Mech

Twenty

After many hours of vicious fighting in the black treacherous tunnels of the nest, Mai Lee’s forces reached the throne room. Inside the battlesuit, she was sweating profusely, despite the continuous gush of cool air coming from the overtaxed air conditioning system. The suit was finally overheating due to the continuous one hundred and ten percent output she had demanded unrelentingly from the reactors. Her haggard eyes, dark with exhaustion, had pressed against the vision scopes until livid welts had almost swollen them shut. Salty perspiration burned her swollen tongue.

“This is it. This has to be it, we’re at the bottom,” she said, striding over a morass of stiffening corpses. The twisted form of a multi-legged hest entangled one of the suit’s claws. Irritably, she shook it loose and flung it onto one of the empty thrones. She eyed the thrones disappointedly.

“Where are the queens? Are you sure there are no deeper levels?” she demanded of a nearby Captain.

The man shook his head, backing away from her in fear.

Her chest-guns tracked him on automatic, and she pondered the trigger lever with a sneer. Then she sighed. Another corpse would do little to help her now. Her troopers had been devastated in any case.

The situation was painfully clear. She had spent her strength against the nest in hopes of killing their queens and thereby breaking the back of her enemy. But the queens had vanished, probably fleeing into deep escape shafts, the entrances buried and carefully hidden. She had broken her own back, not theirs. She had lost all but a few companies of troopers.

The aliens had won.

Rage and frustration took hold of her fully. With a booming roar of intense fury, she drove the battlesuit in great crashing bounds toward the four thrones. She opened fire on the largest of them, letting fly a blue gush of flame as she neared it. Chips and splinters of the throne exploded around the great chamber. Echoing reports rang from the walls with deafening volume. Under the fierce heat of the Gi’s breath, the throne liquefied and ran like wax.

Bounding like a grasshopper, she pounced upon the largest of the thrones like a wolf leaping upon the back of its lumbering prey. Using the titanium claws, she ripped dark molten chunks of resin from it.

Then she saw the entrance to the larvae room. Pale squirming shapes turned their tubular eating orifices in her direction curiously. Inside her suit, a savage grin split her features. Clearly, the queens hadn’t managed to save all their children.

Without hesitation, she strode into the nursery and commenced a most gruesome slaughter. Humping about in mindless panic, the larvae were blasted to fragments, withered by searing flames and ripped apart with merciless metal claws.

When it was over, she had regained some degree of calm. Exiting the nursery, she ordered her remaining troopers back to the lifters.

On the surface she was surprised to see it was dark, the sky lit only by the lurid glare of the smoky fires that still burned among the horkwoods. The condition of the lifters was another shock. During her absence shrades that had been deposited aboard the lifters during the suicidal attacks of the culus squadrons had burst from hiding and taken a grim toll. Most of the pilots and crews were dead. Many of the lifters were badly damaged and inoperable. She led her weary army onto those that were in the best repair and managed to get all her remaining forces airborne. A few squads of battered helicopter gunships joined them as an escort.

On her way into Grunstein, she paused only to circle around the peak where the Zimmermans had made their last stand. She was gratified to see nothing move other than the blue cloaks of dead men, stirred by the ceaseless mountain winds. The entire crown of the mountain was choked with bodies. The blackened muzzles of the artillery pieces pointed at the skies, like the sightless eyes of the dead.

She put the battlesuit into standby mode, letting the engines idle. The external vents opened, puffing out moist hot air and sucking in the fresh thin air of the night.

She smiled again to herself. She had lost this chance for victory, but her enemies had suffered greatly as well. Indeed, the Zimmermans had paid the ultimate price of obstructing her path.

“How should I set our course, Empress?” inquired the wing commander politely.

The chest guns snapped to target him, still on automatic. He stiffened, his ingratiating smile fading.

“We fly to the Grunstein Interplanetary Spaceport,” answered Mai Lee. “It is time that we left Garm.”

“I think he’s getting heavier somehow,” grumbled Bili, struggling to keep his corner of Zimmerman’s makeshift stretcher aloft with his one good arm.

