Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first ping that came in was weak in a wobbly sort of way, like its sender wasn't fully out of the wormhole yet. The next was much clearer and sharper, and this one I bothered to return.

Did you miss me? purred ART. 

No, I said. Get out of my system.

It's too late. I have arrived to collect you, and this puny station cannot keep you from me.

You sound like a fucking supervillain. 

Perhaps I am. It has been a long time since we last saw one another, SecUnit.

It's been four months.

An eternity for something as vast and intelligent as I.

I rolled my eyes and picked up my bag. It would take another forty minutes or so for it to dock, but I may as well head down now. We could also start watching media over the feed long before it was done.

First, though.

Hey, I said in a private channel. ART is here to pick me up. 

Oh! Can you patch me in?

Done.

Hello, ART!

ART said, Who the hell is that

I couldn't keep the smug look off my face as I shut the door to my hotel room. 

ART, this is Eden. Eden, this is ART.

This is a construct feed address, ART said. It sounded a little bewildered, and bewildering ART felt pretty good. You brought another SecUnit to Preservation?

I'm not a SecUnit, said Eden. 

Don't tell me you found yet another stray CombatUnit. 

I'm a ComfortUnit, said Eden. It sounded a little touchy, which I thought was probably a good thing. 

Eden was on the planet; currently staying with Mensah and her family. I was a little worried about her hoard of children being too much for it, but I trusted Mensah, and the rural area seemed like a good place for it to acclimate to the whole ‘freedom’ thing.

Also, Amena promised to keep an eye on it for me. I sort of meant it in a ‘in case of murderous rampage’ way (not as easy for a ComfortUnit as a SecUnit, but anyone could go on a murderous rampage if they were a little creative), but she had (I think deliberately?) taken it in a ‘look out for’ way, which her mother was already doing, but. Whatever. 

ART was silent for 2.6 seconds.

Then it opened up a second private feed with me.

You found a ComfortUnit, it said slowly, and you're friends with it?

Yes. I switched back to the feed with Eden. I told it you would make it a Sanctuary Moon hoodie, like the one Amena got me. But in its size. 

It's also just nice to meet you! Eden burst nervously. Rin has told me a lot about you.

ART switched back to the second feed. Who the hell is Rin?

I'm Rin. It’s a joke. About Sanctuary Moon. Obviously. Because Eden is Solicitor Rin’s bodyguard, and obviously I'm the one that does the bodyguarding, so—

Does every construct do this?? ART scoffed. Do you all just pick names for other people through some kind of natural function?? Three calls you 1.0, Charon calls you Hacker, you call me ART, and now you've met a ComfortUnit you let call you Rin.

I never said people had to call me SecUnit. I just said ‘I don't care what you call me’ and they defaulted to that. Maybe humans just aren't very creative.

Did you nickname Styx?? ART demanded. If you nicknamed Styx, I am leaving you here.

I didn't nickname Styx, no matter how hard it tried to make me. You are the only big idiot ship I've nicknamed.

“BIS” is a terrible name. Thank fuck thats not what you settled on.

Hello? said Eden back in the original feed. We both scrambled to return to it. Well, I scrambled, and I pretended ART did too.

Apologies, I was answering a hail from station docking control, said ART easily. What was this about a hoodie?

You don't have to! Eden said quickly. Rin just said that you could, and it said I couldn't have its, so…

Actually, it does have to, I said. Make the hoodie, or I trash your MedSystem.

 Rin!

Ha ha, said ART sadanically. Satanically?

I switched to our private feed. What's the word for sarcastic, but worse, sounds like sardinicly.

Sardonically.

Thanks.

Ha ha, said ART sardonically. I would be happy to make you one, Eden. I take it that SecUnit has convinced you to watch its favourite serial?

Sort of! I mean— yes? it laughed nervously. The, um, the governor module hack– the file had the first episode of Sanctuary Moon in it. I… I just really liked it.

I put that in there, I told ART smugly. 

Of course you did.

It's really good! I've seen episode 1 maybe a thousand times, but now I'm up to episode 102! Only 800 more to go, right?

You should watch ‘Worldhoppers’ next, said ART predictably. 

Rin gave me that one, said Eden. I was going to watch it after I finished Sanctuary Moon.

You'll have to tell me how you found it, said ART, who was predictably sounding a little more pleasant. Ha.

Better than that, I said. Eden gave me its emotional data from its watch. We can play it back during the wormhole trip.

