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The fact that the bay was pressurized rather than open to space spoke volumes as did the fact that rank-after-rank of battle-ready CF-184 Daggers were sitting unused. The simple truth was that the ship had come under attack so quickly that Captain Flerko had never been able to drop the Gladiator's energy screens long enough to launch fighters.

But there was no time to consider what could have been as Vanderveen and a group of ratings were ordered to make their way out toward the middle of the launch bay where large metal boxes were situated.  One of the prisoners, a gunner judging from the insignia on her space black uniform, was wounded and been able to hide the fact until then.  But the sailor left a trail of blood droplets as she crossed the deck and it wasn't long before one of the sharp-eyed troopers noticed them

Vanderveen shouted, "No!" but fell as a rifle butt struck her left shoulder.  The diplomat heard two shots and knew the gunner was dead.    

It was Nankool who pulled the FSO to her feet before one of the troopers could become annoyed and put a bullet into her head as well. "Get going," the President said gruffly.  "There's nothing you can do."

Vanderveen had to step over the rating's dead body in order to proceed, and realized how lucky she'd been, as a burst of automatic weapons fire brought down an entire rank of marines.   

The Ramanthian troopers were largely invisible inside their brown-dappled space armor.  Their helmets had side-mounted portals through which their compound eyes could see the outside environment, hook-shaped protuberances designed to accommodate parrot-like beaks, and chin-flares to deflect energy bolts away from their vulnerable neck seals.

The vast majority of the alien soldiers wore standard armor, but the noncoms were equipped with power-assisted suits, which meant the highly leveraged warriors could rip enemy combatants apart with their grabber-style pincers.  So that, plus the fact that the bugs carried Negar IV assault rifles capable of firing up to 600 rounds per minute, meant the aliens had more enough firepower to keep the Gladiator's crew under control.  Something they accomplished with brutal efficiency.

Some of the Ramanthians could speak standard, while others wore chest-mounted translation devices, and the rest made use of their rifle butts in order to communicate.  "Place all personal items in the bins!" one of the power-suited noncoms ordered via a speaker clamped to his right shoulder.  "Anyone who is found wearing or carrying contraband will be executed!"

The so-called bins were actually empty cargo modules, and it wasn't long before the waist-high containers began to fill with pocket knives, wrist coms, pocket comps, multi-tools, glow rods, and all manner of jewelry.  Vanderveen wasn't carrying anything beyond the watch her parents had given her, a belt-wallet containing her ID, and a small amount of currency.  All of it went into the cargo container and Vanderveen wondered if the Ramanthians were making a mistake.  A good mistake from her perspective, since it would be difficult for the bugs to sort out who was who, once the military personnel surrendered their dog tags.  A factor that would help protect Nankoo's new identity.  Which, were anyone were to ask him, was that of Chief Petty Officer Milo Kruse.  A portly noncom who had reportedly been incinerated when molten plasma spilled out of the number three exhaust vent into the Gladiator's main corridor.

Now, as various lines snaked past the bins, a series of half coherent orders were used to herd the crew-beings into groups of one-hundred.  Vanderveen thought she saw Ochi's exoskeleton in the distance, but couldn't be sure, as a Ramanthian trooper shouted orders.  "Form ten ranks!  Strip off your clothing!  Failure to comply will result in death."

Similar orders were being given all around, and at least a dozen gunshots were heard as the Ramanthians executed prisoners foolish enough to object, or perceived to be excessively slow.   Meanwhile, Under Secretary of Defense Calisco hurried to rid himself of his pants, but was momentarily distracted when he looked up to see that one of his fantasies had come true!  Christine Vanderveen had removed her top and had unhooked her bra!  She had firm up-thrust breasts, just as he had imagined that she would, and the official was in the process of licking his lips when Nankool's left elbow dug into his side.  "Put your eyeballs back in your head," the President growled menacingly, "or I'll kick your ass!"  So Calisco looked down, but continued to eye the diplomat via his peripheral vision, which was quite good.

Vanderveen stood with her arms folded over her breasts as a Ramanthian officer mounted a roll-around maintenance platform.  Meanwhile a cadre of naked crew beings, all picked at random from the crowd, hurried to collect the discarded clothing and carry it away.  "You are disgusting," the officer began, as his much amplified voice boomed through the hangar deck.  "Look at the bulkhead behind me... .  Read the words written there.  " For glory and honor."  That was the motto you chose!  Yet you possess neither one of them."

