Seven days later – Ridge Plains, entrance to the Perdition's Crossing.
The Perdition's Crossing: the only route connecting one desert to another.
A paradise for Mar Sara's scum—
And a hell on Earth.
In the vast, jagged expanse of the desert badlands, howling winds swept up a blinding storm of yellow sand. The temperature had already reached 40 °C, and the blinding sun scorched everything beneath it with relentless intensity. Only a few resilient Mar Saran scuttle crabs were still burrowing through the sand and rocks.
Hot. Dry. Lifeless.
Over a hundred Vulture bikes tore across the crimson soil of the Ridge Plains, moving like drifting leaves on the wasteland. Their thrusters kicked up clouds of dust so thick they turned the sky to ash.
Augustus's Vulture came to a sharp stop after a smooth swerve. One by one, with engines humming and screeching to a halt, more Vultures followed suit.
"This place is a goddamn death trap."
Tychus stood behind Augustus, lowering his sunglasses.
Perdition's Crossing stretched ahead—an immense canyon nearly 2,600 kilometers long. The sands at the entrance were littered with bleached bones of both man and beast. The wind howled like ten thousand wailing ghosts.
"Venturing into this forsaken hellscape comes with serious risk," Augustus told the troops gathered around him. "Most who die in there get lost when their compasses fail or their tracking implants stop working. Others are kidnapped and executed by the raiders hiding within."
"This operation's going to be tough," he continued. "Our first target once we enter Perdition's Crossing will be the Chimera Pirates. They specialize in ambushes using fast assault craft and high-tech weapons, usually hitting targets along interstellar trade routes. Sometimes they even raid Terran Confederacy outposts and starports."
"I've heard the Chimera Pirates are obsessed with collecting advanced weaponry and starship components," suggested Corporal Faraday, who stood beside Augustus. "Maybe we can use that to bargain and avoid unnecessary bloodshed."
"Or just kill them," Tychus muttered around a cigar.
"Then their whole damn collection belongs to us."
...
2489.9.20, approximately 65 kilometers into Perdition's Crossing, the Augustus convoy sped forward.
Perdition's Crossing was a wide canyon flanked by rock walls over 300 meters high. The air inside was dry, and the ground beneath felt as hard and compact as stone slabs. Yellowish bone fragments and shards of metal mixed into the gravel, alongside towering, tree-like thorn brambles over 3 meters tall—these were the only elements populating this monotonous world. Even the wind was searing hot, as if it could suck the moisture straight from one's flesh.
The vast region comprising the Ridge Plains, Perdition's Crossing, and the Grayblot Wastes hadn't seen rainfall in many standard orbital years. Only the hardiest native species still clung to life, hiding underground in desperate attempts to survive.
Even the most environment-adapted settlers of Mar Sara wouldn't choose to build a home in such an utterly desolate region. Establishing roots here and feeding a family would require disproportionate effort, while a single unexpected sandstorm or pirate raid could wipe out an entire family's savings in an instant.
At the front of the convoy, Augustus and Raynor drove side by side in their Vultures, with a large column of identical hoverbikes trailing behind. From Augustus's perspective, the 65 kilometers they had covered so far offered virtually no variation in scenery. Just sand, thorns, and bare sedimentary rock layers laid bare along the canyon floor—nothing else.
Along the way, they passed three or four revolutionary outposts. Each one was welded together from neosteel plates scavenged from old space engineering vehicles, spaced a few kilometers apart, and stocked with enough food and ammunition to last a full month.
Because all electromagnetic communication devices ceased to function or became erratic upon entering Perdition's Crossing, every outpost, forward base, and camp was connected via laid optical light cables for communication.
Only after they had traveled nearly 100 kilometers did Augustus's convoy finally halt at a marked stretch of sheer cliff face within the canyon.
At first glance, this section of cliff looked no different from the rest. The angle between wall and ground was nearly vertical, lacking any holds or climbing points. About 30 meters up, clusters of Mar Sara barnacle plants—similar in appearance to agave—grew stubbornly out of the rock. Their rare fruits contained trace amounts of moisture and were a primary food source for the Koprulu gliding hawk.
But as Augustus approached, the wall before him abruptly vanished—revealing a solid steel gate forged from cast durasteel. With the whirring roar of gears turning, a front-line revolutionary base carved into the canyon wall gradually emerged before Augustus, Raynor, and the rest.
Awaiting them was Feek, former power armor technician for the Heaven's Devils, now a revolutionary. He stood with two rebel soldiers dressed in brown denim jackets, Gauss rifles slung over their shoulders.
"Commander," Feek said, "this base holds enough supplies to sustain a fully staffed Revolutionary Army battalion for three months. We've secured the canyon entrance leading to the Ridge Plains. All materials were delivered by transport aircraft and trucks."
"Well done, Feek. Did you encounter any pirates or members of other factions?" Raynor bent down slightly to clap Feek on the shoulder. Compared to the towering rebel soldiers around them, Feek's dwarf-like frame was instantly noticeable.
