The Kyra Sarin Trilogy: Kyra Sarin

By Simon Cantan

The first three books in the Kyra Sarin series, in one omnibus edition.

Kyra Sarin has survived five long years fighting invading aliens on Eris, but can she survive Earth? Facing off against terrorists, the aliens she'd hoped to leave behind, and evil corporations, Kyra has to use everything she learned at war to survive.

Inspired by 80s action movies, the Kyra Sarin series is on the lighter side military science. If you like sweary, over-the-top action, you'll love this series.

Grab a copy today, kick back, and watch a space marine show people how it's done.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon Cantan
• Release date: Jan 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386625933

Simon Cantan

Simon Cantan is an Irish Science-Fiction and Fantasy author living in Fredrikstad, Norway.

Book preview

HARD VACUUM

Chapter 1

DOCKING

The space station was a gaudy-looking thing, emblazoned everywhere with the WeaverCorp logo. Four pizza-slice-shaped docking rings met in the middle in a bright, flashing round hub. WC blinked out into the vacuum of space from the top.

The troop ship, also billboarded with WeaverCorp logos, inched closer. It extended a long, flexible coupling toward the metal ring of the docking port. The coupling wrapped itself around the ring and clung on, pulling tight. The ship spurted again, matching speed with the station.

Kyra Sarin turned off her ReadyNet, her implanted Internet connection, and the image of the ship winked out of her vision. She grinned at the flight attendant sitting opposite her and got a shy smile in return. Kyra's dozen medals, floating back and forth, abruptly fell with a clink as the station's gravity enveloped them.

She took a photo from the front pocket of her combat suit and stared at it. A static shot of her daughters, waving at the camera and smiling. They'd been four and seven, respectively, when the picture had been taken. She didn't know what they'd look like now, after five long years of war. Communications in the outer solar system had been impossible. She wondered if they would even recognise her.

The flight attendant got to her feet and said something in Mandarin, waving to her.

Kyra couldn't understand her words, but she got the message — she could leave the ship. Some genius on Earth had decided to hire English speakers to fight and Mandarin speakers as support. It was worst in supply situations, where the ReadyNet connections regularly messed up a translation.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and got to her feet, pulling out her bag from an overhead locker. She glanced back at the rows of seats behind hers— five hundred of them, all now empty. Four hundred and ninety-nine of her friends and enemies had died at the hands of the Xenomigrants.

The flight attendant said something else, a little more urgently, and waved again.

Kyra nodded and followed the woman out of the ship, across the soft coupling and into the space station.

Five hundred soldiers were standing at attention in front of the docking port. They saluted as one. Their captain managed a weak smile, trying to hide her nervousness, and approached.

Sergeant, it's an honour to meet you, the captain said.

Kyra read the woman's name — Kumar — and nodded. Captain Kumar.

The captain leaned in close. I don't mean to bother you, but I wondered if you have any advice?

Aim for the knees, Kyra grunted. She pushed past the captain and walked between the soldiers, all of them still at full salute. They looked like innocent little girls. Some of them even wore makeup.

All right you fucking swamp rats, get on the boat before I shoot you myself! Captain Kumar roared.

Kyra turned and watched row after row of soldiers jog inside the ship. She tried to recall the same moment, five years ago, when she'd flown out. The memory wouldn't come.

For over a decade, five hundred soldiers had gone out every month; all of them sent to fight the Xenomigrants around Eris. Of those thousands, four had survived long enough to return home. The screens in the barracks had played endless loops of their homecomings — a futile dream that it was possible to survive. Kyra had abandoned that hope early. Soldiers who clung to it died quickly — their minds focused on Earth and not on the gigantic bug trying to eat them.

The last soldier ran through the soft coupling into the ship, and the docking port irised shut.

Kyra walked to a nearby porthole and looked out. She watched the ship fall away from the station, white plumes of liquid jetting from it. Somehow, seeing the ship leave made the return to Earth more real. Now there was no way of her returning to Eris. For some reason, she felt a twinge of sadness, but it was suffocated under relief.

