The rain was still pouring outside. My feet sank into the mud, forcing me to use every bit of strength to keep moving forward. Only forward.
I crossed the checkpoint, just as Ray had said — no one was there. Moving a little further, trying to stay out of the spotlights, I spotted him. He was pressed against a loading probe, waiting for me.
It was dark and cold around us, which was surprising for this planet, but I had no choice but to get used to it. The rain had soaked through me, making my clothes heavier, and I was slowly starting to freeze. My hair had grown out during my time in the mines, and now, plastered to my forehead and face, I had to keep pushing it back with my hand.
"Where were you?" Ray asked nervously when I reached him and sat down beside him, waiting for his next move.
"Lost my way," I answered shortly.
He gave me a knowing look for a few more seconds, then peered toward the passage leading straight to the ship's entrance. Satisfied that no one was there, he gave the signal, and I ran after him in a crouch. We dashed from one piece of cover to the next, trying to avoid the spotlights sweeping the ground.
Scattered debris and tools lay everywhere. Some of it was spent artillery shells — probably knocked loose from the storage bay during landing. The two-hundred-kilogram casings were badly scorched, their tips missing.
"So it fired," I concluded, examining them.
"What?" Ray asked, confused. "Who fired?"
He turned and looked at me in bewilderment. I nodded toward the pile of shells near one of the ship's eight landing legs. From the look on his face, I could tell he understood.
"But at who?" he asked, hoping I had the answer.
I wished I knew. Maybe even more than he did.
"That's what we still have to find out," I answered, and we moved on.
Circling one of the massive landing legs, we took cover behind the outer hull, ready to sprint across the concrete field straight to the main body — past the lights and patrol drones that could activate at any moment and spot us. After that, they'd surely sound the alarm, and we'd be facing a slaughter with a couple hundred heavily armed soldiers.
Not the best outcome.
"Ready?" Ray asked.
"Ready for what? I..." I didn't even finish before he bolted straight for the ship.
"Damn it," I cursed and ran after him.
My soaked clothes and the lingering pain in my body kept me from running as fast as Ray, even though he was older by a decade and hadn't spent years in Legion intelligence training.
But I made it — slamming straight into the hard metal. The sharp pain in my arm, which took the brunt of the impact, made me think I'd injured it or, God forbid, broken it.
Ray heard and saw me crash. He came over to help me up.
"Did you break anything?"
"Don't know," I said, getting up with his help.
My arm burned and was almost numb from the pain. Even if I had broken it — which was unlikely — the remnants of the drug I'd injected would still heal it over time, so there was nothing to worry about.
"Can you walk?" he asked anxiously.
"I think so."
He just nodded, and we moved forward, skirting the ship's hull, looking for a back entrance or a breach large enough to slip through.
After a few minutes of searching, we found a suitable crack in the hull — probably from a shell impact. It was torn and bent inward, making it easier for us to climb inside without getting cut.
Ray went first, then helped me up. My arm still hurt, but less so. Once inside, we had to crawl — we were right under the floor, in the technical section. Everything around us was a tangle of wires and pipes.
We crawled on our bellies, careful not to hurt ourselves. Steam and gases hissed from different directions, forcing us to dodge to avoid getting burned. We crawled for a few minutes before Ray found a grate leading upward.
Climbing out into the ship's corridor, one thing caught my eye immediately: the walls were scorched in places, and the ceiling showed marks from ricocheting bullets. There had been a fight here.
"Look," I said, nudging Ray to get his attention.
He noticed and stepped back, taking in the scale of it. And it was massive.
"What the hell happened here?" he asked, not expecting an answer. He didn't need one.
It was all strange and interesting, but we needed to figure out which part of the ship we were in, then orient ourselves and find the armory — that's where our escape would begin.
Moving forward, we came across a locked steel door, its control panel on the other side.
"Damn it, always the same," Ray cursed. We turned back, hoping the other door would be open. And to our relief, it was.
Deeper into the ship, on one of the walls, we found a holographic panel showing the structure of the third deck. That meant we were in the fuel section and technical maintenance for second-tier components.
We needed to get higher.
Going further, I noticed a strange emblem on some of the walls. Not like the Galt Emperor's House — not three intertwined circles. On the walls was a blade piercing an eye. The all-seeing eye.
The Edge.
We were on a Galtian counterintelligence ship. We had walked into the devil's own lair.
