The Quillian Sector

"Concern as to its survival, certainly. All living things must feel that." Dumarest spoke into the intercom. "Dilys, how is the potential? Optimum? Good. Maintain and stand by to discharge." To the captain, he said, "Check that everyone is insulated. No contact with metal of any kind."

Checking took less than a minute. With the interior of the ship now an almost empty shell, it was easy to spot those who waited.

"All clear and set, Earl."

Dumarest nodded, checked that he stood on a thick pad of wadded insulation, and said, "Right, Dilys. Give the word to Bochner. As soon as he's cycled out the load, hit the switches."

He stood, waiting, feeling the slight vibration of the cycling port, seeing the creature outside shift a little, a coil rippling as it moved, a gaping mouth snapping, a tentacle reaching to where the dead were floating up towards the surface.

Meat and blood and bone. Protein for the beast and for its attendant scavengers. Food they couldn't resist.

The coils moved faster then. As Dilys hit the switches, they jerked as if touched by redhot steel.

Current fed from the engines turned the hull into a searing, charring inferno. Tough skin and gristle burned, crisped, shed a sickly green ooze. Sparks flashed, as steam bubbled from the points of contact, lighting the screen with transient glimmers. More sparks flashed from within the ship itself. Streamers of manmade lightning, which added to the stench with its reek of ozone, sent tingles to jerk at nerve and muscle even through the wadded insulation.

The Entil lifted.

It rose, tilted, moved to halt again as, in a savage paroxysm, the tentacles gripped in self destructive fury.

"Dilys!"

The power flow was at optimum, higher and it would threaten the source of its own creation, but as metal yielded, Dumarest knew the risk had to be taken.

"Maximum, Dilys! Feed every erg you can raise into the hull!"

A plate had bulged inward, another followed, water edging a crack, turning into a fine jet which sent spray lifting, to fall like rain. Rain which acted as a conductor for the electronic power so that arcs flashed and metal turned molten at the points of impact.

"Earl, for God's sake!" Egulus caught at his arm. "We're not going to make it!"

A statement punctuated by Gale Andrei's scream as Fele Roster, staggering, fell to touch the bare metal of the hull- to turn into a pillar of smoking flesh, blood and charred bone.

A sacrifice which toppled to fall and lie sprawled on the floor as the ship lanced upwards.

To reach the surface and to rise above it. To hang suspended for a brief moment before crashing down. To sink and rise again and to roll sickeningly in the grip of cross currents and a screaming wind.

"We've got to get out!" Charl Zeda, his face gray with pain, stood in the opening of the control room. "Water's coming in."

Not enough to provide an immediate threat, but enough to send a shallow lake surging over the deck. Dilys came wading through it. Power was cut, the ship dark except for the pale glow of emergencies, shadows which held both real and imagined terrors.

"Earl?"

"We've got to abandon the ship." He staggered as the vessel rolled, landing hard against the hull, hearing the others shout and thresh in the water. "Get the emergency supplies and what extra clothing you reserved. The caskets-" He grunted as the ship rolled again. "I'll handle those with Bochner. Take care of the others, Captain. Keep them together."

Bochner was waiting at the main lock. Like Dumarest, be had changed into more serviceable clothing, thick materials, quilted and set with metal protection. He smiled at the tall figure in gray, his eyes flashing, noting the boots, the knife.

"A chance, Earl. The creature could be down there waiting for us."

"We've no choice."

"True, and if we stay too long we'll sink for the last time. But, honestly now, did you anticipate the need to abandon the ship?"

Dumarest said, "On the way down I noticed the wind. Without a keel, we were bound to roll with the impact. We have no rudder, no sails, nothing to enable us to steer a course. We could drift for months if we hadn't been broached."

"And now we have no choice at all." The hunter shrugged. "Well, so often it happens in life. The path one must follow is seldom the one offering the greatest delights. The caskets first?"

They slid from the port into the waves, the boxes sealed, bobbing, parting to the thrust of the wind. It droned over the sea, catching the leaden water, dashing waves against the wallowing hull. Bundles followed, all tightly wrapped and fitted with empty containers to ensure they would float. Then the survivors, Yarn Egulus first.

He dived, surfaced, climbed on one of the caskets. Ropes had been attached and he gathered others to draw the containers close together.

Then Threnond, together with the mercenary, the latter sinking, to rise blowing and puffing, to sink again as his sore shoulder hampered his progress.

Beside him, something broke the water.