Clorita clapped her hands. “Alright, people. Let’s turn this junk into something that’ll give the Unifiers a run for their credits.”
The Duj's shuttle remained hidden in the ravine, its camouflage blending seamlessly with the rocky surroundings. Zog, Clorita, HALAT, and the Vantelian leader Karvix stood in the centre of the settlement, reviewing their defences in the dim light of dawn. Around them, the farmers prepared themselves with nervous energy and determination, their antennae twitching as they glanced at the newly assembled contraptions.
Zog paced in front of the group, his voice steady but carrying an edge of apprehension. “Alright, listen up. Here’s the plan. We’ve got one shot to hold off the Unifiers, and we’ll make it count.”
He gestured toward the centre of the settlement, where Clorita had set up the Gatling Pitchfork. The spinning tines gleamed in the torchlight, ready to unleash chaos on anything in their path. “This is our last line of defence. If they breach the settlement, we use it to hold them off while the rest of us regroup. Until then, we keep them out.”
Zog turned to Clorita, who stood with a small group of farmers armed with slings and crude spears. “Clorita, you take the left flank. Hit them hard and fast. Push them toward the centre if you can.”
Clorita nodded, her neutron shotgun slung across her shoulder. “Got it, Captain. Let’s hope these farmers can throw a decent punch.”
Karvix’s antennae twitched indignantly. “We’ll show you, humanoid.”
Zog smirked, then looked at HALAT. “Spark, you’ve got the right flank. Use the proximity mines to slow them down. Keep them distracted.”
HALAT tilted her head, her expression neutral. “Understood. I’ll ensure they don’t reach the village unscathed.”
“Good,” Zog said, his tone firm. “BOB will coordinate from above, keeping us updated on their movements. And I’ll be here in the centre, managing the defences and watching for gaps.”
Clorita raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re sitting back while we do all the work?”
“I’m directing,” Zog said defensively. “Directing is important.”
HALAT’s lips twitched in what might have been amusement. “We’ll see how well you direct under fire.”
Zog moved through the settlement as the farmers took their positions, double-checking the defences. The proximity mines were buried along the outer edges, their faint glow barely visible beneath the soil. The reflective shields were angled along the perimeter, ready to blind anyone who dared approach. In the centre of the village, the Gatling Pitchfork whirred softly, its motor prepared to unleash chaos.
Clorita and HALAT led their groups to the flanks, each armed with simple weapons and improvised gadgets. Clorita’s group carried bundles of grog-filled jars strapped with fuses, while HALAT’s team had crude slingshots for launching the explosive concoctions.
“Remember,” Clorita told her group, her voice steady, “aim for the legs. Trip them up, push them back. And if you miss, just run faster than they do.”
Karvix, standing at her side, grinned. “We’ve been running from the Unifiers for years. It’s time we made them run.”
HALAT, on the opposite flank, scanned the horizon with cold precision. “Stay behind me,” she instructed her group. “Follow my lead, and you’ll survive. Disobey, and you won’t.”
The farmers exchanged nervous glances but nodded. HALAT’s imposing demeanour left little room for argument.
The first sign of the Unifiers’ approach was the rhythmic thud of marching feet. Zog stood on a makeshift platform in the centre of the settlement, his laser pistol holstered but ready. Through the Duj’s communication link, BOB’s voice rang in his earpiece.
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“Captain, enemy forces are within 200 meters. Thirty-five hostiles. Ten approaching the left flank, fifteen on the right, and the rest moving toward the centre.”
Zog swallowed hard, his circuits buzzing with nervous energy. “Alright, team. You know what to do.”
Clorita’s voice crackled through the link. “Left flank’s ready. Bring it on.”
HALAT’s response was curt. “Right flank in position.”
The Unifiers emerged from the shadows, their weapons glinting in the torchlight. They charged with a guttural roar, their numbers overwhelming despite their lack of strategy.
