“They’re here,” Arc said. Or shouted, really. She had to to be heard over the noise of the battle outside.

She wasn’t wrong. The sounds of combat boots on concrete were right outside the door, a larger one opposite where I’d come into the room. We’d taken a scant minute or so to regroup and prepare Alvar’s plan, which I had to admit I was impressed with. Between the three of us we had half a magazine or so of coilgun ammo, four rounds in the Slukh, seven in one of Arc’s Colts, three in Alvar’s rifle and a full sixteen of good old ten milly in his pistol. Add on a few knives and a broken glittersaw and hell, it wasn’t that bad. Right?

Nah, we were fucked. Except for Alvar’s surprise.

Arc and I hid in the lee of a huge rusty milling machine, while Alvar crouched behind an old concrete pedestal. Our hope was that our visitors were Macomb employees and not whoever was attacking them. If they were the latter, this got a lot harder. But Alvar said anyone who wanted to get out of here on the elevator would have to come through this room, and that likely meant his boss.

The rolltop door rattled, suddenly heaved upward from the other side. In jogged several people, all but one wearing Macomb Sec fatigues. Two men with assault rifles, a woman with a cut-down KTB combat shotgun, another bespectacled man in a civilian suit, and finally a lean-faced woman with close-cropped, graying hair and a submachine gun on her thigh. I glanced at Alvar and he gave me a quick nod as he stuck up his hands. That was Lieutenant Moha, our ticket up.

“What the hell are you doing here, Trooper?” she snapped at Alvar.

“Just trying to get out, LT. Same as you?” They both knew the last part wasn’t really a question.

Moha squinted at him. “A’hern…Your biomonitor went dead about the same time Ortiz’s squad’s did, but here you are. And you came through the perimeter along with Trooper Yurchenko and PFC Kamal- both of whom also had no life signs. All three on the fritz at once is kind of odd, don’t you think? Especially since we’ve got who-knows-who strafing the shit out of us, dropping mercs on our heads, and I come here to find everyone dead except for you, A’hern. Including our employer’s kingsdamn Praetor, however the fuck you managed that. So, one more time. What the fuck are you doing here?”

Moha’s subordinates raised their weapons to aim at Alvar. He gulped, and there was a moment of quiet.

The man in civvies cleared his throat, pale and paunchy and with a blond combover I’d have called ‘hopeful’ if I wanted to be polite.

“I’ll add, Trooper A’hern, that f-failing to report any issues with your biomonitor is against the terms of your contract, and considering your probationary status will likely result in termination. And- and you’ll likely be charged with-“

“That’s enough, Mr. Moss,” said Moha. By the tiredness in her voice it wasn’t the first time.

Alvar steadied himself. “I never meant for any of this to happen, Lieutenant. I’m not a- a spy, or whatever else you think. I got taken hostage. Like I said: at this point, I’m just trying to get out of here.” His eyes flicked to our hiding place. I didn’t think he’d betray us at this point, but I had the coilgun ready just in case. “I just have to take a couple…others with me.”

Moha’s response was immediate. “I don’t believe you. Consider this the conclusion of your court-martial, A’hern. Halloran, Shir-“

“Wait, wait!” Alvar shouted. He fully opened one of his raised hands, revealing a detonator. “I wouldn’t do that!”

“Why not?” Moha kept trying to sound tough, but there was a waver in her voice. She was desperate to get the hell out. Maybe that was why she only had three soldiers and a corpo drone with her.

Alvar took a shaky breath and pointed to the reactor with his free hand. The reactor with a couple of big, poorly-sealed holes in it.

“See that? There’s two pounds of C6 in there. And I know it’s a dirty fission rig. We wouldn’t spring for fusion, no way. So either we cooperate, or we all end up dead or glowing.” He huffed out a breath, just keeping it together.

I saw Moha’s soldiers glancing at each other, and the suit went even pastier.

“Bullshit,” snapped the lieutenant. “You wouldn’t-“

“Can you afford to not believe me?”

“We can, actually. Trooper. Our health plan covers antirad treatment.”

Alvar shook his head. “The officer’s plan does, yeah. Enlisted’s doesn’t. So maybe you’ll get patched up, but Keene and Shir and Sergeant Halloran? Not unless they’ve got the denars.”

Moss pushed up his glasses. “He is, in f-fact, technically correct on that front, though we do offer matching assistance for those willing to-“

“Moss…” Moha growled, but it was too late. The mercs behind her looked a lot more nervous now, lowering their guns.

“There you go, guys,” called Alvar. “You’ll save money at the barber’s, at least.”

