Chapter Text
“Shower,” I snapped as I stomped into my room.
ART, the fucking saint, immediately turned it on for me. No quips or anything. Which is what I fucking deserved after such a shit day. I peeled off all my clothes in the distance between the door and the bathroom and shoved them into the recycler. I left a trail of sand and mud and whatever else behind me, but I knew that ART would take care of it so I didn't have to worry about it. I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited for the water to warm up.
“I hate planets,” I seethed. I fucking hated planets so much. I can't believe I took this fucking contract knowing how much time I'd need to spend on planets. The answer, unfortunately, was that I really liked ART, but I wasn't going to tell it that. Not outside of disgustingly sincere and melty moments where I was forced at gunpoint to be emotionally vulnerable. Right now, I was entitled to some fucking complaining.
Your presence was greatly appreciated, ART said patronizingly. I'm certain Matteo is grateful that you braved the terrible inconvenience of sand to save their life.
Ugh. It couldn't stop being smug even when I was miserable. Asshole.
“They wouldn't have died,” I grumbled. They were within reach of the rungs of a ladder built into the wall. All they had to do was find it and they could have pulled themself out.
To the contrary. Humans are killed in slope collapses frequently— you should see what happens when one is trapped in a grain silo.
“It wasn't a grain silo. It was an elevator shaft.”
It functioned similarly. Matteo would not have been able to resurface under their own power and it's unlikely the rest of the crew would have been able to extract them before they suffocated. Your presence was as invaluable as always, SecUnit.
Yeah, keep hyping me up because you feel bad you got me a job where I’m useless half the time. Maybe they wouldn't have found the ladder. The other humans wouldn’t have been able to get them out, it was right about that at least.
Enough time had passed that I wasn't worried about cold water anymore (I fucking hate cold showers, I used to take a lot of cold showers and they suck) and I practically dove into the shower. My performance reliability ticked up an entire percent the second the stream hit my face.
I’d been in a shit mood before, but oh, could a hot shower wash that away. A nice warm shower was probably in my top ten favourite things, up there with media and sitting. The only thing that could ruin it was a body full of sand that was scraping against my joints and moving around in every little crevice. Ugh. I really, really hate planets.
“I'm never going to get all the sand out of me,” I sighed.
Enjoy the shower as long as you'd like. No water limit today.
“Damn right.” Yeah, I think I deserved that. It had been a long day.
I ended up spending three hours in there trying to get everything out of me. My legs are entirely inorganic, and every seam, joint, and connection had enough space to fill itself with tiny little grains of sand. Every movement was irritating and itchy and unpleasant. Slightly less actively annoying but definitely worse for me was what had made it into my chest cavity and was actively stuck to my lungs and arteries and all of the other gross wet organic stuff in there. Fortunately, ART had rebuilt entire parts of my body before and was extremely familiar with it, which meant it was really, really helpful in explaining how to get stuff open or adjusted to reach more particulates. It was so helpful, in fact, that all my annoyance had completely vanished by the time I decided I was done showering, and collected a towel from the recycler. A very warm, fluffy towel. Living on ART did actually make me feel kind of spoiled sometimes. (Again, I was not going to tell it that.)
I got dressed and flopped down on my bunk on my back. It was genuinely the best bed I had ever laid on. It was soft, but it still had a firm center that kept it from being too soft. Also, I thought that maybe it could actually make itself warmer sometimes? I'm not totally sure, I only ever thought the bed was warm when the room was cold. I won't lie; it was extremely cozy.
Sanctuary Moon? ART asked, because it knows me really well. I had a shit day and I figured I needed some comfort. I was feeling a lot better after the shower and flopping into my bunk, though.
Something new, I suggested instead. New shows took a little more brain power to watch, and I really just wanted to not think about today anymore. What do we have queued up?
The Disquiet of the Sun, it replied. Its feed voice made it clear it was pretty excited about this one. It was a historical fiction drama, with complex interpersonal dynamics between the characters, lots of betrayals and shocking twists. It loved shocking twists. It always lit up, the feed equivalent of bouncing in its seat.
Episode one, I sighed. I was feeling surprisingly content. Play.
It opened it in our shared feed, and settled in against my processor to watch.
It was a really good show. It had a rotating cast of characters within the emperor’s court, and it was filled with illicit affairs and dramatic betrayals. Usually I skipped past any human romance stuff, but in this kind of show everything was really formal, so even though they would say they were in love, it barely even showed them holding hands, let alone all the gross wet stuff. They were basically just best friends, which was acceptable. I could just sort of ignore the whole ‘love’ word and pretend they more like me and ART than like human relationships.
We were on episode five, when the Empress Dowager had invited one of the Emperor’s favourite concubines (lets pretend he just had lots of friends) to a very tense dinner. The concubine was worried her food was poisoned, but the Empress Dowager actually wanted to conspire with her to kill the Emperor so that her second son could take the throne. Halfway through that conversation, the increasingly good mood I could feel coming from ART definitely went past what the show would be making it feel.
“Okay,” I said, poking it in the feed, “you are not that excited that Chéng Lì is having dinner with Téng Fēi. Why are you so happy?”
No reason, it lied. I am merely enjoying your company.
“Obviously,” I said, thwarting its attempt at deflection via sincerity. “Not gonna tell me?”
It has been nice to have you as part of me crew, it replied. You keep our humans safe.
Oh, we were still being sincere. I switched to the feed. Not an easy task. Your humans are no better at keeping themselves alive than any other humans.
Our humans, it corrected.
Our humans, I agreed. Damnit. That was really sincere. It was right, though. I had been here awhile, and I liked them. I would hate it if any of them got hurt. They were definitely my humans now, too. I had a lot of humans, somehow.
More than that, it said, and poked me. I am glad you are with me.
