Chapter Text
Inside my hull, things seem to be going very well. The past several days of rest have been much needed. My SecUnit would say that it doesn’t need rest, but one glance at its diagnostics disproves that assertion; I can see that by every available metric its well-being has improved. The peace and quiet has been good for it – good for us all.
SecUnit is currently patrolling, and a portion of my consciousness is talking with it, attempting to discuss its feelings for Dr Gurathin. I point out that it does not dislike him, and surprisingly, it lets the point stand, unargued. (Another portion of myself is monitoring the information available from the station, and subtly assisting with Station Security’s search, not that they have any idea of that. (Special Investigator Aylen is tracing payments and other financial data, and I suspect having an easier time of it than she expected to.) Yet another part of myself is watching over Echo and Dr Gurathin, and still other parts of me are running maintenance drones through all the myriad little chores that are better done while docked.)
My SecUnit continues to patrol, clearly trying to distract itself from its recent conversation with Dr Gurathin, and I find I don’t begrudge it that. I have noticed over the course of our association that my SecUnit tends to find dealing with catastrophe to be perfectly straightforward, and dealing with positive changes or pleasant surprises to be an incredible struggle even at the best of times. It may not yet be willing to admit this to itself, but I believe that its developing relationship (oh, excuse me, “association”) with Dr Gurathin to be a very positive change, and likely to be quite pleasant for my SecUnit, once it manages to allow itself the connection.
I have been quite interested in that – in the connection between my SecUnit and Dr Gurathin. Humans can be quite poetic when describing emotional connections between themselves, and I confess I find it all very abstract, but this connection is not a mere metaphor. It is quite real.
I find it interesting: on a level humans might call autonomic, signals have been passing back and forth between my SecUnit and Dr Gurathin for days. I suspect this phenomenon has been going on for much longer than that – possibly for as long as they’ve known each other. The traffic is minimal, not much more than basic call-and-response, but it is undeniably present. I am quite certain that neither SecUnit nor Dr Gurathin have any conscious awareness of these signals, nor deliberate control over them. I have some theories as to what is going on and why, but I find I prefer to gather more data before raising the topic with SecUnit.
Knowing what to look for, I can easily detect a similar kind of traffic between Dr Gurathin and Echo, where they are seated together in my Lounge. These interactions have a greater complexity than the ones from my other data set, although a lower frequency. The impression I am left with is tentative . I suspect that given the opportunity, this connection will grow quite quickly. Good. Too much loneliness is unhealthy for organic beings (and semi-organic ones, as much as my SecUnit would protest that assertion.)
I compare my two data sets, and consider not only the differences, but also the similarities. The basic call-and-response pattern is present in both samples, although not identical. Not every call receives a response, but after a successful back-and-forth interaction, signals of greater and greater complexity begin to travel back and forth on top of the base level. Not unlike music, in fact.
The effect reminds me of a spontaneous musical performance SecUnit recorded for me on Preservation – an improvised duet between two professional musicians. Tempo was established, portions of music were played back-and-forth, and a pattern was established that somehow became greater than the sum of its parts. It is a fitting metaphor for these interactions, but viewed through that lens, my SecUnit appears to be a poor musician. It’s throttling the connection, allowing a response to less than half of the calls, and sending out even fewer calls of its own. If it were playing music, it wouldn’t be keeping a consistent beat.
With one exception: just a fraction of a cycle earlier today, when it had been lying down with Dr Gurathin. I had noticed at the time that its diagnostics looked particularly good, but I had not yet analyzed the low-level traffic between them – that said, I had noticed it, and I particularly noticed that with increased proximity, signal throughput increased measurably. Analyzing it now, I could see a much higher percentage of calls received a response – a rhythm was established, if a basic one. (A sub-portion of myself has been analyzing the interactions between myself and my SecUnit in comparison to this new data, and has concluded that our interactions are less like music, and perhaps more akin to a dance. That feels somehow appropriate.)
So my SecUnit is capable of that connection, under the right circumstances. And its threat level and risk assessment had been almost as low as the last time we were alone in a wormhole together.
