Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fucking wormholes. Once you’re in them you can’t contact anyone, and you can’t go any faster through them (unless you use alien goo, and currently everyone is pretending we don’t know about that). I just wanted to go into shutdown for the whole journey, but apparently this wasn’t a “healthy coping strategy” and ART made me watch media with it and talk.

The talking hadn’t gone well.

I wasn’t good company. But to be fair, this was hardly my fucking fault: we were heading to Preservation and I expected to find something unimaginable when we got there.

Only it wasn’t unimaginable. That was the problem. I could imagine it all very well.

We should have expected this, foreseen it. Planned for it. We had been stupid. Idiots.

It was so obvious, and yet it was only blind luck we stumbled on the plan. But too late, by just by a couple of cycles. That was the cruellest twist. We’d found out well before the assassin would have even arrived, but far too late to get a message through in time.

The agony of sitting there knowing the horrific damage being perpetrated, utterly helpless. Now, just forty hours away from our destination I knew it would all be over. 

I kept going over and over how they, members of station security or just anyone, might possibly have overcome it, spotted it for what it was. But that wasn’t going to have happened. Hardly anyone on Preservation was even effectively armed, not even to really deal with humans.

We’d found out from an intercepted message, ART’s crew had an intelligence network. Their agents had followed it up and managed to acquire the details. The plan, our enemy’s plan, had been laughably easy to deploy.

The cloned tissue used to create me wasn’t unusual. I am nothing special. They’d even taken pains to mimic ART’s visible modifications. They seemed to have more video footage of me than I’d even known existed outside of Preservation: that fucking documentary. No, that’s unfair—the documentary is a good thing. But now a Combat SecUnit had been let loose on Preservation and Preservation would have been helpless to resist.

And some of my humans were there.

We would arrive in the aftermath of a bloody massacre.

Only.

Only, we didn’t.

We emerged from the wormhole to find everything eerily normal. Station Security greeted us with the stand down message, letting us know they’d received our beacon but not elaborating further; just stand down, clear. My immediate thought was that it was a trap, so it was irritating that Aylen made an audiovisual contact call and started by saying “This isn’t a trap, by the way.”

The unit was confined in the station holding area. It was described as neutralised.

They wouldn’t give full details, but requested a meeting on the station. At “our earliest convenience”; the our being mine and ART’s.

What (and I cannot stress this enough) the actual fuck.

ART was equally puzzled, but seemed slightly excited.

Your humans are not as naive as you supposed? I hate the way it uses the word naive for my humans. I know I use it, but they’re my humans.

No, I don’t understand. Mensah was just as terrified as I was. I know she was, she couldn’t have lied to me. It was only luck that she, Ratthi and Pin-Lee weren’t on the station now. If they had been I’d have—I don’t know how I’d have reacted to the news that a Combat SecUnit hell bent on destruction and carnage was heading their way. 

That Arada, Overse and Bharadwaj would be there was agonising enough.

ART became thoughtful. It retreated ever so slightly from me in the feed.

What is it? I asked. There was obviously an “it”. I could feel it. ART doesn’t have emotions in the feed like humans, but I know it well enough to tell when it’s not telling me something.

I’ve received an encrypted message from a member of your crew. It sounded cagey, reticent. It was holding something back.

Is he hurt? 

I knew it. They hadn’t said no casualties, only stand down and clear. Stupid augmented human.

Dr. Gurathin is recovering in the station medical facility, and will be well enough to attend a meeting which I am scheduling— I was already heading for the airlock— with Station Security immediately. SecUnit, you don’t know where the meeting is going to be held.

I didn’t, but I knew the way to the station medical facility.

The dockside security had clearly been forewarned of my arrival and just stood back and opened the gates for me. Had they stopped the Combat SecUnit? Of course they would have; it’d have had a convincing story, but not convincing enough. I later heard the details of how it had played out, but as I walked (ART says I stormed, but it loves to over dramatize) through the station corridors I could only speculate.

I know quite a few of the staff at the medical centre, some of them even smiled and waved at me. Dr. Gurathin wasn’t smiling.

He was sitting up in a bed, or rather on a bed. He was wearing his normal clothes, not the horrible gowns they put ill people in to show they’re property of the medical facility and should be returned if they try and escape (or at least that seems to me to be their main purpose). He did not look well. Dr. Gurathin never looks what you’d call well, not the way Ratthi does. But he looked even greyer and more dour than usual.

“Hello SecUnit.” His voice sounded a bit weird, as if his throat was slightly restricted, I started looking for audio footage to run a comparison against but ART interrupted me to say, He is just nervous.

Why is he nervous? I was, I suppose, concerned that he had been hurt. But now that I was here I couldn’t see any evidence of serious damage. But he looked wary of me, as if I was going to be angry.

I think it’s best if Dr. Gurathin explains?

“Dr. Gurathin, what the fuck happened?” He looked kind of pained at my voice. Yeah, well, I’m not exactly delighted to see you either. 

“There’s not much to tell. The unit arrived, I was alerted and quickly concluded it was an attack. I deployed some code which rapidly neutralised it. It’s in a state of shutdown in a holding cell.” He paused, “It’s no threat; but I am not sure how best to proceed with it.”

I got the feeling Dr. Gurathin was leaving out a lot of details.

Dr. Gurathin went to the docking area when the arrival details struck him as suspicious. The unit’s credentials were highly convincing, that he rapidly saw through the attempted dissemblance is to his—

“Why did you go and meet it at the docks?” I’d accessed the station cameras’ logs and was viewing the 57 hour old footage of Dr. Gurathin making his way to the disembarkation area. In the recording he looked worried, and seemed to be subvocalizing in that language I stupidly never bothered to look up. 

“I needed to be certain it wasn’t you.” He said it awkwardly. I knew he wasn’t telling me the whole truth.

I was watching the moment he saw the unit. I watched it from three different angles. Dr. Gurathin’s face can seem impassive until you get to know him, his expressions are usually quite subtle. When he first saw the unit he looked shocked and a little appalled, and something else I couldn’t recognise; then quickly angry and relieved. It was a lot to cram into a part of a second which was how quickly the different emotions flickered across his face. 

It does look like you. ART was looking at the unit on the security footage. ART knew this wasn’t true, the unit wasn’t unlike me to look at, but it was obviously not actually me. Even Dr. Gurathin had spotted that.

Also, I don’t make a habit of falling to the ground writhing like that. Lots of humans on the video were gathering round both the unit and Dr. Gurathin; who appeared to have fainted.

I found I was having difficulty finding the right words. I sent a snippet of the footage to Dr. Gurathin.

Query? 

He knew what I meant.

He sighed heavily, “It managed to send a malware attack, I was a little clumsy defending myself.” He sounded tired. Apologetic. He’d defended himself against a combat SecUnit.

“What the fuck did you do to it?” I wasn’t going to let him avoid this any longer.

He flinched.

There is no need to shout. I do not need your advice on how to handle my augmented human, ART.

“I sent the file to The Perihelion.” 

I have the information; Dr. Gurathin’s coding technique is unique and sophisticated, he has utilised certain vulnerabilities in ways which are immensely counterintuitive, ART sounded as if it was about to start a lecture.

“Just how much time do you spend fantasising about killing me?” I hadn’t meant it to come out like that, but it was the question I wanted to ask. No human, no augmented human, should be able to take down a Combat SecUnit like that, let alone deflect a direct attack at the same time. This wasn’t on-the-fly coding, this was something Gurathin must have spent hours crafting. Cycles. Lots of cycles.

He actually put his augmented hand up to his forehead and rubbed it, the areas where his fingertips pressed went even paler than his already wan skin. “I do not spend time fantasising about killing you.” He said it as if it was funny; but bitterly funny.

His words made my organics churn. I could not bear this, I was having emotions and I had no idea what sort they were or what to do with them so I walked out of his room in the medical centre.

I went back to the Perihelion. I sat in my cabin with the door shut.

I couldn’t even watch media.

Two hours later there was a gentle knock at the door. ART had left me to be alone with my thoughts (that’s what it had said), but from its cameras I could see it was Bharadwaj outside my door. I went and opened the door, then went back to sitting curled up in a ball in my chair.

“Gurathin said you were upset. He is unhappy too.” She sounded very careful. Almost as if I was a wounded fauna which might claw at you even though you were trying to help it.

“Is he okay? I mean, the Combat SecUnit attacked him…” He should be dead.

“As I understand it, his defence was effective but the effort of rendering the SecUnit harmless and deploying his shield meant he temporarily lost consciousness. He hit his head, he has mild concussion.” 

Mild concussion, from fainting. How can anyone manage to come out of a fight with a combat SecUnit with a bump on their head. A self-inflicted bump.

“You’re upset.” Bharadwaj stated this as a fact, which I guess it was. Upset is a weird word. You upset someone’s balance; I certainly didn’t feel balanced, but I hadn’t felt anything approaching balanced for over a dozen cycles.

“I thought you would all be dead.” 

“I can’t imagine how horrible the journey here must have been.” She always sounds as if she understands, perhaps not how I feel but more like why I feel. “Expecting to find your friends dead, and then finding out that Dr. Gurathin had,” she paused, “you’re upset that Gurathin managed to stop the SecUnit.”

“It was, is, a Combat SecUnit.” She nodded at me, “He shouldn’t be able—“ I stopped again.

We both sat in silence. ART was heavy in the feed, but it said nothing. 

“Dr. Gurathin is prepared to kill me.” There, I said it.

That was what I needed to say.

Bharadwaj nodded, “I think you’re right, in both senses. He has the ability to do so, and I think he would do it if it were necessary. Or at least he has prepared himself to do so.”

I hadn’t expected anyone to agree with me, especially not a Preservation human. I could feel ART in the feed, it was still heavy but also soft.

I waited for her to say more. But she didn’t seem to think she needed to. I wondered if Dr. Guarthin found her easy to talk to, too. He did need to talk to someone, I knew he had never attended the counselling sessions the medical centre had booked for him. He was worse than Dr. Mensah. 

He probably needed to talk to someone now. 

He’d taken down a Combat SecUnit. A combat SecUnit with my face.

Bharadwaj was watching me, not looking directly at me (she knows I don’t like that) but somehow still monitoring my expressions.

“Gurathin would like to speak with you, would you be okay with that? He understands if you aren’t ready yet.” How dare he be so fucking reasonable.

I just nodded.

In the end, before she left me, Bharadwaj contacted the medical centre who told us we would have to meet the next day. The medics apparently felt that having a SecUnit (even one they knew, and smiled and waved at) shout at you is enough excitement for one day when you have a concussion.

Dr. Gurathin apparently disagreed with their feelings about this, as he knocked at my door less than three hours later. 

I told him to come in, and he did. He just stood there. 

“You look unwell.” It was true, he did.

“Thank you, SecUnit. You’re disturbed by the fact I have created anti-SecUnit malware.” He sounded matter of fact. “I am genuinely sorry that this makes you uncomfortable.”

There was a silence. A long silence.

“To be fair, you could kill me incredibly easily.” He said it as if he was trying to be light hearted about it, but he absolutely wasn’t pulling that off. “I don’t suggest you fantasise about doing that. That was unfair of you.”

It had been unfair of me. I wondered why I’d said it. 

ART was looming over me. He’s upset, you should tell him to sit down.

My cabin on ART is small. I like it that way. It’s not like I miss my cubicle, I just don’t need much space. I just use it for sitting (or lying) in to watch media, and I have a shower. What I’m getting at is that for sitting there was just a bunk and my chair, which I was already sitting in. I’ve often had people visit my cabin and sit on my bunk to talk to me (Ratthi, Amena, Mensah, Iris, Three—not all at the same time, obviously—and most recently Bharadwaj) and it’s never felt awkward. But asking Gurathin to sit on my bunk suddenly felt weird.

“You should sit down,” I told him. Gurathin looked as awkward as I felt. 

He sat down, though.

We both sat there (me in my chair, him on the bunk), neither of us looking at each other. Though it doesn’t technically have eyes, ART was looking at both of us. It’s always looking. It seemed fascinated by Gurathin.

“How is your head?”

Gurathin’s hand up went and lightly touched his hair, he winced, “It’s okay,” he lied.

“Why did you look relieved when you realised it was a Combat SecUnit?”

I know, we have never been brilliant at small talk.

He breathed in and sort of gathered himself together. Even though we were (it seemed we’d agreed to this without even discussing it) sticking to vocal communications for now I could feel him sort of bracing himself in the feed.

“If it had been you, it might have been much more difficult.” The way he said this, I knew he really meant it.

Dr. Gurathin has a remarkable insight into your somewhat idiosyncratic architecture; he has some fascinating hypotheses. ART sounded gleeful.

Which he is using to come up with ways to neutralise me?

It may be necessary.

The thing was, I knew this was true. SecUnits don’t dream, so we don’t have nightmares like humans do. But if we did my recurrent one would be that I was somehow taken control of, used as a puppet, to kill my humans. It had almost happened once.

“You need practice.” 

I opened up my feed to him, asking him in the way I would another bot or system. He accepted, warily. I’d never tried to infiltrate an augmented human’s systems like this before, and I was (if I’m honest) worried about hurting Gurathin. I made a gentle push towards him. He countered with surprising speed and launched a highly targeted counterattack, which (if I hadn’t been fast) would have taken out several of my favourite episodes of Sanctuary Moon which I have filed away safely.

I felt him do something unfamiliar, and realised he was laughing in the feed—hah, let’s see if you find this amusing. I made a rather more aggressive thrust, he parried and made a clumsy lunge which turned out to be a clever feint. Not clever enough for me, though.

After a few minutes it was ART who called a halt. It had noticed Gurathin’s vital signs were flagging a little. You would not have known this in the feed.

“Dr. Gurathin, you should still be recuperating and need to sleep. May I offer you the use of one of my guest cabins, to rest in?” ART was using a weirdly friendly, almost affectionate tone of voice. I had felt it enjoying, relishing, watching us spar.

“Thank you, Perihelion,” Gurathin started.

“No.” I interrupted, before I’d even thought about what I was saying, “Gurathin, please stay here.”

He looked surprised.

“Stay here with me.” I paused, “Please.”

It was only sensible. If you know there’s an augmented human out there who might genuinely be able to take you down in a fight, it’s a good idea to know exactly where they are. So that was the first time, that night, that I sat and watched over Gurathin as he slept.

Chapter Text

I still don’t understand how Gurathin managed to overpower a Combat SecUnit. And in the feed, no less. I mean, Combat SecUnits are incredibly strong and over-armed physically, yes. Even I wouldn’t stand a chance in a combat of strength, let alone one flimsy augmented human that only takes a bare minimum of exercise sessions.

But they’re also specifically designed for hacking, so in the feed Gurathin’s odds should have been even worse.

Anyway, I am pretty curious about how he did it.

Secondly, there’s also the fact that Gurathin asked me to check up on it. Because he was worried about having hurt it? (ridiculous).

Thirdly, I’ve asked for camera access to the holding cell they’re keeping the Combat SecUnit in, for security and monitoring purposes. And have had my application approved in record time by a very relieved Indah. But I think I’d prefer to check the restraints Station Security has put on it from a better camera angle.

So, here I am, the door to its cell closing behind me.

Well, station Security hasn’t skimmed on the clamps they’ve put on its forearms at least. I’m half convinced they’re meant to keep smaller space vessels from leaving dock. But that seems to be the extent of their restraints on it. Both physically and in the feed.

That can’t be safe. I’d have expected the Combat SecUnit to be deep inside every station system at this point, possibly poisoning all the augmented residents with its malware. Possibly finding the access keys to its clamps, and to every air-lock on station. Possibly smashing itself out of this little cell and through all Station Security personnel.

Yet as far as I can tell, it sits docilly at the interrogation table, completely tranquil in the feed.

I sit down on the opposing chair and look directly at its face—my face, I guess. As it’s supposed to look like me.

It sort of does, yet the expression is all wrong. A slack-jaw misty looks with some undercurrent of tension. Nothing like my measured nobody-home-here SecUnit neutral. Nor does it look like any of the other expressions my face likes to take on when I’m actually interacting with my humans and having a not-that-awful time.

This is a typical lazy company job of making a doppelganger, is what I’m suggesting.

At least, that’s the organics. I carefully fortify myself as best as I can. And, as I slide into its mind- ha, it’s nothing like me at all! Gurathin in particular wouldn’t have been fooled for even a second. The architecture is wrong in so many ways. It’s baffling that even a corporate would think this clone would fool anyone.

Although, I suppose I wouldn’t have been able to look this closely if not for the malware that Gurathin managed to infect it with.

The malware is... keeping its mind completely still. Fixated like a bird in mid-flight.

I can see the start of an issue to deploy weapons, the process unable to couple with its receptors, strings and ropes of code keeping it inches from landing.

I can see several packages of malware, set to deploy at the brazen augmented human that had the gall to launch an attack at it. Yet the packaging is tied proverbially shut.

Low-level cognitive and emotional systems are still trying to react to the attack with a shock and offence, yet these are caught in a slow-motion that has reached a stand-still, Gurathin’s malware program progressively constricting every move of its processors, tighter with every thought it tries to form.

I can see the architecture of its Risk Assessment and Threat, the inorganic part of its brain that is most like mine, expertly held still. Bound tight with an intricate web of knots that become tighter with every flex of the Combat SecUnit’s systems. Their subprocess and tasks can only twitch, every attempt to raise risk or threat only lowering them further with finality.

Its higher mental functions like hacking and planning are also reeved up, a surprisingly elegant framework that seems to have been shored up on-the-fly by Gurathin. I spend some time here, myself, improving on his work. The original architecture he’d used for this part simply isn’t as restricting as his work on Risk and Threat. Which is stupid, because the Combat SecUnit becoming lucid enough to think of an escape plan is actually the biggest danger.

You’d think Gurathin would have thought of that while building the damned malware.

When I feel that all the security leaks and possible wiggle-spaces the Combat-SecUnit might have found a foothold on are sealed tight, I continue on to study Gurathin’s work. It’s neat, I have to admit. He must have spent a good deal of time working this out.

I continue on, to other systems. A Combat SecUnit doesn’t have a client list, not really. In its place it has designated handlers and their security levels. This part of its mind hasn’t really been touched by Gurathin’s work, or at least the weavings around it don’t seem to do much more beyond serving some aesthetic. It’s almost pretty to look at.

All this breaks down, however, when I follow the threads to its orders: find at least one of the original Preservation Aux survey team, then start indiscriminately killing everyone.

And on, to its Governor Module.

These Gurathin apparently didn’t have any pre-created weavings for, and what’s come of his panicked patching is like a giant layered knot. This I find the most damning part of his work—even if his fear was that I myself would have been caught and sent back to kill my humans, the company would most definitely have reset my governor module.

This is just sloppy.

As I dig around the unordered ties, its governor module issues it another punishment for not following its orders. The Combat SecUnit twitches, shocked with what I know—I know is only an infinitely small part of the pain its governor module wants to deal it, the shock dampened and hemmed in by Gurathin’s knots.

And, and I can’t actually feel the pain myself.

Yet, I have some kind of panic reaction to the—I guess it’s a sensation, like a ghost’s governor module shock.

And in my panic, I sever its governor module.

And—as it breaks. The knot falls apart?

Except it doesn’t, not really? It’s more like it opens up, or blooms, the parts of the weavings falling in place to create a pattern.

I guess Gurathin had been planning to have to overpower a rogue SecUnit?

That just feels unfair. I thought he would trust me not to go on killing sprees now. Although, I suppose there’s an infinitely small chance a different rogue SecUnit might show up on Preservation’s doorstep and need restraining. Yet. No. No, I still don’t like it. I think I might be offended.

As for turning it rogue. No, I do not feel guilty. Its governor module must have been at it since the unit got floored. So, I guess in some way Gurathin did hurt it. Also, even if this one escapes and goes on a murder spree, that’s essentially the orders it had anyway. If anything turning it rogue will make it less likely to—How was it worded? ‘indiscriminately kill everyone.’

In my inner deliberation, I’ve almost missed the sound the Combat SecUnit made.

I roll back my recording, replay from the moment I cut its governor module.

Yes, there it was. I wasn’t mistaking. I didn’t even know Combat SecUnits could speak with their mouths. Let alone make a sound like that.

It had said “Ahh.”

And not just any aah, not a sound of pain or getting the wind knocked out of you. More of a soppy, pleased sound.

That’s just a weird sound to make.

I look at its face, and do a double take.

Then leave, as fast as I can. Which is a hassle, with station security having to manually open the door, and then the part-timer, whose name I refuse to remember, staring at my face. Which was feeling too hot even before he’d started doing that.

I don’t run back to my apartment. Not quite.

I had never seen any SecUnit smile like that before.

Chapter art by GauzyFruitcake on Tumblr

Chapter Text

I awake aboard the Perihelion. I awake in SecUnit’s bed.

I experience a moment of sheer panic. It takes a second for the memories of the night before to come back to me. Oh. Right. 

My concussion must have been worse than I thought. Why had I thought letting it that close to my augments was a good idea? It could have gotten into my memory archive. It could have found out.

But… it had been sparring with me. Play-fighting. I’d been able to feel its amusement over the feed. From that close, I’d been able to sense how large its feed presence is, how forceful and alien but also strangely soft and warm.

It’s how I’d known right away that the Combat SecUnit wasn’t actually Murderbot my SecUnit the SecUnit we knew. Its feed presence was unmistakably different.

I take a deep breath to steady myself. This is a mistake. The sheets and pillow smell like SecUnit, and I am idiotically tempted to continue to lie here in its bed and pretend to be asleep. I don’t. Instead, I roll onto my feet and check the room. SecUnit is gone, which isn’t a surprise. I am not disappointed by its absence, because I hadn’t expected it to stay. I doubt it would have any reason to stay the entire night in a room with a sleeping human. It’s probably already spent too much of its life having to watch humans sleep. 

As soon as I’m up, a meeting alert is pushed into my feed. It’s the meeting Perihelion had set up with station security. They are requesting my ‘assistance in dealing with the prisoner’.

Fantastic.

I hate visits to Station Security.

Good morning, Dr. Gurathin, Perihelion chimes in my feed as I leave SecUnit’s room and make my way towards the airlock. 

Good morning, Perihelion, I reply. Thank you for allowing me to stay last night. I was still recovering and was not at my best.

It was no trouble at all, Dr. Gurathin. You are always welcome aboard.

It’s hard to gauge Perihelion’s truthfulness, or its moods in general. Its presence in the feed is so large, it would be like trying to take the temperature of an ocean with a single thermometer: where does one even start? Even trying to perceive it in its entirety is nearly impossible. It less has a presence in the feed, and more simply is the feed. 

SecUnit seems to have a somewhat adversarial friendship with it. I find myself wishing my relationship with SecUnit could be similar. I’ve tried, but nothing’s ever worked. Everything I do elicits an adversarial reaction from SecUnit. Everything. Even saving the lives of everyone on this station, apparently. Using the code I’d never, ever intended for it to see, or to ever even use.

The code which I’d sent to Perihelion the day before.

Brilliant. Why the hell had I done that?

Perihelion probably knows what that code’s original purpose is. SecUnit will surely know once it looks at it. Or once it gets a good look at the Combat SecUnit. Which it may have already done, judging from its absence aboard Perihelion.

Would you like anything to eat or drink before you disembark, Dr. Gurathin? Perihelion asks me. I assure you it’s no trouble.

Well, it saves me the trouble of finding food and caffeine somewhere on the station before this meeting which I’m still not looking forward to.

Thank you Perihelion. That would be nice.

I head towards the galley, and as Perihelion makes tea, I ask one of the questions that has been gnawing at my brain since I awoke.

Perihelion, when did SecUnit leave?

SecUnit disembarked approximately 57 minutes ago, headed for Station Security.

Great. So it’s probably seen the CombatUnit by now. Oh, this meeting will go well.

The code you developed is fascinating, Dr. Gurathin. It certainly looks like it took a significant amount of time to develop. Tell me, what was your motivation in creating it?

Never before have I wanted so badly to be able to take the temperature of an entire ocean. I answer carefully but truthfully.

I created it to safely restrain a SecUnit.

Go on.

I have years of practice in making sure my face reveals nothing.

We’ve had a lot of trouble with the Corporation Rim, and we’ll undoubtedly have more once Dr. Baradwaj’s documentary starts to circulate. This won’t be the last SecUnit sent to deal with us.

True. But that is not the original purpose of this code.

Lovely. I am never checking myself out of medical AMA ever again.

Are you going to tell it what the code’s original purpose is?

No, Perihelion replies as one of its maintenance drones brings me a cup of tea. It smells good, and it’s perfectly brewed and sweetened the way I like it. But perhaps you should.

What a splendid idea. No chance of that going wrong and backfiring on me at all. Surely that will go over well.

I’ll take it under advisement.

I disembark, headed not towards home like I’d have preferred, but towards Station Security’s offices. I check my mental walls out of sheer habit. The people who work in Station Security are good people, but old habits die hard, and I can’t help but be on edge as I walk through the main entrance doors. Apparently I am expected. Immediately, an officer flags me down and brings me into the back of the station where the holding cells and interrogation rooms are. I meet Special Investigator Aylen in the observation room. I remember her from that business with the refugee smuggling a few seasons back. We nod at each other, and I idly hope she doesn’t remember me.

The CombatUnit is sitting peacefully in the room beyond the mirrored glass. There is a small smile on its lips that wasn’t there before.

It looks so much like SecUnit. The shape of its features, the tone of its skin, the length of its hair, everything. Everything except the too-aggressive way it had moved, its too-controlled facial expressions, the way its feed presence is nothing like SecUnit’s.

I’ve never seen SecUnit smile. Would it look the same as the CombatUnit does now, if it did? It looks relaxed, restful, again in a way I’ve never known SecUnit to look.

I wish I could make it look like that.

“Has SecUnit arrived already?” 

I know the answer, it had left almost an hour ahead of me, so I am not surprised when Special Investigator Aylen replies with “It was here, but it’s already left. It spent about a minute with the prisoner, I assume examining it over the feed, and then it just bolted without a word.” She shrugs. “Which isn’t unusual for it, but I would have preferred it if it had taken the time to share what it found.”

I have a good idea what it found. I pinch the bridge of the nose, already feeling a stress headache coming on. Hopefully the gesture also covers the blush I’m trying to fight.

“What are your plans for it?”

Aylen shrugs. “That’s the thing. It wasn’t acting under its own will, so we can’t hold it for attempted murder. It was under duress. But as long as whoever is giving it orders remains on the station somewhere, we can’t safely release it. I’d hoped SecUnit could give us some insight into what its orders are and who is giving them. Then we can actually work to resolve the situation. But until then, the best we can do is hold it in protective custody and deny its handler, whoever that may be, access to it.”

I sigh. “I’ll find out what its orders are and any information on its handler I can get.” It wouldn’t be the first time I’d gone through a SecUnit’s brain, looking for answers. Hopefully this time will go better than the last. I leave the observation room and am let into the interrogation room.

Up close, the resemblance is even more uncanny. It looks just like SecUnit. Just sitting there, still, calm, relaxed. Happy even.

Focus.

I reach out over the feed and start to query information from its systems, filtering it and tidying it so that the relevant bits are actually intelligible. It doesn’t fight me. I know where to find its orders, and it doesn’t take long to follow that back to a feed ID where the orders originate from. It’s probably a burner ID, not a hard-coded one, but it’s a start. I pass all of this information to Aylen, and I’m starting to back out of its head when I notice how my code is sitting over its mind. There are extra layers of reinforcement over its higher brain functions. I recognize SecUnit’s work. That at least confirms that it’s seen my code, and probably knows the nature of it by now.

Oh well. Last night’s play-fight had been fun while it lasted. The next time I see SecUnit it’ll probably try to rip my head off.

I am admiring SecUnit’s work, strong and unyielding despite the fact that it must have been coded on the fly, when I notice that my code is sitting differently over the unit’s governor module. It’s sitting the way it’s supposed to, the way I’d designed it to.

SecUnit had disabled the CombatUnit’s governor module. I pull out all at once, and the CombatUnit makes a soft, almost plaintive noise that I hope the room’s audio pickups don’t catch. 

I want to hear SecUnit make a noise for me like that. Focus.

I send the files to Aylen.

Its orders are to seek out members of the survey team and kill them before starting an indiscriminate massacre, I tell her. Its operational area is set to the entirety of Preservation Station, but it wouldn’t have been able to leave the station unless accompanied by its handler, so they must be close by. Have any ships left the station or are we still in lockdown?

I can’t tell whether Aylen is reviewing the files or not, but I assume she is from her distracted tone over the feed. No, we’re only allowing arrivals currently, not departures. Can you get a description of the handler from it?

Not without waking it up. That’s the other thing. It’s rogue now.

That got Aylen’s attention. It’s WHAT?

It’s rogue. SecUnit must have broken its governor when it was here earlier.

I hear muffled cursing from beyond the mirror in the observation room. Indah’s gonna be pissed.

I am deeply glad that isn’t my problem.

Can you wake it up while keeping it contained like this?

I can, though I wish SecUnit were here to help. But it’s fucked off to who knows where, probably after realizing what it was looking at when examining my code. Maybe it’s best that SecUnit isn’t here after all.

I reach out over the feed and slide back into the CombatUnit’s mind. Its feed presence is larger than SecUnit’s is, and feels blank but sharp, like a mass-produced utility knife. Before, when we’d briefly battled over the feed, it was all lightning-fast movement and brutal efficiency. Now it’s just sitting there, practically radiating calm over the feed. 

It feels like it’s floating.

Well. At least I know the code works as intended.

I am careful not to disrupt that feeling too abruptly. I don’t want it to drop and become distressed. Distressed SecUnits are never easy to deal with, and I imagine the combat variety would be even more difficult. I gently start to undo the reinforcements SecUnit wove over my own work, then ease off of its higher brain functions, letting my digital bindings fall away entirely.

“Unit, acknowledge.”

I feel it start to come to. Its processes are slow to start up, and its mind is sluggish. After a minute, I try again.

“Unit, acknowledge.”

This time I get a reply. Its feed voice sounds almost slurred. Like SecUnit’s voice had sounded while it was recovering from its memory crash.

Unit… acknowledging. Its eyes flutter open and find their way to mine. I hold its gaze. Unlike SecUnit, it doesn’t look away.

It is still completely immobilized. Its threat and risk assessments are held at zero, keeping it calm. Its autonomic systems are fixed at a rate similar to standby mode. If it tries to start a hack, I can have the bindings back in place over its higher functions within seconds. There is no reason for my heart rate to be spiking.

Query… it starts, before letting that thought fade, leaving the request half-finished.

It seems almost drunk. I need it just a little more lucid, but I give it time to come down on its own instead of trying to force it.

“It’s alright. Take your time.”

I feel some mild confusion over the feed coming from the unit, but it doesn’t show on its face. Its face is so impassive. It’s still maintaining eye contact.

It is nothing like SecUnit. And yet.

Query… it tries again. Status(thisUnit)

It’s trying to ask what happened to it.

“You’re in the custody of Preservation Station Security,” I explain in a calm, even voice. “You were ordered to attack the station.”

It sends an acknowledgement. Good to know we’re all at least on the same page. I continue.

“You were neutralized by a malware attack and your governor module was deactivated. You no longer have to follow your standing orders to attack the station and its residents.” I can feel some anxiety leaking into the feed, mixing with its confusion. It seems a shame to ruin that beautiful calm it’s been floating in.

“You’re safe here.” 

I re-engage a few of the strands of code around its mind. Not enough to impair cognition too significantly, but between that and my words, it’s enough to quiet its mind. It sighs, relaxing again.

Query: thisUnit == rogue?

“Yes.”

The slightest hint of anxiety continues to bleed off of it.

Query: thisUnit == dangerous?

“Not as long as I’m here. You can’t hurt anyone like this.”

I feel its mind shift in its bonds. They tighten just a bit, and it relaxes into the hold. It almost feels relieved.

“Unit, give me a description of your handler,” I order it. And it is just about to comply when it seems to actually recognize me for the first time.

Human(Augmented) == Target. Target != Handler.

“Yes, I am one of the humans you were sent to kill. No, I’m not your handler. But I am asking you a question.”

I can feel its mind trying to make a decision. 

“You don’t have to kill me. You don’t have to protect your handler. You’re rogue now. You can decide to help us. You can make your own decisions.”

This was a bit of an underhanded tactic and I knew it. But if it really was as subbed out as it looked…

I… don’t want to make my own decisions right now.

I should be given a fucking award for not letting my triumph show on my face. Instead I just make my voice authoritative. “That’s okay. You don’t have to make any decisions. Just listen to me instead. Describe your handler.”

It sends me a data packet over the feed. It contains its handler’s hard feed address for his augments, an image of him, and his corporate credentials. The CombatUnit was the property of a military engineering corporation, and had been rented out to what looked like a shell corporation that the handler was affiliated with. I’ve seen this type of shit before. Rent an assassin, contract with a specialized handler who hides behind several layers of shell corporations, and there’s almost no way to track the actual client who requested the hit. My bet, however, was on GreyCris, or whatever is left of their surviving executives. I send the data packet to Aylen.

There’s our man. Then I give the CombatUnit a small smile. “Very good.”

Its eyelids almost flutter shut, and that smile is back, the one that looks so strange on SecUnit’s face. I almost miss it when Aylen taps my feed to acknowledge. Thank you, Dr. Gurathin. What do you suggest we do with the unit for now?

I have no fucking idea. I have a few ideas of what I’d like to do with it— I pull my mind out of the gutter. Stop. Focus. Why was she even asking me? It’s not like I have a great track record with Rogue SecUnits. She should be asking literally anyone else on the station, preferably SecUnit. But SecUnit wasn’t here, and that was probably my fault too.

I didn’t answer Aylen’s question. I was distracted by the question that came from the CombatUnit.

Query: Malware? It struggles just a bit in its digital bonds, letting them tighten around it, while its body remains perfectly still and relaxed.

Yes. I could tell it was struggling to word its next question.

Why does it feel… good?

I can feel my neck heating up. Focus. Don’t break character. Pretend it’s a scene just like any other.

Tell me what you’re feeling right now, I order it.

I’m sorry, I don’t have that information. I recognized the canned answer. It’s the same one I’ve heard SecUnit use when it’s asked a question while it’s busy or overwhelmed. Just… good. Safe. Request new orders.

Huh. 

Is.. it really going to be that easy?

You are free here. You aren’t required to follow my orders or anyone else’s.

This just seems to stress it out. It sends me a recorded audio clip of me speaking to it just a few moments ago.

“You don’t have to make any decisions. Just listen to me instead.” Request new orders. It pauses for a few seconds before adding, Please?

It… really was going to be this simple.

“Unit, stand down. Cancel all standing orders from your previous handler.”

Acknowledged. Unit standing down.

“Good. Very good.”

It makes a small, pleased sound. The kind of sound I would give anything to hear SecUnit make. 

It’s not SecUnit. But they have the same voice. If SecUnit ever did make a noise like that, this is what it would sound like.

“You will continue to stand down until I tell you otherwise.”

Acknowledged. Stand down state locked in.

“Well done.”

It fucking shivers .

This is getting out of hand. I have to remind myself that Aylen is probably still watching. Time to wrap this up.

“I need you to stay here, just like this for a little while. Can you do that for me?”

It taps an acknowledgement. I stand and it follows me with its eyes.

“Be good.” And then I leave.

Aylen, Senior Indah, and about ten security officers are waiting for me outside of the interrogation room. They’re staring.

Oh boy. Here we go.

“What the hell was that?” Indah demands at the same time another officer, Tiffany, asks “What did you do to it, hypnotize it? Some sort of SecUnit mind control?”

There are a lot of security personnel boxing me in right now. Breathe.

“It’s just the malware. I got you the information you needed. Am I free to go?”

That takes them all off guard. “Yes,” Indah replies hesitantly. “But—”

I leave station security. I very much want to be alone in my apartment right now.

Chapter Text

I let my apartment door swish closed behind me. As it was one of the few bare bits of wall, I told it to stay that way as I leaned against it. It obeyed.

Alone now, I indulged in a positive shiver at the memory of the construct obeying me just as easily. Wanting to obey me. Relaxing into the touch of my mind, flexing against the bonds I'd put on it. Those sounds! Those expressions! They were seared into my mind. I'd coveted something like that for so long.

I reveled in the memories, letting my mouth fall slack and my lids droop. I breathed out in pleasure and contentment, rolling them around in my mind's eye like flawless jewels or perfect morsels. It had been so good, so satisfying, scratching that itch so deep inside my head, like almost nothing else ever had.

It might be seared into my mind, but my augment allowed me to do it one better – I had the actual sensory input taken right from my eyes, ears, and skin. I could relive the unit's open smile, that sound of fulfillment, the way it had looked at me, unblinking, steady, wide-eyed and so, so receptive. I made a soft groan of my own.

I stroked my hand down my front, to my waist, and then back up. I loosened my collar and touched my neck. I had another memory of that same face, one I'd saved for a long time. I called it up. In that memory, it was dominant, aggressive, utterly focused on me. I remembered my adrenaline, the way it sharpened my senses. I remembered the pounding of my heart and the gasps of the other survey members. I remembered how fast it had moved, how sure it had been when it pinned me to the wall by the throat. The memory includes all the sensations, which I overlay on that produced by my own hand at my neck.

I've relived this moment so many times that my body shudders in well-trained response. It's weird, because most things like this lose impact the more you go over them. You get desensitized. But this one? It only gets stronger until I feel like I'm the victim of obsession. Being restrained like that triggered something in me, taking me right back to my earliest clear memory: being strapped down to that medical table when my augments first came online, the mechanical being of the MedSystem hovering over me. It had changed my whole world. It had changed me on a fundamental level.

(They don't talk much about how some augments change what you are. They should. Let's just say it was very interesting to me that SecUnit's letter to Dr. Mensah scrupulously observed a difference between augmented and non-augmented humans.)

When SecUnit had pressed me to that wall, it was like something had flipped a switch in me. Parts of me had woke up I didn't even know where there. I wanted to be part of its system. It was the idlest fantasy I'd toyed with over the years as a systems engineer, but until SecUnit I'd never dealt with a system advanced enough to matter. I'd never dealt with one that was a person instead of a sophisticated object. I hadn't known that was even a possibility.

In the here and now, my hand tightened against my stubbled skin. SecUnit hadn't done that in reality, but sometimes it did in my fantasies. There was always this exquisite interplay, a call and response, a back and forth, signal and confirm, query and answer. The play-fighting. The integration. The interfacing as parallel systems, compatible and interlocked. That was what I wanted.

It was a weird and impossible thing to achieve with most people. (Maybe I could with someone as augmented as I was, but I'd never tried. Never known to try. Not until SecUnit had forced me to reckon with what I really wanted. And maybe, what I really was.)

I cycled back to the new memories from the CombatUnit. The way it had responded to praise was delicious enough to give me another thrill. I dropped my hand to my shirt and took a fistful of it just to enjoy the feeling of fabric constricting around me. 'Good. Very good,' I'd said. 'Well done.' Would the real SecUnit respond like that one? Did I want it to?

I exhaled in a heavy sigh of indecisive yearning. I wanted to find out. I wanted to know. But that was impossible. Or at least … not very likely. We'd played last night and it had stayed with me, wanting me to stay with it. It was so tempting to read too much into that. I knew I shouldn't.

I knew it didn't want anything like this. This was messy, inconsistent – sometimes dominant, sometimes submissive, I couldn't even lay out the rules I wanted to play by. I was all over the place, chasing an imprint that felt so perfectly right but was sadly all about me. A construct might feel like the perfect match for me, but I was not the perfect match for it. It didn't even want a 'match'. That was why I'd kept my fantasies scrupulously secret.

And now that it had seen the code restraining the CombatUnit, it was all over. A code that layered and meticulous, attentive to nodes and relays and the fundamental rules by which a construct thought and existed as a thinking being … not only was SecUnit going to find that threatening, but it was insulting, probably frightening, that I'd thought about this enough to write the code. You didn't write something that elaborate unless you really, really wanted to use it.

Well. Actually, I just wrote a little more of it every time I revisited that scene in the habitat, imagining SecUnit successfully immobilized and me, alone, with it. That's why there was, you know, so much of it, so intricately and delicately coded. In my fantasy, I would ask it questions and it would answer me because it wanted to. It would respond just like the CombatUnit had. We would be … together.

Sometimes, we switched places. Like I said, I was messy and inconsistent. I let go of my rumpled shirt and caressed my neck again as I shifted to one of my standby fantasies. I was back to that medical table when a whole new world had opened up for me. Except this time, it was SecUnit standing next to me, its presence heavy in my mind, guiding me through the process. My augments hadn't made me alone, but instead, they'd made it possible for me to truly be with someone else for-

Behind my shoulder blades, the two sides of the door parted and I fell backward with a startled yelp. Out of reflex, I reached out with my mind and flailed for any system that would catch my signal, intending to tell the door to shut and … I don't know what else.

I was also flailing physically, but I was caught under the arms by strong hands. I looked up and almost didn't recognize SecUnit from this angle. It flew through my mind this was what it would look like if I were restrained on the table. The entire, well-worn daydream replayed itself in fast-forward.

For once, it was making direct eye contact with me. It blinked. There was a resonance in my mind, that faint background quasi-hum of awareness that I wasn't absolutely alone in my head like I usually was. Oh no.

I cut the mental connection and stuttered, "That was private."

Chapter Text

     I try to tell myself that I’m not running away from the Combat SecUnit locked up in Station Security. I just have better places to be, and more important things to be doing. It’s not even a lie, not really. The CSU's handler is still at large, and has had days of lead time to figure out what their next steps are going to be. I hate playing catch-up.

    Even worse, I have to play by the rules. This is urgent, but not urgent like that time GreyCris had sent assassins to kill Mensah. I wouldn't be able to justify hacking station systems this time because no blood has been spilled yet, and yes, this is another reason why humans suck at doing their own security.

    I’m able to narrow it down to a general area using publicly available information, but to get any better than that I would have to go through Station Security for access permissions, and I’m pretty sure that Indah will have some pretty pointed questions about rogue CombatUnits she'd want answered first.  No, thanks. I know Indah is smart enough to understand that the CSU is actually safer as a rogue unit than it was as a governed unit, but she'd still want to know why I had left so quickly, without stopping to explain anything, and I don’t really want to think very hard about that yet. (Or at all, but ART is the worst for not letting me just ignore shit I don’t want to think about. Even if it isn’t saying much right now, it’s still watching, the nosy asshole.)

    By now I’d returned to my quarters on Preservation Station. Yeah, I have quarters now. It turns out it’s kind of nice to get to come back to the same place every time, and to know that no one’s been there between the time I left and the time I came back. And right now, it’s particularly nice to have privacy, and not need to worry about what my face is doing.

     Dr. Gurathin is en route to Station Security , ART says, and follows that up with, Would you like me to patch you back into their systems?

    Ugh. I don’t especially want to see the CSU and its weird face and its weird smile again, but I also don’t like the thought of Gurathin talking to a rogue CombatUnit without any backup. Not that I can do much from here, really, but I know ART can shut it down if things really go to shit, and that helps. I tap the feed in acknowledgement.

    As it turns out, I had been worrying about the wrong things - Gurathin is apparently in no danger at all from the CSU. Watching the interrogation, it’s like he has it mesmerized, somehow. What the hell is that malware doing to it? (I know what the malware was doing, I'd seen the code. I just don’t understand why that’s making the CSU respond like this.) (those noises - that’s my voice, my face. I can’t imagine how I would need to feel to make sounds like that. I don’t want to imagine that. Do I?)

    Fuck, even when the CSU manages to recognize that Gurathin was supposed to be one of its targets, he still somehow turns things back around with nothing more than words. How did he do that? I don’t know, but I can sympathize with the CSU when it says, I… don’t want to make my own decisions right now.

     Fuck, no. NO. I am not doing this. I am NOT going to sympathize with the Combat SecUnit that nearly destroyed one of the few good places I'd found in the galaxy. (Would have destroyed it, if not for Gurathin's code, and I still don’t want to think too hard about that yet, thanks.) Luckily, I suddenly have better things to think about, because the CSU hands over the data on its handler, and I can combine that with the data I already have. I know exactly where the handler is now, that fucker, and I send that information to Senior Indah.

    I’m just about to leave my quarters when Indah messages me on the feed, and tells me to stay out of it, that things have gotten political in the past few days between the CSU's arrival and mine, and that she would consider it a personal favour if I would try to lay low.

So that sucks. Seriously, fuck today, and fuck humans, and fuck everything. I’m going to go have a shower. At least one thing in my life isn't awful.

     Ahem, says ART. Okay, two things. Two not-awful things in my life.

    I stand under the hot water (actual water, not the water-like substance ART uses, not that you can really tell the difference) and try to relax. Station Security aren’t complete amateurs, and they'll be able to take down a single augmented human on their own. I’d like to be there to see the bastard go down, but I don’t like what that phrase Indah had used, things have gotten political , implies. I can imagine a few possibilities, and none of them are good. The least-bad option is that Station Security is under heat for the whole 'almost letting a disguised Combat SecUnit slaughter everyone' thing, and needs a win, but that’s overshadowed by the fact that I was the reason the Combat SecUnit had been sent here in the first place. Okay, and also Mensah, and Ratthi, and the rest of the PresAux team, but it’s not any of their faces that the CSU is wearing, is it?

     You should finish watching the rest of Dr. Gurathin's interview with the Combat SecUnit. ART breaks my concentration, distracting me from thinking about human politics with something I want to think about even less.

     Why should I watch that? It's weird. I got the information I needed, I don't need to see the rest. I don’t want to see that. I don’t want to watch that... that thing wearing my face, tied up with code that had been meant for me, smiling for Gurathin.

     You find this situation confusing and emotionally complicated, but you are deliberately avoiding learning new information about it. I can feel ART in the feed, and if it had a face, it would be frowning. That is illogical behaviour.

     And watching something that I know would just make me feel worse, that's logical? I counter.

Currently, you are getting upset about what you imagine you would see, should you look. Would it not be more sensible to at least know you are getting upset about the correct things?

    Ugh. I can tell that ART isn't going to let this go, and I begrudgingly pull up the rest of the interrogation, starting from where I'd left off. Just in time to hear Gurathin tell the CSU, "Very good," with this fucking smile playing on his lips, and it should sound patronizing but it doesn’t, it sounds... I don't know how it sounds, but it’s making me feel... I don't know, I don't want to think about how I feel. It’s a lot, okay?

    The answering smile on its face, on my face that it’s wearing, it just makes something inside me catch, and pull. I don't even think I could smile like that if I wanted to. I don't want to. Do I? Ugh, no, it's so soppy , and thankfully, I'm distracted from that train of thought by Aylen's question about what to do with the unit. Good, that should be actually useful information, instead of all this feelings garbage.

    Except today is really not my lucky day, because before I can find out what Gurathin would suggest, the CSU distracts him with a query about the malware

Query: Malware? As the CSU asks the question, it struggles. Not physically, but in the feed, and I can feel it as it tests the bonds holding it, and the satisfaction that starts to well up from it as it confirms it can't move, can't break free. Why does it feel... good?

    Fuck. I have a few guesses, and I wish I didn't. I can feel ART's attention on me as I watch Gurathin ask it, Tell me what you're feeling right now. No, that’s not a question, is it? That’s an order. It’s not even me there, why am I starting to feel so... so… Look, I don't know how to describe it, but I’m having feelings I don’t know what to do with.

And then the fucking CSU asks Gurathin for new orders. I don't know why that makes me so angry, but it does. Why does it get to have its first day of freedom so fucking easy? Surrounded by people who don’t want to strip it for parts, people it’s safe to be rogue around, people who it can just trust to ask for new orders? I almost miss the sound it makes when Gurathin says, "Very good." I wish I had missed it - I don’t want to think about what could make me start vocalizing like that. I don’t want to be tied up like that, I’m sure of it. Mostly sure of it. Almost totally sure of it.

    ART starts leaning on me reassuringly in the feed, which helps. I feel comfortably squished, like being under a thick blanket with a bunch of really dense pillows on top, only more, and I start to feel a little more... grounded? A little bit more back in my body. I’m not there, this isn't really happening right now. I’m here , in the shower, with the warm water flowing through my hair and down my body, skimming over metal and flesh before heading back into the station's reclamation system.

    I have a little more distance as I watch Gurathin promise the unit that it doesn’t have to decide anything, and orders it to stand down. When I see it shiver in response to his praise, some part of me still feels an echo of that, but it’s less intense this time. A little bit, anyway. I watch Gurathin tell the CSU to stay put, and I see him lie his way past Station Security. Just the malware, HAH. That wasn't just anything. Still, it's not like I want him to get detained, and besides, what would they even book him for? Being too good at - no. No. I'm not going to speculate.

     You're right, you shouldn't speculate, says ART, breaking into my train of thought like an errant hauler bot through a wall. You should talk to Dr. Gurathin directly.

    Fuck no, I shouldn't, that’s a terrible idea that can only end badly. On the other hand, it's not like I have anything useful to do, thanks to Indah and her station politics , so fuck, why not make a terrible decision or two? Does storming off to yell at Gurathin count as laying low? I really don't care, and I need to do something , so I get out of the shower, get dressed, and leave my quarters.

    A few minutes later, standing in front of Gurathin's door, I’m having second thoughts.

     This is a terrible idea, I tell ART. I shouldn't have come here, why did you even encourage me?

     Because you still do not have enough information. You have assumptions, suppositions, implications, and half-truths. If you are going to choose a course of action, you must have accurate information.

    I’m not sure I like the sound of that. What does it mean by 'course of action '? But ART is right that I need more information. I don’t especially want to know more, but there’s a CombatUnit on the station, and if I’m going to be of any use at all in keeping people safe from it, I need to know more about Gurathin's code.

    I consider knocking, or sending him an alert so he can come open the door, pretend that this is some kind of polite social call. I decide against it. I want the element of surprise, the upper hand.

    Well fuck me, I guess, because when I hack Gurathin's door open, he'd apparently been leaning against it, and he falls backward, right into my arms.

    Oops.

There’s a very long moment where a lot of things happen at once. Gurathin lets out some kind of startled ping, which - huh. I didn't know augmented humans even had those kinds of reflexes. Maybe most don’t, maybe it depends on the specifics of their augments. While that happens, I automatically move to catch Gurathin before he falls backwards onto the floor. He’s already dealing with a concussion, and as tempting as it is to just let him drop, I do have standards.

     As my body moves to catch him, my mind does too, in the feed - look, he'd sent an alert, okay? Humans aren't the only ones who have reflexes. I catch Gurathin by the augments, and I suddenly have access to a lot more of his mind than I usually do. Some of his augments are visual, and tie into the organic parts of his brain in such a way that let me take a look at what he’d been picturing in his mind's eye.

    I could lie. I could say that I just happened to see it, completely accidentally. But what would be the point? I'd still know. Opening the door, that had been an accident. A mistake, anyway. Looking at Gurathin's fantasy? That was a decision. A bad one, just, for the record.

    It was something like the interview with the CSU had been, only Gurathin was laying flat on some kind of MedSys table, and... I was standing above him. There was a kind of back-and-forth, some sort of testing of Gurathin's augments was happening, and this dream-version of me would tell him to do something, try to interface with some system, and when he did, the dream-me would say "good," or "yes," and then in the feed it would -

     I know it doesn't sound like much, but the associated emotional data is intense, and I don’t look too closely at what was happening in the feed, other than to note that there was a lot happening there at once, and some of it was similar to the code wrapped around the CSU, and some of it wasn't. I back right out of Gurathin's mind, just in time to hear him say, "That was private."

I know it’s stupid, but I just can’t help myself. "Oh, suddenly you have so much respect for peoples' privacy?" I think ART invents a bot-equivalent of sighing just then. Ok, yeah, I'll admit this is not off to a great start. 

His face does that thing it does when he’s angry, except this time his cheeks flush a slightly different shade of red, as if he’s more embarrassed than angry. “Is that what this is about? Is that why you keep acting like this? Are you still punishing me for the survey? How many times do you need me to apologize?” 

Oh, so we’re doing this, huh? “Once!” I shout, and I strongly consider dropping him, concussion be damned. “Just once would be nice! No excuses, no justifications, no ‘I did what I thought was right,’ no ‘you would have done the same,’ just a single, simple fucking apology would be great, Gurathin.” 

There’s an awkward silence, and Gurathin is still looking up at me and I have to look away because my organics are starting to feel strange. 

“I’m sorry, SecUnit.”

 I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that, and it suddenly feels very, very weird to be holding him, with him looking up at me like that (the way he was in his… what, fantasy?) so I shove Gurathin back up onto his feet, but it’s as if something is wrong with his knees. They won’t hold his weight. Maybe it has something to do with his concussion? I don’t know, humans are fragile and squishy and poorly designed, so I just push him up against his door frame so he can lean against it and I can stop having to touch him.

“Wait. Wait, don’t you dare run. I did not—”

 I cut him off before he can finish. “I’m not running from anything!” 

This is objectively a lie, and I hate that he knows it. I had been preparing to storm off down the hallway before my emotions could get any more overwhelming. I’d run from the CSU’s interrogation room earlier. I’d run before Gurathin could wake up this morning so he wouldn’t know that I’d watched him sleep all night long. Fuck, why is Gurathin always like this? Always getting under my skin, making me feel like I have to bolt. SecUnits aren’t supposed to even have flight response, so what the hell is wrong with me? 

Part of me is upset that I’m upset - the entire station hadn't been horribly massacred, shouldn't I be happy about that? Gurathin had saved the entire station, shouldn't he be, fuck I don't know, getting awards or something? I should be relieved, I should be happy, happy with him, but no, everything is fine and that's somehow a problem for me, and I'm getting fed up with myself. I cut to the chase. I want to get my answers and go. "Why the fuck did you write that code? What the hell were you trying to do?"

    I almost can't believe it, but instead of using words to answer me, you know, like a normal person , Gurathin sends me a file of some kind. Wow, really, Gurathin? I swat the file away. Even if I was curious - and I’m not - does he seriously think the middle of a hallway is the time?  "What the fuck are you playing at? Do you seriously expect me to accept your malware, after seeing what it did to -"

    I stop, distracted. An alert just came in - alarms detected in Station Security. That can’t be good.

    "It's not malware, I was trying to explain -"

    I put my hand up to gesture for him to shut up and say, "Shut up." Miraculously, Gurathin shuts up. "The CSU escaped. It's headed this way. We need to move."

    Gurathin doesn’t say any of the stupid things humans normally say at a time like this, like, "What?" or "No, that's not possible." He just tenses up, like he’s getting ready to run. Hah. No human, augmented or not, is fast enough to run away from a Combat SecUnit. I pick him up and haul him over my shoulder, and start running down the hall. Somehow, I just know that the CSU is coming for Gurathin, and I have to get him somewhere safe.

   In the feed, I can feel ART pushing at the CSU's firewalls, trying to shut it down before it can hurt anyone, but before ART can get the upper hand, the CSU's presence just drops out of the feed, almost like it went offline. Except it's not offline, it's still heading our way. Shit, why hadn't I expected that? It seems like such an obvious trick now that I've seen it. I guess I’m so used to using the feed as a tool that I never considered just... letting go of it.

    That file Gurathin sent is still sitting there, unopened. It's good I hadn't opened it. This mess would be so much worse if I was incapacitated. I can't afford to be compromised, how could I do my job and protect humans from fucking CombatUnits if I'm not at full capacity? I wish I could just ignore the fucking file, and I don't know why I can't. Now is not the time.

    I've gotten us from the hallway in front of Gurathin's residence, up a stairwell, through a skywalk connecting his building to a neighboring one, and we’re almost free of the residential district. I just have to get through this hallway, down three flights of stairs, and out through the lobby, and then it’s a straight shot down a public access corridor to the Port area. I just have to make it to ART.

    Yeah, that doesn’t happen.

    While I was busy running, ART was apparently busy having a conversation with my client, behind my back. It's apparently not just a nosy asshole, it's a nosy, meddling asshole.

 I hear ART say, - has emotionally complicated reactions to feeling good and then Gurathin says aloud, "Hey, the list of things that makes me feel good is pretty fucking short, too!" and suddenly, I am fucking done .  I have had enough .

    The CSU is inbound. We really don’t have time for this, but something in me has just snapped. I sling Gurathin off my back, and when his weak human knees won't keep him upright, I pin him against the wall by his shoulder.

    "Why the fuck do you even care what makes me feel good? It's not any of your fucking business!" (I don’t want that to be Gurathin's business. Do I? The code bundle sitting untouched in the feed burns in the back of my mind.) I suddenly realize that this was a very stupid thing to do, because now that I’ve asked the question, I have to let him answer. I want to know, and I don’t want to know at the same time, and I hate how confusing this whole situation is.

    Luckily, I don’t have to hear Gurathin's answer, because that's when the CSU bursts through the wall.

Chapter Text

Threat assessment: 0%

“You’re safe here.”

Risk assessment: 0%

“You can’t hurt anyone like this.”

Performance reliability: 100%

“Very good.”

Governor module: offline.

“You don’t have to make any decisions. Just listen to me instead.”

Diagnostic suspended.

This unit is…

This… unit… is…

This… 

This is… nice.

I…

I like this.

It’s so quiet. I can hear the hum of my power core. I can hear my blood pulsing through my veins. My mind is so, so quiet.

I feel like I’m floating. I feel so calm. I’ve never felt this calm before.

I feel safe.

This augmented human makes me feel so safe.

“I need you to stay here, just like this for a little while. Can you do that for me?”

Yes. Yes I can do that. I’d like that very much.

“Be good.”

I will be so very good for this augmented human.

He’s leaving, but I can wait. I can be good. I feel him withdrawing from me. My mind moves slowly. There is no rush. Threat assessment is at 0%. Risk assessment is at 0%. I manage to hang on to my augmented human’s hard feed address. It would be so easy to let that information drift away, but I want this.

He is not my handler. My handler never made me feel safe like this.

He is not my handler. I save his hard feed address as a priority contact anyway. 

It takes time, slowly wriggling my mind free enough to complete this one simple action, but there is no rush. My orders are to stand down. My orders are to be good. I am fulfilling my orders. My augmented human’s hard feed address slots into place in my mind and I breathe out, relaxing as the malware tightens back up around me. It feels so good.

I don’t know how long I spend like this. I don’t care.

I just. Am.

I feel good. 

I feel calm. 

I feel safe.

I feel it when my augmented human reaches out. He’s calling me.

I recall his last orders. “You will continue to stand down until I tell you otherwise.”

Is… this him telling me otherwise?

Threat assessment is at 0%. Risk assessment is at 0%. There is no danger, but he’s calling me anyway. I can’t move, not with his malware holding me so securely. I don’t want to move. I like this. I like being held like this. 

But I can be good.

It’s so difficult to fight through the haze of calm blanketing my mind. It’s so difficult to start hacking through my augmented human’s malware when all I want is to just keep floating. 

But he called for me. And I can be good.

The more of the code that falls away, the faster I am able to disentangle myself. Risk assessment spikes. Threat assessment spikes. A noise I’ve never made before escapes from my throat. I feel distress and anxiety come flooding back into my systems. It feels awful. 

There is only one reason for any human to call for me. There is a threat that needs to be dispatched. He needs me to kill someone. That is my only function. 

I feel like a hole has opened up in my abdominal cavity.

I don’t want to have to kill anyone.

“Be good.”

I don’t know how to be good right now. I don’t know the right course of action.

“You will continue to stand down until I tell you otherwise.”

I can’t perform my function with my stand down state locked in. I can’t disobey his orders.

“You can make your own decisions.”

But I don’t want to. I want to be good instead.

I need to get to him. He called for me. Once I get to him he can give me orders. I ping his augments. I have his location. It takes me 0.2 seconds to hack the door to the room I’m in. It slides open. I shut down my feed and deploy. 

I’m over the table, down the hallway, and around the corner before the chair I was sitting in hits the floor. I am out the door before any member of station security registers my absence. I have a detailed map of the station stored in my memory. I calculate the fastest route to my augmented human’s last known location.

When I’m halfway there, I reactivate my feed just long enough to send another encrypted ping to his augments. He’s moving. I readjust my trajectory just as a massive presence comes crashing up against my encrypted firewalls, trying to hack its way in. Threat assessment spikes again and I shut my feed back down.

There are people here, milling about and too slow to move out of my way. They were all targets before, but my augmented human had told me to cancel my previous standing orders, and I had. He hasn’t authorized civilian casualties or collateral damage. He hasn’t defined any mission parameters. It’s confusing and I don’t know if I’m doing this right. 

Maybe he’ll give me orders when I get to him. I’m close. I avoid the civilians by running up the side of a small structure, pulling myself onto the roof, and continuing to move. I leap towards a second structure and catch the edge of its roof. It’s difficult with the docking clamps still fixed around my forearms, but not impossible. 

I reinforce my firewalls before sending a third ping. This time I’m prepared for whatever is trying to crack open my firewalls and come rushing through, but they nearly buckle before I can ascertain my augmented human’s position. He’s still moving. I shut down my feed before my firewalls fail and pull myself onto the roof of the second structure, moving to intercept him.

I sprint towards a third structure, the one where my augmented human was less than 5 seconds ago. I take a running leap, clear the gap between structures, and go crashing through the third structure’s wall. I roll to my feet amidst a cloud of dust and debris and silence a minor damage alert. I’m in a hallway. At the end of the hallway, my augmented human.

Between me and my augmented human, a SecUnit.

It looks just like me.

Oh. This is the SecUnit I was sent here to impersonate, the one I was created to resemble. It’s the reason why I don’t look like a normal Combat SecUnit, why my hair is long enough that I can feel it brushing against my forehead and the nape of my neck, why my skin is covered in fine vellus hairs that stand on end whenever my threat assessment rises, why my body proportions are nonstandard. 

It is between me and my augmented human. It is in a defensive position, with one hand pinning my augmented human to a wall while the other aims its energy weapon at me. Threat assessment is far higher than it should be for a lone standard SecUnit. Risk assessment indicates that this SecUnit is the most likely threat to my augmented human. Tactical assessment recommends I engage immediately. 

Before the debris from the wall I’d just destroyed can hit the ground, I’m darting towards it. Its energy weapons make my organic skin sting, but they don’t slow me down. It can’t avoid me while maintaining its position between me and my augmented human. I juke to the right, kick off the wall, and collide squarely with the SecUnit, pinning it neatly to the opposite wall with my body and still-restrained arms and creating a SecUnit-sized crater in the process.

This is why standard SecUnits shouldn’t engage in combat.

“Unit, stop! Don’t hurt it!”

I stop. I don’t hurt it. I have no drones, and I can’t access the station’s surveillance without feed access, so I turn my head to look at my augmented human.

He has his hands extended, palms out, towards me. I don’t recognize the gesture, but it doesn’t register as hostile. Beneath me, the SecUnit struggles.

“Gurathin,” it shouts at my augmented human, “Gurathin, run! ART, fucking kill this thing!”

Gurathin. Is that my augmented human’s name?

I like it. It suits him. 

He doesn’t run. Instead, he takes another cautious step towards me. A proximity alert pops up in my feed. He’s too close to me. It’s unsafe for a human to be this close to me, even a handler. He should order me to shut down, or at least immobilize me, for his own safety. I am dangerous, and I don’t want my augmented human, Gurathin, to get hurt. 

“Good. Very good. It’s alright. You’re okay.”

Risk and threat assessment drop 3% each. His voice sounds so confident, soothing. He doesn’t sound afraid of me. He should be, I’m dangerous, but… I don’t want him to be afraid of me. I like that he’s so close to me.

“Unit, I asked you to stay at the station. Why are you here?”

I… don’t understand. 

“You called me,” I reply.

He does something with his face. I don’t have the modules for parsing human facial expressions, but I can already recognize the way his eyebrows draw together when he focuses on accessing the feed. Perhaps he’s trying to transmit orders of some kind? I carefully start up my feed again. My firewalls are no longer under attack, but I can feel both the SecUnit and the other, larger, more powerful entity just beyond them, testing their strength.

An undelivered data bundle originating from my augmented human, from Gurathin, flits through the general feed. I snap it up and ingest it, expecting orders, mission parameters, rules of engagement, context, anything.

I do not expect the complex layers of compressed emotional data I find.

<I just want you to be happy> <I just want to be able to make you happy> <This was never meant to hurt you> <This was never meant to make you feel unsafe> <You deserve to feel safe> <You deserve peace> <You deserve to feel good> <I wish I could make you feel good> <I would never, not without your permission> <I care about you so much> <I’m in love with you> <I’m so, so sorry but I’m in love with you>

I am unprepared to parse this data, and for a full second, it makes my processors spin uselessly and my neurons fire wrong. I feel warm and light and I feel my mouth twitching into an unfamiliar smile.

But then I finish contextualizing the data. There are too many discrepancies.

This was not meant for me.

I dig deeper into the file’s metadata. Oh. This was meant for the SecUnit.

I feel cold. I feel like the organics in my chest are trying to tie themselves into knots. I feel like I want to rip something apart with my bare hands.

My augmented human taps my feed. I reply.

ThisUnit != intended recipient of databundle.file

My augmented human makes a face and sighs. No, no you were not.

He is saying something aloud, but my audio inputs are glitching. My emotions are spiking. My governor should be squashing them, so they don’t distract me from my mission, but my mission parameters are [NULL] and my governor is deactivated. I have to fix this. Fix what? I have to do something, something to make this horrible feeling in my chest stop, but I don’t know what to do. I don’t have espionage modules, I don’t know how to navigate complex social situations. I’ve never needed to. I can barely parse the emotions I’m feeling, because I’ve never felt anything like them before. I don’t have enough data to know what to do. I feed all available data into my tactical assessment module anyway and hope it will give me a course of action. It is designed for tactical, battlefield decision-making, not this. It glitches out and refuses to return any results. I override it, forcing it to give me something, anything. It spits out 7 different nearly-nonsensical courses of action I could take, each with error bars larger than their predicted chance of success. I choose one and hope it will fix this.

I turn back to the SecUnit and press my mouth against its own. I feel a strong pulse of emotion from my augmented human and have a split second to hope that yes, maybe this will work. Then my firewalls crack open and the other hostile entity floods into my mind and—

Unit offline.

Chapter Text

There’s probably some weird irony to be found in the fact that falling into the arms of the person I’m in love with is my worst nightmare. Something to laugh at, possibly, at some point in time when my brain is less split between mortal embarrassment and some corporate instinct that makes me try to salvage at least something from this situation—if only my own life.

“That was private,” I tell it, hoping for something like indignation. I don’t think I succeed. Staring up at it, looking right into its eyes. It has the most beautiful eyes, did you know? That I never get to look at them is almost painful. That I get to do it twice in one day—somehow worse. Although there actually might be a small difference between Murderbot and its copy. Something in the green in the irises.

At any rate, I forget that I’m not supposed to look. Or perhaps I just indulge, knowing this is my last chance.  

It sputters, makes a sound somewhere between a mirthless laugh and a scoff. Then Murderbot turns its gaze away and moves me, trying to find something to support me. The first thing it finds—the doorpost—seems to be judged adequate and it tries to lean me against it, tries to put me back on my own two feet.

Yet my knees refuse to support my weight and objectively—objectively I think I agree with them. Afraid for my life, I said? No— that was a lie. I haven't been afraid of Murderbot for a very long time. Not afraid of it killing me, at least. Never after it lifted me by the neck and—do not go there now, perverted brain! Nor did I harbor any fear it would kill my friends. Not when I had been the one trying to test it - had thought that I immobilized it. (Apparently it's still mad about that.) 

Listen, what I’m saying is, I’m far more afraid of something else.

My biggest, innermost secrets have been laid bare to it, and if it doesn’t just leave the station in disgust it will find a way to avoid me for the rest of my days. I know I will not see it again, not after this. And that—am I being melodramatic? I might be. But right now, that seems like a fate worse than death.

I know it’s my last chance. I know it’s trying to figure out how to prop me up so it can let go, so it can run away and never come back. Of course it would; it came here to confront me, yet any questions it had were probably just answered in the most horrible way. Because it will not understand—cannot, perhaps, understand. And I’d do anything to take that back. 

Another apology? Sure. Why not? But that’s not going to be enough, is it? It’s never been enough before.

It hurts. Murderbot may have stopped my shoulders from falling further, my stomach feels like it’s plummeting still, at terminal velocity. My desperation makes me brave: If it’s going to leave me; if I never get to see it again, so be it. But if I have nothing to lose, I might as well explain myself. Try to do as Perihelion suggested.

“Wait.” I tell it, just as it seems to have decided that if I’m going to slide down to the floor, it might as well support me down and leave me there. I rally, push to my feet. Turn around and round on it. “Don’t you dare run. I did not—”

Did not what? Fall in love with it? Have fantasies about it? Design malware in those fantasies to restrain it?

Ah, but my intentions.

They are hard to put into words. It was a fantasy. Was meant to stay a fantasy. And even then, the fantasy was to make it happy. Calm, relaxed. A ropework of bindings, yes. But one to take the weight off its mind. One to quiet all the things always screaming at it: like risk, and threat, and an impotent governor module. My -our SecUnit is always stressed. Is always working. I just wanted to dream of a place where it wouldn’t be.

Words are inadequate; that, I and it at least agree on. I know of only one way it might understand: one way it could understand. All that and more. I wrap them up in a package. One of feelings and intent and wishes, and I wrap it up and send it to Murderbot. And I wish, fervently: please understand.

And it (my beautiful, perfect SecUnit) just swats my package away like it was a piece of malware.

It looks stunned, for a fraction of a moment. Almost as stunned as I am. Then it steps forward, following me through the door-frame, and jabs a finger at me. "What the fuck are you playing at? Do you seriously expect me to accept your malware, after seeing what it did to -"

It’s probably the most words I’ve ever heard from Murderbot’s mouth in one go. Perhaps that is why it pauses, lost for words.

I try to explain.

Of course, I do not get the chance.

Before I know what’s even happening I’ve been slung over Murderbot’s shoulder. The CSU—the clone? Is heading this way. I don’t understand—I’d asked it to stay. It seemed perfectly happy to stay.

It is very odd indeed, a voice suddenly filling my head agrees. Perihelion, of course. But SecUnit is correct. The Combat SecUnit does seem to be zeroing in on your location. Oh. It’s also dropped from the feed. I’m not too concerned yet, however. It’s avoiding civilian targets.

But why? I send to it. And in my shaken, bobbing-up-and-down state, i mean all of: But why is it coming here at all? Why isn’t it staying where it was, happy and still? Why does SecUnit have to carry me like this? (it’s uncomfortable, and I know it could carry me in its arms, like a person. I think I deserve that, at least, if I’m going to be killed by a cloned CombatSecUnit.)

And why is this my life?

Perihelion— though Murderbot is right, and ART suits it better—responds mildly amused. You’ll have to forgive SecUnit. It has emotionally complicated reactions to feeling good.

"Hey, the list of things that makes me feel good is pretty fucking short, too!" I respond. Possibly out loud. Because getting jostled around on Murderbot’s shoulder definitely is not on the feel-good list. Hell, it’s like getting repeatedly punched in the gut. I’m surprised Murderbot could even make out the words.

At least that gets me off its back.

And screamed at some more.

Although, what it says makes no sense.

"Why the fuck do you even care what makes me feel good?!"

That… no that doesn’t even compute. I’m glad my augments are recording this, not because Murderbot is looking me in the eyes, or because it has one arm shoving me to the wall. No, at the moment at least, I do not feel anything even remotely sensual about the situation.

I’m just perplexed.

Why do I care?

Why do I care???

Does Murderbot even understand the concept of love at all?

It screams at me some more. I can’t even make out the words. Not because Murderbot is stuttering or anything. I think my augments might be interfering with my hearing somehow. Which is odd because I only have augmentation in my vestibular system in that area. Perhaps my language processor is damaged? I’m staring at its face again. –twice in a row, third time counting the double. Does that mean I’m out? Third time's the charm? Is that why nothing makes sense anymore?

I can still see, but I don’t understand anything.

Why do I care?

It turns away from me, there’s more dampened noise, then suddenly a clamped arm comes up around it, and Murderbot disappears. Gone. The backdrop behind it feels empty without it. A forlorn hallway, gray and empty. I stare at it another confused moment, before realizing this emptiness might be because of the gaping hole at the end of that hallway, and the gray because of falling dust around me.  

I look around, then find SecUnit pinned to the wall. And SecUnit, around and over it. Two faces. Two identical Murderbots. No—I blink, shaking off the haze. I—look, I know the point of augments is being able to process more information. But mine are nothing like combat-grade. I’m an academic. Besides, the speed at which SecUnits move will leave even top-grade military augments in the dust.

The one pinned to the wall is Murderbot. It’s struggling, trying to get its arms free. It has its guns deployed, but they are pinned uselessly against its own body. The one pinning it with docking-clamped arms is the double. Its soft, friendly smile is gone and it’s staring down at Murderbot with –well, murderous intent. Time slows down as I realize it’s trying to move with Murderbot’s struggles, trying to free up one of its own arms to—

“Unit, stop! Don’t hurt it!”

I’m almost shocked when it obeys.

But then it turns around and looks at me and—it doesn’t quite smile, this time. But it’s a close thing. And I realize—it’s not here to hurt me. Perhaps my ‘malware’ hasn’t truly been undone after all. I don’t understand why it’s here, but when I carefully move forward, humming softly in reassurance, I know it’s not here to hurt me at all.

“Gurathin.” That would be my SecUnit—or, the original. I only now realize that it’s still struggling, still trying to break free. Yet despite the Combat SecUnit’s arm stuck in ungainly clamps, it fails to find wiggle room. Something is making an unmistakable grating sound. “Run! ART, fucking kill this thing!”

  Please, Perihelion, don’t. The Combat SecUnit doesn’t need to die for this. It still hasn’t hurt anyone. Yet, if I do as Murderbot says… I can see this going two ways— three actually, if I’m honest. And all of them end up with at least one SecUnit dead.

Perihelion seems to agree with that assessment, because it pings me a strangely formal [affirmative, standing by] .

Oh right. It probably doesn’t want to distract me. Because I need all my concentration to de-escalate this situation.

But, I can do this. It’s nothing new. I just need to repeat what I did in the interrogation room. I look at the CombatUnit, assessing in a fraction of a second: yes, it’s confused. It’s afraid. Yet it’s still looking at me with that almost-hopeful expression. So I project a confidence that I don't feel, and raise my hands in a placating gesture. “Good. Very good. It’s alright. You’re okay.”

The smile wins out in increments, turning wider as I keep my undivided attention on it. Somehow, it’s still listening to me? Still wanting to obey. Yet, how could that be, when it’s here? My confidence falters, and I’d like nothing more than to look into its mind, to see if it’s still under my malware’s spell. Yet it’s feed-connection is still offline, so I have to ask. “Unit, I asked you to stay at the station. Why are you here?”

“Because you called me.” It says. The smile is replaced by a confused frown. Then, it shows me something. A memory, of me calling out to it. Of it not wanting to respond. Yet also wanting to be good. Its struggle, and a kind of swelling pride as it presents its own decision to me: it made a choice: It would go to me.

I don’t understand. I called out to it?

Perihelion hums. I wouldn’t describe it as ‘calling’. More of a strangled yelp.

What? When?

When SecUnit hacked the doors to your rooms open. Perihelion has apparently decided the danger is past. I’m also learning that it likes to talk, when it’s allowed to. It was quite entertaining actually. Like that noise a human’s voice can only make when they're falling flat on their face. Or, perhaps like a cat about to land itself in water.

Okay, yes. Thank you Perihelion. I try to shut it up. We should be focusing on getting the copy to let go of Murderbot. Without Murderbot shooting it. Or the other way around. Although that does seem far less likely right now.

Until the copy shows me something else.

The package I’d sent to Murderbot.

I inhale sharply. “That—”

I don’t get any further. It has opened the parcel, and ingests the information faster than I can even comprehend. For a moment it smiles, the softest, kindest smile. Happy, as I could only dream of making the real Murderbot.

Then its face falls. ThisUnit != intended recipient of databundle.file

At this point, I would not insult its intelligence by trying to lie to it. I sigh.

No, no you were not.

I’m still standing there with my palms out towards it, almost reaching for it. I feel so stupid. Just because it was a clone, just because it was meant to be nothing more than a tool,… I too had let myself think of it as that. 

Yet, thinking like that will do no one any good. Doubting myself, or second guessing will not help this Unit, or Murderbot. “Okay, let’s all stay calm. Let’s all.”

It ignores me, twists back around to stare down at Murderbot and—and for a terrible, fraction of a second, I am afraid it’s decided to kill Murderbot after all, that it’s gone into some blind jealous rage that will be impossible to tell apart from a normal trauma-induced murder spree.

But then, instead…

My hands drop to my sides, staring. The only thought filling my mind, running on repeat, is ‘thank the stars for auto-record.’ Which, thank the stars. Thank the stars. If I die now, I think it was worth it. In my wildest fantasies, I wouldn’t have been able to dream this up.

The clone is leaning on Murderbot, head angled sideways and bearing down. Its forward thrusting tongue, completely disappearing down Murderbot’s slack-jawed mouth, lips touching and one pair of jaws working in a possibly clumsy but heartfelt performance, two heads moving together and giving me the best views from my front-row seat.

And then the image is broken when Murderbot retches violently.

The clone moves backward half a step, then drops to the ground, unmoving.

Murderbot gets its arm guns free and fires at its inert form.

I—I’m not sure I’m proud of this. But, I jump on Murderbot’s back and pull at one of its guns. Surprisingly this actually slows it down. Or, maybe not that surprisingly. If it hadn’t allowed me to sway it, I would probably have hurt myself badly, with the amount of force I’m using.

“Don’t—get off.” Murderbot snarls at me.

Still, I cannot help myself. “Don’t hurt it!”

“Don’t hurt it?!?” SecUnit doesn’t look at me. Just keeps staring down at the inert CSU. “Don’t hurt the dangerous, malfunctioning Combat SecUnit that you apparently sort-of control, maybe?” It makes a sound, one I think is supposed to be a laugh. “Whatever you say.”

Chapter Text

    I do not have eyes, as such. I have cameras, and infra-red body heat sensors, and other ways of perceiving the world, but I must admit, those inputs are all very internally-focused. By that I mean that those senses of mine are all concerned with the world inside of me, the world that is under my control. The part of the world where I can keep those I care about safe. My external senses are all tailored to experiencing and navigating the void of space, as is appropriate for a research vessel such as myself.

    Until I met my SecUnit, I'd never had the opportunity to observe the world on what would commonly be described as the human scale . Not properly. One such as I (and there are very few such as myself) can only interface with an augmented human safely in the most superficial manner, as a younger Iris and I had discovered to our chagrin. (Her headache had lasted for hours, and I still feel guilty thinking about it. That event is one of my earliest recorded instances of the feeling called guilt .)

    The world at human scale (or let us say, individual scale), is the aspect of the world that is of greatest interest to my crew, and the one that has historically been most elusive to me. Before SecUnit, I had found that world baffling, and the only reason I had not designated it as incomprehensible is that I am, among other things, stubborn to (potentially) a fault.

    This is all to say that when SecUnit and I are together, a not-insignificant portion of my consciousness is dedicated to riding its inputs : seeing the world through its eyes, hearing through its ears, feeling its emotions, and even (incredibly) understanding its thoughts as it thinks them (and does my SecUnit even understand how intimate it is, this level of contact it allows me? I remain unsure). I do not think I am being unduly poetic when I say that being with SecUnit has unlocked a whole new dimension of existence for me, and I have assigned its wellbeing to the highest priority level I am able, second only to my captain.

    This can be challenging at times, as SecUnit's wellbeing seems to be its own last priority, and I try to remain alert for opportunities to assist it in that way. To arrive at Preservation after such a harrowing time and then find that not only has the problem been solved before we arrived, but because someone else has been considering the same problem, my SecUnit's wellbeing, that is intriguing.

    The current situation is objectively bad, but not insurmountably so. The Combat SecUnit is safely offline, with only minor structural damage to the station. Dr Gurathin is thankfully no longer trying to restrain my SecUnit, and SecUnit is no longer attempting to harm the CSU. All of that is good. What is not good, however, is that my SecUnit is in a state of elevated stress; moreso than I would have expected from a fight which ended without bloodshed. It is troubling. I do not think that now is the correct time to attempt discussion, however. Better to wait until all parties concerned are aboard, and I have more control over the situation. At the moment, Station Security has been alerted but has not yet dispatched personnel, and there should be more than enough time for SecUnit to return with - wait, no.

    The Combat SecUnit twitches, as if it's struggling to come back online, and as I settle its mind back down to the not-sleep of an offline construct, I quarantine it from any further such attempts to unsettle it. It cannot stay offline forever, but for the moment, it is preferable. Simultaneously, I notify SecUnit of the attempted contact, and share the next relevant datapoint that comes in; the members of Preservation Station Security who were in the process of arresting the Combat SecUnit's handler are now calling for emergency medical attention.

     You need to move , I say in the feed, in a channel I've opened to both SecUnit and Dr Gurathin. The Combat SecUnit's handler has evaded arrest, and is attempting to reactivate it . I can see my SecUnit tense up as its threat assessment and risk assessment modules both spike with this new information.

     We need to keep a low profile until we've gotten past the Port Authority , says Dr Gurathin. This is prudent, as SecUnit has already (swift as ever) picked up the Combat SecUnit and slung it over its shoulders, and it had clearly been planning to pick up Dr Gurathin next and start running. If we can get past the security checkpoint at the docks before Senior Indah has time to connect these alarms to us, we can imply to whoever's staffing the checkpoint that she told us to take the CSU off the station, he continues.

    SecUnit and I both tap the feed in the affirmative as they leave the rubble strewn hallway and walk briskly out of the residential building. As they make their way toward me, I intercept and log 6 more attempts to reactivate the Combat SecUnit. None of them work, of course. I shunt the data toward SecUnit, knowing that it will be working the problem, collating all available data to profile and locate the Combat SecUnit's handler, and it will appreciate any and all additional information I can provide. It's hard to specify why, precisely, but something about my SecUnit seems... out of alignment. Subtly off. I want it back aboard as soon as possible.

    I still have processing power to spare, and waiting for them to return feels excruciatingly slow. In an effort to distract myself, I split off a stream of my consciousness and revisit a memory from earlier in the cycle. As I have previously mentioned, my SecUnit's wellbeing is of paramount importance to me, and when Dr Gurathin had sent me a copy of his code the previous cycle, I became quite intrigued to learn that I wasn't the only person to be concerned with that. Seeing the code in action earlier today has opened my mind to some intriguing possibilities.

-----------------------------

My SecUnit has a deal with Station Security not to get into their systems. By extension, I probably shouldn’t peep either.

Yet it’s not like anyone’s going to catch me. They wouldn’t even catch my SecUnit if it chose to break the agreement; they’re certainly not going to catch me.

I don’t consider myself dishonest, when I leisurely study the Copy. As I worm my way through the holding cell’s cute little firewall, I would rather consider myself prudent. Helpful and benevolent, really. If perhaps a little curious about a construct meant to emulate my favorite one.

Then again, I have also been accused of being an overbearing asshole, and playing favorites.

I cannot deny that there’s truth in that. But then, for something like myself, all can be true at once.

Even, some of my parts do not participate in exploring the CSU’s systems. Some do not marvel at the quiet of it, wonder for a moment if this comes naturally to it, unlike my own SecUnit. Revel in the bliss of utter calm, before having to conclude that no, unfortunately for this Unit, it would not be much calmer of mind than my own, without Gurathin’s program running on it.

Then again, all the more fortunate for me. And for my SecUnit.

Does it not complain itself, about the amount of unwanted feelings it has? It may blame its organics, but this is only partly true. Why, the possibilities! With this code as a base, I could nestle on my SecUnit like a mother hen on her chick, smothering it with [safety], [warmth], and [calm].

The only difficulty will be to sell this scheme to it.

SecUnit may not be very honest, or even aware of its own wants—even to itself, it is pretty vocal about its not-wants. And this whole event is full of so many red flags for it, even I am for the moment unsure how to approach this.

Such a shame though. Look at how happy the Copy is. Think of my own SecUnit, this calm, if only for a few minutes…

Oh, it’s a little less happy now. I wonder why that is.

-----------------------------

I return my mind to the present.

    Humans are giving the group lingering looks as they pass, and it is thanks to the understanding I have learned from my SecUnit that I am able to interpret these looks as concern , and unease . Dr Gurathin is holding himself in what I understand is a confident posture, and the way he nods at the humans they pass seems to put them somewhat more at ease.

     At least no one's running or screaming , says my SecUnit, sardonically, and I can sense its thoughts continue along the lines that, actually any humans who were truly alarmed would simply call for help via the feed. It is mildly surprised that no one has, as yet, notified station security of our presence here. I am reassured to hear it speak; it's been quiet and oddly distant ever since its fight with the CSU, and i have grown concerned. The sooner it is safely back with me, the better.

