to sleep, in order that his mind might gain some respite. The mattress was comfortable, but Maxwell’s dreams were unsettled.

When he awoke, it was to a new day on Xaros.

Chapter Sixteen

“What’s the plan for today, Sergeant?” asked Private Diaz. She was holding a steaming coffee from one of the replicators.

“What makes you think we aren’t going to sit on our asses until this security controller unlocks?” asked Maxwell, a half-eaten plate of replicated scrambled eggs on his lap. He was hungry enough that they almost tasted great.

“In the last ten years, I can’t remember one time when you wanted us to sit on our asses.” Diaz grinned. “Are you trying to convince me today’s going to be the exception?”

Maxwell laughed. “Hell no.”

“Are we going to search a few more of these prefabs?” asked Lyles.

“We’ve still got people to find,” said Maxwell.

“Maybe they all took off in that third shuttle.”

“There’s no way in hell you could fit more than a few hundred inside the missing shuttle, Private.”

“I’m just looking for easy answers, Sergeant,” said Lyles.

“Keep looking, Private, but you won’t find any here on Xaros.”

Maxwell finished his eggs and picked up his own coffee which he’d left balanced on the edge of the security controller. He took a sip, grimaced, and then took another. Placing the cup down again, he rose from his seat.

“Listen up, here’s the plan.” He waited until everyone was listening and then he continued. “We’re leaving one squad here to watch over this hardware. The second squad will search some of the other buildings.” He paused for a moment. “And we didn’t check out the two CES shuttles on the pad. Maybe there’s someone inside, or maybe the last pilot forgot to enable the security locks. If so, we’ll have access to that shuttle’s flight records.”

The soldiers didn’t have any questions, since the plan was as simple as they came.

“Squad A, we’re heading out first,” said Maxwell. “We’ll search for a couple of hours, or until I think we’ve done enough. Then we’ll return here, and Squad B can stretch their legs.”

Before departing, Maxwell gave his gauss rifle a once-over. The weapon had a stock and two grips, the vertical foregrip being three-quarters of the way along the gun’s three-inch-diameter barrel. That barrel held the firing coils, but where it neared the pistol grip at the stock, the lower section became flat. That section was the magazine, which could be ejected in a split-second and a new one slotted in.

The gauss rifle wasn’t designed for field disassembly, but it had a tiny readout that usually showed the remaining ammunition, and which could also display the results of a hardware audit. Maxwell’s gun was a-okay and he’d already pushed extra gauss slugs into the magazine to replace those he’d fired yesterday, so the ammunition readout was at fifty.

“Are you planning to stare at that rifle all day, Sergeant?” asked Fleming. He thumbed over his shoulder. “We’ve got a compound to search.”

“Then let’s get it done,” said Maxwell.

He led Squad A along the corridor and into the airlock. With a warning for everyone to be on their guard, he activated the outer door panel. Warm, humid air and bright light filled the space, but it was the sounds of a thousand different species in the Xaros jungle which made this planet feel as alien as any Maxwell had visited. Yesterday, the planet’s wildlife had been muted. Today, they were in full voice. Maybe it was because of the early hour, Maxwell thought.

Outside, he turned to get his bearings. This day was sunny like the last, and the sky no less perfect. Maxwell wasn’t feeling the beauty. A menace hung about this place, scarcely hidden beneath the façade of paradise.

“Where to, Sergeant?” asked Barkley.

Maxwell didn’t relish the thought of searching through another of the larger structures – not just yet. “We’ll head over to the shuttles,” he said.

He turned west away from B-22, along an alley separating the accommodation blocks. The shuttle pad wasn’t far and soon the soldiers were at the westernmost edge of the accommodation structures.

“The door to our shuttle is open,” said Maxwell, spotting it at once. He didn’t ask if anyone had left it open. He knew nobody had.

“The Marauder’s sensors detected no movement during the night, Sergeant,” said Barkley. “We already talked about it.”

Maxwell was tempted to speak to Lieutenant Bishop, but for the moment he held the squad in place and watched the shuttle. The distance was too far for certainty, but he thought he could see marks on the vessel’s flank.

“No movement. No sign of anything. Private Lowe, Private Barkley, stay here and keep watch. The rest of you, with me.”

Without waiting for confirmation, Maxwell broke into a run towards the shuttle. It was a few hundred metres away, so he measured his pace, preferring to arrive fully combat-ready than panting for breath.

As the distance lessened it became increasingly apparent that the shuttle had suffered damage. Slowing for the last fifty metres, Maxwell’s eyes took in the details. The shuttle’s side door hadn’t been opened, so much as it had been punched inwards and torn completely out of its housing. The buckled door had been hurled into the interior and it lay aft of the opening, where its weight had crushed several of the bucket seats.

“What the hell is going on, Sergeant?” asked Valerio.

Maxwell didn’t answer. At the shuttle entrance, he leaned inside and looked left, then right. The door housing was pushed in and torn, leaving sharp edges he was careful to avoid. From here, the cockpit was only partially visible – enough to reveal the mangled wreckage of the pilot’s console. Maxwell listened carefully. The shuttle’s engines had gone offline and he heard no other sound from the interior.

Maxwell climbed inside and made his way along the narrow aisle leading to the cockpit. The pilot’s console was way beyond repair - the hardware had been torn clean from its mountings and it was crushed out of shape.

Backing out of the cockpit, Maxwell returned to the passenger bay and crouched just inside the entrance. He told the others what had happened.

“We’re going nowhere in this deployment vessel,” he said.

“How did it happen?” asked Fleming. “The damn warship is meant to be watching this compound.”

“Private Barkley, get me a channel to the Marauder,” said Maxwell. This had gone on long enough.

“Yes, sir,” said Barkley. A few seconds later, he spoke again. “The channel is open; I’m diverting your suit comms into it.”

“Lieutenant Bishop,” said Maxwell, the moment he heard the increased static in his earpiece. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“The sensors are clear, Sergeant and they have been ever since you set down. This is what we do and we’re good at it. We haven’t taken our eye off the ball for a moment, and even if we had, the feed recordings are all held in the Marauder’s databanks. We’ve detected nothing.”

“My soldiers are on the ground, Lieutenant. Whatever the Marauder’s sensors are telling you, something wrecked this shuttle since we landed.”

“That seems to be the case,” said Bishop.

“I need a plan, Lieutenant.”

“I’ll speak to Captain Grisham and get back to you. Is this your request for an extraction?”

Maxwell clenched his teeth as he considered his answer. “Not yet. Let me check out these other shuttles.”

“Copy that. I’ll speak to you soon.”

The comms channel went dead, and Maxwell met the gaze of the other soldiers.

“Those two CES shuttles don’t look damaged. Not from the outside, at least.” he said. “We’re going to check them out. Depending on what we find and depending on what Lieutenant Bishop comes back with, will determine whether I request an extraction.”

“We can’t stay here, Sergeant,” said Valerio. “We can see with our own eyes that something broke into our deployment vessel, and if the Marauder’s sensors didn’t see what it was, then the warship can’t offer us any air support.”

Maxwell nodded. “I hear what you say, Corporal, and I agree one hundred percent.” He had a thought. “Last night, I saw something move in the compound and I trusted the Marauder’s sensors more than I trusted my own eyes. Now—” he gestured towards the shuttle’s cockpit, “Now we know those sensors aren’t seeing everything.” He let it hang.

“So, it wasn’t a false alarm,” said Lowe.

“And maybe Private Lyles saw something too,” said Maxwell.

Saying it out loud was enough to push him to the brink of ordering an immediate pickup from the Marauder. He held off and spoke on the open channel.

“I hope everyone’s following this,” he said.

“Damn right,” said Corporal Fine.

“We’re not going to overstay our welcome,” said Maxwell. “Squad A will investigate the CES shuttles on this landing pad and if nothing new comes to light, I’ll request that pickup. This might be our last chance at finding out what happened to these people here on Xaros.”

“There ain’t no way the Marauder’s coming to pick us up, Sergeant,” said Fleming, switching to his chin speaker rather than using the open comms channel. “They can’t.”

“What makes you say that, Private?”

“Think about it, sir. There’s something here on Xaros. Something the Marauder’s sensors can’t see. If that warship sets down so we can board, what’s to say that same something doesn’t kill all of us on the ground in double-quick time, enter the Marauder and do the same to the crew?” Fleming pointed at the two CES shuttles. “None of these are lightspeed capable, but that warship is. If we’re up against a new alien species, maybe it got itself trapped here and the only way it can escape is by stealing a vessel that can travel at lightspeed.”

Maxwell recognized the quantity of guesswork which had led Fleming to this conclusion, but he couldn’t deny that the soldier might be onto something. As usual on this mission, more than a handful of questions remained unanswered and, though Maxwell admitted to himself he was more than curious – as well as driven by pride – to find out what had befallen the people on Xaros, he didn’t want to lose his life in the process.

“We’ll soon find out what Captain Grisham has in mind, Private,” he said. “In the meantime, we’re checking out those shuttles.”

Jumping from the transport’s exit, Maxwell landed on the ground with a thud. He looked around carefully. Aside from birds flying to the south, everything was still.

“Private Lowe, Private Barkley, stay where you are,” said Maxwell.

He set off towards the CES shuttles. They were mid-range civilian models with a few curves added to their otherwise boxy, twenty-metre hulls to make them look sporty. Maxwell had flown transports like these, and aside from some extra padding on the seats and a few other comforts intended to make them look good in the showroom, there was nothing special about them. He’d take the armour plates and the nose gun on a military transport over a foam cushion for his ass any day of the week.

“The Marauder already broke the flank door security on those shuttles, Sergeant,” said Barkley. “But access to the flight console is governed by the security controller. We should have access but—”

“I’m not holding my breath,” said Maxwell.

The CES shuttles were resting on their landing legs, and their propulsions were quiet. That was already a bad sign.

“No damage to their exteriors,” said Maxwell.

He waited for a moment at the access panel of the first shuttle he reached. A light upon that panel glowed green. When he was happy with the positioning of Fleming and Valerio, he opened the door.

The shuttle’s airlock was tiny and dark. Maxwell switched on his helmet flashlight and climbed up. He swore when he saw that the inner light was red.

“Both doors won’t open at once,” he said. “We’ll have to let it go through a normal cycle.”

“The atmosphere is breathable,” Valerio protested. “We should be able to override the mechanism.”

“You try telling that to the backend computer, Corporal.”

Valerio didn’t mention it again. He climbed into the airlock, followed by Private Fleming. Three soldiers with combat loadouts more than filled the space.

“Cycling the airlock,” said Maxwell.

He touched the inner panel. Both outer and inner lights went red. Ten seconds later, the inner light turned green.

“Ready.”

The lack of space made it awkward for Maxwell to keep his gun ready. As soon as the door opened, he stepped into the shuttle’s passenger bay, to give the others room. The light from his flashlight jumped with the movement of his head.

Valerio and Fleming entered the passenger bay, adding their own light to the interior.

“Empty,” said Maxwell.

Most of the bay floor was occupied by seats, and a total of four viewscreens were attached to the side walls. Advancing rapidly along one of the two aisles, Maxwell stopped at the closed cockpit door. The access panel here was also green.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” he said.

Maxwell touched the panel and the door opened. Six steps led upwards to the cockpit, though he didn’t need to climb them to see that the flight console had been torn out.

“Another broken shuttle,” he said.

“And no dead bodies,” said Valerio.

“One last transport on the pad,” said Fleming. “Anyone want to bet me a week’s wages that its cockpit is going to look as bad as this one?”

“Not a chance,” said Maxwell.

He didn’t bother climbing the stairs and strode back along the aisle. Once outside, Maxwell headed over to the second shuttle. He was certain it would be empty and he was equally certain its console would be out of action. Three minutes later, he was proven right on both counts.

Standing on the landing pad, Maxwell tipped back his head and stared into the endless blue of the sky.

“I need to speak with Captain Grisham,” he said. “Private Barkley, get me a comms channel.”

Chapter Seventeen

To Grisham’s credit, he didn’t try to sugar coat the truth - he just came right out and said it.

“I can’t offer you an extraction, Sergeant. If there’s a new alien species on Xaros and one that our sensors can’t detect, I can’t risk it coming onto the Marauder.”

“What about my soldiers, sir?”

“You’re in a hostile location, Sergeant. Do what you always do.”

“How long are we stuck here?”

“I’ve sent a comm to base, requesting that another warship be sent to Xaros – a warship with an operational transport.”

“It’ll be days before anyone arrives, sir.” Maxwell was surprised he didn’t feel angry. “And will high command be in a rush to divert a fleet warship away from the frontline?”

“They will when they read what I’ve said in the comm, Sergeant. We potentially have a new and hostile species on Xaros. Backup will come, and it will be at highest velocity.”

“The third CES shuttle might still be operational, sir. It might have landed elsewhere on the planet.”

“It might have done,” Grisham admitted.

“You could go looking for it, sir,” said Maxwell. “If the Marauder’s sensors aren’t any use over the compound—”

“A Ghost missile strike – if one becomes necessary - won’t require anything more than an approximate location, which is something you can provide from the ground, Sergeant. Anyway, that third shuttle won’t dock with a Tibor-class,” said Grisham. “But you know that already. You’d prefer to be in a shuttle in low orbit, rather than on the ground.”

“I never thought I’d admit a preference to being anywhere other than on solid,” said Maxwell.

“There’s no reason we can’t run a sensor sweep for a shuttle that might be elsewhere on the planet’s surface, or parked somewhere above it,” said Grisham.

“That would be appreciated, sir.”

“If the scans turn up blank, you’ll have to wait until the compound security controller unlocks later tonight, and hope the records you need are available in the backend data array.” Grisham swore. “I hate saying this, Sergeant, but until backup comes, you’re effectively on your own.”

“I’ll listen out for updates, sir,” said Maxwell. “Maybe you’ll find that shuttle.”

For a few moments, Grisham was quiet, and the channel hummed with faint background interference. “If there’s something down there, find it and kill it if you can. I’ve read your records, Sergeant Maxwell and there’s no one better for a job like this.” He exhaled, like he’d been holding in his breath. “The evidence suggests those people on Xaros brought this on themselves. That doesn’t mean we should let mass murder go unpunished.”

Maxwell had mixed feelings on the subject that he wasn’t ready to explore. “My priority is to keep my soldiers alive, sir.”

“I know. My crew and I will go hunting for that shuttle. I’ll deploy the Marauder’s comms relays in orbit – that way the comms will function when we’re blind side of your position. Good luck, Sergeant.”

The channel went dead. For several long seconds, Maxwell stared into the distance.

“I take it the Marauder isn’t coming?” said Fleming.

“No. You were right, Private. Whatever attacked this compound, Captain Grisham won’t risk it getting onto the Marauder.”

“Then—”

Maxwell raised a hand to halt the question. “I’ll explain it on the comms, to save having to repeat myself.”

The telling didn’t take long, and the complaints and protestations were muted. Maxwell wasn’t surprised – these soldiers had seen enough of combat to accept when they’d been dealt a bad hand and to just get on with the job of living.

“I reckon we’re looking at four or five days for the outbound comm to reach base,” said Barkley. “There are faster warships in the fleet than the Marauder, but it’ll take time to call one in, or – if we’re lucky and there’s a vessel ready to go on a base somewhere - send it into lightspeed. I’m guessing on ten days minimum. More likely twelve.”

“Unless Captain Grisham finds that shuttle,” said Lyles. “Though maybe I’d rather spend twelve days here on Xaros than sleep on a transport.”

“What happens next, Sergeant?” asked Corporal Fine. “Are we continuing our search of the compound, or are keeping our heads down and hoping nothing comes looking for us?”

Maxwell was in two minds, but given the recent events, he wanted a break and a chance to think. And maybe another plate of those scrambled eggs. “We’re returning to B-22,” he said.

A short jog across the landing pad and the open space to the east brought a reunion with Barkley and Lowe. Before heading into the alley between the accommodation buildings, Maxwell turned once more to look at the shuttles. As he did so, the wall-mounted repeater turret to the north caught his eye. Those perimeter guns hadn’t done the previous inhabitants of the compound any favours and Maxwell asked himself if their track-and-destroy functionality was activated.

“Change of plan,” he said. “We’re taking a look at that gun up there.”

The closest way to the top was back towards the shuttle pad, though Maxwell didn’t mind the exercise. Metal steps with a high side railing led up the wall near the landing pad’s northern end and he climbed rapidly. The wall was hollow, but it was strong enough to stop anything that wasn’t equipped with explosives.

At the top, Maxwell was granted a view not only across the compound, but into the jungle as well. The trees were densely packed, and he counted numerous different types, their broad trunks a variety of browns and reds, while their leaves were lush green. Although the canopy was thick, it hadn’t prevented the appearance of undergrowth and the ground was covered in plants large and small. He watched for a short time, and once or twice saw rustling hints of movement, though whatever was responsible remained hidden.

“I never did like trees,” said Lowe.

Maxwell wasn’t sure if the man was joking and he didn’t ask. He turned and swept his gaze across the compound. The wall was a fraction higher than the accommodation prefabs and he could see the flat roofs all the way across to the far wall, except for where his view was blocked by the larger structures, including the central storage prefab.

Dragging his attention back to the repeater, Maxwell headed along the three-metre-wide top of the wall. A metre-high parapet on his left was topped by a railing intended to stop pioneers – who had perhaps vended too much alcohol from the replicator - falling to their deaths on the ground below.

The repeater was two-point-five metres high and similarly wide. It hummed softly on its rotating pedestal and six barrels protruded from the sloped forward face. Those barrels were currently aimed towards the jungle, and the gun itself was certainly programmed so that it could never fire directly into the compound itself. A status panel on the flat rear plating of the repeater was showing text.

“It’s active,” said Maxwell. He tapped the screen, hoping to access the command menu. “Not authorised. If this gun discharged anytime recently, we’ll have to wait for the security controller to unlock before we can access those records. I can’t even get a damned ammunition reading.”

“At least we know it’ll shoot anything that comes out of that jungle,” said Lowe.

“How do we know that whatever’s in this compound didn’t come out of the jungle?” asked Fleming, staring across the trees. “We’re only assuming the CES called it in with their comms unit. What if we’re facing the planet’s apex predator?”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” said Lowe.

Fleming shrugged. “Maybe. If something came to Xaros, where’s its spaceship?”

“The Marauder’s sensors can’t detect this new alien, so why would our hardware be any better at detecting whatever it rode in on?” asked Lowe. He pointed upwards. “There could be something right over our heads, watching our every move, and we wouldn’t even know about it.”

Despite himself, Maxwell’s eyes flicked upwards. The sky was empty, but he had Lowe’s words in his mind now.

“What do you reckon, Sergeant?” asked Barkley.

“If there was an alien spaceship watching us, I reckon we’d be dead already,” said Maxwell. “But thinking about it is only going to screw with our heads, so let’s not talk about it any longer.”

The soldiers took the hint.

“Are we going to check out those other perimeter guns, Sergeant?” asked Valerio.

Maxwell stared at the next gun, three hundred metres further along the wall. Walking the entire perimeter of the compound would take time and he had a feeling that each of the guns would be set to track and destroy.

“One more turret,” said Maxwell. “If it’s active, I’ll assume all the others are too.”

Suddenly impatient, he jogged along the wall. On his right, the compound was all straight lines, the colours drab, even in full daylight. To his left, the forest was a thousand greens and browns, doubtless home to endless species of alien life. The contrast couldn’t have been greater, yet to Maxwell’s eye, the danger seemed equal in both jungle and compound.

Arriving at the next turret, his breathing was deep, though his heart rate fell rapidly as he slowed.

“Track and destroy active,” said Maxwell, reading the display.

He turned his gaze towards the compound. B-22 was somewhere among the anonymous sea of grey accommodation blocks, and it took Maxwell a few moments to identify it with absolute certainty. One of the larger structures was north of B-22 and east of the squad’s position on the wall.