I remember, when I was little — just a child — I had vague memories of my parents, but I distinctly recalled one old story, more of an ancient myth from a forgotten civilization. It's been passed across the universe from person to person, from human to alien race.
Once, a great wanderer traveled the world in search of an ancient secret. He passed through thousands of countries and cities, survived countless fallen empires, and finally, just before the end, he found a sanctuary deep in the snowy northern mountains. Climbing the jagged cliffs, he discovered a cave — the entrance to the sanctuary. Unafraid of traps or mystical guardians, he entered with a soul pure and selfless, the very soul that had guided him all along.
Passing through stone ruins and remnants of a lost civilization, he found a lone tree, withering and begging for water. The wanderer would have gladly shared, but he was on the verge of dehydration himself. The Tree promised to reveal a secret in exchange for just a single drop of pure water. The wanderer thought for a moment, then decided to give the tree all his water, leaving himself with nothing.
The once withered and dying tree rose and filled with life. Its mighty branches bloomed with beautiful white petals, and the ground around it was covered in thick, soft grass.
"Thank you, human. But tell me — why did you give me all your water?" the now-mighty Tree asked.
The wanderer thought for a moment, then answered:
"I sought you my entire life. I walked through so many lands, climbed the highest mountains, crossed dense and dangerous forests — not to watch history die," he declared magnanimously.
Hearing these words, the Tree seemed to straighten, rearranging its branches. It bent one of its most beautiful branches toward the wanderer, and where the lost man, who had given everything, held out his hands, a sun-lilac fruit grew.
"Taste it, and you will know the secret of the world."
Without hesitating, the wanderer plucked the fruit and took a small bite. The ground beneath him began to crack, and he swayed. Soon he fell through a pile of stones, and before him lay a crystal sword, driven into the rock, surrounded by ominous darkness. The sword emitted such brilliant light that the wanderer had to shield his eyes.
"But what is this?" he asked the mighty Tree.
"This is the Sword of Power. Whoever takes it will shape the fate of humanity."
The wanderer reached for the sword, as a reward for all his suffering and loss, but he couldn't grasp it. He refused.
"Is this the secret of the world?" he asked in surprise.
"You have already seen all the secrets of the world. This is its greatest curse."
This strange, old story, as old as the world itself, is still passed down from generation to generation — like a gift from God, like a gift from the Tree.
Finding an elevator, we began heading up. I glanced at the small camera in the corner of the elevator, its lens aimed at us.
"I wonder if we're alone on this ship?" I asked myself.
"I doubt it," Ray answered.
As soon as the elevator stopped, we stepped out onto the sixth deck, where the barracks and combat sections were located — artillery, railgun emplacements. It was quiet, as if no one had ever been there, but I seriously doubted it.
The Edge is, above all, intelligence. They are hounds that will tear their enemies apart. They are smart and strong, with technology and power. A very dangerous enemy. We'd met them before, and it hadn't ended well for us.
Walking through the corridors, we saw a strange scene: shell casings scattered everywhere, scorched walls, mess halls and barracks in disarray, food and belongings thrown about, weapons left on the floor. In one of the barracks, we found pistols and grabbed them.
Though Galt weapons differed from ours, the design principles were similar — the bolt and magazine were roughly where we expected them to be.
The weapons were set to fire mode. Pushing deeper into the devil's lair, we finally encountered life — if you could call it that.
"Stop," Ray whispered, holding me back with his hand. "There!" He nodded in the direction.
At the intersection of two corridors hung a drone with a small machine gun underneath — a patrol unit. We needed to get past it without being seen. The problem was the drone's camera constantly swiveled in all directions. Trying to just walk past meant certain death. That little machine would have torn us both apart before we could get off a single shot.
But it had to have weak points. Everything does.
I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but humans are the most harmless creatures. Though many would argue with me.
So, we had a task, and we needed to solve it. What would Kyle — the Legion Academy cadet — have done? Something clever, something that might work. But there wasn't much left of that Kyle. I was in the worst possible situation.
At the academy, we were taught how to bypass one, but that method didn't work here. We were told to blend in with a crowd if it was in a city. They never taught us about enclosed spaces. Apparently, no one expected a drone to be placed on a ship that fired at anything that moved. Wait — that means it's guarding something. Or someone.
That was the only reason it would be placed here. Maybe it was an important logistics corridor, though on a ship this size, there was probably its own system. Perhaps one of the corridors led to a secret vault or the quarters of high-ranking officials.
