Going Dark by Linda Nagata Page B

sheltered in the lee of an ice ridge—but the boot print is an encouraging sign. It’s solid evidence that at least one individual in Glover’s party is not using a dead sister, and that means they’re moving slowly.
    We spread out again and resume the hunt. There’s so much snow, falling fresh from the sky or being swept up by the wind, that even with night vision, we can’t see far. It’s disorienting. Feels like running on a treadmill, getting nowhere. But conditions are forecast to change. “There’s an upcoming break in the cloud cover,” Kanoa says. “You should have clear skies in under an hour.”
    A tube hooked to a bladder in my pack brings me a swallow of fortified water that’s gone slushy. It chills my teeth and my skull and I don’t want to drink anymore, but I make myself drink it anyway. I remind my squad to do the same. We’re running across the surface of an ocean, but dehydration is a hazard we can’t overlook.
    I check the time in my overlay. It feels like hours since Kanoa predicted clear skies, but it’s been only fifty-four minutes. I want to be able to see where we’re going, to see our enemy. I sure as fuck hope we don’t run right past them.
    “Pull up, pull up!”
    It’s Tran, whispering over gen-com.
    “ Shit. They’re like fifty meters away from me.”
    I drop into a crouch, breathing hard and relieved to take a break. “Have they seen you?”
    “No. No, they’re walking away from me.”
    “Keep them in sight.”
    “Sighting confirmed,” Kanoa says. He pops an image onto my display. It shows me a vague cluster of figures, details lost to snow and night vision, but one at least is rigged—and one isn’t. The other two, I can’t be sure.
    “Automatic weapons,” Kanoa says. “And that looks like an RPG launcher.”
    “I guess they wanted the option of blasting their way into Tuvalu Station.” I delete the image and then expand the map. “Kanoa, are we still due for clear skies?”
    “Roger that. Latest report gives you another fifteen minutes.”
    “Okay, this is what we’re going to do. Logan, you and Escamilla move in behind them, just close enough to keep them in sight. Roman and Tran are with me. We’re going to move around, wide to the east. It’ll be a sprint, but I want to get ahead of them while the weather covers us. We’re going to stop them now. We will not let them go on to Tuvalu Station. There will be no repeat of what happened at Deep Winter Sigil . Clear?”
    I wait for the round of acknowledgments. And then I add, “If it comes to shooting, wait for a designated target. We don’t want to shoot each other.”
    I start east, with Roman and Tran running behind me in single file. It’s a damn good thing the wind is blowing hard. It covers the harsh rasp of my breathing. The cold sears my throat and I half expect my lungs to shatter, but I keep going until Kanoa says, “Turn west now. Cut them off.”
    He uses GPS to position us in the path of our quarry.
    The swirling snow thins, revealing an expanse of ice as smooth as a frozen pond, with no cover in any direction. “Standard interval,” I whisper, gesturing to Roman and Tran to take up positions on either side of me. They spread out, so that we stand thirty meters apart.
    The wind slows. Night vision shows me a handful of stars overhead. I brace my feet, bring my HITR to my shoulder, and will myself to see past the lingering scatter of wind-driven snow.
    “There,” Roman whispers. “Seventy meters.”
    I see them: three soldiers rigged in dead sisters and night vision goggles. The one in front carries an RPG launcher; the other two are assisting the civilian, half-carrying Dr. Parris as they support her by her arms.
    “Drop your weapons!” I bellow, not really expecting them to.
    And they don’t. They don’t even take time to process my request. I might as well have yelled Game on!
    My tactical AI puts up a target. I cover it and fire a three-round burst, dropping the merc with the