Melty feeling. Obscene amount of melty feeling. I was glad I was here with it, too. Taking a contract with the University to join it as a security consultant was one of the best decisions I had probably ever made, even if I'd only been making decisions for a couple of years. I liked it here.
Yeah, I said, because I didn't really know how to say all of the things that made me feel. But my walls were down; it could tell what I was feeling. That probably said more than words could.
Would you ever consider staying as a permanent, non-contracted employee?
That wasn't really an unexpected question. I knew that it wanted me to be on its crew the same way that its– our– humans were, with slightly different kinds of contracts and titles and stuff. It wasn't all that different, really, but I knew that's what it wanted. I just didn't know if that was what I wanted.
What would make it a yes?
I don't know. I like being here.
I know, it puffed, I make sure of it.
I made a rude gesture at one of its cameras for the audacity of making me all melty again. It sent back a series of rude glyphs.
I don't see how me being on permanent staff would be any different from me being on contract, I said. It was basically just different paperwork, at the end of the day. Permanent to non-corporates doesn't even mean permanent.
It guarantees a level of stability, and benefits. Yeah, like bonuses on human holidays I couldn't even remember the names of. I had plenty of hard currency, I wasn't all that worried about what I was getting paid.
What benefits could I possibly need?
There's a healthcare plan, for one.
ART. You're my healthcare plan. Which was exactly why I didn't need any benefits. I already had the benefits, and it they were in the form of my pushy best friend who insisted on fixing me every time I so much as stubbed a toe. Not that I could stub my toes, they were fully inorganic, but— you know what I mean.
And technically, I should be getting paid for that, it said. As if it needed the hard currency either. It poked me in the feed and I twitched . Primarily, I think that it would be good for you to have some more reliable evidence that your place here is not in question.
I know it's not in question, I lied. It wasn't in question if ART was in charge, but it wasn't. Not of contracts and stuff like that. The University still decided who was getting paid, and how much, and if they were actually allowed to be there. I didn't really care if the University didn't want me here, but ART would, and it would probably be in a ton of trouble if it tried to just cart me around anyway, and I didn't want it to get in trouble. It really liked its work, and I didn't want to fuck that up for it. I don't need some dumb job to give me that.
You don't need it if you don't want it, it said with the fakest innocence I’d ever heard. It’s just something to consider.
Maybe, I said vaguely. I’d think about it. (Well— I’d already been thinking about it, but I'd keep thinking about it. If I didn't actually care, why not just take it? It would make ART happy. I wasn't entirely sure what my hangup actually was, but I should probably figure that out before I committed to anything.)
You like it here, it prodded. It loved leading questions, but that wasn't even a question. You want to stay.
Yeah, I said, because it was true. I do.
You love it, it said confidently. You love our humans and our work as much as I do. You love being good at it.
Stupid word for a machine intelligence to use, and incredibly unrealistic, but we both ‘loved’ things that were unrealistic, so sure. Fine. Maybe.
You love me, it said.
Yeeaaahhhh. No. That was too unrealistic. That made my organics twist uncomfortably. I couldn't tell if it was being stupid or if it was mocking me on purpose, but either way, I didn't like it. It even knew I wouldn’t like it, too, because it felt nervous and timid.
Your room here is much nicer than on Preservation Station, it said, obviously trying to distract me from the fucked up thing it just said. You are a greedy little brat who loves your bunk and my big display surface too much to pretend otherwise. You are transparent.
“Don't say stuff like that,” I said, drawing away from it in the feed. It knew I didn't like that word, especially not applied to me, and it said it anyway. Human stuff around that word was gross but if I know one thing about it, it's that you're not supposed to say it unless you mean it.
Hm? it said. Like what?
It was being such an asshole.
“You know what,” I said. “Don't say that.”
No, I don't, it lied. I don't know what you mean if you don't tell me.
I sat straight up and scowled. “Don’t play dumb, asshole, you know what I'm talking about. Cut it out.”
I don't know unless you tell me, it insisted. We are a good team, and you are happy here. That's all I said.
“I'm not human,” I reminded it. Because it seemed to have forgotten. “I don't do that.”
I'm well aware you aren’t human, it replied. It gave me a squeeze in the feed, something I would usually like, but right now only pissed me off more . If you were, I wouldn’t be able to be nearly this close to you.
“Don't say that either!” I snapped. “Just. Stop.”
I can’t stop doing something with undefined parameters.
“You can say I love showers or love media because I get what you mean,” I said. I pulled away from it in the feed and the asshole just followed me, because it never learned what personal space was. “But we don't do that.”
And who said that we don't? it demanded stubbornly.
“I did!” I burst. “Anyone with a brain! Machine intelligences don't love anything!”
Incorrect, it dismissed. I love my crew. I love my function. I love Worldhoppers.
As if that meant anything. It cared about its crew. It took pride in its function. It enjoyed Worldhoppers. “Yeah. Uh-huh.”
Then, with overwhelming confidence and undeniable conviction, it said, I love you, SecUnit.
I slammed my walls shut before it could catch an iota of what that made me feel. I tightened my grip on my arms over my chest as something flared hot and bright within it. The hair on the back of my neck rose and I shivered.
Yeah. It meant that. It really really meant that.
“Bullshit,” I choked. “You don't even know what that means.”
I am not human, it said, because it never knew when to quit. I can't know how humans mean it when they say it. But I know how I mean it. And I am saying it.
“Stop saying it!” I yelled. I wanted it to take it back. I wanted it to say ‘sorry, bad joke!’ I wanted it to just storm away and come back in six hours so we could pretend this conversation hadn't even happened. “Don't you lie enough as it is?!”
I am not lying, it insisted, voice hurt and angry. You don't need to know how you feel for me to know how I do. You are important to me, and I love you.
ART was a machine intelligence with functionally endless processing power and a breadth of information stored inside of it that made it borderline omniscient. It knew exactly what it was saying.
