“I feel as though, in this tiny town, I’ve found a new and wondrous purpose. Not one as big as I had in mind back in my days as a detective, mind you, but wondrous nonetheless. See, it’s so easy for everything to get lost in the noise out there—for everything to feel like nothing matters. But here, everything always matters. I always thought I wanted the high-society life, but here I’ve found something else—something vibrant, and strong, and funny, and ugly, and messy, and beautiful. I think I’d like to stay for a little while longer.”

—Reister Fell, former Galactic Detective and Warden of Freewater, in personal writings

Echoing booms streaked across the desert—Zaina was close to Freewater. The distant cracks and pops, rhythmic in succession, filled her ears as she ran through the sands of Archava. Alight in the sky were the sounds of battle.

The sloping hill leading to Freewater’s plateau was occupied—one of the rectangular transports was hovering beside it, out of Fell’s line of fire. More mercenaries were jumping from the transport’s open hatch and crawling belly-first up the slope. Two reached the top together, peeked over to line up their shot, and turned into red mist as a high-caliber scrap bead struck the hillside. Red-and-white meat-paste rolled down the hill, spraying blood in every direction. The others, undeterred, continued the climb.

Where’s the other one? Zaina wondered, and then shook the thought out of her head. Her focus had to be on getting to Freewater. She grabbed the grenade dispenser and programmed it to its most destructive setting. With a handful of the explosives in one hand and her cipher in the other, Zaina sneaked up to the floating vehicle. Luckily, the mercenaries’ attention was focused on the battle ahead, and not behind them. She casually tossed a few grenades into the hillside amid the crawling biriflers, and saved the last one for the transport itself.

The biriflers took notice—screaming, they turned around to fire at her; some picked up the grenades and were trying to throw them back when they detonated. Zaina sprinted away from the ship, which groaned and creaked as it landed and rolled down the dune. The mercenaries were lost to a wave of pops and an eruption of sand; when it settled, pieces of the enemies jutted out from the hillside. Much of the sand was wet with blood or charred.

As soon as the dust settled, Zaina ran and cleared the edge in seconds. Now atop the plateau, she took the battle in.

The dreich was twisting about in the sky, with missiles exploding all around it; Ardual rode on the automaton’s back, firing off explosive rounds from a heavy scrap rifle. The desert rider was overturned, with whatever mercenaries left using it for cover, and the other transport was nowhere in sight.

Reister Fell, in his helmet-less warsuit, stood at the forefront of town. All the suit’s weapon systems were engaged, including a rotating scrap cannon on one of his wrists and missile ports jutting from nearly every joint on the armor. The very top of his head was exposed, but he was largely safe without the helmet. Xyrthe was beside him, cipher drawn and hex-guard at the ready. A birifler peeked out from behind the desert rider—after a wet, crunching impact, he immediately fell dead to the sand with smoke streaming from a hole in his head. Tracing the shot, Zaina found Leda’s birifle peeking through a window in Freewater’s central tower.

The second transport was still in play—the mercenaries had to be dealt with now. Without hesitation, she charged toward the tipped rider, and all the firing from Freewater stopped. The mercenaries, seemingly unsure, poked their heads out to see why—and didn’t notice Zaina coming in from behind until it was too late.

In a mad state of bloodlust, she slaughtered them in seconds, deflecting their desperate attempts to survive off her hex-guard. No heed was paid to their panicked screeching. Once they were dead, the rhythmic pops started once more from Freewater, hitting a rock formation a few hundred feet from Zaina; for a moment, she caught a glimpse of Veimla Tescoll avoiding the falling rubble and slipping back under cover.

With the enemy sniper pinned, Zaina sprinted for the town. She was out of breath when Xyrthe grabbed her arm and pulled her behind a metal wall, the last standing piece of a broken house.

Her mentor looked her up and down. “You look like you’ve had yourself a day. Any of that yours?”

Staring down, Zaina noticed for the first time that she was absolutely covered in blood. She opened her mouth to reply, but Xyrthe cut her off.

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“We’ll talk later. For now, keep your head down. That dreich is still up there.”

Zaina nodded. “Right. The dreich.”

“Yeah, and not to mention that Tescoll lady. She’s got it out for us—you’re lucky Fell hit her position when he did or you’d be paste.”

Zaina gulped as images of the bodies rolling down the hill, more liquid than solid, flashed in her eyes. In an instant, it was gone—there was no time for that.

“I have an idea for the dreich,” Zaina said, pulling out her particle hook-gun and firing off a tracking dart.

