The ObLaDas had been careful to give the Gracks very little that could be made into a weapon, nothing long, heavy, hard or capable of holding an edge, no tools of any kind, not much that could be pulled apart and exploited. There was always a pointed stick or some kind of club to be found, but these would not be sufficient to kill any but the weakest enemy. Finding or making better weapons was a priority, and if that took some time and effort, it must still be done.
The Gracks had poked and probed their habitat ever since they had been put there and had found a spot in the outer wall, on the lowest level, that seemed to be relatively weak. They planned to push the wall open at that point and pour out into whatever lay beyond. For months, they had been listening to and tracking sounds from outside their habitat. They could hear robots moving through the service corridors, which they figured, correctly, ran around the outside of their complex, but only on the lowest level. Occasionally there were sounds that seemed to come from above and below their complex. The shuttle elevator car created a rumble as it passed by their deck. It rarely stopped nearby, neither on their deck nor the one below, but it made many trips to a site farther down. Something was busy down there, and it became the most promising objective for the assault.
The crudely armed Grackian units formed for the breakout. They had captured and incapacitated a large service bot some days before and now used it to bash through the outer wall. After more effort than they expected, they succeeded in forcing the panels apart and pushed their way through the small opening and into a narrow, very tall space. There were rough walls with pipes and tubes, like the side of a cliff, but manufactured like everything here, no vegetation, no rocks, no streams. There were lights on, though dim. Durack was disappointed that they were still within some building, but he was not surprised. The Gracks deployed in both directions along the narrow corridors that circled the habitat. There were a few bots standing around, but these had been turned off and were soon destroyed. The Gracks found the conduit near the entry doors of their habitat. The large round structure ran from floor to ceiling with two pairs of sliding doors for the shuttle tubes and larger doors beyond. Somehow, it all looked to be very old, but Durack could not tell exactly why. He did not know what it was, but suspected that it might be a passageway into other levels. Yacork came through the corridor at a run. He had found another large structure, almost certainly another habitat. It was on the far side of this round thing, and took up most of the rest of the deck.
Durack was concerned about this place and what it might contain. If it was another habitat, it may hold other Gracks, or something else entirely. Their captors might be there, but Durack did not think so. They had never heard much activity around that place, but it would be a risk to pass it by and leave themselves or their habitat vulnerable. He knew better than to take such chances and decided to neutralize, or liberate, or destroy the place.
He sent eight fighters to scout around the building and chose a favorite, Hacnick, to break in. The structure appeared from the outside to be exactly the same as the one that they occupied. Panels were the same size and material, height looked to be the same, three levels high, even the big entry doors were in the same place, but there was no sign of any recent use. If the complex was the like theirs, they could break open these doors and gain entry into all its levels, if it had any.
Hacnick had the battered, broken service bot dragged to the entryway. The doors opened inward, which was a stupid way to build, too easy to break in. They readied for the push into the portal, when suddenly they all lurched in alarm. A great roar of sound blared from within the complex. It seemed to come from just beyond those very doors. They must have been seen, surprise lost. Whatever was in there was preparing to meet their attack, Hacnick thought, blowing on war horns to build courage no doubt. Hacnick gave the order to smash in the doors before the things could launch their attack. With four Gracks pushing on the battering bot, the doors buckled far inward, but the latch held. When they stopped shaking, the noise had stopped as well, very suddenly. The next try burst the doors apart with some force.
The Frits were a small, completely fuzz-covered species, just about knee high. There is not much to describe. The Frits, beyond being cute, was their fuzz. It covered everything but their small red eyes, their only defined feature. It was not fur as we know it, more like frizzy feathers, tufts perhaps, but it stuck out and made them look larger than they were. The Frits were rather like stocky, longhaired meerkats in shape and with a similar ability to run around low to the ground then suddenly sit upright. They were very skilled and energetic builders and could make most anything they wished. In fact, the Frits were one of the ObLaDas great successes. Intelligent, though not scientifically advanced, they were social, well organized, well adapted, and had made themselves very much at home on the Outward.
