Towering black walls of the massive hold arched around them. Flanks ribbed like a whale’s belly. Yul caught a glimpse of a human form—Hurd struggling feebly in a mass of tentacles, writhing and screaming, pulled into a side hall. Yul struggled to catch up with the three creatures that held Hurd, but the diamond-shaped port closed and he stopped dead, his nose inches from dark metal.
Two V-Zon lightfighters sat chained to the wall. Prime hardware, mostly intact, but fuselages charred from bomb blasts.
Where were all the enemies? Hopefully they had killed them all.
The sounds of heavy chittering echoed behind him. Then a scuttling like crabs—Zikri out for revenge, hot for blood.
What Yul saw was unexpected.
Some of the Zikri had yellow-red leaves banded around their torsos, their tentacles fighting to rid themselves of the invasive presence that had clung to them like leeches and seemed to burrow deeper into their scaly flesh.
The leaves that had survived the blasters had become broader, stronger, and more spiked. They too had adapted to their foreign environment. Adapted also to the enemy creatures that populated it.
Hurd was a dead man. But where were they taking him?
Yul rushed on with Frue at his heels. Regers lagged behind.
All this coursed through Yul’s brain in a matter of seconds as he caught glimpses of low, strangely-wrought benches and shelves along the sides with assorted metal tools of long, chilling design. Welding torches? Drill cutters? Yul’s brain spun with possibilities but was too dizzy to register anything of significance. The place was as much a chop shop as a depot for captured vessels.
Several arch-shaped exits or entries lined the near wall. Yul, Frue and Regers ducked into the nearest one and staggered down a narrow corridor. Walls crowded in on them with panels rich with motifs of writhing tentacles, malformed heads, Zikri faces, strange star patterns and backdrops of universes. All monochrome, a black or charcoal grey wash. Yul guessed these walls, inscribed with shadowy lines and script, were crafted of octagonal plates. But an otherworldly glow lit the interior: bioluminescence? He could only guess. Either way, it was from some source unknown.
Regers gave a gurgling cry. He collapsed, holding his leg. Wheezing, spitting his own blood into his helmet, he groaned. “Damn it! I can hardly move.”
Yul turned, paused.
“Move, Regers, or you’re snake bait.” Frue’s voice was a hoarse whisper.
Regers held up a hand. “You know, old Mathias practically begged me to join this mission. Shuttled me about like some grand vizier to his lordship’s mansion.” He coughed. “I humoured the old fool, levered him to triple my wages.”
Yul gave a sad mutter. “I was approached by some proxy who read my name off a list. Wouldn’t have taken the job had I not so many damn debts to settle.” He looked around, expecting Zikri to pounce on them.
None in sight.
Regers threw up his hands. He coughed out more blood. “All for this? Out in the Dim Zone, grubbing around filthy worlds, in a Zikri hold, lambs to the slaughter?”
“Come on! We’ve got to keep moving.” Yul felt a trace of pity for the rogue merc, who had succumbed to an addiction and a plant parasite, even though that pity seemed ridiculous, given Regers’ part in killing Greer.
“Maybe, maybe not. We could run right into more of those squid things up there. Where do you want to die, Yul, here or there?”
“Neither. How about we get to a safe haven?”
Frue opened his mouth to speak but Regers cut him off.
“Shut it, Frue. Always were a gasbagger, weren’t you, you little fag. Let me die in peace.”
“Let’s go, then.” Frue pulled Yul’s arm.
Yul shook his head.
Chitters echoed up the ship’s hallway ahead. Back the other way, snorts, bangs and the heavy clomp of metal and machinery rang out. Another percussive blast hit the corridor.
Yul was knocked backward as a massive girder fell, nearly severing his leg. He stumbled to his knees, panting. The passage was blocked with a rain of falling debris. Frue and Regers were trapped on the other side.
Yul cursed. He rubbed his aching back. God help the bastards! He pounded on the fallen mass. It would take forever to move that rubble. Fuck it. With an exasperated grunt, he turned away. There was little else to do. Leaving the others to fend for themselves, he ran on.
Chapter 2
Yul moved ahead, blaster in hand. The cuts and bruises he suffered, less severe than on other occasions, did not impede his half-shambling pace or quest to take down as many of these fiends as he could. He wondered if his companions fared as well.
The wide corridor curved, roughly arch-shaped, rising mere inches above his helmet. His breath coursed in rasps, leaving a trail of grey vapour behind him. His eyes flicked over the oxygen meter on his left wrist. He had sixteen hours of air left. The helm and suit sensors showed breathable atmosphere in the Zikri ship.
Odd. Yet he would not discard his protective suit. Who knew what foreign elements were afloat. He clutched his weapon with new resolve, assured of a measure of safety in this unpredictable world of life and death. The stabbing pain in his shoulder, back and ribs was spiking so he touched the pain inhibitor at his wrist. The resultant muscle relaxant released into his air mix took the edge off the worst of it.
Yul marvelled with fresh horror at the twisted and demented designs that peppered the ship’s walls. Glossy, veined ridges ribbed them like bones flayed of flesh. It was as if he walked the innards of a butchered whale. Those features were glazed with a patina of shellac gleaming with a hideous purpose. Zikri decor? Housings for power cables? Yul traced his gloved fingers across the