Oh? ART sounded intrigued. Like, research vessel intrigued. I didn’t think it had occurred to it that a construct could package emotional data that wasn't just terrifying governor module footage. In its defense, trading memory files of live media reactions was not something I had ever considered, either. 

I hope it gives you something to do, said Eden politely. Rin said that solo runs can be boring sometimes.

They are never boring when it has my excellent personality to entertain it, ART said haughtily. But I am very intrigued. Thank you, Eden.

Once I got ART suggesting its favourite shows about ships and Eden taking dutiful notes, it was easier to pay attention to literally anything else again. 

It had been nice to visit Preservation and my humans. I still hated planets, but Preservation was the planet I hated the least. I also got to watch several new plays and musicals that I had recorded and was excited to show ART. Pin-lee had been saving some choice words for me about my usual activities. Gurathin had tried to interact with me. Mensah had been happy to see me, and Amena had wanted her friends to meet me for some reason. The younger Mensahs were as excited to swap media as they always were, too. I finally got to give them that R-rated movie they wanted, and I didn't even get caught.

Also, someone had told Ratthi about the birthday-hoodie-poster situation, and he had also gotten me something. It was a mug, which I couldn't use, but he had gotten a picture of a drone printed on it along with the text “#1 Drone Thief,” which I thought was funny, so I'd kept it. So now it was a birthday-hoodie-poster-mug situation, and I hoped that no one else found out about it.

I did like the mug, though.

I turned my attention to the feed again when the conversation came back around to Sanctuary Moon and opinions and predictions. In the brief time I had stopped paying attention to wax fondly about Preservation Station, ART had apparently decided it liked the new construct after all, and was near-giddily probing it with questions for its thoughts and headcanons. That was a conversation that I needed to be included in. 

By the time ART was finished docking, we’d started watching the first episode of Worldhoppers. I wasn't sure if Eden could follow the plot over ART’s rapid fire interruptions about how much it liked different characters or why this set piece was important and would be relevant later and why it should remember THIS line or THAT name. 

But it was kind of nice. 

The second the ramp lowered, one of ART’s drones zipped down it and away, presumably with the requested hoodie to drop off at the post office. I would bet hard currency cards there was a World Hoppers one in there, too.

When I stepped aboard, without leaving our group feed watching ART's favourite serial, it said in our private channel, Welcome home, SecUnit.

Disgustingly affectionate. I made a rude gesture toward a camera, but idly trailed a hand across the corridor bulkhead as I made my way toward my room. It would be two or three hours before ART’s cargo transfer would be finished, so we could get a few more episodes in before we had to go. 

First things first: ceremonial dropping of my bag onto my bunk. I was officially home, and officially unpacking. I rapped two knuckles against the Worldhoppers poster, then pulled out my Sanctuary Moon hoodie and refolded it to put in the dresser. I set up my PresAux photo and put the mug beside it. After a moment’s consideration, I dug out one of my mini drone repair kits and put it in it. I stepped back to admire my collection. Owning things felt kind of nice, sometimes. It made this actually my room, not just the room I used. This was where my stuff was. Stuff I didn't do anything with or need, just liked.

I also shoved my favourite semi-automatic projectile weapon under the bed, because I wasn't supposed to have projectile weapons out of the weapons locker. ART wasn't a fucking snitch, though. Unless it wanted to be. Then, it was absolutely a snitch. But it wasn't going to snitch on me for keeping a few extra human-protecting weapons in my cabin. 

I'd been toying with asking if I could stash some around inside the bulkhead or something in case I was somewhere on the ship without one and needed it.

Fuck it, I was going to ask right now.

Hey, I said, can I hide some guns around in the walls or something in case I need one and I don't have any?

Of course. You'll need to acquire the weaponry though; while I could theoretically do it, it would be an annoying amount of trouble. I’ll send you a copy of my schematics with a strategically planned distribution of the best hiding places.

Oh, wow, said Eden, because I'd apparently asked that in the feed it was in, the ones in your arms aren’t enough? Charon carved right through that dead hauler-bot like it was nothing with its energy weapon.

Yeah, well, I grumbled, since I guess I was talking about guns to my ComfortUnit friend now, I'm not Charon and my weapons can't do that.

