Straw-lined wicker baskets filled with Doc's gas bombs sat waiting near the outer cargo bay door. Lisa didn't need to check them, but she did, mainly to reassure herself that they were ready. Milton had delivered just over two hundred clay pots the day before, and Doc had worked with Sims well into the night, filling them with his knockout formula and sealing them in preparation for this morning's mission. He assured her that contact with the air would create a cloud of anesthetizing gas, and she had no cause to doubt him. During the mission, Sims would control their release using the three maintenance drone robots. It would be safer that way. The airtight doors at both sides allowed the bay to function as a massive airlock, and they would seal the interior door before they took off so that even if one of the clay pots broke, the gas would not penetrate the rest of the ship.
The mission…. That's how she thought of it, but it certainly wasn't the one she had signed on for. She had never imagined she would be on a mission like this. She was an engineer, not a soldier. None of them was. The most martially inclined among them was Brax, and all of his experience came from imaginary battlefields, which, she must admit, was a far safer and saner way to achieve it, but she doubted his games were much like the real thing. They wouldn't be fun if they were.
She glanced at the three multi-legged robots standing motionless and ready, like giant worker ants at a picnic patiently waiting for a crumb to drop. She suspected they were almost as old as the ship, and their design stressed functionality over any kind of esthetic appeal. In short, they were ugly, unlike the robots with which she was more familiar, those intended to serve or work closely with humans. These served the ship, and the ship did not care about their appearance.
A footstep echoed in the otherwise empty area.
"Surveying the ship before the battle, Commander?" Doc said, approaching her.
She turned. Doc, like the rest of them, now wore one of the mottled gray camouflage outfits that Sims had made for them last night from a pattern Brax found in the data banks. She didn't know if they would help, but they couldn't hurt, and she did feel less conspicuous in it than in her sky-blue jumpsuit.
"Like Lord Nelson before Trafalgar? Yeah, I suppose it's a tradition. I understand now why they did it. You want to reassure yourself that you're as ready as you can be."
"I think we are, and we have an advantage Nelson did not have. We can withdraw if the first part of the plan fails."
"You mean using the gas bombs to knock out the orcs. I thought you said it couldn't fail."
"In our world it couldn't. Here…?" He shrugged. "If orcs are mammals, which they certainly appear to be, the gas should work. As far as I know, it has to, but there is much about this place we still do not know."
That was disturbingly true, but if they succeeded, and if King Genrex could deliver the palladium that he promised them, then they could at least attempt to get away from it and back to reality. They had collected more than enough data to keep the theorists back home busy for years. Perhaps they would be able to come up with something to explain this place.
She looked around the largely empty cargo bay. The walls, floor, and high ceiling were a uniformly gray metallic composite scuffed from years of use as a cargo carrier.
"I can't help thinking there is something we're missing, something we've forgotten."
"There may be," he said, which was not the assurance for which she hoped. "But I think we can do this."
"Why? Because this is a story, and the good guys always win?"
Doc chuckled through his nose. "Well, that too, but I was thinking more about what Brax said about the mind flayer's most dangerous ability. He said it was magical, not physical, and we—you especially—seem to have an immunity to magic."
"I simply have a strong aversion to bullshit, and this place seems to be made of the stuff…and a lot of other kinds," she added, recalling the condition of the city streets. She stared at one of the bomb-filled baskets for a moment. "I can't believe people find this kind of thing entertaining. All this conflict and juvenile—"
"Commander," interrupted the voice of Sims over the speakers in the cargo bay. "A number of natives are approaching the ship. Milton is with them."
"Good," she said. "Let's get this done and get out of here."
Doc smiled. "I'll grab my magic staff and meet you outside."