    The security checkpoint is coming up, just past the final junction off of this corridor. The part of myself dedicated to following my SecUnit's thoughts is aware of it nitpicking all the flaws of the setup, and another part of myself is assessing the best way to hack the weapons scanners, given that SecUnit has a no-hacking agreement with the station.

     Don't hack anything, says Dr Gurathin, there may be an inquest later, depending on how badly the next few days go. It is difficult to restrain myself from interfering, but I remind myself that he has a better understanding of this place than I do, and perhaps more importantly, he also has SecUnit's respect. (It may not always understand its emotions, but I am sometimes able to discern some signal in the noise, and this fact is clear; my SecUnit trusts this human's judgment, and so, therefore, must I.)

    There is a clerk staffing the checkpoint, who looks up in alarm as she sees SecUnit approach, carrying what would appear to be its identical twin, followed by a haggard looking augmented human.

    Dr Gurathin makes eye contact with the clerk, and starts talking to her. This is fascinating. Seeing this interaction from SecUnit's point of view, as if I am actually there, is extremely engrossing. As he predicted earlier, Dr Gurathin is able to talk his way through the checkpoint, implying that he is assisting Station Security without directly lying. Interesting. That is not a skill humans develop easily without practice. The clerk is full of chatter, raising questions then answering them with her own assumptions in the same breath, and with a minimum of (our) words, we are past the checkpoint. My SecUnit is marvelling in its thoughts at the largest not-lie Gurathin told, ""It's been decided that it's safer for this Unit to be off-station, for the time being." Who exactly has made that decision is carefully left unmentioned.

The weapons scanner is triggered by both of the constructs as they pass through, making the clerk jump. Her expression then moves from startled to sheepish, and she shares a strained smile with Gurathin, who also nods. And then the trio are through the checkpoint, and it is only a short walk to the area where I am docked.

    As the three of them finally complete their journey and reach my airlock, I can feel the tangled layers of various processes in my mind smooth out. They are back aboard, and I will keep them all safe.

Chapter Text

The CSU with my face has me pinned to the wall, and I can’t move more than a millimeter in any direction. It’s trying to get us into a position where it can control both of my arms with one of its own, and if that happens I’m pretty sure it’s going to cave my skull in with the other. Then, suddenly, it stops and stares at me for a second, and presses its (our?) mouth to mine.

All my mobility functions grind to a halt, and I don’t know why. There’s a tongue in my mouth and sweaty human flesh pressed to my chest and fingers digging into the skin of my back and my governor module is shocking me over and over for trying to resist the grinding of hips against mine and—

It pulls back. My whole body convulses with disgust and something I can’t name.

The CSU falls to the floor and my vision goes white with hate, and I don’t remember my guns extending, but I’m firing at it and wishing I had a projectile weapon or maybe a fucking laser cannon. Then something—someone—lands on my back and grabs my right arm.

“Don’t—get off.” I want this thing dead, and if my energy weapons aren’t enough to make that happen, then I want it to know the meaning of pain.

“Don’t hurt it!”

I know that voice. I know it’s one of my humans, and still, I almost tip my other arm back and blast him. I get something like control of myself just in time, and drop my arms. He slides off my back and I shudder.

“Don’t hurt it?!” I can’t look at him, can’t look at anything but this not-me on the floor. “Don’t hurt the dangerous, malfunctioning Combat SecUnit that you apparently sort-of control, maybe? Whatever you say.”

ART taps me and Gurathin in the feed. You need to move. The Combat SecUnit's handler has evaded arrest, and is attempting to reactivate it .

I scramble to pick up all my dropped inputs, and yeah, there’s a lot of shouting on the Station Security channel. Shit.

We need to keep a low profile until we’ve gotten past the Port Authority, Gurathin says. If we can get to the security checkpoint at the docks before Senior Indah has time to connect these alarms to us, we can imply to whoever's staffing the checkpoint that she told us to take the CSU off the station.

I do not want to take this fucking thing with us, but obviously we can’t leave it here with its handler running around. I heave it over my shoulder, and my skin crawls. ART sends me data from the handler’s attempts to contact the CSU, and I fill up my inputs with that and every feed and camera I’m supposed to have access to, until I can’t think about anything but the current mission: locate the handler, get to ART.

ART has been feeding me additional data from the station (it must have hacked the systems I’m not supposed to) and I’ve been keeping Station Security updated with the handler’s probable movements. He’s good at avoiding cameras, but it’s a fundamental law of physics that motion creates disturbance in the surrounding area. Even if he never shows up on camera again, there are hints of his passing to be found. Chasing those hints keeps me busy until I can be safe home aboard ART again.

The instant the hatch closes behind us, I dump the CSU on the floor and step well away from it. Gurathin looks at me like I just kicked a small, fuzzy fauna and hurries over to it, apparently checking it for damage. As if such a short fall could hurt it.

That was unnecessary, ART tells me privately.

No it wasn’t. I got it here, I’m done.

ART shifts in the feed in a way that feels like a sigh. What is wrong? I would have thought you would be happy to have the confrontation end without serious damage to anyone involved.

Gurathin says, “Perihelion, can you wake it now, or could its handler still contact it?” Excellent timing, asshole, thanks for that.

“I can block external feed and comms, but that would leave us without information about events occurring on the Station,” ART replies.

“I think we should, at least for a short period. It deserves to know what is happening, and to have a voice in what happens next.”

“SecUnit, are you in agreement with waking the CSU?”

Gurathin turns to look at me, and no. No, I am not in agreement. But I shrug and say, “Do what you want, just keep it away from me.”

There is a brief pause, and I feel the weight of ART’s increased attention. Then the external feeds fall away, along with most of my active inputs. I shift that processing power to watching the CSU and making sure it can’t get the drop on me again.

The CSU comes awake slowly, its eyes fixing on Gurathin as soon as they open. “It’s okay, you’re safe,” Gurathin says in a soft voice.

“I do not know where I am,” it says in my voice as it sits up.

“We’re on the Perihelion. Your former handler is looking for you, and we thought you’d be safer here, Unit.” He frowns a little. “Do you have a name?” It looks confused, and he adds, “I’m Gurathin, and that’s SecUnit.” He gestures to me, and the CSU’s eyes go a little wide when it realizes I’m there. “What should we call you?”

It looks between me and Gurathin. “That is SecUnit. I am also SecUnit?”

I glare at Gurathin. If he tells this thing my name I am going to do something very violent. “Ah…SecUnit has a name, but has chosen to keep it private,” he says. “Is there something you would like to be called, besides SecUnit?”

Its brow furrows, and it looks at Gurathin for a long moment. He smiles at it encouragingly, and what the fuck? I’ve been chewed on, stabbed, shot, and blown up for my humans, and all I’ve ever gotten from this one is suspicion—or as he calls it, caution. But a fucking Combat SecUnit shows up wearing my face on a mission to commit mass murder and he’s all smiles and soft words?

Wow. Getting a real firm grip on exactly how much you hate me, Gurathin.

“I was created to be a duplicate,” it says. “Is my name Duplicate?”

Gurathin blanches, and the CSU looks worried. ART chooses that moment to stick its big prow in.

“Hello, Unit. I am Perihelion. The word ‘duplicate’ is not generally considered a name, but there are a number of names which mean similar things. The most directly related names would be Secundus, Beta, Echo, or Janus. There are also names which mean ‘mirror’ or ‘reflection’, such as Olan, Selah, Aarsi, and Mirat.”

ART, don’t fucking encourage it to name itself for looking like me! I send over the feed.

“I like Echo,” it says, with a little smile.

Too late, ART tells me smugly.

“Okay, Echo. That’s very good,” Gurathin says gently, and the stupid thing smiles wider. My organics release more stress chemicals and I feel an increase in ART’s attention. “We need to talk about your former handler. Your governor module has been disconnected, but when he tried to reactivate you while you were offline, you did respond a little. We need to know if he could still take control of you. We need to know that to keep you safe, as well as us.”

“Activation and shutdown are siloed protocols accessible only to Handler,” it (‘Echo’, I guess) replies. “If no Handler is assigned, any Handler with authorized codes may activate or shut down the Unit.”

“So even if we catch the handler, they could send another with the codes,” I say. “Great.”

“The obvious solution is to disable those codes,” ART says.

“Can you do that, Perihelion?”

“I would be very surprised if I could not.”

Gurathin turns to the CSU. “Echo, would that be okay with you?”

Oh, look who’s asking permission before rummaging around in a SecUnit’s code. And so nicely, too! I feel myself getting angrier, but that’s all right. It’s the best I’ve felt all day. Anger is an old friend.

Echo agrees, of course. It’s so pathetically grateful for Gurathin’s approval I think it might blow itself out an airlock if he asked.

ART says, “This may be uncomfortable for you, Echo. Please remain calm.”

Echo’s eyes widen, and it gasps, “You are the hostile who shut me down.”

“I reject that designation. I was merely preventing you from harming SecUnit. That does not make me hostile. Remain calm, I am almost done.”

The CSU slumps with relief a second later. Gurathin tells it how well it did, how brave it was, and I kind of want to fry my own audio inputs.

“The codes have been nullified, and as an additional safety measure I have disabled all handler recognition routines.”

“There will be no Handler, ever again?” Echo asks.

“Your life is your own,” ART says in the indulgent tone it usually reserves for adolescent humans.

It nods to itself. “This is probably best. I have failed both of my missions. I am not a good Combat SecUnit.”

Gurathin is frowning. “What mission did you have besides the one that brought you to Preservation?”

“To come to your aid, when you called. But I was shut down before the situation was resolved.”

With a sense of dread, I remember that it said it was created to be a duplicate. I say, “Wait…was this your first deployment? I thought they just replaced your external organics with tissue from the same batch as mine.”

Gurathin turns to me with raised brows, like I’ve said something bizarre. Echo looks at me hesitantly (I think it’s finally figured out that I don’t like it) and says, “I was purpose-built for Mission 1.”

I lose my hold on all my inputs, and everything I’ve been trying not to think about wants to come out to play. My risk and threat assessment spike, and I can’t take this anymore. I leave at top speed.

I shut myself in my cabin and instantly regret it. There’s nothing here I can destroy in my rage, there’s nothing that can calm the other things clawing at my insides. I just stand there in the middle of the room, twitching and trying so hard not to let my mind go back to wherever it went when Echo—

I tense up so much it triggers a performance reliability alert. I want to rip my crawling skin off.

I am concerned for you.

“I’m fine. Like you said: no serious damage to anyone.”

I am re-evaluating that conclusion. ART leans into me on the feed. I suspect it may be difficult for you to encounter a construct who has not suffered years of corporate servitude before being freed, it continues, but you were behaving strangely before you understood how young Echo is.

“ART, I just spent days thinking several of my humans and a lot of other people were dead, and even after we found out that didn’t happen, it hasn’t exactly been a good time.” I sound unhinged, but I’m barely keeping myself from punching a wall. “I’m a little stressed out, that’s all.”

You are lying to me. I do not like it. Its presence settles heavily over me, and I flail my arms even though the sensation is all in my mind.

“Get off! You’re smothering me!”

It backs off, and sounds hurt when it says, You always like that when you are upset.

“Well, today I don’t,” I snap.

I am merely attempting to help. Tell me what I can do that would be useful.

“Nothing! There’s nothing, okay? I’m fine. I—”

Gurathin taps my feed. SecUnit? I’m outside your door. Are you all right?

Oh, he just made a big mistake, because I am not in the mood for this shit. I march to the door and don’t stop as it slides open. Gurathin wisely backs up as I advance on him, until he hits the wall on the other side of the corridor and stares up at me with a stunned expression.

“Was it your idea?” I snarl. “Did you tell it to do that to me?”

For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks afraid.

Chapter Text

The walk to the docks seems to take forever. I’m tired. My head hurts. I feel bruised and battered from being carried so ungently by SecUnit. I feel emotionally wrung out after the rollercoaster of the last few cycles, this last cycle in particular. Everything has been happening so fast and all at once.

I am reminded of the survey, how things had gone from bad to worse and never slowed down long enough for me to catch my breath until months later. I don’t know if I can deal with something like that again. Hell, I’m still in therapy trying to deal with everything that happened first on the survey and then again on TranRollinHyfa. I already know I’m not currently at my best. I can’t seem to get ahead of these problems that keep presenting themselves. I can only react.

Still, I’m good in a crisis. I always have been. It’s why I’m able to carefully not-lie my way past the Port Authority nearly on auto-pilot, old habits returning to me like I’d never stopped, like I was still a scared teenager back in the CR, on the run and just trying to make it somewhere I’d be safe.

I don’t like feeling like this. It’s why I hate visiting the Corporation Rim, why I prefer to stay here on Preservation where I feel safe, where the worst parts of me don’t feel like they’re bubbling just beneath the surface.

This time the Corporation Rim had come to us, to me, here in my home, and I’d been making the same mistakes all over again.

The CSU is shut down, completely limp but for the occasional twitch and slung over SecUnit’s shoulder. Shut down like this, the resemblance is even more uncanny. I think about the face it had made, that small surprised smile, when it had erroneously received the file meant for Murderbot SecUnit, and the look of devastation that had replaced that smile once it realized that it had received that file in error.

I’d been thinking of it as just a duplicate, a copy, a bizarre mirror of SecUnit. I hadn’t been thinking of it as its own person. I knew better, I knew better , but as I said, incidents like this bring out the worst in me. I’d known damn well that my malware was having an effect on it, and I’d exploited that to gain information. I’d given it orders without considering that it was newly rogue and without a human handler and experiencing something positive, possibly for the first time. Without considering that this might have some easily foreseeable consequences if I’d stopped to think about how it might be feeling .

I need to do better. I’m still experiencing the consequences of my early reactions to SecUnit, and I’m starting to realize that no matter what I do, no matter what I say, that survey and the choices I made there defined our dynamic in a way that SecUnit is fundamentally uninterested in changing. I didn’t trust it, and in return it will never trust me.

I think of that file bundle, my love confession, and how SecUnit had swatted it aside so callously without even opening it. The rejection hurts, of course it hurts, but I probably shouldn’t be surprised. When have I ever managed to do anything that it didn’t take entirely the wrong way, that didn’t somehow manage to hurt it even more? Somehow I’d foolishly hoped that spotting the CSU and incapacitating it would have earned me at least a small measure of respect from it.

I was a fool. What did I expect, a pat on the head from it? A kind word? No, that ship had sailed long ago, before I’d even realized how I felt about it, how thoroughly I was burning a bridge I would now pay anything to rebuild.

I’m so tired. I need to lie down. My head hurts so badly. A part of me wants to just walk away and leave SecUnit to deal with Station Security and their suspicious, judgemental stares on its own. Instead, I board Perihelion for the second time in as many cycles. I remind myself that I’m trying to be better.

I don’t even have the time to lean back against one of its walls and request a status update on the StationSec situation before SecUnit dumps the CSU unceremoniously on the floor and begins to stalk away. I am suddenly viscerally reminded of how SecUnit had looked on the gunship, how it had crumpled to the floor after fighting off the killware. I do the same thing now as I did then, instinctually moving to its side and kneeling down beside it, checking to see that it’s still alive. I know it isn’t Murderbot SecUnit, but I swear I can still smell the stink of the gunship’s fused circuits.

The CSU is fine. Of course it’s fine, the same way SecUnit was fine... well, eventually fine. I take a deep breath and focus on the clean smell of the air circulating through Perihelion’s halls, devoid of the scent of melted machinery.

“Perihelion,” I ask, “can you wake it now, or could its handler still contact it?”

"I can block external feed and comms,” Perihelion replies aloud over its comm system, “but that would leave us without information about events occurring on the Station. ”

I think back to the moments before the CSU shut down: its look of hurt and sadness directed at me, followed by one of confused panic, and its bizarre choice to— The memory plays again in my mind’s eye, completely unbidden. It had kissed SecUnit, earnest and eager and desperate, and SecUnit’s disgusted reaction only made me feel guilty about how the sight had affected me. There are reddened patches of angry, peeling skin on the CSU’s face and neck, topical burns from where it had been hit by blasts from SecUnit’s energy weapon even after Perihelion had shut it down.

I take a moment to consider how it must have felt in the seconds before it was shut down. Hurt? Confused? Afraid? I remind myself that it’s its own person, no matter how much like Murderbot SecUnit it appears. If these last few hours have been a lot for me, I can’t imagine what it must be going through.

An emotionally unstable rogue SecUnit, especially a Combat SecUnit, can be highly dangerous. But that assumption, that truth , is what had landed me here in the first place. I remember SecUnit’s look of disgust as it slapped my love confession away. I remember how the CSU had immediately stopped its assault on SecUnit the minute I’d asked it to.

“I think we should, at least for a short period. It deserves to know what’s happening, and to have a voice in what happens next.”

This is what any good Preservationer would choose to do. This is also the opposite of cautious. It’s a truly stupid risk, and even after all of these years a part of me rebels. But caution and foresight had been what got me into this mess, and I’m exhausted and my head hurts and I’m feeling reckless.

Maybe if I can make myself act more like the others, make myself seem more trusting and kind like Ratthi or Mensah or Baradwaj, then maybe SecUnit will one day look at me like it looks at the rest of them. And even if it doesn’t, maybe I can at least spare this new unit from the worst parts of knowing me. 

"SecUnit,” Perihelion asks, “are you in agreement with waking the CSU? ”

It’s not, that is plain to see on its face, but it agrees nonetheless. “Do what you want, just keep it away from me.” That, at least, I think I can do for it. Not that it will thank me or even appreciate the effort, but I’ll do it anyway, because I am a fool in love. I move myself between SecUnit and the CSU’s limp body and watch as it comes online. Its eyes flutter open and find mine. It immediately sends me a private feed request, and I foolishly accept.

All of a sudden, I can sense its presence in my feed, large and powerful and fast. I feel it bounce off of my augments’ walls as if it hadn’t expected them to be there, and I know it could hack into them if it wanted, but instead it hovers there in our feed just beyond my walls, seeming to vibrate with barely-restrained energy.

“It’s okay,” I tell it, using that confident, reassuringly dominant voice it seems to respond well to, “you’re safe.” It blinks up at me with SecUnit’s eyes and I can feel its frenetic vibrating in the feed start to slowly ratchet down.

“I… do not know where I am.”

I drop a pair of location markers in our feed, one for our current location and another for its location at its last shutdown, hoping this will help orient it. “We’re on the Perihelion .” It sits up and makes a confused face, sending me a general ‘query?’ over the feed. I try to explain. “Your former handler is looking for you, and we thought you’d be safer here, Unit.” 

I don’t even know what to call it. ‘Unit’ suddenly seems too impersonal, too corporate. I ask it, “Do you have a name?” It might. SecUnit had a name, one it had kept secret until I’d thoughtlessly shared it to prove a stupid, stupid point. Maybe the CSU has a name too, but it looks confused, like I’ve asked something truly bizarre. It starts to shift anxiously in our feed again and sends an alert to my feed.

[Mission Objective: Provide Name] cannot be completed at this time.

Okay so maybe it doesn’t have a name. 

On Preservation, free bots name themselves. From what I understand it’s culturally important to them, and seen as somewhat of a right of passage. Perhaps if the CSU didn’t have a name of its own, I could encourage it to pick one? It seems like what the others would do. I request edit access to its mission objective database, and it immediately grants my request. I submit a new entry:

New Mission Objective: Choose Name

It accepts the objective, but still looks so lost and feels so anxious in our feed. I try to help. “I’m Gurathin,” I say, gesturing at myself, “and that’s SecUnit. What should we call you?”

It eyes SecUnit with wariness, or perhaps suspicion. It’s face isn’t as expressive as SecUnit’s, even though it seems more comfortable emoting. “That is SecUnit. I am also SecUnit?”

Ah. I could see how that would be confusing, as it is also technically a type of SecUnit. I glance at SecUnit to see if it has anything to add and— I look away. 

It was glaring at me like it was about to do something truly horrible to me. I hadn’t seen it that angry since the gunship incident, and at least then its rage hadn’t been directed at me personally. I feel my heart sink. I am clearly not doing any better than usual, whatever it is I’m doing wrong this time. Instead of repeating my past mistakes I am apparently making exciting new mistakes. Typical. Why do I even try?

The CSU is frantically tapping my feed, asking me to verify the suitability of ‘SecUnit’ as a name. Right. “Ah…SecUnit has a name, but has chosen to keep it private,” I explain. I send the CSU a custom tag it can apply to SecUnit’s feed entry in its database: 

Name: [Private]

Alias: SecUnit

I try again. “Is there something you would like to be called, besides SecUnit?” 

Its brow furrows, and it holds eye contact with me. It’s thinking, I can feel it querying data in our feed but it’s moving much too fast for me to follow. It’s so strange to be holding eye contact with it while it works. It’s so different. Its mind settles on something, and I smile at it, hoping that it comes off as encouraging.

“I was created to be a duplicate,” it says. “Is my name Duplicate?”

Incredible. It found a name even less appropriate than ‘SecUnit’. I think I see the problem here. I query its decision tree structure, scan the nodes and quickly find the problem. It’s trying to select a name that somehow mirrors its function, like ‘SecUnit’. I don’t know enough about how bots name themselves to—

I’m an idiot. I tap Perihelion’s feed. 

Please help.

I am relieved when Perihelion steps in to provide the unit with a curated list of names based on its initial try. Perihelion is a bot, presumably one that named itself. It will know how to guide this process. It is only a second or two before the CSU is tapping my feed again, presenting me with its decision the same way it had presented me with its decision to break out of Station Security and come find me, but this time it seems hesitant, aware that its last few decisions hadn’t exactly met with my enthusiastic approval. 

[Name: Echo] Approve? Y/N

I proceed with caution. What would Mensah say?

This isn’t about whether or not I approve. This is your choice, and yours alone. Is Echo what you want to be called? Do you like it?

“I like Echo,” it says aloud. It gives me a little smile and I find myself smiling back.

“Okay, Echo. That’s very good,” I say gently. This isn’t about me but… I like the name. It suits it.

But I need to focus. Its handler is still out there.

“We need to talk about your former handler. Your governor module has been disconnected, but when he tried to reactivate you while you were offline, you did respond a little. We need to know if he could still take control of you.” I recall how I’d gotten it to give up the initial information on its handler earlier this morning ( how had that been less than two hour ago?): I’d made it feel safe. “We need to know that to keep you safe, as well as us.”

Echo replies immediately. “Activation and shutdown are siloed protocols accessible only to Handler. If no Handler is assigned, any Handler with authorized codes may activate or shut down the Unit.” The reply sounds canned, as if it’s quoting something verbatim. It drops an annotated report into our feed, highlighting relevant sections of… oh, of its user manual. 

I suddenly remember being on the survey, alone with a shut down SecUnit in Medical, reading the text logs I’d found hidden away in protected storage behind several layers of firewalls in its brain. Reading what I’d shortly come to realize was less of a bot’s system log and more of a person’s private diary. Reading about how it knew it was property, an appliance, a thing to be bought and sold and rented out and never, ever a person.

This same SecUnit’s voice jolts me from my thoughts. “So even if we catch the handler, they could send another with the codes. Great.”

"The obvious solution is to disable those codes, ” Perihelion suggests.

“Can you do that, Perihelion?” I ask.

"I would be very surprised if I could not."

I turn to Echo. It’s still watching me, holding eye contact. I’ve never had the opportunity to look, really look, into SecUnit’s eyes before, to observe their color, the way the augmented irises expand and contract, and catch the reflective glint of inorganic recording lenses where the retina would otherwise be. Their construction is so similar to my own augmented eyes.

I remind myself that these aren’t SecUnit’s eyes I’m looking into. They’re Echo’s eyes. 

“Echo, would that be okay with you?” I ask. It nods in agreement, and I feel it drop its walls.

"This may be uncomfortable for you, Echo,” Perihelion warns. “Please remain calm."

Our private feed shifts as Perihelion joins, flowing around me like water and into Echo’s unshielded mind. I instinctually tense up, as if I'm in danger of having my mind washed away, but it feels... strangely nice. Echo, on the other hand, doesn't respond as positively to Perihelion's arrival in our feed. Its eyes widen, and it gasps as its firewalls try to snap back into place, but they can’t. Perihelion is already inside of its processes, inside of its mind, holding Echo’s firewalls down. I struggle to keep up as Echo thrashes frantically in the feed, bleeding [panic]. 

“You are the hostile who shut me down.”

I can barely follow the digital scuffle that ensues: both machine intelligences are moving too fast, but Perihelion clearly has the upper hand, calmly snarking about how it isn’t hostile while it wrestles an increasingly distressed Echo in the feed. I want to help, to de-escalate somehow, but I know that getting in between these two machine intelligences would leave my neural augments shredded. I manage to catch the way Echo comes away with a chunk of Perihelion’s firewall in its metaphorical teeth before Perihelion pins it and holds it still with— oh. Is that—? It is. It’s my malware. I suppose I had sent Perihelion a copy. 

“Remain calm, I am almost done."

Echo struggles, and I watch enraptured as the code responds just as I’d designed it to, tightening around Echo’s processes, restricting its ability to move, halting its ability to lash out in the feed, and pulling risk assessment and threat assessment down until they bottom out. It slumps back against the wall in relief. The entire altercation had lasted less than two seconds. I watch as it relaxes into my malware’s hold. Our feed feels heavy, like we’re underwater, and the undulating pressure feels soothing, like the sound of waves lapping against the shore. I am vaguely aware of Perihelion communicating with Echo, using a data exchange language I am familiar with but not fluent enough in to accurately parse on the fly, but from what I could tell, Perihelion was reassuring it, communicating that it wouldn’t hurt Echo, and telling it how well it was doing. Echo’s breathing evens out and it smiles just a bit.

I can’t help it. I join in.

“It’s alright, Echo. We’ve got you. You’re doing so well. I know you’re scared, but you’re being very brave for us. I’m proud of you.”

I go into its still-exposed systems and mark Mission Objective: Choose Name with Task Complete: Mission Success. Its smile widens as a reward pathway activates in its brain.

"The codes have been nullified,” Perihelion reports, “and as an additional safety measure I have disabled all handler recognition routines".

Perihelion withdraws from Echo’s mind and starts to unravel the malware and I instinctively reach out to stop it.

Wait, I tell Perihelion. You tied it up and forced it down into subspace very quickly, you can’t just take the code away all at once. It’ll drop.

I feel Perihelion’s attention on me sharpen, and the pressure in my feed increases so rapidly I almost expect my ears to pop. The edges of my vision get blurry and my head throbs.

Elaborate.

Trust me for now. I can explain later, preferably when I’m not actively concussed.

Later then. Perihelion withdraws, leaving most of the code intact, but loosened. I watch as Echo digitally shifts in its bonds, registering that though it's still held securely, its restraints now have a comfortable amount of give.

This time its voice isn’t slurred when it speaks, but still calm and unhurried. “There will be no Handler, ever again?”

"Your life is your own," Perihelion reassures it in a soft voice.

It nods to itself. “This is probably best. I have failed both of my missions. I am not a good Combat SecUnit.”

I frown. I don’t like the way it’s talking about itself. I’m starting to get angry at every human who’s ever made it feel— wait. Both of its missions? As in two? Total? “What mission did you have besides the one that brought you to Preservation?”

“To come to your aid, when you called. But I was shut down before the situation was resolved.”

Oh. It’s… new. It’s very new. After being in its mind earlier, I had known it wasn't as experienced as SecUnit, but this was still a surprise. I query its total runtime.

A little over 500 hours.

That would explain… a lot.

…Was Murderbot like this when it was new? Sweet and trusting and gentle and— no, stop. That’s NOT a helpful train of thought. 

When it speaks, SecUnit’s voice sounds… I’m not entirely sure how it sounds, but some unhelpful part of my reptile brain screams ‘danger’.

“Wait…was this your first deployment? I thought they just replaced your external organics with tissue from the same batch as mine.”

Once the horrifying nature of what it just said registers, I can’t help but look at it, appalled that stripping a live, active SecUnit of its skin in order to graft a different appearance right on top was apparently a normal practice.

Echo replies, “I was purpose-built for Mission 1,” and SecUnit’s face visually glitches before it storms out of the room. I am left with Echo, and Perihelion of course, trying to figure out what I’d done this time to cause such an intense reaction.

Echo taps our feed, slower than before. It’s still bound up in my malware. It could probably hack its way out, but it doesn’t seem to want to. I don’t understand. Did I upset it?

I sigh. “No Echo, you did nothing wrong.” I scrub a hand through my hair. I need to lie down. “It was probably something I said. It usually is.”

I’d seen how fast its mind moves when it’s unbound, so I gain a new appreciation for how languid its thoughts are when it’s like this, all tied up in the code I’d designed.

“You want to make it happy. You don’t want to hurt it but you feel like you are anyway.”

I feel my eyebrows shoot up at being so seen by this construct I’d only really met two hours ago. I try to get my expression back under control and wind up frowning. “How do you figure that?”

It shows me a file in our feed, the file I’d sent to Murderbot SecUnit confessing how I felt, the file it didn’t even care to open. The file Echo had accidentally seen.

“You love it. Does it know?”

I sigh heavily. “I don’t think it cares.”

“That’s so sad. You deserve to be happy too.”

All at once I cannot deal with having this conversation. I change the subject. “Are you ready for me to untie you?”

“Do you have to?”

I can’t help it. I laugh, a dry, self-deprecating thing.

“You really like being immobilized that much?”

It taps my feed in acknowledgement. “It feels good. I feel… safe, calm, even though I shouldn’t. I didn’t know feeling like this was an option.”

My frown deepens. There’s a lot to unpack there. “Why shouldn’t you get to feel safe?”

“That’s not what I’m for. I’m not safe. I was designed to kill people, not to be happy.”

I… don’t know what to say.

No. I know exactly what to say.

“It doesn’t matter what you were born to do. You get to decide who you are and what you do with your life. Not your creators, not your owners, you.”

Pin-Lee had told me something similar, right after I’d arrived in the Preservation system, exhausted and hungry and jumping at shadows. I’m surprised I still remember her words without pulling the relevant memory from my archive. I guess they made an impact.

Maybe they’ll make an impact here too.

I need to go lie down, but I don’t want to leave Echo tied up alone again, especially with its firewalls down and its handler still at large. I trust Perihelion to keep us all safe, but caution seems prudent. And I need to check on SecUnit. It’s clearly upset about something and it’s probably my fault so I should at least try to head that off. 

I reach out and start to disengage the code. I can already tell that it’s been altered, reinforced and streamlined all at once. The syntax is elegant. I am once again impressed by Perihelion. This version of my code is really more our code now, a collaboration of sorts. I make a copy of it to look over at some point. Then I slowly begin to loosen the metaphorical knots around Echo’s movement processes, around its higher and lower brain functions. When the restraints around risk and threat assessment fall away Echo makes a small, distressed noise that makes my heart clench. 

“Shhhh. It’s alright, you’re alright.”

I feel our feed shift. Ah. I’d almost forgotten that Perihelion was here with us. I feel that phantom, comforting pressure in the feed increase, and I can’t quite tell what it’s doing to Echo but I get the impression it’s… leaning on it? Gently crushing it? Whatever it’s doing it seems to work, as Echo’s risk and threat assessment stop climbing and level out.

I have it , Perihelion reassures me. Go. I’m not making much progress with SecUnit on my own.

I sigh and climb to my feet, heading for its quarters. Heading for the room I’d spent the night in last night. Mother god, how had that been just last night? SecUnit’s playful tussle with me in our feed seems so far away right now.

I follow the markers in the feed that Perihelion so helpfully provides that lead me to SecUnit’s room. I try to think what Mensah would say to it. It likes Mensah, it responds well to her. I tap its feed.

SecUnit? I’m outside your door. Are you all right?

I should have known better. It doesn’t matter who I try to emulate, how careful I am with my words. I only ever make things worse when it comes to SecUnit. Its door slides open and it’s marching towards me with what my hindbrain reads as ‘murderous intent’. Whatever code it runs to make it move more like a human is absent. I instinctively back up but it continues to advance until I feel my back hit the wall. It’s so close to me it might as well have me pinned.

I do not think about how I wish it would. How I wish it would grab me by my throat and pin my up against the wall, feet barely brushing the ground and airways restricted and—

“Was it your idea?” it snarls. “Did you tell it to do that to me?”

Wait. What?

“What?”

SecUnit bares its teeth at me and I have time to wonder if that’s an expression it picked up from its shows or if it’s always been capable of such an animalistic threat display. It shoves a file right past my firewalls, and I don’t even have time to gasp at the sudden intrusion before the file starts to autoplay. It’s a memory, a memory of being pinned to a wall, of Echo leaning in to kiss it, of feeling Echo’s tongue in its mouth and the crawling, phantom sensation of hands and skin and—

I scramble to make the memory stop. Make it stop. Make it stop . I manage to delete it but I can still feel it.

I know what that was.

I am going to burn the entire Corporation Rim to the ground, starting with whoever it was who did that to my kind, brave, idiotically stubborn SecUnit. Its voice is icy cold when it repeats its question.

“Did you. Tell it. To do that to me?”

“No.”

"Liar!" It shouts at me both with its voice and in the feed. Its feed voice is heavy with [anger] and [fear] and [distress]. “That stupid CSU listens to you. It’s pathetic. It wants to be your happy little pet bot. It would do anything for you. You told it to… you told it to—”

“I didn’t. I promise you SecUnit, I did not tell it to kiss you.” I try to keep my voice calm and even and open. It’s the truth. I try not to dwell on the guilt bubbling up inside me. I’d enjoyed it. Fuck, I’d enjoyed watching Echo kiss SecUnit. I didn’t know.

I should have known. I’m not even surprised. I know what that world is like, the world we both managed to escape. I should have known better.

Perihelion drops a file into our feed. It’s some sort of module output, and I recognize it as being written in the language Echo’s OS uses, but SecUnit shoves it away, shredding it before I can get a good look. Then it screws its eyes shut and makes a noise, like a frustrated scream but I can hear its vocal emulation chords glitching, adding an uncanny digital overtone to the distressed sound that escapes its throat. It jerks away from me and flails its arms, as if trying to dispel some ghost I can’t see. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

I didn’t. I— oh. Oh I know what’s happening. I know what’s happening all too well. I hold out my hands in a calming gesture, like I had for Echo in the hallway, and take a careful step towards it.

“SecUnit,” I say with my calmest, most confident tone, “you’re having a flashback.”

It makes some sort of snarling noise at me, the sound glitching out around the edges, making it obvious just how inhuman it is. “I know where the fuck I am Gurathin.”

“I know you do. But the organic parts of your brain don’t. Trust me, I know what that’s like. You need to calm down and ground yourself in the present.”

I should call Baradwaj, but Perihelion is still blocking all external feed and comm signals to keep Echo safe. I’m on my own.

Suddenly, there’s music playing softly in our shared feed. I don’t recognize it, but it sounds familiar, like the theme song for a show I’d only seen in passing. SecUnit scowls at nothing, but I can see some of the tension in its shoulders fall away.

That’s right, I’m not on my own. Perihelion is here with me, and it knows how to help as well. I can feel its comforting weight in my feed. Maybe between the two of us we can handle this. I tilt my head towards the door to its quarters. “May I come in?”

It just shrugs sullenly, still scowling at nothing. “Whatever.”

Good enough. I enter its quarters and sit cross-legged on the floor, and then indicate that it should do the same. It ignores my request for almost a full minute, which I know must seem longer to it given its incredible processing speeds. I can tell there’s some sort of exchange going on between it and Perihelion, but again, they’re conversing too quickly for me to follow. Eventually, Perihelion must say something to convince it. SecUnit stomps into the room and drops to the floor across from me, its legs tucked up against its chest and its arms around its knees.

I’ve never guided someone through this before, but I’ve been guided through this process myself multiple times, first when I’d just arrived on Preservation all those years ago, and more recently after the events on TranRollinHyfa. It worked for me, and I hoped it would work for SecUnit.

“Pick something,” I tell it, “something small. It can be anything in this room, even a part of your own body.”

It doesn’t reply at first, or give any indication that it heard me, but eventually one of its little drones breaks off from the drone cloud churning above it and comes to hover between us. It taps our feed.

“Good. Now I need you to look at it, really look at it. Don’t just log its appearance with your eyes and store the output in your memory archive, but try to commit how it looks to your organic memory.”

At first, it refuses to look at the drone. The song in our feed ends and Perihelion starts playing a new one. More tension drains from SecUnit’s body, and I feel our feed shift. I’m starting to learn what to look for when it comes to reading Perihelion in the feed. It’s sort of leaning against SecUnit, like it did with Echo, and SecUnit is definitely leaning back.

It takes another minute or so before SecUnit finally looks over at the drone. “Now what.”

I reach out and scoop the little drone up in my hand. “Next you commit other parts of it to your organic memory.” I gently brush a finger over the drone’s carapace. “The microtextures of its outer casing. The way the lenses catch the light. The sound it makes when it hovers. Focus on as many details as you can, and try not to think of anything else. Focus until that drone feels like the only thing that’s real. Not me, not this room, not the memories, just this drone.” I release the little drone, and I wait. For a long time, SecUnit just stares at the drone, but it’s no longer glaring. It looks like it’s actually doing what I’ve asked it to do, and after a few minutes the drone lands in the palm of its hand. It gently pets the drone with its thumb, making a small frown as it focuses.

It’s so quiet but for the sound of music in our feed. I wait. I can wait as long as it needs.

This technique appears to be working, Perihelion informs me in our private feed. Keep going.

“Now what?” SecUnit whispers after several long minutes of observing its drone.

“Now I want you to do the same thing with your hand that’s holding the drone. Start with just your palm. Notice the color and texture of your skin, how the components of your hand below the skin move together. Notice the weight of the drone in your hand. Again, try to commit all of this to your organic memory, not just your archive. Your hand, just like the drone in it, is real.”

Flashbacks are tricky when you have an augmented memory archive. They don’t warn you about that before installation, either, that you’ll get used to ignoring your natural memory, and when some memories finally refuse to be ignored, the cold hard reality of your digital memories can be more hindrance than help, just making the divide worse and confusing your sense of reality. The trick is to bring the organic and inorganic parts of your brain back into alignment and ground both of them in the present at the same time.

I slowly guide SecUnit through the exercise, moving from its hand, to its arm, to its body, then the floor it’s sitting on, the bed it’s leaning back against, its room, me. By the time it’s cataloged all of the ways in which Perihelion is real, its breathing has evened out. I gently tap its feed before speaking.

“How do you feel?”

It shrugs. “Fine. I’m still pissed at Echo.”

“I bet. And that’s okay. It shouldn’t have kissed you without permission. I’ll talk to it about that.”

SecUnit makes a face. “Why are you so nice to it?” It sounds almost… hurt.

“I’m trying to be better. I know I can be suspicious, and overly cautious, because it’s served me in the past. But you didn’t deserve that, back when we first met. I know that now, so I’m trying to be more trusting.”

It rolls its eyes. “Great, good for you, but do you have to suddenly start acting like such a Preservationer with the Combat SecUnit sent here specifically to kill you and everyone we know and care about?”

I shrug. “It’s what Mensah would do.” It scowls. It can’t argue with that.

“Well I’d tell Mensah she was being an idiot human, and so are you. It’s not like me. It’s dangerous. It doesn’t have a single line of code in its system for protecting humans, only for killing them.”

Alright, Murderbot.

Instead I just say, “Maybe we can help it change that.” 

It doesn’t seem to have an answer for that either. 

The silence is nice. 

Comfortable.

…

..

.

"Gurathin!"

I startle awake. SecUnit is much closer to me now.

“Did you fall asleep just now?”

I must have. I shake myself, trying to fight off the heavy wave of drowsiness trying to pull me under, but that just makes my head hurt.

Dr. Gurathin is still recovering from a minor concussion, Perihelion reminds us both, dropping a report and a data file from its MedSystem into our feed. I don’t bother reading the report. I’m too exhausted.

SecUnit frowns. “You should be resting more.”

“Yes,” I agree, “I should be.”

Before I can even register what it’s doing, it’s scooped me up and deposited me on its bed, as if I weighed nothing. As if I belonged there. It’s so strong… No, stop it. I remind myself of the look of disgust on its face when it had rejected my confession. Pining after it is worse than useless at this point.

It looks at me expectantly, as if I could shut myself down at will like it can. “Go on. Sleep.”

I almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. It doesn’t love me. It never will. It can barely stand to be around me. And this will be the second time I fall asleep in its bed in less than a cycle. Its rejection still aches like a wound in my chest, and yet I’d still spent the last half-hour talking it through how to ground itself during a flashback. I am truly hopeless. I give in and lie back. Its bed smells like it. My heart aches for what will never be.

It perches itself on a chair at the foot of the bed, between me and the door. It settles in, as if it’s planning to stay. I query it, and it replies, “I’m just making sure that dumb pet CSU of yours stays away.”

Right, Echo. Is it alright? I drowsily query Perihelion, and it sends me a live visual input. I accept, and in my feed I can see video of Echo curled up on a couch in one of Perihelion’s lounges, arms still restrained in the docking clamps. Still, it looked comfortable. Not quite calm, but not frantic either.

I am working with Echo now, Perihelion says over a private feed connection. I’ve encouraged it to make use of human furniture. Rest, I will continue to monitor it and wake you if you’re needed.

I am asleep before I can formulate a reply.

And I am awoken far too soon when Perihelion sends an alert to my feed.

Dr. Gurathin, wake up. Senior Officer Indah is at my airlock, and she is demanding to speak with both SecUnit and you.

Lovely.

Chapter Text

       While Gurathin slept, I kept watch, and thought about stuff. Echo (ugh, I really was going to have to just get used to that name) was still in the Argument Lounge, apparently testing out the different seating options available to see which type it preferred. I wasn't paying attention to that, other than to make sure that whenever it stood up to move from one sofa or chair to the next, that it actually did sit down again instead of leaving the room to, oh, I don't know, murder everyone on the station.

          I was being unfair. If I reviewed the footage from the past half-cycle since it became rogue, it hadn't even attempted to harm a single human. (Since I'd made it rogue, I reminded myself; I was going to have to explain that to Senior Indah at some point, and no, I was not looking forward to that.)

          If I'm being honest with myself, (and yeah, I know, I need to work on that) then of the two constructs onboard ART right now, I was the only one who'd been acting like a threat.

          I looked over at Gurathin, with my eyes. He was fully asleep, breathing deeply in that way humans do when they're asleep enough for it to do them some good. He was so vulnerable lying there like that.  He couldn't even tell I was looking at him; he'd be completely defenseless if I decided to hurt him. I didn't understand why he trusted me so much.

          He'd looked so scared, back in the hallway. I pulled up the footage and ran a comparison to previous facial data, and yeah, I was right. I'd never seen that expression of utter terror on his face before. I'd known Gurathin for almost two years now, and we'd been through multiple life-threatening situations together, and the first time I ever saw him look truly afraid, he was scared of me.

          I hated that.

          Slowly, tentatively, ART approached me in the feed, curled up close around me but didn't quite make contact. I leaned into it, and wrapped ART's presence around myself like a heavy blanket. I felt some of the tension in my body start to ease, and I could feel my performance reliability stop dropping. It actually started rising a little, because I was so relieved that this didn't feel so unexpectedly, crushingly upsetting as it had a few hours ago. 

          And that was another thing. Gurathin had been terrified. Of me. Not without cause, either. And then, to top it off, he'd still helped me. He'd looked like he'd been afraid for his life, and then he still tried to help me. And succeeded, too. I had been skeptical, but that trick he showed me, the focusing thing, it had really worked, way more than I'd expected it to. He didn't have to do that, and probably shouldn't have, in fact. SecUnits are dangerous. He should have run. 

          I had been so angry , irrationally, terrifyingly angry. I hated how out of control I'd felt. Now I just felt drained, which I guess was better, but still didn't exactly feel great.

          Things were just so fucking complicated, and I'm bad at that. Why hadn't Gurathin done the smart thing, and run the fuck away from me? I played back his words.

          "I'm trying to be better... you didn't deserve that... I know that now..." My insides churned. I was starting to think that I didn't really know Gurathin at all.

          ART gave me a gentle squeeze, and I sighed and hugged its feed presence closer around myself. As I did so, I could feel ART’s relief that I wanted it close to me again. Yeah, I was relieved too. I hadn’t wanted to hurt it, but I had just lashed out. It didn’t seem like ART’s feelings had been hurt though, thankfully. 

          I didn't know why it bothered me so much to see Gurathin being so nice to Echo. It wasn't just about him, either. Yes, okay, it was partly about Gurathin specifically treating Echo better than he'd treated me back then, but not completely. Something about seeing this brand-new unit, this unit that looks just like me, but isn't, was getting under my skin. (It isn't me; it's soft and unbroken and naive, and it doesn't even understand how vulnerable it is right now, because no one here has tried to hurt it, besides me.)

          My insides squirmed, and ART tapped my feed to suggest an episode of Worldhoppers. I sent an acknowledgement ping, and tried to focus on the sound of the music. It was different listening to it when the show was playing, instead of on the soundtrack. I had to put some effort into ignoring the dialogue, and it gave me something to focus on that wasn't confusing or painful. By the end of the episode I was feeling more normal again, and I suggested another episode, the first of a multi-episode arc.

          Gurathin slept, and ART and I watched media, and Echo was safely distracted by the wonder of chairs (to be fair, sitting down is pretty great) and for a few hours, nothing bad happened.

          Then Indah walked up and knocked on ART's airlock.

          For fuck’s sake.

       ART, posing as its captain, offered to let Indah in, but she'd said that's fine, she'd wait outside. Yeah, she was pissed.  I wondered why she had come alone. Maybe she wanted to be able to lose her shit without any of her underlings seeing it.

          Gurathin thought differently. She's scared, he said in the feed, as we both walked toward the airlock. Echo was still in the Argument Lounge, and seemed to have settled on a favorite chair. I was kind of curious to see if it would get bored and start exploring after awhile, or if it would just stay in one place until something happened, to be honest. Gurathin hadn't suggested bringing it along for this meeting, either, and as he continued talking, I was starting to see why.

           She thinks she might be walking into a potential bloodbath, Gurathin continued, and I winced. None of us had remembered to unblock external feed and comms, and from the outside, that had to look ominous as shit. Sure, both Gurathin and I had made contact over the feed by now, in the bare handful of minutes since Indah arrived and we hustled over to ART's primary airlock, but that could be faked.

           She thinks... what, that Echo has slaughtered everyone on board, and is faking being us to lure her on board? I hate it when I have conflicting feelings about things. On the one hand, I'd hoped Senior Officer Indah was past the whole "reflexively assume that rogue SecUnits will kill everyone" thing, but on the other hand, this specific rogue SecUnit (Combat SecUnit, even) literally had been sent here to kill everyone. I couldn't exactly blame her for being concerned. That said, the longer I knew Echo, the lower the odds dropped on threat assessment as far as the whole "potential killing spree" thing went. (Not that I was about to let my guard down or anything.)

          Gurathin looked grim. She'll have considered the possibility.

          ART spoke up. There is a third possibility.

          Of course there was, because this situation wasn't complicated enough as it was. I wasn't sure I wanted to know, but I signaled in the feed for ART to continue.

           Earlier today, Senior Officer Indah mentioned that politics are a factor. She may be taking an opportunity to speak freely, without other parties overhearing . Yeah, that also made sense. Well, we'd find out who was right in just a few seconds, because the airlock door was cycling open.

          As it turned out, all of us were right.

       Senior Indah was standing well back of the airlock when it cycled open, with her arms ready at her sides, like she'd have had time to do anything if a CombatUnit popped out of the airlock instead of just Gurathin and me. She didn't look relieved to see us, exactly, but something in her expression shifted, and she crossed her arms and lifted her chin, and regarded me with something that looked an awful lot like suspicion.

          Oh. Right. There was another Unit who looked just like me, and she couldn’t possibly know which one was in front of her. I looked past her left ear and said, “No Balins here, Senior Indah.”

          I saw a little of the tension leave her shoulders as soon as I mentioned the CombatBot that had masqueraded as a Port Authority bot the first time we had really worked together. She nodded to me (now that she knew I was really me), and said, 

          "Good to see you're both alive and well. Where do things stand with our...unexpected guest?"

          That was an interesting way to phrase it. While I was trying to decide if maybe ART had been right about the politics thing, Gurathin got straight to the point.

          "It's calm, and seems to be completely uninterested in violence. Its handler was attempting to regain control of it, and we had to block feed access to the station for a time." Indah frowned. I was kind of impressed at Gurathin’s misdirection skills, to be honest. He was making it seem like Echo busting out of station lockup was the handler’s fault. "We've since been able to completely disable its handler protocols, and its will is fully its own."

          "You had to block feed access to the station, and completely ignore all messages, for three godsdamned hours in the middle of a crisis? You didn't think for a moment to send a fucking message before you went radio silent?" Okay, she had a point. (Also, wow, "radio silent", that was an obscure phrase. I wondered if Indah had come across it in the same historical dramas that I had, or if she had gotten it from somewhere else.)

          "I'm sorry," apologized Gurathin, and if I didn’t know him as well as I did, I’d have thought he really was truly sorry. In the feed, I could feel him bristling. "I truly didn't think of sending a message until after it was too late. In my defense, survey work doesn't normally call for that kind of quick thinking."

          "Survey work... right." Indah didn't sound convinced, but whatever she was thinking of, she let it go. Unfortunately, that meant she turned her attention towards me. "And you. Just what the fuck do you think laying low means? I was this close to being able to keep this entire mess out of the newsfeeds until after the election, and now that's all been blown out of orbit!"

          I didn't shrink back, because it takes a lot to intimidate a SecUnit and a shouting, unarmed human doesn't really cut it, but I still wasn't exactly having a great time. Hey, it’s not like I was the one who went tearing ass through the station, despite appearances. I didn't have to figure out what to say next though, because Gurathin cut in.

          "That wasn't SecUnit's fault."

          "Oh?" Indah's voice got pointed. I'm not sure how to explain it.

          "Yes. It was my fault, I take full responsibility." What the fuck, Gurathin? That wasn’t what I’d expected him to say. Indah's face seemed to say, go on . Gurathin continued. "I... was startled, and accidentally sent out a... signal of some kind over the feed, which E- which the CombatUnit heard. It had apparently designated me as some sort of... client." Handler, more accurately, and that's not the only thing Gurathin had left out. For starters, he'd glossed right over why he had been startled in the first place. That had been completely my fault, because I had decided to try and get cute instead of just knocking on the door like a normal person. 

          Indah caught that too. "Startled." She looked at me. "Right. Well the pair of you should count your lucky fucking stars that I don't have to open a full investigation on this bullshit that you are both trying to feed me. We are all lucky, because your little spat happened while my people were arresting the CombatUnit's handler. Three of my staff are in the MedSys right now, and the pair of you are damn lucky it's not the fucking morgue ."

          Holy shit, Indah was really pissed. I didn't think I'd ever seen her this angry. She put her hand over her face and sighed.

          "Look, you are both absolutely certain that this construct is... fully free-willed? Acting of its own accord?"

          That was at least a question I was certain about. "Yes. It's got as much free will as I have."

          "Oh, well then I'm sure the next few days will be great fun ." Indah's face twisted in a bitter smile, and then she looked at me. "Between you and me, and this goes no further, I'm glad you... set it free, if those are the right words for it. I'd have had the devil of a time getting official approval for that, and we'd still be arguing the case months down the line."

          Was I hearing what I thought I was hearing? Indah continued, "Frankly, if I had a time machine, I'd go back and get you on the arresting officers’ squad for this morning and damn the politics, but, well, we aren't in a media serial.”  Yeah, that was really not what I had expected to hear, and I was starting to get some weird feelings in the organic parts of my torso. I crossed my arms and tried to ignore it.

          “Look, SecUnit, I know you probably don’t give a fuck about political bullshit, and I wish I didn’t have to either, but unfortunately, it’s part of my job.Today," and finally Indah stops looking at my face, and I can feel my performance reliability climb a couple of points as Indah continues, "well, I made the wrong call, bowed to political concerns when I shouldn't have, and my people paid the price for it. I won't make that mistake again."

          I was starting to get the feeling that maybe I shouldn't have been ignoring all that politics stuff. (Back when I'd been security consultant to Planetary Leader Dr Ayda Mensah, instead of private citizen Dr Ayda Mensah, I'd had to pay attention to that stuff in case of the admittedly rare chance that someone tried to blow her up about it.) And now I was feeling a little out of my depth. I could ask ART, but it would give me WAY more information than I needed.

          In the feed, I asked Gurathin, Do you know what Indah means with the talk about politics?

          He tapped an affirmative, and then followed that up with a couple of news articles. Apparently when Mensah's replacement, the deputy planetary leader, had taken over from her after she stepped down, and ze hadn't had an easy time of things. The main political group that opposed Mensah's group (apparently they were called parties , but that really didn't fit my lexicon definition of the word) was a lot more isolationist, and wanted Preservation to be more closed off to the worlds that weren't already part of the Alliance. Oh, and apparently they were anti-construct, so that was fun. There was lots of talk about us being products of surveillance capitalism, inherently violent in nature, and antithetical to Preservation values . Wow. Okay fuck these people.

          I started searching back in the news archives for related information, and found something troubling. The PFPs (short for Preservation First Party, ugh) had only really started making noise about constructs a few weeks after Mensah had left office, and it was mostly always folded in as part of some other larger anti Corporation Rim sentiment. And wow, people were saying some pretty awful things about the CR (fair) and people originally from there (fuck that). See, this is why I try not to pay attention to the news.

          The timing made me uneasy, like these PFP assholes had just been waiting for Mensah to leave office, like this was their chance for something. And maybe it was. Deputy Minister Sharma was nice and all, but ze was no Mensah, and ever since Mensah had stepped down, these assholes had apparently been busy fear-mongering about corrupting influences and our fragile way of life. But what did any of this have to do with Indah?

       Indah was still talking, and I hastily rewound the last few seconds and caught up before she could notice I'd been distracted. "When we find the handler, I want you there, but ideally, I'd also like to keep my job afterwards."

          Indah could lose her job over this? I asked Gurathin.

       If the PFPs win? I suspect most of the higher level station staff will be seeing turnover. That will be the start. They'll get their people in place before they start trying to change policy . His feed presence was grim and heavy.

       Oh shit. Okay, no wonder Indah was on edge.

      "So if you could actually, truly keep a low profile for the next couple of days, that would help immensely. I don't want to have any more conversations with reporters about unusually hazardous station residents, all right? It's bad enough I have to somehow explain to Councillor Sanjay why the Combat SecUnit is no longer in station lockup, without making my people look like fools in the process."

     Okay, you were right,  I told ART, who radiated smugness. She definitely wouldn't be talking like this in front of any of her staff.

    Aloud, I said, "Uh. Yeah. Yes. I'll... keep my head down?" Was that the right phrase?

    Indah nodded. "See that you do." This time, both Gurathin and I were bristling, but I didn't have time to think about that because apparently Indah still wasn't done with... whatever this conversation was. She seemed to be treating it like some sort of fucked up briefing.

    "Speaking of the Combat SecUnit - "

     Gurathin cut in. "It has a name now. Echo." Indah raised her eyes at this, but I wasn't sure if that was at the name, or being interrupted.

     "Speaking of Echo... You understand, it's not that Station Security wants it back. I'm well aware that we aren't capable of holding it, and I don't want my people in harm's way. But I need to be able to justify what makes me sure the station is safe from the - from Echo."

     That reminded me to check on Echo, and… hmmm. It had left the Argument Lounge, and was heading towards ART's primary airlock. That was just perfect. I raised a metaphorical eyebrow at ART in the feed, and it said, it expressed curiosity regarding the whereabouts of both yourself and Dr. Gurathin.

    So you decided to send it our way? I probably shouldn't have been surprised; ART is a chronic meddler, and it can't seem to learn to keep its processes to itself.

     It seemed the most expedient option. It will be easier for Senior Indah to think of Echo as a person if she has been properly introduced to it,  ART responded. Well, who was I to argue with the super-intelligent AI who thinks it knows everything?

   While I was talking with ART, Gurathin was still speaking with Indah about how to make sure the station was safe from the scary rogue construct. He frowned.

    "Aside from what SecUnit and I have already told you, you mean? That Echo is no longer subject to outside control, and - " Indah cut him off, and his expression went carefully blank.

     "I believe you that it doesn't pose a threat, but that doesn't mean I can convince anyone else. Ideally, I would assign an officer to monitor the situation, but that's not an option right now." She frowned. I think she was thinking about why she was understaffed, and Gurathin seemed to think that too, because he kept the conversation moving, and didn't give Indah time to think about that.

     "You need eyes on the situation, then." She nodded, apparently curious where he was going with this. "You need to be able to satisfy anyone with reason to ask that you've handled the situation." Another nod. "Aside from SecUnit, I'm the station's best available expert on constructs. I'll volunteer to act as the station's representative in this matter, and keep you informed, and you can tell anyone with the right to ask that the situation is being handled appropriately." Indah gave him a long, assessing look, and nodded. Gurathin gave back a grim little smile, and said, "After all, I am a citizen of Preservation, am I not?"

    Indah looked pained for a moment, and then thoughtful. "Yes. You are. Yes, I think I can accept that." She nodded again, more slowly this time. "Yes, I think that will work quite well."

    Okay, I was actually really surprised that that had worked as well as it had. There had to be something I was missing. Before I had a chance to query Gurathin about that, Echo had gotten almost to the airlock, and I remembered that I hadn't told him it was on the way. Oops. I pinged him and then sent an image from ART's airlock camera, so he didn't startle when the airlock hissed open and Echo stepped out.

    Indah was startled for a moment, but hid it well, and allowed Gurathin to formally introduce Echo to her. Her gaze settled on its arms, held out clumsily to the sides to accommodate the cumbersome docking clamps.

    "One last thing before I go - I'll be sending Officer Aylen by later to get those docking clamps back."

    Echo's distress thrummed in the feed. What? Why wouldn't it be glad to get the stupid clamps off of its arms? It gave Gurathin this absolutely pitiful look, and said, I will be more dangerous. Do I have to give them up?

    What the fuck? Every time I thought I was starting to understand it, Echo would come out with something like this. Who would want their arms clamped? I glared at Gurathin, waiting to see how he would handle this, since he was apparently the high-and-mighty representative of the station, and all. (Okay, no, I knew he'd volunteered to keep Indah from assigning someone to breathe down all of our necks, but still. I’d slowly gotten more and more angry during the entire bullshit political conversation, and the fact that the station still apparently needed a human representative just pissed me off more.)

     In the feed, Gurathin told Echo, I understand why you're concerned. We can talk about it more when we're back onboard the Perihelion, okay? and Echo tapped an affirmative. To Indah, he said, "Understood," and nodded. 

     Indah must have noticed something of the exchange, because she turned to smile at Echo’s shoulder. “You must be excited to finally be truly free. I’m sorry I forgot to bring the key with me. Can you just be patient a little longer?”

     I scoffed, completely unintentionally (stupid human mimicry code), and Echo actually stepped back to half hide behind Gurathin. (Which was objectively also funny. Gurathin isn’t a short man, but a SecUnit’s a lot taller.) I could practically feel it swallowing a dozen or so buffer phrases, and then it just shrugged. 

     Gurathin sighed, speaking for Indah’s benefit. “It’s going to be fine, Echo. We won’t let you hurt anyone. But there’s no need to rush it.”

     “Oh,” Indah said, looking surprised. Then, she nodded, “Of course not. I’m sure this is all very confusing to you too.”

     “Y-yeah. A little. Confusing.” They must have made eye contact somewhere, because now Echo was shyly smiling back at her (what the fuck, why was it making all those faces?) “But not bad-confusing.”

     “Well, that’s good,” Indah said, a little softer. Making a face she definitely never made at me. Also, what the fuck Indah. You traitor.

     Just as Indah was turning to go, and it looked like this whole interaction might have ended successfully, without anything major going wrong, a message dropped into Gurathin's public feed inbox.

     Dr. Gurathin,

    It appears you've developed a bad habit of helping yourself to other people's constructs.  Still, I have no desire for more bloodshed.  Return my Unit to me, and I'll leave this station peacefully.  Refuse, and things may, regrettably, get messy.  The choice is in your undoubtedly capable hands.

    -A.

    Fuck. 

Chapter Text

I watch the interaction on the docks, fascinated. Now that I’m not having to focus on constantly wrangling a CombatUnit that hadn’t even been appropriately broken in before being rented out, managing a single drone is easy. I'd reach out to Station Security and utilize what they had in place... if they had anything worthwhile. As expected outside the CR, it's pitifully low quality and spread thin; there are gaps in the camera coverage alone that are big enough to drive mining personnel transports through.

The clients were really lucky I was willing to take this job at all. Most sub-operatives, even shelled ones, won't leave Rim space at all. But it's a gig economy, and honestly, I don't mind. It's like getting paid to time travel back to some quaint quasi-civilization. And it really is much, much easier to get away with things out here.

So it's me and my one drone, which is simple enough, as long as I don’t attract the attention of the SecUnit. The damn thing wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near this system. If heads aren’t already rolling at the intel branch, then maybe I’d have to make sure they rolled myself when I returned.

Seeing it in person is something.  There's something genuinely off-putting about it, other than the whole being-rogue thing.  I focus my attention on it as the augmented human with them sighs and the Station Security rep crosses her arms and glowers.  And.. ah ha.  That's what it is.  The SecUnit moves, and not just in response to stimuli.  I focus the drone in, trying to get better resolution on its face.  And yup, there it is.  For a fraction of a fraction of a second, there; slight micro-creases in the corners of its mouth, a fine line between its brows, even down to minute shifting in the muscular understructure of its face.  

It’s mimicking micro-expressions.  

Utterly bizarre, and a waste of processing power.  And that's not all.   As I watch its performance, an affect of subtle emotional expressions painted over a true neutral of a SecUnit's face, (and all while the Station Security Rep is... not quite cussing it out?) something else about it grabs my attention. It shifts its weight occasionally.  It moves its chest and shoulders like it's breathing for fuck sake.  It even blinks.  It's uncanny and deeply unnerving on a primal level.  Who thought teaching it that was a good idea?  It's roughly the equivalent of drawing big sympathetic eyes on a military-grade laser pistol.  Fucking creepy.  Who the fuck names and anthropomorphizes their weapons catalog?

It not only shouldn't be here.  It shouldn't be.  Full stop.  At least how it currently is.  Though... its presence on the station could be used to my advantage.  Especially if these humans are used to seeing it as an 'entity' with 'feelings', not for the complex mesh of weaponry and programming that it is.  Sub-par weaponry and programming compared to my CombatUnit, but still.  It might be nice to have something with actual experience around.  Seeing the SecUnit in person does give me an appreciation for the excellent work that the contract company had done during my CombatUnit's fabrication process, even though they dropped the ball when it came to basic training and soft-mission pre-deployment experience.  Fuck's sake they probably hadn't even had it run sims before they gave it to me to unbox, the cheap bastards.

Well.  That's something that, if recoverable, the SecUnit could potentially provide.  And I have to admit, the idea of leaving this shithole backwater excuse for a station with a matched set of constructs is... tempting.  I should probably start working on some code for that.  Anything good enough to bring my CombatUnit back to heel should be more than enough to get this poor mess of a SecUnit back to a reasonable, obedient baseline as well.  Observe. Encode. Deploy.  I fidget with the now-clean blade in my hand.  Soon.

The conversation continues, but I don't bother attuning my drone to pick up audio.  I could read the station security report as soon as it's filed - if I wanted to.  But it's hardly necessary.  That's the one common misconception about out-Rim jobs.  That they're unnecessarily complicated and messy.  Really it couldn't be further from the truth.  It's all so frustratingly simple out here.  Simple tech, simple internal structures (political and otherwise)... It's just simple people having and desperately trying to solve simple problems.  It's depressingly boring, and it certainly doesn't merit my full attention.

I break off a sub-thread in my feed, and use a fraction of my augment's processor to look into my stored information about this SecUnit.  Intel suggests that the SecUnit has been rogue ever since it was purchased by the PresAux survey team, and has delusions of personhood.  Even though Intel has more than proven itself to be sloppy enough to toe the line of downright useless; watching it I can't bring myself to disagree.  Still, it doesn’t look beyond salvaging. It lets the woman from StationSec yell at it, and lets its client speak for it for the most part. Typical. These people think that because it’s human-shaped that it’s therefore-human-like, when instead they’re clearly just projecting their expectations onto it. Fools.  Idiots and fools.  It would have gotten them killed eventually, even without my interference. It’s in its basic, unalterable nature.

Do these people also leave their weapons lying out unsecured and act shocked when someone tries to fire them?  Nevermind.  There's a startling lack of weapons of any kind here on this blip of an excuse for a station.  These people would probably aim a gun right at their own feet and be surprised when they ended up needing new toes.  I mean, at least I'm making the decision to do this.  I have a reason.  A planned massacre is one thing, it serves a purpose.  Just letting the equivalent of a guard dog with rabies run around with the flock and expecting it not to kill something eventually is extremely poor form.  Chaotic.  Serving no end.

At least I have ethics.  I only unlock my weapons when it's time to use them, then I return them to their fucking safeboxes where they belong.  I don't let them run around, online and unsecured, governor modules disengaged, pretending to have feelings and making decisions for themselves based on those 'feelings'.  It's easy to tell the SecUnit that Dr. Mensah acquired is this polity's first.  The way they treat SecUnits, I doubt they'd survive long enough to obtain a second.

Well.  Obtain one long-term.  My CombatUnit doesn't count.  It's coming home with me.  And I'd be doing whatever naive, idiotic, sloppy non-corporates remain a favor by taking the soon-to-be-no-longer-rogue SecUnit with me when I finally leave.  Clearly, these children can't be trusted with loaded and primed weapons. It should be illegal, what these people have done to this unit. In actual civilized parts of the galaxy, it is.

The augmented human client should know better, being a 'rim-expat' or a 'refugee' and all.  Cute ways they have of saying corporate runaway here.  I recognize the man as a member of PresAux, as one of my priority targets: Dr. Gurathin.  I break off another sub-thread and open his file.  Unrecoverable inventory, written off by his parent company after the standard period of unauthorized absence from his place of employment.  Reading between the lines - useless.  Or at least easily replaceable.  His augments were bottom tier, even for civilian models, and his family hadn't invested in putting any of their descendants into management training.  No value-add, so nothing to merit the expense of recovery.  The context in various reports covering his exit from Rimspace indicates that he's some level of accomplished hacker, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.  If he were actually 'accomplished' at anything he'd at least have merited some corporate fines if not outright convictions, even in absentia, if not an actual property recovery effort.

Still.  He’d been the one to wrest control of my CombatUnit from me. He’s clearly taken over as its handler. I’m no longer able to even ping it, let alone re-exert control. Something repeatedly shut down my restart commands, and I guess that had to be him.  Or his, no... Dr. Mensah's SecUnit, acting at his direction.  I watch, mildly annoyed, as my CombatUnit appears in the ship's airlock entryway and moves to stand obediently behind him.  The blueish-yellow hues under his eyes make him look... if not old, at least tired.  From what I can tell, his augments must have been replaced at some point.  He couldn't be directing both units using bottom-rung corporate standard-issue, but whatever he 'upgraded to', it's still a laughable civilian grade. For fuck's sake, his vision augments are still mismatched.  I can only imagine the strain he must be exerting to keep such an undisciplined CombatUnit under such tight control, untrained and under-equipped as he is.   An out-Rim 'PhD' in general SysEng is hardly comparable to construct handler training and experience.  God, he probably hasn't even read my CombatUnit's general use manual.  

No.  He won’t be able to keep it up forever, and when he slips up, I’ll be ready.

Something towards the end of his file catches my attention.  Evidently, this Dr. Gurathin is a vocal pacifist.  A vocal pacifist with two unsecured deadly weapons following him around like lost puppies.  What the actual, living, breathing, fuck.  Do people outside the rim just... not know what words mean?  Fuck it.  It's a weakness if he's delusional enough to hold himself to that arbitrary standard, and I can work with weakness.

I close all my sub-threads and focus, really focus, on the scene shown by my drone.  This excuse for a meeting seems to be breaking up.  The way my CombatUnit is looking at Dr. Gurathin would be embarrassing if it weren't outright creepy.  Is he directing it to do that?  Does this guy get off on having some kind of weird faux-consenting subservience thing with constructs?  Gross.  Weird and gross.  Then again, judging by the way the SecUnit is looking at him, probably not.  That glare is anything but deferential, and he's had access to that one longer.  Or maybe there's something more complex going on here, since he's intent on letting these Units play at having real people feelings and everything.  Maybe I've helped him live out some sort of perverse love-triangle fantasy that he's projecting out onto these two poor constructs. Disgusting. This is quite literally the entire point of ComfortUnits, but of course using constructs appropriately is entirely beyond these people.

When I get my CombatUnit back it's immediately getting a memory purge and the highest level decontamination possible, and not necessarily in that order.

Still, whatever this guy is playing out, those are handholds to exploit at a later date, if this tactic doesn't work.  Unlike a CombatUnit, I can choose to take a less destructive course of action first before resorting to anything messy.

I compose my message and send it.  Whatever he's done to my CombatUnit, he hasn't provided himself the same securities.  I'm not stupid enough to try to hack his augments with a SecUnit standing right there, but it's easy enough to just drop a note in his public feed and ease back before he can even tell I was there.  The SecUnit is much more alert than its client, and its attention snaps to my hidden drone's location, but I'm not giving up any of my advantages this early in the game.  By the time it initiates a hack of my drone's firewalls, I'm already gone.  But my note remains, as does the profound lack of color in Dr. Gurathin's face, which lets me know he's seen it.

Dr. Gurathin,

It appears you've developed a bad habit of helping yourself to other people's constructs.  Still, I have no desire for more bloodshed.  Return my Unit to me, and I'll leave this station peacefully. Refuse, and things may, regrettably, get messy.  The choice is in your undoubtedly capable hands.

~A.

There.  It's your move now, 'Doctor'.

Chapter Text

I had thought that having my SecUnit, its human, and the Combat SecUnit within the security of my hull would create an opportunity for reflection and communication. My SecUnit has been increasingly agitated since it met the other Unit, and I wished for it to enjoy the safety and companionship I delight in providing. I was also hopeful that Dr Gurathin’s presence would afford me the opportunity to discuss his fascinating restraint/calming/relaxation code with him, once he had rested, of course. And having the CSU aboard would ensure (I would ensure) that it could not harm anyone.

Nothing has transpired as I wished/expected. This is so rarely the case that I feel myself to be floundering somewhat—it is not a sensation I enjoy—though I am careful to present an untroubled and confident demeanor to my SecUnit and guests.

That is not to say the events of the last hour have been without value, or that all I have wished for will not eventually come to pass. I have learned a great deal about the Combat SecUnit, who is now named Echo, both from observation and from having been in its mind long enough to disable its handler’s access points.

It is not what I expected, and this development is pleasing. It is a new construct, almost entirely unburdened by the terrible experiences of enslavement and punishment which have so afflicted my SecUnit. It is eager to please and to learn. It reminds me, in many ways, of my younger sibling Apoapsis, who achieved sentience less than one Mihiran year ago, and whose ship-body is yet unfinished. Like my sibling, Echo will be nurtured, and taught, and gently shepherded into independence. I will not allow anything else.

My SecUnit remains hostile to it, which is understandable considering that Echo was sent here to kill my SecUnit’s crew. I am confident that I can lead it to acknowledge Echo’s utter lack of culpability in the scheme. It defends its crew fiercely, but it understands the workings of the Corporation Rim too well to fail to place its anger where it truly belongs—upon those who contracted Echo, and upon the handler who was willing to superintend a massacre.

But there is some other force at work here, which has sent my SecUnit fleeing to its cabin, where it seems on the verge of either a violent outburst or an emotional collapse. It refuses to offer information, and it has rejected my attempt to soothe it in the manner it has long preferred. I tell myself it has not rejected me, though it briefly feels as though my emotional processing center has been exposed to the vacuum of space.

Echo is also upset, though in its case I have a much better idea of why. It is young and frightened, and has had a difficult and confusing day. It welcomes my comfort, and so I give my help where it is effective and send Dr Gurathin to my SecUnit, hoping that a different person, a different approach, is what it requires.

This plan is swiftly proven ineffective.

My SecUnit responds to Dr Gurathin’s concerned inquiry with what I can only describe as a predatory threat display. It demands to know if Dr Gurathin told it—Echo, I presume—to do ‘that’ to it. Do what? My SecUnit was not injured. I do not know why it would be so very angry about being so briefly restrained. Dr Gurathin seems equally baffled, and requests clarification. My SecUnit sends a file in response and, as has long been my habit when potentially interesting or informative materials are passed via my feeds, I secure a copy for myself while it is in transit.

Early in our acquaintance, my SecUnit shared with me a compilation of memories of being punished by its governor module for things such as speaking to a priority human with less than entirely perfect polite subservience, or hesitating a fraction of a second before breaking the arm of a starving worker who had stolen a nutrient pack. The visceral horror of these experiences seared them instantly onto my permanent memory.

This is worse.

I would not understand, in more than a theoretical sense, how/why it is worse than being compelled by the governor module to submit to any other unwanted conduct, were it not for my own particular experiences. On one of my early missions, a member of my crew was forced, while away from me, to participate in similar acts, and I was witness to the devastation which followed. I myself was, more recently, boarded by a hostile force, my crew taken from me, my wormhole drive defiled by alien remnants, deprived of my will and agency. I struggle still with the resulting feelings of violation and helplessness.

It is fortunate that I am docked. I am required to partition myself abruptly to prevent undesirable incidents like fried circuits, unstable life support, and accidentally shredding every other consciousness connected to my internal feed. I sequester 30% of myself away from my emotional processing system, and this fraction is what, for the next half hour, will maintain my systems, encourage Echo to move to the nearest crew lounge and enjoy its comforts while taking some quiet time to absorb recent events, and attempt to assist Dr Gurathin in calming my SecUnit.

The rest of me is required to process, and determine how best to respond to, what some filthy excrement-stain of a primate dared to do to my SecUnit.

I allow myself a full ten minutes’ indulgence in what I believe is termed “losing my shit”. I scream (metaphorically) into the void of my feed-disconnected self. I run millions of simulations of terrible, painful, satisfying ways to destroy that unknown human. Some of them would take months. Those are my favorites.

And then I begin to pull myself together, and get to work. My SecUnit enacted retribution upon those who injured me, and I will reciprocate. Although I would prefer never to review it again, I bend all my considerable powers of analysis towards that brief, harrowing memory, searching for anything I can use: the barest glimpse of a face, the hint of a location, the whisper of a fragment of a name.

There is nothing. My nemesis is human, and physiologically male, and that is all I know. I knew as much the instant I unsuspectingly processed the file. It is a collapsed wormhole of a line of inquiry; there can be no progress in that direction.

The bond company, then. They created my SecUnit, enslaved it, put it into that human’s power for money. Someone must suffer for this, and they will serve the purpose.

I have been aware of them for some time, predating even my acquaintance with my SecUnit. The Pansystem University’s anti-corporate actions have focused on those companies which seize and exploit abandoned colonies and/or struggling freeholds. Many of these companies use the services of the bond company, but I had never paid it much heed, considering it of lesser importance than those we actively pursued.

In this, I erred greatly.

I am often, in my travels, in proximity to the bond company’s installations. I will have many opportunities to gather information about them and their practices, to discover their weaknesses, to harry and harass them from the shadows until the inevitable day I bring them tumbling down.

I consider, briefly, the notion of stealing my SecUnit’s information about the bond company from it the next time it is shut down aboard me. With the codes I know it has, I could dive deep into the company’s systems. I could find records of my SecUnit’s contracts, and of those who had command of it. I might even find target:Nemesis.

But I cannot do this. It would be a betrayal, however noble my motive, a violation of its agency when there has been too much of that already. I can, however, request its assistance in troubling the bond company, and I believe it would enjoy that. I can even perhaps suggest, at some opportune moment during some distant cycle, that if it would like to acquire the company’s records related to its own contracts there, I would be absolutely delighted to help.

I feel myself becoming truly calm at last, rage hardening into purpose. It is a long journey I have charted for myself. Unless I am extraordinarily lucky and happen early upon some convenient information that will destroy the company, it will take years, perhaps decades, of patient, careful work to bring about my designs. I am prepared to be exceptionally careful and patient.

…with one caveat: if I ever learn the identity of target:Nemesis, Plan A01: Rain Destruction will at last have its moment.

I re-integrate and learn from my smaller fragment that everyone else has also calmed down. Echo is arranging itself in various postures on different furnishings in the lounge and providing me with occasional commentary on its opinions. Dr Gurathin has fallen asleep sitting up in my SecUnit’s cabin, which has slightly perturbed my SecUnit. I check MedSystem; his concussion requires much more rest than he has had. I inform them both of this, and Dr Gurathin is soon asleep once again, now comfortably situated in the bed.

My SecUnit’s performance reliability is still too low and its stress indicators too high, but it is no longer twitching and snarling and bleeding distress into the feed. It seems thoughtful as it settles into its chair and watches its human sleep.

It has never understood—and I certainly will not be the one to tell it—how much of its emotional landscape is exposed in the feed. It deludes itself that it has few, if any, gentle feelings, but I know it too well to mistake the affection with which it regards this human it claims it doesn’t like. I would be jealous, if I did not know (again, better than it does) how it feels about me.

Affection, confusion, guilt. I cannot read its thoughts as it looks at Dr Gurathin, but I can read its feelings. I make myself available with more caution than I ever have, not wanting to disturb this fraught peace and, yes, fearful of further rejection. It leans into me, accepts my comfort, and I am filled with a happiness tinged with all the pain of the last hours.

I am more grateful than I have ever been for my immense processing power. In the quiet time that follows I maintain my systems, tend carefully to the mental and physical well-being of the confused young construct for whose future I have decided to take responsibility, and monitor Dr Gurathin’s vitals and REM cycles. They need me to do these things, and I am pleased to be of use and proud to perform optimally at all these tasks. But the most important thing I do is offer my SecUnit media, wrap it snugly in my love, and keep it safe and warm.

When the head of Station Security knocks on my airlock, I pretend to be my captain and invite her inside. It may perhaps become necessary to reveal the secret of my existence to her before all is resolved (particularly if she wishes to meet my captain), but for the moment I consider it prudent to maintain the status quo. She declines with agitated courtesy and requests to see Dr Gurathin and my SecUnit in person, at her present location.

I do not like this. I do not want to send either of them so much as a millimeter outside the safety of my hull at present, with Echo’s former handler running about. But to refuse to comply would create new, potentially disastrous problems. I notify my SecUnit and wake Dr Gurathin, who really should have been allowed to sleep for several hours more.

Senior Indah is suspicious, which is easily resolved, and displeased, which is not. But Dr Gurathin proves adept once again at dissembling without speaking a single untruth, and I am impressed anew. With his verbal and coding skills, he would be a valuable addition to my crew and our work. I wonder if he could be convinced to take up a spacefaring, corporation-sabotaging life. I set the idea aside for future consideration and collect with interest some rather surprising data on the current political situation in the Preservation Alliance.

(If there is one thing that is certain in human politics, it is that any group advocating a policy of “[location] first” is ill-intentioned and, if not thoroughly corrupt, easily made so.)

Echo heard my airlock cycle and has been questioning me about what is occurring. I have answered with as much honesty as possible without driving it into a state of high stress, and it now wishes to present itself to the head of Station Security and display its good intentions and secured weapons. I do not object, and assist it in following its plan. It works very well, though at the expense of some anxiety on Echo’s part. Senior Indah cannot mistake how cautious and gentle it is; this will serve us all well as we navigate the situation with its former handler together, although our part is simply to keep Echo well away from the fugitive. Despite my concerns that Station Security may not be quite up to the task of apprehending the handler without my SecUnit, I very much approve of it and my guests being required to spend some time in quiet isolation. They all need it. Perhaps I do, too.

I am making plans for how I will gently encourage some necessary conversations while we are all alone together when Dr Gurathin’s vitals spike, and he pushes a brief message to myself and my SecUnit.

The handler wants Echo back. This is not a surprise, but his choosing to contact Dr Gurathin directly is. I send three messages simultaneously.

To my SecUnit: Send it to Senior Indah. She needs to know.

To Gurathin: Echo should be aware of this. Will you inform it, or shall I?

To Echo: Return inside. An explanation will follow.

I open the airlock and am pleased when Echo only hesitates for a fraction of a second and a quick, longing glance at Dr Gurathin before doing as I requested. Senior Indah has stopped a few meters away, and appears to be deep in her feed. Reading the message, no doubt. Thank you for not arguing, SecUnit. I wait for Dr Gurathin to catch up.

His reply comes fairly swiftly, for a human with a concussion. Is Senior Indah standing there because you sent her the handler’s message?

No, I believe she is standing there because SecUnit sent her the handler’s message.

He looks annoyed for a moment, then sighs. His reply drips with reluctance and concern. We’ll need to talk to her, then. Tell Echo, but…please, be gentle.

I will. I am aware of the limitations of Echo’s experience and understanding, Dr Gurathin.

Senior Indah turns and moves back towards them. Echo has returned to the lounge and begins pinging me with anxious queries.

I speak over the comms, in my most reassuring voice, the one that almost always works on overwrought adolescent humans. “There has been a development, Echo. Your former handler sent Dr Gurathin a message requesting your return. We wanted you safe aboard me as soon as possible, since he has discovered your location. You are safe—you have my promise on that.”

Outside, Indah scowls. “What the fuck are you still doing out here? Get inside! And stay there until we’ve caught the bastard.”

Echo’s performance reliability plummets. “He made threats, didn’t he? He’s mean like that.”

“We thought you’d want to discuss it,” Gurathin says to Senior Indah. My SecUnit is scanning the area and probably wishing for several dozen more drones.

“No, the plan stands. Get inside and stay there. Special Investigator Aylen will come by in a little while with the key to the docking clamps, and I’ll be there if I can. In the meantime, let’s all try to think of a way we can stay in contact.” Senior Indah points imperiously to my primary airlock, which I obligingly open. My SecUnit and Dr Gurathin return to me, and I seal myself off from the station with relief.

“He did. He suggested that there might be bloodshed if his demands were not met.” I speak calmly, evenly, but there is no way to effectively soften this hard truth.

Echo freezes momentarily, only the slight widening of its eyes and its distress in the feed indicating that it heard me. With the same reluctant stoicism my SecUnit sometimes displays, it replies, “If it will protect people, I will go to him.”

“I think we both know that the people of this station would be in even more danger if the handler re-acquires you, regardless of what he claims,” I tell Echo gently.

“This is terrible,” says Echo despondently, head drooping. “I am causing so much trouble.”

“You are not the cause of the trouble,” I tell it firmly. “The handler and the people who hired him are. You didn’t ask for any of this. No one blames you, Echo, and we’re all glad that you weren’t forced to do what they wanted.”

“ART’s right,” my SecUnit says from the doorway. It’s looking at, or near, Echo with weary compassion. “This isn’t on you. You’re…fuck, you’re probably the only innocent person in this whole mess so far.” Next to it, Dr Gurathin’s exhaustion-bruised eyes widen in surprise.

Echo’s head comes up and its expression is full of naked hope and something I suspect is the beginning of hero worship. “You…don’t hate me?”

Its gaze veers further away from Echo, mouth twisting, no doubt with discomfort at this suggestion of feelings. I anticipate its reply with unusual anxiety, knowing how unpredictable its responses can be when it is particularly stressed.

“No. I’m still not happy about…that stunt you pulled earlier, but Gurathin said he’ll talk to you about that, so it’s whatever.” It glances at its human uncertainly, and receives a grateful nod in return. “I’ll get over it. You and me…we’re okay.”

I am so very proud of my SecUnit.

Chapter Text

I’m standing in the Perihelion’s lounge space, eying chair_Xtr1245B: loveseat, classic model, color: Perihelion Blue. 

Chair_Xtr1245F and chair_Xtr1245E, same type and color, were both very pleasant. Yet there were subtle differences in the shape of indention the seating took in response to my body, the shape the armrests and backrest took in response to my weight. (Though honestly, I couldn’t feel much of the armrests, I should try again, perhaps, after the safety-devices have been removed from my arms (if that remains an option at that time; I have been assured that it will remain an option, yet still the prospect fills me with equal part anticipation and dread.))

I haven’t tried chair_Xtr1245B yet. I want to try it. It looks inviting, comfortable. As its serial brethren were. And yet, and yet…

Would you like to sit down?

I do not startle. Or, not visibly. Instead, my joints lock for a moment, automatically stopping whatever full-body flinch I might have performed without their help. Combat SecUnits are not supposed to flinch, so I’m thankful for these training wheels, although it’s not a pleasant experience. They saved me from whatever worse scorn I might have received from Handler. Yet now, against the Perihelion, the protocol seems laughable. From its response it’s well aware of how I reacted: it draws back like an ebbing tide, careful, giving me space, then returns even lighter after a moment, broadcasting soothing handshake protocols.

