Then she jammed the thermo lance into the soft underbelly of the Nucleus—where the veins met the main trunk—and pulled the trigger.
“We lost the cornfield,” Tola grunted, wrapping her leg. “And Mendez. And the megasloth.”
The third Gestalt lunged. Tia didn’t shoot it. She dropped her rifle, pulled the last gift from her belt: a thermo lance, salvaged from an ancient danger, its fuel cell ticking.
Then she jammed the thermo lance into the soft underbelly of the Nucleus—where the veins met the main trunk—and pulled the trigger.
“We lost the cornfield,” Tola grunted, wrapping her leg. “And Mendez. And the megasloth.”
The third Gestalt lunged. Tia didn’t shoot it. She dropped her rifle, pulled the last gift from her belt: a thermo lance, salvaged from an ancient danger, its fuel cell ticking.
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