Jordan and O’Riley barely had time to get inside and close the armored shutters of the safehouse before they began taking fire. The door to the back of the truck opened up to reveal a mounted minigun turret. It spit two lines of purple fire down at the safehouse, the kinetic weapon enhanced by an ability similar to O’Riley’s. The barrage chewed through the building’s exterior, sending concrete dust and tiny chunks of rock billowing onto the street. From the inside, it felt like the whole building was shaking under the onslaught, the rapid pingping of lead on metal ringing in the inhabitants’ ears. Jordan bellowed out orders: “Get in the basement, now!”

  But the women were already doing that before he gave the order. Rose Greenstone had read the situation perfectly the moment the men had come running inside. She’d been ushering the women down to safety even before the bullets had started to rain. Jordan caught her eyes, and she gave him a nod before disappearing down into the darkness herself. One figure actually emerged from the basement, vibrating with consternation and distress. They’d kept poor Gon in the basement, away from the others, due to his high natural body heat. They’d need him now, as it was only him, Jordan, Stan and O’Riley remaining topside to mount a defense. The ex-con soldier was the first to look at Jordan and pose the obvious question: “Have any plans for this one, wiseguy?!”

  Jordan needed to shout his response: “My father knows we’re under attack. Our backup is already on the way.”

  “ETA?”

  “4 hours.”

  O’Riley frowned at that, saying: “Won’t the police be here before then?”

  Jordan was already shaking his head: “Cops won’t help anyone. They’ll respond, but they probably won’t interfere. They’ll set up a perimeter and make sure the violence doesn’t spread.”

  “How long will this armor hold out?”

  Already they were starting to see some small dents in the shutters where the gunship had targeted them. Despite that menacing visual, Jordan looked confident, tapping the armor and responding: “Don’t be fooled, gents. This place is tough. It should be able to take this until reinforcements arrive.”

  The armor had also begun to take blaster fire from some of the men in the HoverTruck as well. As if he could see outside, Jordan commented: “Even if they start blasting us, the armor will keep the heat on the outside. The guy who built this thing is kinda paranoid.”

  The men seemed somewhat assured at that, but there was still one obvious problem, which Stan was the one to point out: “So we have tough skin. That’s nice. But how do we punch back? Even if reinforcements get here, we’ll need to help them fight these guys. Right?”

  The bellicose question prompted a conspiratorial grin to spread across Jordan’s face: “What if I told you there was a plan for that one as well…”

  …

  Eventually, the barrage stopped, and the HoverTruck started to make a descent. Their attacks had stripped away most of the concrete fa?ade, revealing a solid grey metal surface beneath. The criminals had figured out that they weren’t going to crack those defenses from afar, so they parked their truck behind a building opposite the safehouse and filed out. They crept forward, anticipating incoming fire from the building in front of them. When none came, several of the men were noticeably confused. Were the enemies inside just going to let them move forward unopposed? Could they even defend themselves?

  One of the men yelped, hit by green bolts of blaster fire that suddenly streaking out from the corner of a building further down the street on their left. The criminals took cover and started shooting back, baffled. They’d circled the block from afar beforehand and hadn’t noticed any guards posted up in the neighborhood. Had he been cloaked?

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Whatever had happened, the criminals thoroughly suppressed this new enemy. Three men erected shields and continued to watch that building as the others began moving toward the safehouse again. One skeptical man’s gaze swiveled from that building to another building on his right. Who’s to say the enemy didn’t station someone there as well?

  He was just looking that way when a blaster bolt took him in the head from behind.

  The criminals were now taking fire from the building behind them, forcing them to scramble for cover again. A wiry, swarthy skinned crook peered over the hood of a car as he stared at the window they’d just taken fire from. Had he seen a flash of purple just now? Before the man could process this info, he watched as another stream of blaster fire took a man hunkering behind the car to his left. The fire now came from the building on the opposite side of the street from the first place they’d taken shots from, making it seem like they were surrounded. The wiry man whirled, manifesting a ball of amethyst light and throwing it in a streak right at the source. The ball bounced once before exploding in a flash of heat and light, taking a massive chunk out of that building’s corner. The man let out a breath between his teeth in annoyance. His boss had told him to keep the collateral damage to a minimum, lest they prompt the ire of an enterprising policeman not already in their pocket. Or worse, the military, which was where the real power in this nation was anyways.

