Drudger skin came in a limited range of grays, often tinted with a unique design of teal and coral markings, all of which darkened as they aged, much like Viators. These two were clearly adults, but fairly young, with a light ash-gray skin the color of unfinished aerasteel.
The two Drudgers raised their rifles as they moved deeper into the secondary air lock. Cavalon retreated, pressing his back against the wall beside the door.
One growled out a string of unintelligible words, its voice muddled as if gargling water, underwater. Not that Cavalon would have been able to understand what it said anyway. Most Drudgers spoke only a heavy dialect of the Viator language, though some had a rudimentary understanding of the human tongue as well. Even then, their vocal cords were Viator, so what came out was generally a mere approximation of intelligible words.
The other Drudger responded with a similar string of nonsense, followed by a crunching metallic clang, vibrating through the metal wall. The other let out an angry snarl.
Cavalon knew one thing Drudgers got from humans: their vile tempers. For all their faults, the Viators could never be accused of having been short-fused. They’d been diabolical beings devoid of empathy or compassion—but they hadn’t almost succeeded in wiping out sentience across the entire galaxy by being petulant.
The Drudgers shared another gruff exchange Cavalon couldn’t make out, followed by a shuffle of footsteps that slowly grew quieter.
He tilted his head until he could catch a narrow glimpse of the room again. Instead of the empty air lock he expected, he found three more Drudgers had joined the first two. All five stood outside the secondary air lock. Three wore dark-gray Viator-issue jumpsuits, ratty and stained as if they hadn’t bothered to change their clothing since the Resurgence War. Two of the newcomers wore strange, mismatched pieces of armor—molded sheets of rust-colored metal lining their limbs and chests. Yet it didn’t seem strapped on, hovering over the body as a suit of armor might, but instead, it lay flush with their hardened skin. Bolts protruded from the top of each piece, as if the armor had been riveted directly to their exoskeletons. Unlike their jumpsuited counterparts, neither carried a pistol or rifle, but instead had sets of sharp, curved metal blades built into the tops of their hands, extending their talon-like fingers into rusted claws.
One of the jumpsuit Drudgers knelt to inspect the door frame where the device Jackin had found was installed. Another’s gaze shot up toward the SGL, taloned fingers dancing across the side of its rifle.
Cavalon slid back behind the wall, then clamped his eyes shut and held his breath. It had definitely not seen him.
Searing bolts of plasma fire flew through the open doorway and struck the wall below the hatch. Before Cavalon could even begin to consider what to do, one of the armored Drudgers rushed forward, unaffected by its comrades’ fire pinging off its shielded back. The creature spotted Cavalon first, roaring and swiping at him with a rusted claw. He stumbled back as the blades ripped three short tears in the front of his vest and his royal Imprints darted across his skin.
Jackin leapt out, kicking the Drudger in the back of the knee. As it collapsed in a clatter of metal, the optio grabbed its armored collar and with surprising strength, hauled it out of the open door frame into cover with him. He plunged the knife between two panels of armor at the base of its neck. Wrenching the blade free released a fountain of grisly black-red blood.
The Drudger thrashed and clawed at the wound, blood pooling up and spilling onto the floor.
Jackin slid back up against the door frame while the creature spasmed, then fell still. A barrage of plasma bolts continued to pelt the meter-wide swath of open floor between the two doors.
Cavalon gaped, his fingers grazing the torn fabric at his stomach. His heart thrashed in his chest as he realized how close he’d just come to being gutted. He pressed his back against the wall, breaths coming in ragged gasps. His gaze darted to the knife gripped in his hand, and it suddenly seemed distant, disembodied, as if he were merely a spectator in someone else’s field of vision.