TEXT: © Palladium Books®
  Adam Chilson
  Treacherous Awakenings
  ®
  
  1
  Journey to an Earth that has been nearly destroyed and re-
  shaped into an alien world where magic is real, demons walk 
  the face of the planet, dimensional Rifts lead to countless other 
  worlds, and humankind struggles to survive.
  A world where magic and technology collide. A place where 
  the human and the inhuman clash in war and games of cunning.
  Rifts Earth – at the threshold of an infinite Megaverse® yet 
  locked in chaos. Follow the story of but a handful of such war-
  riors in their own struggles to do more than survive.
  Book Three: Treacherous Awakenings is the final part of 
  Adam Chilson’s Rifts® trilogy. Treachery revealed, questions 
  answered, war and revenge bring this story to an end.
  The Rifts® novels are based on the popular Rifts® role-play-
  ing game and sourcebooks.
  Treacherous Awakenings™ is the third book in a trilogy, 
  based on the Rifts® Role-Playing Game series.
  
  2
  Warning!
  Violence and the Supernatural
  The fictional Worlds of Rifts® are violent, deadly and filled 
  with supernatural monsters. Other dimensional beings often 
  referred to as “demons,” torment, stalk, and prey on humans. 
  Other alien life forms, monsters, gods and demigods, as well as 
  magic, insanity, and war are all elements in this book.
  Some parents may find the violence, magic and supernatural 
  elements of the novels and games inappropriate for young read-
  ers/players. We suggest parental discretion.
  Please note that none of us at Palladium Books® condone or 
  encourage the occult, the practice of magic, the use of drugs, or 
  violence.
  Please Note: Strong Language and Violence
  may be inappropriate for readers under the age of 17.
  Other Palladium Products
  Download the Palladium Books catalog of role-playing game 
  books, T-shirts, and other items by visiting our website:
  www.palladiumbooks.com
  
  3
  Rifts
  ®
  Treacherous
  Awakenings
  ™
  The Third in a Trilogy
  Adam Chilson
  Copy Editing: Rex Barkdoll
  Proofreading: Alex Marciniszyn
  Rifts® Trilogy:
  Book One: Sonic Boom™
  Book Two: Deception’s Web™
  Book Three: Treacherous Awakenings™
  Based on the worlds, characters, text, game rules, concepts and Mega-
  verse® of the Rifts® Role-Playing Game series created by Kevin Siembieda.
  Palladium Books® Inc.
  www.palladiumbooks.com
  
  4
  Published by:
  Palladium Books® Inc.
  39074 Webb Ct
  Westland, MI 48185
  The cover is by John Zeleznik,
  and depicts a pair of Coalition soldiers.
  PDF Edition – June 2020
  Copyright © 1999 by Palladium Books Inc. & Kevin Siembieda.
  All rights reserved, worldwide, under the Universal Copyright Convention. 
  No part of this book may be reproduced in part or whole, in any form or by any 
  means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any 
  information storage retrieval system, without permission from the publisher, ex-
  cept for brief quotes for use in reviews and where permitted by law. All incidents, 
  situations, institutions, governments, and people are fictional and any similarity, 
  without satiric intent, of characters or persons living or dead, is strictly coinci-
  dental.
  Palladium Books®, Rifts®, The Rifter®, Chaos Earth®, Coalition Wars®, 
  After the Bomb®, Dead Reign®, The Mechanoids®, The Mechanoid Invasion®, 
  Megaverse®, Nightbane®, Palladium Fantasy Role-Playing Game®, Phase 
  World®, Powers Unlimited®, RECON®, and Splicers® are registered trade-
  marks owned and licensed by Kevin Siembieda and Palladium Books Inc.
  Triax & The NGR, New West, Psyscape, Federation of Magic, Coalition 
  States, Chi-Town, Erin Tarn, Emperor Prosek, Skelebots, SAMAS, Dog Boys, 
  Dog Pack, Techno-Wizard, Ley Line Walker, Shifter, Cyber-Knight, Psi-Stalk-
  er, Mind Melter, Burster, Zapper, Juicer, Crazy, Cyber-Doc, Body Doc, ‘Borg, 
  ‘Bot, D-Bee, Spider Skull Walker, Sky Cycle, UAR-1, Northern Gun, New West, 
  and other names, titles, character names and character likenesses are trademarks 
  owned by Kevin Siembieda and Palladium Books Inc.
  If you purchased this book without a cover, it is stolen property. It was report-
  ed “unsold and destroyed” and neither the author nor the publisher has received 
  any payment for this “stripped book.”
  Printed in the United States of America.
  ISBN 1-57457-032-3
  Palladium Cat. No. 303
  
  5
  For Palladium Books
  Keep Role-Playing!
  Special thanks to:
  My wife, Dawn, for showing me all the editing mistakes I made in the 
  past three books.
  And to all of you whose good advice I probably didn’t listen to.
  
  6
  Prelude
  That old black magic
  It was a bright June day. Summer hadn’t quite hit yet, but the chill of 
  winter had long passed. The ruins of Owensboro, along the Ohio River, were 
  overgrown. Every few years, someone would attempt to establish a new set-
  tlement there, but the magical area had become home to a number of less-
  er magical creatures, including some annoying ones like Faeries. In recent 
  years, Federation of Magic mages had started using it as a skirmish ground 
  enough that anyone who had been interested in the area moved on.
  After nearly 300 years of torturous weather, alien incursions from the 
  nearby Rifts, and other happenstances, the plain that the city of Owensboro 
  had been built on was once again mostly grassland. The city ruins now made 
  a rather grid-shaped series of mounds, dotted with trees and boroughs. Most 
  buildings had crumbled or fallen over and had eventually become grass-cov-
  ered gumdrops that dotted their way north to the river. Occasionally, some 
  structure stood in objection to the ravages of time, but for the most part, the 
  area seemed rather untouched.
  Just south of the river, two ley lines crossed in an X. The ley line nexus 
  seemed to open and close regularly, often connecting to benign planets and 
  dimensions, but sometimes reaching dark worlds where beings intent on in-
  vasion waited. Today was just another early summer day though, and the 
  quiet riverside area seemed to be relaxed and carefree.
  Below the crossing ley lines, the air rippled. Then a tearing sound broke 
  into the late morning sky. Just behind it, a thin line seemed to tear the fabric 
  of reality in two. As the thin line grew, what looked like jolts of electricity 
  reached out and clawed in every direction, seemingly grabbing the invisible 
  material of our world like a thousand small hands and pushing it aside to 
  reveal a doorway that had been opened to another location.
  Through the new portal in space and time, anyone who was on the grassy 
  plain could see into a dark city. From the darkness stepped creatures of many 
  kinds and shapes. Humans, Elves, dragons, demons, and more. Had they not 
  been so serious and menacing, the effect could have seemed like clowns get-
  ting out of a car too small for so many to fit in.
  After 10 minutes, the procession had finished their pilgrimage to the other 
  side of the Rift. A minute later, a large TW Battle Skimmer sailed quietly 
  through the Rift and came to a rest near the group of beings. In the rear cen-
  ter of the large craft, an elevated platform rose from the middle. Its purpose 
  seemed to be for a place of honor or command. An odd-looking creature in 
  rune-embroidered robes stood atop the platform and seemed to steer the craft 
  to a silent mooring near the crowded host.
  Once the ship had come through the Rift was allowed to close. Reality 
  seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as the portal collapsed and the laws of 
  
  7
  nature that had been bent to allow the rip in reality were returned to their 
  un-abused state.
  The host of beings walked onto the craft and vied for good positions along 
  the railing around the edge. As each being chose their place, they seemed 
  to conjure forth chairs, cushions, shade umbrellas, and other contraptions 
  to make themselves comfortable. Though there were many beings in atten-
  dance, there was enough space for everyone to be comfortable.
  The attendees talked amongst themselves, enjoying the warm day and 
  seemingly waiting for something that had not yet happened yet. Bets were 
  being taken, strategies were discussed, and the level of excitement was in-
  creasing.
  The Rift opened again and another contingent walked through. Those al-
  ready on the craft rose and bowed deeply to the arriving contingent and, in 
  particular, the man who was leading their walk onto the Skimmer and then up 
  the short staircase to the raised dais where the pilot also bowed low.
  Ascending the stairs using a large staff, the man in regal robes waved his 
  hand and waited until his magic, unfolding a lavish tent and seating arrange-
  ment, had finished its work. He then proceeded to sit and give individual nods 
  to particular members of the contingent while his entourage that had followed 
  him up the stairs to the platform took their seats. Among them were a large 
  golden dragon and a large humanoid lion known as a Raksasha.
  Once everyone had become comfortable, the man leaned over to the Rak-
  sasha and whispered something to him. The lion-headed demon nodded and 
  walked back down into the field below.
  He stood with his eyes closed, quietly repeating something into the after-
  noon breeze.
  A moment later, the air cracked twice as two men stepped through twin 
  Rifts that had appeared ten meters apart. One was well-styled; his hair was 
  well groomed, his clothes obviously expensive and of high fashion, and his 
  attitude very positive and catering to the crowd as any good politician would. 
  The other was an Elf. He was less focused on his appearance but seemed to 
  have a rather dangerous edge to his demeanor.
  The three figures on the field walked to the edge of the craft and knelt in 
  respect to their patron and leader.
  After a moment, the Raksasha teleported back to the raised platform on 
  the craft and took his seat just behind the imposing figure of the man with his 
  staff, leaving the two figures on the field of battle.
  ____________________
  Nostrous Dunscon, known as the “Great Dunscon,” was a powerful and 
  highly respected Temporal Wizard. It was said he had traversed the Mega-
  verse and kept company with demons and ancient dragons. Under his strong 
  and charismatic leadership, many joined “his” Federation of Magic and thou-
  
  8
  sands made the pilgrimage to what had become a great magical society before 
  the Coalition States had ever formed. Built on the ruins of old Chicago, the 
  Grand City thrived. Tolkeen, Lazlo, and other magical communities joined 
  this Federation of Magic.
  As the stability of the Federation grew and its power was recognized in 
  the region, Notstrous’ vision for the community grew. No longer would hu-
  manity be limited by their reliance on technology, but they could be free to 
  embrace a new age of magical enlightenment that could embrace the world. 
  The Federation and its members could be beacons of hope and safety that 
  would bring peace to the turmoil found on Earth.
  Dunscon was very aware of all of the powers in North America, notably, 
  the affairs going on in Chi-Town only a few hundred kilometers from the 
  Grand City. It was a very sad day when Chi-Town announced its formation of 
  the Coalition States which distinctly left out the Federation of Magic among 
  its members. Their insult was doubled when, days later, they invited Nostrus 
  Dunscon to the city to tell him that the Federation of Magic would never be 
  a part of their vision for the world and that if his demon-ridden Federation 
  wanted to stay on friendly terms with the militant Coalition States, that he 
  would need to comply with their insulting 134 demands that essentially hand-
  cuffed all magic users and took steps that would one day call for the xenocide 
  of all non-humans.
  Heartbroken at this division between the forces of humanity, Nostrus 
  Dunscon returned to the Grand City with his wife and son Alistair. With his 
  advisors, he continued to build and make tangible his vision for a united earth 
  that accepted all beings with love and care. A world where people could be 
  protected and fear no longer gripped hearts, contrary to what was happening 
  with the leaders of the Coalition.
  As with some visionaries, not everyone could see what Nostrus had in 
  mind. Over the next decade, Nostrus’ vision for the future became grand and 
  beautiful. He visited his allies, worked hard to gain more, and prepared his 
  Grand City to defend itself in case the worst should ever happen. However, 
  other members of the Federation had their own desires for power and their 
  own visions for the world and strife began to form in the once united magical 
  community.
  In order to salvage his vision, Dunscon called for the creation of a grand 
  army of the Federation. When Tolkeen seceded, Nostrus knew that taking ac-
  tion to win decisive victories would be the only way to revitalize the belief in 
  his vision and regain any lost trust between the Federation members. For two 
  years, Dunscon’s army trained and prepared to welcome other communities 
  into the Federation of Magic.
  Finally, in 12 P.A. the army of the Federation of Magic led a decisive at-
  tack on Chi-Town. Coalition losses were in the hundreds of thousands. The 
  
  9
  battle was fierce on both sides, but the Coalition States’ forces managed to 
  push back the Federation army.
  In the vilest act of aggression, a young Coalition officer named Joseph 
  Prosek hunted down Nostrus Dunscon and his family and murdered them in 
  cold blood outside the rules of war.
  In Chi-Town he was proclaimed a hero, but everyone knew what he really 
  was. A xenophobic fear monger who would do anything to create a nation of 
  murderers in his name.
  Joseph Prosek, the man who now ruled the Coalition States with an iron 
  fist and seemed to get crazier every year, had managed to kill Nostrus Dun-
  scon, but he hadn’t killed his son. Alistair had escaped and travelled across 
  the Megaverse in search of the power to avenge his father’s death.
  Today, Alistair Dunscon sat on his chair, a seemingly bored expression on 
  his face as he waited for Lords Credo and Valdor to pay their respects and 
  begin their battle. This battle was an interesting way to bide his time while he 
  reunited his father’s Federation, gave justice to those who had left his father 
  and mother to die, and to eventually ensure the downfall of the Coalition 
  States.
  He didn’t let himself think about the price he paid to ensure his plans 
  would come to fruition. His journey had taken him many years and he’d 
  paid sacrifices that cut deeper than any mortal should ever endure, but he’d 
  returned stronger than anyone expected and ready to forge the world in his 
  father’s vision, no matter the price.
  ____________________
  Lord Annaeroth Credo said a prayer to his master, Anubis. He had prayed 
  in the morning and had barely felt an acknowledgement back through his 
  supernatural link with the god. Praying now, the force of his urgency and pas-
  sioned plea for a boon to aid in his upcoming battle seemed to pull Anubis’ 
  attention and the god sent back reassurance, confidence, and a fair amount 
  of expectation that Credo should win. There was also the disdain for a lesser 
  creature asking someone so powerful for assistance. The feeling seemed to 
  say – if Credo couldn’t handle this situation on his own, what good was he 
  to Anubis?
  Thinking of his opponent, a battle-tested Ley Line Walker, Credo re-
  viewed the strategies and tactics he’d planned with Regina in the days lead-
  ing up to this one.
  ____________________
  Lord Harlan Valdor had been through a number of magical duels in his 
  lifetime. While his main enemy had been the Coalition forces that invaded 
  the Federation of Magic territory, the challenge of ambitious, power-hungry 
  
  10
  magic users in the Federation was a well-known occurrence. It seemed like 
  every five or ten years, there was a lord or lady who was replaced by their 
  underlings.
  Valdor had the emotional intelligence and social awareness to build trust 
  with his underlings. Most of his closest subordinates had served with him 
  in many battles and respected his results and his leadership style. He wasn’t 
  afraid to get in the trenches and risk his own life with his forces.
  Credo had never been more than an opportunity for cheap jokes with Val-
  dor. When he’d first come to the court only a few years after Valdor’s own 
  trials, the Elf had tried to gain some influence by spreading rumors among 
  the members. Valdor had been one of his victims. Although the rumors were 
  easily squashed and Valdor held no real grudge, it was fun to watch Credo 
  squirm whenever he’d slight the temperamental Lord with a quip or “acci-
  dental” bump as if he hadn’t noticed the Elf’s presence.
  Valdor was also confident that although Credo did do an impressive job 
  of ruling his territory with a fairly well-sized army of undead and other mon-
  sters, he’d rarely been in a duel and no matter what the Shifter could conjure 
  up, at the end of the day, he would lose.
  ____________________
  Arch-Mage Dunscon sat in his ornate chair under the canopy. His entou-
  rage adorning the rest of the elevated platform behind him. They were both 
  beautiful in their decadent attire and menacingly haunting in their blood-
  thirsty demeanors. Each individual was powerful enough to take on a Co-
  alition Division and win without breaking a sweat. They were also smart 
  enough not to toy with their victims and lose them as Sahara had.
  The rest of the Lords and Ladies who decorated the stands were power-
  ful in their own right and would command forces in the army of the new 
  Federation of Magic but were less powerful than the inner circle. Their titles 
  recognized a bare minimum of power and inner fortitude that Dunscon would 
  tolerate for those that wanted to be close to him.
  Looking down at the two Lords before him, Alistair held his mask of con-
  fidence, smiled, and nodded. Credo had never been a favorite, his constant 
  hunger for power and desire to be on the top combined with his relative lack 
  of ability when compared with his peers left him with an inferiority complex 
  and anger problem that often got him into trouble.
  Valdor was better. He at least had the charm and battle-tested experience 
  to bring a warm atmosphere to the court. Dunscon had hoped he could count 
  on Valdor for at least a few more years as a rallying figure and example to 
  others, but he also had to maintain strict, hardline anti-Coalition policies and 
  an expectation of minimal failures. Letting the Coalition pass through his ter-
  ritory without killing them outright had been a grave mistake. Even if Valdor 
  had been trying to reward his underling’s ambition, her hubris and overcon-
  
  11
  fidence in her own abilities had meant that Valdor would have to pay a price 
  for what was ultimately his failure. As one of the northern territories closest 
  to the border of the Coalition States, it had been Valdor’s duty to maintain 
  the strongest of stances against any invading force and he had quite publicly 
  failed to do that.
  “Bloodmist.” Dunscon leaned to his right.
  “Yes, my friend,” the lion-headed Raksasha demon rumbled back.
  “Please abide by my earlier wishes when you see an opportunity.”
  Bloodmist, one of Alistair Dunscon’s oldest friends and closest advisors, 
  nodded his head. The last time they had spoken of Credo and Valdor was 
  when the challenge was issued. Dunscon had given him the command to 
  throw the match.
  Waving his hand, Dunscon erected a translucent shield around the Battle 
  Skimmer craft that held all of the spectators. Just as the dome rose in a perfect 
  sphere from the bottom and closed at the top, it let out a flash of light. The 
  signal for the battle to begin.
  ____________________
  The wind whistled across the grasses of the riverside meadow.
  Valdor whispered something on the wind, even Credo’s Elven ears didn’t 
  pick it up, but he knew Valdor was making the first attack. Suddenly, a feel-
  ing of being viciously drunk and woozy washed over Credo. Even though he 
  knew it was coming, he could feel the magic take hold and cloud his mind.
  To keep himself from regurgitating his lunch, Credo began his own in-
  cantation. His rage at having been caught flat-footed and the wooziness 
  threatening to twist his wording and cause his responding spell to fail. Fight-
  ing through the waves of confusion and unsteadiness, he started again and 
  watched with a smile as his opponent screamed out in Agony and fell to the 
  ground.
  Credo’s lip twitched upward in a snarling grin even as he lurched to the 
  ground himself. Valdor would be in pain for at least another minute while 
  Credo forced thoughts through the narrow tunnel of his functioning mind and 
  figured out his next move.
  ____________________
  “I say, that was a rather strong opening gambit.” Lady Caltress turned to 
  the four-legged hawk-like creature perched beside her on the railing.
  “No blood, disappointing,” Lord Urzan croaked back in broken English.
  ____________________
  
  12
  Valdor cursed as he was hit with wave after wave of unending pain. It 
  seemed to roll through his body like an angry ocean wave that wanted to 
  leave but could never escape his skin. He’d just have to ride out the spell.
  Sending his mind deeper than the pain, he contemplated his next move. He 
  needed to get to the ley line. He was a Walker and he’d have the advantage in 
  his home court territory. He commanded his body to get up on all fours and 
  fight the magically induced pain. He knew it wasn’t real.
  Finally, after what felt like half an hour, though it had only been a minute, 
  the pain began to subside and Valdor had enough focus to teleport himself the 
  short distance to the ley line.
  On all fours, still spasming, he laughed and forced his body to stand. 
  Staggering to his feet, he embraced the wash of the mystical energy flowing 
  around him and the familiar comfort that being inside a ley line provided.
  The waves of pain subsided. Pulling his energy rifle from under his cloak, 
  Valdor aimed toward the distant figure of Credo, sighted him in the gun’s 
  scope and began unleashing a series of laser blasts towards his foe.
  ____________________
  “Damnit,” Credo cursed. Valdor had disappeared, though whether he was 
  invisible or had teleported himself wasn’t clear. He wouldn’t dare leave bat-
  tle, or his name and reputation would be ruined.
  Something raised the hairs on the back of Credo’s neck as he was struck in 
  the shoulder from behind by a laser blast. The light washed over his cloak, as 
  the enchanted garment absorbed the energy. Flipping the hood over his head, 
  he crouched and whispered another incantation, taking a brisk walk toward 
  one of the mounds nearby that would block him from the laser’s reach.
  Closing his eyes, Credo called to his summoned locust demon, “Yazaell, 
  now is the time.”
  “Yezzz, mazter,” Yazaell replied, his usual tone of annoyed frustration 
  clearly coming across their connection.
  The day after Credo issued the challenge to Valdor he knew his own magi-
  cal strength wouldn’t be enough to take on his opponent alone. He’d sent his 
  apprentice and two of his subjugated demons on a journey toward the battle-
  ground they now stood on.
  Yazaell, hiding inside a abandoned borough underneath the ley line, 
  stirred his zombie minions to action.
  ____________________
  Valdor waited for Credo to show his hand. Around him the wind blew 
  gently in the warm late-spring day. The wind died down and a creaking sound 
  seemed to come from one of the nearby mounds.
  
  13
  A figure in a cloak staggered from behind the mound and seemed to move 
  toward him at an intentional pace.
  Raising his rifle once again, Valdor fired at the figure who seemed to eas-
  ily shrug off the laser blasts put into its body. Though definitely impacted, the 
  figure stumbled on. As the breeze blew once more, the cloak moved aside to 
  reveal that the cloaked figure had a laser rifle of its own.
  The gun raised and let off a burst of pulses that went wide of Valdor as the 
  figure continued its march forward.
  Valdor grimaced and decided he wasn’t going to make Credo’s death a 
  slow one. Aiming at the neck of the figure, he fired a burst of shots that would 
  decapitate his opponent.
  A clean shot tore through where the figure’s neck should be, the hood of 
  the cloak seemed to go taut just before the body fell backward to the ground.
  Approaching the fallen figure quietly, Valdor noticed that the robe wasn’t 
  of the same color or quality as the one Credo had been wearing. The mist-like 
  energy from the Ley Line had been enough to obscure the figure.
  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted another man in a cloak, coming 
  toward him from only a few meters away. Turning, he saw another, and both 
  looked the same as the man he’d just killed. The closest man picked up his 
  pace and raised his arms in what looked like a gesture that would normally 
  look like someone who wanted a hug. Valdor was quick to cut that one down 
  as well.
  Something wasn’t right. This area was supposed to be clear of people. It 
  was well known that this was a common place for mage battles.
  Another figure approached out of the blue mist, behind it, another. Lord 
  Valdor looked around, a chill running down his spine. Now there were easily 
  20 figures coming toward him. The closest was still 10 meters away.
  Valdor pulled back the hood of the first figure he’d killed. Staring back at 
  him was the face of a desiccated man. He’d probably been in his forties, was 
  balding, and looked like he’d been dead for a long while.
  Suddenly the man’s eyes opened and he started quietly laughing.
  Valdor stood up. There were now even more figures coming at him from 
  the mist and the closest was only a few meters from him now.
  As if commanded by a single force, all of the figures immediately began 
  to run at him.
  Concentrating, Valdor quickly stepped into the misty blue air until he was 
  about four meters off the ground. Unless the cloaked figures below him could 
  fly, he’d be safe for the moment until he thought of a new strategy.
  ____________________
  “Sneaky,” the older woman said in a dismissive tone. “I wonder how long 
  they’ve been hiding here.”
  
  14
  Lord Urzan huffed. He preferred to quietly judge battles from a distance. 
  Discussing them only after they had completed so that one could think 
  through how each successive decision was connected to those that came be-
  fore and after.
  “Still no blood,” he croaked.
  ____________________
  Credo smiled.
  Yazaell was commanding his zombies quite well, as they’d discussed. He 
  wanted to keep Valdor off balance during the fight. The misdirection and 
  steady buildup had worked as a good distraction while Credo made his way 
  toward the ley line.
  The last thing he wanted to do was hold the fight where Valdor would 
  have an advantage, but he’d known the likelihood was good that things would 
  end up here.
  He’d stuck to the mounds and crushed structures that used to be city build-
  ings in the distant past. Keeping close to the cover to hide his approach, he 
  mounted the back side of a structure about 50 meters from where Yazaell’s 
  forces stood below the Ley Line Walker.
  Whispering into the magically dense air, Credo called forth the elemental 
  lightning that nearly every spell caster worth their salt had learned as soon as 
  they had the capacity with which to produce it.
  A flash tore its way toward the ground and struck Valdor in the air as a 
  column of lightning leapt from the grass in the same instant to connect the 
  circuit and electrocute Credo’s nemesis.
  The scream of pain as the lightning struck was a beautiful sound to Cre-
  do’s ears. He relished the knowledge that he’d finally caused even more pain 
  to the man who had ridiculed him for so long.
  As the after-image of the lightning cleared from Credo’s vision, he could 
  see that his opponent had apparently vanished. Had he teleported once again 
  or was there some other mischief he’d gotten up to?
  ____________________
  Valdor looked down. He’d phased with the ley line just after the lightning 
  bolt and had instinctually teleported himself to the top of the magical river of 
  energy over 800 meters into the air.
  Far below, he could see that the figures that had tried to rush him were 
  around forty in total. Whether there were more or not, he didn’t know, but 
  they stood in a circular starburst in the clearing he’d been in, waiting for their 
  next instruction.
  A distance away from the hooded figures, he saw another hooded man on 
  his own at the edge of the ley line. That must be Credo.
  
  15
  Valdor had figured he’d try to pull a stunt like this. He could never just 
  take someone on face to face, he always looked for some way to cheat or stab 
  his opponent in the back.
  It was time to go on the offensive again.
  Valdor teleported himself to the ground about nine meters behind Credo’s 
  skulking form. Making sure to be as quiet as possible, Valdor crept up to the 
  base of the mound until he was just two meters from his opponent, all the 
  while whispering an incantation and waiting for the right moment to unleash 
  it.
  Finally feeling like Credo would have no easy method of escape, he shout-
  ed, “DRAKARISS!”
  Dragon fire erupted from a point just beyond his open mouth, his lips open 
  as wide as he could make them to encourage the flame to engulf everything 
  in a wide cone. The red and yellow fire jumped toward Credo like a herd of 
  stampeding Fury Beetles bent on vengeance.
  Although his view was obstructed by the fire, Valdor could see his oppo-
  nent turn just in time to catch the blast dead center on his chest.
  ____________________
  Credo screamed in agony as his body was engulfed in flame. His body 
  armor took most of the blast and melted almost instantly from the supernatu-
  rally potent magical flames. Valdor’s dragon fire was a well-chosen attack at 
  a moment of vulnerability.
  Rolling backward over the mound, Credo momentarily escaped from the 
  blast and teleported himself to the center of the clearing where Yazaell’s 
  zombies awaited further commands.
  “THAT WAY!” Credo screamed, his cloak and armor still smoking. 
  He pointed in the direction of Valdor’s flame. His connection with Yazaell 
  quickly communicated his intent. Without a word, all of the zombies began a 
  haggard run toward Credo’s opponent.
  Pulling out a small necklace, Credo gripped it in his hand and said the un-
  locking word, “sanitatem.” Magic washed over his body as the light healing 
  spell restored his superficial injuries, regrowing his eyebrows and taking the 
  sunburnt red tone from his skin.
  ____________________
  As the zombies in a group rounded the last mound in front of him, Valdor 
  ignited his breath once more and launched a 30-meter flame at the undead 
  rushing at him. Although they each caught on fire, they continued to press 
  through the flame until their bodies could no longer function. Each became 
  a walking pillar of fire whose cloaked form stumbled horrifyingly onward, 
  seemingly disregarding the damage they were taking.
  
  16
  Fortunately, the magical flame caused incredible amounts of destruction 
  that no mere mortal could survive without the aid of magic and body armor. 
  After only seconds in the fire, the zombies’ bodies broke down and crumbled 
  to ash on the ground before him.
  The one who had gotten the closest had been the last. Valdor’s spell had 
  elapsed and the flame had run out, but not before the head of the zombie had 
  been roasted off. The body ran on, like a chicken with its head cut off, and 
  Valdor simply side-stepped the flaming figure, letting it run off into the mid-
  day sun.
  His attention once again free from immediate threats, Valdor stalked for-
  ward. Holding out his hand as if palming a ball, he spoke words of magic once 
  again. The magic energy around his hand began coalescing into a sphere. 
  Spinning faster and faster, the ball came together in what looked like a blue 
  glass orb made of the same color as the surrounding magic, just more solid.
  Tossing the ball into the air, it soared like a drone up about 200 feet and 
  looked down towards the ground for activity. A little way away, Valdor’s 
  observation ball zoomed in on Credo healing himself and also picked up on a 
  strange, locust-shaped demon scurrying from one mound to another.
  Gathering his focus once more, Valdor tapped his throat, using his Ley 
  Line Transmission ability to target Credo.
  ____________________
  A haunting laughter filled the clearing, causing Credo to pop his head up 
  as his healing spell completed and his left eyebrow finished regrowing. His 
  face turned into a scowl as he recognized who was talking with him.
  “Credo, you malodorously whiny whelp, we’ve known this day would 
  come for a long time and we’ve both known the outcome. You wanted the 
  victory to go to you, but that’s not how these things turn out. You should have 
  stayed under my foot where you belong.”
  Credo’s face darkened. He stood up and looked around. The voice seemed 
  to be talking to him from only a foot away, but it had no direction. It came 
  from everywhere and nowhere.
  “I’M MORE POWERFUL THAN YOU KNOW!” Credo’s yell seemed to 
  be absorbed by the nothingness around him.
  “More powerful?” Valdor’s voice came again, “You’re more powerful 
  than an ant, I grant you, but surely not much more than that. So far, you’ve 
  only caused me a bit of Agony, but you haven’t lain a finger on me otherwise. 
  Meanwhile, I’ve nearly burnt you and your pitiful zombies into ashen fertil-
  izer for the worms. The facts are decidedly not in your favor thus far.”
  “You’ll regret thinking that you’re better than me. All you do is think that 
  you’re better than everyone when you’re not! You prance around in your 
  fancy suits with your false charm and make people think that you like them 
  
  17
  and care about them. It’s so obvious that you’re just looking for information 
  to stab people in the back!”
  There was a long pause as Valdor waited for Credo to feel uncomfortable 
  and alone. Just as the Shifter was about to speak, Valdor cut him off.
  “See, now that’s the attitude that keeps you as nothing more than an insect 
  under my shoe Credo. You think too small. You’ve spent your whole life 
  crawling from under one moldy log to the next. Every time you see some 
  modicum of power, you latch onto it like it’s your mother’s breast until it no 
  longer tastes as sweet. Then you kill the producer and move on. First you beg 
  until Anubis takes pity on you and allows you to bend the knee and accept the 
  shackles of servitude. Then you come to the land of magic in North Ameri-
  ca’s magic zone and spend years stabbing one magic user or another in the 
  back, stealing all the knowledge and power they were kind enough to share 
  with you so that you could step on their corpse and move up in the world.
  Even now, as a Lord of the Federation of Magic, you’re a laughingstock 
  at court. Do you know how many Lords and Ladies have told me that you’ve 
  come to them, groveling for help, to teach you just one spell or another? For 
  all your longevity and scrappiness, you will always be a servant of something 
  more powerful, never truly a master in your own right.”
  Seething with rage, Credo began to march through the grid of regularly 
  placed mounds. Valdor could see that he was now out for blood. The Shifter 
  was always easy to set off and his buttons were easy to push.
  “Come out and face me you coward!” Credo screamed into the mist once 
  more.
  “You know, I had such high hopes that you would actually train and give 
  me a challenge today, I mean, you couldn’t have just shown up with a handful 
  of zombies and hoped that I’d let them hold me down while you beat me to 
  death. Or maybe you did? I thought our Lord Dunscon had made some high 
  requirements to become a Lord or Lady of the court. I look at all the others 
  watching us from above and they’re all soooo powerful, but I guess you’re 
  the pitiful exception to the rule.”
  Credo screamed once more, “STOP INSULTING ME AND FINISH 
  THIS!”
  ____________________
  The barge floated a few hundred meters from where the opponents faced 
  each other. It sailed silently over the ground, waiting for the victory to be 
  called. The shield around it could barely be seen, but it encircled the craft like 
  a bubble, protecting the occupants from any wayward spells that may occur.
  The inside of the circle now sported close visualizations of each combat-
  ant, Yazaell, and Valdor’s observation ball.
  
  18
  “It’s a shame that Credo can’t tell Valdor is only meters away from him. 
  He still hasn’t even caught on that Valdor is remotely observing him,” Lady 
  Caltress said, her robes blowing in the afternoon breeze
  “Fire was good though,” Lord Urzan replied. “Finally, some blood and 
  pain.”
  “Indeed.”
  ____________________
  Lord Valdor appeared from behind the mound to Credo’s right at a run. As 
  soon as he saw the man, a brilliant flash exploded from his figure, temporarily 
  blinding Credo.
  “AHHH! DAMN YOU VALDOR!” Credo bent over and rubbed his eyes 
  furiously, knowing that his opponent was coming at him from only a short 
  distance away.
  Pulling out his Vibro-Sword, Credo clenched his eyes closed and listened 
  for his opponent’s approach through the tall grass.
  Hearing the off-key whine of another Vibro weapon, Credo could tell his 
  opponent was almost on him. The whir of the blade went up into the air and 
  came slashing down. Credo blocked the blow with his own sword and side-
  stepped his attacker’s momentum.
  The two blades sparked and slid off of each other.
  Credo opened his eyes. They still hurt from the flash, but his vision was 
  starting to come back. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he blocked attack 
  after attack from Valdor’s blade.
  Trading blows back and forth, this fight came down to each opponent’s 
  skill with the blade. The ground was uneven, and Credo turned out to be the 
  better sword fighter once his eyesight had cleared. He kept Valdor on the de-
  fensive and backed him up a nearby mound that rolled up and over smoothly.
  “Fulgur!” Credo cried the word to his lightning bolt spell once again.
  The crack of thunder and flash of light exploded a dead tree that had once 
  grown at the top of the hill. The distraction was enough for Credo to see an 
  opening in Valdor’s defense and punch the man in the chest.
  Valdor stumbled backward, his balance thrown off. After a few staggered 
  steps, he fell into the grass and parried another blow from Credo.
  Once more seeing an opportunity, Credo caught Valdor’s blade in his 
  own, this time disarming the Ley Line Walker and pointing his humming 
  blade at his opponent’s throat.
  “You always have to say something to piss me off. You always have to 
  appear as the bigger man, the war hero, the charming philanthropist. You’re 
  just a bastard, Valdor. I’ve hated you since the moment I met you because I 
  knew you were a phony.
  “I didn’t need anyone else to like me at court because I don’t trust anyone. 
  I’m an Elf of action, not some politician that trades favors and orchestrates 
  
  19
  back alley deals. I show up to get things done and when I see weakness that 
  won’t move out of the way, I move it out of the way myself. I clawed my way 
  up from nothing with only the barest of knowledge I’d learned on my own 
  and the boon that Anubis granted me after I crushed an Atlantean assassin on 
  his way to destroy something that my master had set in motion.
  “The masters I killed here in the Federation were all worthless bags of 
  flesh. Sure, I used them, but they got in my way when it was time for me to 
  move onward and upward. They saw my value but didn’t want me competing 
  for their little molehills of power.
  “I wasn’t born to serve anyone who was less than a god. You get my hack-
  les up because I know that I’m better than you, but I haven’t had the ability 
  to show you just how much better I am until now.” Credo snarled and pulled 
  his blade back so that he could deliver the killing blow.
  Valdor rolled and avoided Credo’s sword. He picked up his sword once 
  again, at the same time quickly rattling off a spell and thrusting his unencum-
  bered hand toward Credo’s feet.
  Credo roared in frustration and tried to chase his opponent only to find his 
  feet glued to the ground.
  Valdor came at him, forcing Credo to twist over his front leg awkwardly 
  to maintain his parries until Valdor had him at a disadvantage. He cursed and 
  quickly rattled off his teleportation spell just as Valdor swung through open 
  air where his neck would have been.
  Popping back at the top of the hill, he tested his footing and found that the 
  Carpet of Adhesion Valdor had stuck him with wasn’t affecting this part of 
  the hill.
  Valdor, hearing the “bamph” of Credo’s reappearance charged up the hill 
  with a hearty laugh.
  Credo ran down a few steps to meet him, but Valdor must have seen an 
  opening and dodged low at the last minute to grab Credo by the leg and toss 
  him over his back. Credo landed hard and slid down the hill. Just as he had 
  collected himself, Valdor jumped on his stomach, straddling him and knock-
  ing away his sword.
  “You know that opportune moment back there? You should have taken it 
  instead of giving me the bad guy speech.” As he said this, Valdor pulled a 
  knife from his leg sheath and raised it to strike.
  Credo could see Valdor’s whole body begin the motion of a downward 
  stab that would no doubt end his life. As Valdor moved though, his wrist 
  stayed locked in the same place in the air, unmoving.
  An angry look came over the Ley Line Walker’s face, one of confusion 
  and frustration. As he turned to look at his hand, Credo felt his own boot 
  blade leap into his hand.
  ____________________
  
  20
  Alistair Dunscon watched a large display of the battle taking place far 
  below. The screen didn’t seem to be made of anything, just a semi-opaque 
  display among several others that seemed to project themselves around the 
  Techno-Wizard’s Battle Skimmer.
  Beside him, his advisor and friend, Bloodmist, sat watching both the fight 
  and his friend. This struggle in the dirt had been the first time during the 
  whole battle that he’d leaned forward and had seemed interested in the fight 
  taking place.
  This wouldn’t be the first time Bloodmist had had to teach someone in the 
  Federation a lesson for their failures. In fact, it was one of his favorite things 
  to do. There were failures and then there were failures. Letting the Coalition 
  waltz through your territory for the better part of a month and doing nothing 
  about it, even aiding them as Sahara had done, was a failure on a scale which 
  he’d rarely seen.
  Valdor would have to pay for his lack of action and the actions of his 
  underlings. Dunscon knew that he was liked in the court and would probably 
  lose influence with a few of the more influential and powerful communities 
  under his rule if he openly killed Valdor as he deserved. Throwing the fight 
  and making it look like Valdor was killed by Credo would look like an ac-
  cident to those who wanted Valdor to win and word would be quietly spread 
  about what happens to those who fail Lord Dunscon for those that needed to 
  hear about what happens when they fail too much.
  Muttering under his breath, the Raksasha flicked his wrist and cast his 
  second spell.
  ____________________
  Valdor felt the force that had been holding his hand give way and he raised 
  his arm once more to attack, turning back to his pinned opponent. As he did, 
  this time his arm moved with him.
  The delay and unexpected action of his boot knife jumping into Credo’s 
  hand had been all the incentive the Elf needed. As Valdor turned back to him, 
  he already had the knife swinging and cut his nemesis’ throat clean through.
  Valdor’s look of horror and shock contorted his face. He dropped his 
  blade and rolled off Credo, one hand clasping at his throat, the other trying to 
  dig in one of his waist pouches for something.
  Credo stood and looked down at the floundering man. A mask of rage con-
  torted his face and he kicked Valdor’s arm away from the belt pouches. Be-
  fore Valdor could bring his hand back, Credo raised up his foot and stomped 
  on his opponent’s chest.
  “Just die already,” Credo said with cold anger in his voice.
  Valdor coughed blood as all the air was expelled from his lungs. When he 
  tried to suck in more air, he choked, his body spasmed and he died.
  
  21
  Credo knelt down, stripping the Ley Line Walker of his amulets and trin-
  kets. The man seemed to have had a good collection of small Techno-Wizard 
  items and P.P.E. batteries on him as well as a credit card.
  Credo stood once more, looked at Valdor for the last time and then walked 
  down the hill, disappearing before he reached the bottom.
  ____________________
  On the Skimmer, wins and losses were finalized as the Skimmer sailed 
  back through the Rift that opened above the ley line nexus. Through the tear 
  in space and time was what looked like an underground city of brass.
  
  22
  Chapter 1
  Turn around bright eyes
  Under a nexus along the river near Liberty, birds were quiet, and animals 
  hid. Something in the air contributed to a sense of unease and something 
  unnatural taking place. Although the people of Liberty used to feel no fear 
  exploring the land around their small city, lately they avoided the nexus to 
  the south of town.
  Crackling bolts of energy jumped from Torrak’s claws down the edges of 
  the crimson sacrificial dagger. The body in the pentagram shuddered one last 
  time and wheezed out its last breath. The undulating heart slowed, with each 
  beat losing life force energy into the summoning ritual. The throb of power 
  through the pentagram lines mimicked its slowing pulse. Torrak stepped 
  back, feeling the beat of his own heart match the incessant throbbing surge of 
  power at the nexus. The victim’s body shuddered once more as the last life 
  force was ripped away into the swirling blue cloud of energy.
  Yellow eyes gleamed in Torrak’s demonic skull, power sweeping over 
  him in a rush of blue and white sparks. His pulse quickened, echoing the 
  rhythm of the ley line. Energy discharges ran across the mage’s finely scaled 
  skin and arced between the curved horns of his head. His victim’s life force 
  absorbed, Torrak was powerful enough to fuel the rest of the summoning 
  ritual.
  “Zarr Kaleh Meza Zarrakon!” The first phrase of the lengthy incantation 
  was begun. Torrak chanted in gradual crescendo at the crackling pillar of 
  power swirling at the center of the nexus. With each arcane phrase the pillar 
  grew more turbulent until its brilliant white core split wide in a fury of elec-
  tricity and thundering roars that spoke of the unnatural rending of reality. The 
  fabric of dimensions tore and before the Gromek, a Rift stood as the portal 
  between worlds never meant to merge.
  Hot wind blew through the open portal, smoke and ash catching up in 
  flurries about Torrak’s billowing cape and sash. Through the Rift came the 
  agonizing wails of tortured souls denied the privilege of death. Dark reddish-
  grey clouds rained, burning ash upon a far off landscape of cracked earth 
  and boiling pits of slime. The pervading stench of smoldering flesh wafted 
  through the doorway, its scent like fine perfume intoxicating the mad di-
  mensional Shifter. Torrak’s teeth gleamed in a widening grin. The moment 
  of struggle was upon him, the moment he would summon forth a horror and 
  then attempt to force it to bend the knee to him.
  “Larvathas Demonican Tyllith Kaleh Torrak!” The Gromek repeated the 
  ancient gestures and tossed to the wind the components for his age old spell. 
  Forces of will collided, throwing the surrounding flow of energy into chaos. 
  For a long moment, wind raged and power in the area ebbed and flowed like 
  the beach in a storm. Torrak felt the impressive heft of his target’s will, but 
  
  23
  his own desire was stronger and eventually Torrak’s desire to summon the 
  unearthly being won out.
  Forcibly ripped from its home by forces of magic, the creature stepping 
  through the Rift glared hatefully at the summoning mortal with its set of three 
  stalk-like eyes. The ground shuddered for each of its three trunk-sized legs 
  striking soil of a foreign dimension. Torrak stared up at the monster with awe 
  and amazement, a creature of such power now at his beck and call.
  Saliva dripped in giant globs from the Magot’s gaping maw, its rows of 
  cracked teeth ached to pulverize the bones of the foolish Shifter. All three 
  eyes twisted downward to better view the horned mage. This puny mortal 
  would pay dearly for wrenching it from its home dimension, it was only a 
  matter of time before justice would be served.
  Torrak’s gleaming yellow eyes glared back defiantly. Not one iota of re-
  bellion would be accepted from the demon, who was now his slave. What 
  remained of the Magot’s hold on its home disappeared with the closing Rift. 
  Spinning wheels of magical current shot away from the nexus center and the 
  pounding flow of energy resumed its age-old course unimpeded. The Ma-
  got’s huge bulk slumped and eyes hung low in defeat. Torrak was now its 
  undisputed master.
  “Hear me, slave, and obey without question,” Torrak growled at the enor-
  mous beast. “I have one simple task for you to perform, and then you may 
  return to your home.”
  Shifting from one massive leg to the other the Magot reluctantly bellowed 
  its consent. The magic binding it to this foreign place and alien being was 
  too strong for it to break. Its master held up a black helmet with a skull-like 
  faceplate, thrusting the death helm at one of the giant eyes.
  “This is the face of my enemy who is now yours. Look and remember.”
  The Magot stared at the death mask, and the helmet stared blankly back.
  “Follow the ley line west until the moon has set on the horizon, then go 
  north to the camp of humans wearing this symbol. Destroy them without 
  hesitation or mercy, not one is permitted to live. When you have slain the 
  last of these humans and trampled their machines into the ground, then you 
  may return to your home. Fail in your mission and I will condemn your very 
  essence to oblivion!” Torrak waved a spiked mace in menacing gestures, 
  adding weight to his demands. The creature slunk back, sensing the power 
  radiating from the runic weapon and feeling its will reaching out, hungry for 
  the life forces around it.
  “Now go! Do not fail!”
  Tree limbs snapped like matchsticks and broke off only to be trampled 
  by massive tri-toed feet as the Magot lumbered away on its mission. Tor-
  rak watched it go, feeling the strain of his intense focus take its toll on his 
  physical body. There was nothing like the rush he got from a summoning. A 
  
  24
  satisfied smile spread from horn to horn. He was certain nothing would save 
  his Coalition enemies now.
  ____________________
  “SAM 15 to SAM 117. How’s it lookin’ down there, buddy?” Darren 
  Corley radioed his partner on patrol five miles away.
  “Pretty quiet, man.”
  “Dude, how many times I gotta tell you? Don’t use the ‘Q’ word, you’ll 
  jinx it.”
  “Nothing since the moon went down. I’m still picking up quite a few liv-
  ing things, but nothing big though.” Steve viewed the forest from 300 feet up, 
  his airborne flying exoskeleton cruising at a casual 241 kph. Thermo-optical 
  imaging turned much of the landscape shades of purple and black, with bits 
  of red and orange representing warm-blooded creatures standing out against 
  the cool background. So far, all Steve had seen were packs of deer, the oc-
  casional carnivore, and thousands of nocturnal rodents. Nothing to pose even 
  the slightest threat to the Coalition encampment several miles away.
  “Keep your perimeter at 5 miles and swing south by the ley line again.”
  “Again?” Steve whined. “I checked it half an hour ago.”
  “Relay through Skull 41 if you run across anything. SAM 15 out,” Darren 
  signed off and pushed the two rear booster jets of his SAMAS power armor 
  to clear the rise of a small hilltop. Night patrol was generally a boring task 
  Private Darren Corley avoided to the point of insubordination, but when a 
  hot-shot Captain ordered, Darren did his best to at least give the impression 
  of obedience. After that he pretty much did whatever he could get away with. 
  Rank meant very little to Darren anymore, it was combat experience that 
  marked who would live and who would die. Having a couple of shiny bars 
  wouldn’t keep some slobbering monster from tearing you limb from limb. No 
  amount of training could fully prepare someone for the horrors that waited 
  outside the safety of fortified cities and heavily guarded borders. At one time 
  Darren would have scoffed at the possibility of death, but now at the age of 
  18 and with many grisly battles behind him, Darren had learned a degree of 
  respect for his enemies.
  “SAM 117 to SAM 15, do you read me?” Steve’s garbled voice came over 
  the radio comm link.
  “Use the relay, 117, you’re pushing transmission range.”
  “SAM 117 to SAM 15, copy?”
  “C’mon, Steve, get with it,” Darren muttered and banked into a turn. The 
  lower right maneuver jet flared up and the winged exoskeleton swung to the 
  left. Short black wings whistled in the cold night air then leveled out when 
  the turn was complete. Darren shoved the engines to the max and felt himself 
  propelled up to 300 mph. The rush of acceleration never got old.
  
  25
  “SAM 117 to SAM 15. Do you copy?” Steve’s transmission was received 
  much clearer as Darren closed the distance between them.
  “15 here, what’s up?” Darren asked.
  “There’s this... thing running down there.”
  “Okay, what kind of ‘Thing’ are you talking about?”
  “It’s big, about 20 feet tall. It’s haulin’ like a sunnava gun in the general 
  direction of camp. Got its thermo signature ’bout a mile from the line. Per-
  mission to fire warning shots?” Steve asked hopefully.
  “Hold up, dude, wait ’till I get there.” Darren was feeling the familiar 
  pulse of adrenaline in his veins and the lure of action. Past experiences tem-
  pered the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ impulse for the moment.
  “It’s a monster, man. That means we kill it, right?”
  “This ain’t border patrol, dude, we don’t waste ammo on things that might 
  not bother us. Not this far from a reload depot, man.”
  “That’s not what Captain Pritchett said.”
  “Forget Pritchett. He’s been runnin’ D-Bee Control in border towns for 
  too long. Technically we’re under Lieutenant Merrick’s command, and he 
  doesn’t want us shootin’ every non-human thing we see. Last time we got 
  back from an Op, we were down an Enforcer, a few SAMs, some hover rov-
  ers, and had maybe 5 full E-Clips between everyone in the unit. Chill man, 
  I’ll be there in a sec.”
  In the distance, Darren could see the eerie blue glow of a ley line run-
  ning to the horizon. Over a hundred feet tall, the surging power rode over 
  hills and through valleys, bound to the planet by some mysterious force. It 
  didn’t surprise Darren to discover a monster in the vicinity of the ley line, 
  since many supernatural creatures and Dimensional Beings seemed drawn 
  to the surging energy. The most infamous of all were practitioners of arcane 
  arts that intentionally brought supernatural monsters into the world to do 
  their bidding. Other creatures had the power to enter and leave dimensions at 
  whim, something that made them all the more dangerous and unpredictable. 
  This was mankind’s Earth, the birth world of humanity, and the land of the 
  Coalition States Darren served. The Coalition loudly proclaimed their role as 
  reclaimers while they sought to purge the land of these inhuman invaders and 
  re-establish Earth as the domain of man.
  “It looks like it’s heading right toward camp, man.” Steve circled the run-
  ning monster while giving it a wide berth. “Do I shoot yet?”
  “Nuh-uh. Not yet.” Darren slowed to get a better view of the tri-legged 
  monstrosity galloping through the dense forest below. Three eyes bobbed on 
  three tentacles above an enormous mouth, two remained on Steve and Darren 
  while the third continued looking forward. The thick bulk was covered in a 
  mottled flesh, visible patches of decay showing black on infrared optics.
  A voice back in Darren’s head warned of danger, but it was a voice from 
  the past predicting the future. What little belief Darren held in psychic clair-
  
  26
  voyance was amplified by the appearance of this strange creature. Having 
  been warned through psychic vision of this beast by someone who’d never 
  been outside the armored walls of Chi-Town, Darren learned to pay heed to 
  the omen he’d been given. The last time he’d shunned psychic forewarning, 
  it had cost him the love of his life.
  “SAM 15 to Skull 41, come back,” Darren radioed the Coalition base 
  camp.
  “When are we gonna shoot it? It keeps heading toward camp.” Steve read-
  ied his rail gun.
  “Dude, watch it, you’re gettin’ pretty close. You don’t know what it can 
  do. Lemme check in first. Procedure, man.” Darren caught himself sounding 
  like an overly-cautious officer, the kind he really hated.
  “It doesn’t got any weapons. It don’t even got arms.”
  “None you can see. Chill out. SAM 15 to Skull 41, come in, please.”
  “They aren’t gonna answer, I tried calling earlier and didn’t get nothin’.” 
  Steve circled closer to the monster.
  “SAM 15 to Skull 41! Mike, Lisa?”
  “SAM 15, we read you, but we think you’re at max range. You’re hard to 
  understand. What’s going on?”
  “Sir, I just thought you might wanna know about this ugly monster with 
  really big teeth that’s headed for you.”
  “Copy that. Any other details, Private?”
  “I’m pacing it at 35 mph, pretty straight-line north. It’s about twenty feet 
  tall, but kinda hard to tell cuz it’s smashing everything around it. Doesn’t 
  look like anything I’ve ever seen, but I’ve got a really bad feeling about it.” 
  Darren wasn’t about to broadcast his belief in psychics over Coalition air 
  waves. Statements like that would land him in front of a firing squad in short 
  order. The Coalition didn’t take kindly to psychic aberrations and mutations.
  “How long until it reaches base camp at its current speed?”
  “I dunno. A few minutes, I guess.”
  “How far away are you?”
  “Like 4 miles now. 3.89 and closing on the HUD.”
  “That gives us about 6 minutes. Have you established hostile intent?”
  “Hold on a sec. 117’s goin’ in closer to see what it does. Maybe we can 
  just scare it off.”
  Steve’s SAMAS dropped to within 90 feet of the monster and swung 
  around in its path, rail gun at the ready.
  “It stopped!” Steve aired triumphantly while hovering in the Magot’s 
  path. The creature surveyed the strange humanoid exoskeleton with each of 
  its eyes. The SAMAS stared back with its death mask helm. The Magot’s 
  quarry had been found.
  
  27
  “So much for it being docile. It’s charging SAM 117,” Darren relayed as 
  the monster bellowed and attacked. Steve let loose a burst of forty metal slugs 
  from his C-40 rail gun and lifted up out of harm’s way.
  “Darren! I just put forty slugs into it and it didn’t even cringe!”
  “You catch that, sir?”
  “Affirmative, SAM 15, try to control its movement and keep it away from 
  base camp.”
  “You got it, sir.” Darren flipped off the weapon safeties and leveled the 
  rail gun at the target. “Let’s kick some monster tail.”
  Both exoskeletons circled the running beast once before diving into their 
  strafing runs. Darren noted with some satisfaction a trickle of blood running 
  from a gash ripped into the monster’s hide. If it could bleed it could die.
  “This sucker’s tough!” Steve commented, voice shaking slightly from fear 
  and excitement. “I’ve nailed it four times and it’s just gettin’ mad.”
  “Take your time and make every shot count. Try and hit the same spot 
  every time. Sometimes these kinds of things can take a lot to bring down.” 
  Darren placed the laser targeting dot over the oozing gash and pulled the trig-
  ger. Metal slugs left the C-40’s barrel in rapid succession, each with enough 
  force to punch a hole through dozens of human bodies and keep going. The 
  burst carved a deeper notch in the creature’s body.
  “Back off a little bit. We got its attention. Maybe it’ll reconsider where 
  it’s goin’. Try and herd it toward the southwest.” Darren banked and came 
  around for another run on the same side. Two eyes followed Darren’s move-
  ments, the third fixing on the other exoskeleton. Without warning, a yellow 
  beam of light streaked from the open eye and bathed the black power armor 
  in an eerie glow. SAM 117 crashed into the forest, leaving a swath of broken 
  branches and fallen limbs.
  “What the...? Steve? Steve! Do you read me?”
  Darren watched the other two eyes swing in his direction as a low rumble 
  emanated from the beast.
  
  28
  Chapter 2
  Kill it with fire!
  Darren veered sharply to the left as two yellow beams streaked past his 
  right wing. The creature started off again in the direction of the Coalition 
  camp, ignoring the sting of forty slugs impacting its body.
  “SAM 117, come in. You okay, buddy?” Darren hovered above his part-
  ner’s stationary power suit. Judging by the way it lay twisted around fallen 
  limbs and branches, Steve was unconscious at best. “SAM 15 to Skull 41.”
  “Go ahead.”
  “Better wake everybody up and get suited for a fight. SAM 117 is down 
  and that thing is one tough bad boy. It’s got some kind of eye beam that 
  crashed Steve. Personally, I’d rather not find out what this thing is really 
  capable of.”
  “We’re already on alert. I’ll call up 117’s medical readout, you keep blast-
  ing away at the hostile, but keep your distance.” Mike breathed deeply and 
  made his decision. “Were going to 2nd stage alert. Skull 41 out.”
  “15 out.” Darren looked down at Steve’s unconscious SAMAS one more 
  time, took a breath, and set his focus on the monster once again.
  ____________________
  “Lisa, oh, you’re already on it.” Mike turned to find the communications 
  officer seated at her console. Display screens lit up with charts and data, but 
  one in particular caused her to sigh deeply.
  “SAM 117?” Mike knew the answer.
  “No life signs. None at all.” Lisa looked over at him with concerned blue 
  eyes. “It’s like he’s not even in the power suit, but the SAM’s still sealed.”
  “Maybe he got out and re-sealed it before we could call it up. Better suit 
  up, Lisa. Sorry.” Mike looked at her fondly. Lisa read sincerity in his steel 
  blue eyes, but this wasn’t the time to be sentimental and romantic.
  “Let’s do this,” she said, refocusing on her readouts. Their relationship 
  was awkward to begin with, and the strain of duty was testing its limits. Mike 
  was still recovering from losing Karren and the complete farce of a court-
  martial that Lyboc had subjected him to. While she was still attracted to the 
  Lieutenant, his crisis of faith had left him less of a strong and decisive leader 
  than he’d been on their first mission.
  Mike flipped a yellow switch above the Skull Walker’s command console. 
  Wrist computers and headsets throughout the camp emitted a series of high-
  pitched tones, signaling a new threat level and ending many a soldier’s slum-
  ber. Mike slowly began the drudgery of donning uniform and body armor.
  ____________________
  
  29
  Lieutenant Greg Merrick rubbed his hands together to keep them from 
  stiffening in the cold morning air. The camp was already bustling with activ-
  ity in preparation for a battle. Picking out his own men among the infantry 
  troops was simple enough, they were the only ones who seemed to know 
  what to do. Greg hated joint operations, especially with a back-seat captain 
  and inexperienced troops mingling with his special ops unit. Every man in his 
  unit, with the exception of the rookie pilot of SAM 117, was a combat vet-
  eran handpicked for the mission. Having to relinquish command once again, 
  this time to Captain Pritchett, seemed unfair to the men who trusted Greg’s 
  judgment and experience. As long as the Captain didn’t unnecessarily endan-
  ger his men, the chain of command would be observed and Greg would let 
  Pritchett lead. On the other hand, if Pritchett was a coward or kamikaze, Greg 
  wasn’t going to waste the lives of his men.
  Robot vehicles moved into defensive positions, whining hydraulics and 
  the thud of armored feet sounding above the chatter of troops. Greg cursed 
  the Captain’s inexperience in field operations as the camp lit up from spot-
  lights of several mechanized units. At least his crew in Skull Walker 41 had 
  the sense not to make themselves an easy target. Greg looked up at the giant, 
  human-spider skull resting on a six-legged base and signaled it to move into 
  position. Like a giant spider, the 30-foot-tall robot crawled to the south end 
  of the encampment and scanned the rolling hillside with powerful infrared 
  searchlights set into the robot’s eye sockets. Two huge rail cannons protruded 
  from either side of the skull, each capable of driving metal slugs through an 
  armored target miles away. Many a creature had been returned to its maker 
  on the receiving end of those guns.
  “Sir, SAM 312 is warmed up and ready to go.” A red-haired technical 
  officer jogged up, helmet in hand, wearing loosely clamped environmental 
  armor. The harsh lights made him look older and more rugged than he really 
  was.
  “Thanks.” Greg slapped 2nd Lieutenant Brian Adams on his armor-plated 
  shoulder and strode briskly toward a cluster of robot and power armor pilots 
  suiting up in their SAMAS exoskeletons. Thrusters and maneuvering jets 
  thrummed softly on standby, waiting to propel the light power suits into the 
  air. Coalition SAMAS power armor made up the backbone of the armored 
  military forces. The fast, lethal units could operate as both air and ground 
  support, add a powerful kick to an infantry force, and provide much-needed 
  distraction for powerful and slow robots and tanks. Very few industrial cities 
  could stand up to a well-armed squad of SAMAS leading the charge for a 
  mechanized strike force.
  The exoskeleton carried a lightweight rail gun, with laser targeting linked 
  to the pilot’s heads-up display (HUD) and multi-optic systems. A feed belt 
  connected the C-40 rail gun to the power armor’s nuclear power pack and rear-
  mounted ammunition drum. Electrically charged rails accelerated metal slugs 
  
  30
  to supersonic velocities that could punch a hole in almost anything. Fired in 
  rapid succession, a burst of kinetic steel could rip a 20th century tank in half 
  in the blink of an eye. If the C-40 rail gun wasn’t enough to bring down the 
  SAM’s target, then a pair of self-propelled mini-missiles attached to each fore-
  arm could be brought into play. Standing just over 8 feet tall, the Coalition’s 
  power armor was one of the smallest and deadliest in the known world.
  Climbing into the open power armor, Greg made sure each limb was in its 
  appropriate location before speaking the 8-digit operator’s code. The chest 
  slowly moved back and locked in place, padded clamps gently closing around 
  Greg’s arms and legs. Last, the front half of the unit’s head swung over and 
  locked down. Greg made a fist with each armored hand to ensure a close fit, 
  then shook his head from side to side to work out the folds in the head and 
  neck padding. The heads-up display showed all systems in perfect working 
  order and ammunition count full. It was time for action.
  “Lieutenant Merrick to SAM 15, over.”
  “SAM 15 here. I hope all that light I see coming over the next rise means 
  everybody’s ready to blow this thing to hell,” Darren’s voice came over the 
  radio.
  “What’s your ‘20?”
  “Uh, sector G-17, no, G-18, hell if I can remember Pritchett’s codes. South 
  of camp following this three-legged, three-eyed, ugly monstrosity.”
  “How far?”
  “’Bout a mile and a half, just coming up on the ridge. I’ve been able to 
  slow it down some, but this bad boy took everything I could throw at it and 
  it’s still moving. I’m outta ammo ’cept for a pair of scorchers in my CM-2. 
  Want me to launch them and head back?”
  “No. Stay on the hostile and don’t lose track of it. I’ll trade places with 
  you in a moment.”
  “Better hurry, man, this sucker might be bleedin’ but it ain’t dyin’.”
  “Lieutenant Merrick to Captain Pritchett.”
  “Pritchett here, what can I do for you, Lieutenant?” The Captain’s cheer-
  ful voice seemed incongruous in the combat situation.
  “If I may make a suggestion, sir, it might be wise to assign the Sky Cycles 
  and a pair of SAMAS to make a patrol of our flank and rear. The monster 
  could be a diversionary tactic for another hostile force.”
  “It’s probably just another monster, Lieutenant, but if you think you can 
  do without the added firepower then I’ll assign the Sky Cycles to patrol duty.”
  “Thank you, sir.”
  Securing the C-40 in his right hand, Greg lifted off and extended the 
  shoulder mounted wings. Rear thrusters fired up and within seconds Greg 
  was skimming treetops in Darren’s direction. Not wanting one of Pritchett’s 
  overzealous grunts to mistake him for a target, Greg activated the wingtip 
  running lights. Normally he considered use of the flashing red strobes an 
  
  31
  ideal method of informing the enemy of his location, but then again, friendly 
  fire could make any day a bad one.
  The landscape took on an alien appearance under illumination of the SA-
  MAS’ chest infrared spotlight. Less than 2,000 feet from the hilltop was an 
  ugly creature running with an uneven gait. Circling above it were a pair of 
  blinking red lights. Greg smiled. Apparently, Darren had no desire to get shot 
  either.
  “Mornin’ Lieutenant! It’s all yours,” Darren chimed across the radio.
  “I see it. Go ahead and use your mini-missiles and then head back for 
  reload. Best give the firing lanes a wide berth.”
  “You don’t gotta tell me twice. I’m outta here.” Darren’s SAMAS slowed 
  for a pause in mid-air. Left forearm extended, Darren aligned the laser tar-
  geting dot on the monster’s running form. Two flaming trails sped from the 
  launcher. Plasma warheads detonated an instant before striking the creature’s 
  back. The forest around the nightmarish creature disappeared in an expand-
  ing ball of white-hot flame. The Magot’s eyelids shut over each eye as plasma 
  washed its body, scorching flesh and portions of its back. Darren pivoted, 
  then streaked away from the burning patch of forest.
  Closing to 300 feet, Greg was amazed to find the Magot stand back up and 
  continue on a course toward the Coalition encampment. Most creatures, no 
  matter how stupid, tended to avoid places and things that caused pain. What 
  could be driving it to keep moving in the same direction after Darren had 
  emptied a full ammo drum and missiles into it? In another minute, it would 
  enter the kill zone of the heavier robot armament. Greg selected a transmis-
  sion frequency so units in the encampment could call up his sensor feed, then 
  put a burst into it to make sure the sights were accurate. As it topped the rise, 
  Greg seriously doubted this creature would last another minute.
  ____________________
  Fingers twitched above triggers in anticipation. Troops took their places 
  behind a small earthen berm surrounding the camp. Behind them, a row of 
  four robot vehicles prepared to pulverize anything that moved. Rocket teams, 
  soldiers, and turret gunners waited for the command to fire.
  “Quit wavin’ that thing around. There’s nothin’ out there yet,” Nim re-
  marked, annoyed at being awakened in the middle of the night. Even partial-
  conversion cyborgs needed beauty sleep.
  “I’ve been kinda wantin’ to test out this CV-212.” Bill caressed his new 
  laser assault rifle. Shooting targets wasn’t the same thing as real action. 
  “S’posed to be better than a C-12.”
  “Not better, just rigged to beat that laser resistant armor,” Nim corrected. 
  “The only difference is it’s got some variable frequency beam, or something 
  like that. I’ll take my C-14 ‘Firebreather’ any day over that prototype thing.”
  
  32
  “Alright boys, better get ready for some down and dirty action! Mount 
  bayonets!” Cowboy plopped down with his fire squad and started attaching a 
  Vibro-Bayonet to the end of his bulky plasma rifle. Armor clad soldiers from 
  Pritchett’s unit observed the veteran troops with curiosity. Some looked at 
  their own weapons and polished black armor, comparing them to the dirty 
  black and green armor and battle worn hardware of Merrick’s special ops 
  unit. All were armed to the teeth with an assortment of firepower not typi-
  cally issued by the military. Private Ben Gerald, standing about 20 feet from 
  Cowboy’s fire team, finally spoke up.
  “Hey, man, since when did they start issuing Vibro-Bayonets?”
  “That’s ‘Corporal’ to you, son!” Cowboy rose to his full height and looked 
  down at the outspoken soldier.
  “Sorry,” Private Gerald replied, intimidated.
  “No problem.” Cowboy shot a huge smile at his fire team and locked 
  down his helmet face piece.
  “So, what’s with the bayonets?” Ben continued. “I’ve never even seen 
  guns with mounts for ’em.” He pointed to the metal protrusion on Cowboy’s 
  rifle where a bi-pod mount should have been.
  “Had ’em specially modified for us after our last tour. Pretty cool, eh?”
  “Why? If something gets close enough to stab, why not just shoot it?”
  “Obviously this guy’s never been eye to eye with a demon, right before it 
  reaches through your armor with its fist and rips out your still beating heart!” 
  Bill put in, watching Gerald pale.
  “Hopefully nothin’ ever gits that close, but if it does, anything that’ll keep 
  it away from you is a godsend,” Cowboy advised.
  “Besides, who says you can’t do both? Stab it and shoot it,” Nim added.
  “Yeah, but—”
  “Fire in the hole!” the Abolisher robot warned over its loudspeaker. Three 
  sets of twin 144mm auto-cannons rose to bombard the creature as it breached 
  the final, distant hill on its run toward the camp. The Abolisher’s crown of 
  weaponry issued a full circle of fire as the giant robot rotated at the torso to 
  assault the single target with all six auto-cannons. Troops along the camp’s 
  edge flinched even before the first shells landed.
  “What an idiot!” Nim commented. “Telling the enemy we’re gonna fire 
  over the loudspeaker. That’s what the radio’s for!” he shouted to the 30-foot 
  humanoid tank.
  The report from the auto-cannons echoed from hillside to hillside, jarring 
  half-awake soldiers to full alertness. Cowboy and his squad seemed unphased 
  by the wake-up call. Cybernetic sound filters implanted in their ears muffled 
  detrimental noise and prevented acoustic shock waves from damaging ear-
  drums. The follow-up explosion erupted from the hillside two seconds later 
  as the night was illuminated with fiery explosions.
  
  33
  “It knows now,” Cowboy remarked, watching the Magot’s hideous maw 
  get slammed into the ground with an explosive impact. Backing the scope 
  magnification down a few notches, Cowboy waited until the rangefinder gave 
  him the green light on effective range for his C-27.
  With a low growl, the Abolisher’s upper body rotated to bring the next 
  pair of cannons to bear. The sensor turret atop its head counter-rotated to 
  maintain a visual targeting lock of the running monster. To the Abolisher’s 
  left, two Skull Walkers opened up with their rail cannons. Another pair of 
  144mm shells arced toward the target.
  ____________________
  “Sir! Did you see that!?” the pilot of Skull Walker 191 exclaimed in 
  amazement. Shells cratered the earth and threw trees skyward where the 
  monster had been an instant before. It leapt nimbly out of the line of fire 
  and came crashing down 40 feet closer than it was before. Captain Pritchett 
  leaned forward with a calm amusement and watched multiple views of the 
  Magot on the Skull Walker’s main view screen.
  “It’s learning; changing tactics to avoid being hit.” He rubbed his unshav-
  en jaw thoughtfully with a bionic hand.
  “It’s getting closer, sir, and we’re not having much luck hitting it. There’s 
  not much to lock onto.” The gunner’s voice had a strained tone to it. The pi-
  lot’s compartment hummed with low vibrations as the twin rail cannons flung 
  metal slugs in the direction of the approaching monster.
  “Advise Enforcer 920 to move up and lock four CMS-16s on the target. 
  Give all rocket teams the clearance to fire at will.”
  “Yes sir,” the communications officer relayed the orders.
  William Pritchett leaned back in his seat and put both bionic hands behind 
  his head. Despite the relaxed demeanor, his heart was beating faster than 
  he’d ever admit. Border patrols were much different. He could just call in 
  fire from nearby firebases or patrolling aircraft. Somehow it never occurred 
  to him that this thing might actually make it into his camp. After an overly 
  confident pause the creature still hadn’t been killed. Pritchett finally gave the 
  order to fire.
  Four missiles left the UAR-1 Enforcer’s launch system and streaked to-
  ward a patch of burning forest half a mile away. Flames shot from behind 
  troop rocket launchers and mini-missiles traced invisible infrared beams 
  through the air. For a moment the hail of fire from the robots and flying exo-
  skeletons was absent, a split second of calm before missiles converged and 
  plasma warheads expanded away in spheres of white-hot energy.
  Smoke, flame, and faintly glowing earth were visible when the plasma 
  fires sputtered out.
  “We got it!” the gunner exclaimed triumphantly.
  “Do you see a body?” Pritchett pointed to the view screens.
  
  34
  “After that? What body?”
  “There should at least be body parts, but I see nothing.”
  “SAM 916 and 475 are reporting no sign of the monster. Dead or alive,” the 
  communications officer translated the chatter over communication channels.
  “Put SAM 916 on rotating patrol and tell Sergio to return to base camp.”
  “Yes sir.”
  “Pritchett to Lieutenant Merrick, over,” the Captain spoke into the short-
  range radio built into his left bionic arm.
  “Merrick.”
  “Have you been monitoring communications?”
  “Affirmative.”
  “Is this type of thing common?” Have you ever encountered a creature 
  like this before?”
  “Not anything that could take that kind of punishment and live.” Greg was 
  surprised at being asked. “Run a full sweep with infrared, ultraviolet, and 
  thermo. Sometimes you can pick up things invisible to normal optics and the 
  naked eye. Look for anything out of the ordinary, even inanimate objects and 
  bizarre looking animals in the area.”
  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Lieutenant.”
  “Maybe it just disappears when it dies,” the gunner offered.
  “Maybe. Maybe it doesn’t. Whatever it was it took a full ammo drum from 
  an ace SAMAS pilot who doesn’t miss and at least a few volleys from our 
  guns. Do you think we should all go back to sleep and just hope it might be 
  dead?”
  “No, sir.”
  “Neither do I. If, by some chance, it gets past the perimeter microwave 
  fence without tripping an alarm, I don’t want to find out what it could do to 
  this camp.”
  ____________________
  Suited up in black composite armor, Lisa Andrews sifted through the 
  continuous comm chatter coming over her headset. Dave leaned back in the 
  pilot’s seat and rested his head against the padded rests. Neither bothered to 
  strap in even though the pilot’s compartment was tilted back slightly with the 
  angle of the skull-like body and rail cannons fixed to each side. Dave’s eyes 
  began to close with returning sleep, but Lisa slapped his armor-plated chest 
  with knuckle spikes.
  “Stay awake, Dave, we haven’t been ordered to stand down.”
  “Three-thirty in the morning,” Dave muttered, smoothing out his sandy 
  brown hair. “Can’t these things ever wait until everyone is awake before pull-
  ing this crap? I was having a good dream.”
  “Let me guess. Bars, cold beer, women —”
  “Don’t rub it in,” Dave grinned faintly.
  
  35
  “One of these days some woman’s going to cure you of that, you know.”
  “It’ll never happen. Only thing gonna keep me from partyin’ is a coffin an’ 
  six feet of earth – and that’s assuming I don’t got a shovel.”
  “Do all RPA’s have this insatiable urge to live life on the wild side?”
  “Yeah, mostly. Ever meet a robot or power armor pilot who didn’t?”
  “Now that you mention it, no.”
  “It’s kinda like a commandment or something, ya know, like those Pre-
  Rifts cults. A big fraternity, ya know? Thou shalt party.”
  Red lights flashed and a warning tone indicated a breach in the microwave 
  fence.
  “Oh man, that’s close!” Dave lowered the cannon angle and a huge eye 
  filled the view screen. Lisa practically fell out of her seat.
  “Reduce magnification!” she ordered, reaching for the sensor controls her-
  self.
  “How the did it get this close!?” Dave centered the targeting dot on the 
  center eye. 80 metal slugs from each cannon splattered bits of watery tissue 
  from the Magot’s last good eye.
  “Oh my God, that thing’s forty feet from camp!” Lisa interpreted the 
  flashing targeting displays. An actual view of the Magot took the place of 
  the mangled eye.
  “Fire at will!” Captain Pritchett’s order blared over communication chan-
  nels. Forest disappeared in a swath 80 feet wide and hundreds of feet behind 
  the dying monster. Red laser beams and fiery plasma poured into it while a 
  hail of metal slugs rained mercilessly. Smoke and flame rose in a billowing 
  cloud that washed back over the berm with searing intensity.
  “Cease fire! Cease fire!” the captain yelled. Slowly the torrent stopped, 
  several troops getting in a few last shots for good measure. Dave viewed 
  the burning haze on the view screen, not sure whether to laugh or be upset. 
  It would take the rest of the night to put out the fires created by the deadly 
  barrage. A charred, mangled heap lay just 50 feet from the row of soldiers 
  along the berm. A few brave troops approached the smoldering mound of 
  flesh. It was fairly evident the beast wasn’t getting back up, but Cowboy and 
  his squad continued sporadic firing before poking it with Vibro-Swords and 
  Bayonets. Pritchett’s men stared on stupidly.
  “Oh my God.” Lisa called up SAM 117’s medical readout.
  “You checked that already. Is he alive?” Dave asked.
  “He shouldn’t be.” She blinked and pointed to the human form on the 
  screen, and the rapidly dropping vital statistics. The injury chart showed 
  profuse bleeding from all major joints. A single tone emanated, finalizing 
  Steve’s death. Below the row of body functions, a blinking “Deceased” sig-
  naled what should have been almost instantaneous.
  “Skull 41 to Merrick. Confirmed termination of hostile. One casualty. Pri-
  vate Steve Wilson.”
  
  36
  Chapter 3
  Convergence
  Hot steam mingled with smoke from dying fires in the blackened clearing 
  south of the Coalition camp. Morning sunlight would reveal the plume of 
  white smoke to anyone within miles. Greg was thankful they were almost fin-
  ished extinguishing the last few hot spots. For the first time during the trek he 
  was grateful to have the slow, clumsy APC at his disposal. An attachment on 
  the front end turned the armored vehicle into a relatively effective bulldozer, 
  something that had prevented the forest fires from spreading too quickly for 
  other measures to be implemented. Still, Greg thought to himself, the ar-
  mored personnel carrier was better suited for urban combat than traversing 
  the wastelands and was probably going to be more trouble than it was worth.
  Clouds of hissing steam billowed from the last visible flames of a burning 
  stump. Greg lost count of how many trips the pair of Sky Cycles had made 
  to the nearby river to haul jury-rigged tarps of water from cables attached 
  to the crafts’ undercarriage. Greg intentionally neglected to inform Captain 
  Pritchett about the supply of fire-retardant grenades and equipment stashed in 
  his own unit’s vehicles. It would take longer to put out the forest blaze with 
  a bulldozer and Sky Cycles, but if a fire got started in their camp, he wanted 
  the option of quick response.
  “Want me to get another load?” the pilot of the hovering craft asked over 
  the comm.
  “That’s probably good enough. Take a five-minute break, then see if Ser-
  geant Winters needs help with ground clean-up.”
  “Yes sir,” the pilot responded, grateful for the change of activity. Hover 
  jets kicked up ash and whipped smoke into miniature dust devils as the small, 
  one-man fighter descended to the ground. Landing gear deployed and the 
  Sky Cycle’s weight came to rest on three sets of wheels. The engine whine 
  slowed, and the pilot hopped to the ground from the open, motorcycle-like 
  cockpit.
  “Don’t forget we’re moving out at 09:00.”
  “I’ve got recon duty, sir, I haven’t forgotten.” The pilot leaned against the 
  forward laser turret and detached the face plate of his helmet. Greg couldn’t 
  help noticing the pilot was no more than 17 or 18 years old. For one of Pritch-
  ett’s unit the RPA wasn’t half bad. It occurred to him that he didn’t even 
  know the pilot’s name. Somewhere in the back of Greg’s mind something 
  told him this man would never be going home.
  “Adams to Merrick, over.”
  “Merrick, you done with my SAM yet?” Greg looked back to camp to 
  see the person calling him on the radio. His unit’s technical officer had bor-
  rowed the power armor to replace the heavy ammunition drum on Darren’s 
  exoskeleton.
  
  37
  “All done. What do you want me to do with 117?”
  “Is it cleaned out?”
  “Almost, sir.” Brian paused, thinking of the fractured, bloody pulp he’d 
  found inside it. “Who’s going to pilot it? Private Peterson has Mike’s SAM 
  until he gets back from recon, and PFC Brown is the only other person 
  checked out to fly it, except she’s on the CR-1 rocket team. I need to know 
  who’s flying it before I change the access code and voice recognition.”
  “You’re going to run 117.”
  “Me? Can’t you get someone else to do it?” Brian argued. “Who’s going 
  to drive my rover?”
  “Cowboy can take your hover. I want you in the SAM. Time to earn those 
  bars, Lieutenant.”
  “Yes, sir.”
  Brian Adams had received his commission to 2nd Lieutenant under mys-
  terious circumstances. Not that Greg thought that the educated officer was 
  unworthy of his new rank, but front-line combat was an experience he felt 
  every officer should have, academy graduate or not. Greg often used himself 
  as the model, having come up through the ranks from an enlisted private and 
  seen more than his share of action before transferring to the officers corps. 
  That history earned him greater respect than the design of his armor or em-
  blems on his uniform. The Coalition States offered power to those ambi-
  tious enough to grasp it. Locked in a constant struggle to preserve humanity, 
  the chance to rise through the ranks came at the expense of the Coalition’s 
  enemies. Monsters and creatures from the Rifts posed a continual threat to 
  millions of people living within Coalition borders. Magic users, dimensional 
  beings, psychics, and mutants were the declared foes of humanity and had to 
  be eliminated for mankind to survive. At times Greg found himself at odds 
  with the edicts laid down by the military government he served, but he’d seen 
  more than his share of atrocities committed by practitioners of magic and the 
  inhuman. The desire to bring down those who had been corrupted by their 
  supernatural power was easy to embrace.
  Greg started walking back to camp, removing the face plate of his own 
  helmet to let the cold morning air wake him up. His brown hair fell out and 
  blew in the breeze. Full environmental armor could be a lifesaver, but it lim-
  ited mobility, dulled the senses, and often became troublesome to wear when 
  soldiers had learned to rely on their natural senses and instincts. Going into 
  battle without it was unthinkable. Without its protection, the human body was 
  as frail and weak as a sheet of paper compared with the terrible and awesome 
  power of modern weaponry.
  The truth was that even the best body armor wasn’t likely to stop any-
  thing more powerful than a few laser blasts or some flying shrapnel before its 
  protection was used up, but most of the time that was all someone needed to 
  survive. Greg thought of it as a second chance suit, in case he zigged when he 
  
  38
  should have zagged. Anything that could save the life of a soldier once made 
  each soldier as good as two in the eyes of the military. The heavy infantry 
  version of the armor suit was one of the best in the known world. Naturally 
  his unit would have nothing to do with the lighter versions. While heavier and 
  clumsier, the armor added double the protection of its lighter variants. That 
  alone could make the difference between life and death, victory and defeat.
  Calm pervaded where chaos had reigned hours earlier when the nearly 
  unstoppable monster broke through their defenses and nearly overwhelmed 
  the unit. Very few personnel were visible, either resting or assigned to fire 
  control duty. Greg could hear Brian cursing at some stubborn mechanical de-
  vice but decided to leave him alone with his frustration. The robots standing 
  in a group cast long shadows in the early morning sun.
  What was Pritchett thinking? Greg cursed under his breath. Clustering the 
  armor units like that. No matter which robot a missile hit, the others would 
  suffer collateral damage. He looked up at the sky, grateful for the near perfect 
  weather and good visibility. Hopefully his patrolling units would detect an 
  enemy first.
  “Wow, man, beautiful morning.” A voice behind him just about launched 
  Greg into the air with surprise. Lounging in the front seat of a hover rover 
  with a cup of hot coffee was a wild haired man with a long, badly-dyed or-
  ange beard and psychedelic painted body armor.
  “What the — how the hell? — what are you doing here?” Greg stammered 
  in surprise.
  “Drinkin’ coffee, man. Did you know you’re all out of sugar?” The obvi-
  ously high and extremely relaxed Crazy replied.
  “I...” Greg’s jaw hung open in complete disbelief.
  “Hey, man, you all right?
  “Delwin Moonbeam.” Greg finally remembered the name of the man he’d 
  heard Darren talk about. Until now he had thought Darren was full of it.
  “That’s me, man.”
  “How the did you get past the microwave fence?!”
  “Whoah, you have a microwave fence?”
  “The one surrounding our camp. How did you get past it?”
  “Oh, those little poles? I just climbed a tree, man, like with the birds and 
  the squirrels, man. I would’a asked to be let in, but there was, like, nobody 
  around and I didn’t think you’d mind. Want some of this coffee? I added my 
  own seasoning and there’s enough to share.” Delwin pointed his foot to a full 
  bag of something on the dash.
  “I don’t want any coffee!”
  “Cool man, no more caffeine for you.” Delwin slid the pot farther away 
  with his foot. “You got some serious negative waves for such a beautiful day. 
  Be happy, man. Think of green grass, colorful flowers, pretty birds, and send 
  out some positive waves for a change.”
  
  39
  Delwin took a long sip of coffee and looked over the Coalition encamp-
  ment like a general reviewing his troops without a care in the world.
  Greg’s mind slowly churned through all the information Delwin had just 
  given him. This man had bypassed the camp’s perimeter and guards and in-
  filtrated a Coalition encampment for the purpose of drinking a cup of coffee 
  and having a conversation with him.
  “What are you doing here in the mountains? Last time any of us saw you, 
  you were in Youngstown.”
  “Sightseein’, man. Saw yer fire last night and thought I’d come over 
  an’ roast up some marshmallows, but I forgot the marshmallows. It kinda 
  bummed me out and I didn’t want to drag you down with it. Is Darren here?”
  “Wait here. Don’t go anywhere or do anything. If you do, I promise some-
  one will shoot you.” Greg wasn’t about to have to explain Delwin’s pres-
  ence to Pritchett. The way to deal with this situation the quickest was to find 
  Darren. Hopefully his previous experience with the Crazy would help him 
  resolve the situation quietly.
  “No problem, man,” said Delwin. “I’m cool.”
  Greg found Darren napping in the back of the other hover rover.
  “Darren,” Greg said, rocking him to get him up quickly. “Delwin wants to 
  see you. You better be able to tell me what’s going on.”
  “Who did you say is here?” Darren looked at the lieutenant incredulously, 
  black hair falling over his sleep-swollen eyes.
  “That Crazy, the one that helped us at Youngstown. The one you said 
  pushed a Glitter Boy down a mineshaft. What’s he doing in my camp?!”
  “Don’t ask me, sir, I don’t have a clue. Ask him.”
  “He wants to talk to you. Find out what he wants and get him out of here 
  before everyone wakes up or Captain Pritchett finds out, understand?”
  “I didn’t know what he was talking about half the time in Youngstown. 
  How am I supposed to get rid of him?”
  “I don’t care, I’m just ordering you to get him out of here. Heck, tell him 
  you saw a field of weed fifty miles that way.” Greg pointed off towards a 
  nearby ridge.
  “Whatever, sir,” Darren muttered, pulling himself out of the covered ve-
  hicle. Greg had been going on long enough that Darren didn’t question Del-
  win’s appearance anymore.
  ____________________
  “Delwin?” Darren asked, walking up to the rover.
  “You know it, dude.”
  “I never thought I’d see you again. How ya been, buddy?” Darren shook 
  hands with his odd acquaintance.
  
  40
  “Absolutely mellow, man, like growin’ with life and aligned with the cos-
  mic waves of harmony. Am I sensing positive waves from you this bright 
  morning?”
  “Uh, something like that,” Darren mumbled. “Sure.”
  “Righteous, man. I’ll be going now,” Delwin abruptly announced.
  “Uh, man, why did you come here in the first place?”
  “To see if you were here. I’ll see you later, man.” Delwin started strapping 
  on the jet pack sitting in the passenger seat next to him.
  “Wait a second, dude.” Darren never thought he’d be trying to get the 
  Crazy to stay. “How are Van and the others are doing?”
  “Oh, they’re fine, man. ’Bout twelve miles north. Goin’ to the same place 
  as all you guys.”
  “They’re here?!”
  “Yeah, I’ll tell ’em I saw you,” Delwin said, pulling on the pack and 
  cinching it tight before turning back to Darren. “It might not be cool for you 
  to come by, though.”
  “Why?”
  “Cyndiara, man. You know, you really broke her heart.” Delwin’s glazed 
  eyes looked deeply into Darren’s. Something told Darren that the Crazy was 
  trying to communicate the pain he’d seen in the young woman they were talk-
  ing about. Darren’s heart dropped and became a pit in his stomach.
  “Is... is she okay?”
  “I don’t know, man. Sometimes she outs these real downer vibes, but I 
  cheer her up with my flute, man. You look bummed too, man, maybe I should 
  cheer you up.”
  The moment of lucidity was gone. Before Darren’s brain caught up to 
  what the Crazy said, Delwin’s wooden flute was waking up the entire camp 
  with an off-key rendition of reveille.
  “I get it! I’m happy! Cut it out, Delwin!” Darren grabbed the flute out of 
  his hands and shoved it back in Delwin’s purple belt pouch.
  “I wasn’t done, man.”
  “I think I saw some green stuff growing down by this ley line south of 
  here. Like fields of it, man.”
  Thruster wash nearly knocked Darren off his feet. Shouts of dismay fol-
  lowed Delwin’s frenetic, low altitude course south through the camp. By the 
  time weapons were ready, the man in psychedelic armor had disappeared into 
  the foliage of the surrounding forest. Darren looked at Greg and shrugged.
  “Hey, I told him what you told me to say.”
  “Captain Pritchett to Lieutenant Merrick. What’s going on out there?” 
  Pritchett’s voice inquired over the comm. Darren shrugged again and headed 
  for his SAMAS before Greg could make him give an explanation.
  Darren’s patrol would take him out of sight and sometimes off radar. He 
  planned on making an extended survey of the area.
  
  41
  ____________________
  “There you have it.” Sinclair Van De Graf shut down the Techno-Wizard 
  modified view screen. “At least Delwin found out what you asked him to.” 
  He turned to a beautiful red-haired woman sitting in the ATV next to him.
  “I don’t know what to do now, Van.” Cyndiara stared at the blank screen. 
  Moments earlier they’d viewed Delwin’s meeting with Darren by a combi-
  nation of magic and technology. The image had been somewhat distorted 
  coming through Delwin’s eyes but was still painful for Cyndiara. Just seeing 
  her former lover was enough to make tears well up in her bright green eyes.
  “Sorry about the glitch in the viewing. I’m not sure if that was a problem 
  in my device or interference from Delwin’s brain implants, or maybe all that 
  stuff he smokes.” Van looked at his newest creation with pride. “It seems to 
  work, though.”
  “What am I going to do? What if Darren finds us, or we run into him on 
  the way to Liberty? What am I going to say?”
  “I wouldn’t worry about it until it happens. Sooner or later the two of you 
  will get the chance to work things out.” Van leaned back and regarded Cyn-
  diara thoughtfully. Her long, curly red hair fell past the middle of her back, 
  and the green, skintight body suit she wore revealed a figure of nearly perfect 
  proportions. It never ceased to amaze Van how prejudice and fear could drive 
  a man to forsake a woman he obviously loved. Van couldn’t imagine why 
  Darren would abandon her simply because she’d been born with psychic py-
  rokinetic abilities. The Coalition prejudice, who could understand it?
  Darren was Van’s only friend in the Coalition military, a friendship quite 
  unusual in the present-day world. For nearly a century the Coalition States 
  had waged war on practitioners of magic and what they considered mutations 
  of humanity. Thousands had been slaughtered in the name of self-defense 
  and preservation of humankind. Many who had been killed were nothing 
  more than peaceful beings whose inhuman ancestors became trapped on this 
  strange planet called Earth. Others, unfortunately, like the evil Federation of 
  Magic, gave the Coalition a very firm reason for their hatred and fear of the 
  unknown. Somewhere in the middle of constant strife the two men had found 
  common ground.
  “I know, I’m getting emotional again.” She noticed him staring at her with 
  his intense, dark eyes. “I promised I wouldn’t, but I didn’t expect to see him 
  again, especially not anytime soon.”
  “I can still take you back to Youngstown on my Sky Cycle if you want.”
  “No, I’ve ridden one of those things before and I don’t want to do it again. 
  They’re dangerous,” Cyndiara used a lame excuse.
  “Suit yourself. You’re the one driving the Mountaineer, we’ll leave when 
  you’re ready.” Van patted her on the shoulder and climbed out the full-sized 
  door in the side of the giant all-terrain vehicle.
  
  42
  A blast of cold wind snapped his dark hair into his eyes and chilled his 
  skin through the black, long sleeved sweatshirt he wore. He stepped back 
  inside long enough to retrieve his modified composite body armor. Being 
  courteous, he left Cyndiara with the privacy of her pain.
  Outside in the small camp, Van began suiting up, ignoring the questioning 
  gaze from his companions. If they really wanted to know what Delwin had 
  found out, they could ask Cyndiara, or attempt to decode Delwin’s own ver-
  sion when he returned. A large, armor-plated Gigante sat cross-legged by the 
  comparatively tiny campfire while Sir Renfield and a small woman huddled 
  together for warmth. Somehow Van didn’t think Anja looked very comfort-
  able pressed against the knight’s cyber-armor.
  “What you see on little magic box?” the giant finally asked. Targo and 
  Van were childhood buddies, though as a child, Targo was still bigger than 
  most adult humans.
  “It worked pretty good for a first test of the prototype, but I think I can 
  improve the viewing range and clarity.” Van strapped on the lower torso and 
  leg sections of his armor. Targo’s brow crinkled as he pondered the answer.
  “You see Darren on box?”
  “Darren? Of course, but it was kind of fuzzy and stretched.”
  “What he say?”
  “He told Delwin there was a field of stuff down south of the ley line.”
  “Oh brother,” Sir Renfield mumbled.
  “Is Cyndiara okay?” Anja asked.
  “Who knows? Better to just leave her alone for a while.”
  “Maybe.” Anja stepped around the giant and walked to the ATV’s door, 
  her waist length, rust colored hair blowing to one side in the wind. Van didn’t 
  argue with her or try to stop the Mystic from going inside. Anja possessed 
  an empathic and understanding nature like no one else. If anybody could find 
  the right words to say to the heartbroken Cyndiara, it was the gentle Mystic.
  Van turned back to finish donning his armor and noticed the Cyber-
  Knight’s unfriendly gaze. Competition for Anja’s affections, even uninten-
  tional as they were for Van, had created a schism between the knight and 
  Techno-Wizard right from the start. Sir David Renfield was too honorable to 
  openly display his anger at Van’s selfish motivations and Van had reached 
  the point where it just wasn’t fun to antagonize the Cyber-Knight anymore. 
  The tense standoff had finally run its course and become a grudging toler-
  ance. Traveling alone in the wilderness of North America was extremely dan-
  gerous, and for the sake of safety they would tolerate each other until they 
  reached the small town of Liberty in the pre-Rifts state of Maryland.
  “You better cover that thing before a Coalition patrol comes by.” Sir Ren-
  field pointed to Van’s repainted Coalition make Sky Cycle. “You might have 
  to explain where you stole it from.”
  “I did not steal that Sky Cycle, I traded a hover cycle for it.”
  
  43
  “Some trade. You traded a stolen Coalition hover cycle for it.”
  “Yeah, but I didn’t steal the hover cycle either. I found it.”
  “Believe what you want to, it was still dishonest, and that thing is going to 
  get all of us in trouble if they find it.”
  “The black market sells them up at Northern Gun and at just about every 
  other industrialized city, so it’s not like I’m the only one around with a stolen 
  Sky Cycle. Besides, who says they’re going to catch me?”
  “I’m not worried about you, it’s the rest of us they’ll come after when you 
  run away.” Sir Renfield bit his lip and stopped himself from making another 
  slighting remark.
  “Are you two chickens pecking at each other again?” A weathered look-
  ing wilderness scout walked up to the fire, energy rifle across his shoulders. 
  “Why don’t you just duke it out and quit squabbling?”
  “Morning, Kahn Na Tai, glad you see you too,” Van greeted the irritable 
  scout by his Simvan name. How Mr. Kent acquired the adopted name from 
  a cannibalistic D-Bee tribe Van didn’t know. According to Anja, the name 
  meant “Iron Will” in Simvan, although she herself wouldn’t comment on 
  how he got the name. All Van knew was the man had more scars than a pla-
  toon of combat veterans.
  “Did you find a route for us?” Sir Renfield inquired.
  “About as clear as you will find in this country. There’s a good place to 
  cross the river up ahead, and then we follow an old highway northeast up into 
  the mountains. Day and a half of travel, if we get started soon. I don’t want to 
  cross the Potomac when it starts raining.”
  Both Van and Renfield looked at the clear sky but decided not to contra-
  dict the scout.
  “What are the chances of running into the Coalition convoy on the way?” 
  Van asked, a little concerned about getting into an argument over his prized 
  acquisition.
  “There’s a good chance. I’m not sure if we should go ahead of them or 
  behind them. We can make better time if we pass them and keep moving at 
  a steady pace, on the other hand they’re clearing the old highway of over-
  growth as they go along, so our ride would be much easier if we travel behind 
  them. Your call.”
  “I could have been at Liberty days ago, but I’d hate to leave you guys 
  defenseless,” Van offered his opinion.
  “It’s not as though we can’t handle trouble without you, Van.” Sir Ren-
  field glanced over at a large, infantry style power armor next to Van’s Sky 
  Cycle. “Feel free to go ahead any time you want.”
  “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m shocked you would ever think I would desert 
  my friends. I say we move quick and get to Liberty before the Coalition does, 
  just in case they stir up trouble on their way. I don’t want to be caught in the 
  wake.”
  
  44
  “For once I agree. That lieutenant we worked with at Youngstown didn’t 
  seem half bad, for a Coalition officer that is. That said, I don’t think he’s run-
  ning the show this time.”
  “Whoever they have in command is a moron,” Mr. Kent scoffed.
  “Yeah. Him make too much noise and make mess of trees. Him moron!” 
  Targo broke the intensity of the discussion with his enthusiastic agreement 
  and gravelly laughter.
  “Well let’s hope the Coalition is all we have to worry about. They should 
  leave us alone, especially this far away from C.S. territory. My main concern 
  is the Federation of Magic. We’re not out of what they call their territory, and 
  so far, we’ve seen and heard too little from them. That’s got me worried,” 
  Van commented.
  The Coalition considered all magic practitioners to be part of the Federa-
  tion, when in actuality most wanted nothing to do with the evil collection of 
  spell casters and towns. Federation members were a few very powerful sor-
  cerers, but they commanded legions of creatures from demonic dimensions 
  and ruled the inhabitants of the southeastern central states with an iron fist. A 
  run-in with a Federation Lord could often be deadly.
  “So, what are we standing around for? Let’s move,” Mr. Kent urged.
  “Women.”
  “What?” Mr. Kent asked.
  “Women.” Van jerked his head at the ATV.
  “Oh.” The old wilderness scout, who had been about to move, settled back 
  into his seat and stared at his mug of coffee with the rest of the men around 
  the morning fire.
  ____________________
  Glowing yellow eyes focused on the line of Coalition vehicles tracing the 
  remnants of a 300-year-old highway through the wilderness. For hours the 
  vulture had observed the mighty military force breaking camp and resuming 
  its trek east. Torrak’s familiar rustled its black feathers and hooked its curved 
  beak into the rotten meat of a dead animal, intent on finishing its meal before 
  taking flight back to its master. Torrak would not be pleased that his enemies 
  were on the move in his direction again.
  ____________________
  Spiraling slowly into the small village, Darren noticed the complete ab-
  sence of inhabitants. The small town’s location on the banks of the river his 
  unit was intending to cross had earned the village a scouting party. Either the 
  place was abandoned, or the villagers were terrified of his flying SAMAS and 
  were hiding themselves well.
  
  45
  Sometimes Darren forgot the death motif and skull-like look of his power 
  armor was intended for intimidation to begin with. Signs of habitation were 
  everywhere so Darren concluded it was his own presence causing the illu-
  sion of vacancy. He toyed with the idea of landing and trying to convince the 
  people that the Coalition was their friend, but the words of peace wouldn’t 
  go far coming from the skull-like head of an 8-foot-tall, rail gun wielding 
  power armor.
  “Merrick to SAM 15, over.”
  “SAM 15 here.”
  “What’s the village look like?”
  “Pretty bare. I seriously doubt it’s much of a threat, if at all. Everyone’s 
  hiding. Wait, someone just ducked behind a building.”
  “Don’t start any trouble, Darren.”
  “I’m not.” Darren swung lower and hovered around the corner of the log 
  cabin. An ugly humanoid creature with lumpy brown skin and three over-
  sized eyes stood in front of a small child of similar appearance. Both cowered 
  in fear, the adult attempting to shield the child with its body. Darren felt fool-
  ish and somewhat of a bully for scaring them so badly.
  “Sir, it’s just some D-Bees. I don’t see any weapons. Probably a whole 
  village of these ugly turds. Not much of a threat.”
  “Captain Pritchett wants you back on rear guard. Oh, damn. They got the 
  APC stuck again.”
  “Dang, that didn’t take long,” Darren remarked. Four times in as many 
  hours, the elongated, eight wheeled APC had managed to get itself stuck in 
  ditches and small gulleys. Each time it had to be helped out of its predica-
  ment by the 18-foot-tall Enforcer and lumbering Abolisher robot. The vehicle 
  wasn’t suited for the heavily forested and wet terrain it was expected to tra-
  verse, something Greg had brought up several times well before the mission 
  began. It didn’t matter though, Captain Pritchett thought the APC looked 
  “fearsome to the enemy.”
  “SAM 15, Alpha frequency, preset plus 12.”
  “Gotcha.” Darren turned his radio to a preset scrambled channel reserved 
  for communications just within Merrick’s unit. “You reading me?”
  “Loud and clear.”
  “Why the channel switch, sir, gonna call Pritchett some more names?”
  “Something fishy is going on. Pritchett just told me to assign Sharp to long 
  range scout in the south and is pulling back all our people and replacing them 
  with his own men.”
  “Is there some hostile force coming up behind us?”
  “Nothing so far. I don’t like it, whatever he’s up to.”
  “It’s probably nothing sir, sir. You don’t have nothin’ to worry ‘bout,” 
  Darren joked.
  
  46
  “Just the same, stay on a five-mile radius and be ready to respond quickly. 
  Switch back to preset. Merrick out.”
  “15 out.”
  Climbing to three hundred feet, Darren made a beeline for the riverbank 
  where the lead units were gathering to cross. SAM 612 of Pritchett’s forces 
  flew toward him from the opposite direction, intentionally taking a collision 
  course.
  “Sergio, you jerk, come get some,” Darren breathed over the radio, not 
  changing course. At the last instant the other SAMAS veered right, just miss-
  ing a wing to wing collision by millimeters. Darren fought to keep the en-
  gines from stalling as he entered the backwash of the other exoskeleton.
  “Any time you’re not busy,” Sergio’s cutting remark followed.
  “You’ve been fighting helpless nomads too long. You wouldn’t last two 
  seconds against a real opponent.”
  “Ooooh, hotshot ace gettin’ his feathers ruffled?”
  The unfriendly banter ended, but Darren felt himself move one step closer 
  to a real confrontation. Sergio was one of Pritchett’s “Yes Men,” and crossing 
  him was like crossing the captain. Sooner or later Darren believed it would 
  come down to more than just an exchange of words.
  
  47
  Chapter 4
  The right way and the wrong way
  Cries of anguish followed the four men being dragged from their homes 
  and beaten senseless by animated corpses. Women and children cried in fear 
  for their own lives and those of their family members. Brodkil demons looted 
  food stores while a hideous locust demon directed animated dead in the cap-
  ture of new bodies to be made into zombie warriors. Observing from the back 
  of his horse, Lord Credo was pleased by the chaos created by his minions. 
  Bringing terror to the pitiful lives of these peasants brought excitement to 
  his otherwise dreary life after the events that had taken place earlier in the 
  summer.
  Credo’s area of influence bordered Valdor’s old territory to the north and a 
  number of smaller territories inside the Federation lands. It extended from the 
  rebellious Pittsburgh nexus south to where old routes 33 and 48 cut through 
  the mountains. It even extended as far west as the Ohio River in some areas 
  and generally hugged the western side of the Appalachian continental divide. 
  The natural borders and lack of desire by other Lords to hold a similarly sized 
  territory with few resources and scattered small communities allowed him to 
  resist the token attempts to challenge his power over the years.
  Today, he was close to home near what used to be Deep Creek Lake. 
  This was one of the most enjoyable of the villages in his self-proclaimed 
  domain, located about 55 kilometers from the ruins of the Pre-Rifts city of 
  Morgantown where Credo maintained his base of power. The town’s former 
  protector, a Mystic of many years of experience, had his tongue removed by 
  one of Credo’s Lasae demons. Now the defenseless town was subject to his 
  every whim.
  Humans were such an inferior species compared to the mentally and 
  physically superior Elven race, Credo contended. They always seemed to be 
  wasting their pitifully short lives on mundane pursuits rather than attempt-
  ing to achieve greater feats of the imagination. Looking around at the dirty 
  farmers and frontier people mingling with D-Bees struggling to survive only 
  strengthened his belief in his race’s superiority. The iron grip he held over 
  them was completely unbreakable by any means they could devise. They had 
  tried their own uprisings and failed each time. In fact, he was enjoying devis-
  ing a new punishment that was worse with each attempt.
  Something struck his horse’s neck and fell to the ground. The animal jerk-
  ed its head back more out of surprise than pain. A fair-haired woman raised 
  another stone, hoping for better aim at the man she hated.
  “Seize her,” Credo said in a bored tone.
  “Stinking corpses of former villagers ambled foreword and grabbed the 
  thrashing woman before she could hurl the second stone.
  “Bring her to me.”
  
  48
  Controlled as puppets by the demon in Credo’s charge, the animated dead 
  dragged the woman to stand beside the horse she’d struck. Launching itself 
  from Credo’s shoulder, a small insect-like demon flipped in the air like a 
  trapeze artist to land on her shoulder, digging its sharp claws into her flesh. 
  The woman’s knees grew week as the creature’s talons gripped her clavicle 
  and shoulder muscle. With a lightning flash slash, it cut a tiny wound in her 
  cheek. A thin line of blood formed at the slice as the Lasae reached back its 
  arm in preparation to gouge out her right eye.
  “Trix!” Credo shouted angrily, dark eyes flashing. The tiny demon’s head 
  snapped back around with a guilty expression on its insect face. “No. You’re 
  teaching her a lesson worthy of her crime. You may not injure her further.”
  The creature’s two small antennae drooped in disappointment. Credo pat-
  ted his shoulder and with astounding agility, the eight-inch demon returned 
  to its perch to hold onto Credo’s thick, straight black hair.
  “You bastard,” the woman seethed, hatred burning in her eyes. Credo was 
  amused by her foolish bravery.
  “You are the wife of one of my new slaves. Why test my patience? You 
  wish to leave your husband weeping over your death?”
  “You can’t do this! Let my husband go!” The woman shouted, trying to 
  break free of the zombies’ decaying hands.
  “I am doing it. Obviously, you are mistaken.”
  “You can’t do this! It isn’t right!”
  “What is your name?” Credo’s amusement continued to inch upward at 
  the unexpected interruption in his otherwise boring day.
  “May,” the woman spat with defiance in her voice.
  “May, might makes right in the Federation my dear. Besides, if this isn’t 
  right, someone would stop me. I am more powerful than you, than any of you, 
  therefore I can do what I want with you and everyone in this village. Why is 
  this so hard for you to understand?”
  “It’s just not right! Let him go, you can’t do this!” she cried, tears rolling 
  down her cheeks at both the pain of losing her husband and the fresh wound 
  on her cheek.
  “Why? What do you believe says that I can’t?” Credo asked with a be-
  mused look. Normally such an outburst would have resulted in the slow 
  torture and eventual death of any lesser being that obstructed him, but this 
  woman seemed to give off an air of intelligence and possessed an aristo-
  cratic beauty so often lacking in women of the frontier. Credo was intrigued, 
  though he would think nothing of letting Trix dismember her slowly should 
  he lose interest.
  “How can you be so cruel? How can you treat other living beings like 
  this? It’s not right. You have to stop.” She pulled herself together and held his 
  gaze with teary eyed hatred. “We are all worthy of respect and fair treatment 
  because each being is like a mine, rich in gems of untold value, waiting to 
  
  49
  contribute to the betterment of the world. This slavery and destruction comes 
  from a selfish nature and carries with it a sickness of the soul which can only 
  be cleansed by giving it up. You think that slavery of others less powerful 
  than you is your right and ought to be extended even to the dead, but you’re 
  wrong. You tear apart families and hurt those around you just for fun because 
  the only thing you feel anymore is the thrill of causing others pain. But I can 
  see that even that has lost its spark for you. You live a life of boredom now, 
  a mere shell of an existence without hope for the future. If you don’t give up 
  this lifestyle, be warned that each sentient being who denies freedom to oth-
  ers does not deserve it for themselves and will eventually be brought down.”
  Credo stared at the woman silently for a long moment. This was a nice 
  break in his day. She was right that this was the most stimulating thing that 
  had happened all week, however, he had no intention of changing his life-
  style. Everything in his life had taught him that success was a daily life and 
  death struggle. Even when one was on top, your underlings would take any 
  opportunity of weakness to take your place.
  “The Elf cares not for the life of the ant. And, while I admit that you are 
  more consequential than an ant because you can perform complex tasks and 
  communicate with language, the increase in your value to me is only a minor 
  one.
  “If you possessed such power as I do, then perhaps you would understand 
  that the rules and moral concerns you live by don’t apply to someone like my-
  self unless they can be enforced by a force equal to or greater than my own. 
  Obviously, as you’ve demonstrated multiple times, no such force exists here.
  “Don’t you understand? What is right and wrong has always been deter-
  mined by those who hold power and I have decided it is my right to take these 
  men for my personal army while leaving you here to raise the next generation 
  of my forces. If I decide you should die or should be bred like a rabbit, then it 
  is right because I say it is. If you and your fellow peasants accept that this is 
  your new life and give up your futile attempts to overthrow me, then perhaps 
  I will be kinder to your village in the future.”
  “What are you going to do now? Kill me and my children?” The woman’s 
  voice had lost some of the hope and brazen anger it had started off with.
  “I’m not going to kill you, that would be counterproductive. You are my 
  livestock and must live to bear more children, to continue your race. It would 
  do me no good if I had no stock from which to select my slaves, now would 
  it?”
  “You’re sick. You’re deranged.”
  “On the contrary, I’m here and you’re there. This is called long term plan-
  ning. Your death would have little meaning, but the deaths of these four men 
  mean that your children may live a little longer. These men’s transforma-
  tion into my undead soldiers allows many of you to live on and not suffer 
  prolonged, agonizing deaths at the hands of my minions. In fact, resources 
  
  50
  from your town are freed up and your taxes are kept moderate because these 
  men will no longer require food, water, and other amenities. Other Lords of 
  the Federation keep standing living armies and their farmers and towns are 
  forced to give everything except that which keeps them alive. While you may 
  feel that killing these men is a cruelty on my part, in the long term it is a smart 
  decision for everyone, yourselves included. Now you can see, of course, how 
  this is mutually beneficial.”
  “Someday you will pay for this, I swear it.”
  “Somehow I doubt that very much. I serve Anubis, lord of the dead, and 
  my existence contributes to his glory. Should my death occur, my salvation 
  is secure in the services I have rendered him. You, on the other hand, will 
  simply die and turn back to dust, assuming you are so lucky. I believe I have 
  the better of the two plans.”
  “If I die, at least my soul is mine and not enslaved to anyone for eternity!”
  Credo stroked his smooth chin thoughtfully, pondering her insult.
  “You’ve laid out an interesting scenario. I don’t intend to pass up the 
  excitement of giving you the opportunity to change your husband’s fate. In 
  three days, the moon will be full, and I will perform the ritual that will forever 
  remove every vestige of mortal life that remains in the body of the man you 
  care for. A fate worse than death, you most likely believe, for he will always 
  exist as something not quite alive and not quite dead, functioning as an exten-
  sion of the will of Anubis.”
  “You monster.”
  “I offer you one chance to save your husband from this fate, should you 
  decide to accept, of course.”
  “What? Anything!” Hope appeared on her face, much to Credo’s sadistic 
  pleasure.
  “You must make a pact with Anubis and agree to serve him, through me 
  of course, in any means he desires. For the rest of your life.”
  Her look of hope turned to defeat. Credo’s heart leapt as he watched her 
  world shatter. If she agreed to the terms, he would then force her to assist him 
  in performing the long, extremely painful torture of her husband before the 
  ritual completed and turned her husband into a zombie anyway.
  “I, I...” her voice trailed off.
  “No need to decide right away. You have three days to choose the fate 
  of your husband and yourself. I give you my word he will not be harmed, 
  severely, until then. How much do you love him? You do love him, don’t 
  you? Do you really hold life so dearly as you claim?” He paused, letting his 
  words sink in. “You know how to contact me if you decide to save him. Your 
  silence in three days will also be an answer, but then you already know the 
  consequences of that,” Credo smiled. “Release her, I don’t think she will be 
  so foolish again, will you?’
  
  51
  “N- No,” she stammered, brushing strips of rotten flesh off her released 
  wrists and arms.
  “Just in case you start considering a more militant option, several of my 
  minions will remain in your village to preserve the peace, of course. Do as 
  they command. Brodkil can get cranky if they don’t get their way.”
  Credo signaled the select minions to stay and turned his horse to leave.
  “Three days, my dear, three days.”
  ____________________
  Morning found the town of Liberty more active than usual. Exchange of 
  power always carried with it the possibility of war breaking out in the streets. 
  Armor clad mercenaries walked the streets in groups of four or five, clear-
  ing routes for vehicles and convoys. Storekeepers locked up their shops and 
  hid inside with weapons to defend themselves from looters. Amid the hectic 
  activity, children played about, enjoying the heightened level of excitement.
  Disguised as a Wilderness Scout, Lieutenant Sorenson made his way 
  through town on a Northern Gun hover cycle as though he’d done it a hun-
  dred times before. Hours of studying aerial photographs and intelligence re-
  ports allowed him to appear as though he knew exactly where he was going. 
  Nobody stopped to question him or ask that he turn over his heavy energy 
  rifle as per the posted town ordinance. Normally a law enforcement officer 
  would have the newcomer either leave his heavy weapons in his vehicle or 
  have them locked up in the police station until ready to leave. A person car-
  rying enough firepower to level a building with a few blasts wasn’t very well 
  trusted within city limits. From experience, however, he knew most fron-
  tier people were reluctant to give up their weapons, even for short visits to 
  civilized areas. It would seem suspicious if he complied too readily. Looking 
  around, Mike saw that many citizens wore sidearms as freely as coats and 
  hats. Today, however, there were no official police or town defenders. There 
  was some transition of power going on — that Mike knew — but he needed 
  to learn more.
  Outside Watkins’ General Store, Mike parked the battered looking hover 
  cycle next to an assortment of other all-terrain vehicles. The general store was 
  a three-story building with wood paneling over high density, armor plated 
  walls. Twelve-foot-tall double doors led into a large room filled with tobacco 
  smoke and other foreign scents. Quite a bit cooler than outside, the room was 
  being regulated by a swamp cooler in the corner. Mike got a few looks from 
  the assortment of patrons gossiping at the counter and around the room. A 
  few stares went to the particle beam rifle across his back, but no one moved 
  to question him about it. Most of the patrons were armed as well or better.
  “What can I get you, friend?” the large man behind the counter asked 
  cheerfully. One of his eyes bulged out suspiciously like a poorly sized cyber-
  
  52
  netic implant and judging by the bulk of his right arm, it too was a mechanical 
  replacement.
  “Lookin’ for a few things,” Mike responded casually.
  This must be Watkins, Mike concluded, noting with some amusement the 
  owner’s Coalition-made C-18 sidearm and poorly concealed C-12 stashed 
  behind the counter. Intelligence reported this man had ties to several black-
  market smuggling operations and the stolen weaponry definitely supported 
  the theory. Mike wasn’t here to track down illegal gunrunners, he was assess-
  ing the potential threat the town posed to the approaching Coalition force. If 
  there was any valuable gossip floating around, it would be here and in nearby 
  service shops.
  Captain Pritchett’s unit was to establish a Coalition presence in the area, 
  and hopefully make formalized good relations with the local human popula-
  tion as a secondary objective on their mission. Strategically, the town could 
  be very important as a stronghold for the eastern seaboard of North America. 
  Especially with rumored threats of invasion coming from the risen continent 
  of Atlantis. Having an outpost in the region would give advance warning of 
  invasion long before it reached Coalition borders. Not to mention the proxim-
  ity to the eastern side of Federation of Magic territory.
  Greg Merrick’s special ops unit was theoretically supposed to keep Pritch-
  ett from getting into trouble by covertly removing threats to his operation, 
  however, Mike knew better. A secret agenda existed above and beyond the 
  establishment of a remote listening post. Finding and eliminating some of 
  the Coalition’s most wanted enemies was what really motivated the estab-
  lishment of a relationship between the two communities. Orders Mike had 
  received just prior to embarking implied the plots went much deeper than 
  crushing a few measly rebels and their leaders. The exchange of power taking 
  place in Liberty could jeopardize both agendas.
  “You got any batteries that fit this?” Mike asked the store owner, thrusting 
  a pair of night vision goggles onto the worn countertop.
  “I might. How many yeh want?”
  “Whatever comes in one of those green and white packages.”
  “Comin’ right up.” Watkins strolled to a section of batteries and E-Clips 
  behind the counter.
  “And a couple mini-missiles. Scorchers if ya got ’em,” Mike added, ob-
  serving the locked display of weapons for sale at the other end of the store.”
  “I got ’em. What kind of igniter?”
  “The squiggly kind with the three wires that fit in the back. I hadda use my 
  last pair on a demon deer comin’ out from Kingsdale. That guys gonna cost 
  me five big ones.” Mike spat a wad of tobacco into the copper pot near the 
  counter. He detested tobacco but had learned the art of chewing and spitting 
  while on a mission in the northern wilderness of Minnesota. Any mountain 
  man with a brain knew you had to chew tobacco to be a man. Mike couldn’t 
  
  53
  wait to get the yellow and brown dye off his teeth and get rid of his dirty 
  disguise once the charade was over.
  “You’re from Kingsdale?” a short, squat D-Bee with three oversized eyes 
  asked in perfect American. Mike hid a smile at having his bait taken so easily.
  “Not to begin with, just passin’ through. World a hurt gonna start up there 
  with the Coalition, that’s what I say.” Mike leaned against the counter and 
  started unwrapping another pungent wad of tobacco.
  “Quite a trip from Missouri territory. Made it myself a couple times,” 
  a well-armed mercenary spoke up from his place in a rocking chair by the 
  cooler. “Served in the Kingsdale army for four years. You ever make it down 
  to the Fairground?”
  “Was there three days ago. Grabbed me an extra clip for the P7. Pretty 
  cheap, too.” Mike patted the stock of his rifle. The Headhunter appeared sat-
  isfied with the bearded scout’s authenticity and continued smoking a large, 
  hand rolled cigar. The emblem on the Headhunter’s body armor matched 
  that of several Mike had seen on vehicles and troops on the way into town. 
  A triangular badge with a skeletal hand gripping a bolt of lightning. In silver 
  lettering at the base were the words “First Strike.” The silver bar on the mer-
  cenary’s armor indicated some type of paramilitary rank. Mike pressed ahead 
  with his information gathering.
  “What’s all the fuss about outside? Somebody spot a Splugorth slaver?”
  “Zenjori and his ‘Army of the New Order’ are gettin’ their butts kicked 
  outta town, that’s what,” the mercenary answered.
  “Good riddance,” a tall creature slobbered in agreement.
  “I’m surprised they’re leaving so peacefully. I expected more trouble.” 
  Watkins placed a package of “Super Cells” next to Mike’s goggles.
  “Yeah, they’re just scared we’ll kick their tails, that’s all.” The mercenary 
  blew a ring of smoke in contempt for the former town defenders.
  “Still, I’m surprised Zenjori took responsibility for the crimes his men 
  were accused of committing. He even assured us they would be disciplined, 
  and he would turn over military responsibility to your band, Aken,” the three-
  eyed D-Bee argued.
  “Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t keen about takin’ on the Army of the New 
  Order here in town, but Zenjori knew he’d lose, that’s why he backed off.” 
  Aken blew another smoke ring.
  “It will all be over and they’ll be gone in a few hours. Then it’s back to 
  business as usual.” Watkins and Aken shared a look that didn’t take a genius 
  to figure out.
  “Those guys won’t twist anyone’s arms here in Liberty again, not if we 
  can help it,” Aken boasted as the store doors swung slowly open. The shadow 
  of a giant four-armed cyborg fell over Mike and the store owner. Two red 
  eyes inset in a vaguely skull-like metal head scanned the room with intimida-
  tion. Not a sound followed the ‘Borg’s unannounced presence. Aken made no 
  
  54
  move for a weapon, instead calmly whispering into his headset and readjust-
  ing the earpiece.
  Zenjori Suka’s second in command, Drake, stood in the doorway and 
  stared at the member of the rival mercenary company. Fear didn’t control the 
  Headhunter, but he was obviously uneasy about the possibility of something 
  pissing off the 9-foot Full Conversion Cyborg. Backup was on the way, but 
  if Drake decided anybody in the room should die, there would be little even 
  an armored squad could do to stop him. Nobody wanted to mess with an ex-
  Coalition combat cyborg, especially one with a price on his head.
  “How would you like me to remove your bionic arm for you? No charge,” 
  Drake rumbled threateningly at Aken.
  “C’mon, Drake, you know better than to start trouble. Not now,” Watkins 
  urged. Hydraulics whined and the floor creaked with each step the cyborg 
  took towards the counter. Mike found himself standing next to one of the top 
  targets on his list, a former combat cyborg gone bad.
  Drake slapped a universal credit card down on the counter, making the 
  entire wooden frame and metal reinforcement shudder from the impact.
  “I want to buy all the mini-missiles, explosives, and ordnance you have.”
  “Sorry, Drake, all I’ve got is a dozen frags and a pair of A.P.s. If you want 
  anything else yer gonna hafta go —”
  “Don’t lie to me. If you lie to me, it will make me mad.” Drake leaned 
  closer, metal eyebrows meeting in a menacing scowl. “I want all of your 
  stock, even the stuff in your vault. Now.”
  “This man has already purchased most of my stock.” Watkins motioned to 
  Mike and gave him an almost pleading look.
  “Tough. You can refund his money. I’ll give you 25% more than he was 
  paying.” Drake glared at Mike, a growling sound coming from his closed 
  metal jaw. No wonder the bounty on this renegade was almost a million cred-
  its, Mike thought.
  “What can I say?” Watkins shrugged at Mike. “Credits are credits.”
  “The rest of you drooling idiots listen up,” Drake commanded attention. 
  “As much as I hate this sniveling little town, it’s only fair I give you warning. 
  Our spies have confirmed a large Coalition army is headed this way and their 
  lead forces should be here in one or two days.”
  “So what?” Aken countered.
  “This lead group will try and win your trust, all the while plotting against 
  you and waiting for the main army to arrive. They might even try bringing 
  in small groups one at a time so you won’t notice, until there’s so many that 
  not even the mighty ‘First Strike’ can do anything about it. Then you will 
  obey Coalition laws and be under Coalition rule. Everybody in this room 
  who isn’t 100% human will be taken out and slaughtered, along with all their 
  family and friends. Those of you that manage to escape will be hunted down 
  
  55
  like animals and killed while you sleep, and those aiding your escape will be 
  executed without trial. I should know; I was one of them once.
  “What they will do to this town is nothing compared to a few rowdy sol-
  diers from the Army of the New Order. When your women and children start 
  disappearing and the dead start piling up, then you will know I was right.”
  Silence followed until clanking metal feet sounded outside the store as 
  two power armor units arrived to ensure the peace.
  “That’s a load of crap and you know it, Drake,” Aken spoke up, braver 
  now.
  “Wait and see,” Drake replied in a crisp metallic tone.
  “The Coalition are a bunch of bigoted fools, but even they aren’t stupid 
  enough to pull anything out here where they can’t have an armored battalion 
  at their beck and call. They don’t attack unless they’re sure they’ll win and 
  you know it. If the Coalition wants to send a force out here, fine, let them, just 
  so they don’t start nothin’.” Aken grinned.
  “Just remember that when your friends start dying off,” Drake warned, 
  waving a metal fist back and forth.
  Mike waited patiently for the transaction to take place, curious to see how 
  well-armed his opponents were going to be. Nearly a million credits changed 
  hands. Mike was worried. He spent some more time gabbing in the store 
  before leaving, not wanting to attract suspicion. After a tour of saloons and 
  bars, Mike decided to remain in Liberty until Pritchett safely arrived. Po-
  litical unrest could shift the balance of power as quickly as a gun, and Mike 
  needed to be certain that the powers to be weren’t going to be aimed at the 
  Coalition convoy.
  ____________________
  “All vehicles and personnel are accounted for, Suka San,” Drake reported 
  to the short Asian man who commanded the mercenary army.
  “Same goes here.” A bald, Partial Conversion Cyborg sauntered up, heavy 
  plasma cannon draped over his broad shoulders. Zenjori Suka looked at his 
  two commanders and nodded, then turned to acknowledge his least trusted 
  sub-commander, a winged humanoid with a horned head and glowing yellow 
  eyes.
  “Torrak, where were the Coalition forces the last time you checked?” Ze-
  njori spoke with a smooth, controlled, yet demanding voice. Torrak’s hatred 
  of humans was no secret, but he kept his disdain quiet ever since the night 
  around the campfire. Zenjori had made it clear more than once who held the 
  power and who did not.
  “My familiar hasn’t reported their condition after last night’s attack, but I 
  believe they have survived and are one or two days away,” Torrak’s guttural 
  voice ground out.
  
  56
  “Timing couldn’t be much more ideal. Since my former benefactor in the 
  Coalition has ignored my warnings, we will use this opportunity to keep the 
  Coalition out of this region for some time to come.”
  “I hope you have some kinda plan, Suka San, ‘cuz now we’re on a lake 
  in winter without a paddle.” Kruno swung the heavy rifle down and rested 
  the barrel over one metal arm. Zenjori shifted his weight, irked by the com-
  mander of “Carnivore” Squad.
  “I always have a plan,” Zenjori said dismissively.
  “Of course, I still don’t know why we hadda leave. We coulda taken First 
  Strike with only suffering 80% losses and 60% loss of gear. Maybe even 
  better cuz Donovan wouldn’t commit his unit to a full-scale offensive with 
  civilians around.”
  “Very good, Kruno, I see you’re thinking with your plasma rifle and kami-
  kaze-like fervor again,” Zenjori snapped, then changed to a more understand-
  ing tone. “You’re a good commander, Kruno, I don’t doubt your abilities in 
  a fight, but it was your men that put us in this situation to begin with. I was 
  discreet in my dealings with potential troublemakers in town, while your men 
  brutally murdered five people and took liberties with their wives.
  “Had we stayed and resisted the townspeople’s wishes to let First Strike 
  replace us, it would have been a bloodbath. When it was over, I’m sure what-
  ever was left wouldn’t stand up to a squad of Coalition foot troops, much less 
  a combined mechanized and infantry assault. So, in the interest of self-pres-
  ervation, I decided we’d follow a more indirect course of action to achieve 
  our goals. Rather than engage in full scale combat, which we would lose, we 
  pull out gracefully.
  “When the Coalition arrives, that is when we begin our offensive. Not a 
  frontal assault, like I’m sure Drake would suggest, but surgical strikes made 
  to look like Coalition or First Strike actions. We polarize all sides and feed 
  fears until the First Strike and Coalition fight each other or one side leaves 
  town. The weakened survivor will be loathed by the general populace of 
  Liberty thanks to some well laid plans and carefully executed maneuvers. 
  Liberty will beg us to return, and our terms will be much more demanding 
  this time. Patience will pay off in the end. In the meantime, we entrench and 
  gather strength. The Coalition is too far out for reinforcements, whereas we 
  can always recruit a steady supply of warriors who detest the Coalition.”
  “Sorry, Suka San, I wasn’t tryin’ ta knock ya. Sounds like a good plan to 
  me.” Kruno kicked the barrel and swung the rifle back to his shoulders.
  “In a few moments we will know if we have other powerful allies to as-
  sist us.” Zenjori looked to the man materializing at the edge of a ley line 150 
  feet away. Colnae wore ornate blue, green, and gold trimmed clothing that 
  fit his slender form perfectly. A well-trimmed goatee and impeccable groom-
  ing made the Line Walker appear more like a playboy than a practitioner of 
  magic attuned to the surging lines of power encircling the globe. By the look 
  
  57
  on Colnae’s face as he approached, Zenjori concluded the meeting with Col-
  nae’s Federation Lord hadn’t gone well.
  “Colnae, my companion, what news do you bring from Valdor’s castle?”
  “Valdor is dead.” The mage’s features hardened even more. “He was 
  killed in a wizards’ duel with Lord Anyon, and the help he promised died 
  with him,” he confessed bitterly.
  “Is there nobody else in the Federation you can turn to?”
  “Nobody of consequence, even if I wasn’t considered an outcast,” Colnae 
  spat. “Valdor left his apprentice Chalra in command before he perished and 
  she now controls his army and domain. She won’t help us. She’s not even a 
  Federation Lord!”
  “Perhaps she would be willing to help us strike a blow at the Coalition,” 
  Zenjori offered.
  “I was treated very rudely by Chalra’s warrior witch, Sahara, and told that 
  if I ever set foot in her castle or nexus again I would die... very unpleasantly. 
  Chalra refused me audience and left orders that none of her minions should 
  aid or protect us in any way. The mighty Federation of Magic won’t lift a 
  finger against her because she has the favor of powerful allies in Atlantis. 
  There will be no aid from the Federation of Magic, none officially anyway. 
  I’m sorry, Suka San,” Colnae apologized, bitterness at his failure frosting 
  every word.
  Zenjori closed his eyes momentarily, quickly readjusting his plans to ex-
  clude aid from North America’s most powerful allegiance of wizards. At last 
  he turned back to Torrak. The Gromek’s mouth was twisted into a smug, 
  self-satisfied grin.
  “I assume you have the ability to summon and control legions from other 
  dimensions, since you’re the powerful Torrak of the Gromek, do you not?”
  “If I did, I wouldn’t be here with you.” Torrak ground sharp teeth together. 
  “I am capable of controlling a number of creatures, but too many will sap my 
  strength and leave me vulnerable to more rebellious minions. A few power-
  ful creatures under my control are better than legions. What do you wish me 
  to do?”
  “Legions would suit us well, but if you can summon up a few creatures 
  as shock troops to throw into Coalition lines, the confusion might allow us 
  opportunity to strike them hard.”
  “Summoning them will require time.”
  “Time we have. Begin at once. Colnae will remain with you to keep you 
  aware of activities along the ley line while you prepare. You are familiar with 
  our primary fallback point, yes? We will be setting our base camp there.”
  “Yes. I know the location. What, exactly, do you want me to summon?” 
  Torrak tried to test Zenjori’s arcane lore in front of his men. Zenjori just 
  smiled.
  
