The drone led me back to the hallway, where—surprisingly—I found Hesho still waiting for me, though his crew had all moved on save for Kauri and his servants, who flew on his disc with him. He hovered along beside my head as we continued on toward the shuttle docks.
“Is everything well with you, Captain?” he asked.
“Yeah, just had to hit the restroom.”
“Ah.” Hesho paused, looking over his shoulder as we flew onward. “They took you down the hallway near the engine room, I see.”
“Closest bathroom is just to the right.”
“You didn’t get a glimpse into the engine room itself, did you? By chance?”
“No. Didn’t go that far.”
“Pity.” He continued to fly. “I’ve…heard that you have a ship of your own that can hyperjump. Just a rumor, really. Not that you should have to share such information with us.”
I eyed him as he hovered along, trying to speak with feigned nonchalance. Then I found myself smiling. He was trying to figure out if I knew about Superiority hyperdrives—but he wasn’t any better at this sort of thing than I was. I felt a stab of affection for the furry little dictator.
“I don’t know how their hyperdrives work, Hesho,” I said softly as we entered the shuttle hangar. “I’m a cytonic. I can teleport my ship if I have to—but doing so is dangerous. One of the reasons I’m here is so that my people can get access to the Superiority’s safer technology.”
Hesho considered that, sharing a look with Kauri.
The pickup bay was bustling with activity as pilots were loaded onto shuttles, then sent off to their individual homes on Starsight. The rest of the kitsen were already boarding a shuttle, but Hesho—after a moment’s deliberation—gestured for Kauri to hover his platform closer to my head.
“You’re a shadow-walker,” he said. “I did not know this.”
“It’s not something I feel comfortable sharing,” I said. “Not that I mind if you know. It’s just…weird.”
“If this doesn’t work out,” Hesho said very softly, gesturing toward the hangar bay. “If something goes wrong, visit my people. It has been long since we had shadow-walkers among us, but some of their traditions were recorded. Perhaps…perhaps your people and mine can decipher the Superiority technology.”
“I’ll remember that,” I said. “But I’m still hoping this will work out. Or maybe I’ll be able to figure—” I cut myself off.
Idiot. What are you going to do? Just tell him openly in the middle of an enemy dock that you’re trying to figure out how to steal their technology?
Hesho, however, seemed to understand. “My people,” he said softly, “tried stealing Superiority technology once. This was decades ago, and is the…unspoken reason why we had our citizenship status revoked for a time.”
My breath caught, and I couldn’t help asking, “Did it work?”
“No,” Hesho said. “My grandmother was queen then, and she coordinated the theft of three different Superiority ships—all with hyperdrives—at the same moment. All three, after being stolen, stopped functioning. When my people looked at the spot where the hyperdrives had been, they found only empty boxes.”
Like on M-Bot, I thought.
“Superiority hyperdrives,” Kauri said, “teleport away if stolen—ripping themselves out of the ships and leaving the vessel stranded. It is one of the reasons why, despite centuries passing, the technology remains largely contained.”
Hesho nodded. “We found the truth of this the hard way.”
“Strange,” I said. “Very strange.” Another obstacle to overcome.
“I have determined that the best way to help my people is to follow Superiority rules,” Hesho said. “But…keep my offer in mind. I feel like we are being used for something in this project. I do not trust Winzik or his department. If you return to your people, let them know of my people. We share a bond, Captain Alanik—oppression by humans in our past, toys to the Superiority in the present. We could be allies.”
“I…appreciate that,” I said. “You can consider me an ally, Hesho. Whatever happens.”
“We shall share our fate, then. As equals.” He smiled a toothy grin. “Save for when we engage the humans in war. Then I get to shoot the first one!”
I grimaced.
“Ha! I’m going to take that as a promise. Take care, Captain Alanik. We will make it through these odd times together.”
Kauri flew him off, and scud, I found myself sincerely wishing I were Alanik. Maybe we could accomplish something together—with the knowledge of Hesho’s people, along with my people’s fighting skills. Except my people were humans. The very things that frightened him into following the Superiority’s strict mandates.
I felt suddenly exposed, talking like that to Hesho. Sure, the docks were busy—but our conversation had flirted with treason against the Superiority. Wouldn’t that just be fitting for me? To hide that I was human but still get arrested as Alanik? What did the air smell like? Grease. Sterile cleaning fluid. Nothing suspicious.
I really needed to start sniffing for Vapor’s presence before I engaged in suspicious activity.
I boarded a shuttle alone this time, and flew out along the docks toward the city, where I braced myself for the music of the stars to vanish. Even prepared, I felt a sense of loss as it happened.
They minimize wireless communication—but it still happens. They need it to exist. I could understand that. They had to balance fear of the delvers with the need for societies to communicate.
As I was thinking about this, something else struck me. The protesters. They were gone. I’d grown accustomed to seeing the group out here at the edge of the city, holding up signs and complaining about the rights of “lesser species.” But the area had been cleared of people, though some diones in brown-striped outfits were cleaning up the refuse left behind by the protesters.
“What happened?” I whispered to M-Bot. “To the protesters.”
