A luminous storm brewed on the rocky planet underneath. Yellow lightning bolts attacked the ground with furious eagerness, kicking up an impressive sandstorm. The airborne sands met the stormclouds in battle over the planet’s skyline, mixing and struggling for supremacy. Amon’s breath caught in his throat as he gazed at the brown and purple colors swirling into a powerful vortex right before his eyes.

  It was a beautiful death. Nothing could survive those powerful blasts unless they were deep underground and could endure the planet’s oppressive gravity. From this far away, he was still unsure.

  Amon was certain then that Hic’Evol hadn’t sprung as an offspring of the local populations. Since none were looking up at the two moons from the highlighted planet below. It was either strategically placed in a star system that saw lots of traffic and needed a sanctuary or the polar opposite. Far off and isolated to hide those who never wanted to be found.

  Since they were dealing with pirates, he was more inclined to bet on the latter.

  It had been some time since Captain Gilmorian Rhen disembarked and made his way into the city, accompanied by two companies of Marines. In contrast, the others remained inside Concordia GG, docked in a particularly tall skyscraper. They were neither on high alert nor slouching; they were simply waiting for the Captain’s return. It was certainly dull, however, and Amon had taken the chance to observe the planet below from the reinforced viewing windows on the upper levels of the Dreadnought.

  Observing the planet’s majestic performance with his own eyes rather than from the impersonal camera feeds had given him a brain kick. Considering the soft gasps coming from beside him, Tommy seemed to agree.

  “It's–it's beautiful,” Tommy said, starstruck. “Maybe one of the most impressive planets I’ve had the chance to see from up close.”

  “You’ve never been to Cerebrus’s first system? This looks somewhat familiar, similar to C1L.” Ella cheered, grinning at the view. Amon remembered that Ella had started as crew in a spacefreighter before being forced to join the SFC. She had possibly seen more of their galaxy than any of them combined.

  “What’s making the clouds purple? An argon-based atmosphere?” Jackey asked.

  “There certainly is some Argon, yes. And there is water, too. It could be terraformed if not for the heavy gravity, which makes it somewhat unworthy of the effort,” Amon replied, rubbing his chin and drawing on his techphysics knowledge. There were surely easier planets to terraform in the galaxy, and they were still on the outskirts of the Milky Way; they had seen almost nothing of it yet.

  Having had his fill of the view, Amon’s gaze turned to his friends. Gardenia, behind them, was looking at her feet, lost in thought. He noticed and stepped back to her level.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Amon asked her, which brought her swiftly out of her musings.

  “S–Sergeant–”

  “None of that when it's just us. Call me Amon,” He told her for the hundredth time, smiling wide. Despite the time spent with their close bonded group, there was still some awkwardness between them. Only Ella’s stubborn playfulness had somewhat broken down the walls Gardenia had built around herself. Bunking together must have helped, too.

  “Yes–Amon.”

  “Is something bothering you? I’m here to talk if you want to,” Amon said in a hushed voice, leaning closer.

  “Yes? Thank you, but it is nothing.” Gardenia replied, taking a small step back. She averted her eyes, only glancing at him briefly as if to confirm he was still looking her way.

  “Well, anytime. Keep it in your mind, it's not a bother at all,” Amon told her, pressing his lips together this time.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  The rotation of Hic’Evol drifted the planet away from their viewing window, and devoid of entertainment, the group of friends dragged their feet back down to the Marine level. There wasn’t much to do but wait for orders, so when the speaker’s battleship-wide alert announced their new tasks, every Marine rushed to suit up.

  Commander Jin, wearing his black and grey biosuit, came in last as the A300 company assembled and waited in one of the battleship’s holds. With their slick black facemasks on and blasters fixed to their hips, the 100 men and women were certainly a sight to behold.

  It took Jin Karf moments to explain what was what. They were ordered out into the city, accompanying him to run errands for the Captain. Captain Gilmorian had not returned yet but had sent instructions to the bridge officers, informing the crew what was expected of them.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Amon read through the instructions on the bridge log, frowning at the orders. Of the 10 companies stationed on the ship, two had already left accompanying the Captain, and three, including themselves, were now sent to run errands. Five would remain onboard to guard the Dreadnought.

  Sending three whole companies to run errands? Amon thought over the implications. Was Hic’Evol so dangerous in the Captain's eyes? Why had they come to this place? And who in the void was the Captain meeting for so long?

  Before he could think of any answer to his questions, Commander Jin guided them outside. More like guided them inside the city since disembarking the battleship brought them face-to-face with a large cargo elevator. When its silver metallic doors opened, Amon saw that it was large enough to hold the whole company and would still have some space vacant.

  Commander Jin strode inside, stopped by the control panel, and waited for the rest of the Marines to hop in. Amon pointedly went to stand beside him.

  “Commander,” Amon saluted.

  “Sergeant,” Commander Jin replied stiffly.

  It wasn’t the right moment to converse, especially this close to the Dreadnought that might intercept the short-range comms they used for communication. Worse even, if he used a direct line from his HiRON5 to the Commander. It might appear even more suspicious to anyone on Concordia GG tracking the surrounding datalinks. But soon enough, he would have his chance when they descended out of range and disappeared amongst the locals.

