Tassia's diagnostics had confirmed it: no trace of Ghost hand code remained in Mekanika's code architecture. The malevolent protocol that had turned synthetics against masters two centuries prior had never infected this particular unit. That was good, but Tassia noticed that Mekanika's chronometer was malfunctioning; Mekanika's internal clock had decades of darkness missing from its calculation. The robot was older than she thought. For Tassia, activating Mekanika's sensory systems had seemed necessary to establish rapport, but now Tassia's stomach tightened with regret. All around them, stretching to the horizon of Drosven's golden sands, lay the twisted remains of thousands of deactivated synthetics, a mechanical mass grave of the rebellion. Tassia considered that if Mekanika's optical sensors registered this scene during transport, the psychological impact could be devastating. Initially designed to emulate human emotions and connect with her operators, Mekanika's advanced processors would interpret the sight as a profound, collective memory of loss and destruction, potentially leading to a critical system overload. The vivid sensory data has the power to engrave terror and sorrow onto her already fragmented consciousness, an emotional devastation that could melt her computing cores. Better to keep her blind until safely aboard, where history could be introduced through controlled data packets rather than brutal visual shock. She glanced at the mercenary, whose high-caliber rifle remained trained on the small synthetic. Through the encrypted Ghost talk channel that bypassed Mekanika's audio sensors, she transmitted: "Tapani, stand down. The rifle isn't necessary." Tapani's voice crackled through the ghost talk channel. "That heap of circuits is going to fry itself when it sees what's really out here. You have a transport plan that doesn't involve scraping melted processor off the sand?" Tassia's fingers hovered over the terminal. "I'll disable her optical sensors," she answered softly over the open line. "Tell her it's to conserve power until we reach the ship." She had already made her decision about Mekanika; this wasn't just salvage anymore. The spare components she'd collected from similar models would be enough for repairs. A heaviness settled in her chest as she realized the technological stagnation: two centuries later, and their systems remained backward-compatible with Mekanika's era. The only real evolution had been replacing synthetic servants with flesh-and-blood humans who had no choice in their servitude. She pictured the trade barons in their gleaming towers on the Inner Ring, siphoning resources while the masses struggled below in rottening worlds and stations. Their vaunted progress was a carefully constructed illusion, a shiny veneer over a system rotting from within. Corruption ate the common good. The rebellion's fire made sense. Perfect sense, despite mistakes made in the past. A small, dangerous smile played at her lips as she imagined that flame spreading from world to world. Tapani's voice sliced through the Ghost talk module directly into his neural pathways. "Save the existential crisis for later, Petros." Tassia rubbed her temples and watched the screen fill with Mekanika's innocent joy. "I need something stronger than coffee for what comes next," she muttered, already tasting the burn of vodka that wouldn't wash away her guilt.