With the ship gone, the docking area sprang into action. Workers appeared from nearby corridors and began moving crates and connecting cables.

She pulled up a map of the station on her ReadyNet and located the barracks — a short walk from the port. WeaverCorp probably didn't want soldiers traipsing around the station, getting in the way of the support personnel.

She walked across the docking port, ignoring the shouting workers. One of them drove straight for her in a pallet-loader, a large crate blocking his view. Kyra activated the servos of her suit legs through her ReadyNet and sprang forward, vaulting four metres and clearing the crate. She glared back at the man as he sped by, oblivious.

Reaching the edge of the dock, she turned down the corridor toward the barracks. On the right side, a dozen gaudy shops blinked and waved on her ReadyNet. She keyed them off. They still had old-fashioned lights and screens, but those were easier to ignore.

She opened the barracks door and walked inside. Row after row of bunks filled the space, all empty.

Hello? she called. Her voice echoed around the giant room. Where the fuck is everyone?

Her ReadyNet brain implant showed the icon for an incoming video message in the corner of her eye. She focused on it to click it open.

A short, smiling Indian man waved at her. Hello, Sergeant Sarin. I'm Manik Dada, your liaison Earthside for your reintegration back to Earth. I'm here to help with the transition to civilian life. I'm sorry I can't be there, but all non-emergency shuttles were confined to the hubs for the past week. Your shuttle has now launched and will arrive in twenty-four hours' time, after it resupplies Kingman station. In the meantime, we've credited your account with two hundred Weaver dollars. You can spend it at any of the station shops. If there's anything else I can do for you, please don't hesitate to contact me.

Manik grinned and the video froze, holding on his wide grin and half-open eyes.

Kyra closed the video, throwing her bag on the nearest bunk and sighed. Typical WeaverCorp bullshit. They couldn't organise a wet dick in a whorehouse. She walked to a bunk and lay down, helmet and armour on because she was too used to it to sleep any other way. Closing her eyes, she set a timer for twenty-four hours ahead. She deactivated her ReadyNet and fell asleep in an instant.

Chapter 2

INFILTRATION

Kyra's eyes snapped open, and she looked around. Something had woken her. The bunk was shaking. Sitting up, she scanned the room. The shaking stopped. For a moment, she wasn't sure if she'd dreamt it.

She switched on her ReadyNet and checked for station alarms, but there was nothing active. She called up her shuttle timer - twenty-two hours, fifteen minutes. Grumbling, she lay back down and closed her eyes. Something had probably fallen over in the dock.

***

Her eyes flicked open again, this time to the unmistakable whisper of flak fire.

She rolled to her feet and rushed to her bag, searching for her gun. It took her a long second to remember it wasn't there. It had been taken before she'd boarded the troop transport home - needed for the war effort. It had felt like losing a limb when they'd taken it.

She dropped her bag and darted to the door. She opened it a crack and looked outside.

Men with guns were out in the corridor, rounding up the station crew. One of the gunmen moved from shop to shop, searching for anyone hiding in the racks.

Kyra sprinted to the rear of the barracks where she knew she'd find an airlock. The exit was standard on every WeaverCorp barracks in the solar system. It had saved her life more times than she could count. She bolted into it, checked her suit seals and pulled the door closed. As the airlock cycled, she stared through the window in the inner door.

A gunman strode into the barracks, his gun held ready. He walked to her bag and poked at it. Seeing there were no weapons inside, the man moved on to search under each bunk.

The airlock finished cycling and pinged. Kyra shoved the outer door open and clambered outside. She could see the man inside the barracks hurrying toward the airlock.

She was concentrating too much on the man and almost missed the handhold on the hull. She didn't have thrusters, so a missed handhold meant a slow death drifting through space. She pulled herself close to the hull and waited. When she thought enough time had passed, she looked back through the window.

The man had his back to the airlock, walking away; apparently he hadn't seen her. He reached her bag and picked it up again, slinging it over his shoulder.