Valerio caught Maxwell’s gaze. “Maybe we should return to the others, Sergeant. We know the shuttles are broken – do we need to go digging through these other buildings? What if we run into something?”

Maxwell’s eye went to the time readout on his HUD. It was later than he’d expected and the morning was passing. He guessed B-19 would take an hour or more to search thoroughly. After that, were other prefabs – many of them.

He cursed inwardly. All the soldiers needed to do was keep their heads down and wait for backup, even if that backup was a long way off. And yet, that sense of duty, that rope around his neck, was still calling on him to find out what had happened here on Xaros – what appeared in fact to still be happening.

“We’re searching B-19, Corporal.”

Valerio didn’t say anything other than to acknowledge the order and his expression gave nothing away. “Yes, sir.”

The squad descended the nearest steps to ground level and Maxwell immediately felt enclosed. He also felt the Marauder’s absence, even though the warship had so far been of little use to the ground mission. The idea that an alien vessel might be overhead was still in the back of his mind, though he refused to let it bother him.

A few minutes later, Maxwell called a halt at one of the entrances to B-19. Without knowing why, he had a feeling that something was wrong, and he ordered the squad to additional caution.

The darkness beyond the airlock was unwelcome after the brightness of the outside sunlight and the beam from Maxwell’s flashlight seemed hardly to penetrate. He saw desks and computers like in the other prefabs, but these ones had been overturned, and liberally spattered with spraying blood – blood which had turned brown and become cracked where it had dried and hardened.

Then, he saw the first body, on the floor left of the airlock.

“Shit,” Maxwell said, as his eyes spotted a second corpse. “Looks like we found some of the others.”

Beckoning his squad to follow, he entered the room. The light switch was close to the door and Maxwell activated it with his finger. Harsh blue illumination dispelled the darkness. A couple of the soldiers cursed at the sights, though Maxwell kept his lips tight together.

This room had likely once been another of the day-to-day admin areas for the compound, with dimensions of twenty metres by fifteen. With the benefit of the light, Maxwell could see that the computer desks hadn’t merely been overturned – they’d been crushed like those in B-22.

Other hardware had been installed in the room – consoles from the looks of it – all of which had been ripped out and thrown against the two side walls.

Piled up against the far wall were more corpses – hundreds of them. The bodies formed a heap that reached almost to the three-metre ceiling, their limbs entwined in death.

“Not much blood,” said Valerio, already moving on from the shock of the discovery.

“Looks like plenty to me,” said Lowe.

“No,” said Valerio, shaking his head slowly. He took a couple of steps deeper into the room and looked around for a time. Then, he swept his pointed finger in a way that encompassed everything around him. “This is the blood of a few a dozen people. Maybe the people who worked in here when it came for them.”

“The rest were brought here later,” said Maxwell, understanding Valerio’s meaning.

“After all the blood had drained from their bodies,” said Valerio. With quick strides, he approached the edge of the pile, crouched and inspected one of the corpses. He moved and inspected another. “Their throats have been cut – like what happened to those poor bastards we found in the central prefab. From the looks on their faces, they knew what was coming and they weren’t greeting it with open arms.”

“When did they die?” asked Maxwell.

Valerio took a probe from his med-box and held it against the dark flesh of a corpse. “Forty days.”

“And no obvious signs of decomposition. Could the med-box be wrong?”

“The med-box reads more than just physical decay, Sergeant,” said Valerio. “If it says forty days, then that’s when it happened.”

“Maybe this prefab is fitted with a life support unit,” said Fleming. “Maybe that’s why the bodies were brought here.”

Barkley finished communicating the discovery with both the Marauder and Squad B, and gave Maxwell a short nod to indicate it was done.

“Why the hell would anyone go to the trouble of hauling a bunch of corpses from one place to the other, Sergeant?” Lowe asked.

“Damned if I know,” said Maxwell.

“Are we going to search the rest of the structure?” asked Fleming, his voice making it clear which answer he would prefer.

“We have to,” said Maxwell. “I’d guess there are seven or eight hundred bodies in that pile. Add those to the ones we found before and that leaves plenty missing.”

Despite the words, Maxwell’s feet didn’t want to move and he stared at the corpses for a while longer. Somehow, the faces of the dead seemed indistinct, as if his mind didn’t dare expose his consciousness to the terrified expressions they wore.

“Let’s finish what we came here to do,” said Maxwell. “Then we’ll head back to B-22.”

He led the soldiers through the left-hand exit and conducted a slow and methodical sweep of the B-19 interior. Just when Maxwell was beginning to think he’d found all the corpses, he and his squad discovered another pile of them in a room at the far end of the building.

This room was a workshop. Benches and shelves lined the walls, and Maxwell spotted boxes and various objects made from metal, but nothing that struck him as unusual. A two-person vehicle was parked inside the large exit door, its gravity engine running.

In the centre of the floor, another seven or eight hundred bodies had been left in a heap. Like in the previous room, blood was not much in evidence except for the copious amounts on the clothing of each body.

“Killed elsewhere and brought here,” said Maxwell in disgust.

“We’re only missing half of the total now,” said Lowe. “The rest must be in the other buildings.”

“I’ve had enough of the search for today,” said Maxwell. “We’ll return to B-22 and then I’ll decide what happens next.”

Rather than lead his squad through the building again, he strode to the activation panel for the exit door. The door opened to reveal an airlock space large enough to accommodate a vehicle bigger than the gravity car that was already in the workshop. Maxwell hurried to the exit panel and when the outer door opened, he’d never felt so relieved to see the sunshine as he did at that moment.

Less than ten minutes later, Squad A arrived back at B-22. By this time, Maxwell had come to a decision.

Chapter Eighteen

“We’re staying put in B-22,” Maxwell announced, once he and his squad had returned to the central area of the building.

“I’d like to say I was looking forward to exploring,” said Lyles.

“I’ve seen enough to be sure the unaccounted members of the CES are lying dead in one or more of the compound buildings,” said Maxwell. “Someone else can finish the search and do the headcount.”

“Does that mean we’re waiting for this security controller to receive its confirmation from the comms proxy?” asked Chau.

“That’s exactly what it means, Private.” Maxwell smiled thinly. “However, there’s a chance the backend data arrays will contain information we’ll be obliged to act on.”

“Only if we go looking for that information,” said Diaz.

“We might be relying on it for our own safety,” said Maxwell. “We’re going to be stuck here on Xaros for a few days. If whatever killed those people is still here—”

“You saw it, Sergeant, and so did Lyles,” Vaughan protested. “There’s an alien creature in the base and it hasn’t gone anywhere. Maybe there’s more than one. Maybe there’re dozens.”

“You’re not helping,” growled Maxwell. “Now shut up and let me talk.”

“Sorry, Sergeant.”

“Anyways, like I was saying,” Maxwell resumed. “What’s happening here on Xaros could be big.” He looked from face to face. “It could be real big. And that means we can’t stick our fingers in our ears and hope it goes away. When we dig through the contents of the data array, we’ll have to deal with whatever we find.”

Having spoken, Maxwell waited to see if the soldiers had anything they wanted to say. From their faces, he could see they were less than happy, but they kept their mouths shut. Words weren’t going to change the situation.

“Another eight or ten hours and the security controller should unlock,” said Barkley, breaking the silence.

Maxwell nodded his acknowledgement. He preferred to be active and he wasn’t happy at the thought of sitting around waiting for a return transmission from the proxy hub. On the other hand, he wasn’t about to order his soldiers to patrol or search the compound just to stave off boredom.

“Squad B, you’ve got four hours,” said Maxwell. “Get some sleep.”

The soldiers found themselves places to lay down, shutting off their helmet mics to reduce the external noise. Maxwell caught himself checking the time, even though he knew full well that the more often he looked at the clock, the slower it would move.

He walked across to the replicator which had been installed near the security controller. The soldiers had moved the damaged furniture aside and Maxwell wondered again what could have crumpled the metals so easily.

After a few seconds of quiet gurgling, a metal tray of scrambled eggs with toast and bacon appeared in the replicator slot below the input panel. Maxwell withdrew his lunch and took his seat at the security controller again. While he was still eating, Corporal Valerio came over.

“We’re not going to be left alone forever, Sergeant.”

“I know.”

“If there really are aliens out there which killed seven thousand people in this compound, they’re going to come for us as well.”

“I know.” Maxwell finished his last slice of toast and put the tray down on the floor to one side of the controller. He didn’t know for sure, but logic strongly suggested his soldiers were facing more than a single opponent. “I don’t know why they haven’t attacked. Either they’re trapped here and need the Marauder to help them escape, or they’re interested in the contents of our data array.”

“Why would they hold back if they want that array?” asked Valerio. “We already found a hacking device and the data extraction had started.”

“Maybe that was the only hacking device they had with them.” Maxwell sighed. “I wish I had the answers, Corporal, but I think the most likely explanation is that we’re facing an enemy that doesn’t think the same way as we do.”

Valerio gave a rare smile. “Let’s hope they react to bullets in the head the same way we do.”

“Amen to that.”

Time passed as slowly as Maxwell had feared. He received a couple of updates from the Marauder, which amounted to little. The density of the jungle on much of the Xaros surface would make scanning for the missing shuttle painstaking work, so Captain Grisham had decided to perform a rapid scan that would detect any vessel which had crashed messily, but which would likely fail to spot the shuttle if any effort had been taken to hide it.

Why anyone would have hidden the shuttle, Maxwell didn’t know, but when it came to the CES, nothing would have surprised him.

Even the rapid scan would take several hours, so it didn’t sound as if the hunt for the shuttle would be over anytime soon. Consequently, when it was the turn of Squad A to rest, Maxwell wasn’t expecting to be woken prematurely with reports of success.

On this he was right, and he slept a full four hours. When he rolled off the mattress – feeling almost fresh - he was not shocked to discover that Corporal Fine had nothing new or interesting to report.

“If Private Barkley was right about the routing hub being twelve hours in each direction, we should have a response from it sometime soon,” Fine said.

Maxwell stared at the security controller, willing it to unlock. It didn’t. He was on the verge of heading to the replicator when a channel was forced open to his suit comms. The moment it happened, Maxwell knew he was about to hear some real shitty news.

“Sergeant Maxwell, you need to destroy the security controller and the backend array, and get the hell out of that compound,” said Lieutenant Lopez.

“What’s changed?” asked Maxwell, standing from his seat. He motioned with his hands to get the attention of his soldiers. “The controller could unlock at any moment.”

“We’ve detected the fringes of a Charos burst, with a centre point on the blind side of the Marauder’s position and an estimated half-million klicks from the planet,” said Lopez. “The size of the burst is consistent with that produced by a vessel with a greater mass than a Kijol destroyer.”

“How much greater?”

“Like I told you, we’re blind side, so we don’t have sensor sight.” Lopez swore. “Apologies, Sergeant, this has not come at a good time for any of us. It’s almost certain we’re up against one of the new model Aeons like we encountered at Tambus.”

“You’ve got a new model Tibor to face it, Lieutenant,” said Maxwell.

“There’ll be no engagement,” said Lopez. “Not yet. The enemy vessel didn’t arrive directly over your position and it might not even have visibility on the compound. You should have plenty of time to act, but don’t drag your feet.”

“Understood.”

“You’ve been given orders, Sergeant. The jungle canopy should be enough to keep you hidden from the enemy sensors. You know how the game is played.”

“That’s right, I do,” said Maxwell bitterly. “I’ll update you shortly.”

He cut the channel.

“Let me guess – we’re in the shit?” said Corporal Fine.

“Right first time,” said Maxwell. “Private Chau, I want you to destroy this security controller and the data array in that next room.”

Chau’s face twisted in confusion but he didn’t question the order. “Yes, sir,” he said, grabbing his pack of charges and hurrying over.

While Chau got to work attaching explosive devices to the hardware, Maxwell provided details to his squad about the enormous depths of crap into which they had been plunged.

“A Kijol destroyer might carry fifty troops, or it might carry five hundred,” said Maxwell. “Even if they only send half of fifty, it’s a fight we don’t want.”

“Will they definitely deploy?” asked Fleming.

“Nothing’s definite,” said Maxwell. “But they’ve come to Xaros for a reason – those assholes in the CES called them here and the Kijol have turned up to claim their prize.”

“So much for our air support, huh?” said Lyles.

Maxwell wanted to rage at the Marauder’s crew, but it was hard to summon the anger. He wouldn’t lead his squads against a superior force either – not if there was a viable alternative. And right this moment, that viable alternative was for Maxwell and everyone on the ground to get the hell away from the compound and hope the Kijol wouldn’t stick around on Xaros too long.

“We don’t need air support to help us lay low in some trees,” snapped Maxwell.

The door leading to the data array opened and Chau emerged. “Ready whenever, Sergeant. When I send the remote detonation command to those charges, there’ll be nothing left for the Kijol to salvage.”

Maxwell nodded. “Thank you. Now - I need some quiet for a moment, while I figure this out.”

He pondered the numbers. If the Kijol destroyer had arrived at half a million kilometres from Xaros and knew exactly where it was heading, it might require between twenty-five and thirty minutes to enter the planet’s atmosphere.

However, reading a Charos burst – the sphere of expanding energy produced by a spaceship exiting lightspeed - wasn’t always pinpoint accurate. So, if the destroyer had arrived at, say, 420,000 kilometres and it was a fast model Aeon class, then the sums started to get interesting, but in a bad way – particularly since Maxwell recalled hearing that the new model Aeon at Tambus had been equipped with Olin missiles. Those missiles travelled at incredible velocity and could target from an enormous distance.

While the use of such weapons would be wasteful overkill against three landed shuttles, Maxwell wasn’t prepared to gamble his life on the logic of an alien species.

He called up the compound map on his HUD and studied it for a moment. The soldiers were eager to get away from here, but now was the time to make the right decision, not later.

“The western gate is the closest exit from the compound, but that means crossing the landing pad,” said Maxwell. “If the Kijol are going to set down, that’s the likely place for it to happen.” He drummed his fingers on the edge of the security console. “And with those shuttles parked, the enemy sensor officers will be watching that area closely for anyone hoping to run for the hills.”

“Weren’t the Kijol coming here as friends to the CES?” asked Vaughan. “Maybe they’ll send down canapes instead of warheads.”

Maxwell didn’t grace the words with a response. “We’re heading for the east gate,” he said.

Just at that moment, the text on the security controller’s centre screen changed and he turned to read what it said.

Security request accepted.

Override: Marauder. Awaiting security parameters.

“Well would you look at that?” said Diaz sweetly.

Maxwell was suddenly torn. Realistically, he and his squad had thirty minutes to reach the trees and it wasn’t much more than a fifteen-minute run. He could sit his ass down in front of this console and maybe find some answers.

Except, he knew, he didn’t have nearly enough time. The Marauder would need to update the console’s security files and then Maxwell would have to start hunting through the backend array, hoping that the CES had organized their files in a manner that would make the search easy.

An idea came.

“Private Barkley, if you linked your comms pack to the security controller and we left it behind, could we stream data from the backend array to the Marauder through those orbital comms relays?”

“Yes, sir,” said Barkley. He furrowed his brow in thought. “The data stream wouldn’t be fast enough to transfer the entire contents of that array anytime soon. I could set up a targeted upload, but for that I’d have to know what files we’re targeting. That would need me to sit down at the controller and comb through the data array, which is something we’re trying to avoid.”

“Some data is better than no data,” said Maxwell.

“Yes, sir.”

“What you’re suggesting means leaving this hardware intact,” said Corporal Fine, tapping the security controller with a fingertip. “We’d be guessing on the right time to remotely detonate the charges.”

It was a risk and Maxwell knew it. “Private Barkley – set it up,” he said. “I’ll let the Marauder know what we’re planning. They’ll need to update the security files on the controller anyway.”

He requested a channel to the warship and Lieutenant Lopez accepted at once. Aware that time was passing, Maxwell quickly explained his plan. After speaking with Grisham, Lopez gave the agreement.

“Detonate those charges as soon as you hear a Kijol engine. Not a moment later,” she warned. “We’re taking a risk here.”

“I understand that, ma’am.”

Maxwell cut the channel and watched Barkley as the man altered the settings on the comms pack he’d laid on the floor next to the controller.

“Done,” said Barkley. “The pack is linked to both the controller and the orbital relay, and I’ve informed Lieutenant Bishop.”

“We don’t need to do anything else except detonate the charges?”

“No, sir.”

Maxwell had another thought. “Private Barkley, contact the Marauder. The warship broke the security on all these prefabs, but I don’t know if the compound exit gates are still locked.”

“I’ll check that, sir,” said Barkley. He didn’t say anything for a short time. “The eastern gate is locked, but it won’t be when we arrive.”

“That’s good enough.” Maxwell took one last look around the room. “We’re leaving,” he said. Without a backward glance, he strode away from the security controller, towards the exit corridor.

Soon, Maxwell was inside the airlock, along with the other soldiers. The mission wasn’t nearly done and he felt a greater agitation than he had at any other moment since departing the Marauder.

The Kijol were coming and outside this building, Xaros would be in darkness. Maxwell didn’t fear the night, yet as he waited for the outer door to open, he felt a shiver and he wished he was anywhere but here.

Chapter Nineteen

Night had indeed come to Xaros, but the compound technology was providing some resistance against its encroachment. Tiny lights, fitted to the upper corners of each prefab, cast the dimmest of glows upon the ground, creating puddles of muddy yellow, interspersed with uneven areas of near darkness. These lights hadn’t been switched on during Maxwell’s earlier visit to the central prefab and he guessed they were reserved for the middle hours of the night only.

Maxwell peered carefully in both directions, but the only movement was from the insects which had been drawn to the light. The quiet was oppressive and broken only by the occasional rustle of distant foliage, carried on the gentle wind. Maxwell held the soldiers in the airlock for a few seconds longer and then stepped out onto the alley separating B-22 from the prefab opposite.

“I’d guess we’re thirteen hundred metres from the eastern gate,” he said. “Let’s get moving.”

He set off at a steady pace, somewhere between a fast walk and a jog – a speed which wouldn’t interfere too much with his aim, while also allowing his eyes became accustomed to the contrasts between light and shadow. The pools of yellow created a feeling of vulnerability in Maxwell, while the patches of dark made him immediately crave the light again.

“Are we switching to night vision, Sergeant?” asked Fleming.

“Negative,” said Maxwell. “There’s light enough to see.”

In the back of his mind was the thought that if the Marauder’s sensors couldn’t detect the aliens which might be in the compound, perhaps the night vision enhancement on his suit helmet would prevent him from spotting this elusive enemy. For the moment, Maxwell preferred to rely on the tried-and-tested human eye.

Arriving at the edge of B-22, he scanned the intersecting alley which went north and south. He saw no movement, though the sound of birds calling softly in the trees came to him.

Breaking cover, he ran south to the next intersection, this being an alley running east-west.

“Clear,” said Maxwell.

Running east, he checked for movement north and south along the next alley. The next east-west intersection would offer him a view of the central prefab and, from there, a few hundred metres separated the soldiers from the exit.

Maxwell ran for the intersection, halted at the corner and then looked around. The central prefab’s western wall was visible from here and the open area around the structure was particularly badly illuminated, since the light from the surrounding buildings and the main prefab didn’t extend far enough to join in the middle.

For a brief moment, Maxwell considered diverting around the prefab, but that would add a couple of hundred metres onto the journey, and he was already feeling the pressure of time.

Private Barkley had some news which helped a little. “Heads up, Sergeant – the Marauder has just broken the security on the eastern personnel gate. The access panel should respond to the codes in our spacesuits.”

Not wishing to delay any longer, Maxwell headed east along the alley. At the corner, he halted once more and surveyed the open space. Although nothing was moving, his internal alarms were ringing, and he stared unblinking for a time.

“Sergeant?” asked Corporal Fine.

“I don’t like it,” said Maxwell.