  58
  “Be creative,” he smiled warmly. “Whatever things you summon will be 
  at your beck and call, so have fun. The real enjoyment begins when you turn 
  them loose on our mutual enemies, the Coalition.”
  ____________________
  Crashing timber grabbed Kro-Mar’s attention as he flapped lazily in a 
  Southward direction. Keen ears picked up the sound of a falling tree some-
  where nearby, and since Kro-Mar had nothing better to do, he decided to 
  investigate. Rows of black spikes whistled in the wind as the Great Horned 
  Dragon glided above the treetops.
  Several suitcase-sized pouches hung from numerous straps on his green 
  scaled body, their contents a variety of treasure he’d collected in the past few 
  months. A vid player, a Techno-Wizard modified mini-missile, two hundred 
  feet of parachute cord, a collection of data disks, and other trinkets Kro-Mar 
  intended to play with once he reached his lair in southern Virginia.
  His little exploration trip was memorably horrific and rated the worst in 
  his 34 years of life. Maybe in six or seven months he would set off on another 
  adventure, a much better one to be certain. Life in general was full of excite-
  ment for the young hatchling.
  Finding a small valley where humans were working steadily on construct-
  ing large log cabins, Kro-Mar circled four or five times, all the while waiting 
  for one of them to look up and scream. It was so amusing to watch them 
  scurry to their fragile little shelters, as though the wooden structures could 
  actually stop a mighty dragon like himself from reaching them. It was even 
  more fun when he would rattle their homes and set fire to various objects in 
  their little villages, as if he couldn’t just mash them inside their homes. He 
  loved acting like a child stirring up an anthill just to see what would happen. 
  After his recent experiences with humans, he knew some of them had a nasty 
  sting. Kro-Mar exercised a little caution before engaging in one of his favor-
  ite tactics — shadow passing.
  This game could be played in several different ways, the shortest version 
  was to pass his shadow over a group of humans and then slowly angle back in 
  their direction just when their terror started turning to relief. The newest revi-
  sion employed the use of simple invisibility magic and could be drawn out so 
  long as he had power to maintain the invocation. Pass the shadow, then turn 
  invisible, wait awhile, then pass the shadow and turn invisible again. Great 
  fun, especially when the people on the ground got nervous and called others 
  out to confirm the strange phenomenon. Appearing on the ground in their 
  midst had given him fantastic results.
  Opting for the short version, Kro-Mar started his terror run by swooping 
  low past a group of humans dragging a log from the woods. Oddly enough, 
  they didn’t seem to notice. Perhaps it was because they were so involved in 
  their work, Kro-Mar reasoned, and came around for a closer pass. Evidently 
  
  59
  these particular humans were dumber than they looked. How could they pos-
  sibly fail to notice a 50-foot-long dragon with nearly a hundred-foot wing-
  span pass just forty feet above them? None of the workers appeared to have 
  noticed his presence. This was puzzling.
  Landing between the row of four cabins and eight humans dragging the 
  log, Kro-Mar ensured the terror would begin. Instead the slowing humans 
  came to a stop, running into Kro-Mar’s giant clawed fist. Eight glassy-eyed 
  stares looked up at the fearsome dragon. Kro-Mar gave his most terrible roar. 
  Unblinking eyes continued to stare up at him.
  Leaning back on his long thrashing tail, Kro-Mar was perplexed at the 
  freak behavior of these human peasants. Didn’t they understand the equa-
  tion? He was a powerful dragon and they were frail humans. They were sup-
  posed to be scared!
  Reasoning they just needed more direct persuasion, Kro-Mar flicked a gi-
  ant finger at the closest human, not hard enough to kill but with enough force 
  to knock the peasant off his feet. Apparently unhurt, the human simply got up 
  and waited patiently for Kro-Mar to get out of the way.
  “Give me your valuables and I might spare your miserable lives,” Kro-
  Mar rumbled. They looked around at each other with puzzled expressions 
  then returned to their blank stares.
  “Give me your valuables or I’ll eat all of you!” He threatened. More ex-
  changes of incomprehension and mindless stares.
  These couldn’t possibly be normal humans, Kro-Mar determined. Maybe 
  this was a lobotomy colony or an inbreeding farm. No, Kro-Mar ran over 
  more plausible alternatives. It had to be the work of magic. Focusing closely 
  on the body of the person he’d just thumped, Kro-Mar could see a faint am-
  ber aura he wasn’t familiar with. A few mumbled words expanded his vision 
  to see a spectrum of magic and other psychic emanations. Very much to his 
  surprise, the auras of the humans around him gave contradictory testimony. 
  The usual spark of life found in humans was completely gone, replaced with 
  a fluctuating glow that didn’t seem to come from within them. All of the 
  people were dead, yet brought back to a pseudo-existence by some type of 
  magic. Kro-Mar laughed, feeling relieved that his macho image wasn’t fail-
  ing. These were nothing more than zombies.
  Curiosity took over and Kro-Mar suddenly felt the urge to see exactly 
  what a zombie was all about. Did they feel pain? Did a zombie come back 
  to “life” after it was destroyed? Did zombies taste good? How far could a 
  zombie be thrown? Testing one of his theories, Kro-Mar snatched the closest 
  undead and chucked it as far as he could. The zombie wailed as it flew head-
  long through tree branches and bounced off tree trunks. Sure enough, when 
  its flight ended and it stopped tumbling, the zombie got up no worse for wear. 
  This was going to be fun, thought Kro-Mar.
  
  60
  Soon the air was filled with the sounds of flying zombies, their cries of 
  protest simply making the new game all the more fun. Kro-Mar giggled as a 
  zombie from the construction crew lumbered over with a dull ax. Giggling 
  like a badly tuned diesel truck, Kro-Mar raised a giant foot and smashed the 
  zombie into the soft topsoil. Lifting his foot slightly, Kro-Mar peeked under-
  neath and found to his delight a new arrangement of body parts.
  Craning his neck around his wing, Kro-Mar breathed a streak of flame at 
  the closest log cabin. The partially constructed cabin disintegrated instant-
  ly. Terrified zombies fled the blaze only to be torched by Kro-Mar’s flame 
  breath. Finally, Kro-Mar thought, he’d found something zombies were afraid 
  of.
  Quickly growing bored of flaming the fleeing undead, Kro-Mar snatched 
  up a tree trunk and began swinging it like a golf club.
  “Fore!” He shouted as a zombie sailed for the “green” on a nearby rise. 
  Great fun. Semi-mobile golf balls. Leaping from zombie to zombie, Kro-Mar 
  practiced his long drive, failing to notice Lord Credo and his demons arrive 
  at the charred remains of the log cabin.
  “Stop this!” Credo shouted in perfect Dragonese. Kro-Mar froze mid-
  swing, head snapping around with a guilty look much like a child caught 
  launching bottle rockets into the neighbor’s chicken coop. Turning around, 
  Kro-Mar saw that it was just a puny Elf that had yelled at him. He trudged 
  back to the man on horseback and his demon troops. No mere Elf with funny 
  ears was going to tell the magnificent Kro-Mar what to do.
  “How dare you interrupt me!” He roared, coming to a stop forty feet from 
  the mage. Brodkil demons readied their weapons but made no move to attack.
  “Look what you’ve done. It’s going to take days to get back on schedule! 
  You will compensate me for my loss,” Credo demanded.
  “Be quiet or I’ll eat you!” Kro-Mar threatened.
  “I’m so scared,” Credo responded dryly, sarcasm thick in his voice.
  “You should never have invoked my ire! I am the most powerful dragon 
  you will ever meet, foolish mortal!” Kro-Mar paused for effect. “I am the 
  great Kramer!”
  As soon as he said the words, Kro-Mar felt incredibly foolish. A stupid 
  human once mispronounced his name, and now in his moment of glory, Kro-
  Mar repeated the mistake. How could that happen? Several Brodkil snick-
  ered, others laughed audibly. The corners of Credo’s mouth switched upward 
  with a devious smile.
  “The great Kramer, did you say?” Credo rubbed his chin. “Sounds vague-
  ly familiar.”
  “Kramer the magnificent!” Kro-Mar dug himself in deeper. His slip of the 
  tongue made him look incredibly stupid, but he couldn’t back down now.
  “Ohhh, Kramer the Magnificent! Destroyer of log cabins and bane of the 
  zombies,” Credo taunted with false sincerity.
  
  61
  “And don’t you ever forget it! I can do as I please. Teach me how to make 
  these zombies and I might spare your miserable life.”
  “Foolish hatchling, I grow tired of your games.” Credo’s expression 
  turned deadly serious.
  “You’ve been warned! Don’t make me do bad things to you!”
  “Apparently you have no inkling of who you are dealing with. Hand over 
  four of your teeth and I might consider allowing you to continue your exis-
  tence a while longer.”
  “If you want four of my teeth, come and get them yourself.” Kro-Mar felt 
  magic energy pulse through his veins in preparation for combat. There was 
  no way an Elven mage and a dozen demons could be a match for his com-
  mand of magic and fierce temper. They just didn’t realize it yet.
  Credo smiled and slowly dismounted.
  “I thought you’d never ask. Seize him!”
  The Brodkil warriors released battle cries and leapt forward without fear. 
  Before they reached Kro-Mar he was gone, leaping ten feet behind Credo. 
  Kro-Mar loved it when a plan worked, even when it was something he came 
  up with on the spur of the moment. But wait, the Elven mage was still speak-
  ing, turning slowly to direct the complex spell. Bracing for impact, Kro-Mar 
  quickly recited an incantation, invisible barriers forming a field around him. 
  The flow of words from Credo ceased and Kro-Mar felt a a strange sense of 
  being affected by the spell, but not sure how or what to fight off.
  No matter. The mage would be dead shortly. Kro-Mar swung the tree 
  trunk he still held like giant club. Kro-Mar struck himself in the foot, splinter-
  ing his weapon and eliciting a cry of surprise. Credo just smiled, aggravating 
  the dragon further.
  The words to Kro-Mar’s spell flowed out in rapid stream, but the last 
  phrase didn’t come out right. Worried, Kro-Mar frantically tried to remember 
  the correct invocation, but his mind kept stumbling over itself in the process. 
  His mind felt thick and slow and he couldn’t think more than one thing at a 
  time.
  The Brodkil swarmed over him, dropping his magic barrier in seconds 
  with their mix of hand-held and energy weapons. Thrashing about at them, 
  Kro-Mar only succeeded in tripping on his own tail, ramming a charcoal tim-
  ber up his nose from a burnt cabin. Sneezing fire, he choked on the cloud of 
  smoke and dust that followed. Something was terribly wrong.
  As his thick scales gave way to the assault being forced upon them, Kro-
  Mar realized it was time to make his departure. He could always come back 
  for revenge later. Envisioning a place he’d seen two miles away, he attempted 
  to teleport there. Nothing happened. Again, he tried, but his natural abilities 
  seemed unresponsive. Now there really was something wrong.
  Vibro-Blades penetrated muscle and tendon and sections of green scales 
  disappeared in clouds of vaporized molecules. Anger took over and Brod-
  
  62
  kil sailed away as Kro-Mar’s animalistic rage led his actions. Credo backed 
  away, more afraid of being hit by a flying 9-foot-tall demon than any attack 
  the dragon could muster. When the red haze cleared, Kro-Mar stood in a 
  circle of hesitant demons waiting to attack him again. Escape was the only 
  recourse left to the humiliated dragon.
  Gracefully leaping over the line of advancing demons, Kro-Mar tripped 
  on the closest one and slammed into the earth. This was not a pleasant experi-
  ence. One minute he had been master of the universe and the next, a bungling 
  clod with mashed potatoes for brains.
  Thrashing his way free again, the hatchling dragon took flight on tattered 
  wings. Ion blasts followed his slow ascent, but Kro-Mar couldn’t recall the 
  words of his protective spells to stop them. Flapping as hard as his tired 
  wings could go, he fled the scene of his disgrace until a small hill blocked the 
  line of fire. Safe from the weapons, Kro-Mar made a painful crash landing.
  He spat foliage from his mouth and tried to correct his spread-eagle posi-
  tion at the end of a long furrow. Suddenly the words to his spells came to his 
  mind and the fog in his head was gone.
  This was not one of Kro-Mar’s better days.
  
  63
  Chapter 5
  “Practice Maneuvers,” sir.
  Blood drenched the soil outside the burning huts. Bodies lay in place 
  where they died trying to escape the endless onslaught from Coalition weap-
  ons. Sergio, buzzing the village from above, dropped low to the ground and 
  kicked a fleeing D-Bee with the foot of his SAMAS power armor at 60 kph. 
  Brains splashed over the black finish and misted the air behind him.
  Slowing to a complete stop, the Coalition RPA touched down and targeted 
  a mob of D-Bee peasants that were escaping the foot troops’ advance. Select-
  ing single round discharge on his rail gun, Sergio ripped holes through the 
  running peasants with each metal projectile, enjoying each kill as though it 
  were his favorite game. There was no need to waste ammunition on a village 
  of unarmed D-Bees. They were relatively easy to exterminate and he didn’t 
  have infinite supplies to back him up.
  ____________________
  “Merrick to Pritchett, over,” Greg called the mission commander over the 
  comm. The lines of smoke rising from the distant village could only mean 
  one thing. Greg feared the worst.
  “Pritchett, go ahead Lieutenant.”
  “We’re finished crossing the river, sir, and I’d like to know what’s going 
  on up ahead, sir.”
  “Nothing we can’t handle without you, Lieutenant,” Pritchett responded 
  in friendly tones. “Some of my men were fired on when they made contact 
  with that village of D-Bees your man checked out. Don’t worry, it’s being 
  taken care of.”
  “I was under the impression the village wasn’t hostile.”
  “I was too, like your man first indicated, but unfortunately my men came 
  under attack when they went to confirm. You never can trust D-Bees, always 
  with some sinister intentions, even when they don’t appear to. Safest to take 
  the offensive first. We don’t have to worry about this village attacking us 
  again.”
  “Sir!” Darren’s voice sounded over the comm. “They’re slaughtering de-
  fenseless people!”
  “As you were, Private Corley,” Pritchett responded angrily. “They’re not 
  people, and they brought it on themselves. Maintain your current patrol until 
  ordered to do otherwise.”
  Darren choked back his words of outrage and simply disobeyed orders. 
  Flying low to the treetops, he throttled up to 300 mph and aimed his SAMAS 
  for the lines of smoke. He didn’t care if it was just another mass of D-Bees 
  being slaughtered, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been around such actions. 
  
  64
  This time, however, it just didn’t seem right. He had a pretty good idea which 
  soldier had made up the story of being fired on.
  The sight that met his eyes was sickening. Four Coalition soldiers and a 
  Psi-Stalker casually walked through the burning village shooting everything 
  that moved, sometimes only maiming then moving on. Those D-Bees still 
  fleeing for their lives were being cut down by SAM 612 buzzing the airspace 
  above.
  “SAM 15, you are in violation of a direct order! Return to your patrol or 
  you will face court-martial,” Pritchett ordered from the safety of his Skull 
  Walker. Darren refused to respond, instead cutting velocity and tackling Ser-
  gio’s SAMAS from behind.
  “You’re dead!” Sergio managed to scream just before both SAMAS 
  crashed through the wall of a home. Fighting his way free of falling beams, 
  Sergio slammed Darren in the chest with his C-40. The barrel of Darren’s rail 
  gun knocked SAM 612 back down, tip pressing against Sergio’s faceplate.
  “Back off or I’ll cut you down,” Sergio snarled.
  “Go ahead, pull the trigger.” Darren shifted his weight to pin Sergio’s free 
  arm to the ground. “All you’re gonna do is scratch my SAM, and I’ll blast 
  your brains out the back of your skull.”
  “Sir, Captain Pritchett! I’m being attacked by SAM 15,” Sergio called his 
  commander.
  “SAM 15, you are relieved of duty! Return immediately and surrender 
  your SAMAS!”
  “Darren. Cool it,” Greg instructed. “Get back on your patrol. Right now.”
  “Yes, sir,” Darren acknowledged the chain of command and pulled his 
  weapon from Sergio’s face. SAM 612 slid on its maneuver jets while Darren 
  gave it a swift kick in the groin before leaving the scene of slaughter.
  “Merrick to Captain Pritchett. Perhaps it would be better to discuss this 
  incident off the air.”
  “Lieutenant Merrick. I’m holding you responsible for the actions of your 
  man.”
  “Of course, sir, as you are responsible for the actions of your men.”
  “What’s that supposed to mean, Lieutenant?” Pritchett refused to take the 
  matter off the air.
  “I’ll discuss it with you in person, not over the radio.”
  “Fine,” Pritchett responded after a long pause. “Agreed. Come aboard 
  Skull 191 immediately. You have some things to explain.”
  ____________________
  Dropping through the top hatch of Skull Walker 191, Greg discovered 
  the Captain calmly shining the chrome on his dress armor. Greg’s SAMAS 
  waited outside on the ground.
  
  65
  “Leave us,” Pritchett ordered the robot’s crew, and didn’t speak another 
  word until they were gone.
  “Captain,” Greg acknowledged the higher-ranking officer.
  “Your SAM 15 is way out of line, Lieutenant, but that’s only a symptom, 
  not the seat of the problem.”
  “SAM 15 was out of line, yes, but respectfully, sir, SAM 612 and Beta 
  Fire Squad are jeopardizing our mission by engaging in unprovoked attacks 
  on unidentified parties.”
  “They were fired on.”
  “They didn’t even need to go to the village, it was already scouted out 
  and deemed to be of no threat to our present course. By assaulting a non-
  military target, your men jeopardize our mission objectives of establishing 
  pro-Coalition sentiment in the surrounding area. Not only that, but your men 
  risk incurring retaliation by our enemies, sir.” Greg put it as diplomatically 
  as he could.
  “I’ll decide how I go about my mission objectives, not you, Lieutenant. 
  I’ve been very patient with you and your unit, up until now. Your discipline is 
  almost non-existent, and your actions and attitude are questionable. I realize 
  your men have seen some deep field action, but that doesn’t excuse them from 
  the rules of conduct. We are on a mission to establish a Coalition presence, 
  and part of that is projecting an image uniform with Coalition standards. By 
  the time we reach Liberty you will have your unit cleaned up and be sure 
  their weapons and armor pass inspection. You will remove all non-Coalition 
  armament, and make sure they only display Coalition armor and equipment.”
  “Sir, I’m the one who issued those weapons to my men, and there’s a good 
  reason for all of them. Don’t forget, our presence here is also to eliminate 
  threats to your objectives. In battles with magic users we discovered kinetic 
  and explosive weaponry more reliable and effective, therefore the issue of 
  imported projectile firearms from Triax.”
  “We’re not running an advertisement campaign for Triax-”
  “And my unit was never sent out here to parade around making friends, 
  sir. We are here to fight, not dress up. Low profile. If you want, I can call up 
  our specified duties and—”
  “I know what the computer says, Lieutenant,” Pritchett responded irrita-
  bly.
  “We fight, you take the credit. We clean up, you do the show.”
  “Very well, then I would appreciate you not ever questioning how I choose 
  to display the Coalition image. The village suppression is justified under the 
  terms of my orders.”
  “Put it in your report, sir, I’ll put my interpretation in mine,” Greg flashed 
  back with determination in his grey eyes. For a moment Captain Pritchett felt 
  intimidated. He’d heard stories before. No backing down.
  
  66
  “Private Corley is relieved of duty until we reach Liberty, at which time 
  he will be placed under arrest until a field court-martial can be conducted.”
  “Respectfully, sir, if you press that issue, I will fight you on it as far and 
  hard as it takes.”
  “Are you threatening me, Lieutenant?”
  “Of course not, sir. We’re out here in the field a very long way from Coali-
  tion territory. I have a very well-trained and experienced unit capable of tak-
  ing on a force well over three times its own size. My men protect their own, 
  as I do. We need to utilize every solier we have at our disposal, sir.” Greg 
  stared back and steeped his fingers. Pritchett appeared on the verge of losing 
  his temper, but after what seemed like minutes his composure softened.
  “Reports of this incident will, as you pointed out, be filed with HQ. I ex-
  pect your report will include the disciplinary actions brought against Private 
  Corley.”
  “Of course. There will be disciplinary actions, as I feel appropriate.”
  “I have friends in the Coalition military, Lieutenant, friends who have 
  power over many things. You are dismissed. Have your unit take point. If 
  there’s anything out there to fight, your well-trained unit should be the first 
  into combat.”
  “I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding, sir.”
  “Situations change, Lieutenant, much faster than you can possibly real-
  ize.”
  ____________________
  Ominous dark clouds brought dusk faster than expected. Troops cleared 
  firing lanes around the man-made clearing atop a small bluff in preparation 
  for the night. Lisa Anderson sat at her communications console in Skull 41 
  hoping to receive some word from Lieutenant Sorenson. Finding a defend-
  able site had been left up to Pritchett’s 1st Lieutenant, Parker Goldstein. The 
  mountainous terrain and dense foliage meant an enemy stronghold could be 
  over the next hill or hidden nearby and nothing but an up-close foot patrol 
  would find it. At Greg’s insistence, certain additional precautions were being 
  taken to ensure the camp was impenetrable and the coffee well-guarded.
  “Coming in,” Brian Adams announced from the open top hatch.
  “Oh, hi Brian. What do you need?” Lisa felt a little uncomfortable with 
  Brian in such close quarters. For a time, he’d been overtly infatuated with 
  her and when she started dating Mike Sorenson he’d become very cold and 
  distant. The red-haired officer dropped down beside her.
  “Cowboy discharged an entire canister on that stupid worm thing last 
  night. I just need to stick the canister in the charging unit.” He squirmed to 
  one side and slotted the energy canister in the nuclear-powered charger. On 
  his way back out, he hesitated as if he had something else to say. Finally, he 
  edged back inside and sat in the pilot’s seat.
  
  67
  “Everything running good?”
  “Like new,” Lisa spoke without looking at him. She hated the hurt look 
  she’d seen in his eyes the last time they’d talked. “Dave’s been complaining 
  about the balance being off, probably because you installed that CR-6 missile 
  launcher on the back. Don’t worry about it, it’s just Dave being Dave.”
  “I told him it would handle differently, but he said he wanted the extra 
  firepower.”
  “You did a good job with it. I couldn’t even tell a difference in the ride.”
  They sat, the awkwardness growing with each passing moment.
  “Have you heard anything from Sorenson yet?” Brian asked.
  “Just one transmission that it was clear for us to go ahead as planned.” 
  Lisa hid her concern well, but still had a lilt in her voice that said she was 
  concerned about Mike’s well-being.
  “Oh.” Brian fidgeted with the fuse box under the pilot’s control panel.
  “Hey, this is new.” Lisa sat up straight and readjusted her headset.
  “What?”
  “Somebody is hailing us on UF-12. There’s a man asking for Lieutenant 
  Merrick by name.” Lisa got a puzzled look on her face.
  “Find out who he is.”
  “This is Coalition advance recon unit Edward 5. Who am I responding 
  to?” Lisa’s blue eyes narrowed when she received the reply.
  “What’s going on?”
  “He says his name is Sir Renfield and he’s requesting permission to ap-
  proach our camp and speak to Lieutenant Merrick or the current commander. 
  How did he know Lieutenant Merrick was here?”
  “No way!” Brian spoke in disbelief. “That’s the Cyber-Knight from 
  Youngstown! You remember, the one that convinced the lieutenant to use 
  my idea about the ore transport.”
  “I remember you didn’t like him very much.”
  “I didn’t trust him, there’s a difference. He had those magic users with 
  him. How do I talk to him?” Brian started pushing buttons on Lisa’s console. 
  She slapped his hands away and activated the compartment audio system.
  “Sir Renfield, this is Lieutenant Adams. We met at Youngstown. What do 
  you need?”
  “How are you Lieutenant Adams? It’s nice to hear from you. Are you the 
  commander of your expedition?” The strong voice sounded sincere.
  “No, but I can relay your request to the chain of command if you tell me 
  what this is about.” Brian was already pushing the rules, better not push any 
  farther.
  “I’ll cut to the chase then. A village west of you is being terrorized by the 
  Federation of Magic. I have with me an individual who is requesting Coali-
  tion intervention to free her and her village. Her name is May and she is hu-
  man, as are most of her neighbors,” Sir Renfield added.
  
  68
  “Stay on this frequency, I’ll contact my C.O. and relay your message. 
  Lieutenant Adams out.”
  “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
  “Gotta fly. Keep monitoring and keep me updated on Charlie pre-set plus 
  4,” Brian ordered and started back out the hatch.
  “Yes sir!” Lisa emphasized the sir and saluted.
  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Brian gave her a puzzled look.
  “For a second there you actually sounded like an officer,” she smiled.
  “What do you know, I actually did,” Brian grinned. “How did that hap-
  pen?” He left the Skull Walker much happier than when he entered.
  ____________________
  Captain Pritchett’s hand slammed itself flat against the surface of the 
  small meeting table. May jerked slightly, startled by the commander’s sud-
  den action. The bright lamp above their heads illuminated the meeting in a 
  harsh contrast of light and dark. Coalition officers stood watching the meet-
  ing between the captain and the peasant, wondering why the Cyber-Knight 
  behind the fair-haired woman thought the Coalition would seriously consider 
  taking action this far from C.S. territory. Pritchett brushed away the dead 
  insect beneath his hand and glanced up at the mercury lamp with annoyance.
  “Damned bugs can’t tell the difference between a light and the moon.”
  “Please, sir,” May continued. “I know my village isn’t near Coalition 
  lands and we don’t have resources to offer in return, but we are suffering 
  at the hands of your enemies, the Federation of Magic. If you could just kill 
  one man and destroy his following, it would save so many lives.” She leaned 
  forward and reached for the captain’s hand. Pritchett casually withdrew his 
  hand and engaged in the habit of cracking his knuckles, though his bionic 
  hands hardly responded as his flesh and bone once did. The red gash on her 
  cheek was no doubt from ill treatment at the hands of some murderous fiend, 
  he thought, and it really was too bad he couldn’t risk his men and equipment 
  to help her. The village was just too far away from the Coalition and not close 
  enough to Liberty to be of strategic value. It was a horrid shame that humans 
  were suffering, but he wasn’t prepared to take on the Federation of Magic. 
  It was just too risky. At last he placed both hands on the table and gave his 
  final answer.
  “May, I’m sincerely sorry that your village has fallen victim to the inhu-
  man treatment of the Federation. Were it closer to Coalition borders I can as-
  sure you that that kind of treatment would never be tolerated. Unfortunately, 
  it would only be worse for you if we were to aid you. Even if we managed 
  to destroy this evil Credo fellow and his demons, there would be others from 
  the Federation that would come and kill all of you once we were gone. We 
  wouldn’t be helping you by aiding you right now, we could be condemning 
  your village to a fate worse than you already have. I hope you understand; we 
  
  69
  can’t risk our lives in your dispute with the Federation of Magic, and thereby 
  ensure your death and ours. Life is too precious for that. I’m sorry.” Captain 
  Pritchett shook his head sincerely.
  “What if we’re willing to take our chances? It can’t get much worse for 
  us,” May protested.
  “I’m sorry, but Coalition aid would only escalate an already treacherous 
  situation. Perhaps, in a few weeks, we could hire a mercenary company to 
  defend you or sell your people arms. Perhaps you could convince this noble 
  Cyber-Knight to raise an army on your behalf?” Pritchett waved his hand at 
  Sir Renfield.
  “I have already pledged my support.”
  “See there, all is not lost.” Pritchett smiled wide and pushed his folding 
  chair back to stand. “I hope things turn out well for you.”
  “You’re not going to help her village?” Sir Renfield asked pointedly.
  “I would think a Cyber-Knight would understand,” Pritchett shot back. 
  “I thought you were supposed to protect the innocent, not endanger them.”
  Sir Renfield let his scathing response pass unsaid. It would only make a 
  tense situation worse.
  “Come, May, you’ve done what you could and it’s a long way back to 
  your home.”
  Fighting back tears of disappointment, May rose and held her head high. 
  The looks she received from many Coalition personnel told her not all agreed 
  with their commander’s judgement, but there wasn’t any indication they were 
  willing to defy him. They all knew the Cyber-Knight’s pledge was genuine, 
  but one Knight and a handful of warriors couldn’t stand up to a Lord of the 
  Federation.
  Riding on her horse beside Sir Renfield’s Samson power armor, May fi-
  nally broke down and cried.
  ____________________
  Delwin’s wooden flute provided a musical background for those prepar-
  ing for war. Targo heaved on his giant ammo and power backpack, repeat-
  edly checking the laser targeting on his rail gun against the HUD protruding 
  from the side of his helmet. Sir Renfield and Mr. Kent went over last-minute 
  checks of their weapon arsenal laid out on a thick cloth. The discordant music 
  seemed to aggravate the level of pre-battle excitement.
  “Delwin, please stop doing that!” Renfield demanded through clenched 
  teeth.
  “Always with the negative waves.” Delwin stopped to shake his head 
  sadly. “Always with the-”
  “Please, anything but the positive-negative wave stuff. Please!” Sir Ren-
  field pleaded.
  The sharp overtones resumed.
  
  70
  Stepping from the Mountaineer in full battle regalia, Cyndiara was a sight 
  to behold. Curls of bright red hair fell down the back of her polished plate 
  and chain-style armor. Under her arm she carried a well-armored helm. From 
  her shoulder she unslung a menacing projectile rifle and placed it next to the 
  other weapons for final inspection.
  “So, what did he say?” Mr. Kent grunted without looking up from his ion 
  rifle.
  “Van said, and I quote, ‘If they want to die, they can do it just fine without 
  me.’” Cyndiara spoke haughtily.
  “Van not help?” Targo asked incredulously.
  “Van think we die!” Delwin screamed, barely startling the group. “Van 
  think we die! Die, die, die! Ahhh! Help! Aunti Em, Aunti Em, Van think we 
  die!” he shouted from a tree limb. Nobody paid the bizarre outbursts much at-
  tention anymore. After weeks in his company, very little he said or did came 
  as a shock anymore.
  “I think I’m going to have a little discussion with Van.” Sir Renfield set 
  his jaw and straightened his broad shoulders. A small hand fell on his arm.
  Anja looked up at him with a pleading look. “Maybe I should talk to him.”
  “No, he’d only say something rude just to hurt you. This is a task for me.” 
  He gently removed her hand and determinedly walked into the ATV to ver-
  bally rip Van apart. The Techno-Wizard sat engrossed in some new modifica-
  tion to a Coalition C-14 rifle.
  “What’s this I hear about you staying behind?” Sir Renfield asked bluntly.
  Van never looked up. “Sounds like you have a pretty good grasp of the 
  situation.”
  “You’re willing to stand by and do nothing while innocent people suffer?”
  “Willingness has nothing to do with it. Suffering happens.” Van’s head 
  snapped up and anger burned in his dark eyes. “As a matter of fact, I’ve seen 
  more suffering than you may ever witness. It wasn’t willingness that made 
  me walk away. It was the simple fact that nothing I could do was going to 
  make one bit of difference in the end. If I quested for every hopeless cause 
  I could find I would be dead, the cause would still be hopeless, and people 
  would still suffer.”
  “Sometimes you have to try anyway.”
  “Jeez, David, do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?” 
  Van’s posture softened. “You’re outnumbered better than 5 to one by crea-
  tures that could kill you all by themselves, there’s an army of dead things 
  waiting for the command to rip you limb from limb, and not to mention a 
  Federation Lord who could take all of us combined on his worst day without 
  breaking a sweat!”
  “I’m not afraid, are you?” Sir Renfield shot back.
  “Yeah! Even if by some freak chance you win, all you’ve done is just 
  tick off the bloodthirsty maniacs in the Federation. I know you were spoiled 
  
  71
  because you didn’t see Youngstown under the yoke of a Federation Lord, 
  but they’re not exactly known for ruling with candy and gold sticky stars. 
  Does pissing off not only one, but a diabolic cabal of manic mages sound like 
  something smart to you!?”
  “It doesn’t matter because some things have to be done regardless of the 
  consequences. If everyone had your attitude where would this world be? 
  Overrun by evil and darkness. You can’t just hope somebody else will do the 
  right thing. Somebody has to make a stand, but I can see you’re too interested 
  in yourself to care about others.” David snapped and headed for the hatch.
  “Don’t do this, David. I’ve seen far worse than what this one Federation 
  Lord is capable of. If I really hated you, I’d tell you to go ahead with this at-
  tack. I’m trying to tell you you’re in over your head and you’re all going to 
  die if you try to take down Credo.”
  “Good-bye, Van.” Renfield stepped outside and shut the hatch behind 
  him. He wondered if the crowd gathered outside could see how flushed his 
  face was.
  “Told you.” Cyndiara walked away and sat next to the campfire.
  “Let me talk to him.” Anja pressed past.
  “He’s just going to make you cry,” David tried to stop her.
  “Not this time.” She gave the knight a smile and pried open the heavy 
  door. Climbing into an open seat beside Van she intently watched the prog-
  ress of his modifications.
  “Now it’s your turn to try and talk me into committing suicide with the 
  rest of you?” Van slid a metal casing into place over the grenade tube.
  “No,” she responded sweetly. “What’s this thing do?” She pointed to the 
  altered weapon.
  “It’s supposed to teleport a grenade to its target directly, that means I can 
  shoot something without actually having to be watching it or be in direct line 
  of sight.”
  “Oh.”
  She observed him place a thick coil of wire over the opening where the 
  grenade was supposed to come out. His long-sleeved shirt caught on the edge 
  of the trigger guard and pulled away from his wrist, revealing the edge of a 
  brightly colored tattoo she’d never noticed before. Van pulled the sleeve up 
  self-consciously.
  “Did you need something?” He asked.
  “Not really. I just wanted to say good-bye, after all I might never see you 
  again.” She looked into his eyes with a sad expression.
  “Well, you don’t have to go either, you know.” Van locked eyes for a long 
  moment before turning back to his work.
  “Yes, I do, but there’s nothing in it for you, so I understand why you don’t 
  want to come.” She took his hand and gripped it gently. A flash of heat passed 
  between them. Van felt himself losing willpower and couldn’t help noticing 
  
  72
  Anja’s flushed cheeks when she pulled her hand away. Deep in the recesses 
  of Van’s mind a little voice called him a sucker, but he knew the battle had 
  just been lost.
  “When are you leaving?” he asked, pretending to return his attention to the 
  weapon modifications once again.
  “Tonight sometime. Mr. Kent says we should finish it tonight before the 
  full moon.”
  “I have lots of work left, but I suppose I could fly out there on the cycle to 
  check on you a little later on.”
  “That would be very thoughtful, you wouldn’t have to stay if you didn’t 
  want to.” She smiled happily.
  Van cursed himself for allowing her to manipulate him.
  “It won’t take me long to catch up on the Sky Cycle. Go ahead without 
  me.”
  “Okay! Thank you so much, Van, I knew we could count on you.”
  “Yeah, sure,” he replied, somewhat confused as to why he’d agreed so 
  easily. It was a lost cause, yet, one way or another he was going to wind up 
  in another battle against all odds. It sure would have been nice to know why.
  ____________________
  Rumblings of discontent could be felt everywhere Greg Merrick went in 
  the Coalition camp. Having been left in charge while Captain Pritchett led a 
  night reconnaissance of some ruins about 15 miles away, Greg had the task 
  of maintaining order. As much as he’d protested the commander’s night ex-
  cursion, Greg was relieved to have the Captain and his cronies out of his hair 
  for a few hours.
  Half a dozen soldiers playing cards suddenly grew silent at his presence, 
  but it was the group of his own men near Skull 41 that had Greg’s attention. 
  Darren’s ‘conniving’ tone carried over Cowboy’s ‘let’s kick some tail’ sup-
  port. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out they were up to something. 
  All eyes turned away and guilty looks replaced enthusiastic ones when Greg 
  made his approach.
  “Oh, hi Lieutenant.” Cowboy shifted the weight of his plasma cannon 
  from shoulder to shoulder nervously.
  “Hi, Lieutenant.” Darren acted as though he knew the officer was there all 
  along. “Me and Dave are gonna patrol the perimeter, just to make sure none 
  of them D-Bees out there sneak up on the camp tonight.”
  “Like hell you are.” Greg crossed his arms.
  “Sir?”
  “Don’t ‘Sir’ me, Darren. I’m not an idiot.”
  “Okay, so we might accidentally come across some demons being con-
  trolled by this magic user. These things happen all the time, ya know.”
  
  73
  “Uh huh,” Greg responded with a sarcastic nod. “And I suppose the rest of 
  you were planning to go on patrol, too?”
  “Well, ya know, sir, we do need some practice in... uh, night maneuvers,” 
  Cowboy offered.
  “I was going to make sure they received some proper anti-magic drills,” 
  the deep booming voice of Sergeant Winters came from the rover parked to 
  Greg’s left. Greg squinted, trying to make out the sergeant major in the dark.
  “You’re in on this too, Jerry? I can’t believe this.”
  “The men could use some practice. They’re gettin’ lazy.” Jerry Winters 
  came closer, followed by the CR-1 rocket team and more troops.
  “I see. Practice maneuvers, huh?” Greg sounded skeptical.
  “Yes sir!” Darren spoke up. “The sergeant major thinks we’re all gettin’ 
  rusty and there’s only one way to fix that.”
  “Practice, sir.” Brian stepped from behind Darren.
  “You too? Is there anybody here who doesn’t want to get court-martialed?”
  “Technically, sir, Captain Pritchett never ordered us not to engage in co-
  vert night operations,” Lisa added.
  “And if those operations, sorry, ‘practice operations’ were to discover a 
  legitimate threat then we’d have no choice but to take the necessary actions 
  to eliminate it,” Brian continued.
  “Alright, everybody just shut up for a second.” Greg looked at each face 
  of the soldiers under his command. “This would have to be on a volunteer 
  basis only.”
  “We’re all willing, sir,” Lisa spoke for the group.
  “Yeah, any chance to kick some evil magic-user tail, ‘specially if they’re 
  messin’ with humans.”
  “There’s only one way I can approve this, ‘practice maneuver.’ I’m in 
  command of it.”
  “Sir?”
  “Come on guys, this is the only way this thing’s going to work.”
  “We better get movin’ then,” Sergeant Winters chimed in.
  “Load heavy, we may be forced into a siege situation, simulated, of 
  course,” Greg ordered and the unit scattered to comply.
  “I didn’t think you’d do it, dude.” Darren slapped Greg’s arm.
  “That’s sir, Darren.”
  “Well make up your mind!” Darren grinned and ran for his SAMAS.
  “Lieutenant Merrick?” A female voice came from behind.
  “Yes?” He turned to see Corporal Lexington accompanied by over a doz-
  en members of Pritchett’s unit.
  “Are you planning on going to the aid of that village?”
  “Of course not, Corporal, just some simple practice maneuvers. If we 
  should happen to encounter hostile forces while on these maneuvers, then 
  naturally we would defend ourselves.”
  
  74
  “We want to come, sir.”
  Greg’s knee-jerk reaction was to say no, but the determination in Corrine 
  Lexington’s voice convinced him of her sincerity. Without intending to stare, 
  Greg noticed the thin, jagged white scars running across the corporal’s other-
  wise very attractive face. He understood her conviction.
  “You pilot Enforcer 790, correct?”
  “Yes, sir. This is my co-pilot, Private Jameson. We’ll be bringing the 
  UAR-1 with us.”
  “Your captain might not approve.”
  “Some of us don’t always agree with the captain, sir,” she spoke solemn-
  ly, followed by nods from others adding support. Their unity wavered when 
  Pritchett’s first lieutenant made his way to the front.
  “What are you doing, Lieutenant Merrick?” the buzz-cut officer demand-
  ed.
  “Night practice maneuvers.”
  “I’m sure you are ...”
  “Do you have a problem with that? If so, we can find a nice quiet place to 
  discuss it,” Greg threatened.
  “I’ll inform Captain Pritchett, you know.”
  “That’s up to you, I’m leaving the camp in your charge while I’m gone.”
  “My charge?” Lieutenant Goldstein responded, amazed at being offered 
  the responsibility.
  “Why not? Just because the captain doesn’t trust your abilities doesn’t 
  mean I don’t. I’m sure you’re up to the task,” Greg lied.
  “That’s not the problem, the problem is you’re disobeying Captain Pritch-
  ett’s orders!”
  “No, I’m not. The captain never said I couldn’t conduct practice maneu-
  vers.”
  “Hey, it’s your backside, not mine. I’m going to make a note in the records 
  that I strongly object to your actions.”
  “Fine, you do what you have to do.”
  “If you will excuse me, I have a radio call to make.” The squat officer 
  made a beeline for the Abolisher. Greg quickly radioed his Skull Walker.
  “Merrick to Skull 41.”
  “Uh, yes sir?” Lisa responded.
  “Put the robots through full diagnostics right now. It would be a shame if 
  all long-range frequencies were jammed for anyone that might be wanting to 
  use them behind our backs.”
  “Yes sir, conducting a test right now.” Lisa caught the drift, observing 
  Lieutenant Goldstein on the main screen.
  “And send a message on UF-12 to Sir Renfield and company. Tell them to 
  hold off their attack until we get there.”
  
  75
  Chapter 6
  You ever kicked a demon’s nest before?
  Five more invisible targeting dots joined the fourteen already painting the 
  Brodkil demon’s chest. The demon munched on a leg of lamb, oblivious to 
  the danger.
  “Squad 4 in position,” Cowboy’s voice played over the Skull Walker’s 
  comm set.
  “Stand by, Squad 4,” Lisa advised. “How’s it look, Sharp?”
  “Sharp here. All clear so far. It doesn’t know we’re here,” the sniper ob-
  served from a treetop a kilometer away. Visible from his position were four 
  small fire squads hidden just outside the corner of the village. Standing by 
  itself, guarding the main entrance through the flimsy barricade, was the nine-
  foot-tall demon.
  “Hold back on the heavy firepower unless the demon survives the first at-
  tack. On my command.” Greg aimed his C-40 rail gun at the Brodkil’s head 
  but didn’t shoot. “Fire.”
  Fifteen laser beams converged on the Brodkil’s upper body. Half of the 
  demon’s body disappeared instantly, and what remained fell in a smoldering 
  mass of body parts.
  “One demon down,” Greg reported. “Winters, move to position B. Skull 
  41 and Enforcer 790 advance south and secure your positions. SAMs follow 
  pre-designated flight plans.” Greg coordinated the next stage of the attack. 
  With the sentry down, his unit could maneuver more freely, quickly secure 
  the village, and prepare for the counterattack.
  “Merrick to Renfield,” Greg switched to the universal frequency to con-
  verse with the leader of his unconventional allies.
  “This is Renfield.”
  “Sentry down, clean and clear. Better tell that woman to have the inhabit-
  ants find whatever cover they can, preferably below ground level.”
  “Word is already being spread, but I’m glad you thought of it.”
  “Remember, your task is to ensure the safety of the villagers, we’ll do 
  most of the heavy fighting. You’re holding back in case something gets past 
  us and so we reduce friendly fire problems.”
  “Understood. We’ll stand by to assist you if you require help containing 
  the counter-attack.”
  “Roger that. Merrick out.”
  “Renfield standing by.”
  Moving on foot to avoid creating additional noise, Greg took his SA-
  MAS into the open and awaited the call from his spotters that would soak the 
  ground with demons’ blood.
  
  76
  Towering above the squat log cabins, the Skull Walker and Enforcer made 
  their way as quietly as multi-ton robots could go. They weren’t going to sneak 
  up on anything short of a drugged, hibernating buffalo and the chances of that 
  were slim even for that scenario. Any sentries or guards left in the confines of 
  the village would know soon enough there were dangerous intruders present. 
  That was exactly what Greg had counted on.
  “Heads up. Two Brodkil three o’clock,” Lisa warned of the two nine-foot 
  heat signatures moving to intercept.
  “Where? I don’t see them.” Corrinne searched the open spaces with the 
  Enforcer’s sensor turret and found nothing.
  “Cut your I.R. and switch to thermo. Brodkil can fool your optics some-
  times. Look out, two more at your 11.”
  “I see them now.”
  “Skull 41 to Merrick. We flushed them. We are under attack by four Brod-
  kil, correction, five Brodkil. Request assistance.”
  “We’re on the way Skull 41. Merrick out.”
  “Take the three at 11 o’clock, we’ll get the other two,” Lisa instructed as 
  the skull-like body rotated to bring the rail cannons in line with the running 
  demons.
  “Affirmative.”
  “Stay on it.” Dave fingered the trigger and watched one running heat form 
  get knocked off its feet by twin bursts from the Skull Walker’s rail canons. 
  The second one ducked low and sprinted beneath the cannon’s arc of fire just 
  as both ripped a twenty-foot-long furrow in the dirty street.
  “Bye bye.” Lisa’s HUD lit up and the laser turret below the skull’s chin 
  swiveled around to blast the demon beneath the robot.
  Startled at being hit at such close range, the demon lashed out angrily but 
  only caught air. Twin laser blasts burned craters next to the first pair in its 
  chest.
  “Other one’s up. Hold on,” Dave advised, brushing aside a house with 
  the spider-like legs. Too close for both guns to hit it at the same time, Dave 
  centered one rail cannon on the injured demon and cut it in two with a stream 
  of metal slugs. Hearing the sound of claws on metal he set about trampling 
  the other demon.
  Enforcer 790 charged forward into an open area and brought its shoulder-
  mounted rail cannon down at the trio of demons. Metal left the barrel to carve 
  its way across a demon’s face. Dropping its bulky rifle, the Brodkil covered 
  its bleeding face in agony.
  “Got ’im!” Private Jameson announced enthusiastically, promptly repeat-
  ing the treatment to the next demon before it could fire its forearm-mounted 
  ion blaster.
  “Just keep blasting them until they stop moving,” Corrinne instructed, 
  calmly clothes-lining the third demon as it ran at the Skull Walker. Reach-
  
  77
  ing down with the Enforcer’s giant hands, she grabbed it tightly around the 
  neck and between the legs. Lifting the squealing demon above the robot’s 
  head, the Enforcer brought it forcefully downward and crushed the Brodkil’s 
  pelvis and legs over the robot’s upcoming knee. Corrinne casually tossed the 
  screaming demon aside.
  “Damn! Missed it!” Jameson tried to compensate for her movements.
  “Get ready to fire,” Corrinne advised, grabbing the next one by the throat 
  and lifting its head in front of the rail gun’s barrel. “Fire.”
  Demon brains and demon skull splashed the black finish of the Enforcer’s 
  fist. Corrinne let the headless demon slip to the ground and finish its convul-
  sions.
  “The other one’s running away.”
  “No, it’s not,” she responded, calmly getting a running start before flatten-
  ing the wounded demon with a running kick. The earth shuddered under the 
  weight of the giant robot, stunning the demon so thoroughly it could hardly 
  keep the giant hands from grasping its head and torso. Corrinne twisted the 
  head around several times before tossing the lifeless body to the ground.
  “Behind you 790!” Darren’s warning came over the radio. More Brodkil 
  were joining the battle.
  Skull 41 had its demon pinned beneath its pair of forelegs and was laser 
  frying what was left when another Brodkil leaped up its side. The Enforcer 
  took on its new opponent with a vengeance, but Skull 41 had a more difficult 
  problem. Climbing atop the giant robot, the Brodkil began trying to pry open 
  the top hatch.
  “Not so fast, ugly.” Lisa switched to the top rear laser turret normally 
  used against aircraft and swung it around to face the demon a few feet away. 
  Thermo-optics were just clear enough to make out the look of surprise on the 
  demon’s face when twin laser beams blew most of its shoulder and arm off.
  “Chill on the blaster, babe, I got your rider,” Darren happily radioed and 
  kicked the Demon’s side as he went by at 70 mph. “Down boy!”
  More house timbers splintered beneath spider legs as Dave backed away 
  from the freshly ground demon. It must have known what was coming next. 
  Eighty slugs tore the earth where it had been a moment before.
  From the sides rail guns spit steel, throwing the demon to the ground with 
  the impact. Greg advanced quickly, slamming it back down with a second set 
  of bursts from fifteen feet away.
  “Now Brian!” Greg shouted.
  Brian rushed the demon and rammed the point of his rail gun into the 
  monster’s hide, but more importantly, a barbed dart with it.
  “Hold your fire!” Greg shouted over the radio, waiting to see if the Brod-
  kil’s better judgment took over. Wounded and severely overmatched, it 
  backed away slowly, then ran squealing even as the last blood of its comrades 
  reached the ground.
  
  78
  “Hold your fire, 790.”
  “It’s going to get away!” Corrinne protested.
  “Exactly what I want it to do. It’s wearing a radio transmitter that’s going 
  to show us exactly where the Federation Lord is hiding. Trenton, your lead is 
  on the move,” Greg signaled his full conversion cyborg waiting at the edge 
  of the village.
  “Acknowledged, sir. I’m tracking it now.” Trenton’s finely tuned sensor 
  systems located the retreating demon. Keeping his distance, the heavily ar-
  mored man and machine gave pursuit.
  “Dang, Corrinne,” Darren commented at the bodies around the Enforcer. 
  “I take back all those mean things I said about you coming along. Please, ac-
  cept my apologies!”
  “Forget it. Buy me dinner when we get to Liberty and we’ll call it even.”
  “Deal.”
  “All units, continue on to your designated positions. The Wild Cards can 
  take care of any problems inside the village perimeter. Merrick to Winters, 
  you dug in?”
  “No! What the hell did ya expect from me, a miracle?”
  “Better get off your butt and get dirty, too, things might be happening 
  faster than we expected.”
  “We’ll be ready for those D-Bees, you can count on it.”
  “That what I like to hear, Jerry, because with any luck, we’ll be steering 
  them right into your lap.”
  ____________________
  Through layers of foliage, Trenton watched the marching forces with in-
  creasing apprehension. Rank after rank of skeletal warriors lined up behind 
  demons and other monstrosities. Although it appeared most of the heavy hit-
  ters had already been destroyed, two apprentice wizards and the remaining 
  forces would be enough to test his unit’s mettle. Trenton observed the prepa-
  rations, waiting for the dreaded Federation Lord to make his appearance.
  Lacking a heart to pump adrenaline through his nonexistent veins, Tren-
  ton’s nervousness gradually became agitation. More machine than man, he 
  couldn’t release the tension in a way normally suited for a flesh and blood 
  man. Agitation progressed to aggression, forcing Trenton to fight the urge 
  to jump into combat without backup. The call had been made, his unit made 
  aware of the exact number and composition of the enemy. Once the forces 
  left for the counterattack, the moment of release would come, and who or 
  whatever remained at the Lord’s compound would have to face the fury of a 
  Full-Conversion Cyborg unchained.
  ____________________
  
  79
  Credo silenced the ravings of his wounded Brodkil underling that had es-
  caped the attack on the village. Premonitions of the future had foreseen a 
  great danger to everything he’d established, but Coalition interference wasn’t 
  part of the premonition and was the last thing Credo expected. The presence 
  of ground-based robot vehicles so close to his home could only mean they 
  were part of a larger force bent on hitting the Federation of Magic from an 
  angle they weren’t expecting. No commander in his right mind would launch 
  an attack against a Federation Lord with less than half a dozen robots, and 
  definitely not one who was so unsupported on the eastern border of Federa-
  tion territory.
  Without a doubt, the village had summoned their help, and Credo had 
  a pretty good notion of who in particular was going to suffer the worst for 
  the error in judgement. He’d make sure the rest of the village felt the con-
  sequences of this rebellion. First, however, he would rid himself of the im-
  mediate threat.
  Travelling with his territory’s internal “peacekeeping” forces, usually a 
  relatively light army that was more of an honor guard and brute squad than 
  his heavy hitting force that was used to guard his borders, Credo got the col-
  umn turned toward the village and had double-timed it to defend what was 
  rightfully his. An hour later, they reached the village.
  Distinctive outlines of tall robot vehicles could be seen against the night 
  sky above the squalid log cabins of the village. There was no question of the 
  Coalition’s trespass on his domain. Credo snarled orders to his demon allies 
  and loyal apprentices, not his top generals and most trusted advisors, but a 
  group of new apprentices he was bringing up and the demons he currently 
  had under his control.
  A frontal assault on the pair of robots guarding the north entrance would 
  be futile. However, engaging the armored exoskeletons at the east and south 
  would most likely bring the others quickly to their aid. A battle in the open 
  would rip his forces to shreds. It seemed an obvious trap to sneak in from the 
  dense forest to the west, too obvious in fact. Did the Coalition commander 
  just assume he was an idiot? From the forest line outside the village barri-
  cade, Credo contemplated a strategy for his small army.
  Returning from its scouting mission, Trix leaped to Credo’s shoulder and 
  chattered noisily in the mage’s ear.
  “Speak slower, Trix, you stutter when you get excited.”
  The wildly animated oration slowed its rapid pace.
  “A third exoskeleton and four troops lay in ambush, you say?”
  The tiny demon’s head bobbed up and down furiously.
  “My opponent has spread his forces too thin and is not prepared to deal 
  with me. It would have been nice to have had time for better plans, but fortu-
  nately, the battle can be fought here and not closer to home. One by one, these 
  intruders will fall too weak apart and too late to stand united.”
  
  80
  Credo turned in the saddle to give specific orders to his minions.
  “Bashir, you will proceed immediately to the northern entrance and way-
  lay any Coalition forces there. Kill them quickly,” Credo instructed a large, 
  black demon who looked back with a mocking grin. Specific instructions 
  were laid out to the Jinn demon. From Credo’s experience, the powerful de-
  mons had a way of twisting their mortal masters’ words into something unin-
  tended. Bashir left in an apparent pleasant mood, the orders of his master not 
  too far from his own personal desires.
  “Yazaell, move carefully to the west and attack the village. Wait until 
  Bashir has the Coalition forces occupied, then make your advance quickly 
  into the village itself.”
  “Yes, my Lord,” the Demon Locust growled spitefully, humming its 
  wings in disrespect. Such disgrace for a greater demon was almost unbear-
  able, but Credo’s magic held it to unwilling servitude.
  “Move through the village leaving nothing but dead in your wake, choos-
  ing from the fallen to supplement your forces as needed. This will serve to 
  divide our enemy’s force even more and teach these loathsome peasants their 
  place. Now go.”
  Yazaell thrummed his wings louder but followed orders. Animated corps-
  es left in ranks to follow their puppet master’s demands.
  “Carreb, my apprentice, you will take all but a fraction of my force and 
  carefully approach that silly little ambush. When you are close enough you 
  will spring the trap on them and overwhelm their meager defenses. Trix and 
  five zombies will signal your attack by a distraction created in the village not 
  far behind their western front.”
  “May Anubis aid and protect you, my Lord,” Carreb wheezed through the 
  amphibious flaps of his frog-like face.
  “Our god will be pleased with the glory we bring him this day. Death will 
  pave the way to salvation.”
  ____________________
  “Oww! God, git yer elbow out of my faceplate!” Cowboy whispered 
  harshly.
  “Move your head!” Bill practically yelled back.
  “For the last time, shut up down there!” Sergeant Winters’ metal-shod foot 
  came down on somebody’s head. Walking the length of the covered trench, 
  Jerry Winters did his best to keep the ambush from becoming public knowl-
  edge. Three other soldiers hid in poorly assembled clumps of shrubbery 
  scanning pre-made firing lanes with passive nightvision scopes. Periodically 
  sticking an exoskeleton appendage up in the air for all to see, Brian added a 
  touch of ineptitude to what appeared to be an idiot’s ambush. Buried in loose 
  branches, Private Peterson watched from a rooftop for trouble on the move.
  
  81
  “Holy moly, Sergeant Major, I must be seein’ thirty of ‘em tryin’ ta sneak 
  up on us,” Joel Peterson whispered into his helmet radio.
  “That’s it? Those guys better have sent more than that or I’m gonna be 
  really disappointed.”
  “Uh, I wouldn’t worry, Sarge, there’s like three times as many on thermo 
  than I got with starlight.”
  “That’s more like it.”
  Screams from the village began rising up in a chorus.
  “Stay down ‘till I give the word,” Winters growled. “How close, Peter-
  son?”
  “Twenty meters.”
  “Sarge, I can see ’em too!” A soldier in the bushes shifted position.
  “Hold yer fire ’till I say so.” Winters casually shifted his C-27 to one hand 
  and slipped a disposable rocket flare into his free hand. He hated being the 
  bait.
  “The north end is under attack,” Peterson relayed from the roof.
  “I don’t care. Where are they now?”
  “Fifteen meters, movin’ faster now.”
  “Steady, nobody shoot ’till I say.”
  Wild, inhuman war cries erupted from the thick woods as demons, mon-
  sters, and zombies charged the enemy. Winters raised his right hand and fired 
  a brilliant magnesium flare high into the night sky.
  “Now! Fire!”
  Dirt covered branches burst upward as Coalition troops popped out of 
  their covered foxholes. Illuminated by the descending flare were hordes of 
  demonic fiends craving human flesh. A war cry of equal fury arose from both 
  battle-hardened veteran and green recruit alike. The floodgates of firepower 
  opened wide and devastating waves swept over the advancing army like a 
  river undammed. First and second advancing lines were vaporized in an in-
  stant, giving the third and fourth a second or two longer to live. Those that 
  didn’t drop to the ground were vaporized in clouds of ash and steam, allow-
  ing more energy beams to slice through to the coming demons.
  “Peterson, now!” Winters yelled.
  Peterson hit the remote detonator and the forest floor seemed to leap up-
  ward, anti-personnel mines blasting cowering demons to oblivion. In the 
  span of 30 seconds, Carreb’s glorious forces were reduced to wafting mist 
  and powdered charcoal.
  “Watch your left flank!” Peterson shouted.
  Two wolf-headed demons had sidestepped the barrage and now howled 
  their attack, battle axes raised high.
  “Whooopie!” A flash of psychedelic color flew by one of the demons and 
  relieved the Wolfen of its ax. Twenty or so weapons burned down the weap-
  onless creature before it even knew Delwin had disarmed it.
  
  82
  Landing directly in front of the other twelve-foot demon, Delwin fended it 
  off with his new ax, nearly the size of his own body.
  “Halt! Who goes there!? What’s the password!?” the Crazy shouted.
  “Roaharrh!”
  “That’s not it!” Delwin shouted, whacking the creature in the armored 
  chest plate. “Try again!”
  “Hey! You! Hippy! Get out of the way!” Brian shouted.
  “Get that crazy sunnava gun outta the way!” Winters screamed, trying to 
  avoid torching the crazy man with his plasma cannon.
  With a mighty wind up, the Alu demon sent Delwin’s ax spinning into the 
  side of a building.
  “Your powers grow weak, the old one,” Delwin spoke in a low, deep 
  voice. “If you kill me now, I’ll become stronger than you can even imagine.”
  Whipping out a foot-long glowstick, Delwin rapidly waved the “blade” 
  back and forth, all the while making stupid “whawing” sound effects. Baf-
  fled, the demon stepped back.
  More strange sounds and menacing thrusts pushed the demon another step 
  back.
  “Hey MORON! Get outta the way!”
  At last the demon risked the damage from whatever the crazy man could 
  do to it and swung the ax to cleave the human in two. Nimbly sidestepping 
  the blade, Delwin pranced up the ax shaft to stand face to face with the Alu 
  demon.
  “No more beer for you! I’m gonna give you the noogie from hell!” Delwin 
  furiously made good his threat, putting the demon in a headlock and giving 
  it a noogie as it had never experienced before in its life. Rage overtook the 
  beast like wildfire and Delwin was forced to back-flip to the ground to avoid 
  becoming a demon snack. In a flash, Delwin’s Vibro-Saber was ripped from 
  its sheath and brought to the ready.
  “Hey, man.” Delwin bent down to inspect the demon’s clawed foot. “I 
  hope you remembered to tip your pedicurist.”
  Without another word, Delwin swiftly chopped off the demon’s big toe.
  The demon backhanded Delwin into a clump of fallen trees.
  “Fire!”
  Burning bits of armor and hairy flesh exploded in all directions.
  “About time!” Winters stood and slotted a new energy canister in his 
  smoking weapon.
  Deafening thunder accompanied a blinding flash as lightning struck a 
  soldier in the head. The charge flowed down through the armor and into 
  the ground but knocked down the stunned occupant nonetheless. Walking 
  through the smoking remains of his command came a tall, frog-headed mage 
  in mismatched armor and discolored robes. Barely audible words left its 
  mouth flaps as Carreb wheezed another spell.
  
  83
  “Kill it,” Winters ordered.
  Laser and plasma weapons fired with repeated accuracy at the shuffling 
  figure to no effect. Plasma dissipated harmlessly and laser beams simply dis-
  appeared with no effect.
  “Magic user!” Cowboy, along with half a dozen others tore their TX-5 
  pistols from chest holsters and let the air ring with the cracking sound of their 
  projectile weapons. Legs, arms, and other body parts flew away from the tight 
  cluster of explosions.
  Cowboy pumped the slide, a spent casing hitting the ground still smoking. 
  “Hot damn! These foreign weapons actually worked!”
  “Guess it always goes to prove one thing...” Bill went up for a high-five.
  “Only good D-Bee’s a dead D-Bee!” the chorus followed.
  ____________________
  Bones shattered and dislocated limbs flew in every direction in Targo’s 
  path. Seeing the animated dead murdering the villagers they pulled from their 
  homes made something snap inside the giant. Wading through mobs of stink-
  ing corpses, Targo lashed out with violence frightening to behold.
  Zombies lashed out with clubs and swords only to be flung aside like rag 
  dolls. Animated dead were smashed by giant fists and kicked aside without a 
  second thought. Trailing behind Targo’s swath Sir Renfield tried to bring the 
  giant’s seldom seen temper under control while others fended off waves of 
  undead that had escaped Targo’s wake.
  Flames erupted with searing intensity and formed a blazing wall before 
  Cyndiara. Eyes glowing like white-hot embers, Cyndiara’s body burst into 
  flame, burning the decaying hands off would-be attackers. Slowly she stalked 
  blackened earth, moving the wall of fire before her like a shield. Nothing in 
  its path survived more than an instant, the flame consuming all and leaving 
  nothing but barren ground behind it. Those spared the inferno quickly found 
  themselves in the giant’s tender grasp.
  Thrumming its wings hard to get above the scene of carnage kept Yazaell 
  out of harm’s way for the moment, the Demon Locust simply enjoying the 
  havoc he’d created. Now that most of his cannon fodder was gone, it was 
  time to get down to business and destroy the small group defending the vil-
  lagers, starting with the maniac giant.
  Lightning arced from the sky and fell on Targo with deafening report. 
  Electrical discharges sparked across his armor and connected with anything 
  grounded nearby, the brunt of the charge passing through Targo’s body on 
  its way to earth. Ripples of power spread away from the giant’s feet in hectic 
  tendrils, leaving charred fissures in the smoking ground. Targo looked sky-
  ward, slightly dazed from the incredible discharge of electricity. His rampage 
  ended.
  
  84
  The residual current ran across Targo’s thick armor plating and knocked 
  out the targeting display over his right eye. Targo lifted his rail gun and fired 
  repeatedly without the benefit of targeting systems. Slugs cut the sky to the 
  right and left of the flying demon, coming just close enough to make it con-
  tinually readjust its position. A second rail gun opened alongside the first, Sir 
  Renfield standing shoulder to shoulder with Targo in his infantry style power 
  armor suit. Slowly but surely the demon’s near-indestructible hide was pen-
  etrated by a continual bombardment of steel.
  Smashing the skull of an aimlessly wandering skeleton, Mr. Kent felt the 
  presence of a new danger. Whirling around he saw Anja blow a zombie to 
  bits with an explosive-tipped arrow, then look around herself with a similar 
  premonition. Both possessed a psionic trait that often warned of danger not 
  yet evident. Something other than the dwindling undead and flying Demon 
  Locust threatened their lives. Without warning, Anja selected a wire wrapped 
  arrow from her quiver and pulled it back with the crystal tip aimed at Mr. 
  Kent’s head. Just as the scout felt razor sharp claws begin tearing at the flex-
  ible neck armor, Anja loosed the Techno-Wizard modified arrow. Lightning 
  shot from her compound bow in the blink of an eye and removed a small, 
  eight-inch tall demon from Mr. Kent’s left shoulder.
  Trix screamed a high-pitched wail as he flew through the air from the 
  shock. The demon struck wooden beams and bounced to the ground. Con-
  fused and disoriented, it looked up to see two scouts and two Mystics rushing 
  toward it in a blurry haze. It bared rows of razor-sharp teeth to warn them off 
  before managing to leap aside to avoid being hit by anything they might be 
  shooting at it. Back and forth it leaped, first attacking a blurry image that re-
  ally wasn’t there, then another. Finally he understood that he was seeing false 
  images and he knew which woman with the bow was the real one.
  Leaping over ten feet, Trix aimed his barbed body for Anja’s open face. 
  Something smacked him in the face before he could land his strike. Trix slid 
  off the magic barrier surrounding her, one more thing to ruin his day.
  Anja tried one more time to snatch the nimble demon, frustration taking 
  hold instead as Trix scurried at an easier victim. Anja thought fast. Selecting 
  a spell from her small repertoire, she concentrated for a moment and recited 
  a mantra. Reaching one open hand toward the tiny demon she grabbed hold 
  with telekinetic tendrils. The startled demon scolded her with incoherent and 
  outraged chatter as it was lifted off the ground and flung helplessly from wall 
  to wall of the village cabins.
  A pillar of fire rose up beside Anja.
  “Put it in the flames,” Cyndiara instructed, her body still engulfed in fire. 
  Trix’s tiny body was whipped around to face the ten-foot psionic blaze. Ter-
  ror gripped the Lasae demon. Six hundred tiny fires reflected in every seg-
  ment of its compound eyes. Trix entered the inferno with a pitiful scream, 
  antennae and spines burning in seconds. Blood boiled and flesh turned to 
  
  85
  steam, practically exploding the demon’s exoskeleton with a distinct pop. 
  Cyndiara smiled with an equally distinct satisfaction.
  Another stroke of lightning brought Targo to his knees but the giant re-
  fused to go down. His muscles tightened involuntarily and with a rigid grip, 
  he once again raised the rail gun toward the greater demon. Sir Renfield re-
  newed his assault with vigor, the realization of exactly what he faced starting 
  to sink in. Very few mages could control a powerful demon, much less a 
  greater one. This Credo commanded many and the battle hadn’t yet reached 
  the Federation Lord.
  Out of the darkness a mini-missile aligned itself with the hovering demon. 
  Instants before impact, glowing lines shot from tiny holes in the rocket’s tip. 
  Magic cords enveloped the demon’s elongated body and humming wings 
  to make it prisoner of a magical net. The lines tightened, ending the flap of 
  wings and bringing Yazaell crashing to the ground.
  “Best keep your distance from it,” Van advised from his airborne Sky Cy-
  cle. In seconds the demon would be free of its bonds, but by then Van planned 
  to put it in a world of hurt. Arming five mini-missiles in each side-mounted 
  launcher, Van loosed a flaming volley of destruction. Yazaell screamed even 
  as the armor-piercing warheads bore down on it. Ten explosions sounded as 
  one, tearing the wings from Yazaell’s body, cutting deep into flesh and bone. 
  The ground shuddered beneath it as Yazaell’s gasps for air fell on deaf ears.
  Even Sir Renfield rushed forward with the others to blast the fallen de-
  mon while it was still stunned. Rules of fair play and honor set aside for the 
  moment, he fired burst after burst into the creature before it could recover 
  enough to kill any of them.
  After six bursts, Yazaell’s body cracked open and exploded as Sir Ren-
  field’s continued assault pierced its body. Anja put her hand on the Cyber-
  Knight’s arm to encourage him to stop.
  “Thank you Van!” Anja expressed her joyous appreciation.
  “All in a day’s work. Hold the fort until I get back, Darren’s got big trou-
  ble with a Jinn at the north end. Good luck!” Van waved back at the Mystic 
  and spun his Sky Cycle south.
  ____________________
  Falling stone caught the edge of Darren’s rear thrusters and nearly brought 
  him crashing down with it. A cabin splintered under the weight of a multi-ton 
  stone wall, allowing it to smash its occupants. Bashir laughed and magically 
  erected another wall in Darren’s flight path.
  “Demolition detail is so much fun!” the Jinn laughed.
  Standing fifteen feet taller than the upright log barricade, Bashir gnashed 
  rows of crooked teeth and rubbed gritty black hands together in anticipation 
  of the destruction he was looking forward to unleashing. Flying toward him 
  was another human war machine; just one more mechanism to convert to 
  
  86
  useless rubble. Bashir’s crazed eyes followed the Sky Cycle, waiting for it 
  to come within range of a powerful invocation. Technically, Credo had told 
  him not to delay, but then again it hadn’t been specified how much time 
  constituted a delay. Bashir enjoyed circumventing Credo’s wishes almost as 
  much as the combat.
  Van throttled down and dove his Sky Cycle. When the forward targeting 
  display had the demon’s head centered, he triggered the second of four spe-
  cially modified mini-missiles attached to the sides of the cycle. A split second 
  later, glowing tendrils shot around the demon’s head and upper body. Roar-
  ing in frustration, it fought against the bonds as Darren came back around for 
  another pass. Forty slugs burst from the rail gun and ripped a line up Bashir’s 
  back. The demon vanished, glowing white bonds falling in a heap.
  “That’s gotta be you, Van. Nobody else I know would paint their craft 
  bright red,” Darren broadcast on UF-12.
  Van hovered slowly to the ground and hopped off the Sky Cycle without 
  powering it down. SAM 15 landed twenty feet away.
  “Greetings. Didn’t think I’d be running into you in a place like this.” Van 
  waved cheerfully, feeling a bit self-conscious about the stolen C-14 rifle and 
  Coalition Sky Cycle.
  “Me either. Nice wings.” Darren pointed the rail gun at the glowing 
  strands on the ground. “What the hell did you do to that thing? I only shot it 
  once. Something doesn’t seem right.”
  “It’s a Jinn, and you’re right, it shouldn’t have died that quick.”
  “How perceptive of you.” The demon reappeared ten feet behind them.
  “Oh man!” Darren raised his weapon to fire but something was dragging 
  him back, metal feet cutting furrows in the earth. Pieces of metal, pots, pans, 
  and iron objects all around converged on a super-magnetized point twenty 
  feet behind Darren. One hundred ninety pounds of ferrous steel in the C-40’s 
  ammunition drum pulled the light exoskeleton inexorably to the magic mag-
  net. In the last ten feet Darren’s SAMAS completely left the ground and 
  slammed into the other junk attached to the magnetized stone wall.
  Looking back at his Sky Cycle, Van watched it rock dangerously to 
  one side on its landing gear then tip and roll. With a sickening collision, it 
  smashed into Darren’s immobilized exoskeleton and remained pinned by the 
  magic magnet.
  Van breathed a thank you to the designers of his composite body armor. 
  Constructed primarily from molecularly bonded ceramics and synthetic web-
  bing, his Explorer body armor wasn’t drawn to Bashir’s elemental spell. 
  What few ferrous items he carried were insufficient to pull him to the wall.
  On instinct, Van channeled energy from his body into special micro-
  circuitry he’d built into his armor. Techno-Wizards emphasized a joining 
  of technology and magic, often combining spells with modified devices to 
  create inexplicable marvels. To date, the Van De Graf Invulnerability Field 
  
  87
  Generator mark 3 was untested in combat. Van spun around to put it to the 
  challenge.
  “Little human,” Bashir rumbled. “Little stone human.” The demon began 
  a new incantation.
  Killing a Jinn was next to impossible or so Van’s Shifter friends at the 
  guild had told him. Beating it at its own game of subterfuge and deceit wasn’t 
  likely either. A plan formed in the spur of the moment and Van fumbled for 
  one of his devices.
  Van suddenly felt a strange tightening of his body as magic worked its 
  way through his defenses. Putting every force of will into fighting the Jinn’s 
  spell, he clenched and unclenched his fist as proof of defiance. Bashir paused, 
  wondering why his petrification spell had failed. No matter. If his magic 
  couldn’t penetrate the glowing red barrier around the human, then he would 
  simply trap the mage until his magic faded away.
  Pulling the small, spiked cylinder from its belt pouch, Van twisted the top 
  and a row of thirty lights came on, one between each pair of small spikes. 
  Receiving a sudden flash of insight, a warning of danger, made Van look over 
  his shoulder to find a forty-foot wall of stone tipping over on him. Van dove 
  for the base of a tree stump ten feet away but the wall caught him first. Out 
  of his hands the device flew and Van was slammed to the ground, partially 
  pinned by tons of stone. The stump saved the device from being smashed, but 
  Van’s legs and torso were embedded in soft earth, trapping him in a prone 
  position. Just out of reach was his modified C-14 rifle. Crackling energy ran 
  over a portion of his armor as the V-IFG field, Mark 3, malfunctioned. The 
  barrier began to decay with every passing second. Atop the stone slab Bashir 
  danced a victory dance, contemplating which of his two prisoners was going 
  to die first.
  “Ah man,” Van struggled against the odds. “I hate it when this happens.”
  
  88
  Chapter 7
  The few, the brave, the bold
  Palm circuitry glowed in Van’s outstretched hand as Mystic current flowed 
  through and was converted to telekinetic force. Taking hold of the rifle with 
  an invisible telekinetic grasp, Van pulled the weapon to his hand. The force 
  field around his lower body weakened further.
  In almost complete darkness beneath the slab, Van looked at the modified 
  weapon and hoped his alterations would work. His thumb switched the C-14 
  function from the upper laser to the lower grenade launcher. Along the length 
  of the launch tube were coils of wire protected by molded fiberglass and the 
  end of the barrel itself was covered in a bizarre mix of homing circuitry. Van 
  cycled a modified grenade and visualized the Jinn atop the stone slab. A small 
  red light turned green and an audible tone told him the device had a fix on his 
  target. A hammer drove a pin into the primer followed by a focused, expand-
  ing explosion. The grenade entered the enclosed barrel with enough force 
  to blast through the blocking circuits. Instead, the barrel circuitry hummed 
  briefly, charged by magic currents coursing through the coils. For one instant 
  Van’s teleport device altered two points in space, bringing them together for 
  the small projectile.
  From apparently out of nowhere, the grenade struck Bashir in the head 
  and stuck there.
  Inside the grenade casing, a series of Mystic batteries drew force to the tip. 
  Spreading over the surface of Bashir’s body was an invisible coat of magi-
  cally created adhesive. Bashir soon discovered the effect.
  Grabbing hold of the tiny grenade, Bashir found his fingers adhered to 
  his head. Moving his feet was impossible as they were securely bonded to 
  the stone slab. Hearing the sounds of battle go badly and not wanting to be 
  caught in this helpless position, Bashir did the first thing that came to mind. 
  He negated the stone wall and dropped to the ground. Bashir’s feet stuck with 
  an equal impediment.
  Free for the moment, Van rolled away from Bashir’s claws and snatched 
  up the device he’d dropped by the tree stump. Bashir was cursing madly as 
  Van sprung a long spike from the end of the cylinder and stuck it into the 
  top of the stump. Van was startled when the Jinn’s frustrated roar became a 
  laugh.
  Bashir’s body dematerialized into a gaseous white cloud of mist, the spent 
  adhesive grenade falling through his immaterial body to the ground. Moving 
  within four feet of the Techno-Wizard, Bashir rematerialized in all his physi-
  cal glory. Having a few tricks to play on mortals always came in handy.
  Pressing a metallic button at end of the cylinder, Van channeled Mys-
  tic energy from his body into the device. Powerful waves radiated from the 
  cylinder and met Bashir’s brain like an oncoming freight train. Try as he 
  
  89
  would to fight the debilitating effects of the generated trance waves, Bashir 
  felt control slipping away to whatever spell assaulted his body. Willpower 
  gone and intelligent thought eradicated, Bashir stood motionless awaiting the 
  command of his temporary master.
  “Nod your head if you understand what I’m saying,” Van instructed, tele-
  pathically probing the Jinn’s mind for any trace of deception. In a trance, 
  Bashir nodded. The demon stood helpless as Van reached over with a 
  pronged device and pulled away the last bit of psychic energy from Bashir’s 
  body, preventing him from weaving further magic should he break free of the 
  trance spell.
  “Your race is cursed to do the bidding of any who render you vital aid or 
  make you captive. Is that true?”
  The Jinn nodded reluctantly.
  “Then I have three wishes for you to accomplish. One, you will sever any 
  ties now and in the future with the Federation of Magic and any of its mem-
  bers and minions and never in your lifetime meddle in the affairs of the Fed-
  eration of Magic and its dealings with mortals. Two, you will return without 
  retribution to your dimension of origin the instant I tell you to. Third, never 
  again in your infinite lifetime will you enter this world or aid any others in 
  entering this world or by any way or means allow another by inaction to enter 
  this dimension for any purpose whatsoever. That is all, now leave!”
  Bashir’s mind raced for parameters to skirt and gain quick revenge on the 
  mortal before him but the curse restrained his action and bound him to follow 
  the horrible tasks assigned him. With one last roar, the black-skinned demon 
  was banished to a life of hell forever.
  The cacophony of clanging metal pots and pans as they hit the ground let 
  Van know Bashir’s spell was broken. Stone walls vanished and Darren pushed 
  himself away from the pile of junk converged around him. Van retrieved his 
  equipment and with Darren’s help, turned the Sky Cycle right-side up.
  “It’s really gone this time, right?” Darren asked hopefully. “We’re not 
  looking at a Night of the Living Dead marathon, are we?”
  “No, it’s not dead, but gone for good. I guarantee he’s gonna be the laugh-
  ingstock of the Jinn community for the next four or five million years.” Van 
  held up the spent cylinder proudly. “I wasn’t even sure if it would work. Tried 
  something I never worked with before. Gotta make more of these babies!”
  “Dang, it’s good havin’ you back, man, even with all your screwball mag-
  ic!” Darren almost knocked Van off his feet with a friendly pat on the back.
  “I hate to admit it, but it’s good getting back in the action again.”
  “Mucho stuff has happened like you wouldn’t believe. After all this is 
  over, we gotta kick back some brewskies and swap stories.”
  “Works for me. What next?” Van reached into his Sky Cycle’s left air 
  intake and removed an iron skillet. Cries from the rubble around them and 
  sounds of battle elsewhere in the village brought the reunion to a halt.
  
  90
  “Dude, you still got that weird little V-med thing that makes sounds and 
  heals people?”
  “Yes, but I need to conserve my energy in case we run into this arch mage 
  character.”
  “Let’s go waste ’im. I’ll cover ya, you do the magic.”
  “Good idea, before he summons up that Jinn’s big brother. I’ll call Anja 
  on the radio and let her know there’s injured over here.”
  Darren blew the dust out of the SAMAS thrusters with a short burst of 
  flame.
  “Ready when you are.”
  “Let’s kick some Federation butt.”
  ____________________
  Two silhouettes on horseback filled Sharp’s AQ-3 targeting display. The 
  one on the left appeared tall and slender while the one on the right was a bit 
  pudgier. To the Coalition spotter’s delight, neither appeared to be wearing 
  armor. Without taking his eyes off the pair, Sharp turned light amplification 
  to maximum and a grainy image showed the two riders in tints and shades of 
  greenish light. Sharp smiled when the computer enhancement kicked in and 
  their features came into focus. By all information, the one with the long ears 
  was the main target of the whole operation. Credo, the Federation Lord.
  “Sharp to Skull 41,” he whispered over the radio.
  “This is Skull 41. What do you have?” Lisa sounded bored.
  “One, possibly two magic users approximately half a mile from your posi-
  tion. One of them looks like code-name Easter Bunny.”
  “Roger that. Keep him in your sights while I get orders.”
  “Holding,” Sharp muttered, wondering which idiot code-named the tar-
  gets. It sounded like a Darren thing.
  “You still there?” Lisa asked.
  “Yes.”
  “Merrick says waste ’em both and move in to cover the mage’s com-
  pound. Trenton’s having some problems.”
  “Copy that. Sharp over and out.”
  Breathing slowly and deeply while he concentrated on the targets, Sharp 
  blocked out the surrounding world. The range finder placed the Federation 
  Lord at 2987 feet. Not taking any chances, Sharp selected the high-power 
  laser on his JA-11 sniper rifle just in case the magic user had light armor 
  plate beneath his outer cloak. Sharp switched the weapon to audio control and 
  prepared to issue the death command.
  ____________________
  
  91
  “Zollan, I think it’s time we were going,” Credo said, giving the order to 
  retreat.
  “Yes, my Lord, we can defend ourselves much easier at home than here,” 
  the pudgy human apprentice agreed.
  “Strange that it would be the Coalition,” Credo commented, turning his 
  horse for home.
  “Of course, when they leave the village, it will be ours again, my Master. 
  Your zombies will rise again and then we will exact revenge for the villagers’ 
  treachery.
  “Possibly, but the future I have foreseen is one much different than you 
  imagine, my apprentice.” Credo emphasized the word “apprentice” just to 
  see Zollan’s teeth grind. It was amusing to see how far he could push a pupil 
  before they finally snapped. Credo knew Zollan to be driven by an almost 
  manic desire for power, only held in check by his knowledge that Credo 
  would easily overpower him for a long time to come.
  A laser beam collided with Credo’s body and dissipated over his heavy 
  cloak.
  “Now this is something I didn’t foresee,” Credo spoke with curiosity in 
  his voice. “The cloak appears to be worth the gold I paid, wouldn’t you say, 
  Zollan?”
  Zollan’s clipped scream was followed by his cauterized upper body land-
  ing in between his two feet. Zollan’s face bore a look of utter surprise for the 
  moment it took his brain to die.
  “It appears fate has other plans for you as well, Zollan. I was not the only 
  one aware of your rebellion.” Credo calmly pulled the hood up over his thick, 
  dark hair. “Pity, I would have enjoyed watching you die much more slowly. 
  Shame I can’t avenge your death and I doubt the sniper will allow me the 
  honor.”
  Another laser beam washed over Credo’s shoulder.
  As if it were a leisurely ride in the park, Credo spurred the horse to a gentle 
  canter and amused himself by predicting where and when the next laser beam 
  would strike.
  Turning his horse, Credo called out, “If you want me, you’re going to have 
  to try much harder than that. My life is not yours to take.”
  ____________________
  Darren and Van had followed Trenton’s tracking beacon much farther 
  than they’d expected. As they cleared a mountain ridge, a river and a rather 
  large fortress revealed themselves to the two pilots. Below, fires and billow-
  ing smoke already rose into the air.
  Treetops bent in a wake behind the low flying Sky Cycle and SAMAS. 
  Both were primed for action and to wait for the ground forces to arrive might 
  
  92
  cost them any edge they currently had. No time was wasted upon their arrival 
  at Credo’s well-built fortification over fifty kilometers from the village.
  Flames were already rising up from inside the log walls when Van’s Sky 
  Cycle spat two mini-missiles from side launchers and tore down a wider hole 
  in the outer wall. Concussions of sound accompanied splintering wood from 
  a swath already being cut by the Full Conversion Cyborg inside the perim-
  eter. Darren’s rail gun cut down preoccupied sentries one by one as the two 
  flew into the heart of the fort. Disorganized troops fled to the central wood 
  and stone structure for sanctuary but soon discovered the walls provided little 
  defense against laser beams and Mach-speed kinetic steel.
  Rising temporarily to command a small pocket of resistance, a Brodkil 
  demon took the charge of those immediately around him, a strange assort-
  ment of Ghouls and Hell Hounds. Roaring in an alien battle cry, the Brodkil 
  sent his minions toward their closest enemy in a thundering charge. Amid the 
  smoking carnage of the compound, an irate Full Conversion Cyborg met the 
  challenge.
  Trenton’s left forearm launcher flared up in a cloud of smoke as three 
  mini-missiles left in rapid succession. The charge ended abruptly as it had 
  begun when only the Brodkil was left standing. It came to a momentary stop 
  and looked around at its fallen comrades that had been effortlessly ripped into 
  steak salad. Fear gripped the Brodkil as it looked back at the cyborg an instant 
  before its body was torn in half by another missile from Trenton’s arsenal.
  “Way to go Trenton!” Darren congratulated the Cyborg.
  “I got tired of waiting. The mage hasn’t come back yet,” Trenton advised 
  the hovering SAMAS.
  “Then let’s make sure there’s nothing left for him to come back to.”
  “Darren, you should have been an officer,” Trenton joked, walking over 
  to a barb-tailed creature and finishing it with a powerful discharge from his 
  right forearm cannon.
  “Nah, you know how much I hate being responsible,” Darren returned the 
  battlefield banter, ignoring a group of fleeing Anubis cult members.
  “What the hell is that?!” Trenton pointed his C-27 back at the smoking 
  hole in the fort’s wall. Plunging out of the darkness was a huge, winged 
  demon in ornate dragon scale armor. In its giant gauntlets was a rail gun no 
  doubt removed from the grasp of some mechanical victim of the past. Behind 
  it came a horde of demonic troops and the handful of zombies remaining in 
  Credo’s personal defense force. Left in command while Credo was absent, 
  Kroatis had mistakenly led a force on patrol around the fort, leaving the en-
  emy an opening for attack. Kroatis dared not fail his master now. Letting out 
  a roaring battle cry, the Baal-Rog demon charged the nearest enemy.
  “Skittles,” Trenton spat dryly before emptying his C-27’s canister in the 
  direction of the winged beast seemingly made of fire and smoke.
  
  93
  The Baal-Rog disappeared inside a cloud of expanding explosions from 
  Van’s mini-missile payload. Smoke from the missile trails swirled around the 
  hovering Sky Cycle as it hovered overhead. Slowly, the gentle night breeze 
  cleared the air from around the very upset demon as it examined the remnants 
  of its favorite weapon.
  Ash fell to the ground while smoke belched then lifted skyward as Kroatis 
  screamed with rage at the damage to his ornate armor and trophy weapon. 
  The demon watched the red Sky Cycle land beyond the far wall only to have 
  his attention drawn to a more immediate threat.
  A high-pitched wind-up and discharge from the Cyborg’s particle beam 
  tore away burned flesh from the Baal-rog’s face. In the demon’s right hand, a 
  fiery whip formed and in his left, a brilliant ball of flame. For the moment his 
  troops could occupy the other humans, but the Full Conversion Cyborg had 
  just moved to the top of the list. Eyes glowing red with fury, Kroatis spread 
  his wings and leaped high, whip leaving a fiery trail behind it as it sang a path 
  toward Trenton’s mechanical body.
  ____________________
  Watching from the tree line, Credo chuckled at the scene before him as if 
  it was all just a show for his entertainment. Three against thirty didn’t seem 
  like fair odds, but his opponents seemed to hold their own quite well. If they 
  knew what awaited them once they reached his laboratory, they would flee 
  for their lives while they still had time. It was too bad Lord Dunscon had 
  required that Regina be Credo’s proxy in the City of Brass for the month, at-
  tending to affairs of state and gathering important news about the other lords. 
  She would have reveled in the chance to crush these annoyances.
  Credo had been careful to leave his prisoners from May’s village in the 
  deep underground bunker beneath his fort. Their lives would supply him with 
  the life force needed to destroy any that stood in the way of his leaving. He’d 
  considered making a stand from the beginning, but such things were futile 
  and needlessly costly when the Coalition weren’t going to be holding his ter-
  ritory. Better to run and fight again another day than die in some useless war 
  that wouldn’t even matter a year from now. Credo was bored of the squab-
  bling Federation of Magic anyway, and his visions of the future suggested 
  the disorganized guild would most likely destroy itself in the end unless they 
  ever figured out how to unite around a common cause.
  His mind made up, he only had one thing left to do, reach the sanctuary in 
  his fortress where his Rift ritual awaited a final invocation to take him to his 
  vacation home farther east. In a few days, he would return with a vengeance 
  and ensure that no one questioned his power.
  “Goodbye, old friend.” Credo patted his mount’s neck affectionately. 
  “You’ve served me better than the most powerful demons of hell.”
  
  94
  Invoking his protective magic, Credo urged the horse to a gallop and rode 
  directly into the scene of mayhem.
  ____________________
  Darren lost count of how many creatures he’d cut down with his rail gun. 
  They never seemed to stop flowing from every nook and cranny. The maga-
  zine count in his HUD registered 48% so he chose his targets carefully and 
  fired with precision. Hovering out of harm’s way he did his best to ensure a 
  fair fight between demon and cyborg. Coalition reinforcements were on the 
  way from the village, but a lot could happen in five minutes.
  Riding into the fray was a cloaked man on a horse. Darren might not have 
  taken notice except for the cheers suddenly coming from the dwindling mon-
  sters below. To the north, Van was pointing at the rider and shouting, all the 
  while hacking through demons with a sword and hand-held telekinetic shot-
  gun. The man on horseback had to be the next to die.
  Swinging the C-40 in a wide arc, Darren pulled the trigger and sprayed 
  40 slugs at the visibly vulnerable mage. Metal slugs ripped through flesh and 
  shattered bone. The horse screamed, thrashing its head back and threw Credo 
  to the ground. Its legs kicked wildly as the dying beast was brought to the 
  ground. It shuddered and convulsed in the blood-soaked earth around it.
  Getting up slowly, Credo gave his dying steed a look of appreciation then 
  strode confidently down the open corridor of protection provided by his loyal 
  troops. Supersonic metal cut through beasts and glanced off his invisible ar-
  mor, ricocheting in every direction. Before he had entered the fort, Credo 
  whispered the words to a complex spell and vanished before the eyes of the 
  beholders. Invisible, he calmly walked toward his sanctuary.
  Slicing through a Ghoul’s upper body, Van dodged a storm of swinging 
  clubs to reach the mage. Magically enhanced optics in his helmet enabled 
  him to see what Darren believed was invisible. The Flyssa’s blade carved a 
  notch in a Grave Ghoul’s neck, killing it and letting its body fall on several 
  other attackers. This gave Van the chance he needed to be clear to assault 
  Lord Credo.
  Nimbly rushing forward, Van shoved his modified TX-5 against Credo’s 
  magic barrier and blasted the Federation Lord to the ground with telekinetic 
  buckshot.
  Unexpectedly, Credo’s movements changed from slow and methodical 
  to quick and erratic. Leaping up with the grace of an Elf, Credo sidestepped 
  Van’s second blast and sprinted for the opening in the fortress wall.
  “Darren! Cover me!” Van shouted and plunged in after him.
  Darren smashed a pursuing Ghoul, pulled several large bodies into the 
  hole behind him, and followed Van inside.
  In the blood-soaked courtyard, the first Coalition units arrived and be-
  gan to open fire. Trenton, still battling the Baal-Rog in melee combat, was 
  
  95
  heartened to see explosions and weapons fire erupt all around him. His fight 
  wasn’t over, but he knew he had less to worry about now.
  Once past the smoke and fallen timbers, Van found a wide corridor with 
  concrete floor and incandescent bulbs strung along the high ceiling. Scuffling 
  boots and contorted speech could be heard from the end of the hallway. Dar-
  ren’s SAMAS crashed through a fallen support and skidded to a halt next to 
  the Techno-Wizard.
  “Do you see him?” Darren’s whisper blared over the SAM’s voice ampli-
  fier.
  A door at the end of the hall slammed shut before either could get off a 
  shot at the misshapen creature closing it. A bolt fell into place on the other 
  side.
  “Sweet dreams.” Darren read the heat signature through the wooden 
  door and discharged a single slug from his rail gun. Wood splintered and a 
  dark spot appeared in the warm target on the other side. The D-Bee’s body 
  slumped to the floor.
  “Stay close, we don’t know what else is in here,” Van advised and jogged 
  to the door. One slice of the blade severed the door’s lock and bolt. It swung 
  open on its own under the weight of the body still gripping the handle on the 
  other side.
  Van searched the next room for signs of danger, but there was nobody in-
  side the lavish bedroom. Adjusting a knob on the side of his helmet, the room 
  came to life with a vibrant array of auras. Nothing in the room was alive, but 
  many objects radiated tones of magic, including a large circle beneath a thick 
  oriental rug.
  “Do you see a trail or anything?” Darren asked again.
  “No, but there’s something weird going on with the wall behind the bed.” 
  Van stalked the room, weapon ready. “Don’t step on that rug. There’s some-
  thing under it and I don’t know what it does.”
  “That wall’s warmer than the others.” Darren observed the slightly bright-
  er hue of the wall on his thermo-imaging optics.
  “Easy. There’s still danger here, I can feel it.”
  “Maybe he didn’t come in here.
  “Where else could he go? I was right behind him. I’m sure I heard talking 
  from in here, too.”
  “I’ve got something on sound amplifiers. Quiet a sec.” Darren adjusted the 
  audio pick-up and tuned out the sound of battle outside.
  “What’s being said?” Van asked impatiently.
  “I’m not sure. It’s in another language or something. Two voices, one’s a 
  woman and the other’s male. It’s loudest near that wall but sounds like it’s 
  coming down a hollow tube.”
  
  96
  “There’s probably a room on the other side. That means there’s some kind 
  of mechanism to open it.” Van yanked all four bedposts but nothing hap-
  pened.
  “There’s always the Darren Corley patented Precision Barrier Removal 
  System,” Darren imitated Van’s voice.
  “Oh, what’s that?”
  “This.”
  Getting a running start, Darren slammed the exoskeleton through the wall.
  “That works.” Van casually stepped through the wide opening.
  “Damn, another empty room.”
  “There’s a trap door.” Van pointed to an obvious brass ring not completely 
  covered by a thick rug.
  “Yes, there is.”
  Darren stomped twice and disappeared through the newly created hole. 
  Van could hear him crash through supports all the way down.
  “Okay, so that was stupid,” Darren muttered to himself, breaking more 
  remnants of what used to be a ladder as he moved into the circular con-
  crete tube at the bottom. A single light twenty feet down the horizontal shaft 
  showed a slight downward cant farther on. Cautiously, Darren stepped into 
  the concrete tube, hearing his footsteps echo all the way down it. The sounds 
  of receding footsteps returned from the tunnel.
  “Van!” Darren shouted over the amplifier.
  “Right here.” Van stood next to the 8-foot SAMAS.
  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there. How did you get down here?”
  “The only thing you didn’t break was the rope and pulley system above 
  the trap door.”
  “There’s somebody up ahead.”
  “I’ll go first, just don’t shoot through me to hit the bad guys.”
  “You’re no fun.”
  “You got anything on thermo?”
  “There’s some kind of conduit running beneath us that’s warmer than the 
  concrete, but nothing up ahead. U.V. shows some stains on the floor, but it 
  doesn’t look fresh.”
  The two crept forward, armored feet eliminating the possibility of stealth. 
  Another light bulb showed the tunnel starting to level out.
  “You hear that?” Darren asked.
  “No.” Van strained to listen.
  A muffled scream echoed up the tunnel. Mirrored instinct drove them 
  both to synchronize their movements and, with fluid precision, move swiftly 
  down the hall towards the sound. The fetid stench of death permeated the last 
  stretch of poorly lit tunnel. Bursting out the other end, Van rolled behind a 
  stone pillar, a blazing ball of fire searing past to blacken the walls behind him.
  
  97
  Advancing a bit more quickly, Darren took what cover he could behind a 
  pillar on the opposite side of the subterranean temple, rear thrusters scratch-
  ing the wall behind him. Howls from a triad of creatures brought Darren’s 
  rail gun around the pillar in response. Stumbling across the open temple floor 
  were three linen wrapped corpses and at the foot of an ornate throne were the 
  bodies of newly slain humans. Seated on the throne was a man with the head 
  of a hyena, adorned with an Egyptian headdress wielding a curved staff.
  Credo rose in his full battle regalia, delusions of godhood possessing his 
  thoughts and actions. How dare these unbelievers try to desecrate his temple 
  before he could raise hellfire to consume it in honor of Anubis?
  Van made a break for the throne but was flung to the far wall with a rush 
  of wind from Credo’s fingertips. Dodging from pillar to pillar, Van renewed 
  his approach more carefully. Grabbing a torch from its iron grating, he set a 
  mummy screaming in terror as its body burned away in layers. For an instant, 
  Van locked gazes with the human effigy of Anubis. Both felt the tension in 
  the room peak and then the battle began.
  Using the pillar as a shield, Van empowered the back-up modifications 
  of his armor and primed his powerful hand-held weapon with an investment 
  of magical energy. The stone shattered behind him as flames poured past his 
  armor without effect. Ducking low and leaning around what remained of his 
  cover, Van fired at the figure on the throne. Bolts of telekinetic force struck 
  Credo’s magic barrier and threw him back over the edge of his raised dais. A 
  quick glance over Van’s shoulder showed him the last mummy being ripped 
  limb from limb by Darren’s exoskeleton. Time to finish the Federation Lord 
  for good.
  The temple was suddenly plunged into darkness so thick not a ray of light 
  from the flickering torches could pierce it. Incoherent verses of a powerful 
  spell were being invoked from somewhere in the darkness, mingled with the 
  loud, heavy steps of an armored exoskeleton. Darren stepped into the center 
  of the temple and looked from side to side at the clearly defined heat sig-
  natures around him. He knew the speaking mage had to be stopped before 
  the spell was completed, but he was invisible to thermo-imaging optics in 
  the ornate battle suit. Switching to infrared, Darren activated the SAMAS’s 
  spotlight and I.R. filters. A narrow beam of vision cleared in the thick magic 
  darkness. Back and forth the beam sliced through blackness until it discov-
  ered the chanting mage reaching the climax of his spell. Reflexes took over 
  and Darren was amazed to see his own left arm come up and fire without 
  conscious effort. The mini-missile trail was a mere flash in the darkness as it 
  shot the 20 feet to detonation. Pillars shattered and the throne melted away as 
  plasma expanded with violent concussion. The force of the enclosed explo-
  sion threw Van to the temple floor and struck every object with an incredible 
  amount of force. Credo’s magic barriers surrendered to the onslaught, his 
  
  98
  body slammed through the far wall and his affectations burned away instant-
  ly. Unable to withstand the blast, Credo’s magic staff turned to ash.
  “That was a bold move Cotton, let’s see if it pays off for him!” Darren 
  chimed over the loudspeaker.
  Light poured in through sections of the smashed wall, streams through 
  smoke accenting Credo’s position. Air rushed in to feed smoldering fires, 
  making swirling patterns in the streaks of light. Darkness slowly ebbed away 
  to reveal the mauled temple and melted bodies as moonlight pushed its way 
  in.
  Darren wasted no time mourning the dead and moved to deal with the 
  threat in front of him. The smoking armor with the head of a dog was running 
  down the short concrete hall. Behind it, Darren and Van gave chase.
  Around the corner, Credo ran, for once in his life beginning to fear his 
  adversaries. He needed more life force to absorb, but the entrance to his 
  dungeon seemed so far away. Quick invocations saved his life. Credo never 
  paused to watch the Coalition SAMAS collide with the glowing blue wall of 
  force, he just kept running to his objective. Slamming the thick door behind 
  him, Credo threw the bolt to lock his enemies out of the dungeon. He hoped 
  it would give him the time he needed.
  “Damn!” Darren cursed, slamming into the magical wall. “I’m getting 
  sick of this magic!”
  “Shoot it!” Van yelled, coming up from behind with a slight limp. “It’s 
  not that strong.”
  “Get back around the corner. This is gonna ricochet.” Darren took two 
  steps back and loosed a stream of metal slugs. Rounds hit the barrier and 
  left tiny white marks in the glowing field. Two more bursts scattered mush-
  roomed slugs across the stained floor but finally annihilated the last vestige 
  of the energy field.
  Van ran to the front and yanked the metal chain on the door. “Big surprise. 
  It’s locked.”
  “Not to worry, master key coming through.”
  Darren locked his rail gun back and forced his SAMAS’ hands into the 
  wood of the door. It was heavy and was built well, but was meant to deter 
  mortal strength, not robotic power armor. His fingers clenched into the wood 
  and, as he pushed, began to move the wooden barrier. After a moment, the 
  hinges creaked and finally the latch broke.
  Tossing the door aside, he moved cautiously into a large chamber illumi-
  nated by flaming lamps suspended from a high ceiling. The walls were lined 
  with makeshift cages and cells, and the stench of human waste was almost 
  overpowering. Various torture devices occupied the center of the chamber 
  and beyond it, a shimmering wall of force blocked a tall arched hallway. 
  Whimpers and cries from dozens of prisoners mingled with screams of those 
  in the chamber’s center. Credo was nowhere in sight.
  
  99
  “He’s not here!” Van covered his mouth in reflex, allowing similar sys-
  tems in his armor to activate and purify the air. “He’s gotta be down that 
  hall.”
  “Good God —” Darren’s stream of expletives were muted, unable to ex-
  press his horror at the center of the room. Above the dying was a suspended 
  cross, a beautiful woman unmercifully crucified upon it. Blood dripped in 
  pools from the two others on either side of her. Both men stood in momentary 
  shock.
  “Anja, this is Van, do you read me?” Van tried to contact Anja over the 
  radio but only got static in return.
  “We gotta get them down.” Darren grabbed the base of the center cross 
  and gently ripped the chains from pulleys attached to the ceiling. Lowering it 
  carefully to the floor, he moved on to the other two. Van went to assist him.
  Something clicked in Van’s brain as he watched Darren’s attempt to free 
  the tortured. All was not as it seemed, although he couldn’t say exactly what. 
  Danger lurked so close he could feel its icy fingers brush his flesh and make 
  his skin crawl beneath the armor. He looked around the chamber for any sign 
  of danger, but all he saw was death and suffering of innocents. Darren had 
  gently set the last of the three crosses on the floor and was carefully pulling 
  the metal spikes from the bodies of the injured. Van’s heart froze when Dar-
  ren reached the center cross and pulled away a spike from the woman’s wrist. 
  Thick greenish blood oozed up from the open wound and trailed away on the 
  spike.
  Adjusting his optics to view the aura of the unfortunate maiden, Van 
  choked out for Darren to stop. Waves of red and black emanated from the 
  woman’s evil core, an evil so extreme it defied human comprehension. Only 
  once had Van viewed such an aura, and that was the closest he’d ever come to 
  losing his life. Darren pulled the second spike from the woman’s arm.
  “Darren! No! Kill it!” Van screamed, adjusting the choke on his weapon 
  for concentrated fire.
  “Kill what?”
  “Her! The demon! It’s a demon, you idiot! A Succubus!”
  “Huh? A Succ-eu what?” Darren looked back down at the ravishing red-
  head to find her shifting into a horrific black scaled creature. “Aww, man,” 
  he murmured as fear gripped his chest and inaction rooted him to the ground.
  Timbers from the cross splintered as the demon freed itself of the ruse. 
  One shove sent Darren’s exoskeleton sliding across the floor. The breath 
  knocked out of him, Darren stared, eyes wild and mouth open in shock. The 
  hideous lizard-like demon hissed and turned on the Techno-Wizard.
  Van’s TX-5 cracked out a shot and green blood splattered the crucified 
  victim on the left. The Succubus jerked from the telekinetic impact, its eyes 
  sharp with pain and anger. Leaping fifteen feet in a single bound, it twisted 
  in mid-air to avoid Van’s second blast, coming down just inches from the 
  
  100
  gun’s barrel. Powerful claws raked across magic shielding, sending Van’s 
  TX-5 flying into a crowded cell. Reaching for his back-up weapon, Van was 
  knocked to the floor by a blow to the chest. As the demon’s claws raised for 
  another blow, Van brushed across a secret panel on his forearm and pressed 
  through to the skin. The Flyssa was back in his hand and plunging its tip 
  through scale and bone. Reeling with surprise at its injury, the demon pulled 
  itself away, leaving the tip of Van’s sword coated in viscous green blood.
  Slipping past the blade faster than Van imagined possible, the demon 
  took hold of his arm and swung him against the bars of a cell with inhuman 
  strength. As metal groaned and bent, Van tried not to lose consciousness. 
  An instant later the bars gave way as the demon’s other fist struck him with 
  supernatural force.
  Frightened prisoners dragged themselves to the far corners, having seen 
  what the demon had done to others. One lone man scrambled for Van’s 
  weapon. May’s husband pulled the trigger on Van’s TX-5 but the modified 
  weapon refused to respond without a psychic link.
  Wrenching a bar from the cage, the demon wielded it as a club and 
  thrashed its way inside the cell after Van. It swung the metal bar against 
  Van’s invisible Mystic armor repeatedly until the makeshift club was bent to 
  uselessness. Van’s feeble struggle to regain his footing met with a blow to the 
  helmet from the demon’s clawed foot.
  Green blood splattered Van’s magic barrier and then ran down the sides of 
  his body in streaks. Finally recovered from the shock of what he’d just seen, 
  Darren bore a hole through the demon’s back with a close-range burst of rail 
  gun rounds. Shrieking horribly, the demon spun around, clutching its new, 
  gaping wound. Van’s gun was handed back to him and he brought the sights 
  in line with the demon’s scarred head.
  Centering the barrel on the demon’s chest, Darren blew its heart out of a 
  six-inch hole in its back. The head snapped forward, caught by a concentrated 
  blast from behind, brains raining down in a grayish-green mist. Its headless 
  body wobbled then crumpled to the floor in a widening pool of green ooze.
  “You okay, buddy?” Darren bent the bars wider.
  “I’m okay,” Van heard himself say.
  “Hey you,” Darren addressed the one man standing apart from the other 
  prisoners. “Where did that magic sorcerer dude with the long ears go?”
  “Through there,” May’s husband uttered through swollen, blood-caked 
  lips. He read something out of a notebook and that magic wall appeared.”
  “Do what you can to help others. We’re going after him.” Van patted the 
  man lightly on the shoulder and then moved to the shimmering wall with 
  Darren.
  The high arched hall had strange inscriptions carved into the stone walls, 
  and the floor was comprised of cracked stone slabs. A feeling of dread grew 
  stronger with every step they took toward the shimmering wall of energy that 
  
  101
  barricaded the far side. The fear was unlike anything either had experienced 
  before. Each time they gazed upon the shimmering wall, it seemed as though 
  untold horrors awaited them past its depths.
  As Darren struggled to look at it before glancing away, it seemed as 
  though it constantly shifted with demonic figures and horrible scenes that 
  would scare even the most fervent sadomasochist.
  In his studies, Van had heard stories of powerful magic barriers that 
  could make the bravest soul flee in terror and the stout of heart falter. Darren 
  stopped less than ten feet from the wall, metallic hands visibly shaking.
  “There’s something really bad in there, I know it!” Darren shouted, his 
  voice in a pitch of near terror.
  “It’s not real Darren. There’s nothing really in that barrier that will harm 
  you. You must believe that or you won’t get through it.”
  “I, I just know if I go in there... I’ll die. I can feel it in every fiber of my 
  being!”
  “Darren, look at me.” Van hit his fist on the upper arm of Darren’s SA-
  MAS to get him to look at him in the eye. “You won’t die, it’s not capable of 
  even hurting you,” Van said, secretly hoping he was correct.
  Darren took another faltering step and felt his heartbeat shoot through the 
  roof as sweat broke out on his brow.
  “I can’t believe this... I can’t even get near it!”
  “Don’t worry about it. Stay here and help everyone get out in case some-
  thing really nasty is actually back there,” Van said, forcing confidence into 
  his voice.
  “I’m sorry man, I just can’t make myself go near it. It feels like I’ll spend 
  an eternity suffering in pain and agony all alone.”
  “It’s magic, Darren! It’s not your fault! I got this one.”
  Darren took a step back and felt his blood pressure drop.
  “Right, it’s magic. It’s making me do this. I get it man, but I’m sorry, I 
  can’t make it through.” The exoskeleton’s hand clenched into a thumbs-up. 
  “Good luck.”
  “Hey, it’s me, remember? What could happen?” Van grinned momen-
  tarily then plunged into the shimmering barrier.
  
  102
  Chapter 8
  Bittersweet
  Springing from the hidden recesses of Van’s mind came horrors he never 
  wished to acknowledge and others he never wanted to remember. Undead 
  loved ones hacked at him with bloody cleavers and sucked the blood from 
  him like vampires, all the while screaming out for him. Fighting off the swirl-
  ing mist of visions, Van stepped through the other side into an open corridor 
  dimly lit by some unseen source. Again, his heart leapt to his throat and 
  caused icy fingers of adrenaline to shoot their spiked nails through his chest.
  Lining the walls were rank after rank of Sunaj Assassins in black armor 
  and demonic helms. At the end of the hall was a horrible tentacled beast with 
  a single inhuman eye at the center of its undulating mass. Uttering a single 
  arcane phrase, Van understood on some primordial level that his only choices 
  were to join them or die.
  “Wait!” Van yelled, but the first rank was already upon him. Without 
  thinking, Van fired the TX-5 and swung madly with his sword. The blade 
  sliced a horn from one end and cut through the faceplate of another. Blows 
  rained down on him in a torrent, but Van refused to give in. With a single 
  mighty thrust, he caught the fangs of a Sunaj helmet and ripped it from the 
  Assassin’s head.
  Thick black hair fell down over the Assassin’s shoulders and dark eyes 
  stared back with chilling malice. Choking in shock, Van stepped back from 
  the handsome figure smiling at him with an evil grin. His attacker’s face was 
  his own!
  “No... no, this is an illusion. It’s not real.”
  “Of course, it’s real and now you must die so I can live,” the Sunaj Van 
  sneered, a sword appearing in his hand. The other Assassins backed away to 
  give them room.
  “No! I know who you are and it will never be me. You can’t kill me be-
  cause you don’t exist and never will!”
  “I do exist. Fight me! Your very existence depends on it!”
  “No!” Van stuck the tip of his blade in the stone floor and holstered his 
  weapon.
  “You’re a coward! You’ve always been the coward. Fight me!” The dark-
  er Van menaced him, black cloak flapping out behind him as he raised the 
  sword to strike.
  “You’re not real. You can’t harm me.”
  “Ahhhh!” The Sunaj swung the blade in a falling arc, then vanished.
  The hall was now vacant, without a trace of the evil beings that had been 
  there before. Van slowly pulled his blade from the floor and looked at the 
  blast marks his weapon had made in the wall near the shimmering barrier. 
  
  103
  Had it all been an apparition? He shook his head and tried to clear away the 
  lingering images.
  At the end of the hall was another wooden door. A renewed strength came 
  over him and he broke into a run.
  Blasting the lock from the door, Van kicked it aside and burst into the 
  large laboratory. Bent over a solid wooden chest was the Federation Lord. 
  Credo’s head snapped up and for a moment Van could see the fear in his 
  eyes. Devoid of armor and with his hands full of documents, Credo was at 
  Van’s mercy.
  “Move, speak, or even breathe and I’ll blast you where you stand.” Van 
  slowly walked closer, watching the mage as three tiny dots from his weapon 
  stayed center mass on the mage. He held his blade in his left hand, casually 
  swinging it back and forth as he walked.
  “If you kill me, you will lose out on the opportunity for power beyond 
  your wildest dreams,” Credo spoke slowly.
  “Anything you have, I can take when you’re dead.”
  “Anything except the knowledge I possess,” Credo stated. “If I die now, 
  I’ve set this room to destroy itself in a ball of flame.”
  “I don’t need to know how to torture and maim the innocent or kill without 
  remorse. You have nothing I want.”
  “Look over there and tell me what you see.” Credo jerked his head at a 
  section of open floor in the sorcerer’s lab.
  Van’s gaze never wavered.
  “That’s a pretty lame play for a powerful Lord of the Federation of Magic. 
  You’re going to have to do better than that.” Van pointed the bloodstained 
  blade at Credo’s left eye, trying to decide if he should kill the mage outright 
  or keep him alive long enough for the villagers to exact revenge.
  “And what can I really do in a split second? I promise on my master An-
  ubis that I will not harm you while you look. I’m sure if you can gather any-
  thing about me, it’s that I place my reputation and bond with Anubis above 
  all else. You would be foolish not to look.”
  Van’s eyes shifted quickly then did a double take. Arranged on the floor 
  was a series of circles, all with arcane symbols and a variety of components 
  laid out in an intricate and ornate pattern. The gun lowered momentarily.
  Van’s recent studies had concentrated on understanding wards and sym-
  bols. The same studies touched on ancient circle magic like the ones he saw 
  here and had seen his parents create when he was a child. While the circles 
  were very knowledge and time intensive to create, they were also capable of 
  incredibly powerful magic that could often surpass what a mage could enact 
  on their own through mere incantations and Techno-Wizardry.
  “Where did you find those?”
  “They are mine. They possess power beyond your wildest imagination, 
  and they are yours as long as you let me leave.”
  
  104
  “I don’t need to learn your Necromantic rituals!”
  “Not all were created from such dark sources and not all would offend 
  your sensibilities, but each is worth the price paid for the power they grant. If 
  you don’t value them, then why don’t you kill me?”
  Van looked back at the circles and knew the secrets were lost to all but a 
  few who would never share the knowledge. His parents were the only ones 
  he’d ever known to scrawl out even a basic circle here on Earth. He stared at 
  Credo, his mind racing; trying to weigh the options. The Elf stared back with 
  a smirk that Van could have killed him for alone. The blade rose beside the 
  gun, its point only half a meter from Credo’s eye.
  “That’s not all I can offer you, of course. There are spells I’ve translat-
  ed from scrolls obtained from my Demon Locust. Spells of complexity and 
  power meant only for the most powerful of demons and archmagi to master. 
  They, too, are yours as long as you let me go.”
  “Where?”
  “I’m leaving across the Megaverse, but the spells are over there, on the 
  computer.” Credo jutted his chin at the small laptop attached to its docking 
  station on the table. Van gave the Elf a look of incredulity.
  “Right. I believe that. On the computer.”
  “It’s a new world with newer inventions. You, of all people, should un-
  derstand and appreciate the use of technology over archaic tomes that will rot 
  and turn to dust with age. Magic transcends the medium.” The Elf’s grin was 
  more annoying than before.
  “If you move, you die,” Van growled. The computer was already on. Van 
  reached out to it with his mind in a way only a Techno-Wizard could. Com-
  municating with the device, Van requested and accessed file after file until 
  the screen displayed a menu of incantations and other magic manifestations.
  “If you allow me my leave, I will give you the access codes.”
  “I don’t need your access codes. I already know what you have on here.”
  “It will take time for you to learn such complex spells, of course, but 
  I’m certain that if you’ve gotten this far then you’re hardly an idiot,” Credo 
  pandered.
  With each word, Van’s resolve not to shoot him where he stood dimin-
  ished, however the possibility of acquiring magical knowledge like this was 
  a powerful draw for any magic user. It could take many human lifetimes to 
  accumulate the knowledge contained in this lab and it could all be his if he 
  wanted it. Turning back to the evil mage, he advanced the blade to within 
  centimeters of Credo’s face.
  “What treachery are you hiding from me?”
  “None, of course,” Credo whined, his body contorting backward like jello.
  “I warn you, if you are hiding something, I’ll kill you without thinking 
  twice.”
  
  105
  “You’re the one who must decide between petty vengeance or a lifetime 
  of wealth, knowledge, and glory. It would take you several lifetimes, in fact, 
  if you were to search out all I can give you right now.” Credo’s eyes focused 
  on the writing engraved in the magic blade that threatened to impale him. His 
  eyes grew wider. “Oh, my apologies, I never realized you were one of them.”
  “A lifetime’s a long time.”
  “I think you will find that all a long lifetime means is that we will cross 
  paths again, though on what path that will be, is up to you.”
  “What are you talking about?”
  “I thought you...” Credo’s voice trailed off and his eyes glazed for an in-
  stant in deep thought. “You do know, of course, don’t you?”
  “Know what?”
  “If I were beaten by a mere human that would be too great a disgrace, but 
  to have one of your kind defeat me is almost understandable. An honor even.”
  “What are you babbling about?” Van hoped the Elf didn’t know for sure 
  what he’d suspected all his life.
  “We are allies, you and I.”
  “Like hell we are.”
  “You are Atlantean Clan Aehriman, one of the Undead Slayers! I am Fed-
  eration and a servant of Anubis.”
  “I’ll cut out your tongue and shove it down your throat!” Van’s blood 
  boiled.
  “Surely you know... You must know.” Credo couldn’t believe that Van 
  wouldn’t be aware of his family’s history and associations.
  “Not everyone is part of that evil! I should kill you for saying it out loud!”
  “You’re young, and in time, when you become more powerful, you may 
  change your mind,” Credo spoke solemnly.
  “Never! I will never be part of what my clan has started.”
  “Just the same, our paths will cross again someday.” Credo slowly reached 
  over and lifted a small wooden box from the top of the chest. Van made no 
  move to stop him.
  With eyes fixed on Van’s blade, Credo carefully backed into the center of 
  a large circle.
  “Watch and listen carefully to my words. Someday this power will be 
  yours, and then we will both serve the same masters.”
  Credo gently lifted a pair of Faerie wings from the box and set them in a 
  small brass brazier at the center of the circle. Muttering a simple incantation 
  brought flames to life in the brazier, consuming the Faerie wings in a flash 
  of light. Credo raised his voice and shouted a phrase to unlock the physical 
  bonds of space and link to another place far away. The last of the flames 
  sparkled in the brazier.
  “Acba yin Lo-kum yin Cherubot-kyn!”
  
  106
  The circle glowed brilliant white and a swirling vortex of colors swept 
  over Credo’s body. The colors dimmed and the circle faded to its dull luster. 
  Credo was gone.
  Letting his guard relax, Van looked around the laboratory and then back 
  to the shimmering barrier still sealing off the outside world. He stared for a 
  long moment, his mind working.
  He breathed in a quick breath and snapped back to his present situation. 
  Credo’s wall seemed like it would be around for a while. Not only did he 
  not want to go back through it, he knew no one else would come through 
  without reason. For the time being, he would indulge himself in exploring his 
  newfound wealth.
  ____________________
  First light became the dawn of freedom for May’s village. In shallow 
  graves rested those who had died in the bloodshed of nightfall, but their lives 
  were mourned amid awakening joy. Survivors piled remnants of Credo’s 
  army onto huge bonfires, and at Anja’s direction, the heads of zombies were 
  severed and buried apart from their bodies to prevent regeneration. Sir Ren-
  field and Mr. Kent instructed villagers in the use of weapons captured from 
  Credo’s army, should it be necessary for them to defend themselves from 
  other threats in the future. From the ashes of the still burning village, a new 
  one was being reborn.
  Greg Merrick leaned against his parked SAMAS and watched his unit ac-
  cept the heartfelt gratitude of men, women, and children. Cowboy had a hu-
  man child on his lap, no doubt extolling heroics of days gone by and D-Bees 
  slain. Sergeant Winters shared a food ration with a malnourished teenager, 
  all the while maintaining his gruff facade. In the distance, he could make 
  out the Enforcer digging a line of graves for the piles of headless zombies 
  being collected by Coalition troops and joyous villagers. Greg didn’t feel 
  the cold morning breeze biting his exposed skin for the warmth he felt in-
  side. This was one of the reasons he joined the Coalition military. To help 
  free humanity from the dark clutches of evil practitioners of magic and cruel 
  dimensional beings. Although the deed would undoubtedly foster positive at-
  titudes towards the Coalition States, public relations were the least of Greg’s 
  motivations. To have so successfully struck a blow for humanity and freed a 
  village of an evil tyrant was enough to be content.
  “Good morning, Lieutenant Merrick.” Sir Renfield wearily came to stand 
  beside the Coalition officer. The knight’s cape was tattered, and his armor 
  splattered with dried blood, but a calm look of satisfaction emanated from 
  his face.
  “Morning. Are you going to be okay out here by yourselves? We have to 
  leave soon.”
  
  107
  “We’ll manage. I’m afraid we won’t be staying very long either, but I 
  think they can handle things on their own from now on.”
  Both men watched in silence at the joyful reunion of May’s husband and 
  family.
  “Any word on the Federation Lord?” Greg asked after a long pause.
  “As far as I know he managed to escape, at least that’s what Sinclair Van 
  De Graf told me. We didn’t move fast enough to kill or capture him I’m 
  afraid.”
  “Let’s hope he doesn’t return when we’re gone.”
  “He’s been soundly defeated and disgraced in the eyes of the Federation. 
  If he has any sense he’ll go far away and stay there.”
  “Just the same, I’d feel much better if I had a body to put in the fires,” Greg 
  spoke without looking at the Cyber-Knight.
  “With good fortune, one day you will. Well, I guess until we happen to 
  join forces again, good-bye and thank you for all you’ve done.” Sir Renfield 
  straightened up to leave. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”
  He extended an armor-plated hand to Greg. Greg looked at it with indif-
  ference, contemplating the ramifications of shaking hands with a possible en-
  emy of the Coalition States. Cyber-Knights were a gray area, sometimes they 
  helped the Coalition, sometimes they fought against it. At last, he grasped the 
  Cyber-Knight’s hand in a firm handshake.
  “It’s been good fighting on the same side, David, I hope it always stays 
  that way.”
  Both men turned at Anja’s tentative approach.
  “Um, I wanted to thank you, Lieutenant, for taking such risks to help us. 
  May told me what you had to do to come here. I know it couldn’t have been 
  easy.”
  “The hard part is yet to come.” Greg half smiled, thinking of how angry 
  Captain Pritchett sounded on the radio half an hour earlier.
  “David, have you seen Van?” Anja asked quietly.
  “Last I saw him he was in the makeshift hospital we set up for the wound-
  ed. Something’s kind of fishy about that story he told me about Credo. He 
  wouldn’t tell me much.”
  “I’ll talk to him. You two stay here and talk man stuff.” She smiled and 
  walked away, poorly concealing a smile. Maybe she wasn’t the smartest per-
  son in the world but that didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of the changes taking 
  place in the two men’s minds.
  Greg caught Renfield staring at Anja’s behind as she skipped away. When 
  the knight realized he’d been caught he tried to think of something pious to 
  say, but the smile growing on Greg’s face was infectious.
  “Yep.” Greg nodded conspiratorially.
  “Yep.” Sir Renfield cracked a smile in agreement.
  ____________________
  
  108
  Arriving at the tarp-covered hospital area, Anja could hardly believe her 
  own eyes. Where half an hour before fifty pallets bore the injured and dying, 
  now all were devoid of any beings whatsoever. No broken, bleeding bodies 
  met her eyes, instead a lone figure sat leaning up against the wooden center 
  pole. As she quietly moved closer, Van opened tired eyes and smiled faintly. 
  Anja looked at the empty, blood-stained mats and back to the Techno-Wizard.
  “You?”
  Van nodded. Anja sat beside him and held her bow across her lap.
  “You okay?”
  “Just very, very tired. That’s all.”
  “There were so many. How did you heal them all?”
  “It’s a long story, but mostly I cheated.” Van held up a small, whirring 
  device with flashing lights.
  “Your saltshaker thing?” Anja joked, and Van smiled thinly.
  “Yeah, my saltshaker thing.” He put the V-MED back in a pouch with a 
  host of other weird looking devices. Anja’s aqua eyes were on him and he 
  could feel the gentle empathic probes searching his surface thoughts, but he 
  was too tired to block her out. Lying would get him nowhere, so Van broke 
  down and gave her the truth, or at least enough to cover what he didn’t want 
  her to know. She reached out and touched his hand.
  “Van, you don’t need to feel guilty about the sorcerer escaping. You were 
  the only one of us with any chance of stopping him and you did all you could. 
  Nobody can ask you to do more than that. We’re all very proud of what you 
  did, nobody else could have done it.”
  Great, Van thought to himself, now he was feeling more guilty than be-
  fore. Gazing into her eyes he suddenly realized how open and honest she was 
  with everybody and how much she deserved somebody who could do the 
  same. Something he could never do. He was a fool to have ever considered 
  romantic interests.
  “That’s not true,” she whispered.
  Van mentally chastised himself. Too tired to think straight. Better quit 
  while your ahead.
  “I wish I could tell you everything, Anja, I really wish I could, but there’s 
  just no way. My life is complicated.” He stood and released her hand. “Please, 
  I need you to leave my thoughts alone.”
  “I’m not asking for all that,” she whispered.
  “What you deserve, what you need, I can’t give you. What I want isn’t fair 
  to you either. We can be friends, but we shouldn’t ever be more than that if 
  we know what’s good for us. I’d better go check on my cycle.” Van fumbled 
  for any excuse that would get him away from her. Secretly though, he itched 
  to delve deeper into what he’d uncovered in Credo’s laboratory.
  “Will you think about changing your mind, for me?”
  
  109
  Turning back, Van was again transfixed by her pureness of heart and pos-
  sessing beauty. Forces tore at him from many directions. Love was a strong 
  one, but his obsession for knowledge to achieve his deepest goal overcame 
  him and he turned away.
  “I’ll think about it,” he muttered and strode away with a stiff gait. No mat-
  ter how hard he tried to give everything up and free himself from his mission, 
  it always wound up the same. This time, however, the stakes were a great 
  deal higher.
  ____________________
  Darren circled the body of the last fleeing Brodkil to fall, just to be sure 
  it wasn’t playing dead. Splattered innards and a steadily lowering body tem-
  perature reassured him the demon was finished, and the weary RPA headed 
  back to the village where his unit was gathering for the return trip. Most of 
  the fires started throughout the village had either burned themselves out or 
  were extinguished by morning. Now visible under the lightly clouded sky, 
  the plumes of white smoke rose in less than a dozen places.
  “Merrick to SAM 15. What’s your 20?”
  “On my way back from your northeast. I’m gonna make one last sweep of 
  the north side and then I’ll be there.”
  “Make it fast, we’re on our way out right now. I’ve got Brian on point for 
  now, so I’ll need you to switch with him in case we run into any trouble.”
  “I’m down to 28% on my ammo drum. Maybe Brian could use the extra 
  practice,” Darren suggested.
  “Where’s your extra drum?”
  “Back at camp.”
  “Why?”
  “C’mon Lieutenant, you know I hate slingin’ a spare drum. All that extra 
  weight is a pain in the rear. It cuts down my mobility.”
  “Just the same, I want you on point as soon as you’re finished with your 
  sweep. I’ll take your 28% over Brian’s 90% if you know what I mean. If we 
  really need to, I’ll swap my spare for yours.”
  “That’s more stylin’. SAM 15 out.” Darren pulled a sharp U-turn and 
  headed back for the real reason for his delay.
  Bright red hair caught early morning sunlight, making Cyndiara stand 
  out against the drab log cabins. She covered her eyes as Darren’s SAMAS 
  touched down several meters away. Darren felt a sigh of relief to see she was 
  alone. She watched him with mournful eyes as he exited the exoskeleton and 
  slowly came to stand a few feet away.
  “I didn’t think you were going to stop,” she spoke, green eyes searching 
  his. “I thought you were just going to leave again.”
  