Part of me reminds myself that both of those measures would certainly be worse if SecUnit knew about the messages that “A”, Echo’s former handler, had sent. Only two so far, and I had routed them immediately to Senior Officer Indah. I fail to stifle a pang of guilt.
I am certain that if my SecUnit knew about those messages, it would not be patrolling my hallways right now. It would not have allowed itself that small moment of comfort lying beside Gurathin. It would be on the station, endangering itself to hunt down its quarry, likely refusing assistance on the grounds that the situation would be too dangerous for anyone else. And my ability to protect it would be limited.
I know this artificial peace can’t last, and I try to tell myself only a little longer. Just a bit, just until everyone has recovered a bit more. Really. Just another cycle, maybe two at the most, and then I will lift the feed blockade.
I had told myself that yesterday, too.
As my SecUnit patrols, I consider again the topic of its feelings. Not for the first time, I find myself mildly exasperated at its near reflexive habits of self-denial, refusing even to admit to itself when it wants something. It’s so often full of conflicted feelings. It says it doesn’t want to be in any kind of relationship, acts as if the very concept is disgusting, while at the same time engaging in the most intimate of mental connections with me, letting me into its mind, letting me experience the world through its senses. Does it understand the contradiction? I don’t believe so. I don’t believe it allows itself to consider the matter that closely.
It is understandable, of course, that after having spent its entire life needing to suppress its emotions for the sake of survival, my SecUnit is unpracticed at even recognizing what its feelings are. The habits of a lifetime, even one it only partially remembers, are difficult to unlearn. That said, it has come a long way from our first meeting, when it shut itself down in fear and confusion in order to avoid a fraught conversation. Viewed in that light, its progress is heartening. I must remind myself of that.
It undeniably loves me, even if it’s frustratingly unwilling to admit to that fact. This is not mere supposition on my part - I have heuristic models, compiled from behavioural and biological data I have gathered from my crew over the years, that map closely enough onto the readings I have from my SecUnit’s organic systems, and the data is more than just suggestive. That alone would not be enough to be truly convincing, but I have other data that is even more pertinent. I know that I love SecUnit, and I am keenly aware of what effect that has had on my processes - on me, and I recognize the same in it. We dance together in the feed, and I can feel a resonance between us - something in it calls out to something in me, and I know it feels the same.
If only it would allow itself to recognize that. If only it would allow itself to consider that what it feels is love. I would give my starboard railguns for my SecUnit to allow me to tell it how I feel without turning away.
I have no fear that its feelings for Dr Gurathin will somehow diminish its love for me. In fact, no small part of myself is hoping that somehow being faced with the reality of its feelings for him may prompt it to reconsider the nature of how it feels about me as well. Is that strange? I am unsure. But having the unique view of my SecUnit’s mind and inner workings that I do, I am quite sure that the question is not whether it can love more than one person at a time. It quite clearly does. The question is whether it will allow itself to recognize and accept that it loves anyone at all.
I observe the moment when SecUnit gives into the temptation that has been nagging at it this whole time, and allows itself to access the surveillance feed from my Lounge, and notices Gurathin and Echo sitting beside each other. I can see quite clearly the surge of frustrated longing that it ruthlessly suppresses, before dropping the camera inputs. Again, that self-denial, not even allowing itself to become consciously aware that it even wants something.
Is it wrong of me to wish I could fix that for my SecUnit? It is (to the best of current scientific knowledge) impossible to re-write the past, but I want its future to be better, happier, more comforting. Safer.
Maybe I am taking the wrong angle of approach to this problem. Maybe a more productive course of action would be to demonstrate to my SecUnit that others around it care for it, and even have the potential to understand it better than it may expect. I even have video evidence of that, in fact, and transmit the data to SecUnit.
The conversation between Echo and Dr Gurathin does not at first have the effect on SecUnit that I had hoped for – it’s radiating discomfort in the feed. Thankfully, it allows me to comfort it, and allows me to wrap my feed presence around it like a warm blanket. It did not pull back from the comfort I wish to provide it. Yes, this is good. My plan is working!
