Subterfuge

Ji-Dar awoke in spartan quarters which evoked utilitarianism and function, packaged in a somewhat sleek exterior. This is what she expected from Cerulean Command: a high-tech arsenal funded by the Planetary Alliance.

The door hissed gently as she approached, a mechanical voice chimed:

“Good morning, soldier. Breakfast is being served at the Circle. Please enjoy this time with your comrades.”

She chuckled. Collecting the beige rations from the auto-dispenser could hardly be termed being served. Her boots clanged on the metallic bridge as she left her quarters.

She passed the main hub where Commander Wilhem spoke in hushed tones to another high-ranking officer, such as Ji-Dar could determine from the insignia emblazoned across his pauldrons. Her keen ears didn’t intend to eavesdrop. One of the blessings and curses of her reptilian race was exceptional hearing.

“What news from Meridian and the proposed peace talks?” Wilhem whispered.

“That’s just it, Commander. All comms have been unresponsive since 22:00 when the meeting was due to take place. Radio silence. Even my most discreet of contacts hasn’t responded to my pings. I am worried, sir. Something’s not right here.”

The solider took a deep draw of his cigarette and the smoke swirled in a dance, drawn up into the filtration system.

Wilhem pondered all he had heard, eyebrows furrowed.

“What are those rogue bots up too? Omega, pull up all flight paths orbit of Meridian.”

The robotic voice chirped eagerly in response.
“Right away, Commander. Processing.”

Suddenly, the alarm blared, and the hull breach alert screamed
.
“Emergency, emergency, the hull has been hit. All personnel, report to battle stations immediately!”

How had this threat slipped passed the sensor?

Nauseous, Ji-Dar slipped the stimulant key into the notch in her armour, her head pounding, and drew her plasma gun. It was time to fight.