Twenty-two orbits of meaningless, repetitive action. That was life. But after this job. It was going to change. I folded the ancient paper and placed it in the pouch on my belt. Let’s get it done.

“HAG, current time stamp?”

“Thirteen zero three, Martian Rise,” a feminine voice warbled from my raised right arm.

“Perfect. Highlight targets as friendly.”

“Completed, User Ex. Targets will appear blue in magnification.”

I watched meandering caravan work down a derelict travel way. Leading it, two rows of brown-robed men pulling hand carts loaded with woven crates. The following line wore white robes. They carried poles tipped with glistening steel blades. And last, the most important, six men in loincloths, eyes wrapped with dark bandages carrying a lavish high back throne on a steel platform. A hooded figure sat tall upon it.

“There you are, Owls.” I mumbled. A faint outline of blue appeared around each individual I viewed. Satisfied, I dropped my arm from level with my sight. The caravan faded to a featureless blotch in the distance between two small, rocky green hills. Sucking in a dry breath, I hopped down from atop Curiosity Ridge, skittering over red-orange rocks as I made my way.

“Yo, Ex, what’cha see?” Jazz, my mentor, asked as I landed beside him. He picked at an invisible blemish on his dark skin, his nearly black eyes showing little concern with what I may say. Looks like he is still mad. His form taut and his expression was forced boredom.

“Thirty-seven total. Ten commons, twenty inquisitors, then the mighty Owls is riding his boy sheep,” I answered in a hushed tone. Not that I needed to whisper. The caravan was kilometers away and we'd seen no heathens close by. With any luck, they wouldn’t try for a raid this time.

“He has white robes with him. Why hire us if he has those pokey buffoons?” Jazz asked rhetorically. The white-robed inquisitors were supposedly the warriors in The Way Of Deimos. Or the faith, as we called it. But I wasn’t entirely sure they could defend themselves, let alone any others in the group they traveled with. It wasn’t a surprise, Owls Railstrin, the head of the crazy religion, reached out to a couple of exiles to watch over the caravan. From a distance, of course. Nevertheless, to have twenty inquisitors travel in the procession was abnormal.

“It’s probably because Owls is with this one. He won’t risk being taken by a bunch of heathens,” I said, after thinking briefly, “That’s why they are taking the long way to Starlight Rise.”

“Well, ya got it all figured out kid, guess I’ll go home.”

“Anyway,” I said, brushing off the sarcasm and adjusting the bandolier over my shoulder. The ammunition stored there tinkled together. Jazz huffed. He hated my projectile weapon. He figured it was too ancient. As if anything on Mars wasn’t.

“Unmarked target movement. Two hundred twelve meters north, northwest,” the voice from my right arm warned, grabbing my attention. Alerted, Jazz and I both looked in the direction. I squinted, trying to make out what was sensed by the HAG. It was hard to spot much in this area. The terraforming was holding strong. Broad blades of stem grass taller than even Jazz’s head completely concealed anything beneath them in lower areas. Higher up, the stiff net like wire brush covered all but the rockiest terrain.

“There,” Jazz said pointing to multiple lines of rippling greenery to our right, below the ragged stone out cropping that we stood on. He pulled a single lens spy glass from a pouch on his belt. “Human for sure. Told you! Should have gone to the lower ridge. We’d be right on them. Im’a go head them off, then push them back at you. Make sure they can’t spot you with that slow ass gun.”

I nodded, ignoring Jazz’s comment, and nimbly climbed up another several ledges for a vantage point. The one thing I had over him was range. Light infusion weapons like his lost all effectiveness after about fifty meters. My contender pistol wouldn’t. “Careful not to shoot, don’t want anyone to get hurt.” he said, mockingly. I glared down at him. Maybe I’ll let them shoot you. I thought, and continued to climb.

