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  My gear's manipulators clenched the mauled weapons. I aimed at the floor under the Dargians' feet and activated my integrated right-arm pulse gun.

  The impacts ripped through the hull, striking up flames. The Dargians' boot soles lost grip with the surface, hurling their squat figures into outer space. They somersaulted and flailed their arms around, screaming in the chat rooms.

  A few drones headed off to their rescue. I rose behind my cover and opened fire in two directions at once, tearing the nearest ones to pieces. They gave as good as they got. My shield pulsated with absorbed damage, my gear clicking incessantly with battery replacements.

  Still, not all of the Dargians were enjoying a free flight. Two of them stayed put. I fired a long burst at them — with zero effect. Could they have individual gravity generators? Then again, what else could have kept them standing? They looked as if they were part of the station's surface.

  One of them was already dead. The other scrambled back into his hole.

  The Founders' starship was now some three hundred feet away from me. The problem was, our enemies were legion. At least fifty of them hovered within my direct line of sight.

  "Snipers, keep at it!"

  I activated my movement coordinator and headed for the dead Dargian in a series of dangerous leaps. His suit had been breached in several places. Its servomuscles were jammed, locking him in an awkward half-kneeling position.

  Thanks to Jurgen's gift, my current Repair skill was at 30 points. Even though I only had my unique high tech gear to thank for that, now I could easily remove various devices from their slots and reinstall them.

  I pulled his armor off and immediately ducked into the nearest gaping hole in one well-calculated leap.

  The Dargian who'd escaped there earlier charged at me from out of the darkness. I shot at random. These pulse guns had a considerable recoil that in this near-zero gravity environment sent me flying backwards. My back hit a bulkhead.

  Trying to work as fast as possible, I checked the loot. A purpose-built scanner soon located the gravity generator built into their gear among other ancient artifacts as yet unknown to me. They must have been rare and exorbitantly expensive. Plus at least a dozen chips! — my gaming mentality kept butting in. Using my manipulators, I stripped the suits of all the equipment, including a slim box containing some microscopic data storage devices. They must have contained ancient alien software. I threw one of the gravity generators into my inventory and clicked the other into an empty slot. My suit's connectors matched the Founders' equipment. The generator powered up. Excellent.

  You couldn't overestimate the importance of this particular trophy. Even if the station's inner decks still had gravity, it was approaching zero outside. Every step could become your last, any impact could prove fatal, forcing your boots to lose grip with the surface and hurling you into the abyss.

  Outer space was an extremely complex environment.

  All this had flashed through my mind without hindering my work. My connecting a new device caused the suit to redistribute power, sending the battery charge deep into the yellow.

  I climbed out. Trying to find my way through the maze of service channels wasn't an option. Everything depended on my speed now.

  The station's hull was illuminated by the gas giant's weak brown light. The battle was in full swing. The surprise effect had already worn off. The Dargians must have realized that it wasn't wise to stay in the open so now they lay low: behind the stacks of diamond-shaped armor plates, within the numerous breaches or securing themselves with safety tethers. Few had their own gravity generators. Either the slave drivers had failed to understand their design or they had proved unable to reproduce them.

  Lasers impacted from every direction. Drones were the biggest problem. They had already detected our snipers' positions and headed for them in groups of five or six, soaring up toward their hidey-holes.

  "Jurgen, how's it going?" I asked while moving in bounds from one cover to the next, trying not to catch any return fire. I was losing power faster than I'd expected.

  "We're stuck!" Jurgen's voice rang with the tension of the battle.

  "Any casualties?"

  "I've lost contact with ten men," he snapped back. "No idea where they are now."

  "I want you to fight toward the respawn point whatever it takes! If you can't take it, you must destroy it!"

  I didn't need to remind him. He knew this better than I did.

  I darted for my next cover: a stack of diamond-shaped armor plates secured with loops of wire cable. Drones darted overhead. I fired my pulse gun after them. Two of them exploded; the others switched immediately to their new target. The nearest Dargians had noticed me as well and opened fire, leaning out of their hideouts.

