“Here, boss,” he rasps. “There is air here.”
I shove my nose hard against the area he indicates, and sure enough there is a tiny breeze blowing metallic scented air into the room. I breathe it in, pulling it over my scent organs to gauge what we’re up against.
But there is only the smell of bots. Oil, hydraulic fluid, metal, and plasma.
“They have plasma weapons,” I announce to the room and get yet another cheer.
Something tells me this is how it’s going to be from now on.
And I am not disappointed.
With my crew at my side, we will prevail, and I will get back to my sweet mate. There will be no more threats to Vorostor or the warlords.
“Here.” I extend my claws to their fullest and shove them into the metal as far as they will go.
My warriors join me as we take it in waves to peel back the metal, wrenching it, writhing at it, some warriors spinning over and over as they pull at it with their claws, their jaws, anything until there is a Sarkarnii sized hole.
As if a metal prison could hold us.
“Get it open all the way,” I task several of my warriors once we’ve exited.
Two of them go to the control elements on the exterior, and after a short interlude, the door, now somewhat worse for the damage caused, swings open with a low metal moan of pain.
“I need scouts,” I growl at the surge of warriors from the opening. “Those of you who are not yet feral.”
Which isn’t many, but two step forward, and there is a light in their eyes which shows they are not suffering the effects of the mutation as much as the rest.
“We need weapons and we need a ship. Find both, and report back as soon as you can.”
The pair race away, and it isn’t long before one returns.
“Weapons, boss,” he says, tongue lolling from his mouth. “An armory, guarded by bots.”
I spot the new plasma burn to his arm, which heals as I look at it.
“How many?”
“Five I could see,” he replies.
“All armed?”
“Multiple plasma pistols.”
“Then this is going to be fun.” I grin as I pick out six warriors. “The rest of you wait here. If anyone breaks ranks, I will ensure you spend some time in Dexx’s mines.”
Together with my chosen warriors, we follow the scout through several passageways, all identical, save for the colored lines on the floor. The scout comes to a halt where one bisects the other.
“The armory is here,” he says.
I push him behind me as I peer out from behind the bulkhead. A plasma bolt fires at my head, and I duck to avoid it.
“Motion activated,” I growl, ducking back to where my warriors stand, waiting for my orders.
“Give me five nova seconds and follow,” I growl.
In the five nova seconds which follow, I roll, I leap, I dodge my way to the bots outside the armory. My claws make swift work of their weapons and their data centers, leaving a pile of dead metal on the floor as my warriors arrive filled with cheer.
“Take as many weapons as you can carry, go back to the others, and if the scout has found a ship, get to it,” I say as we systematically start emptying the armory.
