Page 7 of Silver Slayer

"Drop your weapons and raise your hands where we can see them."

Chapter Three

VENNOX

Exhaustion pulled at me as the alien suns crept above the horizon. I had not slept more than a few mims at a time while Tyrk and Ruze worked through the dark hurs. Sleep rarely brought rest anymore. Every time I closed my eyes too long, I found myself back inside Uri's cage.

Instead, I watched their silhouettes hunched over sparking circuits, listening to them mutter tech terms as I fought to stay awake.

"Stay inside," Tyrk had ordered repeatedly when I suggested scouting the perimeter. "Until we know what's out there, this ship is our only protection."

As the twin suns rose, light filtered through the shattered viewport, and a sharp beeping cut through the silence. Tyrk lunged toward the damaged control panel, his massive frame tensing as he studied the flickering display.

"Movement," he growled, adjusting several controls that sparked in protest. "Northeast of our location."

Ruze appeared at his shoulder. “What are they?”

"Can't tell." Tyrk's fingers moved across the console, coaxing the damaged tech to life. "The scanner's compromised. But there's definitely something out there."

I moved closer, studying the erratic pulses on the screen. Four distinct heat signatures flickered in and out among the chaotic readings from the surrounding vegetation. They moved with purpose, following a direct path toward our position.

"Four beings," I said, my instincts finding the pattern beneath the noise. "Moving in formation."

Truxxet's fingers tightened around the shaft of his spear, thumb tracing the distinctive blue-silver sheen where Valosian steel met wood. "Could be predators."

Tyrk's jaw tightened. "Can't get a clear reading. This planet's teeming with life, and the damaged scanner can't filter it properly."

"Whatever they are, they're heading straight for us," Ruze said, his claw-tipped finger tracing their trajectory on the screen.

I straightened, decision already made. "We need to know what we're facing."

"I'll go," Truxxet volunteered, his scales flashing with readiness.

"I'll join you." I met his eyes. Our clan differences had grown less relevant with every hurs we spent on this world. Survival had a way of simplifying things.

"I will accompany—" Brunnex pushed to his feet, words slurring as he listed sharply to the right.

"You'll stay here," Ruze cut in, steadying him with a firm hand. "We need someone monitoring comms."

I caught Ruze's eye over Brunnex's shoulder. The slight tilt of his head said everything. A warrior didn't need pity. He needed purpose. Clan Jurigon's pride ran deep, deeper, maybe, than my own Huren stubbornness, and the dried blood on the bandage around Brunnex's head told the real story of why he needed to stay put.

Tyrk exchanged a glance with Ruze, then reached into the pocket of his leather pants and pulled out a small metal case. He opened it to reveal two strange devices: silver bracelets with intricate circuitry woven through their surfaces.

"Moktian cloaking devices," he said, lifting one from its housing. "Kept from a previous mission."

Ruze took the second bracelet, made an adjustment, and held it up to the light. "They bend light around you. Completely undetectable. I've linked them so you can see each other when you’re both cloaked."

"How do they work?" I asked, extending my arm as Tyrk approached.

He snapped the bracelet around my wrist. It adjusted automatically, tightening to fit my arm. "Press this node to activate," he said, indicating a small protrusion on the outer surface. "Again to deactivate."

Ruze held out the second bracelet, and Truxxet took it, turning it over in his hands. "The same devices Gunnox spoke of? When you landed on Tirius, and he interrogated that Zibeck?"

"The same," Ruze said, a low chuckle in his voice. "Gunnox regaling you with stories of adventures beyond the clouds of Valose?"

"He said it was like moving among the Spirits," Truxxet grinned.

"Except spirits don't leave footprints," Tyrk said. "The cloak doesn't mask sound or scent. Move too quickly, and it creates a distortion, like heat waves rising from sand."