Tara lay prone on the hull, peering through the magscope mounted on her rifle. The dots had grown larger in the last hour and she knew battle was minutes away. The readout on her helmet visor read 980 kilometers. 979. 978. 977.

Tara took a moment to glance around at her squad, their armor blending into the shapes and colors of the ship’s hull. Marksmen all, they were silent killers. They sent beams of invisible death across the void, one perfect shot at a time. They never missed. Missing would be unprofessional.

960 kilometers. Almost there…

Tara checked her U-cord one last time and flipped the safety off, vocalizing an order over the comm.

“Nesters, quadrant is E4. Assigned targets only.”

The vacuum of space concealed the sound of thirty safeties being flipped.

930 kilometers.

“Nesters, engage at 900.”

Almost…

The computer chose a target, different from the rest of the squad. No need for two perfect shots on one target.

905.

904.

903.

Tara’s trigger finger began to squeeze.

902.

901.