“Please,” the LT spat. “Even if you did toss a charge in there, the pressure vessel’s armored.”

One of the grunts behind Moha spoke up. He wore a balaclava that hid his face, but he sounded older than I’d assumed.

“Not against a demo brick. Rock raiders popped one the same way at that Yakkorp black site a couple years back, and the place still clicks worse than my fuckin’ knees. Thing’s pretty much a dirty bomb, now. In fact, I bet the holes in the outer case’ll jet the rads right at us. Lieutenant.”

That last word came after a pointed delay, and I noticed the other enlisted mercs shifting closer to the one who’d spoken.

“Thanks for the input, Halloran.” Moha ground it out between gritted teeth.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“T-technically, Sergeant, while we would absorb rads, what would come out of the reactor would be becquerels, or the material producing those becquerels-

“Moss…” murmured the lieutenant, not turning.

“-and Lieutenant Moha, standard operating procedure s-states that when confronted with a potential radiological threat, M-macomb personnel are to treat it as-

“Moss.” Moha growled it like a curse. “You know what else the SOP doc says? That in combat situations, non-combat personnel are to follow the orders of the ranking field officer.”

“C-correct, but-“

“And my orders are to shut the fuck up before I wax you and tell HR you tripped off a cliff. Got it? Don’t talk. Just nod.”

Moss clammed up and did so, glasses almost sliding off his nose. Moha glanced from him to the grunts, who returned her gaze with fraught, nervous expressions. She very much did not have her men’s confidence, especially after that little display. She- and her authority- were riding on edge.

She hissed out a breath. “Fine, A’hern. Let’s see ‘em. Nobody shoot the traitor’s friends. Safeties on.”

I couldn’t hear the clicks- ears were still fuzzy- but a moment later Alvar waved Arc and I out. We emerged slow and cautious. These mercs were wound tight and we didn’t want to spook them. I left the coilgun holstered but made sure my jacket didn’t cover it. Arc did the same with her Colt, and I knew she’d have a throwing knife or three up her sleeve as well. Moss and the troopers- Shir and Keene, I thought- gaped at us, at my height and Arc’s suit and our general state of raggedy fucked-uppedness. Halloran, the sergeant, fixed us with narrowed blue eyes, flickering with the faint light of retinal implants. I got a greater sense of competence, and danger, from him than from Moha. That was how it went in holos, right? Dumb officers and smart non-coms?

The officer, dumb or not, just got even more pissed. “Who the fuck are you freaks?”

Arc scoffed, taken aback, which luckily gave me the chance to answer. I kept my voice level and calm as I could, considering the ongoing gunfire and the hair-trigger radbomb a few yards away.

“We’re contractors, same as you. And it looks like both of us are out of a dench at this point, right? So let’s just punch out, head topside, and go our separate ways.”

Bullshit, and we both knew it. They’d seen our faces, they knew about Alvar turning, willing or not, they knew it was us who’d wrecked the main lab and a Praetor along with it- and we knew they knew. The sarevna escaping was bad enough. Besides, Moha looked so pissed that she’d smoke all three of us out of spite, no contract required.

I watched the gears grinding in her head, calculating the odds of her men putting a few in her back if she told us to fuck off and called the bluff.

“…sounds like a damn D-blocker…” I heard the female grunt mutter to her counterpart.

After a second Moha shook herself and went, “Fine,” making a move towards the far end of the room.

“Wait,” I snapped. “Drop the guns.”

The LT stopped dead. “Fuck right off.”

“Will you still want to hold on to them when they glow in the dark?” drawled Arc.

Moha paused again, almost vibrating with nervous rage. “Fine,” she spat again. “But if A’hern’s keeping a long arm then one of us is too. Fair’s fair, huh, contractors?”

I glanced at Alvar and Arc, neither of whom gave me any cues. Moha didn’t look like she’d budge, and her men would probably back her on this one, at least. “Fair’s fair, then.”

The smart move would be for her to let her best shooter stay armed. Probably Halloran. Her job was leading, not pulling a trigger. That’s what grunts were for. I hoped she’d be stupid, though- and she was, or scared of getting fragged at least.

“Shir, your shotgun.” Moha stuck her hand back without looking and after a moment the stocky woman reluctantly passed it to her.

“Keene, Halloran, leave your weapons.” There was a longer pause, and my hand inched towards my coilgun as I waited for one of them to dome the LT. But it passed.

“Yes, sir.” Halloran dropped his mag and cleared the chamber with jerky motions before setting his rifle down with exaggerated gentleness, staring at Moha the whole time. Keene watched, then tossed his own gun to the floor with a disgusted expression. Finally, Moha checked the load on the shotgun, then unbuckled her SMG and let it drop holster and all.