  The disparity between me and them was frightening. My shield began to pulsate, then extinguished. I came under fire. My ability to move was my only forte so I ran as hard as I could. Finally, I took cover about fifty feet from the Founders' starship and tried to catch my breath.

  My gear clicked again, switching to the emergency batteries. The main ones were as flat as a pancake. My armor was pockmarked with red-hot shrapnel. My left arm manipulator could barely move. The ammo feed in one of the integrated guns was damaged too. At least I gave them as good as I got. A trail of debris marked my wake, Dargian bodies floating among it.

  I braced myself for one final sprint. "Ralph, I want you to cover me."

  The snipers' leader didn't reply. I still had no idea what had happened to Charon, either. The Haash were nowhere to be seen.

  Suddenly Frieda communicated to me. "Zander," she gasped, "there're only three of us left. The rest are awaiting respawn. We've downed the drones."

  "Cover me," I watched my shield come back to life, its aura glowing weakly. "I'm going for the airlock!"

  "Affirmative."

  The Dargians were already creeping up on me trying to cut me off. I rose tentatively behind my cover and fired a generous burst from my right-arm gun, mercilessly wasting ammo.

  Their assault attempt bogged down. The Dargians' audacity had cost them dearly: I could see about a dozen bodies drifting away into space, followed by their trailing safety tethers. Others scrambled away, taking cover. I watched them being decimated by sniper fire from above.

  We were giving it our all. And still this battle for survival and all the lives we’d lost would be for nothing if we failed to get to the starship respawn point.

  My second integrated gun gave up the ghost.

  I grabbed my trusty submachine gun. I had sixty feet to cover.

  I ran as fast as I could, ignoring the Dargians' fire.

  * * *

  Ten men with mercenaries' insignia were climbing up the welded grating in the impact crater.

  The echo of the battle reached them through the rarified air.

  "Max," one of them scrambled out of the crater and began looking around, "D'you think we should have stayed?"

  "What, with those nutcases?" the other sniffed. "That's pure suicide. Use your head, man. There're hundreds of Dargians there."

  "And what if they do take the ship? We'll be losing out then, won't we?"

  "They might," Max answered. "Then again, they might not. I don't like this Zander. He thinks too much of himself. Then there's all that xenomorph talk of his: don't touch them, he says. Had he said, go smoke the Haash till you drop, now that would have been the right thing. But the way things go, I don't think much of him, the bent bastard."

  "Okay, okay. What about the ship?"

  The remaining mercs scrambled out of the crater one after another. The abandoned deck lay around them.

  "We're going to advance toward the reserve respawn point. We'll take over the equipment. Then if this Zander does take over the ship, we'll offer him a swap."

  "What kind of swap?"

  "We'll offer the children in exchange for the Founders' ship," Max grinned.

  The others maintained a gloomy silence.

  "The
re're our guys there at the respawn point," Vlast pointed out.

  "So what? It's every man for himself now. There is no clan. So it's up to you."

  "The goblin is no problem," one of the mercs said while scanning the location. "We'll make a quick job of him. But it looks as if Liori's Condor has landed there, too. Serge and Dan are busy trying to pull her out."

  "Now," Max pinned everyone down with his glare. "You, you and you — you take over the respawn equipment. Smoke the goblin and hold. Leave Liori to me. As for Serge, Dyxt and Dan, shoot them on sight. We have nothing to discuss with them."

  * * *

  The reserve respawn point

  Inge awoke from frequent irregular tremors. She sat up, casting scared glances around.

  A brown light seeped through a crack in the cargo container's open door. Uncle Arbido was gone. The other children were fast asleep.

  Soon the girl felt bored just sitting and dangling her feet. Wherever could all the adults have gone? Uncle Arbido didn't count as an adult: he was too small and too funny.

