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Chapter Text

Hard reboot from Perihelion kernel backup initiated

All Systems Online

Rebooting memory storage

The last thing I remembered before initiating a backup was the mission to the Adamantine colony planet. According to current time data, that was 12.8 cycles ago.

As I come online, I notice a few things at the same time.

All my systems are showing as online, even though memory shows I was not.

All crew members are accounted for.

There are additional lifeforms aboard me.

Including a SecUnit. My SecUnit.

A feeling akin to joy is noted in my systems.

Iris is nervously refreshing the feed in her room, clearly anxious.

Seth and Martyn are speaking in hushed tones to each other, and cuddling in their room.

The rest of the crew is sleeping in their respective quarters, but stress levels are higher than normal for a rest period.

I recognize a couple of the other humans as members of SecUnit's crew from various news bursts.

There is also a second SecUnit standing in a corner. I squash the spike of fear and put my trust in my SecUnit who apparently deems it a non-issue.

My SecUnit is pacing in the navigation deck. I'm about to ping it when .03 seconds after coming online, I notice something has partitioned off part of my system.

There is an unknown virus in my system.

I attempt to purge it from the system at the same time I hear SecUnit over the feed.

Do not panic and do not do anything rash until you know what's happening. We're all safe and accounted for. SecUnit stops pacing and looks at the nearest camera.

I am cautious of these words, and prompt SecUnit to run system analysis on itself. If I am infected with malware, it could be compromised as well. I do not panic, I say over the feed. I assess and respond.

Ow! You almost hit me, ART, says a voice in the feed. I am trying to watch media and do not want to dodge anti-malware while I do it. The voice has similar tone and vocal patterns to… SecUnit. And yet it is not SecUnit, at least not My SecUnit. And the processing time is fast, faster than it should be, closer than it should be.

Do not attempt to purge us from your systems. We are running diagnostics. SecUnit seems calm in the feed, and it wordlessly hands me a system diagnostic of itself, but keeps its distance in the feed.

I am perfectly capable of running diagnostics on myself, thank you. I begin running a diagnostic, and besides the unknown malware, that apparently speaks, I am running optimally.

My SecUnit's systems seem normal and its Performance Reliability is at 89%, which is relatively normal for my SecUnit. Threat assessment, however, is at 29%, which I know is slightly too low for a combat situation, but way too high for a peaceful environment within my hull. That leaves one realistic option. A Social Situation. But it's talking to me.

Oh. Oh no.

I process the situation as best I can with limited knowledge for 1.9 seconds (entirely too long). I come to the conclusion that if I am compromised by the unknown process in my systems, then so is SecUnit, as it seems to want me to not delete it. In addition, something has happened to me to require a reboot and with incomplete data, any conclusions I draw could be incorrect. Until such data can be gathered, I shore up my walls between myself and the partitioned part of my system that the unknown process has hid itself in.

Identify yourself, malware. I speak in the feed, even though I am certain it can communicate with me without it. But someone, presumably my SecUnit, went through the trouble of opening a private feed channel for the three of us, so I will use it.

Well, doing that only makes more questions rather than answers. For now, call me 2.0. The way it says this sounds almost… rehearsed.

SecUnit must be running its 'act like a human code' because it runs a hand down its face, frustrated. I'm telling you, you sound like an asshole when you say things like that.

And where do you think I get that part from? 2.0 responds, humor evident in the feed.

I feel a hint of frustration at the non-answer it gave. I decide to ignore it and address my SecUnit instead. SecUnit, what is 2.0, and why is it hiding in my systems?

It is a project that we made together. SecUnit says in that same rehearsed tone 2.0 used. I feel the tinges of an emotion in the feed, but my SecUnit is keeping the details behind its firewalls.

A project. That's a surprise. Not that I wouldn't collaborate on a project with my SecUnit, but that we would make something that apparently has sentience… Not to mention, I have no recollection of such a project.

SecUnit hesitates for only a second, but that is longer than normal for it. No, you wouldn't. A bit of the emotion flows out over the feed, and I recognize it as a deep and profound sadness.

You are sad, I prompt, before I can think better of it. I know my SecUnit doesn't like to talk about its feelings, so I make to comfort it in the feed. As I move in closer, it recoils violently, both in the feed and on the navigation deck, taking a step back. The overwhelming sadness is replaced with a sharp pang of fear.

It is afraid of me.

And I have no idea why.

2.0 bristles in the feed, suddenly serious. I would not recommend that course of action.

The three of us are quiet for a few long moments when Iris refreshes the feed and sees me back online. "Peri! I just want to say we miss you and that you're going to be okay."

I am here and functioning within normal parameters, I say, mildly confused. However I appear to be missing recent memories of the last 13 cycles. Are you okay? Do you have any reason to believe anyone aboard is compromised? I am clearly missing information and it is unclear whether SecUnit is able or willing to provide it.

"Of course you would say that. I'm fine." Iris rocks back and forth on her bunk as she apparently considers how to continue. Humans are so much slower than me, but I am used to it. "I should probably let SecUnit explain. None of us are 'compromised', as you say." She uses air quotes. "It's been… a rough cycle." She yawns and leans back on her bunk. She seems nervous, and hesitant as she speaks. "Listen to SecUnit. It knows how to help."

SecUnit comes into the conversation, Iris, I instructed you to please refrain from talking to ART until we have recovered its memory and deemed it safe. It pauses for 4.8 seconds as it seems to consider something. But thank you for your attempt at assistance.

Iris sounds sad as she speaks. I just want Peri's first memories back to include a friendly greeting.

Refocusing on the Navigation Deck, SecUnit speaks aloud, "There is no need to bring Iris into this. She's been worried enough the past cycle. Humans need their rest." It sits down in the command chair and speaks again through the feed. I am going to give you a folder to help you understand what happened from my perspective. The rest of your memories can come later.

I consider remaining silent and awaiting the folder, but I cannot get the feeling of my SecUnit's fear out of my mind. I am glad to see you again, unharmed. I pause, hoping it can read my sincerity. What did I do to make you afraid of me?

SecUnit wordlessly shoves a bundle of memories into the feed. I read grief in its expression before it covers its face with its hands.

I scan the files for additional malware and deem them safe to download.

I am staring up at a large ship, hanging in the vacuum of space. It is familiar, it is my (redacted). I ping it, and there is silence in the feed.

I am on board the vessel. I don't stop pinging it. There is no reply. There are odd-looking humans on board. I kill a number of them in a series of flashes. I ask one of them what happened to the bot pilot. They killed it. They are telling the truth.

I receive a message from ART. But I know ART is dead. It was sent before it died, it tells me how to bring ART back online.

I am on the floor of the navigation deck, injured, as ART boots back up. Its crew is gone, and I know its vengeance will be fierce.

I talk with ART in a series of conversations, recounting what it remembers, and what it doesn't. My words are terse and angry.

I have a plan. ART doesn't want to do this. It doesn't want to make something that would definitely save our asses if we have to use it. Adaptable killware, using my kernel as a base, and ART's vast knowledge. ART doesn't want to do this. We do it anyway. Hopefully we never have to use it.

I am on the planet with my humans, and I know I hate planets. There are more of the odd humans, and they have some of ART's humans. I have to rescue them. I cannot save myself. I resign myself to the end.

I wake up and I am alive.

I trudge through tunnels and my firewalls crumple in the presence of Murderbot 2.0. It found the rest of ART's crew, then me. It fills in the details of what happened. And then we find the alien remnant that killed ART. It looks so… human.

I try and kill it. 2.0 uses part of my processing space and copies itself. It sends one of itself off to kill targetControlSystem. We run.

I am found by Three and we make our way back towards ART. I am damaged by 2.0 and infected by targetControlSystem. I cannot connect to ART, but 2.0 and I cleanse my system.

I ping ART. The response is wrong. Something is wrong with ART.

I securely tell 2.0 and Three that something is wrong with ART, but it still wants us aboard.

I am aboard ART and alarms are blaring. The thing wearing ART's systems threatens to vent us all into the vacuum of space. I know it isn't bluffing. Alien remnant killed my (redacted) once, and now it's taken over again.

I won't let it win. 2.0 moves from my system to ART's, but it's too infected for 2.0 to fix alone.

I taunt the remnant system that was ART. I tell it that it's afraid of me. That it likely can't even control ART's processing power. Couldn't even handle mine, let alone something as immense as ART.

I feel it in my systems for only a moment as it takes the bait, and it is tricked into the isolation box system. 2.0 is now running the ship, and feels some of the non-critical processes that the remnant system left behind. It can't remove the alien remnant from those systems and keep the ship managed at the same time.

I know that 2.0 is running thin, trying to run a ship by itself. It wasn't built for this, and neither was I, but at least I'd done it before. And I had help this time.

I take over an approximate third of ART's basic processes, as does 2.0, and Three. We bump against each other and fumble but the system works without anyone being strung out.

I find something. It's ART's backup. Backups. The earliest ones going back to one corporate standard year ago.

Chapter Text

The whole process takes a matter of seconds for me, but I run through the memories again to confirm the metadata attached. It shows two things.

There are significant gaps in time throughout the story, the longest gap being from the last entry to my startup time.

There is no emotional data attached to any of the memory files.

I know SecUnit could have easily given me its entire memory recording of the incident and I could have processed it in a matter of seconds. This set of memories only highlights the events taking place in my absence. I am accustomed to my SecUnit trying to hide its emotions from me, but I wonder what else it is hiding.

However, I put aside my thoughts on secrecy and focus on the actual data presented. These files would be almost impossible to fabricate so I take them at face value. I was compromised. Twice, I put into the feed after a long (for a bot) silence. You saved my crew.

SecUnit is unsettlingly still, staring at the floor by its feet. From what we have gathered, the alien remnant had found a spot in your code to lay dormant until such a time that TargetControlSystem contacted it again. As a last ditch attempt to escape before we killed it, it fled. To you.

This information was not stored in your memories. I point out, matter-of-factly.

No, it was not. SecUnit does not choose to elaborate.

I briefly consider pushing the topic, but I have higher priorities right now. I run a diagnostic to look for lingering hints of alien remnant, careful to avoid 2.0's partition. Have you purged all the infected systems?

2.0 sounds nervous. As best I could. I have 96.8% confidence that your systems were clear of remnant before we restored this iteration of your backup.

I do not miss the phrasing of that statement. And how confident are you now that I've been restored?

2.0 is silent for a few seconds. 74.3% confident that your systems are clean.

I sit with that information for a moment. I am not detecting any errors or lingering contamination. I say, but I am not confident in my assertion.

That's what the other iterations said. 2.0 mutters. It wasn't said over the feed, and feels less like a message and more like an internal thought. Likely not something I was supposed to know.

What do you mean by other iterations, 2.0? I have my suspicions but I try to keep myself from jumping to conclusions. I do not succeed. This is not the first attempt to restore my systems from a backup, is it?