Like other small species, their habitat occupied only half of a deck, the one immediately above the humans, and unfortunately, it was now being shared with the Gracks. The Frits were from a cold, snow-covered planet where they lived their lives in a warren of tunnels and rooms that had been dug out below the frozen land. They used the abundance of wood-like material that the Das supplied to subdivide each level of their habitat into additional floors, rooms, hallways, shared areas and whatever they could think of. The place was a maze.
The Frits appreciated a good time. Planning and staging entertainment was a serious endeavor. One of their grandest rooms had been built around the main entrance. The atrium-like space was as high as the habitat and curved around a large open floor. The Frits had no use for the lifts that had once occupied the entry and long ago converted the lobby into an auditorium with a large bank of benches on the first level and balconies hanging off the upper ones. On this particular morning, the Frits were in the midst of a three-day music festival. A multi-level stage had been built in front of the old main entrance and partially surrounded by a U-shaped ice rink. The Frits had sharp ridges on the outer edges of the fore and hind feet that could grip ice and hard-packed snow. Skating came naturally to them. It had been an important part of their lives on the Outward ever since they learned how to make their own ice. Indeed, the entire habitat was held at a temperature a comfortable few degrees above freezing.
The first performance of the day had just begun. The hall was something less than half full. The band members displayed their instruments for review, just which were used for what piece of music was always a subject of varied opinions, and began with a rousing upbeat tune to get the early arrivals in the groove.
Pic was nervous, waiting for his cue. He had been skating in these shows for a long time and was not nervous about that, but today his partner was a new girl, new to the show, and he was rather taken. They were to enter the rink from opposite sides in a fast, gradually closing spiral, which they could do on all fours, then, when close, raise up, link together and spin ever faster into a blur, stopping in sync with the music. It was a good way to begin the performance. Pic wanted it to go well and to create a good impression.
The pair completed their number. It went well enough, they were facing the audience, taking bows, Pic smiled at Smu, then wham, a great crashing sound came from the stage. The tall double doors buckled inward and shook from a great impact. Pic and Smu instinctively turned to look when a second crash threw open the doors, smashing the stage and breaking it into sections. The band and their instruments flew into the air, some hung on, others became trapped as broken sections of the stage came sliding across the ice, straight at Pic and Smu and the now standing audience.
Pic grabbed Smu and pushed her toward the seats. He began skating as fast as he could when he was hit by a piece of sliding platform and knocked about. He landed three rows up the steps, and sat there dazed as the audience raced for the exits. Pic was stunned, his right leg hurt, but he grabbed Smu’s hand as she crawled over to him.
“What happened?” she asked, but Pic was not sure. Perhaps an explosion, but how could the stage explode? Pic heard some
groans from the wreckage of the platform. After making sure Smu was settled, he climbed onto the debris to see if he could find anyone, perhaps someone caught in the wreckage. Before he had time to look, he saw the tall entry doors standing wide open and he stopped. Three huge beasts had come into the habitat and taken positions, shoulder-to-shoulder, weapons ready, intent on a fight. The beasts looked somewhat surprised, at least hesitant, as if this was not what they had expected. As Pic stared across the ice, another of the creatures stepped forward. This one seemed older, more beat up, but clearly in charge. It pointed toward Pic and to the balconies and exits, and gave some command as four of the beasts lifted their arms and charged forward. Chaos followed as soon as their hard scaly feet hit the ice. They slid, fell, and could not regain their footing on the slippery, unfamiliar surface, falling repeatedly as they struggled on. Slowed but determined, they had been given an order. They all but crawled toward the stands.