Nestling into a thick patch of wire brush, the tangled stiff stems formed a concealing wall of lime green around me. I could still see trails where heathens worked their way through the high vegetation. Hopefully, they’re easily discouraged. I moved my right arm, so it was level with my eyes. “HAG, magnify.” A small window appeared in the air above my wrist, rippled like water, then everything on the other side of the space drew nearer visually. I traced the lines of disturbed grass, spotting a figure shoving his way through. It was a bald man wearing a tattered black and brown top. A light rifle readied in his grip. They definitely mean business.

I pulled the long cylindrical pistol from its holster on my back. Pulling a lever, it split, bending open at the rear so I could drop in a bullet. Gun now loaded, I lay on my stomach and waited, watching my target.

Time stood still. The heavy smell of thick puffy bush relaxed me some. I didn’t want to shoot. And with any luck, I wouldn’t have to. Most heathens were cowards when dealing with armed enemies. So, even a warning shot from Jazz should put them off. Please, just leave. I mentally begged. Commotion sounded, drawing me and my target’s attention. He jerked and rolled to his side, taking aim at something unseen.

Did he spot Jazz? Sucking in my breath, I added pressure to the trigger. I couldn’t actually let my friend get shot. He didn’t have any reflector armor. Gritting my teeth, I prepared to fire.

A blur of black and grey filled the space where I was aiming, obscuring the view of the heathen. There was a flurry of eight hair baring legs and spray of white film. Even from this distance, I heard a scream cut short. Startled, I scrunched my eyes. It wasn’t Jazz.

There is spradin this far in? I thought. But there isn’t any sign? I didn’t have time to mull over where the giant arachnid came from. I scanned the area where the heathens had been sneaking. Three more spradin, or leggers as we called them, were present. Their kinked legs long as I was tall, moving methodically and silently over the grass, overtaking the quickly scattering group.

I shifted my focus to the outer edges of the chaos. Two men were making a sloppy escape. Four were no longer visibly human. Just a swaddle of yellow-white tendrils with the occasional hand or foot hanging out at odd angles.

Where is Jazz!? He had more than enough time to have moved in on the group. I searched, pointing the window of magnified space. “Where is he? Where is he?” I repeated, frantically.

“Gotcha!” rang out from behind. I flopped and rolled, pulling my pistol with me. A hand stopped the motion before I could aim properly. BOOM! “Wow, wow! Damn it, Ex, it’s me!” Jazz said, gripping the barrel of my weapon, holding it just to his left. My body shook with adrenaline, and I could feel my clothes dampened with perspiration. “My bad, my bad kid, don’t shoot me. Oh wait, your gun only holds one bullet. Ha!”

Air hissed through my teeth as I shoved Jazz over from his crouched position above me. “What would you have done if I actually shot you?”

“Died I’d bet,” he said, settling beside me rubbing his ear. “Damn thing is loud boy, I’ll give you that. Are the leggers finished with our friends down there?”

“Don’t know, I’m too busy trying to blow your face off!” I spun around and reengaged the window. “How did you know they were there?” I asked as I scanned the now calm field.

The spradin pulled their bundles of men away. Thin, silky threads linked from the middle of their hairy segmented body. “Most of these guys are dinner. There were two escapees, but I’ve lost them. And I don’t know how many leggers. Thanks to you,” I finished my assessment, then turned. “Well, how did you know?” I asked again.

Jazz stood now, looking up quizzically. I followed his gaze, making out what was holding his attention. In the sky was an elongated ball of fire, leaving a streak of smoky orange in its wake. “It’s just an asteroid, little bigger than normal, but it won’t hit in the sacred land or anything serious?” I concluded out loud.

“Terraformed zone,” Jazz said bluntly, correcting my use of the faith’s name of the livable area of the planet. “You’re right dude, but it’s falling really slow for an asteroid, and it should have burnt up by now,” he finished.

“It could be a landing craft.” The thought gave me a tingle of excitement.

“It’s not a landing craft, idiot. There is no one to land.” Jazz replied.

I opened my mouth to protest, then swallowed it down. “Yeah, you’re right,” the words were dry.

