By Blood Alone by William C. Dietz

The viewscreen flickered, and lights dimmed. The victim had teeth!
    Jepp felt a sense of excitement, remembered where he was, and considered his space suit. Should he leave the control room? And get his armor?
    The battle was fought and won in the time it took the human to frame the question. The scout used tractor beams to lock the Baa’l vessel in place, drilled a hole through Far/Finder’s life support tank, and waited for the pilot to die.
     
    Far/Finder “felt” the tractor beams seize control of his ship, followed by intense pain as an energy beam punched a hole through bladder seven. He sealed that part of himself off, checked his sensors, and knew the situation was hopeless. There was no choice but to abandon ship.
    The life pod was small and extremely uncomfortable, but the Baa’l managed to squeeze inside. He inflated a pseudopod, applied the correct amount of pressure, and felt the emergency vehicle fall free. But not before a final act of defiance. Even as the life pod fell away, and the Sheen allowed it to go, gases flowed from one tank to another, hydrogen mixed with oxygen, and a spark was prepared.
     
    The food ship was available for the taking. The scout opened the main hatch, shortened its tractor beams, and pulled the recently subdued prey inside. It was long, too long, but the Sheen had consumed such meals before and knew the nano could handle it. So, like one snake consuming another, the digestive process began.

    Jepp, who had been watching in open-mouthed amazement, heard something whir. He turned, saw the hatch start to close, and dived toward the opening. It was too far, however, way too far, and the prospector knew he wouldn’t make it.
    The tool pouch saved the day. The door hit the object, whined upward, and descended again. The human was through by then, grabbing the tools, and taking them along. There was a thud as the hatch closed. That’s when a series of three explosions rocked the ship.
    The alien vessel! It had exploded! What about the atmosphere? Had the hull ruptured? The space armor! He had to reach it!
    Jepp ran toward his quarters. Hatches closed behind him. The prospector was familiar with most but not all of them. Each barrier threatened to cut him off from his space suit and the supplies.
    Boots pounded on metal and the prospector’s lungs screamed for air as even more explosions rattled the ship. There, up ahead, the last hatch had started to fall!
    Jepp drew on reserves he didn’t even know he had, threw himself forward, and dove through the quickly narrowing rectangle. He hit the deck hard. Had his feet cleared? The prospector scrabbled his way forward. A clang signaled safety. He was alive! But for how long? The explosions had stopped-but the atmosphere could vanish any moment.
    The human hurried to enter his suit, left the faceplate open to conserve on air, and settled in to wait. And wait. And wait.
    Minutes went by, followed by hours, followed by days. The air continued to flow, and the lights continued to glow, but the hatches remained closed. Permanently closed, as far as Jepp could tell. Food and water continued to dwindle. There was nothing he could do but pray-and hope for some sort of miracle. Determined to be heard, the prospector fell to his knees and went to work.

    Though still capable of movement, the scout was severely damaged. The artificial intelligence knew that, and took appropriate steps.
    A signal went out, took thirty-six standard time units to reach its destination, and was taken under consideration. The reply was clear: “Rejoin the fleet.”
    The scout broke orbit, accelerated away, and entered hyperspace.
    The Baa’l waited till the predator was gone, fired his sub-light drive, and began the long journey home. It would take the better part of three unproductive years. The Committee would be most unhappy. Far/Finder sighed, adjusted his various bladders, and began a poem.

6
    War being an occupation by which a man cannot support himself with