Hundred's frown had never left. It certainly didn't change when the ships macrobot accompaniment swarmed out of the arresting airlock. With a thought she impelled the Dust further into the airlocks mechanisms. Ah. There was the problem. She should have checked first. Her comm crackled. She snarled at the pilots castigation. He was right to berate her. She had not performed as she had tacitly implied.

Hundred took a moment in the flurry of activity around her person. She examined the Star bots' movement patterns. They may have been upkeep drones, trapped in a process loop, unable to perform their scheduled maintenance due to the faulty door mechanism. No, not faulty, sabotaged. The bots surrounded her, the emitters on their cutting lasers adjusting. Her frown deepened even further. Hostile then. She was more interested in the one maneuvering over to her micro-channel. They had the wherewithal to target her Dust. Curious. Her comm was filled with the beam of another of her mission mates. The Visipian. Hundred did not like the Visipians. The Consortium did not like them either, but she didn't see that as much of a point in their favor. They were dogmatic, fascistic, too much like the Consortium for comfort. But their methods were barbarous. Conquest. War. Wasteful. But most damning of all, they possessed technologies that Gyges had yet to replicate. Divine Energy. A superstitious designation. A weak grip upon the fire whose secrets they alone had discovered. But he had given her a gift. A goal. Redemption. Five minutes.

"It will be done in one." Hundred raised her arms, fingers flickering tactile commands. Dust around her compacted and formed, layer upon layer of tightly packed Fullerenes wrapped around each other, growing, hardening, sharpening. From Dust to dagger, little black spikes of graphene, bristling around her in a satellite sphere. She looked around herself at the busy little bots. So large, so few, so primitive. Her hand waved dismissively. Her teeth bared. It was almost a smile. Punching into the closest hostile robots, the spikes split upon intentional faults, fragmenting into flechettes, shredding the interiors of the bots trying to unseat her footing. Striding forwards a second wave of spikes formed to deal with the rest of the offensive constructs. She flexed her right hand, just above her open palm another longer, leaner blade began to form the constructing edge of it's black blade radiating a sharp golden glow. She stepped over the half-melted lip of the plating she was standing on, moving back towards the airlock. Her other hand waved dismissively again, the second set of spikes shot forth to enforce her lethal contempt for the machines that had lost her face.

It would be done in the next 47 seconds. She was keeping count.