When I get that gun, I'm going to give you a prostate exam with the barrel, Kyra growled.

She wondered just who the men were. They were obviously military from the way they moved, but they didn't keep together like a squad. They had to be mercs.

Male mercs too. On the front lines at Eris, men weren't worth a damn in combat. They were too weak and emotional to handle it.

She closed the outer airlock door and scanned the area around her. She was clinging to the wall of the large metal wing, which extended all the way to the centre of the station. A few handholds ringed the door but didn't extend further out. A hundred metres to her right, a soft coupling tunnel connected Delta Wing to Alpha. Following the length of the soft coupling with her eye, she could see an airlock jutting out, halfway down. It was two hundred metres from where she floated.

She enhanced her vision with her ReadyNet and zoomed in on the airlock. She could make out handles around it. Without any kind of propulsion, it was going to be risky, but she didn't see any other way. She lined up, planting her feet against the hull. After making a last-second adjustment, she launched herself into space.

A hundred and seventy-five metres to go.

A hundred and fifty.

The space station jolted from some kind of impact, shifting to her left.

She knew she wasn't going to make it. She was going to glance off a blank section of the hull and drift away into space.

Scrabbling, she grabbed her water bottle from her belt, ripped it free and threw it out into space with suit-boosted power. The bottle shot away from her, and she arced in the other direction. It was going to be close.

The handhold neared. She grabbed for it, catching it with her fingertips and pulling herself to the hull. With her heart in her throat, she wrapped her arms around the bar. Let's not do that again.

The soft-coupling airlock was smaller than the one in the barracks. She barely fit inside it with her suit. Pulling herself in, she slammed the outer door and pressed the cycle button.

The airlock flashed red, refusing to cycle.

What the fuck is wrong with you, you hunk of plastic shit? she slapped the panel with her hand.

The airlock flickered green and cycled, sending air into the compartment.

Yeah, that's what I thought, she said. She pushed the inner door open and moved into the soft coupling.

She struggled along the plastic corridor, back toward Delta Wing. Her feet sank into the flexible surface. It had been designed for zero gravity movement, with plastic rungs extending from every side. After a few exhausting minutes, she reached the airlock for Delta Wing and looked through the small window.

She could see the man from the barracks at the far end of the corridor, her bag over his shoulder, talking to the other men. They pushed a few stragglers through an open door. She accessed her ReadyNet and saw the door led to the canteen.

She waited until they all went in, out of sight, and then opened the heavy door to the corridor. She padded to the first shop nearby and slipped inside.

Racks of dresses and jewellery filled the shop. Nothing she could use. She padded out again and around to the next shop. Inside this store, lurid pink and purple displays contained an assortment of sex toys. She ignored the luminescent vibrators and cling suits, heading for the S&M section near the back.

She scanned the collection of spiked collars and zipped masks, but nothing seemed useful. All of the handcuffs had quick-release catches. They were designed for play, not serious use.

Has no one ever wanted to get a little rough around here? she grumbled, walking for the door. She checked the corridor and stepped out.

Alarms blared all around her.

She spun, searching for the source of the disturbance. She looked down and spotted a small bot clinging to the leg of her suit. The bot was knee-high and had an enormous phallus jutting from its groin. It humped her leg enthusiastically, but the multiple layers and vacuum-proof armour kept her from feeling anything.

When she backed into the shop, the alarms stopped. She ripped the bot from her leg and threw it into a rack of butt plugs, which scattered across the floor like bowling pins with daddy issues. Peeking out, she saw two men emerge from the canteen.

Ray, go check that out, said one.

The other glanced at the ammo counter on his gun and strode toward the store.

Kyra looked around the shop, searching for somewhere to hide. The only spot was the changing room at the back. She dashed to it and got inside, closing the swing-door behind her. It was little more than a closet. A few PVC outfits were hanging from the hooks on the walls.

Come on out, the man — Ray — called from the front of the store. Don't be afraid. The guns are for your own protection. There's been an emergency, and we need to evacuate everyone.

