Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun

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On Hoghan a man lay dying. He sprawled beneath the jagged stump of a broken tree, blood puddling the dirt around his hips, the uniform he wore ripped and torn, burned and stained. In the flame-shot darkness his voice was a tormented whisper.

"Earl?"

"Here." Dumarest knelt, feeling the squelch of mud, reaching out with his left hand to grip the other's shoulder. "Relax, Clar. You'll be all right."

"Don't lie to me, Earl." The pain-wracked voice held a bitter impatience. "Am I a raw recruit to believe a thing like that? I'm as good as dead and you know it. That laser caught me right across the guts. If I hadn't been armored I'd be dead now." The voice drew strength from pain and anger. "Damn the armor! Damn it! Damn it all to hell!"

A flare rose from a point close to hand, cold, blue-white light throwing stark shadows from the ruined buildings, the broken remains of once-decorative trees. Once the city had been a gentle place graced with statues and things of beauty; now the fury of internecine war had turned it into a shambles.

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