“Left!” He shouted over the hail of gunfire.

Saren jerked their vehicle sharply to their right.


Nihlus closed his eyes. Two seconds later, he opened them again and was relieved to discover that they were still in relatively good shape. Relatively good shape being him firing a machine gun while Saren’s riding what amounted to a unicycle into the thick of battle.

The turian manager continued to pace, her hands clasped behind her back. “As you can see, they would have headed north, towards the river. There, they could hope to lose you without making an obvious disturbance to the foliage. The rain would delay them with the onset of humidity, but not by much. I estimate that they’re here by now.” She pointed to a location on the holographic map, halfway up a tall hill.

“Where are the transports?”

“Please be patient. I’ve called one of our rangers to retrieve a spare for you. I’ll keep the rest of my people in the field in the meantime. They’re familiar with the land, and they’re armed. They’ll know what to do.” Her eyes met with Nihlus’, then glanced somewhere to his right. “Ah, here it is.”

He turned around. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“This,” she said, unfazed by Saren’s venomous glare, “is a nature and hunting reserve, not a war zone. Like it or not, that’s an APC for you.”

“That’s a fucking bicycle!” Pretty heavily built, with a tall hybrid plastic screen on front, room for two, and some structure designed for carrying a casualty at the back–but still a bicycle. Like he used to ride at breakneck speeds down maze-like alleyways, the rivals hot on his tail; like he used to ride to run messages between HQ and the barracks twenty blazing hot kilometres away.

Saren was already pushing it out the door. “Get in the back and shoot if need be,” he said over his shoulder. “Since accuracy is the least of our concerns.”


In retrospect, he was glad that he hadn’t debated the decision. Otherwise, they probably would be entangled in a pile of broken plastic and twisted metal somewhere along the last kilometre or so of trail, instead of rushing down a hill on one unbroken wheel and the supportive rollers on the end of the stretcher. He shot as best as he could and laughed, unashamedly, like a maniac.

“This is awesome!” Uh-oh, tree. “HARD LEFT! HARD LEFT!”

Saren swerved to the right again, forcing him to dive out of the way of a low branch intent on greeting his face personally. He just popped right back up–and wished Saren could see the crazy grin that’s making his mandibles hurt. No matter. He’s gotta try that again.

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