Beyond the Stars: At Galaxy's Edge

THE PROTESTERS CALLED us ‘genocide squads.’ The military designated us as Epsilon Units. But inside the Corps we called ourselves ‘Erasers.’

Names aside, everyone agreed that we existed for only one purpose: to kill Scythians. Every last one of them.

And we were good at our job.

By the time I was drafted, the war was in the mop-up stages. I’d grown up hearing about the great fleet battles and how my siblings fought with honor. I’ll never really know since none of them came back. Still, war was the family business, a proud tradition of military service that went back generations. The day I turned eighteen, the admiral‌—‌my father‌—‌made me pancakes for breakfast then took me to the local armory to enlist.

The proudest day of my life‌—‌his words, not mine.

I can still recall my feelings as I filled out the draft form. Dread, fear... and ultimately, shame. My finger hovered over the check box labeled CONSCIENTIOUS OBJECTOR, while my father joked with the Marine recruiter about the new uniform regs. I tried to force my finger to touch the screen, but I couldn’t make myself do it. I signed the dotted line and shoved my fists into my pockets instead.

My father wore his uniform that day so he could administer the oath. He shook my hand afterward. “Your brothers would be so proud of what you’re about to do.”

I put my fists back in my pockets and made a noise that I suppose he took as agreement.

That’s the short version of how I came to be riding in the back of Fury, a Revenge-class assault craft, as a member of Eraser Seven. Normally, a ship of this size would carry six armored and battle-loaded Marines, but it’d been modified for Epsilon sweep missions. We carried three Marines plus a pilot and provisions for two weeks in space.

Our mission was pretty simple‌—‌just the way Marines like it. After the fleet battles broke the back of the Scythian forces, the enemy scattered like rats all over the known galaxy. We were there to find the survivors and kill them. Simple.

Our job was made so much easier when the United Earth Federation, following the massacre at Delphi, voted to suspend the Geneva Convention for the balance of the Scythian War.

“Entering orbit around Talos 5,” Mambo called back to me from the cockpit, not bothering to use the intercom. The pilot’s real name was Gwyneth, but she insisted we call her Mambo, even off duty. “Light ‘em up, Noogie.” It says something about Marines that I’d been a part of this Eraser Squad for a year and they still called me ‘noogie,’ short for “new guy.”

I grumbled to myself as I booted up the Zeron unit. Specially modified to search for Scythian life signs, the Zeron allowed us to scan planets for the enemy from high orbit, giving one Eraser Squad the capability to search an entire solar system in only a few weeks.

The Talos system was well outside settled space, and so far, devoid of any humanoid life forms, including Scythians. Talos 5‌—‌this system was so far off the beaten path that no one had even bothered to name the planets‌—‌was our last stop before we headed back to the rendezvous point. We’d eaten all the decent freeze-dried meals, and the air had taken on a taint of recycled ozone that clung to the back of my throat.

I connected my sensor package with the ship’s nav system. “Commencing scan, Mambo.”

She raised her hands from the controls. “She’s all yours, Noog.” The ship banked gently as it entered a preset search pattern. I settled back in my seat and crossed my arms. For a planet this size, a full scan took about eighteen hours.

On the other side of the Zeron, Hercules stirred in his bunk. Standing close to two meters tall in his socks, Hercules was easily the most deadly human I’d ever met. During my first week on the job, when enemy contact was still pretty common, I’d seen him rip the armored carapace right off a Scythian soldier’s face and kill the alien with his bare hands. Hercules had one mission in life: to kill Scythians. Not for the first time, I wondered what all these Marines were going to do when they disbanded the Erasers. The rumors were rampant that this was our last run. I hoped so‌—‌although I’d never say it out loud to this crew.

Hercules flexed his massive biceps and ripped out a long, vibrating fart that would take the atmospheric scrubbers at least thirty minutes to dispel.

“For love of Mike, Hercules. Go in the can if you’re gonna do that!” Gunnery Sergeant Madeline Jolly threw a shoe across the cabin that bounced off Hercules’ quivering pecs.

“Sorry, Gunny.” Hercules hung his head. “It just slipped out.” Mambo feigned choking in the front of the ship.

Gunny peered over the Zeron, fixing her flat, gray stare on me. “How’s it going, Noog?”

I pretended to make an adjustment to the system, uncomfortable as always in her gaze. “Nothing yet, Gunny. It looks like this run might be a goose egg.” I attempted a smile.

