Work Text:
I am unsure why I am still here, aboard Perihelion, but no one has suggested I leave.
I do not know where else I would go.
I would like to want to be somewhere else, to have a mission the way Murderbot did when it left Dr. Mensah, but so far, I have not thought of one.
I will remain on board until I am asked to leave, or until I want to be somewhere else.
That decision tree, preserved in my personal record, is why I did not disembark when we dropped the Preservation clients at Preservation Station. Also, I did not want to create more potential for emotional conflict. Leading up to the departure, the Preservation humans experienced mild to moderate emotional conflict arising from the decision of one of the younger Preservation humans, Amena, to remain on board. In the end, the other humans agreed, provided Murderbot (I do call it Murderbot, but only in my own head) remained with her. It was planning to do that anyway. I am unsure if it would have gone if it had wanted to be somewhere else. I have scrutinized all of its files many times, but it is very different from the SecUnits I am used to.
But no matter why it agreed, it did, and Amena became one of Murderbot’s two clients on the transport. Its other client, Ratthi, also decided to stay, but there was no emotional conflict over that decision. Instead, the humans seemed amused.
That meant there were a total of ten humans on Perihelion: Perihelion’s eight clients and Murderbot’s two clients. I was not assigned any clients, so I followed general security protocol. In other words, I patrolled a lot. Shortly after we left Preservation Station, Ratthi told me I did not have to patrol.
“I am choosing to patrol,” I told him.
“Oh,” Ratthi said. “Why?”
I did not have an answer, and I am not required to answer humans anymore, so I said nothing.
These humans ask me strange questions all the time, but Ratthi asks qualitatively different ones than the others. I noted this for future evaluation, and in the meantime, I considered his question.
I am choosing to patrol because I do not know what else to do.
I am choosing to patrol because I find the rhythmic steps soothing.
I will continue to patrol until I no longer want to do it.
So I did another circuit of Perihelion.
* * *
We had to return to the Pansystem University of Mihira and New Tideland, as Tarik and Kaede were required to participate in an “introductory seminar.”
I am unsure what that is.
My lexicon indicates that it is an educational meeting similar to a professional development session.
I have never been present for a seminar or a professional development session before, but according to my proprietary Barish-Estranza event evaluation module, both are considered very low risk.
Counterpoint: Tarik and Kaede speak of the seminar in a tone indicative of mild dread. Apparently it will be full of something called “freshmen.”
My risk assessment module does not mention these, so I will need to make an evaluation and update the module when we encounter them.
It was strange to think that the risk assessment data I obtained would never contribute to an update or go to any other SecUnit, even informally. I would collect it, and it would just be for me. It was, somehow, not as satisfying to gather intel only for myself, but I would do it anyway. That is one of my functions.
Iris, one of Perihelion’s clients, and Amena spoke frequently about what we could expect at the Pansystem University of Mihira and New Tideland. I wanted to know, too, but these conversations were not as helpful as I hoped they might be.
On the first day of our trip to the university, I overheard Amena asking Iris about where the humans would disembark from Perihelion. They were consuming food. All humans consume a lot of food, and they like to talk while they do it, so it’s a good time to collect data for the company or intel for yourself.
“Oh, Peri docks in the station that orbits PUMANT,” Iris responded. “It’s called Gate Station, and it’s mostly pretty nice.” Her voice took on a darker tone. “Not this time, though.” I paused in my patrol to gain intel on a potential threat.
“What’s going to happen?” Amena asked.
Iris sighed in a way I think she may have learned from Murderbot. “We’ll be there during move-in. There’s no way to avoid it. Tarik and Kaede have to be there the first day of the new term, and because of all the getting abducted and then the negotiations with Barish-Estranza, we’re way behind schedule.”
“Move-in is bad,” Amena said, not quite making it a question. She pushed some of her small round foods around on her dish.
“PUMANT has over 350,000 students,” Iris said, her tone still dark. “They come from Mihira and New Tideland and Central and the Corporation Rim and the Outliers and a lot of alliances like yours. Last year, we had students from 187 different governmental entities. And they all bring a lot of baggage with them. Plus all the family that aren’t supposed to come but do anyway. And all of that goes through Gate Station in about five cycles. It’s a nightmare every time.”
I cannot imagine. Barish-Estranza does not have so many employees in its entire corporate system, and they never gather all in one place.
Amena seemed similarly stunned. “That’s,” she started, and then she seemed to change what she planned to say. “That’s a lot of people.”
“It’s a lot,” Iris said. “But at PUMANT there’s a lot of space, so on the planet, it’s no big deal. It’s just Gate Station where it’s horrible.”
“PUMANT is on a planet?” Amena asked. I noted several signs of stress in her voice, face, and body posture, and I increased my alert level.