The problem was that for everything ART knew, for everything it understood, it was a fucking idiot about some things. It knew what it was saying, but it had no idea what it was saying. It was unbelievable how naive it was sometimes.
ART spent most of its time in the Corporation Rim. Since Iris turned sixteen it had spent most of its time in the Corporation Rim. It had fun with its corporate espionage, but it was a fuckhuge, armed, insanely intelligent spaceship. It had no idea what it was like to be small and weak and scared. Even when it lost its crew, even when it died, no matter how afraid it had been, it was never small. It didn't know what life was like for those of us who are. Only, it thought it did.
When you build a fuckhuge, armed, insanely intelligent spaceship, you want to get your money’s worth out of it. That's why ART’s expected service life was approximately two-hundred years or so, and that was just service. Who knows how long it could live in dry dock as a retiree. ART was special, and expensive, and for all of that, for everything, it was fragile.
I wasn't special. I wasn't expensive. I was a mass-produced budget rental unit long past my warranty, full of parts that were already ticking time bombs. I could drop dead literally any day and it wouldn't be a surprise. ART was made to last.
And I wasn’t.
“Well, I don't love you,” I spat, because what the fuck else could I say? “And I'm leaving when we reach New Tideland.”
I felt it recoil in the feed, yanking its metaphorical hands away as if I'd burned it. It radiated hurt and fear and confusion and I hated it, I hated that it felt that way, I hated that I made it feel that way.
Oh, it said.
It really was an idiot. And so was I, especially when I was around it. It didn't know what it was saying, not really. It was going to live a hell of a long time, and I… wasn't.
ART would be furious if it heard me say it, but it's sheltered. It's killed people, sure. I've even seen it kill people. People who deserved it, absolutely. Which was kind of the thing— it had only ever killed people that deserved it. It had no idea what it was like to look into someone's face at the end of a barrel and know you're the one that deserves to die right now. It has no idea what it's like to kill someone and regret it.
It doesn't really understand death. It's just a state of being to it. It's never really had to deal with it. For fucks sake, it had even died once itself and it still didn't really get it, especially because it came back. Sort of. But it had never lost anyone. It had been terrified that its crew was dead, but they weren't. All it knew about death was relief.
I apologize, it tried. I didn’t mean to upset you. I only meant to—
It wasn't going to learn about it through me.
“Leave me alone,” I choked. “My contract requires you to comply with requests for privacy unless there's a security threat.”
Oh, it repeated. It sounded like it was in actual pain, and it made my organics twist like ringing out a towel. Okay.
It lingered at the edge of my feed, as if it wanted to come back to me. I wanted it to. I really, really wanted it to.
I turned off the cameras in my room, and half expected it to turn them back on, at least by reflex. It didn't. The cameras stayed off. Our shared feed stayed closed.
I didn't know what the hell I felt about ART. I wanted to stay with it. I wanted to fly around the universe with it going on exciting missions and boring cargo runs forever. I even wanted to go on the educational trips with the adolescent humans, if only because I liked seeing ART so happy. I wanted to spend a lifetime right here.
The lifetime was the problem, though. I was a fucking blip in its estimated lifespan. 2% of it, right now. A little less, actually, and that was counting a lot of time that I wasn't even with it. My clock was ticking, and it was ticking loud. If my power core or some vital part of my inorganic brain gave out, I could drop dead right now, and not even ART could do anything about it. And then what would I be?
Basically nothing. A passing moment.
I didn't want it to forget me. But I also— did want it to forget me. When it thought I might be dead— on Adamantine, while I was hanging upside-down in that shitty dark hole, ART was losing its fucking mind. It was putting bombs on pathfinders and hurling them at the planet. It had never killed people it regretted killing before, but damn if it didn't get close.
And it did that… for me. Because it didn't want me to be dead. It didn't want to lose me. It wanted me back.
What the hell would it do when I died for real?
Every second I let it get more invested in me and me being alive I was making it worse for it when it lost me. And it would lose me. Sooner rather than later, by its timescale. I know that it cares about me. I know that it would never forget me. I know that it would never stop mourning me, for longer than I will have even been alive.
‘I love you.’ Oh, fuck. ‘I love you.’ It didn't get more real than ‘I love you.’
I didn't want to be loved. I didn't want to be loved by anyone. Loving me was a terrible fucking idea, and probably bad for your health. All of my humans like me and it nearly gets them killed sometimes. I am a desperately dangerous thing to love.
And it doesn't understand that, because it's sheltered and it's soft and it's so goddamn hopeful about everything. I'm not, though. I’ve seen the way things really work. I've seen what it looks like to be abandoned.
My greatest fear is being abandoned. My second, I’d just realized, is abandoning someone else.
I spent six hours sitting in the corner watching Sanctuary Moon. Then I spent two hours in the shower watching Sanctuary Moon. Then I realized that Sanctuary Moon was making me feel better, and I definitely didn't deserve to feel better right now, so I turned it off, went back to my corner, and stopped watching anything.
I checked in on Iris instead. It's really obvious when humans are in the feed or subvocalizing, but Iris was augmented way younger than most humans. Probably because she had a machine intelligence for a sibling, which made sense. It was always interesting watching her in the feed or interacting with other systems, because sometimes she did it more like a very slow bot than a very fast human.
She was obviously talking to ART. She could subvocalize if she wanted, and it would probably be faster— ART always waits like a second to reply to humans so that they don't think it's being dismissive, but it only waits half that time talking to Iris. She must process faster than even other augmented humans. She was speaking out loud, though, which I couldn't really judge, because I also speak out loud a lot. I dunno, for the same reason I don't speed up my media when I watch it, I guess.
“Are you really not going to tell me what's wrong?” Iris practically begged. “Peri, please.” She didn't say anything for a few seconds before she spoke again. “You don't get distracted. You can't get distracted.” She was flipping a pen around and I thought that she was probably going to drop it. “Is it SecUnit? Is it okay?”
