Seven #2
The corridor beyond was empty except for one Scozid soldier collapsed against the far wall. Its tentacles twitched once, then stilled. Green shimmer spread from a smear across its armor where one limb had touched the outer hull plating and then touched the floor.
The freha enhek moved faster here.
Not flowing.
Searching.
It crawled along seams in the floor, following the lines where metal plates met. It found a ventilation grate and slipped inside like it had always belonged there.
Willow made a small sound of horror.
Renjik shut the door.
“That way is no longer available.”
“No kidding.”
The ship shuddered under them. Not weapons fire. Not impact. A change in thrust. Renjik braced one hand on the wall as gravity shifted.
He listened to the vibration beneath his boots. The engines deepened. Descending.
Willow’s face went pale. “They’re really taking it home.”
The words sat between them. The Vekh had seen the warning. They had seen Kerrak. They had seen what their own weapon did when it escaped command.
And they were landing contaminated ships anyway.
Renjik understood arrogance. He understood cruelty. He didn’t understand this. Not fully.
The Scozid weren’t refusing because they believed the Alliance lied. They were refusing because truth didn’t matter when obedience was at stake.
Willow swallowed hard. “We’ve to reach communications before they land.”
Renjik checked the corridor again through the narrow slit. The green shimmer had disappeared into the vent, leaving the dead soldier and a dark stain on the floor.
“No.”
Her head snapped toward him. “No?”
“We reach communications after they land.”
“That’s the opposite of how urgency works.”
“Before landing, every crew member will be alert. Every system will be locked to command authority. Every corridor will be monitored.” He opened the door wider and scanned both ends. “During landing, their attention turns outward. After landing, chaos begins.”
“Your plan is to wait for chaos?”
“My plan is to use it.”
“That’s somehow both frightening and convincing.”
He stepped into the corridor. “Stay close.”
“I live there, remember?”
The corner of his mouth moved despite the dead soldier at his feet. Na’ashq’ii unwound itself from his wrist and climbed to settle against Willow’s chest.
She followed him into the corridor, one hand gripping her small weapon with white knuckles. She didn’t look away from the body.
Good.
He didn’t want her hardened. This shouldn’t become normal to her. But she needed to see what the freha enhek did to something alive. Needed to understand the enemy they were trapped with.
He moved quickly.
The Scozid ship had the same ugly logic as the station and Kerrak. Narrow corridors. Too many control nodes. Every door a test of authorization and hierarchy. Every wall slick with black panels that reflected movement just enough to make shadows appear alive.
The vessel shook again.
A voice boomed over internal speakers.
“All personnel maintain cleansing discipline. Contamination is a lower-caste panic designation. Central authority confirms landing. Shielded teams to receive honor positions.”
Willow’s expression went flat. “Honor positions?”
A door ahead opened. Two Scozid soldiers emerged, dragging a third between them. The injured one’s side was marked with green. Not much. A smear. A promise.
One of the soldiers said something sharp. The injured Scozid tried to pull away.
Renjik didn’t wait.
He shot the first soldier through the head and crossed the distance before the second finished turning.
His good hand caught the Scozid’s throat.
The damaged arm stayed useless at his side.
His balance pulled wrong without its response, but he adjusted and drove the creature into the wall hard enough to crack its meager armor.
The injured Scozid collapsed.
Willow ran to the console beside the door. “This opens into a service corridor.”
“Can you unlock it?”
“The ship thinks I’m a tentacle.”
“Is that yes?”
“It’s an emotionally complicated yes.”
The door slid open.
Renjik shoved the dead soldier aside and looked down at the injured one. It stared up at him, eyes glossy, limbs trembling. He should kill it.
Mercy, battlefield logic, contamination risk, simple practicality. All of them pointed to the same answer.
Willow crouched beside it.
Renjik bit back a snarl. “Willow.”
“I know.” Her voice was low. “I know.”
The injured Scozid clicked weakly. “Not... honor. Not chosen.”
Her face changed.
The soldier reached toward the service corridor, not with aggression. With desperation.
“The crew,” Willow whispered. “They’re being locked away.”
Renjik’s jaw tightened.
The Vekh had ordered this ship to send contaminated and lower-status soldiers into sealed compartments while officers prepared to land in honor positions.
Same pattern. Same rot.
