by Richard Fox
The beast hesitated, eyes watching Jerry as he reached for another magazine, then it roared and turned its attention back to Nunez, clawing and biting at the roots protecting him. Jerry couldn’t take his eyes off the sight as his fingers fumbled through his magazine change. The beast’s jaws clamped down and ripped a chunk of root free, tossing it aside.
Popov screamed and stepped up beside Jerry, gauss carbine firing. The tungsten rounds slammed home, but still appeared to have little effect on the cat. It jerked and flinched away from the assault, roaring at them.
“Get away from him!”
The cat seemed to consider Popov’s words. Glancing back at Nunez, it opened its massive jaws and roared. Taking a final snap at the Pathfinder, it hopped back down to the soft ground, eyes fixed on Popov and Jerry, flinching as she continued to hit it. It roared, took another step, then charged.
“RUN!” Jerry shouted, finally getting his magazine seated in his rifle. He turned and ran.
He thought he felt the ground rumble as the beast charged, its bestial roar reverberating within his helmet. His boots pounded against the soft earth as every few steps he slid on patches of moss, slipped on stone.
It’s going to catch me, Jerry thought, the sound of his own ragged breathing echoing around him. It’s going to catch me and eat me! No! He pushed harder as low-hanging branches and broad-faced leaves slapped against him.
He burst through the line of dense bushes and his stomach turned, his breath catching in his throat even as he dug his heels into the soft earth.
Ahead, the ground disappeared. Several jagged rock outcroppings marked the edge of the cliff—and the two-hundred-meter drop to the river below. Jerry fell and landed on his back, digging his boots in hard, kicking up rocks and dirt. Beside him, Popov flipped onto her chest, her hands clawing at moss-covered stones as she reached for Jerry.
“Hand!” she screamed. “Grab my hand!”
A shadow passed over Jerry as he grabbed Popov’s gloved hand and everything around him slowed down. He looked up at the shadow, already knowing what he’d see. Claws on four yellow-and-green paws reached down from above, the beast’s mouth open wide in a roar that became Jerry’s entire world. Jerry screamed as the beast continued to sail through the air, the tips of three razor-sharp claws digging shallow tracks through his chest armor. Powerful jaws snapped but closed on nothing. Both hindlegs came into view, kicking at the air, searching for purchase.
Jerry jerked back, pain shooting through his arm as he slid over the rocks, away from the beast.
“Hold on!” Popov yelled.
The cat disappeared with a roar, hindlegs kicking at the edge of the cliff, knocking loose several large stones.
Jerry bounced against something hard and gasped as the air was forced from his lungs, then he felt himself sliding down again, toward the edge. Boots kicked, his free hand grabbed, but neither arrested his fall.
“Popov!” he shouted as his feet left the rocky cliff and sailed into midair. His waist slipped past, then he was falling, his hand grasping at the edge.
He groaned as something jerked him to a stop, his back slapping against the side of the cliff, knocking more stones free. His shoulder screamed in pain as the weight of the suit pulled awkwardly against the joint.
Past his dangling feet, Jerry saw the river, the surface of the water broken by large boulders and whitecapped waves. Rocks fell lazily through the air, dropping into the churning water below. He searched the river but didn’t see the beast.
“Jerry,” Popov said through clenched teeth, “I can’t…I’m losing my—”
They fell.
****
“Over here, Chief,” Nunez said, waving Carson over.
The sergeant was standing on the opposite side of the ravine, silhouetted by one of the massive hyperloop pylons. The tube traced along the top of the ravine for several kilometers before disappearing behind a line of tall hills.
Carson’s stomach turned as she leaned over the edge and looked down at the churning water below. Jerry and Popov waved up at her from the bank of the river, apparently none the worse for wear. Carson shook her head. Pathfinder armor were designed to take a beating, but the amount of punishment they could endure always amazed her.
“We’re okay, Chief,” Jerry said. “Bruised a little, but other than that…”
Carson fought to keep the frustration out of her voice. “How in the hell?”
