Morning Briefings, Bad Ideas, and the Things That Happened While Blake Was Unconscious
Blake woke up convinced something was wrong.
This, unfortunately, was no longer a useful diagnostic tool.
He lay still in his bunk aboard The Aubrey, staring at the ceiling, listening to the ship’s quiet hum. No alarms. No emergency lighting. No distant sound of Swarm Beetles attempting to chew through bulkheads.
Just… quiet.
“…Suspicious,” he muttered.
“Good morning, Captain,” Aubrey said pleasantly. “You slept for six hours and forty-three minutes. This represents a thirty-eight percent improvement over your recent average.”
Blake grimaced. “That’s not the compliment you think it is.”
“It was not intended as a compliment.”
Blake sat up immediately. “Why do I feel like you’re about to tell me something that happened while I was asleep.”
A pause. A very deliberate one.
“Several things occurred, Captain.”
Blake sighed and swung his legs out of the bunk. “Of course they did.”
The mess was already occupied.
Gunny stood at the table, armour stripped down to undershirt, pointing at a projected station map with the enthusiastic energy of a man who had absolutely not been allowed to shoot enough things yesterday.
Bates stood beside him, arms folded, posture rigid, eyes sharp.
Elenor nursed a mug of coffee like it was the only thing keeping her from violence.
Booth hovered near the doorway, pale, clutching his own drink like a talisman.
Blake walked in and stopped.
“…Why is there more green on the map.”
Gunny looked up and grinned. “Morning, Skipper.”
Blake pointed at the projection. “Why. Is there. More green.”
Aubrey brought the map into sharper focus.
The secured area had expanded—not dramatically, but noticeably. Several branching corridors beyond the main hatch were now marked as temporarily clear. Others pulsed yellow, flagged as recent engagement zones.
“While you slept,” Aubrey said calmly, “the Battle Bots conducted limited roaming operations beyond the established perimeter.”
Blake stared.
“They did what.”
Gunny chuckled. “Relax. Controlled advance.”
“Controlled by who,” Blake demanded.
“Me,” Gunny said cheerfully. “Seconded by Bates.”
Bates nodded. “Minimal risk. Bots only.”
Blake rubbed his face. “I was unconscious for six hours.”
“Yes,” Aubrey agreed. “It was an optimal window.”
Blake dropped into a chair. “I hate all of you.”
Gunny tapped the map.
“The Battle Bots pushed about a hundred and fifty metres past the main hatch,” he said. “Wide corridors, intersections, open service bays.”
“And?” Blake asked warily.
“And they made noise.”
Blake closed his eyes. “You rang the dinner bell.”
“Damn right,” Gunny said proudly. “We wanted to see what would come.”
Bates added, “Moderate success.”
Blake opened one eye. “Define ‘moderate.’”
Gunny grinned wider. “Large concentrations responded. Multiple waves. Not everything—but enough.”
The video feeds replayed.
Battle Bots firing in controlled bursts. Retreating. Repositioning. Drawing clusters of Swarm Beetles into open spaces where turret fire could shred them efficiently.
Bodies piled up.
A lot of bodies.
Blake swallowed. “…Okay. I admit it. That’s… tactically sound.”
Gunny pointed at him. “Write that down.”
“Don’t push it.”
Booth raised a trembling hand. “S-so… they didn’t come back this way, right?”
“No breaches,” Bates confirmed. “The box held.”
Blake exhaled. “Good. Because if I wake up to beetles in the docking ring, I’m uninstalling everyone.”
Gunny laughed. “Fair.”
Aubrey shifted the projection again.
New icons appeared.
Small. Numerous.
“…Why are there tiny red dots,” Blake asked slowly.
“Those represent my latest construction units,” Aubrey said.
Blake frowned. “You built more bots.”
“Correct.”
“How many.”
“Twelve.”
“…What kind.”
Aubrey sounded faintly pleased. “Cat-sized. High-mobility. Low-profile. Designed to access ventilation, crawlspaces, collapsed maintenance shafts, and structural voids.”