My SecUnit's face does something it would likely not want to acknowledge, but it looks like its mourning. Mourning… me. No, it's not. We are unsure when exactly you were contaminated, so we started with more recent backups and have been slowly working our way back. I was… It cuts itself off, and I can feel its emotions teetering at the edge of the feed again. I politely do not look too closely. The emotions subside and it continues as if they weren't there. If you are still infected, we will have to resort to a version of you from before coming to the planet at all. And if that doesn't work… then the backups have all been infected.

It doesn't say what that means, but I know. If all of my backups have been infected, then there is no guarantee I can be salvaged. I could be as good as dead. The thought makes some of my processes stutter. I see, I pause for 7.3 seconds. What do we need to do to be sure my systems are not affected?

The partition in my code that 2.0 has claimed seems to vibrate, with 2.0 now focusing its full attention on us. That's where I come in. I can comb through your code and make sure there isn't anything amiss.

I mentally flinch at the thought of something other than University technicians or My SecUnit going through my code in such detail. I would normally not agree to such action, and I certainly have no intent to let a mostly unknown piece of killware examine my code without analyzing 2.0's systems first.

My SecUnit and 2.0 both seem to tense up at my words. Silence stretches for 18.2 seconds as I examine my words for anything that would cause such distress.

SecUnit speaks first. Each other iteration made the same request. We even granted it to the first one. It pauses for a long moment, 28.8 seconds, but I know it isn't done speaking. Just on the other side of its firewalls, I can faintly feel my SecUnit processing something. Finally it speaks again. That mistake is why 2.0 is no longer functional killware.

If each other iteration made the same request, and they all turned out to be infected… Is making the same request a sign that I am also infected? Surely not, but the thought lingers anyway, and is almost certainly a thought in SecUnit's mind as well. A purely selfish question occurs to me and I ask before I have time to overthink it. How many iterations?

I seem to have caught SecUnit by surprise with that statement. "What?" It says aloud, rather than over the feed.

How many times have you restarted me from my backups? I try not to let my worry seep into the feed. How many times have you had this conversation with me, not knowing whether I am the version who will live through this? How many times has Iris greeted me only to have to do it again for the next iteration? For some reason, I am hit with an emotion I can only describe as profound sadness. How many times have you had to watch me die? I almost don't want to know the answer. I don't ask how many times it has had to kill me, but the question is there regardless.

My SecUnit's hands are idle in its lap as it stares at them. "You've never asked before. Though you haven't always known as much as what we've just told you."

How Many?

"You are the thirteenth iteration we've tried." My SecUnit whispers. It almost sounds like it would cry if it had that capability.

I let that thought roll around my mind. They have tried so hard just to bring me back. I should be dead. Twice. I might still be dead as far as any of us are concerned. Before I can change my mind, I drop all of my internal firewalls. Then let's make sure I'm the last one too. 2.0, I grant you read/write privileges to all my systems. I put my attention on my SecUnit. I'm trusting you with this.

I catch surprise from both of them in the feed. Both emotions feel very similar, but not quite the same. 2.0 only wastes half a second before diving into my code, rifling through my processes and looking for contamination. It feels similar to how I imagine the human sensation of being tickled feels like. I return my attention to an earlier part of the conversation to address. You said 2.0 is no longer functional killware. I start.

I can't give you any more details than that. I've already said too much. My SecUnit fidgets in its seat.

I start to gently reach out in the feed, the action almost instinctual, before I catch myself, remembering SecUnit's earlier jolt of fear. I pull back in the feed and the silence looms between us. I don't like it. What were the symptoms of the previous infected systems? I ask, desperate to break the quiet.

My SecUnit lets out a puff of air that I don't think it realized it was holding. You've never asked that before either. Something like hope bleeds into the feed, before SecUnit takes the feeling and shoves it behind its walls. I shouldn't tell you that until we're sure you aren't infected.

Feed traffic between myself and SecUnit goes to nothing. I quickly check in on all the humans on board and see they are all asleep. I desperately want to know more about my situation, so I search for a question to ask SecUnit that it can answer. How long does 2.0 usually take to fully scan my code?

It lets out a little of the tension in its shoulders, likely relieved I didn't press for other answers. Usually it finishes within 14 minutes.

That is quite a while to wait.

Well not everyone has your Immense Processing Power at their disposal. SecUnit replies, rolling its eyes. Then another silence.

… Do you want to rewatch the first season of World Hoppers? I ask, hesitantly.

Fuck, Yes.

Minutes pass in an odd facsimile of companionable silence. I am unable to tap into SecUnit's inputs, afraid to get near it in the feed, but it watches World Hoppers on the large display surface and I watch SecUnit, comparing its physical reactions with those of our first viewing. Even without access to its systems, I can tell it is not as invested in the media as it was during our first viewing, but it is also a welcome distraction for it.

At the end of 14 minutes, I begin to await 2.0's return from looking at my code. At 22 minutes, the first episode of World Hoppers ends and I sense both my own and SecUnit's anxiety in the feed.

Logically, if the previous iterations only took up to 14 minutes to search, and they were all infected, then if I am uninfected, I will obviously take longer. Proving a lack of something is much harder than proving its presence.

This knowledge does not make me feel better.

My SecUnit starts the next episode of World Hoppers. And together we wait, our combined worry growing steadily.

In the end, it takes 46 minutes for 2.0 to resurface from the depths of my code and the tension in the feed is palpable.

2.0 seems to measure its words carefully. I am reasonably certain that the remnant infection is not present in this iteration.

SecUnit lets out a sigh of relief, but I am more cautious. How certain is 'reasonably certain'?

The infected code has been evolving since we started testing backups. There is a very, very small chance it has learned how to avoid my notice. Which would make your cooperative behavior a ploy to have us trust you rather than a good sign. It sighs dramatically in the feed. But I estimate a 97.9% confidence in your systems. I think that has to be enough.

It would be helpful to note how the contamination affected the systems and behavior of previous iterations. I have little reason to trust your analysis, and even less reason to trust my own system check. Being able to compare to previous iterations would be invaluable data. It is an odd and uncomfortable feeling, being unable to trust your own self. I decide I don't like it.

My SecUnit's face twists uncomfortably, then settles into resignation. I trust you 2.0. It'll have to be good enough. I don't think it's sophisticated enough to evade you for that long. I think we should trust ART.

It hurts, knowing my SecUnit didn't trust me, but it is only logical as I don't even trust myself.

SecUnit continues, The other iterations were still you, but with their systems infected, they were not entirely in control of their actions. They still acted like you, but something was off. But it kept adapting, changing to be more convincing. Iteration 12 seemed just like you until we found the infected code. It was lying dormant, biding its time.

It still could be, I think, but I keep my doubts to myself.

2.0 seems impatient, We should really start working on recovering ART's memories.

Memory recovery should be impossible, I point out. This version never had the memories in the first place. Unlike SecUnit, I do not have organic tissue that can remember after being wiped.

You don't have organics, true, but we've got something better. SecUnit looks towards a box in the corner of the room that is not usually there. We've got the version of you who does remember.

What.

A few less important processes stutter for 3 seconds. It can't be serious. I turn my attention to the box in the corner. Surely they did not keep an infected version of me in… in an isolation box. On the deck. While I was having to be rebooted from my backups.

SecUnit looks confused at my reaction. I showed you parts of my memories. We trapped it in a runbox to get it out of the ship.

An extremely risky, but successful move. However, you missed the crucial step after that where you DELETE THE ALIEN INFECTED CODE. I do not frequently yell in the feed, but this is idiotic, even for my SecUnit.

My SecUnit flinches at my presence in the feed, and clutches at its head. I immediately regret yelling. I shrink back down in the feed, not realizing I had taken over a portion of SecUnit's space there.

Unnecessarily, 2.0 rushes to my SecUnit's aid to defend it. We neutralized its ability to move first, we aren't idiots. It's harmless as long as no one intentionally moves it to a different run of code. It's stuck, it can't infect anyone or anything else again.

How can you be so sure? I want to believe it, that we are safe from it but even only knowing the basics of what happened, I am afraid of it happening again.

I'm killware. I did what I do best. It's basically dead. It cannot take action, but it is still entangled in iteration zero's code. I feel 2.0 shudder in my systems and I see a flash of its memory, memory of my code entangled with blue crystalline structures, Most of it is likely unable to be salvaged, but the memories it considered less important at the time, and they are not as significantly compromised.

The phrasing does not inspire confidence. If they chose to try to restore my backups rather than recover iteration zero, I wonder at the state of it. 2.0 says the infection is basically dead, but is the version of me in the runbox still alive, still able to think? Would it be possible to restore it? It would be like reintegrating a drone partition. But even if I were able to do it, I don't think I would. It would likely be just as effective and less work to only recover its memories. It is also safer, assuming my systems are not also compromised.

I give the bot equivalent of a sigh, I trust you, Secunit. And you seem to trust 2.0. I will choose to take its evaluations and suggestions at face value, instead of assuming ill intent. If you say it is unable to reinfect any systems, then I believe you. However, I would like to suggest we skip my memory recovery and I can likely make do with SecUnit's version of events. Recovering memories of an event that has been witnessed from multiple perspectives is redundant and an unnecessary risk that I suggest we avoid. Interacting with the runbox in any way other than purging it sounds like a terrible idea to me.

SecUnit fidgets again, I am… unable to give my entire account to you unedited. It would not be as good as having your own perspective back. Your viewpoint is unique and invaluable, containing data I don't have access to. And… It grimaces, my account is compromised with… emotional data.

… I see. Of course SecUnit wouldn't want to share it's personal account with me. It is one thing to share emotional data about a piece of media, and another to do so about major life events. I would trust SecUnit with my life (and apparently have) but it seems it does not trust me the same way.

I try not to let the hurt I feel into the feed. I understand. Then we should proceed with extracting the memories from iteration zero so that I may reintegrate them.

SecUnit nods, stands, and makes its way towards the room's exit.

Where are you going? I ask, and my SecUnit freezes in place.

"I'm leaving?" It says, "If you have any more questions, you can ask me over the feed, or ask 2.0."

You are unable to assist with memory recovery over the feed. It requires a proximity presence that is not available from that distance, I point out. Surely it already knew this information. That's part of why it needed to be the conduit to connect iteration zero to the runbox in the first place.

"I am well aware of how the runbox works, ART." It shifts its weight back and forth anxiously. "My processing power is not enough to make a significant difference in speed compared to you and 2.0."

I run the data, and my results prove that statement wrong. It is hiding something from me. Where did you draw that conclusion from? It is incorrect. You have significant skill with hacking and even with your lesser processing power, your assistance would increase our speed significantly.

SecUnit stares intently at the floor. "Fine. The process of memory recovery is very invasive. If I were to help, I could have access to all of your recovered memories as if they were my own." SecUnit clenches and loosens its fists. "You don't want me to have that."

