Cytonic (Skyward #3)(50)

I hovered the unmounted destructor over to Nuluba’s desk, where she was cataloging salvage. The varvax liked to keep track of things like that, which I found suspicious. Who became a pirate to do paperwork?

“It’s not looking good for this, Nuluba,” I said, gesturing to the destructor. “I won’t even be able to tell how much is fixable until after I’ve cleaned it off—and that alone could take weeks of effort.”

“My, my,” Nuluba said, standing from her desk and inspecting the destructor. Like others of her kind, she made wide gestures with the hands of her suit as she spoke, the sound being projected out through the sides of the exoskeleton’s head. “We don’t have a replacement—I already have four other faulty destructors. Spin the captive, there’s no way you could speed up this repair?”



“You’re kidding, right?” I said, gesturing to the destructor.

Nuluba sighed.

“I suppose,” I said, pretending to think about it, “my old cleaning bot could work faster. Don’t know where you put it though.” As soon as I said it, I found the attempt awkward. The varvax were such a crafty species; surely Nuluba would immediately see through what I was doing.

“Oh!” she said. “That’s a good idea. Here, let me get it for you.”

I felt an immediate spike of alarm. That had been too easy, hadn’t it? Yet the varvax wandered off, then less than a minute later returned to the hangar, M-Bot’s drone floating alongside her. I cautiously guided the destructor over to a workbench near the corner. Nuluba left the drone with me and returned to her work as if nothing unusual were happening.

However, as I looked M-Bot over, I was pretty sure I caught Nuluba watching me. So…this was a test of some sort, maybe? That made sense. The Broadsiders had probably been expecting me to ask to use the drone. Still, it seemed odd they’d allow it after such a short time of us working together.

Maybe they’d placed a bug of some sort on him. Would trying to talk to him alert them?

They don’t think he’s an AI, I reminded myself. They think he’s just some kind of spy bot.

Regardless, I had to take the chance. I knelt and opened the side of the drone where the controls were and acted like I was engaging some programs. Then I whispered, “Hey.”

“You should know,” he whispered back, “they’ve installed some very basic monitoring software on me.”

“That’s actually a relief,” I whispered. “I worried it was too easy to get them to let me work with you. I assume you can deal with the software?”



“Obviously,” he said. “I’m trying not to be too offended by the AI scrubbing they tried to do. It’s basically the equivalent of feeding me poison. Fortunately, in this case that ‘feeding’ involved a comically large spoon and a big sign that said ‘not poison.’ I was able to circumvent it with ease, but—as one might say—it’s the thought that counts.”

“Right, then,” I said. “I need you to make it appear as though I used a code to access some of your hidden programming, then spoof it so they think I set you to monitor and record what is said nearby. That will give them something to find that isn’t too suspicious. After that, make it seem like I activated your deep cleaning and repair protocol.”

“Great,” he said. “Um, what deep cleaning and repair protocol?”

“The drone’s original… Oh. We deleted that, didn’t we?”

“What you didn’t delete, I did when uploading myself,” M-Bot whispered. “I wasn’t about to keep cleaning protocols when I barely had room for myself, my mushroom databases, my backup mushroom databases, and my backups to the backups.”

“Well, start pretending to clean alongside me and at least spoof the existence of some cleaning programs. I told them it would take weeks to fix this destructor without your help, but I honestly have no idea. I was just looking for an excuse.”

He complied, and the two of us set to work. Fortunately, he quickly identified the burned compound and suggested a specific kind of solvent for cleaning it. Even though he didn’t have his cleaning routines, his chemistry database proved extremely helpful. Which was good, since the truth was that I had no idea how to repair a broken destructor. That went far beyond the basic maintenance Rig had taught me.

I kept us to the corner and chattered away—mostly talking to myself, keeping up my act. When nobody else was close, M-Bot could respond. He did have in his databases plenty of detailed starship schematics. So as we removed more of the black gunk, he could point out the problems with the machine. The multiple serious problems.



“I feel like I should be offended by proxy for this gun,” M-Bot said. “Continuing to fire this was the machine equivalent of…um…”

“Of forcing your poor warhorse to keep galloping after it has thrown a shoe and taken an arrow in the flank?” I asked.

“Good metaphor,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said. I was lying on the ground, delicately trying to get some of the gunk off without ripping out a set of coolant hoses. “It’s really good to hear your voice, M-Bot. Sorry I got us captured.”

“Well, I did find some interesting molds in the other hangar. They’re basically diet mushrooms, so that part was pleasant. What happened to Chet?”