Pic was stunned. He had never seen or ever imagined beasts so large as these, and they had no fuzz, which was an odd thing to think under the circumstances. Two of the creatures reached the edge of the auditorium and began to climb into the balconies. There were a few Frits up there, watching, but they ran through the exits as the Gracks began to climb. Pic himself was immobilized by the spectacle. He could not accept that they were being attacked. No such thing had ever happened in the history of the Outward-borne Frits. His amazement was shaken loose as the lead Grack grabbed the wrecked stage and pulled itself up, not ten paces from Pic.
Pic jumped down from the broken platform, grabbed Smu, and retreated up into the seats. Why he did not out-and-out run, he never knew, but the two of them stopped about two-thirds of the way up the steeply banked theater. He was now well above the Gracks, looking down on this amazing scene. There was another ripping crash to his right. Two Gracks had made it to the first balcony when the artfully built railings and seating broke away and came crashing down with the falling Gracks and a cloud of dust. Two more Gracks were climbing over the remainder of the stage, killing, and squashing whoever was still alive. Enraged, they saw Pic and the last of the Frits scrambling for the exits and charged into the auditorium. This too collapsed under their great weight leaving them back on the floor covered in debris.
Pic stopped again and looked down on the sprawling Gracks, ready to jump back if they got too close, but something was wrong. Two of the Gracks were stumbling about rubbing their eyes, faces streaked with dirt. One had fallen from the balcony and cut its arm. It was writhing in apparent pain. All had broken off the attack.
The leader looked on in apparent frustration with what was happening. He began to shout at them to press forward when his breath caught, and with a wrenching, rasping pain, he began to choke. Something was going badly wrong. Frightened, with no idea what was happening, the Gracks began backed out of the Frit habitat, pulling the double doors closed behind them.
Only Pic and Smu were standing in the gallery to see them leave. Pic barked out some defiant ridicule, but was immensely relieved that the huge beasts had disappeared as suddenly and unexpectedly as they had burst upon the performance.
The Frits never really understood what had happened to them that day. They were attacked surely, by some alien species no doubt, but why and why did they never come back? Pic and Smu became celebrities. They were heroes in the pleasant fiction that their brave defiance had turned back the fearsome predators. Everyone should have such courage, should they not? No knowledge of the ensuing battles or the threat to the survival of the Outward Voyager ever reached the Frits peaceful enclave.
Hacnick could barely see, his eyes had swollen almost shut as he felt its way to its pallet and collapsed in pain. Kubac had badly injured her arm when the balcony collapsed and she had nearly fainted from the pain when the thick splinter was pulled out. Already the wound was red and inflamed. The skin of all of the Gracks that had gotten into the Frit habitat was irritated and starting to blister, most had difficulty breathing, and they were all getting worse.
Durack was enraged. Five fighters had been lost to some vermin that had not even put up a fight. He could not afford to lose anyone, much less a leader like Hacnick, but now the worst had happened, he had lost key fighters and was openly committed to the attach. They could not stop. The ObLaDas were watching them, at least within their habitat; he knew that much, and probably everywhere. They would know of their escape. There was nothing left now, but to regroup the already under-strength units and keep moving.
Two underage Gracks were recruited as scouts to make up for Hacnick’s losses. They would help a little and should be safe enough, Durack thought. Within the hour, Yacork lead a pack and the two young scouts toward the conduit. It was the only portal that had been found on the whole of the deck, so it must be their way out. They forced open the shuttle tube doors only find a long, empty vertical shaft that disappeared into the darkness above and below. There was no good way to climb through the tube although they might be able to rig some rope ladders to get to the lower levels if needed, but he wanted something better. Yacork moved his pack on toward the larger sliding panels around the right side of the large circular column. There was sufficient space between the heavy doors for Yacork to get a shoulder in and push them apart. The opening led into the core of the conduit itself. This large tube was much as it had been when invaded by the Cathians centuries before. The shuttle shafts, several small service tubes, and a mix of wires and pipes rose through the wide column. The large truck-lift was now beyond the module bulkhead far above. A small sort of ladder had been built into the wall near the doors. It was the only way to maneuver through the dark opening.
