three-eyed
nub had withdrawn into its bony protection, and its feelers where
like bristly rubber, impervious. With indomitable fortitude, it
marched up her leg. She was hardly aware of the faint thuds as
energy weapons and laser beams hit the ship’s hull, or the slight
judders that ran through the floor. Her mind raced in a fury of
desperation.
The alien
reached her thigh and crawled over her belly, its tri-tail shifting
its grip to her waist. Its six legs clasped her in a lover’s
embrace, the muscular tail pinching her waist in a cruel grip. The
mottled orange carapace seemed to glow, throbbing in her fevered
eyes. Its scissor jaws opened, gleaming, and she screamed as they
sank into her.
The energy
shell released Tarke in a corridor filled with hurrying Draycon
crewmen. Twelve of his troopers emerged from another shell mere
metres away and fired on the Draycons, sending them scuttling for
cover. Tarke ducked into a doorway to avoid the crossfire, not
bothering to draw his weapon. Distant explosions shook the ship and
an alarm whooped. A soft female voice, calm and unhurried as only a
ship’s neural net could be, repeated in Drayconar, “All crews to
battle stations. All crews to battle stations...”
While his men
occupied the enemy, Tarke headed down the corridor away from the
fight. He turned into the first doorway he came to, which slid
open, so he moved to the next door, with the same result. He
checked four more doors that all opened, revealing a canteen, a
gymnasium, a bathroom and a library. On a big ship like this, the
living areas were broken down into sections, usually by rank or
occupation. This meant that each group of crewmen had their own
facilities. Somewhere in this section were cells where unruly or
criminal crewmembers were kept as punishment, and, according to
Shadowen, Rayne was in one of them.
Fewer men
dashed about now. It seemed those who had been sent to deal with
the invaders had all reached them. A crewman came around the corner
and spotted Tarke, grabbing his laser.
“ You! Stop!”
Tarke dived
into a doorway, and a laser bolt sliced through the door as it slid
shut behind him.
“ Intruder!”
Tarke ran
through a supply room and out of another door into a busy corridor.
The pursuing Draycon, now with reinforcements, emerged soon after,
still shouting. Wild shots hummed along the corridor, cracking into
the walls. The technicians and engineers who thronged the passage
added to the confusion as they ran about, blocking the patrolmen’s
aim. The ominous buzzing hum was not a sound Tarke liked. It
reminded him too vividly of injuries he had sustained in the past.
The Draycon crewmen dived to the floor with thuds and yells to
avoid the laser beams that blazed amongst them. Tarke sprinted down
the corridor, cursing the patrolmen for driving him away from the
area where the girl was held.
Drawing his
laser, he flattened himself against the wall and razed the corridor
with a waist-high lash of light. Half the guards fell; the rest
flung themselves down. Tarke stepped into an office and ran through
it, turning sharply to go through a door at right angles to the one
through which he had just entered. Drayconar decoration was
unimaginative, and the bare rooms drab. An officer stood up behind
a console, his scaly crest raised. Tarke shot him in the heart and
was halfway across the room before he hit the floor.
The thuds of
the crewmen’s booted feet faded as he increased his lead, and he
ran down a corridor, ducking into the first doorway that opened at
his approach. He entered an empty recreation room with no other
exit and flattened himself to the wall next to the door, listening
to the patrolmen’s confused shouts.
Two pairs of
booted feet approached the door, which opened to admit a guard.
Tarke grabbed his throat, yanked him inside and snapped his neck in
a swift movement. Dropping the corpse, he waited to see if any
others came. Explosions rattled the fittings, and a glass
nub had withdrawn into its bony protection, and its feelers where
like bristly rubber, impervious. With indomitable fortitude, it
marched up her leg. She was hardly aware of the faint thuds as
energy weapons and laser beams hit the ship’s hull, or the slight
judders that ran through the floor. Her mind raced in a fury of
desperation.
The alien
reached her thigh and crawled over her belly, its tri-tail shifting
its grip to her waist. Its six legs clasped her in a lover’s
embrace, the muscular tail pinching her waist in a cruel grip. The
mottled orange carapace seemed to glow, throbbing in her fevered
eyes. Its scissor jaws opened, gleaming, and she screamed as they
sank into her.
The energy
shell released Tarke in a corridor filled with hurrying Draycon
crewmen. Twelve of his troopers emerged from another shell mere
metres away and fired on the Draycons, sending them scuttling for
cover. Tarke ducked into a doorway to avoid the crossfire, not
bothering to draw his weapon. Distant explosions shook the ship and
an alarm whooped. A soft female voice, calm and unhurried as only a
ship’s neural net could be, repeated in Drayconar, “All crews to
battle stations. All crews to battle stations...”
While his men
occupied the enemy, Tarke headed down the corridor away from the
fight. He turned into the first doorway he came to, which slid
open, so he moved to the next door, with the same result. He
checked four more doors that all opened, revealing a canteen, a
gymnasium, a bathroom and a library. On a big ship like this, the
living areas were broken down into sections, usually by rank or
occupation. This meant that each group of crewmen had their own
facilities. Somewhere in this section were cells where unruly or
criminal crewmembers were kept as punishment, and, according to
Shadowen, Rayne was in one of them.
Fewer men
dashed about now. It seemed those who had been sent to deal with
the invaders had all reached them. A crewman came around the corner
and spotted Tarke, grabbing his laser.
“ You! Stop!”
Tarke dived
into a doorway, and a laser bolt sliced through the door as it slid
shut behind him.
“ Intruder!”
Tarke ran
through a supply room and out of another door into a busy corridor.
The pursuing Draycon, now with reinforcements, emerged soon after,
still shouting. Wild shots hummed along the corridor, cracking into
the walls. The technicians and engineers who thronged the passage
added to the confusion as they ran about, blocking the patrolmen’s
aim. The ominous buzzing hum was not a sound Tarke liked. It
reminded him too vividly of injuries he had sustained in the past.
The Draycon crewmen dived to the floor with thuds and yells to
avoid the laser beams that blazed amongst them. Tarke sprinted down
the corridor, cursing the patrolmen for driving him away from the
area where the girl was held.
Drawing his
laser, he flattened himself against the wall and razed the corridor
with a waist-high lash of light. Half the guards fell; the rest
flung themselves down. Tarke stepped into an office and ran through
it, turning sharply to go through a door at right angles to the one
through which he had just entered. Drayconar decoration was
unimaginative, and the bare rooms drab. An officer stood up behind
a console, his scaly crest raised. Tarke shot him in the heart and
was halfway across the room before he hit the floor.
The thuds of
the crewmen’s booted feet faded as he increased his lead, and he
ran down a corridor, ducking into the first doorway that opened at
his approach. He entered an empty recreation room with no other
exit and flattened himself to the wall next to the door, listening
to the patrolmen’s confused shouts.
Two pairs of
booted feet approached the door, which opened to admit a guard.
Tarke grabbed his throat, yanked him inside and snapped his neck in
a swift movement. Dropping the corpse, he waited to see if any
others came. Explosions rattled the fittings, and a glass
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