User Guide

12 13
enemy does not forgive blindness or laxity.
“Left, newblood! Left, damn it!” Minerva’s voice
screams in your ear and you tear your gaze away
from the peltast to see a battered scarlet myrmidon
drawing a bead on you with something big and
black. You roll up and boost hard for cover. The
myrmidon sidesteps to avoid fire from Minerva as
she pokes a longrifle over the crest of the hill and
snaps off a couple of shots. The Blood Eagle peltast,
her true target, never makes it to the ground. The
laser pulses blow his head off neatly; the sudden
blast of blood reminds you fleetingly of one of the
roses in your mother’s garden, its petals dissolving
into gentle red mist. You glimpse the slumped body
drifting downward on its flight pack’s thrust as you
drop over the rocky lip of the hilltop. A heartbeat
later, before myrmidon’s rockets shatter the world
and turn your day into night.
Dawn casts long shadows over you as the last war-
riors climb laughing into the dropships. Beyond the
mobile landing pads, golden hills roll gently down
to a calm sea. Your mother is there, and your sisters,
offering you a luck gift: the blaster pistol your
grandfather won from the Starwolf -- what? Two
jumpgates ago? Three? You tell Mother not to
bother, that you were killed on Minax Phasma III,
but she just smiles. You are of the Phoenix, my
bright one, she says. We more than any other tribe
return reborn from the ashes of defeat. Go now,
and return.
“We’ll strip their armor after we’ve destroyed their
brethren,” the Scar Captain orders in his gravelly
voice. The Blood Eagle myrmidon’s blackened
corpse lies in a small crater at the foot of the hill.
You rest your head on your knees while Minerva
plays a knitterbeam over you. Your helmet lies
nearby, blown off from the force of that last
explosion. You’re exhausted, your head hurts, and
your burns pulse raw agony, but you’re almost too
tired to cry out, and pride keeps your teeth gritted.
As the nanodocs do their work, blackened flesh
flakes away to reveal pink new skin spreading across
your wounds with incredible speed. The pain fades.
You relax and stretch gingerly. Around you, Phoenix
warriors reload their weapons and run nano-repair
kits over their armor. The sight of their gleaming
wingmask helmets fills you with resolve. Minerva
grins and winks as she spies you clipping the
Telamonian back onto your warharness.
“Welcome back ... warrior,” she says, and tosses you
your helmet. “Remember, you owe me two more
by moonsrise, ayia?”
Tr i b e s F i c t i o n Tr i b e s F i ct i o n