Kyra checked her ReadyNet. The escape pods were in the docking areas, not the canteen.

We won't hurt you. Come on out, Ray said, moving closer.

She planted her left boot against the back wall of the changing room, crouching down, ready.

If you don't come out, I have to shoot, Ray said from just outside the swing-door.

Kyra launched herself through it, fists out in front of her. She slammed into Ray's stomach, driving the wind from his lungs.

He stumbled backward against a shelf of dildos, sending the dildos wobbling back and forth in disapproval.

Ray brought his gun up, trying to aim.

Kyra grabbed it and threw it aside, her suit's power ripping it from his futile grasp. She pulled Ray up by his cheap leather jacket and flung him headfirst across the store.

He slammed into a display of cling-suits. The arms of the suits reached out to stroke his face.

Help! Ray called, scrambling to his feet. He searched around him and found a novelty whip. Rolling it out, he cracked it at her face. It pinged harmlessly against her faceplate.

She caught it with her right hand, yanking Ray so hard he flew through the air. Her arm lashed out, clotheslining him as he rocketed past.

He struggled to rise.

She grabbed his head and somersaulted over him, wrenching down hard. There was a loud crack and Ray went limp.

Boots clattered down the corridor, running for the shop. Kyra bolted for the door and dashed across to the barracks.

Hey, who are you? someone called.

She ignored him, sprinting for the airlock. She could hear footsteps close behind her.

Stop now or we shoot! someone shouted.

She reached the inner door, opening it and pushing inside. She yanked it closed and pressed the button. The airlock began to cycle.

She looked back through the window to the barracks.

Three men with guns stood staring at her. They all brought their weapons up and fired at the window. A web of cracks spread out. The glass was thick, but not impenetrable. One of the men held his hand up, and the others stopped. He walked over to a comms unit on the wall.

The airlock finished cycling, and Kyra pushed outside, leaving the outer door open. They wouldn't be able to follow her with the door open.

The man at the comms unit smiled and waved at her before turning and walking away. The others trailed after him.

Kyra looked at the airlock display. A blue lock symbol told her she couldn't get in there again. She used her ReadyNet to zoom in on the soft coupling airlock and saw a blue symbol there, too. For a moment, she considered punching in the inner airlock window, but that would kill the dockworkers, and she couldn't fit through it anyway.

She closed the outer door and activated her ReadyNet, searching the station map for any way inside. She could only find one possibility — shipping on the far side had a warehouse open to space. There might be something there to help her get inside the station.

The problem was getting there. It was two kilometres away, and there weren't any handholds. She scanned the area nearby and spotted a communications dish fifty metres above her. A plan formed, and her mind immediately screamed a thousand reasons it was crazy.

Well, Kyra, you could sit here all day with your thumb up your ass or you could go kill these motherfuckers, she growled. She thought about the grin on the merc's face as he'd walked away, and the choice was simple. She launched herself at the dish.

Chapter 3

SHIPPING

Kyra left a wake of broken dishes, solar panels and support struts behind her as she launched and vaulted across the surface of the station. At least her ReadyNet told her that she had plenty of oxygen and power.

After a tense hour of jumping, she paused by a control box on the top of Bravo Wing. She could see a large, streamlined ship locked onto the docking port. The light from a small cockpit shone out against the terrible black of space.

She adjusted her grip on the delicate control box and moved down to the top edge of a massive opening in the side of the station. Inside, she could see countless shelves crammed with crates. She knew they would be filled with water rations and metal parts, anything that didn't require heat and air to store it.

She got to the lip and climbed down, holding the edge until she reached the floor. With a small push, she jumped inside. She thumped down on the deck as gravity reasserted itself.

Robots glided around the warehouse, ignoring her as they arranged the crates in ever more efficient patterns.

She slunk past them to an airlock door on the other side. The door was large enough to allow the shipping containers through and had a manual crank wheel in the centre.

She moved to a small window set in the door and looked inside. The airlock was empty. She spun the wheel until the door hung free, and then pulled it up. Ducking under the door, she yanked it shut again and locked it.

