“Port thruster’s shot,” he said, not looking up.
Behind him, the three members of his squad didn't flinch. They never did. Ryan-s Rescue Squad
, the muscle, kept his massive arms folded, scanning the treeline where the bioluminescent ferns were beginning to glow. “We don’t have five. The fauna here gets chatty after dark. And hungry.” “Port thruster’s shot,” he said, not looking up
Ryan pulled out a battered flare gun and loaded a green cartridge—the signal for children found. “There is no angle. We’re getting that kid out before the planet eats him.” “Port thruster’s shot