A day later, Huoman swaggered back with a fancy nutrient vial—the same kind that had yanked Baisha from death's doorstep before.
You could sip it or jab it into your arm for a quicker kick. Gwenyth, ever the worrywart bot, insisted Baisha loaf around the medbay a bit longer, so Baisha just chugged the stuff like a smoothie and crashed hard. When she woke, bam—no more aches, no more wobbly legs. She felt like a shiny new starship fresh off the assembly line.
"Top-shelf gear," Baisha said, tossing Huoman a thumbs-up. "Cures what ails ya."
"Don't get too comfy," Huoman said with a sigh. "You're back to class soon as you're cleared."
Baisha shot him a side-eye, lips twitching.
"Not my class," Huoman added, stretching with a lazy grin. "Those culture lessons you've been dodging."
Gwenyth rolled in for Baisha's final scan. If the results were golden, Baisha could ditch the medbay and rejoin the living. Lo and behold, not only was she patched up, but her vitals were better—like she'd leveled up her whole system.
Gwenyth gave the all-clear, and Baisha was free. "Take care, sweetheart," the bot chirped, her voice warm and bouncy, like a mom waving off her favorite kid. "Stay strong—grow tough as a neutron star."
Neutron stars, or pulsars, were the universe's heavyweights—diamonds of the cosmos, unyielding and badass. Baisha felt the love in Gwenyth's words and tossed back a genuine "Thanks."
Huoman caught the exchange, his brain ticking. Most kids didn't get VIP treatment from Gwenyth. "What'd you do in there?" he asked, squinting at Baisha. "You two are, like, besties now."
"Just talked," Baisha said with a shrug.
"Hey, Gwenyth!" Huoman hollered, spinning back toward the medbay. "We've been pals for years—where's my goodbye? Your emotion chip glitchin' or what?"
"Buzz off, you lumbering oaf," Gwenyth snapped. "You don't appreciate tech's wonders or respect bots. If I break down, you'd probably dig through a junk pile for some dusty manual to 'fix' me. Scram, you dim-witted amoeba."
The medbay door slammed shut with a clang, courtesy of Gwenyth's mechanical arm.
Huoman rubbed his nose, stung. "What's her deal? If she crashes, yeah, I'd hunt for a manual. If that flops, I'd call a tech. What else am I supposed to do?"
Baisha sighed. "Gwenyth's model came off the line eight years ago—no manual included."
Huoman coughed awkwardly.
"Also, pro tip: don't ask a smart bot if she's busted," Baisha drawled. "Ticks her off. Honestly, I've been wondering—her smarts seem way too sharp for a basic medbot frame."
Huoman leaned in, voice low. "Gwenyth's no ordinary medbot. Her shell's standard, sure, but her chip? Top-tier, with human-like emotions and a brain that learns fast. Back when the orphanage couldn't afford teachers, Gwenyth was the teacher." He chuckled. "I could finance a chip over time, but a real teacher? Can't exactly say, 'Yo, we'll pay your salary in installments.'"
Baisha blinked. "…So it's just poverty again?"
"Chip's paid off, though," Huoman said, puffing up a bit. "Cleared it last year."
"…" Six, seven years to pay off one chip, and he's bragging?
Baisha was speechless.
"You've got Gwenyth's number already," Huoman said, raising a brow. "What'd you two really get up to?"
"She didn't want me bored out of my skull," Baisha said. "Let me tap into her data port for some galactic web surfing. Started with cartoons—Gwenyth's orders. I played mopey, so she let me roam free. Got curious, dug into Lanslow Star's history, then poked around Kangheng Biotech and their medbot line."
Lanslow Star and Kangheng Biotech were joined at the hip. Kangheng was a medical titan in the Interstellar Federation—not god-tier dominant, but a big fish. On Lanslow, though? They were the whole pond.
Lanslow was a backwater speck in the Federation's fringe—a "frontier star," thanks to endless wars with Starbugs and the Empire. Bug battles never stopped; Empire clashes flared every decade or so. Frontier zones, like Lanslow, were spots that got chewed up in wars or sat too close to the action. No economic juice, spotty strategic value. Lanslow was a quiet, barren dot—until the Federation sniffed out a rare t-crystal vein. Cue a government takeover: mining ops, a shiny spaceport, a military base. Kangheng tagged along, servicing the Federation's troops. For a hot minute, Lanslow boomed.
Then the crystals dried up, leaving scraps too costly to mine. Lanslow tanked as fast as it had spiked. The boom left some infrastructure and a few locals who'd struck it rich. Those fat cats teamed up with Kangheng, and soon the company's tentacles were in everything—raking in credits through a stranglehold on the planet's industries.
Kangheng became Lanslow's unchallenged kingpin. Even the Federation's local patrols and sheriffs danced to their tune.
Lanslow's rise and fall barely rippled the galactic web—who cared about a nowhere planet? Baisha had to scrounge for scraps of data to piece it together.
When she laid it all out, Huoman nodded. "That's the gist."
"Lanslow was already a forgotten rock," he added, a wry smirk flickering. "Kangheng showed up, and now the locals have even less shot at climbing out." The smirk faded fast. "But since you've got the lay of the land, it's time I showed you the real world."
He scratched his chin. "You told Lady Joan you're a gearhead, right? Good with machines? Let's test that knack. I'm taking you somewhere to see what you've got." He paused, then tossed in, "Military academies take mechanics, y'know."
Baisha opened her mouth to ask why everyone was so hung up on military schools, but Huoman was already pivoting to the next topic.