Na’ashq’ii stirred against Willow’s chest. The creature extended one tentacle toward the injured Scozid. Renjik lifted his weapon.
“No.”
“It’s contaminated.”
“Na’ashq’ii knows.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
“It’s all we’ve.”
Na’ashq’ii touched the green smear. Blue light flared.
The injured Scozid convulsed once. Renjik tightened his grip on the graj?, ready to fire. The freha enhek darkened at the edges, turned black, and flaked away from the soldier’s armor in a thin line no wider than Willow’s finger.
Na’ashq’ii sagged.
Willow sucked in a breath. “It’s adapting.”
The injured Scozid stared at the place where the weapon had died.
Then at Na’ashq’ii.
Then at Willow.
A choked sound came from its translator. “Impossible.”
Willow’s laugh was thin and not amused. “Yeah, that’s been a theme.”
The ship lurched hard. Gravity shifted. They were entering atmosphere.
Alarms shrieked through the corridor.
Renjik grabbed Willow before she fell, pulling her against him with his good arm. The injured Scozid curled itself around a wall brace. Down the corridor, doors sealed one after another as the ship prepared for landing.
Willow looked at Renjik.
Then at Na’ashq’ii.
Then at the injured Scozid who had just watched a tiny armored creature do what Scozid technology couldn’t.
Her eyes sharpened. “We don’t need Denchui command.”
“No?”
“We need witnesses.”
Renjik understood.
The Vekh would refuse the Alliance. The Vekh would call aid theft, survival treason, and evacuation weakness. But if Scozid saw Na’ashq’ii neutralize the weapon with their own eyes—
The ship dropped. Metal screamed.
Willow stumbled and slammed into his chest. He held her there as the vessel struck atmosphere hard enough to rattle his teeth.
“We need communications,” she reminded him. “And civilians. And enough time for me to figure out how a migraine-eating scarf is giving orders to a biological weapon.”
Renjik looked down at Na’ashq’ii, limp but pulsing faintly blue against her hands.
Then he looked at the injured Scozid.
The soldier slowly extended one trembling tentacle toward the service corridor.
Not surrender. Not trust. A choice.
Renjik bared his teeth. “Then we take the ship.”
Willow looked up at him. “This is a worse plan.”
“Probably.”
The ship plunged toward the Scozid homeworld, carrying its own death in streaks along the hull. Renjik shifted his grip on the graj?. Behind him, Willow tucked Na’ashq’ii closer to her chest. Ahead, the injured Scozid opened the service corridor. For the first time since Kerrak, Renjik smiled.
“Stay close.”
Willow huffed. “Rhino, I’m basically welded to your ass at this point.”
Good.
He stepped into the corridor first.
And together, they ran toward the heart of an enemy ship.
WILLOW EXPECTED THE Scozid homeworld to be ugly. She was wrong.
The planet spread beneath the descending ship in layers of silver and gold, glittering beneath the darkness like someone had scattered entire cities across black velvet.
Towers climbed toward the clouds. Transit lines traced glowing paths between population centers.
Massive orbital elevator anchors rose from the surface like monuments to ego.
It was beautiful.
Which somehow made everything worse.
“That’s a lot of people,” she said quietly.
Renjik stood beside her near the maintenance access panel. Their wounded guide remained curled near the service corridor entrance, keeping watch for approaching crew.
The Scozid soldier had finally given them a name. Threx. Willow wasn’t entirely convinced it hadn’t simply gotten tired of being called “injured Scozid.”
The ship dropped lower. Her stomach twisted. Green streaks crawled across the lower edge of the external camera feed. The freha enhek had spread.
The contamination looked almost delicate from this angle. Thin branching veins creeping across hull plating. Death disguised as decoration.
Na’ashq’ii stirred against her chest. The creature had slept intermittently since neutralizing the contamination on Threx’s armor. Every few minutes it’d wake, click softly, and shift position before dozing again. Like a tiny, armored scientist refusing to take proper breaks.
Willow was beginning to suspect it understood more than any of them. Which was frankly rude.
The ship’s internal speakers crackled. “Honor teams prepare for deployment.”
Threx made a low sound. “Death teams.”
Willow looked over sharply. “Death teams?”
Threx pointed upward. “Contaminated crew. Lower crew. Witnesses.”
Renjik’s expression darkened. “They intend to eliminate everyone who knows.”
Threx’s tentacles curled tightly.