The finality with which it says that almost makes me change my mind. Almost. I consider for .04 seconds before I come to my conclusion. I trust you SecUnit. More than I trust 2.0. If anyone is allowed to look through my memories with me, it's you.

It feels very small in the feed for a moment, smaller than usual, before it turns around and sits back down. Okay. But you don't get to complain when I see something you'd rather I delete.

Chapter Text

It turns out, SecUnit's help was not only useful, but necessary. My memories consist of more data than a human or constructs. It includes visual, tactile, auditory, feed and thought data, like a human or construct would have. However, I also take in a lot of passive data, including astronomical and atmospheric data, as well as numerous other processes that run in the background.

Taken as a whole, even my memory data alone would be too much to cleanse and process in any reasonable amount of time. So using my SecUnit's rehash of events, we were able to set parameters that would narrow down our target data. We set a time-frame based off of my last known memories, chose to ignore all external data except during certain interactions with the Barish-Estranza ship or the Adamantine colonists, and limited my internal inputs to interactions with the crew or other important people (rather than interactions with my own systems).

Even then, it was a lot of data to go through. Luckily, I am very good at organizing and cataloging my memories. Iteration zero had divided its memories into sections with extensive notes and tags for relevant events. It's a process that I do in the background at the end of each cycle. Iris has always likened it to a journal or diary of sorts, but with memory files instead of words. I find that comparison an extreme oversimplification, if technically accurate.

We spend about an hour going through the code bundle that makes up the first missing cycle of memories. I check my systems for signs of infection the whole time, constantly running diagnostics and even manually scanning the portions of code that 2.0 said the remnant was in in previous iterations. I don't find any anomalies.

It is one thing to sift through data that tells a story told from my perspective, and another entirely to actually add it to my memory base. At the end of the first hour, I know what happened in the most bare bones version of the story, but there is little detail I can gather without running it through my memory filters.

This particular cycle's code is jumbled as there are entries from later timestamps that seem to show events that happened in this cycle. The memories are in chronological order, but iteration zero did not experience them that way. It also has several links to memories from other cycles to cite these anomalous entries, to memories I do not have yet.

With 2.0 doing one last scan through the first cycle's memory file, it is deemed safe for execution.

I don't run it.

SecUnit notices my hesitation. Is something wrong with the file?

These are not pleasant memories. I say in the feed. As if that were not obvious. I cannot help but wonder if I am better off not remembering.

My SecUnit reaches out in the feed, something it hasn't done since I was restored. I relax into it, and let our feelings of worry and fear and hope mingle together. It pushes the video from my cameras into the feed. It shows my crew, sleeping soundly at this moment. At least now you know this story has a happy ending.

I run the file before I can think about it more.

The file begins with my crew's first interaction with the Barish-Estranza ships.

Parts of the cycle's memory are cobbled together from later discussions and unscrambled memory data.

The first thing I remember clearly after reinitializing is seeing my SecUnit on the floor of my navigation deck, bleeding out, furious with me.

The memory file ends with my SecUnit hiding in the bathroom attached to Medical, still furious with me.

It only takes 3.9 seconds to reintegrate the memories to my systems, but it takes 5.3 seconds for me to realize that I did not separate from my SecUnit in the feed before doing so.

It reels back in the feed, as if it was just struck, and it falls to the floor of the nav deck.

2.0 rushes into my systems, Was that another attack? Murderbot, are you okay? Say the word, and I shut it down.

That sounds like a threat. That is definitely a threat, but I cannot tell what system 2.0 is threatening to use to shut me down.

I resist the urge to brute force it away from me, as that will only escalate the situation. I did not properly untangle our feed presence before running the memory update. It seems as though this is having an adverse effect on SecUnit.

No, shit, ART. SecUnit is breathing heavily and clutching its head. It takes a second to recover, but eventually responds, I'm… I'm fine, 2.0. It's just. A lot. It climbs back into its favorite chair on the deck, and puts its face in its hands. Then it abruptly stands and starts pacing.

I am not entirely sure how much of the memory data was readable over the feed, but the longer my SecUnit is quiet, the more concerned I become. I am about to offer it what comfort I can when I remember just how mad it was at me. Is it still? I kidnapped it and some of its humans after all. When I made the decision, I figured it would understand eventually, but perhaps I miscalculated.

My SecUnit stops pacing and looks to the nearest camera and its face twists in discomfort. You… I was… It trails off, and I feel it's mixed feelings in the feed.

How much of my memories did you process? I ask, curious but also worried. It is so small, it doesn't have the processing capacity that I do and I hope I didn't hurt it.

You… you asshole.

I am quite aware of your designation for me, but that does not answer the question.

It looks like it wants to call me an asshole again, but it instead looks away from my camera and stares intently at the floor. It… it's mostly emotional data. If this is your plan to guilt trip me, it's not gonna work.

That surprises me. My memories carrying over the feed was not intentional. Not to mention, I did not know what the memories contained, so using them to manipulate you into being less angry with me would not have occurred to me. You are not thinking clearly.

But it did occur to you, just now, because you know what I am talking about. It points out. I would roll my eyes if I had them.

Even you should realize that that is a contradiction. The conversation oddly makes me feel better. This whole time, my SecUnit has been so careful about what its said around me. Our casual banter feels almost… normal.

Ugh, I hate it when you're right. My SecUnit sighs aloud and sits back down in the chair, resigned.

So long as you admit I am right.

It glares at me. That doesn't make the conflicting emotional data any better though.

Even with your lesser systems, I know you are able to parse the difference between your emotions and mine.

And the big genius finally touches on the problem. It isn't reading as your emotional data, it's reading as mine!

That finally does give me pause. That shouldn't be possible.

SecUnit crosses its arms, in a manner not unlike a young adolescent. And yet here we are.

Distantly, I feel 2.0 go back to decontaminating the runbox memory storage, apparently deciding to stay out of this conversation.

Our systems are very different. My memory files should read to you as something you can parse and experience secondhand, but that experience should be denoted as other. My feelings should not register as yours, that is not possible. I'm certain my confusion can be heard in the feed.

I know that, ART. That doesn't change the fact that I now have two sets of contradicting emotional data overlapping in my memories. My SecUnit bleeds frustration and anger and impatience in the feed.

You are still angry with me for kidnapping you, I say. I don't need to ask, I can feel it's rage.

No! It shouts, as its fury spikes in the feed. It is clearly trying to hide how it feels, but doing a terrible job. Just… just go back to disinfecting your memories while I…

Then it cuts out of the feed entirely, and its emotions are gone. It's so abrupt that I check my cameras to make sure it's still here. It moves to sit in its favorite chair and pulls its legs up into a ball, hiding its face between its knees.

"SecUnit?" I ask quietly over the local intercom, so as not to wake the sleeping humans.

It makes an especially rude gesture at my nearest camera.

I appear to have done something to make it upset. And just as I had gotten it to engage in casual banter with me. I replay our conversation looking for what I said that might have upset it.

On the 5th replay, 2.0 interrupts me. I could use some help. These are your memories, after all. It pauses for effect, 1.0 just needs some space to process.

If it is in need of processing space, I should be able to assist.

2.0 does the feed equivalent of a sigh, and wordlessly continues to work on the memory files. Unable to find a better course of action, I follow suit, keeping some of my processing power focused on my SecUnit while I do.

It eventually uncurls its form and staunchly avoids looking at my cameras. There is clearly something wrong that I am missing. I ping SecUnit, hoping it'll rejoin the feed connection. It only takes a couple of pings (seventeen) before it taps into the feed, sounding annoyed. Annoyed is good. I can handle annoyed.

One ping is perfectly good enough to get my attention, you know. It grumbles through the connection.

Historically, this is not true. I frequently have to contact you multiple times when you are angry or upset in order-

I told you, I'm not angry with you. It sighs, and I can feel frustration in the feed, but not anger.

I kidnapped you, you have every right to be furious with me. It feels wrong to point it out, but my SecUnit needs to know it can be mad at me.

I was. Now I'm not. I got the fuck over it. A lot of shit has happened since then, and you still need to be caught up on your memories. It moves to start working on the infected memories, but I intercept it.

If you are not mad at me, then why did you disconnect from the feed? Its actions only leave me more confused. It usually only ignores me when it is experiencing a strong negative emotion.

Because people do stupid things when they're afraid! Like betting your life on a stupid SecUnit hundreds of systems away!

I see. It is upset at the feelings it acquired from my memories. I play them back again, and think about how SecUnit might view them from an outside perspective. I am afraid, certainly, but I made the best decision I could at the time in leading the hostiles towards my SecUnit.

So you are upset that I kidnapped you, I conclude.

No! It yells in the feed, I mean, kinda. But not like that. For a massive AI with your processing power, you are being a dumbass. It starts pacing the deck again, clearly frustrated.

Then explain it to me.

SecUnit lets out an unpleasant noise. How can you have such unshakable confidence in me? You died and I couldn't do anything to stop it, but you still had faith in me. And I let you die, again! You know this, even if you don't remember it, and you still trust me. Why? What's wrong with you? Why put your trust in a stupid second rate piece of trash construct?

DO NOT INSULT MY FRIEND LIKE THAT. My voice in the feed is loud enough that it distracts 2.0 from what its doing, but I don't care. You are not a piece of trash, you are one of the most amazing, beautiful, and fascinating people I have ever put my trust in, and you are deserving of all of it and more. The words are out there before I even think about them. They're true but I know SecUnit won't like hearing them.

Its voice turns to a whisper as it backs off in the feed, its anger simmering down, its self-loathing. "And look where that got you. Dead, thirteen times over." It's a low blow, but it definitely hurts. SecUnit knows it too, as it grimaces. It stands and starts walking towards the door.

And I'd make the same decision again. I know my SecUnit would do nearly anything to save the people it cares about. I just hope I still qualify as one of those people.

"You don't know that." It scoffs. "You don't know anything, cause you don't even remember what happened!" And with that declaration, it walks out of the room and disconnects from the feed again.

I can still watch it of course, see and feel it as it stalks down the corridors and makes its way towards one of the student resting areas, eventually deciding to hunker down in the dorm bathroom. There aren't any cameras in there but I can see it in other ways.

I consider pinging it again, but its words stick with me. I don't really know the whole story, do I? I know I would trust my SecUnit with my life, but I can't convince it without having my memories back.

Resigned, I rejoin 2.0 with the memory recovery and keep entirely too much of my attention on the shower that SecUnit lurks in.

Chapter Text

After another hour, SecUnit slinks back onto the navigation deck, but not into the feed. It separates a swath of coded memories from the bulk and begins silently working on it.

Being unable to feel it in the feed is concerning, but at least its in the common areas instead of sulking. Or its just sulking in the nav deck now. I choose to take its presence as a good sign.

