Poor Wejee winced as three rifles pointed in his direction. The man said, “Sorry, Supervisor. But the smartest play here is that as soon you’re all out, I’m swinging the man gate shut and locking it tight. You know the rules.”

“Sure,” Kalico said. A sinking in her gut as Wejee stepped forward, used his key on the lock, and opened the gate. Then he stepped back, adding, “They told me earlier, either I opened the gate, or they’d take the keys from my dead body. But either way, they were leaving.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kalico told him.

“Move it!” Creamer snapped. “I want to be off this forsaken rock in fifteen minutes. Pilot? You first. Marines, keep a fricking close eye on Aguila. Be just like her to make a run for it.”

The pilot and copilot, looking uneasy, eyes still sleep-heavy, headed out onto the landing field. A rifle barrel poked Kalico in the back, sent her stumbling out through the gate, half-blinded by the glare of the lights. As she started across the fired clay, she looked back, seeing two of the marines manhandling the IG’s gurney through the narrow gate.

True to his word, Wejee had it locked tight as soon as the last of Creamer’s marines had the IG out on the field.

The distance to the shuttle wasn’t more than fifty meters.

As the crew walked out of the cone of light and into the dim recesses under the shuttle’s wing, Creamer was striding purposefully forward, calling, “Lower that ramp. Let’s get loaded, people. I’ve got hot coffee waiting up in. . . . ”

The blur might have been a trick of vision. Where the pilot had been, only featureless dark shadow remained.

“Chico?” the copilot asked, turning to where the pilot had started to reach for the ramp control pad.

“What the hell?” Creamer seemed oblivious, back straight as he marched into the shadow, his dress uniform merging with the night.

“Chico?” the copilot continued. “Not funny. I know you’re bitching because of the hour, but. . . . ”

The woman vanished. One instant she was there, the next, just gone.

“Shit!” Kalico spit the word. “Weapons hot, people. Get your damned helmets on! I need tech, and I need it now! IR and thermal!”

Creamer at least managed to cry, “Where’s the . . .”

Kalico saw it. The brief flash of movement. Shimmering color illuminated in the light reflected off one of the marines’ armor. The way Colonel Creamer seemingly bent in the middle and flew sideways.

Then Kalico spun, heading for Wejee and the gate. Past the still-clueless Soukup.

The IG yelled, “She’s running! Get her! Shoot her!”

Kalico wheeled—blew herself off for a fool—and ripped the hapless IG from atop the gurney. She staggered under his weight, bellowing, “Wejee! Get that gate open! We’re under attack!”

Behind her, the marines were fumbling around, reaching for their helmets, calling back and forth in confusion.