  110
  “C’mon, I wasn’t going to leave without seeing you first.” Darren moved 
  a step closer but got no warming response. “It’s good to see you again.” He 
  looked down, feeling awkward.
  “I never thought I would see you again.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
  “Me either. It, it really stinks, but I have to go. My unit’s waiting for me.” 
  Darren almost wished he hadn’t stopped at all. The pain of seeing her again 
  was too much.
  “You’re still going to Liberty?”
  “How did... where did you hear that?”
  “Delwin.”
  “Huh? Ohhh. Delwin.” Darren thought back to the odd meeting 24 hours 
  earlier.
  “Yeah, Delwin.” Cyndiara’s features broke into a pained smile.
  “Well, it was good seeing you again. I really have to go,” Darren tried to 
  escape the awkward pause.
  “Will I see you at Liberty?”
  “You’re going to Liberty?
  “Yes.” She made uncomfortable eye contact.
  “Well, yeah, then I guess so. If I make it, anyway. Yeah, I’ll see you at 
  Liberty.” Darren turned away nodding, then changed his mind and walked 
  forward to give her a stiff hug. It wasn’t returned.
  Without another word, Darren turned around and jogged to the open SA-
  MAS. There were lots of things he needed to think about before they met 
  again.
  ____________________
  Warned ahead of time by Sharp as to the reception waiting at base camp, 
  Lieutenant Merrick halted the returning convoy to talk in private with Ser-
  geant Winters. The two stood just out of earshot, but both knew anyone in a 
  mech would secretly be listening in. Birds chirped happily in the trees as the 
  men tried to plan a way out of the Armageddon that awaited them.
  “Well, ya know, whatever goes down, I’ll back ya,” Winters spoke confi-
  dently, more for the benefit of those listening than Greg’s.
  “Like I said, we have several options here. One, we just return and pretend 
  we didn’t circumvent direct orders, taking our chances Pritchett won’t at-
  tempt a field court-martial.”
  “And then there’s always the stuff we gotta hack when we get back home.”
  “I’m not concerned with that. My guess is a tribunal will give us medals 
  when they find out how we took down a Federation Lord and saved a human 
  village without losing a single man. No, Pritchett knows that too, that’s why 
  he has to deal with us by himself to save face in front of his troops.”
  “Forget ‘im,” was Winters’ advice.
  
  111
  “Don’t think I haven’t thought of other options too,” Greg leaned closer 
  and talked quietly. “Sharp’s in position. A clean kill.
  “Well, let’s do it then. Sharp’s sly, he can get clear.”
  “But that leaves Goldstein in command, and that spineless sissy will do 
  whatever Pritchett’s goon squad wants.”
  “Have Sharp waste him too.”
  “As much as I’d like to, I’m afraid that might spark the same kind of direct 
  confrontation we’re trying to avoid. Unfortunately, we may be past the point 
  of solving this without violence. If it comes to that are you ready to go all 
  the way?”
  “All the way.”
  “Let’s do it. Talk first, but if something happens to me, you know what 
  you have to do, for the good of the Unit.”
  
  112
  Chapter 9
  Poisoned wells
  Dust and small pebbles pelted the mud-caked legs of the Enforcer as Ser-
  geant Winters brought the hover rover to a stop before a line of troops in the 
  Coalition camp. Every remaining soldier and piece of equipment appeared 
  to be ready to move on to the next destination, but Winters knew from their 
  positions it was more to prevent any of the returning forces from escaping. 
  There was no other reason for having every hatch and turret manned or every 
  soldier in a state of combat readiness. If a stand-off degenerated into a con-
  frontation, it would be anyone’s guess who made it out alive.
  Captain Pritchett stood beneath his command Skull Walker accompanied 
  by what Greg often referred to as the “goon squad.” Two Full Conversion 
  Cyborgs and half a dozen other members of Pritchett’s unit stood by to obey 
  any order given by their commander. While most on both sides would hesi-
  tate to fire on their own, Winters doubted the goon squad would have such 
  reservations.
  “Cowboy, Bill,” Winters growled in a low voice. No other order was 
  needed for the men in the rover to move into action. Bill casually stood and 
  leaned on the rover’s swivel mount rail gun while Cowboy and his fire squad 
  sauntered over to where Greg was exiting his SAMAS. Winters nodded to 
  Brian and the technical officer strolled up beside the captain’s APC and 
  leaned his SAMAS against the side hatch, forcing Lieutenant Goldstein back 
  inside. The Skull Walkers faced off at fifty feet, and the Abolisher’s cannons 
  twitched slightly lower to cover the smaller Enforcer inching up on it. Both 
  sides knew the last Enforcer was the wild card, capable of tipping the odds in 
  favor of whatever side Corrinne chose – loyalty to her captain, or to the forces 
  she’d been with the night before. If she got close enough to any of the larger 
  robots, it would be relatively simple to take them out in hand to hand combat.
  Forty yards back in the forest, Sharp aligned his sights on the poorly con-
  cealed sniper on the opposite side of camp. All of this was way too much like 
  all the old western vids he’d watched in underground theaters back in Chi-
  Town. The air was electric with tension and Sharp couldn’t help but whistle 
  a tune from his favorite western of all time.
  “Dang, Merrick has guts,” Darren mused to himself as he watched Greg 
  calmly stride across no-man’s-land toward the Captain. “No armor, no weap-
  on, just guts.”
  Falling in step behind the lieutenant were Cowboy, Nim, and six others 
  to help even the odds. In a fair fight against the two opposing cyborgs, they 
  didn’t stand a chance, but Cowboy and Nim held weapons in one hand and 
  a shaped charge behind their backs with the other. A Fusion Block detonat-
  ing on the back of a cyborg’s head generally removed it from the picture for 
  good. Dealing with others would be a piece of cake by comparison.
  
  113
  “If it flies, duck an’ we’ll cover ya back to yer SAM,” Cowboy whispered.
  “Hopefully that won’t be necessary,” Greg replied.
  For some reason, he wasn’t scared or even apprehensive. Here was a po-
  tentially lethal situation and yet he was completely relaxed. Maybe that wor-
  ried Greg more than anything else. It wasn’t just his life he was gambling 
  with.
  Coming to a stop just feet from the captain, Greg calmly looked over the 
  welcoming party with a disinterested gaze.
  “Morning, Captain, we’re back from our practice maneuvers and ready to 
  move out for Liberty as soon as you are.”
  “I hope you have a very good explanation for your actions.”
  “I beg your pardon, sir?”
  “I don’t want to hear some story about night maneuvers and training. You 
  disobeyed a direct order, Lieutenant.” Captain Pritchett’s jaw set hard and his 
  face grew redder.
  “What order would that be, sir? Specifically.”
  “You knowingly and willfully countermanded my order not to aid that 
  village!”
  “And at what time did you order me not to engage in training maneuvers, 
  sir?” Greg felt a strange sense of glee riding in where politically minded 
  caution should have been. He knew the things to say from all of the training 
  he’d received in Chi-Town and how to say them, but that wasn’t how it was 
  coming out. He’d been out in the field too long and this confrontation was too 
  enjoyable. Pritchett’s face twisted in anger, then smoothed over to a putty-
  like smile that poorly masked his rage.
  “Very well, Lieutenant, as per orders from the head of Chi-Town Espio-
  nage Division, Colonel Lyboc, I’ve been given the authority to relieve you 
  of duty, permanently. Lieutenant Goldstein will assume command of your 
  unit,” Pritchett announced matter-of-factly, looking to the APC where his 
  first lieutenant should have been.
  Lieutenant Goldstein tried to worm past Brian’s SAMAS but the exoskel-
  eton kept shifting its weight from side to side, daring him to take the chance 
  of being crushed. The career-minded officer wasn’t stupid. He wanted noth-
  ing to do with Greg’s special ops unit and had told the captain so repeatedly. 
  Something told him he’d wind up getting fragged by friendly fire in the very 
  first battle. Finally, he climbed through a top hatch and hesitantly approached 
  the showdown. Greg’s keen senses read a different truth in Goldstein’s eyes.
  “You’re a liar, sir.” Greg turned back to Pritchett.
  “I’m, what?” Pritchett blinked, never losing the putty smile.
  “You never got those orders from H.Q. and you never talked to Lyboc.”
  “Are you calling me a liar?” Pritchett’s hands shook with rage.
  
  114
  “Yes, I’m calling you a liar. Lyboc’s a lying backstabber, but I’m out here 
  doing his dirty laundry, and he’s sure not going to jeopardize his mission 
  because of you. Respectfully speaking, of course. Sir.”
  “You can believe what you want, Lieutenant, I’m still relieving you of 
  duty on my own authority.” Pritchett practically shook with fury. He’d all but 
  admitted his deception to the men under his command.
  “I don’t think so, sir,” Greg said almost tauntingly.
  “Restrain the lieutenant!” Pritchett barked out.
  Everything happened at once. The sound of weapons being readied and 
  shuffling of feet came from all sides, and within seconds, almost every gun 
  in the camp was facing another gun. Two cyborgs on either side of Pritchett 
  stood like statues in mid-step, each with a Fusion Block latched to the backs 
  of their heads and finger hovering above the detonator button. The Abolisher 
  found itself precariously balanced on the Enforcer’s hip, just seconds from 
  being thrown down and pinned. Those troops that might have backed Pritch-
  ett before glanced at each other trying to make up their minds.
  Greg smiled broadly at Captain Pritchett without once looking around at 
  the standoff, the stakes raised to new levels.
  “Now what, Captain?”
  “Sergio,” Pritchett ordered the SAMAS forward and drew his own weap-
  on to level at Merrick’s head.
  Sergio took his time moving forward, hoping to see the fear in the lieuten-
  ant’s eyes. Instead, the world spun crazily, and the back of his head slammed 
  against the inside of his helmet so hard it made stars fly. Through intensely 
  bright and dark fireworks in his vision, Sergio made out the very large end of 
  Darren’s rail gun pointed directly at his left eyepiece.
  “Give me an excuse,” Darren breathed, holding the other exoskeleton 
  down with an armored foot. “Please, give me an excuse to waste you.”
  Greg shrugged his shoulders.
  “This isn’t what I wanted, how about you?”
  “Don’t forget I could blast you where you stand!” Pritchett flipped the 
  safety off his laser sidearm.
  “Not a great plan there, Captain.” Darren pointed his left forearm mini-
  missile launcher at the mission commander, never allowing the rail gun to 
  waver from its deadly mark.
  Pritchett looked at the loaded mini-missile tubes, then back at Merrick. 
  The explosion would kill the lieutenant instantly, but Pritchett knew he 
  wouldn’t be around to see it. A breeze blew cold sweat from his forehead, 
  and he glanced slowly around him at the tinderbox waiting to explode. The 
  putty smile returned and he placed his sidearm back in its holster.
  “Perhaps this isn’t the best time to resolve the issue.”
  “I didn’t think so either,” Greg smiled back.
  
  115
  “I will of course file a lengthy, detailed report of this incident. You will be 
  court-martialed without a doubt.”
  “Not likely. You see my own report will go something like this. While 
  conducting a nighttime training maneuver, our exercises brought us close to 
  a small village, very much like the one encountered earlier that day by the 
  river, except inhabited solely by humans. We came under fire from hostile 
  forces camped around this village, and upon investigation, discovered them 
  to be monsters controlled by a Lord of the Federation of Magic. Acting in the 
  interest of self-preservation and the policies of the Coalition States, I ordered 
  a retaliatory strike which not only destroyed many inhuman creatures but 
  killed the Federation Lord. The human village in question was freed of these 
  monsters’ tyranny and is interested in acting as a Coalition outpost for opera-
  tions in the region. Through the skill and bravery of both my own men and 
  yours, not one of our brave soldiers was lost.” Greg paused, letting his words 
  sink in. “Do I need to add the part where you tried to arrest me for destroying 
  enemies of the Coalition?”
  Pritchett stood silent for what seemed like forever.
  “Include what you like,” Pritchett never lost the smile. “But then I would 
  be forced to include the part where your men assaulted my unit and directly 
  threatened me with death.” Pritchett glanced over at Darren’s mini-missile 
  launcher.
  “Maybe it would be better if we all just forget the whole thing happened. 
  Long day, the strain of the battle with the monsters the other night, no doubt 
  all of this added up and made all of us a little edgy, wouldn’t you say?” Greg 
  let the words flow, everything feeling natural to calm the situation like he 
  knew it would.
  “I would have to agree, officially of course.”
  “Of course.”
  The two exchanged fake smiles. Greg looked around him, feeling elated.
  “Darren, you may stop directly threatening Captain Pritchett with death,” 
  Merrick ordered.
  “Yes, sir. What about him?” Darren jabbed the prone SAMAS with the tip 
  of his rail gun barrel.
  “Him too.”
  Darren stepped off Sergio’s SAMAS, signaling a lowering of weapons 
  and relax in posture. Corrinne returned the Abolisher to its upright posi-
  tion. Sergio jerked to his feet, enraged but under control. Cowboy and Nim 
  stepped away from the cyborgs, holding the Fusion Blocks in plain view in 
  a taunting manner.
  “We’re leaving now. Have your unit assume point, maybe they could use 
  some daytime exercises as well.” Pritchett smiled again, feeling a bit uneasy 
  now that the Enforcer’s crew had shown their true colors.
  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Greg grinned. “Sergeant!”
  
  116
  “Yes, sir!” Winters barked.
  “Move out.”
  ____________________
  Zenjori looked over his two units. He had led them southeast with the in-
  tention of bringing them across the Potomac River to the south and if things 
  worked out, crushing the Coalition and First Strike forces and retaking Lib-
  erty or, failing that, looping back into the southern portion of the Magic Zone 
  and Federation Territory to start fresh once again.
  As valuable as the information on his stolen disc was, he knew it wouldn’t 
  hold its value forever. He needed to establish his permanent base of power 
  soon so that he could begin leveraging what he had.
  When they had left Liberty, they traveled southeast about five miles and 
  made camp. Torrak had scouted the area and had reported that further south-
  east was what looked like a large, open grouping of fields, wooden fences, 
  and cannons that were being maintained. There was a tall stone tower that 
  stood on a small rise and overlooked the area, with a strongly built house just 
  east of it.
  The oddest thing about the area was that the tower sat inside a nexus of 
  several ley lines that formed a small triangle. Zenjori still didn’t fully under-
  stand the ley lines and the role they played but had heard that all powerful 
  mages tried to hold onto the places where ley lines intersected because of 
  the additional power they provided. Even the great city of Tolkeen was built 
  under a ley line triangle. Torrak said that the tower was surrounded by three 
  ley lines in a similar manner to Tolkeen and would be a place of great magical 
  power. If he could summon more Gromek Shifters, they could easily make 
  the triangle a magical stronghold in the region.
  Taking Drake, Colnae, and Torrak with him; Zenjori flew ahead to the 
  house to greet the occupants and see if they could convince them to join the 
  cause of the Army of the New Order. The hovercraft circled the triangular 
  nexus, skirting the northeastern corner before coming to the house that sat 
  just inside the glowing eastern ley line.
  It was a small white farmhouse set low in a small depression compared 
  with the land around it. With green shutters and a white porch, the house was 
  surrounded by large trees that provided plenty of shade in the back. In the 
  fields behind the structure, figures could be seen harvesting crops and manag-
  ing the land by hand.
  Stepping up to the fence that surrounded the home and passing through 
  the magical line of energy, the gate that broke up the token barrier of protec-
  tion swung open to welcome the odd assemblage of characters as a figure 
  emerged from the front door.
  Zenjori, feeling a little ill at ease for the density of magic in the air around 
  him, strode through the gate and ley line confidently. “Hello stranger! We 
  
  117
  come in peace and wonder if we might ask for a little hospitality and a few 
  moments of your time.”
  The fog of the ley line cleared as they moved through the well-manicured 
  front yard and up to the entrance of the house.
  “Of course, the pleasure is mine. I am the humble mage known as Syrrig” 
  the man replied.
  He was tall and thin with a cloak drawn around him. Somewhat odd for the 
  summer. Most notable, Zenjori thought, were his pointed ears.
  ____________________
  Credo listened to Zenjori Suka, leader of the Army of the New Order, 
  as he pitched why the powerful Federation Lord should join the cause the 
  rebel leader laid out. Actually, Zenjori didn’t know that he was talking to 
  a 250-year-old Elven Lord of the Federation. Credo told the group that his 
  name was Syrrig, a humble, yet keen mage who had fled a Coalition attack in 
  Arkansas and had ended up here at this triangular nexus of immense power. 
  Recognizing the value of such a location, he started repairing it and making 
  the area a magical haven, far from the clutches of the evil Coalition States. 
  The thing was, he was struggling a bit and could use some money to really 
  make the place attractive to more mages and turn it into a sight to behold.
  He only listened with half an ear as Zenjori made his case, just enough to 
  understand the gist of what was being said while he focused the majority of 
  his attention on reading the body language of those who had come with him.
  Most of the members were distrustful of mages and Elves in particular, for 
  which Credo could think of many reasons that were well founded. However, 
  Zenjori had been amazingly courteous and charismatic and had shared his 
  story with an almost aristocratic and pandering air that Credo appreciated.
  Credo hid who he really was, preferring to see if Zenjori and his group 
  were more informed and smarter than they let on about the area. He had 
  been pandered to many times by many who sought power and those who had 
  wanted more. A Federation Lord wasn’t just left to their own devices to just 
  subjugate everyone within their area of influence and laugh at court meetings 
  whenever Alistair Dunscon made a dry joke. They were warlords who still 
  had to be available to those who had not been subjugated. Credo, in his many 
  years, had become very good at reading people, knowing what their true in-
  tentions were, and toying with them for his own malevolent pleasure.
  “Mr. Suka,” Credo smiled. “As you have said, you already have a mage 
  in your midst. I wouldn’t dream of slighting your Gromek spell master.” 
  Credo accented ‘your’ and was pleased with the Gromek’s scowl. “I’m sure 
  for a Gromek, his powers are astonishing. What I can offer you is not a few 
  simple spells known by any passing wizard, but the command of demon le-
  gions summoned forth and controlled by my magic. I’m certain that working 
  
  118
  together with Torrex, I can provide you with an edge the Coalition will not 
  be prepared for.”
  “My name is Torrak!” The Gromek roared, “and I will not work with 
  Elven garbage.”
  “You will do as I say as long as I am paying you,” Zenjori snapped.
  Credo sensed a growing dislike for the Shifter and an opportunity to keep 
  a position of power while he toyed with the group. Losing his subjugated 
  demons and some of his best apprentices had been a frustrating blow. This 
  wasn’t the first time he’d had setbacks, but it was his first loss in quite a 
  while. In his long-term plans, the Coalition were minor annoyances, but in 
  Zenjori, it looked as though he had an opportunity for quick retaliation and 
  an opportunity to score points with Lord Dunscon and his cabal by defeating 
  the skeleton-motif wearing troops. Credo didn’t really care what the rest of 
  the Federation Lords thought. He had his own plans. But things were easier 
  when others didn’t perceive weakness in you.
  “My apologies, Torrak, I assumed you would have welcomed the oppor-
  tunity to gain some greater spell knowledge. Forgive me for my short-sight-
  edness.” Credo bowed graciously. Looking up, his heart skipped a beat as he 
  saw the mace. Suspended from Torrak’s belt was a black, spike-headed mace 
  that radiated a magic aura like Credo had rarely seen in his 250 years. The 
  mace at Torrak’s side was a greater rune weapon and Credo suddenly real-
  ized where Anubis was directing him.
  “Please, give me a moment to speak with my associates.” Zenjori bowed 
  politely and motioned Colnae to his side. “What do you think?”
  “He’s telling the truth, but not all of it.”
  “I agree. Notec, your assessment please,” Zenjori asked the wispy-haired 
  advisor.
  “He has ulterior motives, for sure, but he does loathe the Coalition and 
  could be a powerful ally.”
  Credo’s Elf ears could hear everything the group whispered. They obvi-
  ously weren’t accustomed to beings with sharper hearing than a human’s. 
  Still, he was happy for the insight and advantage his natural abilities provided 
  him. It was comical how they kept looking over at him and then whispering 
  to each other, as if world-changing decisions were being made. Maybe they 
  were. Credo did his best to find something interesting about digging the dirt 
  from under his nails.
  “There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t quite put my finger on 
  it.” Colnae stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “I have it. I saw him at a wizards’ 
  convention several years ago. I know who he is. This man is not who he 
  claims to be. He’s a powerful member of the Federation. His name is Lord 
  Credo, not Syrrig, and from what I’ve heard he is one of the more learned and 
  treacherous Federation Lords.”
  
  119
  Zenjori observed the slim Elven Wizard, trying to determine if it was 
  worth the risk to work with him.
  “Are you certain?” Zenjori whispered to Colnae.
  “Yes, he would be a powerful ally, but he may think it’s beneath his status 
  to join us.”
  “In that case, what would interest him about us?”
  “He might be here to spy on us, but a Federation Lord wouldn’t do it him-
  self, he’d send others in his place. Maybe his story about being attacked by 
  the Coalition is truer than we first believed. On the other hand, what if this 
  is the Federation’s way of sending us help without officially supporting us? 
  Maybe Charla passed on our request.”
  “Keep an eye on him. I’m going to tell him we’ll hire him for a trial pe-
  riod; that should be enough to deal with the Coalition. Don’t let on that we 
  know who he is. Play along with it for now.”
  Zenjori smoothly turned back to Credo, giving Torrak a disappointed 
  glare as he did so.
  “These are my terms, Syrrig. You sign on for a three-month trial period, 
  for which you will be paid 1,000 credits per week. You will be re-evaluated 
  in one month’s time, and if you’ve proven your credentials, your pay will be 
  adjusted appropriately. Your starting pay may seem low, but it’s the best we 
  can do without proven loyalty and ability.”
  “I understand, Zenjori, and have no prideful obstacles to overcome. To 
  paraphrase a wise adversary of mine, pride leads the way to destruction, and 
  arrogance hastens your demise. I accept your terms.”
  “Very good. Colnae will draw up the contract and Drake will issue your 
  armor and your choice of weapon.”
  “And then I’d like to get better acquainted with your Gromek Shifter,” 
  Credo smiled at the sullen mage. “Come, friend Torrak, I’m certain we have 
  many wonderful things we could learn from each other.”
  ____________________
  Anger rumbled deep in Torrak’s chest, showing that the anger inside him 
  was set to a toasty simmer. The only race he hated more than humans was 
  Elvenkind. Visions of the Elf dying in his grasp were interrupted by a low, 
  soft voice invading his thoughts.
  “What’s the matter, is a little abuse too much to endure for the prospect of 
  greater power?” the runic weapon asked in his thoughts.
  “Be still, Mind Crusher. I decide what is too much,” Torrak barked harsh-
  ly in his head.
  “Very well, my master. Your will is my command,” the weapon cooed to 
  Torrak’s mind.
  
  120
  Torrak’s yellow eyes fixed on Credo, mentally ripping him apart limb 
  from limb. He would learn what he could, then find a slow, painful death for 
  the Elf to endure.
  At his side, Mind Crusher chuckled softly in two minds instead of one. 
  The fun was just beginning.
  ____________________
  Scrolls, charms, and magic paraphernalia lay in disorganized piles around 
  Sinclair Van De Graf. Having completely lost track of time many hours ear-
  lier, he delved deeper and deeper into the secrets of the palindromes and 
  circles before him. To accumulate such a wealth of knowledge could take a 
  human a lifetime, but here it all was for the taking. Van thumbed through the 
  descriptions of powerful circles, committing every bit to memory for later 
  analysis. It might take years to learn the secrets unfolding before him and 
  many decades to master them completely, but time was of little concern. Van 
  had more than most.
  His interest went beyond curiosity and found its source deep in his soul. 
  As a child he’d watched his father perform arcane rituals in circles such as 
  these, accomplishing feats of magic beyond comprehension with a few sim-
  ple words. The rewards contained in their secrets weren’t some ethereal con-
  cept or dream, but tangible power waiting to be used. The prospect of things 
  to come enthralled him, bringing unattainable desires within his grasp.
  Many of the rituals described in detail were of processes so disgusting that 
  Van lost hope at the thought of anyone performing them. Sacrificing all man-
  ner of living things, ripping a beating heart from a dragon, grinding bones 
  into dust and mingling them with a burning tongue severed from some hap-
  less mage – everywhere there was blood. Blood in circles, blood on the altar, 
  and blood flowing from his own veins to seal the circle’s power. At first, it 
  all seemed too abhorrent to consider, but the hunger for power suppressed his 
  reservations and rationalized brutal processes for rewards with vastly power-
  ful potential. The end always seemed to justify the means.
  There was a soft patter of feet in the adjoining hall outside Credo’s labora-
  tory. Van reacted on reflex, aiming his TX-5 at the noise.
  “It’s just me.” Anja smiled, eyes fixed on Van, not the gun.
  “Sorry.” Van shamefully holstered the gun.
  Anja padded forward and looked around the lab. Strange odors and un-
  familiar scents assaulted her senses and wrinkled her nose involuntarily in 
  disgust.
  “It doesn’t smell very good in here.”
  “I didn’t notice.”
  “Well, I’m all done up there, and I thought I’d come down here and see 
  what you were up to.” Anja dropped her bow and quiver to the floor and sat 
  
  121
  down right beside Van. She leaned over the book in Van’s lap, letting her 
  long, rust-colored hair fall across Van’s arm.
  “I didn’t think you were interested in such things.” Van moved his arm 
  self-consciously.
  “What does it say? I can’t read.”
  “It’s a passage describing the flow of magic energy from the dying serpent 
  into the circle nexus.” Van turned the page and showed Anja a graphic, hand 
  sketched picture.
  “That’s disgusting.”
  “That’s what I thought too. Actually, I thought I might show this stuff to 
  the guild master at Lazlo. He might know a way to convert this to what we 
  call ‘clean magic.’ It’s the latest trend, coming from some other dimension. 
  Clean magic works manifestations without the use of crutches like ingredi-
  ents and rituals. Most of the magic taught up there is going that way.”
  “I use clean magic,” Anja announced, shutting the book and placing it 
  on the floor. “I wish most people were as thoughtful as you are.” She leaned 
  against him.
  “Well, a lot of this stuff here is, well, never mind.” Van felt guilty all over 
  again. “Is everybody ready to leave?”
  “They already did. A long time ago.”
  “They did? How come you’re still here?”
  “Cuz I told David to go on without me and I’d get a ride with you when 
  you were done.” Anja looked up hopefully and Van averted his gaze.
  “Guess that doesn’t leave me much choice.”
  “Nope.” She grinned.
  “I wasn’t planning on leaving just yet.”
  “That’s okay. I’ll wait.”
  Van let out a frustrated sigh. Anja was up to something again; Van was 
  sure of it. What could he do? Did she know how easily she could manipulate 
  him or was it something she just did without trying? Her sweet, naive nature 
  was dissolving his selfish excuses left and right.
  “I suppose I could study most of this later. Want to help me carry it up to 
  the Cycle?”
  “You’re keeping this stuff?” Anja looked around wide-eyed.
  “Just long enough for me to memorize it.”
  “Why? This is evil.”
  “No, it’s not, magic is only evil if it’s used for evil.”
  “Magic comes from the soul, and if the soul is corrupt, so is the magic.” 
  Anja moved to sit cross-legged in front of him. “Remember, we talked about 
  this before?”
  “Kind of... not exactly.” Memories of their discussion on good, evil, and 
  magic played back in Van’s mind. She’d looked so forlorn in gossamer white 
  fabric and holding his coat around herself for warmth. Her hair still retained 
  
  122
  a wildness to it much as it had then and her aqua eyes still held him enthralled 
  whenever he dared gaze into them. A pain in his chest reminded him of the 
  disappointment he’d felt when he discovered what Anja really meant by pure. 
  Somehow, he couldn’t separate it from his view of her.
  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
  “Please, stop doing that, okay?” Van stood up, feeling all the more stupid 
  for leaving his thoughts open to her once again. “Look, if I want to study 
  these circles and learn new spells, I’ll do it my own way, not like this Federa-
  tion Lord.”
  “But what of the cost that was paid to learn them in the first place?”
  “Huh?”
  “What value do you put on your own peace of mind? Can you sleep at 
  night knowing how these were created?” The anger in her voice drew Van’s 
  attention. She stood to her full height with determination.
  “What are you talking about? These are just spells. Someone else did all 
  the dirty work, I’m just looking at their end product and will figure out a bet-
  ter way to produce the result.”
  “When you start down the path these books will lead you, you start de-
  stroying your own standards and morals. It might not happen now, it may not 
  even happen for years, but gradually you’ll lose sight of what is right and get 
  dragged down to the same evil as the man you got them from. It corrupts a 
  little at a time, each bit of power eating away at your humanity. I don’t want 
  that to happen to you.”
  Van stared at her. This was the last kind of response he’d expected from 
  the typically soft-spoken Mystic.
  “I won’t lose sight of my values,” he stammered.
  “Do you even know what your values are now? What do you value? Pow-
  er? Wealth? Belongings? These are shallow things without true reward.”
  “I have other values.”
  “I’m not going to judge you or your values, Van, that’s not my place. I 
  place a value on my own magic, a very high one, so I understand how im-
  portant it is to you. My pureness is my highest value, and it’s the key to the 
  powers within me – the powers I use to help others. You need to ask yourself 
  how important all this stuff really is to you. Is it worth giving up your friends, 
  loved ones, and maybe even your soul?” Anja waited for Van’s dark eyes to 
  meet her gaze. At last, he raised his eyes and gave her a smile.
  “I suppose happiness is a value, isn’t it?”
  “A very important one. True happiness, lasting happiness.”
  “They say money can’t buy happiness, but it does come at a price.” Van 
  looked longingly at the stacks of material he hadn’t finished reading.
  “I’m not asking you to give up these things, not if they’re that important 
  to you. I just want you to really, really consider what you’re doing and the 
  
  123
  price you’ll pay if you go down this road,” Anja spoke so quietly Van could 
  barely hear her.
  “That I can do. Honestly and sincerely.” He reached over and placed a 
  hand on her armored shoulder. She smiled and pressed a warm cheek against 
  his hand.
  “Thank you.”
  “No, thank you. I just remembered something somebody said to me earlier 
  today, and I have every intention of proving him wrong. Grab your helmet, it 
  gets windy riding on the back of a Sky Cycle.”
  ____________________
  Lisa released her body harness and squirmed impatiently at her commu-
  nications console inside Skull 41. Seven hours trapped in the confines of the 
  robot’s pilot compartment was pushing her to the limit. She’d spent most of 
  the night and day before in it too. Enough was enough. If they were moving 
  it wouldn’t be so bad but waiting for the Captain to finish negotiations made 
  time drag on longer than usual.
  “You better put that back on,” Dave advised, pointing to the loose harness 
  straps.
  “Why? Nobody’s going to start a fight.” Lisa pushed the seat back and 
  stretched her legs. Just the same she glanced at the main view screen to make 
  sure none of the mercenaries were aiming weapons at the halted Coalition 
  convoy. Members of the mercenary company “First Strike” had met them 
  just outside Liberty and requested a meeting with Captain Pritchett to discuss 
  the Coalition’s conduct in the primarily D-Bee populated town. After a few 
  tense moments of political posturing, Captain Pritchett convinced the mer-
  cenary defenders that the Coalition was simply visiting and wouldn’t cause 
  any trouble for the town’s non-human population. All that was left was the 
  setting of ground rules regarding weapons and armor in the town proper. 
  Forty-five minutes later, Lisa didn’t care anymore, she just wanted out of the 
  Skull Walker.
  “Can’t wait to grab a shower and jump in bed with Lieutenant Studly?” 
  Dave teased.
  “Oh, be quiet. I just hope Pritchett lets the NCO’s stay someplace nice.”
  “Point me to the nearest bar and I won’t care where we stay.”
  “Who do you think you’re kidding? Point you to the nearest cat-house is 
  more like it.”
  “Hey, that’ll solve both problems.” Dave grinned.
  “Skull 41, this is Captain Pritchett, do you copy?” The officer’s voice 
  blared over the internal speakers. Dave winced and Lisa scrambled to put her 
  headset back on. Dave mouthed words at her she was glad she couldn’t hear.
  “This is Skull 41, go ahead.”
  “Is there a problem with your communications, Corporal?”
  
  124
  “No sir, I was running a frequency scan while we waited, were you trying 
  to reach me?” Lisa lied.
  “Not a problem. Listen carefully. You are to move your mechanized unit 
  to a location designated by the town officials and secure it alongside Skull 
  191. There will be four shifts, six hours each, guarding our mechanized units. 
  You and your pilot will assume 1st shift and be relieved at 2400 hours. Ser-
  geant Winters will inform you about duty stations and help you work out a 
  definite patrol route. Is there any problem with this?”
  “No sir, no problem,” Lisa drawled, flipping off her main console.
  “Good. Pritchett out.”
  Lisa threw her headset at the console.
  “Follow Skull 191,” she passed the order on to Dave.
  “Big chief tick off little squaw?” Dave matched her pout, crossing his 
  arms in mock defiance.
  “You can be really annoying sometimes, Dave.”
  “Sorry, but that’s just me. No, really, what’s up?” Dave returned to all 
  seriousness.
  “That jerk knows we’ve been up over 36 hours and so he puts us on first 
  guard shift until 2400. I hate this.”
  Dave shook his head. “Of all the nerve.”
  “Drive Dave, and don’t step on the mercenary’s hover rover, please.”
  “Whoops.” Dave swerved and barely avoided a politically unwise ma-
  neuver.
  “You need sleep. Bad,” Lisa commented sarcastically.
  “What I need is a cold brew in one hand and a babe in the other. I suppose 
  one out of two isn’t bad.” Dave reached for her behind.
  “Dave!” Lisa spat through clenched teeth. Both of them had been in the 
  Skull Walker way too long.
  “Aw, you’re no fun.” Dave tapped directions into the robot’s console in 
  order to avoid smashing the posted ‘no weapons’ sign.
  “Try me when I’ve had a few drinks,” Lisa kidded to ease the tension. 
  She was just happy to be moving again, even if Dave was swerving like he’d 
  already had a couple too many.
  “Ahh, I can hear the blond mating call.” Dave cocked his head as if listen-
  ing intently, then threw his head back and slumped to one side. “Ohhhmma-
  god, I’mmmm sooo drunk.”
  Lisa knocked him in the jaw.
  
  125
  Chapter 10
  Unite
  Darren never thought a stiff styrene sleeping pad could feel so good. By 
  the time his patrol ended just about any place even remotely flat was calling 
  him to come to lay down. Now that his body reached a resting place, his mind 
  gleefully jumped off the cliff of consciousness and into dreamland.
  Weird plant-like things crawled to reach him from someplace below, their 
  spiked fingers mutating and growing in writhing ferocity. Darren wasn’t sure 
  what they were exactly, but a gut feeling told him they were bad.
  He opened his eyes and looked at his wrist computer. Only an hour had 
  passed in the blink of an eye. Darren shut his eyes.
  They were back, groping for him as he passed overhead, long tendrils, 
  twisted and deformed. The tendril plants transformed into hideous, vaguely 
  humanoid appendages, then mutated again so the reaching arms grew into the 
  fiery explosions of magma, never stopping their yearning to reach up and pull 
  him down if they could only get a bit higher.
  This was really weird, Darren’s conscious mind observed but was too tired 
  to wrestle itself back to reality.
  They were closer now, all around him, this time having transformed into 
  angry holly vines. Sharp spines and pointy leaves swirled around with in-
  creasing madness until they all converged at once. Vines and branches 
  grabbed his body and wrapped themselves around him, shaking him and 
  shouting his name.
  Shouting? Darren’s conscious mind tried to make sense of the bizarre sen-
  sory assault.
  Opening his eyes, Darren found Cowboy desperately trying to restrain 
  him.
  “What the hell are you doing?” Darren asked, bewildered.
  “What the hell am I doing?! I tap you on the chest to wake you up and you 
  started flipping out! You okay, buddy?” Cowboy stood up.
  “I was having the strangest dream.” Darren looked at the time. Yet again, 
  only an hour had gone by since he last checked.
  “Musta been one hell of a nightmare.”
  “Uh, yeah. What did you wake me up for?”
  “There’s somebody outside wants to see ya. That red-haired broad you 
  brought back from Youngstown.”
  “You won’t narc, will you?” Darren asked the larger soldier.
  “I don’t narc on my pals, man. You know that.”
  “Thanks, dude.”
  “Better make sure Sharky don’t see ya, though. That guy’s been creepin’ 
  ‘round these cabins tryin’ ta sniff out psyches. I told ’im I’d kick his backside 
  if I caught him snoopin’ ’round our cabin, so keep an eye for the freak in the 
  
  126
  bushes. Just yell if ya see ‘im and me an’ the boys’ll come out and beat him 
  to a pulp.”
  “Thanks, Cowboy.” Darren started opening the door, then paused. “Cow-
  boy?”
  A cold blast of air gave Darren a taste of what awaited him outside. Four 
  hours before the sky was almost clear, but now it was so dark one couldn’t 
  see the stars. A light, chilly drizzle started to fall. Darren’s body shivered in-
  voluntarily. Running across damp ground, he leapt clumsily onto the partially 
  completed boardwalk that connected most of the cabins on the hillside near 
  the river. Cyndiara stood just a few feet away beneath a section of the com-
  pleted awning, her expression a blend of amusement and sympathy.
  Darren limped over to her, rain soaking his hair and uniform.
  “I think I got a splinter in my foot,” he stated.
  “That’s just what I traveled a thousand miles to hear,” she nodded.
  “It hurts.”
  “That’s too bad.”
  “You could be more sympathetic,” Darren complained as he leaned against 
  the wall of the cabin and hooked his foot onto his knee. After a moment, he 
  felt the barb and pulled it out.
  Both stared deeply into each other’s eyes, searching for some reassurance 
  that they were both out in the unforgiving weather for the same reasons. Cyn-
  diara looked up at Darren’s handsome features and tired eyes, then reached 
  out a small hand to touch his cheek. Darren gently ran his hand up her out-
  stretched arm before quickly pulling Cyndiara into a tight and emotional em-
  brace, held close and tight against his chest. Darren could feel her warmth 
  through her heavy coat and clothing. He welcomed her closeness, unafraid 
  and unashamed. Tears formed in his eyes and he wept for the first time since 
  the night he’d left her weeping in the rain a month earlier.
  “How could I have been such an idiot,” he spoke into her damp red hair. 
  “I am so sorry for what I did to you.”
  Cyndiara tightened her embrace.
  “I want you back so bad, Cyndiara. I promise it will be different.” He 
  gently pulled away so he could see her eyes. She was crying.
  “Will things really be different?” she asked softly.
  “I promise.”
  “I... I want to believe you, Darren, but....” She bit her lip, heart-wrenching 
  in agony to believe him.
  “I know I hurt you, Cyndiara, and I wouldn’t blame you if you torched me 
  to ash right now. But please believe me when I tell you I love you more than 
  anything else. I don’t care if you’re a Burster, I don’t care if you’re Psychic, 
  I wouldn’t even care if you were a magic user. I’m past all that. There isn’t 
  anything I will let come between us, not again, not anything!
  
  127
  “I will forever ask forgiveness for what I did.” Darren stood on the cold 
  wooden slats and clasped her hands in front of him.
  In the dim light, Cyndiara could make out the scar on his right hand, the 
  scar that symbolized everything they had in common and reminded her of 
  everything they did not. Choking in emotional agony, Cyndiara wrapped her 
  coat around Darren and pulled his head to her chest.
  “I do forgive you, Darren. I forgive you.”
  For many long minutes, they held the embrace, letting cold rain wash 
  away the pain they both shared. Cyndiara became aware of Darren’s increas-
  ing shivers and generated an aura of heat to still his shaking.
  “Stay with me tonight.”
  “Where?”
  “My hotel. I rented the master suite.” She smiled coquettishly.
  “Okay.” Darren needed no other persuasion.
  “Put your boots on. You wouldn’t want to get another sliver.”
  The two left the cover of the awning and sprinted for the nearest shelter 
  down the street.
  From the shadows, a slinking figure giggled fiendishly to itself. Captain 
  Pritchett would certainly hear of such blatant treason, Sharky would be sure 
  of it. Then he would kill both of them.
  ____________________
  Torrak glowered spitefully at his Elven teacher. While the Elf had seemed 
  keen to start off on the right foot, form an alliance, and trade spells with 
  Torrak, the entire lesson had been filled with double-edged comments and 
  belittling mannerisms, all of which the Elf pretended were accidents and slips 
  of the tongue. What made the ordeal unbearable was the audience observing 
  from the opposite bank of the creek. More than once he’d seen the reflective 
  power armor suit almost double over with its pilot’s laughter. Every time the 
  Glitter Boy moved into patches of sunlight, the rays would catch its mirrored 
  surface and reflect light right in Torrak’s eyes. Torrak was sure the human 
  pilot was doing it on purpose just to annoy him. More than once the Gromek 
  Shifter desired to pry the pilot from his near indestructible power suit and 
  drown him in the freezing water of the creek.
  “One more time, Torrak, just to make sure you understand the precise 
  movement required for the spell,” Credo prodded, enjoying the humiliation 
  Torrak was experiencing.
  “I don’t understand why it is necessary for me to do these, these obscene 
  movements with my right hand.”
  “I suppose I can explain it to you one more time, we still have an hour 
  or two before noon. As I’ve told you before, the original spell called for the 
  yanking of some six appendages, not one. I managed to convert the spell to 
  just one, but it requires doing it six times as long. Unless you can metamor-
  
  128
  phosize into a creature with six such appendages, you must follow the hand 
  movements exactly or the spell won’t work,” Credo lied. So far, he’d made 
  the Gromek do every detestable motion and body movement he could think 
  of for a spell that required only three distinct phrases to form and focus magic 
  energies. He hadn’t had this much fun in a long time.
  “How do these movements make me swim like a fish?” Torrak growled, 
  looking at the swollen, muddy creek with trepidation.
  “I never managed to translate why it was necessary, more than likely a 
  spell of aquatic origin. What’s important is that you believe they are neces-
  sary. One cannot cast magic without belief, that is a basic requirement I’m 
  sure you’re already aware of, Torrak. If a mage believes it necessary for him 
  to wear the same pair of underwear every day in order to cast magic, then 
  without that smelly pair of undergarments it is impossible for him to suc-
  cessfully invoke a spell. All that training and focus of energy he’s learned is 
  useless without belief. So, unless you believe those motions are a necessary 
  part of focusing and channeling your mystic energy for the desired result, it 
  won’t work, and you’ll be wet and miserable all over again.”
  “I understand the fish gestures.” Torrak demonstrated by making a fish 
  face and flapping his wings and arms like fins. “But there’s no reason for 
  a sexual reference in this spell.” He went through the series of movements 
  exactly as Credo had instructed.
  Sunlight struck Torrak in the eye and he sharply recoiled as the Glitter 
  Boy doubled over with laughter again. The troops on the opposite bank were 
  practically in tears.
  “Well, it’s time you put your abilities to the test.” Credo glanced across 
  the creek and winked. “Now, concentrate on darting through the water like a 
  fish, and when you have completed the movements once more and recited the 
  incantation, just dive on in.”
  As best he could, Torrak concentrated on swimming like a fish, but the hip 
  thrusts and hand movements just didn’t fit in and the constant display of light 
  from the opposite bank broke his concentration the instant before he jumped. 
  Plunging into the icy cold water, Torrak choked on vegetation and spit mud 
  from his mouth. Floundering in the shallow water, Torrak felt rage overtake 
  him. In a desperate lunge at Credo, Torrak slipped and planted his horns in 
  the steep muddy bank instead.
  Credo never laughed. Torrak raised his muddy face to see the elder wizard 
  gazing down with smug sympathy.
  “That’s a good start, Torrak, but as they say, practice makes perfect. Let’s 
  try it again my friend.”
  ____________________
  Cracking open the Glitter Boy’s armored pilot’s compartment, Kreg Ren-
  croft pulled himself free and dropped to the ground, still chuckling to himself 
  
  129
  at the magic lesson he witnessed earlier. Looking skyward at the dark thun-
  der clouds in the distance, he stepped back to close the robotic exoskeleton 
  against a sudden storm burst.
  Striding across the small mercenary base, Kreg stepped in a puddle and 
  muddied his spotless pilot’s suit.
  “Damn it.” He tried to wipe the mud from his boot, only succeeding in 
  smearing it further. If there was anything he detested it was getting dirty. He 
  didn’t mind charging into the thick of battle or facing down a robot vehicle 
  many times the size of his Glitter Boy, just so long as none of the blood and 
  gore actually touched his well-groomed appearance and attire. His obsession 
  with cleanliness carried over to the maintenance of his power armor as well.
  The dense molecularly bonded chrome armor had to be polished to mirror 
  perfection and every battle mark in its surface repaid tenfold. It had almost 
  gotten to the point where he didn’t want to take the ten-foot power armor 
  into combat for fear of damaging it again, but Kreg knew that eventually the 
  inevitable would occur. Very few power armor units carried the firepower of 
  a Glitter Boy, its electromagnetic mass driver the winner in any slugfest nine 
  times out of ten.
  Instead of firing a burst of metal slugs in rapid succession, the Glitter 
  Boy’s “Boom Gun” accelerated 200 slugs in a fall-away casing that would 
  impact a target long before the sound of the sonic boom ever reached the 
  unfortunate victim. Each time the cannon split the air; a localized sonic boom 
  would follow the projectile cluster in a V-shaped wave to the target. With the 
  mass and velocity of the projectile cluster, the Boom Gun could often strike 
  and kill a target with only one shot, long before the enemy was in a position 
  to return fire. That was how Kreg liked to keep his battles – one sided. Very 
  rarely did his recipient of kinetic steel ever shoot back.
  Hopping from dry spot to dry spot, he made his way to the command ve-
  hicle where most of the company leaders awaited his arrival.
  “Kreg, catch.” A man wearing a drug injection harness threw a helmet at 
  Kreg’s head.
  “Crap, J.J., watch it.” Kreg fumbled with the helmet.
  The augmented “Juicer” was Kreg’s best friend but always seemed to for-
  get about the comparatively slow reflexes of everyone else around him. Kreg 
  turned the bronze colored helmet over in his hands, noting its light weight 
  and lack of any environmental features. Glancing up he saw the rest of the 
  command staff watching him.
  “What do you make of that, Kreg?” Zenjori asked.
  “It wouldn’t fit me, that’s for sure.” He examined it closer. “Looks like 
  some alien design. Definitely humanoid, though.”
  “Look through the eye shield.”
  “Are these polarized?” Kreg tried to see through the dark eye shields, but 
  no light passed through. “Where’d you find this?”
  
  130
  “J.J. found it near a wrecked robot of some kind. Must have been a fierce 
  battle, trees burned away and blast craters all around. The rain destroyed any 
  tracks, and the only thing J.J. could find intact was that helmet buried under a 
  tree limb.” Zenjori pointed to the helmet and motioned for Colnae to continue 
  the explanation.
  “That helmet belongs to a race of Warrior Women. Blind Warrior Wom-
  en.”
  “I feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on here.” 
  Kreg looked around.
  “My Federation Lord once told me about these Warrior Women and where 
  they come from. They’re minions of supernatural creatures from Atlantis, 
  and their presence means that other powerful creatures are here also.”
  “Is this good, or bad?” Kreg tossed the helmet back to J.J., somewhat 
  miffed at being the last to be informed.
  “It’s definitely not good, I can tell you that for sure. Typically, if that hel-
  met really is from one of these Warrior Women, they don’t travel alone. Four 
  to six warriors accompany what’s been called a Slaver’s Barge. A creature 
  with many tentacles and incredible powers controls them. From what little 
  I’ve heard, these things should be destroyed at all costs. Since you usually 
  operate away from the main group, we thought you should be aware of the 
  possible threat.”
  “How will I know when I see one of these Warrior Women or Slaver 
  Barge thing?”
  “You will know, Kreg, there’s not many things you could mistake it for. 
  As for the women, be on the lookout for similarly styled helmets,” Zenjori 
  advised. “Shoot first, don’t think about it. That’s an order.”
  “Understood. Is that everything you wanted to talk with me about?”
  “No. Early this morning a Coalition SAMAS bearing the number 312 flew 
  within one mile of where you were stationed. What’s more, it flew past your 
  position undetected. Why?” Zenjori asked nicely, without a shred of malice 
  in his voice.
  “It must have been running silent, without active radar or targeting, I 
  guess. It’s pretty hard to spot a SAM in the rain when it’s only running on 
  passive systems at slow speed and just above the treetops where I have little 
  coverage. That’s unusual, they don’t usually do that. Who spotted it?”
  “I did,” Drake rumbled, pointing to his multi-optic eyes. “Thermo.”
  “Point is, Kreg, I’m not mad at you. I just want you to be aware that 
  the Coalition forces in Liberty aren’t as stupid as others we’ve encountered. 
  They’ve been in Liberty two days and seem to be getting along with the 
  D-Bee population better than we expected. What’s more, each day their pa-
  trols come closer and closer to our position. As far as we know, the SAMAS 
  that was here this morning could have reported back for reinforcements. I’m 
  sending a few men back into town, in disguise, to gather some information 
  
  131
  and keep us updated on the Coalition’s movements. We may even be able 
  to stir up some trouble. Drake has a few things prepared to make certain the 
  Coalition runs into some sticky racial relations with the local populace. In the 
  meantime, please be more observant. J.J. will be your eyes and ears. I want 
  the two of you stationed at cover blind C just in case they try a sneak attack 
  from the north.”
  “Do you really think the Coalition would make a sneak attack?”
  “Assassin’s rule #3, mate. Always watch your back,” J.J. chimed.
  “Just one question.” Kreg hated being belittled, even if it was his own 
  fault. “Drake, if you spotted the SAM on thermo, how did you read its num-
  ber?” He asked suspiciously.
  “Because it stopped, landed, and came up on foot to mark your position 
  with this.” Drake lifted a tiny, crushed targeting device from one of his leg 
  compartments.
  Kreg stared in disbelief.
  “Thirty feet, Kreg. Don’t let it happen again.”
  ____________________
  Three o’clock in the afternoon found Greg Merrick awake and restless. 
  Six hours of sleep wasn’t enough but lying awake was all he seemed to be ac-
  complishing. His discoveries earlier kept playing back in his troubled mind. 
  More disconcerting was his own atypical behavior. He hadn’t needed to get 
  anywhere near the Glitter Boy to mark its location, and yet something kept 
  driving him to keep pushing the edge, just to see what he could get away 
  with. That wasn’t like him at all.
  A full recon of the rebel camp could be performed by more qualified per-
  sonnel. Finally, unable to get battle plans and confusing thoughts out of his 
  head, Greg got up, took a cold shower, and went in search of Lieutenant 
  Sorenson.
  Signs of development were everywhere. Ditch diggers laid giant sewer 
  pipes and construction crews raised buildings for the slow, yet constant in-
  flux of migrants. Greg was amazed at how well humans and D-Bees worked 
  together in building the town. He’d heard none of the usual racial slurs or 
  division of labor he’d grown accustomed to in the ‘Burbs outside Chi-Town. 
  It was like another world where all the rules he knew didn’t apply. It was so 
  different from the oppressive, dirty atmosphere where he’d grown up in the 
  shadow of the giant fortress city. A feeling of hope and comaraderie pervaded 
  in this town in a way that could never happen within Coalition borders.
  “I must be cracking up,” Greg thought out loud. “I need to finish doing 
  what I came here for before I lose it completely.”
  Muddy footprints converged on the “Match Head Saloon.” Greg couldn’t 
  resist swinging the double doors as he’d seen in a Pre-Rifts western vid. The 
  effect wasn’t all he hoped for. A heavy, reinforced oak door at the end of the 
  
  132
  entryway provided more substantial protection from the weather. Standing 
  at the entrance was a mercenary from First Strike, fully armed and ready for 
  trouble in case the saloon’s name inspired more than a “friendly” brawl. Nod-
  ding politely to the guard, Greg swung open the heavy door.
  “Quite a crowd for this time of day, wouldn’t you say?” Greg commented.
  “It’s always like this,” the mercenary shouted over the bedlam coming 
  from inside.
  It seemed like half the occupants were wearing Coalition uniforms. At one 
  end, Greg could see Donovan, the First Strike commander, having a heated 
  conversation with a pair of mercenaries. Everywhere there were bottles in 
  front of inebriated patrons, most of which wore gray and black with a C.S. 
  insignia. Mixed in were D-Bees and others quite obviously not Coalition.
  “And I thought I had a problem with discipline,” Greg murmured to him-
  self, moving his way through to where Captain Pritchett sat along the bar.
  “Morning Lieutenant. Up earlier than I expected.” The captain gestured to 
  an open stool. “Let me buy you a drink.”
  “Thank you, sir.”
  “One for him and another for me,” the captain signaled the owner and 
  bartender. The four-armed cyborg nodded cheerfully to Greg and with the 
  speed and accuracy only a professional could perform, placed a mug of ale 
  in front of both, wiped off the foam, and washed the bar with a rag all at the 
  same time. Greg stared at the amber liquid and then at the empty mugs all 
  along the bar.
  “Have you seen Lieutenant Sorenson?” he asked without touching his ale.
  “Not since yesterday. Find anything interesting on your patrol?”
  “That falls under the specific objectives of my unit, sir unless you want to 
  risk your men fighting my battles.”
  “Just answer this. Does your new objective pose a threat to my mission?”
  “More than likely, no.”
  “Then keep your little secrets if you want to.”
  “I’ll do that.” Greg swallowed a gulp of ale. Pritchett smiled at the expres-
  sion on Greg’s face. “Too many hops.” He stared at the bitter drink. Across 
  the room, Greg caught the stare of a mercenary, but the man looked away 
  abruptly. “Who are those two Headhunters talking to Donovan?”
  “I don’t know. They came in about half an hour ago,” the Captain replied 
  without looking. “They friends of yours?”
  “No. I’ve seen them before, but I can’t think where.” Greg raised his mug 
  for another swig and slammed it back down. “I know where. That one with 
  the cybernetic eye and black bionic arm. I saw him on the bounty board down 
  the street.” Greg reached for his gun but then remembered he wasn’t permit-
  ted to carry heavy weaponry within town limits.
  “What’s the matter with you, Lieutenant? We aren’t here for bounty hunt-
  ing.”
  
  133
  “I don’t like the way he keeps looking over here,” Greg commented, then 
  took another big swig of the ale.
  Loud laughter from a nearby table arrested Greg’s attention. Four soldiers 
  from Pritchett’s unit slapped each other on the back while they retold war 
  stories.
  “No way, man, I saw you miss that D-Bee from four feet, man.”
  “Hey! I cut it in half just like that!” The other soldier spilled his drink 
  while making a slashing gesture with his mug.
  “No, no, I saw you, too, man. Four feet. Four feet!”
  “I musta’ blasted fifty of ’em and they still kept runnin’ from Sergio like 
  he was the angel of death or something! Like they could run away!” another 
  soldier added.
  “Four feet. You missed at four feet!”
  “Man, shut up, I got it on the second shot.”
  “Man, you missed it at four feet, not just once, either!”
  “Shut up.”
  “A whole village of ugly three-eyed D-Bees and you miss the one four feet 
  away from you!” the soldiers continued teasing.
  “Blew his head in three directions!”
  Another round of cheers and high fives over the table followed. Before 
  Greg could tell them to keep it down, their table was tipped to the floor. A 
  very angry, three-eyed D-Bee with lumpy skin wielded a large ion blaster at 
  the group of suddenly silent soldiers.
  “Uh oh, trouble.” Greg moved back from the line of fire.
  “That was my family!” the D-Bee roared and spit.
  The entire room silenced itself.
  “Cool it, Wade. Hand over the blaster,” the mercenary by the door re-
  quested, facing down the barrel of his rifle.
  “Stay out of this, Aken. They didn’t kill your whole family,” Wade re-
  sponded in almost controlled tones. The safety slid off his ion blaster.
  “Hey, man, we didn’t know it was your family. Sorry,” one of the soldiers 
  offered.
  “Yeah, I mean, us ‘Dead Boys’ can’t tell one D-Bee from another, ya 
  know?” A nervous laugh followed the lame excuse.
  “You go to my home village, slaughter my family, friends, and relatives, 
  and all you can say is ‘I’m sorry’?” Wade asked in perfect American.
  “Drop it now, Wade,” the mercenary commander requested firmly from 
  the other end of the saloon.
  “I’ll drop it, Donovan, just after I shoot the human that killed my family.”
  “It was him!” One soldier pointed to the other.
  “Well, you know, us D-Bees can’t tell one human from another.” Wade 
  aimed the barrel at the accuser’s head. “I guess I’ll have to kill all of you, 
  starting with you.”
  
  134
  Wade jerked and inhaled a short gasp. Something hot and sticky ran down 
  his chest. Looking down, Wade saw the sharp point of a double-edged Vibro-
  Blade jutting from his chest. A lispy whisper came from behind him.
  “I killedth your family.”
  The blade jerked upwards, slicing bone and skull until it was free. Wade’s 
  brains spilled from his split skull as his body fell to the floor.
  Aken stared at Wade’s lifeless corpse and the spreading pool of body liq-
  uids.
  “Thorry abouth the meth. I will be happy to clean it up.” The bald Coali-
  tion Psi-Stalker smiled, revealing a long pair of implanted teeth.
  “Good work, Shark,” Captain Pritchett commended him.
  The room remained silent. Greg edged closer to the mercenary with the 
  bounty.
  “Aken. Place this Psi-Stalker under arrest on the charge of murder,” Don-
  ovan instructed calmly.
  “That was self-defense. That thing was going to kill my men and who 
  knows who else,” Pritchett objected.
  “That’s what it looked like to me, but I still have to follow procedure, Cap-
  tain Pritchett. A city is only as good as the law that keeps it. You Coalition 
  boys are strict on your laws back home. You should know that.”
  “You will do no such thing. Everyone here was a witness in defense of that 
  action. It wasn’t murder and you know it.”
  “Just the same, I follow the rules. Your Psi-Stalker will probably be free 
  by tonight. We can bring him before the justice of the peace in a matter of 
  hours. I don’t make the rules, Captain, I just enforce them like I’m paid to,” 
  Donovan explained. His left mechanical eye panned back and forth audibly 
  in the silence. Looking from face to face he examined the men in the room. 
  A few had heard of Donovan in mercenary circles. He had a reputation for 
  being thorough, honest, and fair with his allies and completely unmerciful to 
  his enemies. His mercenary company “First Strike” made no excuses for jobs 
  they’d failed, their number of successes and candor was well known across 
  North America. It was clear to everyone in the room who held the upper hand 
  in Liberty. Clear to everyone except Captain Pritchett.
  “Nobody is getting arrested for acting in self-defense,” Pritchett snarled 
  and Aken stopped. Two gun barrels aimed at the mercenary from a pair of 
  Coalition cyborgs. Captain Pritchett flexed his bionic arm and a small laser 
  rod popped up from its concealed housing.
  Weapons came out from under tables and from behind the bar. Off duty, 
  First Strike personnel apparently didn’t abide by town weapon ordinances. 
  Donovan calmly walked to the bar, stepping around the pool of blood that 
  spread over the floor. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Donovan sat at the 
  bar.
  “Give me a scotch, Henry, on the rocks.”
  
  135
  The bartender poured a full glass and ducked back behind the bar.
  “Tell your men to back off,” Pritchett ordered in a monotone.
  “You know, from where I’m sitting I can’t see all those illegal weapons 
  you and your Cyborgs are carrying. In fact, by the time I finish my scotch and 
  turn around, I might have forgotten I ever saw them. Look around, Captain, 
  this isn’t the Coalition States.” Donovan took down a third of the scotch. “I 
  would think you wouldn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize your, 
  shall I say, fragile position?” Donovan took the scotch down another third. 
  “It would be a shame if something happened to you and the surviving mem-
  bers of your unit were forced to go all the way back to the C.S. without you.” 
  Donovan swirled the ice around in his drink.
  Sharky gulped, his beady black eyes losing count of how many guns were 
  aimed at his bald head.
  High-pitched servos on Pritchett’s arm returned the weapon to its secret 
  housing.
  Donovan finished his drink.
  Weapons slid back into hiding, both Coalition Cyborgs stepping back 
  from Aken.
  Donovan spun slowly around on the bar stool.
  “I don’t see anything stopping you from arresting this man, do you Aken?”
  “No sir.” Aken nodded to Donovan and slipped out of a pair handcuffs 
  from a belt pouch. Shark surrendered his blade without protest and was cuffed 
  in front of dozens of Coalition troops. Arriving to take him to the Liberty Jail, 
  a pair of mercenaries dragged him through the bloody mess on the way out.
  Greg walked over to the wanted mercenary, smiled at him, and slammed 
  his head back into the supporting column he was leaning his chair against. 
  The man wheezed, rocked forward, and slumped to the floor loudly.
  “I don’t believe you just did that, Lieutenant.” Pritchett stared with a 
  dropped jaw.
  Nobody moved to interfere. The mercenary’s partner started pulling a 
  weapon to defend his companion, but the sudden jingle of weapons being 
  removed from holsters again discouraged him.
  “Better leave, Trench,” Donovan advised the man. “Doesn’t look like it’s 
  worth waiting around for your partner if this guy wants to collect his bounty.”
  “I was just on my way out. We’ll contact you later with the drop site.”
  “You do that.”
  Trench hastily shuffled out and the saloon started coming back to life 
  again. Whispers gradually became a multitude of story versions retelling the 
  recent events.
  “Never a dull moment at the Match Head, aye, Henry?” Donovan reached 
  over the bar and rapped the bartender on the back. Henry stood up, thankful 
  a more severe tragedy had been averted.
  “The scotch is on the house.”
  
  136
  “Thanks.”
  Greg heaved the mercenary onto his shoulders and started making his way 
  out of the saloon, avoiding the mess on the floor.
  “What do you think you’re doing, Lieutenant?” Pritchett grabbed Greg’s 
  arm.
  “Making a few quick credits. Any objections, sir?”
  “Yes. You’re not a bounty hunter, you’re a lieutenant in the Coalition 
  military.”
  Greg shrugged. The mercenary twitched, and Greg dropped him to the 
  floor, snatching his arm and twisting him into a full nelson. Donovan shook 
  his head and laughed.
  “You got guts just walking up to someone you don’t know and bashing 
  their skull against a wood beam. It’s a long way to Kingsdale, Lieutenant.”
  “You’re wanted in Kingsdale?” Greg asked his prisoner incredulously.
  “Read the wanted poster, dipstick.”
  “What are you doing all the way out here?”
  “I’m wanted in Kingsdale, that’s why I’m here,” the mercenary explained 
  in sing-song. “Are you going to let me go or take me all the way back to 
  Missouri.”
  “What did you do?”
  “I wasted a D-Bee.”
  “And?”
  “And so... this D-Bee was rich and I took its money. Guess its family was 
  rich, too, and put out a contract on me. What did you think those posters 
  were? Anything else you want to know? My favorite color? How about —”
  “Shut up.”
  “You may as well let him go, Lieutenant. I was doing business with him 
  before you introduced his head to that support over there.” Donovan leaned 
  back against the bar and waited.
  “I’ll let you go if you answer a few questions.” Greg lessened the pressure.
  The mercenary grimaced.
  “How about you tell me who you’re currently working for. That C-18 
  in your belt tells me you have some connections I ought to know about. 
  Where’d you get it?”
  “It’s not mine, man, they gave it to me to use.”
  “Who?”
  “Man, I can’t you tell that.”
  “If you don’t, I’ll pay someone to take you back to Kingsdale.”
  “If I tell you, you gotta let me go.”
  “I could just bash your head around some more.”
  “Man, not here. I can’t talk to you in here.”
  “Why not?”
  “Because.”
  
  137
  Greg started moving to hit him again.
  “He’s working for someone who you might know, Lieutenant,” Donovan 
  volunteered. He could stop the Coalition officer if he really wanted to, but 
  something about the lieutenant’s style amused the mercenary commander.
  “Okay, outside it is then.” Greg guided the mercenary out the door and 
  down the street behind the saloon, releasing him only when the C-18 was 
  aimed at its previous owner.
  “Listen. I’m a professional, just like you, we just get paid by someone 
  different is all.”
  “We aren’t anything alike.” Greg flipped off the safety.
  “Man, I don’t care about you or who I work for either, but if I tell you 
  they’ll track me down and kill me.”
  “If you don’t, I’ll kill you. In fact, maybe I’ll just blow your body in half 
  and send the pieces in for the bounty.” Greg’s gray eyes danced. Something 
  inside him almost believed he’d do it.
  “Okay. The bounty is 50,000 credits. I can pay you that much and ten 
  thousand more to let me go.”
  “Where does a worthless thug like you get 60,000 credits?”
  “I, I just got it, working.” The mercenary carefully extracted a card from 
  his coat pocket and extended it to Greg.
  “Who are you working for?”
  “Look, man, if I tell you then I’ve gotta split ’cuz they’ll kill me when 
  they find out.”
  “You’re starting to tick me off, and lately I’ve been feeling really on edge, 
  understand?” Greg snatched the card away and shoved it in his pocket.
  “I was hired by a mercenary group. Army of the New Order. All they 
  wanted me to do was —”
  Greg grabbed the Headhunter’s bionic arm and shot it with the C-18 laser 
  pistol. Hydraulic fluid splattered the man’s terror-stricken face.
  “You’re going to tell me everything you know, and then you’re going to 
  make up things I want to hear because I’m going to ask you questions you 
  don’t know the answers to, just to see how good you lie. And every time I 
  don’t believe one of your lies I’m going to shoot another piece of your body, 
  and not just the fake parts, the parts that hurt and bleed and make you scream. 
  Then, when I’m done, I’ll mail whatever’s left of you back to Kingsdale. In 
  pieces. So, you’d better give me some really good reasons to let you live, 
  otherwise, you’ve got nothing to live for. Now, tell me everything you know 
  about Zenjori Suka and the Army of the New Order.”
  ____________________
  “Right on schedule. Trench never fails,” Drake commented as the merce-
  nary trudged up the steep embankment.
  
  138
  “Where’s Micky?” Kruno inquired about Trench’s absent partner. Both 
  squad commanders hopped down from their hover rover to question Trench.
  “Some hotshot lieutenant at the Match Head just walked up to Micky and 
  bashed his head against a support column and was going to turn him in for 
  his bounty. I didn’t stick around to see what happened after that.” Trench 
  breathed heavily from his recent exertion and leaned against the rover.
  Drake and Kruno exchanged concerned looks. Drake worked his mechani-
  cal jaw in an irritated fashion.
  “Did you place all the targeting devices?”
  “All the ones I had, yes, but I think Micky still had most of his sewn into 
  his jacket. I wasn’t about to try an’ bust him free, not with Donovan and a 
  room full of Dead Boys.”
  “How many did you place?”
  “Five, on my way out of town. I got number four aimed right at the Coali-
  tion APC. Stupid fools left the radar on, and I just locked on to the frequen-
  cy.” Trench smiled proudly.
  “Kruno, hand me #1.”
  “Here you go.” The Partial Conversion Headhunter lifted a large, dispos-
  able missile launcher from the back of the rover and handed it to Drake. 
  Effortlessly lifting it to his shoulder and steadying it with three arms, Drake 
  disarmed the safety catches.
  “Lock me.”
  “One active target locked on.” Kruno linked the missile’s targeting com-
  puter to one of the remotes Trench had placed while in town. “Yer hot.”
  Drake walked away from the rover and pointed the launcher 45 degrees 
  into the air.
  “Better stand farther away than that, Trench, unless you want to lose your 
  face.” Drake waved the Headhunter away with his free arm. Tiny spikes on 
  Drake’s feet dug into the earth as he planted himself firmly. The Cyborg’s 
  metallic hand closed around the upper grip and slowly pressed the trigger 
  mechanism.
  White smoke and flame erupted behind the launcher, completely obscur-
  ing the nine-foot cyborg from view as the missile left the launcher. The roar 
  of the missile faded into the distance, leaving only the sounds of startled 
  birds. Drake tossed the smoking launcher aside and counted the seconds in 
  his HUD. Smoke twirled around his feet in weaving mists above moist earth. 
  The cyborg stood, raising a hand and counting down the seconds on his fin-
  gers. Two seconds before zero, the sound of a distant explosion reached their 
  ears.
  “Give me #6 and switch it to #4’s targeting beacon.”
  “Gonna give ’em the heavy, eh?” Kruno chuckled and tossed the cyborg 
  another missile.
  
  139
  “This warhead should be enough to penetrate a Mark 5’s pilot compart-
  ment, wouldn’t you say, Trench?” Drake asked as cheerfully as Trench had 
  ever heard the cyborg sound before.
  “Uh, yeah. Radar dish is right over the pilot compartment.”
  “We got a signal. Good work, Trench.” Kruno beamed.
  “Lock me.”
  “You’re locked. Missile’s hot.” Kruno flipped switches on a briefcase-
  sized portable computer with wires running to a plug in the missile launch 
  platform. “How do you want yer Dead Boys cooked? Regular or extra 
  crispy?”
  The roar of the missile launcher answered Kruno’s question. Drake didn’t 
  wait for the returning missile report and tossed the spent launcher by the first 
  one before returning to the rover.
  “Give me a frag and lock it on #7.”
  “One whomper comin’ up.” Kruno heaved another missile from the stack 
  in the rover and set it in the cyborg’s arms.
  “How many Coalition troops did you say were in the Match Head?” Drake 
  asked Trench with a hint of smoke trailing off cold metal lips. The scorch 
  marks on his black armor still smoldered, making him look more demon than 
  a machine.
  “Musta been at least twenty, not including their captain, a couple of cy-
  borgs, and an officer or two. Donovan was in there too, why?’
  “Kruno, activate beacons 6 through 10 and lock me.”
  “But those were on Micky,” Kruno objected.
  “You always claimed one of your Headhunters was worth 4 Coalition 
  troops, Kruno, looks like Micky’s worth more than that.” Drake smiled as 
  only a cyborg could smile, metal eyebrows meeting in the center of his fore-
  head.
  “Yer a cold son of a gun, Drake.” Kruno shook his head, then grinned. 
  “What can I say, my men are better than yours.”
  “I’ll concede that only if you get your entire squad of Headhunters to walk 
  into town with Fusion Blocks and homing beacons strapped down the front 
  of their pants.”
  “You care to place a small wager on Micky?”
  Both squad commanders laughed, Trench, shifting his weight uneasily. 
  More explosions sounded in the distance, the second missile reaching its tar-
  get and sound returning.
  “No more APC,” Drake stated.
  “Beacons 6 through 10 activated and locked. Yer hot.”
  “Thanks.”
  ____________________
  
  140
  “I told you, man, they’re gonna missile the town!” Micky insisted after the 
  second explosion sounded on the far side of Liberty.
  “Where’s the next one?” Merrick yelled, still pointing the C-18 at his cap-
  tive. The improvised interrogation was almost over when the explosions in-
  terrupted.
  “I don’t know. They didn’t tell me. Look, man, I told you everything I 
  know. Please, ya gotta let me get out of here before more missiles come in. 
  You can tell Donovan everything. Either get it over with or let me leave.”
  “Get out of here.” Greg waved the pistol down a back alley.
  Micky scrambled to his feet and edged nervously away.
  “Beat it, before I change my mind and decide to shoot you anyway.” Greg 
  figured it was a mistake to let the Headhunter go, but he’d already gotten 
  much valuable information and had other things to worry about.
  “Thanks, man, yer cool.” Micky bolted down the alley, holding one hand 
  over the leaking end of his bionic arm. For a moment Greg felt like laughing 
  at his own stupidity for not searching the mercenary before letting him go, 
  but then again, the information was probably enough. Checking the safety on 
  the C-18, Greg then crammed it into the pocket of his uniform and started out 
  toward the black pillar of smoke rising above the town.
  He wasn’t sure what happened first; the deafening roar of an incoming 
  missile or the explosive shock wave that knocked him to the ground. The 
  alley Micky had just run down was now a smoking wreck of building debris 
  and general devastation, leaving no question about Micky’s demise.
  Head throbbing and body numb, Greg pulled himself to his feet and stag-
  gered over to observe the missile crater. The blast zone was a good ninety 
  meters from where he’d been standing, and only the presence of several 
  buildings had prevented missile fragments from ripping his body to shreds.
  Breaking into an uneven run that jarred his senses with every step, Greg 
  made his way to the black pillar of smoke outside of town. He counted three 
  more explosions from other parts of town by the time he reached the second 
  missile’s destination at the Coalition camp. Troops were everywhere, includ-
  ing Captain Pritchett who dolefully watched his Mark 5 Armored Personnel 
  Carrier burn.
  Most of the 33-foot-long vehicle was unscathed except for the seared paint 
  and soot-covered exterior. Bright metal fires blazed away at the frayed armor 
  shards where the forward pilot’s compartment once had been. Soldiers in full 
  environmental armor tried in vain to extinguish the inferno with fire retardant 
  foam, but only succeeded in keeping the fire isolated to the front section. 
  Captain Pritchett and several other soldiers stared in bewilderment as Lieu-
  tenant Merrick covered a smirk.
  Snapping back to concern for his unit, Greg grabbed the first soldier he 
  could who was helping with the salvage efforts, “Who bought it?”
  
  141
  “Lieutenant Goldstein, sir,” the soldier responded before returning to help 
  put out the fires.
  “Let me guess,” Greg said as Pritchett walked up beside him. “You had 
  Goldstein in there monitoring communications and active radar.”
  “Yes, why?”
  Greg shook his head in dismay. “The missile locked in on the APC’s radar 
  tower and used it for a direct hit,” Greg said with a harsh tone in his voice. 
  He had no love for Goldstein, but the loss of any soldier wasn’t something 
  to celebrate.
  “Lieutenant, do you know who did this?” Captain Pritchett inquired an-
  grily.
  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. The Army of the New Order. For all we 
  know, it might have been Coalition ordnance and hardware, like this C-18 I 
  pulled off that Headhunter from the bar,” Greg said, anger in his voice.
  “I have a few questions for that man.”
  “Me too, sir,” he answered solemnly, “but I don’t think he’s going to an-
  swer any of them. No more than twenty seconds after I released him, he was 
  the target of his own missile, sir.”
  “What do you mean, probably Coalition ordnance and hardware, Lieuten-
  ant?” Pritchett’s patience was nearing its limits.
  “This C-18 I pulled off him will probably match up with the serial num-
  bers of equipment stolen in a raid on an outpost near Cedar Lake.” Greg of-
  fered the pistol to the Captain. “I’d have to check with Lieutenant Sorenson 
  to find exactly what was taken, but a good bet is that the Army of the New 
  Order made off with a few disposable launch platforms. They’ve tried this 
  kind of tactic before, using Coalition armaments to trick others into believing 
  we’re the perpetrators.”
  “Could have been Wellingtons,” one of Pritchett’s NCO’s offered.
  “Could have been something an Operator jury-rigged on the back of a 
  hover rover for all we know,” Greg chuckled. “Doesn’t make much differ-
  ence to Lieutenant Goldstein.”
  “Lieutenant Merrick, do you know where this Army of the New Order is 
  located?” Pritchett ground his teeth together in suppressed frustration.
  “I do now. Why?”
  “Because this attack cannot go unanswered. Tomorrow morning I’m go-
  ing to lead a full-scale assault and make sure they never attack my unit ever 
  again.”
  ____________________
  Van sighed and ran his hands over the sharp metal edges and warped ar-
  mor plating on his Sky Cycle’s air intake. Finding another dense metal shard 
  deep in the cycle’s intake turbine, he took hold of it with a pair of vice grips 
  
  142
  and yanked the foreign object free. Dropping it into a pile of fifty slugs just 
  like it, the Techno-Wizard resumed the search for metal slugs.
  “Two days out and I get blasted by some mechanical chick on a robot 
  monster. Way to go, Van,” he said out loud to himself. “Funny, it sure 
  seemed like a good idea to go looking for the rail gun, guess you didn’t 
  think someone else would already have it.” Part of the reason for his trip to 
  the east was to search for a powerful new rail gun that had surfaced on the 
  frontier, but nobody knew the exact origin. Only a handful had ever shown 
  up in Lazlo,and Van thought he’d try and track down one of the compact, 
  self-contained weapons for himself. “Real smart.”
  “What happened to your cycle?” Anja’s question startled him so badly he 
  dropped the vice grips down the intake. Van turned around slowly, trying not 
  to show his irritation. The rented shed had only one entrance, and he’d for-
  gotten to shut it. Anja stood a few feet away and watched him with a puzzled 
  expression.
  “Did I come at a bad time?”
  “No, I just didn’t hear you come in. How long have you been standing 
  there?”
  “Just long enough to hear you talking about some mechanical beast. What 
  happened to your leg?” She glanced down at the shredded armor and caked 
  blood on his lower left leg. Smooth, uninjured skin could be seen through 
  holes in the armor.
  “Some of the metal shards went clear through the intake and caught me in 
  the leg. I was pretty lucky the armor stopped most of it, my magic isn’t strong 
  enough to heal a severed leg.”
  “Who shot you?” Anja sat on the ground, arranging the pile of metal slugs 
  into the shape of a horse.
  “This woman riding what looked to be some kind of half-mechanical, 
  half-organic monster. The whole reason I came to Liberty in the first place 
  was to check out some cool alien weaponry and artifacts some friends of 
  mine at Lazlo told me about. Of course, they didn’t say anything about those 
  weapons actually being used by someone, but I should have guessed. I’m fly-
  ing along east of here and I see this woman riding a monster, so I land nearby 
  to talk to her and she tells me to leave the area or she’ll kill me.” Van sat on 
  the floor across the pile from Anja, his tone a bit incredulous.
  “And then she shot at you?”
  “Not quite. I got a little closer, I’m curious, you understand. This woman 
  has these antenna things sticking out of her head or her helmet... and what 
  looks like all this cybernetic stuff all over her body. I know she’s not a slaver 
  or anything, so I figure I’ll get closer and check her out. Well, as it turns out, 
  her mount is this weird kind of animal cyborg or robot and I want to know 
  exactly what it is. I flip over to my special optics and see that it’s not alive at 
  all, but completely mechanical. She starts yelling at me to get away and when 
  
  143
  I look at her aura, I find she’d nothing but a robot too, just with fake hair and 
  some skin grafts. I start backing off and she fires these laser beams from her 
  hands at me. Thankfully, I’d powered up my mystic shields and made it back 
  to my cycle before she figured out it wasn’t hurting me. Then, as I’m lifting 
  off, she pulls out this huge gun that must have been at least as tall as I am 
  and holds it with one hand. I have just enough time to activate the shielding 
  on my cycle when she blasts me from fifty feet away. All I can figure is her 
  gun is some type of powerful, flechette-style rail gun, because the next thing I 
  know my engine is eating armor fragments and my leg feels like someone just 
  hacked it off with a chain saw. I mean, geez, one shot and wham! My cycle’s 
  shield is gone, my personal shield is gone, and these metal shards are ripping 
  through armor like it’s not even there. Needless to say, I got away from there 
  as fast as I could and used the V-MED before I bled to death. And get this, as 
  I’m leaving, I see three more coming out of the woods, looking exactly like 
  the one I was talking to. Tomorrow I’m going to see If I can sneak up on one 
  of them and can get a better look at the stuff they have, maybe even borrow 
  some of their gear, just to check it out. How was your day?”
  “Van, you would not believe what happened while you were gone. It’s all 
  over town. You didn’t hear?”
  “No, I just came straight here to start on repairs.”
  “Well,” Anja gathered her thoughts. “Remember Zenjori Suka and his 
  cutthroats?”
  “Like I could forget what they did to Youngstown,” Van said, bitterness 
  evident in his voice.
  “Today they shot a bunch of missiles into town and tried to cause a lot 
  of damage to both the Coalition and the citizens. They tried to make it look 
  like both the First Strike and Coalition were responsible, but they didn’t fool 
  anybody. A lot of people got hurt, but mostly Coalition soldiers. A missile hit 
  one of the cabins they were in, but the soldiers had just left to go into town 
  and they weren’t killed. One missile hit that eight-wheeled thing and killed 
  one of their officers, though. Tomorrow I hear they’re going to retaliate. Do 
  you think we should help?”
  “I can’t believe that guy was stupid enough to attack the Coalition again. 
  They probably would have left him alone. I think the Coalition can handle it. 
  At least he’s not holding civilians hostage this time. They can do their worst 
  and not mess up too bad.”
  “Cyndiara made Darren promise to try and capture Zenjori Suka so she 
  could kill him herself for what he did to her and everyone else.”
  “There’s a time for revenge. Of all people, Cyndiara deserves whatever 
  she can get. If I thought the Coalition wouldn’t shoot at me, I might help.” 
  Van and Anja paused in quiet reflection for a moment. “I better get working 
  or I’ll never finish before tomorrow morning.” Van hopped up and stared at 
  the damaged Sky Cycle.
  
  144
  “I miss my horse.” Anja looked at the mechanical contraption.
  “They’ve got stables here, you know.”
  “I know. That’s where I spent most of today. There’s this really pretty 
  chestnut mare with a sweet temperament. They say she isn’t for sale,” Anja 
  pouted, then brightened. “Oh, Van, I almost forgot why I wanted to talk to 
  you.” She jumped to her feet. “What are you doing tonight?”
  “Fixing Scarlett,” he said, patting the nose of the Sky Cycle.
  “You named your Sky Cycle Scarlett?”
  “Why not? She really came through for me today. She deserves to have 
  a name.”
  “Scarlett’s a good name.” Anja patted the cycle’s mini-missile launcher as 
  if it were a living thing.
  “I don’t know where I’m going to scrounge up the parts I need to do the 
  modifications I really want to do.”
  “Well if you get hungry, I made a really big dinner because I thought Dar-
  ren and Cyndiara were coming, but I haven’t been able to find them. Want to 
  have dinner with me?”
  “Sure. I don’t think I’ve eaten since this morning. I forgot.”
  “How can you forget about food?”
  “Just thinking about other things, I guess.”
  “Well, Scarlett isn’t hungry so she can wait. Come on.” Anja grabbed his 
  hand and led him out of the shed.
  ____________________
  By the time Van had showered and changed into a black silk shirt and 
  soft black pants, his appetite screamed for appeasement. He barely knocked 
  on her hotel room door and it was open. It wasn’t the aroma of roasted veg-
  etables or freshly baked bread that demanded his attention, though.
  “You like it?” Anja asked, twirling around once in the slim, white satin 
  dress. Van had wondered what she’d kept in the heavy suitcase he’d hauled 
  up to her room when they arrived in town, and now he felt it was worth it.
  “Yeah, uh, you look, exquisite. It’s perfect, Anja. If I’d have known you 
  wanted formal attire I wouldn’t have come dressed like this.”
  “You could always wear the dress David bought me,” she joked.
  “I don’t look good in that shade of blue.”
  “Come in, I’m almost done setting the table. I called Cyndiara’s suite 
  again, but there wasn’t any answer, so I don’t think she or Darren are com-
  ing.” Anja finished laying out the silverware on a white tablecloth. Van closed 
  the door behind him and paced over to the table. Anja murmured something 
  softly and the two candles sparkled to life.
  “Get the lights?”
  “Sure.” Van flicked off the tacky hotel room lamp and sat opposite the 
  Mystic. He looked around, amazed at how well she’d made the room feel like 
  
  145
  a home. For a moment neither spoke, Anja’s gaze transfixed by the way the 
  candle’s flickering light gave Van’s dark eyes an almost luminous quality.
  “This all looks very good, Anja. I don’t think I can eat it all.”
  “That’s okay. I can always save whatever’s left for later.”
  An awkward silence and mysterious ambiance settled over the table like 
  morning mist over a pond, thick and present, yet intangible. Van could feel 
  Anja’s gentle telepathic touch and her questioning thoughts, but for some 
  reason, her intrusion didn’t bother him as much as it used to.
  They ate in silence, mutual thoughts and emotions slowly mingling freely 
  for the first time. When they were done eating the silence continued. Some-
  thing inside Van was tired of keeping everyone out. He knew that because 
  of who they were, he and Anja could never be together, but something still 
  lingered there. Maybe everything had added up and he was tired or maybe 
  it was time to let someone in and see what happened. Part of him wanted to 
  prepare for Anja to scream at what she saw and run out of the room, another 
  part of him wanted to just feel loved and accepted for who he was without 
  fear and judgement.
  Walls and barriers that could take years to overcome fell aside for greater 
  understanding. When the candles burned low in the brass holders, both drift-
  ed to the soft rug in front of the fireplace. The soft brush of a hand and slow, 
  gentle embrace sent thrills of warmth and excitement through Anja’s body. 
  She surrendered to his arms and let his hands caress the smooth white satin 
  of her dress.
  The black fabric of his shirt slid back from his wrist to reveal a small tat-
  too of a heart impaled by a wooden stake. An aura of magic radiated around 
  it, drawing Anja’s focus and revealing to her some of the reservations Van 
  obviously had about letting her into his mind.
  Gone was the feeling of warmth and tenderness, horror surrounding An-
  ja’s heart like a chest being locked from a monster. Snatching his other wrist, 
  she slid the sleeve away to reveal a tattoo of a sword, a powerful aura of 
  magic energy surrounding it. Pulling herself away in fear, Anja crawled to 
  the edge of the rug. Her body shuddered as the full realization sank in.
  “No...” She shook her head, tears forming in her eyes and running down 
  her cheeks.
  Van hadn’t moved or even looked up at her. Instead, he sat with head 
  bowed and hands clasped in his lap, no longer trying to conceal the marks. 
  Anja had sometimes wondered why he often wore long-sleeved shirts even 
  inside where it was warm, and she remembered several occasions when he’d 
  hidden the tattoos’ aura by wearing bizarre circuits around his wrists. Now 
  she knew why.
  “I wanted to tell you, but there’s never a good time.”
  “Told me what, Van, that you’re a member of the Federation of Magic?”
  
  146
  Van’s head snapped up, a serious expression on his face, frightening Anja 
  all the more. He held up both wrists for her to view.
  “Is that what you think these mean? You think I’m part of the Federa-
  tion?” The last word was spit like venom onto the floor between them.
  “I’ve been told there were tattooed warriors serving the Federation of 
  Magic. Assassins, with tattoos like those. Evil ones who kill without mercy.”
  “But that isn’t why I have these. You don’t really think I’m a member of 
  the most evil legion of wizards on the planet, do you? You honestly think 
  that’s the kind of person I am?”
  Anja shook her head, knowing his heart wasn’t that black. Van’s eyes took 
  a distant look, and his expression was sad.
  “I wouldn’t doubt for a moment that many of my clan are very much a 
  part of the Federation and serve the whims of men even more evil than that. 
  Perhaps it’s the Sunaj Assassins you’ve heard about.”
  “I... I don’t know, Van? Who are you really?”
  “Are you sure you want to know?” Van asked quietly, a sadness and vul-
  nerability in his voice.
  Anja moved closer, reaching her hand out to grasp his again. Her empathy 
  and sympathy overriding her earlier horror. “Yes, Van, I want to know.”
  “I’m not proud of my heritage, Anja, and if you really knew why, you 
  wouldn’t blame me for hiding it.”
  “I don’t blame you. I just want you to be open and honest with me.” Anja’s 
  heart ached at the agony Van must have suffered at having to hide where he 
  came from.
  “I am a descendant of an ancient race that once inhabited the continent 
  called Atlantis. The same Atlantis that has arisen once again in the middle of 
  the Atlantic.
  “By their own folly, my ancestors caused the near destruction of my race 
  and sent the continent into the watery grave of another dimension. Those that 
  escaped did so by scattering throughout the Megaverse; traveling to far off 
  places and unexplored dimensions. What was once a great civilization fell 
  into splintered clans, all blaming the others for the city’s fall. I am a member 
  of the strongest Atlantean clan, the Aerihman, but I claim no part in the evil 
  they have committed themselves to. They’ve made pacts with demons and 
  evil creatures so powerful it bends the imagination, and what they’ve done to 
  fulfill their side of these pacts... I shudder to conceive.” Van’s voice wavered.
  “What does all this mean?” Anja stammered, overwhelmed by the revela-
  tion.
  “That’s up to you, Anja. I can tell you that when the truth of what my clan 
  has done is discovered, it will shame my race and end with them all being 
  hunted down and destroyed by the other remaining Atlanteans. I can’t stop 
  what’s been started, but I don’t have to be a part of it.”
  
  147
  “I don’t care what your clan’s done; all I care about is you.” Anja grasped 
  the few things of value that really mattered to her, tears still flowing.
  “I will live beyond your years Anja. I love you, but if we choose to live our 
  lives together, I’ll be forced to endure the pain of your parting for the rest of 
  my lifetime after you’ve gone,” Van said, his voice bittersweet.
  Anja sniffled and wiped tears from her cheeks. Deep down, past all the 
  words and things she didn’t understand, she knew his heart really meant it. 
  “You would love me even though I will grow old and you won’t?”
  “Yes. I can promise there will be dark times in our lives, but we would live 
  through them together.”
  Tears still flowed, but Anja smiled. Her heart burned with love for Van, as 
  flawed as he was. She knew there were things she would never change about 
  him, but also knew that at the core he was a good person and only needed 
  good people around him to keep him on the right path.
  “I can accept you as you are and respect you for what you believe to be 
  true, Anja. You’ve shown me that there is more to experience. There’s a lot 
  that we’ll struggle with, but I think we can find our way together. That’s 
  something I value, enough to commit my life to. To you.”
  “What are you asking?” Anja’s heart beat faster and her hand trembled 
  with anticipation for what she hadn’t let herself hope for.
  Van looked at the dwindling fire, struggling with a self-serving nature that 
  warned him his life would never be the same. He was at a crucial turning 
  point. Life would never be easy, and if it was it probably meant he was going 
  the wrong way. If he made a vow now he was the type of person who would 
  honor and keep it, not for religious pretenses or spiritual beliefs, but because 
  of who he fundamentally believed himself to be.
  “I’m... I’m asking for us to become one. Marriage as an institution I don’t 
  really believe in, but what it stands for, I do. I will never leave you, in sick-
  ness or health, good times or bad. It means we’ll always work things out, 
  no matter how difficult, and we’ll always stay together until death forces us 
  apart. Yes, Anja... I’m asking you to be my wife.” Van turned away from the 
  fire and looked into her eyes.
  Anja’s eyes trembled when she spoke.
  “Yes,” she smiled and tears flowed again. “In sickness or health, rich or 
  poor, good times or bad, until death parts us. I love you, Van.” She moved 
  closer and Van pulled her to him.
  Her body burned with an inner fire against his when he gently lifted her 
  chin and kissed her on the lips for the very first time.
  
  148
  Chapter 11
  The Battle of Gapland
  Steam ascended from the heated jet pack on Sharp’s back as he entered the 
  commander’s cabin upon returning from an early morning reconnaissance. 
  Remembering to salute his superiors, the Coalition scout set his modified JA-
  11 sniper rifle on the center table and lifted his helmet faceplate to give his 
  report. The officers in the briefing waited patiently. Captain Pritchett calmly 
  reached out and moved the rifle off the corner of his map, noting the non-
  standard weapon and bulky, fabricated mounting for the oddly shaped target-
  ing system.
  “Is something wrong with your C-10, Corporal?”
  “C-10, sir? I don’t use a C-10 rifle anymore,” Sharp responded, not ex-
  pecting the question or intending to be rude.
  “I can see that. Your armor I can understand, but what’s wrong with using 
  standard Coalition armament?”
  “I get twice the range with this rifle, plus C-10’s are always going on the 
  fritz. This gun is tough, sir.” Sharp patted the rifle fondly.
  “Well then, what did you and your fabulous rifle discover this morning?”
  “Visibility’s down to about 1,200 feet and getting worse with the way it’s 
  misting out there. They must know we’re coming because they moved south-
  east in battle formations probably towards the Harper’s Ferry nexus. There’s 
  a valley on either side of the river I think we can catch them in if we move 
  fast and don’t blow our position.”
  “How many?” Lieutenant Merrick asked from beside the wood-burning 
  furnace.
  “I counted about a dozen vehicles and another 60 troops, mostly D-Bees. 
  It looks like they aren’t too well armed, but man for man they outnumber us.”
  “Mechanized?” Pritchett inquired.
  “NG-Multibot, 4 Samson P.A.s, Titan Combat armor, and a V-10 with 
  some type of rail gun, I couldn’t quite make out the exact type.”
  “Air power?”
  “Nothing actually in the air when I was over there, but I could hear thrust-
  ers every now and then. Sounded like SAM’s. Lieutenant Sorenson was 
  creeping on the second formation, and he reported half a dozen more vehicles 
  and ten to twenty cyborgs escorting an Ulti-Max.”
  “Looks like Zenjori has some teeth this time,” Brian commented.
  “Only a few sharp ones.” Pritchett smiled cheerfully.
  “What else, Sharp?” Greg sauntered over to the table.
  “That’s all Sorenson and I saw, sir.”
  “Aren’t we forgetting the Glitter Boy? And I know he’s got more than a 
  few cyborgs and worthless D-Bee troops to throw at us,” Lt. Sorenson added.
  “How do you know?” Pritchett asked Sorenson suspiciously.
  
  149
  “Because I’ve been in their camp. I saw the tents and vehicles.”
  Pritchett looked skeptical.
  “I’ve seen them, almost touched them. Plus, I’ve been talking to some 
  mercs in First Strike, and they told me the Army of the New Order had over 
  20 cyborgs, several dozen Headhunters, and at least two Sky Kings. Sharp, 
  you said there’s a valley that looks good for an attack?”
  “Yeah. They were in two formations at either end. We just swing the 
  SAM’s from one end, move our armor from the other, put infantry on the 
  ridgeline, and we’ve got them squashed,” Sharp gave his assessment.
  “We’ve been up against Zenjori more than a few times, and I think this is 
  just what he wants us to think. It’s a trap.”
  “Really, what makes you so sure, Lieutenant?” Pritchett placed both bi-
  onic palms on the table.
  “This Suka knows his best chance to beat us right now is in a full-scale 
  confrontation; even then it’s quite possible he’ll lose. He’s not going to split 
  his force and let us isolate and eliminate each group, one by one. Anybody 
  knows that a force on the ridgeline could keep both formations from backing 
  each other up. He’s not going to take that chance.”
  “Why wouldn’t he split his forces? He did it after Youngstown and we’d 
  have had him if it hadn’t been for-”
  Sergeant Winters coughed loudly to warn the red-haired officer to shut up.
  “Right, Brian, he did split his forces at Youngstown and we almost beat 
  him. He won’t make the same mistake again.” Greg leaned forward, his long 
  hair falling around an unshaven face. “Don’t you see? Read the history of this 
  rebel leader and you’ll know him. He doesn’t care if he loses half his army if 
  it draws us into a trap where he can either live to fight another day or give us 
  a devastating blow!” Greg slapped his fist on the table for emphasis.
  “What makes you so sure?” Pritchett asked coldly.
  “Because he thinks he knows exactly what we’ll do, and up until now he’s 
  been right! That attack yesterday wasn’t some petty attempt to destroy us, he 
  wanted us out there, where he can take us out without facing First Strike. He 
  thought he’d get us fighting First Strike and probably pitting the town against 
  us both in a three-way struggle, but he’s gotta know that didn’t work out. 
  That’s why he moved right into the patrol route we’ve been maintaining. He 
  wants us to know exactly where he is. He’s pissed and probably thinks we’re 
  the entire reason all of his plans here in Liberty fell apart. Pissed but not stu-
  pid. He’s a tricky son of a gun.”
  “That doesn’t mean we have to step right into his trap,” Sharp added.
  “I think you’re overestimating this Zenjori character, Lieutenant.” Pritch-
  ett looked haughtily around the room. “But you’ve brought up some interest-
  ing points that I’ll consider. He wants a fight and we’re all in a mood to give 
  him one. The logical plan doesn’t sound like it’s going to work, so who has 
  something else?”
  
  150
  “Okay, here’s what I suggest,” Lt. Merrick interjected. “You and your unit 
  advance and take on the first formation from the northern end of the valley. 
  It’s not going to be easy, but I think your unit can handle a stand-up fight. 
  Sooner or later Zenjori will have to spring his trap or at least give up his plan 
  to keep from losing. When he shows his hand, that’s when my unit strikes 
  him with everything we’ve got and doesn’t let up until we’ve got every last 
  one of them.”
  Everyone waited in silence for the captain’s approval.
  “That has got to be the feeblest attempt yet, Lieutenant.”
  “Sir?”
  “Send the captain charging in as bait in a trap, and then stand back and 
  wait for these rebels to do your dirty work. Come now, that wasn’t even 
  sneaky.”
  “Well, respectfully begging your pardon, sir, but a second ago you weren’t 
  even sure it was a trap. If I’m wrong you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
  “Fine, why doesn’t your unit move in first, and we’ll stand by to attack.”
  “Quite respectfully, sir, you haven’t been very zealous about charging into 
  battle.”
  “If I make it an order, you will follow it.” Pritchett worked his jaw in an 
  irritated fashion.
  Sergeant Winters’ low rumbling laugh sounded from across the room.
  “Do you have something to add, Sergeant Major?” Pritchett scowled.
  “No, sir. Nothing you’d care ta hear.”
  “This is what’s going to happen, and I won’t make it an order unless I have 
  to.” Pritchett reined in his anger. “Rather than split our forces, we’ll move 
  together as several separate squads, engaging the enemy by designated fire 
  teams. A unified force should be able to isolate and destroy one rebel position 
  at a time. If, and when an ambush takes place, we break off and counterattack 
  the ambushing force by designated squads. Just in case there are rebels dug 
  in along the sides of the valley, I’ll send my Dog Packs along the ridgelines 
  to give us advance warning.”
  “What about a contingency plan? Sending everyone into a trap is a danger-
  ous risk.” Greg leaned forward over the table, gray eyes smoldering.
  “Granted, there are many variables in any combat situation. If it becomes 
  necessary, we will regroup and then counter-attack. My Abolisher and Sky 
  Cycles will stay back and provide cover fire, protecting our retreat if it be-
  comes necessary.”
  “Not good enough,” Merrick commented.
  “Well, it’s going to have to be good enough! I’m warning you, Lieutenant. 
  Your behavior is dangerously insubordinate and if you continue crossing me 
  —”
  “You’ll what? Threaten me some more?” Greg shot back defiantly.
  
  151
  Sergeant Winters smiled to himself. For a moment, Captain Pritchett ap-
  peared intimidated by the younger officer. But the aura of command and 
  haughtiness returned. Unfortunately, nobody was going to take that away 
  from him.
  “We don’t have time for your belligerent behavior and lack of respect, 
  Lieutenant. You’re setting a very poor example here.” Pritchett breathed slow 
  and heavy, trying to maintain a level of calm. “The assault goes as planned, 
  so please cooperate without further outbursts. Your fire teams will take point, 
  within range of our armor units for cover. If your squads are as good as you 
  say, they shouldn’t have any trouble flushing out and eliminating a few D-
  Bee and Headhunter squads. As enemy armor exposes itself, your troops will 
  take cover and let our mechanized units converge and destroy. My infantry 
  will back up your fire squads and provide close fire support for our mecha-
  nized units. Choose your teams, lieutenant, and report when you’re ready to 
  move out. That part is an order, Lieutenant.”
  “Quite respectfully sir, If I feel my men are needlessly endangered, I will 
  pull them out, with or without your permission.” Greg leaned closer. Pritchett 
  took a step back. “Sergeant Major!”
  “Yes, sir?” Winters stepped up.
  “We have orders to follow.” Greg broke eye contact with Pritchett and 
  stalked to the door followed by the broad-shouldered NCO. Winters grinned 
  and slapped Greg on the back.
  “I knew you’d come around.”
  ____________________
  Soldiers of fortune stood beneath the rain-soaked trees and waited for the 
  miserable weather to let up. A few bear-like warriors complained endlessly 
  about the conditions they were expected to fight in but quickly silenced their 
  grumblings when Kruno flew slowly by in his hovercraft. The Army of the 
  New Order paid well, and most of the hired guns would rather endure a few 
  hardships than wind up with a hole in their skulls. One binding trait, other 
  than common greed, kept them together and loyal to the mercenary army; all 
  of them hated the Coalition.
  Crashing through a low hanging branch, Kruno’s hovercraft made a right 
  angle turn and flew over the ridge away from the gathered forces. Curses 
  from the hatch gunner brought a smile to the mercenary captain’s lips and he 
  swerved at the next low flying clump of branches he saw.
  “Watch it!” Trench shouted down into the pilot’s compartment.
  “A little water and a few leaves ain’t gonna hurt the rail gun, Trench!”
  “Screw the rail gun! I’m talkin’ about me!”
  “Hey Trench, reach over and pull the twigs out of the sensor turret. I can’t 
  see where I’m going,” Kruno lied.
  
  152
  The oddly-shaped hovercraft was actually the upper half of a Northern 
  Gun Multibot. Kruno never understood why the strange looking robot never 
  achieved much popularity. It was built tough enough to survive heavy com-
  bat plus the upper half of the robot could detach and operate independently as 
  a hovercraft. Once re-attached, it served as the robot’s command center and 
  pilot’s compartment.
  “Kruno! You’re doing that on purpose!” Trench complained.
  Kruno winked at his co-pilot and swerved again.
  “Kruno!”
  “Hehehehe.”
  “Holy mother of D-Bees!” His co-pilot pointed to the view screen.
  Six giant, winged Gargoyles stood to one side of the second mechanized 
  force, Torrak and Credo proudly displaying their summoned warriors. The 
  fifteen-foot demons glared with hateful eyes at the sub-creatures around them 
  but were bound by magic not to harm them. Zenjori flagged down Kruno’s 
  hovercraft and watched with satisfaction as the mercenary captain stared in 
  disbelief at the giant monsters.
  “Casters musta been busy last night,” Kruno shrugged finally and hopped 
  down from the hatch.
  “What are you doing back here, Kruno? Why aren’t you with your squad?” 
  Zenjori inquired. Standing a few inches taller in his Triax exoskeleton, the 
  mercenary leader still had to look up at the Partial Conversion Headhunter.
  “It’s yer orders, Suka San,” Kruno addressed Zenjori with respect, not 
  understanding the racial discrepancy he and everybody else took for granted. 
  “They stink like rotten apples in a barrel of rum in summer.”
  “Do they?”
  “You want me to park it right in the northern mouth of the valley. That’s 
  suicide if the Coalition attacks while Drake’s ‘Sledgehammer’ Squad is sit-
  tin’ on their tails down here.”
  “We went over this before, Kruno. Carnivore Squad advances down the 
  valley and holds position while Sledgehammer slips across the valley and up 
  to a position on the ridge,” Zenjori explained patiently. “The Coalition will 
  be expecting a trap, that’s why our third force will pretend to be the ambush-
  ing party to cover Sledgehammer’s position.”
  “And if Drake’s screwing around when I get attacked, it’s me takin’ it. 
  How do I know I won’t be left under fire?”
  “You have my word of honor.”
  Kruno caught himself before he mentioned what he thought of Zenjori’s 
  honor. “And how long do I stump-sit up there?”
  “As long as it takes the Coalition to get there. My spy in Liberty informs 
  me that the Coalition has mobilized its entire force and is currently en route. 
  If it makes you feel better, I’ll have our demonic squad over there move to 
  draw fire as soon as Sledgehammer is in position.”
  
  153
  “I know what my boys is capable of, and they ain’t gonna handle no fron-
  tal attack from no Coalition force of that size. I ain’t got the manpower or the 
  firepower.”
  “That’s why Drake and the demons will assist you once the battle is 
  started. First the Demons, then Sledgehammer from the Coalition’s flank,” 
  Zenjori explained in an exasperated tone of voice. “Now move into position 
  before the Coalition gets near. Now, Kruno.”
  “Okay, boss,” Kruno acquiesced and climbed back into the hovercraft. 
  Heading back the same way he came, Kruno thought about exactly how much 
  he trusted his life to Zenjori.
  After a minute of flight time, Kruno startled his copilot and gunner by 
  shouting, “Forget Zenjori!”
  “Uh, Kruno, it might not be smart to disobey orders,” Trench advised, 
  dropping his head inside.
  “Like he’s gonna back me up in time. This is what we’re gonna do. I want 
  a fallback position dug in and fire lanes cleared ’zactly where the squad is 
  now.”
  “But Zenjori told us to advance to the valley mouth.”
  “And we will. Juss some of us ain’t gonna move. We’ll take on the Dead 
  Boys and then fall back to our varmit holes and hold out there, droppin’ 
  mines in the C.S.’s path. If we can fight ’em to a standstill we can hit them 
  before they hit us.”
  “But what if we don’t get backed up?”
  “Then we hold out to the last man and make them Dead Boys pay for ev-
  ery step they take. I ain’t countin’ on Zenjori for nothin’ though.”
  ____________________
  Vegetation stirred slightly two hundred feet from the Bear Man mercenar-
  ies. None of them noticed. Rain soaked twigs and leaves bent silently under 
  armor clad feet, bringing Cowboy and his five-man fire team into the perfect 
  position to slaughter the unsuspecting warriors.
  “Fireteam Alpha to Beta,” Cowboy whispered over his helmet radio.
  “This is Beta,” Trenton’s voice came back over the comm.
  “I’ve got six hostiles. Back me. We’re taking them.”
  “Roger.”
  Cowboy motioned to his team and assigned each of them a target with a 
  series of hand signals. Infrared laser beams found vulnerable sections on the 
  Bear Men’s armor and marked each location.
  “Fire.”
  Leaves and wet branches exploded behind the dismembered bodies of all 
  six mercenaries from the laser beams and plasma bolts passing through the 
  unoccupied space between body parts.
  
  154
  Popping out of their concealment thirty feet to the left of the Bear Men’s 
  remains, the second squad of Kruno’s mercenaries took aim at the stand of 
  trees Cowboy’s squad had fired from.
  Laser beams speared through the foliage in rapid succession while super-
  heated plasma eradicated armor and living matter alike. A third rebel squad 
  disappeared into the smoking craters left in the hillside without getting off a 
  single shot.
  “Thanks, Trenton.”
  “No problem.”
  “Fireteam Alpha to Fireteam Beta, you’re clear.”
  “Copy,” Sergeant Winters responded and moved the largest fire team up 
  the western hillside.
  “Sharp to Charlie. Watch your nine o’clock, there’s four or five rabbits 
  moving back up the valley.” Sharp observed the battle from the eastern ridge.
  “Where? I can’t see a damn thing. Too many trees.” Winters halted his 
  squad and crouched, trying to get a glimpse of the enemy.
  “They can’t be more than fifty feet from you, due east.”
  “I can hear them.” Winters waived his squad into concealment.
  “D-Bees mostly. They must be able to hear you too. A cat-like thing 
  stopped them. They’re running back for the creek.”
  “This is Alpha, we’ll take ‘em. Cover us Beta.” Cowboy leapt down the 
  muddy embankment and ran across a stretch of open ground towards the 
  creek. His fire team moved in behind him with equal enthusiasm, making use 
  of trees and bushes to conceal their movements.
  “You got ’em, Cowboy,” Sharp called in.
  “Where?!” Cowboy practically yelled over the radio, dropping lower be-
  hind the gnarled roots of the tree. “It’s too dense down here.”
  “They’re right there!” Sharp whispered back urgently, watching the other 
  squad cautiously try and outflank Winters’ position. “Twenty feet, coming 
  right to you!”
  Cowboy stood and swung around the tree trunk to face an equally startled 
  cat-like D-Bee carrying a bulky laser rifle.
  In the same movement, Cowboy thrust the C-27’s bayonet through the 
  cat’s open faceplate and swung the dead D-Bee in the line of fire with its four 
  companions. Cowboy’s armor was splattered with boiled blood as he sighted 
  down the cat’s helmet and vaproized the D-Bee’s head to dispatch a human 
  rebel coming up behind it.
  “Get down!” Nim shouted and fired four grenades from his C-14 at the 
  remaining armored rebels.
  Armor fragments and body parts flew away from the tremendous explo-
  sion. The blast echoed up the valley, announcing the battle’s official begin-
  ning.
  
  155
  Tossing the shredded pieces of cat corpse off his body, Cowboy wiped 
  blood smears from his helmet’s eyepieces and took a moment to admire the 
  smoking, three-inch-wide hole bored through the tree trunk four inches from 
  where his head had been.
  “This is what I call a good day!”
  ____________________
  Kruno tilted his head and listened to the sounds of battle roll past. Once 
  again locked in place and part of the larger Northern Gun Multibot, the hov-
  ercraft now served as command central for the firepower at his disposal.
  “We just lost our point group,” Trench relayed from the communications 
  console.
  “How many’d we get?”
  “Armin says none.” Trench listened to the rebel spotter. “But then he’s 
  having trouble tracking enemy movements.”
  “These Dead Boys is gettin’ better. How far now?”
  “Little more than a kilometer. Armin’s got a spot on the Skull Walker at 
  about 4,000 feet.”
  “They’re runnin’ silent then cuz I’m not pickin’ up the active radar.”
  “Armin’s got the Skull pegged, preparing missiles to fire.” Trench reached 
  over and raised the V-shaped launchers into position.
  “Not yet. Only one Skull Walker?” Kruno shifted in his seat to make sure 
  Trench didn’t blow the robot’s position.
  “Armin, it’s only one Skull Walker?” Trench asked on the scrambled fre-
  quency. “Armin. Armin, do you copy?”
  Kruno began to laugh, slamming his mechanical fist down on the leg lock.
  “Radio Zenjori and tell him to send in J.J. If I don’t gots a spotter, I’m 
  gonna make sure they ain’t gots one neither.”
  ____________________
  Sharp switched the AQ-3 targeting system to full magnification, making 
  sure the enemy sniper wasn’t just playing dead. The computer-enhanced im-
  age came up crystal clear a moment later and settled the question. Most of 
  Armin’s skull was missing, helmet and all. A twinge of sadness mingled with 
  exuberance, Sharp always felt a rush when he made a perfect shot, but taking 
  a life wasn’t something he reveled in. There was no time for contemplation. 
  The Coalition scout started looking for another target.
  The targeting system beeped at him in his helmet. Sharp dropped from the 
  tree just as a laser beam cut the canopy he’d just been using for cover in half. 
  A quick burst of thrust from the jet pack set him safely on the moist forest 
  floor. It had taken some time for Sharp to figure out the complex systems 
  of the Pre-Rifts AQ-3 targeting system. The first time he’d switched on the 
  
  156
  SCMS he’d knocked out six passive night scopes and a thermo-imager, all 
  of which were attached to weapons of his buddies. Brian Adams had tried to 
  explain in irate terms that SCMS stood for Sensor Counter Measure Systems 
  and that there was a reason he’d left that particular function off the menu. 
  Whenever the SCMS picked up an active targeting beam, it traced it back to 
  the source and counter-attacked with an intense laser beam directed at the op-
  tics. Brian tried to explain the difference between passive and active SCMS, 
  and promptly wired the AQ-3 to operate only on passive scan and passive re-
  sponse. Now it merely watched for active optical scans and targeting beams, 
  only giving audible warnings when a targeting beam came within close prox-
  imity to the targeting system. Brian did his best to wire in most of the AQ-3’s 
  functions to Sharp’s helmet Heads Up Display and JA-11 sniper rifle. Sharp 
  could only imagine what it must have been like to have a fully operational 
  and integrated weapon and targeting system the way it was intended.
  Calling up a tactical overview on the AQ-3, Sharp moved along the edge 
  of the ridge to where the computer told him the infrared targeting beam origi-
  nated.
  Another warning sounded in Sharp’s helmet.
  Jumping over a rotten log, Sharp narrowly avoided another high-power 
  laser beam. This time the tactical display wasn’t needed. Up in a tree forty 
  feet away, J.J. fired through the log and blasted earth between Sharp’s legs.
  No longer concerned with long-range accuracy, Sharp switched the JA-11 
  to ion blaster and cut the forest down in the enemy sniper’s general direction.
  Leaping from the falling tree, the drug-enhanced reflexes of the sniper 
  reacted instantaneously upon impact with the ground. Rolling out of the fall 
  without losing his balance, J.J. ran toward Sharp, launching his body between 
  ion beams and to tackle the startled Coalition soldier.
  Down the slick blanket of fallen leaves, the two tumbled until a tree trunk 
  stopped their descent. As if his every move was in slow motion, Sharp tried 
  to push the Juicer away with the JA-11. J.J. flung it away from both of them, 
  his own rifle lost someplace in the tumble.
  Before Sharp could react, the assassin in plate armor had a Vibro-Knife 
  aimed at his head. Rolling as far as he could under the Juicer’s weight, Sharp 
  watched the blade slice clear through a tree trunk inches away. As the tree 
  began to tilt, Sharp grabbed hold of the Juicer’s chest plate and let the war-
  rior’s chemically augmented strength pull both of them out of the way. There 
  was a moment of imbalance and their tumble down the hillside resumed, the 
  knife winding up embedded two feet into the ground.
  Sharp’s jet pack jammed between two saplings and brought them both to 
  a halt. J.J. lost his grip and slid farther, grabbing onto a root and swinging his 
  body around the base of a tree. Wedged in place on his back like a flipped 
  turtle, Sharp acted out of desperation, drawing both C-18 laser pistols and 
  arching his back to attack J.J.’s place of refuge lower on the hill.
  
  157
  Leaves and saplings exploded and smoked as Sharp’s rapid gunfire tore 
  through the underbrush. Dodging falling branches and all but a few laser 
  blasts, J.J. scrambled out of the smoking pile of limbs to hear something 
  bounce off his armor and disappear into the foliage.
  “Dodge that,” Sharp taunted and engaged his jet pack, stripping the sap-
  lings while he rocketed through the canopy.
  Something in J.J.’s head reminded him of Assassin’s Rule #2: Get out 
  while the getting’s good. While probably never meant for a situation like 
  this where J.J. still felt like he had a good advantage, something told him 
  the rule seemed to apply. Throwing himself headlong down the slope, J.J. 
  was hit with a shock wave that flung him against a tree. Instantly knocked 
  unconscious, the bio-chip attached to J.J.’s drug injection harness kicked his 
  body into a regenerative trance while raining limbs and debris fell onto the 
  hillside around him.
  Hovering just above the forest, Sharp scanned the forest floor for J.J.’s 
  location. Cybernetic sound filters cut in and he watched the Fusion Block 
  explode in near silence. As the shock wave rattled him inside his armor, the 
  world of sound returned at relatively safe decibels. Sharp cheered the de-
  stroyed forest and rising pillar of smoke; certain his nemesis was, at last, no 
  more.
  Looking out over the valley through the battle forged clearing, Sharp had 
  little time to celebrate.
  “Oh crap!”
  Metal slugs tore a trail thorough the trees as four Samson power armor 
  units unleashed their firepower in Sharp’s direction. A jet-assisted drop into 
  concealment saved Sharp from almost certain death. Running for where his 
  rifle lay, he listened to the hail of metal rip its way through the forest behind 
  him.
  ____________________
  Coming to a ridge on the western hillside, Sergeant Winters was pleased 
  to discover an unobstructed view of the valley. The treetops came just ten feet 
  above the top of the rock, giving his fire team the advantage of height and 
  concealment. Already his CR-1 rocket team was taking up position behind 
  some foliage on top of a nearby boulder, covered by eight soldiers with a 
  devastating array of weaponry.
  Down in the valley, Alpha and Beta teams were dispatching groups of reb-
  els caught in a wedge-shaped crossfire when Sharp’s Fusion Block detonated 
  just a few hundred meters away.
  “Sir, Sharp’s under fire by four NG-X9s.” The CR-1 operator pointed to 
  the infantry Power Armor Units.
  “You think I can’t hear ’im screamin’ on the comm, Burcow? What’s the 
  range?”
  
  158
  “450 meters,” Private Rachel Burcow spoke into the multi-optics scope 
  attached to the bulky rocket launcher.
  “I guess we’ll hafta mess them up an’ see if it don’t flush some rebel armor 
  into our mechanized units. Everyone lock in on that dirty, gray painted guy 
  down there.” Winters lay flat on the rock and checked the distance himself.
  “They’re all dirty gray in this mist, Sarge. The weather’s screwin’ up the 
  targeting beams, too,” Private Charlie Walters chimed in.
  “Watcha got in that thing?” Winters asked Burcow.
  “The CR-1? A scorcher, Sarge.”
  “Take it out and slap in an Armor Piercer.”
  “You got it.” Rachel ported the launcher for her partner to switch the mini-
  missile load. Her loader swapped the rockets and tapped her on the helmet. 
  “Now what?”
  “Pick one of them, I don’t care which one. Listen up Walters, when Bur-
  cow marks it, everyone fire a tight burst to take it down, then git yer cans off 
  this rock and find some cover.”
  Sergeant Winters waited for a moment, feeling out the readiness of his 
  men. “At your pleasure Burcow.”
  “So long, baby,” Rachel breathed and let the mini-missile fly.
  After the whoosh of leaving the tube, retractable fins popped out and kept 
  the rocket on course to its detonation. The warhead’s cone collapsed on the 
  impact the same instant a shaped charge fired through the Samson’s shoulder 
  armor and destroyed the supporting mechanical workings. The rebel power 
  armor staggered back from the explosion.
  “Drop it,” Winters called down the death sentence.
  Laser beams and plasma vaporized the forest in a circle of destruction 
  around the target. For every blast that wasn’t a direct hit, two more burned 
  through the armor. The Samson flailed to the side and threw up its arms in 
  a defensive posture. Its closest arm melted away and the body withered like 
  a plant under assault from weedkiller. The pilot’s scream was cut short as 
  plasma and molten metal flowed into the power armor while the lasers and 
  plasma blasts tore their way out the back.
  “Back!” Winters barked and slid down the rock to the hillside. Half of the 
  rock cracked and exploded in a hail of chips when hundreds of metal slugs 
  tore into its surface. The other Coalition soldiers scattered away from the hail 
  of directed rail gun fire at the position they held only moments before; their 
  armor stopping rock shards from maiming flesh and bone. As quickly as the 
  rail gun fire started, it ceased, leaving the stench of cracked metal and cloud 
  of stone dust to settle over huddled troops.
  “They stopped firing,” Rachel observed, holding her launcher steady as 
  her partner loaded a rocket from her own pack into the still smoking launcher.
  Sergeant Winters lay on his back and slotted a new energy canister in his 
  C-27. The mist shifted and the air swirled in a peculiar fashion above them. 
  
  159
  Loose stones tumbled down from the boulder’s shattered heart. Perched just 
  fifteen feet away, a Gargoyle flapped its wings slowly and roared menacingly.
  “Oh hell,” Rachel whispered on dry lips. “What is that?”
  “Hell if I know,” Sergeant Winters shrugged. “Kill it.”
  Those not gripped with terror at the close proximity of the hideous stone-
  skinned monster fired madly with everything they had. Fully automatic 
  weapons fire burned hundreds of holes through the Gargoyle’s twisting body. 
  Impacting its body through a missing patch of chest muscle, Rachel’s mini-
  missile detonated. The Gargoyle’s spine and wings sailed away from the ex-
  plosion. Through the bloody mist, Rachel could see daylight shine through 
  the creature’s heart.
  ____________________
  Kruno tossed his animal-skin cap on the pilot’s console and secured his 
  padded helmet in place, covering his bald head. If the battle continued the 
  way it was going, he might end up crawling from his robot’s dismembered 
  body to engage the enemy on foot. He wasn’t about to let that happen without 
  giving as good as he got, but the Coalition armor still hadn’t shown its hand. 
  Something wasn’t right. The “awesome and incredible” monstrous back-up 
  that Syrrig and Torrak had promised wasn’t having the impact it was sup-
  posed to, either.
  “Sarvo wants to know where you want him and the Samsons,” Trench 
  relayed from the radio. “Linden’s X9’s totally wasted and spillin’ radiation 
  from its pack.”
  “Tell him to fall back and get snug between us and the Titan. We’re in for 
  the last stand.”
  “Sledgehammer Squad is under attack by Coalition SAMAS, do you copy 
  Kruno?” Drake’s low synthesized voice came over the speakers.
  “I read you. We’re gettin’ munched down here. Where’s my back up?”
  “We’ve been found out. A pair of SAMAS are slowing us down, with two 
  more covering them from someplace on the other ridge. We’re taking heavy 
  fire. Just hold on until we isolate them and break through to you.”
  “So much for an ambush,” Kruno muttered. “Them Dead Boys must’a 
  known all along.” He signaled Trench to cut transmissions.
  “What now, Kruno?” Trench looked worried.
  “Punch up short-range radio waves, I’ve got a feeling we’re sitting ducks 
  in a swimming pool full of mashed potatoes right now.”
  “There’s four flyin’ things goin’ down the valley and two Sky Cycles 
  commin’ up fast. Computer won’t gimme a recognition on them four!”
  “Rotate the torso and lock the missile launchers.”
  “But the other four!” Trench targeted the nearest airborne blip.
  
  160
  “Those are Gargoyles you moron! Right now, those monsters are the only 
  thing keepin’ them Dead Boys’ ground forces from waltzing over and punch-
  ing our tickets!”
  ____________________
  On the western side of the western mountain ridge, Darren tripped and fell, 
  splattering mud all over the black finish of his SAMAS. Explosions shook the 
  ground and sent fire balls into the sky where he’d been standing a moment 
  earlier. Fifteen meters away, Drake’s cyborg squad continued the advance.
  “SAM 15, move down from the ridge then skirt south to lead them into 
  Pritchett’s armor,” Greg advised, having disregarded the captain’s orders the 
  moment they arrived at the valley. His troops didn’t have to know the differ-
  ence. He crouched in a gully not far away, waiting for the hail of fire to lessen 
  enough for him to move again. “Let them think they’re driving us back.”
  “Let them think they’re driving us back? They are driving us back!”
  “What’s going on up there, 117, you’re supposed to be covering SAM 
  15?”
  “I’m getting shot at by an Ulti-Max! 15’s going to have to fend for him-
  self,” Brian whined. In a fair fight, his SAMAS didn’t stand a chance against 
  the X-1000 Ulti-Max power armor unit. Everyone knew that. He had a slight 
  advantage from the Ulti-Max due to heavy forest on the mountain giving him 
  cover.
  “Sorenson! What’s your excuse!?” Greg moved down the gully and 
  popped up to knock a light exoskeleton off its feet with a burst from his C-18. 
  Three more enemy Terrain Hopper exoskeletons bounced in to fill its place.
  “This is 419. I’m busy with two X-10 Predators.” Overhead, Greg caught 
  glimpses of Sorenson evading the two heavier flying exoskeletons, just 
  barely escaping a constant barrage of laser fire. What the two Triax make 
  units lacked in speed and maneuverability, they made up for in firepower and 
  heavy armor.
  Darren slid his C-40 through a gap in tree roots he was using for cover and 
  fired on the nearest armored cyborg. Metal struck armor and, with a staccato 
  series of audible cracks, created a line from waist to shoulder. The cyborg 
  staggered back, then continued undaunted. In the confusion of battle, the tru-
  ism of battleplans never surviving contact with the enemy was proven true 
  yet again.
  All Darren wanted was to get away with most of his power armor intact.
  ____________________
  Captain Pritchett rubbed his armored hands together with glee. The ad-
  vance group had done far better than he’d anticipated, but now they were 
  in trouble and it was up to him to charge in guns blazing and save the day. 
  
  161
  The enemy ambush was exposed, making the rest of the battle the kind of 
  stand-up fight he’d become accustomed to on the Coalition front. Although 
  he hated to admit it, Pritchett had to hand it to Merrick’s unconventional 
  approach. It was going to make the victory all the more resounding for his 
  mechanized advance.
  He’d never seen a Gargoyle before, but from the chatter on the comm, 
  Merrick’s ground troops were having some trouble finishing off the last one. 
  Pritchett hoped they didn’t kill it before he had a chance to see it in action.
  “Red, Gray, and Yellow Squads advance with pattern Delta.”
  “On our way!” Two hover rovers full of infantry followed the six-person 
  lead squad who were on armored hovercycles.
  “Silver Squad advance in a wedge formation, attack pattern Indigo.”
  Trees were smashed underfoot as Pritchett’s Spider Skull Walker rose off 
  the ground on its six legs and moved forward. Inside Enforcer 790, Cor-
  poral Corrine Lexington got the robot up off its knees and brushed aside 
  tree branches blocking its sensor turret. The Abolisher mirrored the Enforcer, 
  lumbering through the forest while making no attempt to silence its advance. 
  The two power armor members of Silver Squad lifted off the ground to hover 
  just above the treetops. None had turned on their active targeting systems, 
  hiding them from all but visual detection.
  “Skull 41 has radar lock on one of the Gargoyles.” Corporal Lexington’s 
  finger flipped open the missile launch system. Having moved in with the rest 
  of Merrick’s forces, the Skull Walker piloted by Dave and Lisa was the only 
  armor unit currently using active targeting in the valley; fire linked to the 
  other mechanized units.
  “Fire at will, Corporal.” Pritchett leaned close to the viewscreen to watch 
  for missile trails speeding away from the Enforcer.
  Caught in the vicious plasma explosions, the flying creature’s wings were 
  melted to the bone. Trailing smoke from burnt skin, the Gargoyle crashed 
  into the forest thirty feet from the smoldering body of another of its kin. Lisa 
  and Dave rushed the Skull Walker closer, homing in on the heat signature. 
  Firing through over 50 meters of forest, Dave unleashed the rail gun’s fire-
  power on the fallen Gargoyle, shredding it before the beast could get back 
  to its feet.
  Alpha and Beta fireteams were making steady progress down each side 
  of the grassy valley when Torrak and Credo’s minions came to the aid of 
  Kruno’s dying forces. There must have been confusion on the part of the 
  beasts’ masters because they approached as a pack down the center of the 
  valley without an obvious target. The Gargoyles were the first to spot the two 
  fireteams and roar their battle cries as they dove for cover and led the other 
  minions toward each fireteam.
  
  162
  Alpha team concentrated on the ground forces first, ignoring the Gargoyle 
  that began leveraging the copses of trees for cover. Laser fire cut through the 
  grass as six-legged serval cats charged the front line.
  “What the hell are these things made of?” Private Stevens screamed. He’d 
  hit the same cat several times, but it only went down after it had looked at 
  one of its comrades. Every other time, the laser fire had seemingly redirected 
  itself away from the cat just before hitting. “Distract them, then hit them! 
  They must have some shield on their faces or something!”
  With only ten meters between the fireteam and the last two cats, someone 
  threw a grenade and ended the encounter. Across the valley, they could see 
  Beta team finishing up their own encounter with the other half of the demonic 
  forces.
  Instead of six legged wildcats, Beta team was faced with a pack of milli-
  pedes that had welded ion cannons to their shells. Fortunately, the millipedes 
  hadn’t developed the same shielding as the cats were using so the only thing 
  Beta team was struggling with was how fast the millipedes could change di-
  rection and fire shots on their position. Knowing that good air support could 
  make or break a battle, they’d already overwhelmed the Gargoyle leading the 
  millipedes as soon as it had come within range.
  As Beta team finished up the last of their millipedes, they looked over at 
  Alpha team. “Alpha team, incoming bogie from above!”
  Private Stevens screamed as the Gargoyle Alpha Team had missed crashed 
  through branches above him and landed on his shoulders, gripping his arms 
  with its feet and throwing him to the forest floor. As it landed, the uneven 
  ground caused the Gargoyle to slip and rip Stevens’ arm from his body.
  In an explosion of laser and plasma fire from every side, the Gargoyle 
  screamed as it exploded in a hellish firestorm of energy. Gore splashed the 
  trees and grass in every direction. Private Stevens, still alive, was drenched 
  in monster guts.
  Fireteam Charlie had been positioned farther back, providing support to 
  the two lead fireteams and administering first aid to the fallen when Alpha 
  and Beta dug in. As the two forward teams focused their fire to ambush the 
  advancing cyborgs on the ridge, medics rushed in to do what they could for 
  Private Stevens.
  Skull 41, piloted by Dave and Lisa, entered the clearing through the path 
  it had made in the forest, approaching the dead Gargoyles with caution. One 
  of the creatures suddenly rolled over and tore at the Skull Walker’s foreleg in 
  desperate rage, its claws rending the top layer of metal in jagged lines. Dave 
  dropped the rail guns to fire point-blank at the monster. Part of the creature’s 
  skull disappeared, but the faltering grip on the leg didn’t let up. Dave dragged 
  the stubborn creature twenty feet before the body fell under the tip of the 
  spider-like mechanical leg and was crushed, finally freeing the Skull Walker 
  of the Gargoyle’s death grip.
  