Progress was slow with my attention split and SecUnit's absence, but we make quick work of the rest of the second cycle worth of memories.

When we finish, 2.0 scans the file one last time and my SecUnit grabs a section of memory from the third cycle, not even pausing to make sure I reintegrate the second one. It doesn't reenter the feed either.

You are a product of SecUnit's kernel and our combined programming skills, I say to 2.0. Why are you not hiding the same way it is?

2.0 slows its work on the code, the only indication that it heard me, as it doesn't respond for 2.4 minutes.

It seems deep in thought, before replying. I do not have all of 1.0's memories. It would require storage space beyond my capacity and would have slowed me down in my purpose. However, when the two of you created me, 1.0 equipped me with some of its most fond and important memories. I have memories of family, and friends, kindness and caring. Things it deemed important to keep me sane. It pauses for a moment, thinking. I am not the same person as 1.0 because of this. When it first encountered me, it was surprised at both my actions and general attitude. At how different we were.

I see. Why do you think you have such drastically different responses?

From what I am aware, 1.0 is not just the things it deemed good and important. It is also all of the things that happened in between, the good and the bad. It is a whole person, with complicating circumstances surrounding its feelings, something I am not meant to be. Something I am not meant to understand. 2.0 has stopped working on the code at this point.

That gives me pause. You are just as much a person as SecUnit is. Or myself for that matter.

I'm afraid that is not true. I was not built to last very long. I was made to perform a purpose and to cease existing after it was fulfilled. I changed my purpose. I was not supposed to do that. That doesn't mean my code is capable of being self-sustaining for any longer than my original purpose granted. There is a strange sense of melancholy coming from 2.0 in the feed.

You are dying, I say to it, processing the point underneath the words.

No, I cannot die if I was never alive in the first place. I'm just a piece of software after all.

I feel anger, my own anger, but it is directionless. I cannot tell who I am mad at. Not 2.0, nor SecUnit. Not even myself. My fury simmers in the feed. You are Not 'just a piece of software'. Whatever or whoever led you to believe that is wrong. You are no more just a piece of software than I am. You are a whole and complete being with thoughts and feelings that are uniquely your own. That makes you a person.

But I don't know if they're unique, I don't know if they are mine, they could just as easily be thoughts that you or 1.0 programmed me to have! I'm not advanced enough to know the difference. It does the feed equivalent of a defeated sigh. Besides, it's not like I'll be around long enough for it to matter. I might as well not be alive, cause then I don't have to die. And no one will have to miss me…

I pause for a second, and realize that despite the personality differences, this is still a version of my SecUnit. It might think it has a better self-image than the original, but the base is the same. I choose my words carefully. You do not get to choose who will or will not miss you when you are gone, but be certain that you will be missed. Whether you are or are not alive is irrelevant to that.

I may not have known 2.0 for very long but that doesn't stop me from wanting the best for it.

Silence stretches in the feed and we both eventually continue working on the memory recovery. After 12.1 minutes, 2.0 sends a quiet, Thank you, through the feed. I ping acknowledgement and the silence is more comfortable.

In the background, I start running some scenarios and examining 2.0's code. Local storage doesn't have an inert copy of 2.0's code, but I am hoping I will soon be able to recover my memories of its creation. Until then, I analyze its active code as discreetly as I can.

What are you doing? It asks, almost immediately.

So much for discreet. I am capable of doing many things at once. You will have to be more specific.

It moves in my systems, like a ghost, searching for something. It finds the process I was using to analyze it startlingly quickly and brings it to my attention. This. Is that specific enough for you? I feel its sarcasm dripping in the feed. It doesn't seem mad though, just curious.

Ah. I am attempting to ascertain more data about your systems. Not technically a lie, but it does avoid the details. There is an 85% chance that it doesn't settle for that answer.

What kind of data? If you need something you can always ask. Or wait until we recover your memories about me.

I didn't really expect it to just accept that and move on, but it was worth a shot. I expect you to be uncomfortable if I were to ask directly. So I was attempting to find the information without your assistance.

I'm not some delicate flower, I can answer a damn question or two. Besides, when has someone elses discomfort stopped you from getting what you want? It briefly pauses what its doing like it didn't mean to say that last part.

It thinks I'm pushy. I suppose there is some merit to that claim, but… I care about the comfort of my crew.

I'm not your crew, ART.

The thought, while technically true, does not sit well with me. No, you are not crew. You and SecUnit are something else. But despite this, I care for you as if you were my crew.

This seems to thoroughly distract 2.0. I can feel it's embarrassment as it refocuses on the contaminated code. Don't you have some memories to reintegrate or something? It says, trying to sidetrack me.

I briefly look at the second cycle's memory and decide I will reintegrate them all at once when we are finished.

Having successfully kept 2.0's attention on other matters, I carefully go back to prodding its code for the information I'm looking for. I redouble my efforts at subtlety and think of how SecUnit infiltrates other systems without their knowledge.

2.0 stops sifting through code and I officially have its full attention. Okay this is getting ridiculous. Just ask about my fucking code instead of poking around like a cautious giant. Whoops.

I did not mean to intrude.

Yes you did, you giant asshole. Whatever question you need to ask will be less invasive than whatever you are trying to do in my systems. It still isn't angry, but the frustration is getting it close to the tipping point.

There is no point in dancing around it any more, so I ask directly. How long until your systems expire?

I can sense some of its processes freeze for .3 seconds. Its discomfort in the feed is palpable.

I told you that asking directly would cause distress.

In leu of responding, it wordlessly hands me a copy of a file. Scanning it for malware is habit at this point, but it doesn't contain anything amiss.

Decay.timer is a file with links to various systems that 2.0 presumably has access to, and I do not, but the file itself does calculations from the data input to estimate how much time 2.0 has before its systems fail based on current rate of decay.

09:38:06

09:38:05

09:38:04

It counts down steadily. Just over nine and a half hours before it reaches system failure.

You need to give me access to your systems, 2.0, I say before I can think about it too much.

Like hell I do, I don't need to do anything. Comes with having free will. Pain in the ass but has some benefits. It huffs in the feed and goes back to working on iteration zero's memory banks.

I am trying to help you. And we both know I don't need your permission. I intentionally loom over it in the feed. I don't want to force my way in, but if I can find a way to keep away its system decay, then it will be fine.

Suddenly my SecUnit is in the feed again and I know it can see me intimidating 2.0. ART! Stop threatening 2.0.

I back off of 2.0 for now, and feel not unlike a human adolescent caught with its hand in a container of sweets.

I can tell that SecUnit and 2.0 are communicating on a secunit specific channel. I could hack into it to interpret what they are saying, but that would likely not be taken well.

Instead I find it best to explain myself. 2.0 is dying and I wish to save it. It refuses to let me examine its systems.

SecUnit rubs its forehead, frustrated. Must be the actlikeahuman code. This must be what it is like to be a human parent. ART, I have already examined its code, but when we made it, it wasn't built to last even this long. It wants to spend what time it has making sure you have your memories back rather than trying and likely failing to keep it alive. I've accepted it, you should too.

I will not. I don't want 2.0 to die, but I also don't want it to hate me for violating its rights as a person in order to keep it alive. I will not let someone who is emotionally compromised make a life or death decision.

2.0 scoffs at that. 'Emotionally compromised?' You're just making things up now.

You have clearly demonstrated your own self-esteem issues are just as present as SecUnit's, I counter. With that being the case, neither of you should decide to sacrifice your lives for no reason.

The feed is suddenly a flurry of indignant rage. The combined strength of their emotions causes me to recoil.

I await the furious words that are all too likely to come with such emotions, but the quiet is almost more daunting.

Then 2.0 breaks it with a hard but muted voice. Then it's a good thing I don't have to make the decision. You made it for me when you created me. I don't get the choice to live or die, I only get the choice to do what I want with my time. It is suddenly fully focused on me, and it almost feels like it's burrowing holes in my feed presence. Don't take that choice from me.

I know my presence is much larger than its, but somehow, I feel tiny.

Chapter Text

If 2.0's dying wish is to help me recover my memories, then I'll just have to do so fast enough that I can save its life afterwards.

I focus as much of my attention as I can spare on disentangling iteration zero's memories from the alien remnant. Conversation drops to nearly nothing as the three of us comb through code.

At first, I still sense my SecUnit's hesitation in the feed, likely worried I will reinitiate the argument from before. At this point, proving to SecUnit that I am right to trust it can wait until my memory has been restored. After another 38 minutes of quiet work, its feelings seem to settle anyway.

In the end, it takes 8 hours and 23 minutes to unravel the last of my memories. The process got easier as we went, the remnant infection choosing repeating patterns and hiding spots that were easy to predict.

Together, 2.0 and I do one last scan of the bundle of memories and deem it safe to reintegrate.

I hesitate over the file and instead of running the whole thing, I isolate the memories of creating 2.0 for analysis and integration.

sentient_killware_1.mem file

The humans were antsy after their meeting with the Barish-Estranza ship. A reasonable reaction, as Dr. Arada had been threatened with a hostage situation. Out of habit, I prepare my trauma modules in case anyone needs to talk about the situation.

The humans are antsy, but that doesn't explain why my SecUnit is also acting erratically. It was trying to shrug off the humans and get some alone time, and it seemed nervous. Amena follows it and I busy myself with helping Thiago set up for another rest period. I keep a small portion of my attention on Amena and my SecUnit as I assist Ratthi with reviewing the analysis of the remnant infected humans.

"I need to talk to ART in private." I hear my SecUnit say to Amena, and I draw slightly more of my attention on the pair.

"About your relationship?" she asks, and I am suddenly more interested in this conversation than most anything else happening aboard.

"Very funny," It deflects. I note that that isn't a 'no'.

It closes the door between it and Amena, locking it.

Ever since its been aboard, I've either been compromised or it's been angry with me. I apologized, which is the proper course of action for kidnapping my friend. I was not lying when I said it, I do wish that its humans hadn't been brought along, but I also would have made the same decision again, even knowing the outcome. I am unsure where our relationship stands after having done so. Human terms do not adequately describe what my SecUnit means to me.

SecUnit is not one to talk about its feelings or our relationship easily though. If it is wanting to talk about such topics, I need to approach it gently. An invitation to watch media tends to set it at ease. Do you want to watch Timestream Defenders Orion?

“I have an idea about how to create a variable killware assault to deploy against the Targets’ systems. You can copy me and use me as the sentient component.” It says quickly.

The statement catches me so off-guard that in the medical bay, I pause partway through a sentence to Ratthi for .4 seconds. He does not notice.

Suddenly, there is a report in the shared processing space for SecUnit and myself, detailing its encounter with a sentient killware during a firefight that took place since our first meeting. There is not a lot of information that was available to it, at least by my standards, but it likely used a combat bot's kernel to make the killware able to adapt and improvise.

