Page 28 of Stars in Umbra
His mind immediately went into auto-nav, the sophisticated protocols of his training taking over as he absorbed the data.
He moved to the rear of the corvette, the polished metal of the deck gleaming beneath his boots.
A touch to a concealed panel caused it to fold away, revealing a weapons hold so advanced its contents were unseen by most military defense specialists in Pegasi.
This was not a standard arsenal; it was a curated collection of lethal art.
He selected a nanite-forged handgun, a set of throwing knives, and two blades that hummed with a subdued, kinetic energy.
These were packed into a black rucksack before he retrieved a sleek sniper rifle.
He checked, oiled, and loaded it, his movements fluid and precise.
Made of a sophisticated nanotechnology material, it collapsed into a small, unassuming pack that he slid into his knapsack.
To sustain him for a week in the wild, he added pouches of nutrient paste and distilled water.
He then donned a nano-enhanced stealth suit.
The armor, obsidian as a starless night, molded to his form, becoming a second skin. It was complemented by a glide-on helmet with a Heads-Up Display (HUD) and full-spectrum telemetry, a marvel of clandestine technology.
While not as superior as the Sable Rider’s legendary defensive gear, it was the next best thing his sponsors’ unlimited budgets were able to procure.
The auto-navigation AI announced its destination arrival, its voice a calm, electronic chime.
He moved to the helm, his gaze fixed on the map and live holographic images of Alloria’s spheroid planet growing larger on the primary screen.
The world was made up of jagged valleys and ice-clad peaks where warlords carved out fiefdoms beyond the reach of the weak Allorian government.
His target: Vesk Tyran, a butcher in iron, who ruled an isolated valley riddled with resource mines.
In the last few years, Tyran’s men enslaved the locals, scorched the farmlands, and laughed in the faces of peacekeepers. The bounty was high, the morality clear.
This was a clean hit, a rare win-win. Mo liked those best.
The corvette dropped into low orbit.
Once over his destination drop zone, he moved to a smaller skiff within the hold, a narrow-winged stealth craft built for silent planetary drops.
Stealthing his gunship, he shot out of it in the racer.
It cut through Alloria’s upper storms and threaded between razor-edged peaks, its dark silhouette indistinguishable from the cliffs.
He landed in a glacial hollow three clicks from the target location, hidden beneath a canopy of snow-cloaked pines.
The next few days passed in a hunter’s rhythm.
He ghosted through the forests and rocky escarpments, mapping guard rotations, surveillance drones, and encrypted comms.
He ate little, slept less, and spoke to no one.
His node sent him tactical overlays, heartbeat counts, and wind trajectories.
By day, he buried himself in frost and stone above the warlord’s village.
Studying, observing through a high-powered scope as Tyran swaggered between the mines and his bloated castle-like home, bullying his terrified workers.
By night, Mo stalked the outer defenses, laying charge points and slicing security nodes.
