Icharus IX--isolated, quarantined, lifeless. Sergeant Rook Jaynes never thought she'd return here. There was nothing on this scoured waste-world worth saving, but Interstellar Central Command thought otherwise.

"Rook, are you paying attention?" Major Daylin's bark pummeled her skull.

"Sir, yes sir!" she said, saluting.

"Then get your shit together, Sergeant. If you're gonna cry, go home to Mommy and Daddy."

I am home--but Mom and Dad are dead. Rook steeled herself, ashamed of her tears. Memories of her youth on Icharus IX haunted her, before her family and so many others died from the Smut.

"I'm ready, sir," she said.

"The Seven Stars," the Major said, clasping his hands behind his back. "You're here because no one else can handle this operation."

Squad Commander Argo Fillburn inhaled his cigarette, the cherry flaring red as hell-fire. "We've got the team, the tech, and the talent, but you'd better have some solid intel. We won't fly in blind like the last squad did."

"We've got it," Major Daylin said. "Classified, but routine. You go in, investigate, and fly out. No hassles, no bullshit."

A sharp blond lock fell over Argo's face. "If it's so routine, why are you sending special ops like us? Why not just throw a bunch of grunts in?"

"Call it superstition about the Smut." The Major's angular jaw flexed. "We received a distress signal from an abandoned base down there, and it's got grown men shaking like pussies in boots. If anyone's alive, bring them back."

Commander Argo glanced at Rook, and she saw the flash of uncertainty in his slate blue eyes. He was a survivor of Icharus IX like she was. Like her, he knew the risks.

Argo stood, and extinguished his cigarette against one palm without a flinch. "Alright kids, you heard the order," he said. "Suit up. We dive on the hour."

Rook and her six fellow squad members stretched and grumbled, and trudged to the hold of the transport ship. Argo elbowed her as she passed.

"Watch those sensors once we land, Sergeant," he whispered. "We both know this rot-hole can go south fast. I'll be counting on you."

***

The Seven Stars waited beside the bay doors. Rook tightened her glove seals as her wing-suit pressurized and charged. Her heart pounded, always thrilled before a dive. The squad performed inspections as the airlock hissed. The ready alarm blared, and the doors opened. Frail light danced across robust layers of armor, and the resistant polymers of their wing-suits.

"Move out!" Commander Argo bellowed across all receivers.

Mouse and Trig jumped first, followed seconds later by Buzzer and Sparky. Argo piloted the supply shuttle, thrusters blazing as it plummeted out of sight. Rook and the Comm Specialist, Gripe, were last.

"I've secured all channels in case of trouble," Gripe said, his visor shield gleaming like quicksilver.

She gave a thumbs up. "Roger."

They fell through the churning stew of clouds, radiation, and ash in the stratosphere. Plunging headfirst, Rook spread her limbs until her wings and rear stabilizers extended. Data flashed across the optical display in her helmet, monitoring temp, speed, elevation, and her vitals. The propulsion systems activated. Like raptors encased in high-powered metal, the squad swooped at ungodly velocity.

Bland and foreboding, the bleak surface unfolded below. Only ruin and misery remained on her once vibrant homeworld. Tears threatened to fall again, but Rook stifled them. Focus, Sergeant. When she neared the end of her descent, she activated the gyroscopic boot enhancements and swerved to a landing.

The abandoned research base spread across the dismal plain, surrounded by a perimeter of twisted razor fencing. Everything was dingy gray and brown, even the snow crunching beneath their heavy boots. If radiation, starvation, and the extreme cold weren't enough, sheer desolation seemed enough to finish off any survivors.

Argo piloted the shuttle toward a nearby rise. The squad detached from their wing-suits and unpacked their weapons and supplies. Rook readied her scanners, but anxiety sank in her gut. Who could possibly be alive here to send a distress signal?

Icharus IX suffered under the effects of a nuclear winter, caused by its colonists years ago in an attempt to destroy the sentient, cold-sensitive fungus which had overtaken the entire planet--the Smut. In a planned detonation of dozens of nuclear explosions, they'd succeeded in killing the threat, but it had also destroyed the ecosystem for many decades to come.

