Bravado barely concealing sheer panic, Roderick bellowed, “RUN!”

All four men and the lone woman of the group careened through the lush undergrowth, an unseen but hideously imagined beast thundering in the dark after them. Alien birds hooted at their passing, though it was unclear whether they cheered predator or prey.

Their shuttle had crashed after their grand vessel had floundered, the highly advanced AI having ceased all function. On this foreign world moisture corrupted supposedly hardy support suits before timed sapped the energy of so called reliable weapons.

Feet on sod they evaded death by nothing more than what their bodies could offer—no cybernetic augments, no tasty stim candy, and no light but stars and fire. On the whole, the situation was terribly, utterly, and wonderfully primitive.

“If we survive the night,” Roderick howled, “We are men once more!”

“Speak,” Jane huffed, “for yourself.”

Roderick roared with breathless laughter, a heady challenge to primitive alien gods and demons.