Bright light shone through the window in the inner door. She crept to it and looked inside to a corridor. Just as she reached the window, two men turned the far corner with guns raised. She ducked out of sight and waited.

After a moment, she took another look and saw the men had gone. She double-checked the corridor was empty, and then keyed the controls and filled the airlock. The electronic display flashed green, and the inner door swung open.

She hurried inside and closed the door behind her. Scanning the corridor, she spotted a metal door nearby. She slipped inside to find a large warehouse filled with whizzing bots.

She activated her ReadyNet and called Manik Dada, her WeaverCorp liaison.

He answered after a moment, looking harried. Hello?

This is Kyra Sarin. Listen, armed men have captured the station. They've been rounding up the crew and taking them to the canteen.

What? Manik appeared confused. Kyra Sarin the soldier?

You need to tell someone to send help, Kyra said. I'm not sure what they want, but it can't be good.

You escaped these men?

She nodded. I don't think they know where I am, so I should be safe for a while.

Above her, a speaker crackled, and a voice spoke. Hello, everyone. This is Baltasar Kemke. We are representatives from WikiDeath, the freedom movement. My agents are rounding up people for their own safety. It is vital that you all hand yourselves in to the nearest agent. Otherwise, the consequences could be fatal.

The voice paused for a moment, and then began speaking Mandarin.

Did you hear that? Kyra asked.

Manik nodded. We've had trouble with WikiDeath before. They don't approve of our war against the Xenomigrants. They never do anything violent, though.

Well, this seems pretty fucking violent.

The voice on the speaker finished speaking Mandarin and switched back to English. There's a soldier loose in shipping warehouse Bravo. Rainor and Stein, go and take care of her.

Shit, I'd better go. Kyra closed her connection to Manik.

She scanned the room, looking for a way out. Long shipping containers sat atop the deep shelves to leave gaps between them. She might be able to hide in the shadows there for a while, but not forever. Six shelves stretched a hundred metres above her to the ceiling at the top of the station. Each of the shelves was broad enough to almost be a floor onto itself. Robots adjusted the crates a millimetre at a time until they considered them perfect and moved on.

She walked further into the warehouse, slipping between the crates that hadn't been stacked away yet. She spotted metal stairs and padded to them, trying to stay quiet. She heard the door opening and ducked behind a crate, out of sight.

Two muscular men in turtleneck shirts walked in, their guns raised, scanning the room.

She crouched low and made for the stairs, keeping an eye on the men.

Back there, one of the men shouted.

Kyra abandoned her efforts to stay quiet and sprang up the stairs. Flak fire hit the metal around her, ricocheting off the stairs and her suit. Her ReadyNet flashed at her with each glancing impact and her suit power plummeted.

She reached the top of the stairs and ducked onto the shelf, out of sight. She pushed her way between two containers as flak fire hit the roof above her. Staying low, Kyra waited for the gunshots to die down.

Rainor, go up and get her, a voice called from below.

Kyra inched out and peeked down the stairs. A burly blonde man was climbing toward her.

She backed away on the shelf, glancing around her and staying back from the edge. She couldn't find any cover. Neatly packed shipping containers filled the shelves, each holding dozens of precisely arranged crates. She grabbed a crate and heaved, throwing it out between her and Rainor.

From below her, flak crackled, punching into the side of the crate. She scrambled away from the bouncing flak.

A loud beeping behind her startled her. She turned and saw a robot weaving backward and forward. She stepped aside, and the robot dashed to the crate, picking it up and moving it back into place.

You tidy little beauty, Kyra said. She grabbed another crate and threw it out onto the shelf. She kept flinging crates until a jumble cluttered the edge of the shelf. A crate fell off the end, and she heard a shout below.

Come on out, girl, Rainor called from the other side of the mess of crates. She could see him straining to spot her.

A robot darted up the steps behind Rainor and beeped at him. Rainor turned, his gun raised and blew the bot's face off.

