“Maybe they’re drones,” said Nielsen.

“Maybe,” said Gregorovich, “but unlikely. When cracked, they vent atmosphere. There must be living creatures swaddled within.”

“It’s another species of aliens!” said Trig. “Has to be!” He nearly bounced in his seat.

Kira couldn’t share his enthusiasm. Nothing about the newcomers felt right to her. Just the sight of their ships left her feeling off-balance. That the Soft Blade seemed to have no knowledge of them only compounded her discomfort. It surprised her how much she’d come to rely on the xeno’s expertise.

“At least they’re not as tough as the Jellies,” said Falconi. It was true; the newcomers’ ships didn’t seem as well-armored, although that was offset by their speed and recklessness.

The two tumorous ships continued to bore through space toward Malpert Station. As they and the Wallfish neared, the Darmstadt and a half-dozen smaller vessels again took up defensive positions around the station. The UMC cruiser was still trailing silvery coolant from radiators that had been damaged while fighting the Jellies earlier, but damaged or not, the cruiser was the station’s only real hope.

When the Wallfish was five minutes away, the shooting started.

CHAPTER IX

GRACELING

1.

The attack was swift and vicious. The two malformed alien ships dove toward the Darmstadt and Malpert, each from a different vector. Bursts of smoke and chaff obscured the view, and then the UMC cruiser fired a trio of Casaba-Howitzers. They weren’t holding back.

With a violent juke, one of the aliens dodged the nuclear shaped charges. It continued past, on a collision path for the station.

“No!” Nielsen cried.

But the alien ship didn’t ram Malpert and explode. Rather it slowed and, with its remaining momentum, coasted into one of the station’s docking ports. The long, malignant-looking ship smashed its way past clamps and airlocks, wedging itself deep into the body of the station. The vessel was big: nearly twice the size of the Wallfish.

The other ship didn’t manage to avoid the Casaba-Howitzers, not entirely. One of the spears of ravening death singed the ship’s hull, and the vessel careened off deeper into the asteroid belt, streaming smoke from the wound burned through its flank.

A group of mining ships separated from the rest of the defenders and gave chase.

“Now’s our chance,” said Falconi. “Gregorovich, get us docked, now.”

“Uh, what about that thing?” said Nielsen, pointing at the alien ship protruding from the edge of the station.

“Not our worry,” said Falconi. The Wallfish had already cut its engines and was moving via thrusters toward the assigned airlock. “We can always blast off again if we have to, but we’ve got to fill our tanks back up.”

Nielsen nodded, her face tight with worry.

“Gregorovich, what’s happening on the station?” Kira asked.

“Chaos and pain,” the ship mind replied. In the holo, a series of windows appeared, showing feeds from within Malpert: dining halls, tunnels, open concourses. Groups of men and women clad in skinsuits ran past the cameras, firing guns and blasters. Billows of chalk clogged the air, and in the pale shadows moved creatures the likes of which Kira had never imagined. Some stalked on all fours, as small and lean as whippets but with eyes as big as her fist. Others lurched forward on malformed limbs: arms and legs that looked broken and badly healed; tentacles that kinked and hung useless; rows of pseudopods that pulsed with sickening fleshiness. Regardless of their shape, the creatures had red, raw-looking skin that oozed lymph-like fluid, and patches of black, wire-thick hair dotted their scabrous hides.