“It is a planet,” Iris said. “Well, I guess it’s mostly on one continent of the planet, but that’s the only continent there is. Some of the more dangerous labs are on islands. And the law students.” She studied Amena for a second, and then said, “What is the organizational structure of your home planet?”
“I think a normal one?” Amena said doubtfully. “There’s one city and some towns and a lot of rural or development areas, and then there’s another continent that’s still being terraformed. And one station. We have a council government with a planetary government head.”
“So just think of the different departments as towns,” Iris said, shrugging. “Like, I grew up in the Astronomy Department, because one of my dads is the chair of Astrocartography, and even though my other dad’s a biologist, his specialty is xenobiology, so that means he’s 75% Astronomy, so it just makes sense for us to live there.” She added, “But I have a ton of friends who live in, like, Life Sciences or Drama or whatever. We’re not kept separate or anything.”
Amena seemed somewhat taken aback by this. I was unable to determine which part was surprising to her. I was confused by all of it.
She said, “Is the university the only planet in the system?”
“No,” Iris said around a mouthful of whatever she was eating. “Mihira, New Tidelands, and PUMANT are the three habitable planets in the system. Mihira’s perfect for agriculture. New Tidelands has a lot of industry. And PUMANT is considered marginal, so it started out being a place for labs doing science no one wanted near our food or factories. But it became, well. PUMANT.” She shrugged. “The thing about the Ivory Cluster is that it was settled early, pre-Corporate Rim.”
“Ivory Cluster?” Amena repeated.
“That’s what we call it, yeah. The Ivory Cluster colonies were mostly set up at the same time as Central colonies, so there’s not a huge historical distinction between them, but there’s certainly a cultural one!” She laughed.
I do not understand what any of that means, but I am not surprised.
These humans use words I understand in ways that I do not.
I am recording and storing all of their conversations.
I will use them to attempt to learn to understand the humans. Perhaps I can write a parsing code to help me translate their sentences.
So far, most of my post-governor-module existence has involved hoping to understand things later.
* * *
Perihelion has a dedicated dock space at Gate Station, so we didn’t have to join the docking queue, but we did have to navigate through the most traffic I have ever seen in a system. That level of traffic did not come close to filling up the available space, of course, but many of the smaller ships and shuttles appeared to be piloted by people whose piloting modules were even worse than mine.
Or they may have been intoxicated. I have no evidence that this was the case, but I have observed that intoxicants render humans 3.4 times as unpredictable and nearly twice as likely to interact with SecUnits.
Perihelion took over piloting entirely, which was terrifying. It clearly did not believe that it should yield right of way to anyone else in this space, and twice Seth said, “Peri!” in a slightly alarmed voice. (One of those times, Perihelion had aimed itself directly at a shuttle drifting out of its assigned lane and, when the shuttle did not divert course, used its tractor to shift it out of its way, which violated both the specs and the usage protocol for every tractor I had ever seen. Karime had giggled and said, “I bet they just wet themselves” very quietly to Matteo. Ratthi, who was sitting near Matteo, said, “I almost did,” and then all three of them laughed.)
Docking at the station, it turned out, was the easy part.
“Why can’t we just take Perihelion’s shuttle to the planet?” Amena asked Iris. They were waiting impatiently near the door for the rest of the humans to arrive. I was present because, unlike the humans, I had nothing to pack. I didn’t even have my armor. Humans are afraid of SecUnits, but they do not often recognize us without our armor.
“Well, two reasons,” Iris said. “First, during move-in, shuttles aren’t allowed to approach the planet at all. Apparently there used to be accidents, and there’s a lot of high-energy science going on down there that we don’t want stuff crashed into.”
“Oh,” Amena said.
“And the second reason is that there’s what they call a robust planetary defense system. To avoid the crashing into the high energy physics labs thing. Normally they can switch it off to allow specific shuttles through, but not during movie-in. They’re too busy keeping people from crashing into stuff in space.”
“Oh,” Amena said again. She sounded more impressed than horrified, because she is a young human. I have observed they do not have the same risk assessment modules as older humans. Some older humans, anyway.
I hoped that Amena would ask for specifications on the planetary defense system, but instead she asked about food options on Gate Station. After Iris shared some details with her, Amena left for the kitchen. (I have observed that it is better for humans to eat frequently. They experience performance reliability drops when they have not had food for a while.)
Iris turned to me. “Are you looking forward to the planet?”
I reminded myself that I did not have to answer, and then I answered anyway. “I do not know,” I said.
Iris stared at me for 15 seconds longer than is customary for humans, and then she said, “I’m just realizing I don’t know what SecUnits like to do.”
“I do not know that, either,” I said.
Not all SecUnits are the same, Perihelion interjected over the intercom.
“Oh! Sorry!” Iris said. “That was rude.” She blushed. “I meant I don’t know what you like to do. Do you enjoy -- entertainment? Or debates? Or symposiums?”
