I watch with Dunc as the robot known as Howan keeps pace behind the exploration team. Fren and Grita each carry sample cases and assorted scanners. With them is one of the planetary security force. She answers to Les.

  Les doesn't smile much, maintaining a serious demeanor. I cannot disapprove, but it does her no favors with those she guards. Grita has taken an immediate disliking to the other female; they do not speak to one another. Fren seems almost as afraid of Les as he is of Howan.

  It could also be that Fren is the one tasked with carrying the power core.

  The three of them march in almost total darkness. Without a functional core, and batteries nearly dead, nearly all systems are offline. Slender suit beams illuminate their path. Lacking power, the doors remain wide open, waiting for the energy needed to close once more.

  The dead and empty structure does not impede them in any real way. It isn't long before the group reaches the room where dwells the burnt-out core. Char on the ground marks the spot where Benn had fallen. Above the dark stain looms a sphere of ebon, glaring down as if seeking another victim.

  "Right there," commands Grita.

  She aims a light beam at the open housing. The blackened globe seems to absorb the thin ray and sucks it into its inky interior.

  Dunc obligingly pilots Howan to the core housing. Dunc frowns, concentrating fiercely as he works the controls. With metallic hands the robot frees the useless core. Dunc's face relaxes into a grin as he removes his hands from the console.

  "Well done," I comment quietly. He inclines his head in brief acknowledgement, and we resume watching the progress of the explorers.

  Fren steps forward to install the new core. It slots perfectly into the casing. Light floods the room as power-starved systems activate all around them. The protective panel covers the core automatically, hiding it from view.

  "Good," comments Donna from where she too watches. She's at her home, sitting next to Skint. "You three need to explore the main hallway next. Ready?"

  Her team answers in the affirmative. Skint rises to pour them each another glass of alcohol. Donna smiles her gratitude at the large male as she accepts her glass. Skint sinks back into his seat next to her, a goofy smile upon his dark-furred face. He must have a low tolerance; the ornamental bottle is still quite full.

  The wide hallway down which the team strides has many closed doors leading off at irregular intervals. They choose to try the first they come across. Les volunteers for the dubious honor of activating the door. Of those living members of the team, she is indeed the most expendable.

  While the explorers focus upon their tasks, Howan's sensors detect distant footfalls. Dunc squints suspiciously at the readout on his display.

  "This might be it, Mos."

  "Focus, Operative. It could be Zsuchus here to relay new information from Centra." It is not. The pilot's suit camera shows a scene of stone wasteland visible from where he stands in the camp.

  Using the codes gifted me by Ship-Mother Chel, I access the operating system of the suit that Howan detects drawing nearer. The suit belongs to the planetary security forces but specifically to Spen Dondrik. Even knowing this, I do not inform Dunc of the identity of the new arrival. I believe that it would impair his judgement if he were forewarned. He does not need the time to brood about seeing his former friend.

  In one of Spen's gauntleted hands he clutches a twisted length of slag. Blackened and blistered metal, the fragment in his hand shows every sign of having been exposed to terrible heat. It is almost humorous how he attempts to stifle the sound of his heavy boots as they contact the miscolored ceramic flooring.

  "If it's Zsuchus, why isn't he using the radio to let the team know he's coming?"

  I always forget about radios. No matter.

  Rather than allow Spen to work whatever mischief he has envisioned, I remotely activate his suit's radio transmitter. The device squawks out the theme song that always accompanies Capey's appearance on the tri-vee program.

  The dishonored Operative drops his cudgel in alarm. The discordant melody plays through his systems, alerting him that he has been noticed. In what I presume to be an attempt to justify his presence, he manually deactivates his radio. He then reactivates it and transmits to Les's suit.

  "I'm coming up to relieve you. Oolian ate something that must have come from Kalibern, sick as he looks."

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Dunc frowns at hearing the familiar notes of the popular show echoing down the halls. He doesn't hear Spen's radio transmission. What he hears next causes him to rise from his seat in anger. The closet he's in barely has room to do so, and he sits back down with a huff.

  "Grit, Frenny. I need to go check on Oolian, but it's alright. One of the others is coming up to take care of you two."

  "We'll be fine," Fren answers, voice a little higher than usual. "We've got the robot to keep us safe until they get here."

  Grita nods a little too enthusiastically. "Oolly seems nice, I hope he's alright."

  Les shrugs. "He's got a weak gut but he's great. Too bad he's single." Les looks meaningfully at Fren, but the male is absorbed in running a video recorder over the walls and doesn't notice.

  Grita does notice and sighs quietly. "All the good pairs are taken," she says knowingly.

  Les smiles shyly, perhaps finally opening up to the other female. She waves before hurrying off to see to her squadmate.

  "After the mission," advises Donna. She leans upon Skint, who places a pair of arms around her. "Focus."

  "Sorry, ma'am," Grita replies, looking at her boots.

