“You okay, kid?”

  Following after the sword, a prominent figure crashed through the wall behind Jordan. The younger man found himself staring face to face with natural, periwinkle eyes set within the well-lined face of a man five decades his senior. The older man looked like he’d been in pristine condition as a younger man, though he’d gone to seed a little. Large hands and well-muscled arms were attached to a torso that had gone a bit soft around the middle. That fact did little to weaken the man’s personal aura, which radiated throughout the room as he stood there. Even as he asked after Jordan’s well-being, he gave another flick of the wrist. Another yellow sword manifested and flew over toward the stabbed man, decapitating him this time. At the same time, the old man tossed Jordan a stimulant without waiting for him to answer the question. Jordan caught the medicine and disengaged his Hypersight, gasping out a reply even as he jabbed the needle into his arm: “I’m fine. My friends are in trouble. Please help.”

  The older man waved his arm dismissively: “Don’t worry. I’ve already sent the others to help them. I promised Markus I’d take care of his brood first. You’re the spitting image of your father when he was younger. It’s uncanny.”

  Jordan nodded, a little irritated at the old man’s paternalistic behavior but not wanting to appear ungrateful to his benefactor. Saluting, he said: “Thank you for saving me, sir.”

  He dropped the salute, then motioned toward the door as he continued to speak: “I need to go check on my men. I’d appreciate it if you came with me.”

  The old man didn’t respond, but he did follow Jordan as he began running to the door. Jordan stepped over the body of the Marcovi man, calling over his shoulder to his new companion: “Watch out for a Grenade Capacity. They have a thin looking fellow who can throw those things with the devil’s accuracy.”

  Jordan’s warning was in vain, as the duo did not encounter the wiry man as they made their way back to the safehouse. Jordan sent a message to O’Riley but received no response. That made him speed up even further, and he soon walked around a corner and into a warzone. Bodies littered the pavement behind the safehouse, and a large hole had been carved into the safehouse’s back. Heartrate increasing, Jordan teleported to the opening and peered inside. He saw more bodies lying on the floor, and a half dozen shadowy figures milling around within. Jordan didn’t recognize any of the upright men, but he wanted to be cautious, so he called out gruffly: “Freeze, all of you! I’ve got a Delta class soldier behind me. You’re outmatched.”

  He was already prepared to teleport out of the way if they showed the slightest bit of hostility, but all the men inside gave him in response were a few laughs and amused remarks: “So that’s the Colonel’s kid?”, “Figures. He’s like a younger clone.”, “I think I remember seeing him at a wedding.”

  Jordan relaxed a fraction. Not too much, because while he’d just gotten confirmation that these men were his father’s backup, he still needed to verify the safety of his men. Just as Jordan was opening his mouth to ask after the other Pioneers, he heard another voice: “Do not worry, blondie. We’re all okay.”

  Jordan sighed with relief as he heard Ramirez’s voice, though he couldn’t help a bit of wry annoyance creeping into his voice as he responded: “Why can’t you call me ‘sir’ or ‘boss’ like you do Daniel, Ramirez?”

  “I call you ‘sir’, sir!”, MacNeil piped up from somewhere on the floor. Jordan soon learned that Ramirez and MacNeil were the only Pioneers still conscious, with O’Riley, Stan, and Gon all passed out but alive. That explained why the first of that trio hadn’t responded to his messages, and the confirmation that all his men were still alive finally allowed the young commander to fully relax. Apparently, the Pioneers had been in a brutal firefight with the criminals that they’d been gradually losing before the half dozen members of his father’s reinforcement group showed up. The reinforcements had hit the enemy from behind, and the rest was history. The crooks rapidly found the situation reversing on them, and they retreated with little hesitation as quickly as they could. There were no remaining signs of Sinachro or Marcovi goons.

  That didn’t mean that the Pioneers were totally out of the woods, however. For example, they were still surrounded by police: “Men within the metal fortress, come out with your hands up!”

  One of the cops had grabbed a megaphone and mustered his courage the moment it appeared like the fighting was finally over. Jordan fought the urge to roll his eyes, but a part of him was seriously worried. Would he have to fight the police? Run away? But he couldn’t run with the women in tow. Would he have to leave them to the cops? Fortunately, his reinforcements seemed unbothered. The Delta class man bellowed back out at them: “Good afternoon, boys. Is Lieutenant Masterson with you?”

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  That caused a small disturbance, before a shocked-looking blonde man in his late 40s shouted back: “Captain Peralta?”

  “Yes, it’s me, Lieutenant. Glad to hear my info about you being assigned here was still good.”

  “…It’s actually Captain now, sir. I got the rank in the force.”

