“There’s no diagnostics port!”
“No port! Just some kind of organic skin layer where the port should be.”
“Check the model number–maybe it’s one of those new bionic Space Marine warbots.”
“I’m not reading any ID tags. Shit, there’s still eight other busted warbots we recovered from that station assault I gotta fix. How’m I supposed to fix a fuckin’ robot without diagnostics?”
“Pop the torso, check for anything obvious.”
“Okay. Hold on, what’s this? Blood? Why is there blood? They’re sending people up to fight now? This is not right! This is NOT what I signed up for!”
Marc A. Criley lives in north Alabama, started writing later in life, and is making up for lost time. He’s been published in Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Galaxy’s Edge, here in Martian Magazine, and elsewhere. Marc maintains a blog at kickin-the-darkness.com and makes noises on social media.