Both men scowled, a specially equipped Hudathan cyborg rolled forward, and the clearing began. Sheet metal boomed as Quickfoot Hillrun dropped five feet and his boots hit the side of the air shaft. There were similar sounds as the other scouts did likewise.
Then, while halfway through the next drop, Hillrun heard the sounds he’d been dreading: A shout followed by six shots. He suspected that they had been fired by an officer, who, having been alerted to me invasion, had opened an inspection hatch, thrust his or her torso inside, and turned to look upwards. Then, having spotted the enemy, it was natural for the Thraki to pull a sidearm and open fire. Natural but stupid, since the muzzle flashes provided Oneshot Surekill with a clear aiming point. His weapon, a highly modified service pistol made a soft popping sound, and reentered its holster. The Thraki went limp and, in doing so, blocked access to the shaft. Security troops struggled to pull him free. swore when his pistol belt caught the edge of the hatch, and stumbled backward as the corpse came loose. That gave the Naa the seconds they needed to land on the steel mesh mat protected the slow moving fan, release their ropes, and prepare to fight.
The Thraki were still recovering, still struggling to stand, when a grenade landed amongst them. One saw the object, started to reach, and ceased to exist. The explosion tore bodies asunder and painted the bulkheads with blood.
The scouts wasted little time signaling for the group to come down and pushed their way out through the hatch. That’s when Hillrun realized that someone was missing.
He looked upwards and saw the dangling body. Quickhand
Knifemake—dead at twenty-five.
Someone yelled “Stand clear!” and cut the rope. Metal clanged as Knifemake’s body hit the mesh. A replacement rope tumbled me length of the shaft and swayed as a Hudathan started down. Hillrun stooped to unclip the handmade combat knife from the scout’s harness, made a promise to return the weapon to the warrior’s family, and ducked out through the hatch. The carnage was sickening, even for a veteran like Hillrun, and he averted his eyes. He felt sorry for me Thraki and knew the same thing could happen to him. Would happen if he wasn’t careful. The first thing to do was to establish some sort of defense perimeter. The Thrakies would send reinforcements soon, and the majority of Red Team was still on me surface. The NCO eyed his surroundings. “Fareye, Warmfeel, take that end of the corridor. Block the point where it turns. Surekill... come with me. We*U take the other end.”
Lieutenant SeebaKa followed the Naa down, was glad when his boots hit the mesh, and swore when he saw the hatch. Though sufficiently large, a Naa, or the average human, there was no way in hell he was going to fit his bulk through that hole. He got on the radio. Red One to Red Team ... I want humans first... Hudathans last. We need a laser torch down here ... and I mean now!”
Private Lars Lasker was among the first humans sent down. He landed on the mesh, freed himself from the rope, and turned toward the hatch. One glance at the Hudathan officer and the Thrakisized rectangle of light told him everything he needed to know. The legionnaire laughed, gave thanks for the protective visor, and ducked through the hatch.
There were boot prints in the blood, and the legionnaire followed a set down the corridor to the point where the passageway took a sharp righthand turn. Fareye and Warmfeel were waiting. They gestured. Lasker had no more than skidded to a stop when a bolt of energy hit the bulkhead to his left, made a black blotch, and left the odor of ozone floating on the air.
“Shit!” Fareye exclaimed, not wanting to stick his head around the comer. “What the hell was that?
Some sort of crew served energy cannon?”
“No such luck,” Lasker replied grimly. “Feel the deck.”
The scouts followed the human’s suggestion, felt the floor vibrate, and looked at each other in alarm.
“It’s a robot,” Warmfeel exclaimed, “or robots plural.”
“Damn the fur balls anyway,” Lasker said darkly. “I heard they were into robots.”
“Fur balls?” Fareye growled. “You got a problem with fur?
“Hell, no,” the human replied hurriedly. “You ever seen my back? I got more fur than you do.”
“Let’s try to stay focused,” Warmfeel put in. “Are either one of you idiots packing a rollerbaU?”
“That’s affirmative,” Lasker replied. “I’m toting a satchel of six.”
“Well?” Fareye inquired sarcastically. “You gonna use them? Or send ‘em to your momma?”
“Sorry,” the human replied contritely, “here you go.”
Another energy bolt hit the wall, heat washed over the legionnaires, and air thumped their eardrums.
