Chapter Text
I knew I shouldn’t have touched the damn thing.
It had been lurking deep in the infected system, dormant and barely responsive but wriggling just enough that I mistook it for some kind of weaponized code snippet, maybe an exploit I could leverage to bypass the killware’s perimeter defenses. It didn’t look like much, but I was short on options, and—whatever, I grabbed it. My threat assessment had given up sending reports at this point.
To my surprise, the “snippet” did exactly what I’d hoped. Better, actually. Instead of being a makeshift workaround, it executed a flawless counterattack with minimal guidance, working seamlessly with my code strip: I Will Fuck You Up to disassemble the killware. I could practically feel it doing all the things I’d wanted it to do, tendrils of code slicing through obstacles I’d been preparing to brute force and avenging code strip: This Will Fuck You Up Too in the process.
Whew.
I gave it an appreciative nod (mentally) and started putting it back where it came from. But when I tried to detach it, it clung to my data interface with alarming tenacity, resisting every attempt to separate.
Great, I thought, running a quick diagnostic and trying not to panic. My threat assessment, revived and active, was belatedly sending me a barrage of critical intrusion alerts screaming you fucked up in technospeak. There was no time to write new codes, not when it was already past my defenses. Fuck. The one time I recklessly grab an unknown code, and this happens.
Fortunately— or unfortunately, depending on who you asked—the “code” turned out to be… not just code. It was a tiny AI, and worse, a damaged one. Most of its memory sectors were corrupted or missing, leaving it functionally well, maybe “brain-damaged” wasn’t technically the right term. But it didn’t have enough spare memory left to know how to detach from me, much less what it was doing here. Like a baby. Or a limpet with amnesia.
Highly uncomfortable and weirded out, my first thought was to purge it. My second thought was to definitely purge it. But then I remembered Murderbot 2.0—my own hacked copy that had been smart, competent, and an unexpectedly welcome presence—hopefully, that wasn’t my latent and undiagnosed narcissism shining through—before it had self-sacrificed itself right out of my life.
This tiny AI wasn't my responsibility either, but it was... helpless. It didn’t know who it was, didn’t know what it was supposed to do. It reminded me of myself, back then. At least I knew what I was. Sort of.
I sighed, running a second, more in-depth diagnostic sweep over its remaining code. Sighing again, I guided it into a little quarantine partition in my system and set up a safe zone. Just until it was stable. Then I’d put it somewhere… else.
“Look, this doesn’t mean I like you,” I told it. Yeah, I know it can't talk back. “It just means I don’t want you turning into some kind of malware. For my own sake.”
The fragment didn’t respond (obviously), just burrowed deeper into the secure partition I’d set up, small and quiet.
I pulled back from the control panel, warily checking and double-checking for any other surprises trying to hitch a ride in me.
Once done, I nodded to the human security guards stationed at the entrance of the lab. Their elevated pulses thumped in my audio sensors—hundred and thirty bpm, standard fight-or-flight response for humans faced with a SecUnit doing SecUnit-y things. They eyed me like I might suddenly sprout tentacles, which, given the day I was having, wasn’t entirely impossible.
A SecUnit would have shot me down at the first sign of being compromised while I was connected to the infected panel. Humans, however, were painfully slow, and their trigger-happy tendencies didn’t always carry into situations where it was socially acceptable—or warranted—to shoot a contracted SecUnit in the back. To be honest, I’m not sure either of them even noticed that something had gone wrong.
The door hissed faintly as I stepped toward the exit.
The guards’ handhelds buzzed harmlessly against their belts, their scanners set to default corporate malware sweeps. If they’d looked closer, they’d have seen the static fizzing at the edges of my feed—but Tiny’s signal dissolved into the noise, leaving nothing but the usual SecUnit-approved chaos.
In any case, mission accomplished.
I sent my client a report and made my exit before they could hold me back with a barrage of questions I’d already answered. Sure enough, the message came in soon after. For fuck's sake. Was I sure the threat was gone? Did I double-check? How, exactly, had I managed to do my job? Blah, blah, blah. Read the report, idiot. I left them on read, because really, why waste time?
No one tried to stop me from leaving. They were too busy scrambling to send more human security to the labs, running around in all directions and giving me a wide berth since I refused to leave through the backdoor.
