was the muscle with a poet’s heart. A cybernetically enhanced infantry veteran, her left arm had been replaced with a variable-configuration combat system. She could turn her hand into a plasma cutter, a shield, or a field surgical kit. She didn’t like killing. But she was terrifyingly good at it.
Lya nodded, but her jaw tightened. She still heard her daughter’s voice from the last mission. Mommy, why did you leave? The Interstitial had forged that memory from fragments of a birthday party recording. Private 21 06 26 Lya Missy And Maria Wars Inter...
The official report, filed by a very confused lieutenant, read: “Three personnel found in sublevel 9. No memory of the last 2,147 days. All in good health. Subject Lya keeps drawing a symbol that looks like a broken library. Subject Missy asked for a pencil to write her brother a letter. Subject Maria saluted and said, ‘Permission to go home, sir.’ Permission granted.” was the muscle with a poet’s heart
For Lya, it was a medical report: Stage 4, terminal. No cure. For Missy, a letter from her brother she’d never received: You were never enough. For Maria, a photograph of her squad from Basic Training — all crossed out except her. She didn’t like killing