Through the forest clearing, the steep mountain face looms before me. Getting close now. The adrenaline kicks in as the thrill of the hunt engulfs me. The wind all but died and I can feel the faint smell of fuel in the hot and humid air. It’s quiet, the occasional forest sound booms like thunder in my ears.



The leaves of the old tree rustle slightly, as a sudden gust of wind passes through them. I look up expectantly, standing by for my ally to arrive. A long minute later, the first drops of rain start falling. I smile, leaning against the tree trunk while I wait for the inevitable downpour. Now, nobody’s going to hear me coming. The rain is my ally.



Feeling the cold water dripping on my brow takes me back almost 15 years, to the first time I ever set foot on this planet. It was a day just like this one, just like every single day here…rainy. But I wasn’t smiling then. The rain wasn’t my ally.



I remember the fear of crashing, the panic catching hold of me as I clawed my way out of the Hornet wreckage. The rain poured mercilessly as I ran, as if conspiring with the Vanduul raiders. I have no idea how long I had been running, tripping and stumbling through the overgrowth, fearful of every shadow, before I finally fell down on my knees, exhausted. Looking up in despair, I caught a glimpse of the most beautiful sight: a hundred Hornets breaking through the clouds, the mighty fist of the UEE Navy, coming down from above to crush the raiders. I stared at the sky, the small part of it I could see through the trees, and I felt hope. The cavalry had arrived. I was going to live… That was my mistake. He could have shot me right then. He could have sneaked behind me and planted his ceremonial knife right between my shoulder blades. But he wanted the glorious kill. That was his mistake.



Now… I have his knife. People think I won it in a bloody duel, fighting with the Vanduul warrior until the last breath. Let them think that, it’s better than the real story. As I think about the past, I find myself reaching for the knife instinctively, touching the hilt of the old Vanduul blade. It serves as a constant reminder: “kill quickly and do it quietly, before the enemy even knows you were there”.



That’s the plan, I think to myself as I push away from the tree trunk, starting the final approach… As expected, the rain has sent everybody inside, except for the sentries patrolling the perimeter. That’s perfect, I don’t plan to break in, I’ll just wait for him to come out for his nightly routine. The winding path between the shacks and the improvised hangar is the perfect place to take him down.



And now, patience…



I hear their footsteps long before I see their faces. “Three of them, not two”, I think to myself a little uneasy, peering through the leaves in expectation. Heavy, unsure footsteps, stumbling through the mud. Pilots, not locals.



As the first shape comes into sight, I recognize my target. The scars going down from his temple all the way to his neck confirm it’s him, even in the low light. The other two mercs follow behind him: medium builds, light armor, weapons holstered.



I hold my breath and let them walk by… one step… two steps… three steps…then I silently move out of my hiding spot, every step carefully weighed, perfectly placed along the path I cleared earlier; no twigs to crack, no rocks to kick, no ponds to splash. It lets me keep my eyes on them, follow their movements, study their flow, catch their rhythm. Every step I take, in perfect unison with my target.



THUM…

THUM…

THUM…



Slash! Thum, thum, Slash! Thum, thum, Slash! I roll to the side, pull my suppressed sidearm and turn around just as the first body hits the ground in a muffled thump. The other two follow quickly. My knifework always gets the job done, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared for the worst.



I listen hard for a second, but can’t hear anything other than the rain, pouring constantly, undisturbed by the final struggles of what used to be the most feared Cutlass pilot in the system.



“Not with a bang, but a whimper”, I think to myself, looking down at the recently expired merc. I holster my sidearm, grateful I didn’t need to use it, and quickly certify the identity of the target. I should do it for the other two as well, before I clear the bodies from the path. They may have had bounties on their heads too. And now I’m good to go, before anyone even knows I was here. Just the way I like it.



The trek back to the Ghost has taken longer than expected, but even so, I plan to be long gone before anyone finds the bodies. As I climb into the cockpit I notice an incoming voice transmission, a small light flashing urgently on my Mobiglass.



“Blake, are you there?” a heavily distorted voice blurts at me through the speaker. After all these years, even with the shitty quality of the audio signal, I recognize his voice immediately.

“If you’re calling about those creds, Damon…forget about it! I know you were cheating.” I reply jokingly. Everybody in our unit knew he was cheating at cards, we just couldn’t catch him. And nobody had the balls to call him on it...

“If you’d actually think I’m calling for those creds, you’d be looking over your shoulder right now.” The metallic voice mocks me through the speakers. I laugh loudly, but half turn nonetheless, only to see the forests receding in the distance as the Ghost keeps gaining altitude.

“I need your help, Blake. Are you still tight with your Advocacy sources?”

I can hear the tone change, and feel the smile disappear from my face. Lieutenant Commander Damon Hunter asking for help… The shit must have really hit the fan.

“You got it, Damon, I’m on my way...”