  The wiry man’s eyes scanned the surrounding buildings suspiciously, looking for another purple flash. He suspected he knew exactly what was happening here, but his group had limited options to counter it. He remembered an exchange he’d had with Olajun before they’d left to attack the safehouse: “You sure we shouldn’t wait for Marcovi reinforcements before we do this, Julio?”

  The fat man had smashed the table in front of him at this question, snarling and responding: “These bastards stole from us. We don’t even know who they are. The Marcovi are only related because of those two pieces of merchandise. We can’t rely on them to avenge our humiliation.”

  The wiry man shook his head. His childhood companion had lost his cool in the face of the humiliation he suffered from these unknown enemies. The irony in his statement, given that they’d relied on the Marcovi to learn about the safehouse in the first place, was likely lost on the fat man as well. Those slimy Khazari were probably counting on the Sinachro forces to run off and soften up the target on their own, before swooping in to claim some of the glory. But Julio was technically his superior, so he’d gone along with the orders for now.

  The Sinachro had brought laser cutters to tear through the doors of the safehouse, but they didn’t have the men to defend themselves from this sneaky enemy while using them. He spat on the ground and gave a signal to the others. It was unlikely he’d killed the teleporting enemy with his Psionic grenade, so it was time to pull out before they lost too many people. Despite his old friend’s comments, he’d contacted the Marcovi before they’d begun their attack. That Family had informed him they were preparing reinforcements, which the Sinachro would have to wait for.

  The wiry man tossed another Psionic grenade at the walls of the safehouse as his men retreated. It left a black mark on the walls, not enough to count as serious damage but definitely enough to scare the people inside. He shook his head. What kind of lunatic was paranoid enough to build a safehouse this tough? And who the hell were they fighting, anyways? This didn’t seem like a rival gang.

  All these questions occupied the man’s mind as they retreated to the truck. He considered leaving a watch on the building, though it wasn’t like the enemy was going anywhere with so many people. As he thought that, however, an idea sprang to mind. The wiry man never smiled, and was rarely amused anyways, but those who knew him could always tell when he was on the hunt. His eyes, black as midnight, began to glitter.

  …

  Jordan watched from one of the buildings on the opposite side of the street as the criminals began to retreat. There were small shutters that could create temporary openings in the safehouse’s armor that the people inside could use to shoot out from. They could have used these to defend themselves directly, but that strategy always involved some risk since it involved opening small holes in the armor. Jordan preferred to keep the shutters’ presence a secret for now, so he’d used one to teleport out the back of the safehouse. After slinking through some back alleys, he emerged onto the road and shoot at the attackers from behind cover. He’d been teleporting into different buildings and onto different street corners to keep the enemy off balance, though that grenade had shaken him up badly. Jordan was grateful to see the crooks retreating, as he wasn’t keen on dodging more of those.

  Jordan frowned as he watched them go. He’d only killed two of the assailants with his sneak attacks, proving that they were tougher than the enemies the Pioneers had fought back at the wharf. Several of the men he’d shot were already back on their feet and looking around for him warily. If he’d had high explosives, Jordan would have been able to take more of them, but he’d used his only high-power grenades on the jungle planet and hadn’t had the money for more. Jordan counted ten crooks in total remaining, but if they’d decided to retreat then there were probably reinforcements incoming. Crouching low, Jordan followed in the shadows. The enemies walked back to their truck and hunkered down in relative safety, constantly watching both sides of the lot where it was parked. Jordan massaged the trigger of his gun as he watched them, thinking. They were definitely waiting for reinforcements, just like he was. But they couldn’t see the safehouse from here. What would they do if Jordan and his people decided to try and leave? And, more importantly, how could he seize a bigger advantage before their reinforcements got here?

  As if to answer his questions, one man suddenly split off from the group and began heading back toward the safehouse. Jordan followed him from above, watching as the man took up an observational position from across the road. He frowned again. The man was a sitting duck, too easy to pick off. Jordan smelled a trap, but he knew he wouldn’t get many good chances to thin the enemy herd before their allies arrived. If they got help before his dad’s friends showed up, the Pioneers would be in huge trouble. Jordan could improve their odds by picking off as many crooks as possible. Taking a deep breath, Jordan brought the enemy below him into his sights.

  And a Psionic grenade flew through the window, right into his room.