Only the shuttle hadn't dropped its boarding ramp, and its engines weren't spooling up to take off.
How was that even possible, after the warning he'd given? Dalar slammed his head to the side for universal broadcasting, forgetting he'd already done that. “We need to get these scientists loaded and get off this rock ten minutes ago, pilot!” he shouted. “Didn't I make that clear while I was running for my life on the way here?”
“I don't take orders from you, crewman,” the pilot replied contemptuously. Another idiot who'd heard of his disgrace and was using it as an excuse to make stupid decisions just to spite him.
Dalar jerked a thumb over his shoulder, sure the shuttle's flight crew were watching him on a display. “Then take orders from the ARMY OF KILLER ROBOTS THAT JUST TORE GARRIDY AND HALSER TO PIECES AND ARE FIVE SECONDS BEHIND ME!” he screamed. “You want to take off with a few dozen prototype companions programmed to kill Decons tearing through your hull to get at you?”
Maybe he got through to the crew, or maybe they finally spotted the first of the bloodstained abominations pouring out of the facility. Either way, the shuttle ramp's emergency release popped and it slammed to the ground, inviting him to safety. He heard the ship's engines roar to life as the pilot “expedited” the preflight checklist.
Only one last obstacle to getting the void away from this deathtrap. Dalar waved his cauterizer at a knot of scientists at the rear of the group, including the charming Stag in hiding, Miss Sarr. They were trying not to be obvious about slowing down as they crossed the tarmac, probably still hoping the murderous robots they'd created would save them from a life of ignoble slavery to their competitors.
He shot the ground behind them, then to both sides, leaving smoking craters in the composite surface. “Last person on that ship gets fried!”
That got them moving.
There was another slight bottleneck at the ramp, even though it was meant for quickly loading troops and ran the entire width of the troop transport. Dalar took a moment to glance over his shoulder, then nearly screamed at the sight of several of the abominations already out on the tarmac, running at least twice as fast as a normal human could manage, while more streamed out the door behind them.
He bulled into the final people yet to board, shoving them onto the ramp only moments before the shuttle lurched and began to take off, the ramp shuddering as its hydraulics forced it closed against the weight of a dozen people. Apparently the pilot had decided not to let the killer robots anywhere near them, even if it meant leaving someone behind.
Probably hoping one of those they left was Dalar, the festering pustules.
The scientists ahead of him stumbled and clutched anything they could, including each other, to keep from getting tossed off the ramp as the ground dropped away beneath them. Dalar scrambled up the lurching surface on all fours, barely managing to catch hold of Sarr as she was about to fall over the side. Or, knowing her, possibly make a suicidal leap a hundred feet to hard tarmac below.
All the thanks he got for his heroism was a soft shoe to the shoulder as the skinny woman desperately pushed off him, launching herself the final few feet into the safety of the transport compartment. He threw himself after her, rolling wildly as the ramp clanged closed behind him.
After a few seconds to catch his breath and rub his bruised shoulder, he hauled himself to his feet with a groan and looked around, doing a quick head count.
Twenty-seven, that abomination who'd snapped Halser's neck had said. He only counted twenty-six scientists with him; either one had fallen during takeoff without him noticing, or there'd been a last person hiding somewhere on the facility that the assault force hadn't caught before the companions went on their murderous rampage.
Either way, he had a hard time caring. “Get strapped in, people,” he said tiredly, slumping into one of the narrow seats and fumbling with the straps. “Looks as if the pilot's in a hurry to get us away from here, so it's going to be a bumpy ride.”
Once Dalar was securely belted in, he sagged his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes in relief that this nightmare was finally over.
After a few seconds, he shifted his head for fleet-wide communication. “Crewman Dalar to the fleet,” he said in the steadiest voice he could manage, speaking over the babble of the scientists around him; from the sound of some of them, apparently even being captured at gunpoint couldn't stop them from complaining.
A curt voice he didn't recognize responded. “Fleet comms, what's your emergency?”
“Reporting at least five thousand prototype adult companions activated and programmed to kill Movement forces. Two security officers dead and three combat androids from my strike team destroyed, facility retaken by enemy forces. We were barely able to escape with the facility's human staff.” He paused a beat, taking a deep breath, then continued firmly. “Recommend use of atomics.”
Dalar wasn't sure if they listened to his advice, or if other members of the assault force had already reported in, or if the ships in orbit had watched the entire thing on their sensors. Either way, half a minute later he watched on the shuttle compartment's display as the facility, now distant, flashed with a blinding light.
The display dimmed and filtered the glare, allowing him to see the distinctive mushroom-shaped cloud of an atomic detonating on a near 1g planet with standard atmospheric density. Many of the scientists around him shrieked in shock and horror and, oddly, even grief as the facility was obliterated. That, or sat staring numbly at the awe-inspiring display of destructive force.
He bit back a curse, realizing he probably shouldn't have let