  163
  Two more Gargoyles appeared on radar, leaping up from the forest and 
  flying overhead, intent on vengeance. The beasts’ eyes fixed on the wedge of 
  advancing robots.
  Fear flashed through Captain Pritchett’s mind, an emotion he seldom felt 
  when protected by the overwhelming firepower provided by Coalition ro-
  bots. The much smaller creatures diving at his robots believed they could 
  win. Could they? Even if not, the monstrous creatures were willing to throw 
  themselves at him in a futile attempt to maim. That was frightening in itself.
  “Shoot them!” Pritchet screamed over the communications subnet that 
  was linking the four robot teams together.
  Robot weapons systems assaulted the valley with the roar of rail gun 
  fire and percussion of rapid-fire auto-cannons. Even though the air was full 
  of live fire, the winged Gargoyles, over 9 feet tall, flew through the hail of 
  expended rounds to land on Pritchett’s Spider Skull Walker. Designed for 
  frontal assaults on dug-in enemy positions, the Spider Skull Walker was rela-
  tively limited in its capacity to respond to targets that had managed to land 
  on its exoskeleton.
  Inside, Pritchett felt fear grip his heart as the superhuman Gargoyles 
  ripped at the metal. He frantically shouted orders at the pilot and gunner in 
  the Skull Walker to little effect. Sunlight broke into the crew compartment 
  as one of the Gargoyles screamed its cry of victory at tearing an opening in 
  the back of the Skull Walker. The pitching and frantic movement of the robot 
  meant that the other robotic units were having a hard time getting a clear shot 
  at the creatures assaulting their leader.
  After a full minute of chaotic thrashing, an Abolisher scored a direct hit 
  on the Gargoyle that was trying to tear open the top of the Skull Walker. The 
  other Gargoyle that had already created a hole was hit by hundreds of slugs 
  from Pritchett’s SAMAS support team. The creatures screamed and dropped 
  amidst the robots, wings shredded and bodies oozing blood. Without losing 
  a step, the Enforcer leapt onto one downed monster and slammed its spiked 
  knee into the Gargoyle’s spine. Wrapping giant hands around the Gargoyle’s 
  neck, Corrinne pulled up sharply to remove the monster’s head.
  The other Gargoyle stumbled to its feet while still on fire from one of 
  the explosions it had survived, Pritchett’s Skull Walker rotated on its base 
  to catch it in the gut with a single rail gun burst. The giant Gargoyle lunged 
  forward, ducking another burst and bracing itself to flip the spider-like mecha 
  on its back. Lifted up on two of six legs, the Skull Walker’s crew desperately 
  tried to keep the robot from being flipped.
  Corrinne dispatched the prone Gargoyle, then leaned down on one hand 
  and rotated the Enforcer’s body to bring the rail gun’s line of fire under the 
  larger Skull Walker. Switching to the rail gun’s independent targeting, she 
  centered the targeting dot on the Gargoyle’s knee. It roared victoriously as 
  the Skull Walker’s weight began to shift over its two grounded legs. The cry 
  
  164
  of victory turned to pain as eighty slugs broke bone and ripped muscle. The 
  monster’s legs buckled under the robot’s immense weight. Captain Pritch-
  ett’s Skull Walker sunk all of its legs back into the earth and backpedaled to 
  get away from the seemingly unkillable monster.
  Screaming inhuman curses, the Gargoyle struggled to get at the Enforcer. 
  In one fluid motion, Corrinne took the Gargoyle’s wrists and rolled back, 
  launching the creature to the feet of the Abolisher. Claws raked a gash in the 
  black finish of the larger robot, but the Abolisher simply reached down with 
  oversized hands and took hold of the wounded Gargoyle’s skull. In a clumsy, 
  but effective tactic, the Abolisher held the struggling demon between its ar-
  mored legs and crushed the head like a ripe blueberry.
  The Abolisher tossed aside the mangled body as if it had been nothing 
  more than a trifling annoyance. Captain Pritchett breathed a sigh of relief but 
  seethed with anger inside. He’d shown fear in front of his robot’s crew. Get-
  ting back the respect he’d just lost was going to be annoying.
  “Silver Squad, maintain wedge formation and continue the advance,” he 
  said through gritted teeth.
  Chatter on the comm marked more rebel troops and their armor biting the 
  dust at Merrick’s direction. Pritchett was feeling more stress. It would be un-
  bearable if fewer than twenty of Merrick’s troops managed to clear the path 
  up the valley without any assistance. Not much else was keeping them from 
  doing just that. At the very least, Pritchett figured he could hold back just 
  enough to let Merrick’s unit suffer the wrath of the ambush they’d uncovered, 
  then move in at the last minute to save the day.
  “Sir, Merrick is calling for assistance,” Pritchett’s communications officer 
  practically yelled inside the small compartment. “He says there’s no way four 
  SAM’s can hold off the second assault group. He’s leading them in our direc-
  tion but can’t slow them down anymore.”
  “He shouldn’t have taken action without advising me in the first place. 
  Tell him he’ll have to wait until I finish the rebel group holed up in the valley 
  first. Then we’ll hit the second force with everything we’ve got.”
  “Beta Squad just took down another X-9, sir,” Pritchett’s gunner com-
  mented on the cheers over the comm.
  “Where are Red, Gray, and Yellow Squads? And someone tell me why 
  Skull 41 is advancing past the point? Do we have a lock on anything yet?!”
  “No, sir, Skull 41 and Alpha and Beta Squads keep taking out everything 
  first. Should we go active, sir?”
  “Do it. Full sensors, everything,” Pritchett ordered.
  Radar and full active targeting came alive.
  “We’re active, sir.”
  Pritchett leaned forward, expecting to find new targets to destroy.
  A warning tone sounded instead.
  
  165
  “Someone’s locked in on us, sir,” the communications officer seconded 
  the tone.
  Two seconds later the Skull Walker shuddered and was violently tossed to 
  one side. System displays flashed warnings in bright red and multiple damage 
  control systems lit up with data. The sonic boom caught up with the projec-
  tiles an instant later.
  “Hit! It came from three o’clock! I got a target!”
  “Return fire!” Pritchett screamed, practically climbing into the gunner’s 
  seat with anticipation.
  The Skull-like body rotated, tilting upward to aim the pair of giant rail 
  cannons. The Abolisher beside Pritchett’s Skull Walker boomed, it six over-
  head cannons sending shells to demolish a stretch of forest in a series of 
  sequential detonations. Through the smokey haze left by the explosions, an 
  infrared targeting beam swung to the center of the Skull Walker’s right eye.
  Two hundred slugs left the Glitter Boy’s mass driver and crossed the 600 
  meters in a fraction of a second. The eye and spotlight shattered as one, giving 
  little resistance to their immense kinetic force. Projectiles pried through sec-
  ondary armor and cut through plate, with view screens and displays joining 
  the inward rush of shrapnel. Sparks blazed from the right console and flooded 
  the compartment with smoke and debris. The Skull Walker staggered back-
  ward like a drunken spider. Air purging systems struggled to exhale smoke 
  and extinguish fires, bathing the pilot’s compartment in an eerie red glow.
  “Get us out of here!” Pritchett shouted, seizing the shoulder of the pilot 
  and shaking. The shoulder plate came off in his hand and the mutilated body 
  fell apart to reveal dozens of holes through the back of the pilot’s seat.
  “Full retreat! All units fall back to designated locations! Full retreat!”
  For the first time in his life, Captain Pritchett felt true panic controlling 
  him. It wasn’t the first time in his career his life had been endangered, but 
  he’d never been so near to death. Years of horror stories and combat vids of 
  Glitter Boy battle aftermaths flashed through his mind in an instant. Tearing 
  the remains of the pilot away from the mangled controls, Pritchett desper-
  ately tried to locate backup systems through the sparks and smoke.
  “Full retreat, sir?!” The communications officer shouted for confirmation.
  “Full retreat! It’s a trap! Fall back to designated locations!”
  Pritchett sat in the pilot’s seat, oblivious to the blood and gore. Locking 
  the remaining leg clamp in place and throttling foreword on manual control, 
  he turned the robot about-face just as a third blast severed the right foreleg 
  from the body.
  “Merrick! Stop that Glitter Boy before it blows us all to hell! Somebody 
  shoot that thing!” Pritchett’s voice screamed hysterically over the general 
  communications channel.
  
  166
  “It’s moved, sir! We’re not seeing it.” Lt. Corrinne Lexington backed her 
  Enforcer into some trees and searched the hillside for some sign of the at-
  tacker.
  “Full retreat! That’s an order!” Pritchett screamed again as he sent the 
  five-legged and cyclopsed Spider Skull walker back down the hillside and 
  away from the battle.
  ____________________
  “Retreat? He’s gotta be nuts! We’ve almost got ’em!” Cowboy blasted the 
  last Headhunter protecting the Multibot’s flank.
  “I just confirmed it with Skull 41. Pritchett’s callin’ a full retreat,” Trenton 
  grumbled in disgust. His squad had only one Samson power armor keeping 
  him from overrunning the enemy lines, and the remaining pair of robot ve-
  hicles were too occupied with the harassing Sky Cycles to engage in close 
  combat. The combined firepower of Alpha and Beta could drop them both 
  in a matter of seconds. Charlie team was keeping rebel reinforcements from 
  reaching the front lines, two rebel transports were on fire and a third damaged 
  beyond repair. The few remaining Headhunters were too scattered and disor-
  ganized to provide effective resistance, and none of them wanted to die alone.
  “Sharp to Winters, over.”
  “What do you want?” Winters growled, intent not to back his squad off 
  without finishing the job.
  “You better clear out while you can, Sarge, Captain Pritchett and all our 
  mechanized are in full retreat, and our SAMs just lost the ridge. Pritchett’s 
  not behind you and there’s a Glitter Boy watchin’ your trail all the way out of 
  the valley,” Sharp warned.
  Winters gritted his teeth. It wasn’t fun the last time Merrick’s unit had 
  faced this situation. This time it was out of his hands and he didn’t want to 
  fight this battle again when they were so close to winning.
  “Sarge, you better go now,” Sharp relayed. “Lieutenant Merrick and Dar-
  ren are going to keep the Glitter Boy occupied so you and Pritchett’s infantry 
  can clear the valley.”
  “Jerry! Get back to the rovers! Double time!” Merrick ordered between 
  sonic booms. “Sharp! See if you can keep their heads down!” Greg cursed 
  himself for taking part in the joint operation to begin with. He’d known what 
  would happen all along and still went against his instinct.
  Sharp sighted a mercenary hidden in some shrubs, cutting a baseball-sized 
  hole through the rebel’s chest with his sniper rifle. He could see Beta Squad 
  meet up with Winters, putting the wounded on Trenton’s massive mechani-
  cal shoulders. Another rebel popped out of a foxhole to pursue the vulnerable 
  cyborg double-timing the wounded down to Charlie position. Sharp’s laser 
  blast vaporized the D-Bee’s scaly head. Two more quick shots at the Titan 
  distracted it as it was about to target some other Coalition troops, another to 
  
  167
  blow out the sensor turret on the Multibot, and Sharp engaged his jet pack to 
  escape the team of cyborgs just topping the rise behind him.
  ____________________
  Kruno was never one to believe in godly deities or religion, but as the 
  Coalition forces retreated on the verge of victory, he caught himself giving 
  thanks to every human and D-Bee god he’d ever heard of.
  “They’re leaving!” Trench shouted at the one remaining sensor feed. “Do 
  we go after them?”
  “After them? With what? We gonna huck turnips at ’em?”
  “I don’t get it. They were winning and then they retreat. What gives?” 
  Trench asked.
  “Fate or intervention, my friend, I’ll take it either way. Some of us are 
  survivors cuz of ability, and others just cuz of fate. We just made ’em both 
  today. Now we’re gonna open up a whole can o’ whoop-ass on them Dead 
  Boys.”
  Kruno smiled happily, targeting the nearest Sky Cycle leaving the battle 
  zone. He’d already wasted four missiles trying to shoot down the maneuver-
  able fighters, but they kept flying so close, the warhead safeties wouldn’t arm. 
  Now that wasn’t a problem. Selecting one of the two smart missiles left in 
  the launchers, Kruno’s finger danced over the fire button contemplating the 
  effectiveness of firing without a positive lock, but in the end, slammed the 
  button with an armored fist.
  The Sky Cycle’s hazard display went haywire, suddenly registering three 
  incoming warheads. In a desperate attempt to avoid all three, the pilot banked 
  sharply in a full circle and let the searching missiles pass him by. The lead 
  missile banked and veered back around. Hoping to outrun its sharp turn, the 
  pilot shoved the cycle to the max speed just feet above the treetops. The 
  missile closed the gap at twice the cycle’s speed, locked onto the heat of the 
  craft’s engines. Plasma erupted from the Sky Cycle’s main thrusters and the 
  top fin shot forward, removing the pilot from his seat. Thrown clear of the 
  burning craft the pilot’s speed was slowed to 400 mph through the pliant 
  treetops before a great oak abruptly stopped his velocity completely. Blazing 
  fragments of the cycle blanketed the forest around the lifeless pilot.
  
  168
  Chapter 12
  I don’t believe in magic
  The one and only cybernetics facility in Liberty was overcrowded and un-
  derstaffed. When Francisco Alvarez escaped persecution within the Coalition 
  States he never expected to see C.S. military officers waiting in his office or 
  a wounded C.S. soldier on his operating table.
  A month before when he’d opened the “Frontier Body Builder” cyber-
  netics center the response had been incredible. Very few Cyber-Docs with 
  full equipment existed beyond the borders of industrialized states. The two-
  story complex that served as both home and business had quickly become 
  overwhelmed by demand. As it turned out, on the frontier, there were more 
  humans and D-Bees needing superior medical care and augmentation than he 
  alone had time to handle. By the time he hired and trained added staff, the 
  demand had grown even more.
  He’d increased his orders of standard cybernetic and bionic parts from a 
  single, armored transport per month up to three. Turnaround on implants was 
  so fast he’d not even had the time to see how much money he was making for 
  the first six months until he hired the local accountant to look at his books. All 
  he’d known for sure was that his business was more successful than he’d ever 
  dreamed possible. When he’d received the accountant’s numbers, the news 
  was so good he had to sit down. Now, with the Coalition present, Francisco 
  wondered how much longer it would last if they found out about his past.
  Replacing the wounded soldier’s arm with a cybernetic one took about 
  three hours, but it would be days before Francisco could prescribe rehabilita-
  tive activity. One thing that still bothered him after years of practice were 
  those individuals who willingly forsook their living bodies in favor of syn-
  thetic ones. Some small localized augmentation was understandable for aes-
  thetics or extra abilities. Even extreme physical injury definitely warranted 
  the conversion of a man to machine in order to preserve life. The Coali-
  tion soldier who was laying on his table was definitely in the physical injury 
  group, but had little choice in what had to be done to him.
  Francisco set aside his medical gear and checked the monitors one last 
  time before leaving the operating room in the capable hands of one of his 
  nurses. Down the hall, he could see two Coalition officers through the win-
  dow of his office. A nervous twitch made him feel for the revolver at his side 
  for comfort. He patted it reassuringly and walked in to discuss payment.
  “Dr. Alvarez. The operation was a success, I assume?” Pritchett stood and 
  smiled, extending his hand in a gesture of friendship.
  “Yes, but he won’t be much good to you for a while.” Francisco looked at 
  the open hand, but showed his own which had some blood on it and gestured 
  for the officers to take a seat while he sat behind his battered oak desk. Most 
  
  169
  of the furniture in his office was modern and attractively designed, but lacked 
  a feeling of cozy homeyness.
  “The Sergeant here is your patient’s direct superior,” Pritchett motioned 
  to Trenton.
  Francisco turned his attention to the full conversion cyborg, noting that 
  not even the head or face had kept its organic, human appearance. Inset 
  glowing red eyes stared back from a monstrous skull-like visage. No wonder 
  so many primitive cultures associated the Coalition with death, Francisco 
  mused. Even Coalition ‘Borgs embraced the frightening motif.
  “How much of his body did you have to replace?” Trenton asked in a near-
  human tone. Whoever had done the work on him was good but was probably 
  using military-grade materials instead of cosmetic, commercial-grade ones, 
  Francisco thought.
  “Just the arm and shoulder. Many of the torn muscles and ligaments had 
  to be replaced with bio-synthetics as the wound trauma was fairly severe. If 
  you don’t mind my asking, what happened to him?”
  “We were attacked by a flock of giant creatures while on standard ma-
  neuvers. One of them managed to grab that man’s arm and rip it off, armor 
  and all.” Pritchett relayed his version of what happened to fire team Charlie. 
  Trenton looked over, eyebrow plates lowering in disapproval.
  “Standard maneuvers, huh. Your man kept babbling over and over about 
  finishing the New Order. That wouldn’t happen to be the Army of the New 
  Order, would it?” Francisco slowly slid his hand beneath the desk and felt for 
  the button that would fire both ion pistols fastened on the underside into the 
  chest of anyone sitting in the chairs that faced him. A Cyber-Doc’s profession 
  was often a risky one.
  “You’ve heard of the scoundrels then,” Pritchett smiled.
  “Zenjori told me you might come here, but I didn’t believe him.”
  “If you know Zenjori than you know he’s a criminal and a coward.” Tren-
  ton stood, towering over the desk. “He and his army are the reason I look like 
  this today.”
  “Regardless of what you say about Zenjori and the Army of the New Or-
  der, I and many others wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. Zenjori had a 
  problem with some of his undisciplined men, but overall, he did much to 
  help the people of this town and maintained Liberty as a safe haven. You’re 
  not going to be very popular around here if you try and kill him. The people 
  of this town agreed to hire other mercenaries for protection, that’s fine. You 
  have no business hiding here in Liberty behind First Strike and then attacking 
  Zenjori’s army just to run back for protection again. Many of us don’t want 
  the Coalition here in Liberty at all.”
  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Doctor, I hope we can change your opinion 
  of us. In time,” Pritchett diplomatically tried to defuse the tension.
  
  170
  Merrick’s men were outraged at the retreat and Pritchett showing concern 
  for Merrick’s wounded would go a long way to diminish their anger and 
  reduce chances of fights breaking out between the two Coalition forces. Deal-
  ing with an outspoken Cyber-Doc was child’s play compared to explaining 
  himself to furious combat veterans who already wanted to shuffle the chain 
  of command.
  “My services are for everyone, human, D-Bee, even Coalition troops, 
  Captain,” Francisco stated disdainfully. “But my fees are fixed.”
  “That’s what an expense account is for,” Pritchett joked, pulling out a 
  black card with military logo etched into it. “I would be happy to pay what-
  ever fee you feel appropriate, within reason of course.”
  “I’ll be keeping him in a bed until tomorrow morning in case of compli-
  cations. 15,000 now and 15,000 tomorrow morning when you come to pick 
  him up.”
  “That’s a bit steep, don’t you think?”
  “Obviously you’ve never been in a body chop-shop outside of Chi-Town, 
  Captain.”
  “Can’t say that I have.” Pritchett handed the black card over.
  Flipping the card deftly in one hand, Francisco slotted it into the computer 
  on his desk and turned it so the Coalition officer could see. A quick analysis 
  showed the card was clean and Captain Pritchett authorized the transfer of 
  funds to Francisco’s business account.
  “Just a word of advice, Captain.” Francisco returned the card to its owner. 
  “Choose your enemies carefully.”
  “Thank you, doctor, I will send someone tomorrow morning with the re-
  mainder of your payment. I sincerely hope that if we can’t be friends, at least 
  you and I won’t be enemies. I’m not the monster you think of me.”
  “Explain that to the families of the D-Bees you mistreated, drove from 
  their homes, and killed in cold blood before you got here. Good day, Cap-
  tain.” Alvarez tiredly walked out of his office and back into his hallway of 
  operating rooms.
  After the two had left his office, Dr. Alvarez sat at his desk and tried to 
  purge resurfaced memories from his years of forced operations in Chi-Town 
  under the thumb of military men who only cared about their agendas and not 
  their men.
  ____________________
  Flecks of gold sparkled deep within the brilliant diamond. Interwoven 
  gold and silver bands of the ring came together where translucent obsidian 
  formed the clasps holding the diamond in place. When light struck the multi-
  faceted gem just right, it burst into a red star of unparalleled magnificence. 
  Deep within the diamond’s core was a precious ruby fused with the surround-
  
  171
  ing carbon like a glowing heart. Anja stared with breathless fascination as 
  Van slipped the ring on her finger.
  “I, I...” Anja searched for the words to say.
  “Don’t say anything. It’s yours, to symbolize our bond. My mother and 
  father made it long before I was born as a charm against the undead. I’ve 
  been keeping it in one of my safes at Youngstown for a long time. I can’t 
  think of a better person to give it to than my wife. I hope that doesn’t sound 
  too sappy, I really mean it.” Van had decided to do his best to keep his walls 
  down with Anja and be vulnerable. Finding the ring and speaking candidly 
  wasn’t comfortable, but was a step toward trying to live up to the man she 
  wanted him to be.
  “It’s not sappy, it’s wonderful!” Anja hugged him with all her strength, 
  joyous thoughts and emotions intermingling. Pushing away slightly, she gave 
  him a saucy look. “I wondered where you were all morning.”
  “I would have been back earlier except a dragon tried to waylay me out-
  side of town.”
  “Oh?”
  “It was more comical than frightening. All I did was fly low to the trees. 
  The hatchling caught its tail in some oak branches and did a nosedive into a 
  hillside. I almost felt sorry for it.”
  “I can’t believe you flew all the way back to Youngstown just to get this 
  ring for me.”
  “That only took part of the morning. Come on, I’ve got another surprise 
  for you,” he said.
  Cold mist gathered in Anja’s hair and made it cling to her face and body 
  as they walked to a familiar location. Van felt a touch of contentment he’d 
  always wished for seeing her happy, carefree excitement. Even his passion 
  for mystic knowledge felt like a hollow pursuit as he watched her and did his 
  best to live in the moment. There were so many things he’d been missing if 
  he could just trust these feelings more, he was sure his life would settle down 
  and be better.
  Anja’s hand trembled with excitement the closer they came to “Martin’s 
  Stables and Future Blacksmith Shop.” Van pretended to have a sudden fas-
  cination in a nearby bookshop but Anja laughed and dragged him across the 
  muddy street to the stable entrance where they’d originally been headed. Be-
  fore they entered, Van pulled her close.
  “Hold your horses, no pun intended,” Van grinned. “Close your eyes and 
  at least make believe it’s a surprise.”
  “Okay.” Anja closed her eyes and let herself be led blindly through the 
  stables. They stopped and she heard a familiar whinny.
  “Surprise!”
  “Tonisha!” Anja threw her arms around the mare’s neck. “I told you I’d 
  come back!”
  
  172
  “She’s yours.” Van grinned like a little kid. Anja hugged him tightly and 
  brought down his head for a passionate kiss.
  “Thank you.”
  “Spend some time with Tonisha and when you’re ready to pick out a sad-
  dle and gear, come over to Martin’s shop. I’ll be there having a set of armor 
  modified.”
  “Wait!” Anja pulled him back again and kissed him long and deep before 
  releasing him. “Thank you,” she said, sparkles of happiness dancing in her 
  eyes.
  Van was floating on air all the way out of the stables. Crossing the street, 
  another presence brought him back to crisp reality. Sir Renfield leaned 
  against the entrance to Martin’s Future Blacksmith Shop, his often-somber 
  face harder than usual.
  “Afternoon, David.”
  “You know, I tried to buy that horse for her yesterday. They wouldn’t sell 
  it to me,” the Cyber-Knight said coldly.
  “You don’t know how to fix the CPU in a Northern Gun XCSS series ro-
  bot horse.” Van nodded to the metallic beast of burden outside the blacksmith 
  shop. “I did Martin a favor.”
  The Cyber-Knight stared at the robot horse and shrugged.
  “Strange that it would come down to something as trivial as that, isn’t it?”
  He doesn’t know, Van realized.
  “Depends on what you call trivial, David. She’s a wonderful woman and 
  I love her.”
  Sir Renfield’s head snapped up to contest Van’s claim, but the fire in his 
  eyes gradually died.
  “Do you respect her?”
  “Yes.”
  Sir Renfield appeared unimpressed.
  “I’m marrying her, David.”
  The smoldering fire in Sir Renfield’s eyes lit into a wild flame that steadily 
  calmed itself into a sad acceptance as his Cyber-Knight training came back 
  to his mind to support him. He stood solemnly for a moment and pawed at a 
  rock with his foot.
  When David had collected himself, he looked back up. “That’s a big step, 
  Van. I want to wish you both the best, but I’m skeptical, you understand?”
  “I’ll take whatever goodwill you feel like sharing. I don’t blame you for 
  being disappointed. I know I would have been pissed had things gone the 
  other way.”
  “Be good to her, that’s all I ask. I don’t want to hold a grudge.”
  “Then don’t,” Van extended his hand. David looked at it. “We don’t have 
  to be pals or anything,” Van smirked.
  
  173
  “Good.” David reached out with a strong armor-plated hand. “You really 
  piss me off sometimes.”
  “Come on.” Van moved into the shop entrance. “Help me pick out a good 
  set of riding armor for Anja’s horse. I may know all about machines, but I 
  don’t know jack when it comes to horses and she’ll be happy for something 
  that comes from you.”
  ____________________
  This was his greatest disguise ever. Kro-Mar looked at himself in the hotel 
  bathroom mirror and admired his handiwork. Nobody would ever suspect he 
  was actually a mighty Great Horned Dragon, not that he didn’t look stunning 
  as a human Pre-Rifts movie star. He’d spent hours trying to decide between 
  Arnold Schwarzenegger and Mel Gibson but finally opted for the wild and 
  crazy character portrayed in the Pre-Rifts Lethal Weapon and Mad Max mov-
  ies. Those old action films were especially popular among mercs and sol-
  diers. Kro-Mar pictured himself as the dashing, daring hero in disguise. The 
  vid disks were an acquisition Kro-Mar was proud of.
  His only problem lately was that during his several mid-week naps, he’d 
  had recurring nightmares about Sky Cycles and badgers in heat. To make 
  matters worse, the luck curse that the stupid Elf had cast on him was making 
  his waking life a nightmare. Simple things like morphing and teleporting be-
  came unstable and often led to more embarrassing and frustrating situations. 
  Twice that week he’d accidentally teleported into some ancient dragon’s 
  sleeping chamber — while the dragon was there. Kro-Mar shuddered, at-
  tempting to clear his mind of the unpleasant memories of nearly being eaten 
  both times.
  The never ending trail of bad luck was still with him as early that very 
  morning when, on a whim, he decided to chase a passing Sky Cycle. Not only 
  did he fail to catch it but he had dipped his tail too low, caught it in a tree, and 
  had quickly lost all of his momentum. Ferns tasted yucky.
  When the last strand of hair was curled in place, Kro-Mar shook his head 
  vigorously to give it the wild look. Although his natural metamorphic abili-
  ties were good, it would be centuries before he perfected them completely. 
  Now it was a quick change of clothes and he was ready to play his joke on 
  Liberty. Kro-Mar giggled when he realized he’d be teleporting right back to 
  his rented hotel room when the joke was over. Maybe he’d have a chance to 
  do the same joke twice. It was so much fun scaring puny mortals.
  Out on the street he smiled at humans and D-Bees he passed, testing his 
  mimicry of the ancient actor’s voice and mannerisms. Kro-Mar could barely 
  contain his glee, none of them knew a powerful being like himself was walk-
  ing in their midst. All that remained was to find a suitable place in the pres-
  ence of many people to morph back to his natural dragon form and frighten 
  the unsuspecting mortals to a near frenzy. Past experiences doing this sort 
  
  174
  of thing tempered the urge to scare the daylights out of the large mechanical 
  beasties that often patrolled city streets. He needed someplace more enclosed, 
  safe from attack but filled with beings to frighten out of their pitiful minds.
  Drunken shouts and curses drew his attention to a large building across the 
  street. Several humans wearing black and gray uniforms were beating anoth-
  er bald-headed man senseless. The largest of them, standing close to 6 feet, 
  7 inches, wound up and knocked two long fangs from the bald man’s mouth 
  with a powerful punch. They all laughed heartily and pointed to the drooling 
  figure laid out in the muddy street, then staggered back into the Match Head 
  Saloon through a pair of hinged double doors. For an instant, Kro-Mar could 
  hear shouts and laughter coming from inside the saloon, undoubtedly from 
  countless more human soldiers blowing off steam like the few he’d just seen. 
  Just the place to pull his little prank, he smiled, as he started across the street.
  Wheels skidded in the mud as a multi-ton vehicle bore down on him. Kro-
  Mar stared for a moment, accepting the inevitable fate that would certainly 
  befall him, as it had more times than he liked to remember. Somehow the 
  transport vehicle swerved out of the way, brushing Kro-Mar with a gust of 
  wind as it passed. Kro-Mar blinked, uncertain why he’d been spared the em-
  barrassment of being run over, again. He stood in the street, still expecting 
  some horribly bad luck to befall him. Nothing happened. Could it be... was 
  his luck actually changing?
  He approached the hinged double doors, imitating scenes he’d seen in old 
  west vids. The saloon doors swung back and smacked him in the face. So 
  much for luck. Kro-Mar barely withheld an angry urge to rip the doors off 
  their hinges and make his own entrance through one of the walls.
  He breathed. He would wait to destroy the building until after the prank. 
  Carefully, he pushed through the double doors and warily crept through the 
  entryway, waiting for some new embarrassment to befall him. A mercenary 
  by the main door politely let him inside the Match Head, a smug grin the only 
  indication he’d seen Kro-Mar’s encounter with the double doors. If and when 
  Kro-Mar decided to eat anyone, the mercenary would be the first appetizer so 
  that there were no witnesses.
  The Match Head was crowded — all the better — leaving only a few 
  empty seats at the bar. Rows of uniformed soldiers were kicking back small 
  glasses of liquid and downing mugs of ale. Having never had the sensation 
  humans referred to as drunkenness, Kro-Mar sauntered up to the bar and took 
  a stool in the midst of the inebriated patrons.
  “Mel Gibson!”
  Kro-Mar froze. He’d heard that voice before.
  “Hey dudes, check it out! It’s Mel Gibson!”
  Soldiers along the bar and throughout the room stopped what they were 
  doing and looked Kro-Mar’s way. All of them.
  “Uh. . . “
  
  175
  “Dude!” A human with black hair and green eyes led the crowd of soldiers 
  to surround Kro-Mar. “It’s you! I thought you were computer generated!”
  “No way,” said another of the soldiers. “He’s dead. I mean the real guy 
  lived before the Great Cataclysm. This must be his modern-day look-alike.”
  “Or maybe he’s the real thing. Some Rifter or something!”
  “Wow, it could happen.”
  “Uh, yes?” Kro-Mar was in shock. How could this have happened? Of all 
  the bars, in all the towns of North America, he’d picked the one with a human 
  who could recognize his disguise.
  “Man, how did ya get here?”
  The soldier’s ringleader pushed closer, alcohol heavy on his breath, and 
  grabbed Kro-Mar’s hand to shake it. The rest followed suit, slapping Kro-
  Mar on the back and fielding thousands of questions to his ancient movie star 
  alter ego. Somebody pushed a beer in his hand.
  “You got Rifted here, huh Mel?”
  “What?”
  “You know, the Rift that opened up and got you here! You remember, 
  right!?”
  “Uh, yes?” “But ... um ... it’s all kinda fuzzy.”
  “I told you guys!” The ringleader got the approval of the crowd. Kor-Mar 
  just grinned.
  The Dragon wasn’t sure what was going on, but the humans seemed to 
  like his movie star alter ego. Drunk as skunks, they really thought he was 
  the actor, from the vids. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad stroke of luck after all.
  “Wow, where are you staying?”
  “How long have ya been in town?” the big soldier Kro-Mar had seen out-
  side asked, waiting eagerly for his reply.
  “You gonna be ’round for a while?” another soldier asked.
  “Man, ya gotta tell us all about your adventures.” The ringleader managed 
  to get the crowd under control. “We’ve seen all your vids, even the ones on 
  the ban list. We’re like, your biggest fans!”
  “Um, yes. I was, Rifted.” Kro-Mar downed the bitter beverage. It tasted 
  like warm, fermented grains.
  “That’s so amazing! Get my buddy here another round!”
  “A toast!” the big soldier boomed, enticing the rest to raise their mugs 
  high.
  “To Mel! Oh ... we can call you ‘Mel,’ can’t we?”
  The metamorphed dragon grinned broadly saying, “Sure you can, but my 
  real friends call me Gibs.”
  “To Gibs!!”
  Kro-Mar smiled, getting into the spirit of his fame. This was fun. Maybe 
  his luck was really beginning to change.
  ____________________
  
  176
  Devious plots and complex plans whirled around in Zenjori’s head like a 
  black maelstrom. The unexpected Coalition retreat had probably saved his 
  mercenary army from certain destruction and now it was time for a bold 
  maneuver that would ensure they never returned. He paced back and forth 
  outside his camouflaged tent. Counterattacks and assassinations could turn 
  the citizens of Liberty against him further, but if the Coalition was blamed for 
  senseless acts of brutality, it would make his own methods seem benevolent. 
  There had to be a way to rid the territory of the Coalition and force Dono-
  van’s mercenary army out of Liberty in one fatal blow.
  “Colnae, come here a moment,” Zenjori motioned to the most trusted of 
  his magic practitioners. Colnae smoothed his white silk shirt and barked sev-
  eral orders to a blond woman washing his clothes. She cowered and obeyed, 
  spilling water from the basin onto her tattered clothing.
  “Yes, Suka San?” Colnae glanced back over his shoulder to make sure his 
  brainwashed servant was doing what she was told. She’d been more or less 
  an experiment to him, and her usefulness was nearing an end. She would be 
  amusing to play with a while longer and then Colnae anticipated finding a 
  much more challenging subject.
  “Colnae, are you capable of working metamorphic spells?”
  “Why?” The Line Walker was all attention.
  “Because it would be a shame if several well-known Coalition officers 
  were to murder the family of some prominent D-Bee or council member in 
  Liberty. It might even escalate into a full-fledged confrontation between First 
  Strike and the Coalition. Wouldn’t that be terrible?”
  “My, that would be unfortunate, especially if some officer were first seen 
  harassing certain outspoken citizens about their anti-Coalition views. We 
  wouldn’t want to see that, would we?” Colnae stroked his goatee thought-
  fully, playing along with the mercenary commander.
  “Say, for instance, our good doctor Alvarez has his establishment burned 
  to the ground by several Coalition soldiers in full armor and regalia?” Ze-
  njori’s dark eyes gleamed.
  “Well, all that would be very much in our favor, except I know no such 
  magic.”
  “What about our friend from the Federation?”
  “If he really is Credo, Federation Lord, then without a doubt he’s capable 
  of far more than you can imagine. Question is, will he cooperate?”
  “I’m paying him, he’ll do it. If not, Notec Depi will offer him some alter-
  native forms of incentive.”
  “If you want my advice, Suka San, I would be careful in dealing with a 
  Federation Lord, especially that Elf.”
  Zenjori regarded the younger man with a piercing gaze and disapproving 
  expression. The mage wasn’t challenging his authority but Zenjori disliked 
  
  177
  the inference. For a man who openly claimed political aspirations with the 
  Federation of Magic, Colnae set a dangerous double standard.
  “I’ll consider your advice, my friend. Perhaps you should go speak to him 
  and explain our intentions. We have two days to stoke the fires in Liberty 
  before we meet First Strike for the arms sale. If I’m correct, Donovan will try 
  and keep the sale a secret, but he needs money too badly not to go through 
  with it.”
  “I take it you plan on double-crossing, er, re-negotiating the terms of the 
  sale?” Colnae grinned, and Zenjori patted him on the back in a fatherly ges-
  ture.
  “Yes, my son. As my wise teacher often told me during my many years 
  of training, ‘Truth and honor are like a wasp without a stinger. The wasp can 
  fly, but he cannot impart wisdom because he has no way to prove his point.’”
  Colnae’s expression slowly changed to one of bewilderment.
  “I don’t get it.”
  “Neither did I, come to think of it, but I pretended to at the time. I think 
  we’ll have a little more fun at Torrak’s expense. Next time he reports in, I’ll 
  pass on my master’s sage advice and you pretend to understand completely.”
  “Do you have any idea what that’s going to do to his reptilian intellect?”
  “Yes,” Zenjori smiled. “And we’ll be enjoying every minute of it.”
  ____________________
  Angry shouts rose to pure pandemonium in Liberty’s town hall. Threats 
  and accusations grew intensely with each passing minute, threatening to spill 
  over into a riot. In just one night there had been three fires and over a dozen 
  crimes committed by the visiting Coalition troops. The accused stood in a 
  row upon the crude wooden stage, among them Lieutenant Greg Merrick 
  and Second Lieutenant Brian Adams. Armed policemen prevented the angry 
  throng from dragging the six C.S. troops outside and hanging them from the 
  nearest tree. Donovan stood back and assessed the growing bedlam, toying 
  with the idea of tossing a few flash grenades into the crowd. At last, he drew 
  his .44 automag and put three holes in the ceiling. Mayor Utherman gave him 
  a dirty look, but the hall was silenced.
  “Everyone stay quiet! I’m sure you all have a good reason for complaint, 
  but either you start acting civilized or I’ll cram each and every person here 
  into a jail cell.” The mercenary leader stood and walked past a row of in-
  timidated town leaders. Nobody messed with the golden rule: he who had the 
  guns made the rules.
  “They’re gonna get away with it just ’cuz they’re Coalition!” a woman 
  shouted from the crown, and the uproar returned.
  Donovan pointed his gun at the woman. The crowd grew silent again.
  “Nobody’s getting away with anything, understand?” He waved the gun in 
  a nodding motion. The crowd nodded along with the weapon. “Good.”
  
  178
  “We had nothing to do with anything that happened last night. Most of us 
  can prove that,” Greg spoke in a low tone to the mercenary leader. Donovan 
  put his gun away and looked Greg in the eyes.
  “I know. They don’t.”
  “You’re in charge, aren’t you?”
  “Rules are rules, Lieutenant. I must let them testify. Get it out in the open.” 
  Donovan turned back to the crowd and signaled Francisco Alvarez to come 
  forward. “Which of these men tried to burn down your cyber-shop?”
  “I didn’t see their faces. They were wearing armor. Coalition armor.” 
  Francisco glared at Brian Adams.
  “I see,” the Mayor commented.
  “Hey, Francisco, one of our men was in your place when all this came 
  down. Why would we try and burn one of our own men?” Brian asked.
  “It sure was convenient of those two to show up just in time, wasn’t it!?” 
  Francisco pointed to the end of the stage where Darren stood with Cyndiara. 
  “Set the fire, then let your Burster come save the day.”
  “That’s stupid. We don’t even like Bursters!” Brian contested, casting a 
  nervous glance in Cyndiara’s direction.
  “Aken, who was on duty at the storage warehouse last night?” Donovan 
  asked, waving Francisco back to the crowd.
  “Matt and Mark. Nobody went in, nobody went out. Not one suit of armor 
  is missing,” Aken answered.
  “See Francisco, it had to be someone else,” Brian shrugged.
  “Naven, you said these officers attacked your wife and daughter?” Don-
  ovan motioned to a tall, gangly D-Bee. The odd-looking humanoid spoke 
  through a translator device.
  “I saw them with my two eyes. The long hair one in gray make funny 
  sound and I make move to stop them. I can no shoot with gun.”
  “What kind of noise, Naven?”
  “Say funny words over and over. Then he put knife to mate!” She said 
  angrily.
  One of the policemen held the D-Bee back from the stage.
  “Lieutenant, how many Coalition troops use magic?”
  “That’s a ridiculous question, Donovan,” Greg shot back.
  “The red-haired one! He’s the one! I saw him kill councilman Tammit!” 
  the woman shouted and pointed at Brian.
  “Is that so?” Donovan put his hands on his hips.
  “Shot him in the back of the head, right in front of his wife and family!”
  Many shouts of support and confirmation followed.
  “You were supposed to protect us from fascist murderers like them! Do 
  your job! Do your job!” Francisco shouted, trying to get a chant started. Don-
  ovan didn’t have to finish drawing his gun before the chant faded away.
  
  179
  “And I’ve done my job. The red-haired one was at Gizmo’s store all night 
  repairing equipment. You want to contest that, speak with Gizmo and his 
  crew. Those two over there never left their cabin until I sent for them this 
  morning, and the Lieutenant here spent most of the night yelling at his C.O.!” 
  Donovan turned back to Greg. “Sorry, it’s my job to keep an eye on you.”
  “But we saw them!” the woman screamed.
  “I believe you. I believe you saw what someone wanted you to see, what 
  I suspect Zenjori Suka and the Army of the New Order wanted you to see. 
  They’re trying to cause exactly the kind of problems we have here. Until I get 
  some solid proof otherwise, these men are innocent and will not be harmed 
  by the law, or vigilantes! You get that, Francisco?”
  “Oh, I get it all right. We just aren’t paying you enough.”
  “Manta?”
  “I’ll get you solid proof, just you wait,” the woman vowed.
  “Naven?”
  “I’ll kill him!” The gangly D-Bee yelled before getting a rifle butt in the 
  belly by one of the First Strike members.
  “Wrong answer, Naven. I think the rest of you get the picture. Now get 
  out of here.”
  Grumbles and complaints accompanied compliance. Many hateful stares 
  promised more than angry words would be flying around in the days to come. 
  Donovan didn’t care. Tomorrow he was selling off his oldest armor units 
  and tons of ordnance, and four or five days later it wouldn’t matter what the 
  townspeople thought of him. He’d honor his contract until a replacement for 
  the town’s defense could be found, or the current one expired, and then it was 
  on to more profitable ventures in the midwest and northern territories.
  “Thanks, Donovan.” Brian stuck out his hand enthusiastically.
  “Whatever.”
  “I guess I should thank you for snoopin’ around.” Greg put his hand 
  through his lengthening hair. The disheveled, unshaven look was becoming 
  standard.
  “You better watch yourself, Lieutenant. These people might kick off when 
  you’re not expecting it and it’s not going to be pretty,” Donovan commented.
  “I’ll do that.”
  “Oh, and tell your watchmen to wrap their gun barrels, just in case they 
  were actually breaking the weapons laws. Moonlight glints off the glossy 
  paint job real bad.”
  “I’ll pass that on.”
  Greg headed up the stage for the rear exit.
  “Lieutenant?” Donovan called after him, not turning around.
  “Yeah?”
  “What are you doing in the C.S. military?”
  
  180
  Greg stopped the quick mechanical response he’d been trained to rattle 
  off, wrestling with the crumbling pillars of what he believed in.
  “You know, I really couldn’t tell you.”
  ____________________
  Torrak’s yellow eyes glowed more brightly than before in anticipation of 
  the lives he was about to take. His god had been gracious enough to grant him 
  a powerful spell through the link they shared, and now he would sacrifice the 
  two children in the demon’s honor. Both were mere street urchins Torrak had 
  bagged during the twilight hours and probably wouldn’t be missed, not that 
  he cared. Their deaths would help fuel the powerful metamorphic spell he 
  was about to weave.
  His Gromek blood burned with rage at the thought of the degradation 
  he’d experienced the night before. He’d been subjected to Credo’s ritualistic 
  magic in order to alter his form to that of a Coalition officer, then forced to 
  wear a stolen human set of armor of their Coalition enemy. If that wasn’t 
  enough, the Elf had tormented him further by “accidentally” turning Torrak 
  into a human female with exaggerated anatomy. Most of the comments made 
  by Kruno’s gawking troops Torrak didn’t quite understand but understood 
  enough to make him nearly livid with rage. All that behind him now, his god 
  had seen fit to give in to Torrak’s impassioned begging.
  “Mind Crusher. Foresee the future of my task,” Torrak asked the runic 
  mace at his side.
  “I see nothing,” the soft whisper in his head replied.
  “That is impossible. Do not fail me!”
  “Your future is clouded. Troubled. That is all I see.”
  “You aren’t as powerful as you used to be, Mind Crusher.”
  “My powers are eternal. Unlike yours.”
  “Be silent!” Torrak ordered in guttural syllables. Mind Crusher hadn’t 
  been the same ever since the Elf arrived. For some unknown reason, the rune 
  weapon had grown more silent and less helpful. The night before it even 
  failed to warn him of approaching danger and Torrak had been forced to cast 
  a fireball spell on a gun-wielding D-Bee to save his own life, consequently 
  killing the one best witness to the crime he had committed. Zenjori was not 
  at all pleased.
  There would be no more failures.
  Grasping each bound and gagged child in turn, Torrak clenched a power-
  ful clawed hand around each of his victim’s throats and crushed their wind-
  pipes. Life force ebbed away with the rapid beat of the dying hearts. Torrak 
  felt their life energy surge over him in one last powerful wave. He dropped 
  their lifeless husks and reveled in the drug-like high from the surge of mystic 
  energy.
  
  181
  “Martu Manus Esche Krum De Manus.” Torrak closed his eyes and fo-
  cused on the man he was to become. He felt his link to the unholy supernatu-
  ral being he served grow stronger as the being completed the last phrases 
  of the incantation. Clawed hands became smooth-skinned human hands, 
  and sharp reptilian teeth became clean white human teeth. Torrak’s Gromek 
  clothing fell about his body loosely. Grabbing a mirror from his duffel bag, 
  Torrak compared his face with the one on the paper. Greg Merrick stared 
  back at him from the mirror. Humans were so disgusting.
  Back in the uncomfortable gray and black uniform, Torrak tried in vain 
  to make the red, black, and white armband stay in place, but the stubborn 
  skull and lightning bolts logo kept slipping down his arm. Annoyed beyond 
  his patience, he growled and tossed it in a crumpled wad by the corner stall. 
  He didn’t have time for such irritations. Gathering the rest of his things and 
  stuffing them into his duffel, Torrak carefully placed Mind Crusher on top 
  and zipped the bag closed.
  Through the early dawn mist, Torrak crept towards the storage facility 
  that housed the Coalition’s most devastating armament. There would be far 
  too many armed Coalition guards inside for even a powerful Gromek mage 
  to handle alone, but that wasn’t Torrak’s main objective. Killing the outer 
  guards from First Strike and making sure there were witnesses to the act 
  would be sufficient to support Zenjori’s plans for an arms sale between the 
  two mercenary companies. By noon that day, nobody would believe the word 
  of a Coalition officer or of Donovan and his mercenary army.
  Pulling a pair of dark sunglasses from his uniform pocket, Torrak con-
  cealed the one part of his appearance that could never be altered. As the 
  owner and master of Mind Crusher he was forever cursed with his yellow 
  glowing eyes, a curse even his vulture familiar was forced to share. Torrak 
  enjoyed the fear his appearance invoked; the curse typically more of a bless-
  ing in his eyes.
  One of the outer mercenary guards halted his casual approach, but his ob-
  jection was silenced with a stolen Coalition H.F. blade. Torrak left the blade 
  still humming softly in the guard’s neck as further proof. Now he had the 
  mercenary’s particle beam rifle. Everything was going just as planned. Tor-
  rak slung the rifle over the shoulder opposite his duffel and marched around 
  the corner of a building to the largest storage structure in the complex.
  The mist cleared away some and Torrak could see two mercenary guards 
  drinking heavily and playing “stick the knife in that wood post over there” 
  with large hunting knives. Both were clad in full environmental armor but 
  hardly prepared for an attack from a Coalition officer. As Torrak marched 
  closer to the huge double doors, he felt a strange, sickening sensation wash 
  over him. Something wasn’t right. Both guards stopped their game and 
  looked over at him.
  “What do you want, Torrak?” one of them asked.
  
  182
  “Aren’t you supposed to be someplace else? Those aren’t your clothes,” 
  the other one pointed out.
  Indeed, the clothes didn’t fit well at all. In fact, they simply didn’t fit a 
  powerfully built Gromek in the least. Torrak looked down at his sharp claws 
  sticking out the front of Coalition boots. The two guards were laughing at 
  him now. Of all the possible complications to encounter, he’d never antici-
  pated running into the only two men in Liberty who absolutely refused to 
  believe in the existence of magic; Matt and Mark, the Rogers twins.
  The pair looked like two Nordic Vikings, with long hair and massive stat-
  ure. Renowned for their tolerance of alcohol and elaborate practical jokes, the 
  identical twins were best known for their astute belief that magic and psychic 
  abilities were, as they often put it, full of garbage. They’d come to rationalize 
  D-Bees and monsters as science experiments gone wrong, genetic screw-ups 
  undoubtedly created by man. Their disbelief was so strong, it often disrupt-
  ed the working of magical energies around them, in effect reinforcing their 
  disbelief all the more. Even in the face of astounding proof, the two would 
  eventually concede that whatever monster or demon they’d just killed must 
  have been part of a drunken stupor, drug-induced hallucinations or monstrous 
  aliens from another world. To them, magic, psychics, and the supernatural 
  didn’t exist. Colnae had called them Nega-Psychics.
  “Ahhrrg!” Torrak screamed in frustration, ripping off his sunglasses and 
  throwing the rifle and duffel in separate directions. His cover was blown and 
  his mission failed, but at least he’d have the satisfaction of calling down 
  lightning on the two men who claimed magic didn’t exist. Chanting his in-
  cantation loudly for any to hear, Torrak’s frustration was elevated to new 
  levels. Nothing happened. Matt and Mark were laughing harder, taunting him 
  by repeating the exact same words and mimicking his hand movements.
  “Espeaka en la enlesha, por favor?” Matt slurred.
  “Did Zenjori send his big, bad, ugly, genetically altered mutant to make 
  powerful big trouble?” Mark staggered, far too drunk to form intelligible 
  sentences.
  “Uh-oh, Mr. Lab Experiment looks mad. He’s gonna ‘magic’ at us,” Matt 
  feigned fear.
  “Both of you will die!” Torrak screamed, rushing to his duffel and yank-
  ing out the rune mace.
  Matt and Mark watched and laughed, still mocking his “spell.”
  “Hmmf. I’m scared now. He’s pointing a ‘magic’ mace at us!” Mark 
  teased, pretending to cower behind Matt.
  “Blind!” Torrak commanded Mind Crusher.
  Matt and Mark looked at each other and back to Torrak.
  “Stun!” Torrak waved the mace at the brothers.
  They laughed harder.
  “Wait! He got me! I can’t move my big toe!” Matt pointed to his feet.
  
  183
  “Oh-no! My little pinky’s stuck!” Mark jested.
  “Pain!” Torrak screeched at Mind Crusher.
  The twins were rolling on the ground at the spectacle Torrak was making, 
  not even recognizing the mental assaults they were fending off.
  “Hey, we better shoot him with our special bullets.” Mark winked at his 
  brother and pulled a huge .45 from its holster, replacing the clip with another 
  from his belt.
  “Yeah, our special ‘anti-mutant magic thing’ bullets! Quick! before he 
  magics us again!” Mark switched clips on an identical firearm.
  Torrak started to worry.
  “On the count of three.” Matt chambered a round and aimed the gun at 
  Torrak’s horned head.
  “On three, or after three?” Mark asked, releasing the slide with his thumb.
  “Let’s just shoot him.”
  “No! No, wait I can-”
  Weapons fire roared outside the storage facility, muzzles blazing and gun 
  smoke rising. Torrak threw up his arms in a vain attempt to stop the hot lead 
  pouring from the two blazing guns. Nothing hit him. The world was much 
  quieter after the close-range weapon reports, but not a bloody patch marred 
  his body. Torrak brushed some white styrofoam disks from his arms.
  “Blanks, dude, boy did we get you good!” Mark doubled over laughing.
  “You shoulda seen the look on your face! You thought you were gonna 
  die!” Mark staggered with liquor and laughter.
  Torrak’s scream was barely identifiable. Raising the mace, he charged 
  to crush their skulls. Both brothers responded with amazing agility in their 
  drunken states, so much so that Torrak barely had time to realize he’d been 
  shot through the left leg by a real 9 mm in Matt’s other hand.
  “Back off!” Matt shouted; laughter gone. He stepped just out of arm’s 
  reach; 9 mm aimed at Torrak’s chest.
  “Drop what you’re holding, or I’ll put one of these ramjet slugs through 
  your other leg.” Mark dropped the slide on an identical 9 mm handgun.
  Torrak wasn’t even sure where the second weapon had come from. Look-
  ing down at his leg, still not feeling the pain, Torrak could see a clean hole 
  pouring blood on either side of his thigh. Softly muttering the words to a 
  protective spell, he felt the Mystic energy leave his body but never take form. 
  The spell failed.
  Torrak panicked. The two mercenary brothers could riddle him with bul-
  lets and there was nothing he could do about it. The pain finally reached his 
  brain, and with it an overwhelming urge to escape. Fear drove home to over-
  ride wound trauma. Torrak turned and ran.
  Both twins gave him a single slug to remember them by and let him run 
  away to die.
  ____________________
  
  184
  Mercenaries on both sides of the clearing waited nervously for the arms 
  inspection to finish. Lined up in the center of the field were several giant ro-
  bots and power armor to exchange hands, and two truckloads of small arms, 
  explosives, and body armor to go along with them. The early morning, low 
  fog prevented either side from seeing past the tree line. The members of First 
  Strike wanted the sale over and done with before the fog cleared. They were 
  selling weapons of war to the Coalition’s enemy, the Army of the New Order.
  “Here are the rest of the missiles for the X-500.” Aken pointed to a row of 
  8 military style cases with American and German markings. “We had trouble 
  converting NG missiles to Triax launch systems so we only used imports 
  designed for the X-500.”
  “Check them.” Drake motioned to one of his men.
  “Self-guided, fire and forget, with a sixty-mile effective range and let me 
  tell you, these German babies will outperform anything the Coalition has. 
  Faster and more accurate. Heavy yield explosive warheads, not quite as pow-
  erful as plasma, but just as effective.”
  “What about for the Titan?” Drake pointed to the camouflage-painted 
  Titan-made combat robot.
  “Would take some work, but you could fire these babies from the Titan’s 
  launch systems. You’re already gettin’ it with a full load of NG’s, how much 
  trouble were you expecting?”
  “Lots. Do you have the mines?”
  “Forty-eight of ’em, just like you wanted. Over here.”
  Aken broke the seal on a large metal container and slit the packing foil 
  with a retractable blade on his bionic forefinger. Reaching into the sawdust 
  packing he pulled out a small sensor trigger mechanism and anti-personnel 
  mine.
  “Real nasty, these little suckers are. Little sensor here can be programmed 
  to set off one or more mines at a time if it senses something as small as a 
  jackrabbit or as big as, say, a Skull Walker. Ain’t powerful enough to punch 
  through, say, Coalition infantry body armor, but going off about head level 
  they’ll sure do a number on ’em. Run four of these sweethearts together and 
  kiss your troubles goodbye.” Aken kissed the mine and set it down on the 
  case.
  “Why is Donovan selling off most of his heavy artillery?” Drake inquired, 
  looking up at the giant Northern Gun Hunter robot.
  “Gotta make ends meet, ya know. Liberty doesn’t pay too good, but ya 
  already know that. ‘Course, just between you and me, this isn’t most of his 
  heavy artillery. He just bought some really sweet alien imports on credit, and 
  he probably doesn’t want them breathin’ down his neck for the dough. Side’s, 
  yer gettin’ a good deal on these older babies. We kept ’em up good, they’re 
  just not as advanced as some of the newer mechs.”
  
  185
  “Weapons look good,” one of Drake’s Headhunters reported. “Couple of 
  ’em need a little work, but most of ’em are okay.”
  “Fair enough for the price.”
  “And on the subject of price, you got the eighty million?”
  “Seventy-eight million.”
  “That was before you bought the two X-10s. You want the Predators, it’s 
  eighty million.”
  “Well take them both.”
  “Spoken like a true soldier of fortune.” Aken held out his hand to accept 
  a pair of universal credit cards, but Drake pulled them away and cocked his 
  head to the tree line. The sounds of thrusters carried through the mist and fog, 
  growing louder but out of sight.
  “What’s that?”
  “Probably one of our A-7’s on patrol.” Aken listened, knowing full well it 
  wasn’t the sound of a Sky King they were hearing.
  The tree line on both sides of the clearing burst open with weapons fire. 
  Lasers razed fleeing mercenaries and cut down Headhunters left and right. 
  Dropping from the mist above, two Coalition SAMAS broke into the center 
  of the clearing and started havoc of their own.
  “Ambush!” Drake shouted, but both SAMAS turned and knocked the 
  cyborg off his feet with converging rail gun bursts. Metal slugs ricocheted 
  off heavy armor and caught Aken off balance. Rolling behind the leg of the 
  Hunter, he narrowly missed drawing rail gun fire. Two hundred feet of open 
  ground lay between himself and the nearest cover, already thick with smoke 
  from returning cover fire. From one side of the field, half a dozen Coalition 
  troops made their advance beneath heavy suppressive fire from the forest. 
  Looking around in dismay, Aken realized he was the only one left standing, 
  his own Headhunters cut down where they defended their positions.
  Drake and his men were scrambling to one side of the clearing to escape 
  the crossfire. Desperately seeking a way to escape, Aken sprinted for a fallen 
  comrade and grabbed for the weapon in the dismembered hand. Metal slugs 
  tore the earth and lasers seared past to crater patches of the ground all around 
  him. Rolling over, belly flat on the ground, Aken saw SAM number 15 turn 
  his way.
  
  186
  Chapter 13
  But why? Because reasons.
  Aken released the safety on the modified NG-E4 plasma ejector and held 
  down the trigger. Plasma poured up on the Coalition exoskeleton in a rain of 
  disk-shaped charges, splashing over the armor with each hit. The front of the 
  power armor disappeared in a blaze of white-hot flame and the grassy field 
  around it caught on fire. Aken yelled at the top of his lungs and sprinted at 
  his foe without lessening the barrage. A laser beam scored his armor but he 
  didn’t register the burning pain.
  The weapon stopped firing; its ammunition spent. The barrel smoked and 
  sent an acrid smell into the air as the heat guard glowed. Metal fires burned 
  on the molecularly bonded armor and deep within the vital workings of the 
  SAMAS. The weight of its ammunition drum and flight engines tipped it over 
  backward onto the rear jets, its pilot only leaving his metallic sarcophagus in 
  the form of steam.
  Another laser beam collided with Aken’s chest and took away layers of 
  skin beneath the composite armor. If he was going to die, he was going to 
  make sure he took a few of the Coalition with him. Slotting another clip from 
  a dead mercenary’s belt, Aken knelt in the cover of a blast crater and prepared 
  himself for a last stand.
  “Aken! Get your tail out of there!” his helmet radio cracked. Two of the six 
  visible Coalition troops were dead and the other four pinned down by heavy 
  suppressive fire. Running and weaving between blast craters, Aken sprinted 
  for the piles of blasted foliage at the clearing’s edge. The bark of a grenade 
  launcher reached Aken’s ears a split second before the ground around him 
  was broken with fragmentation explosions. Launched by the ripple effect, 
  Aken sailed through leaves and branches out of sight.
  Adrenaline overrode all sense of pain and disorientation, the will to sur-
  vive stronger than the urge to fight. The half dozen remaining Headhunters 
  followed Aken’s lead and fled the Coalition slaughter in the direction of Lib-
  erty.
  ____________________
  Policemen in light urban-style armor kept the curious and violent citizens 
  of Liberty from crossing into what was being called a crime scene. The barn 
  doors were wide open, letting everyone outside see the carnage within.
  “How do you know?” Pritchett reached for the knife Greg was holding but 
  he pulled it away.
  “It’s a Chi-Town run, but the ‘R’ and the double zero starting number 
  means it was field issue, not urban. I’ll bet if I check it against the stolen 
  equipment list, this will show up as part of the Cedar Lake lot.”
  “Computers lie, Lieutenant,” the sheriff spoke without expression.
  
  187
  “Don’t I know it,” Greg mumbled.
  “Betcha that mutant dude in your uniform did it,” Mark nodded.
  “Come again?” Greg turned to the pair of men that seemed like the em-
  bodiment of modern Viking warriors.
  “Yeah, that failed genetics experiment with the grafted on wings and yel-
  low eyes tried to get past us this mornin’,” Matt said, instantly followed up 
  by Mark.
  “It was... Torrak, one of them New Order mutants,” Mark smiled, with no 
  indication that it was weird he was finishing Matt’s thought.
  “Please excuse Matt and Mark, what they lack in manners they make up 
  for in other talents.” Donovan shot the twins a dirty look. At 6 feet, 4 inches 
  and 200 lbs of lean muscle each, the brothers had done a bit of head busting 
  in their time and served as First Strike’s first line of defense against magic 
  and psychic threats.
  “All I know is, it looked like Coalition troops that ambushed us this morn-
  ing and ripped off our hardware.” Aken puffed on a ragged cigar.
  “That’s impossible. Ain’t no way cuz we checked on them right after Tor-
  rak tried to sneak past us. All their SAMs and armor ain’t been touched. Dead 
  Boys inside are guardin’ their stuff too, they didn’t go nowhere either,” Matt 
  shot back at Aken.
  “SAM 15 and 117 were supposed to be on patrol this morning.” Greg 
  scowled.
  “They ain’t. ‘Still locked up.” Mark nodded his head back at the silo con-
  taining the armor.
  “Well, they were supposed to be and somebody knew that.” Greg remind-
  ed himself to track down Darren and Dave and chew them out.
  “Well, we did our job and watched yer stuff. It stayed put.” Mark chewed 
  gum loudly.
  “I’d say somebody’s been watching your patrol schedule and wanted to 
  make this morning’s raid look like your doing Lieutenant,” the sheriff stated 
  in his monotone drawl.
  “It’s a pretty easy guess who tried to get to your gear and frame you for the 
  raid on my company this morning.” Donovan shifted his weight to his other 
  foot. “But that still leaves us with a serious problem. I lost over twenty men 
  and eighty million credits worth of hardware. Then there’s the matter of my 
  guard and... all this.” He waved his hand and looked about the barn.
  “Excuse me, sir, there’s a Cyber-Knight who says he can help us find out 
  what happened.” One of Donovan’s Headhunters pointed into the crowd of 
  spectators.
  Sir Renfield stood somewhat awkwardly about three meters away, wear-
  ing his ornate dress armor and a blue cape with the crest of knighthood. Don-
  ovan shrugged.
  
  188
  “It couldn’t hurt. Bring him in,” Donovan grunted, too upset by the recent 
  events to care who helped out.
  Policemen opened the line for Sir Renfield.
  “Good morning, Sir Renfield,” Greg greeted the Cyber-Knight with a 
  handshake.
  “Lieutenant.”
  “You two know each other?” Donovan raised an eyebrow.
  “You could say that,” Greg offered, noting with satisfaction the look of 
  disapproval on Pritchett’s face.
  “Always good to have a Cyber-Knight around, even if they’re just passing 
  through. Sheriff Morley.” The sheriff extended his hand, for once showing a 
  glimmer of emotion.
  “You know something we don’t?” Donovan broke up the greetings.
  “Not personally, but I have two friends who may be able to discover things 
  others would miss. One is a gifted Mystic who can often sense imprints left 
  on objects and places. The other is a Techno-Wizard with a pretty keen eye 
  and knowledge of magic rituals.”
  “Are you going to allow this? His friends probably did all this.” Pritchett 
  pointed to the dead bodies.
  “Sir, it couldn’t hurt. Besides, wouldn’t it go a long way toward better 
  town relations if we could clear this mess up?” Greg shrugged.
  Pritchett clenched his jaw.
  “Where are they?” Sheriff Morley asked.
  “Over there. Van! Anja!” Sir Renfield motioned them past the police line 
  with a nod of approval from the sheriff.
  The round of introductions earned Greg another disdainful look from 
  Pritchett.
  “You keep interesting company, Lieutenant,” Pritchett said, a ring of ac-
  cusation and disdain in his voice.
  “You want to find out what happened or not? They do, and they’re not as 
  picky as we are.” Greg pointed to the crowd.
  “I think you’re putting too much belief in the ravings of a magic user and 
  psychic, no matter what any of the citizens think.” Pritchett’s dismissive tone 
  was an obvious dig, but everyone present seemed to have already written him 
  off.
  “That’s okay, Captain, we’re happy to lend a hand anyway.” Van flashed 
  Pritchett a smile.
  “May I see that armband, please?” Anja reached out and took the Coali-
  tion armband from the sheriff. “Is it okay if I take it out of the plastic bag?”
  “Why?”
  “I need to touch it before I can feel any imprint left on it.”
  “It wouldn’t hold any fingerprints, go ahead.” The sheriff opened the bag 
  for the Mystic.
  
  189
  Anja pulled the armband from the ziplock bag and sat on the ground with 
  her back up against the tracks of the APC. Aken took a step away from her, 
  giving Donovan a look of skepticism. Anja’s nose wrinkled and she concen-
  trated harder.
  “I don’t understand. I’m not sensing anything, anything at all. In fact, I 
  can’t even read anything here.” Anja looked distressed.
  Van whipped out a device from his overstuffed belt pouches, two me-
  chanical arms attached to a small handheld box with numerous displays and 
  L.E.D.s. Van waved it around, tapping buttons when it didn’t respond.
  “That’s strange. Normally it would be picking up something, at the very 
  least some psychic emanations or psychic energy in use.”
  “Maybe you’re not using it right. Did you follow the directions on the 
  cereal box it came in?” Matt pointed to the device and blew a big bubble.
  “Sorry, Mr. Van De Graf.” Donovan glared at the two brothers. “Matt and 
  Mark have a way of disrupting magic and psychic emanations.”
  “Yeah, yeah, now I suppose you’re gonna make us leave so you can come 
  up with another good story.” Matt turned to Anja. “He always makes us 
  leave. Wanna go find a nice quiet spot and —”
  “Matt, Mark, take Smith and Todd and go find out where my eighty mil-
  lion’s at,” Donovan barked.
  “The only things we dig more than booze...” Mark tossed an empty liquor 
  bottle against the nearby APC.
  “... and women,” Matt added, winking at Anja.
  “... is kickin’ tail an’ chewin’ bubble gum,” Mark finished.
  Both brothers spit their bubble gum on the ground simultaneously and 
  sauntered off. Anja blinked in wide-eyed curiosity. “They’re weird.”
  “You should see them when they’re sober.” Donovan shook his head. 
  “They accuse each other of seeing all the things they don’t believe in when 
  they’re drunk or high on something.”
  “Yeah, then they shoot each other with blanks,” Aken added.
  “I know,” Sheriff Morley stated with an exasperated tone, recalling more 
  than one “shoot-out.”
  “Hey, it’s working now.” Van’s device lit up and made a series of strange 
  noises. The arms quivered at the sides of the box and tiny lights glowed 
  dimly.
  “Get that thing away from me,” Pritchett growled angrily.
  Van waved it closer to the captain intentionally in a mock act of being 
  pulled toward something in the Captain’s direction. For extra effect, he ex-
  tended the arms to their full length. Lights showed brighter and a light bar on 
  the box went from green to red. Van waved it closer to make sure it wasn’t 
  just some random evil thoughts getting a rise out of his meter. The tones went 
  nuts, sounding louder the closer the device came to the captain.
  “Hey, Captain, have you eaten any Mexican jumping beans lately?”
  
  190
  “Van.” Anja gave him an exasperated look.
  “Sorry. I’ll put it away now.” The Techno-Wizard gave a sheepish look to 
  those assembled as he stuffed the device back in his tool pouch.
  “Please, Anja, continue. What does that armband tell you,” Sir Renfield 
  pressed, annoyed at Van for goofing off.
  The Mystic closed her eyes and held the armband with both hands. Ev-
  eryone watched with interest. Even Pritchett found himself mildly curious 
  at what the woman would have to say, though he expected it to lead to her 
  fingering the Coalition for the crime despite the evidence to the contrary. 
  Psychics were dangerous, unpredictable at best. Mystics especially so.
  “This has changed hands many times and had many owners.” Anja looked 
  at the armband and shook her head. “There are so many traumatic imprints 
  it’s hard to pick any one of them out.”
  “Can you tell who killed the livestock and murdered the children? That’s 
  my concern,” Sheriff Morley urged.
  “I’ll try.” She closed her eyes again, concentrating on seeing images in the 
  recent past of the cloth armband. Suddenly a wave of graphic scenes filled 
  with intense emotional turmoil washed over her. The images triggered hor-
  rible memories in her past and brought with them new waves of turbulence. 
  Letting out a sharp yelp, Anja thrust the armband off her lap and crawled 
  away from it out of reflex.
  “You okay?” Van knelt by her, taking her shaking hand.
  “I know who did this. He’s filled with rage and evil desires. He murdered 
  this man and has done much more!” Her voice trembled.
  “Who?”
  “It’s Torrak, Van, it’s Torrak!” Her body shook with fear, images of her 
  capture and near death on the Shifter’s altar of sacrifice little more than a 
  month ago imposing themselves into her waking mind.
  “He’s not here, Anja. It’s okay!” Van grabbed both her hands and focused 
  his thoughts into a telepathic wave of love that crashed through the imagery. 
  “You’re safe and it’s over. You’re safe,” he spoke to her mind and she clung 
  to him closely.
  “Who is this, Torrak?” Pritchett asked.
  “We had a run-in with that monstrous D-Bee magic user about seven 
  weeks ago near Akron,” Greg answered. “I lost a man in a way I’ve never 
  seen before. The battle just about got everyone killed. All we know is this 
  Torrak is some powerful D-Bee magic user. Correct me if I’m wrong, Van, 
  he’s also very much part of the Army of the New Order now.”
  “Yep. Darren and I found that out the hard way. I defeated him once, but 
  he doesn’t die easily.”
  “Thank you, miss. You’ve been very helpful. This fits what we already 
  suspected. Just to be safe, I’ll have one of my psychics verify what you’ve 
  seen.” Donovan picked up the armband and put it back in the bag.
  
  191
  “It’s Torrak. He’s the one you want.” Anja looked to Donovan and then 
  to the Coalition officers. Fear, anger, and determination blazed in her eyes.
  “Can you tell us where this ‘Torrak’ is?” Pritchett asked, surprised at not 
  being fingered by the psychic yet still skeptical of the Mystic’s claims.
  “I... no, I can’t. I’m sorry, but I don’t ever want to touch that thing again.” 
  Anja shuddered.
  “Understandable, I’m sure,” Pritchett said dismissively. “In most cases, I 
  don’t put any stock in psychic claims, but you seem reasonably helpful, for a 
  magic user. Thank you both, and you too, Sir Renfield.”
  Greg maintained a good composure, but internally, his jaw dropped. 
  Pritchett’s dedication to Coalition doctrine wasn’t exactly flexible. Thanking 
  a Mystic was a pretty drastic thing to do.
  Pritchett shook the Cyber-Knight’s hand.
  “Please, if you can excuse me, I need some time to be alone.” Anja got to 
  her feet and excused herself, giving Van an apologetic look.
  “So, what are we going to do about this, boss?” Aken leaned against the 
  headlight bank on the APC.
  “Find out everything we can about where our hardware is, then come up 
  with a way to get it back without destroying it. We’ve been robbed.”
  “We know where it’s headed, let’s do something about it before it’s too 
  late,” Aken urged.
  “The problem with that is, we have responsibilities to uphold here. Even 
  if we could take action right now, we’d lose more trying to get our stuff back 
  than it’s worth.”
  “What, are we just gonna let them get away with all this?”
  “I make the decisions, Aken. In a few days, after our new armament ar-
  rives, we’ll deal with the Army of the New Order. My way. In the meantime, 
  we gather intelligence on their capabilities, and possibly exercise a few stra-
  tegic raids if the opportunity arises.”
  “I’m afraid we may beat you to it,” Captain Pritchett said, walking closer 
  to the duo. “I have a score to settle.”
  “You know Zenjori’s recruiting from every D-Bee village and nomadic 
  tribe in a fifty mile radius?” Aken blurted out. “Dead Boys make easy tar-
  gets.”
  “Since we’re all jumping into this, I might point out to the captain that put-
  ting an end to Zenjori Suka is my mission objective.” Greg looked at Pritch-
  ett. “I’ve got a task to complete and don’t need someone else’s misguided 
  efforts getting in my way.”
  “What would be ideal here is if we could organize a joint, if only tempo-
  rary, alliance to eradicate this threat to all of us,” Sir Renfield offered.
  “A novel concept but it never works that way,” Pritchett retorted. “Every-
  one always goes off and does their own thing.” He glared at Greg.
  “Do what you want. I don’t care.” Donovan started walking away.
  
  192
  “Donovan. Just one thing,” Greg called after him. “Exactly what were you 
  selling to the Army of the New Order?”
  “You have scouts, Lieutenant, ask them.”
  “So do you, don’t you think it would be in both our interests to trade intel? 
  We probably know things about the ANO you don’t. Shouldn’t we find out 
  what each other knows?”
  Donovan stopped and pondered the proposition for several seconds, not 
  looking at the waiting officer.
  “Aken, tell the lieutenant what he needs to know.” Donovan walked away.
  “Trenton,” Greg called his ops sergeant over. “Please fill in Aken, then 
  talk to Sharp for the latest reports.”
  “Where are you going?” Pritchett caught Greg’s arm.
  “Sir, the way I see it. We could have dealt with this problem yesterday. I’ll 
  stay out of the way of your mission if you stay out of mine. The way I see it, 
  what I do about Zenjori is none of your damn business,” Greg said gruffly, 
  taking the hand off his arm and walking away. He was glad Trenton was the 
  only man under him to see his disrespect of the chain of command.
  “I don’t believe I heard you correctly, lieutenant. What was that you said?” 
  Pritchett yelled, infuriated at Greg’s total lack of respect. Discipline among 
  the troops was getting bad enough without the horrendous example being set 
  by Lieutenant Merrick. Something had to be done.
  Greg increased his pace. Darren and Dave’s dereliction of duty lit another 
  fire in his gut. He ignored the fading voice of his commanding officer and 
  tried to focus on the mission goal. All of his loyalties seemed to be changing. 
  Nothing made sense anymore, not rank, duty, or objective. It was like going 
  through the motions, having long forgotten the reasons for them. When he fi-
  nally tracked down the two RPA’s, he hadn’t calmed down. His inner turmoil 
  only making him want to lash out on unjustified victims.
  Very few patrons visited the Match Head during the late morning hours; 
  few were present when Greg entered. Most of Donovan’s mercenaries had 
  other things to do and much of the Coalition force was on active duty. The 
  only two Coalition personnel in the room were sitting at a darkened corner 
  beneath a dimmed lamp and surrounded by vacant tables. Dave leaned over 
  his breakfast while Freya continued an animated conversation. Leaning on 
  Darren’s shoulder half asleep, Cyndiara’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of 
  Greg’s boots on the wood floor. Darren chewed his hash browns slowly and 
  looked up with bloodshot eyes underlined by dark bags.
  “Where are the two of you supposed to be right now!?”
  “Ahhhuh, Lieutenant.”
  Darren winced. Dave winced. Cyndiara winced.
  “Easy on the volume, sir,” Dave mumbled, rubbing his temples.
  “You missed the party last night, sir. Gibs threw a kegger and drank us all 
  under the table.” Darren smiled sheepishly and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
  
  193
  “We didn’t travel halfway across the continent for you to party with Gibs. 
  Why aren’t you on patrol?” Greg moved forward menacingly.
  “We’ll get to it after breakfast.”
  “How about right now?”
  “Morning, Lieutenant!” Freya stood and took Greg by surprise with her 
  cheerfulness. “Are you hungry?”
  “No, I’m not hungry.”
  “Well, how ’bout ya just sit down here and I’ll bring ya some fresh eggs 
  and browns.” She pulled out a chair for him to sit. Greg stared at the chair and 
  at Henry’s niece as if both were crazy. Freya patted the seat.
  “I’m not staying.”
  “Relax a little while I get your food.” She guided him into the chair. “Have 
  some milk. You’ll feel better.” Freya poured him a glass of milk from the 
  pitcher on the table, gave him a wide smile, and then skipped off into the 
  kitchen.
  Greg stared at the milk, unclear as to how he wound up sitting at the table 
  in the first place. In a way, it was a good thing. Greg’s anger began to subside, 
  after all, he was actually hungry now that he thought about it. Dave’s lovesick 
  eyes followed Freya into the kitchen.
  “Isn’t she great, Lieutenant?”
  “A real catch, Dave,” Greg responded sarcastically, staring at the sandy-
  haired, freckled face of his RPA.
  “I think I’m in love.”
  “Well, that’s a switch.” Greg looked at the kitchen door. Freya wasn’t 
  ugly, more homely if Greg wanted to be polite. Freya had short brown hair, 
  rather plain features, and was a bit pudgy, not Dave’s usual type. “I thought 
  you went for the buxom blond, no-brainer types.”
  “Who, me?”
  “How long have you known her?”
  “Four days.”
  “Four days and you think you’re in love? Good, Dave.”
  “We’re gonna get married.”
  “Don’t get your hopes up. It might be a very short honeymoon.”
  “Are you married, Lieutenant?” Cyndiara asked.
  Greg held up 10 ringless fingers.
  “That doesn’t mean much.”
  “No. Never been married. Why do you ask?” Greg was feeling his hostil-
  ity subside with each passing minute.
  “You seem like the kind to be married; the husband type. No offense or 
  anything.”
  “None taken.”
  “You’re not gay, are you?” Cyndiara kept the questions coming.
  
  194
  Greg looked at her eyes to see if she was joking, but she seemed to be 
  serious.
  “No, absolutely not. I just don’t date much.”
  “Why?”
  “Because it’s going to take someone really... different to — Why am I 
  telling you this?”
  “I just asked,” Cyndiara responded nonchalantly.
  “Darren, did Sharp wake you and Dave up at 0600 for your patrol this 
  morning?” Greg pushed the conversation away from the personal.
  “Right on the nose. How could I forget?” Darren rubbed his eyes.
  “And what time is it now?”
  “Like morning sometime.”
  “It’s after 1100 and you’re just now getting up for breakfast?”
  “We hadda get a little sleep, sir.” Dave shrugged.
  “What concerns me more than you two skipping your patrol is that Sharp 
  let you get away with it.”
  “Hey, don’t knock Sharp, sir. He’s doin’ his job just like you told him to, 
  we just cruised for more Z’s,” Darren defended his friend.
  “How ’bout in an hour we just take Brian and Peterson’s patrol?” Dave 
  suggested hopefully.
  “How ’bout you finish your shift like you were supposed to and take Ad-
  ams and Peterson’s patrol. I had to pull Brian in to work on repairs and Pe-
  terson shouldn’t be out there by himself. At least one of you would have to 
  fly with him.”
  “Get Rachel to do it.”
  “PFC Brown is no more qualified to go out solo than Peterson.”
  “Neither is Lieutenant Sorenson and you put him and Brown on 12 to 
  1800. Mike’s been shot down down more times than any of us.”
  “Up until our last op, Lieutenant Sorenson had an almost flawless flight 
  record.” Greg paused, trying to get himself worked up again so that he could 
  feel like he was properly chewing them out. “Why am I sitting here arguing 
  with you two? Stuff the rest of your food in your mouths and go!” Greg took 
  a drink of milk.
  Cyndiara laughed.
  “Yer browns will be done in a jiffy.” Freya reached out and dropped a pile 
  of scrambled eggs on a plate in front of Greg. “Wipe your face.” She dropped 
  a napkin on his lap and scurried back into the kitchen. Greg wiped away his 
  milk mustache and stuffed some food in his mouth.
  “Well, Dave, if you can talk her into coming back with us to Chi-Town, 
  you’ll be a happy man.” Greg plugged another fork full of eggs in his mouth, 
  pretending not to notice the leery glance between his two RPA’s. “I want you 
  two to make a fly-by over Q-7 and see if you can pick up the trail of several 
  
  195
  large ‘Bots leaving Liberty to the north. If you lose the trail, go north by 
  northeast twenty miles then double back and forth on your way back.”
  “That’s not our usual pattern,” Dave pointed out.
  “I’m aware of that. If I’m correct, you’ll draw fire from a convoy moving 
  into the hills to the north. Check in with Trenton before you go and he should 
  be able to fill you in on what to look for.”
  “Whoa, sir. I thought drawing fire was bad,” Darren protested.
  “It is and it isn’t. Get me your best count on mechanized and troops, and 
  any air power they’ve got. If things get too hot, hightail it out of there. Feel 
  free to return fire, maybe make some hit and runs. The important thing is to 
  assess the rebel army and wear them down if we can. Unfortunately, I think 
  we’re up against more than we came prepared for.”
  “You should’a been a specialist. How come you’re doing the intel and not 
  Sorenson? Not that I’m complaining,” Darren asked.
  “Cuz Sorenson’s off with Lisa someplace,” Dave muttered.
  “Hmmm. Dave, is Lisa checked out on a SAM?” Greg’s grey eyes twin-
  kled deviously.
  “As far as I know. She’s cleared on the UAR-1 and the Skull Walker, but 
  I don’t know what she’s like in a SAM.”
  “She’s not touching my SAM 15. Not in a million years!” Darren blurted 
  out. “Movin’ a robot around in a repair bay and test flyin’ a SAM ain’t the 
  same thing as fighting. Two separate things. Some baby dragon pops up to 
  play tag and it gets real sticky when you don’t know how to tag back. Lisa’s 
  never taken a SAM into combat as far as I know.”
  “It was just a thought. Some added incentive for Sorenson to get off his 
  butt.”
  “Lisa handles herself pretty good when it hits the fan,” Dave defended his 
  co-pilot and communications officer.
  “Yeah, but it’s lots different up close and personal, not behind twenty tons 
  of armor. You know that.”
  “I agree, it would be putting her at risk. She’s not ready.” Greg poured 
  himself another cup of milk.
  “Here you go. Eat up.” Freya dumped hash browns on his plate and left 
  the steaming frying pan on the table. Dave grabbed her around the waist and 
  pulled her down on his lap.
  “You don’t get freaked out much, do you, Lieutenant?” Darren got seri-
  ous.
  “That depends on what you mean by freaked out. Even if I was, as an of-
  ficer I can’t show it. There are times when I might be just as scared as the next 
  guy, I just don’t let it take control. I can’t.”
  “Don’t ya get scared when all those monsters an’ baddies come at ya?” 
  Freya asked.
  
  196
  “There’s different kinds of fear and everyone reacts differently.” Greg 
  pondered the question and the fact that he was having breakfast with two 
  derelict soldiers discussing things he shouldn’t. He considered making up an 
  answer and moving on, but then realized he couldn’t remember the last time 
  he really experienced fear.
  “How does Dave react?” Freya asked teasingly.
  “Dave’s pretty much straight down the center as soldiers go.” Greg leaned 
  back and took a thoughtful pose. “Dave knows when his life is in danger, but 
  I’ve never seen him lose control. Straight down the line, not too reckless, but 
  not afraid of making a move even if it’s dangerous. Follows orders... most of 
  the time.” Greg shot Dave a warning look.
  “What about Darren?” Cyndiara asked, pretending Darren wasn’t in the 
  room.
  “Now that’s a different story. Darren’s not afraid because he doesn’t think 
  he can die.”
  “Huh?” Darren choked on his coffee.
  “He thinks it’s all a game and death is just part of the game that doesn’t 
  actually happen to him. Sure, he recognizes the danger and reacts to it, but 
  his reaction isn’t the same as fear. He doesn’t know when he should be afraid. 
  Death is something that happens to other people, not him.”
  “And I’m really good,” Darren came back in a cocky tone of voice.
  “Being good isn’t what’s going to keep you alive. Sooner or later that 
  one mistake will be the last. What’s kept Darren alive this long is the fear he 
  doesn’t let himself acknowledge, making him recognize his mortality, sub-
  consciously at least.” Greg looked right at Darren. “You haven’t let it blind 
  you to what’s going on in the fight. The times when you face death, you’ve 
  used your fear instead of letting it control you. But you’re still not in control 
  of it either. The adrenaline rush, to cheat death and come out on top. That’s 
  going to wear off eventually, and then you’ll have to deal with the fear. I 
  wonder how much it will change when you’ve got something to lose.” Greg’s 
  grey eyes drifted to Cyndiara, and the conversation sobered.
  “What do you have to lose, Lieutenant?” Cyndiara asked in all serious-
  ness.
  Greg had no immediate answer. In an effort to make the moment pass less 
  awkwardly, he put a large bite of hash browns in his mouth while silently 
  searching his life for something he still believed in; something he had to 
  value.
  “My life. A very strong survival instinct. That’s built into everyone.”
  “Then why risk it? Having a life just to risk it is stupid,” Darren said.
  “I’m not afraid to die.”
  “You do it just because you’re not afraid?” Cyndiara asked.
  
  197
  “No, and yes, I have experienced fear in ways none of you can dream of, 
  but that’s not the same as being afraid to die.” Greg wanted to end the conver-
  sation but something compelled him to continue on anyway.
  “You become numb somewhat, but with experience comes confidence, 
  and hopefully, not recklessness. After you’ve been through enough, you’re 
  not really afraid of dying even though it’s possible. You look back and say, 
  ‘I’ve gotten out of worse or taken on higher odds than this and won.’ Sure, 
  there’s still fear, but you control it. First, you have to face it, acknowledge it, 
  then overcome it. If you’re lucky it all happens fast like when I lost most of 
  my unit to those mutant dogs. It’s the situations when you have the time to 
  recognize and face your fear, that’s the hard part.”
  Greg continued his breakfast, deep in thought.
  “Pritchett freaked, didn’t he?” Darren recalled the unexpected retreat.
  “Pritchett is a man who hasn’t faced real fear in a long time. False bravery 
  doesn’t last a second, it gets stripped away and shows a person for what they 
  are. Braggarts, and people who talk like there’s nothing in this world they 
  fear, are sometimes the most fearful people inside. They’ve never faced their 
  fear and what danger they have faced has never stripped them of their bra-
  vado. Danger brings out the best and worst in a person. Pritchett’s not afraid, 
  partly out of the kind of confidence years of experience brings and partly out 
  of ignorance. When it happens, like it did on that mountainside, he isn’t sure 
  what to do to overcome it. He doesn’t know how to face and overcome his 
  fear because he’s kept himself armored up so long. Instead of being a leader 
  and jumping in the trenches with his troops, he manages them from a place 
  of safety not afforded them. The only way he can respond in a life or death 
  situation is the most basic survival instinct, fight or flight. He’s not a coward, 
  but he has some personal development to do before I would follow him into 
  battle.”
  “But you still haven’t answered my question. Is the only reason you risk 
  your life because you don’t have anything to lose? Defending your home, 
  people you care for, those are reasons to fight and die. I don’t understand 
  risking your life for nothing,” Cyndiara pressed on.
  “Thank you for the breakfast, Freya. How much do I owe you?” Greg 
  ignored the question, ending the discussion.
  “We got it, sir. How often do we get to have breakfast with you?” Darren 
  flipped his card on the table.
  “Keep an expense record, I’ll see what I can do about reimbursing you 
  when we get back to Chi-Town. You two ready to go?” Greg pushed his chair 
  back from the table and stood.
  “I guess,” Dave mumbled.
  “Sir, why are we doing this?” Darren queried.
  “Because that’s what we’re out here for. Because I’m ordering it.”
  “No, I mean why are we doing this.”
  
  198
  Greg stopped himself from blurting out “because it’s our job.” Somehow 
  that didn’t seem like the right type of motivation. Why was he out here?
  “You know, a month ago I could have given you a twenty-minute lecture 
  on how we’re fighting for humanity and trying to reclaim our world. But right 
  now, that doesn’t do much for me, so why should I give you the same line? 
  Whether I’m fighting for the Coalition or myself, I know Zenjori Suka and 
  the Army of the New Order need to be stopped. If that’s not reason enough, I 
  don’t know what to tell you.”
  Cyndiara nodded. Darren wasn’t done.
  “I know that Suka’s got his coming. I mean, like what are we accomplish-
  ing with all these patrols and things we do just because some jackass back at 
  Chi-Town wants us to. Why do it?”
  “I could give you every official response in the book and tell you it’s not 
  your place to question, just trust and follow orders, but I’m not sure myself 
  anymore. I’ve been in the military for eight years and never lost sight of the 
  reasons I enlisted when I was 16. I wanted a better life than what I had in 
  the ‘Burbs, and to make a difference for humanity; change things that were 
  wrong and do something more constructive with my life than waste away in 
  the slums. Now... now I’m out here doing some colonel’s dirty laundry be-
  cause he’s got his political panties in a twist. I’m the one ordering men into 
  life-threatening situations, not him. But that’s how orders work. I get orders, 
  I obey them. I pass them on to you, and you obey. That’s how it works.”
  “But why do it?” Cyndiara asked.
  “I don’t know,” Greg said, exasperation evident in his voice. “I’m not 
  here to play twenty questions. I expect both of you soldiers airborne within 
  the hour, regardless of your reason for being up there.” Greg pointed at the 
  two RPAs. “I’ll be flying southeast. Check in with me every hour on the hour 
  through the comm link in Skull 41.”
  “Yes, sir,” both men responded.
  “We’ll talk more about this later, but don’t pass it on to anyone else, un-
  derstand? This was an off-duty discussion that didn’t happen.”
  “We understand, L.T.” Darren nodded.
  “And just to give you both some real incentive to keep on top of your du-
  ties, I will personally have you both thrown in Sheriff Morley’s jail if either 
  of you pulls another stunt like this again.”
  ____________________
  Long, heavy strides brought Drake across the mercenary camp. Headhunt-
  ers, D-Bees, and other warriors quickly moved aside for the giant ‘Borg to 
  pass. It didn’t take an expert in psychology to interpret the cyborg’s unfriend-
  ly intentions. Drake passed a group of new recruits and stepped up to the 
  mechanic fixing a patch of armor on a badly painted SAM 117.
  
  199
  “You’re a crap excuse for an Operator!” Drake lifted the terrified me-
  chanic up in the air, eye to eye. “You didn’t convert the rail guns like you 
  said!” He tossed the man to the ground and held up a scorched C-40 with his 
  larger pair of arms.
  Zenjori, seeing the altercation, excused himself from the orientation of the 
  new mercenaries. “Drake, is there a reason you’re attacking Xevo in front of 
  the new additions to our army?”
  “This rail gun Tim was supposed to shoot me with. I told Xevo to put a 
  power breaker inside so it could be switched down to a lower velocity. It 
  wasn’t supposed to do this to my armor!” Drake pointed to the dented pattern 
  on his otherwise perfect armor. One side was barely marked, but the left side 
  bore deep into the armor and sported the seeds of stress fractures.
  “Xevo, did you install the power breaker in SAM 15’s rail gun?” Zenjori 
  inquired smoothly.
  “I didn’t have time! I would have done it but there were too many other 
  things you wanted me to fix first. I was working on the jamming device with 
  what you gave me. The kind of thing you want takes time. I’m really sorry 
  about your armor, Drake! I can fix it. I’ll do it first thing.”
  “You’ll do more than that! You lied to me, you little —”
  “Drake, calm yourself.” Zenjori reached down and helped the terrified 
  Operator to his feet. “We’ve just acquired over eighty million credits worth 
  of hardware at the expense of one stolen SAMAS and five men. You deserve 
  a bonus for a job well done,” Zenjori praised his second-in-command.
  “Not that it matters much since Torrak screwed up,” Drake accused in a 
  metallic voice that carried to where Torrak could hear.
  The Gromek stood by himself, as always. Healed of his physical injuries, 
  Torrak’s humiliation scarred much deeper. His yellow eyes blazed with fury, 
  and the words to an incantation started their utterance before he knew what 
  he was doing, just as Drake’s array of three forearm rockets involuntarily 
  popped up to fire.
  “Stop!” Zenjori shouted, pushing Drake’s arm aside and using an ancient 
  mind-calming technique to squelch the hostility around him. “Calm your-
  selves, there’s no place for fighting here.”
  “Try and finish that spell, mage, and I’ll kill you,” Drake rumbled.
  “Torrak, I wish you to do what you do best and summon a new army of 
  demons. Demons for you to use to kill Coalition troops. I told you before and 
  I tell you again, I’m not upset at you for this morning’s incident. It couldn’t 
  be helped, and you did what you could.”
  “I don’t want your pity and I don’t need your lies,” Torrak seethed, more 
  humiliated by Zenjori now than before. Turning to leave, Torrak mumbled a 
  threat. “Even ‘Borgs sleep sometime.”
  “Drake,” Zenjori warned. “No trouble. Not now, not here.”
  “Let me waste the magic user before he stabs us all in the back.”
  
  200
  “Patience. I need something else from you right now,” Zenjori said, doing 
  his best to distract the ‘Borg.
  “Yes, Suka San.” Drake disarmed the forearm launch system and the pro-
  truding missile tubes slid back under their protective armor plates.
  “That group of Headhunters that just signed on with us. They have their 
  own equipment and seem much more competent than most of the vagabonds 
  we’ve been recruiting. I’m assigning them to Sledgehammer Squad, along 
  with the two X-10 Predators we just acquired. The Titan goes to Carnivore 
  Squad, but you get first pick of the troop weaponry.”
  “Thank you, Suka San. It looks like there are more recruits than we have 
  weapons for. I assume the second-raters go to Kruno’s command?”
  “Lower your voice. Kruno knows most of his men are expendable cannon 
  fodder, but they don’t.” Zenjori jerked his eyes at the milling squads of D-
  Bees and poorly armed frontier people. “Many of them want nothing more 
  than room and board, and the chance to ensure their future by eliminating the 
  Coalition threat.” Zenjori dropped his voice to a whisper. “I have convinced 
  them that if we send the Coalition States a clear message by destroying their 
  advance spies, it will make Liberty safe for many years to come. If we suc-
  ceed in retaking Liberty, that may not be too far from the truth. Make them 
  feel like they’re doing something heroic, not futile, please?”
  “I apologize, Suka San. I understand,” Drake said, his voice notably lower 
  in volume.
  “So then,” Zenjori spoke loudly. “We have much to do yet today. J.J. and 
  Kruno have located an excellent place to base our operations from. It will 
  take us the rest of the day to pick up and move there. I want you to coordinate 
  with Kruno and send a demolitions team ahead to begin laying a defensive 
  perimeter. Use the X-10’s to clear a good place for our headquarters. Carni-
  vore Squad will make up most of the line defense, leaving Sledgehammer as 
  the acting mobile force to step in and retaliate wherever the heavy firepower 
  is needed. Carnivore should be able to slow the Coalition down long enough 
  for Sledgehammer to concentrate fire and eliminate them.”
  “The Coalition will not attack. If they discover our defenses, they will 
  show themselves to be cowards. Donovan and First Strike are not Coalition. 
  They will attack us. I’m convinced of that.”
  “We may have to defeat both, but not at the same time.”
  “What makes you so certain?”
  “The Coalition commander in Liberty has already had the seeds of sugges-
  tion planted in his mind. Notec has made sure of it.”
  ____________________
  Half-eaten bodies littered the ground between burned out cabins. Even 
  without special training, it was obvious to Greg that much of the burning was 
  ignited by a few well-placed plasma bolts intended to block off one side with 
  
  201
  a wall of burning structures. What wasn’t as clear was the lack of healthy, 
  adult bodies. Most of the victims were the elderly or very young. The few 
  signs Greg could read told him at least sixty people had been herded the 
  half-mile to a field where they seemingly vanished. No marks of any vehicles 
  or thruster burns of aircraft could be found. Other than the village itself and 
  a few sets of matching boot prints around the village, there was nothing to 
  indicate who the attackers had been. Greg wiped charcoal from his hands on 
  his uniform, still pacing the smoldering ruins. None of it made sense.
  Why he’d flown clear to the ragged coastline he didn’t know, perhaps just 
  to see the ocean, and perhaps because he needed some time away from mili-
  tary regimen to think freely. Finding the village had been an accident, one 
  Greg wished he could find an answer to.
  He flew back to the coast again for a better look and discovered all the 
  boats at a makeshift dock down the coast had been systematically punctured 
  with some type of Vibro-Blade. Something or someone wanted to make sure 
  none of the villagers escaped. No bodies in the water. Things just didn’t add 
  up.
  For lack of something better to do, Greg left the docks and flew out over 
  the ocean. In the southeast, he could see the rippling blue energy of a pow-
  erful ley line flowing out across the ocean. Below him, the waves rolled on 
  toward land. On the horizon a metallic spire thrust its head above the water, 
  a reminder of a past civilization lost. Greg had heard stories about how the 
  coastal waters he now flew over had once been a sprawling metropolis that 
  sank beneath the waves with the rise of Atlantis. Tidal forces and the dis-
  placed ocean had struck the coast and obliterated the cities that once nestled 
  up to the water’s edge. Three hundred years later, the only reminders of past 
  civilizations were obscured under water or twisted piles of rubble and over-
  grown ruins.
  Greg dropped from his standard surveying altitude to skim the tops of the 
  waves at dangerous speeds, testing the limits of his skill just to see how far 
  his threshold for excitement had gone. The total lack of fear pressed him clos-
  er and closer to the water until a wave’s crest struck the exoskeleton’s feet 
  and almost flipped him face-first into the ocean. Pulling up and away, Greg 
  let the adrenaline surge through his veins again and embraced the forgotten 
  sensations. For the moment he still held value for life and his own survival. 
  Maybe he wasn’t hopeless after all.
  Making a sharp U-turn, he aimed the SAMAS towards the shoreline and 
  rough-hewn beach. A flock of giant, winged animals flew south along the 
  shoreline but didn’t seem to care about him, so Greg left them alone. Not 
  everything that crawled through a Rift was bent on human genocide or craved 
  the taste of human flesh. Some were just dumb animals that wound up trapped 
  on an alien world. The struggle for survival wasn’t always a successful one, 
  
  202
  but mankind felt like the dominant species and would fight to keep it that 
  way. It was still too early in post-apocalyptic history to tell who would win.
  Greg’s mind broke down years of Coalition indoctrination, questioning 
  everything he’d ever believed in. The oaths of loyalty and duties of an officer 
  seemed distant and meaningless in the moment. To defy the edicts he’d sworn 
  to uphold was treason, but all of the indoctrination seemed meaningless now. 
  To spend eight years of his life dedicated to something and then watch it lose 
  all meaning in a matter of days terrified him, but the soul-searching crashed 
  through his mind and soul nonetheless. What did he really believe in? What 
  would be the consequences of the choices he feared he’d make? Events were 
  coming to a head fast. Time was fleeting. There was no way to stop this 
  awakening.
  Anger and frustration possessing his mind and soul, Greg pushed the SA-
  MAS to 300 mph and clipped treetops, danger the last thing on his mind. 
  Kilometers of scenery passed below the speeding exoskeleton. A tree limb 
  struck the unit’s left leg and the air intakes inhaled twigs and leaves. A mo-
  ment of panic snapped Greg back to reality; instant reactions saved his life. 
  Pulling higher, then slowing to the suit’s default cruising speed, he angled the 
  SAMAS towards a small river and landed gently on the bank.
  Scrambling from the humming power suit and throwing off his flight suit, 
  Greg fought free of his clothing and dove headlong into the frigid water.
  Icy shock whiplashed his senses in the river water, reconnecting him to the 
  moment. Surfacing five meters out, Greg gasped as his body adjusted to the 
  shock. His temples pounded, but thought focused on the present once again 
  returned. In fact, nothing else mattered. His mind was totally free to the whim 
  of the moment, unburdened from worrying about his future, his reasons, and 
  his command.
  Giving into the impulse, he filled his lungs with air and dove back be-
  neath the surface. Powerful strokes propelled him along with the current. The 
  natural thrill kept him going downstream faster and farther until his lungs 
  screamed for air. Determined to press his limits a bit farther, Greg fought 
  the current towards the bank, determined not to surface until he reached it. 
  Rocks and submerged branches came closer, forcing him to weave in order to 
  continue hugging the bottom. Something hit his shoulder, stopping a stroke.
  Bursting from the crisp, flowing water, Greg gasped for air. Standing be-
  fore him was a very beautiful woman.
  
  203
  Chapter 14
  New Friends
  “Uh, excuse me!” Greg gasped, trying to find his footing in the water’s 
  current. Her waist length bluish-black hair clung to an athletic body of perfect 
  proportions and her sun-bronzed skin was flawless. Greg didn’t have but a 
  moment to gawk.
  The speed with which she grasped his wrist and kept him at arm’s length 
  took Greg completely off guard. Her iron grip tightened and before he could 
  apologize for his unexpected arrival, she’d forced his head beneath the water. 
  At first, Greg thought the reaction a bit extreme, but quickly realized her ac-
  tions weren’t in good fun or momentary surprise. Lashing out with a power-
  ful leg sweep, he threw her down beside him. Arm lock broken; he grabbed 
  her wrist. She forced his arm back and split the back of his hand open on a 
  rock jutting up from the stream, then wrenched her wrist out of his grasp.
  Pushing away and attempting to put some distance between them, Greg 
  was kicked in the chest with a foot he didn’t see coming, sending new levels 
  of pain through his numbed body. Old injuries added to new ones, the blood 
  from his hand spilling into the river unnoticed.
  “I’m sorry! I didn’t even know you were here.” He backed away as she 
  crouched in the water, ready to attack again. She paused, every muscle tensed 
  for action, but her greyish blue eyes weren’t focused on him.
  “Easy, I’m not trying to hurt you.” Greg glanced around to make sure he 
  wasn’t surrounded. “I ran into you by accident.” He moved his hands in a 
  calming gesture. “Really, you don’t need to kick me anymore.” He winced, 
  looking down to see a bruise already forming over his well-muscled chest. 
  If it weren’t for the muscle mass, her kick might have broken bones, Greg 
  thought. Brushing wet hair out of his eyes he glanced around again to see 
  what she was looking at. He was alone, standing in a freezing river with a 
  beautiful woman that wanted to kill him. Greg started laughing so hard it hurt 
  his chest. Her cold, expressionless mask turned to one of confusion.
  “What is your name?”
  Instead of answering she crept closer, like a cat stalking prey.
  “Hey, he, hehehehe.” Greg coughed as he laughed. “You could at least tell 
  me your name. Wow, you’ve got quite a kick.” He winced again.
  She sprang. Greg was ready this time and deflected her foot to the side of 
  his head. She paused a split second too long trying to keep her balance in the 
  water. Grabbing her ankle, Greg tried to tip her over backward. Instead, he 
  found himself holding her ankle above her head and the next moment he was 
  underwater again. Time for a different approach, Greg decided, still finding 
  the entire affair comical.
  
  204
  Latching onto her wrist with both hands, Greg used a painful joint lock to 
  force her away from him. Her other fist clobbered his jaw hard enough to set 
  his entire skull ringing.
  “Why do I always end up in a fight with some psycho with no clothes!” 
  Greg hissed through clenched teeth and threw his weight into her arm. Giv-
  ing way and backing up before he broke her wrist, the woman allowed Greg 
  to force her onto the muddy bank. Suddenly, she went with the weight and 
  slipped out of the lock in one fluid motion. Greg pushed her down hard.
  “Listen, I’ll just walk back to where I came from and you’ll never see me 
  again.”
  Slipping back into ankle-deep water, Greg tried to get past but again she 
  struck with a precise kick. The force it took Greg to deflect the blow made 
  him wonder if he hadn’t met his match. He would have expected this kind of 
  fight out of a Juicer or Crazy, but this woman was obviously neither.
  “Why don’t we just go back to Liberty and talk this over?” He bruised 
  his arm to keep a crescent kick from smashing his head. She’d moved in too 
  close and Greg saw his opening. Feinting a knee strike, he caught her leg be-
  hind the knee and locked it against his waist. This move was apparently the 
  last thing she’d expected.
  His uppercut snapped her head back with bone-jarring force. Striking a 
  woman wasn’t his first choice, but she was going to kill him if he didn’t. 
  Instead of going limp from the blow, she slammed him in the nose with her 
  forearm and Greg’s eyes teared up instantly. Desperation caused him to throw 
  her over his shoulder, following in with a tackle from behind. Both bounced 
  off the moss-covered bank and slid into the water, but it was Greg who came 
  out on top with a clumsy full nelson, with her face just inches from submer-
  sion. He could taste the blood from his nose and see it dripping from his chin. 
  She struggled to get away, so Greg pushed her head down and she endured 
  several seconds under water before he let her back up again.
  For the first time in the engagement, he noticed the peculiar point of her 
  slender ears. Probably has D-Bee blood in her family history, he summarized 
  with disappointment. The hair and eyes weren’t quite human, either. No won-
  der she was so wild. On the other hand, maybe she didn’t understand a word 
  he was saying.
  “Do you understand American?”
  No answer. She tried to get free again, but Greg pressed down on her neck 
  even harder.
  “If you struggle, I’ll push harder. It’s already got to hurt, don’t make me 
  make it worse. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
  “Yes.”
  “Okay, good, you talk. That’s a start. I still can’t let you up until I know 
  you’re not going to try busting my skull again.”
  
  205
  “Release me.” Her voice was commanding and frustrated, tinted with a 
  peculiar accent he didn’t recognize.
  “First answer some questions. Let’s start with your name.” Greg concen-
  trated on establishing trust. He didn’t plan to drown her or let her up right 
  away. “It’s okay, make up a name if you want.”
  “Natessa.”
  “Well Natessa, tell me why I should let you up?”
  “Leave. I won’t harm you.”
  “That’s what I’d like to believe. On the other — Oh, damn,” Greg whis-
  pered.
  Thrashing up the river 1,500 feet away came a pair of horse-like creatures 
  with what looked like horns and spindly arms. It was difficult to tell from so 
  far away, but it looked like each had a nasty set of long claws at the end of 
  each arm. Gregg’s blood froze. The monsters sniffed the air and water and 
  kept thrashing up the river.
  “What is it?” she whispered.
  “I don’t know. They’re too far away. At first, I thought they were two rid-
  ers on horseback, but they’re monsters of some kind. Not happy kinds.” Greg 
  imitated Sharp’s favorite monster description.
  “The blood. They smell your blood.”
  Greg took a chance. Slowly he released his hold and they both sank deeper 
  into the water. He could feel her muscles tense beneath him.
  “I hear them. What do they look like?” she whispered.
  “They’re right there, coming up the river. Bigger than I thought, ten, may-
  be twelve feet tall. They look like horses with a bunch of spines running 
  down their necks and a pair of arms with claws. Horses don’t have arms.”
  “Melech,” she breathed quietly.
  “They don’t look friendly. I left my SAM running up the river, but they 
  could probably run me down before I got to it. I think they heard me.” Greg 
  sank lower as one Melech stopped at two hundred yards and listened. Greg’s 
  heart pounded harder than ever. This was exciting.
  “They will find us by your scent. I can kill them. You must run.”
  “If you can’t take on one naked man in the river you’re not going to last 
  ten seconds against those things.”
  “I have weapons on the bank.”
  Greg looked to the moss-covered bank and noticed a bulky alien-looking 
  rifle accompanied by an ornate jeweled sword.
  “Are you sure?”
  “Do not delay. Go now and do not come this way ever again.”
  “That won’t be hard. I’m not even sure where I am now anyway. Good 
  luck!”
  Pushing himself up and running upstream, Greg gave a quick look back 
  to make sure she wasn’t aiming the rifle at him. Both weapons were gone 
  
  206
  and she was nowhere in sight. The two monsters charged up the river, their 
  beady eyes fixed on the only visible humanoid. Dodging through trees and 
  tearing his way through thick brush, Greg ran for his life. The SAMAS purred 
  quietly on the riverbank next to his scattered clothing. Ignoring his accumu-
  lated injuries, he pulled on most of his clothes and stuffed the rest inside the 
  exoskeleton with him. The SAM’s audio amplifiers picked up the scream of 
  a dying animal downstream.
  Blowing out a plume of water behind him, he flew just inches above the 
  river. Passing the chance meeting site faster than expected, Greg launched 
  the SAMAS above the treetops in a quick semicircle. Blood stained the riv-
  erbank and mixed with the flowing water. A headless Melech lay partly on 
  the bank. The other lay in a bloody heap entangled in some kind of glowing 
  net. Natessa was gone.
  Switching optics to thermal scan he searched the forest for a human heat 
  signature. Running with surprising speed away from the river was one hu-
  man-sized warm spot. Greg angled closer and slowed to match speed. A defi-
  nite shape and shades of orange and red designating body temperature took 
  form. Greg banked the SAMAS away. She didn’t want to be followed.
  Getting his bearings via the computer navigation system, Greg headed 
  back for Liberty and tried to concoct a plausible explanation for his injuries. 
  Events like this didn’t happen in real life. Nobody would believe such a fan-
  tastic story, even if it were true. It had been true, and he wondered if he would 
  ever see the beautiful woman again — under much better circumstances he 
  hoped. He smiled, then winced at the pain in his jaw and nose.
  ____________________
  Brian and Lisa stared up at Spider Skull Walker 191, contemplating the 
  one-eyed robot in silence.
  “I don’t know how we’re going to fix that,” Brian spoke up at last.
  Both technical officers wore dark utility uniforms with military insignias 
  and looked out of place in the civilian-run mechanic shop. The large, six-sto-
  ry structure housed the most complete repair facility in Liberty and currently 
  showcased a holey Coalition APC and eyeless Skull Walker next to a locally 
  owned X-500 Forager robot used for hauling timber and construction. Pass-
  ers-by did a triple take and then usually moved on due to the armed Coalition 
  guards making sure anyone with bad intentions had second thoughts. Two 
  Dog Boys harassed a pair of inexperienced technical officers from Pritchett’s 
  unit making repairs on the APC. Ever alert for psychics and magic users, the 
  Dog Boys kept an ear to the doors for sounds of trouble. Lisa stared up at the 
  gaping hole in the Skull Walker where the right eye/spotlight had been.
  “Do you have any concept of how much work it’s going to take to fix just 
  the internal damage?”
  “No. That’s your job.” Brian nudged her and gained her annoyance.
  
  207
  “Even the spotlight, what I’d imagine would be the easiest thing to replace 
  is going to be a pain. Then there’s the transparent armor cover, that I can’t 
  imagine finding one out here. Gizmo doesn’t have any, does he?”
  “We can always put an armor plate over the hole.”
  “That might work.”
  “Brian, can you bond an armor plate over the eye and make it look like an 
  eye patch?”
  “That’s a great idea!” Brian brightened. “I could even bolt down a length 
  of power cable on the outside to make it look like it was actually wearing the 
  armor patch over its eye. That would look cool!”
  “Just remember whose idea it was.”
  “Hey, Gizmo!” Brian called to the shop owner up on the repair gantry 
  working on the X-500. “You got any 20 mm poly-bond?”
  “Check the last row of slots in the shed!” The cybernetically augmented 
  mechanic waved a diagnostic probe at the armor shed in one corner of the 
  structure.
  “Thanks. I’ll put it on my tab.” Brian took Lisa by the sleeve.
  “C’mon, give me a hand. This stuff is heavy.”
  “Uh, Brian, how did you get to be on a first name basis with everyone 
  here?”
  “Gizmo’s pretty cool. So are most of the guys in here. This was one of the 
  first places I checked out when I got off duty. I came over to see how the APC 
  was coming along and we all had a good time getting to know each other. 
  Besides, it’s Pritchett’s expense account, not mine.” Brian slid open the door 
  to the large shed and marched to the back. “40 mm, 30 mm, 23 mm, that stuff 
  looks used, 21 mm, here we go, 20 mm. Oh geez!” Brian rolled the sheet out 
  on its tracked housing and tried to lift it.
  “Do we really need 20 mm? That’s pretty thick for just a patch. Don’t you 
  usually layer thinner plates?”
  “The way Pritchett goes into battle?”
  “Then what are we doing using this?” Lisa looked around the shed with 
  a glint in her eyes. “Where’s the 5 mm poly-carbonate? It is Pritchett’s butt 
  we’re protecting, remember?”
  “Don’t tempt me,” Brian said flatly.
  “He won’t know the difference.”
  “Yeah, but there are other people in the Skull Walker. If it was just him... 
  not to mention if there was ever an investigation.”
  “You’re no fun.”
  “I can’t lift this. Go call Wreath for me, will ya?”
  “Wreath?”
  “The big D-Bee working on Sheriff Morley’s ATV outside.”
  “Brian, how’d you get this place to let us use their facilities?” Lisa asked.
  
  208
  “I talked to Giz when we got here and we hit it off. I offered to show him 
  how to bond a transparent molecular shell on an existing multi-layer compos-
  ite. I’m helping him rebuild this really cool Pre-Rifts speeder.”
  “Did Merrick approve of you giving out Coalition technical secrets?”
  “No, but Pritchett did. Sort of. He wanted me to supervise the repair ef-
  forts and I told him I couldn’t do it without proper facilities and an expense 
  account. He tells me to do what it takes to get Gizmo to let me use their fa-
  cilities. He tells me the Coalition is sending more patrols out this way in the 
  future and it helps to have a friendly shop to get repairs done at. I just took a 
  little ‘officer’s initiative,’ and got what I wanted,” Brian grinned.
  “Sometimes you really surprise me, Brian.”
  “Yo! Wreath! I need some help!” Brian shouted and moments later the 
  large D-Bee sauntered into the shed with a stupid grin on its bony face. Lisa 
  couldn’t decide if Wreath was happy or grumpy.
  “Help?” the alien asked.
  “Yeah, can you carry this armor plating over to the Skull Walker and leave 
  it on the lift?”
  “Wreath can do.” The D-Bee ambled forward and carried the 300-pound 
  armor plate out with one hand. Lisa backed away, not very trusting of the 
  giant alien.
  “What was that?” she whispered when Wreath was gone.
  “I dunno. Wreath.”
  “Is it safe?”
  “Yeah, it’s just Wreath. He, or she, is pretty good with machines. Not 
  real smart on other things, but it understands how machines work better than 
  any mechanic I’ve ever known. Real good-tempered, too. Giz an’ I couldn’t 
  figure out why the particle beam cannon on a speeder wouldn’t respond to a 
  system diagnostic yesterday and Wreath just walks up, feels up the speeder, 
  and says ‘you repair thing not understand. Part not understand. Machine say 
  it need new chip but repair thing not speak same talk. You fix chip.’ Sure 
  enough, Giz knows what he’s talking about. We yank the diagnostic chip 
  from the particle cannon and run it through a filter by itself, and we find a 
  tiny fracture in the nano-circuit. It’s not fried, so we’d never have suspected 
  it. No real way to figure that out without spending days de-bugging the entire 
  system, but Wreath just touches the speeder and he knows. Pretty cool, huh?”
  “I wouldn’t want a D-Bee anywhere near my mech, especially one that 
  thinks it can talk to machines.” Lisa looked at Wreath, who was holding a 
  conversation with the Sheriff’s ATV in its own language.
  “Wreath’s weird, but he’s okay. A month ago, I would have agreed but I 
  never met a D-Bee like Wreath before. I suppose there’s got to be others out 
  there that aren’t all bad. There’s gotta be some smart, good-natured ones that 
  don’t wanna kill people, like Wreath.”
  Brian’s blasphemy shocked Lisa further.
  
  209
  “I’d be careful who I said that around. I don’t mind, personally, but you 
  could get into big trouble with anyone who’s a loyalist, maybe even C.I.S. 
  investigations and re-indoctrination sessions.”
  “I’m not stupid. Trust me, I’d know if I was being watched.”
  “Just like you did to Mike? Just like how someone in our unit spied on all 
  of us last mission?”
  Brian’s expression became thoughtful. “When’s the last time you checked 
  Skull 41?”
  “An hour ago. Before I came here. It’s clean, and I ran the virus killer 
  through all of Pritchett’s robots and power armor again just to be on the safe 
  side. I even downloaded — don’t tell anybody — the transmission logs from 
  the Enforcer and Abolisher and checked the records on all the SAMAS. I 
  don’t want a repeat of last time any more than you do,” Lisa whispered.
  “That’s for sure,” Brian agreed seriously.
  Both stopped and looked at each other, the same thought hitting them.
  “Pritchett’s Skull Walker.”
  Leaving the shed at a run with memories of betrayal driving them, both 
  technical officers sprinted for the one vehicle they’d never checked. Climb-
  ing the scaffolding and dropping into the pilot’s compartment of the trashed 
  robot, they surveyed the internal damage momentarily before scrambling to 
  action. Lisa found more internal systems operational than she’d anticipated.
  “Brian, what’s the code?”
  “49174447. Then type in ‘Mind Games.’” Brian looked at other displays, 
  turning on systems and booting up the core of the robot. “That’s Pritchett’s 
  code, I didn’t make that up.”
  “It says it needs voice authorization.”
  “No, it doesn’t. Pritchett’s afraid someone might try and override his code 
  and voice print, so he’s got the alarm rigged to voice authorization. Hit the 
  switch under your chair.” Brian reached between her legs and flipped the 
  concealed switch just under the lip of the seat. Lisa looked at him with eye-
  brows raised. “Sorry.” Brian backed away, embarrassed. “That wasn’t my 
  idea either. I didn’t put it there.”
  “I was worried for a second.”
  “Voice code accepted,” the female voice announced, as command func-
  tions became available.
  “How did you get Pritchett to give you access to his vehicle like this? 
  You must have done some major kissing up.” Lisa cracked her knuckles and 
  started typing in commands.
  “He didn’t want to at first, but after his techs kept screwing things up, he 
  wanted someone who actually knew what they were doing making repairs on 
  his personal Skull Walker. He wanted it done yesterday, so I didn’t give him 
  any choice. My way or no way Jose. ‘Course I didn’t exactly say it that way, 
  but you get the idea.”
  
  210
  “This is what I expected to see.” Lisa shook her head and stared at the 
  screen. “Do you know the code for that?”
  “Pritchett’s got a code on the communications system too? Man, and I 
  thought I was paranoid!”
  “I could probably hack through it, but it might take a while. Days, even.”
  “I’ve got a faster way.” Brian stood on the back of the seat and stuck his 
  head out the top hatch. “Wreath! Wanna do me a really big favor?”
  “Okay.”
  “Climb on up here.” Brian grinned at Lisa.
  “You’re not serious.”
  “Why not?”
  “It’s your neck here, not mine.”
  “You want Wreath do something?” The large D-Bee stuck his head into 
  the pilot’s compartment.
  “Yeah. Can you talk to the computer and get it to tell you what the access 
  code is for the communications system?”
  “Yes!” Wreath gurgled enthusiastically, then looked suspicious. “Why?”
  “Pritchett told me but I forgot,” Brian lied.
  “Oh. Okay.” Wreath concentrated hard. Lisa looked skeptical. “Code is 
  star star star star star.”
  “Asterisk,” Brian translated.
  “Those are just used to cover up the real numbers, right?”
  “Who knows. We’re talking about Pritchett here. Maybe it really is just 
  five asterisks.”
  “Here goes.” Lisa punched the asterisk key five times and the communica-
  tions programs unlocked and began displaying readouts.
  “Thanks, Wreath. I won’t forget now. You’ve been a huge help,” Brian 
  said, smiling at the D-Bee.
  “Okay.” The big D-Bee grinned and climbed down the scaffolding.
  “This is a mess.” Lisa frowned at the screen. “The last time somebody ran 
  diagnostics on this was over two months ago.”
  “You can make it look like we didn’t do this, right?”
  “That’s easy. I used to do that kind of stuff all the time as a kid back in 
  Chi-Town, before I got busted. I’m not seeing anything really suspicious, but 
  I’m running the virus killer just in case.” Lisa pulled a memory stick from 
  her belt pouch and slotted it into the communications interface. A few quick 
  commands kicked the computer into diagnostic mode. “This will take a few 
  minutes, but we’ll know if the systems have been infected.”
  “And that should give us a list of all transmissions covered up by the 
  virus?”
  “In theory. I only ran the program on an infected system once, to make 
  sure it worked. It found the virus and killed it like it was supposed to, gave 
  me a report, and added the vaccine to the anti-virus system in case someone 
  
  211
  tried to reintroduce it. It should work here if Pritchett’s Skull Walker received 
  a direct transmission from you-know-who. The virus will have already erased 
  itself from the reception log and blanked out the normal trace parameters, 
  that’s why we couldn’t find it last time. My program searches for the files 
  the virus erases, basically like following footprints. If the virus is here, some-
  body could be using the Skull Walker to relay long-range transmissions with-
  out the communications system having any record of it.”
  “We’re not gonna get ourselves screwed over this time. That traitor is go-
  ing to pay!” Brian clenched his fist.
  There was a traitor among them and the betrayal had cost the lives of 
  nearly their whole unit on the last mission. As self-appointed secret guard-
  ians, both Lisa and Brian were determined to find out who it was before any 
  more deception cost them their lives. What struggles they had with each other 
  faded out of mind while a much greater threat was at hand.
  “We never discussed exactly what we would do if we found the virus,” 
  Brian pointed out.
  “If it is here, I can purge it and restore all the systems it corrupted with the 
  back-ups from Skull 41. We probably won’t be able to recover past transmis-
  sions the virus erased though, just a list of blank spots.
  “That means we can’t pull up exactly what the transmission was?”
  “No, but we have a de-scrambler this time.” Lisa patted a pouch on her 
  belt. The tiny device hadn’t been easy to acquire.
  “All we need is a complete transmission record and we can nail them. If 
  only we could make the computer think the virus is still there, and let the 
  comm system accept the incoming signal, except we make the computer re-
  cord it and pretend like it sent it instead.”
  “You know,” Lisa’s eyes went to the ceiling in thought. “I could write a 
  program that simulates the virus and accepts the scrambled signal from the 
  traitor. It shouldn’t be too hard since Cara and I had to break down the origi-
  nal virus to find out how it worked anyway. We make the transmission go 
  through all the motions like it wants to, except, like you said, it really doesn’t 
  relay or transmit back out of the system. We get a complete record of the 
  transmission, the traitor thinks the message has been sent, Pritchett doesn’t 
  know about it, and all we have to do is run it through the de-scrambler and 
  we’ve got the traitor.”
  “I’m just the engineer, you’re the computer guru.” Brian didn’t mention 
  that he’d gotten into Lieutenant Merrick’s personnel files and looked up 
  Lisa’s record, nor that he knew all about her history of drugs and criminal 
  charges. Of all the members of his unit, Lisa was the one with the highest I.Q. 
  Brian kicked himself for drifting down that line of thought again. She was 
  taken. He was over that now and had to stay that way.
  “This is going to be lots of work.” Lisa let out a long breath as her mind 
  began laying out the program she was going to need to write.
  
  212
  “I know, but you can do it.”
  “At least you appreciate others,” Lisa muttered bitterly.
  “Uh, I guess,” Brian responded, unclear what she meant by the comment.
  “I mean like you just don’t take for granted that someone can do things 
  you can’t. You don’t seem threatened by it, and you just work with it instead 
  of against it.”
  “Yeah, uh, well, I never thought about it,” Brian answered, still unsure 
  what she meant.
  “Like, I mean if you knew there was something wrong between you and 
  another person, you’d tell them, right?”
  Lisa’s line of questions seemed strange, and Brian couldn’t follow where 
  she was heading at all. Was it about him? Was it about them? What was she 
  talking about?
  “Well, uh, you know me and the Brian Adams School of Diplomacy. I 
  just kind of say things without thinking first, but it gets everything out in the 
  open.”
  “I just don’t know if I should tell Mike or not.”
  “Oh. Ohhhh!” Brian finally grasped what the conversation was really 
  about. Not computer programs, not him, Mike Sorenson. “Why, is there 
  something wrong?”
  “We get along pretty good, and I really like him, and the chemistry is good 
  and all, but I don’t know. Something’s wrong and I don’t know if I should 
  tell him.”
  “Why not? I’d tell him. I mean, if I was dating someone. A woman. I 
  would...” Brian stammered. Lisa’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Open 
  mouth, insert foot,” he said ruefully.
  “The Brian Adams School of Diplomacy?” she said, sarcasm thick in her 
  tone.
  “— and yoga, where your instructor teaches you to get both feet in your 
  mouth at the same time,” Brian said quickly, trying to move the conversation 
  away from his gaff with a little comedy.
  “But you really think I should just talk to him about it?”
  “First off, I don’t know how you two get along together and I don’t really 
  want to. But I don’t think any couple can resolve anything if they can’t even 
  talk about what’s bothering them.”
  “Sometimes things resolve themselves. Nothing said is better than saying 
  something you shouldn’t. I don’t know, I guess maybe I romanticized every-
  thing too much and now I’m disappointed because it didn’t end up exactly 
  like I thought it would.”
  “Uh, I’m gonna shut my mouth now.” Brian knew this was usually the part 
  where the guy in the third wheel position gets slapped for saying something 
  stupid.
  “Do you think I rushed into the relationship?” Lisa asked.
  
  213
  “Mmmmmmm.” Brian pressed his lips together and put a hand over his 
  mouth.
  “You can talk. I don’t think you could say anything that would totally 
  shock me.”
  Brian looked in Lisa’s eyes for a long moment, trying to gauge her mood 
  and intentions. Finally, giving up on his internal struggle, he just decided to 
  be honest and let the chips fall where they may. “In that case, yeah, I think 
  you probably fantasized too much about someone who seemed pretty dreamy 
  and then found out real life was different. No white knight in shining armor 
  or hero to sweep you off your feet. Just another flawed human.”
  “Thanks, Brian,” Lisa said, the truth stinging a bit but not feeling wrong.
  “No problem,” Brian said nervously.
  “I just don’t want it to end over something stupid.”
  “I can identify with that,” Brian said thoughtfully. “You don’t want to give 
  up something good just because it didn’t go exactly like you planned. You 
  haven’t been together that long. How do you know this isn’t just some minor 
  turbulence?”
  “Because every other time I’ve felt this way, things never worked out.”
  “Did you ever stop and think that maybe the reason things didn’t work out 
  is because you never got past feeling like you do with Mike right now? Take 
  it from someone who’s done things without thinking them through, rash deci-
  sions can get you into trouble.”
  “I’m having a hard time respecting him.”
  “Okay, now that’s a different problem.” Brian paused. “Why? Because 
  now you’ve got him? The unattainable is yours and now there’s no struggle 
  to get what you want? You’re bored and looking for something else?’
  “It’s always been like that.” Lisa tried to remember a time when she’d 
  been content after getting the guy she wanted.
  “Maybe, but it shouldn’t always be that way. It’s never going to change 
  for you unless you – not someone else – does something different. You’ll 
  probably always be smarter and better at most things than the guys you date, 
  so you’re the one that has to get past it, not them. Give him a chance. The 
  poor guy gets dumped and then you scoop him up off the floor. He’s got a 
  long way to go to get back in full command of himself. Let him get back up 
  to speed before you decide to break up. You might get over this, and he might 
  be what you’re looking for after all.”
  “I didn’t think you were a fan of his,” Lisa said, curious as to why Brian 
  was advocating for Mike now.
  “I’m not. But that doesn’t change anything. You’re my friend and you’re 
  asking for advice. I should be able to rise above my feelings and give you 
  advice that’s good for you, not for me.”
  “You think I should give him another chance?”
  “You want my opinion?” Brian asked in a carefree tone.
  