“What’s your—wait, Zaina, n—”

Before her mentor finished, Zaina was flying at high speeds into the sky, the wind whipping past her face, stinging her eyes and making her cheeks and lips flap. The tracker had pierced the beast’s back, right next to the oversized saddle atop which Ardual stood. Zaina landed on the automaton and immediately lost her footing—the creature’s metal scales were slippery. Zaina activated her mag-boots, but they didn’t stick.

Holding on to the particle hook-gun for dear life as the dreich changed course and speed at will, Zaina summoned her cipher and wedged it between two scales, using it to prop herself up. The beast’s tail curled inward—Zaina fell flat against its skin as the spikes whooshed inches from the back of her neck. She rose again—the tail was coming in again for a direct hit.

Zaina pulled the cipher free, sliding down the creature’s back right as the tail struck. There wasn’t any damage like she hoped for, leaving her back at square one. The tail swooped in again—Zaina raised her hex-guard, jamming her eyes shut as her impending doom came crashing down—

It never arrived. When Zaina opened her eyes, Xyrthe was standing before her, both hands raising her cipher over her head in a block; the massive tail was held at bay. With a grunt, Zaina’s mentor pushed the tail aside and pierced between its scales to stabilize herself.

Turning back toward her, Xyrthe asked, “Your rocket boots still work?”

“Yeah, why—”

“Don’t die. See ya.”

“Huh?” Zaina asked as Xyrthe kicked her in the chest, sending her flying off the writhing dreich. Zaina twisted upward, watching as Xyrthe worked her way up the beast’s back and engaged Ardual atop the saddle.

A glimpse of light caught Zaina’s eye as she twisted toward the ground—a tiny glyph built around a magnifying lens was hovering thirty feet or so away, trying to match Zaina’s descent. It lined up its shot as she readied her hex-guard—a beam of high-powered light struck the shield, knocking her off course and sending her spinning out of control. She yelped, hurdling toward the ground at high speed.

Zaina frowned—she’d seen enough pictures to know it was a focus glyph. Veimla was lining up her next shot. Zaina aimed her hex-guard at the glyph’s lens, deflecting the next shot as she fell behind Freewater’s central tower, out of Veimla’s immediate line of fire.

With little time left to impact, Zaina activated her rocket boots to slow her descent, landing on a pile of smoldering rubble near the town’s center. She ran around the tower to rejoin the battle—Veimla’s glyph caught her eye again, and Zaina slid behind a piece of solid scrap metal; a split-second later, the ground she’d stood on erupted with a blast of energy, spewing sand into the air.

A focus rifle, she thought, heart pounding in her chest. Not much I can do against that.

Staring skyward from behind cover, Zaina’s eyes fixed on the dreich as it twisted in the sky. Its wing beats were like claps of thunder, and she made out glimpses of the battle on its back; Xyrthe made short work of Ardual, sending his resonedge tumbling to the desert below. He clung to the saddle as she worked her way to the creature’s head, avoiding its wings and tail as they struck at Xyrthe.

Once she was atop its brow, Xyrthe plunged her cipher into the automaton’s eye. A deafening metallic shriek emitted from its mouth as it bucked and squirmed, trying to get her off. Bolts of lightning arced from Xyrthe’s cipher, burying themselves between the creature’s scales—she was using her magick. A clap of thunder split the sky—the beast’s eye popped open as electricity streaked from every crevice in its body, followed by billowing trails of thick, black smoke as the immobilized dreich fell from the sky.

Xyrthe pulled her cipher free and fell off before the creature tumbled, collapsing into a pile of scrap metal in the sand. Ardual was lost somewhere amid it all—dead for sure. Zaina’s jaw dropped as her mentor landed behind a piece of scrap nearby.

“How—” she began.

“Later!” Xyrthe said. The rhythmic booms returned, accompanied by a few pops from Leda’s birifle—Zaina peeked out, and the glyphs were hovering in place. Fell had found Veimla—hopefully he’d killed her, too. She met her mentor’s eyes before they jumped out, hex-guards at the ready, and joined Fell on the front line.

The deep pops of Fell’s scrap cannon were deafening as the lancers approached from behind. The rock formation in the distance was virtually leveled before his gun let up with a whirring hiss.

“Think I got her.” He turned and said, “Oh, hey, Zaina! Thought I saw you make it back. The best laid plans, am I right?”

Zaina flashed a half-grin and then turned serious. “Good to see you’re still in one piece—but this isn’t over. There’s another transport out here.”

Fell nodded. “I’ll run a scan, see if we can’t—”

A familiar voice rang out behind them. “Reister Fell!”

Zaina turned—Ondor Almada was standing at the forefront of his remaining mercenaries, numbering at least twenty. Each enemy had their birifles trained on the head of nine kneeling civilians—three women and six children; Ondor, still dressed in his ceremonial robe, held a phase cycler in one hand and a hex-guard in the other.