Then another sound. One other than the sound of Sprite’s small footfalls, running through the debris, another sound than Helen’s incessant gunfire, and something other than the heavy sounds the guardian orbiter 170 A and B made with each crushing, rapid step.

It was similar, but smaller, more rapid, and coming form a different direction. Sprite turned to look, but then was yanked from her feet by the orbiter, its cold, heavy metal clasping around the dart’s shoulder and neck.

At least it would be quick. One good thing. Nothing personal with a machine. No reason to take its time.