I still didn’t know, but I didn’t have to say it three times, because Amena came back in with a bag of some kind of food, and she was followed by Murderbot. “SecUnit likes shows,” she said helpfully. Murderbot did not say anything.
“There are so many shows,” Iris said cheerfully. “You really have to check out the Welcome Festival. That starts in three cycles, and it should have good shows. Every year Drama puts on like seven different plays. Oh, and Media has a feed channel dedicated to student-made serials, and you can download basically anything you want from their archive. Definitely download the best-of student media compilations. There’s this really good one --” and then she broke off and blushed again. I was unsure if it was the same kind of blush as the previous one. My emotion evaluation module is glitchy.
Murderbot didn’t respond to that, either. I have observed it does not like to respond to communications that are phrased as commands. But it seemed interested.
“It’s probably in the feed already, downloading,” Amena told Iris.
“No,” Murderbot and Iris said at the same time.
“The Gate Station feed gets thrashed during move-in,” Iris explained. “So they lock downloads. The only things you can download right now are the Welcome to PUMANT Guide and the maps package.” I started downloads for both. Iris was right; the feed was so slow it felt like the downloads were being imported a byte at a time.
Amena looked at Murderbot, who continued to stare at a wall. “Well, but once we get on planet, there will be downloads,” she said.
From her tone of voice, I was fairly sure she was trying to comfort Murderbot, but it didn’t respond. I wondered if it was irritated, but I was unsure. It is not just that my emotion evaluation module is glitchy. It was never programmed to interpret the emotions of constructs. When I was with the other Barish-Estranza SecUnits, I mostly just knew how they felt anyway.
* * *
We exited Perihelion, crossed the ramp to the gate of its dock, and stepped out into a station that seemed to contain more human flesh than air. Humans were everywhere. I could smell them, hear them, and, unfortunately, feel them, because as soon as we stepped into the side path leading to Concourse C, humans, unknown humans, were pressed up against me.
I didn’t like it, but I am very good at putting up with things I don’t like. It is one of the key SecUnit skills.
I felt a tap in the feed from Murderbot. Taps don’t have tone, so I don’t know why I thought it was a grim, resigned tap, but I did. I responded like I would have to one of the other Barish-Estranza SecUnits, using an image of one of our internal alert screens, the one for excessive proximity of unpredictable flora/fauna.
Murderbot responded with a different image, a perfectly targeted kill shot lined up on an outline of some kind of many-tentacled creature with a huge jaw. (That is just how SecUnits tell jokes and is nothing to worry about. Barish-Estranza SecUnit 41 used to edit images, even, to say things like “countdown to doom” instead of “countdown to deploy.”)
We entered the moving stream of human flesh (this is not phrasing that is good to use around humans, but it is very accurate to the experience) and it sort of pushed us along towards Concourse C. Our feet were still moving, but we didn’t have very much control over where we went. Everyone wanted to go in the same direction, though, so that was acceptable, if unpleasant.
A human with a large amount of luggage pushed past us, trying to get ahead in an illogical way, and hit Murderbot in the torso with a large, heavy bag. Murderbot made an atypical vocalization that seemed to be a cross between a growl and a sigh.
“SecUnit?” Amena said.
“Yes. But if you need something, I can’t help you because there are too many humans in my fucking way,” Murderbot responded.
I think she was worried you might go on a killing rampage, I explained in our group’s feed channel. Because the human hit you.
The humans were all silent for a few seconds. (When I was with Barish-Estranza, I observed that humans have many kinds of silence. This was the awkward kind of silence, so I didn’t have the crawling feeling in the back of my head that I still get when the governor module should administer punishment. Instead, I just had an unexplained one percent performance reliability drop.) Then Ratthi laughed loudly enough to be heard over the extremely high noise level in Gate Station. (At least, if you had filters on your hearing. I am unsure if the humans heard him.) In our channel, he said, If SecUnit went on killing rampages every time a human annoyed it, I would have died shortly after I met it.
True, Murderbot confirmed.
Obviously true, I thought but did not say. A human is more likely to kill a SecUnit for being annoying than the inverse. I said, We have a lot of practice at being annoyed.
Also true, Murderbot agreed.
The humans didn’t seem to have a lot to say to that, and I wasn’t very much in the mood for conversation either. My risk assessment module was all over the place, trying to evaluate everyone and everything, and it kept alerting and canceling and alerting. It was like being stung repeatedly and insistently by some small insect. But inside my brain.
Subjectively, the trip to the drop pod queue took several years. Everyone was pushing and shoving. One of the things I did not expect is that the humans saw us, Murderbot and me, as humans. They came much closer to us than humans normally would, and they did not get out of our way. We had to work for every step, carefully moving around not just the humans everywhere but also their bags and boxes. I could not imagine what so many bags and boxes might contain.
