Her rifle barks in controlled three-round bursts, each shot placed with surgical precision. She’s not aiming for center mass—their shields and armor can take that. She’s aiming for the gaps. Joint articulations. Power couplings. The vulnerable spots where even the best armor has to compromise between protection and mobility.
An elite’s shield generator explodes in a shower of sparks. Another one’s helmet visor cracks. A third drops, clutching at the severed power cable dangling from his thigh.
“Nice shot!” Suki calls over the thunder of weapons fire.
“Thanks!” I duck as return fire sizzles overhead. “We got some practice coordinating during the chase. Turns out fighting together is excellent foreplay!”
“Oh, I know!” Suki laughs. “Nothing gets Henrok going like watching me handle heavy weapons!”
“Suki!”
“What? We’re fighting for our lives! Might as well make conversation!”
More elites pour through the breach. Six. Eight. Ten. They’re not stopping, not slowing, just flowing into the room like a black tide. One of them is hauling a heavy repeater cannon—the kind designed to cut through fortified positions in seconds.
“Vex’ra!” Suki shouts. “Little help!”
The violet-skinned warrior rises from her position near the Relay, her rifle already tracking targets. She fires once, twice, and two more elites drop. But there are too many. They’re spreading out now, using their numbers to flank us, and their personal shields are eating most of our shots.
One of Henrok’s honor guards—a massive Zaterran with obsidian-dark skin and crystalline veins that glow bright amber—steps out to engage. His armor deflects three shots, four, and he brings up his weapon, a massive thing that looks like it could punch holes in starships—
An EMP grenade detonates at his feet.
The effect is instantaneous and horrible. His crystalline armor, which seconds ago was glowing with inner light and stopping plasma fire cold, goesdark. Dead. Inert. The Zaterran staggers, suddenly unprotected, vulnerable in a way his species hasn’t been vulnerable in combat for centuries.
A Meridian elite puts three rounds through his chest before he can even raise his weapon.
The warrior falls, his crystalline blood spreading across the obsidian floor in pools that catch the emergency lighting like shattered rubies.
“Shit,” Suki hisses, pulling back behind cover. “Their tech is specifically designed to counter Zaterran defenses. EMP bursts, frequency scramblers—this is a bad matchup for us.”
“Then we even the odds.” I look at the terminal where Zip is connected, his interface glowing steady green. “Zip! That gravity trick you mentioned—can you do it now?”
“GIVE ME TEN SECONDS TO ISOLATE THE CORRIDOR SECTION. THE ZATERRAN CODE IS ELEGANT BUT PARANOID. SEVEN LAYERS OF SECURITY FOR ENVIRONMENTAL CONTROLS. WHO DOES THAT?”
“People who’ve been invaded before,” Suki mutters, firing another burst. “Hurry, Zip!”
The Meridian elites are setting up their heavy repeater near the breach, two of them assembling it with practiced efficiency while the others lay down covering fire. That cannon will tear through our position in seconds. We’ll be cut to pieces.
“I HAVE ISOLATED THE SECTION,” Zip announces. “AWAITING YOUR COMMAND, CAPTAIN.”
The heavy repeater’s power core begins to glow. Charging. Ten seconds until it’s ready to fire. Maybe less.
“Now, Zip! Do it now!”
“GRAVITY,” Zip says, and I swear I can hear satisfaction in his synthesized voice, “IS SUCH A FICKLE MISTRESS.”
The gravity plating in the corridor section flickers—and then reverses.
The effect is spectacular.
One moment, the Meridian elites are crouched in tactical positions, professional and deadly and completely in control. The next, they’re tumblingupward, arms pinwheeling, weapons spinning free. The heavy repeater cannon floats up with them,its operators frantically grabbing for it and each other and finding only air.
They’re screaming. I can hear it even through their helmets—surprise, fear, the primal terror of suddenly having no up or down, no reference point, nothing solid beneath your feet.
“Duck hunt!” Suki crows, and we rise from cover together, moving in perfect sync like we used to in the old days.
It’s not a fight anymore. It’s target practice.