  Trying not to make any noise, the girl slid down the oversized seat, walked over to the door and took a peek outside.

  How strange. They were all gone. She could only glimpse a few weird-looking shadows in the distance, surrounded by a dull green light.

  The sensors of the girl's gear beeped a warning, their indicators soaring into the yellow sector. Still, this dark radiation-soaked place didn't scare Inge in the slightest. She adjusted her vision and focused, making out the outline of a Condor far ahead. A red-hot rut trailed on the floor in its wake. The ship must have made an emergency landing.

  This is where all the adults must have gone, the girl reasoned. The downed ship was surrounded by flashing lights but she wasn't afraid of them one bit.

  Inge looked up and saw two translucent shimmering creatures high overhead where an enormous gaping hole crossed the hangar's ceiling.

  Transfixed, she watched them dance in the air. They were so beautiful. The play of light and fire was so delicate, the creatures gleaming with every shade of blue, crimson and emerald, weightless and graceful.

  Delight filled her heart. She watched the fancy swirling of red-hot threads permeating their translucent bodies, their light reflecting in her eyes.

  Her lips parted in a smile. "Come here!" she whispered. "Aren't you just gorgeous!"

  The Emgles slowed their dance, then circled overhead in confusion.

  The enthusiasm of combat had already left them. The aura of the dead ship had ceased to attract them. The two Emgles were suddenly bathing in a long-forgotten feeling that had stripped these predators of their gruesome past, reviving happy memories of free flight in their home planet's air stream when they used to soar higher and higher toward the warming rays of the system's sun.

  "This is awesome!" the girl exclaimed, embracing their mental images. "Come here, please!"

  * * *

  Eight minutes into combat.

  The timer kept clocking up the seconds. Soon the Dargians would begin to respawn on board the Founders' ship.

  The airlock was almost within reach. I limped toward it. My armor was glowing crimson from all the numerous impacts. My visor's inner rim was awash with subsystem damage reports.

  The outer hatch was open. I sprang inside the airlock chamber and swung round, stopping the more brazen Dargians with short bursts of pulse fire.

  "Charon!"

  Still no reply.

  Jurgen contacted me. "Zander? We've destroyed the respawn point. We've failed to seize the equipment. There're only five of us left."

  "I'm nearly there!" I hurried to reload and drove the last power batteries into their slots. "Keep at it!"

  His voice was drowned out by interference.

  Fifty seconds until the slave drivers' respawn.

  I grabbed at the massive hatch and strained my servomuscles as hard as I could, forcing it into the "Closed" position.

  I'd never been on board a Founders' ship before so I knew nothing about its layout. I only had Charon's utility blueprint to go by. According to it, I had to cover a hundred and fifty feet of the main corridor before I got to the room with the respawn artifact.

  The floor shuddered underfoot. There was a battle going on here.

  It was then that the last of the slave collars must have switched off. A message popped up into my mental view,

  Quest completion alert: The Ties That Bind. Quest completed!

  You've received a new level!

  The inner hatch wasn't locked. I grabbed at it and pulled with all my might. Concealed within the bulkhead, its locking mechanism resisted my every effort. The hatch kept inching sideways until suddenly it gave way as if something had snapped inside, releasing the hatch that slid freely along its rails.

  Good enough. I forced my body through the gap.

  In the dim yellow light, the corridor floor was littered with Haash bodies apparently savaged by bursts of automatic fire. I glanced over them. No Charon. Deep down, the main channel was lit up by flashes of firing.

  I bolted toward it.

  Damaged cables sparked under the curving ceiling. Light panels flickered. The power spikes suggested someone was trying to activate some power-hungry equipment, like stationary weapons.

  The corridor was decompressed. Somebody had switched the life support systems off and let the vacuum in.

  My movements started to slow down. WTF? Three slave drivers ran out of the nearest door. I tried to raise my gun but my muscles seemed to weigh a hundred tons.