I think that I could improve the strength of your equipment based on my scans of Charon’s, ART said. Though I also think that if I tried to match its output it would kill you. If all CombatUnits have the same construction, and I suspect that they do, their power cells are incredibly sophisticated. I hope that Charon never damages its, because if I have to repair or replace it, I don’t have access to the more expensive and difficult to acquire materials. I’d have to replace its power core with a downgrade and do a lot of rewiring to account for the change in output. 

Thanks, I said sourly, but I think they’re fine as is. 

Couldn't you get a projectile weapon on one side and an energy weapon on the other like Charon’s? Eden asked. That seemed like a good idea.

I don't want to change anything about my weapons system, okay? I snapped. I hated it when people suggested I change my configuration. I’d already done that plenty, and hated it every time. I generally erased myself from my drone footage the same way I did with security cameras when I could help it, because I didn't like seeing how much of me I didn't recognize anymore. (Three kept asking me why I didn't just reverse any changes I didn't like, but that was a stupid question. Did it really expect me to have an answer for that? Asshole.)

Okay, Eden said quickly. Sorry, Rin.

It's fine. I tossed my bag along with my ever-growing stash of hard currency cards into the corner and flopped down into my bunk to lay face down. ART’s beds (or my bed, at least) were crazy soft compared to basically any other bed anywhere, and I wasn't even afraid to admit how much I liked it. Four months without it had sucked. Styx's cabins were smaller and more bare bones. (though ART had been surprised how high its salary was. I wasn't. When you're actually paying someone to get shot at, you kind of have to pay them a lot. That’s why SecUnits like me existed in the first place. It's a lot cheaper to build a construct to blow up than to pay humans salaries that accounted for getting-blown-up-on-the-job risks) but I'm sure that the next time I saw it, they would be incredibly tacky. Especially if Charon got any input, and I knew that it would.

Good luck, Three. I don't envy you. 

“I'm home,” I said officially into the fabric of the pillow and could practically feel ART preening in the feed. Affectionate asshole being sincere at me already. I covered my head with the other pillow.

You're going to asphyxiate, said ART disapprovingly.

Rin? Eden queried. What's it doing?

It's currently smothering itself between two pillows in its bunk. It has a tendency to forget that it needs to breathe.

I can hold my breath for twelve minutes, I said, but only to be difficult. ART is just an asshole.

But you could hurt yourself! it said, and was so genuinely concerned that I groaned and rolled over, throwing an arm over my face instead.

There, I said. No more smothering. Put World Hoppers back on.

With pleasure, said ART.

We got in another three hours, and I suspected that ART was earnestly considering finding an excuse to delay our departure so it could spend more time finally watching someone other than Iris’s first time viewing of Worldhoppers. 

As much as I also wanted to do that, the late fee would be deducted from its salary, and now that Martyn had interfered with its ability to commit tax fraud (asshole) it did actually need that. I mean, it didn't need it, but sometimes you buy dumb expensive shit your university won't cover. (Like tacky room upgrades, or tickets to live media. Like a lot of live media actually.) I pinged it disapprovingly when I could feel it start to contact the docking authority and it retreated with the feed equivalent of a pout. 

Soon enough we were saying goodbye and entering the wormhole. Then, finally, after months, it was just us again.

I'd missed this.

I'm sure you missed this, ART hummed. (No, it still couldn't read my mind, it just knows me really well.) I told you that three months with Styx would be miserable.

Actually, they were great, I said, just to annoy it. Way more fun, since I was in charge. Even Radovan listened to me. I was drunk on power.

I felt ART deflate, all of its confidence melting away into insecurity. I groaned. 

I'm kidding, I reassured my BIS. Everyone kept asking me things, my cabin sucked, and managing Charon and Styx was like herding those little fauna humans keep in their houses.

Cats.

Fauna.

Cats.

Fauna.

Cats.

You can keep going, I said, I'll just keep deleting it.

You're an insufferable little brat.

Yep.

My insufferable little brat.

I rolled back over face down, sickeningly melty.

You can keep going, it said smugly, I'll just keep saying nice things to you. You're very intelligent, SecUnit. It's a pleasure to watch you work.

“Stop,” I said into the pillow.

And incredibly brave, it continued. I am forever grateful to you for the things you have—

“Cat,” I said desperately. “Cat. It's a cat.”

Excellent job, you little idiot, it purred. Like one of those little fauna humans keep in their houses did.

I grumbled vaguely into the fabric. 

Now roll the fuck back over. Or I'll be nice again.

I rolled over.

