At long last, he reached the lifeboat pods. He hesitated at the entrance. The indicator lights on the pressure bulkheads were all green. But electro-mechanical systems could not detect malevolent intent.
Finally, he touched the actuator and the door dilated open with alarming speed. He took a single step forward-and halted.
It was the smell. He knew that smell. Acrid and dank at the same time. A smell like that of industrial waste mixed with rotting seafood. It wasn’t just the odor-the nature of the air itself inside the pod was wrong. It was too warm, and too humid.
He could see a dozen lifeboats aligned silently in a neat row in the dimly lit interior. None of them appeared to be damaged. There were no slime-trails on the floor, nor over the sleek surfaces of the ships.
Regardless, Garth remained frozen at the entrance. His cart hummed, and an uncontrolled burbling sound came from his lips. Otherwise, he was motionless and quiet. His eyes, however, roved the scene. There had to be something. There always was.
Then he saw it. A glistening spill of liquid on the deck plates beneath the nearest lifeboat. It appeared to be a transparent puddle of- something. Mechanical lubricant dribbling from the aft section of the lifeboat? Alien digestive fluids? He didn’t know which it might be. But he was certain he had no intention of mopping up the mess, orders or no.
When Garth finally did move again, it was with smooth decisiveness. He shoved his cart forward, letting it glide toward the nearest lifeboat. Then he darted out a long, thin arm and slapped the button to close the bulkhead. It flashed closed with alarming rapidity. But not before he saw a shadow move toward the cart. Something small, something hard to see…something with many churning legs. It was chasing after the cart, pursuing it like prey.
The moment the door flashed closed, he touched a yellow actuator, locking the bulkhead and sealing it. He knew it would not hold them for long, but perhaps it would be long enough. Then Garth turned, and he ran.
The former skald gone rogue was tall and thin, but he was not a weak man. He could move with speed when needed. At this moment, he felt that speed was indeed required. He ran with long steps back through the hold. His knobby knees rose up high with each step, and his feet snapped down and propelled him away from the pod doors as fast as he could go. He had not wasted a moment of the passing months under acceleration. He’d hardened his muscles to an athletic level of strength, fearing the day speed would be required, and he’d be too weak to run under the G-forces.
He heard no sounds of pursuit as he crossed the hold, but that did not mean the enemy were not coming after him. He kept running until his breath came in gasps and hitches…and then he ran farther still.
After a mile or so, he reached another bulkhead, which exited the great central hold. He stepped through, damaged the mechanism to keep it from opening behind him, and continued running. Before he reached the elevators, his stomach rebelled from so much fear and effort. He retched in the hallway, wiping his mouth and staggering onward. When he reached the elevator, he pushed the button to call the mechanism to his floor. The elevator was designed for large freight, and thus was ponderously slow. He doubled over and panted, trembling with exertion.
Garth was a paranoid man, but he was not easily panicked. His terrified flight was controlled and logical-rather than random and thoughtless. Now that he could not remove his person farther from the enemy for a moment, he chose to alert the crew. This was not done from any sense of altruism. He simply and automatically calculated his personal odds of survival were higher if he warned the others. Not much higher, but it was still worth the effort.
He touched the communication system on his spacer coveralls and removed it from where it adhered to his chest. He brought the device close to his lips and transmitted over the ship’s emergency channel.
“An alien presence has been detected. The starboard lifeboat berths are compromised. Take appropriate action. I am Garth-”
He cut off then, as the elevator doors opened behind him. He removed the tiny communications device and tossed it away over his shoulder. No bigger than a shirt button, it made a tiny plinking sound when it hit the deck plates. The enemy used radio transmissions to communicate among themselves and Garth knew they would be listening and tracking all such transmissions. He had no intention of allowing them to track him via this device. He had given the crew warning enough, it was up to them, now.
Garth leapt aboard the elevator and slapped at the buttons. The doors closed with agonizing slowness. He rode the system to the higher floors, past the maintenance decks and the crew quarters. He rode to the passenger lounges, where merchants dined in luxurious saloons when they weren’t in cryo-sleep.
The chambers were all silent and closed now, as the passengers had not yet been awakened. In a few more weeks, the ship’s systems were programmed to rouse those who wished to enjoy the cruise. They could then entertain themselves with what amusements the ship could provide. Grandees and their consorts would party amongst themselves, representing the adventurous elite of a dozen worlds.
Garth rushed past red velvet settees, polished hardwood tables and bejeweled, glimmering lamps. At last, at the end of a long, ribbed corridor, he reached his destination. It was a circular portal of lustrous black collapsium, fitted with golden, inlaid fixtures. The door was locked as always. This was the only entrance that led into the sealed chambers inhabited by the Skalds, an enigmatic people who shared their skulls with the parasitic aliens known as the Tulk.
As a group, the skalds aboard Gladius had always been the most determined among the passengers and crew to survive. They had taken the precaution of sequestering themselves inside these armored apartments within a collapsium shell of inner hull-plating. This region of the ship had originally been devised for the transport of VIPs and small, valuable cargoes. It was, in effect, a large vault within the ship itself. After leaving orbit, the skalds inside had sealed the entrances and disabled the overrides. They had meticulously maintained a policy of avoidance with everyone, especially the baffled crew outside their fortress.
Garth had witnessed the Captain of the ship trying to talk the skalds out of their odd mood on several occasions without success. He’d activated the intercom, and assured the skalds that the aliens had been hunted down and expunged one by one throughout the vast ship. But Garth knew it was the very vastness of the ship that caused the skalds and their Tulk riders no end of worry within their shared skulls. They knew the enemy was very difficult to stamp out with finality. When under severe pressure, the Skaintz could hide with elaborate cunning, hibernating until an opportune moment came to pass to strike again.
The Captain had never managed to get any kind of response from inside the VIP saloon. At last, he’d given up on his folly. It was said the skalds were well and truly mad, and here at last he had undeniable proof of this generalization. With a final shrug, he had stalked away in annoyance. He’d told Garth they could rot in there, for all he cared.
Alone among all the crewmen, Garth had never given up on his attempts to communicate with the skalds inside the safe region. Garth knew his fellow shipmates viewed him as a mysterious figure, and he was rumored to once have been among the ranks of the skalds himself. This rumor was accurate. He’d once had a great rider, a spiny glob of jelly known as Fryx, living inside his own head.
Garth had often been found trying to communicate with the skalds inside their refuge. Never had he received so much as a syllable in response-but he still kept trying. Today, with the ancient enemy loose upon the ship, it was more vital than ever that he be allowed inside with his ex-fellows.