The transport shuddered as it adjusted course, and Noah caught sight of Pierce through the small command section window. Even facing a graveyard of human civilization, the commander's head was turning to scan the female personnel visible through the glass, his attention split between the crisis ahead and his personal obsessions.
"Change of plans," Pierce's voice crackled through the comm with that particular edge that meant bad news was coming. "We're splitting up to cover more ground. Time is a luxury we don't have."
Noah felt his stomach drop. Standard protocol was to maintain unit cohesion, especially in unknown hostile territory. But Pierce was already pulling up tactical displays, dividing their forces like pieces on a chess board.
"Pathfinder Seven, you're taking point on Sirius Prime. Grey, you're with the main assault team hitting the primary mining facilities. Eclipse, you're leading a recon battalion to the civilian settlements on the northern continent."
'Separating the team. In hostile territory. With unknown enemy capabilities.' Noah's mind immediately began calculating the tactical disadvantages. 'This goes against everything we've learned about maintaining unit cohesion.'
"Sir," Lucas spoke up, his voice carefully controlled, "wouldn't it be more effective to maintain team integrity? We work best when—"
"When I want your opinion on tactics, Grey, I'll ask for it," Pierce cut him off. "We have three planets, multiple facilities, and unknown enemy disposition. Time is critical."
Noah caught Sophie's eye across the transport. She looked as uncomfortable with the plan as he felt, but military discipline kept her expression neutral. Around them, the other Pathfinder teams were getting their assignments—everyone scattered, everyone isolated.
'Something's wrong with this deployment. Pierce is either incompetent or this isn't really a rescue mission.'
Three hours later, Noah stood on the ramp of a heavy transport vessel, watching the northern continent of Sirius Prime grow larger through the viewport. His "recon battalion" consisted of thirty-seven soldiers from various units—a cobbled-together force that made tactical coordination a nightmare.
None of his Pathfinder Seven teammates were with him—Pierce had scattered them across the entire operation. Instead, he had borrowed assets: two full squads from the 4th Recon Battalion, a medical team of six specialists, four communications technicians, three heavy weapons operators, a demolitions expert, two engineers, and a handful of support personnel who'd been assigned because they needed somewhere to go.
Maya Melendez from the 4th Recon served as his second-in-command, a twenty-three-year-old soldier who looked like she'd rather be leading her own unit instead of following orders from a nineteen-year-old recruit, no matter how impressive his academy scores were.
"Sir, we're seeing settlement structures about ten klicks from the landing zone," she reported, approaching with a tactical pad. "Thermal imaging shows human heat signatures, but no movement patterns."
'No movement patterns. That's... odd. Even civilian settlements should show normal daily activity.'
"Any signs of military presence?" Noah asked, adjusting his gear harness.
"Negative. No defensive positions, no equipment signatures, no communications traffic."
Through the viewport, the landscape looked wrong. The mining facilities dotted across the continent were intact—too intact. No battle damage, no signs of hasty evacuation, no defensive preparations. It was like everyone had simply... stopped.
'If the Harbingers hit this system six hours ago, where are the signs of conflict? Where are the casualties?' these were all questions that if anyone had just come from the orbit shouldn't ask.
The transport touched down in a field of crystalline formations that caught the local sun's light and threw it back in rainbow patterns. Beautiful and somehow ominous at the same time.
"Battalion, standard formation!" Noah called out, his voice carrying across the open ramp. "First and Second Squads take point, Medical team in the center, Support teams maintain rear security. Weapons ready but not aggressive. We're here to help, not intimidate."
Thirty-seven soldiers moved through the settlement approaches in a loose tactical formation, boots crunching on the strange crystalline ground. The buildings were a mix of prefabricated military structures and organic civilian construction—the kind of hybrid architecture that developed in long-term colonial settlements.
But the silence was deafening.
'No children playing. No machinery running. No conversations or daily life sounds. This isn't normal evacuation quiet—this is wrong quiet.'
"Movement," called out Pithon from First Squad's point position. "Multiple contacts, thirty meters ahead, behind those storage buildings."
Noah held up a closed fist, and the entire battalion froze. Through his enhanced vision, he could make out shapes moving in the shadows—human shapes, but they were moving wrong. Too careful, too coordinated for panicked civilians.
"Hello!" Noah called out. "Earth Defense Forces! We're here to help!"
The response was immediate—a flood of people emerging from buildings and hiding spots. Men, women, children, all looking haggard and frightened. They approached with the desperate urgency of people who'd been waiting for rescue.
But they were speaking in rapid, overlapping voices in a language Noah didn't recognize. The translation software in his helmet struggled to parse the dialect, producing fragments and half-sentences that didn't quite make sense.