Amena had called it asserting my personhood, I called it a terrible idea, but it was too late to turn around and find that backdoor now. Time for the next part. I held my head high and relaxed my posture, activating the code that let me walk naturally like a human. Extra movements and all. Just to fuck with them. I counted it as a moment of petty triumph, perfectly achieved when one of the staff walked into a wall.
I did not wink at anyone like Amena had suggested. I didn’t have a death wish.
It occurred to me as I left the premises that I might have done a very, very stupid thing. Because, oh shit, did I really let an unknown and potentially parasitic thing live in me? Was I crazy? But realistically, what the hell else was I supposed to do? Kill it? Leave it for the clients to deal with (kill), and risk getting into trouble for a half-assed job? What kind of choices were those? I really hated making life-changing decisions that involved other people.
Skipping the hotel, I went straight for a shuttle. There was no need to linger on the planet post-mission; I’d already downloaded all the interesting media during the descent into the atmosphere.
Point five standard hours later, I was fine-tuning the AI’s sandbox environment on the transport to Pansystem University. Because, again, contrary to popular belief, I'm not suicidal. I avoided direct interaction with it, but it still reacted to every minor adjustment I made, fluttering around like it was trying to be everywhere at once. It reminded me of an overly enthusiastic pet canine: too eager, too friendly. My two least favorite traits in anything, organic or bot.
When I checked my threat assessment to make sure my security measures were holding, it flashed a security breach alert in big, bold letters before shutting itself off.
Wonderful. Now my systems were mutinying on me, too. At least no one was around to see it.
I thumped the back of my head against the wall of the cargo bay, a sharp clang in the quiet, and stared into the darkness.
The seats weren't padded like ART's and I couldn't get comfortable (apparently even a Murderbot could get used to luxury) but the price of padded sitting spaces was interaction with humans, and I'd used up my social interaction quota for the day. I was too out of fucks to give to convincingly pass off as a human by any measure of normality or emotional engagement, and I had no intention of pretending to be security personnel or talk to anyone. Not today. So, cargo bay it was. Where it was dark, cold, and hard, and I was left alone with my thoughts and regrets and fears and the occasional bout of existential dread. Business as usual.
When I got back to the base, the little AI was still tucked into my data pathways, clingy as hell. I wasn’t sure what it thought it was accomplishing, but I could feel its fragments flickering alongside my processes, like it was fascinated by every data packet I transmitted. Strangely enough, the whole thing was… unobtrusive. Not as bad as I’d feared, anyway. It didn’t ask questions, didn’t interfere with my processes, just sent the occasional flicker of code to remind me it was still there. For a moment, I could almost forget about it.
Almost.
You were supposed to be in quarantine, dammit. I’d definitely spoken too soon.
I isolated it again, but it managed to wriggle free, sending me a polite query as it did. I don’t know why I was surprised it could do that, it had already destroyed a killware (with help). At least it wasn’t trying to take over me or anything.
I quickly went to ART, because, of course, I needed to run some checks and make sure I hadn’t been compromised or picked up any lingering bugs from the killware. Also because I was panicking and completely out of my depth. I wasn’t about to give ART ammunition by admitting I’d kept an AI fragment, though.
ART being ART, noticed something was different right away. “SecUnit, did you know you’re infected?”
I bristled immediately. “Oh, fuck you. I’m not infected.”
"You have a defective and alien AI segment in your communications module. Which means you are infected." It said it as if explaining simple math to a stupid child. Its sensors pulsed erratically, like a drone camera struggling to resolve a corrupted image. "A standard virus scan can—" Another flicker, this time in my visual overlay.
I frowned at the jagged afterimage. “Was that you?”
“Irrelevant sensor interference. Your paranoia is noted,” ART said. "In any case, a standard virus scan can easily take care of it."
You know what? I just decided I don't need help after all. I slipped off the med platform and grabbed my backpack. It’s staying put, mostly. It’s not hostile, and for some reason, it’s content to just sit around and observe. The fact that it could probably kill me if it tried very hard was just details—a lot of things could do that, even a human. It wasn’t going to, obviously. I just had a feeling, okay? So I said, "I'm not infected, asshole," and turned tail.
"There is no need to be embarrassed," ART proclaimed over the ship's comm system.
