Page 14 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
But no personnel. The room is empty.
“Weird,” I whisper, stepping further into the chamber. My voice echoes slightly in the vast space. “Where is everyone?”
Maybe it’s a night shift thing. Or maybe Zaterrans don’t need as much monitoring equipment as other species. Either way, I’m not complaining about the lack of witnesses.
I spot what looks like a communication array to my right—a familiar configuration of receivers and transmitters, even if the specific components are distinctly alien. The sight of it sends a surge of hope through my chest. If I can just send a quick burst transmission to OOPS headquarters with my actual coordinates and situation, maybe they can—
A soft whirring sound behind me freezes me in place.
No. No, no, no.
I turn slowly, already knowing I’m not going to like what I see.
Hovering at the chamber entrance is what can only be described as a security drone—if security drones were designed by someone with an unhealthy obsession with crystalline spiders. It’s about the size of my torso, with multiple articulated limbs extending from a central core that pulses with the same blue light as my tracking bracelet. Multiple optical sensors swivel to focus on me, glowing like tiny suns.
We stare at each other for a long, tense moment.
“Hey there,” I say, forcing a smile and raising my hands in what I hope is a universal gesture of peace. “Just looking for the bathroom. Wrong turn. My bad.”
The drone emits a series of sharp, clicking sounds that somehow manage to convey both disapproval and imminent violence. One of its front appendages extends, revealing what is unmistakably a weapons system—sleek, crystalline, and currently charging with an ominous red glow.
“Okay, so we’re not going with the bathroom excuse. Got it.”
I back up slowly, eyes fixed on the drone. My hand finds the edge of the communication console behind me, fingers searching blindly for anything I can use as a weapon or distraction. The drone’s optical sensors track my every movement, calculating angles and trajectories with mechanical precision.
“Look, there’s been a misunderstanding,” I try again, my voice steady despite the panic building in my chest. “I’m a guest here. Ask your boss, the big guy. Hen-rock. He invited me to dinner and everything.”
The drone pauses, its clicking growing more rapid as if processing this information. For a second, I think it might actually be working. Maybe it’s cross-referencing my biometrics with some kind of guest database, or—
Then it lunges.
I dive to the side, rolling beneath one of the workstations as a burst of energy scorches the floor where I was standing. The smell of burnt obsidian fills the air—sharp and acrid, like ozone mixed with melted stone. The heat from the blast singes my hair as I scramble deeper under the console.
“Not friendly! Definitely not friendly!” I press myself against the base of the workstation as the drone repositions, its multiple eyes swiveling to track my movement like a predator stalking prey.
I need a weapon, a shield, anything. My multi-tool is useless against this thing. I glance around desperately, spotting a loose panel on the underside of the workstation. Maybe there’s something inside I can use—a power coupling I can short out, or at least some kind of debris to throw.
The drone clicks again, this time in what sounds suspiciously like annoyance. It lowers itself, peering under the console withthose multiple glowing eyes. The weapons system whines as it charges for another shot, the sound rising in pitch like a scream.
“Back off, sparkly!” I grab the loose panel and yank as hard as I can, prying it open to reveal a tangle of crystalline circuitry and what looks like power conduits. Without thinking, I grab a handful of the wiring and pull with all my strength.
The effect is immediate and spectacular. Instead of disabling the workstation, the severed wires send a surge of energy through the entire system. The central holographic display flares to life, projecting a massive, rotating image of the fortress and surrounding asteroid belt. Alarms begin to wail—a harsh, discordant sound that bounces off the chamber walls and makes my teeth ache.
Great. Just great.
The drone, momentarily distracted by the sudden chaos, backs up slightly. I use the opportunity to roll out from under the console and make a break for the exit, my heart hammering against my ribs as I sprint toward the corridor.
I don’t make it three steps before the drone recovers, cutting off my escape route with alarming speed. Its weapon appendage glows brighter, taking aim directly at my chest. The multiple optical sensors focus on me with mechanical precision, and I can almost hear the targeting systems locking on.
This is it. Death by disco spider. Not how I imagined going out.
I close my eyes, bracing for impact.
Instead, I hear a familiar, deep voice cut through the alarm’s wail.
“Security override. Authorization: First Blade. Stand down.”
5