All was silent as death. Then, Rook's warning sensors shrieked.

"Incoming! Take cover!" she shouted. Rocket artillery struck the shuttle and the ground. The world rumbled and groaned, and conflagration swallowed her.

***

Rook came to. Flat on her back, she tried to move. Pain screamed through her. Her exo-suit was damaged, her optical display warbling and glitched. Damn. What the hell just happened? She managed to lift her head.

Smoke ascended into the already choked sky. Flames licked around every possible combustible, including the bodies of Trig and Sparky lying a few meters away. The shuttle smoldered, a heap of ravaged char. Her fear boiled into a rage, and she forced herself upright, groaning. She called for her companions, dragging herself in a pathetic half-crawl toward Mouse.

Someone moaned not far off. "Rook..."

She snapped her head in the direction. Her blood froze. Gripe lay on the ground, one arm raised to shield himself. An ashen-faced figure in a tattered research uniform lurched toward him, the unmistakable bright blue fuzz of fungus patched around its decomposed face. A Smutted walker.

"Shit." Pure instinct seized Rook. Fighting revulsion and memories of her family's demise, she reached for her rifle.

Mouse's pulse cannon flashed first. The Smutted's head burst into sizzling fragments of gray and blue slime. The fungus consumed its hosts from the inside out. Mouse pushed herself to her feet, shouldering her weapon, and extended a hand to Rook.

"I don't like this," Mouse said. "I suspect there's something worse than the Smut here."

Rook and Mouse helped Gripe to stand.

The older man coughed and re-synced the comm on his wrist. "Sergeant Gripe Richter to Central. Come in."

No answer.

Mouse poked at Sparky's body, then sighed. "Dead."

Rook trembled as she surveyed the area. Had to steel herself and stay ready to fight. Buzzer and Trig were dead, too.

Movement from the shuttle wreckage caught her eye. Commander Argo stumbled out, his exo-suit sparking and shorting. His pulse cannon hummed as he raised it, aiming at Rook.

"Duck, Sergeant," he said.

She obeyed, diving to the ground. The charged projectile flew like sizzled lightning and struck behind her. Two more rotting Smutted exploded, their shrieks curdling through shattered windpipes and lungs.

"Form up," Argo shouted to what remained of his squad. "That won't be the last of them."

Gripe shouldered his communications equipment and weaponry. "Central's mute, sir," he said. "We're running on their intel alone."

"Fuck their intel," Argo said, balling a kev-armored fist. "Scrap all of it. It's a ruse. Sabotage. I should have known what we were getting into when the General refused to answer my questions about the nature of this base and the last mission that disappeared here."

Mouse's voice ended with the squeak which was her namesake. "You mean...this is a set-up? Why?"

A cold realization clenched at Rook's gut. "Maybe someone's farming the Smut." She stood beside Argo, hoping for an answer. "There were rumors that rogue terror cells were developing some kind of bio-weapon from it. Do you think Central would...abandon us to it for some odd reason?"

Argo's tense laughter sputtered. "Yep. We're fungus fodder, kids. I don't know why they'd sacrifice a squadron like ours, but I'll find out. I need a fucking cigarette."

"What's the plan, Commander?" Gripe asked.

Argo pointed to the ruined research base. "Can't stay out here. These conditions will kill us faster than the Smutted. As long as we avoid direct contact with the fungus, our exo-suits will filter out the spores. So keep your breeches on, and follow me. I hope we find an escape pod in there. We'll get off this shit-hole together, and then we've got a little falling out to discuss with Central. I'll see them hang for this."

Rook's sensors rang in warning. "We've got incoming Smutted," she said, steadying her rifle. "Lots of them."

"Let's show them how the Seven Stars do business," Argo said. He strode toward the base.

Mouse loaded another power cartridge. "Yeehaa! This little cowgirl ain't down yet."

A swarm of mindless Blighted ambled toward them, pouring through the jagged openings in the tangled razor wire.

Gripe sprayed two automatic rifles across the line, putrid flesh and fungus splattering.

"Here we go again," Rook said. "Guess I'm destined to fight my way off this goddamn planet more than once."

She aimed at the nearest Smutted and pulled the trigger.