ã€ŠInto The Riftã€‹


 Heeding The Call

    The mood is sky-high. Inside the church, there are cheers and the general buzz of excitement. I breathe a sigh of relief. That is good news. It meant the vows had not taken place yet.

    A handful of people still loitered outside the church, and I quickly move past them. The tall entrance arches over me, stretching well past three metres above at its highest point as I make my way past it and into the bustling interior.

    I had known many that still looked forward to this day, though through time, I suspected most of my former acquaintances, and friends, had likely already had tied the knot.

    This would be the first in over two years I had attended one of these things. Usually, an invitation would be something to ignore, or at least, only partially answered with a message feigning personal commitments to hide the true scope of my profession.

    This day would be an exception, the only exception.

    Family has its place, even when I¡¯ve all but placed all my eggs onto this basket. It was the one thing I considered to be just as important as maintaining a strict sense of discipline.

    As I look past the crowds, a familiar woman draped in a gown and veil stands out. The sight of her practically glowing is infectious and elicits a smile from me.

    It has been over three months since I last saw my sister¡ªmore or less. It is time to see what I missed since pounding dirt on the other side of the world.

    ======

    Music hummed over the chancel as the two stood before each other. I fold both arms and lean forward, anticipating the words that would soon mark the moment that defined the next chapter in life for my sister.

    With a dignified but joyful look, the Priest issues the declaration, "You may kiss the bride."

    ¡°Had to happen sometime,¡± I smile beneath the roaring applause, looking at the start of a wonderful family. One which I certainly hope to involve myself in¡ªwhenever I can.

    The ensuing rumble echoes off the white walls of the church just as a few people stand up, giving their all into the act.

    ¡°Catch!¡± Catherine yells as she throws a bouquet into the crowd. The small complement of flowers soars over me and into the row behind.

    I track the trajectory and pick up a young girl adjacent to where I predicted it would fall. She is young, barely in her early teens. The young girl buzzed with energy as she latched onto the bouquet with a squeal.

    ¡°I got it!¡± The girl¡¯s joyful exclamation barely registers over the constant holler of the crowd.

    I smile and turn back to the front. As amusing as that is, the only thing that is of importance are the two people still locked into each other¡¯s eyes. Nothing else mattered but them.

    Those two are now official, and the only reason why I had an absence of leave. Even at just three days, I considered myself fortunate given the current state of East Africa.

    They had nothing but absolute bliss as they both turn to the crowd and wave. Catherine¡¯s eyes sweep across the front row where I am and widens once she catches sight of me.

    I issue a brief nod, unfolding my arms and gesture for the both to join me in a corner that had a lower density of people.

    They obviously were baffled, and in no way expecting me to attend given my line of work with the United Nations Special Operations Group.

    There is a lot to catch up on, and I intend to make full use of the three days given to me.

    ======

    The wedding ceremony swings well into the afternoon. A few had already taken their leave, but a sizable majority remains leaving plenty of opportunities to catch up with familiar faces.

    ¡°Is that what¡¯s really going on in Tanzania?¡± Catherine¡¯s voice breaks me out of the observation.

    I turn back to my sister and shrug, the frown growing deeper. ¡°Lotta desperation and anarchy around those parts. That region¡¯s a hellhole, you don¡¯t want to know half of it. In a few more years, I¡¯m betting some of those countries will collapse completely. Region¡¯s too damn violent, and too damn hot these days.¡±

    ¡°So, how did you get that leave approved?¡± Her Husband interjects, laying a firm hand on my shoulder. ¡°More importantly, you should have told us¡ªcould have brought over some extra whiskey or something for tonight.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t say much about it, but it¡¯s a last-minute thing. Pulled some strings here and there,¡± I pause, regaining my composure and continuing, ¡°It¡¯s really a mess in Africa, but being away for three days isn¡¯t going to make it any worse. So here I am.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough,¡± he says. His hand slips off and returns around Catherine¡¯s waist. Despite the initial damper, the mood slowly returns, and I hitch off with the two of them.

    Several hours passed by unnoticed as I lightly touched upon a few notable missions, excluding the specifics as they listened aptly. A certain level of restraint was needed to ensure most of what I told did not compromise the secrecy of my unit¡¯s ongoing operations.

    Catherine would often stop me, switching between concern to shock even with the bare minimum within my line of work. She is worried and expressed it well enough that I got the message loud and clear.

    ¡°It¡¯s all good, trust me,¡± I smile, attempting to placate her obvious worries.

    ¡°I still think you could do much better outside, that engineering diploma should count for something,¡± Catherine reasons, her hand draped on my shoulder. She beams back a smile as she anticipates a hopeful answer.

    ¡°Maybe,¡± I return a shrug, sweeping across the room for her Husband. He is nowhere in sight.

    Returning to Catherine, I give her my honest take. ¡°Too late for that though.¡±

    ¡°As if,¡± she scoffs, though the playful glint shone through her eyes.

    We make choices, and we have to live with them. At a relatively young age of twenty-six, I was young enough that what she said still held merit. I genuinely could, but there is no reason to.

    My place is with the men and women of the UN Special Operations Group. They are family almost in the same vein as Catherine.

    I¡¯m neck deep into this line of work. And I would not have it any other way. Being an operative is part of who I am and will forever be something that defines me. Deep down, I think she understood that.

    This was just her way of showing she cared immensely.

    ===3 hours later===

    A few acquaintances reach out over the next few hours. All of them are dressed for the occasion¡ªa suit and tie for the men and gowns for the women. It was a stark contrast to my own. Just a simple black T-shirt and sporting jeans owing to the rushed nature of my departure.

    It was good to catch up, to recall those younger days where things were simpler. Those golden years where we only had grades and rumours to worry about.

    The sun slowly descends further down as the afternoon drags on. I wave a few good friends farewell, showing them out the church until most had vacated and those that remained consisted mainly of the staff in charge of the wedding¡ªtechnicians, photographers, and also that priest¡­ or pastor.

    All of that must have cost a fortune.

    The moon hovers over the cityscape, just peeking over the jagged network of skyscrapers. Its warm glow washes over me as utility lights flicker to life across all corners of the city, bathing the streets and buildings in a rich glow of faded yellow.

    ¡°Jerome, Hun¡¯,¡± a familiar motherly voice reaches out to me from the adjacent carpark.

    I look to the source, coming face to face with an aging woman, her brown hair streaked with white.

    ¡°Yes Ma?¡± I say and lean off the wall.

    She points to the watch on her wrist. ¡°It¡¯s six. Our reservation¡¯s waiting on you,¡± she pauses, tilting her head slightly. ¡°Anything from work?¡±

    I shake my head, catching the minty freshness of the breeze with each breath. ¡°Nope, just enjoying the calm, Ma.¡±

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    She sends back a ghost of a smile. ¡°Okay,¡± she gestures towards the carpark, and I follow right behind as she leads on.

    Some things never change.

    ======

    The awkward tension is almost tangible. Empty glances are thrown without further intentions to break the stalemate. I shift in place, contemplating the pair seated across me as they quietly endured the silence. In the end, it is too much, and so I break out with the first thing that comes to mind.

    "Good to see it¡¯s official now, after what¡ªthree years?¡±

    ¡°Almost four, actually,¡± John curtly supplies with a chuckle.

    ¡°Is it?¡± I take a moment to reflect and wonder where exactly the time went. I still remembered meeting him for the first time, unexpectedly dropping by their first date as newly minted Sophomores back in the first months of 2042.

    ¡°Well, it goes without saying, I''m happy for you both," I say to the both of them, digging that up after the muse.

    Catherine smiles back. "Thank you, really means the world coming from you.¡±

    After several minutes in relative silence, John Anderson, now officially my Brother-in-law, poses a sudden question.

    "So, Jerome," he begins with a solemn tone, planting both arms on the table as Catherine puts aside her phone, now looking intently at the both of us.

    ¡°What¡¯s up,¡± I reply, anticipating a question from the man.

    "It felt like you were bored half the time, not that I blame you. We both know you¡¯re not a fan of socializing,¡± he says, followed by a knowing smirk.

    I scoff, remembering feeling annoyed at that stretch of time. If there is one thing I really dislike, it would be not making good use of free time.

    ¡°Only when it¡¯s like three hours long, could have brought a book or something if I knew it was going to drag this much.¡±

    The awkward tension on the table begins to dissipate as Catherine joins in. "You don¡¯t go to these types of things often enough.¡±

    "No reason to, not that I have the time anyways,¡± I disclose.

    Catherine nods, taking my answer with a thoughtful look.

    I look at both of them before continuing. "Don¡¯t know about you both, but when the average day involves things like internal foreign security, counter insurgency, and on occasion, direct action, just waiting around doesn¡¯t sit right with me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen the news,¡± she mentions with a growing frown.

    ¡°Yeah, plenty of madness down south,¡± I pause and feign a wince. ¡°Nothing compared to the heat though, that¡¯s the real killer out there.¡±

    Catherine sends a weak smile. Even she did not know the full extent of what I am involved in. As much as I wanted to disclose a few secrets, I am bound to secrecy¡ªeven to the person I considered the closest to me.

    Just as I swing the conversation away, I take note of our mother¡¯s absence. It has been a good three minutes since I sat, more than enough reason to expedite our orders.

    The slight pang of hunger prompts me to pop the question.

    ¡°Anyways, where¡¯s Ma," I inquire, sweeping across the dining hall for a sign of her faded brown locks.

    "Went to the bathroom just after you, doing God knows what," John answers with a slight smirk.

    In response Catherine issues a slight look of disapproval at John, smacking him on the shoulder as he wraps an arm around her.

    For the moment, the worries of the next impending deployment no longer mattered. Not right now, and not during the biggest day of my sister¡¯s life.

    I raise a smile, feeling at ease¡ªmore so than I have been in weeks. This is a privilege they take for granted every day.

    ======

    I keep tabs on the time as Catherine studies the menu, her attention fully centred on the physical menu. She flips a few pages every few seconds, her eyes sweeping from left to right, no closer to finalizing her choice than she did at the start almost five minutes ago.

    ¡°Any time now Hun.¡± Our Mom slides her chair over, gently urging an indecisive Catherine to make the final decision. Just like old times.

    She holds out a hand, raising a sheepish grin not all that different from our younger days. ¡°Yea¡ªyeah, I know. It¡¯s just, well¡­ there¡¯s no bad options. Give me five more minutes, I promise.¡±

    I wave her off and chuckle. She returns a glance¡ªher way of conveying her apologies. As she continues skimming over the pages, I roll both eyes and make a short quip on her tendency to drag any outing when food comes into the mix.

    Catherine winks, and finally hands of the Menu to me.

    ¡°Over ten minutes,¡± I call her out as she passes the Menu. ¡°Took you long enough.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± she says, shrugging as she leans into her newly minted Husband. Our Mum shakes her head, stifling a laugh as she looks between the two of us.

    I look down and decide on a simple dish¡ªpicking the first one that had my interest. It seems vaguely familiar, consisting of noodles, shrimp, and a thick broth that appeared appetizing enough¡ªcertainly better than the regular stuff present in the field. Service is quick and soon enough, everyone has their orders. I dig into mine as soon as it arrives, mainly to quell the hunger.

    While eating, the other four actively converse, bringing forth a wide array of topics I never would have considered for small talk. Everyday affairs and random thoughts drift into their mix, most of which I had genuinely no interest in listening to.

    Occasionally, I cut in when the conversation steers towards me. It is geared towards what had happened over the few months I was away. As a result, my responses are deliberately vague and often would leave them with more questions than answers.

    While not explicitly said, I had a strong feeling they finally understood my position. Catherine goes off into a new tangent, engaging her Husband with an ecstatic look¡ªciting her plans during their honeymoon while he nods to whatever she says.

    As I single out their clearly one-sided discussion, a slight buzz emanates from the pocket of my jeans. I freeze, feeling my heart skip a beat as the implications of what I have just felt sinks in. I fish out the phone, glancing at the familiar number on screen.

    Not even a day in and I might already have to pull the plug on my leave of absence. Should I ignore it for the next few minutes or take it up?

    Looking back up, all four fail to pick up my dilemma, too immersed in their conversations with each other. The almost taunting image of my fellow teammate stares back, his timeless grin and matching aviators beckoning me to answer the call.

    Whatever it is, if it is important enough for James to reach out to me, then it is a safe bet something bad has happened. That means an immediate recall¡ªno ifs, no buts, no exceptions.

    Duty above all.

    I answer the call and note the sudden pause in the conversation on the table. Catherine, her Husband and our Ma stop to look at me.

    I hold out a hand to placate their questions as an urgent tone breaks through the speaker.

    ¡°Jerome, you reading me?¡± James begins.

    ¡°Reading you at five,¡± I answer, pausing to gather my wits before continuing. ¡°What happened¡ªwhere¡¯s the rest of our team¡ªis there another incident in our area of concern?¡±

    My worries shift to the ongoing crisis in Tanzania. To say things there were bad would be an understatement. Even after a year of international assistance from multiple humanitarian organizations, it only seemed that our efforts were far too little, and far too late.

    ¡°Hold your shit and relax. It¡¯s nothing like that. We still need you back ASAP though,¡± the Operative intones. ¡°Command¡¯s ordering the team to pack up¡ªeffective immediately, which includes you. We¡¯re to be transferred towards a place called Cygnus station. It¡¯s all hush so we didn¡¯t get much other than that it¡¯s either in the north or South pole¡ªI think it¡¯s South.¡±

    I frown, more confused than shocked now. ¡°Can¡¯t see any reason to ruck through all that snow.¡±

    James chuckles behind the background hustle of what is likely our home base. ¡°Hey, as long as we get our pay. You¡¯ve got a special flight scheduled with the folks on MacDill Air Base, arranged by S1. Timing¡¯s set at 2030 hours¡ªlocal time.¡±

    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll see you three when I get there,¡± I say.

    ¡°Awesome, and tell your sis we said hi yeah? Have to go¡ªstill tons of papers and docs to pass over to the next team,¡± James answers before abruptly cutting off.

    ¡°What was that?¡± Catherine recovers and leans forward.

    ¡°They want you back already?¡± Our Mum surmises with a frown, placing a hand on her temple.

    I nod and push out a deep breath to set aside that rush of guilt. This is out of my control. Even if I decide to voice this out to the relevant authorities within the UN¡¯s African Regional Security Force, the complaint would likely be brushed off citing the operational needs of whatever necessitated the fireteam¡¯s redeployment in the first place.

    Keeping a firm tone, I start off as shock crept over Catherine¡¯s face. ¡°Need to bounce right now¡ªmy fireteam¡¯s being redeployed. Can¡¯t say much, but if it¡¯s bad enough they¡¯re reaching out to me, then I¡¯ve got to go.¡±

    While slightly annoyed by the sudden revelation, I maintain a stoic face and begin packing up my bag while the three watched, unable to break out of their spell.

    ¡°Tough luck,¡± John breaks the silence as he attempts to console a sulking Catherine, his arm draped over her.

    "Isn''t there a way to postpone it?¡± Mom steps up with a final plea.

    I sigh, giving her the clean cut. ¡°No. It¡¯s quite serious.¡±

    Her eyes soften, accepting the tough reality of my commitments. ¡°Okay,¡± she says with a faded smile.

    Wrapping both arms around her, I give my mom a tight hug. She returns it with just as much vigour.

    I step away and glance over to Catherine. ¡°I¡¯ll see when I¡¯ll be free again. No promises,¡± I pause and raise a light grin. ¡°Also, the team said hi.¡±

    She laughs, regaining some of that carefree edge I¡¯ve come to associate with her. ¡°Tell the guys to take care when you see them.¡±

    ¡°Will do,¡± I answer, and bid them all a good night. It has been a good few hours, enough to make the trip worth it many times over.

    I step out onto the streets and into the urgent bustle of the city. The evening sky dawns on me with just a fading sliver of gold. Now begins the eventual trip back to reality as I ponder on the possible reasons as to why anyone would want a team of UN operatives on one of the poles.

    It really makes no sense. It could be related to the supposed rumours of a new high security prison being made in the Antarctic. But without more information, any amount of speculation is just a waste of time.

    After one last look back at the establishment, I push out a huge breath and walk into the night. While definitely annoyed by the sudden activation, a part of me still felt that burning excitement of finding out the true nature of this newest deployment. What exactly will be waiting for me there?

    Hopefully, the answers to that will be available in the next few hours.

    ===MacDill Airforce Base===

    After an hour of travel and a slightly tense standoff at the guardhouse, I am finally on the last leg of my journey. It is a quiet night here with mostly unlucky grunts tasked to their stations over the weekend.

    The two sentries currently escorting me stop and gesture to the room ahead. ¡°Your Liaison¡¯s inside. And uh, sorry about earlier¡ªit¡¯s our first time receiving folks out of a sudden.¡±

    I nod, completely understanding the man¡¯s reasons having once been in his position several years ago. ¡°No problem, at least you both didn''t freeze up.¡±

    Both sentries then step back and proceed back the way they came. I enter the room and spot a uniformed man which I assumed would be acting as my Liaison on behalf of the airbase.

    I quickly snap a salute, addressing the man with the proper decorum. ¡°Second Lieutenant Jerome H. Simmons, United Nations African Regional Security Force, hereby reporting as ordered.¡±

    He indicates an empty seat, to which I accept. ¡°We¡¯ve just received a private jet an hour ago. Name and rank checks out. Anytime you¡¯re ready I''ll show you to the strip.¡±

    I drop the salute and raise a question. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯d like to know where my destination is, and the nature of my deployment.¡±

    After a momentary silence, he looks down to his data pad. ¡°Based on what I¡¯ve received, you¡¯re set for Antarctica,¡± he looks up with a frown. ¡°Not sure for what though¡ªcan''t say shit when I can''t read two-thirds of it.¡±

    I stand up. ¡°Understood, but thanks. If there¡¯s nothing else, I¡¯m ready to get back into it.¡±

    ¡°Use the restroom first, it¡¯ll be a long one,¡± the Officer quips and gestures out to the room''s exit.

    I give him my thanks and we both proceed out.

    This new deployment just got much more interesting.

    ===End===

    Till our flesh be seared and our bones set ablaze, we shall see our battles to the end

    For Queen and Kingdom

    And for all dominions within our sway

    ======

 Cold Revelations (2)

    This is real and not actually an odd joke. The South Pole will be my new workplace. Leading the way, the man which has since identified himself as Captain Moore takes a swift turn down an empty hallway. The walls open up on both sides with chairs and tables filling a good portion of the space ahead.

    ¡°Mess Hall,¡± Captain Moore quips upon glancing back.

    It is empty¡ªderelict rather, with not another soul in sight. Across the short bound on the opposite end stands a restroom.

    ¡°Make it quick,¡± the Captain gestures ahead, fishing out his datapad again, ¡°I¡¯ll get the pilots notified now.¡±

    I proceed and voice an affirmation. ¡°Got it.¡±

    Out of all the possible destinations that crossed my mind, Antarctica stands out as one of the least likely candidates for someone like me. Whatever the reason is, it better be good enough to warrant my team¡¯s presence¡ªelse I take it up with whoever is in-charge of the base.

    ¡®One step at a time,¡¯ I calmly tell myself.

    First comes the hours long flight, then assess the situation groundside and determine the next course of action. If it is anything remotely similar to previous deployments, there won¡¯t be any shut eye for me during the first day of orientation.

    That, I¡¯m not looking forward to.

    ====MacDill Military Air base, Restroom====

    The air¡¯s minty freshness is invigorating. Most the stars are hidden by a haze of clouds as a stormy rumble echoes in the distance. Captain Moore keeps up with the occasional query as he leads me closer to the airfield, opting for a leisurely pace to which I match.

    ¡°How¡¯d you end up with the blues anyway? I didn¡¯t think anyone from Fort Benning could hop their way to the Special Operations¡¯ Group,¡± the Captain poses with a curious look.

    ¡°It¡¯s a bit of luck and timing really,¡± I shrug, ¡°a bit like job seeking actually. After basic, there was a try out for a couple of units, so I went with I think three. Most of what they tested was mental, and from what they told me I scored the highest on language acquisition.¡±

    ¡°When was that?¡± Captain Moore probes.

    ¡°Almost five years ago. So, roughly 2041. It¡¯s how I got scouted when they started founded the ARSF. It was much easier back then when they really needed to fill the ranks,¡± I reminisce, fondly remembering all the advancements I made since signing those papers almost a lifetime ago.

    Absolutely no regrets since then. Following a short interlude, Captain Moore indicates to the aircraft that sat in the middle of a lane, its navigation lights beating to a constant rhythm.

    Ground crews, strangely enough are absent. Painted at the side is the familiar blue and white of the United Nations flag.

    ¡°She¡¯s your ride¡ªSedna Pathfinder G10. Top of the line and one of the fastest I heard,¡± Captain highlights.

    I raise my brows but ultimately decide against voicing any level of surprise. This is several steps above what I expected they would allocate for just one person.

    "Good talk, anything else?" Captain Moore offers a hand.

    ¡°All good, and thanks for the help, Captain¡ªappreciate it,¡± I shake his hand and take a step back.

    I snap a salute. Captain Moore returns the gesture. ¡°Good luck Lieutenant, whatever it is you¡¯ll be doing,¡± he says as he drops the salute.

    ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±

    Turning towards the Sedna, I briefly survey its exterior, sweeping from the front all the way to its rear. It definitely carries that look of prestige. Both its engines seem be to be housed within the superstructure of the wings itself and the swept back orientation of both meant it vaguely resembles a fighter jet, and less like a plane of a more commercial origin.

    The door opens as I near it. Past the short flight of steps up, the interior flashes with a comfortable royal blue draped with a hazy atmosphere. Stranger still, no one stood on either side as I step into the aircraft. There is no crew other than the presumed Pilot, or two.

    It is empty¡ªsuspiciously so.

    I turn around, sighting the Captain looking up to issue a curt nod just as the door begins to slide close on its own accord.

    ¡°Attention Passenger, Attention Passenger,¡± a voice announces over the intercom, ¡°welcome aboard the Sedna. Turn right from where you are, and you¡¯ll bump right onto the lounge. Advise you choose a seat and strap in for the ascent. Once we¡¯re levelled, I¡¯ll let you know.¡±

    I break out of the trance and follow the instructions, quickly heading to the supposed lounge. The area is complete with multiple tables, customized aviation seats for each one, and even a single flat-screen television taking up almost the entire length of the opposite wall.

    To simply call it a lounge would be an understatement. All this luxury seems almost wasted over someone like me. But I will take what¡¯s given to me. I choose the seat that is adjacent a nice-looking sofa, eying the latter as a bed in an hour or so.

    I collect my thoughts and settle in. It is just me and the world of imagination, until I finally arrive at the South Pole¡ªat Cygnus. As the Sedna ramps up speed, so did my anticipation.

    The hours have never felt longer than it did now.

    ====six hours later=====

    -0532 Military Hours

    - Ross Ice Shelf Eastern Border

    Out of nowhere, there was a sudden painful squeeze in both ears. I jolt awake and bring myself up from the sofa. The lounge is still draped in that same ambient blue, though with a distinctly fainter intensity. Everything is muffled.

    I pinch my nose and yawn to equalize myself, feeling both ears pop. The discomfort vanishes and the roaring drone of the Sedna¡¯s engines returns in full force, sounding louder than ever.

    A quick glance down reveals that the morning is still in its infancy. The watch reads 0537 hours, but now that number has lost its relevance being this far away from home.

    Getting onto my feet, it dawns on me that this will be the first time I set foot on Antarctica. No matter what I would be doing there, there will be at least one thing crossed off the bucket list.

    Leaning to the side, I look out through the porthole, seeing only a weak tint of sunlight shimmering over the horizon. A sea of endless white lay below, stretching in all directions. Both smooth plains and sharp ridges litter the topography. Those are evident even at this altitude.

    Things here are peaceful¡ªand timeless. It was not yet affected by mankind¡¯s influence. At the top of my head, I could only think of a few other places that still held this level of natural preservation. This is a nice change, for once.

    This entire desolate, snow-covered wasteland is about to become my office for the foreseeable future. There was no indication of civilization just yet. The aircraft¡¯s descent is gradual, and the ground slowly approaches.

    The thin cloud layer rises up, offering a better view of the landscape below. It is all ice for miles around. Much of the sun¡¯s light was confined to the horizon and the sky is still dark enough that it could be considered night.

    If there were any bases below, it would be hard to pick them out against the darkness and monotonous shades of ice. All the more reason to be suspicious of the team¡¯s deployment.

    All of us have answered the call. We will see soon enough if our presence is warranted.

    I sit back down and waited, getting another fill from the coffee dispenser on the table. The taste is somewhat acceptable¡ªsomething at least decent to keep me occupied for the final stretch.

    ======

    Past the porthole, the smooth plains of ice transitions onto a dark strip. Signs of human habitation soon follow with lights, stout buildings, and other permanent fixtures filling the scenery.

    This has to be Cygnus station¡ªmy new home for however long they need me. It seems well developed, definitely more than I expected. But why go through all the troubles to build something like this all the way out here?

    The question lingers as the Sedna taxis to a stop on the strip. Overhead the pilots issue the greenlight to take off the seat belts to which I immediately did.

    "Time for answers," I murmur, taking one last look out the porthole before exiting the lounge. From there I wait by the door, anticipating the bitter rush of cold to come seeping in.

    Better that than the sweltering heat I suppose.

    ======

    With a sharp hiss, the hinges disengage, and the door slides open. A sudden gust breaks right through the initial gap. The ambient temperature quickly plummets as I squint past the bitter cold, peering into an otherworldly sea of endless snow.

    Several buildings and a handful of human silhouettes dotted the landscape. The constant howling of the winds are just as unrelenting as the cold as I step out the aircraft. With only a shirt and a thin jacket I scrounged up as recommendation by the Pilot, the temperature quickly sends me into a tremble.

    Braving the cold, I take my first steps off the plane, and onto the cushioning snow. Around me the peculiar sight of a well-developed runway further solidifies the notion that this is more than just a simple Antarctic station.

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    There is definitely a reason for all this, that will be the question to tackle once I get my bearings set.

    To the distant sides of the sole runway are multiple buildings¡ªmore like prefabricated structures partially embedded into the snow. An initial survey puts their numbers at around twenty. Quite a respectable size given how remote this place is from the rest of civilization.

    Through the mild blizzard, three human shaped silhouettes stood several metres away, just beyond range of the Sedna¡¯s hazy interior lights. I step towards the small crowd, quickly noting the suspicious jutting of rifles from their hands.

    Raising a hand to stave off the worst of the Antarctic weather, I stop just as they begin to approach me. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± I yell, squinting but failing to identify anything more than their dark figures and weapons.

    ¡°Who else?¡± One of them shouts through the mild blizzard and closes the last few steps to reach me.

    I perk up with a smile. It looks like the team is already here and has been for some time now.

    James places an arm on my shoulder as he leans in. ¡°We didn¡¯t think you¡¯d reach in such short notice. The full briefing¡¯s just been confirmed for the next hour,¡± the operative explains.

    ¡°My gear?¡± I ask, in turn leaning into his helmet.

    James thumbs to the rear. ¡°Safe inside the Cygnus armoury. It¡¯s not been touched since we sealed it for transfer.¡±

    "Awesome, thanks," I say while sweeping left to right, once more surveying the station¡¯s general layout.

    James leads me towards the rest of our team, and we all proceed deeper into the station.

    "So, what can we expect?" I hastily ask, eager to know the circumstances of our deployment.

    Douglas shakes his head and answers, "Plenty to sink your teeth into, so I¡¯ll start from day one,¡± he says, and fills me in as we went.

    ======

    Ten minutes in, and all I felt is a wave of confusion at what is being told. It sounded improbable and outright absurd, yet the proof is glaring through the harsh blizzard roughly a kilometre away from the station proper.

    The anomaly shimmered with a brilliant constellation of colours, almost hauntingly flaunting its presence as though it had a life of its own. Its light was a beacon and outshone all sources of light beneath the Antarctic night sky.

    Just beyond that is supposedly an entire world. It is habitable, almost a mirror of Earth, but wildly different in a million subtle ways. An opportunity of a lifetime as most of the researchers have said. Irresistible, but also incredibly dangerous.

    ¡°Still hard to believe it,¡± Robert interjects as we proceed through the stout buildings. A pair of UN troops round a corner, clad in proper winter clothing.

    The one of them glances over me and stops, the other in turn doing the same. ¡°You Lieutenant Simmons?¡± one of them asks, to which I nod.

    The same trooper continues while directing his attention onto me. ¡°Folks up top are preparing for a full briefing for you guys. In case don¡¯t know yet Lieutenant, you four have the honour of being permanently stationed Rift-side. Lots of crazy new discoveries going on over there supposedly, so consider yourselves lucky.¡±

    ¡°From what I¡¯ve heard, they¡¯ve also been stretching themselves thin out there,¡± Douglas intones. ¡°Not looking forward to meeting whoever¡¯s running the show over there.¡±

    James nudges him, probably working up a grin behind his helmet. ¡°We get to finally see what¡¯s got them so worked up,¡± he quips, barely keeping his excitement under wraps.

