"Move! Faster! Get that last batch of power cells aboard! We have a few hours at most. The Word Bearers' lapdogs won't give us any longer!"
Abdullah stood beside the mountains of cargo crates, his voice rasping through his Helmet grille, hoarse and agitated.
Amid the drifting dust and chaotic crowds, his massive frame loomed like a restless iron tower, his crimson Visor scanning the looting site where workers swarmed like ants.
Every minute brought the possible return of the Word Bearers' main force closer, and with it, the exposure of his reckless gamble.
At his words, the overseers, clutching electrified whips and draped in gruesome ornaments, swung their weapons even harder.
Crackling lashes snapped through the air and struck the backs of Mortals slaves who moved a little too slowly, drawing cries of pain and driving them to run even more desperately.
The transport vehicles' engines whined shrilly under the strain of overloading as they carried their swaying cargo toward the Transport Ships hovering at low altitude with their holds wide open.
The air reeked of sweat, dust, machine oil, and the sick excitement of plunder.
Yet at that frantic moment, a shrill call tore through Abdullah's Helmet comms, riddled with interference but unable to conceal the caller's panic:
"My lord! Orbit! Emergency transmission from the orbital monitoring station! A large... a large force of Word Bearers Legion warships! Identification signals confirmed! They... they emerged from the direction of the primary world! Closing at high speed! Their numbers... far beyond our estimates! Earliest contact... less than thirty minutes! No, twenty minutes! They're coming too fast!"
"What?!" Abdullah's face twisted beneath his Helmet. The flicker of smug greed kindled by the successful looting was doused as if with ice water, replaced by stunned disbelief and a sudden, bone-chilling cold.
"That's