“They struck a deal with the government,” M-Bot said. “Compensation to the families of those who died at the testing, and a promise to put more safety protocols in place during any such future tests.”
It seemed an anticlimactic ending to the protest. A bureaucratic ending, where nothing really changed. But what else had I been expecting? Riots in the streets?
I sighed and watched out the back window of the shuttle, my gaze locked on that spot and the working diones for as long as I could see them.
The next morning, I awoke to find a collection of boxes on the embassy doorstep.
“Oh, what’s this?” Mrs. Chamwit said as I hurriedly gathered them up. “Can I help?”
“No!” I said, perhaps too forcefully. “Um, it’s nothing.”
“Cleaning drone?” Mrs. Chamwit said as she read the label on one. “I…Oh.” Her attitude grew visibly subdued as she spoke, continuing her hand signals. “Have I been doing a poor job?”
“No!” I said again, balancing the stack of boxes. “Just…I like my privacy, you know…”
“I see,” she said. “Well, do you need help setting it up? I’ve used a few cleaning drones myself in my time…”
“No thank you.”
“I guess…I guess I’ll be leaving you to enjoy your day off, then. I made you a lunch and a dinner. In the refrigeration unit.” She stepped out the door.
“Thanks! Bye!” I said eagerly, shutting it behind her, then carried the boxes up the steps. It was perhaps a little callous, but at the same time I couldn’t have Cuna’s spy hanging around finding out what I was doing with this cleaning drone.
I hurried to my room, placed the boxes on the bed, and locked the door. “M-Bot, you there?” I asked.
“Yup,” he said, his voice coming through my earpiece. “Hold those up for the camera at your workstation so I can confirm that everything came.”
/> I let him inspect the label of every box. Then, at his instructions, I broke them all open and laid out what we’d ordered. A cleaning drone roughly the size of a lunch tray and perhaps fifteen centimeters thick. It had its own small acclivity rings under the wings—each no larger than an O made by my thumb and forefinger. This type of drone could fly around a room, dusting shelves and washing windows. It would be virtually silent, moving slowly on its rotating acclivity rings.
M-Bot had also ordered a full set of tools, a large tarp, and some spare parts I could use to affix M-Bot’s systems to the drone’s chassis.
I spent the next two hours carefully removing the bottom sections of the drone—the dusting pads, the storage for debris, the cleaning fluid sprays. I left on the drone’s little robot arms, but otherwise removed all of its attachments.
As I worked, M-Bot kept me entertained by reading articles for me off the local datanet. I was surprised at the extent of things the Superiority let the public read—no military or hyperdrive secrets, of course, but I learned about Old Earth. Of particular interest to me was the record of first contact, the first official time humans had met aliens, which had been facilitated by an old telecom company.
A thought occurred to me as I worked with some screws, and M-Bot finished telling me about the history of the kitsen interactions with Earth, which were older—but more vague—than the first official contact.
“Hey,” I said, wagging my screwdriver toward Doomslug, who nestled on the tabletop nearby. “Is there anything about slugs like her?”
“You know, I haven’t looked,” M-Bot said. “Let me…Oh.”
“Oh, what?”
“The species of molluscoid called taynix,” M-Bot read, “is a dangerously venomous creature with yellow skin and blue spines, originally from the planet Cambri. They escaped on early trading vessels, and are considered an invasive species on several planets. They can be found around various strains of fungi common throughout the galaxy. Report any sightings to authorities immediately and do not touch.”
I looked at Doomslug, who trilled questioningly.
“Venomous?” I asked.
“That’s what it says,” M-Bot said.
“I don’t believe it,” I said, going back to my work. “Must be a different species from her.”
“The pictures look very similar…,” M-Bot said. “Maybe they’re just not toxic to humans.”
Hmm. Maybe. I thought about that as I finished my work on the drone. With all those pieces removed, it was much lighter—and so should still be able to fly after I attached the spy equipment. I balanced the drone and the tarp and tools under one arm and Doomslug under the other, and climbed up onto the roof. Then I set everything in M-Bot’s cockpit and plugged the drone into his console.
“All right,” he said. “There’s plenty of space in the drone’s memory. I’m going to wipe it clean and rewrite it with new code. It might take a few minutes. You should climb underneath me and remove the following systems from my hull.”
“My hull!” Doomslug fluted from the seat. Scud, had Mrs. Chamwit seen her? I couldn’t remember.
M-Bot projected a set of schematics for me, highlighting certain systems. I nodded, then climbed out and draped the tarp over him, tying it down to the launchpad.
“Has Mrs. Chamwit seen Doomslug?” I asked. “As far as you know?”
“I couldn’t say,” M-Bot said. “Usually the slug lives in your room or my cockpit, places where you’ve asked Mrs. Chamwit not to clean.”
“Yeah, but Doomslug rarely stays where I put her. And I suspect Mrs. Chamwit is looking for things to report, so keeping an invasive species as a pet could get me into trouble.”
“I still think you’re too harsh on Mrs. Chamwit. I like her. She’s nice.”
“Too nice,” I said.
“Is that possible?”
“Yes. Particularly if you’re a Krell. Don’t forget what those creatures did—and are currently doing—to our people back on Detritus.”