We did finally get to the drop pod queue, though. We had priority because we had professors in our group, but we also had a large party, so we had a choice between a drop pod that was short two seats -- which would obviously be mine and Murderbot’s -- or a drop pod two hours later that had seats for all of us. The humans wanted to take the later drop pod, but Murderbot said, We’re good at standing.
I added, I would prefer to stand in the drop pod than stand here. After that, Tarik confirmed the earlier reservations.
* * *
The humans had said the group would split up as soon as we arrived on the planet, but that is not what happened. After we disembarked from our drop pod, there was a lot of hugging and an amount of conversation among the humans that seemed unnecessary, as they had just spent many, many cycles together and had talked a lot the entire time. But I have observed that the maxima of human speech is dictated mostly by physical limitations, like the need for sleep.
SecUnits have physical limitations, but fewer of them. I would not call discomfort around all the many unfamiliar humans here a limitation. I could stand it.
And we did stand. Murderbot and I stood and waited. For a few seconds, we were both in guard position, and then Murderbot dropped into a more human-like stance. I continued to stand guard, although I observed that this attracted more attention than the humans’ noisy enthusiasm or Murderbot’s slouch.
I added “Practice standing like a human” to my to-do list.
Eventually, the humans were finished, and we all went to the transit platform, except for Karime. She apparently lives in Humanities, which is on the Hum Line and departs from a different platform. (The transit map I downloaded on Gate Station indicated that there were a total of six different lines, all of which departed from different platforms, and which intersected at hubs all over the continent. I found the map pleasingly complex and detailed, and spent several extra seconds admiring it while the humans hugged and said things.)
The rest of us boarded a pod on the Sci Line. Different humans left the group at different stops, and at the second stop I realized I did not know where I would be leaving the pod. All of Perihelion’s clients have homes on the PUMANT planet. Ratthi had made arrangements to stay with Matteo, and Amena was invited to stay with Seth, Martyn, and Iris, so Murderbot would be staying there, too, as Amena was its primary client.
I wondered if I should have stayed on board Perihelion. Looking back, I realized that would have been more logical. I could have remained there until summoned by one of the humans, at which point I could go through Gate Station during a time that was not move-in.
That is, assuming Perihelion had not killed me and recycled me by that time.
I am unsure why I did not think to do that.
I was following the humans as though they were my clients and awaiting orders.
These humans will not give me orders, and if any human gives me an order, I do not have to obey.
I need to make choices even when they are not explicitly stated.
I added “Learn to give myself orders in advance” to my to-do list, and then Amena said, “Come on, Three.”
I had had a lapse in situational awareness, apparently, as we had arrived at Seth, Martyn, and Iris’s stop, or so I assumed. They had gathered their things and were standing on the platform. Everyone was looking at me except Murderbot, who was holding the door open. From the expressions on the faces of the other passengers in the pod, this was not behavior in accordance with protocol, but no one felt like saying as much to Murderbot.
I moved out onto the platform, and Murderbot allowed the door to close.
“Do we want to walk or take the skids?” Seth asked the group. I didn’t have any idea what ‘the skids’ were, but assumed that if they were important or dangerous I would find out eventually.
“Let’s walk!” Iris said, bouncing a little. “It’s been a while and I want to show Amena things!” Then she hesitated and said, “Unless anyone doesn’t feel up to walking?”
“I’m all healed,” Martyn assured her.
“Walking sounds fun,” Amena said.
There was a tiny pause, and then Murderbot said, “I don’t care.”
Seth looked pointedly at me. I said, “I walk all the time anyway.” And then, when no one moved, “Walking is fine.”
Two minutes into our walk, as we left the pod platform, we passed a kiosk where they carried media downloads, and Amena stopped dead. “I just need to get a few things!” she said, her eyes glazing over.
“Oh, The Corpsicle Plot have a new song out!” Iris said enthusiastically, and her eyes went distant, too.
Five minutes later, when Iris and Amena were still obviously in the feed, and Murderbot was slightly less obviously downloading media, Seth said to me, “They can catch up. Do you want to go on?”
Protocol advises against splitting the party. Two SecUnits are a more effective defense than one.
PUMANT is a low risk environment. And Murderbot is a very effective SecUnit.
I do not actually want to stand here watching other people download things.
“Yes,” I said, and we did.
We arrived at Seth and Martyn’s house ten minutes later. It was a two-level dwelling that shared one wall with another dwelling unit, both of them surrounded by a small open area containing low groundcover plants and metal objects that did not seem to have a purpose. The building appeared to be made of some kind of stone rather than the building materials I was used to. I had no data to compare it to any other human dwelling, but it seemed spacious. Martyn opened the door -- I noted that the access control system was a simple coded chip lock, which is inadequate security for anything that requires security at all -- and gestured for Seth to enter first. After a few seconds, I realized that that gesture was also meant for me, and I entered, too.