  Donna mutes her audio receiver, then whispers, "Oolly," to Skint. The large male chuckles, holding on tighter to Donna to prevent her falling off of the sofa.

  "The door's open. Might as well look inside," orders Donna.

  "Right," the two explorers answer in unison. Grita motions for Howan to go first.

  "Getting smarter," mutters Dunc as he pilots the robot forward.

  Howan's cameras show us a round room with a high table in the center and empty cages built into the curving walls. Differing in sizes, the cages must be intended for a mixed population of animals. As the robot walks closer to one large cage that takes up a fifth of the wall space, Dunc focuses the cameras onto the floor of that cage.

  Inside, loose piles of scattered bones and desiccated rot litter the floor. He seeks out a skull and zooms in on it. The bone could be from any kind of creature. Dunc must feel the same way, as he has Howan walk over to the next stack of cages. Tiny bones fill these, the remains of former occupants.

  "Gross," exclaims Grita. She closes the visor of her helmet as she enters the round room.

  "Wow," mutters Fren, walking in behind her. His helmet is wide open, but if the smell bothers him he does not show it.

  "This is what we needed Benn for," complains Donna. "Can you take some images, Fren?"

  "Right away."

  The former administrator plays his device around the room, paying special attention to the clusters of brittle bones. The data, along with that from Howan, will be sent to Kalibern for examination.

  While Fren and the robot capture images of long deceased creatures, Grita keeps herself busy by taking pictures of the tubes and electronic devices studding the walls between enclosures. She starts to reach one hand toward a dense intersection of devices but thinks better of it. Grita draws her hand back, then turns to order Howan to examine the juncture instead of her.

  Dunc focuses upon the task of controlling Howan to the extent that he does not notice when Spen walks into the circular space. Spen looks different in the planetary security armor. The coloration and basic design are the same, but the armor lacks personality without the skulls which adorn the Kaliban teams.

  Grita is the first to notice the arrival of the dour faced officer. The cheerful greeting never makes it past her mouth, transmuting into a startled, "Ahh!"

  Fren turns and brings the recorder in his hands up in a threatening manner. Grita takes a single step towards her teammate in some primal instinct to seek safety in numbers. Fren steps protectively in front of his friend and glares at Spen.

  "Easy, there," soothes Spen. "I'm your protection, today, alright?"

  Dunc's head shoots up rapidly at the sound of Spen's voice, a grimace upon his gray face. Thankfully, he refrains from immediate action, choosing instead to observe. Dunc's hands clench into tight knots of fury.

  Spen stands there, arms raised, before the two explorers. He holds no weapon, his crude cudgel perhaps laying out in the hall somewhere. "Whatever. Don't you two have work to do?"

  With a snort, Fren returns to documenting the moldering remains. Grita stays close to him, never taking her eyes off of Spen.

  "Mos Denn, can you do me a favor?"

  "What do you need, Donna?"

  "I want to know what, if anything, happened to Oolian. The team was much more comfortable with him as their guard."

  "I'll let you know when I find out," I promise her.

  The exploratory team share their camp with their guards. Each person possesses their own tent which stand in two bunches on the warped stone. All of the tents are made from the same black fabric and form nearly identical polyhedral domes, but the security force tents bear a stylized image of the planet upon the entrance flap. The marked and unmarked tents face each other across a short expanse of charred stone.

  Donna knows that I have access to Zsuchus's suit, so that is the one I choose to look through. He no longer stares out over the wastes. From his suit I see the inside of his tent. From the view, I gather that he sits upon his cot.

  "Zsuchus, can you hear me?"

  "AAAH!"

  The pilot leaps to his feet with such violence that his arms become entangled with the support dowels of his tent. His efforts to free himself causes the flimsy structure to upend. He exhales loudly when he lands upon his back.

  "Is that you, Denn?"

  "Yes. Donna wishes to know the status of Operative Oolian Dags. Can you supply any information, Pilot?"

  "Wha? Oh, uh, yeah. Err."

  Zsuchus struggles, unused to the heavy suit or the enhanced strength it offers. His flailing limbs tear through the synthetic fabric, leaving only shreds of thin fabric in their wake. The remains of the much-abused tent collapse around the pilot, letting brilliant white light shine onto his suit. Light flares dramatically from his visor and camera lens, blinding both of us momentarily.

  The sounds of heavy footsteps surround the collapsed tent. By the time we are able to see once more, three armored members of planetary security surround Zsuchus. Les, Oolian, and another with whom I am unfamiliar.

  "Which of you lot is Oolian," blearily asks the disorientated Zsuchus.

  "That's me," answers Oolian. "Why, you got something you need to say, starshot?"

  The third officer offers his hand to help Zsuchus to his feet. He smiles in an apologetic manner as he does so and Zsuchus answers with a small nod.

  "Well, what's the problem here?"