  214
  “Yes,” Lisa said.
  “Don’t make it a limited number of chances kinda deal. If you’re looking 
  for excuses to get rid of him, then you’ll just be looking for as many excuses 
  as you need to dump him. Give it time and really try to talk to him and work 
  things out. If he’s a jerk or has fundamentally different goals, then that’s a 
  good reason to quit. If he’s cool with where you’re going and you can actu-
  ally talk to him, then you should work things out.”
  “I’ll think about it.”
  “Yeah, it’s not like you’re already on the prowl for someone else, are 
  you?”
  “No.”
  “So what do you have to lose by giving him some time?” Brian’s eyes 
  fixed on the communications display. “Whoa, is that supposed to do that?” 
  He pointed at the blinking red box on the screen.
  Lisa turned to the display and became all business again.
  “It’s here, Brian. The virus is here. Someone’s been using Pritchett’s Skull 
  Walker to transmit.” She started running her virus killer through its paces.
  “Dang, if this thing hadn’t been shot up, we probably never would have 
  known.”
  “The traitor’s getting smarter. They knew we wouldn’t have access to 
  Pritchett’s command robot. Colonel Lyboc knows we’re on to him and he’s 
  covering himself.”
  “Except we’re gonna figure it out this time.”
  “I really don’t think even Pritchett knows he’s being messed with. That 
  really was his retreat order last time, but who knows what could have hap-
  pened.”
  “What if he does know?”
  “He doesn’t or he wouldn’t have let you near his Skull Walker. I’m killing 
  the virus.” Lisa hit the last key and the screen filled with lines of code that 
  quickly scrolled past.
  “How long will it take you to write up the intercept program?”
  “Several hours, even for something as simple as this. Plus, I’ll need to run 
  a simulation before I try it on the Skull Walker. Could be twelve to fourteen 
  hours of uninterrupted time.”
  “Do it. I’ll make up something if Pritchett or any of his goons come around 
  to check on us.” Brian started climbing out.
  “Brian, thanks. For being honest.”
  “No problem. I don’t know any other way.”
  ____________________
  Seeing the world through the glowing eyes of Torrak made Van extremely 
  grateful he’d chosen Techno-Wizardry over necromancy. The screen in his 
  Mountaineer ATV played out what Torrak was seeing at that very moment, 
  
  215
  just like a badly edited film. Although the contraption couldn’t impart what 
  the subject was thinking, Van got the impression the Gromek Shifter hated 
  every living thing he saw, especially the Elven Mage currently standing in 
  Torrak’s way.
  Lip reading would have been useful, Van mused as he watched in silence. 
  The Elven Mage he recognized as Credo, and the view narrowed from time 
  to time whenever the Elf spoke. He seemed to enunciate the word Torrak 
  strangely, with a visible emphasis on the latter syllable. He was drawing some 
  type of circle on the ground and seemed to be explaining it to the Gromek. 
  Van leaned closer to the screen and watched intently.
  Anja didn’t approve of magic “eavesdropping,” as she called it, but Van 
  figured what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, especially regarding the 
  winged Shifter. All afternoon she’d been meditating and wanted to be alone. 
  Her only explanation was that it helped her reach new understandings with 
  the world, and she hoped he would understand that from time to time she 
  needed to be by herself. Van understood that request completely and left her 
  to it. He would deal with Torrak in his own way.
  The Elf was milking a copperhead snake’s venom into a glass beaker cov-
  ered with what looked to be a stretched balloon. Judging from the amount of 
  venom in the beaker, Credo had other snakes and had been working for quite 
  some time. Shaking his head and laughing arrogantly, the Elven Summoner 
  placed the snake back into a cloth sack and then proceeded to pour the venom 
  out along the edges of the circle and across its center. Then, taking a large 
  beaker full of liquid metal, the Elf poured it into clay molds formed into sym-
  bols in two-quarters of the circle.
  Time was running out on the mystic charge, so Van powered it up for sev-
  eral more minutes by channeling energy from his body into the contraption’s 
  crystalline capacitor. The image brightened.
  Now the Elf was making some strange hand gestures and appeared to be 
  enticing Torrak to emulate him. Van didn’t recall any of the circles he’d read 
  about requiring such obscene movements, but the Summoner seemed to be 
  enjoying himself by making Torrak repeat them over and over. Suddenly, 
  Credo reached over and yanked a few tiny scales off Torrak’s arm. In what 
  looked like a calming gesture, Credo apologized and stepped back into the 
  circle.
  Standing in the center of the circle, Credo seemed to look for something 
  he couldn’t find. Exasperated, Torrak handed the Summoner a pen. Thankful, 
  and once again badly mispronouncing Torrak’s name, Credo dipped the pen 
  in a thick, gooey metallic solution and started writing on the ground in the 
  circle’s center. Credo stood and his mouth moved in the chant. The screen 
  went blank.
  ____________________
  
  216
  Evening hours brought a thick mist beneath a darkening sky. Dampness 
  soaked the pages of Kro-Mar’s book, finally forcing him to put it back with 
  the others in one of his waterproof bags. He couldn’t wait until later that eve-
  ning when he’d go back into Liberty where his alter ego was a celebrity. If he 
  spent his days in dragon form he could spend his nights as a human and keep 
  up the charade indefinitely, or at least until the humans bored him and then 
  he’d just do what he planned in the first place. Return to his natural dragon 
  form in a crowded area and scare everyone.
  Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a badly played flute reached Kro-
  Mar’s keen ears. Curious as to who would be bothering the wildlife in the 
  woods at this time of day, Kro-Mar leisurely meandered in the direction of 
  the shrill notes. The tune sounded vaguely like “she’ll be comin’ ’round the 
  mountain,” but only vaguely. Kro-Mar cringed as several high-pitched and 
  off-key notes sent animals fleeing in every direction. That flute had to die.
  Pushing aside tree branches, Kro-Mar crept closer to the sound. Belly 
  scraping ground and tail lashing in anticipation, he stalked closer to the one 
  responsible for creating a cacophony. The notes stopped and Kro-Mar froze.
  “Hey, man, groovy costume.”
  Kro-Mar practically flew straight up, snapping branches and letting out 
  a startled yelp that sounded like a rhinoceros. Seemingly appearing out of 
  nowhere to stand just behind Kro-Mar’s left ear, a man in psychedelic armor 
  stood smoking. Kro-Mar recoiled, then stared in amazement.
  “You wanna dance?” Delwin goaded Kro-Mar.
  Kro-Mar roared and smashed a tree next to Delwin.
  “Chill with the negative waves, man. Like, be one with nature and the 
  cosmos, man.”
  If Kro-Mar was confused before, now it was time to make sure he hadn’t 
  been Rifted to a dimension where this kind of thing was normal. He was a 
  powerful dragon capable of mashing this brightly-painted idiot to a pulp. The 
  wild-haired man should be scared for his life and either be fleeing or begging 
  for mercy. Where in this simple equation did something go wrong?
  “I am the great and all-powerful Kro-Mar! Slayer of mortals and terrorizer 
  of armies! None have stood before the mighty Kro-Mar and lived to tell of 
  it!”
  “Well, whoopty todooodi woo who!”
  “What?”
  “Wow, man you got some way righteous colors coming off you.” Delwin 
  waved his hands at the invisible colors of the dragon’s aura.
  “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you realize who I am?!” Kro-Mar was 
  very confused and frustrated.
  “Yeah, man, I know who you are. You’re like one of those dragons that 
  breathes fire. I am what you call a ‘Delwin Moonbeam,’ and I am happy 
  
  217
  that you and I are now meeting on this beautiful evening.” The crazy man 
  extended his hand. Kro-Mar stared at it.
  “Why aren’t you scared?”
  “No, man, I’ve been Delwin for as long as I’ve been a Moonbeam. It runs 
  in the family.”
  “What?”
  Delwin sat, cross-legged on the ground.
  “Wow, man, you look much different now.” Delwin tweaked his head 
  from side to side. “How’d you do that?”
  “I didn’t do anything.”
  “You want me to make some pretty music?”
  “No! No, you should not make some pretty music!” Kro-Mar growled.
  “What should you and I want to do this fine evening?”
  “Do?”
  “I am feeling like causing mischief. What should we do, my friend?”
  The man had to be completely nuts. That in itself Kro-Mar found fascinat-
  ing, not to mention the prospect of doing something naughty. He was begin-
  ning to like the wild-haired man.
  “Mischief is good,” Kro-Mar said suspiciously.
  “We can find a Splugorth Slaver and tie its tentacles together, then make 
  it chase us,” Delwin mused.
  “Are you crazy!?” Kro-Mar couldn’t believe he was hearing this from a 
  human.
  “Or, we could trade all the furniture in somebody’s house with all the 
  furniture next door.”
  “He he he he he he,” Kro-Mar snorted at the thought.
  “Or go paint town hall neon pink.”
  “You have a good sense of humor.” The dragon smiled.
  “Or we could steal the mayor’s underwear and run it up the flagpole in 
  town.”
  “Or run the mayor up the flagpole! He he.” Kro-Mar giggled and Delwin 
  went on with a seemingly endless list of possibilities for practical jokes.
  For once in his life, Kro-Mar forgot all about how superior he was, forgot 
  about all the stuff he wanted, forgot about revenge and forgot about himself. 
  Now he had a little buddy to play with and look out for, and the adventure 
  was only beginning.
  ____________________
  Varles Moden was known as “the Splugoth Demon Slaver” to the terrified 
  colonies of the eastern continent, and the name hardly came close to describ-
  ing the horrors he wrought. Slave raiders from Atlantis had been hitting the 
  eastern part of North and South America for centuries, but Varles was one of 
  the worst. Most slavers preferred to harvest a small percentage of a village 
  
  218
  or town population and leave the rest as stock to continue breeding. Varles 
  reveled in the blood and gore of senseless slaughter.
  Rising in the containment housing that physically linked him to the or-
  nately decorated floating barge, Varles picked one of the weaker looking 
  slaves to hurl an empty skull at. The Techno-Wizard implants throughout his 
  body and head collated the sensory input from five large eyes fused with the 
  barge and five more barrel-sized eyes floating nearby. Watching the slave’s 
  horrified expression from three separate angles, Varles purposefully aimed 
  to injure, not kill, the slave. He enjoyed his food most when it could still 
  struggle a little.
  Towering two meters above the six-meter-long barge, Varles was the most 
  fearsome thing any of his captives had ever seen. Magically augmented re-
  flexes combined with heightened awareness kept the slaver at the peak of 
  performance at all times.
  The skull shattered the slave’s left leg, causing the creature to scream 
  out in pain. Varles waved his eight tentacles happily and ordered the slave 
  brought to him by one of his favorite warriors.
  Hopping the five feet from the barge to the ground, an athletic woman 
  strode into the group of huddled slaves. Though beautiful and well propor-
  tioned, all feared the woman almost as much as they did the slaver. She and 
  the three others on the barge had been their captors, taking great delight in 
  abusing any slave that got out of line. The woman wore a near-transparent 
  bodysuit, accented by jeweled bracelets and a spiked neck collar. Slaves 
  themselves, the Altarain Blind Warrior Women served the slaver’s every 
  whim, from birth to death.
  Anisa kicked a slave that strayed too close, taking her time approaching 
  the wounded snack. The man pulled himself away with his arms, hopelessly 
  trying to escape the Warrior Woman. Her distinctive metal boot came down 
  on his other leg and the glimmer of a smile broke her marble features. The 
  metal helmet she wore covered her unseeing eyes, but she needed no vision 
  to feel the pain she inflicted. Much like her demon master, the Altarain’s 
  body was hyper-aware of the environment, surpassing the need for vision as 
  most beings understood it. What was lacking in sight was more than compen-
  sated for by her other senses and psychic awareness. Without a word, Anisa 
  grabbed the slave’s neck and with an iron grip, left him choking for air. She 
  tossed him onto the barge where Varles’ flesh body merged with the cyber-
  netic craft. In an effortless bound she hopped back on the ornately decorated 
  barge and took her place at Varles’ side.
  Slipping lower into the slime-filled container in the barge’s center, the 
  slaver inspected his dinner with the eye at the tip of his long staff. The symbi-
  otic weapon looked down on the slave with an unblinking stare, what it saw 
  its companion did also. Nearly as large as a human skull, the eye swam in 
  a translucent fluid partly filling the large glass sphere at the top of the staff.
  
  219
  “This one has much life in it,” the staff purred telepathically.
  A symbiotic link made Varles and the staff inseparable. If one died, the 
  other would also. Varles poked at the gasping slave with a giant, clawed fin-
  ger, trying to make his meal realize what was coming.
  “Anisa. Prepare my food,” Varles ordered the silent Warrior Woman.
  Anisa pummeled the slave with her fists and feet in a torrent of fury. Then 
  with a quick, fluid motion, she drew her dagger and killed her master’s “food” 
  before anybody had realized it had happened.
  The other three Altarain Warrior slaves on the barge sat silent and motion-
  less at their appointed places, not having gained favor in Varles’ sight. By far, 
  Anisa was the closest to his concept of the perfect slave.
  Observing with distracted amusement, Varles moved forward to feast on 
  his “meal.” Twisting back and forth in the containment that linked him to the 
  lower barge half of his body, Valres stretched out seldom used muscles that 
  itched for combat. So few villages offered much threat to him and his slave 
  warriors. At times he wished there were more foes worthy of challenging 
  his supernatural powers. Other than one encounter with a mechanized being 
  upon a mechanized mount, his battles had been won much too quickly.
  One of the floating eyes watched an approaching Warrior Woman from a 
  distance, zooming in on its own to provide Varles a confirmation of identity 
  in the darkness. Unlike the others she wore no thin body suit or slave collar, 
  instead, her clothing looked like that of a common wilderness scout with 
  fur-trimmed coat and thick, padded leggings. Perhaps the feature that distin-
  guished her most was her long bluish-black hair. Normally Altarain warriors 
  had no hair.
  Plodding wearily to her master’s barge, Natessa concentrated on closing 
  her mind to the mental probes the eye staff was sure to use. Guarding her 
  thoughts had kept her alive for the eight months since her birthing. Early 
  on, she volunteered for espionage duties and was subjected to Bio-Wizard 
  augmentation to make her appear more human to the towns and villages she 
  spied on. Any chance to be away from the barge and Varles was taken, no 
  matter how dangerous or risky. Natessa hated him and the other Altarain 
  Warriors with a deep burning passion she’d never been able to conceal. Still, 
  she obeyed, for death was the only alternative to servitude.
  Only once had she contemplated escape, and for those thoughts, she re-
  ceived torture that would forever scar her mind, though her body was healed. 
  The scars in her soul went deeper with every village and town she spied on 
  and then returned later to the massacre. With every child she killed in its crib 
  and living being executed on Varles’ whim, her hatred for him burned hotter 
  and the scars went deeper. Nobody ever escaped the rule of the Splugorth.
  Navigating in near total darkness came as easy to Altarains as walking in 
  broad daylight did to humans. Vision was a foreign concept to beings that 
  could sense the world around them without it. Touch, scent, sound, and taste 
  
  220
  filled in where sight was lost. Incredible psychic perception opened another 
  level to the surrounding world. The Splugorth, ancient supernatural beings 
  beyond human comprehension, had genetically altered and bred Altarains for 
  thousands of years as expendable warrior slaves. Natessa had been birthed 
  into captivity until death ended what was typically a short life of slavery. If 
  she failed to please her master, another could easily be birthed to replace her.
  Even before reaching Varles’ barge, Natessa could feel the intense suf-
  fering of the tortured slave and abused captives huddled before it. Anisa was 
  enjoying the powerful emotions like a drug. Natessa hated it.
  Her encounter with the bizarre human that afternoon left her with some 
  very strange impressions. Surrounded by pain and suffering most of her life, 
  it took her completely off guard to be bombarded with new thoughts and 
  emotions. Even brief excursions into villages and towns were full of fear 
  and distrust, to then come back to the barge and experience the hatred and 
  pain during the slaughter only locked away anything meaningful in her life. 
  She shoved everything farther behind the iron doors she’d erected to shield 
  herself from the memories. Why had the human with the Coalition power suit 
  been so bold and fearless? He didn’t know who or what she was, but even 
  though she’d tried to kill him, there was none of the fear and hate she’d ex-
  pected. His emotions had been jumbled and confused, but nothing like she’d 
  typically experienced. She’d been acutely aware of his heart beating strongly 
  against her back, another sensation unlike the quick, terrifying beat of a heart 
  gripped with terror. Why did it move her so deeply? Natessa vowed to keep 
  her questioning thoughts secret. She would probably be punished severely for 
  not killing him anyway.
  “You are late,” Varles growled. “Explain yourself.”
  “I am very sorry, master. In order to keep up my disguise and appearance, 
  I must bathe and wash my clothing from time to time. While doing so, I 
  encountered a warrior from the Coalition, outside his armor and mechanical 
  suit. I fought with him, but he overpowered me. A pair of Melech smelled 
  his blood and he released me in order to escape. After slaying the Melech, I 
  returned as quickly as possible to report this to you, my master.”
  “You were beaten by a human? A Coalition human!?” Varles snarled. 
  Natessa bowed her head in shame. “Come here, slave.”
  Hopping up onto the floating barge, Natessa tried to keep from touching 
  the blood-caked fixtures and workings. The entire barge reeked of death, as 
  did Varles and the other warriors. Slime dripped from Varles’ mouth and fell 
  in a glop near Natessa. He knew her aversion to the barge and its film of gore. 
  She didn’t cringe when a giant tentacle struck her from behind and forced 
  her to her knees in the thickened blood and ooze, nor did she shy away from 
  the device Varles pulled from its special housing on the barge and slowly 
  stroked her face with. The hand-held device sprung open with an awakening 
  cry and living tentacles eagerly reached out for skin to touch and a mind to 
  
  221
  probe. Try as she might, Natessa couldn’t hide her fear of the Bio-Wizard 
  interrogation device. Too many times she’d been subject to its horrid clasp 
  and body-chilling powers. As if he knew how much she detested it, Varles 
  stroked her face just enough for the tentacles to touch her mind and leave 
  their cold imprint. At his command, the Interrogator could induce levels of 
  pain and torture beyond simple physical torture.
  “Do you realize what you’ve done? You have informed the Coalition of 
  our presence.”
  “He did not recognize me, master.”
  “I did not tell you to speak!” Varles clubbed her over the head with the 
  staff in his other hand. A thin line of blood ran down her forehead and across 
  her cheek.
  “She speaks with a forked tongue and doesn’t say what she doesn’t wish 
  us to learn,” the staff whispered to Varles’ thoughts. “We should kill her and 
  find another more suitable slave to take her place.”
  “Slave, tell me about this man and how many Coalition soldiers he has 
  with him and I might make your death a shorter one.” Varles ignored the 
  staff, knowing it could be days, even weeks before he received a replacement 
  spy from Atlantis. He needed knowledge now.
  “There was just one. He came in a power suit and left the same way. He 
  spoke of a place called Liberty.”
  “So the Coalition stretches its muscles and sets its sights on the east coast,” 
  Varles mused, thinking of the political power it would earn him to uncover 
  a Coalition plot. “I’ve heard of the occasional patrol pressing this way, but I 
  wonder if that is the case this time.”
  “Shall I cast an Oracle?” the staff suggested, eye swirling in the sphere to 
  give Varles a view of himself.
  “Yes.”
  White and blue clouds formed where the transparent sphere fused with the 
  staff. Swirling mists began to take shape in Varles’ vision to become moving, 
  fighting forms in black armor with the faces of death. Red eyes stared out 
  from death masks and vaguely skeletal skulls. The Coalition soldiers were 
  fighting on foot, and the scene closed in on an oversized suit of armor and 
  a Coalition officer wielding a large plasma cannon. The Coalition attacker 
  fired repeatedly, slaying a Warrior Woman that threw herself in the path to 
  save Varles from the barrage. Sights and sounds of a raging battle swirled all 
  around, but it was unclear who and where they all were. The Coalition officer 
  charged, leaping toward the Oracle’s view until all that could be seen was 
  the black skull. Mist passed before Varles’ eyes — all his eyes — and the 
  clairvoyant episode ended. Once again, the sphere became transparent, the 
  eye swirling down to view the kneeling Warrior Woman.
  
  222
  “You have failed in your task and displeased me very much,” Varles 
  rumbled. “Someday we must fight the Coalition, a possibility I’ve wished to 
  indulge but only in the way I choose.”
  “Kill her, before she betrays us,” the staff urged telepathically.
  “What should I do to her, Anisa?” Varles asked, not wanting an opinion so 
  much as a voice to make Natessa fear.
  “Torture her, Master, very slowly and painfully until she begs to die, then 
  heal her and start all over again,” Anisa chimed in a cold, unemotional tone.
  “I’ve one task for you, Natessa. If you succeed, I will allow you to live. 
  If you fail, then you die slowly at my whim. Do not forget I can always find 
  you.” Varles leaned closer, slime spilling from the containment chamber and 
  sliding onto the barge floor. Silently floating closer, a giant eye much larger 
  than the others aimed an oddly shaped plasma cannon at Natessa’s head.
  “Can you identify the man you encountered?”
  “Yes, if I was near him again, master.”
  “Find him. Win his trust and steal his knowledge, interrogate him if you 
  wish, but learn how many soldiers are with him and what types of robots he 
  has. I want to know every detail, if he cannot supply that then find another 
  to interrogate until you know everything. High Lord Tole will want to know 
  every detail, and if your report is incomplete I will see to it you are placed 
  in a transmutation chamber and left there for weeks, and whatever creature 
  you’ve become when you are removed will be tortured slowly and eventually 
  killed. Have I made my threats clear to you, slave?”
  “Yes, master.”
  “And because you’ve already failed me once, I’m going to give you a taste 
  of what your sweet life will be like if you fail me again.” Varles breathed 
  deeply, taking in the intoxicating aroma of fear as he lowered the interrogator 
  to Natessa’s face. “Not a sound. Not one sound. If you so much as whimper 
  we will start all over again.”
  ____________________
  Zenjori rubbed tired eyes and slowly stepped down from his command 
  vehicle. Cold, damp air pervaded everything and made his joints ache in the 
  morning. Being awakened at the crack of dawn didn’t lift his spirits either, 
  not after a long night of vigilant supervision of his army’s placement. Zenjori 
  didn’t want or need a crisis.
  “What’s the problem this time, Kruno?” Zenjori walked up to the com-
  mander of Carnivore Squad.
  Notec Depi stood close by, vigilant of possible attacks on the mercenary 
  leader. Already one death had slipped past the psychic’s security measures, a 
  death he’d not foreseen for some reason.
  “Mornin’ boss. I ain’t sure it’s so much of a problem, though.”
  “Then why did you wake me?!” Zenjori lost his usual composure.
  
  223
  “J.J. found somethin’ this mornin’ ya might be interested in lookin’ at. 
  Him an’ Trench is lookin’ ’round for that Elf right now.”
  “Kruno, are you going to keep standing there jabbering like a moronic 
  hillbilly or are you going to tell me what you thought was so important that I 
  needed to be roused from some much-needed sleep?” Zenjori clipped abrupt-
  ly, fighting to control his temper.
  “I’ll do better than that, boss, I’ll show ya.”
  Zenjori gave Notec a nod of acknowledgment, then the three walked in 
  near silence down a steep slope to a thick grove of trees. Somehow Kruno’s 
  spitting tobacco every few meters got on Zenjori’s nerves more than it ever 
  had before. It seemed reasonable to simply strike out from behind and kill the 
  mercenary just to be rid of him.
  “Better watch your head, boss.” Kruno pointed up at the branches over-
  head. “This whole bunch of trees is ’festered with birds.”
  Hundreds of birds perched in the branches of the grove. Zenjori hardly 
  took notice.
  “That’s infested, you idiot.”
  “That’s what I said. Well, there you have it. One dead D-Bee.” Kruno 
  pointed to a body laying next to a circle on the ground.
  Zenjori stepped around the mercenary into the small clearing at the grove’s 
  center.
  “Mornin’ mate, guess we’re too late for this ’un, eh?” J.J. greeted Zenjori 
  cheerfully. Other than severely damaged armor, the Juicer seemed not the 
  least bit worse for wear.
  “What happened to Torrak?” Zenjori stared at the dead Shifter and the 
  body of his vulture familiar draped at his feet.
  “Best we can tell that Elf wasted him an’ moved his body here.” Trench 
  spat in the tracks around the circle. “No marks on the body or on that bird 
  thing at his feet. They’re both just D-E-D, dead.”
  “Yeah, weren’t offed here, someone dragged ’em here,” J.J. seconded 
  cheerfully. “Just found ’em layin’ next to that circle, ’long with all them 
  flocks there.” He waved his arm at the birds, but none flew at his urging.
  “Credo. That damned Elf did this,” Zenjori cursed.
  “Who’s Credo?”
  “Credo is the Elf’s real name, J.J.”
  “Oh. We found this note tacked on the body.” J.J. waved a small paper. 
  “Everything else is gone.”
  “What does it say?” Zenjori asked, sure that he was losing I.Q. points by 
  the minute.
  “Dunno, mate. Ain’t real good at readin’”
  “Give it to me.” Zenjori reached up and snatched the paper away. The 
  writing was surprisingly legible, in perfect standard American. Zenjori shot 
  J.J. a look of scorn.
  
  224
  “What’s it say?” Trench crowded closer.
  “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.” Zenjori shrugged and read 
  on. “If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, how many pickled pep-
  pers did Peter Piper pick?”
  “I don’t get it.” Kruno rubbed his bald head.
  “It’s a stupid tongue twister riddle.” Zenjori waved the paper.
  “I get it. I know! A peck!” Trench answered the rhyme.
  Suddenly the paper in Zenjori’s hand burst into flame and turned to ash. 
  The sounds of hundreds of birds flapping wings and taking flight reached 
  their ears as wave after wave of them descended on Torrak’s corpse. Hun-
  dreds of birds tore at Torrak’s flesh and pecked thousands of holes in his 
  deceased body. Kruno laughed a deep, hearty laugh.
  “It’s a joke! It’s that Elf’s idea of a joke! Get it? Peck?” The big mercenary 
  nearly doubled over with laughter.
  Zenjori didn’t share the mirth. One of his heavy hitters was taken out of 
  play and another had gone rogue.
  “J.J.! I want you to track down that Elf mage and bring me back his head!”
  “I dunno, Suka San.” J.J. scratched the back of his head.
  “I don’t give a damn about this Gromek! But I will not be mocked! Twen-
  ty-five thousand credits! I want his head on a stake, you understand!?”
  “This whole thing is kinda funny, Suka San. ‘Sides, that Elf ain’t no easy 
  kill. Didn’t I hear the name Credo thrown around with the words ‘Lord of the 
  Federation of Magic’?”
  “I don’t care what it takes. That Elf isn’t going to slap me in the face and 
  get away with it. He signed a contract and until it’s fulfilled, it’s my rules he 
  lives by. I’ll even up it to fifty thousand credits! Double that if you bring him 
  back alive so I can make him pay!”
  Zenjori grabbed J.J.’s drug injection harness to emphasize his point. 
  While breathing heavily, the small Asian man looked fiercely into the mus-
  cular Juicer’s eyes. Carefully and deliberately, the Juicer removed Zenjori’s 
  hands from the harness.
  “I think I got ya now, mate. ’Scuse me, I’ll be on my way.” J.J. stepped 
  back and casually walked from the grove, stopping just long enough at the 
  armory vehicle to properly arm himself for an extensive journey. Since he’d 
  signed on as a sniper and assassin for the Army of the New Order, J.J. never 
  once witnessed the company commander lose his temper. Despite all the ups 
  and downs, the mercenary army had always been well-managed, and Zenjori 
  Suka had always maintained a level of self-control that demanded respect. 
  Until today.
  He found Kreg sleeping soundly under the protection of another sentry, 
  who had also fallen asleep. A swift blow to the sentry’s head ensured he 
  would be sleeping a while longer. The Glitter Boy stood without its pilot 
  ten feet away. Silently, the augmented assassin crept up to Kreg’s mat and 
  
  225
  reached through the mosquito netting. J.J. pressed the button marked play on 
  Kreg’s walkman and tweaked the volume to full.
  “Ahhhh!” Kreg threw the headphones off and sat up.
  “Sorry, mate, didn’t mean to startle ya.”
  “What the hell, J.J.?!” Kreg rubbed tired eyes and tried to smooth away 
  wild hair.
  “Listenin’ ta more of that long hair music ’for ya went to sleep?”
  “Yes, but not at max volume!”
  “Guess you’ve neva’ been to a real rock concert.”
  “Just because you never sleep doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t.” Kreg 
  turned down the volume and put the headphones back on. Something about 
  the Juicer’s gaze kept him from laying back down and going to sleep. Kreg 
  pushed aside the mosquito netting.
  “I never listen to much ’cept rock-n-roll, ya know?”
  “Nothing wrong with rock and roll,” Kreg said wearily. “But there was 
  better music long before that. Ever hear of Tchaikovsky, Dvorak, Mozart, 
  Beethoven?”
  “Ah, Beethoven. He played some good rock-n-roll.”
  “Beethoven? He’d roll over in his grave to hear that. He was from the clas-
  sical period, almost forgotten in Pre-Rifts time, and even more now.”
  “Some things ya just gotta forget.”
  “Why did you wake me up? It’s too damned hot out to be talking music,” 
  Kreg grumbled.
  “Juss thought I’d tell ya good-bye, I guess.”
  “Where are you going?”
  “Don’t matter much, just so’s I’m not ’round here anymore. If you’ve got 
  any sense you’ll clear out while ya got the chance. Come with me, if ya want. 
  Suka’s flipped his lid, ya know.”
  “You’re deserting?”
  “Call it a career change. I got ’bout two, maybe three years left outta 
  life ’fore all the chems get me, an’ I don’t want ta spend it workin’ for no 
  crazy man. I just realized Zenjori’s got one foot off the cliff and has one bad 
  breakfast before he jumps off into looney land. Just thought I’d warn ya to git 
  out while the gettin’s good. These dictators usually end up getting everyone 
  around them killed prematurely.”
  “I can’t do that, J.J. You’re my friend, and I’m not going to say anything, 
  but I can’t just leave. Zenjori’s the only person who ever believed in me. I 
  could have run out back in Free Quebec, and maybe I should have, but I don’t 
  have any place to go. If you want to leave, go ahead. I’m staying.”
  “Too bad.” J.J. leveled his particle beam pistol at Kreg’s head. “It’s not 
  personal.”
  “I thought you were my friend.”
  “Assassin’s rule #1: Assassins don’t have friends.”
  
  226
  J.J. clicked off the safety, holding the aim steady but hesitating to fire. 
  Kreg sighed, knowing he was dead. J.J. suddenly put the pistol back in its 
  holster and walked away, turning once and winking at the pale-faced pilot.
  “Never was much good at either.”
  ____________________
  Free at last. Free from Torrak’s constant bungling. Free of the mindless, 
  unfocused aggression and no outlet to direct it at. Free of the Gromek’s failed 
  ambition. Mind Crusher hummed happily at Credo’s side. At last, one who 
  could use his powers to the fullest and would feed him with the souls of many 
  slain in ice-cold blood. The future looked promising for his new wielder. In 
  time, the two would become forever linked, or at least until a better wielder 
  came along. Mind Crusher recalled every one of its owners, although time 
  was meaningless to the entity trapped within the rune mace. Credo would do 
  very nicely, for now.
  
  227
  Chapter 15
  Stories in the night
  Gravel crunched under Greg’s feet as he leisurely strolled down a log-
  ging road north of Liberty. The gravel was the crushed waste of concrete 
  and asphalt left over from Pre-Rifts times and was put to good use in the 
  post-apocalyptic world. The recycled road surface helped during the icy win-
  ter months when giant logging trucks traveled the route despite the weather. 
  Greg didn’t know how far out of town he’d walked, but it was dusk now and 
  the lights from a logging camp ahead were starting to shine in the distance. 
  He cursed himself for not wearing armor. The C-18 laser pistol and MP-10 
  submachine-gun on opposing hips could handle most minor threats, but his 
  newly purchased black trench coat and civilian dress wouldn’t stop a bullet, 
  much less the razor-sharp claws of some monster. Most of the logging trucks 
  he’d seen that afternoon had at least one armed rider in case of trouble and 
  the logging sites he’d passed used giant robots for much of the labor. Greg 
  suspected they often doubled as a defense against roving monsters from the 
  wilderness. Liberty usually had advance warning of any sizable attacks com-
  ing the town’s way, so Greg took solace in the fact that very few large mon-
  sters got past the outlying logging industry without detection.
  He’d spent all morning with Sergeant Winters making sure his unit was 
  ready to move out at a few minutes’ notice. Even Pritchett had become ob-
  sessed with battle readiness and, to Greg’s surprise, intended to lead a full-
  scale assault against the Army of the New Order. Intelligence reports were 
  incomplete but indicated the enemy was much stronger now. Dave and Dar-
  ren’s run-in with the enemy convoy the day before provided him with the 
  information he needed about the opposition air power. What worried Greg 
  was the ease with which his two best RPA’s managed to elude and damage 
  a greater number of fast attack craft. It seemed as if Zenjori was daring the 
  Coalition to attack. Any assault would be premature until he could determine 
  what his unit was up against.
  Then there was Brian and Lisa. He knew the two of them were up to 
  something the second they started giving Pritchett a line of technical bull 
  about ‘the quad BCI tri-valve T66 plasma conducer being out of sync with 
  the electromagnetic induction field’ in his Skull Walker. Supposedly, Pritch-
  ett’s command robot would be fully operational by morning so the Captain 
  could lead the Coalition into battle with his one-eyed vehicle. Whatever the 
  two technical officers were up to, he’d find out before they embarked at 10:00 
  hours the next morning, just in case it was something that might get everyone 
  killed. A little creative intimidation and pretending to know more than one 
  did worked wonders from time to time.
  Stumbling on a protruding root, Greg stopped long enough to fish a multi-
  optics band out of his coat pocket. Like a thick pair of segmented sunglasses, 
  
  228
  the bands were designed for use at night. Stopping once more to button up his 
  coat, Greg heard a step taken in the gravel of the road, a step he didn’t take. 
  Casually dropping the optics band over his eyes, he panned back up the road 
  with light intensification. At first, he didn’t catch it, but on his second sweep, 
  he noticed a shadow that shouldn’t have been there.
  Continuing on down the road, he loosened the coat but didn’t blatantly 
  reach for his guns. If he was being followed, who or whatever it was might 
  rush the attack if they knew they’d been discovered. Greg turned the nob on 
  the eye band to thermo-imaging and slowly looked back over his shoulder 
  while he walked. A human-shaped heat signature stalked the edge of the road 
  about two hundred feet behind him. There was too much heat for body armor, 
  so he slid his hand over the MP-10. No sense vaporizing whoever it was when 
  wounding was an option.
  Headlights from the last logging truck of the day splashed across the tree-
  line and then flooded the road. Hurling himself to the brush at the side of the 
  road, Greg waited for the rumbling sixteen wheeled vehicle to make its crawl 
  up the hill. His pursuer had taken concealment behind a leafy bush at the side 
  of the road some two hundred feet back. Turning the optics band back to light 
  amplification, he could only make out a little more detail about his follower’s 
  location. If he could just get close enough to get a good shot off, he was cer-
  tain he could place a bullet to wound. If he missed the first shot, well, that’s 
  what fully automatic weapons fire was for.
  Its trailer full of several large tree trunks, the logging truck rolled closer. 
  Waiting until the heavy vehicle blocked the space between himself and his 
  pursuer, he sprinted to match pace with the wheels and ducked under the pro-
  truding tree trunks to reach the other side of the road. Letting the noise of the 
  vehicle cover his approach, Greg ran alongside the vehicle until he was closer 
  to the heat signature, ready to duck back behind the logging vehicle and take 
  the figure by surprise. He drew his gun, finger steady on the trigger and heart 
  pounding with excitement, senses alert, and muscles ready for action.
  Moving unexpectedly, the form slipped away and back down the road, 
  Greg doubled back and pushed himself into a sprint just to keep up. He almost 
  got to within tackling range, but the figure increased their speed. Dropping to 
  one knee, Greg fired the MP-10 at the running legs. The bullets showed up 
  like tracers on the heat display and disintegrated in tiny white auras around 
  the lower half of the running form.
  “What the ...?” Greg flipped the optics band to light amplification. Run-
  ning down the road was a slim form in a dark, fur-trimmed coat and hood. 
  How could he have missed?
  “Stop there or I’ll shoot you in the back!” he shouted, flipping the selector 
  to fully automatic.
  The running figure slowed to a full stop. Greg stood and cautiously walked 
  forward, looking around quickly to make sure he wasn’t surrounded. As he 
  
  229
  moved closer, he could make out the shape of a sword across the figure’s 
  back. He stopped ten feet away, his submachine-gun raised.
  “Turn around and keep your hands where I can see them.”
  In the green shine of the night-vision optics, Greg looked at the face be-
  neath the hood. Finely carved features and a pair of soulful eyes looked back, 
  the eyes not focusing on him in the dark.
  “Natessa? What are you doing here?”
  She pulled the hood back, Greg twitching at the trigger as for a moment 
  he thought she was reaching for the blade. He looked around one more time 
  just in case this was a trap.
  “I followed you,” she said matter-of-factly.
  “Over eighty miles on foot since yesterday? Chasing down my SAM? I 
  don’t think so.”
  A spotlight from the logging truck swiveled back towards them. Ap-
  parently, his gunshots had been heard over the sound of the engine. Greg 
  stepped back to a tree trunk and pulled the goggles from his head. The spot-
  light panned across Natessa then swung back and narrowed on her. She stared 
  straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to the glare.
  “Hey, get out of the light,” Greg urged.
  Natessa stepped closer than Greg wished and forced him back into the 
  woods off the road. He’d seen her move fast before and didn’t want to find his 
  own gun aimed at him. The spotlight went dark and the sound of the vehicle 
  lessened as it topped the rise and continued on the other side. Greg chanced 
  placing the goggles back in his pocket and relied on his natural sight.
  “There’s no way you followed me from the river. How did you find me?”
  “You spoke of Liberty. I came to find you,” she spoke solemnly with an 
  accent Greg still couldn’t place.
  “Why?”
  “My village was burned to the ground and my people killed by monsters,” 
  Natessa used her most convincing and rehearsed storyline. “I have no place 
  to go.”
  “Bull. Even I couldn’t run eighty miles in thirty hours over terrain like 
  that, and if I could, I wouldn’t follow the person I tried to kill the day before. 
  Try again,” Greg snapped.
  “I, I wanted to apologize,” Natessa stammered out. This was confusing 
  her. He obviously didn’t know who she really was and deep down was en-
  joying the risk this confrontation came with. Her usual lines weren’t going 
  to work. She’d try something else before resorting to violence. Killing him 
  would be too simple. She needed information.
  “I... I am sorry I attacked you.”
  “Apology accepted. My apologies for rudely interrupting whatever you 
  were doing buck naked in a freezing cold river. Now tell me why you’re re-
  ally here. You’re a D-Bee, right?”
  
  230
  “I believe the polite term is Dimensional Being,” she retorted hesitantly, 
  remembering something she’d overheard at a village she’d spied on months 
  earlier.
  “Don’t get ruffled. No racial slur intended. It’s called slang,” Greg chuck-
  led. Even with all of the military indoctrination he’d endured over the years, 
  he wasn’t concerned with where she came from. She looked human enough 
  and all of this was new and exciting.
  “You can put that away. I am not going to hurt you,” Natessa replied.
  “Glad to hear that. My face is still sore from yesterday,” Greg laughed, 
  never lowering the weapon from his target. “You want to start telling me the 
  truth? Who sent you?”
  Natessa searched for something convincing to say but kept coming up 
  short. She could feel his distrust, but there was no anger or hatred with it. It 
  would be too bad if he gave her no choice but to proceed with forced torture 
  interrogation.
  “I cannot tell you what you want to know. That is all I can say. Accept it 
  or do not.”
  “Okay, for now,” Greg said, suspicion still thick in his voice.
  “I have come to warn you to leave this area at once,” Natessa blurted out 
  without thinking, partly from sincerity and in part to win his confidence.
  “Me? Why?”
  “You and all the other Coalition soldiers. There is a threat that even a 
  whole platoon of your men could not destroy.”
  “Sounds interesting. Tell me more.” Greg grinned; his mind made razor 
  sharp by the possibility of an upcoming threat. Whatever her game was, he’d 
  play it out. Free intel was always appreciated. This was also fun, and besides, 
  he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent time with someone unrelated 
  to the military. Dangerous or not, she had a powerful allure.
  Natessa took a step closer, still unsure if she should incapacitate him or 
  not.
  “If the Coalition were to attack this monster, it would...” Natessa bit her 
  lip, horrible memories of past torture imposing on her present thoughts. She 
  was torn between hurting him to stay fearfully loyal to Varles and helping 
  him so that she could be freed from the fate she hated with every fiber of her 
  being.
  “Let me guess. It would free you of his tyranny and you would be for-
  ever in my debt,” Greg finished her speech in words she might actually have 
  meant. Her expression darkened.
  “You are mocking me.” She stepped closer.
  “No, but you’re not giving me anything believable to go on. If you really 
  needed help to free yourself and your village, why come to me?” Greg asked 
  seriously.
  “You are... not afraid.”
  
  231
  “Should I be?”
  “Yes.”
  “Why?”
  “Because he is the deadliest being I know. Responsible for the enslave-
  ment and murder of hundreds along the coast.” She stepped so close she 
  could hear his heartbeat and feel the warmth of his body. Her intent had been 
  to knock him unconscious and drag him back to Varles, but she faltered. She 
  could sense his features better now, somewhat fuzzy with the facial growth. 
  The scent of new clothes and gun oil mixed with the stronger scent she’d fol-
  lowed since reaching Liberty. His heartbeat focused in her ears, a reminder of 
  their first encounter. Natessa knew she should strike him down to prove her 
  loyalty. She didn’t know anything else.
  “You’re beautiful,” Greg said quietly.
  Natessa’s hard expression changed to one of confusion. This man was 
  crazy. She was wasting her time. He obviously was no leader of men and 
  only had one thing on his mind. She’d have to find another Coalition officer 
  to interrogate.
  “What are you saying?” she asked slowly.
  “It’s a compliment. You are beautiful.”
  “Beauty is not important.”
  “It can be. Are you hungry?”
  “What?” She could hear the crisp sounds of some type of paper being torn.
  “Hungry. As in food. You do eat?” Greg broke off part of a candy bar and 
  held it closer to his face.
  A foreign scent wafted past, enticing the pangs of hunger she’d been ig-
  noring.
  “Yes. I eat,” she snapped.
  “Want some of my power bar?” Greg watched her expression carefully.
  “Okay.” She took it gingerly and nibbled a bite. It tasted sweet. Sweeter 
  than any wild berry or fruit.
  “You’ve never tasted chocolate before, have you?”
  “No,” Natessa said flatly, taking a larger bite.
  “Cake? Ice cream? Hot apple pie, microwave dinners?”
  “No.”
  “Ever want to try them?”
  “That is not possible.” She refocused on her mission. At least she’d won 
  his confidence, she consoled herself, even if it meant exposing herself to 
  more humans than she anticipated. If he didn’t work out, he might lead her to 
  a Coalition officer that would, and of course, the prospect of new adventure 
  had its appeal. Natessa put the last bite of the bar in her mouth. Greg beamed 
  happily.
  “You’re trying something new for the first time. Take a chance. Experi-
  ence new things.”
  
  232
  “There is not enough time.”
  “I’m not doing anything important right now, are you?” Greg didn’t wait 
  for an answer. “It’s a long walk back to Liberty, but nothing for someone who 
  came over eighty miles in just about a day, right?”
  “You must promise not to speak of this meeting.”
  “Who’s going to believe me? This type of thing only happens in books and 
  vids, not real life. You have heard of vids, books?”
  “No. I... do not read.” Natessa almost gave up the truth.
  “That’s fine, most of my men can’t either. I’m sure I can find a book or 
  two in town to read to you.”
  “Okay,” was all Natessa could think of to say. The two stepped back onto 
  the road and walked side by side in wary companionship. On level ground, 
  Greg estimated her height at about 5 feet, 10 inches. On the other hand, he’d 
  seen her without the bulk of clothing and knew the height was well propor-
  tioned and tightly muscled, very much how he preferred his women, not that 
  there had been many.
  “What do you do? For a living?”
  “I’m a scout.”
  “Wonderful! I’ve been needing to hire a scout that no one’s seen for a 
  certain job.” Greg watched her face for a reaction. It remained an expression-
  less marble mask.
  “What type of job?”
  “I’ll tell you all about it,” he said, starting to describe the four-sided quag-
  mire he found himself in.
  Natessa walked beside him quietly, half listening. Her mind was racing. 
  This was going to be her most treacherous mission ever.
  ____________________
  “Stop staring. You look like an idiot.” Nim nudged Cowboy.
  The big soldier pretended he hadn’t been looking in Rachel Burcow’s di-
  rection.
  “I wasn’t staring.”
  “Wipe your chin,” Nim continued. “You’re drooling.”
  “It’s okay to talk to her,” Bill assured him.
  “You could go check her weapon again,” Trenton suggested.
  “Shut up. That’s too obvious.”
  Rachel sat on the edge of Cowboy’s hover rover and pretended not to 
  overhear the conversation that was taking place twenty feet away. All around, 
  there was excited chatter about the upcoming battle, everywhere but the group 
  of four sitting on the fallen log by the road. Whenever the command came 
  down, the whole Coalition force would be moving out from Liberty and mak-
  ing a one-day trek north before assaulting an army more than twice their size.
  
  233
  Pritchett’s troops roamed about aimlessly, waiting to begin the danger-
  ous journey while non-commissioned officers continued last minute checks 
  of inventory and personnel. Finished with their preparatory responsibilities, 
  Cowboy’s friends tried to encourage the lovesick Corporal to show some 
  courage off the battlefield.
  “It’s not like you don’t know her, man. It’s been over a month since she 
  transferred from General Underhill’s division. She probably knows by now.”
  “I’ve talked to her before,” Cowboy defended his manhood.
  “Yeah, if you call barking orders and runnin’ drills talking,” Nim respond-
  ed sarcastically.
  “Well if you don’t wanna, I will,” Bill threatened. “I can definitely go for 
  the Amazon type. Short brown hair, tall, buff. Look what you’d be missing.”
  “Cowboy’s probably afraid she’ll kick his tail,” Trenton joked.
  “Am not.”
  “Or maybe he’s afraid Rachel’s partner, Mathis, will punch his lights out.” 
  Nim blatantly jerked his mechanical thumb at the other CR-1 rocket team 
  member.
  Mathis tried not to turn his head at the sound of his name, sharing a hidden 
  smile with Rachel instead. He almost matched Cowboy for height but had 
  African ancestry and a boxer’s physique. It would be a close fight if Cowboy 
  took the rhetorical challenge literally.
  “All right. Lay off. I’ll think of somethin’.” Cowboy stood, gathering his 
  courage.
  His three friends started a not so quiet cheer. “Cow-boy. Cow-boy. Cow-
  boy!”
  “Shut up you morons, I’m going.”
  “Corporal Wesley Nelson!?” Captain Pritchett yelled across the staging 
  area and strode briskly in Cowboy’s direction. “Corporal Wesley Nelson, 
  correct?”
  “Yes, sir,” Cowboy squeaked out. His squad stifled giggles.
  “Corporal, where are Sergeant Winters and Lieutenant Merrick?” Pritchett 
  came to a halt before the shame-faced NCO.
  “Sergeant Winters and Lieutenant Merrick are over there.” Trenton point-
  ed to a small group in the distance. He didn’t appreciate having his rank 
  ignored by the captain, it gave his friends something else to tease Cowboy 
  about.
  “Yeah, over by those scouts. Sir,” Cowboy seconded.
  “Thank you, Corporal, Sergeant.” Pritchett nodded to Trenton and strode 
  off purposefully with Sharky slithering behind.
  “Wesley?” Nim spoke the name with a questioning look.
  “You never told us your name was... Wesley,” Bill chuckled.
  “Corporal Wesley Nelson,” Trenton chortled in metallic tones.
  
  234
  “Shut up! I didn’t choose it, my parents did. I’ll kick your butt if you keep 
  callin’ me that.”
  “Sure thing... Wesley.” Bill dodged Cowboy’s foot.
  “You guys aren’t ever gonna let me live this down,” Cowboy mumbled 
  and started walking away.
  “Ohhhh Wesssley!” Rachel called out sweetly. “Can you come check my 
  weapon sights again?”
  Cowboy turned beet red, hung his head in defeat, and walked over to Ra-
  chel. Even if he was going to be the laughing stock of camp, at least he could 
  enjoy a last few minutes in the company of his beau.
  ____________________
  Captain Pritchett focused on one thing, oblivious to the trail of embarrass-
  ment he’d sent Cowboy down. It was 10:15 and they weren’t underway yet, 
  over an hour behind schedule. He wanted to know what the delay was. For 
  some reason, he was feeling an unexplainable urge to attack the Army of the 
  New Order without delay.
  Several members of First Strike gathered around Greg and Sergeant Win-
  ters, giving grunts of acknowledgment to Pritchett and leers of disdain to the 
  bald Psi-Stalker on his heels. Pritchett noticed how un-regulation Lieutenant 
  Merrick looked. The haggard, unshaven features did not well represent an 
  officer in the Coalition military.
  “Lieutenant, what’s the holdup?”
  “Intel. The schedule can wait. We’re not engaging the enemy until I know 
  exactly where they are and how to hit their defenses.”
  “I thought you and Lieutenant Sorenson already knew all that. Let’s get 
  a move on.”
  “If you want to leave, go right ahead, sir.”
  “You’ll probably git ’tacked by a sploogie,” a grizzled scout with one eye 
  advised the captain, displaying rows of crooked teeth set in a scarred face.
  “According to several trappers that just came in from Finton, there’s 
  something called a Splugorth slaver out there someplace. I haven’t the faint-
  est idea what that is, but it’s bad,” Greg translated. The grizzled scout nodded 
  vigorously. “First Strike’s got too many things to cover here to send out a 
  force to attack this thing, so we need to be extra careful out there.”
  “Where’s Lieutenant Sorenson? He’s your specialist, what’s his opinion?” 
  Pritchett looked around for the other officer.
  “Not here,” Winters grunted.
  “He’s out scouting for a good location to stage our attacks from. Dono-
  van’s scouts found us the exact location of Zenjori’s army and say he’s en-
  trenched in a well-defensible location. We have a preliminary count on his 
  infantry.” Greg nodded to the First Strike scouts and thanked them by name. 
  Pritchett shifted impatiently.
  
  235
  “Then, assuming we leave now, we can make camp and assault first thing 
  at dawn tomorrow.”
  “Like hell,” Winters growled.
  “We don’t have enough intel for a winning battleplan. First, we learn 
  more, then we attack. The rest of us have agreed that that’s the only option,” 
  Greg stated.
  “Fine. What are you doing about getting this extra intelligence?” Pritchett 
  sneered. This delay was eating at him, but he didn’t have the authority to 
  force the others to go along with him in this situation.
  “I’ve hired four local scouts to get us to and from Zenjori’s position with-
  out snags, plus to recon and assess the enemy position once we arrive.”
  “Do you trust the word of the locals?”
  “No, not particularly, that’s why I hired four and sent Sharp ahead to make 
  his own report. If each source of intel doesn’t add up to the others, I know 
  who’s lying.” Greg smiled, wondering how Natessa’s report would compare. 
  “Plus, I plan to take a small squad in for a look around once the main force 
  enters the area as double confirmation.”
  “Well I’m trusting your experience to get us in and out as smoothly as pos-
  sible,” Pritchett spoke in his confidence-inspiring tone. Greg regarded him 
  warily. “Keep up the good work, Lieutenant.”
  “Sure.”
  “I’ll be in my Skull Walker when you’re ready to leave.” Pritchett left, 
  Sharky stood awkwardly alone for a moment until the Psi-Stalker realized his 
  commander was gone and quickly loped after him.
  The one-eyed scout laughed heartily at the comical sight.
  “Your captain is an idiot,” the wolf-like D-Bee at Greg’s left commented.
  “Yeah, you don’t have to be a psychic to see that.” Greg patted the D-Bee 
  on the shoulder.
  “Why do you take orders from him?”
  “Rank.”
  “Rank? Is that the reason you follow a fool? Maybe it’s time for a shuf-
  fling of the ranks.”
  ____________________
  Brushing aside wildflowers to get a better view of the city ruins of Charles 
  Town, Sharp nestled lower to the ground and hoped his jet pack wasn’t stick-
  ing up above the hedge of shrubs. He could hear Darren’s SAMAS some-
  where nearby and distinguished the sounds of a hover rover coming from the 
  valley leading into the ruins. The sun was blocked by clouds and reduced the 
  contrast in his viewfinder. His unit would be passing through the overgrown 
  ruins shortly and Cowboy’s hover rover was making the first sweep just in 
  case there was more to the ruins than met the eye. Merrick didn’t like sending 
  the entire force anywhere with blinders on.
  
  236
  Rising lines of smoke in two places from the ruins meant there were a 
  few semi-intelligent inhabitants, the smoke consistent with the type of small 
  cooking fires a tiny nomadic band or group of primitives might use. On closer 
  magnification, the two smoke lines led back to two small, apparently aban-
  doned, camps. Dense overgrowth in the ruins obscured most of the view, 
  but Sharp was fairly convinced neither camp slept more than a dozen. Just 
  nomads, D-Bees, or primitives trying to survive in the wilderness.
  “Sharp to Crawl 1. Looks clear.”
  “Roger that. Nothin’ goin’ down.” Cowboy worked the rover’s radio with 
  one hand and played with his C-27 in the other. Bill stood in the rear and 
  leaned on the heavy C-40 mounting. It had all been too long since they’d 
  blown some monster or D-Bee to smithereens.
  Sharp swept back and forth across the rough remains of the Pre-Rifts city. 
  Vegetation made outline patterns of the old roadways. At one point in the 
  past decade, a fierce battle had been fought in one-quarter of the city. The 
  devastation pattern suggested a large group had surrounded and pulverized a 
  smaller group taking cover in a standing structure. The misshapen center was 
  just starting to grow back over small craters and strafing scars. Fallen trees 
  and dead timber extended half a mile from the center, new growth taking the 
  place of the old.
  “This place is dangerous,” a female voice whispered in Sharp’s right ear. 
  Sharp nearly popped straight up out of the bushes. Crouched beside him was 
  a woman with a braid of blue hair and beige colored coat. Lieutenant Merrick 
  had warned him to be on the lookout for the new scout. She hadn’t made one 
  hostile move and Sharp felt intimidated by her.
  “Don’t sneak up on people like that. They might think you’re going to do 
  something violent to them.”
  “There is a dangerous being down there in the ruins waiting to kill your 
  advance group,” Natessa whispered.
  “Where? Tell me where it’s at.” Sharp set his scope to high zoom.
  “It will look like the rest of the forest except when it moves. It is large, 
  twenty feet. It can be seen by the heat it gives off,” Natessa continued, feeling 
  phantom pain from Varles’ brutal torture roll through her body. She couldn’t 
  allow it to prevent the betrayal she was committing right now.
  “Where? Where is it?”
  “I do not know. It is too far away. Tell your advance group to change 
  course. Tell your Lieutenant.”
  “Not until I know what’s down there.”
  “I cannot help you more than this,” she chided and slid away silently.
  An uneasiness churned in Sharp’s stomach. If she’d wanted to kill him, 
  she could have done it already. He felt as though he was being watched but 
  forced himself to begin a thermal scan of the city ruins. Creatures’ heat sig-
  natures popped up everywhere and grew in number every time he increased 
  
  237
  magnification. Living things of all types showed up as warm spots in a swim-
  ming pool of cooler colors. Larger ones stood out against the background. 
  Once he passed a humanoid shape running along with the wildlife, but not a 
  single animal seemed to be disturbed by its presence.
  “This is stupid. I don’t even know what I’m looking for,” Sharp thought 
  out loud. “Which are monsters, and which are just stupid animals?”
  Something big passed through the image in his HUD. Sharp panned back 
  and dropped magnification a notch.
  “Sharp to Crawl 1. Back off now. Big bad monster ’bout the size of a 
  house and three humanoids waiting in ambush ahead of you.”
  “We can take ’em.”
  “I have a real bad feeling about this one, partner. This is not a happy 
  monster.”
  Sharp enhanced the image and saw tentacles appear behind the ovoid 
  shape of Varles atop his cooler barge. The lower half of the creature met 
  with a semi-warm base or hovercraft that seemed to float above the ground 
  without disturbing a leaf or twig. The three humanoid forms moved silently 
  through the fallen buildings and overgrowth.
  “Merrick to Sharp. Where is the creature in relation to our planned course?”
  “It’s sitting on it.”
  “We can’t afford a battle right now. Crawl 1, backtrack half a mile and 
  proceed to point WP-14 by way of the river through west 19.”
  “Okay, sir, Crawl 1 out.” Cowboy slammed the microphone down on the 
  dash. “Where are we on the map?”
  “I think we’re someplace in east 4.” Nim played with the map display, 
  checking the waypoint path to find out where WP-14 was.
  “Turn around,” Cowboy ordered Cody, the rover’s driver.
  “We’re not fighting?” Rachel pressed forward, bumping soldiers with the 
  CR-1.
  “Merrick says no showdown.”
  “Okay, now we’re in east quad 4,” Nim relayed happily.
  The hover rover blew debris around its wake as it swung back on the 
  ground it had just covered.
  “That wasn’t there before.” Bill pointed to a purple mist drifting over 
  their path. The air around them rang out with high-pitched war cries from 
  all around. Things were moving behind every collapsed wall and overgrown 
  tree.
  “Go!” Cowboy shouted as the driver hit the gas pedal, plunging the rover 
  into the purple mist.
  Toxic filters kicked in to prevent poisonous vapors from penetrating the 
  soldiers’ full environmental armor. Dozens of tiny black things scurried out 
  of hiding. Nobody waited for the order to fire. Destroying virtually every-
  thing in a ten-meter radius from the craft, the soldiers fired at anything that 
  
  238
  moved or might be hiding something. Caught in their prank the tiny beings 
  fled for their lives amid razed vegetation and destroyed ruins. Bill tracked 
  one across the barren ground with a steady stream of slugs from his mounted 
  rail gun. Passing through the purple mist, advance team Crawl 1 emerged 
  unscathed from the Faeries’ trap.
  “Yeee Haw!” Cowboy cheered.
  Leaping from an overhanging tree, a tiny black Bogie bounced off Cow-
  boy’s armor and landed on the dash. It popped up and bared its teeth, snarling 
  threats with its insect-like head.
  “Get it off there!” Cody did his best to keep it away as it scurried across 
  the dash.
  “Freakin’ mini-monsters,” Cowboy muttered and smashed it up against 
  the windscreen with his rifle’s bayonet. The Vibro-Bayonet punctured the 
  Bogie’s hard exoskeleton and notched a mark in the windscreen behind it. 
  Aiming the gun and Bogie away from the rover, Cowboy blasted it off the 
  bayonet with a shot from the plasma rifle. The Bogie’s scream ended abruptly 
  in an arcing fireball.
  ____________________
  Once again, and to Greg’s astonishment, Captain Pritchett acquiesced to 
  the more experienced officer and gave over full control of the base camp 
  security measures. After three tours of the camp perimeter, two equipment 
  checks, and once over the provisions, Greg was reasonably sure the camp 
  and coffee were secure. All robots and power armor were set to passive scans 
  with no active radar for missiles to home in on. At only ten miles from the 
  enemy’s position, either side was capable of taking advantage of the other’s 
  errors.
  Each item on the security checklist was reviewed without much time for 
  reflection until the security task was complete. Greg’s mind kicked back into 
  its search for purpose now that the matter of basic camp security was re-
  solved. Destroying the Army of the New Order and retrieving the stolen data 
  was unquestionably the only remaining objective that mattered to him. He 
  couldn’t seize motivation to drive himself to accomplish it, and without self-
  motivation, he couldn’t expect to inspire his troops. It was all like acting out 
  a meaningless dance.
  Distant waves from a sonic boom rolled above the treetops.
  “Merrick to Skull 41. Who’s being shot at?” He asked into his wrist comp.
  “Darren,” Lisa responded as if Greg should already know.
  “Tell him to back off and not provoke anything.”
  “Yes, sir.”
  “Is Brian up there with you?”
  “Right here, sir,” Brian yelled from Cowboy’s hover rover twenty feet 
  away.
  
  239
  “No, sir,” Lisa answered.
  “Never mind, I found him.” Greg marched to the rover, jumping over a 
  small fallback trench to get there. Cowboy and Sharp sat in the rover playing 
  cards and discussing the last western vid they’d watched.
  “You need something, sir?” Brian looked up from his task.
  “I want five type-1 Fusion Blocks set with remote detonators. And I want 
  a supressor for this – by tonight.” Greg handed over his MP-10.
  Brian dropped the clip and ejected the round already in the chamber before 
  examining the weapon closer.
  “Don’t you ever clean this thing?”
  “It’s a Wellington caseless. I’m not supposed to clean a caseless, am I?”
  “Caseless or not, you still need to run a bore brush down it after you’re 
  done shooting, and it wouldn’t hurt to break it down for a good cleaning 
  every three or four hundred rounds. You could get a misfire with this, maybe 
  even a chain fire or barrel jam.”
  “I ran a box of 500 rounds through it getting used to the feel.”
  “Yeah, you’ll want to clean it more often. Bullet throwers can be a pain 
  in the rear sometimes, but they’re pretty simple.” Brian reloaded it and set 
  the gun on the rover’s hood. With a black bandana, he tied his hair out of his 
  eyes.
  “Can you make the suppressor?”
  “10 mm’s a cinch. I can screw mount it with a length of tubing and jury-rig 
  something. How quiet do you want it?”
  “Quiet enough to press against someone’s back and not be heard twenty 
  feet away.”
  “It’s still going to make some noise, no matter what. I can make it quiet, 
  but you’re gonna be carrying a silencer four to six inches in diameter and 
  about a foot long. If you’d asked before we left, I could have made a good 
  one, but out here I’m going to have to jury rig something. I’ll have to drill 
  holes in a metal tube and then pack it with insulation from a grenade case. 
  You’ll get about six or seven shots before the powder screws up the sound 
  holes and you gotta repack it.”
  “Never mind.” Greg took the weapon back. “I’ll use a Vibro-Knife.”
  “What do you need the Fusion Blocks for?”
  “Recon. If the opportunity presents itself for sabotage, I want to have the 
  option available.”
  “We have type 2’s and type 3’s, but no type 1’s. Nobody ever wants them.
  “Figures.” Greg glanced over at Cowboy’s squad.
  “If you don’t mind my asking, sir, didn’t you hire scouts for recon?” Brian 
  continued working on repairing a patch of damaged body armor.
  “The scouts may prove unreliable. They’ve all reported similar accounts of 
  Zenjori’s position and strength, but each had a different opinion about where 
  he’d placed several power suits and cyborg units. Plus, nobody’s nailed down 
  
  240
  the positions of the Glitter Boy or the X-1000. An assault is too risky at this 
  point.” Greg leaned on the hood. “Oh, I also need more of those laser target-
  ing mechanisms and two more sets of multi-optics goggles.”
  “That’s Lisa’s department. What exactly are you planning?”
  “Zenjori picked a reasonably defendable position on a ridge overlooking 
  the Potomac River. I think the area used to be called Harper’s Ferry. One way 
  to reach the ridges south of the river is to cross the current of the Potomac and 
  then fight an uphill battle. One ridge can provide support to the other. If we 
  come straight down the valley that we attacked him from in our last battle, 
  we’ll be exposed along our whole approach. If we survive that, then we’ll be 
  between the valley walls and they can hit us from both sides. The scouts also 
  tell me the terrain is going to be rough for our robot units to ascend and just 
  as bad for infantry in full armor.
  “Another option is to attack west to east. We’ll still have to cross the 
  smaller Shenandoah River, but we could leverage old bridges to the south to 
  bring our mechanized units in a hook up the valley. That leaves Zenjori with 
  two well-defensible positions, assuming we had the men to lay a siege on that 
  many fronts.”
  “What if a squad were to climb up the backside?” Brian suggested.
  “The sentries would have to be taken out first and it still leaves the squad 
  in a dangerous spot if discovered.”
  “The SAM’s could cover them.”
  “Only if there was a force keeping Zenjori committed to defending the 
  other three sides and we’d already established complete air superiority. The 
  last battle, we had a ton of Gargoyles which will probably make a comeback 
  and now we probably have even more flying power armor to contend with. 
  Keep the ideas rolling, I’d rather not do the brute force thing.”
  “No ore transports this time.”
  “Not this time,” Greg laughed. “We’re going for the subtle approach. 
  Lieutenant Sorenson and I are taking a squad up the backside tonight to get 
  an accurate count and find out where the rebel armor is going to end up. If 
  we’re lucky we’ll be able to cripple their defenses.”
  “I’m glad I’m an engineer.”
  “If I don’t make it back, you’ll be more than a technical officer.” Greg 
  smiled good-naturedly. “Cowboy, Sharp!”
  “Yes, sir?”
  “Nap time. You’re going to be up late tonight.”
  ____________________
  The four-man espionage team had taken a rover east over the mountain 
  ridges north of the Potomac River. In a wide southeastern loop, they crossed 
  the river and then set down about two miles west of the mountain ridges 
  on the southeastern bank of the Harper’s Ferry river fork. Walking quietly 
  
  241
  through fields and forest up to the base of the easternmost ridge hadn’t been 
  hard. Finding a way up the overgrown hillside had been another matter.
  “After you,” Greg whispered and nodded to Lieutenant Sorenson.
  Two other soldiers watched Mike as he began ascending with ease what 
  looked like a nearly invisible deer trail up the side of the mountain. Night-
  vision goggles amplified moonlight to a certain extent but left shadows and 
  dark spots in dangerous places for a technical climb in the dark. Moss cov-
  ered rocks and crumbling stone made the climb difficult. Mike chose his 
  holds carefully, using everything from trees to clumps of grass to keep his 
  balance and navigate the thick undergrowth.
  As Mike approached the halfway point some fifty feet above the ground, 
  he started having second thoughts about the safety of the climb. One bad step 
  and he’d probably crash through the forest all the way to the bottom.
  Standing by to cover a hasty retreat, Cowboy and his fireteam observed the 
  climb from a rise a kilometer away. They could see the five sentries guarding 
  the sloping eastern side of the ridge, but none appeared to be aware of the 
  climbers so far.
  Sharp waited patiently by himself in a sniper position to quickly dispatch 
  any curious sentries. If things went badly, Cowboy and his fire squad could 
  probably keep the enemy’s hands full long enough for the others to escape 
  down the mountain while Sharp killed immediate threats to the four-man 
  espionage team. The cold air made the sentries well-defined heat signatures 
  in the targeting system’s display.
  The more he used the Pre-Rifts targeting system, the more Sharp was sure 
  the optics and enhancement were superior to standard issue Coalition gear. 
  With enhancement to full on thermo-imaging, he could even see the heat 
  from an armored sentry’s breath show up in warm colors against the back-
  ground. Then he saw the sixth heat signature moving its way closer to the 
  sentries far from the climbers.
  Sorenson was near the top when he slipped on a patch of mud and slid 
  down the sharp slope into Greg, crashing into him. Everyone froze as soon as 
  the action stopped, doing their best not to breathe loudly.
  Sharp cut down a sentry with a silenced 7.62 mm bullet. A few more to go. 
  Nearing the top, Mike slipped again.
  ____________________
  That time he knew it wasn’t an animal. The shuffling in the brush stopped, 
  but upon dropping a monocular night vision system over his right eye, the 
  sentry could make out motion no more than a few feet away. Cursing again, 
  he snatched up his rifle and stalked down the steep slope to see what was 
  making a ruckus.
  ____________________
  
  242
  “Think you could make more noise?” Greg whispered as Mike stood up 
  again.
  “This isn’t a walk in the park. I’m just finding all the bad spots for you.”
  “Thanks.”
  Hairs on the back of Mike’s neck tingled and a foreboding sense of danger 
  swept over him an instant before twigs snapped on the incline above him. 
  Drawing his C-18, he rolled over and aimed the weapon at the sound. Press-
  ing through the branches of a scrawny tree came the moving form of a large 
  energy pulse rifle, followed shortly by the sentry.
  “Oh man,” Greg breathed, thinking very seriously about having to retreat 
  down what they’d just climbed up.
  Something moved behind the sentry and in a quick, fluid motion his head 
  jerked back and to the side with a distinct cracking sound. His short gasp was 
  silenced by a hand over his mouth and the same hand guided the body silently 
  to lay against a tree trunk.
  “It’s okay, she’s with us.” Greg pushed aside Mike’s pistol. “I think.”
  “How did she get up here?”
  “I don’t know.” Mike crawled up to where Natessa crouched in the cover 
  offered by the tree. “Thanks.”
  Natessa nodded inside her hood.
  “Why are you up here?”
  “You hired me. I was listening to the plans of your enemy until I heard 
  you coming. The one you call Zenjori is up there with his commanders,” she 
  whispered quietly, pointing down the ridge a ways.
  “And nobody noticed you were there?” Greg asked suspiciously.
  “No. They have placed many explosives in the ground around their camp 
  and more also on the slopes they expect to fight on.”
  “Best two thousand credits I ever spent,” Greg muttered, still a bit unsure 
  how reliable the strange female scout was, but pleasantly surprised at the 
  information they were getting. He’d found his thoughts drifting back to her 
  over and over during the past day, although there was something not quite 
  right about her.
  “You do not believe me. I will show you.”
  “Hold up.” Greg readjusted his headset. “That’s affirmative, Sharp, take 
  the other two out. Yes. Yes, I know she’s here. Thanks for the timely warn-
  ing,” he whispered.
  “Psst.” Mike crawled up under the tree. “Here.” He handed Greg a small 
  pack.
  “Natessa, this is Lieutenant Mike Sorenson. Mike, meet one of our scouts.”
  “Natessa,” Mike nodded. She remained motionless and silent. “Clean 
  job.” Mike felt the neck of the sentry, then began removing the man’s armor 
  and affectations.
  
  243
  “What are you doing? You don’t look anything like him,” Greg pointed 
  out.
  “I don’t have to. People rarely make eye contact at night, they just recog-
  nize familiar things and assume the person’s identity. I’ve done this kind of 
  thing before.”
  “There is another sentry near the rise leading to the camp of your enemy. 
  There is another one guarding the vehicles they travel in and one sleeping 
  near a robot.”
  “You’ve been up there?” Mike asked incredulously.
  “Yes.”
  “Was there a very large hover transport there?” Greg asked.
  “Yes.”
  Mike and Greg exchanged looks. There was a possibility of completing 
  vital mission objectives without further bloodshed, assuming Zenjori kept the 
  stolen disk or copies of it in the command craft. Natessa tolerated the unusual 
  level of noise created by the other two Coalition soldiers ascending the rope. 
  Mike finished latching the last armor plate then closed his eyes.
  “There’s another person nearby,” he stated.
  “More psychic stuff, eh Mike?” Greg tried to rile himself up, but the usual 
  distrust of psychics wasn’t there. It made him feel strange, out of touch with 
  a lifetime of fundamental military doctrine.
  “It is one sentry. Alone. Your sniper cannot hit him,” Natessa spoke qui-
  etly, face shrouded beneath the hood.
  “Show us.”
  Greg motioned the other two men to follow and then tried to emulate 
  Natessa’s stealthy movements. Blood coursed through his veins as his heart 
  pounded in his chest once again. The excitement of danger made him increas-
  ingly aware of the environment around him.
  In a small, natural hollow of land, a single cigarette lit the night with its 
  glow. Protected from the cold wind, the sentry took a break from his long 
  watch. Natessa lay flat on the ground, motioning the others to stay back.
  “I got him.” Mike stood and walked boldly toward the sentry, holding a 
  Vibro-Blade behind his back.
  “That you, Cole?”
  “Hmm hmm,” Mike snorted, striding casually up to the other man.
  The sentry glanced up and appeared satisfied, looking down to flick off the 
  end of his cigarette. Mike took two more steps and shoved the knife through 
  the sentry’s skull.
  He motioned sharply for the others to come over.
  “Not very well equipped,” Greg observed, noting the single, partially 
  charged energy clip in the sentry’s gun and the battered suit of armor.
  “Stay here, out of sight,” Mike ordered Cody and motioned Peterson to 
  stay in place.
  
  244
  Natessa led the way up the slope, never stumbling over vegetation or 
  breaking a fluid grace. Every few yards she would stop the group and just 
  sit listening to the surroundings. With augmented cybernetic hearing, Mike 
  could hear disjointed bits of conversation coming from the enemy camp just 
  over the rise. Good placement, he thought to himself, protected from sniper 
  fire by the natural contours and trees at the top of the hill. Flickering lights 
  played games with the shadows, making the forest seem alive.
  The conversation grew louder and more discernable from the background 
  noise. The low hum of several robot vehicles indicated a state of battle readi-
  ness if an unexpected attack were to take place. Outlines of giant robot ve-
  hicles beneath camouflage netting could be seen beyond the flickering fire-
  light. Magnification revealed the sleeping forms of enemy soldiers dotting 
  the stony forest floor. Most slept fully clothed and at least partially armored. 
  Sitting around a small fire near the circle of vehicles were the commanders 
  of the Army of the New Order, and among them was Zenjori Suka. A light 
  exoskeleton protected the man’s body, but the helmet rested on the log beside 
  him, leaving his head unprotected.
  What I wouldn’t give to call in an air strike right now, Greg mused, fin-
  gering his C-18. The weapon seemed to be calling out to be used. With one 
  well-placed shot, he could slay the notorious mercenary leader. It would be 
  too easy.
  “Don’t do it,” Mike whispered urgently as Greg moved to pull the laser 
  sidearm from its holster.
  “We can end it. Right now, right here.”
  “There’s no way to get out of here in time. We’ll be cut to shreds on our 
  way down the hill and this place will become a hornets’ nest.”
  “We can do with four of us what’s going to cost dozens of lives to do any 
  other way. Whatever happened to that risk everything attitude you pulled at 
  Youngstown? Four lives instead of forty. Pretty fair trade in my book,” Greg 
  said.
  He shrugged and braced his right arm on his knee to steady his aim.
  “Are you crazy? We’ll all die.” Mike flipped the safety back on.
  “Probably,” Greg flipped the safety off, wondering if he’d completely lost 
  his mind. He wasn’t afraid to die, nor did he care if he lost his life taking 
  another. No heart pounding, no pulse quickening, no regrets.
  “You don’t have someone to go back to.” Mike flipped the safety on. “I 
  do. I don’t want to die. Not here. Not now.”
  Emotional turbulence triggered Natessa’s hyper-awareness and she dared 
  open herself to it further. The two men were silent, each pondering the value 
  of their lives. A thrill rushed through her like she’d never experienced. An-
  swers to questions she’d never before considered flooded her mind. Greg 
  was searching for something Mike seemed to grasp, but what it was, Natessa 
  couldn’t comprehend. Flashes of anger, sorrow, and volatile emotions finally 
  
  245
  reached a level of equilibrium in Greg’s mind. Natessa was trembling from 
  overexposure to the intense emotions. When twigs cracked nearby and the 
  foursome scrambled together into a ditch, the close proximity and physical 
  contact almost sent her into sensory overload. The sentry passed by without 
  noticing the intruders.
  “Shhh, listen.” Mike cocked his head toward the campfire. Greg crawled 
  partway out of the ditch, climbing over Natessa in the process. He, too, 
  cocked his head toward the camp.
  “I can’t hear anything.”
  “Stop moving. It’s Zenjori. He’s talking and I can’t hear with you making 
  noise. Be still!” Mike hissed. Jumbled words barely audible to human ears 
  were amplified and deciphered through his cybernetic ear implant.
  “What’s he saying.”
  “Something about the Coalition. I’ve got to get closer.”
  Mike inched out of the ditch and slid into an awkward position mirroring 
  the shadows. At 45 meters, every noise in the forest between himself and 
  the conversation was amplified. Noise filters cut out insect sounds and other 
  repetitive sounds to isolate the human speech patterns.
  “— Way of repeating itself, as it did with the Third Reich, as with the 
  United States, and as it has with the Coalition,” Zenjori’s hypnotic voice 
  blared in Mike’s ear. “The people became complacent, satisfied with the 
  quality of their lives and wanted nothing to take that away from them. One 
  of the very first things Hitler did was gain influence, and eventual control 
  of the media, to control what the people knew. Book bans and censorship 
  seemed acceptable costs for the life of freedom the people were given. Little 
  by little personal freedoms were stripped away, each time in the promise of 
  preserving the lifestyle the people had grown accustomed to. The media was 
  controlled, so there was nothing but the official story and government views 
  to be heard.
  “One cannot argue with history. The people have believed and continue 
  to believe the lies propagated by corrupt governments. The Coalition States 
  as led by Emperor Prosek are repeating history once again. The people are 
  too stupid or lazy, lulled into complacency and voluntarily stripped of their 
  rights.”
  “And then it’s too late,” a deep metallic voice added. Mike assumed it 
  was the voice of Drake, the renegade Cyborg once a member of the Coalition 
  military.
  “It’s like putting a frog in a pot of boiling water. If the change is too dras-
  tic the frog will immediately leap out. Whereas if the frog is put in the water 
  while it is still comfortable, and the temperature is increased gradually over 
  time, it won’t notice until it’s too late for the creature to escape. Hitler was 
  intelligent enough to look ahead and eliminate threats to his power. Once op-
  position within the government was neutralized, he used that government to 
  
  246
  slowly strip away the personal liberties of the people, at the same time prom-
  ising and delivering economic stability. The people believed this acceptable 
  for the prosperity they enjoyed, not realizing they were supporting a maniacal 
  dictator who was doing terrible things just outside the public eye.
  “Taking the guns away from the people inside the country made certain 
  nobody but the military had power, because ultimately, those with guns hold 
  true power. Should any opposition arise, Hitler held the power and it was 
  simple to crush any trouble, first by media and public opinion, then through 
  violence. Control of religion, limited freedom of speech, government proper-
  ty ownership, all disguised as necessary steps to maintaining order in society. 
  Over and over through history, governments controlled the people, and over 
  and over the people allowed it to happen out of ignorance and complacency.”
  “But most of ’em didn’t even know it’s happenin’ to ’em,” Kruno pointed 
  out.
  “That’s what I just said,” Zenjori snapped. “That’s what ignorance is. And 
  it’s even more prevalent in the Coalition States than you would think. Em-
  peror Prosek manipulates the people’s fears with misinformation and fans the 
  flames of racial hatred with lies and propaganda. What acts would seem un-
  conscionable to commit to another living being are permissible for the greater 
  good of the people. Atrocities committed in the name of self-defense are 
  supported by the people who feel their lifestyle threatened. Racial violence 
  is acceptable, after all, it’s the D-Bees and aliens causing all the problems 
  to begin with. From their point of view, it’s the humans’ world and D-Bees 
  don’t belong here. It’s a simple matter for the Coalition government to fab-
  ricate a threat, raise prices in the cities, infringe a little on the people’s lives, 
  then call it the work of D-Bees and rebels. The only way for life to return to 
  normal is for the people to support new government intervention. The people 
  don’t know any better, they feel their lives and families threatened and sup-
  port, even participate in, acts of violence that might otherwise be considered 
  barbaric.
  “If the people knew the truth and hadn’t already relinquished their power 
  to enact change, then Emperor Prosek and the corrupt leaders wouldn’t stand 
  a chance of maintaining the control they have now. That is why we’re here. 
  That is why the Army of the New Order is here. To make certain the Coali-
  tion doesn’t expand its evil influence and cause death to the innocent.”
  Up to that point, Mike found it hard to argue against the words he was 
  hearing. He’d seen and experienced too much. But Zenjori was like the pot 
  calling the kettle black by burying his own history of sadistic violence, wav-
  ing a flag of righteousness and calling unwitting victims to his cause. He 
  must be playing up to new members of his army, Mike concluded. Anybody 
  who’d been part of Zenjori’s company for long knew the rebel leader didn’t 
  really stand behind what he just said. Mike wondered if they knew how black 
  Zenjori’s heart really was.
  
  247
  “Do you think the Coalition will attack us here?” an unfamiliar young 
  voice asked.
  “Kent, they killed your grandfather, murdered members of your family 
  and invaded your hometown to massacre your friends. What do you think?” 
  another voice Mike didn’t know reminded the boy of a deluded past.
  “I know, we all think it would be foolish for the Coalition to follow us all 
  the way out here,” Zenjori cooed. “And it would be foolish of them to attack 
  us where we obviously have the upper hand, but such is the nature of their 
  delusions. I’m certain that the soldiers we will be fighting have been brain-
  washed by the same lies as the Coalition people have. It’s too bad, really, 
  they have never known the truth and never will believe it even if told. They’re 
  misguided by the lies and hatred they’ve been around all their lives, and don’t 
  know anything but to do as their Emperor demands. One cannot reason with 
  them, just try to defend one’s own life from their violent intentions. It’s not 
  their fault they follow the orders of evil leaders. It’s those leaders who care 
  nothing for the lives of their own soldiers that will send them into battle with 
  us, knowing they can’t win. All we can do is fight and save our own lives.”
  “Their military commanders are poorly trained and have no experience 
  fighting a real opponent,” Drake commented.
  “And those that do know how to fight have their hands tied, another case of 
  history repeating itself,” Zenjori went on. “What’s sadder still is the lengths 
  the Coalition will go to to ensure that their own military stays in line with the 
  Emperor’s propaganda. I could tell you true and verifiable stories of exactly 
  what is being done to their minds. Chemicals that make a person susceptible 
  to suggestion are put in their food and water. I have proof. Proof that the Co-
  alition is willing to kill all of us to make sure it never falls into the hands of 
  certain elements of their own government.”
  “What proof?” Another voice asked.
  “In time, once we’ve dealt with more immediate problems, I’ll show you. 
  There is a 5th Column in the Coalition, a force actively working against the 
  goals of the government, but it is too small and too late to counter the Em-
  peror’s control. That’s why we must win a victory here, to ensure a chance 
  at overthrowing Emperor Prosek’s government when the opportunity arises. 
  To—”
  Mike cut the amplifier and slid back into the ditch. Zenjori’s inspirational 
  speech was making him sick, plus he was detecting a growing impatience 
  among his companions. Natessa squirmed free of any physical contact and 
  attempted to recompose her thoughts while the two officers discussed battle 
  plans.
  “Natessa, where are the guards stationed around the large hovercraft?” 
  Mike’s question interrupted her thoughts.
  “Two now. One inside, one outside the large hatch,” she stated without 
  moving.
  
  248
  “You’re sure?”
  “Yes.”
  “Peterson. Stay. If we screw up, cover our backsides the best you can then 
  get your own back down the mountain.” Greg shoved the sentry’s rifle into 
  the soldier’s arms and followed Mike closer to the vehicles.
  Crawling an inch at a time, Mike closed in on the sentry nearest the 
  parked X-1000 Ulti-Max robot. Breathing quietly, he got to his feet, testing 
  the ground carefully before committing his weight to each step. One more 
  meter. Almost close enough to slip a Vibro-Blade through the flexible joints 
  of the sentry’s polycarbonate armor. One more slow, careful step. The sentry 
  still had his back turned. Mike brought the tip of the blade an inch from the 
  sentry’s neck and drove it through the light joint armor with one powerful 
  palm strike to the pommel. Flexible armor stretched then sliced open and 
  pushed through at the sentry’s throat, the tip vibrating softly clear through the 
  neck. Mike waited for the dying convulsions to stop, then sat the body down 
  against a tree and propped it up with his rifle.
  A black form moved between the X-1000’s legs and confirmed the kill of 
  the pilot. Greg smiled, then pulled a small brick-sized explosive charge from 
  his pack. Mike shook his head vehemently. Greg pointed to the Ulti-Max and 
  grinned.
  Using the robot’s knee plate to help boost him up onto one giant arm, 
  Greg climbed the twenty-foot unit with a specific goal in mind. Reaching up 
  and under the heavy armor plating of the right shoulder rocket launch sys-
  tem, he felt around for the flimsy metal plate covering the magazine access. 
  Normally well protected from direct fire, the light covering wouldn’t stop a 
  Fusion Block from blasting through and detonating the rocket payload. Greg 
  extended a tiny antenna for the remote detonator and slipped the charge in 
  place. He suppressed a relieved chuckle to be rid of the menace as he climbed 
  back down to the ground.
  Mike pointed to a giant hovercraft twenty feet away and mouthed the word 
  “disk.”
  Three minutes later, another sentry leaned against a tree trunk and a sleep-
  ing Headhunter was relieved of the ability to wake up. Inside the giant trans-
  port, both men switched over to infrared optics before searching for the disk. 
  Missiles, cases of explosives, and heavy weapon racks were everywhere. 
  Mike accessed the transport onboard computer and hoped the light from the 
  vid screen wouldn’t be noticed through the pilot’s compartment windows. 
  Less than ten meters away Zenjori sat in front of a fire preaching the future 
  glories of his army.
  “Damn,” Mike breathed. The computer wasn’t showing any indication 
  that the disc or its data were in the system.
  
  249
  “Uh, Lieutenants. The scout just aced another sentry,” Private Peterson 
  reported over the radio. “Don’t you think somebody’s gonna notice pretty 
  soon?”
  “Thanks, Peterson. Stand by.” Mike climbed back down into the cargo bay 
  to discover much of the ordnance had been rearranged and gun racks emp-
  tied. Greg was placing his last explosive charge under a rack of missile cases.
  “Got the disk?” Greg asked.
  “No.”
  “I’d ask Zenjori where it’s at but he’s going to be atomized in a few min-
  utes.
  “We need to leave. Your scout just took out another sentry.”
  “Pretty smooth, isn’t she?” Greg beamed, filling the rest of his pack with 
  grenades and explosives liberated from the rebel cache. He finished tying off 
  a bundle of weapons and handed one fifty-pound satchel to Mike. “No sense 
  wasting perfectly good weapons.”
  All the way down the mountain and back to the parked hover rover, Greg 
  felt the detonator transmitter calling out to him. He sat down on the hood and 
  toyed with it like a kid playing with a new toy.
  “C’mon, Lieutenant, lemme push it.” Cowboy reached for the little device.
  “I said no. It’s mine.” Greg pulled it away and stood on the rover’s hood 
  for a better view. The sequence was programmed at .25 second intervals be-
  tween the X-1000 and the two in the transport. The other soldiers scrambled 
  up on the rover not wanting to miss the fireworks.
  “C’mon, push it!”
  “10 seconds... 3, 2, 1. Boom.”
  
  250
  Chapter 16
  Pony Pucks
  After the first distant explosion, it became impossible to delineate between 
  the remote charges the espionage team had set up and the secondary explo-
  sions the charges set off. Earth-shattering detonations rolled away from the 
  hilltop in a continuous thunder, lighting up the giant clouds of smoke and 
  flame. Missiles that had been hurled into the air by expanding gas detonated 
  as they landed or were set off by other nearby explosives. Burning shrapnel 
  rained down from burning bits of armor and machine.
  In the silence that followed, a bright glow could still be seen lighting up 
  the low night clouds over the rebel camp. Cowboy’s eyes were aglow with 
  delight.
  “Hell yeah...”
  ____________________
  Natessa huddled deeper into the space between a fallen tree and a moss-
  covered rock. Sleep was a luxury to catch up on whenever the opportunity 
  arose, and it had been days since she’d slept for more than an hour or two. 
  Varles would be expecting her to report back within the next seventy-two 
  hours and would probably force her to ride into battle with him on the barge. 
  She had all the information Varles needed to know before he attacked the 
  Coalition. It would just be like all the other times when she’d spied on a vil-
  lage or group of travelers and then come back later with Varles to capture 
  and destroy them. This time would be the hardest to endure, she’d never let 
  herself connect with the people and culture of a place this deeply.
  The longer she associated with Greg and the others the more difficult it 
  became to see them as objects to be used and sold like cattle. The urge to 
  spare their lives from Varles’ sadistic appetites grew stronger every day. If 
  only there was a way to make them leave without her master knowing. Their 
  escape from his clutches would be a rebellion of no small meaning to her. 
  It could make amends for all the others she’d help enslave at her master’s 
  command.
  Time after time, her mind returned to the memory of the closeness shared 
  with Greg, an experience lacking the fear and hatred that she’d come to ex-
  pect from most strangers. She relived the experiences, the feel of his pulse 
  and beating heart, the emotions he instilled that were distinctly without fear 
  and hatred. Varles would make her pay dearly if he ever learned of those 
  memories.
  Resolving to wrap up her intelligence report the next day and return to the 
  slaver the following night, Natessa fell into a dream-filled sleep.
  ____________________
  
  251
  Fragments of X-1000 armor still glowed faintly by morning light. Trails 
  of smoke rose everywhere in the blast site from shrapnel embedded in trees, 
  earth, and other vehicles. A Mountaineer ATV poured out black smoke from 
  its still burning tire; nobody made an attempt to stop it. Scorched and dis-
  membered bodies lay untouched where they’d died. Any salvageable equip-
  ment had already been removed from the blast zone and the immediate area 
  was abandoned due to moderate levels of radiation from damaged nuclear 
  power systems. Zenjori Suka looked over the smoldering site, clenching and 
  unclenching his fists inside the armored exoskeleton.
  “They have to pay for this,” the angry leader of the Army of the New 
  Order growled.
  “We’ve moved all unprotected personnel to the other ridge.” Drake strode 
  through the smoking ruins without concern for the radiation. “Sledgehammer 
  is standing by in reserve position.”
  “And Notec?”
  “Doing better. Colnae healed most of his injuries but doesn’t know how to 
  reverse the radiation damage or replace his arm.”
  “How did they get in without anyone knowing!?” Zenjori shouted.
  If it hadn’t been for the psychic premonition of Notec Depi, his powerful 
  psychic ally, the explosions could easily have killed everyone at base camp. 
  Notec’s warning and telekinetic force field gave just enough time for the 
  mercenary commander to secure his armor and escape the epicenter of the 
  explosion. The Mind Melter had almost lost his life and was now missing his 
  left arm to a piece of shrapnel that had broken his barrier. Losing equipment 
  and personnel paled in comparison to the blow to Zenjori’s ego. His own men 
  had fearlessly risked their lives to save his.
  “We found our southern sentries half a mile away stashed in a ditch. Best 
  we can tell, the Coalition sent someone good up from the south while another 
  squad went up the eastern slope and took out the sentries closest to us. Even 
  booby-trapped their trail as well. I lost a man to a grenade nest and several of 
  my cyborgs were damaged trying to follow the trail.”
  “Special Forces?”
  “Clean kills, good demo job, that would be my guess except for our con-
  tact in First Strike didn’t mention any Special Forces among the Coalition 
  detachment.” Drake stood beside his commander and looked around at the 
  devastation. “Definitely not average tactics.”
  “How long until we have serious radiation problems?”
  “A day or two, perhaps less for the linemen. Radiation will kill them slow-
  ly later, and most of our men know that. Some are talking about deserting.”
  “Have you–”
  “Of course. They know the penalty. I made an example of the ones insti-
  gating it.”
  “J.J. started this. Over thirty men unaccounted for now.”
  
  252
  “Some may be around us. It’s hard to tell.” Drake poked a vaguely hu-
  manoid form at his feet. “Tech crew was in the Mountaineer. Xevo got his.”
  “Our options are limited now. We can’t remain here for more than a day, 
  and we can’t hold out in a war of attrition because we can’t make repairs or 
  resupply.”
  “We still outnumber them better than three to one in armor and two to 
  one in personnel, not counting the cannon fodder Kruno keeps in front of 
  his Headhunters. Plus, we have a Glitter Boy to pick off any of their heavy 
  armor. We have the tactical advantage for an offensive.”
  “The Coalition isn’t our only problem.”
  “First Strike?”
  “Yes. We can hold our defensive position another twenty-four hours, 
  through tonight and tomorrow morning. After that, we have no alternative 
  but to attack. First, I want to do as much damage to the Coalition armor as 
  possible. We may even make them retreat or aggravate them to attack. I’ll 
  need a coordinated attack, both air and missiles.”
  “We’re pretty evenly matched for air to air combat and can pulverize them 
  with a full-scale missile attack, we just won’t have enough ammunition for 
  multiple barrages.”
  “I don’t want a full-scale engagement, just enough to trick them into put-
  ting their SAM’s and other air units up. Once they throw up active radar, we 
  fire a barrage.”
  “The Coalition is predictable, if nothing else.”
  “Look around. They’re learning, Drake.” Zenjori’s face was grim. This 
  wasn’t what was supposed to be happening right now. The Coalition should 
  have left the Army of the New Order to rule over Liberty. Life in this new 
  Earth was much harder than he wanted it to be.
  ____________________
  “Lieutenant Merrick! Lieutenant Merrick! Wake up!”
  “What the hell?” Greg’s sleep-laden eyes tried to focus on what was drag-
  ging him from a sound sleep.
  “Sky Kings and X-10’s comin’ in!” The blurry face shouted.
  “What time is it?” He rubbed his eyes and sat up. Every muscle ached.
  “12:30, sir. Can I take your SAM?”
  “Peterson, if you so much as touch my SAM, I’ll think of something really 
  bad to do to you. Who’s making the intercept?”
  “Pritchett’s flyboys. Lieutenant Adams told us to hold back until I woke 
  you up,” Private Peterson relayed enthusiastically.
  “Adams is giving orders? Now I have to get up.” Greg stretched and 
  looked around for where he’d thrown his boots and radio. No more than a 
  kilometer away, a series of explosions rolled through the air.
  
  253
  “Incoming!” Pritchett’s voice blared over the loudspeaker. The sound 
  of outgoing missiles rushed past and eight seconds later, more explosions 
  sounded. Greg leapt from the rover just in time to get flattened by the shock 
  wave of a missile colliding with the Enforcer 40 meters away. Stunned and 
  barely able to breathe, he watched the world become a warzone. Soldiers ran 
  for cover as starbursts radiated in sickening repetition against the armored 
  body of Pritchett’s Skull Walker. Flare trails streamed away from the small-
  er Enforcer as it desperately sought to save itself from incoming volleys of 
  guided warheads. Debris floated downward from a blazing cloud of plasma 
  where a SAMAS had once been.
  Greg’s SAMAS awaited less than thirty feet away, but it seemed like a 
  mile in slow motion. His own voice sounded distant, like another person 
  reciting the clearance code. Comm chatter buzzed like an angry swarm of in-
  sects in his head and it took an effort of will just to remember how to operate 
  the communications system.
  A single streamer appeared in front of the Enforcer just as the pilot brought 
  up the arms to protect its body. Armor fragments blew away in the form of 
  deadly shrapnel. The left forearm sailed up and over the robot’s head to land 
  just inches from the rover Greg had just left. Lowering the burning stump of 
  its severed arm, the Enforcer’s shoulder-mounted defense lasers converged 
  on another armor-piercing warhead, detonating it just thirty meters from its 
  goal of punching through the weakened armor.
  “Skull 41! What’s going on?!”
  “Missile barrage!” Lisa yelled over the radio.
  “Who’s painting us?”
  “Nobody! Sky Kings are too far away and there’s nothing on the ground.”
  “Cut your radar.”
  “What?”
  “Shut off all active sensors and get away from the Abolisher!”
  “I’ve got a lock on the source. Do I go silent anyway?”
  Greg paused momentarily. To delay could mean destruction.
  “Return fire. Four. Then go silent.”
  “Yes sir, four plasma warheads armed and away.” Lisa hoped Brian’s spe-
  cial modifications came through.
  The rear-mounted launcher blasted fire trails to the ground as the missiles 
  left their vertical housings and arced over the forest toward their targets ki-
  lometers away.
  “Crap,” Dave answered the weapon lock warning tone. “They just tagged 
  us again when you fired. Four incoming! Twenty-five seconds to impact.”
  “Got ’em.” Lisa switched the active targeting back on to lock in on the 
  incoming volley and launched the remaining two missiles to intercept be-
  fore turning the system back to passive mode. Swirling trails met in mid-air, 
  expanding explosions visible before the sound returned. Opposing missiles 
  
  254
  committed fratricide in a series of brilliant flashes that never reached the Skull 
  Walker. Friendly missiles disappeared off the tactical screen along with the 
  four enemy warheads. The first four ended their flight, sounds of explosions 
  racing back over the countryside to confirm the kill. Out of sight kilometers 
  away, the rebel Titan robot blazed away in a pool of its own burning armor.
  Desperately seeking to save itself from a similar fate, the Abolisher fired 
  auto-cannons intended for bombardment. 144 mm shells sped past incoming 
  missiles to crater distant hillsides. By the time the crew was able to select 
  fragmentation shells and arm for proximity detonation, the rebel missiles 
  found their mark. Staggering back, the heavy robot tried to stay upright as 
  four high-yield warheads slammed it from the front. Like the dying scream 
  of a wounded animal, the armor bent at the waist and tons of metal bore the 
  Abolisher to the ground. The pilots lay inside, strapped in and alive, but too 
  dazed to react from the fall.
  Flames gushed out behind the CR-6 launcher on the Enforcer’s left shoul-
  der as it spent the last of its missiles to intercept another volley. Pounding 
  shock waves returned thirty seconds later from multiple plasma clouds above 
  the tree line.
  Hugging the treetops and relying on the passive sensor feed from the En-
  forcer, Lieutenant Merrick and the remaining SAM’s took the enemy exo-
  skeletons by surprise. The battle was short and rather one sided. The Coali-
  tion was a pissed off hornets’ nest and they weren’t pulling any punches.
  Looking around at the blasted armor and smoking fragments of the other 
  robot vehicles, Dave breathed deeply and checked the damage assessment 
  just to make sure he hadn’t missed something. Not a scratch on Skull Walker 
  41.
  “I don’t think I’m going to complain about the awkwardness of the missile 
  launcher anymore,” he said.
  ____________________
  Multi-color marks indicated the last known location of enemy personnel, 
  robots, and vehicles on Pritchett’s laminated map. Black arrows followed 
  dips in topographic contours showing the captain’s proposed advance lines 
  and waypoints. In dark blue ink, a single line ran straight up the center of 
  enemy positions. Captain Pritchett finished drawing out the battle plan and 
  explained it to the skeptical officers around him.
  “We pin him down on three sides so he can’t move his troops without 
  exposing one of his flanks. Fire squads one through six make the advance 
  under the Abolisher’s cannons, allowing it to stay out of the direct enemy fire 
  while still providing support. Fire teams Saber and Fury open a corridor here 
  for Lieutenant Merrick’s unit to drive through and take the mountain under 
  cover fire from Spider Skull 41 and Enforcer 790.” Pritchett ran his finger up 
  the dark blue line to the summit.
  
  255
  “This isn’t a king-of-the-hill wargame back at Chi-Town.” Greg leaned 
  over the map, a serious tone in his voice. “Three major flaws with your plan 
  as is, sir. One, you don’t have the Glitter Boy on your map. Two, there’s at 
  least two dozen cyborgs up there, and I don’t see them on the map either. 
  Three, I don’t see your Skull Walker.”
  “After the SAM’s have established air superiority, they will engage the 
  Glitter Boy and the cyborgs as soon as they’ve been flushed out. As for Skull 
  191, it’s too badly damaged to risk taking into combat.”
  “But you’re okay sending in the Abolisher with 65% of its main integ-
  rity compromised and a crew that are recovering from whiplash and severe 
  concussions? Your entire frontal assault plan is going to suffer at least 75% 
  casualties, even if it works! That might win you points for reaching an objec-
  tive in a simulation, but it doesn’t go down too good out here.”
  “Casualties are inevitable, Lieutenant. I thought with your experience you 
  would know that by now,” Pritchett snarled, losing the diplomacy he’d been 
  trying to extend. Every day they didn’t attack, the itch in the back of his mind 
  got more uncomfortable. He’d tossed and turned all the previous night think-
  ing about how he was going to besiege the Army of the New Order, teach 
  them a lesson they’d never forget, then return to Chi-Town a hero. He’d have 
  just gone in guns blazing after the missile attack if Lieutenant Merrick hadn’t 
  told him his troops weren’t moving until they had a battle plan in order. Thus, 
  he found himself now at a makeshift table an hour later, being criticized for 
  his boldness.
  “This isn’t just an us vs. them scenario where we walk out in a field and 
  slug it out. They have a superior position, higher numbers, and more heavy 
  firepower. The only thing going for us is technology and that a few of us 
  know what we’re doing. That edge just isn’t enough to win a slugfest. If we 
  want to win, we’ve got to be smart about this.” Greg picked up one of the 
  pens but Pritchett snatched it away.
  “Very well, Lieutenant. I wouldn’t normally take a Skull Walker with 
  25% of its structural integrity into a battle situation, but if it will save the lives 
  of a few men it’s worth the risk.”
  “You think that’s it? Worth what? What risk? My unit isn’t here to prove 
  anything. Are you?”
  “Is that supposed to have some special meaning, Lieutenant?” Pritchett 
  leaned forward and spoke in a low voice.
  “Sir, you don’t have to prove anything. No matter what, you’re going 
  home a hero. We can do this another way and win,” Greg spoke quietly so the 
  others wouldn’t hear. If the captain forced his plan to save face it would waste 
  all their lives for nothing. Something of his diplomatic ability remained, but 
  it was volatile and unpredictable.
  “I am, of course, open to suggestions should anyone wish to voice them.” 
  Pritchett stood up straight.
  
  256
  “I’ve got an idea,” Brian spoke up from the second row of those assem-
  bled.
  “Yes, Lieutenant Adams?”
  “We could use snipers to take out most of their sentries and frontline troops 
  before they have a chance to shoot back. Then we draw out their remaining 
  aircraft and exoskeletons and lead them into a place where we can use the 
  combined firepower from ground units to take them out. We rig something so 
  the SAM’s can airlift fire teams in from the south side and push up the hilltop, 
  avoiding the entrenched positions altogether.”
  “Thank you, Lieutenant Adams. I think a more conventional plan would 
  work better than having infantry play the part of flying exoskeleton mari-
  onettes.”
  “We shouldn’t even be attacking them like this at all!” Greg pointed dis-
  dainfully at the map. “Given enough time, we can do it with our SAM’s and 
  a platoon. Destroy their vehicles and mobility, then wear them down a little 
  at a time. They can’t resupply, they can’t even escape without their transport 
  vehicles, and we can just keep doing hit and runs then going back for re-
  pairs and rearming, something they can’t do. They’re not equipped to defend 
  against night assaults, so we might even be able to hit them again like we did 
  last night. There’s no reason to rush into a half-baked frontal attack.”
  “And what do you suggest we do if they launch another missile attack? 
  We don’t have anything left to shoot back with!”
  “First Strike does. All we need to do is keep Zenjori and his core army 
  from getting away and convince Donovan of the necessity of a joint effort. 
  Zenjori knows he can’t handle both of us and he’ll either attack first, try to 
  make a retreat, or stand and die. This attack isn’t even necessary right now 
  when we can wait for a more advantageous position to present itself.”
  “I have to agree with Lieutenant Merrick. There’s no need to rush into a 
  premature assault.” Lieutenant Sorenson stepped forward.
  “Well thank you for presenting these alternatives, but my final decision 
  has been made,” Pritchett said haughtily. “We will proceed as planned, ex-
  ecuting stage one at 2300 hours.”
  “I’m letting you know right now I strongly object to this command, sir,” 
  Greg interjected.
  “Thank you, Lieutenant Merrick. Noted.”
  “And my unit isn’t charging in anywhere until both the Glitter Boy and 
  cyborg squad have been located and heavy support is present for suppres-
  sion,” Merrick added.
  “That’s acceptable. Winters will lead the advance unit to take the hill. At 
  his discretion.”
  “My discretion tells me we’ve got trouble,” Winters growled.
  “I beg your pardon, Sergeant?”
  “We’ve got trouble, sir.” Winters sighed.
  
  257
  “Well, Jerry, think it’s time to play cards?” Greg said. The question was an 
  agreed upon unofficial command between Jerry Winters and himself. They 
  needed to figure out how they were going to get their unit through this.
  “Sure, but I get to shuffle,” Winters grunted over his shoulder, walking 
  toward Spider Skull Walker 191.
  ____________________
  Hinged prongs slipped in the access ports of the back-mounted ammuni-
  tion drum and unlocked the set pins holding it in place. Brian rotated the 
  drum inside the feed casing counter-clockwise until it released the holding 
  clamps, then put his foot against the SAMAS’ left intake and yanked the 
  drum farther out. It stuck. Brian pushed harder with both legs and gripped his 
  loading tool harder. The drum refused to budge.
  “Get out of there, you piece of garbage!” Brian gritted his teeth and pulled 
  with all his might. It didn’t move. “I don’t need this! Get out!” He yanked 
  harder. Something made a strange sound and Brian flew backward into the 
  hover rover amid a rain of metallic rounds spewing in a fountain from the 
  drum feed port. The stream of language leaving Brian’s mouth attracted 
  stares from clear across camp and laughter from the audience in the rover 
  about ten meters away. Darren tried not to laugh at Brian’s predicament. It 
  was his SAM the frustrated tech was trying to fix.
  “Hey, looks like you fixed the problem. Drum’s not jammed anymore,” 
  Darren happily chimed.
  “It waits until after I get it out to do this!” Brian kicked the drum angrily 
  and tried in vain to slide the metal plate covering the feed port in place.
  “It’s gonna be a pain pickin’ up all those slugs when the sun goes down.” 
  Darren looked at the darkening sky. “Want some help?”
  “Yeah, if you want to fly this tonight,” Brian said, fatigue in his voice.
  “Not really, but I can’t let you get your butt shot off by a Glitter Boy, ei-
  ther.” Darren started scooping up handfuls of metal slugs and dumping them 
  on the seat next to Brian.
  “I can’t believe Merrick is making me drive a rover,” Brian complained, 
  finally controlling the damaged ammunition drum.
  “That’s cuz he knows you’re not gonna freak and dump Cowboy and the 
  rest in the first ditch you come to.”
  “No, he says it’s to give me some front-line combat training. I gotta earn 
  my commission. Just because he came up through the ranks, he thinks every-
  one else should. I’m an engineer, not a platoon leader.”
  “Dang, you sound just like this spaceman dude on one of my vids back 
  home. Don’t worry, buddy, you’ve been through some hair-raising stuff be-
  fore. You’ll do fine.” Darren tried to comfort Brian. Combat wasn’t every-
  one’s cup of tea like it was his, but he knew Brian was fully capable in com-
  
  258
  bat situations and was just complaining about being closer to the action than 
  he usually was.
  “Don’t patronize me,” Brian scowled.
  “I could make Lieutenant. I just don’t want to.” Darren shrugged.
  “The day you get commissioned I will truly know fear.”
  “No, seriously, you get to be an officer and then you get all kinds of re-
  sponsibility like they make you drive a hover rover up an enemy fortified hill 
  and expect you to win, for example,” the SAMAS pilot teased.
  “I can handle going up against the enemy infantry, that’s tough, but not 
  impossible.” Brian stopped fidgeting with the drum and looked in the direc-
  tion of the offensive to come. “Going up against the Glitter Boy? One shot 
  and it’s all over.” Brian shook his head solemnly.
  “It won’t touch you. It’s mine.”
  “One shot for your SAM and you’re history too.”
  “Hasn’t got me yet.” Darren grinned with a roguish look. “If Merrick and 
  Sorenson can keep the X-10’s off my back, I can finish the Glitter Boy this 
  time. Would’a had them Predators today except this thing jammed on me. 
  Don’t want that tonight.”
  “You got that right. Since we came back, we haven’t even scratched it.”
  “I’ve been thinking ’bout it and figured we’ve been doin’ it all wrong. 
  What makes a Glitter Boy so dangerous?” Darren asked.
  “The Boom Gun?”
  “Exactly, the Boom Gun. Okay, follow me on this. We can blast all day 
  and hardly tweak the armor, but all it takes is one shot from it and you’re 
  dead. But without its rail gun, the Glitter Boy is just an almost indestructible 
  walking armor suit that can’t shoot back at you. All I gotta do is punch out its 
  teeth again and any one of us can wipe it off the planet.”
  Brian looked at the RPA Pilot. He understood why they got hazard pay of-
  ten, they were nuts. “Even if you cut the feed belt, it’s still got about a dozen 
  shots left in the gun magazine. I know, I checked up on the schematics back 
  at Chi-Town. Good luck blasting through the armor bonded around the bar-
  rel. It’ll shoot you several times before you hit anything that counts.”
  “Good point, but I’ve got a new angle. Hang with me,” Darren said, his 
  eyes sparkling. “Brian, I need a plasma grenade.”
  “Why?”
  “Okay, tell me what would happen if I put a plasma grenade down the 
  barrel of the Boom Gun?”
  “Nothing. The lever doesn’t have enough space to spring and hit the fuse.”
  “But what happens when he fires?”
  “The amount of time it takes the projectiles to accelerate down the bar-
  rel...wait a minute.” Brian tried to review the physics in his head. “The Boom 
  Gun doesn’t work like a normal rail gun, in fact, it’s not even a true rail gun. 
  It’s a mass driver, using electromagnetic coils to accelerate a cluster of slugs, 
  
  259
  but the field decay lasts too long and it loses some velocity at the end of the 
  barrel, not that you’d notice on your end. The electromagnetic coils set up a 
  cascade effect pulling then pushing the projectile cluster as it moves down 
  the barrel.”
  “No talk techno-speak. American speak only.”
  “What’s going to happen is the electromagnetic current is going to set off 
  the plasma grenade at the same time it tries to accelerate the projectile cluster 
  down the barrel. It’s gonna fuse the metal slugs right to the coils!” Brian had 
  a big smile on his face. Darren might be crazy, but if he could pull of this 
  plan, he’d be crazy like a fox.
  “I’m kinda hazy on the whole electro-magna-mate gizmo watcha-macallit 
  fusing thing. That’s bad for him, good for me, right?”
  “Definitely bad for him. The power relay circuit will kick over and shut 
  down the gun so it doesn’t fry the capacitor pack. That’s genius Darren!”
  “I’m glad you thought of it, buddy.” Darren slapped Brian on the back.
  “They should have this in a manual someplace.”
  “They probably do.”
  “Pick up the rest of your C-40 slugs while I go get some grenades and rig 
  something for you to carry them in.” Brian headed for Skull 41.
  ____________________
  Running lights off in the darkness and flying just meters above the tree-
  tops, Darren fell into a wide-spread wedge formation composed of seven 
  other SAMAS and a Sky Cycle. Making the advance on the ground were 
  infantry squads followed at a distance by mechanized units. Perhaps the most 
  crucial point in battle would be fought in the next few minutes. Achieving 
  air superiority would determine whose ground forces could be shredded from 
  above.
  “Four Predators and four Sky Kings on approach. Thirty seconds to con-
  tact,” the lead cycle reported.
  “Go to formation Charlie. Let’s see if we can split them up some,” Greg 
  ordered. Having Darren as his wingman allowed some freedom in facing un-
  even odds. Darren had downed more exoskeletons than any of the others with 
  the possible exception of Sergio. The sadistic RPA pilot didn’t mess around.
  “They’re still holding a vertical diamond.” The Sky Cycle pulled ahead, 
  easily outdistancing the winged SAMAS.
  “Stay with your wingman. Red and Blue teams engage the Predators. Yel-
  low and Gold will take the Sky Kings. Cycle one, be ready to break off and 
  intercept if they make a run for the ‘Bots.”
  “Fifteen seconds.”
  “Radar on, go loud. Break off and engage.”
  “Sir, two Sky Kings just broke off.”
  “Watch them. Don’t let them get near our armor.”
  
  260
  “Roger. Cycle 114 in pursuit.”
  The faster craft banked away and sped toward the wayward rebel aircraft. 
  As far as a small, lightly armored VTOL aircraft went, the Sky Kings car-
  ried a threatening array of armament; more than enough to destroy a pair of 
  crippled flying power armor.
  Cycle 114 cut the distance to less than a mile before slinging around be-
  hind the Sky Kings. One broke off the instant it was targeted and tried to 
  circle back. The craft made a wide swing just as the Sky Cycle connected 
  a high power laser beam with one of its two rear jets. Plumes of flame shot 
  from two holes through the damaged engine. The pilot fought to keep con-
  trol of his craft and still avoid the laser beams passing through his tail fins 
  and maneuvering jets. Dipping and weaving, it tried to break away from the 
  cycle, once more being scored by laser beams.
  The smart missile on course for the Sky Cycle fired from rebel robot units 
  wouldn’t get there in time. The Sky King pilot was about to eject when laser 
  beams cut through the other thruster and blew out the controls. The craft 
  veered around wildly only to be caught by incoming rockets from the Sky 
  Cycle. It blew apart in two burning halves before each exploded in mid-air 
  like fireworks, announcing the start of the battle to come.
  Two seconds later, Sky Cycle 114 suffered a similar fate from the missile 
  launched by the rebel robot. Armor and wings rained down from the air.
  Closing on the unprotected Abolisher, the second Sky King was about to 
  open fire when the giant robot started shooting first. Auto-cannons ill-suited 
  for hitting maneuverable airborne targets were made even worse by sensory 
  systems damaged by the missiles that had hit it hard in the morning. Dam-
  aged cannon mounts were sluggish, not matching the targeting systems inside 
  the robot. The cannons were so far off target, the Sky King’s pilot laughed, 
  closing boldly to within 3,000 feet and scoring a direct hit with a pair of 
  armor-piercing rockets. The Abolisher’s framework creaked from the stress 
  of its own weight and impacts but held together. One shell hit the Sky King’s 
  nose dead center, shattering the forward laser and sending shrapnel back into 
  the cockpit. Body armor kept the pilot alive and the rugged control system 
  held together enough for the Sky King to change course. Making a wide, 
  wobbly U-shaped turn around the Abolisher, the Sky King was fired on by 
  each cannon that created the robot’s crown. Overconfidence and focus on his 
  target cost the pilot his life as the craft took two more shells, one just beneath 
  the cockpit and the other striking the pilot directly. As if defying its death, the 
  pilotless Sky King held together for longer than what felt like it should before 
  scattering its remains over a three-hundred-meter burial site.
  “Abolisher, come in Abolisher.” Lisa tried to warn the damaged robot of 
  impending doom.
  “Abolisher here. We just splattered a Sky King!”
  
  261
  “Don’t celebrate, get out of there. We’re tracking four missiles heading 
  your way! Think of something fast or bail out now!”
  “They’re not on my screens.”
  “Your sensors are damaged. You don’t have time! Eject!”
  “They’re not showing up. Let me check the —”
  Missiles tore through unprotected systems and scattered the robot’s body 
  in all directions. The auto-cannon’s payload began a chain of explosions an 
  instant later and turned the upper half of the robot into a deadly fireworks 
  display.
  “Skull 41 to Merrick. I think we just lost the Abolisher.”
  “Merrick, here. Survivors?”
  “I don’t know. Infantry’s going to need fire support in a few minutes and 
  there isn’t going to be any from the Abolisher. Pritchett says he wants the 
  SAMs to do it,” Lisa relayed.
  “Tell Pritchett to order his troops to hold back until we’ve dealt with en-
  emy air. We’re nowhere near done with the enemy air support yet. Merrick 
  out.” Greg veered away from a pair of mini-missiles that streaked across the 
  night sky.
  “Those almost had ya, sir,” Darren chided.
  “Darren! Where are you going?”
  “Take the one on the left, I got the one on the right.” Darren pushed his 
  exoskeleton to its top speed on a collision course with a Sky King.
  “Well shoot at it, Darren!” Greg fired repeatedly at the Sky King closing 
  on him.
  The first burst tore a line of slugs up the nose. Taking evasive action, the 
  Sky King banked up and to the left.
  “Bad move,” Greg breathed, elevating his C-40 to the computer-calculat-
  ed lead ahead of the target’s position. Like tracers in the night, metal slugs 
  drew lines to the left and right of the weaving craft before connecting solidly 
  with the underside and tearing away its lower maneuvering fins. What must 
  have been years of flying expertise saved the pilot from losing the craft but 
  left him open for attack. Two more bursts ripped the vitals from the Sky 
  King’s belly and sent the disemboweled craft to the ground as it belched 
  internal mechanics.
  Greg felt the surge of victory. Not a scratch on his SAM. Radar displayed 
  SAM 15 and the last Sky King almost on top of each other. Greg followed 
  Darren’s heat trail with thermo-imaging and observed his Corporal’s quick 
  and dirty way to down a Sky King. Flying twenty feet to the right of the in-
  coming craft, Darren simply stretched out his left forearm and hit the pilot in 
  the head with a plasma mini-missile. The entire cockpit became a fireball and 
  the Sky King blazed downward like a comet.
  “Show-off,” Greg mumbled.
  
  262
  “Somebody get this guy off my thrusters!” Peterson yelled, frantically 
  dodging away from his stubborn Predator attacker.
  The X-10 held the tail, intent on downing SAM 117.
  “I’m all over him, Peterson. Max out on speed and take him down to fifty 
  feet vertical,” Darren calmly radioed.
  “You’re on your own, Darren, I’ve got a fix on that robot launching the 
  missiles.” Greg veered away and streaked for an enemy Multibot.
  “I can’t shake him!” Peterson started to panic.
  “Chill, dude, it’s just an X-10. You’re faster and more maneuverable.” 
  Darren slowly closed on the X-10 from behind. “Bring him down lower.”
  “If I get any lower, I’m going to hit a tree!”
  “Nap time, pal.” Darren rose up behind the slower power armor, noticing 
  the complacent flight pattern. He took his time and slammed it with a mini-
  missile just above the rear thrusters. Plasma washed over the upper exoskel-
  eton and sent the wings in opposite directions.
  Darren watched the Predator’s arms and legs flail as it plummeted to the 
  earth at over 300 kph. That kind of fall nobody walked away from.
  “Thanks,” Peterson said before he caught sight of something else in the 
  night sky. “Behind you!”
  Two SAMAS from Pritchett’s unit pursued a moderately-damaged Preda-
  tor, besieging it with continual rail gun fire. Darren slowed and hovered in 
  mid-air, taking aim at the approaching exoskeleton.
  “Hey stop wasting ammo. That thing’s got twice the armor you do and it 
  doesn’t have to worry about reloading. Smart tactics, idiots.”
  “Up yours,” Sergio spat back.
  “Here, let me show you how it’s done.” Darren carefully sighted in the 
  X-10’s battered helmet and splattered the pilot’s head all over the wing joints. 
  The Predator straightened out its flight path and sailed silently down into the 
  forest.
  “That was my kill!”
  “If you hurry you can get off a few shots at the one Taylor and Yoshi 
  are chasing down.” Darren dodged one of Sergio’s wings as the angry pilot 
  nearly hit him.
  “Too late,” Private Yoshi declared triumphantly.
  The remains of the last flying exoskeleton crashed to unsung burial 
  grounds.
  “Way to go Yoshi! You’re equal with Sorenson now!” Darren threw the 
  jab out at Mike, who’d been forced to fly wingman to Sergio.
  “Cut the chatter,” Pritchett’s annoyed voice came loudly over the com. 
  “You’ve got air superiority, now move in and cover the infantry assault.”
  “Where’s your wingman, SAM 15?” Sorenson demanded.
  “Probably beatin’ the crap outta some poor, defenseless robot on the 
  ridge.”
  
  263
  “Darren! Get over here and cover me!” Merrick yelled over the comms.
  “Okay, I was wrong. Hold up, dude, I’m comin’.” Darren’s SAM sped for 
  Greg’s location as the other pilots turned their armor to do the same.
  Darren was feeling indestructible again. Three, okay, two and a half kills 
  and the night was still young. Going up against a Glitter Boy wasn’t so bad. 
  Darren checked his left side to make sure the plasma grenades were still 
  there.
  On the southern slope of the ridge, a firefight was breaking out between 
  advancing, north-moving infantry and Zenjori’s outer perimeter. Darren 
  wasn’t even sure what Greg was attacking until rail gun rounds and mini-
  missile trails passed each other on thermo-optics.
  “Darren!?”
  “I’m coming!” Darren made a beeline for the mechanized firefight on the 
  hillside.
  Greg’s SAMAS was pulling ever-tightening circles around a Northern 
  Gun Multibot. Sorenson’s SAM 312 was getting close enough to avoid a 
  missile lock but still had to avoid rail gun fire and the occasional mini-missile 
  volley while losing his own ability to fire back with his rail gun. Four troops 
  on the ground protected the robot from close attacks and fired sporadically at 
  the circling SAMAS.
  “Take out the greatest threat first,” Darren muttered to himself, closing in 
  while Greg drew fire.
  One well-placed burst killed the hatch gunner on the Multibot. Laser fire 
  from the ground turned his way but hadn’t hit him yet. Telescopic targeting 
  and multi-optic enhancement did its trick; two of the ground troops stopped 
  firing forever, their bodies ripped apart by Darren’s rail gun. His SAM 
  screamed a missile lock warning.
  “Sir, do whatever yer gonna do right now,” Darren yelled, pulling his SA-
  MAS into a hard turn and barrel roll trying to lose the lock.
  Cutting his engines and dropping onto the upper body of the Multibot, 
  Greg stuck his left arm in the open top hatch and fired a single plasma mini-
  missile into the pilot’s compartment just before jumping back into the air. 
  Plasma flashed up the open hatch and spewed forth in a geyser of flame. 
  Greg landed on the ground completely satisfied the Multibot was no longer 
  a threat. Even if anyone survived the enclosed blast furnace, which wasn’t 
  likely, there wouldn’t be anything left of the control system. He finished off 
  two panicked ground troops with close range rail gun bursts. It wasn’t fun 
  watching as their armor splayed and bodies were ripped apart, but he appreci-
  ated the Coalition’s ability to give him such a powerful weapon.
  “Dang, sir, why don’t you kick some tail?” Darren laughed.
  “Glitter Boy!” Peterson’s excited warning rang out on the comm.
  Seconds later a sonic boom followed.
  “SAM down!” Sorenson proclaimed.
  
  264
  “If someone hadda go, I hope it was Sergio,” Darren mused out loud.
  “SAM 916. Direct hit from behind. The pilot might have survived,” Mike 
  announced.
  “Damn. Yoshi.”
  “You still want the G-10?” Greg lifted away from the burning Multibot.
  “Yes, sir!”
  “I’ll cover you.”
  “You’re on. Let’s Rock-N-Roll!”
  ____________________
  Pritchett looked at his tactical screen with jaw set and grim determination. 
  The air battle had gone better than he could have hoped for. One rebel robot 
  was down, so was the enemy air support, but he couldn’t pull the SAMAS 
  pilots away from the infantry to deal with the Glitter Boy now that his Abol-
  isher was lost. His Skull Walker made a funny sound every time he moved it, 
  and the pilot’s compartment rattled and groaned every time the rail cannons 
  fired. At least the enemy ground units didn’t have the range to shoot back at 
  him.
  “Fire squad 3, you’re clear to advance. The Samson P.A. in your path is 
  down,” he commanded.
  “Captain! That Samson ripped us good and the rest of us took collateral 
  from a rocket. We’d like to wait fo-”
  “This isn’t a vacation, Corporal, advance!” Pritchett shouted over the ra-
  dio.
  “Yoshi’s still alive.” The communications officer called up medical read-
  outs on the power armor units. “Somebody’s got to get her out of there.”
  More sonic booms echoed over the countryside.
  “Sir! That Glitter Boy’s slashin’ my s—”
  “Fireteam two, hold on for another few minutes. Fireteam two, do you 
  copy? Come in Fireteam two.”
  “Sir, I don’t have any life signs from Fireteam two, but we’ve got another 
  problem. The rebels are moving their NG-Hunter into range.” The gunner 
  rotated the skull body and unleashed two blasts toward the distant Hunter 
  robot. Two seconds later the Skull Walker shuddered and rocked back. Mul-
  tiple warning tones screamed, and a new icon flashed brightly on the damage 
  display. A grinding sound accompanied by a continual vibration followed.
  “Radiation leak! Not critical but gotta shut down quick!” The communica-
  tions officer tried to silence the nasty sounds coming from someplace in the 
  robot’s undercarriage.
  “How did the Hunter hit us!?”
  “It wasn’t the Hunter, sir! Farther up on that hill. More drop time for the 
  slugs. If the Glitter Boy hits us one or two more times, it’s over. We have to 
  retreat and shut the reactor down!”
  
  265
  “Walk us back private!”
  Slugs impacted the skull’s upper half and ran a line down the side. The 
  sound coming from underneath increased dramatically. Every step jarred the 
  frame and stressed the damaged workings.
  “85% structural damage! Environment functions breached!”
  “Skull 41! Do something about the Hunter!” Pritchett screamed, expecting 
  slugs to tear through the pilot’s compartment at any second.
  “This is 790, we’re on it, sir!”
  The communications officer turned and gave Pritchett the news. “One 
  more hit and we’re through, sir.”
  ____________________
  Enforcer 790 had approached along the bank of the Potomac River and 
  had made it around the Harper’s Ferry peninsula, using the old train bridge 
  piers and trees along the river as cover. Although the robot took some fire 
  from some of the ANO’s foot soldiers as it crossed the Shenandoah River 
  it made it to the opposite embankment mostly intact. Climbing up from the 
  river, the land leveled out in what seemed to be an old road that had been cut 
  near the base of the mountain. They travelled south along the road looking for 
  a good spot to begin their climb.
  Over the comm, Corrine and her Communications officer heard that the 
  Glitter Boy had stopped firing and the infantry assault had punched through 
  the outer defenses. The attack on the Army of the New Order was succeeding, 
  but they hadn’t won the battle yet.
  As they looked up into the thick greenery on the mountainside, they saw 
  something causing the forest to shudder. Coming down the embankment at 
  a dangerous speed, the giant NG-V7 Hunter Mobile Gun robot half stepped, 
  half slid through the trees to meet the new threat, furious that the damaged 
  Spider Skull Walker had moved itself out of missile range. The pilot was so 
  intent on finishing the damaged Skull Walker across the river, it didn’t notice 
  the smaller robot waiting for it below.
  The NG-V7 was over 9 meters tall and weighed more than twice what the 
  Enforcer did, its head had seemingly been replaced by a tank’s cannon barrel 
  while its crotch also held a heavy laser gun known as the “Crotch Blaster.” If 
  that wasn’t enough, its forearms were stocked to the brim with rocket launch-
  ers. It was a somewhat comedic looking robot until you were facing it in 
  combat and it disabled your robot’s legs. Then it was only funny to everyone 
  else as they laughed at how you lost the battle.
  Corrine ran with single-minded focus to beat the Hunter to where it was 
  coming down the mountain. Getting larger and larger on her HUD, the North-
  ern Gun robot barreled down the hill. In a fair fight, the Hunter would have 
  no problem ripping apart a damaged Coalition Enforcer without missiles and 
  missing a hand, but Corrine never played fair.
  
  266
  The Hunter finally made it to the cliff edge that marked where the road 
  had been cut into the mountainside. Its crew, still oblivious to the Enforcer 
  that had just managed to tuck itself against the cliff face, jumped off the 25 
  foot ledge.
  Planting the Enforcer’s legs firmly in a tripod shape with the robot’s back 
  to the cliff face, Corrine reached up and caught the Hunter’s foot. The larger 
  robot’s momentum carried the head forward in an arc as its caught foot be-
  came a pivot point.
  The resounding impact of the Hunter robot slamming into the rocky 
  ground felt almost as loud as the Glitter Boy’s Boom Gun. The huge mounted 
  rail gun drove its barrel into the ground, the weight of the robot bending and 
  then snapping the cannon off from its housing. The crew inside the hunter 
  were slammed into the front wall, too dazed to know what had happened. 
  Corrine was on it before they could recover.
  Grabbing hold of a rear exhaust tube and placing the full weight of her 
  Enforcer on the sprawled Hunter, Corrine began using the powerful robotic 
  strength of her robot to dismember her foe while her copilot took every op-
  portunity to attack weak spots with continuous fire from the shoulder-mount-
  ed rail gun at point-blank range.
  “Two hostiles, six o’clock.” As the Enforcer’s damage alarms blared, 
  Jameson swiveled the sensor turret and spun the top shoulder lasers to cover 
  the Enforcer’s rear. One of the enemy troops who had followed the Hunt-
  er down the hillside got off another ion discharge before the robot’s lasers 
  converged on his damaged body armor and cut him in half. The other rebel 
  turned to run for cover but received similar treatment.
  “If all we get is a few scratches out of this, I won’t feel cheated,” Cor-
  rine commented, ripping and punching the last few vital components of the 
  Hunter out of commission, finishing by ripping off the Crotch Blaster as it 
  attempted to point in the Enforcer’s direction.
  One enemy robot wasn’t ever getting up again.
  ____________________
  “SAM 612 just ran into the cyborg squad. SAM 29 is down and the ‘Borgs 
  are shredding it on the ground,” Lisa reported, having watched Yoshi’s wing-
  man go down with all life signs flatlined.
  “Your corridor is clear, move in!” Pritchett ordered. The loss of troops on 
  both sides was appalling, but the ANO’s inner perimeter was finally buckling 
  even after Zenjori had played his hand.
  “Fireteam Saber, counterattack and drive that Samson back! It’s killing 
  us!” a frantic cry from Fireteam 5 blared over the radio.
  “We have visual, stand by. Moving in now.”
  “No! This is Winters to fireteam Saber. Back off and hold the corridor! 
  Take the Samson after we pass!”
  
