A Weight on the Mind

There was another attack as we exited the concourse. Small arms fire from several mid-ranged infantry rifles and a single heavy support weapon, with above-average accuracy. Skilled shooters, but poor weapons. The last-gen, outdated firearms put up an impressive lightshow but barely came close to degrading the outer defensive measures.

One of the rearguard pair turned and disposed of them. The other gyrostabilised when the Senator suddenly leaned against it, and I took the cue to lift her into its arms. Freed from the limitation of her movement speed, all four units leapt into a loping run that accelerated up to an easy eight metres per second.

I sensed her make a cautious request to the furious threshing machine of my communications interface. It was formal, charmingly hesitant - and yet, instantly recognisable. It came in as speech-only.

"Do you treat all your lady extraction targets like this?"

There was a tiny irregularity in pace of the unit carrying her as I resisted the urge to laugh.