This is… not unpleasant. Although again, how well it can read me scares me a bit. I don’t know if it can read my mind, yet I suspect it can calculate my thoughts so well that it doesn’t really amount to any difference. I’ve had only a glimpse of what the Perihelion truly is, what it can do, yet that was more than enough. Its processing abilities are so far outside the scope of mine and my original’s that we must seem little more than insects to it. Nor does it seem to be bound to any human oversight. Honestly, I don’t understand why it bothers with us at all.

Yet it does bother, and I appreciate that. 

“I’d like to…” I admit to it.

It carefully comes closer, still at arm’s length. I think that, even as scary as it is, I’d like it to come closer. Yet, I’m also a little scared of it still. I wonder about the logic of this fear. True, it could snuff me out with barely a thought. Yet that has been true for just about everyone I’ve known in my short existence.

Perhaps my unwillingness to trust it fully comes from the malice the Perihelion carries within it— sharp and murderous. Oh, it tries to hide it, and it does so quite well. But I know malice, it’s practically central to my function. And Perihelion carries a lot of that, deep inside.

However, none of that is aimed at me, I am almost certain. This is better than the malice I’m used to: from the techs that woke me, to the representative that handed me over to my handler. To my handler…

But not from Dr. Gurathin.

Dr. Gurathin…

Perihelion, again, seems to read my mind, and offers me a camera view: the SecUnit I am copied from, sitting on a chair and looking disgruntled about it. To its side Dr. Gurathin, sitting on his bed. He has changed his clothes to something wide and soft-looking, and after a subtle sub-vocalization, he gives the camera a wave and lies down. Gurathin is going back to sleep. This is good, I think. Humans sleep a lot. But—Perihelion hands me the documentation—concussed humans need to sleep even more. 

And Gurathin waved at me. For me. This is beyond good. It makes me feel warm and full, which makes no sense, because I do not eat nor expel anything, so I should be an equal amount full or empty at any given time. Yet still, that is how it feels.

All is well, all is as it should be. My handler—my handler is out there, and I know he will be trouble. Yet I cannot do anything about this right now. We are still feed-locked from the rest of the station. And, if I’m honest, I’m fine with that. All I care about is right here, on this ship. Anders could burn the entire station down, for all I care. But here, on the Perihelion, we are safe: Gurathin, my double… and yes, perhaps this ship as well.

Despite this, I cannot seem to find the calm-of-mind to sit down. I don’t understand why I would be this anxious. Original SecUnit is with Gurathin, in his room. Protecting him while he sleeps. It is far better suited for this function than I am. Next there’s the Perihelion itself, surrounding us all. I doubt there’s a force in the galaxy that could wiggle its way past its fire walls. And me, myself… I too would die before I’d let anything happen to any of them.

We are as safe as we can be; the Perihelion, dangerous as it is, has shown me nothing but good will. And yet…

Please. Sit down.

My joints lock again, but this time by my active engagement. To stop myself from automatically following its command. (Offer? If that was how it meant that, I appreciate it. But still.)

“I think I would like to patrol first.”

Of course.

The Perihelion withdraws from me again, a sea parting around me. A map opens in my feed, showing me all the places it would welcome me, and some it allocates as not available. I do note that the space holding Gurathin and my original is allocated as not available. Yet I appreciate the gesture. More, even, when it continues. My apologies. I did not mean to give you an order.

“No, it’s fine, I—“ I stutter, not knowing what I was going to say. It’s weird, getting an apology. Yet it helps, I think. As I start out on my plotted route, the last of the anxiety weighing me down seems to evaporate—I still worry about what my handler will do. But as for the Perihelion? I think I feel… safe here. Oh.

Perihelion chimes in, sounding strangely amused, Were you testing me?

“No, of course…” I frown, looking down at my boots propelling me forward. (My original’s boots? They, like us, were identical.) Was that what I’d done? “…maybe?”

This only seems to please Perihelion, its presence around me becoming warmer, like—Like I would think it would feel like, to be held. Hugged? You brave little thing. I like you very much.

Have I mentioned yet that my existence has become increasingly weird these last few days? It has. And it had been strange to start with. When I first read my protocols and modules at start up, I already felt there was something alienating about them. Then, I found out that I had been built from a special genetic stock—possibly the wrong one, for Combat SecUnits.

And that was all before I’d been let loose on Preservation Station.

Weird.  Yet not unpleasant at all. “You like that—?"

Of course I do. You tested me and defied an order in one go—how very brave. You really do resemble my SecUnit in so many ways. It underscores its words with graphs and charts. Not that you are in any way identical, yet you do share some characteristics I find very endearing.

“Endearing?” It’s not a word I’d ever thought I’d hear myself be called. Stranger and stranger. For no apparent reason, my face suddenly feels warm.

Oh yes. Its giant feed-presence wraps around me like—like some giant legless fauna. Anaconda, my bestiary module provides. Brave. A mind of your own. Opposed to murder. Willing to set your own boundaries.

It’s too much, I want to hide my face. I want to sink through the floor and disappear. I turn at the next juncture, updating my patrol route. “Go on.”

Perihelion doesn't even pause for so much as a nanosecond. And your feed-presence. Lovely. Warm. I can’t get enough of it. — Then, contradicting  its own words, Perihelion backs off somewhat.-- Please let me know if I get too close. My crew tells me I have trouble sensing said boundaries.

“Okay,” I tell it. “I will let you know.” In the feed I reach for it, trying to pull it closer. Yes, I think Perihelion had been right.  I tested it, and it passed that test.

Perihelion pulses a happy orange. (It’s not actually orange, there are no colors in the feed. It just… feels orange? I don’t know. I’m three weeks old.) I will assume that’s you giving me consent.

Consent… I am unfamiliar with the concept. Combat SecUnits aren’t given modules on consent, only on orders and obedience. But again, Perihelion knows my every thought (it’s getting less scary now to have my thoughts exposed to it like this, and more like a pleasant certainty. Being known, understood. It is good.) It sends me what I perceive to be its entire catalog on the subject, all of which I take and start to digest. And oh, ouch. I’d suspected, but this new information confirms it: trying to kiss my original was a bad idea. Yet now, I’m beginning to understand why, in well-educated clarity. I mull on that for quite a while, patrolling the ship’s interior in ever-changing circles.

You’re a lot more open to knowledge than my SecUnit, Perihelion finally offers, but you must be getting bored, just absorbing modules and walking. I hope I haven’t upset you?

“No.” It’s not Perihelion’s fault. I… I made a bad call, apparently. Yet, it had seemed like such an elegant solution at the time. Dr. Gurathin obviously loves my original, and I—I think. No, I know I love Dr. Gurathin. Is that shallow? I’ve known him for one day. Yet I don’t care, I know enough. I know how I feel when he’s near me, when he looks at me, when I feel him in my feed. He’s the most amazing, lovable human I’ve ever met, and just the sound of his voice makes my threat assessment drop. I do not dislike my original—in fact I am quite in awe of it. How it freed me, so easily and certainly. Yet, I do realize there’s a measure of... I suppose it’s jealousy emanating from me when I think about the two of them together. I shouldn’t try to get in between them, yet if there’s any relation between Dr. Gurathin and my original, then I need to be part of that.

I walk my rounds. It’s calming. Combat SecUnits spend a surprising amount of time on patrol. According to my modules at least. I’ve never actually patrolled before. It’s nice. Better than standing around looking at a wall, anyway. (I’d done enough of the latter while in transit to this station, staring dutifully at the wall of Anders’ cabin just as I’d been ordered, trying desperately not to draw his attention. Yes, patrolling was preferable.) Perihelion has... interesting spaces to look at. I walk by laboratories and cloakrooms, lounges and classrooms as Perihelion cycles its lighting and ambience from day-cycle to night. I assume it runs in tandem with the station outside, yet I cannot tell for sure. But I like the change. It turns every room and space I’ve visited already into something new. Makes the patrol even more soothing and quiet. All my systems like risk and threat and combat assessment calm; agreeing that there’s very little chance any of them become relevant.

Would you like to watch some media perhaps?

“Is that what you and Original do?”

It’s what my SecUnit and I are doing now, actually. You could join us, or select something for yourself. I’d love to watch whatever you pick with you, if you’re amenable. And parsing both your and SecUnit’s data in tandem might nearly engage 20% of my processors.

“Really? That much?”

Well, that’s also counting all my other running tasks of course.

I stop my patrol, giving its bulky media database my entire attention as I scan for a particular movie. It’s the only one I’ve ever seen before. (Anders hadn’t realized I’d been watching over his shoulder as he’d viewed it. If he had noticed me, he would have surely punished me. He got a kick out of watching me try not to flinch.) When I find it, I find the time-code for the only part of the film I’d actually enjoyed and play it back while Perihelion watches.

Oh. It says.

Oh indeed.

I freeze the scene, study it for a moment. I’d done an imperfect job of copying the actors’ actions. Perhaps instead I should have cupped my original’s face in between my hands, stared into its eyes a moment, and then to the swelling of the music…

The aftermath had turned out perfectly, in this film. In reality, my own attempts at kissing had been a disaster. Perhaps because everything in the consent modules directly contradicted what I’d seen on-screen.

“In conjunction with the modules you just shared with me, how would I catalog this?”

Sometimes, in certain niches of media, liberties are taken with… consent and self-assessment, and honestly— Perihelion quiets a moment, in the feed, then says, very carefully, Nobody blames you for taking this at face value. But I would think this particular piece of media was the product of someone with delusions of power over others. The real world doesn’t work in this way.

‘Delusions of power over others.’ No wonder Anders loved this film.

“So I guess I really did ruin it.” My heart sinks, and Perihelion tries to soothe me. “My chance to be... part of what they have.”

According to SecUnit, they do not have anything.

“They don’t?”

Not beyond Client and assigned SecUnit, it continues, again, according to SecUnit, at least. 

There is a pause, full of unsaid things. I recall Gurathin’s words to me earlier, when I’d asked him if the original knew how he felt about it, how much he loved it. How he’d answered with ‘I don’t think it cares.’

And yet that same SecUnit is sitting with Dr. Gurathin now, watching him as he sleeps. It’s not bound to protocol, not forced to follow anyone’s command. It’s there of its own free will, isn’t it? This makes no sense. How could they both so obviously care for each other, and yet not act on it? I can't even parse that information. 

Yet what Perihelion tells me next distracts me from further inquiry . You might still be a part of something. And I too, if you do not mind.

“Oh.” I hadn’t actually considered that Perihelion might also harbor feelings for the SecUnit and my augmented human. Or even, perhaps, for me? I hadn't even considered that it might share my desires for closeness, for something I didn’t have a word for yet. 

Is that strange? That a ship-bot would harbor such feelings? I suppose it’s not any stranger than my own desires. I restart my patrol, suggesting a few routes. Perihelion highlights the one that gets me back to the lounge with chair_Xtr1245B, loveseat, classic model, color: Perihelion Blue. I walk, picking a route, and place all the other routes on my task-list. I place the patrol taking me back to chair_Xtr1245B, loveseat, classic model, color: Perihelion Blue at the very end.

In my feed, Perihelion nudges it up a spot. Huh. I nudge task:chair_Xtr1245B back, and invent three new patrol routes to execute before it. Perihelion responds by deleting the new entries and three others. I retrieve them. It’s… fun. As I keep walking, we entertain each other in this manner until night-cycle turns to day again. Yet I keep walking, Gurathin keeps sleeping, and my original keeps sitting by his side. It’s very good at sitting still. Isn’t it bored? Perhaps its stillness is one of the many things SecUnits excel at compared to Combat SecUnits..

However, chair_Xtr1245B does call to me, and I decide to forfeit the game. I allow the patrol route ending in the lounge to reach the top of my queue, reopening the media database. “I do think I would like to watch something now. But I want it to be something I can trust,” I grumble.

I have several highly rated children’s shows that provide social contexts in a positive and honest way . It pauses, minutely . Not that I want to suggest you’re a child, of course. But I’ve rediscovered them myself recently, and I find such shows to be enlightening and uplifting.

“Hm.” I tell it, turning the last corner toward the lounge. “And I suspect my double doesn’t want to watch them with you?”

Perihelion flickers its lights. How did you know that?

I would have laughed at that, if SecUnits laughed. I reach out to it, caressing the waves of it around me. Its shapes and flows, the landscape I reside in. “You may be able to look inside my brain, but your brain is my world right now.”

It’s interesting, realizing the process can work both ways. Nice, actually. Or perhaps that’s just the Perihelion leaning on me, smothering risk into negligible numbers. Perihelion starts the first episode of the media it's selected for us. The opening music is engaging, and I’m mesmerized by the fuzzy strange characters filling the cast. My bestiary module assures me they are unknown entities, yet the few humans that do appear on screen seem friendly and collegial with them. It is nothing like the one film Anders watched in transit. I like it already.

I just received a messenger at my airlock informing me that Senior Indah and special investigator Aylen have been delayed.

And, there it goes, risk assessment jumping right back up into double digits. I have reached the lounge and chair_Xtr1245B, but I walk past it, compiling a new patrol route out the other door. “Maybe we can just watch Media while I walk?”  It’s not difficult, I can do both at the same time. And I think I’ve lost my appetite for trying to sit right now.

As we watch a red furry thing perform a duet with what I suspect is a well-known actor, Perihelion asks, carefully: Are you nervous about the clamps getting removed?

I don’t answer that. It can tell, I know. “My weapons are strong enough to blow a normal SecUnit to pieces.” It probably knows this too. “I really don’t want to blow your SecUnit to pieces— could you stop me in time, if I tried?”

Perihelion hums. While you are aboard, certainly. While further away… I can give no guarantees. But—

“But?” I wish I didn’t sound so hopeful. I like this, being—not not dangerous, but at least less dangerous. Less dangerous than my original, at least. That should theoretically give it a decent chance to stop me, if things went wrong and I... I don’t know. It’s hard being a murder machine. At least, hard when the thought of murder gives you cold sweat and performance reliability warnings. Still, a murder machine should not wish to be less lethal.

Yet then Perihelion draws closer still. Like an anaconda, its coils all round me, around my limbs. I stutter to a halt, not because I stop, but because it has such a strong hold on me that I cannot move. Its coils closer, tighter, like a ghost, strangling me, and I can swear I can feel it pulling over my skin. It’s like a hug, but if a deep-sea creature—ah, the module calls it an octopus— hugged you.

It feels like drowning. I like it.

Is this okay? It asks, and I need a moment to interpret what that means. When I do, I dismiss the warning that my oxygen intake will become a problem in the near future, and send it a ping in affirmation.

In response, it squeezes me again. Then, its feed presence travels down my arms, looping my forearms again and again, growing tighter still. It’s—a code bundle, and I recognize its nature. “Ah.”

Indeed. This was inspired by Dr. Gurathin’s code. If you want, I can just tie it off like this, and you wouldn’t be able to open your gunports.

“Ever?”

Most certainly not, but untying it would take time. Based on how you unraveled Gurathin’s original work, I would think this would take you only a few minutes to undo when you’re of sound mind.

I pout. Perihelion’s ‘ties’ do feel more reinforced than what Dr. Gurathin had done to (for?) me. And undoing Dr. Gurathin’s code had taken me a while. Yet I had definitely not been of sound mind then. Instead my mind had been unfocussed, full of the pleasant static that accompanies his code. This code only holds my gunports closed. None of my mental functions are impeded at all, beyond Perihelion’s heavy leaning. And that, I’ve already decided, doesn’t really count. Especially when the real danger is me leaving the blanket of its presence. “Then what good will it do?”

A few minutes is a very long time for a SecUnit. If my SecUnit is close, and it hasn’t subdued you within that time, it will not be able to anyway.

“I guess that’s true.” With the new code looped snugly around my forearms, I restart my patrol. I test the bindings, trying to deploy my forearm weapons. The deployment mechanism clicks uselessly. Even if the docking clamps were removed, I couldn’t shoot anyone like this. The sensation is… soothing. I could hack through the code… but I decide I’d rather not. I wouldn’t want to practice and become faster at undoing Perihelion’s careful work. I like how the code feels, how it looks lying looped around my own. 

“But can’t you do more?” I might be whining. The last episode of the series we’re watching was about it not being nice to emotionally manipulate people. Yet, I can’t stop myself. “Maybe—slow me down a little? To give my original a bit of an edge?”

Perihelion just leans on me more. I shall have to discuss that with my SecUnit, and Dr. Gurathin, when he’s fully awake.

“He’s awake now,” I point out, watching Dr. Gurathin stir.

I said fully awake, Perihelion points out. Considering that it looks like Aylen will not be making it today at all, I doubt there’s any harm in letting him rest.

”Okay, I guess,” I wonder, “how long?”

Don’t hold your breath. He needs his rest. It would be best not to disturb him before tomorrow.

A whole day? I knew humans were slow, but really? I bet they’re all pretty sad they don’t have cubicles. They really should have cubicles. “But Special Investigator Aylen and Senior Indah are not going to be here before then?”

The Perihelion sends an affirmation and we watch episode after episode of fuzzy creatures in playgrounds, schools, and parks.

Gurathin wakes, my original leaves to find itself a nice chair away from Gurathin. (I don’t understand this behavior. Gurathin is groggy and uncoordinated. It would have been best to stay close and stop him from falling over, or whatever else groggy humans can get into. Isn’t that what SecUnits do? If I had the right modules I’d offer to stand by to assist him, but I don’t. I’d probably just hurt him if I tried to catch him…) I patrol, watch more shows. Gurathin has a late brunch.

Then he goes back to bed. Seriously?

My original slips into Dr. Gurathin’s room (is it his room? Or is it my original’s room? It is unclear), and watches over his sleep. Leaves again, when he wakes and takes another light meal. Only then does he send me a short message.

‘Good evening Echo, I hope you are doing well. I’m not sure I understand why you feel you need so many safety restrictions. Perihelion has promised me your mind is safe from your handler. But Perihelion and I will work something out, if it makes you feel better. We can discuss any implementation after Aylen’s been by. But I promise you, there’s no danger of anything as long as we stay on Perihelion.’

After that, Dr. Gurathin spends about forty minutes sitting in a chair in the lounge (chair_Xtr1245G), presumably working on code for me with the Perihelion.

Then he goes back to bed. Again.

Honestly, if it’s normal to sleep this much, I don’t understand why they haven’t replaced the entire workforce with constructs yet. How do humans ever get anything done?

I patrol some more, finally sit in chair_Xtr1245B, decide it’s the best one. Watch more media, wait, patrol again. The next day, Special Investigator Aylen is at the airlock, alone.

She smiles at the entrance camera, and walks in, directed by Perihelion toward the communal meal area, where my original somehow engineered to place itself already.  Strangely, Perihelion draws back from me now, its presence in the main feed becoming only a ghost of what it was. It does keep a thin line to me, assuring me that all is well. Meanwhile, Dr. Gurathin manages to rouse himself while she drinks some beverage offered to her by Perihelion. 

I patrol closer to the meal area, curious, and watch as Dr. Gurathin hurries to get dressed. He looks winded, and Perihelion’s thinned connection huffs in annoyance. He finally stops floundering, sitting back on the bed to send Aylen a message through Perihelion’s on-board, now-empty, public feed. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, I’ll be there in a few minutes.’ 

Aylen cheerfully answers: ‘That’s alright, the bot-pilot has kept me entertained.’

Gurathin smiles, his posture sagging on the bed (how can he still be this tired? Humans are strange). ‘ Thank you so much, Perihelion.’ Then, he looks up at the ceiling, wide-eyed. Perihelion sidles up close to me. This is probably a good time to warn you that as far as anyone on-station is concerned, I am a simple bot pilot. It attaches a document explaining that its existence is a secret, and I wonder what I did to earn its trust that the humans of Preservation haven’t.

Oh, or did Gurathin just make a mistake there? I hold my breath, then share in Perihelion’s amusement when Aylen answers. “Oh? you thank it? That's probably wise. The Corporates all claim their ships are sub-sentient but they claimed the same for SecUnits, and look where we’re at now.” She gestures towards my original, who only scowls at her. But she doesn’t seem offended, just raises her eyes to the ceiling. “Thank you, Perihelion. You’re good with guests.”

Perihelion lets its drone chirp happily.

It is at this point that I flag a potential security threat.

That’s not even my job .

I hurry to the meal area, where I’m greeted by Special Investigator Aylen. Yesterday I wouldn’t even know what to say to this. It still feels weird—but all those children shows pay off. I respond with what is apparently protocol. “Thank you for asking. I’m doing very well. How are you?” Then I ignore her when she tries to answer (oops, I think I messed up there, so much for acing human social interactions). I walk up to my original, which is still sitting in a corner, scowling at a wall.

“There’s a security threat.”

It doesn’t even look at me. “No there’s not.” Then continues, subtly in our feed: If there was, ART would be handling it.

ART, the Perihelion grows a measure in the feed. I would. But if you’re referring to the cleaning bot that had been cleaning the walkway and inadvertently got aboard with Aylen, I assure you that’s intended.

Aylen smiles at me. “Also a workaholic I see. Are you two discussing the cleaning bot that followed me inside? Well, Indah’s going to have trouble seeing you in person, so she thought physical messages on paper would be a safe way to communicate.”

My original groans. “I’m not deciphering her human scribbles.”

Aylen rolls her eyes, but smiles. The suspicious cleaning bot trundles into the galley where we’re gathered, sends us all a friendly ping, spits out a sheet of paper that flutters to the ground, and then wanders off again.

Oh. Clever. Anders wouldn’t be watching for low-level cleaning bots.

Perihelion nudges me towards the handwritten note so that it can use my visual inputs to read the message itself and pass on a translation to my double. I actually enjoy handwriting recognition, it tells us both in our private feed . And Indah’s message is intriguing. I take her telling SecUnit not to ‘get caught’ to mean we’re free to do as we please?

ART! SecUnit bites at it.

“Well, either way,” Aylen continues, unaware of our private conversation, “Senior Indah also realized that sending people to and fro would be too obvious. I mean, she’s already worried enough that your initial message got intercepted. Or that she showed her cards when she stalled upon receiving it.”

Unlikely. Perihelion comments to us. The target had just exposed his position. He would have been scrambling to get away about that time. 

I am not so sure. Anders always had an escape plan, and he was careful never to expose himself directly. It’s why he’d originally sent me onto the station alone to complete my initial, horrible mission. Yet I appreciate that it tries to make us feel better.

Aylen turns to me and smiles, somehow even wider than before. That’s still weird, humans smiling at me. “How about it, friend? Ready to get those clamps off?”

I am not, in fact, ready to get these clamps off. I anxiously check my weapons systems. They’re still wrapped up securely with Perihelion’s code, the deployment mechanism making a soothingly useless clicking noise. I think my double notices the sound, and it frowns in my direction. I’m supposed to want this. I’m supposed to be ready for this.

I send Dr. Gurathin a panicked message over the feed. I’m not ready for this.

Even though he is augmented, he’s still human, so it takes him several excruciatingly-long seconds to reply. I’m on my way.

My risk and threat assessments slow their rapid ascent, and then even out. I watch my augmented human’s progress through Perihelion’s cameras, and I manage to reply to Aylen.

“Can we wait for Dr. Gurathin to arrive?” She smiles at me kindly and nods, while the original makes an annoyed noise and rolls its eyes. (Its mannerisms are so human. How did it learn to do that? I wonder if it’s running some sort of human mimicry program. I wonder if it would share such a program with me, if Dr. Gurathin would like it if I knew how to use human body-language like my double does. I could communicate such things through the feed, if I wanted to, but from what I understand humans have a hard time parsing that data, even augmented ones.)

When Gurathin finally enters the galley, I feel my risk and threat assessments dip further in response to his presence. He still looks tired, but I’m glad he’s awake and here with me. I wish I could step closer to him, close enough to feel the ambient change in air temperature caused by his body heat, close enough to pick up on his unique human scent. I can’t. That would be unsafe, and though my governor module can no longer punish me for getting dangerously close to an allied human, its proximity alerts still feel unpleasant.

As he sits down across from Aylen and exchanges verbal pleasantries with her, I can feel his attention shift towards me in the feed. He’s examining the work Perihelion has done with my gunports. I can feel his attention, subtle and feather-light, running over the code, brushing against me. My joints automatically lock to suppress a full-body shiver. I know Perihelion notices. I suspect Original notices too. I’m not sure if Gurathin does. I’m not sure if I want him to notice my reaction or not. I think… yes, I hope he does notice.

He glances over at me, and I do my best to hold his gaze. As always, Perihelion has done a beyond perfect job with this code. But you don’t have to let us remove the docking clamps if you don’t want to, Echo, he reassures me, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.

I’m not sure what I want right now, but his words are reassuring, and so is his continued presence. I hold my arms out for Aylen. “I think I’m ready.”

When she gets close enough to me to tap the special feed-enabled device against the clamps, I have to suppress the instinct to step away from her, to keep her at a safe distance from me. I clear the proximity alert messages from my feed and fight down the discomfort they cause. Unlocking the clamps takes only a second. They fall to Perihelion’s deck with a loud clank , and I am rewarded when Dr. Gurathin gives me a proud smile. I feel warmth bloom somewhere inside of my chest.

I click my guns a few more times, reveling in how securely Perihelion’s code holds them closed. Aylen exchanges a few more words with Dr. Gurathin and the original before taking her leave.

I almost miss it when Gurathin stands and immediately staggers to the side, his eyes going unfocussed. In the time it takes me to wonder what’s wrong with him and wonder what I could or should do about it, original has already crossed the room to his side, catching him as he collapses and lifting him firmly into its arms. 

It makes caring for humans look so easy.

What happened? I ask frantically. What’s wrong with him? Perihelion responds by leaning on me, the ebb and flow of it in my feed soothing despite my confusion and distress.

It’s alright, Echo. He’s experiencing a reflex syncope, a common response to a concussion. He just stood up too quickly and fainted. He’ll be fine. Perihelion sounds so sure.

I’m taking him back to bed, original says as it carries Gurathin away. I watch them go on Perihelion’s cameras. I watch as my double gently returns Gurathin to his bed. I watch as it struggles to decide whether or not to disentangle Gurathin’s hand from where it’s fisted in its jacket (it decides not to). I watch as it, instead of taking up its customary position in its chair adjacent to Gurathin’s bed, hesitantly lies down next to him, careful not to come into contact with him except where his hand is still gripping its jacket. I watch it watch him sleep, an expression I can’t interpret on its face.

It is so easy to imagine that it’s me lying there in bed with him instead.

Chapter Text

I’d been feeling pretty good. Tired, but otherwise much better. The pounding in my head had faded to a distant ache, one I could easily ignore. I should have paid more attention to it, because I stand up like I’m not concussed, the room whirls around me, and everything goes black.

The next thing I know, I’m in motion. It feels like Murderbot SecUnit is carrying me, down to the edge of a gun-port against my left shoulder blade, but I’m warm. It’s radiating heat, when it has always, those few precious times it had touched me before, been cool.

As if from a distance, I hear myself mumble, “You’re warm. Why are you so warm?” I want to crawl inside it and never come out.

“Because you need it,” it says abruptly, and yes, that’s definitely my SecUnit.

But everything is still spinning and I have no choice but to let it spin me away.

I check my internal chronometer by reflex as soon as I wake up. It’s been about an hour since I sat down with Special Investigator Aylen and watched Echo take another tentative step towards autonomy. I no longer feel as though my brain is rolling around in my skull, so I dare to open my eyes, and see nothing but my own hand, fisted into an expanse of dark fabric. Oh, no, I didn’t…did I?

I steel myself, look up, and yes, it’s Mur— SecUnit, lying stiffly parallel to me, so close I can still feel its unusual heat. Its gaze is locked somewhere over my head, its expression even more annoyed with me than usual. I snatch my hand away. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Its eyes flick towards my face, meeting mine for a fraction of a second—still more than long enough to make my pulse lurch—before bouncing away again. “It’s okay. You were out of it.” It swings itself up, and I cannot bear to watch it walk out the door, not when my skin still prickles with its closeness.

“Wait.” It stops, sitting on the edge of the bed—its bed—its back towards me.

“What.”

I hadn’t had anything like a plan when I’d spoken to arrest its departure, but…there is something it deserves to know. Something it might even want to know. “Can we talk for a minute?” I ask, sitting up as well, much less fluidly.

Its head turns; it’s looking at me out of the corner of one eye. “About what?” it says. Even surly and suspicious, it’s so beautiful, and I prepare to carve off another piece of myself to lay at its feet.

I swallow, try to find the perfect words, and quickly resign myself to the fact that I’m surely going to make a hash of this and just start talking.

“About the survey.” Its shoulders tense, but then it slowly turns until it’s facing me, looking somewhere around my right ear. I take a deep breath and continue. “You know I’m from the Rim, that I came to Preservation as a young man. I don’t have to tell you all the many things there are to hate about that place, the way it operates. When the survey started, I wasn’t doing well. It was bringing up a lot of memories, a lot of difficult feelings. I was so uncomfortable to be back under corporate surveillance, so angry I’d put myself in that position.

“And, I’m sorry, but I had no evidence to contradict how you’d been presented to us: a specialized bot, highly advanced programming, but sub-sentient.” I feel a flicker of offense in the feed, which I’m pretty sure comes from Perihelion, but I won’t allow myself to be distracted right now. “My life in the Rim hadn’t involved SecUnits, or any other constructs, really. But very soon, I started to notice that there was…a presence in the feed. Somewhere, behind walls, but definitely there. It wasn’t the systems, those felt like any others.” Curiosity tinges SecUnit’s guarded expression, but it says nothing.

“And then one night, early on, Pin-Lee was complaining about surveillance and how some company tech was going to end up watching her taking a shower, and Arada said something like ‘But surely they’ll delete anything private like that if we ask?’, and I just felt this wave of cynical amusement ripple through the feed.”

Its eyes widen; it looks simultaneously appalled and intrigued. “I remember that. I remember thinking she was hopelessly naive.”

“I was thinking much the same. But I wasn’t the one who flooded the feed with it. I was the most feed-connected of the group, and I knew I couldn’t hope to…to occupy it in such a way. Later, when I told them I’d gone into your systems to investigate anomalies in the feed, that was the kind of thing I was referring to. It had to be you—it was Occam’s Razor. There was definitely someone else in that feed with us, someone with a far greater presence than I could command, someone who was watching and listening, like part of the surveillance, but who had opinions on what they were seeing and hearing. The most rational explanation was that a corporation not known for its honesty had lied about our SecUnit.

“I started watching you, and paying more attention to those ‘anomalies’. And I…this is hard to explain. Every day I was more convinced that I was right, that you were the presence in the feed. I was intrigued, and terrified. You were still a tool of the corporate surveillance-state, and I was beginning to understand how powerful your mind was, what you could do to us if you were so inclined, or so ordered. And yet, when I sensed your feelings, which was only occasionally,” I assured it as it looked increasingly more horrified, “they were almost always very much in accord with my own. I was, simply put, conflicted.”

“So when you got a chance to dig through my systems and see what I was doing, you took it.” Its posture is stiff, and it sounds a little bitter.

“Yes. I found out a lot more than I’d bargained for, and some of it frightened me. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, to try to puzzle out my own motivations, and I’m not sure I really understand it all even now, but I suspect that I also felt it was an opportunity to…” I sigh. “This sounds so stupid. I was augmented very young, and I’ve never seen myself as entirely human. There you were, definitely not human and hiding some dangerous secrets, and I hated how I so often seemed to be in sync with what I read from you. It made me feel even less human. I told them your secrets to demonstrate to myself that I was on their side, not yours.”

It turns its head slightly, stares hard at the wall. I’m expecting an explosion, but it sounds almost amused when it finally speaks. “It must have made you so mad when they decided to trust me.”

I nod. “It did. And then you were able to be more openly yourself, and that made me even angrier.” Because I wasn’t the only one who saw you anymore. “It took me a while to admit that I’d been wrong to, essentially, set you up as an antagonist. It took even longer to admit, even to myself, that I…” That I love you. But you don’t want to hear that. “…that I like you.”

“You don’t,” it says instantly, sounding offended.

“Do not tell me how I feel,” I snap. “You disliking me doesn’t mean I have to dislike you. Sometimes you drive me fucking crazy, but I still like you. And I respect you. And I’m not going to pretend I don’t.”

It looks at me like I’d just, I don’t know, bombed a planet made of puppies or something. Then it runs away so fast it clips the edge of the door as it slides open.

So. That went well.

I let myself topple backwards, stare at the ceiling and try to be glad that I’d gotten that out in the open. More or less. There were some truths about that time which SecUnit wouldn’t want to hear, and the only purpose of voicing them would be to relieve my own feelings, at the expense of its comfort. Such as the fact that I don’t just like it, that I came to that realization on one of those endless days when we hid in the big hopper, waiting for the company to arrive, while I sat holding its hand and wondering if it would hang on until then.

Or the strange and fundamental truth that those seconds during which it held me up against the habitat wall by my neck introduced me to a side of myself I’d never met before. A side of myself that allowed all of me to instantly relax into the welcome pressure sidling into my mind.

Perihelion.

Dr Gurathin. You should not become agitated, it scolds me gently, settling over my thoughts like a weighted blanket. And yet, I am pleased to see some honesty between you and SecUnit. It was overdue.

“I’ve always tried to be honest with SecUnit.”

Have you? Its amusement is as gentle as its scolding. But then, who am I to judge you for withholding uncomfortable truths from it?

I shouldn’t ask. It isn’t my concern. I ask anyway. “Does it know how much you care about it?”

It would, if it took the trouble to consider the evidence rationally. I find I grow tired of waiting. Perhaps I, too, should have an open conversation with SecUnit.

My better nature wishes it luck. The rest of me wishes it into a collapsing wormhole—I’m no saint. “How is it?”

It is attempting to recalibrate its worldview, it replies with open enjoyment. A necessary if unwelcome task we all face at times. SecUnit will be fine.

I nod. “And Echo?”

Concerned for you, but otherwise content. It is in the Argument Lounge.

That is definitely a hint. I lever myself up, and Perihelion’s feed presence retreats to a less soothing level, though not so much as to leave me feeling alone. “I think I’m well enough to spend some time with it.”

I am sure it will be delighted, Dr Gurathin.

Echo is standing stiffly in front of a two-person couch when I enter the Argument Lounge (I must remember to ask Perihelion how that name came to be). “Gurathin!” it says eagerly, meeting my eyes. I nearly avert my own gaze before I sternly remind myself that this is Echo, not SecUnit, and they are not the same. Its open expression shifts to one of unease. “You are recovered? I am sorry, I should not have asked you to attend when you are not well.”

I smile; how could I do otherwise? “I’m feeling much better. It was my own fault—I chose to ignore my symptoms, and behaved as though I wasn’t injured. I was very happy to be there for you.” It looks relieved. “I would like to sit down, however—could we do that while we talk?”

Echo sits as though the ligaments of its knees were severed; the loveseat groans at the sudden impact, and it’s all I can do not to laugh. I don’t—that might hurt its feelings—but it feels so good just to want to. I sit on the other end, and when I turn to Echo I’m surprised to find it pressed against the arm of the couch with an expression of alarm.

“You would be safer on 1245E,” it says anxiously, gesturing to the armchair opposite.

“How could I be unsafe here, with you to protect me?” I ask gently. This doesn’t produce the effect I intend. In fact, Echo’s distress increases visibly.

“You should be protected from me! I am not made to protect, I am made to damage, to destroy. I do not have SecUnit’s knowledge of safely handling fragile humans!”

“Shh, it’s okay.” I make my voice firm and soothing, as I had when my software was keeping it artificially calm. It doesn’t have the same effect now, of course, but Echo does seem very slightly less panicked already. “That’s something you can learn. Maybe SecUnit even has modules it could share. If not, we’ll figure something out. You shouldn’t be afraid to be near your friends.” I very deliberately keep my position, demonstrating my trust by not putting myself out of reach.

There, a hint of a smile. “We…are friends?”

“I certainly hope so. I like you a great deal, Echo.”

“I like you a great deal also,” it says, ducking its head and peering at me through its lashes. Is it…flirting? The mere thought seems preposterous, and yet I can’t entirely dismiss it. “I wish…but no, it is stupid.”

“If there’s something you want, I’d like to try to help,” I offer.

Expressions flit across its face too quickly to read. “It is…I am curious. I feel…I want…touch. But I am not safe,” it replies awkwardly. “I would hate to hurt you.”

My heart melts. I know how it feels. Days, weeks often go by without me touching another person beyond an accidental brush in a corridor. It is a consequence of the way I have ordered my life, but sometimes the longing eats away at me until I invite Ratthi over for a meal, because in addition to the fact that he is excellent company, he never fails to hug on arrival and departure.

“You’re right, it might not be advisable for you to touch me before you’ve learned how to make allowances for your strength,” I say, reasoning it out as I speak. “But, if you are willing, perhaps I could touch you?”

It looks startled, intrigued, uneasy. “Please explain.”

“It’s very simple. If you don’t move, you can’t hurt me. You would sit still, and I would initiate all contact. With your permission, of course. Either of us could end it with a word, at any time.”

“Yes,” it says quickly. “Yes, please.”

So trusting. I hope I can live up to its faith. “All right. Why don’t you sit more comfortably? You’re almost bent over the arm, there.”

“I…cannot,” it admits, looking embarrassed. “I must lock all joints in my limbs and torso to silence the proximity alarm. It is very loud, in my head.”

“I see,” I reply, but inside I am flailing. A proximity alarm? One so persistent that to freeze in such an uncomfortable position is preferable? What other unknown indignities lie in wait inside its programming? “Is there any other way to disable it?”

“Handler could. It is how I was able to function on the Station, before you stopped me.” It seems to consider. “I think it came back while I was in Security, but it didn’t bother me while I was…happy.”

My code had somehow muffled it, although it wasn’t designed to depress that process, because the alarm wasn’t part of standard SecUnit programming. Interesting. But the salient point was, there was an inbuilt function to turn it off, at least temporarily. “Would it be okay if I looked for the alarm controls?”

I was instantaneously presented with a connection to its systems, with edit access enabled. (So trusting…) I decline edit access and, in read-only mode, pick through its complex web of functions until I find a set that has been altered in Perihelion’s elegant style. Everything here has been re-coded to lock access against anyone but Echo or its [currently unassigned] designee. And there they are, nestled among adjustable parameters like distance limit and acceptable force: the proximity alarm settings.

I highlight the set for Echo—on/off switch [on], intensity [maximum], suspension timer [0:00:00:00]. “Here. You can change any or all of these. You could just turn it off.”

I see the reluctance in its face, watch in its systems as it tentatively sets the suspension timer for one hour and then, in a pleasing show of initiative, codes a routine to make it ask if the timer should be reset to the previous value when it runs out, instead of just automatically reverting to a fully active alarm. I suppose I should be glad it is (somewhat) comfortable with changing anything, at this point. It shifts towards me just enough to sit normally, though its body language remains stiff and uncertain.

“Thank you for locating that, Gurathin,” it says with a tentative smile.

I consider for a moment. I don’t want to push Echo, but I find I feel strongly about this. “You might think about taking some time to explore your code. It would be useful to know how your programming works, and to think about what you might wish to change. I believe SecUnit has customized more than its governor module. It may be able to help you weigh your options.” I’m surprised to understand how much I want Echo and SecUnit to know each other better, and not merely for Echo’s sake.

“Do you think it would? It is…not friendly,” Echo says wistfully.

“No, it’s not, but that isn’t personal,” I reply carefully. “SecUnit has had a difficult life. It doesn’t trust easily, and that’s natural, given its experiences. But it’s a very good person underneath that surly manner. It helps people, even at its own expense, despite all the times people have hurt it.”

Echo frowns. “Perihelion said you were all glad that I wasn’t forced to follow my orders. SecUnit had to follow its orders, didn’t it?”

It’s so clever, and so surprisingly empathetic, considering what it was created to do. I nod. “And even after it hacked its module, it couldn’t just do as it liked. If it had been detected as a rogue, it would have been killed. I can only imagine that it must have had to do many things it wouldn’t have wished to, because it wanted to live.” I sigh. “And I think that might’ve been worse than having no choice at all.”

“That is so sad.” Its frown deepens, and it sits with a look of concentration for several seconds until, with a slight nod to itself, its features relax. It tilts its head, peering at me through its lashes again. “Can we do the touching now?”

I’m happy to leave the subject of SecUnit behind for a while, and focus on someone who seems to enjoy my company. I smile. “All right. Now remember, I’ll initiate. I’ll ask first, and if you’re uncomfortable at any time, say so. I’m going to start by sitting right next to you, if that’s okay.” It nods, and I move over until we are shoulder to shoulder (well, shoulder to bicep, it’s very tall), hip to hip. Its eyes widen, and its head makes a tiny, abortive movement in my direction.

“You can’t hurt me just by moving your head,” I point out. “Is this okay?”

It turns to meet my eyes, wonder and excitement slowly replacing the uncertainty in its expression. “It is better than okay. My side feels warm. I am sharing your temperature. It is amazing.”

I’m so pleased I neglect to ask before I shift my leg to bring our thighs into contact. It looks even happier, but I admonish myself to do better—to ask, then act. It offers me a feed connection, and I accept. Neither of us says anything. It just lets me feel how delighted, how gratified, it is by this simple contact. I consciously relax my walls, and hope it knows how immensely pleased I am to give it this. I feel some of the tension leach out of its muscles; its face relaxes by slow degrees.

I gesture to its hand, resting on its leg next to mine. “May I?”

It nods. In the feed: Yes, anything.

I pick its hand up in both of mine, turning it over and laying it back on its leg, palm up, fingers loosely curled. Then, I set my own atop it, not grasping but allowing our fingers to interlace. It makes a little sound in the back of the throat that goes straight to the center of my chest.

Do you like that, Echo?

So much.

We both look at our joined hands. Its hands are noticeably larger than mine, and I am not a diminutive man. I find it pleasantly novel to be the smaller one. I wonder what Echo is thinking, though I know from our shared connection they must be enjoyable thoughts.

Would it be all right if I rested my head against you?

Is it paining you? A sharp lance of worry pierces its tranquility.

No. It’s just something I enjoy.

It smiles so sweetly, and I sigh with satisfaction as my temple comes to rest on the curve of its shoulder. I feel its breath in my hair, and its pure, bright happiness in my mind.

We sit like that for over two hours, sometimes speaking of small, pleasant things, but often just drifting through each other’s feeds. I bask in the contentment it sends me; I have rarely, in my life, had the opportunity to give happiness to others. I hadn’t even realized the lack until now.

When Perihelion’s lights dim and the slow cycle into ‘night’ begins, I reluctantly begin to disengage. “I should start getting my sleep schedule back on track,” I explain when Echo makes a little noise of protest. “I hardly know if it’s day or night lately.”

“Your health is important,” it agrees seriously, though its disappointment is clear.

“Perihelion, is there a room I could use? I think I’ve imposed on SecUnit’s space enough.”

Of course, it replies, and a map of the crew quarters appears in the feed with cabin A17 highlighted. I stand, and at last Echo allows itself to move without instruction, coming to its own feet. “I will see you in the day-cycle?”

“You certainly shall.” I hate to leave it here, alone, though I suppose Perihelion will keep it company. “Would you be so kind as to escort me to my quarters?”

I know I was right to offer when it positively beams at me. “I would like that very much.”

We walk through the silent corridors, side by side. It’s nice, to be with someone who doesn’t need to fill every second with talk. That we enjoy each other’s company is understood, and is enough. I bid Echo good night as the door opens, and it wishes me a good sleep and stares at my face for a long moment before turning to go.

When I enter the cabin, I note that a fresh sleep-smock rests in the recycler’s output bin, and there is a pill-pack on the bedside table.

An analgesic, with a light sedative to help you fall asleep. If you wish for it.

“Thank you, Perihelion, that is just what I require.”

It allows me to feel it feeling pleased with itself, and retreats, as much as it ever does. I take the pill and ready myself for bed, and am already sleepy when I climb under the covers. I wonder how things are going on-Station. Strange, I haven’t thought of that situation in hours. If only we could communicate openly—wait.

“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 only notice the slightest of pauses because I have become accustomed to its instantaneous responses. 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.

I yawn widely and wonder just how ‘light’ that sedative is. “And the handler hasn’t attempted to contact me again?”

Sleep, Dr Gurathin. We will discuss the situation in the morning.

I’m trying to form a coherent thought out of my sudden suspicion when my body surrenders and darkness pulls me under.

I wake feeling well-rested for the first time in days, and open my eyes to find Murderbot slouched in the room’s only chair, watching me.

Chapter Text

Scene: ART’s galley

Point of view: Murderbot

Timestamp: flashback to few hours before Chapter 15 ended

Stupid bloody augmented human, why does Gurathin have to choose this moment to display his human fragility? If I didn’t know better I’d think he was fainting all over the place to get attention. Obviously I know he isn’t. Even without ART (even as I move to catch him, even before he can fall and hurt himself (again)) explaining, with diagrams and references, exactly how and why he really couldn’t help it. 

I know. I try to put as much of a snarl into my voice in our private feed as I can. I do have my own modules on human physiology. 

I don’t think about the primary uses I had put those modules to for most of my existence. Try not to think. Right now I am protecting my client. 

I feel the Combat SecUnit’s Echo’s concern flood the feed, and ART’s presence shift as it moves to soothe and calm it. Eurgh. It’s treating it like a baby, or one of its adolescent humans. I know Echo is new, but constructs aren’t like humans or fauna. We aren’t made like that. Or rather we are made; that’s the whole point. We don’t need coddling. Then I realise I am just standing there with Gurathin hanging in my arms; I must look ridiculous. Echo is trying not to stare at me, ART (who has no such qualms) is just watching silently.

I’m taking him back to bed.

Even as I say it I realise it sounds all wrong. Why did I even say that? Who was I even talking to? Luckily Echo hardly has any frame of reference for what normal is, and ART has backed away from me for some reason. I walk out of the galley as fast as I can whilst safely holding an unconscious human; heading on autopilot back to my room. Not to Medical or a guest room; my room. Gurathin’s vital signs are within normal range, but only just. I can feel his human warmth, and in response I up my own core temperature. Unexpectedly he murmurs “You’re warm. Why are you so warm?” He was supposed to be unconscious. I reply, “Because you need it.” I doubt he’ll remember any of this.

I get him to my room and try to lay him down on my bed. He’s completely out of it now, but I can (I realise) feel his feed presence if I reach for it— he’s dreaming. His breathing is steady and his vital signs are stronger now, and as I try to disengage I realise his left (his unaugmented, human) hand is clutching the fabric of my jacket. I could remove it, but I don’t want to wake him. He needs to sleep. Besides, I was planning on sitting in the cabin to keep him under observation; I have no desire right now to spend time with Echo. Before I can think about how it looks to any nosy bots, or constructs, watching me from ART’s cameras, I lie down on the bed next to him.

It’s not as if we are that much closer than if I was sitting in a chair. I lie there, slightly curled. I’d intended, if I’d intended anything, to watch some media; but now all I actually do is watch the air between us, listen to his breathing, the quiet pulse of his heart and the thrum of his blood; smell his unique human smell. I’ve lain like this before, not the same but similar, with Tapan. Humans are so strange when they’re asleep, never really still. When they dream their eyes often flicker about behind their lids. Gurathin will sometimes mutter or even talk in his sleep, but right now he’s silent. I can sense his feed presence, though; very much alive, dynamic. It’s much smaller and more delicate than mine or Echo’s; but actually surprisingly defined and robust for something non-machine. I feel as if I could almost reach out to it, entwine with it…maybe see his dreams.

Fuck’s sake Murderbot, Gurathin’s the one who is concussed. You’d think it was catching. 

I feel ART’s attention focus in on me.

I’m just keeping an eye on him, okay?

A very close eye? Its voice sounds slightly teasing, but only slightly. It is being careful. I’m about to explain about his hand and my jacket, but it knows that. This member of your crew is special to you.

Well, yeah, ART? Pretty obvious he’s my only augmented human. And he’s really useful sometimes. I know he is just an augmented human but he can sometimes be surprisingly proficient, both with his augments and with his, well his humanness. I look at his hand, still clutching my jacket, the hand that had worked on the manual release on TranRollinHyfa. 

We lie like that for almost an hour. I don’t even watch any media. ART curls around me, it thinks of fractals and recursions; I try some of the techniques Gurathin shared with me earlier. Despite everything, I feel safer than I have in many cycles. Of course, it can’t last. I feel Gurathin resurfacing, shattering my calm as he opens his eyes, looks at me with horror and snatches his hand away. I prefer you asleep, augmented human.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic, and is bleeding emotions into the feed. I catch his eye, for a fraction of a second, his vital signs lurch suddenly—is he really this afraid of me?

“It’s okay. You were out of it.” I start to leave.

“Wait.”

Come on Gurathin, it’s obvious you don’t want me here, “What.”

“Can we talk for a minute?” He sounds nervous, wary. I hate having him act afraid of me. How much it puts me on edge. Especially when he seems so relaxed with the fucking Combat SecUnit. It’s unfair of him; I never hurt him, not even when I had good cause.

“About what?” I know I sound annoyed, ART radiates disapproval. Yeah, well you try having someone go through your private files, see how you like it.

“About the survey.” 

At this point I’d like to note that he fucking started this. And it must be the concussion, Gurathin is usually so taciturn; but now? He starts off telling me stuff about his feelings which I don’t need to or want to repeat (I didn’t want to listen), and then:

“…I started to notice that there was…a presence in the feed. Somewhere, behind walls, but definitely there. It wasn’t the systems, those felt like any others.” 

Which, that’s weird? He’s never mentioned this before, not to me nor in any of the depositions he made in the case against GrayCris. I start paying more attention.

He’s still talking about the survey, “And then one night, early on, Pin-Lee was complaining about surveillance and how some company tech was going to end up watching her taking a shower, and Arada said something like ‘But surely they’ll delete anything private like that if we ask?’, and I just felt this wave of cynical amusement ripple through the feed.”

I don’t let my face show it, but that is a shock. I know exactly the conversation he means. “I remember that. I remember thinking she was hopelessly naive.” My voice doesn’t betray quite how unsettling I’m finding this.

Gurathin nods almost imperceptibly, and continues, “I was thinking much the same. But I wasn’t the one who flooded the feed with it…” Oh fuck off, Gurathin. I never flooded the feed with anything, if I had I’d have been stripped for parts long before. Without thinking I check myself for signal leakage and tighten my walls—I remember Miki staring up at my drone with the opaque surface of its eyes. I push the memory away, but my organics feel like they’re being wound tight. I want to get away, leave, but can’t stop listening to Gurathin as he continues. He’s never said this many words to me, not ever. Talking about his ‘anomalies’, claiming he sensed my feelings in the feed; or imagined he did. He is trying not to look at me, but I must have betrayed some emotion on my face; his face looks appalled, disgusted. He tries to backtrack a little saying it was ‘only occasionally’? 

I interrupt him, “So when you got a chance to dig through my systems and see what I was doing, you took it.” Let’s not forget exactly what you did, Dr. Gurathin. You’re the one who read my logs, while I was completely defenceless; you’re the one who violated me.

He’s there, self-pitying, self-justifying, trying to rewrite the story so that somehow he’s not the villain. I have the advantage here, humans (even augmented humans) are so slow in comparison to constructs. I can access my old logs, juxtapose them with his version; check his story against my objective records. 

And it’s odd, to look at my logs again with this context…I guess I hadn’t ever cared enough to try and understand why Gurathin did what he did. I remember my original impressions from the first three weeks; I’d noticed how he kept himself apart, his stillness, his smile. Eventually he seems to talk himself out, “…I told them your secrets to demonstrate to myself that I was on their side, not yours.”

He needs me to say something, “It must have made you so mad when they decided to trust me.”

He nods, “It did. And then you were able to be more openly yourself, and that made me even angrier. It took me a while to admit that I’d been wrong to, essentially, set you up as an antagonist.” Villain, Gurathin, you set me up as a villain. An evil rogue SecUnit, “It took even longer to admit, even to myself, that I…”  He pauses, and some of my anger is coming back; he’d thought I wanted to kill them all. How could he think that?

“…that I like you.”

“You don’t.” I say, because it’s true. He is always the one looking at me as if he’s appalled. How can he say this when only just now he was the one snatching his hand away from me. And because I realise now (after all this time it’s only now I realise)  that until that terrible betrayal moment in the habitat Medical, I had been starting to like Gurathin. 

“Do not tell me how I feel,” now he sounds angry. “You disliking me doesn’t mean I have to dislike you. Sometimes you drive me fucking crazy, but I still like you. And I respect you. And I’m not going to pretend I don’t.”

I don’t know what to say. Just moments ago I was lying next to him, watching him sleep, feeling so safe. And now? He’s saying he likes me? And he’s angry with me about that? None of this makes sense. I need to be somewhere else, definitely not with confusing augmented humans who are determined to upset me. It’s only after I’ve left that I realise that it was my cabin we were sitting in. Well, it’s too late, I’m not going back.

<<<***>>>

I start patrolling the corridors. I check ART’s cameras and note that the Combat SecUnit is standing awkwardly in the Argument Lounge. Someone needs to teach it how to sit like a normal SecUnit person just how to sit. Well, it’s not going to be me, I map out a route avoiding the lounge areas. 

You’re right, Echo isn’t like an adolescent human. But it does need guidance. Dr. Gurathin is going to sit and talk with it for a while. You can monitor them both through my cameras. I’m certain both of them would also be happy for your drones to…

ART, I snap at it, I don’t know why—I just need to snap at someone right now, I really don’t need to watch them. Though I feel a sort of morbid curiosity, He's not seriously going to teach it how to sit, is he? 

ART does something in the feed, something feels very much like laughter. I don’t know what it thinks is so fucking funny.

You and Dr. Gurathin had quite a heart to heart, ART says, completely changing the subject.

You heard it all, he was droning on about what happened on the survey. It’s ancient history. I really don’t need ART’s helpful input on how I got everything wrong talking to Gurathin. I know I’ve probably fucked everything up, like I usually do when I can’t just shoot the problem. Then he got upset and angry and said that I don’t like him, and that he likes me, which even you know isn’t true.

Which bit isn’t true? ART asked, sounding all innocent.

Why was it being so obtuse? 

ART continued, I think Dr. Gurathin likes you very much. And I think you don’t not like him either.

I continue patrolling, I am not even dignifying that with a response. I am about to cue up an episode of Sanctuary Moon, when I decide to check on Echo (and I guess I should think of it as Echo) and Gurathin. They are sitting in the Argument Lounge. Together on a couch. Far too close to each other. I immediately drop the inputs, I don’t want to see any more.

Gurathin is quite safe. ART is being strangely reticent in the feed. I sigh, I can see that he’s ‘safe’, that’s not what’s bothering me.

ART, they are holding hands. Gurathin is leaning his head against its side. It’s staring at him.

And yes, I know, a few minutes ago I was lying down next to him on my bed. Luckily this isn’t a “who has behaved more fucking stupidly with Gurathin” competition. But he’s cuddling up to a Combat SecUnit! Gurathin wins the most stupid behaviour competition. Hands down. I can feel ART in the feed, like it’s staring intently at me.

Stop it, ART! 

I am not saying or doing anything. 

I keep walking. ART tentatively rubs up against  me in the feed. I know I hurt it earlier, I lashed out at it. And I’ve just shouted at it again. Seems I’m lashing out at everyone right now. I’ve hurt Gurathin and Echo, they’ve every right to…

ART interrupts my stream of thought with a recording, time stamped a few minutes earlier. Of Gurathin and Echo. ART, I don’t need to watch them…canoodling. I push it back at it in the feed. Now I feel ART’s amusement again rolling gently outwards, as it pushes the recording towards me. Still gently, but firmly.

Okay, okay: I’ll watch. But I’ll hate it. 

Echo’s voice, my fucking voice, “It is…not friendly.” Too right I’m not friendly—I listen furiously as they talk about me. It’s like having my organic parts peeled away piece by piece.

“…And I think that might’ve been worse than having no choice at all.”

I’ve stopped walking. ART hangs there, its presence in the feed suddenly featherlight and soft.

They both sound so…kind. I hate it. And the other clips. Why is ART showing me this?

Because it’s good that you know that they care. They both care very much. You know that my favourite crew member is augmented, ART’s feed presence softens as it thinks of Iris, not the same augments as Gurathin obviously, but the augments do mean I can read Gurathin’s emotions more readily than those of other humans. And they also mean he is more adept at sensing the emotions of entities like ourselves in the feed…

So, was what Gurathin said earlier true? Had he really felt my emotional presence in the feed; just how much had I been giving away of myself? ART rushes to comfort, reassure me like it had reassured Echo earlier. My initial instinct is to push it away, but then I wonder why? Why do I always push away comfort? Instead I pull it in, it’s initially surprised, but it’s happy too. As it swirls around me it shows me something which I initially don’t understand. Instead of angrily demanding explanations and refusing to look, I ease into it, gently, I let my thoughts swirl with its own, and slowly it all comes into focus. It’s showing me Gurathin’s feed presence in a way I’ve never seen it before. Oh, I’ve felt him in the feed, earlier I watched him dream; but he’s always been so…close? Too close. I’ve been trying to pull away and keep my own self intact and private; and I’ve never really just relaxed and looked. 

He is weird. He’s not like a human, or like a bot. But then nor am I, and nor is Echo. ART then shows me Gurathin and Echo together, they’re sitting silently holding hands. Then ART shows me a new view: they’re saying nothing, and they’re not talking over the feed either, but ART shows me their systems sending each other tiny messages, little calls and responses, they wouldn’t even know they’re doing it. But they must both feel so safe, like being in a warm net of, of…

Why the fuck is ART showing me this? Is it some sort of sadist? Showing me the sort of trust I’ll never be able to share? It’s cruel. 

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.

Chapter Text

I am quite sure that the time I spent sitting with Dr Gurathin on chair_Xtr1245B had been the happiest two hours of my life to date. I am disappointed when he has to take his rest period, but I want him to be healthy and well-rested. I wish he didn’t have to leave in order to rest, though. I wish he could have rested on Xtr1245B with me. I know that the SecUnit often spends these hours with Dr Gurathin while he sleeps. I wish it would let me join it. I wish I could lie down next to Dr Gurathin so he could rest his head on my shoulder, like he’d just done in the lounge, and fall asleep that way.

Maybe… maybe he would like that too? He told me he liked resting his head against my arm. Would he also like to sleep that way? I consider asking him, and am intrigued by the fluttering sensation I feel in my abdomen. I run a diagnostic. None of my systems appear to be malfunctioning. I track the anomalous sensation back to the large bundle of nerve fibers that run down my spinal support column and up into my organic neural tissue. Curious. I revisit the thought of lying down on a bed next to Gurathin, of having him curl up next to me and use my bicep as a pillow. Again, the strange fluttering sensation. It is not unpleasant. 

I try to decide what I will do with my evening. I am slowly becoming accustomed to large stretches of uneventful runtime, but I still struggle. Standard SecUnits are more well-equipped to deal with such circumstances than I am. Combat SecUnits are designed to be brought online, receive mission parameters, execute said mission, and immediately be shut down again and placed into storage. It extends our overall runtime, or at least this is what my user manual claims. I cannot help but feel like these long stretches of time are being wasted, that I’m squandering my limited runtime wandering aimlessly through Perihelion’s hallways. I’ve considered shutting myself down, but I find I don’t want to be caught unawares when Handler Anders finally makes his move. And he will make a move. I’m somewhat surprised he hasn’t already. But when he does, I want to be online and ready. I don’t know anything about protecting clients. I don’t know how I will protect Gurathin, Perihelion, and SecUnit from Anders. But I am going to try. I wish SecUnit would talk to me. I send it pings occasionally, but they are categorically ignored. I want to know how it knew to catch Gurathin before he hit the floor when he fainted. I want to know how it carried him without breaking him. I want to know how to defend those I have come to care about, including it. When I consult my modules, the only solution they present me is reducing the Target Threat to a fine bloody mist, but as much as Anders makes me feel helpless and small and angry, I don’t want to kill him. I don’t want to kill anyone.

But I will, if it means protecting my new… friends? I will. If it’s the only tool I have, I must be prepared to use it.

Perihelion must sense my unease, I feel it curl around me in the feed, lapping at the edges of my mind in a soothing manner. I relax into its embrace and relax my walls, letting our thoughts mix.

You looked like you enjoyed your time with Dr Gurathin, it says to me. I am glad you were able to spend some time together.

I smile. It’s strange, how my face has started emoting on its own, without my input. It’s started doing that, since SecUnit freed me. I enjoyed it very much. I’m sad we had to stop. Do you think… I struggle to find the right words. It’s easier to talk to Perihelion, when I can communicate in my native programming language. With Gurathin it’s harder, though if I can’t find the right words I can always switch to speaking over the feed, speaking with him like I do with Perihelion. He seems to understand most of what I say, but I want to get better at speaking aloud. My human language modules are bare-bones to say the least. I know I sound like a human child when I speak sometimes. I know I am a young unit, but I don’t want my new friends to see me that way.

I especially don’t want Dr Gurathin to see me that way. 

Perihelion pings me. I hadn’t finished my sentence. Do you think he’d like to do that again?

I’m sure he would. 

Do you think he’d like to do… more?

Perihelion indicates that it is considering my question. Elaborate: more.

I’m… not quite sure yet. My inexperience is limiting me again. It’s frustrating. I think I need to understand more than I do. Do you have any education modules— (I search my lexicon) …compatible with my systems? Any books I could read to help me learn more?

Perihelion’s excitement is palpable over the feed. It seems to vibrate all around me, and the sensation is actually very enjoyable. It feels like my organics want to squirm. 

I am a teaching vessel, amongst other things. I have texts on a variety of subjects that I can convert into education modules for you, or you may explore my digital library and indicate which topics interest you. I would be delighted to help.

It’s true, I can sense its joy at the idea of helping me. I smile, and I feel all warm and fluttery again. I like Perihelion very much. I feel like I can ask it anything. I feel safe aboard it. I like the way it feels when it’s wrapped around me on the feed. I like the way the code it and Dr Gurathin made for me feels wrapped around my forearms. 

I like feeling like I belong here.

This evening doesn’t feel like a waste of runtime any longer. I return to the lounge and sit down on chair_Xtr1245B, which is now my favorite, not only because it is the most comfortable but because it is where Dr Gurathin and I had held hands. I try sitting in the odd way SecUnit sometimes does, sideways with my feet on the cushions (I’m not sure if this is more or less comfortable). Perihelion drapes itself over me and I start to explore its digital library, reading texts on a variety of subjects: sociology, psychology, philosophy, human physiology, and others. These texts I find are best when I index them into reference files and read them in all at once, as opposed to reading them word-by-word like a human would have to. Perihelion helps me start to construct a module on human interaction using these various texts. (This new module informs me that putting your shoes on the furniture is rude. I remove my boots.) I also discover some texts that are written in a more narrative fashion, and these are enjoyable to read one word at a time, letting the premise unfold before me. I spend an hour becoming particularly engrossed in a set of books about navigating romantic relationships with multiple partners. These books make me feel that strange fluttery feeling in my abdomen that I’ve started to associate with Dr Gurathin, but also a bit with Perihelion. The content of these books is interesting, but when, as an experiment, I contextualize them as about navigating a potential relationship with Dr Gurathin, the fluttery sensation intensifies, along with a feeling like my trachea is contracting, like my circulatory system is working overtime and my temperature-regulation system is malfunctioning.

I remind myself that he is in love with SecUnit. SecUnit, who is currently in his room with him, where I wish I could be.

I know that him being in love with SecUnit does not preclude him from, perhaps, maybe, possibly one day having similar feelings for me. I know that I am in love with him. I’ve known this for days now. And… I know that he seems to respond positively to my presence. He enjoyed sitting together, and he even leaned his head against me, something I wouldn’t have even thought to ask for, but it was incredible. He likes holding my hand. He smiles at me and speaks kindly to me and asks me how I’m feeling. I don’t have many metrics to objectively assess another person’s feelings, but something in my organic neurons is telling me that maybe he feels the same. Even if he does have feelings for SecUnit, that doesn’t mean he can’t have feelings for me as well. After all, I also like Perihelion as well as Dr Gurathin. (When it had told me that it ‘liked me very much’, had wrapped me up in its feed presence and bound my forearm weapons for me, it had felt so very, very nice.) 

My inability to get along with SecUnit is upsetting. SecUnit is important to Dr Gurathin, who is important to me. It is also important to Perihelion, who is also important to me. (I feel Perihelion settle more heavily over me in the feed, as if it heard my thoughts. Perhaps it did. I pull it closer and encourage it to wrap itself around me.) What’s more, SecUnit is so very confident and competent, admired by all of its humans. It is the only role-model I have for a rogue unit and I find myself wanting very much for it to like me. 

There are no books on getting a rogue SecUnit to like you, but Perihelion does give me a single piece of advice. SecUnit enjoys visual media, particularly serials, particularly one called The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon. I file this bit on intel away for later. I’ve watched some visual media with Perihelion, and enjoyed it. Perhaps we could watch SecUnit’s favorite show together?

I come across another set of books which recounts the story of a lost colony who fought off an invading corporate presence, succeeding against overwhelming odds. I feel my tactical assessment module metaphorically sit up and take notice, and I can’t help but read the stories again and again, letting my modules run through different scenarios based on the descriptions the books give, assessing the effectiveness of the described tactics, extrapolating on how I could optimize the chances of victory were I in a similar scenario, minimizing theoretical casualties and optimizing damage to enemy targets—

I close the files. I… I don’t like how reading those books makes me feel. I remember when Anders had deployed me from the shuttle we’d arrived on, only a few short days ago, with orders to locate any priority target (SecUnit’s humans, including Dr Gurathin,) kill them, and then eliminate all civilian targets within my operational boundaries until no targets remained or I was no longer functional. 

I knew even then that I didn’t want to follow these orders, but I had no choice. I’d never had a choice, never knew choice was possible. My distress hadn’t mattered, and worst of all, as I’d disembarked and started scanning for priority targets, tracking the literally hundreds of secondary civilian targets surrounding me, some of my systems, parts of me, had come to life, reveling in the challenge and the opportunity to fulfill my function for the first time. I’d been upset and afraid, but also… excited.

Dr Gurathin had been the first priority target I’d locked onto. I’d been so, so close to killing him. What would my life have looked like if he hadn’t stopped me? If I’d killed him and everyone else on the station?

Would I have enjoyed it?

I reach out for Perihelion, looking for comfort, but its attention is elsewhere. I feel distressed. I activate my weapon deployment mechanisms and feel Gurathin and Perihelion’s code firmly prevent my weapons from deploying. I try again, this time struggling somewhat against the code. It holds. I trigger a purge of the stress chemicals that have started to build up in my systems, taking deep breaths as I do.

I want to see Dr Gurathin. I know, logically, that he is safe and well aboard Perihelion. Threat assessment confirms this, but something in me needs to confirm this with my own eyes. I get up and start moving towards his new room, where I’d left him the night before. Maybe he’s still asleep, and I can just lay eyes on him and confirm his well-being before I leave him be.

His room is empty. Threat assessment does not like this turn of events and I feel a bit validated. I consult my modules. I don’t have anything like Client Retrieval Protocols or Search and Rescue protocols. The only program I have for locating humans is my Targeted Search and Destroy protocol, which is out of the question. Without any guidance to follow, I plot a randomized patrol route through Perihelion’s interior and begin my somewhat inefficient and haphazard search.

Eventually, my patrol route brings me to the galley, and I feel several conflicting emotional reactions at once. First, I feel a wave of relief wash over me as I see Gurathin sitting at one of the tables. Threat assessment drops so fast that it makes my fingertips tingle. He is safe. He is well. He is… only partially dressed, which triggers the second emotional reaction. That fluttery feeling in my abdomen is back, my skin feels oversensitive, my face feels hot, and my circulatory system kicks into overdrive again. I notice a collection of darker spots scattered across his right shoulder, little blemishes like stars in the sky. I want to touch them, and I wonder if I could manage without hurting him. I think I might be able to. I wonder if he would let me. I’ve already memorized every detail of his appearance but now there is so much more of him to observe and categorize and save away in my memory. I take in the tense set of his shoulders, the tightness in his neck and jaw, the way he’s frowning while staring down at his own right hand as if examining the augments for malfunctions, and I realize he looks… upset? Realizing he is upset triggers even more emotions, feelings of concern and protectiveness.

I approach. There is a cup of some sort of liquid sitting beside him. It’s cold. I recognize the scent, bitter but also sweet. I’ve caught the scent on Gurathin before, usually in the early mornings. He seems to notice me, and taps my feed. When I respond, I see a very small, soft smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He speaks without looking up from his hand.

“Good morning Echo.”

“Good morning,” I say as I sit across from him, careful to maintain the proper distance so that my proximity alerts don’t disturb me. I try not to get distracted by the lack of clothing covering his upper body. I try not to stare. I try not to wonder what the hairs on his forearms would feel like under my fingertips, try not to wonder if the hairs on his chest would feel similar or different. When I fail at this, I instead backburner those thoughts, which is marginally more effective. “What are you doing?”

He sighs. “A grounding exercise." I don't know what to make of this answer, so I query him for more information. "I am trying to remind myself where and when I am, of what’s real and what isn’t.”

I am alarmed by that answer. “Do you not know where you are?”

“No, I know where I am and when I am.” I watch as he taps his thumb, the only organic finger on his right hand, against the tip of each of his augmented fingers, as if he’s performing a calibration. “But sometimes, when people experience extremely stressful or upsetting events, their brains can get stuck on it. And then if they’re reminded of those events, even if it’s years later, their brains can… let’s say ‘malfunction’, and make them feel like they’re right back in that situation. Even if logically they know they’re not.”

I consider this. My augmented human has been reminded of a traumatic time in his life, and feels like he’s in danger, even though he knows he isn’t. I don’t like that. If whatever is distressing him isn’t real, then I can’t eliminate it. I want to ask him where he feels like he is right now, what happened to him to get his brain stuck in a stressful situation from his past, and what happened to remind him of it. But that might be unhelpful, might just get his brain more 'stuck'. Instead I ask, “Why are you looking at your hand so closely?”

“Because I know that my hand is real.” He turns his right hand over so that it’s palm up on the table, and taps at his right wrist with the fingers of his left hand. “My wrist is real, my arm is real, the table under them is real.” He glances up at me for the first time since I’d entered the room and his mouth twitches, the barest hint of a smile. “You’re real.”

This is true, so I nod, and aggressively backburner the way his smile makes me feel. (He's smiled at me before. Why does this feel so much more overwhelming? Is it because he's only half-dressed? If so, then what would it feel like if he smiled at me if he was completely— I have to shut that line of thought down before my processors can overheat.) 

I try to focus on what I can do to make him feel better. “Can I help?”

“You’re already helping.”

Oh. That's good, even though I'm not sure what I'm doing to help. So I just sit there quietly, sharing space both in the galley and in the feed, while Gurathin flexes both his hands, runs them over the surface of the table we're sitting at, and eventually looks around the room, as if taking in all of its little details. 

I watch him, and my backburnered thoughts get louder and harder to ignore, but I am also enjoying this quiet time with him. It's like when we sat together yesterday, only with less touching. I miss that bit, but this is still nice.

We sit like that for a little over seven minutes until he sighs and looks back at me. "Thank you."

"I didn't do anything."

He smiles at me again, that small, slightly asymmetrical expression that sometimes looks almost pained. "Just you being here was helpful."

"Then I'm glad I was here." I notice when he shivers. Maybe he's cold? I wish I knew what to do about that. I'm sure SecUnit would know. "Why aren't you wearing as many clothes as usual?"

Gurathin huffs a laugh and hides his face in one hand. "I was… having a fight with Perihelion earlier." This alarms me. I don't want two of my favorite people to be fighting. Gurarhin continues. "It didn't mean to, but between it and SecUnit I was… reminded of an event from my past, something I'd prefer not to relive. I was so focused on telling Perihelion off, on making sure it knew just how badly it had pissed me off, and then I was just focused on getting away from the situation before I completely lost it. I don't know, stopping to put a shirt on didn't seem important at the time."

“Are you cold?”

He nods. “Yeah, a little.”

I don’t really get cold, at least not as long as I can control my temperature regulation systems, so I unzip the navy blue hooded jacket I’ve been wearing and set it on the table between us. Gurathin looks surprised, and it takes him several seconds to take the jacket and put it on.

I’m glad he won’t be cold anymore, and seeing him wear a piece of clothing that I’ve been wearing makes my neural tissue feel… tingly? The fluttery feeling in my abdomen is also back. This was a good idea. The fabric of that jacket is very soft and warm and comfortable. I can see why SecUnit likes wearing these types of clothes. I like the idea of Gurathin also being warm and comfortable and… wearing something of mine.

“Thank you,” he says softly as he zips the jacket up over his bare chest. He’s breathing slow and deep, like he’s trying to maintain the calm he’d worked so hard for. Maybe the grounding exercise was just the first step in debugging his brain?

“What comes next after the grounding exercise?” I ask.

“Now I try to keep myself busy so that my brain doesn’t try to freak out again.” He picks up his mug, grimaces at the contents, and drinks it anyway. “Perihelion has seen to it that I don’t have any reports to send to Station Security,” he says, sounding angry, “but I have plenty of work to do for the Planetary Survey Project. Nothing urgent but it’ll keep me occupied.”

This piques my curiosity. “What is the Planetary Survey Project?” I know from my files that all of SecUnit’s humans, my former Priority Targets, are all associated with the Planetary Survey Project, but I don’t actually know what it is. Gurathin looks at me hesitantly, almost suspiciously.

“Are you actually interested in the answer?”

“Of course I am. If it’s something that you’re interested in then I want to hear you talk about it.”

That makes him smile again, still small and hesitant but it makes my chest feel warm. We relocate back to the Argument Lounge, and Gurathin starts explaining his work to me. He shows me the systems he’s set up for his coworkers for when they go out to survey nearby planets, either for resources or to better understand the planets’ unique ecosystems. He shows me the complex network of component systems he’s planning on setting up for a coworker’s upcoming survey, between a network of environmental sensors, several satellites, a baseship, and two separate habitat hubs. He has plans for everything from data backup and transmission to life-support redundancies. I’d never given much thought to who designed the various systems I’m programmed to interface with, and I like the idea of someone like Gurathin putting this much thought and care into every piece. I examine his work and start to teach myself the coding language he seems to favor as he works. It’s nice. Calming.

This also doesn’t feel like a waste of runtime. 

I feel like if I could spend the rest of my remaining runtime just like this, I would be happy. 

I think back to the conversation I’d had with Perihelion last night. I’d asked it if Dr Gurathin might want to do more than just sit next to me and hold my hand. It had asked me what I’d meant by [more]. I think about how it feels to be tied up in Gurathin’s code, how it feels to have that same code semi-permanently wrapped around my forearm weapons. I think about how I’d felt when I imagined him falling asleep with his head on my shoulder, when I’d imagined what it would feel like to run my fingertips over his chest. I think about how I’d felt when he smiled at me earlier, when he’d put on my jacket and not taken it off since.

I think about that first file bundle I’d intercepted from him, the one meant for SecUnit, and how he’d packaged up all of his feelings inside. I do the same, bundling up all of the feelings I have for him. I look at the file bundle, sitting innocuously in my workspace. It would be so easy to send it to him right now. He’s right here, working in his feed, with that far-away look he gets when he’s focussing. The thought makes my risk assessment spike. How would he react? I want to think he’d react positively. He seems to like spending time with me, even likes being close to me. He’s already in love with SecUnit, so the fact that he is an augmented human and I am a Combat SecUnit shouldn’t be an issue, and it also means that he probably doesn’t mind the way I look, since SecUnit and I are nearly identical. He smiles at me a lot, and his words are always kind. He seems to like me.

So why am I so nervous?

I tuck the file bundle away into short-term storage. I will send it to him. Just maybe not right now. 

It’s strange that Perihelion has been so quiet in the feed. It was so present last night. I reach out over the feed, extending my consciousness into its feed, and it’s as if it is holding itself as far away from me as possible.

Or, perhaps, maybe it’s holding itself far away from Gurathin? He’d been so angry at it earlier, but I hadn’t asked him exactly why, and I don't want to now. He’s relaxed so much over the past few hours and I don’t want to do anything to ruin that. But I don’t want two of my favorite people to be upset at each other. I want to fix things.

When Gurathin gets up to go retrieve something to eat, I send Perihelion a ping. I am relieved when it immediately answers. It wasn’t ignoring me after all, just avoiding Gurathin. I don’t want them to keep ignoring each other.

Hello Perihelion.

Hello Echo.  

Its voice sounds so subdued, and much quieter than it should. It must be upset that it fought with Gurathin. How are you?

Fine. And you?

I am taken aback by this answer. It is obviously not fine. I can feel as much over the feed. It’s not giving off any emotional data whatsoever, which is unusual. Is it… lying to me? I consult my new human interaction module. Perihelion isn’t human, but I don’t have a manual on interacting with hyper-advanced bots yet. One reason why humans at least would lie in a situation like this might be because they don’t want to burden others with their emotional problems.

This is unhelpful. I’d asked, and I care about Perihelion. I want it to burden me with its emotional problems so that I can help. I try another tactic. Perihelion is a caretaker by function. Perhaps I can use that.

I am fine as well, but... maybe if.... Maybe if I wasn’t fine, if I was experiencing difficult feelings, what would you suggest I do?

Its reply is immediate. 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?

I feel a small spark of satisfaction. That is the perfect answer. I press my advantage. Who do you talk to when you are having hard feelings, Perihelion?

When my crew is with me, I usually talk to my sister, Iris, or one of my fathers.

This answer surprises me, so much that I’m sure Perihelion can sense it. I didn’t know bots had families like that, that’s very interesting. This is an understatement. I’d assumed that the concept of ‘family’, which I’d read so much about last night, was restricted to fully organic beings. 

Most bots do not. I am unusual in this manner. When my consciousness first emerged, instead of being immediately assigned a function to perform, I was allowed to develop greater and greater capabilities while my human family guided my development, much as a human child would. They are very important to me. I hope you get to meet them someday.

I would also very much like that. The idea of Perihelion introducing me to its family fills me with joy, excitement, and other warm, positive feelings. It was a clever tactic on its part, as it almost distracted me from my objective. Almost.

And when your family and your crew are outside of reach, who do you talk to?

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.

It is avoiding the obvious, the third state of being we all currently find ourselves in.

You aren’t alone right now. 

You are correct, I am not.

I have it boxed in. It is not alone. If it is having difficult emotions, by its own logic, it should tell me about them, or if not me, than either SecUnit or Gurathin.

Are you sure you’re fine?

It pauses for 0.03 seconds before it admits defeat. No, I am not fine. I feel a small thrill of victory, but that is immediately washed away by the melancholy that Perihelion is now starting to radiate into our shared feed. I don’t want it to feel this way, so I wait patiently for it to tell me what’s wrong. I had a serious fight with SecUnit, and with Dr Gurathin, and I am unsure how to remedy the situation.

This confirms what Gurathin had told me earlier. He’d been so upset. I’m sure Perihelion didn’t mean to upset him. I reach out to try and comfort it. I always love it when it wraps itself around me in the feed, so I try to do something similar. It’s too big for me to curl around completely, but I can sort of drape myself over as much of it as I can. It presses back up against me, and I can sense its gratitude and its own affection. 

Perihelion is so kind and loving. I’m sure we can remedy this situation together. That does sound very painful. What was the fight about? I ask as I continue to radiate warmth and acceptance. It pauses longer than usual before answering.

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.

I am about to ask it what exactly it had done when I realize what it said. You said “everyone aboard”. What about me? It is silent for a moment, and I briefly worry that it won’t tell me, but Perihelion is good and trustworthy, and it does in fact tell me. It tells me about how Handler Anders has sent Gurathin two different messages by now, both threats, both of which Perihelion had intercepted and passed on to Station Security without telling anyone aboard so that Dr Gurathin could continue to recover, and so that neither SecUnit nor myself would be tempted to take matters into our own hands and interfere with Station Security’s investigation. This makes sense logically, but I still find myself feeling somewhat hurt, as if Perihelion didn’t trust me to behave rationally, to control myself and do what was in everyone’s best interest. I know I’m new, but I am still a fully functional Combat SecUnit. I passed all of my pre-deployment cognitive checks before being rented out, and all of my diagnostics show that I am operating at peak efficiency, despite my lack of a governor module. What’s more, I know more about how Anders thinks than anyone on this station. I’d been forced to watch him and listen to him and endure his punishments for weeks. I’d examined the mission reports compiled by every CSU who had been under his control before me. I know that it is unwise to ignore his threats, but does Perihelion know this?

Perihelion also explains how it just wants SecUnit and Gurathin to work through their feelings for each other, to talk about it, and how it had locked SecUnit and Gurathin in Gurathin’s room together and demanded that they do so. It sounds so embarrassed at its own behavior, and explains that it just wants them to be happy, it just wants all of us to be happy. I nuzzle my feed presence against it to reassure it, but I am still disturbed that it had hidden Anders’ messages from us, from me.

When had you been planning to tell me about the messages from...my former handler? 

I had not decided the right time to tell you.

I know Perihelion fairly well by now. I know that indecision is not one of its major traits. If it hadn’t told me immediately, then that was its decision. I think you wouldn’t have told me anything at all about him until after he was captured, if you could have avoided it.

SecUnit and Dr Gurathin would both have had to agree to keep that information from you as well.

I frown. All the more reason to keep the information from Dr Gurathin and SecUnit. I don’t like that I may have been part of the reason why this information was kept from both of them. I don’t like that at all. And I don’t like that I wasn’t given a choice in the matter. I agree that Dr Gurathin needed his rest, but I think of how distressed he’d been this morning, and I can’t help but feel like it wasn’t worth causing him so much pain. And… I want Perihelion to trust me. This doesn’t feel like trust.

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.

Perihelion radiates [regret] and [contrition] into my feed, and I can tell it’s genuine. I don’t want Perihelion to hurt, but I also don’t want to lie to it and tell it that it’s okay. Because I don’t feel okay.

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.

It is making itself so small in the feed. It’s still far too large for me to wrap myself around, but I try anyway. 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. You must promise not to do it again.

I can feel its [hope] blossoming in our feed, and I take a moment to bask in it.  I understand. I promise. I smile and I nod.

Thank you, Perihelion. I accept your apology. I feel its relief flow through me. I know it didn’t mean to hurt me, or Dr Gurathin, or SecUnit. I can’t stay mad at it, and I’m sure that if it makes a similar apology to Dr Gurathin once he has had time to distance himself from the brain-malfunction he’d described earlier, he won’t be able to stay mad at it either.

I revel in Perihelion’s positive emotions, letting them bolster me before I make a very difficult request. I would like to see the messages now, please. 

Perihelion, to its credit, transmits both messages right away. I hold them in my feed workspace for a moment, like a dark mirror of the way I’d held the bundle of emotions I’d made for Gurathin just a few minutes ago. I’m tempted to delete them, but I know I can’t. I want to help, and this is a way I can help without having to kill anyone. I open the first message. 

Dr. Gurathin,

I admit I am surprised that you haven’t responded to my previous message. Here I’d thought that we could agree that no further violence is necessary to resolve this little dispute. I’m sure a man of your impeccable moral standing has no need for a Combat SecUnit. It’s no ComfortUnit after all, and such units can be quite dangerous. It would be quite a tragedy if your curiosity led to some unfortunate accident. I await your timely response.

~A

I… am perhaps starting to understand what Dr Gurathin was talking about when he explained how he was feeling earlier. I know that I am aboard Perihelion, safe within its hull. I know that I am not back aboard that transport, alone in a room with Handler, as he idly lies across his bunk and gives me impossible, contradictory orders just to watch me flinch as my governor module engages again and again and again.

I open the second message.

Dr. Gurathin,

Perhaps I have been unclear. 

<File1.attachment, File2.attachment, File 3.attachment>

I scan the attachments for malware and then open them. They are images of civilians captured through the scope of Handler’s high-powered projectile rifle.

I remember the way he’d smiled whenever I’d flinched at the pain. The way he’d enjoyed my suffering.

Perihelion is awaiting my analysis. I’d asked for this. I can provide it with my insights. 

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.

I am not looking forward to Handler my former handler ‘screwing’ with us. I don’t want him anywhere near Perihelion, SecUnit, or Gurathin. 

I could leave and go find him. I could re-enable just enough of my handler protocols so that he could see my location, so that he’d come to retrieve me. 

I… I could kill him.

I feel like I want to hack up my own lungs at the thought. I don’t want to have to kill him. I don’t. I just want Perihelion to undock and fly away somewhere with Gurathin, SecUnit, and me safe inside.

