Cytonic (Skyward #3)(48)

Scanner?

The Broadsiders had a long-range scanner?

I’d assumed they’d have smaller proximity sensors like on starfighters. But a full-blown, long-range piece of surveillance equipment? That came as a surprise.

I immediately started nosing about. The scanner’s display was in our hangar, it turned out, and it was attached to some equipment up on the roof. It tracked ships and kept a detailed map of the region. Later that day, I managed to catch a look at the screen while the full map was up, showing me a more detailed version of what Chet had once drawn out for me.

The Broadsider territory was a wedge of the belt tapering inward, bordered by other pirate factions on either side. All of their territory ended at Superiority territory—a wide band that dominated the middle of the belt in this region.

Excited, I sent word to Chet that night.

There’s a scanner, I explained. A big one that watches for incoming ships. It can scan all the way to the Superiority’s region of space, though I don’t think it can spot individual people. It doesn’t have enough resolution for that.

That’s more than I thought they’d have, he said. They mostly scrounge for technology—I wonder where they acquired a high-powered scanner.

No idea, I said. But it’s a good thing I got captured, because…

Because with that scanner, they’d be able to track any ship we stole all the way to the next step in the Path, Chet said. Scrud. We’d never have managed to investigate the portal. They’d have been able to chase us all over the region. I am glad we found this out—though if offered the chance, I’d have chosen a route to this information that didn’t involve my shoulder being baked like brisket…



He’d been spending the days “convalescing,” by his terms. I still felt bad about the destructor shot.

Anyway, I said, this gives us an opportunity. I will need to sabotage that scanner before I go.

Ha! Don’t enjoy yourself too much, Spensa. You’ll make me feel left out! What is the next step in our plan, then?

I turned over in my bed—a mattress and blanket in the hangar, where I was tethered to the wall. They’d been giving me more slack lately on that, but I was still locked into place for now.

Next step, I said, is to contact M-Bot. I’ll need to upload him to steal the ship.

Excellent, Chet said. Give my best to the abom—to the AI.

I appreciate you trying to think of him that way.

If I have been misjudged, Chet said, then I too may misjudge. I don’t think it wise to keep an AI near, but that is a gut instinctual reaction. I should instead accept your word on his character. Perhaps if I’d done that sooner, I would not have given you cause to mistrust me.

I winced, like I always did when Chet felt pain during our communications. Regardless, I said, I have a plan for contacting M-Bot. I just need to find a starship part that’s in bad disrepair…

Once our conversation was done, I began to drift off to sleep—then stopped myself before fully going out. I tried to contact Jorgen, but something prevented me. A kind of odd mist hovered around me, blocking my attempts. I wasn’t certain what to make of it, yet…I’d seen this on other nights recently, hadn’t I?

The next morning, Maksim clapped his hands and ceremoniously unhooked my light-line, then turned it off. “You’ve earned a little more slack. Peg’s orders.” He leaned in. “Don’t hang yourself, if you can help it.”

I felt at my neck. My natural instinct was to bolt. I fought that down. “Thanks,” I said, standing up and stretching. Only four—no, it had been five, hadn’t it?—days with the Broadsiders, and I had already gained this much trust? This was going great.



“We’ve got some gears to grease,” Maksim said.

“No more gears, please,” I replied. “I feel the need to make myself extra useful, to prove myself to Peg. Tell me, what’s the most broken-est thing you have in here?”

“Don’t know about that,” Maksim said, but gestured toward one of the fighter ships. “But Shiver’s left destructor has been acting up. If you could somehow fix it…”

I nodded and went to check in with Nuluba, who had an office area at the rear of the hangar. She authorized all work, and soon I found myself under the wing of the starfighter, prodding at the defective destructor. Black gunk was leaking out of one of the seams, and the entire thing smelled terrible.

“Uh,” I said, “how long since you’ve serviced this thing?”

A large blue crystal, shaped like a prism, sat on a stool beside me. A crust of smaller crystals held it in place, and a line of the same crystals ran across the floor and up the wheel and side of the starfighter into the cockpit.

The larger crystal nearest me vibrated with a reverberating tone. I would never have recognized it as a language; it sounded one step away from the noise an engine made when close to locking up. But my pin knew better than I did, and translated the peals into words.

“It has been months,” the crystal admitted. “Maybe longer. Time is so hard to track in here…”

“Months or more?” I said, incredulous. “Destructors should be serviced every week.”

“We thought it unwise to open the housing, considering the damage to it,” the crystal said. “We thought it might break and not be fixable.”