“What’s with him?” asked Droad conversationally.
Bili answered him, speaking for the first time. “He’s nutso. He’s seen too many of the alien feasts.”
“Feasts?” questioned Droad. He leaned forward and scrutinized the three. What could it have been like to be captured by aliens?
Sarah explained. By the time she had finished, the skald had lapsed into his previous, somnolent state.
“As far as we know, your experiences are unique, Sarah. We have had no other reports from anyone in close contact with the aliens, other than in battle. Your information could be useful, but you’ll have to give it to me fast,” said Droad. He turned to Jarmo, whose pistol had disappeared to wherever it had come from. “How long until we hit the docking portals?”
“ETA twelve minutes.”
Droad turned back to Sarah expectantly, and she began her story. The words came out of her in a torrent, making them ring truer to Droad. She began with her smuggling trip down, leaving out nothing, and ending with the death of Governor Zimmerman and their escape in the flitter. While she related her smuggling efforts, Droad and Jarmo exchanged amused glances. Here she was, confessing to a Nexus-level crime to the highest officers of law on the planet. She seemed blithely unaware of this facet, and as her story continued and became more and more an epic of horror and persecution, Droad could well understand why. He made no mention of her illegal occupation.
Droad steepled his hands and looked saddened. “I must personally apologize for the corrupt behavior of my predecessor. He brought a great deal of dishonor to my office. I find it difficult to grieve for him.”
Bili snorted. “Good riddance. The bastard deserved it.”
“Quite,” agreed Droad.
Jarmo’s phone beeped and he opened the link. He spoke in Finnish, his deep bass voice rumbling about the cabin like distant thunder. “We’re leaving the Stormbringers behind in the atmospheric envelope. We’re safe from enemy attack now until we reach the orbital station. I’m organizing the assault into thirds, sir. We’ll hit all the open docking portals at once.”
“Good. Let’s just hope the ship’s blastdoors are still open,” said Droad. He turned back to the skald, who was now rocking himself, humming a soft melody. He frowned. “He did appear to be trying to tell us something. What was it he said? Parent?”
“Perhaps he meant one of the aliens. One of the ones we were questioned by, the big ones that did most of the-feasting. I believe the translating thing called it a Parent,” said Sarah.
“One of their queens?” asked Droad.
“Yes.”
Before they could continue a sudden lurch in the flitter’s flight path indicated they were closing on the orbital station. They settled back in their seats while high-gee maneuvers were made. The flitter braked harshly, pressing them deep into the padding. Outside the clouds were long since gone. They had been replaced by the blackness of space and the blazing glare of Garm’s sun. Pinpoints of light marked the stars. Below was the wide blue-white disk of Garm.
Sarah became nervous. She wrapped both arms around her chest and squeezed. She put head back against the headrest and clenched her eyes tightly.
Droad watched in sympathy. “I can see that you have no desire to face the aliens again. If you like, you could stay with the flitters.”
Sarah shook her head. Even though her hair was unkempt, Droad could not help but notice the pleasing way it fell about her face. “I’d feel better on the ship with you,” she said. “The only safety from these things is having a gun in your hand.”
Twenty-One
Everything went smoothly until they got to the orbital station. Beneath the massive shadow of the Gladius, the orbiter crouched like a beetle hugging the boots of a giant. The Gladius itself was a wonder to behold. Glowing modules rotated slowly about the central torus seemingly disconnected from it due to a trick of light and shadow. It grew as they approached until it filled the observation port, overflowed it, expanded to devour everything they could see. The tiny orbiter turned from a beetle into something the size of a large building. Open docking bays yawned to meet them.
“Sir, the Gladius is heating the power coils of its laser batteries.”
Sarah looked alarmed. “I thought they weren’t armed.”
“The ship isn’t a battlewagon, but they have enough armament to destroy flitters,” said Jarmo.
“Do something before they fry us,” Sarah hissed at Droad.
“Increase our velocity,” ordered Droad. “Come in under full thrust.”
Jarmo barked into his communicator. The flitter shook and lurched. Power rumbled through the deck. In the endless night around them the other flitters emitted tongues of flame.
Without warning, the flitter immediately ahead of them gushed violet light from the cockpit area, broke into two burning halves, exploded in a rush of silent heat.
The lurching and weaving of the flitter increased as the pilot mech jinked hard from side to side, presenting a more difficult target.
“There’ll only be a few seconds before…” began Sarah, she trailed off as another invisible, stabbing laser beam incinerated a flitter at the edge of their formation.
“Let’s pull out. Let’s run,” said Droad.
“No,” said Jarmo, shaking his great head.
“He’s right, we can’t run now,” added Sarah. Droad turned to regard her, feeling out of his element. Space battles were beyond his experience. “We’re too late now,” she explained. “They waited until we were right on top of them so that we couldn’t run. The only thing to do is to try to close in and board.”
“Transmit our identity codes to the ship,” ordered Droad. “Perhaps they think we’re aliens.”
“We’ve been doing that since we launched, sir,” replied Jarmo.
Another strike came out of the blackness. There was a reflection this time that came in through the viewport. A blinding radiance lit up the cabin for an instant, Droad swore he could see the bones of his hand like an x-ray image. Everyone was left blinking at after-images, purple blotches on their retinas. Somewhere behind them another flitter tore apart. Heated gases burnt out quickly; the hot bubbling flesh of the troops was transformed instantly into frozen foam by the void.
Then they reached the docking bays. Flitters crowded one another into the open doors like hungry air- swimmers jostling over a fruit-laden branch. Even as they reached the mouth of their designated bay, they noted that the doors were sliding shut.
“We aren’t going to make it,” said Bili with remarkable calm.
“We’ll make it,” Droad assured him. He wiped a droplet of sweat from his temple.
Seconds later, as they made their final approach, it became clear that they would make it, barring another laser attack. But at the final moment, just before they reached the yawning docking doors, there was a gut- wrenching burst of thrust. The flitter swerved off course and roared away from Garm and the orbiter, toward the imposing bulk of the Gladius. More flashbulb explosions came from behind them.
“What the hell’s going on?” demanded Droad.
Jarmo was staring at his communicator in perplexity. “I’m out of communication with the other flitters. The last report I received indicated that the orbiter itself was under laser attack.”
“Well, get them back,” snarled Droad.
“But why didn’t we enter the docking bay?” asked Bili.
“Ask the pilot!” said Sarah. She busied herself fixing a vacuum-proof survival-bubble around herself. She handed another of the plastic bags to Bili, who worked it over his body with a grim professionalism that belied his years.
The flitter was now so close to the Gladius that they could have suited up and walked out. They braked hard and maneuvered between the stalks that led out from the central torus to the modules. The endless black spanse