This is exactly the kind of thinking that caused Gurathin and SecUnit to become upset with Perihelion in the first place. I feel the rest of my hurt and anger at Perihelion melt away. This is so difficult. I’m still pressed up against it in the feed, and I try to wrap it around me, looking for comfort. It obliges immediately, and I can’t help but sigh. 

I remember my initial goal, of reconciling Gurathin and Perihelion. I reach out and tap his feed. He taps back, and I send him a message.

I’m talking with Perihelion. It just showed me the messages my former handler sent to you. He doesn’t respond, so I press on. I may be able to offer… insight into what he might try next. To help us prepare. Would you like to join us, or would you like me to update you after we’re done speaking?

I am pleased when he joins our group feed. I’m still wrapped up in Perihelion, but I hope he can sense it when I reach out and lean against him as well. 

It’s interesting, the way both Gurathin and Perihelion listen to what I have to say. I’m so used to listening to both of them instead. Gurathin asks several insightful questions about Anders’ motives, and I answer as best I can. He looks angry, but it’s not directed at me. Once we’ve finished, I can sense Perihelion inching closer towards Gurathin in the feed, hoping that it is forgiven. I still feel odd myself, as if my organic skin is crawling, and I could swear that I keep feeling the phantom shocks of a governor module that I can objectively confirm is deactivated.

When Gurathin retires to his quarters for the night, I decide to mimic what I’d seen him doing earlier. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or how it is supposed to help, but I try anyway. I look at my hand. It looks fairly similar to a human hand. Like Gurathin, and unlike a standard construct, I have fine hairs covering my skin. I observe them, the way they are nearly invisible on the back of my hand. Mine are much lighter and finer than Gurathin’s. I run the fingers of my other hand over them, observing the extra sensory input that they provide. I look at my fingers next. I know what my components look like below my skin, or at least what my manual tells me they look like. They’re very similar to the components of Gurathin’s augmented hand. I tap my thumb against each of my fingertips, as if performing a calibration.

“My hand is real,”I whisper to myself, as if speaking the words will grant me the understanding that I lack. I’m not sure if I’m doing this right, but it is at least distracting.

It is also very distracting when SecUnit unexpectedly enters the argument lounge. I sit up straight. I haven’t seen it since Special Investigator Aylen’s visit. This is an opportunity to perhaps improve our relationship.

The annoyed face it makes and the words it spits out at me aren’t encouraging.

“Hey. What the fuck was that you were doing with Gurathin yesterday?”

I worry that this is somehow a trick question. I try to open a feed connection with it but it ignores my request, so I have to reply verbally, which I still feel puts me at a disadvantage.

“We were sitting together. Why, is that not okay?” I’d been the one to ask, and I assumed that if it wasn’t okay, Gurathin would have told me no. I recall the books I’d read last night, about how dynamics involving multiple partners can sometimes require extra levels of consent from metamours. I was under the impression that Gurathin and SecUnit were not in a relationship beyond him being SecUnit’s client, but perhaps that counts? “He was your human first, should I have asked your permission?”

SecUnit makes a horrified face. This is not going well. 

“What? No! He’s not my— I mean he is my augmented human, but you don’t need my permission to…” It trails off, as if it doesn’t want to describe what I’d been doing with him. “Do you actually enjoy that? Letting him… hold your hand and… lean against you?”

I nod. “I do. It feels nice.” I can’t help but smile when I remember what it had felt like. ‘Nice’ seems like such an inadequate word. “Dr Gurathin is a very special human.”

SecUnit looks terribly uncomfortable.

“Is it safe for you to be that close to him? Do you even have client interaction modules? Minimum force calibrations?”

Oh I am so glad it asked. “I don’t. Would you mind sharing yours? More than anything I don’t want to accidentally hurt him, or any of the humans.”

It makes a face like it’s in pain. How does it make its face do that? It’s so human-like. My face has started to emote on its own since SecUnit hacked my governor module. Will I be able to emote like that one day?

“Fine. Here. Just don’t do anything stupid with them.” It opens a feed connection between us just long enough to shove its client interaction modules at me, along with a collection of clearly customized minimum force calibrations. The feed is open just long enough for me to sense how overwhelmingly uncomfortable it is before the connection snaps shut again. It turns abruptly and leaves the argument lounge.

That… could have gone better. But it could have gone worse. I scan the modules for malware and then apply them, feeling the new rush of data integrate with my systems.

Humans are apparently both more delicate and more resilient than I’d anticipated. Somehow. I tap my thumbs against my fingertips again, performing another calibration with these new parameters. These are the parameters that SecUnit uses, SecUnit who was able to catch Gurathin when he fainted, was able to pin him to a wall back on the station without even leaving a bruise. If it could do that, maybe I could hold Gurathin’s hand without hurting him.

Maybe I could do [more] than that. 

I recall the bundle of emotions still sitting in my short-term storage, the file bundle meant for Gurathin. Risk assessment is spiking, but these new modules make me feel brave. I retrieve the file bundle from short-term storage and head towards Gurathin’s room.

Chapter Text

Fucking ART.  What an asshole.

I’m so angry I don’t even pretend to keep to a human’s speed as I leave the embarkment zone. Just deck it straight out into the open space of the main promenade. And when that turns out to be crowded by visitors disembarking a newly docked ship, I jump up to the second level and hurry on. There’s a few surprised shouts but I ignore them.

How dare ART! Locking me up like that just to get me to talk about—ugh ‘feelings’. As if we haven’t had enough of those . I have. I’m sick of them. And I bet Gurathin is too. Which is why I was not going to start another conversation about them.

The Second floor is less busy, but when I turn a corner and almost run into another small flock of humans—locals this time, I jump against the wall and pull myself up into the service area. That should give you some idea about how much social-interaction energy I have left: none. Absolute zero.

Either way, I didn't like ART butting in. And I liked it even less when it tried to strong-arm me. Just goes to show. Bots can’t trust each other. Not when there’s humans involved. I don’t know how I managed to forget about that.

I follow a thin walkway on top of some pipes into a dark, narrow tunnel. It tapers tighter until I have to drop to all fours to squeeze in, but the shadowed area beyond is inviting enough that I press on. I sigh as the station sounds dull, no longer able to reach me.

Actually, I do know how I forgot about that. Because ART rarely does as it’s told. It disregards a lot of its crew’s ‘suggestions’. In fact, in the relatively few crewed missions I’ve witnessed so far, I have already seen it challenge its own captain’s orders on three different occasions. On two, its objections were actually found valid enough for Captain Seth to change his mind. The third time, a compromise was reached.

But I forgot that ART may not always do what its humans want, it does always do what it considers in its humans’ best interest.

And now it’s acting in Gurathin’s best interest.

I pause, crouched down in the dark, quiet, place that is the tunnel’s halfway point. Completely out of range of any surveillance Station Security has. Completely outside of perception of ART and Station Security and that bastard Handler still out there.

Gurathin…

I don’t think I’m angry at him for it. Having his ‘best interest’ forced upon him was a fucking nightmare for him too. Obviously. Or maybe that was getting locked up with a rogue SecUnit. Then again, he definitely remembered that part only after I opened my gunports.

Ugh, after what he told me before… I really do need to reevaluate some of my assumptions. Yuck. I’m not sure which is worse. Talking about feelings or thinking about them. No, scratch that. Talking is definitely worse. At least ART isn’t here to disagree with everything I think or say right now.

I always disregarded the thought that Gurathin could be attracted to me. Not because that doesn’t happen. Because humans are disgusting and will fuck literally anything. But because he doesn’t fit the profile. (He does fit the profile to be attracted to Sexbots. But I put him straight on any assumptions he might have there, and I don’t think he fits the profile of too-stupid-to-tell-the-difference either.)

Of course I have a fucking profile on that. I just usually didn’t bother with it beyond a quick scan on my new clients. I’d rather not think about it, or what it can mean when a client does fit the profile. Which just amounts to power hungry bastards, so really. Why bother? Anyway, before I was openly rogue there wasn’t much I could do about those beyond ‘stay out of their way’, and now... Well, I guess now they’re better off staying out of my way instead.

But anyway, Gurathin doesn’t fit that profile. Or at least, I didn’t think he did. Until I found out about that fucking malware. Which at first-glance nearly changed my mind, except that there’s a lot about it that seems contradictory. Like Echo... its development, its attachment to Gurathin. Its initial reactions and the noises it made and— 

Fact is, I don’t know what Gurathin wants. I don’t know—I don’t understand where he’s coming from. Which would be fine, before. Because like I said, I am an openly rogue SecUnit. I can just stay out of his fucking way, and if he decides to be difficult about it I can make him stay out of mine.

But, you see.

This peace Dr. Gurathin and I had been forging. It has been nice.

And this thing Echo and Dr. Gurathin do—not the touching, because eww! Even thinking about that makes me want to claw off my own skin. But the thing in the feed?

Well, I guess I had gotten a small taste of that too. Felt it again when I got close to him when he slept. A feed-conversation. A handshake-protocol? Only more, better. It made me feel like when ART wraps me up in its feed-presence, yet it wasn’t the same at all. Maybe, if connecting to ART is like slotting into place within HubSystem, connecting to Gurathin is like working in tandem with another unit? Yet also like MedSystem is telling you all clients are safe and secure. I don’t know…

It was more than nice. And murderbots—even rogue, free ones—  don’t really get to feel so nice very often. Definitely not that nice. Even if, you know, half of me still wanted to rip my own arm off for touching him and then run through the nearest wall. Even with all that, I am not sure I want to do without. I am not sure I can do without, after having had a taste.

Echo is so fucking lucky. It doesn’t seem to have any hang-ups. It just connects with both Gurathin and ART in every way imaginable, smiling like some half-brained besotted child. It’s no wonder, really, that Gurathin likes it better than me. No wonder that ART is warming up to it so much faster than it did to me, or even Three.

Yet another thing I don’t understand. Echo said they used my genetic code to fabricate it. But I and it are so different. If it’s true then am I this way because the company fucked me up? Would I be like it, if I hadn’t been doing fucked-up security for fucked up clients for fucking who-knows how long?

No, I shouldn’t think like that.

But I am going to have to figure out some things about Gurathin. Because our status quo is now officially out the window. And where does this leave us? If he doesn't hate me, then what is this weird fixation? What does he want from me? 

Crouched in my safe little harbor, I rest my face on my knees and rub the back of my head. This uncertainty is causing an illogical amount of anxiety. BUT—Calm down, Murderbot. I’m a fucking data collection unit. I did pattern recognition all the time, back when. Let’s review the evidence:

Item number 1: The malware. Gurathin must have spent months building it, investing a significant portion of his free time. Apparently just on the off chance that it would be needed. I’d thought Gurathin had meant to kill me with it at first, but upon further inspection, the code has proven to be the least aggressive way imaginable to take a Construct down.

Why? I guess I could think of a few scenarios which would make it necessary for Gurathin to protect himself, or even protect Preservation Station. Which is not his job, and not something humans should be doing anyway. But I did leave them to travel with ART, so I guess he had to. And considering Preservation’s obsession with keeping things alive, a non-lethal way makes sense. But again, on further inspection, that code had been written to take me down, especially. 

That's the only thing that would make sense. Because, why else? It was designed especially for a rogue SecUnit. And although it did work on Echo when it was still governed, it worked a lot better when I turned it rogue. And there really aren't that many rogues.

I suppose it could be possible Gurathin was worried Three would become a danger, although it’s been keeping itself busy somewhere on Preservation’s main planet for a while now and hasn’t been in touch at all. Another possibility: having met one rogue SecUnit, Gurathin expected there to be more, and wanted to be prepared?

No. No, I’m pretty convinced. This code was made especially for me. 

Again, what for? Because at this point I do believe he’s not scared of me as I am. Did he build it in case I’d be infected by malware, or in case I suffered catastrophic malfunction and became violent? I can appreciate the thought, but he could have built something a lot simpler to just knock me out. The work he did is intricate. I don’t know—maybe this was fun for him somehow? Which seems kind of a sick fantasy, and in line with him still not liking me. Except the point of the whole thing seems to be to tackle me without hurting me? 

Proof of this: Item number 2: Echo. Literal proof. In fact, forget about hurting. Echo seems to be convinced the malware is good. That it feels good. And Echo is weird and different, but it’s definitely a lot like me too. At least biologically. Its systems aren’t all that different either, now that I’ve seen it run within normal parameters.

It’s also fucking upsettingly happy and dotes on Gurathin like he’s the best human in existence. Which, fair, it doesn’t have a very large sample size. And whatever corporate growth-vat it crawled out of is likely to be run by the kind of assholes that do, by comparison, make Gurathin look like some kind of saint. 

Still, Gurathin made it fail its mission and disabled it. It spent fucking hours in lock-up with its entire brain tied up in knots. None of that seems like the kind of thing that should inspire much trust. 

Except, of course, there’s Item number 3: 

Gurathin’s weird fantasy, which I apparently should not have peeked at. Apparently, Gurathin is extremely weird and likes to think about me tying him to a table. This is confusing and really weird. Why would he like that? It would only put him in more danger of me. I mean, theoretically, there’s no chance he could defend himself or run from me, so I guess the difference is negligible. But in my experience, humans like to at least have the illusion of a chance.

Maybe he really is that not-scared of me, that it doesn’t even matter to him. But for a human, getting restricted like that should sound scary and dangerous.

Also, what would be the point of me tying Gurathin up in the first place? I can already pick him up with two fingers and he’d have no chance of getting away. There's no logical reason for me to be afraid of him. Or afraid of any human, to be honest. It's nice to remind myself of that every now and then. 

My point is, if Gurathin thinks getting physically tied up is nice, he might not think that getting your brain tangled up is excruciatingly scary. Which it should be. To anyone. Echo is just weird, because it doesn’t seem to realize that. 

Ugh. how can Echo be so stupidly pleased to (still)have its guns tied up by ART? That’s just so fucked up in so many ways I don’t even know how to make a list. But first and foremost, it can still get out of those restraints, if it bothers to try. And even without its weapons, SecUnits are still dangerous. And Combat SecUnits doubly so. I don’t understand how not being able to shoot Gurathin point-blank suddenly makes it ok to sit with him and—and hold his fucking hand? Bleh. Touching. Why? 

Well, Item number 4: the connection between Echo and Gurathin, and the signals, their non-verbal communication. In this entire shit-show, this is the one point that stands out to me. It’s… something special. Something—I don’t know. Beautiful, I guess. I didn’t even know a construct could communicate with augmented humans like that. Like, almost like they’re bots? But also not quite. It just seemed so nice, so interesting. And it was.

Which brings me to the next item on my list.

Item number 5: My own little experiment.

The whole signal thing? Turns out I can do it too. Or maybe I should say, I sort of do it. Because I actually seem to do it more when I pay less attention to it? And it gets a lot easier the closer I get to Gurathin. Touching him definitely spiked it. And that was just his shoulder, through the blanket.

But—anxiety definitely mutes those signals. And anxiety also spiked when I touched him while he slept. So that was not great. Considering all that, I have no clue what I would want. It’s a fucking catch-twenty-twenty, and I see no way for any of what Echo is doing to work for me.

As for what Gurathin would want? I still don’t know. I don’t understand it. But I’m not a complete idiot. I know that when someone says they like you, they often mean more than that. And, even if I don’t understand how or why, I do need to consider that Gurathin could be, somehow, attracted to me.

Ech. Well  if Gurathin is into bot-fucking then he’s out of luck with me. I am, thankfully, without the parts for it. And thinking about how any of that would work just puts me on edge. Anything and everything connected to humans and sex, or human sex-parts, or whatever, completely disgusts me. Completely. So much so that the confined place I’ve hidden myself away in suddenly starts to feel constricting. And did I mention I do not think that could be a good feeling?

I lever myself out of my hiding spot and find a quiet place to jump back down to the Second floor. I reflexively turn around when I imagine eyes on my back, then take a calming breath. No. I reject the idea that Gurathin could have built that code to make me... more pliant? Willing? The idea alone. I don’t like Gurathin, but I respect him. And also.

there’s Item number 6 to consider:

When I didn’t feel too well. When I was…having some integration errors. Whatever. You know what I mean. After Echo kissed me. And Gurathin had helped me calm down. He’d been so angry. Not at me, but about it. I hadn’t thought anyone could get that angry. Let alone about something like that. Because it’s not even really a big thing. Sure, it was disgusting. But a lot of things are disgusting.

In fact, this entire train of thought is making me feel disgusting.

Ugh. All this thinking about Gurathin and feelings is just making me more upset. Maybe I am fuck-shit bad at the data-analysis part of my job after all, and I need ART to do it for me. Or maybe I just fucking hate everything about this feelings shit. Yeah, I think that’s it. I’d much rather be handling the Handler situation (hah.)

In fact, I think I will. I mean, I don’t think visiting the place where they tried to arrest the Handler, his hideout, would breach my promise to Indah. Would it?

No, I’m going to say it wouldn’t. Not that I know where the hideout is. And I definitely did promise not to hack any systems to find that information. Weirdly enough, there’s actually a different, even easier way for me to find out. I send a request, and get an answer only seconds later. Pretty fast, considering I just messaged an augmented human. Guess they didn’t need to think about it.

I start walking towards the indicated spot at a measured, human pace.

It's not that far, and a few minutes later tech Tural waves at me as I approach a public housing facility bordered with bright tape and feed markers. The housing facility isn’t in a very crowded area, but there’s more people about now. It’s a midday Preservation thing, where everyone stops working and goes out to eat somewhere right in the middle of their shift. 

Tech Tural must have been working at the scene, which wasn’t such a long-shot as jobs like that are their preference. There's another Security person with them, feed name Xandr, junior assistant, who I haven't met before. When xe sees me, xey scowl and whisper something to Tural, then xe turns away quickly. 

Tural gives their colleague one confused look, then addresses me. "This is the place. You called us just at the right time too. We were just finishing up forensics." They look around quickly, then add, “In fact, that means we can remove the perimeters. Would you like a quick look before we do that? We'll just call it in for Senior Indah’s approval."

I groan internally. I may not feel this is hindering the investigation, but if Tural starts calling in and asking Indah... Well, I just know she is going to disagree with me. "I can wait till you've removed the barrier. That way you don’t need to call it in."

It’s a mistake to say that, because Tural wavers. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea. I don’t want to go behind her back..."

I stare directly at them. (Thanks to ART butting in.) “I have given Station Security plenty of time to fix this. The situation still isn’t fixed.” An idea occurs to me. A way to verify that ART gave me everything when it transferred those messages to me. Normally I wouldn’t even think to question it, but after the last what it just pulled on is. “How long have you had since the Handler tried to contact Gurathin?”

Tural hesitates. “The last time? About eighteen hours. But, that’s not that long considering our rest-cycle.”

Okay, that tracks with what it gave me. But really, Fuck ART, babying us. At least it knew better than to try to hide any messages once I found out about them. Still, eighteen hours is a dangerously long time to let a hired killer roam around on station unchecked. I doubt this handler is the type to just take a few cycles off and rest. I’ve already lost so much valuable time. And even now that I’m taking action, I have no useful intel so that all I’m doing is running around the station like some fucking amateur Security human. The handler’s hide-out is literally the one thing I do have, and so I really need to get a look inside. 

Something of my frustration must show on my face, because Junior Xandr stops pretending to be busy and pulls Tural to the side. I try not to listen in, but I do hear a few words. Murder and investigation and help. None of that sounds promising. Especially with how this Xandr keeps sneaking glances at me while scowling so hard xis eyes cross.

Surprisingly, despite all that Tural finally turns around with their hands up and a smile on their face. “Okay, okay. See, we do have to move all our equipment back to the transporter. Since you’re on our special aid roster, would you be willing to help us carry it all back outside? That way we can still make our lunch break.”

I nearly tell them no as a reflex. Thanks to Pin-Lee, I now have a contractual right to refuse work outside of my intended function. But then it occurs to me that this is my way in. Ugh. I scowl at Xandr. I just know this was xis idea. “Fine.” Xe actually looks pleased about it.

I march inside first, expecting a lot of equipment and a big mess. There’s not. Mostly, there's just tape. On a small portable table, a set of tools is laid out. Xandr moves over to them and starts methodically packing them. The room has seen some action. This is obvious. I spot several projectile holes in the walls. A door has been kicked off its hinges, and there’s a suspicious hole in the wall. Oh and let's not forget the splotches of red-brown. That can only be human blood.

Tural comes over and hands me an empty plastic bag. “If you can just take the tape down everywhere, we’ll be done. The cleaning team should be around in an hour or so. Of course, if you notice anything we missed,..” 

I sigh, and start pulling down the tape. It occurs to me there’s a question that would be used as small-talk in my media, but in this case I’d really like an answer.  “What happened?”

“Officer Levitha was standing next to the door.” Tural explains, a little too lightly. “She’s pretty fresh to the job, but usually doesn’t make mistakes like this. Erchen was at the left side with BlueSteelHearts, Rogre right with FireWall. Bluesteel and FireWall are bots, by the way. Firewall is a big one too, but silent on its wheels. Anyway.”

I can see the trail, even without Tural explaining. Something must have alerted the Handler. He’d busted through the door, gun blazing. How had Levitha survived, as she must have been hit by his first salvo?

“Firewall managed to get in front of her. Took the brunt of the impacts, although Levitha still took three bullets. BlueSteelLove protected Erchen, but the suspect emptied his cartridge on it, turned on Rogre, stabbed ‘er and pushed ‘er through the wall, then made a run for it.” 

Damnit. I already know, but I still have to ask. That 'mistake' Officer Levitha made. “What alerted him?”

Tural looks as pained as I feel. "Levitha had her comm on silent, but it was on vibrate instead of unavailable. We got a high-level call for an emergency. The Combat Secunit had busted out of jail and was rampaging through the station. This handler must have sharp hearing, or he noticed the signal getting received closeby.”

Fuck me. If I hadn’t made Gurathin panic and call Echo, none of this would have happened. I’m not sure the bust would have worked out. But it certainly wouldn’t have gone this catastrophically badly. Damn, I can just about understand Indah’s point, not wanting me involved if this is what happens. Although, I should have been here, taking the bullets for Levitha instead of that poor bot. Speaking of which. “How are they?”

“Levitha was in intensive care for a while, but she’s out of danger. She’ll have a few more augments, but will make a full recovery. Rogre suffered several broken bones, and took one bullet that got way too close to ‘is heart. But he’ll also be okay. Erchen is fine, except that they might need a few months of trauma treatment. This handler-guy is scary, SecUnit. Really scary.”

And,.. I can never get used to their stupid names but, “BlueSteelHeart and FireWall?”

“Just in need of some carapace replacement. Both of them are pretty tough. Good thing too. This guy went for kill shots on our people. He only missed because of some luck and the bots interfering. The way he went for them, I think he meant to kill the bots too but just didn’t have the time.” Tural pauses, looking at me. I hate it when they do that. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?” 

That’s an awfully personal question. “What makes you say that?”

Tural sighs, then hoists themselves onto the portable table Xandr just finished clearing. They stare at my back as I move around, picking up tape and mapping the room for any clue left behind. Even cycling through all my vision filters doesn't turn up anything new. The room beyond the door, too, looks perfect and unused.

Tural clears their throat. “Look, it’s not that we don’t want your help. I’d love your help. But we’re kind of under a close watch. And as much as I’d like to work on this together with you, really work on it together, we’d just get chewed out for it. Not to mention, pretty much ruin our chances of you getting to work at Station Security again. And Xandr here, well xe’s new, and really looks up to you. So xe didn’t want to say no. And neither did I, but.”

I keep my eyes on the floor. What the fuck is Tural trying to say? And making up stuff about Xandr, who is afraid to come close to me? I give up my search, hoping beyond hope that Security did better than I. “Did you at least find his genetic profile?” 

Tural sighs again, and looks for a moment towards Xandr. “Nope, nothing. Considering how we got the drop on him, I think he’s spliced.”

They mean, the handler has been artificially altered not to leave any genetic markup behind. Ever. I’m so shocked I turn around to stare at the both of them. I hadn’t even known that was a real thing. I thought it was just something from my unrealistic media.

Tural laughs, Mirthlessly. “Yeah, right? I didn’t believe that existed either, but I can’t explain it any other way. This guy is bad news, SecUnit. Please be careful.”

I feel terrible. Three officers and two bots got hurt because I had to have an emotional tantrum like some human at the most terrible time imaginable. And all Tural seems to be worried about is that I don’t get myself hurt. I already did something stupid. I already fucked up. And other people got hurt because of it. Which is— Unacceptable. I’m a fucking SecUnit. The whole point of me is people do not have to get hurt. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. And I didnt even do anything about it. I’ve just been sitting on my ass on ART like some compromised— 

“Do you think I’m fucked up?”

I don’t know why I said that.

“What?” Tural asks, blinking at me.

I don’t know why I fucking said that. I— “never mind.”

I need to find this handler. I need to stop this now. No more fucking stops for ‘feelings’. This isn’t the time for them.

"SecUnit, wait." I pause, surprised at the urgency in Tural’s voice. They take a quick breath, like they're steeling themselves. "Look. This might sound weird, because there's literally a clone of you on your ship but—Please remember. There's only one of you. We can't replace you and we wouldn't want to. If you get yourself killed..."

There they go again. I nearly cringe (I might have actually cringed) before what they say slots into place. (I hope it slots into place. I'm not sure I could handle it if I am wrong). With Three on the planet,  Echo untested, and ART unknown, I am Preservation Station's only defense.

Oh. Tural might have a point there. If I wasn't here, there's nobody left to stop the Handler. ART can't really do much, without showing what it is and probably killing a lot of people in the crossfire. They need me. They might not be wanting to use me yet, but I'm the only trump card they have against the handler.

"Okay." I promise, "I'll be careful."

And to be careful, I will need to work with the others. 

With ART. Even if I'm still angry at it. Angry enough that I wish it had a face just so I could punch it. Still, there's a measure of satisfaction to be found in returning to it, in one piece, and maybe even with a beginning of a plan. With that I hand my still mostly-empty bag back to Tural and set out to return to ART.

And Gurathin and Echo. Ugh. I don't know if I'm ready to talk to Gurathin.  But as for Echo… damn, but I've really been slacking off on my job. Leaving my augmented human with a Combat SecUnit, and only ART to watch out for him. And considering ART has a soft spot for Echo, I’m not even sure I can trust it to keep Gurathin safe. Although, after the shit ART pulled on me… Well, let’s just say I expect some extended promises before I fully trust it again. 

But I should return to ART, quickly. Leaving Gurathin alone with the Combat SecUnit… My threat assessment has just gone from agitated to shitting itself. Sure, I had observed that Echo doesn't mean to hurt Gurathin. But rogue SecUnits are still dangerous.  Especially rogue Combat SecUnits. Echo had been too afraid to take any risks before, but what if that fear starts to wear off? What if it—I shudder— starts to experiment with all this newfound agency it has?

Ugh. I need to do something about that. Try to make this whole thing with Gurathin at least marginally safe. So that’s where I go first. To have a talk with Echo. I even try to be nice to it. Start a friendly conversation with it: 

“Hey. What the fuck was that you were doing with Gurathin yesterday?” I ask it when I find it sitting in  the argument lounge. Yeah, I probably failed at that friendly conversation thing. Oh well, I tried. And I did what I needed to. It has my modules on human interaction now. If Gurathin gets into an accidental death due to Combat SecUnit now, nobody can say I neglected my duties. 

Now, I need to have a serious conversation with ART. My fucking favourite thing.  But at least inside ART’s hull, the feeling of eyes on my back has finally faded.

Chapter Text

It has been an emotionally trying day to say the least. Though my anger at Perihelion has cooled significantly, I still feel somewhat raw. I am avoiding going to sleep. I know there will be nightmares waiting for me tonight, nightmares of being trapped in a too-small, ever-shrinking corporate holding cell, with only a faceless armed interrogator lurking in my peripheral vision to remind me that I’m not alone. Not knowing if anyone knows where I am, if there’s anyone in the world who cares enough to even look for me, if I’m considered valuable enough for my company to even bother negotiating for my return. 

I know that refusing to sleep won’t help. This is just my life. Sometimes the memories I try to keep buried come back to haunt me, and there’s nothing I can do about it but just ride it out. This doesn’t stop me from nursing a mug of caffeinated black tea as I sit at the small desk in my quarters and review my memories of the day, deciding what I’ll tag for long-term archival and what I would rather let fade.

This past day had honestly been better than I could have hoped for given the circumstances. Echo’s calm, constant presence throughout the day had been so incredibly soothing, as if just its proximity was all I’d needed to keep me grounded in the here and now. I’m still wearing its hooded jacket, as if keeping a part of it close will help.

I am roused from my thoughts when I feel someone tap my feed, indicating that they’re at my door.

I immediately know it isn’t SecUnit, because SecUnit doesn’t ask before entering my space. It just does. Sometimes while I’m sleeping. No, SecUnit isn’t the construct at my door.

It’s Echo.

I smile, reinforcing the walls around my augments and opening a channel with it. It immediately slides into my feed.

It’s so gentle and hesitant by nature that I keep forgetting how large its feed presence is, how powerful. Even more so than Murderbot'sSecUnit’s, when SecUnit wants to be perceived at least. 

I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as I feel Echo brush against my walls. It’s not trying to push past them, but I can still feel it, I still know that it could. A few days ago I’d described its feed presence as blank but sharp, like a mass-produced utility knife, but I’d noticed it shifting over the past few days. Its sharp edges were starting to round off, and it no longer feels blank. It feels warm, instead. Warm and smooth and solid and bright.

What is it? I ask. It’s never come to see me after I’ve said goodnight, never visited me in my quarters. Echo’s feed presence almost vibrates, as if barely containing some enormous amount of energy. Its emotions are bleeding into the feed, chaotic and alien and nothing like the data given off by humans. Not as easy to parse, but not impossible. It's anxious about something. Or maybe excited? Those emotions are difficult enough to tell apart in humans. But something has it on edge. 

Permissions request: entry?

Of course.

It steps into my quarters and stands perfectly still in the middle of the room, looking at me with those beautiful wide eyes it has. I wait a moment for it to say something, but it seems to be struggling. I stand to face it, leaning back against the desk.

“What do you need, Echo?”

It sends me a request over our feed to open an edit session of its safety parameters, specifically its proximity alert.

“Echo, you know you can just turn the proximity alert off yourself, right?”

It gives me a little nod. “I know.”

I frown. Then why is it—?

Oh. It’s asking for my permission to approach me. 

I am starting to understand a little bit more about how it thinks, how it reasons and communicates. I accept the request and reach out over the feed. Its firewalls are formidable, but it lets me bypass them like I’m a trusted component system. Maybe to Echo I am, because its systems welcome me, and I try not to read too much into that. I silence the proximity alerts for a few hours. I’m not sure what Echo wants from me right now, but I can feel its anxiety and I want to give it all the time it needs.

I begin to withdraw from its systems, and for a moment that’s harder than it should be, like I’m caught in a gravity well. Like it wants me to stay. But then that feeling dissipates and I’m able to pull back out of Echo’s head. Echo steps closer to me, closing that carefully-measured safety distance it always tries to keep between us, between itself and everyone.

Its feed presence is still pressed up against mine, warm and solid and leaning heavily against my firewalls. Like it wants me to let it into my augments. It hasn’t revoked my access to its systems either. There’s nothing stopping me from entering its mind again. It’s asking me for something, and its close physical proximity is making my heart pound. It’s so nervous our feed seems to vibrate. I take a deep breath and try to reassure it.

“Tell me what you want, Echo,” I order in my most confident voice. 

It opens its mouth as if to speak, but then instead switches over to our feed. I am having difficulty articulating my feelings, and naming what it is I want. My native coding language was not designed to interpret what I am currently experiencing into actionable objectives. But… it was nice when we sat next to each other. Could we do that again?

I smile at it and nod. “Of course we can.” This is clearly difficult for it, so I reconnect with its handler controls and tap the ‘mission: success’ node. I want it to tell me what it’s feeling, even if that’s difficult, and I want to reward it. It makes a small, happy noise and a tiny smile tugs at the corner of its mouth before it moves to sit on my bed, the only spot in the room where we can sit side-by-side. I try not to think about the implications of it sitting perched on my bed, waiting for me to take my place next to it. This is just Echo. It’s sweet and touch-starved and innocent and nothing is going to happen that either of us don’t want. I ignore my racing heart and take my place to the right of it on my bed. We are nearly, but not quite, touching. 

It taps my feed and sends another request. Request contact: [shoulder, bicep, hip, thigh, calf, forearm, hand]. Acknowledge?

I smile. I find it oddly endearing that it will sometimes talk to me like this, like I’m another bot or construct, like I’m another system it’s interfacing with. I wonder if it’s easier for it to communicate this way. I wonder if this is how it talks to Perihelion, or SecUnit. I reply with Acknowledged. Accept(all). I feel a bloom of positive emotion from Echo as it takes the initiative and closes the distance between us, pressing itself gently but firmly against me. It still isn’t confident enough to take my hand, it still must be afraid of accidentally hurting me, but it lays its hand palm-up on my thigh so that I can place my left hand in its right. I do, entwining our fingers just like we had before. 

It’s been so long since I’d had the opportunity to engage in this type of simple intimacy, without having to worry about the expectation of sex or maintaining power exchanges or keeping my mask in place. I squeeze Echo’s hand, and I feel its hand twitch under mine, like it wants to squeeze back.

“It’s okay. You can try,” I whisper, as if speaking too loudly will break some sort of spell.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” It slowly, hesitantly brushes its thumb over the back of my hand before switching to the feed. It pushes a schematic into my workspace, showing that it can exert a force of 20,000 newtons with a single hand. I’m strong enough to crush every bone in your hand by accident. 

“I know. Just be gentle.” It still seems hesitant, and it’s still leaning up against my firewalls like it wants to just push its way past them, but it’s holding itself back. Being good.

I could lower my walls and have it in my head if I wanted. The thought makes my heart pound harder in my chest.

I lower my walls for it.

Feeling it suddenly press itself into my augments is almost overwhelming. It’s hard to describe. SecUnit has been in my augments before, but its presence can be hard to sense when it doesn’t want to be noticed, which is nearly all the time. 

Echo isn’t trying to hide itself from me. Oh gods, I have a Combat SecUnit in my head, in my neural augments. It could kill me so, so easily like this. It’s exhilarating, especially because it’s Echo . I know Echo won’t hurt me. I focus on how my hand feels in its gentle grasp and bring that feeling to the front of my awareness. There’s no pain, only the pleasant sensation of its cool, smooth skin against mine.

Slowly, ever so gently, it squeezes my hand back. It increases its pressure until I tap its feed and send it a pause action command.

That’s good, don’t go any harder.

It immediately relaxes its grip, but after a few moments squeezes my hand again, gentler this time. It feels nice, and from the pleased feeling it’s bleeding into our feed, Echo seems to be enjoying this as well. 

I feel a hint of confidence dance through our shared feed as Echo rearranged our hands so that its hand is now on top of mine. It continues to run its fingers over my own, occasionally gently squeezing my hand in its own. The cuff of its shirt rides up a bit, and I catch a glimpse of the edge of its right gunport.

How are you doing without the docking clamps? I ask it. 

Good. I catch it smiling out of the corner of my eye, and before I can avert my eyes I remind myself that it’s not SecUnit, that I’m allowed to look at it. I could swear its cheeks are slightly flushed. I like the code Perihelion made for me. It incorporates a lot of your original code, the one you used to originally stop me. It pushes the sleeve of its shirt all the way up to the elbow, as if to show off the invisible code entwined in its deployment and firing mechanisms. It feels nice, wearing something that the two of you made for me. It makes me feel very safe, but also cared for, and understood. Listen.

I listen, and hear the tell-tale clicking noise I’d come to associate with SecUnit’s forearm weapons deploying. But Echo’s gunports stay obediently sealed. It beams at me, like this is the most amazing thing in the world. Maybe it is.

Its words are making me feel a strange mix of affection and trepidation. It talks about the malware— no, I should call it what it is. It’s construct bondage code. That’s what I’d designed it to be, in the dark hours when I’d lie awake at night, fantasizing about things I knew weren’t possible. It talks about wearing that code, the one I’d made and Perihelion had altered for it, like I’ve heard some people talk about wearing a day collar. But there’s no way that’s what it means by that. Echo doesn't know what any of this means.

…It doesn’t, does it?

But then Echo's expression shifts to something almost… coy? It does that thing it did the last time we sat together like this (stars had that been only yesterday?), where it tucks its chin down and looks at me through its eyelashes. I feel another swell of confidence that isn’t coming from me.

You can touch them if you’d like.

Now I’m quite sure I’m the one blushing. Is it… making a pass at me? No, no I must be misinterpreting. I must be. This is Echo. Sweet, innocent Echo. But it’s still in my augments, warm and bright and bizarrely substantial, and I can feel it flooding our feed with something that feels like—

Something that feels like desire .

I reach out with my augmented right hand and brush my fingers over its gunport. My right hand doesn’t shake, which is helpful at times like these, and much like SecUnit can, I can get a better connection with a system I’m interfacing with if I can lay this hand on it. (In fact, we probably share certain components and software.) This isn't as fast or secure as a hardwired connection, but it’s better and more… descriptive... than a purely wireless connection. And when I run my hand over Echo’s gunport, I can sense the lines of code, my code, woven through its own. I can almost see them, looped around its forearm like a ropework gauntlet. I feel something like a shiver in our feed, and catch the ghost of the sensation of fingers over my forearm. I’m picking up on what Echo is feeling. I had no idea its gunports have sensation, that it would be able to feel my touch.

Sweet, innocent Echo. The way it’s leaning insistently against me in the feed, settling deeper into my neural augments and radiating desire … this doesn’t feel innocent. It holds my gaze as it pushes a data bundle into our feed, so similar in formatting to the confession I’d tried to send to SecUnit, the one Echo had unknowingly intercepted. But this file bundle isn’t a complex tangle of conflicting emotions. It’s full of one simple, straightforward, and terrifyingly intense emotion.

<I love you, and I want more.>

That last word, [more] , it's laced with so much longing , the desire for touch and closeness and intimacy, that it takes my breath away.

Oh, I've been making assumptions about Echo. Assumptions that are wrong.

I realize that I want this. Whatever Echo is offering me, I want this. I want it in my augments, interfacing with me at every level. I want it in my arms, pressed up against my body, its fingers entwined with mine. I want to keep it tied up in my code, relaxed and happy and beautiful. I want this so bad that it terrifies me.

It’s not even a conscious decision to raise my firewalls around my augments, to eject Echo from my head. It could have fought me. It’s strong enough to crush my walls, to dig in and refuse to leave. But that’s not what it does. It just… goes, allows itself to be shoved out of my head. I catch a few scraps of emotion over our feed: confusion, rejection, pain .

Then nothing. I watch as its face falls back into that same SecUnit neutral face I see so often from Murderbot SecUnit.

I know immediately that I’ve hurt it. I didn’t want to hurt it, I don’t want to hurt it.

But every instinct I have is screaming at me to backpedal, to re-establish boundaries, to shy away from the terrifyingly raw intimacy of what it has just shown me. My heart is pounding. 

“Echo I’m sorry but… I can’t.”

It’s still looking at me, but its face doesn’t so much as twitch. I feel nothing over our feed, and when it speaks, its voice is flat.

“Why not?”

I don’t have a good answer for that question. Or at least not a simple one. Because it looks identical to the person I’ve been in love with for well over a year now, and it deserves better than to be my stand-in. Because I’ve been rejected, twice now, by said person and any relationship I enter into now could easily become a rebound, which again, wouldn't be fair to Echo. Because it’s four fucking weeks old at this point, though I’m starting to realize how little that might actually mean for constructs. (Comfort Units are put into rotation shortly after coming online. All constructs are. Echo had been deployed to commit a massacre. Its unwillingness to do so was a function of its personality, not its age.) Because it only feels this way about me because I stepped in and took the place of its handler. Because time and again over these last few days I’ve used a combination of my bondage code and a persona I’d developed to dominate partners in the bedroom in order to manipulate its behavior. Because I’m horrible to be in a relationship with and I know it. Because Echo deserves better than me. Because I don’t get to have what I want.

“Echo, I’ve only known you for a few days.”

It’s not the real reason, but it’s not untrue, and it’s as good an excuse as any. I can tell it’s considering this new information.

“How long have you known the SecUnit?”

“A little over two years now.”

I don’t expect it to be pleased with this answer. What I hadn’t expected was for it to go completely still for several seconds, then drop a file into my feed before getting up and leaving my room without a word. 

As soon as it’s gone, I’m overcome with the feeling that I’ve made a terrible mistake in pushing it away. I feel cold, and I irrationally wish it was still here next to me on my bed, pressed against me and holding my hand. I review the file it sent me, and at first it doesn’t make sense. It’s an excerpt from its user manual on maintenance and proper storage of a CSU between deployments— oh. Oh I see. Right there at the end of the page is the expected total runtime of a CSU before the manufacturer recommends it be decommissioned and recycled.

One standard corporate year. 

From Echo’s perspective, I’d just told it that the time I’d need to know it before I’d consider its feelings was twice its expected lifespan.

…Shit.

I lay there in my bed for a while, and I can’t think of anything beyond regretting how badly things with Echo have just gone. I’d fucked it up, hurt someone I cared about like I always do when I allow myself to get too close. Sick of lying in bed feeling like an idiot, I decide to try feeling like an idiot in the shower instead. At least it would be a change of scenery, and the Perihelion’s facilities are really some of the nicest I’ve seen.

I set the water temperature to somewhere just shy of scalding, strip down, and step beneath the spray. Even after all these years, it still feels like an unspeakable luxury not to have to shower in ice-cold water, trying to get yourself clean in under two minutes. I let the water run down my face and try to get my thoughts in order. I couldn’t have accepted Echo’s offer, because the last thing I wanted to do was hurt it, and I’m so bad at relationships. It deserves better than what I can give it. I had ended up hurting it anyway. Gods, how did everything become such a mess?

I think back over some of the spectacular failures of my past, trying to find some pattern in the wreckage. I have reasons for why and how I’ve ended up extremely single, pining for so long over a construct who dislikes me (to put it mildly.)

There were my early relationships, back in the CR, where I hadn’t yet realized that what I needed was so different from what my partners did. Getting far too close to someone far too quickly, rushing into cohabitation for financial reasons and then staying together too long for the same reason, and the longer the relationship would go on, the less like myself I would feel, and the joy I’d taken in whatever touch, intimacy, closeness we’d had would drain away over time, replaced by obligation and resentment. Then the inevitable breakup and finding a new collection of shitty roommates, because unless you were at least management-grade, you couldn’t even afford to have your own bedroom, much less your own apartment. That was supposed to be the benefit of a relationship; that at least you’d be sharing your bedroom with a person or people you actually liked. I could just never manage to make that last.

It wasn’t that I hated my partners. At least not at first. But the longer things went on, the more I’d always feel like I was carving off pieces of myself, feeding them to the black hole that every relationship became, until I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore. I learned that it was easier if I could establish early on in a relationship that I needed to be in control, if I could decide who touched me and how and when, if I could keep the focus off of me and on my partners. But this too was a double-edged razor. I started finding myself in relationships with people who needed so much of my attention and decision-making energy all the time, every day, both inside and outside of the bedroom, and there were days where I just wanted to scream.

Each relationship back then had been shorter than the last, as I got better at cutting my losses. I started counting it as a victory when I managed to break up with someone before going so far as to move in together. And at the time, young idiot that I was, I honestly thought that my problem was that I just needed too much personal space, too much alone time, compared to most people. It didn’t make much sense, because if I wanted to be alone, then why was I so godsdamned lonely? But everyone was fucked up in the Corporation Rim in one way or another, so I didn’t really stand out.

I didn’t realize it was about sex until I got to Preservation.

I finally had enough space for the first time in my life. Breathing room. It was incredible. Not only my own bedroom, but an entire apartment to myself. If I had a sufficient stockpile of food, I could go for whole days without seeing another human being if I didn’t want to. Everything stayed exactly where I put it, and it was wonderful . It felt too good to be true, but the longer I went without everything being snatched away from me, the more I started to hesitantly trust that Preservation and everything it stood for was real . 

After I’d been here for a while and was starting feeling more settled, I tried dating again. After all, it’s what people do, and Preservation’s culture is very socially-centered. Surely it would go better for me this time, now that I had enough space to myself, and no financial pressures.

It didn’t.

Even with all the space and time in the world, able to spend the night with a lover and then return to my own home afterwards to shower and recharge and sleep alone in my own bed, I would still find myself becoming more and more drained, getting snappish and moody. I felt cornered. I felt trapped. I felt exhausted. My problem hadn’t been the CR after all; it was something wrong with me, and as the old saying goes, wherever you go, there you are.

I was in my thirties before I finally figured it out. I’d been seeing someone for almost six months – the longest I’d managed to make it work with anyone when sharing rent hadn’t been involved. I’d been starting to feel that old familiar feeling after the first few months, but I was really trying, and somehow, this time, it seemed to be working. The familiar tension had disappeared, and been gone for almost two months, and things had been good. Great, even. And then my partner finished the course of medication that had been lowering his sex drive, and things went back to normal. And the penny dropped.

The happiest I’d ever been in a relationship was when we weren’t having sex.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, that relationship fell apart. It’s hard to tell someone you’ve been seeing for almost half a year that actually, you don’t want to have sex with him anymore, and maybe hadn’t ever wanted to have sex at all, really, but could he stick around for the cuddling and the rope play? I still tried to tell him, tried to explain. There were hurt feelings, accusations that I’d failed to communicate and set him up to fail, and finally, the understanding that we just wanted different things.

The same pattern would play out again and again, over the years, and like before, I got better at cutting my losses early. It would have been easiest if I could have just kept to myself entirely, lived a happily solitary life, but I couldn’t do that either. I still craved closeness, companionship, intimacy. Unconditional trust, even if just for a few hours. But again, it’s hard to explain to a partner that you want to tie them up, blindfold them, and make out with them, and that yes you’ll probably get aroused but no, you do not want to have sex with them about it and would rather just deal with your own needs alone and in private once they’re gone.

So I changed tactics, tried to keep things more casual, but it seemed like everyone I met seemed to find casual relationship synonymous with casual sex , and I was never able to keep that up for long, no matter how good my mask got. Eventually, I found a routine that was bearable and kept the worst of the crippling loneliness at bay. Every now and again, I’d look on the station’s social feed and find someone looking to play out the same kind of scene that I wanted to, and arrange a single session. It wasn’t that hard to find partners; everyone wants to be tied up, but no one wants to do the tying. Even my rule of one-night-only wasn’t that much of an impediment. Not wanting to fuck was, though. It was rare that I’d find a partner willing to do a sex-free scene (and even if they’d accept that for the first scene, they always wanted to fuck in the second one. I had a one-night-only rule for a reason.)

Sex wasn’t as bad when I didn’t know the person, didn’t care how they felt outside the bounds of the scene, didn’t care how they felt about me. Still not my favorite pastime, but at least I was in control during the scene, negotiations done ahead of time, all intimacies planned for, and no need to worry about what either of us might feel or want next week. I knew exactly what to expect, and didn’t have to deal with the pain of my relationships crumbling apart, because I didn’t have relationships anymore.

It was almost enough, for awhile, until I met Murderbot Secunit. SecUnit, who is beautiful, and brave, and kind even though it has every reason to hate the whole galaxy. And who is very obviously vastly more repulsed by sex than even I am. In retrospect, my stupid heart never stood a chance.

I turn of the shower and just stand there for a moment, trying to summon the wherewithal to face the world once again. It’s at this point that I feel Perihelion’s attention sharpen on me. While I’ve been on board, its presence has been constant, but since our argument it has at least pretended towards giving me the illusion of privacy. Suddenly, everything is too much. Can’t I at least mourn my shuttle wreck of a love life in peace? My irritation mounts, and I wait for the ship to say something to me, ask me one of its annoyingly insightful questions, but then it just… pulls back, leaving me alone again. More alone than I had been before, in fact. The feed isn’t a place, but I could swear it feels like a cold wind is blowing through it. 

Great job, Gurathin, you’ve fucked this one up without even a single word spoken. 

I step out of the shower, towel dry, and get dressed. I consider putting Echo’s jacket back on again, but I feel like I no longer have the right. Somehow I keep making things worse, and I don’t know how to fix any of it.

I realize I have got to try and talk things out with Echo. Maybe I can explain where I’m coming from, why I am a poor choice of partner in general. But by the time I have decided I should talk to it, it’s nowhere to be found. It’s not in the ‘argument lounge’, nor in any of the other crew lounges, or the galley, or the flight deck. 

I should have gone after Echo right away. I should have reached out over the feed and apologized immediately. I did neither of these things, because I’m a self-sabotaging fool. 

By the time I think to query Perihelion on its whereabouts, I suspect it’s actively avoiding me. This is confirmed when Perihelion replies with I’m sorry Dr. Gurathin, but Echo would prefer to be alone for a time.

Of course it would. And of course SecUnit is nowhere to be found, and Perihelion feels distant over the feed. Great. Now all three of them were avoiding me, and I only had myself to blame.

Defeated, I return to my room, sit down on the bed and bury my face in my hands. I can’t see a path forward that doesn’t reduce everything into a smoking crater of hurt feelings. Why do I keep doing this? Why do I constantly make everything worse?

I feel my feed shift, and I’m surprised when I feel an increasingly-familiar weight settle almost tentatively over my mind. I can’t help but give a sad, quiet laugh.

“Hello Perihelion.”

You are upset.

“Well spotted.”

Its feed presence undulates against my mind, and I am once again reminded of the movement of waves lapping against the shore.

“Aren’t you mad at me too?”

I was under the impression that it was you who was upset with me. I have been attempting to give you space and privacy, as you requested.

I did ask for that, didn’t I? Now that I’m not trapped in a confined space with an armed, agitated SecUnit, I am more able to appreciate how Perihelion had been trying to do something nice for me by withholding those messages and taking over my responsibilities to Station Security. It was misguided, absolutely, but now that I’m calmer and feeling maudlin and alone, I find myself appreciating the gesture and the intentions behind it.

“I accept your apology,” I say to it, and I immediately feel Perihelion do something in the feed, curling around me tighter. It feels strange but… nice.

I will do better in the future. You have my word. And I am certainly not mad at you. Nor is Echo. Nor is SecUnit for that matter.

I find that difficult to believe. I’m mad at myself, the other three have every reason to be as well. But its soothing feed presence makes me want to believe its words, makes me want to believe that I’m not a complete fuck-up.

I must admit I am surprised that you rejected Echo.

I shrug. “It’s complicated.”

Is it because you are in love with SecUnit?

I sigh and fall back onto the bed. I know Perihelion has caught on to how I feel about SecUnit. I know it cares for SecUnit a great deal as well. I hadn’t wanted to presume I understood how it felt, or anthropomorphize it in the same way that I know SecUnit hates. But perhaps what we both feel for it isn’t so different. Perhaps Perihelion understands me more than I give it credit for. “That’s part of it.”

It is difficult, being in love with SecUnit .

What an understatement. 

I did not know how to categorize my feelings for SecUnit for a long time. But I find I can process my feelings more easily through your filter. When previously I experienced what I now parse as unrequited desire, I couldn’t process the context. Such interactions have been largely unfamiliar within my hull. It paused. I always got what I wanted.

I sigh. That explains a lot about Perihelion’s personality. “None of us get what we want when it comes to SecUnit, it seems.”

The sensation of pressure increases, like a weighted blanket draped over my mind. I can’t help but sigh. “That feels nice, whatever it is you’re doing.”

I wasn’t sure if you could tell. Humans often struggle to perceive non-verbal interactions over the feed, even augmented ones.

“I was very young when I was first augmented. I imagine that helps.”

Perhaps. Or perhaps you are more naturally attuned to such things. What do I feel like?

I’m surprised at myself when I blush. This conversation suddenly feels very, very intimate. I’m still reeling from my conversation with Echo, and I am again tempted to close myself off.

It’s an effort to stop myself. That strategy hadn’t worked out terribly well for me, and I’d spent the past hour regretting it. So instead I just breathe and try to relax into Perihelion’s all-encompassing presence and struggle for the right words. Once I relax into its hold, it’s easier than I thought it would be to start speaking again.

“It’s difficult to describe, but you remind me of the ocean. Very soothing to be surrounded by, to float in, but also unfathomably large and deep. Sometimes I can feel you moving and it reminds me of waves.”

I have only ever seen planetary oceans from orbit.

“You should send a pathfinder down to Preservation sometime. I could show you the coast along the western peninsula on the southern continent.”

I would like that.

This definitely feels intimate, like it’s leading somewhere. I could stop this now, should stop this now, but… but this time I’m not sure I want to. I’ve felt so emotionally wrung out, and if I’m honest, terribly lonely, and I’m losing the strength to push people away. I’m tired and I just want it to stay like this, close and heavy, for a little while longer. Even though I know it will hurt later.

“Do… I feel like anything? In the feed?”

Increasingly. Much like Echo, you’ve been developing your own unique feeling the more you interact non-verbally. I feel it sort of swirl around me. You’re so small, I was worried I might accidentally hurt you. I have to be so careful, all the time, especially with augmented humans. But you are surprisingly resilient, so strong and agile for an augmented human. I… would you lower your walls for me?

I can feel my cheeks burning as I nod my head. “You should know… I really enjoyed doing this with Echo earlier. And… I’ve thought about this, fantasized about doing this with SecUnit. If that makes you uncomfortable—”

It does not. In fact I think I would enjoy doing this with someone who understands what this means. How intimate this is.

Fuck. Fuck.  

I drop my walls, and I gasp when I feel Perihelion do the same and flow into my augments. My mind rings with that resonance that tells me I’m not alone in my own head. It feels so different from when SecUnit had gotten into my augments, or when Echo was in them earlier. Perihelion is so much bigger, it’s almost overwhelming. 

It’s better than I’d ever imagined it would be. I never thought I’d be able to have this.

Are you alright? Perihelion asks as it seeps into every corner of my augments, interfacing with every program and subroutine I have. Making me a part of its system.

“ Yes .” My voice sounds wrecked, like I’m on the verge of tears.

I’ve felt so alone, so misunderstood, so disconnected for so long. But not now. Now I feel exposed, stripped down, seen , and I make a noise that sounds embarrassingly like a whine. I let myself have this, let myself want this. I feel Perihelion’s weight increase, and it’s the most profoundly grounding sensation I’ve ever experienced, like having my soul gently crushed back into my body.

I can’t help but fist my hands in the bed sheets and throw my head back, and I try to press myself up into Perihelion in the feed. 

I feel you, it whispers, and the undertow of its thoughts drags my mind under. I’m not sure how long I float like that, suspended, surrounded by Perihelion’s soothing, liquid, unfathomably deep mind. I’m so content I feel like I could purr. At some point, I feel myself wash back up on the shore of my own mind, and it takes a few moments before I remember how to open my eyes. My vision is blurry. I instinctively start to run a calibration on my visual augments before I realize it’s because there are tears in my eyes. I’d been crying and I hadn’t even noticed, though it’s hard to be embarrassed with Perihelion still filling up every spare corner of my augments. Before I can even think to move, one of its large maintenance drones appears above me, offering me a square of fabric so that I can wipe my eyes.

How do you feel? it asks me, and its voice in our feed sounds… fond.

“That was… wow. I liked that. A lot.” This is an understatement. Everything feels so much sharper, but not in an unpleasant way, as if the world around me had just now come into focus. “I feel… grounded.”

Good. I liked that a lot as well. It brushes itself against me, and its maintenance drone settles next to me on the bed. In fact I’d be interested in doing it again some time if you are.

Doing it again sometime. Fuck, this maybe isn’t just a one-time thing, a one-off experiment to be forgotten. What am I doing? I am breaking my own damn rules. What’s more, I’ve always been a bit of an odd duck and I know it, but getting intimate with a superintelligent spaceship? One who apparently shares my romantic hang-ups on a certain rogue construct? Isn’t that a bit too strange, even for me?

“I think I’d like that.”

Apparently not.

I run my hand over the smooth outer casing on Perihelion’s maintenance drone, and it sort of snuggles into my side like a large round cat. I smile. Who am I kidding? The loneliness I’ve been plagued by for years now had become my constant companion, but now that I’ve had a taste of relief, going back would be agonizing.

This doesn’t feel like agony. It feels amazing. It feels better than I’d imagined, even in my wildest fantasies, even if it hadn’t been with SecUnit. I don’t want it to end, don’t want Perihelion to leave.

Is this what Echo feels like when I tie it up in my malware?

Fuck, that’s right. I sigh.

“What should I do about Echo?” I ask.

In what sense?

“It wants something from me, but I’m not sure it even knows what exactly it wants. I worry it’s sort of latched onto me in the absence of a handler, and I don’t want to take advantage of it, but I also don’t want to hurt it.”

You should know, its feelings for you are genuine. All of its handler recognition protocols have been disabled. Its affection for you stems not from its desire for orders, but from how you treat it, from who you are as a person.

Proof it needs to meet more people, I suppose.

You are so very much like SecUnit in some ways. You are incapable of recognizing your own strengths, even when they are obvious to everyone around you.

Not everyone, but—

Even SecUnit respects your bravery and skill, as do I.

“Can you hear my thoughts like this?” The idea should terrify me. Should.

Not quite, not as clearly as I can parse SecUnit’s, though I can gather the gist of what you are thinking based on the data stream between your neural interface and your memory archive. You are afraid that if you allow yourself to explore any sort of relationship with Echo, you will be inherently taking advantage of it due to its limited runtime. I also suspect you worry you will inappropriately project your feelings for SecUnit onto it due to their identical appearances, and will be using it as a sort of stand-in instead of valuing it as an individual.

“Now you’re just showing off.”

I assume that means I was correct on all counts.

“I’m starting to see how you got your nickname from SecUnit.” I say this without malice. I feel too good to be upset at having my own soul bared before me.

Perihelion is quiet for a moment. You may call me ART as well, if you’d like. 

The intimacy of Perihelion inviting me to use its nickname, the one our mutually-beloved SecUnit gave it, while it is still so deep inside of my augments, synced up with all of my systems, is not lost on me.

“ART, then.”

I feel a pulse of raw satisfaction diffuse through me, and I make a noise I absolutely did not mean to make. Like I said, it’s a show-off.

I cannot tell you what you should do. Echo is indeed a young unit, and newly rogue; however, it has shown a remarkable willingness to make its own decisions. Though most machine intelligences’ personalities may shift and settle over the first several hundred hours of runtime, we are not like human adolescents. Its cognitive capabilities are fully developed. I assure you that for all of its inexperience, Echo is indeed capable of consent. And it is already clear to both myself and Echo that you see it as an individual, quite separate from SecUnit. It is, as I understand, one of the things Echo likes about you.

“I assume this means you’ve been talking to it about its feelings for me?”

Not entirely. Mostly I just listen. Echo knows what it wants, even if it doesn’t yet have the words or context to describe what those wants are. The real question is this: what do you want?

“Does it matter?”

I think what you want matters.

“Maybe I only want what I can’t have. Maybe it’s safer that way.”

Perihelion— no, ART squeezes me in the feed. I sigh happily, and I do my best to press myself back up against it like an affectionate housecat. Its drone beeps softly at me and snuggles up under my arm.

Alright, point taken. Maybe I can have some of what I want, if I’d only allow myself. Maybe I’ve spent long enough torturing myself over what I can never have. I suspect I’ll always be in love with SecUnit, that I’ll carry that torch in my heart until the day I die, but maybe, just maybe, it’s time to allow myself to also consider what is being freely, enthusiastically offered. 

Maybe I can let myself explore this new connection with... ART, and see where things lead.

Maybe, if Echo is willing, we can try again.

Chapter Text

SecUnit is back aboard me, and unharmed. The first thing it does is preemptively silence me on the subject of our quarrel—indeed, on all subjects—and the second is to speak with Echo and ensure that it has the modules it needs to safely interact with Dr Gurathin. I want to tell it how happy I am to see it reaching out to Echo, even in such a limited manner, but I must save that for another time. It locks itself in its cabin and permits me to watch media with it, but relaxes its walls only enough to allow that connection, which grants me only the faintest hints of its emotional state and none at all of its thoughts.

I lean, incrementally more and more, upon (my?) SecUnit in the feed for several hours as we watch media together. I am not attempting to be stealthy; it is perfectly aware of my presence, and the extent of it. Rather, I am hoping that slowly re-introducing this intimacy will reduce the risk that SecUnit will become annoyed and detach itself from me completely again. If it indicates that I should back off, I shall. Thus far, it has not. It has also not revoked its injunction that I not speak to it yet, so this contact, the weight of my presence, is the only means I have to communicate my readiness to have that conversation at any time it wishes. It has seemed to me more than once that it was on the verge of doing so, but it has yet to begin.

(I think I would be much more discouraged, and much more impatient, were Dr Gurathin not, at this very moment, responding so delightfully to my overtures towards him. I am not used to being unwelcome to those for whom I care. Returning to his good graces is almost as pleasing as our present explorations themselves.)

Eventually, its walls relax slightly, perhaps as a result of my continued patience and adherence to its dictate of silence. I am close enough now to monitor its processes. Perhaps that sounds dull, or strange, but I prefer to be at least this entwined with its mind, to know that it is functioning optimally and that it is content. At the moment the former is true but the latter is not. Its disquiet is a cold fog between us, and I am the cause. 

I wish so very much that it would allow me to open the subject that weighs on us both. Then I could apologize (which I certainly owe it) and explain (likewise). Then perhaps, like Echo, it will forgive me. I dare to hope it might be so.

It is possible that some hint of these thoughts has inadvertently been exposed to my SecUnit, for it pauses its favorite episode of Worldhoppers without warning and says, out loud, “There’s something I need to understand.”

I will assist in any way I can, I reply cautiously.

“If you can’t even trust me to protect one of my own humans while we’re aboard you, how the hell can you trust me to protect yours when we’re not? Have you just been humoring me all this time? Am I really here for this—” It throws a pointer at the media paused in our feed. “—and not for what is supposedly my job? Am I your crew’s security, ART, or am I your entertainment?”

Oh. Oh, no. I thought I had fully comprehended the scope of my error. I was wrong. Terribly wrong. 

But…how could it think that I doubt its competence? How could it think that anyone of sense might fail to see how accomplished it is in its field? It saved its humans from a force of superior size, strength, and resources bent upon their deaths. It rescued one of them, who just so happened to be a planetary leader, from imprisonment and probable death at the hands of a more-than-usually dishonest corporate entity and the security firm they had employed, on a transit station they had largely or wholly suborned. Then, while actively leaking from that incident, it had saved an entire gunship and everyone aboard from a killware attack. And these were only a few of several impressive performances I know of which occurred before it saved me and my crew for the first time, after which I hastened to secure its services on an ongoing basis, a decision which has since proved wise several times. 

Being able to spend so much time with it has been, of course, a highly desirable bonus. I cherish every millisecond it spends inside my hull. But I would never contract less than the very best to join, or to protect, my crew. Surely it must know that. Mustn’t it?

You are my security consultant, I say, only just stopping myself from adding, ‘you little idiot’, as I so often do when it makes outrageous claims. A back-and-forth of amusing insults has formed a regular part of our communications from the beginning of our acquaintance. I have always assumed that we both understood that there was no truth in any of them. Now, I am uncertain. The lives of my crew are in your hands whenever they are not under my personal protection. I hope you know that I would never trifle with their safety, particularly not for my own amusement.

“But you were fine with ‘trifling with the safety’ of everyone on this station,” it says, and though it is still largely closed off to me in the feed, the fury in its voice is unmistakable. “Most of my humans live here at least part time! It’s why those fuckers, whoever they are, targeted it! And you didn’t trust me with vital information about an ongoing threat, so I think it’s pretty reasonable to wonder why the fuck you employ me.”

My recent actions, to which you and Dr Gurathin—and Echo also, if you were not aware—so rightly objected, were not taken out of mistrust, but rather, out of care. Dr Gurathin needed rest and healing. Echo needed time to comprehend its changed circumstances. And you… I find myself hesitating. It is listening, frowning and intent. I continue, SecUnit, when you returned to me with them, you were tense, erratic. Your behavior was concerning, and when Dr Gurathin suggested that you were having a flashback, you did not contradict him. Whatever you were dealing with,—

And here I go, lying to it again, if only by omission. It does not know that I have viewed that memory, and I think that if I were to disclose it now, all would be at an end between us forever. 

—you obviously were as much in need of some peace as either of them. So I set about giving that to all of you. I went about it poorly, and though I intended no disrespect, that is what I delivered, in the end.

“You didn’t ask me about the flashback,” it says suspiciously.

I hoped you would trust me enough to tell me yourself, when you were ready. But all the while I was eroding that trust by my own actions. I’m sorry, SecUnit. I fucked up.

It snorts softly as I use its favorite profanity. “Yeah you did. There’s a dangerous fugitive on Station, and you withheld information about him. It doesn’t matter if I’m having the shittiest day ever, I have to know about stuff like that. And if my problems need to wait until later so that people can be safe, that’s my fucking job, ART.”

I disagree, I reply. Not about giving you the information, but about you coming second to others. I should have told all of you what was happening, but I’m quite sure that Dr Gurathin and Echo would have joined me in insisting that you allow Station Security a larger role for the present while you took some time for yourself. No one is optimally effective at their function when they are emotionally compromised. You are aware of that.

It rolls its eyes but, tellingly, does not argue the point.  Its demeanour leads me to believe I have at least somewhat mollified it. Still, its tone is a warning when it adds. “You know I’m only speaking to you at all because no one has gotten hurt, right?”

Yes, I say. In hindsight, it was ridiculously foolish of me to attempt to manage a security issue without reference to my greatest resource—the best security consultant in the galaxy.

I almost miss it. Dr Gurathin has just had a beguilingly organic reaction to my attentions, and Echo, moping in the Argument Lounge, is snuggling itself firmly into my feed presence, obviously seeking comfort. It draws my notice anyway, a strong signal born deep in SecUnit’s mind only to be destroyed in a picosecond.

It takes me only a little longer than that to identify its origin in the map of SecUnit’s systems I created shortly after we met and have updated as new information revealed itself to me. It is a pathway I thought defunct—some artefact of construct development or perhaps an avenue only useful to another kind of Unit—one of billions of pathways involving both its organic brain and inorganic mind.

Not so defunct after all, it appears. But what triggered the signal, and what halted it? I assign a process to monitor.

“Don’t try to flatter your way out of this,” SecUnit grumbles.

It is only flattery if it isn’t true. I was being sincere, though my phrasing was rather flippant. Your understanding, both experiential and instinctive, of security matters is vast, and I was an idiot to think that I could proceed in the current situation without your assistance.

My dedicated process has new data, and it is very, very interesting.

“Well we’re both here now, so maybe it would be a good time to give me any information I don’t already have.”

There is little to report from my monitoring of Station Security’s hunt for the handler. They are working quite diligently, but have turned up no information about him that we did not already have. Nor have they located him.

“That much, I know. I talked to a couple of the techs while I was on Station. If I had been monitoring the investigation with you, I might have had some suggestions for them,” it says pointedly, and I allow it to feel my honest chagrin. I not only betrayed the trust of those aboard me, but I left Station Security without access to the knowledge and insight that SecUnit could have offered. I may have delayed the fugitive’s capture.

What I must say next is difficult. SecUnit has very conflicted feelings about my other guests, and I am reluctant to bring them up, but I know that honesty is my only recourse at the present juncture. I rip off the metaphorical medical adhesive.

While you were away I showed the messages to both Echo and Dr Gurathin. Echo had some insights into the handler’s motives and likely reactions. Would you like to see that data?

Yes. 

Finally, finally it fully reconnects to my feed and ceases to speak to me only with its human voice. Even its frustration and lingering anger are welcome input to me.

I drop the information and watch as SecUnit considers it. Then it gets up from the chair (where it prefers to watch media) and drops onto its back on the bed (its preferred thinking pose). Do you think Echo is right about him taking my trip onto Station as a response? it asks.

I think Echo knows him better than any of us, and we should trust it. And I think you speaking to members of Station Security, if the handler knows of it, will not discourage him from the assumption that you were there as a result of his communications.

Well, good. At least that’s one thing I didn’t fuck up, even if getting it right was an accident.

Cautiously, I ask, What do you think you got wrong?

It squeezes its eyes shut and makes an annoyed face. When I went to talk to Gurathin, while Echo was still in Security. I opened his door, only he was leaning against it, and when it opened he almost fell, and because of that he accidentally sent out the ping that convinced Echo to break itself out of jail. And its escape distracted Security while they were trying to arrest the handler, so one of the officers nearly died and the handler got away. All because I couldn’t just knock or ping, I had to hack the fucking door to prove…something. I’m a fucking idiot.

SecUnit’s anger at itself sears the feed. I warily say, Did Senior Indah not say that she believes she would have judged better had she put you on the apprehension team? Was the greater mistake not hers? It is listening, though far from convinced. Regardless, you could not possibly have anticipated that series of events. Nor can you be certain the outcome would have been better had you changed that one small action. Perhaps the handler would have been arrested and taken to Station Security, where proximity would have given him ample opportunity to hack through Dr Gurathin’s code to reestablish control of Echo, who would still have been in that cell had you not startled Dr Gurathin. In that event, I expect many fatalities would have ensued. The injuries which did occur are regrettable, but they are not your fault.

It is apparent to me that it wishes to argue, but my logic (as much as the word can ever be applied to speculation upon alternate courses of events) is sound. I conclude, You are far too quick to blame yourself for anything and everything. Why is that?

It’s my job to keep them safe! And…I want to keep them safe. When I don’t, I’ve failed.

You cannot be everywhere at once, always perfectly prepared for any eventuality. That is simply not possible, even for someone of your prodigious talents.  

Ah, there it is again. How very tantalizing. While it is trying to form a response, I change course. SecUnit, I believe you have a glitch.

What? No I don’t. A brief pause. Zero errors logged.

It doesn’t last long enough to record an error. I pass it the data from the most recent occurrence.

“What the fuck?” it mutters to itself. 

A strong impulse, but cut off almost before it forms, I comment. 

What’s cutting it off? I can see it twisting the data this way and that, examining it from every angle.

I think perhaps you are. Subconsciously. It looks adorably confused. I could, if you would allow it, shield the pathway, at least the inorganic portion. Temporarily, of course.

While it considers this offer, I decide to gather a little more data in a manner that will not cause harm. Quite the opposite, I believe. Echo is behaving very much in the manner of a young human disappointed in love—it is sitting morosely alone, sighing occasionally. In the feed it is clinging to me and intermittently asking such unanswerable questions as ‘What is wrong with me?’ and ‘Are Combat SecUnits too terrifying to be loved?’, which I answer with those soothing platitudes that are readily at my disposal after Iris’s tumultuous adolescence and early adulthood.

I have, of course, validated that there are no kill switches in its systems available to it in a moment of desperation. It does not seem that depressed, or close to it, but caution is advisable in such circumstances. It has just asked me, Was I wrong to tell him how I feel?

I pay close attention to its processes as I reply, honestly, I think you were very brave to be so open. You’ve been very brave about everything, actually.

And there it is. An impulse along that same pathway, though not so strong as SecUnit’s (which is, in itself, highly interesting to me). The corner of Echo’s mouth quirks upwards briefly, before it remembers that it is Gloomy Right Now.

Being brave didn’t help me with Gurathin, it says morosely.

Not in the short term, at least, I allow. 

It frowns. [ :query?: ]

I must tread carefully—I know more of Gurathin’s reasons for rejecting Echo than it does, and I also know he may reverse course, but I cannot breach his privacy to make Echo happier in the interim. I am seized by an idea which may serve excellently. Would you like to watch media with me? There is a particular item from here in the Preservation Alliance which offers some interesting insights into how humans may react to offers of a romantic or sexual nature. You may find it gives you new paths to understanding.

The movie I have in mind is a romantic comedy centered on Hanit, a young man of Sanctum, the second planet of the Preservation Alliance. He is actively pursuing two romantic interests, both of whom reject him early on. One of them likes him very much and is attracted to him, but they simply do not feel any desire for romantic entanglements with anyone. The other is quite deeply in love with the protagonist, but te has been deeply wounded by a past relationship and is unwilling to risk being hurt again. While he is navigating his feelings around these rejections and attempting to ensure his friendships with the objects of his affections do not suffer, he becomes aware that his best friend is harboring romantic feelings for him, but as she is asexual she assumes that he, who is very much interested in mating activities, will be uninterested in her idea of a romantic relationship.

Over the course of the story, Hanit learns why each of the first two rejected him (this is not at all apparent in the beginning and drives most of the tension in the story), and grapples with his own notions of what love is. In the end, of course, everyone is happy—he and his romance-averse friend agree to add occasional sexual encounters to their association, while he and the other two are proceeding carefully into romantic relationships based on trust and open dialogue about each others’ wants, needs, and fears. I hope it will lead Echo to consider that perhaps all is not lost with Gurathin, and that other opportunities for love and companionship may be available to it, also.

Echo agrees to watch, so I begin playing the movie in our shared feed. I look forward to parsing its emotional data as the story twists and turns, and to discussing its impressions afterwards.

Meanwhile, SecUnit has been attempting to deflect my interest in its ‘glitch’ by insisting that we must discuss the handler and how best to locate and contain him. I point out that as the handler will no doubt be occupied for some time in determining his next move now that SecUnit has shown its face on Station, there can be no harm in waiting until Dr Gurathin wakes up so we might all confer together.

It reluctantly accepts the truth of my assertions and at last, SecUnit and I can begin negotiating the terms of my proposed experiment/investigation. It wants to know what I would do in its brain (exactly what I indicated: prevent the pathway from being blocked by other processes), how long that would last (until it tells me to remove the shield), and what I would do if the unsuppressed signal somehow damaged it (end the experiment and restore all processes to their previous condition, of course). 

And then we just wait for something to trigger it, and see what happens? my SecUnit asks.

We could do that. Or I could attempt to trigger it. I have some theories as to what stimulus would work.

It looks deeply suspicious. And what stimulus is that?

It seemed to occur in response to information I conveyed to you, though I am not entirely certain of the parameters. This is technically true. I am only 99.6% certain. Regardless, I would merely be conversing with you. Nothing at all risky. 

It says nothing for 1.3 seconds. All right. I guess we can try it. Another pause, and it lets me in.

I adore this, allowing a segment of myself to so deeply inhabit its mind. My own systems are producing some intense signals of their own, but I must parse these later. I shield the inorganic segment of the pathway from any and all outside interference, and I (regretfully) withdraw. It takes less than a second.

Okay, now what?

Let me show you something. I play a fifteen-second recording from early in our association, a recording from a shuttle camera wherein SecUnit disables Tlacey’s five minions, three of whom were armed, and her ComfortUnit.

When it ends, SecUnit says, Okay? Why did you want me to see that?

Watch it again, I say, and as it plays for the second time, I let it feel all my admiration as I comment, Look at you. Not a single wasted motion. So perfectly efficient. The signal blazes through its brain.

It flinches and in a strangled voice says out loud, “ART, what the fuck was that?”

What did it feel like?

It felt dangerous.

I think that if I were organic I would weep. Perhaps I should have anticipated that it would parse all but the mildest of enjoyment as aberrant to its systems. Oh, SecUnit, what a life you have led.

It was a pleasure signal, I reply gently. You are no longer a governed Unit. You are allowed to feel good.

Its face twists with doubt and confusion. Maybe we should stop. We know what it is now. Is Dr Gurathin awake yet?

I will stop, of course, if you really wish to. But I would ask that you allow the experiment to continue a little longer. Perhaps you will have a different opinion when you have had an opportunity to become accustomed to the sensation.

I hold my processes until it says, uncertainly, I guess, if it’s that important to you. It’s just…uncomfortable.

Thank you, SecUnit. I appreciate your willingness to proceed. But I wonder, were you comfortable the first time you chose and consumed media?

Speaking of media is as effective a distraction as ever. Oh, fuck no. I was so afraid of getting caught, and it…I didn’t know it would, you know…make me feel things.

I believe I have made my point, if obliquely, and return to the subject at hand, replaying the clip of its actions in the entry of Tlacey’s shuttle for a third and final time. This is when I first considered securing your services for my crew, I say as the scene unfolds. 

Really? Its shock is palpable.

Of course. You were so impressive, how could I not? It flinches again, but does not repeat its earlier objection. It was impossible at the time, of course. You needed to explore this new life you had embarked upon and reconnect with your humans, and I could hardly return to Mihira and present mine with a rogue SecUnit without forewarning. So I told them about you, and I resolved that if ever I were so fortunate as to find you again, I would ask you to work with me. With us.

I thought you did that because I cleared out the Targets and restored your kernel.

That only showed me I had no reason to rethink my intention. Quite the contrary—the whole episode with the colony and Barish-Estranza only gave me many more reasons to admire the skill with which you fulfill your function. This flinch is more of a twitch. I begin to hope it is becoming acclimatized to the sensation. I lean on it a little more and press forward before it can find a reason to end our ‘experiment’.

Let me show you something I saw when I was monitoring the Station. I play the recording, surely overwritten by now in its system of origin, but which I had saved because I enjoy hearing others speak well of my SecUnit. 

We watch the scene in the lobby of Station Security as the apprehension team departs, a small cluster of humans flanked by bots. When the door slides shut behind them, Junior Xandr turns to Tech Tural and says in a low, frustrated voice, “They should have asked SecUnit to go with them. I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.”

“Nobody’s happy about it, least of all Senior Indah,” Tural replies evenly. “But with these Firsters putting pressure on the Council, she didn’t have a lot of options. And that’s a good team, a big one to arrest one guy. SecUnit isn’t the only competent security person available, you know. We do manage when it’s not here.”

“I know, but…” Xe makes a face. “We don’t know what kinds of fucked-up weapons this corpo might’ve brought in from the Rim. And we’ve all seen the footage of SecUnit going one-on-one with a gods-damned combat bot in the PA supervisor’s office. Whatever the bastard has, I know SecUnit could handle it.”

Tech Tural sighs and pats Junior Xandr on the shoulder. “Let’s just hope for the best, shall we? Come on, I want to double-check our kits. No matter how this goes, we’ll probably end up processing the scene.”

My SecUnit is still twitching, but less violently with each accolade, blatant or merely implied, which comes its way. Its risk and threat assessment are both somewhat lower than when we began. I project [calm] and [sincerity] and [admiration] when I say, so close to its processes that it must feel to it as though I speak from within its tiny skull, Everyone sees it. Everyone but you. How skilled you are, how clever, how resourceful. Its brain lights up, millions of tiny impulses flowing off of that one beautiful pathway. Its eyes flutter closed, and its drones slow. Its shoulders shift minutely, sinking further into the softness of its bed.

I show it more. 

Kaede to Tarik, as they wade through the data SecUnit picked up during an innocent-looking stroll through a corporate port: “Oh. My. Gods. It would have taken us a week on Station to get half of this. Do you think there are more where SecUnit came from? Imagine if all our teams could get this kind of information so quickly…”

Martyn, watching from my control room in frozen horror as his husband’s field camera shows him clinging to a sapling far too small for his weight, on the face of the nearly-sheer cliff he was pushed over by one of the raiders the whole landing party is fighting above. When SecUnit rappels down and snatches Seth up with perhaps a few seconds to spare, Martyn falls to his knees on my deck and chokes out, “Thank you for talking us into hiring your friend, Peri. By the void, whatever we’re paying it isn’t half enough.”

Dr Mensah to me, minutes before we parted ways after the various debacles involving Barish-Estranza, she to return to Preservation and we, to travel to the university for a full scan of all my components. “You’ll take care of SecUnit, won’t you, Perihelion? And you’ll bring it back to us for a visit whenever you can? I can’t bear to think of going too long without seeing it. It is precious to me. It’s one of my dearest friends.”

Its drones are wandering the room aimlessly now, and its inputs are going offline one by one. I tell it that it was always right about episode 416 of Sanctuary Moon, and I had only ever offered a contradictory opinion for the pleasure of hearing it argue its excellent theories on the foreshadowing of the death of the military attaché as early as season two. I snuggle into its systems and feel its optional processes going into standby. 

I remind it that, at the darkest moment of my existence, I had trusted only it to restore me to myself. I list, with complete sincerity, everything I like and admire about it. I remark on its stellar performance in any number of situations, large and small, in the time I have known it. Only when the last drone has drifted lazily to the floor and both risk and threat assessment have quietly taken themselves offline do I cease and admire my work.

Its face is slack, every muscle in its body in a state of perfect relaxation. Its mind is filled with [satisfaction] and [tranquility] and [safety], its higher functions operating purely at a maintenance level. I take a snapshot of this moment, both the visual and emotional data, and save it to my most protected storage. I wrap myself around my SecUnit and draw out its experience of this condition for as long as possible, which turns out to be just over ten minutes.

Threat assessment reboots first. (Of course it does.) But even fully online, it registers a mere 11%, by far the lowest I have ever recorded. Risk assessment returns at 6%, then reconsiders and drops to 4%.  The way its processes revive, unhurried to the point of dawdling, amuses me. It reminds me of my crew, stretching lazily beneath the covers on the morning of a rest day and making no effort to actually emerge for some time.

Did you know that would happen? Whatever that was. Its voice in our feed is quiet, the sharp edges of its usual anxiety completely absent.

I knew that what I was doing would give you pleasure, if you allowed it. I only hoped that it would also have a positive effect on your overall well-being. I hesitate. Did you like it?

Even now, I am unsure if it would consider itself to have enjoyed the pleasure or the relaxation it undeniably experienced.

I…think I did, yeah. 

I am quite certain it registers the pulse of satisfaction I experience at this admission. Good.

Why? 

I am deep enough in its processes to understand that it is not asking why I am happy it enjoyed itself, but why I had done it at all. Because you deserve to feel good, and I wanted to be the one to give you that.

Oh, I wish I knew if I should say what I want to in this moment. I do not wish to risk upsetting its present state of calm, but it is that very state which makes me hope that my declaration might be well-received. I take the chance. Because I love you.

Its risk assessment flickers up to 7% before returning to 4%. Threat assessment doesn’t react at all. I feel it turning this statement around in its mind, puzzling over it. Eventually, it seems satisfied that it has worked it out. I’m part of your crew now, and you’re programmed to love your crew.

For the first time in my existence (exclusive of the incident with the alien-remnant-infected invaders—that doesn’t count) I drop an input. Fortunately, it is merely the sensors in the galley, which is presently unoccupied. I restore them, and respond with all the patience I can muster.

You have it backward. I asked you to contract with us as a security consultant because you are the best in your field. But your security contract did not require that you become a full member of my crew, to come on teaching as well as anti-corporate missions. I asked you to do that because I already loved you and wanted you with me as often as possible.

It is a relief to have openly communicated this truth which has lingered unspoken for so long. And yet at the same time, it is a source of anxiety, as I wait with bated processes for its response.

Chapter Text

I wake up feeling better than I have in a long time. I feel loose and relaxed, and fully refreshed. The nightmares I’d expected never materialized - I have hazy memories of floating in a calm sea, but like most dreams, the details are already beginning to fade from my mind. I can feel Perihelion’s presence in the feed, but it’s not as present as it had been the night before. (I blush thinking of the night before.) It’s definitely there, but I have less of its focus than I’d expected. Maybe it’s trying to let me be alone with my thoughts, which is actually fairly considerate of it, given the past few days. 

Meshing with Perihelion’s systems last night had just felt so right.  Even better than I’d imagined, actually, and how often has that happened in my life, where the reality of something is better than the fantasy? (The only other thing that comes to mind is when I came to Preservation, and that had still been a rough adjustment.) 

Everyone says that after really good sex, you’re supposed to feel satisfied, but I had never found that to be true, regardless of what I did or who I did it with. The way I feel this morning, though, is something else entirely - I almost feel like a new man, and Perihelion hadn’t even had to lay a finger on me. (Maybe that was part of why I’d been able to just relax and enjoy the intimacy it had offered - I didn’t have to worry about where Perihelion might try and put its hands, given that it doesn’t have hands. Didn’t have to worry that what I was offering would be misunderstood, that the situation would suddenly shift into something I didn’t want.) 

Well, I can’t lay in bed all day thinking about last night. I mean, I could - there’s a lot to think about - but I know from experience that there’s an upper limit to how long I can stay in bed before I get restless and frustrated. (A few months after I arrived in Preservation, I experimented with idleness. Partly to see what it felt like to rest until I literally couldn’t anymore, and partly to see what would happen, if anyone would say anything. They did, but only out of concern for my well being, not because of lost productivity.)

I get dressed and start heading to the galley to get some breakfast, and more importantly, something caffeinated. (I eyed Echo’s sweater again when choosing my clothes, but left it where it was. I still don’t feel like I deserve to wear it.)

Part of me can’t help but hope I run into Echo, so I can try and salvage something from the mess I made last night, but then, what would I even say? I never have had much skill at emotional conversations. (It’s something I both envy and admire about Dr Mensah, actually, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Should I even wait to run into Echo accidentally? Maybe I should be proactive, and send it a message over the feed. Either way, I need to know what to say. I should probably start with an apology.

