Chapter One
DISPATCHED
"South is a back breaker."

Purple haze glows as sunrise glints through the twisted rubble of an annihilated strategic governmental base, another target in the growing tally of brutal terrorist bombings. Alerted by the abrupt loss of communications with the outpost, Military Headquarters has dispatched a response team. They will find what they have come to expect in recent weeks.

The Extricater, a mid-sized, deep-space vehicle of the InterGalactic United Military, drops into a low, decaying orbit around the pocked, mauve planet. Destination: the Solarex Research and Development Colony.

The pilot, Lieutenant Ssyxok, a rare serpent-being from a remote region of the galaxy, guides the emergency salvage ship through the remains of a space station. Two humans, Private Mish Lorradoes and Private Harold Nypelles, manipulate mechanical arms that extend from the bow of the ship. These appendages allow them to deflect dangerous chunks of debris away from the vessel. Smaller scraps rebound off the Extricater's armored hull.

Captain Salata South, the mission commander, sits behind the reinforced Stalwart Glass(tm) of the ship's lower observation deck. Rubbing a hand through his short-cropped hair, he stares out at the wreckage drifting just beyond the glass. Senseless waste. He takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. His assignment to take over the investigation of the terrorist attacks came down two days ago. His predecessor, Captain Oswald Beethoven, has disappeared under questionable circumstances after probing the recent destruction of a Space Commission Resource Recovery station. All of Beethoven's notes went with him, so South has had to start fresh and blind.

"We're coming up to the thick of it, sssir," hisses the sibilant voice of Ssyxok from South's Commucon Stay-Close(tm) personal communication device.

"Any indication from the planet's surface?" queries South.

"No contact. The wreckage ssspreadsss all the way to the ssstratosssphere."

"Take us down to the surface, Lieutenant."

Standing, South ponders the charred scraps hanging outside the ship. His finger absently traces an angry scar that emerges from above his hairline, travels down his forehead, alongside his nose, bisects his mustache and lip, rounds his chin, creases his throat, and disappears under the collar of his gray uniform. The scar pulses a deep red.

The ship's intercom chimes: "All personnel prepare for planet fall. Please secure your belongings, extinguish all smoking material, and proceed to your Magno Chairs."

South pulls himself from the observation deck into the ship's main corridor. The crew is dispersing, scrambling for their seats. Ducking through the forward bulkhead, he steps onto the bridge to take his place behind the pilot.

The first officer, Lieutenant Arvo Giddy, an angular, head-strong human with flaming red hair, sits to South's right. Wincing at the sight of the scarlet scar, Giddy acknowledges the Captain. South breaks the brief eye-contact and engages the force field of his Magno Command Chair(tm).

"The crew's ready, Captain South," Giddy reports, staring at South's profile.

"Good, the moment we touch down I want a full reconnaissance for survivors, and an analysis of exactly what happened."

"Aye, sir. But it won't reveal anything new."

South turns to glare at Giddy, his scar beginning to throb at the Lieutenant's apparent insubordination. "Are you in charge of this investigation, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir." Giddy holds South's stare.

"I didn't think so."

"But I was with Captain Beethoven for most of his tour of duty, sir. Except that they're some kind of mega-bomb, no real evidence has
ever––"

"Beethoven obviously didn't try hard enough!"

Giddy clenches his teeth. South returns his attention to the green scales on the back of Lieutenant Ssyxok's head.

Giddy watches his new commander, eyeing the badge of a Stellar Crak Reconnaissance Team commander on South's uniform sleeve. They're pulling out the big guns. Somebody in command must be tightening the reins on the investigation. Sure, there have been problems with the way it's been handled, that's nothing new. But a Stellar Crak Reconnaissance Team commander? He'd be second only to a Frak Crak Assault Squad leader in conspicuous pigheadedness. Reasoning with this guy will be impossible.

Giddy senses that this trip is going to be just another waste of time, in a long string of time-wasting trips. To hell with it, the pay is good. It'll just be a bitch trying to keep cool under this clown.

The Extricater rages through the purple gases of the atmosphere, ripping down to the planet's surface. Its two external arms are folded into recesses along the stubby hull to avoid being torn off during the final stages of descent.

"Nearing the ground bassse now, Captain," informs Ssyxok.

South watches a three-dimensional Holo-Vis(tm) projection of their approach. As they close on the smoldering remains of the outpost, he takes note of the excessive amount of general, everyday garbage that litters the area.

"Set us down, Ssyxok," orders South. "Giddy, take a squad into the station core."

"The core?!" Giddy throws an astonished look to his commander. "It may still be hot."

South keeps his attention riveted to the Holo-Vis(tm) display. "You can tell us for sure."

The Extricater touches down just beyond the perimeter of the destroyed outpost. The descent-braking AttiTooters(tm) blast dust and debris into a dirty, purple cloud around the ship.

