STRANDED

Shattering detonations lit the velvet black background of space between the stars. Within those blossoming spheres of deadly radiation two ships fought for life. A small scout craft, cut off and running, fought a losing battle against the might of the larger light cruiser following it. Slowly the larger ship closed the range, bracketing the smaller ship with angry red/green flowers of death.

Abruptly fire blossomed too near the smaller ship, a massive unfolding flower of destruction. Almost gently, a petal of that flower touched the small ship, flooded about, then engulfed it. Moments later the blossom closed, leaving behind a crippled ship. Where once bright silver-gold metal had shown now pitted grey-black flakes remained. Once responsive controls now fought any change, or ignored the input. Wounded to death, she turned and fell into the gravity well of a nearby blue-green planet.

Within the falling ship the pilot fought to recover with crippled controls, and failed. Releasing the useless stick the pilot sat back and stared out the cracked canopy. Unless some kind of control was recovered, and soon, both ship and pilot would burn in the thick oxygen rich atmosphere. That was, if the remaining weapons did not blow both to powder during re-entry.

In desperation the pilot switched to manual overrides, hoping against all odds that an organic brain would prove superior to the now crippled crystal brain of the ship. Slowly, raggedly, the craft responded, its nose pitched up slightly as the stubby wings leveled out.

The ship shuddered, ragged flakes of star-armor peeling away in a short lived storm. Then, quiet. The pilot grunted, first contact with the atmosphere and both had survived. The ship had skipped like a stone on water, dangerous energy had bled off. Now, ship and pilot were committed, they were going in.

Careful adjustments were made, the ship re-aligned. The pilot voiced a quiet prayer to an unresponsive ancestor. Committed, pilot and ship waited for the next and final, contact.

Sudden, violent impact. The ship slammed into an invisible wall, shuddered, then sped on. Flames whipped around her hull, violet plasma waves rolling along the hull searching for entry, finding all to many ways in. Cables flashed into non-existance, plumbing burst, supports glowed blue-white, sagging. Within the cockpit heat rose alarmingly. The pilot smelled the acrid bite of burning insulation and prayed the harder is that were possible. Shaking, armor peeling away the bucking ship roared through re-entry.

A flash, flickers of orange-red flames then nothing but the scream of air through torn hull. Moving near twelve thousand miles an hour the craft was airborne. Re-entry completed and still in one piece, more or less. Breathing a sigh of relief the pilot realized that there was still a chance for a landing after all, not just a fury crash into some forgotten land on an unmarked planet, an unmarked grave. Life loomed as a possibility, no longer a forgotten hope.

Below, a flash of brown, green then deep blue. Strange colors thought the pilot. Losing altitude rapidly the bucking craft fell more than flew through the air. Searching the pilot looked for some place to land but only deep blue water showed far below. Still eighteen thousand meters and falling over three hundred meters a second, still a minute before impact and no landing place it sight. Reaching beneath the seat the pilot grasped a handle painted bright red and orange, took a deep breath and pulled up sharply. A sharp crack sounded and dark brown smoke washed the cockpit to vanish in the sudden howl of air. The canopy was gone, only a stubby windscreen remained. Taking hold of a bar above the seat the pilot pulled it down to the seats arms. Another burst of smoke and a muffled thud answered, then nothing.

Releasing the bar, the sheet retracted. Looking around the pilots heart fell, the seat had not ejected. Still in the ship, now slowing to Mach one and falling towards blue water, the pilot thought about the odds of surviving a belly landing in water with a crippled ship at near six hundred kilometers an hour. It wasn't the best thought that had come to mind today.

Suddenly over the horizon a small island appeared. Dropping rapidly the pilot aimed for for a beach. Thinking that sand must be softer than water the pilot committed for landing. Crossing the island at near four hundred kilometers and hour the dying ship clipped several tropical trees, leaving behind as a calling card several high-tech pieces if junk. Roaring over a small hill the ship nearly dived onto the broad eastern beach. The pilot had a brief view of several bipedal forms, then the lights went out as the ship slammed into a small thatch building.

Pilotless, the computer regained control of the ship. Running a quick systems check the computer decided a beach landing was suicide. Raising the battered nose the computer tried to trade speed for altitude.

It almost made it. Crossing the wide beach the tail impacted, and stopped. Torn from the ship it tumbled across the beach, down a pier, bounced off a small ship and tumbled into the ocean. Behind it the small luxury craft settled slowly to the sandy bottom.

With the tail section gone the craft tumbled through the sky. All control gone the computer calculated odds of surviving and shut down. Spinning end over end, parts shearing away, the craft climbed several hundred meters into the air.

With a muffled thump the ejection seat finally activated, climbing slightly and veering back towards the beach. Behind it the craft slammed into the sea, floated for a moment, then began to settle. Turning as it sank, a painted figure on the nose appeared to gaze skyward at the parachute floating from the sky. Then with a sigh of released air the ship slipped into the depths.

Cool wind tinged with the taste of salt woke the pilot. Looking around at the sky and approaching beach it took a few moments to realize that this was life, not death. Guiding the parachute towards land the pilot wondered what kind of life form lived on the planet and decided it did not matter. As the pilots feet impacted the sand pain lanced up, and the blackness roared back.

As the body crumpled to the sand several figures ran towards it. Clad in patches of reds, greens, and blues they clustered about the body. One muscular male collapsed the billowing fabric of the parachute while another knelt at the body. Checking over the pilots body, clad in torn and burnt flying gear, he looked up at the others. "She's not dead," he said, "but we better call for help." The beach abruptly shook with a heavy thump. Behind them the water shook and a white column of water reached eighty meters into the sky. There were no more weapons remaining on the ships wreckage, in fact there was no more wreckage.

Deep in space a cracked and aged face looking into the blue glow of a display screen reading telemetry reports. "So. The slug survived after all. I never realized just how well these worms built their ships" it said. Turning to another, smaller screen, it yelled, "Get a team down there. I want that skin for my pleasure. I want her dead and anything that knows of her. Move, now!"

Satisfied by the response the being settled back into the command couch, it's tail slipping over legs long gone to fat. All was well, they had broken through the inner screen and the only ship that could ruin their plan lay under the sea of an uncharted planet. Soon they would rule this sector of space as well as all the worms that inhabited it.

A slight shaking of the ship informed it that the attack team had departed. 'That worm is dead and we will have no loose ends on this pitiful ball of muck' it thought. Turning back to the small screen it touched a switch. "Captain. Take us out of this hell-hole. Notify your party that they will be picked up when we return" it said. Releasing the switch it laid back, soon home and the release of the slavehouse. 'Nothing like fresh warm meat to end a successful campaign' it thought as it slipped into a light sleep. Around it the ship vibrated with the power of its engines. The power of an empire committed to the enslavement or destruction of any not born of their race. Power to annihilate completely any who opposed it.

Or so they believed.