Page 93 of Red Scale Daddy
“Patch will hold,” I say. “Unless you do something unnecessary.”
He lets out a slow breath. “No promises.”
“Then bleed quietly.”
He studies me for a moment longer, something more serious settling into his expression. “You’re shaking.”
I glance down.
My hands appear steady.
Mostly.
“That is incorrect.”
“You’re forcing them steady,” he says, his tone quieter now. “Your breathing changed when the routing went amber.”
“That is focus.”
“That is nearly losing your ship.”
I turn back to the console. “We need eleven minutes without interference.”
“They won’t give it to you.”
“Then we create a reason.”
That shifts him immediately. He pushes off the wall, interest sharpening. “Now we’re talking.”
I pull up the terrain mapping. The mineral veins form a lattice beneath the surface, brightest near the ridge and crash gouge. The drones avoided the charged zones earlier, which suggests reactive learning rather than blind aggression.
“They respond to vibration and heat,” I say. “Possibly electromagnetic changes.”
He folds his arms, considering. “So we fake dinner somewhere else.”
“I can overload the sealant patch near the ridge and pulse heat through the vein,” I reply, adjusting the parameters. “It should draw them away long enough to recalibrate the vane.”
“Should.”
“It may.”
He nods once. “Better.”
I trigger the pulse.
The ground beyond the ship flares with blue-white light as the mineral veins ignite with energy. A low hum rises through the structure. The drone on the canopy freezes, then shifts its attention away from us.
One by one, they peel off.
Dux exhales slowly. “That worked.”
“Begin vane calibration,” I say.
He glances at me. “You want me involved?”
“You have external visual confirmation I do not.”
He smirks faintly. “Promotion suits me.”
