“Give him his drones, Mr. Waters,” Weston said. “Have Commander Roberts and the auxiliary bridge take up their controls for the moment.”

“Yes, sir.”

“After that, consider yourself relieved,” Weston told him. “Get yourself something to eat and a cup of coffee.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Weston turned away from the young man and looked back at the screens that depicted the outside orbit of the remaining Drasin ship as it circled far out beyond the planet’s orbit, waiting.

Waiting for what was the question.

CHAPTER 24

THE FIRST OF the three carnivore recon drones slid into position over the city while Major Brinks looked out over the incredibly complicated mesh of buildings and structures that made up the population center.

“Switching carnivores to active thermal scanning,” Commander Roberts’s voice came crisply over the network. “Drones Two and Three are descending to two hundred meters…Drone One is being tasked at eighteen thousand meters. Please set waypoints for deployment, Major.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Brinks said, tagging several key points for close overflies. “I’m dispatching troops to these points now.”

“Confirmed. I’ll have detailed recon data waiting for them,” Roberts replied.

“Excellent,” Brinks said, eyeing another section. “I’ve also dispatched Savoy’s team to investigate an apparent wreck. It looks dead, but I’d appreciate it if you could drop Drone One to a tactical altitude.”

“Roger,” Roberts replied. “Primary carnivore descending to eighteen thousand meters. Could you relay a waypoint for this wreck?”

“One second, Commander,” Brinks said, tagging the location, then attaching all the information they had already gathered to the waypoint before shooting it up to the Odyssey. “Done.”

“Confirmed. Wait, One.”

Brinks waited as patiently as he could, knowing that the computers and technicians on the Odyssey were already meshing the various scans from his chutes and suit sensors into one high-resolution scan.

“Confirmed. Drone One will remain at a maximum tactical altitude. Good luck, Major.”

“Thanks, Commander,” Brinks said.

“Man, this shit sucks,” Corporal Deacon griped as he and the other two members of his squad ducked under a fallen wall, the huge slab of whatever-it-was still intact after having been blasted clear off the building.

Sergeant Steward made a face behind the anonymous plate of his armored helm but didn’t respond as he lay back against the solid material and slowly pushed his gun over the edge and twisted it around.

“Looks like…five of them,” he said after a moment, pulling his rifle back. “Everyone have their weapons set to thermal guidance?”

“Do I look like an officer?” Deacon asked in amusement.

“No, and you never will, if I have anything to say about it,” Lieutenant Mackay replied in like manner. “We’re good to go, Sarge.”

Steward nodded in the exaggerated motions necessary when wearing powered armor. “All right. Spread out a little, and remember, at this range, we’ll only have a two-, maybe three-degree flight correction…So don’t pretend you’re in an action flick, all right, Deac?”