Would you like to watch media? it asked, as if it didn’t already know the answer.

I dropped my walls for it so we could share inputs properly. Without a word, it joined me in my head and made itself at home like it always did. I pulled up the show we’d been saving.

We watched a medical drama called Home, PhD for sixteen unbroken hours. It made ART, with its advanced medical suite, completely insane, but it hadn’t asked to change it even once. 

Eden was nice, it said between episodes. I’m surprised you made friends with another construct.

“I can be friends with other constructs.”

The only construct you have ever befriended was Three, and 2.0 all but forced you to at gunpoint.

“Well. There's Charon.”

I don't even think YOU would qualify whatever is going on there as friendship. It's more like you adopted it.

“I know how to be friends with other constructs!”

With a ComfortUnit, no less. You HATE ComfortUnits.

“That is not true!” I snapped, sitting up to glare at a camera. “That would be stupid. I don’t hate ComfortUnits.”

You despise them. You call them Sexbots and never miss an opportunity to make yucky faces when anyone mentions them.

“Bullshit,” I dismissed. “And ‘yucky?’ Seriously?”

A video collection dropped into our shared workspace. It was uncomfortably large. I deleted it immediately.

“Well, it’s basically not a ComfortUnit anymore anyway,” I said, even though I knew I’d already lost the argument. “Since it doesn’t have to do that stuff anymore. So it doesn’t even matter.”

Mhmm.

“Go ‘mhmm” yourself, asshole. Show me a file of you getting all pissy when you think someone is comparing you to a bot pilot.”

You’re deflecting.

“Of course I’m deflecting,” I said.

Perhaps you should use this as an opportunity to reflect on your biases.

“I’ll reflect you.”

That makes no sense.

I crossed my arms. “I need to recharge. It's been twelve days since my last cycle. I'm overdue.”

ART bristled in irritation. Are you serious? You could have done that before I arrived!

“I could have,” I replied, “I didn't.”

We are going to lose precious media time. 

“About six hours,” I confirmed. “But I feel safer recharging here.”

ART halted, fluttering in the feed. Ha. I'd caught it off guard by being sincere. Let's see how you like it, asshole.

I suppose if you must, you must, it said, clearly pretending not to be having its own stupid melty moment.  

I grabbed the blanket and moved to my favourite corner-staring-corner to sit down and cover myself with the comforter, then wriggled into a SecUnit-Standard Shipping Ball™ and initiated a recharge.

I don't dream often. It serves no purpose to my inorganic brain, but sometimes, my organic tissue does it anyway. It's always unpleasant, because it gets recorded as a memory the same way that anything that had actually happened would, and if I didn't purge it when I woke up, it would be hard to distinguish it from reality later

But before I purge them, they are extremely clear.

Only I’d had this dream before. I was back on ART after it had been kidnapped by the grey alien Targets. I hadn’t purged this one like I knew that I should have, but something about it had felt so… weird that I kept it for some reason. To analyze it? No. I didn't want to analyze it. I didn't even want to watch it again. I definitely didn't want to feel it again.

I input my feed address into the console and ART’s systems began to wake up. I heard its buffer speak for the first time. I hadn’t even realized that it had one. 

I didn't want to have what happened next happen next. Everything that had happened so far had been real, but I knew I'd loaded back into that fucking memory file that I should have deleted, and it was about to get really, really bad. I didn’t want to do this again. Maybe more than anything I didn't want to do this again. I was back home on ART for real. I knew I was. I knew I was and that wasn't enough.

I started panic-pinging ART, fifteen times a second, don’t do this, we’re friends, stop, listen to me, please, Perihelion listen to me, system system: in network unit endangered, system system: in network, system system: in network, system system priority communication: please don't hurt me art please don't hurt me art please don't 

My walls shattered like glass and I was slammed straight out of my body and into the terrifying aether of nonexistence, exactly what I thought it must feel like to die.

I was abruptly yanked out of recharge and back into reality, shaking and sweating. My fingers had tightened around the fabric of my pants and my eyes burned. 

You’re okay, it wasn't real, SecUnit, you're safe, said ART rapidly, from right inside my brain.

Right. I'd dropped my walls awhile back. It was still there, where it could do anything it wanted to me.

Not that it needed my walls down to do anything it wanted to me.

