Driving the Nekatra away from Saqr and Olivia had been one of the bravest and most terrifying moments of Siladan’s life. He had finished the battle covered in blood, mostly spurting from the canine/feline/human mongrel that lay dead at his feet, its throat slashed clean through moments before its huge jaws clamped around his own. He remembered staring at the thing where it lay still twitching on the deck in front of him, its stubborn determination to live driving it even after death, his hands shaking in the aftermath of the brutal battle. Adam, whose blood was also spattered across Siladan’s face, slumped on the wall next to him, Dr. Delecta already tending to a deep slash on his face. They had ambushed the two Nekatra that had Saqr and Olivia trapped in the barracks, but before they could finish the job another one had jumped them from behind, and Siladan had barely had time to get his sword out before it turned from Adam to tear him apart. A moment frozen in time, drop his pistol and pull his sword, one step back and a rapid diagonal cross-body upward crescent slice, almost a perfect training move, and the thing lay at his feet, its head half-severed and its blood all over him.

After a few breaths to recover his poise, while Al Hamra ran forward to open the barracks door, Siladan had reached down to the beast’s neck, where a heavy metal collar ringed its severed neck. He reached through the remnants of bloody sinew to investigate, uncovering conducting plates and circuits. “I think they’re wearing shock collars,” he told Dr. Delecta.

“Probably Legion shock troops,” Adam told him, voice muffled from behind a bandage that now swathed half his face. “Not unusual. Probably in stasis like us. Colonial Agency uses them to put down rebellions. Insurance in case the problem in Taoan is a colonial uprising.” He nodded to Dr. Delecta as she began putting away her medkit and pushed himself to his feet with a restrained sigh. “Icons-cursed Colonial Agency.” Looking down at the still corpse of the Nekatra, he prodded it slightly with one boot. “They must be very confused and very hungry.”

Olivia and Saqr joined them, Olivia carrying a large toolbox and Saqr limping slightly. “Hurt myself running,” she told them, wincing as another gravity surge rippled through the ship and dragged them suddenly downward with a heavy extra G of weight. “Sprained.” She gave a worried look around the dim hallway as the surge passed. “Lighter again. It’s getting worse.”

“Graviton failure tends to be exponential,” Olivia mentioned casually, patting the box. “But I found this toolbox in the barracks. Hopefully helpful if we have to get into the bridge the oldl-fashioned way.” She looked around at Siladan, covered in blood, Adam with his face now hidden behind the blood-stained bandage, Dr. Delecta repacking her medkit with shaking hands. “Thanks everyone,” she said in a small voice. “Thought we were done for in there. How’d you find us?”

Al Hamra shrugged. “Lucky guess. Where else could you have gone?” He looked back to Siladan. “Get us out of here Siladan, before the rest of the pack find us.”

Siladan, still shaking, nodded and pulled his tabula out. He fiddled, breathing deeply to calm himself as he charted another path to the bridge. “That way,” he said finally, gesturing to a corridor just beyond the barracks and turning the tabula to face Al Hamra. “It takes us around to the starboard side, and along the edge of the ship. Hopefully far away from them.”

“Better hope there’s no hull damage,” Saqr commented merrily, and they were off.

The path Siladan took them along was spectacular, a long viewing corridor that had once run a hundred meters along the edge of the ship, roughly midships above the bulge of the hangars. The corridor was lined with plexiglass viewing windows, intended to give the cruise liner’s passengers a constant view of the glories of the galaxy as they moved between entertainment zones, and now offering the gang of survivors a perfect view of the chaos unfolding outside. Hamura’s small star slid into view again, sending their shadows careening down the hall behind them as its cold white glow streaked down the hallway, and in the wake of its passage they again saw the clouds of debris streak across the starfield. A new cloud of debris surrounded the ship, pieces of hangar door and all the clutter and supplies from inside the hangar spreading slowly into space in an expanding sphere from the hangar below them. A single small starship spun slowly amongst the debris field, stationary in space relative to the Ghazali itself, occasional flickers of plasma at its stern indicating someone was attempting to make the engines fire. Saqr surmised they had blasted their way out of the hangar using explosives or the ship’s guns, but the ship’s engines were not working properly. Soon the crippled ship slid out of view again and then the little gang of survivors were back inside the ship, at a huge stairwell that seemed to penetrate the entire core of the vessel.

“This is one of four central stairwells,” Siladan told them. Adam was already standing at the balustrade, listening carefully for howls or sounds of movement, carbine out. “There’s an exo-suit storage here, we should get into them in case the bridge is damaged.” They followed his directions to a large room with a manual door, where they quickly donned the light but uncomfortable outer clothes for decompression protection.

“These are survival exos,” Olivia told them as she inspected Adam’s suit. “Shouldn’t last more than ten minutes in space, but good radiation shielding.” She checked the communicator in her own, confirming it worked. “This room should be radiation-shielded too. Once the helmets are on you can talk and breath, hopefully the oxygen supply isn’t irradiated.” She bustled around the room checking everyone’s suits, and once Saqr had checked hers in return they followed Siladan’s directions up the stairs.