Aeneas exhaled a sigh of relief as he saw Matt go off, unscathed. Had he been able to watch as he got weapons of his own then he might’ve been a little confused (”How in Spode’s name is he doing that with a pink ribbon and a fan?”)—but, at the moment, the bear he had in his jaws lashed furiously and threw the distracted alien several feet. Aeneas landed on a hard patch of ice, main lungs winded. Though the nitrogen reserves in his second set were enough to keep him from being completely paralyzed, he was stunned long enough to be vulnerable.

It was around then that Rtas ‘Vadum came in, shooting the already corroding robot with superheated plasma rounds. Aeneas lurched to his feet, steadily regaining his composure. Thanks to his fellow alien and Matt, this particular wave of machine polar bears had been completely wiped out.

Great!—just a few hundred more bloodthirsty automata to go!

Aeneas realized that they were extraordinarily outnumbered, especially for his standards. Fighting physically just wasn’t going to cut it. So yes, Rtas, a weapon would be spectacular.

“A weapon would be helpful indeed!” the creature called, holding out his left hand for Rtas ‘Vadum to throw him said item. He would’ve used his right, but for whatever reason that arm wasn’t responding particularly well.