CRAIS WAS JUST ABOUT TO SET UP AN AMBUSH ON THE INSECTOID WHEN ELACK DIED.

There was a great shuddering groan and the ship rolled. Systems started simultaneously failing all over the Leviathan. Doors began to slam open and shut, some locking tight, some slamming open. Some doors led to the unpressurized Hammonside of Elack, causing entire tiers to blow out. Power failed by sections, moving down from his front to the rear, and darkness fell. The only light cast came from a faintly florescent glow on the walls, which bathed the corridors in an eerie gold light.

To Crais' great and everlasting surprise, Shee'ladahalia Muukarhi suddenly appeared in the conduit opposite him, extricating herself with grace.

"Well. That is that." She said in way of greeting. "We have approximately 2 arns before the gravity cuts out." Muukarhi said, getting her bearings. She'd been crawling through those ducts for what seemed like days.

"It should be very interesting attempting to get around this ship at that point." Crais said, still surprised.

"Aren't Peacekeepers trained to move in weightless conditions?"

Muukarhi was closely watching the corridor ahead of them.

"Certainly. In these confines, however, it will make moving about hazardous. Especially if we must fight."

Muukarhi tightened a buckle on her uniform, stretched.

"Well, then – we'd best proceed."

"What are you doing here?" He finally managed to ask. "I told you to return to Abbanerex."

"I don't take your orders, Crais. One of my techs fell behind and we couldn't wait. I stayed behind as the Twixt Far Stars left. They will send word as to our situation to Abbanerex and the local authorities. We merely need hold out until then."

"Not so easy." Crais told her. He nodded up the corridor where a shape could be seen approaching. Handed her the tech's pistol. Suddenly a piercing hiss sliced through the air, followed by shots zipping past them, ricocheting through the corridor. Crais snapped off a few shots as Muukarhi dove for the floor. The shape dodged, but kept coming. Muukarhi fired from the floor, coming nowhere near the Insectoid, but she too forced it to dodge, and straight into Crais' incoming fire. Hafta'lal'ta grunted, fell back, but immediately rose, snapping an arm up, loosing another volley of pulse blasts, this time in Crais' direction. He grunted, rolled back across the floor toward Muukarhi. Muukarhi glanced up to see Crais holding his smoking left arm.

"Damaged?"

"No." Crais lied. He fired up the corridor again, this time hitting the bounty hunter in the leg. Hafta'lal'ta chittered, went down, but once again immediately rose, fired off another volley. Crais ducked between wall-ribs as a multitude of shots clattered around him. Chunks of wall were skittering off the floor and walls, sharp shards that Crais flinched at as they went by him. One large piece fell practically at his feet and he was suddenly struck by an idea.

He sucked in a deep breath, tensed, grabbed the shard and then hurled himself up the corridor, slamming into Hafta'lal'ta as hard as he could, just as the Insectoid closed on Muukarhi. Both went down in a jangle and for a moment, Crais cursed, for the Insectoid easily had five times his strength, felt the pincers of the insect lock on him and start to dig in with terrific force, before Hafta'lal'ta gave out a hacking chatter and fell back.

Crais' makeshift dagger had struck home. He reeled back and fell, just as Muukarhi reached him.

She gasped as Crais lay there panting. Hafta'lal'ta may have been dead, but in that brief clash Crais had not gone unpunished. Crais had a massive wound across his chest – and it was pouring blood.

Muukarhi tore down the corridor, found the ration pack and hurried back, pulling out what medical supplies it had, doing what she could to close off and treat the wound. She stripped him to his bare chest, shook her head that she dared not use any of their water to wash the wound. Hoping that those claws hadn't been poisoned, she proceeded to seal and wrap it as best she could.

She hoisted him to his feet after, grabbed their packs and helped the wounded ex-Captain up to the rear observation tier. Just outside it hung the bounty hunters' ships. She sat him against the wall, checked the wound.

"I appreciate your ministrations." Crais said, voice weary, reflecting the pain he was in.

"What you did was very brave." Muukarhi told him, surprised at herself. "I did not expect it."

"I did not expect you would have remained – simply for one tech. But you did. I am sorry about him, by the way. He tried to help me."

Surprised again, Muukarhi asked how he died.

"Well." Crais told her, and left it at that.

Muukarhi nodded again, said nothing, reassessing this man again. She was about to enquire as to their next move when the floor shifted under their feet. It was a subtle thing, as if Elack were turning.

"Did you feel that?" Muukarhi asked.

Crais nodded, perplexed.

"It feels as if this Leviathan is moving. He's dead."

"That's definite. His circulatory system blew several arns ago – he is definitely dead."

There was a shudder then, a rumble followed that ended in a loud slamming sound, just beyond the bulkhead.

Muukarhi looked toward the ceiling, slowly her gaze came down on Crais.

"What did that just sound like?" She asked, as if she already knew the answer. Crais, too believed he knew.

"Very large… grapples."

Muukarhi took off to the other side of the observation deck on a run, Crais waiting.

"Frell!" She bolted up to Elack's rudimentary open observation blister, skidded to a stop just in the door. Behind her, she could see Crais' enquiring gaze.

Above their heads hung the very last thing either wanted to see – the long dark shape of a ship both recognized:

A Pantak-class Vigilante.