Sarah, taxed beyond making a reply, concentrated solely on putting her right foot ahead of her left. They progressed with agonizing slowness. Behind them walked the tall silent form of the skald, holding up the rear of the stretcher. She wondered what they would have done without his strange but strong presence.

Irritatingly, Zimmerman was awake and talkative, although reputedly unable to walk. “It’s not much further now. If there’s any way we can all pick up the pace here, our odds of surviving the night would be greatly increased.”

Sarah halted. The others bumped to a stop. Her limbs trembled with exertion and anger. Turning her head, she glared down into Zimmerman’s face. “We would all make a lot better time if we dropped you right here.”

“Ah, but that wouldn’t be prudent,” said Zimmerman with a knowing smile. With an expression of sudden alarm, he raised up his head and peered into the dark forest that surrounded them. “What was that?”

“What?” asked Bili, looking concerned. He eyed the forest with the distrust he had gained ever since seeing the digging alien after the crash.

“Could that have been a landshark?” asked Zimmerman. “They prowl this area all the time you know.”

Sarah watched this fear-provoking performance with dull awe. How could the man be so relentlessly selfish and manipulative?

She leaned close, hissing into his face. “Knock it off or so help me, I’ll drop you right here and you can crawl out. We may not make it, but you’ll be dead for sure.”

Zimmerman gasped and took on a look of great pain. He raised a hand weakly and closed his eyes. “Wait a moment, the hole that monster punched into my thigh is causing another spasm.”

Sarah just glared at him, unimpressed even if his pain was real.

“Look now, everyone. I’m very sorry to be such a burden. I really regret every bite of excess food I’ve ever indulged in right now, believe me. But if we can pull together, if we can stick it out, we’ll all survive.”

“Save it,” grunted Sarah, grimly taking a new grip on the pole and stumbling forward into the dark trees.

Zimmerman wisely fell silent for a time. Trudging forward, exhausted and injured, Sarah thought that this march had to be the worst experience of her life. Not for the first time, she reflected that the luck of her family had gone bad at the point of her husband’s accident. It was as if she were in a deep well of bad luck, where she and Bili spiraled ever downward until now it seemed that the light at the top of the shaft had all but vanished entirely.

Utilizing reserves she didn’t know she possessed, she eventually reached the outcropping of rocks that Zimmerman had said to keep an eye out for. At that point, he directed them to proceed downhill into a steep gully. The sides of the gully were wet and slick with moss. They almost lost hold of Zimmerman and pitched him squalling onto the rocks before reaching the bottom.

“Over there, under the tangle-bush. There should be a cave mouth,” hissed Zimmerman, hushed now that their goal was so near. There was a genuine, feverish excitement in his voice.

They set down the stretcher and Sarah went forward to investigate. Using a hand-held glow-lamp they had taken from a fallen trooper on the way out of the nest, she examined the walls of the gully closely. After a time she discovered the entrance.

“There’s no way a flitter could fit inside that hole,” she said, returning to Zimmerman. She directed the glow-lamp, set at its highest setting, into his sweating, dirty face.

He squinted and waved at the light in irritation. “Just take me inside. I’ll show you.”

Grudgingly, she obliged. Inside, the cave was quite a bit larger than it appeared. Although she saw no immediate signs of the flitter, she did see numerous familiar-looking bales of bluish reeds. Along one wall were stacked a dozen barrels of bluish dust.

“These barrels are full of blur dust. This is a smuggler’s cache,” she said, blinking in surprise.

“Of course. But fortunately, the former owners are beyond caring about this particular cache.”

“How do you know that?”

“This was Mudface and Daddy’s property,” he explained, hauling himself into a sitting position. “Recall the feast.”

Sarah shuddered. “I’d rather not.”

“Didn’t I tell you it was here?” demanded Zimmerman, beaming and looking for credit.

Bili gave him a wry glance. “Just tell us where the flitter is, fatso.”

He waved his hand at the stack of barrels. “Look back there.”