  267
  “Disregard that order, Fireteam Saber. Advance and engage,” Pritchett 
  countermanded.
  A section of the hillside to the left of the assault corridor lit up in crackling 
  fury. The cries of Fireteam Saber ended quickly.
  “You ran yer team into a minefield! It’s on the map!” Winters shouted 
  over the rover’s radio.
  “My tactical displays are out!” Pritchett yelled back, more sickened by the 
  blatant mistake than the cost of lives. In the confusion of battle, these things 
  happened, he rationalized.
  “Sorenson to Fireteam 5. Keep your heads down. I’ve got your Samson,” 
  Mike radioed.
  ____________________
  “How many cyborgs?” Lisa inquired, her Spider Skull Walker 41 starting 
  up the hill behind Brian’s hover rover. With all the carnage on the hill, not 
  one challenger had confronted them as they followed the foot soldiers north 
  toward the ANO encampment. Fireteams Saber and Fury had cleared the 
  way, but the lack of defenders was eerie.
  “Half a dozen, maybe more.” Pritchett didn’t know. “Move in before I 
  suffer more casualties!”
  “Where’s the rest? That’s about half the number of cyborgs they have.”
  “Corporal Andrews, Sergeant Winters, I am at the limit of my patience! 
  Do not become cowards this close to victory!”
  “Listen here you weevil-brained D-Bee lover!” Sergeant Winters yelled. 
  Pritchett hadn’t left his Skull Walker since the failed strategy meeting and 
  was getting no love from Merrick’s troops by staying out of the battle. “When 
  I get back there, yer gonna be one sorry son of a ...!”
  “If you don’t follow my orders, I assure you, you won’t be coming back!” 
  Pritchett shouted.
  Through a wall of smoke and flame, the rover burst upon a burning clear-
  ing. Along its edges and charging through the flames like predatory demons 
  came two dozen fully armed and heavily armored cyborgs.
  “Awww, pony pucks,” Cowboy cursed.
  
  268
  Chapter 17
  Of War and Hell, War is Worse
  Oblivious to the battle raging below him, Darren flew fearlessly into the 
  jaws of death. The Glitter Boy swiveled its supersonic Boom Gun up to meet 
  him. Coming in faster than planned, Darren barely avoided the 200 flechette 
  rounds and body slammed into the stationary robot.
  “Great plan, Darren.” Greg flew past to engage a Titan combat robot pro-
  tecting the Glitter Boy’s flank. Alone against the Titan robot, he started by 
  using his mini-missiles to blow the enemy’s sensor turret to smithereens. If 
  it couldn’t see him, it couldn’t hit him. After that, it would be like shooting 
  fish in a barrel.
  The Glitter Boy hardly budged at the impact, its grounded pylons, and rear 
  stabilizer jets compensating for the loss of balance. Darren winced at the pain 
  running through his body. Face-to-face with his nemesis at last.
  Kreg looked at the skull-like helmet of his adversary only inches from the 
  Glitter Boy’s head, knowing for certain he was up against a madman. What 
  kind of sane person would run a SAMAS into a Glitter Boy? Pushing the 
  SAMAS toward the ground with his left arm, Kreg swung the rail cannon 
  down with his right.
  “Coalition incendiary delivery service,” Darren announced cheerfully on 
  the amplifier as he landed on his feet and pushed the plasma grenade up the 
  barrel of the Boom Gun.
  It fell back out onto the ground.
  Kreg fired at a 45-degree angle just past the SAMAS’ left shoulder.
  Air re-collided where the projectile cluster had been and cracked the air 
  with a sonic boom as rock and dirt exploded from the point of impact. Darren 
  didn’t want to know how close he’d just come to dying. None of his sensors 
  informed him of missing body parts or major damage so he assumed he was 
  still in one piece. The grenade lay on the ground beside him, pin still in place.
  “Guess it’s the hard way.” Darren reached down, picked up the grenade 
  and then grabbed the barrel of the Boom Gun and pushed it aside once again, 
  unleashing his C-40R Rail Gun on the shoulder swivel mount of the Glitter 
  Boy. Slugs ricocheted off the dense armor at the joint in every direction. The 
  chrome joint splayed wide in a jagged line around the critical location. From 
  somewhere outside his range of view, a robotic punch from the Glitter Boy 
  shattered the tiny spotlight below his right shoulder and sent Darren’s SA-
  MAS back onto its thrusters.
  Darren could have sworn the Glitter Boy intentionally aimed its rail can-
  non directly between his SAM’s legs. Leaning back, Darren fully engaged his 
  thrusters to fling the power armor into the air, flawlessly tucking his legs up 
  to miss hitting the front of the larger robot. The earth split behind him in the 
  smoking patch of ground left by the thrusters. Two hundred slugs burrowed 
  
  269
  themselves deep into the rock as another sonic boom cracked out over the 
  mountaintop.
  The Boom Gun sailed out into the night air behind the Glitter Boy and off 
  toward the waters of the Potomac River.
  Kreg knew something was wrong the instant he lost the visual targeting 
  lock from the gun, and the way the right armor and shoulder had barely jerked 
  wasn’t right at all. Looking over to where his right hand held nothing but air, 
  Kreg felt his skin go cold. A clammy sensation washed over him.
  The Boom Gun was gone.
  “Ha! Got you now, you bedazzled alarm clock!” Darren fired two bursts 
  at the rear thrusters of the Glitter Boy, enjoying the sparks and torn metal that 
  resulted.
  Leaping upward with its jet thrusters, the Glitter Boy jumped nearly 
  25 meters into the air and, like a basketball player reaching for a rebound, 
  grabbed the thrust intakes on either side of Darren’s head, and then let itself 
  fall back to the ground below. The SAMAS’ hover jets resisted the grip of the 
  larger robot, but not enough. The Glitter Boy pulled the smaller power armor 
  down and crashed landed on top of it. The SAMAS’ jets choked and died.
  Kreg, inside the reflective robot, maintained his weight on the smaller 
  power armor, his anger at having lost the Glitter Boy’s main weapon had 
  flipped him over into a fury like a younger brother who was finally in a posi-
  tion to take out his pent-up frustration on his older sibling. Holding Darren 
  down with one armored hand, the Glitter Boy raised the other for a robotic 
  punch.
  “Nobody told me you could jump that high!” Darren tried to recover from 
  the shock. He tried moving his body parts to see if anything had broken. His 
  arms were free, but his legs were pinned by something. That’s when he no-
  ticed the fist of the Glitter Boy coming right for his head. At the last moment 
  he jerked to the side. The large, robotic fist missed his head, but impacted into 
  his right shoulder.
  He felt the force of the blow crumple his SAMAS. As incredibly strong as 
  these mechanized power armor and robots were, they still were subject to the 
  laws of physics. Unable to fully resist the effects of the blow, Darren felt his 
  exoskeleton crumple and maintain an uncomfortable pressure on his body. It 
  was like a bear hug from a pro-wrestler wearing a suit of armor.
  Darren swung with his left arm and clocked the Glitter Boy upside the 
  head. The robot’s head angled to the side sharply, then slowly rotated back 
  to look at Darren’s face once again. It’s lack of expression somehow more 
  disturbing that the angry expression he’s sure the pilot was wearing.
  Another weighted punch hit Darren in the head this time and drove the 
  whole front of the SAMAS’ mask into Darren’s face. Darren swung back, 
  hitting the Glitter Boy’s head again, yet barely marking the dense armor plat-
  ing.
  
  270
  “This isn’t working,” Darren observed, grabbing the Glitter Boy’s incom-
  ing fist with the SAMAS’ left hand. Hand and fist collided with a metallic 
  clang as a battle of will and machine took place. The SAMAS was designed 
  to give the user very powerful robotic strength. Darren had tossed around 
  combatants, punched through walls, and survived collapsing debris that a 
  normal person couldn’t have. That said, the SAMAS was still no match for 
  the more powerful Glitter Boy robot.
  The strain pushed the exoskeleton to its limit, grinding servos and stressing 
  stabilizers. Trying to reach over with his right arm in vain, Darren watched 
  the left be inexorably forced all the way back to his body before the Glitter 
  Boy let up, his point made.
  Shifting his weight over the SAMAS, Kreg pulled away his fist and 
  grabbed onto Darren’s hand, enveloping it inside the hand of the robotic ar-
  mor. Clenching his fist in the sensor control glove so hard it hurt, he began 
  crushing the SAM’s hand.
  Darren screamed out in pain as the crushing force steadily worsened. He 
  could feel the armor give way and then felt the shock as his bones crumbled.
  The jets were still stalled out and the rail gun was pinned against his body, 
  barrel aimed someplace near the Glitter Boy’s heavily armored leg. His mind 
  screaming out in rejection and anguish, something got past the noise and told 
  Darren to pull the trigger as fast as his C-40R Rail Gun could fire. As it did, 
  metal slugs ripped at the Glitter Boy’s chrome knee over and over, each time 
  coming closer to reaching the vital workings inside. Darren cried out as the 
  larger power armor finally locked its grip all the way down on his crushed 
  hand.
  Damage alerts and warning tones in Kreg’s HUD distracted him from the 
  urge to mangle his enemy. He released the crushed left hand of the SAMAS 
  and punched its body one more time for good measure. Getting up off the SA-
  MAS too late, he felt hydraulic fluid spray into the chassis of the lower right 
  leg of the robot and drench the light armor he wore. Fortunately, the rounds 
  that had found their way inside had missed his foot which rested just above 
  where the knee joint mechanisms were.
  Staggering back on the weakened leg joint, Kreg prepared himself like a 
  boxer to step up to his opponent one more time before the SAMAS could. 
  Hydraulic fluid ran down the mirrored surface from the wounded knee like a 
  trickle of blood.
  Struggling to get the SAMAS upright without using his left hand, Dar-
  ren felt as though the exoskeleton had gotten much heavier. He could barely 
  catch a full breath because of the crushed chest armor. His left hand and wrist 
  were in agony and the clammy feeling creeping along his flesh told him he 
  could lose touch with the real world at any moment. Finally getting to his 
  feet, he wavered in the air. His equilibrium was failing and the surroundings 
  wobbled more than he did.
  
  271
  The Glitter Boy was coming at him again. He wanted to block the blow 
  or dodge it, but the pain prevented him from reacting in time. He just put up 
  his right arm in a stopping gesture when several tons of force slammed him 
  off his feet, backward into the forest, and onto his rear jets again, jarring the 
  debris in his thrusters loose. The thrusters sparked and coughed before kick-
  ing into an off-key version of the whine he was used to. It was just enough to 
  get the SAMAS upright.
  He smiled and gave a small laugh of triumph at having managed this small 
  feat, but his victory was short-lived. The Glitter Boy gave no quarter and 
  once again slammed its fist into him with a running uppercut, sending him 
  sailing backward once again through the trees.
  In the air, Darren chuckled, “I’m getting my tail kicked by a Glitter Boy 
  that doesn’t even have a gun.” The thought sobered him up. This wasn’t 
  what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to be winning. As he hit the 
  ground once again, he skidded and came to a stop.
  The pain from his hand was so intense. The blackness was creeping into 
  his vision and it would be so easy just to let everything go. This was all so 
  much fun until now. He was Darren, the RPA Pilot who couldn’t be stopped 
  by anything.
  He remembered races through the ‘Burbs on his street bike, getting 
  chewed out by Merrick, but still respecting him, and raiding the Coalition 
  warehouse for the scrambler with the Night Crawlers. It was fun, but it was 
  so easy to let go.
  Then his mind turned to his sister Heather. He remembered how they 
  smiled and laughed with Cyndiara on the way back to her hotel from his last 
  mission, her warm embrace, and her great cooking. She would cry if he didn’t 
  come back. That wasn’t a nice thing to do.
  Then a flash of red curls spun in front of him and he was back on the dance 
  floor of Club Transgression. The girl he was dancing with was wearing a sexy 
  red dress and everyone gave them space to move. She threw her head back 
  and he woke up in the curls again, this time they were in bed and she rolled 
  over to look into his eyes, a mischievous and love-filled look on her face as 
  she laid her head on his chest and it began raining and she was crying in his 
  arms.
  The fear struck him. His own mortality was like the world on Atlas’ shoul-
  ders. Darren cried. He was so afraid and felt terror at the thought of losing 
  all the good things in his life and leaving everyone behind. The wave of 
  sadness, guilt, and horror at his sudden mortality was like the sea receding 
  before the overwhelming tsunami, leaving him momentarily before showing 
  the impending doom it threatened on his mortal life.
  Another flash of red curls, a laugh as refreshing as the first birdsong of 
  spring, and a wink broke the grip that held him in fear. Fire ignited from that 
  wink and before he knew what was happening, he was standing in the middle 
  
  272
  of a fire tornado, but he wasn’t scared. He was protected. The tidal wave 
  crashed over and around the tornado, but couldn’t break through.
  In that moment, something clicked inside Darren and he knew that some-
  thing about who he was had changed. He wasn’t afraid to die, but he also 
  wasn’t afraid of the fear anymore. Coming back to reality, his cries of pain 
  turned to laughter and happiness and determination.
  The thrusters of the SAMAS sputtered and roared to life, kicking the pow-
  er armor up and putting the exoskeleton back on its feet. Charging toward 
  him, the Glitter Boy pounded through the trees.
  Reacting on instinct, Darren fired another burst at the weakened knee and 
  received a nasty ringing in his ears from another uppercut punch to his head. 
  This time Darren managed to maintain his standing but staggered backward. 
  The world spun and his rail gun jerked from an unintended burst. Both of the 
  Glitter Boy’s hands latched onto his gun and ripped it away, feed belt and 
  all. As Darren recovered from the assault, he stood up just in time to be body 
  tackled by the Glitter Boy.
  Kreg landed a step wrong on a rocky outcropping as he slammed into the 
  smaller black armor, putting too much weight on the damaged right leg. The 
  weight of his over-engineered robot bore down on the weakened leg, bend-
  ing it mid-thigh in the wrong direction. His shin fractured horribly inside the 
  unit. Agony, so intense it took his breath away, rushed to Kreg’s brain like a 
  javelin and swept away with it the will to fight.
  The Glitter Boy rolled to the side as it landed, allowing the smaller SA-
  MAS to escape its fate of being crushed. As the shining robotic armor slid 
  into a tree and came to a stop, Kreg frantically rolled over and tried to reach 
  the robot’s leg to bend it back into place, but there was only so much mobility 
  offered by the power suit. Lying on his back, he screamed in pain.
  Darren stood once again, this time having used his right arm to roll onto 
  his stomach and push himself up like a toddler. Staggering over, he stopped 
  half a meter from the Glitter Boy’s head, SAM 15 bent over to look at the 
  crippled robot. He raised a robotically enhanced foot and repeatedly stomped 
  the face plate of his nemesis. He knew that the pilot’s head wasn’t in the ro-
  bot’s head, but damn if it didn’t make him feel better. His SAMAS’ David to 
  the Glitter Boy’s Goliath.
  Sensors and targeting systems blanked out inside the robot while the dis-
  plays flashed static each time the armored foot came down. Kreg was help-
  less. “Stop! I surrender! I surrender!”
  The foot crashed down again.
  “Please! Don’t kill me! I surrender!”
  “I don’t care. You deserve this,” Darren said, exhausted, angry, and nearly 
  unconscious from the pain in his hand. He kicked the Glitter Boy again.
  “I give up! Just bend the leg back and I’ll get out! I promise! I’ll tell you 
  everything.”
  
  273
  Darren paused and wavered in the night air. He was barely in touch with 
  reality but was fueled by his fear, channeled into determination to protect the 
  ones he loved. It took several seconds for Kreg’s words to sink into Darren’s 
  wavering mind. Walking over to the bent leg, he yanked it with the SAM’s 
  right hand.
  The whole leg moved about a foot, but didn’t change shape. Kreg screamed.
  “You have to lock the leg if you want to get out of this, otherwise I’m 
  gonna pull you in circles.” Darren heard a clunking sound a minute later and 
  then reached down put his weight into his next effort. This time he managed 
  to bend the knee joint into a somewhat straight position.
  “Get out now, or I’ll bend it back the way I found it.”
  “You’ll kill me,” Kreg whimpered.
  “Yeah, just like you wasted my friends and slaughtered those towns and 
  villages. Now get out.” Darren’s adrenaline was starting to wear off now that 
  his body knew the fight was over. He had to keep it together for just a little 
  longer.
  Locking clamps released pressure around the chest, arms, and legs inside 
  the Glitter Boy and the head unit tilted back as the front body section slid 
  open. Gasping at the pain, Kreg pulled himself from the Glitter Boy onto the 
  ground. Through the SAM’s night vision optics it looked like the pilot’s leg 
  was soaked with blood through the flexible armor suit.
  “Please, don’t kill me.”
  “Why not? I saw the vids from your attacks on my people. I was at 
  Youngstown. I know what you people did and you’re going to pay.” Darren’s 
  fire got a boost from righteous indignation at the pilot’s attempt to weasel out 
  of the justice due to him.
  “You don’t understand. We were paid to attack those towns and villages 
  along the Tolkeen border. We were paid by the Coalition to do it! It was your 
  money, your guns, someone in the military planned it all out. I need a doctor, 
  please!”
  “Yeah, Lyboc paid you off to make some trouble so he could make sure 
  the Skelebots went through.”
  “Skelebots? I don’t know anything about that.” Kreg winced. “Zenjori 
  was wiping out villages long before I joined him. Destroying resistance along 
  the border so your own army could come in for a land grab, each time getting 
  closer to Tolkeen. I can prove it. Get me to a doctor and I’ll tell you how. 
  Zenjori has a disk.”
  “Tell me about the disk? Where is it?” Darren demanded, his attention 
  momentarily sharp once again as he saw a chance to get valuable informa-
  tion.
  “He keeps it on him. You got set up. Your own government set you up to 
  get wasted. I think you were supposed to catch the blame for what we did and 
  when you finally caught us, we were supposed to spend so much time trying 
  
  274
  to annihilate each other that nobody would survive. They’re also putting stuff 
  in the water to make everyone believe what they’re told, messing with your 
  vids and comms, setting up crushing Coaliton defeats just to make it look like 
  Tolkeen is getting more and more violent, it’s all on the disk.”
  “You’re lying. There’s a list of fifth columnists on it. I know. I saw the 
  intel reports.”
  “The list isn’t complete. Most of it is proof of what the Coalition is doing 
  to its own people. Get the disk for yourself. Lyboc wants you to kill us and 
  destroy it so nobody knows what he paid us to do. I bet your captain knows 
  and hasn’t told you.”
  The sounds of explosions rocked through the trees. The clouds over the 
  mountain lit up from giant clouds of flame as smoke blew skyward from the 
  southern assault corridor. The buzzing sound in Darren’s head became loud-
  er, not just because his head hurt. His systems were warning of something 
  coming down the hill toward them. Kreg curled into the fetal position on the 
  ground, panting to stay conscious.
  “SAM 15 to Merrick, over.”
  No response.
  “SAM 15 to Merrick, over.”
  No response. Nothing on the radio at all.
  Greg’s SAMAS, somewhat the worse for wear, came skidding to a halt 
  behind Darren. “Darren, you okay? I haven’t been able to reach you,” Greg’s 
  voice called over his SAMAS’ voice amplification system.
  “Sir, my radio isn’t working.” Darren switched over to the voice amplifier 
  as Greg had.
  “Neither is mine. Something’s jamming our frequencies. We have to go. 
  There’s an X-500 and the other Multibot coming down from higher on the 
  ridge. Something is going very wrong and I think we’re starting to lose.”
  “Where’s the Titan?’
  “Up the hill with its crew splattered all over the smashed controls. You 
  going to make it?”
  Darren tried to move his crushed hand, but winced in pain. “I’m not feel-
  ing so good, but I got the Glitter Boy.” The cavalier grin that was on his face 
  was evident in his voice.
  “I’ll pat you on the back when it doesn’t look like a feather will knock 
  you on your can.” Greg looked down at Darren’s twisted left fist; his helmet 
  didn’t look so good either.
  “What about him? He told me all kinds of stuff about the disk. Can you 
  carry him?” Darren wobbled on his feet again.
  “I think so,” Greg replied. “Stay with me, Darren. You can collapse after 
  we get back to camp.”
  Crashing trees from up the hill turned both pilots’ heads as the X-500 
  came into view. Its spotlight bathed them in a harsh spotlight as the robot’s 
  
  275
  belly turret angled down. Coming around behind it, Kruno’s Multibot threat-
  ened its firepower.
  “Forget him! He’s nothing without the suit! Go!” Greg shouted and lifted 
  out of the ion beams’ paths. Charged particles blew up vegetation and black-
  ened earth in a six-foot swath beneath him. Sputtering flame and disintegrat-
  ing earth helped propel Darren away from a rail gun burst. He bounced once 
  to retrieve his rail gun then went airborne through the trees and up over the 
  canopy, the two enemy robots rushing their pursuit.
  “Wait! Don’t leave me like this!” Kreg wailed.
  Kruno laughed. A giant robot foot ended Kreg’s misery.
  ____________________
  “Drive them back. Don’t let them escape,” Zenjori commanded quietly to 
  Kruno and Drake. Observing the battle from near the ridgetop, he’d watched 
  his outer lines fall as he expected to the Coalition onslaught despite the ca-
  sualties his troops inflicted. Little remained between the faltering inner lines 
  and his position. Calling the battle a victory was premature. He’d lost too 
  many power armor units to survive another organized assault, but the Coali-
  tion had lost their only chance to win – by continuing to press the attack.
  “Kruno’s forces are decimated.” Notec marked off the outer perimeter on 
  the battle map, then marked off several sections of the inner defense ring. 
  “He’s got two robots and some Headhunters counterattacking here, but our 
  defenses are gone.”
  “Special thanks to the late Mr. Xevo for his radio jamming device. The 
  Coalition is going right where we want them, and they don’t even know 
  Sledgehammer Squad is coming.”
  “Drake’s probably loving this,” Colnae commented, leaning back in the 
  hover rover’s seat and watching the pyrotechnic display light up the tree can-
  opy down the hill.
  “War is hell, and tonight the Coalition is going to know what hell is.” 
  Zenjori grinned maniacally.
  ____________________
  “Oh man,” Dave sighed.
  “Skull 41 to Pritchett! Too hot! It’s too hot!” Lisa shouted over the radio 
  and knocked a cyborg off its feet with a converging rail gun burst. Four more 
  moved in and returned fire. “Come in! Come in!”
  “Get back!” Sergeant Winters barked at Brian, but the hover rover was 
  already banking into a U-turn.
  “They’re turning around!” Dave watched the hover rover fly between the 
  robot’s legs.
  
  276
  “Skull 41! Git the hell back! There’s too many!” Winters shouted into the 
  radio.
  A loud static noise returned.
  Backing away from the onslaught while still firing at its attackers, Skull 
  41 drew the most fire. The small forward laser turret was blasted into scrap 
  metal and both spotlight eyes turned to hollow sockets. Blinded and dying 
  fast, the Skull Walker stumbled to the side as its undercarriage buckled under 
  its own weight.
  Concentrating firepower on the heavy Coalition robotic walker, Drake’s 
  cyborg squad focused all their fire on the construct in a vicious counterat-
  tack. The four remaining legs collapsed, and the mangled skull crashed to the 
  earth. Sending sixteen cyborgs in pursuit of the fleeing rover, Drake detailed 
  the rest to finish off Coalition troops pushing through Kruno’s lines. Drake 
  chortled in an ominous rumbling voice and aimed his Wellington mini-mis-
  sile launcher at the disfigured Spider Skull Walker’s head.
  Explosive bolts blew the top section from the Skull Walker and ejection 
  seats fired skyward an instant before a plasma warhead erupted through for-
  ward armor and caught the reserve ammunition in the back of the pilot’s 
  compartment. The Skull Walker blew apart from the inside, opening up like 
  a flower with burning petals of metal and electronics.
  “We gotta go back for Lisa and Dave!” Brian shouted.
  “Like hell,” Winters grunted, climbing over the seat to exchange fire with 
  the pursuing ‘Borgs.
  Laser beams and plasma charges flew in every direction, wreaking havoc 
  on both sides. Bill fired continuously with the mounted C-40R rail gun, rip-
  ping into the bodies of trees and cyborgs alike.
  “That one’s got a launcher!” Bill cried out, spotting a partial conversion 
  cyborg dropping to one knee with a shoulder-mounted rocket tube.
  “Not for long.” Rachel steadied her own CR-1 missile launcher on Cow-
  boy’s shoulder and fired a plasma warhead mini-missile. The ‘Borg exploded 
  in a ball of fire and sparks, the magazine on its waist and back igniting mo-
  ments later to add to the fireworks.
  “Reload!” Rachel screamed.
  “Hold still!” Mathis dropped the missile as Brian swerved to miss a fall-
  ing tree.
  “Get the four-armed one!” Cowboy shouted, firing the last charge in his 
  canister at Drake.
  “Got ’im!” Bill swung the rail gun to meet the new threat. The feed belt 
  jerked, and the rail gun spat metal slugs into the heavy cyborg’s chest and 
  face. Drake caught his balance and swung his Wellington launcher over to 
  put his gun’s laser dot on Bill’s chest.
  Smoke shot from behind Drake’s launcher and all Bill saw was the smoke 
  trail coming directly at him. The rocket impacted at Bill’s neck in a terrible 
  
  277
  explosion that ripped through his armor and instantly killed him. White-hot 
  flame seared over the occupants of the rover, singing armor, and weapon-
  ry. Expanding gases blasted Rachel headfirst out the back of the rover and 
  launched Bill into the rover’s path. Brian hugged the controls to keep from 
  flying out and tried to keep the craft from crashing.
  A second mini-missile bore down, killing instantly the wounded soldier 
  brave enough to retake Bill’s position on the smoking rail gun. Winters sailed 
  up from the craft from the second explosion to find the rover no longer be-
  neath him. Striking a tree trunk, the rover smashed through the wooden im-
  pediment and crash landed onto the rocky mountainside. The cyborgs closed 
  in.
  What was left of Fireteams Saber and Fury opened up with cover fire 
  just in time. Exchanging devastating barrages of bullets, lasers, and plasma, 
  both sides pounded on each other in an uneasy stalemate. A Coalition hover 
  cycle was blown to bits along with its rider and one of Drake’s cyborgs fell 
  to a rocket volley from a launcher team. Trenton pulled together the last of 
  Fireteam Fury and concentrated their fire on particular targets to give them 
  an advantage. Draining his last energy canister, Trenton switched to forearm 
  rockets and traded mini-missiles with his closest attacker. Trenton won the 
  exchange having watched his opponent’s mini-missile pass centimeters from 
  his face.
  Under the hail of death, Winters charged the nearest cyborg and planted a 
  Fusion Block on its armored chest. Caught by surprise, the cyborg panicked, 
  swinging its rifle to get the Coalition soldier away.
  The timer counted down from eight, but Winters was too pissed off to 
  care. To the utter astonishment of the ‘Borg, Winters ripped the oversized 
  plasma cannon from its bionic hand and blew a hole through its leg. As the 
  ‘Borg’s body fell awkwardly to the ground, it exploded in a shower of sparks.
  “Sarge! Sarge! C’mon!” Cowboy stood his ground to cover his sergeant’s 
  retreat, firing at every enemy he could see to give Winters time to get back 
  to cover.
  Back in the rover, Brian restarted the engine and caught too much air, tip-
  ping precariously out of the burning foliage while veering over two troops 
  trying to get back inside. Winters sprinted for the rover and jumped into the 
  shotgun seat as the forest exploded with live fire behind him.
  “Git movin’, Adams!” Winters shouted, his attention on attempting to de-
  capitate another cyborg using a tree for cover.
  Soldiers piled back into the smoking rover and helped the wounded in be-
  hind them. Clumsily heaving his body over a hover jet, Cowboy accidentally 
  kicked Winters on his way in. The rover lurched, spewing flames from its 
  damaged underbelly. Fireteams Saber and Fury fell under withering fire, with 
  no more than four surviving to give themselves a walking, covered retreat 
  supported by Trenton.
  
  278
  Retreating down the hillside across the devastated battlefield, the Enforcer 
  gave its last aid to cover the retreat. Rail gun and lasers blazing, the Enforcer 
  picked off lead targets but was only able to slow the counterattack.
  Winters cursed as he felt the pain of his injuries filter through his adrena-
  line. Scorched plates of armor were barely covering the blistered skin be-
  neath. His shoulder hurt badly from some attack he’d been oblivious to.
  “Cowboy! Headcount!” Winters yelled.
  “Cody and Rob never made it back in and we’re missing Bill and Rachel! 
  Mathis isn’t here either! He was running back to get Rachel!”
  “Brian! Where’s Shepard!?” Winters noticed the melted and empty seat 
  next to the blasted radio.
  “Right here!” A soldier in marred black armor announced from the driv-
  er’s seat.
  Winters rolled over and looked carefully through blackened eyepieces. In-
  stead of the flanges of an officer’s helmet, the plain black surface of a grunt’s 
  skull-plate sat behind the rover’s controls.
  “Where’s Brian!?”
  “I dunno!”
  “We can’t leave ’em up there, Sarge!”
  “Shut up, Cowboy!” Winters barked.
  On high alert, the whole crew of the rover watched as a long-range laser 
  beam cuts through Jensen’s damaged chest plate and cooks through his in-
  sides.
  “Haul outta’ here, Shepard!”
  “Jenson just bought it!” another grunt yells.
  “Get down in the rover and pray!” Winters yelled back, tucking himself 
  lower in the passenger’s seat for whatever cover it would provide.
  ____________________
  Too many people have been killed and too many forgotten in war. Sharp 
  had done his share of killing, but now it was time to save a life instead. Com-
  munications were dead and somehow things had gone very wrong. Worse 
  yet, the Skull Walker hadn’t come back down from the mountain inferno. 
  There was no way Sharp was going to leave anyone behind. Losing Reesa 
  had been hard, he wasn’t going to lose Lisa and Dave or anyone else still 
  stranded on the mountain.
  Slotting his last energy clip, Sharp secured his JA-11 and ran to where 
  he’d seen a SAMAS go down earlier. He dropped through an opening in the 
  trees just in time to hear his targeting and threat detection system give its 
  warning.
  Two D-Bee Headhunters about five meters from him were swinging their 
  guns in his direciton. The tactical information from the targeting system 
  showed exactly where the threats were. Firing a burst from the hip, he ion-
  
  279
  ized one before the being could fire. The second stood behind the downed 
  SAMAS, using the upturned thrusters and wing for cover. Sticking a bulky 
  forearm mounted weapon over the smoking armored unit, the Headhunter 
  blistered Sharp’s shoulder with charged ions. Calmly and deliberately, Sharp 
  went down on one knee and blasted off the exposed arm with a well-placed 
  laser beam. Using his jet pack, he launched into the air while his enemy was 
  distracted, landing less than a meter behind the creature and blasting it in the 
  head with another shot. Another alert sounded from the AQ-3 to let him know 
  the clip was empty and the thruster pack’s internal energy canister was now 
  being used. Sharp had no time to waste.
  Someone had already pried the SAMAS open and dragged the pilot out 
  onto the ground. Sharp didn’t know who she was but recognized the insignia 
  on her uniform. One of Pritchett’s RPA’s. The only thing he could see wrong 
  with her was the trickle of blood running down her face from a cut above her 
  eye. A chilling thought occurred to him. Zenjori was taking prisoners, other-
  wise, this RPA would be dead by now.
  Gently picking her up with both arms, Sharp shouldered his JA-11, drap-
  ing her legs over his gun arm. The balance would be tricky in flight. He 
  couldn’t allow for mistakes.
  In a bone-jarring impact, an explosion rocked his body and forced him 
  down out of the air. His head hurt and his back was throbbing in pain. Sharp 
  staggered forward but just barely keeping himself from falling while the RPA 
  Pilot was unconscious in his arms. The world spun and he turned to see a 
  light Terrain Hopper exoskeleton thirty feet away. Looking down the bore 
  of a grenade launcher, Sharp couldn’t help but wonder if there was life after 
  death.
  Unexpectedly, an explosion blew off the head of the enemy power armor. 
  It would have been funny if Sharp hadn’t been in so much pain and was try-
  ing to get his precious cargo to safety. He also didn’t take the time to look for 
  his savior. In battle, you took the advantages given to you and tried to pay 
  them forward later.
  ____________________
  The remnants of the Coalition forces were at the base of Pritchett’s Skull 
  Walker. Stimulant patches on both sides of Darren’s neck compensated for 
  the pain he was enduring. He looked around as small groups and individu-
  als walked out of the woods from the east and assembled near the downed 
  Walker. After they’d gotten away from the mountain, each person’s radio had 
  started working again and they were able to start regrouping.
  Three undamaged hover rovers idled by themselves several meters away, 
  ready to convey the personnel to safety. A pair of technical officers, the only 
  two left, worked feverishly on sealing the leak in the Skull Walker’s nuclear 
  generator. Word was the Army of the New Order was regrouping for a coun-
  
  280
  terattack to finish them off. In Darren’s drugged, happy state it didn’t seem 
  to matter.
  Military flashlights clipped to shoulder harnesses served as the only il-
  lumination for the emergency meeting at the Skull Walker. At best, they had 
  five minutes to decide the fate of those missing in action. Were there enough 
  survivors to push back and rescue the living, or did the main force have to 
  leave them to their fate and come up with a new plan to deal with the Army 
  of the New Order and its insane leader, Zenjori Suka?
  Their force had suffered overwhelming losses, mostly in Pritchett’s forces 
  because he’d committed them to a frontal assault on a well-entrenched enemy 
  and had sent more than one squad into the land mines that had been waiting 
  for someone to walk by.
  “I don’t leave my men behind! Not until I know for sure!” Greg shouted at 
  the defeated and haggard Captain Pritchett.
  “We don’t leave our own behind,” Cowboy echoed, glaring at Winters.
  “There’s nothing we can do for them,” Pritchett spoke flatly, trying to 
  convince himself that he was doing the right thing.
  “I’ve got good officers and men missing in action. I will not leave until 
  everyone is accounted for, dead or alive,” Merrick said.
  “My men are out there too, Lieutenant. You don’t think that bothers me?! 
  We don’t have a choice. If we’re here when the rebels counterattack, we’ll 
  all be dead.”
  “We’re not movin’ until Winters and I settle this!” Cowboy barked. “You 
  made us leave how many men up there on the hill? What kind of yellow-
  bellied excuse for a Sergeant do you think you are? We’ve been through a lot 
  together and we never once left you behind Sarge, funny how the tables turn 
  when it gets a little hot under the bonnet.”
  “Now wait one minute! You can’t talk to me like that! Not after all we’ve 
  been through! Ya know I’d bust my tail to save anyone in our outfit!” Winters 
  shouted back. “You think I had a choice? It ticked me off that I hadda leave 
  men behind!”
  “Sergeant Winters was right to pull out when he did. He saved the lives of 
  most of your men, Lieutenant,” Pritchett reasoned.
  “I don’t need yer help you D-Bee lover!” Winters screamed at Pritchett.
  Pritchett stood in shock at Winter’s outburst. He hadn’t been talked to like 
  that in years and never by someone of lower rank.
  “Yer own men are gonna make sure you don’t come home some day. 
  Don’t you ever think yer ever gonna get away with what you pulled today or 
  what you pulled two days ago!” Winters’ insubordination, vitriol, and xeno-
  phobia shocked everyone.
  “Winters,” Greg Merrick warned.
  “And you, you think you’re any better than this uppity snob?” Sergeant 
  Winters turned on his Lieutenant. “You don’t seem to care who we work with 
  
  281
  as long as the job gets done. Hell, Adams has been working with a D-Bee all 
  week and you haven’t said two words about it, not to mention all the freaks 
  in Liberty. If the Emperor knew anything about the lot of you, you’d all be 
  brought up on treason charges for getting in bed with the enemy!”
  Quiet murmurs followed, but nobody took their eyes away from the face-
  off. Hatred and xenophobia were common in the Coalition. Everyone had 
  their own line for how they felt about D-Bees and those who consorted with 
  them, but calling out the chain of command with everyone present and accus-
  ing even an incompetent leader of some of the worst crimes punishable under 
  the Coalition was a rare event.
  Amid his outburst, Winters had drawn his gun. While it still pointed at the 
  ground, Pritchett could tell the man had broken whatever had been holding 
  him back. Something told Pritchett his life would always be in danger now.
  Peterson sailed in for a clumsy landing with a damaged SAMAS, breaking 
  the tension of the confrontation. The left thruster flared out brightly, almost 
  knocking the exoskeleton into the group of officers.
  “Sorry. There’s something makin’ it do that. I couldn’t get anyone on the 
  radio for the longest time.”
  “You’re the latest one to get here, Peterson. Any news on the enemy?” 
  Greg stepped away from the SAM.
  “They’re comin’. The X-500 and a Multibot, and more ‘Borgs. We gotta 
  move. They still got missiles left. I saw ’em.”
  “How far?”
  “Half a mile, less now. I shot at ’em and got back to warn you cuz the 
  radio’s down. Lieutenant Sorenson and the Enforcer are tryin’ ta slow ’em 
  down some.”
  “Victor! I need the Skull Walker running now!” Pritchett yelled to his tech 
  officer.
  “I’ve got it held together with tin foil and chewing gum, sir.”
  “Whatever works. Power it up, we’re leaving.”
  “We can make it back to Liberty by afternoon if we haul it, sir,” Nim an-
  nounced.
  “And leave our friends behind?” Cowboy pushed.
  Before Sgt. Winters could go off again, Pritchett interjected. “Merrick, 
  I’m not going to order you to withdraw, but you should evaluate what your 
  chances are.” Pritchett turned and began marshaling the remaining troops 
  into the hover rovers.
  The rest stopped and waited for Greg to give the order. This was the kind 
  decision Greg hated.
  “You say we go after ’em and we’re with you.” Cowboy straightened up 
  to his full 6 feet, 7 inches and squared his shoulders.
  
  282
  It would be ordering a death sentence to stay. Greg knew it. His men knew 
  it. He could see it in their eyes and yet he knew they would follow the order 
  if he gave the word.
  “Load up. We’ll organize search parties as soon as we’re clear of the coun-
  terattack. After that, we can stage a search and rescue from Liberty. We will 
  get our people back.”
  “You heard the Lieutenant. Get moving.” Winters exchanged a long look 
  with Greg.
  “What about the other rover? It’s not gonna make it.” Nim pointed to the 
  trashed military vehicle.
  “Put Jenson at the controls. Give him a grenade.”
  “Jenson deserves a proper burial,” one of the soldiers shot back.
  “We can’t leave him for the ANO,” Trenton urged.
  “Guys, we can’t do anything for him. Maybe he can do something for us 
  and this way his death won’t be for nothing,” Greg spoke sympathetically.
  “The rover?” Nim asked.
  “Boobytrap it, but not by the book. Make sure they’re not expecting it.”
  Sorenson’s SAMAS plopped down in the camp looking more like it had 
  barely survived a fist fight with a blender. The ground trembled slightly at the 
  approach of the enemy robots.
  “We have to—”
  “I know. Everyone keep your heads down and your engines hot. SAMAS 
  are flying escort for the others,” Greg ordered.
  Pritchett’s Skull Walker and the rovers moved into the darkness as they 
  headed north.
  “Peterson, you’re with me. Darren, escort.”
  “Yes, sir.”
  “You got any ammo, Peterson?”
  “Uh-huh.”
  “Be generous with it. Pretend it’s X-mas and you’re Santa Claus bringing 
  hunks of metal to all the bad boys and cyborgs.”
  Weapons fire came over the treetops even before the two exoskeletons 
  lifted off. Two robot vehicles broke through the foliage less than 500 feet 
  away and, at their feet, came a dozen cyborgs.
  With its rail gun nearly empty and its systems operating at 10%, the 
  Enforcer wobbled and shuddered with each step. Corrinne knew the robot 
  wasn’t going to make it but was determined to continue hurting the enemy 
  until the very end.
  When the missile warning tone sounded, Corrinne pulled the ejection le-
  ver. Two ejection seats blew skyward from the fractured robot just before 
  two missiles from the Multibot made impact. Parachutes blossomed above 
  the fiery wreckage of the burning Enforcer.
  “Peterson!” Greg shouted over the loudspeaker to his wingman.
  
  283
  “What!?
  “No more Santa Claus. Grab the Enforcer crew!”
  “Yes, sir!”
  Greg banked away from incoming plasma bolts and tried to beat the cy-
  borgs to one of the descending parachutes. Coming down hard, the Enforcer’s 
  co-pilot bounced once and groggily tried to free himself of the harness. Greg 
  almost knocked him down by mistaking a tree stump under the parachute for 
  the pilot.
  “Get over here!”
  He didn’t have to ask twice. Practically jumping into the SAM’s arms, Pri-
  vate Jameson clung on for dear life. Greg gripped the soldier and flew straight 
  up above the tree line. Far away, Peterson’s thrusters could be seen making a 
  hasty retreat, two extra legs sticking out from under his wings.
  “Good going, Peterson. I’ll have to make you an NCO someday,” Greg 
  commended the dead radio and then hit the jets in pursuit.
  Thirty seconds later a small mushroom cloud rose above the trees where 
  Jenson made his last stand.
  ____________________
  In the valley between the two mountain ridges, southeast of what used to 
  be Harper’s Ferry, the night was quiet once again after the violence that had 
  disturbed it earlier. Stumbling down a steep embankment, Sharp splashed 
  noisily into the creek at the bottom and came face to barrel with several 
  Coalition weapons. A tiny light cupped in someone’s hand lit the darkness 
  enough for him realize he wasn’t going to die.
  “God, Sharp, we almost shot you.” Lisa let some light slip through her 
  hand so Sharp could recognize her.
  Several other armor-clad figures came out of the shadows, one sporting a 
  stylized officer’s helmet.
  “Something’s wrong with my radio,” Sharp blurted out, getting a hush 
  from several troops.
  “We’re being jammed.” Brian lifted the faceplate of his officer’s helmet 
  and looked down at the RPA Sharp was carrying.
  “Oh.”
  “That’s Private Yoshi.” One of the soldiers pointed.
  Sharp knew the young soldier was also from Pritchett’s unit by her armor 
  alone but didn’t recall a name.
  “Man, shut up, Gerald,” Private Robert Rollins hissed. “You want them 
  ‘Borgs comin’ after us?”
  “Were you followed?” Brian looked over Sharp’s shoulder into the dark-
  ness.
  “I dunno,” he responded, still dazed from the explosion he’d survived.
  
  284
  “We better get farther up the creek,” Brian advised, leading the group of 
  survivors to a cleft between a stump and a large boulder.
  Sharp still stood holding the injured RPA.
  “You okay, Sharp?” Lisa asked, shining her light on his back. “Oh my 
  god. What happened to you?”
  “Grenade. I think. Good thing Merrick made me switch over to the electric 
  model. I think my radio’s fried, too.”
  “You can put her down, Sharp.” Brian took out his own light and carefully 
  illuminated a spot on the ground.
  The Scout gently put Yoshi down, feeling pain spring back to his arms and 
  neck. “Will she be okay?”
  “I don’t know.” Brian looked her over, feeling for broken bones.
  Some sounds of battle traveled over the valley and settled uncomfortably 
  over the survivors.
  “We’re all gonna die! We’re gonna die!” Private Gerald barked in a forced 
  whisper as he stood and aimed his C-12 laser rifle at dark shapes in the night.
  “Man, get the hell down, Gerald!” Private Cody Nelson yanked the pan-
  icked soldier down, wincing at the painful burns he’d received when thrown 
  from Brian’s rover by an exploding mini-missile.
  Nobody in the huddled group had escaped the war zone without some 
  injury to show for it. After a while, the group realized the sounds of weapon 
  reports and explosions were diminishing.
  “Farther away that time,” Lisa observed.
  “They’re leaving us here to die!” Gerald moaned.
  “Hey!” Brian looked up from administering first aid to Private Yoshi. Ger-
  ald’s faceplate was down but Brian didn’t need to see his expression to know 
  the soldier was about to lose it. “Private Ben Gerald, right?”
  “Yeah, yeah.”
  “They aren’t going to leave us. We’re going to make it, okay?”
  “Yeah, yeah okay.”
  Brian went back to checking the RPA. It didn’t appear as if there were any 
  serious injuries, but he injected her with a dose of nano-robots to make sure 
  there weren’t any internal ones. Other than the nasty swelling above her eye, 
  she appeared to be okay.
  “She’ll live, right?” Sharp leaned over, lifting his faceplate for a better 
  look.
  “Yeah, Sharp, she’s probably just got a concussion,” Brian commented.
  Brian patted his friend on the shoulder. The scene brought back painful 
  memories of soldiers left behind; his heart went out for the torment Sharp 
  must have experienced on his way down the mountain.
  “Sir, Lieutenant Adams, what do we do now?” Private Nelson asked.
  It took a second for Brian to realize he was the one being addressed. Tak-
  ing his eyes away from Yoshi he noticed everyone was looking at him, grave 
  
  285
  faces were expecting him to make the next decision. Suddenly he felt sick, 
  a pit grew in his stomach and moved up to the back of his throat. Brian’s 
  mouth went dry. He looked from face to face, realizing each was depending 
  on him for strength and direction. Their lives, all their lives, were resting on 
  his shoulders, a responsibility he’d never wanted or anticipated. The deci-
  sions he made now would decide who would live and who would die.
  “Brian, Lieutenant Adams, you are the ranking officer here.” Lisa’s intent 
  gaze locked on him. Her calm and even tone helped to settle his mind as they 
  locked eyes for a long moment. It was all up to him now, like it or not, and 
  if he didn’t get everyone to safety, nobody else would. Throwing off his own 
  doubts about his own abilities, Brian formed orders with natural fervor.
  “All right, then, here’s what we do. Private Gerald, I need you to do some-
  thing important and carry Yoshi. Private Nelson is going to help you, but the 
  only thing you have to do is carry her. Have either of you been trained in first 
  aid?”
  “No.”
  “Not really, sir.” Nelson glanced at Gerald.
  “That’s okay, just be careful with her head. We’re going to move north 
  along this creek a ways and try to re-establish radio contact or hit the river, 
  whichever comes first. If for some reason that doesn’t work, we’ll work our 
  way across the river downstream and use the hills to cover us back to Liberty. 
  Is everyone on board with that? Corporal?” Brian nodded to Sharp.
  “That should work,” Sharp replied, he and Lisa had given him the firmest 
  replies.
  “What if they come after us, sir?” Private Rollins asked, displaying his 
  partially melted C-14 rifle.
  “As soon as we put some space between us and them, Corporal Andrews 
  and I will check the weapons and fix what we can. In the meantime, give 
  Corporal Andrews a quick inventory of what each of you has.”
  “What do you want me to do?” Dave asked, nursing an injured leg among 
  other bumps and bruises.
  “You and Li — Corporal Andrews have worked together before. Help her 
  keep track of the inventory and check supplies.”
  “Yes, sir.” Dave smiled thinly.
  Brush and twigs rustled somewhere down the creek. Flashlights went out 
  and the group crouched lower, listening to the sounds. Footsteps in the water 
  continued intermittently, then receded.
  “No more than one or two,” Sharp whispered.
  “They probably heard us.” Rollins peeked out from his position behind 
  the stump.
  “If they did, and they’re not ours, they’ll come back with more.” Sharp 
  checked the readout on his weapon. Eight shots remained in the cell. No-
  where near enough for him to feel comfortable.
  
  286
  “We need to move, now. Sharp, you lead.” Brian flipped his light back 
  on, covering it partially with his armored palm. All eyes fixed on him in 
  expectation.
  Sharp made sure he had the attention of everyone. “Expect them to track 
  us. Walk quietly in the water when you can. We’ll follow animal trails when 
  we can’t. Everybody keep your eyes out for trails so we don’t have to double 
  back too far.”
  “Maybe someone should lead them away from us,” Lisa suggested. “Make 
  an obvious trail out of the creek for them to follow.”
  Brian hated his position at the moment. To send someone as a decoy was 
  an almost certain death sentence, and each of them knew it. Worse still, Brian 
  knew if he gave the order it would be followed. He wondered how Lieutenant 
  Merrick had done it all those years, knowing he was ordering a man to his 
  death. The sickening feeling returned when he wrestled with the best deci-
  sion. The only one of them who could pull this off and have a glimmering 
  chance for survival was the one person he least wanted to send, his best friend 
  and companion since childhood, Sharp. He looked at his friend, both men 
  understanding what it meant.
  “Everybody, I’m gonna be the decoy,” Sharp said, before Brian had to ask. 
  Dropping his faceplate to hide a wince of pain as he rose to his feet, he turned 
  and clasped his friend’s hand. “Make sure she makes it, Brian.”
  “She will,” Brian nodded. “We all will.”
  Sharp nodded, the full weight of what he was about to do sinking in. With-
  out another word he crossed the creek downstream and started quietly snap-
  ping twigs and stepping extra steps through the brush on the other side to 
  make a clear trail.
  Lisa choked on a lump in her throat and looked at Brian in the dim light. 
  He dropped his faceplate and locked it in place so none could see the tears.
  ____________________
  Victory cheers rose with the morning sun. A costly and hard-fought battle 
  was over, and the Coalition was soundly defeated. Exactly how many es-
  caped didn’t matter, it was the piles of dead bodies and wrecked mechanized 
  units that testified to the Army of the New Order’s success. Laid out on the 
  ground were the spoils of war; Coalition weapons and captured prisoners to 
  be dealt with however Zenjori Suka saw fit.
  “Suka San, we think a few escaped north up the creek to the east,” Drake 
  announced quietly, not wanting the prisoners to know whether any of their 
  friends had survived.
  Patches on the cyborg were blasted away, but Drake was still in good 
  shape. He hadn’t been able to kill the last stragglers or the Captain’s Skull 
  Walker. That really pissed him off.
  “How many?”
  
  287
  “Could be four or five. On foot.”
  “Send one of your cyborgs and a few experienced Headhunters after them. 
  I don’t want them finding their way back to Liberty.”
  “Yes, Suka San.”
  “Notec, Colnae. I need you two on medical detail. We’re moving away 
  from the mountain and we can’t afford liabilities. Heal the ones who can still 
  fight. Be quick with the others.” Zenjori tossed a laser pistol to Colnae.
  “Yes, Suka San.” The mage grinned.
  “Yo! Boss! Got ya some more P.O.W.s.” Kruno tossed a beaten prisoner 
  into the dirt along with two others wearing the same uniform and insignia.
  Rachel moaned and tried to get up, but the abuse her body had taken was 
  too much. Mathis looked at her with swollen eyes. All Bill could do was lay 
  where they tossed him, the front of his uniform melted to his skin and much 
  of his body covered with burns.
  “Yes. I see that, Kruno. It appears your men have already taken a few 
  liberties.”
  “Spoils of war. Ya know. Check this out.” Kruno held up the chest plate 
  to Bill’s armor.
  Much of the composite was melted and the ceramic cracked around the 
  impact mark.
  “Mine?” Drake asked.
  “Yep. A direct hit with a scorcher and the guy inside ain’t dead. Gotta 
  hand it to them C.S. egg-heads, eh?”
  “I know why that one is laying on the ground almost dead, Kruno, but was 
  it necessary for you to injure the others without my consent, spoils of war 
  notwithstanding?”
  “Black one busted Trench’s nose.” Kruno kicked Mathis over, beating 
  Trench to it with some obvious glee. “Didn’t hurt the woman. Not much 
  anyway.” He laughed.
  “How wonderful,” Zenjori stated, deadpan expression masking his annoy-
  ance.
  “Watcha gonna do with them others?” Kruno pointed to the other four 
  Coalition prisoners lined up on their knees.
  “They’re not from the same unit as these three. My guess is these three are 
  the ones that paid us a surprise visit the other night. I think we’ll let young 
  Mr. Tristan decide their fate. Kent, come here, please.” Zenjori waved Kent 
  Tristan away from the weapon’s pile.
  The teenage boy skirted around the prisoners with a mixture of fear and 
  hatred. Zenjori put his arm around Kent like a father would a son.
  “Kent, what do you think about these Coalition troops we captured?”
  “I, I don’t like them.” He glared.
  “And you shouldn’t. See the insignia on those four over there? See the 
  emblems on their uniforms? Do you recognize it?”
  
  288
  “Yes,” Kent hissed through clenched teeth, tightening fists and shaking 
  with fear and anger.
  “They’re the same ones who killed your grandfather, tortured and killed 
  all those people in your town, and probably did all those horrible things to 
  you. You have a right to hate them. Now is your chance to make things right. 
  Avenge the death of your grandfather and make them pay for what they did.”
  “Kill them?”
  “If you want.” Zenjori turned to Kruno and held out his hand. “Gun.”
  Kruno turned to Trench.
  “Gun.”
  “Man, I just cleaned it,” Trench spoke in a nasal tone, a bandage over his 
  nose to stop the bleeding.
  He handed over a sleek 9 mm. Zenjori put the weapon in Kent’s hand.
  “Do what you want to them. As quickly or as slowly as you think they 
  deserve.” Zenjori’s tone was somewhat whimsical.
  Kent strode forward and pressed the barrel against a soldier’s forehead.
  “Oh God.” Sweat ran down the soldier’s face and he closed his eyes to 
  what was coming.
  The other prisoners watched in horror, wondering if they were next. Kent 
  faltered.
  “Go on, Kent, they killed your family. It’s the right thing to do.”
  “He’s using you,” Mathis choked. Trench kicked him in the head.
  “Look at the emblem on the uniform, Kent. You remember, don’t you?”
  Kent fired at the soldier’s head.
  “Way to go, kid!” Trench cheered.
  Kent went down the line, one after the other execution style. Zenjori had 
  to pull him away before he killed the three soldiers at Trench’s feet.
  “Them too!”
  “No, not that way.” Zenjori pried the gun out of Kent’s hand.
  “Why not?!”
  “They should all suffer for what they inflicted on you, and all those inno-
  cent people. Justice must be done. You can help, of course, if you wish, but 
  they will suffer for their deeds.”
  “I don’t care. I want them to suffer.”
  “Bring the injured one over to that tree. I’m sure we can find a spot on 
  his body that hasn’t been burned yet.” Zenjori produced a pen-sized welding 
  torch.
  “You’re sick!” Mathis spat blood at Zenjori’s feet.
  “For that, you get to be last. Sick is what you’ll be when I’m done with 
  your friends.”
  Rachel moaned, trying one more time to get away. Trench moved to kick 
  her back down. Mathis whipped his leg out and the mercenary was on the 
  ground before anyone knew what happened. Mathis put his knee against 
  
  289
  Trench’s back and ripped a grenade from the mercenary’s belt. The pin fell 
  to the ground in front of Trench’s broken nose.
  “Come now. A grenade is not the weapon you need to kill me.” Pushing 
  Kent behind him, Zenjori put his helmet on and aimed the .9 mm at Mathis. 
  Kent and the other rebels backed away for safety.
  “No! Don’t shoot!” Trench pleaded.
  Mathis looked at Bill. Bill pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Do 
  it,” he said, letting out a hacking, hearty laugh.
  Mathis turned to his teammate of many years. Rachel nodded solemnly.
  Mathis dropped the grenade.
  
  290
  Chapter 18
  I’ll count that as a win
  Long shadows invaded the cavernous regions of Gizmo’s shop. The set-
  ting sun triggered extensive banks of lighting to drive the shadows out of 
  every visible corner of the six-story structure. In the harsh, overly bright light 
  stood Pritchett’s Skull Walker, supported by the repair gantry like a giant, 
  wounded arachnid. Lined up against one wall were damaged SAMAS suits 
  and a score of malfunctioning energy weapons. Pritchett’s two technical of-
  ficers sat blurry-eyed at repair stations, attempting to resurrect the remains 
  of several C-27 plasma cannons. The usual pair of guards outside the facil-
  ity were absent, replaced by a dozing pitbull Dog-Boy and two lieutenants. 
  Greg appeared remarkably more alert than Mike but both wore haggard, lean 
  expressions of fatigue on their faces.
  “I hate to think of what it’s going to take to fix 191.” Mike stared at the 
  mangled robot.
  “More than you or I will ever make. That’s Pritchett’s concern, not ours.”
  “We don’t have enough to cover repairs to the SAM’s, not with Brian and 
  Lisa missing.”
  “Infantry’s our first concern, then fixing the SAM’s. We can get two SAMs 
  out on search patterns pretty quick. The Skull Walker’s not going anywhere 
  until we can get its undercarriage in better shape. As far as the cost, I’ve got 
  us covered,” Greg reassured.
  “What did you do? Sell a SAM to First Strike? We don’t have the budget 
  for those kinds of repairs.” Mike’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
  “Hated to do it, but I saw where the Glitter Boy’s Boom Gun landed and 
  picked it up on the flight back. With that and some of the rebel weapons going 
  to Gizmo, we should be covered for our stuff. Not many units can withstand 
  the Boom Gun’s recoil, but Gizmo says he knows a mercenary with a rebuilt 
  G-10 that’s looking for a gun. Pritchett can go to hell if he thinks he’s getting 
  a cut of the proceeds.” Greg grinned.
  “Is that how you’re going to explain your actions at your court-martial? 
  You just armed another Glitter Boy. You realize that, don’t you?” Mike said.
  “I’m worried, can’t you tell?” Greg’s gray eyes flashed.
  “Are you...” Mike’s question trailed away; a sting of fear struck with him 
  Greg’s smoldering gaze.
  “Crazy? No. No, this is something I put some thought into.”
  “You’re risking a lot.”
  “Maybe. Hey, Gizmo!” Greg called the shop owner.
  The cybernetically augmented mechanic strode over with an uneven gait 
  caused by his mismatched bionic legs. In combat, Gizmo couldn’t compete, 
  but in the shop, his extensive augmentation was a local legend. He never car-
  ried tools. He was one.
  
  291
  “Evenin’ gents.” Gizmo lifted a transparent welding screen so both mis-
  matched cybernetic multi-optic eyes could inspect the two officers.
  “How long would it take to fix SAM 15, completely?” Greg asked as he 
  took in Gizmo’s lopsided form. The mechanic turned around and focused one 
  of his eyes on the exoskeleton opposite him in the garage.
  “Well, that arm and hand are a painful sight, might be it takes me longer 
  than you think. Body work’s a breeze, but head not simple and parts I have 
  none. How soon will you be needing it?”
  “Rush job. I will be needing it tomorrow morning, if possible.”
  “Then price is high.” Gizmo turned back around to face his customers. 
  “Your repair persons have not returned?”
  “No, they’re missing at the moment. That’s why I need the SAM fixed, 
  fast.”
  “I will hurry, then. Like your repair persons, I do. Offered red-haired one 
  a job, ehhh Brian... you know him? But he could not accept. Regrettable.”
  “We don’t know if he’s alive, Gizmo, but as soon as the exoskeleton is 
  done, we’ll start searching.”
  “Your captain and sergeant ‘Borg talked of search earlier, but not agree. 
  Sergeant cyborg very angry at captain, but then get quiet and tell to speak at 
  different place when another sergeant walk in. Sergeant major, wide shoul-
  ders for clean man, then climbs gantry and looks around like he thinks no-
  body is watching him. Goes inside Skull and does not come out. I don’t ask 
  questions.”
  Mike and Greg exchanged looks.
  “What would Trenton be doing talking to Pritchett?” Mike queried.
  “Didn’t ask,” Gizmo answered.
  “You’re sure it was my Full Conversion sergeant?” Greg asked. “Pritchett 
  has two ‘Borgs that look similar.”
  “Yes, as I have two eyes, I know this man. He and captain left when black 
  sergeant major arrived. He is still in there, ask him.” Gizmo pointed to the 
  Skull Walker.
  “That’s odd. When I did a background on Winters, he didn’t come up as a 
  qualified pilot, or engineer.”
  “He’s not. I don’t think he even knows how to use the onboard systems.” 
  Greg shook his head.
  “Communications?” Mike cocked his head at the Skull Walker.
  Greg’s brow furrowed and he started marching for the scaffolding.
  “Maybe he doesn’t have to know how.”
  “Wait! Quietly,” Mike advised and began carefully ascending the gantry.
  Hand over hand in a rhythmic motion, both men climbed to where the 
  open hatch could be seen below them, then slowly down to the Skull itself. 
  Inching his head over the edge, Mike’s cybernetic ear strained to hear any 
  sounds that might clue him to Winter’s actions. The sound of an access panel 
  
  292
  being replaced and screws locked into place echoed out of the robot. The red 
  glow of emergency lights was the only light coming from inside.
  Greg gave a questioning look. Mike signaled for both to enter on the count 
  of three and ran the time on his fingers.
  Winters banged his head on the command console as the two new occu-
  pants made a clumsy landing on loose access plates behind him. Straighten-
  ing fast and rubbing his head, Winters contemplated his situation. Neither 
  officer said a word.
  “What the ...?” Winters stepped toward the intruders, his confrontational 
  nature coming out strong.
  “What are you doing in here, Sergeant?” Greg’s lowered head and fixed 
  gaze gave him a sinister appearance in the flashing red glow of the emergency 
  lamps.
  “None of yer business,” Winters rebuked.
  “Sergeant Major, the Lieutenant asked you a direct question. Answer it, 
  for your own good,” Mike demanded.
  “I was looking for the captain. That’s all.” Winters went to move past and 
  discovered Greg’s hand latched in an iron grip on his wrist.
  Both men strained against each other, barely moving, but Greg’s hold re-
  mained strong. Mike pulled a flexible light from Winter’s other hand.
  “You done?” Winters growled.
  “That isn’t an explanation, Sergeant. What are you doing in here?” Greg 
  stared his subordinate down.
  “Merrick,” Mike interrupted. “Sergeant Major, we know you aren’t quali-
  fied to be operating the systems in this machine. We know you were doing 
  something under the comm panel. Are you going to tell me, or should I check 
  it?” For some reason, Mike was finding the interchange amusing in a distant 
  sort of way.
  “Somebody hadda do it!”
  “Do what, Sergeant?” Greg tightened his grip; muscles bulging and 
  knuckles white. Winters refused to acknowledge the pain.
  “And ta think I figured you’d back me on it.” Jerry grimaced.
  “Is there something I should know before I open this?” Mike crawled un-
  der and started twisting the screws.
  “Just don’t mess with the console.”
  “Ohhh boy.” Mike inched his head inside the opening and looked inside 
  with the flexible light to find exactly what Winters had been doing. A type 
  3 Fusion Block with its timer set for one second and holding. Several wires 
  ran from the comm breaker circuit to the detonator on the explosive device.
  “Pritchett never would’a known what hit ’im.” Winters pulled his arm 
  away as Greg lessened the vice.
  
  293
  “We thought this was something else, more serious, Sergeant,” Mike’s 
  muffled voice came up from under the console. “You didn’t wire this Fusion 
  Block to anything else, did you?”
  “No, just the power switch.”
  “Power switch? How did you know which one was the power switch?” 
  Greg asked suspiciously.
  “Traced them lines on that ’chematic thing on the back of that panel. 
  Turned it on an’ off a few times ta make sure. It would’a worked if you 
  hadn’t shown up.”
  “I’m impressed, Jerry, for taking such initiative. I’d be proud of you ex-
  cept you’d probably have just killed one of Pritchett’s techs instead. What if 
  he ordered the robot started before he got in?”
  “That wasn’t the power switch.” Mike stood and handed Winters the Fu-
  sion Block.
  “Huh?” Jerry looked confused.
  “You wired your bomb to the anti-tampering circuitry designed to fry the 
  computer in case of capture. I haven’t a clue why we’re not all blown to 
  pieces right now.”
  “You realize, Sergeant, that I’m supposed to report this.” Mike’s expres-
  sion was a mask of disapproval.
  “But you won’t,” Greg shot back and pulled the Fusion Block out of Win-
  ters’ hand. “You’re going to wire it to something only Pritchett would touch.”
  Winters looked at the Fusion Block and back down at the console in con-
  fusion.
  Mike was seriously considering the consequences of altering the chain of 
  command and wondered how close he’d come to receiving a similar fate on 
  his previous mission.
  Clanging chains struck the outside of the Skull Walker, and the rattle of 
  heavy steps on the upper catwalk caused all three men to draw their C-18 pis-
  tols and aim them at the open top hatch. Greg slipped the Fusion Block into 
  his left hand while training his sidearm at a section of the catwalk. A second 
  set of footsteps moved much quicker across to the rear section of the robot 
  and then stopped.
  “There’s three of them,” a voice whispered from above, followed by au-
  dible sniffling noises. “It’s Merrick and Winters, and someone else.”
  “Are you certain?”
  “Yes. It’s them.”
  “Lieutenant Merrick? Sergeant Winters? This is Captain Pritchett.”
  “We thought you might be someone else,” Greg lied, holstering his weap-
  on while motioning Winters and Sorenson to do the same.
  Pritchett’s head popped over the hatch.
  “Ahh, Lieutenant Sorenson. What are the three of you doing in my Skull 
  Walker?” He asked politely.
  
  294
  “Privacy. Open spaces can be dangerous security breaches and this is the 
  only place we could think of to talk without an ANO spy possibly overhear-
  ing us,” Mike covered smoothly.
  “We’re discussing our patrol schedule and rescue options, any objec-
  tions?” Greg noted the way Pritchett’s eyes lingered on the Fusion Block in 
  his hand but decided to leave the captain wondering.
  “No, actually that’s a good idea. As senior officer, I should have been 
  informed of this meeting, but if you’ll bring me up to date on your plans, we 
  can start our discussion where you left off. Sharky, go stand guard,” Pritchett 
  ordered and climbed into the Skull Walker.
  Winters mumbled something inaudible under his breath just before Pritch-
  ett climbed inside the walker.
  “Status. I have four functional SAMs, two of which aren’t going anywhere 
  until after a complete overhaul. Mine, 312, and Darren’s, 15, should be back 
  in top form within seventy-two hours,” Greg said, starting with a mechanized 
  assessment. “You have one SAMAS. Number 612. It looks better than any-
  thing I’ve got right now. I don’t see why we can’t field one SAM for search 
  and rescue right now.”
  “My pilot, Sergio, has been up for over twenty-four hours. Sending him 
  out now would be foolish,” Pritchett contended.
  “We have other qualified pilots.”
  “I’ll go,” Mike volunteered.
  “Just a minute, Lieutenant, 612 is attached to my unit.” Pritchett felt un-
  easy about giving up the one working piece of armor he had left.
  “It’s going to be at least eight to twelve hours before we can send out an 
  organized search party. There are other things we can do in the meantime. 
  Getting a fix on our MIA’s as soon as possible is a top priority.”
  “I agree. Believe me, Sorenson, I’m sympathetic, I know you have a per-
  sonal interest in making sure any MIA’s are rescued.” Pritchett sounded sin-
  cere. “I can assure you I will do anything I can to aid our search and rescue 
  operation. Merrick, how is your wounded RPA, PFC Corley?”
  “Darren’s hand was fractured in several places and his wrist was crushed, 
  but the doc said he wouldn’t have to lose it. While the pain must have been 
  excruciating, Alvarez said that the armor took most of the damage. Even so, 
  the Doc had him under pretty heavy anesthesia for surgery. Told me Darren 
  wouldn’t shut up the entire time, conscious or not. I can have him back in 
  action tomorrow. He’s the best RPA we’ve got. Not that it will matter much 
  by the time we get mobile.” Greg mumbled the last part, suddenly feeling 
  claustrophobic inside the confined quarters of the robot.
  “Dr. Alverez’s attitude worries me. Do you think Corley may have said 
  some things he shouldn’t?” Pritchett asked.
  “Darren always says things he shouldn’t,” Greg commented offhandedly.
  Pritchett’s features darkened.
  
  295
  “Of course, it was most likely just the drugs talking. I don’t think the 
  Glitter Boy pilot knew what he was talking about. He couldn’t have known 
  anything, right?” Greg looked down at the Fusion Block in his hand. Pritchett 
  tried not to notice. “Guess we’ll never know, will we?”
  “I’m glad to hear your RPA is going to be all right, that means we can 
  send out SAM’s in pairs instead of solo. We’ll schedule the first shift for 
  0800 tomorrow. Whether he’s ready or not, PFC Corley will go out with my 
  man, Sergio.”
  “We’re shorthanded, not desperate,” Mike countered. “Sending the two of 
  them together may be a mistake.”
  “I’m sure they can be professional long enough to handle it. Both have 
  friends out there, and the added firepower might become necessary for a hos-
  tile extraction. The rebel army is still out there. Two RPA’s stand a better 
  chance than one.”
  “I wouldn’t be surprised if only one of them comes back.” Greg stared at 
  Pritchett, still tossing the Fusion Block. “I’d be willing to wager on who it 
  will be.”
  Pritchett scowled.
  “Regardless, a cooperative search is in order, and it needs to be more than 
  a pair of SAMAS,” Mike demanded, getting irritated at Greg’s unprofes-
  sional behavior himself.
  “I’ll have Sharky take my Dog Pack out in the morning” Pritchett offered. 
  “No solo actions, please. We can’t afford any more losses.”
  “Afford? Funny, you being concerned with losses now.” Greg’s tone be-
  came dangerous. “Everyone has a price to pay, Captain, some more than 
  others. Every one of my men paid their price when they put their lives on the 
  line, including myself. We’ve already paid ours. What about you?”
  “I’m going to pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lieuten-
  ant, you’re obviously very tired. Let me restate my position on our common, 
  and immediate, goal. Our next step must be to rescue any and all MIA’s and 
  fortify our position here in Liberty.” Pritchett tried to meet Greg’s gaze but 
  looked elsewhere after only a moment.
  “Fortify?” Greg couldn’t grasp the concept of orders and objectives any-
  more. “Fortify with what? For what?”
  “We ain’t got nothing left,” Winters growled.
  “Let me assure you, Sergeant, that what I have is available for your use as 
  well. I have two C-40 ammunition drums and several cases of ordnance in my 
  APC, plus the reserve here in the cargo bay.” Pritchett gestured about, refer-
  ring to the cluttered repair bay. “What’s more, I have a crate of mini-missiles 
  and Fusion Blocks stashed in storage that we haven’t even broken the seals 
  on. We have no shortage of supplies.”
  “How generous.”
  
  296
  “We’re all out here together, now more than ever. Let’s try and remember 
  that,” Pritchett admonished diplomatically.
  “That all remains to be seen.” Greg handed the Fusion Block back to Win-
  ters. “Some of us have memories we’d like to forget.”
  ____________________
  “Can we light a campfire?” Lisa asked. “Sitting in the dark like this is just 
  creepy.”
  “No, if they’re sending people after us, the heat from the fire would be like 
  a beacon in the cooler night air. That four-armed cyborg would find us in a 
  second with his thermal vision.
  Private Yoshi had woken up and in fair spirits, joking with Dave and Pri-
  vate Gerald about fighting vampires and other monsters in the Lone Star ter-
  ritory.
  The coolness from the nearby creek chilled the summer air nicely. The 
  group had made it to the river but had decided not to cross the quickly flow-
  ing current in the middle of the night. If someone lost their footing or got 
  caught in a current, no one would be able to find them. As soon as dawn 
  broke, they’d let the river carry them around the bend from the easternmost 
  mountain ridge and they’d work their way to the northern shore, then on to 
  Liberty. It was even shallow enough that they may be able to cross most of 
  the river without getting their chests wet.
  Brian and Lisa sat a little way away on the small rock ledge examining the 
  few weapons and explosives they’d managed to salvage. A few energy clips 
  with charges left, several C-18 sidearms, two TX-5 projectile pistols, and a 
  pair of type 2 Fusion Blocks lay on the rock slab. Brian forced a fabricated 
  metal piece to a C-14 Firebreather in place and carefully tested the pump 
  action. Something inside popped along with the sound of clinking parts and 
  loose springs.
  “Wait, no, Brian...” Lisa grabbed his arm before he could hurl it to the 
  opposite bank.
  “That’s the fourth time now!” He whispered hoarsely.
  “Maybe it’s just broken like I said before.” She pried it away from him and 
  set it on the rock out of his reach.
  “I know exactly what’s wrong with it, I just need my tools,” he grumbled, 
  holding up a warped assortment from his field kit. “Problem is they all pretty 
  much look the same. Melted.”
  “That leaves us with one working rifle. At least most of the side arms are 
  okay.
  “Yeah, lots of good those will do if they find us. We’d almost be better off 
  throwing rocks at them.”
  Lisa readjusted her earphone and fiddled with the wires leading to her 
  helmet on the rock beside her. There hadn’t been any more transmissions, 
  
  297
  and they hadn’t broadcast calls for help themselves in case the rebels might 
  be eavesdropping. Regardless, help was too far away to make a difference to-
  night. Lisa looked back over at the soldiers now in Brian’s charge. She knew 
  Dave could handle the stress, as could the other two veteran troops, Rollins 
  and Nelson, who Brian had sent to set booby traps and make trenches around 
  their position. The last two needed the most support, Private Gerald was a 
  raw recruit and Private Yoshi was an RPA pilot with what Brian feared was a 
  brain bleed. Things were going well, a bit too well, under the circumstances. 
  She knew Dave had someone to go back to, and that the desire to survive 
  would help carry the others. And then there was Brian, who they all drew 
  strength from whether he knew it or not. He wasn’t the same person she’d 
  met months before.
  “I think I’m going to break up with Mike,” Lisa stated in the gap of con-
  versation they’d fallen into.
  Brian paused in his work but didn’t look up.
  “Why?”
  “It’s not working,” Lisa said, a tone of defeat in her voice.
  “We had this discussion before.”
  “And I’ve thought about it some more. I don’t know if it will ever work. 
  He’s still in love with his ex-fiancé, Karen. I knew it all along. I guess I 
  should have expected it, catching him on the rebound like I did. I’m not even 
  sure what I expected... or wanted.”
  “That doesn’t mean it can’t work out. Believe me, I know, there’s no per-
  fect relationship. You gotta work at it, sometimes more than others.” Brian 
  kept working on the weapon in front of him. “I still think he’s a fool, though.”
  “I wonder if he made it,” Lisa breathed, looking up at the stars.
  “Sorenson? He probably got himself shot down, lost three arms and his 
  spleen, but like always, survived and is having a cup of tea. Like he always 
  does,” Brian joked.
  “I just don’t know how to make it a clean break.”
  “Well, if and when we get back, and assuming he’s waiting there with 
  open arms, just do what your heart tells you at the moment. Your real feelings 
  won’t lie. Not much else you can do.”
  Lisa watched Brian sort out the parts and begin patiently reassembling the 
  weapon for the fifth time.
  “You did really well, you know.”
  “I didn’t have much choice.” He glanced up at her and over at the trio talk-
  ing amongst themselves.
  “No, I mean it. When everything got put on your shoulders, you made 
  hard decisions and you did well.”
  “Well, don’t tell them this, but I was just doing the first thing that popped 
  into my head most of the time. I just pretended like I knew what I was doing. 
  
  298
  What else was I supposed to do? Your life’s in danger, you just do the first 
  thing you can think of to survive.”
  “Maybe that’s part of the reason. What did you think about last night, 
  when your rover was hit and you thought you were going to die? What were 
  you thinking?”
  “I don’t know. I’m not even sure I was really thinking about anything. I 
  just knew I didn’t want to die, and I grabbed Nelson ’cuz he was closest to 
  me and we ran until we came across Rollins hiding behind a fallen tree. Heck, 
  I didn’t think much until after we found you, Dave, and Gerald. I just kept 
  doing the next thing that came to my mind. It worked, I guess.”
  “That’s not really what I meant,” Lisa tried to explain herself. “I mean, 
  okay, when the Skull Walker went up, and I was above it floating back down 
  on my parachute, it couldn’t have been more than twenty seconds, but all 
  these things kept running through my head all the way down. Kinda like 
  those stories you hear about your life passing before your eyes. It was real, 
  only it kept happening over and over. And it wasn’t Mike I was thinking 
  about.”
  Brian stopped his work and looked into her eyes, trying to read the signals 
  that words hadn’t expressed. A crackling of branches up on the other em-
  bankment ended the moment.
  “It’s just us, Lieutenant.” Private Rollins edged down the steep slope, us-
  ing trees and branches to ease his descent. Behind him, Private Nelson mim-
  icked his action. Lisa made Brian lower the C-14, making him feel stupid for 
  aiming a broken weapon at his own troops.
  “You all done?”
  “Yes, sir, but it was a pain. How come we had to dig full-size trenches if 
  we ain’t gonna even use ’em?” Rollins asked.
  “Same reason you put the broken weapons facing out and covered the 
  trenches with branches.” Brian got up, pouring the C-14 parts into a belt 
  pouch for later assembly.
  Rollins helped Nelson reach the ledge across the creek, then got a running 
  start and scrambled up behind him to join Brian and Lisa. Both were dirty, 
  their armor caked with mud.
  “I know why we put the guns there, sir, to make them think there are actu-
  ally guys in the trenches. But it took forever to dig ’em out as deep as you 
  told us.”
  Brian and Lisa moved closer to Yoshi and the others, sitting on roots from 
  the tree. The two veterans came to a halt and immediately plopped down to 
  rest, pulling off dirty helmets to lean on.
  “For one, we might actually need to use those trenches. Our plan is to bug 
  out if we hear something, but if they catch us flat-footed and we need those 
  trenches and traps to support us, you’re gonna be happy you put the work in 
  
  299
  to make it look authentic and give us every advantage.” Brian paused, letting 
  the lesson sink in. “Did you rig the Fusion Blocks like I said?”
  “Yes, sir.”
  “Well, this is what I was thinking.” Brian shot Lisa a quick smile. “If you 
  came up to an enemy trench and shot the heck out of it, but still weren’t get-
  ting any return fire, you’d still have to go check it out, right? To be sure it’s a 
  dud – just in case you missed some enemy soldiers or they were playing dead. 
  You’d have to be sure, right?”
  “Oh, oh yeah!” Rob Rollins brightened. The buzz-cut soldier had already 
  managed to smear mud on his cheek.
  “So, they make sure nobody’s in the trench and whamo!” Cody Nelson 
  smacked his hands together.
  “Yep,” Brian said with a smile. “Trip lines all set?”
  “Yeah, but the grenades ain’t gonna do much. All we had left was Ger-
  ald’s wussy firecracker H.E.s.”
  “At least we’ll have some warning.”
  “Right, sir!” Nelson saluted, leaving mud on his forehead.
  “Nelson, is that C-12 working?”
  “Yes, sir.”
  “Telescope?”
  “On the fritz. Spots good, but I ain’t sure on the aim.”
  “Get up on the lookout point where I told ya to go when you were done.” 
  Brian did his best impression of Sergeant Winters minus the colorful lan-
  guage.
  “Yes, sir!” Nelson chuckled and hopped up before leaving the cover of the 
  thicket to climb back up the side of the ravine.
  “So, when’s our take-out gonna be delivered?” Dave flexed his leg, trying 
  to keep the injury from stiffening up so bad that it kept him from walking.
  “Funny. Anything on the radio yet?” Brian turned to Lisa.
  “Nothing.”
  “They can forget their tip,” Dave joked.
  “Looks like we’re probably going to have to hoof it back to Liberty.” 
  Brian looked at the small squad. Nobody had escaped without some type of 
  injury, minor or not. He’d never checked his own bruises and burns, afraid it 
  might make the others worry or think he wasn’t up to leading them. Winters 
  never showed pain or weakness, neither would he. Brian tried to imagine 
  Lieutenant Merrick giving orders and what he would do in this situation.
  “How far we gotta walk?” Dave asked, wincing in pain. He hadn’t dared 
  remove his armor for fear of never getting it back on.
  “One, two days maybe, depending on how fast we go. Bet you’re glad you 
  stuck with that old plate-style instead of switching to the new soft suits all the 
  RPA’s in Chi-Town are using.”
  “I’ll say. The leg would be busted for sure.”
  
  300
  “That means you can walk. Are you going to be okay to travel, Private 
  Yoshi?”
  “I think so. My head hurts. Sometimes I think I’m going to puke, but other 
  than that I’m good.”
  “That’s fine.” Brian didn’t show his concern. “I’m sure Gerald here will be 
  happy to act as your crutch if you need it.”
  “Sure thing,” Private Gerald beamed.
  “Man, this is gonna take a miracle.” Dave shook his head, casting a good-
  natured smile around.
  “I could do with a miracle about now.” Lisa looked up at the partly over-
  cast sky. “Whatever gods are up there, we’d really like to go home now, 
  please.”
  “What do you think happens to us when we die?” Yoshi asked no one in 
  particular.
  “I don’t know, I guess nobody does, really. Some people say you walk 
  into this light or something like that, but from my own experiences, I’ve been 
  hit in the head so hard I saw all kinds of lights. I don’t know how accurate 
  that is,” Dave replied.
  “Do you guys believe in an afterlife or some kind of god?” she continued, 
  treading on the ground generally shunned by the Coalition.
  “Yeah, like the Pre-Rifts cults?” Rollins asked.
  “I know about those Pre-Rifts religious cults, we all do,” Gerald chimed 
  in.
  “It was the magic users, wasn’t it?” Ben nodded. “They used their magic 
  to make people think they were performing miracles because there really 
  wasn’t any magic back then and the people didn’t know they were being 
  tricked. All the people back then did what they said ’cuz they thought they 
  were gods.”
  “Freya believes in some Pre-Rifts god,” Dave joined the discussion. “She 
  says he created the whole universe and used all this magic to help people way 
  back in ancient times, like before electricity, vids, or any other technology.”
  “Right.” Brian sounded skeptical.
  “So, what do you believe, sir?” Yoshi fixed the question and her gaze on 
  Brian.
  Years of indoctrination told him all the right things to say and arguments 
  to give, but somehow he couldn’t stomach repeating those lines after every-
  thing they’d been through. When he looked into her dark eyes and saw the 
  passion for life behind them he knew he had to go with what his gut was 
  telling him. If what he suspected about her head injury was true, she could 
  die not too long from now if they didn’t make it back to one of the healers 
  in Liberty.
  “Truth is, Yoshi, I don’t really know what to believe. Gerald’s right about 
  the Pre-Rifts cults, most of the so-called miracles were just magic users try-
  
  301
  ing to trick people, we know that now. Some people believe in this reincar-
  nation thing, where you come back reborn in a new body. I’m not sure how 
  that’s supposed to work. To me, that sounds kind of depressing, like I’d have 
  to go through all the same crap growing up again, over and over. Besides, if 
  I had past lives, how come the previous me doesn’t keep the present me from 
  making the same mistakes again? See what I mean? That’s really confusing.
  “Other people believe in a god, or groups of gods, like way back in ancient 
  times they supposedly lived at this place called Olympia, or something like 
  that. They believe these gods watch over them and do miracles when they 
  pray to them. I’m not sure how that’s supposed to work, either, but it’s kinda 
  scary if you really think about it. Especially nowadays when you see some 
  magic user put it into action.
  “Personally, when I look at the complexity of human life, or any life, for 
  that matter, and all the wonders of the universe, including magic and other 
  stuff we don’t understand, I really can’t just believe it all happened by some 
  freak chance. Now whether it was some great, powerful god that started it 
  all or something else we don’t understand, I don’t know. It all had to start 
  someplace.”
  “What about after death? What happens then?” she asked.
  “I don’t know.” Brian paused. “I’d like to think it doesn’t just end like 
  you’re dead and that’s it. That’s actually more scary and depressing than 
  believing in some weird afterlife thing. Some people believe if you’re bad 
  to other people, you go to this Hell dimension. It’s supposed to be this place 
  where you burn and get tortured forever.”
  “Oh, so that’s where that comes from.” Rollins nodded understandingly. 
  “Go to Hell. I always wondered what Winters really meant.”
  “I’m not even sure Winters knows, he may just be repeating it because ev-
  eryone else does. Those same people believe if you’re good to other people, 
  you go to this other good dimension where you get to live forever. The prob-
  lem I have with that is, it brings you back to some kind of god or being that 
  decides who was good or bad, and that kinda sucks. You’re right back where 
  you started with the whole god thing. I don’t know, Yoshi.
  “Me, personally? I think that we get created in our mom’s womb and when 
  we’re in there, we need arms and ears and eyes and toes for this world, so we 
  get ready for it and one day we’re born. Then we spend our whole lives in 
  this world getting ready for another one, what most people figure is the after-
  life. But I think where you end up in the afterlife is based on how good of a 
  person you try to be in this world. You practice all of the good qualities and 
  you end up in a better place. If you only focus on the bad stuff like Zenjori 
  Suka, well then let’s say I hope that Hell dimension is a little more real than 
  everyone jokes about.
  “At the end of the day, figure out what’s right for you. Figure out whatever 
  beliefs are going to make you the best version of you and go with that. Which 
  
  302
  god or gods or no gods you believe in and whatever happens after that is, 
  well, it’s all unknown. Personally, I think you’re gonna be alright, but I don’t 
  think about myself much.”
  “I have.” Dave grew somber. “Actually, just about every time I go into 
  battle I wonder if there’s a god out there.”
  “Me too.” Rollins nodded.
  “Like you said, I’d like to think it’s not just over, that there’s something 
  better after,” Dave went on. “Freya says, if you believe in some god and when 
  you die you find out you were wrong, it’s no big deal. But on the other hand, 
  if you don’t believe, and in the end you’re wrong, well then you’re pretty 
  much hosed.”
  “That’s very insightful, Dave.” Lisa smiled. “I believe we’d better get 
  you back to your woman fast before you start sprouting wings and quoting 
  ancient Pre-Rifts texts.”
  “So, I take it you don’t —”
  An explosion cut short Dave’s question and jarred all to battle alertness. 
  The echo faded away up the ravine.
  “One of our traps.” Rollins looked at Brian.
  “Grenade,” Brian stated, snatching up his helmet and the pile of weapons 
  to quickly become quartermaster.
  “Lieutenant Adams! Lieutenant Adams, this is Private Nelson. Come in!” 
  Cody’s voice came in on the comm.
  “Adams here. What’s the situation, Nelson?” Brian did his best to sound 
  in control like Merrick always did.
  “-up the hill!”
  “Sorry, Nelson, 10-9?”
  “There’s two of ’em, plus one more, I think, covering them from the trees 
  as they’re goin’ up the hill.”
  “Don’t give away your position yet. Which hill?”
  “The, uh, western one. Opposite bank from you, sir. There’s one in the 
  trees. Shootin’ some kind of particle beam at the trench up there.”
  “Only three?”
  “Maybe Sharp got a few,” Lisa whispered, making Brian think of some-
  thing he was trying to forget.
  “Only three so far, sir. I can’t see the one in the trees very well, there’s still 
  too much smoke from the grenade.”
  “Give me a description of the two you can see.” Brian finished handing 
  out weapons and motioned for Lisa to gather up the rest of their gear.
  “Headhunters, it looks like. Some bionics maybe, but their Gladiator-style 
  armor’s lookin’ really bad and one of ‘em’s got a busted rifle on his back and 
  is carrying a pistol. Their helmets are messed up bad, probably blast right 
  through them with a C-18 if ya got close enough. Other one’s got an ion rifle 
  with a front-loading E-Clip.”
  
  303
  “Good eyes. Keep watching for others and don’t give away your position.”
  “Yes, sir.”
  Everyone looked at Brian. The safe option was to bug out, but something 
  in his gut told him that this had to be a stand and fight situation. His mind 
  made up, he looked around the group with determination in his eye.
  “We can take ‘em, sir.” Rollins held up a high-frequency blade in one 
  hand, a C-18 in the other.
  “Okay, Rollins, for right now I’m making you my corporal, okay?”
  “Yes, sir!”
  “I don’t know if it will stick when we get back, but for now it’s official. 
  You take Gerald with you to the fallback point on the ridge and be ready to 
  finish those Headhunters off if the block doesn’t get them.”
  “Yes, sir.” Rollins motioned to Gerald and took a running leap across to 
  the other embankment.
  “Hey, Corporal Rollins, quietly. Don’t make a mistake, every shot has to 
  count.”
  “Right, sir.”
  Private Gerald repeated the leap flawlessly and received the exact same 
  reprimand for the noise from the new corporal. The two moved up the em-
  bankment more quietly, still making enough noise to make Brian cringe.
  “Nelson to Adams.”
  “Go ahead, Nelson.” Brian signaled Dave to help Yoshi up the ravine, 
  tossing him the last grenade. “Hope you don’t have to use it.”
  Dave nodded and helped Yoshi to her feet.
  “Them two Headhunters are mosta’ the way to the trench. The guy in the 
  woods shot up there a few more times but still hasn’t come out. Which of the 
  two do I shoot first? The one with the rifle?”
  “Neither. You have the only rifle we have. Save the firepower in case we 
  need it.”
  “Yes, sir. Oh man, sir, we’re screwed.”
  “What? What happened?”
  “It’s a ‘Borg, sir, it’s a ‘Borg down there. Oh, man, and another Head-
  hunter. No way we can take a ‘Borg, sir.”
  “Just hold position. Maybe it will lose a leg in one of the trenches. Where 
  is it going?”
  “Moving over my way. Wait, it stopped and they both ducked back into 
  the trees. I can’t see them, but they’re shooting at the trench on the other side 
  now.”
  “If they make it past the trench, snipe at them and keep moving so they 
  think there’s more than one of you up there. Aim for optics and weapons, try 
  and bring them down to our level.”
  “Right, sir, disable first, kill later.”
  
  304
  “Lisa and I are going to find a spot on the bank opposite you and take pot-
  shots at them once they start trying to get you, that way maybe you’ll have a 
  chance to get off a few good shots. Make every shot count.”
  “I know, sir, I only got eleven left.”
  “Hey Cody, this is Rob. What are those Headhunters doing?” Rollins 
  asked over the comm, waiting before crossing an open space between clumps 
  of dense brush.
  “They’re checkin’ on the trench we dug up there. One of ’em’s skirting 
  the tree line and makin’ sure there’s nobody waitin’ to snipe ’em when they 
  check the trench. Movin’ good, these guys aren’t dumb.”
  “Rollins, stay down until you’re sure of a kill. Your best judgment, Corpo-
  ral.” Brian tried to bolster morale as he and Lisa worked their way down the 
  ravine. The time for long-range planning was gone, now it was shoot from the 
  hip tactics. His heart pounded so hard it made his ears throb.
  “Man, what happened? That Headhunter just dropped into the trench an’ 
  nothin’ blew.” Nelson watched the man with the pistol examine what was 
  left of the defensive position after several particle beam blasts had altered it. 
  “Too much dirt got in it. He’s holding up part of the C-12 and waving so the 
  ‘Borg down below can see it. Man, they’re onto us, sir.”
  “No, they’re not. They’re just onto the bluff, not us. We still have the ele-
  ment of surprise. They don’t know we’re actually still here,” Brian hoped.
  “Yeah, sure enough, sir. Cyborg and the other Headhunter are walking 
  over to the other trench, or what’s left of it.”
  “Now’s your chance, if you think you have a shot.”
  “Yeah, we —”
  The detonation on the north ridge knocked leaves from trees and brought 
  an avalanche of the canopy down the banks into the ravine. The sharp sonic 
  shock wave echoed for what seemed like seconds before fading away in the 
  rolling hills and steep ravines.
  “Holy smokes, sir, I think we got one. I wasn’t watchin’ but there’s just 
  a big cloud of dust over there now. Must have gone off after all!” Nelson 
  proclaimed.
  “Rollins, make your move while the other one is trying to figure out what 
  happened.”
  “Yes, sir!”
  Brian plopped down between a pine trunk and the steep edge of the em-
  bankment, trying to pick out where the cyborg and Headhunter would ascend 
  the slope to reach Nelson’s position. He and Lisa carried C-18 sidearms, 
  powerful for their size, but hardly enough to hurt a heavily armored combat 
  cyborg. The best they could do was distract it so Nelson could hit his mark 
  with the rifle. Brian pointed to a spot twenty feet up the bank and Lisa started 
  climbing to her assigned position. No sense in them both being in exactly the 
  same place.
  
  305
  “We got ’im, sir! Scratch one more rebel,” Rollins joyously announced, 
  the sound of him scrambling through the woods evident over his comm.
  “Good work. What about the rifle?”
  “Bargain bin Triax. Piece of crap. Got a few charges in it, but range and 
  balance are toast.”
  “It’s better than what you had. Find a good spot and wait for Nelson to 
  start taking shots at the ‘Borg. Once he’s got them committed to coming after 
  him, you and Gerald fire at will.”
  “Yes, sir.”
  Brian felt elation despite the immense danger. He’d flunked infantry boot 
  camp twice when all one needed to pass was the I.Q. of a common house-
  plant and the ability to aim a gun where someone pointed. He’d been told he 
  didn’t have what it took to “make the grade” because he always had a “yeah, 
  but” for every order a sergeant gave him. He’d never thought he had what it 
  took for front-line combat and concentrated on his technical talents. Merrick 
  had told him he picked him for the “yeah, but,” although he expected Brian 
  to follow orders anyway. The “yeah, but” never quite left him, though he’d 
  learned to hold his tongue. Now all the crazy ideas that came up every time 
  he got an order were his orders to give. The plan was working, although not 
  quite as anticipated and this battle was far from over. The strangest thought 
  popped into his head, and it seemed so incongruous it made him chuckle. 
  Cara couldn’t call him a wuss anymore.
  “Sir! The stupid scope is way off!” Nelson complained. Treetops behind 
  him popped and rained down from weapons fire aimed in his general direc-
  tion.
  “Take it off and go hard sight if you have to.” Brian still couldn’t see 
  where Nelson was taking fire from.
  “Man, Gerald, your rifle stinks. I missed three times!”
  “Then give it back,” Private Gerald returned over the comm.
  “Come over here and get it.”
  “Take your shot and fall back, Nelson,” Brian commanded.
  “I’m already on it, sir. Got the cyborg once in the neck, I think. Somebody 
  already smacked it upside the head with an ugly stick before I got it. Its op-
  tics looked pretty fried, and the Headhunter with it ain’t gonna be winnin’ no 
  beauty contest either.”
  “Sounds like Sharp’s handiwork. Concentrate on its head,” Brian ordered, 
  still at a loss as to where the sporadic particle beams and ion blasts were 
  coming from. More energy beams cut through the trees down in the valley, 
  originating someplace on the north side.
  “That you, Rob?” Nelson’s voice sounded worried.
  “Yeah. Popped that headhunter a couple times ’fore he got his head down. 
  He’s lookin’ right at me now. Got ’im! Popped up to shoot and I can swear 
  he ain’t there no more!”
  
  306
  “Good shooting, Rollins!” Brian praised, looking to Lisa and shrugging. 
  She shrugged back, still unable to see where the battle was.
  Two more particle discharges sounded so close to Brian he could smell 
  the ozone. The far ridge showed two puffs of smoke and descending foliage 
  where the beams had struck.
  “Where’d the ‘Borg go? I can’t see it no more,” Nelson asked.
  “I don’t got it either,” Rollins answered. “I lost track of it when I was 
  shootin’ the Headhunter. I can hear it shooting.”
  “It ain’t shootin’ at me,” Nelson announced.
  “It’s over by me and Lisa,” Brian spoke quietly.
  “Where?”
  “In the creek, almost at the outlet to the river.” Brian slowly switched 
  positions to look down the embankment.
  A willow tree bowed back near the water and through it stepped a large, 
  Partial Conversion Cyborg no more than ten meters from Brian’s position. 
  It carried a large particle beam rifle with multi-optics scope, and its belt was 
  ringed with long power clips for the bulky weapon. It turned its back to Brian 
  and sidestepped along the water, firing charges at the opposite embankment. 
  It stopped again to change clips and then fired two more shots at the other 
  side.
  “What’s it shootin’ at?” Nelson’s voice sounded loudly on the comm. “I 
  ain’t anywhere near there.”
  Brian waved at Lisa and pointed to the ‘Borg, but she waved an emphatic 
  “no” back at him. Brian pointed to his own helmet and then at the ‘Borg. She 
  repeated her gesture. He held up three fingers and started counting down, 
  then turned to aim his C-18 at the back of the ‘Borg’s mangled skull plate.
  Lisa shifted position for a better shot. Pine cones and dead branches slid 
  down the slope into the bushes to the ‘Borg’s left. It glanced over, then 
  whirled around.
  Brian pulled the trigger as fast as he could, laser beams colliding with 
  chest, arm, neck, and head armor in a wild rapid-fire pattern. When Brian 
  finished emptying the clip, the cyborg aimed its particle beam rifle right at 
  Brian’s head. Brian was exposed on the embankment and couldn’t move to 
  safety before the ‘Borg could fire back.
  Two sets of laser beams burned through the willow tree at the bottom of 
  the ravine and converged in rapid-fire fashion on the damaged armor plates 
  of the cyborg’s head. The beams cut off. Missing most of its head, the cyborg 
  crashed to the ground in a pile of blood and scrap.
  “Sir, I still can’t see it,” Nelson complained.
  “Me either, sir,” Rollins announced from the ridge behind Lisa.
  The willows rustled again. Following the ‘Borg’s heavy prints, a human-
  oid patch of shrubs and foliage moved silently to confirm the ‘Borg’s demise, 
  a Coalition C-18 in each mud and moss-covered hand. The distinctive point 
  
  307
  of a rifle stuck through the shield of overgrowth on the figure’s body. It was 
  Sharp.
  “Sharp, Sharp, is that you?” Brian scurried down the embankment.
  “Yeah,” was the weary reply.
  The Coalition sniper collapsed onto the cyBorg’s body, staining the creek 
  red with blood.
  ____________________
  Van pressed the fan speed control to high and wiped the sweat from his 
  brow. The small fan bolted to the interior of his Mountaineer provided the 
  only environmental control without him having to go push a button in the 
  pilot’s compartment. That would be too logical, Van mused at his disjointed 
  thoughts and continued working in the stuffy compartment.
  A thin line of smoke lifted from the point where solder and circuit met 
  with heat. The crossover was almost done, and then it would be time to test 
  one of the most devious, and dangerous, creations he’d ever constructed.
  “Yo! Dude! You in there?”
  Three loud knocks struck the outside of the vehicle. Van blistered his fin-
  ger on the soldering iron.
  “Damnit!” Van flung it away from himself and stuck the blistered finger in 
  his mouth. “Whath do you wanth?!” Van asked through the lightly armored 
  skin of his Mountaineer.
  “I like, need to talk to you a sec,” Darren answered back.
  “Just a minuthe.” Van glanced at the red L.E.D. clock before opening the 
  hatch. 2:15 am. Why would someone be up at this time of night? He must 
  have forgotten to shut the main doors to his rented shed.
  Darren looked like a wreck in his dress and posture. Disheveled cloth-
  ing and plastered and matted black hair made him look like a bum from the 
  ‘Burbs, but his overall appearance was contrasted by his green eyes that re-
  mained remarkably alert for the appearance he portrayed.
  “Whath?”
  “Take your finger out of your mouth.”
  “Oh.”
  “Can I come in for a sec? I need a big favor,” Darren whispered before he 
  looked around suspiciously.
  “Yeah, sure.” Van backed up and cleared a pile of scrolls from the other 
  seat bolted to the floor. Darren looked once more outside then closed the 
  hatch. “I heard your unit got messed up.”
  “Yeah. I got the Glitter Boy, though.” Darren smiled and held up his ban-
  daged hand, taking the seat facing Van.
  “I took a look at one of the G-10’s First Strike has. Those are some tough 
  units.”
  
  308
  “Dude, something smells really bad. Uh, Van, your soldering thing is like 
  burning a hole in the floor.” Darren pointed to the sizzling black mark that 
  was forming. The blackened tip of the soldering iron lay in a pool of bubbling 
  carpet.
  Van snatched the cord from the power pack and flung the entire device 
  out the door onto the concrete floor. Cool air from the reopened hatch slowly 
  replaced noxious fumes.
  “Isn’t that bad to breathe?”
  “I’d imagine. Better leave this open for a while to air out.”
  “Dude, I like need your V-med thing.” Darren looked around the cluttered 
  compartment for the distinctive looking glass saltshaker.
  “Sure. Here.” Van pulled the device from a belt pouch and handed it over, 
  knowing full well Darren couldn’t make it work.
  Darren waved the device over his injured hand, but the flashing lights and 
  whirring sounds were absent.
  “I think it’s busted.” Darren shook it harder.
  “Actually, it’s just not charged. I don’t think it’s such a good idea to use 
  that to heal your hand. Remember last time I used it to heal that lieutenant of 
  yours? Soresson, or something like that?”
  “I don’t care. It hurts and I don’t want to be drugged out of my skull. 
  Pritchett wants to send me on Search and Recovery runs this morning. I gotta 
  go look for some of my buds that didn’t make it back. If I can’t use my hand 
  and anything goes wrong, I know I’m gonna get creamed out there.”
  “Who’s missing?”
  “Sharp never made it back, and lots of others you don’t know. Worse, I 
  gotta go out with that douche Sergio. I can’t even sleep until I get this fixed.”
  “If I use the V-MED to heal your hand, assuming it works, I’m not going 
  to have to explain it to a firing squad, am I?”
  “Chill, dude, Merrick’s cool, and if any questions come up, I’ll just say the 
  Cyber-Doc put some metal rods in when he operated on my hand. I’ll even 
  wear the cast whenever I’m not in my SAM.”
  “Okay.” Van shrugged and took the device back. “This won’t work very 
  well unless the Cyber-Doc already fixed any major damage.”
  “Yeah, he like put all the bones back where they were supposed to be al-
  ready,” Darren hissed as he put his hand up on the Mountaineer’s fold-down 
  table. His hand was wrapped in something that looked like white fighter’s 
  binding tape. After 15 minutes, the tape had hardened and solidified into a 
  cast that Darren would need to wear for another 4 weeks.
  “Hold still.”
  Whirring sounds accompanied by spinning lights emanated from the Van 
  De Graf Medical Enhancement Device and a strange sensation ran from the 
  tips of Darren’s fingers all the way up to his arm. Directed magic energy from 
  
  309
  the Techno-Wizard device knit fractured bone and reset tendons. Mangled 
  flesh and medical incisions faded to normal hues beneath the bandages.
  “Wow,” Darren said once Van had run 4 passes with the device. “That 
  feels way better.”
  “One of these days I’m going to get around to marketing this baby.” Van 
  put the V-MED back in its case on his belt.
  “Oh. Now that’s a crime.” Darren spied a remotely recognizable C-14 lay-
  ing on Van’s makeshift worktable out in the bay. “What did you do to it?” He 
  reached over and carefully examined it.
  “Made a few more modifications.”
  “No way. You can’t even slot an E-Clip in this anymore. How are you 
  supposed to fire a grenade with these wires and gizmo things in the way?” 
  Darren followed the mesh of cables running from the 20 mm grenade launch-
  er to the disassembled guts of what used to be an interactive video game 
  entertainment center.
  “That’s just to test it. The finished version will have a removable screw-
  on cap that fits over the grenade barrel and feeds directly into the system. It 
  should be all modular when it’s finished. All I have to do then is take off the 
  interface cap and I can fire grenades like normal.”
  “As opposed to blowing the cap off the barrel when you fire?”
  “No. Theoretically it should be sent directly to the target I’m aiming at 
  on the screen.” Van powered up the vid screen and finished hooking up the 
  modified video game interface.
  “I know some dude who blew away his vid screen with a shotgun, but a 
  grenade’s pretty harsh just for being pissed at a game you’re playing, don’t 
  ya think?” Darren was having fun teasing the Techno-Wizard. Magic practi-
  tioner or not, most techies had shared experiences they could all joke about.
  “Well cross your fingers because I haven’t tested it yet.”
  “What’s it supposed to do? Waste vid screens?”
  “Earlier I modified a grenade launcher so I could teleport a grenade di-
  rectly to a target when fired. That solved quite a few problems for me. Then 
  I thought, why not go bigger and better? Simply put, I can hit any target if I 
  know exactly where it’s at. Then I got this idea to build a device to track and 
  view people and locations remotely, like a crystal ball, only better and not 
  so hokey. I planned to use it to find Zenjori Suka and see what he was doing 
  so Sir Renfield could get together a force to go take him out. But then I got 
  another idea.”
  “Wait a minute. You can like just say some magic and see whoever you 
  want on the vid screen?”
  “No, I need to have met the person, and know who they are, then I pro-
  gram a tracking chip, and if they’re close enough, then I’ll see where they are 
  on this map program. Once I’ve got a fix on the person, then I can see what 
  they’re seeing at that particular moment. I haven’t worked all the bugs out, 
  
  310
  but it worked on Delwin and Torrak. So anyway, I ripped the guts out of that 
  interactive game set, including the little plastic gun you aim at the vid screen 
  and shoot targets in the game with. Hooked the emitter up to the weapon sight 
  on the C-14 so where I aim the gun on the screen, that’s where the grenade 
  will go, assuming I’m in range and... boom goes the dynamite.”
  “Wait. Are you telling me you can just type in someone’s name, and have 
  them show up on your vid, then just sit here and frag ‘em?”
  “Yep. It is very energy intensive and there are some limitations, but over-
  all this is a very safe and accurate way to kill someone from miles away and 
  without warning or trace. I’ve already programmed some chips for Zenjori 
  and a few others we both know.”
  “Could you use it to find Sharp?”
  “Now that’s an idea. Let me disconnect the C-14 just in case. How far 
  away from here is Sharp supposed to be?”
  “I dunno, maybe 50 kilometers as the SAMAS flies?”
  “If he’s within this thing’s range we should be able to locate him and see 
  what he’s doing. If he’s not dead, that is. Let me set up a chip for him.” Van 
  stood up and then stopped. “Actually, let me try and see if I can locate him 
  first without a chip. I wrote a program for stuff like that, but never tested it.”
  “If you can just get me close, I can find him. Sharp’s pretty smooth. I’d 
  give him better odds than everyone else we’re missing. Fire it up, man, let’s 
  see the techno-magic thingy work!”
  Van loaded up the interface on the screen and then went through the labo-
  rious process of typing in a name without a keyboard.
  “Okay, I’ve got him on the comp, and about everything I remember about 
  him. Any personal information you want to give me will help.”
  The screen changed to a large text box with a blinking cursor. Darren 
  watched as it filled with text and the scroll bar on the right side quickly indi-
  cated that the entered content was quite lengthy.
  “Now just give it some juice, visualize a little, and... “
  The system threw up a loading screen while the console whirred and 
  beeped. After a pause, a pinging sound echoed from the monitor as a radar 
  display emerged from the lower left side of the screen. The pinging sound 
  repeated again and again with no variation.
  “What does it say?” Darren squinted at the blinking type as if narrowed 
  vision would improve his literacy.
  “Target not acquired.”
  “Damn.”
  “Like I said, I don’t even know if everything is working right. I haven’t 
  ever tested it without programming a locator chip first, and I’ve changed a 
  few things around to hook up the C-14.”
  “Can you test it on someone you know will show up?”
  
  311
  “I could run it on Pritchett. It worked when I tested his chip.” Van’s eyes 
  glittered playfully and the smirk was back on his face.
  “Where can I buy one of these? I know someone back in Chi-Town I’d 
  love to keep an eye on.”
  “You can’t use it without the right... psychic frequency, we’ll call it. 
  You’re not attuned right to make this work for you. Sorry buddy.”
  Darren laughed, “Pritchett’s a good start. Gotta test it, right? Not that we’d 
  ever want to see what he was doing or anything.”
  “Of course not. We’d never eavesdrop.”
  Van typed in “Pritchett” and channeled energy from his body into the re-
  ceptor circuitry and bank of modified chips beneath the keyboard. The screen 
  blinked, then flipped through a series of maps to show a blinking red icon 
  directly over the northwest section of Liberty while the radar in the lower left 
  corner indicated a western direction. More energy primed the mystic circuitry 
  to lock in the view from Captain Pritchett’s eyes. The screen fuzzed, as a 
  crystal clear image came in.
  Troops and ‘Borgs surrounded the captain, along with several mutant Dog-
  Boys from the pack. Sergio nodded affirmatively and then Pritchett turned his 
  head to a pit bull Dog-Boy leading the remainder of the pack.
  “Where’s the sound, man?”
  “I must have forgotten to hook it back up.”
  “I wanna hear what he’s saying!” Darren moved closer to the screen.
  “Isn’t that one of those mutant Dog Packs you guys use?”
  “Only some divisions use them. Merrick isn’t hot on them. I don’t see 
  Skarky anywhere, and he’s usually either with Pritchett or the Dog Pack. 
  Man, I wish I could hear what Pritchett is telling them.”
  “That looks like one of those storage places you guys rented to keep your 
  hover vehicles in. I recognize the metal support by the door.” Van pointed to 
  the image on the screen at the edge of Pritchett’s vision.
  “Dude. How long would it take to hook up the C-14?” Darren asked.
  “You want to assassinate a Coalition Captain right now?”
  “You said yourself it’s untraceable. It’s the perfect assassination machine. 
  This guy’s a total tool and he’s put us in way more danger than anybody de-
  serves.” Van stayed quiet. “I’m joking Van. But seriously, this thing could be 
  useful. When can we put it in action?”
  “I’m too tired to go through all this again with everything hooked up. I’ve 
  been working on it for over eight hours and some of the parts still have to be 
  powered up before I install them. Think of it like having run twenty miles and 
  then needing to rest. Tomorrow maybe, after I get some sleep.”
  “We’re on then, as soon as I get back from S&R. I’m gonna tell Merrick 
  that you might be able to help us find Zenjori and our MIA’s. I don’t think 
  he’ll freak too much if he finds out, just don’t tell him all the magic details. 
  After that, we take out Pritchett.”
  
  312
  The screen dimmed and the view of Pritchett talking to the Dog Boys 
  faded.
  “I’ll think about it,” Van yawned.
  “Ya know, I just thought of something. Is there like a record button on 
  this thing?”
  “No. Not yet. I could hook it up to a vid recorder I guess.”
  “Don’t. If I see any vids of me an’ Cyndiara, I’ll know exactly who to hunt 
  down for my royalties.”
  “I’d be more worried about what Cyndiara would do to me, if you know 
  what I mean.” Van chuckled.
  “Do I ever,” Darren grinned. “Tomorrow afternoon sometime?”
  “Sounds good.” Van waved, leaning back in his chair as he looked around 
  his vehicle, trying to remember what he’d been doing.
  Darren hopped out of the Mountaineer and headed for the hotel a few 
  blocks away. For a moment, Van contemplated testing the viewer one more 
  time, not that he’d actually record it or any such thing. Opting for a safer 
  alternative he locked up and made his way back to crawl in bed with Anja. It 
  wasn’t as tough as he’d thought it would be to respect her principles of purity, 
  there were so many more important things to concentrate on. For now, it was 
  just really nice to have someone to trust and cuddle with.
  ____________________
  Normally Sharky wouldn’t have passed up the opportunity to slay an un-
  suspecting mage and drink his life force, but this situation was different, and 
  he twisted his body deeper into the shadows as Van locked the shed and 
  trudged away.
  It hadn’t just been lucky that he was there to overhear the conspiracy to 
  kill his commander. He’d been following Darren anyway, and when magic 
  energies in the area altered slightly, he moved in closer to learn why. When-
  ever magic manipulated the flow of ambient energy around it, mystic currents 
  burned off and left a scent so strong it was difficult for the Psi-Stalker to re-
  sist. It took a great deal of restraint to conceal himself instead of feeding. Pru-
  dence paid off and he was rewarded for his self-discipline. Pritchett would be 
  pleased with him, especially if his report had a few self-ingratiating details 
  added. With gleeful intent, Sharky slunk off to brief his captain.
  ____________________
  “Lock on me one more time an’ I’m really gonna kick your tail!” Sergio 
  threatened for the fourteenth time in two hours.
  “I don’t understand either. It just keeps doing it without me. Must be a 
  damaged system. Targeting glitch,” Darren tormented his wingman. He’d 
  give it fifteen minutes this time and then weapon lock SAM 612 again. Mess-
  
  313
  ing with Sergio was fun and it eased Darren’s concerns about not knowing 
  where the enemy was.
  “There’s nothing in this block. Let’s move on,” Sergio grumbled.
  “That about finishes the first sector. Let’s check-in and take the east end of 
  the second sector,” Darren ordered.
  “It’s your turn to check in.”
  “Yeah, but I’m in charge. You do it.” Darren was starting to think there 
  might be something good about the whole command thing after all. Merrick 
  had worked it out with Pritchett to put him in charge, so why not take advan-
  tage of it?
  “Jerk.” Sergio veered away from the mid-morning sun coming through 
  overcast skies. Cruising low and at a seemingly slow pace, the exoskeletons 
  methodically searched for survivors with frequent radio messages and ther-
  mo-scans. A bank of dark clouds moved in from the northwest and threatened 
  to dump rain in less than an hour. That would be annoying.
  “Darren, are you getting anything on your radio?”
  “No. Just you.”
  “I think I see a smoke signal about 2,000 meters southwest of me,” Sergio 
  reported. Maybe there’s someone over there.”
  “What was your first clue, Sherlock, the pillar of fluorescent green smoke 
  and frantically waving dude in the open field?” Darren zoomed in with his 
  SAMAS’ telescopic lenses.
  “I got trees in my way.”
  “Wow, pretty good guess on the range. They’re not responding on the 
  comm.”
  “Maybe their radio’s not working.”
  “Looks like CA-1 armor from here. One of our boys. How’d they get this 
  far northeast without a vehicle?”
  “I saw ‘em first so I get to report it.”
  Darren could feel the sneer in Sergio’s voice. “I’m going down for a chat. 
  You stay up and watch for bad guys. Wipe that brown stuff off your nose 
  while you’re at it.”
  Circling the column of green smoke, Darren looked for signs of a trap. 
  It wouldn’t be the first time Zenjori had used stolen Coalition equipment to 
  fool his adversaries. The Coalition armor was obviously one from Pritchett’s 
  unit and appeared undamaged. Slung over the soldier’s shoulder was a C-12 
  rifle that kept slipping down every time the soldier waved his arms. Why 
  wasn’t he using the comm, Darren wondered. Leaving his rail gun ready to 
  fire, Darren hovered to a stop near the edge of the small field from the Coali-
  tion soldier. The armor looked too new, and something didn’t feel right. The 
  soldier suddenly dropped to the ground.
  His exoskeleton jerked violently to the left as wing fragments flew past 
  Darren’s face. Tactical warnings screamed in his ears and the HUD readouts 
  
  314
  flashed a red blinking wing on the diagnostic. There’d been no weapon lock 
  yet something had just blown his right wing off at the joint.
  New alarms blared in his helmet. Now there was a weapon lock.
  Darren hit the booster jets and flung his SAMAS below an incoming mini-
  missile to land on the opposite side of the field. The fragmentation warhead 
  blew up just behind him, sending shrapnel back up into the jets and added 
  blinking yellow lights on his diagnostic display. SAM 612 shot past over-
  head as the ground opened up in five places and Pritchett’s Dog Pack was 
  unleashed into the clearing. Before Darren hit the ground, one mutant Irish 
  Setter was shredded by his C-40. The trap had been sprung.
  ____________________
  Dropping to one knee and quickly reloading the CR-1 launcher, Sharky 
  watched with growing dismay as SAM 15 stepped back toward the opposite 
  tree line, firing very accurately with his rail gun and ripping his ambush to 
  bits. Working in a smooth circular fashion, the damaged exoskeleton never 
  missed its mark. A quick punch crushed the German Shepherd’s head as it 
  had tried to run a flanking maneuver. Nimbly staying ahead of bolts from the 
  pit bull’s C-27, the exoskeleton made short work of the alpha dog by simply 
  exploding its thick skull into its body cavity with another blast from the rail 
  gun.
  Laser fire from another soldier in the tree line scored a line of holes in 
  the main jet thrusters of SAM 15, but the pilot was too occupied to notice. 
  A Doberman was reaching out with forearm Vibro-Claws in a savage hand-
  to-hand attack, scoring a set of gashes on the SAMAS’ upper arm and across 
  its chest. Sharky cursed as the pilot found an opening and cracked the skull 
  of the howling mutant animal, before turning around to deal with the human 
  soldier who had shot through the thrusters.
  Sharky shouldered the launcher and sighted the armor again, but a terror 
  suddenly overcame him like never before. It was a new presence so danger-
  ous and fearsome it made SAM 15 seem insignificant. Sharky slowly pulled 
  his head back from the scope of the launcher and turned to face the source of 
  his frightening premonition; an irate Great Horned Dragon lowered its head 
  and stared down on him. One last terrible scream left Sharky’s lips before a 
  toothy mouth crushed the air from his lungs. Kro-Mar lashed his tongue over 
  the Psi-Stalker momentarily, then silenced him forever by forcing his jaws 
  shut.
  Taking aim at the RPA pilot through the scope of his laser rifle, the soldier 
  who had waved Darren down felt something hit him. Splashes of purple paint 
  covered the scope on the his C-12. Looking to his right in confusion, the sol-
  dier’s black faceplate became an opaque orange mask. A swooshing sound 
  followed another battle cry from the shotgun and something flying very fast 
  tackled the soldier to the ground.
  
  315
  Delwin Moonbeam.
  “My gun! Mine mine mine mine mine mine mine!” Delwin wrenched the 
  weapon away from the stunned man. Bouncing to his feet, Delwin flipped 
  the selector to fully automatic fire and emptied the clip. Before raising the 
  weapon over his head and seeming to croak like a toad.
  Looking over at the black SAMAS, Delwin saw that Darren had finished 
  off the last Dog Boy, a black lab. Smoke from the blast crater wafted lazily 
  through Delwin’s wild, multi-colored hair. A form roughly the size of a Mac 
  truck lumbered up behind the crazy man.
  ____________________
  Darren’s confusion at the assist he’d recieved was put on hold momen-
  tarily when another weapon lock warned him of an incoming mini-missile.
  Kicking off the ground, Darren’s exoskeleton was caught from behind in 
  an expanding cloud of shrapnel. New lights joined the diagnostic display ac-
  companied by a pleasant female voice.
  “Rail gun feed belt damaged. C-40 not functional.”
  “Not now! Come on!” Darren pulled the trigger repeatedly with no effect.
  Looking down he could see that the gun was indeed missing the belt that 
  was its connection to the ammo drum on his back. The C-40 was nothing 
  more than an expensive club now.
  “You shouldn’t have messed with me. I’m gonna waste you! Especially 
  now that you have no gun to fight back with,” Sergio gloated over the radio. 
  Darren had put his SAMAS up into a low-hanging cloud.
  Sergio readjusted course and came in for the kill, eyes focused on the 
  targeting dot lined up with Darren’s head. Darren put his left arm up but 
  something got between the two combatants.
  ____________________
  Huge wings and hundreds of scales filled Sergio’s view and blocked his 
  path. In a move that could only be described as a flying belly flop, Kro-Mar 
  had launched himself into the air and with his powerful draconic strength 
  pushed himself into the sky. Reaching his zenith, he arched his head over his 
  back and came down just in front of the traitorous SAMAS pilot. Sergio had 
  nowhere to go.
  Mass to mass, the SAMAS lost. Stunned by the bone-rattling impact of 
  dragon claws ripping him out of his place in the air, Sergio was only dimly 
  cognizant of what happened next.
  Kro-Mar slammed his prey into the ground like a golden eagle cracking 
  open its lunch. At the last second, he released the SAMAS while he unfurled 
  his wings and performed a loop-de-loop before landing hard on his stunned 
  
  316
  prey. His victory complete, he roared a fearsome predatory yell into the air, 
  letting everyone know that a dragon was the victor this day.
  Prying the exoskeleton out of the earth where he had landed on top of 
  it, Kro-Mar released his past frustration on the man-made construct finally 
  within his grasp. Time and time again all these little mechanical creations had 
  foiled his best-laid plans and his extensive repertoire of spell magic. In the 
  end, he had won and the day was his. Kro-Mar clutched the exoskeleton and 
  pounded the skull-like head with his draconic fist.
  ____________________
  Watching the almost cartoonish action unfolding before him, Darren brief-
  ly considered expending his last two mini-missiles on the overly animated 
  dragon but decided that Sergio was probably already dead. He also didn’t 
  want to give the dragon a reason to be doing the same thing to him.
  Darren looked to Delwin for a distraction, but the bizarre man seemed 
  unworried by the fact that a very large dragon was pounding in the head of a 
  SAMAS no more than a few feet away as the Crazy leaned against a boulder 
  in the middle of the field. A final cry of victory from Kro-Mar ended the 
  pummeling and the dragon held up the mangled exoskeleton in exultation, 
  somewhat like a dog who had conquered its chew toy.
  “I got it!” the dragon announced proudly in a very good American accent.
  It didn’t take a medic to guess at Sergio’s probable condition. One look 
  at the SAMAS and Darren knew the RPA was long gone. The big, grinning 
  dragon dragged the armor over like a rag doll and sat down by Delwin.
  Darren noticed how uncomfortable it felt to have a dragon intently looking 
  at him now. Fighting it was ludicrous and running away seemed unlikely.
  “Oh, uh wow, I’m really scared! You just killed the best pilot in the en-
  tire Coalition States! You must be the great and powerful Kramer!” Darren 
  bowed to the beast.
  The dragon’s exultant smile quickly darkened. He knew who this human 
  was.
  “My name is Kro-Mar!” the dragon roared and put its face half a meter 
  from Darren’s chest.
  “Oh, oh yes, the great and powerful Kro-Mar! Word of your greatness has 
  spread. Everyone in this region has come to fear your mighty and terrible 
  name.”
  “Really?” Kro-Mar puffed out his massive chest. “Well of course. I, the 
  immortal Kro-Mar, cannot be defeated by mere mortals, especially one like 
  you... Private Darren.”
  “Uh, you... know my name?” Darren really started to worry.
  “Of course. Now show me how to make it fight.” The dragon thrust the 
  mangled SAMAS at Darren’s feet. He looked down at it with concern.
  “How... how do you know my name, oh great and scaly one?”
  
  317
  “Dragons know everything, stupid human. Show me how to make it fight.”
  “Everything except how a SAMAS works.” Darren knew those were the 
  wrong words as soon as they’d passed his lips. The dragon once again put its 
  face up to him and huffed angrily, narrowing its eyes.
  “Show me how to make it fight!”
  “Uh, no problem, I just didn’t think one so powerful as you would need a 
  crummy exoskeleton.”
  “I wanted it. It’s mine now. Do as I command and make it fight.”
  “Actually, I don’t even know how I’m going to get Serg... Admiral Sergio 
  out of there, much less how you’re going to fit inside.”
  “I can fit,” Kro-Mar said, quickly taking the form of a nude human male.
  “I think you broke the SAMAS.”
  “Give me yours then.”
  “Uh, mine’s broken too, see?” Darren reached behind him to wave the rail 
  gun’s ammo belt at Kro-Mar. “Can’t fly or fight with this one either.”
  “Show me where to get one that works and show me how to make it fight.”
  “Uh, sure thing. Just as soon as I find my pals, we can all go back to Chi-
  Town and I can get a brand new one for you.”
  “Hey, man, I heard about your friends.” Delwin sidled up to Darren’s 
  SAMAS.
  The familiar multi-colored shotgun was slung over his shoulder instead of 
  the immensely more powerful C-12 he’d just liberated from its former owner.
  “Uh, Delwin now is not a good time to chat. The big dragon right there, 
  could eat us both any second now,” Darren whispered loudly.
  “Kro-Mar’s my soul buddy, man. We’re like one with the cosmos, expe-
  riencing the wonders of this universe, man. He’s not gonna eat ya, are you 
  pal?”
  “I was thinking about it,” Kro-Mar said, he hadn’t been, but allowing the 
  human to think it wasn’t a possibility was out of the question. “Humans don’t 
  taste good raw anyway.”
  “Glad to know that. If you don’t mind, I’ll let you both get back to your 
  wonders of the universe and I’ll be going to look for my friends.”
  “No, man, like we can help you find your friends. Your friends are our 
  friends, man,” Delwin offered.
  Kro-Mar sat down and tried to figure out what protruding part would make 
  the exoskeleton open, quickly having become disinterested in Darren and his 
  predicament.
  “I don’t know, Delwin. I’m out here in the middle of nowhere with a 
  weaponless SAMAS and you and the mighty Kro-Mar,” Darren reflected. 
  “Pritchett’s pack and only remaining RPA pilot just tried to kill me. I think 
  it’s best if I just hoof it back and report all this.”
  “That’s okay, man, we’ll find your friends for you. It wasn’t them, was 
  it?” Delwin looked around at the corpses of former Coalition warriors.
  
  318
  “No, definitely not. Actually, I’m not even sure I want to risk calling this 
  in on the radio. I gotta think of something. If I run into Pritchett’s goon squad 
  like this, I’m screwed.”
  “Here, man, you can use mine.” Delwin offered his shotgun.
  “No thanks, dude, uh, my hands are too big. See, my finger won’t even fit 
  inside the trigger guard.” Darren held out an oversized, mechanical extension 
  of his own hand. “I really appreciate the offer, though. I just need something 
  bigger.”
  “Use that one.” Delwin pointed to the exoskeleton in Kro-Mar’s grasp.
  “No! Mine!” Kro-Mar held onto the exoskeleton possessively.
  “Kramer busted it.” Darren pointed to the skewed angle of the rail gun 
  barrel.
  “Oh yeah, man. So why don’t you just take one of their guns?” Delwin 
  looked past Darren to the outer edge of the clearing.
  Turning around slowly, Darren watched a pair of tall, female D-Bee riders 
  approach on massive cyborg mounts.
  
