sorry about the delay, here's the next part
The corridor was as silent as space. It was trying to be like space too, the only differences being a survivable temperature and the occasional beep on the wall lecterns or a slow flash from innumerable floor lights. The corridor was a perfect example of what nature intended life to be like: silent and still. But, it had had an unforeseen fate that would ruin this effect. The corridor was positioned on the edge of the ship.
There was a dull thud. This was then followed by torches burning their way through the dense hull. Finally, after cutting through, there was a thud as the cut hull was kicked away. Immediately, about fifty bodies stepped through and raised their weapons: a few dozen semi-autos and shot guns, about three fire spewers, three buzz arms, a revolver gun, a blaster, and, after much consideration, a blank filled snubnose.
"Ell klear Kapten!", Gelthu announced.
A moment later, Captain Anabel stepped through the breach, her robes flowing again. She took a quick look around. The corridor they choose was long, and she could see it was designed like a trench, so that once you got in you didn't have a clear shot all the way down (and so they could fit in cannons and quarters). She saw that, down a corridor right in front of her, it followed the same design, and would likely go on for a very long time before reaching anything important. But what intrigued her the most WAS the design.
The corridors, wall lecterns, lights, supports, everything had been designed like a tomb. The floor and walls, though obviously metallic, looked like they had been cut from stone and fitted together, the lighting seemed to make the passages darker then they were. The air even carried this stale quality, despite readings that the circulation system was running. In all her life, she had never seen a ship that had been so purposely designed for death. She made up her mind.
"I like this ship", she announced.
In an attempt to find the brig faster, they had broken down into three teams, with Anabel, Gelthu, and P3N-T3K. Each team had been assigned one buzzarm (for tough walls and doors) and one of the Teal triplets (for clearing out what was behind that door). Naturally, P3N-T3K, with his revolver gun, was given the least additional men, so that his party only numbered a dozen excluding him. This was fine by P3N-T3K, as he didn't like large groups of people and enjoyed having clear firing lanes. What annoyed him, was that Felip Teal wouldn't shut up.
"So iron ass", Felip began, "why do we have to listen to you again?"
"First", P3N-T3K said, "my name is not 'iron ass' it is P3N-T3K, and second-"
"Why do you need a gun that big", Felip continued, "are you compensatin'?"
"If you would like me to answer your question", P3N-T3K irked, "then do not interrupt, and what do you mean by-"
"Have you ever used that, or is it just for show?"
"Will you please-"
"How come you never wear pants and no one says anything, but when I do I get called weird?"
"That is because-"
"Why are you so boring?"
"I am not boring, I am walking an-"
"Why is your name so stupid?"
The conversation continued like this for the better part of an hour before P3N-T3K, in an attempt to conserve ammunition said:
"Mister Felip, I will have you know that I do not have a mother, fraged or otherwise,
I have never killed a man with a spoon, I do not even wear underwear and-"
"Shh!" Felip whispered.
"What is-", P3N-T3K began
With his programs not so focused, P3N-T3K realized that there was someone working up ahead. Wasting no time, he switched on his soul vision and looked at were it was coning from. He couldn't believe his image-weavers. Around the next corridor was a team of tecnos, about eleven workers and guard, working on a section of wall. What astonished him the most was, he recognized the classes.
"Those are Fel-14-6 class workers and a skel-8-10", P3N-T3K said.
"Is that good?", Felip asked
P3N-T3K shook his head.
"Explain later", Felip said, drawing a snubnose, "I'm too bored for any tecno babble."
DR3-N41R-3 considered himself a lucky tecno. Well, he considered himself as far as his slave drive and sustained flaws would allow, but considering that he was ten years old, this wasn't all that bad a sense of identity. He, DR3-N41R-3 called himself he because it was easier then DR3-N41R-3, had been assigned to this "project", as a mindless tecno but, after much hardship, had proven himself of superior intelligence to all other tecnos on the ship, including his former commander who had unfortunately been made a claustrophobic, and was now a silver commander, despite never having been in a battle, and was only about two promotions from being allowed to command his own regiment. All he had to do was make sure that the schedule was kept to.
"All right then", DR3-N41R-3 said, "It has been an hour. Tell all units to check in."
"Remere", came the affirmative.
In the communications room, about a Heresy platoon worth of Skel-8-10 clocked in the responses of over a thousand different worker teams: zed, tecno, human, and (shiver) Trol work teams all called in. After a minute, DR3-N41R-3 became worried, the replies had ended around .5 seconds sooner then they should have, and a tecno who works with the same number of teams for ten years knows exactly how long it should take.
He walked over to one of the data-weavers and said, "Did all the teams check in?"
"No sir", came the reply, "about three outer-edge teams haven't responded."
"Are they Trolz or new-ones?" DR3-N41R-3 asked.
After much thought, the weaver said, "mmmmNo. They were Tec-312, Tec 417, and Tec-201."
Now DR3-N41R-3, didn't have emotions (no personality matrix) but he felt the closest thing to fear a tecno could. Tecno teams called in even if their report happened to be annoyed by the sounds of explosions, fire, or screams, nothing would stop them.
"I'm going to tell...", DR3-N41R-3 said, "...actually, divert some teams over there to see if its just a malfunction."
A breach in protocol, DR3-N41R-3 thought, but I REALLY don't want to talk to Smelz Bed