Kyra broke from her hiding spot, vaulted the crates with a servo-assisted jump and tackled Rainor. She ripped the flak gun from his grasp and tossed it over the edge of the shelf. Grabbing the front of his jacket, she tried to yank him toward the edge, where she could throw him off.

Rainor twisted away from her, breaking her grasp. He backed off a few steps, slipping his jacket off and throwing it to the ground. Reaching behind him, he pulled out a long knife. You've got guts, soldier. Let's see them.

Kyra dropped into a fighting stance, her hands open, ready to grasp Rainor's wrist.

Rainor advanced, letting his knife lead. He waved the blade back and forth through the air, grinning. How reliable is that armour? I heard a sharp blade can rip right through it.

Kyra retreated, watching him.

Did you all act like such pussies on Eris? Rainor asked. No wonder it's taking so long.

You keep waving that thing like a limp dick. I'm going to stick it so far up your ass, people will think it's a mohawk, Kyra said

Rainor grinned at her. This shelf doesn't go on forever.

Kyra heard something beep. She could hear a robot whirring just behind her. Dodging around it, she kicked it in the butt.

The robot stumbled forward, colliding with Rainor's crotch. He bent to shove the bot away and she sprang at him, grasping his knife hand and twisting.

He fell to one knee, but he didn't drop the knife.

She swung in close and punched him in the nose. The blade fell to the ground with a clatter. She let go of Rainor's hand and grabbed his throat and crotch, lifting him high above her head.

Let me go, you bitch! Rainor shouted.

She staggered to the edge of the shelf and looked down at Stein lying under the pile of small crates she'd flung from the shelf. Return to sender! Taking aim, she threw Rainor at Stein.

Rainor plummeted down, crashing into Stein's chest. Both men lay in a puzzle of broken bones and blood.

She grabbed Rainor's knife from the ground, tucking it into her belt, then danced down the stairs, her eyes on the two men.

As she got halfway down, Stein began to push himself out from under Rainor, making for his gun nearby.

Kyra vaulted off the stairs and landed on the floor. The legs of her suit growled as they absorbed the impact. She sprinted to Stein, reaching him just as his fingers touched the gun. She stood on Stein's wrist, hearing the bones crack like a boxer's knuckles.

Aaah! Get off! Stein screamed.

Why are you all here?

I don't know. I'm just a merc. Baltasar Kemke paid us, and we came, Stein said, tears streaming down his face.

She twisted her foot, feeling something in Stein's wrist grind together. You have to know something. There's always scuttlebutt.

No, please. Baltasar knows. It's to do with data, but I don't know what.

She lifted her foot and smiled at him.

Please, let me live, Stein said.

She shook her head. Sorry, but I'm going to have to put my foot down.

She stamped on Stein's head, the suit's strength quadrupling her power.

The man's head exploded in a jet of brains and blood, spraying a passing bot. The robot stopped for a moment to look at her, seeming to be disgusted despite the impassive metal of its face.

Piss off, Kyra said.

The bot raced away, squealing.

She picked up Stein's gun, squeezing off an experimental round after the bot, but the gun wouldn't respond. It was DNA coded, useless to her.

An incoming call buzzed, so she glanced it open.

Sergeant Sarin, are you all right? Manik Dada said, wide-eyed.

I'm fine, Manik. It takes a little more than a couple of bozos to kill me.

What happened to them?

She glanced at the two mangled, bloody corpses. They got a bit jammed up.

She walked back to the entrance and stepped silently out into the corridor.

What are you going to do? Manik asked.

She jogged down the corridor, alert for any more mercs. There's a security room on Alpha Wing. I'm going to grab a gun and end this.

The speakers overhead crackled. Our soldier is turning into a problem. Rainor and Stein are dead. The soldier who killed them is heading toward Alpha Wing. Go; kill her; get a bonus. That is all.

Kyra skidded to a halt and stared at Manik. Are you telling them where I am, Manik?

Manik shook his head. No, of course not. How would I? You can see me.

She searched the ceiling and spotted well-hidden camera pickups at ten-metre intervals. Baltasar was watching every move she made.

