Chapter 1

The baying of a tracking dogg, an electrical keel of the drone bringing up the end, speared through vines choking the jungle and then bounced around an abrupt clearing like an excited electron between magnets, before cutting through the thin plastic paneling that comprised the shells of dozens of what Michael Lordes took to be homes. His head snapped to the right, GPS coordinates blazed to life on the lower portion of his Ushirian Cloth faceplate. Michael stared at the numbers and then waved a hand in front of his face to dispel the coordinates.

Doggs had been known to be incorrect about targets. He assumed. Nothing was infallible, Michael assured himself as he kicked at a plastic door as thin as the semi-translucent walls that held up the home. How anyone could live in such squalor was impossible to fathom when colony setup was so strictly governed. It mattered not the government. If sanctioned by one of the three governments wealthy enough to colonize planets, even the newest of colonies looked indistinguishable from established planets, if only a bit emptier. They were like new cities where there was only trees and muddy land before. A lot of houses, few commercial buildings, and not many people to populate it. Why some people got it in their mind colonizing a planet was cheap and easy, would remain one of life’s mysteries. But here he was, kicking down a door the hinges were barely able to keep attached to the rest of the home.

His foot tipped a solar powered brazier, ash billowed from the rusty coils onto the prefab plastic flooring. The bathing area, nothing more than a shower head hanging from the ceiling in the far left corner of the thirty-foot by thirty-foot dwelling, looked as if it had never been used. Michael had a suspicion that if he looked closer, he would find a pipe leading to the roof, pointing to the sky as if the owner waited for a downpour of rain to bathe. He kicked at a futon couch, prodded the mattress with the barrel of his light snapper rifle, and then swept his gaze over the room.

Light slanted in from cracks on the uneven roof seam, dust floating in the air like smoke after a fireworks show. The tiny particles danced around as if celebrating Lordes not finding what he knew was in the shithole of squalor, otherwise known as Landing Site B.17. The futon slid across the floor from a kick of frustration. Who doesn’t even bother to change the initial designation of the landing site when they moved in?

“A bunch of assholes. That’s who,” Michael said. The futon crashed into a low-lying dining table. One of the legs of the table sprung free, like it was trying to achieve atmospheric escape velocity and pierced a side of the hab. The futon and table hit the side of the hab, causing a sound like that of ridiculous fake thunder. The hab began to wheeze and groan like a too old person walking up a flight of stairs. The walls began to list and Michael skipped backwards, back onto the beaten down grass as the hab continued its list. It came to a crashing end, plastic shrapnel razoring across the clearing, ricocheting off the fantastically advanced armor of his tan Ushirian Cloth.

Two people in like unitards, flexible armor plating on the torso and thighs, only a few feet on the opposite side of the wreckage from Michael, gazed at the wreck and then brought their heads up in his direction. They both rose their right hands in unison, like marionettes on the same string. The head movement was identical as well. Helio and Thatcher. How someone could tell the twins apart enough to call one the correct name was beyond Michael. They looked identical, moved identical and spoke in unison. Like they suffered the strangest case of echopraxia in human existence. If asked, the twins would say they were quite different and it was simple to tell the two apart. Helio blinked every third second when awake and Thatcher every fourth second. They were also as brilliant as AIs running navigation on spaceships. Four years now, and Michael was no closer to finding out if two were actually human than he was the day he met them. In his home on Taurus. In the living room they weren’t invited into.

Michael flicked his hand in their direction, indicating the eight habs that had not been investigated. The twins pointed behind him precisely when the baying touched his ears for a second time. Michael huffed like a bull. His head turned in the direction of the dogg and then back in the direction of the eight habs.