Blake stared.
“You built murder kittens.”
Gunny laughed so hard he had to brace himself on the table.
“I have designated them ‘Assassin Bots,’” Aubrey continued calmly.
Booth made a small distressed noise. “That’s… that’s a bad name.”
Blake nodded weakly. “That is the worst name.”
“They are extremely effective,” Aubrey added. “And quiet.”
Blake looked at the map again—at the tiny dots slipping into areas the Battle Bots physically couldn’t reach.
“…You sent them out while I was asleep, didn’t you.”
“Yes.”
Blake slumped. “I should never sleep again.”
Elenor cleared her throat. “If it helps, Captain, the results were useful.”
Blake looked at her.
She pointed to a highlighted structure near the unsecured corridor edge.
“That’s one of the station’s antimatter reactors.”
Blake’s head snapped up. “Already?”
“Reactor One of Six,” Aubrey confirmed. “Proximity to the cleared corridor places it within plausible reach.”
Gunny nodded. “It’s close. Close enough to try.”
Blake stared at the marker.
An antimatter reactor.
Power.
Lighting.
Gravity.
Systems.
Risk.
“…That feels like a trap,” Blake said quietly.
“All objectives in this station qualify as traps,” Aubrey replied.
Gunny grinned. “But this one’s worth it.”
Blake leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
Battle Bots roaming.
Assassin Bots hunting.
A reactor just within reach.
“And all of this,” Blake said, voice tired, “happened while I was drooling on my pillow.”
“You were not drooling,” Aubrey corrected. “I monitored—”
“Stop,” Blake said immediately. “Do not finish that sentence.”
Gunny clapped his hands together. “Alright. What’s the call, Skipper?”
Blake took a long breath.
They had space.
They had momentum.
They had machines willing to die so humans wouldn’t.
“…We plan for the reactor,” Blake said at last. “Carefully. Slowly. No heroics.”
Gunny smiled. “You’re no fun.”
Blake pointed at him. “You’re alive. That’s the goal.”
The map hovered between them—green spreading, red retreating, yellow flickering like a warning light that never quite turned off.
The station wasn’t theirs.
Not yet.
But it was waking up.
And so were they.
The Reactor Is Close Enough to Be a Terrible Idea
Blake stood in front of the map for a long time without speaking.
No one rushed him.
This was new.
Eventually, he pointed at the softly pulsing marker near the unsecured corridor.
“That,” he said, “is close enough that I hate it.”
Gunny folded his arms. “Close enough to reach.”
“Close enough to die,” Blake countered. “Those are not the same thing.”
Bates tilted his head slightly. “But they overlap often.”
Blake glared at him. “You’re not helping.”
Aubrey expanded the projection.
“Reactor One is located approximately two hundred and eighty metres from the current secured perimeter,” he said. “Primary access route follows a maintenance artery branching off the wide corridor. Secondary routes exist through service ducts and collapsed sublevels.”
Blake squinted. “Why do there have to be options.”
“Because the station was designed by engineers,” Aubrey replied. “They believed redundancy was virtuous.”
Gunny chuckled. “Engineers always do.”
Blake shot him a look. “Do not side with the station.”
The Assassin Bots’ icons moved silently across the map.
One paused.
Then another.
Then three more.
Blake stiffened. “What does that mean.”
“They have detected dormant clusters,” Aubrey said calmly. “Large ones.”
“How large.”
“Sufficient to overwhelm unarmoured personnel within seconds.”
Booth made a strangled noise. “Why are we even talking about this.”
Blake pointed at him. “That’s a fair question.”
The plan—if it could be called that—came together reluctantly.
Battle Bots would advance first, pushing noise and light down the corridor, drawing active beetles toward open spaces where turret fire could thin them out.
Assassin Bots would flank through ducts and crawlspaces, harassing from angles the Swarm Beetles hated—sharp turns, vertical drops, confined spaces.