Nunez held his arms out to his sides, his helmet in one hand. “You should have seen it, Chief. It was freaking massive.”
Carson turned to Jena, frowning. “What the hell is out here?”
The Zeis woman took a moment to look over the edge, then said, “A ghost fang. They’re not extremely common this far south.”
“Not extremely common?” Nunez asked, dumbstruck. “Holy shit, lady, I damn near got eaten by a not extremely common alien! Don’t you think that maybe you would’ve wanted to mention that before bringing us all the way out here?”
Jena fixed him with an icy glare. “They are rare, even to the north. I had no idea that we’d be attacked, much less encounter one. They typically only hunt at night.”
Nunez rolled his eyes. “Oh, typically.”
“Any other man-eating predators we need to be worried about?” Moretti asked.
Jena shook her head. “If there’s a ghost fang around, there won’t be anything else.”
“Typically,” Nunez said.
Carson peered over the edge again, looking up and down river. “Doesn’t look like there’s any easy way to reconnect with them.”
“The Angea River cuts through the entire preserve,” Jena said, shaking her head. “There are places where the cliffs aren’t as jagged or high, but I couldn’t tell you where specifically. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Carson told her, then switched to IR and pointed. “Head east, upriver. That’s where the attack came from. Their shuttles have to be in that direction. Follow the hyperloop.”
“Roger that,” Popov said.
“Any sign of that ghost fang?” Carson asked.
“I haven’t seen anything,” Jerry said, hands out to his sides. “It’s like the thing just disappeared.”
Nunez snapped his fingers and pointed at Jena. “Clever. Very clever.”
Carson ignored him. “Let’s get moving.”
****
“Getting something,” Birch said over the IR, his voice low. “Half a klick out.”
The drone wrangler knelt in the shadow of a tall charcoal tree, control unit in hand, watching the display. The screen’s glow flickered off his helmet’s visor.
Carson brought up the drone feed on her HUD. The video, displayed in multiple shades of gray and white, showed the jungle’s canopy rushing past, the drone only inches away from the treetops. A moment later, the trees vanished as the drone entered a clearing. The view panned around, giving the team an overall view.
The clearing sat between the jungle and a tall rock wall that stretched from east to west, ending several kilometers away at the Angea River ravine. Trees and shrubs dotted the cliff face, which rose a hundred meters above the ground. The clearing was filled with boulders of various sizes, all broken off from the cliff face to embed themselves in the earth.
Two wide-bodied shuttles were parked in the center of the clearing, surrounded by what looked like several ground-to-air gun turrets. The unmanned weapons swung back and forth within their fields of fire, obviously searching for targets.
The shuttles themselves were armed with several weapon turrets along the top of the fuselage and on either side of the nose. Several Zeis soldiers stood around the shuttles, outlined in red by the drone’s targeting computer.
“Looks like eight hostiles,” Carson said, “not counting anyone still inside the shuttles.”
“At least two pilots per shuttle,” Benit said, breathing heavily. Unlike the Pathfinders, he didn’t have the benefit of the suit’s pseudo-muscle layer to bolster his speed and
stamina, but he’d managed to keep pace, which—considering the terrain—impressed Carson.
Each wide-bodied shuttle had four large turbine engines, two fore and two aft, mounted to the fuselage with large rings. The two forward turbines flanked a domed canopy containing four empty seats, stacked two in front of the others. Underneath the cockpit, a cargo ramp opened to the ground below, crushing the long green grass at its base.
Two sentries stood atop the fuselage, patrolling the length of the aircraft, their goat-like eyes scanning the surrounding jungle. They all wore the same black and green uniform and military-style tactical vests and rifles. They definitely didn’t look like amateurs.
“I think we missed one,” West said, pointing.
One of the Zeis was speaking excitedly, waving his arms and pointing back into the jungle. Carson couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but she was sure it didn’t bode well for her or her team. When he’d finished his story, the male he’d been reporting to kicked over one of the black crates next to him, barking out a string of curses.