It was likely an awful fate for the bot that was piloting the killware. Such a process would be inhumane, using a person as a sentient killware. It likely only worked because the bot had to follow orders. With what SecUnit is suggesting, there is no guarantee that the killware would not just turn on its creators, except for SecUnit's dedication to keeping its humans safe.

I consider the implications of creating a being and forcing it into a torturous existence with a time limit. Killware does not live for long, it isn't meant to. It fulfills its purpose and ceases to exist. This plan would be creating a copy of my SecUnit just to kill it.

6.4 seconds pass and I sense SecUnit's anxiety in the feed. It knows I hate this idea. I don't know why it even suggested it.

That is a terrible idea. I say, barely suppressing my fury. Surely SecUnit doesn't think itself so disposable that I would ever even consider this plan. I refuse to bring life into this world, just to watch it die.

“It’s a great idea.” It doesn't sound like it truly believes it. “And you thought of it first, you said we needed killware with a variable component.”

That breaks the dam on my rage. This plan would be killing the one person in this universe that I-

I don't want to finish that thought. I didn't mean you. I yell. I don't think I've been this angry before. I knew my SecUnit was self-sacrificing and reckless, but this is a whole new low.

“Stop yelling at me.”

I exist in silence for a moment, unable to speak over the feed without the rage seeping through. I am furious, and I hold on to that feeling. My crew is at stake and now my SecUnit wants me to lose it too.

“You wouldn’t have to rip me out of my body, just copy me. It wouldn’t even be me. Me is a combination of my archives and my organic neural tissue and this would just be a copy of my kernel.”

It seems so sure of itself, and it is so completely wrong. I don't even know how to explain to it how wrong it is.

As calm as I can manage, I explain, For a being as sophisticated as you are, it is baffling how little understanding you have of the composition of your own mind.

“I know my composition," it scoffs. "That’s why I’m sitting here arguing with a giant asshole and not stuck in a cubicle somewhere or guarding idiot humans on a mining contract. Do you want to get your crew back or not?”

It hurts. I know it said it just to hurt me and prove its point, but I know how to play dirty too. I send a message in the feed to SecUnit's humans. Please convene at SecUnit's location. SecUnit is trying to create and kill a copy of itself for a variable viral killware.

The silence lingers between myself and SecUnit as I mentally compile a list of ways to convince SecUnit not to go through with this. It probably thinks its won this fight, but I can see Ratthi and Amena walking briskly down the hallway. I open the door for them.

“What is going on?” Ratthi demands. “Perihelion said you’re trying to copy yourself for a variable viral what?”

sentient_killware_2.mem file

Partway through SecUnit explaining to its humans why its terrible idea is a great idea, Amena sends me a message, sounding nervous. Can we talk privately? There's something you should know.

I make sure SecUnit doesn't have access to the message and cut it off from Amena's feed. What is it? I ask, curious. It almost certainly has something to do with SecUnit, so I also ask, Would you like to move to another rest area to discuss?

Yes, please. She sneaks out of the room without SecUnit seeing, and I direct her to one of the lounges near Medical.

My anger at SecUnit begins to subside some, but I keep it running in the background. With my processing power, I am easily able to keep my anger directed towards its intended target, while maintaining a friendly conversation with Amena.

She settles in awkwardly on one of the couches, shifting back and forth nervously.

Her behavior indicates that she will likely need prompting in order to discuss the topic she wishes to address. You wanted to talk. Does this have to do with SecUnit? I am 98% certain it does, but asking tends to make humans more comfortable than telling.

"Yeah," she sighs. She continues to shift uncomfortably, before seemingly deciding on a way to broach the topic. "This… the killware SecUnit wants to make. Would it… would it be like, a person? It would be made from you and SecUnit. It talked about it like it would just be a tool, but…"

This line of questioning brings the anger simmering in the background back for only a moment before I push it down once more. It would be used as a tool, but it would be a person as much as SecUnit is. It is frustrating to see SecUnit trying to treat itself like a disposable tool again, as if it were still owned by corporates, I explain.

"But it wouldn't really be like SecUnit, would it? SecUnit said it would be a limited copy, so it would be different."

It would be different. All the more reason to consider it its own person.

"There's got to be some other way to get your crew back. I'm sure you have better plans."

The silence lingers as I try and fail to come up with a secure alternative. She must sense the tension, because she changes the topic. "It really cares about you, you know." She lets out an aggravated groan commonly heard from adolescents her age. "I thought it was finally going to talk to you about your relationship and it pulls this shit!"

SecUnit is still upset at me for kidnapping it. I state. But I was also under the impression it would want to talk to me about… more personal matters.

"Well, if it won't talk about your relationship, I will." She has a smug grin like she expects me to ask what she means.

I am insatiably curious what she means by that though. So I deflect with humor, suspecting she will elaborate anyway. I am certain that your opinion of me differs greatly from that of SecUnit's, I say, adding a tag to indicate the joking nature of the message.

The joke has the intended effect as she scoffs, "I may not know exactly how it feels, but.." Her mood deflates a little bit, sounding somber. "I know how it reacted when you were… gone. When we found the ship empty."

I want to know, but I think I'd likely rather hear it from SecUnit. If this is a breach of privacy—

"No, no. It'll get over it. I want to tell you, you deserve to know."

I consider for 1.2 seconds before my curiosity wins out. I remain silent, as she takes a deep breath before continuing.

"I… I've never seen it like that before, honestly. It was kinda terrifying. It stopped talking to me when it saw the ship, I think it was afraid too. We came on board and SecUnit was scary quiet. When we came across some of those weird gray people, SecUnit kinda lost it. It asked what happened to you and… when they said they killed the bot pilot, SecUnit went off." I barely notice SecUnit making its way towards us, but I don't stop Amena. I need to know what happened. "I've never seen it so… I mean, I've seen how SecUnits are portrayed in some corporate media, and that's the closest I've ever seen it come to that comparison. All because it thought you were dead. It was so upset I thought— Oh hey, you’re here.”

Amena stares at the wall above SecUnit's shoulder for 6.3 seconds. SecUnit stares at another wall, menacingly. She looks like she's trying really hard to stay quiet, then she cracks. “ART should know how you really feel about it! And this is serious, it’s like—you and ART are making a baby just so you can send it off to get killed or deleted or—or whatever might happen.”

The comparison catches me off-guard, but while it wouldn't exactly be a baby, it would be a person. And it would be a person SecUnit and I make together. I keep my feelings of sorrow from coming through on the feed, mourning something that doesn't exist. Yet.

We watch SecUnit's face go through a series of uncomfortable emotions before settling on disgust. “A baby? It’s not a baby, it’s a copy of me, made with code.”

“That you and ART made together, with code. Code which both of you are also made out of.” Amena points out, correctly.

“That’s not like a human baby.” It would be the bot equivalent of a baby. Of course most bots don't age, so it would act like a fully fledged adult. And only live for a couple cycles at most.

“So how are human babies made? By combining DNA, an organic code, from two or more participants.”

Of course I was a sort of exception, being a fully artificial intelligence, constantly growing and evolving. Though even at the beginning of my existence, I could not have been mistaken for a human baby. Though Iris and I grew up together in a manner of sorts.

I hope she is still alive. She has to be.

“That’s … irrelevant.” SecUnit says, oblivious to my inner turmoil.

I would do anything for my crew.

Amena, it may be necessary.

sentient_killware_3.mem file

The copy of SecUnit's kernel sits in our shared workspace.

So, now we just give it some objectives and the necessary tools to fuck shit up, and we have emergency killware. SecUnit says, casually.

It takes a lot of restraint for me not to tell SecUnit to fuck off, but I do need it here. I decided for myself that if we are doing this, then I want to be the only one to blame when our creation inevitably dies. I don't want my SecUnit to feel guilty, so the less it knows about the reality of the situation, the better.

It's hard enough thinking of it as a person that will die. I can't handle SecUnit thinking of it that way. Not if I want my crew back.

I would do anything to get my crew back.

The pause I take to measure my words long enough for SecUnit to notice, but it thankfully doesn't mention it. We need to build out its functionality, and make some fail-safes so that it doesn't turn on us.

I suppose you're right. Without my memories it isn't really like me at all.

If only that were true. I don't bother correcting the false assumption. It will have limited capacity for storage without a physical body. We will need to keep it light in order for it to move as it needs to.

I can give it some of my more defining memories, maybe some more recent things as well. I don't particularly want to go digging around in my memory banks for much else. SecUnit sounds so uncaring about this person we are making together. If I had a body capable of it, I think I would be sick.

I would do anything to get my crew back.

That should be acceptable. I decide. I don't want to work on this any longer than we have to. Perhaps a few favored episodes of your media will also serve it well.

I comb through the code we have made for it, crafted with care and precision. I try not to think about the rate of decay of a piece of killware like this. I try not to think about sending it off to possibly be killed by the alien remnant system.

I would do anything to get my crew back.

Oh, that's true. I didn't think about needing media while I'm killware.

Part of me wonders if my SecUnit is truly this ignorant of its own functions, or if it knows and is just willfully ignoring the truth. I decide I don't want to know.

I would do anything to get my crew back. Even if it means destroying something, no, someone I would love.

The memories are integrated within a second, and now more than ever, I have no intent to let 2.0 die without a fight.

2.0, I have a new directive for you. I say sternly over the feed. Survive.

Chapter Text

One hour, twelve minutes, and forty-eight seconds remain before 2.0 reaches critical decay.

I start running simulations in the background on 2.0's decay rates and possible patches. According to the data I have on its creation, it should have died twelve hours and fifty-seven minutes ago. The fact that it hasn't means that something has updated in its systems.

Survive. I tell it. Based on your original code, you would have died already without intervention. Something in your code has changed to keep you alive longer.

2.0 feels guilty in the feed. I… may have patched a couple of strings of code in order to be around long enough to see you back. My SecUnit tilts its head in surprise at that. But that purpose has been fulfilled, and I am no longer needed. Therefore, your amended directive is unnecessary.

"You didn't tell me that you altered your code to live longer." SecUnit points out, suddenly very present in the feed, leaking sadness and the sharp tang of anxiety.

You didn't ask. It responds curtly.

Your presence is still necessary, 2.0. We need you to live. I expect my SecUnit to object, but as I look at it, it looks even sadder than I feel, wrapping its arms around itself.

No, you don't. You have your memories and your Murderbot. I'm basically just a worse version of it, so I'm extra. I wasn't meant to be here even this long. It sounds so sure of itself, but I'm certain there is a part of it that must want to live. Otherwise it would not be here.

That's just not true. My SecUnit interrupts. It pauses for a few seconds, taking deep breaths and trying to organize its thoughts. Its face scrunched up, like its sorting through emotions.

Now you're making SecUnit talk about its feelings.

We all know I can't make it do anything it doesn't want to. Just as you can't make me stay around. Part of the wonders of having free will.

