Ryan finally stood. He was the youngest commander in the sector, and the most doubted. His crew wasn’t military; they were misfits, burnouts, and the forgotten. But when a distress signal went unanswered, when the official rescue corps logged it as “low priority,” Ryan’s Squad was the one that showed up.
Ryan grinned—a small, fierce thing.
“Port thruster’s shot,” he said, not looking up. Ryan-s Rescue Squad
Ryan pulled out a battered flare gun and loaded a green cartridge—the signal for children found. “There is no angle. We’re getting that kid out before the planet eats him.”
“Directly below us. And Mira? Make it fast.” Ryan finally stood
Behind them, the hovercraft roared to life, Mira’s voice crackling over the comm: “Thrusters green. Where do you need the pickup?”
The hovercraft’s engine coughed black smoke into the amber twilight. Ryan wiped a smear of synthetic oil from his cheek, his fourth pair of goggles already cracked. But when a distress signal went unanswered, when
The boy’s eyes were wide, but he reached up.