She considered something. “So, everyone has access to the hotspot data, and can change it? Like a wiki?”
“No, only registered salvagers and Outland travelers can edit it,” Will said.
“So, no one ever lies about a hotspot?” she pressed.
Will frowned. “Well, not only would that put the lives of other salvagers at risk but lying about the location of bioweapons is actually an offense punishable by law. So not only is it morally reprehensible, it’s illegal.”
“But it still happens,” Rhea said.
“Yes,” Will admitted. “Occasionally highwaymen will send one of their own into a settlement and have them register as a salvager. They’ll create a misleading hotspot to divert other salvagers and travelers toward their territory, with the hopes of robbing them blind. It should be noted that the hotspot registrars maintain a network of drones to verify different hotspot sightings when reported. Unfortunately, the bandits usually shoot down such drones when they arrive at the fake site, which makes the hotspot seem all the more real. But I doubt that was the case here, since we were attacked by bioweapons, not bandits. No, we were just unlucky.”
She glanced at Sebastian, who still had the lead. “Should we let him on our private network?”
“I suppose,” Will said. “In case we need to keep track of one another or communicate in silence when bioweapons are around. I’ll set up a new network for him and keep the original private, so we can still communicate among ourselves if need-be.”
“I’ve noted that the two of you are speaking quietly,” Horatio said. “Likely with the intention of preventing our new friend from eavesdropping on you. But you should note, most cyborgs have enhanced hearing. He’s likely heard every word you’ve spoken.”
“It’s not like we’ve been discussing anything top secret,” Rhea said.
“No, but you’ve admitted you plan to keep a private channel,” Horatio said.
Will eyed the long-tailed cyborg. “I think, if this Sebastian had any brains, he’d be expecting us to do so already.” Will’s eyes defocused slightly as he walked, and then he said: “Yo, Cyborg Monkey, got a new private line for you. Accept.”
From his position on point, Sebastian glanced askance at Will, and then the cyborg’s dot on the overhead map became a darker blue. Sebastian was now officially sharing his position. Rhea saw two network indicators in the upper right of her vision, denoting the two separate channels Will had set up. The one shared with Sebastian was muted.
They continued for another hour, until Gizmo, on one of the drone’s forward excursions, reported a crashed flyer ahead.
“Looks to be in relatively good shape,” Will said as he examined the video feed. “Finally, some decent salvage.”
“Is it really the greatest idea to stop for parts when there are Kargs and Werangs stalking us in the forest?” Rhea asked.
“We can spare ten minutes,” Will replied. “Besides, so far Gizmo has reported no bioweapons in pursuit.”
“So far,” Rhea concurred. “And while we might’ve outrun them for now, if we stop, we give any pursuers a chance to catch up.”
“Trust me, if Werangs were following, they’d have caught up by now, given our pace,” Will said.
“A pace we’re keeping mostly due to you,” Horatio reminded the human.
Will didn’t answer.
In a few moments they reached the downed flyer. It had carved a runnel into the earth behind it, stopping when it crashed into the treeless skeleton of a large oak. Rhea was surprised the tree hadn’t been knocked over.
“Keep watch,” Will told her.
“No, I’m earning my due this time,” she said. “Gizmo will keep watch. And our new friend. I call dibs on the engine compartment.”
“You’re really going to waste time picking apart this wreck?” Sebastian asked them.
Will shrugged. “Hey, we’re salvagers. Ten minutes, dude.”
Sebastian grunted, and then proceeded to the perimeter to watch as he had been asked.
Rhea climbed onto the crumpled hood and ripped the heavy covering away. She tossed it aside, then lowered her backpack onto the engine next to her and got to work.
“This looks like a recent crash,” Rhea said, disconnecting the power cell and shoving it into her pack.
“Yes.” Will was under the dash. Above him, the entire roof of the flyer was missing, having been lost in the crash. “And quite a spacious model of flyer, too. Probably a rich family from Aradne.”
“I found the model in my archives,” Horatio told them from where he lay on the ground beside the flyer. He was dismantling a side panel. “Transmitting schematics and specs.”
Rhea accepted the share request and pulled up a diagram of the engine compartment.
“What happened to the occupants?” she asked absently as she looked over the diagram. She was looking for the most valuable parts.
“The city’s automated rescue system would have sent a flyer to retrieve any survivors—or dead bodies—when the craft vanished from radar,” Will replied. “You don’t have to worry about them being eaten by bioweapons or anything.”
“Assuming the rescuers got here first,” Rhea said.
“True,” Will conceded.
Rhea focused on removing a small, palm-sized object nestled between the engine and the frame. According to the schematic, it was used for navigational purposes, and contained a bunch of valuable components such as gyroscopes and accelerometers.
As she worked, she had a thought, and scanned the nearby forest nervously. “Am I the only one who finds it odd everything is still intact? Nearby bandits would have seen the crash…”
“Evidently there were none nearby. Scared away by the bioweapons.” Will sat up from behind the dash. In his hands he held the vehicle’s plasma ignition mechanism. He promptly shoved it into his pack.
“How long does it take rescue systems to reach a crash site?” she asked.
“At this distance from the city, about half an hour,” Horatio answered.
“Oh,”
