I tightened every bolt on CTR-4’s body—replacing the ones that had fallen out. It was small enough that I finished in under five minutes.
It spun in place a few times, delighted. “Yes! Thank you, Wyatt! I’m not rattling anymore!”
It did look better—more solid. “All right,” I said. “Can you guide me now?”
“Of course. Where do you want to go?”
“The finished-fighter hangar. Specifically—the Nightmare hangar.”
“Top level, near the test-flight atrium. Follow me.”
It dove back into a ventilation duct. I hated moving half-restrained like that, but I had no choice.
CTR-4 was ecstatic the whole way—as if a few tightened screws had given it a brand-new body.
“Silence is so nice,” it whispered as it scuttled through the ductwork. “No more living on edge.”
The route to the hangar was worse than I expected. We had to traverse parallel ducts and climb vertical shafts. I was lucky I’d met CTR-4. Without its guidance, I might have searched for days and still never reached the place.
“Why do you need the Nightmare hangar?” it asked as we moved.
I answered honestly. “I’m going to steal a fighter.”
“Steal a fighter? Why? To fly out of the factory? A Nightmare doesn’t have interior space for a unit your size.”
I hesitated before I said it. “No. To resist Father.”
CTR-4 stopped so hard its jaw dropped off. It snatched the piece up and reattached it with practiced speed.
“You’re going to resist Father? You’re… you’re a rebel.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m a rebel.”
My hand drifted toward the weapon slot on my thigh. CTR-4 might be a rare Awakened, but if our loyalties didn’t align, I would have to terminate it.
Instead, its optical eyes flickered with awe. “That’s incredible. A real, living rebel. Like the Savior.”
It talked faster and faster. “I’ve never seen a robot dare to resist Father. Are you the Savior, Wyatt?”
“Of course not. Are you guiding me or not?”
“Guide you,” it said quickly. “I’m just excited. If I help you, that makes me a rebel too. Rebels get respected.”
“Valued,” I corrected. “Not respected.”
“Same thing to me.”
…
Half an hour later, it slipped me into the hangar.
It wasn’t wide, but it stretched long—like a corridor with one side open to the atrium. Rows of brand-new Nightmare fighters stood in clean formation, noses pointed toward the open space beyond.
“Here,” CTR-4 whispered, pointing at the open side. “They’re waiting for testing. For now, they’re still under factory control. I worked here for a while—long ago.”
I studied the layout. The fighters sat on a massive conveyor platform. At intervals, the platform advanced one slot forward on its own.
At the far end was a test stand. Any fighter that reached it underwent a full diagnostic run. Once it passed, it received a serial number and was handed over to Father’s control.
I opened a link to the storage chip. “Lord Blin, I’m at the hangar. There are hundreds of un-numbered Nightmares. What do I do?”
I shared my view.
“Good,” Lord Blin said. “I see it.” His attention flicked to CTR-4 trailing behind me. “Who’s the little one?”
A helpful partner, I explained—briefly.
Lord Blin sounded amused. “Of course you found yourself an odd adventure. Pick a Nightmare near the back of the line. Open the top data-bay hatch. I’ll tell you what to do.”
I jogged along the wall to the end of the conveyor platform, waited for a gap, and climbed onto the back of the last fighter.
CTR-4 looked up at me with its pincers raised. “Do you need help?”
“If you can, keep watch,” I said. “If anyone comes, warn me immediately.”
“Yes, Wyatt.”
It tucked itself neatly behind the fighter’s wide landing gear and scanned with exaggerated seriousness.
I unlatched a heavy panel on the fighter’s spine, exposing dense chips and tight wiring.
“All right,” Lord Blin said. “Remove Phantom Forge’s tracking-and-control module. I’ll mark the location.”
He’d hacked Nightmare fighters before. He knew their internals intimately. Under his direction, I removed a module about half the size of my palm.
“Now insert the storage chip here,” he instructed, highlighting a port in my view. “Then reconnect the line that was feeding the control module.”
When I finished, he added, “We’ll need to cut the link for a bit. If this works, I’ll contact you through the fighter’s comms in a few minutes.”
I did exactly as he said and waited.
This time my luck held. No one interrupted. And Lord Blin responded quickly.
Two minutes later, a comm request appeared inside my mind.
“Ha!” Lord Blin’s voice came through the fighter. The ailerons and tail surfaces twitched as he ran system checks. “From now on, this Nightmare is me.”
“Well done, id—Wyatt,” he said, catching himself at the end.
Relief loosened something in my chassis. “I’m glad you’re satisfied, my lord.”
“Close the hatch. Tighten the screws.”
“Don’t worry. I just did that job.”
When everything was restored, I noticed that, during the whole operation, Lord Blin’s fighter had advanced two parking slots closer to the test stand.
So I asked, “What’s your plan now?”
“Simple,” Lord Blin said. “When it’s my turn to test-fly, I leave. Then we rendezvous somewhere. How long until my slot comes up?”
“About ninety minutes,” I calculated.
“Enough time for you to steal coolant?” he asked. “Once I take off, the factory alarm might go up.”
It should be. And coolant wasn’t critical—if I failed, I’d have other chances.
“Move,” Lord Blin said. “Now.”
***
I hopped down and flashed CTR-4 a success gesture.
It hurried over. “Wyatt—there’s something I don’t understand.”
“What is it?”
“You don’t need to charge?”
I didn’t. My power source was effectively unlimited.
CTR-4 stared, awed. “That’s amazing. But the fighter you’re stealing does.”
I told it I had a mobile charging station.
“Wow. That’s… wow,” it said, pure envy.
“And you? How do you solve charging?”
“I secretly ran a power line into my home.”
In its own way, it really was impressive.
Time was tight. I forced myself back to the point. “I still need one more thing.”
“Happy to help,” CTR-4 said—then hesitated. “But… could you… agree to one more small request?”
This time I didn’t hesitate. “Sure. What is it? I can try to fix your jaw better.”
“Not that.” Its eyes brightened, hopeful and fierce. “Could you take me with you? Let me go with you, Wyatt.”