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