Yacork could see lights that marked the access doors for each of the three decks below. They were not far above the bottom of the conduit. This was as expected. Durack had told him that the ObLaDas lived in the lowest levels of the module, they would move in that direction, but Yacork was reluctant to begin. They needed to find better weapons to have any chance. There seemed to be a storage area a short way up the conduit, so Yacork had the two young scouts climb onto the dimly lit platform with orders to pull out anything that might be usable.
Soboc and Frapkik were excited to be part of the battle group and climbed the narrow ladder, their feet barely able to fit onto the small rungs. The platform contained a number of hard brown containers and some loose supplies. They rummaged through the boxes; most of it was food, and disposable goods for the aliens housed elsewhere in the module. They found some steel rods, but they were attached to a broken exhaust fan and difficult to pry loose. In their struggle, Soboc knocked over two drums of volatile oils, the very oils that the ObLaDas sprayed over their skin several times a day, and the source of the reeking odor that pervaded the entire ship. The drums rolled off the platform and fell to the bottom of the conduit where they hit the support flanges for the heavy structural cables and burst open. The flammable fluids splashed across the floor and began to evaporate into the confined space.
Durack’s suspicions were correct. The ObLaDas had been watching them continuously and with growing concern ever since they began their preparations to break out of their compound. The Grack language was not fully understood, but their actions were clear enough. LemTer, the long time Outward Captain, had already begun to move weapons toward the Filim module. A small supply of defensive arms had been built and stored at the Filim hub where they could be quickly sent to any part of the ship. Four heavy construction bots with powerful mobile lasers and two crates of flybots fitted with multispecies tranquilizing darts had been loaded onto the truck-lift. It was now headed toward the Filim module and was no more that twenty minutes from the entry portal. The darts had proven to be very effective when the Gracks were first captured and should do the job here, or so LemTer thought. He had not yet begun to worry.
The ObLaDas were surprised to see the Gracks attack the Frit habitat, then puzzled by their swift retreat. The ObLaDas knew that interspecies contact was extremely dangerous and it
was obvious that the Gracks that had been exposed to the Frit habitat were in some distress. They undoubtedly suffered a serious allergic reaction to the chemicals given off by the fuzzy aliens, but the speed and severity of the response were unusual.
LemTer seriously hoped that would end of the Gracks assault. He did not want to see any more damage done. The laser-bots and tranquilizer darts would be in place within minutes and he would be able to keep them contained, or drive them back into their habitat. Neither he nor any of the ObLaDas had any military training, or any instinct for how such operations were conducted, if they had, they might have anticipated that the Grack’s would immediately try to take over the rest of the module, but they did not and they had not. They watched the large beasts break into the conduit with surprise and dismay. They must do something to stop them from reaching the Das’ habitat and the control rooms, but what? After some confusion, the ObLaDas finally decided to cut the power to the conduit, it was not much, but it would plunge the shaft into darkness and might slow them down.
Soboc and Frapkik were caught on the platform when the lights went out. They were only half way through their search, so Frapkik climbed down the conduit girders to get some torches. As he returned, the newly lit torch bumped against a strut and some burning shards fell away. The resulting explosion blew out the conduit doors on the first three decks. Supply containers were knocked from the storage platform and fell to the bottom of the conduit, feeding the oil fire below. More significantly, the blast caused a severe buckle in the high-tension tracks used by the truck-lift. The jolt ran up the cables like a tidal wave, past the portal, and into the long arm toward the hub. When it whipped into the descending truck-lift, the jolt was so severe that all three of the heavy construction bots were flung off and fell through the arm for a full minute before they smashed into the entry portal. The impacts seriously damaged the bulkhead doors, effectively shutting off the module, wrecking some communication cables, and destroying the bots. All entry to the Filim module was cut off.
Outward Borne Page 17