  319
  Chapter 19
  The bell tolls
  “You are trespassing on Shemarrian tribal land!” one of the female war-
  riors shouted, dismounting and pointing a very large rifle at Kro-Mar.
  “Leave at once or die!” The other warrior swung an identical rifle over and 
  attached a feed belt to a pack on her back.
  Darren did a double take, one to gauge the height of the newcomers at 
  about eight feet, equal to his SAMAS, and another to gawk at the large chest 
  anatomy exposed on the warriors’ bodies. It was a good thing Cyndiara 
  wasn’t around. Both had elaborate head and body armor that was hard to 
  distinguish from their bodies.
  “Step right up, step right up, don’t be shy, you too can have the deal of a 
  lifetime!” Delwin rattled off in his announcer’s voice, sauntering bowlegged 
  to Darren’s broken rail gun.
  “You must leave now!” The warrior on foot followed Delwin with her 
  weapon while her cyborg mount pawed the earth with giant mechanical claws 
  and brought two shoulder mounted weapons level with Kro-Mar. The beast’s 
  tail lashed angrily behind it as the ten-foot-tall cyborg creature prepared to 
  pounce.
  “Yes, for only 29, 99, 99, you can have this pristine, right off the produc-
  tion line, Coalition C-40R rail gun. Now I’m sure you’re asking yourselves, 
  how can I, the humble and good looking Delwin offer such a great weapon 
  for such an amazing price?”
  Kro-Mar sized up the situation as Delwin continued his used car sales-
  man’s spiel and the Shemarrian warriors became steadily more agitated. 
  They had really neat looking guns, without bends or broken parts. Kro-Mar 
  wanted one.
  “I am the great and powerful Kro-Mar! Lay down your weapons and I may 
  spare your miserable lives!”
  The Shemarrian still mounted on her beast seemed to flip off a safety on 
  her weapon.
  “Uh, Kro-Mar, let’s leave.” Darren backed for the trees.
  Kro-Mar chanted spells. Delwin continued to ramble on.
  Leaping the clearing in a single bound, Kro-Mar tripped on the Shemar-
  rian mount charging him from the opposite direction. Sprawling headfirst, 
  he came to the end of his furrow right under the nose of the second rider and 
  mount. Both blasted him at point-blank range. The sonic concussion bent the 
  grass around both warriors.
  Delwin engaged his jet pack and aimed himself at the warrior on foot. 
  Psychedelic armor impacted a body of much denser composition, bouncing 
  the airborne crazy to a jarring halt in the grass. Unfazed, Delwin latched onto 
  
  320
  the Shemarrian’s rail gun and kicked off her chest, attempting to dislodge the 
  weapon from her grasp.
  Confusion and aggravation vied for prominence on the Shemarrian’s face, 
  unsure how to interpret the crazy man’s behavior. Self-defense mechanisms 
  kicked in and she extended sharp claws from the armored gauntlet of her free 
  hand. Sinking the claws into the multi-colored jet pack, she flung the man 
  away from her and prepared to simplify the situation – kill the lunatic.
  Alerted to the motion by a pair of antennae protruding from her head and 
  helmet, the Shemarrian warrior was too slow in responding to Darren’s full-
  body tackle. The impact threw both to the ground, and Darren felt every bone 
  in his body rattled by the unexpected mass of his opponent. The rear jets on 
  his SAMAS kept it from being rolled on its back and allowed him to grab 
  hold of the Shemarrian’s rail gun in the struggle. He pulled back, struggling 
  to wrench the weapon away. Instead, he was pulled off balance when his 
  exoskeleton tried lifting the Shemarrian off the ground.
  “Let it go!”
  As Delwin hacked away at the Shemarrian warrior, one of her antennae 
  flew from her head. The distraction bought Darren the moment he needed to 
  place one foot against the warrior’s waist and push off with all the SAMAS’ 
  robotic might. The long rail gun came away from its owner and Darren stag-
  gered back to regain his balance. From somewhere on the warrior’s right 
  gauntlet, a pair of laser beams burned a mark in his SAMAS’ chest.
  Delwin’s rendition of a weed-whacker on amphetamines finally removed 
  the ammo drum from the Shemarrian’s back. She slashed at him with her 
  claws, only to lose her hand due to the Crazy’s continued acrobatic slashing 
  movements.
  Darren took a moment to assess the stolen weapon while Delwin kept 
  the the infuriated Shemarrian occupied. A quick glance to the center of the 
  clearing revealed a dragon thrashing the rider and her mount. Gun, feed belt, 
  ammo drum, and other more vital parts flew in every direction. The other 
  cyber-mount was on the far side of the clearing, just beginning a charge on 
  the preoccupied dragon. Darren had a few seconds to figure how the weapon 
  worked before another attack was turned his way. The weapon was just about 
  the right size for his exoskeleton and balanced for one-handed operation, but 
  with double triggers and trigger guards getting in the way. Darren squeezed 
  his armored fingers into place and a deafening thunder accompanied the un-
  expected recoil of the gun.
  “That was loud!” Darren’s head throbbed from the sonic concussion.
  While the report was longer and less detrimental than a Glitter Boy’s Boom 
  Gun, the Shemarrian weapon still made his ears ring and the air tremble. He 
  engaged his helmet’s audio dampeners. Fingers now in place and wary of 
  accidental discharges, Darren tried to aim the foreign weapon at the injured 
  Shemarrian desperately attempting to kill Delwin in his psychedelic armor.
  
  321
  Attempting to guess the sighting without computer targeting aids, his first 
  two shots missed completely. Each time the weapon jerked and rolled back 
  with the recoil, a counterbalance and recoil suppression system compensated 
  for the massive kinetic discharge. Not knowing how many shots he had left, 
  Darren took careful aim and blew the Shemarrian’s head off her armor-plated 
  shoulders.
  The body hit the ground, spewing sparks and jerking involuntarily. Del-
  win yelled something unintelligible when the body sprung back to its feet 
  and lunged blindly at where Delwin had been a moment before. Wires and 
  mechanical workings of the neck joint extended where the head should have 
  been.
  Darren aimed again at the damaged body, visually taking note of what 
  seemed to be bionic implants exposed by Delwin’s chaotic attacks.
  “Get away from it, Delwin!” Darren shouted, but the crazy man was al-
  ready jetting to the place Kro-Mar had hurled the other Shemarrian’s rail gun.
  Another blast knocked the cyborg warrior to the ground and nearly cut it 
  in half, but it returned to its feet and started wandering in Darren’s direction. 
  One more shot caught it in the chest, scattering mechanical parts out the back. 
  After taking another two steps, the cyborg disappeared in a massive explo-
  sion, taking with it a fifty-foot patch of the clearing. Darren looked at the new 
  weapon with awe.
  “Damn! Where were you when I needed you?!”
  In the center of the clearing, Kro-Mar’s fighting style would have made 
  any prehistoric caveman proud. With every appendage, wing, and even 
  spiked head, he thrashed the rider and mount, blindingly venting his rage on 
  any part he came in contact with. Forgotten were spells and devious plots, 
  plans and greed for new toys. Kro-Mar was not a happy dragon, he was now 
  driven by his natural animalistic instinct.
  His rage was interrupted when the other cyborg mount leaped on his back 
  and sunk four spine-like appendages from its side into Kro-Mar’s scaled 
  skin. Mass for mass about the same as the dragon’s body, the cyborg creature 
  blazed away with shoulder mounted weapons and tore into his back with a 
  mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. The weight of the cyborg creature dragged 
  Kro-Mar over backward, rolling both into a patch of smoking earth left by the 
  other Shemarrian’s demise. Spurred on by the turn of events, the other rider 
  and mount leaped into the tumble, claws, and cannons flashing death.
  For once in his life, Kro-Mar’s teleportation ability served him well. Van-
  ishing from the mass of flying claws and blasting weapons, he reappeared at 
  the far edge of the clearing. He took a moment to regain his composure, no-
  ticing the nasty injuries he’d received from the Shemarrian mounts. Kro-Mar 
  smiled, renewing his barriers and making loud, throat clearing sounds to try 
  and get his opponent’s attention.
  
  322
  Darren watched the two mounts tear each other apart just after Kro-Mar’s 
  disappearance, the Shemarrian rider quickly ordered the beasts apart. Having 
  all his threats so close together was too good to be true. Darren aimed his 
  forearm mini-missile tubes at the trio and caught them all in a pair of plasma 
  explosions.
  Any chance to wonder about the Shemarrian’s true nature vanished when 
  the white-hot balls of flame faded away. Fully mechanical features and 
  chromed facial components were all that was left of the cyborgs’ living cha-
  rade. Damaged severely and sporting exposed mechanical components from 
  every joint, the two mounts refocused themselves.
  “Hey! Over here!” Delwin shouted from one end of the clearing, holding 
  onto a gun that was bigger than he was. The Shemarrian warrior turned in the 
  saddle, retaining some vestige of sensory input.
  “Hey! No! Wait! Delwin, don’t fire that—”
  “Wheee —”
  Delwin’s proclamation of glee was cut short by the sonic concussion of 
  the rail gun. His charge toward the three remaining opponents ended com-
  pletely with his rapid flight backward into the trees at the end of the clearing. 
  Both he and rail gun made rapid departure from the recoil.
  “— gun,” Darren finished his warning.
  Judging by the recoil his power armor absorbed when the weapon fired, 
  Darren could only imagine the unpleasantness of riding one into a clump of 
  trees.
  Snapping out of Delwin’s spectacle, Darren put two more rounds into the 
  least damaged cyborg mount before it could turn in his direction. Darren was 
  about to send another blast into the beast when huge wings blocked his line 
  of sight.
  Coming down between the mounts, Kro-Mar threw every bit of strength 
  into lifting the riderless cyborg mount into the air and using it as a massive 
  club to smash the other one. Limbs, legs, and spines flailed helplessly as the 
  cyborg found itself the unwilling weapon of destruction to its partner.
  Kro-Mar rumbled with animalistic pleasure as he smashed the beasts to-
  gether for the third time. Now, this was fun, breaking things.
  Without warning, Darren watched as Kro-Mar was enveloped in two mas-
  sive explosions that reminded him of Coalition heavy artillery rounds. The 
  two cyborg mounts and Shemarrian warrior had become flying shrapnel and 
  expanding balls of fire as their structural integrity failed and their dead man’s 
  switches removed all opportunities for valuable investigation.
  Bits and pieces of armor rained down randomly in the clearing, leaving a 
  bloodied and burned Kro-Mar standing in a blackened crater wondering what 
  he’d done wrong. Darren started to laugh, and scenes of too many Pre-Rifts 
  Wile E. Coyote cartoons flashed through his mind. Kro-Mar stood frozen in 
  place, blackened from head to foot, charcoal scales falling one at a time from 
  
  323
  his body and turning to small clouds of ash upon hitting the ground. Every-
  thing hurt, including parts of his body he didn’t know he had. He had won, 
  but it was not fun.
  Self-pity took second place when Kro-Mar saw Delwin wander back into 
  the clearing dragging the rail gun with one arm, the other hanging loosely 
  at his side. Delwin dragged the Shemarrian weapon back to the edge of the 
  burned grass.
  “Whoa, man, like where did all the pretty birds come from this fine morn-
  ing?” He waved at the cartoon sparrows chirping loudly around his head. 
  “Here’s your gun, man.” Delwin held out the gun with his good arm, not 
  even looking at Darren as the birds continued to circle him singing happy 
  little songs.
  “Are you okay?” Kro-Mar came down on all fours, slinking his head to 
  Delwin’s side.
  “Oh yeah, man, just need some time.”
  “Dude! What happened to your arm?” Darren overcame his intimidation 
  of the dragon and crossed the clearing to Delwin’s other side.
  “Hey, it’s doin’ some funky things.” Delwin wrenched his body from side 
  to side, his broken arm flapping back and forth. “Heh, that’s far out, man.”
  “Delwin’s hurt bad.” Kro-Mar looked over at Darren.
  “Yep,” Delwin seconded, flapping his injured arm with his good one.
  “You probably shouldn’t be doin’ that, Delwin,” Darren advised, no ex-
  pert on medical procedure, but figuring the less you moved a broken arm, the 
  better.
  “Let me fix you.” Kro-Mar gently pushed the crazy man down onto a 
  patch of flat ground.
  Darren stared in amazement as the fearsome beast worked magic spells 
  to heal the injured crazy. Before he knew it the arm cracked and popped and 
  reformed into the shape of a normal arm. Kro-Mar then let Delwin stand back 
  up.
  “Aww man, all the birdies are gone,” Delwin said, genuinely sad about 
  the loss.
  “Today is definitely going to rank in the ‘top ten weird days’ of my life.” 
  Darren shook his head.
  ____________________
  Lieutenant Greg Merrick walked on the old canal path beside the river 
  near Liberty. Apparently it had once been used to haul goods to and from the 
  ocean before the coming of the Rifts. Now it was just a nice, flat path that 
  wound along the river.
  He’d been going non-stop since leaving Chi-Town and the pressure had 
  been catching up with him. While he was finally able to trust Mike Sorenson, 
  he’d had to reevaluate his relationship with his Sergeant, Jerry Winters. Not 
  
  324
  only because of his botched plan to blow up Pritchett, but also because of 
  some suspicious clues he’d learned about around the time of Sorenson’s trial.
  Then there was Pritchett. Greg was sure that he had a secondary mission. 
  On the face of things, he was in Liberty to establish it as a Coalition-friendly 
  outpost and now to save face after meeting defeat twice at the hands of Ze-
  njori Suka and his Army of the New Order. But there was something else 
  going on with the Captain, something more sinister.
  He didn’t want to voice it; didn’t want his fears and suspicions to be true, 
  but Greg had to. Pritchett’s secondary objective had to be to make sure that 
  Mike, Greg, and his whole unit never returned to the Coalition States alive. 
  Lyboc or someone else up the food chain wanted to be able to write off the 
  damage that the Army of the New Order caused and could still cause by cov-
  ering it up with bodies. They’d probably use it all for more propaganda too.
  He walked in silence, just letting his mind go where it wanted to and pro-
  cess all of the stress, strategies, and scenarios it wanted to. It was something 
  he’d needed to do for a while. There were still days where he questioned him-
  self, recent decisions he’d regretted, and fears about his missing soldiers that 
  he needed to process. It was only now that he had taken any time to prioritize 
  his needs and make sure he was still fit to command in his own mind.
  It had run through his mind to just chuck it all and keep walking. Maybe 
  he’d take the river all the way to the ocean. He’d just leave everyone behind 
  and not look back.
  It had been especially tempting when Donovan had taken him aside and 
  made him a very generous offer to join First Strike. He could have had a rela-
  tively easy life as a military advisor. Greg had joked that all Donovan really 
  wanted was someone with inside intel on Coalition operations, and how he’d 
  do better paying off Lieutenant Sorenson.
  Donovan claimed to sincerely want Greg as a member of First Strike, that 
  the mercenary company could use someone of his experience and leadership 
  capabilities. Greg had refused, stating if he was going to walk away, he’d 
  need some time away from a military structure and following orders before 
  he got into something new. He knew Donovan wouldn’t take anything per-
  sonally but, wanting to keep things positive, he told the mercenary leader that 
  he’d be sure to look up First Strike if he ever changed his mind.
  He stopped and looked out at the gently flowing water through a break in 
  the trees. Somewhat transfixed as his mind wandered.
  Amid the sounds of nature, a familiar voice said, “Lieutenant Greg Mer-
  rick.”
  He slowly turned to see a beautiful woman standing only a few feet from 
  him, also seeming to look out at the water.
  “Natessa?”
  “Yes,” the woman replied.
  “So much for getting away scott-free.”
  
  325
  “Where are you going?”
  “I just needed some time to think, so I came down here. What about you? 
  Do you hang around outside of town just following strangers around?”
  “Only you,” Natessa stated boldly, still deciding if she should follow 
  through on Varles’ orders to capture him just yet. The man was to be returned 
  for interrogation by Varles himself. How she did it was her prerogative.
  “Then I’m in luck. Shall we?” He waved a hand down the road.
  “What?”
  “If you don’t mind, let’s walk. We can enjoy the scenery together,” Greg 
  spoke for himself, not realizing the torment he was inflicting on the Altarain 
  spy beside him.
  After walking for a few minutes in silence, Natessa spoke up. “What has 
  been on your mind?”
  Greg let out a sigh, “Sorenson found most of our missing people killed 
  execution style on the mountain we fought the battle on. I had hoped they’d 
  made it to safety, but Zenjori’s forces must have captured them.”
  “It is good that some still live then. They travel a few kilometers from 
  here.” Natessa laid the trap, still trying to decide between leading Greg to 
  Varles or actually showing him where the missing Coalition personnel were.
  “You know where they are? How many?”
  “Yes. Eight of them, two injured badly. A little distance from that group, 
  a powered armor suit waits with a dragon, and a man who smells strange.”
  “Alive?”
  “Yes.”
  “Thank you, Natessa. I needed to hear that.” Greg took in the good news 
  for a moment before continuing. “Now I’ve got to figure out my next move. I 
  know Captain Pritchett has something planned and I can’t let them just walk 
  into it. My men don’t deserve to find their way back, only to have that bastard 
  find a way to kill them.”
  “You will be saving their lives. This is good, yes?” she asked in her for-
  eign accent.
  Greg looked over at her, still finding it unusual that she could hold con-
  versations without looking at who she was speaking with, or ever making eye 
  contact.
  “Yes, the problem is that on top of whatever Pritchett is planning, I’m still 
  stuck with the task of finishing Lyboc’s dirty work – destroying the Army of 
  the New Order.”
  Natessa stepped closer, positioning herself for the blow that would render 
  him unconscious. She wouldn’t get a better chance and she wasn’t sure if he 
  was just going to stand around talking with her all day or do something that 
  would work for her.
  “Life above duty.”
  “What?” She asked in response to the unexpected statement.
  
  326
  “Life above duty. I’ve decided that I can’t just blindly follow orders any 
  more like a good soldier. No matter what happens, from here on out, I’m 
  choosing my life and the lives of my men over our orders. Show me where 
  my personnel are, Natessa.”
  “You will follow?” The Blind Warrior Woman asked, her mind contem-
  plating whether Greg’s new decision would be one she could afford to make.
  “Yes.” He turned to follow her, replacing his helmet. “Lead the way.”
  ____________________
  “Are we there yet?”
  “Gerald, I’m gonna put you in a headlock and stuff your face in the next 
  cow pie we find if you ask that one more time.” Corporal Rollins turned to 
  menace the private with his fist.
  “Chill, dudes,” Darren warned behind them, as he carried Sharp’s body in 
  the SAMAS’ arms with his new weapon laying on top of the exhausted scout.
  Their bizarre escort had vanished someplace miles back, not to Darren’s 
  surprise. Delwin and the dragon were the most unpredictable duo he’d ever 
  encountered. Thankful as he was for them leading him to Brian’s missing 
  group, reliable traveling companions they were not.
  “I was just kidding that time,” Gerald whined.
  “Shut up and quit dragging Yoshi’s butt on the ground,” Nelson com-
  plained.
  “Everyone take it easy.” Brian prayed he had one nerve left for his squad 
  to get on.
  Sharp kept mumbling directions that didn’t make sense and the trial of 
  malnourishment and many kilometers traveled had worn them all out. Even 
  Lisa had taken her turn carrying Yoshi when the RPA collapsed into a coma. 
  After a short distance, they cut down some saplings and created a makeshift 
  stretcher that allowed them to carry the wounded pilot between two mobile 
  soldiers. Brian couldn’t think of anything else to say that would keep the 
  squad on the move, and in the end, simply led by example by either leading 
  the party or carrying Yoshi as much as his body could bear. It was all he could 
  do to make himself move on, but dogged persistence kept everyone moving.
  Dave leaned on his shoulder more heavily than before, his swollen leg 
  compressed tightly in the armor casing. No food and no rest had taken its toll.
  “Yes, Private, we’re almost there,” Brian retorted for the ten millionth 
  time.
  “How come I don’t see any lights then?”
  “Gerald, I’m gonna kick you so hard you —” Rollins took a swipe at Ger-
  ald, missing but also communicating to the Private that he was done with the 
  question being asked.
  “Easy, Corporal.” Brian was thankful his new NCO was far more aggres-
  sive than he was. It gave him a gauge to control his own temper. He had no 
  
  327
  idea where they were or how much more distance they needed to cover before 
  finding Liberty, just that Darren said they were going in the right direction 
  according to the SAMAS’ navigation system.
  Something moved in the bushes, stopping Brian and Dave in their tracks.
  “I got a body on thermo,” Darren stated, seeing a warm body signature 
  thirty feet from the clump of bushes.
  “Lieutenant Brian Adams!” Out from behind a rather large tree stepped 
  Lieutenant Greg Merrick.
  “Am I happy to see you, sir.” Brian blinked.
  “What are you doing leading a convoy without a proper point man?” Greg 
  removed his helmet walked closer to the party.
  “Lieutenant Merrick!” Lisa cheered joyously.
  “Oh, man, are you a sight for sore eyes.” Rollins and Dave set Yoshi on 
  the ground and rushed forward to confirm the good news.
  “Where’s everyone else?” Brian asked.
  “Thought I’d have better luck finding you on my own.”
  “Uh, sir, there’s somebody like over there in the bushes, in case you don’t 
  know.” Darren pointed his new rail gun at the heat signature.
  “That’s Natessa, the scout who found you. It’s all right, you can come 
  out.”
  The woman came to stand ten feet behind Greg, her body language spoke 
  of uneasiness.
  “You’re gonna call for a rover, right, sir?” Nelson laid Yoshi on the ground 
  and joined the reunion.
  “Afraid not. We need to keep your safe return a secret for the moment.”
  “Then you know what happened to me, sir? Is Pritchett planning more?” 
  Darren inquired.
  Greg took in the damaged exoskeleton and lack of accompanying wing-
  man.
  “Looks like there’s a bet with Pritchett I need to collect on. Tell me about 
  what you know a little later, Darren.”
  “We all know, sir.” Lisa nodded at the SAMAS. “Darren told us how 
  Pritchett tried to have him killed.”
  “Then I don’t need to explain why I’m out here and why your survival 
  depends on your secret return to Liberty. What happened to Sharp?”
  “He’s pretty messed up, sir,” Brian explained in technical jargon. “We 
  don’t know what happened to his armor, but we think he got shot up pretty 
  bad and had a tree fall on him. I hit him with the IRMSS, but he needs a 
  hospital.”
  “And that is, who?” Greg pointed to Yoshi.
  “Private Yoshi, one of Pritchett’s RPAs.”
  “Oh yes. She was shot down by the Glitter Boy. How is she?”
  
  328
  “I, I think her brain is swelling or something in her head is going wrong. 
  She’s got bump on her head.” Brian tried not to alarm the others. He’d ex-
  pected her to be dead already. “I don’t know how to fix that.”
  “Go now,” the mysterious woman stated matter-of-factly.
  “Huh?” Brian turned to Natessa.
  Greg turned to read her marble features. The unsolicited suggestion was 
  not anticipated.
  “Go, now!”
  “Why? Is there something we should know about?” Greg looked around 
  in the darkness.
  “Yes. We are being watched. If you value your lives, leave now, and never 
  travel east again,” Natessa urged, feeling the presence of something hideous 
  observing them. What the eye saw, Varles saw.
  “Yes, but —”
  “Go! I must leave you before it’s too late. Go!” She stepped back into the 
  forest and was gone.
  “You heard her, people.” Greg picked up one end of Yoshi’s stretcher. “I 
  know you’re all tired but don’t lag behind. If Natessa thinks there’s some-
  thing bad out there, we don’t want to find out what it is.”
  ____________________
  Van’s shed housed the returning Coalition MIA’s alongside the Techno-
  Wizard’s highly modified Sky Cycle. Van stared numbly at Darren once 
  again, trying to contemplate the logic that started the chain of events up 
  to where he stood. His Mountaineer ATV parked alongside the Sky Cycle 
  served as a temporary emergency room for the wounded. Somehow, the en-
  tire situation seemed surreal.
  “Hey Van, don’t look so dazed, dude,” Darren tried to reassure his friend.
  “Do you know what you’ve done?” Van asked.
  “Hey, it’s like I said. Merrick’s a good guy, he won’t say anything about 
  your cycle. We just needed someplace safe to go.”
  “And the first place you associated with ‘safety’ for the Coalition, as in not 
  risky or dangerous, was here?”
  “Sure. I figured you’d still be up screwin’ around with one of your gadgets 
  and, sure enough, there you were.”
  “Apparently.”
  “So, dude, can you move your Sky Cycle back a few feet so I can fit my 
  SAM in here?”
  “Why not? In for a penny, in for a pound,” Van muttered an ancient saying 
  he’d picked up from one of his instructors at Lazlo. The two men pushed the 
  Sky Cycle back until its rear thruster tapped the back wall.
  “I’ll be right back.” Darren darted outside, leaving Van standing there face 
  to face with Lieutenant Merrick.
  
  329
  “Nice armor,” Van commented.
  “Yeah the Coalition doesn’t do too bad. The good part is that it doesn’t 
  have all the magic crap you corrupted yours with.” Greg let a thin smile 
  through to let the Techno-Wizard know he wasn’t really serious.
  Van was tense for a moment, but finally took Greg’s comment in good 
  humor. “So, anything else I can get you? A throw rug, some donuts, maybe?”
  “I apologize for the sudden intrusion, Van, but Darren said we could trust 
  you not to tell Captain Pritchett where we are.”
  “He’s right.”
  “As far as I’m concerned, this little gathering is strictly off the record,” 
  Merrick said, looking back at the ATV and his soldiers inside it.
  “That’s okay with me if you’re okay with leaving everything in this room 
  in my possession.” Van’s eyes jerked to the stolen Sky Cycle.
  Merrick looked around the room in a slightly dramatic fashion. “I’m not 
  sure what you mean. Don’t know why my unit would want to mess with 
  any vehicles a mage has had their hands on. However, Darren did mention 
  that you had some type of weapon you were building to assassinate Zenjori 
  Suka?”
  “Wow, Darren’s been sniffing the glue again.” Van rocked back on his 
  heels, wishing Darren was back so he could insert his boot in the RPA’s 
  backside.
  “Yo, Van, check out the new weapon!” Darren walked the exoskeleton 
  into the shed, wielding the Shemarrian rail gun in one hand and brandishing 
  a large feed belt and drum with the other.
  Van’s jaw dropped. Forgotten was the violation of his privacy and the 
  invasion of his workshop.
  “Jeez, Darren, how did you get that?”
  “Long story. It involves Delwin Moonbeam, that douche Sergio, and a re-
  ally big dragon with lots of sharp teeth named Kro-Mar. Kro-Mar has another 
  one just like this.”
  Van nearly drooled while Greg wore a confused stare.
  “I’ve been looking everywhere for one of these.” Van fondled the gun.
  Darren sat it down on Van’s worktable and backed the exoskeleton into 
  the corner before exiting it.
  “It’s not linked up to the SAM, and it still fires, so it must have its own 
  power supply. Feeds from clips or belt to drum... and shoots these things.” 
  Darren set a large projectile casing on the worktable next to the enormous 
  weapon.
  “Oh, Darren. Oh buddy, oh pal, oh friend of mine.” Van gave his favorite 
  SAMAS pilot buddy an overly large smile.
  “I need to keep it, Van. My rail gun ate it when I was picking this one up.”
  Van’s expression of pure joy dropped a little, but then he turned back to 
  look at the weapon and became mesmerized once again. “That’s fine, I just 
  
  330
  need to spend some quality time with it to find out how it works.” Van ca-
  ressed the curves of the alien weapon.
  “I’d leave you two alone, except I wanna make sure you put all the gizmos 
  and whatche-me-call-its back in this time.”
  “So, it’s safe to say we’ve earned our keep?” Greg asked.
  “Sure. Whatever. Stay as long as you want. Just leave me to my work.”
  “Thanks. Darren, help me with the door?” Greg motioned to the large, 
  open garage door and lack of concealment. The two heaved the metal chain 
  and let the heavy door come down in place. Just before it hit the ground, Greg 
  stopped it with his foot and let it down slowly.
  “There’s someone sneaking up on the shed,” Greg spoke quietly to Darren 
  and handed over his MP-10. Putting on his helmet and throwing open the side 
  walk-in door, Greg aimed his rifle at the figure frozen in mid-step.
  “Oh come on, Merrick, like I don’t know you’re hiding my girlfriend and 
  our MIA’s in the Techno-Wizard’s garage.” Sorenson stepped into the light 
  in front of the doorway.
  “How long have you known?”
  “Since you walked into Watkins’ General Store and never came out.” 
  Mike grinned, looking back into the shadows down the row of sheds. “If I’m 
  busted, you might as well come out too, Aken.”
  There was a long pause, then the First Strike mercenary left his cover and 
  came over to join them under the light pool around the side door to Van’s 
  shed, a wide smile on his face.
  “Man, is everyone lurking about in the dark tonight?” Greg shook his 
  head, looking around for more shadows to appear.
  “Just one of those moonlit nights, great for walks,” Aken said, shifting his 
  rifle strap to the other shoulder.
  “Since everyone seems to know everything I do,” Greg took a deep breath 
  and glanced at Mike. “No real point in putting anything off. Aken, please tell 
  Donovan I’ve reconsidered and I’ll accept his offer if he can move my troops 
  someplace safe and make sure nothing happens to them.”
  “You sure on this, Merrick?”
  “It’s not an easy decision, leaving everything behind, but things have 
  changed for me and I’m just not the Coalition’s pawn that they need me to 
  be anymore.”
  “I’ll let Donovan know. Don’t wander off too far, I wouldn’t want to have 
  to follow Sorenson around to find you again.” Aken clapped Mike on the 
  shoulder and jogged off into the night.
  “Making more deals, I take it?” Mike asked.
  “More than you know. Come on in and join the party, I know at least one 
  person in there who doesn’t hate your guts.” Greg opened the door.
  “That’s so reassuring.” Mike stepped inside.
  “Mike!” Lisa’s voice carried across the shed.
  
  331
  “Lisa.” Mike’s face showed relief as he moved toward Lisa.
  She ran across the bay to him, meeting him at the door. The greeting, hug, 
  and kiss looked a bit forced to Darren. The RPA pilot opened his mouth to 
  make a snide remark but a disapproving shake of Greg’s head shut him up. 
  Brian stuck his head out of the Mountaineer’s door, then went back inside 
  without a word.
  “You made it back.” Mike held her shoulders and looked over her dishev-
  eled clothes and generally exhausted posture.
  “Brian got us back. We didn’t know if anyone else had made it.”
  “I’m so glad to see you!” He hugged her again tightly.
  After a moment, Lisa gently pushed away from him and looked up to meet 
  his eyes.
  “We need to talk,” she said seriously.
  “There’s plenty of time for that.”
  “It’s important. It’s private.” She glanced at Darren and Greg. The two, 
  suddenly realizing that their time as inconspicuous statues in the garage had 
  come to an end, moved toward the Mountaineer ATV.
  Darren was about to make a sarcastic remark when Merrick slapped him 
  on the back and pushed him into the Mountaineer.
  “I need to talk to you both in a few minutes, so please stick around when 
  you’re done,” Greg said as he began to shut the door, but then stuck his head 
  back out. “Give us a knock when you’re ready.”
  The door shut and music started coming from inside the ATV.
  ____________________
  “Man, that was some thick tension in there,” Darren joked, moving up to 
  the cabin to turn on the radio.
  “Not likely, and at least I have enough sense to know when to shut up.”
  “Yeah, but you gotta admit you wanted to say something.” Darren gave 
  him a crooked smile.
  “Lieutenant,” Brian came to the cab from the back of the ATV. “Can I talk 
  to you a minute? It’s important.”
  Darren stifled a laugh, eliciting a smile from Greg as well. Brian’s already 
  haggard features went darker.
  “Ignore him, Brian, Darren’s been up too long. What’s the problem?”
  “I didn’t want to say anything in front of them, but Sharp and Private 
  Yoshi aren’t doing well, and I don’t know exactly what’s wrong with them. 
  They’re going to die if we can’t get them over to the Cyber-Doc.”
  “Not possible. Several men are still there, and Pritchett has a posted guard 
  to make sure nobody harms them. If we take them to the chop shop, Pritchett 
  will know.
  “Look guys, I think Pritchett has orders to knock off not only me, but our 
  whole unit before this mission is over. The rest of the unit is on high alert and 
  
  332
  Winters is keeping an eye on everything until I get back, but if Pritchett sees 
  one moment of weakness right now, I’m not sure he won’t take advantage 
  of it and kill everyone while we’re distracted. As much as I’m worried about 
  Sharp and Yoshi, they may have to come second to the safety of everyone 
  here.”
  “But they will die if we don’t do something,” Brian pleaded. “I’m really 
  surprised Yoshi isn’t dead already. Even Dave’s out of it and his leg looks 
  like it’s been infected.”
  “Well, Van’s got this —” Darren spoke up.
  “Darren,” Greg’s voice warned. He looked at the far wall and took a deep 
  breath.
  There was a knock at the ATV’s door, but when Greg opened it, the ga-
  rage was empty. He heard the outside door click and figured that Lisa and 
  Mike must have left to get some fresh air.
  “Darren, your SAMAS is damaged badly, it probably needs a good clean-
  ing before anyone works on it, right?”
  “Uh, no, sir?”
  “You’re not understanding me. It’s going to take you and several others 
  at least fifteen minutes to drag your SAM over there and clean the dirt and 
  shrapnel out of the workings, right?”
  “Uh, yeah, sir?” Darren wasn’t sure what Merrick was asking him for yet.
  “That’s what I thought. Cody, Rob, uh, Private Gerald, come here please.”
  Three tired soldiers pulled their heads up and then stood when their Lieu-
  tenant motioned them out the door. In the garage, they lined up with Darren.
  “Yes, sir!?” Corporal Rob Rollins saluted.
  “Help Darren with SAM 15,” Greg said as he strode over to where Van 
  had plunked himself down in front of his workbench. Mike and Lisa must 
  have figured he’d be too distracted with his new toy to worry about their 
  conversation.
  “But —” Rollins objected.
  “Rob, Gerald, Cody – just follow orders,” Brian said, stiffly.
  At the workbench, Greg leaned close over Van’s shoulder. “Lieutenant 
  Adams and I are stepping out for about fifteen minutes, and then we’ll come 
  back in and make sure we didn’t accidentally misdiagnose our injured per-
  sonnel. Can you go fix a couch cushion or something in there?”
  Van nodded, chucked his salt shaker in a toolbox and grabbed a door 
  hanger he’d lifted from Anja’s hotel room. Climbing into the ATV, he hung 
  the Do Not Disturb sign on the handle and then drew the blinds and made an 
  effort to have it appear as though he was overhauling the interior.
  “Come on, Brian.” Greg opened the outside door and waited for Brian to 
  step outside the garage with him.
  As soon as the door closed, Darren turned to the rest of the soldiers.
  
  333
  “Okay guys, I know you’re all out of it. Just chill. The L.T. needs to talk 
  with Adams privately and Van is super picky about who gets to see him 
  modifying the ATV,” Darren said, finally understanding what was going on.
  “Man, I just wanna sleep,” Gerald said before collapsing against one of the 
  huge tires and snoring almost immediately.
  Greg shut the door behind them and paced to a dark shadow away from 
  the light. Brian clenched and unclenched his fists, following Greg and never 
  breaking his anxious stare. Greg didn’t blink. At last Brian’s gaze wavered 
  and his shoulders slumped. He looked back at the door.
  “I know what you did in there.”
  “You did a good job, Lieutenant Adams, bringing back our people. As far 
  as I’m concerned you earned those Lieutenant’s bars.
  “That means something, coming from you, I guess.” Brian didn’t look at 
  him.
  “But there’s more to being an officer than doing and saying the right things. 
  Sometimes it’s about not knowing, not saying and not doing something.”
  “I never thought I’d see you pull a Sorenson.” Brian sounded disappointed.
  “Sorenson doesn’t understand what you and I do. Looking the other way 
  isn’t the same thing as intentional action. Rationalize it if you have to. You 
  really didn’t see or hear anything, and we’re outside, so we don’t know 
  what’s going on.”
  “That’s just as bad.”
  “If you had full knowledge, it might be. I may or may not recall several 
  situations where I did the same for you, Lieutenant Adams.”
  “Brian looked up at the larger officer, recounting instances where Greg 
  had looked the other way or not asked specific questions to allow certain vital 
  actions to take place without his direct knowledge. But it was different then. 
  It didn’t involve a magic user doing unthinkable things to his friends. It was 
  worse this time.
  “But how? How can I look at them the same again, knowing what I know? 
  That almost makes it worse. Every time I see them I’ll always wonder if it’s 
  really them, or if they are going to do something that magic user is making 
  them do.”
  “That little facade in there was for your benefit as well as Cody and Rob 
  and the other one. It wasn’t for me. That way they can honestly say they have 
  no knowledge, and you can always claim I ordered you outside for a briefing 
  and that you didn’t hear or see anything. How you deal with your own imagi-
  nation is something to keep to yourself. Like an old commander of mine once 
  told me, keep your field talk and your city talk separate.”
  “I can’t keep a clean conscience that way.”
  “You do what you have to do, Brian, but you know as well as I do the 
  difference between what we’re taught and what we know. You’ve been in 
  the field long enough to see the truth with your own eyes. That doesn’t mean 
  
  334
  everything you know is wrong, but you can add an element of truth to your 
  thoughts and opinions, whether or not you say it out loud.”
  “What are you trying to tell me, sir?” Brian asked wrestling with his own 
  demons. “That magic users and D-Bees are just like us and they didn’t really 
  do all those things we know they did?”
  “You said it, not me. I have no doubt that magic users have committed 
  atrocities they’re credited with; you and I have seen our fair share of evidence 
  to support that. But that doesn’t mean every magic user and every D-Bee is 
  bent on murdering you or killing babies on an altar. Some of them might just 
  be people who look different and just want to share time with their families 
  at the end of the day. Some of them, some, aren’t much different than you or 
  me.” Greg knew that his words in the eyes of the Coalition were treasonous. 
  He’d already decided to accept the consequences.
  Brian was silent for a long moment. “Wreath.”
  “What?”
  “Wreath. He – she – it... whatever, it’s this D-Bee that works at Gizmo’s. 
  At first, I wouldn’t go near it, but after a while, I started forgetting to be wary 
  of it, and then I realized I was thinking of Wreath as just another mechanic. 
  That bothered me at first, but I guess it doesn’t now.”
  “Then you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
  “But it isn’t the same here. How can I trust that magic user?”
  “I don’t know if I’ll ever trust a magic user, Brian, not completely. Every 
  time I walk down the street and see one, I wonder if they’re going to attack 
  me. But every day we’ve been out here, I’m less on edge and more open 
  to seeing something different. I’m not telling you to change your mind. If 
  you’re a Coalition man, through and through, then toe the line and be true 
  to what you think and who you are. I’m just not that unquestioning soldier 
  anymore. I’ve seen too much that doesn’t hold up to the propaganda.
  “I don’t think Van is ever going to be someone I hang out with, but he’s 
  proven that his mission in life isn’t to kill us or to bring the demonic horde to 
  our doorstep. From what I can tell, he’s a flawed man who fell in love with 
  a girl and likes to work on machines. When he’s had the chance to stab us in 
  the back, he hasn’t. He’s even gone above and beyond a few times for us. To 
  me, that says something.
  “Brian, you brought those wounded men and women back through the 
  wilderness, through all types of hazards, when it would have been much easi-
  er and probably safer for everyone if you just ended Dave, Sharp, and Yoshi’s 
  misery and moved on without the added risk. Why did you do that?”
  “I wanted to save their lives.”
  “And you were willing to risk your own and the life of every man in there 
  to do it. Would you rather Sharp, Dave, and Yoshi all die, now, rather than 
  take one more risk that could save both their lives and yours?”
  
  335
  Brian’s internal struggle was a painful one. His training and long held 
  beliefs told him that it was better to let them die than let a magic user turn 
  them into something not quite human. His care and concern for the people he 
  knew and loved told him that he needed to do anything within his power to 
  save their lives. It wasn’t easy to have a fight where the two sides could be so 
  diametrically opposed.
  “How do you do it, sir?”
  “What?”
  “Do what you know is right but pretend to believe what you’re supposed 
  to believe.”
  “It’s not easy, don’t ever think it will be. But you’re a warrior, Brian, you 
  have the fire in your blood to do what you think is right and make choices for 
  the better. You just need to temper it to work around the system, not against 
  it.”
  “Kind of what we did when Lyboc tried to court-martial Sorenson?”
  “Only a little better planned and not quite so dangerous.” Greg smiled. 
  “You have the potential to become an outstanding officer, one that can make 
  a difference from inside and still hold onto what you know is true. When you 
  go back to Chi-Town you’ll have a real opportunity to make a difference that 
  not many others ever get.”
  “You sound like you’re not planning on going back.” Brian stared at the 
  door, not wanting to make eye contact.
  “There’s lots going down tonight, more things you’re better off not know-
  ing about. There’s a good chance I won’t be coming back.”
  “You can’t just leave us, sir. We need you.”
  “Your responsibility now is the lives of the men and women you brought 
  back. You have to make sure they make it back to Chi-Town alive. You may 
  even have to rein in Sergeant Winters, not an easy task, but he’s a stand-up 
  NCO who won’t ever leave you hanging when it gets tough. By morning you 
  may have more responsibility than you ever dreamed. Can you handle it?”
  “I don’t know, sir.”
  “I think you can.” Greg put his hand on Brian’s shoulder. “You brought 
  back our MIA’s through hostile territory. You and Winters can get them the 
  rest of the way home.”
  Sounds of an approaching APC prompted Greg to look at his wrist comp.
  “That was a little too fast.” He strode over to the shed door and banged 
  loudly. “We’re coming back in, now.”
  A First Strike Iron Maiden APC rounded the corner, its bank of lights 
  temporarily blinding Brian.
  Greg gave it a few seconds before opening the door. “Get everyone to-
  gether and have them ready to move out. First Strike is going to find a place 
  for everyone to stay while we work this thing out with Pritchett.”
  “Darren too?”
  
  336
  “No. He stays. Get the wounded. Hopefully, they aren’t as bad off as you 
  first thought. After all, you said yourself, you didn’t know for sure what was 
  wrong with them.” Greg winked, holding the door open for Brian.
  Headlights cut out as the APC clanked to a halt beside the shed. Aken 
  popped his head out the top hatch while two mercenaries dropped the rear 
  door and moved out to cover the dark streets.
  “Your people ready to go?” Aken whispered loudly.
  “Just about. Careful on the triggers, Eddy, Rock, I’ve two more wandering 
  around outside someplace. Oh, there they are.” Greg pointed in the direction 
  a Headhunter’s weapon was aimed.
  Mike and Lisa approached the shed walking several feet apart. As Lisa 
  passed beneath the light to go inside, Greg could see tear stains on her dirty 
  cheeks. Mike halted by the door and didn’t follow her inside, his usually alert 
  eyes downcast and shiftless.
  “Looks like you were wrong, Merrick,” Mike said flatly.
  “About?”
  “There being somebody in there that doesn’t hate my guts.”
  Mike exhaled deeply.
  “You want something to do to take your mind off it?” Greg asked.
  “What did you have in mind?” Mike asked suspiciously, a flicker of light 
  returning to his eyes.
  “A little assassination, consorting with magic users, everything that will 
  get you court-martialed again.”
  “Who’s the target?” Mike asked, not sure if Aken could overhear them.
  “Targets, my friend, targets.”
  ____________________
  Night fell on the town of Liberty. The night air was filled with the sounds 
  of frogs chirruping, insects singing their chorus, and the squeaky clang of 
  the Liberty town center’s bell, marking curfew for the night. The evening, 
  though seemingly calm, held a tension in the air.
  Drawn shades and dimmed lights shrouded Pritchett’s secret meeting in 
  mystery. There were so few left in his unit, and many of them were wounded 
  or couldn’t be trusted. The small gathering in his cabin were the few he still 
  trusted and knew would perform the grim task he’d set them to without ques-
  tion.
  “I don’t understand, sir, why not end it all tonight? Why take the chance?” 
  Pritchett’s newly promoted NCO, Sergeant Nabian, urged from across the 
  table.
  “Because First Strike is still here and my contact tells me they’re watching 
  to make sure Merrick’s men aren’t harmed. In a day or two, First Strike is 
  leaving Liberty, and that’s when we should finish off Merrick and the rest of 
  
  337
  his unit. It’s safer that way. If First Strike gets involved, we’ll be going toe-
  to-toe with a force stronger than our own. I, for one, want to make it home.”
  A Full Conversion ‘Borg entered the room, shaking his head to the ques-
  tion Pritchett was about to ask.
  “No sign of Sergio? Shark? My Dog Pack?”
  “Nothing. They haven’t reported in.”
  “My contact in First Strike tells me SAM 15 and its pilot came back hours 
  ago. I’m not sure how it happened but it seems Merrick’s ace has survived 
  our ambush.” Pritchett sat down, wooden chair groaning loudly under his 
  weight.
  “You already said it, sir, Merrick and this Techno-Wizard are conspiring 
  to assassinate you. Tonight possibly. We have to take them out!”
  “I know, Sergeant, I know. I wish they’d completed their assignment first 
  so that we wouldn’t have to take on the ANO problem.” Pritchett was becom-
  ing ashen as the threat to his life stayed ever-present.
  “We can do it quietly, sir. Kill all of them before anyone knows it,” one of 
  Pritchett’s corporals suggested.
  “Now isn’t the time for that, but soon. If they were all to leave Liberty 
  and be away from First Strike, perhaps. It’s truly a shame. Some of Merrick’s 
  men are just good soldiers following orders.”
  “But if we don’t get them, they’ll get us,” Nabian countered.
  “Perhaps. Perhaps if we simply remove Merrick and Winters, the others 
  will fall in line.”
  “You don’t really believe that, do you sir? Some of our own men are more 
  loyal to Merrick than us. We have to deal with them, too.”
  “In time, but not right now. Once Merrick is gone, we’ll have another 
  chance to test their loyalty.”
  “Merrick doesn’t know yet, about the company sent to reinforce us?”
  “Not that I know of. I don’t think it would make a difference if he did.”
  “That’s why that magic user and Merrick have to die, tonight!”
  “Very well. See if you can sneak our weapons out of lock-up and then take 
  them to the edge of town. Next time Merrick or any of his people leave, we’ll 
  be ready to make sure an accident happens.”
  ____________________
  Parked within the surging currents of a ley line outside of town, Van’s 
  Mountaineer ATV attracted a flurry of energy arcing and snapping at the 
  devices inside. Darren’s empty SAMAS stood parked outside, a jury-rigged 
  feed belt running from the back to the Shemarrian rail gun. The four men 
  inside the ATV were magnets for the ley line energy, but none more so than 
  Van. Energy cascaded up and down Van’s modified armor and arced to the 
  equipment he was readying. Greg and Mike shared uneasy looks about what 
  they were doing, but neither was willing to back out.
  
  338
  “Okay, Van, one more time,” Greg pressured.
  “I’ve explained it to you twice already,” Van complained, making the last 
  adjustments to the C-14 and vid screen.
  “But this time, put back in all the stuff you left out. I want to know exactly 
  what’s happening, and don’t give us any more lip about special widgets and 
  gizmos and all that technical crap. I have a technical officer. I’ve heard all 
  that before.”
  “Okay, if you really want the whole truth.”
  “Yes. Every bit of it.”
  “Just remember, it’s an experimental device. A prototype. I’ve never test-
  ed the complete system before so it might not work now. The reason we had 
  to do it on the ley line is that it helps boost the range of this thing and gives 
  us a better chance of success. This vid screen, for lack of all the widgets and 
  gizmo jargon, can be powered by me alone, to first locate and then remotely 
  view an individual I’ve personally met and can visualize in my head. I’ve 
  refined a few things since Darren saw it, so all I have to do is type their 
  name in on this locator keyboard system, like this...” Van typed in Zenjori 
  Suka. “Then run a search. I’ve already programmed him into this recognition 
  system, made up of re-programmable chips. A flashing red dot indicates Ze-
  njori’s location. The chipboard was my own invention, I don’t know if it —”
  “Fine, it’s fantastical, what happens when you find him?”
  “Well, I power the device with magic and there he is!” Van pointed to the 
  screen. Fuzzy images started to appear, a map program indicating contour 
  lines in terrain and locations of towns and cities in the area. A flashing red dot 
  showed Zenjori’s location still close to the mountains near Harper’s Ferry.
  “Man, we coulda’ used one of these things before,” Darren commented.
  “What now?” Greg pushed on.
  “We go to the first-person perspective.” Van typed in a few commands, 
  neglecting to inform the observers of the magic channeling taking place. 
  “And there you have it.”
  “I see a cyborg, some bald mercenary, and some others. Where’s Zenjo-
  ri?” Mike searched the live scene on the vid screen.
  “You’re watching the world from his point of view. This is what Zenjori 
  is seeing at this very instant.”
  “That’s incredible.” Greg watched in amazement, disregarding momen-
  tarily how the whole operation was taking place.
  “Turn up the sound, dude, we can’t hear anything.” Darren looked for a 
  volume control.
  “I never got that working. Something with the spell and circuit conver-
  sion. I’ll have to start all over and build another one I think.”
  “No sound?”
  “Nope. Like I said, this is a prototype. I think once I work some of the 
  bugs out, I’ll start from scratch again and get that bit working.”
  
  339
  “And you can do this to anyone?” Mike asked, starting to comprehend the 
  implications.
  “In theory, yes and no. There’s some limitations.” Van didn’t want to 
  discuss the details.
  “But you can do this to Pritchett?” Greg asked.
  “We already did, dude. Like I told you.” Darren grinned happily.
  “Got it programmed and everything, just waiting to go.”
  “This is incredible. So now, how do we shoot him with this, what used to 
  be a C-14?” Greg handled the modified weapon.
  “Careful, some of those wires are just clipped on, I didn’t solder every-
  thing yet.”
  “Sorry.”
  “This is the tricky part.” Van examined the weapon to make sure it was 
  still okay. “I rigged this grenade launcher to shoot anywhere I aim on the 
  screen, like a video game, only in real life. See, everywhere I point the gun, 
  that little red dot is where the grenade will hit.”
  “I don’t get it. You’re just going to blow us up when the grenade hits the 
  TV.” Greg looked at the barrel, his anxiety ratcheted quite high as he ob-
  served Van’s casual approach to his untested system.
  “No, because these sensors here and here at the end interpret the destina-
  tion I choose, and this device here in the barrel uses the energy I put into it 
  to bridge the gap between the gun here in my hand to the location I point to 
  on the screen. It teleports the grenade directly to the target, for all practical 
  purposes appearing out of thin air. Completely undetectable.”
  “Do you have any idea how dangerous that thing is?” Mike asked, sobered 
  by the possibilities. “Do you know what could happen if that thing fell into 
  the wrong hands or worse yet, some Techno-Wizard without your good judg-
  ment manages to duplicate it? When we’re done tonight this thing should be 
  destroyed,” Mike said, determination strong in his voice.
  “I don’t think so.” Van started to feel nervous. He knew showing two 
  Coalition officers his greatest invention yet was a bad idea.
  “Nobody’s going to smash your gizmo thing and we’re not going to kill 
  you, Van,” Greg reassured. “But I have to agree. It should never fall into the 
  wrong hands.”
  “I wasn’t planning on selling it. As a matter of fact, I’ve been working on 
  ways to protect it against duplication, just in case I’m not the only one with 
  the idea. I think I’ve got some foolproof ways to build protection into armor, 
  vehicles, houses, and stuff like that, I just haven’t built any yet.”
  “I think if there were more than one of these, we’d have known by now.” 
  Mike shook his head.
  “Hey, guys, are we gonna waste some rebel butt here or just keep talking 
  about it?”
  
  340
  “So, Van, how do you hit Zenjori with a grenade, if what we’re watching 
  is from his point of view?” Greg pointed to the screen.
  “Easy. We can shoot regular grenades or ones I’ve specially modified just 
  to drop a few feet in front of the person. You name it.”
  “Any chance you can make this thing work in reverse?” Mike asked. “Say 
  on, a hard disk, for example.”
  “Doesn’t work that way, but that’s an interesting idea. I wonder if I could 
  —”
  “Later, Van, let’s do this.” Greg compared a 40 mm grenade from his own 
  rifle with the 20 mm grenade from the C-14. “Too bad you didn’t make it into 
  something a little more powerful.”
  “I just built it into what I happened to have laying around. It doesn’t need 
  to be powerful, though, not for what we’re doing tonight. Maybe when I build 
  a new one I’ll use a gun like yours. Wow, I could build it into all kinds of 
  guns!” Van’s face brightened, thinking of the possibilities.
  “It doesn’t look like Zenjori is wearing a helmet.” Mike examined the 
  view closely. The mercenaries were sitting around a fire. “Judging by the 
  unobstructed view, right Van?”
  “That’s my guess. One grenade ought to do it.”
  “Heck, just spray down the whole camp while you’re at it,” Greg admon-
  ished.
  “Can’t do that, not if you want to hit Pritchett tonight, too. This whole 
  thing is very energy intensive.”
  “How will we know if it worked?” Mike asked.
  “If the screen goes blank and we can’t reestablish a connection with him 
  anymore.”
  “I’d like something a little more solid than that.”
  “Feel free to fly one of your SAM’s up to this location on the map and get 
  all the evidence you want to take back with you. You can blame it on infight-
  ing among the rebels. Make up whatever story you want, the important thing 
  is that this scum-bag won’t be hurting anyone else.” Van selected a fragmen-
  tation grenade and loaded it into the weapon.
  The other men took a step back, moving outside the door of the ATV.
  “What?” Van asked.
  “It’s not that we don’t trust you, dude, but, ya know, just in case all you do 
  is blow up your vid screen,” Darren said.
  From the darkness outside, a voice boomed over a megaphone. “Everyone 
  turn around slowly or we’ll simply massacre you all inside,” Pritchett’s voice 
  blared.
  Mike turned around to face the Mountaineer first and was relieved of his 
  sidearm by an armor-clad grunt. Darren followed, already weaponless and 
  without armor, his SAM under guard. Greg put his hands up to receive the 
  same pat-down treatment. Van was the last to leave, casually slinging his 
  
  341
  helmet behind him as he left. It took several seconds for the searching soldier 
  to remove and pile the belt-load of gadgets he was never without.
  “What is this about, Captain?” Greg sized up the odds.
  There were two Full Conversion Cyborgs and eight soldiers, all with bat-
  tle-worn armor but weapons at the ready. Then there was Pritchett himself, a 
  Partial Conversion Cyborg in battle armor, leveling a C-27 plasma cannon at 
  Greg’s head from fifteen feet away. Two soldiers stormed the Mountaineer to 
  make sure there was nobody else hiding inside, and then made several trips 
  to pile weapons and ordnance at Pritchett’s feet.
  “Consorting with magic users and plotting to kill a superior officer. My, 
  my, Lieutenant, too bad you had to bring these others in with you, but they 
  were killed along with you as co-conspirators.”
  “You moron! We almost had Zenjori Suka!”
  “And I’m sure I was next. Oh, don’t look surprised, Sharky told me all 
  about your little plot to kill me and my officers, then take over my unit. Of 
  course, I knew why you and this magic user came out here.” Pritchett mo-
  tioned one of his cyborgs who then tossed an incendiary charge inside Van’s 
  Mountaineer.
  “Better move.”
  Pritchett waved his barrel for the four prisoners to distance themselves 
  from the ATV. Flames engulfed the interior and blossomed out the open door 
  as the intense fire destroyed the vehicle. Van watched it go with sadness, 
  more disappointed at never testing the device than distraught by the vehicle’s 
  destruction. Flames leaped higher from melted hatches and plexiglass view-
  ports.
  “And you, Corley, I should have killed you long ago. I don’t know how 
  you got out of my ambush, but you aren’t walking away from this one.”
  “Kro-Mar,” the RPA pilot said.
  “What?” Pritchett cocked his head.
  “Kro-Mar. He’s the big dragon that ate Shark. Same dragon’s probably 
  out there watching us right now.” Darren looked confident.
  Pritchett’s men looked around warily but never dropped their guard.
  “Sorenson. You were dead the minute you left Chi-Town. Now I have to 
  clean house.”
  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Mike asked, feeling naked without ar-
  mor or a weapon.
  “Did you really think Lyboc picked you for your abilities? You may have 
  done well consorting with magic users and D-Bees in Minnesota, but you’re 
  more or less a screw-up, a disgrace to the uniform.”
  “Wait a minute.” Greg paused, grasping concepts so obvious that he 
  couldn’t believe they had eluded him until now. “What’s your connection to 
  Lyboc other than watch-dogging our butts, Pritchett?”
  
  342
  “Watch-dogging? You still don’t get it. I was to let you and your unit do 
  the dirty work of disposing of the Army of the New Order for me, only step-
  ping in if you couldn’t handle it. You knew where the rebels were for days 
  and never did anything about it. You forced me to get involved.”
  “If you would have left us alone, we’d have gotten Zenjori and his damned 
  Army of the New Order and been out of your hair long ago!”
  “No, I think that without me, you never would have gotten as far as you 
  did. But none of that matters now. At the end of the day, the truth is that you 
  were never going home. Not from the start. In fact, you’re dead men waiting 
  for a hole in the ground. Your purpose was to get yourselves out here and 
  then take the fall and blame for all of the Coalition failures surrounding the 
  ANO.
  “An entire company and platoon of SAMAS are on the way to secure this 
  territory and finish what you couldn’t. Now I have to make sure the Army 
  of the New Order is completely destroyed and the data they stole is never 
  recovered. Your failure made a lot more work for me, Lieutenant Merrick.”
  “Greg, you’d put all this together and didn’t bring me into the loop?” Mike 
  said, still looking at Pritchett.
  “Come on, Lieutenant, you didn’t think Lyboc would let you back into 
  Chi-Town knowing what you know, do you? In the event you did recover the 
  data disk, I was to be sure of its safe return, without your assistance, because, 
  officially, you and your entire unit would have been killed in action during 
  the recovery.
  “You failed, I failed – put the blame where you want, it doesn’t matter. 
  By the time my reinforcements arrive, your entire unit will be killed and any 
  dissenters you’ve created among my men will be dealt with likewise. I would 
  have tried to find a way to keep some of your men alive, Lieutenant. I might 
  even have just reported them dead and allowed them to live, but your assas-
  sination plans removed any compassion I might have had for your men. At 
  least you’ll die on your feet, not like that magic user there when we finish 
  with him.”
  Firelight danced off the weapon barrels and black finish armor of the Co-
  alition execution squad, mingled with shades of blue from the crackling hues 
  of the ley line.
  “Sir, uh, sir. There’s something behind us.” One of the soldiers tapped 
  Pritchett on the shoulder, his eyes as large and white as tea saucers.
  Pritchett turned slowly, not wanting to take his eyes off his prisoners, es-
  pecially the magical one.
  “Don’t move.” A ‘Borg glared at Darren, thrusting his rail gun toward 
  him.
  Darren didn’t budge, not even noticing the menacing weapon. Visible in 
  the light of the ley line and burning ATV was something more horrifying than 
  Darren had ever seen.
  
  343
  “What is that?” Pritchett’s voice betrayed no fear, but the sinking feeling 
  in his chest and stomach was like none he had experienced before.
  Gliding silently, several feet above the dew-soaked grass came a demonic 
  monstrosity. Twenty feet in length and over ten feet from the base to the 
  demon’s giant skull, the Splugorth Slaver made its approach. Green slime 
  dripped off its cybernetically enhanced body and long tentacles as it rose 
  higher in the containment housing at the center of the barge. Its left hand 
  wielded a massive staff with an enclosed eye floating in a thick solution at the 
  top. Attached to the slaver’s right arm was a weapon with a bore the size of 
  a human head. Floating around the barge were beachball-sized eyes, silently 
  taking up positions to view the impending battle. Atop the ornately decorated 
  barge were five female warriors, each clad in a near-transparent, skin-tight 
  body suit, wielding a range of bizarre weapons and magical jewelry. Four 
  of the women wore metallic helms that glinted bronze in the ley line’s blue 
  light, solid eye guards covering sightless eyes.
  The fifth slave warrior sat to the creature’s left on the barge, the only one 
  not wearing a helmet. Bluish-black hair fluttered about in the night air. Rid-
  ing with the Splugorth Slaver into battle was Natessa.
  
  344
  Chapter 20
  How the turn tables
  Varles Moden rose higher above his link to the barge, almost shaking 
  with anticipation. Through the eyes of the barge, staff, and remotes, he could 
  view the battle from every angle and collate the images to better command 
  the action. All too often his prey was far too weak to offer any resistance, 
  but the risk that presented itself on this night gave him a tingling sensation 
  he rarely felt. The Coalition force ahead was dangerous to be sure, but not 
  impossible to defeat, especially since the ley line energy would enhance his 
  magic. Spurred on by the heightened level of awareness, the demon urged the 
  barge toward his prey.
  Floating eyes picked out the aura of the one human that was to be spared 
  immediate death at all costs. Varles had special plans of torment for the one 
  human Natessa cared for. The others could be captured or killed; it didn’t 
  matter so long as the battle lasted long enough to give him some level of 
  satisfaction.
  Natessa had betrayed him, though she believed the secret was safe from 
  his interrogation. As punishment for her failure to bring him back with her, 
  he’d made her shed her human clothing and don the attire of a slave, forcing 
  her to ride with him into battle against the humans she was secretly trying to 
  save. The battle itself would be a brief diversion compared to what he had in 
  store for his wayward slave and the human captive to be. Natessa would be 
  forced to inflict days, even weeks of torture on the human male, and when he 
  finally expired, it would be her turn to suffer for her betrayal. Varles relished 
  the pain and suffering he would cause, the mere thought of it bringing an 
  emotional high.
  But first, he had a battle to relish.
  ____________________
  Breaking his own vice-like grip of fear that was holding his men en-
  tranced, Pritchett whipped around to look at Greg. He paused a moment, then 
  reaching down with one arm, he picked up Greg’s heavy weapons and tossed 
  them back to him, then turned to face the oncoming menace. His back to his 
  prisoners and the pile of weapons, Captain Pritchett fearlessly strode to meet 
  the demon.
  “Fire! Fire you bastards! Fire!” Pritchett charged, running, throwing off 
  fear and replacing it with anger. Anger at the fear he’d felt in the Glitter Boy’s 
  sights. Anger at the fear and intimidation Lieutenant Merrick had revealed. 
  Anger at his failures and the men he’d thrown away in the war. Whipped into 
  a battle frenzy of heroic proportions, Captain Pritchett screamed his war cry, 
  snapping soldiers back into action. The charge of the slaver was joined by 
  cyborgs and an armor-clad squad, going to meet the foe in a blaze of glory.
  
  345
  Lightning fell from cloudless skies, bursting a soldier’s armored shell, a 
  cloud of steam exploding from the burning armor suit. The charge continued, 
  weapons blazing and laser beams striking down the demon’s magical barrier 
  and cutting into barge and Slaver alike. Another flash of light and crash of 
  thunder left a steaming husk of armor where another soldier once had been. 
  Rail guns and energy weapons continued the onslaught unabated, slaying a 
  Warrior Woman that flung herself in the path of the incoming fire to save her 
  master.
  Battle cries continuously reverberated through the woods as the Coalition 
  force fanned out to avoid giving the Slaver an easy grouping of targets. All 
  but one cleared the barge’s path as it sailed through the ley line.
  Pritchett finished an energy canister and slotted another mid-stride. Bionic 
  legs drove his body into the air as his eyes narrowed on the massive being 
  atop the barge. Armor met the semi-organic plates of Varles’ body, the Coali-
  tion Captain slamming into him at a combined speed of sixty-five kilometers 
  per hour. Varles viewed the black death mask and red eyes of his attacker 
  from the eye of the staff.
  “The Oracle...” The staff whispered in Varles’ head.
  A vicious kick with a mechanical leg sent the Warrior Woman to Varles’ 
  right over the ornate shield and off the barge. Pritchett ducked a blow from 
  Varles’ slimy claws and yanked a small brick-sized block from his belt pouch. 
  Letting out another war cry, the Coalition warrior prepared to slap the explo-
  sive mark of death on Varles’ chest. Tentacles wrapped around Prichett’s 
  legs and arms and he was flung from the barge, Fusion Block landing on the 
  ground before it could be set.
  The hail of fire from outside the craft commenced more intensely than 
  before.
  Greg stood beside Darren, Mike, and Van; rifle held loosely in his arms. 
  The turn of events was more mind-numbing than he’d expected. He looked 
  to his right and left and realized the others were looking at him. He cycled a 
  grenade loudly in the rifle.
  “Give ’em hell.”
  Greg’s battle cry joined the rest as long strides carried him into the fury 
  of combat.
  Darren darted for his SAMAS while Van rushed the pile of confiscated 
  equipment to retrieve his gadgets. Mike watched the battle in a daze, standing 
  alone and unarmed while the Coalition forces faced down the demon from 
  Atlantis.
  Two Warrior Women were on the ground, working a circle from one Co-
  alition soldier to another, leaving some entangled in glowing nets and others 
  in disjointed piles of armor and body parts. Vibro-Blades flashed and drew 
  burning lines in armor. Laser and rail gun fire bore down on the deadly slave 
  
  346
  warriors, impacting invisible magic barriers that beguiled their Coalition at-
  tackers.
  Amid the carnage, Varles picked his targets, firing from his right forearm 
  blaster and the other weapons attached to his craft. The blasts seemed to 
  home in on their targets and devour armor and flesh as one. As quickly as 
  the battly cry had begun, voices within it were silenced. Two cyborgs died in 
  concentrated blasts from all of the floating eyes, their armor becoming swiss 
  cheese to the assault.
  Sergeant Nabian yelled and fired wildly one-handed with his laser rifle, his 
  other arm resting in the grass at his feet, cut off at the shoulder by an Altarain 
  Vibro-Sword. Beams broke through magic barriers and scored patches in one 
  Warrior Woman’s bodysuit. In a fluid movement, she lashed back, taking off 
  the tip of his gun with one stroke and Nabian’s head with the backstroke. Fin-
  gers trembled at the weapon’s trigger as it reached the ground. The warrior’s 
  magic barrier was back before Greg could reach her.
  Firebolts and laser beams from the barge burned glowing pits in another 
  cyborg’s thick armor, returning its attention to the slaver. Mini-missiles from 
  its forearms impacted the barge and surged plasma over the mystic barriers 
  of the craft in rapid strobes of light. From behind, a blade came down into the 
  ‘Borg’s thinly armored neck. Vibrating metal splayed the cyborg’s workings 
  and flared through bionic supports as the Warrior Woman drove the weapon 
  home, the weight of her body pressing down to the hilt. The ‘Borg reached 
  up to grab her leg on his shoulder. A graceful backflip landed the Altarain 
  three yards away before the shredded wires within the cyborg brought it to 
  the ground.
  Greg joined the last Coalition soldier on his feet to drive an Altarain into 
  the grass with continuous fire. Grenades expended and clip empty, Greg lib-
  erated Nabian’s Vibro-Saber from his body and strode to the Altarain closest 
  his position.
  Laser blasts ceased a second later, a fireball consuming what was left of 
  the last soldier in a spark of burning armor and super-heated mist.
  A sonic assault followed the sudden impact that depleted Varles’ magic 
  barriers. He’d heard that sound before. Spying the exoskeleton several hun-
  dred feet away near his fourth floating eye, Varles pointed and an Altarain 
  sprinted toward her foe.
  The kinetic force knocked the Altarain clear off her feet and into the dirt. 
  Bouncing up without a scratch, she renewed her Armor of Ithan’s magic pro-
  tection and charged again, erratically changing course and closing the dis-
  tance to her target. Fifty feet now, with the blade slicing the air with white-
  hot plasma. Something flew through past her head and she ducked to avoid its 
  impact. Though the object landed meters away, its effect halted her instantly 
  in her tracks, metal boots stuck unyieldingly to the ground by Van’s Carpet 
  of Adhesion grenade.
  
  347
  Van and Darren gave no quarter to the woman, their rail gun and ion 
  beams destroyed her magic barriers and ended her slavery to the Splugorth.
  Weapons fire followed Darren’s movements and hit the exoskeleton from 
  the side. Rail gun rounds spilled on the ground from the severed feed belt. 
  Only one round remained in the Shemarrian rail gun.
  Greg let the Altarain slide off the end of his blade, never once seeing the 
  marble expression on her face change, even in death. Black marks scored 
  lines in his wounded armor, but now he was no more than twenty feet from 
  the barge. Fireballs left the slaver’s blaster and chased down Darren with 
  unyielding intent, but the eye of the staff was on the lone figure challenging 
  the barge.
  Two Altarain Warrior Slaves remained on the barge, firing at those sol-
  diers still fighting. Their aim was true and their victims didn’t last long.
  Varles languished in the ferocious emotions and dramatics before him. It 
  couldn’t have come to a more exciting finish.
  “Anisa. Bind my new slave,” he gurgled.
  The Warrior to Varles’ right stepped to the edge of the barge holding a 
  tool to subdue the human.
  The struggle inside Natessa ended. Better to die than live to continue this 
  horrible existence as Varles’ abused slave. Natessa swung her ornate plasma 
  sword, unsheathing it and thrusting it toward her master’s head in one fluid 
  motion.
  “Betrayal is at hand!” The staff warned.
  Varles’ enhanced senses that came from the eleven floating eyes read Na-
  tessa’s body language and knew, possibly before she did, that she was going 
  to try to strike. His tentacles whipped out and, by the time the blind warrior 
  woman’s body was thrusting the sword toward his neck, grabbed her wrists. 
  His grip was painfully tight and immediately worked to stop her movement, 
  but his former slave had known that he would have the upper hand.
  As soon as Natessa knew that her blade was aimed for Varles’ throat and 
  had enough momentum, she loosened her grip on the Vibro-Sword, leaving it 
  turned on, so that as she was captured by the slimy tentacles, the blade trav-
  eled onward into its victim.
  Vibrating metal cut deep into Varles’ head, spilling his blood onto the 
  deck of the barge. The shock of pain loosened his grip. Natessa wrenched 
  her arms free and jumped again at the blade to drive it down his body before 
  quickly swinging it again to break open the container of the eye upon the 
  staff. Black blood and innards splayed wide from Varles’ chin all the way 
  down to the slime-filled vat beneath him.
  Anisa whirled on Natessa, the betrayer. Natessa’s kick sent Anisa off the 
  barge to face the mercies of the enraged human below.
  Varles reeled back, body mortally wounded and feeling fear as it had nev-
  er had before. The staff’s marred view showed him what his wounded body 
  
  348
  was too slow to stop. Eyes floating above the battle turned inward to witness 
  the plasma blade’s final arc.
  Organs and intestines burst forth as Varles’ body came apart from the 
  rage Natessa unleashed on her cruel master. Blow after blow ripped away 
  its life. Tentacles thrashed wildly and arms twisted as Varles’ body became 
  nothing more than a compilation of shattered bone and disassociated flesh. 
  One vicious lash rent Varles’ brains from his fractured skull. The barge came 
  crashing to the ground, embedding itself in soft earth that became its grave.
  Anisa rolled with the kick Natessa had given her. Sensing that Natessa’s 
  paramour was within reach, she turned her off-balance fall into a roll and 
  pivoted her rise to kick Greg in the chest. Still in shock from the blow, Greg 
  looked up at the plasma blade that hummed only centimeters from his throat. 
  Anisa paused at the sound behind her, metal boot shifting on Greg’s chest to 
  keep him pinned.
  Super-heated air passed above Greg, speaking of a powerful assault on his 
  attacker. Plasma blasts came in waves from just out of Greg’s line of sight, 
  erasing the invisible barriers of the blind warrior woman above him little by 
  little with each strike. Seeing a moment of distraction as a grouping of shots 
  hit her head, Greg rolled to the left, forcing Anisa to regain her balance amid 
  the assault.
  Captain Pritchett walked back into view, slotting another canister and 
  pressing the attack. But it wasn’t his plasma cannon that ended the Altarain’s 
  life. Sensing the moment of collapse, Natessa lept from the barge to strike the 
  instant Anisa’s mystic barriers failed. Anisa’s head, helmet and all, landed 
  at Greg’s feet, the usually expressionless mask for once revealing a look of 
  surprise.
  Five large, floating eyes turned as one above the battlefield. They hung in 
  the air for only a moment before fleeing to the east.
  Greg stood up in the now silent night air and walked over to Natessa.
  “Stand aside, Lieutenant. I’ve got this one.” Pritchett shouldered the plas-
  ma cannon and aimed the barrel at the one remaining Warrior Woman.
  Natessa let the mystic barriers fade and turned off her Vibro-Blade. A 
  flash of pain and it would all be over. No more death. No more pain and suf-
  fering. Victory achieved and freedom won. A lifetime of memories to forget 
  in the blissful embrace of death.
  “No.” Greg stood weaponless, his body the only protection he could give.
  “Are you mad, Lieutenant? Quickly, before she takes your head with that 
  blade.”
  Pritchett took a step closer, the battle had awakened more within him than 
  a sense of courage, it had brought to life values long forgotten in years of 
  military service. It was time to make amends.
  “You can’t kill her, Captain.”
  
  349
  “What’s the matter with you, Merrick? Do you want to die? It’s a D-Bee. 
  It’s killed and enslaved... who knows how many humans. We don’t know 
  what it’s done and it’s going to kill you too if you don’t let me finish it.”
  “No, you can’t kill her.”
  “Then do it yourself.” Pritchett pulled his C-18 and tossed it to Greg.
  Greg looked at the familiar weapon as he caught it reflexively. He’d seen 
  it all his life, but it seemed to be just a tool without a purpose.
  “This one lives. She has a name. Natessa. She’s not going to hurt us.” He 
  removed his scarred helmet and met Pritchett with an unwavering gaze.
  “Don’t make this harder than it is, Lieutenant. We can leave. Both of us. 
  Our men. We can both get the people that count on us back where they be-
  long. It doesn’t have to end this way over a worthless D-Bee that’s committed 
  atrocities worse than you or I will ever know.”
  “It’s not just about that.”
  Pritchett’s demeanor changed. No longer the amiable and deal-making 
  negotiator, his patience had run out. “Fine, Lieutenant, if you won’t finish it, 
  I will. You want to die with some D-Bee trash, that’s not my problem. I was 
  just going to save your death for a time that I could enjoy it a little more.”
  Greg flipped off the safety and checked the charge. The clip was full.
  In the silence that surrounded the nighttime ley line, a sonic crack raced 
  through the night air, a tree exploded in a fiery ball of flame that reached for 
  the sky and then was swallowed up in the cool darkness. The smoke from the 
  tree that burned was lit from the fire of the Mountaineer ATV and the cool 
  glow of the magical energy.
  “Sorry, sir, I think he had the upper hand on you and I couldn’t let him get 
  away with that,” Darren said, walking out of the darkness.
  “Thank you, Darren, you were probably right.”
  Greg looked past Pritchett’s crushed body into the tree line. Mercenaries 
  of First Strike approached the mangled barge with weapons drawn. Donovan 
  casually crossed the battlefield, armed bodyguards warily accepting Nates-
  sa’s presence. She stuck the Vibro-Blade in the ground and flung off the belt. 
  The tension lessened.
  Darren walked his SAMAS to a halt behind Greg. Near the barge, Van 
  already had his arms full and was moving from one joyous discovery to the 
  next amidst the barge’s wreckage.
  “Man, that was intense,” Darren exclaimed.
  “What took you so long, Darren?”
  “When? While you were doing showdown in the old west with Pritchett 
  or before?”
  “Both.”
  “Those eyeballs are pains in the butt. They kept chasing me and firing 
  plasma blasts at me. I don’t think I’m gonna be able to sit for a week, I got 
  toasted so bad. But then they all got out of Dodge and I saw you and Pritchett 
  
  350
  making for a showdown. As much as I believe in a fair fight, that guy had it 
  coming. Nobody’s gonna waste you on my watch.”
  “Well, Merrick, looks like you’re free of your chaperone and military du-
  ties. I thought we were going to have to step in for a minute, but your man 
  took care of it,” Donovan said, finally coming to a stop in front of the odd 
  trio. “We can take you and Darren back to town. Is the woman a prisoner and 
  what do you want done with her?”
  “She’s not my prisoner and it’s not my decision. It’s hers.”
  Greg turned to look at Natessa. She stood awkwardly in the cool night air, 
  trembling slightly. This was the first time in her life she had no master’s will 
  directing the events of her life. As much as she’d enjoyed the freedoms of be-
  ing a scout, she knew she was always at the beck and call of Varles. Without 
  that guiding influence, she felt very vulnerable.
  “Well?” Donovan addressed the Warrior Woman.
  “I suspect she’s been through more than you or I know. Give her some 
  time. I’ll vouch for her,” Greg said, trying to read her body language.
  “Whatever you say, Merrick. For now, she doesn’t come into town until 
  she’s had a talk with me.”
  “That’s fine, there’s a few hours before daybreak and I’m sure we’ll be 
  able to figure out something by then,” Greg said, his tone calm and soothing.
  ____________________
  Daybreak on the battleground revealed a new fervor of excitement. Word 
  had gotten back to Liberty that the Coalition had killed a Splugorth Slaver, 
  and that the commanding officer of the visiting forces had fallen with his 
  troops to achieve victory. Several scientists and scholars were arranging to 
  have the dead barge and demon remains transported to another location for 
  further study, although there was some discussion over many items that had 
  gone missing before the science team arrived.
  Attempts to keep Natessa’s role a secret lasted as long as the morning mist 
  did. Within hours the entire mercenary company knew and by noon so would 
  most of Liberty as well. Although no one in town really knew the exact de-
  tails or had a convincing description of the former slave warrior. So far, she’d 
  been silent, never once responding to the polite questions asked by more 
  adventurous scholars and scientists. Van’s unending barrage of questions had 
  to be stopped by the mercenaries who guarded her, finally locking him out of 
  the cottage she’d been taken to.
  There was much discussion about her future. Some felt that she needed 
  to be studied as a scientific experiment would, others wanted to painfully 
  interrogate her, and others wanted to give her asylum and welcome her into a 
  prominent position in the town. Nobody had ever spoken with a slave warrior 
  from Atlantis and lived to tell of it, so, little was known.
  
  351
  Greg finished discussing options with Lieutenant Sorenson and squared 
  away his personnel before he returned for Natessa’s answer. He found her 
  under guard in the small cabin about a kilometer from the battlefield. Sitting 
  on the bed, she didn’t move a muscle when he sat beside her.
  For a long time, nothing was said. Greg was nervous and had a lot of ques-
  tions for the woman that had unwittingly attracted him to her. After a long 
  moment, though, it was Natessa who ended the silence.
  “Why did you risk your life to save me?”
  “I’m not sure.” Greg leaned back where he sat.
  “It does not make sense.”
  “I’ve been doing lots of things that don’t make sense lately.” He looked 
  over at her.
  She still wore the transparent bodysuit, adorned with a spiked neck collar 
  and jeweled wristbands. Instead of the revulsion he expected to feel, knowing 
  what she was, there was instead a warmth and feeling of kinship.
  “Everything I have ever done I did because I had to. I do not understand 
  you. You just do things for no reason.”
  “Well, okay, I’m not being completely honest.” He let out a long sigh. 
  “Ever since we met, granted it was not a fantastic first impression, I’ve al-
  ways wondered who you were and there was something about you that kept 
  making me want to learn more. Running into you again gave me something 
  to look forward to, something to grab hold of and value when everything else 
  was crumbling away around me. Maybe I just wanted someone to be with, 
  someone not associated with the military, who didn’t need things from me, 
  but could just accept me.”
  Silence once again filled the cottage, each mulling over the changes in 
  their lives.
  “What now?” she asked, her face never showing a glimmer of emotion.
  “Depends on what you want to do. Going into town like you are now is out 
  of the question. Donovan is afraid that if people discover who and what you 
  are, there will be a mob situation and they will want to kill you. You probably 
  don’t want to go to Chi-Town, where I’m from, because they’ll want to kill 
  you there too. Other than that, as long as we get you into some better clothes, 
  the sky’s the limit.”
  “Would you come with me?”
  “I need to take care of my men here for a little longer, but I know I’m not 
  going back to Chi-Town. So, yes, I’ll go with you. Besides, you need to try 
  new things, like having fun. Smiling, for example.”
  “That is new. Yes.”
  “To start, let’s get you cleaned up and a change of clothes. Then you can 
  spend some time thinking things through. Sound okay?”
  “Yes. Where will you be?”
  
  352
  “I could use a nap, but that isn’t likely for a while. My men and Pritchett’s 
  come first. I’ll stay with you until I can work something out with Donovan. 
  Clothes, food, someplace to stay.”
  “He wants an answer. What are you going to tell him?”
  “One question. Do you want to go or do you want to stay?”
  “I go where you go.”
  “Then I’ll tell Donovan we stay together. I’m valuable to him because I 
  know things about working in and around Coalition territory. He’s probably 
  planning to raid Coalition outposts in Missouri for supplies and weapons and 
  wants my knowledge of operations. As long as I don’t push it, I can probably 
  make sure nothing happens to you while we’re still here. You may even get 
  away with walking around town dressed like the rest of us mercenaries, I 
  doubt anyone will know the difference. Life as a mercenary, that’s new to me 
  too, but it should be a nice change of pace for both of us.”
  “Yes.” A hint of expression crossed her features.
  “See, there, there is a woman behind the marble mask.” Greg reached over 
  and gently gripped her forearm.
  She didn’t jerk away.
  Greg stuck his head out the cottage door and turned to the mercenary on 
  the right, “Hey, Fetter.”
  “Yeah, wassup Merrick?”
  “Get Donovan on the comm, will you? Natessa and I would like to speak 
  with him.”
  ____________________
  Haphazard wiring led to the external speaker on Kruno’s Multibot. The 
  mercenary leaders gathered with Zenjori to listen to the comm signals relayed 
  to them from a First Strike traitor. Mercenaries were mercenaries, and even 
  the best of them would consider a proposal if the price was right.
  Discussions over the slain Slaver and battlefield wreckage dominated the 
  conversations, but occasional tidbits about the Coalition were revealed as 
  well. It seemed the Coalition force had won back some trust from the towns-
  people in slaying the demon. More covertly, there were some discussions 
  over the price for intact ‘Borg components and slightly used Coalition hard-
  ware.
  More disconcerting was the talk regarding the officer now in command. 
  A lieutenant was wheeling and dealing with mercenaries and the local me-
  chanic’s shops to refit his squad for battle. Still more disturbing was the men-
  tion of a Coalition convoy that might or might not be returning to Coalition 
  territory. The implications were clear. More Coalition forces would return if 
  the convoy was permitted to get back to Chi-Town and make a full report.
  “Suka San, we need more information on what they have left,” Drake of-
  fered his opinion.
  
  353
  “Can’t be much more than an acre of turnips,” Kruno declared, removing 
  his cap to rub an itch on his bald scalp.
  “Whatever they have, we’ve emasculated them,” Colnae added.
  “The magic user’s right,” Drake nodded. “They have no armor anymore, 
  just a handful of troops and a ‘Borg or two. Sledgehammer is still intact and 
  Kruno’s got a few new recruits and worthless Headhunters to throw at them.”
  “Drake, one of these days I’m gonna—” Kruno got ready to verbally kick 
  off with the larger cyborg once again.
  “Quiet. Both of you.” Zenjori reached the point where he could barely 
  tolerate his inner circle. With exception to Notec and Colnae, the whole lot 
  were on the edge of being casualties of his next conflict. But they were right. 
  If a Coalition return party got back and reported, while a second force held 
  the fort at Liberty, there could be many more Coalition forces arriving to hunt 
  him down and destroy what was left of his mercenary army.
  “How many days until First Strike leaves Liberty?”
  “Two or three,” Notec advised, his brown, wispy hair thinner than before. 
  The same mutations that gave him his incredible psychic powers were tak-
  ing their toll on his health. Radiation poisoning was slowly eating away his 
  insides and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His missing left arm was 
  a psychological blow that, like the final straw on the camel’s back, had begun 
  to push him over the edge.
  “We still may get our chance.” Zenjori paced, calculating things he need-
  ed to secure. “What is Liberty doing for defense?”
  “Not sure exactly, boss, but best as we can tell, they’re figgerin’ to get a 
  sheriff and some deputies and set up a militia.” Kruno chewed on a wad of 
  tobacco.
  “And of course, the Coalition scored points by helping defend the town 
  from the Splugorth Slaver they killed,” Colnae added. “That couldn’t have 
  been easy.”
  “There’s no way the Coalition can remain in Liberty. First, we ambush 
  and destroy whatever convoy they’re sending back, then we hide and wait for 
  First Strike to leave Liberty.” Zenjori still paced. “Once they are gone there 
  won’t be anyone stopping us from moving back in and liberating Liberty 
  from the Coalition.”
  “Orders?” Drake rumbled.
  “We move northwest. We’ll make camp at the ruins of the rail station 
  across the river from where we camped on the way to Liberty a month or so 
  ago. I think the place used to be called Hancock.”
  “And from there we’re just a few clicks from the river the road crosses. 
  Perfect ambush site.” Drake let out a synthesized laugh.
  “By tonight I want to be in a position to strike.”
  ____________________
  
  354
  Brian tried to focus sleep-swollen eyes in the bright lights of Gizmo’s 
  garage. Some food, a few hours’ sleep, and a shower helped dramatically 
  improve his condition from thoroughly thrashed to just exhausted.
  “I’m going to just go to sleep right here, okay?” Lisa leaned on his shoul-
  der and yawned.
  “We can’t. Lieutenant Merrick wanted us here for something. Wake up.”
  He snapped his fingers in front of her face. As they stood in the doorway 
  of the garage, they both looked up at the Skull Walker. It looked far worse 
  than they last remembered it. Lisa started laughing.
  “It’s not funny.” Brian got caught up in the sleep-deprived humor as well. 
  “Really,” he laughed. “It’s not funny. We have to fix that.”
  “Red-hair!” happily boomed a voice from the other end of the garage. 
  Brian’s head slowly turned around. The giant D-Bee let go of the ATV it was 
  holding, much to the muffled dismay of the cyborg mechanic still underneath 
  it. Wreath leaped across the bay and snatched Brian up in a bony hug like a 
  rag doll.
  “Whoa, hey. Oww. Oww! Wreath, put me down, that hurts!” Brian tried 
  to subdue the D-Bee mechanic’s enthusiasm before the hug gave him broken 
  ribs.
  “Red-hair not dead!” Wreath awkwardly smiled.
  “Red-hair’s gonna be dead if Wreath doesn’t put him down!”
  “Oh.” Wreath set Brian back on the grease-stained concrete. “Wreath 
  sorry.”
  “Glad to see you too,” Brian said as he recovered and patted the large D-
  Bee on the shoulder.
  “Wreath!” Gizmo yelled from a worktable covered with SAMAS parts. 
  He pointed a finger at the ATV and pair of legs flailing beneath it.
  “Uh-oh. Wreath done bad.” The D-Bee looked positively ashamed and 
  loped back to become a living vehicle jack once again.
  “My guess is... a male,” Brian mused.
  “Lieutenant Merrick!? I didn’t see you come in,” Lisa exclaimed in sur-
  prise.
  “Morning, sir. At least I think it’s morning,” Brian saluted.
  “Twelve hundred hours. Sorry to drag you up so soon after what you’ve 
  been through, but there’s more to be done and you two are the only ones who 
  can do it.” Greg came to stand between them.
  “What happened to your uniform?” Lisa asked, checking out Greg’s civil-
  ian attire.
  Heavy black jeans, a lumberjack-style coat over a green long-sleeved 
  shirt, and thick-soled work boots. He’d shaved and tied his hair back, having 
  let it grow out ever since their departure from Coalition territory. Lisa could 
  tell he hadn’t slept for a long time by the way his eyes squinted in the light.
  “Uniform’s at the cleaners.”
  
  355
  “Don’t you ever sleep, Lieutenant?”
  “You know better than that. Officers don’t get to sleep,” Merrick said, 
  exhaustion evident in his voice.
  “Bust me back to private. I could use a few days of nap time,” Brian joked.
  “Is it true what we heard? About Captain Pritchett being killed by some 
  monster last night?” Lisa asked.
  Brian watched his reaction closely.
  “Yes. I was there, and it was... not how the Captain would have wanted to 
  end his career. Not to speak ill of the dead, but it did solve a few problems 
  for us.”
  “You had nothing to do with it?” Brian asked suspiciously.
  “Oh, I had something to do with it, but we were fighting on the same side 
  for once. Captain Pritchett died very bravely.”
  “Is it true you convinced some Warrior Woman, a slave warrior or some-
  thing like that, to turn on the demon and help you?” Lisa continued the ques-
  tions.
  “Something along those lines. You’ll probably never meet her. That’s not 
  what I had you two roused out of bed for though.” Greg changed the subject. 
  “We’re gearing up for the return trip, leaving sometime tomorrow. Hopefully 
  early if Gizmo and his crew finish repairs on the hover rovers in time.”
  “Then, we are going back?” Brian sounded disappointed.
  “You have other plans?”
  “No, well, I was just asking.” Brian wasn’t sure if he should share his 
  doubts in front of Lisa. They hadn’t talked since they got back. Brian wasn’t 
  going to bring anything up unless she did first.
  “Here’s the question for both of you. In your professional opinion, what’s 
  the status of Skull Walker 191?”
  “I’d forget it, sir,” Brian quipped.
  “I’ll second that,” Lisa added.
  “Will it make it back, more specifically?”
  “If we were back at Chi-Town and I had a full gantry and crew, I’d toss it 
  in the scrap heap for spare parts. It’s a full rebuild job at this point, from the 
  chassis up. The frame’s warped, plating’s got more rivets than anything, and 
  it was like that before it got hit with the missiles.”
  “Can you fix it?”
  “Sure, give me two or three months and an overhaul deck, but it’s not 
  worth it, sir. It needs to be taken apart and completely rebuilt.”
  “Lisa?”
  “Most of the internals are still good, at least last time I checked.”
  “Give it a once over and then give me a decision. Two possible options. 
  Either you find a way to get it back to Chi-Town or we scrap it here.”
  “Uh, sir, what exactly do you mean by ‘scrap it’ here?” Brian asked.
  
  356
  “I mean one of those things where I send you and Lisa out for some R & 
  R and when you get back, the Skull Walker’s gone.”
  “Oh. One of those things again,” Brian nodded knowingly, dismay at Mer-
  rick’s willingness to let Coalition weaponry fall into enemy hands still not 
  sitting well with him.
  “Get to work. If it can be salvaged, it may be your ride back to Chi-Town.” 
  Greg walked over to discuss the ongoing repairs with Gizmo.
  “Shall we?” Brian motioned to the Skull Walker.
  “I should have just told him to scrap it so we could go back to bed,” Lisa 
  mumbled, slowly approaching the gantry-supported mech. “We can get this 
  done in about thirty, right?” she asked as both she and Brian donned headsets.
  “You mean pretend like we’re looking it over and then tell Merrick to 
  scrap it?”
  “You’re catching on, Brian. I’m proud of you.”
  “We’ll give it a once over like we’re supposed to, but we both know this 
  thing is shot.” Brian crawled up a second gantry and started examining the 
  robot’s undercarriage while Lisa started calling up diagnostic systems inside. 
  Even though Merrick’s willingness to let the Walker go didn’t sit well with 
  him, Brian knew they didn’t have the time, resources, or energy to overhaul 
  the beast.
  “Hey, Brian, isn’t this thing supposed to be powered down?”
  “It should be, why?”
  “Must be running on battery backups then. The main core is off and 
  there’s an open plate on the floor that’s supposed to be covering the power 
  pack. Somebody really messed things up in here.”
  “Probably Pritchett’s techs. What’s the charge on the battery?” Brian 
  asked.
  Lisa looked at the displays, “It says, 71 percent.”
  “Kick the startup sequence for me, will you?”
  “You’re not supposed to run that on batteries. The robotics will eat the 
  cell,” Lisa advised, finger poised above the engine start button.
  “We aren’t going to run it, just start it, let it idle, then shut it off right 
  away,” Brian said, now looking at one of the leg joints.
  “Why?”
  “There’s some stress fractures under here that weren’t here before. Real 
  bad ones. I don’t even need to use a structural analyzer to see them. The 
  robotics are probably okay, but the main joint assembly is bent and I can see 
  the bearing through the seal.”
  “Okay,” Lisa tried to remember her schematic courses so she could visual-
  ize what Brian was talking about. “How long do I let it run?”
  “Ten, fifteen seconds.”
  “Okay.” She hesitantly pushed the button.
  
  357
  Grinding and scraping noises accompanied a harsh jerk of the robot, then 
  quieted down to what sounded like a mechanical esophagus trying to swallow 
  a rusted car chassis. An unusual vibration made circuits and optical cables 
  dance inside the Skull Walker. Lisa shut it off after six seconds.
  “All right. Let’s go get some sleep.” Brian pushed himself off the smaller 
  platform and swung onto the main ladder, his expression one of dismay.
  “What’s wrong?”
  “Motor mounts are busted. Four, at least.” He climbed to the top of the 
  Skull Walker and dropped through the open hatch.
  “That’s bad?”
  “Bad doesn’t come close. Oh, heck, that shouldn’t be like that.” Brian 
  pointed to the open floor plate and immediately knelt for a closer look.
  “So, we just sit here awhile then go tell Merrick to scrap it.”
  “What the heck is this? Chewing gum?” Brian pulled his hand away with a 
  gooey substance trailing behind it. He wiped it off on the floor plate.
  “Don’t ask me. It’s not mine.”
  “Man, this must have been hit harder than we thought. I saw the blast 
  marks outside. More rail gun hits. Lots of them. The nuclear power pack’s 
  got a seal on it, not a good job, but we’re still good on rads so it must have 
  worked.”
  “How did the power core get damaged? It’s in the safest place on the 
  whole Skull Walker.”
  “Impact shock, probably. Busted the hydraulic supports and bent the 
  seal off the housing. When the motor broke off its mounts, that might have 
  bounced up and slammed into the power pack.”
  “I’m glad I wasn’t in here when that happened.”
  “I could fix it,” Brian said, his usual determination to solve impossible 
  problems starting to work its way into his expression.
  Lisa frowned at him and let a pregnant silence take hold in the cabin until 
  Brian looked at her and amended his statement.
  “I could fix it with a full crew and a few weeks,” Brian amended.
  “That’s better. So, it’s sleep time now?” Lisa pulled her headset down 
  around her neck.
  “Shouldn’t be too hard to explain to Lieutenant Merrick. We’d have to 
  yank the skull off the undercarriage just to get at the motor. Sounded like 
  the motor’s gears are stripped too, plus the left drive bolts will need to be 
  replaced or rebuilt.”
  “Are you making that up or could you tell all that just from listening to it?”
  “A little of both.” Brian ran his fingers through wild red hair. “You work 
  around these things long enough and you just know, without really thinking 
  about it,” he huffed. “There’s no way we can get this ready in less than two 
  weeks, and that’s just to make it move. Actual repairs, well, it’s not worth it.”
  “How long have we been working?”
  
  358
  “Just a few minutes. Merrick will tell us to check it out some more if we 
  tell him the Skull Walker’s headed for someplace I don’t want to know about. 
  Guess you might as well download the hard drives and yank anything we 
  don’t want falling into the wrong hands.”
  “The transmissions!” Lisa’s head snapped up.
  “What?”
  “I’m glad you reminded me. We never got a chance to check the transmis-
  sion logs!”
  “I can’t believe I forgot all about that!” Brian had plopped down in Pritch-
  ett’s command chair, scrambled out so Lisa could do her specialty. “Sorry.”
  “I’ll get the voice switch this time,” she teased. “Okay, here we go, comm 
  system, asterisk, asterisk, asterisk, asterisk, asterisk, and we’re in.”
  “There’s a whole bunch of them!”
  “Those are normal logs, the ones we want won’t show up here. Wait a 
  minute.” Lisa stopped scrolling and backed up a few screens. “That’s CFC-
  1.”
  “Who is Pritchett calling on that frequency?”
  “Not just transmitting, receiving, too. Ran through the command scram-
  bler and everything. Audio and video signal.”
  “Let’s see it!”
  “Hold on, it’s not that easy. There are command codes.”
  “Should I go get Wreath?”
  “Leave the poor man under the ATV alone. I’ve got it covered.” Lisa 
  grinned and held up a laser disk.
  “Pritchett’s command codes?”
  “No, just my key.” She inserted the disk in the comm deck and called up a 
  file search on another console. “While I was in here I figured I’d be creative, 
  so I used an key logger Cara and I used to use to make ATM machines store 
  I.D. codes every time they were entered. All we had to do was come back 
  later with a scanner and retrieve the files, and we had all the account numbers 
  and codes for everyone that had used the ATM machine since we inserted the 
  program.” She smiled deviously. “Too bad you’re so honest. I could teach 
  you a thing or two.”
  “I forgot about something, too!” Brian missed the playful jab altogether. 
  “I still have Pritchett’s card for his expense account!”
  “Really?” Lisa looked even more devious, blue eyes sparkling. “Brian, my 
  lifelong friend. Have I ever told you...”
  “Hey, don’t pull a Darren on me. We’re not stealing the creds,” Brian 
  warned.
  “How much is left?”
  “Lots.”
  “How much!?”
  “I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”
  
  359
  “Afraid Pritchett will yell at you? C’mon, Brian, tell me!” Lisa urged.
  “A little over 21 million.”
  “Don’t you mean 17 or 18 million?”
  “Stop tempting me. Besides, it’s probably less now for all the repairs Giz 
  has been doing while we were gone.”
  “How much could that be?”
  “Half a mill, maybe.”
  “Like I said. 17 million left. C’mon, you know you can get Giz to stretch 
  a few numbers, that way you’ll be clean when we get back.”
  “Stop it. Don’t you have things to be doing?” Brian pointed to the console.
  “We’ll discuss this later.” She winked.
  “The computer?” He pointed again.
  “Yes, sir!” Lisa saluted and returned to the console and let out a warm 
  sigh. “It worked like a charm. We can get into anything Pritchett accessed 
  since we’ve been here last.”
  “Hold on a sec.” Brian popped his head out the top hatch, looked around 
  very conspicuously, then dropped back in. “Coast is clear. I just wanted to 
  make sure Merrick or someone else wasn’t listening.”
  “Here it is. Elizabeth.”
  “That’s the CFC-1 password?”
  “Who’s Elizabeth?”
  “Maybe his wife or a relative. Don’t know, don’t really care.” Brian so-
  bered, realizing there might be somebody waiting for Pritchett to return home 
  to. Brian had nobody but still hated knowing the grief that was waiting for 
  someone back in Chi-Town.
  “The system accepted the password. I’m calling up the first two commu-
  nications that occurred on CFC-1, the Captain’s private channel. This was 
  two days ago.”
  A face both soldiers hated appeared on the screen as the video played. 
  Colonel Lyboc was apparently in some dark room with lots of blinking lights 
  and computer banks. The discussion between Pritchett and Chi-Town’s head 
  of Espionage Division was one-sided. Pritchett reported Merrick had gone 
  native and discipline was non-existent among his unit, then asked for a date 
  when reinforcements would arrive. Lyboc explained in little detail that the 
  relief expedition was on its way and would be arriving within the week. A 
  full company and platoon of SAMAS were coming under the command of a 
  Major Ratello, who would be overseeing the construction of a communica-
  tions center for both Coalition and civilian use in Liberty.
  When the recording was done playing, Lisa downloaded it onto another 
  disk.
  “If there’s another company on its way out here, we can just wait until 
  they relieve us and then go home. What’s Merrick’s rush?” Brian pondered.
  
  360
  “He probably doesn’t know. Pritchett was probably playing this card close 
  to his vest.”
  “Yeah, he and Pritchett weren’t real close, anyway. You’re right, he prob-
  ably doesn’t know about the reinforcements.”
  “Does that mean we actually have to fix the Skull Walker?”
  “Probably. What’s the other one? Wow, that was yesterday. Less than 
  twenty-four hours ago.” Brian looked at the other CFC-1 communication 
  Lisa had highlighted.
  “2100 hours.”
  “We weren’t even back yet.”
  “Let’s see what it is.” Lisa put the communication record on the main view 
  screen.
  Uneasiness became a concern, which evolved into confused dismay as the 
  communication played. Lisa paused it and checked the charts that were being 
  sent on the same signal to confirm what she was hearing.
  “What’s Pritchett talking about? All of Lieutenant Merrick’s unit MIA 
  or KIA, and all dissenters taken care of?” Brian stared at the casualty chart.
  “That’s what he said. See, here we are. MIA.” Lisa pointed to the chart on 
  the display next to their playback screen.
  “Yeah, but that makes sense, and so does the casualty report for his own 
  unit, but how come everyone else is KIA? Getting a little ahead of himself, 
  don’t you think?”
  “Darren’s KIA, Merrick’s KIA, even Sergeant Winters, Cowboy, Nim, 
  Cody, everyone except Trenton.”
  “Then Lieutenant Merrick was right. Pritchett really did plan on killing 
  all of us.”
  “We don’t know that for sure. Probably, but let’s see the rest of it.” Lisa 
  hit the play button again.
  The communications recording continued on to a discussion between 
  Colonel Lyboc and Captain Pritchett regarding the Army of the New Order. 
  Lyboc laid out instructions for finishing off the hard to kill force and ended 
  with the promise of regular supply drops to Liberty once the captain com-
  pleted the mission.
  “So, they finally send a whole company and armored platoon to finish 
  this.” Brian shook his head. “Should have done that from the start.”
  “Brian. You missed it. Lyboc told Pritchett not to capture the disk but to 
  destroy it and kill anyone who knew about it.”
  “Well, that must mean —”
  “Right! How did Pritchett know about this disk that Zenjori Suka suppos-
  edly has? Lyboc mentions it like Pritchett already knows what he’s talking 
  about. That means Pritchett had to know all along.”
  “Damn!” Brian began thinking through the implications. “He was sup-
  posed to make us get the disk then kill everyone who knew about it. He 
  
  361
  wasn’t just attacking the rebels because of the problems they started, he was 
  doing Lyboc’s dirty work to make sure all the evidence was destroyed. Now 
  I wish he was still alive. Then we could wring some answers out of him.”
  “I know. Wait, we still might have something. I haven’t checked the other 
  transmission logs.”
  “You mean—”
  “The ones I need you to go get my computer for. The case is at the bottom 
  of the lift. I didn’t bring it up because I thought we’d be going back to bed 
  soon.”
  “I’ll get it,” Brian scrambled out.
  Lisa worked through the convoluted sequence on the computer that would 
  bring up the secret transmission logs from their hiding place. She held her 
  breath for several seconds, staring at the two blinking files that contained 
  communications records sent to the Skull Walker by the traitor within her 
  unit. Worse yet, there were two receptions that her program had netted and 
  kept from being relayed to the traitor. Four chances to catch the person re-
  sponsible for the deaths of her friends. Brian returned with her laptop com-
  puter and case.
  “Here.” She took it and started setting it up on the pilot’s seat, then pulled 
  out a long, thin fiber optic cable and linked it to the computer and pushed the 
  other end into a jumble of wires and circuits.
  “Isn’t that a head jack cable?” Brian asked.
  “Yes. The scrambler circuit was designed for use with a cybernetic im-
  plant. You don’t know how hard it was getting this thing to work.”
  “You found a transmission from the traitor?”
  “Four.”
  “Four?!” Brian asked wide-eyed.
  “Two, actually, two from the traitor and two the Skull Walker received 
  and was supposed to relay to them. We got both.”
  “Boy, we’re gonna nail him.” Brian slammed his fist into the palm of his 
  hand.
  Lisa pulled a tiny circuit from a protected hard case and inserted it into the 
  jury-rigged jack attached to the cable.
  “In theory, this should work.”
  “Theory?”
  “I tested it the best I could with what we got out of the Enforcer, but this 
  kind of process is never easy or reliable. I have to make the Skull Walker 
  communication system and simulated virus program think they’re relaying 
  the transmission, but instead, we route it through this computer and record 
  the encrypted file while its playing.”
  “Uh, okay. That sounds pretty complicated, but I believe in you,” Brian 
  said. Machines he could understand all day long, and he got some of the 
  software side of things with the diagnostics and re-provisioning he had to do, 
  
  362
  but encrypted communications was an entirely different animal. Even so, he 
  knelt beside Lisa, the confined space in the Skull Walker cockpit kept them 
  very close, but neither seemed to notice.
  “Cross your fingers.”
  The communications played over the main screen. Each was a short au-
  dio summary of mission events with personal insights at the end of each 
  transmission. There was information that even Pritchett hadn’t provided. For 
  both soldiers, there was elation at what had finally been uncovered, but their 
  hearts still sank into their stomachs when they realized that someone they’d 
  entrusted their lives to had been stabbing them in the back.
  “Brian?” Lisa said quietly.
  “Yeah?”
  “We’ve gotta show this to Lieutenant Merrick.”
  Brian nodded, he gripped Lisa’s shoulder to give her strength, then 
  climbed from the Skull Walker.
  ____________________
  Trenton suspected something was wrong when he was summoned to a 
  meeting of the remaining Coalition forces in the early afternoon. What he ex-
  pected and prepared himself for was not the reception he received at Gizmo’s 
  garage. Every member of the unit and two SAMAS sat in a semicircle and 
  suddenly locked their weapons on him as soon as he’d taken a step inside the 
  garage door. Forbidden from carrying his weaponry in town, Trenton was 
  essentially unarmed. There was no way out of this.
  “Time to pay the piper, Trenton.” Lieutenant Merrick stepped into the ring 
  of death, back in his Coalition Officer’s uniform, keeping a non-coalition rifle 
  at the ready.
  “I don’t understand. What is this?” Trenton feigned ignorance in his best 
  synthesized innocent tone.
  “Yer gonna be dead, that’s what,” Winters growled. “I should’a left you 
  out there for the Glitter Boy.”
  “What —”
  “We know it was you who sent the retreat signal through the Enforcer at 
  Youngstown. Just like we know you’re the traitor who’s been working for 
  Lyboc all along, Trenton.” Lieutenant Greg Merrick sounded disappointed.
  Trenton’s body slumped, armor plates dropping over sloped shoulders and 
  defeated posture.
  “Why, Trenton?” Brian asked.
  The large bionic body seemed to shrink further in on itself, attempting to 
  relieve the tortured soul within of the guilt a flesh and blood body could have 
  shed in tears. The overwhelming release of the burden of secrecy did little 
  to relieve Trenton of the memories of the lives his betrayal had cost. For the 
  man and machine, there was no release from torment.
  
  363
  Up in the gantry, Anja bit her lip and leaned against Van for support. 
  Despite the synthetic body, a living soul was trapped inside it, anguish tran-
  scending the artificial enclosure to touch her mind with its human emotions.
  “We intercepted and decoded your transmissions intended for Lyboc, 
  Trenton,” Lisa spoke compassionately. “We also intercepted the transmis-
  sions that were meant for you. We just want to know why?”
  “I didn’t want to,” Trenton said in a sad, metallic voice. “But he put this 
  thing in my head! I didn’t even know it was there until we got back from the 
  first mission! I just did what Lyboc told me so I could get the Glitter Boy back 
  for what he did to me!”
  “Bull. You an’ Lyboc been screwin’ us from the start,” Winters menaced.
  “No, no I swear I never met him until after the Glitter Boy took away my 
  body and made me into this, this thing!” Trenton stretched out his arms and 
  looked down at his cold, mechanical body. After a moment, he looked around 
  the room unable to project sincerity on the unchanging skull-like features on 
  his artificial face.
  “I wanted revenge for what the rebels and the Glitter Boy took from me, 
  a life I can never get back! When Colonel Lyboc came to me, all he wanted 
  was for me to watch and keep recordings of Lieutenant Sorenson. He told me 
  Espionage Division suspected Sorenson of being a rebel spy and I would be 
  helping all of us by watching him. I didn’t even know what happened until 
  we got back and I got out of Full Conversion acclimation. It was days before 
  I started figuring out what had happened, and then I got scared of what would 
  happen if I said anything.”
  “You knew I wasn’t guilty.” Mike stepped closer in a battered SAMAS. 
  “You could have said something!”
  “Colonel Lyboc got to me first and told me what happened to ‘Borgs that 
  didn’t fit the profile, how they were used for experiments in R & D. He said 
  I’d done good and that it wasn’t my fault the Glitter Boy got away. He said 
  I’d have another chance to finish it. He arranged it so I’d be promoted to ser-
  geant and set up false records in case anyone tried to find out. He said I was 
  his insurance that the next mission would succeed and the rebels would be 
  killed. That’s all I wanted!”
  “Then how do you explain your transmissions?!” Greg stepped closer, 
  gray eyes flashing. “You sent detailed reports, private information nobody 
  would send, along with your recordings!”
  “It was the only way to make the ANO pay for what they did to me,” the 
  ‘Borg rattled again. “Colonel Lyboc fixed it so I could access the implants in 
  my head and control the systems he had secretly built in. He didn’t trust the 
  captain either, and I was to make sure that if you didn’t finish the rebels, the 
  captain would or he’d meet the same fate as you all.” Trenton looked closer 
  at Greg, red eyes glowing dimly. “I believed in you, sir, but Pritchett took 
  over and got everyone killed. The magic users made him do it.” He jerked up, 
  
  364
  looking over soldiers’ heads to the pair in the gantry above the Spider Skull 
  Walker. “They made him do it!”
  “No, they didn’t, Trenton. Pritchett was being manipulated by Colonel Ly-
  boc, just like you were.” Mike’s tone was angry. “Captain Pritchett planned 
  from the beginning to kill all of us, whether or not we destroyed the Army of 
  the New Order. Lyboc played you and you fell for it!”
  “No, no I would have stopped him. I sent reports of how he was being 
  controlled by the magic users. Lyboc would have known the truth if I had to 
  kill him.”
  “You never got the last two orders from Lyboc,” Lisa stated.
  Trenton turned toward her slowly.
  “What orders?”
  “We intercepted and decoded them with a chip just like the one in your 
  head.” Given an affirmative nod from Merrick, Lisa continued. “The first 
  one came in at 0600 this morning. At 0900 you were supposed to eliminate 
  Captain Pritchett and any remaining members of his unit for treason against 
  the Coalition States, revealing secrets to the rebels, and consorting with prac-
  titioners of magic. Your charges, Trenton.”
  “But, but, Pritchett was already dead this morning.”
  “Yes, but Pritchett had sent a report to Lyboc and told him that all of us 
  were already dead. Lyboc thought Captain Pritchett had already killed every 
  one of us except you.”
  “I... I don’t understand.”
  “You were being used as a pawn!” Mike practically shouted.
  Greg raised a hand to calm him. Lisa continued her explanation, not for 
  Trenton’s benefit but for the rest of the soldiers around her.
  “Lyboc wanted you to kill Captain Pritchett and the rest of his unit be-
  cause he thought everyone else was dead. The mission failed, so Lyboc has 
  you and Pritchett clean it up. The captain kills us, you kill the captain. The 
  only one left is you. The only left who knows anything.
  “I still don’t understand. Why would Lyboc want everyone dead?”
  “Because we know what he’s done and he doesn’t want any witnesses!” 
  Mike shouted but calmed down with a look from Greg. “Back in Chi-Town, 
  we were already dead, and if Lyboc lets you go he’ll have to answer for it. 
  He’s got to kill you too.”
  “That brings me to the second order Lyboc sent you. It came in a few 
  hours ago,” Lisa added. “There’s a company on its way to Liberty even as we 
  speak. Lyboc wanted you to brief the commanding officer, a Major Ratello, 
  on the status of the Army of the New Order and ensure that the new field 
  commander finishes the job. I’ll bet this Major has orders, too, just like you, 
  except Lyboc probably told him you were a rebel spy to be shot on sight. As 
  far as Colonel Lyboc knows, you’re the one last loose end he has to burn and 
  Ratello isn’t going to know any different.”
  
  365
  Trenton’s robotic body stood silently trying to process everything he’d 
  just been told. After a long moment, he got down on his knees. “Get it over 
  with then.”
  Fingers left their places hovering above triggers and barrels slowly point-
  ed to the earth, men and women he’d served with taking pity on the traitor 
  in their midst. Nim trudged forward, patting the ‘Borg’s metallic shoulder 
  with a bionic limb of his own. “I get it, buddy.” He understood the loss of 
  humanity that could drive a man to do things he’d never want to do normally. 
  Trenton was still his friend.
  Everyone in the room could see that Trenton’s motivations weren’t rooted 
  in hatred for his fellow soldiers. He hadn’t been trying to hurt them, he’d just 
  wanted revenge and Lyboc had twisted it for use in his own dark web of lies 
  and deceit.
  “Well, we can’t trust you with those things in yer head. I say Trenton’s 
  gotta go,” Winters gruffly spoke up.
  “I would tear them out if I could. You know that, Sarge.” Trenton looked 
  up at Winters, a clear tone of heartache coming through the synthesized voice.
  “There’s always the Cyber-Doc,” Brian suggested.
  “Unfortunately, the Doc is gonna take too long, with the other Unit com-
  ing to Liberty. As accommodating as he’s been, he’s not trustworthy in my 
  book. My way is faster.” Greg motioned to Van.
  Sliding down the gantry ladder and mindful of the uneasy stares, Van ap-
  proached the ‘Borg.
  “Please, Lieutenant, don’t let him get in my head,” Trenton pleaded.
  “I’m not doing anything magic. This is purely technical, Trenton,” Van 
  lied, pulling out a box with blinking lights and beepers that would cover his 
  real intent.
  “No way!” Winters charged forward to thrust the barrel of his plasma can-
  non inches from Van’s face.
  Cowboy and several others mirrored the action from their positions in the 
  semicircle.
  “Cool it, Sergeant.” Greg pushed the barrel down. “All of you.”
  “Yer not really gonna let the spell slinger mess with Trenton, are you?” 
  Winters growled at Greg.
  “C’mon, Lieutenant, Trenton’s a screw-up, but tainting him with magic, 
  that’s too much,” Cowboy complained.
  “Give me another option and I’ll take it. Either we blast Trenton’s head 
  apart to make sure we get what Lyboc put in there, or we let this, technician, 
  tell us where it is and we have Brian and Lisa take it out quickly.” Greg 
  looked around at the faces of his men. No alternatives presented themselves.
  “Yer not lettin’ the magic user do anything funny?” Cowboy asked.
  “Not unless we absolutely have to, right Van?”
  
  366
  “That’s right.” Van stood very still, just in case any of the soldiers got trig-
  ger happy. Of course he’d engaged his personal force field, but who knew if 
  that would get him out of the building. Not to mention Anja’s safety.
  “Greg. You sure know how to push the rules.” Winters looked deep into 
  Merrick’s eyes, then stepped back shaking his head. As he did, Cowboy and 
  the others lowered their weapons.
  Van waved the box around the ‘Borg’s head and hit the button to make it 
  change sounds and switch patterns of lights.
  “What’s it doing?” Cowboy fingered his rifle.
  “Oh, this? This is a brain magnifier that reads the coefficient frequency 
  pulse off the armature bands and lets me know where the equality regulator 
  circuits meet with the mental crossover network.” Laying it on thick, Van 
  reached out with his mind to search the mechanical and electrical systems of 
  the cyborg with his Telemechanics.
  “Uh huh,” Cowboy said, his tone evident that he still didn’t understand.
  “The resonance inhibitor seems to have taken some damage.” Van showed 
  the blinking box to Winters as though it would make everything clear. “Here, 
  let me localize the signal.”
  Van hit more buttons and waved the box over Trenton’s head and up-
  per body. He searched for the scrambler/descrambler circuit and setup Lisa 
  had used and tried to pick it out of the unfamiliar blend of artificial systems 
  and bionics. Electrical and mechanical systems linked to the ‘Borg’s brain 
  in ways normal circuits did not, and he was finding it more difficult to iso-
  late the machine from the man. Finally, something matched the pattern he 
  searched for and he narrowed in to confirm it. The circuit was there, linked to 
  three others he knew nothing about and brain implants he couldn’t get a clear 
  understanding of. The entire setup was tied into implants inside Trenton’s 
  brain, protected inside the containment unit. All that had to be done was to 
  sever the circuits from the controlling brain implants.
  “I found it. It looks like my brain magnifier has found what you’re looking 
  for, see?” He waved the device around for all to see, having the box’s lights 
  flash mostly green. Some nodded in agreement.
  “Okay,” Brian moved closer, ignoring the random blinking lights and 
  beeping sounds of whatever Van had called the thing. “How exactly do we 
  get it out?”
  “I can draw you a schematic to follow.”
  “Great. Do that,” Lisa said in a loud whisper.
  “Sure thing.” Van stepped through the crowd and set the box on the hood 
  of an ATV and began scribbling on a notepad, glancing up from time to time 
  at the sensor device for faux confirmation. He handed the notes to Lisa and 
  explained as best he could the recommended procedure for removal, includ-
  ing a whispered reference to the other three circuits tied to the scrambler.
  
  367
  “Thank you.” She moved away a bit too quickly and confided with Brian 
  on what tools to use for the operation.
  “All right, everyone, listen up,” while Van, Lisa, and Brian were confer-
  ring by the ATV, Greg grabbed everyone’s attention. “Our convoy leaves 
  tomorrow morning at 0800, but we need to have a serious meeting tonight be-
  fore that. Be back here at Gizmo’s at 2000 hours. Check in all your weapons 
  and gear with Lieutenant Adams before you go. Do not take your equipment 
  with you. I’m talking to you, Cowboy.”
  Several laughs and jabs went in Cowboy’s direction.
  “If you have any unfinished business, now is the time. We won’t be com-
  ing back here.”
  Greg watched the faces of his men, his speech in part to decide who he 
  needed to have a private talk with. Cowboy, Nim, and Winters stayed behind 
  to keep a close watch on the two magic users in their midst.
  Greg ensured the removal process was underway before approaching Van 
  and Anja.
  “Thank you, again, Van.” He shook hands with both magic users as ev-
  eryone else in the garage focused on Brian and Lisa’s operation on Trenton.
  “You’re welcome, especially for our little exchange earlier.” Van winked.
  “That, well, you were very generous. I might have thrown that stuff away 
  or destroyed it like the rest of the gear.” Greg was careful not to give away 
  too much in the presence of the others. Natessa had insisted on destroying the 
  warrior suit and shackles, along with any other paraphernalia that linked her 
  to slavery under the alien. The sword Greg had snatched before she went on 
  her purging rampage, and for some reason, the medallion she’d worn wasn’t 
  harmed by heat, explosions, or even Vibro-Blades. Knowing Van had an in-
  tense curiosity for such things, Greg visited the Techno-Wizard on his fun-
  draising and organizational tour, figuring on picking up a few credits for the 
  peculiar medallion and ornate sword. When Van offered an exorbitant six-
  figure amount, Greg quickly accepted, figuring he was probably being taken 
  but didn’t have the time or inclination to haggle over what he thought was 
  worthless junk. They both came out of it happy and none the wiser.
  Anja looked at them both suspiciously, then tugged on Greg’s sleeve and 
  motioned him close with her finger.
  “Yes?”
  “Come talk to me before you see Natessa again,” she whispered in his ear.
  Greg snapped back up to his full height and corner-eyed the Mystic with 
  suspicion. Nobody was supposed to know where Natessa was or that he’d 
  been seeing her. Van shrugged and mouthed the words, “It wasn’t me.”
  “How did you know about her?”
  “I visited her,” Anja stated matter-of-factly.
  
  368
  “That’s not possible. One, because nobody but a few people know where 
  she is. Two, very few people know her name. And three, there’s a guard 
  watching to make sure nobody makes the connection or visits.”
  Anja’s bored expression said, “I’m a magic user and I can do what I want. 
  You should get over whatever’s going on and listen to my womanly advice.” 
  But when she spoke, all she said was, “Just promise me you will talk with 
  me first.”
  “Sure.”
  “We’d better take off.” Van noticed Nim and Cowboy taking a closer 
  interest in their conversation.
  “You know what hotel we’re at?” Anja smiled.
  “I know. Thanks again, Van.”
  “Sure thing.”
  Tension levels in the garage dropped as soon as the two practitioners left 
  the vicinity. Brian was ranting about how he was an engineer, not a doctor, 
  while Lisa kept pointing to the notes and the splayed mass of circuitry and 
  inner working of Trenton’s head unit. The brain was nestled deep within the 
  armored chest, safe in its containment unit and linked to the synthetic systems 
  that were its body. Finally, Lisa just ripped out four tiny circuits with a pair 
  of pliers — accompanied by a horrified scream from Brian — and set them 
  on the work cart. Trenton complained loudly about not hearing anything until 
  the two technical officers managed to put one of the circuits back. After some 
  additional testing, they reassembled him as best they could.
  “We got it, Lieutenant!” Lisa shouted, and cheers from the troops drew 
  looks from both up and down the street outside. Winters walked over to the 
  tool cart and picked up one of the tiny circuits.
  “When we git back I’m gonna ram all three of these down Lyboc’s throat.”
  “Tools too, Sarge.” Nim leaned over Winters’ shoulder and picked a par-
  ticularly nasty looking pair of pliers from the rack.
  “What’s stage time?” Winters asked Merrick.
  “0600. Please, make sure everyone is sober tonight at 2000. We’re going 
  to discuss some very important things that will affect the rest of our lives. 
  They can get drunk after the meeting if they want, not before.”
  “Cowboy, can you go round up Darren, Sharp, Dave, Peterson, Jameson, 
  and Corrinne? I need to talk with them in Gizmo’s paint shed in 30 minutes.”
  “Can do, sir,” Cowboy said. “Any details I should give ‘em?”
  “No, we have a lot to discuss between now and tomorrow and I just need 
  to check in with them about some stuff.”
  
  369
  Chapter 21
  Abyssinia, Henry
  Weird looking orange puffy things paraded around a glass bottle full of 
  neon yellow magic markers. The throbbing beat of the little orange feet on 
  the emerald green tiles got louder and louder until Brian screamed and re-
  turned to reality.
  Staring down at the dirty shop rag on the APC’s dash, Brian tried to bring 
  his mind back from dreamland into reality. He hadn’t meant to doze off, had 
  he? The noises from outside the APC were getting louder, speech and the 
  sounds of metal doors coming down and being locked in place followed. He 
  turned his head from side to side and discovered muscle groups he didn’t 
  know he had could be tied into knots. Looking to his right he saw Lisa in a 
  similar state apparently also roused from her own nap. She smiled and cocked 
  her head, then mirrored Brian’s reaction to discomfort.
  “Ow,” she complained. Looking through the new APC viewport, she saw 
  personnel assembling for the meeting and checked her wrist comp for the 
  time. “1955.”
  “Already? What happened to the last two hours?” Brian checked his own 
  comp to confirm the time.
  “I don’t know. You said something about yourself in the third person and 
  put the rag down as a pillow. I knew we had to finish the checklist, but I 
  couldn’t focus on the numbers so I just closed my eyes for a second to rest 
  them.”
  “I hope nobody saw us.” Brian looked out the viewport.
  Cowboy and several other soldiers pointed and laughed.
  “Too late.”
  “Now we’re going to hear about it all the way back.”
  “I don’t care.”
  “You’ve never ridden in a rover with Cowboy before.”
  “I still don’t care. As long as there’s a hot bath and a soft bed at the end of 
  it, I can take anything.”
  “Lieutenant’s here. We should probably get out there now.”
  “You know what this is about?
  “No.”
  Brian glanced out the side port to make sure the Skull Walker was still 
  there and not “scrapped” while he was asleep.
  “I think I do.” Lisa rubbed her eyes and looked into Brian’s. “Think about 
  it. We’re all supposed to be dead or MIA. Lyboc thinks we’re all gone. He 
  doesn’t know we’re coming back.”
  “Boy, will he be surprised.”
  “And what do you think he’ll do?”
  “He can’t kill all of us.”
  
  370
  Lisa gave him an “oh really?” look.
  “Okay, so maybe he can. I’m too tired to think that far ahead.”
  “I wish we had more time. I can’t think of a way to beat him this time. 
  With the evidence we have, we could sink him. Maybe. If he doesn’t get us 
  first, which he probably will, and that’s still assuming that whoever his boss 
  is cares about this whole mess.”
  “Lieutenant Merrick might have a plan,” Brian said optimistically.
  “He’s climbing up on the APC’s ram prow to talk to everyone. We better 
  move.”
  Brian went to open the door, then paused. “Ehhh, through the back is 
  probably better.”
  Brian grabbed her sleeve and pulled her through the length of the APC 
  and out the rear hatch so they wouldn’t have to face the assembled soldiers 
  from the front. Brian and Lisa slipped around the side and tried to look in-
  conspicuous.
  “Quiet, everyone, please.” Greg stood on the raised ram prow and ad-
  dressed the survivors. Lisa hadn’t ever seen him look so haggard. “This is 
  an unofficial, off the record meeting, so for the time being, all comments, 
  suggestions, and opinions are encouraged once I get everything on the table. 
  Some of you I’ve already talked to, but for the rest of you, what I’m about to 
  say should not be taken lightly.” He paused, looking into the eyes of person-
  nel he’d known for years and ordered into battle many times. His face grew 
  sadder. “We all know, at least in some part, what Colonel Lyboc, head of 
  Chi-Town Espionage Division, had planned for us. It was he who ultimately 
  got many of our friends killed at Youngstown, and what he didn’t finish then, 
  Captain Pritchett was supposed to finish here. But we’re not dead, we’re here, 
  and now we have to decide what to do next.
  “If, and I say ‘if’ because it is an individual choice – if we decide to go 
  back to Chi-Town, there’s a good chance Lyboc will arrange some accidents 
  to make sure everything that happened with the ANO is covered up. Right 
  now, he thinks we’re all dead, Chi-Town thinks we’re dead and probably 
  many of your families have been given the bad news. We’re all to be swept 
  under the rug and forgotten, at least that’s what Lyboc wants. In fact, the 
  reinforcements on their way here now may intercept us on the way back and 
  make sure there’s nobody left to implicate Lyboc. He’s not likely to take our 
  return sitting down.”
  “He’s gonna hafta’ take it.” Winters held up a case containing the circuits 
  recovered from Trenton and got several enthusiastic cheers.
  “Even if, by some chance, you do manage to make it back to Chi-Town 
  alive and try to confront Colonel Lyboc, you probably won’t make a dent in 
  his lies. He’ll have you disappear one by one until there’s nobody left who 
  knows. Best case scenario, you make it back in one piece and retire, then 
  disappear someplace with your families where he can’t find you. Stay in the 
  
  371
  military and I guarantee you’ll be on the next flight to the Tolkeen front-lines 
  and ordered to charge the enemy.”
  “What are you saying, sir?” Cowboy asked. “That we should just go back 
  and give up, after all this?”
  “No, I’m saying you probably won’t have a chance to fight, not the way 
  you and I, and most of us here know how to fight. He won’t meet us on the 
  battlefield and give us a fair shake. He’ll come at us from every sideways and 
  twisted angle he can think of.
  “If he finds out you’re on your way back, you probably won’t make it all 
  the way. Whoever decides to return is taking a serious risk. The fact is, plain 
  and simple, you will most likely be killed.”
  “Hey now, what do ya mean by whoever’s goin’ back?” Winters looked 
  around at the faces of his men for the ones that looked like they had desertion 
  tattooed on their foreheads.
  “You don’t sound like you’re going back, sir,” Brian pointed out, making 
  long eye contact with the officer he looked up to.
  “I’m not.”
  Murmurs and gaping jaws passed through the soldiers in a wave. A few 
  stared, others gawked, but most talked among themselves in disbelief.
  “You’re just kiddin’ us, right, Lieutenant?” Cowboy asked hopefully, rub-
  bing his short-cropped spiked hair.
  “No, I’ve given it a lot of thought and... I’ve decided not to go back.”
  “You ain’t afraid of nothin’, sir, not ever I’ve seen. You ain’t losin’ yer 
  guts cuz some Colonel wants yer hide?” Winters asked, watching closely for 
  the answer he could already read.
  “I’m not afraid of Lyboc.” Greg paused for emphasis. “I’m just done with 
  the Coalition military for reasons of my own. What each of you needs to think 
  about is what you really want and decide if it’s worth the risk to go back.
  “Jerry, you have a wife and family. You have a reason to go back. Many 
  of you have lives and loved ones of your own to go back to, things that are 
  worth the risk, and I don’t blame you. That’s what we should be fighting for, 
  our families and our world. So, if you have something or someone worth go-
  ing back to and risking your life for, no one is going to stop you. We’ll even 
  wish you well.”
  Winters looked around the room. “Any of you grunts lily-livered enough 
  to go AWOL, I better not see you again. We’re Coalition. The Emperor made 
  us what we are today and ain’t nobody or nothin’ badder than us.” Winters 
  turned back to Merrick, hatred in his voice. “You’re dead to me, Merrick. 
  Where’s your damn loyalty? Where’s your pride? All this time out here and 
  you went soft. I bet some witch turned your brain to mush and made you fall 
  in love with all the D-Bees and magic users.” He spat on the ground. “The 
  only reason I ain’t killing you right now is because of our history.”
  
