“So, it wasn’t a false alarm,” said Lowe.

  “And maybe Private Lyles saw something too,” said Maxwell.

  Saying it out loud was enough to push him to the brink of ordering an immediate pickup from the Marauder. He held off and spoke on the open channel.

  “I hope everyone’s following this,” he said.

  “Damn right,” said Corporal Fine.

  “We’re not going to overstay our welcome,” said Maxwell. “Squad A will investigate the CES shuttles on this landing pad and if nothing new comes to light, I’ll request that pickup. This might be our last chance at finding out what happened to these people here on Xaros.”

  “There ain’t no way the Marauder’s coming to pick us up, Sergeant,” said Fleming, switching to his chin speaker rather than using the open comms channel. “They can’t.”

  “What makes you say that, Private?”

  “Think about it, sir. There’s something here on Xaros. Something the Marauder’s sensors can’t see. If that warship sets down so we can board, what’s to say that same something doesn’t kill all of us on the ground in double-quick time, enter the Marauder and do the same to the crew?” Fleming pointed at the two CES shuttles. “None of these are lightspeed capable, but that warship is. If we’re up against a new alien species, maybe it got itself trapped here and the only way it can escape is by stealing a vessel that can travel at lightspeed.”

  Maxwell recognized the quantity of guesswork which had led Fleming to this conclusion, but he couldn’t deny that the soldier might be onto something. As usual on this mission, more than a handful of questions remained unanswered and, though Maxwell admitted to himself he was more than curious – as well as driven by pride – to find out what had befallen the people on Xaros, he didn’t want to lose his life in the process.

  “We’ll soon find out what Captain Grisham has in mind, Private,” he said. “In the meantime, we’re checking out those shuttles.”

  Jumping from the transport’s exit, Maxwell landed on the ground with a thud. He looked around carefully. Aside from birds flying to the south, everything was still.

  “Private Lowe, Private Barkley, stay where you are,” said Maxwell.

  He set off towards the CES shuttles. They were mid-range civilian models with a few curves added to their otherwise boxy, twenty-metre hulls to make them look sporty. Maxwell had flown transports like these, and aside from some extra padding on the seats and a few other comforts intended to make them look good in the showroom, there was nothing special about them. He’d take the armour plates and the nose gun on a military transport over a foam cushion for his ass any day of the week.

  “The Marauder already broke the flank door security on those shuttles, Sergeant,” said Barkley. “But access to the flight console is governed by the security controller. We should have access but—”

  “I’m not holding my breath,” said Maxwell.

  The CES shuttles were resting on their landing legs, and their propulsions were quiet. That was already a bad sign.

  “No damage to their exteriors,” said Maxwell.

  He waited for a moment at the access panel of the first shuttle he reached. A light upon that panel glowed green. When he was happy with the positioning of Fleming and Valerio, he opened the door.

  The shuttle’s airlock was tiny and dark. Maxwell switched on his helmet flashlight and climbed up. He swore when he saw that the inner light was red.

  “Both doors won’t open at once,” he said. “We’ll have to let it go through a normal cycle.”

  “The atmosphere is breathable,” Valerio protested. “We should be able to override the mechanism.”

  “You try telling that to the backend computer, Corporal.”

  Valerio didn’t mention it again. He climbed into the airlock, followed by Private Fleming. Three soldiers with combat loadouts more than filled the space.

  “Cycling the airlock,” said Maxwell.

  He touched the inner panel. Both outer and inner lights went red. Ten seconds later, the inner light turned green.

  “Ready.”

  The lack of space made it awkward for Maxwell to keep his gun ready. As soon as the door opened, he stepped into the shuttle’s passenger bay, to give the others room. The light from his flashlight jumped with the movement of his head.

  Valerio and Fleming entered the passenger bay, adding their own light to the interior.

  “Empty,” said Maxwell.

