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security counter. He spotted a weapons belt on the corpse and a firearm in the dead hand.
    “Damn! That guy’s seriously fragged.”
    The machines split up into two pairs to clear the zone. Bren wasn’t sure why they didn’t cluster together. He wondered if some intel gleaned from the station had eliminated concern about encountering more spider bots. Or were the machines more confident now that they’d eliminated one of the bots? Had they found a weakness? The mission chronometer showed twenty-five minutes had elapsed. The machines had learned a lot since they’d been turned on.
    Bren watched Meridian move through another video feed. It had body language, he realized. The ASSAIL was moving more assuredly now, as it had when first entering the station.
    The robotic vanguard swept through more corridors searching through the functional spaces of the station. Bren noticed several spotless laboratories dominated the branch explored by the first team, while the other had invaded a security office complete with a surveillance room and detention cells. Several men and women tried to put up a fight there, but their weapons were nonlethal even on humans so they were no match for the ASSAIL units.
    One team found its way into a large control room and rounded up a final group of high-ranking company people. At that point, the ASSAIL units started a patrol pattern waiting for any sign of trouble. The marines continued to secure the personnel in the suits. Bren peeked in on the marine channels to gain details about what the human invaders learned.
    Part of the high-security area of the base included the personal living areas of the Bentra Corporation leaders. The place was extravagant by any standards. The living quarters were lavish, even more so if one considered their remote location in deep space. He locked onto a feed from some of the marines who were rounding up people from the high-security zone.
      Bren raised an eyebrow. Each of these executive quarters had a young man or woman in it, all wearing more conventional clothing. Other than the single naked woman in the examination room, these were the only people on the whole base not wearing the black suits. All the ones that Bren caught glimpses of appeared to be Asian.
    “These women aren’t registered,” Henley said on the marine’s channel. “Shit. Wait a minute. They aren’t linked. They have no links.”
    They’re slaves.
    On an automated space fortress like Thermopylae, anyone without a link was a second-class citizen. Even something as simple as opening the door to your quarters could be difficult or impossible without a link. There would be no way to order food, change the temperature controls … they would be next to helpless.
    There might be some manual controls in the rooms, just so they could get some work done for their masters.
    “Our intel wasn’t fabricated. Who knows what else we’ll find in the labs? This could be a major victory for the UNSF,” Bren said.
    Henley chuckled. “You running for office, Marcken? You’re sounding like you’re putting a hell of a spin on it already.”
    Bren smiled. He had let his enthusiasm get out of control for a moment.
    But to those slaves, we’re genuine liberators. Ironic that we’re liberating Chinese, the enemies of the UNSF back on Earth.
    He addressed the remaining ASSAIL machines.
    “Congratulations. The mission was successful. I owe you all my thanks. Please report back to the Vigilant for debriefing.”
    He watched the camera feeds as the surviving robot-killers made their way back through Thermopylae. Marines moved around detaining dozens of men and women in the odd suits, checking the station for critical damage, and searching for illegal items. The machines passed a group of engineers tapping into one of Thermopylae’s data storage units. Bren smiled. He bet they would be finding a lot of interesting bits there.
    The team returned through the breach and back onto the rubberized decks of the