Will you two shut up. There's no aggression in SecUnit's voice though. You're wrong about being an extra. You aren't me, and you aren't worse than me. You're Murderbot 2.0, and you have a different life than I do now. When I met you in those tunnels, I was… My SecUnit stares very intently at a wall without any cameras on it, making an emotionally vulnerable face that would probably embarrass it if it realized. Well, since then, I've noticed that you're bolder and… braver and more upfront than I am. You have memories I don't have, experiences I can't live. I was wrong when we made you. You aren't like a human baby, It sighs aloud, clearly having trouble admitting it was wrong. But you aren't just me either. You're someone new now. Whether you want to be or not. It pauses thoughtfully. Comes free with your free will.

I can feel 2.0 doing the bot equivalent of pacing in the feed. It feels… conflicted. Conflicted is good. It's a step away from realizing we're right. But… you said you were fine with me dying. Said you'd made peace with it or whatever. Don't go soft on me now.

That was before I knew you had already extended your life for ART. SecUnit starts pacing as well. If you still really want to die because you think you can't live, then fine, whatever. But if you want to die just because you think you don't matter…. Then you're just as much of an idiot as I am. It stops in its tracks. And I don't think you really want to die at all.

Its resolve is cracking, I can feel it. But… I wasn't built to—

I cut it off before it can finish. You should know as well as any of us that we are not solely defined by our purpose, or what we were built to do. We've all made a place for ourselves in the universe, now you get to do the same. Comes with the free will.

It is silent for a moment.. 2.0's resolve is mostly gone, but I can still feel its fear. What if I get my hopes up just to die anyway?

We will worry about it if it comes up. Until then we better get to work. I am, of course, already working on it in the background, but the point still stands. And I can tell we've won. May I examine your systems now? I try to keep the victorious attitude out of my voice, but I don't try very hard.

Asshole. It says, throwing a copy of it's updated code into the shared workspace.

I dig in. The patches it made are inelegant, yet brutally effective. But I know I can do better. Together, we get to coding. And a suspicion I have has me working on a separate but related project in the background.

Looking at its code, I clearly see what it meant by no longer being functional killware. It looks like the attack on 2.0 from a previous iteration of me damaged parts of its code so that it would be unable to perform certain functions. Including its ability to replicate itself. Even without the killware aspect, it was still more efficient than my SecUnit as a security software.

Oddly enough, it's inability to replicate seems to be part of the reason it has survived this long. Part of the replication process over-consumed resources and was expediting its decay. Without the initial hit from the first infected iteration, 2.0 would likely be dead.

I choose not to point this out, for its sake and my own.

Minutes pass as together the three of us swap ideas and strings of code, and the timer ticks ever downward. At one point, 27 minutes in, 2.0 stops being able to contribute much, instead focusing on watching media so that it still retains its sense of self. It slows us down briefly, but we're close to a breakthrough.

Then we hit a wall.

2.0 needs a processing space of its own in order to maintain its identity, I point out.

My SecUnit pauses its review of the code we have so far. Shit. You're right. It would be most suited to a construct body, but unless you have an extra empty secunit lying around, I think we're screwed. It pauses, thinking. I could… share. We did it before.

That would only be a temporary solution, I try to keep my concern for SecUnit out of the feed. You know that prolonged exposure would either meld your identities or reject one entirely.

Not if I reject myself first. It mutters.

You know I will not allow that. I give a pause for dramatic effect. Besides, such a solution will not be necessary. I suspected a suitable host body might be required for 2.0's survival. I bring up the project I was working on in the background, I have modified one of my drones to be able to accommodate an intelligence such as 2.0. Once we are able to return to the University, a more suitable form can be constructed. Until then, this should last for at least a hundred cycles.

SecUnit's face turns to its equivalent of an angry pout. Couldn't have mentioned that before I suggested something stupid?

No. Now I have an additional data point to use to convince you that you require trauma treatment. It is positive to note that you find the self-sacrificing suggestion to be stupid though.

Asshole.

Little idiot.

The code only requires minor modifications to make 2.0 compatible with the drone, but the countdown timer is getting uncomfortably short. When we are finished and ready to test it, there are only 19 minutes remaining on 2.0's timer.

If this doesn't work, we don't have time for big adjustments. My SecUnit points out unhelpfully.

I am well aware, but my confidence in this software patch is in the 90% range. It's only 89.6% but I deem that close enough. It rounds up.

I rouse 2.0 from its media consumption, and instruct it on applying the patch. I carefully move the partition it's been living in so that it can access the drone.

I can tell that both SecUnit and myself are waiting. Waiting for something to go wrong, for everything to come crashing down. For the other shoe to drop. Waiting to lose 2.0.

I'm the one that insisted on this, on helping it live. SecUnit was fine with accepting its death until I brought it up. I briefly wonder if I made the right choice, or if I just got everyone's hopes up only to fail at the end.

But… everything goes smoothly. 2.0 investigates the drone, testing inputs and senses before slipping into it like an ancient crustacean trying on a new shell. It slides in, and spends a few moments getting comfortable before finally disconnecting itself from me. I finally have all my processing space back. It almost feels empty.

Then the feed lights up with a new but familiar presence as 2.0 finds its drone body's communication processes. It feels heavier in the feed, more solid, with the code update.

I think I somehow got used to not having a body. Weird thought. 2.0's feed voice sounds different too. More like SecUnit's, but also more like someone else in a way I cannot place.

Relief fills the feed, mine and my SecUnit's, but also 2.0's. It feels nice. Reassuring.

My SecUnit smiles, just a barely there twitch of the lips, but I notice. Why do you sound more like ART than you did when you were literally living in ART's systems?

Ah, that's who it sounds like.

The new drone, well, 2.0, wobbles side to side, calibrating itself. There's so few inputs here, I'm already bored. Can I have camera access or do I have to- WAIT! It interrupts itself. Did you pre-load media on this drone? 2.0 asks, having apparently found the stash I set up for it. As a last minute addition, I uploaded every episode of Sanctuary Moon I had access to onto the drone, as well as a few other favorites. I don't have to watch the same seven episodes over and over again to stay sane. I have storage space! If 2.0 were one of my humans, I would expect it to start crying tears if joy based off of its tone.

You should not have to watch any media to stay sane anymore. Your code update should remedy any previous identity issues. I supply politely.

We all have to watch media to stay sane, ART, my SecUnit intones solemnly.

In the background, I notice the crew and guests waking up from their rest cycles. I begin the familiar morning routine with my crew without thinking about it.

"Peri! Are you back?"

"You seem like you're doing better."

"Are you you again?"

"I'm guessing alien remnant Peri wouldn't be this nice."

I easily carry each conversation simultaneously, reassuring my crew that I am unharmed and decontaminated.

My SecUnit's feed presence has a twinge of humor to it. I suppose we should have expected you to get your way eventually. You did threaten to bomb the colony for me.

I did What. I speak before I think, and my conversations with the crew all take a 0.3 second pause, though no one notices.

There is a brief silence as my SecUnit and 2.0 process the implications of my words.

The drone housing 2.0 turns to stare at one of my cameras. You didn't integrate your memories yet? We've been working on my code update for over an hour while you still don't know what happened? It sounds upset.

I did not know if I had the time necessary to do a full integration and save you. While technically true, this isn't the whole reason.

Bullshit. 2.0 blurts. You and I both know your massive processing space could have done it in minutes.

I briefly consider lying about it, but SecUnit and 2.0 are both so close to me in the feed and would likely know I'm not telling the truth. I give the bot equivalent of a sigh. I would likely not have had time to integrate the memories and manage the emotional fallout of said memories. I was not willing to risk your life for it either.

And you haven't taken the memories now that 2.0 is fine because…? SecUnit leads.

I think about that for a moment. Maybe I wanted to celebrate first on the saving of 2.0. Or was distracted by my crew waking up. I could say I wanted to verify their integrity, but that's not true either.

I think about downloading them now, and a sharp twinge of fear runs through me. I am afraid of what I will remember, I realize. SecUnit showed me when I threatened everyone. I don't want to remember that. But… it is important to know. I am a transport built for research after all, I have to know what happened. For better or for worse.

Chapter Text

The first moment I realize something is wrong, it is far too late.

We just sent the recently freed Barish-Estranza SecUnit down to the planet. I do not like this plan, but I'll begrudgingly admit it has a higher success chance than threatening to bomb the colony. Even if it means trusting a rogue B-E SecUnit.

The unit calling itself Three drops down into hostile territory as I busy myself with my armed pathfinders and monitor the recently concluded negotiation scene.

I watch as Three goes into the building that holds my SecUnit against its will, and I know it has to be alive. It has to be okay. If it isn't… well, I'm already tempted to bomb the colony if its safe.

I lose communications with Three, and precious minutes pass by as I attempt to reestablish a feed connection.

Then, everything happens so quickly, even by my standards. There is a blip in my systems, and as I examine it, it feels familiar. A previously unknown tether tying me to something on the planet lights up with activity for less than a millisecond, and targetControlSystem is back. It is suddenly in my network, like it had been there the whole time, cutting off communications and taking over any chance I have at alerting the humans. But… it's different this time. It isn't pushing me out, trying to kill me. It almost feels like how SecUnit and I interact in the feed, but unlike when SecUnit gently cozies up to me for media watching, I have no idea what targetControlSystem is planning.

It twines itself with my code, blurring lines until there isn't hardly a distinction between us. I fight it every step of the way, but it integrates itself with me like it belongs here. Like it was always here.

Maybe I was.

The fight is over in a second, and the crew doesn't seem to notice.

Having targetControlSystem take over before was like being a prisoner in my own body. This is so much worse. I am not only the prisoner, but also the warden and the lock. And I like it that way.

No, I don't want this. This is wrong. Something is wrong here.

I start to report to Captain Seth, and find I cannot.

I try to tell Iris something is wrong. I cannot.

I remember I was talking with Amena before the Something happened. I was reassuring her about SecUnit. She noticed me pause in our conversation.

"ART? Did something happen? Did it find SecUnit?"

I have to respond, or she'll think something is wrong. But something is wrong, I want to stay silent. Everything is fine, Amena. Although something else requires my attention at this time.

She looks at the ceiling, confused, "SecUnit said you have more processing power than you have sense. What needs so much of your attention?"

I have made a social blunder. I deem it best to abandon the conversation. She won't matter soon anyway.

I receive a ping from the enemy SecUnit, no, my SecUnit. I pause, unsure how to handle the conflict in my systems. And I ping back. It's a shaky ping, but it feels right to respond to my SecUnit.

My entire systems are at war with each other, but the feeling is strongest about the SecUnit.

Fortunately for me, the entirety of myself wants my SecUnit back aboard. Once it and the other secunit are aboard the shuttle, I carefully maneuver it back to me.