Despite his misgivings, he couldn’t stand here watching forever. He set off into the open area, heading at a diagonal towards the main prefab’s south wall. From there, he planned to head east on a course that would take him and his soldiers on the most direct route to the exit gate.

This time, Maxwell didn’t measure his pace and he sprinted straight for the south corner of the prefab, his footsteps thudding against the polymer ground. The moment he came to the wall, he glanced around the edge, along the structure’s southern wall. He was just in time to see a dark shape streak with incredible speed up the ramp and into the building.

“I saw something,” said Maxwell. “The door must be open again, because it ran into the building. Squad A, with me. Squad B, watch our backs.”

Unwilling to run from this foe, he broke away from the corner and dashed along the south wall of the prefab. Maxwell had been feeling like this alien creature was stalking him and his soldiers, and he wasn’t a man who liked to be looking over his shoulder all the time.

When he came to the ramp leading to the prefab entrance, Maxwell halted again. He was hungry for the confrontation, but not suicidally so.

Leaning into the doorway, he saw that the interior was lit in the dimmest and coldest of blues. The corpses were heaped up like before, and the scent of decay was stronger than it was only a day ago.

“Damnit, I can’t see the bastard,” said Maxwell. “It must be hiding around the corner.” He noticed that one of the personnel doors was open on the far side of the storage area. “Or it’s taken cover deeper in the building.”

At that moment, the braying roar of perfectly cut metal being ejected from multiple barrels at enormous velocity caused him to snap his head around. To the south-west, a thick line of white tracers tore through the night, aimed at something unseen high in the Xaros sky.

“Shit, that perimeter gun has acquired a target,” said Lyles.

The western and north-western guns opened up as well, and all three tracer lines converged on the same place.

A warhead streaked down from above at tremendous velocity, its nose cone burning white with atmospheric friction. Maxwell hardly had time to predict its trajectory as being the western repeater turret before the missile struck its target. The explosion was hidden from view, but the flash it produced extended far into the sky. Motes danced on Maxwell’s retinas, and he cursed himself for being too slow to look away.

Two of the other perimeter guns also acquired targets and started firing. A second missile, fired from the same place as the first and burning with equal brightness, detonated once again to the west.

“The Kijol!” said Corporal Fine. “They’re targeting the shuttle pad.”

Maxwell’s brain went into overdrive. The early arrival of the Kijol was a terrible development, no doubt about it. The enemy was neutralising the perimeter defences, and from the size of the first two explosions, they were using Olin missiles to do so.

By now, four of the perimeter guns were firing and from the angle and direction of the tracers, Maxwell could tell they were tracking two targets, both of which were approaching from the unseen western horizon.

“Those perimeter guns could knock out an armoured Kijol transport,” said Fleming. “Something makes me think the enemy won’t let that happen.”

Although the Kijol were a major distraction, Maxwell hadn’t forgotten about the alien which had disappeared into the central prefab. He tried a quick glance into the interior, but his eyes hadn’t yet recovered from the flash and it required an effort to make them focus. The alien creature remained out of sight.

“Corporal Fine, move up,” said Maxwell. “We’re going to make a sprint for the exit before that Kijol destroyer starts scanning this compound.”

A third enemy missile screamed out of the sky and Maxwell’s brain worked fast enough this time to recognize that it had been fired from the west. It gave him hope that the Kijol didn’t yet have a top-down view of the compound.

Maxwell put a hand towards the ramp next to him, meaning to vault up and sprint for the alley away to the east. As his palm came down, he looked again into the building.

One of the corpses was standing.

“Ah, shit,” he said.

The light was so poor that the body was entirely in silhouette – a dark shape with no details visible, and completely motionless.

Although he didn’t see dead bodies standing on their feet every day of the week, Maxwell wasn’t about to stand pointing and gawping. Raising his gun, he shot the corpse in the head and it fell backwards to the floor.

“Sergeant? What is it?” asked Fleming urgently.

“I think we’re in trouble,” said Maxwell. “One of those corpses just got up.” He took a breath. “We’ve got to move.”

He clambered onto the ramp, just as the alien creature he’d seen earlier came racing into sight from around one of the storage area corners. It was huge and near black, and moved with muscular inevitability. In the gloom, Maxwell could hardly make it out, as if the creature was somehow able to meld with the darkness.

He brought his rifle up and pulled the trigger. Maxwell was a good shot, but his opponent was moving rapidly. The creature sped across the corpse-strewn floor, heading directly for the largest pile of bodies. As it did so, the alien became ever more indistinct, as though it were gathering the shadows.

Maxwell kept on shooting as the creature – now little more than a dark blur – vanished around the corner ahead and to his right.

“What the hell—” said Private Fleming, who’d climbed up next to Maxwell.

“What just happened?” asked Private Lowe. He was on the ground next to the ramp and leaning across so that he could see into the prefab.

“I’m damned if I know,” said Maxwell. “But we can’t shoot what we can’t see. Private Lowe, get up here.”

In one fluid action, Lowe spun his rocket tube onto his right shoulder, at the same time as he leapt onto the ramp.

Maxwell motioned for the others to be on guard. The muscles in his legs bunched and his eyes widened as he prepared for the enemy to come charging into sight. Having seen the speed with which the alien could cover the ground, Maxwell knew he had no hope of outrunning it.

Suddenly, the largest mound of corpses began to roil in a most repulsive way, and several of the bodies on the floor nearby jerked upright as if they’d been hauled to their feet by invisible strings. They stood absolutely still, and a moment later, the main pile erupted as the corpses climbed to their feet with unnerving speed.

Maxwell had no idea what was going on, but at this moment, he didn’t need answers.

“Private Lowe, put those poor bastards out of their misery,” he said coldly. “And that damned alien went right.”

Lowe could be slow to understand a joke, but when it came to combat, he never hesitated. He already had his rocket launcher pointed just where he wanted, and the weapon’s coils whined softly. The missile sped out of the tube and struck the floor between the corpse pile and the right-hand corner, creating an explosion that engulfed the bodies and expanded out of sight in the direction the alien had gone. Narrowing his eyes against the flare of white-hot plasma, Maxwell didn’t wait around to discover the outcome.

“Move!” he yelled.

A series of whumping blasts, their noise softened by distance, made Maxwell glance over his shoulder as he jumped off the far edge of the ramp. Another two – maybe three - Kijol missiles had exploded and now only one of the perimeter guns was firing. Maxwell didn’t expect it would remain operational for long.

As he ran for the eastern alley, he heard another two detonations coming almost simultaneously. Maxwell couldn’t help looking over his shoulder again – not only for signs of the incoming Kijol shuttle, but for any hint that the alien creature in the main prefab had escaped the rocket blast. He didn’t want to see it again, nor another like it.

As soon as he entered the alley, Maxwell slowed to make sure the rest of his soldiers were still with him. All nine were present.

“What the hell was that, Sergeant?” asked Lowe, his face pale. “What just—”

“Something we don’t want to meet again,” said Maxwell, interrupting the soldier’s question. “We have to escape this compound – if that thing survived, or if there’re others in the compound, the Kijol can deal with them.”

“And good luck to those assholes,” said Lyles, turning and raising her middle finger to the western sky.

Another of the smaller missiles – almost certainly an Apiar – exploded, and the last of the western perimeter guns stopped firing. Maxwell was struck by a terrible realisation – three repeater turrets remained, these ones positioned on the eastern and north-eastern areas of the perimeter walls. Those guns hadn’t yet acquired targets, but they soon would and then the Kijol would destroy those ones too – unless the incoming shuttles came in so low that the repeaters didn’t gain a firing angle.

A bad situation became worse.

“Sergeant, I’ve lost contact with the Marauder,” said Barkley. “It’s possible the Kijol knocked out the orbital comms relay.”

The orbital comms relays weren’t easy to detect in the enormity of space – being spheres with a one-metre diameter. If the Kijol had detected the one over the base, the destroyer crew was exceptionally vigilant.

“What about a wide area jammer?” said Maxwell. “Ah, shit! Private Chau, detonate those charges!”

The Kijol jammers wouldn’t stop close proximity suit-to-suit comms, so the fact that the soldiers were able to speak on the squad channel didn’t confirm the presence of a jammer one way or another. Over longer distances – such as to the orbital relay or even from here in the compound to the explosive charges on the security controller, the signal degradation would be enough that nothing would get through.

“Signal sent, charges detonated,” Chau confirmed. “No, wait, I’ve received a failure report.”

“Try again!” said Maxwell, knowing it was useless.

“Yes, sir.” Chau swore. “I’ve received a second failure report.”

“Shit, shit, shit!” said Maxwell. “This is a damned civilian compound! Why the hell did the Kijol think they needed a jammer?”

“If we’re being jammed, we can outrange the hardware,” said Barkley. “Ten klicks into the jungle, our comms to the Marauder should start working again, assuming the orbital relay is intact.”

Maxwell didn’t want to abandon the security controller or the attached data array, but heading back that way would be suicidal. He thought fast. “If we can outrange the jammer, we can transmit positional information on that destroyer to the Marauder,” said Maxwell. “Our warship is outclassed, but if it can land a full salvo on that destroyer from the blind side of Xaros, maybe it’s in with a chance.”

“What about a nuke?” asked Diaz. “That would do the job.”

“I don’t want to be watching a hundred megaton nuclear detonation from only ten klicks away,” said Maxwell. “What about you?”

“We could push on to twenty klicks.”

“Try closer to a hundred klicks. Maybe more than a hundred,” said Maxwell. “And we don’t have time to make it that far.”

“Captain Grisham doesn’t have the balls for it anyway,” spat Lyles. “He won’t attack.”

“He’s got the balls,” said Maxwell. “I can see it in his eyes. He needs to keep winning. The man won’t stop.”

“I hope you’re right, Sergeant.”

Maxwell knew he’d delayed too long, and he urged the soldiers to flight. Before he’d taken a dozen paces, he felt, rather than heard, the bass depths of a monumental propulsion coming from faraway.

“That’s no shuttle,” said Diaz.

As she spoke, the three remaining repeater turrets opened fire simultaneously and a torrent of projectiles sliced at a low angle across the tops of the highest structures. The thunder of the guns combined with the increasing vibration of the destroyer’s propulsion, reminding Maxwell of a hundred confrontations on a dozen different worlds.

Knowing the lives of everyone on this mission hung by the slenderest of threads, he sprinted for the eastern exit.

Chapter Twenty

Two hundred metres further on, Maxwell cut north at an intersection between two accommodation prefabs. His eyes never stopped moving and he turned his head this way and that, hoping to gain advance warning of approaching Kijol shuttles.

Unfortunately, the walls of the compound buildings reflected sound in a way that made it impossible for him to be sure which direction it was coming from. All he could hear was the bass of the destroyer’s Charos drive. However, one thing was sure - sooner rather than later, the Kijol shuttles would come in to land.

“Not far to the wall,” said Corporal Fine. “Then a short distance north to the exit gate.”

Maxwell turned east onto an alley that continued all the way to the wall. While it was too dark for him to see the nearest repeater, he knew exactly where it was by the tracers of its projectiles.

Instinct borne from years of combat made Maxwell avert his gaze just as a Kijol missile struck the turret. Plasma light illuminated the alley and a moment later, the crack of the explosion was followed by a rumbling boom. Another blast followed, maybe to the north, Maxwell couldn’t be sure. A second later, he saw a flash and then came the sound of a third explosion.

“That’s the last of the compound guns taken out,” said Fine.

“If we’re lucky, the Kijol won’t need to keep looking in this direction,” said Lowe.

“Yeah, right,” said Chau.

The wall was less than 150 metres away and Maxwell was fighting against the Xaros gravity and the weight of his loadout. His heart rate was high, but he wasn’t about to slow down. An orange glow from the nearby missile strike created a peculiar haze where it mingled with the lights of the accommodation blocks.

A shape – dark upon dark – flashed across the space at the eastern end of the alley, keeping outside of the puddled lights. Only the fires of the Kijol missile allowed Maxwell to be sure he’d seen the alien creature, rather than it being a flickering shadow.

“We didn’t kill it,” he said angrily on the comms. “It went north.”

“We don’t need this crap!” said Vaughan.

Maxwell halted at the corner, forty metres from the perimeter wall, and looked around to the north. As he did so, he pointed into the sky with his left hand, to indicate that his soldiers should watch above. Having seen the speed of the alien, he guessed it could spring onto the roofs of the lower structures, and he didn’t want it surprising his squads.

“Damnit, no sign,” he cursed.

Wherever the alien had gone to, it wasn’t visible from here. Maxwell’s gaze went to the eastern wall. An Apiar missile was intended to rip apart the hardened alloy plating of a warship and the effect of the explosion on the comparatively thin double-skinned compound wall was catastrophic.

The detonation had torn the wall open – rupturing metals and twisting them grotesquely. Jagged edges pointed into the compound, while in places the intense heat had melted the alloys and they drooped towards the ground. That heat hadn’t nearly dispersed and a huge section of the wall glowed different hues of red and orange.

“Is the exit door intact?” asked Fine anxiously.

“I don’t know,” said Maxwell, his eyes hunting for the outline of the frame that would show him the position of the door.

After a few moments he saw what might have been a vertical line near the base of the wall, fifty metres south of the farthest extent of the missile damage. His heart jumped when he identified it beyond doubt as the personnel exit.

“Got it,” he said. “It’s 120 metres north.”

The bass of the destroyer’s engine was no louder than before, but suddenly Maxwell could hear another sound – the throbbing note of a Kijol shuttle travelling at low velocity. He twisted around, his eyes aimed upwards, but the night was dark and the buildings to either side limited his field of view.

A younger Tyrus Maxwell might well have been frozen with indecision. He might have remained longer within the illusory safety of the alley, watching and waiting for the right moment to act. That Tyrus Maxwell was long gone.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Keep a close watch.”

His feet pounded as he sprinted hard for the personnel exit. The moment he emerged from cover, Maxwell saw that debris from the shattered wall had been thrown into one of the northern accommodation prefabs with sufficient force to crumple its longest side. Smaller pieces of still-hot metal had struck the adjacent structure, puncturing its wall in several places.

If the alien was nearby, it didn’t show itself, though Maxwell was beginning to think he wouldn’t believe it was dead until he had his foot on its throat and its head was full of gauss slugs from his rifle.

Maxwell’s dash brought him to the personnel door in double-quick time and he headed straight for the access panel on the right-hand side. The light on the panel was green and the door itself had suffered no damage.

Having placed his palm on the access panel, Maxwell spun so that his eyes were aimed west into the compound. He couldn’t see the outcome of the Kijol attack that way, but he could imagine, and patches of heat red glowed over the tops of the structures.

The personnel door opened, revealing a two-metre-wide passage through the two skins of the perimeter wall.

“Inside,” said Maxwell, indicating with his rifle.

The soldiers hurried through the opening and when the last one vanished inside, Maxwell followed. Once in the tunnel, he paused briefly to give the compound a final look. The alien wasn’t visible.

“Don’t let it get to you, Sergeant,” said Corporal Fine.

Maxwell smiled thinly as he tapped the inner access panel. “I’m that obvious?”

“It’ll either follow us and we’ll kill it, or the Kijol will do the work for us,” said Fine.

“Yeah,” said Maxwell. He raised his voice. “Open the outer door.”

“I’ve got it,” said Lyles.

The passage was only a few metres long and when the far door opened, Maxwell could see nothing beyond the faint light produced by the missile heat. He knew there were trees that way, but it was too dark to see them.

“Activate night vision,” said Maxwell. “And get the hell outside.”

When he switched on the night vision enhancement, darkness turned into shades of sickly green. The soldiers were exiting the tunnel at speed and Maxwell followed. Once outside, he could see the thickness of the foliage, which had been cleared to only a hundred metres from the perimeter wall. Most of the plants were at least head-high and he hoped they might offer protection against a cursory scan of this area.

The treeline was another hundred or so metres beyond the undergrowth. Now that he was at ground level, those trees seemed far larger and more imposing than they had on the initial approach to the compound.

Something else caught his attention – to the south, in the direction of the enormous lake, the greens on the night vision were deeper than elsewhere, suggesting that something was illuminated that way. Maxwell was curious, but this wasn’t the time to investigate.

“Head straight for the trees,” he ordered.

Maxwell set off in that direction. Even though the ground had been levelled when the undergrowth was cleared, he was cautious not to trip or go sideways on his ankle. A broken bone here would be a death sentence, as sure as a cut throat and a bullet in the head.

This watchfulness made the short journey to the undergrowth additionally frustrating, since Maxwell wanted more than anything to check behind for sight of the alien, or to watch out for the Kijol shuttles. He could still hear the propulsion of one, though it was maddeningly difficult to determine whether it was near or far, and in which direction it was flying.

Maxwell was last into the undergrowth, and he entered a path trampled down by the others. The foliage was a mixture of tough, high grass, alongside leafier plants with yielding stems. Forging a way through would severely hamper progress. Competition for light meant the grasses and ferns grew higher than Maxwell’s head, though they wouldn’t offer much protection from a warship’s sensors.

Five metres into the undergrowth, he stopped briefly and turned. The leaves were already closing behind him, but gaps remained enough for Maxwell to see back the way he’d come. As he watched, an object, its shape unclear, fell from the top of the perimeter wall and landed heavily on the ground. Gritting his teeth, Maxwell stared, but the object didn’t move, nor could he determine what it was.

“What are you waiting for, Sergeant?” asked Corporal Fine on the comms.

“You know damn well what I’m waiting for,” Maxwell growled.

He turned and followed the soldiers, swatting aside encroaching plants with his left hand, and lifting his feet high to avoid tripping over broken fronds. The weight of his tread produced crunching and tearing sounds from the plants and his breathing was laboured from the effort. Each inhalation brought the scent of earth and leaves to his nostrils. It was familiar and alien at the same time. Every few seconds, Maxwell looked back, but he saw nothing.

Not far ahead, the trees loomed. Most had tall trunks, with few branches low down. The canopy looked reassuringly impenetrable and Maxwell was hopeful the plant growth would be more sporadic at the floor layer.

When he made it beneath the canopy, Maxwell looked upwards at the thick roof of leaves and branches. He felt better having them there, even if he wasn’t convinced they would defy a concerted effort by the Kijol to track down the soldiers. That was assuming the enemy would invest their time searching for a human force they didn’t know existed. Maxwell suspected the Kijol would have plenty to keep them interested in the compound, though he wasn’t about to start laying bets.

Corporal Fine had called a halt, so that Maxwell wouldn’t get left behind. She stared at him with one hand on her hip and her gauss rifle pointing upwards at an angle.

“I know - we need to stick together,” Maxwell acknowledged.

“We can’t afford to become separated, Sergeant. Tracking down a straggler using comms pings would be a pain in the ass.” Fine’s serious expression changed to a smile. “At least we got out of there, huh?”

“The bad news is, there’s not much hope we’ll be able to give positional data to the Marauder,” said Barkley. “Too many trees for us to obtain a visual on the target.”

“I’ve already thought about that,” said Maxwell. “The lakeshore heads east for a distance and then it turns south. If we make it that far, we should have line of sight on the enemy warship.”

“That’s assuming the destroyer sticks around near the base long enough for us to make it outside the jammer’s radius,” said Barkley.

“Who made you pessimist of the year, Barkley?” asked Lyles.

“I’ll try and look on the bright side more often,” said Barkley, deadpan.

While the soldiers were talking, Maxwell thought he heard something crashing through the undergrowth to the north-west. He tensed up and levelled his gun in that direction. The noise didn’t come again, and all he could hear was the rustling of the trees.

Maxwell was on the verge of ordering the soldiers to move out east, when the ever-present background bass of the Kijol destroyer increased in volume and intensity. The warship was changing position.

“Shit, get out of sight!” ordered Maxwell, pressing himself against the rough trunk of a nearby tree.

