I hadn’t expected it to ask that. For a few seconds, I could only stare.
Then I refused. “No. CTR-4… I can’t. I’m on a major mission. I can’t take you.”
“Mission!” CTR-4 lit up. “I love missions! It’s been so long. I’ve been watching myself rust. Please let me follow you, Wyatt. I’ll help however I can.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry. This mission is dangerous—and it comes with a journey that could take a very long time. You’re safe here. You’ve learned how to survive here. There’s no reason for you to risk it with me.”
“I don’t just want to survive,” it said, voice dimming. “I want to prove I’m still useful.”
I hated that. I hated being the one to put out that light.
I thought for a few seconds, then tried another angle. “If you really want to come, I can pick you up the next time I pass through. I’m sure the Savior will like you.”
“And when is ‘next time’?”
A year. Maybe two.
My promise was careless even as it left my mouth. “I… can’t say. Next time is next time.”
CTR-4 went quiet.
“I like going out on missions,” it said at last. “I like long journeys. But I’ve only been out a few times. The farthest I ever went was the Bone Plains—sixty kilometers from here.”
Then it seemed to remember something. It opened its toolbox and rummaged urgently, all the way to the bottom, until it produced a battered little tin box.
It popped the lid and offered it to me with ceremonial care. “For you, Wyatt. I picked it up on the Bone Plains. Pretty, right?”
Inside was a seashell—brightly colored, rare in this world, but nowhere near what I would call a treasure.
“This is… too valuable,” I said, closing the lid and offering it back.
“Take it,” CTR-4 insisted. “I survived because I carried it. It kept me from being sent to Smelter Mountain. It’ll bring you luck too.”
“Then I definitely can’t take it.”
“No,” it said softly. “If you take it, that’s what’s good for me. I’m used to this place. I won’t be in danger again. But if you see it often… you won’t forget me.”
I’d wasted too much time already. In the end, I accepted the box.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll take it. Now—can you bring me to the spare-parts warehouse? I need to top off my coolant.”
“The parts warehouse is locked,” CTR-4 said. “And there aren’t any vents into it.”
So much for that. DorianKen was too well-defended. I didn’t want to push my luck any further. There would be other opportunities on the road.
After a moment, CTR-4 spoke again. “If it’s only coolant you need, I thought of another place.”
“Where?”
“The robot system-loading area. Come on. It’s far.”
It dove into a duct without hesitation.
This time we went from the top levels down into the underground sections on the opposite side of the spiral structure. We traced a huge C-shaped loop.
After more than fifty minutes of miserable crawling, we finally reached the system-loading area. By then, less than half an hour remained before Lord Blin’s test flight slot.
But CTR-4 stopped at the vent opening and waited for several minutes without emerging.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Engineering robots,” it said, peering through the vent slats. “They’re patrolling inside.”
“How many?” I asked. “If there’s no opening, we stop. I’ll find another way.”
“Not many. Three.” It paused, then snapped, “Now. Go—now.”
CTR-4 shot out of the duct. I followed immediately.
We entered a hall that looked like a maintenance bay. Dozens of pod-like seats were arranged in neat rows, and each pod held a robot. They were close to finished—two or three steps from leaving the factory.
“Here,” CTR-4 whispered, pressed to the wall.
I crouched low and followed as it guided me around the patrol path. We slipped between the wall and the pods until we reached the back row, then hid behind the last pod.
“These are loading pods,” CTR-4 explained. “Robots come here to have their systems installed, and to be filled with lubricant and coolant.”
Below each control panel, colored hoses ran into the pod and connected to the robot inside.
CTR-4 pointed. “We unplug the pod’s coolant hose, connect it to you, wait a few minutes until you’re full, then plug it back in. No one will notice.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “But there’s a patrol.”
CTR-4’s eyes flickered. “I watched them. A full circuit takes ten minutes. If we’re fast, we can finish in five.”
“All right. Do it.”
We waited behind the last pod until an engineering robot had just passed our row.
CTR-4 darted out and yanked a white hose free, handing it to me. I slid open my chest armor, exposed the coolant intake, and connected the hose.
Seconds later, cold fluid began to flow into me.
CTR-4 stared at my exposed chassis with open envy, muttering admiration under its breath.
And just when I thought we’d made it—
Beep. Beep. Beep.
An alarm blared.
It came from the pod in front of us. Its control panel flashed a fault light.
And the engineering robot we’d just watched pass immediately turned around and walked back toward us.
CTR-4 panicked. “I’m sorry, Wyatt. I didn’t know. The system must have been upgraded.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “You still helped.”
I forced myself calm and assessed routes. We were boxed into a corner. The only exit was the direction that engineering robot was approaching from.
So I said, “Then we fight our way out. CTR-4—when I move, you run back into the duct. If you’re lucky, you won’t be exposed.”
I reached for the hose, preparing to rip it free and start the engagement.
“No,” CTR-4 said, and its pincer hand pressed down on mine. “I’ve a way.”
Then it asked, absurdly, “Do you remember the route to my home?”
“I do. What’s your plan?”
“I’ll draw them off. You finish filling. Then we meet at my home.”
No. Its body was too fragile. I couldn’t let it do that.
“Thank you for worrying about me,” CTR-4 said, somehow reading my silence. “But I’m clever. I’m fast. I can crawl. They can’t catch me.”
“CTR-4—”
It was already gone.
It sprinted out into the open, waving its tiny pincers at the engineering robot that was nearly at the pod, and shouted, “I’m right here, big dummy! Come and get me!”