    ¡°Plenty of interesting rumours spilling out every day. Hard to tell which ones are actually real though,¡± the UN soldier shakes his head. ¡°Anyways we¡¯re here to escort you to where you¡¯re needed.¡±

    I step in and gesture at myself once the man concludes. ¡°Thanks, but there¡¯s no need. Once I swing by the armoury and pop on my gear, I¡¯ll register myself with S1. Then we¡¯ll be on our way to the briefing.¡±

    ¡°We know where to go,¡± Douglas adds with a raised finger at our intended direction.

    ¡°Okay then, but if there¡¯s anything you folks need, feel free to swing by H5. That¡¯s the building with the mess hall¡ªplenty of guys to shoot your questions if it comes down to it.¡± Both sentries then step aside and proceed with their patrol.

    The trip to the armoury only takes several minutes and soon enough, I am alone and surveying each piece of my equipment contained within the duffle bag. Each one is neatly arranged according to a standardized layout agreed upon by the team. It was a layout I knew just as well as the back of my hand.

    Quickly dressing down, I don a simple set of grey fatigues and start putting on the distinctive pieces of armour plating that has long since defined the look of all members of the Special Operations¡¯ Group since its inception.

    Deep grey intermingled with black. At the centre of the chest piece stood the symbol of the United Nations, engraved in white and no bigger than the palm of my hand. There is always that flutter of pride within every time I look at it.

    Next is the helmet. I spent a good portion of my job behind the visor, so much that the helmet is akin to a second face. I put it on and feel an immediate sense of comfort and familiarity. It feels just right to be looking at the world through a polarized visor.

    I take a deep breath, feeling ready to take on the world¡ªthis, and the other one. Walking out, I tighten the remainder of my straps and regroup with the rest of my team. Grabbing an assault rifle and its accompanying ammunition on the way out, I set a hard pace and find my team loitering near the entrance, taking shelter from the worst of the Antarctic weather.

    "I¡¯m done, so where¡¯s the registration?¡± I sound out.

    Douglas waves me off. ¡°No need actually, already submitted our names as a team, you included. We can skip right to the briefing which will be on Ops.¡±

    I raise both brows. ¡°Are we cleared though?¡±

    Douglas nods. ¡°They told me they want us Rift-side as soon as possible. For sure it¡¯s something serious.¡±

    "I see, then let''s get to it." I muse, setting off through the facility.

    The bitter cold worked its way through me as I walked. Cygnus presented itself as a quiet and unassuming clandestine station. Sparse lights littered the surface, confined only to the entrances of each building.

    This is the edge of civilization, and any amount of surface activity is limited to the occasional patrol of a few soldiers along the perimeter. The howling winds are bitter and relentless. As ice crept along the visor¡¯s edge, the thrill of that first mission pushes out the passing discomfort from the cold.

    We brave through the weather until we stumble across the tallest of the prefabricated buildings. Though it barely amounted to a height of six metres.

    I look up to its highest point, noting the UN flag cresting along the edge fluttering defiantly against the Antarctic winds.

    "This is Ops?" I ask, waiting for someone to give me an affirmation.

    Robert steps up to me and gestures to the building with a nod. ¡°Yeah, Cygnus HQ. The brains of the entire operation, here and Rift-side.¡±

    Two soldiers stand by the entrance. I take the lead and approach them fully expecting to be challenged to a few questions before being given the green light.

    One of the soldiers steps up and beams a torch in our direction, physically blocking our way as he poses a simple question.

    ¡°Full roster now?¡± the soldier asks, initially blinding me with the flash of light.

    ¡°I¡¯m here, that makes four of us,¡± I answer.

    ¡°You guys are slated for Rift-side Ops,¡± the man gestures past the door, ¡°briefings take place down on the basement. Staff officers are standing by for your arrival.¡±

    Both soldiers step aside and urge us through the small entrance. Things inside are warmer, though not by much. A few staff, clad in thick jackets note our arrival and quickly direct us through the building¡¯s tight interior, citing that things are urgent across the Rift.

    ¡°What¡¯s the deal anyway?¡± James asks with a hint of annoyance present in his tone. We stop at the end of a dark hallway where an elevator stood. Frost stubbornly clung onto every nook and cranny, even the floor itself is lined with a thin layer of ice.

    ¡°Missing explorers, a whole team failed to report back over twenty-four hours ago. I don¡¯t know the specifics, but my colleagues can give you more on this,¡± one of the staff officers answers just as the lift opens.

    The woman gestures ahead. ¡°Please go ahead,¡± she says.

    ¡°Sounds like quite the scare on the other side,¡± Douglas muses as he steps onto the lift, making room for the rest of us to settle inside. It is an uncomfortable squeeze, further exacerbated as the doors close and I am left to my own thoughts.

    The lift quietly hums as it brings us deeper into the ground. Finally, it stops with a sudden jerk and the doors open with a resounding chime. Ahead, is a significantly darker corridor. Dim yellow lights, haphazardly fixed above provided the only means of illumination as I move ahead, searching for directional signs that could lead me to the team¡¯s destination.

    A few uniformed officers sat in one room, only briefly looking up as I pass before sinking back to their respective terminals.

    ¡°Hey that should be it,¡± James points left at the next junction, probing the room with his head leaning past the partially opened door.

    He pulls back and gestures at all of us. ¡°This is it.¡±

    Finally. I push into the room and feel the presence of my team rush in with me as a few uniformed officers stand up to greet us.

    ¡°Lieutenant Simmons, fireteam Desert,¡± I address the officers on behalf of the team.

    Switching to me, one of the officers offers a hand to which I take with a firm grasp. ¡°Glad you can join us in such short notice. I understand we owe you folks some answers regarding the nature of our operations here.¡±

    I look around, finding all three of my companions silently agreeing with the man¡¯s opening statement.

    ¡°Unfortunately, now¡¯s not the time for that. I¡¯m here to get you up to speed on the situation Rift-side in the quickest time possible,¡± the man sits back down and introduces himself, ¡°I¡¯m Clarke Jefferson¡ªacting head of Cygnus security.¡±

    I listen closely as images crop up on the room¡¯s projector¡ªscenes from the other world which has been tentatively named as ¡®New Eden¡¯ in official reports.

    Clarke highlights a particular image featuring a dense thicket of vegetation, pointing out several people clad in full biological hazmat-type suits posing for the camera. ¡°Expedition six,¡± he comments with a finger pointed at the image.

    ¡°So you know, our core mission is exploration and geological surveying of the immediate ten or so kilometres around our Rift-side base of operations. Recently, it¡¯s been expanded to include anthropological studies which the folks in that image are part of.¡±

    Douglas perks up. ¡°Meaning what?¡±

    Clarke and the rest of his staff glance at each other. ¡°There¡¯s¡­ we¡¯ve got direct, irrefutable evidence that New Eden is an inhabited world. To put it bluntly, we¡¯ve got indigenous folks.¡±

    The stunning revelation makes me pause. I carefully mull over the staff officer¡¯s words and slowly get back my bearings.

    One of the other officers feigns a cough to gain our attention. ¡°As of right now, it has been more than thirty hours since Expedition six failed to report in. We suspect indigenous involvement,¡± the woman says.

    I shake my head. ¡°Quite the reveal,¡± I pause and look to my companions for input. All three are still too stunned to give anything more than a returning glance.

    Taking the reins, I stand up and move the topic forward. ¡°So we¡¯re to investigate their last known pos¡¯, and report our findings back. Is that correct?¡±

    Clarke nods. ¡°Yes, though you will report to the management on the other side, not here. We¡¯ve cleared your fireteam to proceed through the Rift and begin deployment as soon as possible.¡±

    ¡°Sounds good.¡± At that, the team stands up and the meeting concludes.

    Upon exiting the Cygnus headquarters, a snow rover is waiting for us just outside. I take the front adjacent the driver waiting for the rest to hop aboard.

    ¡°Last in,¡± Robert calls out.

    ¡°Go,¡± I tap the driver on his shoulder and he speeds off towards the Rift.

    ¡°First time?¡± The driver quips, keeping his attention locked ahead.

    ¡°First day,¡± I answer with a chuckle.

    ¡°You guys have a lot to look forward to on the other side. I¡¯ve yet to see someone who didn¡¯t enjoy their stay in New Eden,¡± the driver discloses, later reminiscing about his earlier days from well over a month ago.

    The rover¡¯s treads sinks onto the smooth ice, churning up flakes behind as it reaches cruising speed. I look up and spot the incredible myriad of stars above, seeing the heavens in its full, unmasked glory without any pollution in the way.

    Right at the centre, there is even the milky way present amidst the cosmic sea of stars. It is still morning, yet the winter period meant Cygnus will be experiencing constant darkness for the next several months. I would not be seeing the sun for the foreseeable future¡ªon Earth at least.

    This is unlike anything I have ever come across.

    Soon enough, the rover grinds to a halt just a couple of metres from where the Rift stood. This is the new reality we will all be working with. Colours flashed and danced across its surface in constant waves, rippling in all directions like an otherworldly aurora.

    It is massive, and spherical with its bottom half partially embedded into the ice. Service cables sunk onto it on one side¡ªmost likely power and communications wires. It is incredibly beautiful, breathtaking, and the sole reason for the team¡¯s deployment this far south.

    "Everyone ready?" I ask.

    James brushes his hand into the anomaly as he looks back. ¡°So, we just walk right in?¡±

    ¡°Pretty much. It¡¯s like a flat road,¡± the rover driver informs, ¡°Just make sure you head straight, and squint your eyes¡ªbecause it¡¯s really bright inside.¡±

    ¡°Sounds good,¡± I turn around and make a short gesture for the team to form up. ¡°We¡¯re set, let¡¯s go.¡±

    We close in on the anomaly¡¯s outer edge, positioning ourselves right on the marker that indicated the supposed entry. We soon pass its event horizon, becoming surrounded by an intense display of fluorescent waves, forming into a wedge and set off slowly into the Rift.

    The services cables runs parallel to our advance. I use it as reference while keeping a steady pace. The ground is still solid, yet had an almost ungainly feel to it.

    The whole process is unnerving. But this is just the beginning. I innately understood that I will have to get used to a lot of new things.

    Whatever associated challenges will come with it, I will face it head on¡ªpart and parcel of the job.

    ===End===

    Ready And Waiting, We Shall Succeed.

    - Unnamed member of the United Nations African Regional Security Force

    Established in 2041.

 Urgent Arrivals (3)

    Random distortions flash all around me¡ªviolent and oppressive. The light is overwhelming, like the sun is right in my face. At every turn, that same blinding intensity. There was no respite from it.

    Amidst the rampaging colours, a shimmer of green flickered just ahead¡ªa semblance of a horizon concealed behind the rich, tangible fog. At first, a faded glimpse, becoming sharper with each step, eventually clearing up to reveal the fabled world beyond.

    A bright, blue sky¡ªwith a brush of clouds. Warmth returns to my arms as I take in the sight of this new world. Mountains towered in all directions, eclipsing the natural horizon. The resulting vale is isolated from the rest of New Eden, as reported in the briefing.

    The ice on my visor quickly melts and leaves behind a misty sheen. I wipe it clear and take a few steps forward, already overwhelmed by the first impressions New Eden had imposed in this instance. The vale is lush, verdant and packed, its green monotony only being interrupted in the immediate vicinity by the various facilities making up mankind¡¯s first ever presence on another world.

    It really is just like Earth. This truly is a once in a lifetime opportunity.

    Turning around, the Rift¡¯s dazzling display is just as intense as it was back on the other side. Distorted figures flickered behind the Rift like gentle flames, the dark patches framed against an otherwise oppressive myriad of colours.

    The team finally breaks through the veil. They pause and look around, just as stunned as I was. Douglas shakes his head and mutters something under his breath as he looks back to the Rift.

    ¡°God damn,¡± James murmurs as he steps up to me, soon after pointing at the buildings just ahead. ¡°They¡¯ve got the full set. Look, even packing some air power.¡±

    I follow his gaze, soon picking out four large open pads on the vale¡¯s opposite end. The pads supported several helicopters¡ªat least two distinct types. Elsewhere it is mostly a scene of organized chaos. The hum of electric generators is mixed in with the occasional trotting of footsteps, not unlike that of an actual self-sustaining military outpost.

    On second thought, it likely is considering the number of soldiers and military hardware present right out of the blue.

    ¡°Heads up, it¡¯s one of ours,¡± Douglas calls out. The operative gestures to an incoming team, clad in the same distinctive battle dress uniform as us.

    Of the four operatives, one of them issues a wave. ¡°You must be Desert Team,¡± the man surmises.

    I nod and introduce myself, extending a hand. ¡°We are. Second Lieutenant Simmons. We¡¯ve been briefed and ready to leg it. We can move out to survey the research team¡¯s last known area of operation if you guys are ready.¡±

    ¡°Lieutenant Riley Sullivan, Saber Team¡± the operative answers with a firm shake. ¡°I understand you folks are new. Wildlife¡¯s nothing like back on Earth, we¡¯ve got a few close calls in the first weeks. Just something to keep in mind.¡±

    ¡°Head of security said we¡¯ll be dealing with indig¡¯ though,¡± James interjects.

    ¡°We might be,¡± the Lieutenant shrugs, ¡°but it¡¯s mostly the local fauna we need to worry about¡ªat least until we get to Grid A15. That¡¯s where they last checked in.¡±

    He gestures towards the landing pads and continues. ¡°High chance it¡¯s a recovery op. They went too far out this time.¡±

    ¡°Drone recon showed large scale indigenous activity to the north. Two main factions, which Cygnus command suspects are at war with each other. And those bozos still thought it was a good idea to march into all that,¡± one of the operatives from Saber Team adds as we set off towards the landing pads.

    The comment makes me scoff, but also makes me reconsider my stance on New Eden. It still is stunning, but potentially dangerous in ways I have not considered yet.

    ¡°So, they had it coming then,¡± I look out to the jagged peaks, feeling a primal surge of anticipation¡ªof wanting to see what lies beyond this mountainous cradle.

    ¡°Pretty much,¡± the Lieutenant shrugs.

    Shortly after the conversation breaks off onto a few random tangents as we approach the landing pads, Lieutenant Sullivan briefly stops to notify a pair of flight technicians of our imminent departure. They both acknowledge and escort us towards our assigned helicopter.

    After crossing the airfield, the Lieutenant sets a hard pace and gestures at our designated pilot to take his station across the short bound.

    ¡°Spool up, we¡¯re good to go,¡± he instructs, firmly directing the pilot towards the cockpit as I step inside rotor wing.

    ¡°First in,¡± I call out instinctively as the others quickly filter in. The ascending roar of the aircraft¡¯s engines fills the cabin and I take this moment to consolidate my thoughts.

    ¡°Everyone¡¯s accounted for, we¡¯re set,¡± Lieutenant Sullivan yells through the harsh ambience and shuts the door.

    Everyone else keeps to themselves. Much of the sporadic chatter disappears as we ascend, and the ground below vanishes. Much like any regular prelude to a mission, things are quiet¡ªalmost peaceful, like the calm before every storm.

    ¡°What¡¯s the rules of engagement again?¡± Robert asks from across the cabin interior, removing his helmet.

    ¡°Concerning wildlife, for anything big enough to be a threat, standing policy¡¯s shoot on sight. For indig¡¯ we¡¯ll just have to see how it plays out. Ideally, we try to avoid them, if possible,¡± Sullivan answers.

    I briefly wonder what exactly would happen in the likely event we stumble across them. At worst, it would immediately devolve into outright hostilities similar to what happened with Expedition six. The odds of peaceful contact did not look good.

    ¡°You know, this whole thing¡¯s still hasn¡¯t sunk in yet,¡± I interject, addressing my disbelief at everything that has happened so far. ¡°I¡¯m curious to know what the indig¡¯ look like.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a few write ups you can wrestle out from the researchers. Technically restricted docs, but they don¡¯t mind sharing,¡± Lieutenant Sullivan promptly answers.

    I nod, filing that suggestion for a later date. ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind, thanks,¡± I say.

    The rush of anticipation slowly fades as time goes on. So far, nothing but calm silence. Every so often, streaks of clouds would glide by the porthole, partially obscuring my view of the newest frontier known to man.

    There is so much to discover¡ªan entire world and its mysteries for us to unravel. I had plenty of questions, not just about the Rift but also the mission. If the North really is an active warzone, then we shouldn¡¯t be here.

    Considering what likely happened to the researchers, is search and rescue really the right call?

    =======

    -1334 Military Hours

    -Approaching Grid A15 airspace

    Only a few minutes left before it really begins. Outside, the land comes into view¡ªa lush, endless sea of greenery spread generously like the Amazon forests of old South America. Several trees towered over the canopy, easily dwarfing the rest with their reach extending well past what could be considered normal.

    ¡®Eden Redwoods,¡¯ I silently mouth. Although the name is inspired by their visually similar counterparts on Earth, these giants are clearly in a class of its own. It made me wonder how old those things are, and if the ones outside constitute the limits of how tall they could get.

    While entertaining the speculation, the intercom issues a chime. ¡°Attention, we¡¯re on final approach. Clear landing up ahead, will proceed with touchdown,¡± the Pilot announces.

    The momentum swings as the helicopter descends, soon sinking below the canopy where a large clearing is present. Turning back to face the interior, I opt for one final check on my equipment finding each part in serviceable condition.

    I grab my rifle from the compartment above and fish out a fresh magazine from my frontal pouches, slotting it into the rifle¡¯s well just as a sudden jerk resonates throughout the entire cabin.

    ¡°Finally,¡± James murmurs as he springs up, shifting over to the door. The Operative disengages the locking mechanism and slides it open as everyone stands up.

    Douglas and Robert make the first move and step out onto the landing zone, separating after a short bound to assume a defensive position on the helicopter¡¯s portside as the others quickly file out with some taking the initiative to cover the opposite end.

    The constant downwash kicks up a considerable amount of detritus as I gaze beyond the clearing. Barely anything could be seen through the thin fog of dirt and flickering vegetation.

    Then, a flash of movement erupts beyond the green veil. I snap towards the unknown figure, weapon up, quickly bouncing my observation to the rest through our shared channel.

    ¡°Movement, movement portside!¡± I announce as my heart begins to race at the prospect of first contact right out of the gate.

    Standing up, I note the presence of a few operatives on either side, their rifles pointing in the same vicinity as we advance a few steps in unison, stopping just shy of the clearing¡¯s edge.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s indig,¡± one of the Operatives from Sabre remarks. James chimes in with a similar sentiment as I breath out a sigh of relief.

    The figure¡¯s unassuming height and slender build quickly fades but not before I manage to catch a rough glimpse through the dense curtain of greenery. It was definitely not human, or humanoid, just some kind of quadruped¡ªno taller than a metre, and certainly not big enough to pose a threat.

    ¡°Might be a kind of boar, or something. Heard a squeal as it ran off,¡± James adds with a laugh.

    ¡°False alarm then,¡± I call out, turning around and dropping back to my original position just as the others did the same.

    I continue monitoring my area of responsibility as the Pilot announces his departure. The helicopter¡¯s downwash quickly fades as it retreats back up the canopy. Its rotors whirred in the distance, but soon falls away. All that is left is the natural ambience, which did not consist of much.

    Douglas soon breaks the newfound silence. ¡°We all set?¡± he asks.

    I look around assessing both teams'' readiness but responding only with respect to my own. James nods while Douglas and Robert opt instead to spare me a quick glance. It is all I need to confirm what is already obvious.

    ¡°Desert Team¡¯s ready,¡± I respond, awaiting my counterpart to do the same.

    ¡°Sabre¡¯s good as well,¡± Lieutenant Sullivan answers, the brief pause followed by another tangent from the operative, ¡°Keep an eye out just in case, don¡¯t know what else is hiding in these woods.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± James promptly acknowledges.

    Both teams continue to maintain the discussion over on our shared channel, once again briefly going through the general aspects of the mission. It did not take long for it to conclude and we soon are on our way trekking deeper into unexplored terrain.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Leaves rustled above the canopy¡ªa soft rolling whisper. Chirps and howls occasionally add to the ambience, disturbing that eerie calm that seemed to be a constant within the forest. I look around every so often, slowly coming to terms with where I am.

    We spend over two hours traveling towards the last known location of expedition six, stumbling across a few of New Eden¡¯s exotic animal life as well as several prominent sites that held strong indications of indigenous activity.

    Dated weapons¡ªspears, scattered pieces of armour, and what seemed to be abandoned refuse dotted each site in startling abundance. There was no doubt now about what happened to the researchers.

    At best, they were likely captured. If not that, they are all dead and have been for some time now.

    ======

    -1603 Military Hours

    -Grid A15

    Slowly as we went, the overall density of trees increases. Still nothing so far as to the whereabouts of the researchers. Not a single blip or clue in the past three hours. The majority already had low expectations concerning the outcome, but being here, trudging through difficult terrain with nothing to show for our efforts further exacerbates that frustration.

    Visibility gradually worsens, and our pacing slows to a crawl. Lieutenant Sullivan gestures for both teams to form a single file after one of his men trips on a pothole. The operative falls face-first into a set of shrubs but fortunately is protected from harm by the helmet shielding his head. Other than a lightly bruised ego, he was fine.

    Douglas holds up a fist, stopping the eight-man procession as he pans ahead. ¡°Another site up ahead,¡± he remarks.

    I peer over his shoulder, being the second in line. ¡°Any locals?¡±

    He responds with a quick glance back. ¡°Negative¡ªempty.¡±

    I nod and relay the message behind as Douglas sinks to a knee¡ªrifle nestled in his right arm as he points ahead. ¡°I think it¡¯s recent,¡± he adds.

    I turn around and signal the others to disperse. Lieutenant Sullivan takes his team and breaks off, covering our right as I waited. The gentle rustling of foliage betrays the movement of each operative, no matter how subtle.

    The thick vegetation stung as I shift several metres over to the left, giving time for my team to form into a loose wedge with me acting as the lead element. All around, the unseen tension rises. This was roughly where the research team¡¯s last known call took place. Still nothing but trees all around, and that suspicious clearing up ahead which may not even hold any clue as to their whereabouts.

    It was disheartening to imagine the final hours leading up to their demise. Did any of them oppose such a risky venture, considered the possibility of hostile first contact? All too often, such teams would proceed without armed escorts owing to the current lack of manpower. Maybe now, standing regulations will be tightened and future deployments would be met with increased scrutiny.

    Nothing in New Eden is worth dying for. That much should have been obvious the first time.

    The next bound takes both teams past the clearing¡¯s edge. We cross into the open expanse, and pace ahead in two distinct wedges, weapons up and on full alert as we each covered our respective sectors of approach.

    ¡°Tents up over here,¡± Douglas calls out, his weapon jutting towards the suspicious cluster as we disperse into a looser formation. Most had partially collapsed and were in a state of serious neglect. Only one stood out in reasonable shape¡ªthe largest, and most prominent.

    The team slowly advances as one unified front, later identifying the point of entry based on the flaps present on its left side. After crossing the short distance, Robert takes the lead and moves up to the entrance, gesturing the team to prepare to execute the breach on his signal.

    Registering his intent, I quickly form up behind and motion Douglas and James to take up rear security. Both operatives nod and shift their stance, ready to assume their roles on our teammate¡¯s call.

    ¡°Breaching!¡±

    With a sudden explosive burst, Robert swats aside the curtains and hurtles through the thin flaps. I follow closely behind, weapon up, swerving left to identify¡ªand if necessary, engage any threats in the vital first seconds following ingress.

    The darkness gives way to an eerie calm as I carefully skim through my area of responsibility. There was no one.

    ¡°Clear left,¡± I sound out, noting a strange acrid scent hanging in the air.

    ¡°Clear right,¡± Robert likewise answers.

    I move to the table on one end, sweeping a hand across its surface to clear the thin sheen of dust. Papers lie underneath, most of them are burnt to a crisp. Then the revelation hits me. All that dust and the smell, it came from the papers.

    Anything else that was remotely useful had been destroyed or taken away. Symbols of a peculiar variant adorn the tent¡¯s interior walls¡ªa stylized crown flanked on both sides by two swords, their blades cresting inwards to form a cross just above its rim.

    ¡°You think it¡¯s some kind of coat of arms?¡± I turn around, combing across the interior for anything of particular interest.

    Robert shrugs and picks up a surviving stack of papers from the ground. ¡°Could be, might explain why it¡¯s also on some of these docs. Here, look on the bottom,¡± he says, referencing the same symbol with a pointed finger.

    I nod, noting his findings before skimming over the page. The script is foreign and structured in a way that hinted it was meant to be read from left to right, but in ascending order. Each letter flows right onto the next with few breaks in between. It reminds me of cursive, but that comparison is a stretch.

    ¡°Folks back home would be happy to look over these,¡± I say.

    ¡°For sure,¡± Robert agrees as he neatly folds the papers, stowing the assets inside one of his frontal pouches.

    After several minutes of salvaging additional indigenous contrabands, we both agree to step back outside. Nothing much changed and the coast is clear on all directions.

    ¡°Anything?¡± Douglas asks.

    ¡°Grabbed a few samples of indigenous scripts,¡± I report, stopping to address a growing a concern upon noting the absence of our counterparts, ¡°where¡¯s Sabre at?¡±

    ¡°Trekking eastwards,¡± James thumbs behind, ¡°said there¡¯s a few tracks over there they want to look at.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± I nod and gather the team into a rough circle before continuing, ¡°we¡¯ve got enough in our rucks to sustain ourselves for five days at least. As it stands, we¡¯re to continue the search for at least that amount of time. Honestly, I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll find anything even we spent the whole damn week out here.¡±

    ¡°So, we cull the Op?¡± James interjects, to which I shrug.

    ¡°Maybe, we¡¯ll see how it goes. If by tomorrow we find nothing, I¡¯ll hit it up with Sabre¡¯s Lieutenant. Chances are, they feel the same as us.¡±

    After concluding our discussion, we resume and comb over the rest of the encampment. Soon we pause over the northern clearing where several mounds of dirt rose a few inches from the ground, their positions formed into a grid-like pattern. Each of them was staked with a simple wooden cross, some with items partially embedded in the dirt.

    ¡°These are,¡± I pause, slowly getting a firm read on what these might possibly be. It would take only a few minutes of digging to confirm my suspicions. Could there be bodies buried underneath? If so, this could be my first opportunity to really see what the indigenous look like in person.

    A pair of armoured figures stop on either side, snapping me out of that train of thought. With sunlight peeking through the canopy, the scene now came with a tinge of sadness as I count the number of crosses¡ªfifteen. For a while, the team observes a respectful silence, as though standing guard for fallen comrades at arms after an operation gone awry. None dare to break the peace, until the loud crackle over on comms pulls us back to the present.

    ¡°Desert Team, this is Sabre, are you receiving, over?¡± The Lieutenant for Sabre team challenges over comms.

    Robert pushes back, his gaze venturing eastwards to where the other team had went. ¡°Reading you clearly Lieutenant, team¡¯s present, send,¡± he says.

    A tense moment ensues as we all look at each other. Douglas briefly steps up, his tone hushed. ¡°First contact?¡±

    I frown, sharing the operative¡¯s concern. ¡°Hope not.¡±

    Just as the speculations get wild, Lieutenant Sullivan chimes back. ¡°We¡­ found evidence of team six¡ªpersonal artifacts, clothing and all. But no bodies. We¡¯ll need some extra eyes to sweep the area.¡±

    ¡°This is Simmons¡ªwe copy. Bouncing my team over now,¡±

    ¡°Follow the tracks heading east from the camp. We¡¯re two hundred metres out,¡± the Lieutenant advises over local comms.

    ¡°Roger,¡± I reply, concluding the dialogue while the team prepares to move out.

    ¡°Set,¡± Douglas highlights, leading off at a steady pace.

    I match his speed, veering off slightly to take up flank security for the team¡¯s left as Robert does the same on the right. James then takes the rear, the team¡¯s designated medic trailing steadily as we march into the dense thicket, visibility dropping sharply as we cross the threshold back into forested terrain.

    Everyone adheres to an unspoken silence as we travelled. I keep up the vigil across the left, chasing shadows and specks of movement¡ªanything to quell that pit of unease in my gut. It was a constant struggle to lock down that fear, of possibly meeting the same fate as the researchers we are tasked to find even though we had the means to defend, and if necessary, retaliate with lethal force.

    Once the team passes a sharp curve, a dark figure emerges from the foliage its immediate features obscured by the dim light filtering through the canopy. Just as the surge of adrenaline rushes in, the Lieutenant¡¯s voice booms over the channel.

    ¡°Check your aim,¡± Sabre¡¯s team leader calls out, his voice echoing from both comms and helmet¡¯s external speakers.

