Walking down the tranquil streets, Latham's mind churned with turmoil.

  The arrogance he'd displayed earlier toward Schneider had completely evaporated. What was I thinking, acting so confident? He gritted his teeth. Schneider didn't know the truth - that the sensor-enhanced consciousness had been puppeteering his every move. Stripped of that crutch, Latham knew himself to be nothing but a raw novice. Without assistance, even basic maneuvers would prove impossible, let alone replicating those dazzling moves from the training footage.

  The evening air of Millard Planet carried crisp clarity, artificial streetlights weaving geometric patterns across the sky. Though lacking the neon spectacle of metropolitan worlds, this pastoral nightscape soothed most souls - but not Latham's. Taking a shuddering breath, he resolved to tell Schneider he'd lost interest in mech piloting. The flimsy excuse might cost him newfound friendships with Schneider, Dr. Raqqa, and that Card fellow, but it beat exposing his shameful secret.

  If I practice privately with my seventh-level mental powers... His thoughts froze as the night exploded.

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  A thunderous roar split the air. Streetlamps shattered simultaneously, raining phosphorescent shards that harmlessly dissolved against impact-resistant pavement - modern safety measures sparing citizens from injury. Latham instinctively clamped hands over ears, his enhanced mental resilience barely dampening the sonic assault.

  When he dared look up, reality fractured.

  A spider-legged war machine cratered the street ahead, its carapace smoking. Before Latham could process this, the mech's cephalic unit raised a massive barrel. White annihilation lanced skyward, momentarily illuminating a hovering humanoid mech shielding against the blast with a buckler the size of a shuttle door.

  Military-grade armaments. The realization chilled him. Civilian mechs were tractors with limbs - these were predators.

  The spider-mech scuttled sideways with joint-grinding urgency, clearly damaged yet still mobile. Its pilot's desperation showed in jerky evasions as energy rain fell from above. Three bolts slipped through defenses, melting armor into gaping wounds. With final death-rattle screech, the arachnid war machine stilled.

  The victor descended like wrath incarnate, anti-grav systems allowing impossible midair suspension above its prey. Latham stood transfixed, civilian reality rupturing before weapons-grade theater.