That seemed more plausible.
We could risk it. Suppose I charge the drone, and Ray shoots it in that moment. Sure, I'd get hurt, but the real question was: how fast would the drug heal me? Would I bleed out before it could? How long would it take?
No, I couldn't risk that much. We needed to come up with something else.
We had to go back to the barracks to look for something useful — anything that could help.
After searching every barracks and finding nothing but rations and torn clothes, we headed to the mess hall, where we found what we needed.
A sheet of nanometal. Its composition was incredibly strong — they used it to armor vehicles and some fighters. It should be able to stop bullets. We finally had something to shield ourselves from the drone — a makeshift shield.
Soon we were back in position. The drone was around the corner. The plan was this:
I throw the sheet at the drone. It engages it and starts firing. Meanwhile, Ray takes it down. The plan sounded good, and might even work — with one catch. It was extremely dangerous. The drone could ignore the metal and lock onto me instead, turning me into Swiss cheese. It was a fifty-fifty shot, but we had no other option.
"Ready?" Ray asked, his eyes sad.
"What's wrong?" I asked, confused — as if he was about to bury me. Maybe he was.
"You could die," he explained.
"Not today," I said and nodded to him. He nodded back.
We were ready. In a few moments, the fate of Legion Agent Kyle Gratz would be decided. Whether he would continue on his path, or whether this would be the end.
I held my breath and closed my eyes, as if accepting my fate, accepting the chance that I might die right now. I tried to picture Reni's and Durs's faces. To my relief, they were there. I hope they're okay.
I opened my eyes sharply and charged into death. Bursting out from behind the wall, I hurled the sheet at the drone, then dropped to the floor and slid toward the wall. In that instant, I heard a barrage of gunfire — one shot stood out among the rest — then silence. Blood pounded in my ears, my breath was gone, I was terrified — but I made it. A second later, I heard the drone's wreckage clatter to the floor, its sharp edges scraping against the metal.
It worked.
Ray ran up to me, his pistol still emitting traces of plasma.
"You okay?" he asked, starting to check me over.
"Yeah..." I began, but then a sharp pain shot through my abdomen.
Looking down, I saw a grazing wound. When I'd thrown the sheet, a round must have ricocheted off it and skimmed past me. Fortunately, it was just a scratch — a big one.
"You'll live," Ray said, trying to encourage me while helping me up. "Let's go. We're running out of time."
Don't judge him for his roughness or his haste. At his age, in his situation, anyone would have done the same — maybe worse.
Moving deeper into the ship, we found a strange room that wasn't on the holographic schematics, but there was definitely a door leading to it.
"What's that over there?" I asked, standing in front of the control panel. By then, my arm had almost stopped hurting.
"I don't know. Some kind of passage, maybe," Ray answered quickly, scanning the area for guests. "We need to keep moving, don't linger," he began to get nervous.
"Wait, there's clearly something interesting here," I said and approached the panel to open the door.
As I expected, the door was locked and required an S-class personnel key card. Probably some high-ranking officer, or someone like that.
I didn't have that card, but I had something else, something more effective — five years of cyber-programming and hybrid attack courses.
After a couple of minutes of trying to crack the door's system, along with about twenty insults from Ray, I finally opened it. A sharp hum echoed through the ship, and I stepped back to keep myself safe just in case.
Behind the door was indeed a room. In the center stood a solitary prison cell, surrounded by disabled drones. It was pitch black, making it hard to see everything.
Approaching closer, I whipped out my pistol and aimed it straight at the cell, ready to shoot whoever was inside.
"Stop! I'm unarmed!" a man's voice shouted from the cell.
"Put your hands up!" I shouted back, keeping my pistol trained.
In that moment, someone raised their bandaged, wounded hands. On them, I recognized the familiar uniform. I knew it.
I lowered my weapon and started to rush toward the cell to free him, but rationality took over.
Ray stood behind me, aiming his pistol at the man, confused as to why I'd lowered mine.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked angrily, not sure what to do.
"He's one of us. Legion."
The prisoner's uniform was that of a Legion intelligence officer. Now everything fell into place — the gunfire, the fighting inside the ship, the external explosions. Our Legion strike team had boarded the ship and carried out an assault mission. Probably quite successfully.
"What's your name?" I asked, still not seeing his face clearly.
"Graham, 6th Division, Assault Regiment, Senior Lieutenant of the Falcon boarding group."
He was one of us.
At least something good on this planet.