  “Bah! police ranks don’t count. I’ll call you captain when you earn that rank on some God forsaken rock a couple thousand light-years away.”

  Jordan gave a cough to get Peralta’s attention, which prompted the old man to stand up a little straighter and get to business: “Well, forget about it. Anyways, there are a couple of dead men here. Once you receive the bodies, you’ll see that they were known members of some of the worst criminal elements of society. ‘Tragically’, they seem to have died in a gas leak.”

  One of the cops let out a strangled cry of protest: “That’s bullshit! There were tons of different explosions!”

  Peralta shamelessly yelled back: “It was a really bad leak! Did a number on these buildings as well!”

  The man looked like he wanted to yell back, but he was silenced by a wave of the police captain’s hand. Masterson yelled back: “You have 30 minutes to vacate the premises. After that, we’re coming in.”

  Peralta looked at the others and barked out: “Boys, you heard the man. Let’s go.”

  The Pioneers got the women out the basement and quickly explained the situation. The women looked disturbed at all the corpses, as any normal person would be, but they stifled their disgust and started walking down the alleys. Some of the Pioneers went with them, but when Jordan started to go that way Peralta stopped them. He gestured at the dead criminals, expression hardly changing as he said: “Can you really afford to leave all these supplies behind?”

  A part of Jordan was appalled to hear the old man talk in such a callous fashion, but the rational side of him knew that Peralta was correct. They could use every bit of material help they could for the upcoming conflicts. Humans could drop Morphic stones as well as Xenos, after all. The Pioneers took the time to obtain whatever stones they could find from the dead men, while also extracting each man’s Codex. Even if the Meta tech was locked, there were various means to break those locks. Taking things from human bodies was unsettling, but Morphic stones from people were scientifically indistinguishable from the stones you’d get from normal Xenos. Morally, most considered it not much different from taking supplies from the dead. And since these were dead enemies, the military men considered it justified.

  With that done, they officially got out of there as quickly as possible. The police blockade let them slip through, even though some officers seemed extremely unhappy about it. Jordan silently watched the unhappy ones with a bit of amusement. Some of them were probably unhappy because they were Sinachro agents, but others were probably unhappy because they felt enraged by what they saw as corruption. It wasn’t as if they had all the context here. Many of the honest cops had the same reactions as the crooked ones, but for different reasons, and it was impossible to tell them apart at a glance.

  Peralta and his men had come here in two Hovercars, and the older veteran had Jordan join him as he explained the situation: “Your father gave me a quick brief on your little situation. There’s a transport ship at the spaceport ready and waiting to take the women to Crucia. Your old man has set up a program to help them find jobs and new lives once they get there. The planet is so remote, the Sinachro have little power there.”

  Jordan folded his arms in satisfaction: “Dad works pretty quickly, doesn’t he? It hasn’t even been a day.”

  Peralta smirked: “Markus has always been a fast mover, but he’s definitely had a lot of help on this one. Contacts, favors, etc. He stuck his neck out real long to help you out. My old man probably wouldn’t have done the same for me.”

  That comment cast a shadow across Jordan’s face, the young Pioneer responding: “Sorry to hear about that.”

  “Eh, don’t worry about it. As for your trouble with Marcovi I hear he’s got a plan for that as well. Didn’t tell me the details, though.”

  That prompted Jordan to call his father again out of curiosity, but the old man didn’t pick up. Jordan shrugged. He’d try him again later. The Pioneers and the women soon arrived at the spaceport, and the men took the time to wish the poor women well and send them off. Marie and Lucy would go with them, as a temporary measure to keep them safe, and Jordan got a warm feeling in his chest as he accepted a tearful hug and thanks from both women. After numerous wholesome goodbyes, the Pioneers watched as the transport ship rose up and disappeared into the atmosphere, emerald thrusters creating a visually pleasing trail before they vanished from sight. The young men turned to leave, but Peralta held up his hand in denial, saying: “We’re waiting for another ship.”

  The men were a bit shocked, but they didn’t ask too many questions before settling down and waiting obediently. A few hours later, as the afternoon bled over into twilight, a smaller transport ship came screaming through the atmosphere, aiming for their landing strip. The Pioneers watched with interest, then awe, as the ship landed and admitted a lone figure that made its way down the passenger ramp and over toward them. The figure was an older man with a scarred face as tough as leather, his piecing blue eyes radiating an aura of command that surpassed Peralta. The Pioneers saluted when they saw Markus Haraldson begin to approach them. The veteran dismissed them with a curt nod: “At ease.”

  Once the men had settled into more comfortable positions, Markus gave the men a commanding once-over, giving a small wink to his son as his eyes passed over the younger man. Once he was done with his inspection, he nodded again and said, “Gentlemen, let’s get to work.”