Guerrilla fighting erupted on in the streets, organized by trained Quenrix militia. But this was sporadic and ineffectual, compared to the better organized offense of the locusts. The defenders were unprepared for the scale of the invasion and fell to the locusts’ stun rays. The Quenrix fleet converging on the Zikri Orbs covering the skies had at last been shot down. The Orbs cut off support and waited for any NOA resistance that might come. But it never did. Not in time. A neat package, this alien alliance, mused Yul grimly. The ground militia had likewise been neutralized.
* * *
As Fenli’s mantis fighter hurtled down the light highways toward Veglos he slapped the controls in glee and let out a big yeehaw. Freedom! Master of a starship. What more could a freebooter want? Except maybe some cash? Easy to rustle up yols. A few wheels and deals back in the old haunts and he’d be back in business.
Hypderdrive into Zostor, work some angles. Spin the bottle and see what happened. Things may have changed in his old digs but at the core it was the same universe, the same old characters, stage and drama, and ways to play the game and capitalize.
Several ideas raced through Fenli’s mind: the baths at Pompledoris, the dog fights on Agrina, the kinky dives at Mekeroid. The baths, their endless variation of harems, with hot oil, sun, massage…Lot of pigeons there. The dog fights…a prime betting ground and quick ticket to some easy, greasy yols. Mekeroid, well, Mekeroid was Mekeroid…
Friends of his out in Elsian would be long dead, a tragedy, alas, what with his being stuck in a bug tank for 40 to 50 years or so. But it would be a good world to start to explore some cash ventures and trade, like starships. Maybe resell, snatch up some used starships at good prices before the universe collapsed, all the wonderful worlds gobbled up by squids and locusts.
A pang hit him at the thought. But he could not dwell on the concept now. He’d have to ditch this starship. Too conspicuous a mark with a bug shape and a bug war now in full swing. Smart thing would be to trade it in for a friendlier craft and not look back.
The idea brought a hollow feeling to his stomach.
Too bad about Miko. Bleeding heart was trying to save the universe. When would people like him ever realize that it was impossible to win against these bugs? He’d seen it first hand, stuck in a tank for decades and almost checking out back on Kraetoria in that frozen pool.
But a sour feeling still ground at his innards.
What the hell are you thinking, Fenli? A pang of conscience sprang up at him like a hardwood burl grinding at an old wound in the back.
Fenli, developing a conscience? Certainly a record. Images flashed in his head, Miko saving his ass on the Mentera station so long ago, Yul fishing him out of that frozen bug pool back on Kraetoria…
He heaved a sigh. Against his better judgment, he dropped out of light drive, violating every practical instinct of self-preservation, and set a course for Quenrix.
* * *
Swarms of enemy lightfighters swept through the city. Down a wide street blocked by concrete rubble and buried in the ruins of a fallen building, Yul guided the ship. His eyes scanned for a place of concealment. But they registered something else instead. An aphid command vessel parked at the end by a ruined apartment block where several locust marines in grey suits clambered out to haul the screaming captives toward the waiting slaver vessel. Women and children kicked and fought in the aliens’ pincered grips. No doubt their minds laid bare to the terror of the green-watered tanks.
Yul grimaced. He glided in, unable to stand the oppression any longer. Hresh, his face a pale mirror of what he expected to come, stared blank-eyed.
Cloye swore as she cinched her lip and cracked off shots at the nearby parked mantis raider. The ship erupted in ruin, its shields nonexistent from the firefight on approach.
“Cloye!” rumbled Yul.
“Oops.”
He laughed, lips twisted in mockery. The startled Mentera ground troops dropped their wriggling charges and scuttled back, blinking at the inferno of their ship. The human captives staggered off to safety.
“They won’t miss one ship,” muttered Yul. With a vindictive grin, he banked the ship in closer while Cloye worked the weapons grid and more bright white flashes spat from the starboard cannons to peg off the slavers on the ground.
“Nuked us some bugs,” Cloye sang out.
Hresh’s jaw clenched. “How long you think that’s going to work before the locusts peg us off?”
“Who cares?” Cloye grumbled. “We’re living on borrowed time. Put your mind to work on figuring out a way for us to take out more bugs.”
Hresh clutched at his hair, his face dripping with sweat. He searched through the ship’s computer for some weakness or loophole that could gain them an advantage.
An aphid-prowed ship came rocketing from above, lacing heavy fire down at them. Apparently they’d been spotted in the middle of their mutinous act. Its pilot and crew came blitzing in to neutralize the potential sympathizers and spies masquerading in a rogue ship. Yul gunned the impulse thrust down the alley and up, but he knew their chance at escape was slim.
At that moment, a ship with a menacing blue-and-green mantis prow burst in on the scene: a special task force model, double the size of the invader. It came looping up and over the tops of buildings at breakneck speed. With full force it reamed the enemy vessel broadside, sending it corkscrewing out of control into the street to explode in a blinding flash of molten metal. Yul and Cloye both cried oaths of gratitude. Below, the aftershock rained debris
