why they send relatively small flights,” Arturo said. “Unless I’m wrong, they’ve never sent an assault larger than a hundred ships. Right?”
Cobb nodded.
“Why not send two hundred? Three hundred?”
“We don’t know. Dig into the classified reports, and you’ll find nothing more than wild theories. Perhaps a hundred ships is the most they can coordinate at once.”
“Okay,” Arturo said, “but why do they seem to only be able to prepare a single lifebuster at a time? Why not load every ship with one, and suicide them into us? Why—”
“What are they?” I interrupted. Arturo had good questions—but in my opinion, less important than that.
Arturo glanced at me, then nodded.
“Do we know, Cobb?” I asked. “In those secret files, does somebody know? Have we ever seen a Krell?”
Cobb changed the hologram to a hovering image of a burned-out helmet and some pieces of armor. I shivered. Krell remains. His hologram was a much more detailed, much more real version of the artistic renditions I’d seen. The photo showed a few scientists standing at a table around the armor, which was squat and bulky. Kind of squarish.
“This is all we’ve ever been able to recover,” Cobb said. “And we only find it in occasional ships we shoot down. One in a hundred or fewer. They aren’t human, of that we’re sure.” He showed another image, a closer-up hologram of one of the helmets, burned out from a crash.
“There are theories,” Cobb continued. “The old people, who lived on the Defiant itself, talk of things impossible to our current understanding. Maybe the reason we never find anything but armor is because there isn’t anything else to find. Maybe the Krell are the armor. In the old days, there were legends of something strange. Machines that can think.”
Machines that can think.
Machines with advanced communications technology.
I suddenly felt cold. The room seemed to fade, and I stood there beside my mockpit, hearing the others talk as if from far away.
“That’s crazy,” Hurl said. “A piece of metal can’t think, any more than a rock can. Or that door. Or my canteen.”
“More crazy than the idea that they can read minds?” Arturo asked. “I’ve never heard anything like that.”
“There are obviously wonders in this galaxy that we can barely comprehend,” Cobb said. “After all, the Defiant and other ships could travel between stars in the blink of an eye. Thinking machines would explain why so many Krell cockpits we investigate are empty, and why the ‘armor’ we recover never seems to have any bodies in it.”
Machines that can think.
Cobb called the end of the day then, and we all gathered our things to leave for dinner. Kimmalyn and FM both complained that they had a cold—one had been going around—so Cobb suggested they go back to their room and rest. He said he’d have an aide send dinner to their bunks.
I heard all of this, but didn’t really. Instead, I sat down in a daze. M-Bot. A ship that could think, and could infiltrate our communications with apparent ease. What if . . . what if I was repairing a Krell? Why hadn’t I ever bothered to think about that? How could I be so blind to what seemed like an obvious possibility?
He has a cockpit. I thought, with English writing. Facilities for a pilot. And he says he can’t fly the ship himself.
But that could be a ruse, right? He said he couldn’t lie, but I had only his word on that. I . . .
“Spin?” Cobb asked, stopping near my mockpit. “You aren’t catching that cold too, are you?”
I shook my head. “This is just a lot to take in.”
Cobb grunted. “Well, maybe it’s a load of cold slag. Truth is, once we lost the archive, most everything about the old days became hearsay.”
“Do you mind if we tell Nedd about this?” I asked him. “When he gets back?”
“He’s not coming back,” Cobb said. “The admiral officially removed him from the cadet rolls this morning.”
“What?” I said, standing up, surprised. “Did he ask to be removed?”
“He didn’t report for duty, Spin.”
“But . . . his brothers . . .”
“Being unable to control your emotions, grief included, is a sign that one is unfit for duty. At least that’s how Ironsides and the other DDF brass see it. I say it’s a good thing Nedd is out. That boy was too smart for all this anyway . . .” He hobbled out the door.
I sank back down into my seat. So we really were just six