Read Empire: Book 2, The Chronicles of the Invaders (The Chronicles of the Invaders Trilogy) for Free Online Page A

supposed, that they might find the entire research team treating themselves to a long lie-in, or hiding in closets and behind curtains, waiting to pop out and surprise the visitors. Possible, but unlikely. Something had gone very wrong here. He could feel it.
    What he and Thula also understood was that, as point men, they were potentially sacrificial lambs. Whatever was responsible for silencing an entire research team and turning a drilling platform into a ghost town could conceivably still be present, watching and waiting . . .
    Paul risked a glance behind him. The rest of the unit had left the shuttle, carefully following in the footsteps of the advance guard.Rizzo and Baudin had taken up positions at either side of the shuttle door, Rizzo standing, Baudin kneeling, their guns raised and ready to provide covering fire in the event of a retreat.
    A door stood open ahead, leading into the small living and laboratory quarters—a single-level building set against the northern defensive wall of the platform. A series of circular windows ran along its length, each set at roughly the height of an Illyri head, which made them slightly too high for any human other than Thula—and, at a stretch, Paul—to look through with ease. Peering inside wasn’t an option, though, as the windows were shaded to protect those within from the blazing Tormic sun. From outside, they looked like black glass, reflecting the exterior and nothing more.
    Paul and Thula took up positions at the door, and Paul signaled his intention to move in first and go left. Thula would follow and go right. The lights were still on inside, and Paul could see the edge of a chair, and a table on which stood some plates and drinking beakers, all covered with a coating of white sand. Sand on the table, sand on the floor, sand everywhere.
    Paul took another scorching breath, tightened his grip on his assault rifle, and risked a quick glance around the doorframe. He saw a rest area with functional chairs and a couch that didn’t look much more comfortable than the floor itself, and beyond it the kitchen. One of the chairs lay on its back on the floor. It was the only sign of disturbance. His lens bombarded him with information about the room—its length, width, height, temperature, and the results of a scan for movement and body heat signatures, which came up negative. There was nowhere anyone could hide, but Paul conducted a careful search nonetheless, even going so far as to check the interior of an oven and a couple of cupboards that turned out to contain nothing more interesting than rations. He spoke softly into his helmet’s microphone, his speech relayed to the entire unit.
    “Thula?”
    “It’s clear.”
    Paul turned and saw Thula finishing his own search of the small mess hall. Five plates stood on the two tables, from which the chairshad been untidily pushed back. One beaker had fallen to the floor. Thula shrugged at Paul, who was just about to give the all clear to the rest of his unit when marks on the interior wall of the mess hall caught his eye.
    “I have pulse strikes to the wall,” said Paul. “Weapons discharged.”
    He tried to assess the power of the pulse blasts: too weak to penetrate the shell of the building but powerful enough to put an end to any average-sized life-form that took its full force. Whatever the pulse rifle had been aimed at was big enough for the blast to be set at more than regular killing power, but Paul could see no blood, and no remains.
    “There’s a panel loose on the floor,” said Thula.
    They both approached it. Paul nodded, and Thula kicked the panel away. Beneath it was only sand. Thula shrugged, and they moved on.
    The sound of swearing came over the comms system. It was Cutler’s voice, quickly followed by the rattle of depleted uranium rounds being fired. Immediately Paul and Thula returned to the door, but by then the action was over.
    “Cease fire, damn it!” shouted De Souza. “Cease