Moxie really knows how to satisfy a man. I got out of bed relaxed and satisfied. She was hot in the evening...

  The bath, I mean.

  Moxie's bar had a couple of "guest" rooms. Dinner, more or less normal, not a piece of crap, a bathroom, and a comfortable bed... Five hundred damn bucks, but I didn't regret them. Fortunately, as a result of the cleanup of the bandits, I earned something around two thousand. It would have been more, but I gave almost half of the weapons to Jim - he pretty accurately estimated how many trophies I managed to take.

  - What a woman! She has a talent for erotic massage... - Claptrap, who unceremoniously rolled into the room, said contentedly. I glanced sideways at him, raising an eyebrow, but ultimately decided to ignore him as usual.

  I'd better go find out how much breakfast will cost me and get to work. Plus... Perhaps I should ask Moxie what she knows about the Vault.

  - You owe me fifty for maintenance and an oil change, sugar - Moxie said. I looked at her questioningly, and she pointed her finger at Claptrap, who was spinning around in front of the mirror.

  - Claptrap - I said calmly. - I know you have your own money, so pay for your own cosmetic procedures. And if you do it again without warning, I will open your inventory system and take everything you have hoarded there. If I can't crack the coding, I will just throw it away.

  The robot jumped.

  - Of course, of course, boss! - he said hastily. - No need for such extreme measures! Here, Miss Moxie, please...

  He stuck the manipulator into a crack on his "belly", in the lower part of the body, and took out several bills, which he handed to Moxie, driving up to her.

  - You learn quickly, sugar - Moxie noted, turning to me.

  - In my profession, the survival rate is low among those who do not know how to do this - I said. She nodded.- So what's up with breakfast?

  After breakfast - yeah, the money's flying away... - and turning down the offer to participate in the arena battle, which Moxie seemed to be doing more symbolically - I got down to more important matters: work and the Vault.

  - So you want to become a Vault Hunter, nut? - Moxie asked. - No offense, but that's an occupation for the most reckless and notorious adventurers, and you don't look like one.

  I winced.

  - I'm not try to. I have, let's say, a forced interest. And no, not related to Vladoff. Personal. If it were up to me, I wouldn't get involved, but we have what we have. At least I know for sure that the Vault exists.

  Moxie nodded.

  - On Pandora, someone always has a stranger story than anything you've heard before - she noted. - I might have some information for you, sugar. After you do my job.

  Her assignment was fairly straightforward, and the problems with it were obvious - although, of course, there could always be some hidden catch. Simply put, I needed to install several vending machines in certain relatively popular locations. Having first exterminated the local fauna that could interfere with the installation process or damage the installed equipment. Moxie served as a subcontractor in this case - she took on the task of finding an executor for several interested parties, plus provided large-size digital construction equipment that will allow digital construction of machines on site, instead of physically transporting them. I wonder where she got this from?..

  The immediate customers were Dr. Zed, the guy who ran the medical and shield trade, Marcus Kincaid, who I still had to deal with (and if the order had come from him alone, I'd be sure it was a set-up), and a Scooter who rented cars. Actually, his vending machine was itself digitally building equipment for large facilities, artisanally produced. I didn't know anyone on Pandora could manufacture such a thing.

  Probably, in the local mess they managed to get the necessary license.

  In any case, the equipment Moxie lent me was quite bulky and valuable, so I checked its functionality beforehand, so I wouldn't be charged for the "broken" one, and took care of the protective container for it. There's a minimum of fragile parts, and the case itself is solid, but this is Pandora, here bullets flying instead of mosquitoes, and skag burp eats through armor.

  - Baby, why are you so cold to me? - wailed Claptrap, wheeling around the digit-building rig as I loaded it onto the trailer. - We would have made such a wonderful couple, you and I....

  - Wail on the radio, - I said, as he was out of range of the shovel. - And get in, I've left room for you.

  If only Claptrap could be entrusted with at least controlling the machine... Alas, the robot remained for the most part categorically useless. So I didn't have time to go through the Hyperion's files and select a few that would be interesting enough for the Vladoff. I expected to find some during the installation of the equipment, though.

  Arrive on site, set up a few turrets, wait for them to take care of the skags, do the installation... It's a piece of cake. You don't even need an engineer to do that, except to fix it if someone messes up what's already in place.

  Moxie's machine was logging the job as well. So far, everything was fair, and as I'd hoped, there was time to look at the files.

  Chatter from someone's secretary about personal matters. Conversations between technical staff... maybe the analysts could catch something valuable, but in my opinion, nothing. A discussion about the best men's thong? Seriously? Some sort of virt-game streaming. Holy shit, is there anything useful in here?

  I mean, comparable with such trash even the some skag-cooking recipes which i found here looked valuable.

  Oops, unencrypted license file... shit, it is for the toilet.

  Oh, damn. It's gonna take a specialized AI to go through all this garbage, I guess.

  Wait a minute. ECHO has some kind of AI, if not the same AI.

  "ECHO, can you sort the files by content?"

  "Request acknowledged. Please specify sorting criteria."

  О. A glimmer of hope.

  "Importance and interest to potential buyers," I reported. And after a moment's thought, I added, remembering the recipes:

  "And to me personally."

  "Copy that. Proceeding with the sorting."

  Even the AI needed some time to sort through that much information garbage, so for now I cleared the neighborhood of skag carcasses - a pity, but there wasn't enough to level me up - and set about installing the automatons. All three should stand in the neighborhood - I came for a wheelbarrow, at the same time stocked up on ammo, and maybe bought a new gun or shield. In fact, I need a new shield myself. I'll see what's on offer, I need to check it out anyway.