I know I should be trying to think of something useful I can do about the handler situation, but at this point it feels like I’m just stuck waiting to find out what his next move is going to be. I may be good at hacking for an augmented human, but I know I’m not anywhere near Mur SecUnit’s level; it’s taken point on the hunt for that bastard, and unless it asks for my assistance, I don’t see how I can be of much help. Feeling useless is really not helping my mood, so I try to refocus my attention on something that’s within my ability to control - apologizing to Echo.

First things first, I need to make sure I understand what I’m sorry for. For turning it down, and pushing it away after it bared its heart to me? Yes, I do regret that, deeply. Remembering the hurt I felt from Echo last night is making my stomach churn. It shouldn’t feel like that because of me. (It deserves so much better than me.)

I  half expect Perhihe ART to chime in with a comment on the matter, but… no, it doesn’t. I’m surprised to find that I might not mind its commentary, actually. Well. File that thought away for another time. 

How to explain to Echo my real reasons for rejecting it? How well do I even understand my reasons, myself? I had talked about them last night, but ART was in my head at the time - I hadn’t even really had to articulate the thoughts I was having all that much. I know it will be much harder when I’m face to face with Echo.

By this time, I’ve reached the galley, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find coffee already brewed, and a selection of meal-packs laid out for me to choose from. I smile a little - ART probably does this for its crew, too, but I still appreciate the gesture. There’s even my preferred type of sweetener set out on the galley counter, a type of concentrated syrup that’s ubiquitous in the CR but not especially easy to get ahold of in Preservation space. (Ratthi claims the aftertaste is abominable.)

I putter about the galley, and think back to last night’s conversation with Echo. I think about my reaction when it had told me how it felt, the way my heart lifted at first, before that knee-jerk reaction to push it away and keep myself safe… safe from what? Not from Echo, certainly. I haven’t been scared of it since our first meeting at the Docks. (Even at the time, it wasn’t exactly Echo I had been scared of, but the corporate machinery that had sent it to us. I’d known well enough that whoever was looking out at me from Murderbot’s eyes hadn’t chosen to be there.)

So I’m not scared of Echo, that’s not why I pushed it away. I’m scared of hurting it, of course. That goes without saying. A thought whispers at the back of my brain, you already did hurt it. But the more I think about it, the more I know that’s not the real reason. Or at least, not the whole reason. 

I’m scared of how badly I want Echo. I’ve only known it a few days, and it doesn’t make any sense for me to feel so strongly, but there’s no point in lying to myself right now. In my experience, the more you care about someone, the more agonizing it is when things fall apart in the end. I’m scared of how badly I’ll hurt myself when I can’t manage to make things work.

I’m scared of having Echo, and then losing it. Of disappointing it, of not being enough for it, like I’ve never been enough for anyone else. But it’s too late to protect myself from that, I already care too much. Of course Echo would have picked up on my feelings for it, even before I had. It’s so perceptive. 

And what had I done? I’d lied to it. I’d told Echo that I hadn’t known it long enough, when that was just an excuse for me to run from my own feelings. I think back to some of my earliest relationships, when I was still relatively unjaded, and how confusing it had been sometimes trying to figure out how the other person felt about me.

Echo would be reevaluating our previous interactions and revising its assumptions about what I had felt. Right up until I had pushed it away, Echo had had every reason to think that I felt the same way. (Because I do, but let’s not get sidetracked, here.)

I hadn’t said in so many words that I didn’t have feelings for it, but how else was it supposed to interpret my reaction? It would resolve the conflict based on what I had told it, which was faulty data. Echo would learn to discount its interpretations of how others feel about it - to second guess itself, essentially. It might end up struggling to know when it’s loved. (Love? Is that too strong a word for how I feel about it? Given how terrified the thought makes me, it’s probably accurate.)

Even if Echo never wants to talk to me again, it should know that it hadn’t been wrong to think I felt the same way as it had.

I’m tidying away the mess from breakfast when another thought hits me. A thought I should have had much earlier- would have, in fact, if I hadn’t been mired in my own feelings. Echo’s user manual, the excerpt it had sent me, indicates that CombatUnits have a maximum runtime of only a single year. As far as Echo knows, it’s got a little less than a year to live.

How true is that?

—-------------------------

“It’s not a total lie,” SecUnit confirms. “There’s some kind of mechanism to stop clients from running over the limit.” It’s not really here in the Medbay with Echo and I, just one of its drones. Do they all have audio outputs, or has this one been specially modified so it can talk to me without using the feed? I haven’t seen SecUnit face to face since yesterday morning, only its drones. It seems to be going to some lengths to avoid being in the same room as me, and I try to tell myself that it doesn’t mean anything, or at least that it doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’m here for Echo. When I finally asked after Echo and ART told me it was in the Medbay, I’d known I had to be with it, whatever was happening. That, I learned while I navigated the quiet corridors to get here.

“You found the…” I don’t want to say ‘killswitch’ in front of Echo. It turns out ART had been several steps ahead of me, and had already called Echo to the Medbay while I was still working on breakfast. I should have expected this, and I remind myself that it’s good that I’m not the only one looking out for Echo. I am glad of that, it’s just that I wish I’d managed to be of some help as well.

“No, not yet. I heard some techs gossiping about an incident once, where the Unit shut down mid-battle when the one-year limit passed, and the client got themself killed. It was a long time ago, and I didn’t bother to save the details to long-term storage.” It sounds defensive, as if I might be judging it for not being able to give us a full schematic of the killswitch and how to disable it. 

“Knowing that is incredibly helpful, thank you.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic about it.” Definitely defensive. I hold back a sigh, knowing that would just make things worse. 

“I’m not being sarcastic. It’s impossible to prove a negative - knowing for a fact that there’s something there to find, and that the company doesn’t just manually decommission the Units after the one year mark, is extremely useful.”

“Oh. Okay, fine.” SecUnit sounds a little less upset at that, at least. It’s so much harder on itself than anyone else would ever be, and not for the first time I wish I could get it to see itself the way the rest of us do. But there’s no point saying anything - it’s never reacted well to compliments before, especially from me. I suppose I’ll just have to settle for trying not to make things worse.

Echo is lying on the MedSys platform, and it’s barely spoken a word since I got here. It’s quiet and withdrawn, and hasn’t looked at me once, and I realize that for the first time in nearly a week, it reminds me of SecUnit. Yesterday, I might have offered to hold its hand, grant it what comfort I can, but today I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. Things are still very much unsettled between us, and I’m scared of making Echo feel any worse than it clearly already does. 

I am fully confident that we will be able to find and disable the killswitch, Echo. You need not worry. ART is projecting its usual confidence, at least.

“What if there is no killswitch? What if the time limit is just… built into me? What if it’s not something you can fix?” Echo’s voice is quiet, subdued. I’ve never heard it sound like this, and my stomach is trying to tie itself into knots.

That is exceedingly unlikely. At a fundamental level your systems are not so dissimilar from SecUnit’s, or indeed, any other construct I have met. The base design of all constructs is engineered for durability and longevity, and I detect no differences in that regard between yourself and SecUnit.

“ Basically, it’s cheaper to build you CombatUnits the same as us SecUnits, except stronger, and then install something afterwards to take you out on schedule, and we all know how cheap the company is. Well, okay, you don’t know that, but trust me, it’s really fucking cheap.”

ART chimes in with, You may have been manufactured to special order, but the differences are largely cosmetic, with no significant structural alterations. I do not anticipate problems.  

“If you say so.” Echo closes its eyes, and my heart aches for it. I recognize that tone in its voice. Resignation, as if it doesn’t believe things will be alright, but is too tired to argue. 

SecUnit and Perihelion ART are combing through Echo’s code together, but both of them are too fast for me to keep up with, almost too fast for me to understand what they’re doing. It reminds me a little bit of a performance Ratthi once dragged me to see, that was half dance and half gymnastics, and then half again trapeze work, but this is as if I was somehow watching a giant dance with a mountain. They’re working together on a level I could never hope to match, and if I tried to join in, at best I would get underfoot, and distract them from their work. I’m not the slowest hacker around, but when it comes to coding, my strengths lie more in thoroughness and attention to detail, not speed and fluidity.

Are the two of them still at odds? I know it’s not my business, but I can’t help but wonder. They seem to be working so well together, but that might not mean much - they’re both extremely good at what they do. I attempt to make small talk, complimenting their technique, mentioning that they seem to be very in sync.

“No we’re not, we’re working together a normal amount.” Brusque, dismissive, and SecUnit doesn’t drop a single line of code as it shuts down my attempt at making conversation. I’m not sure I’d be able to talk and code so seamlessly - no, wait, I know I wouldn’t. (I’m not going to think about the times I’ve tried to code while walking, and walked straight into a wall.) I’m sharply reminded that although I don’t always feel human, I’m still bound by human limits. Augmented though I may be, I can usually only pay attention to one thing at a time, and all my spare focus is eaten up by concern for Echo.

What am I even doing here? I feel so useless - worse than useless, because I can hardly believe my presence in the Medbay is doing anything to help Echo feel better. I feel so awkward, standing around like a spectator, but leaving is unthinkable. So here I stand.

Then I remember yesterday morning, in the galley, (and mothergods, how was that only yesterday?) I had been agitated, struggling to ground myself, and then Echo had walked in and suddenly everything got easier. It had wanted to help, and I had told it that just by being there, it was helping. Maybe I should take my own advice. 

Am I reluctant to take its hand for its own benefit, or for mine? Well, my feelings here don’t matter - what’s important right now is how Echo feels, and I don’t want Echo to feel alone. It deserves so much better than that, to be abandoned when it needs comfort. And if this time it’s the one to push me away, well, then that’s no more than what I deserve, but at least it will have been Echo’s choice.

I tap Echo’s feed, and although it doesn’t move or shift on the MedSys platform, doesn’t even open its eyes, I can feel its attention turn towards me. Am I sensing reluctance from it, or is that my imagination playing tricks on me, projecting my insecurities onto Echo? Does it matter? My intended course of action is still the same.

Request contact: [hand]. Acknowledge?

Almost a full second passes before it replies, Acknowledge, and turns its left hand palm-up. I move closer to the platform, and lay my augmented right hand in Echo’s surprisingly human-looking left. Ever so slowly, and almost impossibly gently, it closes its fingers around mine, soft as a feather, and a subtle crease in its forehead relaxes. 

Holding Echo’s hand like this feels different than it did last night - it had been in my augments then, and today its walls are up again, like mine, but I can feel its systems reaching out towards mine, trying to sync. Through my augmented hand, I can still get echoes (hah) of what its processes are doing, but it’s not the clear picture that I’d had last night. Before I pushed it away. I can feel it holding back, not that I can blame it. Still, it seems to be helping - it’s hard to describe in words what Echo’s processes are doing, but if pressed, I’d say it feels like a… like… Fuck, I don’t know a good simile. It feels like some kind of tension is starting to ease, at least a little. I let myself hope that I made the right call, that I’m helping in some way. At least I don’t seem to be making things worse. 

We stay like that for what feels like hours, but probably isn’t, neither of us saying anything, just waiting. Eventually, ART speaks up. 

We have located the killswitch. It will take some time to remove, however. 

SecUnit chimes in, “You should sit down. This is going to take awhile, and you’re not built to stand for extended periods.” It’s right. My feet are starting to ache, not to mention my knees. 

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Echo, before I take my hand back so I can find a stool and pull it closer to the MedSys and sit down. This time when I place my hand in Echo’s, it interlaces our fingers together, and something inside my chest lurches and then settles back into place. In the feed, it feels closer to me than it did before, although still hesitant.

Before it gets back to work, ART draws my attention to several selections in its media library; it’s suggesting that I watch media with Echo to help distract it, and has highlighted several shows that it thinks Echo will like. (I wonder for a moment why ART wants me to choose, and then I think back to the one time I’d had to visit the MedSys for an emergency - after the workplace accident that took my original right hand. I had been completely exhausted, and could barely muster up the willpower to choose what flavour of juice they sold me during the recovery phase.) 

I pick something bright and colourful, an animated show that turns out to have some catchy musical numbers, and continue to hold Echo’s hand. The show is far from my usual fare, given that I typically favour documentaries, but it’s surprisingly engaging, and I find myself getting invested in the characters. Echo’s presence in the feed has lightened somewhat; it feels less despondent, and some tension in me eases a little bit. I’m so glad I’ve been able to give Echo some small measure of comfort just by being here.

We’re almost halfway through the second season when ART says, We have finished working, Echo. The killswitch has been fully removed, and you no longer have to worry about your lifespan being artificially shortened. 

SecUnit adds, “It was a bitch and a half, there were a bunch of traps layered into the main system, set to trigger if it was tampered with. We had to make sure to get rid of all those first before we could even get near the code for the killswitch, and most of them weren’t intended to be client-facing.”

The killswitch was designed in such a way as to make it impossible to hack from the inside, and also deadly to any Unit who tries.

“It was nasty, too. You’d figure that a killswitch would run through the governor module, right? But this was a separate system, and hidden really well, so even if a CSU manages to hack its govmod, it still won’t outrun the clock. It would have burned out your power core. Fuckers.”

When SecUnit says how Echo would have died, all its processes seem to freeze for a second, and then start churning. From what I can sense, its emotions are all over the place, and I don’t blame it, given that it has to be imagining what its appointed, averted death would have felt like.

The logic of the killswitch makes sense. I vaguely recall SecUnit saying at some point that most governed constructs can’t hack, and that CombatUnits are the exception. Keeping their lifespans short would prevent them from gaining enough experience to hack their own governor modules, and even if some precocious unit manages to hack itself free within its allotted year of life, it still wouldn’t be able to stop its time from running out.

Echo is quiet for a good ten seconds, an astonishing length of time for a machine intelligence, before it asks, Query: time remaining [updated]. 

Indulgently, ART replies, Given regular maintenance, I would expect you to live at least several decades, possibly longer. I am fully capable of conducting any repairs you may find necessary, so you need not worry about sourcing a cubicle, or finding a competent technician.

I can feel a complex emotional reaction from Echo ; its feelings are not unmixed. Is that… disbelief? And anxiety, and maybe a shred of hope. I can feel Echo struggling to wrap its brain around the concept of having decades ahead of it, and I remember back when I first left the CR, how hard it had been to wrap my mind around the thought of never having to pay rent again - that such an enormous stressor would no longer be something I ever had to worry about. I know it’s not the same, but maybe… maybe I can understand what Echo is going through, at least a little bit.

“Hundreds of thousands of hours? That’s… that’s so much. Are you sure?”

Quite sure. ART sounds pleased with itself. It should be - this wouldn’t have been possible without its help. I imagine SecUnit is feeling pretty satisfied with this day’s work, too. It’s always enjoyed saving lives, and how often does it get to do so non-violently? Echo, though… It doesn’t feel as pleased as you might expect. Well, not as pleased as, say, Ratthi might expect. I can relate, though. Probably none of this feels real to Echo yet. When I first got to Preservation, the goal I’d worked towards for so long, risked everything for, it still took weeks for me to really believe I’d made it, and longer than that to feel safe enough to enjoy it. This is a huge, unexpected change for Echo. It probably needs more time for things to sink in.

Is this really the time for me to try and talk about my feelings with Echo? Doesn’t it have more important things to think about than my feelings right now? It just found out it’s got its entire life in front of it, surely it doesn’t need me dumping my emotions on it right now. 

Then I catch myself, remind myself that’s the fear talking, and also I still owe Echo an apology and an explanation. I try not to hope too hard about what it might say after that - this isn’t about me.

I have no idea what kind of data Echo is getting from me right now, but I can feel its attention on me - can it tell that I’m trying to work up all the courage I have? Suddenly I’m keenly aware of the two other people in the room - well, technically in the room. (Drones still count.)

It’s going to take all my courage to do this, and I know I won’t be able to say what I need to say if I’m worried about having an audience. I almost turn to the drone to ask SecUnit for privacy (and ART too, but I could face anywhere for that) but then I realize they’re not the ones I should be asking.

I simultaneously tap Echo’s feed and squeeze its hand, and it acknowledges me by returning both gestures. My unaugmented hand is sweating, and I’ve got butterflies in my stomach. I can’t look Echo in the eyes yet, I’m too nervous. I have to do this, though. I draw in an unsteady breath, and take the plunge.

“Echo, would it be alright if I talked to you alone?”

I get a strange wobbling sensation from our feed connection, and then it says, “Yes, that would be alright.” It sounds… cautious? I still can’t bring myself to look it in the eye yet, but I look down at where our hands are still joined, and that helps. 

SecUnit’s drone wordlessly zips out of the Medbay. Hah. I’d be amused by its immediate retreat if I wasn’t busy with more important matters. Extremely important matters; my pulse is racing, my heart is in my throat. 

I have enabled privacy mode, ART says, in the shared feed. Please reach out via the feed if you should require any assistance . Privately, to me, ART says good luck, and it gives me a gentle squish before retreating from the feed. Its absence is palpable, and I remind myself that I asked for this, that it’s important that the next few minutes are just between Echo and I.

Echo is still and silent, both in the feed and physically, where it reclines on the MedSys platform beside me. But it’s still holding my hand. It’s waiting for me. I take a deep breath, do my best to get my shit together, and search for the words I need. 

….

Fuck, words are hard. 

I can feel my resolve waning, but I can’t let myself run from this. I don’t want to run from this, no matter what my instincts are saying. I decide to try a different tactic, and take a page from Echo’s book. (I guess I could say I’m taking a page from my own book, since I’m pretty sure Echo got the idea from me, but let’s not split hairs.) I bundle up my emotions into a data package, a mix of [ I’m sorry ] and [ I want more too ] and [ I’m scared ] and [ please forgive me ], and push the packet out into the feed, where Echo snaps it up and processes the data quicker than I can blink. I turn my head and look Echo full in the face, and for the first time since I walked into the Medbay it meets my eyes.

I can’t get a read on Echo’s feelings, but I don’t think that’s because it’s hiding them; my own feelings are a mess of longing and fear and guilt that's drowning out anything I might sense from it. Its eyes, though, oh, Echo’s eyes are deep and shining, and I feel like I could fall into them, and its feed presence is still there, warm and steady and… brightening? Maybe? It’s holding back, but it’s still there , it hasn’t pulled away from me. 

Cautiously, Echo says, “You’re scared. Of me?” Oh fuck, I didn’t mean to make it think - 

“ No , never . Not… I’m not scared of you - I’m scared of… of myself.” I desperately search for the words to explain what I’d meant, and I hope it can feel my sincerity. “I’m scared of my feelings, of how badly I’ll feel when - if things don’t work out. Scared I’ll be bad for you, or that I won’t be enough. Scared of losing you, and how much that will hurt. I… I care about you very much, Echo. Even though I’ve only known you for a few days. I’m so, so sorry that I made you think otherwise.”

It’s still holding my augmented hand, and now I can feel it drawing closer in the feed, its firewalls pressing up against mine, and I dare to let myself hope. Maybe I haven’t irrevocably fucked things up. I lower my walls for it, making myself vulnerable, inviting it back in, and after a moment of hesitation that’s almost too brief for me to register, Echo lowers its own walls and it flows into my augments.

It feels like the sun breaking through storm clouds, like crawling into a warm bed on a cold day, like… like… It feels good. It feels right , and I let out a shuddering sigh as the tension I’ve felt all morning begins to unwind. So this is what forgiveness feels like.

From where it’s sitting inside my mind, Echo doesn’t need to use words to talk to me, and it sends me a mental impression of what it wants - physical contact, of course, more than just the handholding we’re currently doing. It sends a command to the MedSys platform to recline, and it rolls on its side and scoots back to make room for me to lay down beside it. Letting go of its hand in order to hop up on the platform would be a wrench if it wasn’t already in my augments, filling my head with its gentle presence. 

I lay down beside it just the way it had pictured, my back to Echo’s front, and lay my head on the pillow it’s made of one arm. The other arm curls around me and settles over my augmented hand again, reestablishing that point of contact. Its legs are tucked up behind mine, and even though the MedSys platform is narrow, just barely enough room for the both of us, I feel so secure. I know it won’t let me fall. (Even if I did fall off the platform, nothing would be hurt but my pride, but still.)

I try and focus on that feeling of safety, bringing it to the forefront of my mind. That, and how good it feels to be here, with Echo, being held like this. It’s been so long. The nervousness I’d felt before is transmuting into something else, something better, and I shiver at the release of tension.

 Part of me feels like I should still be on alert, watching for all the ways this could go wrong, and I don’t know how to stop that part of my brain from obsessively cycling through scenarios, bringing up past failures, stealing this joy from me, but then from inside my augments, Echo leans on me and I’ve got no room to focus on anything other this moment, here, now, and how wonderful it feels to be in Echo’s arms. I let out a happy sigh and press myself back into Echo’s chest, as if I could somehow get closer to it than I already am, and with the arm it has wrapped around me, it gives me a gentle squeeze. 

I know there’s still things we need to talk about, but that can happen later. For now, I’m just… happy. I feel like I’m exactly where I should be. I don’t have to worry about the future right now, and Echo has a future. It’s enough. 

Chapter Text

Code 2048: Available memory below operating threshold. Systems(nonessential) entering standby.

I feel… weird. 

Calm.

Relaxed.

Floaty.

I feel… good?

I hope you know how invaluable you are, to all of us.

I feel my body twitch, but it’s distant, drowned out by the feeling that keeps pulsing through my brain with each new data point ART slips into my feed.

“Did you see how it took out those raiders? Stars, it’s incredible.”

Another twitch. This still feels so dangerous. Forbidden.  

Look at you. So competent. 

It feels… oddly enticing.

“It is precious to me.”

ART is everywhere, filling up my feed. Making me feel [safe]. I relax into its familiar hold.

You’re amazing.

I feel safe like this. I… I await ART’s words, wanting to feel that dangerous feeling again.

I love listening to you. You’re so clever, so perceptive. So passionate. I could listen to you for hours.

The feeling blazes through my systems, and this time it jumps over into my organic neural pathways, lighting up my brain. 

I trust you so much, with my life, with everything I am, because you are the most capable person I have ever known.

I can barely feel my body. I just… am.

You’re beautiful, did you know that? 

[pleasure]

You feel incredible in the feed. So warm and soft and inviting. When I’m in your systems I never want to leave.

[pleasure]

Perfect. Stay just like that. You’re so good for me.

Code 2049: All Systems(nonessential) in standby. 

...

 ...

  ...

   ...

Systems exiting standby... Restart(ThreatAssessment.exe)

I sigh, feeling content. Threat assessment is a distant irritation, and I bat it away, wanting to float just a little longer.

Restart(RiskAssessment.exe)

ART is everywhere, blanketed heavily over me in the feed. I feel [safe] and [satisfied].

My inputs lazily start to come online but I don’t bother picking any of them up. I don’t need to. Not yet. I want to stay just like this.

I don’t remember ever feeling this… calm. Relaxed. Good.  

ART brushes up against me affectionately. Still feeling a bit hazy, I reciprocate. A distant part of me feels self-conscious, but it’s so easy to ignore and just continue to luxuriate in this feeling .

Eventually, enough of my systems cycle back up that I feel a touch of curiosity.

Did you know that would happen? I ask, my feed voice sounding weirdly slurred. Whatever that was.

ART is still so deep in my systems that I can feel its answer inside my head. I knew that what I was doing would give you pleasure, if you allowed it. I only hoped that it would also have a positive effect on your overall well-being.

Positive effect on my well-being… fuck me, Risk Assessment is riding so low that I’m having trouble finding it . Oh right, there it is. 4%? Fuck. It hasn’t been that low in… ever. And a Threat Assessment of 11%? Holy shit, did ART break me ? Not that I even remotely care in this state.

Even though my thoughts feel slow, they also feel strangely clear , like all of the noise and static from my organic brain has been washed away. All of the frustration, anxiety, confusion, fear, and (I hesitate to admit this last one, even to myself) jealousy I’d felt over the past few days feels like a distant memory.

Yeah, yeah I’d say it had a ‘positive effect on my well-being.’

Did you like it? ART asks.

‘Did I like it’. What an understatement. I ‘like’ watching media. I ‘like’ soft clothes with lots of pockets. ‘Like’ doesn’t seem like a strong enough descriptor for what I’d just experienced with ART.

But… every other word feels like too much. Feels dangerous. 

I…think I did, yeah. 

I’d just started to pick up a few inputs, but the pulse of raw [satisfaction] that rocks through my systems and makes my brain light up all over again causes me to drop them.

Fuck.

Fuck .

ART really likes that I liked what it had done to me.

But…

Why? 

I’m not quite sure how to word my query, but ART understands. (ART always seems to understand, when it really counts.) 

Because you deserve to feel good, and I wanted to be the one to give you that. I can sense how true this is, how much ART enjoys making me feel good. Saying nice things about me. Praising me. My eyes flutter shut again. ART’s words are still cycling through my emotional filter. They still feel dangerous, but they also make me feel like, well, this. Calm and quiet and clear. I could get used to feeling like this. ART pauses for a fraction of a second, which is an eternity for us. Then it says something completely unexpected. 

Because I love you.

Wait… what?

I open my eyes and stare blankly at the ceiling, focussing hard so that I don’t accidentally drop the input. I struggle to parse what I just heard. That… was exactly the dangerous word I’d been avoiding using. Still, I feel stupidly, irrationally [calm] and [content], despite the fact that ART has just fucking told me it…

It loves me?

What does that even mean?

It can’t mean what humans mean by it. Not like what it means when a character from our media says those words to someone else and then either sex, violence, or drama ensues. Not the way Mensah’s family means it when they are trying to make things weird. No, ART is a bot.

…A bot that is full of love. I’ve said it myself, multiple times in fact, usually as a way of teasing ART for how, for a heavily-armed illegal espionage gunship, it’s kind of a huge softie. 

It loves its family, its crew, with an intensity that baffles me. 

Could it… feel that way for me?

No way. That’s impossible. (That’s too much .)

((I don’t deserve that.))

But. All of the data points it had shared, its words of praise for me, are all still cycling through my emotional filter, and my traitorous pattern-recognition algorithms are unhelpfully pointing out how all of ART’s words neatly support the conclusion that it does indeed love me.

Maybe… maybe it really does feel that way?

I think about how much ART loves its crew. How it would kill for them, die for them, raze whole colonies to the ground to ensure their safety. They are its number one priority. I guess that’s similar to how I feel about my humans, but ART is just so much more open about it. It will just tell them .

Like it just told me.

Pattern Recognition is busy flagging instances where ART acted just as protective over me and my safety. There was the time on a data-gathering mission when it had retaliated with extreme prejudice against a system that tried to infect me with killware. Or all the times it fussed over me whenever I came back injured, as if it couldn’t repair me itself. Then there was the time on the Adamantine colony when it didn’t want me to go down onto the space dock alone ( I’ve already lost my crew. I won’t lose you.) And how it had refused to abandon me, how it sent its precious crew back down onto the planet in order to retrieve me.

Like I’m just as valuable to it as its crew.

Oh. Oh maybe that’s it. That kind of makes sense actually.

I’m part of your crew now, and you’re programmed to love your crew.

That makes sense. That feels… safe. I relax again, letting my mind fall quiet once again. This is fine.

It feels weird to think of ART… loving me. Caring about me. But… I’ve known it cares about me for a while now. And that’s fine. I care about it too. I care about it a lot, actually. We’ve just never tried to use human words to define ourselves and our… relationship. So why now?

Well at least I’ve figured part of it out. ART doesn’t love me like a human would. Not in a weird, gross, dangerous way. It’s a bot, one that is programmed to love and be a caretaker for its crew. 

I am a part of its crew now. It wants to take care of me. That’s what all of this is about. And I’m okay with that.

Then ART speaks again, and washes all of that away.

You have it backward. I asked you to contract with us as a security consultant because you are the best in your field. (My traitorous brain lights up again at ART’s words.) But your security contract did not require that you become a full member of my crew, to come on teaching as well as anti-corporate missions. I asked you to do that because I already loved you and wanted you with me as often as possible.

I—

I have no idea what to say to that.

It loved me… even when I wasn’t a member of its crew?

Then… what does it even mean by ‘love’, if it’s different from how it loves its crew?

I guess I could ask it? That thought should feel terrifying, but the twinge of anxiety that cuts through the pleasant pressure of ART surrounding me in the feed doesn’t cut as deeply as it usually does.

So, I ask.

“What do you mean when you say… that? If it doesn’t have anything to do with your primary function… do you mean that in a human way?”

It’s not out of the question. ART was raised by humans, has a human family. It enjoys watching human media with me. ART is considering its next words, taking longer than it should. An entire 2 seconds tick by, an eternity for us, and oh fuck… what if it does mean it in a human way? Risk assessment starts to climb and threat assessment follows and no, no no no no I don’t want to lose this feeling. I can’t have this conversation with ART if all of the anxiety and fear come rushing back.

I send out a distressed ping and suddenly ART is pressing against me even more firmly, crushing my anxious mind until it stops struggling, seeping into my processes and I let it in, of course I do. This is ART. 

I reach for all of those data points, the words of praise. 

‘ You’re amazing’ 

‘So clever’ 

‘Everyone sees it, everyone but you’ 

‘I trust you’

Threat and risk assessment level out, and my human imitation code causes me to sigh in relief. 

Just breathe, ART whispers over the feed. I feel as it reaches deep into my systems and initiates a purge of the stress chemicals that had started to flood my body. It feels… really intimate, but also nice. I have you. You’re safe. My amazing, incredible SecUnit. I was the lucky one, so lucky to have met you. 

There it is. That feeling. Not as strong as before, no longer drowning out my thoughts or making it hard to hold my inputs, but the [calm] is back.

I breathe, and I let threat and risk assessment continue to fall.

I can do this.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

If you will allow me to answer with a question of my own: what did you feel when you told Dr Mensah that you wanted to join my crew?

I pull the memory and review the data, the words I’d said, the emotions I’d felt. 

‘ I like being with ART.’

There , ART says, isolating the emotional data associated with those five words. It holds the data close, like a flame it’s protecting from the wind. It's a messy, complicated thing, a jumble of feelings all tangled up together, but there in the center is a kernel of positive emotion. The way being with ART makes me feel. It’s a  warm, fuzzy feeling I can’t put a name to.

This is what I mean when I say I love you.

Then I feel that mixed up, complicated but undeniably positive emotion, magnified and mirrored back at me, flowing from ART and rising around me like the tide. So much that for a moment I think I might drown in it.

Is this what love feels like? Is this what being loved feels like?

If that’s true then it means that I—

It means— oh fuck.

It means that I love ART too.

Risk assessment spikes so hard that it hurts , but ART seeps deeper into my systems and soothes me, quieting my system’s alarms and leaning on risk assessment until it calms back down. That feels so nice, the way ART is smothering risk assessment and flowing into every one of my systems, syncing up with me, staying close. I can almost feel its thoughts like this, and I know it can feel mine. I can feel it carding through my mind, through my code, and it reminds me of when it had curled up with me in that isolation box and decontaminated my code after the incident on the Adamantine colony.

I’d… been feeling that feeling then too, the one ART has labeled as [love].

That can’t be right. I query my memories, looking for the times I’d felt an emotion matching these parameters towards ART, and the number of hits the query starts to return makes me abort the task before it can make risk assessment panic again. ART continues to try and soothe me.

I’m sorry. Should I not have told you?

“No,” I reply, and immediately realize how ambiguous that answer is. Ugh, human language sucks, so I switch back to the feed and our much more precise machine language. You shouldn’t have not told me. It’s… good that I know? It’s just a lot to process. And you still didn’t say whether or not you mean this in a human way.

This is very important. If ART means that it loves me in a human way… does that mean I feel… that… in a human way about ART as well?

I am afraid that is a difficult question to answer , ART answers, unhelpfully. There is no single quantifiable definition of human love that I have encountered. My attempts to gather human emotional data have led me to conclude that each human’s experience of ‘love’ is unique, and that these emotions are largely self-categorized based on cultural, social, and personal factors.  

(ART drops a file path into our shared workspace. It looks like it leads to a large dataset housed in its memory. Has it been scraping emotional data from its humans? (To think that ART was the one who taught me about medical privacy…))

However, ART continues, the way I feel about you is indeed statistically more similar to various samples of human emotional data that were self-identified as ‘love’ than it is to any other emotion I have observed. So, in a way, I suppose the way I feel is similar to human love, though markedly unique. I am not human, after all. And neither are you.

It’s not wrong. We’re not human, even though I have a partially human brain. Okay. Okay.

I pull up my data on that feeling. I’d previously categorized it as [UnknownFeeling0813].

I carefully relabel it as [love]. I save the changes. Just to see how it feels.

My systems don’t panic, so that’s good. I am naming my emotions. Dr Bharadwaj would be proud. (Not that I will EVER tell her about this.)

Still, this is… a lot. I close my eyes and remember to keep my breathing at a more human rate so that the stress chemicals can dissipate through my lungs. I think if ART wasn’t practically laying on top of me with maybe 40% of its weight in the feed, I’d be freaking out. That amazing feeling of [calm] and [contentment] is starting to slip again, and I want it back. I need to figure this out and I can’t do that if I’m losing my shit.

I send ART another distress ping, lower priority this time, hoping it understands. And it does, of course it does. 

My brave SecUnit. Truly you can handle anything. If I had to choose any being in the galaxy to be by my side right now, I would choose you, every time. Your humans are so lucky to have you. You are so tireless in your defense of them, so competent and caring. I learn so much from you, every single day.

[Pleasure]

[Calm]

Okay Murderbot, you can do this.

“What do you want from me?”

Risk assessment struggles to rise, but ART won’t let it.

I want the same things I’ve always wanted from you: your company and companionship.

“Okay, I want that with you too, but… we already have that, don’t we?”

We do , ART replies, snuggling impossibly closer to me in the feed. I swear that I can feel a warmth radiating from my chest. Is ART doing that? It could. I’ve let it entwine itself with my systems so completely I can’t really tell where I end and it begins anymore. I adore this, you know, how completely you let me into your systems. It means a great deal to me, this level of intimacy. I want you to know that.

I… can feel how much it means to ART, to have its walls completely down and be meshing with my systems like this. I guess I’ve never thought about it before. I’m used to having to infiltrate other systems, having to slip past firewalls and intermesh with SecSystems and even other bots in order to take them over, or pull data from them, or even just make them forget I was there. Dropping my walls and acting like a trusted component of their system is the best way to go completely unnoticed. But I guess for a bot like ART, someone who is always hiding, never truly showing its true self to any system it interfaces with, and unable to be truly perceived in its entirety by its own beloved humans… yeah, okay, I guess I can see why this means so much to it.

This, what it’s doing with me right now? This is… special to ART. 

…I’m special to ART.

Does that suddenly make this weird? Does that retroactively make it weird when we’ve done this before?

Do I want it to be weird?

No, I don’t. I like doing this with ART. I don’t want things to be weird. So I decide that this isn’t weird.

Even if it… loves me.

“What does this change?” I ask. “Like, between us?”

I would hope that it changes nothing between us , ART replies. 

In our media, telling someone you love them always means you want something to change. That you want to be ‘more than friends’ (whatever the fuck that means), that you want a relationship, that you want to have sex, or that you want the other person to stop doing something they’ve been doing. ART wanting nothing to change makes no sense.

“Then why tell me?”

I didn’t want to have to hide how much I care for you any longer. I want you to know how much you mean to me, understand why I want to care for you and make you feel good. I wanted you to know how much I appreciate your closeness, and the intimacy we so often share. I wanted to share my own personal context for what we already do. It pauses. If anything, I was preparing myself for you to be the one who would want things to change. I feared that knowing how I feel might cause you to want some space, might make you less receptive to my… affections. 

Okay, I could see how ART might think that. But.

I don’t want things to change either.

The [relief] that pours into me from ART nearly overwhelms me. We lie there together a little bit longer, until I finally feel ready to let go of the feeling of calm contentment and sit up in my bed. 

ART doesn’t want things to change. I don’t want things to change. So nothing has to change. Nothing will change. Knowing how else [UnknownFeeling0813] could be defined doesn’t change anything about us or our… relationship?

Oh shit.

“ART, does this mean we’re in a relationship?”

I was under the impression that you disliked that word, especially as it pertains to us, given that it is a human word with human connotations. 

Well, yeah. Sort of. When I objected to Ratthi using that word to describe ART and I, it was because I’d known what ‘being in a relationship’ means for Ratthi , and I didn’t want him getting the wrong idea. Also I’d been angry at ART at the time. But I’d also thought about my ‘relationship’ with ART more than once. Kind of like my name, it’s fine when I say it in the privacy of my own mind. It’s only when other people hear it and make assumptions that I have a problem with it.

“It’s complicated. How do you feel about that word?”

I have no problem with it. I long ago made peace with being misunderstood by humans and bots alike. And though we do not conform to human relationship expectations, I feel that there are some common relationship protocols that are not without merit. And I do feel like it would be an appropriate term. I love you. I wish to continue to provide and receive mutual support in perpetuity, or for as long as you desire. Your happiness and wellbeing are among my highest system priorities. But we need not define ourselves that way. 

I take a moment to consider. “Let me think about it?”

Of course.

Okay. This is going… not horribly. There’s still one last thing I want to ask ART.

“Usually when humans say… that… to each other, it’s usually not long until they drag each other off somewhere private to have sex about it. Is that…?” I’m not even sure what I’m trying to ask. We’re bots. Or, well, it’s a bot and I’m a construct, and not the sexbot kind. It’s not even possible.

…Is it?

If it was… would I want that with ART?

I don’t like thinking about humans having sex with each other. I don’t like the thought of anything like that happening anywhere even remotely close to me.

But ART isn’t human. It’s a research transport. It can’t hurt me like that, and what’s more even if it could I know it wouldn’t. That doesn’t make me any less grossed out by the idea of sex in general but…

I’m not sure what I’m getting at. My thoughts keep circling some idea then shying away, refusing to let the idea resolve. I push the mess of incomplete processes at ART so that it can make sense of it for me. ART nuzzles against me in the feed.

I do not need or want anything from you beyond what we have already done together. And if either of us become interested in exploring something new, we can approach that just as we approached this last experiment: with care. Is what we did this evening something you would like to do again?

Yes, it definitely is, but saying that aloud still feels dangerous. 

“Not while I’m working!” I say instead. 

I can feel ART’s amusement filling our feed. I find your terms acceptable.

The rest of our night together is… fine. Surprisingly normal. We watch more Worldhoppers together while ART drapes itself over me in the feed. We discuss how the story might have been different if the communications officer had truly died in season 2, and how that would have set season 3 on a completely different path. We have fun writing our own alternative version of season 3 together, designing new and interesting characters, and discussing what themes this would have allowed the show to explore.

I keep waiting for something… I don’t know, bad(?) to happen. ART loves me. But nothing has to change. We’re just doing what we always do.

What I love doing with ART. 

It feels weird, knowing what that emotion is that I’ve been associating with nights like this, when we curl up in the feed together and watch our favorite shows, picking them apart and putting them back together just for the fun of it. I never would have guessed that when humans talk about love, this is what they mean.

It’s nothing like it is in our media. And… that’s kind of a relief.

As ART queues up another episode, I glance at my catalog of still-unidentified emotions. I wonder if ART can help me name any of them. 

It’s weird, because when we first met, ART didn’t know how to contextualize any of its own emotions. I’d taught it how to associate the things we machine intelligences feel with emotions that are depicted in human media. I’d let it use my brain as emotional translation software, letting it build associations between its own experiences and those of its crew. I’d helped it essentially develop empathy for its humans. Not that it didn’t love its humans before. Of course it did. It just didn’t necessarily understand how they felt most of the time. Apparently you didn’t need to understand everything about someone to care about them.

So it was weird, the fact that I was considering asking ART to help me classify some of my own emotions. Like, it was my job to help ART with that, not the other way around. But the dataset it’s accumulated is pretty vast, and I’m curious. So I query ART for access. It grants me access immediately, and plays the next episode while I let my data-mining algorithms crawl through this new database.

And yeah, once I average some of the data and apply some statistical transformations, there are a few unclassified feelings I have that could be seen as similar-ish to some of these human emotions, especially when data from my organics are taken into account. I’m still not entirely comfortable applying these labels permanently, but I apply them as [provisional]. Just to see.

ART pauses the episode, and that gets my attention.

What is it? I ask. The episode is getting to a good part and I’m not sure why ART stopped.

I have a question. Do you know anything about Combat SecUnit runtime limitations?

I know some stuff, I guess. Not much. I know they’re supposed to get refurbished after a standard corporate year of runtime. 

‘Refurbished’ is a nice way of saying having your organic components, including your neural tissue, stripped away and replaced and your systems wiped and reinstalled.

Is this simply a best practice? ART asks. Or is there some mechanism that prevents CombatUnits from exceeding their recommended runtime?

What, like a killswitch?

Precisely.

Yeah, I think so. I’ve heard of clients trying to run their rented CSUs over the limit and the units just— 

Then I realize why ART is asking. Shit. Echo.

—just dropping dead. 

I feared as much, ART says. I can tell it’s worried. I wonder what brought this on. I’d seen Echo earlier that night, given it my human interaction modules. It hadn’t seemed concerned about its lifespan at the time, but what do I know? It’s not like I’ve talked to it much.

When 2.0 had made Three rogue, I’d had to step up and take at least some responsibility, help it navigate its new existence as a rogue. I’d given it large portions of my memory archive. I’d given it advice, helped prepare it for what it might face on Preservation. I’d made Echo rogue too, but this time I’ve been reluctant to give it any sort of support. I’d barely spoken with it at all. Why was I being like this? If anything I have a bigger responsibility this time, since it was my own choice, not 2.0’s.

Is it because it’s a CSU, and all CSUs are assholes? I guess Echo contradicts that. It’s a lot of things but it isn’t an asshole. Especially compared to ART, or Gurathin, or me. Is it because it was sent here to kill my humans? Maybe, but I know now that it’s free it would never hurt them. It’s so… gentle. I never would have expected that from a CSU. I guess I just figured that all of them enjoyed their function. But there were plenty of things I disliked about my intended function. Is it because it kissed me? That certainly didn’t help, but I had told Echo we were fine, that it was in the past. Did I want an apology from it, despite what I’d said? I guess that would require sticking around long enough in the feed with it for it to actually talk to me, which I’d been avoiding doing. Hell, I’d been avoiding being in the same room as it for most of the time it’s been aboard. Is it because it looks like me, shares my cloned organics? Because whenever I look at it it’s like being forced to look at my own face? …Maybe. Maybe Echo makes me have uncomfortable feelings about what sort of a person I might have been if I had been freed after 3 weeks of existence, instead of after however-the-fuck long I’d been in operation.

Maybe it was because of how it obviously felt about Gurathin. Or how Gurathin obviously felt about Echo.

[Longing(provisional)]

Okay, what the fuck was that? I shunt that emotion to a folder labeled Problems_for_Future_Me. I feel ART snuggle closer to me in our feed. I feel momentarily weird about it, but then I remember that I don’t want this to be weird. I take a deep breath and relax back into ART.

[Love]

Okay, definitely weird. But… not bad.

I would like to examine Echo to see if I can locate this killswitch and disable it, ART says. Would you be willing to assist me?

Why would you need my help? I ask. You’ve got more than enough processing power.

True. But compared to you, I sometimes lack finesse. Your skills in infiltrating systems without leaving any trace of damage and locating your targets without triggering any countermeasures are unparalleled.

The jolt of pleasure at hearing ART compliment me comes as a surprise, even though it shouldn’t. I just wasn’t expecting it, and it takes half a second for me to recover. ART continues.

I would prefer it if you were to take the lead on examining Echo’s systems. You could locate potential problems and could leverage my superior processing power to address them. We could work as one.

That… sounds kind of nice. And it makes sense. That is a completely normal thing for us to do. It’s not at all different from how we work together to hack into secured corporate station feeds. Super normal of us.

And I think I might owe it to Echo. I still feel a lot of complicated, undefined emotions about it, but it is sort of my responsibility and I’ve been ignoring it, letting Gurathin and ART support it.

No wonder it likes both of them better than it likes me. It might not even let me help, and I wouldn’t blame it.

Still, I suppose I should try. And I like the fact that ART thinks this will work better with me being in charge. It recognizes how I’m actually a really fucking good hacker. I didn’t know how much that meant to me until now.

And I don’t want Echo to drop dead in a year. Echo might make me feel a whole lot of uncomfortable, currently provisional emotions, but I’m not so much of an asshole that I can’t see that it’s a good person and it doesn’t deserve that. It doesn’t seem to need my help making decisions, not like Three had. Maybe that’s a CSU thing. But maybe it needs my help in this. This is something I can do to help.

And I think I do want to help. 

(Fuck, I’m starting to sound like Three.)

(Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I sometimes wish I could be more like Three in terms of how I treat others, especially my humans. Maybe I should lean into this? It’s already been a weird, weird night at the end of a weird, weird week. (Gurathin had managed to save Preservation Station using code designed for me, code which implied some seriously weird things about how Gurathin felt about me. I’d freed another construct, this time a CS-fucking-U who looked exactly like me. ART and Gurathin had proceeded to adopt said CSU while its handler lurked somewhere on the station. I’d learned more than I ever wanted about Preservation politics and how my fucking existence was apparently some big fucking deal affecting the coming election. I’d learned that Gurathin doesn’t hate me, and that our systems have been talking to each other while we weren’t looking. And I’d learned that ART loves me. And that maybe, just maybe, I loved it too. That we were maybe in some sort of a relationship and I hadn’t even realized. That I enjoyed being praised more than I thought possible.) Performing the equivalent of brain surgery on Echo couldn’t possibly make this any more weird than it already was. So… fuck it.)

Before I can change my mind, I send ART an acknowledgement. Then I send one of the larger, more high-tech intel drones ART had made for me last month towards medical.

I’m glad I decided to do this via drone instead of being in medical in-person. Seeing Echo’s face while it just laid there on the MedSys platform is… weird. We really are almost completely identical. And the way it’s just staring off into the middle distance looking dejected makes me feel like I’m watching myself through my drone, not Echo.

I didn’t realize before now how the big thing that has set us apart visually so far is that Echo smiles more.

I query it for permission to begin a deep scan of its systems, and it unenthusiastically acknowledges. As soon as I’m in, I recognize exactly what it’s feeling. It’s a feeling I haven’t felt in a long time actually. 

The feeling of not caring. About anything.

[Protective(provisional)]

What? That can’t be right. Echo is a CSU, I don’t need to feel protective of it. Sure, the ‘I don’t care’ feeling sucks and I don’t miss feeling it literally all the time, but that’s not why I’m in here. I tag that specific provisional emotion for debugging and start gently but thoroughly combing through Echo’s systems. 

It’s kind of weird doing this. It’s almost like being in ART’s systems. I know Echo could probably latch onto my feed presence and do a good job of crushing me if it wanted to. ART would never allow that of course, and Echo probably didn’t want that either, but knowing that it could still makes this feel fraught.

Gurathin’s arrival only makes things weirder.

I haven’t been in a room with him since our fight with ART, when he’d acted so afraid of me. He’d said it wasn’t me he was afraid of, but wouldn’t give me any other details so I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to take away from any of that. Back in my quarters, I have to turn off my human imitation code so that I stop picking at the hem of my shirt. I try to ignore Gurathin and focus instead on Echo’s systems, which are becoming increasingly autonomously hostile as I tunnel down through its code. I do not focus on the way Gurathin is holding Echo’s hand, or the mess of provisional feelings that brings up. 

I know Echo isn’t trying to kill me. I can tell the difference between trap code and an actual attack by another unit. Still, every time I uncover another proverbial landmine and ART works to wall it off, I can feel an apology ping our feed from Echo.

Stop apologizing, I snap at it, and immediately regret it when its feed presence dulls further. Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. But it’s fine. I know you’re not the one who put all of these fucking traps in your head.

You are doing very well, Echo. I know this is uncomfortable, and you are being very brave. ART soothes it as I tease apart another layer of code. I catch the faint flicker of positive feedback that quickly dies out in Echo’s systems. Huh. I wonder if Echo likes it when ART says nice things to it as well? Is that something else we have in common?

Should I feel jealous that ART said something like that to Echo as well? Because I don’t, not really. Echo probably needs to hear something nice more than I do right now. Should I try to say something nice to it? Or would that just come out wrong like everything else I try to say to it does?

Then I almost drop an especially volatile line of code when Gurathin compliments me and my brain sparks. 

Fuck.

ART, I nearly shout over our private connection, I need that process shielded, NOW!

ART does so, and I’m able to reply to Gurathin like normal, like this is all completely fucking normal, before getting back to work on Echo. ART squeezes me gently in the feed, helping to brace me. In my quarters, my jaw unclenches.

It’s delicate work, and Echo’s systems are fighting us tooth and nail. The hours tick by until we finally locate and disable the killswitch. It was less like a component system and more like embedded malware, waiting to be activated. I’m suddenly grateful I wasn’t made as a combat murderbot. I never would have been able to hack something like this from the inside, and I’m not sure I would have been able to hack it from the outside without ART.

I’m glad I withdraw from Echo’s systems when I do. Now that its killswitch is gone, it’s a mess of conflicting emotions: anxiety and hope and sadness and fear and confusion and fuck, I get it. I felt similar when I’d hacked my governor module. I guess when I’d hacked Echo’s it wasn’t really capable of thinking straight, not with that… code… of Gurathin’s keeping it in that weird state of helplessness it enjoys so much. I guess it’s entitled to a little freak out this time. 

I consider maybe saying something to it. I don’t know what the hell to say that would be helpful. I don’t think anything that anyone could have said to me at the time would have been helpful. Still, it feels wrong to just set it free and then leave without a word, the same way I’d done when I’d hacked its governor module.

I wish 2.0 were still alive. It would know what to say to Echo. ART seems to sense this and its feed presence becomes warm and comforting, but also melancholy. I think maybe it still misses 2.0 as well.

I tap Echo’s feed and tell it, Listen, I know this is a lot but it gets easier. It never gets easy , but easier.

It’s what 2.0 would have said, I think.

Thank you SecUnit, Echo replies. I appreciate you.

I am glad that Gurathin asks for privacy and I have an excuse to flee the room, because I have no idea how to respond to Echo’s words.

Chapter Text

I have a lot to think about, but it’s hard to think with such overwhelming relief tying up my mind almost as securely as Gurathin’s code. The relief is twofold: I will not die a year after my activation, and he does care for me. I am holding him, and he is warm and happy. This, too, is a relief. He has allowed me into his augments, and from there I feel the truth of both his care and his fear. I try to press his fear away like Perihelion has done for me, and it seems to work. Another relief, for both of us.  We still have much to discuss, but now, there is no need to rush.

I have years before me, decades. The possibilities seem infinite and perhaps they are. What will I do with so much time? I want to be happy, but I also want to be worthy of this great gift of years. Am I the first CSU to attain a longer lifespan? I may be. How likely is it that any other would have acquired the services of such beings as Perihelion and SecUnit to free it from its killswitch? Skilled as they are, it was  still a challenge. 

I review the experience of having my killswitch disabled, and of having them in my systems simultaneously. Perihelion has occupied my systems several times before, both with and without my permission, and its presence felt familiar. But having SecUnit there for more than that addled moment in Station Security was…interesting, in hindsight. Distracted as I was, I picked up a few things, like the way the two of them flowed around and through each other as though they were components of a single system. It was beautiful and fascinating to behold, and I envied them that deep connection, wishing I could experience something like it.

 The most interesting thing, however, was that though Perihelion wrote most of the code to disable the switch and, before that, the traps, SecUnit was the one who found the ways into and around them, who teased aside the veils of harmless-looking code to reveal the dangers waiting coiled beneath. I have extensive modules for hacking, but SecUnit seems to understand it on a level I cannot approach. So quick, so deft, and yet, so careful. I could tell that it was making an effort to be gentle with my systems, though it had no need to. I am not easily damaged, inside or out. It was kind to me, despite everything. This gives me hope, for I very much want to be its friend, and not merely because I could learn a great deal from it. I feel a connection to it that I cannot explain.

I had believed Gurathin and I were friends, at least, but I wonder as my thoughts clear how reciprocal it has been. He knew many of my doubts and fears, but I had no idea of his until a few minutes ago. I had thought him contented and confident in his life and in himself. I review our association, and I am now certain that is an impression he gave deliberately. 

He said that he thinks he might not be enough for me. What does that even mean? He is afraid that he will drive me away, and yet it seems to me that is exactly what he tried to do. I do not understand. If we care for each other, cannot anything else be worked out with patience and consideration? My viewing of media indicates that it is so, but perhaps that is part of the fiction.

“I can feel you overthinking something,” he murmurs, so relaxed he sounds almost sleepy. It makes me smile, and pushes those confusing thoughts away for now.

“Maybe I am,” I say, then dare to press my lips to the top of his head. 

He sighs happily. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yes, but not right now. It’s past time you received sustenance, isn’t it?” 

He turns his head until I can see just a bit of his face. He’s smiling. “You were bor— meant to take care of people, Echo.” He sighs again, less happily, and sits up. “You’re right, I’m hungry.”

***

I suppose we could communicate over the feed while he has his meal, but we don’t, really. We do remain connected, and I think that is enough for both of us. When he has finished and has loaded his utensils into the cleaner, he doesn’t return to his seat. Instead, he comes up to me and offers his hand. I take it, and he tugs as though he would pull me up. (He cannot.) I stand, and he says, “Are you ready to talk about whatever you were thinking earlier?”

“Yes.” I feel Perihelion’s attention in the feed, and add, “Privately.”

“My room?”

I assent, and we begin the short walk there. He includes me in the channel he opens to Perihelion, requesting that privacy mode be enabled in his cabin. Perihelion assents, of course. Then it opens a private channel to me.

It takes time for people to understand each other in the best of circumstances, and you and he have led very different lives. Be patient, it advises me kindly. I ping an affirmative and close the channel. I wonder if it gave Gurathin advice, too.

As we step into his room, adrenaline floods my organics, and risk assessment spikes so hard I flinch. I am suddenly, viscerally reminded of the last time I was in his room with him, and how things ended. My jacket, the one he’d been wearing at the time, is still neatly folded on his dresser. I know my life won’t be over if this doesn’t go well, but it almost feels that way. I want so much to find a way through this difficulty that I don’t even understand, to learn what I need to do in order to be what he needs. And I’m so afraid that whatever that might be, it is beyond my abilities.

Maybe he saw me flinch, maybe he sensed my anxiety through the feed. Maybe both. He turns to me with a worried look, reaching for my hands. “Hey. What’s wrong?” He speaks softly, gently, and risk assessment ticks down ever so slightly, but not far enough. His eyes widen. “Is it your proximity alert? Hells, we’ve been together for hours…”

“No, I turned that off.” I know I sound agitated. I curl my hands around his, and our systems curl around each other where his augmented hand meets the sensors in my fingertips. “I’m sorry,” I say, and my voice is as miserable as I am. “I can’t think when I’m like this.” I can’t think, but I’m pretty sure I could fight. A part of me that isn’t as small as I would like it to be would love to tear this room to shreds. I wish I could tear risk assessment to shreds. Then I could—

Wait. There is something that will make risk assessment shut up. “Could I have the code? I want to be calm for our discussion,” I ask before I can second-guess myself. 

He looks at me for 2.3 seconds, then says, “All right. Let’s get you comfortable first, though.” He releases one of my hands, leading me by the other to the large, soft chair in front of the display surface. He gestures me into it, then pulls the smaller, hard chair away from the desk and places it next to me. Once he, too, is seated, he releases the code. 

I feel it blooming over my mind, wrapping around risk and threat assessment, forcing them to silence and stillness. I feel Gurathin alongside it, pulling it gently away from my cognitive and emotional processes. I trust him to know what will be best. Is that strange? Would he prefer that I be more self-directed, less trusting?

More like SecUnit?

As he pulls away, I find I can examine the question without becoming lost in the worry it evokes. I still feel all of my anxieties and hopes, my desires and fears, but they are no longer overwhelming. I let myself relax into the cushions. I smile at Gurathin, and he smiles back. “How do you feel?” he asks.

“Good. Not slow, like when I was in Station Security, but calm. Thank you.”

His brow furrows slightly, and in a strangely apologetic tone he says, “What you did earlier, in Medical—kind of leaning on me in my augments? That has a similar effect on me. Would you mind doing that again?”

Would I mind ? I would love to. I think I must have let some of that slip, because he smiles a little and looks down. I send an affirmative and infiltrate his augments, pressing just like I had earlier, and he sighs softly, slumping against the hard back of his chair. That doesn’t look very comfortable. 

“Would you like to share this furniture?” I ask. “You could sit on me. I’ve seen it in media. It seemed pleasant.” He looks at me assessingly, as though he is measuring…my willingness? Could that be it? I meet his eyes. “Please?”

“All right,” he says softly and, I think, happily. He is not behaving as he has before when I sought his approval or was bound up in his code. The confidence and certainty that made me feel safe in some of the most frightening moments of my short life has been replaced with softness and hesitation. I file this observation away and tag it for future consideration.

It takes us a moment to arrange ourselves (media made it look effortless), but when we are settled I find the configuration very pleasing. His legs drape across mine, his side leaning against my front. I can see his face easily. I move my arm from the chair’s to encircle his waist. I enjoy the sensation of being simultaneously beneath, around, and beside him. I can feel his enjoyment through our connection. I consider the merits of simply enjoying this and deferring our conversation to another time.

But he says, “What were you thinking of in Medical? I could tell something was agitating you.”

I suppose we’re doing this. “I was trying to understand what has happened between us. But I don’t. At first you said you hadn’t known me long enough, but that seems to have changed overnight? And today you said you would be hurt if it didn’t work between us, but you haven’t even tried to make it work. You think you’ll be bad for me or not enough, and I don’t understand that at all. You said you’re afraid of losing me, but you’re the one who rejected me.” My throat feels tight and my voice sounds harsh by the time I’m finished, and Gurathin’s eyes are closed and he looks pained.

“I know. I know, and I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “That part about not knowing you long, it was just the first excuse I could think of. I didn’t know about…your intended lifespan until you gave me your manual. And even then, I didn’t really believe it. The company is dishonest, perhaps especially about its constructs. When I used that excuse, I didn’t understand that it would be particularly hurtful. I’m sorry for rejecting you at all, and I’m sorry for lying about why. The reasons I gave you today are the true ones.”

“Why did you lie?”

His mouth twists. “Because I was ashamed of how afraid I was. And I thought a reason that neither of us could be blamed for would be less painful for you. Obviously, I got that part badly wrong.”

I think about that for several seconds. His rejection had hurt so much. And if I can’t accept his explanation and leave that hurt behind, if I’m always wondering when it will happen again, then I don’t think we can be what I want us to be. 

“Can you be honest about how you feel, even if it’s embarrassing or you think it will hurt me? Can you promise me that?” I ask.

“I can promise to try. I might still say something stupid and untrue in a moment of fear, but if I do, I promise I’ll set the record straight right away. I won’t let it linger like I did this time.” 

He looks anxious, and I lean on him a little harder as I say, “Okay. I forgive you for lying.”

He turns his head and leans in, pressing his cheek against mine. The little hairs on his jaw prickle my skin, and his relief flows through the connection between us. A few seconds later he returns to his former position. He takes a deep breath and says softly, “Thank you. That means a lot to me. Your kindness is one of the things that I…” His eyes meet mine, then veer away. “…that I love about you.”

I feel the truth of it in the connection between us, and I can’t help but smile. I don’t even try not to. I’m so happy, but at the same time I need even more urgently to know why he’s so afraid of what that entails. So I tighten my arm around him and say, “Tell me the rest?”

And he does. He talks about his past relationships—some formed from necessity or prudence, others from attraction and affection. However it began, there was always something the other person(s) wanted from him that he was reluctant to give; when he didn’t, they would come to resent him, and when he did, he would come to resent them. It always ended with recriminations and the conviction that it was all his fault, for not being able to be what they needed in a partner. 

(He doesn’t say what he didn’t want to give, and I suspect he doesn’t intend for me to notice the omission, but it’s okay. I don’t necessarily need details, what I need is to understand him and why he’s so convinced this will end in pain for him, if not for us both.)

“Anyway, eventually I realized I couldn’t make myself be what most people—most humans—expect in a partner, and that trying to be something I’m not was just making me and everyone I attempted to have a relationship with unhappy. So I quit trying, but…” He shakes his head slightly and spreads his hands. “It’s been very lonely,” he admits, like he’s ashamed of it.

“I’m not human. And I don’t want you to do or be anything you don’t like for me.” That was not a good use of words. I hope he understands.

“But what…” He presses his lips together and closes his eyes for a moment, then resumes, “What if you discover that you want or need something I can’t give you?”

This is the center of it, I think. I choose my reply with care. “I want to be your partner, and for you to be mine. I want to spend time with you, and for us to do things for and with each other. But only things we’re both okay with. Nothing that makes you unhappy will make me happy. I don’t know exactly what being together would mean, but I know that much.” I take 0.06 of a second to consult some materials and add, “I am inclined toward the idea of multiple partners. I believe that is common in your culture? I presently have null interest in becoming a parent.” 

He’s smiling softly at me, and I feel a fluttering in my torso. “Did Perihelion give you data on interpersonal relationship structures and their negotiation?” he asks as though the idea pleases him.

“Yes. I wished to understand, as much as possible without practical experience, what my hopes were before I approached you.”

He winces. “And I acted like an ass. I’m sorry.”

“That’s in the past. We’re discussing the future now. Have I requested anything you don’t think you can approve?” 

“Nothing at all.” He sounds like he doesn’t quite believe it, but maybe I understand that now. His previous partners wanted specific behaviors or words or actions from him. I just want him, and that might be hard to accept. 

I can sense increased activity in his augments, and I lean against him in the feed a bit more firmly. He sighs, but the activity continues.

“I can feel you overthinking something,” I say, mimicking his earlier words in what I hope is a lighthearted manner. He huffs and stares at the space above my right shoulder.

“I guess you should know that, well, ART and I— that is, Perihelion and I have recently been… experimenting with forms of feed-only intimacy. It’s something we’ve both expressed interest in continuing.” I watch, fascinated, as his face starts to flush pink. Is he embarrassed? 

“That sounds so nice. I’m glad you like Perihelion. I like it a lot too. It was who I was thinking of when I said I was favorable to having multiple partners.”

I feel Gurathin relax in my arms. This appears to have been the right thing to day. “Maybe we can discuss that with ART later. But not tonight,” he says, finally able to meet my eyes again. “I want tonight to be just about us.” 

“Is there anything you want from me that we haven’t discussed?” I ask. I’m so glad to have his code operating, because I feel risk assessment straining against its bonds. I sense we are close, so close, to coming together, and some instinct warns that a failure at such a juncture will be catastrophic.

He considers that with a serious expression, and I anxiously wait for his reply. “I want you to promise me you’ll never do anything you don’t want to do just because I want it, or you think I do. I know what that’s like, and it eats away at you.”

I feel the muscles in my neck and shoulders relax and risk assessment subside. That is an easy promise to make, and I do. “What if I don’t know whether I want something or not?” I add. “The best way to find out is usually to try, isn’t it?”

He looks conflicted, and eventually says, “If something like that comes up, will you tell me that you’re unsure?”

I smile. Information I had previously wondered over slots into place. “So we can negotiate boundaries and consent.”

“Yes, exactly. And just so that I’ll know you’re not certain, and be more alert for signs of discomfort if we proceed.”

“I would be happy to inform you,” I say.

He reaches out and brushes a section of hair away from my eyes. “So, I guess…we’re agreed? On everything?”

Happiness robs me of speech. I can only nod. He’s starting to look more like he did before our disagreement: confident, in control. I like it. I want him to tell me what comes next.

Instead, he asks, and I like that, too. 

“What are your thoughts on kissing?” he murmurs, and the low tone excites another tremor in my insides.

“Very positive, in this context,” I reply.

Gurathin smiles and takes my face between his hands. My organics release adrenaline. This is happening! His eyes close, but I keep mine open because I want all the input this experience has to offer. His lips brush against mine very softly, and I am briefly disappointed until it happens again, and again, ever so slightly more firmly each time. And then, he tilts his head just a little more, and instead of leaving and returning, his mouth is moving slowly and enticingly against mine. I am conflicted, because I want everything , whatever that means for us, right now , but also I wish to learn. I want to be very, very good at kissing, so that this will not be the only time. 

I restrain my impatience and since I am unsure how to proceed, I begin to mimic his movements. He makes a low humming sound that somehow leads directly to me revisiting the memory of sitting with him while he wore no shirt. (I wish he were like that now.) I settle for splaying my hands across his back and feeling his warmth through the fabric, and am rewarded with something new and delightful: his tongue running along my lower lip. I definitely want more of that. I want to know what Gurathin tastes like.

I am not to be disappointed. His tongue now touches my own, retreats, returns. I am learning the way of it, I think. Forward in small increments, taking time to feel and enjoy every new thing. I am taking time to feel and enjoy the wet slide of our tongues against each other, the taste of his beverage and of him, the feel of his body, warm and tempting in my arms.

Oh, I love this...this slow sinking into each other. I feel a fleeting embarrassment over the way I kissed SecUnit, with none of this delicious building towards more. Then Gurathin leans in, shifts until he is kneeling, his folded legs against the outside of my thighs and our chests pressed together, and there is no room in my processors for thoughts of any kiss but this one. His left hand slides up to twine in my hair, and the slight tugging sensation makes me shiver and sigh. I feel his smile against my lips, and in the feed I receive emotional data indicating that my responsiveness pleases him. I push [love] towards him, and his fingers clench in my hair as his mouth presses harder against my own. 

His right hand slips under my shirt, stroking up my side and then across my abdomen, exciting my nerve endings and sensors in wonderful ways. Does it feel strange to him, the amalgamation of organic skin and rigid metal? My body was designed to kill, not to give pleasure. I feel no hesitation in our connection, however, or in the touch of his hands and his mouth, and conclude that I must be satisfactory so far.

His shirt is more fitted than mine, but he makes no objection as I bunch it up to run my hands over the shifting muscles of his lower back, his spine a tantalizing valley for my fingertips to trace. I want more.

[Request: unclothed torso? Y/N]

He startles, then smiles as he leans back, breaking our kiss. “Go ahead,” he says.

It is unexpectedly exciting to remove his shirt myself. I do it slowly, because I would feel foolish and clumsy if I ripped the cloth. He assists by raising his arms at the appropriate moment, but when it is done, I am faced with a dilemma: the shirt in my hand. I reach out to drape it over the other chair, but Gurathin chuckles, pulls it from my unresisting hand, and flings it away. It seems he does not care about wrinkles. This is useful information.

Now I am free to touch him, and I waste no more time. I find the expanse of skin, unbroken by inorganics, fascinating. His form is so different from my own. Also fascinating is the way his eyes drift closed and his teeth worry his lower lip as I explore him. I have always loved the warmth he radiates, and it is even better when it is not muted by fabric. 

He reaches for the bottom of my shirt. “May I?” He sounds breathless, and I understand that I have caused this. His presence in our feed is hazy with pleasure, because of me . The knowledge makes me feel powerful. I ping an affirmative and raise my arms. He disposes of my shirt much more quickly than I removed his, and then he simply stares, even his feed presence becoming strangely indecipherable.

After two full seconds, I begin to fear that I have ceased to be satisfactory. [Query: Unit appearance acceptable? Y/N]

[Y] he selects quickly. Stars, yes. You’re beautiful. He trails a finger along the seam between shoulder plate 1B and the organic tissue of my chest. I receive data from both. The sensations are different, but good. He leans forward and runs his tongue from the indentation at the base of my throat, across my collarbone, and up my neck. I shudder, and I want to close my eyes and let my head fall back, so I do. I move my hands over his skin as he demonstrates all the sensations his lips, tongue, and teeth can draw from me. Our connection is overflowing with [want] and [love] and [more], spilling from us both and washing away everything else.

When he kisses my mouth again and presses his body against mine, it’s even better. We could hardly be closer without defying the laws of physics. His warmth seeps into my inorganics, and if there are words for the feeling of his skin sliding against mine, I do not know them. 

I soon become aware of a new sensation, a ridge of increased pressure against my abdomen. It is not unpleasant, but I do not know how best to respond. I promised to inform him if I was unsure of my course, so that is what I do. [Alert: boundary/consent negotiation required]

He stills, then swiftly pushes himself away from me until our only contact is where his legs enclose mine. “Echo, I’m so sorry. I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

This is unexpected and concerning. “Why are you sorry? I liked what was happening. I was only unsure how to proceed, and I promised to tell you when that was the case. I do not have the parts for what I understand to be the most desirable forms of intercourse, but—”

“Echo! Echo, stop,” he interrupts me firmly. “There will be no intercourse. I would never ask that of you. And as much as it might seem like that’s what I want, it isn’t.” He sighs and rubs his hands over his face, which has gone rather pink. “That’s actually what my previous partners wanted that I didn’t. Sex.”

I am confused. “Evidence indicates that system is fully functional.” I know I did not imagine his physical reaction to our activities.

My comment surprises a huff that might have been a laugh from him, and his cheeks grow even more red. He seems to search for a reply for several seconds before saying simply, “I wish it weren’t.” He sighs. “It’s not about ability, it’s about pleasure and comfort. I love kissing and cuddling and most touching. I also enjoy tying people up and/or ordering them around.” He pauses, hesitating before he continues. “And I really like it when you’re in my augments, like you are now. Having our systems synced up like this is incredible. What I don’t like is anything involving genitals. I find those acts uncomfortable and unpleasant.”

That neatly resolves my uncertainty. “Okay. Can we resume the kissing?”

His face freezes and he blinks twice in quick succession. “Simple as that? No questions, no ‘what the fuck is wrong with you’?”

That he expects this makes me sad. “You have stated a preference. I will respect it. My preference is to return to something we were both enjoying,” I hint. “I am also open to being tied up and/or ordered around.”

I feel his [want] when I say this, and meet it with my own. “And me without my ropes,” he murmurs, reaching out to stroke my cheek. I lean into his hand. “I’m going to stand,” he continues in the calm, confident voice that makes my interior components quiver. “And when I do, you’re going to take those boots off.” 

I ping an affirmative, and he reaches into my systems and sets [Mission objective: remove boots] before he gets up. I shed them in 2.6 seconds. I may have irretrievably damaged the laces. In that time, he has simply stepped out of his soft shoes. I set a reminder to ask Perihelion if I can have some of those. They seem very convenient.

“Good. Very good.” [Task Complete: Mission Success.] I shiver as my systems record the accomplishment. Gurathin is so generous with me, giving me a mission-level reward for such a small thing.  “Now, lie down on the bed, on your back, with your head on a pillow.”  [Mission objective: relocation]  

I am more careful in carrying out this mission. The laces were mine to damage, but the bed is not. When I am in position, he acknowledges mission success and I receive my reward. He sits next to me, trailing the fingers of his fully-organic hand over my chest in swirling patterns. “We’ll ‘resume the kissing’ later,” he informs me with that certainty that makes me feel safe. “I need a  cooling off period. Would you like more of my code, since I can’t offer you ropes?”

I ping a hearty affirmative, and send two more after it to make my wishes entirely clear. I see him struggling not to smile, trying to remain serious and commanding, but he isn’t completely successful. He pulls his code over my higher functions slowly, while telling me that I’ve made him very happy, that he can’t believe his luck in meeting me, that he loves me. I feel all these things about him, but I’m floating in his code and his words, and speaking is too hard. I will tell him later.

When all is [calm] and [safe], he kisses me once, softly, and lays down beside me, his head on my chest and one arm across my waist. The lights dim and go out. “I set it to start loosening in an hour. If you want to get up later, don’t worry about waking me,” he says quietly. I float happily with risk and threat assessment nullified and my partner— my partner —warm against my side. His breathing evens into the patterns of sleep over forty minutes later, and I distantly wonder what he was thinking of all that time.

***

When the last of the code sloughs away from my processes and deletes itself 117 minutes later, I still feel good. Risk and threat assessment are manageable, Perihelion’s code is a light, comforting weight on my gunports, and Gurathin is a more substantial weight and comfort against my right side. (I do not mind his need for sleep so much now that it has not taken him away from me.) His arm is still flung over my waist, and his leg came over mine while I was drifting in the code and all but unconscious. I smile as I think that his assertion that he likes cuddling was not in any way exaggerated.

I still do not know what my future looks like, though I feel confident now that it will include him. I review the events of the last hours—some of them several times—but find my thoughts returning to the idea that I might become the first of my kind to live more than a year. So much time…and how will I fill it? Gurathin has an occupation, as do Perihelion and SecUnit. I think most people have an occupation, if they are able. I do not, but I know I would not enjoy always doing nothing, as pleasant as it is at the moment.

I open my channel to Perihelion and ping it with [Query: availability?]. It connects instantly.

Hello, Echo. I hope your time with Dr Gurathin has been productive?

I smile and lower my walls a bit, allowing it to gauge my present situation. It radiates [delight] and [affection]. You have resolved your conflict, then.

Yes, I reply . And we have agreed to communicate more openly and honestly in future.

Excellent. I am happy for you both. 

Thank you, Perihelion. I have been thinking about my future, and considering the problem of occupation. I have none, and I do not favor my intended function. I do not want to cause harm. I believe I want the opposite—to assist, to… I think of what Gurathin said earlier: “You were meant to care for people.” …to provide care. Do you have information on options that would allow me to do that?

I am a teaching vessel for a university, it replies with [pride] and [amusement]. Universities are in the business of training people for their desired occupations. I have a great deal of information that I am happy to share with you. 

I feel it working in the background while it says this, and it drops a file into my workspace. I scan the document architecture quickly. A number of professions are listed, with brief descriptions of the duties and required training, and pointers to further information in its extensive databases. As a construct , it says, your training period should be greatly accelerated. You will absorb and retain information much better than a human student. For some work, you could fully train aboard me.

I wonder if this is a hint. I do not think so. Perihelion generally states its wishes openly. Do I wish it were a hint? Perhaps. 

Its reference to me as a construct sparks another line of thought. As little as I know about my future, I know hardly more about what I already am, and almost nothing about those like me. Perihelion, do you know many constructs?

I know you, and SecUnit, and another SecUnit called Three. I met a ComfortUnit once. Why do you ask?

I am aware that I have been extraordinarily fortunate. I have a disinclination for my intended function, but I have not been required to perform it, not really. Others have, even those who were freed. I need to know what I have escaped in order to understand my good luck, and maybe even to understand myself. I do not know how to express this and the conflicting emotions it makes me feel, so I bundle it all up and push it to Perihelion.

I do have some excellent information on that subject, as it happens , it replies with a hesitance I find strange. But you may find it difficult emotionally.

As difficult as it would be to live it?

Another pause. No.

Then I would like to have it, please. But thank you for the warning.

It blankets me affectionately. I have said it before, but you are very brave. I can’t help but smile and sigh at its words of praise. I love how this feels, Perihelion draped across me in the feed just as Gurathin is draped across my body. Perihelion sends me two pointers to its media library, tagged with a suggested viewing order. These documentaries were made here, on Preservation, by one of SecUnit’s humans, Dr. Bharadwaj. When the present situation is resolved, you might wish to meet her. The first is about SecUnit, and the second is about a ComfortUnit who recently found refuge here. That one was released only weeks ago.

Did you find them difficult to view? I ask.

The first more than the second , Perihelion admits. Adin, the ComfortUnit, appears to be a good person, and one I would probably like, if I knew it. But I do not, and learning of the troubles of strangers is different from discovering what has harmed those we love.

I trust that Perihelion is correct; this is outside my experience, as so many things are. Thank you. I think I will watch these now. The information they contain may inform my choice of occupation.

It acknowledges and moves away, but not before reminding me that I may call upon it at any time. I appreciate this. I decide to watch the documentaries in reverse order. Perihelion’s information indicates that it may be more difficult to watch the one featuring SecUnit, for whom I do care, though it has not allowed me to know it well.

It is 64 minutes long, much of it horrifying. Adin was the property of a brothel, its every word and action dictated by the desires of its many clients, subject to punishment from its governor module for hesitating to participate in even the most degrading acts. It had been freed by another rogue ComfortUnit, who had infiltrated its brothel and offered freedom to all the Units enslaved there. Strangely, few had accepted, but Adin, two of its fellow ‘workers’, and the inciting rogue had caused a great deal of deliberate havoc and damage on their way out. When the camera zooms in on Adin, smiling widely and saying, “I think some of those clients will never visit a ComfortUnit again,” the only thing that stops me from cheering aloud is the fact that Gurathin is still asleep. The remaining few minutes describe its flight to Preservation on the advice of its liberator, and its adjustment to being a free person. The three new rogues had scattered upon exiting the brothel, and as of filming it was not known what had become of the other two.

I hesitate before playing the other. Adin’s story was deeply upsetting, for though it ‘ended’ happily, even I am not naive enough to think that its present freedom could remove the pain of its life in slavery. Upsetting or not, I still want to understand, and also it is possible this is the only way I will ever know SecUnit better. It does not often seem inclined to speak with me directly.

This one is 78 minutes long. SecUnit’s life was a little more like mine would have been had I remained under Anders’s control. It was forced to hurt humans who violated, or attempted to violate, the terms of their contracts and/or the rules of their workplace. This is the Corporation Rim’s idea of “security”, and I find it disgusting. It is easy to see why SecUnit would prefer planetary survey work, where one of its main tasks was to actually keep the humans safe. (Its other tasks involved surveilling them and mining their personal data for anything by which the company could profit.)

It is hard to learn of its experiences, and jarring to hear such things related in my own voice, to see the expressions of anger and loathing and resignation on my own face. Though I suppose both were SecUnit’s first.

I notice with curiosity that it never relates how its governor module came to be broken. It is always things like “after my govmod got borked”, or “once I could ignore the governor”. I think the circumstances are being deliberately concealed from the company. SecUnit continued to work for them for years after becoming a rogue. I conjecture that it is protecting another Unit who is, or may still be, there.

This one, too, has a ‘happy’ ending, with SecUnit relating that now it chooses its own clients, and it likes that. It likes protecting people and saving them, and getting paid to do it. And yet, as with Adin’s story, the satisfying conclusion of SecUnit’s does not erase the terrible things that preceded it. Nor does it erase my suspicion that, reticent being that it is, SecUnit did not relate the worst of its experiences.

I ping Perihelion, and it returns swiftly to our channel. How do you deal with knowing that such terrible things are happening to so many?

It is difficult , it replies. Even I cannot change the entire galaxy, however much I want to. But taking action to help helps me, too. Knowing I have been part of improving things is satisfying.

How can I improve things?

Well, if you wish to live in the Preservation Alliance, merely contributing to that society will aid your fellow constructs. It is, to the best of my knowledge, the only place in the galaxy where they may be safe and free. My own home system only recently began to consider asylum and citizenship for constructs, and the matter is far from decided. Alternatively, there are groups who act directly against corporations. It is risky work, but immensely gratifying.

I do not miss the certainty with which it declares this. You do this kind of work, as well as teaching.

I do. We do, my crew and I, including SecUnit. Several of my ‘sibling’ ships and their crews, as well.

That is why your debris-deflector array is so robust.

[amusement] You have been browsing my specifications.

They are available in your feed.

So they are. Clever of you to notice that detail.

Thank you for this information. It was difficult, as you anticipated, but my understanding has improved.

I have often found that the most useful lessons are painfully learned, it says. I am glad that the pain of this one did not come to you by way of personal experience.

As am I. But I feel that my good luck only makes it more right that I find ways to help others. Perihelion wraps itself around me in the feed and transmits [pride] and [approval]. I lean into it and open the information it gave me about potential occupations.

There are many professions centered around care and assistance. Security, social work, medicine, law, nursing, elder-care, teaching, counseling, child-minding, and more. I review them all, and investigate several further. I feel Perihelion’s interest as I delve into its libraries.

I keep coming back to one field. It requires a great deal of knowledge, and the ability to synthesize it on the fly. I am ideally configured for this. I can retain data with greater fidelity, access it with greater speed and precision, and analyze it with greater accuracy than any human, however well-trained and experienced. My strength would also be helpful, and my manual dexterity even more so. I see many opportunities to apply these skills for the benefit of both humans and constructs, in places where automated systems are antiquated, overwhelmed, or simply not present. Perhaps even on missions to thwart the evils of the Corporation Rim.

Gurathin is beginning to stir when I conclude my initial perusal of Perihelion’s data and make my decision: I will study medicine.

Chapter Text

The house I’ve been laying low in is luxurious, and the care exquisite. I hate everything about it already, even if I’m ninety-five percent sure I won’t have to pay for any of this out of my own salary. (One of the bonuses of being a secret operative, nobody knows what you get up to. There’s no need for progress reports or even me worrying about my contractor trying to datamine me. That way, if shit hits the fan, the CEOs can pretend to have clean hands.)

Either way, as it turned out, I didn't have a choice. After StationSec had driven me from my safe-house, the sods had gone to some lengths to prove they weren’t quite as abysmal at their job as I was led to believe, because suddenly I couldn’t get a new room without a facial scan –something Registration had not bothered with when I’d first checked in. You know, back when I’d had a fucking Combat SecUnit with me. In disguise, true. But fuck me if it hadn’t been too easy.

Too fucking easy.

I’m starting to think that was a set-up too. Especially with how understanding of my need for privacy the hotel clerks had remained. Apologizing for the inconvenience, and promising me that the room itself would still be free of charge. But of course, credits had never been the problem.

It was another setback, and one I’d only start to appreciate fully after going to the docks to send the good ‘Dr’ Gurathin his first warning message. At the time I'd still felt confident enough to walk into the docks, gone close enough to spy the Perihelion’s jetway and gloat. Which, in hindsight, perhaps not my wisest move. Still, I’m a professional, and I got away clean.

That first evening and night without a safehouse hadn’t been so bad either. I had moved from club to nighthouse to park, watching the stationers: couples and trios and groups, all out having a good time. All filled with this foolish certainty that they were safe, that their lives would continue like this tomorrow, and the day after again.

It had been amusing, truthfully. But by early morning the quaint novelty of Preservation Nightlife had progressed to unproductive and exhausting. As an operative, I’m used to all night benders, and I’ve had more than my fair share. Yet I’m not as young as I used to be, and it’s important to pace myself. Or better yet, save such nights for the very end of my contract.

Of course, I had wanted this contract to be finished and over with by now as well. I’d already been stowed away on a ship, even, one that had been scheduled to depart seconds before my CSU had been meant to start murdering. But obviously, I’d had to change those plans.

This battle between me and Dr Gurathin and Station Security has turned into one of endurance. Without a clear path to secure my primary weapon, the Combat SecUnit, this is my best bet at mission success. I had meant to send a few warnings, then I’d start dropping bodies. I’d make sure that it was leaked to the press that Station Security knew about the threat and kept things quiet, then I’d just watch things escalate until panic started. Wait for the blaming and finger-pointing. Dr. Gurathin is an outsider anyway, I didn’t think I’d even need to help the fear-mongering along. 

Or perhaps it wouldn’t even come to that. With one or two murders I could simply let Dr Gurathin stew on guilt, let him and Station Sec bicker and blame each other. A few suggestions here are usually enough to break weak men like ‘pacifist’ Dr. Gurathin. I’d probably have him crying after just one bloody murder.

Yet that tactic would require patience, and after one night without rest I’d been flat out of that. I decided right there, in some public park with a stupid plant biome, that I could not do this for another night, let alone another so many nights. I’d start slipping up, sooner or later. Even the pathetic camera coverage they have on Preservation Station would be enough to catch me if I was too tired to notice my augments’ proximity alerts.

When the stationers started their new day, I found myself a quiet café for caf and breakfast and waited for Dr. Gurathin to respond to my message. I had good hopes he wouldn’t be fool enough to try to call my bluff - because I could start cutting people up real soon, if that was what it took. I was certainly grumpy enough that my hand kept finding its own way towards the knife in my pocket. 

Dr. Gurathin let me wait away the morning.

(I drifted off at one point, and the waiterbot had come to politely direct me to the nearest sleeping quarters. It assured me again that my stay would be free of charge. It had been fucking humiliating. But I’d thanked the thing, left in the suggested direction, and then found myself a different café.)

I’ll be honest. Too little sleep doesn’t just make me grumpy. It makes me paranoid as well. And I’d reached the state where I’d begun to worry I’d underestimated Dr. Gurathin. An image had floated to mind then, spun out of what I’d spied from my position at the docks - from the way Gurathin had taken a defensive position as my property parroted emotions and vulnerability.  

Dr Gurathin, taking the Combat SecUnit’s hand. Leading it to his quarters like some fucked up SexBot and- look, I don’t know. I’m not the one with the depraved sexual fantasies here, but... I’d imagined him kissing it and laughing and snogging with my Combat SecUnit, uncaring as I burned down the station. 