We watched the fire ball fall behind Pavonis Mons, the volcano blocking its touch down from view. Jazz came back to the moment. “Well, aint that interesting,” he said, now squinting towards where the spradin ambushed the heathens. “I stuck my digits in that nasty ass goop when I was crawling. That’s how I knew the freaky things were here.” He held up his palm, wet yellowish slime covered it. “I hate this stuff. It nev’a coming off,” he spoke while rubbing his hand against a nearby rock.

I laughed, watching him fane panic as he scrubbed. Spradin,, excreted a line of silky goo as they traveled. According to ancient text I'd read, they used it to backtrack from wherever they may go, if needed. Apparently, they can’t see well. Odd for something with so many eyes.

I scanned the carnage below. Only ruffled grass swaying in a faint breeze could be seen. Everything had already vanished into the greenery. How creatures that large could manage it in seconds, I couldn’t fathom.

It really is weird to see them this far in on the Sacred Land, I thought again. They typically kept to the edges of the terraforming, by Valles Marineras and areas where the barren red of Mars met the plant bearing fertile mearth. Here at the Montes, nearly the center of the livable zone, animals were smaller. More like their ancestors, whom their DNA is based on, too insufficient of prey for spradin. But the arachnids were here none the less and needed to be eliminated. They could make quick work of the caravan, and with it, our pay day.

“So how are we going about hunting the leggers?” I asked Jazz, taking a moment to view our distant client. “HAG, double magnify.”

“We have to bait’m in, as long as they don’t spring all at once, they aint gonna be a problem. Can you hit them from here with that fossil?”

Jazz laid out a plan as I scoped over the caravan. They had to have heard my gunshot. Proving me correct, they’d rearranged but continued onward. One row of white-robed inquisitors now in the front and the rest encircled the throne bearing men. The cart pullers filled the middle. I couldn’t make out Owls’ face, he still wore his hood, but he waived his arms dramatically now, standing on his platform, pointing to the moons in the sky, then back to the crowd. I’m sure he is yammering on about Phobos or Deimos will protect them because they are righteous. Yada, Yada. Preaching while being carried by and hiding behind meat shields. I shook my head as I considered the common obsession of worshiping the Martian moons. Had humankind worshiped the moon around earth? I couldn't imagine it. This was stupidity, grown over centuries.

“Pay attention, kid,” Jazz said, giving me a slight punch in the shoulder.

“Okay, so we run in the middle and hope we can keep ourselves from getting eaten before shooting them?” I asked.

“No, you fool. If ya listened, Im’a run down the side, you use that thing on your arm and that boom stick to pop’m for they get me. I don’t really want to be food and I’m claustrophobic, so if they sticky me up, I’ll freak.”

“No, they’ll bite you and you’ll be a gel when they wrap you up,” I said, giving Jazz a crooked smile. I looked at the bottom of the hill. The greenery was patchier there. Popping up through a hardened, thick, gray-black ground that was laid centuries ago for wheeled vehicles to travel. “The road would be a good bet. You have room to move so you can’t get pounced, but you should still be close enough to draw them.” I pointed my right arm. “HAG, distance to target?”

“250 meters.”

“I can definitely make the shots. I’m sure Owls won’t like us leaving carapaces all over. Are you good with that?” I said, breaking open the pistol and catching the ejected cartridge. “You’re getting old. Are you sure you want to be the bait? I’d hate for your life function to fail in the middle of this. Though I could use your cut of pay to explore further into the red.” Raising an eyebrow, I waited for Jazz’s reaction. He bristled at the mention of my leaving. Then, stood at his full height flexing his arms, his dark skin rippling with bulging muscles under a tight grey shirt.

“Boy, your wiry ass’ll never be what this is, even with that gizmo on your arm! Sho nuff! And the pntifex just has to deal with the body’s.” Jazz answered while posing dramatically, incorporating his light rifle into the show.

I always found it interesting how he spoke, still after years of hearing it. Mimicked from an entertainment disk he had scavenged from a bunker. Comedians of the twenty-first or something like that.