  Most of the bay floor was occupied by seats, and a total of four viewscreens were attached to the side walls. Advancing rapidly along one of the two aisles, Maxwell stopped at the closed cockpit door. The access panel here was also green.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got,” he said.

  Maxwell touched the panel and the door opened. Six steps led upwards to the cockpit, though he didn’t need to climb them to see that the flight console had been torn out.

  “Another broken shuttle,” he said.

  “And no dead bodies,” said Valerio.

  “One last transport on the pad,” said Fleming. “Anyone want to bet me a week’s wages that its cockpit is going to look as bad as this one?”

  “Not a chance,” said Maxwell.

  He didn’t bother climbing the stairs and strode back along the aisle. Once outside, Maxwell headed over to the second shuttle. He was certain it would be empty and he was equally certain its console would be out of action. Three minutes later, he was proven right on both counts.

  Standing on the landing pad, Maxwell tipped back his head and stared into the endless blue of the sky.

  “I need to speak with Captain Grisham,” he said. “Private Barkley, get me a comms channel.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  To Grisham’s credit, he didn’t try to sugar coat the truth - he just came right out and said it.

  “I can’t offer you an extraction, Sergeant. If there’s a new alien species on Xaros and one that our sensors can’t detect, I can’t risk it coming onto the Marauder.”

  “What about my soldiers, sir?”

  “You’re in a hostile location, Sergeant. Do what you always do.”

  “How long are we stuck here?”

  “I’ve sent a comm to base, requesting that another warship be sent to Xaros – a warship with an operational transport.”

  “It’ll be days before anyone arrives, sir.” Maxwell was surprised he didn’t feel angry. “And will high command be in a rush to divert a fleet warship away from the frontline?”

  “They will when they read what I’ve said in the comm, Sergeant. We potentially have a new and hostile species on Xaros. Backup will come, and it will be at highest velocity.”

  “The third CES shuttle might still be operational, sir. It might have landed elsewhere on the planet.”

  “It might have done,” Grisham admitted.

  “You could go looking for it, sir,” said Maxwell. “If the Marauder’s sensors aren’t any use over the compound—”

  “A Ghost missile strike – if one becomes necessary - won’t require anything more than an approximate location, which is something you can provide from the ground, Sergeant. Anyway, that third shuttle won’t dock with a Tibor-class,” said Grisham. “But you know that already. You’d prefer to be in a shuttle in low orbit, rather than on the ground.”

  “I never thought I’d admit a preference to being anywhere other than on solid,” said Maxwell.

  “There’s no reason we can’t run a sensor sweep for a shuttle that might be elsewhere on the planet’s surface, or parked somewhere above it,” said Grisham.

  “That would be appreciated, sir.”

  “If the scans turn up blank, you’ll have to wait until the compound security controller unlocks later tonight, and hope the records you need are available in the backend data array.” Grisham swore. “I hate saying this, Sergeant, but until backup comes, you’re effectively on your own.”

  “I’ll listen out for updates, sir,” said Maxwell. “Maybe you’ll find that shuttle.”

  For a few moments, Grisham was quiet, and the channel hummed with faint background interference. “If there’s something down there, find it and kill it if you can. I’ve read your records, Sergeant Maxwell and there’s no one better for a job like this.” He exhaled, like he’d been holding in his breath. “The evidence suggests those people on Xaros brought this on themselves. That doesn’t mean we should let mass murder go unpunished.”

  Maxwell had mixed feelings on the subject that he wasn’t ready to explore. “My priority is to keep my soldiers alive, sir.”

  “I know. My crew and I will go hunting for that shuttle. I’ll deploy the Marauder’s comms relays in orbit – that way the comms will function when we’re blind side of your position. Good luck, Sergeant.”

  The channel went dead. For several long seconds, Maxwell stared into the distance.

  “I take it the Marauder isn’t coming?” said Fleming.

