CHAPTER
ONE
ARC
The sky isthat shade of yellow that humans call goldenrod, and someone—somewhere—is screaming.
It’s not the wind cutting through the glacial valley. I don’t hear it with my ears. These screams are in someone else’s head… and I don’t know wheretheyare.
Dawn hasn’t fully broken, but even in the strangely amber darkness, I can’t see anyone or anything that might be makingthat sound.
I kill my bike’s engine, as if that matters, and pull my gun from my thigh. The click of the mechanical release is a welcome sound. I know where it’s coming from.
The Zone doesn’t leave many places to hide, and as I peer through the scope, scanning the ice turned green by the slowly rising suns, I know I won’t find them.
Because the screams have changed, and…we’re going to crash.
I jerk my head up as a ship punches through the darkness. Fire and smoke paint a dark gash across the sky.
Mangled metal, crumpled and burning. The ship is missing an aileron on its remaining wing, its nose is punched in, and the silence from the engines makes it clear there’s no saving it.
Cursing, I pull my helmet back on, the visor blooming to life with readouts and a trajectory map. It’s going to land in the Zone… not great, but better than other options.
No record of ownership pops up—it’s not an Agency ship, thank the Saints—no military markings. Definitely not a pleasure craft. But it is Sian-made. A cargo hauler?
I watch it, knowing there’s nothing I can do.
When it skims past me, I’ll follow it to its demise and see if I can dig out any survivors.
For now… I hit the comm and ignore the imagery in the left half of my visor.
“Are you seeing this?” I ask when Drift picks up.
“Seeing—” The curse that interrupts his question is answer enough.
The ship’s rapid descent hasn’t put out the fire. If anything, it’s fueled the flames.
“I’ll follow it down, but it looks like it’s going to land in Breaker’s section. Give Sparky a heads up?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He disconnects and I say, “no rush” under my breath.
An explosion tears out the back of the ship, and thicker, smokier plumes billow from it as the dark hull hurtles past me.
The ship starts to fracture… no, that’s not right.
Apiecedetached.
My visor tracks it, providing measurements I don’t need before it gives me a clear picture of the thing tumbling out of the smoky sky.
An escape pod.
But only one.
The nexus link in my visor has finally found the type of ship.
Small cargo hauler. Obsolete design. Minimum crew of seven.