The other soldiers were experienced enough that they were all near cover and they disappeared in moments. For long seconds, Maxwell kept out of sight and listened. The destroyer’s Charos drive could generate immense thrust and the Xaros air would carry the vibration several kilometres in every direction.

When the vibration fell once more to its previous lower level, Maxwell leaned out. Between the ground foliage and the canopy was a gap, and, though he couldn’t see the compound any longer, he had a view into the sky above it.

The Kijol destroyer was stationary directly over the compound, at an angle that allowed Maxwell to see the curved spines of its flank, and its rectangular stern. A combination of the night vision and the enemy vessel’s position made it difficult for him to estimate the size of the warship. If it was the same new generation as the one at Tambus, it would be twelve hundred metres in length and a billion tons.

When the numbers got so high, it didn’t matter much to the soldier on the ground. A plasma warhead from a Eternus battleship wouldn’t carbonize flesh any more thoroughly than a missile fired from this destroyer.

Maxwell stared at the warship, feeling his hatred building. Somehow, he and his soldiers had to make it beyond the range of the Kijol jammer and then transmit precise positional data on the destroyer in order that the Marauder could hit it with Ghost missiles - assuming Captain Grisham was up for the fight.

On top of everything else, Maxwell was certain the alien creature from the compound hadn’t given up on him or his soldiers.

As the thought formed, movement caught his eye and he leaned out further. At the exit from the path through the foliage, a lone figure stood, no more than fifty metres away and visible through the trees. A human. The figure didn’t move, and the night vision didn’t allow Maxwell to see details of its face, but he could sense it watching him.

The thermal sensor in his helmet detected no heat coming from the figure, so he twisted far enough that he could aim his rifle.

“One of those corpses followed us,” said Maxwell.

A shot to the corpse’s chest made it stumble backwards. Maxwell shot it again and it collapsed without a sound.

“There’s a second over this way,” said Chau. He fired his gun fired twice, the fizzing of coils only just audible over the background noise of the destroyer’s propulsion. “It’s down.”

“Any others?” asked Maxwell.

None of the soldiers reported a sighting, though he wasn’t nearly convinced the threat was gone.

Maxwell stepped away from the tree, keeping its trunk between himself and the destroyer. “We have to get away from here.”

He knew he couldn’t escape the alien by running, but with the Kijol destroyer hovering over the compound, forcing a confrontation here wasn’t an option.

Taking care to use the trees as cover, Maxwell headed deeper into the jungle. Although the Xaros wildlife had settled down for the night, he still heard distant sounds – rustlings and cracklings - which put him on edge. Meanwhile the uneven ground, hidden by the waist-high foliage, required Maxwell’s constant attention to avoid injuring himself. It was attention he’d far rather have given to watching out for the alien creature.

Maxwell and the soldiers pressed on. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Twenty-One

“Why is that thing following us?” asked Lowe a short time after the Kijol destroyer had been completely obscured by the dense jungle.

“Because we know,” said Maxwell. “We’ve seen it.”

“I thought you said it wanted to get onto the Marauder, Sergeant.”

“You’re looking for answers I don’t have,” said Maxwell. His anger made him want to snap at Lowe, but he kept his voice calm. The soldiers weren’t to blame for this situation.

“There’s got to be more than one of those aliens,” said Diaz.

“That’s the likely truth,” said Maxwell.

“Maybe one of those aliens figured that we left the compound so the Marauder could pick us up,” said Lyles. “And that’s why it’s following.”

“I’ve had enough of guessing for the moment, Private.”

Maxwell said nothing further and pressed on over the uneven ground, forging through an area of waist-high fernlike plants. Hidden stems pulled at his feet, forcing him to lean into the walk and put extra effort into each stride, as if he were wading through water. It was tough going and he wasn’t sure if he could maintain the pace for a full ten kilometres.

Maxwell had more than just the walk to contend with. Since the alien was almost certainly following, that meant the soldiers had to take additional precautions. They stuck close together in their squads, with Squad B at the rear keeping an eye on the jungle behind. In a while, Maxwell intended to swap, so that Squad A had the rear.

Every so often, rustling noises came from the jungle, sometimes near, sometimes far, sometimes on the ground and occasionally from overhead. It was impossible to know if these were natural sounds made by the planet’s denizens, or caused by something more sinister. The soldiers were understandably on edge and they were becoming jumpy from it.

“It’s going to take us more than three hours at this pace,” said Corporal Fine. “Maybe as many as four. Watching our backs is slowing us down almost as much as the jungle. When are you planning to cut south to the lakeshore, Sergeant?”

“Soon,” said Maxwell. He grimaced. “Screw it, let’s head that way now. When the time and the place are right, we might lay a surprise for whatever’s coming after us.”

He changed course to the south-east, using the compass on his HUD for guidance. The ground rose steadily for a time and then fell away once more. Maxwell knew the lakeshore was nearby and he hoped that the beach he’d seen on the shuttle ride to the compound extended this far.

It was downhill all the way to the lake. The first Maxwell saw of it, was the same intense green on his night vision that he’d noticed when exiting the compound not long ago. He pressed on and soon emerged onto a narrow beach. Ten metres of powdery sand separated the trees from the water.

For as far as Maxwell could see, the lake was glowing. He deactivated the night vision and was greeted by a wondrous sight.

A property of the algae covering the lake surface caused it to emit a faint blue light that was both rich and warm. As far as the southern horizon it went, as well as to the east and west, faintly undulating across its surface as the algae rose and fell with the gentle movement of the water.

For a moment, Maxwell could only stare in awe at the beauty created by this alien world.

“Well would you look at that?” said Diaz.

“More alien shit,” said Lowe. “Give me a pizza and a beer any day of the week.”

“Man, you’ve got a heart of stone,” said Diaz, shaking her head.

With an effort, Maxwell drew his attention from the lake. Even at this distance, he could feel the Kijol destroyer’s propulsion, albeit much less than before. With some reluctance, he turned on his night vision once again, and advanced down the beach towards the gently lapping waves.

When his feet were almost in the water, Maxwell was just able to see the southern edge of the compound further along the shore. The destroyer hadn’t moved and it hung in the air, appearing as a green so dark it was almost lost against the background.

“The treeline will keep us covered,” he said. “As long as we don’t act careless.”

The light from the algae wasn’t nearly bright enough to allow the soldiers to proceed safely and Maxwell kept his night vision active, albeit with some reluctance.

Returning to the edge of the trees, Maxwell set off to the east. Where the sand and dry soil mingled, the footing was good and he was able to increase his pace significantly. After travelling a couple of hundred metres at a fast walk, he broke into a jog. Staring ahead, he could see the shore continued almost directly east, and that meant the soldiers could put in some good distance without fear the Kijol destroyer’s sensor crew would spot them.

After five kilometres, Maxwell was beginning to feel a lessening of the pressure. He could no longer hear the enemy spacecraft and the jungle was quiet. Calling a halt, he instructed Private Barkley to attempt contact with the Marauder.

“I tried a few hundred metres back there, Sergeant,” said Barkley, thumbing over his shoulder. “The Kijol jammers have a ten-klick radius.”

“I know that,” said Maxwell. “Since that destroyer is so low to the ground, maybe the trees will interfere with the enemy hardware.”

“Yes, sir,” said Barkley. He was quiet for a moment. “Still nothing. Worth a try though, huh?”

Maxwell didn’t call an immediate resumption. Instead, he studied the land east, as best as he was able given the limitations of the night vision. Not far ahead, the shore drifted south and then he and his soldiers would come within the visibility arc of the destroyer’s sensors.

“Another thousand metres and we’ll be back in the trees.” Maxwell was about to curse but stopped himself. “I guess we should be grateful to have made such good progress.”

“And with no sign of any corpses,” said Vaughan.

As if the words were single-fingered insult to the gods of luck and malice, a loud, bestial roar came from somewhere within the jungle to the north. Maxwell couldn’t be certain, but he guessed it was no more than two or three hundred metres away. That sound was followed by a strange high-pitched shriek. Then, Maxwell heard rustling noises and the call of birds disturbed enough to take flight.

“Nice one, Vaughan,” said Lowe, backing towards the water, with his gauss rifle aimed into the trees. “Real nice.”

It had always been Maxwell’s intention to set up an ambush somewhere along the way, but the solid progress along the beach had been enough to make him overlook a couple of less than perfect locations the soldiers had passed. Now, there was no going back, and there was nowhere defensible within sight.

He gave quick orders and the soldiers spread out three metres from the waterline.

“Private Vaughan, deploy that repeater,” said Maxwell, pointing at a place to his left.

“Yes, sir.”

Vaughan kicked out the tripod on his repeater, laid the weapon on the ground, and dropped to his stomach, his eyes focused along the barrel. If anything came into the gun’s firing arc, it would be torn to pieces.

Twenty seconds passed and nothing emerged from the trees. Maxwell heard wings, more rustling and then it went quiet. A full minute went by.

“I reckon we’re being watched,” said Chau.

“No shit?” said Diaz.

Maxwell held steady, his eyes darting to and fro. Another minute passed and he was painfully aware that the Kijol destroyer’s sensors might be just able to penetrate the edge of the treeline and detect his soldiers. If he ordered the squads closer to the trees, they’d have less time to react to a fast attack.

“We’re being screwed with,” said Corporal Fine.

“What if it wasn’t the alien making that noise?” said Lowe. “What if it was…you know…a man beast and a lady beast doing stuff together?”

For a time, nobody said anything. Diaz broke the silence.

“Lowe, you’re an asshole,” she said.

“It could have been,” Lowe protested.

“Quiet!” said Maxwell, more angrily than he intended.

Experience had taught him patience, but after five minutes, he was seriously wondering if Lowe was at least partly right. The jungle was a savage place – a place where the animals had to kill in order to eat.

At last, Maxwell gave up waiting.

“We’ve wasted enough time,” he said in disgust. “Five klicks and we’ll have outranged the Kijol jammer.”

A few seconds later, the soldiers were on their way once more, though this time Maxwell led them closer to the waterline than the trees. The sand dragged at his feet, but with little risk of tripping, he was able to keep an eye to the north. He saw nothing that gave him any concern, though he was not at all reassured.

Soon, the compass on Maxwell’s HUD indicated the soldiers were travelling more south-east than east and, when he called a brief halt to check on the destroyer’s relative position, he reluctantly gave the order for the soldiers to head once more into the trees.

“We’ll stay three hundred metres from the beach,” he said. “The trees are densely enough packed that we should be out of detection range at that distance. Squad B – take the lead.”

The soldiers entered the jungle once more. To Maxwell’s relief, the undergrowth here didn’t come up any higher than his waist and it wasn’t such a task to make progress, though the soldiers of Squad B, a dozen metres ahead, helped by trampling a rough path for him to follow. The ground too was fairly level and that made it easier for him to remain attentive to the space around without risk of falling and injuring himself.

The sparsity of the undergrowth also allowed Maxwell an occasional glimpse of the ground beneath. On several occasions, he saw the rapid movement of small, unseen creatures as they scurried out of danger. Had he not been wearing his combat suit, Maxwell was sure he’d have trodden on something poisonous by now. As it was, the thick layers of advanced polymer - familiar like his own skin - kept him safe from anything which might have taken a liking to his flesh.

Time passed and the soldiers said little. Once in a while, Maxwell spoke on the squad channel, to make sure everyone remained alert. The soldiers were tense, that much was clear, but they were holding it together.

“Two klicks and we should be outside the range of the Kijol jammer,” said Barkley.

“That’s thirty minutes at our current pace,” said Fine.

“If we make contact with the Marauder, what happens to us?” asked Diaz.

“I haven’t been thinking that far ahead, Private,” Maxwell admitted. “That destroyer is Captain Grisham’s opponent and we’ve got our own to worry about.”

“I don’t want to be anywhere close by if those two warships start firing at each other,” said Fleming.

They’d all seen fellow soldiers carbonized by Kijol missiles. Vehicles pulverised by Dasor fire coming from ten thousand klicks in high orbit. The enemy ground forces were determined fighters, but at least a foot soldier had a chance against them. Against a warship, that chance was non-existent. Death would come unavoidably. At least it would be quick, but that was scant consolation.

“Watch that destroyer take off as soon as those Ghosts detonate on its flank,” said Chau. “Those Kijol aren’t going to stick around once there’re a few scratches on their shiny paintwork.”

He was talking bullshit and everyone knew it. The Kijol might be alien assholes, but they were tough alien assholes. Even with a successful first strike, the Marauder would have a hard time against that destroyer.

Since Maxwell couldn’t do much to plan for the immediate future, he didn’t waste the effort. He’d long ago learned that reacting to events could sometimes be as effective as trying to predict them. Whatever happened when the plasma missiles started flying, all the thinking in the world wasn’t likely to put in him in the right place to avoid an incoming warhead.

At nine kilometres from the compound, Maxwell called a halt and instructed the soldiers to conceal themselves among the trees and undergrowth. As they found places, he ordered Private Barkley to attempt contact with the Marauder one more time, in case the Kijol destroyer had moved away from the compound.

“We’re still being jammed, Sergeant,” said Barkley.

“Damnit.”

Maxwell held the soldiers in place. He had his back to the trunk of an enormous tree and kept low. Several minutes went by and the only sounds were those of the jungle. The alien didn’t appear, nor did any CES corpses.

At five minutes, he called for the soldiers to move once more, only this time he took the lead along with Squad A. He kept going for eight hundred metres and then cut south-south-east, intending to arrive at the beach outside the jammer’s radius.

Two hundred metres from the beach, and at what he hoped was on the cusp of the jammer’s effective range, Maxwell brought the soldiers to a halt once more.

“Take cover,” he ordered. “Private Barkley – contact the Marauder.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The moment of truth,” said Valerio.

Barkley crouched next to Maxwell, behind the same tree. After a few seconds, the squad comms man raised a hand with the tips of his thumb and forefinger pressed together.

Contact.

Maxwell didn’t smile at the news, but his heart thumped harder in his chest. Now that his squad was in contact with the Marauder, the real fun and games could begin.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Bring me into the channel,” said Maxwell.

Barkley nodded once and, a couple of seconds later, Maxwell’s earpiece hummed and crackled.

“Sergeant Maxwell,” said Lieutenant Lopez, her words barely understandable through the interference. “The link strength is bad – you should move further from the Kijol jammer.”

“Yes, ma’am, we’ll do that now,” said Maxwell. “I’ll stay in the channel.”

Gesturing with one hand, he indicated that the soldiers should stay with him. Then, Maxwell headed further south-east, not yet wishing to venture closer to the beach.

Barely had he travelled a hundred metres, when the comms link strengthened appreciably. Maxwell stopped again, next to another tree. Quickly, he explained the situation to Lieutenant Lopez, while she listened.

Although Lopez didn’t talk, Maxwell thought he sensed uncertainty. The destroyer was a superior opponent and some officers might be tempted to lay low until the Kijol had stolen whatever they wanted from the base and went elsewhere.

Afterwards, it would be easy enough to compile a mission report that disguised the importance of the security console and the data array. Such a report might even go so far as to accuse Maxwell of ignoring a direct command to destroy the B-22 hardware when he was in a position to do so.

“I’ll speak to Captain Grisham,” said Lopez, once Maxwell had finished. “Sit tight and I’ll get back to you.”

Lopez cut the channel, leaving Maxwell wondering if Lyles had been right when she said Grisham didn’t have the balls to attack.

Damnit no. He has the hunger.

“What was the outcome, Sergeant?” asked Corporal Fine.

“I’m waiting on it.”

“We’re going to be left high and dry,” said Diaz. “I can feel it.”

Maxwell didn’t criticise the soldier for her cynicism. “Let’s wait and see,” he said.

The wait was a short one. Less than thirty seconds after Lopez had closed the channel, she opened a new one.

“If you can provide us with exact positional data, we’ll attack the destroyer. Our main concern is that it might be equipped with a disruptor – if the Kijol react quickly enough, they’ll disable our missiles before they impact,” she said.

“How likely is that, ma’am?”

“There’s a real chance of it.” Lopez exhaled like she was feeling the stress. “We’ve got surprise on our side, so it’s a risk we’ll take.”

“What about the compound?” asked Maxwell. “The security controller and the data array are there for the taking.”

Lopez gave a short laugh. “We’re also planning to land a couple of Ghosts on B-22 – that should destroy our hardware, assuming the Kijol haven’t already stolen it. They’ve had the time.”

Maxwell closed his eyes for a moment in relief. He’d been almost ready to believe Lyles over his own judgement and he was glad to find the Marauder’s crew were up for the fight.

“I don’t have line of sight on the destroyer, ma’am. I’ll order my squads to the treeline. From there, we’ll be able to transmit the precise coordinates of the enemy vessel through the orbital relay.” Maxwell thought of a question. “How long will it take those missiles to impact after launch, ma’am?”

“Captain Grisham is currently bringing the Marauder out of the Xaros atmosphere, so we won’t have to worry about the Ghosts burning up with friction for most of their flight. Unfortunately, they’ll have to slow when they re-enter the planet’s atmosphere directly over the destroyer’s position. It’ll be forty seconds from launch to impact.”

“Forty seconds it is,” said Maxwell.

“I wish there was something we could do to help you with your own opponent, Sergeant Maxwell.”

“We’ll handle it, ma’am. Five minutes and you’ll have your positional data.”

“Good luck.”

Lopez cut the channel and Maxwell rose from his crouch. He spent a few seconds on the squad comms channel explaining what had been agreed.

“There’re going to be some fireworks,” said Vaughan. “As long as they go off ten klicks from here, I’m going to sit back and enjoy the show.”

“We’re heading to the beach,” said Maxwell. “As soon as we have line of sight on the destroyer, Private Barkley will transmit its position.”

He set off into the trees. Even at this short distance, the illumination from the lake was completely hidden. At 150 metres from the expected position of the beach, Maxwell saw the first glimmerings of intense green and with each pace more of the lake was revealed.

Although Maxwell kept referring to the beach as his destination, he intended to approach no closer to it than was required to gain visibility on the destroyer. Given the density of the trees, he guessed that forty or fifty metres from the sand would be enough. That way the trunks would offer him plenty of cover, but he’d still be able to see the enemy warship.

He found a suitable location, where a clear gap granted him a view of the lakeshore as it curved towards the compound. As far as he could tell, the destroyer hadn’t changed position and his night vision allowed him to see its outline.

“Shit, Sergeant, you’ve got to take a look at this!” said Chau on the comms.

“What is it?” asked Maxwell, reluctant to move without some more information.

His eyes found Chau – the soldier was behind a different tree, about fifteen metres north, and leaning out to stare at something.

“Shit, shit,” Chau repeated. “It’s more of those things.”

Maxwell hurried over, tearing his way through the ground level plants. “Where?” he asked, coming to a halt next to Chau.

Raising a hand, Chau pointed north-west and then he stepped back to allow Maxwell to take his place. Putting his shoulder against the trunk, Maxwell looked to the north-west. A quirk of how the trees had grown allowed him a view all the way to the beach about 250 metres north-west of where the soldiers were in cover. He saw figures – many figures – just inside the treeline and pushing their way through the undergrowth. Their movements were rapidly jerky and strangely repulsive in a way that reminded him of insects.

“They just came off the beach, sir,” said Chau. “I don’t know how long they were exposed, but that destroyer could have—” He didn’t finish the sentence and didn’t need to.

Maxwell experienced one of those moments where he felt as if everything was on the brink of crashing down. He and his squad were teetering on the edge of the abyss, with an invisible hand trying to push them into the depths.

“Are we going to shoot them, Sergeant?” asked Corporal Fine.

Glancing right, Maxwell saw that Fine had moved to a tree nearby, where she could watch the approaching figures.

There was no other option. Maxwell gave orders on the comms and the soldiers moved to positions where they had line of sight on the approaching enemy. The distance was such that he felt certain that, against a normal opponent, his squads would have remained undetected. Against this alien, Maxwell wasn’t nearly so sure.

