I wish I remembered the bunker was wired with explosives, but sometimes, ignorance is bliss. A saying I embodied as we freed Kerrigan. Turns out zergling teeth treat steel like a game of rock paper scissors, shredding Kerrigan’s chains like wet paper. Though there was no safe way to get the collar off her throat. Besides, I have more pressing concerns. Like the Juggernaut who''s rumbling engines set our tremorsense ablaze. An unmistakable rumble of heavy gear breathing down our necks.


    It would be here in moments.


    One look at my internal sensors told me radiation inside the bunker was about 50 rem. My helmet converted the alien unit automatically into values my tiny Earthling engineer brain could grasp, one perk of being brainwashed in a tube. 50 rem would lead to light radiation poisoning after a minute of exposure, hair and teeth falling out, possible organ failure...


    For an adult.


    I swallowed, understanding she was already in a bad way. But the way she was stored, puts us in a double bind without time.


    Three technicians and the heavy engineer pause their march, halting for a reason my tremorsense can’t identify. Thirty seconds, that’s all the time I dare risk.


    “C’mere, take my hand.” I say, helping Kerrigan out of the cage, she is covered in disgusting ick, things I hastily smear off with assistance from the ration-kit’s version of a wetwipe.


    Even in space, washing your hands is important. Moreso than on earth. On Earth we''ve evolved immune systems to fight off harmful bacteria or coexist with them, but in space there are all kinds of life. Macroscopic and microscopic. Like the first time Bubonic plague was introduced to Europe, except that wasn''t entirely true because they''d been exposed previously and some had resistance to the phage. Here on Syrak-9 bioweapons were allowed, alien microbes that you have zero biological defenses against could liquify your insides until you pissed brain jelly. So Kerrigan’s hands come first, wet wipes clean them off and I hand her one of the C-bars. Narrowly remaining calm as the Juggernaut rolls closer.


    It’s moving slower now, probably took damage. A small miracle.


    Opposite the Juggernaut’s trench, at a T junction, four technicians are trading shots with a Tulverian warband. Two fall and kick, limbs missing. Victims of Tulverian energy weapons. Despite their reptilian nature, Tulvarians are highly intelligent, well okay the average Tulvarian eats rocks for fiber so they’re idiots, but Sable insists the scientists are genetically engineered cause those quacks are on the opposite end of the bell curve making them proportionately smarter than the others are dumb.


    At least that’s the Singularity’s leading theory, since it would explain how they cooked up some of the finest energy weapons in the galaxy. Man portable and precise to a fault. Odd design track for plasma weaponry since the Tulverians generally don’t wear armor and precise plasma is the galaxy’s most logical answer to armor-


    -A dozen of them are gunned down by two flechette pistols, falling still. I feel nothing as they fall quiescent. Without motion the tremorsense has nothing to see, causing bodies to vanish as they die. It must be shock. People just died and I couldn’t even feel recoil. Worse, I’m relieved that we have a few more seconds.


    “Eh, fukit.” I say, already envious over dead Tulvarian plasma rifles.


    One shot from those rifles is like a dragoon’s main cannon. Able to blaze through power armor with ease. Maybe even a Juggernaut''s heavy plating if we can get multiple. Or if I can augment one...


    I’ll start with one. Drooling over xeno tech is only fair turnabout, as the iguanas would be drooling over me if I died. Albeit for very different reasons.


    Shall I fetch them? Asks the tunneling dogling.


    “Whafths thith?” Kerrigan asks.


    I almost ignore her question, too stunned by the zergling’s request. Just a minute ago he was next to me and now he''s fifty feet into the walls, tunneling faster than I can walk, digging along a sort of pre-existing void. Claws rend and tear stone, auguring the hole into a passage wide enough to squeeze through. There is no line of sight nor any possible way I could have physically heard him. Yet I had.


    Hive mind? Oh man, this’ll take some getting used to.


    Yes. I think, mentally marking him as ling-ling2. A smile crosses my lips at the idiotic name. But why not. Ling1 is still bringing me ration packs -from a pile that was once taller than myself and is only a few inches- dropping one next to Kerrigan.


    “What? Oh, its food. A gift for my friend.” I say, trying to butter up the bioweapon with chocolate.


    In theory this is the best plan Sable Yurten has, although there are at least four variations of Singularity bioweapons that explode when given sweets. I cross my fingers, watching Kerrigan closely. Purple eyes observe the bar for a second, uncannily verticle against a normal human nose. She sniffs it, frowns. Then cocks her head to the side.


    “It… doesn’th smell like meath.” She mutters.


    Meat… She said the word like it’s nothing. A common thing. But that little choice in diction confirms my worst fears. I refuse to dwell on it, forcing away the thought by casting my ability on the -now disgustingly saturated- wetwipe. Blonde light sweeps the material like a brand new set of windshield wipers, scrolling the gore to one corner and doubling the wipe''s size.


    I meet Kerrigan''s eyes, giving her a final hasty scrub. With both Novan kill squads delayed we have a second to think. If I panic, so will this child. Best stay calm.


