It came slowly, at first—the faintest touch of pale phosphorescence.
But with every heartbeat, it shone brighter. In seconds the hull was weirdly agleam as with some strange, penetrating light.
Then the ship rocked wildly. He could see the plates begin to buckle.
"No—!" screamed a crewman. "No! My brother—!"
Wallowing, the Ghost flamed bright as a thes-wood torch. Proton cannon streamed blazing, aimless death. The hull began to cave, then burst asunder. Like an eidel-bomb exploding, it tore apart in great, flaring sections that blasted out through space, beyond the viziscreen's frame edges.
Slowly, the weird light faded; died. The blackness of the void closed in.
Like men paralyzed, the raiders stared unspeaking into the awful emptiness where short moments before the Ghost had drifted.
It came to Jarl Corvett that he was trembling. Numb-fingered, he reached out and snapped off the viziscreen.
The sound of the switch triggered loose the tension. At his elbow, Ylana burst into hysterical, wildly-triumphant laughter. "You see—? Will you believe me now, when I tell you what fate awaits you?"
Pivoting, Jarl slapped her across the mouth with all his might.