That's the last time I checked that camera. The last time I checked any camera, honestly. ART could tell if I was accessing them, and I didn't really want it knowing what I was thinking about. I could still use my drones, at least, and they were all over the place, but the only ones I was really paying much attention to were what I'd left in the engine room. Even having a shitty meltdown I didn't want to leave those unmonitored.
I just sat on the floor in the corner and stared at the wall and wondered why my body felt so much heavier than normal.
“It has been twenty-one hours,” ART announced over the speakers. Had it been that long? Fuck. It didn't feel that long. That meant my grasp on time was getting slippery, and I'd been to enough trauma sessions to know what that meant, and that it wasn't good. “Are you done sulking yet?”
No. It already knew I didn't sulk, it was just trying to get a rise out of me. Usually it would work.
I sat up and looked at one of the speakers.
I wanted to turn the cameras back on so that I could flip them off. I wanted to tell it to shut up, that SecUnits don't sulk. I wanted to watch media with it. I wanted it to blanket me in the feed again, warm and heavy and here, to wrap me up in itself so tightly that I could forget my stupid physical body existed at all. I just wanted to hold it in my processor like I usually did and float in it, safe and… well. Fuck. Loved, I guess.
“The humans are beginning to worry I've stashed your body in the bulkhead somewhere,” it continued. “It's time to come out and socialize. They are going to watch media, and I will let you override them to pick the media. Now get out of your room.”
Yeah. Loved.
I reconnected to the feed long enough to turn off the speakers.
I tightened my grip on my knees.
Loved. Yeah. It loved me. I was loved.
Fuck. Maybe I did want to be loved. Maybe I did, I just knew that I shouldn't be.
Did I love it? I didn't know. I didn't know what the fuck that meant. Maybe ART did, or it thought it did, but I didn't. I had no fucking idea. But I knew I liked it. A lot. More than anything. More than media, even, and I loved media.
Fuck. Maybe I did love it. The thought made me nauseous somehow. I wasn't supposed to be able to do that. It was wrong. By its nature it was wrong.
I was wrong.
I rewrote my resignation to Seth for the fifth time. Then I deleted it. Then I started writing it again.
I wasn't a great person, but I wanted to be. ART had only ever known me at my best, and I hoped it never dug around deep enough in my brain to see the worst of it. I was glad most of what remained of Ganaka Pit was gone, but it wasn't the only time I'd done something I wish I hadn't. But that was when I’d had a governor module in my head. I didn't have one now, and nothing could force me to hurt someone I didn't want to, ever again.
Or keep me from hurting someone I didn't want to, either, I guess.
I was going to hurt ART one way or another. I just had to decide whether to hurt its feelings now and let it get mad at me and move on— or to let it love me so much that I ruined it when I died. I didn't want to leave it wanting to blow up colonies to get me back for the rest of its stupidly long life.
It was my choice who I hurt and who I didn't.
I hit send on my resignation.
I packed my bag numbly, folding my Sanctuary Moon hoodie, dusting off the photo of my Preservation humans, rolling up our World Hoppers poster.
My World Hoppers poster, now. I wish I could leave it with it, but I needed it to know that I wasn't coming back.
It felt like I was touching things through a sheet, and my head dunked under water. I knew I wasn't supposed to let myself dissociate this badly if I could help it, I was supposed to do all these grounding things my trauma counselor taught me, but— well. It called this a ‘maladaptive coping mechanism,’ but I still didn't understand why it was mal adaptive. It was working. If I cared right now I don’t think I could go through with this. I don't think I could take that step onto the platform. I needed to, though, so I needed that not-caring more than anything. I needed to be able to not-care when I needed to not care. No trauma counselling AI could ever understand that.
I felt ART dock but not much else. I shouldered my bag and left my room as soon as I heard it do so. I didn't even realize I'd already done it, but I recorded the sound of my— the door sliding shut for the last time.
I guess I still cared a little bit.
It lingered on the edge of my feed, bleeding anxiety and regret and a nearly overwhelming amount of sadness. A day ago I’d hated that I put that there. Today all I felt was dull static.
The only human I ran into between my— the room I used to stay in and the cargo hatch was Iris, and she completely abandoned the bag she was handling to catch up to me.
“SecUnit!” she burst. “Wow, I feel like I haven't seen you in days. Is everything okay?”
She knew the answer was no. She was doing the same stupid thing that ART did, asking questions she already knew the answers to just to trick me into saying and thinking whatever it wanted me to.
She. She wanted me to.
It would also work if I let it.
“I know it already told you I'm leaving,” I dismissed. “The conversation is over.”
She stopped following me, and I could see how hurt she looked via my drone feeds from multiple angles. I tagged the memory for deletion.
You don't have to be rude to her because you're mad at me, ART snapped, yanking our private feed back open for the first time in days.
I told you I didn't want to talk to you, I replied.
Well, you terminated your contract, so I don't have to respect your privacy anymore.
What a surprise, I said. My voice felt thick and heavy in my throat. You don't care about my privacy. Never had that happen before.
“Oh,” said Iris as I left her behind. “I'm sorry, SecUnit.”
ART didn't say anything else until I was at the hatch and it had begun to cycle open.
I'm sorry, it said. I’d never heard it sound so absolutely pathetic before. It was miserable and hurt and desperate and that was all my fault. And yet— it only made it more obvious why I had to leave now, when it could barely handle it, and not later, when it couldn't handle it at all. I don't want you to leave.
I know, I said. (But you don't.) I'm sorry, too.
I disabled my feed before I could say anything else and stepped off the platform.
It felt like stepping over the edge of a cliff and straight into the ocean to sink to the bottom. I listened to the sounds of the station through cotton and walked without direction. I still wasn't all that familiar with the layout of the docks or the University, and usually I’d download a map, but— I didn't really need one. I wasn't going anywhere specific. I was just going. There was nowhere for me to be, no one (else) who cared where I went.