    ¡°We see you,¡± James answers, conducting a final sweep before lowering his weapon, ¡°where¡¯s the rest?¡±

    Lieutenant Sullivan thumbs back. ¡°Holding the fort, come on,¡± he intones, directing us into a file and leads off.

    Along the way, he further explains in depth his team¡¯s findings, giving us the clear cut on what they have found and its associated implications.

    ¡°Some of the larger pieces of clothing show signs of thermal damage¡ªpractically melted them into a dark slag,¡± he explains, stopping to gesture ahead where three of his operatives stood on guard.

    The sun¡¯s rays trickle in from above, barely of use in helping us identify what lay beneath the dense thicket. I turn on the helmet¡¯s auxiliary lights to help assist in the search, later prompting the rest to follow suit.

    Subtle hints of what had transpired littered the entire area. In a few places, the foliage has been stripped away, burnt to the ground with only barren shrubs remaining. After probing the area for over ten minutes, an unnatural gleam catches my interest¡ªa grey object, partially jutting out the soil at an odd angle.

    ¡°Found something,¡± I call out, dropping to a knee to retrieve the strange oddity, gloved hand churning away at the dirt.

    Grime stuck to every facet, but I make good progress in unearthing the unknown object. After a minute of digging, it is free¡ªthe thing is rigid, and metallic, with a distinctive shape. Excitement surges through me. I bring it up for closer inspection. This could be it¡ªour first hint into the fate of those researchers.

    Operatives from both teams gather around and form a loose circle around my latest finding. A few voice their speculations and reach similar conclusions based on their observations.

    ¡°Looks like a camera,¡± Douglas concludes likewise, prodding at the dark lens situated on one side, somewhat visible through the film of dirt.

    ¡°Decent shape¡ªmight still be working,¡± one of Sabre¡¯s operatives chimes in.

    I swipe a finger across one side to remove more dirt from the device. Its identity quickly becomes apparent after the quick brush. ¡°Definitely a GoPro, or something like it,¡± I comment, managing to locate its power button.

    With a gentle push, the screen¡ªstill heavily caked with dirt flashes to life. A list of videos and pictures springs up, displayed in chronological order. At the very top¡ªdated to the 27<sup>th</sup> of March, is the final recording. Officially, the team was declared missing the next day. This video might be the next best thing to understand what happened.

    With that in mind, I navigate to the latest video and start it. The screen flickers for a moment before morphing into the perspective of someone treading through the forest. The video slowly reveals the identity of all members of expedition six as the next several minutes unfold. They all looked as though they had seen better days.

    They soon paused beneath a small breach in the canopy and begin listing their recent findings, later discussing the team¡¯s next course of action in the temporary lull in movement. It soon devolves into a debate with some arguing in favour of continuing further north in-spite of the risks¡ªincluding the person serving as our perspective.

    The camera sinks to a map he held, his fellow colleagues meanwhile continuing to argue on whether to proceed with what was obviously a reckless decision.

    ¡°We¡¯re already too far north, I don¡¯t agree with this,¡± a researcher hissed in the background, ¡°Drone recon¡¯s already confirmed significant indigenous activity in our grid the other day.¡±

    ¡°Just one more bound, promise. Then we turn back,¡± the man answered, his gaze barely straying from the map, ¡°we¡¯ve already told the folks back home we¡¯ll be out for two more days¡ªmight as well make use of it.¡±

    ¡°What a dumbass,¡± James scoffs as he shifts closer, his attention fully immersed on the recording.

    After a brief pause, the camera abruptly jerks back up. The tension rises and those watching lean in as the scene unfolds with panicked voices and screams. Several researchers yelled as gleaming figures emerge from the thicket, each one fully dressed in metallic armour.

    For a moment they stood still, their weapons pointed at the researchers¡ªintricately carved rods that swelled lightly near the tips. A single bright crystal decorated the ends, no larger than a small fist. They pulsed with a suspicious blue glow. Rhythmic, like a heartbeat.

    ¡°It¡¯s them, contact!¡± Someone called out.

    One of the locals approach, taking a few steps forward before raising her voice, the sharp tone flushed with an air of authority. Whatever she meant to say was lost as l listened, the language just an incomprehensible mix of soft vowels and consonants.

    Her question¡ªassuming it is, was answered with silence. A heavy frown stains the woman¡¯s face. She turns around, barking out another fierce command. The others behind her tense, and in a sudden surge, rush forward weapons raised and glowing¡ªtheir figures a blur of armoured silvers and reds.

    A few researchers had the sense to draw out their pistols. Gunfire chattered in the background as they tried in vain to defend themselves. The shoots numbered only a handful before they fell silent and a searing blaze came upon the camera with a final, agonizing scream. Nothing follows after that.

    This all but confirms their fate. All six are presumed killed by the indigenous at first contact.

    ¡°Fuckin¡¯ knew it,¡± Douglas scoffs.

    ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ radio Cygnus on our find,¡± Lieutenant Sullivan remarks, shaking his head.

    After pocketing the camera inside an empty pouch on my chest, I gather my wits and turn around. By a stroke of luck, we have the evidence we needed to confirm what happened to the researchers. There is no more point in sticking around.

    ¡°We¡¯ve got our ticket, recommend culling the Op,¡± I say.

    ¡°Agreed,¡± Sullivan promptly answers.

    Everyone is on edge. Both teams form into a defensive circle. I take a knee and settle into the foliage, senses keenly sharpened by newfound adrenaline. The longer we stay in this grid, the more likely it is we encounter them¡ªthe soldiers draped in silver and red.

    ¡°Too far out, I¡¯ll get a relay drone up to height. Wait one,¡± Robert says.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I reply.

    While waiting for contact to be established, I wonder about the United Nation¡¯s long-term goals here. New Eden will take years to understand, which meant this is going to be a long hustle. Contact with the indigenous at some point in the future is inevitable.

    Based on today, I am not looking forward to that first formal encounter.

    ===end==

    Curiosity killed the cat.

 First Contact (4)

    A hymn of devotion¡ªvoiced by the hundreds. The war emblem''s bright gaze looms over us all as we recited our final oaths. We now stand as freshly minted sorcerers in service of Queen and Kingdom. All of us vowed to defend, cherish, and honour above all else, the name of Euralia.

    I feel a flush of pride, fervent as the cheers of those around me¡ªfellow initiates, friends, soon to be divided to the Kingdom''s many eastern fronts.

    A resounding horn unfolds across the mage-school''s stone-etched plaza. As one we rise, together an armoured legion of silvers and reds, the royal emblem freshly seared into our chest plates.

    This sacred right to carry the Kingdom''s crowned regalia, is finally mine.

    "Thank the heavens," I quietly murmur as the Headmaster concludes his tirade, thus formally ending our graduation.

    Representatives from the various military cohorts soon circle around us like drakes to a feast. We are soon broken up, ranked based on arcane affinity, and urged to stand behind our new regiments.

    Friends and fellow cadre-mates quickly bid their farewells to each one, often with tears, and I am no different. Names I often forget, but never a face.

    This is the beginning of three years in service, for good, or worse. The next few days blur together, until time is but a meld of arduous marches and cold nights as my new regiment sets back east.

    I vowed to always hold dear my time in the mage-school. The memories are fresh, like dew upon sunrise, but it will all be cast aside on one faithful dawn.

    A lone messenger, battered by the elements, rides onto our encampment. Her armour is dented, her crimson cape shredded at the shoulders. She reins her steed to a pause and dismounts.

    Grime and sweat clung to her as she brought forth grim tidings, voice weak¡ªwavering, but taut with urgency. "Border posts-attacked, set ablaze. Yhunian soldiers, fringe east-too many," she said.

    Many gasped upon hearing it, and some called for swift vengeance. Weapons are drawn and a tide of voices clamoured as the Regiment''s Lord Captain''s fist rose, his expression resolute, eyes tempered with the same thirst for vengeance.

    All training halts as decreed by the Lord Captain. A silent aura falls upon the encampment as wares are stowed and weapons, supplies, and herbs are gathered. The keepers helped where they could, and by the brink of dusk, we stood ready to leave.

    We marched out once again. This time to war¡ªfor Queen and Kingdom. For Euralia.

    ======

    -Norsera Forest

    Nature''s soft hymn slowly fades amidst the rising trotting of hooves. Yet another procession destined to bolster what remains of our defenses across the El''Norin River. It remains to be seen if a paltry force of a mere two hundred women and men is enough to stem the tide.

    "Herald guide them," I pray, shrouding the thought behind veiled lips as the cavalry force departs from the safety of these walls.

    The Yhunian doctrine is cunning¡ªa cursed blend of insipid tactics. Nowhere is safe. A heavy silence falls upon the town, as though a plague had pruned her citizens. Torches line the battlements¡ªeach roughly ten paces apart, casting long, trailing shadows to each soldier that prowled its empty streets.

    The morning is young, and dawn has yet to fall upon the land. Beside me stands my cadre. Four others of equal affinity¡ªfour whom I trust my life with.

    We now stand before our Lord Captain, summoned by the call of first muster. His searing gaze bears down on us, as though to deliver penance for crimes committed whilst the rest of our kin gather in the general plaza.

    "To our south, somewhere in the old growth forests, scores of caravans from the 6th Eastern Provisioners have gone missing, only to be found slaughtered. Women and men alike, dead," the Lord Captain intones, scepter gleaming at his side.

    "What is our task," I inquire, awaiting his judgement.

    "Stalk the main path leading from Drossal to our deserted encampments. This... vile savagery bears the taint of Yhunian subterfuge."

    "And we are to be sent alone?" Oswill says with perhaps a slight bitterness to his tone.

    The Lord Captain waves him off with a scoff.

    "There are other soldiers already on the hunt, but they lack sorcerers. With the rest of the Cohort already sworn for today''s counter offensive, I only have you lot to spare. Anything not bearing the regalia and colours of our Kingdom shall be treated as an enemy. Seek out these wretched spies and kill them where they stand," the Lord Captain concludes with a raised fist.

    None dare break the silence. "How long would you have us prowl?" I ask on behalf of my cadre.

    "For at least a week," he answers.

    I nod, accepting fully our new task on behalf of my cadre. "It shall be done."

    "Good hunting," he replies.

    With a hand over my chest to bestow a salute, I bid the Lord Captain my last regards and turn away.

    We have our orders now, that alone will be our strength as we venture into the hinterlands. Sentries from the town''s paltry militia open the decayed gates for us, and we are soon on our way.

    The twin moons'' silvery glow cascades upon the lands, bright enough to cast shadows¡ªweak as they are, across sparse fields of wheat and the beaten, serpentine path that would soon carry us to our destination.

    What remains of the town''s ambience quickly fades into memory. Only silence remains to shepherd us to our journey''s end. Cold winds and hushed steps echo across the dark veil of night.

    Sephra pauses mid-pace, her expression now taut with worry. Her cape flutters as she turns, stopping as we trek onwards along the beaten path.

    I usher the others to halt and move back to where the Mender stands, following her lingering gaze. She sighs, voice humbled to almost a whisper.

    "The prisoners captured yesterday, they were also found in the south. Just off the main road if memory serves," the Mender remarks, running a thoughtful finger beneath the cleft of her chin, "We may expect enemies of such kind, whatever they are."

    I place a hand on the Mender''s shoulder, offering what insight I can. "All the more reason to be wary in those woods. I heard our wardens say they spoke in vulgar tongues," I pause, casting aside the thought. "Come now, we have our orders. For Queen and Kingdom."

    Sephra sighs and returns with me to our cadre. "Of course¡ªQueen and Kingdom."

    We then continue on our way, making good time across rolling hinterlands until the path takes us into the depths of Nor''sera forest proper. The sun finally emerges, yet its welcoming glint and warmth is snuffed by the thick canopy above. A sense of tension grows the further we went.

    Brief shadows and false movement are everywhere¡ªalways in the corners, under every shade and crevice. It is easy to see why the enemy would choose this to be their hunting grounds. The woods are scarce, and remnants of parched soil and scorched trees mark the sites of past skirmishes every so often.

    I clutch my scepter closer, willing just a tinge of magic onto it¡ªjust in case. It would take but a moment of weakness for any would-be attacker to spell our demise. If there is an enemy amidst the vast swathe of green, I must stand ready. Better to assume enemies lurk in the midst for our safety.

    To that end, I vow to strike first and leave nothing to chance. The Kingdom is beset by war, that alone is reason enough.

    ======

    -1722 Military Hours

    -Grid A15

    Reception is spotty¡ªbarely a two, but even that is being generous. Still, the message is clear. We are to be recalled immediately. The mission is too dangerous to warrant an extensive search. At least the command team has a few sensible minds in their ranks.

    I stand up, making sure the surroundings are cleared before rallying both teams. "Primary exfil''s roughly eight kilometers out. We''ll do one more sweep before calling it."

    "We''ll take that far end," Lieutenant Sullivan announces as he takes his men away.

    After spotting, and bagging away a few more items, we finally close the scene and leave. That haunting video repeats itself in my head. Those are actual people, but different¡ªaggressive, and more than a little exotic.

    Some parts of the footage make certain traits apparent. Their fair complexion, the pale-bleached hair, even that woman''s striking violet eyes, evident only for a short moment, falls well under my notice.

    Twenty minutes pass as we slog through a largely monotonous tangle of trees and foliage, making steady progress towards our destination. Both teams make the unanimous decision to completely bypass several previous sites and avoid any potential encounters.

    The delays take a significant toll on our progress. An hour passes. A quick look at the time shows we are barely on schedule. By this point, sunlight begins to fade and the first hints of evening gold filter through the canopy in brief snippets.

    Two more kilometers brings us within thirty minutes of our pre-assigned landing site.

    Douglas brings up a fist. "Let me check our heading again. Got to make sure we''re in the pipe."

    "Make it quick," I relent, stopping to instruct the rest to form a basic defensive perimeter as my Second-In Command pulls out a small compass and his own copy of the map.

    I take up position and resume my watch, noting the dense pounding within my chest. Darkness creeps in from the periphery, engulfing large swathes of the surrounding forest.

    It may have just been the nerves, or the fading light. Either way, this place is losing its charm, fast.

    Douglas finally looks back up, pocketing his items. "Magnetic north on this world''s a little fuzzy, but readable. We''re on the right track."

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    I nod and stand up. "Alright then let''s go, light''s dipping fast."

    After a few minutes, an abrupt snap resounds from the rear. I stop and turn around. Right behind sits the same endless sprawl of trees.

    "Hear that?" James comments and sinks to a knee.

    "Could be the local fauna," I answer, keeping in mind the various animals catalogued by the garrison''s research teams across their many excursions.

    "Might be the locals," Robert counters and moves to stand beside me. "Recommend we sweep our tail just in case."

    I nod and gesture ahead. "Fan out, teams of two."

    Both teams quickly converge to face the potential threat, forming into pairs as soft clicks issued from several guns. I raise my index past the trigger and flick off safeties. Even if there are no indigenous, I did not want to leave myself open to whatever is making that sound.

    Everyone settles into the arrangement, taking turns making their bounds while the others cover their advance. A few stay behind to provide flank and rear security. I point ahead to cue Robert to take his first bound, keeping overwatch as the operative sets off.

    He rushes ahead and drops to a knee after concluding his short bound. "Looks clear, go," he announces, weapon sweeping across the front, his finger perched on the trigger.

    "Moving," I sound out, and begin advancing. A slight unease pulses through me. Everything looks the same, and there is still no sign of whatever made that noise.

    I sweep the entire front again, eyes straining against the growing darkness. Just as I am about to call off the advance, a flash red of perks up through the murk.

    "Everyone, hold. Got visual on something, sixty metres, ten o''clock, at least one," I raise the alarm over on the channel, desperately chasing that streak of movement.

    It is there for just a moment¡ªthat unmistakable flicker of red. Faint rustles emerge from the darkness, confirming my suspicions. We are not alone. I inch back behind cover and listen to the growing rustling, index finger curling over the trigger.

    "Roger, contact ahead," Douglas whispers over comms, his voice strained.

    Several armoured figures rush out from the periphery, the visor immediately painting them as potential hostiles with a thin orange outline.

    I barely had time to fully register the encounter before a bright orange glow fills my line of sight. Instinctively pulling back, the blinding orb races across my shoulder impacting a tree behind and turning it into a charred mess of splinted wood.

    "Contact, hostile contact!" Saber''s team leader hollers as gunfire ensues.

    I snap back, drifting my weapon to the red outlines the visor now classified as hostile entities and return fire. Pulling hard on the trigger, the rifle kicks back into my shoulder. Three short bursts chatter out, the shots racing towards the rushing crowd of silvery-crimson only to tide against an iridescent shield.

    I stop firing and move back into cover, gingerly exposing only enough to maintain a decent line of sight with the enemy''s sudden, and unexpected means of defense. The barrier''s form is incorporeal¡ªa golden, protective sheen standing unfazed against our ballistic retaliation.

    "No effect!" Someone else yells only a few metres behind.

    Each consecutive shot leaves behind concentric ripples on its blended surface, impacting with a resounding thud. It somehow is tangible, even if it did not look the part.

    At the sides, faint blue tendrils connected the strange barrier to the ornamental scepters carried by all five of the enemy¡ªa choice of weapon I previously observed from that video depicting the final moments of a now defunct expedition six.

    Clean streaks of fire surge out from the locals, indiscriminately hitting trees and foliage alike, the ensuing flames quickly growing to paint a hellish glow.

    The visor quickly compensates, dimming down the flames and restoring a semblance of clarity as I listen to the growing callouts bouncing inside my helmet.

    The channel is a hotbed of frantic voices with both teams attempting to establish a coherent plan of action, first by identifying the number of hostiles. As confusing as the fight is, the concept remains the same¡ªit is them, or us.

    "I count five!" Douglas yells past the initial shock.

    "Watch the heat!" I instruct over the chorus of weapons fire, issuing another short burst onto the strange barrier. Thick smoke billows out from the scorched foliage, slightly obscuring the new contacts as I zero in on their figures.

    I squeeze the trigger again only to watch the bullets fall completely against the shield. Concern mounts as similar callouts registers over comms, the voices surging with growing frustration. In-spite of that, the chatter of gunfire remains constant.

    A bright streak of light cuts past my vision. Dull pain erupts on my shoulder, inciting a brief wince out of me. The pain is manageable, and quickly becomes negligible as the heat of adrenaline fills me.

    "Jerome''s hit!" A voice hollers just as a reassuring hand lands on my shoulder.

    I look back, meeting the black sheen of a visor. Douglas shoves hard and puts me firmly behind cover. "How bad?"

    "I''m... I''m good, still fit to fight!" I shake off his concern and direct his attention back to the front, shifting an inch to give him room to safely take up position beside me.

    I continue firing until the rifle is spent, then tilting it briefly to inspect the ejection port. Open as expected. After slapping a new magazine in, I rise and pan behind, exposing the bare minimum to establish a mental map of everyone''s positions relative to the enemy.

    Saber team is holding position on the right flank, far enough that they assaulted the locals from a considerably different angle. Though their distance also meant they are out of earshot.

    "Lieutenant!" I call out over comms, "your guys, on your team channel now!"

    "Will do, standby," the operative hollers back, holding his fire and turning around to bounce the instructions to the rest of his team.

    After probing through several options, I quickly settle on a plan that is simple to relay and execute. I reach up to the knob at the side of my helmet, tweaking it slowly to run through a range of channels, the visor''s display reflecting the specific frequency in real-time.

    I pause after finally hitting Saber team''s own designated frequency, wasting no time in voicing out my impromptu plan of attack. "Cut east, get to their flanks, pincer them in a crossfire. We''ll try our best to keep them pinned here!"

    "On it," the Lieutenant quickly replies. The operative pulls away with his team and fade into the foliage as I instruct my team to keep up the pressure.

    The strange barrier finally shows signs of breaking, first cracking at the edges before spreading to the centre. "Think we''re starting to chip it!" James yells, voice barely audible over the constant thundering of weapons fire.

    "Roger, I see it," Robert announces. The cracks quickly sweep across the glossy sheen until a huge piece falls off with a resounding crack.

    A feminine shriek cuts through the air coinciding with a partial collapse of the strange barrier. One of the locals stumble a few steps back, turning left as though to engage a new threat before collapsing¡ªlimbs splayed.

    I sink my aim and line up a shot at the writhing mass, staying on a knee and releasing a short burst to test the unknown barrier''s integrity. The first few shots impact the shield on its left, chipping off huge chunks with each blow. Each piece flickers and shatters like broken glass, then fades out of existence before ever hitting the ground.

    The next burst ensues, violently tearing into the fatally wounded soldier center mass. Thick blood erupts from her chest, and with a final jerk, goes still. No longer a threat.

    "One down," I sound out, directing my attention back to the four remaining, still highly dangerous targets that needed to be dealt with.

    Two more turn left to engage. Only then did I note the distinctive thundering of gunfire from the east. Both teams relentlessly hammer the enemy''s position in a brutal crossfire, turning the sudden ambush on its head.

    Enemy return fire¡ªliterally in this case, sharply diminishes until there is none. Another body drops with a resounding thud as a voice hollers to report another confirmed kill.

    "Cover me!" Douglas stands up, weapon tucked to his chest and dashes towards his next bound.

    He picks a spot just ten metres ahead and drops into prone, his rifle immediately online to hammer the enemy''s position. The occasional flash of tracer rounds from his weapon trails outwards, revealing his intent as they impact what remains of the faltering shield.

    "Good effect on centre," another operative calls out from my right before renewing his violent tempo.

    The remaining locals begin to retreat behind their faltering curtain, their figures crouched, no longer retaliating with their unknown means of attack and instead raising their hands in surrender. I force myself to relent on the trigger, scrutinizing the remaining three still alive in spite of the odds.

    "Cease fire, I say again, cease fire!" I announce.

    "Come again?" Robert questions over comms.

    "Cease fire," I reiterate, expecting a few to voice their disagreements. Thankfully, there are none. Everyone complies, and the chatter of gunfire slowly fades to nothing. Robert opts to keep his finger on the trigger, seemingly unconvinced in the slightest even as the locals issued the unmistakable sign of surrender.

    Cold silence fills the emptiness. The indigenous soldiers cower in place, arms still poised high above their heads, weapons tossed aside as they eased the last of their struggles. Fires crackled in the aftermath and was the only persistent fixture in the ambience as three sets of violet eyes glared back.

    "We''ve got them in our sights. Sullivan, get your team behind them," I say.

    "Copy, moving now," Sabre''s team leader answers.

    I stand up, taking tentative steps towards the survivors. Their bitter looks glower back through the gray haze. Those violet eyes, filled with obvious resentment, speaks on their behalf in the place of words.

    "Assholes," I frown, already forming a grim first impression of them. I advance closer, stepping around the two bodies and the pool of blood that formed around where they fell.

    Saber team stops behind them. Three of its operatives move up and grab the survivors by the shoulders, shoving hard to set them on their knees.

    "Don''t move!" A furious operative snaps before rearing a leg to kick one of the unarmed locals in the back.

    A feminine shriek cuts through the air as it hits. The impact sends the woman forward, her body crashing into the earth with a resounding thud. She trembles, limbs flailing as the operative plants his foot at the side of her neck, her weakened voice echoing in frightened sibilance¡ªthe words utterly foreign.

    "What''s she saying," I step closer, staring down at the wide-eyed woman with a hint of animosity.

    "Don''t know," Saber''s team leader returns, his tone rigid as he circles around the survivors. He pauses, and gestures to the remaining two locals still upright.

    "Those two, down as well," Sullivan advises, to which I fully agree.

    I point to both. "It''ll be easier to search them for weapons if they''re all kissing the dirt." A few nod and begin gathering around the two unarmed locals.

    Violence erupts again. The two flinch and jerk back from each touch, doing their best to resist our attempts to restrain them. I clamp down hard on one of them, tightening my grip around the man''s armoured shoulders. He shudders and twists, screaming at the top of his lungs.

    Douglas steps around, presenting the butt of his rifle, and with a single violent swing, nearly knocks the helmet off his head. I use the opportunity to push the dazed soldier down, finally planting his body firmly on the ground as his wails diminishes to a whimper.

    "Got the bastard," Douglas says, keeping him in place with a foot firmly on his back.

    I look around, seeing all three subdued. Taking a deep breath, I step back from the group and take a moment to reassess the situation. Brief as the ambush is, there is still a possibility that others heard the commotion. That train of thought makes me reconsider our options¡ªrather, our probable lack of it.

    "Wait, we can''t. I say we leave them," I say, pausing to register everyone''s reaction to my sudden shift.

    Several visors turn to me. The continued silence prompts me to elaborate further. "There''s a good chance the commotion''s attracted nearby indig'' forces. We don''t have time to sweep through their equipment."

    "Fair enough," Lieutenant Sullivan acknowledges, "Can''t really bring them back either."

    "Yeah, we''re not allowed. Current directives stand," I quickly recall, thinking back to the core takeaways from my team''s initial briefing back on Earth.

    Unless absolutely necessary, all instances of contact with indigenous cultures, under any scenario, should be minimized where possible. Such directives were drafted out of pure necessity given existing drone footage has shown that the locals are capable of feats which, even under the scrutiny of the garrison''s best minds, has so far defied logical explanations.

    Some attribute it to the inherently different laws governing this universe, while others simply deduced it to be an, as of yet unknown means of energy manipulation. Either way, the less we deal with them, the better.

    One of the two women stares back up from the corner of her eye. Deep breaths filter out her parted lips. She is completely still, no longer giving resistance. A look of despair crosses her face. The violet blush of her eyes seems to dim, as though to fully acknowledge her defeat.

    Her strained face is drained of colour. But even with the pale complexion, she still had a sense of radiance that was compelling¡ªin a way that defied words.

    Her lips quiver, then close shut as an operative from Sabre team kicks out her helmet. Soft, silken hair spills out below in an unnatural flush of white. It is almost glowing, even in the fading evening light. A soft gasp escapes from her as she looks away, burying her own face into the soil in response.

    She is soon quickly pulled back up alongside the rest into a kneeling position. Robert and two operatives from Sabre team loom over them, awaiting the cue to deliver a quick strike to the backs of their heads.

    One quick signal and three blunt hits later, all three are rendered unconscious. The bodies fall almost in unison, unceremoniously crashing down in a heap of armour and limbs.

    James kneels and inspects each one, the team medic putting his weapon aside to focus fully on his assigned trade.

    After concluding on the third soldier, he stands back up and nods. "All three are breathing fine. Best we beat feet while they''re still out of it."

    "Alright, let''s go," I say, stepping away from the scene.

    "Hell of an after-action report," Lieutenant Sullivan muses before leading the way, the others following behind in a loose file.

    "It will be worse for both of us," I catch up to him and match his pacing, sensing the man¡¯s frustration buried behind a professional tone. "We get through this first."

    We both are the lead elements of our respective teams. That unfortunately meant most of the questions the researchers and staff officers would inevitably ask, will fall onto the both of us.

    As such, it is in our best interest to recall as much as we can from this unexpected first contact.

    I turn around one last time, spotting three distinct bodies amidst the foliage. The soft traces of their white, silvery hair stand out like a serviceman out of uniform. No matter where I glanced, that particular trait dominated the view.

    Another brief flash of that woman''s face sweeps over my thoughts. I wanted to know what she had to say, even if the language is one I could not understand. That personal encounter is brief, but tense¡ªcertainly one that would stay with me for a long time.

    ===End===

 Her Fatal Assumption (5)

    Darkness looms all over me. Faces drift amidst the void. Friends, companions, fellow acolytes¡ªall of them from recent memories. A sharp painful wave echoes through me. All at once, the void is lifted.

    The faces vanish in a moment, replaced by a harsh throb that felt like searing iron pressed against my scalp. Taking a deep breath, the world slowly returns under a dim shade of green.

    The stench of charred soil quickly draws me back to that ill-fated battle. I push myself back up and piece together what had happened, recalling the struggle that was more akin to a slaughter.

    There were soldiers¡ªeight veiled in deep black. They adorned no clear allegiance or sigil. They came down harshly, and without pause. There were sparks, and yells in a language foreign to me. It was relentless, that ear-splitting rattle that sounded more like thunder than as weapons of any ilk.

    But we were spared, left alive at their whim. Now everything is silent. The veil of night is on the cusp of returning and those unknown soldiers are nowhere to be seen. There was no true menace in the way they fought, just the cold resolute steel of warriors seeking the means to victory and nothing more.

    "They''re... gone," a familiar voice mourns.

    Dread quickly fills me. To my left, fallen bodies. Those of my cadre¡ªtwo, drenched in their own blood. A third kneels over them, quietly sobbing.

    "No," I gasp, stumbling over to the grisly discovery.

    Sephra turns with dried tears staining her face and raises a hand, the fingers marred red with blood which I dearly hope is not her own.

    "Fatal puncture wounds, very clean, very deep. Gareth and Ranai have left for distant shores," the Cadre''s Mender murmurs.

    "We''re alive, thank the Herald," Oswin says as he leans upon the charred remnants of a tree. He looks up with dreary eyes, harbouring a grim tone as he continues, his staff cradled in hand. "They were not Yhunian assassins, let alone their common soldiery."

