How Giza’s laser eyesight found him even among the camouflage of his comrades, Everson didn’t know, but find him he did. The commander’s gaze bored straight through him.

“I would also caution you to keep your weapons away from the heads and metal helmets of your comrades,” Giza added.

Everson’s cheeks tingled, but he did not want to give Giza the satisfaction of looking away. He stared straight ahead as several snickers tickled his ears. He had gained instant notoriety within days of putting on the uniform when his magnetized broadsword had become ignominiously stuck to the helmet of another nucruit during a mock duel.

“I think I’d rather you die than engage in such an embarrassing display,” Giza deadpanned before mercifully shifting his gaze. “Post conflict, we will march to Front Tier and secure it. Infantry, double-check that you have a full supply of hydreeds. It is a desert planet and you will dehydrate without them.”

Everson gave the pouch secured at his waist a cursory grope. Through the fabric, he could feel the jumble of odd pods. They seemed unimportant to him at the moment. Just something else he had to carry.

Commander Giza stopped in the center of the screen, his baleful eyes burning with purpose.

“Raza has armed you. Raza has defined you. Now prepare your minds to fight.” The screen filled with the image of King Raza the Forty-Seventh. Regal. Dignified. Intelligent eyes that also conveyed wisdom and humanity. Most of the soldiers had never actually seen him in person, but the projected image alone was enough to inspire absolute loyalty and sacrifice.

“Indira in Dignity. Indira in Death.”

A single, massive clap resounded through the transport as the troops brought their hands together and bowed their heads to touch their clasped fists. The standard Indiran salute.

Everson followed suit simply because not doing so would have drawn more unwanted attention to himself. As he did, he glanced out the window at the passing stars, at Femera and Amali floating brightly in the void. He recalled his childhood astronomy lessons and his studious readings of the Predeciders, wondering if he would be on Mano long enough to see the fabled Aurora Constellation.

Or if he’d die before he got the chance.

Perhaps it was due to the hypnotic drift of the stars, but Everson lost track of time. He was shaken from his reverie by the sudden dimming of the transport lights, a signal that landing was imminent.

Everson felt the surge in his stomach that came with rapid descent, followed by the tooth-rattling jolt that marked touchdown. Within seconds, the soldiers all around him rose to their feet and moved like sleepwalkers through the darkened transport. Wordlessly, they shuffled to their respective posts and prepared to disembark.

Finally, Everson left his seat and drifted to the back of the transport, nearer to the stack of Javelins, where Commander Giza had personally told him to go. He could only assume that it was a judgment by Giza of his combat skills and that Giza did not want him cut down in the first wave. Everson was not offended. In fact, he was somewhat grateful for Giza’s unintended kindness. He could feel an electric energy in the air that literally made his skin tingle. His senses were heightened, his body attuned to every sensation as the knowledge of the inevitable violence overtook him.