Had to open your big mouth, didn't you, Kaydie?

Brackenshaw grinned as she perched at the nose of her skiff, the desert wind clawing at her like an old friend as they hurtled southward. The wrangling in that bloody briefing had continued for what felt like an eternity, but what they'd all agreed on was that without actual eyes on this threat, any response would be a shot in the dark.

Everflowing, it felt good to be back.

Although, logically, she knew that she might be flying right into the jaws of some new terror, she simply couldn't find it in her to be scared. This was what she was built for, not back room politics and cloak-and-dagger schemes.

It felt good to just be a soldier again.

"So let me get this straight, ma'am," Corporal Locke chuckled through the comm. "You actually signed us up for this?"

"That I did, Corporal."

"Sometimes I think you just don't like hard work."

"What's the matter? Not curious?"

"Oh, I'm plenty curious, ma'am, just want to be curious from a safe distance."

"Maybe you can get out and walk then." Brackenshaw sighted down the scope of her rifle scanning the wastes. "I'm sure that'll keep you at a safe distance."

"On second thought, I think I'll stay here."

"Thought you might. Eyes on the prize, eh, Corporal. You know how I hate surprises."

She smirked, swivelling from left to right. They were in Scraegan territory now, and while open hostilities seemed to have cooled for the moment, she wasn't about to take any chances. Not when the flame-furred Scraegan fanatics were still on the loose somewhere out here.

Far out ahead, positioned diagonally to the left of her vehicle, six Brekkan Scout Cadre skiffs stretched out in a line of bright exhaust flares. To the other side, like the horns of a bull, the northern contingent was deployed, under the command of the morose Master Sergeant Silvestri. So far, the woman had proved to be competent enough, but she had all the personality of a chunk of rebar.

"SC-10 – all units," Brackenshaw declared, "we are thirty minutes from our target area. All gunners look sharp, but I want trigger discipline from everybody. We're here to gather information, people, not start a war. Copy?"

Responses zipped through from each skiff in turn, first her people, then the northern troops. If they were still holding any animosity over the clash at Brekka, the presence of Rubicon's very own Commissary-General had ensured they would keep it to themselves. Brackenshaw was still amazed she'd been in the same room as Xanthus.

It had been a strange experience, seeing the powerful woman in person. She lived up to the hype – someone whose reputation preceded her all across Rychter. But despite that, she, too, had almost been sucked into the conspiracy.

At least they were all on the same side now. Straightening up, she began walking slowly across the skiff's deck, feeling the reassuring rumble of the lifter engines beneath her feet as she went. She gently tapped a fist against the shoulders of the men and women at the firing rails; acknowledged the gunners with a nod. A full circuit brought her all the way around to the other side, where she could see the lights of Silvestri's command burning.

Then her eyes turned to the horizon and she waited.

A long, low stretch of rocky dunes spread out before them, spanning miles from left to right. Just over that natural barrier was their quarry. Brackenshaw knew what she was supposed to be looking for, but she hadn't really reconciled it all in her mind just yet.

An alien space ship. A big one. They knew it had touched down – the military seismics in the settlements south of Brekka had registered the shock of impact that reverberated out of the barrens like a warning call. That alone put paid to any notion that this wasn't an alien vessel. If something more than thirty kilometres across simply slammed into the planet like an asteroid, it would have triggered an extinction event.

"Stay sharp everyone," Brackenshaw barked over the comm, hitching her rifle to its firing rail at the front of the skiff once more. "This is it."

The scout ships mounted the base of the dunes. For a moment the world closed in around her, a narrow warren of sand, grit, mud and stone. They weaved viciously from side to side, the pilots whipping the skiffs through narrow defiles, up and up, until they emerged from the shadows. Sunlight bathed the southern barrens as they crested the rise.

And there, in the centre of the great expanse, was the ship.

"By the bloody Watching Lords," Hynan gasped over the comms. "You see this, Lieutenant?"

"Oh, I see it alright." Brackenshaw let the rifle drop and her mouth dropped open with it.

The thing was vast. It emerged up out of the badlands earth like someone had just dropped a spare mountain carelessly into the planet. Residual dust clouds still swirled around its base from the landing impact, and she could see fissures radiating out from the vessel in all directions. Even with a controlled event to avoid obliterating the planet's ecosystem, the force of its landing must have been colossal.

The blue-black monolith gleamed under the glare of the twin suns. Even from their current distance she could make out the clear stepped structure, rising to a zenith several kilometres high. Its base was dug deep into the planet's crust now. She'd seen the close-in imaging from the team at Rubicon's observatory showing the symmetrical build of the thing.

Thoughts sizzled in her brain. If these ... people, or whoever they were, had put the Crawlers here in the first place, were they just here to unleash another batch? Could that section below ground be disgorging fresh hoards of the monsters?

"All units – radar contacts?" she asked.

