Exasperated, Ras said, “Just give it an order!”

Amena snapped, “It doesn’t take orders.”

I’d wanted to do this up close and personal but that wasn’t an option. The eight drones now inside the control deck with Targets One and Three were on standby near the floor, in surveillance positions. Target One had collapsed against a padded station chair, panting, both damaged arms hanging uselessly. Target Three stepped down to an inactive display surface and activated it with a hand gesture. Weird to see a human or whatever these were do it manually. They hadn’t set their non-standard encrypted feed to access ART’s systems yet.

Target Three said on the all-ship comm, “Intruders, escapees, slice them open like—”

The translator fizzled on the last few words so I guess I’d never know what I’d be sliced open like. I cut one drone out of the swarm of eight to observe, and gave the others their instructions. With the protective suit and the partial helmets, I needed to aim for the exposed face.

Target Three had time to make a gurgling noise and Target One a gaspy scream. My seven drone contacts winked out one by one. Drone Eight continued to record, sending me video of the bodies jerking helplessly, then finally dropping in leaking sprawls to the deck.

“But that’s a SecUnit—” Ras protested.

Eletra, her expression increasingly desperate, listened to the comm announcement and its abrupt end. “We have to go!”

Amena limped forward another step. She grabbed my arm and glared up at me. “Listen to me!”

I looked down at her and made deliberate eye contact because she had almost all my attention right now and the last person/target who had done that was still dripping down the bulkhead behind me. She was too self-absorbed or brave or some combination of both to realize what she was doing was not smart. She set her jaw and said, “We have to go with them. Now.”

I gently peeled her small hand off my jacket and said, “Never touch me again.”

Amena blinked and pressed her lips together, then turned to Eletra and Ras. “Let’s go.”

Eletra stepped toward the hatch. “This way—”

Ras said, “Is that thing going to listen—”

I stepped past Eletra and out the hatch in time to catch the targetDrone waiting there. I slammed it into the bulkhead and shook the remnants off my hands. Following ART’s schematic, I said, “This way.”

They followed me.

5

I called in most of my drones to take scouting positions ahead and cover positions behind us. I was taking the long way around toward Medical. The dim corridor lights brightened as we went by, an autonomic reflex. For a human, it would have been like seeing a dead body twitch. ART wasn’t here, there was no sign of its drones, but some of its lower-level functions were active, the code running even without the controlling intelligence.

An intruder system, probably some kind of bot pilot, had changed the security key for the targetDrones. And it must be guiding the ship through the wormhole. Transports just can’t do that on autopilot, at least according to World Hoppers and all the other shows about ships that I’d watched. That ART had wanted to watch.