He waited for a count of thirty before he lifted the hatch higher with his arm and clambered from the hole. He knelt, placing the lid down gently and swept around in his crouch, visually casing the area, weapon primed, and listening for any unusual sound. After a moment of silence, the birdsong native to this planet returned and filled the air with tweets and trills. A crisp breeze brushed his skin. He didn’t have that crawling sensation that warned him the enemy was nearby, so he relaxed infinitesimally. The distant suns, a tiny speck and a thumbnail sized ball, sat high in the violet sky. All normal.
“Clear,” he muttered. Bob popped his head up, swept out of the hole and took up a position at Zaambuka’s back. Neither man moved. A moment later, Bob rose to his feet. Zaambuka slipped his