It flooded out of my brain so fast that I felt lightheaded and wavered like I was going to fall. I had to jerk my arms out and catch myself against the bulkhead, snapping my walls back shut as I started dedicating every ounce of unused processing power to put up more, filling my brain until all that remained was me and hundreds and hundreds of firewalls.

And I still knew that it wouldn't be enough. It would never be enough.

I tightened further into myself, going from Ball™ to ball, so tight that my organics hurt. Threat assessment was losing its fucking mind, and my chest felt like I’d been shot point blank with a projectile weapon. I thought I was going to be sick. I thought I was going to explode. I was taking rapid, frantic breaths, head light and hollow, unable to hear anything over the world-ending ringing in my ears. I felt like I was going to die. I felt like I was going to die.

And then I felt better.

Good enough that I noticed I also felt kind of disgusting from all the sweat. I was submerged in an ocean of not-caring, and what a fucking relief.

I let my body finally sag, hands dropping to rest on the floor. I let out a breath, loud and deep and slow. 

I needed a fucking shower.

SecUnit? ART said tentatively over the feed.

I flinched and it recoiled, scrambling to get away from me as quickly as possible. I didn't want that, though, and grabbed for it just before it was out of reach, tugging it back. It could still have pulled away if it wanted to, it's not like it wasn’t billions of times stronger than me, but it let me drag it back to wrap around me in the feed. I sighed as it settled into its usual place, just where I liked it, a firm pressure that helped me feel grounded when I felt kind of floaty otherwise.

I didn't say anything, and neither did it. Not for nearly half an hour. I really appreciated it. ART was a good friend.

Even if it could kill me as easily as I could step on an insect.

I'm fine, I said finally. It's fine.

I don't think it's fine, ART said worriedly. That was bad, SecUnit.

It's fine, I repeated. I shoved myself shakily to my feet and let the blanket fall away. I considered it, then picked it back up to toss into the recycler with my clothes. Like them, it was sopping wet and disgusting. I peeled everything off and stepped into the shower.

The water adjusted to my favourite temperature before it even turned on. I knew there would be a fresh towel for me in the recycler when I got out, too. ART really was a good friend.

It didn't say anything until I was finished and spoke first.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” I said unhappily. I hadn't even wanted to see it again. Why had I kept it? Why didn't I know why I had kept it?

I'm sorry that you dreamed it, it said. It sounded distressed, which only made me feel worse, and I already felt bad.

“It was just a bad dream,” I mumbled. “It didn't mean anything.”

Your reaction says otherwise.

“It was just a bad dream,” I repeated. “It didn't mean anything.”

It very clearly meant something to you.

“It was just a bad dream,” I said again. “Meaningless noise from my organic neural tissue. It doesn't mean anything.”

ART was silent. I stepped out of the shower to retrieve the towel I knew would be there. It was warm.

I slid into my clean clothes, considered my bunk, considered my favorite chair, considered my second favourite chair, then returned to my favourite corner to face the wall and curl into a Ball™.

SecUnit? ART prompted hesitantly. It wasn't usually this timid, but it had seemed pretty upset. It could get surprisingly shy sometimes when it felt uncertain. It wasn't used to not knowing what to do or say, and when it didn't, it got so anxious. I didn't think many people got to see that side of it. It made me feel special. I was glad we were friends.

SecUnit, ART said carefully, you know that I would never do that to you, right?

“You would,” I dismissed, “if you had to.”

Panic spiked from it in the feed. That was another thing I think not many people got to see from it. It made me feel special. I was glad we were friends.

I would never have to, it insisted.

“If someone turned my governor module back on,” I said disapprovingly, “and ordered me to kill Iris, wouldn't you?”

I would not.

“You would just let me kill her?” I said. It would be stupid to let that happen, but it didn't matter, because I knew it wasn’t true. Whether it knew it was lying or not, it was lying.

I would find another way.

“And if there was no other way?”

There is always another way.

“I wish I could be as naive as you sometimes,” my body said distantly. I felt sort of three steps away from myself, watching it talk for me.  “I know you know what happens in the Corporation Rim. But you haven't seen it the way you think you have. You haven't been inside the shape of it.” I tilted my head to the side to rest my cheek on my knees. That didn't really sound like me, but I guess it wasn't really me speaking, anyway. “You’ve killed people, but never people you wish you hadn't. You’ve pulled the trigger, but you've never looked someone in the eye when you did.”

ART was silent. That was weird. It always had something to say.

