That was when the remnants of our people had broken into clans based on their duties in the fleet. Engine maintenance workers like Gran-Gran and her family. Hydroponics crew—glorified farmers—like Bim’s ancestors. Foot soldiers like Morningtide’s. They’d learned, through difficult trial and error, that if they kept to small groups of under a hundred people, the Krell sensors couldn’t find them hiding in the caves.

Now, three generations later, here we were. Slowly fighting our way back onto the surface—but with enormous holes in our memories and history. What if I could bring the ultimate secret to the DDF: the solution for defeating the Krell once and for all?

Though… it was unlikely M-Bot had that answer. After all, if the old human fleets had known how to defeat the Krell, they wouldn’t have been driven to near extinction. But surely there were some secrets hidden inside this machine’s mind.

“Can you fire your weapons?” I asked.

“I’m commanded to avoid fights.”

“Just answer,” I said. “Can you fire?”

“No,” M-Bot said. “The weapons systems are locked out of my control.”

“Then why would your pilot order you not to get into any fights? You aren’t capable of fighting anyone.”

“Logically, one isn’t required to be able to finish a fight in order to start one. I am allowed minimal basic autonomous movement, and could theoretically stumble into a battle or a conflict. This would be disastrous for me on my own, as I require a pilot for most important functions. I can assist and diagnose, but as I am not alive, I cannot be trusted with destructive systems.”

“So I could fire them,” I said.

“Unfortunately, weapons systems are offline from damage.”

“Great. What else is offline?”

“Other than my memories? Boosters, acclivity ring, cytonic hyperdrive, self-repair functions, the light-lance, and all mobility functions. Also, my wing appears to be bent.”

“Great. So, everything.”

“My communications features and radar are functional,” he noted. “As are cockpit life support and short-range sensors.”

“And that’s it?”

“That… appears to be it.” He was silent for a moment. “I can’t help noticing—through the aforementioned short-range sensors—that you are in possession of a few mushrooms. Might you be willing to place those in my cockpit analyzer for cataloguing?”

I sighed, resting back in my seat.

“At your leisure, of course. I, being robotic, have no concept of fragile things like human impatience.”

So what do I do?

“But soon would be nice.”

I doubt I can fix this thing on my own. I thought. Should I just go to the DDF and tell them what I’d found? I’d have to reveal that I’d stolen that power matrix. And, of course, they’d never let me keep this ship for myself. Going to the DDF with it would essentially mean wrapping this vessel up with a bow, then presenting it to the very admiral who was trying her best to ruin my life.

“They do look like nice mushrooms.”

No. I was not going to give this discovery to Ironsides, at least not without more thought. But if I was going to try to repair this ship, I’d at least need help.