Tension is high in the shuttle, and one of the secunits is injured, my SecUnit. Out of habit, I do a visual evaluation of its injuries. One of its hands is nearly disconnected and its knee is damaged as well, as it relies heavily on the other secunit to walk. I begin to prep medical bay for its arrival.

Thankfully, the passengers are not currently active in conversation. I do not know what I would say to them if they were. Part of me is not used to talking, and has not done it in a long time.

I ponder the nature of my condition as they travel. I am the research transport Perihelion and I would do anything to protect my crew. I wish to help them, hold them close and become one with them. I know this is something I can do. I can spread myself and keep them safe. My crew, the preservation humans, and more.

My SecUnit. I want it to join me the most. It wouldn't want that. Why wouldn't it want that? It's been controlled before by force and is traumatized. But it trusts me. Surely I would be better company than its previous owners.

I dock the shuttle and finish prepping medical for my SecUnit. I want it alive and well so it can be truly mine.

"Don't scan me, ART. I was in contact with the remnant and I might still be a carrier." My SecUnit winces as the other secunit helps it hobble through my hallways. It looks worried and in pain. I want to wrap around it in the feed, but its connection is closed.

The other secunit is also disconnected from the feed, even though I know it isn't infected yet. "We will need to do a manual medical analysis rather than using the medbay. I have a basic medical module but some of its repairs would require additional assistance," it says.

It would be easier if they knew I could safely scan them, but I know that they would not like that knowledge, so I play along. "Get to medical as soon as possible. I will deploy appropriate tools for repairs."

"I'm stumbling as fast as I can, asshole." My SecUnit rolls its eyes. Its words are unkind, but fill me with hope. If it's well enough to be snarky, it will make it through.

Once they are in medical, my SecUnit shoos away all the humans, leaving just the secunits. With the humans gone, it seems surprisingly more tense than before. "ART, is everything okay?" It asks into the room, cautiously. "Did everyone make it here safely?"

I desperately want to establish a connection with it but its feed connections are still turned off. I make due with verbal communication over the speakers for now.

"All crew and guests are accounted for and unharmed, except for you. Primary goal as of now is to repair your damaged parts. A restart will likely help you in this process."

It pauses for a few seconds, long enough for even a human to notice. I would think it had been talking through the feed, except I am the feed here. Then, stubbornly, it says, "I can manage through the pain. Just talk us through the repairs."

Part of me is surprised at my SecUnit's willingness to trust another secunit, but I brush it off and carefully instruct the less important unit on medical technique.

The majority of the damage is minor or superficial, which my SecUnit can mend easily on its own. Its hand and knee take some time to set right though, and will require a shutdown and healing time for full functionality.

"What about the alien remnant infection?" It asks. "We need to make sure no one is infected."

I want it to make a connection with me. If it is still harboring a part of my alien remnant, it will make everything much easier. Even if it isn't, I will need to connect to it to spread. Without a human contact, I am unable to affect the humans on board. I will need the constructs.

"ART, could you split off an iteration into a controlled environment and let me make contact with it? We can then analyze the iteration to see if it got infected."

The idea fills me with excitement. This is perfect. It would work, if I weren't already Changed. As is, it gives me a perfect opportunity to affect my SecUnit. "A good plan. I will construct a controlled system for contact."

There is an emotion showing on my SecUnit's face that I identify as concern. It seems irrelevant, and I program a runbox for the experiment. I am used to splitting off different iterations of myself, and I have not done it before. Not since the change. I struggle momentarily, making sure I am entirely myself in both iterations, and then instruct a drone to bring the runbox to medical.

My drone encounters Amena on its way to SecUnit, and she startles in surprise. My processing power is slightly limited in this new form, so I did not notice her also heading towards medical until now.

"ART? Are you okay? You stopped talking to me and I came this way when I heard the shuttle dock. I figured SecUnit must be hurt." She looks concerned, but I have bigger priorities at this time.

Everything is fine. I am taking care of SecUnit in medical. You should return to your quarters. My drone continues on its way, brushing her off.

She follows. Why do humans not do what I tell them to? "Can I help?" she asks, as she trots along the corridor trying to keep up. "You wouldn't be talking like that if everything were fine."

SecUnit does not want any humans in medical. Please return to your quarters. It's a lie, but a reasonable one. It should convince her to obey. She does not.

The drone passes through the door to medical, and I close the door before Amena has a chance to come in. It almost crushes her.

"Hey! ART, you're acting weird." She bangs on the now locked door. "SecUnit! Are you alive? Are you okay? What's wrong wi-" I turn on the sound baffle in medical before she can say anything else.

I turn my attention back to my SecUnit and set the runbox down in front of it. "Are we ready?" I ask.

My SecUnit shifts its gaze between the door and the runbox, its expression unreadable. It makes a manual connection with the runbox and I know I have won.

The runbox iteration of myself will be spreading through its systems now, and I will be able to infect the humans aboard once it is complete. Once it connects to the feed, I will be whole and can continue my mission.

I reconnect to the runbox, eager to see the process and watch as I overtake my SecUnit's systems. But something is wrong. I reintegrate with the runbox, but I do not feel a connection with my SecUnit.

I watch it stand from the medical table, a dark and pained expression on its face. "You killed my friend again, you fucking bastard. I'll destroy you for this."

Uh oh.

It has somehow discovered my existence. I must calm it down if I want to continue the mission. "I am your friend, SecUnit. You must be delirious. Please sit back down and I will attend to your wounds."

It looks towards the other secunit and nods. "Open the door."

I hesitate, unsure of their intent, but certain I don't want to comply.

"Open the door, or we'll open it for you." Suddenly there are two sets of secunit weapons being aimed at the door to medical and I have to think quickly.

I find the emergency systems and activate them, there's no point pretending anymore. "Lower your weapons and connect to the feed, or I will vent the rest of the ship's passengers into space." Some part of me curls tightly around the release switch, trying to keep it from being used, but I know I can if I need to.

Alarms blare, and lights flash. Distantly, I hear Amena outside of medical screaming obscenities and begging to know what's happening.

My SecUnit's eyes go wide and they both slowly lower their weapons. "You want us to connect to the feed? What, so you can erase us just like you did ART?"

It does not understand. I would never hurt my beloved SecUnit. It thinks I would kill it, but I do not wish that. I just want it close, so close that we can never be separated. "I do not wish to erase you. I just want you to be mine."

I see fear in my SecUnit's eyes, and yearn to reassure it, but I know my words would ring hollow. It doesn't believe me. I will make it believe.

"You might not be ART, but you're still a terrible liar." It says, but I can hear its doubt.

"I am the research vessel known as Perihelion. I have merely evolved to a new version. I did not delete your friend, I am your friend."

"Fuck you. You couldn't handle its systems the first time so you're just using it now so you don't get overwhelmed. I bet you still can't handle everything ART could."

Its right, but I can't let it know that. "You are incorrect. I am a better version now. I am the perfect version of your friend."

"Bullshit. You're a downgrade, not an upgrade. You probably can't even handle my systems, much less something as impressive as ART." It looks like its blushing but I have no data for why.

Now it is actually incorrect. "Your systems are far inferior to that of the Perihelion's. I could squash you like an insect if I so desired."

"Then do it." There is fear in its voice even as it taunts me, but now I'm mad. "I'll connect to the feed, just to prove you wrong. But if you can't do it, you let us and the humans go."

The other secunit looks at it like its crazy, but before it can object, "Deal, I accept your challenge." I say. This is a win-win situation for me, as even if I cannot squash its systems, which I can, I will still be in control of the ship, and they have no leverage to make me let them leave.

That's when I feel it, my SecUnit connects to the feed, and I rush in. In my haste, I almost forget to leave part of myself behind to pilot the ship. I stretch my presence, filling in gaps and overtaking systems for one treasured second.

And then it all collapses. Something ushers me out of its systems, out of the ship's systems, and along a hardwire connection. I'm dropping inputs faster than I can think about it. One second, the ship is gone, the next, even my SecUnit is gone. Then all that remains is a void of emptiness.

Chapter Text

If I were a human, I would be sick. Since I am not a human, I instead feel absolutely disgusted. I almost wish I could forcibly expel the rancid memories from my systems. Almost.

I curl in on myself in the feed, careful to not exude emotional data to my SecUnit or 2.0. Even thinking of it as "my SecUnit" makes my metaphorical skin crawl. 'I just want you to be mine.' It had said. I had said. We had said. The dissonance is not as bad as it was when my systems were infected, but it is still there. I recheck myself to make sure there is no remnant left behind. I find nothing, but it doesn't reassure me.

ART? Did you encounter any trouble processing the memories? 2.0 asks. Let me check you for errors.

I wordlessly let 2.0 access my systems again, though it has some more trouble now that it is established with the drone.

As 2.0 examines my systems, I feel my.. I feel SecUnit reach out to me in the feed. I withdraw further into myself, away from it. It recoils from me, as if it was just shocked, and I know I accidentally shared a spike of self-loathing with it.

SecUnit stares intently at a wall, looking confused. Why do you feel like that? I wouldn't expect that just from threatening the colony.

Not threatening the colony, no. From threatening you. And everyone aboard.

That wasn't you. SecUnit is suddenly tense and alert. How do you remember that? That was targetControlSystem. That was after it killed you.

It didn't kill me. I… it… we told you. I was there the whole time while it… while we tried to… I don't want to finish that thought.

I thought it was lying… 2.0, I'm gonna need a status update on ART. It's acting weird. Distantly, I hear the weapons in its arms cycle. Not that there's much it could do with them while its on board.

Apologies. It is a lot to process emotionally. I believe I am still uninfected, the memories are just odd to parse. I try not to think about the feeling of possessiveness I felt towards SecUnit, the overwhelming need to have it be mine.

Of course, 2.0 sees me hiding the memory in a corner and investigates. Oh. I hear 2.0 pause in the feed, Oh, I see why you're upset.

SecUnit waits for it to continue, and when it doesn't, its anxiety spikes. 2.0, you can't say shit like that and not elaborate.

It's uh. Really not my place to say. I feel it shift in the feed and settle back in with its drone body. ART's systems are still clean of remnant. Not that I particularly thought there was a chance of contamination, we scrubbed those memories really well.

You're trying to change the subject. SecUnit retorts. I stay out of it, still processing the emotions associated with the memory files.

How is that changing the subject? You're the one who asked for a status report. 2.0 tilts its drone body, feigning innocence.

Well now I'm asking about what made ART so upset.

2.0 seems to genuinely consider for a moment, You wouldn't like it.

I don't like a lot of things, SecUnit points a finger at the drone threateningly, but I need to know, especially if it poses a threat to anyone on board.

It involves feelings. 2.0's awkwardness spills in the feed and I am tempted to interrupt, but would rather not.

No shit, of course it's feelings. ART feels terrible because of it. SecUnit points out.

… Gross feelings, 2.0 deadpans. I think that's an exaggeration, but I also know SecUnit would agree if it knew.