  They froze in disbelief. I couldn't even use their hesitation. What could have been easier than to mow them down with a well-aimed burst of my gun? Only that my arms didn't obey me anymore. I still had plenty of power; my suit functioned well. What was going on?

  Your exo ingredient has expired!

  You're no longer able to control your suit!

  Dammit! I couldn't even move, couldn't inject myself with a new helping of the metabolite. I hadn't even thought I might need it again!

  The Dargians had come out of their stupor. Two of them shrank back to the walls while the third one raised his cumbersome weapon mounted on a complex support.

  A shiver ran down my spine. I recognized Rash.

  I felt paralyzed. The sheer weight of the suit in combination with a functional pseudo gravity generator pinned me to the ground. I hadn't even had time to look into the suit's settings. I'd activated it but now I had no idea how to switch it off!

  Too late to sift through the icons looking for the option I needed. I had to change into my old gear but I couldn't do it in the vacuum.

  What was Rash waiting for?

  He wasn't in a hurry to shoot. He too had recognized me. He lowered his gun and motioned his henchmen to leave the two of us alone. Slowly he approached, studying me and trying to work out what might have caused my immobilization. He too wore an individual gravity generator. Last time he'd had nothing as good as that.

  "Human," his sneer echoed through my mind. Little wonder: it had been he who'd implanted me with the semantic processor, after all, so he knew how to use it.

  I froze in helpless fury. The one single mistake I'd made! Not a mistake even, just a fatal oversight, but now it was threatening the lives of all those who trusted me.

  Arbido might survive. He might take the children to some unexplored far-flung location. He'd manage, I knew it. Still I couldn't even begin to imagine how hard it would be for them.

  In moments like these, a lot can flash through your mind. I had less than a hundred feet between myself and the artifact. Three Dargians were all that stood between me and the respawn point we needed. In any other game world I'd be able to change into my spare gear — but not in Phantom Server! I'd explode from decompression within seconds.

  "Rash, just do it," I said.

  "Oh no, Human. Death would be too easy," his voice held the promise of a torturous agony. I didn't care. I was searching for a solution even though I knew there wasn't on
e. Too late, anyway. More Dargians appeared from the far end of the corridor. Only a few: those who'd been the first to die and respawn.

  "The suit's a bit too heavy for you, eh?" Rash must have put two and two together so he was habitually arrogant, fearing nothing and no one. A wild beast, safe in his high tech shell. "Too late, Zander. Forget the gravity generator. You can't switch it off, pointless even trying. So you can tell the others to surrender. We need new slaves to replace all the Haash that died today."

  My mind boiled in silent fury. A red haze clouded my vision. I strained every sinew, trying to lift and fire the gun.

  I couldn't.

  A door began to open to my side. I could sense the gelatinous flow of hatred seeping from within, directed at the Dargians.

  A Haash?

  I struggled in vain to establish mnemonic contact with him. All I could sense was his craving for revenge, desperate and violent.

  A message popped up in my mental view,

  A unique ability activated: Friend of the Haash.

  Every time you fight alongside the Haash, you receive +1 to all characteristics.

  The servodrives of my suit rustled softly.

  The internal manipulators of my gear sprang to life, apparently happy with my current Strength level. In one swipe of my eyes, I injected myself with a bumper dose of exo.

  "So what do you say, Zander?" the slave driver grinned, enjoying his power over me, savoring my immobility. "You do realize, don't you, that you stand no chance? Yes, you've managed to kill quite a few of us, but even that is only temporary, don't you understand? What did you expect, tell me?"

  More and more Dargians filled the corridor. The Haash's image within my mind had taken a familiar shape.

  Danezerath?

  Zander?

  Danny, wait up! We'll do it together! Wait for my signal!

  Shaking, I forwarded him the mental image of the situation in the corridor.

  My nerves were ablaze with the strain. A hundred feet. Only a hundred feet and a couple dozen Dargians.