She slitted her eyes. “They’re out there. I can smell them.”

The only thing I smelled was the inside of Hercules’ colon, but I just nodded, glad to have her turn her attention away from me. If you met Gunnery Sergeant Jolly as a civilian, you might think she was someone’s middle-aged mother. Looks are deceiving. Despite the unfortunate surname of Jolly, the woman had all the emotional warmth of an arctic sunrise. Gunny was the heart of Eraser Seven, a legend in the Corps. In three years on the job, she’d lost only one team member‌—‌the sensors guy that I replaced. I guess the fact that they still called me New Guy after a year meant I was never going to measure up to my predecessor.

I went into sensors thinking that I’d serve out my enlistment far from the killing. A nameless drone on a fleet battleship somewhere, patrolling empty space. In training, I studied hard, finishing at the top of the class. They neglected to tell us that the top three students in each class were assigned to Epsilon Units.

That was my life: closet conscientious objector turned draftee with a front row seat to some the most brutal slaughter of aliens you could ever imagine.

Nearly two hours later, the Zeron chirped. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gunny’s gray bob snap up like a bird dog on point. We were passing over the mid-latitudes, and the signal showed up next to a large body of water. “Gunny, I got a hit!”

I took manual control and refined the scan. Six humanoids, with one bright trace that indicated a Scythian presence. A second, fainter Scythian trace popped up, then disappeared.

“Looks like five humans and one Scythian,” I said.

“What the hell are they doing all the way out here?” Hercules asked. “Hostage situation?”

Gunny stood behind me, close enough that I could smell the stale sweat on her uniform. When I looked up, she was pinching her lips between her fingers. “Let’s go check it out.” She patted me on the shoulder. “Good work, Noogie. Feed the coordinates to Mambo and let’s go hunting.”

Sometime in the second decade of war, an organized movement of conscientious objectors called The Society emerged across the United Earth Federation. By that point, it was pretty clear we were going to win the war and The Society advocated for an end to the draft and peace negotiations with the Scythians. I knew about The Society because I’d done a ton of research on them‌—‌secretly, of course‌—‌and even attended a few meetings. I’d even made a pledge to become a member when I turned eighteen. We know how that ended.

So when we approached the walled compound on Talos 5, I knew exactly what the five-sided bronze bell hanging from a post meant. This was a Society outpost.

“What’s that?” Hercules raised the eyescan on his helmet and tapped the muzzle of his rifle against the bell. “Dinner bell?”

“That’s a symbol that represents the fusion of Earth’s five major religions,” said a voice from behind the wooden door. “I would appreciate it if you would not touch it with a weapon of war.”

“Gunnery Sergeant Madeline Jolly, ma’am. UEF Marines. We’re here to take the alien you’re harboring into custody.”

A small window in the door opened up and a pair of blue eyes peered out. “You mean you’re here to kill him.”

“We’re carrying out the lawful orders of the UEF, ma’am.” I knew the kind of glacial stare Gunny was laying on the person behind the door, but the blue eyes never flinched. “You’re aware of the Epsilon Directive?”

“I am,” the voice shot back. “And your directive also forbids you from harming any humans in the execution of your duties. I believe you call it ‘collateral damage.’”

Gunny cleared her throat. “That’s correct, ma’am.”

The door opened to reveal a slim woman in her thirties. Her face was deeply tanned and she wore a simple shift of soft gray that highlighted her eyes. She held out her hand to Gunny and smiled. “My name is Avalon. But you can call me ‘collateral damage,’ if you like. As long as you leave your guns outside and promise to enter in peace, you are welcome.”

The woman’s hand hung there for what seemed like a long time. I felt Hercules’ bulk tense up beside me. Then Gunny stripped off her armored glove and shook Avalon’s hand. “Herc, you stay here with the weapons. Noog, you’re with me.”

It was cool inside the compound and the sweet air emphasized how awful we smelled after two weeks without a shower. Avalon led us into a courtyard with a bubbling fountain and pointed to a low stone bench where we could sit. I could see Gunny’s eyes sizing the place up and wondered if she planned to take out the alien right now. No, I decided, Gunny had a respect for the regs like no one I’d ever seen. She wouldn’t risk hurting one of the humans. Besides, she’d given her word.