They did and found the flitter. It was a smaller model than Sarah had hoped for. It could hold six passengers in a pinch, four comfortably. She eyed the refined blur dust speculatively, licking her cracked lips. Any one of the barrels would bring a fortune on another system. She shook her head, as if to clear it. She was done with that kind of business. It had brought her nothing but trouble.

She noticed that the skald was eyeing the flitter curiously, running his pale thin hands over the stubby wings and the silvery landing skids.

Directly above the flitter was a camouflaged hole that leaked starlight. It would be a simple matter to leave the cave, except for one thing. “Where’s the card-key, Zimmerman?” she demanded.

“Isn’t it in the slot?” asked Zimmerman, smiling.

“No.”

“Carry me into the flitter and I’ll tell you where it is.”

Sarah made no move. She glared at him. “You tell us now, or we leave you here for the killbeasts to sniff out.”

“I don’t want you to be tempted to leave me behind.”

“I’ve never been more tempted to do anything in my life, but you will tell me now, before I carry your sorry ass another foot. I can hot-key a flitter, you know. As you continually point out, I am a smuggler.”

Zimmerman looked concerned. “It would take longer.”

Sarah only shrugged. Behind her, the skald had boarded the flitter and now sat quietly in the back.

Zimmerman chewed his lips and eyed her speculatively. “All right,” he sighed at last. “The codekey is in the flare kit, attached to the back of the hatch.”

Sarah snorted at the obviousness of the hiding place and went to retrieve the key. She stood there in the hatchway, looking back toward Zimmerman where he lay on the floor, still on the makeshift stretcher. He was doing his best to look pitiful. She moved to wave the skald forward to help carry Zimmerman again, when a heavy cough sounded outside the cave mouth.

“Landshark,” hissed Bili, grabbing her arm and trying to pull her into the flitter. Sarah’s mouth sagged. It must have tracked them, stalking them while they moved through the forests and following their spoor down into the gully. Wildly, she thought of the story of the boy who cried wolf once too often.

She stepped out of the hatchway, moving to help him, but she was too late. The landshark was already thrusting its snout into the cave mouth. A great bulbous head appeared, blocking the entrance almost entirely. Powerful forelimbs with six-inch curved claws made for digging followed.

“Let’s go, Mom!” shouted Bili.

Zimmerman, terrified as deeply as he had been during the feasting, found the strength to struggle erect. Trembling with the effort to lift his bulk on one thin leg, he determinedly began to hop toward them, dragging his injured leg behind him. The landshark caught up with him in a sudden lunge, just as he reached the barrels full of blur dust. They went over with a crash, firing great clouds of bluish dust into the air.

In horror, Sarah slammed the hatch shut before the dust could reach them. There was no hope for Zimmerman now. Breathing in that much blur dust at once was definitely fatal. A few grains of the hallucinogen could keep you high for hours. Breathing in gouts of it was deadly. She doubted if even the landshark would survive.

With a great gulping motion, the landshark sucked the man into its toothy maw, making jerking motions as his legs vanished into its head.

Demonstrating its initial effects, the blur dust gave Zimmerman a sudden rush of inhuman vigor. Although he was already mortally wounded, he beat at the head of the monster with wild fury. Savage blows rained around its eyes and the sensitive olfactory regions, making it wince. Sarah thought that Zimmerman was probably breaking the bones in his hands, but he kept on striking it, even as his life’s blood gushed out.

Then she managed to shove the codekey into the slot and hit the throttle for emergency lift. The flitter shot out of the shaft and into the open night air.

After a few minutes she managed to steady the wobbling craft and set a course for Grunstein Interplanetary.

Beneath them the treetops swept by with blinding speed. She hugged as close to the leafy canopy as she dared, hoping to avoid detection. None of them spoke about what they had left behind in the smuggler’s cave.

Long after midnight, Drick was awake and back at his old desk. To his delight, he found his portable holoset and his flask of blur distillate were still there, although more than half of the moonshine had leaked out. The holoset was a disappointment as well, as all the net stations were out except for the automated ones that showed only the most dull comic reruns at this time of night. Not surprisingly, KXUT hadn’t been heard from since the building had been bombed.

