Page 81 of Red Scale Daddy
“I enjoy your growth.”
“Move.”
We move together, not smoothly, not yet, but effectively. I throw another sealant canister at a narrow choke between two stone shelves and rupture it across the mineral line. Dux drives drones toward it with controlled fire and the occasional alarming use of his own body as bait. One drone launches over the electrified strip. I compensate by firing a microflare from my tool launcher into the dust above it. The dust ignites in a brief, bright burst, not flame exactly but charged particulate blooming white. The drone flinches midair, limbs spreading, and Dux catches it with two rounds before it lands.
“Tell me you packed more of those,” he says.
“I packed for repairs.”
“You repair aggressively.”
“I am adapting.”
He looks at me, just for a fraction of a second, and there it is again: respect, unwanted and inconvenient.
The ridge shadow opens ahead, a shallow overhang beneath black rock threaded with glowing blue veins. Defensible. Narrow approach. Visibility across the crash gouge and ship ramp. Not my original plan. Not even close.
Better than dying beside the hull with a scanner in my hand.
We reach the overhang as three drones regroup below.
I press my back to cold stone. The chill bites through my suit. My breath fogs the lower edge of my face shield before the filter clears it. Dux stands slightly ahead of me, bleeding from a shallow cut across his side where one claw found a gap in his armor. He does not seem to care.
“You are injured,” I say.
He keeps his weapon trained on the drones. “I’ve had worse from furniture.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“You should meet my furniture.”
“I would rather not.”
Below us, the drones pause.
They do not retreat. They listen, or receive, or think with whatever portion of the hive mind is currently aimed at us. Their dark eyes catch the mineral glow, reflecting cold points of light.
Dux speaks without looking away from them. “Still think repairing in the open was the play?”
I swallow the first answer because it is pride and therefore useless.
“No,” I say.
He does look at me then.
I hate that he heard the cost of the word.
I lift the scanner and force my hands steady. “We hold this position, map their movement, and find a route back to the ship that does not expose the damaged plating. Then we repair under guard.”
Dux smiles, but it is not mocking. “That sounds like a new plan.”
“It is an adjusted plan.”
“An adapted plan.”
“Do not push your luck.”
He turns back toward the drones. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Commander.”