I slipped the handheld Zeron unit off my belt. The Scythian trace was strong now‌—‌we were definitely in the right place. Then a second trace ghosted onto the screen. I cursed to myself. I’d forgotten to run a diagnostic on the Zeron to deal with that ghosting gremlin. I felt Gunny’s eyes burning a hole in the side of my helmet.

“Problem, Noog?”

“No, Gunny. Just checking to make sure the target is still here.”

She squinted at me. I braced for the inevitable follow-up question, but we were interrupted by Avalon returning to the courtyard.

I’d never seen a Scythian without his battle armor before. During indoc, we were taught how their warriors took hormones that induced the growth of chitin-based armor all over their bodies. The pictures they showed us were terrifying: seven-foot tall monsters covered with shiny brown scales that could stop an ordinary projectile round. They showed us pictures of dead Scythians who had personalized their armor with glyphs carved into the shell and weapons embedded in the growth. I suppose we were told this armor plating was a temporary state, but there were no pictures of a non-warrior Scythian in the briefing.

The alien was about my height and had striking translucent brown eyes that swept over Gunny and me with an intensity that bespoke intelligence. His skin had a leathery quality to it, sort of like an old football, and a pale scar ran down the right side of his head bisecting one of his earholes. He stepped out from behind Avalon and met Gunny’s gaze without hesitation.

“I am K-Tor.” He had a translator implant embedded in his left jawline which gave his voice a mechanical quality.

“I don’t care,” Gunny replied. “I’m here to take you away.”

“You are here to‌—‌” the translator glitched and a snatch of his whirring chirpy language sneaked in. “Kill me,” he finished.

If Gunny had stared at me like that, I’d already be dead.

“I have,” the alien continued in a halting mechanical voice. “Sanctuary. Here.”

“There is no sanctuary for killers. Our people are at war.” Gunny bit off the words in the air like a snapping dog.

Avalon stepped between them. She pressed her hand against K-Tor’s broad leathery chest and whispered up to him in what sounded like Scythian. I shot a look at Gunny, but she was still locked in a staring contest with the alien. K-Tor stepped back and Avalon turned to Gunny with a patient smile.

“You have your answer, Madeline.” The use of her first name shocked Gunny into blinking. Avalon’s smile widened. “This being is under the protection of The Society. He means you no harm and we are as far from inhabited space as we can be. I suggest you leave us in peace.”

I’d never actually seen Gunny back down before, but it happened. She smiled‌—‌an actual smile, not her normal curled lip snarl‌—‌and extended her hand to Avalon. “Maybe you’re right, ma’am.”

“Peace be upon you, Madeline.”

Gunny didn’t say anything until we were back in low orbit. She just stared out the viewport at the brown and green planet surface.

“No,” she said after three orbits of silence.

Hercules and I exchanged glances. “No, what?” he said.

“We’re here to do a job and we’re not leaving until it’s finished.”

“But they’re a religious group,” I said. “What about collateral damage?”

Gunny iced me with a glare. “You just mind your sensors and make sure that thing doesn’t try to make a run for it, Noog. I’ll handle the rest.”

I retreated to my workstation to set up a watch on the Scythian. K-Tor, I reminded myself. It was strange for me. I’d never met a Scythian before and now I’d seen one in the flesh, without his battle armor even. And he looked... human. That was ridiculous, of course. Scythians had a completely different genetic structure than us, didn’t reproduce the way we did, and lived in asexual communes‌—‌when they weren’t trying to destroy the human race. They were able to grow armor, for Christ’s sake. We had nothing in common with these aliens.

Still, I had a hard time getting K-Tor’s image out of my head.

The Zeron chirped as it locked onto the Scythian life sign. A second alien trace ghosted next to the first, then disappeared. I muttered an oath and punched up a calibration sequence. I wanted my sensors working perfectly for whatever Gunny was planning.

The presence of humans voluntarily shielding a Scythian was not something we’d seen before. At this point in the war, we were mostly hunting pairs or lone-wolf aliens. These holdouts were always hard-core fighters with nothing to lose. They knew we were coming in hot and they responded in kind. The battles were short, spectacular, and very, very messy. I’d only been on a handful of kill missions when we needed to separate humans from aliens. In those cases, I tracked the Scythian targets from a safe distance while Hercules and Gunny did the honors.

“You’re going in with me and Herc,” Gunny said. I wasn’t surprised, but the news settled like a stone in my stomach all the same. I acknowledged the order and checked the status of the calibration. One Scythian trace, nice and sharp, glowed brightly on the screen.