  “No. You were right, Private. Whatever attacked this compound, Captain Grisham won’t risk it getting onto the Marauder.”

  “Then—”

  Maxwell raised a hand to halt the question. “I’ll explain it on the comms, to save having to repeat myself.”

  The telling didn’t take long, and the complaints and protestations were muted. Maxwell wasn’t surprised – these soldiers had seen enough of combat to accept when they’d been dealt a bad hand and to just get on with the job of living.

  “I reckon we’re looking at four or five days for the outbound comm to reach base,” said Barkley. “There are faster warships in the fleet than the Marauder, but it’ll take time to call one in, or – if we’re lucky and there’s a vessel ready to go on a base somewhere - send it into lightspeed. I’m guessing on ten days minimum. More likely twelve.”

  “Unless Captain Grisham finds that shuttle,” said Lyles. “Though maybe I’d rather spend twelve days here on Xaros than sleep on a transport.”

  “What happens next, Sergeant?” asked Corporal Fine. “Are we continuing our search of the compound, or are keeping our heads down and hoping nothing comes looking for us?”

  Maxwell was in two minds, but given the recent events, he wanted a break and a chance to think. And maybe another plate of those scrambled eggs. “We’re returning to B-22,” he said.

  A short jog across the landing pad and the open space to the east brought a reunion with Barkley and Lowe. Before heading into the alley between the accommodation buildings, Maxwell turned once more to look at the shuttles. As he did so, the wall-mounted repeater turret to the north caught his eye. Those perimeter guns hadn’t done the previous inhabitants of the compound any favours and Maxwell asked himself if their track-and-destroy functionality was activated.

  “Change of plan,” he said. “We’re taking a look at that gun up there.”

  The closest way to the top was back towards the shuttle pad, though Maxwell didn’t mind the exercise. Metal steps with a high side railing led up the wall near the landing pad’s northern end and he climbed rapidly. The wall was hollow, but it was strong enough to stop anything that wasn’t equipped with explosives.

  At the top, Maxwell was granted a view not only across the compound, but into the jungle as well. The trees were densely packed, and he counted numerous different types, their broad trunks a variety of browns and reds, while their leaves were lush green. Although the canopy was thick, it hadn’t prevented the appearance of undergrowth and the ground was covered in plants large and small. He watched for a short time, and once or twice saw rustling hints of movement, though whatever was responsible remained hidden.

  “I never did like trees,” said Lowe.

  Maxwell wasn’t sure if the man was joking and he didn’t ask. He turned and swept his gaze across the compound. The wall was a fraction higher than the accommodation prefabs and he could see the flat roofs all the way across to the far wall, except for where his view was blocked by the larger structures, including the central storage prefab.

  Dragging his attention back to the repeater, Maxwell headed along the three-metre-wide top of the wall. A metre-high parapet on his left was topped by a railing intended to stop pioneers – who had perhaps vended too much alcohol from the replicator - falling to their deaths on the ground below.

  The repeater was two-point-five metres high and similarly wide. It hummed softly on its rotating pedestal and six barrels protruded from the sloped forward face. Those barrels were currently aimed towards the jungle, and the gun itself was certainly programmed so that it could never fire directly into the compound itself. A status panel on the flat rear plating of the repeater was showing text.

  “It’s active,” said Maxwell. He tapped the screen, hoping to access the command menu. “Not authorised. If this gun discharged anytime recently, we’ll have to wait for the security controller to unlock before we can access those records. I can’t even get a damned ammunition reading.”

  “At least we know it’ll shoot anything that comes out of that jungle,” said Lowe.

  “How do we know that whatever’s in this compound didn’t come out of the jungle?” asked Fleming, staring across the trees. “We’re only assuming the CES called it in with their comms unit. What if we’re facing the planet’s apex predator?”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?” said Lowe.

  Fleming shrugged. “Maybe. If something came to Xaros, where’s its spaceship?”