A string of responses came through a moment later. So far their ground-penetrating radar remained empty – no fresh tunnels exploding through the wastes beneath them. At least, not yet. Rolling the wrist of one hand, Brackenshaw stepped towards the railing.

"Alright," she said firmly. "We stay on mission. You know your deployment orders. I want a full observation perimeter set up at bombardment range."

More acknowledgements. She straightened her blast goggles and took a deep breath. She'd been the first into the Scraegar Labyrinth what felt like a lifetime ago. She would be the first to make contact today.

Brackenshaw returned her eye to the scope as they raced down the other side of the dunes, and out into the badlands. Volcano ranges climbed high to the west, great sprawls of cragged badlands to the west, and further south, the dark smear on the far horizon marked the limits of the Scraegar Labyrinth. The ship had touched down at the epicentre of it all.

She didn't see any obvious weapon mounts on the structure, nor did she see any signs of life. It just sat there, a great, inert blot of ink on the parchment of Rychter's history. The scouts closed in, moving to what had been deemed a maximum safe distance – though what that was could be anybody's guess.

"Rikhotso – SC-10?" called the sergeant in the lead skiff.

"Go ahead."

"Long range seismics say we're not alone. I've got Scraegan readings approaching from the south east."

"Copy that." Kaydie swivelled her scope to look. "Friendlies?"

"Can't say, Lieutenant. Seismic paints at least three or four packs, but they're heading for the ship, not us."

"Silvestri – SC-10," interjected the northern officer. "We also have Scraegans closing from the west. Also heading for the ship."

"Numbers?"

"Between thirty and forty."

Brackenshaw nodded slowly. "Lead ships, keep eyes on those Scraegans. Let me know any change of trajectory. Follow your deployment orders but be sure to keep your distances. We're not here to tangle with anyone."

She clicked her tongue behind her teeth in irritation. They'd managed to avoid the Scraegans so far, but she didn't know if who would be ready to shoot first right now. Trying not to let her shoulders clench, she focused on the ship again, hunting for detail – for any scrap of information that could be sent home. The simplified HUD overlaid on her goggles showed the movement of her troops, keeping the newcomers at arms-length while they formed up.

No obvious engine mounts – probably below the ground now if they'd been used to land the ship. Closer now, she could see thin lines of blue pulsing rhythmically up and down its flanks in a grid-like arrangement. She thought back to the briefing notes and the reports from Ivy Shanklin from the facility beneath the Labyrinth. Those same lights were mentioned, part of the transmission tower's power supply from the sounds of it.

That, she decided, confirmed the connection between the facility and the vessel. Too many similarities to draw any other conclusion.

"Lieutenant!" Silvestri yelped, suddenly showing more emotion than Brackenshaw though the woman was capable of. "Scraegans on the western approach, have just surfaced – confirmed hostiles!"

"Hostiles," Brackenshaw repeated. "Confirm that sighting. How do you know?"

"They've got that different fur – all red and orange, ma'am," she answered in a rush. "The briefings we got from the Forge – they said those were the rogue Scraegan elements-,"

"Copy, copy, copy!" Brackenshaw interrupted. She did not need extraneous detail. "Have they engaged?"

"Negative. They're holding station... one click out from the ship."

"Hold your fire. Keep your distance, pull back if you have to. What are they doing to the ship?"

"They're just watching for now."

"Then it looks like we're all here for the same thing," she grunted. "Looks like we're all interested in the new paperweight."

"One hell of a paperweight, ma'am," Hynan chuckled nervously.

"Rikhotso, you got eyes on your pack?"

"Yes, ma'am," the veteran scout replied, sounding slightly amused by her counterpart's conduct. "Confirmed count at thirty-six Scraegans, one beta leading, three packs. Also holding at one click. They're spreading out into defensive positions."

"Copy that." Brackenshaw examined the HUD on her goggles for a few seconds, and decided there was no immediate danger from the Scraegans. Everyone seemed to be keeping their distance from each other.

They lingered like that for several minutes, watching and waiting. The swirling dust around the base of the ship obscured some of the lower sections, but she could still see well enough. No sign of movement, still. She waited for as long as her curious itch would allow, before she opened the wide-band comm again.

"SC-10 – all units," she said. "Hold your positions. We're going to take a closer look." Then she switched to the short-band, speaking to the skiff's pilot directly. "Quarter speed, evasive approach pattern. Heading 025 from our current position."

"Copy that," the pilot replied.

"All gunners, standby. Man all firing positions and brace for hard manoeuvres."

Around her, the deck soldiers began scurrying back and forth to their assigned positions, and the skiff's deck guns whirred as they came online, twin barrels pivoting back and forth. A gentle kick of the engines send them gliding towards the monolith, and Brackenshaw allowed herself a short, earnest prayer to the Riverlords as the ship loomed larger and larger.

They were a little over two hundred yards from the huge structure, at the edge of the dust cloud, when she finally saw it.

Something was opening.