“Alright, whatever, old timer. I guess it’s all on you then. Head out and with any luck you won’t draw the spradin before you hit the road.” I said, nestling back down, adjusting to have an unobstructed view.

“Look at the kid, barking orders,” Jazz spoke over his shoulder as he leaped down the hillside, clearing three stone outcrops. Deliberately showing an excess of his abilities. I chuckled, allowing my mood to lighten. The man had to be at least in his seventieth orbit. He hadn’t told me his exact age, but he refused to slow. Not that it was a choice on Mars. To slow, meant to die. Especially for exiles like us.

Jazz disappeared into the stem grass. Unlike the heathens, ages of practice made him exceptionally stealthy. I wasn’t sure I could match it even on my best day.

Focusing on the area I assumed he would reemerge on the road, Should have had the HAG highlight him, I thought. Then I could have viewed an outline of him through the overgrown greenery. Nothing about this sat right with me, and I couldn’t shake a nagging feeling in the back of my mind.

We dealt with spradin often when raiding ancient bunkers. But this was different. We hadn’t expected them here, especially adult sized. Even as stealthy as Jazz could be, they could get the jump on him. There were many factors on whether I could keep them off him, which I didn’t want to explore.

I tapped my finger against the pistol, waiting. There wasn’t any movement. Impatience getting the better of me, “HAG, sense non-highlighted targets and list their range.” I said. Not taking my eyes off the road. It couldn’t detect the spradin. Incorrect radiation for the device to sense, but I could get an idea of where Jazz was.

“Unmarked target moving north, northeast 110 meters and advancing away from user location.”

Got him.

“Unmarked target moving north, one meter approaching user location. ALERT!”

“The hell?” I said out loud, spinning to see a man in a grimy mask leap on me. Shit! I raised my right arm. A clang sounded as a knife struck, peeling away the long sleeve of my dingy white shirt, revealing the silver HAG underneath. Dropping my pistol, I tried to work myself free from the attacker, forcing us into a roll across the tangled ground. To my dismay he held tight. The added weight of his body made my movements clunky and slow. It was impossible to shake him.

I shoved hard on his shoulders, trying to push him off, but he had the advantage in strength. Breaking my grip, he raised the knife over his head, then drove it down. The blow glanced off the HAG again, the blade sinking deep into mearth beside my face. The attacker followed through with the point of an elbow that struck just below my left eye. “Gahh!” The sound escaped my mouth as stars filled my vision. I struggled again to arrest the arms of the masked man. Thick, corded muscle worked under my fingers, not someone I could overpower on my own.

I continued to fail in taking control of the situation as the knife pulled free from the ground. A flurry of stabs and slashes followed. One of which went across my left pectoral, leaving behind a searing streak of pain as it glided through my shirt and skin. The attacker had no training but was still much stronger. From his straddled position, I was subject to a battering of sloppy, but potentially lethal attacks. I couldn’t block them all.

“HAG, combat enhance!” I yelled.

My attacker, confused at my sudden bellow, slowed his assault. The brief respite benefited me. An icy sensation flowed first from my right arm, then up my neck, quickly spreading across the rest of my body. My vision tunneled, focusing. My pulse sped. Bump..... bump..... bump..... Bump bump bump bump. Fresh energy surged in my limbs as the attacker dived at my throat, both hands holding the knife. Again, I grabbed his shoulder and opposite wrist. This time there was a dull crunch under my grip and the man howled. I yanked with my arms while pushing up with my knees, sending him sprawling overhead, sliding towards the rocky ledge of the hill.

With a fluid motion, I launched to my feet and ran to where the heathen was struggling to his. Without slowing, I drove the toe of my boot into the soft area below his ribs. Bile spewed around the edges of his mask as he twisted sideways. He rolled to the edge of the outcropping. Scrambling to stop before toppling over, one hand clawed at the stone and mearth while the other flopped uselessly. Not wanting him to plunge off, I darted forward and snagged his mangled arm. He yowled and cursed as I pulled him back up with deliberate theatrics, which I instantly regretted.