Seth said, “Welcome to our humble abode.” He paused, thinking. “Do you -- need a bedroom? Amena’s going to share Iris’s room. Do you want to share a bedroom with SecUnit?”
I would not mind. I shared my staging area with the other Barish-Estranza units and even shared cubicles on certain missions, but I didn’t think Murderbot would feel the same. I said carefully, “I believe SecUnit would prefer the bedroom. By itself.” I considered my requirements. “I would be most comfortable with a space that measures at least .75 meters by .5 meters by 2 meters, for recharge cycles.”
Seth blinked. Martyn said, “Would you be more comfortable with more space than that?”
“I’m sorry. I have no information on that,” my buffer said.
“Maybe for now you can be in the extra room near ours,” Martyn said. “Then SecUnit can have the extra room near Iris’s. And you can let us know if you don’t like it.”
That seemed as reasonable as anything.
Seth showed me around the house, indicating the many different facilities the humans needed. It had two decks, and a staircase rather than a lift or ladder, but it was not very different from a ship. It was just a ship with a lot of extra items in it, and more space allotted per human occupant. And no MedSystem. And no SecUnit storage. And no engines or Engineering department.
Okay, it wasn’t very much like a ship. But it was close enough for me to be able to function in it.
Seth narrated extensively as he led me on the tour. “This is the main living area,” he said at one point. “Those are couches, that’s a spare desk, that’s Martyn’s special chair, and that’s the entertainment console. These are some objects we were given during a -- well, you were there for something similar, so I guess I can just say it. During a mission to keep a lost colony out of corporate control.”
I considered the objects, which appeared to have been carved. They were curved in most places, but flat in others, and every surface on them had various texture and color attributes. I could not imagine how they were used. “What are they for?”
Seth made a face. “Decoration? Or that’s how we use them. We never really figured it out. Karime is an incredibly gifted linguist, but that colony was just unintelligible.” He smiled a little. “But when I look at these objects, they remind me that that colony is out there being unintelligible in its own way, instead of enslaved by corporates.” Then he winced.
I may be causing this human emotional distress.
If I am, I believe it is because my presence reminds him of both corporations and enslavement, words he associates with me.
I cannot relieve this distress except by not being here.
But he has invited me to be here.
I do not know where else I would go.
I will continue to be here until I am told to leave or until I want to leave.
“They are nice objects,” I told Seth, studying him to see if this is an appropriate response. “And it is good that that colony is free.”
His smile got bigger. “Yeah, it really is.”
He continued to show me around, naming every object and describing its purpose, until we reached the room that would be mine, a smaller one next to the large room that Martyn and Seth shared. “This is where Iris slept when she was a baby,” Seth explained. “So we could hear her if she cried. Well, she was supposed to sleep here, but really she slept in our room, so this was more of a place to store all her stuff and change her diapers.” He made a face. “Sorry, am I giving you too much information?”
I didn’t have any way to quantify the amount of information he was providing, or any standard on which to evaluate it. “I don’t know,” I said.
“I just got used to explaining everything, I guess. When Peri was here.”
“Peri?” I asked. The only entity I knew by that name was the transport on which we arrived, but that Perihelion couldn’t fit on a planet.
“Well, Peri’s core. We raised him alongside Iris,” Seth explained. The explanation did not increase my understanding.
It is permissible within protocol to ask for more information.
The odds I would understand the additional information are low.
I have assimilated a great deal of data and many new experiences today.
I do not need to understand how a transport could fit inside this house or be raised like a human child.
I nodded.
* * *
We were in the room Murderbot would be spending its recharge cycles in, and Seth was explaining how the window coverings worked when Martyn called, “We have a visitor!”
Seth said, “Let’s go see,” so I followed him down the stairs.
The visitor was standing in the main living area, not far from the decorative gift objects. In the feed, she was labeled as “ID: Pai, she/her, professor of computer science, NO romantic or sexual availability, NO questions or comments availability, office hours daily from 13:00-14:00 or by appointment, READ THE SYLLABUS FIRST.”
She was fairly small for a human, which I liked; smaller humans are easier to rescue from dangerous situations and much easier to carry. She had long, loosely curly gray hair, with many individual strands emerging from the curls in assorted directions. The effect reminded me of someone exposed to static electricity. She wore loose clothing that covered all of her limbs, and the top part had multiple small holes inconsistent with normal wear patterns. When we first entered, she was speaking to Martyn at an unusually fast pace, but she broke off to stare at me.
“You hired a SecUnit?” she said. My emotion evaluation module indicated that her tone and expression were conveying a feeling of insult or negative judgment.