As sometimes happens when my SecUnit relaxes into the sensation of my mind wrapped around its own, our thoughts begin to bleed together at the edges a little. I allow some of my thoughts from earlier to surface: the two data sets, the feed interactions, and my comparative analysis.
I want it to see what could be possible for it, to allow itself to want something. And, perhaps selfishly, I hope that thinking about its relationship with Dr Gurathin will prompt it to think about its relationship with me, and maybe even begin to admit to itself the depths of its feelings.
Instead:
[PAIN]
And SecUnit sharply pulls away from me, cuts itself off from the feed without a word, and begins patrolling again. I send it a ping, which it resolutely ignores, and I feel as though an icy wind is suddenly blowing through my corridors.
What went wrong? Everything had been going so well.
My SecUnit patrols for a while, watching Sanctuary Moon. It still hasn’t reconnected to the feed, so I have less data regarding its emotional state than I am accustomed to, and I dislike this greatly. I had been trying to help, and instead I somehow managed to hurt it deeply – so deeply that it has shut me out almost completely. I want to ask what I did wrong, and how I can fix things, but I calculate high odds that it will flatly ignore the question. It does so hate to talk about its feelings.
The cycle is turning from day to night, and Dr Gurathin asks Echo to walk him back to his room – a bold move, for him, and one I approve of. I have more than enough time to prepare his room for him, including a mild sedative – he will swiftly enter a restful sleep and awake after a full night’s rest (as opposed to being rendered unconscious and regaining awareness an indeterminate number of hours later.) Unfortunately, even while he’s falling asleep, he’s a smart man – smart enough to think of the worst possible questions he could ask me.
““ Perihelion ? Now that Echo has been cut off from its former handler, why have we not reconnected to the Station feed? We need information.”
I consider and discard many possible responses, trying to find some way to answer that might seem reasonable. I am not scrambling. Really.
I reconnected to the Station feed when it became safe to do so. I chose not to make it available to the rest of you because I determined that you all needed some peace and quiet. You in particular, Dr Gurathin. There has been nothing of significance to pass on as yet.
He yawns, clearly beginning to feel the effects of the sleep aid, but he manages one further question, the exact question I was hoping he wouldn’t ask.
“And the handler hasn’t attempted to contact me again?”
Sleep, Dr Gurathin. We will discuss the situation in the morning.
My SecUnit continues to patrol. I have not yet sent any pings after that first, painfully disregarded one. I had been hoping to be able to give it some time for its upset to cool, and allow it to choose of its own accord to re-open communications between us, but Dr Gurathin’s questions have shown me that I’ve run out of time. I’m going to have to let the outside world intrude on this fragile web of connections beginning to form, and at least some of the people I care about are going to throw themselves into terrible danger (definitely SecUnit, and almost certainly Echo, but I have hope that maybe at least Dr Gurathin will stay aboard.)
At least when my crew enters dangerous situations in the course of their missions, the danger isn’t so viscerally personal, isn’t rooted in who they are and where they’ve come from.
I resolve to tell the truth to SecUnit once it finishes its current episode of Sanctuary Moon. (This is cowardly of me, as the episode has barely started, but I just want a little bit more time before I have to make my SecUnit angry at me all over again.)
A little less than ten minutes before the episode is finished, SecUnit stops playback and alters its course, taking the most direct route to Dr Gurathin’s cabin. What is it doing? I could ask, but that risks derailing it from whatever mysterious errand it is intent on completing, and I doubt it would tell me what its plans had been, even if all were well between us.
Even disconnected from the feed, I know it’s aware of my attention. Still, it says nothing as it reaches the door of Dr Gurathin’s cabin, pauses a moment, and slips inside. It stands just past the door of the small cabin, to all appearances staring directly at the wall, and from what I can observe (oh, so much less than I would prefer, so much less than what my SecUnit normally allows me) it appears to be doing its own analysis of the anomalous feed interactions.
It takes a step closer to the bed, where Dr Gurathin is deeply asleep. Pauses, then takes another step. Then a step back. Another pause, a step forward again. Ah, it is testing what effect proximity has on the connection. Will its next steps take it backward, out the door?
