The deck around the Chieftain’s Spirit was littered with dead Yanme’e. It was difficult to tell how many. Tartarus’ spike rifle had reduced most of the creatures to limb fragments and oozing shells. Other Yanme’e buzzed angrily from the hangar’s walls to its ceiling vents and beams, their arrowhead craniums swiveling wildly as their antennae struggled to assess the crowded airspace. In a flash of angry wing-beats, one of the Yanme’e made a beeline for Tartarus, only to disappear in a yellow spray as a volley of red-hot spikes passed through its carapace and drilled into the starboard wall.
	“Settle!” Tartarus swept his weapon across the enraged swarm. “Settle, or be cut down!”
...
	The instant the Spirit’s troop bay doors had opened inside the hangar, the half-dozen Yanme’e that had survived the assault on the alien city had attacked the Huragok—mobbed the hapless creature as it floated from the broken Spirit’s cabin back to its workshop, its tentacles full of circuit boxes and other components. This attack agitated dozens more Yanme’e already in the hangar, and were it not for Tartarus’ quick reflexes and good aim, they would have torn the Huragok apart.