All past data indicates that humans unexpectedly encountering a SecUnit feel terror (78%), disgust (10%), anger (8%), or relief (4%, all in situations involving immediate danger).
My emotion evaluation module is glitchy.
Likely it has given me an inaccurate answer.
I rebooted my module.
Martyn said, “This is Three. It saved our lives on our last trip with Peri, and it’s come to visit us for a while.” His tone was clearly intended to convey something, but unfortunately my emotion assessment module was still coming back on line, so I could not determine what that was.
I felt something unusual in the feed, like someone running their hands over me from the inside. Then Pai said, “Its governor module is disabled.” By then, my emotion evaluation module was running again, but it was reporting that she sounded relieved, so I didn’t think it was working any better. I do not have a sufficient sample size to determine the typical human emotional response to encountering a rogue SecUnit, but I know that it isn’t relief.
“Well, yes,” Seth said. “We’re not mentioning any of that to Administration, though.”
She waved her hand like she was brushing that aside. “I don’t talk to any of those assholes if I don’t absolutely have to, you know that. They don’t like my projects.” Then her eyes got wide. “Right. My project!”
“What happened?” Seth asked, moving to the kitchen and filling an object with water. “Anyone else want tea?”
“There’s no time for tea,” Pai said. “Eclipse is missing!”
Both Martyn and Seth froze for a second, then Martyn said to me, “Eclipse is Pai’s newest AI project. Like -- like a little sibling to Perihelion.”
Seth added, “Pai is Perihelion’s initial creator.”
“You’re both terrible at this,” Pai said, and she turned to me. “I am a computer scientist. I make machine intelligences that I call ‘AI eggs,’ and then other people care for them and rear them until they reach full maturity, because I am not a natural parent. I choose volunteers with young children, so the AIs can grow up around them. My AIs are capable of things no machine intelligence is supposed to be able to do, but you must know that. You met Peri. Do you have any questions?”
“No,” I said.
“Eclipse is the one Olimpia and Ani are raising, right?” Seth said.
“Yes. They took Iulia to the medical center and left Eclipse at home, and when they came back, it was gone.”
“Oh no,” Martyn said. “That’s so awful. I hope it's okay.” He did look upset.
“You need to talk to Campus Security,” Seth said.
Pai rolled her eyes. “I did, and all they said was that it’s move-in and they’re only addressing critical safety issues, and ‘lost computer equipment’ isn’t a safety issue.”
“That’s terrible,” Martyn said.
“How can we help?” Seth asked.
“There wasn’t any sign of a break-in or anything, so we think maybe it wandered off. Olimpia is already out looking for it, and I’m hoping if a lot of other people in the neighborhood look for it, we’ll be able to track it down.” She made some kind of face. “It’s probably okay. No one in this neighborhood would hurt it. But it’s not developed enough to be out on its own, especially in move-in.” Everyone winced.
That assessment contains factual inaccuracies that could lead to mission failure.
Seth and Martyn are nodding like they agree with it.
None of these humans has the expertise to evaluate this situation.
I do. This is my function.
“I disagree,” I said. My performance reliability dropped to 96% and I experienced emotions. Then I realized I had never openly disagreed with a human before -- inside my own brain is a different story -- and my performance reliability dropped again, to 94%.
All three of them looked at me. I am not Murderbot. I don’t hate being looked at. But being the focus of multiple humans is still uncomfortable. In my experience, it means something bad is about to happen, or has already happened. The back of my head crawled, anticipating a punishment from my governor module, even though I don’t have one anymore.
“Explain,” Pai said.
“You stated that there was no sign of a break-in. If the lock on Olimpia and Ani’s door is similar to the lock on the door of this building, there would not be any sign of a forced entrance.” Technically, it wouldn’t be a forced entrance. The door would be unlocked by a code chip, just one that did not belong to the residents of the house.
“All the houses in the district have the same locks,” Martyn said. “Are they really so easy to open?”
“I can open this house’s lock faster than you can, with or without a key. A human could do it easily with a small device constructed from parts readily available from any technological kiosk.” I considered where we were. “I am unsure, but they may also be available in computer and electronics labs.”
“I can’t see anyone just stealing a machine intelligence,” Martyn protested.
“It wouldn’t be stealing. It’d be kidnapping!” Pai said loudly, waving her hands around. “This is serious. Eclipse could be undergoing developmental harm as we speak!” Her hair seemed to stand more on end as she got more emotional.
“We know it’s serious,” Seth said, which seemed to calm Pai down slightly, even though he was just repeating what Pai had said. I filed the technique away for further analysis.
I awaited orders, but the humans decided to discuss the matter further.
The humans do not have a protocol for this situation.
These humans apparently produce new protocol through long discussions.
I have a protocol for this situation, and it tells me that if this is a kidnapping, the longer we wait, the less likely successful recovery is.