“How often are doggs wrong?” a woman asked, her face and head bare. Silver white hair cascaded around her shoulders like a waterfall viewed at night. No faceplate was needed for Domiq. Ushirian geneticists had long ago solved the problem with the human body not playing nicely with new bacteria and pathogens. A patent on the technology that allowed for femurs in infants to be replaced by a cybernetic femur that grew at the same pace as the rest of the body, kept Ushirians on a level of exploration other governments envied. When unknown pathogens were encountered by an Ushirian body, their femurs ceased the creation of blood cells and switched to anti-pathogens. The technology was so successful at destroying any invaders of the body that the person usually didn’t get so much as a sniffle. It was also the reason why a blockade was placed on the planet of Ushiri until their government agreed not to weaponized the tech and to allow independent yearly audits of their manufacturing facilities.

“They’ve been wrong Domiq,” Michael said and stomped across the fallen hab. Plastic shattered like layers of thin ice..

“When was that?” Helio and Thatcher asked, and took three steps to their left, movements perfectly synchronized.

Michael glared at them, a silent dare to comment on how his foot slipped on the brittle plastic siding. “Go help each other take a piss.”

“We’ll wait over here,” Domiq called out.

He waved his hand dismissively. The goddamn dogg was not correct. It was a drone created by people. It couldn’t always be right. It found a broken weapon from a long ago jungle excursion, then conflated the broken weapon with assumed weapons on the three assholes who decided stealing a freighter was better than hiring one. Unsanctioned colonies may have been illegal on the books, but it was a law akin to jaywalking. Unless a person acted a complete jerk, enforcers of the law looked the other way. The appeal of not running after every irrational thinking group who decided to start a colony on a planet, without having the resources to properly document every new pathogen and animal and plant on the planet, was obvious. Nature generally won against the ill-prepared adventurers who fashioned themselves conquerors of a new world—cleaned up a mess that would have expended hundreds of millions of cawgs. In the chance the colonists were successful in surviving the brave new world, that was also a saving in money, as the closest governmental power would swoop in and declare through superior military might, the colony as a state or province of said government. A new colony without the initial setup cost.

Of course when the leaders of this particular group, the irrational people cursed with the greatest charisma, steal from a company owned by the son of parents with considerable political influence in the Lux parliament, the sit back and see approach gets thrown out with the dirty bathwater. Sending a military ship to arrest the three individuals was also off the table, in an attempt to save money. Which was an obvious lie. Michael didn’t need to be told the owner of Freight Sunrise was attempting to retrieve a stolen ship without their insurance company being made aware of the theft. It all came down to the mighty cawg. Actions influenced through money. Money governing decisions.

Michael ground his teeth. He felt like spitting, so instead he rose the light snapper to his shoulder. Light shattered on the morning. A rainbow of light appeared to connect his barrel to the flimsy plastic siding. Really, the molecular bonds of the tungsten-titanium alloy flechettes, travelling at ten percent the speed of light, when exposed to air, excited and created a beautiful and deadly display. The fast moving elements heated, the heat creating a sheen which reflected light as if a rainbow ray of light ripped apart the habs.

The rifle swayed to the right, carving a path of chaos, though quite attractive in the morning light. He released his grip on the trigger, and glared at the habs as they crashed to the ground. Not a single person or animal ran from the destroyed homes. Which meant the dogg was correct in finding something other than an old broken weapon.

Michael pivoted on his heel, holding out the three foot long silver and red rifle towards the broken homes, and held his other hand, palm up. “So the dogg found someone. It doesn’t explain the why of why there are no fucking people here.”

The twins moved around the broken home, each walking around one side in a mirror-like fashion in the direction of Domiq. Going on two years with Lordes Legion, Domiq held a sway over the twins that Michael often envied. The reason may have whittled down to Ushirians witnessing a great many different people. It came with the territory. A people that could explore any planet, not just those reconed by scout probes, were a valuable commodity, highly sought after by the three largest governments. Scout probes took time to build, test, transport and maintain. Then add in the additional costs for defensive weaponry, needed on a great deal of uninhabited planets, and exploring with probes took a political turn. The use of such machines waxing and waning, dependent on the climate. A Ushirian was a different beast, the use of which—multifold.

