The radio screamed. The Depot whispered, “R20.01.00 ready.”

Kara froze. The voice was shredded, warped by static, but unmistakably human. And unmistakably dead . Corporal Mendez had been the squad leader. His body had been cold for thirty-six hours.

“Voss… don’t leave me in the dark.”

“No, no, no.” She slammed the abort sequence. The Depot ignored her. Its primary screen flashed a new prompt:

The download bar hung at 99.8%.

Kara Voss tapped the reinforced glass of the field terminal, watching the stubborn blue line refuse to move. Outside the depot’s plasti-steel walls, the alien jungle of Cygnus-7 hummed with a frequency that made her teeth ache. Inside, her only company was the low whine of the Astro 25 Mobile Depot—a portable command hub designed to re-tune, reprogram, and resurrect any compatible comms unit in the field.

Kara looked from the Depot to the dead radio, then to the jungle where something large snapped a branch.