South's voice booms over the ship's intercom: "Suit up people, the atmosphere may be contaminated with toxic gas pockets and radiation, so be careful. And let's find out what the hell caused this. Overlook nothing. I want results!"

The three five-soldier squads, Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie, suit up and scramble to the airlock. As they begin to cycle through, Giddy enters the receiving area, adjusting his gloves. He turns to the Bravo squad, made up of Sergeant Shenk, Private Dysson, Private Purma, and Engineer Kupper.

"We're checking out the core, folks," he informs.

"The core?!" blurts Shenk.

"That's crazy," says Kupper, hefting her tool pack.

Giddy shrugs. "South is a back breaker," he offers as an apology. "He's got it in for us."

Sergeant Shenk casts a sideways glance at him, knowing that the only person Captain South has it in for is Giddy. And now the whole squad will pay for it. He exhales sharply, understanding that orders are orders.

It's their turn in the airlock. Giddy and the Bravo squad cycle through, hitting the planet's surface.

"All three sssquadsss dissspatched, sir," informs Ssyxok, on the bridge.

"Good." South rises, pulling on his own protective suit. "Lorradoes, stay with Ssyxok and collate the data as it comes in. Nypelles, suit up, grab a weapon, and meet me in the airlock."

The young Private Harold Nypelles supplies a snappy salute, then disappears through the hatchway. South holsters a Junior Hand Cannon(tm) to his hip.

"Ssyxok, you're in charge."

Pulling on his helmet, Captain Salata South ducks through the bulkhead and heads for the airlock.

Lieutenant Arvo Giddy leads his squad over the strewn wreckage of the base. They pick their way through the crumbled entrance of a flattened sheet-metal processing plant and traverse a twisted catwalk that, at one time, spanned the plant's main bay. They wend their way between the massive rolling mills and blow-presses, now silent and askew on their foundations. If the squad wasn't isolated from the atmosphere by their protective suits they would catch whiffs of putrefaction: the decaying bodies of the workers that lie pinched beneath the rubble.

"Core," groans Engineer Kupper, "there isn't any core left."

"I know it," agrees Giddy. He motions for the squad to hold up. Pulling out his BringClose Terrain-Scanning Amplifier(tm), he surveys the surrounding deep purple ruins. The enhanced image is grisly. "If we keep going this way, we're heading into a major radiation nightmare."

"Well, let's not go that way," suggests Sergeant Shenk.

"Yeah," echoes Private Purma.

Giddy pans the BringClose along another demolished building complex in the distance, stopping at a vacant landing field beyond. What the hell? Increasing the magnification on the scanner reveals a charred Monstrous Indestructo Sani-Containment Bin(tm), lying on its side, on the field.

"What do you see?" asks Kupper.

"Something is not right over there," answers Giddy, pointing. "Let's check it out."

South and Nypelles advance along a roadway toward what used to be the Colony Records Library. Massive chunks of space station and various projectiles have riddled the ground with craters. As with the other such bombings, the initial concussions level the landscape, then the junk comes crashing down.

Salata South climbs the three steps to the main door of the library foundations. The building is now a large pit filled with the rubble of a two-story structure. He grimaces at the sight. The computer systems have been crushed beyond use, the magnetic storage scrambled by the electromagnetic pulses of the explosions, and the paper records have gone up in flames. It will take months of piecing together the scraps to find anything useful.

"What do you think, Harry?" South asks, turning to Nypelles. "Do we waste our time sifting through this mess?"

"I don't know that there will be much to find in here, sir." Nypelles straightens, purses his lips. "Why don't we stand back and see what we can discern from the big picture."

"Yes, I have to agree with you." South lifts his eyes, scans the horizon. "Let's see if we can get a better view from up there," he says, noting a low promontory a half-kilometer away.

Nypelles nods and follows South down the library steps.

Lieutenant Arvo Giddy jogs the last few meters to the Monstrous Indestructo Sani-Containment Bin(tm). The five humans are dwarfed beside the gigantic garbage container.

"What the hell is a Sani-Bin doing down here on the surface?!" remarks Engineer Kupper.

"My question exactly," returns Giddy. "I don't know much about the Garbage Code, but I do know that it is illegal to bring these things down. And one hell of a feat to maneuver them in gravity, at any rate."

Private Purma pipes up: "Could it have fallen out of orbit?"

The four others slowly turn to look at Purma. He swallows sheepishly.

Private Dysson seizes the opportunity to display his superior knowledge of re-entry physics: "If you would observe the bin a little more closely, Private Purma, you would notice that it lacks the telltale scorch patterns of re-entry friction with the atmosphere. As we all know, any object subjected to the temperatures created during such a re-entry would, in fact, be vaporized. Unless, of course, it was made of material specifically engineered to withstand the veritable hellfire, which I might add, this bin isn't since it was never designed to be brought to a planet's surface."