Brackenshaw trained her scope on the sliver of movement. Slow but definite, a chunk of the outer structure was beginning to rise. A rectangular section, easily a hundred meters across began to lift up like a trapdoor, hinging upwards from the second step in the pyramidal structure.

"Ma'am, we've got movement!" Hynan barked a warning.

"We see it, hold your positions," she hissed pre-emptively, feeling the nerves of the soldiers around her. "I say again, hold your positions."

No one argued, but she knew every finger was wrapped tight around a trigger, just like hers. She waited, feeling the slam of her heart in her chest, the realisation that she had no idea what was about to walk out of that door filling her with dread. Her shoulders tightened and she took aim, bracing herself.

Things started to emerge. Huge, dark, multi-legged things. Bigger even than the Crawlers she'd seen beneath the Scraegar Labyrinth. These weren't Crawlers though – these were different.

Their bulky bodies moved along on six thick, segmented limbs like a crab, with a long tail thrashing in their wake. A definite torso rose up from the front of the abdomen, long and arched like a centipede, with four arms extending from its flanks. At the end of the arms, she could see what might be hands, though they looked more like bundles of dead twigs, twitching and bending and flexing almost at random. Atop the torso was a large, flat head – at least it looked like a head – roughly triangular in shape, with a vicious-looking set of mandibles beneath.

"What in the River...?" Rikhotso whispered.

"Comm silence," Brackenshaw hissed. "Eyes open and by the Everflowing, nobody throws so much as a harsh word at these things without my authorisation. Copy?"

Muted acknowledgements from the platoon leaders filtered through, and the human skiffs held their ground. Brackenshaw inhaled; exhaled. Her rifle remained trained on the first of the creatures that came ambling from the dark interior of the vessel. More of them thumped along behind, until she counted eight of them spreading out across the sands. Heads swung left and right, and she could see a glinting on their huge abdomens.

She squinted. As the things turned she saw their bodies rippled and flex with gleaming metal. Some kind of flexible armour plating, she surmised.

"Reverse course, one fifth speed," she ordered softly. 

The flame furred Scraegans on their right flank, however, did not seem so perturbed. She saw the movement as they began to back away; a pack of ten Scraegans led by a vicious, scarred beta. The warriors came forward, growling and tossing their heads, weapons bristling.

"Looks like they're spoiling for a fight, ma'am," Silvestri said, her voice tight with nerves.

"Back off," Brackenshaw replied quickly, feeling a twinge of dread. Her gut was screaming at her.

Kill those things. Wipe them off the face of the planet.

The Scraegan leader stopped barely twenty meters away from the aliens, and let out a guttural roar of challenge, furnace cannon boiling, its long axe raised high. Around it the others in the pack echoed the call.

The leader of the alien contingent swivelled ponderously towards them, its torso arching aggressively, mandibles clicking and clacking as it moved. Its thick legs stamped, kicking up clouds of dirt around it. Brackenshaw watched, glued to her scope as the other aliens moved into a loose formation behind it.

More legs began thumping. Then she realised they were all stamping in a pattern.

"Radar," she snarled, pulling her face from the scope. "Radar check, now."

An agonising moment passed by as she waited, then Corporal Locke's voice came over the comm.

"Ma'am, we've got a problem," she said simply.

Brackenshaw didn't need to hear the rest, she opened her mouth, but before she could give another order, the alien leader suddenly surged forward and hurled itself at the Scraegan beta.

The warrior's furnace cannon erupted at point blank range, its axe sweeping forward to meet the attack. The furnace blast washed harmlessly across the alien armour. The axe-head lodged in one of the forelimbs; the handle snapped clean in half.

Then the alien struck like a cobra, bearing the Scraegan backwards into the sand in a blizzard of thrashing limbs. Brackenshaw's breath caught in her throat as a cloud of smashed earth and dark blood exploded from the ground. The alien's head section reared back and slammed down a dozen times in quick succession, even as its limbs battered and slashed, until she could barely see what was happening.

"Lieutenant, we have movement!" Rikhotso exclaimed.

Even as the warning was echoed across the other skiffs, the rest of the aliens charged, meeting the Scraegan pack head on and ripping them to pieces. The flame-furred warriors' weapons didn't seem to have any effect, and soon the area beyond the door was carpeted with blood and severed limbs.

The rest of the Scraegan force from the west opened fire with their cannons, charging blindly into what Brackenshaw could see was certain death. But her attention was dragged from the fighting, when a series of huge, spider-like shapes came exploring out of the sand all around them.

Riverlords watch over us, she thought, as she watched dozens of Crawlers come scrabbling out of the ground – big, full-grown adults, some almost the size of her skiff – summoned by the thundering dance of their masters. They began to spread out, and she quickly made one of the easiest command decisions of her life.

"SC-10 – all units!" she barked over the comm. "I think we've seen enough. Max thrust, on my lead. Let's get the hell out of here."