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“Keep moving, people! Don’t hold still for those lasers!”
Dolby and Jessop were down. Fitzgerald was down. Three other gun walkers scattered across the Temple platform all were struggling with overwhelming numbers of hostile machines. The Marines had now given up trying to provide cover for the walkers; there were so many alien fliers that every Marine had more than enough to handle just with the alien machines swarming around him or her.
A flight of black machines tumbled through the air toward Courtland. He snapped off three bursts from his laser, burning down two of the attackers but missing the third, which swooped suddenly, then slammed into his chest and exploded in a splash of black goo.
The impact staggered him back a step. He waved his arms wildly, uselessly, trying to shake or scrape off the liquid adhering to him.
Warning, his armor told him, the voice hammering in his head. Suit integrity compromised.
He was bleeding atmosphere. The good news was that the atmospheric pressure at Heimdall’s surface was less than half of what he carried in his armor, so his air mix was leaking out, and the ammonia and sulfur dioxide outside was not leaking in … yet.
HarperVoyager
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London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2017
Copyright © William H. Keith, Jr 2017
Jacket layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
Cover art by Gregory Bridges
William H. Keith, Jr asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008121099
Ebook Edition © June 2017 ISBN: 9780008121105
Version: 2017-05-04
For Deb and for Brea, bright lights illuminating my dark mind …
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