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  I had the feeling that the ugly gnomes weren't going to be in a hurry.

  As I pondered over it all, the stooping figures of the Haash were passing to each other both the repaired device and the helmet that had held it. Good idea. No point in leaving evidence behind, giving the Dargians an excuse for further repression. Their cover story would be that I'd done everything on my own. I had forced Charon to join me at gunpoint because I needed a pilot.

  I'd promised them I'd be back but how sure was I I'd be able to keep my word?

  I tried to dismiss the thought. Here, it was every man for himself. Not that it helped much.

  They passed me the repaired device and the helmet which I dumped into the inventory. Then I tried to put the device into a slot in my gear. It worked.

  Their hands sprang into motion again. Now I also had a handful of micro nuclear batteries. Seven. The remaining three Charon wanted to use himself. Not much, an hour of autonomy at the most. I clicked two of them into the submachine gun and another one into the handgun. I had to give the heavy sniper's rifle a miss this time. The remaining four were going to power the spacesuit.

  All set.

  I began removing my gear. The Haash watched me in surprise.

  "When do we start?" Charon's voice tensed up. He couldn't understand the point of my actions — and had every reason to be suspicious.

  "Wait up a bit."

  "Rash is strong. Put your gear back on."

  "No," I walked over to the bars. "Can you reach?"

  Charon hunched his shoulders. He slowly tilted his massive head, covered in rough skin spotted in places with rudimentary scales, and opened his large mouth, gasping hotly, "Why?"

  I deactivated his collar and handed him the gun. "Now hit me," I commanded. "Just make sure I have about twenty percent life left."

  "Human, I don't understand..."

  "Do it, I tell you! And you — all of you — I want you to yell and stomp your feet."

  Charon didn't look too sure.

  "Trust me!"

  I could see desperation in his eyes. No idea what he must have been feeling at that moment.

  The Haash began to tap their feet. A perceptible vibration rolled across the floor, filled with a vague but passionate rhythm. As if the wave of their pent-up fury had suddenly burst out, making the bulkheads shudder.

  A second passed, and another, and...

  Charon growled and punched me. His sharp claws ripped the skin on my chest, spilling blood.

  Again... again... again...

  The vibrating rhythm quickened. The door clanged. The drones were the first to burst into the room, rotating in apparent confusion. Their target finders just couldn't prioritize properly in the chaos that reigned here. Then they focused on Charon splattered with my blood, recognizing him as the aggressor.

  One of the Haash stepped in, taking on the drones' paralyzing charges. Two squat figures appeared in the doorway.

  I focused on their name tags.

  "Rash, you scumbag! Come over here!" I could barely wheeze but he'd heard me. He wasn't afraid, feeling himself the master of the situation. He waved the drones away and headed for my cell, enjoying the sight of the Haash being strangled by their collars. Charon played along and collapsed, clutching at his throat.

  The door of my cell screeched aside.

  Rash entered it confidently, his beady eyes glowing with blood lust. My miserable state only excited him.

  He punched me sharply and expertly. My heart missed a beat, my life bar shrinking to four percent.

  Berserk!

  A crimson haze clouded my eyes. I lunged forward. A punch. A bone snapped broken. Another punch. The drones didn't interfere: they had been ordered not to. Anger and confusion glowed in Rash's stare. He stayed on his two feet, his life only fifty percent down, but I didn't stop and kept hitting him, not letting him regain control.

  You've received a new level!

  The other Dargian backed off, about to leg it. One of the Haash grabbed at his boot, gasping. It was Danezerath. His neck muscles bulged and turned crimson. Hold on, Danny!

  I kicked the other slaver, stripping him of half his hits. I kept kicking like someone possessed, but it didn't take long: Rash's assistant was only level 10.

  Now I had to concentrate. Berserk was still working, not allowing me to think straight, my reflexes impatient to make a quick job of the drones.

  I reached into my inventory. Full gear on.