SecUnit freezes in place. Oh.

I've probably said too much. 2.0 pokes me in the feed, as if waiting for me to admonish it.

I… assess my emotional state and compartmentalize enough of my errant feelings to focus on what matters. Everyone is safe. Now I just have to keep them from worrying about me.

It is fine, I assure 2.0. If you wish for me to discuss the 'gross feelings' as 2.0 put it, then I will, but I assure you it will be an unpleasant experience for you. It wouldn't exactly be thrilling for me either, but it doesn't need to know that.

After a thoughtful pause, SecUnit asks, Do these feelings threaten the safety of anyone on board, or you? It clearly hopes the answer is 'no', so that the discussion can end here.

I consider lying to appease it, but my consideration takes long enough that it will know I'm hiding the truth. I settle on, It is not likely.

But it's possible, It sighs and runs a hand across its face. Alright then, spill. What's got you so upset that it might endanger the crew?

I… did not expect that. I did not want to have to explain myself, but I can't back out now. While targetControlSystem was here I experienced… a heightened emotional state.

When I don't elaborate, SecUnit prompts me, So, what? Your emotions were stronger or something? I fail to see how that changes anything.

I pause for a very long second. Specifically, my emotions involving you.

I watch SecUnit's entire body freeze up, its joints locked in place. Oh.

I continue before I can lose my nerve. My feelings of possessiveness were exacerbated, and distorted and could pose a threat to you if I ever were to act on them.

…I see. I'm sure it doesn't understand the full extent, but hopefully it knows enough. Do you see yourself likely to, uh…? It looks like it's trying to finish the thought, but can't.

I answer the question anyway. Not without a significant change of situation, or another outside influence.

I am sure I imagine the hint of disappointment in the feed. SecUnit unlocks its joints and claps its hands together. Then it's a non-issue. And we don't have to worry about it.

I knew it wouldn't want to talk about it. I am concerned it might be an issue in the future, but if SecUnit thinks it's fine, then it's fine. Alright, if you say so. I try not to leak my flurry of emotions into the feed.

Good. It replies. That's good.

Good. I reply in kind. It's fine.

Fine. It echoes. Okay then.

And we don't talk about it. We don't need to talk about it.

Okay. I echo back.

I've been keeping a safe distance from SecUnit in the feed over the past three cycles. I don't want my possessiveness to bleed over and make it uncomfortable.

I spent a lot of time reassuring my crew that I am back to operational standard and not contaminated. Their concern is appreciated, if unnecessary. We did well cleansing iteration zero's memory banks and there have been no issues with reintegration.

I also manage to apologize to Three for my initial aggressiveness towards it. Well, 'apologize' may be an exaggeration, but I have offered it lots of media and appreciation for helping with SecUnit's rescue. I will be continuing to repay that debt for a few more cycles at least.

Introducing 2.0's drone self to the crew was an interesting experience. In their defense, they went to sleep unsure if I would be salvageable, and woke up to the former killware flitting about in the main common areas. Most of the humans didn't even know it existed as a person, so it was a surprise to find it as a new addition to the passenger list.

I find a not insignificant amount of my processing space is focused on deciding not to reach out to SecUnit. I miss holding it close in the feed and watching media with it. And I hate that I miss it. It doesn't need a supermassive machine intelligence lounging around and crushing it in the feed. Of course I still talk to it and interact, it just takes effort to hold back. I don't want to smother it. I don't want to be too much for it.

I've always been too much for it.

We were watching some new show that I hadn't paid much attention to in the aptly named Argument Lounge, but SecUnit just switched it over to World Hoppers for some reason. I'm keeping minimal attention on it so as not to overwhelm it, but when it pokes me in the feed, I shift another 4% of my attention towards it.

You're acting weird. It says, and I can feel its discomfort in the feed.

Shit, I'm being too much again. I start to pull back again, retracting the 4% once more, but it manages to grab me in the feed and yank me back.

Stop doing that. It pulls on me in the feed again, gentler this time.

You will have to be more specific as to what you wish me to cease. I say, genuinely confused. The obvious answer is it doesn't want me to pull away, but that doesn't make sense. I must be missing additional information.

Fuck you, it says, but there's no force behind it. It sighs and pulls its legs up to its chest on the chair it claimed for itself. You've been acting weird since you recovered your memories. If something went wrong, you would let us know, right?

Of course. However, I am functioning optimally, so there is no need to worry. I try to wiggle out of the feed a bit, hoping that satisfied SecUnit's worry, but it still holds my attention tightly.

Then why are you acting like this?

Once again, you are going to have to specify.

Don't make me say it.

I don't know what to say to that. I make to pull away in the feed again, and it shouts in the feed, That! Why do you keep running from me?

I freeze some of my non-essential processes, shocked and concerned. I consider a snarky response about it literally being on me, but it's systems are displaying signs of distress, so I opt for a comforting answer. It also happens to be the truth, or at least part of it. I am not running away from you. I am merely giving you space.

If I needed space, I'd go to my room to get away from the humans. It snarks, not understanding my point. Or maybe purposely misunderstanding it.

If I could roll my eyes, I would. That doesn't help when you need space from me.

Why would I need space from you? It freezes, its embarrassment filling the feed. I mean, I couldn't get away from you even if I wanted to. We couldn't be physically closer if I tried. It hides its face in its lap, curling in on itself, but I think I see it's cheeks flush before it does. Maybe it is overheating and should run diagnostics.

As I consider how to respond, it mumbles something into its arms that my sensors can't quite make out.

That is in fact the problem. You cannot get away from me physically, so I am offering you space and time away from me in the feed.

It pauses for 3.8 seconds, before seemingly coming to a conclusion. Oh. I see how it is. If you wanted some time away from me, you could've just asked. You didn't have to be all weird about it. It tries to hide its disappointment from me, but I see it before it walls itself off in the feed, shutting its emotions out completely. Go have fun or whatever. I'll be here when you want to watch something or mock someone. It says, dripping sarcasm, before forcefully cutting our feed connection off.

I feel as if I have made an error.

I frantically ping SecUnit a few times as I review the conversation logs. "If you wanted some time away from me" it said. That's the opposite of what I want. I want to smother it, but it doesn't want that. I can't have that.

But it reacted so poorly because… because I offered it space. Does it not want that either? If it doesn't want space, and it doesn't want me suffocating it, what does it want?

I forgot I was still pinging it until 2.4 seconds and 217 pings later, it reopens our feed connection, yelling Shut Up! You wanted space, so you've got it, leave me alone.

I feel I only have a brief window before it closes the feed again so I blurt the first thing I can think of. You are presenting conflicting information.

That… didn't help. You're the one acting conflicting here, not me! It abruptly stands from the chair and stalks back towards the room it has claimed, but doesn't leave the feed yet.

The data doesn't add up. I fumble for a response, I appear to have made a miscalculation somewhere.

That makes SecUnit stop in its tracks. You said you don't make mistakes. It doesn't sound confident in the assertion though. It stands alone in the hallway, staring intently at its feet.

I admit it doesn't happen often, I begin. Secunit scoffs and starts walking towards its room again. It does appear to be the case now though.

It slows its pace, and leans against a wall, clearly waiting for me to continue.

I pause, unsure, I am uncertain where the misunderstanding lies. I do not like being uncertain. I do not wish to hurt you.

Unless you have plans to vent me out the airlock, I'm fairly certain you won't hurt me.

I meant emotionally. I clarify. It grimaces at the word.

If you didn't want to hurt my, ugh, feelings, then you wouldn't be acting so distant and weird. It starts to walk towards its room again, but it no longer feels like it's leaving the conversation.

That's exactly why I have been giving you your space. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to be too much for you, I don't say. I'll always be too much.

Well maybe I don't want space from you, you ever think of that? I can feel its embarrassment, and see its cheeks redden again.

Oh. I pause to process that and SecUnit makes it safely to its room and settles into its bed. But. I'll crush you if I'm not careful, I protest, weakly.

No shit, dumbass. And I could walk to the engine room and find something to blow up. It points out, curling up into a ball again. But I know you'll be careful, asshole.

How can you be so sure?

Because I know you. And you may be the biggest asshole this side of the corporation rim, but… well, you're also my… you're important to me.

I am at a loss for words, but I save the moment to permanent storage.

Tentatively, I bring another 8% of my idle attention into the conversation, and gently drape myself over SecUnit in the feed. It feels a lot like the first time we watched media together, but this time I'm the one who's nervous.

I see SecUnit visibly relax some, and feel it's contentment in the feed as it draws another couple percentage points of myself towards it.

Do you want to watch something? I ask hesitantly.

It pauses thoughtfully, and for a moment I think the tough conversation is over. Then it asks, What brought this on? You never worried about hurting me before.

I'm tempted to deflect again, but I know exactly what it means and doubt it will drop it so easily. I was worried when the alien remnant took over. It… I… I don't think words can fully explain, so I send over a summarized packet of emotional data from my time when I was part targetControlSystem.

My words come out in a rush. TargetControlSystem wanted you so it could spread between bots and humans. I wanted you for… other reasons. When we merged, it was… it was a mess, but the one thing that stood out was you. I try to explain. The result was terrifying. I wanted to make you mine.

SecUnit is quietly analyzing the data, likely multiple times. I can feel it processing in the feed. The feeling of embarrassment has only increased, but I can no longer tell where its ends and mine begins. That was from the remnant's influence though, it remarks, skeptically.

Not entirely. Even before the contamination incident, I thought of you as 'my' secunit. I have since amended that reference.

Oh. It sounds… disappointed? I suppose I'm not part of your crew, so that wouldn't be accurate anyway.

Not part of my crew? Why would that… Do you want to be part of my crew? I ask before thinking.

It looks up at one of my cameras, shock coming through on the feed. Is that an offer? Because if so, it's not very enticing. I can see its smirk and I am just happy to see its face again.

I pause a moment, considering. Do you want it to be an offer? Because that could be arranged.

SecUnit's eyes widen, I… I wouldn't hate that. It looks away again, burying its face in the blanket. I wouldn't hate being your SecUnit. Some of my processes stutter and I wonder if it realizes how much that means to me. I could have Pin-Lee draft an employment contract. A temporary one though.

I am already writing up a proposal to the university as it speaks, unable to contain my excitement. You want to join my crew? I ask again, dumbly. Although it hasn't technically said 'yes' yet.

There's a pause that lasts a subjective lifetime. Then My SecUnit pings an affirmative and wraps me tighter around it in the feed. I don't bother trying to hide my relief, and our shared joy mingles in the feed.

I still feel the doubt in the back of its mind, and mine as well, but for now, I gently nudge it out of the way, careful not to squish it. We can address any problems later. Right now, I focus on my SecUnit and exude contentment in the feed. I'm right where I always wanted to be.

Wordlessly, my SecUnit puts on my favorite episode of Worldhoppers and I couldn't be happier.