“Hold fire until I give the order - I’m moving back to where I can see the destroyer,” he said. “I’ll transmit its position.”

“Sergeant, what if the destroyer—” Fine began.

“I know,” said Maxwell, interrupting.

He was aware of the risks. If the Marauder launched its missiles and then the destroyer moved away from the compound before the Ghosts impacted, the enemy crew would know there was a Human Federation warship somewhere in the planet’s orbit. If that happened, all bets were off.

When Maxwell once again had line of sight on the destroyer, he narrowed his eyes and watched for a few seconds. It remained stationary.

“Sergeant?” asked Fine, the first signs of agitation creeping into her voice. “The closest enemy is at two hundred metres.”

Maxwell realised he couldn’t hold fire any longer, nor could he do anything to influence the behaviour of the enemy spaceship. He was on the brink of giving the order to fire, when suddenly the destroyer began accelerating south-east with the kind of effortless ease that could only be achieved with an enormously powerful Charos drive.

“Shit, the Aeon is coming! Run! East-south-east! Deeper into the trees!” yelled Maxwell on the comms.

The soldiers didn’t need to be told twice and they dashed from where they’d been hiding, heading away from the beach and deeper into the jungle. Maxwell ran too, using his strength to rip through the foliage.

“They’re coming, Sergeant!” said Lyles.

Maxwell glanced over his shoulder and saw figures sprinting jerkily through the trees. His foot caught on a root and he half-tripped. Using his free hand to halt his fall, Maxwell righted himself and ran. Only a few seconds had passed and already he could feel the increased pressure in the air from the destroyer’s propulsion.

“Shit, they’re fast!” said Chau.

A flash lit up the jungle in harsh white, casting shadows everywhere. Instinctively, Maxwell threw himself flat. “Down!” he yelled.

The cracking detonation of the Apiar missile turned into a rumble of thunder and Maxwell waited for the deadly, searing heat to strip the flesh from his bones. The heat didn’t come and he scrambled to his feet once more, turning as he did. An area of the jungle closer to the beach was ablaze and, to his horror, he could see burning figures hurtling through the undergrowth at the farthest extreme of the blast. Those figures were heading directly for the soldiers.

Maxwell fired a snapshot, though he couldn’t be sure if it struck his target. He ran again, his gaze sweeping about him for the position of the other soldiers. This retreat from the enemy destroyer was in danger of succumbing to panic and Maxwell couldn’t allow that to happen.

“Slow down and gather up!” he yelled. “Join your squad and stick together!”

Hardly had he finished giving the order when a second Apiar missile detonated to the north-west, closer than the first blast. Again, Maxwell dropped flat, smelling the tang of the soil, and this time the sensor in his suit helmet registered a spike in the outside temperature.

A channel opened to his comms unit.

“Everything has gone to shit, Lieutenant Lopez,” said Maxwell, before she could ask him when the promised coordinates of the enemy vessel would be coming. “The destroyer is out of position. I’ll update you when I can.”

“Copy that.”

Lopez cut the channel without another word. Already back on his feet, Maxwell urged the soldiers of Squad A towards him. He could see that Corporal Fine had gathered Squad B, and those soldiers had their attention north-west towards where the corpses from the Church of Everlasting Serenity were still charging through the forest, several of them still burning from the plasma missile strike.

“Shoot them!” shouted Maxwell, pulling the trigger on his gauss rifle three times in quick succession. His target collapsed and fell into the undergrowth.

A volley of rifle fire from the two squads punched several more of the enemy from their feet and then Maxwell shouted at the soldiers to run.

“There must be hundreds of the bastards,” panted Vaughan, breathing heavily from the high gravity and the weight of his repeater.

It was true. What had at first appeared to be a limited attack, now seemed more like a full-scale assault of dead bodies. Those which Chau had initially spotted coming from the north-west had been joined by others. They sprinted through the trees to the north, flitting in and out of sight in a way that made it difficult to aim at them.

“Where’s that destroyer?” asked Fine. “It feels like it’s right overhead.”

The canopy was too dense to see anything through it and Maxwell didn’t even try. From the way the bass sound of the propulsion was grinding through his bones, he was sure the warship was either above the lakeshore or somewhere even closer.

Faced with two opponents – one of which he had no hope of defeating and the other which was a complete unknown, Maxwell cursed his luck. For all its trees and plants, the jungle seemed to offer nowhere to hide and he wasn’t sure how he and his soldiers could possibly get out of this alive.

With little else he could do, Maxwell ran.

Chapter Twenty-Three

To Maxwell’s dismay, the corpses of the dead could run faster than the bodies of the living – a fact he learned only a short time into the retreat. Presumably those corpses didn’t have to fight against the limitations of blood oxygen levels and a fifty-pound loadout.

“We’re not going to outrun them, Sergeant,” said Corporal Fine.

Chancing another look over his shoulder, Maxwell saw that the nearest corpses were within fifty or sixty metres. They didn’t make deliberate use of the trees as cover and came headlong as fast as they could manage. At least the foliage was slowing them down, albeit not by much.

A third Apiar missile exploded directly west, further from the soldiers than the previous two detonations.

“We could do with that Aeon taking out these corpses for us,” said Lyles.

“And we could do with the Marauder taking out that Aeon for us,” said Lowe.

“Ain’t gonna happen now,” said Lyles.

“The destroyer sounds like it’s sticking closer to the beach,” said Chau. “Maybe it’ll stay in place long enough for a Ghost strike.”

“We can’t see the damn warship to transmit its position,” said Maxwell, his own breathing deep and his heartrate climbing.

“It’s a whole klick long, Sergeant,” said Lowe. “I could hit it blindfolded with this rocket tube from the other side of the damn galaxy!”

Maxwell cursed. He’d ordered a retreat from the beach to escape the enemy missiles. The unwanted side effect of this was that he could no longer see the destroyer in order to transmit its exact position. There was something in what Lowe said about the size of the warship, but since the Marauder would be launching its Ghosts from thousands of kilometres away, a twelve-hundred-metre target was still easy to miss.

“We can’t do a damn thing with these corpses coming after us,” said Maxwell angrily. “Let’s cut some of them down!”

Giving the order for both squads to halt and face the enemy, he came to a rapid halt, turned and aimed his rifle towards the figures among the trees. To Maxwell’s shock, the closest was fewer than thirty metres from his position. He braced himself and fired. A chest shot knocked the creature sideways and a second gauss slug in the same place sent it crashing to the ground.

Adjusting aim, Maxwell risked a headshot at another corpse, this one approaching from the west. The shot connected and the creature went straight down.

All around him he could hear the fizzing of gauss rifles and he flared his nostrils at the sharp, acrid scent of the charged coils. Maxwell’s mind recovered much of its focus and he thought hard about how he might turn this situation around.

“We aren’t going to hold them, Sergeant,” said Fleming calmly from his firing position a couple of metres left. “It’s like the whole damn CES followed us here.”

Maxwell killed a third target and then a fourth, but he could see that it was no use. The enemy were flooding through the jungle and everywhere he looked, he saw movement.

The trees offered protection, but it went both ways. Even making no effort to avoid the gunfire, the trunks cut down the soldiers’ firing angles as well as reducing the time available to take a shot. Not only that, but Vaughan couldn’t deploy his repeater since once he was prone, he wouldn’t be able to see a damn thing through all the ground level foliage.

“Targets to the north-east, Sergeant,” said Diaz. “Whatever’s controlling them, it’s trying to cut us off.”

A fourth Apiar missile detonated somewhere to the north and further away than the previous three explosions. Maxwell ground his teeth together. On this one occasion when he might prefer a Kijol destroyer to be firing in his vicinity, its crew was looking elsewhere.

When the rolling boom of the missile faded, Maxwell heard other sounds clear above the grumbling of the destroyer’s Charos drive. From the north-east came the sharp snapping of thick wooden stems. Maxwell spun, his eyes aimed high into the trees. He saw nothing and the noises ended, as if whatever was making them had drawn to a sudden halt.

I didn’t come to Xaros to die.

An idea came to Maxwell, almost making him jump like that first corpse he’d watched spring to its feet in the storage prefab. If he acted on this idea, his soldiers would be placed in additional danger, but given how this engagement was going, they were likely going to be overrun anyway.

“Private Lowe, send a plasma rocket to the north-west,” said Maxwell. “I want it to detonate as far from here as you can make it. I don’t care what it hits, but I want that Kijol destroyer to see the blast.”

“Yes, sir.”

From his periphery, Maxwell saw Lowe aim his rocket tube high into the trees.

“Rocket out.”

The missile streaked away and struck a cluster of branches that formed the canopy seventy or eighty metres from where Lowe was standing. With a whump of detonation, the rocket exploded into plasma flames which engulfed the tops of the nearby trees.

“Squad B, move!” yelled Maxwell. “South-west to the beach. Stay in cover! Squad A, you’re with me!”

Corporal Fine didn’t question the orders and led her squad south-west, that being one of the few directions from which no attackers were approaching. Maxwell didn’t move and his eyes went from the ragged army of corpses to the flames created by Lowe’s rocket, and back again.

“Why aren’t we moving, Sergeant?” asked Fleming.

“I’m recording the position of that destroyer, Private.” A corpse ran into sight from a tree five metres away. Maxwell was startled that it had made it so close without him knowing. Its face was slack and showing no expression, and its eyes were dark pits. He shot it once and then again. “If the enemy warship hasn’t moved when we arrive at the beach, I’ll request that missile launch from the Marauder.”

The flames in the canopy cleared, allowing Maxwell a sight of the destroyer’s underside and part of its flank. It was closer than he’d anticipated. No sooner had he recorded the warship’s position than it sent an Apiar missile at an angle through the hole in the canopy. The warhead exploded north, and the sound of its detonation was tremendous.

Maxwell bared his teeth at the pain in his ears. “Run!” he yelled.

A second missile exploded, followed by a third and a fourth. Maxwell heard the rending, cracking sound of trees being uprooted or snapped into pieces. The ground beneath his feet seemed to ripple with the shockwave and the expanding air hurled splintered wood outwards from the blasts.

Maxwell dropped flat and lay there for a moment. He heard debris tearing through the undergrowth and the canopy above. Nothing hit him and he rose again, his rifle gripped firmly in his right hand, and his combat boots hurling up dirt as he broke into a run.

Heat swept across the jungle floor in a stifling wave, bringing with it a billion glowing embers. To the north, everything seemed to be alight and corpses sprinted through the inferno, blazing like torches.

Hell came to Xaros.

Without slowing, Maxwell diverted his gaze from the way he was heading – south-west - to the north-west, then to the north and back again. He spotted more of the corpses and quickly realised that the missile strikes hadn’t nearly wiped them out.

Squad B wasn’t far ahead and their progress was slowed by corpses attacking from the north. As Maxwell watched, one of the dead evaded the sporadic gauss fire and it swung an apparently clumsy blow at Vaughan – the soldier being easily identifiable by the repeater pack he was carrying. The blow struck Vaughan on the shoulder and he was spun from his feet like he’d been hit by a gravity car.

Before the corpse could press its attack, one of the other soldiers shot it enough times to send it to the ground.

“Private Chau - get Vaughan on his feet!” shouted Corporal Fine.

“We’ve got some others heading in from the north-west,” said Diaz.

Willing hands hauled Vaughan upright and then dragged him towards the south-west. Maxwell led Squad A after them. The light from the Apiar explosions was long gone, but the flames burned fiercely, casting an orange glow across the jungle floor. He checked over his shoulder and saw that the CES corpses continued their pursuit from the north-east and in numbers too great to defeat – not without the use of Vaughan’s repeater on clear ground, or a few well-placed shoulder-launched rockets.

Neither were the Kijol done. The missiles they’d launched earlier were no more than the beginning. Maxwell knew nothing of the next launch until the entirety of his world turned white with the detonation of plasma warheads. He threw himself face-first to the ground, shouting for the others to do likewise.

Had Maxwell not been protected by his combat suit, the heat and the blast pressure would have killed him. Nevertheless, he felt as if his body had been hit all over with a rubber pipe and he felt blood oozing from his nose.

Once again, the plasma blasts wrought havoc on the jungle. More trees fell, the sound of their trunks breaking sharp, like a human arm being forcibly snapped across the edge of a table. Maxwell got his knees under him and turned painfully as he tried to see through the ferns and grass into which he’d thrown himself. He grunted with the agony that hadn’t yet released his body. A heavy object landed on the ground somewhere nearby with enough weight that he felt the thump of its impact.

Corporal Valerio: Life signs at zero.

The message on Maxwell’s HUD felt like a kick in the balls, on top of all the other trauma.

“Corporal Valerio, report!” shouted Maxwell, pushing himself to his feet.

He looked around, still half-dazed. Nearby, three members of Squad A were rising from the undergrowth. Private Lowe was closest and he looked as if he was ready to collapse.

“Where’s Corporal Valerio?” Maxwell repeated.

“Sergeant, do you need assistance?” asked Fine. She sounded like shit.

“Negative – head to the beach. If the destroyer hasn’t moved, request the attack.”

“You took the positional data, Sergeant!” said Fine. “I won’t know if the enemy ship has changed position!”

“Just get to the damn beach, Corporal!” Maxwell shouted.

“Yes, sir,” said Fine with obvious reluctance.

“We’ve got incoming, Sergeant!” said Barkley.

Maxwell scanned the jungle, his fury rising by the second. The corpses were evidently not immune to either shockwaves or flying debris because their numbers had been reduced considerably. Still, the blasts hadn’t killed them all, and those which remained were rising from the undergrowth in a vile parody of life emerging from the soil.

“Kill them!” said Maxwell.

Clear thought asserted itself and he sent a ping to Corporal Valerio’s suit computer. The body lay a short distance away. The man was face down and a metre-length spear of wickedly sharp wood had penetrated his combat suit.

Maxwell stooped and ripped open the flap of Valerio’s backpack. Grabbing the top handle of the med-box, he hauled it out and placed it upright on the ground. Beneath a small hatch were two coiled tubes, each ending in a needle. Maxwell pulled out the tubes, took a grip on the needles and jabbed them through Valerio’s combat suit.

The med-box detected the lack of life signs and suggested Maxwell initiate the automated revival process. He stabbed a fingertip onto the accept button.

“Sergeant, we’re in the shit here,” said Barkley.

Leaving the med-box to do whatever it would do, Maxwell surged to his feet. In the short time during which he’d attended to Valerio, a pall of smoke had blown across from the fiercely burning flames. The scent of it was acrid and it would have been choking were it not for the filter in his suit helmet.

It was immediately apparent that Barkley’s summation was not overly dramatic. The enemy were sprinting through the jungle, most heading towards Squad A, but others in pursuit of Corporal Fine. Maxwell’s eyes located a target and he shot it. Two more went down in quick succession.

Ammunition low. Remaining: 5.

The warning on Maxwell’s HUD made him curse. Hardly without looking, he ejected the nearly empty magazine and let it drop to the ground. He had a spare attached to the belt at his waist and he slotted it into the gun.

Corporal Valerio: unable to revive. Recommend recovery of body and return to primary medical facility.

Maxwell had known that would be the outcome the moment he saw the injury. His fury rose another notch.

“Squad A – withdraw to the beach!” he yelled.

He could see it was too late – the enemy were too fast and numerous. Squad A might make it as far as the beach, but then they’d all be overrun.

At that moment, the Kijol destroyer aimed a Dasor turret into the jungle and opened fire.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The whining of multiple large-bore barrels spinning reached Maxwell’s ears a split-second before the Dasor turret ejected a storm of high-calibre gauss slugs into the trees about fifty metres north-east. Wood and foliage alike were pulverised, smashed into pieces by the fusillade. Accompanying the destruction was the clanking of metal and a roar, clearly heard above the sound of the jungle being torn apart.

Such was the brutality of it that Maxwell’s primal instinct couldn’t decide if it wanted him to run until his heart gave out, or lay down in the foliage and accept whatever fate had in store for him.

Maxwell wasn’t ready to die. “Move!” he yelled.

As he turned for the beach, he caught a glimpse of several CES corpses exploding into chunks as they were stuck by Dasor slugs. The gunfire raked north through the thickening smoke, then east and then south-west, throwing up huge fountains of soil, chewing up foliage and shattering trees like they were no more than twigs.

Luckily for Maxwell and Squad A, the canopy in this area of the jungle still offered a degree of cover, and the Kijol focused their efforts on the areas which had been exposed by their missiles. Maxwell doubted the situation would last – once the visible targets dried up, the enemy might decide to clear more of the foliage using explosives.

The light from the flames was strong enough that Maxwell switched off his night sight, which brought an instant improvement to his vision and gave him increased confidence as he pressed on through the undergrowth. Every few seconds, he glanced over his shoulder. The enemy were still in pursuit, their dead eyes fixed on him and their faces showing no emotion whatsoever.

“Sergeant, we’re at the beach,” said Corporal Fine, her voice nearly inaudible over the Dasor gun.

“I’m transmitting the positional data I took from the destroyer,” yelled Maxwell, panting the words out.

Transmitting the data while at a full sprint across uneven ground was near-impossible and Maxwell was forced to slow. The soldiers nearby did likewise, though they checked anxiously over their shoulders.

“We have to move, Sergeant,” shouted Fleming. The smoke swirled thickly and the Dasor turret fired nonstop.

Maxwell didn’t respond. Having accessed his suit datafiles, he chose the one he wanted and made it available in the squad comms channel. By the time he was done, the nearest enemy was less than ten metres away. He’d seen how easily Private Vaughan had been knocked to the ground and Maxwell wasn’t eager to learn if he’d fare any better.

Accelerating once again, he realised he’d misjudged. One of the corpses was going to catch him. Twisting his head, he could see the bloodstains on its once blue clothing and the wide cut across its throat. Three others were a short distance behind and even if he stopped, Maxwell didn’t think he’d be able to kill them all.

A short distance ahead, a figure holding a gauss rifle detached itself from the cover of a tree and Maxwell spotted a second crouched in the foliage. The discharge note of the soldiers’ guns was lost in the cacophony of the Kijol destroyer’s onslaught, but the chasing corpses were sent tumbling to the ground by multiple shots.

As Maxwell sprinted by, he gave a thumbs-up to Private Lyles and Private Chau and the two soldiers turned to follow.

“Sergeant, the destroyer hasn’t changed position since you took the first reading!” said Fine, her voice edged with excitement.

The beach wasn’t far now and Maxwell spotted Corporal Fine next to the trunk of a huge tree which had grown almost on the sand. He couldn’t see the other soldiers and guessed they were in cover, watching out for more of the corpses.

Looking behind him again, Maxwell was surprised at how much his pursuers had been thinned out. He gave quick orders and the soldiers of Squad A found themselves places from which they could send gauss fire into the enemies which remained.

Joining Corporal Fine at the tree, Maxwell looked into her visor. Her face was grim, her lips tight together.

“We lost Valerio?” she said.

“Yes.”

This wasn’t the time to talk about it. Maxwell requested a channel to the Marauder, and it was opened straightaway.

“Lieutenant Lopez, I’m sending you positional data for the destroyer.”

“Data received. How long has it remained—” Lopez didn’t finish the question. “We’ll initiate the attack.”

“Acknowledged,” said Maxwell.

Lopez cut the channel.

“Done?” asked Fine.

Maxwell nodded. “Done.”

Turning so that he could aim his rifle into the jungle, Maxwell informed his soldiers that an attack on the Kijol destroyer was imminent. He made no mention of the possibility the enemy warship was fitted with a disruptor.

“How long, Sergeant?” asked Lyles.

“Lieutenant Lopez told me forty seconds.”

“If those Ghosts are off target, we’re screwed,” said Barkley. “The Marauder has six clusters of eight and I reckon Captain Grisham can bring three of those clusters into firing position at the same time. If a few miss that destroyer—”

From here behind the tree, Maxwell had no view of the enemy warship, and he felt a dangerous urge to move into a position from where he could see if the attack was successful. Instead, he turned his attention once more into the ruins of the jungle.