We approached The Society compound on foot an hour before dawn. Mambo had parked the ship in a gully half a klick back, waiting for our call.

The landscape was a mix of sand and sparse, waist-high scrub brush through which we moved at a fast trot toward our target. Sensors showed all six life forms stationary inside the compound, presumably sleeping. Gunny was not a complex person and neither was her plan: breach the compound, kill the alien, and beat feet. I was there to lead the assassins to the single target by the most direct route.

Gunny was on point and she slowed as the walls of the compound grew out of the landscape. She let us catch up, her breath a slight rasp in the darkness. “Alright, Noog, tell me where our target is hiding.”

Maybe it was the nervous energy of being on a kill mission, or maybe the nighttime run, but I was shaking. I detached the handheld sensor from my belt, but my armored gloves made my fingers feel like I was wearing metal sausages. The screen glowed and I saw the alien trace. Then a second one ghosted next to it.

“Dammit!” I tapped the screen. Too hard. The device fumbled off my glove and fell in the dirt. I dropped to my knees below the brush line to find the sensor. It was right next to my foot. And only one alien trace was showing on the screen. I breathed a sigh of relief as I reached for it.

Out of my peripheral vision, something moved in the dark. I yelped and scooted back, falling on my ass. The heads-up infrared display in my visor was clear, but I knew I had seen something move.

Gunny dropped to all fours next to me, her visor sweeping across the pitch blackness. She must have come to the same conclusion about the IR as I had because she flipped on the light on top of her helmet.

Imagine a scorpion the size of dog. The creature’s exterior was the mottled color of the sand, but it had raised itself into what looked to me like a fighting stance. Behind the animal, a flurry of miniature scorpion copies swarmed. A violent hiss filled the air and a barbed tail waved over its head like a harpoon. The whole world seemed to slow down for me as the tail stabbed down. It glanced off the armor on my thigh, leaving a deep gouge in the matte-black composite.

Gunny stepped in front of me. “Get him outta here, Herc!”

I felt myself being lifted; I was above the brush line again and stars studded the sky overhead. Pulses of energy flashed under the canopy, then Gunny popped up and she was sprinting after us. “Move!” she yelled.

I saw Gunny do a stutter-step and drop back into the brush. More flashes of pulsed energy, then she was up again and running toward us.

We didn’t stop until we were into the cleared area outside the compound. Gunny and Hercules knelt, weapons raised, ready to blow away whatever came out of the brush.

Nothing stirred.

We stayed that way for a full five minutes. I was listening so hard I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing.

“Noog?”

“Yeah, Gunny?”

“Check to see if our alien friend heard all that racket.” I checked the sensor readout. None of the occupants of the compound had moved.

“I think we’re good, Gunny.”

She lowered her weapon and stood. “All right, gentlemen, let’s complete our mission.”

Then she fell flat on her face.

Hercules got to Gunny first and rolled her over. I snapped on my helmet light. Our squad leader’s eyes were wide open, the muscles of her face rigid. Her pupils did not respond to the light. Hercules ran his hands over the armor on her legs. “She must have been bitten by that thing,” he said. “Oh no.” He pulled his hand from behind her right knee and it came away dark with blood. That’s the one chink in a Marine’s armor‌—‌to allow us to kneel.

The big man’s hands shook as he found the catch on Gunny’s armor. The swelling was so bad, I heard a sucking sound as he stripped the armor off her leg. It didn’t even look like a leg anymore, more like a giant flaccid worm with tendrils of dark veins running through it.

“Mambo, this is Herc.” His voice was breaking. “Medevac now‌—‌”

“Wait!” I said. “I have a better idea.” I bolted to the five-sided bell and started ringing it as hard as I could.

Avalon stood in a pale nightgown made translucent by the glare of Hercules’ helmet light behind her. She stared down at Gunny’s body, her eyes taking in the ghostly white flesh of the still swelling leg and our battle gear.

“You were coming for K-Tor,” she said.

“Yes,” I replied. “But, please... help her. You must know what kind of animal did this.”

The other two couples from the compound huddled behind her. The alien was nowhere to be seen. “Why?” Avalon said, her tone flat and hard. “Why should I help you? You would have killed him‌—‌”

“If you help her, I promise you nothing will happen to the alien,” I said. “You have my word.”

“He has a name.”

“K-Tor,” I said almost screaming it. “His name is K-Tor. Please, help her. Before it’s too late!”