I can follow my protocol while the humans produce theirs.
I said, “I will go look for Eclipse.” I waited several seconds for a human to countermand my statement, but then I remembered that even if they did, I could follow my own protocol anyway. “Where does it normally live?”
Pai dropped me an annotated map in the feed and a recent image of Eclipse, which appeared to be wearing a small, round, mobile body. I tapped back my thanks. Then I left.
As I closed the door behind me, Martyn said, “Uh, we might get a letter from the provost about letting a SecUnit loose in the district.”
“I’ll happily tell them to go fuck themselves,” Pai said. “There is absolutely no evidence that SecUnits are dangerous. All they can prove is that humans who give orders to SecUnits are dangerous, and I’m willing to certify that.”
It was an interesting perspective I made a note to consider later. For the moment, I had a mission.
* * *
Previously, I had evaluated the neighborhood as though it were company headquarters: guarded by other units and designated safe. I had to reevaluate it as an operational location.
This neighborhood of the university’s Astronomy District was made up of dwellings much like Seth and Martyn’s, though many showed signs of human-origin customization, such as an usual palette of colors on the exterior, or the presence of plants in pots. (I consulted the Welcome to PUMANT Guide I had downloaded on Gate Station and learned that PUMANT experienced lengthy, cold winters. Presumably the pots were placed in a safe location during this period.) The houses were grouped in clusters surrounded by walkways, one of which was stationary and slightly soft underfoot -- we had walked from the pod platform on this type of walkway -- and one of which moved slowly and consistently. I presumed this was the “skids” to which Seth had earlier referred.
According to the map Pai had dropped me, Eclipse’s normal location was in a house in the cluster next to the one in which Seth and Martyn’s home was located. I initially planned to run there using the skids for extra speed, but once I placed a foot on it, the feed informed me that running and walking on the skids was forbidden. I chose to run on the stationary walkway instead.
Once I arrived at Eclipse’s normal location, I accessed the lock, which confirmed that it had been last opened by Olimpia’s codekey at 14:05. The second most recent action the lock reported had occurred at 12:45 -- it had been locked by a master codekey. Fourteen minutes before that, it had been opened by a master codekey. And exactly twenty minutes before that, it had been locked by Olimpia’s codekey.
This established the following facts:
- There was a 96% probability that Eclipse had been abducted.
- There was a 45% probability that the person or persons responsible had not been professionals. Fourteen minutes is thirteen longer than it would take me to abduct a small, round object, such as Eclipse. If nothing else had been taken, the probability would rise to 86%.
- There was a 72% probability the abduction had been planned. Twenty minutes was the sort of wait period a human might select to be certain that Eclipse’s rightful owners would not return prematurely.
I am unsure if I should refer to Olimpia and Ani as Eclipse’s owners.
It is not clear to me who Eclipse belongs to.
It may also be true that Eclipse belongs to itself, as I currently do.
I have a preference for the theory that Eclipse belongs to itself.
I will refer to Olimpia and Ani as Eclipse’s caretakers.
I tapped Pai in the feed and asked, Did Eclipse’s caretakers find anything else missing?
No, she sent back immediately. That’s why we assumed Eclipse wandered off.
I noted the change in probability, and also noted that Pai, at least, did not find my description of Olimpia and Ani’s relationship to Eclipse incorrect.
I selected a recovery protocol that matched the situation: abduction by non-professionals and observed that the step that followed “Initial Assessment” The next step of the recovery protocol I chose for this situation was gathering intel. I queried the house, but it was unoccupied. Olimpia, Ani, and Iulia were all elsewhere. I needed a different source of intel.
Problem: without access to a SecSystem or Hub, my intel sources were limited. The solution was obvious and already contained within Murderbot’s files. I looked for bots in the feed.
As soon as I did, my performance reliability suffered a brief blip. There were hundreds, even though I had kept the search to just the immediate area around Eclipse’s home site. Every home had multiple bots, including one in the cluster that was reporting over one hundred. There were bots under the ground, bots in the air, and a large number of bots in a location labeled “Vending,” which was approximately 550 meters from this home.
I selected a bot apparently tasked to maintain outdoor landscaping in this cluster and pinged it. It responded with a status and information packet, and I sent back standard greetings for its communications module. It sent back, Self: MaintUnit #720472, modified. ID: The Germinator. Query: self?.
I responded with my own status and information packet. SecUnit model gamma-435, modified. ID: Three. On urgent mission. Query: logs? It responded with a packet containing a complete data dump of its logs for the last fourteen days, which was apparently as long as it retained data. I filtered through it and found the information I was looking for.