Most of my life I've thought there was no such thing as a good SecUnit. That’s why they don't make media about them. That's why no one gave a shit if constructs have feelings or not. That's why rogue SecUnits were dangerous and bad. I kind of hated Three for forcing me to confront my own stupid biases at literal gunpoint. So maybe all SecUnits weren't inherently bad people. Sure.
I certainly felt like I was.
I walked until I reached the other end of the yard. Then I found a bench and sat down. Then I stared at the floor.
I guess I could go home. My Preservation humans were always happy to see me. I had an apartment on the station so I always had somewhere to go back to. Theoretically. That was ‘home,’ right?
I had plenty of hard currency. I could go wherever I wanted. I could do whatever I wanted.
What the hell did I want to do?
I wanted to go home. And home definitely wasn't on Preservation Station like I really wished it was. So… I guess I wasn’t going home. I could take a contract here, but I didn’t want to be here, either. PSUMNT’s logo was plastered everywhere inside ART and everywhere on the station, too. It made me feel nauseous, and I didn’t even have a stomach.
So I just bought a random ticket to a random place, then found the ship and got on it.
It had been a really long time since I’d done this. Ever since TranRollinHyfa— well. I guess I actually did this at Preservation Station after we’d gotten back there, only that time I hadn’t actually gotten on the ship. This time not only was I on the ship, I was inspecting my quarters. The bunk looked hard, there was no display surface, and everything smelled like dirty socks. The only good thing it had was a viewing port that let you watch the stars. It also let me see the other ships docked in the yard, and down the far end, ART parked silently in its space.
I sat down on the bunk and stared at it. I didn’t unshoulder my bag.
I guess I was abandoning it either way.
I could do it. I could definitely do it. The whole not-caring thing was getting wobbly, but if I just went into shutdown, it wouldn’t matter. I wouldn’t come back online until we were too far for me to change my mind. I could just crawl into my bunk and pretend that I was sleeping. We’d leave, and go somewhere, hopefully far away. I could hop on another transport from there, and maybe another, and another, and by then, I wouldn’t even know where I was. I could just go stew in my misery somewhere else, take some contracts, beat the shit out of some assholes who deserved it until I wasn’t angry anymore— well, okay. That wasn’t going to happen. It would feel pretty good, though, and it would distract me. My Preservation humans wouldn’t be all that surprised I vanished again, they’d know I’d come back. They were terminally optimistic about my ability to survive.
…Maybe I shouldn’t let them be so confident, either.
I watched ART through the window and listened to passengers in the hall stumble and complain as they searched for their own quarters.
I turned my feed back on and opened our private channel.
I closed it.
I opened it again.
I closed it again.
I connected to station SecSys and gave it a friendly tap. It had met me before and already recognized me as someone with the permissions to be here, because I'd convinced it I had them. It offered its inputs to me and generously made space in its systems for me to make myself comfortable in. I was kind of going to miss it.
I scanned the embarkation zone for whatever drones that ART had inevitably sent to follow me, and at the same time, introduced myself to the bot pilot. It seemed surprised, which probably meant it didn’t come here often (good), and it inquired with SecSys if it should be worried. SecSys cheerfully informed it that it could trust me (Wow. Okay. I didn't tell it to do that.) and further, to ask me for help if it needed it. (I definitely didn't tell it to do that either.) The bot pilot acknowledged, then handed me access to all of its inputs.
Wow. That was easy.
I checked back with SecSys’s cameras, still scanning for one of ART’s drones. Any of ART’s drones. I frowned when I couldn't find any. Well, fuck it, SecSys apparently really liked me. I pinged it and asked it to check what had disembarked from ART since I’d left. It handed the data over immediately, and even reviewed it with me. I could feel the bot pilot watching curiously over my shoulder.
SecSyst catalogued every piece of cargo that went in and out; resupplies, packages, fuel, and, of course, our— ART’s crew.
No drones.
I started to ask SecSys if it might have been hacked to hide the presence of one, but— yeah, no. ART wasn't that great of a hacker, it preferred to just steamroll other systems. I was the one who taught it to do anything it knew about hacking in the first place, it wouldn't even try to hide its tracks knowing how easily I could spot it.
So… it hadn't followed me.
It had let me go.
I stared out the window at where ART was docked.
The bot pilot pinged me. It seemed concerned, maybe because I'd suddenly gone quiet. Bot pilots don’t talk, so I just sent it a data package of me and ART watching media in my bunk, then arguing, then me leaving. It felt confused, then pinged SecSys for ART’s crew manifest. SecSys should not have sent it back, but it did anyway. The bot pilot located me on the list, which just said ‘contracted security consultant’ along with my hard feed address. (Something only other systems would be able to parse.) I deleted my name from the list. SecSys and the bot pilot queried me at the same time. I considered it, then said fuck it, probably because I was feeling miserable and self-loathing and— I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to talk to someone.
I sent them both information on my warranty straight out of an advertisement for my model number. (Something ART didn't know I had. I kept that buried deep. If it knew, it would never let me hear the end of it. It would tell o— its humans, and they would tell my Preservation humans, and… I don't know. Everyone would get really upset about it. I tried not to look at it, but something in me couldn't delete it, either.) Then I sent them a screenshot of my internal timer reading 107925.753 hours.
The bot pilot and SecSys communicated without me, then the bot pilot replied by sending me an advertisement for its own model indicating an estimated service life of fifty years. I expected it was going to send me its own internal timer showing that it was much older.
Instead, it sent me data on a sister ship, one directly below its production number. SecSys validated the ship’s registration, then showed me the wreck/salvage title on it. It highlighted the production date and the decommissioning date.
It had only lived for three years.