    “Chocolate is a bean I think, and sugar comes from plants as well. If you don’t like it that’s fine, but give it a nibble.” I say pantomiming a wink at the girl. Kinda difficult considering I’m in full anti radiation gear and mask.


    She cocks her head, not understanding the gesture. Probably grew up in a test tube of her own, with no understanding of the world or other people. At best she’ll end up a sociopath.


    No, at best she’ll enjoy chocolate! I mentally correct. I know there isn’t time. We need to stuff her into a suit and hide. NOW!


    Ling1 understands my desire, somehow depositing torn gear at my feet -easier to cover Kerrigan with and sealable via my ability- then slinks off to push an empty crate between the entrance and us. A distraction that might buy us thirty seconds.


    I stuff clawed feet into an oversized rad layer, using augur to half-shrink half-weld the rad layer into a protective jumpsuit, crudely covering my only friend and praying we got to her in time.


    Tremorsense activates, the technicians are on their feet, all four of them. Not even the loss of limbs can stop a Novan cyborg. I swallow, checking on Ling1 and Lingling2. They''re happily digging through the crevice claws bringing them within a few feet of escape.


    After two lings pass through it''s still a tight fit for Kerrigan and nearly unpassable for myself, my helmet could get stuck at a half dozen different pinches. Dirt moves faster than any direwolf or dog could shift it, proving these lings are stronger than any canine has a right to be. I try not to shudder. At this point it would only scare my fellow earthling.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Except the more gore I wipe off, the less human Kerrigan appears. Her bones aren’t human, they’re thicker and more prominent than a child’s, with extra ribs and actual claws protruding from oversized hands. Fangs –her teeth cannot be called anything else– bite into the chocolate bar.


    They bake those things to be tough, turning them into a thick taffy so it travels well and can survive a violent reentry if supply ships get shot down. But it’s still full of everything a body craves. Kerrigan’s eyes light up at the taste, going speechless as she looks at the bar then to me. I smile. Kids love candybars, hell, adults love candybars! And this is space candy, for extra goodness. I think… A flicker of memory runs through my mind, it’s Jim aboard the tax ship, ‘recycle the fatties’.


    Note to self, never look at the ingredient list. It’ll be safer–


    –Movement trips tremorsense. Engineers are delivering coup-de-gras, headshotting the already dead Tulverians just in case one survived. I cannot risk them finding me. It’s time to go. One hand grasps the first helmet I can find, ready to stuff my newest friend into it when a red river flows down Kerrigan’s cheek.


    I freeze, ducking to see where the blood is coming from. But her face is all pinched together,


    “Are you crying?” I ask, baffled.


    Kids don’t cry when you give them chocolate! What did I do wrong? Sure she’s a bioweapon… Is this how bioweapons exploded when you feed them chocolate? That would be a bit too screwed up. Even for the Technomancy who view humans the way we view a computer’s ram chips. Not the whole completed stick, just the individual black squares that you’ve probably never thought about in your life. Nor considered their metabolic needs or if they got a little uncomfortable after playing candy crush for two days straight.


    “Kerrigan, say something, are you alright? Spit it out if it’s that awful!”


    In way of response the ration bar disappears into her mouth.


    “Sooo goooodth.” Mumbles Kerrigan, chomping her way through the entire bar.


    It would be way cuter if her lower jaw didn’t split open, exposing a second row of teeth that sheer through the ‘chocolate’ brick like it’s jello. The juxtaposition of her bleeding eyes, rows of fangs, and smile makes my heart skip several beats.


    This is the most pant-shittingly terrifying and kinda cute thing I’ve ever beheld. A cacophony of chaos that shorts out my brain for a minute. Thoughts of moments like this with my unborn sibling emerge. What if I have a little brother? Dreams percolate around my brain. Til the Juggernaut fires. Further away than the engineers, but coming at double speed. Four minutes, and I only have a flechette pistol. Kerrigan holds out her hand, asking for another.


    “Oh, there are more don’t eat them so fast or else you’ll make yourself sick. Here, eat this, its-” I glance at the package, reading -meat puree no 12-.


    Don’t read the ingredients. I remind myself.


    “Actually, not sure what it is. Give it a try. While I… Look around. Actually, take this and hide in that tunnel. A big meanie is coming our way and he’ll put you back in that cage.”


    “Okay athph- aphthp- … Pfina!” Stutters Kerrigan, her lisp absolutely butchering my name.


    No sooner do I find a helmet than she springs across the room, claws slicing through upgraded fabric and darting through the bunker faster than a cloud, smiling broadly as she carries twenty pounds of rations into an overturned crate with her purloined booty. Tail flicking as if eight year old children normally have three foot long stingers. Darker skin runs down her spine, stretched over the vertebrae til termination near the exposed bone at the tip of her tail. All told, Kerrigan is a cute lil bioweapon.


    Designed to kill Singularity soldiers. Like me. I swallow. Unable to gun her down. Maybe she’s got mind control pheromones or something, I just can’t bring myself to pull the trigger.


    Please be an earthling. I pray. Already knowing she isn’t human.