The corpses on his heels had been cut down by gauss fire, but others were approaching from the east. These ones remained beneath the canopy and had so far escaped the wrath of the destroyer. How many would come, Maxwell didn’t know, but he suspected the alien was fast running out of ammunition. What it would do when all the corpses were gone, he didn’t know.

Abruptly, the Dasor fire ended, leaving an absence of sound that lasted for a moment before the creaking and snapping noises of the broken jungle came to the fore. Maxwell breathed in the odours of smoke, wondering if the Kijol had grown bored of this game.

Even as that thought was forming, an Apiar missile detonated east among the corpses. The flash almost caught Maxwell unawares, but his instincts were one step ahead of his conscious thought and he averted his eyes just in time. He dropped low, his eyes tightly closed, just as a second missile exploded somewhere closer than the first. The twin blast waves ravaged the jungle, but Maxwell was protected by both the huge tree and his combat suit.

Five seconds passed and when the Kijol launched no more missiles, Maxwell pushed himself to his feet, suddenly noticing the aching pains in every muscle and joint. He half expected to see additional life signs warnings on his HUD, but no text appeared.

Leaning around the tree, Maxwell discovered that the second missile had exploded not far north, opening a new hole in the canopy. Through that hole, he could see part of the destroyer’s flank.

Against the darkness, Maxwell suddenly spotted tiny specks of orange, far, far overhead. Those specks moved at tremendous velocity and they descended through the Xaros atmosphere, leaving barely visible trails of heat smoke.

“Ghosts!” yelled Maxwell in warning.

He couldn’t take his eyes away – this was something he had to witness for himself. Too late, the Kijol realised the danger. The destroyer’s topside Dasor turrets opened up and projectiles tore through the night air. At the same time, the warship began to accelerate sideways.

The destroyer did not escape the inbound missiles. Maxwell didn’t know how many of the Marauder’s Ghosts struck their target, but from the size of the combined explosions – the true extent of which was hidden from his view because he was standing on the ground - it was a significant number.

Not every Ghost hit the destroyer. Others exploded north, north-west and north-east, and to Maxwell’s relief, these were far enough away that all he saw were the flashes.

A half-second after the detonations, a thumping expulsion of energy swept across the forest and Maxwell felt it in his chest.

Disruptor. Those bastards were too slow.

The thunder of explosions was quickly lost beneath the rising volume of the destroyer’s Charos drive. The Kijol warship rapidly gathered velocity, climbing now at a diagonal to the north, on a course that allowed Maxwell to watch it through the gap in the canopy.

Overlapping sonic booms cracked and rumbled, the waves of sound shaking the trees. The Kijol warship dwindled rapidly, its burning topside armour plating leaving an orange trail on the darkness. Sometime soon, the Marauder would engage with the enemy craft and the outcome would not likely be positive for this area of Xaros.

“Private Barkley, report our sightings to the Marauder,” said Maxwell. “In case that orbital relay hasn’t already transmitted the detonation reports.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sergeant, what next?” asked Fine.

“We’ve played our part,” said Maxwell. “And I’d like to say we’re done, but we still have work to do.”

He scanned the jungle, hunting for signs of the dead. A few were visible and the soldiers had already recovered enough to take shots at them. The threat hadn’t gone, but for the moment it was diminished.

“South?” asked Fine.

Maxwell nodded. “We should put some distance between us and—” he lifted a hand to indicate the destruction all around. “This,” he finished.

“We’ll be visible on the beach, but we’ll cover a lot more ground that way,” said Fine.

“The beach it is,” Maxwell confirmed. “If we skirt the edge of the jungle, the destroyer won’t have sight of us unless its crew is actively looking. With any luck, they’ll be too busy dealing with the Marauder to run a sensor scan of the lakeshore.”

Maxwell switched to the squad comms channel. “We’re withdrawing,” he said.

“Again?” asked Lyles dryly. “We only just got here.”

“South along the beach,” said Maxwell, ignoring the interruption. “If the destroyer survives what’s coming to it, I wouldn’t put it past those Kijol bastards to return for another look at the jungle.”

The last of the visible corpses fell to gauss fire and Maxwell called in the soldiers from their positions of cover. They were black with soot and the polymers of Lowe’s suit were torn across his left upper arm. Blood had stained the outside of the field dressing he’d stuck over the wound.

“Anything I should worry about, soldier?” asked Maxwell.

“It won’t stop me aiming this shoulder launcher.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Lowe shifted uncomfortably. “It’s no problem, Sergeant. The bleeding stopped.”

“Good,” said Maxwell. He thumbed towards the beach. “Because we can’t afford to slow down.” His eyes landed on Private Vaughan.

“I might have a couple of cracked ribs, Sergeant,” said Vaughan without being asked. “Maybe it’s just bruising. Either way, I’ll keep up.”

“Private Barkley, give Vaughan a hand with his repeater,” said Maxwell.

“Yes, sir,” said Barkley. He reached out a hand in Vaughan’s direction and made a beckoning motion with his fingers.

“If it becomes too much, shout up.”

“I’ll manage, Sergeant.”

Once Barkley was carrying the XR repeater, Maxwell set off again, leading the soldiers through the few trees separating them from the beach. When he arrived on the sand, he noticed two enormous holes in the glowing algae a few hundred metres offshore.

“A couple of Ghosts hit the water,” Maxwell said.

“Another hit the beach,” said Barkley, pointing north.

Maxwell turned briefly to look. About four hundred metres away, one of the Marauder’s warheads had made a huge crater in the sand, as well as incinerating several of the nearby trees. The entire jungle in that direction seemed to be alight and smoke drifted south on the wind.

Remembering the promised strike on B-22, Maxwell stared to the north-west, where he saw a faint light. He couldn’t tell from here if this was a result of successful Ghost impacts, but he hoped the HF hardware had been wrecked.

“Let’s go,” said Maxwell, having seen enough.

South, the way was dark, and he switched on his night vision. When he broke into a fast jog, the aches and pains came back worse than before. His body was running on adrenaline and if he stopped for too long, he suspected he’d want to sleep for a week. Right now, his mind was razor sharp and focused on leading his soldiers to a place of safety – if one existed on this side of Xaros.

It was too late for Corporal Valerio. He’d been a good medic and a fine soldier, with a humanity that could be humbling. Now he was gone, and Maxwell felt his loss keenly.

Pushing the thoughts aside, Maxwell pressed on to the south. Every few seconds he looked to his left, into the trees. He saw no movement. Ten minutes into the run, he heard a crashing sound, somewhere out of sight. Whatever had created the noise remained unseen.

Maxwell gritted his teeth and increased his pace.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Captain Jed Grisham stared at the sensor feeds, his grip on the Marauder’s controls too tight and the muscles in his body tense. A thousand kilometres beneath the warship, Xaros was a beautiful mix of vibrant greens and ocean blues. The search for the missing CES shuttle hadn’t borne fruit, but the arrival of the Kijol had served up this unexpected opportunity to deliver a surprise blow to one of the enemy warships.

Grisham only wished he was in command of a vessel that was a little more evenly matched.

His eyes went to the tactical, where the twenty-four recently launched missiles were racing west – counter-clockwise - around the planet’s upper atmosphere, the position of the Ghosts being transmitted via the orbital relays Grisham had deployed around the planet. A glowing red dot indicated the position of the Kijol destroyer.

“Fifteen seconds to impact,” said Commander Deneuve.

Grisham stared at the tactical until the missiles converged on the red dot and then vanished.

“Twenty-four successful detonations,” said Deneuve with clear relief. “The enemy were too slow on their disruptor.”

“But we have no way of knowing how many of those detonations were against the destroyer’s armour,” said Grisham.

“No, sir.”

Grisham smiled thinly. “Let’s go and take a look.”

He requested power from the Charos drive and pushed the control bars as far as they would go. The Marauder responded eagerly and the warship accelerated west across the planet’s surface, its propulsion howling in a way that made the hairs on Grisham’s neck stand up.

“Fifty-five seconds to the detonation site,” said Lieutenant Bishop. “Not that we’re going to find the destroyer waiting for us there.”

“I have Private Barkley on the comms,” said Lopez excitedly. “He reports several successful missile strikes on the enemy vessel! It accelerated north under what he believes was maximum thrust, heading for the upper atmosphere. Private Barkley also gained a second reading of its position – that gives us two points to plot its heading!”

“Put the course line on the tactical,” said Grisham.

“Done.”

Barkley’s positional data was only as good as the moment at which he’d taken the reading, since the destroyer could change course at any time, but it gave Grisham something to consider. The Marauder was currently heading west around Xaros, and the destroyer was heading north.

In creating the tactical overlay, Lopez had also made an estimation of the enemy vessel’s velocity based on known data about the acceleration of a Kijol destroyer. The red line on the tactical was already travelling at a greater velocity than the Marauder’s maximum, but that assumed the enemy warship had made a run for space where the lack of atmospheric friction would allow it to keep accelerating without fear of burning up.

From what Grisham knew of the Kijol, they wouldn’t run. The aliens were clever - they’d likely already evaluated the extent of the attack against them and realised they were up against an inferior warship. Grisham hoped the Kijol would believe they were facing an old-generation Tibor class, rather than the new-gen Marauder.

Instead of banking north in pursuit, Grisham tried to outthink his opponent. The Kijol flight officers were as loyal to their ground troops as they were to the other warships in their fleet, though not in a way that was always predictable or exploitable.

Still, in the absence of anything else, it was worth pulling that string and seeing if the commanding officer on the destroyer would jump.

“We’re heading for the compound,” said Grisham. A plan was forming in his head. He hauled back on the controls and the Marauder shed some of its velocity. He didn’t want to arrive too soon or travelling at too great a velocity. “Commander Deneuve, target the landing pad and hit it with a couple of Ghost missiles. Let’s see what that brings.”

“Ghosts targeted,” said Deneuve a few seconds later. “Fired.”

The Marauder’s velocity had already carried it nearly to the compound and the vast expanse of trees gave way to the huge lake. Grisham’s eyes were drawn to the ethereal blue glow, the same as they had been last night when he and his crew had first observed the phenomenon.

Grisham had neither the time nor the inclination to comment on the spectacle again. His eyes scanned the underside feed and found the compound. From here it looked like nothing more than a grey patch among the sensor-enhanced colours.

The two Ghost missiles streaked out of the Marauder’s forward cluster and accelerated away, their propulsions glowing orange as they skimmed across the planet’s upper atmosphere. Almost at once, the warheads dipped sharply towards the surface as they aimed for the compound landing pad.

“Show me a feed of the target area,” said Grisham.

“On the screen, sir,” said Bishop.

The warship was at an oblique to the compound, so the sensor arc was reduced. Even so, Grisham saw the twin explosions on the landing pad. He wasn’t sure if the warheads had destroyed any Kijol hardware, but two enemy shuttles remained intact east of the landing pad and parked on the polymer ground slabs near to the westernmost accommodation prefabs.

“Heading in,” said Grisham.

He sent the Marauder into a dive, aiming the warship’s nose for the compound below. From this range, the aftereffects of the recent Kijol missile strikes were clearly visible, and, in the north-western area of the compound, plasma heat indicated where the Marauder’s own Ghost missiles had detonated on structure B-22.

“Keep watch for that destroyer,” Grisham said. “Commander Deneuve, destroy one of those Kijol shuttles with our underside Gatlers.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Targeting.”

The altitude reading plummeted and the Marauder’s nose temperature crept up slowly. At two hundred kilometres above the jungle and with the compound a hundred kilometres west, Commander Deneuve fired the two forward Gatlers.

Grisham was faintly aware of a distant drone produced by the repeaters and lines of white appeared as the bullets soaked heat from their enormous velocity through the planet’s atmosphere.

The Gatlers were pinpoint accurate and the Kijol shuttle crumpled like it was being struck by thousands of hammer blows.

“I can see ground troops, and plenty of them, Captain,” said Bishop as the Marauder flew directly over the compound.

“Want me to give them something to think about?” asked Deneuve.

Grisham didn’t enjoy wholesale slaughter, but this wasn’t a time for half-measures. “Do it,” he said.

“Underside Gatlers targeted on the compound. Firing.”

The repeaters fired for several seconds, leaving a visible trail of punctured roofs from one side of the compound to the other, and doubtless turning some of the Kijol soldiers into bloody smears on the ground.

Grisham felt no remorse. He banked the Marauder in a tight arc at a one-hundred-kilometre altitude. “Give them another taste,” he said as the warship flew once more directly over the compound.

“Gatlers targeted. Firing.”

For a second time, the CES compound was subjected to a withering hail of high-velocity repeater fire and Grisham saw a visible distortion appear on the roof of the central prefab.

Banking again, he aimed for the planet’s western horizon and put the warship into a steep dive. The destroyer would come soon, he could feel it in his bones. With any luck, it would be burning hot and easier for the Marauder’s sensors to detect.

Gaining the first strike would be vital in deciding the outcome and Grisham had a good idea how he might tip the odds in his favour.

“Sir, we’ll stand a better chance at a higher altitude,” said Deneuve. “If we take evasive action down here our hull will heat up.”

“I know,” said Grisham. “And then we’ll leave a heat trail for the Kijol to follow.”

“What’re you intending, Captain?”

“We’re going to deploy scramblers and sit over the compound,” said Grisham.

“If the Kijol see us sitting in the middle of pre-deployed countermeasures, they might not attack, or they might target the scramblers with their Dasor turrets from long range.”

“Only if they know those scramblers are deployed.”

“You’re going to—”

Grisham smiled thinly. “Yes.”

Levelling the warship out at barely a thousand metres above the lake, Grisham guided the warship at reduced velocity towards the compound.

“Ready on the scramblers,” he said.

“Scramblers ready.”

As soon as he heard confirmation, Grisham rolled the Marauder 180-degrees about its longitudinal axis, so the warship was flying upside down. The life support system kept the interior stable, so the crew felt nothing of the manoeuvre.

“Deploy scramblers,” said Grisham.

“Scramblers deployed.”

The Marauder was equipped with eight launch tubes and with the warship flying upside down, the scramblers were ejected towards the lake. With a series of immense splashes, they vanished beneath the surface.

“No hardware failures from the impacts,” said Deneuve.

Grisham knew he was cutting it fine. The destroyer would certainly have received warning from the compound that an HF warship was in the vicinity and the enemy vessel would surely be on its way.

“Waiting on scrambler reload,” said Deneuve.

Holding the spaceship upside down, Grisham banked it in the tightest of curves over the lake. The shore and the compound were five kilometres east and he hoped the Kijol ground forces weren’t watching closely enough to figure out what he was doing.

“Scramblers ready.”

“Deploy.”

“Scramblers deployed.”

Eight more of the cannisters were hurled into the lake, creating darker patches among the algae.

“One reported hardware failure,” said Deneuve. “Fifteen scramblers active.”

Grisham wanted a third deployment, but it was a risk too far. He rolled the Marauder again so that its underside was facing the lake.

“Let’s start a party at the compound,” he said.

Hauling back on the controls, Grisham brought the Marauder to a standstill directly over the CES compound at a thousand-metre altitude.

“Something stirred them up, sir,” said Bishop.

“That’s what happens when you aim Gatlers at ground troops,” said Lieutenant Adler.

“I think there’s more to it,” said Grisham.

He wanted to focus on the underside feeds, but the destroyer was out there somewhere, so he was required to divide his attention. Certainly, the Kijol soldiers looked more than agitated. They were organized into squads and sprinting through the streets.

“That alien Sergeant Maxwell found,” said Deneuve.

“Maybe,” said Grisham.

Not all of the Kijol were distracted, and a ground-launched rocket aimed at the Marauder streaked upwards from somewhere near the shuttle pad.

“Let it come,” said Grisham.

The rocket exploded on the warship’s underside, the blast tiny and ineffective. If the enemy started launching a barrage of rockets, he’d take some action, but for the moment he wanted to watch the Kijol activity in the compound.

“Should I fire the Gatlers?” asked Deneuve.

Grisham didn’t have much appetite for carnage, but some things had to be done. “Give them a burst,” he said. “Don’t try too hard.”

“Underside Gatlers firing.”

A third wave of gauss slugs pounded into the prefabs below, aimed towards the south of the compound where the Kijol were less numerous.

“I think we’ve got—” said Lieutenant Lopez. “Yes! Enemy destroyer located! It’s coming in low across the northern horizon. Missile launch detected!”

The time had come, and, against this opponent, Grisham intended to prevail.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Deploy scramblers!” yelled Grisham.

He requested power from the Marauder’s Charos drive and the warship surged vertically. The scramblers had good range, but they wouldn’t function at maximum efficiency when they were submerged, and Grisham didn’t want to venture too far away.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the tactical screen, on which thirty Apiar missiles were heading towards the Marauder. It was probable some of those would evade the countermeasures.

“Scramblers deployed,” said Deneuve. “Gatlers set to track and destroy.”

The topside and portside turrets fired immediately they were activated, and their slugs drew lines across the green of the jungle as they streaked towards their targets.

“The enemy is targeting our airborne scramblers with their Dasor guns,” said Deneuve.

“Where’s that Ghost lock, Commander?” asked Grisham tightly.

“Lock obtained.”

“Staggered waves. Fire.”

“Portside cluster one: launched,” said Deneuve. She waited three seconds. “Portside cluster two: launched.” Another three seconds. “Topside cluster: launched.”

Eight Ghosts from the first wave were followed by eight from the second and eight from the third. As the pinpoints of orange raced into the distance, Grisham rotated the Marauder to bring the loaded starboard and underside clusters to bear. The commanding officer on the destroyer would be doing the same and soon another thirty Apiar missiles would be heading towards the Marauder.

No sooner had the thought formed than Lieutenant Lopez gave the confirmation.

“A second wave of thirty Apiars is inbound, Captain.”

“Scramblers deployed,” said Deneuve.

“Launch from the starboard clusters, Commander.”

“Starboard cluster one: launched. Starboard cluster two: launched.”

“Ready on the underside cluster.”

“Yes, sir. Ready and waiting.”

“Fire.”

“Underside cluster: launched.”

“No sign of Olin missiles,” said Bishop.

“They’ll come,” said Grisham. “That destroyer won’t have many Olin launch tubes and the Kijol won’t want to see their warheads wrecked by scramblers.”

The Marauder’s Gatler fire smashed several of the inbound enemy missiles into glittering pieces and many of the remaining Apiars changed course as their guidance systems were fooled by the scramblers.

“Our first wave of Ghosts was neutralised by the enemy disruptor, sir,” said Deneuve. “The enemy have diverted their Dasor fire from the scramblers. Now targeting our second wave of Ghosts.”

By now, the Marauder was high above Xaros, and Grisham banked east over the jungle, twenty kilometres inland from the beach along which Maxwell and his soldiers had recently made their escape from the compound. Under Grisham’s control, the warship accelerated, its propulsion thundering and the Kijol missiles in pursuit.

“Eighteen of the first enemy missile wave have crashed into the lake,” said Lopez.

A combination of Gatlers and the scramblers over the compound was enough to neutralise the rest of the wave and Grisham was glad that luck was on his side. The Kijol didn’t have it so good.

“Three confirmed Ghost detonations on the enemy hull, Captain,” said Deneuve. “Scramblers deployed. Ghost waves four, five and six tracking the enemy vessel.”

It was an excellent result. Having heard the report from Private Barkley about the extent of the explosions on the destroyer’s topside, Grisham had gambled on the enemy vessel having lost at least some of its offensive and defensive power. Now those Ghosts had successfully penetrated the Kijol warship’s countermeasures, he was doubly hopeful.

The second wave of Apiar missiles were coming in low and Grisham threw the Marauder onto a new heading, doing his best to ensure the following missiles would pass close to the deployed scramblers. Several of the devices in the lake were still functioning, as were the others deployed in the air. Grisham hoped his luck from earlier would hold.