"The Ghost operatives providing our cover managed to capture two members of the Chimera Pirates. Using telepathy, we extracted the location of their research facility with ease. They're clearly aware of our incursion."
Because his legs were noticeably shorter than everyone else's, Feek had to take several extra steps to reach Augustus.
Now the commanding officer of this forward base, Feek might not have been a Kel-Morian tunneling expert, but he was just as capable when it came to constructing fortifications and bases in hostile terrain. As a former member of the Heaven's Devils, Feek enjoyed Augustus's full trust, which had earned him his leadership position.
No sooner had Feek finished speaking than a female Ghost operative stepped forward, clad in a light-blue tactical bodysuit. She was one of seven Ghosts captured by Augustus at the Terran Confederacy's research station on Vyctor 5. After their psi-inhibitors were removed, all seven, unsurprisingly, had defected to the Korhal Revolutionary Army.
This operative's right forearm had been replaced with a prosthetic, and her left eye was a Umojan cybernetic implant that glowed faintly red. As she spoke, the mechanical eye rotated slowly, casting a piercing light that seemed to reach into the soul.
"Damn, I love that thing," said Mira Han, a squad captain in the Revolutionary Guard, rudely pointing at the Ghost's cybernetic eye from behind Raynor.
Augustus's forces were divided into three main branches: the elite units, the Marshal's Guard, and the regular army. The regulars were further split between seasoned Korhal-born soldiers and newly conscripted battalions from Deadman's Port. Notably, the latter showed no less resolve in battle than veterans who had survived multiple major campaigns.
"No, you don't love it," Augustus said sternly, addressing Mira—who was nearly three years his junior. "And if you keep acting crazy, I'll make sure you stay behind next time for target practice."
"I apologize for the girl's immaturity," Augustus said sincerely to the Ghost operative. "She meant no harm."
Among the Ghosts who had survived the Battle of Vyctor 5, most bore some form of physical damage. The least injured had lost a finger.
"She speaks without a filter," came the Ghost's voice from beneath her mask—a voice unexpectedly melodious, rhythmic, like a songbird in spring. "But I can see it—beneath the shell she uses to protect herself, she has a kind heart."
"Yeah, you got that right," Mira replied proudly.
"Tell me about the Chimera Pirates, Natasha," Augustus said.
Since removing their psi-inhibitors, Augustus had chosen to refer to the Ghosts by their original names, not their code numbers. This gesture signified that the Revolutionary Army now recognized them as individuals. Their loyalty wasn't enforced by control—but forged through shared hatred of the Terran Confederacy and personal devotion to Augustus.
"The Chimera Pirates have stockpiled an array of advanced weapons, ship components, and precision systems at their research base," Natasha reported. "They operate numerous black markets across more than a dozen Terran Confederacy colonies, taking hefty cuts by offering transaction guarantees, and using various channels to acquire starship parts."
"They're essentially profit-driven tech traffickers," she said. "The Chimera Pirates not only use the advanced technology and precision components they acquire—through looting, purchase, or theft—but also sell them for outrageous profits. They target private corporations, raid or attempt to seize cutting-edge weaponry from research stations belonging to the Terran Confederacy, the Kel-Morian Combine, and the Umojan Protectorate, and they steal military intelligence that can fetch a high price on the black market."
"There are rumors that the Chimera Pirates originated from Umoja. Supposedly, they were once a scientific fleet under the Umojan Protectorate's Homeland Defense Forces but defected for unknown reasons. The Protectorate has repeatedly denied this, but there's no denying that Chimera's founder was Umojan."
"One of their leaders is a psionic. It's widely believed within the group that their current commander is a former Ghost operative from the Confederacy."
"Sounds like the Chimeras are one of those uncontrollable chaos elements in the Koprulu sector," Tychus said. "As long as there's high-tech gear involved, there's nothing they won't do. They're some of the most ruthless marauders and tech junkies out here—second only to the Kel-Morian pirates, maybe."
Augustus nodded and offered his assessment. "Same as Captain Jackson's crew—pirates chasing profit. The only difference is Chimera's tastes run a bit more... specialized."
"Maybe we ought to negotiate with them," said Corporal Faraday. "Chimera takes mercenary contracts, same as a lot of other pirate crews. One day they're killing everyone in sight, and the next they're all about honoring their deals."
"Like what we did with Jackson's Revenge. Turn an enemy into an ally—buy their loyalty," someone added.
"And how exactly do we negotiate?" Tychus let out a low chuckle. "My suggestion is simple: kill them first, then negotiate with the corpses."
"Honestly, unless we beat them into the dirt, they won't sit still long enough to listen to anything," Augustus said. "But if they're willing to sell the Revolution some of their tech, we're open to it. We'll pay—our army doesn't take what it can't earn."
"The strike on the Chimera research base will begin at dawn tomorrow—fifteen standard Earth hours from now," Augustus continued. "That'll be the first step toward fully securing Perdition's Crossing."
He took a few steps forward. Feek and the others immediately stepped aside, parting to form a path for him.
"The key is solving the riddle of Perdition's Crossing."
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