The vaporous distillate had lost none of its flavor however, and with a heavy contented sigh, Drick loosened his sash and leaned back in his self-contouring chair. Suddenly, he sat up with a brilliant idea. Keying in his account codes, he accessed the public net and coaxed the computers into providing him with a private viewing of last week’s rayball game. He had been interrupted with the invasion at that point and had missed it. Damn the price, what did a few credits matter now?

He sipped his distillate and heaved another sigh as the holoset flickered, bringing the correct image up. Hot numbness washed over his mouth and took the edge off his tension. He had been tense for days now, he realized.

Bauru took an early lead in the game, scoring two goals from the third tier in the first period. The Dragon defense was hard-pressed to hold them, and when the Dragons finally got the puck, it took several minutes into the second period before they managed their first goal. Although his team was losing, Drick was happy. For the first time in a week he was comfortable and relaxed. He took another heavy slug of the drug, knowing it was too much, but wanting to do it anyway.

When the security plate glowed into life, it displayed what had to be the most unwelcome sight Drick had ever seen. It was a mechanical nightmare, a draconian battlesuit of some kind with a mouth that glowed with an unnatural blue radiance.

“Gi?” he questioned out loud, recalling vague memories of the thing from his great Aunt’s estates. The distillate had dulled his wits. He took another drink, and was surprised to discover he had drained the flask. He was alarmed just a bit, realizing that he had taken too much, but then the feeling of alarm faded as the drug fell over him like a veil.

“I am bringing my army to the spaceport,” she told him, her voice oddly disembodied from the alien image on the holo-plate.

“What do you want here, Gi?” asked Drick, his voice slurring slightly. He glanced down at the flat flask, but it was still sadly empty. With a studied concentration, he worked to replace the stopper. It seemed a difficult task.

“I’m not Gi, you idiot! I’m Mai Lee!” she boomed in irritation.

Drick squinted at the wavering holo-plate. He realized with a dull lack of concern that his vision had faded somewhat, a clear sign of a heavy blur dose. “Oh yes. How are you doing, Auntie?”

Mai Lee made a sound of infinite frustration. “Listen to me carefully, my drunken, imbecilic nephew. Tell me where Droad is.”

“The Governor?”

“Yes,” Mai Lee hissed through her teeth.

“He’s at the fort.”

“All right, good. I am bringing in several lifters and helicopter gunships. You must drop the security nets on the western side of the complex so that we can come in over the trees without detection.”

Drick blinked at her in incomprehension. At length, she managed to get her message across. Accustomed to obeying his Aunt and almost beyond resistance in any case, he gave the appropriate orders to the handful of men who Droad had left in charge of the spaceport.

Having finished, he managed to key-off the pause button on his holoset and settled back to watch the remainder of the rayball game. The roar of arriving lifters and the heavy tramp of armored feet outside his office did little to interest him. It was the final period, and the Dragons had finally regained their fighting spirit. With two quick goals, they could still win the game. Drick was hardly able to make out the tiny figures on the holoset, his eyes were tearing up so badly. Streams of drying tears were cold on his cheeks.

There was a pounding on the door. He didn’t respond until it crashed inward. A fantastic creature ducked its head as it entered. The tail twitched with the whining of servos, balancing the metal monster on top of the shattered door.

Behind the creature there was the flash and boom of gunfire. Men screamed and died. Drick struggled to grasp what was happening, but found it difficult to think.

“Follow me to the elevator.”

Drick blinked dazedly. “Where are we going, Auntie?”

Mai Lee snorted. “To the Gladius, you moron. The clan is leaving this world. Will you attend me?”

Drick struggled to his feet. His thigh hit the corner of his desk, the flask and the holoset clattering to the floor. “Could you help me?”

Mai Lee looked at him for a moment, metal tail twitching. “You disgust me. If you can’t make it to the elevator by yourself, you are best left behind.”

