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 pas- sed through its carapace and drilled into the starboard wall. "Settle!” Tartarus swept his weapon across the enraged swarm. "Settle, or be cut down!” -chpt.18
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