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An attack ship swung in low from the south.

“Sam?”

   “Immortality is not a guarantee.”

Maya’s words terrified him.

“She’s not gone. She’s not gone.”

Nothing else lived in the amphitheater. He saw no evidence of the Bouchet brothers; only scattered body parts from the hybrids he put down earlier.

“This ain’t the end. No fucking way.”

Michael committed. He unholstered his rifles and raced into the fray. The immortal soldiers were dropping the enemy, but they were wasting too much ammunition. Did Valentin not pass along Michael’s tip to reset the flash peg proximity triggers to maximum precision? To fire paired pegs and instantly penetrate Guard body armor?

“Screw this,” he said and opened fire.

He shredded ten of the advancing enemy in seconds, as their pegs made no impact on his own armor. The other immortals cheered and rushed forward, emboldened. Michael slaughtered enough of the battalion to safely leave the rest for his new allies.

Directly overhead, an attack ship blocked the sun for an instant. Before it might unleash fiery hell, its Carbedyne nacelles exploded. A second railgun blast struck the craft amidships. It flipped over in a death spiral, crashing beyond the edge of the firefight.

Flames consumed two more Guard soldiers.

Michael pivoted. His business lay inside the city. Sam was not gone. James was not dead.

He tapped his amp. “Valentin? Are you there? Valentin?”

After a long pause, a response.

“I’m here, Michael. You survived. Good.”

“Where are you?”

“Doing what you said. Trying to win the fight.”

“Are you winning?”

“We shot down most of their attack craft. But they landed ten thousand troops. We’re scattered on more fronts than anticipated.”

“Upgrade your peg proximity triggers and spread the lines. I’m going after James and the remaining hybrids. Where are they?”

“I haven’t seen or heard from them. Here. I’ll you send the coordinates for the hybrid sector. The convex gradient can’t penetrate the walls, but at least you can narrow down the options.”

“Thank you, Valentin.”

“Michael, take care. My brother … he’s more than we expected.”

“That’s for sure. But he’s not unbeatable. Just looks like it. Valentin, you win the fight you were born for, and I’ll do the same damn thing. Get my speed?”

“I do. Good luck, Michael.”

Michael examined the coordinates, which highlighted the city’s grid system and the designated habitats for hybrids ten blocks away. Rifle fire cascaded from every direction. He expected to encounter heavy resistance on the way in. He focused the S-1 on the Jewel composite energy signatures.

As he began his approach, Michael refused to give up hope.

“Where are you, Sam? You can’t be gone.”

70

I T WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE THIS WAY. Supreme Admiral Angela Poussard calculated for everything. She brought overwhelming forces, superior air power, and a surprise attack. How could this be happening?

The Praxis command bridge was in a state of pandemonium. The officers on the ground reported horrifying casualties, systemic failure of body armor, and an unknown weapon that imprisoned soldiers in a gravity bubble and compressed their bodies before literally turning them inside-out. Camouflaged railguns blew their ships out of the sky.

If they advanced, the slaughter would continue. If they retreated, no rescue crafts awaited.

The soldier biodata reports left Poussard speechless. Five thousand dead. Five thousand five hundred dead. Six thousand dead.

“How much longer can they hold on?” She asked Capt. Forsythe.

“Is this all we have, Admiral? How many ships did we leave in reserve at the gate?”

She didn’t want to say it. The number was confirmation of her incompetence. She was finished.

“Do you realize,” she said, a scant above a whisper, “we have already lost more combat soldiers today than in the past four hundred years combined?”

“Admiral, this is not about history. We have to salvage this. How many ships in reserve?”

“Only the Hummel.”

Forsythe stared in dismay. “You sent in everyone? Why?”

“Because the Guard does not settle for half-measures.”

“Admiral, we always leave reserves in case a second wave is required. That is basic operating procedure.”

Now you’re developing a spine, Poussard thought as Forsythe glared with the eye of a second-in-command who wanted the big chair. You will never understand what it’s like.

“We need to leave,” she announced to the bridge, drawing sudden silence. “This fight is lost, but we have the jumpgate and we have a holostream of thirty-five million quantum signatures. We’ll fight another day.”

Col. Johansson, the navigator, swung around in anger.

“Admiral, are we abandoning our soldiers?”

“Yes, Colonel. That is exactly what we’re doing. There are no better ideas, so don’t bother proposing any. Lt. Norvath, how long will you need to spool the Praxis holostream for compressed transmission through the Anchor?”

The young man, also dumbfounded, took a moment to focus.

“It’s a full system download, Admiral. Massive. I can make transfer in twenty minutes.”

“Good. Do it. All non-essential personnel report to the Anchor. Set the engine’s fusion rods to overload in thirty minutes. That will allow us time to evacuate. We’ve given the terrorists enough today. We’ll not hand over Praxis.”

A new schematic opened adjacent to the navigation dais.

“We might not have a choice,” Col. Johansson announced. “Three ships have jumped out of wormholes.”

“Size and disposition?”

“Two Scramjets and a commercial luxury liner. Its configuration matches Lioness, which Salvation captured two years ago when a Berserker wiped out Port Baghdad. Lioness is holding position ten K off our bow. The Scramjets are astern at point-blank firing range.”

You had to bring us closer, Poussard. You had to violate your own mission design.

“Suggestions?” She asked to no one in particular. “Forget what I said earlier. If you have a better idea, I’m listening.”

Capt. Forsythe sighed. “We still have the Anchor. Evacuate everyone but senior staff. We buy time to compress the holostream.”

“And how do you suggest we buy time?”

“By doing the

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