Page 21 of Ashes & Aether

I am currently covered in a fine layer of gray dust and Ghorvek viscera.

Less than two marks ago, a Ghorvek scouting party breached the outer perimeter near a primary water filtration plant on the river Thames. The human strategy, proposed by the florid-faced general with the absurd mustache, was to detonate the access bridge. Collapse the infrastructure, starve the Ghorvek of a path forward.

It also would have starved the bunker of clean water for a moonfall.

I bypassed the chain of command, took the Veil on a low-altitude skim over the river, and dropped directly into the center of the Ghorvek hunting pack. Plasma blade activated. Problem solved. The bridge stands. The water flows. The Ghorvek are in pieces.

I turn a corner near the storage sectors and immediately hear a rhythmic, grating squeak.

Trevor.

The battered, pre-invasion explosive disposal drone trundles down the center of the hallway, its damaged treads pulling it slightly to the left. The mechanical arm bolted to its chassis twitches as it scans the empty concrete. Maggie refuses to let our engineers aboard the Sovereign upgrade her automated defenses, stubbornly clinging to this archaic piece of metal.

I step into the center of the corridor and cross my arms.

Trevor bumps against my combat boots. The drone pauses, whirs loudly, and attempts to push me aside. When that fails, it reverses a few inches and lets out a series of pathetic, grinding squeaks from its front axle.

I crouch down, balancing on the balls of my feet.

“You are a terrible soldier, Trevor,” I murmur, my voice echoing in the empty hall. “But your commander seems fond of you. And her fondness is a highly restricted currency.”

I reach out. My fingertips brush the rusted housing of the drone’s front axle. I don’t give it an Avaren upgrade. Maggie would notice new armor plating or a plasma cannon immediately. Instead, I direct a microscopic fraction of my nanites to seep into the joint, dissolving the rust, polishing the ball bearings, and coating the metal in a frictionless, invisible polymer.

I pull my hand back. “Go on, then. Dismissed.”

Trevor spins its tread. It rolls forward.

Silence. Absolute, glorious silence. The grating squeak is completely gone.

The machine trundles away, entirely unaware that it now possesses the smoothest axle on planet Earth. Chuckling, I push myself up and continue toward the war room.

My enhanced hearing picks up the argument before I even reach the blast doors.

“It is a gross violation of protocol, Elmsleigh!” General Hackett—the florid one—is practically shouting. “He engaged the enemy without authorization, and compromised our defensive perimeter!”

“The perimeter is secure, General.” Maggie’s voice is an icy contrast to his bluster. “And the filtration plant remains intact. Which it would not be, had we followed your recommendation to blow the bridge.”

“The alien is a wildcard! He does not respect the uniform!”

I nod at the soldiers guarding the door and they open it.

Four pairs of human eyes snap toward me.

I step into the room, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I respect competence, General Hackett. The uniform is just fabric. Usually draped over someone who spends too much time looking at maps and not enough time looking at the enemy.”

Hackett’s face turns a mottled shade of purple. He turns his furious gaze on Maggie, who sits at the head of the long metal table.

She looks exhausted, though she is hiding it behind an impenetrable mask of stoicism. Her dark hair is swept back from her face, her white blouse crisp and perfectly pressed. The deep-red lipstick is applied flawlessly. War paint. Her blue eyes meet mine, and for a fraction of a second, the ice thaws.

Then she drops her gaze to the paper map spread across the table.

“General Hackett,” Maggie says, her voice dropping an octave. “The Avaren intelligence officer saved our primary water supply this morning. He did so without requiring a single human casualty.”

“He went rogue!” the general protests.

“He went forward,” Maggie corrects sharply. She laces her fingers together over the map. “Which is more than I can say for our western patrol teams this week. Now. I am restructuring the command protocol regarding the extraterrestrial integration.”

The three generals exchange nervous glances.