What are you going to do now? Manik asked.

I'll call you back, she said, sprinting toward Delta Wing. She could hear footsteps pounding down the corridor close behind her.

Chapter 4

POWER

Kyra sprinted through the corridors, barely checking ahead of her as she ran. She stumbled over a loose floor plate while punching in a destination on her ReadyNet, but didn't slow. A holographic arrow appeared in her vision and she followed it, barrelling into the room indicated and glancing around.

She knew she only had a handful of seconds before the mercs would be through the door. She scanned the room desperately.

A maze of generators and cables filled the room, humming to themselves. All of them were arranged in neat rows of spinning motors and blinking lights.

She ducked under a branch of cables and hurried between the rows. At the third row, she turned in and hunkered down.

Three men ran into the room behind her, their guns swivelling back and forth as they searched for her.

Kyra moved along the row of machines, keeping low. Her suit alarm blinked — twenty percent remaining. She didn't have enough to rush them. Finding a gap between two immense generators, she jammed herself into it. She peeked out of her gap and saw a merc turn into her row.

She pushed further back, trying to disappear in the shadows. A cable snagged on the shoulder of her suit. She yanked it free, breaking off its connection to the generator.

The cable spat and hissed sparks at her, twisting in her hand like a snake.

She looked at the torn end of the cable, unsure what to do with it. She heard footsteps running close by. Springing forward, she led with the cable, jamming it into the chest of a mercenary.

The man jerked spasmodically, his shirt catching fire. All the lights in the room flickered and went out. The man screamed, steam coming off his eyeballs.

Kyra dropped the cable and fell back, staring at the man by the light of his flaming shirt. The brutality of it disgusted even her.

The electric shock stopped with the lights, and the man tried desperately to beat at the fire. Instead of going out, it rose up his arms. The flames licked up around his face, and the merc screamed. He turned and ran off down the row.

The light from the fire disappeared from view, leaving Kyra alone in the darkness. She strained, trying to see around her. She boosted her suit's audio and listened as the merc's screams dropped to a burbling whimper on the other side of the room. As the room quieted, she could hear the other men attempting to stay silent. They were between her and the doorway.

Kyra crouched low in case the lights came back on and moved to the end of the row. She sidled across the rows until she reached the one closest to the door. Dim light from the entrance showed two mercs standing over the body of their comrade. He was burnt beyond recognition. The two mercs stared at him, revulsion apparent on their faces.

She crept down the row as far as she dared, pinning herself to the shadows of the equipment.

Come on, let's light this bitch up, one of the men said.

Kyra grabbed the knife from her belt and held it ready. It wasn't balanced for throwing; she'd have to get close. If they moved into the darkness, they were hers.

Not until we fetch flashlights, the other merc replied.

Kyra crossed her fingers, hoping the other man was angry enough to ignore that, but the first merc nodded. You're a pussy. But it doesn't mean you ain't right. Come on, grab his body and I'll lock this door.

One merc pulled the charred body from the room while the other fiddled with the door panel. The door whisked shut, and the light from the doorway vanished.

Kyra crouched in utter darkness. She turned up the gain on her ReadyNet, but there was no light to see. Without power, the room felt like a tomb. She moved forward toward the door, her hands outstretched in front of her.

The knife in her hand tinked as it came into contact with something metal. She turned left and felt her way forward. She found a smooth surface with a frame around it — the door.

She explored the edge of the door with her knife. She found a small crack and picked at it with the tip of the blade, working it in. She wiggled the knife into the gap until it stuck. With the heel of her hand, she hammered the handle, wedging it in further.

She pushed the knife sideways, trying to prise the door open. A tiny crack appeared, widened. She yanked harder, and the gap opened up. But then with a loud snap, the blade cracked in two. She grabbed for the door edge, getting her fingers in the gap as the door closed. It squashed her fingers.

Grunting with the effort, she pulled the door open. She put her foot against the frame and yanked it back. The door gave way reluctantly. She managed to