The smell of death.
She would always know that smell. Her eyes started to water, for she didn’t have to get much closer to find out what happened.
She wouldn’t have to ask any questions.
Sheknew.
The Terrans had wiped out this village when the shields were down. They’d come in behind when no one was looking and waited. Probably on the backside of the gas giant, waiting for the moment to strike. And the ambassadorial ship being blown up was plenty of ignition to warrant an attack.
Fear and anger fueled her charge toward the village, not caring if she left a path in the jungle.
She had to see what was left.
“Veta, wait,” Wrathin said.
She shook her head. “I have to go. I have to know who lived,” she said.
Who was left.
Someone would have survived. Managed to stay out of harm’s way. Just enough to tell the tale of what happened. Terrans liked that. Leaving a few survivors to tell the events to any rescue squads. Let their dominance be described just so there would be no doubt who did it. It was a standard procedure with the Terran army. No matter who they fought—aliens or their own rebelling factions.
It increased the fear and reduced the fighting back.
Fear was a helluva way to control the masses.
She almost ran down the hill, finding a path that led straight into the town. She pulled her blade, held it at the ready, just in case she needed it.
But it was unnecessary.
She ran between two buildings, both of which had huge holes blasted in the sides.
Wrathin caught her.
He made this hiss-growl sound as he came to the main center of the little settlement.
Rhimodian bodies littered the ground.
Many beheaded.
Veta could almost hear a trainer, from when she first was placed in the Terran military.
The easiest way to make sure the Rhimodians didn’t heal—remove their heads. No amount of cyborg tech will sew the head back on.
Her stomach roiled, and she covered her mouth.
Everywhere she turned, there were bodies. They covered the ground. They’d attempted to hold their own, but they weren’t strong enough. Or they weren’t prepared for a Terran force to land on this little moon.
Standing the middle of the chaos, it was real. And it took her back. Back to a place she didn’t want to visit ever again.
She didn’t think she spoke, but she must have said something, because the next thing she knew, Wrathin wrapped his big arms around her again and held her close.
“They’re dead,” she whispered.
“My scans confirm it,” Wrathin replied.
She glanced at him. “How many?”
“Seventy-two are dead. Farmers and miners. No survivors.”
