HMS Valediction

Chapter 18.2

Holding its weapon with massive, black-boned, three-fingered hands, it aims at me. It sizes me up, scanning every inch of my form, its gaze frequently pausing at my belly. Clutching its weapon tighter, the creature utters a guttural sling of noises.

This one looks different than the rest. It's bigger, broader with darker hair that's twisted into long tendrils with white beads dangling from the edges. Its wide, dark nostrils flare. The breastplate is larger, shinier, rimmed in gold. It's an officer. It must be.

I raise my chin. "I am Commander Janika Lorn of the ARC10. You have boarded my ship, violating inter-system asylum laws." I have no idea if this is true or not but my fury makes the words spill out unfiltered. I hope my bravado holds out. "Release my people."

The creature trembles.

Good. I keep my head high and wait for it to command its army to halt, to leave the civilians alone, to get the fuck off my ship, but it doesn't. It continues to convulse until it throws it's head back and emits a wheezing noise so stained, I wonder if it's dying.

That's when I realize — it's laughing at me. Right now. Right here. In this room with the world burning around us, it's fucking laughing at me.

My jaw hurts from clenching my teeth so hard, I practically feel them crack.

It stoops down to grab my arms. Scooping chips of glass and debris from under my fingers, I hurl them at the creature's head when it comes close. The sharp bits stick to its eyes. It backs away, rubbing them out with bony swipes of gargantuan fingers. I take this opportunity to rush to my feet and find something, anything in which to use as a bat.

Just a few feet away is a steel pike. With the dried orange goo at the end of it, it must be the one that impaled John's temples. I shudder, wondering where my friend is, glad that the poles are no longer in his head.

It's heavy in my hands and, luckily enough, sharpened to a deadly point. Using all the strength in my arms, I swing the bar around and point it at the creature's head.

I charge.

The squelch of it stabbing the creature in the eye is wonderful under my hands. The slight tremor of resistance of its bone shudders up the metal and through my arms. I twist it and drive it harder, hitting the back of its skull.

The creature wails, the metal bar lifting up above its head as it swings around from side to side. I scurry out of its range as it stampedes, knocking into booths and civilians. It swings its arms wildly, attempting to pull the pole out of its head. The people of ARC10 run around me in terror as the beast flings its head, whipping the pole around. It smacks at other yaks. They crash to the ground.

Finally, the creature falls to its knees and drops forward, propped up by the pole stuck in its head. When I'm satisfied the thing is dead, I search for Coodi.

On the ground is an abandoned HEL-handgun. The other in McCroy's matching set.

I'm struck by cold terror again, chills running up and down my bare arms.

There are so many of them.

Lifting the weapon, I catch another bull in the back. Above, on the platform of all my recent nightmares, Avant battles two creatures at once. Part of me is so disgusted by her part in the mutiny, I want to let her handle that on her own. But no, I need her. I need her to be with me when it matters because the people of ARC10, not matter who they follow, need to stay alive.

To my left, I notice the jagged protrusions of ARC10's bulkhead perfectly form a set of stairs. I balk. I'd never noticed them before, but have no time to wonder about the continuous anomalies of the ship. I climb them, ascending until I'm level with the platform. I aim and fire at one of her two combatants.