“Any idea who they are?” Carson asked.
“Don’t recognize the uniforms or the shuttle identifiers,” Benit said. “They aren’t regular military. I’d say they’re a shadow company working for one of the major families.”
“Kalene’s people?”
He blew out a long breath before answering. “It’s possible. Hard to say for sure.”
“The Royal Family is supposed to remain impartial,” Jena said, teeth clenched. “But if anyone has the resources and clout to pull something like this off, it’s the Royals. Once word gets out they’ve taken up arms against Father…” She trailed off, apparently not wanting to finish her thought, but the Zeis woman’s face told Carson all she needed to know.
The leader of the group started shouting at his men, and within seconds, they were rushing around, moving supplies up the cargo ramps and dismantling the perimeter weapon turrets. The sentries climbed down, using handholds embedded in the side of the fuselage, and began helping their companions with the rest of the gear. The leader stopped at the top of the nearest shuttle’s ramp and stared back over the surrounding jungle.
“Doesn’t look like they’re planning on sticking around any longer,” West said.
As if to confirm what he’d said, a soft whine cut through the stillness as the large turbines on each shuttle began spinning up. The leader paced by the base of one ramp, scanning the surrounding jungle, obviously looking for Carson and her team.
“They’re going to leave the rest of their team behind,” Birch said, not bothering to mask his disgust.
“Alright, options, people,” Carson said. “I don’t think sticking our thumb out and asking for a ride is going to work.”
Moretti checked his carbine’s optics. “Flank and suppress?”
“We need to capture both,” Jena said. “We can’t afford to let any of them escape and return to the capital.”
“Sure,” Nunez said. “Why ask for one when you can have two at twice the price?”
“We can disable one and take the other,” Benit said. “Leave the bastards out here to fend for themselves. It’s more than they deserve.”
“Either way, we’re going to have to split our numbers. I don’t like it,” Carson said, sighing. But despite her feelings about the situation, she knew the Zeis were right.
On the ramp, one of the soldiers dropped a crate. It bounced over the edge of the ramp, the impact jarring its lid open, spilling the contents. The soldier threw up his hands as his partner let out a long string of curses. The leader turned, rage contorting his face. The two soldiers scrambled to pick up the mess as he pointed and screamed.
“If you can capture one, I can disable the other,” Benit said. “You rush the closest one, get inside, and take out the pilot before he can get airborne.”
“And the other one?” Carson asked. “How are you going to disable it? Our rifles won’t do shit to those hulls.”
Benit nodded. “There’s a panel on top of the fuselage, just behind the cockpit. Disable the controls inside, the shuttle won’t fly. It’s just a matter of getting to the shuttle. Keeping them on the ground long enough to get there will be difficult, especially with the engines already warming up.”
“Camo cloaks,” West said.
“Right,” Carson agreed.
“Camo cloaks?” Benit asked, confused.
“Here.” Birch held out the collar. “I’ll work the drones. Won’t need this.”
Benit took it, turning the collar over in his hands, inspecting it.
“Like this,” Carson said, taking the collar and positioning it around the Zeis’s neck. She unfurled it and grabbed his finger. “Activate here.” She pressed his finger against the switch and the cloak flickered as the reactive camouflage activated.
Carson’s HUD drew an outline around the Zeis as his body vanished, leaving only his head visible. “These should give us the advantage. You won’t be able to see us, but we can see you.” Carson tapped her visor.
“Won’t know we’re on them until it’s too late,” Nunez said, unfurling his own cloak.
Moretti helped Gerard pull the hood up, and after some slight adjustments, the Zeis security chief had completely vanished.
“That’s amazing,” Jena said.
“You’ll have to stay behind,” Carson said. “We don’t have enough cloaks to go around.”
The Zeis woman gave Carson a cold look. “I will not stay behind.”