Clorita’s group struck first. She lobbed a grog-filled jar into the advancing soldiers, the explosion lighting up the night and sending several Unifiers sprawling. The farmers cheered, emboldened by the sudden success.
On the right flank, HALAT moved like a spectre, her precise strikes and calculated tactics slowing the Unifiers’ advance. Proximity mines erupted in bursts of fire and shrapnel, forcing the attackers to scatter. HALAT’s team, inspired by her composure, launched their counterattacks with surprising effectiveness.
Zog watched from the centre, his heart pounding as the battle unfolded. When a group of Unifiers broke through HALAT’s line, he activated the reflective shields, their blinding beams disorienting the attackers long enough for Clorita’s team to flank them.
The Unifiers ' forces began to falter after what felt like hours but were only minutes. Between the spinning terror of the Gatling Pitchfork, the explosive grog, and the relentless precision of HALAT, the attackers had little choice but to retreat.
The settlement erupted in cheers as the last Unifiers disappeared into the night. Clorita leaned on her shotgun, grinning. “Not bad for a bunch of farmers.”
HALAT approached Zog, her expression unreadable. “Your strategy was effective, Captain. The Unifiers won’t return for some time.”
Zog exhaled, his relief palpable. “Let’s hope that’s true. Because I don’t think we can pull that off twice.”
BOB’s voice chimed in. “Congratulations, Captain. Your leadership has secured the settlement. Shall I prepare the shuttle for departure?”
Clorita glanced at Zog, her smirk fading. “What’s next, Captain?”
Zog looked at the battered but victorious farmers, then at his crew. “We rest. Recharge. And then we move on.”
Back aboard the Duj, the crew finally allowed themselves a moment to relax. The ship floated in serene orbit above the planet, its systems humming faintly as it idled. The chaos of the mission had been left behind, and for once, there was silence in the air—apart from the occasional creak of metal as the ship adjusted its position.
Zog sat slouched in the captain’s chair, a thick manual spread awkwardly across his lap. His brow furrowed as he squinted at the indecipherable diagrams and densely packed text. He muttered a little, flipping a page with an exasperated grunt.
“You look like you’re trying to read hieroglyphics,” Clorita said, leaning back in her chair with one leg crossed over the other. A small bottle of lubricant sat next to her as she expertly worked it into her elbow joint with a rag.
“I’m trying to understand how the thermal conduits in this ship work,” Zog replied defensively, holding up the manual. “But this manual might as well be written in gibberish.”
Clorita smirked and tilted her head. “It might help if you turned it the right way up.”
Zog blinked, looked at the book, and frowned as he realised it was upside down. With a muttered curse, he rotated the manual the right way up, but not before Clorita’s sharp eyes caught his fumbling.
She smirked. “What’s the matter, Captain? Forget how to read, or are you hiding a copy of AstroVixen in there?”
Zog shot her a glare over the edge of the book. “It’s a technical manual, Clorita.”
“Sure it is,” she teased, stifling a laugh. “Just checking.”
Meanwhile, HALAT stood nearby, her glowing eyes on a screen displaying intricate graphs and data streams. She remained plugged into the ship’s systems, her energy reserves slowly replenishing. She monitored Luma’s battery recovery on one panel, the felixanoid resting peacefully on a cushioned platform. On another, she combed through ancient space battle strategies, her AI refining and cataloguing each one.
“Your cat,” HALAT said without turning, “will be fully operational in 3.8 hours. Her core systems are responding well to the recharge.”
“She’s not my cat,” Clorita interjected without looking up, though a faint smile tugged at her lips.
“She belongs to the ship,” Zog added. “Or... maybe the ship belongs to her. I’m still not sure.”
HALAT paused momentarily, then continued speaking in her usual matter-of-fact tone. “In the meantime, I’ve downloaded 73 advanced battle formations and counter-tactics into my database. Should you ever need strategic advice, I’m now more equipped.”
“Fantastic,” Zog muttered, flipping another incomprehensible page. “We’ll be ready for an armada while I still can’t figure out how to turn on the thermal controls.”