  Life support kicked in immediately. The alarm hadn't been raised: not for something as mundane as prisoners yelling and screaming in their cells.

  My life bar grew considerably as the murderous frenzy released my brain. Nasty ability, no doubt about that.

  I quickly checked Rash's pockets. Aha. Another collar controller. Shame it was built into his armor so I couldn't take it out. But where were the cell keys?

  Only then did it dawn on me that they could be accessed via the mnemonic interface. I tore his gear off him, glimpsing some complicated devices in its slots. I'd have to sort through them later.

  I purposefully didn't touch the drones. They must have been filming everything. This way no one would have any doubts that I was the only culprit.

  I raised the submachine gun and shot the lock off of Charon's cell. Now — go!

  In two short bursts, I gunned the drones down. They rattled to the floor, sparking and spewing smoke.

  Charon was already standing next to me, armed and wearing full pressure gear.

  "Run!"

  Dozens of eyes followed us to the door, glistening with hope. Was the human going to betray them?

  How would you know, poor bastards?

  * * *

  The corridor was empty. Most of the Dargians were away on a raid. Besides, you couldn't surprise anyone here with a bit of noise. As far as I understood, Rash had made a habit of torturing the prisoners. Everyone was used to his nightly visits to the prisoners' quarters, accompanied by screams and even shooting.

  We ran in silence.

  My gear systems had almost restored my life back to full, but the charge in the batteries was rapidly going down.

  The next bend revealed a patrol drone. I shot it down before it had the chance to alert the rest, but the explosion echoed through the corridor. They'd know!

  But now we were practically there. A small walkthrough module held a guards' post. Beyond lay the shaft of the gravity elevator protected by the force field.

  Charon and I stormed the guards' room simultaneously. The two Dargians hadn't expected a breakout. And still the alarm must have gone off as I could see the channels switching fast on their holographic monitors. On one of them, a couple of dozen squat figures came running out of their rooms.

  We'd done it nice and neatly. Now for the shaft!

  A lot in my escape plan depended on our luck. The force field emitters were located on our side, which was logical. The Dargians feared attack from outside. But now they would probably learn from their mistake and install additional force emitters on the inside.

  The stomping of many feet was already echoing through the corridors.

  Suddenly Charon took over from me. "Hold on!" he stepped forward and raised his weapon. Grabbing at the rungs of the service ladder, he began shooting down the shaft.

  I dropped to the floor, bracing my legs against some sort of vertical stand and grabbing at a thick sturdy pipe lining the floor.

  A jet of flame escaped the shaft and was immediately extinguished by a roaring blast of air.

  Explosive decompression is a terrible thing, trust me. The air rushed into the gap like a tornado. I glimpsed various objects rushing past — bodies and pieces of equipment.

  Still, the localized disaster only lasted a mere ten or fifteen seconds. The roar of the air died away as the atmosphere thinned out.

  The light flickered and went out. The emergency bulkheads hadn't worked, after all. Whoever hadn't been wearing spacesuits was about to respawn now. I just hoped it didn't apply to
the drones. Logically, they had to be inanimate objects.

  I held on for dear life until Charon touched my shoulder. "We can go."

  He was full of gloomy determination.

  * * *

  Both our brazen escape and the decompression had proved a complete surprise to the Dargians. They had allowed themselves to become lax.

  We climbed down quickly but cautiously. The air torrent had ravaged the shaft, pulling out many of the steps. Soon we noticed a whirling cloud of tiny ice crystals, flakes of oxygen, low-density gas and various debris.

  I switched on the movement coordinator, my gaze choosing a spot further on the station's surface. Then I kicked myself off the lower edge of the destroyed elevator shaft and floated amid the fire-polished structures.

  My heart froze in my chest. At any moment, I could collide with a piece of debris (there was plenty of it around), decompressing my suit and changing the direction of a well-calculated jump.