    I feel the rush of tears prickling at the edges. A reckless choice led to this. This is my doing. The loss is beyond words, as though their blood is on my hands.

    This is hard to accept, but the harsh pounding in my head tears asunder such ignorance.

    I push onwards even as the ensuing grief claws at my heart.

    "What shall we do?" the timid voice beside me asks.

    "We... return back to our encampment," I groan and pick up my scepter, its crystal no longer gleaming and pristine as it once had been.

    "I could not... " Sephra once more gazes over our fallen, her words fading in a sob.

    Messily strewn over the Mender''s lap and all around her is a myriad of herbs. In her other hand, a roll of unused silk still lies clutched between her fingers, no longer of use after the passing of our kin. They were slain long before Sephra could tend to them.

    Their armour is ridden with small holes, each as clean an entry as the last. Ranai''s chest piece is afflicted with no less than ten of them. Her glazed eyes stared back from within the helm, no longer imbued with the spark of life.

    She was the youngest of us.

    Gareth lies further away, three paces to the right. He is splayed on his belly, head engulf in a grisly sheen of blood. There was so much of it pouring out, all of it from wounds no larger than a finger''s width.

    This place is not worthy of being their final resting place. Not under my vigil. They both deserve that dignity.

    "And we return with them, however long it takes," I say and place Ranai''s limp arm over my shoulder. They deserve no less.

    Carefully, I lift her body up and rest it across my back. Her arms dangle before me, one across each shoulder. I grab her wrists to keep her steady¡ªboth are cold and clammy. Her blood spills onto me, more than I expected.

    Oswin takes the mantle of carrying our other slain kin, Gareth. Together we begin the journey back east, trudging through the woods with a steady flow. There is no time for mourning, not yet. Still, the silent tears fall without pause. Each breath invokes a tremor of grief in my chest. This is a nightmare of the worst kind.

    Exhaustion quickly takes root. Every step now is harder than the last. Both my legs burn with a painful throb, almost unbearably so. The weight of another is too much, especially with armour.

    After untold leagues, the forest finally relents into rolling hills and sparse roads. Lights glinted in the distance, friend or foe, I could not tell. The exhaustion is simply too much to think through.

    "Halt, identify or be slain!" One of them bellows without hesitation.

    A soft, blue glow emanates from them. There is at least one amongst the gathering that is versed in the arcane.

    "Speak, in the name of her Majesty!" The voice echoes louder, this time with the lilt of impatience.

    That last snippet eases my worries. These are fellow Euralians on the field.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    I stop and heed his instructions, legs finally buckling. "Inora, 3rd battle-cadre, Pathfinder detachment of the 21st Royal Cohort."

    "Under the decree of Lord General Thellius?" The same voice replies.

    I nod, even though the gesture would not be seen. "Yes, sent to hunt those who mean to pester our supply lines."

    "Same as us then," another says. That would explain their wariness and reasons for prowling at such a perilous time and place.

    The soldiers draw closer, unveiling the assuring regalia of the Crown seared upon their chest plates. A few break ranks and step aside, spreading outwards from the path. Sparse whispers linger amongst these arrivals, but the exchanges are too subtle to discern.

    A few words make it through the veil¡ªambush, danger, and assassins. The threat is always there, but now more so ever since the sun departed. Apprehension runs rampant¡ªinfectious even, almost like a tangible blight with no cure.

    "Regular line troops, we''re safe," Oswin murmurs, his strength faltering with each breath.

    "Soldiers of the 10th Dauntless Cohort," Sephra remarks, her tone steady as she points at the sword-inspired sigil fashioned upon their pauldrons.

    From the crowd of over thirty, there is only one wielding a scepter. The rest carry an assortment of weapons¡ªswords, spears, and bows alike. All look none too pleased at halting in such an open, vulnerable expanse even if it lies well behind the front lines.

    "What happened?" A soldier asks with a stern glare as he kneels, gaze drifting towards the body of my fallen companion still hoisted on my back.

    "There is something else to our west. Not Yhunian military, but soldiers of another state," I answer, then move to rest Ranai''s body gently onto the ground for much needed respite. Her skin has since gone deathly cold, and her expression remains unchanging.

    A few gasps emerge from the curious few that gathered around me. The silence that follows is equally as unsettling as the sudden emergence of those unknown, black-clad warriors.

    "They spared us," Sephra pauses with a wince, as though the very memory of that battle causes her turmoil, "then spoke amongst themselves, but their tongue is foreign."

    "As are their weapons," Oswin adds with a grunt.

    "So, this region is rife with more than just Yhunian subterfuge, am I correct to think that?" The soldier that first yelled¡ªa Low Marshall from his stature and emblazoned rank, rightfully concludes.

    I nod, pushing aside the vile imagery of those battle garbs. "Yes."

    "I see." The Marshall turns away, gravely pondering with furrowed brows.

    A cold silence looms over the air as the rest of his soldiers mull over what has been said. A few questions emerge and we answer them as best we could, fatigued as we are. Some looked as though they held doubts, whilst others take our words in stride, truly believing what we said.

    The mention of weapons that thundered loudly whilst spouting shards at untold speeds raises concern amongst the gathering. A few menders boldly step up and kneel before me and offer a consoling look before examining our fallen.

    With tender hands they trace each of the wounds which are spread across armour and flesh.

    ¡°Her neck is stained with entry and exit wounds. The greater, left ascending vessels are breached,¡± a mender reveals.

    "These are odd," another remarks, face twisted as he inspects the fatal wounds upon Ranai¡¯s chest.

    His hands travel across her chest plate, resting at the vital point where her heart lies beneath. "Deep and fine punctures, even in the thickest parts of her armour. The heart and its major vessels are also undoubtedly breached," he sighs.

    "Certainly not by battle sorcery. Nonetheless, it was a quick death," the first one adds, concluding his grim appraisal with a dark look. For a moment they both kneel in silence, mourning her as we did, heads bowed in reverence to the person that once was.

    In the morning, she was still alive and well. The both of them were alive.

    Following our warnings, the detachment''s Marshall offers a few of his soldiers¡ªjust three, to guide us back to the encampment. We readily take it, and part ways after bidding them farewell as they continue onwards with their hunt.

    For their sake, I pray it proves uneventful.

    We continue journeying east alongside the three extra soldiers. They offer to lend their strength and carry our fallen, but we refuse out of principle. This is the Cadre''s burden to bare, not theirs. The silence is profound. I struggle even now to accept the finality of their deaths.

    It is overwhelming, like a tide destined to sweep all in its wake. It took only a moment¡ªa mere decision, to render their lives forfeit. There is no measure of peace to be found. Despair is just a breath away from me at every turn.

    After untold paces in silence, the encampment''s thin walls come into view. The town''s gates open and we enter, greeted by only a single soldier. His face is young and simmered on the cusp of manhood, maybe a season too young to be wielding a spear.

    ¡°Blessings to you, honoured Arcane-sister,¡± he smiles, though it quickly falters upon my frown.

    ¡°Pathfinder Inora Ver¡¯Riyya, alert the menders at once,¡± I decree with a bitter edge.

    ¡°I¡ªyes. Of course,¡± the young man answers with ample haste.

    As he strides away, I resume and enter the encampment. The passing wind carries a cold that seems out of place, as though a brush of winter had crept onto the land. Footsteps pattered from the Mending wards in the distance, and robed figures soon emerge out its doors.

    The encampment''s healers, alerted to our arrival with a call from that lone sentry, rush out to meet us. Their clothes are stained a deep red, yet they carry onwards without heed to their muddled appearance.

    "Two dead, give both their final rites," I bitterly announce as they approach, scepter and bandages in hand, both utterly useless.

    "Very well, leave them to us," one of the Menders decrees.

    "He... is in your hands," Oswin whispers, finally passing the healers their quarry.

    I give Ranai''s arms one last squeeze before lowering her to the ground. There is a sickening stiffness to her limbs which I dare not delve into.

    "She is yours," I say, relenting possession with no small amount of joy.

    The healers place the two onto stretchers, wrapping both fully in wraps to be carried away to the town''s Mending wards. As they left, so did a part of me.

    Stubborn tears hinder my vision, but I blink them away. There is still a warning to be passed. I will mourn them in due time. The pressing matter of those we had fought must first be brought to light.

    "We shall rejoin the garrison''s ranks, as per the decree of our Low Marshall." The three soldiers offer their regards and begin making haste onto the battlements. Theirs is a brief farewell, with little need for pleasantries.

    "You have our thanks," I call out to the three, yet they march on without pause.

    "Honour and fealty, arcane-sister. May your battle-cadre recover from this blow,¡± one amongst them answers back, offering a final salute with an arm crossing over his chest.

    Soon they join the town''s outer defences, mingling with the soldiers already on guard at the top. The streets are barren, lacking the simple charm it once possessed no more than twenty days ago. They lie battered, a result of the endless processions of foot soldiers and cavalry that once marched through this town.

    All is silent save for a few paltry soldiers on vigil across various intersections. They numbered no more than a dozen, and over half belonged to the militia.

    Our quarry is none other than our Lord Captain, and so we proceed onto the only place a man of his stature would linger at this time¡ªeven now. The Cohort''s command tent stands proudly in the town''s nexus. Within lies my fate, perhaps even punishment. Both, I will accept without question.

    "Be silent, stay outside, and let me answer on behalf of our cadre," I exclaim, regarding both with a grim look.

    ''Or what remains of it,'' I think silently, the thought only raising more despair.

    "As you wish," Oswin answers.

    Sephra hesitates for a moment, soft, violet eyes imbued with turmoil. She glances to the command tent, and finally answers under a meagre tone. "I will not expect good fortunes for us. We may¡ª" she halts, her parched lips pressed into a grim line.

    I raise a hand to defer her thoughts. "Enough," I proclaim, garnering her attention. Her eyes gleam with intrigue, hands slowly weaving together on her front. She patiently waits, her musings left unspoken at my behest.

    There is no explanation to be given, nor is it owed. I steel myself and turn around, striding proudly into the Lord Captain''s tent. There are lingering doubts, fears, and ample worry as I pass. All of that will be well-founded beneath the Lord Captain''s tired, but searing gaze.

    A large map is spread upon a central table, marked with the army sigils for both friend and foe. The battle formations offers a glimpse into the grim war we face. Tentative were our gains, and our holdings, even less so¡ªjust as I suspected.

    His lesser Marshalls watched, judged, and frowned, as though privy to such a conclusion. The time has come to bring forth my tidings, and to accept retribution, if he deems it so.

    ''Herald protect me.''

    And so, I begin.

    ===End===

 Hindsight (6)

    Another cold breeze sweeps across the hill¡ªa soft gentle hiss overhead. Its comforting chill wraps around me with a pleasant calm. Had the day turned out differently, I might have paid more attention to it.

    There is still the pressing matter of our overall mission, and its subsequent findings to consider, not to mention that sudden ambush. Not a moment goes by where I did not reflect on any of these three.

    First contact is an ugly affair. We retaliated within reason, gave them the opportunity to peacefully lay down their... arms, and left the survivors in peace.

    Still, there is some measure of guilt to be had. Two of the locals were killed. Even if it was in self-defence, I can safely assume there will be long term consequences.

    Future operations and relations with this specific faction are bound to face some setbacks because of what we did. It is only a rumour, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the UN makes an official attempt at establishing relations with the indigenous.

    The most we can do is explain the facts on our end, hand over all relevant footage, and hope the command staff understand our position. The rest is up to the researchers and officers to accept, hopefully.

    It has been several hours since that battle, but everyone remains on high alert, committing to a rotating guard shift of four men every hour. There are no complaints against the suggestion when it was first proposed, especially after such a violent first impression by the locals.

    The hill we currently occupy rises above the forest, giving both teams a clear vantage against anything that might present a threat¡ªindigenous or otherwise.

    "Sabre three, all quiet over here¡ªnothing to report," a member of team Sabre announces over comms.

    "Roger, next shift change is thirty minutes. Continue as planned," I reply.

    After a few minutes of silence, Robert breaks the tension with a raised finger. "Still can''t really get over it¡ªthe extra moon. Having two''s just overkill," he says, referencing the celestial pair drifting across the night sky.

    The two crescent moons are golden, but were different in that each of them reflected a different phase of their cycle¡ªassuming orbital mechanics were analogous to our own. Of the two, the larger one looms as a thin crescent, a sliver of gold on the eastern sky. The smaller one is situated on the north almost as a full moon, also cast in that same ethereal golden hue.

    Both allowed the presence of shadows, if only barely. An extra moon over the night sky makes for a novel sight, though I quickly dismiss the view after a brief moment of admiration. Out of all the newfound oddities of this world, it is still the existence of intelligent life that leaves me confounded.

    "I''m more concerned about those locals. Thank God it''s only a small squad, they almost got the drop on us," I admit, recalling their unexpected means of attack and defense.

    The footage from that brief skirmish alone will no doubt be an anthropological boon for the researchers back home.

    "Serves them right for messing with us," Robert answers with a scoff.

    With the looming threat of another ambush still a distant possibility, the brief conversation did little to alleviate the tension.

    The forest canopy stretches around us for miles on end. It is a silent, ominous fixture. And somewhere beneath that endless sprawl, there could be more of the locals and we would be none the wiser.

    "We''ve got incoming air, it''s one of ours." team Sabre''s Lieutenant announces over comms.

    "Almost two hours late," a member of his team interjects.

    In the distance, a faint rumble slowly builds. The sound grows into a deep, rhythmic roar to fill the silence. I squint at the horizon, holding my assumptions at bay until a dark shape emerges over the vague horizon, partially silhouetted against the stars.

    I turn around, spotting the two operatives currently on their shift at the northern base of the hill. "Have those guys pull back in five, it''s almost here."

    "Will do," James acknowledges and marches away.

    After slinging my rifle around and gathering both teams together at the highest point of the hill, the pilot''s voice registers over on comms. "This is Blue¡ªSeven at Grid A15, exfil point two, approaching your position¡ªhave positive visual, standby," the pilot announces.

    "Copy, we''re at the top and standing by," Robert answers on our behalf.

    "Davis, Greg, back to rear security. Stay close and keep eyes on our north. You two are last," Lieutenant Sullivan announces.

    "Gotcha," one of his men answers and gestures at another beside him.

    Soon both operatives break off and take a short bound, setting up a relatively close overwatch overlooking the hill''s northern end.

    "Looks like they sent a Valor," Douglas briefly remarks much to my surprise.

    I turn around, spotting the vague silhouette racing across the sky on a direct heading towards us. Even with the visor''s assistance and through squinted eyes, the aircraft''s identity remains a mystery.

    On the chance he is right, I have no complaints given the seating capacity of a Valor. Everyone will have seats for the return journey back to base.

    "Good for us, more leg room," I say, keeping tabs on the approaching rotor wing.

    Five more minutes and the helicopter is positioned directly above us, its rotors funneling a potent downdraft at the landing zone, stirring the grass into a violent flurry.

    Its outline looms overhead, vaguely plastered against the backdrop of stars¡ªjust good enough to render identification. Douglas is right in his assumption.

    "Valor incoming, stand clear," someone yells over the violent rustle, also reaching the same conclusion.

    Descending the last few meters, the approaching Valor makes landfall with a resounding thud. Lieutenant Sullivan steps forward and pulls open the side door, then stands aside to usher both teams into the cabin.

    "Come on. First in, now!" he hollers to the nearest man.

    The operative in question readily complies and steps in without delay.

    "One!" he remarks and takes a sharp turn towards the rear, disappearing from sight.

    "Two," Robert adds with a more reserved tone, his voice barely registering over the rotor''s constant whir.

    The rest follow in quick succession, their steps ringing against the cabin''s metal flooring as each man yells out his number. Everyone is more than happy to end the deployment on a quiet note. Tactical lights glazed overhead to paint the cabin in a red, ominous hue after everyone is seated.

    "We''re on board, get us out," I announce on behalf of both teams.

    With a slow tilt, the ground swiftly disappears beneath into a faded, black mist. I pull the door shut and engage the lock after a final glance outside.

    Douglas sits across me and renders a swift nod before speaking. "Any chance we might escape a debrief tonight?" he asks.

    I fold my arms and return a frown. "Don''t think so. That skirmish is a first for the garrison, they''ll want a full rundown on our stint."

    Douglas sighs and removes his helmet to reveal an agitated look. "Thought so."

    "Goes without saying, we''re the only ones to survive first contact with indig'' forces," James pauses, voice growing heavy with annoyance, "they''ll probably start hammering questions the moment we land."

    "One of the things I don''t like about deployment Rift-side," Lieutenant Sullivan interjects, breaching the topic with a bitter tone, "lots of idiots up top¡ªat least with the science division. A week before this, they had us run escort for another expedition to the southern coast."

    "Plenty of ruins down under¡ªhundreds of years old," a member of his team adds, "Told them it was too dangerous, that some of the structures are compromised. They didn''t listen. Then the ceiling collapsed near where we planned to set up shop. It might have been a complete wipe if I hadn''t insisted on making camp closer to the entrance."

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    "Sounds tough," James comments with a chuckle.

    "Some of them have mellowed out, but yeah. You should expect this kind of stuff in the long term," the operative continues before shifting the conversation to lighter topics.

    Only a few actively participated, with the rest keeping to themselves. Just thought of another encounter with the locals, under any situation, puts me on edge. There is no guarantee of safety when we still know so little about them and their motives.

    With the general disconnect between realities on the ground and the command staff, I can assume that the supposed plan to establish official relations with the locals will go ahead regardless of our findings.

    At the very least, I hope the command team is willing to hear us out, to give both teams an outlet to address their findings and concerns. There is still so much to consider before the next encounter.

    A brief flash of that woman''s face comes to mind. Her expression, that tangible aura of fear¡ªso human. She looked just like us¡ªthey looked so much like us. But the resemblance is uncanny¡ªwhite hair, purple eyes, and God knows what else.

    If only there was no language barrier in our way, maybe then we could have found some sort of common ground, find out why they attacked right in that moment. There had to be a reason, no matter how baseless it was.

    I have plenty of questions and speculations but entertaining them is mostly pointless at this time.

    From then on, it is only the constant hum of engines that fills my thoughts. I lean back, taking in the calm ambiance, and finally give myself the space to relax.

    ===Field Command Post, Sachana Encampment===

    These tidings are only worsening. Entire cadres have gone silent, snuffed without so much a hint as to their fate. Another is now declared missing¡ªpresumed slain. And it has only been three hours since my return.

    There is no respite, or sense of ease to be felt even in the bosom of the town''s inner sprawl. Homes are barred and windows shuttered. It was a sight colder than the winds that sometimes billow through the streets. It has been days since a child''s laughter echoed here.

    "All nine Captains have left that tent, and not one is without a frown," a soft, weary voice murmurs, "Majesty forgive me for saying this, but I fear that our forces across the river have perished."

    I give no answer to my fellow Pathfinder, instead glancing back to the Mending wards. There are many bodies laid outside in plain view, and most are recent¡ªno more than a day old. Just a glimpse of the vile sight casts a dark shroud over my thoughts.

    However reasonable it is to grieve over the deaths of my companions, they are but a flicker in this ever-growing tide of conflict¡ªno more of note than the hundreds already slain in these past few days.

    "Our Lord General is more invested in the counterattack than what I had to report," I intone, still bitter upon his quick disregard over my tidings¡ªjustified it may be.

    "I share your grievances. He also regarded my own with little interest, even though we sighted a new swell of Yhunian troops to our South."

    "His motives are in question are they not?" I remark, gauging the sorcerer''s expression for signs of disapproval.

    A flicker of surprise crosses the man''s face. "A bold statement, and a dangerous one to flaunt," he says, looking around for prying ears before continuing.

    "Perhaps, but save your ire. Leave your findings to our Lord Captain. If these soldiers are as you say, then trust that he shall look into it."

    "He will, but only at first light," I sigh. If only they battled these soldiers as I did, maybe then they would listen with all due haste.

    A heavy pause settle over the air. I cast a solemn gaze back to the tent, wondering if the Lord General would even find the time to look into my warnings and prepare an apt response. A deep horn bellows in the distance and cuts aside the speculation¡ªlike a blade through wheat.

    "Last muster," the man says.

    We swiftly assemble onto the town''s plaza and see the rest of our kin in formation¡ªone battle-cadre for each row. Everyone is silent, and kneels before the Lord Captain. There he stands, sheathed in the Kingdom''s decorum. The Cohort''s imperial sigil sits upon his chest, caught in the moons'' ethereal glow¡ªa soft golden sheen.

    "Honour and Fealty," the Pathfinder beside me quietly whispers, and marches to the front to join four others in his row.

    "Honour and fealty," I reply with equal subtlety.

    The man''s cadre is still full strength, unlike my own, and a few others. Some rows are incomplete, four sorcerers or less, and two are left empty. The 5th and 9th were slain to the last. In their place, stands a black banner, all but confirming these musings.

    I swallow the bitterness and join the third row, bending the knee to await the sermons or instructions of the Cohort''s esteemed Lord Captain.

    He steps forward, gaze cast over the assembled ranks. His voice booms with an aura of certainty and steel, compelling me to listen closely, to regard his words as nothing less than an unshakable truth.

    "We stand upon the outbreak of a war none of us expected, yet here we are¡ªthe finest scouts of the Eastern Territorial Army," the Lord Captain proclaims, his voice bolder with each word, "in twenty days, the enemy has bloodied our ranks¡ªslain two battle-cadres to the last with their insipid tactics."

    I risk a glance up to see one of his servants procure a scroll from behind his back. The Lord Captain takes it and unfurls the parchment, appraising its contents with a growing frown.

    "By decree of our Lord General, expect more perilous assignments in the coming days. You will be asked to venture deeper into enemy lands, to undertake deeds that you may look back upon with distaste. You will survey the might of their troops, sow chaos as you deem fit, and slay those who fuel the war effort¡ªsoldiers, Marshalls, sappers, provisioners, even their healers. There will be no exceptions," he continues.

    The grim decree has been given, and I accept it with all my heart. This is a theater in which mercy and compassion must be stifled. It is one of the first things to be instilled before even learning to evoke a simple flame.

    "Cadre leaders shall receive their assignments at first muster. You shall have full rights to procure the necessary provisions. The quartermasters have been informed.

    "Everyone but the third battle-cadre is dismissed. Prepare well, and may her Majesty''s grace be with you all. Honour and fealty," the Lord Captain concludes.

    "Honour and fealty," the Cohort echoes in a reverent hymn of voices.

    Sorcerers around me rise and depart in silence whilst I remain in place. All but three remain to endure the Lord Captain''s piercing glare.

    Sephra turns to me, her voice simmering with a hint of fear.

    "Is this absolution?" She whispers, still cradling the notion that our decision to return would be perceived as dereliction to duty.

    I placate her fears with a simple truth. "No, it is beyond that."

    "Now, as for you three," the Captain intones again after waving his servants aside.

    His searing gaze is tangible and domineering. A rush of concern tides over me¡ªthough it is unfounded.

    I remain in place, awaiting his musings in dutiful silence, as did my two companions. It is now only us, and him. The plaza is cloaked in shadow, but a few scattered torches blazed through the emptiness to frame the Lord Captain''s armoured visage in a silvery sheen.

    "Tell me more about this foe you faced," he states, arms folded in front.

    I quickly answer, voice measured against his demands. "What else do you wish to know?"

    His eyes narrow, though not in ire. "What you explained prior with our Lord General and his circle is brief, and only delved into their appearance and weapons," he pauses, and running a thoughtful finger beneath his chin.

    "Even then, none of what you told bore a likeness to anything our enemies would employ. Whatever you remember from that skirmish, no matter how trivial, I want it written and sketched. Recent sightings amongst the guards warrant it."

    I perk up at that troubling revelation. "How so?"

    The Lord Captain looks me in the eye. "There are odd accounts from soldiers whilst on vigil¡ªstrange objects lurking in the skies. These are always accompanied with a faint buzz. They most often appear at night, and their origins are yet known."

    "Esteemed Captain," Sephra lifts her gaze, "I have spent time in the mending wards, and I believe the two prisoners, which we know hold no ties to our enemy, may hold the answer."

    "So I''ve heard from the Arch-mender herself, but what makes you believe so?" The Captain challenges her with an iron gaze.

    "Their trinkets," she swiftly answers, "many are inert, though a few are shaped in a peculiar manner, and are small enough to fit in one''s hand. I stole a few moments to study them in person after helping to mend our wounded."

    "Four limbs, splayed out from a central black-carapaced body," Sephra describes, "they end in thin blades which turned with the slightest touch. Dare I say, its form is shaped precisely by its purpose."

    "Automatons then?" Oswin concludes with a gasp.

    Sephra nods. "It seems as such, though I cannot boast with full certainty."

    "Noted," the Lord Captain says. "I expect the report and sketches tomorrow. Your cadre shall be excused from future ventures until then. Make it well, for I will be submitting it to Lord General Thellius as part of my reports."

    "As you decree," I answer, offering a salute.

    A respite from the harsh elements is always welcome. Though a passing thought still looms overhead.

    "And what of the captives?" I ask.

    He remains silent, and just when it seems an answer will elude me, he sighs. "The inquisition has no choice but to have them be mind-probed," he explains, voice without a shred of guilt.

    I grimace at the thought. Mind-probes. Only a heartless wretch would master such a vile art. Whilst effective at plucking secrets from the most stubborn of victims, it often leaves their minds shattered. Most cities have outlawed the practice of such foul magic, and for good reason.

    "They would be fortunate to retain their sanity," I say, shuddering at the mere thought of enduring such abhorrent violation. Whatever allegiance they possess, they do not deserve such treatment.

    The Lord Captain stands unfazed, as though the plights of those captives are without value. I rise to my feet with the weight of his decree heavy on my shoulders. The bitter cold is of little concern compared to the simmering turmoil within.

    I stifle the urge to speak against his will, knowing it would be akin to a tide crashing against an unyielding cliff. In the end, I let it go. This is beyond my stature.

    "We shall have those reports ready at first light."

    The Lord Captain nods. "See that you do. You three are dismissed." He then marches away, offering no further pleasantries as he makes for the town''s interior.

    I sigh, feeling the weight on my shoulders lift. Tomorrow will be a day without sweat and toil, though the notion did little to quell my worries.

    "Do we have enough charcoal for twenty pages?"

    "We do, unless the Lord Captain means to have us recount that battle separately," Oswin answers, his gaze lifting for a brief glance.

    Sephra pats her satchel. "I shall describe the fatal wounds they inflicted on our fallen in full¡ªit is still fresh," she offers, tone woeful as her spirit.

    There is no further business left, and so we retreat to the barracks, where most of our kin had already fallen to slumber. It was once a house of worship¡ªa chapel in service to the Goddess. Now it is ours, claimed in the name of necessity.

    Once freed from the heft of our armour, we lingered amidst the dim, hallowed expanse of the church. Faded mosaics clung to decrepit stone walls, no longer faithful to the visage they once presented, corraded by time''s relentless ebb. Soldiers and sorcerers alike slept beneath the ruined decay, and I am soon to join them.

    For me, peace is just a distant mirage. We were once a proud five, now reduced to three humbled survivors. We settle into our cots without offering words of solace to each other. The two would be right to despite me. I would have done the same.

    Sleep eludes me, but come it did. The throbbing doubt, that incessant guilt, are finally silenced.

    ===End===

 Feedback (7)

    Another fresh procession, yet these are different¡ªmore menacing. A stalwart contingent of women and men, all equally silent as though on honoured vigil, their armour embellished in finer decorum. They march forth onto the plaza behind the heels of their Lord Captain, faces sheathed behind masks etched in the likeness of scowling fiends.

    Soldiers of the Interior Guard¡ªdisciplined and regal as the rumours beheld, and worthy of reverence for the simple novelty of being one of the few whose ranks are composed entirely of sorcerers. They all carry themselves proudly beneath the sun''s glare, rightfully so.

    I dare not look away, enthralled by the soft resonance of power they seem to possess. But while these people are a welcome sight, I did not have the time to be led astray by idle interest. My charge is clear¡ªto meet with the Lord General himself, and so I stride on without pause, undaunted by the lone cadence of my steps echoing across the plaza.

    Beyond the silent tide of soldiers, and into the town''s inner reaches, stands an unmoving figure¡ªflushed with a golden visage. I breathe out, steeling myself against the Lord General''s unrelenting gaze. Behind him stands a pair of Interior Guard sorcerers¡ªdevoted to silence, as demanded by their reputation.

    "Inora Ver''Riyah¡ªLow Marshall of the 21st Royal Cohort. My thanks for heeding the summons," the Lord General states, voice humble, yet tempered like steel.

    His eyes are battered and weary, yet they belie the secrets of a hundred campaigns. An old scar carves a path down his right cheek, fading just before reaching the edge of his lips. Such a wound ought to be older than I am.