Trained from childhood at no additional expense to the employer. They were elf-sufficient, able to tell the difference between an animal that attacked for sport and one merely defending territory, smart, and capable of autonomy. With no worry of an person getting struck by a solar flare and never returning to roost; Ushirians were everything the colonial divisions of Lux, Malum and Cortiga looked for in a machine. The people provided the governments with goodwill towards their citizens in an age when machines working the majority of jobs was a practice not with the popular thinking. And long run thinking, they were cheaper than scout probes.

So as a prospector for a decade before joining with Lordes Legion, Domiq had visited far more orbitals and populated planets than nearly every person alive. It was her broad view of humanity that led to her able to connect to the twins on a level Michael was unable to. So he assumed. When the two finally made it around the fallen hab, stopping inches apart rather than walking into each other and morphing into one, Domiq looked at Michael.

“I don’t know what you want to hear.” Her eyes darted between Michael and the twins. “Maybe the water was tainted, they didn’t have filtration units to handle cleaning it, so they left. What I do know is the dogg found at least one of three. It’s not mistaken.”

Domiq pointed at the destroyed habs behind Michael, being polite by not voicing who, in their immediate area, was mistaken about the location of the three leaders of the renegade colony. At the end of the HALO jump to treetops a hundred yards from the clearing they had all seen the dogg turn north and scamper across the treetops instead of running into the clearing, which Michael had done. As a human was always smarter than a machine.

“No one here. No food. No clothing, just a bunch of mattresses made of fabric. Not even smart fabric.” Michael kicked aside a floppy slab of plastic from his path. “I didn’t have us check out every hab because I thought the dogg was wrong.”

Domiq arched an eyebrow. The twins about-faced and tilted to their heads to the left, slightly.

“Fuck you all.” Michael stopped in front of the three. Hands on his hips he slowly surveyed the empty habs. “The snake pots were closed when made it to the jungle floor. Not a single one open next to the vines acting a wall around this place. Now that could have meant the place was empty, none were waiting on a snack to come marching through, but those.” He snapped his fingers. “Those yellow birds. Whatever they’re called were hanging back behind where we came in. They stay away from people if intel is correct. A canary in a coal mine sign if you will.”

Domiq brushed her hair behind her shoulders. The twins remained silent. Michael blew out a long breath and held his hand out. “Shall we go see what the dogg found? Helio, Thatcher, you’re taking point. Hack a way to where it is.”

A low silver tone cut through the vegetation. GPS coordinates flared on his faceplate, this time different. The twins broke into a run without a word said, pulling nanofilament machetes from sheaths on their backs. Michael matched cadence behind them, not giving Domiq so much as a glance. She smiled and reached behind her head with both hands. One hand tucking her hair into her Cloth, she pulled the loose hood over her head. A faceplate emerged from the edges, sealing down the middle, the moment she took her hand away. A hand swung the butt of her loudgun from around her back into her hands, and then she trotted after.

A search of the habs was required, even with the dogg off in the distance, tracking like a magical bloodhound. Intel provided by Lux Military Intelligence indicated one hundred eight souls presided in the clearing. Even in the chance the three targets were not present, an occupant of the shanty town could have provided a lead. So Michael wasn’t wrong in ordering a search. His only mistake was not leaving the moment the dogg found its quarry with it given the town was empty of all life.

Domiq sighed when she made it to Michael’s side. He turned his head in her direction and then back at the jungle plants falling to the ground. The nanofilament edges of the machetes cut through the plant life like a razor through vacuum. No resistance was met when the edges sliced so fine it parted individual elements.

Michael stood silent beside Domiq. His shoulders back, head straight, breaths coming at an interval too perfectly timed to be normal. The lack of human presence affected him, even if he would never give voice to it. And why would it not. One hundred eight individuals gone without a trace of struggle, not even a few spare belongings left. Either Lux Intelligence was gravely mistaken, the entire town set up as a decoy, or an unknown was at play.