  Looking out from the elevator gave him a partial view of their Dreadnought. The short docking platform connecting the skyscraper to one of the battleship’s main hangars had an encompassing structure over it. It created a secured tunnel for the personnel to move to and from and grounded the spaceship to the moon city's whimsical shifts.

  Yet something was wrong with the image he saw, and Amon racked his brain to find what was bothering him. With the doors of the elevator closing before him, he noticed it.

  The absence of dockhands. Apart from their people, Concordia GG’s docking level had no overseeing local personnel. There was no one to control or bar their actions in this little docking platform. Of course, he noted the cameras monitored them, but it still unnerved Amon, who knew how these things operated. Or should operate.

  Were they scared of the Marines? Or did they consider them so little of a threat that no direct supervision was required?

  Was this how things operated with pirates as a primary customer base? It certainly gave Hic’Evol a sense of freedom and privacy. But to consider that no one cared they had suddenly offloaded five hundred battle-ready troops into the city? It seemed reckless beyond belief.

  Amon’s gaze fell to the elevator’s control panel as they accelerated downwards. Commander Jin had pressed the button on level 31, which seemed relatively close to the ground floor considering the skyscraper had 495 levels, not accounting for the minus 63 below-ground, which might very well be reaching the central core of Hic’Evol.

  Apart from the numbers, most levels had notations next to them depicting the available facilities or connecting skyscrapers for those who didn’t wish to descend to the ground level. Level 31 appeared to be a hub as it sported the most symbols of any other.

  It took a minute for the elevator doors to open and only a few seconds for Amon to get answers to several of his questions.

  “Is that a fucking rocket launcher?” Someone called out as the Marines filed out.

  “Portable heatlazer, most likely,” another added in disbelief.

  When he realized what he was doing, Amon brought his hanging jaw back up. For the first time since joining the SFC, he felt under-armed. With a blaster and a custom armor-piercing rifle, he might have been appropriately equipped for a light scuffle when everyone else here was ready for all-out war.

  A group of rough-looking people, who Amon guessed to be raiders, strapped with blades, guns, explosives, and the like on every inch of their bodies, walked lazily past them. As the Marines formed ranks, one of the surly men gave them a look and snorted before saying something potentially offensive to his friends. They all laughed, trading glances with the stoic Marines.

  Nearby, the ‘portable heatlazer’ guy suddenly turned their way. In his full arms, the bulky machine made the front row of Marines scramble to the floor. The man paused uncertainly, looking for what had spooked them, and when he saw nothing out of the ordinary, he shook his head in confusion and went on his way.

  Commander Jin’s drilling voice brought everyone’s heads back to their shoulders.

  “So that’s why no one cared,” Amon muttered, and Ella nodded.

  “It's a competition,” She said, and Amon’s brows furrowed trying to follow her reasoning. “For who has the most weapons…like someone showing off? No one would take a heatlazer around town for a walk. It's stupid. If his arms are not dying from carrying it around–it's simply not convenient.”

  “Certainly a cultural thing…” Tommy added. “Do you guys feel a bit…naked, or is it just me?”

  “I wouldn’t say no to an extra weapon or three.” Ella joked nervously, looking around the massive hub.

  Why would Hic’Evol care if they had offloaded 500 armed Marines in the city? There were tens of thousands of heavily armed pirates in their midsts. With this new realization, he reconsidered that an escort of 100 Marines to run errands seemed prudent.

  In the end, what made everyone relax was that nobody took a special interest in them. Level 31 was full of people, and what if they were armed to the teeth? They also had places to be and things to do.

  The crowd walked and mingled around the hub with the energy of a morning throng on hearty stimulants. To Amon, it reminded him of a busy starport, only indoors. The ceiling was at a comfortable height, yet it was the massive length of the room, if it even could be called that, that put everything into perspective.

  He wasn’t entirely sure where it ended. Pillars assisting with the skyscraper’s structural integrity were placed at set intervals, partially blocking his view, as did the streaming crowds. He even tried zooming in with his optics, but still, he couldn’t tell where the massive level 31 ended.

  “Sergeant Tommy Plink, Amon, you are my escorts. The rest follow close behind and do not get separated. This is not an allied base; anyone and everyone you see is a potential threat. But remember, drawing a firearm is not permitted unless fired upon first. Now, let’s go.” Commander Jin said, taking the lead.

  Following close behind the Commander and ahead of the ranks of Marines gave him a vantage point to observe how the locals reacted to their passing. Since they were one of the biggest groups, the unconnected crowds reluctantly gave way, opening up before their purposeful strides.

  It was a small comfort that a small uniform army could still instill caution to these people. Despite his earlier hesitation, he shadowed the Commander, matching him step by step, and carefully observed the bustling level 31 for threats.

  It appeared that Commander Jin knew where he was going because they didn’t wander but homed in on a specific location that before too long revealed to be the outskirts of a bazaar. Amon didn’t even know if they were on the same skyscraper anymore, yet countless people bustled and bargained before temporary stalls that continued on and on unabated as far as his eyes could see.

  He observed, bewitched at the alien goods and familiar drones, at the crates of stolen cargo and vials of unknown drugs. All blended together with loud arguments from frustrated customers and shouts of vendors trying to attract attention to their fares.

  And further in, where the man-made paths between the stalls narrowed, slaves were sold at auction before the interested crowds. Among them were slaves wearing uniforms with the definate markings of the SFC.