Most notably, John Hunt, that Nomadi shit. Yes, I know who you are, you lying bastard. You fucking snake. I’m going to kill everyone you ever spoke to on this god-forsaken planet. And then, when our glorious Armada arrives here to wipe this planet clean, I’m going to send a message back to Mobilius and see to it that every member of your family is raped and butchered. You bastard in your shroud, John Hunt, now I only hope I find you before the Armada gets here so I can kill you myself. So I can rip you apart with my bare hands. And once I have torn your limbs from your machine body, I will stake what’s left of you to the ground and make you watch as I wipe this pathetic race from the face of this planet. I’ll make you watch as I make it my planet, traitor. My own, personal, fucking world.

As these thoughts coursed through her, she considered the charges she had just placed. The thought of losing the satellites was like contemplating an amputated limb, but she had to be practical. If they were gone, they would not be able to detonate the disks remotely. Changing her plan slightly, she activated a link to the two disks, setting a two-week timer on each of them. Good. The submarines should be at sea by then, fully submerged and en route to whichever station they were assigned to. The charges would go off while the ship was deep undersea and with any luck they would kill everyone aboard.

Now, what to do next. She walked away from the gangplank along the concrete jetty and headed for the exit. But something else was amiss. Where was everybody? The jetty had been a hive of activity only fifteen minutes beforehand when she had boarded. Where was everybody now? No doubt they were all looking at the death throes of her satellite guardians. Yes, she thought, they must be outside.

But something in her told her that could not be right. Surely all of them wouldn’t have left their posts. Without breaking stride, she pulled a pair of sunglasses from her top pocket and put them on, deploying her weapons system from behind her left eye as she did so.

As she exited the big shed to the quad outside, she paused. What the hell was this? The quad was deserted. But arranged in a wide semi-circle around the door were twenty-six men in full combat armor. Her tactical computer scanned the area and assessed the threat. Four of the soldiers were lying prone on the ground behind M249 tripod-mounted machine guns. The rest were carrying CAR-15 commando assault rifles. All of them were focused on her.