As the Ghost approaches the engagement area, a space roughly a few million kilometers in radius where the Behemoths had been sleeping, Wil looks at the tactical display. “Uh, what the hell is going on?” He nods toward the smaller display next to the main screen, which is showing a lot of unidentified yellow, triangles moving erratically around the screen.
“Oh man, you said there wasn’t going to be another fleet battle,” Bennie whines. “I hate fleet battles!”
“Dude, where would a fleet even come from? Werdlow Three doesn’t have one, that’s why we’re here. No one else knows what’s going on or would even care.” Wil looks up. “Computer, open channel to Zephyr.” When the telltale beep is heard, he calls, “Hey ladies! We’re back, where are you?”
The comms crackle with static. Zephyr’s voice answers: “We’re EVA. Gomtu and the others are stampeding.”
“Gomtu?” Maxim asks.
“Stampeding?” Wil asks.
“Long story, and one I’d rather tell from the safety of, you know, inside the ship.” A light on Wil’s controls blinks on. “I’ve activated my beacon. Hurry up—these suits weren’t meant to keep someone alive EVA this long.”
“And they smell!” Cynthia hisses.
“I see it, heading your way now.” Wil works the controls, moving the Ghost smoothly onto a course that will intercept Zephyr’s beacon. “Uh, you know you’re right in the middle of the stampede, right?”
“Gomtu is having the others keep us safe. I think they’ll make a path for you.”
“You think?”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly an easy conversation. I think I was able to express to him that the Ghost is a friend.” The comms burst into static. “—that or he thinks the Butcher is friendly and you’re not. I’m not really sure.”
“Lovely,” Wil says, bringing the Ghost under one of the now very-active Behemoths, narrowly avoiding it as it turns slightly toward the Ghost. Another of the living vessels makes an abrupt turn toward them, almost colliding with one of its own, while attempting to squish the smaller Ankarran craft between them. “Yeah, I think we know the answer to who they think is friendly. Two centocks out.”
“I’ll go man the cargo doors. Scoop and move?” Maxim is heading for the hatch leading off the bridge.
“Almost certainly,” Wil says without even looking at his big friend, his eyes not leaving his controls. “Bennie, sensors.”
“On it,” the small alien hacker replies, then, “Slaved to my station. Dren.”
“Dren?” Wil asks as the hatch to the bridge closes behind Maxim.
“The Butcher is making its way towards us, opposite side of the melee of monsters. The Berserker is too. The Behemoths seem to be making a path for the Butcher.”
“Of course they are. Okay, priorities—keep me posted on the Butcher, the Berserker is too slow to be an immediate threat. Plus, Gum shoe and his, her, its buddies think the battleship isn’t friendly, so they’ll do their part.” He glances at the tactical display. “I hope.”
“I see them!” Bennie points to the main display. There’s a green circle on it—Zephyr and Cynthia, too small to see with the naked eye, are in the center of it.
“Me too, here we go.” Wil adjusts his controls, then looks at the ceiling. “Get ready Max.”
“Ready down here.”
“Butcher is three centocks out and closing. They’re almost full sub-light. Firing on any of the behemoths that get in their way,” Bennie reports, tension making his ordinarily high-pitched voice just that much higher.
“Hopefully the big ship-shaped aliens will catch on that he’s the baddie, and not us,” Wil says, slowing the Ghost enough so that the women he’s about to scoop up won’t slam into the back of the cargo hold at thousands of meters per second.
“Got them!” Maxim shouts over the comms.
“Bennie, you may need to take weapons for a minute!” Wil says, pushing the sub-light engine throttle all the way forward.
“On it! I’ll light ’em up!”
“I’ll settle for enough erratic fire to keep them off balance,” Wil says, swinging the ship wide, luring one of the smaller behemoths into a chase. “Guess junior hasn’t figured out who the good guys are yet.”
“Incoming comms,” Bennie says before pressing a button his station, causing the telltale beep to come from the overhead speakers.
“It will be enjoyable to destroy you,” Follux Sul says.
Wil reaches for a control. “Fuck off, munchkin.” He presses the control, and the comms close.
“You said ‘munchkin’ was a term of endearment!” Bennie shouts.