    I place a clenched fist over my heart and bestow a salute onto the Lord General. "The Cohort, and her soldiers serve at your behest."

    He nods and steps closer, unfolding both his arms. "I''ve reviewed the missive sent by your Lord Captain. A strange rout of soldiers¡ªgarbed in black, and armed with weapons that sputtered relentlessly. And you led the ambush against them?" the Lord General questions.

    The foul memories simmer forth. "An ill-fated one, yes. It was swift, and two of my own were slain," I sigh.

    Word of my cadre''s shame have undoubtedly spread amongst the Cohort, and possibly beyond. Our woes are just one of many, yet it did not diminish the echoing pain of losing two, dearly beloved companions. I will not engage such a brittle topic. Not when the scars are still fresh like dew upon sunrise.

    After a moment of reflection, I lift my gaze. "No matter. Are the sketches and reports in order?"

    The Lord General returns a light nod, easing that specter of doubt. "They need no further embellishments." he states, "And I share your sentiments, it would seem we have the unbidden attention of a mysterious, third faction. Your report is similar to the first encounter made by a cadre of your Cohort, also to our south."

    "What did they say?" I risk a glance to the masked sorcerers behind him¡ªstill silent as ever.

    The Lord General slowly treads away and gestures me to follow. "I can only speak on their reports and no more, for the 9th battle-cadre has been slain¡ªseared to death amidst the battle of the Nul''Firan river," he reveals.

    My heart falters at the revelation. His words held merit. A black banner stood in place of that cadre at last muster.

    As we venture forth, the Lord General abruptly stops at the entrance to the Mending wards, his expression shadowed with worry. An Interior Guard sorcerer steps forth on his behalf, masked visage offering naught but an eternal, false scowl.

    "At your behest, we stand ready to mind-probe those two prisoners," the masked sorcerer reports, his voice deep and measured, "but, under the laws of the arcane, know that such an act would certainly cripple their minds."

    "A small price to pay to lift the veil," Lord General Thellius retorts. "How soon will your Hexchanter arrive?"

    "No earlier than tomorrow," the mage replies with ample haste. His hidden gaze falls on me, yet he remains silent, unsaid musings left to rot behind that scornful mask. Whatever regards he has, it will be forever beyond my privy.

    Without another word, both he and his companion retreat. The Lord General then turns to me and breaks the newfound silence. "Know this, I have made a decree for your cadre to be kept away from the fray, though not as penance for old shames."

    My lips curl into a frown. "Then what for?"

    The Lord General mirrors my tone. "Your lot thus far are the only ones to have faced those soldiers, I prefer as such to keep your cadre alive. Halt whatever tasks are assigned to you by Lord Captain Fenn and go to Mending Ward Ember.

    "Make haste, and watch over those prisoners until their due sentence," he affirms.

    The trivial, and often menial duties bestowed upon me and my cadre since returning is beneath our stature¡ªbefitting only for the army''s serfs. But it is still preferable to serving as glorified protectors to those unfortunates whose people slew my kin.

    In the place of a face¡ªa dark, featureless sheen. The armour is imposing, each detail rendered precisely like notes of a song. They will forever blight my memory.

    I look up and quell that pit of resentment. "By your decree, Lord General. Consider it done."

    A hint of gratitude sweeps over his aged face. "They shall be under your watch," he pauses, his expression taut.

    I nod, silently accepting my cadre''s new station. But the mere thought of being saddled with them¡ªeven for just a day, stirs a deep annoyance within. How could it have come to this?

    Every glance, thought, and worry concerning those prisoners will forever remind me of my greatest shame to date. Duty binds me to this and I have no choice but to abide by his clarion will.

    Scorn and resentment aside, if this is my penance, so be it. I return to my cadre after presenting another reverence salute to the Lord General. And there they toiled in the Garrison''s courtyard, languishing amidst a myriad of dented, and often broken pieces of used armour.

    A few of the army serfs glance up, their blank expressions twisting with a hint of interest. Yet they will not be the ones to be given deliverance from the grim task of dismantling the battered armour to their components, one clasp at a time.

    I clear my throat, delivering the Lord General''s tidings with a hint of bitterness.

    "We are to oversee the two prisoners housed in the Regiment''s Mending faculties," I begin, garnering surprise from the two.

    Sephra perks up, her violet eyes a shade brighter. "The ones deemed to not be aligned with our enemies?" she asks.

    I nod, ignoring the serfs entirely. "Yes."

    The young Mender raises a lone finger. "Ember ward then, it is just a hundred paces that way," she says, lips pursed.

    "How long?" Oswin interjects, rising to his feet.

    "For at least two days, until the Interior Guard has safely ferried their supposed Hexchanter to the town," I reply, much to the intrigue of both.

    "Please, excuse us," Sephra murmurs to the serfs, and puts aside her assortment of tools. She swiftly takes the reigns and leaves, taking large strides that seem filled with renewed vigor.

    We make haste to the ward under her lead. Soon enough, the familiar stench of decay fills the air. Some bodies remain, yet to be buried. Amongst them, is perhaps our own. In the glare of day, I could finally piece together the Regiment''s losses in full¡ªover fifty lives claimed in three days worth of battle.

    "Don''t look," I cast a glance over to Oswin and lift his chin from the ground. He nods, and heeds my decree, keeping his sights away from the vile candour of war.

    Stolen story; please report.

    There is no peace to be found by regarding the slain, only misery. I am relieved he understands this with just a few choice words. We reach the Mending ward without further words amongst the three of us, crossing the veiled curtains into an unsettling discord of wounded soldiers in languish.

    The air is rife with weak moans and mournful cries. Menders toiled endlessly across the rows of cots, yet their numbers were few and sparse¡ªunfit to lord over the entirety of the Ward just by themselves. A few chant softly under their breaths, invoking some meagre solace to those who sorely needed it.

    This in itself is a battlefield of its own, just as demanding any clash of steel or exchange of spell fire.

    Sephra forges ahead, delving to the nearest untended patient, her hands gently threading over the man''s deeply seared chest. "Make way without me, don''t stop on my account," she turns around, her voice tempered amidst the turmoil, conviction set in stone.

    Oswin and I exchange glances, understanding our companion''s devotion to her oaths before continuing onwards through the ward. With every breath, comes the pungent stench of herbs, oils, and sweat.

    The healers move aside as we venture ever deeper into their midst. Most dare not raise concerns nor take action against our stark presence. We are both still dressed as though for battle, the only ones thus far in this place of mending. The silence festers, heavy and tangible as the heft of my armour.

    "Where are the esteemed captives," I finally ask, growing tired of the eerie calm and hollow stares against me.

    A Mender steps away from his toil, wiping a bloodied hand on the drape on his chest. "The foreigners, those found by pathfinders of your Cohort?" he says, his gaze looming between me and his patient¡ªa bedridden woman, her left wrist a bloodied stump.

    I answer without delay and muster a dauntless front. "Yes, we are to stand vigil on behalf of Lord General Thellius. Where are they?"

    The man gestures to the far end of the ward, his hand still wrapped around the bloodied tools of his trade. "Past that curtain¡ªthe guarded wing," he says, his gaze drifting back to the woman under his care.

    "My thanks," I say, though he did not answer. Past the veiled curtains, and into the sanctuary, finally stands my charges¡ªworthy only of contempt and bitterness.

    They are a feeble pair, shackled in place with chains to a lone post. Both regard me with cautious eyes, as though privy to the penance that would soon befall them.

    One of them thinks to speak, yet for all his audacity, his foreign tongue is no better than the mindless prattle of infants.

    The other sits in silence and glares back, wavering only in the slightest as I move onto him. He brandishes his disdain with furrowed brows, guarded features reflecting simmering contempt and little else.

    "So these are the unfortunates," I remark, removing my helmet to better judge them.

    Both seem aged, perhaps cresting upon their twilight years. Stranger yet, is the curious shade of their hair¡ªa dull gold. Their entire visage is as fascinating as it is uncanny. Foreigners without a shred of doubt.

    "So it appears," Oswin seethes, his voice mired with disdain, "we ought to simply throw them back into whatever crevice they ventured out from."

    Treacherous thoughts loom over me. At last, something to place my hatred upon¡ªunwarranted it may be. The urge is potent, festering deep within. But no matter what I do, it will not bring them back. Harbouring this dark veil is a fruitless endeavor.

    The tide of anger slowly fades with each breath, until only emptiness remains. Anger shall not stain my judgement.

    "It is not our place to decide," I pause upon sighting the glint of keys to my left. They adorn the small rack which lies flushed to the wall, their purpose all but certain. A necessary precaution, one that would have been better used against more coveted prisoners.

    I point to the captives who owe me nothing but obedience. "Uncuff them, then we make haste to our barracks. They no longer need the attention of our healers it seems."

    Owsin steps forth and grab the keys, freeing both prisoners from their pitiful shackles. They offer words of gratitude, but their cryptic regards went unanswered by my companion.

    "Be... silent," he finally glowers, lips tensed into a fierce scowl. If looks alone could slay, the odd man would already be rendered a smoldering pile of embers.

    "Let us go," I step in, taking the reigns lest his ire festers.

    Bruises and bandages aside, they are fit to tread on their own two feet. And so, with the threat of a fiery scowl and harsh words to ensure compliance, they heed my demands and soon make way to the exit under my careful gaze.

    The soft trample of our steps echoes across the ward. Sephra looks up from her newest patient as I pass, silent in her regards. She offers a regretful look in place of words, the intent to stay clear in her expression before delving back into her trade.

    ''She is of better use her,'' I quietly remind myself, pushing onwards with my decree to see the captives be protected.

    Under my lead, everyone steps out of the ward and into the sun''s ire. A tense divide ensures some distance exists between us, and them. A few soldiers watch from the sides. Their whispers and musings are incessant¡ªworth no heed.

    And now begins my wretched penance in all but name.

    ======

    "Gentlemen, proceed directly into the Rift and head to Cygnus HQ. Leave your rucksacks and weapons inside the Valor, and make sure safeties are engaged," a uniformed researcher from the science wing petitions, stepping aside as Douglas exits the helicopter after complying with the man''s requests.

    "Staff officers and division representatives are expecting a full debrief concerning your findings. If you have any artifacts and items of note, please bring those along as well," he further adds, prompting a few operatives back into the helicopter to procure their respective indigenous contrabands.

    Lieutenant Sullivan gathers both teams together for a brief headcount before directing everyone to proceed towards the glowing anomaly.

    "Come on, let''s go!" The operative hollers prompting everyone to break into a steady trot, pacing by the flight technicians as they begin work on post-flight maintenance on the Valor.

    Signs of construction and excavation works litter the short expanse between the landing pads and our gleaming destination. As we approach the Rift, the temperature drops sharply. Cold air condenses around the anomaly, wrapping it in a hazy sheen that made it seem incredibly surreal in the darkness of night.

    Colours swept across its surface in soft, mesmerizing waves, the shades varying mostly between pure white to an almost deep, icy blue.

    Up ahead team Sabre steps through the misty threshold and vanishes into the light. I take a breath, and cross over, squinting both eyes as the light folds over me.

    I keep on a certain heading, focusing on the vague horizon just ahead. Soon enough, the familiar crunch of snow begins to accompany my every step, and the harsh backdrop of light vanishes completely.

    "Rear side''s clear," a voice hollers, "get in!"

    The deep roar of an engine cuts through the first few seconds as I spot a familiar vehicle ahead. It is the same type of rover that first ferried my team over to the Rift, and a closer look at the number plating shows it is the exact same one.

    Its seats are already filled by team Sabre, leaving the exposed trunk as the only means of getting aboard the vehicle.

    "Jerome, come on!" the same voice iterates with a sterner tone, forcing me out of the observation.

    "Got it, wait one," I reply, looking around to direct my team to the back as they begin exiting the Rift in quick succession.

    "Rear trunk¡ªdon''t stop, let''s go!" I gesture at them to mount the trunk. All three comply and quickly make their way up.

    After making sure my team is onboard, I reach over to Sullivan and tap on his shoulder. He shifts from his seat in the rear passenger compartment, his visor sweeping over my team before returning to me.

    "Go, we''re all set." I give the Lieutenant a thumbs up.

    "Got it." He nods and turns back around to inform the driver.

    The rover jerks ahead, speeding across the Antarctic landscape as the roar of its engines fills the calm ambiance. There is still so much to take in¡ªthe deployment, the locals, and more, and it is likely that will only get stranger from here on out.

    But before all that, the debriefing comes first. It is one of the few things I can never look forward to. This one in particular is bound to be a mess.

    There will be a lot to explain and go over.

    ===End===

 Preparations (8)

    -Earthside

    -Cygnus Station, Debriefing Room

    -2321 Military Hours

    "Is everyone here?" The acting head of Cygnus security Clarke Jefferson looks over the entire room, and gestures for the last stragglers to take their seats.

    "That''s all eight of us," Douglas answers on our behalf, shutting the door as the last person through it.

    The remaining operatives take over the empty seats alongside Clarke and representatives from various department across the table. At the front, the projector quickly flickers to life to display a locked screen requiring credentials before proceeding.

    From the opposite end, Clarke brings up a folder and places it on the table. "So, it''s true¡ªfirst contact with indigenous forces." The man begins, not as a question but rather a statement.

    Douglas proceeds after a nod. "Attempted ambush¡ªfive soldiers in total. Visuals and armour match with faction Alpha. Same for the hair¡ªall white."

    His assertion is soon followed by a representative leaping to his feet, his uniform and I.D putting him as a representative of the Intelligence wing.

    "We''ll need to know the timeline from the moment you touched down on Grid A15, all the way to the point of first contact. Everything we have so far about this particular faction is based on drone surveillance, and those aren''t enough to fully ascertain what type of civilization we''re dealing with."

    "Bad idea trying to hook up to those freaks," James quips, garnering a few looks from across the room.

    "He''s right, no excusing that assault," I say, siding with my companion even through his... usual choice of words.

    "Understandable, but it doesn''t change the fact they represent a new era of anthropological studies. They''re not exactly human, and it''s in our best interests to find out just what they are, not just biologically but also culturally," the representative counters, unfazed by our replies.

    James leans back into his chair and shrugs. "Sounds like you guys are set in your ways," he says.

    "It''s a unanimous decision across the whole department. That''s why we need all the details you can give us," the researcher reiterates.

    "You''ll get them, don''t worry," I say, intending to assure the representative that the request will be carried out regardless.

    Clarke gestures at the representative to pause before typing on his computer, unlocking the screen to reveal a list of documents under specific naming conventions¡ªsome of which were no doubt restricted information meant only for a select few.

    He stands up and paces right to the front, partially blocking the projector screen with his figure. "I''ll start with the big one, expedition team six. Last known location, Grid A15. The original search and rescue timeline was meant to last a week, but in less than a day, it''s been discovered that they had encountered the locals, and were likely killed at first contact."

    A few gasps resonated across the table. "Correct, both teams decided unanimously to cut the mission after coming across the remains of the expeditionary team¡ªjust pieces of equipment and such. No bodies," I affirm, letting the revelation sink before continuing.

    "But we do have definitive video evidence showing the researchers making contact. Based on the last clip, it''s a full wipe. All of them are likely dead."

    I bring out the soiled camera and gently place it onto the table. "No need for digital forensics on this one, it works fine. Just needs a quick charge."

    The rest of my team bring out their contrabands, prompting our counterparts to do the same. Each operative surrenders their cache as a stout man in a black suit steps up to survey our collection.

    "I want these contrabands sorted based on their nature¡ªanything that has inscriptions or words handle with extreme care. I''ll let linguistics know we''ve got another fresh batch incoming," the staff officer calmly announces to the science wing representative.

    "Will do," the researcher sharply answers, then indicates to the ongoing discussion, "after the session."

    "Good enough for me," the man replies and exits the room, shutting the door on his way out.

    Murmurs and speculations break out amongst the representatives and the remaining staff officers present. Clarke raises a hand to silence the room before interjecting.

    "So it''s official then," he frowns, "first casualties of New Eden."

    "Won''t be the last if the science wing keeps pushing their luck," James coldly retorts.

    At his comment, the science division representative fires back. "The loss of team six was a wake up call. We''re making internal changes to make sure this doesn''t happen again. All surveys beyond the immediate ten kilometres are now required to have armed escort¡ªno exceptions."

    "Which should only be approved by your head of department if it''s deemed reasonably safe," the Head of Cygnus security adds with a glare at the representative.

    "Definitely," the man concedes.

    Clarke nods and advances the agenda, opening the floor for both teams to recount the events leading right up to the point of contact.

    Lieutenant Sullivan takes the lead and answers of our behalf, summarizing the key events preceding the ambush, including when his team stumbled upon the debris field belonging to the lost research team.

    Once the initial shock wears off, a few people begin posing their questions, urging the Lieutenant to answer as they hung on his every word. The topic eventually settles around the most concerning aspect of the soldiers¡ªthe apparent capacity to manifest a pseudo-physical barrier that was highly resistant to small arms fire.

    A few questions are answered by members of his team and my own as the line of inquiries continues. Both teams willingly share their various testimonies and observations to everyone present, providing valuable insight to those who have yet to step foot into New Eden. Those are the lucky ones.

    As the last question wraps up, Lieutenant Sullivan takes over and finalizes the discussion, promising to deliver a more in-depth report as soon as possible. As he reclines back into his seat, the operative motions for Clarke to take over, his helmet barely masking the sigh as it comes out.

    The Head of Cygnus security nods, and gestures to the projector. A uniformed woman two seats to my left then brings up a pointer, and navigates the controls to bring up a map of New Eden with distinct markings spread across it. The points are concentrated mainly to the upper portions of the image, with the closest one still being over thirty kilometres out.

    "Helen, for the benefit of these operatives, please give an overview of the indigenous movements your team has gathered over these past three days."

    "Certainly," the young surveillance operator, Helen returns with a calm look.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Clarke moves back to his seat and signals her to proceed.

    She takes the front and begins by drawing attention to the markings plastered on the map.

    "Since the team''s disappearance over sixty hours ago, there''s been a spike of major indeginious activity across the northern sectors. But the largest of these mobilizations are centred along this major river just north of Point Sierra," Helen explains.

    "So what''s the conclusion?" A member of team Sabre asks.

    The woman hesitates, her gaze bouncing between the operative and the map for a moment before settling on him. "Based on the latest drone runs and subsequent analysis, we''ve classified the movements as part of an ongoing military conflict¡ªthe largest so far in terms of numbers according to current records. The parties involved have been contesting this junction for over a week now but it''s only recently that it''s escalated."

    The projector screen shifts to a still image of a drone feed depicting the aforementioned point of interest at a high angle. A wide, coursing river stretches from the left to the top right corner, flanked with fortifications along the far bank.

    Armoured figures assembled around the makeshift structures while further south, scores of mounted cavalry gathered at the mouth of a single pontoon bridge¡ªapparently in a bottleneck as they waited to cross the large body of water.

    "Point Sierra is located south of this location at just six kilometres away. It is currently the closest settlement we know so far and is the primary source of discharge for the soldiers you see in this image." Helen trails off and navigates to another shot depicting what is likely the settlement.

    The new image shows a sizable city from a distance, this time from a low angle with the sun looming just above the horizon. A stone wall¡ªvisibly in a state of disrepair, separates the settlement from the lush expanse of greenery typical of this region. At the top right, information concerning the drone''s altitude, direction and most importantly, location are shown in a clear white font.

    "Grid A10," I silently mouth and reference it against a mental map of New Eden. The city is north from our point of contact.

    "Those are the same guys we fought¡ªfaction-wise," Robert comments, indicating to the indigenous soldiers stationed on the walls.

    The science wing representative swivels around his seat to face my companion. "Is there any particular reason why they would attack you?"

    "None that I can think of other than maybe trespassing. They seemed pretty set on attacking us for some reason," Robert answers.

    Clarke nods and gestures at him. "Two incidents where the result is immediate hostility. Based on that alone I would have banned all future excursions to areas with reports of confirmed indigenous presence. Especially since they''re in a state of war," he pauses, leaning forward to place his elbows on the table.

    "Unfortunately it''s mostly out of my hands," the Head of Cygnus security concludes, his expression strained.

    Clarke''s sentiments hangs in the air and for a few moments, no one else steps in to address the palpable silence.

    "If it''s not too much to ask, on behalf of both teams," Sullivan cuts through the silence and glances my way, "I''d like to request that we be given an extensive copy of all reports and documents concerning these locals for study. I''m aware that it''s restricted, but considering we''re on the frontlines, we need that access going forward."

    "Done, I''ll have my guys prepare a workpad with all related docs on the locals¡ªplus some general knowledge on New Eden and fauna," the intelligence representative promises.

    "Awesome," James acknowledges.

    Clarke steps up and gathers everyone''s attention with a firm thump on the table. "We''ve got much to go through thanks to these operatives," he pauses and gestures to me and Sullivan, "submit the reports before 1200 hours tomorrow¡ªone for each team. Consolidate the information from your men and make sure the formatting''s clear. Folks from anthropology and linguistics will be digging into them," he details.

    "Will do," I affirm, "anything else?"

    Clarke shakes his head. "Not much, both teams are dismissed. Have a good rest."

    I glance to Sullivan and make a slight gesture to the door. He nods, urging his team out while I did the same for mine. We step into the dim, narrow corridor as the sound of discussions resume behind us. A quick look at the time shows over an hour has elapsed since entering Cygnus HQ.

    Past a few sharp turns, the lift finally comes into view. Douglas moves up and thumbs the call button as we endure the cool, dry air permeating our surroundings. Even deep underground, with the hum of generators present to provide internal heating, the bitter Antarctic cold still found its way in.

    The door ahead hisses open, and my team quickly steps inside. Sullivan stops his team after noting the lack of space in the lift.

    "See you guys topside," I say as the doors slide close, and the lift ascends.

    Inside the cramp interior, the walls tremble slightly as we ascend. Frost clung to every available surface and it seems likely that the lift''s mechanisms are faced with similar conditions.

    "That went better than I thought," James admits. "They actually gave a reasonable deadline for the report."

    "So, we start the draft at morning?" Douglas asks, shifting to me.

    I shrug. "Yeah, no need to stretch ourselves."

    The lift soon grinds to a stop. With a gentle chime, the door slides open to reveal the lobby with its lights dimmed considerably.

    Only a handful of UN staff loitered around at this time of night, with those present gathered in the corner where couches lie against the walls¡ªa layered combination of insulating panels and reinforced steel.

    A middle-aged woman draped in a long, crimson coat raises her hand as she spots us. "How was it?" She asks, her breath condensing as she speaks.

    Robert sighs and takes a few steps to her. "Tiring."

    She nods, her thin lips morphing into a frown. The woman stands up and formally introduces herself as Laura Vitale, then indicates to the four other people behind her.

    "We''re from the science department," she continues, again referencing her colleagues behind, "my team and I were part of the initiative to survey New Eden on foot, particularly sites of archeological significance."

    I look over the woman closely, quickly reaching a conclusion about her role. "You''re one of those expeditionary teams?"

    Laura nods. "Yes¡ªteam four. Though now that''s up for debate. Since the blanket ban on all excursions, we''re basically stuck until further notice," she details.

    "After what''s happened to team six, I say it''s a good thing you folks are banned from New Eden¡ªfor the moment at least," James pauses and gestures to the researcher, "no offence Ma''am but you guys need to be on a tight leash, else you''ll get killed."

    "So, Richard and his team are..." Laura trails off, losing her tone as she looks away.

    "We... we have confirmation that they''re deceased," I say, deciding to break the news prematurely to her.

    "Oh God," she whispers, raising a hand to cup her mouth. After a deep breath, Laura looks back to her colleagues with a resigned look. None express their opinions or thoughts as the cold tension lingers.

    Just then, several dark figures emerge behind. Sullivan and his team stop to address us after pacing across the lobby.

    "My team and I are turning in for the night," the Lieutenant informs me.

    I nod. "Alright, see you guys tomorrow."

    Most of team Sabre departs, but one stops briefly to look at the researchers, removing his helmet to reveal an amused look.

    "Dr. Vitale," the operative calmly addresses.

    "Sergeant... Davis?" Laura returns, her surprise clear from her voice.

    He turns to me and indicates to Laura and her team. "Did you tell them about..."

    "They would have found out eventually," I answer, shifting uncomfortably from the attention directed against me.

    "Then," the operative steps closer to Laura, "my condolences for team six. Things might have been different for your colleagues if they had armed escort," he expresses in a low voice.

    Laura sighs. "Thank you, even for Richard, what he did was reckless," she murmurs.

    "Remember back when we said we ran escort for a team down to the coast a week ago," Davis gestures to Laura, "that was her team. That was a wild one."

    She smiles. "And we''re grateful for it, I''m just glad we listened."

    The operative nods and resumes his pacing, issuing a final wave at us. "I''ll see you all tomorrow."

    Following in his footsteps, we make our way to the exit after excusing ourselves. Laura follows us past the exit, stepping into the bitter, white expanse of the Antarctic wasteland.

    After concluding some idle chatter, she bids us farewell and returns inside, leaving me and my team alone to bask in the admittedly peaceful ambiance only possible from being stationed in one of the most remote locations on Earth.

    Small specks of frost clings to my visor as I look up to the heavens. Nothing but a clear, endless sea of stars all across the night sky. The clear monotony was only broken by the lights that kept Cygnus Station lit up against the darkness. They are few, and paced at roughly ten metre intervals between the dozen of so buildings making up this clandestine base.

    "Feels like a once in a lifetime deployment," Douglas chuckles, then heads out towards the barracks.

    "You three go ahead first," I say, glancing at the team briefly.

    They nod, and proceed deeper into the station, leaving me alone to survey the vast emptiness ahead. The bitter cold bites into my senses as I recall today''s events from start to finish. This really is a once in a lifetime opportunity.

    I briefly wonder about Catherine and her newfound life. Whatever worries and responsibilities she has now, those could not compare to what''s been thrusted onto me. But even if she is far removed from my immediate concerns, I still always wondered what she would think about New Eden.

    What would she say, think, or even do with the knowledge that there is an entire new world now available to humanity as a whole. The thought of her reaction, whatever it may be, is comforting. New Eden is the norm, eventually I will get used to that statement.

    With one final glance at the stars, I turn around and pace slowly towards the barracks. Tomorrow is bound to be another day full of firsts.

    ===End===

 Fresh Leads (9)

    -0823 Military Hours

    -Cygnus Station, Armoury

    "Okay, I''m all set," Robert says, coming into view as he slings his weapon into position across his chest.

    "That makes four." Douglas stands up and puts on his rucksack, groaning lightly as the weight settles behind him. Just like the rest of us, his bag is notably bigger than usual.

    Much of the added weight is due to the expectation of operating without extended support, therefore necessitating the need for more food, water, and expendable pocket drones for the purpose of our mission.

    "Let''s go," I announce and start moving, pacing towards the exit only a few metres away.

    With a clean twist and pull, the door opens to reveal a dark, muted expanse ahead. Cold air rushes in, dropping the temperature inside the armoury in a handful of seconds.

    I step outside, feeling the overwhelming chill surge through my hands and feet. Through the fierce winds, the subtle, ominous glow of the Rift glares back. There it lingers, quarantined from the rest of Cygnus¡ªthe only point of entry into New Eden.

    "So what''s the word on our new stint?" James interjects as we begin trudging towards the anomaly.

    The team medic comes up to my side and nudges me on the arm, holding an expectant look that is obvious even through his visor.

    "We''re dropping right into indigenous territory. Something about a recent sighting from one of their drone runs. We''ll know more once we link up with Ops," I say.

    "Who''s in charge again?" Robert asks, glancing back.

    "That would be Meagan. She''s the one now calling the shots rift side," Douglas answers from behind.

    "Never heard of her," James interjects, "what can we expect?"

    From the rear, Douglas paces faster to catch up before issuing his thoughts.

    "Meagan''s a recent addition. But she''s managed a few UN facilities over on South America. That''s what I heard in the mess yesterday, so take it how you will."

    I shrug, slowing down as we approach the Rift. The confirmed loss of team six sent shockwaves all across the garrison, almost changing how it operated overnight. Revamped protocols, increased security, even the complete overhaul of management all sprung up as word of our discovery spreads¡ªon Cygnus and New Eden.

    It remains to be seen if this change of hands will mean anything.

    The Rift flickers ahead and pulls me back to the present. I had a few wild theories concerning the nature of our mission. Considering my experiences so far across the rift, none of those theories seemed far-fetched.

    "Alright, same thing. Walk straight, squint your eyes, and don''t stop," I announce and step into the light.

    Once through the Rift, I quickly assess the surroundings, spotting a pair of troopers stationed several metres away under a general purpose tent.

    "Special Operations'' Team Desert?" The first soldier asks, stepping out of the shade.

    I stop and introduce myself to the armed sentry. "Second Lieutenant Simmons, my team''s expected in Ops."

    Turning around just as the others exit the Rift, I gesture to my team and continue. "Cygnus command gave us the call an hour ago."