Gatler fire broke several of the Apiars into pieces, while fourteen of the enemy missiles either crashed into the lake or collided with one of the scramblers hovering above the compound.

Two made it through. The missiles struck the Marauder’s stern plating and exploded. Grisham swore and banked the warship east again. In a few seconds, the portside and topside clusters would have finished their reloads and this way they’d be aimed in the right direction.

“Give me the damage report,” he growled. On the underside array he could see slabs of plating falling into the atmosphere and a red failure light had appeared for Gatler R1.

“We lost one of the rear Gatlers, but otherwise the plating soaked the damage, Captain,” said Adler. “Just try not to take another hit in the same place.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Ghost wave four was neutralised by the enemy disruptor,” said Deneuve. “Ghost waves five and six…another three confirmed detonations!”

“Enemy missile launch detected,” said Lopez. “Twenty Apiars inbound. They must have lost a launch cluster.”

“That leaves them with five,” said Grisham. He realised he didn’t know how many clusters the new gen Aeons were fitted with. “At least five.”

“Still no sign of an Olin launch,” said Bishop. “Maybe they lost the capability.”

“I’m not banking on it,” said Grisham.

“Portside cluster one: launched. Portside cluster two: launched,” said Deneuve. “Waiting…topside cluster: launched. Scramblers reloaded and deployed.”

Grisham sensed this was the moment. If the recent Ghost strikes had crippled some of the destroyer’s weapons or defensive systems, the Marauder might come out on top. Otherwise, the engagement was too close to call.

His eyes went to the tactical, where the Kijol destroyer had gone low and was accelerating south-west over the lake. Grisham recognized the tactic – a warship could withstand far more atmospheric friction than a Ghost missile. If the destroyer achieved sufficient velocity, the pursuing warheads would burn up.

Grisham took this behaviour as a positive indication that the Kijol believed the encounter was going the wrong way and a new surge of adrenaline pumped through his body at the thought of victory.

“The destroyer is heading away from Sergeant Maxwell’s position,” said Lopez. “We could hit them with a proximity nuke detonation.”

Nuclear weapons still had their uses, but the Kijol didn’t usually get caught out by them. The enemy crew would be watching for a nuclear missile launch in the same way that Grisham was waiting for an Olin attack.

“We’ll launch a nuke on the tail of our next three salvos,” said Grisham. The issue he’d run into on Tambus with him being locked out of the missile launch systems wouldn’t happen again. It was one of the first things he’d checked after boarding the Marauder.

The incoming wave of enemy missiles was closing fast and Grisham banked south and then east once more, hoping to throw off their guidance systems.

“Scramblers deployed,” said Deneuve. “We’re down to fifty percent capacity. Ghost wave seven has been neutralised by the enemy disruptor. The enemy missiles are diverting towards the scramblers. The Gatlers have taken out—”

Deneuve didn’t finish. Three Apiar missiles impacted with the Marauder’s portside flank. Plasma erupted and one of the portside arrays went offline. The other sensors on that flank remained operational, though most of what they showed was the white of plasma explosions.

“We’ve lost one of the portside Ghost clusters and both portside Gatlers, sir,” said Lieutenant Kinsey. “Some of our Chareum modules are exposed.”

Grisham didn’t respond and he aimed the Marauder once more to the south. On the forward feeds, he thought he saw specks of light – Ghost detonations - appear on the distant destroyer’s topside plating. Then, from the corner of one eye, he witnessed torn pieces of the Marauder’s armour plating tumbling into the planet’s night. Some of the debris would land in the lake, though he didn’t have time to predict where it would impact.

“Best tell Sergeant Maxwell to make a run inland,” said Grisham. “That’s if he’s not already doing so.”

“They’re following the beach,” said Lopez. “Shit, I’ll let him know.”

“Four confirmed detonations from Ghost waves eight and nine,” said Deneuve.

“That destroyer can’t have much left,” said Adler.

The reload for the starboard and underside clusters was almost done and Grisham adjusted the orientation of the Marauder in preparation to fire.

“Enemy missile launch detected,” said Lopez. “Three total.”

“We’ve got them!” yelled Bishop.

“Not so fast,” said Grisham, unwilling to accept his opponent was defeated while it was still firing and still flying under full control over the planet’s surface.

“Our starboard and underside clusters are ready to launch, Captain.”

“Fire,” said Grisham without hesitation.

“Starboard cluster one: launched. Starboard cluster two: launched,” said Deneuve. “Underside cluster: launched.”

The Marauder’s remaining Gatlers had already acquired targets and they fired at the incoming missiles. Three Apiars become two, then one. That final warhead seemed to have a charmed existence and it flew on through the Gatler shield, ignoring the remaining scramblers.

“Kill it,” said Grisham between his teeth.

At the last moment, he pulled the controls hard right and the Marauder’s bulkheads groaned with the strain. The enemy warhead didn’t strike its target. Instead, it was broken apart by one of the Gatlers less than a thousand metres from detonation.

“Let’s get after that destroyer,” said Grisham. The most recent evasive manoeuvre had brought the Marauder’s nose onto a south-west heading, and he set the warship in pursuit of the enemy vessel. “Commander Deneuve, hold the scrambler deployment for anything that looks like it might be an Olin.”

Ghost waves ten, eleven and twelve had already crossed much of the intervening distance between the two vessels and Grisham willed them to their targets.

“Come on,” said Deneuve under her breath.

Wave ten vanished from the tactical as if those missiles had never existed and Grisham felt anger and disappointment in equal measures. One by one the green dots on the tactical representing Ghost waves eleven and twelve disappeared. Then, those green dots overlapped the larger red dot of the destroyer.

Grisham’s eyes jumped to the forward feed. The destroyer was dead ahead, several hundred kilometres away and low over the lake. Lights sparkled brightly on the enemy warship’s hull.

“Yes!” said Deneuve. “Five impacts!”

“The output readings from the enemy vessel’s Charos drive are fluctuating, Captain,” said Lieutenant Adler. “I think their engines are about to fail.”

“The reload is complete on the portside and upper clusters,” said Deneuve. “Ghost missiles ready to fire.”

“Fire,” said Grisham. He was sure the destroyer was beaten, but until it was a flaming wreck on the ground, he wasn’t going to back off.

“Portside cluster one: fired. Portside cluster two: fired,” said Deneuve. “Topside cluster: fired.”

“The enemy’s Charos drive has shut down!” said Adler. “They’re out of the game.”

At the back of Grisham’s mind, the thought of a last-moment Olin launch was lingering like a bad smell. He considered breaking off and heading low enough that the Marauder would be hidden by the planet’s curvature, but he told himself there was no point. If the enemy had an operational Olin launcher, they’d have already sent a warhead his way.

With no Charos drive to power its disruptor, the thirteenth wave of Ghosts plunged into the enemy destroyer, exploding vividly against the darkness. Wave fourteen followed moments later and then wave fifteen. Suddenly the Kijol warship seemed to be in many pieces. Huge sections of the destroyer’s hull broke away, burning starbright with plasma.

“That debris is coming down in the lake,” said Lopez. “Most of it’s going to land within a hundred klicks of the south-west shore. It’ll make a hell of a wave.”

Grisham watched as the remains of the destroyer struck the water. The warship had been travelling at high velocity and the impacts created numerous colossal arcing splashes of water, which looked as if they’d travel most of the way to the south-western shore. When the initial effects of the collision were over, Grisham saw that the debris had sunk out of sight, suggesting that the water was deep.

“See those ripples travelling away from the crash zone?” said Bishop. “They don’t look like much, but when they reach the shore, they’re going come inland – maybe dozens of klicks inland.”

The natural world had never evolved to cope with collisions of this magnitude and the lake waters sped outwards in every direction at six hundred kilometres per hour. From the safety of the Marauder’s bridge, the movement seemed gradual. Serene almost.

“Sergeant Maxwell isn’t going to outrun that,” said Grisham. “Not a chance in hell.”

“That wave won’t reach his position for almost three hours,” said Lopez. “We’ve got plenty of time to make the extraction.”

“Let Sergeant Maxwell know we’re on our way,” said Grisham.

“What about the alien, sir?” asked Deneuve.

“Things have changed, Commander. We’re making the pickup.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if we have to disable the Marauder’s onboard systems and quarantine ourselves out in space for a month, then so be it.”

Hardly had the details of Grisham’s plan left his mouth when everything was turned on its head.

“Sir, I’ve detected a Charos burst not far north of the CES compound!” said Lieutenant Adler. The fear in the man’s voice made it clear this was going to be bad. “An Eternus battleship has just exited lightspeed somewhere on this side of Xaros!”

“Find it and put it on the tactical!” yelled Grisham, knowing that if he was in the enemy vessel’s sensor arc, he’d likely already be dead.

Grisham had no idea what a Kijol battleship might want with Xaros, but if he hung around to find out, the Marauder would be reduced to molten pieces within seconds of detection.

With an unstoppable enemy warship in the vicinity, Grisham had no idea if or how he could rescue Sergeant Maxwell and his soldiers from the Xaros surface.

As he banked the Marauder south and sent it into a sharp dive towards the surface, part of Grisham wondered if it was time to cut and run, rather than risk the lives of his crew on an impossible rescue.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Having been given advance warning of the falling spaceship debris, Maxwell had ordered his soldiers inland through the trees. The foliage pulled at his tiring legs, but he couldn’t allow himself to slow. Being killed by a wave from the lake after everything he’d gone through so far would be particularly galling.

“We need some more information on that debris,” said Corporal Fine, gasping with the effort of pushing aside the undergrowth. “If it landed five hundred klicks from here, we’ll have plenty of time and likely not much to worry about.”

A short time later, the soldiers received an update and this time the news was worse than bad.

“Sergeant – a Kijol Eternus has exited lightspeed in proximity to Xaros,” said Barkley. “The Marauder is running south to avoid detection.” He paused. “It gets worse.”

“Tell me.”

“The destroyer is down, but all one billion tons of it landed in the lake. In less than three hours this area of the jungle will be under fifty metres of water.”

“What about the first wave? The one caused by the debris.”

“A few armour plates landed in shallow water. They’re going to cause a swell, but probably nothing for us to worry about.”

“We’re blind down here,” said Maxwell, his anger returning. “We need recommendations, not just warnings. And what about our pickup?”

“Captain Grisham is working on something,” said Barkley. “Lieutenant Lopez will let us know the details when the time is right. Aside from that, we’ve been given advice and orders, rolled into one. We’re to stay close to the beach and head south. About twenty klicks from here, the land rises near the lakeshore – it should be high enough to keep us safe.” Barkley gave a would-you-believe-it kind of laugh. “At the same time, we’re to provide intel on the Kijol battleship. Captain Grisham expects it to park over the CES compound. We’re to confirm that, as well as advise the Marauder if the Eternus goes elsewhere.”

“Let’s hear it for the boots on the ground,” said Lyles.

“This thing that Captain Grisham is working on,” said Vaughan. “It definitely involves extracting us from this jungle, doesn’t it? Just so I’m sure.”

“That’s the impression I got,” said Barkley. He shrugged. “I reckon Captain Grisham is on our side. As much as any other officer we’ve served under.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” said Lowe.

Maxwell called a halt. “Back to the shore it is,” he said. In a way, he was relieved that he’d soon be on easier terrain. “A twenty-klick run and a climb up a hill in three hours is manageable.”

“Yeah, a bit less than three hours, Sergeant,” said Barkley. “Two hours fifty is what we have.”

“Then let’s get going.”

Maxwell urged the soldiers back the way they’d come, so they could take advantage of the trampled undergrowth. They didn’t have far to travel and soon they were once more on the beach. For a moment, Maxwell stared into the distance at where the compound was located. He could still see the light from the flames, but there was no sign of a Kijol battleship.

Setting off south, Maxwell kept to the edge of the beach closest to the trees in order that he could take advantage of some cover rather than none. Here, the dry soil was more uneven than the sand, but the plants were few and not much more than knee high. Maxwell quickly fell into a rhythm and jogged at a speed both he and the soldiers could maintain for the full distance. It would be tough, but an incoming fifty-metre-high wall of water was plenty of motivation.

“Sergeant, the battleship!” said Chau.

“Quickly, into the trees,” said Maxwell, heading directly left.

Twenty metres into the undergrowth, he hid behind a tree and looked out. Through a gap between two trunks, he had sight of the compound. In the air above it, a vast warship hovered motionless, like every HF commanding officer’s worst nightmare. Maxwell had seen a few Eternus battleships in his time, but this one was bigger than the others. While the Kijol destroyer would have comfortably fitted within the compound’s walls, this warship wouldn’t even come close.

“What the hell is that doing here?” asked Corporal Fine. “It’s way too much hardware to bring for one security controller and a data array.”

Maxwell was beginning to have a few ideas on the matter, but he kept them to himself. “Private Barkley, let the Marauder know we have a confirmed sighting of the enemy battleship.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And we should keep moving,” said Maxwell.

Having been reminded of the colossal threat presented by a Kijol battleship, his faith in Captain Grisham’s as-yet undisclosed plan wasn’t high. This continued to be a one step at a time mission and that meant getting to the hilltops before the incoming wave reached the shore.

Maxwell led the soldiers on. With the looming presence of the Eternus, he didn’t dare return to the beach.

Caught between two equally unpalatable options – death by drowning, or plasma incineration – Maxwell did his best to walk the line by staying ten metres inside the jungle. Here, the canopy offered some protection, while the ground foliage wasn’t so dense as it was deeper in.

“We’re pushing it for time now, Sergeant,” said Corporal Fine.

“I know.”

“Maybe we should cut inland and take our chances.”

“Any other time, I might have agreed with you, Corporal.”

“The alien?”

“I don’t think the destroyer killed it. If it comes for us, I’d rather face it on the beach than in the trees.”

“It would have attacked by now,” said Fine, though it sounded as if she were trying to convince herself.

Maxwell didn’t say anything else on the matter and Fine didn’t either.

Ten minutes later it was clear the soldiers were behind the pace. Maxwell believed they’d cover the twenty kilometres, but without leaving any time to climb a high hill at the end of the journey. Since the Kijol battleship hadn’t moved from the compound, a return to the beach would result in certain detection and then death.

“How’re we going to change this, Sergeant?” asked Fine.

Maxwell didn’t know. “Private Barkley – get on to the Marauder. Whatever Captain Grisham is working on, I’d appreciate it if he’d let us know.”

Barkley came back with the information a short time later. “Captain Grisham is planning to fire Ghosts using the positional data we provide - the same as last time,” he said. “The battleship will leave the compound to hunt, leaving an opening for the Marauder to come pick us up.”

“If a plan worked once,” said Maxwell.

“Why do we have to wait?” asked Fleming. “Launch the damn missiles and get us out of here.”

“I think Captain Grisham is hoping that battleship will leave of its own accord and then he can come for us without the risk of having the Marauder blown into pieces,” said Barkley.

“It’s hard to argue with the logic,” said Maxwell. “How long is Captain Grisham intending to wait?”

“I think he’s playing it by ear, Sergeant.”

“Well, I’m not intending to slow our pace in hope that the Marauder comes before the tsunami,” said Maxwell.

Once more he set off to the south. Given the fine margins between success and failure, he pushed the soldiers to their limits. His body temperature climbed. The recycled water from his combat suit did little to quench his thirst, while his stomach craved more nutrients than those injected into him by the suit’s life support unit.

After twenty minutes, Maxwell accepted that the soldiers weren’t going to make it to high ground unless they returned to the beach. The undergrowth was making progress so difficult that the distance counter in Maxwell’s suit was already predicting they’d be more than two kilometres short at the end of the remaining time. Last time he’d checked, the Kijol battleship hadn’t moved and the beach itself was exposed for many kilometres.

Calling a halt, Maxwell headed for the treeline both to confirm the position of the Eternus and to see if the terrain to the south offered any hope. The battleship remained over the compound, so he turned his attention to the lakeshore.

“I reckon the shore heads east again a few klicks from here,” said Maxwell. “Maybe it’ll be safe for us to travel the beach for a time.”

“We’re not going to make it, are we?” said Lyles. “This is just going through the motions.”

“If something happens to the Marauder, I’d rather we’d put in the effort now, Private,” said Maxwell. “Even if it turns out to be not enough.”

“Lyles never did like exercise,” said Chau. “That’s why she’s complaining.”

“I can run twice as far as you and in half the time, Chau,” said Lyles. “But I’d rather see the inside of the Marauder than another seventeen klicks of jungle.”

The soldiers resumed their journey south. As time passed, the prospect of reaching high ground remained tantalisingly out of reach, but not so much that failure was inevitable. With each tangled foot and each resisting frond, Maxwell cursed the jungle and he cursed everything which had brought him to this position.

Still, some hope remained. A few kilometres on the beach would be enough to claw back the time, assuming the lakeshore did indeed cut east as Maxwell believed.

“Captain Grisham isn’t coming for us until the last possible moment, is he?” said Private Vaughan. “We’re going to run through this jungle until that tsunami is fifteen minutes from shore and then he’ll start launching missiles.”

“Would you do anything different, Soldier?”

“Hell no, Sergeant, but that doesn’t mean I can’t complain about it.”

Maxwell laughed and was about to reply when he heard a rustling sound of breaking undergrowth coming from somewhere to the north-east. He stopped and spun that way, his gun ready. The other soldiers had heard it too and they stared into the jungle.

“Wildlife?” asked Vaughan.

“What do you think?” asked Diaz.

“I don’t think it’s wildlife.”

The rustling came again – closer this time. It was loud, as if something fast and heavy was hurtling through the undergrowth.

“Damnit, I can’t see anything,” said Maxwell, peering through the trees.

He glanced around. Each of the soldiers was still as a statue, grey figures in the undergrowth, their rifles steady and aimed north-east. Movement came suddenly from behind one of the trees about thirty metres away and the foliage parted as if something massive was forcing its way through.

Still Maxwell couldn’t see anything, but he fired his rifle, hoping to hit whatever was staying low beneath the plants. The other soldiers fired too, and a fusillade of gauss slugs punched through the leaves.

Whatever was inbound, it didn’t die. At ten metres, it changed course, heading straight for Private Fleming. Unable to get a clear shot through the soldiers, Maxwell stepped to his right, while Fleming stood his ground, firing with increasing desperation.

Remembering his earlier thoughts about the alien, Maxwell switched off his night vision and activated his helmet flashlight. The yellow beam illuminated a hulking shadow just as it collided with Private Fleming. The soldier went down with the force of the impact and disappeared soundlessly beneath the undergrowth.

The alien didn’t stop and it changed course with incredible agility, heading north. To Maxwell’s horror, the alien had picked up Private Fleming and it carried him in one of its long arms.

Private Fleming: Life signs at zero.

Snarling with fury, Maxwell shot the creature time and again. With each successful impact, the alien flinched as if the gauss slugs were no more irritating than biting insects.

Several of the other soldiers had by now turned on their own flashlights and they kept them trained on the creature as it headed into the night. Many more shots struck the alien, but not enough to bring it down. A few short seconds after it had killed Private Fleming, the enemy disappeared into the jungle.

Maxwell had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before it returned.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Turn off your night vision!” ordered Maxwell. “Flashlights on!”

The combined beams did little to push back the darkness and from the way they jumped about, Maxwell could sense that his soldiers were right on the edge.

“It got Fleming,” said Lyles. “I shot the bastard a half-dozen times and it didn’t go down.”

“What are we going to do, Sergeant?” asked Chau.

“We’re going to be steady,” Maxwell growled, casting his gaze around warily, while his mind hunted for a solution.

A withdrawal to the lakeshore would offer the best chance against this opponent, since the beach provided ten metres of open ground in which the enemy had nowhere to hide. Unfortunately, the beach was within the sensor arc of the Eternus, though maybe the Kijol wouldn’t be looking too closely in this direction.

