Commander Mariya Nikonova whipped her right arm across her body and unleashed a backhand across the saniclone"s face, sending him to his knees.
He cowered, his arms over his head to fend off the next blow.
The lights of approaching vessel startled her, stopping her in mid-swing.
A beat-up tug materialized out of the night, the compound lights coming ablaze at the approach.
The Commander frowned. “Who the hell is that?” she said on her trake, watching the battered ship settle precariously to the tarmac.
The civilian director traked her back. “Apologies, Commander Nikonova,” Danil Topikovich said, his voice a squeaky whine, “it"s the saniclone pair coming in from the Chin Consulate, which I guess we ordered.”
“You guess?” These godforsaken civilian bureaucrats never know what they"re d