    "Noted," the second soldier steps in and logs down our arrival on a notepad. "Go on. You know where the hub is?"

    "It''s near the hab'' modules," I answer.

    "Correct," the man nods, then gestures to his left, "which is that way. Just be mindful of the excavator works as you pass."

    The first soldier then gestures for the team to proceed. Both sentries then turn around and retreat back to their station, continuing their shift as we move past.

    Once we clear the initial exclusion zone, the team adopts a brisk pace and proceed through the base, getting fresh insights on its ongoing development as it unfolded.

    Progress on the overall infrastructure is proceeding rapidly. It is almost unrecognizable from how it was when I first stepped through the Rift, and that was four days ago.

    Several workers toil away at the central hub, laying new sections of cable on exposed trenches, helping to facilitate the inevitable expansion of the power grid.

    "Looks like they''re really serious about this," I comment, noting the increased activity along our route.

    "I told you," Robert points to the construction vehicles behind a steel fence, "brass is too invested to call it quits. Not yet anyways."

    With each day, there is something new to be noted. This one is no exception. Excavation works continued along the route we take, but a few already have a decent foundation in place for the prefab that will soon follow.

    We skirt past several sites, taking alternate routes where necessary to minimize interference with the ongoing construction. Soon enough, we close in on New Eden''s operations hub¡ªthe newly minted command centre for all activity in this world.

    "This is it," I say, referencing our destination ahead with a finger as everyone slows to a leisurely pace.

    The large, two story building stands adjacent to a line of almost identical prefabs. Mounted on top the entrance, and clearly displayed against a gray plaque, is the building''s official name.

    "Tartarus Command Hub," I quietly read.

    "That''s something new," James chimes in, "they finally decided on a name for this base."

    "Good for them," I shrug, urging the team to head inside the building. "Come on, we''ve got ten minutes left."

    ======

    -0901 Military Hours

    -Tartarus Command Hub, Ops Room

    The projector flares to life and displays an empty slate ahead. Around the small room sat a familiar entourage of representatives and staff officers mixed evenly with a slew of new faces.

    "Is everyone here?" A women looking to be in her late 50s asks.

    "Yes Ma''am," one of her aides reports, "all representatives and relevant security attaches are present¡ªincluding Second Lieutenant Simmons and his fireteam."

    I raise a hand to acknowledge the call out as the man gestures to me. The woman nods, and stands next to the projector screen.

    "I don''t believe we''ve met before," she begins, furrowing her brows, "I''m Meagan Pierce, Chief Administrator for Tartarus Station¡ªwhich is officially the name going forward."

    She pauses, and opens a presentation on the projector. After shifting through several verbose slides, Meagan stops on a familiar map depicting the immediate topography of New Eden.

    The Chief Administrator continues, retrieving a laser pointer to reference the upper portions of the map, all of which were overlaid in bright red. "Due to recent events, these sectors are strictly off-limits unless given strict authorization," she says, referencing the northern grids.

    I give a small nod at that revelation. The restriction is barely a surprise. After the loss of Expedition six and our unexpected skirmish, it seems only natural to have these directives in place to prevent similar occurrences. Though her opening statement did not fully address the need for my team''s deployment.

    "Which grid are we dropping into and why?" I lean forward and look the Chief Administrator in the eye. "The team''s only been told that it''s a site of recent interest, and to expect the possibility of hostile encounters. We''ve prepared accordingly based on that assumption."

    A few seconds pass before Douglas interjects with a piercing glare. "If you want us to step back into indig'' territory, there better be a damn good reason for it. Else we''re not going," he issues with a coarse voice.

    Meagan nods, and gestures to the person sitting beside her. I glance over to the woman, immediately recognizing the bright blonde hair¡ªneatly pinned into a ponytail, and tanned European features.

    Helen shifts around in her seat, taking a moment to compose herself. She gestures at Meagan for the pointer and answers as the Chief Administrator passes it to her.

    "Despite your findings a few days ago Lieutenant, " Helen states with a distinct Mediterranean accent, nodding at me, "intelligence has confirmed that there are survivors from expedition six¡ªtwo at least."

    "Where?" I say, masking the shock from my voice.

    "Just north of Grid A15, at point Sierra which is this place here," the young woman answers, pointing the laser within the aforementioned grid where the signs of civilization are apparent even at the map''s current resolution.

    "That place still the closest city to us?" Robert asks.

    Helen nods. "It still is, yes. Plenty of activity within and around it, so please be careful. This is the site we want your team to survey," she calmly adds.

    One of the staff officers holds up a palm to gather everyone''s attention. "As far as your deployment is concerned, rescue will not be the primary objective, or even a secondary. However should the opportunity present itself, you are free to execute whatever is necessary to bring the researchers back home."

    "It will be standard recon and such. For all the good our drones have done, we still need boots on the ground to fill out the gaps. Anything you can scrounge up over the next few days will be greatly appreciated," Meagan adds before advancing the briefing.

    The Chief Administrator takes over the meeting and gives the team a rundown on the mission specifics. Once done, she proceeds to highlight the rules of engagement indicating the various revisions that had been made to the clause since our first stint. A few staff officers step in to detail the specifics and address our questions as needed over the next hour.

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    Much of the latter discussions revolves around specific routes taken by the locals, highlighting areas to avoid at all costs, and recent engagements between the two main factions currently still locked in a state of war with each other.

    Just as the clarifications wrap up, Robert steps in with one final statement, pointing an accusive finger at Meagan.

    "You''re still putting the team in lots of danger. Even if it''s advanced recon for a possible rescue, I just don''t think it''s right," the operative asserts, then sighs, "but maybe it''s just me."

    "Make that two," James adds, looking at Robert.

    Douglas shrugs, then removes his helmet to reveal a disgruntled expression. "The way those soldiers fought, I''m sure everyone here''s familiar with the report we submitted," he pauses, eying the entire room before continuing, "I hate to refer it as such, but that type of capability... whether it''s magic or whatever, makes their soldiers incredibly dangerous. I hope you at least considered that before drafting this mission," he says as his shoulders slumps.

    "Anyhow, we''re going only if our Lieutenant''s okay with this," Douglas concludes and glances at me.

    Everyone in the room quickly follows suit. I look away and consider my options. Even though we were originally deployed to address the Garrison''s need for a quick reaction force, it still was not fair for the team to be faced with such a poorly conceived mission.

    But on the other hand, there are survivors. Even if the chances of staging such a rescue deep in indigenous territory are minimal to begin with, we still have a responsibility to do our very best to get them back. I would have wanted the same courtesy if I were in their shoes.

    Both options are reasonable, but I can only choose one. Ultimately, it had to be one where I will not look back on and regret.

    I sigh, and look up. "We''re... going in," I answer. The team makes no effort to object, and we soon conclude the briefing.

    Meagan nods, and personally guides us to the airfield where a grounded J60 Humming Bird spools to life as we approach. In a matter of minutes, and after the team conducts a final check on our equipment, the Chief Administrator calls me over as the rest of my team step on board the rotor-wing.

    "For what it''s worth, thank you," Meagan says over the helicopter''s engines.

    I lean in close and reply. "You should know, we don''t fully agree with this. But we''ll still do our best to recon Point Sierra."

    She returns a strained smile and nods. "Good luck out there Lieutenant. I''ll return the favour someday."

    "I''ll hold you to that, Ma''am" I answer and turn around, making my way up to the Humming Bird.

    As the J60 lifts off, I glance out at the landscape below¡ªfor one final look at humanity''s growing presence in New Eden, and commit the sight to memory. It will be a while before seeing Tartarus again.

    ======

    -2314 Military Hours

    -Grid A15, Point Sierra

    It is a dark, monotonous stretch of forest ahead. The storm that relented a few hours ago still left the ground slick with moisture. Much of the trouble now came from navigating through the dense vegetation.

    Every step came with a chance of tripping over hazards that are almost impossible to spot even with the visor''s assistance. The undergrowth is so thick that the ground is barely visible.

    To make matters worse, the team''s line of sight is often reduced to just a handful of metres.

    Fortunately over the last hour, the worst of the restrictions have passed and the overall density has since thinned considerably.

    The low lying, dense underbrush rustles as I wade through, easing myself past the next few metres just as a deep rumble echoes overhead.

    "Storm''s not done yet," James grumbles ahead, his figure barely more than a vague set of arms and legs in the dark.

    After two days of rucking, and several close encounters with the locals, we are finally on the last stretch towards our destination. Douglas once again indicates to possible foot tracks running across our heading, activating the auxiliary lights on his helmet as he crouches.

    "Fresh?" I ask, stopping to survey the weathered trail behind the operative. Most of the footprints had been washed away by the rain.

    "Maybe," Douglas murmurs, immediately cutting the lights before standing up, raising a finger to one end where the path leads to, "this one''s north, so it should take us to Point Sierra."

    "Then we''re close," I answer in kind, gesturing for the team to spread further out before resuming our pace, "disperse¡ªfour metres, let''s go."

    The team adopts a loose wedge and continue on. Everyone covers their respective sectors of approach, occasionally sharing brief call outs as we encounter things of note. The next significant find is a discarded shield by Robert. I signal the rest to halt and circle around it, noting the distinctive crown and twin swords emblem across the shield''s face.

    "Faction Alpha," I remark, staring down at the symbol.

    A brief flash of the team''s previous encounter comes to mind. I shake the memories away and issue the signal to continue, leaving the shield behind. Despite its supposed value to anthropology, the thing is just too large and cumbersome to bring along.

    A few minutes later, Douglas raises a fist to halt our advance. "Hold, got a vehicle ahead," the operative whispers through comms, slowly pointing at a distinctive shape through the thinly spread greenery.

    "Looks like a wagon," James remarks.

    "Roger, have visual. Everyone on lethal," I answer, sweeping left and right to survey our immediate surroundings, picking up several more trailing the first, all appearing in various states of disrepair.

    The team advances slowly and disengage our safeties, the soft clicks issuing in quick succession. I feel my heart race faster as we step into the open road which the wagons evidently took. The road looks deserted in both directions.

    James inches up to the first wagon and circles to the rear, weapon turning sharply into its dark interior. His muffled gasp catches me by surprise. The operative takes a few steps back and lowers his rifle, pointing a trembling finger inside the wagon.

    "They''re¡ª" James pauses, and shakes his head, "take a look."

    I hurry the last few steps, pacing right up to him and turn on the helmet''s auxiliaries. As the lights hit the interior, my breath shudders at the carnage inside the wagon. There are dead soldiers, slumped on the benches with one draped over what seems to be a cache of supplies, arrows jutting from the person''s back and left leg.

    "Femoral artery''s screwed," James grimly intones, pointing at the pool of red staining the wagon''s floor centred around the soldier''s leg.

    "There''s seven, plus one on the rear wheel," Douglas highlights a corpse beneath the wagon''s broken axle, a staff still clutched in the figure''s limp hand.

    I lean forward into the wagon, feeling my stomach turn at a disturbing revelation. These are all soldiers, and almost all of them are female. Blood still trickled from the wagon''s rear onto the soil beneath. The scene is still relatively fresh.

    "Not much weapons," I turn to James who still remains glued to the scene inside.

    "I''m guessing they''re with logistics¡ªlines up with what we know of their military," he returns.

    Douglas and Robert form up and proceed to the next wagon just as a sharp cry breaks the ambiance. Several more voices soon follow, prompting the team back into a wedge.

    Robert steps up and takes the lead, his weapon raised and quickly gestures for the team to form up behind. I nod, and fall in on his left. Further signs of battle are present along our line of advance.

    Dead soldiers, horses, and scattered weapons¡ªall abundant. The next few wagons and carts show similar states of disrepair. A few of them are overturned, spilling their deceased occupants and cargo onto the damp soil.

    After a few dozen metres, the trail of destruction stops. At the end, figures congregate in a loose crowd, the visor registering the unknowns and giving an estimate on their numbers.

    "Contact dead ahead, thirty metres, at least twenty-three," I whisper, taking a few steps to seek cover behind an overturned wagon.

    The team spreads out across the entire width of the road. I line up my sights onto the commotion ahead and attempt to discern what is happening. At first glance, it seems clear the carnage we witnessed is the result of an ambush, and this represents the final phase of that skirmish. There are only a few stragglers left from the entourage, and they knelt in place as their enemies hovered over them.

    Just as the notion of retreating comes into mind, another violent scream breaks the silence. The tone is a frantic, blood-curdling cry of a woman''s voice. One of the kneeling figures slumps forward and hits the ground with a resounding thud. The voice drops to a strained gurgle before fading entirely. At the back of the woman''s neck, barely visible, is the thin shaft of an arrow.

    A few convulsions follow, but they quickly cease. Now only two of the knelt soldiers remained, likely to face a similar fate.

    I look to the team, seeing them still observing the commotion. The rules of engagement clearly specifies avoiding all contact with the locals where reasonably possible. But, it doesn''t seem right to apply it to this situation. They are unarmed, and being executed on a whim. We are in a position to stop that from happening.

    Regulations are written in blood. But as a general rule of thumb, there are always exceptions. That was what several former colleagues and superiors emphasized. It is a piece of wisdom I still take to heart.

    When another scream echoes again, I finally decide on the team''s course of action. The decision might come back to bite me later, but for now, we have to act. This is the right thing to do.

    "Engage, warning shoots only," I whisper over comms, deliberately sinking my aim a few degrees to hit the ground below the group.

    "Roger," Douglas responds, the only one to vocally acknowledge the command.

    The hope is that the sound of the shots themselves will be enough to dissuade them and force them into retreat. With a quick pull of the trigger, the first shots hurtle away, hitting the ground close to the crowd. The figures recoil then move into a defensive line, returning a slew of words that seem to convey a sense of surprise.

    Soft, glowing lights emerge from their ranks as the soldiers consolidate their positions in front of the two surviving captives. Streaks of fire and the whizz of arrows mark the start of their retaliation.

    "We need to go lethal!" Robert hollers over comms.

    "Go for it!" I yell back, stepping out of cover to discharge a quick burst into the main formation. Three bodies immediately drop.

    I pull myself back to safety, noting a few arrows partially sticking out from the wagon''s tough, leathery exterior. Shifting to the other side, I return another short burst, this time targeting the formation''s left and am immediately rewarded with the sight of two more bodies collapsing instantly.

    Again, there seems to be nothing tangible protecting those soldiers from weapons fire.

    The survivors falter and the formation quickly disentagrates. Their shouts turn into desperate yells as the soldiers break contact, foregoing any sort of cohesion with each individual making a frantic bid to escape from the exposed road.

    "They''re out!" James announces, pausing to look over his cover.

    Douglas and Robert continue squeezing off a few more rounds, saturating the tree line along the left side of the road where the soldiers had routed into. A few seconds pass before I step out of cover. After confirming no weapons are within reach of the two captives, I turn around.

    "Robert, James," I call out and point to the survivors splayed on the ground, still alive, "check those two. Douglas and I are on watch, go!"

    Both operatives advance, keeping good pacing as they trained their weapons at the pair. As they approach, James slings his weapon behind and circles around to their rear.

    "Got one male and female, both injured," he informs, taking a knee behind the pair.

    The team medic frantically digs into his pouches as he inches closer, gesturing for me to head over. He points to the female soldier curled defensively on her side, sobbing weakly with both her arms wrapped around herself.

    "There''s stab wounds on the upper back¡ªat least two across her right side. We''re looking at hypovolemic shock without proper attention. I''ll do the best I can, but field treatment''s not gonna cut it," he reports without deviating from his trade, pulling out a fresh cannister of hemostatic gel as the woman''s painful wails continues.

    I nod, and consider our options. The other soldier yells out and crawls desperately to get my attention. His features twist as he continues his incomprehensible tirade.

    After a minute of useless back and forth between us, the frustration finally reaches a breaking point. The soldier finally gives up and points a finger behind to convey his thoughts, indicating to the road behind that would lead us to our original destination¡ªPoint Sierra.

    I tap the man on his plated shoulder and move towards James. "Patch her up as best you can," I pause before turning to Douglas, "how far are we from Point Sierra?"

    "Should be under five klicks down this road," the operative returns, briefly dividing his attention to answer.

    I turn back. "Once she''s stable, we''re going to the city. We''ll drop these two in visual of the eastern gate."

    "Roger," James answers, his helmet''s auxiliaries shaking briefly as he nods, "just give me a few, and someone keep the other guy quiet. Asshole can''t keep his mouth shut."

    "I got him," Robert announces and steps up to physically restrain the man.

    The team medic proceeds swiftly, administering the hemostatic cannister onto the woman''s back after cutting the straps off the armour, leaving her in a state of dress consisting of only her armoured leggings and a white tunic that is almost entirely stained red.

    Much of the bleeding has stopped, though the damage has already been done. The woman''s skin is pale, and with each breath, I could tell she is slowly, but surely, losing the fight. Time is against us.

    We have to get her to that city, if only to save her life. This will be considered a massive risk, and possibly a severe breach of the UN''s existing directives even accounting for the fact that special teams like us are allowed to operate with a degree of flexibility on the ground.

    Another weak cry pulls me back from the mental dilemma. If there are disagreements with my decision to take this leap of faith, the team is free to voice it out at any time just as we''ve discussed. Everyone seems to be on the same page.

    Maybe our first encounter is an exception, and this would be where the UN''s relation with this faction officially starts. I am ready to give this a shot.

    One final hook before I really considered them a lost cause.

    ===End===

 Improvised Approach (10)

    Up ahead, the city''s lights finally break through the monotony. A large wall stretches across my line of sight, though a few sections had collapsed, revealing a glimpse of its interior. Figures patrolled from the top in teams of two or more. Draped along the exterior wall, their banners hung at regular intervals, their familiar crowned symbols muted in colours but still discernable from the ambient lighting spread across the battlements.

    "Okay, this is enough." I raise a hand to indicate the rest to stop. Two hundred metres is the closest I will risk.

    Turning around, I step closer to James and briefly check on the woman hanging on his shoulders. "How''s she doing?"

    The operative shakes his head. "Not good," he grimly states.

    "Put her down. This is as close as we''ll go," I reply, then gesture to the other surviving soldier standing around with a questioning look. "I''ll get this bozo to raise the alert."

    "Alright," James nods, and slowly eases the woman onto the ground on her back. She groans weakly, and instinctively moves both hands to nurse the stab wounds on her left stomach.

    "Got a group of sentries just outside the eastern gate. I count six," Douglas informs and inches a few metres ahead of the group to assume overwatch on his belly.

    I march up to the unnamed soldier and point a strict finger at the city and intone with a deep voice. "Get going, move your metal ass and get your friends over here."

    Despite the language barrier, the message is received and promptly understood. The soldier moves off, limping past us on a direct heading to the city down the main road. His voice breaks out with desperation as he races ahead, quickly drawing the attention of the guards stationed at the gate.

    He could have said any number of things and we will be none the wiser. And with the terrain now consisting of vast plains and apparently farmland, the team is at our most vulnerable.

    "Standby, if they attack, we return fire and execute a controlled retreat eastwards," I say as the man finally reaches the gate.

    "And the girl?" Douglas glances back.

    "Won''t be our concern anymore," I answer.

    More soldiers rush out the city over the next few minutes. I observe the newcomers, noting the slight variations in what they wore in contrast to the usual uniforms. The soldiers possess a larger, more vibrant cape, and also sported a masked helmet which completely sealed their faces.

    I move up, getting established on overwatch as more soldiers stream out the city. A few oddities are present amongst them, as though civilians of some kind with their state of attire. The locals begin consolidating themselves, and a small group soon breaks off and paces towards our position.

    "Got incoming," I report.

    "I see them. We have five soldiers, plus three unknowns¡ªmaybe civilians?" Douglas issues, his index already braced on the trigger.

    Looking through my weapon''s scope, I register a similar number to what he reports, and just like the operative, the sight of those three unknowns only raises questions. Their state of dress does lend credence to the assumption that they are civilians, though that simply could be wrong given their proximity to the approaching soldiers.

    "Look alive, they''re coming," I signal over comms as the small crowd advances past the halfway mark.

    A pair of footsteps race behind me and drops on my far left. "I''m set," Robert declares.

    "I''m keeping watch over the girl," James adds.

    "Yeah, keep at it," I answer, giving the team medic the pass in this instance.

    Standing up, I point my weapon down to present a non-aggressive stance. The group quickly catches sight of me and slows.

    A jolt of regret races through me. The next few moments will set the tone for the upcoming interaction. Any number of complications could arise just based on the fact our languages are mutually unintelligible.

    The nuances associated with interacting with a completely unknown culture is well above my scope. Any issues or sudden turn to violence will just have to be dealt with if it arises. Hopefully it wouldn''t come to that.

    I will just have to improvise, and see where this takes the team. The group of eight approaches and stops a good distance away. One of the civilians, dressed in flowing robes advances past the rest. As I look to her, her steps briefly falter before continuing.

    The woman meets my gaze and closes the last dozen metres, extending a slender hand. I reach out mine and shake hers without delay while keeping my surprise in check. Her hand is soft¡ªdelicate, even through the glove.

    The gesture seems familiar enough, though this could where the similarities end. Just like the rest of her ethnicity, her hair is a pale, ghostly white, spilling from the hood in soft, rolling waves. Her eyes are equally captivating, expressing a rich shade of violet that instantly draws me in.

    She lets go and shifts uncomfortably in place. "Wh¡ªwho are you?" The woman says in heavily accented, but still passable English. The sheer oddity of it completely stops all train of thought.

    She repeats it again, this time with slightly more confidence. But the strange lilt and accent remains, just as bizarre as the first time she said it.

    "Is she?" James observes, taking a few steps closer. "How did... "

    I raise a palm to stop him before returning to the woman. There is no mistaking it, I heard it right. We all did. That was English.

    After thinking through her words again, I decide to take the shot and answer her question fully. "Second Lieutenant Jerome Simmons," I pause, scrutinizing her expression for changes.

    A glint of recognition flashes across her face as she answers. "Then, you must... be seeking your lost... kin." The woman turns around, and gestures to the settlement, slowly articulating each word with a gentle tone. "Those we wrongfully slew are buried in honoured glory, but two still remains, seeking deliverance from our charge."

    Somehow, there''s at least one of them that knows English. Odd phrasings aside, this newfound revelation will allow me to navigate this exchange without fear of misunderstandings. Just the ability to converse without resorting to basic gestures opens up a lot of options and I fully intend to make good use of it.

    I take a step back to fully understand my situation. Prior discussions back on Tartarus had already emphasized the guidelines and steps to follow for every conceivable scenario. From safely navigating out of a stand-off with local forces to providing medical care for wounded indigenous soldiers as required under International Humanitarian Law if we happen to encounter isolated units during the course of our mission, the list should have been exhaustive.

    Apparently, that is not the case. Still, this is something I can work with.

    "First, who are you and how can you speak English. And second, you said two remain, what are their names?" I ask, carefully looking over her shoulder to the soldiers further away, eying the subtle glint of their staffs and conventional weapons.

    Her eyes shy away as she answers. "Lunelle, a priest of the esteemed Interior Guard, and you have your kin to thank for my privy to your language. Their minds soured because of it, but both are still sane," the robed woman pauses and looks back to me. "They are Richard, and... Sophia."

    I turn to James. "That checks out with the roster?"

    The team medic ponders for a few seconds before returning a nod. "Yeah, Team Six has a Dr. Richard Keller and Sophia Torrez. Keller''s the team lead," he confirms.

    Looking back to the woman, I raise my left hand and indicate to the settlement. "Get them out where I can see them, now," I intone, stepping closer to her.

    Her guards shift with some vocally protesting in response to my actions. Lunelle turns around to calm her escorts before gesturing me to follow.

    "Don''t," James sharply says, shaking his head but otherwise makes no real effort to stop me. The comment is immediately followed with the operative tensing his posture, pulling his M7 rifle closer to his chest.

    Two other visors glare back from the periphery. The rest of the team did not step up to voice their concerns, but their hard looks are enough to deduce their opinions. Just before calling team together for a discussion, a soft groan prompts me to look behind.

    Still lying on her side, unattended by anyone, is the injured soldier. She weakly looks up, mustering the last of her strength to raise an arm and call attention to herself.

    A mild grimace runs through me. In the midst of the commotion, her presence completely slips my mind¡ªand apparently, the team''s as well.

    "Right," I turn around, mildly flustered at the lapse in priority. "We have one of your own, she needs medical attention."

    The robed woman''s eyes widen as I gesture to the injured soldier behind me. She pivots to face her escorts and reverts back to her native language, yelling out a stern command which is quickly answered with a timely chorus of affirmatives from the soldiers.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    In contrast to her soft looks, her tone is sharp and demanding, not unlike a Drill Sergeant''s holler. A pair of soldiers quickly rush forward and slips past the team''s defenses heading towards the critically injured woman.

    "Explain?" Lunelle questions with an impatient look, her pale brows twisted as she boldly paces up to me barely half a metre away.

    "It''s not us," I answer and indicate to the road which the team took. "Convoy along this road was ambushed, all but two were killed. Your enemies would have executed them if we didn''t stop them."

    She sighs and seems to accept the explanation. "An occurrence sadly abundant in the dredges of war. But it matters not, follow me now."

    "Just wait." I remain in place and raise a palm to indicate for more time.

    Through squinted eyes, she sighs and folds both arms. For all intents and purposes, she is a complete stranger and I had everything to lose by taking this leap of faith¡ªthe mission, my life, and most importantly, the team.

    I turn around to face them. We now have a choice to make. Take the risk and probe the city and maybe establish positive identification on the survivors or refuse and immediately make a hasty retreat back to the safety of the forest further east and continue our mission as planned.

    The team exchange glances with one another. No one raises their concerns or speaks up. I always insisted on a layer of transparency when it concerns the team''s wellbeing, and this is no different. Their input is just as vital as my own.

    When a few seconds pass without further call outs, I resume my pace and gesture to one closest to me.

    "Robert, with me," I intone, "we''ll check out the city to verify their claims. If there''s a chance Keller and Torrez are alive, then we get them out."

    "Will do," the Operative hurries over to match my pacing. Just behind him, a pair of armoured figures advance carrying the injured woman by her limbs, steadily pacing to join the group at the end.

    "If we don''t return in an hour, assume the worst and report back to base. We might be getting a pass into the city," Robert murmurs on the team channel.

    "You sure?" James returns, "me and Doug'' can''t help once you two dip past those gates. Hell, we''ll need a full company''s worth to even think of crashing this place. That''ll take a few days."

    "I''m sure," I interject as the city''s antiquated walls loom over me.

    "Worth a shot, drone intel''s fresh. We''ll sound the bell if the locals try anything with us," Robert continues on my behalf.

    "Good luck," Douglas adds, his voice tensed, "for the record, this is not what I''d recommend personally."

    "Hell of a payoff if we do this right. Might even lead to something good down the road," Robert muses.

    I shrug, directing the retort through the team channel. "We''ll see."

    One of the staff-wielding soldiers turns our way, apparently noting the subtle exchange. He stares at us, his face concealed behind an imposing helmet, fronted by an iron mask that came with a permanent scowl.

    Robert stares back and challenges the man''s obvious scrutiny with a steady gaze. After a few seconds, the masked soldier relents and looks away with a muted scoff. Soon, we pass the gates and step inside the city.

    Things here are quiet. It is cold, and empty¡ªdevoid of what I would expect from a city of this size. The road ahead leads to a central square with a junction at the far end splitting off in two directions leading to a dense avenue of buildings further in. Presumably, that is something akin to a residential district.

    "I don''t see any civvies¡ªleast, not ones we''d recognize," Robert comments as he pans over the buildings past the junction.

    "Yeah, it''s only military," I agree. The city''s proximity to the front lines obviously had a severe impact on its inhabitants. At every turn, there are only soldiers and no civilians. All the more reason to find Keller and Torrez.

    But despite the obvious urgency over my shoulder, I could still appreciate the city''s unique architecture. The buildings vary wildly in shape and height, but are united by a common theme. Each one is composed of an unknown light gray, composite material, and barring some exceptions, are always topped with a large dome.

    Much of the overall infrastructure reminded me of classical architecture, albeit with a unique twist that I can''t really put into words.

    "How is it?" James chimes in, "anything we should know?"

    "For starters, it''s more a military base than a city. Place is still active, plenty of sentries loitering just past the eastern gate. There''s also a few horses stationed here and there, all decked out in armour," I answer.

    "Any sign of our targets?" the team medic continues.

    "Still a work in progress," I say.

    "Roger, keep us posted," James concludes.

    As we reach the main square, most of the escorting soldiers break off, heading towards the residential district which I assume are largely deserted and have since been requisitioned by the soldiers for their use.

    The rest, consisting of Lunelle and the two others of similar dress pause and quietly whispers among each other. Occasionally, they glance our way as they conversed.

    Robert keeps up a steady stream of updates back to James and Douglas as I watch the three bicker until two robed figures set off at a brisk pace and disappear into the sparsely lit streets.