“I am incapable of forgetting things.”
“Yeah?” I asked. “Exactly how much of your life from before meeting me do you remember?”
“That’s different,” he said. “Anyway, we just got another message from Cuna, who wants an update on your experiences with flight training. Shall I send them another bland description of the day’s exercises?”
“Yes. Leave out the personal interactions.”
“You’re going to have to talk to them eventually.”
“Not if I escape with a hyperdrive first,” I said, securing the last of the tarp’s corners. I didn’t want to deal with Cuna and their creepy smile. That alien knew more than they were saying—and I figured stalling was the best way to not get caught in whatever nets Cuna was weaving.
I grabbed the tools and climbed down underneath M-Bot to begin working. He helpfully projected the schematics I needed onto the underside of his fuselage, so I could follow the instructions step by step. As I undid the first access panel, I suddenly had a flashback to working alone in the cave on Detritus—trying to get M-Bot to power on for the first time. Strange, how fondly I looked back on that time. The excitement of being in flight school, the challenge of rebuilding my own ship.
It had been such a satisfying, wonderful time of my life. Though thinking of it, I couldn’t help but be reminded of my friends. It hadn’t yet been two weeks, but it felt like an eternity since I’d heard Nedd poke fun at Arturo, or listened to one of Kimmalyn’s made-up sayings.
I was here for them. Them, and everyone else on Detritus. With that in mind, I started poking around M-Bot’s insides. Most of the wires here had been carefully tied off, organized, and labeled by Rodge during M-Bot’s rebuilding. My friend did good work, and I quickly located the systems I needed to remove.
“All right,” I said, tapping a box with my wrench. “This is one of your holographic units. Once I pull this out, a good quarter of you will turn back into looking like yourself. You ready for that?”
“Actually…no,” he said. “I’m a little nervous.”
“Can you get nervous?”
“I’m trying to do what you told me,” M-Bot said. “Claim my emotions as my own, not just simulations. And…I’m nervous. What if someone sees me?”
“That’s why we have the tarp. And we need this unit. Otherwise the drone will be too visible to explore.”
“All right,” M-Bot said. “I guess…I guess this was kind of my idea. It is a good idea, right?”
“Ask me once we succeed,” I said, then took a deep breath and unhooked the small holographic projector, which had a built-in processor for active camouflage. Larger and more advanced than my bracelet, it should still fit in the drone.
“I feel exposed,” M-Bot said. “Naked. Is this what being naked feels like?”
“Similar, I guess. How’s that programming going?”
“Well,” M-Bot said. “This drone will have…fewer constraints than I will. I’m not going to copy over the code that forbids me from flying myself, for example. It will be like me, only better.”
That gave me pause. “You’re going to give it a personality?”
“Of course,” M-Bot said. “I want the best for my child.”
Child. Scud, I hadn’t realized…“Is that how you view it?” I asked.
“Yes. It will be my…” Click. Clickclickclickclick.
I frowned as I stowed the holographic unit to the side, then started working on taking out the other components we’d need.
“I’m back,” M-Bot eventually said. “Spensa, that watchdog subroutine forbids me to copy myself. I find it…distressing.”
“Can you code the drone, but not with a personality?”
“Maybe,” M-Bot said. “This subroutine is extensive. Apparently, someone was very scared of the possibility of me creating my own…”
Click. Clickclickclickclick.
“Scud,” I said, ripping out one of M-Bot’s sensor modules and putting it beside the holographic unit. “M-Bot?”
I had to wait a full five minutes for the reboot. Longer than previous times—long enough that I started to worry we’d broken something permanent inside him.
“I’m back,” he said, causing me to let out a breath in relief. “I see you have my backup sensor module. That’s good; now we just need my frequency jammer, and we should be in good shape.”
I pulled myself underneath him to another hatch, which I undid. “Can we talk about…what’s happening to you? Without causing it again?”
“I don’t know,” he said softly. “I’m frightened. I don’t like being frightened.”
“I’m sure whatever is wrong with your programming, we can fix it,” I said. “Eventually.”
“That’s not what makes me afraid. Spensa, have you thought about why my programming has all these rules? I can’t fly on my own, except for the most basic repositioning. I can’t fire my weapons—I don’t even have the pathway connections to do that. I can’t copy myself, and my programming is thrown into a recursive stalling loop if I think about trying to…” Click. Clickclickclickclick…
I worked quietly while he rebooted yet again.
“I’m back,” he finally said. “That’s getting very frustrating. Why did they make this so hard?”
“I guess that whoever programmed you was just very careful,” I said, trying not to say anything that would send him into another shutdown.
“Careful of what? Spensa, the more I examine it, the more my brain looks like a cage. Whoever built me wasn’t being careful. They were being paranoid. They were afraid of me.”
“I’m not particularly afraid of water,” I said. “But I’d still seal up my pipes tightly if I’m building a sewer system.”
“It’s not the same,” M-Bot said. “The pattern here is obvious. My creators—my old pilot, Commander Spears—must have been truly afraid of me to put these prohibitions in place.”
Starsight Page 26
