“Well,” Steph said as he drew out an assault rifle, “I’d rather have my Archangel, but this’ll do. God bless the Marines. Paranoid bastards.”

Milla stared at him for a moment, but Steph couldn’t make out her expression under the slightly darkened visor of her helmet. He handed her a rifle, along with a couple mags, and then reached for another.

“Carry what we can. We’re going to have to abandon the ship,” he said firmly. “I don’t know how long it’ll be before the Odysseus can get to us, but I’m not giving in to these bastards without a fight.”

Milla felt less certain than he seemed to be, but she wasn’t going to argue with him. This situation was beyond her wildest nightmares, yet strangely comforting as well. The Drasin were worse to her, but she knew just how bad they were. The enemy out beyond the hull of the shuttle were unknowns. That was both more fearsome and somehow less fearsome in ways she just didn’t understand.

She took the rifle, trying to remember everything she’d learned about Terran weapons since her rescue at the hands of the Odyssey and crew as she awkwardly cradled the gun in her arms.

Steph was considerably more at ease, if only because he wasn’t letting himself get bogged down in what might happen. He stayed focused on the next step, not what might or might not happen in the unlikely event that they lived through the next few minutes.

The shuttle shifted again, throwing them around as it began to lift off the surface of the moon. Steph pushed Milla to the back. He threw the emergency release levers on the rear hatch, blowing the portal open automatically, and waved her on.

“Jump!”

Milla hesitated only briefly before throwing herself out and landing in a sprawl on the rock-strewn slope beyond. The shuttle was a few meters up before Steph followed her, landing hard and sprawling to a stop a short distance away from her.

Beads of sweat immediately formed on his exposed skin as Steph rolled to his feet and checked his gear. The ground was smoking, tendrils rising from under rocks and through the dirt as he looked up at the pieces of the shuttle being lofted into the air above him.

Steph shouldered his rifle, seriously considering firing on the ship for a moment. But that would be a futile gesture at best. He glanced over to where Milla was getting to her feet and lowered his weapon.

“How’s your suit?” he asked, concerned.

“Integrity is good,” she said. “Temperature is rising.”

“Yeah, it’s a sauna out here,” Steph said, looking around. “What’s your air count?”

Milla checked her system briefly. “I have six hours, roughly.”