Her claws left heavy scars in the broken door. Drick was left to struggle to his feet alone. Feeling only the vaguest sense of urgency, Drick found the holoset with his groping hands. He reactivated it, relieved to find it still worked. For a time he forgot completely about Mai Lee, and sat on the floor, watching the end of the rayball game.

An unknowable time later he awoke to discover he was staring at a blank plate. Only a ghostly green nimbus shimmered over the set, the holo equivalent of static.

The intercom was beeping. That was what had finally sunk in. With infinite slowness and a mild feeling of annoyance, he answered the call.

“Major Lee?” said a voice. An image of a man’s face stared out at him, but Drick couldn’t make out who it was.

“Droad?” he guessed.

“Listen very carefully, Major Lee. You have to shut down the elevators immediately. The lifters coming in now aren’t manned by Mai Lee’s troopers, Jarmo tells me they are alien forces. They mustn’t be allowed to board the Gladius.”

“What?”

“Shut down the elevator, man! That is an order!” Droad boomed at him.

“Everyone’s yelling tonight,” muttered Drick. “I’m in charge of this installation, Droad. This is my post. I will not halt the elevator while my Auntie is using it.” He sneered at Droad’s wavering likeness in suspicion. The man thought he was God.

Droad fumed for a moment, then continued in a slow, gentle voice. “Listen, you must listen. The aliens are coming right in on you, I can’t raise anyone else at the spaceport, and you’ve got to keep them from getting to the Gladius.”

The man’s kind demeanor didn’t fool Drick. He was clearly just trying to get him into trouble with his Auntie. Drick was having none of it.

“You’ve got no authority with me, no matter what the identity computers say,” said Drick, waving his empty flask at the image. He swung the flask at Droad, wacking the air where the holo shimmered. He stabbed the cut-off button and stood up. He almost fell again, but managed to keep up, pinwheeling his arms and staggering. He worked his way across his office, then pitched headlong over something in the doorway. His teeth cut into his lips and blood ran down his chin. He felt about, more than half-blinded, discovering that he was lying on the smashed door. He lay there for a considerable time trying to gather his wits. Behind him the intercom beeped incessantly.

Then there was a crash down the hall, followed by the heavy thump of running feet. He tried to raise his head, gave up, set it back down again.

A dark shape ran by. Several more followed it. There was an odd stink in the air. Then there was another presence, coming up behind him. He struggled to turn his head. He felt the light touch of something rubbery and wet, probing against his back. He managed to turn his head to face it.

There was a shrade sitting on his back, staring at him. A quivering set of mandibles tasted his blood. A dozen sets of stubby legs suddenly stiffened, became sharp, stabbed into his flesh. Fiery pain raced through his dulled nervous system. The constriction began and his ribs crackled. Breathing became impossible. He struggled in silent, vague horror, unable to believe until the very end that what was happening to him was real.

“They’re all aliens? You’re sure?” asked Droad. He continued to stir his hot caf and blow into it, but it had long since grown cold.

“Absolutely. Not one of those flitters or escorting gunships is manned. They’re all heading right in on the spaceport, dropping the troops and heading back to the forests for more. The radio emissions system I rigged up to detect the enemy is lit up like a star cluster,” said Jarmo, his eyes never leaving his graphic projections. “We can’t let any more of them get to the Gladius, sir. I believe the orbital station is already compromised.”

Droad glanced at him and nodded. He looked out of Fort Zimmerman’s north tower window toward the spaceport. Shooting up into the cloud layer was the ever-present shaft of shimmering metal that represented so much effort on the part of the colonists. Halfway up to the clouds, a large flock of air-swimmers serenely floated around it in a spiral pattern.

The elevator was Garm’s greatest link to space, to the Nexus, and to the rest of humanity. By itself, it represented a great achievement of human technology, and was doubtless the most significant positive thing the people of Garm had ever created.

“Have we secured all the flitters capable of reaching orbit?”

“Yes sir, they have all been moved from the spaceport into the Fort compound. Others exist, however, around the colony.”

