Page 10 of Nansar
Palaydium had a way of reshaping you, whether you wanted it or not. The atmosphere here was thinner than most worlds, stretching sound across impossible distances, making everything feel both closer and farther away at once. Months of training under Ahrick had taught me to listen to this planet's whispers—the shift of wind through canyon walls, the tremor of approaching riders in the hardpacked earth. Right now, every instinct I'd honed was screaming the same warning: time was running out.
I dug my heels into Starfield's flanks. She surged forward with the kind of explosive power that would've sent most riders tumbling into the dirt. The tracker on my forearm pulsed faster, its rhythm matching my own racing heartbeat as the distance closed.
At least I knew exactly where the pod had come down. That head start might be all that stood between the female and a shallow grave.
Assuming I wasn't already chasing a ghost.
The crash site materialized as I crested a jagged outcrop—a violent scar carved through the landscape, the escape pod crumpled at its terminus like something the planet had chewed up and spat out. Thin wisps of smoke still curled from the wreckage, gray fingers reaching toward the pale sky before dissolving into nothing.
I brought Starfield to a halt and dropped from the saddle, my blade already half-drawn as I approached. The pod's hatch gaped open, twisted metal shrieking softly in the wind.
"Hello?" The word felt hollow even as it left my lips.
Nothing. No one.
I circled the wreckage, cataloging details. The emergency supplies compartment had been forced open—not elegantly, buteffectively. A piece of debris still jutted from the seam where someone had used it as a makeshift lever. The medi-kit was missing. So was what looked like a portable light, several ration packs, and the survival blanket—only its torn wrapper remained, caught on a shard of hull and fluttering like a surrender flag.
She'd been conscious. Thinking. Planning her next move.
That was promising.
I crouched beside the hatch, studying the ground. Palaydium's soil was unforgiving, baked hard by the relentless sun, but not so hard it couldn't hold a story. Boot prints—small, unmistakably human—led away from the wreckage. I traced their path with my eyes, reading the tale written in disturbed pebbles and crushed scrub.
One set of tracks. No drag marks. No erratic stumbling or signs of injury—the stride was even, deliberate, the gait of someone moving with purpose rather than panic.
She'd walked away under her own power. Not dragged off by scavengers. Not fleeing in blind terror.
I rose to my feet, my gaze tracking the trail as it stretched northwest past the mesas toward the tree line where scrubland surrendered to one of Palaydium's precious forested areas nestled at the mountain foothills. Behind me, the growl of engines swelled—Persico's men closing in like carrion birds. An hour till they reached the pod, maybe less.
I whistled sharp and low. Starfield answered instantly, and I vaulted into the saddle. The female had a head start, but she was earthbound in hostile territory she couldn't possibly know.
I could catch her.
Iwouldcatch her.
Because the alternative—someone else finding her first—wasn't an option I'd entertain.
The trail wound through scrubland that grew denser with each stride, vegetation thickening as the terrain climbed toward the foothills in gradual waves. Starfield's hooves whispered against the ground, her training keeping her movements ghost-quiet despite our speed. The boot prints continued their steady march forward—purposeful, directed. She wasn't just fleeing. She had a destination in mind.
Clever female.
The tree line rose before us like an ancient wall, dark and imposing. As we drew near, a new sound threaded through the wind. Water. One of the seasonal streams that carved arteries through these hills during the wet months, their banks lush with edible moss and gnarled roots. She'd been hunting for water—yet another mark of a survivor's instinct.
Then I caught it. Voices, cutting through the natural symphony.
I reined Starfield to an abrupt halt and dropped from the saddle, my palm finding the familiar spot on her neck—the signal to hold position. Her ears swiveled forward, alert but disciplined. I advanced toward the trees on foot, keeping my profile low, boots seeking out the silent spaces between dried leaves and twigs.
The voices sharpened. One rumbled deep and coarse. The other rang higher, defiant.
Female.
Found her.
But I wasn't the only one.
I ghosted closer, using the massive trunks of old-growth trees as shields. The stream's babble grew louder, water dancing over worn stones. Through the lattice of shadows and dappled light, I spotted them in a small clearing carved out beside the water's edge.
The female stood with her back to the stream, spine straight as a blade despite the odds stacked against her. Small—all human females were—but she wore her defiance like armor. Her dark red hair had been pulled back in a practical knot, revealing features that were all sharp angles and stubborn determination. Dirt streaked one high cheekbone, and her Alliance-issued jumpsuit bore the ripped testimony of the crash and her trek through the scrubland. But her eyes...
