* * *

“We will deploy at the precipice of Mano’s Grand Schism,” Commander Giza had intoned shortly before the battle, in his flat, matter-of-fact military-speak. He was a scar-faced veteran of the wars, and his close-cropped hair did nothing to soften his features. “This will allow us to engage the enemy on one front only.”

Unlike his gung-ho companions aboard the troop transport, Everson listened half-heartedly to the battle plan. He had been painted with the military’s homogenizing brush, and now he was just another face in the crush of copper-faced young men in uniform, anonymous and interchangeable. At least he was lucky enough to get a window seat.

“We can expect to be met by Manolithic forces from the garrison at Front Tier,” Giza went on. “Obviously, we will encounter infantry, but they will be buttressed by cavalry astride birduns.”

The large screen behind Commander Giza switched its image from an aerial view of Mano’s Grand Schism, a sheer-cliffed abyss with seemingly no bottom, to a picture of a birdun, the war steed of Mano’s warmen.

“For those uninitiated, it is a flying creature indigenous to Mano. They are a mount, nothing more, and they are as stupid as they look.”

Stupid was an understatement, Everson thought. More like an aerodynamic impossibility. The birdun was a winged creature, true enough, but its long neck and legs and fuzzy, bulky body were certainly inefficient applications of evolution. Not only that, it was a beast that had obviously stopped at a crossroads without picking a direction, with feathers quite sensibly on its wings but also adorning its haunches and the tip of its tail. The birdun was such an unlikely proposition that Everson hoped to see one in person.

“They are certainly no match for our Javelins,” Giza said.

Everson glanced over his shoulder to where the wickedly efficient flying machines were docked, double-high, at the rear of the transport. From the shovel-shaped nose cone and its flattened fuselage to the dagger-thin wings at the aft, the Javelins reeked of sleek. The cocky Javelin pilots stood at parade rest before them, almost smirking in their superiority.

The commander now paced before the screen. “The birdun cavalry is classically armed with HEXes,” he said. “Handheld explosives that are delivered by hand from above. Primitive but surprisingly effective if utilized correctly. We will also face TRAUMAs, troop augmentation machines.”

The image shifted to a combat vehicle so malevolent it appeared to be a living thing.

“They are lethal. They are impenetrable. But they can be stopped. This is the extent of the Manolithic arsenal. Our military dominance has not allowed their technology to advance further. It is now time for the Indirans to occupy Mano in order to maintain peace between the planets. Make no mistake, it is a noble mission.”

A battle was already brewing inside Everson. He didn’t want to be here, but he knew that he would have to focus if he was going to survive.

“Nucruits,” Giza said to Everson’s unit of soldiers conscripted for less than a year, “magnetize your broadswords to full. The Manoliths have no such application and it might give you an advantage. But, for the love of Light, wait until you’re clear of the transport lest you find yourself pinned and powerless…”