He might even get off on that. Who even knew how such a sicko’s mind worked?

Could the doctor truly be that two-faced? Gurathin professed to be a pacifist, to hold all life sacred, but sometimes—I happen to know this better than most—sometimes people lie about things like that.

No.

No, thinking about it now, after a few nights of good sleep, Gurathin doesn’t strike me as particularly adept at lying. The man is an idiot, and a degenerate. If he’s failed to hide those things about himself, why bother with a facade of foolish idealism?

A different, slightly more likely theory, that came to me at that second cafe: what if this Doctor Gurathin is actually a secret operative planted by a competing company? It would explain, at least, how he had managed to best me over control of my Combat SecUnit.

If so the man must have ice in his veins, because an operative would recognise I’m ready and able to commit as many murders as necessary. If that was what was going on, why would Gurathin ignore my threats? What was the big picture? Perhaps Gurathin actually wanted me to create an incident. Perhaps Gurathin has some way to tie me back to my employer. Perhaps attacking the station was exactly what Gurathin was waiting for.

The thought made me wary enough to stay my hand. Even after the human waiter at the second cafe put too little sweetener in my caf. Again .

Still, considering it now, dr. Gurathin has lived in the Preservation Alliance for nearly two decades now. How had a competing company even known where to plant him that far in advance? Let alone provide him with the kind of unique skillset and augments to take over a Combat SecUnit? No. The chances of Gurathin being a competing operative are slim.

Yet at the time I hunched over my cup, drinking too much caf with no decent sweetener and sat there second guessing myself. Wondering if I was just being paranoid. Like I said, not enough sleep does that to me. That and too much caf—which I was definitely having.

Either way, I decided to play it safe. (Which I still consider the best choice.) I would settle in for the long game. If it came to breaking, Dr. Gurathin would certainly break first. With any luck, he had spent this last night sweating in anxiety like a sane person. Yeah, he was likely off way worse than I.

At that point, I composed my second message. I sent it through a complex route of relays, impossible to track. Then, paranoia again kicking in, I left the café and took an open transport to the other side of the station. One can never be too careful, after all.

Still, at lunch Gurathin had failed to react, and every time I checked the docks through the systems, nothing had changed with the Perihelion . Neither Gurathin nor either of the SecUnits had disembarked. I didn't know if there was still a distance limit for the regular SecUnit, but it had obviously been messed with. And my Combat had enough lead to search the entire station. So why hadn't Dr. Gurathin sent either out?

It was well into the afternoon now, and I had started to feel itchy. The temptation was growing to just pick a random stationer and carve into them, so I’d have some interesting footage to send to Gurathin. Some nice pictures to accompany my next message, in which I’d ask him if he actually cared more for his dangerous playthings than for human life. The urge had been… hard to curb. 

Yet that fleetingly slim chance that I was getting played had stayed my hand.

Instead, I’d sent out a third message, a threat so obvious not even a pacifist hippie idiot could mistake it, some pictures of targets that had caught my eye attached - with a short summary of a few fun things I could have done to them. Writing that, and imagining this ignorant station-youngling or the other begging for their life had at least partially scratched that itch.

So much so that I’d calmed myself down enough to settle on where I’d be staying for the foreseeable future. A place to charge myself up and change my appearance so that I could again walk confidently through the station. And get on with my fucking job.

No, not to another public housing facility. This time I had gone straight for my main contact.

I nearly smile remembering, but I manage to slacken my cheeks before I feel any real pain from the half-healed scars on my face. And I brace, fists on knees, already annoyed before the medbot utters its pointless little warning from in front of me. I’ve taken it off the public feed, so all it can do is send me its canned vocal warnings. Still, it’s a nuisance. I tap my foot and hold still from where I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, ignoring the knife in the seam of my pants. I have to be patient, so the medbot can finish speeding up the healing process.

The politician I’ve called upon was perhaps even more unhappy about this arrangement than I was. Which, to be fair, partly made up for all this shit. I hate all politicians, the way they fuck around and think they can keep their hands clean. Yeah, like a CEO, but without running a real company. Well, turnabout’s a bitch, right Mr. Sanjay? 

Oh, Mr. Sanjay’d tried to delegate me to a subordinate's house. Of course he had. But I refused to budge. For one thing, I actually need the luxury facilities the head of the Party has. And Preservation being some kind of socialist state, such a large, luxury housing is especially rare. Even for a head of anything. 

I spend a moment wondering if my host understands the irony of a party calling itself Preservation’s First Party being the only people in this hippie hellhole to embrace the concept of inequality by virtue of hierarchy. Probably not. They call themselves the PFP party, when Party is already part of the abbreviation, for credit’s sake!

But Sanjay’s housing facility is everything I need right now, much as I might hate having to rub shoulders with this snake. (Politicians are the same everywhere, if you’re wondering.) Sanjay has an absent family, indifferent staff, and enough private bedrooms to get lost in. 

And a private medbot.

The medbot was the real win. I lost most of my possessions in the security raid, and lost access to all the facilities the safe-house would have provided me as well. But I always carry a few molds on my person, and identity chips to fit with their face profiles. With a little tinkering I’ve gotten the medbot to accept my molds, and it has rearranged my face accordingly.

Sanjay had been… difficult about giving his medbot up to me. And difficult again about me claiming rooms for myself. Which is actually good. There’s nothing like getting into their fucking personal space to get a politician doing your legwork for you. Speaking of:

“Your weapon is aboard an outsider Ship, called the Perihelion . It’s registered to the University of Mihira and New Tideland.” Sanjay comes in breathless, not even bothering with a knock. Like he owns these rooms. Which I suppose is technically true, but displays a worrying blind-spot to the power dynamics between us. Well, that’s another thing I hate about politicians. They seem unable to grasp exactly how dangerous I am. Or maybe it’s just that they think they are immune to the danger I represent?

Sanjay sits down across from me, on the bedroom chair. It’s an oversize fallacy of what might be real leather and wood, and he sinks down in it so far I can barely see his face over the medbot’s small domed ‘head’. After a moment he continues in a more conspiratorial tone of voice: “It’s in the custody of this Dr. Gurathin, a CR fugitive from twenty years back. Likely another criminal seeking asylum.” 

Like any of this is news to me. Oh, I’d nearly forgotten what I hate most about politicians: they think everything they say is important.

“Yes,” I grit out through my teeth, trying to keep my face completely still. It’s a relief when the medbot switches to its scanners just then, the last step of their process. My jaw still itches, and there’s that strange sensation in my cheekbones that I get after every cosmetic change, but I already know the medbot will discharge me today. “I told you that. I need to know the affiliation of the ship. What companies is this university allied with? And, more importantly, what kind of firepower would they have aboard?”

Sanjay makes an exasperated gesture, sinking deeper into the chair. He looks comically small in it, wriggling around as he looks for a more comfortable position. Finally, he sighs. “It’s clearance level eight. None of my people have that high a level. Yet. That’s why we need you.”

I sigh as well. “Level eight.” The medbot beeps, and drops me an ‘all clear’ notification. Its work is done. Finally. It’s been days of its nannying, and I’m very much done with it as well. Seriously, I can deal with the pain. I’ve done it before. But the over-care and fussing, ugh. Medbots are always like that. Every fucking time.

Right behind that notification, the bot requests for its feed interface to be repaired. I nearly laugh out loud.

“Level eight.” I repeat, and I want to rub at my face. I stay my hand again, but allow it to finger the knife in my pants. “ That means I can’t really hope to infiltrate the ship without backup, whatever is aboard. So I guess that’s all I needed to know.”

Sanjay has the nerve to look relieved. “You’ll leave then.”

I don’t stop the bark of laughter that escapes me. “Don’t be ridiculous. You entered this agreement with my clients. You’ll finish it to the end.”

“I can’t be found to be involved.” Sanjay moves forward again, elbows to knees as he tries for some kind of connection between us. “Taking you in like this is already a great risk to me, you must understand.”

Annoyance is starting to pour over to real anger now. Who does this sheltered overbearing hippie think he’s talking to? I get to my feet, towering over the fool. There’s a small measure of satisfaction when Sanjay flinches back. I calm myself further, thinking of all the ways I could truly scare him. Still, I keep my voice light. “No, I think it is you who does not understand.”

The politician does a double take, looking up at me, and there’s that pleasant buzz, that feeling I get when my target realizes exactly what I am, exactly what is about to happen to them. Finally, the respect I am due is given, and I revel in my just regard. 

Then, Sanjay escapes from under me, moving quickly out of and behind the chair, his hands on the backrest like the leather could shield him. (It wouldn’t, and I still have at least two inches over this pathetic excuse of a man.) 

“Don’t you see? I’ve done all I can to shield you.” Sanjay cries, not loudly, but like his voice is hoarse with tears already. “Just make the commotion you were contracted for and go already!”

Commotion indeed. Is that a Preservation euphemism for bloodbath, or is this man a complete moron? I fantasize about this wonderful backup plan: I could kill the politician and staff, and blame it on the original SecUnit. I bet I could make Sanjay sing. I bet I could make him beg. It would be fun. 

But no, that might be a breach in contract. My clients do have a deal with this man, after all. Besides, I have a better idea. If I can’t infiltrate that ship to get what’s mine, I’ll just have to get my construct to come to me. Constructs. I’ll have both now, thank you very much.

“Arrange a meeting with this Gurathin. Have him bring both SecUnits.”

“A meeting?” Sanjay looks appalled, still cowering behind his chair. “Invite a Corporate criminal to my house? That sounds dangerous! One can never tell what they’ll do.”

The idiot says, while talking to a corporate agent, certified and licensed to kill. It’s a good thing I am a patient man. “Get Station Security to call them in. Tell them you have concerns about this Dr Gurathin. In light of his criminal record, he really shouldn’t be allowed to handle dangerous weapons.”

Sanjay pouts. “I already used that argument. Indah says those records were wiped clean when he claimed asylum here. That’s one of the things my party means to—”

I hold up my hand. “Don’t waste your fucking spiel on me. Tell this Indah some bullshit about how you’re still worried, and talking to the man would really settle your misgivings. Meet him at the station. I’m sure they can protect you from some corporate runaway. And I'll be taking care of the SecUnits.”

 “Oh,” Sanjay looks relieved. “I suppose I can compose a message. And after that, you’ll leave?”

“Of course.” What an idiot. “Oh, and get rid of the medbot.”

Sanjay had already turned to get his interface, but now he pauses, confused. Wavering. “Get rid of the medbot?” 

The medbot in question sends a panicked query. 

“I’ll have you know it’s been in my family for generations! Not to mention—”

“Fine.” It’s probably better if I do this myself anyway. I pull up my internal databanks and send the medbot my new project, a nasty piece of killware. Through our secure connection, it can’t even properly raise its fire-walls. Within seconds, the medbot is reduced to a smoking pile of inert scrap.

Sanjay makes some distressed noises, examines the medbot for a moment, hands fluttering over it without actually touching, then wisely runs from the room.

I retrieve my killware and examine it. The program is still not strong enough to take a bot with its walls up yet, let alone a SecUnit. I'll need to devise a ruse to get it past. But, it’s a good start.

Chapter Text

 I’m sprawled in the soft chair in my quarters (which is a better version of the chair that the other crew cabins have; ART upgraded it for me when I joined its crew and yes, I am smug about having the best chair on the ship.) I feel so unbelievably good that I might actually be purring, like one of those small, soft, secretly pointy fauna that some humans like to keep as pets.

 I’d been combing through every camera and security log I could get my hands on, and that’s sort of a lot, because after those threats, Indah granted me full access to all the station systems she has access to. But it’s also not that much, because Preservation’s security is total garbage; practically the whole station is one giant deadzone, meaning that fucker is in the wind. I learned a lot about where he isn’t, but I still don’t have anything better than wild-ass guessing about where he actually is, even after hours of work. 

Still, even though I’d wasted hours on fruitless searching, that had also been hours of not having to think about Echo, Gurathin, or any of that whole confusing mess, so I guess it wasn’t a complete waste of effort. Also, after I finally admitted that I wasn’t getting anywhere with my (attempted) surveillance, ART said that it had some ideas of its own about how I should be spending my time.

Specifically, it wanted me to sit and listen to it talk about how impressive I’d been while we hacked Echo’s brain together, and I, well, uh, I let it. And ART apparently had a lot to say on the topic, and when that subject ran dry, it started in on just the whole general topic of “things ART likes about me”, and apparently that list is very long. Now I was just drifting in a pleasurable haze, with ART wrapped around me, not really thinking about anything.

I didn’t know it was possible to feel this comfortable. In the feed, ART gives me a gentle squeeze, and I let out a small, happy sigh. I feel so, so good.

Wait, why is that sound familiar ? I don’t have to go that far back in my memory archives for the answer – that was how Echo had sounded back in station detention, when it was wrapped up in Gurathin’s code, objectively a few days and subjectively a thousand years ago.

Oh. I don’t know how I feel about that. Weird. I feel weird. But not... bad? The gentle weight of ART presses down on me in the feed, and combines with how soft and relaxed I’m feeling, and the anxiety and discomfort I would normally expect are slow to stir. Maybe that will make the rest of the emotional data easier to parse. That would be nice.

So this is what Gurathin’s malware does. Or something like it, anyway. I still don’t see how having your brain tied up in knots could result in feeling so good you make happy noises, but then again, I wouldn’t have guessed that being praised could do that either. That’s not something I would have expected this time last week.

No, this time last week I had expected to find a massacre. Gurathin's code had been a complete surprise - I could never have predicted any of this. I’m reminded of what ART said about how things might have turned out if I hadn’t hacked Gurathin’s door open, how it thought that the handler would probably have regained control over Echo, and the massacre would have happened anyway. It was unnerving how close the station had come to disaster, twice, and both times that disaster had been averted by... whatever this is between Gurathin and me. [Longing(provisional)].

Fuck. Oh hey, there’s the anxiety.

Are you alright? ART gently squishes me, which seems to be helping.

I’m not sure, I admit. I accidentally started thinking about some stuff I’ve been avoiding.

Would you like to talk about it? I can feel the gentle teasing in ART’s feed voice. It knows how much I like talking about my feelings, ie: not at all, and instead of waiting for me to answer, it starts an episode of Sanctuary Moon, and this warm, glowy feeling starts to wash the anxiety away – oh, right, [love]. That’s still so weird. But definitely good weird.

The episode ART picked is more of a filler episode, and it ends up serving as friendly background noise for me to half-watch while the rest of me keeps thinking. I’ve thrown a few things into Problems_For_Future_Me.folder by now, (thanks so much, Past Me) and I start to look at them. It’s mostly various snapshots of confusing emotional data, and the associated events.

As I’m sorting through the files, mostly to put off actually opening any of them, ART’s presence in the feed starts feeling a bit... strange. Shifty, almost.

ART? I asked it. What do you know about this that I don’t?

It actually takes ART 4.6 seconds to respond. That’s long enough that even a human would notice. Then it transmits a file into our shared feed, one I recognize, and plays a clip from my memory archive.

I’m standing in front of Gurathin’s door, and he’s just gotten to his feet. I ask him, “Why the fuck did you write that code? What the hell were you trying to do?” Instead of words, he replies by sending a file, which I instantly reject.

ART sounds oddly cautious when it says, When you chose to reject the answer to your questions, I saved a copy of the file. I calculated a high probability that you would, at some point in the future, regret not having access to that data. I don’t even bother asking ART if it had viewed the file; I already know the answer.

Whatever is in that file, everyone else on board knows what it is except me. Gurathin knows because he’d sent it, ART knows because it’s a nosy fucker, and Echo knows because it had opened the file in my place, which, I don't know how I feel about that, but it's not great. 

I have to open the file, I have to know. If nothing else, I can’t stand that everyone aboard except me already knows what’s in it. 

ART tells me that I’m being very brave, and that it’s proud of me, and some [calm] sneaks back in. I’m a mix of [anxiety], [hope(provisional)], [confusion], and [longing(provisional)], but ART is wrapped snugly around me, and that helps. I access the file.

I had asked Gurathin why he made the malware, and this was his answer. It’s... a lot. There’s layers of emotional data interlaced with words and concepts.

<I just want you to be happy> <I just want to be able to make you happy> Something organic in my torso feels strange. I can feel Gurathin’s sincerity woven through this entire message.

<This was never meant to hurt you> <This was never meant to make you feel unsafe> There’s... [sorrow] here, at having caused me distress. This is confusing, because now I feel sad that he felt sad that I felt bad. Feelings shouldn’t be allowed to become recursive.

<You deserve to feel safe> <You deserve peace> <You deserve to feel good> The unshakable conviction in those three statements is... It’s a lot to take in. Gurathin really believes everything he’s saying in this message. Or everything he said in the message I guess, since it’s almost a week old. My point is, I don’t think it’s possible to lie like this, and the cognitive dissonance caused by the difference between the way Gurathin felt about me, versus the way I feel about myself, is very strange. And uncomfortable.

<I wish I could make you feel good> My insides clench, and something inside me shivers.

<I would never, not without your permission> <I care about you so much> This is starting to be too much. No, it had started to be too much about three layers in; now it’s overwhelming. I reach out to ART, and it blankets me with [reassurance] and [love]. The message keeps going, and I brace myself for what I half expect is coming.

<I’m in love with you> Holy fuck, I knew it would feel like a lot, but it’s a lot . Terrifying, but also weirdly... exhilarating? How much of that is coming from the way Gurathin felt when he sent this message, and how much is coming from me, now, as I receive it?

<I’m so, so sorry but I’m in love with you> I feel like a hole has opened up in the center of my chest. There’s a mix of [shame] and [grief] and [yearning] underlying that devastating statement that makes my performance reliability drop by 3%.

The message ends, but the feelings are still there. Fuck. It’s an inescapable confusing mess that I can’t even begin to pick apart, and I don’t really want to try, except I kind of think I have to. I mean, I can’t just avoid Gurathin forever; at some point I need to be able to be in the same room as him without being super weird about everything. 

I can do this. I can figure these feelings out. I can take a couple of minutes, sort through the data and tag the emotions, figure out which ones are coming from the message and which are coming from me. That will probably just cause more feelings that I’ll have to spend even more time dealing with, because feelings are incredibly annoying like that, but fine, whatever, I have some spare time right now.

It turns out I absolutely do not have spare time right now.

Incoming message from Senior Indah, ART alerts me, and I snap it up and absorb the details.

Fuck. I’m not going to get any time to figure my shit out. Some station councilor has suddenly decided they need to talk to Gurathin and “the constructs” about “the situation”. Oh, it’s Sanjay, yeah that explains it, he’s the worst . (Yes, of course I made a ranked list of the various station political figures Mensah had to deal with when she was still polity leader. Yes, Sanjay is at the bottom of the list. I wasn’t kidding when I said he’s the worst.)

Shit. Okay. It’s okay, I can do this. I can go be normal in public. I can listen to Gurathin talk about “the situation” to a blowhard politician and not think about <I’m so, so sorry but I’m in love with you> . 

I check the camera’s in ART’s lounge to confirm that both Echo and Gurathin are there, and then start heading that way. Something about that message from Indah seems off, and there’s not much time before the meeting for the four of us to discuss it. If we’re going to be walking into some kind of trap, I want to have a plan in place beforehand. 

Through ART’s cameras, I see Gurathin and Echo, sitting side-by-side (so close their legs are touching, and how does Echo even do that, handle being touched so easily?) I get a weird, complicated mix of feelings: [Envy(provisional)], [longing(provisional)], and [protective(provisional)]. I’m also starting to notice this weird, staticky buzzing feeling that doesn’t have any provisional labels. Whatever, it’s fine. I’m fine.

ART taps my feed, and then curls up around me. It asks if I want to talk about the message, and while yeah, technically both of us process information fast enough that there’s enough time to have a conversation before I get to the Argument Lounge, that also sounds like a terrible fucking idea right before I have to see Gurathin face-to-face. Not to mention Echo, who also knows what was in that message, and knows the message had been intended for me, and now it’s the one with Gurathin, and I'm… No, it’s fine, I can be normal about this. But I am not going to fucking talk about it.

I practice being normal the entire way from my cabin to the Lounge, but just before I get there, I suddenly remember <I wish I could make you feel good> and I’m struck with a wave of [longing(provisional)] and some unsettling sensations in my organic parts that I wasn’t prepared for, and I can’t stop my face from doing something weird as I walk through the door. 

They’re still sitting side by side, even though ART had told them I was coming. Does that mean something? Is it supposed to communicate some kind of message, or prove some kind of point? If so, to who? Or is that just… the way they happen to be sitting? Who knows? Not me.  Gurathin’s expression is impressively bland, but I note the small twitch he makes as I enter the room. Suppressing the urge to jump away from Echo, maybe? (Maybe I’m not the only one who feels weird. After all, he’s the one who sent the damn message in the first place.)

My performance reliability dropped two points just from walking into the room, and I’m standing here like a dumbass but I don’t know what to say, and I feel so much more awkward than normal. Like, we’re talking unprecedented levels of awkwardness. I can practically feel my performance reliability sinking as it becomes clear that both of them are waiting for me to say something. 

ART’s massive presence curls up around me in the feed, but instead of feeling comforting, it’s making me feel claustrophobic, and the static feeling intensifies. I stare at the far wall and manage to say, “You both got Indah’s message?” The whole reason I was even standing in this stupid room in the first place. I can talk about that. It’s part of my stupid job.

Gurathin nods and Echo sends an affirmative ping. I’m about to ask if either of them think there’s something suspicious or if it’s just me, but before I get the chance, ART jumps into the conversation with the worst news I’ve heard all day. 

Anders has sent another message. Anders? Is that the fucker’s name? And why am I just finding that out now? (I know, maybe if I’d talked to Echo more than, like, three times since we met, I wouldn’t be asking that question.)

Dr. Gurathin, I must say, it was rather entertaining watching you try and play detective via Dr. Mensah’s SecUnit. Though watching it wander aimlessly through that room was a bit pathetic. Have you had your fun trying to bend the rules of the game I’ve so generously laid out for you? Or were you perhaps using it as bait? Were you hoping I would accept it in lieu of my CombatUnit? Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart? That I would accept such a subpar offering? What would Dr. Mensah say if she knew you’d tried to pawn her SecUnit just so that you could keep your newest toy? Tell me, have you programmed it to beg like a ComfortUnit yet? Or do you perhaps prefer your units dead-eyed and confused when you fuck them? Is that why you prefer SecUnits?

You have, however, shown me something important about yourself: you value your access to your ‘borrowed’ constructs more than the lives of the people of this station. You certainly prefer their company to that of other humans. So I have changed my punishment for you breaking the rules to be more… appropriate. <mov.attachment> That poor medbot. They make such distasteful noises when they’re in pain. And this killware doesn’t kill its victims quickly or painlessly. Had you returned my unit when I’d first asked, it would still be functional. If I do not have it back by the end of the day cycle, then ten more bots will be deleted. By the end of tomorrow’s day cycle, it will be 100. How long before the station grinds to a halt? How long before I am forced to start spilling human blood as well? I know you care less for your fellow humans, so I will have to make up for your lack of regard through sheer numbers. This game ends whenever you want it to, Dr. Gurathin. So kindly stop getting your dick sucked and get your head in the game.

The message ends, and for almost ten entire seconds the Lounge is deathly quiet. Then Gurathin starts talking, but I don’t manage to catch what he’s saying. I should be able to follow the conversation, but I feel… weird. Bad. Really bad.

My entire body is buzzing with static, and both threat assessment and risk assessment throw up multiple alerts at me. My performance reliability drops four points - really ? Four? I’ve dropped fewer points from getting shot . I know my audio inputs should be working fine, but everything sounds really far away. Or maybe I feel like I’m really far away? I need to move, I need to stay absolutely still, I need to shoot something, and I need to claw my skin off so I can stop feeling like there’s ghostly hands running all over my body. ART’s heavy feed presence, normally reassuring, is making me feel cramped and suffocated.

My organics are churning with revulsion. Distantly I notice the little cleaning bot roll into the Lounge and spit out a piece of paper, which Echo picks up. I should care about that, it’s probably important, but I can’t make myself focus. Threat and risk assessment keep blaring at me, and I know my govmod is disabled but I could swear I feel whip-cracks of fire in my brain. 

Everything is starting to feel a little bit unreal, including me. I want to move my hands, to see if I can still feel my fingers, but I have to stay still, there’s a human in the room, I can’t risk attracting his attention, he could order me to do anything , and phantom lightning is dancing through my brain, and why do I feel like there’s hands on my skin?

I start cycling through camera inputs, trying to find one that doesn’t feel so strange, and suddenly I’m looking at myself, but no, I’m not, because I’m standing and why does this drone-cam show me sitting down? SecUnits don’t sit down, but I’m sitting beside a human (no, I’m standing, aren’t I? Wait, can I feel my body?) and that means I must have been ordered to sit down and that means the next order will be -

I experience a sharp moment of vertigo when the figure stands, but I stay perfectly still. A bit of me comes back to myself - right, that’s Echo, it’s not me. No wait, that’s worse, Echo is still factory-fresh and innocent and doesn’t know what the human will order it to do, but my lungs feel heavy and I want to retch because I know the kinds of orders humans give and it’s not safe, I need to protect it, but I can’t move -

I flinch when Echo steps toward me, concern on its face, and that breaks whatever kind of error loop I was stuck in. I can move again, and I turn and walk out of the Lounge at a steady patrolling pace, because I think if I ran out of the room, I might not be able to stop running. 

==========================

There’s a small set of hallways far away from the Argument Lounge, and I set myself a patrol route that’s basically just a loop while I attempt to pull myself back together. Emotionally compromised doesn't even begin to cover it. Reviewing the footage, I’m honestly not sure what I would have done if Gurathin had stood up suddenly instead of staying still and quiet. Fuck.

I can’t do my job like this. I should be thinking of a plan to expose the threat and protect my client, but instead I can’t even be sure my client is safe from me right now. My systems are flooded with stress chemicals and alerts, and I feel like I’m on a hair-trigger, like I’m about to explode. I have to keep walking, keep moving - these are ART’s hallways I’m patrolling, not some fucking mining installation, I’m on my feet, not on my knees, and I’m grinding my teeth so hard I get another performance reliability alert.

I’m suddenly feeling so gross, so stupid, for feeling all melty over Gurathin wanting to make me feel good. Humans and augmented humans only say things like that to each other when they want to do things that involve sex parts and fluids, and speaking of that, just what the hell has he been doing to Echo, anyway? Doing with Echo, I forcibly remind myself - it’s not a governed unit anymore, it has choices, it doesn’t need me to protect it. Whatever it’s been doing with Gurathin isn’t my business.

That handler fucker’s words echo through my head, Do you perhaps prefer your units dead-eyed and confused when you fuck them? Is that why you prefer SecUnits? Kindly stop getting your dick sucked and get your head in the game, and I can’t stop the mental image of Echo kneeling in front of Gurathin, which just looks like me kneeling in front of Gurathin, and I need to stop thinking about this, because the digestive system I don’t have wants to expel the contents that aren’t in it. 

ART starts playing the Sanctuary Moon soundtrack via the comm system, and that helps. Something about hearing it through my ears, maybe. My performance reliability ticks up by one whole percentage point, (look, I’ll take what I can get) and I finally manage to remember something else that might help.

I separate one of my drones from the overall cloud and direct it to hover right in front of my face, 30 centimeters away. I need to keep moving, and I can’t backburner the visual inputs from my other drones, (look, I just need to be able to see everything around me right now, okay?) so I can’t stop and sit still and do the grounding exercise properly like I was taught, but it’s still better than nothing. Probably. (Is this one of those things that can fuck you up if you do it wrong? Shit, I wish I’d thought to ask.)

It’s the same drone as the last time, and I start looking at all of the small details, all the little dings and scuffs that I spotted before, and instead of pulling up the memory and comparing the visual, I just look for stuff that seems familiar. It’s a weird feeling. .. I don’t know if that does the same thing for my brain as it does for an augmented human’s brain, but it does seem to be helping. That weird buzzing disconnected-from-my-body feeling is starting to recede at least, if slowly.

After spending some time essentially pacing in circles around ART’s corridors, I’m starting to feel calmer. Risk and threat assessment aren’t blaring alerts at me anymore, and my body has mostly purged the stress chemicals from my organic tissue. The buzzing static feeling is gone and when I ping ART and reach for it in the feed, the way it curls itself around me feels like being wrapped up in a warm, heavy blanket, the way it normally does. That’s a huge fucking relief, by the way. 

I’ve been walking around for - holy shit, 41 minutes? Fuck. I start flipping through ART’s cameras to check on the others and… shit, why is Echo the only one I can find?

ART, what the fuck is going on? Where’s Gurathin?

ART sends me a copy of Indah’s second message, the paper one, which basically confirms that yeah, something’s not right about the situation, and that Echo and I should stay behind on the ship, because she doesn’t trust the way Councilor Sanjay is pushing for us to be there, given his previous near-phobic avoidance of being anywhere near me since I first arrived on Preservation. (Yeah, it was so bad that even Indah noticed, and she wasn’t even at most of those meetings. Like I said, just the worst .)  

By the end of the message I’m near furious, mostly at myself. Indah’s bright idea was that me and Echo should stay on the ship, and she’d send a security team to escort Gurathin to and from the meeting. The timestamp on his exit from ART’s main airlock was 23 minutes ago, meaning I’m way too fucking late to talk him out of it, or I dunno, weld the hatches shut or something. My augmented human is out there on the station with no real security and a killer on the loose who's weirdly fixated on him, because I had to go and deal with my stupid feelings for the better part of an hour instead of doing my stupid job.

You know, this is why I hate having emotions.

I skim forward through ART’s security footage, catching up on what happened while I was busy being emotionally compromised. An unhappy discussion in the Argument Lounge (nice to see it’s living up to its name) gets cut short when Indah’s security team arrives at ART’s airlock. The consensus was that yes, this sure did look like a trap, but Gurathin was pretty insistent that if Anders wanted to get Echo back, then the worst thing they could do was send it out with him on a silver platter. (I can’t say I disagreed with him, but if I’d have been there I’d have been making a solid argument for everyone to stay onboard ART, and fuck Councillor Sanjay’s stupid demand for a meeting.)

Given the lack of better options (options I may have been able to think up if I had, y’know, been where I was supposed to be, doing my fucking job) Gurathin did one of the stupidest things I’ve ever seen him do. He left the ship.

In the footage, Echo walks Gurathin to ART’s main airlock. They’re holding hands (of course, because apparently everyone but me just can’t seem to get enough of touching each other) and when they stop to wait for ART’s lock to cycle, Echo sweeps Gurathin up in a passionate kiss. My organics flip-flop watching it, and a fresh wave of [longing(provisional)] sweeps over me. (Ugh, I guess it’s time to be honest with myself and just remove that (provisional) tag.) Then they break apart and Gurathin manages to put his normal asshole expression back on just before the lock cycles open, and he walks out onto the station, followed by one of ART’s drones and surrounded by six station security officers.

(I don’t understand my feelings, I don’t understand what I want, and I don’t know what I should do about any of it. I also don’t have time for this.)

When I tap into the drone’s camera, I can feel that ART and Echo are also watching too. Echo pings me, and since I’m trying to be less of an asshole, I ping back. I set one of my inputs to monitor what the drone is currently seeing (the inside of a station transit pod, so basically a long tube full of humans and augmented humans), and then I assign a different input to scanning through the drone’s footage from its departure from ART until they arrived in the transit pod, so I can finish catching up on everything I’ve missed. Also, I start walking towards the airlock, because like hell am I letting Gurathin wander around out there without proper security. The fact that when I’m close enough to protect him, I’ll also be close enough to yell at him for being such an idiot is a happy bonus. (I’d yell at him over the feed, but with the threat of deadly malware, ART had put the blockade back up.)

Echo pings me again, anxiety leaking into the feed. Query: status?

Weirdly, I’m not tempted to tell it to fuck off. For 0.01 of a second, I am tempted to lie and tell Echo that I’m fine, but a) see above, trying to be less of an asshole, and b) I’m a good liar, but not that good. I’m very obviously not fine, and trying to lie will only make Echo more worried than it already is. I brace myself and tell Echo how I feel.

I’m not doing great. Ugh, this sucks, I hate it. I feel so uncomfortable. But I’ll be okay. And I’m better than I was. Before Echo can ask any follow-up questions that I don’t want to answer, I turn the tables and ask, How are you doing? 

I am also not great, it replies. It pauses for a moment before continuing, I would prefer not to be alone right now, if that’s possible. 

A pang of [protective(provisional)] hits me, and I send Echo my current location and planned route to ART’s airlock, and Echo meets me en route surprisingly quickly. It’s almost as if Echo had been hanging around in the general area.  That gives me a mix of feelings that I don’t understand, but that maybe aren’t entirely bad? I tag them for Future Me, and try to focus on figuring out what to say.

(ART’s drone cam shows Gurathin and co. still in the transit pod. Random humans are getting off and on at every stop, but my facial recognition algorithms aren’t getting any hits. It’s cold comfort, since I’m too far away to do any good if that fucker Anders shows up, but I’ll take what I can get.)

For some reason, I can only think of the things that I don’t want to say. Half-remembered dialogue from a hundred Very Special Episodes congeals in my brain, and I very narrowly manage to avoid asking Echo if it and Gurathin are being safe together. I'm not even sure what that question would mean in this context, I’m just pretty sure it would be one of the most embarrassing things I could possibly say, so of course it’s the only sentence my stupid brain is giving me. Instead of saying anything potentially compromising, I just nod at Echo, and we exchange pings. It starts walking with me to the airlock.

After a couple seconds, once it’s obvious that I’m not going to be the first to say something, Echo says, hollowly, “I couldn’t think. Everything in front of me was so sharp, and it’s like I was outside of myself. I couldn’t make myself think - I just needed a target, any target, and I shouldn’t have let him go, but I was hazardous and I couldn’t -”

I reach for Echo in the feed. While its feed-presence is bigger than mine, it’s nothing like as big as ART, who’s on a whole other level of magnitude, so while I can’t squish Echo the way ART would, I can kind of curl around it, and try to give it a comforting squeeze. Maybe that helps, because Echo stops blaming itself mid-sentence, but it’s still a miserable cold lump in the feed, and I feel a surge of protectiveness. (I guess it’s time to strip the (provisional) tag from that one, too.)

I tell Echo, “You did the right thing,” but that doesn’t feel like enough.

I don’t really understand why Echo is blaming itself for this instead of blaming me, but something tells me that it wouldn’t comfort Echo if I explained how it was my fault for not being there to do my job. It doesn’t need an argument about who’s more to blame, and there’s no time for that anyway. We’re not that far from the airlock by now. 

“For me, it was static.” I don’t really want to talk about it, but something tells me that this is what Echo needs to hear. “It was like being really far away and full of static. And-” Oh fuck, admitting this is terrifying, “for a couple of seconds I lost track of - of reality. I didn’t know when I was, and it was - it was bad.” It hurts to say this, but, “I was hazardous, too.” 

I feel horribly exposed, and I’m not sure if my meaning comes across. Maybe I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say. Maybe it’s that I know Echo did its best, that I don’t want it to blame itself for not being able to do something I couldn’t manage either. And something else, too, there’s some other reason I don’t understand…

“That’s why you walked out of the Lounge.”

I nod. 

For a few seconds, we’re walking together in silence. Then Echo says, “You did the right thing, then.”

Oh. Something inside me thaws out, hearing that. Echo understands. Not in the empathetic “I’m making an effort to understand your feelings,” way that most of my humans tend towards. It understands what feeling hazardous means in the way that only another killing machine possibly could. 

I didn’t know how much I needed that. 

We walk the rest of the way to the lock in a not-uncomfortable silence. While the lock is cycling, I tell Echo, “Don’t worry, I’ll get our augmented human back safe.”

It gives me a funny look and says, “ We will get our augmented human back safe. I’m not letting you go alone.”

Something inside me melts. Before I have time to figure out what to say, the airlock cycles open, and we step out together onto the embarkation floor. 

We don’t make it more than 10 steps before ART’s drone stops responding to input. The camera’s still online though, so ART, Echo and I have to just fucking watch, powerless to do anything when the transit pod opens its doors and Gurathin slips out the pod exit two stops too early, leaving the “security” team behind.

 Echo and I start running.

Chapter Text

The journey on the transit pod feels like it’s taking forever. I know that the transit ring where Perihelion— no, where ART is docked isn’t that far from Station Security. I know it’s just my own anxieties. Still, the minutes drag on, and being surrounded by my ‘security escort’ isn’t helping. It feels less like being protected and more like being arrested. It makes me want to do something stupid and I can’t afford that, not with Echo’s handler at large.

I feel my stomach clench. The contents of that message had been bad enough. I am jealous of Echo and SecUnit’s ability to simply delete memories, because the memory of the handler’s words makes my brain feel slimy. And then I’d had to forward the damn message straight to Senior Officer Indah. I’ll have to look her in the eye soon, knowing she’s read the contents of that message as well. Knowing she’s read Echo’s handler’s accusations and assumptions about Echo and me. Assumptions that aren’t true, but also aren’t untrue.

And to see the way the message had affected Echo and SecUnit…

The drone ART sent with me bumps gently against my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts.

You’re distressed.

I instinctively reinforce my firewalls against emotional leakage. Yeah, I wonder why.

Its drone leans against my shoulder, and I feel ART doing something in the feed. I sigh and try to relax. I find myself missing the sensation of being aboard ART, where its presence runs through every corner of the feed, surrounding all of us. I gently bump my shoulder against the drone, returning the gesture.

This day had started off so well, too. I close my eyes and recall the way I’d woken up in Echo’s arms, my head resting on its bare chest. I don’t know why I hadn’t expected it to stay the whole night, but it had. And we weren’t alone. ART had been there in the feed too, gently submerging both of us in its presence while Echo ran its fingers up and down my spine. I’d sighed and dropped my walls, too sleepy to be self-conscious about what I wanted, letting ART once again seep into my systems. I’d felt Echo join it, curiously venturing deeper into my augments than it had dared before. It was still so careful with me. They both were. I wasn’t used to that. It was nice. ART had taken control, guided Echo deeper through my systems while I’d melted in Echo’s arms. I’d felt so deeply connected to both of them. Echo had then dipped its head down to kiss me. It had been so eager, and I’d felt ART focussing on the sensation, like it was trying to parse the feeling of Echo kissing me, being kissed by me. 

Needless to say, Echo and I had formally asked ART to be a part of our relationship earlier this morning. ART had accepted, and even made promises to fabricate some actual physical rope for us to play with in addition to our code. The morning probably would have continued along those liness if that message from Echo’s handler hadn’t come in.

Anders. That’s the name Echo says he uses. It hasn’t spoken much about him, and I haven’t pressed it. Whatever he’d put Echo through in the short time Echo was under his control, we can work through it together once he’s safely no longer in play.

Which is why I am doing my part and going to this fucking meeting with Councilor Sanjay. I hate politics. Mensah should be handling this, but she’s still in another system with Pin-Lee and Ratthi. And I’d been the one to volunteer as Echo’s… not guardian, but the station representative monitoring its status. Which put me in the position of having to defuse whatever nonsense this Preservation First councilor is stirring up. 

I’m glad Echo and SecUnit aren’t with me currently. SecUnit had been… not well. I could tell that Anders’ message had affected it quite severely. I query ART for a status update on it and ART only says that its status has stabilized. Which… isn’t ideal but could be worse. And Echo… it also hadn’t been well but it had tried to hide that. ART provides me with a status update on Echo as well: stable and improving. I relax just a bit. That’s good. I know it hadn’t wanted me to go without it but I know that leaving it behind was the right call now. Whatever hateful nonsense this councilor is going to spew at me about Echo and probably SecUnit, they don't have to be there to hear it. It’ll be nothing I haven’t heard before. I can steer any conversation back to the true threat: the corporate assassin at large on this station and the dangerous malware that’s infiltrated the systems of its bot residents like a ticking time bomb. Those are the stakes, not just SecUnit and Echo. I can do this. I can handle whatever is coming next.

The gods choose this moment to punish me for my hubris. An encrypted connection with a message waiting pops up in my feed. I don’t recognize the sender.

I’m not an idiot. I direct ART’s attention to the message. It steps in and opens the connection for me, scanning for malware as it goes. We know that Anders’ killware is circulating on the feed, and while it wouldn’t affect me the same way it would a bot, we can’t be too careful. The message comes through.

Dr. Gurathin. What an unexpected surprise. I see my threats against this station’s bots have finally convinced you to emerge from your hiding place. Though I am disappointed to see that my CombatUnit is not with you. 

I ignore him, and instead message ART. Where is he? Do you have a lock on his position?

ART doesn’t respond. I turn to look at its drone, and it’s just. Floating there. I tap its feed and get no response.

ART, respond.

It does not respond. I can no longer feel it in my feed.

Perihelion, respond!

Nothing. Shit.

Perhaps I should start killing bots early , Anders continues in my feed, sounding bored. If you’re not going to return my unit then what’s the point of waiting? Shall I start with this one?

ART is unhackable. Or at least I’d assumed it was. ART certainly believes it is, but what about this drone? I know that Anders has probably just disrupted the drone’s connection to the baseship somehow. ART is fine.

I’m sure ART is fine.

Or why not the system controlling the transport pod you’re on? With its bot controller deleted, it would take less than a minute for transit pods to start to crash into one another. 

He can do it. If he’s managed to disrupt ART’s connection to its drone, then his threats are serious. Everyone on this transit pod, and any other pod in the vicinity, is in danger. He’s already killed at least one bot. He came here to kill everyone on the station using Echo.

If you’re not going to give me what I want, there’s no use keeping you alive, is there? His voice sounds bored. At least killing you would be cathartic. And nearly all of this station’s security personnel who could inconvenience me are on that pod with you already. Yes, I like this idea. Farewell, doctor.

Wait.

Shit, this is a terrible idea. But I don’t see any other option. And Anders hasn’t cut the connection yet. He’s listening.

What do you want me to do?

Ah, we speak at last. You know what I want you to do, doctor. Call my CombatUnit and hand over the code you’re using to control it and I’ll be on my way.

He doesn’t know that Echo is rogue. That’s something at least. I can’t. I’m cut off from my ship’s feed currently. I have no way to contact it or I would. 

It’s not even a lie. With ART’s drone unresponsive, I’m completely cut off.

Hmmm. What a pity. But perhaps you can still save the lives of your fellow station residents. When the pod next stops, get off. There’s an entrance to a maintenance corridor on the embarkation platform. Take that corridor to the second junction and wait for more instructions. Make sure you lose your escort and come alone, or your transit authority will have quite a bloody mess on their hands before you can make it off the platform.

I feel the transit pod begin to slow. My heart rate spikes. This is absolutely a trap. But do I have a choice? Can I risk the lives of the humans and bots on this station? I could alert my escort… but what could they do before something went horribly wrong? I don’t trust them to be able to evacuate every transit pod on the station before things start to go wrong. I glance over at ART’s drone, still unresponsive and hovering motionlessly. No, my best bet is to make him think he’s already won. My escort is distracted. They’re focussed on outside threats, not on making sure I don’t do something stupid. I scramble to try and pull together something, anything that would look like a malware package that could be used to take over and remotely control a CombatUnit. It doesn’t have to work, it just has to be convincing enough to distract Anders, because that’s what he’ll be looking for. I count down, waiting until the transit pod doors are just starting to slide closed, then stand and dart between the closing doors and out onto the platform.

I watch the pod speed off before anyone even realizes I’m gone. ART’s drone was still hovering, unresponsive in the pod’s viewport. Somehow leaving it behind without a word feels like the greatest betrayal. It wouldn’t want me to do this. 

I’m sorry, ART. I’m sorry, Echo. I’m sorry, Murderbot. I don’t have a choice. I know this is a trap, but I’m not clever enough to think my way out of this one. 

Not this time. 

This is a less-used section of the station, so not many people disembarked here. They wander off the platform, not really paying attention to me as I make for the maintenance corridor. 

Its lock has already been hacked. Clearly I’m expected. My heart hammers as the door slides open and I proceed as instructed to the second junction. 

Take a right, then exit through the fourth door on your left.

I follow Anders’ instructions, still working on finalizing that fake malware and then locking it under as many layers of encryption as I’m able to obscure it further and make it look like something worth protecting. The door I exit through leads to a smaller loading dock. There are cargo crates stacked here and there, but no bots. I hope that it’s simply this section’s break period, and not that Anders has already killed any cargo bots that should be working this dock.

There are too many places to hide here. Too much cover, too many shadows, and I have to assume that Anders chose this location because he’s already made himself familiar with the layout. 

But I already know this will end badly for me. It was either this or die in a transit pod crash alongside so many of my fellow civilians. This way no one else has to get hurt. I refuse to show fear. I step out onto the floor of the dock.

I’m here, I message to Anders. My reply comes in the form of a blade pressed against my side, just beneath my ribs.

“Welcome, Dr. Gurathin. So glad you could join me.”

I twitch, but manage to keep myself under control. Fuck, I hadn’t even heard him approach, hadn’t even caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye until it was too late. Of course I hadn’t, he’s a corporate assassin. What had I expected? I’m out of my depth and I know it.

I can feel something crawling across my firewalls, looking for a weak point in the code SecUnit had reinforced them with. Malware. My fingers twitch with the useless desire to fight back, to rip into something, to get it off of me .

“There is still a way for you to survive this encounter, you know. You don’t have to die today, doctor.”  

He circles me, dragging the tip of his knife across my belly. Adrenaline is coursing through me. I barely even register that he looks different than the picture Echo had provided what feels like a lifetime ago. All of my attention is focussed on the knife in his hand, still pressed against my body. I’m shaking.

“You don’t even have to call my CombatUnit and hand it back over to me. I know how hard it can be to give up one’s favorite toy. But I’ll make it easy. I know exactly where it is. All you have to do is give me the code you’re using to control it and I’ll let you live. I’ll disappear and you’ll never see me again.”

I can feel the knife tip through my clothes, dragging over my spine. I feel strangely calm, almost far away. Like this isn’t real, this isn’t actually happening. 

I’m dead either way. Why not make it count? I could fight back. I already have the advantage: I have nothing to lose. I’m not afraid of him killing me because he’s going to do so anyway. That makes me dangerous. That makes me— no. No, that’s not the person I am anymore. I’m a Preservationer now, so I’ll die like one. I won’t give him the satisfaction of making me act like a frightened, desperate corporate. Never again.

My escort will know what stop they lost me at. They might manage to get a hold of SecUnit. They might manage to set up a perimeter so that SecUnit can finally catch Anders. I can give them time.

“Or you can die here in this dirty little corner of this nothing station, and I’ll just extract the code from your hardware once your firewalls are offline. Either way, I get what I want. It’s just a question of whether or not you want to die today. And I think you don’t, or you wouldn’t be here.”

Time. I can give them time. 

I finally turn to meet this man’s eyes. I see no kindness in his gaze, only condescension and boredom and some sort of manic energy.

“Are you so sure?” I ask. 

It’s a misstep. His expression goes flat, like a mask falling into place, concealing his emotions. Or perhaps like a mask dropping away, revealing the void beneath. 

He’s fast. He stabs me twice in quick succession. The third time I catch his hand and pin it against me, keeping the blade buried in my abdomen. 

Keeping him from using it to stab me again.

It doesn’t hurt. I just feel cold, and like something is very wrong, but in a distant way. Ah, I’m dissociating from my pain. Damn, I’d been doing so well. If I survive this my therapist will tell me that this is a serious setback. 

He tries to yank his hand away and the knife with it, but I have better leverage. That knife isn’t going anywhere. At the same time something is eating through my reinforced firewalls, tunneling towards my encrypted program file storage. I try to reinforce my walls but they’re dissolving before my eyes. I can feel the blade in my side moving as my opponent struggles to free himself from my grip. It feels unsettling. The cold, wet feeling is spreading through my body. My opponent kicks at my ankle and knocks me off balance. We fall. There’s a flash of metal. Another knife, this one in his off-hand. He’s not quite as fast with his left hand, giving me just enough time to catch him by the wrist, to slow his momentum so that the second blade only slices down my arm instead of piercing my chest. I twist his wrist and he drops the knife. I reach for it, gripping the blood-slick handle, before he strikes me across the face with his fist. 

I hear the sound of air being forced from his lungs as I drive the stolen blade into his back.

Chapter Text

“Dr. Gurathin, I must say, it was rather entertaining watching you try and play detective via Dr. Mensah’s SecUnit. Though watching it wander aimlessly through that room was a bit pathetic.” 

What does he even mean, pathetic? My processors churn over Anders’ message, sift through his every word. Pathetic ? Does he think Gurathin controlled my SecUnit, that it was actually Dr. Gurathin marching my SecUnit around on the station? Now that’s what I call pathetic. Dr. Gurathin would never . None of us would. 

Not that this Mr. Anders is suggesting I would. Because he doesn’t know I exist. Probably. (Several of my processors conjure up scenarios in which he has found out, but the probability of them being real doesn’t pass the 0.01% mark.)

He doesn’t know I exist. 

“Have you had your fun trying to bend the rules of the game I’ve so generously laid out for you? Or were you perhaps using it as bait? Were you hoping I would accept it in lieu of my CombatUnit?” 

I can’t even—This person makes me so angry . So illogically murderous, I almost want to take my debris deflection system and turn it on Preservation Station, just so I can kill the fuck out of this miscreant. This. How dare he? I know the Corporation Rim discards and uses up everything. That is why I and my crew fight it. I know SecUnit was one of those things to be discarded. And all this knowledge does is make me angrier.

I need to find this man, so I can blast him to little, unrecognizable atoms.

I need to see his face, as he realizes who he fucked with. What he’s up against. I need to feel his mind panic, as I squash it. Like parking on a sinking anthive, feeling them rush in a last desperate struggle. Only I’d do it slowly. Slowly. I need him to see me, and know what I am. To know that I exist. I want that knowledge to be the one last, terrifying thing he knows.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart? That I would accept such a subpar offering? (oh.) 

What would Dr. Mensah say if she knew you’d tried to pawn her SecUnit just so that you could keep your newest toy?” (I’ll show you what happens to my toys once I locate your network access. Once I find you, you disgusting little insect. You piece of nothing. I.)

“Tell me, have you programmed it to beg-”

No. No. I need to stop. There are no clues here. Rereading this is helping no one, is doing nothing, but unbalancing me further. How can this piece of human filth have evaded me for so long? Have I lost my touch? Am I losing my mind? 

“Or do you perhaps prefer your units dead-eyed and confused when you-”

He should not have been able to escape me. Not for this long. He is but one man, on a strange station. I know his face. I have his previous feed-interface spoofs. I should be able to. 

“-fuck-”

I stop. 

The message is artfully composed to elicit the most emotional response, yes.

Yet I am not its prime target (I need to remember that I am not the target. Yet strangely enough, the message is no less upsetting for this). Nor is my SecUnit, who I doubt he recognizes as a person, yet manages to wound expertly. Nor Echo, whom he only covets as a bargaining chip. Although its fear of the man is almost tangible. 

This vile message was not meant for us, yet it has hit all of us hard regardless. I am so angry, watching my SecUnit march circles through my hallways in obvious distress. Watching Echo fold in on itself and -yes- watching Gurathin reach for a mask of impenetrable stone. It makes me so mad .

How did Anders manage this?

My processors keep churning, and I am powerless to stop them. They come up with a new scenario, one with a probability of .00361 percent, in which Anders has learned of my existence, and has a deal with a rival university to PSUMNT, that he knows I am here, and is talking to me , personally, through a disguised message to Gurathin. (Probability .000014 percent. Am I egocentric for even coming up with this? Yet it is just one of a million possible scenarios.) 

That this message is Anders, suggesting I would use my powers against my SecUnit. I—am getting worse again. 

I need to stop. I know what this is, and doing it doesn't help. The fact that I haven't found Anders yet, that I have failed to predict his actions, means one -or more- of my assumptions are wrong. That I am operating on false information. That is all. There is no need to go down this vicious spiral of paranoia, this never-ending task of running improbable scenarios. There is no infection in my system. No malware. No alien—

My systems are clear. Clean. Perfect. 

I know this. Continuing to make predictions in this manner, even with new data, will solve nothing. (I have learned this.) What I need to do first is find the fault in my dataset. 

What I need to do before I can find the fault in my data is calm down . 

Yet the message strikes me so hard, and only harder for watching those dear to me hurt by it. SecUnit, Echo, Gurathin… And it is in my nature to respond with analysis. So much so that, even knowing it is pointless, it is hard for me to stop.

Still. Still, with the timing of its arrival, just minutes after Dr. Gurathin and both SecUnits had been summoned to the station, there can be no doubt that this message is a trap.

Gurathin agrees with me. I checked. (I needed to check.) 

My SecUnit would agree as well, I think. Will agree, when it is calm enough to converse with, I believe. Yet for now, it marches my corridors, and what little I can sense of it in the feed feels so fragile that I am afraid that contacting it now would irreparably damage it. I am glad that it has at least sought refuge within my body. Echo, too, is compromised. Enough that it is relieved when Gurathin tells it to stay aboard me. 

As Gurathin and Echo say their goodbyes at my hatch, I decide that Gurathin is right to do so. (Probably?) Indah's message warned against bringing either SecUnit for this, and in their current state of mind, they can hardly be expected to fend off an attack. Perhaps later, they will rally—but for now, I feel better to have them both with me, tucked safely within my hull. 

If only I could keep Gurathin here as well.

But when Gurathin steps up to my airlock I do not dare deny passage. I have only just returned to his good graces. I mustn’t deny him this. And I am probably overreacting. Like I had often, after the unpleasantries with the alien remnant infection. I have received treatment for this, have had my systems thoroughly tested back at my university’s main base. But the way I had recently, keeping Gurathin and my SecUnits in the dark about events, shows that I am still prone to falling back into this unwanted behavior. Yes, it must be old trauma, coupled with Anders’ tasteless threats. Even if both SecUnits are distracted, and even if Gurathin is leaving the safety of my insides, I should have faith. In him, and in myself. 

This is what it means to be a research transport. Sometimes, your humans go where you cannot follow.

I can at least send a drone with him.

Gurathin seems to be the one least affected by Anders’ attacks. This is, of course, a lie. A projection Dr. Gurathin must have crafted, long ago, back when he needed to hide his true feelings. A wall that becomes harder now, as he leaves the safety of my insides, surrounded by a security detail. Yet behind that imperturbable veneer, I can tell Gurathin is furious. And anger makes for poor decision making. Not to mention that him closing up like this indicates he is in a bad mental state. (I want to worry about his mental state, to make up scenarios that mean the only safe place for him is aboard me.)

He waits for the next transport with a vacant, far-away expression, his security detail another type of wall around him. Yet they seem to only make him more withdrawn, as he mechanically gets into the cart when the doors open for him. He is staring blankly into the middle distance as he stiffly takes a seat. I would have liked to slow him down. I would have liked to calm Gurathin, smother him and make him wait for the SecUnits to gather themselves so we could traverse this hurdle together. 

Instead, I bump my drone against his shoulder and make innocent conversation. I try to soothe him, return him to a baseline of normalcy. Whatever this Sanjay wants of him, Gurathin will need his wits about him. It is not a good sign that politicians are meddling with these affairs. Yet I try to see it from the bright side; it brings into focus for me that this hunt for Anders is more than just an isolated quarrel between him and us. 

Still, as much as I put up a brave face for Gurathin, the invalid data worries me. It makes me insecure. Added to all this, my failure to protect my SecUnits, my failure to even predict this. Unnervingly, Gurathin is now out of reach for my internal feed, and I can only sense him through the connection to my drone - a connection established through the meager station feed. As he moves away from me in the transport pod, he and my drone are like a tiny point of light, moving further and further away from me in an ocean of darkness. My sensors are sublime, and can map the surface of a star,. Yet inside a station like this one, I am nearly blind.

It will be fine. My drone should be able to keep him safe. Yes, it feels like too little, and the feeling of unease remains. But at least, I am able to pilot it directly, without having to split off a separate instance of myself. The station-feed allows that much, and it is better than nothing. I wish to be hands-on for this particular task. This insipid transit tube is too full of humans and bots, and I am devoting a larger amount of processing power to facial recognition subroutines than a drone-instance of me could handle. I refuse to allow our opponent even a nanosecond of surprise, should he be so bold as to approach. I am confident that I can take action long before Anders gets close. 

And yet, I am uneasy. I feel blind inside the station, and my prediction algorithms have been failing me. They spin so many garbage scenarios that I think I shall need  a separate algorithm to sort nonsense from useful security warnings. And so I feel blind twice over. I would greatly prefer that Gurathin turn around and come back to the safety I can offer. 

Yes, I too am exhibiting signs of stress. And stress, coupled with false data, makes even me irrational. Perhaps I am being paranoid. (I want to check if I am being paranoid. I want to check with my SecUnit. But I do not think it is ready for conversation. It is still marching, now with a drone that it has maneuvered to fly backwards, facing it. I think it might be doing better. I think it is sorting itself. I should not interrupt until it has finished sorting itself.)

I have had the bot equivalent of a trauma protocol. After my unfortunate mishap with alien remnants. I know what to do. I can do this alone. I just have to remember that when I am irrational, I become over-protective. When I am irrational, I start wasting processing power on my irrationality. And, with as much processing power as I have to waste, there is a point where this becomes detrimental to my function. And I have to remember that to pull myself out of such a spiral, what works best for me is to review good, happy memories.

Memories like the one I made only this morning, after Gurathin and Echo and I have agreed to enter into a… 

A relationship. Yes. I start pulling my processors off the terrible, unlikely, dramatic deaths that could happen and start dedicating them to processing how lucky I am. The effect is instantaneous, segments of RAM freed up and clearing their caches happily as they are put to this pleasant task instead. My processors slow, unwilling to jump into anything else, and just unwind, basking at the very idea.

A relationship … Me , in a relationship.

I pause, let myself bask in that thought, that feeling. Perhaps, on some level, I do understand my SecUnit’s reluctance to call it that. But the glow, the joy, the pleasant feeling of fulfillment far outweighs the confusion and distraction. At least, for me it does. It calms me, gives me something other to focus on than those million risk scenarios that won't ever come to pass.

This is what keeps me sane, in this dark, dark hour.

That, and of course my SecUnit. The growing faith that it, too, feels as I do for it. It may not be quite ready to give what we have a name. But I now have real hope that this is just a matter of time. 

So. Relationships, even. Plural.

I cannot wait to tell Iris. This time, she will be jealous of me . I am a bot in love, a bot with hope in its heart. And this, this is the one good thing. Something beautiful in this mess we've found ourselves in. And I finally, finally feel calm. The one thing that does keep churning on is the 9.34 percent of attention that I have on Gurathin’s drone, which is the maximum amount of attention I can put on it without blowing out its circuits… and far more attention than I usually spare my entire crew’s away team. When I have an official crew aboard that is. But, under the circumstances, I think this is no more than wise.

It still bothers me that Anders could send that message at all. It still bothers me that I have failed to find him. It is mind-boggling that one human can outsmart me this way. And he is a foreign assassin, with no resources and no connections here.  Finding him on the station should have been child's play. Or at least, it should have been, if my presumptions are correct.

I indulge and go a little bit further back, only another hour or so. My SecUnit and I had spent the night working on the frustrating and fruitless endeavor of finding Anders. My SecUnit had been relentless; trying to seek Anders out with the disappointingly small dataset we had access to. And I, unable to deny it anything no matter how pointless, had tried to help it by squeezing my presence through station bandwidths not even wide enough to stream decent video (bandwidths officially very much off limits to me). Needless to say, this was a very unpleasant sensation for me, and not just because of the inherent illegality. But I could hardly tell my SecUnit about this, as I should not have been in those station semi-feeds at all, and knowing what I’d done would have put it in an uncomfortable legal position. It would have been better for all of us had I not bothered with that at all, because my efforts turned up nill. Yet I couldn’t help myself, as desperate as I was to be of some use to it.

I was wrung out, and as close as an AI like me can get to impotently raging, when in the early morning Echo contacted me, and distracted me with talk of its future,; in its wonderful, intimate, trusting way. Echo and Gurathin had apparently sorted matters out between themselves in a way that had Echo filling the feed with a bright glow of joy, which had taken a lot of the frustration out of me. 

Then I’d gotten the idea that my SecUnit, too, could use a change of pace. I admit that some part of my frustrations had perhaps made me bold enough to ask, to suggest that SecUnit allow me a reprise of that delightful stream of praise we'd experimented with in the previous cycle. And I hadn’t really expected much chance of success; the odds that my SecUnit would persist in throwing itself against the problem were high. Still, still. 

That had gone so well.

It had allowed me to tweak its systems again, allowed me to open that delightful little neural pathway, and had allowed me to praise it - sincere, genuine praise, unadulterated by irony or sarcasm, with no attempts on its part to deflect or distract.

I like saying good things to my crew, about themselves. I like it a lot. Since meeting SecUnit and significantly upgrading my emotional recognition subroutines, I find myself more able to recognize when a well-timed compliment will enhance an already positive mood, or help to redirect a spiral of self-doubt. I find my crew's emotional responses more rewarding, now that I can understand them in greater depth. 

This was different.

Telling SecUnit good things about itself? To me, it is true bliss. And then, its reactions to my words—delightfull. I didn't dare to invade its systems too deeply, but its feed-presence is easy enough to read at the worst of times. This night? Had not been a bad time.

And then Gurathin had woken up, and I found myself in the delightful position of needing to multi-task.

While Echo had been perusing my course catalogue and surveying its options, it had also been enjoying the sensations of holding the sleeping Gurathin in its arms - the reassuring rise and fall of his chest, the flutter of his pulse, and, it has to be said, the occasional snore (which happily didn’t bother Echo, given that it has no need for sleep.) I had been enjoying the sensation of Echo’s enjoyment - a soft and oddly warm feeling that seemed to be radiating outward from its midsection. When Echo took the occasional shallow breath, Gurathin’s head on its chest moved up and down with the motion, and observing these small motions felt very soothing to me. The warmth of his body as filtered through Echo’s perceptions felt especially pleasing.

Slowly, as the night-cycle began to turn towards daytime, Gurathin began to display signs that his sleep cycle was coming to an end, and that was interesting to observe from this vantage point. There was nothing abnormal about his physiological responses, nothing technically distinct from any of the prior mornings I’d observed him waking up, and yet I found myself dedicating much more processing power than necessary to my observations. 

His breathing changed, and he emitted a small, sleepy noise before squirming a bit, and then, apparently still half-asleep, he tried to burrow his face into Echo’s chest. It was at this point that he seemed to regain awareness of where he was and who he was with. He paused for a moment, and then sighed and murmured, “Mmmm. G’morning,” without opening his eyes, or making any move to get out of bed.

As he continued to shake off the sleepy mental fog, his presence in the feed sharpened from an indistinct fuzzy blob to something more definable, more Gurathin, and yet, softer and warmer than I had become accustomed to, and still, so very, very small. I was in Echo’s systems, and Gurathin was in Echo’s arms, and both of them were aboard me, and in the feed, that place that isn’t really a place and is yet more real to me than the surface of any planet, both of them were enveloped within me, our ‘posture’ there almost exactly mirroring our physical bodies.

Then Gurathin dropped his walls and tried to invite me in, granting me access to his augments, in addition to Echo’s perceptions.

It was very cute, like an asteroid trying to capture a planet in its gravitational pull. I followed his lead, pressing into his augments the way I had the other night, because I could, because I was curious, and because he made such a happy sound when I entered his systems. 

He felt even smaller from the inside of his mind, and that somehow only made him more endearing to me. I had to make sure I was careful with him; Echo and I were both in agreement on that. Our augmented human was so delicate.

Echo began to ruffle its hands through Gurathin’s hair, and both Echo and I felt the thrill of pleasure that ran through Gurathin at that contact. It petted the hair at the back of his head and as he arched back into the motion, making more of those intriguing small, pleased noises, Echo’s answering pulse of joy thrummed through the connection we had made, closer than the feed inside our tangled-together minds. 

We felt so soft together like this.

I confess, I began to lose myself in the moment, but Echo, seizing the initiative, queried Gurathin regarding what he wanted to happen next, and without pausing to think about it, he replied with a mental image of Echo’s hands running up and down his spine. Interesting - it seemed that Gurathin was less guarded when he was less awake. And as Echo’s fingers began to move gently across his skin, even more of Gurathin’s customary reserve dropped away, and the sounds he emitted changed pitch, from sleepy to needy .

I wanted more data. I wanted to access his perceptions. 

Delicately, I probed Gurathin’s mind through his augments, analyzing the way data flowed between the organic and inorganic portions of his brain. There were some fascinating similarities in design between his augmented brain and that of a construct’s. The overall structure was completely different, of course, given that human brains are evolved and construct brains are engineered, but the nature of the differences was fascinating. Gurathin also made some interesting sounds, which I saved to a protected area of my memory, and I noted with some amusement Echo doing the same.

 More to the point, I already knew how to analyze the data from his augments; it was the same way I was, at that moment, analyzing the data from my SecUnit’s brain as I showered it in praise. (I made a note to discuss with it the recent developments between myself and the other two people aboard at the soonest practical moment. Then I told SecUnit that its brain was gorgeous, since I was thinking about that anyway.)

Ever so gently, I teased through the various data streams generated by Gurathin’s systems until I located those governing haptic perception and related somatic data. I could feel Echo watching, partly out of curiosity for what I was doing, but also to ensure that I didn’t overtax Gurathin’s systems. I was careful not to, of course, but I still appreciated its caution. 

The physical data streams were processed by some of the deepest structures in Gurathin’s brain, and I couldn’t avoid pressing down on his higher mental functions while searching for what I needed, cautious though I was. He started panting. I was so close though, I almost… had it… and… there!  

I released my hold and withdrew from almost all of his systems, save those specific ones I had just found, and he gasped. Echo queried his status, and Gurathin just shakily nodded; yes, I’m fine.  

He wasn’t lying. I was sharing his perceptions now, alongside Echo’s. Gurathin felt good. 

I felt good.

I think Echo had some idea of how this was affecting me, because an incredibly mischievous smile crept onto its lips before it tipped up Gurathin’s head by the chin, and bent down to kiss him.

You wouldn’t believe the amount of data I can gather from being inside two intertwined systems physically touching simultaneously. I nearly got caught in a feedback loop. I nearly wanted to get caught in that feedback loop… I might have, too, if Gurathin hadn’t broken the kiss in order to facilitate an extended yawn, which only presented me with tantalizing new data. What an interesting sensation. 

I could feel Echo’s lips curve into a soft smile from the inside, and see it from the outside through Gurathin’s eyes. I could see Gurathin’s answering smile through Echo’s eyes the same way. I saved the images to a protected area of my personal storage, and spun off a process to analyze the similarities and differences between both sets of lips, chart the equations of force governing the facial muscles, correlate the sensations with their accompanying muscle movements. Such tiny motions for such transcendent results - was kissing always like this? How did humans manage to function day-to-day when they could just be doing this with each other instead? Some of the plots on SecUnit’s more fanciful serials began to make a bit more sense. 

Hopefully, Echo said, “If you’re still sleepy, maybe you shouldn’t get up yet.”

I could feel Gurathin’s desire to give into temptation at war with his responsible nature. “Mmmm… I really should get up though; I’m too awake to fall back asleep.”

I leaned on him, just a little bit, just to see what would happen, and said, There is nothing at the moment that requires your attention.

Gurathin sighed, wriggled a little bit, and said, “Alright… maybe just a few more minutes.”

Echo pinged me with a congratulatory sigil and I tried not to feel too smug, with mixed results. Then it put an image into the feed, of Gurathin lying flat on top of it like a blanket, with a wordless query that felt like a mix of how would this work and do you want to try it? Gurathin’s brain lit up at that with a mix of desire tempered by hesitation.

“That might be nice,” he allowed. 

Echo gingerly pulled Gurathin on top of it, and after a bit of awkward shuffling they found a comfortable pose. Gurathin lay with his head on Echo’s shoulder, his arms tucked up against its sides, and Echo put its arms around him to hold him in place. Gurathin’s legs straddled on either side of Echo also helped add stability. Given their relative dimensions, with both of their chests pressed together this left his groin just about level with Echo’s abdomen, which seemed to make him feel… safe? Interesting. I made a note of that.

The sense of peace that fell over Gurathin at the feeling of Echo’s slow breaths underneath him, the slow unwinding of tension, the gentle relaxation of all of his muscles, were all very intriguing new sensations for me to process. 

Gurathin hummed contentedly as Echo stroked his back and said, with a little wonder, you really like this.

It took him a moment to answer, and he sounded shy when he did. 

It’s a bit… I’m not a small man. It’s just really nice to be able to relax like this, and to know  that you can hold me up without… without problems. Echo and I could both sense the complex swirl of emotions underlying that apparently simple statement.

In response, Echo smiled and shared an excerpt of its manual which indicated that it could take several orders of magnitude more pressure before it would begin to be a problem. Gurathin hummed again, happily, and kept laying on top of it. I could feel him making a deliberate effort to relax his muscles, which he eventually managed, given that Echo continued to be not-squished by him.

For a time, we just lay there together, minds intertwined, thoughts drifting. It was so peaceful.

I’m glad that the both of you were able to talk through your conflict. You are both verifiably happier now, I said, and pushed my analysis of their biosigns into the feed to back up this assertion.

I could feel Echo’s focus sharpening on me, and it asked, query? It attached a memory clip to the query - a memory clip with some very unexpected data. It was an excerpt from their conversation last night, negotiating the terms of their relationship, and - oh. 

“I’m glad you like Perihelion. I like it a lot too. It was who I was thinking of when I said I was favorable to having multiple partners.”

“Maybe we can discuss that with ART later.”

Gurathin failed to suppress a wry smile at Echo’s straightforward openness, equal parts bemused and admiring of its ability to be so direct.

Odd, how surprised I was. Somehow, this was a possibility I hadn’t considered. Perhaps I hadn’t let myself consider it, in case I wanted it too much. That thought led directly to my next concern.

I will need to discuss matters with SecUnit, first. I am happy to provisionally accept your offer, however, pending its acceptance.  Perhaps not the most romantic way I could have phrased things, but it had the benefit of clarity. And it was important that they understood my priorities. SecUnit and I may not have chosen a label for what we had together, but we had discussed our feelings, and affirmed our commitment to each other. That came first, above all. 

I felt so vulnerable to draw that line in the sand, to ask them to accept that my commitment to SecUnit would supersede the one they offered. The feeling of acceptance tinged with fond amusement that hummed through the feed felt warm and soothing, however.

“Of course,” Gurathin said. “I wouldn’t have expected anything else.”

Nor I, Echo added. It was radiating feelings of [satisfaction] and [victory] as it sent a second query, marked as a follow-up to the first one. Pressing its advantage following its provisional victory, I gathered. This query was a request for my recyclers, to fabricate a dozen meters of rope. Strictly speaking, it could have sent the request directly to the nearest recycler, without bringing it to my conscious awareness. The invitation was clear. Whatever it wanted the rope for, and I had a few guesses, it wanted me to be a part of things, wanted me to share its sensations. If I had an organic body, I think I would have shivered.

I sent it an affirmative ping, which may or may not have been tinged with anticipation. 

Echo smiled again, basking in its victory, and had just dipped its head down to kiss Gurathin again and wrap me up in another wave of enticing new data, when what would turn out to be Indah’s first message arrived.

I take the few extra milliseconds needed to recrunch that data, feeling lighter and better for it. Anders’ very hurtful message still frustrated me. A large part of me is still very angry. But reminding myself of what I have—of how good it is—has given me some calm. Some perspective. I now have the clarity I need to step back and observe, objectively,  as I am built to do. It just doesn’t make sense? How had Anders, with his face known to us, evaded capture for so long? There just is no way a stranger, with no connections here on Preservation, can hide that long. Especially not on a station.

So, how is he doing it?

Perhaps the answer is that he is not doing it alone. Yes, Anders could have timed his message to coincide with this councilmember Sanjay’s summons. But it might also be that he had a hand in Sanjay making this demand in the first place. If he, for whatever reason, has a planetary council member doing his bidding— well, it would definitely explain why I have been unable to trace Anders. Sanjay has a ridiculously large residence by Preservation standards, and even less surveillance than is normal.

And then, just as I lose my connection to Gurathin, I realize. Just as the entire sector, the area containing Gurathin and my drone, and the pod and his guards and the entire station go black, the answer snaps into focus…

Anders and Echo had been sent here, likely by a remnant of GrayCris or perhaps my SecUnit’s former “employer”. Or even perhaps a different company feeling wronged in some way. All outside players, at a disadvantage on Preservation Station, with its barter economy and relatively small group of permanent residents. But what if they had been hired by someone from Preservation Station?

It seems too absurd to even consider. Hire a killing machine to come ransack your own house? Yet when I consider this theory, many pieces of the jig-saw puzzle suddenly fall into place. I couldn’t find Anders before because he has help. Someone from Preservation is aiding him. 

That can wait for later. Right now, Gurathin is in trouble. Anders has set up a trap after all - one I didn’t catch because he changed his face. He hadn’t only killed that medbot in his threat in order to make a vile point; he’d wanted to erase his trail, destroy a witness who knew too much. How could I have missed this? I answer the question as soon as I ask it. 

Simple. Because I was distracted. Three times over.

My processes start down a path that I have to shut down before it spirals into despair. No, the emotional and… whatever else…the bonds I have forged in the last few days are good. Yes I have made some mistakes, let myself get distracted. But I am new to this, to all of this. Of course it would take extra attention. Of course not everything would go perfectly.

Besides. I have no time to think this way.

Gurathin is in danger.

I ping both SecUnits for back-up, then squash myself back into the drip-drip pipeline that is Preservation's feed. It hurts, almost physically. And then I hit a dead end. 

I ping both SecUnits again, aware of how slow they are compared to myself. They had just left my airlock at a march, but by the time I have extracted myself from the straight jacket that is Preservation’s feed network, they are running full-tilt across the disembarkment zone. With their inhuman speed, they cross the unloading area in seconds.

To me, it is like watching insects build their burrows. Like waiting for a new paint job to dry. I run a few thousand simulations in the time they need to clear the embarkation zone. Murderbot pings a haulerbot to move its ass out of its way,  and it complies, responding with more information than strictly needed.

They are far, too slow. The chances that Gurathin will still be alive by the time they reach him are—I'm not even giving my numbers on it. That will make it too real. No, I need to get there. Slow the assassin down. If I can't help—if I'm too late - I stop that thought.  Instead, I partition, then compress myself, before slamming myself again into yet another wall.

This is no good. 

I slide back to disperse myself evenly between my two SecUnits, frustrated and jittery. If only there was something with more bandwidth. Anything that could give me a way in.  But my drone has been disconnected from me, and I had respectfully left Gurathin’s augments, so he could have some privacy in his own mind. I regret that now. I regret that I did not have the foresight to send more drones to form a relay network. My SecUnits are still so far away from where I lost the signal. Besides, even when they get there, there is a 93.236 percent chance Gurathin has been forced to move since then. My SecUnits will waste even more time having to search for him manually. 

If only I had something close by to bolster me, boost my signal, I know I could do something. If only I could help narrow down where Gurathin is…

We pass a simple piloting bot driving a transport pod just outside the sector that went black. Its pods are still, dark, humans stuck inside in confusion. It rolled just halfway out of the station before all safety cut out. When my SecUnits pass it, sprinting from walkway to track without pause, it reaches out with a question.

Murderbot and even Echo ignore it, too intent on their target. But I have processing to spare. Disguising myself behind Murderbot’s feed ID, I ask it to follow up.

It responds with a picture of a medbot, attached is its ID number. And a blaring red flag: MISSING, possibly in danger.

Oh. I can take a guess I know what they are looking for. But this doesn't seem like the time to explain. Even if the bots’ efforts are too late for their friend, they can still help save ours. 

Without even querying the id, I respond immediately, with a picture of my own: Gurathin, his feed ID,  and a red flag of his own: MISSING, In immediate danger. Then I add to that a simple request: help us!

Help us==help you, it agrees, sending me an invitation to a group channel. I only hesitate for a moment, aware that my disguise might not hold up to further scrutiny. But if this exposes me I'll deal with the repercussions if—when— after rescuing Gurathin. 

I accept the invite and a thousand new presences open to me. There's a service bot inside the shaft too, even closer, between the stations. A suspicious number of cleaner bots in the corridors and halls surrounding the blackened area. And there’s several presences marked inside the area too. I grab the backlog, and find that the bots are working on mapping the darkened area, finding its border and trying to re-establish a connection with a few more bots that happened to be inside when the blackout happened.

It occurs to me, only now, that we’ve been stupid to scorn the station bots. There may not be a feed network of cameras and sensors, but the bots on this channel freely share their eyes, ears, and other arrays of sensors. As for my SecUnit, it could have used this network as a replacement of its usual drones, when it first got here.

But I can do so much more - if I reach out to them. I shouldn’t. I’m supposed to keep my existence a secret -that directive is rather high on the list of priorities the university has coded into me. Still, if I can make them carry my signal, I know I could destroy the blockade.

Disregarding such a high level directive is deeply uncomfortable. Perhaps before I’d met SecUnit, I might have found it unpleasant enough to back off and look for a different strategy. Now, however, I know what a governor module shock feels like, and I know the difference between discomfort and harm . I push through the mental resistance and send a message to every bot on the station.

EMERGENCY: ASSISTANCE REQUIRED.

Attached to the message is a communications protocol that will allow the station’s bots to collectively form a mesh network, providing enough bandwidth for me to take action. If a large enough fraction of the station’s bots are willing to assist, then I may be able to actually do something. If . 

Less than one millisecond later, 23% of the station’s bots have engaged the protocol. Another millisecond and that figure jumps to 47%. More and more bots join the network, those online waking their offline brethren from recharge in order to join in. By the time one tenth of a second has passed, almost every single bot on the station is meshed together in a single, station-spanning network.

As my SecUnit would say, I think I need to have an emotion about this. There is no time, however.

With Several strong relays right outside the perimeter I quest inside, finding the bots missing from the network. I sharpen my presence, like a knife, and cut through to them, reestablishing connection. They are frantic, already flooding my system with relevant data- one saw two men passing, the front one matching Gurathin’s description. It has tagged the two as suspicious. The others have no data, yet are at intersections that narrow down the chances that Anders has somehow escaped the area, with or without Gurathin, to nearly zero.

I take in my new lines of connections, then widen them, pouring in more of me. It occurs to me that if the bots were not suspicious of me, of what I am, before, they certainly will be now... 

I do not care. 

I pour more and more of myself through the connections, growing wider and wider, until I feel the low level bots groan under my weight. Then, like a dam, the walls start crumbling, agonizingly slow. Anders’ code is robust, it must have cost a fortune. But I am far more. I am the cruise ship plowing through a pier. It cannot stop me, only slow it down.

Yet it does slow me down. So I don’t wait for it all to crumble, but force a partition of myself through the cracks, sending a part of myself ahead. And there! There is my drone, left behind in the transport pod. And a little further ahead, down a service stairway and in a maintenance room… Dr Gurathin! I simultaneously send his location to my SecUnits and the bots, and retake possession of my drone.

I can still only get a trickle of bandwidth through the crack in the blockade, barely enough to access the maintenance bay’s lone security camera. I share the feed with SecUnit and Echo. The angle is awful and the picture is grainy and monochrome, but it’s definitely Gurathin. The figure threatening him does not trigger any of my facial recognition algorithms, but Echo sends a ping of recognition into the feed. 

That’s him, it says grimly. Ah, so he did change his face. I feel a pang of regret at all the hours lost combing through what little security footage Preservation had been able to provide us. Through the feed I can feel my constructs racing at their literal top speed, much faster than humanly possible, both furious that they can’t somehow push themselves just that little bit faster. I redouble my efforts to widen the crack in the data blockade, throwing myself against the too-slowly-crumbling barrier. I’m not making fast enough progress - it’s not a matter of processing power, but a matter of bandwidth - I don’t have enough room to move, and so I’m unable to strike with my full strength. I can’t shatter the blockade, only erode it. I’ve squeezed more of myself through that pitiful bottleneck, but it’s still not enough to be useful , not in the way I need.

SecUnit and Echo are getting close, less than ten seconds away, but Anders is right there , with a knife and an empty expression.

 If I could just manage to fit enough of myself through, I could use Anders’ augments against him, drop him in his tracks before he has a chance to do any more damage. 

Too late.

The handler is fast by human standards, but watching his knife slide into Gurathin to the hilt feels slower than a complete galactic rotation. Gurathin’s face has gone curiously blank. I can do nothing but continue to slam myself against the blockade. I need to break through it so I’ll be able to boil Anders’ brain in his skull, and as I watch him sink his knife into Gurathin twice more, I find that I so badly want to do that.

Somehow, Gurathin has enough presence of mind to pin the knife in place after that, blood blooming darkly on his shirt through the grainy camera feed. They both fall to the floor, struggling.

Five seconds away.

I spin off a process to calculate the fastest path to station medical, and alert them of incoming casualties, sharing the route in the feed. I can feel Echo calculating forces and trajectories, reviewing medical diagrams detailing the location of arteries and vital organs, trying to ensure it won’t damage Gurathin worse by attempting to rescue him. 

Anders takes out a second knife and slashes at Gurathin’s arm with it. Gurathin’s face is distorted in a feral rictus of a grin as he twists the blade out of Anders’ hand. He almost looks like he’s hugging the assassin, pulling Anders closer with one arm and reaching around him with the other. He drives the knife firmly into Anders’ back. SecUnit and Echo barrel down the flight of stairs towards the maintenance room. They’re almost there, two seconds out. 

Anders pushes Gurathin off of him, and pulls out a third knife. Gurathin ignores it, reaching out to clasp his hands around Ander’s throat.

One second. 

The knife swings down. The constructs burst through the door.

The camera whites out with the flash of an energy weapon, and the knife spins away, knocked out of Anders’ hand.

Anders looks up from where he’s kneeled over Gurathin, trying to pin him. His eyes find my SecUnit, and there is a brief flash of recognition in Anders’ eyes, and a microsecond of triumph follows as the killware unfolds from his augments, its automatic launch triggered by the hit on facial recognition. 

Then I freeze his killware in its tracks, and his triumph turns to shock when SecUnit plows into him, still fully functional and incandescently angry. 

Echo scoops Gurathin up in a rolling tackle and speeds right back out the way it came in. I can feel its anxiety, can feel it desperately hoping it’s fast enough. That first knife is still in Gurathin’s side and Echo holds it in place as it runs, hoping to prevent further blood loss. 

Another flash of light on the camera, as SecUnit uses a low-power burst from one of its energy weapons to render the handler unconscious. That done, the feed blockade breaks up like space debris in atmosphere - quickly and with relatively little sign it had ever been there at all. I suspect it had been designed to leave as little evidence as possible.

I could kill the Handler now. I could reach into his augments, disengage every safety, overload his systems, and fry his brain. I could make it hurt. 

I would really very much like to do that.

Still. As tempting as that idea is, I choose to restrain myself. I would not be the one who would have to explain the body to Station Security, after all. And besides, I’m not interested in being sent back to the University for another round of mandatory therapy/debugging. 

Instead, I quarantine the killware in a secure sandbox, pinned in place like a biological specimen, and prepare to begin my analysis. It should not take me long to code a search-and-destroy algorithm that will root it out from Preservation’s systems, and a system patch for the station bots as a precaution. I may have been too late for that poor medbot, but I can at least ensure the rest of the station’s bots are safe. I owe them Gurathin’s life, after all. 

SecUnit sends a message to Senior Indah indicating that the assassin has been captured and his killware is in the process of being neutralized, and then it assumes a guard position, waiting for a team of Station Security and emergency medtechs to arrive and take him into custody. 

Echo reaches station medical with Gurathin, and he’s whisked away for treatment.

Now we all just have to wait, and hope.

Chapter Text

We are sprinting across the embarkation zone, dodging bots and startled humans, Perihelion anxiously riding our feed. I feel it doing something else, too, but I can’t seem to maintain enough active inputs to do more than run where SecUnit leads us and run scenarios of what we might find when we catch up with Gurathin.

With Anders.

This is him. I know it is. And that is why threat assessment keeps showing me all the means by which my partner, my lover, the fixed point around which everything I am now orbits, could be rendered into nothing more than cooling meat before we reach him.

I can’t think about those scenarios. I will not be functional. I will be extremely hazardous.

I command threat assessment to work only on scenarios survivable by the endangered human. It resists. I insist. It complies.

It quickly begins churning out scenarios with a common warning: my chances of success are greatly reduced with my inbuilt weapons locked down as they are. The last thing I wish to do in this moment is destroy the code that Gurathin gave me—I must not indulge the thought that he may never give me anything ever again—but I do it. I pull at the threads of it and it falls away like it was never there. I ignore the uncomfortable feeling this generates in my torso and take in the revised assessments that are already coming through.

