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deck.
    Leon was already up and running toward the delivery scout. The entrance to the vehicle was through a side hatch. It was open and Leon ran inside without slowing down. Making an immediate right turn he stood at the controls. There were no pilot or copilot seats and the controls were a jury-rigged mess. Obviously configured for a Pharlom’s big hands, it took Leon several moments to figure things out. With the primary drive whirling up to speed, Leon pulled back on the controls, got the old delivery scout up off the deck, and turned in the direction of the open bay doors. He goosed the small ship forward, out into the Trom sunlight.
    There were fifteen or so other ships, positioned on the landscape below him, on the outskirts of the city. Hundreds of Pharlom soldiers were advancing through the streets. Leon brought the delivery scout into city space, not really knowing why he didn’t simply escape … head for the upper atmosphere. Perhaps it was because he, himself, felt partly responsible for the Pharloms being here. He looked down through the observation window and saw Tromian resistance—men and women firing on the approaching soldiers … making a stand. A woman—a mother and her two small children—ran from a building. They were holding hands and clearly terrified.
    “No … don’t go that way!” Leon yelled aloud. But it was already too late. All three … the mother and her two small children, turned the corner and ran headlong into the path of three Pharlom soldiers. They were struck down with heavy stone fists and, like insects, stomped on with gargantuan boulder-like feet as the Pharlom soldiers then continued moving further into the city.

Chapter 4
     
    Alchieves System
    Delivery Scout, Planet Trom, Skies Above Cammilon City
    _________________
     
     
    Leon soon realized he wasn’t alone in the sky above Cammilon. Another Pharlom warship, this one a small attack marauder, was systematically firing its primary plasma weapon down into the city below. Several miles away, a tall building, which had withstood several direct strikes already, suddenly fell—massive edifice pieces crashing onto the crowded streets.
    He watched as more and more Tromians frantically poured into the streets from neighboring buildings. Leon’s anger turned to fury. There had to be a way to help … to do something!
    He kept the rickety delivery scout hovering, several hundred feet up, in an alleyway between two skyscraper buildings, as he continued to watch the marauder. Every second he stayed hiding … doing nothing … hundreds, if not thousands, were being massacred. He had an idea—one possibility—bouncing around in his head, but he quickly shooed it away. It was insane … suicidal. But nothing else was coming to mind. What was working for him, in his favor, was the fact that his nano-devices would allow him to communicate with that Pharlom marauder. He could probably pass himself off as one of their own. The Pharloms had proven to be fairly dim-witted. Added to that, he was flying one of their vessels. But would he be granted permission to enter their flight deck?
    Currently, the attack marauder was concentrating its weapon fire on a distant bridge. Vehicles, not unlike automobiles back on Earth, were stationary—a massive traffic jam pileup. People were running, trying to escape the inevitable. Similar to the destruction of the tall building moments before, the center of the bridge disappeared in a flash, causing the supporting ends of the structure to precariously lean in, then to fall forward into the river below. All that remained was a spiraling plume of black smoke.
    A decision was made on the spot; Leon needed to get on that marauder. Somehow he’d commandeer it and do what he could to protect this besieged city. He was likely to get himself killed in the process … there was very little doubt about that.
    He spent the next minute trying to figure out the delivery scout’s communications system. After