Fear is a tool, just the same as mercy.

  — From Reflections on Pacification

  Mira heard a heavy thunk.

  He stopped and scanned his assigned arc as he was trained.

  When he saw nothing, he turned to ask Ren’kai if he had heard it.

  Ren’kai stood motionless.

  An arrow protruded from the center of his breastplate.

  His hand rose slowly, fingers brushing the fletching along the shaft. Ren’kai’s helmet turned from the arrow to Mira. His hand curled into the gesture of a patient question.

  Then he collapsed.

  “Contact, left! Shas down!”

  Mira grabbed the back of Ren’kai’s armor and began dragging him backward as the rest of the La’rua surged forward to cover them, weapons raised.

  “Negative contact!”

  “I didn’t hear a shot!”

  “Cadre command, this is Third La’rua. Shas in contact! We have wounded!”

  “Black sun filters up, scan probable sniper positions!”

  “Mira, pull him back into that building! Or’vren, cover him! Kel’shan, get a drone in the sky!” Shas’ui Tor’vael called.

  The shaft quivered slightly as Ren’kai was dragged across the sod.

  Or’vren kicked open the door to the building. Screams erupted from inside.

  Mira hauled Ren’kai through the doorway and dropped to a knee beside him.

  “Drone airborne!” Kel’shan reported over comms.

  The small recon drone rose above the street, its optics sweeping across the rooftops, roads, and tree lines.

  “Multiple contacts!”

  “Where?” Tor’vael snapped.

  “West side of the road. Tree line. I count five.”

  “You’re alright,” Mira said automatically, “We have you.”

  The arrow had punched through the center of the breastplate. The impact had cratered the armor inward around the shaft. Si’dar webs cracked across the surface.

  Mira’s hands hovered for a moment before touching it. Training fought instinct.

  Do not remove impaled objects. Stabilize. Call for medical drone.

  “Or’vren, we need a med drone—”

  Mira glanced down at the status indicators for his La’rua. Four gold marks twinkled back at him.

  And one mark of charcoal.

  Mira pulled the helmet release and slipped it free. Ren’kai’s head lolled with the motion.

  His eyes were open. His mouth slightly parted.

  But he was no longer there.

  Not again.

  Mira heard pulse rifle fire and a strange, high-pitched whistling sound.

  Another heavy thunk struck the outer wall.

  A second arrow clattered across the floor beside Mira.

  Mira stared at it for half a second.

  Wood. Steel tip. Feathered fletching.

  “Mira! Status!” Tor’vael shouted over La’rua comms.

  Mira looked down at Ren’kai for one more second.

  “Shas’ui Ren’kai is…”

  The words came out wrong.

  “Confirmed KIA.”

  “Acknowledged. Be advised, we are taking projectile fire from several unknown sources. I can see Gue’la gathering. They are armed. We are falling back to your position.”

  “Affirmative,” Mira replied automatically.

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  He closed Ren’kai’s eyes and placed the helmet on his chest.

  As Mira went to pick up his rifle, his eyes caught slight movement on the far side of the room. He snapped the weapon up, ready for whatever primitive attacker came at him this time.

  It was a family.

  A father shielding his mate and three young.

  They screamed and whimpered as Mira trained the weapon on them, but the Gue’la male had fire, determination, and hatred in his eyes.

  Mira’s mind flashed to Nirva pulling off his helmet for the Gue’ron’sha young. He could still hear his gurgling screams.

  He stepped closer. The female turned away and gathered the young against her.

  The male did not move. His eyes stayed fixed on Mira’s lens.

  “You hate me,” Mira said. His translator rendered the words in the Gue’la’s language.

  The man’s jaw tightened. Then he gave a single nod.

  “I assure you, the feeling is mutual.”

  Something shifted in the man’s expression. Mira could not read it. Understanding, perhaps. Hatred, more likely. Either way, he would make himself clear.

  “You will not be harmed. However, if you resist us…”

  Mira drew his pulse pistol.

  He did not point it at the male.

  “I promise it is a fight you will surely lose.”

  He let his gaze drift to the children huddled behind him, turning his helmet just enough to make the implied threat unmistakable.

  Mira felt his lip curl and was faintly surprised by it.

  The family’s eyes were not drawn to the pistol as he had expected. They flicked to it when it cleared his belt, but lingered far longer on the knife at the small of his back, its hilt jutting to the right.

  That, at least, needed no translator.

  “Mira! We are approaching the building. There’s a second story with a window facing the road. Move there and engage any target of opportunity. Or’vren, be ready to provide covering fire.”

  “Acknowledged,” Mira and Or’vren replied over comms.

  “Do not mistake our mercy for weakness,” Mira said to the family.

  He left them with that and made his way up the stairs to the second floor.

  The upper floor of the home was dominated by a few handmade beds and chests, three of each. Mira extrapolated that this must have been the children’s quarters.

