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  The last surviving members of the Outcast Gold Squad faced forward in the tiny vessel, and each one had plenty of thoughts to occupy their minds. They had only just managed to fight their way clear of The Last Call, fending off the insane attacks by the Ru’at cyborgs.

  Brigadier General Asquew fought a way clear for us to disembark, Jezzy reflected. Unconsciously, she turned her head inside her helmet and craned to peer out of the nearest porthole—not that she could see the distant orb of Pluto anymore. Instead, all she saw outside the ship were swathes of strange lights as the gravity field created by the jump-ship stretched and warped the photons and neutrinos around them. The jump-ships worked like that: a ring of heavy particle generators on the small haulier ship created a bow-wave through space-time, folding the stuff of the cosmos in front of it and lengthening it like the ripples atop a lake behind. An easy solution to crossing vast interstellar distances in no time at all.

  It wasn’t as good as the Ru’at FTL drives, Jezzy thought irritably. But it was all that they had. All that humanity had.

  “Commander?” Ratko cleared her throat, prodding Wen to respond.

  Should I tell her? General Asquew had given her a top-secret mission. However, that same woman had also given her a data-stick containing high-level command codes for the Marine Corps, and she had given it to Jezzy.

  In case Asquew didn’t make it, Jezzy thought, and felt the pit of nervousness and despair threaten to open inside her once more. They had already lost so much: Petchel, Karamov… The Ru’at had overrun the Sol system, and their cyborgs, difficult to kill and unafraid to die, were formidable.

  We lost Proxima, Jezzy reflected. And the other general—an old-timer by the name of Hausman—had apparently declared himself as the leader of Earth in the aftermath of New York being nuked. A nuclear device he himself had probably set off.

  All that was left of humanity was whoever was living under their new Commander-in-Chief Hausman, and the rebel Rapid Response Fleet under Asquew.

  If we survive as a species through all of this, I’ll be amazed.

  But Asquew had given Jezzy and her squad a mission. A desperate, hopeless mission. And Jezzy knew that her squad-mate had the right to know.

  “Mars. We’re going to Mars,” Jezzy said. “We’re going to rescue Solomon.”

  “Isn’t Mars occupied by the separatists?” Ratko asked. The initial jubilation on hearing that their original commander was alive and well—at least, they assumed—had died down. Now it came time for the harsh reality.

  “And the Ru’at.” Jezzy nodded seriously. “The First Rapid Response Fleet was stationed there, attacking the Martians when the Ru’at jump-ships appeared and attacked.”

  “What was Solomon doing there?” Willoughby broke her silence by asking.

  “Maybe trying to join the Rapid Response, maybe trying to find General Asquew.” Jezzy didn’t know. Asquew had been there, after all, overseeing the ‘pacification’ of the insurgent group that called itself the First Martians or the Chosen of Mars. It was a long and depressing story, and one that Jezzy thought paled in significance to the arrival of the Ru’at. The human mining colonies on the Red Planet had always lived up to their planet’s fierce reputation. They had always made noises about independence and ‘Confederate hegemony.’

  And finally, the Chosen of Mars had their chance, as their cause was funded and supported by a treacherous mega-corporation called NeuroTech, who was sending them the humanoid cyborgs the company had built according to Ru’at designs. The Confederacy now had Imprimatur Valance, once the spokesperson for the Martian colonies, and Father Ultor, the demagogue of the freedom fighters, securely locked away somewhere.

  Unless Hausman has released them, that is, Jezzy thought dismally.

  But a ship bearing Solomon’s signature had been observed falling into Martian atmosphere, before it was intercepted and apparently carried away by a Ru’at jump-ship. It was as much evidence as anyone needed that the strange alien species of the Ru’at had claimed the Red Planet as their own, just as they had done to Proxima.

  “Okay then, troops.” Jezzy cleared her throat, switching her suit telemetries to a squad-only broadcast. It was probably about time to start acting like a commander, if that was what Asquew wanted her to become.

