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Tyco had seen it before, on countless other planets and moons. Terra Xena , they called it, the foreign earth. Nothing was an exact copy. Some soil, even after years of treatment, rejected all plant matter. Tyco had seen miles of forest, broken and wilted, starved by the alien earth. Here, there was forest, but it was unremarkable, dwarf-like, even ugly, as if the planet begrudged what little vegetation its dry soil accepted.  
    A half-dozen smoke clouds rose in the distance, churning skyward ominously against the horizon, the silent markers of the war zone Tyco had seen from orbit. He had landed miles away from it, in relative safety, and he was grateful. It was always a relief not to have to come out shooting. That part would come soon enough without diving in headfirst.
    A well-worn, crumbling road snaked through the rocky cliffs below, making straight for the fires and charting the course Tyco would have to take. The hillsides looming over it were dotted with clumps of ragged vegetation, and a stream ran alongside it, occasionally spilling over its tarmac and pooling in its potholes. Thick clusters of short trees rose along the stream's edges, shading its water from the direct sun overhead as it trickled its way down into the valley.  
    Tyco traced the path of the road until it disappeared around a bend in the rocky hillside. Its surface shimmered in the heat, and the calm wind blowing across the valley made it seem so desolate that it was hard to believe it had seen any traffic weeks, or even months. The burning wreck of the cruiser above completed the picture, its smoldering remains trailing down through the clouds like long, fiery tendrils. All in all, it was hardly a promising start to the mission that awaited, and Tyco shook his head with a sigh.  
    “Well,” He muttered grimly. “That’s wasn’t in the brochure.” Glancing at his navigation beacon on his rifle display, he set a course and started down the hill, turning his back to the burning ship above. The mission awaited.  

    Across the valley, Flip stumbled out of her pod onto the dusty hillside. She raised herself slowly, achingly to her knees. Halfway up, she stopped abruptly, ripped off her helmet and vomited, overwhelmed by the full force of drop-induced nausea. She had trained for this, of course, but nothing had prepared her for the improbable, unforgiving forces of full-speed descent. Back in the cruiser’s cargo bay, she had felt the veterans’ cautious eyes, had met the Commander’s wary stare, and now she knew why: they had been waiting to see how she would do, to see if she would crack while waiting to drop, let alone survive the experience.  
    They had been right to worry. She had felt paralyzed as the launch bay opened, her legs heavy and unmoving at the sight of the planet below. They had come alive only as the missile flashed from the planet surface, and she had found herself in her pod not long after, her visor clouding with the sweat of her exertions. In the end, she had barely made it out in time. The shockwave had chased her pod brutally. The jolt she had felt as it flung her into the thickening atmosphere had left her gasping for breath. Touchdown, abrupt and rocky though it had been, had come as a distinct relief.  
    The nausea passed quickly, and she stood, spitting and wiping her mouth, getting her bearings. The valley below, the same one that Tyco was descending into even now, seemed narrow, treacherous, and overrun by wilderness from her overlook. From her vantage point, there were no sign of survivors, pods, or even animals. Only the hot, direct sun shining unforgivingly down onto the shrubs and dry desert below. She had already decided on the best course down the hillside and into the valley when the harsh roar of an engine broke the silence.  
    Flip instinctively dropped to a crouch and brought her rifle to her eye. Swinging around to follow the engine, she peered through the sight, combing the dry sand for it source.