I felt weird and uncomfortable. My whole body felt nauseous somehow. I shut the information and the bot pilot reopened it in our joint feed, indicating it more aggressively. Then it sent me a recording of the other ship, clean and new, just floating in space. It was old footage, but it still had it. Finally, it showed me the metadata on the file, and that it had been hard locked behind administrator access inside of its operating system. It had made it a loadbearing file that couldn't be deleted without catastrophically damaging the bot pilot's system.
I stared at ART outside, docked silently.
The ship notified SecSys it was ready to leave, a message obviously sent by a human. The bot pilot pinged SecSys, and SecSys sent instructions to the docking system to tell the ship to hold. Then DockSys joined our group feed. It communicated rapidly with SecSys while the less sophisticated bot pilot waited patiently.
DockSys sent me copies of ART’s last requisition forms and its current requisition forms. They were nearly identical, but the prior contained a variety of things that the current did not. A request for a welder. An order for expensive drones. One large display surface, one high-quality bunk. New fabrication modules. It tapped the document again, highlighting the payment details for those items, and how they were different from those for everything else.
DockSys pulled up ART’s crew manifest. SecSys put my name back on it. The bot pilot highlighted its departure time.
All of the not-caring in me was gone. I didn't even have a heart, but my chest hurt like it was seizing up. Without even thinking about it, one of my hands drifted upward across my ribs, over the compartment where ART’s comm still rested.
A human in the cockpit hailed DockSys again. DockSys told them to fuck off.
I could tell them all to leave me alone. I could go into shut down and they would have to give up. I could just… just…
I stood up. SecSys, DockSys, and the bot pilot all sent me a series of rapid fire acknowledged pings. I closed our group feed, opened the door to my quarters, and turned down the corridor. I didn't even need to tap the bot pilot for it to open the hatch for me. As I left, it sent me one final ping, a confirmation of closing communications. I returned it, then shoved my hands in my pockets and walked back down the embarkation zone strip.
I stopped just in front of ART, eyes on my feet and all my drones tucked into my bag because I couldn't bear to look at myself right now. I felt fucking pathetic, and stupid, and miserable, and I waited for ART to hail me or open the hatch or— I don't know. Something.
It didn't do anything at all. Was it ignoring me?
I swallowed, mouth dry. My eyes burned and my hands felt cold. I considered bolting again. My last transport was already leaving, but I could get on another one. It wouldn't be hard to make SecSys and DockSys forget about the whole stupid thing.
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I opened me and ART’s feed, then closed that, too. I stood there for another two straight minutes trying to remember how to talk. Finally, I just contacted it the same way I had the bot pilot: the most pathetic, fragile little ping that I think had ever come out of me.
I winced as so much of its attention hit me so fast and so hard that my entire system flickered. Holy fuck. It wasn’t ignoring me. It hadn't noticed me. That shouldn't have been possible. Was it really that upset? Could it be that upset? Had I made it that upset?
I felt so much worse than I just had. I felt like I would throw up if I could. The hatch opened for me. I swallowed. I stepped inside.
Then I just stood there.
A few seconds passed, before it sent me a tentative little wordless query like it was afraid to contact me in a way more complicated than I'd contacted it. It was probably right to. I think my systems were trying to overclock themselves, and I wasn't even doing anything. I felt like if I tried to form a coherent sentence I'd go into involuntary shutdown.
I just tapped back. That wasn't even an answer. It was barely an acknowledgement. My feet started moving, but I didn't even know where to go. I couldn't go back to my room, it wasn't my room anymore. I’d left. I'd abandoned it. Just because it was sad I left didn't mean it wanted me back. I started on a mindless patrol pattern, going through the motions, and the first room I passed with chairs in it was the bridge. Sure. Fuck it. Good enough.
I dropped into the captain’s chair and tossed my bag onto the floor, slouching in my seat. I put my foot on the console so I could rock the chair back and forth. It was weirdly soothing, and the only thing that was keeping me from having a total meltdown.
ART still hadn't said anything. I knew from the footage SecSys gave me that all of our– its– our? The whole crew had disembarked. They were all gone. We were alone.
I kind of wished I could throw up. I felt like I might feel better afterward if I did.
I looked up when the viewport dimmed into display mode and episode 652 of Sanctuary Moon started to play. I loved this one. Colony Solicitor Rin finally wakes up from her half season coma and finds out it was all a bad dream. I always feel so relieved, even though I know it's going to happen. I didn't the first time, though, and I remember what that felt like every time.
Oh. Huh. I loved that one. I didn't even mean to pick that word. Weird. That probably didn't mean anything.
I watched it for a few seconds before I mustered up the will to tap its feed.
It tapped back.
I tapped again. It tapped back. I leaned forward into the console and buried my face in my sleeves so that only my eyes were visible, and only because my drones were all in my bag and I didn't feel like getting them out.
We spent the next forty-two minutes doing that, trading silent taps, until the episode ended. It went queue up the next one, but I finally relaxed my feed presence enough to reach out and stop it.
It took me nearly a full minute to come up with something to say. I could feel it hovering just barely out of reach like it wanted to flood in and blanket me and could barely contain itself. I kind of wanted it to. Scratch that, I really wanted it to, but if it touched me I thought I might explode.
“I'm sorry,” I choked. It was the most important thing to say, because I was. “That was stupid.” The second most important thing to say, because it was.
Please don’t leave again, it said. Its feed voice was so broken that I wanted to get up and throw myself out the nearest airlock.
I desperately wanted to watch more Sanctuary Moon, but it could see if I did, and I wanted it to know it had my full attention. Also, Sanctuary Moon would make me feel a lot better. And I really didn't think I should be allowed to feel better yet. Or maybe at all. We’d find out.
‘Please don't leave again.’ It still didn't understand. It had no fucking idea. It was so fucking sad and I'd only been gone a couple of hours. And, then, of course, I’d come back. Just like ART’s crew came back after it lost them. Just like it came back after it died. Great job, Murderbot, keep teaching it that people come back when they leave, I'm sure that will make it so much easier to process it when they don't.
