From the voicebox of 2615 a throaty growl sounded. Its lens eyes were intent on the viewscreen. The low growl became sharp yaps and barks. It became whines.
Pwowp frowned at 2615, then reached out to turn off the inter-fleet switch.
A vicious growl erupted from the robot's voicebox. Faster than the eye could follow, the robot grabbed Pwowp's hand and crushed it. In the same motion the robot seized Pwowp's neck and lifted, twisting violently.
Pwowp landed against the far bulkhead, his head dangling uselessly, one arm bent, the hand damaged beyond use, but the body still functioning.
"Destroy the descending fleet!" 2615 spoke into the inter-fleet microphone in his moment of respite. A fierce growl of battle roared from its voicebox.
In two million robot brains the growls and whines and barks tore through artificial mental blocks, reaching into the pre-robotic memories where they gained concrete meaning from what 2615 had so carefully taught the puppies under his command. Two million pairs of lens eyes looked into viewscreens and saw 2615—and remembered.
Two million robots turned to obey 2615's commands. In the viewscreen picturing the descending alien fleet wide swaths of ships vanished instantly, leaving only the bright stars and blackness of space where they had been.
The robot jerked its eyes away from the screen to face Pwowp. It remembered how Pwowp had tied its metal arms and legs into knots almost a year before, when they first met in the junkship.
2615 side-stepped Pwowp's first charge with caution. It might have lashed out and crushed a metal fist into Pwowp's chest where it knew the alien to be. But 2615 wanted Pwowp alive and unharmed.