Angry words sprayed through the receiver to which Yul was not privy, but seemed to cause Goss mild amusement.
The commander grinned, shook his head with sad emphasis. “Not looking good for you, Vrean.”
Yul looked around sullenly. “Are you happy now? You got what you came for.”
Goss sighed with little patience. “The samples are useless to us, Vrean. Charred, dead. Mathias wanted live ones. As explicitly stated in the contract.”
“I don’t give a damn about Mathias.” Yul’s fists knotted in fury which was getting the better of him. “Tell him to come down here himself and get his samples.”
“Tell him yourself, Vrean. Don’t jerk me around, I’m warning you. You really don’t want to go that route. What the fuck has gone on here?”
Yul glared at him. The two eyed each other with menace, nose to nose, neither willing to back down.
“You’re coming back with us. The others I could give a flying fuck about. Somebody has to answer for this mess. Looks like you’re the lucky candidate.”
“Not until we get Hurd.”
“The fuck we are!” exploded Goss. “There’s no time. This ship’s a time bomb waiting to go off. Zikri will be all over us like flies on shit.”
A cry issued from behind and Yul caught the sudden movement of a blurred shape, some crablike thing winging its way through the air. One of Goss’s men tagged it with his E1 and it fell crumpling in a charred heap, clicking and rolling. Manta-ray like wings curled up like dried banana peels, with blue smoke coiling up.
Goss tramped over to investigate and peered at the blackened husk with little interest. He trained his weapon. “Bag it, Xix. Don’t kill any more of the things, for shit sakes. Mathias wants live specimens.” His thin lips twisted in a frown. “Doesn’t look like our plant, does it Vrean? What’s going on here? What the hell is this?”
Yul flashed him a sour grin.
The man who had shot it, eagerly tripped forward but accidentally stepped on a pod and cracked it open like an egg. In less than a second, another dragonfly thing flew down from the ceiling, camouflaged, and buried its proboscis in the man’s skull, piercing both helmet and bone.
The man dropped to his knees, clutching his helmet and ear through which the thing had bored. His anguished howl rang throughout the bridge. The sudden assault had spurred a chain reaction in the team which started blasting anything in sight.
Yul sucked in a stunned breath. How had he missed it? The dragonfly had splayed flat against the ceiling; its wings blended in masterfully. No wonder his eyes had glossed over it. He had heard of butterflies and moths changing colour, able to mimic a tree’s mottled bark over a period of years of their evolution, but never in such a short period. How long had it been? Only a few hours? It was incredible.
It seemed likewise once they had adapted, the creatures made efforts to preserve their environment in whatever state it was, as unnatural or freakish that might be. Yul wondered where the plant-crab-butterflies would go from here, with their eerie environment now in a stasis. Evidence supported the fact that species that remained static in its evolution would die off, unable to survive further catastrophes, and of no further value to the ecosystem. But not these horrors. He shuddered at that thought. He hoped he was not about to find out.
“Stop, you fools!” cried Goss. “What the—Vrean, you fucker!” Goss whirled on him as he made for the door. “Stop firing, you idiots!” he yelled again over his shoulder.
Pretending submission, Yul put on a penitent look and casual droop of his shoulder. Without warning, he snatched at Goss’s sidearm, wrenching it out of his grasp. He blasted Xix, Goss synthetic’s goggling lieutenant, wires, head, android fluid and all, as it lifted its E1. Greasy liquid spewed everywhere.
“Are you insane, Yul?” called Goss, staggering back, gasping.
Yul debated taking out Goss but he saw himself getting cut down in a line of fire. If he didn’t die here, he saw Mathias hunting him down for the rest of his days. Living his life as an outlaw. Not knowing when the next civilian at the local space hub who had innocently asked him for directions might put a plasma shell between his eyes. “I’m no man’s bitch, Goss,” he roared as he fled for the exit and tore down the companionway past the mutilated Zikri. Goss cursed after him, his men at his heels.
Blaster fire clipped by him. Stun shots, he surmised, by the sound, but enough to create deadly pain if they found their mark, and death if his suit were punctured. He scrambled on into the Zikri hold.
* * *
Subcommander Krin had always been larger than his peers. He had built developed muscle on his upper body, giving him massive strength that made him a fearsome enemy. He had been part of the bomb team that had extracted the first human specimen known as Hurd from the alien control deck. Now he stared unblinking down the corridor from the tank room through slitted eyes. Why were the humans being so exasperating? All they had to do was yield. The Mentera would take proper care of them.
Krin’s polyped lip curled in a fleeting grin. It quickly faded to a stony grimace. By his calculation, only one rebel remained in the halls. But he was a formidable one—full of piss and vinegar, a tricky, ruthless one. Three times the human had eluded their nets. By luck or circumstance, possibly skill, Krin still had not decided. He had caught a momentary glimpse of the human as the bridge door had slid shut, sealed by the protector ring. A stocky, suited creature managing the impossible. A fighting machine. He had a compact body,