  “We’re tasked to be a forward observation and expeditionary unit,” she said in as confident and firm a voice as possible. She tried to ignore the cynical voice in her mind saying that her unit only had four people left: Ratko, Willoughby, Malady, and herself.

  But we’ll get Lieutenant Cready back, she tried to tell herself. And Malady has to count as at least two Marines rolled into one, right?

  But still, the idea that four people alone could make a difference to the outcome of an interstellar war was laughable. Jezzy herself would have scoffed at such an idea, were it not for the fact that they had survived so far, through battles, infiltration events, planetary casualties, and overwhelming numbers stacked against them.

  General Asquew seemed to think we could get this done, after all. And Asquew was no fool.

  “We’re going to get eyes on the Ru’at, and we will try to harvest as much data as we can. Where are they based? What is their power source? How many ships do they have? Where can we best target our attacks?” she said. Not that they had enough ships left to actually launch an offensive against the aliens, she tried to not say.

  “And we save the commander,” intoned the heavy-metal, electronic voice of Malady. He sounded like what a cement brick would sound like if it could talk. Jezzy looked over to the man-golem, the only one left here of the original Gold Squad, seeing his half-comatose face locked into bio-chemical symbiosis with his power suit, and nodded slowly.

  “Yes. We save the commander,” Jezzy said. She knew, in that moment, that that was what she was really doing this for. Of course she would obey her orders, and she respected General Asquew, but all other aims and goals appeared futile right now. All apart from one: loyalty to her friend and commander.

  “This jump-ship will drop us a ways out from our target, and then we’ll be using the Marine scout’s silent running features to get closer to the planet,” Jezzy said. “Corporal Ratko? You’re going to be taking lead on this.” Ratko was their only technical specialist, which meant that she had a high level of expertise and training in all areas of Marine Corps technology and, in particular, communications and vehicles.

  “You think you can operate this thing?” Jezzy nodded to their own, empty Marine scout cockpit.

  “Sure thing, sir.” Ratko was grinning. She was the sort of woman who liked a challenge. “Once you’ve flown before, you never forget,” she added, although Jezzy didn’t know if that was a joke or an actual piece of Marine Corps advice.

  “Good. Then that only leaves—”

  PHA-BOOOM!

  Whatever it was that Jezzy was about to say, the words were plucked from her mouth by a violent shudder that tore through the ship.

  “What in the frack’s name was that?” she exclaimed, already reaching up to hit the release button for her harness.

  Thuddudududuhr!

  A deep, vibrational juddering jostled them, making Jezzy’s hands shake before she finally hit the release and sprawled forward onto the small middle deck as the other Gold Squad members fought to do the same.

  “Computer! Report!” she shouted as she flung herself toward the cockpit.

  THUDUDUDUHR!

  The shaking was growing more violent, so bad that Jezzy could feel an ache in her teeth, but no ship alarms were going off. There was no sound of fire or smell of smoke…

  Jezzy reached the cockpit at just the same time as the scout’s automated computer voice bleeped. She didn’t even hear it, as she was too busy looking in horror at the scene unfolding through the cockpit viewing window.

  “Attention all crew. Brace for impact. Repeat: Brace for impact…”

  “Dear mother of—” Ratko slammed into the back of one of the command chairs
as she followed her commanding officer, looking up to swear at what was coming for them.

  Both women knew that they should only be able to see one of two things: either the flashing, strange light of the Barr-Hawking field arcing around them as they skipped through space-time, or the hard, still lights of stars if they had reached their destination.

  What they saw instead wasn’t even supposed to happen. The jump-ship was still there, still far ahead of them and surrounded by the corona of the Barr-Hawking field, but the corona of bent photons was narrow and small and growing indistinct by the moment, and around the Marine ship were the pulsing flashes of stars.

  “We’re dropping out of jump?” Ratko breathed, as confused as Jezzy was before the answer became clear. Two of the magnet-lock cables that should have been attached to the nose of their ship from the jump-ship were flailing and spinning through the vacuum on their own.

  “How is that possible?” Jezzy breathed, before she saw the reason.