    Tremorsense estimates three minutes until the Juggernaut reaches us, and one minute before the technicians arrive despite two of their number missing limbs. I should be terrified, but in that same second Lingling2 bursts from his tunnel, paws slashing through fallen Tulverians. Still armed with plasma rifles.


    Not to be outdone by his twin, Ling1 digs sideways, breaking back into the bunker and sends me a picture. A sort of text message that automatically opens and begins playing video within my mind’s eye. The dead Singularity soldiers, his own pile of corpses. I''m about to chastise the unhelpful mutt when I see it. A brick of plastic explosive, similar to C4 but with exponentially cruder construction. Most likely synthesized on planet in some toilet-bowl pharmacy.


    More troubling, is the wire protruding out of the explosive, a wire Ling1 follows into a nest of detonators that spiderweb through the cave. This entire bunker is lined with explosives. All waiting for a signal to detonate. A chain reaction of explosions guaranteed to turn the Juggernaut missiles into secondary and tertiary detonations. Twenty thousand pounds of fiery death.


    If it wouldn''t kill me too, this would be the best anti-tank weapon around.


    “We gotta go.” I whisper, the sound amplified by my helmet’s speakers.


    “Otay Pfina.”


    I''m half tempted to trigger those bombs with Ling1, it''s brutish, but trading a ling for a siegetank? That''s a gold base in the pocket!  The problem is, tunnels don’t block concussive waves or pressurized air. If anything, the stone walls might channel the explosion right toward us.


    “We REALLY have to go!”


    I sweep her into my arms, barely managing to lift the kid. Whatever lab cooked her up must have been on a high-gravity world- she’s dense; a truckkun full of bricks weighs less than Kerrigan does. She’s like some awful practical joke involving metal mario. We ain’t going nowhere fast. My ankle screams in protest, feeling invigorated from the effort, and agony under strain.


    Pain lances up my ankle, fresh and excruciating. We make it two steps into the tunnel before my foot gives out and we collapse, my helmeted head bouncing off stone walls on the way to my knees. I can''t carry her, not alone, we need some kind of vehicle or transport, if not for their spines, I’d slap a saddle on a Zergling and have Kerrigan ride one straight out of here.


    “Crap…” I mutter aloud, looking back.


    One crate and a pile of dirt are all that seperate us from the bunker proper. Sure there is a stack, a sort of crate mountain at the bunker''s center. Another standard operational procedure, put anything that can take a bullet in a pile that obscures the front entrance.


    Later excavators will dig out the bunker on the sides so no amount of penetration will harm the contents within, but this is just a supply dump. Hastily dug with improvised tools. So used crates filled with dirt serve as basic fortifications, not like anyone gets to leave Syrak-9 with equipment. Not with automated anti-air batteries under every rock.


    I pause, untangling myself from Kerrigan.


    "Ever play hide and seek?" I ask.


    Kerrigan shakes her head once.


    "The rules are simple, if you can hide so well that no one finds you, I''ll give you another chocolate bar."


    "I don''th like thith game."


    I snort, trying not to laugh in frustration. "Here, I''ll set a time for five minutes. Don''t let the tank or men in armor find you."


    She shakes her head, no.


    "Please Kerrigan. I-" My voice catches, unable to finish the thought.


    We don''t have a choice!


    Kerrigan''s ears slump, as if she heard my thought. Her clawed feet pitter patter over stone, disappearing into the tunnel like a wounded cat. My heart tightens, but I''ll only get the chance to apologize if she survives. This is for the best.


    Novan Technicians stumble through the trench, a hundred yards from the entrance. My time is up.


    ''Ling1, hide near the detonators.''


    I back out of the tunnel on hands and knees, taking one last look. Electrical panels blink, marking ''crate mountain'' as formerly sensitive cargo. If you enter the wrong code or try to force them open, a booby trap will activate. The most common being an explosive, but more creative Technomancers have included viral loads, bioweaponry of a different nature. A pity really. The crates are heavy enough to be full of valuable gear, and the mountain is large enough that I know an antitank missile is most likely present. But I can’t risk a detonation.


    >Terran Thena: Hey, I’m hoping you’re a super smart alien. Can you hack into Technomancy lockers?


    >Executrix Alaea: Not that I know of... So, maybe? But if they find out I was influencing the war, it’ll be galactically bad news.


    >Terran Thena: I’m going to die in the next two minutes. What happens to you if I die.


    >Executrix Alaea: …


    >Terran Thena: Look, my bunker is wired with bombs, I need a vehicle, or armor or hell, anything! Help? Bad news is only a problem if we''re around to read it.


    Ling1 and Kerrigan feel it before I do. Ground rumbling, and the high pressured pops of long range railguns. I swallow, knowing I’m screwed in a fight.


    >Executrix Alaea: I’ll see what we can do… Hang tight.


    The words wrap themselves around my throat, the last thing I hear before four Technocracy armored suits jog into the bunker. Flechette pistols at the ready. One, the heavy engineer, stoops to defuse the bombs while the others halt, forming a defensive wall around their leader. That’ll buy a minute, maybe two. Maybe if we hide in the crates-


    -A sensor ping bounces off my helmet, all four suits jerk in surprise.


    Facing me.


    Shit.