It had been a cold night in the dome. Walker stared up from his cot, watching the misty designs that swirled in front of him as he breathed. The Hands of Chaos had gone and messed with the weather again. How those bunch of cretins managed to keep slipping into central defied common sense. It was as though somebody were leaving the door open for them. Even then, he’d be surprised if the bunch of imbeciles could even find it.

            He shook off the frost from his body armor and rose. His choice of a cot and body armor over more comfortable alternatives may have seemed like unnecessary self-abnegation to others, but he enjoyed the firmness. He could even do the floor if he wanted, and he often had in times past. Yep, he would never be caught off-guard again.

            Securing his Salvo Helm to his head, he clicked on the intercom and summoned Christine.

            “Christine, get me a double caramel macchiato and two pieces of toast.”

            After a brief pause, he heard a gentle, if not disoriented voice on the return, “Uhhh… huh? Isn’t it a bit… early, General?”

            “It’s never too early to deliver justice unto the defiant!”

            “Uhh… okay. I’ll get that ready for you.”

            “Excellent. Are you cold, Christine?”

            “Huh? Yeah, it’s a bit chilly in here.”

            “Put a sweater on. Walker out.”

            Sweet Girl, he thought, needs to ask fewer questions though.

            He stepped out of his chamber and onto the ledge, a long walkway made of stone which surrounded the base. It was modest and functional, and gave a clear view of the rest of the dome. Overnight, it had become coated with a thin layer of brown snow. The air was cool and crisp, but smelled unpleasantly of refried beans. Walking over to the edge of the stone abutment, he stared up towards the glass ceiling of the dome, towering thousands of feet above his head. Through the thin clouds, he could see the diffuse light of a full moon peering down, illuminating the surface of the dead zone.

            Snow. Brown snow… and lots of it. He could use this… though the psci’s thick coats protected their bodies from dehydration and physical damage, their gelatinous cores didn’t function well under extreme cold. Little did the HOC realize it, but they had just handed him a distinct strategic advantage, at least until the lazy keepers got off their hides and reoriented the climatic manipulation controls.

            Unexpectedly, a brown bean-scented snowball splashed against his chest, coating his body in wet slush that tasted of old bacon. It seemed the HOC had also dropped some leftovers into the seeding chamber. Great. He wouldn’t want to eat bacon for a week.

            “General, here’s your drink.” Christine spoke from behind his back.

            “Good timing. You can do better, though.” He grabbed the plate of toast from her hands.

            “I know, sir.” She smiled, handing the coffee to him, “I put in two sugars, just the way you like it.”

            “Two? Two??? I like one sugar in my coffee! You’ve ruined everything!”

            He violently hurled the macchiato off of the ledge and into the dead zone, “Make me another! Quick! The psci are going to attack any moment!”

            “Yes sir!” She hurriedly jogged away, disappearing from his sight mere moments later as she entered the bunker.

            An excellent soldier, he thought. She could even replace me someday.

            “Hah!” he laughed aloud. Yeah, like that’d happen. Nobody could replace him.

*  *  *

            Hot steam billowed out from the espresso machine. Christine breathed a sigh of relief as the rich smell of roasted Caracoles splashed her face. It was early, and it was cold, but the warmth and richness of the air around her was just what she needed to deal with Walker. He was a good man to work under, and his heart was in the right place, but she had been tempted on more than a few occasions to lob a grenade into his chambers. Or perhaps one of the diapers that The Chambler left lying around the dead zone from time to time.

            Part of her really wanted to play in the snow, but she knew that if she so much as stepped in the dead zone, she would be assailed with smoke bombs and likely take a knife or claw in the side from one of the Pscis, scruffy little brutes that they were. But it would just be another battle wound to add to the list. Few attacks in the dome ever killed anybody… Walker was living proof of that. He’d taken more than his fair share.

            The sound of an explosion snapped her out of her thoughts. The cup of coffee before her had already stopped steaming. She must have fallen asleep while standing… again. Man, she needed a vacation. The General wouldn’t be happy about this.

            A quick jaunt out to the ledge revealed a burst of activity down in the dead zone. So much for playing in the snow… or getting back to sleep for that matter. Walker had gotten into an early-morning dispute with one of the Pscis... again. She propped a hand up under her chin and smiled. The General was such a fearless fighter. Perhaps that’s why she had stuck around for so long.

*  *  *

            “Taste righteous indignation, Pscinner!” Walker pulled back on the intensity valve of his Penance Render, preparing for another assault on the vicious alien beast standing before him. Ngyu grinned, flitting out of sight and reappearing several feet away a moment later as the cold clamped down on his ability to phase.

In addition to phasing, the Psci, nasty little slugs that they were, had the unique ability to slowly change their form each time they shed their fur. This made each of the otherwise indistinguishable hairballs capable of personalizing their shape. Ngyu had chosen to grow several tails, which twitched and bent each time he prepared to move.

            As a weapon, Ngyu preferred claws laced with poison. Over the years he had made a habit of harassing the Cons, and Walker in particular. His attacks were incredibly painful, at times even penetrating one’s armor. At once, his passion lied elsewhere. Even now, he was probably thinking of his lover back on his home planet, disgusting asexual blob that he was.

            “Yooou look tiirrred, Walker. How bout taking a break?”

Ngyu pounced suddenly, catching him off-guard. With a slash of his claw, he struck Walker in the side. Beneath his armor, he could feel a tiny pinch as one of the nails pierced through to his skin.

“That was a big fallacy, punk” Walker released the intensity valve. A bolt of energy twisted and swirled before him, striking Ngyu in the head… or what looked like a head. Ngyu detached his hand from the claw and stumbled back.

“Niiiceee try, but I don’t beliiive that righteous crap.” Ngyu growled, producing several barbs from behind his back.

Instantly, the three spears were flying at Walker. He barely had time to lift his reinforced platinum ballistic shield to deflect the darts, doubtless laced with more poison. His side began to burn as he felt the effects of the previous sting from the claw cut into his nerves.

When he dropped the shield from his eyes, Ngyu had vanished.

“Where did he go?” He yelled, turning up to the ledge. He knew Christine was there, probably watching the whole thing.

“Fled back to their base. Or should I say slithered. Figures.”

“Yep,” Walker smirked, turning back around, “Just another day in the Dome.”