Go Time

MT-01’s distress beacon was leading them closer to Volkria than they liked but the MTs stayed the course; they were eager to close the gap between their shuttle and the MT Transport. Soon after leaving Rilleco, the troopers discovered that the transport was moving away from them in an irregular flight pattern. They were unaware that the ship’s internal protection mechanism had detected their signal lock and was intentionally evading their shuttle, classifying it as non-MT and therefore a threat.

As they approached the planet’s outer atmosphere, the communication system abruptly came to life. “This is Task Force Volkriun, and you are in restricted space,” a monotone voice droned. “Identify yourself at once. Repeat: identify yourself at once.”

“Sounds like a Glyan,” MT-27 said angrily. “What are they doing on Volkria?”

“Don’t know and don’t care,” MT-48 replied. “Unless they try to delay our mission. That would end badly for them...I guarantee it.”

MT-106 turned away from the instrument panel. “Looks like we are going to find out - patrol ship incoming!”

Answering the Volkriuns with his synthetic speech would only make matters worse, so MT-09 ignored the hail. “We say and do nothing. When their scanners detect no life forms they will have to board the shuttle to investigate. Then we make our move.”

The veteran warriors instinctively took their posts with arms at the ready. MT-106 brought the outboard phase cannon online, hands hovering above the controls, eyes on the outer hatchway. The pulse drive of the patrol ship shook the hull as it made its approach and docked with the shuttle.

As the hatch slid open, MT-106 disabled the patrol ship’s external communication array with a blast of the cannon. The troopers raised their weapons, took aim, and-

“Hold your fire!” MT-09 shouted. It took him a beat to comprehend that the OD green troops rushing toward him were not MTs. “What the...?”

That was all the time the Glyans needed to get the jump on the troopers. MT-09 was blown off his feet as a barrage of fire erupted inside the shuttle. The three other MTs scrambled for cover as the Task Force Volkriun patrol overran their positions.

The skirmish shifted to hand-to-hand combat in the tight space. The MTs were unrivaled at close quarters fighting, and used the organic make-up of the Glyans to their advantage. Noses exploded and bones shattered; blood painted the bulkheads a deep red. Despite sustaining heavy damage during the initial assault, the troopers finally managed to overcome their foes. The last Glyan, neck bent at an impossibly grotesque angle, fell to the deck in a heap.

MT-09 surveyed the carnage. “I don’t know why these soldiers wear our green. What I do know is they haven’t earned the right to. We will get some answers soon enough, but right now we need to clean up this mess and get moving. It won’t be long before they come looking for the missing patrol.”

The troopers dragged the dead Glyans into the patrol ship, set it adrift, and resumed the search for their missing leader.