that was the hull of the central torus rushed to greet them.
“The pilot mech isn’t answering the intercom,” Jarmo informed them. He snapped off his harness and sped up the aisle between the seats, moving hand over hand between the plastic loops placed there for zero-gee travel. The door slid open and the pilot mech was visible from the rear.
Before Jarmo could enter the cockpit, however, the ship lurched violently again, braking and diving directly at the dark hull of the Gladius. Sarah gasped and Bili groaned aloud. When it seemed that impact was imminent, the observation ports suddenly blacked out entirely.
“We’re inside one of the big airlocks,” said Sarah in a hushed voice.
Soon, the flitter was brought to a rest on its skids. The centrifugal gravity of the Gladius took over and they felt the familiar pressure of weight again on their limbs. Sounds came through the walls of the flitter now that there was air to carry them. They heard the clanging of the air pumps, the grinding sounds of huge machinery in motion.
They rushed to the cockpit door, but the mech lieutenant beat them to the airlock. Jarmo had his black- barreled pistol out again, this time leveled on the mech’s sensory array. While they confronted one another, they barely noticed the thin form of the skald as he slipped past them and exited the flitter.
“Report, Lieutenant,” demanded Droad.
The mech turned to them and made an ushering motion with his massive bio-mechanical gripper. “I suggest we evacuate the flitter immediately, Governor. Whomever was operating the laser must know we’re down here.”
“Where is down here? ” demanded Sarah.
“We’re in the hold. I repeat: we should evacuate the ship.”
Behind them the militia troops were already pouring out of the main cabin exits and taking up positions amongst the towering boxes, cartons and drums. The Governor and the others quickly joined them. While they took cover, the mech Lieutenant made his report.
“I realized at the last instant, sir, that entering the orbiter would not save us. The enemy made the mistake of firing on the orbiter before all of us had entered. This, in effect, tipped their hand.”
“Did you signal your intentions to any of the other mechs?”
“Yes, but only I reacted in time and made it to safety.”
“What about the rest of my men?” blurted Droad. “What about the flitters that made it into the orbiter?”
“I’m sorry, sir. Of course, you could not have seen what happened to the orbiter from the forward cabin. It was destroyed.”
Droad stood stock still for a moment. The militiamen, Sarah and Bili looked equally shocked. The skald reappeared and stood behind the mech Lieutenant, looking at no one.
“You mean they’re all dead?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is all we’ve got left to retake the ship with?” asked Droad, waving his arm at the others. He knew it was a mistake to sound so defeatist in front of them, but he couldn’t help it. “We don’t even have a full company here.”
“Correct, sir. Now, I suggest we get moving.”
Droad nodded dully and they all trooped after the mech. He seemed to be undisturbed by the loss that had stunned the humans. Only the skald seemed similarly unaffected. Droad noted that he was keeping quite close to the mech. Under different circumstances, he might have found the skald’s new found loyalties amusing.
“But why didn’t the other mechs figure it out?” Bili piped up.
It took Droad a moment to realize the boy was addressing him. “Eh? Oh, well, this mech is an officer. His capacity for independent thinking and acting on his own initiative despite his orders is greater than the others.”
“So he’s the smartest one, huh?”
“Right,” said Droad vaguely. He sought out Jarmo. “No contact?”
Jarmo shook his head. There was another of the giants next to him, Droad was pleased to note. It was Gunther. At least he hadn’t lost all of them. For perhaps the first time in his life, Droad felt the despair of harsh defeat.
“Our situation is critical,” said Jarmo.
“To say the least,” agreed Droad.
“We must shift our tactics from those of an assaulting army to those of a survival-oriented guerilla group. We must husband what resources we have left. We must bide our time.”
Droad heard little of it. He eyed Sarah and Bili thoughtfully. Although they were just civilians, they seemed adept at survival. Still, it had been terribly arrogant of him to bring them along on this attack. He had placed them in mortal danger. He had failed them.
“Sir?”
“Eh?” said Droad, realizing that the others were staring at him. There had been a question asked, and he had missed it entirely. A moment of hot embarrassment flashed over him. He shook himself, ordered himself sternly to retake the reins of command. He still was responsible for the survivors. He looked up and contrived to appear confident. He threw back his shoulders and adopted a serious expression.
“For all we know the laser attack was fired by the crew,” he said, addressing the others. “Perhaps they thought we were more aliens. Despite all our identity transmissions, they never did answer us. Then again, perhaps the laser was set up for auto-defense and attacked us while the crew was busy.”
Some of the men seemed to take heart at this suggestion. He could tell that they had assumed that the aliens were firing at them, meaning that the aliens were in control of the ship. Even the slim hope that there was some other explanation, that it was all an accident, uplifted their morale.
Jarmo waited until the men were out of earshot before pointing out a critical flaw in Droad’s theory. “This seems unlikely, given that the laser destroyed the orbiter at a critical point.”
“Yes. Hmm.” Droad glanced about to see if the men were listening. “This whole situation does look like a set up, a trap. Either the aliens or Mai Lee ambushed us, I’ll wager.”
Jarmo agreed.
For a time they followed the mech through the vast maze of the hold. He seemed familiar with every aspect of it. They encountered no one, except for a few dead security men. The mech explained that they had died trying to keep his mech platoon in this hold. Droad made a wry face at the twisted bodies, and the mood of the men dampened again. It seemed unlikely that the crew of the Gladius would warmly receive anyone allied with the mechs. Reaching one of the distant walls of the hold, they found a blasted-open portal that led into a service duct. Trotting in single file, faces slick with nervous sweat and speaking little, they entered the bowels of the ship.
As they climbed up further into the heart of the great vessel, the signs of combat increased. Bulkheads were sealed and had to be forced. Automated cannon were set to ambush anyone ascending the decks, these had to be disarmed or circumvented. Dead crewmen and dead aliens lay strewn about the darkened corridors. The metal floors were pooled with blood and other inhuman and less identifiable body fluids.
The central galleries were huge airy chambers that normally operated as open marketplaces. Now, instead of being thronged with traders the chambers were vast mausoleums: dark, silent and stinking of death.
It was when they had reached the central galleries of the ship that the skald attempted to talk with Droad.
Droad was resting with his head in his hands. His sides were heaving slightly from the harsh march through the ship. He looked over toward Sarah and Bili, who seemed more tired than the others did. He would give them another minute.
“Feasting…” said an odd, croaking voice. Droad looked up to discover the long pale face of the skald looking down at him. He had approached silently and without warning. Droad found his stealth and bizarre behavior disconcerting. He frowned.
“What do you want?”
“The lines of the feasting…” said the skald. His face worked with fantastic concentration. His hands rose up slowly from his sides, white palms exposed and spread flat. Large blue eyes seemed almost luminous in the center of a floating nimbus of flaxen hair.
“I don’t understand you. Are you trying to tell me something?” asked Droad. He leaned forward, eyes