“Captain Hilya assures me that Lux had video surveillance of the squalid place being occupied,” Michael said, as if he could read her thoughts.

“How long ago was that?”

“Sixteen hours ago. Satellite isn’t in stationary orbit.”

She nodded. A small tree fell, disclosing a natural clearing about fifteen feet across. A mass of vegetation, reaching no further than their knees blanketed the ground. Snake vines pulsed along the top, as if digesting a new meal. Which was likely. The number carnivorous plant species found on C-45.X far surpassed the amount found on any other planet. A shelled creature with a neck as long as its three-foot long body plodded across the expanse, pushing aside plants like a river through loose sand. Thatcher kicked at the head, Helio mimicking his kick. The creature snapped its jaws on open air without breaking its slow pace.

A movement at the tops of the tall trees, off to the right, caught the attention of all four at the same time. Machetes dropped to the plants as the twins brought light snapper rifles to their shoulders. Three silver spheres floated slowly from the trees. Light reflecting as if they were prisms. Rainbows played across the four mercenaries like they were in a treasured secret garden. Then the spheres were gone. No sound, just a displacement of air shaking the leaves where they had been.

“What are they…” Michael trailed off when he saw the three facing him. He pointed at the ground and then lifted his head back to the tree tops. “Keep cutting, I want to get them before they slip away.”

He looked at Domiq as the twins picked up their machetes, slow like, as if they were reluctant to give up their long range weapons. Domiq gave a small shrug, but craned her neck to peer at top of the oblong circle clearing. Branches crashed down and then the four were moving once again. This time, rather than engross himself in internal thoughts, Michael held his light snapper at the read, his head moving as if on a swivel. While Domiq held the loudgun casually at her side. He arched an eyebrow at the action, but said nothing. She was an amazing Soldier of Fortune and would have his back, instantly, when the time came.

[Rest, rest, rest. You have had a long journey. Energy expended in the jump and then moving through the plant growth. Rest. Sit and let your body relax.] A voice said to Michael.

Michael slipped on a root. He fell hard to his knees, and then spun himself around, the light snapper coming around like the head of a snake searching for meal that escaped. He pushed himself to his feet, his movements jerky and alert.

“What?” Domiq asked.

“What did you just say?” Michael asked. A small snake pot, not quite waist height, began to unfurl its petals. A pinkish stem that extended from the center resembled a tongue that moved like a charmed snake.

“I just asked, what.” She stared at him for a moment then continued to survey the dense brush. Insects floated around them like a low lying fog. Birds swooped down from branches for quick snacks. Mammals leaped between trees to find a meal.

Michael shook his head. “What the fuck,” he muttered.

[The body is tired. I can see it in your movements, in your pulse rate and blood pressure. The fatigue of not finding anything in the habitat is much. If you sit, you can relax. The three you seek are not going anywhere.]

Michael ground his teeth and clenched his fists on the rifle at the voice that sounded neither man nor woman. It was clearly not Domiq, with her sultry voice that oozed sexuality. He could make out her voice in a room crowded shoulder to shoulder. It was not the twins either. They rarely spoke, but when they did the voices were clearly masculine.

The distance marker next to the GPS coordinates put the quarry at fifty feet directly ahead of them. Michael’s feet slipped on more roots, this time he grabbed at Domiq to keep his footing.

“Who is this?” Michael asked, after close to a minute of silence.

[I am who I am. Why do you keep resisting. The body needs rest.]

“That’s great to hear.” He waved off a question from Domiq, and then made a shooing gesture at the twins to continue cutting.

[Resistance only weakens you more.]

He chuckled and looked up, searching for the voice that hacked the comms on his Cloth. “That’s great. At least you’re not me trying to persuade myself into foolishness. Here I thought I was going insane.”

[No. You are not going insane. But your resistance is tiring. As the woman is working too slow, I will have to take matters into my own.]

