I fly the 'drone past Oolian. He glances up at it but cannot spare the attention from his wounded leg. From his prone position, applying bandages is no easy task. The dronefeather continues down the corridor, leaving Oolian behind.

  Deeper into the interior, the trails I follow grow lighter. As they walk the rock dust rubs off of the bottoms of Dunc and Spen's boots. Soon they disappear altogether.

  The 'drone continues down the last corridor with visible tracks. None of the doors it passes are open, so I have it keep flying. I do turn the audio receivers to maximum sensitivity, though. Soon the 'drone comes to a three-way intersection. It lands while I decide on a direction.

  Listening carefully, I keep the device as unnaturally still as only a construct can be. Inside the otherwise silent structure I am able to detect faint sounds coming from the rightmost passage. The dronefeather resumes its flight with as much haste as I can force from the contraption.

  "That settles that," growls Donna.

  I take a glance at her screen. Her opponent lies unconscious at the robot's feet. Three shocked gray faces stare warily into the camera from their places on the ground.

  "Yes," I agree. "But you might wish to reassure your subordinates that Howan is not on a murderous rampage."

  "Right," she barks, bending to the task. Her claws clack upon the controls. "Alright team, follow me. Time to fetch your gear."

  Worry about how the Grand Matron will feel about our assault flicks through my mind but is quickly gone. There is no time for regret. The noises coming from ahead are getting louder and they sound like metal striking metal.

  If I have one complaint about Bucket's design, it is that they do not move quicky enough. They're going to hear my critique soon enough.

  Capsules jettison from the device to lighten it. Sleeping gasses, smoke cartridges, and some weak acid made to resemble the droppings of natural creatures. It goes a little faster. Voices make themselves heard through the clanging ruckus as it hurtles through the structure.

  "A patron, Dunc!" Spen's manic voice echoes off the walls.

  Dunc grunts and I can hear metal scraping against ceramic.

  "Stay down," orders Spen. Loud clanging noises follow his outburst.

  It sounds like they're right around the next bend. The 'drone's cameras show an open doorway before I lose contact with it again.

  What is it this time?

  My view of the room around me is partially obscured. Jurer Noll's tendrils grip me tightly. Her energy flows through my crystal matrix and leaves nausea behind it. This must cease.

  Energy floods my innermost core and flares out. Noll's crimson aura burns away, leaving my being glowing orange. She continues to press in on the outer surface of my physical form, probing for weakness.

  "Put him back," Eva says quietly, breaking the stalemate. Her hands remain out of sight beneath her desk, but Noll and I can both see her slowly reaching for a hidden weapon.

  The threat is not wasted upon the thaumatist. Under the watchful eyes of Desra, who looms over her, the smaller Jurer places me back within my niche.

  "You will not be welcomed back here. Desra, arrange passage back to Sba City for her, please, while I draft a request for a replacement for her to take back."

  "C'mon," growls the silver-furred administrative assistant. She grabs the gray robes tightly enough that her claws pierce the thick fabric.

  Noll doesn't resist as she's pulled bodily out of the room and down the hall.

  "I'm sorry about that, Mos," Eva says into the silence.

  "Apologize later, if you must. Please, excuse me, Ship-Mother."

  I do not wait for her response before returning to my previous task. Without me to control it, the dronefeather perches, watching. Thankfully, its chosen vantage atop the doorframe allows me a good view of the interior of the room.

  Inside a room filled with the ancient devices that control the structure, Spen stands over a fallen Dunc. Dressed almost identically to Oolian but better armed, Spen holds an alien pistol from which a green crystal protrudes.

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  Unable to move because of fused joints, Dunc struggles against the weight of his suit. Beside him sits his own weapon, a stun rifle, as well as two twisted metal rods. Previous attacks against his armor discolor the rods with black and gold paint.

  "They're using you, Spen," Dunc slurs through a swollen face. His helm remains intact but blood smears the inside of the visor from repeated impacts with his face. One of his eyes remains closed, hidden beneath bruised and puffy flesh.

  Spen's pistol never ceases to point at the prone officer as he walks in a tight circle around his former partner. "Idiot! The Imperium will never promote me again but the Coalition is willing to give me a chance!"

  "And it'll only cost you everything worth having," spits Dunc. Blood splatters against the visor.

  "What? The mistrust, the suspicious glint in every eye that sees me? Take it!"

  Spen punctuates his declaration by kicking the back of Dunc's helm. The pacing resumes and I ready myself to launch a desperate attack.

  Waiting until the once loyal operative's back is turned, while not exactly honorable, is my best chance to save the still loyal operative before me. Spen turns, circling his former companion, and I spread the 'drone's wings wide.