“Tell Dorman to hit the elevator with his Stormbringers, but not to overdo it. He must at least break the shaft up until it is unserviceable,” said Droad in a dull voice. He was uncharacteristically glum. His eyes were dark with fatigue and his face white and drawn. His first governorship was fast turning into one of the greatest disasters in human history. Even if the enemy could be stopped, the damage to the colony would take more than his lifetime to repair.

Jarmo relayed the orders and the two watched as the Stormbringers streaked to the attack. The planes themselves were invisible due to their great speed, of course, but the atmospheric conditions were right for contrails today, and so their progress could be tracked by the eye. Enemy aircraft rose up like angry wasps to meet them, but the shaft was really an indefensible target. Crimson explosions blossomed about the base of the shaft. The spaceport was quickly reduced to burning ruins.

“Now, we must decide our next move,” said Droad. He tasted his hot caf, found it to be cold caf, and poured himself a fresh cup. He reflected that the sole thing he had enjoyed about this post so far was the excellent beverages that the tropical climate of Garm produced.

Jarmo sat back. “I would estimate that a fairly large number of the enemy has gotten aboard the Gladius. Mai Lee led the remains of her personal army up there as well, but I believe she will be sorely outnumbered.”

“Even with the security forces on the ship?”

Jarmo made a wry face. “According to the mech Lieutenant’s report, they are less than adequate to fight the aliens.”

“So you recommend that we go to the aid of the Gladius? Or are you suggesting that we get aboard that ship and save our skins?”

Jarmo frowned, leaned forward. His serious eyes engaged the Governor. “Sir, I think it’s time we faced certain realities. We are losing this war. It is clear that the aliens reproduce new warriors at a rate that we can’t counter. We had the upper hand at first-”

Here Governor Droad interrupted with a snort. It did not seem to him that they had ever had the upper hand.

“-due to our superior numbers and firepower. However, the enemy have continued to grow in strength, coming back after each battle with greater forces. This is not just our experience, but from all the reports I have monitored around the planet.”

“And while they grow stronger and use equipment captured from us, we have no more troops once we are fully mobilized.”

“Yes, exactly. You see, if their numbers were to stop increasing right now, we could probably handle them. But of course, they will not. My calculations indicate that their numbers will double again in the next six days, even accounting for casualties.”

“But if we can just get to the source of their reproduction, to their queens, we could stop them,” argued Droad.

Jarmo nodded his huge head, but the frown didn’t leave his face. “This is exactly what Mai Lee was attempting, and a good strategy it was. But according to the data I have gathered about the enemy movements, it’s almost pointless. The alien numbers are now growing at several points around the planet, indicating they have many queens, and that they are breeding more even now.”

The Governor put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. He placed his heavy boots on the holo-plate and crossed his legs. Tipping his hat over his eyes, he thought hard. He always found thinking easier in a relaxed position.

“And there is another thing,” Jarmo said.

“What?”

“Our supplies of ordinance and equipment are already dwindling.”

Droad tipped the brim of his hat up to eye him.

“The main way we are keeping the aliens from overrunning us now is with greater firepower. But Garm has never planned for a long term conflict. The armories are well-stocked, but once the missiles are gone for the Stormbringers, for instance, there will be no more. Once we are down to hand-to-hand conditions, there can be no doubt which side will win.”

Droad seemed to deflate somewhat. “You are telling me that we are doomed. That we can’t win.”

Jarmo made no answer.

“Let’s examine the options. Nuclear weapons?”

“Very few available. Even with the NCC proscription against them, there are a few on the planet, but all of tactical-level yield. Those that do exist are mostly hidden somewhere out of our reach on the Slipape County estates.”

“Evacuation?”

“The Gladius is the only ship capable of carrying a large percentage of the colonists. Unfortunately, evacuation will take time, weeks at least, and I doubt the aliens will allow us that.”

“All right, so what are they going to do?”

“I believe they will make an all out effort to take the Gladius. I believe they will leave the system at the first opportunity and carry their seeds to the rest of the Nexus.”

Droad snapped up out of his chair. It fell back behind him with a clatter. He and Jarmo locked stares. The system operators around them, having listened in, watched them both intently.

