The com-line fell silent.

They were following an arc, approaching the corona from above. The giant body was gray and yellow and perfectly round, inflated until it looked ready to burst. The mouth couldn’t be seen, but no doubt the corona was pushing bursts of hot air out of its mouth, fighting for any lift. All that effort, but the demon floor lay just below, and the animal was plainly struggling not to fall back into its world.

The Girl’s first officer appeared beneath Karlan’s turret. A young high-hand needed to suffer a good yelling, it seemed. “Kill the enemy first,” the officer said. “Then we’ll kill the corona.”

“But look,” said Karlan. “The monster’s ready to fall back under.”

“Ensign,” the officer shouted. “Follow orders.”

Harpoons were stowed on racks behind his seat. It was a clumsy, messy system put in place because the turret had two jobs. Gauging speed, Karlan guessed they were going to catch the corona in another half-recitation. Ticker had his turret opened up. He was firing at the papio, and it looked as if he was trying to kill all of them, filling the air with holes.

That voice below kept nagging.

Looking between his feet, Karlan said, “The cannon’s jammed, sir. Come here, please. I need help.”

The officer started climbing into the turret.

Karlan struck him with a fist, not particularly hard, and then the man was sitting in the hallway below, nursing a broken nose.

The Girl moved from falling into a climb, accelerating all the while. Somebody wanted to get them into position to defend their claim, which was stupid. Karlan spun his chair, digging into the harpoon stash. One harpoon was different from all others. It lacked explosives and the killing electrical line. Nothing rode that shaft but springs and barbed hooks that were folded tight, waiting to bite hold of the meat, and only that harpoon was coupled to a thick steel cable that fed straight from the fletch’s bow.

Karlan loaded that harpoon and popped the compressor button.

A thousand deep breaths were squeezed into a tiny steel chamber, and the breech began to hiss.

Only then did he yank open the turret’s canopy.

The corona was beside him—a vast looming dome-shaped piece of life. Dangling from the underside was a forest of long necks and heads, but every neck was limp, heads looking weak and sloppy. Only a few of those heads bothered glancing at the Girl. Scales were missing from the body, and bulges and discolored splotches showed where cancers had taken root. Plainly, the beast was on its final days. Karlan couldn’t guess its mind. He shouldn’t bother trying. But he suspected madness, maybe senility, watching the corona conjure the last dregs of its energies, trying hard not to fall back through the floor, perhaps lost forever.

Fletch engines throttled up, and the bow began to lift.

The high-hand aimed and the harpoon burst free. Steel screamed as the cable flew off the drum inside the ship’s nose. Then the metal shaft pierced the old scales, weak and frail as paper, and the springs fired and the long hooks deployed inside a mass of ancient scar tissue.

The drum felt the slack line and automatically pulled in the tension.

In an instant, the Girl had been fused to its quarry, and feeling the weight, its nose dipped, unable to climb any farther.

The bloodied officer was standing again, pulling at one of Karlan’s boots while screaming about this gross insubordination.

As if picking up a half-cup of tea, Karlan grabbed the man by his neck, lifting him into the turret while his dry steady voice said, “I’m giving you a present.”

The officer struggled.

Karlan gave him a rough shake.

“You want the cannon?” he asked. “Deploy it yourself.”

The officer managed to ask, “Why?”

“Because I’m insubordinate, and you relieved me from my duties.”

Taking a sidearm and binoculars, Karlan went straight to the bridge.

The pilot and captain were sharing the controls. The captain looked miserable and a little lost, but seeing the high-hand gave him purpose.

“You aren’t on station,” he said.

“It’s the corona,” Karlan said.

“What’s that?”

“The corona wants to stay up here with us. We need to put balloons inside it, give it all our help. Every ship needs to lash on and use their balloons.”

The captain saw no reason to believe this noise. He seemed barely able to understand even the words, shaking his head as he asked, “How do you know what the creature wants?”

With a stern, certain voice, Karlan lied. “Merit was my neighbor. He taught me everything about coronas.”

That name always had purchase among slayers. The captain wasn’t sure how to debate the point.

Then the pilot interrupted, announcing, “They aren’t firing on us, sir.”

“What?”

“The papio are standing back,” the pilot said, trying to be happy about the news.

Karlan joined the pilot, pushing binoculars against his eyes. Maybe the first wings were holding back, but a second wave was coming fast as bullets, and he didn’t recognize their design.

Oh, he had to smile.

“Surrender your weapon, son,” said the captain.

“I’ve seen this before,” Karlan said. “The papio are going to board us. They want our ships.”

“Impossible,” the captain said.

These new wings were blunt but powerful, faster than any other wing that was capable of hovering, but that’s what they intended to do, pushing close as the jets began to tilt, killing their terrific forward momentum.

“Oh, sir,” the pilot said.

“Your weapon,” said the captain, showing a trembling hand.

Karlan ran. Three strides and he was off the bridge, out of sight. The captain had so much free time that he could come across the intercom, telling his crew that the young ensign was insubordinate and possibly a traitor and to take all necessary measures to bring him under control.

The cargo hold was in the ship’s belly. If Karlan had to jump onboard a moving fletch, that’s where he’d make it happen. But a couple slayer/soldiers were waiting in the hallway just outside, automatic weapons aimed at the criminal.

Karlan stopped and dropped his pistol, and then his empty hands lifted a little higher than his waist.

He smiled until the faces relaxed. Nobody was about to be shot.

The roar of jets ended the peace, followed by one hard blast.

The Girl lifted and two slayers fell. Then Karlan was between them, grabbing up one of their guns and both of them, handing over his pistol to the unarmed man.

“What’s happening?” that man asked.

“I don’t know,” Karlan said. “Let’s look.”

The doorway into the hold was jammed by the blast. Karlan stepped back and kicked it once, and it was open. Sunlight rose from what should be darkness. He stayed back and fired just one round, and a bullet came back at him, striking the metal doorframe before turning into coral dust.

Coral instead of metal; the papio didn’t want punctured bladders by accident.

Karlan cursed and fired but stayed back, hiding his body.

The man with the pistol was much braver. Jumping into the opening, he screamed, “We’re boarded,” and fired once before sitting on the floor with his throat shattered and blood pumping down the front of his cheap, badly fitted armor.

Karlan put his free hand on the other slayer.

“Wait,” he said.

Just as he guessed, a flash grenade came rattling out from below. He jumped on it and flung it back below, and one of those fine rugged papio curses could be heard just before the thump of the blast.

Smoke came next, thick and black.

Again, Karlan told his companion, “Wait.”

Papio soldiers were shouting at each other. Karlan couldn’t understand any words, but five distinct voices seemed to be arguing tactics.

The slayer beside him was shaking with nerves.