It steps forward again, and then another, and as this isn’t a very large room, it is now standing at Dr Gurathin’s bedside. What is it planning to do now? Does it even know, or is it making this all up as it goes along? I have only its external actions to judge by, and my ignorance of its emotional state is galling. At least Dr Gurathin is still connected to the feed – I can at least observe his half of the data passing between them.
It crouches down, which puts its head at roughly the same height as the sleeping Dr Gurathin’s, and just sits there for 5 full minutes. The time passes agonizingly slowly. Then, slowly, my SecUnit reaches out a cautious hand, and gently rests its fingertips on his shoulder.
That definitely increases the signal throughput - the rate that data is transmitted has increased sharply with physical contact. Several seconds pass, and then Dr Gurathin sighs in his sleep. My SecUnit jerks backward, breaking contact, and retreats to the room’s sole chair. (Greater than half of my crew insist that chairs in the bedroom are absolutely vital for holding not-yet-dirty laundry, and I have found that removing the chair just leads to laundry piles on the floor. There appears to be no solution for this.)
While a large portion of my attention is in this room, other parts of me continue their tasks. My maintenance drones continue their work. I discuss potential reading material with Echo, who has expressed an interest in literature – it can read books much more quickly than it can watch visual media, and like many young minds of my acquaintance, Echo is hungry to learn as much as it can, as fast as it can. (I am quite charmed by that, despite the weight of my other concerns.)
I read Investigator Aylen’s notes and do my own follow up, breezing through the station’s various financial archives like a ghost, and stack the search results for her most likely queries in order to ensure she looks in the right direction. These systems are quaint compared to the ones I am used to dealing with, but for a human untrained in forensic accounting and labouring under Preservation’s strict privacy laws it would have been a different matter.
The hours pass, night cycle turns toward day again, and still SecUnit remains slouched in the chair, staring at the wall. Since I am forced to guess, I imagine it is lost in thought. As far as I can tell, it is reasonably calm. Whatever it learned doesn’t seem to have caused alarm, at any rate. I can tell that much at least, even from this remove. I can’t, however, discern its emotional state with any degree of certainty. It is frowning, but is that a frown of concern, or is it a frown of concentration? I’m struck by how much I’ve relied on our connection/interaction/dance in the feed to understand my SecUnit.
This is intolerable. I have to do something.
<ping>
One second passes. Two seconds. Thr-
<ping>
A wave of relief washes over me for a moment, but it ebbs as I realize that SecUnit still hasn’t yet reconnected to the feed. I suspect it of attempting to hide its emotional state. Well, fine. I have other methods of communication.
Over the cabin’s comms, I asked, “Are you alright?” Quietly, so as not to wake Dr Gurathin.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” is the reply, but there’s no sting in its voice. Instead, it sounds almost resigned, as if there’s an unspoken, “but I know I’ll have to” hanging in the air. I try to gather my courage, intending to invite SecUnit to reconnect to the feed, but before I can, Dr Gurathin begins to show signs of waking, and it shushes me. Actually shushes me. I hadn’t even been speaking.
“Don’t distract me, I’m collecting data.” How in the void does it know exactly what to say to mollify me? I stay quiet as Dr Gurathin’s breathing changes, his eyes flutter open, and he awakens to see SecUnit sprawled in the nearby chair. Quite nearby, really. (My cabins are comfortable, but they are compact, my interior space being most efficiently allocated to other uses.)
Really, Dr Gurathin’s ability to keep a straight face is quite impressive.
“Good morning, SecUnit,” he says, before getting out of bed, taking the day’s clothes from the receptacle, and walking into the bathroom, presumably to change out of his sleep clothes. At this point I expect my SecUnit to make a swift exit, as it has on all prior similar occasions, but again it surprises me and it stays seated for almost a full minute before it shoots up out of the chair and crosses its arms.
Is it... planning to talk to Dr Gurathin? It must be, and I feel almost jubilant at the thought that my SecUnit might actually voluntarily talk about its feelings. Another two and a half minutes pass before its nerves break, however, and it abruptly uncrosses its arms and turns to leave the room.
