A loud thump echoed through the ship from somewhere in the crew section of the ship. Ian quirked an eyebrow up not bothering to straighten from slumping in the pilot’s chair. Not even when the string of expletives followed the sound. That thump had resembled Alex hitting a bulkhead and not equipment crashing or glitching. She’d be along quick enough. Boots thumping on the plate deck sounded before he’d finished the thought. Tucking his hands behind his head, Ian slouched further into his seat.

Mother grabbed the pad from my hands, tucking graying strands behind her ear. “No, Widre. They failed, and we’re left to pick up the pieces.”

The battle for Delus 88 raged on, and Ealrith served the front line. Wings spread, he soared above the green, little more than the settlements worth and toward ash and stone. A wave of smoke struck him, glazing over his sensors for a moment until his servos burned the soot away.

The gray cement was marred, and GRR629 was on the case.

In fact, it was its one thousandth, two hundred and thirty ninth day on the job. Gears whirling, it connected the nozzle in its arm to the full paint compartment. Its mission was simple: return the wall to uniformity.