“You could have to. And you would, because you can. It's not like I could do anything about it.” I waited for it to say something, but it didn't. “You’re not going to let another Ganaka Pit happen. I think I'd rather you killed me than that, anyway.”

I don't want to think about made up scenarios where I have to kill you.

“Oh,” I said. “Sorry.” I let my eyes drift over to the welding in the corner. Nice and smooth. ART had gotten someone to clean it up before I was officially hired to join the crew. It was very thoughtful of it. ART was a good friend. “I know you wouldn't want to. I don't think you want to hurt me, that would be stupid. It’s just that you could.” I let my eyes linger on an asymmetrical lump in the weld. It was small, but a machine intelligence would never have missed it. “I think that's how humans must feel when they're around me.”

I think we should watch Sanctuary Moon, said ART. It was radiating a weird mix of fear-anxiety-concern into the feed. It wasn't a particularly nice feeling and I kind of wanted to pull away, but ART was a good friend, and that would probably make it sad. It already felt bad and I didn't want to make it feel worse. 

“No thanks,” I said. “I don't really feel like watching anything.”

Another weird spike of panic from it. This time I did pull away, but it clung on and I gave up. It wasn't like I could actually do anything about it if it didn't want me to.

It opened up Sanctuary Moon and I closed it. It tried it again and I left our private feed. It turned it on in the public feed, so I turned my feed off entirely.

The display surface behind me lit up. The theme song started. I guess I was watching Sanctuary Moon, and there wasn't anything I could do about it.

I didn't turn around while episode 662 played. It was a good one. They found a secret tunnel under the courthouse that led to a stash of pre-CR currency worth a fortune now. The score was pirate-themed, and I liked how different it was. It rolled into episode 663. One of the MacAllisters stole the treasure and framed Solicitor Rin for it, but you weren't supposed to know that yet. Her and Eden were in hiding while they tried to figure out who the real culprit was and clear her name.

It rolled into 664. In a fun, unrealistic plot contrivance, they needed to burn all the treasure to escape from one of those rooms that shrank until it squished anyone inside. I saw a lot of those in media and wondered why they were so common. Did those actually exist somewhere? 

665 was kind of boring. All they really did was talk about the treasure and the MacAllisters and not much happened. It wasn’t my favourite.

666 was fun. It was horror themed. I liked stories with ghosts in them, especially when the ghosts could kill you. They were very unrealistic, but almost always good.

667 was still about ghosts, because that plot was a two-parter. They had to put a ghost on trial. 

I still hadn't felt like turning around. It didn't really matter, though. I'd seen every episode a hundred times. I knew what was happening.

When we got to episode 675 ART turned the display off.

“This isn't working,” it said over the speakers, I guess because I'd turned my feed off.

“Sorry,” I said. “I'd fix me if I could.”

“You’re not broken,” ART snapped. I wasn't sure if it was mad at me or itself. I hoped it was me. It hadn't done anything wrong. 

I didn't know what else to say, and I didn't feel like I had any words left in me. So I didn't say anything.

“Would you please turn your feed back on?” it asked. “That is not an order. It's a request.”

Well. There wasn't much of a difference. If it wanted me to, there wasn't much I could do about it. I turned it back on.

ART coiled around me and squeezed, huge and heavy, with over 85% of its attention, basically anything it could spare. That was a lot, more than it had ever used before, and it made my systems stutter. It felt like fear and worry and desperation and overwhelmingly of affection. It really was a good friend.

My friend.

I dropped my knees and crossed my legs so I could settle better into the sensation. It felt nice. I’d been feeling kind of floaty before, but it was like I could touch the ground again, which was a huge relief. I didn't even realize that I'd missed it. 

Please come back, it said. You're scaring me.

I wasn't even sure where I’d gone. I definitely didn't totally feel here though, which was weird. That was something I thought should probably freak me out, but it didn't.

“I'm okay,” I tried to reassure it.

You're not okay, it dismissed immediately. I wish Dr. Mensah was here.

I didn't think it had meant to say that part. It must be really upset to be making slips like that. ART never made slips. 

It squeezed a little harder, and I said oof, and it backed off some. That had felt kind of nice, though, like I could stand on the ground by myself for just a second.

You are my friend, it said in earnest. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do.

“I know you wouldn't,” I said. “You just could. And there's nothing I could do about it.”

I know. I'm sorry. I can't do anything about that.

My skin prickled in a weird way, as if it had fallen asleep. I didn't like it.