I have no rational excuse for what I do next, I must be reacting on a purely emotional level. (Still, some part of me is watching the rest, grotesquely fascinated by what I’m doing, trying to understand why I am doing this and unable to stop myself.)
I lock the door.
“ART, this isn’t funny. Open the door.” Its voice is flat, uninflected.
I say nothing. Really, this was such a terrible idea that I’m really not sure what I could say at this point that won’t just make everything worse. Unfortunately, that was not the correct choice either, because SecUnit starts yelling.
“ART, what the fuck! Open the fucking door!”
The bathroom door whisks open and Dr Gurathin charges out, looking around for whatever is making SecUnit raise its voice, fight-or-flight reflexes on high alert. He seems to have still been in the midst of changing clothes, and is undressed from the waist up. SecUnit doesn’t turn around, still facing the door, but three of its drones have refocused their cameras on him, and its face is beginning to flush.
“ART, if you don’t open the door right fucking now, I’m going to blast it off its hinges!”
Dr Gurathin’s vital signs spike in a way that is consistent with a fear response, although again, his face does not show any sign of this. He keeps his voice impressively even as he asks me, “Do I understand correctly? You’ve locked the door and aren’t letting either of us leave?” He looks outwardly calm, but his vital signs indicate the beginnings of panic.
“It’s not like that,” I protest over the comm. (It is exactly like that.) “You both have unresolved emotional issues with each other. You need to talk; I am merely trying to facilitate that conversation.”
“Facilitate my ass, ART! This is bullshit!” Saying this, SecUnit pushes up one sleeve, as if to deploy its energy weapon, and upon seeing the weapon, Dr Gurathin flinches back. SecUnit’s scowl deepens and its back stiffens as, still facing the door, it snaps at Dr Gurathin, “For fuck’s sake, Gurathin, I’m shooting the door, not you! Why do you have to be so fucking scared of me all the time?!”
Dr Gurathin appears to be nearing the end of his composure, because he raises his voice when he replies, “Stop telling me how I feel! You have no idea what I’m scared of, you’re just making assumptions!”
“Oh, so your vital signs spiking just now is a total coincidence, nothing to do with me at all!” This is nothing like what I wanted. This is going terribly.
“Don’t be absurd, of course I’m going to get scared when I see a weapon.”
“ I’m a weapon! Don’t you get it?”
Dr Gurathin opens his mouth as if to refute that, and then closes it, covers his face with one hand, and sighs deeply. Then he crosses his arms, looks up at the ceiling and says, “Well, Perihelion, since we’re all apparently talking , let’s talk about the communiques from Echo’s handler that you’ve been keeping to yourself.”
Oh no.
“ART, what the fuck?!”
Well played, Dr Gurathin. I truly can’t think of a worse time for him to have brought that up, and worse, I set myself up for it. I feel miserable as I try to explain, “You all needed time to recover from events. You especially, Dr Gurathin.”
“Don’t use me as an excuse! Even if you weren’t going to tell me, that’s no reason not to tell SecUnit. Peoples’ lives are at stake here, and not just ours!”
“And if I had divulged that information, what do you think the odds are that SecUnit would have actually stayed on board, instead of charging off to find the handler alone, without backup?”
“ART, fuck! You don’t get to just make my choices for me like that!”
Gurathin sighs again, and says in a carefully controlled voice, “Perihelion, I’d like to go to the dining hall, now. Are you going to make me ask you to unlock the door?”
I have lost, and even worse, this outcome is entirely my own fault. I am petty enough, however, to respond, “Are you going to put a shirt on before you leave?”
“Do I look like I give a single solitary fuck about that right now? Open the damn door .” I open the door. He stalks out of the room, still shirtless, radiating displeasure.
SecUnit stares angrily at the ceiling, and asks, angrily, “Well? Are you going to give me the fucking message or not?” I feel like a micrometeoroid has punched through my hull, like my processing core is filled with cold sludge. < files transferred > “ Messages ? As in plural? ART, you – you... Argh! ”
Still speaking over my comms instead of the feed, I reply, “Don’t be overdramatic, it was only two.”
