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“Drift.” She reached for her handheld.
“Fates.” Luam reached for his device also.
It was too early. Much too early.
Yet Drift had no choice. “I’m detonating the explosives.” He sent those instructions to all the cylinders.
Then he slid with his female under the exterior doors. Metal scraped over his body armor-protected arms.
But they cleared the gap. Barely.
Drift secured his female to his chest, flipped into the air, and landed on his booted feet.
And he ran faster than he’d ever run. The sand and the mountains blurred around him. His muscles strained. His heart pounded. His circuits surged.
A loud whoosh sounded behind him. There was a screech of twisting metal.
Frag. Frag. Frag. They had to be located a greater distance away from the site.
His systems detected the approaching rush of energy.
There was no avoiding it, no outrunning it.
Drift tightened his grip on his female and flung himself forward.
One of the panels from the secondary doors smacked against his back. Hard. He grunted with that pain. But that collision propelled them a bit farther.
He held his female with one arm and reached out with his other hand. The sand shredded his palm as they landed. The door slid over him.
Drift shifted, covering his fragile little human fully with his much-larger form, and he braced for impact.
There was a roar, and scorching heat rushed over him. His body armor melted. His skin and flesh disintegrated. He gritted his teeth. The agony was excruciating.
“I love you, my female.” He had to tell her that one more time. Because his frame was beginning to dissolve. And once that layer was breached, he would be dead. His nanocybotics couldn’t save him. “I love you.”
Her fingers covered his. There was an 89.2356 percent probability she lacked the ability to speak. She was face down in the sand. But he processed what she was relaying.
She loved him also.
That communication filled him with a happiness as acute as his hurt. His female loved him. And she was alive. He had protected her.
If he died now, he would do so processing those two things.
But he wouldn’t die now. The fire-laden assault had ended. His frame was warped but intact. That would be repaired.
He braced himself upward slightly, stifling his moan. The agony was processor-straining.
His female lifted her head, spit out sand and gulped air. “Alive?”
“We’re both alive.” He confirmed that miraculous fact.
“Thank the Fates.” She turned within the circle of his arms to face him.
Her chin and nose were streaked with blood. Her palms were pitted with granules of sand. But she otherwise appeared functional.
“There’s blood dripping down the sides of your face.” She gingerly touched his cheeks. “Are you damaged, my cyborg?”
“I’ll repair.” His frame was already straightening.
