Guns blazing, Trak continued to dance, ignoring the Tour Guide’s words.
“Please do not activate your weapons in the hallway,” Tour Guide said for the fourth time.
It had said the same thing after the missile strike, the scorcher blast and the acid mite release, and Trak hadn’t cared.
Trak did a pirouette through a second set of spike mine explosions.
“Please do not activate your weapons in the hallway,” the Tour Guide said again.
This time, however, Trak stopped. His weapons retracted. He froze midspin, balanced on his two right legs, deep in thought.
Trak knew he’d made a grievous tactical error. And not just because he looked ridiculous.
He’d opened fire on a completely unknown target.
He had no idea what this place was, who made it or who, if anyone, lived here , but he’d made it his shooting gallery.
Stuck Station could be anything. It could be a civilization’s sacred shrine. It could a vast living organism. It could be a test that he’d just failed.
This was foolish, he thought. Very foolish.
He had been so enraptured by the thought of using his weapons that he hadn’t thought of the consequences. He might have just started an interspecies war.
And, he thought, if the facility has working teleporters, … what other devices could it have at its disposal? Will my actions bring the wrath of some unknown threat upon me? Or worse... upon my friends?
“I’m finished,” he told the Aye. “And I hope this does not affect our future relationship.”