There was a grinding sound of rock over rock as my left leg gave way. “Shit!” I said with a yelp. I collapsed, sprawling out, so that I lay parallel to the ledge. But it wasn’t enough. My fingers found no purchase as our weight dragged us both over. The sky and ground spun rapidly, giving a sense of vertigo bringing my stomach to my throat. THUMP.

The fall was brief. It only took moments. Fortunately, we hadn’t been as high as I thought, and dropping onto stem grass had softened things substantially. The attacker lay piled beside me. His arms sprawled, one of which bent awkwardly at the wrist and elbow. He was, he can’t be! Panic shorting my breathes, I worked my way closer to look over him. He appeared broken. But a slight rise of his chest washed down my unease. “He’s still alive,” I said, then sighed. I didn’t want any blood on my hands, even a backstabbing heathen.

Looking up at the ledge we had fallen from. If only we had gone over the other edges. I wouldn’t have been a concern. In fact, I would have gladly kicked him off so I could help-. “JAZZ!” I yelled. Hopping to my feet, a pit forming in my stomach. Giving the heathen one last look. He’s not going anywhere. I thought and scrambled back up.

Atop the hill, I franticly searched the travel way. The fight had only taken a hand full of cycles, but there were three spradin carcasses strewn along the broken road. I’d reacquired my contender from where it lay in the grass and was aiming down the sight. “Come on, Jazz.” I whispered to myself. Finally, I spotted him. He was weaving back and forth. A spradin, smaller than the rest but still double his size, launched into the air. Jazz bolted to the side, the creature shot past, missing with long fangs and front legs outstretched. Tuff ass old man any ways. I thought, Drawing the hammer on the pistol with a click. I could see he didn’t have his rifle, so despite being able to dodge the legger, he was still in trouble.

Jazz positioned himself, arms out, leaning side to side with jerking motions. Jumping at the opportunity, I aimed and waited. The spradin leaped, Jazz dove and as soon as grey and black came into view. BANG! I fired. The pistol kicked back hard and I watched as the spradin toppled in landing, then slowly the long hairy legs curled in on themselves and it moved no more.

I watched Jazz through the magnified window. He hunched over, hands on his knees. His grey shirt was in shambles, leaving his muscled upper half exposed, dark skin glistened with sweat. He looked ok from here though. I rolled onto my back. That sucked.

“HAG organics at thirty percent. Physical enhance will remain active for ten more cycles.” The female voice broke me from my reprieve.

“End enhance,” I said bracing myself. A moment later, the cold sensation inside faded. First from my feet, creeping up my legs, across my core, then receded into my right arm, where it vanished completely. In its place, it left dozens of aches and sharp prickles under my skin. My heart slammed against my ribs and my muscles felt hot and stiff. I rolled into a fetal stance. Slowly, my body normalized. “Why the hell did anyone willingly put one of these things on.” I lightly banged the HAG against the rocks, talking to myself.

Gingerly, I descended the hill after a brief recovery while watching Jazz disappear into the vegetation. Even through the mag window, I could see his brow furrowed deep, giving away his mood. Well, guess I’ll deal with this guy first. Then with an angry partner.

The heathen was conscious, but avoiding movement. Finally, getting a good look at him, he was a giant of a human. His mask, smudged with dirt and oil. Big oval lenses over the eyes and a flattened off vent section at the mouth and nose. Old military equipment. Most of the man’s attire was par for scavenging. Miss matched top and pants but wrapping his chest and back was a dull blue, rigid vest. Reflector armor. Another piece of ancient military tech, but far more valuable and rarer than the headgear. His boots were of the same material. “Two pieces of reflector gear.” I said, trying to sound intimidating. “You have cost yourself dearly friend.”

