DR. RUTH CARSON grew up hearing about Pandora as a kid, hearing of the alien moon that promised beauty and awe.
Coming from the lower class in the States, she fought tooth and nail to provide any opportunity to distance herself from the hard life s...
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TOXIC green gas billowed out from under the tree where the canisters had landed within the clan's dwellings, wind brought on by the long line of aircraft continuing to bombard the foliage along the river bank as the gunship and its smaller companions hovered. The clan still continually fired arrows in defense of their home, yet arrows wouldn't do a thing to the advanced aircraft the RDA had, even on a good day. They merely deflected off reinforced glass, leaving behind small scratches as the only indicators the arrowheads had met true.
People had to be fleeing from the tree after the non-lethals were fired, Ruth knew, but she didn't think it'd be quick enough before Miles' patience wore thin and he grew bored with waiting for them to flee for their lives. If they could manage to escape. She didn't want to think of the elders and children who would perish before the gunships and scorpions finally left the riverbank.
Ever a ruthless man who always ensured getting the job done, Miles was going to order the annihilation of these people without a second thought. With a wave of his hand before taking a sip of his Bailey 's-laced coffee. Ruth could see it now as if her yellow eyes would be able to strain enough to see in the cockpit of the Dragon that was only a few hundred meters away from where she and Jake were bound.
She wouldn't expect anything less of Miles, honestly. He was a man used to getting what he wanted when he wanted. He was a privileged Colonel, for fuck's sake. Waiting for a clan of alien people he didn't give two shits about to flee for their lives was simply something he didn't have time for. Only for the simple fact that he likely had better things to do than show an ounce of humanity.
A part of her wished she'd killed the man the night he'd gotten her alone, a farce act of kindness to walk her back to her room after a night of drinking and cards with other members at Hell's Gate. She could still remember his hands on her body, the way he used her drunken state to attempt to sleep with her, inching her towards her bed with his hands clasped on her waist. Making suggestions that she could be his wife, to raise her station on base. Until she'd managed to shove him off, threatening to alarm anyone passing in the hallway with her screaming.
She visibly scowled thinking of his lips on hers. On her neck. The way he'd been so sure he could have her, but Ruth shook off the memory. Her wrists twisted in their bindings, the biting pain grounding her more than her erratic thoughts.
A single aircraft, a Samson, pulling away from the formation caught her eye, darting away from the river's bank and back toward the direction of Hell's Gate as if it didn't want a thing to do with what was going on. She could barely see a gunner hanging out the door, shouting toward the cockpit with waving arms. Amidst her panic, Ruth wondered which pilot was ballsy enough to do such a thing.
Or even cared about what was going on. There was only one she knew of who may be piloting that aircraft.
By now, the remaining line of aircraft began to angle themselves, the weapons bays opening with a mechanical noise. She knew the incendiaries were coming. Larger ones from the massive gunships lowered from storage ports, primed and ready to take off.