  There was a splash of light as a shape screamed overheard. A black cylinder larger than they were, with a pointed nosecone and three fast-rotating rings as black and shiny as obsidian around its body.

  It was the Ru’at jump-ship, and as the two women watched, it fired a tight beam of its purple-white light, spearing their distant jump-ship and sending it end over end, tearing the cables from the nose of Jezzy’s craft.

  The Marine Corps scout fell out of jump. Somehow, the Ru’at had found a way to attack other ships while they were in jump.

  THUDUDUDUHR!

  3

  Running and Revelations

  “Seize them!” The words of the clone-Tavin followed the group as they ran under the bulkhead and out of the main thoroughfare of the Ru’at colony. The brainwashed Martian humans moved slowly, forcing Kol and Solomon to shove them out of the way as the Imprimatur of Proxima seized Ambassador Ochrie’s hand and dragged her with them.

  FZZZT! A line of blue, purple, and white fire exploded on the metal walls beside Solomon’s head. Tavin had dispatched his cyborgs after them.

  And we only have one gun, Solomon remembered.

  “Where are we going? What is happening?” Ambassador Ochrie called out, her face a pale mask of confusion.

  “Never mind that! Just hurry up!” Mariad hissed as Kol led them, sliding around a corner in the complex and setting off again in a new direction.

  All the hallways and corridors here looked the same. Solomon’s heart hammered. He had no idea which one led back to the Martian transport. But what are we going to do when we get there!? He panicked. This place was a Ru’at colony! It had taken a Ru’at jump-ship, using some kind of advanced tractor-beam technology, to bring the transporter in.

  Even if we manage to get our damaged ship off the ground, we’d still never outrun, outclass, or out-fight one of those ships! Solomon felt hopelessness rise in his chest. There were plenty of times that he had been beaten and broken, but he had very, very rarely felt beaten. Maybe it was a quirk of his own mysterious genetics that had always made him think of a way out. Or maybe it was just that the younger Solomon had been dumber than he was now.

  “This way…” Kol took another branching turn once again, and this time, the metal corridors had a lot less Martians inside. There were plain doors on either side of them, their only insignia a collection of lines and dots.

  Was this part of the colony off-limits to most of the humans? Solomon wondered as Kol finally skidded to a halt at the next junction, panting and turning this way and that.

  “Where are we? Where are we going?” Solomon unwittingly echoed the ambassador’s querying voice at the back of their group. There were still the sounds of distant clattering feet coming from somewhere behind them.

  Clattering metal feet, Solomon thought gravely. “Can we hide in this place? Do the Ru’at use surveillance cameras?” he said, panting alongside Kol.

  “I don’t know. I’ve only been here a couple of times.” Kol was checking the walls and the ceiling, looking for something. “Yeah, I think this is it…” He looked down at the center of the crossroads before kneeling to start digging at the edges of one of the tiles with a small tool from his utility belt.

  “What is it? A hatchway? A trapdoor?” Solomon copied his example, using fingers in place of any tools, and in a moment, there was the hiss of releasing pressure from the floor tile, and Solomon could see where the edges of a large square had been disturbed.

  “Help me get that up... Quickly!” Kol knelt to pry at the floor panel, revealing that it was in fact an access hatch, hinged at one end and with a steel ladder descending into the darkness below.

  “What’s down there?” The imprimatur peered.

  “Who cares! Do you want to be burnt toast?” The treacherous ex-Marine was already lowering himself over the edge and down the ladder.

  “You next.” Solomon nodded to the Imprimatur.

  “What? No. You’re more important…” Mariad shook her head. The sound of clattering metal feet had turned into thundering metal feet, heading their way.

  “No, I’m not. You’re still the Imprimatur of Proxima. There are still Proximian refugees who need you,” Solomon said, wasting no time helping Rhossily over the edge as Ochrie stood motionless beside him, looking on in docile passivity.

  As soon as the top of Mariad’s head was below the floor, Solomon turned and grabbed Ochrie’s hand. “You have to go down there, the Ru’at commands it,” he said in as heavy and as formal a voice as he dared.