'Local colonial dialect. Makes sense for an isolated mining settlement. But why does it sound so... coordinated?'
"Sir," Melendez said quietly, "standard protocol would be to establish a perimeter first, then process civilians. This many people approaching at once..."
"I know the protocols," Noah replied, but his mind was racing. 'She's right. We're exposed with civilians moving in from multiple directions. But they look genuinely distressed.'
The civilians were in rough shape—malnourished, dehydrated, some showing signs of injury. The medical team immediately began triage, distributing water tablets and emergency rations from their expanded supplies. Noah watched as nearly forty soldiers fell into humanitarian mode, their training taking over.
But something was nagging at him.
'They're organized. Even in distress, they're moving in patterns. Like they're following a script.'
One of the medics, Kim, was treating a group of children when she suddenly doubled over and vomited violently. Her partner, Hayes, immediately moved to assist.
"Kim, you okay?" Noah called out.
"Yeah, sir. Just... something about this place. Maybe the atmospheric mixture is off from standard."
Noah nodded before looking at his wrist pad where everyone on his team had a profile there.
'Environmental factors? Or stress response? Kim's been on two deployments—she hasn''t reacted to new environments. But hey, there's always a first time. I'm probably just anxious,'
The crowd of civilians had grown to nearly three hundred people, and they were becoming more agitated as the translation delay continued. Noah could see children clinging to adults, everyone looking at the EDF soldiers with a mixture of hope and something that might have been fear.
Jake Hendricks, one of the communications technicians, had set up his translation array and was working frantically to establish linguistic protocols. The twenty-two-year-old kept glancing at Noah with barely concealed skepticism—another older soldier questioning why a teenager was giving orders.
"Almost got it, sir," Hendricks said with forced professionalism. "Just need to sync with the linguistic databases..."
Finally, Hendricks' voice carried across the temporary camp. "Translation matrix online. You should be getting real-time conversion now."
Immediately, the babble of voices resolved into understandable speech, though the accent was thick and unfamiliar.
An older man, clearly a community leader based on how the others deferred to him, stepped forward. He was well-dressed despite the apparent hardships, and his manner suggested someone used to being in charge.
"Thank the stars you're here," he said, his voice carrying relief and exhaustion. "We've been waiting... hoping someone would come."
"I'm Noah Eclipse, Earth Defense Forces," Noah replied formally. "Can you tell us what happened here? Our last communication indicated Harbinger activity."
The leader's expression darkened. "The soldiers—your people—they received urgent communications from Sirius Beta. Reports of massive civilian casualties, immediate evacuation needed. They took all the military equipment, all the heavy weapons, and left us with minimal protection."
'That... actually makes tactical sense. If Beta was under direct assault, military assets would be redirected there. But why leave civilians completely undefended?'
"When did this happen?" Noah asked.
"Two days ago. We've been hiding in the storage facilities and underground areas since then. Afraid to use communications in case the Harbingers detected us."
Melendez nodded approvingly. "Smart thinking. Staying dark was the right call."
But Noah felt that nagging sensation growing stronger. 'Two days ago. That's before the communication blackout. If the soldiers were redirected to Beta, why didn't they report in?'
"Have you seen any Harbinger activity directly?" Noah asked.
"No, but..." The leader gestured to the horizon. "Strange sounds at night. Lights in the sky that don't belong to our equipment. We've been too afraid to investigate."
The explanation was reasonable. It fit the tactical situation. But something about the way the man spoke, the way the crowd arranged itself, the timing of responses...
'It's too clean. Too coordinated. Real panic doesn't organize itself this efficiently.'
"Sir," Melendez approached quietly, "we should establish a proper perimeter and set up temporary shelter. These people need medical attention and proper food. With this many personnel, we can create a secure zone."
Noah nodded, but his mind was racing. 'Why does this feel wrong? The explanation makes sense. The people are clearly in distress. But something...'
"Make it happen," he said to Melendez. "Standard humanitarian protocols. Set up overlapping fields of fire, but keep them discrete. And I want communications with the other landing zones as soon as possible."
As his expanded battalion began organizing the civilians and setting up their temporary base, Noah found himself gravitating toward the edge of the settlement. The Ravager rifle across his back felt heavier than usual, its beast crystal power core humming with stored energy he hoped he wouldn't need.
Melendez appeared at his side, her expression carefully neutral. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Something's bothering you," she observed. "You've been analyzing this situation like you're expecting trouble."
"Everything about this feels wrong," Noah admitted quietly. "But I can't put my finger on what."