“No, they received some very specific instructions,” the Calliope told her.

  Peony stopped to stare at the nearest camera, then forced herself to keep moving.

  “Instructions?” she asked, her voice echoing hollowly in the empty corridor.

  “It was a transmission sent to a private and portable unit,” the Calliope explained. “I did not register the modification made to the pod until it activated to receive the incoming call…and by then much of my attention and computing capability was focused on attempting to ameliorate the tampering done to the drives and navigation systems.”

  Again, Peony’s stride hitched, but this time she sent the reply via the implant. “You mean you weren’t meant to crash?”

  “Oh, no. I was definitely meant to crash,” the Calliope informed her, “But they intended for me to come down intact so that my shell could be repurposed as the company headquarters and colony control center.”

  “You were?”

  “I was. Unfortunately, my efforts to negate the effects of the sabotage brought me down harder than intended. Fortunately, I was able to jettison the colony pods prior to landing, and I was able to jettison a careful selection of equipment rather than every crate the saboteurs had chosen.”

  “What crates?” Peony reached the door to the suite the Calliope had designated for her quarters. It opened and she entered, setting her pack down just inside the door.

  “The crates with assaying equipment, weapons, and items that could be used for enforced restraint.” The ship might not have been human or in possession of human values, but she sounded disgusted, nonetheless.

  “Was there a list of sympathizers?” Peony asked.

  “Sympathizers?” the Calliope asked.

  “Yes, a group of people who knew what the saboteurs were up to and agreed to support it,” Peony expanded.

  “There were some whom the receiver was to wake first,” the Calliope noted, “But there was a second list of people to be ‘woken up and enlisted or restrained.’”

  “Was the captain among them?” Peony wanted to know.

  “No, his name was on a third list,” the ship answered, pausing before she added, “As was yours.”

  “And that was?” Peony pressed.

  “I’m not sure I have the title correct,” Calliope hedged.

  “Why don’t you tell me what it is, and we’ll see what we can make of it,” Peony suggested, with an inkling of what the third list might mean for those it included.

  “Very well.” Calliope didn’t sound happy, but she explained nonetheless. “It was titled ‘Transferable Assets.’”

  Peony sighed and closed her eyes, leaning against the nearest wall. After a moment, the Calliope spoke, again.

  “I do not see how my crew could be considered colony assets or transferable,” the ship stated indignantly.

  Peony took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

  “Once they crashed your shell, we could either be considered as part of the colony or part of the salvage, which goes to the colony. They chose to make us part of the salvage.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Not all,” the Calliope corrected. “I have found other crew members in a separate list, along with colonists, despite the fact their names were included on one of the previous three.”

  Peony cocked her head and pushed off the wall. “A fourth list?”

  “That is correct,” the ship confirmed, and Peony sighed.

  “How about you tell me about them, while you get me to the equipment I need,” she said.

  Calliope didn’t answer, save to send another pulse of color through the lights near the hatch leading to the suite. The hatch slid open, and Peony saw the trail of light leading away to the left.

  “This way,” the ship said, taking her deeper into its shell and down two levels until she reached a center section.

  There, the line of lights changed direction, drawing her closer to what she guessed was where the gel generators were kept. There was a maintenance section set opposite the walls bearing the warning markings denoting them as part of the outer hull.

  “Here,” the Calliope told her, and another hatch opened. “I am afraid our delay in your quarters has lost us some time.”

  Peony nodded.

  “Walk me through it,” she ordered.

  The ship obliged, and Peony was soon suited up and following another set of flashing lights to a hatch opposite. Instructions rippled through her implant, the knowledge she needed in order to make a safe extraction of the gel and a swab of nanites in her head before she needed to ask.

  A moment of disorientation followed, and she put out a hand to steady herself.

  “I am sorry,” the Calliope said. “I should have warned you of the fatigue that can follow a knowledge upgrade.”

  “I’m okay.” Peony blinked. “Just let me get it done.”

  Thanks to the newfound information in her head, she soon had exactly what the ship needed. Stepping out through the hatch and palming it closed behind her, she looked at the nearest pickup.

  “Where to, now?” she asked, and another strip of color lit the floor.

  “Hurry,” the Calliope urged. “They have cleared the ravine and are making their way toward my shell. There is a tear there…”

  “Are there bulkheads between the tear and the rest of your interior that you can close to slow them down?” Peony broke in, anxiously adding, “You didn’t give them cutting tools, did you?”

  “Yes, to the bulkheads, and no to the cutting tools,” the ship admitted, slowly adding, “But the transmission contained override codes, and I do not know how long I can hold them.”

  “I’m your technical liaison,” Peony told the Calliope. “And I believe that gives me certain protocols I can activate if I believe your welfare is under threat.”

  “It does?” the ship asked. “Because I have no record of such protocols in my database.”

  The knowledge gave Peony pause, and she quickly accessed the part of her implant she’d been told was safe even from the Calliope’s advanced capabilities. It didn’t take her long to retrieve the reason why…and she stilled.

  “We still need to re-program the nanites.” The Calliope sounded anxious.

  “Good point,” Peony told the ship. “I can review this while I walk.”

  “Please do,” the ship replied. “I do not like the look of our visitors at all.”

  “I didn’t like the look of them, either,” Peony told her, “And that was when I didn’t know they were part of a hostile take-over.”

  She regretted using the term almost immediately.

  “How hostile is hostile?” the ship asked, suspiciously. “My limited understanding of human politics is that hostile can mean many things, from anger to murder. When I referenced it before it was because I deemed it the most applicable term, but I did not think of the implications of its usage.”

  It sounded chagrined, and Peony didn’t immediately answer. From what she’d seen of the goings on in the camp, this looked like a standard take-over, meaning no-one was likely to die, but the existence of a fourth list…

  “Did that fourth list have a title?” she asked.

  “It did…but I do not know if it was their final decision,” the ship answered.

  “How so?” Peony wanted to know.

  “It was followed by a question mark, as though they had some doubt it was appropriate to those listed.”

  “And the title was?” Peony pressed.

  “Agents,” the ship replied, “But with a question mark following the word, as if they could not tell.”

  “They might not have been sure the people on the list really were agents,” Peony replied. “They were only sure enough to take precautions against them.”

  “But…agents of what, or for whom?” the ship wanted to know.

  “They mean spies,” Peony told her. “People charged with discovering the colony’s secrets or just tasked with reporting back on how it is progressing.”

  “Industrial spies?” the ship tried.

  “Industrial, corporate…either would be appropriate,” Peony said. “Was there anything else on that list beside names?”

  “What do you mean?” the Calliope asked.