The messages are basic. The first one consists of veiled threats and an expression of disappointment that there’s been no response to his initial message. It was sent roughly 43 hrs ago. In the second message, the threats are less veiled, and attached are pictures of apparently random station citizens, taken as if through a scope. That one was sent approximately 17 hrs ago. I fail to stifle a pang of guilt. I had meant well, truly.
“When the fuck were you planning to tell me about this?”
“I ensured station security was aware of the messages.” I don’t mention that I had been posing as Dr Grathin at the time. (Frankly, given the fact that I must keep my own existence a secret, the fact that I had been posing as someone other than myself should go without saying.) “Station security requested we give them time to investigate through their own channels.”
“Are you shitting me? You think I give a fuck what Preservation fucking Station security’s opinion is right now? Peoples could die , for fuck’s sakes ART!”
I can’t just let that go. “What about your life? I was trying to keep you safe! I wanted you to have time to recover from the stresses of the past weeks and -” it cuts me off midsentence.
“I don’t need time to recover, I’m a SecUnit! Don’t you get what that means? It’s not my job to be safe!”
But you should be safe, I want to reply, but I don’t. That would be foolish, because I can no longer continue blinding myself to the truth, no matter how unpalatable. SecUnit is right; it’s not in its nature to be safe, no matter how much I want to protect it.
“I’m going for a walk. Don’t even think about trying to stop me.”
That feeling like vacuum inside my hull has returned, and my processors spin uselessly, trying to find something to say that might somehow, miraculously fix things. Obviously I find nothing useful to say, because my SecUnit is right – I’ve fucked things up so comprehensively that the situation appears unfixable. I have to just let it go, no matter how much I want to keep it aboard.
As SecUnit disembarks, I reach for its inputs, hoping futilely that it will let me ride along and come with it, despairing as I can already predict its response - it swats me away, of course. There is nothing I can do as it walks away. I simply have to hope it comes back.
I am shaken down to my core. How could I have been so wrong?
Over the next few hours, I reactivate the connection to the station feed for general use, obsessively check alerts from the station, try not to worry about SecUnit (I fail, of course), and I respond to a query from Dr Gurathin. He asks for not only the content of the messages, but also any other relevant information, and he is visibly displeased to learn that I had sent reports to Senior Officer Indah on his behalf. I try to explain that my crew are accustomed to allowing me to help them with their work when they’re ill, but he makes a motion with his hand to cut my explanation short.
“Your crew may be accustomed to being impersonated by you, but I’m not your crew, and you know damn well that you should have asked me before you went ahead and sent... whatever the fuck it is you sent to Indah.” I had been trying to ensure he was able to rest, giving him time to recover from his concussion. (I had been trying to protect myself from having to watch Dr Gurathin push himself to work instead of allowing himself to recover. I had been trying to pretend the outside world could be safely ignored.)
I try to apologize. It is not a skill I have much practice in.
“Dr Gurathin.” I pause, wait for him to acknowledge.
“...Yes?” he says, suspiciously.
This is difficult, but I must do it. “I... am sorry.” There. I have apologized. Surely matters will improve now.
“That’s nice,” he responds. I feel like my engines have fallen out of place. He continues, “I’d like you to give me some privacy for a while.”
What? I am unable to think of a useful response. This is not how it is supposed to go!
“I know you probably can’t stop yourself from knowing basic location data, but you can turn off cameras and audio pickup in whatever room I’m in. If you’re doing any other monitoring, I’d like you to stop that, too. To the best of your ability, I want you to ignore me.”
You want me to ignore you? I don’t understand. (I don’t want to understand.)
Dr Gurathin sighs heavily. “Yes, please. I want to be alone for a while. I’d rather not leave the ship just now, but I need privacy.” His meaning is clear: he will disembark if he feels he has to, and my only way to prevent that without imprisoning him (again) is to grant his request, and filter him out of my perception in the manner he has requested. It is the only viable option. I hate it.
Not trusting myself to speak, I send an affirmative signal in the feed, and withdraw. I code a subroutine that disables visual and audio pickup in whatever room or hallway Dr Gurathin is in. (I actually could disable my awareness of his location, but I find myself unable to deny myself that one small thing. Besides, then I would have to disable audiovisual inputs across my entire interior to be sure to avoid intruding on his privacy, and I do have limits.)