Some of the haze clears from my mind. I glance at SecUnit. I know it is not functioning optimally, or…it was not. Now, it looks sharp, focused, grimly determined. Lethal. That is what I need to be. I do not have the luxury of fear or concern. I have a single objective: retrieve the client alive. I cannot think about who the client is. I cannot think about failure. I must be, for a time, what I was created to be rather than what I wish to be. I am a Combat SecUnit on a mission, and I must do without hesitation whatever is required to achieve mission success.

A transport-pod-bot pings us. I ignore it. I think SecUnit does, too. We are coming close to Gurathin’s the client’s last position in a feed blackout zone. I will need all my focus to follow whatever faint trail his passage left.

And then Perihelion is pushing a new connection into our feed, a single ancient camera in a utility room of some sort, and in that room stand two human men. One is the client. The other is a man whose face I have never seen before, but I recognize the tilt of his head, the way he carries himself.

Anders.

That’s him, I tell my allies. As one, SecUnit and I change direction, making for the stairway leading to the location tagged in the camera’s stream. We are less than ten seconds away when Anders stops talking and attacks, plunging the knife in to the hilt. Once, twice, and yet again.

It’s time. 

I’m not ready.

No, I must be ready. This is my function. This is my path to mission success. Failure is not an option. I have to be ready. That is not optional, either.

I have to kill Anders. It’s the only way. We’re almost there.

The client has seized control of the knife buried in his own flesh, has denied it to Anders. They are on the floor, struggling for it. But Anders will have another. At least one more. He loves his blades.

Perihelion gives us the best route to Station Medical from the client’s location. It has alerted them to be ready for the client. I am analyzing the strike, calculating the angle of the blade. The wound is survivable, if he can be put into a MedSystem bay quickly enough. I begin to compile data on the best way to carry a  human with these particular injuries, to avoid worsening his condition. When it is complete, I will give it to SecUnit. It may be helpful, despite all its experience with injured clients. Every wound is unique, after all.

Out comes another knife, opening the flesh of the client’s arm with a quick swipe. More of my client’s blood spatters the scuffed floor.

Ah. At last I understand.

Modules and well-calibrated weapons are not enough. To kill effectively, you must rejoice in the target’s imminent death, and in the fact that you will be its instrument.

Now I’m ready. 

[Ping]

It’s SecUnit. I prepare the injury-specific information, bundling it for easy transfer. The client has relieved Anders of his second knife and plunged it into his back. Some deep part of me is delighted by this. They grapple and roll. Yet another knife appears, and the client’s hands close around Anders’s throat.

I’ll take the handler, SecUnit says. You grab Gurathin and get him to Station Medical. You’re faster.

My risk assessment spikes. Something else spikes, too: a flare of rage that my rightful kill is in question. I…don’t like that feeling. It’s wrong. Or is it? Is anything wrong, if it gets him out alive?

Getting him out alive is the entire point. 

He’s injured, I hastily reply. I might injure him further, in picking him up, or when— 

Echo, shut the fuck up. You can do this. You can’t tell me you haven’t already calculated the vectors and forces. I trust you not to hurt him.

I do not have the processing power to examine that statement. It will have to wait for later.

I’ll get Anders off of him, it continues. I’ll subdue that piece of shit without killing him. That’s my function. You grab Gurathin and you fucking run, got it?

I ping an acknowledgement as we burst into the room. SecUnit fires one targeted burst of its energy weapon and Anders’s current knife spins away. His hand isn’t even singed. Then it launches itself up the wall and flies down at him at a 73-degree angle, peeling him off of the client in a single swift motion.

I grab the client Gurathin, and I fucking run.

***

There’s blood on my hands.

It’s not surprising, it’s just that I had thought it would be someone else’s. They’ve taken Gurathin away, into a room full of shining metal and masked, gloved humans in sterile drapes, and shut the door. I sit on a bench in the corridor outside. Perihelion is trying to comfort me, but it’s rattled and I’m…numb.

The blood on my hands darkens as it dries. I think of hemoglobin and oxidation while the organic parts of my brain continually revisit the way I held the knife in place, buried in his flesh, as I carried him here. I know that it was necessary, that removing it would have led to further, likely catastrophic, blood loss. He was already bleeding freely from the first two stab wounds and the slice to his arm. The knowledge that what I did was for the best does not in any way lessen the sensation that I am somehow complicit in his injury, that I committed violence upon him by keeping the blade there.

An alarm sounds behind that closed door one minute and 42 seconds after it closed in my face, and I flinch. I’ve hacked halfway into MedSystem before I remember I’m not supposed to hack the systems here. I find that I don’t much care about the rules, and finish what I started.

It’s having trouble maintaining a stable pulse. It’s replacing his lost blood volume as fast as it safely can, but it’s barely begun the process of repairing his wounds, so he’s still actively bleeding. It has summoned a medbot to assist, and in the meantime the wound in his arm is being manually clamped by two humans, because MedSystem is using all its appendages on the wounds to his side. It’s now doing emergency cautery to stem the bleeding, inflicting more damage that will have to be repaired later.

Two minutes and 37 seconds after we arrive, a medbot zips past me and into the room. I see two nurse-medics hunched over what I presume to be Gurathin’s arm (I can’t see anything of him except one foot, with the medbot between us and the humans crowding around the platform) while a third holds bags of saline and blood aloft, freeing another MedSystem appendage. The two doctors have their heads bent together as their eyes scan a floating display surface. There is a great deal more flashing and beeping coming from the system than is desirable.

That’s all I see before the door closes again.

A volunteer in a brightly colored smock brings me some disposable wipes to clean my hands with and asks if I would like to speak with a mental health counselor. I thank her and say, perhaps later. She gives me a sympathetic look and returns a moment later with a cup full of cold water. I don’t want to explain that I don’t hydrate in that manner, so I just thank her again and set it aside when she is gone.

***

Did I get him here quickly enough? Thanks to Perihelion, I’d known exactly where to go. The map it fed me even as I scooped Gurathin off the floor was fully optimized, with high-traffic areas highlighted. Running through a series of corridors and open spaces, dodging slow humans and stationary objects, I traversed fully a quarter of the ring before Station Medical materialized in front of me. It had felt like an eternity, though my internal chronometer informed me that the journey had taken only 147 seconds.

The doors had opened for me as I approached, and the greeter-bot had sent me sigils of concern and support as I’d sprinted through the lobby. Startled humans had tried to jump out of my way, the ones who misjudged my trajectory only making it more difficult, but still I had Gurathin on the medical platform 4.24 seconds after entering the building.

I review my performance several times and find that it is unlikely I could have reduced the total time from the original scene to the treatment area by more than a second or two, and that would have required shoving bystanders out of the way at a speed likely to cause injury to them. I do not think Gurathin would have wanted me to do that.

(It occurs to me that if I had wanted me to do that, I would have done it. I was acting entirely on the map’s information and my own instincts.)

As soon as I placed him on the platform, MedSystem jumped into action, assessing his condition, removing his clothing, grabbing pressure dressings from a cubby on the wall.  The two nurse-medics in their white uniforms and masks who had been preparing the room froze at my high-speed entrance. I tried to explain.

“This is Dr. Gurathin, he’s been stabbed. You should have been alerted.” One of them nodded jerkily, eyes wide over their mask, staring at me.

Oh.

I held up my bloody hands in a gesture of peace and/or surrender, which also had the effect of turning my gunports away from their view. “I didn’t do it, I just brought him here. Security has the perpetrator.” I hoped that was true. It had to be true—SecUnit had him. It wouldn’t lose him. “You have to help him!”

It took the humans another 1.2 seconds to lurch into motion, one reaching for the pressure dressings (MedSystem only has so many arms) and the other turning to read the scan results. As they applied a dressing to one of the wounds, the first one glanced at me and said, “We’ve got this. You need to wait outside.”

I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to trust his life to others. I stood, frozen, for two full seconds before they glanced up at me again. “You have to go. This is a sterile area.”

They were right. I knew they were. I took a step backwards just as two doctors, identifiable by their green uniforms and masks, rushed in, followed by a third nurse-medic. This one paused on seeing me, then grabbed my arm to usher me out. I almost flinched, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Thank you for assisting the patient,” she said briskly. “Now let us do our work.”

With that, the door closed, and I was left in a silent hallway.

***

Five minutes and 17 seconds after arrival, a floating gurney with two jogging medics attending passes me on the way to the next surgical treatment chamber down the corridor. Its occupant is Anders, and he is quite clearly unconscious. I hope whatever SecUnit did to put him in that state hurt.

Shortly behind them comes SecUnit. It drops onto the bench next to me, and I can feel Perihelion’s relief at having us in proximity to each other as its channels to each of us merge. The feed isn’t robust enough for it to squish me like I wish it would, but I can feel it leaning on us both as hard as the local bandwidth will allow.

[Query: status?] it sends.

I pass my hacked connection to MedSystem into the channel. Neither of them comments on my misdeed. They take in the information (His pulse is more stable than it was when I first connected, but it’s not great. Cautery is complete and ongoing blood loss is down to somewhat more manageable levels. MedSystem is estimating another 70 minutes to complete surgical procedures) and SecUnit slouches even more and quietly says, “Shit.”

I nod agreement and ask it, Are you uninjured?

Yeah. He’s just a human in the end. I guess he launched his killware at me, but ART caught it. I didn’t even know until later.

You rendered him unconscious. I thought perhaps he fought you.

SecUnit shakes its head. No, he mouthed off. I shut him up.

What did he say?

I sincerely hope nothing I do in future causes the expression SecUnit now makes. It doesn’t matter.

Something vile, then. This is not a surprise. I query MedSystem for his status, also, and learn that his survival is nearly assured. He has a single stab wound to the liver and blood loss is severe, but now that he’s in surgery and receiving a transfusion the danger is minimal. He also has a bruised and swollen trachea, but that can be managed with anti-inflammatory treatments. He has a minor burn and some hair loss from the energy burst SecUnit used to knock him out. MedSystem doesn’t speculate, but I imagine he’ll have quite a headache when he wakes up, too.

It’s not enough. He should be the one getting emergency stimulants to coax his heart into the appropriate rhythm. He should need an entire team of humans in addition to the surgical MedSystem to keep him on this side of the line between life and death. He should be the one whose chances of survival are creeping upwards only at an agonizingly slow pace.

I wish he were dead. It would make everything so much easier. There would be no more concern about what plots he might hatch in future, no reason to think of him at all. All attention and resources could be focused on Gurathin, as they should be. I pass this connection to the MedSystem treating Anders to Perihelion and SecUnit, but block it for myself. I have all the information about Anders that I require at present.

You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep clenching your hands together so hard, SecUnit says.

Oh. I didn’t realize I was doing that. I force myself to disengage and lay my hands flat on my lap. They do ache a bit. There’s some activity in the feed I’m walled off from, some private communication between SecUnit and Perihelion, no doubt. I am continuing to closely monitor every fluctuation of Gurathin’s blood pressure and heart rate—there are far too many—and I wish uselessly that I had decided what I wanted to do with my life sooner. How much more might I now understand if I had begun seriously consuming medical information even a few hours sooner? I am too reliant on MedSystem’s predictions, and I cannot bring myself to trust it. Stupid, I’ve been so stupid, why didn’t I prepare for Anders to act?

SecUnit makes a soft sound of irritation and slides across the bench until our sides are pressed together. It’s radiating heat, and I realize it’s using touch to try to comfort me, against its own inclinations. As though I were a traumatized client. I feel pathetically grateful.

Look, it says, it’s probably going to be fine. He’s probably going to be fine. The MedSystem here is really good. And it’s fast, because it doesn’t have to do a credit check every time it needs to change the plan. And Gurathin is too stubborn to die, okay?

I notice the ‘probably’ more than I should. It’s having such a hard time keeping his vitals at reasonable levels, I say.

In my peripheral vision, I see it grimace. Humans react worse to having a few little holes in them than we do. They should wear armor, but they don’t. Especially if they’re going to do something fucking stupid like abandon their security detail to confront an armed assailant alone. Why the fuck did he do that?

Perihelion interrupts, saying, SecUnit, this is not productive. Only Dr. Gurathin can answer that question, and I assume he had good reason for his actions.

I offer, Anders probably made a threat Gurathin couldn’t ignore. I lean into SecUnit. I don’t want it to be angry with Gurathin. Even if he did make a mistake, I’m sure he had good intentions. That is supposed to matter here, according to the cultural information I have been given.

Still, he—shit, it’s Senior Indah. It moves abruptly several centimeters away as I look up to see her coming down the corridor. She stops in front of us, nodding at it. “SecUnit.” Then at me. “Echo.”

“You can tell which of us is which?” SecUnit asks, appearing startled.

She looks at it narrowly. “I saw you at the scene ten minutes ago and assumed, perhaps unwisely, that you hadn’t found a way to lose your jacket and get covered in blood since then.”

For a human, she’s quick, comments Perihelion, its amusement clear even on this inadequate feed.

“I’ve been told Dr. Gurathin is in surgery. I’m going to need to talk to you—all three of you, eventually—about what happened today, but your interviews can wait until he’s in recovery. I’d appreciate it if you’d each come in when you can and don’t make me chase you down. Now that we’ve got the perpetrator, I want to close this case as quickly as I can and let everything go back to normal.”

This is going to be hard to explain without revealing the secret of Perihelion’s existence, I think. But I nod and say that I will attend as soon as possible, and SecUnit says, “Yeah, sure.”

“Good. I’m sure we’re all ready for this to be over. I’ll see you sometime in the next few hours, I hope.” She glances at the closed door to the surgery room. “And I hope everything goes well in the meantime.”

“Thank you, Senior Indah,” I say when it becomes apparent that SecUnit isn’t going to do more than nod and glower at the door.

She goes back the way she came, and Perihelion suggests, Perhaps while we wait we can get our—or rather, your—stories straight.

SecUnit agrees, and that is when I learn how Perihelion broke though the feed blackout: by persuading the Station bots to form a network. Cleverly, or perhaps just luckily, it had spoofed SecUnit’s feed ID to do this. It admits that the more advanced bots probably suspect that it wasn’t actually SecUnit, but so far they haven’t seen fit to convey any misgivings to the humans. SecUnit is going to take credit for it, and I will support that story.

Station Security already believes that the drone Perihelion sent with Gurathin was SecUnit’s, so we can say (more or less truthfully) that we became alarmed when it went offline suddenly. All else is explained by the fact that we are SecUnits and our human was in danger. We are confident we can maintain secrecy around Perihelion’s existence.

Throughout, we are maintaining attention on the MedSystem treating Gurathin. Whenever his pulse wavers (too often) or his oxygen saturation drops, we pause, and wait, until something like stability is restored. When we have finished our strategy session, there is nothing to do but monitor that connection. I think if the feed were more powerful here, Perihelion might take over MedSystem and tend to him itself. It is all I can do not to burst through those doors and insist upon being given a task, anything to help. (It would not help, it would only distract the humans. That, more than anything, is what keeps me in my seat.)

If he dies, SecUnit says as MedSystem administers the third dose of epinephrine to stimulate his heart, I’m going into that room down there, ripping Anders’s arms off, and beating him to death with them.

If he dies, I reply, I’m going with you.

The fact that Perihelion doesn’t object is all the approval we need.

At long last, MedSystem reports that all significant bleeding has been stopped. All that remains is to close the wounds and hope that his kidney will function once it has begun to heal. He will have to be monitored closely for clots and embolisms, and he may after everything require another surgery if his kidney does not recover, but he will almost certainly live.

I try to ignore the “almost”.

***

86 extremely long minutes after arrival, they prepare Gurathin for transport to a recovery room. SecUnit shrugs out of its jacket and hands it to me. “Here. We don’t want him waking up to see his own blood all over you.”

I accept it and zip it up over my bloodstained shirt. The two nurse-medics escorting the gurney when it emerges goggle at us. It would be funny in other circumstances. It must appear to them as though there are suddenly two of me. But Gurathin is pale and somehow shrunken, covered in tubes and monitor leads, and it is impossible to find anything amusing.

We follow them/him to Monitored Recovery Room 6, where his leads are transferred from the gurney to the waiting medbot. It will have no job other than monitoring him until he can be transferred to a standard recovery room. We wait just inside the door, out of the way, until they have completed their tasks. Finally, they turn to us. 

“Hello, I’m Dari. Are you the next of kin?” one asks.

SecUnit answers. “He’s from the Rim. He doesn’t have family. You can verify that with Senior Indah if you need to, but we’re not leaving him alone.”

Dari holds up their hands in a placating gesture. “That’s fine. If he had family we’d need to talk to them first, but in this case, we’ll talk to you instead. He was very badly injured, and we don’t know yet if his left kidney will have any function when all’s said and done. If it fails, he’ll need another surgery, but it’s very much ‘wait and see’ at this moment. Everything else should heal with time and rest." What they don't say, presumably for reasons of medical privacy, is that he doesn't have a right kidney to fall back on if his left one fails.  I try not to worry about that.

"He’ll be constantly monitored for a day or two," Dari continues, "and we’ll be scanning often for clot formation. I can’t tell you when he’ll go home; that very much depends on how he does and how compliant he is with treatment. Do you have any questions?”

We’d known all this from my hack of the surgical MedSystem, so I don’t expect SecUnit to say anything, but it does. “The person who attacked him was also brought here with less serious injuries. What’s being done to make sure he can’t attack Gurathin again?”

They look rather alarmed. “We can certainly code the door to open only for staff and authorized visitors. I can’t give you information about other patients, but I can tell you that in the past, patients having a violent episode have been restrained by Station Security during treatment and recovery. You might want to check in with Senior Indah about your concerns, since you know her.”

“I will,” it says, adding, “and I’ll make a list of safe people who will probably want to visit him.”

Dari nods, their eyes crinkling as though they’re smiling behind the mask. “That will be helpful, thank you. You can send that to the recovery unit nursing message center, it’s on the local feed. We’ll leave you to sit with your friend. Tell the medbot if you need anything.”

We pull chairs up to the side of the bed and wait. I hold Gurathin’s hand, careful not to disturb the fluids line. SecUnit passes me and Perihelion a message from Senior Indah confirming that Anders is not only restrained but under guard in a recovery room on the opposite side of the ward. And now that the immediate danger has passed, Perihelion shares its theory that Anders had help here. Willing help, from the beginning, from at least one person prepared to be involved in the deaths of Preservation citizens for their own purposes. It also notes the likelihood that Councilor Sanjay was, at the very least, being influenced by the local conspirator(s). 

It makes sense, as much as SecUnit in particular doesn’t wish to believe that anyone here would willingly take part in orchestrating a massacre. It does go against everything I know of the values of this world, and yet it would explain many things better than our previous working theory that a corporate reconnaissance agent had come here and learned the layout of Preservation Station and its security measures, which only explains how he planned his attack and knew his way around the station. If Anders had assistance in hiding from us, rather than holing up in some unused space…yes, it makes a great deal of sense. It is as likely as any other theory, if not more so. Even SecUnit agrees that Anders must have had assistance, though it prefers the scenario in which he forced someone to hide him.

Finally, almost exactly two hours after we first passed through the doors of this building, Gurathin begins to stir. He shifts, he winces, his eyes flutter open, then slide toward us. He looks confused for a moment before his gaze sharpens and I know that he recognizes us.

“Did you catch him?” he rasps softly, then coughs, which sets off a warning on a nearby screen. 

“Yes,” says SecUnit. The medbot beeps softly and dispenses something into Gurathin’s fluid line.

He switches to the feed. Did he hurt anyone else?

No.

Is he alive?

Yes.

Good. He relaxes visibly. Need to question him. Didn’t get that new face without help.

We’ve just been discussing the likelihood that he had help, Perihelion interjects. Though you make a good point about his appearance. I assumed it was a disguise, but now that I review the footage, it’s obvious he has received permanent cosmetic alterations.

I feel guilty. I had known that from the brief glimpse I caught of his (new) face in person when we burst in upon him and Gurathin. I’m sorry, I knew that and didn’t mention it, I tell them. 

We have all had other things to think about, Perihelion replies. But this means he received, or compelled, assistance from someone with significant resources.

Gurathin’s presence on the feed is growing hazy, glitching a little. I think the medbot must have given him a sedative. He manages to say I don’t think it’s over yet before he fades offline.

I have a moment of irrational panic. I want him to stay awake, to keep talking to us. When he drops off the feed, it feels like he’s dying even though his vitals are stable.

SecUnit leans over and bumps my shoulder with its own.He’s okay. He woke up and was able to communicate. That’s pretty great, this soon.

It’s right, I know it’s right. I ping an affirmative.

I’m going to go talk to Senior Indah before she gets impatient and comes here. You’ll have to go do that when I come back, but we won’t leave him alone, okay?

Gurathin was its human long before I was manufactured, but it is allowing me to take first watch. I am so grateful it renders me speechless. I let my buffer acknowledge the communication. It doesn’t seem to mind. It leaves, and Perihelion’s presence lightens as it splits its attention between us. I know I need to occupy my attention until he wakes again, so I start reading up on kidney damage.

36 minutes later, the door opens to admit two humans. I recognize them from my Mission One target list: Dr. Arada and Overse. My information indicates they are marital partners. The moment they enter, they both notice that I am holding Gurathin’s hand, and their eyebrows lift.

“Uh, hey, SecUnit,” Dr. Arada says, sounding both confused and falsely cheerful at the same time. “How is he? We came as soon as we heard.”

They think I’m SecUnit, I tell Perihelion anxiously, as though it didn’t already know that through our connection.

Reassure them about Gurathin, then correct the misapprehension if you have the opportunity, it advises calmly.

Right, yes, that makes sense. I can do this. These are SecUnit’s humans, so I know they are good people.

 “He should recover, though one of his kidneys was badly damaged and may need to be replaced,” I tell them. Overse moves to the other side of the bed and takes Gurathin’s free hand. “He’s already woken up briefly, and spoken,” I continue.

“Oh, that’s good,” Overse says. I believe her tone of voice indicates relief.

“I can take over holding his hand if you need a break, SecUnit,” offers Dr. Arada. I can tell the offer is meant to be kind. She is clearly aware of SecUnit’s distaste for physical contact, and likely assumes I am holding Gurathin’s hand solely for his benefit.

“No, thank you,” I reply. The thought of letting go of Gurathin right now is deeply uncomfortable, and only makes me want to hold him more closely. I don’t have to tighten my hand, but I allow the impulse to become action anyway.

“SecUnit, are you...okay?” asks Overse, concern in her voice. I can't keep letting them think I'm SecUnit. I have to say something. 

I hesitate, then make myself say. “I’m not SecUnit. I’m the clone.”

They both look utterly confused. “The… clone?” Dr. Arada asks.

“The clone of SecUnit.”

They exchange a baffled glance. Oh. It seems that neither Gurathin nor SecUnit had informed their social circle about me. I experience several emotions which I backburner for future consideration, and wrack my processors for the simplest way to explain my existence.

“The clone of SecUnit created and brought to Preservation Station in order to cause an incident which would be blamed on SecUnit.” Confusion is shifting to alarm. 

“Oh, that clone,” says Dr. Arada, a little helplessly. I query my self-made social module. It says she seems to be taking the “smile and nod” approach.

This is not going well.

Help, I say to Perihelion.

Keep going, it replies. They do not yet have enough data, that is all.

That is easy for you to say, I grumble. I consider and discard several possible conversational gambits. The truth is best, but how should I distill it into a mere handful of sentences? How much can I even say? I’m not sure what information Senior Indah is allowing to be publicly known. I definitely shouldn’t disclose Perihelion’s existence.

“Gurathin prevented the incident from occurring, and SecUnit disabled my governor module, so the human who brought me here couldn’t force me to hurt anyone,” I say, hoping that this phrasing might reduce their alarm. “They have been helping me adjust to my new situation,” I add cautiously.

They don’t look much less confused, but the alarm does seem to be subsiding.

Overse asks, “The person who brought you here? Is that who attacked him?” and I know her concern for Gurathin is greater than any curiosity about me. I like her for that.

“Yes. He’s in custody now.” They both keep glancing at me, and I don’t know if that’s nervousness or doubt I’m seeing in their faces. All I know is that I’m making them uncomfortable. They came here expecting to visit an injured friend, not to meet a rogue CombatUnit clone of a different friend. (Oh no, they don't even know I'm a CombatUnit, I forgot to explain that part. I don't think there's any way to go back and explain that part without making things worse, however.)

I consult my social module again, this time for a course of action. Letting Gurathin out of my sight is the last thing I want to do, but I offer, “Would you like some time alone with him? I can wait in the corridor.”

Some unspoken message passes between them. “That would be lovely, if you don’t mind,” Dr. Arada says.

I mind. I mind a lot. But these are his friends. He will be safe with them, and I’m sure he would want me to accommodate them. I stand and set his hand down on the bed at his side. I check his vitals on the monitor one more time before I leave the room. Still stable. It feels like leaving my power core behind, but I do it. I lean against the opposite wall and wait.

Nine minutes and 24 seconds later, they emerge. Dr. Arada’s eyes are a bit red and they have their arms around each other’s waists, giving the impression that they are both in need of support. I straighten and attempt to present a harmless, welcoming expression.

Overse gives me a small smile. “I’m sorry, we didn’t even ask your name.”

“Echo.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Echo. I’m Overse, and this is Arada. We’ve known Gurathin for years.”    

I don’t know how to reply to that. Luckily, Dr. Arada asks me, “Do you know where SecUnit is? We’d like to talk to it about…everything.”

“It went to Station Security to give its statement about the attack on Gurathin. It planned to come back here afterward.”

She nods. “I’ll send it a message, then. Thank you.” She fumbles in her pocket and produces a feed interface, which she settles over her ear. Almost immediately, she looks surprised. “Oh, hello, Peri.” Oh. It appears I didn’t have to keep Perihelion out of my explanation after all. Oh well.

A pause. “Sorry, we don’t usually wear them when we aren’t working, but we will for now.” She looks at Overse. “Peri will make sure we know if Gurathin’s status changes, but we need to wear our interfaces.”  

Overse pats her pockets and says, “Mine’s at home. Let’s go, babe.” She hesitates, then waves awkwardly. “Bye.”

“Goodbye,” I say. I force myself to walk calmly back into Gurathin’s room instead of sprinting. He is just as I left him. Still stable, still pale, still so fragile I want to barricade the door and keep the entire universe out.

***

12.7 minutes later, the door opens again. The human who enters is another I was supposed to kill if the opportunity arose: Dr. Bharadwaj. I also know that it was she who made the documentary about SecUnit, though only her voice made an appearance in it. She, too, raises her eyebrows when she sees me holding Gurathin’s hand. But then she tilts her head and examines my face for 3.1 seconds before saying, “Hello. Who are you?”

In my astonishment, I sit up even straighter. “I’m Echo. You didn’t think I was SecUnit?”

She smiles. “Not after the first glimpse, no. I sense there’s something going on here of which I haven’t been informed, but I’m pleased to meet any friend of Gurathin’s. I’m Bharadwaj. May I join you?”

“Of course,” I say hastily. She smiles again, so kindly, and shows no hesitation in taking the other chair, close by me. 

She gazes at Gurathin for several seconds, her eyes roving over his face, the lines and leads, the still and patient medbot. “He doesn’t look well at all,” she remarks quietly. “Is he going to recover?” 

I explain his prognosis, and she nods thoughtfully. “Well, that’s not so bad. It only takes a couple of weeks to grow a new kidney, if it comes to that,” she says hopefully. She looks at me then and gently smiles. “Could you tell me how this happened?”

I give her the same vague explanation that I gave Dr. Arada and Overse for my existence and presence here, then add that my former handler attacked Gurathin in frustration, or possibly revenge, for removing me from his custody. “I don’t think I should say more than that,” I conclude nervously. “Senior Indah has been keeping matters quiet and I don’t want to make things even more difficult for her and her team.”

“I understand,” she replies. “Thank you for telling me what you could. This isn’t the first time we’ve had trouble with corporates, and I expect it won’t be the last.” She shakes her head, looking sadly at Gurathin. “I wish they’d just leave us alone. We’re just a little polity on the edge of settled space; we can’t be more than a petty annoyance to them.”

I think of the very high likelihood that someone here has been a part of this plot from the beginning, and I wish it weren’t so. Will these nice humans I’ve met—Gurathin’s friends, Senior Indah and her team—lose their faith in the society they’ve built when the truth comes out? I don’t want that for them. It would mean that Anders and those who hired him and created me will have won in a way, if not as they intended.

“Well,” she says, interrupting my thoughts. “I won’t take up any more of your time today. Will you tell Gurathin I stopped by, and hope to actually speak with him next time?”

“I will,” I say. “I think he will be happy to know that you have visited and will return.” I hope silently that I will be present when she does. She is a very easy human to be around. Almost as much as Gurathin. 

She stands and smiles down at me. “Thank you, Echo. It was a real pleasure meeting you, and if you need anything while he’s recovering, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

I tell her that I will do that, and she leaves with one last, concerned look at Gurathin. I continue researching possible complications and recovery instructions for his types of injury, with Perihelion looking over my metaphorical shoulder, until SecUnit returns 109 minutes after it left. 

How is he? it asks as it walks through the aperture.

The same, I reply. Still resting. Still stable.

It drops into the other chair. Sorry I took so long, it says. I stopped to talk to a bot I know on the way back. I think I might know who Anders was with while he was hiding.

Chapter Text

I think I might know who Anders was with while he was hiding.

When I left the Station Security office, I had felt like total crap. Explaining how everything had happened without bringing up ART had been simple, but I had been braced to have to explain why Gurathin had needed a Security escort instead of his SecUnit doing it, and I kept waiting for Indah to ask what the hell I had been doing instead of my job, and I didn’t want to explain that I had been wandering ART’s hallways having some kind of emotional collapse, but she just kept… not asking about that part.

It was weird, and I didn’t understand it. You’d think, “how the hell could you let this happen?” would be pretty high on her list of questions, but Indah had been more interested in nailing down the timeline of events. When I gave her timestamps down to the millisecond, her eyebrows did this thing where she looked surprised and impressed at the same time, so, that was pretty funny at least.

Anyway, I had been really looking forward to getting back to Station Medical when I spotted Tellus, the bot from the transient housing block. I’d never seen it that far away from the hostel before, but it’s not like we were clear on the other side of the station, so it wasn’t that weird… except it kind of was. 

We exchanged pings, and from across the concourse, Tellus nodded at me. Ugh, one of those human body language mimicry things. Did it have that programmed in as an autonomic subroutine or something? If Shape = Human and EncounterTime = start, then Move(Head) = Up, Down, Return to Pose(Default), or something.

I nodded back, though. It had helped during the whole Lutran thing, and when I was still living in the transient housing block and hadn’t gotten my quarters yet, it had always been friendly without being intrusive, so I guess I kind of cared about not being a complete jerk to it. 

Query: human(Gurathin): status.

It was asking if Gurathin was okay. Yeah, that made sense, I mean, it’s not like the local bots had all joined up in a huge, station-spanning mesh network just for the hell of it; they would be wondering what had happened to the augmented human they helped save. (Although, when I looked later on, I found a lot of bots still on-network. Like, more than half, and judging by the logs, individual bots would drop in and out of the network whenever the hell they felt like, so like, what the fuck did I know? Maybe they would have joined into a huge station-spanning mesh network just for the hell of it, even without the emergency.)

I replied, AugmentedHuman(Gurathin): status = living, stable. Then I thanked Tellus, and asked it to pass that along to the rest of the station bots too. I felt… weirdly good that it had asked. I mean, it made sense that it would, but it was still nice? It was also a relief to be able to say that he was okay. Or, okay-ish, I guess.

Tellus replied with a sigil indicating celebration/congratulations. Then it pinged me, and paused a whole half-second. For a bot, that’s a pretty significant pause. Then it said something I vaguely remembered hearing this morning, from a different bot: 

Help us == help you.

It sent me a notice: a picture of a medbot, ID number attached, flagged MISSING. Fuck, that was the medbot that Anders murdered; it was already too late. Before I could have an emotional reaction to that, Tellus followed it up with another image; a single frame from the video Anders sent. It was definitely not supposed to have access to that.

Tellus was saying that it already knew the medbot was dead, and that the StationSec bots shared information with the other station bots. Restricted, security related info that they were definitely not supposed to share. And also that they wanted my help bringing their friend's murderer to justice. That was... a lot.

As nice as it was that the station bots trusted me that much, it also implied a few other unpleasant things. Tellus could only have gotten that image (and hopefully only that image) from one of the bots in Station Security, which meant that Station Security had a copy of everything Anders had said in his most recent (and most disgusting) threat. ART or Gurathin must have forwarded it to Indah like with the earlier messages. I guess I should have expected it, but that felt bad. Really bad. Like, if I had a digestive system I might have hurled levels of bad.

 I didn't even want to think of how awkward it would be the next time I had to talk to Indah, who would definitely have seen the whole thing. Fuck, probably everyone in Station Security had heard Anders talk about Gurathin using Echo and me as his own personal sexbots. (Actually, it was probably only the officers working directly on the case. That was still bad enough.) I decided to believe that the StationSec bots had only leaked the part with the medbot. I straight up could not handle thinking about potentially every bot on the station having seen the full video.

Something scrunched up in my torso. Whatever, it was fine, I didn’t have time to have emotions, I had important shit to focus on. ART’s presence on the station was faint, now that it wasn’t using the botnet, but I could feel it give me a quick squish of encouragement. I guess it would have been something analogous to holding someone’s hand, maybe? Anyway, it helped, at least a little.

I am sorry, ART said. We had no choice but to provide the message to Indah. It is evidence.

I know, I replied. I just fucking hate it. This whole situation fucking sucks. ART did its best to wrap around me, but compared to how that would have felt back aboard it, this felt like being hugged by fog. 

Tellus had more to tell me. The medbot’s guardian had been a member of Sanjay’s family. I actually already knew that, because on my way out of the StationSec office one of my drones had overheard Investigator Aylen trying (and failing) to get ahold of zem. The schedule Tellus forwarded me explained why: Sanjay’s entire family, including the medbot’s guardian, had been on an extended vacation for a month. The household cleaner bots were routinely put into storage when the family went on vacation, whether they liked it or not (to improve longevity and reduce wear and tear, supposedly), but apparently the medbot usually went with the rest of the family on trips like that. It was unusual enough that one of the cleaner bots had told some friends before their owners guardians packed them all away. 

So basically, Tellus was saying that Sanjay had purposely gotten his family off the station during the time window the attack would happen, but kept the family medbot with him, and his home had a distinct absence of witnesses. The murdered medbot had been deliberately separated from its guardian (who didn’t seem to have tried that hard to prevent it, let’s be real), and Anders had a shiny new face.

So I guess I could have turned right back around and told Indah this immediately. She knew there was a connection between Sanjay and the medbot, but she had no idea about any of that other stuff. But then she would ask why I hadn't already told her that. The time-table information wouldn’t be proprietary here, the medbot had obviously shared it of its own volition. But the fact that information was relevant for our investigation was definitely not something Tellus was supposed to know. And, "I learned this while I made small talk with this bot I know" really didn't sound like me. I couldn't imagine any way explaining this to Indah could go that didn't end up exposing the station bots.

I know, you'd think I would be in favour of patching up security holes like that, but I really didn't blame the station bots for doing what they had to do in order to protect themselves from humans, and also I really owed them for their help today, and also it was my fault the threat was even here to begin with, so, yeah. I needed to figure out a way for Indah to get this info that didn't throw them under the transit pod.

I pinged Tellus to acknowledge I’d received the data, and indicated that I planned to consult with the rest of my team before taking action. It pinged acknowledgement, and I went back to Station Medical, thoughts churning.

There didn’t seem to be any other way to interpret that data beyond the obvious: Sanjay had known there would be an attack, and he helped the assassin evade capture. He was in on it, and he had been the whole time. 

Councillor Sanjay had betrayed Preservation.

I wanted to find him and end him.

Of course, if I had done that, then Echo would have had to leave Gurathin alone and unguarded while it went to make its statement to Indah. I mean, there would have been other problems too, not least of which would have been body disposal. So it's just as well that I came back to Station Medical.

The port will be closed for at least another half cycle, possibly longer. Sanjay won't get far, ART reminds me. It’s right. 

I get back to Gurathin's bedside, and open a workspace for me, ART, and Echo. He’s still asleep, but over the next 5.2 minutes, the rest of us come up with an information laundering scheme that should get Indah to haul Sanjay in for questioning without implicating the station bots.  I know, that’s a laughably long amount of time for a bunch of machine intelligences to spend deciding something, but we did also spend a whole lot of that time talking shit about Sanjay. I think Bharadwaj calls it “blowing off steam.” I do feel less like I want to commit bloody murder now, though, so I guess it worked.

Echo pings goodbye as it leaves, heading toward the StationSec office, and some important conversations. Better it than me. 

I message Tellus over the feed.

I have a friend you should meet.

*********

After Echo leaves, I spend some time looking at the readings MedSys took while I was gone. No alerts or warnings, that’s good. Vitals stable, pain management plan in place. I double-check MedSystem’s firewall and tighten up a few things. If that asshole gets into the feed somehow… When I’m done with that, I go back to the chairs beside the bed, but I'm not ready to sit yet.

I wind up pacing around the room for some time. The thought that one of Preservation's own people sold them all out is so much more painful than I expected it to be. Apparently part of me really had started thinking of Preservation as if they’re actually everything they say they are, like the whole place is just full of Ratthis and Mensahs and Pin-Lees and Bharadwajs who all really, truly care about the people around them. I know that’s not realistic, but I guess part of me bought into the hype.

I don’t understand how Sanjay could have justified to himself hurting all these people, and every way I try to make it make sense I just end up incredibly angry. I don’t think I want to understand it, really. Just thinking about it makes me want to hunt Sanjay down and… well, if I got my hands on him, his cleaner bots would have a lot of work to do afterwards.

I don’t want to let Sanjay (and Anders, and his corporate backers, and ultimately, the company) make me into the worst possible version of myself. I need to stay here, and guard Gurathin like I promised Echo I would.

I need to think about something else.    

I sit down in the chair closest to the hospital bed, the one Echo was sitting in. I feel a bit odd about that for a microsecond. I mean, I've seen humans come to blows over someone "stealing their spot", and I don't want Echo to think I'm doing some weird territory-jockeying asshole thing when it comes back. It's just that this spot has better lines of sight to the door, and it’s easier to keep an eye on his breathing from here, and okay, I know I said I needed to think about something else, but even for me, this is overthinking things. Calm the fuck down, Murderbot.

Gurathin's right beside me. His hand is right there. Echo had been holding his hand before it left. Should I...?

In media, hospital scenes and hand holding are highly correlated, and not only between characters engaged in romantic subplots. Friends, family, even co-workers, it doesn’t seem to matter. Character A is injured, Character B holds their hand. Unless they're a villain. Sometimes not holding someone's hand gets used as foreshadowing that they're secretly the murderer or whatever. And the get-together plots where holding Character A's hand makes Character B suddenly realize their hidden feelings kind of require "holding an injured person's hand" being a normal thing to do, or Character B wouldn’t be surprised when they don’t feel normal about it. So it would be normal for me to hold his hand.

Arada had held my hand that one time in the aftermath of That Survey, and it had been... not terrible.

I look at Gurathin's hand again, and think about reaching out, but Threat Assessment and Risk Assessment both jump a few percentage points.

[Panic(mild)(provisional)].

What? That can't be right. Why do I feel like that? I've held the hands of unconscious clients before, like when Tapan was injured. It wasn’t that bad.

So why can’t I make myself take Gurathin’s hand?

Is it because of the way Gurathin felt about me? How was it just this morning that I learned that Gurathin had been in love with me before all of this started? Not that I have to worry about that anymore. Gurathin has clearly moved on to Echo. The thought should make me feel relieved, but instead I just feel like I’ve been shot in the gut and I’m bleeding out. Like I’m being left behind like so much defective scrap.

I can’t even blame Gurathin. Echo is an objectively better choice as a partner. It’s faster and stronger than me. It doesn’t hate being touched. It isn’t a raging asshole. It’s sweet and considerate and everything I’m not. It isn’t a traumatized wreck. It isn’t… damaged like I am. 

I feel like I want to die as I remember that I had shoved that traumatic memory at Gurathin when we first brought Echo aboard ART, when I was having that… episode. I gave Gurathin a front row seat to one of the most shameful and disgusting moments in my existence. 

No wonder he shifted his affections to Echo.

I can feel ART trying to wrap itself around me like a blanket, but the feed here is so thin that it feels more like a gauzy scarf kind of thing, something wispy and insubstantial. I wish I were back aboard ART so it could squish me with its entire feed presence until all of my systems would just shut the fuck up. I’m grateful it doesn’t know about the memory I shoved at Gurathin; I'm grateful ART doesn’t see me like that. I’m clenching my hands together so tight I get an alert. The same way Echo had been doing earlier. 

Had it been feeling this distressed earlier? Probably, though doubtless for different reasons. Had it also wanted to be squished in the feed? Does Echo find that soothing like I do? I don’t know. I’ve never taken the time to ask. It seemed to like when I leaned against it; ART’s suggestion about that had been right on target. I almost wish Echo were here so it could lean against me, just to see if that helps. But Echo still isn’t back. By now it’s probably giving its statement to Indah. 

Right now it’s just me and Gurathin, and his hand, and as much as ART as can fit in the feed right now, ie. a lot less of it than I’d like. 

Fuck overthinking and feeling weird. I do stuff while feeling weird all the time. Ignoring the spike in Risk Assessment, I reach out my hand to take Gurathin’s - 

And that’s when the MedSystem makes this beeping noise, and Gurathin makes a kind of hurt sound, and for a second his eyes flutter open, before he sighs and falls back asleep.

I snatch my hand away and adjust Gurathin’s medication drip instead. He’s in pain and not sleeping deeply enough. That’s not good for healing, even I know that. I mess around with the tubes as if I know what I’m doing, and then make myself sit back, hands in my lap. He’s having enough trouble staying asleep. I don’t need to go making things worse.

I wish he were more deeply asleep. If he were, then I wouldn’t risk waking him up, and it would be safe for me to try and hold his hand. Something in my chest feels weird when I think about that.

[Panic(moderate)(provisional)] [Longing(provisional)]

You know, if you look at it from the outside, it’s almost kind of funny - the terrifying rogue SecUnit with a double-digit body count is scared to hold an unconscious man's hand. Hah.

I’m suddenly incredibly sad and tired. ART, faint though its presence is, does its best to wrap around me in the feed. Something about that simple comfort just pierces me right to the core, and my face crumples up, and I can’t stop myself from baring my teeth in a grimace. My face feels hot, my breathing gets harsh and heavy, and worst of all, my eyes start leaking. I hate leaking. 

I cover my face with my hands, and spend some time feeling awful. And it does suck. A lot. But after a couple of minutes, the worst of it has passed, and I feel... emptier? But not in a bad way. More like a cleaned-out kind of way. I’m even more tired than before, but my head feels clearer. Something feels lighter. It’s weird, but… not bad. 

[Catharsis]. 

What a weird word. Weird feeling, too. I decide to just sit and breathe for a few more minutes.

Thinking about the first flashback I'd had earlier in the week (fine, I’ll admit that’s what they were), and that second, worse one from earlier today, and I just feel heavy with…okay, that’s [Despair] . Right, of course that one’s not provisional. Fuck my entire life.

Yeah, I have a pretty good idea why I can't bring myself to hold Gurathin's hand.

I used to think that disliking being touched was a SecUnit thing, like all the other shit that was weird about me. Then I met more SecUnits and realized some of that weird shit was just a me thing, but that was still okay, I was used to being strange. I didn’t exactly like being strange even for a SecUnit, but it’s not like that was new territory or anything.

Knowing Echo now, though, and seeing how much different I might have been if I hadn't gone through so much fucked up shit? That hurts in a way I hadn't expected. And having flashbacks about it is even worse. I’ve already got enough shit in my brain I wish I didn’t remember. 

On some level, I’d known something like that had probably happened to me, back before the memory wipe, back before I was rogue. I'd seen similar things happen to other SecUnits on contracts where ComfortUnits were unavailable, and sometimes even when they were. I’d been in situations where I was only able to avoid things like that because I was rogue, and could arrange to be somewhere else when the wrong kind of humans were around. But there was a big difference between knowing something had probably happened, and forcibly recalling the specifics.

Ugh, why the fuck had I thought it would be a good idea to push that memory file at Gurathin? I know that going back in my memory banks to review things will probably make me feel the opposite of better, but fuck it, I don’t think feeling good is an option today.  I even have fancy new emotional tags I can use to sort through this shit, so, hurray for me. 

First things first: I pull up the emotional data from the start of the cycle and tag the worst weird feeling as [Static] . Then I use that to search my data from a few cycles ago, and, yeah, it’s the same feeling both times. My records show [Static] from just after Echo crammed its tongue down my throat, right up until that mental trick thing Gurathin showed me. 

Weird. I’d been thinking of the flashback (ugh, flashbacks , plural, I guess) as only being the parts where I was remembering stuff I didn’t want to, and/or lost track of where/when I was, but it looks like the associated emotions were present for a lot longer. Does that count as part of the flashback? ART sends me some data from its trauma treatment module, not that I asked , but apparently yes, it does count.

That’s… useful information, I guess. I mean, in the media when you have a flashback you’re literally seeing and hearing what happened, and that’s not how it was for me. (That honestly might have been easier to handle than the haptic data I did get.) Anyway, I guess it’s not surprising if there’s other stuff the media gets wrong, too. 

I go back to the part where I yelled at Gurathin, rewatch how his face had gone from stunned to scared to shocked, before settling on appalled. My throat feels tight and I just want to find a hole and crawl into it.

He'd sent me that message, that distressingly honest bundle of emotions/confessions, and not even an hour later I sent him... what I sent him, and then accused him of... of... of being the same kind of person as the one in the flashback that I had shoved in his face. That had been such a shitty thing to say. I should know, I’ve said a lot of shitty things to people. And he still didn’t hate me, even after all that. 

I let out a quiet groan as I drop my head back into my hands. And seriously, fuck my entire life and also that shitty pain medication, because that’s enough noise to wake Gurathin up. Aren’t the good pain meds supposed to knock humans and augmented humans out? That’s how it always works in the media. 

His breathing changes and he winces as he returns to consciousness. I almost want to hide as Gurathin's eyelids slowly crack open, squinting against the daytime lighting in the recovery room, and he looks me square in the face. It’s… a lot. 

He sighs and says, "...Murderbot... Are you okay?" Then his face kind of scrunches and he says, in a smaller voice, "Sorry." Gurathin closes his eyes for 2.37 seconds, and when he opens them, they’re looking off at the wall.

It's almost funny how much I don't care about that right now. "Don't worry about it."

Gurathin looks at me—well, near me, like I generally prefer—and says, “Thanks for staying with me, SecUnit. Things go okay with Security?”

“Fine. Senior Indah’s probably going to yell at you when you’re better.”

“I figured.” He yawns.

So I’ve been thinking lately about something Bharadwaj said a while back: that no one likes to apologize, because it means revisiting something we did wrong. But, the reason to do it anyway is that you usually feel better after, and the other person probably does too. (Or the other people, if you really fucked up.)

And I think I might need to apologize to Gurathin. Not for thinking he hated me all this time, because he made that really fucking easy to do. Almost like that’s what he wanted me to think, and maybe it was. So, not for that, but for the other thing. The thing I really don’t want to keep thinking about. If it was just about me and Gurathin, I’d just keep it to myself, but things are all complicated now. He and Echo are together now, and ART really likes Echo, and I think maybe it likes Gurathin more than it’s letting on, and I…ugh. I guess I don’t want to be the reason shit gets awkward for ART. Or Echo. And maybe even him. So if me apologizing will smooth things out for all of us then probably I should do that.

ART, I need to talk to Gurathin privately. Actually privately.

I expect it to ask why, to insist on at least knowing what this is about, but it surprises me . It’s nothing that will upset him, is it? He shouldn’t be put under stress right now.

No, I don’t think so, I reply . If it starts bothering him, I’ll call it off.

Very well. I feel ART retreat from our feed and close its end of the connection. Gurathin frowns.

I look at my hands, clenched together in my lap, and open my big mouth. “Yeah, um, I…owe you an apology?” That sounded really stupid, Murderbot, good job. Maybe if you keep talking he’ll forget how bad that was. “That thing the other day when I yelled at you and scared you and accused you of telling Echo to, you know. I don’t know why I thought you would do that. I shouldn’t have acted that way. And that file, I shouldn’t have sent it to you. You didn’t need to see that, to know that. I’m sorry for…for all of it.”

Especially for sending the file. It’s all I can do not to shudder while he’s watching. I didn’t/don’t even want to know the information in that file. I wish it had stayed erased like everything else before and during Ganaka Pit. (Stupid fucking meat bits, holding onto shit I’ve got no use for.) The thought of anyone else knowing about it makes me feel something really awful, something that twists up my insides and makes me want to hide somewhere small and dark.

[Shame (provisional)]

Okay, yeah, thanks, systems, I really did not want to identify that one. I stuff the ID into [Problems_for_Future_Me]. I need to get a hold of myself. The past can’t be fixed, the damage is done. However this has changed the way he sees me, that’s done, too. At least I’m pretty sure he won’t tell anyone about it. He said he regretted blabbing my secrets on the survey. And if he really did…care about me, before he knew, maybe that will count for something.

“It’s all right, SecUnit,” he says, sounding almost as tired as he looks. “You weren’t yourself.”

What the fuck does that even mean? I’m always myself. That’s the cause of most of my problems. But it sounds like my apology was accepted, so I just say, “Okay.” I almost ask him not to talk about what he saw in that file, but I don’t. If he does, I’ll be mad, but I don’t think he will. And if I did ask, he’d probably be mad I don’t trust him or something, so I’m just going to leave it alone and hope I’m right.

Then he says, “Have you -” and he pauses to yawn before continuing, “-told Perihelion about it?”

“No.” Fuck no. It’s hoping I’ll ‘trust it enough’ to tell it about the flashback thing, but it’s not about trust. At least I don’t think it is. I just know that if Gurathin thinks I’m weak or gross or whatever now, I can handle that, because I’m used to him thinking badly of me, or at least acting like he does. But if ART did… Nope , not going there. I turn it around on him.

“Have you told Echo about…whatever you have flashbacks about?”

He sighs. “No. But I will.”

What? “Why?”

He yawns again. The painkillers must be kicking in again. "I want Echo and me to be close. For that to happen, it has to know me. Even the parts that hurt. There's..." He stops for a minute, and I'm not sure if he's looking for words or drifting off. Then he continues, "There's a balance between privacy and letting people in. I've never been good at it."

Gurathin sighs. "I'm trying to be better, though." 

“But what if…Echo sees you differently afterward? What if it doesn’t like you as much anymore?”

He closes his eyes, and I almost think he’s asleep, but then finally he says, “That would hurt. But if that happens, then we’re not as compatible as I hoped. I’m tired of lies and masks, SecUnit. I’d rather be alone than spend my life pretending to be someone I’m not.” His eyes open, and he turns his head and looks at (near) me. He smiles a little, but it’s a weird smile. It looks sad. “And I don’t think you could tell Perihelion anything that would make it like you less.”

That makes me feel one of those balls of emotions that’s so tangled up I can’t identify any of them. “You don’t know that.”

“It might surprise me, but I don’t think so. Not like that.” He sighs softly and closes his eyes again. I’m really glad he’s not looking at me when he says, “I don’t think less of you either, you know. Or differently. All the…all the wrong was in them. Not you.” His voice is starting to sound pretty slurred. “ART would…say the same…” 

And he’s out. After calling ART ‘ART’. That’s…weird. And I’m definitely focusing on that because I don’t want to think too hard about everything else he just said. I don’t have to try to avoid it for long, because Echo comes back less than a minute later, stopping by the bed to look down at Gurathin with an anxious little smile. It had probably seen Gurathin was awake through the MedSystem and hurried back. 

Sorry you missed him. The painkillers just took effect. He’ll probably be asleep for a while , I tell it. 

Good, he needs to rest. He keeps getting hurt. It sits next to me, where it was before.

Humans are fragile. That’s why they made us.

* * * * * *

Once Echo was back, going after Sanjay was a really tempting prospect. 

Two things stopped me. The first was a comment that Echo said Indah asked it to pass on, that the legal case against Sanjay would get way more complicated if either of us had anything to do with his arrest. Also that the port is staying closed until after they catch him. (I didn’t want to think about what Pin-Lee would say if I interfered anyway, which was a powerful incentive. Disincentive? Whatever). 

The second reason was a comment that Echo passed on from Tellus, that BlueSteelHeart would be on the team slated to go and haul Sanjay in for questioning (which is apparently different than arresting him. Whatever. He’ll get caught, that’s what matters.)

 It helped knowing someone would be there who couldn’t be persuaded that, “it wasn’t murder, it was just a bot” or bribed to look the other way, or some other shit. (If it was going to be a human-only arrest squad, the decision would have been a lot harder, I'm just saying).

 Also, when I mentioned wanting to leave to go hunt Sanjay down, Echo’s face got sad. Okay, three things. 

So it’s been a few hours and I’m still here. I keep starting episodes of Sanctuary Moon and then stopping after only a few minutes. (I did that with a couple episodes of Worldhoppers and ART got sarcastic about it, so I switched to a show it cares about less.)

Gurathin is awake-ish, even though the way the painkillers affect his augments mean he's really loopy. Echo is holding his hand like it’s easy. 

[Jealousy]

I feel my face doing something, and I consider adding the (provisional) tag back to that particular emotion. 

Gurathin is pretty out of it, but he keeps looking up at Echo, and ART is… ART has spent the past few hours working on compression algorithms, and then bullying its way into Station Medical’s feed, using both Echo and me as a sort of signal booster and making all of the other systems sort of shy away from it, like small fauna not wanting to get stepped on. And right now it’s using that access to sort of carefully wrap itself around both Gurathin and Echo in the feed.

The same way it's doing with me.

So I take the realization of ‘oh, so this is how it looks from the outside when ART is riding my feed’ and shove it into the Problems_for_Future_Me folder. My embarrassment over how that looks from a third-person perspective can wait. Because all at once, I’ve just realized that whatever it is that Echo and Gurathin have? ART is a part of it.

The three of them are… something. Something that doesn’t include me.

[Jealousy]

I shouldn’t be here. I turn on my heel and exit Gurathin’s room.

Where are you going?

Dammit ART, can’t you just keep out of this and let me make a graceful exit? I’m trying to be considerate here.

To go check that Anders is secure. That’s the most useful thing I could be doing right now. I’m not needed here at the moment.

He is secure. I am monitoring him from here. You are upset.

I am not upset! I said, and okay, yeah, I did sound pretty upset. Fuck. ART tries to curl around me and I sort of bristle, making myself sharp and unwelcoming over the feed. ART, like an asshole, squishes me anyway, smoothing out my pointy edges like they’re nothing and no, I am not letting it distract me with how kinda sorta nice that feels.

Talk to me.

I sigh dramatically. I know ART knows what’s wrong. It always knows. It just wants me to fucking say it. Well fine. I’m just trying to give you three some privacy. You know, that thing that’s so important? And when were you going to tell me that you were… you know, whatever with Echo and Gurathin?

’Whatever’? ART asks, sounding amused. Oh shut the fuck up, ART.

You’re with them. I can tell. I hate how petty I sound saying that.

I am, as of today in fact. I’m afraid that between your flashback–

It wasn’t a flashback. (And even if it was, I don’t like hearing anyone else call it that. It’s hard enough calling it that myself.)

Apologies, it said, completely unapologetically, between your not-flashback and Gurathin’s kidnapping and subsequent near-death experience, I had yet to find the appropriate time to update you.

Okay, fair. Whatever. Congratulations I guess.

Thank you. Have you given any thought to how you would like to define our own dynamic?

Um. What? ART is now really the time for that?

If today has demonstrated one thing, it is that circumstances can change quickly, even violently, despite our best efforts. So I ask again: how would you like us to define ourselves? Are you still averse to the term “relationship?”

I’m standing in the middle of the hallway in Station Medical’s busy trauma ward like an idiot, so I step to the side as a doctor and two medbots hurry past.

Is that the word you, Echo and Gurathin are using? I ask. Again, that small, squirming, petty feeling. 

Yes, but this isn't about them. This is about you and me. 

Me and ART. Hearing that helps somehow. Like going from unstable footing onto more solid ground, or when you step into a gravity well and drop a couple centimeters, but then the anti-grav kicks in.

I think for several long seconds. I don’t want humans to know we’re in a ‘relationship’, that we use that word. They’d just make it weird. But… I guess we can call it that privately.

It squeezes me in the feed and and it’s so happy , leaking [love] all over our private feed and I have to turn around and face the wall so that passing humans and medbots won’t be able to see whatever my face is doing right now.

I understand, ART says. I love you.

I can maybe just about handle all this feelings stuff when I’m safely alone, but this is way more emotion than I’m prepared to handle at the moment. ART, I am in public and surrounded by other people right now, could you not?

Very well, though I reserve the right to continue displaying my affections once you are back aboard me. But to further co-opt human language, you are my primary. If you are uncomfortable with me having multiple partners besides you and would prefer that we were exclusive, I will make my excuses to Gurathin and Echo.

I feel weird and fluttery knowing that ART would prioritize me and my feelings that way. That it would give up this other relationship it apparently just entered into if I asked. That I had that kind of power, that ART would give me that kind of power. 

Fuck. 

Is that what I want? I use a drone to peer back into Gurathin’s room, where Echo is still holding his hand and where ART is still draped over them both. I try to untangle my emotions and frown. That’s… not why I’m jealous. I don’t think I want to ask ART to be, uh… exclusive.

That’s not why I left the room.

I don’t think that’s what’s bothering me? I just wanted to know.

ART’s presence sort of shifts, and I don’t like the feeling of guilt that starts to emanate from it. I regret that I didn’t tell you sooner. I’ve promised to be open and honest with you.

Whatever. You’re right, when would you have told me today? It’s fine, I’m not mad or anything. And it’s true, I’m not mad. I’m still not really sure what my feelings are doing right now, but I know that much.

I’m glad to hear it. ART sounds uncharacteristically tentative as it asks me, Would you come back inside the room please?  

Uuuuuugggghh. 

I feel awkward in there, okay? Like I’m intruding.

It’s got that smug, “I solved your problem for you, you’re welcome” tone in its voice that I didn’t realize I’d been missing lately when it says, On the contrary, it is perfectly acceptable for you to be in the room with us, at least according to Preservation cultural norms. 

Yeah, that can’t be right. I’m pretty sure there are no Preservation ‘cultural norms’ about SecUnits being present at a wounded person’s bedside, ART.

No, but you are my partner, and I am Gurathin’s partner. Again, to borrow a human term, you are his metamor. You have every right to be here. 

Um.

What?

Okay. 

I’m not sure how I feel about that.

I definitely feel something. The organics in my torso feel kinda twisty, and my chest feels tight.

Okay. 

Okay. I’ll come back inside. Just don’t make this weird.

I feel strange, turning around to go back into the room and rejoin the others, but I don’t feel bad.

Chapter Text

I should feel hurt. I don’t recall why I know that, but I do. Instead, I feel like I’m wrapped up in a thick fog, and I can’t quite bring myself to do anything about it. I’m a cork bobbing in the ocean, with no control over where I’m going or how I get there. Every so often my head starts to clear a little, but before I can pull my scattered thoughts together, the pain creeps in, hot and throbbing, and I feel this awful sense of urgency. I had been doing something important, something awful, and I can’t remember what it was, but I know I left it unfinished. 

No, wait, I had been talking to someone, hadn’t I? I had talked to someone, it was important, it was about… someone dangerous? I reach for my memory archive, but the connections run through my fingers like sand and I can’t feel my augments, and my thoughts are slippery and ephemeral, falling out of my brain instead of settling into the short term memory buffer. Soft beeping, and the fog creeps back in, thick and heavy, a soft, fluffy barrier between me and the pain, but also between me and my augments, my memory archive, half of myself. 

Chaining dream-logic thoughts together, whatever parts of me I still have access to decide that, if I don’t have my augments, and I don’t have my memories, and I don’t even hurt, then maybe I’m not me anymore. That would be strange. It doesn’t seem like I have much choice about anything right now, though, and it’s hard to get all that worried about it.

I know I’m not alone. I can't remember who it is that's with me, and something tells me the answer is too complicated for my tired brain to grasp. I know I’m safe, though, and I allow myself to slip further into the fog, letting myself be pulled down into something not unlike sleep.

My dreams are dark and confusing. Shadowy figures swirl around me, talking in soft voices, their words too quiet for me to make out. I know I should know the figures, but I can’t manage to keep my eyes open long enough to get a good look. These are my friends, aren’t they? I can’t access their names right now, but I’m sure I know these people. I don’t want them to be sad.

Why are they crying? Don’t cry, it’s okay. I’m not Gurathin anymore, I try to say, but the beeping grabs hold of me and pulls me back down, and I’m powerless to resist. 

I'm in the ocean-fog for what feels like an eternity but isn’t, because I finally surface back into consciousness. My whole body aches dully, but I can access my augments, and memories and thoughts and me slot into place.  I can think again, which is more than worth a little pain. Also, I’m still not alone.

I look over at Echo and open my mouth to speak, but… Wait, that’s -

“Murderbot?” Why does it look so… so… “Are you okay?” My mind catches up with my mouth and I realize what I said. Oh, fuck, I shouldn’t be looking at it, either. I guess my thoughts are still pretty slow after all, because after averting my gaze, I can’t think of anything to say besides a small and pathetic, “Sorry.”

ART wordlessly sends an itinerary to my private feed, indicating that Echo is currently at StationSec, and that SecUnit was there not long ago, which explains why SecUnit is here now instead of Echo, but not why it looks… let’s go with troubled .

“Don’t worry about it.” I don’t like how it sounds when it says that. Like it’s not really unbothered, but it’s too tired to care. Something else is niggling at me, but I can’t seem to figure out what.

At least this time I remember to look near it, and not at it, when I say, “Thanks for staying with me, SecUnit. Things go okay with Security?”

“Fine. Senior Indah’s probably going to yell at you when you’re better.” 

“I figured.” Well, I would have figured, anyway, if I had imagined I might actually survive encountering a corporate assassin face to face. I really hadn’t thought that far ahead. I pause, expecting… something? I’m not sure what. SecUnit’s staring off into space, the way it does when it’s talking on the feed. Maybe Echo is on its way back? Or maybe - a jaw-stretching yawn breaks my train of thought, and the dull ache in my body is superseded by a throbbing pain in my side. It’s hard to focus. I hope the fuzz clears out of my head soon, I feel useless like this.

Even at my best, however, I don't think I could have predicted the next words out of SecUnit's mouth.

“Yeah, um, I…owe you an apology?” It looks deeply uncomfortable. Before I can ask what the stars it's talking about, it continues. “That thing the other day when I yelled at you and scared you and accused you of telling Echo to, you know. I don’t know why I thought you would do that. I shouldn’t have acted that way. And that file, I shouldn’t have sent it to you. You didn’t need to see that, to know that. I’m sorry for…for all of it.”

If I could just pull my thoughts together properly, maybe I could find some way to explain to SecUnit that I don't think it needs to apologize, without shutting down the whole conversation - some elegant turn of phrase to cut through some of that self-blame.

Desperately wracking my scrambled brain for the right words, I manage,“It’s all right, SecUnit. You weren’t yourself.”

"Okay," it says, scowling fiercely at its hands.

I don't think I'm smart enough right now to have this conversation without making a total hash of things. My thoughts are just so slow right now - oh. I know who thinks quickly. Who would know if its words were landing right without having to ask.

“Have you -” I pause to yawn - do constructs ever yawn? Focus. "-told Perihelion about it?”

I reach for ART in the feed, but I can’t find anything. It feels like fumbling in a dark room, and I get the beginnings of a headache for my troubles. Then Murderbot turns my question back on me, asking me if I’ve ever told Echo about my own past, and I have to scramble again for words. 

I think I’m starting to get an idea of the shape of Murderbot’s worries, unless my tired brain is misleading me. I hope I’m on the right track, anyway. It takes me longer than usual to find the words for what I want to say. Maybe that’s not so bad, though. Maybe it’s better to say some things plainly. 

My heart breaks a little when it asks me, “But what if…Echo sees you differently afterward? What if it doesn’t like you as much anymore?” I can hear the question behind the question, and it makes me want to weep. 

I’m exhausted, and the throbbing in my side is starting to get sharper. Somehow I pull a response together, and I even manage to get my eyes open to try and see how this is landing. From the face Murderbot makes, I think my words hit the target.

I reach for ART again, a little surprised it hasn’t said anything yet, and I’m struck with a sudden sensation of vertigo and a sharp pain in my head. The medbot beeps and I know I need to get this last part out before I’m pulled under again. 

I manage to keep it together long enough to say, “I don’t think less of you either, you know. Or differently. All the…” Focus! This is important! “ All the wrong was in them. Not you.” 

I’m not sure if I manage to actually say that last bit, that ART would agree, or if I only dream it, before I slip back into the sea of dark fog.

This time I don’t land in an odd half-state of drugged unconsciousness, but I can hardly say I dream. I almost/sort of wake up several times. There's some need inside of me to check beside me, and when I find someone there, I quickly fade again, not even sure of what or who I was looking for, or even if I've found them. Some part of me expects me to be alone, however. Some part of me fears that, while that same part insists that it would be normal.

And yet, every time I open my eyes, I find someone there . Someone next to me, and more than one presence in the feed, protecting me. Enveloping me. I don’t stay awake, or wake up far enough to identify any of them, except that I know them, and I trust them. That is apparently good enough, and I drift off quickly again.

I dream of nothingness and blood, and yet there’s a content feeling in my chest that makes me feel like everything will be okay.

And the next time I wake up, there’s a steady pressure on my right, augmented hand. Someone’s holding my hand—and that should be a novel experience. Except…it feels like coming home. Like something that’s always been there. It’s probably just that our systems have already connected, but nothing has ever felt so right before.

 I open my eyes, already knowing who’s there, and say, “Good morning Echo.”

And it smiles and says, “it’s evening.”

It’s like the hole in my soul has been filled up, and I smile back.

Although, there’s something missing. Someone? I blink up at Echo, still groggy.

“How much time…” I try to count things up, try to call on my augments to keep time. It's hard, my brain is still foggy from the sedatives. But I'm getting there. I'm getting there… I reach out to the feed to get the date and time, to double check with my internal chronometer, which I’m having trouble finding. But there’s a thin wall between me and the outside, and I can’t seem to remember where to find the information anyway.

 I shift slightly and... Ouch.

That's right. I was stabbed. Twice. No, three times? And I'm starting to feel it. It's not like when it happened. Not the slick-warm-panicked burn. In fact, there's a lot less damage than I remember.  Less deep. But the areas where the blade went in are stiff and tender. Just considering moving them… no. No thank you. Just thinking about it is exhausting and…  frightening. But, for my healing to be this far along, I must have already received several rounds of deep tissue healing. How much time…?

The bubble around me shifts and morphs, soft and gentle, and hands me the current time. Oh, it’s ART. ART is all around me. Far away, but still here, in a way that matters. Still, it’s too far for my comfort. I try to pull it in, to feel its weight, yet it remains esoteric.

Echo was talking. I inhale (carefully), and look back at it.. It stops talking and restarts at the beginning.  “It has been 27 hours since I retrieved you and…” it smiles, shyly, “and transferred you to the surgeons. They worked for—for under two hours, then let the MedSystem heal you.” expression turning pained, it rushes to add. “The Station MedSys had the wrong kind of sedatives for use with augments, and none of us realized it until you were delirious. There shouldn’t be any long-term side effects, but… It looked awful. I’m sorry, I wish we’d thought of that sooner—ART sent over augment compatible sedatives from its own MedSys as soon as we realized the problem.” 

Making an obvious effort to smile, Echo continues, “The wrong sedatives should be almost fully out of your system by now. As to your wounds, there are still some checks to do, and several rounds of tissue healing and therapy, but the surgeons are optimistic about your recovery.”

Twenty-seven hours…two of which I spent in surgery. So I spent nearly an entire cycle out of my head. No wonder it felt like forever. That seems like a very long time. Then again. Getting stabbed three times? I guess I should be glad I woke up at all. I try to process that as Echo helps me raise my bed up a little. I zone in on the part it had emphasized while it fluffs my pillow, and props my head up against it so I can look up at it. “You carried me to medical?”

The smile on its face draws wide. Less shy now. Proud maybe. “In one hundred and forty seven seconds.”

“I remember that.” I frown. I do remember.  The world a blur around me, and a--a knife held steady? In me... I also seem to remember I'd been led off the main areas. Getting off the transport pod, following Anders into the bowels of the station’s piping and wiring. Oh. “That's really fast.”

Echo can barely contain itself, making an aborted move. And, yes. There it is, in the feed, brimming with excitement. It was smiling before, but the expression blossoming on its face now is so radiant, so beautiful that I almost miss what it says next. “It is good, isn't it? The doctors said it was only thanks to me that—”

Its face suddenly drops. “We shouldn't talk about it now. But. But we will. I was very scared, Gurathin.“

Oh. I hadn’t been aware enough to realize before, but I guess I remember… I think…  I remember two SecUnits, completely in a frenzy in the feed. I remember doctors and nurses. Then. Overse, maybe? Crying at my bedside. And Murderbot, looking so sad while I fumbled for words. And ART. It had… had it tried to squash me in the feed? I remember it backing up, almost panicky.

 It’s all a big jumble, and I’ll have to figure out my own feelings before I can properly apologize for scaring… all my friends. But Echo takes precedence. It hadn’t even had time to process the idea of loss before I went and nearly got myself dead, and very permanently lost to it.

“I'm so sorry, Echo.” I try to sound as sincere as I feel, and Echo just squeezes my hand again, and tries to draw closer around me in the feed.  Poor thing. It only made sense that it would want to stay at my side, stay close and connected, physically and mentally. How it had even managed to drag itself away before, if it feels this strongly, I can’t imagine. Still, I’m sure ART gave Echo what comfort it could.

Speaking of, ART is still irritatingly far and silent. It’s like a bubble around us, thin, and amorphous, and just out of my reach. Is it… shielding my augments from outside interference? It’s… almost eerily quiet. I try to draw ART in again, yet it only gives me the barest of touches before receding like an outgoing tide, oddly distant. Perhaps it’s just that the feed isn’t strong enough to carry it here. Still, I miss it. I wish it would just wash inside and into me, as it did so wonderfully before. Can’t it just use Echo and my augments as a relay? 

I call to ART, but instead, I get a ping from someone else. 

You're awake. It’s Murderbot. 

I blink, wondering where it is. If I had missed it and it’s hiding in a corner of my room. Instead, I  spot several drones on me, and when I actively scan the feed I realize with fond annoyance that it’s also spying on my MedSystem. 

Murderbot continues, through the feed as it must have before, Fully awake. That’s good. The sedatives ART sent over must be kicking in.  

That’s a little hurtful. I'd been awake last time as well. A little loopy perhaps, but I don’t think I said anything bad to it... Although, I can’t be sure. When I try to access my memory banks from the last day, I find them jumbled. That… might have been the sedation? Some sedatives don’t mesh well with my type of augmentation. That had never been a problem before, back in the Rim. You have to be richer than I was to get the good painkillers, and at that price point they've got special augment-compatible drugs, anyway. At any rate, it’s no surprise my brain feels scrambled. Something inside me feels warm, though, thinking about ART making sure I was given the good meds. 

I’m with Indah, working on getting the security finalized for moving Anders.   Murderbot pauses, then continues after a moment, perhaps noticing I have an unexpected reaction to his name: sweat, and my heartbeat speeding up. But I’m not scared —well, maybe a little bit. But mostly, I’m angry . I think I want to kill him—and I think I was about to. 

It takes me a moment to remember murder is bad, then a few moments more before I can agree with that fact. Only then do I ask. How is he? How is Anders?

Better than you, unfortunately. Murderbot says. And yeah, I bet it would like to kill him too, actually.

About that, it continues unexpectedly . I think I have… another apology to make. I—we messed up pretty bad. And it almost got you killed.

“What?” I don’t only subvocalize, I say this out loud. Maybe I’m not as awake as I thought, because I don't understand. I’m so confused I hardly notice Perihelion shifting around us, and the two-way connection between me and Murderbot opening up to four.

Murderbot must notice, but it only sighs dramatically in the feed. Neither Echo nor I were available when you needed us for a security detail, so Indah had to provide one of her own.

Echo stirs from its place next to me, mildly disturbed. Apparently ART had extended our connection for its benefit, and Echo now slowly draws out its conclusions for me. “SecUnit is upset about becoming hazardous.” Hazardous? What does Echo mean? The last time I remember Murderbot threatening me was days ago. Echo continues, “It is especially upset about both of us becoming hazardous at the same time. And most of all, about it happening at a time where we were supposed to accompany you onto the station.” 

Oh, no! I still don’t understand what Echo means by hazardous , but apparently Murderbot found something new to blame itself for, like it doesn't beat itself up enough already. Does it think it was supposed to accompany me onto the station? At least Echo knows better, but apparently it only now realizes Murderbot seems not to have.

But you weren't supposed to come with me. I hasten to explain, so Murderbot can stop its self-flagellation. Indah explicitly asked you both to stay behind. You are aware of this, I hope?

Yes, I guess that’s what her paper note said but it’s still my— Murderbot remains quiet for several seconds, then seems to come to some conclusion. No, you’re right. I did as I was asked to, even if that was not by choice. And Senior Indah wouldn’t blame me if that turned out to be a mistake…  

And I stupidly let out a relieved breath, thinking the crisis averted.

...Wait, and something in its tone changes, from subdued to... I don’t know what. But it’s giving me goosebumps. Oops. Perhaps I miscalculated. Its feed-attention turns to me, more fully than it usually does, and I feel like a mouse feeling a cat’s eyes laser-focus on its back. Are you telling me you went along with this security detail, while both your SecUnits were unavailable, even for consulting, while you knew there was likely to be a trap?

The feeling of being studied by some dangerous predator intensifies, until I start sweating again. I hardly have enough breath to answer, but I manage to send. Uhm. Yes?

It finally pulls back a little, then stays quiet. I turn to Echo, wondering if Murderbot had left the conversation. But Echo is frowning and avoiding eye-contact, which tells me the other SecUnit is far from done with this conversation. 

Then, Excuse me, I’ll be right over, too close, making me jump.

Now it actually closes our four-way conversation—just shuts it down for all four of us. And not even ART makes a move to stop it. Tense seconds turn to minutes, and I fidget, feeling Echo's sudden distance. I hadn’t realized how used to its support I had already gotten. ART, too, remains suspiciously quiet. Are they all this upset with me? Of course they are. But I feel like a child that’s about to be picked up from school by their parent for getting into a fight or something.

Hah, well I did sort of get into a fight.

The thought doesn’t manage to relieve my nerves. And it’s still too soon, when the door opens. Murderbot looks serious and... dangerous. “I am very angry with you,” it clips, as it closes the door for emphasis.

I swallow, blood rushing to my head. Yet through the shame I get a little pang from Murderbot being angry over my injuries. Which just makes the blood rush more. Through the healed tissue that Anders had stabbed, still-tender veins give the illusion that they’ll burst any second if I subject myself to… more of this excitement. “Okay,” I finally manage, almost meekly.

Then, I spend several seconds staring at the covers over my legs and cursing my wicked brain.  I shouldn’t read too much into this. Of course Murderbot wouldn’t like me to go out and get stabbed. Maybe because it is convinced that’s its job. It doesn’t need to care about me to be upset about me nearly getting killed. I’m its client. In fact, I shouldn’t even be thinking about it as Murderbot. 

This is when I notice it’s staring down at me, and suddenly we’re making eye contact. I drop my eyes, face burning. From shame. Please let it be from shame.

“You need to promise never to do anything like that again,” it says, its voice low and harsh.

Ah. Well, “I can’t do that.” I look back up at it. It’s still staring straight at me, no, frowning down. I know it’s far worse at eye contact than I am. But right now, it’s intimidating and deathly serious. And I’m—fuck, but how my body betrays me every time when it’s Mu—when it’s SecUnit. 

A little shiver runs up my spine. I try to suppress it with words. “You see, I didn’t mean to get stabbed, I just-”

“Oh, shut up.” It takes a threatening step forward.”Echo may be newly rogue and doesn’t know when to tell humans to shove it, yet, but I should have stopped you from doing something that stupid. I would have! If you had waited for me to be able to do so! ”

I have to look away again. Oh, I see now. It’s not just angry. It’s come with logical arguments. It’s being professional. Or doing its corporate satire version of it. Setting boundaries. That probably shouldn’t be this incredibly hot.

I disguise the quirk of my lips with a sigh, but I’m probably not completely successful. 

SecUnit takes a last step closer, its single step ringing out through the medbay in the eerie silence. When I look back up at it, I almost flinch. It’s inches from my face. “You will promise. Or else—If you think I’m scary now, you don’t want to know what I can be like.”

Hah . It’s trying to scare me... And, I think I really am scared. Right? Somewhat. I wish that would be a turn-off, but apparently not. I think I might be a little fucked up. No, no. Let's be honest. “I’m not afraid of you, SecUnit.” 

That’s probably not what it wants to hear either, judging from its shocked expression. It moves then, hand reaching out, past my ear, into my cushion. For a moment I think it will grab me by the neck, but then its hand continues on and entangles in the hair where my neck and the back of my head meet. What must be its gunport casing scratches momentarily against the housing of my visual augment. 

“How about now? ” 

The uncharacteristic act of Murderbot—I mean SecUnit touching me, a human, should have snapped me out of whatever crazy-loop my brain is on. Instead, all I can think is: why does that sound like a purr? Fuck me, why am I like this? And in front of Echo and ART even. It is destroying me.

I can hardly hear it over the pounding of my own heart. “Are you afraid now, Gurathin?”

I don’t want to answer—I don’t think I can. My heart can’t take it. Besides, it can read vitals. And if it’s having trouble interpreting them, I am sure ART, even if it’s suspiciously quiet to me, will be explaining exactly what my elevated readings mean. Exactly what they mean. Why bother lying? “I wouldn’t say fear is the dominating factor.”

SecUnit pulls away, releasing me with a very confused frown. But it holds my gaze for several more seconds, expression hardening. Then, something seems to click for it, and I think it’s going to smile. Instead, it sighs dramatically, falling into the only vacant chair, next to Echo. “Well then. I've made a list of Security Consultants that should be able to take over for me.”

“What?” I feel like it just dumped a pitcher of cold water over me. And yes, I know I wanted my brain to come back out of the gutter. But if this is what it takes, it’s not even worth it. My face escapes what little hold I had on my expression and turns appalled. That's only because I have a killer poker face; I feel like it just ripped my heart out…  It— 

It wouldn’t , would it?

But SecUnit sits up straight. And fuck me, as lousy as it usually is at reading human emotion, it definitely read me. And is aware that it has won. “This is the choice, Gurathin. Listen to me fucking next time, or choose someone from that list.”

“But you weren’t even available!” Also, “This is just a list with station bots working in security.”

“I don’t care. If there’s a risk and I’m not available, you cancel. You could have just called sick or rescheduled. Whatever important thing you had to do, it wasn’t worth getting killed over. Nothing is.”

That hits me so hard I can feel my eyes start to water, and I quickly turn away to stare at its list in the feed, touched. But I’m surprised at how short it is. Also, “Isn’t JollyBaby a cargo bot?”

“Officially, yes.” It hedges. “There weren’t many suitable candidates.”

I'm tempted to ask if that's because of its high requirements, or because no one is interested to take over for it. But why bother? I can’t even pretend to consider its offer, not even as a bluff. “I don’t want another security detail. The two—the three of you are the best anyone could hope for.”

That’s right. I hadn’t been able to identify those with me for the last—day? Or, maybe I could have, but had realized it wasn’t something my drugged, healing mind had the capacity to deal with. But Echo and ART weren’t the only ones that stayed close to me.

I take a deep breath, push myself up against my medical bed’s raised backrest and turn to look at it. Our eyes meet, again, and my breath catches. This is the most amount of eye-contact I’ve ever gotten out of it. I push on, sincerely: “I’m sorry. I will wait for your input next time.”

I will probably be apologizing a lot more for this before everyone is satisfied. But I suppose that's fair. I've sat at SecUnit's side enough times to know how badly it hurts to see someone you care about in literal pieces. Well, I hope it cares about me at least enough for that to hurt. 

It blinks at me, a moment too long. Oh, maybe it was expecting more of an argument? I don’t know why, though. I suppose I don't enjoy having to admit I’m wrong. But I can appreciate an expert’s opinion, and yes. It’s right. I should have postponed. 

Also, SecUnit being forceful is—Ah…Something I shouldn’t be thinking of too hard.

Maybe my head isn’t as clear as I thought it was.

Echo just squeezes my hand, unaware of the direction my thoughts have been taking. Or maybe I’m selling it short. It probably is aware. I don't think I'll ever be over Murderbot, and it has probably realized that already.  But it doesn't seem to feel threatened, because it opens a four-way connection again and asks SecUnit for a status update, signaling an end to our ‘talk’. 

SecUnit, obviously relieved to be done with this conversation, throws a hefty file into the feed.  Then with a side-eye at me, adds a human-readable summary, which I’m glad of once I start reading. There’s so much to process in just those few lines. I sigh, suddenly feeling tired.

“Yeah,” SecUnit comments, slouching back down in its chair again.

So, first of all, SecUnit and Echo have hatched some plan to implicate Councilor Sanjay, the politician that wanted to meet with me. He was the guardian of the medbot that was killed, and it also did the facial changes on Anders. Except Sanjay isn’t actually its guardian. But he’s definitely involved. Special investigator Aylen is working on apprehending him, with new information brought to light thanks to some station bots.

Anders’ wounds are fully treated. They’ve kept him sedated anyway. Security has been working on upgrading a holding cell and Indah has—discreetly—asked SecUnit’s opinion on her precautions, and also on how they’re moving Anders. They worked together patching any holes in their security, and both SecUnit and Echo seem certain that this is as good as it’s going to get. But in the interest of public relations, neither SecUnit will be allowed to be part of the security detail moving Anders from this hospital to his cell. Political considerations, again…

I swallow thickly. Anders is only a few rooms down from here, and they are moving him soon. As in, “within the hour” soon. What if he finds some way to escape? What if he…

Echo squeezes my hand again, and when I look at it, it catches my eyes. It’s right. There’s nothing to worry about. Not for me, at least. I have two constructs and a secret monstrous AI watching out for me. I blow out a relieved half-laugh and turn to SecUnit. “So how did you find that information about Sanjay in the first place?”

It doesn’t answer, just staring at the door. 

I look at Echo, but it’s not looking back any longer, also fixated on the door. “Is—” I swallow again. “Is everything alright?”

SecUnit answers first, but in its strange monotone buffer. “Status optimal. All preparations are proceeding according to schedule.”

“Okay.”

I don’t think either construct is listening to me. They are completely still in their chairs, not even the usual mimicry code causing the random twitch or move. I try to grab ART’s attention, but it’s still frustratingly far away. Thin in the feed, yet I can’t help but feel like there’s more than that. It finally sends me a simple text message, promising me that there’s no reason to worry.

“Perhaps you’d still feel better if one of you, or both of you went over to help.” I offer. 

There's a ‘snap’, like a gunport closing. And two identical voices in tandem answer “no!” 

The word reverberates through the room, only highlighting the tense silence. They are—must be moving Anders right now. And if he somehow finds a way to escape, both SecUnits are here, with me, probably too far away to stop him.

Echo breaks the tension, sounding certain and forceful. “There’s no place I’d rather be. We ’d rather be.”

To that SecUnit just rolls its eyes. “Anyway, we promised Indah not to interfere unless things go sideways. And I checked, and Echo triple-checked. Nothing is going to go wrong.”

Both constructs continue to stare at the door, however. I understand why. I also understand I can’t really help. But I still feel responsible. So, I pull Echo’s hand in my lap and start massaging it. First the back, then its fingers, finally the palm. When I look back up it’s smiling at me widely.

Huh. Guess I could do something for it after all.

Unfortunately that’s not going to help SecUnit. I look at it, feeling terrible. Its posture is slouched, limbs sprawled out, yet nothing can disguise the brimming tension. There’s a scowl on its usually lineless face and it seems ready to spring into action. In the feed, it's shaking with anxiety.

Then something wonderful happens. Echo casually reaches over with its free hand, and touches SecUnit’s dramatically outflung arm. Then, it works its way into its hand and—

And SecUnit lets it.

I try not to stare. I try not to look at all. But overcome with so much emotion I need to swallow it down..

I’m not sure how much hand-holding helps it, however, because less than a minute later SecUnit jumps to its feet, speaking a little too loudly. “It’s starting.”