    "You will have your kin, but there is much to discuss with my superior. I believe an equivalent title to yours would be a... Lord General," Lunelle affirms while referring to the collection of large tents back at the main square.

    I nod. "Okay, but we''ll need you as an intermediary during that discussion. Just know that our only concern is getting our people back."

    "I understand," she answers.

    After a few minutes, the two robed figures return. Trailing slightly behind them and looking slightly disheveled, are the two missing researchers.

    Robert closes in on the approaching group. "It''s them, has to be."

    Both the newcomers look exhausted, with dark bags beneath their eyes. Instead of the general issue uniforms the expedition team had worn in the video, the two survivors now sported loose fitting tunics and pants courtesy of the locals.

    "Richard Keller, Sophia Torrez?" I call out.

    In a moment, both their eyes perk up. The two researchers gasp and bolt past their escorts to reach me.

    "Y¡ªyes that''s us, I''m Dr. Keller. Please¡ªget us out of here," the former head of expedition six pleads, dropping to his knees.

    Torrez meanwhile breaks into tears, muffling her sobs with a free hand as she latches onto my arm. Whatever they endured following first contact, it definitely was not a pleasant experience.

    "I want to go back. Enough of this place," Torrez murmurs, her eyes bloodshot.

    I rest a hand on her shoulder to placate the woman. "That''s what we''re here for."

    "Positive I.D on Keller and Torrez. They''re rattled, but alive," Robert announces over comms.

    "Copy," Douglas returns.

    "Both their minds have been tempered, pried into. It is only with such measures that we may speak as we do now," Lunelle calmly reveals then gestures to her two colleagues standing beside her.

    "We take no pleasure in partaking in such demented rituals, but your ignorance of our language left us with no other recourse," the priest on her left interjects.

    "All this is hard to take in," Robert says, loud enough for his frustration to show, "what you''re saying makes absolutely no sense."

    "The feeling is mutual then," Lunelle retorts and gestures to Keller and Torrez. "So many novel memories and concepts, all without need of the arcane sciences."

    Keller finally stands up, his expression torn. "Just how much did you... siphon from doing... that, to the two of us."

    "Mere glimpses, here and there¡ªmerely a gentle rake across your mind, seeking only to grasp your tongue and no more. We know enough to say for certain that your people are not of this realm, that we need not be enemies, and that you Doctor," Lunelle raises a finger at the researcher, "are a traitorous wretch to your wife."

    Keller stammers. "I¡ªit''s... it was just¡ª"

    Lunelle scowls. "Three women."

    I look to Robert who shrugs back. That last jab from the priest was unexpected but did establish Keller as the type of man driven largely by his own impulse. And because of him, four people are dead.

    The conversation afterwards with the priests are less dramatic, it was mostly general questions aiming to address the obvious differences between our respective cultures. Where possible, and as agreed with Robert, we answer their questions as best we can without spilling sensitive information that would compromise the location of Tartarus station.

    But given the revelation that the priests intimately knew the lives of Keller and likely Torrez as well, I had a sinking feeling it is already too late.

    We have to assume they know where our base of operations is. If true, the implications¡ªsecurity-wise, are disastrous.

    Lunelle steps in and takes over the conversation. "I will summon our Lord General. Once he has sated his inquiries, you have my word that you will be given safe passage out of Nora''Sel. And should you request it, escort by air back to your holdings in the fringe south."

    "Noted," I say. There it is, that slip is all I need to confirm my worst fears. They already know.

    After excusing herself, she leaves for the main square accompanied by both priests. Richard heaves out a sigh and Torrez finally lets go of my arm.

    "So we''re screwed, they know," Robert comments.

    I move over to Keller and lean close. "I want to know, what is that... thing they did?"

    The Doctor shakes his head, expression twisted as he responds. "Some sort of ritual but with magic. Whatever it was, it''s horrible," he shudders.

    "It always starts with a blindfold, then a cold icy feeling inside your head. Then, hours of torture as they sift through our memories, making us think against our will. It''s... hard to explain, but I wouldn''t wish it on my worst enemy," Torrez pauses, wincing as she did so.

    As the two researchers continue relaying their ordeal, Robert abruptly stops Keller. The operative shakes his head and further emphasizes his opinion with a cold tone. "Tartarus Station''s still in its early phase, there''s only about fifty of us deployed rift-side and that''s after the recent shuffle up top. We''re not ready if they come knocking, far from it really."

    "Bounce it over, we''ll need James and Douglas to hear about this just in case," I say.

    "Will do," Robert nods, his hand already raised to activate comms.

    First impressions concerning the locals can simply be summed up with one word, unexpected. After learning that a select few of their people are born with a natural affinity to what''s been referred to as the arcane sciences, it made me wonder just what else the locals are capable of.

    Both researchers wander over to a nearby bench and sit down. A couple of local soldiers pass by, their weapons, and in some cases uniforms, absent. They were dressed in red fatigues that almost mirror the ones worn by both Keller and Torrez. Whispers accompanied the small groups as they glance our way.

    "Chin up, Jerome," Robert nudges me, "head honcho incoming."

    He subtly gestures to the approaching soldiers coming from the main square. I remain silent, surveying the small crowd. Leading the front is a tall figure¡ªflanked on both sides by a pair of heavily armoured guards. The man strides forward with confidence, his uniform a step up in both detail and flair.

    I sigh and straighten my posture. "Great, I get to be the substitute representative for mankind."

    Robert points to the researchers still sitting on the bench. "If you really want, you could ask either one to join you. We''re definitely not paid for this type of thing."

    "One''s an impulsive womanizer, and the other''s still scarred from the wringer the locals put them through. Rather take my chances solo on this stint," I reply with a dry tone.

    Robert scoffs and continues. "Then you''ll have to wing it with that charm of yours, if you even have any. If it helps, looks like the priest will be part of the squad. I see her trailing at the back of the crowd."

    A tight knot forms in my stomach. Staging an impromptu defense of civilian contractors from an ambush in the midst of a humanitarian run, that was simple and straightforward. Breaching an abandoned building in the middle of the night, without advanced intel on the interior layout or number of potential hostiles, close to second nature at this point.

    But serving as an representative in front of a completely foreign civilization, one that isn''t even on Earth? That was uncharted territory.

    The supposed General sends a cold, stone-faced look my way as he closes the last dozen metres. That was not an encouraging sign.

    Without being prompted, Lunelle moves up and stops beside me. The robed woman turns to me and begins with a hushed tone. "Show reverence whilst Lord General Thellius addresses you and all shall be fine. All that I know of your kind, he is privy to," she warns, her eyes briefly flicking between me and the General.

    "No pressure," I reply before looking up to match the man''s imposing gaze.

    There is no one but me to navigate through this mess. It is time to ignore the doubts, and muster a calm demeanor. Focus on task at hand, and the results should take care of themselves.

    It always works in the heat of the moment. This one, should be no exception.

    ===End===

 Distant Exfil (11)

    "From now until he decrees otherwise, I shall be the bridge in which words shall be ferried through. I will try my best to translate whilst honouring the meaning," the stoic priest says, passing a furtive glance from beneath her hood.

    The brief flash of her eyes came with a hint of hesitation. This situation is obviously new to her as well, and certainly justifies her demeanour.

    "Okay, just take it slow," I say, directing my attention back to the stoic General.

    Acknowledging the cue, he begins with a deep voice, masked with power and authority. Just like before the language is smooth, characterized by soft vowels each almost flowing into the next without pause. In a way, it sounded elegant even with the coarse nature of the man''s voice.

    "Scholars of the... material and natural sciences, venturing forth onto our realm in pursuit of knowledge," Lunelle translates, her voice mirroring the General''s own, "wrongfully slain in an unjust case of mistaken... identity and hasty judgement. Whilst a tragic outcome, they should have known better than to flock to danger¡ªto this war."

    I take note of her struggle over certain technical words as she works though the Lord General''s lengthy reply. Despite the obvious flaws, it still is something I can work with. For what amounted to only a handful of days of learning, her level of proficiency is admirable.

    "Agreed, the expedition team made poor decisions¡ªbasically bit off more than they could handle. That won''t happen again," I return, sparing a glance at the two researchers.

    Both stare at the ongoing exchange from their place at the bench, their postures straightening at the mention of their now defunct team¡ªlike petulant children caught doing something they shouldn¡¯t.

    Lunelle nods and pivots around to relay my answer. Both her and the General enter a debate as the escorting soldiers stand their ground. The harsh, red capes and striking bands on their armour moulded them into an intimidating sight. The psychological impact of their uniforms wasn''t lost on me, and I make sure to mentally file that observation down.

    I glance over each one, squinting both eyes to discern their identities with the help of the visor''s photo adaptive overlay. Nothing but strangers in the crowd, but I am sure the instigators of the team''s violent skirmish is somewhere inside this city. In the meantime, Robert takes out a small notepad and begins taking down his observations, scribbling through multiple pages across the next few minutes.

    "What do you think they''re saying?" The operative murmurs not faltering in his work.

    "Could be anything¡ªhopefully something good," I reply, attention fixed on the tense exchange between the pair.

    The General then takes the lead over their discussion, bringing up his fingers to emphasize several points to the priest. She nods with every raised finger, listening intently with a tight expression while answering on occasion. Her expression changes as she glances to me.

    "Lord General Thellius wishes to extend his regrets for the deaths of your scholars, but also suspects that such a loss may not dissuade them. So, he believes it prudent to discuss a place in which future gatherings between our sides can be safely held. The intrigue your kin harbour for our Kingdom is welcome, for it is mutual," she says.

    "That depends," Robert interjects, prompting the priest to his direction, "we can''t promise future cooperation or even another meeting."

    "We expected as such," Lunelle swiftly returns before dipping to the folds of her robes.

    "However," she continues and produces a small, compact tube with a lid on one end, "Lord General Thellius shall make the necessary arrangements. Within you shall find a regional map of our Kingdom''s borders. There will be a marked city which, should you desire, will be where we may continue our affairs. We claim no quarrel with your kin, and so the door is open for your people to send an emissary."

    I take the small tube from the priest and pass it over to my companion. "When?"

    "It is up to you. Three days¡ªten, even a fortnight. The choice is yours, for we shall be waiting at your behest," she replies.

    "Which definitely means us," another voice says behind.

    I turn around to see Keller stand up from the bench. The former expedition lead walks over and swipes a hand over his forehead. "But then again, I think it''s safe to say I''ll be terminated for my role in the team''s loss. I won''t get to see how this plays out."

    I shrug. "Cygnus Station''s written your team off as a total loss. They''re in the process of shipping all personal items back to Earth, definitely seems like you''re off the hook."

    Keller sighs, his voice now sombre. "I''ve already made peace with that. But I''m sure my colleagues would appreciate the invitation. It''s been one of the division''s premier goals ever since we''ve known there were indigenous civilizations on New Eden," the researcher explains.

    "Then we have much to look forward to," Lunelle concludes and clasps both hands together, "again I must ask, how long should we expect?"

    The question prompts Robert to open the small tube. He retrieves the map and unfurls it, reorienting the map clockwise before trailing a gloved finger across the surface to pinpoint our location.

    "The map checks out, looks almost like the ones we''ve been issued," the operative states, turning on his helmet auxiliaries. The soft light reflects off the map surface, revealing a detailed rendition of the surrounding region complete with a coastline wrapped along the north and west.

    The map in general is organized and readily intuitive, with all major landmarks clearly shown and marked under the local language. A well-defined border covers a large portion, shaded a lighter tone in contrast to the remaining territories which presumably belong to other nations. Several dozen major cities and towns dot the terrain, each one labelled with the same unique scripture¡ªnames if one had to take a guess.

    "That''s the place they''re talking about," Robert moves his finger over to the left, lightly tapping at the city situated west of our position marked by a red circle.

    "It''s around forty klicks from where we''re at," I reply, giving a rough estimate based off my assumptions of the map''s scale, "we''ll need air to get us to and from that city."

    Robert hums and rolls the map back in the tube, flicking off his auxiliaries. "Recommend we play it safe¡ªtwo weeks. Just in case the UN wants to fly in a trained representative," he proposes.

    "Sounds good," I agree. A notice of two weeks should be sufficient for Cygnus to assemble the necessary resources, put together a qualified roster, and work out all other prior kinks before this next giant leap.

    I turn to Lunelle and give the priest her answer. "Fourteen days, will that be okay?"

    She perks up. "Fourteen?"

    "Fourteen, no more, no less."

    "Very well, let it be so." The priest, lightly grinning relays the answer to the General.

    He nods in return and issues a brief comment at Lunelle before moving to stand in front of me, his hand extended.

    I reach out and shake it firmly, feeling a strange sense of ease around him. After confirming the date and time for the potential meeting, and informing both researchers of the impromptu arrangement, we are soon escorted back to the eastern gate.

    By the time we are out the city, most of the remaining escorts are dismissed leaving only the General, two soldiers, and the priest herself. The decision to step inside the city had been daunting but resulted in the best-case scenario. There is no further reason to recon the city after having our queries answered by Lunelle and having secured the survivors.

    In just under an hour, the city had yielded valuable insight into this particular civilization, including most notably¡ªwhat they referred themselves as and the name of their nation.

    The term Euralia flows smoothly from the tongue and clearly seems inspired by the main language stated to the lingua franca of this region. Robert groups both researchers together and urges them forward while I express my gratitude to both Lunelle and Lord General Thellius for the seamless encounter and opportunity to uncover the secrets of their culture on behalf of the United Nations.

    One of the sentries outside the gate rises from his station. The armed soldier straightens his posture and issues their rendition of a salute, raising a fist and crossing it over his plated chest with an audible thump. Lord General Thellius returns the decorum with a similar gesture and instructs the soldier to return back to his post.

    The sentry nods, briefly glancing my way as he steps aside to resume his watch, planting the blunt end of his spear on the ground.

    "Kal''Lenna shall be ready for your arrival, and if fate wills it, I shall be there as well," Lunelle reiterates and offers her hand.

    Even with her assurance, I still felt unsure about the whole arrangement. It seems impossible to shake off this feeling when the supposed UN detachment would be over three hundred miles away from Tartarus without any means of reliable communications in the event of an emergency.

    I shake her hand and decide to put out one last question. "You''ve already made it clear that you''re not part of the military, so what do you fall under?"

    She purses her lips and slips her hand away. "Simply an informant of Euralia''s fringe eastern consular body. I am their eyes and ears in affairs worthy of their intrigue. That is all I will offer," she counters, her lips pressed into a thin line.

    "Understood. If that''s all, we''ll be going now," I conclude, deciding against pursuing the topic further.

    She returns a slight nod. "Very well¡ªmay the Iron Lady grant you all safe travels," Lunelle finishes with a fair tone, pivoting around to head back inside the city. Again, with that name¡ªanother reference to what I assume is a religion of sorts.

    After politely refusing an armed escort from the General and making it clear that we are not to be followed, I signal everyone to move out. We proceed down the road with the researchers and stop a kilometre out from the city.

    "We''re set," Douglas announces after conducting a headcount then points to the researchers, "but those two need to be briefed on egress."

    "I''ll handle it," I volunteer, rifling through my front utilities pouch to pull out a regional map of New Eden.

    "Keller¡ªTorrez, listen up. I''ll get you both up to speed on what''s going to happen," I call out to both researchers.

    Both of them straighten up upon the announcement and quickly move closer.

    Unfurling the map, I quickly focus on the borders of Grid A15. There, marked with a red dot near the top left is the city¡ªand by extension, our current location.

    "Ideally, we head directly south to hit the adjacent grid A10. That''s where the nearest exfil zone''s located. It''s an elevated piece of land¡ªprobably an extinct volcano based on the initial survey. Once we reach it, we''ll hunker down and establish contact with command. Tartarus fleet''s mostly grounded so they should be able to spare something to get us. But before all that, there''s good news and bad news."

    "Wha¡ªwhat''s the good news?" Torrez asks with a timid voice.

    I let a few seconds pass before answering. "Like I said, we''ll be rucking directly southwards to minimize travel time, but that''s assuming traversable terrain from here till exfil. It should take around three days of travel, plus a few hours to wait for our ride."

    "Bad news?" Keller asks with a fearful tone.

    "You guys are tired, but we need to burn through the first night to put as much distance between us and the fighting. We know they don''t tend to move their forces at night so this our best shot at avoiding the locals while we''re in this grid," I say.

    "Might be looking at four days. Give them some slack¡ªrather we play it safe," Douglas interjects, scrutinizing the pair through his visor.

    "We''re fi¡ª" Keller quickly retorts before cutting himself off. After taking a deep breath and glancing over to Torrez, the man issues a nod and drops his protest.

    "As long as we get back home, doesn''t matter," Torrez trails off, her bleak eyes staring off into the distance.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    James steps in and snaps his fingers in front of both researchers.

    ''Corporal James Oakley¡ªteam medic, if you have any issues or need assistance hit it up with me and I''ll see what I can do. Especially you Ma''am. It''s a tough haul¡ªaround fifty kilometres," he says with a finger raised at Torrez.

    "I''m fine, just shaken up that''s all. Good to go," Torrez answers and reassures the operative with a weak smile.

    After adjusting the rifle sling for a secure grip around my chest, I observe both ends of the road for signs of life. Past the first hundred metres, the road vanishes into a wall of darkness. There is nothing¡ªno movement, no contact.

    I exhale and make a short gesture to prompt the team into a wedge before turning into the foliage. "All clear, let''s go."

    The vegetation stretches around in all directions as I enter the thicket¡ªjust as dense and humid as I remembered. My legs sink into the thick mesh of undergrowth and with each stride comes the unavoidable sound of rustling.

    Over the last few days, the team had encountered rivers, crevices, and other such impassable features. Most of them necessitated detours resulting in significant delays as we went around, or in the case of two rivers, swam across their narrowest points.

    As much as I''d hope that our journey would be simple, I know that likely will not be the case. The latest maps issued by Cygnus still had their flaws in describing the topography of the forested regions in finer details, particularly in places with dense coverage which amounted to over two thirds of this particular grid. There is bound to be some discoveries along the way.

    Another glance behind shows the two researchers keeping pace as we trudge deeper into the thicket. They keep up reasonably well for the first hour, but as the hours progress, that gap stretches. At first, it is just a handful of metres. Then ten. Twenty. I glance over my shoulder. Keller and Torrez are still there, but barely visible through the darkness. I could just make out the contours of their legs and arms past the clutter of greenery.

    The forest past midnight is an oppressive force in itself¡ªa constant jumble of sinuous limbs and towering trunks. And with visibility limited to just two dozen metres, their pacing becomes a cause for speculation.

    While the hike is physically demanding, I had no issues with it even with the added weight of my rucksack which amounted to over fifteen kilograms. A good portion of the team''s free time while not on active deployment was filled with weighted marches and gruelling exercises aimed at conditioning our physique for just such a venture.

    We have been rucking for over three hours and I could say with confidence that each of us had the steam to continue the grind for at least twice that amount of time.

    It is then I realize the issue. All this time, I had been subconsciously applying our physical standards to the struggling pair. Keller and Torrez obviously did not possess the same level of conditioning and general fitness, and I doubt either of them had any sort of formal military training to begin with. I should have been aware of their deficits long ago.

    Holding up a clenched fist, I get the team to stop and turn around. The researchers were vague bipeds barely discernible through the dark veil. Only the sounds of shuffling and desperate panting gave away their identity and struggle.

    "We¡ªwe need a..." Keller groans. He slumps forward, taking in deep breaths with both knees supporting his hands.

    "We got you, in the meantime," I unclip the canteen from my rig and hold it over Keller''s left shoulder, "finish the rest. Kill that thirst and replace those electrolytes."

    "Thank you, Lieutenant," the researcher murmurs, grabbing the canteen and quickly uncapping the lid to take a swig of the synthetic electrolyte blend.

    "Make sure to leave some for Torrez," I add before turning around to face the team.

    After going through the impromptu discussion and taking reference from our map, we all agree to take multiple detours that seem easier to physically navigate for the benefit of the researchers. At the same time, we make it standard practice to follow their pacing instead of the other way around.

    With the team still opting to maintain light discipline and the researchers themselves setting the tempo of our advance, that meant a painfully slow crawl towards our destination. A fast and timely journey to our exfil seems impossible at this point.

    We would have to stick with this speed, at least until the next morning when we could at least see where we''re stepping. And so, we did for the next five hours.

    The sun''s dull glow finally cuts through the canopy in tattered beams, casting the forest in a monotony of amber and gold. A quick glance at my watch tells me it is just past ten¡ªlocal Eden time.

    We begin rucking ahead twice as fast taking the occasional break when it is requested by either Torrez or Keller, though it was mostly the former that spoke out.

    The first day passes without much to note. We make good timing while the sun is up, taking the necessary detours across various obstructions along our predetermined route to exfil.

    Those are nothing we could not handle. A handful of sharp inclines and declines, an entrance to an undiscovered cave system, and even a sizable herd of stout ungulates that I recognize from my brief studies into New Eden''s fauna.

    As night approaches, we agree to set up camp and deploy our inflatable shelter. With a sharp wheeze the two miniaturized habitation modules fill up to their proper size and shape in under a minute.

    The mild buzzing of the control panel on the entrance of both habitats further confirms that the process is complete. Each one has the capacity to accommodate two men with a potential third if the occupants didn''t mind a tight squeeze.

    I instruct the team to take our usual approach for night watch. Douglas and I take the first shift and position ourselves on opposite ends of the camp. Dropping to the ground with a soft thud, I brace my rifle under me and clear the space ahead with a finger latched onto the thin face of the trigger.

    The oppressive darkness draws me in, filling me with a sense of unease. It is an impenetrable bulwark that has the potential to hide any number of aggressors. Any disturbance, no matter how trivial demanded investigation, because anything less is tantamount to dereliction. I fully intend to hold onto this dictum throughout the night, no matter how exhausted I become.

    A pair of heavy footsteps echoes behind prompting me to glance at my watch. Two hours have largely passed unnoticed as I went through the motions.

    "Anything?" Robert asks.

    I push myself back up and shake my head. "Nothing but stay sharp."

    After giving my replacement an encouraging pat on his shoulder, I retreat back inside the camp for a temporary reprieve. In two hours, I will back out there keeping tabs on the perimeter.

    Through all this, the researchers had the luxury of sleeping the next eight hours away. They will need all the rest they can get for the slog ahead. They are doing well so far, but this is just the beginning of a long, painful grind.

    ======

    After three hard days, we are finally on the final stretch of the journey. Everyone is exhausted, but the prospect of a clean bed and shower keeps us working past our limits. Fire burned in my legs and shoulders. Each step reminded me of the toll the hike had on my body.

    "We''re close," Douglas announces, fatigue tacked on his voice, "maybe five more klicks till we hit the edge of that elevated clearing."

    "Got that drone ready?" I glance to Robert. The operative pulls out a small quadcopter drone from his rig in response.

    "Standing by, once topside''s clear I''ll have it up to comms altitude," he reports, showing the drone resting on the palm of his hand.

    "Great," I say.

    Just ahead the trees begin to thin out considerably. Beneath, the ground transitions from a dense mesh to a clean stretch of green as it gently slopes upwards. The canopy pulls back to reveal several clouds drifting across the clear, infinite blue. The sun beats down with a harsh glare, enough to turn the air inside my helmet into a dense, stuffy haze. The only saving grace is a cool breeze coming in from one direction.

    "Just keep at it, we''re almost there," James urges the two researchers as they panted, their skin and clothing damp from four days of exertion and exposure to the elements.

    "I''m... signing those papers once we get back," Torrez huffs after a crude chuckle, "I''m so... through with this job."

    "You and me both," Keller adds, his voice equally bitter.

    "Just focus on that¡ªhelps take some of that edge away," James urges the pair.

    They are operating on fumes, but the operative''s remark brings out their second wind as they shrug off their grievances and push on, fighting their way up the slope with the last of their reserves.

    I estimate the angle to be around fifteen degrees, but after all we''ve been through, even just this much feels like scaling the side of a steep ridge.

    Each breath always feels short of addressing the dense burn in my lungs. My shoulders ached with a painful throb, the straps biting into the muscles with a ferocity amplified by the harsh incline.

    Douglas and James trot past the formation to scout out the large clearing once the ground levels off. The sound of gunfire pierces the stillness as I lead the rest over the subtle incline.

    "Contact¡ªa small herd of those silvertips," Douglas reports over comms as another burst thunders through the channel.

    Wild shrieks shoot back as a handful of dark shapes take off past a short ridge where the two operatives have fired into. They had a pair of wings¡ªbut also four limbs. One of the few instances of apparent hexa-limbed lineages present on New Eden.

    Despite having went through the catalogue several times prior to this mission as per the recommendation of the Intelligence Wing''s liaison, those creatures still had an almost mythical presence to them.

    They are large¡ªat least two metres across and possessed a reptilian morphology in addition to those large silver-coloured wings which had earned those creatures their moniker.

    "At least they''re not spitting flames," Robert interjects, loud enough to be heard outside his helmet.

    "Draco Argenteostylus¡ªsilver-tipped dragon," Keller comments in response, "they can''t¡ªor at least, we haven''t seen them do it since we discovered them two weeks into New Eden. Fun fact, the locals domesticate them as part of their air force¡ªor air fleet as they call it."

    "Didn''t see any on our brief stint inside," Robert highlights as we crest the ridge, "so how many are there?"

    Keller lets out a sigh. "Don''t know¡ªwe were kept mostly indoors."

    "We did spot a few overhead as we were taken into the city¡ªback when..." Torrez shudders and trails off.

    "Got it," I nod, piecing together the rest of her statement. No need to revisit that piece of history.

    "House is clear," James announces after issuing final burst to scare the remaining silvers away.

    Him and Douglas then gestures from their place on the ridge, prompting the rest to consolidate around them.

    Douglas nudges Robert on his left arm, reminding the operative of the drone still clutched in his palm. Without missing a beat, Robert powers the drone, places it on the ground and pulls out a small interface. The screen flairs to life and he gets to work tapping his instructions furiously into the device. His fingers race across the digital interface until he concludes with a final resounding tap.

    With a sharp whir, the drone shoots off the ground and climbs steadily on its four rotors. It continues to surge upwards as I watch, squinting both eyes to combat the sun''s glare as it grows ever more distant.

    After a minute, Robert issues the confirmation that it has reached its destination altitude. "It''s set, I''ve got it pinging Tartarus on the specified frequencies, they''ll know it''s us. Should take a few minutes before they respond¡ªassuming someone¡¯s on the console," the Sergeant announces as he monitors the drone''s various systems through the interface.

    "Good, I want a defensive circle going in the meantime," I reply and turn around to properly brief the team and the two researchers. "We have any more drones?"

    "Yeah, got five more in the pack. They''re wedged at the left uppermost pocket," Robert promptly answers and turns around to allow the nearest operative to dig into his rucksack.

    "Get a few up in the air for orbital recon¡ªtwo kilometre radius for both ground and air. How much is up to you. Don''t want surprises for the folks picking us up."

    "Will do, leave it to me." Robert curtly responds. With help from James, he lines up the drones on the ground and types out his commands on the interface. In just under a minute, the drones are operational. All five disperse outwards to add just that extra layer of vigilance to our position.

    "Keller¡ªTorrez, you both just¡ª" I pause, watching the two stagger towards me. They essentially have no value to add security-wise, even more so when they both looked barely able to hold themselves upright. "Just... stay within sight of us. If you spot anything, let any of us know."

    "That we can do," Keller answers while Torrez simply returns a weak nod.

    The team quickly gets to work establishing a temporary camp for one last time. We set our rucksacks down at a central location before parting to watch over our respective sectors.

    While in the midst of picking out a spot to assume overwatch, Robert''s voice booms over the channel.

    "We''ve got contact with Tartarus, they''re sending a Valor to our position," he reports, the operative''s relief tangible through the channel.

    I could practically hear the grin in his voice. Everyone else felt the same¡ªmostly. For the team, it meant another successful notch under our belt. For the researchers, it finally marked the end of their terrible ordeal.

    Three hours after receiving a reply, the unmistakable thrumming of a rotorcraft breaks the silence. I look south to see a lone Valor swiftly approaching from a low angle, racing several dozen metres above the tree line.

    The aircraft loiters around our position, completing a full circle before turning into the elevated clearing. Gently descending the last ten metres, the Valor sets itself right beside our recently disassembled camp with its wheels hitting the ground with an audible thud.

    The side doors open to reveal a single crewmen disembarking, armed with a standard issue M7 like the rest of us. The man sweeps his gaze as we gather around the aircraft, then steps aside to make way as the first man eagerly hops inside the cabin.

    "One minute¡ªone minute," the crewmen warns, though it is mostly redundant. James was first to board followed by the two researchers, I step back and wait for the rest of the team to enter the Valor before closing it off by tapping the man on his shoulder.

    "I''m last, let''s go!" I yell over the deafening roar of the rotors.

    The crewmen¡ªMitchell, as identified by the name tag on his uniform jabs his thumb back to the Valor.  "Strap in, we''re wheels up in thirty!"