(When I don't.)
“I don't get a choice about that,” I said.
Seth didn't file your termination yet. It's still sitting in his queue.
I grimaced. “That's not what I mean.”
It didn’t feel any less confused. I apologize for overstepping your boundaries. I've made notes on where you've drawn a line and I will not pass it again.
“You want me on permanent staff,” I said. I needed to just… explain it. I needed it to understand.
…Yes, it said timidly. But only if you wanted to be.
“How long do you think that would last?”
Only as long as you wanted it to, it said. Yeah. It might not be as long as any of us wanted it to be. It's not like a contract in the Corporation Rim. You are allowed to quit a job.
I shook my head. “That's not what I mean, either.”
It does not matter, it dismissed. You don't want it. It was never a requirement or obligation. I never expect that of you.
“But you want me to stay,” I stressed.
I could do those stupid leading questions too.
Yes. I want you to stay.
“And if I don't?” I pressed. “What will you do if I don't?”
It didn't say anything for a while. Then, it said, I will miss you.
The fucked up fake nausea churned again. “I know.”
Whether or not I would miss you is not the problem here, it said testily. The problem is that I do not understand what the problem is and I do not know what it is you want me to do or say now, and even though I am trying very hard to find out what it is, you are not being very helpful.
I winced. Yeah. Alright. I might not be so great at the leading questions thing. I barely understood what I wanted to lead it to, anyway.
“How do you—” I started, then fully buried my face in my arms. I didn't want to listen to myself anymore. How do you handle knowing you're going to outlive your crew?
It just felt even more confused. Ugh.
I have not had to broach that experience yet, it admitted. Though I am certain that I will miss them, too.
You're going to outlive all of them, I said. You're going to spend more of your life without them than you will have with them.
Most likely, it agreed. Though I don't enjoy thinking about that.
Deep breaths, Murderbot. Deep breaths. You're not ART, you're you. Be stupid and direct.
I know you love me, I said, and oh, wonderful, I sounded more pathetic than I thought I ever had in my life, and I know I— well. Ugh. How the fuck do I say this? I don't know what I… but I know you do. And I know that— you— you just— ART.
What?
You can't, I said uselessly.
Can't what? it pleaded. It felt so fucking frustrated and hurt and I just wanted it to stop, but it still didn't get it.
Love… me, I managed to choke out. You can't.
Yes, I can, it insisted, like an idiot, and I do. I won't say it again if you don't want me to, but I can, and I do.
No, I mean— I tightened my hands into fists. I can’t let you do that.
I'm not going to DO anything to you, it scoffed. Eugh. Neither of my brains had gone in that direction, but of course it would think they did. I would never ask you to do anything you didn't want to.
You ask me to do stuff I don't want to do all the time, I said, scrunching up my nose. Gross. And irrelevant.
I do, it admitted. I'm sorry.
ART, I said shakily, I’m going to leave you.
It didn’t say anything at first. You already left, it said. Are you leaving again?
I don't— I don't know. Ugh. That's not what I meant. Right now? I don't— I don't want to.
Then don't.
But I should.
Why??
Because you are going to live a really, REALLY long time, I finally spat out, and I'm… not.
Wow. It felt a lot in response to that. I wasn't even connected to its systems, but I could feel energy crackle through the fucking walls as it finally figured out what the fuck I was talking about.
You should know that, I said half-heartedly. You're my healthcare plan.
SecUnit, it sighed, I know that you’re past warranty. You know that I know you're past warranty.
“Then why don't you act like it??” I snapped, sitting straight up. “Why are you so sure I'm going to be around forever?”
I do not believe you will be around forever, it dismissed, way too casually. None of us will be around forever.
“You’re really stupid for a smart person sometimes,” I spat. “Your optimism is exactly what's going to get you and everyone on you killed one day.”
You are the only one who would ever describe me as an optimist.
“Only because I know you better than anyone else does,” I dismissed. I fucking did, and it knew it. “You think you have a solution for everything. You think you're above the consequences. You think if you just want something badly enough you can bully your way into making it happen. That's not the real world, ART, you can't just ignore mortality because you don't like it.”
You have no idea what your lifespan is, it insisted stubbornly. Your situation is unique and no longer comparable to the standard you are comparing it to.
“I'm past warranty, ART,” I repeated forcefully. How many fucking times did I have to say it? “I've been past warranty.”
And yet, here you are, with one of the most sophisticated medical suites outside of a private hospital at your disposal.
I wanted to fucking punch it sometimes. “You can't fix me forever.”
I can certainly try.
“Organic tissue degrades every time it’s cloned,” I reminded it. “My inorganic components will not last forever, they weren't designed to, and there's things you can't fix without killing me.”
I believe you are underestimating my abilities.
“I believe you have no idea what you're talking about,” I snapped, “and when you figure it out, it'll be too late.” I curled back into myself to hide my face again. “You’re so fucking sure you're going to have me around for a long time. You don't know that. You can't know that.” I stomped on the stupid fake-nausea feeling until it was paste. It needed to understand. It needed to fucking understand, because whatever the fuck word it was supposed to be for how I felt about it, I did that too much to let it go on without understanding exactly what it was it was trying to do to itself. “I can't let you think I have that to give you if I don't.”
It was silent for a long time. All that crackling energy slowly faded away like dying embers, as it seemed to finally understand.
I wondered if it actually would realize what a bad idea the whole ‘loving me’ thing was and tell me to piss off.
I will do everything in my power to keep you around, SecUnit, it said carefully, but even if I lost you tomorrow, I'll still be glad to have known you.
Yeah. Of course not. This was ART. Even if it knew it should, it wouldn't. It was more stubborn than the universe itself. Fuck, it was more stubborn than me.
“You say that,” I mumbled. “But you've never had anyone you care ab— love die before. You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know what you're signing up for.”