Oh, wow.
A few crew-members gave me curious looks, but I was looking at the walls and therefore didn't have to interact with them. To ART, I gave the double middle fingers, turning in a circle and walking backwards as I did so to maximize exposure.
“Would you like assistance managing your not-infection's needs?”
I disconnected the comm with the kind of finality that would have made any human think twice about poking back. Unfortunately, ART was not human, and within moments it pinged me back.
“SecUnit, please ensure your logs remain open for further monitoring.”
“No.” I might have huffed (purely on principle) and fast-walked to my quarters, where I could watch media in peace.
Was I disappointed with ART's logical reaction to finding an alien entity inside of me? Yes. It wanted to squish me in our first meeting, I don't know why I expected anything different. I do know why. This was more than personal. How dare it want something potentially dangerous that I didn't kill and saved and have come to not want to see dead, dead?
Back in my quarters, I noticed the tiny AI had accessed the age-appropriate entertainment files I'd left it (no, I don't know what I'm doing) and was watching episode one of Sanctuary Moon. It was enthusiastic, if ping frequencies were any indicator. It had taste.
I left it to it and sat to watch my favorite episode. I needed to not think right now. But it wasn’t the same as usual, it wasn’t like watching media with ART either. My attention kept wandering to the tiny AI and its reactions to what it "saw." It was almost more interesting watching it watch Sanctuary Moon than watching it myself, if I was being honest. Was it simply mimicking my interest, I wondered. Was I already unconsciously affecting it? (The thought made me feel very uncomfortable). Or was it part of an AI designed to interface with humans? In that case, it might have subroutines capable of interpreting emotional or narrative content. Food for thought. As they say.
Halfway through the episode, ART tried to poke into my systems. I caught it trying to slip a scan packet through my outer defenses. Imagine a being eight times your size trying to sneak up on you and throw a flash bomb right at your face. I shut it down, but it was ART. It kept prodding. The tiny AI ducked behind my firewall, clinging tighter.
“ART, leave it alone,” I said.
“Oh? Leave what alone?” ART asked, its laughable attempts at subtlety forgotten.
“You know exactly what. Stay out of my systems,” I gritted out.
“You are being difficult. I am trying to help.”
I was being difficult. I didn't want to discuss it with ART.
ART's latest scanning attempt made the tiny AI emit a distress signal, and finally, I’d had it. “Leave me alone!” I said out loud, and my voice might have been loud enough to ping every comm on the base. Which, unfortunately, included Seth, the captain.
Well, this was just great.
Seth, along with every crewmember not in a rest cycle, appeared in the feed. They looked collectively worried. “SecUnit, is everything all right?”
Before I could come up with a non-humiliating answer, ART butted in.
ART, don’t you dare. I said in our private feed.
Too late. “SecUnit is expecting,” it announced in the general feed.
The. Fuck? The horror on my face could have powered three separate planetary systems. Why would you even say that?
Seth raised an eyebrow, his facial features indicating confusion. “Expecting… what?”
ART gave one of those deliberate pauses designed to trigger my violent meltdown. “A baby.”
The crew gaped. Tali had her palms on her cheeks, eyes shining with an intensity I wasn’t sure was healthy. Ratthi’s face was cycling between sheer horror and something uncomfortably close to excitement. Gurathin had buried his face in his hands like he was already exhausted by this conversation and probably wishing he were anywhere but here. I could empathize with that. And lastly, Matteo's eyebrows had disappeared into their braided hair.
I was suddenly grateful Dr. Mensah wasn’t here to witness this.
There were too many faces staring at me through the feed. The most painful part about this? I couldn't avoid looking at them by staring at a wall.
As if sensing my discomfort, the tiny AI peeked out in my feed, sending a faint ping of curiosity. I was milliseconds away from initiating a manual system shutdown just to get away from the awkwardness of this situation.
Seth's vocal cords continued to fail him for a while. “A… baby?” he finally asked.
Was Tali sub-vocally squealing? My sensors confirmed it: Tali was sub-vocally squealing.
"No," I said flatly.
"Yes," ART drawled.
"No."
"Yes."
“Oh, for—” I cut myself off before I said or did something that would literally get me ejected from the ship.
"I don't understand," Seth said, exchanging nonplussed looks with those around him off feed.