  The Haash's lanky figure moved parallel to mine. Together we crossed the murky area affected by the decompression. The stars were pale behind the gaseous haze. We did everything in absolute silence.

  Something blew up.

  I pressed both my feet hard onto the smooth surface. One foot slipped and lost grip. Forcing myself not to thrash around in panic, I managed to grab onto a nearby hull structure.

  The Haash looked back, anxious. So did I. From the small platform where we both stood we could see the elevator's gaping exit, ravaged by the ancient disaster. From here, it looked like the ragged end of a pipe surrounded by deformed armor plates. No idea what had happened there in the past.

  "Did you see anything?" I whispered.

  Silently Charon raised his hand, pointing.

  To our right I could see a fire-polished gap in the hull from which several drones appeared — five in total. They must have used some alternate routes and were now scanning the area. I had stupidly hoped that no one would notice our escape, too busy looking into whatever had caused the decompression and how better to repair its consequences.

  The drones were followed by two Dargians who scrambled out onto the station's hull.

  My sniper's sights reacted immediately. An additional window opened. The figures came into focus, zooming in. They were clad in low-quality, well-used spacesuits. Even their visors were different, allowing me to see the gnomes' angry faces.

  Rash and his assistant. I'd removed his gear, hadn't I? He should still be there, dying and resurrecting in a series of agonizing respawns.

  As if! Either they had somehow managed to get out of the prison module or they had their own respawn point somewhere in the area.

  I had to remember that.

  The worst thing was, he'd second-guessed our intentions.

  I could see his plan. The drones took up position amid the mangled technogenic ruins. Both Dargians were armed. Charon and I didn't speak: I was sure they monitored our frequencies. And mnemonic messaging took too much concentration to the exclusion of everything else. At the moment, that was out of the question.

  We exchanged gestures, struggling to understand each other. Charon was anxious. I entirely shared his concern. The Dargians made no attempt to chase after us. Why?

  Rash was a clever little bastard. He was armed with something rather bulky. It didn't resemble a handheld rocket launcher. Unfortunately, I'd had neither the time nor opportunity to find out what kind of weapons they used here, but I had a very bad feeling about it. He was aiming his weird weapon. I followed its direction, realizing that both the Dargians and the drones controlled all the access routes to the launch pad.

  Did they hope to intercept us? Or were they prepared to sacrifice the Haash fighter by shooting it down?

  While we lingered there, a new group of pursuers appeared from the elevator shaft. Our situation was getting desperate. We seemed to be cornered from both sides. Our hideout wasn't safe enough; besides, it was located below the slave drivers' positions.

  We had to act immediately, but how? Should we open fire? They would see us and kill us straight away. Should we run for the ships? They would gun us down in their own sweet time.

  I touched Charon's shoulder, attracting his attention. I pointed at the still-swirling cloud of decompression blowout that was drifting toward the launch pad.

  The Haash seemed to have understood me. He nodded.

  "Go!" I gestured, encouraging him to move his backside.

  He didn't lose time. Immediately he began the dangerous descent deep into the gas cloud, using it as a cover to get to the fighter. I just couldn't see any other options.

  The Dargians hadn't been idle, either. Our pursuers (I counted nine of them) had broken into two groups. Four stayed by the elevator while the rest fanned out, moving in graceful leaps trying to scan the biggest area possible.

  Having taken in the situation, I realized I had to divert them by drawing fire to myself. I climbed still higher. The low gravity allowed for a risky maneuver. Using the movement coordinator, I kicked off and floated along the half-molten paneling of the hull structure. Immediately I began shaking. This was an adrenaline thrill unlike anything I'd experienced before. The scene unfolded in complete silence. One wrong movement, and my silhouette would float away from the station, becoming a perfect target, even though somehow I doubted the Dargians would open fire. They'd love to see me suffocate, then respawn in my cramped cell of the prison module.