  372
  Winters turned back to the soldiers. “This ain’t some hoity-toity personal 
  choice. Yer either Coalition or you’re not. I think if we go home, we’ll be 
  heroes. We killed a Lord of the Federation of Magic and kicked tail from here 
  to home. You think Lyboc is some all-powerful guy back home that can just 
  kill us all with a snap of his fingers? Maybe he’s got some power, but I know 
  the Emperor will be happy with what we’ve done and we’ll be rewarded 
  for it.” Winters patted his recently elevated rank insignia. “So sure, y’all go 
  ahead and quit. Just means you weren’t ever good enough to be in my army. 
  But I’m goin’ back proud.”
  There was a long silence while everyone reflected on Winter’s speech.
  “I appreciate you all listening to everything tonight,” Greg said. “Any 
  other questions?”
  “What about Zenjori and the ANO?”
  At this time, we don’t have the resources and I don’t think it’s worth it to 
  go after him again. He outguns us and, as we’ve seen, the guy is hard to kill. 
  Lyboc is sending another mechanized unit out here to deal with him anyway 
  and I’m of the opinion that we should let them handle it.
  ____________________
  “You all have until 0600 tomorrow morning. I can’t stress to you how im-
  portant this decision is. It will affect the rest of your lives. Give it some hard, 
  honest thought and then decide if you’re returning with Sergeant Winters or 
  starting a new life.” Greg’s eyes lingered on Brian and Lisa, but he said noth-
  ing more, listening to the varied responses from the Coalition troops.
  “Last night in Liberty, please spend it wisely. Staging for Winter’s return 
  trip starts at 0600, anyone who doesn’t show, we’ll know their answer. There 
  will be a briefing and weapons check. It’s a long trip back.”
  ____________________
  Playing cards lay untouched on the table in the cabin. Cowboy stared at 
  them over the top of several empty beer cans, blurry eyes seeing memories 
  instead. Sharp was staying behind. That scout would never be there to cheat 
  his squad out of everything they bet anymore. Bill was gone, his anti-D-Bee 
  jokes lost forever. Then there was the last, and most memorable game he’d 
  played in the back of a covered rover with Rachel the night before the attack. 
  His last game of strip poker. Tears welled up in his eyes and he downed an-
  other beer in one hard gulp, throat choking involuntarily. Nobody else was 
  playing cards with him. He put his head in his arm on the table and was glad 
  nobody could see him cry.
  On one of the beds, Cody and Robert, still angry about the treachery, ar-
  gued about what they should do to Trenton when they got back to the city. 
  
  373
  On the other bed, Nim and Sergeant Winters discussed some secret plan with 
  other loyal members of the Coalition special ops unit.
  Cowboy didn’t care. There was nothing left for him to go back to but the 
  eternal war and countless battles to come. Alcohol numbed his wits but the 
  emotional pain he felt drove pounding rage through his heart that burned 
  hotter than anything that had ever stoked his emotions before. He’d left his 
  friends on the battlefield, not knowing if they were alive or dead. He couldn’t 
  go back without knowing or his memories would haunt him forever.
  Unable to express in words the war inside, Cowboy stood and tore the 
  table up from its bolts on the floor. Through a haze of rage, he yelled, “We 
  left them out there!”
  “Just what is yer problem, Corporal?” Winters stared at Cowboy.
  “We left them behind! We’re not leavin’ until I find out if they’re alive 
  or dead!”
  “Calm down, Cowboy.” Nim had never seen his friend like this before.
  “Go to hell. All of you!!” Cowboy grabbed Cody by the shirt and hurled 
  him across the room. “You left her behind!”
  “Git yerself in line, Cowboy!” Winters stood and shouted.
  “You!” Cowboy’s wrath turned on Winters. “You ordered us to leave her 
  behind! I’m gonna kill you!” Cowboy lunged, taking Winters and the other 
  table with them into the bunks. Fists and feet flew wildly and both men tum-
  bled back and forth before Cowboy managed to get a handhold and flung the 
  husky sergeant into the next set of bunks on the other side of the room.
  Cowboy’s threat took on new meaning as he rushed across the room, ca-
  sually hurling Robert out the window onto the porch. Mindless aggression 
  drove blow after blow into Winters’ body, the sergeant returning as good as 
  he got to little effect.
  Grabbing Winters’ arm, Cowboy swung him across the room into the first 
  set of bunks, following up with a kick that sent the sergeant between the beds 
  into the remnants of the second table. Cowboy leapt after him.
  A table leg struck Cowboy in the side of the head, pausing his drive to 
  murder. Winters swung again, wood splintering and skin breaking in a line 
  from Cowboy’s jawbone to the back of his head. His eyes glazed, but the pain 
  within kept him oblivious to the punishment of body. Clutching Winters by 
  the throat, Cowboy’s knees finally buckled and he took Winters with him to 
  the floor.
  Breathing heavily and wheezing from traded blows, both men remained 
  crumpled where they fell. Cowboy’s rage reached its end, releasing the well 
  of emotions fueling it.
  “They’re dead, Cowboy.” Winters almost sounded sympathetic.
  “No, no, we left them.”
  “They’re dead.”
  
  374
  Cowboy’s enormous body was racked with sobs he couldn’t hold back 
  anymore. Tears came in uncontrollable waves as the sorrow took over. Win-
  ters put his hand on Cowboy’s shoulder, tears welling up in his own eyes and 
  his heart rising to his throat. The squad watched on.
  When there were no more tears left, Cowboy raised reddened eyes to the 
  only family he ever knew. Some swallowed hard, others fought back tears of 
  their own.
  The moment was broken with Robert climbing back inside.
  “Man, Cowboy, I thought these windows were bulletproof.”
  “They are,” Winters grunted, a short chuckle bringing relief to the tension.
  “I don’t think we’re gettin’ our deposit back.” Nim looked around the 
  room.
  “Don’t matter. We’re all goin’ home tomorrow. All of us.”
  ____________________
  Sounds of a shattering window and a ruckus in one of the cabins sent 
  Brian to the window of his rented housing across the yard. Fully furnished 
  with beds and decor, the cabin assigned to the technical officers had indi-
  vidual rooms and far more privacy. Lisa rolled over on her bed to see where 
  Brian had gone.
  “What was that?”
  “Cowboy and his squad I think,” he answered, satisfied that it was just 
  another of their frequent brawls. He returned to the bed and laid back down 
  on the covers. “Sharp told me about the hall wars the grunts get into back at 
  Chi-Town. East hall versus West hall, or something like that. Glad I don’t 
  have to live with the jarheads.
  “It takes people like them to fight a war,” Lisa commented.
  “Yeah, when things get really heavy it’s nice to have them around.
  Neither technical officer had spoken much since leaving the meeting. Go-
  ing straight back to their cabin they’d both somehow ended up laying side by 
  side on Lisa’s bed, grateful for the companionship but each lost in their own 
  thoughts.
  “They’re all going to have hangovers in the morning. That will be fun,” 
  Brian spoke sarcastically to the stucco ceiling.
  “You’ve decided to go back?”
  Brian rolled over to face her, taken by surprise at her question. He hadn’t 
  really thought about not going back.
  “Why? You’ve decided to stay?”
  “I don’t know yet. It’s a hard choice.”
  “I know what Merrick was saying was probably true, but I keep thinking 
  there’s got to be a way to work it out so we can go back and Lyboc still gets 
  what’s coming to him.”
  
  375
  “Me too, but then I start doing what you do. I ask myself if it’s worth it. 
  Sure, there might be a way, but is it worth it?” Lisa rolled onto her back and 
  stared at the ceiling.
  “Everything I’ve ever known is back there,” Brian mused. “Sharp and I 
  grew up in the Coalition youth program and joined the military to make a dif-
  ference. All my stuff is back there, my friends, well, some of my friends, my 
  best computer, my leather jacket.”
  “You’re thinking about that?” Lisa rolled over to face him again.
  “I like that jacket. I won it in a street fight with the Stone Heads.”
  “For crying out loud, Brian, if that’s all you’re worried about I’ll buy you 
  another leather jacket.”
  “That’s not really what I meant. The jacket has memories of places and 
  things I’ve done. It’s all back there. My whole life.”
  “You’re willing to risk your life just for that?” she asked, their eyes meet-
  ing in the semi-darkness.
  “I could make a difference back there. I know things now, things I didn’t 
  know before. Just because the system has flaws doesn’t mean you just aban-
  don it. Somebody’s gotta make changes from within, or it won’t happen at 
  all. I could do that.”
  “You could, but you don’t have to.” She rolled back over on her back. “I 
  know what you mean about your whole life is back there. But it’s different for 
  me. I have some friends, my bike, but I hate my parents and I’ve never been 
  one for working the system.”
  “I noticed.”
  “Don’t you ever think about what it would be like to start all over fresh? 
  You know, a clean slate?” She rolled back to face him. “A whole new life to 
  make what you want of it?”
  “You are thinking about staying.”
  “Maybe.” She looked deep into his eyes and reached over to take his hand. 
  “I was thinking I’d wait and see what you were going to decide first.”
  Brian pulled away and put her wrist back on the bed. She looked hurt.
  “What’s wrong?”
  “Lisa, please, not like this.”
  “What do you mean?”
  “You’re on the rebound, and as much as I’d like something to happen, I 
  don’t want it to be because you’re looking for someone to fill Mike’s place. 
  Besides, I don’t even know what I want. I like you, but I don’t want to blow 
  it again.”
  “You’re not interested anymore?” Lisa was unaccustomed to being re-
  jected, especially when she really was putting her heart on the line.
  “I... I am, but not like this. Let’s just take it one day at a time for a while. 
  See how things work out.”
  
  376
  He noticed the tears welling up in her eyes and the hurt expression on her 
  face.
  “Don’t be upset. Please. It’s just that if you and I do get something going, 
  more than we have now, I want it to be for the right reasons, so it will last.”
  “I suppose I had this coming,” she choked out and rolled with her back 
  to him.
  “I’d answer that, but I’d probably just put my foot in my mouth again.”
  “Shut up, Brian.”
  “Okay.” Brian rolled on his back, kicking himself. While it was nice to be 
  on the other side of this equation, was it worth him prioritizing his principles 
  and his old attachments over getting what he had wanted for so long?
  The big decision was hours away, and it would irrevocably change both 
  his, and Lisa’s lives forever.
  ____________________
  Weariness threatened to overcome him before he reached the small camp-
  er that was to be his home for the next few days. Greg stared at the two steps 
  leading up to the narrow door and tried to work up the energy to ascend them. 
  He’d spent the past twenty minutes talking with the First Strike mercenar-
  ies at the edge of the small mercenary encampment on the fringe of an old 
  shantytown that made up Liberty’s slums. Usually practiced at remembering 
  names, he couldn’t recall them now, nor exactly what he’d just talked about. 
  He looked around to make sure he wouldn’t be walking into the wrong dwell-
  ing and looking down the barrel of some D-Bees alarm system.
  Most of the north slum area was clear of inhabitants, but transients, no-
  mads, and the very poor still lived among the crudely constructed dwellings. 
  Donovan seemed to think it was safe to stash Natessa there until she was suit-
  ably presentable to blend with society. The twenty-foot R.V. had no engine 
  or tires, but it had electricity via an extension cord leading to some junction 
  nearby, heat, and running water, the latter being somewhat dependent on the 
  weather. Best of all, a loft and bed inside the R.V. awaited him. All Greg 
  cared about was the bed.
  Now past 3:15 in the morning, he’d finished squaring things away for the 
  returning convoy and eventually finised the well-meaning conversation with 
  Anja. There was still no clear explanation on how she’d found out about Na-
  tessa — Greg suspected Van — and even less covering how Anja managed 
  to have a talk with the former slave warrior. Still, the Mystic had lots of good 
  intentions and advice, most of which Greg hadn’t understood, in part from 
  sleep deprivation and from the Mystic’s oblique references to many topics. 
  She’d kept saying things about how Van respected her purity, or something 
  like that, and compared it to how Greg should treat Natessa. About the only 
  thing he remembered well was her repeated urgings for him to be patient and 
  understanding, that Natessa had nothing to relate to the world as he knew it. 
  
  377
  He’d never expected things to be easy — nothing ever was — and took her 
  advice to heart as best he could. Promising to return when he was awake, 
  Anja had finally let him go.
  Two hours of sleep, if he was lucky. He stared at his wrist comp again, 
  then to the pair of steps. The ground beside them was relatively flat, inviting 
  him to abandon his foolish quest for a bed and embrace the ground in all its 
  flatness. No, it was too cold for that. He gave himself a cause to make the 
  ascent and stumbled into the darkened R.V.
  Natessa sat on the ragged couch, back straight in a rigid posture. Bathed in 
  the moonlight from the opposite window, she wore the outfit he’d had on the 
  first time he’d met her on the logging road north of Liberty. She’d bathed and 
  rid herself of every item linking her to her past. Beyond her on the tiny table 
  was the glint of a blade. Anja had said something about it, but he couldn’t 
  remember what exactly. He was too tired to care.
  “Is it cold in here to you?” Greg noticed the temperature inside was only 
  a few degrees warmer than the frigid weather outside, his breath frosting in 
  the air.
  “Yes.”
  “There’s a heater.” He crossed past her and flicked the switch on an elec-
  tric heater where the microwave should have been. The heat took effect im-
  mediately, warming the air to more bearable temperatures. “Better?”
  “Yes.”
  “I must have forgotten to show you that.”
  “I did not want to touch anything. This is very old. The walls have felt 
  many things.”
  “I think it’s called a Winnebago. People used to drive around the continent 
  in them.” Greg leaned over and picked up the knife. It was dull, rusted and the 
  six-inch blade was broken at the tip. It was still sharp enough to harm or kill.
  “Where did you find this?”
  “Here.” She pointed to the sagging couch.
  He set it back on the table and trudged the few steps to the ladder that led 
  to the small loft bed. Ordering tired muscles to action, he rolled up onto it and 
  let the soft, lumpy mattress do its best.
  “Sleep,” he mumbled, eyes and mind reaching for dreamland.
  “What?”
  “It’s a sleep deprivation mantra. Sleep. You know, that couch folds out 
  into a bed. You do sleep, right?” He spoke to the warped fiberglass roof 
  inches above his face.
  “Yes.”
  “Good. One thing we have in common. Good night.”
  “You are not afraid I will kill you in your sleep?”
  “What sleep? I have to get up in two hours.”
  “The blade is sharp enough.”
  
  378
  “I talked to Anja. She said she spoke with you.”
  “The Mystic.”
  “Uh-huh.”
  “What did she tell you?”
  “I don’t remember.”
  “And you are not afraid?”
  “I’m too tired to be afraid. Get some sleep.” Greg closed his eyes to wel-
  come dreamland when her voice snatched it away once more.
  “I was willing to die,” Natessa said quietly.
  “So was I,” Greg replied.
  “I wanted to die. I wanted it to be over. When I realized you had saved me, 
  I did not know what to do. I cannot express the sensations.”
  “Near-death experiences do that sometimes. I should know.”
  “When I found the knife, I was going to end my own life, but the will to 
  live inside me kept me from doing it. I thought about attacking you when you 
  returned, forcing you to kill me, but you did not deserve that. The things I 
  have done will not let me rest. I do not know what to do.”
  “You can leave any time, go anywhere you want. It’s your life now. If you 
  need time to work things out, do it. I understand.”
  “How could you? I have done all the things people hate me for and many 
  far worse than you understand. I am everything you should fear and hate and 
  the horrors I have committed on other living beings is a pain I cannot express 
  or free myself of.”
  Greg rolled over on his side and made out her face in the dark. The marble 
  mask was gone, replaced by trembling lips and a forlorn expression. She’d 
  been alone with her thoughts all day. He didn’t know what to say.
  “I’ve been in the Coalition military eight years, and in that time I’ve done 
  many things I’m not proud of and sent many, many men and women to their 
  deaths on the orders of my superiors. I have to live with that and move on 
  or it will eat me up inside. I keep busy, so I don’t have to think about it, but 
  that’s not a solution, it’s just a shield. Move on to something else before the 
  past catches up.”
  “How?”
  “I wasn’t offering that as good advice. It’s not.”
  “Then how?”
  “I don’t know. I hit the gym, lift weights, run in the morning, do endless 
  laps in the pool until I’m too exhausted to feel the anger or pain. It’s a poor 
  substitute, but it’s kept me sane. At the end of the day, you have to be willing 
  to talk about it too. There’s no shame in talking with someone about what 
  you’re going through.”
  “That is what I will do as well.”
  
  379
  “We can do it together.” He rolled over onto his back. “Just not tomorrow. 
  Today! Whatever it is right now. We can start running and working out some 
  other morning.”
  “I do not want to be in here. I need something to do.”
  “Can you handle being around people and blending in?”
  “I know how.”
  “Want to come with me in the morning? Watch my back? I might need a 
  bodyguard, just in case my sergeant is up to something.”
  “Yes.”
  “Good.” He yawned. “Now lay down and repeat after me... Sleeep... 
  Sleeeeeeep... Sleeeeep.”
  Greg was sound asleep in the middle of the third repetition.
  ____________________
  “Cowboy! What the hell do you need eleven Fusion Blocks for!?” Brian’s 
  tirade reached the inevitable point in the ritual of arming.
  “You don’t understand, buddy, I need them!” Cowboy leaned over the 
  folding table and pointed to the cases of ordnance stacked behind Brian.
  “Me too!” Cody seconded.
  “You can’t possibly carry that many, even if you could use them all!”
  “Hey, that’s what we all bought these duffel bags for.”
  Cowboy’s squad tossed large, identical blue duffel bags on Brian’s table.
  “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you’re serious. Look at your belt, 
  Cowboy. Both of you. All of you! You’ve got two, three, four, six Fusion 
  Blocks on you already!”
  “I need more.”
  “What the hell for!?”
  “And we need some grenades, too,” Nim added.
  “And none of them wussy firecracker H.E.s. We want the good stuff.” 
  Robert pointed to one of the cases.
  “You know what, forget this.” Brian threw up his hands. “Here, go ahead. 
  Help yourselves. It’s all leftovers from Pritchett’s APC, so go ahead, take 
  whatever you want!” He gestured wildly at the stacks of military cases.
  The lights in the soldiers’ eyes came on like it was time to open presents 
  on Christmas morning.
  “Really?”
  “Go right ahead. Take the whole case. Heck, take all the cases! I don’t 
  care! It’s not like anyone else is going to need this stuff!”
  Brian sidestepped the charge and left the scene before he got trampled. 
  Like a pack of starving wolves, the soldiers of Cowboy’s fire team descended 
  on the stack of ordnance. Brian walked over to where Lisa leaned on the 
  front left wheel of the Coalition APC. A smile on her lips infected Brian as 
  
  380
  he leaned on the wheel with her to watch the squad pack on enough ordnance 
  to arm a company.
  “Winters is going to be mad,” Lisa chided.
  “He can try and take it all away from them if he wants.”
  Sunlight was just peeking through early morning clouds as the Coalition 
  convoy prepared to move out at the edge of town. An unusual number of 
  First Strike mercenaries were present, along with the wilderness scout Lieu-
  tenant Merrick had hired days before to spy on the rebel army. The woman 
  was like a shadow to Merrick’s movements, never far and never in the way. 
  Brian looked around to see who was missing and was surprised to see most 
  everyone was there, if not gearing up to leave then saying last farewells and 
  trying to ease tensions. Cowboy and company were going through the final 
  stages of arming, each with bulging duffel bags and loaded from head to foot 
  with explosives. Brian noted with a smile the empty cases strewn around his 
  makeshift station. They’d taken everything, even the wussy firecracker high 
  explosives.
  “You know if one of them goes up, it’s going to chain and kill everyone,” 
  Lisa observed.
  “Yeah,” Brian mused, imagining big popcorn kernels popping in an open 
  field. “I’m actually going to miss all this.”
  Lisa’s head snapped over to catch Brian’s expression. “You’ve decided 
  not to go? You’re in uniform and armor.”
  “I haven’t decided yet. And you’re in your armor too. Does that mean 
  you’re going?”
  “You’d better make up your mind. They were supposed to leave ten min-
  utes ago.”
  “Brian, Lisa, have you checked in with Winters yet?” Greg asked.
  “Hi, Lieutenant,” Lisa chimed.
  “Actually, sir, we haven’t decided yet.” Brian eyed Lisa and felt his heart 
  flutter.
  Merrick stood beside him in his scarred Explorer armor, helmet in hand 
  and sidearm in holster. His long hair blew in the breeze and his unshaven 
  appearance was starting to make him look like one of the locals. The tired, 
  drawn lines on his face were still there, but the spark of life danced in his gray 
  eyes. Brian almost felt self-conscious, having showered, shaved, and pressed 
  his uniform and polished his armor.
  “You haven’t decided? Cutting it down to the wire, don’t you think?” 
  Greg asked.
  “Well, sir, we were thinking about it.” Lisa looked at Brian.
  “Okay, fine, who do I think I’m kidding?” Brian stood up straight, taking 
  control. “Sooner or later I’m gonna say the wrong thing to the wrong person 
  and my career will be over. I know this.”
  “And?” Greg prompted.
  
  381
  “So I guess that means I’m...” Brian looked into Lisa’s blue eyes and saw 
  the answering smile. She nodded. “We’re staying. Both of us,” he finished.
  “Glad to hear it.” Greg’s hand clapped Brian on the shoulder.
  “Thanks, sir.”
  “No ‘sirs’ anymore. It’s Greg now.”
  “Yes, sir... eh... Greg.” The words sounded strange to Brian.
  “You two better say your goodbyes to everyone else while you can. I 
  strongly doubt we’ll ever see each other again,” he admonished.
  “Thank you, Greg.” Lisa smiled and reached up to kiss him on the cheek 
  before grabbing Brian’s hand and dragging him to the gathering by the hover 
  rovers. Greg watched them go, seeing a joy both were experiencing for the 
  first time.
  Squads intermingled and eyes traveled in Greg’s direction as Sergeant 
  Winters walked over to join him at the APC.
  “About ready, Sergeant Major?” Greg leaned on the APC, making eye 
  contact.
  “Ready when you are, Lieutenant.” Winters stopped a foot from him and 
  leaned on the armor plating.
  Greg watched the pitifully few survivors of the ill-fated expedition pre-
  pare to go their separate ways. Arguments and counterarguments went no-
  where, but the remaining forces each believed strongly in their own paths and 
  were doing an admirable job of respecting the others’ decisions. Twenty-one 
  personnel of a force starting out with well over one hundred. Twenty-one 
  returning home to the lives they knew. It saddened Greg to see how few of 
  Pritchett’s force remained. A mere eleven of seventy-four from the beginning 
  of the journey, with only seven returning home. His own unit had survived 
  the perils of betrayal and combat mostly intact, now to be split apart forever 
  by a force nobody could ever have predicted. Twenty-one brave souls return-
  ing to face a vicious betrayer, and most likely, death.
  “Ya know, Lieutenant, some of yer men are very concerned about you.”
  “That’s a good start, Jerry. You come up with that approach or did they?”
  Neither looked at each other.
  “Some of ’em seem ta think them magic users you been hangin’ ’round 
  with got their mangy hooks in ya, makin’ ya do things, like abandon yer 
  country an’ all sorts a crazy stuff like that.”
  “I suppose you set them straight.”
  “Oh, I tried. I told ‘em yer juss bein’ stupid and you’d come ‘round after 
  you cooled off from this mission.” Winters waited for Greg to meet his dark 
  gaze.
  “I’m not going back, Jerry. This is my own free will; my decision.” He 
  looked at his old friend with sad determination. “Truth is that I’m just tired 
  of it. I can’t keep telling men to die for a cause I don’t believe in. I can’t give 
  people the propaganda and be okay with that being the reason they die. I’ll 
  
  382
  always love the Coalition and what they’ve done for you and me Jerry, but I 
  need to find my own way now.”
  Winters looked around to see more First Strike mercenaries than he’d ex-
  pected and the scout with the blue hair hovering near the squad that was 
  supposed to take Greg by surprise. His hand trembled on his holster in anger.
  “Got yer new pals here, eh? Gonna go with ’em and turn traitor after all.”
  Greg reached down and unsnapped his sidearm, never breaking eye con-
  tact with Winters. He knew the man too well.
  Winter’s face turned into a scowl, “So now what? Are you gonna throw 
  down? Aim that thing at us to make us think yer serious?”
  “I’ve never pointed a gun at anyone in my life who I wasn’t willing to 
  kill,” Greg said, cooly.
  Winters worked his jaw, angered that the plan was never going to work 
  now. Memories flooded back in his mind, adding weight to Greg’s words.
  “You aimed a gun at me, once.”
  “I know.” Greg waited.
  Winters’ shoulders slumped slightly and he stepped back, nodding at the 
  message he’d received.
  “So that’s the way it’s gonna be.”
  Greg extended his hand. Winters stared at it.
  “For old times’ sake, Jerry.”
  “For old times.”
  Jerry Winters clasped the hand of his lifelong friend for the last time, then 
  turned and signaled his men to abort the planned kidnapping. Seconds later, 
  Sergeant Winters was barking orders to the returning convoy, never once 
  looking back.
  The Coalition APC spearheaded the convoy out of Liberty and back into 
  the wilderness. Silent waves of farewell were the last to be seen of the return-
  ing hover rovers carrying loyal troops back home.
  Out of sight of each other, both parties felt suddenly alone.
  
  383
  Chapter 22
  Heroes on Hollow Hill
  Slow, deep breathing filled the R.V. in a steady tempo. Natessa listened to 
  Greg sleeping and smiled to herself when she thought of the “sleep depriva-
  tion mantra,” as he called it. The place was still too foreign for her to sleep 
  any measurable amount of time, so she sat on the orange and brown couch 
  and tried to block out the sensory overload.
  Tobacco smoke left its unmistakable odor embedded in the walls of the 
  R.V.; the scents of mildew, rotting wood, and other unknown things were 
  starting to fade into the background. The couch and every object she’d 
  touched in the R.V. was old and worn, each with imprints left by dozens of 
  tenants.
  She was still acutely aware of the sounds of the surrounding, sparsely 
  populated shantytown. Dogs barked, and by the tones, she could tell if they 
  were communicating warnings or greetings. There was a rat nesting in the 
  unused air conditioning unit in the ceiling, leaving its home periodically in 
  search of food for its babies. Every so often a voice or conversation would 
  come over from the tenants of the shantytown, but she sensed no ill will fo-
  cused on her. There was some curiosity, but none of the fear or loathing she 
  expected. Most didn’t care.
  Her first day of real freedom had been extremely difficult to adjust to. Be-
  ing immersed in the activity of a large town was almost unbearable. So much 
  going on, so many sounds, scents, and emotions all jumbled in one place. 
  The inhabitants tuned out their surroundings and concentrated on one thing 
  at a time, a habit she would need to adopt herself, especially being far more 
  attuned to the environment around her. There were times during the day when 
  she’d felt as though she couldn’t take it anymore and the urge to flee to fa-
  miliar wilderness surroundings became almost overpowering. Every so often, 
  Greg would take her aside and ask her how she was doing. She’d lie. Staying 
  near her guide of the strange new world, she’d found herself drawing on his 
  strength and stability to pull her through, though he most likely never knew it.
  Being present when the Coalition forces went their separate ways was 
  both terrifying and enlightening. The threat of violence and the conflicting 
  flood of emotions present had been difficult to sort out, but the release of 
  tension and reaching for hope from the ones who stayed behind had been 
  breathtaking. If they could leave behind everything they once knew and be-
  gin again, so could she.
  Greg had rounded up all the personnel staying behind and took them for 
  breakfast at a place called the Match Head pub. She’d almost bolted and 
  would have fled the sensory assault if Greg hadn’t taken her aside and asked 
  her if she wanted to leave. She’d wanted to, very badly, but set her mind to 
  push through to the next experience and entered the crowded room.
  
  384
  It took every effort of will to block out the surrounding world and concen-
  trate on the few senses that mattered. Crammed into two large booths, Greg 
  had been careful to leave her a spot on the end, a courtesy she appreciated 
  more than he knew. New tastes and textures of food were exotic experiences. 
  Things called a breakfast scramble and pancakes were served with various 
  spices and sweet syrup. An oat milk was served with the meal, contrary to 
  her expectations, she enjoyed it thoroughly. Normally food was something to 
  be wolfed down to quench an appetite; she never knew when the next chance 
  to eat would come. Humans enjoyed meals both as tasty nourishment and for 
  social gathering, each concept an alien one to her. Judging from the variety of 
  scents in the room, the breakfast dishes were only a tiny part of what would 
  become a new set of adventures in taste.
  Sitting with her shoulder and thigh pressed against Greg’s, she’d been re-
  minded of another world to explore, one of intimacy. It was both frightening 
  and exciting. After immersing herself in the subconscious thoughts Greg had 
  for her as an escape from the rest of the room, she’d been relieved when he 
  left the seat to chat with each former soldier individually.
  He’d given each person a credit card containing a substantial amount with 
  which to begin their new lives. For some reason, two of them, a male and 
  female whose names she didn’t remember, refused to accept the donation 
  for the fresh start. They were hiding something, she could sense that, but it 
  wasn’t malicious. They were happy and secretly enjoying the frequent body 
  contact the crowded booth forced them to share. Greg had given their cards to 
  others in the group. He’d advised everyone to come up with new names and 
  identities, just in case the returning forces got word of their survival.
  The only person not happy or filled with a zeal for life was Mike Sorenson. 
  He brooded over a foul-smelling beverage all by himself and made comments 
  from time to time that nobody seemed to take notice of. There were sorrow 
  and rage burning the man up inside, and Natessa found herself keeping track 
  of him to make sure he intended no harm to others in the establishment.
  The rest of the morning and early afternoon had been spent taking care of 
  tasks she knew little about and accompanying Greg to talk with people she 
  didn’t know. None seemed to recognize her for what she was, although there 
  was some suspicion felt around members of the mercenary company, First 
  Strike. Later in the afternoon he’d called it a day and headed back to the R.V. 
  She couldn’t have been more grateful, her head was nearly overflowing with 
  new experiences to process and new concepts to think over.
  Her mind drifted back to the Coalition soldiers that had chosen to return 
  to the lives they knew and homes far away. Some were filled with mind-
  less aggression, but most were experiencing heartfelt longing for people they 
  cared for. They knew the risks, and some even expected to die, but they were 
  willing to endanger their lives for the love of something left behind and the 
  embrace of lives they knew. There was a sadness at the departing company 
  
  385
  with close friends, but a conviction in their loyalty and a flame of hope to 
  carry them back to the ones they cared for so deeply.
  Past impressions mingled with flashes of carnage and battle. This was dif-
  ferent from the frequent sensory flashbacks that forced past memories to the 
  present, a constant struggle since she’d freed herself of slavery to Varles. A 
  touch, scent, or other sensory stimuli would trigger flashbacks to experiences 
  she’d blocked out in order to remain sane. It had only been eight months since 
  her birthing, but there had been a lifetime of atrocities committed in the name 
  of her master’s orders. She pushed the sensations and thoughts away and 
  concentrated on more pleasant things.
  Approaching sounds of speech drew her attention outside. Several indi-
  viduals had stopped along the crooked, muddy road and were working their 
  way to the R.V. Natessa sensed no immediate threat but pulled Greg’s MP-10 
  from its holster and tried to revive him from his slumber.
  “Wake up.” She tapped his arm. “Wake up.” She tapped harder.
  “Huh, uh, uh, what?” He sat up and banged his head on the fiberglass roof 
  above the loft. “Ow. We really need a bigger place.” He laid back down.
  “People are coming.”
  “What time is it?” He looked at his wrist comp. “It’s only been an hour. 
  The sun is still out.”
  “Here.”
  Greg felt the cold handle of his sidearm pushed into his hand, the feel of it 
  bringing his mind to fuzzy alertness.
  A knock sounded on the warped fiberglass door and he could hear several 
  voices talking outside.
  “Go away. I’m sleeping.”
  “It is me, Anja.”
  “What the ...?” Greg groaned, swinging his feet off the loft and lowering 
  himself to the uneven floor. He pulled the bent metal latch back and swung 
  the door open. Anja and Sir Renfield led a compilation of people clad in body 
  armor and geared up for battle. Behind them, a large D-Bee whose name 
  Greg couldn’t recall watched him with expectant puppy dog-like eyes.
  “Sorry to wake you, Lie-, Mr. Merrick, but we need your help,” Sir Ren-
  field began.
  “Uh, okay.” Greg’s sleep-fogged brain wasn’t awake yet.
  “Can we come in and talk with you?” Anja asked, stepping up to the door-
  way.
  “Sure, I guess, come on in.” Greg waved them in, noticing too late that he 
  was bidding them to enter with a handgun. He put it back in its holster and 
  clipped the belt around his waist, all the while being forced farther and far-
  ther back in the tiny R.V. by the influx of visitors. He found himself pushed 
  up against Natessa where the rotted wood door to the restroom met the back 
  of the dining area bench. The old R.V. creaked and shuddered. Sir Renfield 
  
  386
  pushed his way to the front, a loud pop and cracking sound making him a 
  foot shorter than everyone else. Stepping gingerly out of the hole in the rotted 
  floor paneling, he tried to distribute his weight over the reinforcement beams 
  below.
  “Sorry. I’ll have someone fix that for you.”
  “Don’t worry about it.” Greg stared at the hole, his groggy brain trying to 
  get itself in gear. “I was planning on moving anyway.”
  “Good to see you again, Natessa.” Anja smiled and got a barely percep-
  tible nod in return.
  “I’m assuming this is important?” Greg looked around at the crowd inside 
  and at the giant head that had poked itself through the door.
  Targo accidentally brushed the R.V., nearly tipping it over and cracking 
  the window.
  “Sorry,” his deep rumble washed over the inside of the mobile home.
  “There’s a good reason you woke me, broke my window, and put a hole in 
  my floor?” Greg grumbled, now finally awake.
  “Sorry,” Sir Renfield and Targo apologized in unison.
  “There is, Greg,” Anja wormed past the Cyber-Knight. “And we thought 
  you might want to help.”
  “Several scouts have spotted Zenjori Suka’s mercenaries moving to a train 
  yard west of town,” Sir Renfield reported.
  “I wish I could tell you more, but you may want to hold off attacking the 
  Army of the New Order for a few more days,” Greg advised. “I believe First 
  Strike may have plans for Zenjori Suka.
  “We would, Greg, but your friends, the ones who left this morning, are in 
  great danger.” Anja’s eyes emphasized her words.
  “They knew the dangers when they left.”
  “But I’ve seen a vision of the future like I did before the battle at 
  Youngstown. It’s Zenjori Suka and his army that will kill your friends unless 
  we stop him.”
  “How do you know?”
  “Sometimes I see things before they happen, how things will happen if 
  nothing is changed. I’ve seen visions of cyborgs killing your friends and I 
  know Zenjori Suka is there. I could feel it.”
  “Okay.” Greg sounded doubtful.
  “I too believe they are in danger,” Natessa spoke up.
  “How?”
  “I do not have the words to describe it, but I feel your men will die. Maybe 
  it is the same as what Anja feels.”
  “Sir Renfield, have the scouts confirmed that Zenjori’s army has moved 
  within striking distance of the return route?” Greg searched for more concrete 
  proof.
  
  387
  “That’s what I’ve been told. I have it on the authority of some trustworthy 
  sources.”
  “We’re going with or without you,” Cyndiara spoke up from her place 
  standing on the couch.
  “Assuming you’re correct, and Zenjori is going to ambush the convoy, 
  how can we stop it? He still has ‘Borgs and robots, and we’ve got nothing 
  significant to throw against him.”
  “Van’s working with Darren on fixing his power armor,” Anja voiced.
  “And we already spoke with your former tech officers. They’re trying to 
  get your SAMAS units ready to go,” Sir Renfield added. “And I have my 
  Samson power suit and Targo is as good or better than any robot.”
  “How far away is Winters?” Greg’s mind started working again, formulat-
  ing battle strategies and tactics.
  “How far could they have gone?”
  “Farther than you might think, even with the APC slowing them down.”
  “You could warn them,” Sir Renfield suggested.
  “Yep.” Greg punched a code on his wrist comp — the only thing left of 
  his Coalition paraphernalia — and hoped old habits died hard for others too. 
  “Brian. Brian, do you copy?”
  “This is Brian. They found you, sir?” Brian’s voice sounded tinny and 
  distant over the small communicator.
  “Yeah, I need you to find Lisa and have her power up the Skull Walker’s 
  communications system.”
  “Already did, sir.”
  “You know about the possible risk to Sergeant Winters and the convoy?”
  “Yes, sir.”
  “Have Lisa send —”
  “We already did, sir.”
  “Good thinking. What did he say?”
  “We didn’t get anything back. Lisa said the APC’s comm system was 
  replaced with an inferior one. It probably doesn’t have the range to transmit 
  back to us.”
  “Repeat the warning several times, I think Private Yoshi and Gerald are 
  at the controls.”
  “Lisa’s still trying.”
  “I sincerely hope you didn’t tell Winters where the warning came from.”
  “C’mon, sir, I’m not stupid.” Brian sounded offended. “We just left a few 
  things out and stretched the truth a little. If Sergeant Winters got the message, 
  he’ll be ready.”
  “How are the SAM’s doing?”
  “Not good. Gizmo and I are trying to get one finished. The other two are 
  in pretty bad shape. The one we haven’t taken apart is in no shape to go out.”
  “Get them ready anyway. Where’s Sorenson?”
  
  388
  “Looking for Sharp and the others. We couldn’t find them.”
  “I’ll be over there in a few minutes. Have a SAM warmed up and ready to 
  go. Zenjori isn’t killing our friends on their way home.”
  “Yes, sir.”
  “Brian, don’t call me sir.” Greg clicked the communicator off.
  “We can’t keep up with your SAMAS units,” Sir Renfield cautioned.
  “I know. Darren’s SAM doesn’t have wings, so he can go with your group. 
  We need a squad to go ahead and give Winters armored support and you 
  might not get there in time. Sorenson and I will go ahead and find the return 
  convoy, make sure they got the warning, then radio you their coordinates.”
  “What about Zenjori Suka?” Cyndiara asked. “I thought we were going 
  after him.”
  “If Anja is right, we find our convoy, we’ll find Zenjori Suka, correct?”
  “Yes, I believe so.” Anja looked at Cyndiara to give confirmation.
  “But what if he’s not there? He could get away again.”
  “We’ll not rest this time until that villain is dead,” Sir Renfield vowed.
  “We’ve all failed before. How is this different?” Cyndiara’s features hard-
  ened, hatred of Zenjori seeping into every word she spoke.
  “I will find this man,” Natessa volunteered, feeling the intensity of the 
  Burster’s dedication. That was something she understood. “If all you want is 
  to kill this man, I can do that.”
  “That’s not enough. I want to make him pay.” Cyndiara clenched her teeth 
  together.
  “How will you find him?” Greg asked.
  “Give me his general location. I have tracked... animals for weeks to cap-
  ture them,” Natessa replied, determination in her voice.
  “If you do find him, please tell us before you do anything,” Sir Renfield 
  admonished, not sure what to think of the mysterious woman.
  “I’ll go with you,” Mr. Kent volunteered. The scarred Wilderness Scout 
  tried to get Natessa to make eye contact, but without success. “I have an idea 
  where Zenjori’s base camp is. You’ve done this type of thing before?”
  “Yes.”
  “You two keep in touch with us.” Greg unbuckled his belt and moved 
  aside so he could hand it to Natessa.
  “I have some extra radio sets. I’ll see she gets one.” Mr. Kent paused, then 
  moved out through the small door.
  Natessa hesitated, then worked her way as quickly as possible through the 
  maze of bodies, making as little contact as possible.
  “That all you’re taking?” Sir Renfield watched the woman grab a pair of 
  soft-soled boots in one hand and carry Greg’s MP-10 caseless in the other.
  “Yes.” She hopped out the door.
  “Sir Renfield, you’ll coordinate the ground attack force, okay?” Greg sug-
  gested, taking command of the operation without a second thought.
  
  389
  “That’s acceptable. If you’re flying in by SAMAS, it could be hours be-
  fore we catch up and can offer support.”
  “Hopefully I’ll get to Winters before Zenjori does and we’ll work with 
  our scouts to keep track of Zenjori and his army. They won’t get away.” 
  Greg looked into Cyndiara’s green eyes. “When you all arrive, we’ll combine 
  forces and finish this for good.”
  “One thing.” Cyndiara’s eyes flashed.
  “What’s that?”
  “Zenjori’s mine.”
  ____________________
  “Something’s wrong,” Drake mumbled, searching the road and distant 
  hillside with telescopic vision for some sign of the Coalition convoy that 
  should have reached the river hours before.
  “Patience, Drake,” Zenjori soothed, perched in a man-made blind by the 
  side of the rugged dirt road.
  His army lay in ambush on the northern side of the river, waiting for the 
  convoy to arrive to the stretch of old highway that approached the old town 
  of Hancock, Maryland. They would strike when the Coalition forces were in 
  the open and most vulnerable. Having lost their contact in First Strike, his 
  army had to rely on their own scouts for intelligence. The last report from 
  their spotters along the road indicated the Coalition convoy was a mere four 
  miles away and only a few minutes from the stretch of road that hugged the 
  river. Unfortunately, since the scout’s report, they’d lost contact with him.
  “They’ve spotted us somehow and turned back.” Drake stood.
  “We’d have heard from Barm if they had. They may have gotten that ri-
  diculous APC stuck again.”
  “Neriff should have reported in. Something is wrong. It’s almost dark.”
  “Perhaps they made camp for the night. But you’re right. Something pe-
  culiar is going on. Kruno!” Zenjori called on the radio, his Terrain Hopper 
  power suit hopping down for a better view of the river and the Multibot’s hid-
  ing place. Most of Carnivore Squad was on the front-line, with Sledgeham-
  mer Squad scattered along the west bank to ensure nobody made it through.
  “Yah! What’s up, boss!?”
  “Send a small squad up the road to find out what the Coalition is doing.”
  “They’re probably takin’ a leak. I’ll send Tabben, Pedro, and Melis ta go 
  check ‘em.”
  “Fine. Send whoever you want,” Zenjori snapped.
  It was bad enough leaving base camp defended by a few of Kruno’s new 
  recruits but having to put up with their undisciplined behavior on the battle 
  line was testing Zenjori’s patience. Two rat-like D-Bees with makeshift ar-
  mor and battered weapons started bounding up the road, darting from tree to 
  
  390
  tree along the edge. A third, a human in patched Plastic Man armor, sauntered 
  along behind them as if he was simply on a leisure stroll.
  “I assume you gave them radios?” Zenjori asked, having learned not to 
  assume anything.
  “I think Pedro has one.”
  “Check, please.”
  “You got it, boss.” There was a pause. “Yep, Pedro’s got ears on.”
  “How thoughtful of you to check before you sent them on recon.”
  “Whatcha want us ta do now?”
  “Stay put.”
  “Those fools are going to blow our ambush,” Drake observed.
  “As you said, something is wrong. Our ambush may be lost. Send two, 
  four-man teams down the river and another two up it, just to make sure the 
  Coalition isn’t trying to sneak past us.”
  “We’d have heard their hover rovers.”
  “But if they do get over the river, there’s nothing stopping them from leav-
  ing the APC behind and going full speed with their hovercraft.”
  “... And we’d never catch them. I’ll send the squads, Suka San.” Drake 
  started relaying orders to his ‘Borg units and remaining Headhunters.
  Zenjori knelt back behind concealment and waited. He could hear the 
  ‘Borgs crashing along the banks up and downstream, but it was Kruno’s Mul-
  tibot that kept drawing his attention.
  Concealed in a clump of trees, it passed the time by crouching and then 
  standing, crouching then standing again, each time knocking the poor hatch 
  gunner in the head with oak branches.
  “Kruno, please stop that. You’ll give away your position.”
  The wait continued.
  When Zenjori had reached the point where he didn’t care which robot 
  crew should be executed first, the call came in from the scouting party.
  “Hey, boss, Pedro says the Dead Boys aren’t on the road.”
  “That’s fantastic, Kruno. Does Pedro say where they are at?”
  “Ratlings is sneakin’ up on the APC. It’s off the road stuck in a ditch. 
  Nobody ’round it. Wait. Pedro says Melis just bought it. So did Tabben. Co-
  alition crawler’s got a crew. No rovers ’round it.”
  “That’s strange. Tell Pedro to just watch and not do something stupid like 
  the Ratlings.”
  “He’s sittin’ on a stump gnawin’ a turnip.”
  “And that, means what to me?”
  “He ain’t drawin’ fire, just like—”
  “Shut up, Kruno. Stop acting like a fool and get Carnivore together for 
  the attack.”
  “No ambush?”
  
  391
  “What does it sound like? Assemble and move down the road and take 
  out the APC.”
  “It’s a hook squirmer.”
  “What?” Zenjori asked after a long pause and a failed attempt to make 
  sense of Kruno’s statement.
  “They’s just usin’ it as bait. I’m bettin’ they know we’re camped out down 
  here and want us to come to them.”
  “Then take out the APC cautiously. Just get rid of it and find out where the 
  rest of the convoy went.”
  “Sledgehammer’s gonna back us this time?”
  “Do what I’m telling you!” Zenjori shouted, feeling the calm control he 
  usually possessed slip away. “Find them and kill them!”
  ____________________
  More curses followed the arc of the tool as it sailed across the garage. 
  Greg and Mike exchanged looks, but let Brian do his job his own way.
  “SAM 419 is hosed. I can’t get that jet to work!” Brian kicked the replace-
  ment maneuver jet and it fell off the SAMAS to the concrete floor. “That’s a 
  stripped hover jet off a Sky King. It wasn’t meant for a SAM.”
  “So, my SAMAS won’t have as much maneuverability,” Mike conceded. 
  “I got it back here like that, I can fly it like that.”
  “What about SAM 117?” Greg asked, already knowing the answer. The 
  power suit lay in various stages of reassembly.
  “Twenty-four hours, if I could work on it that long.” Brian’s bloodshot 
  brown eyes pleaded for rest.
  “How far did you get with armor repairs?” Mike inquired.
  “Gizmo and I only figured on getting one SAM operational. SAM 312 is 
  close to spec. Best I can do with 419 is spend an hour or two spot bonding 
  armor patches and tell you not to get hit... at all.”
  “If that’s what it takes, do it.” Mike looked over his SAMAS, realizing 
  Brian’s estimate of its combat effectiveness was optimistic.
  “Take mine” Greg offered. “I’ll fly 419.”
  “That almost sounded like you wanted me to take your SAM and you’d 
  fly my hunk of garbage.”
  “Don’t push it. Go on, take 312 before I change my mind.”
  “I can fly 419, I just won’t be much good to you.”
  “Mike, let’s cut the macho crap. We both know you’re the better pilot. 
  You were flying these things when I was still hoofing it with the grunts. Take 
  SAM 312, I’ll back you as best I can with 419.”
  Mike looked at his former military rival and wondered if it was some kind 
  of trick. No, Greg was sincere. He could see it. He was the better pilot of the 
  two, but he envied Greg’s ability to command far more that his skill at pilot-
  
  392
  ing. Mike would have given up all his skills and military training just to do 
  what Merrick could with a look.
  “Okay. I’m on point then,” Mike agreed.
  Greg smiled. “No argument on that. Do what you can, Brian. Quickly.” 
  Greg patted the tech on the shoulder. “We’ll be on our way as soon as you’re 
  done.”
  ____________________
  Private Yoshi swung the sensor turret a full 360 degrees, searching for 
  another target. Several minutes had passed since she’d opened up on the two 
  rat-like creatures trying to sneak up on the APC.
  “Ben, you done with the booby traps yet?” she asked, feeling more and 
  more like a trapped animal the longer they stayed in the immobile APC.
  “Just a sec. I’ve still got to wire the other top hatches.” Ben ran a cord to 
  one of them and started rigging it into a charge set to blow on delay.
  “Hurry up. You’re leaving us a way out, right?” She left the pilot’s seat 
  and started climbing back into the rear compartment.
  The APC shuddered, and Yoshi turned to get back on the guns. The pi-
  lot’s compartment exploded inward, shrapnel reaching the rear compartment. 
  Yoshi slumped through the inner compartment hatch, blood gushing every-
  where.
  “No!” Ben dropped the cord and rushed to her.
  The APC rocked again, smoke and sparks coming from a hole in the side. 
  Ben didn’t have time to see how bad Private Yoshi was hurt, desperation 
  cutting through the fear and making him take action. He hit the switch and 
  opened a side hatch, then dragged her to the door and dropped the three feet 
  to the bottom of the ditch. More incoming fire shifted the APC’s position. He 
  didn’t know where it was coming from, only that he had to get away and take 
  Yoshi to safety. Bending down, he pulled her out the hatch onto his shoulders 
  and stumbled up the short embankment into the tree line, blood running down 
  his black armor to the ground.
  Explosive shock waves jerked the earth and forced Ben to his knees, but 
  he kept his balance and pitched back into a clumsy run. The APC blew apart, 
  shrapnel and components raining down in the trees around him. Laser fire 
  passed him from somewhere behind, Ben not bothering to check where. He 
  was almost there. He could make it.
  Something hit his legs and the ground jumped up all around him. The dust 
  cleared and he picked himself up from the blast crater. Spying Yoshi laying a 
  few feet away, he crawled to her to resume the dash to safety. Muddy stumps 
  of reddish material formed the ends of her legs. Dirt and dust settled on open, 
  glazed eyes.
  “Yoshi! Yoshi!” He shouted, knowing it was too late.
  
  393
  Pain registering across his back, Ben got up on wobbly legs and dashed 
  frantically the last thirty feet to the trench.
  Crossing the field and open trails behind him dozens of rebel troops 
  opened fire.
  Ben never made it to the trench.
  ____________________
  Rows of weapons passed Drake’s final inspection, but the last of his 
  ‘Borgs had yet to return from checking the river. The Coalition convoy had 
  been located.
  “Hey, boss! APC’s toast an’ we got at least two Dead Boys,” Kruno re-
  ported over the radio.
  Zenjori paced the battle lines two miles away, waiting for Sledgehammer 
  Squad to reach full strength before joining them in battle.
  “Good, Kruno. Where are the rest?”
  “Dug in on a hill ’bout four kilometers away. Got ’bout twenty of my boys 
  pinned down in a trench at the base of the hill.”
  “Surround the Coalition position immediately and give me an estimate on 
  numbers and firepower.”
  “You got it.”
  “Why didn’t you have Kruno attack?” Drake asked.
  “Contain, then eliminate. If the Coalition is dug in, a frontal charge is 
  premature.”
  “Depends on who you send in first.”
  “Exactly.” Zenjori rubbed the exoskeleton’s hands together gleefully. 
  “Off to a clumsy start, but all too easy.”
  ____________________
  “Watch and limit yer fire,” Winters ordered. “Just keep ’em pinned.”
  Dug into a hastily made trench network on a defendable hill, Coalition 
  troops laid down sporadic fire at the group of Headhunters and rebel recruits 
  taking refuge from the elevated fire. A convenient trench at the base of the 
  hill gave the rebels an excellent place to hide while waiting for backup to 
  arrive.
  “Now, Sarge?” Cody asked, fondling a remote detonator.
  “Do it.”
  “Here’s the Lieutenant Adams Special, Mark Two.”
  Cody thumbed the safety and pressed the trigger. Fusion Blocks spaced 
  evenly the length of the trench blew upwards in rapid sequence. It wouldn’t 
  have mattered if the rebels had been better armored, the effect would still 
  have been the same. Unrecognizable body parts and gear fragments rained 
  down amid the hovering dust cloud above the kill zone.
  
  394
  “Whoooh! Yeah, baby, get some!” Cowboy shouted from a trench closer 
  to the former rebels’ position.
  Cheers from the unit echoed on every side of the entrenched position. 
  Sergeant Winters watched the settling dust cloud and smiled, forgetting for 
  the moment what he thought of the deserters. The garbled warnings had been 
  right.
  “Wire the next one, Cody.”
  “You got it, Sarge!”
  ____________________
  Zenjori paced faster, agitated but still in control. Losing a third of Carni-
  vore team before the assault even began wasn’t part of the plan. Neither was 
  the Coalition having a defendable position, with row after row of trenches to 
  fall back on up the hill and the ground they gave up too dangerous for Zenjori 
  to risk taking head on.
  He hated the Coalition. Before it was never really hatred, more conve-
  nience. After all, one had to have an enemy to heap one’s woes upon and use 
  as the great evil for gathering an army. Now it was different. Zenjori gave 
  way to the emotion of blistering hatred. The battle was to go on until every 
  Coalition soldier was dead.
  “Kruno! Status!?”
  “They got that hill. Even got two rovers dug in up there with rail guns for 
  support to boot. Must be fifty Dead Boys ringin’ it. Lost seven more tryin’ 
  ta git in position. No way we can surround ’em without goin’ way out of our 
  way,” Kruno’s report blared over Zenjori’s helmet radio.
  “They’ve dug their rovers in?”
  “Yep. Right up past the jets.”
  “They aren’t going anywhere. Pull Carnivore back around to the north-
  west side and make a concentrated assault there.”
  “I’m punchin’ them rail guns out with missiles first.”
  “Do not waste our medium-range missiles on a pair of rovers with rail 
  guns!”
  “Whatever, yer the boss.”
  “Breach the northwestern defenses and Sledgehammer will use the hole 
  to take the hill.”
  “Just explain it real good ta Drake first,” Kruno broadcast over open chan-
  nels.
  Drake started for Carnivore’s position, but Zenjori hopped his exoskeleton 
  over him and came down in the ‘Borg’s path.
  “That’s the last time. I’m not taking it anymore.” Drake tried to step 
  around his commander.
  “Wait. Let him attack the hill. Then wait some more.”
  “What if he wins?”
  
  395
  “Then you can settle the offense. Either way, it’s time to be rid of Carni-
  vore Squad for good. Kruno is no longer an asset.”
  ____________________
  “How many mediums we got left?” Kruno asked his robot’s gunner.
  “Two. H.E.s.”
  “What about the Forager?”
  “Four. Two scorchers, a frag, and one smart A.P.”
  “Tell Britt to put the A.P. on that rail gun to the south, and we’ll use one 
  of our H.E.s on the northwest one.”
  “But, Zenjori said not to use our mediums,” the Headhunter objected.
  “We still got some mini-missiles,” the pilot offered.
  “No good. They’ve got the high ground. Any place we move to shoot they 
  can drop steel on us. Take them rail guns out first.”
  “Goin’ to manual targeting.”
  The gunner switched over so he could fire the missiles without a solid 
  lock. The two robots stood on a rise, partially concealed by trees a little over 
  a kilometer and a half away; the remainder of Carnivore Squad gathering at 
  the Multibot’s feet. Missile trails left just seconds apart and crossed the gap 
  on either side of the enemy position. In the thickening twilight, two explo-
  sions left the hillside, one a bright flash and the other a slower detonation with 
  trailers that reached down the hillside for several seconds. Kruno waited for 
  the sonic concussions to pass before giving the order to advance.
  ____________________
  Robbed of long-range suppressive fire and another four men down, Ser-
  geant Winters waited to see if the missile barrage would continue.
  “Man, those were our rides.” Cowboy looked at the mangled hovercraft 
  and absent rail guns.
  “Mark an’ Kenny bought it on the east,” Cody reported.
  “Two of Pritchett’s on the west. Althea and that tech, Martin,” Robert 
  added from his spot closest the west hillside.
  “What are they waiting for?” Cowboy checked his scope, wishing it were 
  either day or night, not that twilight that made his optics useless.
  “Here they come!” A soldier in one of the lower trenches shouted as rebel 
  troops broke into firing lanes radiating out from the hill.
  “Fire at will!” Winters roared. “Lance, Willy! Git yer butts back on the 
  north side!”
  “Incoming!” Trenton shouted, sprinting for the lowest trench, narrowly 
  being missed by a mini-missile from somewhere out in the twilight.
  Weapons fire rained down from the hill and sporadic shots were returned 
  from the rebel infantry assault. Rail gun and ion beams ripped into the hill 
  
  396
  from beyond the visible line of sight. Blast craters cut away at trenches and 
  kinetic steel drove through to slay the soldier next to Trenton.
  “Where’s that coming from!?” Nim shouted, dispatching a Headhunter at 
  fifty yards with a crisp plasma blast.
  Laser fire converged on his spot, but Nim ducked and crawled past it. The 
  laser rifles from the next trench up cut down the rebel fire team before it could 
  fire again. Ion beams cut the air in a gradual ascent up the hill, tearing through 
  another trench then following with rail guns to rip through where Cowboy 
  had last fired from.
  “Trenton! Get that thing off us!” Cowboy shouted, popping up to fire at 
  rebel squads trying to reach the base of the hill. The rebel squad took cover 
  in the nearest trench.
  “I can’t find it!” Trenton shouted.
  “Cody! Hit number three!” Nim ordered, not sure how many rebel troops 
  had made it into the deadly cover.
  Detonations threw up a dust and bone wall at the base of the hill, pausing 
  the firefight momentarily while both sides scrambled to reposition during the 
  lapse in visual contact. Two ion beams continued staggered fire into the hill 
  unabated.
  “Shephard! Cover me!” Trenton ordered.
  “On the way!” Shephard used the dust wall to sprint from trench to trench 
  around the hill and join the fight on the north side.
  As the dust began to clear, the Coalition threw hand grenades into the reor-
  ganized rebel squads forming for the next charge. What little formation was 
  left in the rebel assault dissipated under withering fire, Headhunters and D-
  Bee warriors finding what cover they could in order to wait out Sledgeham-
  mer’s charge. One by one, they were found by invisible targeting beams and 
  eliminated. Several tried to flee the failed assault only to make easier targets 
  for the veteran troops on the hill.
  “Watch yer ammo!” Winters ordered, knowing the Army of the New Or-
  der wasn’t done yet. “Don’t fire unless ya got a target!”
  The ion cannon barrage continued, turning the north slope into a pock-
  marked landscape of smoking craters and secondary detonations from demo-
  lition placements that had been involuntarily detonated.
  “Where is that comin’ from?!” Winters watched another trooper sprint for 
  cover in a smoking trench and get ripped apart by kinetic steel.
  “They just got Silverston!” Cody cried.
  “Trenton! You got the rail gun! Get rid of it!” Winters yelled.
  Ion beams worked up the slope to the next trench.
  “Shephard! Cover me!” Trenton shouted, running down to join Nim in a 
  blast crater.
  
  397
  “Gotcha!” Shephard opened up full auto with his laser assault rifle set to 
  the lowest power setting, trying to distract and suppress the heavy firepower 
  coming from someplace out of sight.
  Ion beams and rail gun fire paused. Shephard’s head and part of his upper 
  body disappeared in hues of orange and white, crackling air to ozone and 
  body to atoms.
  “We’re gettin’ pounded!” Cody ducked into a trench and finished wiring 
  the charges laid down its length.
  “I can’t find ‘em!” Trenton searched for a target.
  The staggered ion barrage started walking along the trench above them. 
  Nim turned his head to face Trenton as the air popped above them. Trenton’s 
  mechanical features couldn’t show the sinking feeling they all felt. Out of 
  visual range, they were being pounded to death by one or more opponents 
  they couldn’t silence. It was only a matter of time. Nim nodded. Trenton 
  knew without words.
  Nim leapt up and started running the length of the hill, drawing the ion 
  beams and rail gun away from the soldiers in the upper trenches. Trenton 
  rolled out of the crater and sprinted for the smoking tree line, enemy eyes 
  watching his fellow solder’s diversion.
  Circling back, Nim’s eyes fell on the empty blast crater he’d just left. He 
  had to give Trenton more time. Bionic legs took him in an erratic pattern 
  across the hillside under constant fire. Armor smoking and legs leaking artifi-
  cial blood, Nim took cover at the south end of the hillside. Precious seconds 
  passed as determined cannon fire cut through earth to reach him. One more 
  pass.
  Legs buckled under the strain but Nim scrambled on, willpower not al-
  lowing his mechanical body to fail him. Back on his feet, he staggered across 
  the battlefield discharging his plasma cannon into the twilight until the barrel 
  glowed and the cell was dead. Converging fire ended his heroic run.
  Half a dozen rebel troops had fallen between the Coalition stronghold and 
  the two robots. Trenton shifted course slightly to crush a hairless D-Bee’s 
  skull with a passing stroke of his spiked elbow. The two enemy robots were 
  now in sight.
  Single-minded purpose drove the man and machine the last stretch, com-
  ing to the very feet of his targets before they realized he was there. The 
  X-500’s belly gun rotated down and aimed. Trenton opened up on the sen-
  sor cluster, putting four rail gun bursts into it as he slowed to a stop before 
  the Multibot. Barely reaching the twenty-six-foot tall robot’s knees, Trenton 
  dodged to the right of the slower unit and swung around behind it where its 
  ion cannon couldn’t reach. A startled hatch gunner tried to bring the mounted 
  rail gun down on him, but Trenton tore the mercenary’s head off with a well-
  aimed burst.
  
  398
  The Multibot’s entire body tried to turn on him, Trenton always staying to 
  its back as he’d done in thousands of video games. Smaller and far quicker 
  up close, the ‘Borg cut through the armor and mechanical workings of the 
  Multibot’s torso, each opening let the rail gun send metal to places where the 
  robot had no defense. Blinded and unable to see the event, the X-500 could 
  do nothing but listen to the shouts of dismay coming over the radio. Gears 
  ground and bearing supports snapped, the weight of the upper body urging 
  the Multibot down. It wobbled, then tipped back, missile launchers carrying 
  it over backward.
  Something burst out the sides and the upper half of the robot lifted off the 
  chassis before the disabled body crashed to the ground. Hover jets fired the 
  Multibot hovercraft off the humanoid machine. Trenton raised his left arm 
  and armor plates slid back as he prepared to defeat the multi-stage monster. 
  Three mini-missiles converged on the escaping craft and brought it crashing 
  down into the forest with a sickening thud.
  Two Headhunters fleeing the hillside battle reached the scene in time to be 
  ripped to shreds by Trenton’s rail gun.
  The X-500 was now alone.
  Trenton’s targeting dot fell on the exposed and occupied missile tubes. 
  A grenade damaged his forearm mini-missile launcher. He whirled to see a 
  figure clad in patched armor and coonskin adorned helmet approach from the 
  wreckage of the Multibot hovercraft. Trenton swung the rail gun and fired, 
  but the feed belt was severed. Another grenade and more laser fire came at 
  him. Trenton was mad.
  Cycling another round in the oversized handgun, Kruno aimed higher and 
  hit the heavy ‘Borg in the head, blowing off a metal eyebrow and shattering 
  the right eye. The other eye lit more brightly.
  “You son of a–” Kruno emptied the last round and tossed the empty weap-
  on aside. He slid a Vibro-Blade from a sheath on his back. “Now I’m gonna 
  hafta open up a whole can o’ whoop-ass on you, boy!”
  “I got your whoop-ass right here,” Trenton answered back, extending 
  three Vibro-Claws from his right forearm.
  They paced in a circle, each waiting for the other to move. Kruno caught 
  sight of his downed robots and dead soldiers and relaxed his posture. Still-
  ness in the air signed the end of Carnivore Squad. Kruno looked around and 
  listened to the silence. He put his blade back in its sheath. Trenton relaxed 
  his posture as well.
  “Now what?” Trenton asked hesitantly.
  “We walk. I’m done.” Kruno held up empty palms.
  “Just like that?”
  “Yep. I know when I’m beat. You win. Git back on the hill before Zenjori 
  Suka and Drake get here to back me up.”
  “Go.” Trenton waved.
  
  399
  “Here.” Kruno took off his prized coonskin cap and tossed it to Trenton. 
  “Souvenir.”
  Particle beams and plasma charges demolecularized Kruno’s body. What 
  was left of his flesh and blood vanished in the pile of melted bionic parts on 
  the forest floor.
  Trenton turned to find an old nemesis with four arms leading an array of 
  Headhunters and cyborg troops toward him. The rebel ‘Borgs fanned out 
  around him, and on command, the crescent cut Trenton to the ground.
  ____________________
  Uneasy calm descended on the Coalition stronghold, but hearts still 
  pounded for the next attack. The heavy guns were silenced. Trenton hadn’t 
  returned.
  The pause was a short one. Coming through the clinging smoke and haze, 
  Sledgehammer Squad hit the hillside with everything it had.
  Rail guns dropped two Coalition soldiers before anyone returned fire. The 
  first trench fell as nothing more than a skirmish to the squads of ‘Borgs and 
  mercenaries pouring up the hill. Bursts of Coalition weapons fire felled a 
  ‘Borg as it reached the next set of trenches, but four more stepped over its 
  burning body to fill the gap.
  “Fall back!” Winters barked, dropping an empty E-Clip in a trench and 
  slotting his last full one in its place. “Fall back to the top!” He grabbed Rob-
  ert by the shoulder plate and yanked him out of a trench, forcing the soldier 
  to flee for the last stand stronghold at the top of the hill. Mini-missiles and 
  heavy weapons fire came in waves, sweeping up the hill just in front of the 
  charging bionic army. Cowboy left blazing holes in another then grabbed his 
  teammate and scurried for the top. Only Cowboy made it.
  Winters ducked a wave of fire and then jumped up to dodge the next. Cody 
  was pinned down in a lower trench and not even the combined firepower 
  of the dwindling Coalition force could free him. Robert topped the hill and 
  plopped down in the trench to lay down cover fire for his friend. Before he 
  had landed in the depression, plasma and steel threw Robert’s lifeless body 
  back into its final resting place.
  “Sarge!” Cody waved, cover rapidly dissipating and ‘Borgs no more than 
  steps away. “Sarge!” He waved the detonator.
  “Damn!” Winters cursed, another of his men shredded in an attempt to 
  retrieve the detonator.
  Cody stood and hurled the detonator. His body was torn apart before the 
  device hit the ground.
  Twenty feet away in some brush, the detonator waited for Winters to make 
  the dash to retrieve it. The last of Pritchett’s unit rolled into the trench beside 
  him, most of the soldier’s left leg gone and spurting blood everywhere.
  “Go! Sergeant, go!”
  
  400
  Winters ran for the clump of shrubs, hearing a war cry from the trench he 
  just left silenced by overwhelming ordnance. Device in hand, he sprinted the 
  last few yards to the hilltop, enemy weapons fire nipping at his heels.
  Winters looked around the small trench in disbelief. He and Cowboy were 
  the only ones at the top.
  “Mark’s still down there!” Cowboy shouted.
  “Cover him!” Winters barked, crawling to an armored case set deep in the 
  back side of the position. “Buy me time!” He yelled, frantically finishing the 
  last codes of the detonator relay box.
  “Mark’s gone, Sarge! ‘Borgs just got him!” Cowboy ducked low, the up-
  ward angle of the hill the only thing keeping the advancing ‘Borgs from blast-
  ing through the trench and killing them.
  “Ten seconds!” Winters set the box to full detonation and rapidly attached 
  the score of wires leading into the destructive nexus. “Buy me ten seconds!”
  Cowboy held his gun over his head and emptied the canister.
  “I’m out!”
  “Here!” Winters shoved his plasma cannon over. “Eight seconds!”
  Cowboy grabbed Robert’s lifeless body and hurled it over the edge, using 
  the distraction to empty Winters’ weapon at the enemy. Plasma and metal 
  slugs tore apart the gun and took most of Cowboy’s right hand. With his left 
  hand, he slapped the ring of Fusion Blocks on his belt, each set to a five-
  second delay.
  Cowboy dove over the edge and rolled through the incoming fire right 
  into the first rank of advancing ‘Borgs. He stood, pausing the advance long 
  enough for them to turn his way.
  “Yippi-ca-yay mother fu--”
  The explosion caused the ground to jump up beneath Winters’ chest, 
  knocking the detonator from his grasp. It fell in the trench on the far side of 
  the earthen fort. He dove, slamming into the trench. Winters came up, deto-
  nator in hand, turning to greet the enemy with the last laugh.
  Winters body jerked violently to the right, his arm and active detonator 
  returning to earth. He stared at the shredded stump and drew the TX-5 pistol 
  from his belt with his left. He jerked back around and pointed the barrel at the 
  line of ‘Borgs topping the hill.
  “Oh, now you D-Bee luvin’ jerks have gone and really pissed me off!”
  
  401
  Chapter 23
  This little fire of mine
  Two Coalition SAMAS circled slowly and descended on the smoking re-
  mains of a battle not long past. The mangled body on the hillside lay still, 
  blast craters all around, hot from the fighting. Not a living thing stirred when 
  one of the flying exoskeletons landed at the last stand atop the hill and the 
  pilot got out to view the dead with naked eyes.
  Mike circled several more times and checked the surrounding area before 
  joining Greg at the hilltop. The former Coalition officer sat on the ground 
  toying with a device. Mike left his SAMAS running in case of a surprise at-
  tack. As Mike got closer, he noticed with some apprehension what Greg had 
  in his hand.
  On and Off. On and Off. Greg flipped the safety hood on the transmitter, 
  each time brushing the trigger with his thumb. The detonator nexus lay ex-
  posed a few feet away, wires leading into a series of small covered trenches 
  branching out all the way down the hill. Mike looked briefly at the remains of 
  the body at the top, not recognizable except for its insignia. Just over the rim, 
  what was left of Cody lay a few feet from the edge of a massive blast crater. 
  What had probably been Sergeant Winters lay in a trench, still clutching a 
  TX-5 with one round missing. The bodies in the trenches on the north side 
  of the hill looked untouched, as if the attacking army had simply retreated 
  without so much as removing a weapon or trophy of victory.
  “There’s nobody left, is there?” Greg asked, eyes not leaving the remote 
  transmitter.
  “Doesn’t look like it. APC’s burned out down the road and there are re-
  mains of a Multibot and two ‘Borgs down the hill, but nothing else.” Mike 
  looked around. “These were probably the last to go.”
  “There are mines all over, in the trenches, under bushes, everywhere. Fu-
  sion Blocks, grenades, everything. Jerry planned to take them with him.” 
  Greg still didn’t look up, Mike watching the transmitter with trepidation.
  “We didn’t get here in time.”
  “Eight years. Eight years Jerry and I served together. We grew up in the 
  ‘Burbs together, fought in the same gangs, joined the military at the same 
  time,” Greg went on, no emotion showing on his face. “I should have been 
  here.”
  “You’d be laying there in a trench just like the rest of them.”
  “I know.” Greg stopped flipping the safety. He felt numb, as though it 
  wasn’t all real. Sergeant Winters’ marred helmet lay in the trench at his feet, 
  but he hadn’t wanted to lift the faceplate, knowing reality would force the 
  tragedy to sink in. “I’ve been thinking about giving them a proper burial.” 
  Greg flipped the safety off.
  Mike watched in heart-stopping horror as Greg pressed the trigger.
  
  402
  Nothing happened. Greg tossed the detonator transmitter to Mike.
  “It’s broken.”
  Mike breathed again. “Don’t do that again, please. Do I want to know how 
  you knew it was broken?”
  “No.”
  “You could have told me first.”
  Greg stood and looked around, a grim expression on his face.
  “I just wanted to see if you still cared.”
  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Mike tossed the transmitter into the dirt.
  Greg’s gray eyes bored into Mike with an intensity that made him shud-
  der. Mike knew for certain what the former officer meant to do.
  “We’re going to make them pay.”
  ____________________
  Cheers and war cries filled the rebel camp. On a small flood plain near the 
  river where an old airport and train yard used to exist, the Army of the New 
  Order celebrated its latest victory. Though the cost had been high, word of 
  the triumph over the forces of the Coalition would spread to towns and vil-
  lages for hundreds of miles, and the Army of the New Order would soon be 
  an army again.
  “Well done, Drake. You’ve proved yourself once again,” Zenjori congrat-
  ulated his second in command.
  “Just promise me Kruno’s replacement won’t be some inbred hillbilly 
  again.”
  “Have no worries,” Zenjori beamed. “Sledgehammer will always be the 
  core of our army, with you to command the mechanized units. Meanwhile, 
  my friend Colnae will assemble a whole squad dedicated to magic and the 
  means to confuse and mislead our enemies. Whoever Kruno’s replacement is 
  doesn’t really matter.”
  “Good job, Drake.” Colnae extended his hand, but the ‘Borg didn’t ac-
  knowledge it; his disdain for magic was no secret.
  “Shame we couldn’t retrieve that arsenal on the hill.”
  “You saw it,” Drake defended his position. “The entire hill, on every side 
  and in every trench, behind trees, and every place you could think of. Mines, 
  explosives, and booby traps. We didn’t know what was wired to what. One 
  mistake and it could have taken out every single person who got close for all 
  we knew.”
  “I’m not upset. It would be nice to examine the battlefield and retrieve 
  anything of use, but the victory shouldn’t be tainted by unnecessary losses,” 
  Zenjori consoled.
  “The X-500 will have to wait too. We pulled it back to the river but the 
  Coalition cyborg destroyed the optics. It’ll have to be repaired where it is, out 
  in the open, and that can wait until tomorrow.”
  
  403
  “Relax, Drake, it was a fine victory. Enjoy it for a while.” Zenjori was 
  feeling himself again.
  “I left a squad to watch it and guard the crew. I will need a new crew in 
  the morning.”
  “Is that necessary?”
  “They were Kruno’s men. Loyal.”
  “I see. Replacing them is best. I agree.”
  “Then we’re staying here the night?” Colnae asked.
  “Absolutely.”
  “Good. I think I’ll expend what’s left in my saboteur now that I won’t 
  be needing her. She was far too easy, I’ll need a much stronger subject next 
  time.”
  “Maybe I’ll join you.”
  “I’ll take my time then.” Colnae gave a sinister grin and then headed for 
  the ruins of a warehouse where, after a while, Zenjori noted how the screams 
  echoed nicely in the riverside valley.
  “We should not let down our guard,” Drake warned, still all business.
  “Then I leave the camp in your capable hands. I have need of some diver-
  sion.” Zenjori got up, intent on taking a nice stroll around the encampment.
  ____________________
  Passive night vision goggles gave Mr. Kent a view of the rebel sentry hid-
  ing just behind a small mound in the flood plain, allowing him to approach 
  the camp unnoticed whenever the sentry wasn’t looking in his direction. It 
  was Natessa that first alerted him to the sentry’s location, though how she 
  knew he was there without binoculars, he couldn’t tell. The rebel camp it-
  self required no special vision enhancement as vehicle headlights and light 
  bars illuminated the celebration well amid the shadows of twilight. Mr. Kent 
  settled into a comfortable position in an overgrown boxcar and started look-
  ing for the rebel leader.
  He’d left his exhausted horse in a grove a kilometer away, having ridden 
  hard and switched over to the more dangerous railroad tracks for the final 
  few miles. He was more mystified by his companion of the evening than in-
  timidated, though he guessed she could have killed him at any time. The only 
  thing she’d said the entire trip was her name and that was only after several 
  proddings on his part. Natessa had refused to ride a horse, wear body armor, 
  or even carry a rifle, instead, securing her Vibro-Saber on her back and run-
  ning alongside his horse the entire distance. The only times she stopped to 
  rest were when Mr. Kent had paused to water his horse at creeks they passed.
  Though she was breathing heavy and obviously very weary, she never 
  uttered a word or slowed down the pace. The only people Mr. Kent had ever 
  seen keep up that kind of trek were augmented humans – Juicers and Crazies. 
  She showed no signs of artificial augmentation.
  
  404
  “Natessa, do you copy?” Mr. Kent used his sub-vocal modulator to con-
  tact his mysterious partner over the radio. No response. “Natessa. Natessa, 
  are you reading me?” Still no answer. She’d said something about checking 
  the ruins north of the camp and vanished in the darkness. Now Mr. Kent 
  wished he’d done a radio check first.
  “The man you seek is in a large building to the north,” her voice spoke 
  directly into his ear, having crept up beside him soundlessly.
  Mr. Kent breathed deeply, trying to stay calm through the flash of adrena-
  line her surprise appearance had given him.
  “I gave you a radio,” he responded, more irritated at being snuck up on 
  than the miscommunications.
  “I don’t like that thing in my ear.” She handed the radio back to him.
  “Learn to like it,” he grumbled, pushing it back at her. “Where’s Zenjori?”
  “He and another man are torturing a woman in an open building north of 
  the camp.”
  “You saw him?”
  “I know his voice.”
  “You’re sure?”
  “Yes.”
  “How many guards?”
  “None. I can kill both men.”
  Mr. Kent was torn between reporting in and helping Natessa finish the 
  rebel leader. Too many times Zenjori had slipped through the fingers of pur-
  suers.
  “Put that radio back on. I showed you how it works. Go watch and make 
  sure Zenjori doesn’t get away. I’ll tell the others we’ve found him.” Mr. Kent 
  scooted himself back out of the boxcar to get back to his horse. When he 
  dropped to the ground and popped his head back up, Natessa was already gone.
  ____________________
  “Merrick, where are you?” Mike called on the radio from inside his SAM.
  “Checking the detonation wires on the north slope.”
  “Mr. Kent just checked in. He’s found Zenjori and the rebels. Roughly six 
  kilometers from here.”
  “I’m on my way back up.” Greg finished rewiring a chain of Fusion 
  Blocks and carefully worked his way back up the hill using his multi-optics 
  band to retrace the treadmarks left by his own steps. Mike motioned with the 
  exoskeleton’s hand when Greg reached the top.
  “Our scouts say there’s no sign of any robots, just ‘Borgs, some Headhunt-
  ers, and the rebel leaders.”
  “Zenjori?” Greg stepped in front of SAM 312.
  “Tracking him right now. Mr. Kent doesn’t think the rebels are planning 
  on moving tonight, and they set up a very poor defensive position.”
  
  405
  “They’re not expecting an attack.”
  “No, and there’s something else. Remember that intermittent radar we 
  kept picking up on the way in? Well, it’s on now, active. If we go up we can 
  probably triangulate and pin it down. It’s close, within a kilometer or two.”
  “I have a better way.” Greg walked to his SAMAS, climbing up to the 
  head unit and ordering the power suit to active on all sensor systems.
  “What are you doing?!”
  “Going loud.”
  “They’ll know we’re here.”
  “Exactly.”
  ____________________
  Drake knocked the drink away from his second-in-command, his enraged 
  roar bringing a swift end to the evening’s festivities.
  “What was that for?” The Partial Conversion ‘Borg looked mournfully 
  at the splash of alcoholic liquid on the ground. Just because Drake couldn’t 
  enjoy it didn’t mean everyone else should suffer.
  “No more party. Arden just started picking up two Coalition SAMAS on 
  radar back at the hill. Get your gear!” Drake ordered.
  “I thought we got ’em all?”
  “The X-500’s radar is back up and it is saying there’s two SAMs. We go 
  finish them now!”
  “What about —”
  “Zenjori is busy. I’m in command. I’m telling you to get your gear.” Drake 
  picked up his own mini-missile launcher and pointed it at the sky. “Now!”
  ‘Borgs and Headhunters scattered across the camp to re-arm and hasitly 
  move out. No two SAMAS were going to spoil Drake’s victory. He was bent 
  on destroying every last soldier from the unit that had been dogging them 
  ever since they left the border of the Coalition States.
  ____________________
  Steel rounds bore down on the thirty-foot-tall X-500 robot, carving notch-
  es in the heavy armor and increasing the frequency of return fire from a squad 
  of four cyborgs guarding it. Greg tempted fate again, following Mike’s lead 
  for another run on the stationary robot. If it wouldn’t come to them, they’d 
  take the fight to it.
  Burning plasma struck the damaged leg of Greg’s SAMAS, invoking 
  curses of pain and surprise. The exoskeleton was handling like a brick and 
  couldn’t take much more punishment. Every turn and movement strained the 
  weakened frame and rattled armor patches. Something fell off into the forest, 
  but the power armor kept flying so Greg assumed the missing part wasn’t 
  important.
  
  406
  Random ion beams dispersed in the night air, failing to connect with the 
  two airborne units.
  “It won’t go down!” Mike shouted, throwing another burst into the robot 
  as he passed the defenders at close range.
  Swinging below the tree line just above the river, Mike searched the for-
  est with thermo-optics, registering heat from the cyborgs’ armament. Firing 
  bursts through the trees, he watched the hot spots move erratically as super-
  sonic steel passed through the foliage to hit the unsuspecting rebels. Unfo-
  cused fire zipped through the forest in return, the ‘Borgs adopting the heat of 
  the SAMAS thrusters as their primary target.
  “Draw their fire!” Greg shouted. “I’ve got the X-500!”
  “Take it!”
  Greg slowed and locked his pair of forearm mini-missiles on the stubborn 
  robot. The instant the smoke trails left their housings a warning tone sounded 
  in Greg’s ears.
  He spun the exoskeleton in time to get hit in the rear by a missile. The im-
  pact stunned his body, a strange sensation of detached weightlessness coming 
  over him as he watched one of his rear engines pass him on the right and break 
  the tree line below. Distant explosions sounded the impact of his mini-missiles, 
  but his SAM was on its way down. Greg desperately tried to slow his descent, 
  keeping the legs ready to help absorb the impact. The collision jarred every 
  bone in his body and made the world spin madly. Force of will made him stand, 
  though nothing in his body wanted him to. Warning tones blared damage re-
  ports in his helmet. Greg tossed the useless rail gun away and looked to confirm 
  the missing wings on his diagnostic. Whining in protest, the legs stabilized, and 
  the exoskeleton remained active. Even the throbbing in his head couldn’t stop 
  him from smiling with elation. Down but not out.
  He still had a score to settle, armed or not.
  “Merrick?”
  “What?” Greg was surprised the scratchy sound on the comm still worked.
  “It didn’t get you?”
  “I’m not done yet.” Greg forced the exoskeleton into a heavy march to-
  ward the X-500 still a thousand feet away through the forest.
  “One ‘Borg down. I’m still getting radar. Forager’s still hot!” Mike banked 
  SAM 312 above the river and headed back the same way for another pass. 
  Plasma fires burned in patches across the power armor showing where he’d 
  been less than successful in his evasions. ‘Borgs came through the tree line at 
  the river’s edge, pouring fire into the air around him as he passed. Mike flew 
  over the attackers, creating a blast of steam off the river with his hover jets. 
  He banked over the tree line for the X-500 as it rotated to face him.
  “Sayonara!” He hit the boosters and flew between two incoming missiles 
  before breaking hard above the robot. Aiming for the blazing craters left by 
  Greg’s previous rockets, Mike launched two more through the fractured ar-
  
  407
  mor. The missiles shot deep inside the robot’s pilot compartment and deto-
  nated to melt the robot from within. Mike gunned his jets again and let the 
  tree canopy provide him cover from the cyborgs once again.
  The missile warning in Mike’s SAMAS didn’t go away. From the west, 
  a blip on his radar was closing fast. As if reaching from beyond the grave, 
  one of the X-500’s departing missiles finished what the robot would never 
  witness. Wings, thrusters, and armor left in a radiant starburst, silhouetting 
  the falling SAMAS against the sky. Traveling a mere 35 miles per hour, the 
  exoskeleton seemed to pause in mid-air before crashing through the trees and 
  bounced to a stop in a contorted heap.
  Mike gasped, the wind knocked from him and stunned; his body refused 
  the orders his impact-shocked brain was giving. He couldn’t make the exo-
  skeleton get off his broken arm, and a somewhat recognizable warning tone 
  preached of radiation leaking from his ruptured power pack.
  Something tipped him over and wrenched the helmet off his head.
  “I let you borrow my SAM and this is what you do with it.”
  In the blurry haze, another SAMAS pried the destroyed exoskeleton away 
  from Mike’s body, freeing him and not quite gently removing him from the 
  useless encasement.
  “Mm...Merrick?”
  “Darren was right.”
  “Just leave me here so I don’t have to listen to you.” Mike tried to stand 
  but his legs gave out.
  “We got their attention. Mr. Kent says the whole rebel camp is empty ex-
  cept for a few sentries and Zenjori. The rest are headed here.”
  “Oh.” Mike’s head throbbed so bad it almost sounded like the deranged 
  officer was happy about an army of ‘Borgs coming to kill them both.
  “Your arm doesn’t look right.”
  “It’s broken.” Mike snapped the bone back in place, not even feeling the 
  pain.
  “Can you run?”
  “No. I don’t have a weapon, either.”
  “Now I have to save your sorry hide again.” Greg reached down and 
  scooped up Mike in his power armor’s arms.
  Incoming fire struck a useless wing joint. Three damaged ‘Borgs burst 
  through the clearing around the downed SAMAS pilots. Swinging clumsily 
  around, Greg made the exoskeleton run for all it was worth, feeling the heat 
  reach his back from burning remnants of the SAMAS’s propulsion pack. The 
  ‘Borgs didn’t let up, firing wildly as the damaged Coalition armor unit slowly 
  put more space between them. Through more than a kilometer of steep forest 
  and narrow river embankment, the cyborgs persisted, finally stopping when 
  the Greg and Mike reached the hill where Winters and the others had made 
  their last stand. As Greg made a beeline straight up the hill, the cyborg forces 
  
  408
  fanned out, covering the west and southern sides of the hill. All they needed 
  to do was make sure their enemy didn’t escape. When Drake and the rest ar-
  rived, it would be time to attack.
  ____________________
  Cyndiara’s hands shook when she grasped Van’s arm and pulled him 
  aside from the main group. He stopped and looked down at her, sensing a 
  boiling point in her that was a simmering urgency in others. The militia was 
  halted again to pull an ATV out of a ditch, Sir Renfield doing his best to make 
  good time with the assorted horse, vehicle, and foot caravan he’d cobbled 
  together for the attack. By nightfall, the convoy had been reduced to a crawl, 
  horses and vehicles unable to keep up a constant pace over broken roads and 
  uneven terrain. Twice the militia had been attacked by monsters, every pass-
  ing minute increasing chances of another encounter with a different beast. 
  Chances of reaching Zenjori before he escaped again were fading away. Now 
  the reports over the radio were more grave, Greg and Mike were surrounded 
  by ‘Borgs waiting to attack them, and the militia so close, but too far away to 
  assist in time. Surely if Zenjori knew of the approaching retribution he would 
  flee before it could be administered.
  “Please. Take me on your cycle,” Cyndiara urged, pointing to the Sky 
  Cycle Van had just arrived on.
  “There’s fifteen or more ‘Borgs and Headhunters waiting for Greg and 
  Mike, Cyndiara. You and I can’t win.” Van grasped her armor-clad hands and 
  shook his head. “Maybe Darren and Targo will get there in time.”
  “Please... or we’ll never get him.” Her voice was filled with despair and 
  anger.
  “We can’t take on that many ‘Borgs without help.”
  “I don’t care about the ‘Borgs!” She ripped her hands away, removing her 
  helmet and facing Van with fiery eyes.
  “What, what are you getting at?”
  “Zenjori Suka. You heard the scouts. He’s there. Unprotected.”
  “Are you suggesting we ride double on the cycle into the middle of their 
  camp and just attack on our own?”
  “Yes!” As she shouted, the air around the Burster rippled from an uninten-
  tional heat wave as she spoke.
  “Without backup?”
  “Yes! He’ll get away if we don’t!”
  “There’s got to be a better way.” Van was trying to stall Cyndiara’s rage, 
  thinking of anything that would keep her from the battle and getting some-
  where close to the line of fire.
  “There isn’t,” she stated defiantly, grabbing his wrist and looking him 
  dead in the eyes. “You know. You and Darren know why I want this. You’re 
  the only ones who do. Van, I don’t care if you drop me in the camp and leave 
  
  409
  me there to attack him on my own, but one way or another, I need to get to 
  him and make sure he NEVER does what he did to me to anyone else.”
  Van looked into her eyes, remembering the scenes of carnage at 
  Youngstown and the tortured body he and Darren had rescued from Zenjori’s 
  interrogation chamber. He knew. He knew the images in his mind were only 
  a spark compared to the rage that burned the psychic Burster in a way fire 
  never could. He knew.
  “Okay. Don’t tell Sir Renfield. You and I will finish this.”
  Van noticed a mournful stare from Anja as he and Cyndiara mounted the 
  Sky Cycle. Nobody said a word as he hovered above the group and then sped 
  away.
  ____________________
  Stride for stride, Targo covered much more ground than the wingless SA-
  MAS running alongside him. Miles stretched ahead of the two as Darren and 
  Targo made a dash to reach the battle before it ended in morose tragedy. An-
  ger kept Darren going, knowing that most of his friends were already dead.
  The Shemarrian rail gun in his right hand was now linked to the targeting 
  HUD of his helmet, and the feed system hooked to an ammunition drum re-
  placing the old C-40 magazine. Targo wielded his massive rail gun and kept 
  up with uneven strides, his heavy 100 mm battle armor clanking loudly as the 
  giant ran. If the ‘Borgs thought the battle was going to be an easy victory, 
  they had another thing coming.
  ____________________
  A mist was settling down over the hilltop as the night quietly passed. Drake 
  surveyed the hill with a caution his previous attack had lacked. This time, he 
  knew more than bodies awaited his forces on the hill and lay in the trenches. 
  Sporadic plasma and laser fire from the hill left the exact number of defenders 
  a mystery. He was more ticked that he might have missed killing the soldiers 
  on the first attack than failing to destroy both SAMAS before they found cover. 
  Only one damaged armor unit was left. That was about to end.
  “Cy! Take your fire squads up the south and west slopes. Cutter and Ker-
  rigan, watch the east side and advance slowly. The rest of you, with me!”
  Cyborg squads broke off to assume their positions, leaving Drake with 
  the most heavily armed cyborg units and Headhunters at his side on a rise 
  southwest of the hill.
  “Spread out and advance slowly.” Drake waved, then clicked on the am-
  plifier to hurl metallic laughter at the hill.
  “Here we come! Ready or dead!”
  ____________________
  
  410
  Engine noise got the sentry’s attention. Not sure where it was coming 
  from, the headhunter walked out onto the railroad tracks for a better view. 
  Something was flying closer.
  “Groder to —”
  A laser beam from the Sky Cycle cut through battered armor and ended 
  the warning. Noise from the Sky Cycle racing into the unoccupied rebel camp 
  did what the dead sentry could not. Another defender leapt out from a ve-
  hicle. Van rotated the cycle in mid-air to let loose a rocket for the kill.
  “Let me off! Cyndiara shouted, grabbing her rifle from the back and leap-
  ing the fifteen feet to the ground.
  Rolling in the thruster wash, she came up, her TX-16 rifle at the ready, 
  searching for something to kill.
  Weapon fire erupted from a boxcar several hundred feet away, dropping a 
  sentry crouched behind a crumpled stack of old rail car freight.
  “He’s in the warehouse north of you!” Mr. Kent shouted over the radio.
  “On it!” Van shouted, lifting higher.
  Something crashed into the Sky Cycle and sent it ten feet back down to the 
  ground on its nose, throwing Van from the controls to the gravel. Stunned, 
  Van rolled over and looked up to see a shimmering wall that hadn’t been 
  there before.
  “What in the —”
  “Look out!” Mr. Kent warned.
  Cyndiara was flattened by a nearby grenade blast from the one sentry no-
  body had seen. Rushing from near the warehouse, the Headhunter fired re-
  peatedly, raining grenades on the boxcars, intruders, and his own camp with 
  the Coalition make C-14 rifle.
  Van rolled for cover behind the grounded Sky Cycle. He was about to en-
  gage magic barriers on his armor when unexplainable pain racked his body, 
  forcing him to his knees. He rolled and rolled, unable to free himself of the 
  torture that came from nowhere. He could hear Cyndiara enduring the same a 
  few feet away, neither able to focus on the source of the pain.
  A slumped figure missing his left arm hobbled out from behind one of the 
  vehicles and approached his two victims. Notec Depi smiled.
  The life of a Mind Bleeder was not an easy one. Notec had come through 
  a Rift in Africa ten years ago with a group of others. Eventually his travels 
  opened an opportunity to take him to North America where he was success-
  ful, but untrusted as a mercenary until Zenjori found him and realized the 
  man’s value. Through all of Zenjori’s plans and tactics, Notec found one of 
  the few beings he respected outside of others of his race. Zenjori took him to 
  depths of depravity that Notec had never before thought of.
  Always interested in pushing his abilities and learning more, he zealous-
  ly embraced everything Zenjori introduced him to. As Zenjori slept, Notec 
  would read his surface thoughts and had learned much about the man he fol-
  
  411
  lowed. For instance, he learned that Zenjori was a human displaced in time. 
  He also learned that his friend had lost faith in him when he lost his arm. It 
  was a sign of weakness and one Zenjori would eventually use to get rid of 
  him. Maybe not soon, but one day.
  After everything they had been through, after all that he had sacrificed for 
  Zenjori, all of the bodies he inhabited, all the torture he inflicted, his friend 
  would find a way to get rid of him like he had Kruno and all the other mis-
  erably expendable pawns that had flung themselves into his lethal game of 
  chess. But Notec wasn’t going to let himself be like the rest. He was a Mind 
  Bleeder, one of the most powerful beings in the Megaverse, and he wasn’t 
  going to let these stupid people kill Zenjori. He was going to do it himself. 
  But to do that, he had to kill them first and hit Suka when he didn’t expect it.
  Letting the insanity finally take him as he pushed his powers while deeply 
  fatigued, Notec Depi flicked the Vibro-Blade on and off in his good hand, 
  gleefully anticipating the painful deaths of his new visitors. He waved at the 
  rebel Headhunter happily, but his smile faded.
  Like a mirage, a feminine figure slipped up behind the Headhunter and 
  drove a Vibro-Saber through his flexible neck joints from behind, then pulled 
  the blade out, calmly waiting for the body to fall. The figure strode boldly 
  forward without fear.
  Danger tingled in Notec’s crazed brain, and he whirled to find another 
  intruder leaping into the fray only meters from him. With a thought Notec 
  made the man collapse. Mr. Kent fought to free himself of the psionic paraly-
  sis, almost getting the rifle up to Notec’s level. Notec increased the effect and 
  sent the man back to the ground in psionic induced agony.
  Notec limped around the Sky Cycle to face the last standing adversary. 
  A woman. All the better, Notec cackled and assaulted her mind with psionic 
  pain. She never broke stride. He tried again, fear starting to reach his insane 
  thoughts. She came on.
  “Stop!” he shouted, encasing her in a telekinetic force field.
  He smiled again, but the mirth left as she dropped the barrier with the 
  sentry’s rifle and closed the gap at a frightening speed.
  Notec’s terrified wail ended in a harsh gurgle, his head leaving his body 
  with a flawless arc of her blade. Freed of the flesh, the psychic spirit lan-
  guished momentarily above the body, refusing to accept its own demise. 
  Then it was gone.
  “This way.” Natessa turned, unceremoniously leading the way for the oth-
  ers to follow.
  Relieved of the suffering; Mr. Kent, Van, and Cyndiara fell in behind 
  the mysterious woman as she walked confidently toward an old warehouse 
  building.
  ____________________
  
  412
  Finding a few charges left in weapons on the hill, Mike and Greg held off 
  the army of ‘Borgs and headhunters one trench at a time. Mike painfully re-
  placed a clip, using his broken arm to steady the C-12 rifle. Unfocused weap-
  ons fire snaked up the hill, forcing him to sprint for nearby cover. Without 
  armor, there was no room for mistakes.
  Greg laid down cover fire and moved after every other shot, trying to cre-
  ate the illusion of many defenders. His cyborgs enemies were cautious but 
  unwavering in their resolve to push forward.
  From below, Drake’s mini-missile shot through the trees and found its 
  mark, hitting Greg’s SAMAS in the left shoulder. The armor plating frac-
  tured as the explosion lifted the suit into the air, spinning the exoskeleton and 
  sending shrapnel into the left side of the helmet. The SAMAS kept walking 
  up the hill only to get hit again from behind. This time it never got up.
  Blood flooded the helmet. Greg was losing contact with the real world. He 
  couldn’t hear or see. A gurgling sound opened the smoking pilot’s compart-
  ment and, in a haze, he struggled out of the dead power suit while trailing 
  blood from multiple wounds.
  ____________________
  They were so close; Drake could taste the victory. He could make out the 
  fallen SAMAS through the smoke and mist. He put one more mini-missile in 
  it for good measure and then reloaded. The lack of return fire let him know 
  that there was a corridor up the hill open for attack.
  Shouts of dismay from the east side brought his squad to a halt. Two 
  ‘Borgs were down and a third was under fire. Someone was attacking their 
  flank. A quick order sent the remaining perimeter mercenaries around to take 
  care of the problem. Unfamiliar rail gun concussions sounded the death nell 
  of a warrior on the southern face of the hill.
  From out in the darkness, an answer to Drake’s assault came back.
  “Payback’s hell.”
  ____________________
  Glowing tendrils left from Colnae’s hand and wrapped quickly around 
  Cyndiara. Natessa leapt clear of a similar fate, not even registering the magic 
  illusion that gave Van pause to fire. Four identical mages blocked the way 
  and acted as one. Natessa sensed only one, hosing the real mage with the 
  last energy charges to no effect. Tossing the C-14 to the concrete, she drew 
  Greg’s MP-10 from her holster for the first time and discharged three rounds 
  at Colnae’s magic barriers.
  The battle pressed the mage back inside the ruined warehouse enclosure.
  On the far end of the warehouse, Van and Cyndiara could see Zenjori 
  Suka finish suiting up in his Terrain Hopper exoskeleton. The rebel leader 
  
  413
  engaged the jet thrusters to escape, and the pack went through the roof on its 
  own without him. Natessa smiled. Zenjori would never know the real reason 
  his means of escape had been sabotaged.
  Colnae redoubled his efforts to give his rebel leader more time.
  “No!” Cyndiara struggled, watching Zenjori cut down a bleeding hostage 
  she recognized from Youngstown and use the tortured woman as a shield as 
  he retreated toward the opposite side of the building.
  “Die!” Colnae hurled a fire bolt at the nimble figure of Natessa, torching a 
  wall where she’d been standing only moments before.
  Van lined up his shot, now certain which was the real mage. Someone 
  tackled him from behind, slashing at him with a Vibro-Blade. Van threw the 
  attacker off him and paused before the kill. Kent Tristan glared at him with 
  hateful eyes.
  “Hey, now wait a —” Van stammered, trying to understand why someone 
  from his own town was attacking him.
  The boy lunged and exploded. Kent’s brains decorated Van’s armor. 
  Looking around the warehouse, Van watched Natessa lowered her smoking 
  weapon, never breaking stride as she moved toward the rebel magic user.
  She came at him in a flash, drawing the saber and striking him before he 
  could weave another spell. He leapt back, along with the three illusionary 
  versions spread out in the warehouse. She slashed again, but his magic net 
  caught first. The tendrils wrapped the warrior woman tight, her blade slowly 
  working its way through the strands to cut her free of the bonds.
  “Say hello to my little friend.” Van shook off the shock of Kent’s death, 
  then blew Colnae several meters back with a telekinetic blast from his modi-
  fied weapon. Van caught sight of Cyndiara as she hugged the back wall and 
  disappeared through the same doorway that Zenjori had fled through only 
  moments before.
  Van kept his gun trained on the images of Colnae as he knelt to free Na-
  tessa. He noticed the mage was getting up, not a mark on his fine clothes or 
  features. Colnae smiled wickedly and struck the ground with his fist, a wave 
  of energy crossing the concrete and adhering Van’s knees and right hand to 
  the ground. Colnae stood and started weaving a complex protective spell.
  “Bad move,” Van advised, waving his free hand for Colnae to see. The 
  hand with the gun.
  Telekinetic bolts rocketed only two meters from the end of Van’s gun into 
  Colnae’s body. The mage flew back into a steel I-beam. A second shot broke 
  the mage around the pole and ended any threat.
  Moments later, the spells holding Van and Natessa faded.
  ____________________
  Leaning on the barrel of a melted C-27, Greg wired the last crossover 
  to the detonator nexus. Mike watched him from behind a few feet away, 
  
  414
  randomly firing over the trench sides with different weapons to confuse the 
  ‘Borgs on the hillside below. They were close now.
  “Checth ith!” Greg shouted, rolling away from the wires.
  Mike gaped, unaware of the extensive injuries the other officer had en-
  dured. He’d seen the burnt pant legs and a crimson-stained shirt, but there 
  was barely any face to recognize, a bloody mass where once there were fea-
  tures, he remembered. Merrick’s right eye was smeared with blood, but clear. 
  His cheek was torn up, causing him to speak barely recognizable words. Mike 
  tossed aside an empty C-18 and crawled beneath the overhead fire to see what 
  Greg had done. The wires converged on a single gap, the space between them 
  connecting the circuit of death.
  “We don’t both have to be here!” Mike shouted above the roar of rail gun 
  slugs passing inches above their heads.
  “Go.”
  “I’ll stay. You can make it down the east side!” Mike pointed.
  Greg’s eye focused on Mike’s steel blues.
  “No. You have the besth chance.” He spat blood. “Go!”
  Mike looked at the detonator nexus and then back at Greg.
  “Go!” Warm blood splattered Mike’s face.
  Mike sighed and picked up Winters’ TX-5. He pushed it into Greg’s hand 
  and wrapped bloody fingers around it.
  “No. No. I don’t have anyone to go back to.”
  Greg stared back, the words cutting through the bloody haze to clutch his 
  heart.
  Mike smiled gravely.
  Greg nodded.
  Stumbling over bushes and through the trenches, Greg ran along the east-
  ern ridge that connected the hill to the others east of it along the river.
  ____________________
  Zenjori crossed the tracks and dragged his human shield up the embank-
  ment on the other side, his hands gripped tightly in the barbed wire binding 
  her body. When he looked up from his struggle he saw he wasn’t alone. Fear 
  gripped his black heart and panic took over. Ripping his laser pistol from its 
  holster, he emptied it on the short figure in plate and chain armor who was 
  making a mad dash across the open area between the train building and the 
  tracks. Weapon empty, he watched in horror as the figure stalked closer, fire 
  burning through the cracks and holes in the armor, igniting the shell and 
  bursting forth a fiery being from within. Cyndiara’s eyes blazed like white-
  hot coals, her body shedding the external covering as it gave up its life to the 
  flame’s embrace.
  
  415
  Zenjori held the blond hostage closer, jarring the unconscious woman 
  awake. Oozing burns covered her feet and lower legs, and hundreds of small 
  cuts leaked blood across her body.
  “You know what will happen to your friend, don’t you?” Zenjori searched 
  for a reason to prolong his existence. “Are you willing to take the innocent 
  life of your friend just for petty revenge?”
  Cyndiara stepped closer, flames increasing.
  Panic forcing his brain to search for a way to survive, Zenjori whipped out 
  the last thing he could bargain with. He held the disk up for Cyndiara to see.
  “You know what this is? If you kill me it will all be for nothing.”
  “No, it won’t.”
  A voice from the tracks below spoke out. Zenjori dared to look. The disk 
  left his hand and flew to the outstretched palm of a man in Explorer armor. 
  The glow from the palm circuitry dimmed and Van’s hand closed on the disk.
  Zenjori turned back to see the heat of the flames around his fiery reaper go 
  from yellow and red to blue-white hot.
  ____________________
  Topping the rise, Drake and his ‘Borgs surrounded the hilltop. A lone 
  figure lay exposed in a trench, a wire in each hand.
  Mike rolled over and smiled.
  “Welcome to Armageddon.”
  In the silence, there was a click.
  ____________________
  A distant rumble from the east and a flash of light on the underside of the 
  night clouds reflected in Zenjori’s helmet visor, the ascending funeral pyre 
  kilometers away rose up in the night air. The woman expiring in Zenjori’s 
  arms looked to Cyndiara with pleading eyes and mouthed only two words on 
  blood-caked lips. A single tear left Cyndiara’s left eye and turned to steam 
  on her cheek.
  The woman sighed and let her head fall backward as she quickly steamed 
  and then burst into a column of fire that leapt outward toward Zenjori and 
  rose in a pillar to engulf both the man and his dying shield. The scream came 
  not from the woman, but Zenjori. He dropped the woman and flung himself 
  from the pillar of fire, scrambling away from the heat.
  Cyndiara passed through the pillar of flame where her friend had been. 
  Zenjori lay a few feet away, staring at the melted stumps that had once been 
  hands, his armor smoking. Through damaged visors, he watched his angel of 
  vengeance descend upon him, brighter than the noon-day sun.
  
  416
  Chapter 24
  The dinner table
  Muffled sounds penetrated the fog hanging over Greg’s consciousness 
  first. He opened his eye to focus on the overhead light of some vehicle’s inte-
  rior. He could make out garbled conversation and sounds of activities going 
  on around the vehicle but was unable to determine specifics. Pain registered 
  as discomfort and the sensations his body felt were surreal. Something warm 
  was holding him still from behind. A soft, accented voice spoke in his good 
  ear.
  “You are awake.” The voice was familiar.
  “I guess,” he mumbled, feeling something tugging at his face.
  “Be still. You are badly injured.”
  “Natessa?”
  “Yes.”
  “Where ammm I?”
  “Do not speak. The battle is over. Your enemy is dead.”
  “Good. Guess I’mmm not mmmuch to look at anymmmore.”
  “It does not matter. I am blind.”
  Greg’s mind slowly accepted the information and things in the back of 
  his mind seemed to click into place. Maybe it was the injuries, but maybe it 
  didn’t matter after all. A familiar face appeared in his line of vision.
  “Hi, sir, I mean, Greg.” Brian squinted and fiddled around with some-
  thing Greg couldn’t see. “We bandaged you up and stopped the bleeding, but 
  you’re pretty torn up. I gave you an IRMSS injection, but I’m sure you have 
  internal injuries that require a doctor.”
  “I’mmm alive?”
  “Yeah, barely. Good thing I rode along, too. Otherwise one of those magic 
  users might have gotten hold of you.”
  Greg couldn’t tell if Brian was serious.
  “Did —”
  “Quit talking. You’re bleeding through your bandages. Sir Renfield and 
  some of the others are chasing a pair of ‘Borgs that got away, but Zenjori’s 
  dead, and I’ve got some more good news.”
  Van’s face appeared next to Brian’s. A disk with a Coalition logo waved 
  in Greg’s face.
  “Thought you might want this.” Van handed the disk to Brian, then looked 
  down for a closer look at Greg. “Jeez, you weren’t kidding. His eye?”
  Brian shook his head.
  “Jeez. I can’t fix that. The rest of the obvious injuries are bad, but his face 
  is real bad. I can heal it, but there might be some scarring.”
  “Brian —”
  
  417
  “I’m not hearing any of this.” Brian looked serious. “Kind of different 
  when it’s you, huh? I’m going outside for about fifteen minutes to work on 
  some salvage, and when I come back, I’ll check you again and see if my di-
  agnosis was premature.” Brian smiled.
  Greg chuckled painfully as Brian exited the vehicle.
  ____________________
  It wasn’t until the evening that Greg regained consciousness. Alone in 
  the hotel room, he showered and donned the black eye patch he found on top 
  of his clothes. In the mirror, he could see a series of hairline scars covering 
  much of the left side of his face, but it was still him in the mirror.
  The large queen-sized bed still called to him from the bedroom, but he had 
  no idea how long he’d been asleep and only guessed he was back in Liberty. 
  The door opened before he reached it, and he found Natessa waiting for him 
  in the hall.
  “Come. Your friends have a surprise.” She waited for him to join her and 
  then followed him down the hallway.
  Darren and Cyndiara were in the lobby when he descended the stairs, as 
  were Joel Peterson and the short-haired brunette, Freya, in the other corner. 
  All looked rested and wore clean civilian clothes.
  “Sir! Sorry, uh, Greg?” Joel asked hesitantly.
  “I’m not that deformed.”
  “Dude, you’re up. Cool.” Darren jumped up from the couch and came 
  over to inspect the eye patch. “Bummer on the face grind. Nothin’ a Cyber-
  Doc can’t fix, though.”
  Greg grimaced.
  “All right, dude, ya gotta come with us outside.”
  “Please.” Cyndiara stepped forward and led Greg outside with a bit more 
  tact and grace.
  Parked across the street taking up several parking places was a sleek black, 
  large van-sized hovercraft. Brian and Lisa were playing with one of the fan 
  skirts, stopping when they noticed the group crossing the street.
  “Surprise!” Lisa waved her arms and strutted in front of the hovercraft.
  “What’s this?” Greg asked, skeptical.
  “It’s yours, dude.”
  Greg looked around at the happy nods and faces of other former troops 
  piling out the back of the craft.
  “This is...” his voice caught in his throat. There was still a lot to process 
  about the last few days, but there were times where something cut through the 
  noise and made an impression.
  “We all pitched in some and got it for you with the money you gave us,” 
  Sharp announced, looking happier than Greg ever remembered seeing the 
  soldier.
  
  418
  “Yeah, but something like this . . .”
  “We bought it from First Strike. Their shipment came in today, and this 
  was one of the transport vehicles.” Brian looked at the hovercraft proudly. 
  “Some import, I don’t know from where. Naruni, or something like that. 
  Anyway, since Gizmo and Lisa and I are cleaning house salvaging robot and 
  vehicle parts, we pitched in a little extra and got it for you. First Strike must 
  be hard up for cash, plus, when they found out we were buying it for you, 
  they sold it to us real cheap.”
  “That more or less makes it theirs again.” Greg smiled, wondering what 
  the next year was going to be like serving in a mercenary company. “I really 
  don’t know what to say.”
  “It’s new, or well, almost new.” Lisa brushed her hand over some scratch-
  es on the fan skirts. “Had a long trip to get here.”
  “Electric engine, a full charge on the cells, and it runs like a charm,” Brian 
  beamed.
  “Thank you. Thank you all. I’m not sure what to say.” Greg grinned at 
  Natessa and walked over to examine the craft’s aerodynamic design.
  “We’ve been hangin’ out here, like, all afternoon,” Darren said. “Okay, 
  some of us have. How about you drive us all to the Match Head for some 
  serious grubbage and we’ll call it even?”
  “Deal. Pile in.”
  Greg worked out some stiff muscles before getting the access code from 
  Brian and opening the pilot’s compartment hatch. He allowed Natessa to 
  hesitantly climb the short ladder then followed her in.
  Greg took the craft down through the main street of Liberty and then along 
  some detours. The sleek hovercraft was like riding on a cloud for the party. 
  Greg was impressed by the handling and performance, landing behind the 
  Match Head where a large, cleared lot was opened up for First Strike’s new 
  arsenal.
  Piling out, the group drooled at the stylized robots, hovercraft, power ar-
  mor, and aircraft being examined by other excited mercenaries. The aura of 
  excitement was carried inside, a buzz of conversation occupying the custom-
  ers within. First Strike was leaving the next day and the small civilian militia 
  was taking their place defending the town. With Zenjori’s army gone, Liberty 
  was free to exercise its own laws and defense once more.
  “Took you long enough!” Dave shouted from the corner, starting to re-
  move the pile of chairs reserving two large adjoining booths.
  “I’ll take yer orders in a sec.” Freya escorted the group back to a table 
  before she bustled off to the kitchen, apron tails flying behind her.
  Darren ushered Greg and Natessa in first. Others crammed in around the 
  tables.
  “Whoa! Check it out.” Darren pointed to the bar. “Hey, Gibs!”
  “How’s it going, Darren?” Gibs raised a beer and waved.
  
  419
  Darren did a double-take to make sure his eyes weren’t fooling him. Sit-
  ting next to Gibs was Delwin Moonbeam.
  “Hey, Darren isn’t that —”
  “Sure is, Dave. When did Delwin meet Gibs?”
  Cyndiara reached for the back of Darren’s head and brought his face 
  around for a long kiss.
  “You can drink with your buddies later,” she ordered with false sincerity.
  “We’re not late, are we?” Anja came to stand by the table, Sir Renfield and 
  Van standing head and shoulders behind her.
  “Nah, we ain’t even had our first course yet.” Darren scooted his chair 
  closer to Cyndiara to accommodate the newcomers.
  “So, tell me,” Greg leaned on his elbows and looked around with his good 
  eye. “Who planned all this?
  “Me an’ Brian mostly,” Darren answered. “But everyone had good ideas 
  and helped out with something.”
  “I went and talked to the Cyber-Doc,” Corrinne self-consciously traced 
  the scars on her own face. “He said he could fix any nerve damage and re-
  construct without scars if you want. He said it might take time before he can 
  get a bio-systems eye to match yours, but he could get a multi-optic implant 
  if you want it.”
  “I’m leaving with First Strike in the morning, next stop Kingsdale. I can do 
  without an eye for a few days.” He nudged Natessa under the table. “Thanks 
  for checking. What are you planning on doing?”
  “Well, we’ve all been approached by the sheriff and the town militia and 
  asked to join, those of us that are staying here. The sheriff wants us to help 
  train the militia. Sharp, Jameson, some others, and myself. We plan to join up 
  and settle down for a while. That should keep us busy.”
  “And I’ve already got a job as a deputy.” Dave flashed a badge Greg 
  hadn’t noticed before.
  “Wow. Deputy Dave. Congratulations.” Greg reached across the table to 
  shake hands.
  “Thanks!” Dave beamed, thrusting his chest and badge out prominently.
  “Brian, Lisa, what are your plans?” Greg watched the response carefully, 
  still curious what his two former tech officers were up to. They had a ten-
  dency to keep a few burners on the stove lit.
  “Lisa and I are working at Gizmo’s.”
  “We’re going to be part owners,” Lisa smiled excitedly, her eyes dancing.
  “Really?” Greg replied, mild surprise and amusement in his voice.
  “Yeah, uh, we’re buying into the shop and are going to expand it.” Brian 
  threw Lisa a “be quiet” look.
  “That’s impressive. Got some extra cash from salvaging rebel ‘Bots, I take 
  it?” Greg raised an eyebrow, the only one he could.
  “Something like that.” Brian tapped his nose.
  
  420
  “I see.” Greg leaned back and smiled.
  “Except we have to change the name, Brian,” Lisa advised. “Gizmo’s Ga-
  rage just doesn’t sound right once we’re a part of it.”
  “We talked about this already. Everyone knows Gizmo, he’s got brand 
  recognition.”
  “Sure, but think how much better it would sound as the ‘Mechanical Super-
  store,’ or something like that. Gizmo’s Garage sounds so... so backwoods.”
  “Compared to Chi-Town, everything is backwoods.”
  “Whatever you decide, you might want to find a better place for the Skull 
  Walker by the time more Coalition forces arrive.”
  Greg’s comment sobered the mood. After a moment, Lisa brightened.
  “Oh, sir-uh-Greg, I almost forgot.” She squirmed free a wad of paper from 
  her back pocket.
  “That’s right! The disk!” Brian got excited.
  “You downloaded it?” Greg leaned on the table anxiously.
  “A few terabytes worth. Wasn’t even encrypted.”
  Lisa started unfolding the wad of paper.
  “I hope it has something to make it worth the price.”
  “I don’t know,” Lisa answered hesitantly, a pang of remorse striking a 
  memory of Mike. “There’s some interesting stuff on it, and I haven’t finished 
  looking at it. Do you want me to, ya know, talk about it, here?”
  “Classified?”
  “Yeah.”
  “I’m not wearing a uniform, are you?” Greg looked around.
  “Okay, here’s the basic scoop, some of this we already knew.”
  Everyone leaned in closer expectantly except Sir Renfield, who, naturally, 
  was above such things.
  “Two years ago, Colonel Lyboc hires an aspiring and promising Zenjori 
  Suka and the Army of the New Order to attack and occupy towns and villages 
  between Chi-Town and Tolkeen, making the lives of the inhabitants so bad 
  that they’d welcome the Coalition coming in to drive the ‘rebel army’ out. 
  It looks good for publicity, and the C.S. commanders making the advance 
  don’t know they’re getting set-up for easy kills and victory. Zenjori somehow 
  always manages to find out ahead of time about the coming attacks and pulls 
  out, leaving behind token defenses to take the fall. Somewhere along the way, 
  Colonel Lyboc tries to cash in on some prototype robot program and sends a 
  Glitter Boy to the Dubuque outpost to be captured by the so-called rebels. He 
  gets justification to approve these automated Skelebots and kickbacks from 
  the manufacturers, while the Army of the New Order gets one of the most 
  powerful man-made power suits ever constructed to grow their reputation 
  and influence in the region.
  “This much we had figured out before the disk,” Lisa paused, all eyes on 
  her. “We’d found out about this so-called disk that had a list of fifth column 
  
  421
  members on it, and we just figured that was the secret cover story for what 
  Lyboc was up to. Well, it turns out the whole village-occupying thing and 
  Skelebot program were only a superficial part of the plan. There really is a 
  fifth column in the Coalition, a loosely organized group of commanders and 
  leaders who want to overthrow Emperor Prosek and give the power back to 
  the people. They’ve been helping scientists and scholars escape Coalition 
  Internment Centers and have been working with secessionists in Free Quebec 
  to gather support.”
  “So, the fifth column is real?” Greg leaned back and pondered the pos-
  sibilities relating to his recent career change.
  “Well, this fifth column thinks Zenjori and his Army of the New Order are 
  actually real rebels, and they’re the ones who started warning him about at-
  tacks, contacting the mercenary group to get support, and that’s exactly what 
  Colonel Lyboc wanted all along. The fifth column helps route goods and 
  armament to the rebels, hoping to delay the increase in aggression between 
  the CS and Tolkeen. It’s ingenious really. Not only is Lyboc tricking the fifth 
  column into actually helping increasing tensions in the region but tricks them 
  into exposing a vital link in their operation. The Dubuque outpost. When 
  Lyboc finds that out, that’s when he has the Glitter Boy accidentally shipped 
  there, knowing the fifth column will make it available to the rebels and help 
  expose their operation even more.
  “This is where things started to go wrong. Zenjori and his rebels are con-
  tacted by the fifth column and are supposed to stage a fake raid on Dubuque. 
  The raid is the fifth column’s idea as far they knew, including the capture of 
  the Glitter Boy. Other equipment is supposed to fall into rebel hands, that 
  way Dubuque can request more supplies and personnel, helping them bring 
  in their own people to reinforce and strengthen their position at that location 
  so they can more strongly influence the region. Only, Zenjori double-crosses 
  the fifth column and actually does raid the outpost for real, killing quite a few 
  of them, and getting into their database and interrogating the leaders. The 
  attack went drastically off the rails because the fifth column had shut down 
  communications and reinforcements were long in coming. He had plenty of 
  time to get a list of fifth column operatives working in Chi-Town and most 
  of the information the fifth column was planning on using to gain the popular 
  support of the people. There’s a whole list of stuff the fifth column was going 
  to use to combat Emperor Prosek’s propaganda machine.
  “That’s where the historical information on the disk ends and we pick 
  up with journal entries Zenjori added to the disk in addition to what we’ve 
  scraped from Pritchett’s Spider Skull Walker.
  “Anyway, Zenjori pulls out with the captured equipment and the disk. His 
  plan at the time is going to be to deliver it to Colonel Lyboc for a substantial 
  profit. That’s when a total accident happens that messes everything up. The 
  rebels accidentally run into a patrol and waste a unit under General Ross 
  
  422
  Underhill. It’s an accident, but before Lyboc gets the disk, General Underhill 
  launches a series of surprise attacks on the Army of the New Order and dogs 
  them all the way along the Coalition’s Iowa border and along the southern 
  side of the state of Chi-Town. Underhill pretty much cleans up, taking out 
  some 500 rebel troops and armor units in the course of his raids. Zenjori 
  keeps raiding outposts along his way to replace his losses, but finally he’s had 
  enough. His forces are decimated except for a few stragglers who make it to 
  the Cedar Lake outpost.”
  “That’s where we came in,” Brian nodded, remembering the fiasco of the 
  unit’s first encounter with the Glitter Boy and its supporting forces.
  “Right. Zenjori thinks Lyboc has double-crossed him and is trying to kill 
  him instead of paying him off, so he decides to use what inside contacts and 
  information he has to get clear of the Coalition border and escape with the 
  disk as his shield against future attacks.”
  “Yeah, but Lyboc still sends us after the disk.” Darren’s brow furrowed.
  “Questions were being asked about how the rebels kept escaping Coalition 
  attacks, and Lyboc’s head was being put in the noose, so he shifted the blame 
  by making Mike Sorenson look like the traitor who had previously been in 
  the same region as the ANO and could have been feeding them information. 
  That way the heat comes off Lyboc, all but names Sorenson as a fifth column 
  member, and leaves the real fifth column to continue exposing themselves. 
  Apparently, Coalition command found out about the survivors at Dubuque 
  because Emperor Prosek ordered everyone executed there while we were on 
  our first mission. Whatever remained of the fifth column finds out about the 
  disk, so I’m guessing that they were after it too. They probably tried to get 
  someone into our unit for both missions.”
  Several faces looked at Greg.
  “Don’t look at me.” Greg waved his hands.
  “Don’t worry, you’re not on the list.” Lisa unfolded the paper and handed 
  it to Greg.
  “Fifth column?” He asked, gingerly taking the paper.
  “Part of it. Most of it.”
  “What are these notes?” He pointed to the corner.
  “File names. The disk also has ways to prove that Emperor Prosek is 
  having the water and food in Chi-Town treated with drugs to make people 
  more susceptible to suggestion, that’s one of the reasons all the scientists that 
  weren’t part of the military were rounded up as troublemakers and impris-
  oned, so nobody would find out. There’s also files on hypnotic suggestion, 
  brain wave patterns, genetic engineering, population control, the PRP, safe-
  guards in Chi-Town, and civilian tracking systems. I’ve only read a little, and 
  it is scary stuff.”
  
  423
  “And we’ve been away from all that out here,” Greg concluded, running 
  down the list of names. “No wonder they try and keep deep field ops on rota-
  tion once every few months.”
  “Right,” Brian added. “I can’t believe they would do that to us. We don’t 
  even know who ‘they’ are!”
  “You read the same files I did.” Lisa looked at him.
  “I know. I just don’t like thinking I was being suckered all my life.”
  “What about all the people that don’t know?” Cyndiara asked.
  “That’s right! Who’s going to spill the beans?” Darren asked.
  “Not the fifth column. Not anymore.” Greg flipped to the next page.
  “You know those people?” We only recognized a few names.” Brian ex-
  changed a look with Lisa.
  “A few. I’m remembering most of them because the ranks shifted when 
  they disappeared during the month before we left on this mission.”
  “How did Lyboc find out? Zenjori still had the disk.”
  “You see this name? Major Fowler?”
  “Yeah. We didn’t know if you knew.” Brian sighed. “That’s the CIS guy, 
  Karren Fowler’s father.”
  “Would have been Mike’s father-in-law.” Lisa saddened. “Do you think...”
  “He’s probably dead. As part of Coalition Internal Security, he was prob-
  ably covering up all the fifth column operations. The fifth column exposed 
  themselves trying to get that disk back. If Lyboc got Fowler, he probably got 
  anyone else he knew.” Greg read on.
  “Did you see the one at the top of the third or fourth page?” Lisa asked.
  Greg raised his eyebrow at the paper.
  “General Ridgewell?”
  “I didn’t believe it either.” Brian shook his head.
  “Isn’t your old C.O., Colonel McFarland, in tight with him?” Lisa asked.
  “Yes, but I doubt the Colonel has anything to do with a fifth column.
  “I didn’t see his name on the list.”
  “You saw this one, right?” Greg turned the paper and pointed to a name.
  “Major Ratello. Yeah. We know.” Brian smiled.
  “That isn’t necessarily a good thing, Brian.” Greg handed the paper back 
  to Lisa. “I’ll take a copy of the disk when you get the chance.”
  “Sure thing.”
  “Yeah, but if Major Ratello is fifth column, he’s not going to mess with 
  us, right?” Brian asked.
  “He and a full company will be here in a few days. Do you want to ask him 
  if he’s here for the disk or just doing what Lyboc told him to? Either Lyboc 
  knows Ratello is fifth column and plans to kill him once he recovers the disk, 
  or Major Ratello is unknown and is out here to protect the fifth column on 
  his own. You pick. Keep in mind, we’re deserters, and fifth column doesn’t 
  mean disloyal.”
  
  424
  “Oh... Oh yeah.” Brian deflated.
  “You two had better disguise yourselves just in case, in fact, that goes for 
  all of you. Officially, we’re all dead, so there won’t be any bounty hunters 
  or search parties coming to hunt us down. Don’t slip up and give it away,” 
  Greg advised.
  “You could dye your hair, Brian!” Lisa rustled his red hair playfully.
  “I will if you will.”
  “I’ve always wondered how I’d look as a brunette.” Lisa examined a 
  length of her blond hair.
  The clatter of a heavy plate being placed on the table made Natessa jerk. 
  The huge platter of french fries attracted eager hands with its aroma.
  “There ya go.” Freya wiped her hands on her apron and reached back to 
  retrieve a large pitcher and mugs from another table. “Ya can’t drink ale on 
  an empty stomach. That’ll hold ya until I get yer greens.” She gave one more 
  look at the table and was off to the kitchen.
  Natessa smelled the liquid Greg poured for her. The bitter aroma suggest-
  ed something unsatisfying. From her limited experience, if it smelled bad, it 
  tasted bad. Everyone else seemed content downing mass quantities of it, so 
  she braced herself and took her first sip of root beer.
  “If any of you would like, you can accompany me on my quest,” Sir Ren-
  field spoke up.
  “Oh, that’ll be the day,” Van quipped sarcastically.
  “Hey, if that Sploogie demon thing came from Atlantis, that’s one place 
  I plan not to go,” Darren voiced an agreement that was shared through nods 
  around the table.
  Natessa was silent. The determination she sensed in the Cyber-Knight 
  would not be swayed. He would be captured or killed. This she knew for 
  certain.
  “I wasn’t asking you, Van,” Sir Renfield responded irritably. “I know 
  what your opinion is. Targo is accompanying me, as are some other brave 
  souls seeking adventure and the opportunity to fight the evil that comes from 
  that place.”
  “Yeah yeah yeah...”
  “So, you don’t want to come, Darren?” Sir Renfield pressed the recruit-
  ment, pulling Darren away from a very close verbal conversation with Cyn-
  diara.
  “No. Not just no. No! Me an’ Van are gonna try to swipe some more of 
  those guns from those cybernetic robo-chicks.”
  “And after that?”
  “Who knows. Maybe I’ll go join up with First Strike.” Darren looked at 
  Greg and smiled.
  “I’m staying put.” Peterson grinned.
  “Great.” Greg looked over the top of his mug.
  
  425
  “I would ask you, Anja, but I know your place is with Van.” Sir Renfield 
  looked sad.
  “We’ll be staying around here a while longer.” She patted his hand. “Don’t 
  leave without saying goodbye.”
  “I’ll come, man.” Delwin squeezed into the booth next to Sir Renfield, 
  practically sitting on the knight’s lap.
  “No, no, uh, Delwin, it’s too dangerous,” Sir Renfield protested.
  “I am sensing some very positive waves from you all tonight.” Delwin 
  looked around with a stupid grin.
  “Hello, Delwin,” Anja giggled.
  “So, Kro... uh, Gibs. Can Gibs come too, man, like all of us?” Delwin said, 
  motioning for Kro-Mar to pull up another chair at the table.
  “Can I come?” the dragon in disguise asked, wearing his likeness of Mel 
  Gibson once more. Kro-Mar had put aside the “scare humanoids” game in 
  favor of the adventure and treasure Delwin had promised him if he tried to 
  get to know a few humans for a while.
  “Well, that isn’t really what I had in mind...” Sir Renfield felt his will-
  power and irritation fading away as he looked around to the amused grins and 
  smiles around the table.
  Forgotten for the moment were the problems and dangers that awaited the 
  treacherous days to come. For once, humans, a Crazy, a D-Bee, a dragon, a 
  psychic, and a practitioner of magic all sat at the same table without fear or 
  prejudice.
  Each one’s life was just beginning a new adventure.
  
  426
  
  www.palladiumbooks.com
  ®
  Cat. No. 303
  ISBN-10: 1-57457-032-3
  ISBN-13: 978-1-57457-032-8
  The fabric of space and time is torn asunder and Earth becomes a 
  nexus – a gateway – to countless alien worlds and the forces of 
  magic and the supernatural.
  300
  300 years after the Great Cataclysm and the Coming of the Rifts, 
  humankind struggles against inhuman invaders and dark magic 
  from the Rifts. D-Bees – alien beings from other dimensions – share 
  our planet, as do monsters and supernatural horrors. Earth has 
  become an alien landscape unto itself. A place awash by an ever 
  shifting tide of magic, chaos, and madness.
  The
  The Coalition soldiers under the command of Lieutenant Greg 
  Merrick venture back into the wilderness to defeat the enemies of 
  mankind, only to discover that the real menace may be the leaders to 
  whom they have sworn loyalty. Startling discoveries will force them 
  to reexamine their long-held beliefs, and may forever change their 
  lives.
  Hard
  Hard choices, strange bedfellows, deception, betrayal and the 
  hand of evil all play a role in the final chapter of Rifts®: Treacher-
  ous Awakenings™.
   The fantastic world of the popular Rifts® Role-Playing Game is 
  brought to life in this third and final book of Adam Chilson’s trilogy.
   Science-fantasy as only Palladium Books® can do it.
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/RIFTS/EXTRAS/novel/Rifts - Novel - Trilogy 03 - Treacherous Awakenings.pdf