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

  "Sorting is over" - said the ECHO, when I made sure that the shields here are about the same as mine - well, there are small differences and "specialities", and there are even a little more powerful than mine, but objectively I can not discount more than half of my remaining money for a shield that is only a little better than the existing one. - "Sorting type: custom. Bringing up the first hundred results."

  Huh. Licenses (for all sorts of useless stuff, though), access codes (probably hopelessly outdated), maps of Pandora, marked with interesting objects (probably the most interesting thing here is the eridian ruins found), Hyperion's existing information about the eridians and Pandora... Moderately useful.

  Hmm. And here's something a little more curious. An announcement from the ECHOnet is coupled with a couple of files, video and audio.

  "Reward for information on Brennon Jazz, last known location is a workplace in Hyperion's IT division."

  The first file was a video. An empty cafe in an office building, and two men; an older man, with light gray hair, in a nice suit, small glasses, neat beard; looked like a retired professor. The badge on the suit read "Lawrence de Quidt, Head of IT Department"; he was sipping coffee from a plastic cup. The other was much younger, more modestly dressed, much less neat-looking, and apparently sleep-deprived. Disheveled hair, bags under his eyes. His nametag reads "Brennon Jazz, IT Department, Debugger Programmer."

  - Hello, Mr. Quidt, - the programmer said. - Sorry for the surprise, I didn't expect you to schedule a meeting here, and even more so that you would drink this.

  - A taste of youth - replied the boss. - However, time is money. Report.

  The programmer nodded.

  - There's something very, very strange with the whole line of claptraps. Crashes and strange behavior of AI, especially experimental ones, are the norm, obviously, but there are oddities that are understandable, and there are oddities that are incomprehensible, in their case too much of the latter. Take performance. With the processors used in this series, they should fly, and generally be smarter than any other AI, but the actual performance is no more than five percent of what is expected. It seems as if there is some invisible process in the system, eating up almost all the resources, but we can't detect it. We've tried every possible test, and the results are on your ECHO.

  The boss nodded.

  - I've seen it, and I agree it's strange.

  - That's not all, Mr. Quidt - the programmer lowered his voice, which did not prevent from hearing him perfectly on the recording. - I tried to contact the developer, for consultation. However, I couldn't find any data.

  - Well, objectively speaking, I also wouldn't want anyone to know that I'm responsible for all these glitchy robots - the boss smiled a little. - Wait a minute.

  A holographic interface appeared above his hand; his fingers raced. After a few seconds, Quidt began to frown, harder and harder.

  - 'I'm the head of this damn department,' he muttered. - Why the hell don't I have access?

  The programmer nodded without surprise.

  - That's not all. I... - He looked me in the eye - well, or rather, in the direction of the camera. - You know, I think we'd better continue this conversation somewhere more secure, if you don't mind.

  Quidt nodded, and they both stood up; the video ended.

  The next recording was already purely audio.

  - So? - Quidt's voice.

  - Are you sure it's not being recorded here? - Jazz.

  - This is my office, I've made sure it's secure. Only my personal recordings are recorded.

  - Okay. [Cell phone rings] Well, I did a little investigating. First of all, Maxim Turner, as you know, was able to make Hyperion a success through large profits from several successive successful deals. First, he managed to sell two lines of semi-intelligent home appliances very profitably, and used the money to develop several other products, which also sold out quickly and at a good profit. One of these products was a large line of claptrap robot assistants. Yes, yes, Mr. Quidt, I realize that you know this, but - do you know who were the buyers of most of these robots?

  - No, - came the voice after a short pause.

  - Neither do I. There are no records, nor of the developers. There are marks about the sale of several large batches, there are buyers of individual samples. But we have no information on who bought the bulk, or how they came to be distributed throughout Pandora. Considering how meticulously the corporation keeps its records, that's extremely odd.

  - And suspicious - I could almost see Quidt frowning. - I have no idea what any of this means, but you were right to come to me and insist on privacy. Perhaps I should stay out of this further, but... my professional pride is hurt. I don't want to... I can't just leave this AI in this state. Especially not after my statement about fixing bugs as soon as possible. Hmm... I see you're a talented and proactive fellow. Do you have any ideas about these hidden processes?

  - Well, I'd like your permission... - pause - what's that?

  - What's that?

  - Some kind of hissing... cough, cough...

  The file cut off.

  I glanced suspiciously at Claptrap. His talk about taking over the world suddenly seemed a lot more serious.

  ...In fact, leveling up and surfing the ECHOnet showed that machine revolts are commonplace in this world. That's why most of the robots look like they've been assembled from recycled materials: easier to destroy in a riot. I even read, with links to archived news stories, that at one time there was a "Free Confederation of Toasters and Vacuum Cleaners", but it was destroyed after a civil war between the toasters and vacuum cleaners themselves was provoked within it.

  ...Perhaps Pandora is not the craziest planet in this galaxy.

  In any case, given the available facts, there's something different here: the weirdness started even before individual units started showing... peculiarities of behavior. Also, the Almighty Bastard's instructions... Hmm. Some kind of plot intrigue, definitely.

  There's exactly enough information to intrigue but only make it more obscure.

  I shrugged. That leaves me as a pioneer, "always ready."

  For curiosity's sake, I surfed the ECHOnet in search of information about claptrap. So much conspiracy theories... "Claptraps are generators of psychic radiation!" "Claptraps are undercover robot assassins!" "Claptrap is an eridian secret project to control humanity!" "Claptrap are the servers for Hyperion's secretly deployed teleportation network!" And perhaps the most satisfying: "Claptrap doesn't exist, it's a mass hallucination caused by Pandora's torsion fields!"

  To tell you the truth, watching this nonsense really lifted my spirits.