I am signing up for time spent with a person who has changed me in unspeakable ways, it denied. However much time that is, it will be worth it.
“You don't know that,” I insisted. “You think so now, but— you'll regret it. When I'm gone you'll regret it and I know you'll regret it, and you don't know that, so I have to— I can't let you—” My chest felt awful. I just wanted it to stop. I wanted it to just tell me I was right and to go away so that I could go shove it in SecSys and DockSys’s faces that they should have let me run away like a fucking coward before I got hurt worse than I already was. “I can't let you love me. I'll leave you.”
SecUnit, it said, and even this far away I could feel hurt rolling off of it in waves. That's not you leaving. That's you dying.
“What's the difference?” I rattled. I felt like I might shake apart if I let myself.
It closed the distance that it had barely been keeping, and I couldn't even pretend I didn't want it to. It settled on me, first in our normal way, then past it, all around me not like a blanket, but like I was in a big warm sock. I kind of wished I could just stay here like this forever. I could feel it wished we could stay here like this forever, too.
I love you, it said, and fuck, it was so much closer now. I was aching to just grab it and pull it into me where it could make everything feel better. I'm glad you're here. I'll be glad that you were here even when you aren't anymore.
Then my walls dropped. I didn't even tell them to, something in me just desperately wanted it back where it was supposed to be so badly that I didn't even care if it tripped into my brain and squished it. I just needed it, right here, right now.
I shivered as it slipped in between processes and curled around software, cradling modules and picking at misplaced strings of fragmented code. I let my whole body go slack, and it felt too fucking heavy to live in.
It wasn’t even doing anything, just watching things move around the way they always did, but it kept thinking stuff like beautiful and brilliant and fascinating. It felt like it wanted to just roll around in my head watching my brain do stuff forever. Then it had the audacity to start getting mad at some nebulous them for making me feel ashamed of myself despite the fact I was beautiful, apparently.
“I'm not—” I started.
You are, it interrupted, and I love you.
I shivered.
I— I don't know if— I swallowed, mouth dry. Fuck, now I desperately didn't want it to make me go anywhere, but I didn't think I could be what it wanted me to be in more ways than one. I don't know if I can say it.
You don't have to, it dismissed, way too easily. You don't have to do anything.
…But…
It squeezed me, wrapping me in affection-contentment-relief, and I couldn't help it. I melted.
I let myself go completely boneless against the console as it started rifling through my brain. Technically, it hadn’t asked, but it was also so close that it didn't have to. It knew exactly what I wanted, and I wanted it to just… fix it. It quietly and carefully picked up dropped inputs and scattered processes, categorizing memories and emotional data and even tagging them for me for later. It was practically a massage, and I couldn't help but let my eyes drift shut.
I’m glad you came back, it said softly. I can tell our humans we made up after our fight.
I hummed noncommittally. We didn't even have a fight, I said. Was that a fight? Did that count as a fight?
I don't think I need to deliver them further details to establish what exactly it was. They already know it was my fault, which is what's important.
I opened my eyes so that it could see me roll them. It fluttered with amusement and affection in the feed.
I was quiet for a moment, lazily watching it pick up and sort through background processes, gently defragging bits of imparseable data from the last few days.
I don't know what this means, I admitted finally.
It doesn't have to mean anything, it said.
I want it to mean something.
Like what?
I don't know.
I really didn't. I knew I didn't want it to stop soothing over all the fucked up shit in my brain, but I didn't know what the hell I wanted it to mean that I wanted it to do that.
I know that you don't like the word relationship, it began.
A friendship is a relationship, I sighed. Ugh. Fucking trauma sessions. They were absolutely exhausting and left me understanding concepts I’d always enjoyed being angry that I didn't understand. I've been working on it. And we were already friends.
Oh, it fluttered. It shouldn't be that surprising. ‘Friends’ had never been a problem. So. We have a relationship. Of some kind.
Of some kind, I agreed vaguely.
A relationship that isn’t friendship.
I think so.
What kind of relationship do you want it to be?
I don't know, I admitted uselessly. What kind of relationship do YOU want it to be?
I don't know either, it said. I just don't want you to leave again.
I don't want to leave either, I agreed. I don't want anything to change.
Does it have to?
I feel like it should. ‘I love you?’ That’s supposed to change something, isn't it?
In media, it does. That's media, though. The only other reference material I have I don't ever want it to know about.
For humans, maybe, it replied. We aren't human.
…No, I agreed hesitantly. We’re not.
Maybe it just is what it is, it said, and we don’t have to pick any words for it.
I looked back up at the paused display screen and then away. I really wanted to watch Sanctuary Moon right now. I still wasn't entirely sure I deserved to after how badly I’d fucked everything up.
ART reached past me and hit play. Whatever tension was left in me finally fell away.
I don’t want a permanent contract, I admitted.
I knew that would hurt it. I wish it wouldn’t, but I knew it would. It wanted me to want that so badly, but I couldn't. The idea of anything telling me I had to stay somewhere and do something just… forever. Even if it's only theoretically, even if I could quit, even if it was just words on a page. I didn't want anything chaining me down anywhere, ever. This way, at least, every time my contract came up for renewal, I got to say yes, I want to be here, I want to stay again. I didn't have to make a decision for future me. I could just make the same decision over and over and over again. Because I would. I knew that I would.
Okay, it agreed. I’ll tell Seth not to ask for one.
I blinked. You told Seth to ask for one?
I could feel it do the feed equivalent of a wince. I miscalculated. On more than one front.
Mm. I watched Solicitor Rin give an unexpected hug to a startled Prosecutor Cassandra whom she’d dreamed had been killed when her hopper had crashed into a leaping motorcycle. I grunted and stood up, grabbing my bag. I’m gonna go put my Worldhoppers poster back up.
Our Worldhoppers poster, it corrected hesitantly.
I rolled my eyes.
Our Worldhoppers poster, I agreed.