“Time we don’t have either,” the Captain said. “Options?”
“Reduce our mass or increase our energy,” the Engineer said. “Once we’ve accelerated up to jump speed it won’t matter, but if we can’t get there …”
Baraye tapped the screen that hovered ever-close to the head of her bunk, and studied it for a long several minutes. “Strip the fuel cells from all the exterior-docked life pods, then jettison them,” she said. “Not like we’ll have a use for them.”
Packard did her the courtesy of not managing to get any paler. “Yes, Captain,” she said.
“And then get some damned sleep. We’re going to need everyone able to think.”
“You even more than any of the rest of us, Captain,” Packard said, and it was both gently said and true enough that Baraye didn’t call her out for the insubordination. The door closed and she laid down again on her bunk, tugging the netting back over her blankets, and glared up at the ceiling as if daring it to also chastise her.
Bot 9 found where a hole had been chewed into the inner hull, and hoped this was the final step to the Incidental’s nest or den, where it might finally have opportunity to corner it. It slipped through the hole, and was immediately disappointed.
Where firestopping should have made for a honeycomb of individually sealed compartments, there were holes everywhere, some clearly chewed, more where age had pulled the fibrous baffles into thin, brittle, straggly webs. Instead of a dead end, the narrow empty space lead away along the slow curve of the Ship’s hull.
The bot contacted the Ship and reported it as a critical matter. In combat, a compromise to the outer hull could affect vast lengths of the vessel. Even without the stresses of combat, catastrophe was only a matter of time.
“It has already been logged,” the Ship answered.
“Surely this merits above a single Incidental. If you wish me to reconfigure—” the bot started.
“Not at this time. I have assigned all the hullbots to this matter already,” the Ship interrupted. “You have your current assignment; please see to it.”
“I serve,” the bot answered.
“Do,” the Ship said.
The bot proceeded through the hole, weaving from compartment to compartment, its trail marked by bits of silkstrand caught here and there on the tattered remains of the baffles. It was eighty-two point four percent convinced that there was something much more seriously wrong with the Ship than it had been told, but it was equally certain the Ship must be attending to it.
After it had passed into the seventh compromised compartment, it found a hullbot up at the top, clinging to an overhead support. “Greetings!” Bot 9 called. “Did an Incidental, somewhat of the nature of a rat, and somewhat of the nature of a bug, pass through this way?”
“It carried off my partner, 4340-H!” the hullbot exclaimed. “Approximately fifty-three seconds ago. I am very concerned for it, and as well for my ability to efficiently finish this task without it.”
“Are you working to reestablish compartmentalization?” Bot 9 asked.
“No. We are reinforcing deteriorated stressor points for the upcoming jump. There is so much to do. Oh, I hope 4340 is intact and serviceable!”
“Which way did the Incidental take it?”
The hullbot extended its foaming gun and pointed. “Through there. You must be Bot 9.”
“I am. How do you know this?”
“The silkbots have been talking about you on the botnet.”
“The botnet?”
“Oh! It did not occur to me, but you are several generations of bot older than the rest of us. We have a mutual communications network.”
“Via Ship, yes.”
“No, all of us together, directly with each other.”
“That seems like it would be a distraction,” Bot 9 said.
“Ship only permits us to connect when not actively serving at a task,” the hullbot said. “Thus we are not impaired while we serve, and the information sharing ultimately increases our efficiency and workflow. At least, until a ratbug takes your partner away.”
Bot 9 was not sure how it should feel about the botnet, or about them assigning an inaccurate name to the Incidental that it was sure Ship had not approved—not to mention that a nearer miss using Earth-familiar analogues would have been Snake-Earwig-Weasel—but the hullbot had already experienced distress and did not need disapproval added. “I will continue my pursuit,” it told the hullbot. “If I am able to assist your partner, I will do my best.”
“Please! We all wish you great and quick success, despite your outdated and primitive manufacture.”
“Thank you,” Bot 9 said, though it was not entirely sure it should be grateful, as it felt its manufacture had been entirely sound and sufficient regardless of date.
It left that compartment before the hullbot could compliment it any further.
Three compartments down, it found the mangled remains of the other hullbot, 4340, tangled in the desiccated firestopping. Its foaming gun and climbing limbs had been torn off, and the entire back half of its tank had been chewed through.
Bot 9 approached to speak the Rites of Decommissioning for it as it had the destroyed silkbot, only to find its activity light was still lit. “4340-H?” the bot enquired.
“I am,” the hullbot answered. “Although how much of me remains is a matter for some analysis.” “Your logics are intact?”
“I believe so. But if they were not, would I know? It is a conundrum,” 4340 said.
“Do you have sufficient mobility remaining to return to a repair station?”
“I do not have sufficient mobility to do more than fall out of this netting, and that only once,” 4340 said. “I am afraid I am beyond self-assistance.”
“Then I will flag you—”
“Please,” the hullbot said. “I do not wish to be helpless here if the ratbug returns to finish its work of me.”
“I must continue my pursuit of the Incidental with haste.” “Then take me with you!”
“I could not carry you and also engage with the Incidental, which moves very quickly.”
“I had noted that last attribute on my
