“You’re idiot commander is right over there,” Sprite said. “He’s all yours. Have at him.”

The machine only looked at her, its head dented, parts gone, loose hydraulics hanging from where its missing limb had been attached.

“Unhand my commander,” it said again, slowly squeezing her abdomen with its six huge fingers.

Sprite gasped for breath, pulling hard on one of the fingers.

“Unhand my commander,” it repeated, still squeezing tighter.

“You stupid antique,” Sprite said, managing to pull back one finger with both her hands, and with a mighty force of effort, snap it back, hanging limp and useless.