First Light, First Step

Dawn on Aethel is a cold, sharp affair. The twin suns, one a brilliant white and the other a pale yellow, rise at slightly different times, creating a brief period of double shadows and crisp, clear light. It was in this light that our small convoy assembled. The air was still and cold, and our breath plumed in front of us. There was a nervous energy humming through the group, a mixture of fear and anticipation.
I was already in the cockpit of the Sand-Viper, having run the final pre-flight checks an hour ago. The reactor was at optimal temperature, its low thrum a comforting presence. Through the main optic, I watched Elara and her crew make their final preparations. They moved with a quiet efficiency, checking tire pressures, securing the last of the cargo, and sharing quiet words of encouragement. Elara was the center of it all, a calm and steady presence. She moved from person to person, a hand on a shoulder here, a confident nod there. She was their leader, not through rank or title, but through sheer force of will.
My comm crackled to life. “Jax, you ready?” It was Elara’s voice, clear and strong.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied, my own voice sounding rougher than I’d like. “Scout vehicle is designated ‘Pathfinder.’ The two haulers are ‘Pack Mule One’ and ‘Pack Mule Two.’ I’ll be ‘Shepherd.’ Let’s stick to those callsigns. Keep comm chatter to a minimum. Essential information only.” I was slipping back into my old role, the mission commander. It was a comfortable, familiar skin to wear, a way to keep the fear at bay.
“Understood, Shepherd,” she said, a hint of a smile in her voice. “Pathfinder is moving out. We’ll follow in five.” I watched on my tactical display as the small scout vehicle, a tough little four-wheeler with a mounted machine gun, pulled out of the hangar and headed east, towards the rising suns. It was crewed by two of Elara’s people, a young man and woman who looked barely out of their teens. They were brave kids. Too brave for this world.
Five minutes later, the heavy engines of the haulers roared to life, coughing out black smoke that briefly stained the clean morning air. They lumbered out onto the dusty track that passed for a road, falling into formation. Elara was in the lead hauler, Pack Mule One. I could just make out her silhouette in the driver’s seat. She gave a thumbs-up, a gesture I could see on my magnified view. I didn’t return it. This wasn’t a joyride.
“Alright, convoy is rolling,” I broadcasted. “I’m moving to a forward observation position. I’ll maintain a two-kilometer lead, sweeping the flanks. Pathfinder, report in every ten minutes. Shepherd out.”
I engaged the Sand-Viper’s legs and began to move. I didn’t run, not yet. I kept to a steady, ground-eating stride, moving parallel to the convoy’s route but staying low, using the rolling dunes and rock formations for cover. The motion was smooth, the machine an extension of my own body. The dust swirled around the mech’s feet, a constant, whispering companion. My main optic scanned the horizon, sweeping back and forth, looking for any sign of movement, any glint of metal that didn’t belong, any plume of dust that wasn’t made by the wind.
The first hour was uneventful. The landscape was vast and empty, a panorama of red rock and pale sand under a brightening sky. It was beautiful in its own desolate way. The kind of beauty that made you feel small and insignificant. The kind of beauty that could hide a thousand dangers. My sensors were on high alert, the passive scanners listening for engine signatures, the thermal imagers looking for heat blooms. So far, nothing. Just the suns warming the rocks and the low hum of our own convoy.
“Pathfinder to Shepherd, all clear at checkpoint one,” the young man’s voice crackled over the comm. “The road ahead looks quiet.”
“Copy that, Pathfinder. Maintain vigilance,” I replied. Checkpoint one was an old, rusted-out comms tower, a landmark on the way to the Pass. We were making good time. Too good. My instincts were screaming at me. This was too easy. The quiet was the most dangerous thing in the desert.
I pushed the Sand-Viper up the side of a tall mesa, its clawed feet finding purchase on the steep rock face. From the top, I had a commanding view of the surrounding area. I could see the convoy, a trail of three small specks crawling across the desert floor, leaving a plume of dust in their wake. I could see Pathfinder, a kilometer ahead of them. And I could see for miles in every direction. Nothing. Just endless, empty desert.
I zoomed in on the convoy. I could see Elara in her cab, her focus intent on the road ahead. I thought about our conversation in the hangar. About her parents, about my squad. About building something new on the ruins. This convoy, this desperate, hopeful act of defiance, was her attempt to build. And I was its guardian. The thought settled in my chest, a heavy, unfamiliar weight. It wasn’t the weight of guilt or regret. It was the weight of responsibility. For the first time in a long time, I was fighting for something other than my own survival.
A flicker of movement on the edge of my sensor range. My head snapped up, my attention instantly focused. It was far out, to the north, almost lost in the glare of the suns. I cranked up the magnification on my main optic. It was a dust cloud, but it wasn’t made by the wind. It was moving too fast, too purposefully. I ran a quick analysis. Three vehicles, maybe four. Lightly armored, fast-attack buggies. The kind that raiders used.
They were still a long way off, and they were moving on a parallel course, as if trying to get ahead of us. They were heading for the Pass. They were going to set up an ambush. My blood ran cold. They knew our route. Someone in Rust Creek had talked.
I opened a secure channel to Elara. “Elara, we have a problem,” I said, my voice low and urgent. “I’ve got bogies. Four of them, looks like. Raider buggies. They’re moving fast, trying to cut us off at the Pass.”
There was a beat of silence, then her voice came back, steady as ever. “Can we outrun them?”
“No,” I said, the word a lead weight. “Not in those haulers. They’ll be waiting for us.”
“So what do we do, Jax?” she asked. The fear was there, just under the surface of her voice, but she was holding it together.
I looked at the tactical display. The raiders were a red arrow, streaking towards the narrow entrance of Serpent’s Pass. The convoy was a slow-moving green line, crawling towards the trap. And I was the lone wolf, the Shepherd. The answer was obvious. It was the only one.
“You keep moving,” I said, my hands tightening on the controls. “You stick to the plan. I’m going to go say hello.” Before she could argue, I cut the channel. I turned the Sand-Viper towards the distant dust cloud, the red eye of its optic flaring with a predatory light. I pushed the throttle forward, and the mech leaped from the mesa, landing with a ground-shaking thud on the desert floor below. Then, I made it run. The hunt was on.