Private Dysson beams with self-confidence, glancing smartly to his other companions.

"For your information, Private," replies Giddy, "something this large would probably make it through the atmosphere, but it would most likely resemble a metallic pancake at the bottom of a kilometer wide crater!"

Private Dysson feels his face flush. He shifts is gaze to a point on the horizon.

"The only way this thing could get here in this condition is to have been placed here," Giddy continues. "Someone has taken great pains to bring it down intact."

"Excuse me, Lieutenant," says Sergeant Shenk, in an effort to diffuse the tension. "Should we report this find to the Extricater?"

A smirk draws across Giddy's face. "Nah, let's just open it. We're supposed to be in the core, anyway. We don't want that asshole, South, to string us up on a bullshit charge, do we? If we find something big here, which I suspect, then maybe no one will notice we missed the core."

The Sergeant shrugs.

"Kupper," orders Giddy, "get this thing open!"

South and Nypelles arrive at the summit of the low bluff, formerly a small, wooded park in the suburbs of the now flattened town. The pair clamber over the fallen trees, their feet stirring small clouds from the ash-covered terrain. Climbing onto a boulder, they survey the sprawling carnage.

"Son of a Nauga-nymph," exclaims South. "I've never seen such devastation first-hand. Have the others been like this?"

"For the most part. This one's a little worse."

"Give me the BringClose Terrain-Scanning Amplifier."

Nypelles reaches into his utility pack, pulls out the device. South presses it to his helmet faceplate and looks at the display, scanning the horizon for clues.

Engineer Kupper tweaks the sensitivity controls of her Hydrasonic Oscillating Seal Overrider(tm). As the device vibrates, clunking noises issue from the internal locking mechanism of the bin.

"How much longer?" asks Giddy, pacing.

"Almost there, sir," replies Kupper, making an adjustment to the tool.

Thunk!

"Done."

"All right, let's get this pig open. Dysson, Purma, get your backs into it," commands Giddy, stepping away from the bin to allow the large door to open.

The pair tap a pry bar into the door seam. The five-story lid looms over the tiny beings. They heave on the bar, the apparent vacuum within the bin offering resistance.

"Come on guys, make some room." Giddy steps in, adding his strength to that of the two privates. They pull with no results. "Kupper, Shenk, get in here."

Together, the five-member squad reef on the bar.

Fwhoop!

The door relents as the bin's seal is ruptured.

KAWHUMP!!!

Nypelles starts at the sudden flash on the horizon.

SMACK!

South and Nypelles are bowled over by the shock-wave of the explosion. Visors purpled with soot, they tumble through the ash toward the edge of the bluff.

On board the Extricater, Ssyxok stares down at the pinned readouts in disbelief.

"SSSeisssmic! Magno Chairsss now!" He slaps at the control on his chair.

Private Lorradoes looks to the view port, catches the tail of the blinding flash. He steps for his chair––

SLAMMM!

The wave passes through the ship, heaving the hull, straining its landing, gear. One of the struts snaps and the nose of the ship pitches forward.

Inside, Lorradoes is tossed, spine first, against the corner of the console. Ssyxok flails to restrain him, but the Private ricochets into the forward Stalwart Glass(tm).

Nypelles manages to grab a rock outcrop, stopping his fall. Not so lucky, South is driven off the bluff. There is a sickening snap as he lands hard in the scree below. His left leg is neatly folded in a place with no hinge.

"Aaauuuggghhh!!"

Disoriented, Nypelles wipes at his faceplate, searching for his commander. "Captain South! Where are you?"

"Down here."

Nypelles crawls to the edge of the low cliff, peers down at the bent form of South. "Hang on, sir!"

* * *

There is a small puff of scented air as the noiseless hydraulics of the AutoDoc(tm) medical repair unit raises its lid. South pulls his stiff, but mended, body out of the life saving machine. He glances over at the other unit. Private Lorradoes is visible through its glass window.

The door to sick bay whisks open permitting Ssyxok to enter. "Captain SSSouth. You are well, I trussst?"

"I'm fine." Salata flexes his leg, trying to loosen it up. "What the hell hit us?"

"Apparently an unexsssploded bomb wasss triggered. We've lossst all three sssquadsss, sssir."

"Great," South sighs. "Any other damage?"

"The ssship took a beating. Private Nypellesss isss asssesssing it now."

"Remind me to thank him."

South limps out of sick bay, pausing at a view port. The ruined ruins of the Solarex Colony sprawl, smoking, around the ship. Through the protective glass, Captain Salata South scans the destruction. Complete annihilation, no clues and no one claiming responsibility… yet. He slams his fist down on the stainless-steel window sill. In the distance a whirling dust devil whistles past, scouring the ground.