  “The Marauder’s sensors can’t detect this new alien, so why would our hardware be any better at detecting whatever it rode in on?” asked Lowe. He pointed upwards. “There could be something right over our heads, watching our every move, and we wouldn’t even know about it.”

  Despite himself, Maxwell’s eyes flicked upwards. The sky was empty, but he had Lowe’s words in his mind now.

  “What do you reckon, Sergeant?” asked Barkley.

  “If there was an alien spaceship watching us, I reckon we’d be dead already,” said Maxwell. “But thinking about it is only going to screw with our heads, so let’s not talk about it any longer.”

  The soldiers took the hint.

  “Are we going to check out those other perimeter guns, Sergeant?” asked Valerio.

  Maxwell stared at the next gun, three hundred metres further along the wall. Walking the entire perimeter of the compound would take time and he had a feeling that each of the guns would be set to track and destroy.

  “One more turret,” said Maxwell. “If it’s active, I’ll assume all the others are too.”

  Suddenly impatient, he jogged along the wall. On his right, the compound was all straight lines, the colours drab, even in full daylight. To his left, the forest was a thousand greens and browns, doubtless home to endless species of alien life. The contrast couldn’t have been greater, yet to Maxwell’s eye, the danger seemed equal in both jungle and compound.

  Arriving at the next turret, his breathing was deep, though his heart rate fell rapidly as he slowed.

  “Track and destroy active,” said Maxwell, reading the display.

  He turned his gaze towards the compound. B-22 was somewhere among the anonymous sea of grey accommodation blocks, and it took Maxwell a few moments to identify it with absolute certainty. One of the larger structures was north of B-22 and east of the squad’s position on the wall.

  Valerio caught Maxwell’s gaze. “Maybe we should return to the others, Sergeant. We know the shuttles are broken – do we need to go digging through these other buildings? What if we run into something?”

  Maxwell’s eye went to the time readout on his HUD. It was later than he’d expected and the morning was passing. He guessed B-19 would take an hour or more to search thoroughly. After that, were other prefabs – many of them.

  He cursed inwardly. All the soldiers needed to do was keep their heads down and wait for backup, even if that backup was a long way off. And yet, that sense of duty, that rope around his neck, was still calling on him to find out what had happened here on Xaros – what appeared in fact to still be happening.

  “We’re searching B-19, Corporal.”

  Valerio didn’t say anything other than to acknowledge the order and his expression gave nothing away. “Yes, sir.”

  The squad descended the nearest steps to ground level and Maxwell immediately felt enclosed. He also felt the Marauder’s absence, even though the warship had so far been of little use to the ground mission. The idea that an alien vessel might be overhead was still in the back of his mind, though he refused to let it bother him.

  A few minutes later, Maxwell called a halt at one of the entrances to B-19. Without knowing why, he had a feeling that something was wrong, and he ordered the squad to additional caution.

  The darkness beyond the airlock was unwelcome after the brightness of the outside sunlight and the beam from Maxwell’s flashlight seemed hardly to penetrate. He saw desks and computers like in the other prefabs, but these ones had been overturned, and liberally spattered with spraying blood – blood which had turned brown and become cracked where it had dried and hardened.

  Then, he saw the first body, on the floor left of the airlock.

  “Shit,” Maxwell said, as his eyes spotted a second corpse. “Looks like we found some of the others.”

  Beckoning his squad to follow, he entered the room. The light switch was close to the door and Maxwell activated it with his finger. Harsh blue illumination dispelled the darkness. A couple of the soldiers cursed at the sights, though Maxwell kept his lips tight together.

  This room had likely once been another of the day-to-day admin areas for the compound, with dimensions of twenty metres by fifteen. With the benefit of the light, Maxwell could see that the computer desks hadn’t merely been overturned – they’d been crushed like those in B-22.

  Other hardware had been installed in the room – consoles from the looks of it – all of which had been ripped out and thrown against the two side walls.