  “Yes, but…” Ochrie looked behind them. “That man back there. He said that we should stop.”

  “It’s a test,” Solomon said quickly. “A test of loyalty to the Ru’at. Please, Ambassador, get down that hole!” Solomon said, and the older woman reluctantly obliged, moving terribly slowly as she did so. The cyborgs came closer and closer.

  “Lieutenant, come on!” the muted voice of Rhossily came up to greet him as Ochrie was halfway down the ladder. The chasing cyborgs sounded so loud that they had to be in the next corridor. They would be here in a heartbeat…

  Solomon pushed himself over the edge, one hand letting go of the access hatch as he fell down the shaft, and the hatchway door clanged above him and plunged the falling body into darkness.

  “Ooof!” Solomon hit a floor that was altogether uncompromising and unyielding. He was tipped forward onto his hands and knees as pain scraped up his shins and his hands slapped cold, solid…stone?

  “Arg,” he groaned and hissed through his teeth. The drop had to be at least fifteen feet. If he had twisted mid-fall, then he could have easily broken a limb or smashed his head like an egg.

  “Shhh!” This came from Kol, emerging in front of him in the dim bluish glow of a tiny penlight. The ex-technical specialist put his finger to his lips and pointed above them.

  Clank, clank, clank… The sound of the marching feet above them echoed down the tunnel. In the dim light of Kol’s penlight, Solomon could make out drifts of dust coming from above, in time to the marching feet. They didn’t stop, they didn’t hesitate, and thankfully, they didn’t pause, either.

  Solomon looked at the rounded eyes of Kol in front of him and nodded. He had done well. So far.

  They appeared to be in a tunnel cut into the stony fabric of the Red Planet itself. The rocks were shot through with competing lines of quartz-glitter and dark rust. Iron ore, Solomon thought. It was what this planet was famous for, after all. The whole of Mars was shot through with base metals, thanks to its geological past.

  “But we can breathe…” Solomon looked around. Just one tunnel, seven or eight feet high and rectangular, and running mostly in the direction that the corridors above had carried on in.

  If we can breathe, then that means this tunnel is airlocked somewhere, Solomon realized. And that a human-friendly atmosphere must have been pumped down here especially.

  Which meant that the Ru’at had wanted humans to come down here—wherever ‘here’ was. “Where does it go?” he murmured to the e
x-Marine.

  “You’ll see. You won’t believe me if I told you.” Kol turned and started trudging down the tunnel, and with nothing better to do than to follow, Solomon, Rhossily, and Ochrie followed him.

  They hadn’t gone too far when Solomon realized there was another glow coming to meet them. His instincts screamed from his basal brain cortex: How could you trust this man? He’s a traitor! It’s a trap!

  But what choice did any of them have now, anyway? In his pocket, Solomon could still feel the unsettling weight of the Ru’at orb. They had managed to overpower one of the emissaries of the aliens, and now they had a piece of its technology. If he could get it back to General Asquew, then maybe they could work out what weaknesses their enemies had.

  If they have any at all…

  But the glow ahead of them was stationary. It was them who were moving toward it. None of the humans said anything as they kept walking, following the Marine who had betrayed an entire moon and killed probably hundreds of his fellow Marines.

  I should ask him about Ganymede, Solomon thought. How could he have done that? Was he brainwashed? What could have caused him to kill so many? Didn’t he care about his brothers and sisters who had shed their blood with his?

  The glow up ahead was strange. Not a clean white light, but also not the more usual purple of either LEDs or the Ru’at. This had an orangish tinge, and the shadows on the walls were a deeper blue. It reminded Solomon of those neon-eye pictures that made you try to see two different things at once.

  “More Ru’at trickery,” Solomon grumbled.

  “Not quite, this time,” Kol breathed as they walked forward into the glow. It wasn’t bright enough to blind them, so Solomon could clearly see that the tunnel had come to an end, at the edge of a much larger cavern.

  “It’s straight-up phosphorescent and florescent lighting,” Kol explained as they stood on the lip of the tunnel’s edge. At their feet were wide stone steps cut into the rock, leading down into—