  Some preternatural instinct causes Spen to turn at the noise. He looks at my 'drone, eyes narrowing behind his mask. His pistol leaves Dunc and seeks out the center of the mock avian. I launch the device, unwilling to let him destroy it without at least attempting to assist Dunc.

  Unlike a normal stonefeather, this 'drone has no delicate internal organs or need to maintain a specific orientation during flight. So long as the physical reality of its movements remain viable, it can perform maneuvers impossible for a flesh and blood creature. It is such a technique I attempt, forcing the device to fly in an expanding spiral.

  The hollow tip of Spen's weapon attempts to track the automaton, but organic reactions are slower than mechanical responsiveness. Bucket does build good systems. He fires twice, missing both times and leaving scorches upon the ceramic walls.

  My attack proves ultimately futile in the end. Unable to aim accurately under such difficult conditions, Spen yet retains enough dexterity to batter the 'drone from the air with his off hand. The black gauntlet smacks into it and cracks a critical wing servo.

  The 'drone falls to the floor and lands with a crash. Feathers form a cloud around the failing device. Spen shoots again, missing thanks to the temporary visual impediment. Black smoke from burning plumage clouds the chamber.

  A quick status check assures me that the 'drone still possesses functional legs. Before he can correct his aim, I've already got the automaton moving towards his feet. The boots, armored in front, are of a synthetic leather. If I can avoid the armored section, I might be able to draw blood, at least.

  Slower on the ground than in the air, the 'drone is unable to dodge an attack I should have seen coming. The boot at which the 'drone runs shoots forward with alarming force. The impact shatters the artificial creature's neck and sends the head flying off. I lose connection with it for a final time.

  Dread fills me but I refuse to give up. There has to be a way to help!

  Returning focus to the cramped control room where Donna operates the mechanical Howan, I see that she has the robot leading her team through the alien structure. Unfortunately, they are in an unoccupied section of the edifice.

  "Donna, take the left passage. Follow it until the corridor branches again, then take the right path."

  "Understood, thanks Denn."

  Reduced to a mere observer, I watch as the three of them barrel down the corridors. They burst into the chamber containing the two operatives in time to see Spen blasting Dunc in the chest. Liquid alloy splashes from the fallen warrior in bright red droplets.

  They don't take the time to ask questions, opening fire immediately. Spen falls, smoking holes sprouting across his body. His armor blocks some of the shots, but the sheer quantity overwhelms his defenses. His corpse falls beside the barely breathing Dunc.

  It is only then that I realize that Grita is not with the group. Her armor's camera shows her standing guard at the entrance to the ancient structure. A bound Les sits against the curving wall under Grita's watch.

  "What of El?"

  Donna looks up sharply and turns her gaze to the camera mounted in the room with her. "We didn't see him." She shakes her head, then orders, "Fren, Zsuchus. Get Dunc out of here, I've got one more target to locate."

  "Yes, ma'am," they chorus as she guides Howan back out through the mazelike interior of the ancient location.

  I aid her navigation as I'm able by providing her with an overlay of the map on her display. She nods gratefully but remains silent, focusing on her task.

  Grita looks up, startled, when Howan runs by her, but keeps her wits about her. Her stunner never stops aiming at her captive.

  The wounded dronefeather, too damaged for combat application, is still in the vicinity. I connect with it and take it as high into the air as it is able to go. From up there, I'm able to locate Howan's chrome form easily. The black armored El takes longer to locate but when I find him, I report his location to Donna.

  A fierce snarl escapes her. Good. My 'drone keeps El in sight as she crosses the camp. Not bothering to avoid the tents, she crashes right through them, leaving a trail of crushed poles and ripped fabric behind her.

  El, hearing the tumult, makes his way toward the disturbance. I warn Donna in time for her to take cover. A stun blast fires right over the robot's shoulder, setting a destroyed tent aflame.

  At Donna's command, Howan crouches low and begins to circle around him. In order to assist, I cause the 'drone to drop from the sky directly onto El. He blasts it apart, but the brief distraction allows Howan to safely close the distance.

  The bulk of the robot crashes into the armored security leader, taking him to the ground. His stunner falls from his startled grip. A mechanical claw closes around El's helm and crushes. Sparks pour from damaged systems and his suit begins to lose function. His struggles cease and Donna relents. Howan's sensors show continued life signs from within the damaged suit.

  She drags him without remorse through the remains of the camp and drops him next to the bound form of Les. An unconscious Ind is already there.

  "Not too bad, boss," comments Grita with a smile.

  The two settle in to wait for the rest of their team to exit the structure. While they do that, courtesy requires I profess my gratitude to a certain thaumatist, before her trip into exile.