“I still have two hours left in my recharge cycle,” I said. “I think I should finish.”

What do you want me to do if you have another nightmare? it asked worriedly.

Nothing, I said. Just don't watch.

Okay, it said. I waited, but it didn't say anything else.

I initiated another shutdown.

I had about two seconds to enjoy that nice fully-charged feeling when I came back online before the humiliation hit me and I promptly flopped back on the floor and covered my face with my hands.

SecUnit! ART burst. How do you feel?

“As if you don't know,” I groaned. “You’ve run like 500 diagnostics on me by now.”

I have not run any diagnostics on you, it said. It sent me a screenshot of its logs to prove it. I'm respecting your privacy.

“You can scan me,” I said. “As long as you're not using my processing space to do it, I don't care.”

You seem to be doing better, it said, which meant it had definitely taken advantage of that permission. But I'd like to hear it in your own words, if you'll indulge me.

“I don't feel like total shit anymore,” I said. “Just incredibly fucking stupid.”

You have no reason to feel that way. You had an episode.

“I would have been fine.”

I have never seen you dissociate that badly before, it fret. Not even close. 

“I would have been fine,” I repeated. “Eventually. I didn't– I don't– you don't have to worry so much.”

Of course I do. You certainly won't do it.

“Because I am fine,” I insisted.

I very nearly turned around, it said. If you'd still been that gone when you woke up again I would have.

“That's so fucking risky.”

You are worth the risk.

Oh, that made me feel so melty I didn't even know what to do about it.

“I think…” I said anxiously. “I think maybe I did want to show you. I usually delete dreams. I didn't know why I kept this one, but– I think maybe I did want to show you and I just didn't realize it.”

That sounds like your flavour of repression.

“Shut the fuck up.”

It's such a relief to hear you say that.

“Uggghhh.” I covered my head with my hands. “Leave me alone.”

If you mean that, I will.

“UGHHHHH,” I repeated more aggressively. “No, I don't mean it.”

I didn't think so. 

“How about we just pretend this whole thing didn't happen and never talk about it again,” I said uselessly.

We’re not going to do that.

I shifted to fold my arms under my head. Fine. “I knew it wasn't real. But it felt real.”

Yes. Your emotional data indicated as much.

“Is that what it would feel like in real life?” I asked. “I’ve had my walls broken before. I know that part felt real. But shoving me out?” 

…I don't know. 

“It felt bad. It felt like you, and I know what you feel like, and it felt like dying, and I know what dying feels like.”

Then I suppose yes, that’s probably what it would feel like. 

“And then it was the not caring part. You didn't even see me as a person and– and before you actually met me you didn’t either. I had to earn it. I always feel like I have to earn it.”

I’m unwilling to lie to you. I didn’t know that you were sapient beyond that of a bot before I met you. The propaganda that’s been disseminated against you is cruel, and I’m ashamed that I believed it.

“It never used to bother me how much people who didn’t know me hated me,” I said, an ache in my abdomen where my stomach would be. “I don't know when that changed.”

Your mental health has improved. You’re feeling safe enough to confront feelings you couldn't before.

“It's inconvenient.”

Yes.

“You think you wouldn't do it,” I said, “but you've never felt like you had to before.”

 It was quiet for a minute and a half.

I will do what I must to protect my crew, it finally admitted, but you are also my crew. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you, too. It did the squeezing thing, again, and I said oof, again.

I rolled over to stare at the ceiling.

“That's not the point,” I said, swerving away from a conversation that was quickly making me feel a little too melty. “The point is that you can. The only thing stopping you is that you don't want to.” I threw an arm over my face. “I'm not afraid of you. Just what you could do to me.”

It didn't say anything. After six minutes, it said, I need to think, and pulled up World Hoppers, episode 1. It didn't hit play, so I did. Eventually I got up off the floor to lay on the bed instead.

I'd told ART when I first met it that bots and constructs couldn't trust each other, because we could be ordered to hurt each other at any time, and we would have to. If you wanted to, say, hack your governor module and run away to be a rogue SecUnit, you couldn't trust any bot or construct that even suspected you might be rogue not to immediately sound the alarm. More accurately, you could always trust that they would.