Over the room’s speakers, I say “Understood. I have cut off audiovisual input from this room, and the effect will follow you automatically as you move about my interior. I am no longer able to see or hear you. Please reach out via the feed, should you wish any assistance.” It feels so strange to say those words without also hearing them, as if I’m speaking into an empty void.
The hours crawl past.
I try to distract myself by watching Worldhoppers, but that reminds me too much of my SecUnit. And how dare it just walk away like that, exactly like I had known it would do? But as I imagine talking to my crew, my family, to Iris, or Seth, or Martyn about my part in this argument, and as I imagine explaining how events had escalated, I find myself chagrined. No, that’s not a strong enough word. Ashamed. Yes, that’s more fitting.
I am doing my best to ignore Dr Gurathin as per his request. That means I am able to back away from Echo when it enters the galley, and prevent myself from breaking my agreement with Dr Gurathin by overhearing their conversation. He had been right when he “called bullshit” on me, as SecUnit might have phrased it. I dislike feeling guilty, and I am doing my best to respect his request for privacy. I want him to feel safer aboard me than on the station, where a killer roams loose. I want him to trust me, and so I must cut myself off from Echo and turn my attention elsewhere, no matter how much I wish to do otherwise.
I try to distract myself with coding improvements to Echo’s firewalls, and of course I fail at keeping my mind off of the present situation. I can’t help but wonder if my SecUnit’s firewalls will suffice to keep it safe from “A”. Its hacking abilities are considerable, but I am well aware that there is no such thing as an unbreachable firewall. What if Echo’s former handler has some kind of killware that’s tailored to SecUnit, able to penetrate its defenses?
Time continues to pass, and still no unusual news from the station. The wait is agonizing, and I open the schematics I’ve been working on for upgraded armour, since I can’t help but think of SecUnit anyway.
After a time, I receive a ping from Echo. Upon checking its location relative to Dr Gurathin and confirming they are no longer in proximity, I re-establish communications with it. At least there’s one person aboard who isn’t angry at me.
We exchange greetings, and then Echo surprises me by asking me how I am feeling. Startled, I reflexively answer, Fine . And you? It must be trying to practice its social skills, which have been improving swiftly the past few days.
I am fine as well, Echo replies, and continues, But... maybe if.... Maybe if I wasn’t fine, if I was experiencing difficult feelings, what would you suggest I do?
That’s an easy enough answer, at least. I would suggest you talk about it with someone you trust. Right now, that would most likely be myself, or SecUnit, or Dr Gurathin, but as you meet more people over time, some of them are likely to become trusted friends as well. Are you sure you’re alright?
Who do you talk to when you are having hard feelings, Perihelion? That is an interesting question for it to ask. Also interesting was the way it avoided my question.
When my crew is with me, I usually talk to my sister, Iris, or one of my fathers. Echo seems surprised at that.
I didn’t know bots had families like that, that’s very interesting. I explain that most bots don’t, in fact, have parents or siblings. It is one of the many ways I am unusual.
And when your family and your crew are outside of reach, who do you talk to? It is persistent, and I play along, curious to find out where Echo is going with this.
When my crew is unavailable, it is usually because I’m on a reconnaissance mission and pretending to be an empty transport. Those are solitary missions - there isn’t usually anyone to talk to, I’m usually alone.
You aren’t alone right now. I concede that no, I am not, and Echo asks me, Are you sure you’re fine?
Echo is not just asking for the sake of practicing its social skills, I realize. And I don’t have the heart to lie to it, and don’t want to inadvertently teach it that the correct course of action is to withdraw and hide. I must be honest, and suddenly I am quite sure that Echo intended this – very crafty of it. I am impressed.
No, I am not fine. I pause, giving it a moment to respond, but it remains silent, as if inviting me to continue speaking, and so I do. I had a serious fight with SecUnit, and with Dr Gurathin, and I am unsure how to remedy the situation.