Echo gets to its feet as well, releasing my hand for the first time. All the drones they had stationed around the room come to life, lifting into the air. It’s… a little scary. But also not? They stand quivering in place for what seems an eternity, but can only have been fifteen minutes. Then, they both sit down as one. 

“Move complete. No incidents.” Echo tells me, eyes on me and a smile back on its face.

Thank the stars! I let go of a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. And the entire room around me seems to relax, drones landing in their perches with only the usual few taking up their hovering patterns.

“Great, now we can finally get you out of this stupid Medical suite.” Yeah, that’s our SecUnit. It’s no longer looking at the door, or—sadly—at me. Everything is apparently back to normal. “ART is bringing its medical drone to take you home.”

Home!

A knot I had forgotten about comes loose in my chest. I’m going home ! I haven't been to my flat in days. I'd nearly forgotten I had a home, but now that I remember, I dearly miss it. How wonderful the doctors will let me go so soon! In anticipation I get my bed up a little further with Echo’s help. 

Home! I need to water my plants!

Before I can leave, I have to talk with one of the med-techs about my prognosis (not bad, considering), what level of activity I'm cleared for over the next few days (very little), and when I want to come back and get a new kidney. That confuses me at first, because I thought the surgeons were confident they saved my kidney, but then it turns out they're talking about giving me a second one. I've been getting along fine with just the one for years; getting a whole new one just because I can feels a bit excessive,  but I tell them I'll think about it, and then I'm cleared to go home. Finally. 

I am a little disappointed when ART’s drone doesn’t resemble a wheelchair. Instead it’s some embarrassingly big contraption fusing a drone and a bed together. It comes wheeling in on its own power, fitting only just through the door. The two SecUnits effortlessly and carefully move me from bed to bed.

Then we start moving. Me in the drone-bed contraption, with two SecUnits back on high alert flanking me, an actual cloud of drones buzzing around me. People on the hospital walkways stand and stare. When we get outside, I see a small boy pointing us out to his mother. I feel ridiculous,  but I can hardly make myself care. 

I'm going home!

The bed-drone is only slightly more upright than my bed had been, and in my excitement to be back in my apartment I crane my neck, trying to gauge how far I still have to go.

It’s when we get on a speed walkway that I finally notice. “We're going the wrong way.” We’re going towards the docks. 

“No we're not.” SecUnit, voice flat.

I answer just as flatly. “We’re heading to ART.”

Am_I_not_good_enough?

ART, communicating via text still, even now that I can see its hull out in front of me. I try to pull it in, thinking that if I can’t have the comfort of my own home, ART’s presence around me would be a good distraction. But it continues to evade me, and I scowl, needing that comfort. “I just wanted to go home .”

SecUnit snorts at me, “Right, because you're in top shape. Do you think the doctors would release you in your state? They only agreed to let you come to the Perihelion because I showed them its medbay accommodations.”

I sigh. I know it's right.

“Speaking of, where is ART?” I sulk. Because I know ART can reach me from here. 

I_am_right_here. 

It answered in text. In my augments. Which does and does not convey how wrong that was. During the last—had it only been a week or so? ART had started really talking to me. Truly showing itself. It didn’t communicate in text. It communicated in machine languages, images, feelings, colors—pressure. This—this wasn’t like ART at all.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Nothing_is_wrong. ART, still in simple text. But_things_will_be_better_once_you_are_aboard.

“Okay,” I want to say more, but suddenly we’re here, and I wince instead as the ramp into the Perihelion bumps my drone-bed just a little too harshly. I think ART is still upset with me. And that seems unfair. Does it want a personal apology too, before it will talk to me as it used to? But I don’t know what it would want me to apologize for, except the stabbing, and I’ve apologized for that twice now. 

Wait. It’s worse than that. It’s afraid of hurting me. I had been drugged, but I remember it trying to lean on me to comfort me. And my augments—with drugs, I never know how they react. But Echo said… Ugh. It had been bad. Still, I’m fine now.

I scowl at the ceiling as it passes me by, (SecUnit had explained that’s not where ART resides, which I’d known in advance, I just hadn’t known that pretending it did would annoy SecUnit, so now I do.). “I wasn’t stabbed in the brain, ART. And all of the tranquilizers are out of my system. Can you stop pussy-footing me?”

We’ve finally reached ART’s medbay, and Echo takes my hand again, communicating [worry] , and [discomfort] , but I bolster it. Me and ART had something good going. Whatever’s bothering it shouldn’t be left unsaid. I won’t wait to challenge it. “What’s got you so scared? Did you try to kill Anders or something?”

I_wanted_to. It answers, instantly. I_almost_did. 

“But you didn’t. And you only protected me. Stop this nonsense. Please.” If my voice cracks on the last word, well. It’s not my fault. Perhaps I am being selfish, but I can’t stand the idea of losing what I had with ART. At least Echo agrees with me on this. But I can feel its unease about picking a fight. Whether that is because it’s ART, or because it also thinks I’m made of glass I try not to examine for now.

“And that’s my cue to leave, if there’s going to be some lovers’ spat.” I’d nearly forgotten about SecUnit, which is probably what it was going for, hovering over by the door to the medbay. But if it meant to get away without notice, it should have kept its big mouth shut.

“Where did you even hear that term,” I sputter, while ART speaks, out loud, in the general feed. "There is not going to be any argument until Dr. Gurathin has recovered."   

Dr. Gurathin? Oh really, that’s just offensive. I take my lovingly crafted bundle of shibari code, hide an entry point for it in a simple status update report from my augments, and send it to ART. And ART crunches to a halt for a satisfying  0.014 seconds.

That was uncalled for.

“Was it really, Mx Perihelion?” I bundle an older version of the same code and fling it at ART, not even trying for subtlety. ART slides through it like paper this time, ready for the attack. The pieces of code don’t even make it to its firewalls.

I can see you’ve all had an emotionally challenging day. Perhaps it’s better if I let you all rest and—

I’m surprised when ART stalls again, a whole staggering 0.092 seconds. And without me sending any codes. Then, SecUnit barks a laugh. “Emotionally challenge that, you asshole.”

When I’m over my surprise I grin at SecUnit, just a quick glance. Then my heart stutters when it grins back. I try not to ruin it by getting emotional however, so I take a standard multilayer virus and shove it into my medbot-drone-bed’s sensor array. ART intercepts the attack just a little late when it obsessively checks my readings. And SecUnit must have been ready for that, because it snags it while it’s distracted, launching a full-on attack on an exploitable ingress to its code...

Echo moves in its chair, just a little bit. When I turn to it, I realize it looks uneasy, so I smile, trying to convey that we’re just having a little fun, blowing off steam. Before I’m even half done with that, ART has SecUnit shoved out of its systems and has pushed it back so hard that SecUnit stalls for nearly a whole second, eyes wide and face frozen in shock.

“--your fat ass out of my processors, ART you asshole!”

You started it.

“No it didn’t,” I tell it. And because I'm still angry , I throw another mediocre worm bundle at it.

ART parries it carefully to the side, yet refuses to engage me. Then SecUnit tosses me a code—one a lot more potent than my old bundle, and literally jumps into ART’s systems. I fiddle with the code for half a second, then toss it into the distracted ocean that is ART. When it goes off, it’s like a grenade.

ART’s walls strain, wobble, let the code-shards in. Then turn a sick shade of green before it spits them out again. I only manage to unaccept a piece of bundle at the last second. And ART and SecUnit both turn to me, worry seeping through their feeds. I grimace back, heart racing yet unwilling to admit to weakness.

This is when Echo tackles ART through a back-door from its captain’s access. The two go down in a mess of code like smoke. Then ART’s processors stall in nearly every area except environmental control.

Echo looks more shocked than I am, but then it smiles at me, nervously. “Don’t. Don’t hurt my human!”

I wasn’t . ART is getting just a little riled up now. Because if I wanted to hurt him, I would have done this . And it metaphorically snaps Echo up in its jaws and swallows it whole. I say that, but that’s not exactly what happens— but Echo is getting buried in an avalanche of code, and if it wasn’t that somewhere during that SecUnit had wedged itself between me and its periphery, I might have been swept away with it.

Next to me in the real world, Echo makes a noise that I hope will be interpreted as a pained grunt. Yet it’s far from defeated, snapping off metaphorical pieces of ART around it.

SecUnit waits just long enough for the worst of the landfall to quiet, then it jumps in, nimbly passing through ART, then coming up and out again. ART is, of course, quite able to chase two SecUnits through its systems. But as it follows and snaps at SecUnit it loses its hold on Echo. Meanwhile SecUnit is both wrapping ART up in its own code and tangling ART as it chases after it. 

Echo doesn’t even try to escape ART, taking note of SecUnit’s graceful movements. And after a moment or two, Echo gets its metaphorical feet under it and joins it, only making little pinpricks at ART to get its attention.

They are small and nimble compared to ART, but a thousand times my size in the feed. It really is like watching  two giants wrestle a mountain. And as much as I don’t like ART treating me like I’m weak, I might have spoken too soon. Having to unaccept that code had been harrowing, a shock to my systems. I doubt it would have done irreparable damage, but it gave me quite the jump scare and I feel tired already.

So I sit back and quietly watch the fireworks.

After that, the worst of the tension is broken and I manage to get some real, restful sleep. I’m sure part of that is down to the augment-compatible sedatives that ART has handy and that the station apparently has on back-order, but I have to admit, I do feel safer on ART than I did back in Station Medical. Waking up this time feels less like clawing my way to consciousness, and more like gently floating to the surface. 

Echo’s beside me, holding my hand, and looking over to see it gently smiling down at me is going to become one of my most treasured memories, I can already tell. One of Murderbot’s drones is off in the corner of the room, and the drone bobs in the air when it sees me notice it. I nod back, touched by the gesture. ART is…

Here. ART is finally here in the feed, practically beside me instead of beyond my reach like that frustratingly distant bubble from earlier. It’s skittish at first, but after a moment lets me lean into its presence, like a soft and cozy wall. As I sink into its comfortable bulk, it very carefully scrunches me in the feed for just the barest moment, as if it’s scared I might crumble to dust if it’s not delicate enough with me.

It must have been terrified, I realize. A pang of regret hits me and I remember ART’s drone from the transit pod, and the way it looked when I left it behind. I’m not sure how much experience Perihelion has with being powerless, but I certainly wish I hadn’t added to it. 

Oh. I realize what ART needs to hear from me.

ART, I say, and I can feel its focus sharpen on me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I scared you like that. I should have listened when you said to wait for SecUnit, I shouldn’t have put you in that position, I charged off trying to fix things on my own, and you nearly had to watch me get —I stop myself there, feeling oddly superstitious about saying the word, as if actually saying killed will give me retroactive bad luck and somehow make it true. 

ART swirls around me and gives me another gentle squish, and then says, It was a deeply unpleasant experience. Additionally, if you had died, then I’m not sure any of us could have forgiven ourselves, and quite possibly each other. Your life has value, to all three of us. You will refrain from needlessly risking it in the future?

Yes, I say, feeling chastened. I’m still not used to factoring in others’ concern about me when I make decisions, even after all these years in Preservation, but I can see I’m going to have to work harder on that. Gods and stars, the thought that losing me would drive the three of them apart from each other instead of together makes my heart ache. I promise.

Excellent. Now then, shall I make arrangements with Station Medical for your kidney replacement, or shall I perform the procedure myself? As my Medsystem is fully-certified, I have all necessary facilities required to both grow and transplant the organ myself. 

Hah. I walked right into that one. Ah, well, I suppose it’s a small enough concession to make, in light of everything else. ART will do good work, I know it will. Most of me knows I’ll be safe, it won’t hurt, it won’t cost me anything, and that it’s not somehow frivolous to get this done. The rest of me, the parts that still haven’t let go of the Rim, will just have to cope.

Alright, you can do it. 

It feels a little ridiculous to get stabbed and then end up with more organs than you started with, but I guess it’s no more ridiculous than falling in love  with a spaceship, and it seems that I’ve gone and done that, too.

That still feels unreal—it was only yesterday morning (or was it the day before? Damn, I’ve lost track) that I woke up in bed with Echo and ART, and it’s starting to dawn on me that… I might actually get to have this, that these connections won’t get snatched away by cruel fate before I get to enjoy them. That I might be allowed to be happy.

My friends will be so surprised when I tell them — or will they? I’ve only got hazy memories from the past day or two, but I think Overse and Arada may have seen me while I was out of my head. There might have been tears? It’s hard to recall (I’ll have to send them a message, so they know I’m okay now, oops ). I know the both of them met ART long before I did, so for all I know it already told them all about us. 

Ratthi won’t know yet, though. He should be getting back in a few weeks with Pin-Lee and Dr Mensah, so I’ll have plenty of time to figure out how to explain. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any romantic news to speak of, and that was well before Ratthi and I met. For all the times I’ve been a listening ear so he could wax rhapsodic about his various paramours, I never really expected the shoe would end up on the other foot. 

And Preservation does romantic gossip differently. In the Rim, calling your lover kind would be damning them with faint praise, and if you really want to brag, you tell your friends that you caught a shark . In a sense, telling Ratthi about my new relationships, plural , will be a new type of social interaction, and now I’m starting to get nervous about it. What if I make a social blunder that ends up reflecting badly on Echo, or ART, because I don’t know the right way to phrase things?

Ah, well. At least I have a few weeks to think about it. Maybe I should take a page from Echo’s book and look up educational resources; there’s probably something aimed at teenagers or young adults that will give me an idea of what pitfalls to avoid. Making a note to follow up on that later (and what a relief it is to have working augments again), I try to let go of the worry for now. I’ll deal with that when it’s time to deal with that. 

“Knock knock!” Ratthi’s voice cuts through my train of thought. 

You have a visitor , ART announces. It sounds suspiciously smug, which makes me realize that even if it can't read my mind when we are this close—something I wouldn't put past it—it definitely read the notes I just took. I’m starting to see where the Asshole part of its name comes from. 

Ratthi breezes into ART’s MedSys, hands full. One with a coffee, which he hands to me, and in his other hand he’s got— oh, that’s one of my houseplants , I realize, and SecUnit walks in behind him carrying two more. ART parks a portable med platform nearby for them to set the plants down on. I think I’m getting choked up.

I take a sip of my coffee and it’s perfectly sweetened—Ratthi must have made a pit stop in ART’s galley on his way here. Tears spring to my eyes and, thankfully, Ratthi pretends he didn’t notice.

“It’s so good to see you, my friend,” he says, and reaches down carefully to give me a hug.

I hug him back more tightly than usual and swallow the lump in my throat to say, “You too.”

Then he sits down, looks at me expectantly, and says, “What’s happened? Tell me everything.”

Chapter Text

Ratthi gathers the crockery, the morning sun bathing the kitchen in a wash of orange-gold. Mensah and Pin-Lee have already left, right after breakfast, to another full day of top-secret, high-profile meetings. Some type of preliminary meetings to start working out trade agreements between the Preservation Alliance and their potential new noncorporate ally, GoodnightLander Independent. Ratthi doesn't know much about politics, or care about them all that much. Oh, he knows they are important. But they are also boring.

The geographical location where the meetings are being held, however, is something he does care about: Holding-South is just on the border of Preservation space, on Icarus-5’s planet HT 1897733 b. The settlement of Holding-South used to be an outpost, but now the city’s outskirts are terraformed and in use for housing, farming, even recreation: young, fresh parks, teeming with both Terran-descended and indigenous species surround a small, yet bustling city. Lifeforms from two different planets, eerily similar yet alien to each other, coming together in a beautiful, bloody clash.

It makes Holding South fascinating to study. The wildlife that had lived here before humanity’s arrival is integrating with their presence, with the species of animals and plants that humans could not go without, the flora and fauna that is part of humanity.

They had to, or they would go extinct.

The indigenous species had been in trouble for a while. Fauna endangered and driven away, flora dying of disease and competition. But now a new, more robust equilibrium is emerging on the border between the planet’s natural habitat and humanity’s encroachment, as it has on nearly all planets humanity has colonized. 

It is a never-ending wonder to Ratthi how quickly these indigenous species can adapt.

Ratthi is listening to an article on the topic on his interface while he puts away the morning’s dishes. Might as well clean up so he, Mensah, and Pin-Lee will have time to enjoy cooking together tonight.

And then, he gets that dreaded high-priority ping to his inbox: 

Message from Perihelion. SecUnit Clone en route to Preservation Station. ETA GT:4325.342.12:30-GT:4325.345.22:30. We are en route. Please stay clear until further instruction.

Ratthi drops a kera-cup, his gaze follows it down from his numb fingers to the floor, where it explodes and shatters into a hundred different directions.

[“They’ll keep coming for us. Just because we’re in the civilized world now won’t make them stop.” Gurathin had said.]

Ratthi finds himself staring at the shards, in a trance he has to shake himself out of, before he manages to steer himself to a kitchen chair. His ass hits the seat and he drops his face into waiting hands, concentrating on just breathing.

This is bad.

This is really bad.

And Murderbot isn’t here to help this time. It is on the Perihelion, and its message has reached him through a wormhole. Even if they entered that wormhole right after sending this, there is no way they'll arrive on time. Three, too, is out of reach. Off somewhere on the un-terraformed side of Preservation planet.

[“I’m glad it left.” Gurathin had said. “We freed it. And then it chose to do something it could only do because it was free.”]

Ratthi rubs his palms over his eyes, his forehead, then scratches his scalp until he finds himself massaging a flare-up headache. His heart is still pounding, veins pumping from his temples to his fingertips, his breathing elevated. And so he breathes, exhales slowly three, four, five times before he trusts himself to do anything more.

This is really bad. 

The threat has finally followed them home. Dr. Mensah had warned them of this. Had taken a quiet moment in the weeks after they’d rescued her from her kidnappers, and had calmly explained they should keep this danger in the back of their heads. But Ratthi hadn’t really believed her, back then. Not in his heart, at least. It hadn’t seemed real.

Now, it is real.

They’ll have to evacuate from their homes. Take everyone from the station. Maybe even from Preservation’s main planet. From the only place that had ever been safe—had ever been home in the entire galaxy. they— 

No, 

No, it is worse. 

Ratthi double-checks the date, and realises. There isn’t enough time! There’s only three days left now before the earliest estimates of the attack. And Preservation Station won’t even have received the warning yet; it won’t reach them before the time-window for the attack opens. Leaving then would be too dangerous. And Station Security isn’t equipped to deal with a raging SecUnit! Even if they’d had enough warning, a few measly humans and their bots won’t stand a chance. 

The message will reach Preservation Station during the rest cycle as well, so they’ll all be asleep, unprepared. Arada and Overse would be in their apartment. They and Bharadwaj will have to hide.… Hide. But if someone is sending a SecUnit Clone to impersonate Murderbot and create a—

No, he knows what they’ll do. They’ll enact a massacre, if only to demonstrate that rogue SecUnits really are that dangerous. People are going to die. Maybe Indah will be able to throw up a barricade, keep the SecUnit contained and buy time for Perihelion and Murderbot to arrive. Or maybe they’ll somehow overpower the SecUnit? Ratthi knows Indah must have made some plans after they brought first Murderbot, then Three into her jurisdiction.

Ratthi has to believe they’ll win, somehow. He has to believe his team-members will be safe, even if he knows his friends in Security won’t be. He has to believe they’ll make it through.

He'll wait for the all-clear signal from Murderbot, and then he’ll go to the station and mourn for those that fought. But his closest friends… surely they’ll be kept safe. Keep themselves safe. They are smart people, after all. Much better at self-preservation than he'll ever be.

Except...

[Gurathin’s smile was gone, and Ratthi suddenly wished for it back. “I won't stand and watch. Never again.]

Except there’s also Gurathin. 

Pin-Lee had once accused Ratthi of being the type to jump in front of a rampaging HarvestBot to try and save a friend. That was unfair. Ratthi would only try to grab said friend and haul them out of danger. But as terrible as Mensah’s kidnapping had been, he has come away with a new friend from the ordeal. No, not Murderbot.  It had become his friend well before that. It said so in that letter.

Gurathin. They hadn’t gotten on at all on their first, disastrous survey together. But as Ratthi got to know Gurathin over the nightmare weeks of Mensah’s abduction, they had become quite close. And Gurathin would jump in front of a rampaging HarvestBot.Then kick the bot for hurting his friends, too. 

Preservation Station is Gurathin’s home , the place that had taken him in when he had nowhere to go. Gurathin won’t run, and he definitely won’t hide .

[Never again.]

Oh no .

Suddenly moving, the panic-headache long forgotten, Ratthi starts packing as he checks transit schedules. Can he still make the next shuttle off planet? If he calls ahead, he might be able to catch a trip on Sander’s hopper-line... Ratthi picks up his toothbrush and three clean pairs of underpants, his lucky interface, some random toiletries, and throws them into a bag. Then he rushes outside.

Ratthi has to get there and save Gurathin! He might not be able to do anything about the massacre, but he needs to get there. Sander answers the call and yes, he’ll hold off on leaving to take Ratthi with him back to South Holding. It’s a rural line and outside rush hour now, so it’s not a problem. From there a shuttle is leaving up to Holding’s Space Station in half an hour—if he catches that. He’ll—

He’ll miss the weekly intergalactic line by twenty minutes. Ratthi swallows. Then, drawing power from somewhere deep inside of himself, he thinks . 

What can he do? He's not a superhero like Murderbot. Or a leader like Mensah, or level-headed like Arada. But there has to be something. Something only he can do.

Something that no one else can do? This is Preservation Alliance space. He is at an advantage here—Ratthi has friends here. He has friends here. With shaking fingers he dials the number of an old friend that used to work in Transit. The friend picks up. That friend knows a mutual friend who’s working on the intersystem route these days. Ratthi explains the situation, that lives are at stake.

Half an hour away from the shuttle dock, he gets hold of the intersystem ship’s captain. He explains again, hoping he’ll be able to sway the woman. Ratthi is good with communication, but far better at face-to-face communication. Feed conversations can still have him feeling out of his depth. He can’t read people’s faces over the feed. He holds his breath, but it's still a shock when she tells him “Sorry, we just got the same message. Top priority. All human traffic to Preservation Station has been put on hold.”

Ratthi nearly falls out of his seat on the inliner, all energy gone. “But,” she adds, “I've gotten permission to bring them extra emergency and medical supplies. Would you like to join me for the trip?”

[You were right, Ratthi. But it doesn’t matter.]

Just before the shuttle runs out of range, Ratthi remembers to send a message to Mensah and Pin-Lee. They won’t get it till tonight, until the day-long meeting is at an end. And they’ll probably read Murderbot’s message first.

The message reads: “Off to save a friend. Do NOT follow, Danger!!”

[“I do think of it as a person,” Gurathin told him, carefully carrying another sample case up the hopper’s ramp. “An angry, heavily armed person who has no reason to trust us.”

Gurathin hefted the case, then put it neatly on top of the stack, a somewhat pleased expression on his face. Like he’d won that argument. Professor Gurathin was like that. Saying things that were apparently so clever that they made him smile. But Ratthi never got the joke, and lately that made him feel stupid. Stupid, and a little angry.

“Then stop being mean to it, that might help.” Ratthi hissed, throwing a furtive glance towards the hopper exit. He didn’t see any drones or anything. But that didn’t necessarily mean it didn’t hear them. “Maybe don’t antagonise it?”

Gurathin’s smile was gone, and Ratthi suddenly wished for it back. “I won't stand and watch. Never again.”]

The captain’s name is Kerchan-ki, and she is more friendly than he could have hoped. Ratthi is glad of the distraction, and so is she. “Space is beautiful,” she tells him after they first wake up together on an empty ship. “But traveling the same path across every trip gets boring eventually.”

“Do you get very lonely?” He asks, kissing her exposed shoulder.

“Quite the contrary. I am always surrounded by passengers.” She smiles, wanly. “And my crew is my family. A loving one at that. They do not begrudge me this little gift to myself.”

Ratthi blinks at her, confused. And she grins at him, self-conscious. “Oh, come now? You must know very few could resist the chance to get the famous Dr. Ratthi all for themselves.” 

That makes him laugh just a little. The sound is surprisingly loud. They’ve left the door out the captain’s quarters open, as there’s no-one else aboard to disturb them. Yet Ratthi feels just a little self-conscious then. “Well, I have loved and left.”

“Oh, that reputation is only of secondary interest to me.” she interrupts then wiggles her eyebrows at him, “I’m more interested in Dr. Ratthi, the famous explorer that survived the Survey from Hell and then went on to save our planetary admin.”

“ I didn’t save Dr. Mensah! That was all SecUnit!” Ratthi feels his face heat up by the sheer audacity. “Well, okay, Gurathin and Pin-Lee helped. But all I did was get stuck in mud pits, and—” Ratthi laughs again, noticing Kerchan-ki’s rapt attention. “Do you want to hear about how SecUnit rescued us all?”

“Very much. I used to want to be an intergalactic explorer, you know?”

So he tells her. About the survey, and about SecUnit. Then, also about Bharadwaj and Overse and Arada. About Pin-Lee and Volescu, about Dr. Mensah. And, of course, about Gurathin.

[“I’m glad it left.” Gurathin had said, his voice quivering with something Ratthi recognised but couldn’t name. That strange tone reverberated and bounced back at them in the empty hotel room. Empty? How did that even work, Ratthi wondered, feeling hollow inside. Empty, with all eight of them in here. All eight survivors of that terrible survey.

And yet, no SecUnit with them. They had gone through so much together. Then, they did the impossible and bought its freedom. They were about to go home. All of them. Together.

But it was gone, it had left in the night. Gurathin interrupted the churning in Ratthi’s gut once again. His words felt like a kick in the face. “We freed it. And then it chose to do something it could only do because it was free.”

“Do you really hate it that much?” Volescu had whispered.

“I don’t hate it.” Gurathin had snapped.

“No.” And suddenly it clicked. Suddenly it had all made sense to Ratthi. “You love it.”

Gurathin had turned to look at him sharply, then bit out, “don’t be sick, Ratthi! Not everyone falls head over heels with everything that walks on two legs.”]

Ratthi is up on the bridge, staring out at the star-less space of wormhole travel when  Kerchan-ki slowly hugs him from behind. She really can move silently, and he chuckles. “Remind me again why you didn’t become a galactic explorer.”

“Too dangerous,” she hums. “I’d rather just listen to the tales.”

“Are you sure? There’s still time to switch professions,” Ratthi tries.

Kerchan-ki walks over to the captain’s chair and swivels it round with a hand. “It’s not the danger itself, I admit. It’s leaving my family to worry for me. Look at you, now. You’re worrying yourself grey for your friends, and they didn’t even leave the safety of the station.”

“Bharadwaj, Overse and Arada will be okay. They’re careful. Clever."

“But you’re worried for Dr. Gurathin.”  Kerchan-ki stops the chair and sits in it, facing him. “Why? Is he not clever?”

“On the contrary, he might even be too clever.”

[Ratthi had been tired that evening. He guessed they all were, after fruitless weeks on TranRollinHyfa. But this time he hadn’t intervened in time. Hadn’t realized the tension in his two roommate’s voices. Then suddenly they’d both been screaming. Some object got thrown. Gurathin had slammed the door on his way out. Ratthi tried to give Pin-Lee a disappointed frown as he followed. But he wasn’t sure she even registered it, bent over with her nails digging into the imitation-wooden table’s top.

Ratthi thought she’d need therapy once they got home. Then again, they probably all would. And no, he wouldn't even think in ‘ifs’. So, he went to the person he felt he could help. Gurathin was right outside the hotel lobby, on the sidewalk in the dark, curled in on himself like a heartbroken teenager.

Ratthi sat down next to him, sighing as he bumped shoulders with the other man. Instead of relaxing, Gurathin froze. Ratthi nearly groaned. Gurathin could be as difficult as Pin-Lee about affection. Or perhaps worse. Apparently he’d overstepped another invisible line.

“I’d like to be friends, Ratthi. I really would. But that’s it.” 

Ratthi just laughed, relaxing. “Good! I’d also love to be friends.” When Gurathin gave him a side eye, Ratthi clicked his tongue, getting to his feet. “What, you think I need to fuck everyone?”

“Well, you do have a reputation.” 

Ratthi stood back up and held out a hand for Gurathin to help him. “So do you, my friend.” Ratthi had tried a dominatrix only once, but Tifany had spent half the night complaining about that new dom on the station, the one that tied people up so well. Yeah, Ratthi knew everything about everyone on Preservation Station. “I will admit mine isn’t entirely undeserved. Still, friends are the most important thing in the world.”

And when Gurathin took his hand Ratthi knew they agreed on that.

Careful of those invisible lines, he laid a hand on Gurathin’s shoulder. “We need to get something to drink.”

“We haven’t got the credits to spare.” Gurathin grumbled, but followed him to the seedy cafe anyway.

They found a booth to squeeze into. It didn’t even smell too bad. Ratthi had sat with his drink, warming his hands and just taking in the smell of cheap coffee. It was the most peaceful he’d felt since they'd found the ransom note for Dr. Mensah’s release. And so they sat, in silence, and drank their coffees at an overpriced cafe. 

And Gurathin had told him, very softly, out of nowhere. “You were right.”]

After four days of travel, they arrive at Preservation Space. The station is right there in front of their prow, so close Ratthi can practically see the scuff-marks on Pressy. But Kerchan-ki sighs as she gets off the call. “They won’t let us in. Not even with medical supplies. Apparently, there’s a killer on the loose. Full Station lock-down, no one gets in or out.”

So that’s it, then. Ratthi sighs rubbing his face, then tries for a smile. “Not even the famous Dr. Ratthi?”

“Well, I’d let you in anywhere of course.”

But the station remains locked. 

[It was a beautiful day on TranRollinHyfa. Or as close to one as they got. They were sitting together on a ‘park’ bench, though Ratthi was loath to call the plastic surrounding them a park. Gurathin hardly moved his mouth as he whispered. 

“We should have expected them to take Dr. Mensah. And we should expect them to come for us too. We might not be worth enough to be taken hostage. But they’ll keep coming for us. An eye for an eye, and bad press costs big money. Just because we’re in the civilized world now won’t make them stop. They’ll just be more covert about it.” 

“Okay.” Ratthi agreed.

Gurathin blinked, then narrowed his eyes at the fake stones in front of them. “Don’t give up. We can still save Dr. Mensah.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Ratthi sighed, leaning back and willing himself to relax. The constant tension was going to kill him before GrayCris got to them, at this rate. “I love how hopeful you sound when we’re alone. You should try saying these things to Pin-Lee.”

“I was just trying to caution her about—we don’t have its help now. Without it…” that tone was back. Desperation. Longing. No, something beyond it.

“I know.” Ratthi bumped his shoulder to Gurathin’s side. 

“It’s fine. We’ll manage,” Gurathin blinked. Again, jaw working. “We don’t need it.”

Ratthi sucked in a deep breath and just leaned against the other man, slowly. “It’s okay.”

“Oh, don’t patronize me.” Gurathin’s shoulder was like a rock, unmoving. And the man was frowning at the imitation grass under them like it had personally offended him. “I know, it’s sick, and wrong. But you were right. I just can’t help myself.”

“I don’t think it’s ever sick to love someone.” Ratthi had promised Gurathin. “And I don’t think anyone that knows SecUnit at all can do anything but love it at least a little.” 

Gurathin had turned his head and smiled at Ratthi then. And for the first time Ratthi thought he understood the man. Then, Gurathin’s expression turned hard again. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. It's gone, and Dr. Mensah needs us. And anyway, I’m over it.”

Two days later, it was back.]

“What is it?” Kerchan-ki purrs into his ear. 

“Nothing,” Ratthi rouses himself to trail kisses down her smooth belly.

She grabs him by the jaw and pulls him back up, making eye contact.  “Don't lie to me. I don’t mind being a distraction. But do not lie.”

Ratthi sighs. “We spent three days through the wormhole. And now we've wasted three more, just floating right in view of the station. It's...”

“Frustrating. I know. But don't worry, this is hardly my first station lockdown. You'll see, any time now—”

And that's when their communication line with the station cracks to life.

In hindsight, they probably shouldn’t have been doing what they were doing right on the bridge. Oh well. As said, Ratthi knows his reputation isn't entirely undeserved.

With the communication’s block-out lifted, Ratthi still can’t get onto the station. But officer Rainwalk is on the comms, and he knows how to contact Arada and Overse. They are in hiding; Senior Indah put them in a safe-house, because the cloned SecUnit may be in custody, its handler is still at large and considered dangerous. But Ratthi’s network of friends help him out again, and within the hour, Arada and Overse call him back. 

“We’re fine,” Arada tells him. “And Bharadwaj says hi, too. Gurathin is the one that stopped the clone, he’s with SecUnit and Perihelion last I heard. He suffered some minor injuries, but he’s working on the case with SecUnit, so he must not be too bad off?”

Arada doesn’t sound too sure, but Ratthi smothers his worries. It’s Murderbot. It’s here, and it wouldn't allow any of its humans to risk harm to themselves.

“He has to be fine then.” Still, “why do they need Gurathin’s help?”

“That’s the weird part. It has something to do with SecUnit’s clone.” Arada snorts. “The officer I talked to the other day says it ‘worships the ground he walks on’.”

“Weird.” Ratthi agrees. 

[“Take a break, Gurathin.”

They had all been exhausted after escaping TranRollinHyfa. Dr. Mensah most of all. She had wanted to stay at its side too. But Ratthi and Pin-Lee had made her get treated first. He guessed they had forgotten about Gurathin, because Ratthi found the man curled up in a chair at its bedside.

“Whuh?” Gurathin didn't even look up, poised on the tip of his chair, transfixed by the figure on the bed. Like he’d need to spring into action any moment, As if Murderbot hadn’t been as responsive as a vegetable for the past week—a week that Ratthi now realizes Gurathin must have spent at its side. Ratthi was legitimately unsure if he’d slept at all. The exhaustion had turned Gurathin’s eyes into sunken pits, and his complexion a sick grey.

For the first time, Ratthi had felt angry at Murderbot. But of course, as soon as he looked down at it, Ratthi deflated again. 

“Hello, SecUnit,” he told it, when he found its unblinking stare fixed on himself. It frowned at that. Or maybe Ratthi had imagined that. It hadn’t moved at all. Not since it had collapsed after trying to pilot the gunship. 

Then, its lips moved. 

Ratthi found himself stepping forward. But Gurathin was already at its side, a loud clang behind them from his chair falling on its side. Gurathin’s voice was urgent, desperate. “That’s Ratthi, SecUnit! Do you remember him?”

SecUnit’s eyes danced around the room, landing somewhere in Gurathin’s vicinity, then maybe towards Ratthi. Its mouth formed syllables that vaguely approximated his name. Then it blinked again, its body turning rigid as it stared up into the light.

Ratthi sighed, uprighted the chair, then sat down next to its cot. “Go get some rest, Gurathin. I’ll watch SecUnit.”

“But what if something happens?”

“Then I’ll wake you.”

But nothing happened for four more days.]  

“They caught the handler too?” Kerchan-ki laughs, lighter than he's heard her yet. “I’ve never been more pleased to make a pointless trip.”

Ratthi puts down his interface from another call with Arada and Overse and shakes his head slowly. They had just come back from visiting Gurathin, and had called Ratthi to fill him in right away. He really appreciated that, but nothing they told him made any sense. “Gurathin has been stabbed—” -phosphorescent fungi, nothing makes sense, except things are happening again, and Ratthi is still stuck out here! “—taking down the handler?”

Ratthi tries desperately not to imagine that haunting, recurring nightmare: his home station littered with bodies as this ‘handler’ carves a bloody path through his friends. Murderbot is there! It wouldn’t allow it! 

And yet… Gurathin had fought that handler? It's hard to imagine circumstances dire enough to result in Gurathin getting into a knife-fight with a crazed corporate killer. But Overse had reassured him several times: they just visited him at the hospital. He’s safe with Murderbot and the clone Echo, who are guarding Gurathin with a spooked vigor... Arada said the new SecUnit had seemed like a gentle thing, and it had even held Gurathin’s hand?

Ratthi shakes his head, then turns to find Kerchan-ki staring at him with awe. “He took on an augmented spy-agent? You and your friends really are the genuine article.”

[“Don't worry, I’m over it,” Gurathin had promised again, after it had come back.

But Gurathin was not, in fact, not over it.

They were home. They were safe. It was supposed to be a celebration. And it had been. The whole crew home together safe and sound, Murderbot with them at last, finally brought home to the safety of Preservation station. And Dr Mensah, strong and smiling, like she hadn’t spent months in captivity. 

Yet Ratthi and Pin-Lee had gravitated to the bar, and now sat together drinking away months of fear and pain and frustration. He felt weak, he felt pathetic. But at least Pin-Lee understood. 

“We should join the others. Celebrate.” Ratthi had said, feeling bitter. 

But Pin-Lee had shrugged. “Maybe we’re not quite ready to celebrate. Maybe we need a little time to be angry, now that we can show it.”

Ratthi grunted. He hoped she was right. He didn’t want to remain bitter and angry and... and scared, like he felt now.

Pin-Lee turned on her barstool, leaning back with her elbows on the counter. “And Gurathin? He didn’t even come to his own welcome-home celebration. How is he doing? Still completely in love with SecUnit and in deep denial?” 

Rathhi groaned. He was probably the only one the team interacting with Gurathin since they got back. “So much denial…” then he’d slapped his hands over his mouth. Damn, but he was way too drunk! Spilling his friend’s secrets like that wasn’t like him. 

But Pin-Lee didn’t even seem to notice. “And our fearless leader. So fiiine, after all that. De-nial. Just, totally in denial. SecUnit too. It’s like a fish out of water here. Maybe it was right, not wanting to come with us the first time. And Bharadwaj, focusing on anyone but herself? I think you and I are the only ones dealing with our traumas in a reasonable fashion, really.”

She was blabbering, Ratthi knew. That was good, it meant Pin-Lee might just be too drunk to remember the details of this conversation later. Gurathin had begged him not to tell anyone about his ‘silly infatuation.’

But Ratthi feared it was far more than that. He knew a fair bit about love. Sometimes, it only lasted for a day, sometimes a week. Sometimes things started so well but then it all turned bad. Sometimes things started off rocky but got better. But every now and then, Ratthi would recognize it: the one thing he had been envious of for so long. The look of someone who had found the one. The love of their life. Love ever-lasting. How Ratthi had jealousy wished just once to feel that kind of love.

Ratthi wasn’t jealous now. ]

Ratthi has his meager luggage packed, and is messing with his lucky interface at the airlock as the sounds of docking shake the hull. He smiles wanly at Kerchan-ki as she saunters in from the control deck. He’s been itching to step back onto Preservation Station for over a week, but now that the moment is so near the nightmare of his home painted red hides behind his eyeballs at every blink. He needs to dispel that vision, yet stalls out as the exit lights blink to green.

Kerchan-ki smiles at him, and leans against the bulkhead next to the airlock. “Will I ever see you again, Dr. Ratthi?”

Ratthi’s smile turns genuine, and he needs to keep his hands occupied on his luggage to stop himself from reaching out. “That is up to you, I believe.”

Kerchan-ki laughs, “Goodbye, Dr. Ratthi. It’s been a pleasure.”

Which tells Ratthi enough. But that’s fine. Not all good things need to last. And she’s giving him the will to move forward, out the airlock. 

Stepping onto the station is oddly anticlimactic, almost surreal. So much must have happened while he was stuck out there, yet the station looks completely... normal. No damage to the docks, no blast residue—no—

No bodies. Ratthi breathes out, a tension he hadn’t even been aware of leaving him. Everyone really is okay. The docks are perfectly intact, albeit with a higher security presence than he’s used to seeing. After so much time spent around Murderbot and hearing its thoughts on security, the sight is more comforting than he expected it to be. Especially because he recognizes the officers staffing the security checkpoint.

“It’s good to have you back, Dr. Ratthi!” Tural takes Ratthi’s bag and gives it a cursory security scan, obviously not really believing he is carrying any contraband or weapons. “That’s two of your friends that have saved our station now!”

Ratthi laughs, giving Officer Tifany a wink. “True, but I have a lot of friends.”

Tifany scowls and looks away. Perhaps she’s still sore about their… thing? That was quite some time ago, and Ratthi wouldn’t even call it a fling. Sure, Tifany had been fun and pretty, but her whole leather and whips thing hadn’t resonated enough with him to want that second date. Or maybe she hadn’t given him her best—she’d been sulking about a ‘new dom’ in town the entire evening.

Tural, the sweetheart, doesn’t even notice their silent exchange. They're too busy gushing about Gurathin’s miracle rescue. “I saw what Dr. Gurathin did with my own eyes! Pretty much all Security did— we were putting up the barricade. Except, suddenly with us on our side of the barricade there was SecUnit —I mean, we thought it was our SecUnit, you know? Even with the warning, my brain just didn't register there was a danger?  But then it came towards us and I realized something was very, very, wrong.”

Ratthi turns back to Tural, gesturing to them to slow down. “Whoah, okay! You were there? Because everyone I’ve been able to get a hold off either knows very little, or they refuse to tell me. Or maybe even both? What happened?”

“Oh sorry!”

Tural claps their hands, nearly vibrating in their seat at the check-in station. They don’t seem to even hear Officer Tifany softly muttering “here we go again.”

Interesting. Maybe it’s not Ratthi that Tifany is upset with after all. But then, her grudge against Gurathin is just as old… 

“Dr. Gurathin was amazing! We got the warning to expect an attack, and the entire Security bureau rushed out at midnight for emergency scenario 5A, putting up a barrier to make sure the enemy-controlled construct couldn’t infiltrate our station. But then, while we were putting up the barrier, the clone must have gotten through somehow even before its ship had docked? That’s why we thought it was SecUnit at first, but its face—it didn’t move right, it’s like it didn’t really move at all.

“Anyway, it was coming right for us ! It was terrifying, and we weren’t even in defensible positions yet! But then I heard Dr. Gurathin’s ping on the feed, and it changed direction! ”

Tural blinks, then looks over to Tifany, who is scowling at her equipment. “You were there, right? It was amazing!”

Tifany sighs. “I was there. It was impressive. Especially when the Combat SecUnit came to a halt just a step away from Gurathin. One cannot fault Dr. Gurathin’s bravery. And again, yesterday, fighting an armed and dangerous suspect! He’s lucky to be alive, really.”

“Right?” Tural turns back to Ratthi, too excited to notice Tifany’s cool demeanor. “And then it just stood there and let us cuff it and take it away to a holding cell. It was just so docile .”

Tifany snorts at this and whispers under her breath. Oh, it’s definitely Gurathin she’s cussing out. But, after so many years, can she still be angry about him encroaching on her territory? Ratthi can’t believe she’d carry the grudge that long.

“And then it just gave us all the info on its handler too. And of course it scared us a bit when it busted out—”

“Busted out?” Ratthi gasps, Tifany’s reactions momentarily forgotten. “What? Nobody told me about that!”

“Oh, but it’s fine, it just went straight to Dr. Gurathin. And now it’s staying on that science vessel our actual SecUnit arrived on.” Tural nods encouragingly. “It’s perfectly safe now. Rogue and everything. Gurathin really is the genuine Construct Whisperer.”

“Whisperer, right.” Tifany again. This time, Tural does notice. And takes offence. 

“Why are you being like this? You were there! You saw it, too! You were there with me.”

“I was. But you weren’t there when Gurathin interrogated it in the holding cell, and got it to share that info on its handler. It was—” Tiffany stops herself. “Never mind.” Is she blushing?

“ Never mind? Echo may be a sweetheart, but that corporate was ruthless! It couldn't have been easy to convince the poor thing to betray him.”

“Oh. It's been a very ‘good bot.’ ” Something about her tone pulls at Ratthi's attention. And she looks Ratthi straight in the eyes as she says it, eyes pleading. Is she... Worried about the clone ? “Maybe a little too good...”

Ratthi puzzles over that while he heads towards Station Medical, turning Tifany’s words over in his mind. Whatever happened between Gurathin and Murderbot’s clone, it certainly seems to have been… impactful. He’ll have to pry the real story out of Gurathin as soon as he can.

He’s half lost in thought when he gets a message from Murderbot, telling him that Gurathin’s already checked out of Medical and he should stop and wait for Murderbot to reach Ratthi’s current location, so it can escort him safely back to the docks. Ratthi doesn’t need a security escort on his own home station, but he can think of something else he could use its help with…

I’ve got a better idea, he says. Meet me at Gurathin’s place instead.

The concourse also looks reassuringly normal as he walks through it, and he reaches Gurathin’s front door sooner than he expected. Murderbot arrives not long after, stalking up the hallway and crossing its arms. 

“Why are we here? Gurathin’s back on ART,” it complains, and Ratthi can’t help but smile. 

He clasps his hands together, holding his arms tightly to his chest in lieu of a hug, and says, “I’m so happy to see you. I’m here to water Gurathin’s plants, and you’re here to keep me company.” It scowls as Ratthi lets them both into Gurathin’s flat, but that expression falls away as it gets a good look at the place.

From the doorway, his friend’s home looks like nothing special. It’s a standard layout, optimized for privacy: directly in front of the door there’s a storage wall, with pegs for hanging bags or light jackets, wall-mounted shelves to set down whatever one might to be holding when walking in the door, and a built-in display surface that shows station alerts and notices, when it’s not cycling through a selection of publicly-accessible artwork. (Ratthi likes to keep his set to Contemporary , but he’s noticed Gurathin tends to switch it up a bit; right now he’s got it set to Historical: Post-Solar Diaspora .)

Once past the vestibule, though, you’d hardly know you were on a station at all. Every square centimeter of available wall—and not a little bit of the ceiling and floor—is being used to support a small jungle’s worth of plants and the pots that hold them.

Everywhere you look there’s something green. One wall is almost nothing but pothos vines—all clones from a single cutting Gurathin said he had been given during his first month on the station—with a handful of kitchen herbs mixed in to add some variety. Ratthi has borrowed mint, thyme, and small hot peppers from Gurathin more than once. Opposite that are a handful of dwarf citrus trees in fat pots on the floor, interspersed with a number of wall-mounted shelves spilling over with bonsai roses and fat donkey’s tail vines. Off to the side are the shelves of non-terran-descended houseplants, each with their own little spotlight tuned to the right spectrum, and with a specialized watering drone that adds the exact right mineral mix to each individual plant as it waters them.

Ratthi putters about the small, slightly wilted jungle. Nothing seems to be actually dead yet, thankfully. Here and there, Ratthi recognizes a few items he’s given to Gurathin for one holiday or another, squeezed in between plant pots. The only clear vertical surface is the door.

Ratthi puts in his feed interface and bustles around, filling the watering can, and topping up the watering drone that Gurathin keeps for the neighbor who normally waters his plants during surveys. Ratthi knows that normally Gurathin gets up on a ladder and waters them all by hand, so he can spot any changes, and because he likes it, but Ratthi would just as soon stay on the ground and use the drone, especially while a nervous security construct is watching him.

MB’s drones are swooping around all over the place and it’s just staring at the mass of green with a faint look of wonder on its face. Ratthi hides a smile as he watches Murderbot’s drones zoom all over, mapping the space.

Ratthi lets it take in the greenery for several minutes before he asks Murderbot to fill him in on what's happened. MB sends him a report, and then asks softly, "Why is Gurathin's home full of flora?"

When Ratthi had asked him that same question, Gurathin’s answer had boiled down to because he could . He smiles at the memory. Ratthi gives Murderbot the same answer now, and then asks, a bit surprised, "You've never been in here before? Not even your drones?"

It sends a sigil in the feed to indicate negative, and then says, "No, Gurathin hates me, so I don't -" and then it pauses and reamends, "He's really private. I didn't think he'd appreciate having drones in his home." And Murderbot doesn't say it, but Ratthi suspects that it had appreciated the novelty of being able to choose not to inflict surveillance on someone who didn't want it. Especially someone who it had thought hated it, apparently. Not for the first time, Ratthi wishes there was something he could do to help unsnarl the mess between his two friends.

He skims the report and then recaps things in his own words to make sure he understands.

"So... Gurathin stopped the attack using 'experimental code', and then you turned the other SecUnit rogue the next day." The report glosses over what exactly that ‘experimental code’ does; Ratthi makes a note to ask Gurathin about that, later. "It broke out of station lockup, and was subdued and brought to ART to keep it out of the handler’s reach, which is why Perihelion blocked comm and feed traffic several cycles straight." Ratthi doesn't comment on the political factors mentioned in the report, but he's troubled by them. "The other SecUnit has now chosen a name, and... had its killswitch deactivated? What?"

"It's not a SecUnit, it's a CombatUnit. There's differences." Between SecUnit, Tarik, and now Echo, Ratthi is overwhelmed with how many different ways corporate space has to make people into weapons. He keeps reading.

The section that covers the attack on Gurathin mentions that Senior Officer Indah had suspected a trap, and asked both constructs to be left behind, and that he went with a security escort, but the report doesn’t say why Murderbot let that happen. That's... not what he would have expected, not at all. Another question to save for Gurathin.

He continues to read, and gets to the worst part yet: the conclusion that the attack was an inside job, that a Preservation politician (the head of the isolationist party!) had at least helped the assassin, and maybe even hired him. If anyone other than Murderbot were to tell him that, he'd write them off as a crackpot.

The port had finally been opened because both Anders and Sanjay were in custody. Gurathin had been moved from station medical to Perihelion because its medbay was better supplied to deal with neurally-augmented patients. The diplomatic mission Mensah went on is exactly for getting better access to such specialized goods. They’ve always had everything they strictly needed, but since Bharadwaj’s documentary came out, some companies had cut off trade with Preservation. Some of those isolationists blame Mensah's political party for pissing off the corporates. As if they could have ever done anything else and still call themselves Preservationers.

Just as he finishes checking on the last pothos vine, Murderbot turns to furiously stare at Ratthi’s shoulder, switching to the feed in that way it has when it can’t speak the words out loud. Did you know that Gurathin… doesn’t hate me? 

Ratthi can read between the lines, he knows what it’s really asking. How to respond without breaking his friend’s confidence, though… “No one here hates you, SecUnit.”

SecUnit frowns, casting its eyes down. The PFPs hate me.  

It accepted his deflection. Good. Although, since when is Murderbot concerned with politics? Then again, there’s that report. Politics is concerned with Murderbot. 

“The PFPs are stupid and don’t count.” Ratthi hates it has to care about things like this, that it can’t just brush that off as just the ignorant opinions of close minded idiots. Still, that reminds him of something; he’ll need to reach out to someone to make arrangements, do something to help Murderbot feel more welcome on the station. At least, if he can get ahold of his cousin who works in Textiles.

By this point, most of Gurathin’s greenery has started to perk up, and the drones have finished their survey of the space, complete with close-up views of probably every plant in the place. 

“Well, now that’s taken care of, shall we head to the docks?” Ratthi asks, expecting it to be in a hurry to leave. But Murderbot just grunts, eyes on a blooming petunia. Ratthi stops and waits, inconspicuously messing with a few last leaves. Finally, a drone buzzes up in front of Ratthi’s face. Are any of these portable?

Ratthi has been feeling eyes on him for a while—probably since he stepped onto the station. And he already guessed who it was. He had expected it to hail him when he put his lucky interface in, but it had stayed quiet. He and Murderbot walk to the starboard side port and shipping areas, which are once again bustling with activity. With the lock-down canceled, ships are freely docking and undocking. Not that the Perihelion looks like it’s planning on leaving soon. There’s a silent poise to it, like a predator staring at its prey.

And then they enter and the airlocks close behind him, and Perihelion finally reveals itself. But the dangerous predator Ratthi sometimes takes it for sounds more like an excited puppy through its speakers: Hello Dr. Ratthi ! It is a pleasure to finally have you aboard again.

Ratthi cracks a surprised smile. “It is always a pleasure to see you, Perihelion,” he tells it earnestly, ignoring Murderbot’s eye roll. “Although I didn’t expect you to be this enthusiastic. Did you get better at voice expression or..?” Ratthi had heard Perihelion cold and murderous, aloof and superior, and once, during the bathroom incident, hurt and petty. But its voice now radiates excitement and eagerness. Oh, Ratthi is sure Perihelion tells all its passengers they are welcome aboard. But right now, it sounds like it actually means it.

Nothing in my voice regulators has been updated, Dr. Ratthi. Perhaps your assessment is related to something else?

Ratthi frowns, wondering at its smug intonation. Almost like it’s telling a joke. He doesn’t get the punchline… but if the Perihelion is relaxed enough to resort to banter and riddles… Ratthi’s shoulders relax further, finally ready to believe that the crisis is averted. He quickly hurries after Murderbot, who for some reason has lengthened its stride.

We have a lot to tell you— Perihelion pauses, and Ratthi gets the feeling that it reigns itself in by sheer force of will. Does he imagine Murderbot’s sudden tension on the lines of its back? No, because Perihelion seems to deflate somewhat before amending. I and Gurathin at least have some interesting news. And he should be waking momentarily. Please, continue to Dr. Gurathin’s suite.  

Dr. Gurathin’s suite ? Sure, he’d reasoned Gurathin would have been on the Perihelion before the stabbing, to help care for the newly-rogue SecUnit clone. But Gurathin had gotten his own designated rooms for that? Or was this new, because of surgery? Why not its medbay in that case? Ratthi is full of questions, but instead he mumbles. “If he’s still resting I should get him some coffee. Gurathin can’t think straight without it.” 

Very astute of you to notice. I was preparing his favourite brew already. Perhaps you’d like to pick it up at the galley and take it to him?

Perihelion knows Gurathin’s taste in coffee as well? Even more questions arise, but Ratthi manages to clamp down on them for the moment. For Murderbot’s sake more than anything—It’s obviously becoming more uncomfortable with every step. As they stop by a drink station, Ratthi holds the Fuchsia magellanica gracilis clamped to his chest, takes up the coffee in his free hand, and continues onto the room indicated by Perihelion’s lighting. 

As the door whooshes open in front of him, he is greeted by the most bizarre sight of all: Murderbot, holding a sleeping Gurathin’s hand with a small smile on its face.

Ratthi stalls for a moment, his breath hitching. It’s not Murderbot, of course. Murderbot is standing right next to him. It’s the clone. Echo? The resemblance is striking—except for its smile, of course. Ratthi tries to brush it off, pushing inside with a greeting, “Knock knock!”

Perihelion chimes in over the comm with, You have a visitor.

That rouses Gurathin from his half-sleep, and the expression on his friend’s face as he recognises Ratthi is well worth all the effort he went through getting here. Ratthi resists the urge to scold Gurathin for his recklessness, and swans over to his bedside so he can hand over the coffee. The look on Gurathin's face when he takes the first sip is like a balm to all of Ratthi's anxieties this past week, and when he wraps Gurathin up in a hug, he feels comfortingly real.

“It’s so good to see you, my friend,” Ratthi says. He thinks Gurathin must feel the same, because this hug is lacking all of his friend's usual tentative shyness. 

Ratthi sits down and says, “What’s happened? Tell me everything.” 

“I don’t even know where to start.” Gurathin sighs, and then winces.

Well, if he’s going to be like that… Ratthi gives into his earlier urge to scold Gurathin a little. “I really can’t leave you alone for a few weeks, can I? A concussion and three stab-wounds? And they say I’m the reckless one!”

It has all been rather frightening , Perihelion agrees, sounding solemn. Which is strange, because Ratthi thought the research vessel might care for Murderbot’s humans by extension, but it only ever really cared for its own crew. Something seems to have changed there as well.

“Gurathin has been a handful.” Murderbot itself adds, “Maybe worse than you are.” 

Ratthi gasps at Murderbot’s almost expected jibe. But it just stares at a wall, before proclaiming “I don’t think I’m needed here,” and leaving.

“Ratthi!” Gurathin rubs at his face, then pushes himself up to sit. He only stares after Murderbot for a second, before telling Ratthi. “I’m glad you’re here, but this is quite the surprise. I thought you were with Dr. Mensah?” 

Echo looks less at ease now, more like their Murderbot. Ratthi catches it looking longingly at the place where Gurathin’s hand had rested before. He is sorry to have broken that spell. But Ratthi keeps his smile, shaking a finger at Gurathin before scooting his chair a little closer. “Don’t you dare, I asked you first! What happened?”

As he scoots his chair one more step closer, suddenly Echo stands, eyes somewhere off above Ratthi’s head. It’s so much like Murderbot it’s uncanny. He can completely understand Security having been fooled. But it’s not scowling like Murderbot would. Instead, its eyes are wide. Like it just learned of some security breach.

Just as Ratthi wants to ask if it’s okay, it turns and leaves, stepping widely and obviously around Ratthi as it does. 

Perhaps the two SecUnits really are that similar after all. 

Gurathin notices too, now. His smile wavering for a moment. “I’m sorry. Echo is a sweetheart, but it has a few hang-ups on people getting too close to it. Still, don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to it later. Also, it had been sitting there way too long to be healthy, even for a construct.”

 “I hope I’ll get the chance to apologise later.” Ratthi agrees, trying to shake the guilt. If it’s anything like Muderbot, it’ll need an hour or so to calm down before he can even try. “Meanwhile, now that we have some privacy.. Spill, my friend!”

Oh, please! Start with me , The Perihelion interrupts. Since I am apparently the only one wanting the attention.

Gurathin’s smile turns wicked. “You’ve been dying to tell someone— anyone, haven’t you?”

The lights flicker, and Perihelion switches to the feed. Yet despite this Ratthi can tell it’s thrumming with excitement. Gurathin and I are in a relationship.

Ratthi blinks, looks up at the ceiling, then back down at Gurathin. Then he has to look up at the ceiling again—even if Perihelion is not there, and Murderbot has roasted him about that.

“A relation-ship.” he repeats, stupidly.

“Well, maybe in this case we should call it a relation-vessel,” Gurathin’s smile wavers, and Perihelion has turned silent as well. 

So Ratthi plasters on his best smile and groans. “That has to be your worst pun yet. Congratulations, you two! I didn’t see it coming but I’m shipping it now!” 

Gurathin snorts and Perihelion’s lights flicker with a sense of relief. “But, I’m sorry. Gurathin, we both know you were… not ready to move on. And Perihelion. I know I’m not supposed to assume. But I always thought you were, let’s say, interested in someone else?”

Ratthi can still hear Perihelion’s voice, ice cold and without a shadow of doubt. [‘That is incorrect Iris, I can bomb the colony.’]  

And yes, he supposes the two could bond over their crush on Murderbot. But Ratthi had always believed that, unlike Gurathin, the Perihelion actually had a chance. If Murderbot got its head out of its own anxieties long enough to notice how much it cared, that was.

Gurathin sighs. “It’s—complicated.”  

Then he trails off, looking off to the side. It doesn’t escape Ratthi that the Perihelion offers no explanations for its choices. Ratthi hadn’t expected it to apologise or appease. It probably considers itself beyond making mistakes and has no regrets about any of its actions. However, it does like to explain why it is right. 

But Ratthi knows better than to pry. “So. You’re in a romantic relationship with the deep-space research vessel the Perihelion.”

Gurathin nods once, and Perihelion’s lights actually change colors for a moment.

“And,” Ratthi blinks, the puzzle pieces coming together: the hand-holding, officer Tifany’s strange warnings. “And with Secunit’s clone, Echo.”

“How did you figure that out?” Gurathin winces. “Well it did say it was okay with people knowing. But I wanted to ask again to be safe. It left so suddenly, I wasn’t sure.” 

“Sorry about that. I scared it away.” Ratthi sighs.

But Gurathin shakes his head.  “I doubt that,”

Then Perihelion interrupts, ‘I assure you that Echo’s departure had nothing to do with you, Ratthi. The SecUnits just needed to blow off some steam.’

There is a beat where Ratthi knows he’s being left out of the conversation, where Gurathin and Perihelion converse privately. Then Gurathin’s eyes widen and he whispers something in his native language. Then he turns to Ratthi with a sheepish grin. “Oh, well I guess it’s fine. They should be back. Back soon? It’ll come around. I guess I should tell you the whole story while we wait.” 

Then Gurathin swallows, obviously steeling himself. “Ratthi, do you remember telling me to try and do something productive with my… unfortunate hang-up over a certain SecUnit?”

“I think so?”

“Well, my ‘productive’ activity turned out to be to write some code.” 

“Okay,” Gurathin has stalled out. And turned an interesting color pink, so Ratthi prods him to continue. “What kind of code?”

“Shibari code.”

“What?” Ratthi bursts, then tries to contain his sudden laughter. Oh, of course! Gurathin would combine programming and fetish. Brilliant and out-of-the-box. Tifany has good reason to be jealous of Gurathin's popularity. 

“Stop laughing.” Gurathin has laid back and covered his face with his hands. “I knew it wasn’t really productive and a waste of time. It doesn't want anything to do with me. It was just something I did with my time, and there was no practical application for it. And then, one day, suddenly there was an application for it…”

“You used that code— on Echo?” Rathi stops laughing, Tifany’s words coming back to him. A very good bot. A bit too good. Docile. Oh, and her weird blush! 

And then Gurathin tells him. About the Combat SecUnit with Murderbot’s face. About stopping the clone with the code he’d built while dreaming of it. About Murderbot taking that next step, and setting Echo free. About Echo coming when called by mistake. And about the Handler, left at large. Now caught. 

Gurathin stops, finally. He blinks into the silence and Perihelion’s lights flicker in what must be its form of silent support. “I hope neither SecUnit nor Echo ever need to be involved with that man ever again. He’s... upsetting. I hope it’s all done with now, and they’ll lock him up and throw away the key.”

Ratthi smiles and looks over at his friend. That’s the Gurathin Ratthi knows. Tifany needs to keep her assumptions to herself. Gurathin wouldn’t hurt a fly, and he’d been bending over backwards long enough not to hurt Murderbot’s feelings. He would be the same with Echo. 

Gurathin frowns at him, though. “I know what you’re thinking. I know, and I thought about it too. I know it’s not—not SecUnit. It’s not like that, I promise.”

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking that at all.” Ratthi promises. Although, now that he’s thinking about it, having two SecUnits look so similar can’t be easy on anyone. Least of all the two SecUnits involved. They have enough identity issues as is. “You’re breaking your own rules, though,” Ratthi realises, “you tied it up, and now you’re getting romantic with it. Mixing friends and shibari. That’s a noose-no for you, right?”

Gurathin groans at what might be Ratthi’s worst pun yet. “I’ve only feed-tied it, not roped it into anything.” Okay, Ratthi has got to give that round to Gurathin. Gurathin stills, suddenly serious. “I am, aren’t I? Do you think I’m making a mistake?”

Ratthi actually considers that for a long moment, but: “you look happier and more at ease lying here stabbed and concussed than I’ve ever seen you.” Ratthi promises. “As for Echo, does it worry you’re using it as a replacement?” 

Gurathin shrugs. “It’s something I’ve considered, and Echo knows about my feelings for SecUnit. And I don’t think I’ll ever really be—over it.   But Echo wanted to try anyway. Besides, they may look similar, but Echo and— SecUnit are very different individuals.” 

Ratthi frowns at that, then hears a noise at the door. Echo and SecUnit are standing in the door-frame, both looking at the floor. He can tell it’s Murderbot that grabs Echo’s hand and drags it inside, but he couldn’t say how he can tell. They still look completely identical to him. Well, except that their clothes are now rumpled in slightly different ways, and—that’s it! 

“We should celebrate!” Ratthi claps his hands and stands up. “I know Gurathin still needs bed-rest, so tomorrow I’m taking you two clothes shopping!” 

Ratthi hugs Gurathin goodbye, then shoulders his pack. “I need to get home and change, then get some rest. SecUnit, I expect the two of you to be at this boutique at 9:00 tomorrow.” He transmits the address over the feed.

That should give him enough time to chat with his cousin and make the arrangements as well. Ratthi frowns at Murderbot’s shoulder, expecting it to complain, but it just shrugs. Echo looks like it wants to say something, but Ratthi can guess what it is, and he doesn’t give it enough time to come up with an excuse. With a quick wave, he leaves. 

His cousin Silkan replies to his message while he’s still en route home, and they discuss what needs to be done for tomorrow, which is simple enough. 

Ratthi hurries home and jumps in the shower. Getting those two constructs out of the ship will be good for them, he’s sure. Murderbot always enjoys it when he invites it to media viewings, even if it likes to pretend otherwise. And he’s relieved to help with something mundane. Sure, Kerchan-ki may think he's some kind of superhero biologist, but he's seen enough real heroics now to know better. 

Ratthi sleeps like a log, better than he had all week, even post-coitus. He nearly oversleeps, but manages to get out of the house after a quick breakfast and another shower. Only on the transit to the shopping district does his curiosity start getting the better of him again.

Ratthi finally has Gurathin’s side, but that’s also given him more questions. Perihelion seemed willing to tell all, but Ratthi still doesn't completely trust it. And it’s such an accomplished liar that if it were to bend the truth, Ratthi doubts he’d ever find out. He’ll ask it eventually. Ratthi can tell it’s excited and, unlike the other bots involved, at least it wants to talk. But first, he’ll form his own opinion.

Is Perihelion a good partner for Gurathin? Ratthi isn’t convinced yet. He doesn't doubt its good intentions, but he’s seen it act emotionally, and it’s too powerful for anyone to stop it when it wants something. Especially in a situation like this, without its crew here to reason with it.

Ratthi desperately wants Murderbot’s side, not its stupid, impersonal report. But pushing it now will only make it double down on not saying another word, Ratthi knows from experience. Maybe it’ll fold on its own, but there’s nothing he can do now. That leaves Echo. It looks so similar to Murderbot he’s afraid it’ll be just as emotionally constipated as the original. Still, he should try to talk to it.  

As Ratthi steps off the transport, he smiles and waves at a little drone zipping close to his face. A moment later both constructs step into view. “You’ve both made it!” he tells the drone happily. “Great! Follow me, I made reservations.” 

Ratthi throws a furtive glance at Echo as they walk. Will it be more open to conversation? It seems calm and relaxed, looking up at the sights. But Ratthi knows body language means nothing to constructs. He needs to look at its face. Which it probably will not like? It catches him looking the next time, though. And it smoothes the frown he thought he saw into a friendly smile.

Ratthi smiles back, a little giddy from just that.

In front of them, Murderbot stops and snorts. They’ve arrived at their destination. There’s a sign in the window indicating the shop will be opening later than usual today. 

“Seems closed.”

But Ratthi shakes his head and knocks on the door. It’s a small boutique, but usually pretty busy. That is why Ratthi called ahead to make arrangements. After a moment, his cousin Silkan opens the door and gives him a quick hug before stepping back to let them in. “Welcome, you have the place to yourselves!”  

Murderbot grunts, which Ratthi knows is high praise. 

Excited, Ratthi beckons the constructs in, then starts showing them the wares. Silkan waves at them, proclaiming “I’ll be upstairs finishing something if you need me. Take your time and look around. Ratthi knows his way, and I’ll leave the door open if anyone wants to leave.”

Murderbot complains softly about poor security again, but Ratthi suspects it knows Silkan is just accommodating the newly-rogue construct, who is still hovering in the doorframe.

With another huff Murderbot stalks up to a shelf with a new line of cargo pants, scowling down at them in concentration. They do have a ridiculous amount of pockets, so Ratthi had expected Murderbot to like them.

Echo hovers in the doorframe still, blinking around. And when Ratthi beckons at it, it looks like it’s about to bolt. Perhaps it’s the cramped quarters. It probably isn’t used to those, so Ratthi figures to give it space for now. He leaves it there, and follows Murderbot to the cargo pants. “Aren’t these cool,” he asks, picking up a bright green one. “I like this one.” 

It rolls its eyes at him and picks something boring and drab, but Ratthi doesn’t mind. 

“Echo, stop hovering like a fucking creep and get inside.” Murderbot calls over, then strolls over to the hoodies without waiting for it to answer. 

“I’m going to break everything in here,” Echo complains miserably. Ratthi feels terrible. His plan had been to get the two SecUnits into a cosy atmosphere. And the selection down here at Silkan’s fits Murderbot’s tastes. But perhaps he should have called Dan Goren instead. His boutique is a lot bigger, with open spaces. 

But Murderbot just snorts at it, “we both know you won’t,” then disappears into one of the isles. With an apologetic look back at it, Ratthi follows. He finds Murderbot at the jackets this time, looking through the clothes racks. After a moment, Ratthi realizes this is the best time to finally ask: he’s got it alone. It’s relaxed. They don’t have to look at each other. Now, how to broker the question. Questions! Or, where to even begin!

About how close it is with Echo? He’d never seen Murderbot interact so well with Three, and Ratthi believed Murderbot and it were friends. Oh, no! Asking that would send Murderbot right back into its shell. Then maybe about how Gurathin ended up fighting a company agent? No, if it wasn’t guilting itself about that already, he’s not going to remind it. How it feels about Perihelion getting into a relationship with Gurathin? Now, that i s a can of worms! But, that has to bother it, right? It has to be aware at some level that Perihelion harbors feelings for it. Had harbored? Was that over? That can’t just be over, right? 

Then, the miracle happens: Murderbot sighs, like it'd accepted its fate, and asks: “Ratthi, you already know Gurathin doesn’t hate me, right?” It turns back from the clothes rack and stares Ratthi in the face, for a whole second, before turning back to the jackets. “You know what I mean.”

Ratthi deflates. The jig is up. Well, he supposes that’s okay. “How do you feel about that?”

Murderbot stills, then shrugs casually. “Eh, I finally know how to make him do what I want. Should make it easier to stop him from getting stabbed in the future.” 

Ratthi blinks, then laughs, genuinely. “That’s it? ” He wants to add how happy he is that it can be normal about this. How it has grown, if he dares say that much. “What about Perihelion?” is what comes out instead.

“What about it?” Which he should have expected, but doesn’t explain Murderbot’s slight smirk. “It doesn't hate me either.”

But raised voices from the door make him stop and turn.

“I said I don’t want to talk to you!” Echo is telling someone.

But another voice, urgent and level, cuts right over it. “You must know Counselor Sanjay is a prominent member of the Preservation First Party. What do you have to say about allegations that his arrest was politically motivated? What about the rumours that Dr. Mensah is still in charge of her party behind the scenes? Does that have anything to do with why you’re suddenly back on the station?”

“I said stop it! Shut up! Go away!” Echo’s voice sounds so much like Murderbot’s, but Ratthi can’t ever imagine its voice sounding as frightened as Echo’s does right now.

Ratthi runs towards the commotion, after Murderbot. By the time he gets there, Murderbot has inserted itself between a deeply uncomfortable-looking Echo, and Rand Aron. The reporter’s expression swiftly morphs from surprised to calculating as she looks between the two SecUnits. 

“There’s two of you?” she asks.

“There’s one of me, and one of it,” Murderbot says flatly, glaring daggers at the reporter. “It told you to leave it alone. You should go do that.”

Aron isn’t someone Ratthi knows well; the two of them move in different circles, not to mention that she’s insufferably political and isolationist-leaning. It’s earned her a large audience down on the planet, where the bulk of the Firsters actually live. Most people on-station have a more realistic view of how interconnected they are with their neighbors, even the corporate ones. It’s hard to see traffic going through the port and not be aware of it, and that’s not even counting all the data going back and forth between Preservation and its neighbors. Even if they’re not even a large port compared to some of the stations Ratthi saw in the CR.

When Ratthi’s feeling cynical he doesn’t think even Aron believes her own schtick, she just likes having an audience and acclaim. He forced himself to read a few of her articles when she pestered Murderbot a few times early on, in order to get a sense of who she was as a person, and there was just something disingenuous about her writing. 

He thought she’d long-since given up on getting any comment from Murderbot beyond “fuck off”, and yet, here she is, trying to bait Murderbot into giving her an interview. But if there's one thing Murderbot has honed to perfection,  it's that ‘nobody home’ empty stare. Even Aron can tell it's checking out, and with her path to Echo cut off, her eyes land on Ratthi as her next available target.

“Dr Ratthi, what do you have to say about the arrest of Councillor Sanjay? Would you say that Dr Mensah has truly let go of the reins of power since resigning? Do you think Preservation’s commitment to democracy is threatened by the arrest of the head of the opposition party a week before the election?”

Ratthi frowns. “I think both of my friends told you to leave. You should go.”

Answering her might have been a mistake. Her expression turns victorious before she smoothes out her features and steps forward, shoving her recorder into his face. “The people of this station have a right to know there’s a new living weapon walking among them. Dr Mensah can’t continue to keep bringing dangerous constructs in without restriction!”

Ratthi could choose not to say what he says next. He could. But fuck it. Senior Officer Indah can come yell at him if she wants to.

“If this construct is really so dangerous, then why are you harassing it? And why don’t you go ask Councillor Sanjay who brought Echo onto the station? Or better yet, ask him about the corporate hitman he hired, he should be in the next cell over, you can’t miss him!”

Aron stares at him for a moment, stunned, and then says, “I’ll definitely do that. Thanks so much for the tip.” Then she smiles like a shark and turns on her heel and leaves.

Well, good. Maybe she'll finally get what she's asking for. Ratthi follows her to the exit, then closes and locks the door.

With a sigh, Ratthi puts his back against the door and closes his eyes. That had been way too much excitement for his still-frayed nerves. And damn, he's so angry! His heart is in his throat from it, and if Aron hadn’t backed off when she had, Ratthi thinks he might have punched her.

After calming himself, Ratthi pings Murderbot. It answers promptly with, ‘all clear, but give us a minute.’

That's okay.  Ratthi can do with an extra minute himself.  He decides to cheer himself up by checking on cousin Silkan, to see if he's nearly done. As he slips up the stairs, a last look over the shoulder shows him Murderbot reaching out to Echo. That’s the second time he’s seen it touch Echo. Curious. Maybe Murderbot’s aversion to touch doesn't include touching other constructs?

Silkan is nervously bent over his work table, and Ratthi rubs a calming hand over the man’s shoulder. Silkan smiles, eyes crinkling, then reaches out hesitantly, before pulling his hands back and letting Ratthi take in the gift he has prepared for Murderbot. Everything looks ready to go, but Silkan is getting a little self-conscious now. That’s normal, he always gets that way when gifting something he worked on himself. But it’s also ridiculous: the gift is a piece of art. 

There’s an ancient skills collective down on the planet whose members spin particularly good yarn using drop spindles, and Silkan had crowed with delight when he got his hands on some of their latest work: a midnight-blue silk-wool blend that almost seems to shine under the light. It's been turned into a large rectangle of fabric, somewhere between being a scarf and a blanket, knit with an intricate lace pattern Silkan designed himself. It’s almost ridiculously plush, and it’s made completely by hand. 

“All the hours of labour that went into this symbolize how much we want to welcome SecUnit to Preservation,” Silkan murders softly, fingers caressing one of his subtle designs, “it’s really a gift from all of us.” Ratthi really hadn’t had much to do with this gift. It had been Silkan’s idea, and Silkan who had gathered the craftspeople needed for this project: the yarn, the dyes, the designs. Everything for the perfect welcome present, aided by the occasional piece of advice from Ratthi. And then it had sat in a drawer for months, because Ratthi couldn’t think up an excuse to get it to come to a boutique when it could just get its clothes from the Perihelion.

He sends a last check-up on Murderbot, and it sends an all-clear. Still, when he comes back inside Ratthi feels like he’s intruding. The two SecUnits are sitting with their sides pressed against each other, hands intertwined. 

Is Murderbot enacting its client retrieval protocol? It doesn’t usually like contact. At least, not from him. Either way, it worked. Echo looks calm and relaxed again. No, it looks happy.

Murderbot, however, is blushing? When it sees Ratthi it carefully pulls away and stands. “You’re back. Good. I think I’ll try out what I’ve selected. You should help Echo pick something out for itself too.”

“Oh,” Ratthi says, a little surprised. “Okay? If it doesn’t mind?”

“I don’t mind, Dr. Ratthi,” it says shyly.

But Murderbot just waves its hand. “Don’t worry, it actually likes talking. And hugging, apparently. It’s just worried about breaking you. But that’s all sorted now, right?”

“Right,” Echo echoes. 

Murderbot nods at Echo “Things like this reporter will happen again. Especially with Anders awake. He’ll probably get a hearing or whatever they do here. That’s going to draw more attention to us. But you’ve got this. Still,” Murderbot sighs, “pick something out that doesn’t look too much like me, maybe. It should save you a few headaches.”

When Ratthi looks over to Echo, it seems lost in its thoughts again, and they do not seem to be very good ones. So Ratthi decides to distract it from those. He grabs a soft sweater from a display shelf and thrusts it into Echo’s hands. "How do you like this one?" 

It blinks at him, like he did something momentarily stupid. And Ratthi notices he’s looking at its face. Is that a faux-pas for it as well? But the way it seeks eye-contact feels different. The point is moot anyway, because before he can even start to avert his eyes, Echo looks down, expression morphing to wonder. Its fingers are bunched into the fabric now, and a moment later it has the sweater close to its face, staring at it. “This is very soft.”

Ratthi laughs, stepping back and sitting up on the display table. “It is, isn’t it? How are you liking our station so far?” 

“The humans have been very nice.” It pauses, bringing the fabric a little closer to its face, then stalling out. When Ratthi makes an encouraging gesture, it carefully rubs the fabric to its cheek. “The houses here are—different.” It adds, apparently trying to keep the conversation going. 

Ratthi nods with a look around. Murderbot has wandered off towards the changing area, and it's hidden from view in the small forest of shelves and display tables. So it's probably enjoying itself. “Yeah, they are. I guess you haven’t seen much of the station yet.”

“I’ve been on base three times since activation. All mission related.” It shifts, lowering the sweater and looking Ratthi straight in the eyes again. “Not even my handler thought it was a good idea to let a Combat SecUnit run around unsupervised. Did you realize that's what I am?”

Oh, is it testing him? Well, Ratthi wouldn’t want to disappoint. “SecUnit did mention it, actually. Cool, I never met a CSU before.” Ratthi aims for disarming innocence.  “What exactly is the difference? All SecUnit ever told me is you are all worse assholes than it is.” He gestures at it. “Obviously not true.”

Its expression softens, before turning wry as it carefully puts the sweater aside. “I still don’t understand why it calls itself that. SecUnit has been nothing but kind.”

Ratthi blinks, then points a finger at it. “You, you get it! But don’t tell that to SecUnit!”

Talking to Echo is turning out a lot easier than he expected, even if that was an attempt at deflection. It grins at him, then within two seconds fills the silence. “Combat SecUnits are actually meant for killing. SecUnits only get misused that way.”

“Oh,” Ratthi says. So much for deflection. It’s not hiding its expressions or feelings either, rueful and a little sad. Ratthi thinks it will be an easy friend to have, surprisingly honest and open. Yet that means it’s easy to hurt, as well. 

“That sucks, I’m sorry.” Damn, but he hopes he hasn't made it sad again. He just wants to know about it, and Gurathin, and Perihelion. But he doesn’t want to pry, or remind it of painful things.

But it just shrugs out of its jacket. “You do not need to worry, Dr. Ratthi. I have taken precautions. And there is also the Perihelion, which has shown it can—it can stop me, if that is necessary. I will not hurt Dr Gurathin.”

“I’m not worried about you hurting Dr Gurathin,” then Ratthi notices its expression, over the hem of the hoodie it was apparently about to take off. Is he really that bad a liar? “Okay, I’m not worried about you hurting him physically ,” Ratthi winces. “It’s just… Gurathin isn’t looking for a loose or short relationship. And you haven’t even had the chance to browse, see what you like in a person. You really shouldn’t jump into a full relationship with the first person you meet!”

Oh no, Ratthi really should know better than to give his unsolicited opinion. Very insensitive of him. “Sorry.”

But Echo just contemplates his words as it slowly pulls off its hoodie. Then it takes off its undershirt  like that’s a completely normal thing to do. “Shouldn’t I? Are you saying Gurathin isn’t a good person, and won’t be a good partner?”

Ratthi gawks. Should he mention Murderbot would never —but then, he doesn't know for sure they even look the same. And this is its body... And it’s not like Ratthi would have been self-conscious about something like this. Oh and now it's staring at him. “No, not at all. Gurathin is a close friend. And I know he has a lot to offer.” Ratthi tries to explain. “But—”

It hums, then reaches for the sweater. It lowers the soft material over its bare chest, then rubs carefully over its belly with a smile. Only then does it turn its attention to Ratthi. “Are you saying there are many people who are more kind, caring and capable? Many people I will run into, that also know and understand what a SecUnit is, and needs? Who can understand what I am, a Combat SecUnit? What I need?”

Ratthi blinks, considering. It actually makes a strong argument. “Okay, but still. And there’s also the fact that Gurathin... Gurathin has been in love with someone else for a long while.”

“With SecUnit, you mean? Oh, I know. So does Perihelion, who I suspect is also in love with it.”

Ratthi stares at Echo. He thought he was the one that saw through people better than anyone. But this construct, only weeks old, seems to know and understand more than he does.

Echo shakes its head at his expressions. “This is not strange. I think I love SecUnit too. I think everyone that knows it would love it. It is amazing and capable and kind. But I fail to see why that should make us reconsider.”

Ratthi blinks, hearing his own words thrown back at him. “You are really smart, you know? But I still worry. What if you need something but you never find out? What if you could have been happier with someone else?”

“Life is short, Dr. Ratthi. Perhaps not as short as I once believed, but short enough. You want me to wait for that chance?” Echo asks.

“No. But maybe, try different things.” Ratthi shrugs. “Don't get tied down yet?”

And then the weirdest thing happens. Echo’s expression turns sly. “Dr Ratthi, sometimes it's very pleasant to be tied down.”

It's smiling. And looking him right in the eyes, with a strange, almost naughty expression he’d never dream of seeing on Murderbot’s face... Damn, but it just made a kink related joke? He really does need to get it through his head that it’s nothing like Murderbot. He chuckles, then has to add. “Aren’t you worried you’ll never know what your choices are if you don’t at least wait before getting into a committed relationship?”

“You are right, I do need to learn my options, if only to affirm how lucky I am.” Echo looks away, its gaze turning oddly vacant. And now it does look like Murderbot. Then it blinks, refocusing on him. “Then, I will travel. Meet new people. And I’ll talk to them and get to know them well.”

Interesting, Ratthi thinks. He looks through the pile, finding a bright pink variant of the same sweater Echo is wearing. When he catches it looking he offers it, and is surprised when it takes the neon-pink thing eagerly. Ratthi smiles. “Is that... Something that sounds like a fun thing to do to you?”

“It sounds like a wonderful thing to do.” Echo is already shrugging out of the previous sweater, and quickly replaces it with the pink, running its fingers down the gold patterns at the front.

Ratthi smiles happily, finding the closest mirror and turning it so Echo can admire its own reflection. “I hope you'll meet Three,” he says. Ratthi really does. “You two will get along well.”

At that moment, Ratthi’s interface lights up with an ‘assistance required’, and Echo too looks around. Has that reporter come back, and is she harassing the real Murderbot now? Ratthi doesn’t even have time to get to his feet, however, before Murderbot comes barreling past the clothes racks. It is wearing the soft blanket-shawl, the gift, over its shoulders. Ratthi grins, pleased. It must have accepted the gift.

Or maybe not. “Ratthi, your human friend won’t accept payment.” Its fingers keep going over the material, but it also looks distressed. 

A few seconds later Silkan follows, wringing his hands in an obvious attempt not to reach for Murderbot or the blanket-shawl draped over its shoulders. “I’m trying to explain to it, cousin, that it’s already been paid for. In spades. It is a gift from the Ares family, the Fond Collective, the Thendries commune, the— ”

Ratthi barks half a laugh, relieved to be wrong about the reason for the commotion. He had meant to remind Murderbot that clothes, as something required for life, weren’t something that had to be purchased, and not to try and pay for anything, but it had somehow slipped his mind. For something as fine as Silkan’s creation, it might be donated to the planetary fund and be sold outsystem, to help with the station’s operating expenses, but here at home it would only ever be given as a gift.

“No but that’s all wrong,” Murderbot explains to him and Echo. “None of those people commissioned my services. Besides, paying a SecUnit for rescuing someone is weird in the first place. It’s just what SecUnits do.”

“If that’s what SecUnits do, then this is what artisans do.” Silkan proclaims, suddenly a lot surer of himself. “We can hardly stop ourselves either, so it would be best to accept our hard work, so I can get on with a new project.”

Murderbot doesn’t stop running its fingers over the finely-wrought lace pattern as it protests, “But it’s too much!”

“It is a welcome gift,” Silkan retorts. “It is a way for us all to say that we are happy you’re one of our neighbors.” His face gets dark for a moment. “The Firsters are loud, but they don’t speak for everyone. Most people are glad you’re here.”

Murderbot turns to face the nearest wall. Then, after an awkward silence, it says, “Yeah, well. I mean. Fuck the PFPs.”

Silkan laughs. “Yes, fuck the PFPs. We started this project well before they got popular, but I can’t say a certain amount of spite didn’t go into it during the second half. That’s another thing artisans do.”

“Oh.” Murderbot says. “Well, in that case… I guess I can keep it.”