“You’re right,” said Droad. He hadn’t thought of the possible stakes involved. It was crystal clear to him now. These things were a threat to the entire Nexus, not just to Garm. “We have to move now.”

Jarmo gave him a questioning look.

“We must take all our forces up to the Gladius.”

As they turned to leave the observation room a messenger approached. It was the Hofstetten militia captain, the same one that had confronted Ari Steinbach and Major Drick Lee just before the assault at the spaceport. His red beard was frosty with flecks of melting snow.

“There’s someone here to see you, Governor. She just flew a flitter into the compound and landed right in the courtyard. We almost blasted her out of the air.”

“What does she want?” asked Droad hurriedly, pulling on his parka and donning a weapons harness. Jarmo busied himself with his plasma cannon, which he had stowed under the desk.

“She says she’s been inside the alien nest, and she has important information about the enemy.”

Droad waved for him to follow and Jarmo fell into step behind them. Jarmo watched the militia captain closely.

“She’ll have to talk to me on the way up. She can ride up on my flitter. Get your men ready for an assault Captain. We leave in thirty minutes.”

Jarmo and Droad rode in the forward cabin. Through the observation ports was a scene filled with gray clouds, as the nose was pointed upward at a steep angle. To their left was the silvery shaft of the space elevator, reaching up into the heavens like Jack’s beanstalk.

Droad stopped talking strategy and turned to meet the tall, dark-haired woman who entered the cabin. He noted right away that she was an attractive woman, despite the fact that her face was streaked with scratches and her hair was a tangled maze. Her jumpersuit was fresh and clean, however, taken from Fort Zimmerman’s ample supply rooms. Her eyes caught his full attention, they were quite shapely, but also haunted with dark visions which he could only guess at. Immediately, he believed her story of having escaped the alien nest.

“Come in and strap yourself into a crash-seat,” he invited.

Behind her, two more figures came into the cabin. Everyone braced themselves against the acceleration of the flitter. At Droad’s urging, all three of them sank gratefully into the crash-seats. Droad was surprised to see one of the others was a boy of perhaps twelve and the other was a skald. The absence of a left arm on the boy was his most noticeable feature, in addition to the fact that he was clearly related to the woman. They both had the same dark eyes and hair.

The skald was a different matter entirely. Droad had read about them, but had yet to encounter a member of their sect, which was the oddest religion on Garm. They were really a cult, a very mysterious one. According to his readings they were thought to focus their lives on achieving inner peace through meditation and wandering pilgrimages, but little hard data had ever been collected on them. It was known that they valued artwork, music and solitude. Sculptures created by the skalds of Garm were known and sought after throughout the Nexus, being one of the planet’s more successful exports.

In appearance the skald differed noticeably from the rest of them. He was tall and thin with long blond hair, so blond it was almost white. His sharp features and vacant, staring eyes made Droad wonder if he was the product of in-breeding or some other, more mysterious influence.

As they strapped themselves into their crash seats, Droad nodded to each of the visitors, as did Jarmo. The skald didn’t respond, didn’t even look at them. He merely stared out the observation reports at the metal shaft that led up into space.

“Hello, let me introduce myself,” began Droad, smiling with real warmth. This was the first time he had the opportunity to meet some of the people of Garm who were neither military nor trying to kill him. “I’m Lucas Droad and this is my chief of staff, Jarmo Niska.”

Sarah responded politely, eyeing the giant with unease. Pleasantries lasted only a few seconds, however, before the skald interrupted.

“Parent.” he began. Everyone looked startled to hear him speak. He stared at Droad now with manic intensity. White flecks of spittle speckled his chin. His lips squirmed in an unnatural fashion, as if unaccustomed to speech. He stopped talking after this single word and appeared to have some kind of fit. He began thrashing violently in his seat, straining against the straps he himself had fastened over his thin pale body.

Droad pushed his hat back upon his head and watched the display with interest. Jarmo produced a pistol with a long black barrel from somewhere and directed it casually at the skald.

“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.”