The man groaned as I secured his hands and feet. Propping him upright, I pulled his mask free. The stench of vomit wafted with it. He appeared young, not as young as me, twenty-five orbits, possibly. He still had the tell-tale signs of heathen life. Thick covering of filth and the pungent smell of lacking hygiene. Grabbing his chin, I turned his face. He had no marks. I reached up and rubbed the three lines of soft scars on the shaved side of my head. The marks meant exile from the faith. This man, like Jazz, was born an outsider.

“What’s your name?” I asked the captive. Loosening the buckles of his vest and dropping it to the ground beside us. He held his lips in a hard line, though he grimaced every time I handled his misshapen arm. I was more careful as I pulled loose the boots from his feet. “Were you with the group that got hit by the spradin?” I searched him, speaking in a normal, less aggressive voice. The stranger fixed his eyes on a far-off place. I watched the muscles in his jaw working. “You almost had me. If not for this curse, I couldn’t have overpowered you.” I tapped on the HAG. He spared a glance that lingered on the object covering wrist to elbow on my right arm, then returned to glaring at open space.

Determining he had nothing else of value, I piled the boots and armor at the edge of the flat. Then tossed the mask back at his bare feet. “You can keep this; it won’t do us any good.”

I cut a blade of stem grass, then rolled the thick green remains into a cylindrical shape and lashed it to another towering blade. Using a palm sized torch from my belt, I lit the bundle and pillar of smoke rose. Now Jazz should find me.

“Lap dog.” The man said. I turned.

“So, you do speak? I thought the thrashing you took broke your voice?”

“Moon worshiping, gup! Sister raping boot licking swi-.”

I slammed a fist against the corner of the man’s cheek, knocking him from his seated position. Snatching him by the back of his dirty hair, I pulled him close to my face, ignoring the rancid smell. “I’ll toss your ass into a sluve den! I plan to let you live, so don’t push your luck!” I whispered the threat. He wrenched and spat in my eye.

Somewhat admiring his resolve, I swallowed the urge to strike him again. Putting extra effort into reining in my anger, I righted him and walked away to look into the stem grass. “HAG, search for-.”

“The target is here!” Jazz yelled as he entered the clearing to my left. He hurled a bent and beaten light rifle into my chest. Tubes and wires dangled from it. Then he stood to glare. “The hell kid? Leave me to be eaten while you’re up here with yo head up your ass?” I concentrated my frustration into my grip on the broken weapon and matched the intensity of his stare.

“If you hadn’t screwed around earlier, I would have known where this clown snuck off to and not gotten ambushed. So don’t come up here barking at me, old man!” I snapped, jerking a thumb over my shoulder, pointing at the captured heathen, also pointing out the large gash on my chest. “And this hurts like hell.”

My friend looked past me at my prisoner. He sighed, losing some tension. “Damn it, Ex, that could have gone wrong quick, so what’s up?”

I gave Jazz the rundown of the events. Then showing him the reflector armor was the proper size for him he seemed to gain some more of his usual giddy disposition, something I hadn’t seen for the duration of this pointless job.

A shorthand account told me he avoided many close calls with the spradin until, during a diving roll, he had damaged the rifle. “Let’s go get our stuff. With this commotion, I doubt anyone going to try for the caravan again. This idiot is a hand of Neptune member. If this is their turf, they’ll hide for months after this.” He said, dragging on the second blue boot.

“What about him?” I asked, pointing at the man who had been sitting quietly.

“Leave the fool.”

“He’s busted up. We can’t just leave him, I mean; you killed the spradin, but what if a grey comes?”

“Yo. You are being too soft and it’s gonna get you killed. Leave the bastard. He would do the same to you. Damn it, Ex,” Jazz started marching away, ending the conversation.

The heathen features were still stone. A shiny fractal caught my eye. I walked over and snagged the man’s knife from the ground. It must have made the fall with us. I dropped it at his feet next to the mask and a food wrap from my belt pouch.

“If you can get cut loose, there you go.” I said, spinning on my heels. Over my shoulder, I added, “I hope a few of your friends are still around. But don’t follow us. Jazz won’t hesitate to kill you.”