Page 80 of Red Scale Daddy
“Fall back to the ridge shadow,” I say. “Not the ramp. Draw them across the gouge.”
“Look at you, moving without rails.”
“Talk less. Shoot left.”
He shoots left.
I run.
Low gravity changes every step. My body wants standard pull and gets a third of it, turning urgency into a series of controlled bounds. Dust sprays under my boots. The repair kit bounces once near the glowing mineral vein and skids into place. A drone lunges across the gouge, too fast, claws gouging stone as it redirects toward me.
I trigger the kit remotely.
The emergency hull sealant canister ruptures, spraying expanding conductive foam across the mineral vein. The foamcatches the vein’s natural charge and spreads it in a glittering web over the rock. The first drone hits the patch at full speed. Electricity snaps up through its limbs. Its body locks, mandibles wide, shriek breaking into a metallic rasp.
Dux fires into its exposed throat.
This time it falls.
“Good trick,” he calls.
“I prefer competent.”
“Fine. Competent trick.”
Two drones rush him from the right. He does not retreat. He steps into the first, catches one of its upper limbs with his free hand, and twists with enough force to tear the joint halfway out of alignment. The creature slashes at his chest with another arm. His armor takes the edge, but sparks jump. He fires point-blank into its side, then kicks the body into the second drone hard enough to send both sliding through dust.
A third drone comes for me.
I do not have Dux’s strength. I have terrain.
I leap backward toward a cluster of stone spires, letting low gravity carry me higher than instinct expects. The drone overshoots beneath me, claws slicing through the space where my legs were. I catch the edge of a spire with one hand, pain flashing through my shoulder, and swing around it hard enough to slam my boots into the creature’s side. The impact will not injure it, but it changes its vector.
It skids into the electrified foam.
Its limbs seize.
“Dux!”
He turns and fires without asking. The round punches through the creature’s eye cluster. It collapses.
More clicking rises from the ridge.
Too many.
My scanner paints movement in clusters now, but the interference makes count unreliable. Eight at least. Possibly twelve. The drones are avoiding the charged patch, adapting already.
Hive coordination.
“We need elevation,” I say.
Dux backs toward me, weapon raised. “There is a ridge.”
“You wanted the ridge.”
“I wanted it before the welcoming committee.”
“Now I also want it.”