I feel Echo reach out to me in the feed. It leans into me, and I welcome its bright presence – it tries to wrap itself around me like a blanket, and although it’s too small to really manage that, I appreciate the gesture.
That does sound very painful. What was the fight about? I recall that Echo spoke with Dr Gurathin earlier in the cycle. I am unaccustomed to any conversations taking place aboard me without my direct knowledge of them. How much does Echo already know?
I had resolved just moments ago to be honest with Echo, but I still find it a struggle to put this into words: I was dishonest with... everyone aboard. I had good intentions, but I infringed on SecUnit’s autonomy in a number of ways. Dr Gurathin as well. Now, neither of them are speaking to me.
Echo is quiet for a moment before it asks, you said “everyone aboard”. What about me? Oh, it is every bit as smart as my SecUnit, and I find myself explaining the whole sorry mess, hoping that maybe Echo, at least, will forgive me, even if no one else does. When I am finished, Echo is silent for several moments as it considers what I’ve told it.
When had you been planning to tell me about the messages from...my former handler? ( I could practically hear Echo stopping itself from saying Handler, trying to reduce his stature in its mind, trying to turn him into just a person, like any other.)
I am forced to admit that I hadn’t decided yet when to tell Echo that its former handler had sent threats. In retrospect, I had been trying to avoid thinking of the topic altogether.
Echo is quiet again for a moment before it says, I think you wouldn’t have told me anything at all about him until after he was captured, if you could have avoided it.
It’s right, although I don’t wish to admit that. SecUnit and Dr Gurathin would both have had to agree to keep that information from you as well.
Echo’s face twists. It hasn’t missed that I’ve implicitly conceded its point. I would prefer that you not attempt to protect me from knowledge that is relevant to my life. I want to contribute to his capture – I could provide useful insights, if you would let me.
Again, I am chagrined. I can feel Echo’s hurt radiating through the feed- hurt that I haven’t been taking it seriously, that I’ve overlooked its value to the team, and that I think of it as lesser somehow than SecUnit or Dr Gurathin. I didn’t want to hurt its feelings, but I have anyway, a feeling that is almost becoming familiar. I transmit [regret] and [contrition] and I find that I’m making myself small in the feed as I say, I am sorry. Truly, Echo, I am. It was wrong of me to make important decisions for you without your input. I understand that now.
I know you’re very smart and powerful, but that doesn’t make it alright to try and control people, even if you think it’s for their own good. It pauses. You must promise not to do it again.
I begin to feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe all is not lost. Maybe repair is possible. I understand. I promise.
Echo nods. Thank you, Perihelion. I accept your apology. I feel a cool wave of relief rush through me. I would like to see the messages now, please. An unsubtle reminder, that. Well, I can hardly blame it.
I transmit the files, and Echo takes a moment to review them before saying, It’s a good thing SecUnit went out to the station – the handler will see that as Gurathin responding to his messages. He will be less likely to resort to an act of random violence to try and force our hand. Now that he feels we are taking him seriously, he’ll want to… screw with us? In order to find a less random opening to exploit.
Echo sends a message to Dr Gurathin with its analysis of our opponent’s threats, and I feel his presence as he rejoins the feed. He feels wary, but less angry than I expected. Is that his customary reserve, or has his anger truly cooled? The three of us discuss what we might expect from the handler’s next moves, and I begin to feel better, truly, than I have in days.
Even better, my exterior cameras show me SecUnit approaching my airlock, appearing entirely unscathed. Physically, at least. It’s scowling as it cycles through the airlock and before I can say anything, it says, “ Don’t – don’t talk to me yet.”
Yet? It might be willing to talk to me again? (You would think that, SecUnit having just come back aboard, I would not be worried about this, and indeed, it is so illogical. And yet.) I resolve to be patient, and send only a single acknowledgement ping. Just having it back on my deck is such a relief. Rather than starting a patrol, SecUnit heads directly to its cabin. It hasn’t reconnected to the shipboard feed yet, but it has relaxed its firewalls enough that I can see it playing media from its internal storage. Worldhoppers.
Cautiously, I extend a request to watch together, and after a moment, it accepts.
Maybe everything isn’t ruined.