The click of six carbine safeties disengaging was a dry, brittle sound against the constant patter of rain.
Captain Tanya Richter didn’t flinch. She racked the slide of her trench shotgun with a heavy, clockwork clatter that echoed through the narrow timber dugout. The cavernous bore of the twelve-gauge weapon remained leveled directly at the throat of the lead corporate mercenary.
“Lower the weapons,” Richter said, her tone as hard as cold pig iron. “This is a Federal Vanguard forward stronghold. A builder fires a shot on active military personnel. Then, my sentries on the low roof wall will open up with twin heavy machine guns. Your composite armor won’t stop fifty-caliber heavy dark metal rounds at point-blank range, Director Thorne.”
Beside her, Instructor Valerie Koslov drew her sidearm. Her stance was balanced, her knuckles pale against the checkered walnut grip. “You’re overstepping your mandate, Proctor Finch. The Academy Board has no turf to execute civil bio-warrants within thirty miles of an active rift boundary. This ground belongs to the Federal Vanguard.”
Finch swallowed hard, clutching his ivory portfolio against his belly like a shield. He looked at Thorne, his eyes darting toward the dark muzzle of Richter’s shotgun. “Director... Perhaps we should file a formal petition with the Regional Military Trial first. The office regulations—”
