THE SPACE NAVY AU (18+)

"I've got an idea!" you say with vicious cheer. "Let's order more labor units! Then those labor units can fight these ones and we can all have one big happy sleepover in my hive and talk about pretty boys. Kadros can coordinate all of this since he's done SUCH A BLOODY GREAT JOB SO FAR."

"You can keep talking about how pretty I am now, though," Galley says. "I don't understand why anyone would ever stop."

"Galley, shut it, you are certifiably a lizard person," you snap.

 

Murfey sticks his hand up. "I'm with Cap'n Aspera, I vote for the robot battle royale."

"I love how helpful you all are," you grumble, drop the wrench, and get out your service rifle.

"Lock 'n load?" Murfey says helpfully.

"Suck my globes," you clarify. You stalk off in search of robots to murder, grumbling to yourself about why the hell is Aspera so upset about you saying nice things to Galgal when he was all in favor of you kissing his moirail right in front of him, it's like is the captain going to be a prude today? Flip a coin! Make up your (BLAM! BLAM!) damn mind already.

 

Kadros's irritated stride carries him out of sight nearly immediately—you decide good riddance and slow to a more reasonable pace, wiping your scratches with your shirt hem.

Blood is dripping off your chin and it's remarkably itchy. When you rub your face it smarts like hell. You fumble out a roll of bandage and wave it at Murfey, who's hung back to keep an eye on you.

"Here, do you mind?" you ask. "I'll get your arm— er, your meat arm, if you like. We'll probably need some sanding and sealant for the other."

A killbot has managed to survive Kadros's rampage: it lurches out at you from around a corner. You swat its head off with your cane, then have to duck and tackle damn thing when it grabs the stick away from you— by sheer luck— and tries to smack you in return.

 

You patch him up gently: he seems a tough sort, but you're careful with other trolls as a matter of course. And he doesn't seem to take it as an insult, at least, which is more than a few of your scrappier ensigns can manage. You pat the last bandage down and get back to your feet, testing your balance: still fairly good, for now.

"I don't suppose Kadros will deign to leave a few murderous death machines for the rest of us, what?" you ask.

 

"He's been dancing on my last bloody nerve since nearly the same night he arrived," you sigh. "It's nice to hear I'm just the latest in a line of moobeast cultures, I might write my predecessors for advice."

 

You narrow your eyes, insulted. "This isn't that kind of ship, Sergeant, and I am not that sort of Captain. Surviving the day is not a mark of some petty tyrant's special favor."

 

You head down the righthand path, and nearly bash Arguus's head in when he pokes nervously out of a hallway door.

"There you are!" you exclaim, throwing your arms around his skinny waist. He bends over you like a weeptree to pat your hair, then examines your messy cheek, frowning. "I'm alright, we'll fix it up later. Oh— this is Sergeant Murfey, he's one of Kadros's friends, apparently Kadros is actually capable of friendship."

You look over your shoulder. "Sergeant Murfey, this is Ensign Doumah, he talks to computers. He should be able to reprogram the killbots as we go along."

 

Arguus looks as if he's seriously considering trying to hide behind you, which you doubt would work even if he sat down. He makes a sort of pushing gesture with one hand, and looks at you pleadingly.

"If we pin the robots down he should be able to deactivate them with no further fuss," you translate. You're not as good as Lainey at this but Arguus nods, so you suppose you've gotten the gist. "Do you have any sort of medium-range strifekind, Sergeant? Pole? baton? I have a few rakes and pitchforks to lend if you've got allocation to use them. I believe Ensign Doumah has an extra halberd."

 

Arguus stifles a smile behind his hand, and you look up— you're not quite sure of the joke. But he nods.

"Let's see, shall we?" you say, and equip a pitchfork. You made sure to get a polekind strife allocation once you started using canekind— it doesn't work so well as specific fork- or shovel- or whatever-the-hell-kind cards might, but you don't have to match-or-modify as you go, which is more than worth it.

Arguus draws his halberd, and you take a few smart steps back. The chap very nearly qualifies as long-range all on his own.

 

You swat the tines of the pitchfork down over the chest, and Arguus approaches cautiously. He grabs one of the beetleishly-flailing hands and goes all iridescent for a bit. He chews his lip, pats the metal knuckles, tilts his head as if listening to some far off question. The robot goes still, then folds its hands neatly over its chest. Arguus steps back.

"Right, let it up," you say, and the labor unit climbs to its feet and salutes.

"ORDERS?" it enquires.

"Collect all the dismembered units and lay them out by their packaging containers," you tell it.

It salutes again and strides off. Arguus is grinning proudly, and you hug him again.

"Look at you, you're brilliant!" you tell him. "Saffron flower. Honeybee. Dwarf star."

Another two robots attack. Things are fairly busy after that.

 

You're feeling much better about life in general by the time you finish clearing the left-hand corridor. Aside from a few squashed bullets embedded in the walls, you didn't even damage the ship. The robots will need repairs, of course, but the parts you destroyed are standard swappables, not too expensive, they probably have a few spares in Engineering right now.

When you're sure you haven't missed any, you sit down next to the last robot and open its maintenance hatch. Pull its program card; connect the card to your husktop.

Ten minutes later, you call Aspera. "Still breathing, sir?"

 

"So sorry to disappoint, Commander," you say back. You and the others are methodically clearing the warrens of makespaces and mechanicblocks— it's basically a wiggler's game of hide-and-seek, plus hitting things with a big fork, and you're having a good time.

 

"Disappoint, sir? Who would I blame the refit/refuel schedules on if you weren't around? I'm sending you some files, check your husktop next time you get a chance. I've got pretty strong evidence our little wriggling day gift here came from Admiral Wavebane. These are hunter-killer program cards slotted into standard labor units, and Wavebane's XO ordered a gross of hunter-killers recycled the night before these shipped out. He's not even trying to hide it, so I'm thinking we're supposed to know, and quiver in our tiny booties. Which means all this is because I killed Hardcase instead of feeding him his own body parts until he went away. I can hear you having fun over there, sir. You're welcome."

The door to a room you know you cleared snicks open. You turn just in time to get an extreme close-up view of a vacuum cleaner just before it connects with your head.