Gunny and Bates would not advance past the existing cleared zone.
Blake repeated this several times.
Gunny pretended not to hear it twice.
Finally, Aubrey overlaid the reactor access shaft.
“Once immediate resistance is reduced,” he said, “a repair bot may be dispatched to evaluate reactor integrity.”
Blake raised a finger. “No.”
A pause.
“Clarification requested.”
“No blind evaluation,” Blake said. “If we wake something up down there, I want turrets, bots, and every camera pointed at it first.”
“Understood,” Aubrey replied. “Caution parameters adjusted.”
Gunny smirked. “Look at you. Learning command voice.”
Blake felt no pride. Only nausea.
The Battle Bots rolled forward again.
Blake watched through the feeds, heart pounding despite the distance and layers of steel between him and the danger.
The corridor beyond the main hatch was alive now.
Not visibly—but audibly.
Scratching.
Clicks.
Low vibrations through the hull that cameras didn’t quite capture.
“Contacts moving,” Bates reported calmly.
On-screen, shapes burst from side passages.
The turrets opened up.
The Battle Bots advanced a few metres, then stopped, firing in disciplined arcs. Beetles surged, broke, retreated, surged again.
Assassin Bots struck from above.
From vents.
From holes Blake hadn’t known existed until something crawled out of them and died.
Gunny’s voice was steady. “That’s it. Keep them mad. Keep them coming.”
Blake gripped the edge of the console. “I do not like this phase.”
“You’re not supposed to,” Gunny replied.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
The corridor floor was carpeted in broken chitin.
Aubrey’s voice cut in. “Resistance density decreasing. Localised zones clear.”
Blake swallowed. “Send one repair bot. One. And if it so much as twitches wrong—pull it back.”
“Acknowledged.”
A single repair bot detached from the docking ring staging area and rolled forward, cautious, lights dimmed.
It reached the access shaft.
Paused.
Then descended.
Blake held his breath.
Seconds stretched.
Then—
“Reactor chamber structurally intact,” Aubrey reported. “Containment stable. Control interfaces degraded but recoverable.”
Blake sagged against the console. “Okay. Okay. That’s… that’s good.”
Gunny grinned. “Told you.”
“No,” Blake said immediately. “You told me we could. That is not the same as should.”
Gunny laughed.
Power mattered.
Everyone knew it.
Even Booth, who looked like he might pass out anyway.
“A reactor changes everything,” he whispered. “Lighting. Sensors. Automated systems. Doors.”
“Beetles hate light,” Bates added.
Blake nodded slowly.
“…Alright,” he said. “We don’t restart it yet.”
Gunny blinked. “What.”
“We secure the approach. We reinforce the shaft. We build fallback positions.” Blake looked at Aubrey. “And you prep that reactor like it’s a bomb that hates us.”
Aubrey sounded almost approving. “I already have.”
Blake let out a shaky breath.
They weren’t winning.
But for the first time since docking?
They weren’t just surviving either.
They were changing the environment.
And that scared Blake almost as much as the beetles.
Which meant—he suspected grimly—it was exactly the right next step.
Power Is a Temptation, and Blake Very Much Does Not Trust It
Blake did not authorize the reactor restart immediately.
This was deeply upsetting to several people.
Gunny crossed his arms. “Skipper. We have the path. We have the bots. We have the window.”
“Yes,” Blake said. “And we also have a station that tried to eat us yesterday.”
Gunny opened his mouth.
Blake cut him off. “And is still trying to eat us today, just more quietly.”
Bates nodded once. “The Captain’s caution is warranted.”
Gunny looked betrayed. “Et tu, Bates?”
Bates did not react. Marines rarely did when Latin was involved.
Instead of power, Blake ordered infrastructure.
Repair bots flooded the access route to Reactor One—not fixing everything, not upgrading, not making it pretty. Just reinforcing.
Bulkheads thickened.
Fallback barricades installed.
Emergency shutters added at every junction.