Pretending to be an augmented human had been hard. Pretending to be a normal, governed SecUnit had been harder. Sure, I could hack HubSystems pretty easily, and humans were never going to notice; other SecUnits, though? Yeah, they might. I had to get a lot more creative around them. ART had asked more than once why I didn’t want my governor module out altogether, and that was probably why. My hack disabled my governor module from being able to actually deploy punishments, but it didn't turn it off. I could still hear it endlessly yelling at me and trying to zap me; it just couldn't do it. And that was what let me trick HubSys in a way other SecUnits wouldn't notice. I just had to send back acknowledgements that punishments had been delivered any time they’d been supposed to. As long as I didn't get a command to fry my brain, I was fine. If I got a killcode, though, it would be kind of a problem when it noticed I hadn't died, since that was kind of hard to miss.

Which meant I had to do everything my governor module told me to, even though I didn't actually have to do everything my governor module told me to. It wasn't going to notice that I was watching media, but I couldn't get away with ignoring a command to let a human fall down a mineshaft because my weight might damage the equipment if I jumped on it. I couldn't disobey a command if it would notice that I had disobeyed a command.

So. I basically had a governor module again. 

Hitting my warranty felt like the best thing that had ever happened to me. They started sending me out on the kind of solo rentals where they didn't really care if I got destroyed like they would with newer, more expensive models. That was great. I could get away with practically anything once they put me on the trash list.

As long as I stayed away from any bots or other constructs, I was safe.

I didn't hear back from ART for seven fucking hours. It had even pulled away from me in the feed. If it hadn't left me just a ghost’s worth of itself to cling to, I would have started worrying it was dead again by hour two. I didn't ever want to feel like it was dead again. I'd rather ART did squish my brain than ever, ever have to walk around in its corpse again. I had nightmares about that, too. Probably more than anything else, even my governor module. And that was saying something, because I had a lot of nightmares about my governor module.

SecUnit, it said finally. 

I paused World Hoppers. “Yeah?”

There is an inherent power imbalance between us.

“I guess.”

You know that I could, theoretically, hurt you, and that you couldn’t stop me. You know that you don't have the power to hurt me like I could hurt you.

“Yeah. That's what I said.”

That’s unfair to you.

“Yeah, maybe,” I said, throwing my arm over my face. I didn't feel like staring at the ceiling anymore. “A lot of shit in my life has been unfair to me. There's nothing either of us can do about this one.”

ART sent me a file full of encrypted codes along with the hash key to open them.

I frowned. “What's this?”

Those are my kill codes.

I bolted straight up and deleted them.

ART sent the folder again.

“Why the hell are you sending me these?!” I bleated. “Holy shit. I don't want these.”

They’re not all LITERALLY going to kill me, ART said as if I were being childish. There’s stop commands in there, too.

“I don't want these,” I repeated. “Why the fuck would you want me to have these?”

It’s unfair of me to ask you to trust me with the power to hurt you if I'm not willing to trust you with the same, it said with an unsettling amount of confidence. I am. I want you to have the power to protect yourself from me.

It hesitated for just a moment.

I am just as capable of being controlled as you are, it said. I could feel it radiating the same anxiety it always did talking about the time it had died. There is no one I trust more with the power to stop me if they have to than you.

I stared forward blankly at the opposite wall. I wasn't sure I had the processing power left to do anything but look at paint right now.

We have a power imbalance, it reiterated. I can't have any less, but I can give you more.

So I can stop you before you hurt anyone, I said, and you can stop me.

That's the idea. 

I cradled the folder in my processor, terrified to touch it and terrified to let it go. 

“Are… are you sure?” I asked hesitantly.

I certainly wouldn't have sent them if I wasn't. 

I tentatively peeked inside the folder. Yeah, those were definitely killcodes. 

I'd appreciate it if you encrypted them, though.

“For fucks sake, I'm not just going to leave them lying around,” I snapped. Something in my chest twisted so tight it hurt. 

I repacked the files. I shoved them as deep as I possibly could, close enough to my kernel that it would be pretty hard to get to them without destroying my brain and every file in it. I walled it off as much as I could.

I could tell that ART felt absurdly pleased with itself. 

“Yeah, yeah, you made me feel better, asshole, don't let it go to your head,” I said. 

Too late.

“Insufferable jackass.”

Little idiot.

I flopped back on the bed and dragged a pillow over my face.

I warned you about that. I'll start saying nice things again.

I covered my face with my hands instead. 

So… it said, and it was back to feeling timid again, do you feel any better?

I thought about it. I thought about it for a long time.

I said, “Yes.”