  I had no idea of the purpose of the tall spire I was approaching, but once I reached its splayed top, I noticed large oblong openings in its upper section. I grabbed at the edge of one of them, forcing my body inside.

  They hadn't seen me!

  I cast a quick look around. Nothing special, just a chaotic mess of misshaped equipment amid abundant traces of high temperatures and decompression.

  The room had a dome-like ceiling, with panoramic windows lining the wall below. I checked the thickness of the armor. Not bad. I had to anchor myself somehow without losing the ability to move freely. I noticed a few long severed cables and tried to pull one out. It budged enough. Now I had a safety tether of about fifteen feet long, supple enough to tie it around my waste and attach the other end to a seemingly sturdy spar of the room's skeletal frame.

  I cautiously approached one of the oblong openings. Idle thoughts crowded my head. Wonder if this used to be a control tower?

  I looked out.

  Now I was the one controlling the high ground. I could observe the gaping hole harboring Rash, his assistant and the five drones. I reached into my inventory for the heavy sniper's rifle, sacrificing two of the spacesuit's batteries for the purpose. The life support system indicator immediately shrank into the red zone. Still, I had no choice. I shoved the submachine gun into a quick access slot. Charon had my handgun.

  His fate was still unknown. I couldn't see his lanky figure anywhere. He'd disappeared into the darkness.

  Would he shaft me or not? We weren't yet clear on the subject of trust. I knew negligibly little about the xenomorphs. Their semantics were a mystery to me. How was I supposed to know what they meant by honesty? I wasn't even sure they had a word for it.

  I cast an anxious look around. Whatever happened to the pursuit group? The lighting was poor to say the least. The system's star was too far away: a bright spark amid billions of smaller cold ones littering the void. The station reflected the brown twilight shimmer of the gas giant, casting profound sharp shadows all around. The light that reflected from the ragged relief of the destroyed equipment made the station look like a gigantic camo net. If an enemy was hiding there in the dark, there was no way you could detect him without a scanner.

  Rash had everything covered. Had I not known the location of his group, I could have walked right past it without even noticing. Same with our group of pursuers: once they'd disappeared from sight, you could only guess what had happened to them — until the moment they decided to declare themselves.

  I realized full well that I wasn't going to last long.
Charon was my only hope.

  The setting was eerily weird: the chaos of metallic debris, soundless and timeless. The subsystem indicators nervously blinked an occasional red light. The sound of my breathing ripped through the silence. Beads of sweat covered my forehead under the helmet but I couldn't wipe them off.

  Welcome to freakin' space.

  I searched the area for Rash. He was the dangerous one. The target recognition sights in my helmet's slot worked like a dream. They zoomed in on the slowly moving details of the mangled technogenic relief outside. Suddenly a Dargian silhouette pulsated on the screen as the target finder managed to localize Rash's figure in the surrounding background.

  I squeezed the trigger.

  I expected the powerful surge of a recoil — which was why I'd secured myself with a rope — but the weapon proved to be compensated. The recoil was negligible while the hull of the station exploded in a ball of flames. Where the Dargian had stood only a moment ago, a small cloud of plasma hung over a white-hot impact crater.

  Now they saw me. Five drones opened responsive fire. In dead silence, the floor, the walls and the domed ceiling shuddered from the impacts. Rays of light illuminated the room. The firing angle didn't allow the combat machines to hit their target but they were gaining ground quickly, their charges passing through the windows, crushing the mauled equipment inside.

  I lay on the floor, protected by my thick armor. The vacuum around me seemed to be whirling in a blizzard of debris. In the flashing of the incoming rounds, a crimson haze of incandescent gas rapidly filled the room.

  I slid the rifle back into the slot and pulled out the submachine gun. I just hoped that the drones' mode of thinking was predictable enough. If they couldn't breach the hull, they had to break inside.

  The fire died out. I watched the crimson haze seep away, enveloping the ancient structure. The drones' cameras couldn't see much. Doubtful they'd be able to tell my exact location.