“If this is going to work, we need as much lead time as we can get,” Carson said. “The longer they don’t know we’re here, the better. Stay with Birch. You can cover us from here. Once we have the shuttles, you can back us up.”
Jena was obviously displeased with the idea of staying behind, but whatever the Zeis woman was thinking, she kept it to herself. Finally, she nodded.
“Alright,” Carson said. “Nunez, Moretti, you’re with me. We’ll take the closest shuttle. The ramp is the objective, don’t get pulled off course. If we’re engaged, run and gun. West, go with Benit and disable the other. Once both are grounded, we’ll handle any alibis and rally on the operational shuttle, understood?”
As a group, they collectively nodded acknowledgment.
Carson pulled her hood up, waited for the camouflage to activate, then nodded to Benit. “You ready?”
The Zeis looked slightly confused, his head canting slightly. “That’s slightly disturbing.”
Carson couldn’t help but smile at the realization that his lack of a helmet meant he couldn’t see her outline and she was nothing more than a disembodied voice.
The muzzle of Benit’s rifle slipped through the part in his cloak. “Ready.”
The four Pathfinders and Benit moved up to the edge of the tree line, pausing beside a final cluster of charcoal trees. The soldiers were almost done breaking down the perimeter guns, and the two who’d spilled their crate were now carrying it up the ramp, into the shuttle’s cargo bay.
“Move fast, stay low, watch your shots—especially you, Benit. In fact, don’t shoot unless you’re one hundred percent sure of your target.”
“I understand,” Benit said.
“Alright, ready,” Carson said, rocking slightly on the balls of her feet, her heart pounding in her chest. “Go!”
Chapter 10
“I hope they’re not this oblivious on the battlefield,” Martel muttered under her breath, stopping at the corner of a textiles shop to peer around the edge at the doughboy patrol marching up the street. From an outsider’s perspective, it appeared as though the doughboys were moving through the city without a care in the world, barely paying attention to their surroundings.
“They’re soldiers, not security guards,” Knight said through her earbud.
“Then why have them on a security patrol? It’s not like there’s anything to secure out here.”
She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the streetlights above, not wanting to damag
e her night vision. She scanned back down the alley, then the street behind the patrol, then cautiously moved out, crossing the street to crouch behind a parked car.
It probably was not the stealthiest she’d ever been, but it’d been quite some time since she’d had to practice her tradecraft. Spies weren’t exactly in high demand out here.
Isn’t that why you came out here in the first place? Martel asked herself. Keeping low, she moved past the car, staying well back and in the shadows wherever possible.
The streets of New Jefferson were empty tonight, in this part of the city anyway. Most of the colonists preferred the newer, eastern part of the city, closer to the spaceport and the militia. She couldn’t blame them really. The Triumvirate threat was very real, not to mention whoever these Regulos characters were. Being closer to the military seemed to put everyone at ease.
Martel looked up into the night sky, searching for the drone she knew was up there. “Do you see anything?”
“Just your smiling face.”
“I’m not smiling.”
Ahead, the doughboy patrol came to halt, surveying the intersection. They spread out across the street, covering multiple avenues of approach. Several turned back, checking for threats behind them.
Martel ducked into an alcove, pressing herself into the shadows. What most people didn’t realize about her profession was that waiting for someone tended to be a lot more productive than actively searching for them. It was like the old adage “If you get lost, just sit down and wait for someone to find you.” Same thing applied here.
“Do you really think they’re going to hit again so soon after the first one?” Knight asked. “Not very good tradecraft if you ask me.”
Martel chuckled. “Seems to be a trend. Fortunately, I don’t think the person we’re looking for is a pro. It’s more likely just some pissed-off nobody with a gun and a grudge.”
“You mean, unfortunately.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, think about it. If they were a pro, they’d be easier to predict. Problem is, if they’re not, they’re pretty much looking for targets of opportunity and aren’t giving any consideration to tactics. Which means they could literally do anything—things we, being pros, would probably never even consider.”