The deck shuddered, as if in response to the alien's words, and a dull thump was transmitted through many layers of durasteel.  Some of the Gladiator's computer controlled fire-fighting equipment remained in operation, and the ship's maintenance bots were doing what they could to stabilize the systems they were responsible for, but without help from her crew the ship was dying.

"Why are you alive?" the Ramanthian demanded through the loud speaker on his shoulder.  "When any self-respecting warrior would be dead?  The answer is simple... .  You aren't warriors.  You're animals!  As such your purpose is to serve higher life-forms.  From here you will be taken to a Ramanthian planet where you will work until you can work no longer.  Or, perhaps some of you who would prefer to die now, thereby demonstrating that you are something more than beasts of burden."

The officer's words were punctuated by a bellow of rage as General Wian Koba-Sa charged through the ranks in front of him.  A Negar IV assault rifle began to bark rhythmically as a Ramanthian soldier opened fire—and Vanderveen saw the Hudathan stumble as he took two rounds in the back.  But that wasn't enough to bring the huge alien down—and there was a cheer, as Koba-Sa jumped up onto the maintenance platform.  The formerly arrogant Ramanthian had started to back pedal by that time, but it was too late as the Hudathan shouted the traditional war cry, and a hundred voices answered. "Blood!"

And there was blood as Koba-Sa wrapped one gigantic hand around the Ramanthian's throat and brought the other up under the flared chin guard.  The helmet didn't come off the way the Hudathan had hoped it would, but the blow was sufficient to snap the bug's neck, even as Koba-Sa fell to a hail of bullets.

Then all of the prisoners were forced to hit the deck as the Ramanthians opened fire on the helpless crowd, and didn't stop until an officer repeatedly ordered them to do so, and many of the soldiers had emptied their clips.

Dozens of bodies lay sprawled on the deck by that time, but there was something different about the crew beings still able to stand, and the emotion that pervaded the hangar.  Because rather than the feeling of hopelessness that filled the bay before—Vanderveen sensed a strange sort of pride.   As if Koba-Sa's valiant death had somehow infused the prisoners with some of the Hudathan's headstrong courage.

And, rather than attempt to humiliate the POW's as the previous officer had, Vanderveen noticed that his replacement was content to line the survivors up and march them past tables loaded with blue ship-suits and hundreds of boots.  All taken from the Gladiator's own storerooms.  But there was no opportunity to check sizes, or to try anything on, as the prisoners were herded past.  The best strategy was to grab what was available and trade that for something better later on.

And it was during that process that one of ship's main magazines blew, people struggled to keep their feet, and the entire operation went into high gear.  The Ramanthians were afraid now... .  Afraid that the ship would disintegrate with them still aboard.  So Vanderveen and all of the rest were herded into the waiting shuttles.  The air was warm thanks to the heat from their engines and heavily tainted with the stench of ozone.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that there were more prisoners than the twenty shuttles could hold.  And Vanderveen knew that meant that some of the Gladiator's crew would be left behind.  Other people began to realize the same thing and there was a mad rush to board the space ships.  Guards fired over the crowd in a futile attempt to stem the flood, suddenly realized that they could be left behind, and hurried to join the fear-crazed mob.

Vanderveen wasn't sure she wanted to board one of the shuttles, especially if there was an opportunity to enter one of the Gladiator's many escape pods instead, but never got the chance to do more than think about the alternative as the people behind the FSO pushed her forward.  Naked bodies collided with hers, an elbow jabbed her ribs, and the man directly in front of the diplomat went down. 

Vanderveen attempted to step over the body but couldn't, and felt the crewman's back give as she was forced to put her weight on it, and tried to shout an apology as the river of flesh carried her up a ramp and into one of the shuttles.  There were bench-style seats along both bulkheads, but no one got the opportunity to sit on them, as the lead POWs were pushed forward and smashed against the bulkhead.  Fortunately Nankool was there, ordering people to be calm, and somehow convincing them to do so.

Then the ramp was retracted, Vanderveen felt the shuttle lift off, and start to move.  There were lights, but not very many, and only a few view ports.  However the diplomat was close enough to see dozens of screaming-kicking prisoners sucked out of the launch bay into the airless abyss of space as massive doors parted.

The shuttle jerked back and forth as the Ramanthian pilot was forced to thread his way through a maze of floating debris before finally clearing the battle zone.  Then, as the space ship began to turn away, there was a massive explosion.  Bright light strobed the inside the of the shuttle, but there was no sound, as the Gladiator came apart.  Someone began to pray, and even though Vanderveen had never been very religious, she bowed her head.  The journey to hell had begun.

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