"Environmental unit operations module with connectors."

He turned the tag over, found an ancient date and read outloud the rest of the information: "R. Spode Estate, Misc. Eqpt. Auction Lot 42."

Shan looked dubious.

"You're certain," he said.

Val Con nodded, and his brother sighed.

"All right, then. Stay here with it for a moment, will you? There was something in that aisle we just came down that I want a closer look at."

* * *

There had been a burst of brilliance, disorienting. Perhaps it was pain. In its wake came lethargy and a weakening of the will. Not sleep, this, but something more dire. He struggled against it, expending energy he ought best conserve, listening.

Listening for an answer.

No answer came.

He felt. . .movement, or perhaps it was his dying intelligence describing its last spiral. He sank, struggling. . .

Perhaps, indeed, he slept, for suddenly he wakened.

Wakened to a slow and steady trickle of energy. He sought the source, found the physical connection.

Humans wept at such moments. He—he swore an oath, whatever such things might mean in his diminished estate.

Whoever had come, whoever had heard, and heeded his call. That one he would serve, as well as he was able, for as long as he could.

* * *

Shan unsnapped three of the slats and Val Con skooched partway into the crate on his belly, jump-wire in hand. There was a bad moment when it seemed like the battery connection to the shrouded unit was frozen, but a bit of patient back-and-forth dislodged it. The jump-wire slid into the port and seated firmly. Val Con waited a long moment, chin resting on his folded arms, and sighed when the status light snapped over to orange.

"Meter shows juice flowing," Shan commented from outside the crate. "Rather more than a trickle."