“Good enough?” she asked venomously. I let it wash right off me. Beneath all that anger was fear, and that kept it from being intimidating. Dag had been scarier before he’d had his first mug of caff.

“Perfect,” I answered. And it almost was. Maybe I should have told them who got to hang on to what, but I figured I was pushing it already. The shotgun was a little worse for us than the SMG, maybe, but otherwise? I was less scared of Moha than I was the others. Halloran looked like he knew his shit, but without a gun he was only so dangerous. Unless Moss was actually a stealth-augged cyberninja with swords in his arms, that was the greatest threat neutralized.

“Perhaps we should search them for anything concealed,” Arc said.

Moha’s eyes snapped to hers. “Unless you fuckers shake out your pockets too, no way. We’ll stay down here and hope we glow bright enough Asset Recovery finds us.”

I gave her a hard stare- or what I hoped was one, at least. My eyes might have been trying to cross for all I knew. She didn’t budge, though, and her crew didn’t look about to make her. Everyone except maybe Moss knew what would go down as soon as we were far enough from that reactor, and nobody wanted to give up an advantage.

“Too many pockets, not enough time,” I finally said. We’d find out what they had soon enough. “Let’s fuckin’ bounce, then.”

“This way. Fucking deeks…” Moha barely lowered her voice for the last part, but I let her walk this time. She led us away from the wall with the catwalk, deeper into the cavernous factory space. It made sense that the elevator was in here, I thought, considering the size of some of the shit they’d brought down. There were less lights working than over the lab area, but still enough to see by. Our groups walked with a few yards of separation, gaits made awkward by constant wary glances at each other. There was an especially large or close explosion from outside, but no one except Moss glanced at the ceiling when some dust sifted down.

“How the fuck did you do it?” I didn’t realize Shir was talking to me at first. “How’d you guys clip the Praetor, big girl?”

I glanced at her. Felt kind of weird talking to someone I’d kill in a few minutes, but it didn’t cost me anything. Maybe it was just my rattled head making me loopy.

“Dunno. I just touched it and it fell over,” I said, scratching my head. “Ought to have Superlift build ‘em instead of fork trucks. Can’t kill a Superlift. I’ve tried.”

“I threw a knife at it, too,” added Arc, helpful as usual.

I snorted. “Yeah. Alvar helped more, though.”

“Praetor killer, that’s me…” He muttered it, concentrated on not tripping.

Shir looked us over, but we didn’t volunteer any more, even Alvar. He was focused on just keeping it together, the detonator in his hand and his rifle slung. Maybe I should have taken the gun, but it wouldn’t be too much use in this kind of fight anyway.

“Fine, fuck you too,” the stocky merc mumbled. “A’hern the Rik-damn Praetor-slayer…stupid deeks…”

“Cut the chatter, Shir,” snapped Moha, and there was no more conversation. Even Moss had taken his ‘orders’ to heart, walking fast with his head down.

After what seemed an agonizing length of time but was probably only a minute or so, we got to a rotten-looking metal partition that went from floor to ceiling. Moha led us toward a big bay door, through which I saw that the room’s floor led right up to the rough, darker rock of the cliff. This end of the building must have slumped up against the side of the Chasm when it fell down here, making the natural rock into a slightly crooked wall. At its base was a broad, square steel platform covered in chipped yellow paint- our elevator, obviously. Above it was a sort of sparse scaffold through which it would ascend. A thick carbon-braid cable extended down just inside each corner, leading to the heavy winches at the corners of the platform. The trellis sloped back slightly, its upward course taking it into a huge crack in the cliff. That helped explain why the mysterious attackers hadn’t taken it out yet.

We lined up at the base of the shallow loading ramp, paused, and slowly paced up onto the elevator, each group eying the other the whole time. Moha went over to a control console bolted to the railing on the far side. She glanced at me, sneering, and I gave her an exaggerated ushering gesture, like go on. She passed the shotgun back to Shir and punched a long password into a grimy rubber keypad. Finally the console beeped and lit up. Immediately after, Moha opened a panel on the side and started flipping breakers.

“What are you doing in there?” I asked tensely.

“Killing the lights, you dumb roach. Unless you want us to eat a couple hunter-killers on the way up?”

I just shook my head and let her finish. She slapped the panel closed, snatched her gun back and punched a big green button on the console. There was a slight jolt through the platform as bolts released and the winches engaged. With a whine of gears and a wheeze of counterweight accumulators, we lifted off, quickly passing though the crumpled roof of the factory.