Xeno Core

Harsh yells reach me over the drone's built-in microphones. Components are being ripped from the walls and tossed aside, clattering noisily. The Tserri are chanting as they destroy vital systems, voices tight with anger.

"We will not starve!" and "Food now, for the children."

Yosip is watching from the war room, main screen split into several displays. Most are black, but as I find more working cameras the black screens are replaced. The drone's feed is centrally located and much larger than the rest.

I don't have reliable coverage of the area, but the feed from the few cameras still operational are being stored for later review. In the dark and smoke I cannot discern distinguishing features, but it may be possible to clean up the images once things have calmed down. We'll need to hold the worst offenders responsible for the damage.

Hunched over his desk, the Supply-Master's scowl is drawn as tightly as his shoulders. The servos in his arms whine as he presses his clawlike metal hands into the desk's surface.

Our efforts to keep everyone fed have been barely enough. With the need to repair the storage facilities, as well as replacing other necessary components in the sector, that goal will be impeded. It's important that we give the refugees someone other than the administrators to blame for this current mess.

Cameras farther away from the scene of the riot show yet more maddened Tserri headed to the affected corridors. I initiate security lockout. The incoming mob halt at the heavy doors, unable to advance. Some of them begin attacking the thick metal, but most simply look for another way past the unexpected barrier.

Inspired, I activate additional emergency barricades. This traps most of the groups of fresh agitators, separating them and rendering them impotent to continue their rampage. I send the temporary override codes to the security team. Without them they'll be just as hindered as the rioters.

The first of the security officers reaches the outskirts, where groups of potential rioters wait angrily to be released. Skint isn't the brightest, but even he knows enough not to risk a confrontation that can only end in massive amounts of casualties. He goes around them, following a route Yosip sends him to avoid the worst areas.

Others in the skull marked armor are given their own routes. Yosip's efficiency is laudable. None of the security team are near each other, yet their eventual goals should see them joining into pairs and trios before entering the riot proper, if they can stick to the Supply-Master's plans.

"We need to add more security personnel," he grumbles. "And set up a few checkpoints, to keep this kind of thing from happening again."

"That's for sure. I'll also have fabrication start work on some model fifteens," I respond. "There are not many stun rifles on board."

He looks over to the arms closet set into one of the walls nearby. "Yeah, I know. Alright, order a batch of twenty, then."

The abundance of additional corridors allows the members of security to skirt the worst areas. Where only one or two armed individuals are present, their orders are to confiscate any weaponry or tools present and take the offenders names and pictures. They can be arrested after the primary threat is no longer an issue. Their options are limited, either go home and wait to be arrested, or go hide in an unfurnished hole, without food or water. A holding cell likely sounds better in that comparison.

Chaos breaks out when the pairs of skull-marked armors breach the through way. Fierce growling threats are thrown at them, as well as rocks and sharp bits of metal. It all bounces off the sturdy armor they wear.

"This is the Supply-Master," Yosip says over their inbuilt comms. "Do not use lethal force. Keep your weapons locked into your holsters, no killing. You're in suits that put theirs to shame, those that have them. They can't hurt you."

The angry wave of fur reaches them. Claws scrape harmlessly off reinforced alloy plating. The security force reels under the initial assault. In twos and threes they are surrounded, isolated pockets of sanity in the screaming mass of the rioters.

They recover quickly, Yosip's words having the intended effect. Armor plated backhands send hostiles down to the decking with ease. The armored force moves slowly together. Dunc Wollen is ordering them to reach his position, and they are more than happy to obey.

Twitching bodies are left in their wake as they regroup. Soon Dunc has his full team around him. He starts to issue orders but is interrupted by a fresh wave of rioters.

More Tserri, furious beyond reason, charge over their fallen. They too are rendered senseless by the security forces. Mounds of heaving, groaning bodies surround the black and gold armored forms. The glints of infrequent lights reflect off of them, shining brightly through the smoke.

"Have a repair crew start getting together some replacement parts," orders Yosip. "Enough of the food supplies are already ruined, we need to try to salvage as much as we can." Disgust twists his features. Understandable, after all the work that had went into feeding the populace.

"It could be worse, you know," I try to reassure him. "Most of the more perishable supplies are still in the freezers. There may be some thawing, but with swift action, those could still be shipped to cookhouses for the next meal."

He nods his assent, waving one mechanical claw airily. "So have them bring a team of roustabouts, with carts."

I relay his orders, making sure to flag a few of the supplies to be sent to the gaming hall off Laceweaver Row. Then the worst happens. "They've breached the warehouse. I'm loosing signal from the inside."

Yosip jams one thin gray digit into the controls on his desk. "Get your team in there, now!" Dunc's camera jerks as he receives the new command.

The security lead only hesitates a moment as he passes on his own orders. The unit surges forward as one, pushing past the stubborn resistance of the unarmed Tserri. By the tides, I wish I was down there.

The Supply-Master stands in his excitement and leans over his desk. He plants his mechanical arms on the desk and strains to get closer to the screen. His mouth works silently as he watches intently. Probably noting how inefficient the security team are in subduing the maddened populace.

Perhaps they should be issued light clubs? Stun batons? Yosip will likely be brimming with ideas. He stares at the screen, eyes absorbing the wreckage.

Dunc and his team almost gently push the rampaging mob around. Their armor keeps them safe, as well as adding a lot of momentum to their movements. The rioters are as powerless as grubs, unable to resist the servo assisted force in their drive to enter the warehouse.

Spen Dondrek, Dunc's second in command, is much less reserved. Lashing out with true passion, his fury in the face of the enemy would be admirable, were he not striking down members of his own community. He would do perhaps less damage to the civilians were he armed with a stun baton.

His squad leader yells at him to restrain himself, but Spen doesn't acknowledge. A sever breach of discipline, as his suit is showing no signs of damage or malfunction. I send a request to the suit's operating system to run an internal diagnostic and send me the results.

The results are almost instantly displayed before me. Everything is working as it should. Dunc sends Donnan out to assist Spen. And hopefully keep him from causing too much harm.

It doesn't take them much longer to secure the storage building and break up the riot. Almost everyone is simply sent home. At least, those that are still able to walk unassisted. The severely wounded are helped to the medical bay. Though, at this point it's large enough to call a small hospital, like one might find on a struggling colony world.

By comparing video surveillance captured in other parts of the station with the smog smeared scenes captured during the riot, it should be possible to identify the ringleaders. Or at least those who took the most active role in destroying what so many had worked for. There is simply nowhere to detain the three or four hundred, now subdued, rioters.

"We're going to have to go back to rationing," states Yosip morosely. "And won't that make the furballs happy?"

He doesn't even flinch when one of the Tserri administrators on shift hits him in the shoulder. The gray-furred Tserri shakes her claw, having hurt herself more than the Supply-Master.

Eva apologizes silently, sending a look of apeal to the offended administrator. The matter is waved off with one of the Tserri's lower claws and a smirk, as if to communicate something back.

The short officer nods her head, the long tuft of hair bobbing along. Some shared secret between the two? They both shoot a glance at their superior officer at the same time, before heading off together.

Oblivious to their antics, Yosip taps busily at the command array set into his desk. Repairs need to be made, crops harvested, and new equipment installed.