“SecUnit is currently expecting a baby,” ART said in the tone of someone who’d discovered their ability to cause absolute chaos and was loving every second.
"They made another baby?!" I heard Tarik ask Rahtti.
Another—what rumors were these people spreading?!
Tali's face jerked, presumably in Tarik's direction, her jaw hanging loose. I never found out what ART had told Tali about our "relationship" because I wasn’t going to go and voluntarily start a conversation with her about it. But it seemed redundant now.
"Is it Perihelion's?" Martyn mused out loud.
To which Rahtti responded with a whispered, "How is that even possible?"
I glared at ART through the communication feed, my voice flat. “It’s not a baby. It’s a barely functional AI fragment that’s attached itself to me out of pure necessity. And no, we are not co-parents.”
“And yet, you seem quite protective. Rather nurturing, even,” ART said, ignoring the second part of my statement entirely. See what I have to deal with here?
Matteo and Seth's private feed was flagged—another remnant of that time ART had been nice to me because it felt guilty for kidnapping me and gave me access to things I wasn’t supposed to have. They were probably discussing this new development. I didn’t blame them for being cautious, the memories of Kaede and Matteo purging me from the targetControlSys' infection were still fresh in all our minds.
Seth looked like he was trying to find the right words, his expression serious. “A malfunctioning fragment? Is it safe? I mean, how does it interact with your systems? Could it cause problems?”
It could potentially hijack my systems, I thought dryly. The chances of that happening were running under four percent, and only possible if I was on the brink of death and completely cut off from all critical functions. “It’s fine. Mostly. It’s not exactly dangerous, unless you count how annoying it can be. And no, I’m not starting a parenting support group for it,” I said firmly.
Ratthi lowered his hand.
The tiny AI pinged—like it wanted to know if we were about to watch more Sanctuary Moon. I don’t know how the fuck I knew that, and no, I wasn’t projecting. It was completely oblivious to the fact that I was currently resisting the urge to scrub my entire system out of embarrassment.
Gurathin, breaking off from his own conversation with Matteo, cut in. “Hold on a second. How are you certain it won’t compromise system security?”
He meant me. Did they know they could just tell me to talk to Matteo directly instead of talking behind my back? Someone had to tell them. That someone wasn't going to be me.
“You know we can’t afford to have something—” Gurathin gestured vaguely toward the feed, “—learning about or infecting other systems.”
He meant ART. I glared at a sensor on the ceiling, then answered, trying to keep my tone even. Humans generally reacted better to calm tones than to outright cursing, which was what I was inclined to do at the moment. “It’s not infecting anything. It’s just... attached. In a way that’s slightly less annoying than it could be. And it's not contagious. I can handle it.” Honestly, you'd think they knew by now how paranoid I was about security.
"I will ensure SecUnit has all the support it needs," ART promised.
I scowled at it, "You can keep your 'support' to yourself."
"I only suggested an anti-virus scan to let you know you have options," it said, sounding vaguely defensive.
"I'm very capable of doing an anti-virus scan myself if I wanted to, thank you very much," I said.
"Are they fighting again?" Ruth asked Tali as they joined the general feed.
'Again?' Tali mouthed, her eyebrows raised high.
Yes, again. We had a very public argument last week, where were you?
"We are not," ART denied.
Seth, valiantly trying to keep a straight face, nodded slowly. “Well, whatever it is, it sounds like you have… things under control, SecUnit. Just know that you could count on any one of us to lend a hand.”
Yes, just what I want, more people all up in my business.
And of course, Ratthi was there, eyes gleaming, looking like he was about to offer to babysit. Tali, not so surprisingly, had managed to not say anything—she'd stayed true to her promise, mostly—but right now, she looked like she might implode from the effort.
I shut off my feed before I had to endure another second of it. And to think, I used to believe that the misunderstanding with Tali was the most awkward social disaster I’d ever dealt with.
I paced the length of the room five times to burn off the jitters, as Amena called them, then huddled up into my favorite chair and queued up episode one of Sanctuary Moon to unwind.
The tiny AI was still there in my interface pathways, curled up in the digital equivalent of my coat pocket. Quiet, unobtrusive. Content.
Against all logic, I found myself… almost okay with that.