“What about him?” Avalon said, turning her glare on Hercules. “And the pilot? Do they agree to this?”

Hercules looked at me from beneath his visor, his face a mask of indecision. Finally, he nodded. “There! He said yes. Now please help her!”

Avalon’s eyes tracked from Gunny’s pale face to Hercules then back to me. She nodded. “Let’s get her inside.” Hercules started to kneel next to Gunny, but Avalon stopped him. “We’ll take it from here.” K-Tor appeared at her side as if she’d just conjured him up. He was bare to the waist, and his dark skin seemed to absorb rather than reflect light. He knelt next to Gunny and lifted her inert form while Avalon stabilized the injured leg. Gunny’s body was rigid in his arms. I wondered if we were too late.

“You stay here and wait for Mambo,” I said to Hercules. “Tell her the deal. The Scythian lives.”

“Gunny won’t like that deal, Noog.”

“Yeah, well, if she lives, she can kick my ass.” I tried to sound like the man in charge, but I had no authority to cut a deal with the enemy under any circumstances. I ran after Gunny’s body rather than wait for Hercules to figure out I was in over my head.

The medlab in the compound was modern, much better than I expected, and I was surprised to see K-Tor donning medical scrubs while Avalon started an IV in Gunny’s arm. She spoke to him in soft, whirring, chirpy sounds as she worked and he responded in kind.

“Yes, I’ve learned his language,” she said when I raised a questioning eyebrow. “He tells me I have the vocabulary of a preschooler.” K-Tor cracked a smile.

“He knows human anatomy? He’s a qualified doctor?”

Avalon faced me, and I got another dose of her withering blue eyes. “We’re both doctors, both very well qualified to deal with a nasty sandshark sting.” She flicked her hand toward the doorway. “You can stand over there. Out of our way.”

I stripped off my body armor and piled it in the corner, then leaned against the wall watching them work. K-Tor’s slender brown fingers gently probed Gunny’s leg as if searching for something. With his finger centered on a spot just above her knee, he held out his hand and Avalon dropped a laser scalpel in it. When he slashed across the white skin, a thick brown gel oozed out of the wound and a foul odor filled the room. He inserted a pair of forceps into the incision and cocked his head while he fished around. Finally, he clamped the forceps closed and jerked them out. A hooked thorn about the size of my pinky finger was trapped between the blades of the surgical instrument.

The end of the thorn was wiggling like a worm on a hook.

“The sandshark buries a live parasite in its victim,” the alien said in his mechanically translated voice. “We’re lucky it hasn’t multiplied yet.”

I gulped.

K-Tor and Avalon set to work draining the brown ooze from Gunny’s leg by cutting small incisions in the flesh and inserting drain lines. The laser scalpel flared and died, but both of them had their hands occupied. Avalon looked over her shoulder at me. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Noog‌—‌I mean, Tom.” I got to my feet.

“Okay, Tom.” She nodded her head at the far side of the room. “Around the corner is a supply closet. We need another Type M power supply for the scalpel.”

I edged past them. The supply closet was next to a room with a thin curtain drawn across the opening. A soft light pulsed through the material.

“Third shelf from the top,” Avalon called. I ran my finger along the edge of the shelf and found what I was looking for.

“Got it,” I said, shutting the closet door. I angled my head so I could peek through the gap into the next room, then I pushed the curtain aside. A medical examination table dominated the center of the space. In the background, I could see a bank of monitors glowing. One flashed a message. I squinted to read the words: gene sequencing complete.

“Tom!”

I hustled back into the operating room with the power supply. Once they had drains inserted, they packed a heavy, green poultice around Gunny’s limb and wrapped it until she looked like she had a tree trunk for a leg. I rested my head against the wall, watching them work, wondering. I was no medical expert, but I knew I’d just seen a very high-end genetics lab and I was watching two very skilled doctors.

The handheld sensor was hanging from my utility belt. I unclipped it and turned it on, holding it in my lap, dialing the sensor range down to the lowest and narrowest possible settings.

Two signals showed on my screen. Two Scythian signals. Avalon walked to the side of Gunny’s bed, giving me a clear read on K-Tor. Strong signal. I angled the device toward Avalon.

I got another Scythian signal. Not as strong as K-Tor’s, but an unambiguous alien signature.

