Something large and dark shot past the gondola, heading downward mere feet from where he stood in the observation bay. A squawk of shock came from one of the voice tubes. The alarm began to sound. A machine gun rattled from somewhere aft, the staccato beat of gunfire splitting the night.
Adena stooped to glare out at the darkness. Another dark form swung by the ship. She stepped back. "Crap! Murriks!"
Greg guessed she referred to the creatures he saw swarming up from hidden nooks and crannies across the nearby rooftops. They were the size of a human, with huge bat-like wings, and glossy dark skin that blended well with the night. With a chill, he realized they'd passed over some on the way, and he'd taken them for gargoyles.
One creature bored in on the command gondola, claws the size of saber blades outstretched ready to seize and hold. The ventral gunner below the flight deck swung her turret and locked on. The gun rattled with a manic beat and muzzle flashes lit the beast with strobe lighting. Greg saw it stagger in midair, body jerking and spraying gore under the lash of bullets until it dropped out of sight.
"Good shooting, Penny!" Adena called. The gunner glanced up and gave her a thumbs-up. At that moment a crash came from aft. Adena drew her pistol. "One's gotten aboard!"
Greg made for the door. "I'll go."
"No, wait..."
He ignored Adena's call.
The gondola echoed with the sounds of battle. Greg could hear air roaring from the other side of the door. He flung it open to see a solitary figure facing off against a crouching murrik. A gaping hole in a lounge window let in rushing air and a frigid chill. Greg recognized Zared as the man glanced his way for an instant. The murrik chose that moment of distraction to leap.
With the smoothness of a born gunslinger, Zared drew a large handgun and shot the beast in the head, stepping aside with a dainty motion as the lifeless corpse hurtled past him. It thudded to the deck with the back of its head missing and lay twitching. Zared smiled at Greg with a distinct lack of mirth.
"All secure here, Mr. Cole."
Greg closed his gaping mouth with a snap. "Okay. I'll... go check elsewhere."
He got out of the lounge as quickly as he could, feeling the supercargo's eyes on him all the way. There's more to that guy than meets the eye. As Greg neared the passageway, he heard snarling and crashing sounds coming from below his feet. An access hatch to the cargo deck sat flush with the passageway floor a few feet ahead. Grasping the inset handle, Greg pulled at it, wincing as his overused muscles took the strain. A crewman appeared, his hand reaching for a holstered handgun. He relaxed when he saw Greg.
"Oh, it's you, sir."
"Yeah."
"What's happening?" the man asked.
"I think a murrik got in the bay, but I can't open this damned hatch!"
The man stepped back. "Let's try together."
Greg took position alongside the man. "On the count of three... One, two, three!"
They hauled on the hatch. Greg gasped as pain shot through his barely healed body. After a moment of strain the hatch gave way. The sounds from below ceased.
The crewman drew his pistol and aimed it through the opening. His expression of grim determination gave way to confusion.
Greg followed his gaze. "What the..?"
He could see the port side cargo hatch. It was buckled as if it had been wrenched open then replaced. A rope was looped through the cleats on the bulkheads. Scattered on the deck of the cargo compartment were slices of bloody meat. They looked like seventy-two ounce steaks dropped from a truck. The walls and floor dripped crimson and the coppery smell of blood filled the chilly air. If it hadn't been for shreds of blue-black skin and torn leathery wings, Greg would've believed he stood in a slaughterhouse back on Earth.
The crewman stepped onto the top rung of the ladder and descended a few feet. He glared around. "This is just nuts!"
Greg knelt to peer through the hatch. He whistled softly. "Somebody did a heck of a job on those murriks."
The crewman glared at the bloody ruin. "Yeah – but who?"
Greg shook his head, then realized the chatter and thump of gunfire reverberating through the ship had ceased. "It sounds like the fight's over."
"Yeah." The man gave a wry smile. "I guess we won, ‘cause I don't see no more murriks coming to get cozy with us." He moved backward up the ladder, feeling for the steps with his heels as if afraid to take his gaze from the cargo bay. "The skipper needs to hear about this. Do you have a weapon, sir?"
Greg shook his head, and the man handed him the pistol.
"Air-gun, ten shots. It's charged. Stay here and shoot anything that isn't one of us."
He left before Greg could protest or agree.
Alone again, Greg looked around the cargo deck. It filled the four yards' width of the main gondola and stretched back perhaps ten or so yards. The air whistled through the gaps left in the bent metal hatch. Greg winced as he thought of the strength required to wrench the thing open — and the strength required to slice that same strong creature to ribbons. He pressed his back against the reassuring solidity of the bulkhead and waited.
The few minutes that passed before Adena