  It strangely made him think of his own home on D’yanoi, the quarters he had shared with brothers and sisters over the years, as well as the parental instructors and mentors who had carried him through his youth.

  He thought of the mountains again.

  Mira shook the thoughts free and made his way to the window. He needed to focus on the present. His comrades relied on him.

  He opened the window a crack and saw the rest of his La’rua bounding by fire to the rear. Another few seconds and they would be in the building with him. The pulse fire they laid down was inaccurate, but it did the job of keeping the archers at bay.

  Mira could see them too.

  There was nothing special about them. They wore no armor. No banner marked their lines. Their clothes had nothing to indicate unit or rank. There was a vague attempt at camouflage; those wearing brighter colors had thrown brown or green cloaks over themselves.

  Something else was assembling behind the archers. This looked closer to a military formation. A block of tightly packed Gue’la advanced. All of them wore the same padded jackets, and a few had additional pieces of armor, like he had seen in the briefing holo.

  Mira retreated slightly from the window when an arrow impacted the frame. He continued backing up until his leg struck one of the bedframes. He circled around it, turned it onto its side, and dragged a chest behind it. Then he stepped up onto his makeshift perch. He could still see through the window, but he was no longer silhouetted for the archers to spot.

  He mounted his rail rifle against the bedframe and braced the weapon against his shoulder, then engaged the optical link. The weapon’s scope automatically calculated the optimal aiming point, accounting for wind, distance, and target motion.

  At this range, it hardly needed to.

  Mira squeezed the trigger lightly and heard the weapon charge as he laid the crosshair directly on the closest archer’s chest. The man was waving his fellows forward, calling something out to them.

  Whip-crack

  A fist-sized hole appeared in his chest. Dust plumed behind him. The Gue’la wore an expression of surprise as he crumpled to the ground.

  Mira cycled the charge and focused on the next target. The man looked around in confusion, trying to understand what had happened and where it had come from. His instincts were right to tell him he was in danger.

  He should have listened when they told him to stay behind the tree.

  Whip-crack

  He collapsed screaming as the projectile tore apart his shoulder.

  Mira waited. He knew what would come next, the same reaction he would have had watching one of his brothers take a round like that.

  There.

  Whip-crack

  The third Gue’la was knocked over mid-step as he tried to run to the aid of his fellow.

  Mira felt a grim satisfaction as he cycled the charge again.

  Fight or flight was a powerful thing. It could make even the most untrained sentient dangerous. But the fight instinct only worked if you knew where the danger was.

  With the last two archers, flight took over.

  Mira tried to track them and engage, but his shots missed each time.

  He checked the power pack on the rifle. Just under half charge remained. More than enough.

  He had barely been putting any charge into these shots. The extreme close range and nonexistent armor of the combatants made the rail rifle overpowered by nature.

  But now, as he watched the block of militia close with their building, he prepared to fully charge the weapon.

  Centering the crosshair on the Gue’la who appeared to be leading the formation, Mira prepared the rifle once more. The man wore more armor than the rest.

  This round would not just kill their leader. It would punch through him, then the soldier behind him, and the one behind that, ripping the heart out of the formation.

  Whip-crack

  Three Gue’la piled together in an undignified heap.

  But the formation pressed forward.

  In fact, they seemed to pick up speed now that their leader was dead.

  Courage in numbers. Gue’la fanaticism overruling logic.

  “Shas’ui, the archers have disengaged, but the melee troops are still closing with us,” Mira reported over comms.

  “Acknowledged,” was the only reply.

  Mira pictured the first-floor layout and knew instantly there were not enough firing positions for them to bring all their weapons to bear. At this range, and their rate of advance, it would become a hand-to-hand fight.

  Mira swapped out the battery pack on the rail rifle, calculating how many of their number he could thin out before they were upon him and his La’rua.

  The scream of jets roared overhead.

  A trio of battlesuits landed in front of the Gue’la block.

  For the first time, Mira saw them falter in their tracks as their eyes rose to follow the XV-8s to their full height.

  “IMPERIAL CITIZENS,” Commander Stillwaters called from his battlesuit. “THIS IS A TAU EMPIRE MILITARY ACTION AGAINST YOUR PLANETARY GOVERNMENT AND THE IMPERIUM OF MAN. RESISTANCE IS UNNECESSARY. DISPERSE AND RETURN TO YOUR HOMES. IF YOU REFUSE, WE WILL TAKE APPROPRIATE ACTION.”

  For a moment, Mira thought they would simply walk away.

  Each of the Gue’la took a few steps back.

  Then one of them found courage and threw a stone at one of the battlesuits.

  It bounced harmlessly off and landed on the ground.

  The battlesuits spooled up their burst cannons and lit their flamers.

  Within seconds, the column of warriors was reduced to cinders.

  The echoes of their screams died with them.