Impossible, I told myself. Every report that had ever been published said our species were genetically incompatible. Everyone said so. I gathered my body armor and stood up. The Zeron scanner clattered to the floor. Avalon picked it up. She stared at it for a long moment before handing it back to me. “Thank you for your help, Tom.” Her eyes sought mine, but I looked at the floor.

“I‌—‌I need to go tell the others Gunny’s okay.” I could feel her gaze burning a hole between my shoulder blades as I hurried out.

The sun was up, and early morning steam rose from the brush field where Gunny had been stung. I half ran past the five-sided bell and across the clearing to where Mambo had parked the Fury. She slapped a sleeping Hercules when she saw me running. “Is Gunny all right?” she asked.

I slowed to a walk. “Yeah. I just... needed to get out of there.”

Mambo flipped her sunglasses onto her forehead. “What’s the matter with you? You look like you just ate a turd.”

I’d recorded the Zeron signals from the lab. My head was still reeling with what I thought I knew. Someone had figured out gene compatibility between humans and Scythians? Not only that, but Avalon, a human woman, was carrying an alien baby? I was a draftee for God’s sake. This kind of stuff was way above my paygrade, and I wanted no part of it. I held out the scanner and started to speak but Hercules beat me to it.

“Is the alien still in there?” he said. He hefted his rifle in his massive paw.

I put the scanner back on my belt. “K-Tor’s in there, yeah.” Maybe I’d keep Avalon’s secret to myself. For now.

Hercules and Mambo exchanged glances. “The alien’s got a name now,” Hercules said in a mocking tone. “Maybe I’ll carve it into his forehead.”

“You swore, Hercules,” I said with more force than I intended. “Nobody touches K-Tor.” I wasn’t sure why I cared so much, but I did.

“You can’t make a deal with a Scythian‌—‌we’re at war, Noog,” Mambo said.

I felt my face getting hot. “I made the deal with Avalon, a human. You’re both Marines, and you will honor your word. Right?”

I realized too late that I was yelling at them. Not just yelling, but pacing up and down, waving my arms, delivering an all-in-their-personal-space dressing down worthy of Gunny. Hercules had a clenched jaw and Mambo dropped her sunglasses over her eyes.

“Right?” I repeated, still breathing hard and sweating even harder.

They both nodded. “Sure, Noog.” Mambo said.

“And my name is Tom,” I yelled back.

“Tom.” The voice was very faint, like someone was calling me from across a wide open field.

“Tom.” I startled awake, my head thrashing back and forth as I tried to remember where I was.

The familiar bulk of the Zeron console centered me. Back on the Fury, at my workstation. A puddle of drool had dried on the flat part of the console, and it felt like I had a keyboard imprinted on the side of my face.

“Tom, Madeline wants to see you,” Avalon said. I focused on her face. Her blue eyes still had that searching quality to them, but she was smiling.

“Gunny’s awake?”

“And asking for you. I’ve already taken the other two in to see her.” Her gaze lingered on the Zeron screen and I stood up to distract her. I’d spent most of the day preparing a data package we could send off to UEF Command about Avalon’s... condition. She looked at the screen and started laughing. “Looks like you’ve been sleepwriting.”

I followed her gaze. I had indeed fallen asleep on the keyboard. The screen was full of gibberish. Inwardly, I breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll fix it later. Let’s go see Gunny.”

The sun was low and red on the horizon; I’d slept for hours. I had a sudden pang of indecision. Maybe I should have sent off the message to UEF, but this was the kind of thing that Gunny needed to know, especially since we’d agreed to let the alien‌—‌K-Tor‌—‌live. Maybe they’d want him as a specimen. And the baby, too. The political dimensions of this whole situation hurt my head. I needed Gunny to take it off my hands.

Mambo and Hercules were nowhere to be seen as Avalon led me through the compound to the medlab. Gunny was sitting up in bed. Her gray bob was a mess of finger-combed tangles, but she had color in her cheeks and she was alive. I smiled. “Gunny.”

“Corporal,” she said, a chill in her tone. My smile died and I instinctively came to attention. “I understand you made an agreement with this woman regarding my medical care.”

Avalon started for the door. “Maybe I’ll leave you two alone‌—‌”

“Stay, ma’am. I want to thank you for saving my life.”

“K-Tor is the real doctor,” Avalon said. “I’m more of a scientist, really. Geneticist by training.”

“Gunny,” I said, trying to put some urgency in my tone without alarming Avalon, “I need to speak with you.”