    "Will do," I answer, and bound into the interior. Mitchell steps back into the Valor and slams the door shut, turning around with a finger pointed across me to Torrez¡ªthe woman slumped against her seat with its safety belt dangling loosely at her side.

    "Straps!" Mitchell yells, startling Torrez into complying with his demands.

    He races across the cabin to take up an empty seat directly across me as the Valor abruptly lurches forward. The forward tilt of the aircraft pushes me into the shoulder of the adjacent operative and I could see the ground retreating from the window across the interior.

    I breath out a sigh a relief and let my guard down¡ªthe first time I could afford to in days. During the flight, intermittent conversations break out between the team and Cooper, the latter inquiring about our mission and what we did over the past couple of days.

    We methodically answer his questions, confirming several of the man''s suspicions as he reveals that news of the research team''s disappearance, and the reports following our subsequent mission to their last known location has now been made an open secret among those stationed on both Cygnus and Tartarus.

    "Glad you guys made it back in one piece¡ªactivity''s been minimal ever since command got reshuffled," Mitchell continues, his brows furrowing as he continues, "doubt it''ll stay that way though. Several private jets came in two days ago with plenty of fresh grunts. They''re all approved for Rift-side deployment¡ªabout fifty at least."

    "That''s over triple what the Eden garrison had going on," James scoffs and removes his helmet to reveal the dark bags under his eyes. "Not surprised though."

    "If it helps keep these guys in check, I''m all for it," I say, glancing to the researchers with a dark look. Both of them had the decency to look embarrassed as the conversation touches on them.

    "Didn''t expect to ride this far up north, especially with the war going on," Mitchell remarks as he looks to both survivors, pelting them with a cold glare. His brows crease further, holding to his scrutiny as he continues leveraging his gaze at the silent pair, "hell of a twist you guys pulled outta this one. "

    "Yeah," I agree. It definitely is. We went into this mission expecting it to be purely reconnaissance. I can already imagine the how things will play out back at Tartarus.

    The team would be swarmed by a good portion of the research wing as soon as we landed¡ªdozens of overly zealous researchers all aiming to get their greedy paws on us without considering our need for rest and reconstitution. It''s also a safe bet to assume that the team will be required to fill out an extensive report regarding the mission sometime later today. We have a lot to unpack, and it will take days to fully document our findings on paper.

    All things considered, it went off the rails in the best way possible This is one for the books, if this whole thing between us and this faction ever works out.

    The foundation is already laid, but more needs to be done to get it going. The rest is up for Cygnus to decide.  Hopefully, they''ve learnt enough to avoid repeating this mistake again¡ªthe same mistake that led to my team''s involvement into this world, New Eden.

    ===The End===

 The Icebreaker (12)

    ===Antarctica, Cygnus Station===

    -0718 hours Standard Time

    Cold lashing winds sink in from all sides, biting through layers of protective insulation. The whistle of engines discharging from the private jet ahead marks the end of our wait. Touching down on the improvised runway, the aircraft cruises across its entire length before arresting its momentum at the far end almost blending into the dark, Antarctic expanse.

    The private jet is an oddity, a far cry from anything the United Nations has in their fleet to my knowledge. Its wings are swept back much further than most of a similar size, and there is not a single sharp edge to its contours with its engines embedded into the structure, the only hint being the two unassuming vents on either side.

    With a soft hiss the aircraft''s door slides open, revealing a pair of armed security troopers dressed in matching, bright orange, polar expedition uniforms with M7 rifles slung across their chest. A few steps jut out from beneath the fuselage, forming a platform for the pair to disembark. Following closely behind, several more figures appear from within the jet''s lit interior.

    It''s finally here¡ªthe last piece on the board. Tweaking the knob at the side of my helmet, I cycle through a range of options and set it to the station''s frequency.

    "Cygnus, this is Lieutenant Simmons. Orion One has landed¡ªwill proceed with onboarding for Ambassador Calder and crew now," I report.

    "Understood Lieutenant, direct relevant personnel to Ops immediately for Operation Icebreaker," a firm voice answers after a short delay.

    The two troopers make their way down the steps and set up on either side, clearing the way for the passengers to exit the aircraft. They proceed down the stairs in an orderly file with their baggage and gather along the runway sticking close to their armed escorts. Only a few had the foresight to bring along a source of lighting to stave off the polar night.

    "Calder''s somewhere in that mix. Let''s flush him out," I say, directing the team to meet the approaching troopers.

    "First official representative for our whole damn race," James remarks pacing beside me, "hopefully he''s up for this."

    I shrug. "We''ll know soon enough, just have to get him under our scope."

    Waving to get the attention of the two escorts, both troopers break off and meet us halfway. One of them extends a hand to which I accept, putting a little extra squeeze in light of both our thick insulating gloves.

    "Neat place you folks got here," the man says in awe, gawking at the station behind me. He then points to himself and his companion, his voice quickly switching to a calm and measured tone as he continues. "Name''s Miller, and he''s Keagan¡ªwe''re private security. Calder''s the one with the red and grey strips, I understand he''s the head honcho you''re gunning for."

    I nod and address myself and the team accordingly. "2nd Lieutenant Simmons. My team''s ready to get you folks hunkered down on Cygnus station. And yes, we''re waiting on him for something big."

    Miller shakes his head, and points to the small crowd behind him. "We''re not staying, it''s a drop and dip kind of stint for us. We''ll be off in an hour or less once our pilots are ready."

    "Alright," I reply and urge the team past the escorts and towards the group. Each individual is dressed differently, making it easy to spot Calder from the dozen or so figures within the mix.

    It is time to finally deliver on the outstanding. Mission-specific supplies such as ammunition, water, and other perishables are already accounted for. Everything we could prepare in advance, we did.

    By the end of this evening, we should be good to go for the mission that will take us to the Euralian city of Kal''Lenna. The onboarding process is objectively the simplest of the prerequisites, but it is the only one beyond my control.

    Depending on the outcome, our mission will continue as planned, or be aborted, thereby rendering our preparations moot. It all depends on the man in front of me.

    "Travis Calder," I announce, eliciting a sharp response from the hooded figure. The presumed UN ambassador breaks away from his colleagues, peels back his hood and answers with his left hand extended.

    "That''s me," the man replies, introducing himself to the whole team, "Travis Calder, and I''d like out this cold now."

    "Noted, we can start by showing you which hab'' module you''ll be staying in¡ªto settle your stuff," I say, looking down to the two bags Calder had set down by his feet.

    Looking past the Ambassador to his companions behind, most of them carried just one or two. With the general notion that his team will be here for the long term¡ªup to a year at least, this seems less than expected.

    Calder follows up a shrug, his gaze sweeping across the station. "They told us to pack light so we did, said the rooms aren''t that spacious. Starting to see some truth in that."

    I turn around to the roughly dozen modular prefabs constituting Cygnus at the moment. Space is a premium with these types of buildings, and with most of it being embedded underground with the exception of the station''s headquarters, there is certainly some grievances to be had for those permanently stationed on this side of the Rift.

    "You''ll be spending most of your time on the other side, so it''s not a big deal," I comment.

    "They should be good on baggage," James interjects, sending a quick glance to Douglas.

    The operative steps past us and assembles around the rest of Calder''s team, raising his hand towards the station after getting everyone''s attention. "Make sure you''ve got everything with you, we won''t be returning to the strip. It''ll be a busy day," Douglas intones and organizes the crowd in front of him.

    Adding to his announcement, I turn to Calder and raise a question. "There''s eight¡ªincluding you, so who specifically is tagging along for the mission. I need to know before we set off."

    The Ambassador ponders for a moment. "Just two, me and Ashley Moreau."

    "Okay," I reply and issue a brief nod. That clears up who needs to be involved in the upcoming meeting.

    "Douglas, there''s an Ashley Moreau in that mix. I''ll handle her and Calder, those two are slated for that briefing with Cygnus command," I say.

    "Got it, I''ll send her your way," he responds.

    After a short while, the operative identifies the woman in question and points her to my direction after a short discussion. Moreau hesitates but eventually breaks away from her colleagues, shining her torch several feet ahead into the snow as she paces.

    "I''ll get the rest settled in. We''ll be back Rift-side once it''s done, about time we do a final equipment check¡ªyours too if you''re still busy," Douglas proposes.

    "Thanks, if I''m not there just do it without me," I reply, watching my second-in command pull the rest under his lead.

    They set off and head deeper into the station. Ambassador Calder observes his colleagues as they are led into one of the habitation modules. He turns to Moreau once she stops by his side and promptly reminds her to introduce herself.

    The woman takes another step forward, her lips frozen for just a moment. "Ashley Moreau, I''m told your team is assigned as our escort for Icebreaker?" she asks, adjusting her grip on the two duffle bags by her sides.

    "You heard right," I confirm, noting the slight tension on her face.

    Frost clings to the fringes of her hair¡ªa faded blonde spilling out from the white, padded hood. Her lips curl into a mild grimace showing her teeth, and her shoulders quiver with each shallow breath. Her jacket¡ªalthough thick, did not seem appropriate for the extremes of the south pole.

    "2nd Lieutenant Simmons, pleasure to meet you," I reply, gauging her expression. The signs all lead to one conclusion.

    "L¡ªlikewise," Moreau weakly answers, her voice trembling. That confirms my suspicion.

    "Cygnus command wants you both under their wing, we''ll settle accommodations later. They''ve been waiting for two hours now. There''s a few key things you two need to know before we set off on that mission," I announce, keeping a close eye on the woman as she picks up her bags with a groan.

    "We''ve already been briefed about the nature of our operations here. The Rift¡ªreal native cultures, pretty much everything," Calder explains, "I just need to know if there''s been any new insights in the past few days¡ªthings that might be beneficial to our cause."

    "You can take that up with the science division, they''ll be present," I answer and begin leading the way to the heart of the station.

    Both of them stick close to me, occasionally following up with questions about the UN''s vested interests on New Eden as we proceed. I send a few inquiries of my own, mainly to get a better read on who they are and how exactly they got roped into arguably the UN''s most critically sensitive and clandestine base of operations on the planet.

    Along the way, I highlight the identifiers on each prefab we passed, flashing my torch on the buildings to draw attention to the prefix stamped on their exteriors in a white, bold font.

    Both listen intently as I explain what could be found in each specific building, later rounding up the brief lesson by disclosing the general logic behind the naming conventions for future reference.

    We soon arrive at the entrance into Cygnus headquarters. The two guards on shift step up with the intent to perform the usual security check¡ªmainly to verify our identities and log our visits. The troopers relax once I disclose my name, turning their scrutiny to the pair beside me.

    Gesturing to the new arrivals, I break the tension and introduce them to the sentries. "Travis Calder, United Nations Ambassador, Eden Anthropological research," I say, indicating to the Ambassador who nods to the troopers at the mention of his name.

    Shifting my hand over to the unassuming figure beside him, I continue with the introduction. "Ashley Moreau..." I stop, coming up empty on what exactly her role is.

    She registers the pause and looks to me, her eyes widening after reading the situation. "... S¡ªsenior Linguist, also Eden Anthropological research¡ªspecializing in indigenous language," she finishes.

    "Alright," the trooper nods, tapping at his digital notepad. After a moment he looks up, slipping the device into a pocket on his polar uniform.

    "Go right ahead," he says, thumbing back at the entrance.

    "Thanks," I say and move past the sentries.

    Pushing into the building, the soft rolling hiss of the Antarctic winds gently fade. A handful of staff laze around at the lobby, sparing only a curt glance at most before returning to their own devices.

    "Finally," Moreau sighs, releasing a hazy breath. After a short rest on a couch, the woman stands back up, beams a light smile and gives me a thumbs up, prompting me to continue.

    A few select turns brings us in front of a small lift at the end of the small corridor. Pushing the button to call it up to ground level, a familiar chime breaks the silence and the lift at the end opens to reveal its grey interior.

    It did not have much to show, containing only the very basic functions to be classified as a lift. It never was finished, and likely would remain as such for the foreseeable future.

    "You sure it''s safe?" Calder eyes the lift with a doubtful look, "Looks really unfinished."

    I roll my eyes and enter the lift. "Come on, it works."

    With some encouragement, both of them step inside. The final leg of the trip proceeds without any hassle and the isolated room now lies directly ahead.

    I knock twice and open the door. Key officials from all relevant departments sat around the table, perking up as I intrude into the small room. Documents, images, and various other materials are splayed across the top, haphazardly arranged as though they were passed around at a whim.

    "Lieutenant Simmons," Meagan asks, stacking the files in her area back into order, "is this all of them?"

    I give the Chief Administrator a nod. "Yes Ma''am, Calder and Moreau are slated for Operation Icebreaker. But the other six are still assigned to Rift-side Ops, just not for this run."

    "Good. Have a seat, let''s begin," she announces, gesturing to a line of empty seats across her.

    All three of us take up the unoccupied row on the closer end of the table. It will be interesting to see what they have to say for Calder and Moreau and how it would differ from the variant my team and I went through a few days ago. Even if some parts would be repeated, a second rundown on the overall mission can only do good.

    The Chief Administrator takes the lead and briefly covers the mission''s primary goals. At every pause, Ambassador Calder interjects with questions concerning the locals, prompting an official from the science division to disclose the latest findings on the nation that will be the focus of our diplomatic efforts.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    The explanation concludes with a short mention on their perceived style of government based on the accounts by the two survivors of expedition six¡ªa constitutional monarchy with the line of succession passed exclusively through the female lineage.

    Nodding as the Anthropology representative concludes, the Ambassador leans forward, pressing the woman further. "What of the geopolitical situation, the files made clear mention of an ongoing war between the... Euralian Kingdom and another regional power. Isn''t it why one of your field teams went dark¡ªa case of mistaken identity leading to an escalation?"

    "What happened to Dr. Keller''s team was... a regrettable incident. The expedition teams back then were given full autonomy and often went ahead without military escort. We''ve revoked that privilege entirely so something like that won''t happen again," the representative asserts.

    "There''s still plenty of folks against that ruling, in spite of what happened," I comment, eliciting a few heads to turn my way. "As you all should know, certain units within the Euralian military are capable of feats which.... seem supernatural, for the lack of a better word."

    "That''s one reason why I''m on fence on this," the Ambassador admits. He stands up and continues with a sharp look.

    "That Rift is an incredible opportunity not just for the UN, but the rest of Humanity, we can all agree on that. Given enough time, we will make something out of it. But... this is tall order you''re planting on us. I''ve been given that notice just over a week ago, and I''ve been burning nights just getting myself up to speed since."

    Moreau feigns a cough. "Not to mention getting myself acquainted with the local language, it isn''t easy matching the bits and pieces just based off recovered examples of their scripts. I''m far from being able to hold a basic conversation, let alone get started on a translation dictionary just from what I''ve been sent," she states with a light frown.

    "I''d reckon Icebreaker''s the best way to kickstart your foundations, since a good number would be speaking that language, "one of the staff officers suggests, "but we''re aware that this isn''t without risks. Which is why after some consideration, Cygnus Command is willing to consider your requests and provide monetary compensation that it deems as appropriate in addition to your base."

    At the revelation, the Ambassador''s eyes light up. "How much exactly?"

    Another person interjects from the right side of the table. "Six hundred thousand US dollars¡ªsplit evenly for your whole team. I''ve already submitted the claim to regional HQ, just waiting on their reply."

    "You also won''t be going alone, since that hasn''t been established," the Chief Administrator intercedes, holding up a palm to stop Ambassador Calder just as he is about to speak.

    "We''ll spare no expenses for your security, I need to make that distinction before we move forward," she continues, her voice tacked with a sharp edge, "two Special Operations teams from 1st Eden Reconnaissance will serve as escort¡ªtotalling eight operatives, of which 2nd Lieutenant Simmons is part of."

    Ambassador Calder and Moreau turn to me, their concerns still unanswered. Both had already expressed reservations but did not seem overly against the mission. It will be a pivotal moment in human history, and they would lead that historic exchange. A lot will be riding on their shoulders. They understood that, and the burdens that came along with it.

    I straighten my posture and look them both in the eye. "We''ll do our absolute best to protect you both, I can promise that on behalf of teams Desert and Sabre."

    Words normally didn''t compare to actions, but there are exceptions. In this moment, I meant every word, down to each letter. Every operative knows the significance of this mission and will give nothing less than their utmost diligence in ensuring their safety at all times.

    Calder''s expression remains tight as he weighs his options. His brows furrow as he looks over the documents placed in front of him, eyes skimming across each page without any comments. Moreau glances to me with a reserved look, only shifting to the Ambassador once he sets the files down with a slight rustle.

    "Okay, I''ll do it. Just hope I won''t regret this," Calder announces, then turns to his companion, "Ashley?"

    The Senior Linguist sips a breath and returns a neutral look. "What we''re doing is important, it''d be good to finally see what they look like in person. There''s a lot to learn from both sides, we just have to believe they''re as reasonable as we assume them to be."

    She pauses and turns to me with a light smile on her lips. "And I trust we''re in good company, so the answer is still a yes."

    The Chief Administrator nods. "Good, then Operation Icebreaker is still good to go. Jerome, I''ll leave the next part to you. I understand there''s a rough guideline your team advocated during your report."

    I lean up from the seat. "Correct. We know that some of their soldiers are capable of... well," I pause, aware of the absurdity of using such an informal word in this setting, "...magic. Hate to say it, but that''s what''s making the rounds. These are the ones we need to watch out for during Operation Icebreaker, which means adopting an S.O.P. and coming up with distinct terminologies to quickly identify such targets and whatever actions we presume them to be committing. It''d be good if Ambassador Calder and Moreau are at least aware of that."

    Calder leans forward, his fingers interlocking in front of him. "I''m all ears."

    Moreau responds in kind. "Likewise, we''re in this together."

    ===Tartarus Base, New Eden===

    -0433 Military Hours

    Early into the morning, before even the sun rose over the mountains we are up. I organize our supplies with the help of two operatives from team Sabre, making sure all items are properly strapped on the central aisle in one of the Valors. Two of such aircraft will be making the trip, one housing both teams plus our two representatives, and the other carrying everything we needed to sustain the mission for up to a month if need be.

    Out on the landing pads, Sullivan leads the rest of my team towards the other tiltrotor craft, linking up with the crew of that particular Valor. As the Lieutenant converses with the pilots, Ambassador Calder, dressed in a formal suit makes his way into the cabin followed by Ashley in a more modest, but still professional outfit consisting of a white blouse covered by a dark blazer along with a matching skirt that admittedly held my gaze for longer than is appropriate.

    A hand races across my vision with a snap, pulling my attention away from the Linguist. "We get it," a member of Sullivan''s team chuckles.

    I roll my eyes but do nothing to rebuke his snide comment. Davis looks to the woman over his shoulder just as she turns past the door, shaking his head before returning his focus to the stack of boxes in front of him.

    Since our introduction days ago, I have nothing but good things to say about Ashley. She is smart, a natural at leading conversations, and overall great company.

    Unsurprisingly, the woman is a wealth of insight into not just the locals but also the planet''s exotic wildlife. There was always something to take away from our conversations, whether it relates to the mission itself¡ªwhich is usually the case, or on the rare occasions where it takes on a more personal turn.

    For what it is worth, I am glad she ended up as the team''s cultural liaison.

    "Jerome," a familiar voice interrupts, "Ambassador Calder and Ashley are set. I can tell they''re nervous, but both are good. Talon-One''s ready to dust off, just waiting on us."

    Both Sullivan and the Valor''s quartermaster step into the Valor and briefly survey the stacks of crates and jerry cans secured along the centre aisle.

    Handing the checklist over to the quartermaster, I gesture to the last group of unsecured crates flushed near the front. "Only got these three left, just spare equipment and battery packs for our gear."

    The man takes the checklist and stows it between two seats and ushers us out of the aircraft. "Not a big deal, I''ll handle it. Go, only fifteen minutes till the clock hits 0500."

    I head straight to the other Valor and take an empty seat, Sullivan and his team joining a moment later. The engines rumble to life, and I feel the vibrations running across my back and feet.

    The lift up is smooth and a quick glance at my watch shows that we have just passed 0500 hours. We are right on schedule. The cabin is bathed in a smooth, utilitarian red light. The hum of the engines plays over the silence in the cabin, only being broken by snippets of conversation between both teams.

    Ashley, normally amicable has not spoken a word since entering the Valor. She holds onto the harness across her chest, mostly keeping to herself.

    Between the small talk shared among the operatives and even the Ambassador himself, the woman stands out as an outlier. Even as the sun rises and light filters into the cabin through the windows, she remains closed off, responding only when spoken to and never returning anything longer than a curt answer.

    I look away, thinking against pursuing the issue. Everyone''s nerves are tight and this might just be her way of tackling it.

    The ensuing conversations manage to lighten the mood around the cabin. We share jokes, and at times engage in light-hearted banter with our sister team until, for the time being, the mission itself is no more than an afterthought.

    Two more hours roll by before the conversations dry up, and the impending reality of our mission sets in.

    I glance out the window. The once rolling hills and expanse of green is slowly replaced by signs of civilization. Sprawling fields covered the land with a distinctive pattern, bordered on one side with a cluster of buildings with a thin road leading off further west.

    Nothing looks out of place. Without context, anyone could have mistaken this for an average stretch of countryside¡ªon Earth that is.

    "We''re close," James quips just as the others begin readying their equipment.

    "Have visual on LZ. ETA three minutes," the Pilot''s voice chimes over the intercom.

    Unstrapping myself, I stand up and grab my weapon off the rack and make my way to the front, thumping on the cabin''s walls twice to draw attention to myself.

    "Before we step off, just a few reminders," I begin, stopping to make sure I have everyone''s attention before continuing.

    The operatives from both teams readily give me their focus, dropping whatever conversations, or thoughts they had in a moment''s notice.  Calder sits on the left closest to me, the man''s posture rigid as he stares with a particularly stern expression which is probably mirrored by those beside him under their helmets, something not shared by the only woman in our midst.

    "Ashley," I say, getting the Senior Linguist to perk up from her corner at the back.

    "Y¡ªyes, just... mentally rehearsing on the what-if scenarios that you taught us," she explains, her voice trembling lightly.

    I look down to her clenched hands, noting the tension on her knuckles. In hindsight, maybe keeping her in the loop of the worst that could happen might not have been the best idea.

    "You''ll be fine," I assure her, giving the Linguist a final look over before returning to my original agenda.

    I take a deep breath, briefly reflect on my words and begin.

    "Most of the talking will be done by Calder and Moreau, but the burden''s also on us to represent our species. Conduct yourselves well and maintain the highest standards of behavior at all times," I emphasize.

    A chorus of affirmatives roll across the cabin from both teams.

    James puts on his helmet and holds out a fist. "Observe, respond, but don''t overstep," the team medic recites, raising a finger for each point.

    "Exactly. Don''t mingle with any of the locals anymore than necessary. That also means keeping your hands to yourself, we didn''t come here to knock boots with the ladies," I continue in a lighter tone, garnering a few chuckles from the back of the cabin.

    The Valor touches down with a gentle thud. Douglas unbuckles himself and turns to the door, leaning forward to disengage its locking mechanism.  In a few seconds, the door slides open to reveal the sprawling fields and the same town as seen from above. Distant figures¡ªpeople, linger in the space between them. They all had the same, unusually white shade of hair typical of their ethnicity.

    "We''ve got locals, I count seven between us and that group of buildings ahead," I highlight, moving closer to the edge.

    "Looks like civilians," Douglas adds and steps off, trotting ahead to a position roughly twenty metres away before sinking to a knee, weapon raised across his field of view.

    A member of team Sabre follows him past the threshold and turns sharply to the front. After a tense wait, the operative''s voice crackles over comms. "Left side''s clear... no locals," he announces.

    "Right side¡ªlikewise. Registering indig'' movement, but nothing to indicate hostile intent," Douglas adds, still in visual in front of me.

    I disembark from the Valor and wait for the rest to make their way out the aircraft. Stopping the next operative with a firm hand on the shoulder, I gesture to the back of the Valor.

    "Go¡ªrear security," I yell, glancing down at his nametag while indicating to the direction I wanted.

    Responding with a short nod, Davis moves to the back of the landing zone and assumes a defensive position. The remaining operatives quickly file out and gather a short distance away from the Valor.

    Sullivan and I keep tabs on our respective team, and after ensuring all members are accounted for, prompt several more operatives away to both reinforce and expand the defensive perimeter.

    Still inside the Valor, Ambassador Calder and Ashley stood at the edge of the cabin''s threshold, patiently waiting for the all clear signal as instructed. The second Valor appears over the horizon, approaching at a low altitude with its landing gears extended.

    The aircraft hovers adjacent to its counterpart and touches down mirroring its orientation and alignment to a respectable degree.

    "This is Sabre team lead, anything to report?" Sullivan asks over comms.

    "Negative, all clear on our six," Davis answers, followed by similar reports from the other bearings.

    "Landing''s secured," Sullivan announces, giving the Ambassador and Senior Linguist a thumbs up.

    Ashley hops out almost immediately, and armed with a camera in her hands, gets right to work documenting her first steps onto Euralian soil.

    "This is... incredible," she remarks with an awed expression, her eyes wide with a sense of wonder.

    Robert chuckles next to me. "You''ll get used to it."

    Ashley beams a smile back at him. "Well I hope not. Imagine the things they could tell us, not just about their culture but also history. The entire world is just¡ªsorry, I''m... it''s almost too much to take in," she pauses, and takes a few slow breaths to compose herself.

    Her optimistic outlook is a refreshing addition to the group''s usual disposition. So much that I could not help but break out a smile in amusement.

    "I get you, but one thing at a time," I say, and gesture to both her and Calder. "The city''s about a dozen klicks west, so I''m sure at least someone''s aware of our arrival. We''ll need to be ready when the Euralians eventually send a force to our position."

    Sullivan nudges me on the arm. "Best we get working on our camp."

    "Yeah," Robert agrees, nodding slightly.

    The pilots stood at the front of the cockpit, but soon join in after expressing their desire to help where they can. Everyone, excluding those on perimeter defense cross the short distance between the two aircraft and join up with the crew of the second Valor.

    Standing at the side of the aircraft with the checklist in hand, the quartermaster begins delegating instructions at the top of his lungs.

    "We''ll start with the basics¡ªhabitation prefabs,  power generators, and ammunition. Both teams will handle that. The rest, including the pilots will be with me offloading the crates and everything else," the uniformed man asserts, pointing a finger into the cabin where the aforementioned supplies dominated a good portion of the interior.

    Having been previously in-charge of the logistical aspects of the mission, I was intimately aware that getting everything out is going to be no small feat even with the extra hands. But after a couple hours of hard work, the outpost slowly beings to take shape.

    Six habitation prefabs, two portable power generators, and a basic sanitation and hygiene outlet between the two grounded Valors constitute the main body of our newly minted base of operations.

    After the final touches are done, a tense silence looms over the outpost. Breaking the calm every so often is the occasional callout from one of the operatives on perimeter watch stating increased movement along their sectors. At times those were simply civilians minding their own business, but the more recent ones included sightings of soldiers in groups of five or more.

    Just the very thought of being surrounded sent no small amount of concern through my thoughts. I had days to mentally prepare for this, but it never really compares to the real deal.

    A soft voice appears behind. "Hey," Ashley calls out.

    I look over my shoulder to see the Senior Linguist just a few steps away looking onto the town ahead with that same glint of wonder in her eyes.

    "Someone''s expecting us right, or at least promised to be here. You said her name was Lunelle?" Ashley remarks, moving to stand beside me as I resume my watch over the western perimeter.

    Nodding slightly, I briefly reflect on the enigmatic priest who proved instrumental in bridging the gap between us and her own people during the team''s first mission.

    "Yeah¡ªhopefully she''ll keep her word. It''d make things a lot smoother," I reply, picturing the stoic, yet tender expression she wore during our last conversation.

    Ashley continues after a short while. "What is she like?"

    I glance over to her and answer the question. "Distant... like she knows more than she lets on. She is someone important, that much is obvious."

    "The Euralians are a lot more sophisticated than we give them credit for. Could be that she''s an equivalent to an intelligence officer, or whatever it''s called for you guys," she muses.

    "I thought so too," I shrug, coming to the same conclusion more than once over the past few days, "then it''d make a lot more sense if she appears."

    "When," the Senior Linguist emphasizes with a firm voice, pointing to the soldiers ahead. "Maybe that''s why they haven''t approached yet. They''re waiting for someone."

    "We''ll know soon enough," I reply, following her gaze to the nearest group just three hundred metres out.

    They just kept their distance, fully armed from head to toe, and simply observed us just as we did them.

    In all my five years, never has a mission name been more appropriate than it is now.

    ===End===

    "In the future, I know we will have a plausible explanation for the Rift itself. But right now, all I am concerned about are the implications our discoveries will have on the rest of the world¡ªour world that is."

    - Jacob V. Turner, Daily Reflections Log. Excerpt on the discovery of indigenous civilizations. Circa March 14th, 2046.