Chaos erupted around them. The twins moved like unholy wraiths, their machetes flashing through the air over Michael’s head. The blades met a trio of silver spheres in the air. Light exploded around the spheres, ash rained to the ground. Concussions shook the vegetation around them. Domiq’s loudgun coughed up round after round. Explosions from contact with the spheres buffeted Michael, singing vines and branches. Flechettes from Michael’s light snapper and the rifles of the twins, fired so quickly they created a solid rope of rainbow, crashed against the spheres. The objects spun, throwing light in a wild kaleidoscope, and then a wave pulsed from them. The four were thrown in different directions.

The light snapper fell from Michael’s hands as he crashed against a tree trunk. A large slug like creature dropped from branches, landing square on his head. His hands tore into wet flesh as he ripped it from his head, and then with his other he grabbed a black egg from his waist and tossed it into the air. The faceplate of his Cloth tinted to blackness as the white grenade flashed. A miniature sun erupted above him. Fire like that of a solar flare detonated from the nexus. A wind pushed on him like a bridge pile driver and then a sound shattered the jungle air.

Michael lay motionless for close to a minute, peering out through the faceplate as it tinted back to transparent, astonished at the power of a white grenade experienced from close proximity. Trees and vines were shoved away like an impossible giant bubble abruptly materialized. Red-orange fire consumed vast quantities of wet vegetation, gray smoke billowing into the air and dropping like fog at dusk.

“That’s what I thought! You’re gonna have to try harder than that to prevent me from getting the three. Roland, Semoa, and Alan are mine. I don’t give a fuck who thinks otherwise,” Michael said, and pushed away from the trunk he leaned against. He brushed away pieces of smoldering ash from his Cloth. The hardy material showing not a single mark. The light snapper a few feet away was not so lucky. The red and silver was gone in favor of varying shades of scorch marks. A visual on his faceplate, when he touched the rifle, let him know it was in working order minus the ability to use the scope.

“Everyone alive?” Domiq asked. She pushed her way through a tangle of plants to get into the new clearing.

“Of course,” the twins replied.

Michael stepped up to Domiq then pointed to their right. The twins picked themselves up from fiery brush, looking like two demons leaving the smoldering pits of hell.

“Someone else is here trying to get our money,” Michael said. He looked around and nodded. “Pretty sure we got rid of them.”

“Let’s hope,” Domiq said. “Our guns didn’t seem to do much to whatever that was.”

“That’s why we have grenades.” Michael slapped her on the back and made his way in the direction they were travelling. A minute of fighting with tangled brush, he emerged onto the banks of a muddy river cutting through the jungle. An oblong black egg stood on six legs thirty feet up river. At the feet of the dogg lay what Michael assumed were three bodies. It was difficult to tell with the bodies being in pieces, rather than whole.

He cleared his throat and swallowed back bile as he stepped closer. Dead bodies were part of a soldier of fortune life. The profession was not for those with strong views on violence, but lying witness to dismemberment was always a gruesome sight. When he made it within a few steps of the dogg, it trotted over to two heads like it was excited to show off its newest toys to its owner.

“Well there’s two of them,” Michael said. He made a face as he stared at the heads, so his Cloth could run a facial recognition on them. They were oddly untouched, above the neck that is. Three dimensional pics of Roland and Alan appeared next to each head, verifying what Michael knew.

“We found the other one,” the twins said. Helio held up a head. Thatcher held up an arm that looked like it had been chewed on.

Domiq stopped by the dogg and patted it like it was the real thing. “You think that other party did this?”

Michael shrugged and looked away from the body parts to study what lay around them. Trees hung far over the river. A long sword nosed reptile sprang from the water, snatched a foot and sank back beneath the muddy surface. Multi-colored birds flew over the surface, dipping in every so often to come up with a fish.

“Fuck if I know but I’m calling in the extraction. We’ll head back to the shanty town for pick up.” He patted his leg and the dogg trotted up to him. Michael held up his hands at the twins, still holding the head and arm. “Drop that shit. I’ll send a recording with the extraction.”

He looked around once more and shook his head. “Let’s get out of here.”