The strike team surged through the rent in the wall. Superheated bolts sizzled, carving lines of blue-white light through the acrid dust. The air thrummed with the whine of charging weapons and the metallic stench of ozone. Osha, thrown back by the blast, scrambled to her workstation, her vision blurred by fine grit. Jaro was already moving, intercepting the lead intruder with silent efficiency. His crude, reinforced gauntlets met the man's chest plate with a dull thud. The operative reeled, but another immediately took his place.
“Secure the core crop!” the lead operative barked, his voice distorted by his helmet’s comms. “Nothing leaves this room living!”
An ion bolt erupted again, not at Jaro, but arcing towards Osha, aimed straight for her ribs. She saw the flash, the trajectory. Her knees locked into place, the familiar paralysis rooting her to the floor.
Then Jaro sprang. He drove his body across the gap, slamming into her and forcing her flat against the metal grating. The bolt tore into his collarbone with a wet hiss, spraying a fine mist of copper-smelling red onto her cheek. He let out a low, guttural roar that rattled her ribs, but he did not fall. He twisted, his right arm sweeping up to shatter the shooter's helmet seal.
Warm, slick wetness seeped across the synth-fabric of her collar where he leaned against her. Jaro clutched at the burn, skin drawn taut, but his stare remained focused. He shoved her roughly behind a towering feed vat. “Stay down, Osha! This isn’t your fight!”
Her throat burned, but the paralysis broke under the sight of his torn flesh. She pressed her palms into the cold metal flooring, steadying herself.
The ragged hole in his jacket bled dark against the floor plates. Past him, three raiders advanced in lockstep, rifles raised to sweep the rows.
Her gaze snapped to the console. The greenhouse controls, usually used for cycling light and liquid feed, showed an active atmospheric valve map. The raiders wore heavy kinetic plating, meant to absorb concussive force and standard discharge, but field seals were brittle against rapid industrial chemistry.
“Jaro!” she yelled, her voice raw, surprising even herself with its newfound power. “Get down! Get *all* the way down!”
He threw a quick glance her way, then dropped, rolling behind a dense cluster of stalks just as she struck the holographic confirmation panel.
A sharp klaxon sounded through the ceiling grills. The raiders halted their sweep. With a sharp roar of compressed gas, overhead bypass valves cracked open. Micronized agricultural mineral powder, meant for root dusting, erupted into the chamber in an opaque green squall.
Comms crackled with static as the squad scrambled. Their optics smeared into static. Osha keyed the climate overrides, engaging the thermal coils to max draw. The air density plunged as heat surged through the vents, baking the suspended minerals into dry grit.
The intruders' seals hissed under the thermal surge. Fine mineral silicate ground into the intake valves and melted against the seams. Guttural shouts echoed through the smog as respirator filters clogged and external gaskets melted into slag.
One raider tore his mask free, only to choke on the hot silt. He dropped his weapon, staggering backward into the row markers before collapsing.
The exhaust cycle engaged, pulling the pale cloud through the floor grates. Four armored shapes lay motionless across the gravel path, suits scorched and silent. Not a single leaf had caught flame. Osha stood trembling at the console, green silt dusting her sleeves.
Then she saw Jaro. He was struggling to rise from behind the vats, his skin grey, his breathing shallow. Dark crimson pooled around his boots.
“Jaro!” She dropped beside him. He tilted sideways against her, heavy and loose-limbed, eyes fluttering shut. She shoved both hands hard against the scorched flesh of his collar, but blood spilled hot between her fingers.
“Clever girl,” he whispered, a faint, lopsided smile on his lips, before his eyes closed.
The console chimed through the quiet room. A fresh transmission pulsed in white lettering across the screen.
*YASHRI RUYAN: SURRENDER THE FARM. SURRENDER EVERYTHING. OR NO MEDICAL DRONES ENTER THE SUMP. YOUR HUSBAND DIES SLOWLY. YOUR CHOICE, OSHA.*