“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.”
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.