“Here’s the real doctor now,” Avalon said. K-Tor made some whirring sound behind me‌—‌probably a greeting‌—‌and I heard the slap of his bare feet on the tile.

Gunny’s eyes shifted over my shoulder. Her hand disappeared under the covers and reappeared holding a slim pistol. Mambo called it her “lady gun,” a five round old-school projectile weapon. Gunny fired right past me, so close I could feel the heat from the muzzle against my forearm. Again and again she fired until the weapon was empty. The shattering sound of the discharges deadened my hearing to a low hum.

I spun around. K-Tor was sprawled on the tile, leaking black blood everywhere, his bare torso stitched with five angry wounds. Avalon was on her knees, her mouth open in a scream, but all I could hear was the humming sound. A hand grabbed my collar, dragging me down until I was nose to nose with Gunny. Her sour breath washed over me and her growl barely penetrated my damaged hearing.

“Mission complete.”

In hindsight, I suppose Mambo and Hercules didn’t break their word to me. They didn’t pull the trigger that killed the alien.

K-Tor. His name was K-Tor, I reminded myself again.

Sure, Mambo gave Gunny the weapon, and Gunny never actually promised anything, so technically everyone had a clean conscience.

But I don’t live in a world of technicalities. I live in a world of actualities.

I could have rationalized what happened by saying that even if Gunny had died, the UEF would have sent another Eraser Unit to hunt the alien down. That’s probably true also.

It was dark when we left the planet’s surface. Mambo pushed the Gs harder than normal as we climbed like she couldn’t wait to get rid of the place. I wondered if she felt guilty about what had happened. I know I did.

However I turned it over in my head, I came back to the same place: I promised to keep K-Tor alive, and K-Tor was dead. That’s on me.

We paused in high orbit so Mambo could do her flight plan calcs to take us to the rendezvous point. Hercules was already asleep. Gunny was watching me.

“Had to be done, Tom,” she said.

I didn’t react to the fact that she’d used my actual name. Instead, the only thing I could think about was Avalon’s soundless scream.

“Course laid in, Gunny,” Mambo called out. “Our uplink is hot if you want to transmit now.”

“Tom,” Gunny said again.

Avalon’s scream was just on the edge of my hearing now, overpowering the hiss of the electronics around me and Hercules’ gentle snoring. At least she was still alive, I told myself. That was something.

“Corporal!” Gunny’s voice cut through the images in my head.

“Sorry, Gunny. What was that?”

“Do you have our Kill Report ready to transmit?”

“Just finishing it now, Gunny.” The Kill Report was a simple form. How many aliens killed, what planet, time and date. There was a space for amplifying details but no one ever used it. All anyone cared about was the body count. I loaded it into the transmit queue.

My message about Avalon and cross-species genetics was there already, complete with Zeron data files.

I deleted it.

“Kill Report ready to transmit, Gunny.”

Q&A with David Bruns

Where did this story come from?

Honestly, it was my wife’s idea. Christine has eye rolled over my sci-fi obsession through more than a quarter-century of marriage, but she still reads every story I write‌—‌regardless of genre‌—‌and I love her for it. But at the oddest times, she’ll blurt out an idea and say, “You should write a story about that.” (I believe “The Epsilon Directive” idea came out of an episode of Vice.) When those moments strike, I just write the ideas down and let them cook for a while.

As for the writing part, I love taking tried and true sci-fi tropes and giving them a little twist to add some fun to the story. And really, isn’t everything better with a surprise ending?

How does this story fit with other things you’ve written?

I write sci-fi under my own name and modern-day thrillers with a career naval intelligence officer and friend, JR Olson. He does the plotting and I do the writing for novels with names like Weapons of Mass Deception, about nuclear terrorism, and Jihadi Apprentice, about homegrown radicalism.

When I’m not trying to save our current world from itself, I like to make up worlds to save. I’ve written a sci-fi/fantasy series called The Dream Guild Chronicles about a series of first contact experiences from the perspective of the aliens as well as number of sci-fi short stories. See http://davidbruns.com/books-stories/ for a complete list.

What are you working on now?

At the moment, I’m taking a break from thrillers to write a military sci-fi novel set in Nick Webb’s Legacy Fleet world. The new book is called Invincible, and is scheduled for release in Kindle Worlds on September 15, 2016. Here’s the tagline:

If this sounds like your kind of book, get on my mailing list for an advance review copy.