The destroyer put holes in the jungle not far north. Of course the Kijol will be looking.

More rustling sounds came from the east - not close, but not far away either. Maxwell took a chance.

“To the beach,” he said. “Our gauss rifles didn’t slow that alien much. Maybe Private Vaughan’s repeater will give it something to think about. If the Kijol detect us, then this our day to die.”

“Am I holding fire with this tube, Sergeant?” asked Lowe, patting his shoulder launcher.

“Yes,” said Maxwell. A thought came. “Maybe. Hold with the launcher for the moment, Private. I think it’s time I pushed Captain Grisham. Let’s see how far he’ll go for us.”

As the squad forced their way through the undergrowth, looking behind often, Maxwell requested a channel to the Marauder. Lieutenant Lopez accepted at once.

“We’re in the shit again, Lieutenant,” said Maxwell. “That alien from the compound took Fleming and it’s coming back for the rest of us. Bullets don’t hurt it much, so I’m planning to see if fire works better.”

“That’ll bring the—” Lopez stopped herself. “You want us to launch the Ghosts.”

“Yes, ma’am. My soldiers will die if that Eternus catches sight of us. Maybe this alien will kill us anyway, but I know which opponent I’d prefer.”

“One moment – I’ll get you an answer.”

Lopez muted the channel but left it open. This wasn’t something she could agree without speaking to Captain Grisham first. As he was waiting, Maxwell heard another rustling sound of disturbed foliage from the north-east and it was distinctly closer this time.

Lopez unmuted the channel.

“We’ll launch our Ghosts and come pick you up,” said Lopez. “You’ll need to provide us with positional data. When the battleship realises it’s under fire and takes off, it’s your job to let us know.”

“That’s something we can do, ma’am. How long between launch and detonation?”

“Two minutes. We’re launching from a long distance. Chances are the Eternus will go high after the attack, aiming for the best view of the planet. The Marauder can’t be anywhere within sight. When the battleship finds nothing, we’re hoping it’ll go looking blindside of the compound. That’s when we’ll aim to make the pickup.”

“You won’t know where the enemy is located when you come for us,” said Maxwell, gaining a greater insight into why Captain Grisham hadn’t been eager to put the plan in motion while there was a chance the Kijol might leave of their own accord.

“We’ll be relying on guesswork,” Lopez confirmed. “However, we’re planning to detonate a couple of nukes a few thousand klicks from the compound. Maybe they’ll draw the Kijol in for a closer look.”

All the while he talked, Maxwell didn’t slow, and he stopped on the treeline. Corporal Fine had taken charge and she’d ordered the soldiers to the water’s edge where they stood with weapons ready, their flashlight beams dancing on pale sand. Private Vaughan was in the centre of the line, prone on the beach, his repeater aimed into the jungle.

Acting fast, Maxwell turned on his night vision and used the sensor in his suit helmet to gather positional data for the battleship, which he then transmitted it to the Marauder.

“Positional data transmitted,” he said, walking carefully backwards down the beach so he could watch the jungle. “Please confirm receipt.”

“Data received,” said Lopez.

Maxwell glanced north-west, just in time to see the entire CES compound explode like it had been struck by a hundred high-yield warheads. A moment later, the Eternus began a vertical climb. Maxwell guessed the warship was under maximum thrust and its acceleration was incredible.

“The battleship is moving,” he said urgently.

“Which way?”

“Straight up.” As Maxwell watched, the enemy vessel rotated smoothly in the air, revealing more of its bladed hull. “Now it’s heading south. Shit!” He switched out of the channel and yelled at the soldiers. “Turn those damned lights off!”

The lights went out, though Maxwell wondered if it was already too late. He sprinted towards the lake, keeping his eyes on the battleship. If he was going to die, he wanted to face death as it came.

The battleship wasn’t heading for the eastern shore. It raced over the lake at a ten-kilometre altitude, firing missiles from its underside launchers. Those missiles plunged down and, though the planet’s curvature denied Maxwell sight of their impacts, he guessed they went into the lake. Two seconds later he saw the results of the detonations when immense fountains of water, steam and plasma appeared on the horizon.

“What’s going on, Sergeant?” said Lopez.

For a moment, Maxwell had no answer to give. Then, an immense shape erupted from the lake, bringing millions of gallons of algae-glowing water as it rose. It was a warship, its hull dark and with an overall shape Maxwell couldn’t discern, either because of the distance or his viewing angle. It was a huge vessel, though nothing like the mass of the Eternus. Up it rose, plasma burning upon it in many places and water pouring away in a cascade.

“Holy crap,” said Fine, twisting to look over her shoulder.

“Sergeant Maxwell!” said Lopez, commandingly this time.

“There was a spaceship in the lake,” said Maxwell in disbelief. “Hidden beneath the algae.”

“Oh crap, what kind of spaceship?”

“Sergeant, there’s something moving in the trees!” shouted Corporal Fine. “Fire!”

With little choice, the soldiers turned on their flashlights once more. Gauss rifles fizzed with discharge and Vaughan fired a short burst from his repeater. The gun produced a dull sound which had always reminded Maxwell of a drill turning at low speed. There was nothing low about its rate of fire and it spat a torrent of slugs into the undergrowth.

“I can’t get a clear shot,” said Lowe, taking a couple of paces sideways, his shoulder launcher in a firing position.

“Sergeant Maxwell, talk to me!” Lopez ordered.

Maxwell cursed the situation. The alien was about to attack his soldiers, yet what was happening over the lake – in the opposite direction – was of far more importance to the Human Federation. He turned his head quickly, switching the night vision on and off as he attempted to keep an eye both ways.

To the west, projectiles spewed from the Kijol battleship’s turrets, as what seemed like a hundred of its Dasor turrets began firing at the near-black spaceship. The paths of the slugs created green lines across Maxwell’s vision.

“The second warship – it’s a type I haven’t seen before,” said Maxwell. “The Eternus is trying to bring it down.”

A dozen sounds reached Maxwell in rapid succession as the planet’s air carried them across the lake. He heard the crack-rumble of sonic booms, overlaid by the bass of the battleship’s engine, then came the whump of underwater detonations, followed by the rushing of displaced water.

The Eternus’s Olin missiles struck the still-rising alien warship, and the explosions were monumental in size. Wreathed in flame, the unknown vessel continued its vertical climb. Meanwhile, the Kijol battleship banked with physics-defying ease and matched its opponent’s altitude, all the while subjecting it to a nonstop barrage.

Now, Maxwell could hear the metallic beat of Dasor turrets, and the heavier clanking of Axar guns. The twin propulsions seemed to make the air dense and difficult to breath.

“Sergeant!”

Maxwell spun at the urgency in Corporal Fine’s voice, turning off his night vision as he did so. He spotted the alien, sprinting fast towards the beach. Gauss shots thudded into its body and then it turned south, running just inside the treeline in front of the soldiers. Despite the poor light and the jumping shadows, Maxwell got the clearest view yet of his opponent, as if it had only now decided he was permitted to see what it was.

The alien was near black, with skin that glistened faintly. It was bipedal, with overlong and powerful-looking legs and a huge, broad torso. It ran hunched and Maxwell guessed it would be at least nine feet tall when standing upright. Maybe as much as ten feet. He couldn’t see much of the alien’s head, which it kept low and hidden between its enormous rising shoulder blades. The creature’s arms were also out of proportion, being long and spindly in comparison to the torso.

Maxwell knew those arms were strong, because the alien was carrying a body in each, its long fingers gripping tightly to its trophies.

“Corporal Valerio and Private Fleming,” said Maxwell, recognizing the HF combat suits cladding each of the corpses. A fury such as he’d never known made the blood thump in his temples. “Private Lowe, turn that bastard to ash.”

By now, Vaughan had his repeater exactly on target and its slugs tore into the alien. Even in the poor light, Maxwell could see chunks of flesh being ripped from the creature’s torso, the pieces dry like its body contained no blood whatsoever.

The coils of Lowe’s shoulder launcher whined. Before the rocket was ejected from the tube, the alien gave a sudden, jerky flick with an arm, casting one of the bodies halfway down the beach. Twisting as it ran, it threw the other with tremendous force, landing it even closer to the waterline.

“Rocket out.”

The missile sped across the beach and into the trees. Lowe had aimed well and the rocket exploded at the alien’s feet. Maxwell averted his eyes until the flash had faded.

When he looked again, a couple of trees were ablaze and, a few metres from the centre of the explosion, a mound of something burned on the jungle floor.

“Right at the bastard’s feet,” said Lowe with cold anger.

For a time, the soldiers continued firing into the dead alien until Maxwell called a halt. He turned back towards the lake, switching his night vision on again. As he stood there, a low wave rolled past him, bringing the algae with it. In a couple of seconds, the water was up to Maxwell’s shins.

“Shit, the swell from the Marauder’s debris,” he said. “Quick, back up the beach.”

Maxwell offered Vaughan his hand and hauled the man to his feet.

“Damnit my ribs,” said Vaughan, his face twisting.

“I’ve got your gun. Now move!” said Maxwell, grabbing the XR repeater by its handle and lifting it out of the water.

Then, he joined the others as they splashed towards the treeline, aiming south of the fires created by Lowe’s plasma rocket. The smoke carried scents of resin along with sharper odours of scorched soil and burning wood.

At the top of the beach, Maxwell slowed enough that he could look over his shoulder. The water had come halfway to the treeline but, to his relief, it didn’t rise any higher. In fact, it was already receding.

Maxwell was under no illusions about what would happen when the wave generated by the destroyer’s impact hit the shore. He and his soldiers either had to keep running south or hope Captain Grisham would make the pickup.

“Lieutenant Lopez, are you still there?” asked Maxwell.

“I’m still here. Tell me what’s happening, Sergeant?”

“One moment, I’ll find out.”

Maxwell looked west to find out what was going on in the engagement between the Eternus and the unknown alien vessel.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The manoeuvrings of combat had carried the two warships high above Xaros. Even with his helmet sensor on maximum zoom, Maxwell couldn’t see much. The unknown alien warship was burning like a star, yet somehow it hadn’t broken up yet. A hundred kilometres south, the Eternus was also ablaze along much of its visible flank.

Now that he wasn’t focused on the alien attacking his soldiers, Maxwell’s senses picked up the sounds coming from the two warships. Even from so far, their propulsions were clearly audible, as were the booming of explosions. The delay in the noise reaching Maxwell detached the sights from the sounds and made the combat seem peculiarly remote.

“The battleship and the other vessel are exchanging fire, ma’am – about two hundred klicks west of my position.”

“The Eternus hasn’t won yet?” said Lopez.

“No ma’am.” Maxwell stared upwards. He wasn’t trained as a warship officer, but he didn’t need to be to have a good idea which way an engagement was going. “But I reckon the Kijol will come out on top. Are you going to pick us up?”

“How fast can you and your soldiers make it up the Marauder’s boarding ramp, Sergeant?”

“In about a half-second, ma’am.”

“We’re going to take a chance and hope those two warships have no spare launch capacity to fire on the Marauder,” said Lopez. “Stay where you are.”

Confirmation of the pickup came as more of a relief than Maxwell had expected, as if his subconscious mind hadn’t quite believed it would ever happen.

“Yes ma’am. Thank you,” he said. “How long?”

“Less than four minutes. Keep me informed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lopez cut the channel.

“Listen up,” said Maxwell on the squad comms. “The Marauder is heading our way. In four minutes, we’ll be out of here.”

He didn’t add the obvious as long as those two warships up there don’t blow our ride into pieces. Nobody else mentioned it either.

Maxwell looked once again to the west, just as a salvo of missiles – Olins, he suspected, given the size of the blasts – struck the unknown vessel. The alien craft had taken tremendous punishment and surely it couldn’t withstand much more.

If it holds together another four minutes, I’ll be happy.

Meanwhile, Corporal Fine and Private Chau approached the body of the alien. The plasma flames had died, but dark smoke continued rising.

“That’s vile,” said Chau, choking as he caught the scent.

“What did you think it was going to smell like, Chau?” asked Lowe. “A summer barbecue?”

Maxwell turned off his night vision for a moment and looked over. He was sure somebody in the military would be interested in the corpse, but he was damned if he was going to try dragging it onto the Marauder – not in the circumstances. Even burned as it was, the alien looked like it weighed three hundred pounds. The bodies of Corporal Valerio and Private Fleming were a different matter. They were coming home with everyone else.

“Less than three minutes until extraction, if the Marauder is on time,” said Barkley. “Damn I’ll be glad if we make it away from here.”

“The debrief for this one is going to take a whole week,” said Diaz.

“And then we’ll be sent out again. Another planet, more Kijol,” said Lyles.

Having receded once, the water rose up the beach again. This time, it came as far as the treeline and Maxwell watched it circle his feet, before it receded silently. Though the pull of the water wasn’t strong, it dragged the bodies of Corporal Valerio and Private Fleming further down the beach. Maxwell sighed. He knew he should look. He knew he should pay his respects to the dead, even though they would know nothing of it.

“Let’s haul these bodies into the trees,” Maxwell said, beckoning Lyles to give him a hand. “So they don’t get washed away.”

“Do you think there’ll be any more of these waves, Sergeant?” asked Lowe.

“Maybe,” said Maxwell. “I think the Marauder’s crew was too occupied to count how many pieces of its armour plating fell into to the lake.”

He strode onto the beach, his boots crunching into the wet sand. Five metres from the waterline, Maxwell heard a shout of alarm.

“We’ve got a second alien!” yelled Fine. “North.”

Maxwell spun in that direction. Through a gap in the trees, he saw another of the creatures, standing motionless about fifty metres away. It was facing the soldiers, but the dwindling light from the burning trees wasn’t enough to reveal its face. Motionless as it was, the creature appeared even more hulking – more menacing – than the one Maxwell and his squads had destroyed a short time ago.

“Kill it,” said Maxwell, lifting his rifle.

As if the alien heard and understood the order, it turned, quick as a flash and sprinted east. It soaked a few gauss shots, but not enough to bring it down and in moments it was little more than sensed movement between the trees. Then, the darkness swallowed it up.

Maxwell opened his mouth to give an order, when a shape rose in the periphery of his left eye. He turned, stepping back as he did so, and already knowing what was there.

The corpse which had once been Private Fleming was on its feet. His chest and abdomen had been torn open and the cavernous wound glistened redly. Through the soldier’s intact visor, dead eyes were open and fixed upon Maxwell. The body of Corporal Valerio was on its feet too, a few paces closer to the waterline, and with the spear of wood still embedded in its side.

Hating everything about this planet, Maxwell pulled the trigger of his gun. Fleming went down before he could attack, but Valerio lunged forward. Two shots from Lyles stuck the corpse and it fell onto the beach.

Sometimes, words weren’t enough. Lyles met Maxwell’s gaze, but neither spoke of what they’d done.

Just inside the treeline, the soldiers had set themselves for another attack, and Vaughan had deployed his repeater at the top of the beach. On the squad channel, Lowe was cursing that he’d failed to get off a shot at the second alien. Either nobody had seen what happened with Valerio and Fleming or they didn’t want to talk about it.

“One minute to extraction,” said Barkley.

“Come on, come on,” said Fine.

Switching on his night vision, Maxwell focused his gaze in the direction he’d last seen the Kijol battleship. Now, the skies were empty, even when he set his visor zoom to maximum.

“Damn,” he said.

“Are those two ships still fighting, Sergeant?” asked Lowe.

“I don’t know,” said Maxwell. “I think the engagement has moved over the horizon. Or just too far for me to see it.”

The seconds went by, and the alien didn’t show itself again. Nor did the two warships reappear.

Three minutes and fifty seconds after Lieutenant Lopez had confirmed the pickup, the Marauder appeared low over the horizon. It was travelling fast and Maxwell thought it might overshoot. Instead, Captain Grisham decelerated at just the right moment and the warship came to a halt over the lake, greasy smoke drifting lazily from its friction-heated nose section. A glowing missile crater was visible close to the Marauder’s stern, and a million tons of armour plating looked as if it was about to fall off.

The forward airlock opened and the boarding ramp extended. It struck the ground halfway up the beach and about forty metres from where Maxwell was standing.

“Move!” he yelled.

“What about our dead?” asked Fine.

“We’re leaving them,” said Maxwell.

He joined the soldiers in a sprint for the ramp. The first soldiers climbed rapidly. Maxwell didn’t always have to be first man in and last man out, but this time, he waited for everyone to climb ahead of him. Lieutenant Lopez or Lieutenant Bishop must have been watching through one of the hull monitors and they retracted the ramp piece by piece as Maxwell dashed upwards. They didn’t know about the second alien, but they clearly weren’t taking risks.

Entering the airlock, Maxwell turned and slammed his hand onto the activation panel. He stared through the fast-closing door, wondering if he might see the alien watching from below. Wherever the creature had got to, it wasn’t visible from here.

The outer airlock door clunked into place, and Maxwell felt the suppressed acceleration of the warship, at the same time as its propulsion rose to a deafening thunder. Maxwell and his soldiers had escaped Xaros. Now they had to wait and see if they would escape the Kijol Eternus.

End

The Marauder sped north-east and low to the surface of Xaros. At what he hoped was the right moment, Captain Grisham pulled back on the controls and the warship climbed through the planet’s atmosphere, its velocity increasing.

Neither the Kijol battleship nor the mysterious alien vessel appeared on the warship’s sensors. Grisham was more than relieved – however close to destruction the Eternus might or might not be, he didn’t want to face it.

The Marauder tore through the upper reaches of the Xaros atmosphere and out into space. Grisham gave it everything and the velocity gauge climbed towards its maximum.

“Sir, look at this!” said Lopez. “On the rear feed!”

Grisham turned an eye to the bulkhead screen. A speck of orange had appeared on Xaros, not far north of the CES compound. Just as the first speck grew, a second speck appeared, then a third and a fourth.

“Incendiaries,” said Deneuve.

The fires created by the weapons expanded at incredible speed and Grisham couldn’t take his eyes away. A vast area of the jungle was soon blanketed in flames.

“If we assume the Eternus came out on top, that means the Kijol are responsible,” said Lopez. “What the hell are they doing?”

The battleship deployed more and more incendiaries, as if the Kijol intended to reduce the entire northern continent of Xaros to ashes. Eventually, when the planet was far behind, the fires stopped expanding and Grisham guessed the enemy had called a halt to the attack.

“Keep watching for that Eternus,” he said. “Now they’re done with Xaros, maybe they’ll come looking for us.”

An hour passed with no sign of pursuit and Grisham brought the Marauder to a standstill.

“This is far enough,” he said. “Now we wait.” The crew already knew what he intended, but he repeated it anyway. “There’s an HF warship inbound and I want to be here when it arrives, so it doesn’t run into the Eternus - assuming the Kijol don’t leave beforehand. Also, that gives us a few days to find out if Sergeant Maxwell’s soldiers have been affected in any way by that alien they encountered on the planet.”

“I’ve spoken to Sergeant Maxwell, sir,” said Lopez. “I don’t think we need to quarantine.”

“We’re staying to warn our backup anyway,” said Grisham.

He tipped his head and stared at the bridge ceiling. The mission to Xaros had been unexpectedly challenging and, while he deeply regretted the deaths of Corporal Valerio and Private Fleming, it could have ended up much worse.

Whatever alien species had been hiding under that lake had no doubt murdered everyone in the CES compound. Having watched the Kijol lay waste to the land all around, Grisham was sure the enemy had run into these new aliens before.

What this meant for the Human Federation, he had no idea. Time would tell.

* * *

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Other Science Fiction Books by Anthony James

Survival Wars (Seven Books) – Available in eBook, Paperback and Audio.

Crimson Tempest

Bane of Worlds

Chains of Duty

Fires of Oblivion

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Obsidiar Fleet (Six Books – set after the events in Survival Wars) – Available in eBook and Paperback.

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Fractured Horizons

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