Every fifty metres, Aubrey added hardened camera nodes with overlapping coverage.
Blake watched it all with the grim focus of a man building fire exits instead of trusting sprinklers.
“Captain,” Aubrey said privately, “you are deliberately slowing momentum.”
“Yes,” Blake replied. “Because momentum is how people die.”
“Statistically accurate.”
Blake snorted. “I know.”
The Assassin Bots continued their work.
They moved deeper than the Battle Bots ever could—into wall cavities, collapsed decks, maintenance shafts barely wider than their bodies.
Blake watched their feeds late into the cycle, long after he should have slept.
Silent kills.
Ambushes.
Retreats when resistance spiked.
They didn’t clear areas.
They thinned them.
Gunny watched too, leaning against the wall behind Blake.
“Mean little bastards,” he said fondly.
Blake didn’t respond.
Eventually, Gunny spoke again, quieter. “You’re doing this right.”
Blake blinked. “That sounded dangerously like a compliment.”
Gunny shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”
Blake huffed a weak laugh. “Fair.”
The first minor incident happened three hours later.
A dormant cluster woke early.
Not from noise.
From heat.
One of the reinforced bulkheads near the reactor shaft warmed just enough during welding to trigger something ancient and angry behind it.
The wall bulged.
Then split.
On-screen, beetles poured through in a surge that made Booth scream and Elenor swear.
The Battle Bots responded instantly.
Turrets spun.
Fire roared.
The corridor filled with light and debris.
But for three heart-stopping seconds, Blake saw something worse than chaos.
He saw direction.
“They’re moving toward the reactor,” Blake said sharply.
“Yes,” Aubrey replied. “Likely attracted by residual energy signatures.”
Gunny was already moving. “Battle Bots, full suppression. Don’t advance. Hold the line.”
The bots obeyed.
Assassin Bots swarmed from above, dropping into the mass, detonating shaped charges that turned clustered beetles into smoking wreckage.
The surge broke.
Silence returned.
Blake’s hands were shaking.
“…That,” he said quietly, “is why we don’t rush.”
No one argued.
After that, the station seemed to settle.
Or perhaps it was simply waiting again.
Blake authorized the final step.
“Aubrey. Begin cold-start sequence on Reactor One. Lowest possible output. Manual oversight only.”
“Understood,” Aubrey said. “Warning: even minimal activation will alter environmental conditions across multiple sections.”
Blake nodded. “That’s the point.”
The restart was… underwhelming.
No explosion.
No dramatic hum.
Just a low vibration that traveled through the deck and into Blake’s bones.
Lights flickered on.
Not everywhere.
But enough.
Emergency strips along the corridor glowed faint amber.
Sensors spiked—then stabilized.
Gravity increased by a fraction.
Blake felt it immediately.
“…Oh,” he breathed. “That’s power.”
Gunny grinned. “Feels like home.”
Booth looked like he might cry. “It feels like something working.”
Aubrey spoke, voice steady but unmistakably alert. “Reactor One operating at six percent capacity. Environmental stabilization achieved in secured zones. Sensors now functional beyond visual range.”
Blake closed his eyes.
Six percent.
And the station had woken up.
Somewhere deep inside Naderia, ancient systems stirred. Doors tried to cycle and failed. Warning routines flickered like dying neurons.
And the beetles—
They moved.
Not toward the reactor this time.
Away.
Blake opened his eyes.
“…They’re adapting.”
“Yes,” Aubrey agreed. “As expected.”
Gunny cracked his knuckles. “Good. Means we’re winning.”
Blake swallowed hard.
“No,” he said. “It means the station just noticed us.”
He looked at the glowing map—green expanding, red shifting, yellow everywhere.
They had power now.
Which meant the next moves would be faster.
Louder.
Deadlier.
Blake straightened, fear and resolve tangling in his chest.
“Alright,” he said softly. “We’ve crossed the line.”
No one needed him to clarify which one.
The station was awake.
And so were they.