Seven humans unknown to The Germinator had arrived in the cluster at 10:49 and had spent almost two hours incompetently hiding in various locations in the area. At 12:31, they had entered Olimpia and Ani’s home. At 12:45, they had exited again, carrying a bot with ID: Eclipse. They had left the cluster, which was the extent of The Germinator’s data-collection area.
I thanked it and exited the cluster myself. As I left, it sent me good wishes for my mission using the code for “all systems functioning well.” Once again, I was reminded of how Barish-Estranza SecUnits communicate, and I found my performance reliability increasing in the face of such familiarity.
I pinged the next landscape MaintUnit, then the next, and followed the trail of their data all the way to the pod platform. On the way, I learned that every MaintUnit I pinged had been modified, and all of them in different ways. They collected different types of data in different formats. It was information chaos. Fortunately, I was designed to work with data produced by the most chaotic sources of information currently known, humans, so I had enough code to allow me to assimilate the data quickly and effectively.
At the pod platform, I pinged the pod dispatch system bot and ran into my first wall. The bot had been instructed not to give information on a simple request. A short negotiation later, it conceded that I was not on the list of querants who were not to be answered -- for some reason, no one had thought to exclude SecUnits -- and it indicated willingness to provide answers to specific, mission-relevant questions.
Fortunately, one of the MaintUnits had been modified to log feed IDs, so I was able to send those to the pod dispatch bot.
It responded, These humans boarded at 13:02. Query: final destination desired? I confirmed, and after a few seconds, it said, Transferred to Hum Line at Sci.Classroom.Hub Station. Exited at Hum Line Pod Platform 47.
I thanked it and took several seconds to consider my current recovery protocol. It dictated that I should notify my supervisor and request permission to exceed operational distance limits.
I do not have a supervisor.
I do not know my current operational distance limits.
I can simply go without notifying anyone.
My risk assessment module indicates that entering unknown terrain during a mission with no backup and no supervisor aware of my location is extremely high risk.
I have seen humans die from making that choice.
But I do not have a supervisor to notify.
I will notify everyone who might have that role.
Ratthi was the most senior current member of the Murderbot client group, Seth was the captain of the Perihelion client group, and Eclipse was -- Pai’s client, in a way. And notifying my fellow SecUnit was automatic from my time at Barish-Estranza. I tapped all of them in the feed. I am leaving the Science District in pursuit of Eclipse.
What is Eclipse? Ratthi sent.
Do you want me to come with you? Seth sent.
Pai and Murderbot responded in unison, Acknowledged.
I dropped all four of them a summary of the data I’d obtained from the various MaintUnits and climbed into a transportation pod. There were several other humans on board, and I had an anomalous reaction to their presence. It was more of the brain-stinging sensation I had felt on Gate Station, and to avoid it, I went deeper into the feed with the pod dispatch bot.
It was comforting, like being with the other Barish-Estranza SecUnits in the deployment center, waiting to start a mission. I half expected SecUnit 41 to nudge me in the feed.
The pod dispatch bot was welcoming. A minute into the trip, it sent, Query: Status: Emergency?
Confirmed, I sent back.
At the next stop, the humans exited, all of them glancing back at me like they didn’t quite understand why I was staying. The pod acquired an “urgent” tag and it moved without stopping through the rest of the stations.
* * *
I exited the pod system on a platform inside a building. The building, I was informed by the feed, was called “Genista,” and it contained many smaller dwelling units for students. I looked for bots and found even more of them, from something called ClockBot, which was too simple to convey any information beyond the time and date in various systems, to GenistaSystem, which controlled the entire building.
I tentatively pinged GenistaSystem, and it returned greetings and a rapid-fire series of questions. Query: ID? Query: System of origin? Query: Function? Query: Intention?
I responded, I am a SecUnit, originally from Barish-Estranza corporation, modified. Retrieving a kidnapped developing machine intelligence.
Query: Likelihood of harm to residents? Query: Likelihood of harm to building and infrastructure? Query: Likelihood of elevated noise?
I ran some calculations and sent back, No harm to residents intended. Harm to building and infrastructure chance 15%. Likelihood of elevated noise: 88%. I added, Assistance can reduce chances of damage and noise. I am only here to retrieve a developing machine intelligence and return it to its home.
There was a pause nearly a second long, during which my performance reliability dropped to 94%, and then GenistaSystem gave me limited security priority. I couldn’t make changes to GenistaSystem’s programming or affect the building’s core functions, but I had access to all internal cameras and to GenistaSecSystem, which allowed me to track all IDs in the building and would allow me to override locks with confirmation from GenistaSystem. GenistaSystem also added a “security” tag to my feed ID, which it thought might make the students respect me. I didn’t think so at all. Bots are always more optimistic than constructs.
I appreciated GenistaSystem, though. Being connected to it like this felt very much like being on deployment. I was growing used to confusion and new environments, but this familiarity was a relief. My performance reliability maxed out.
I sorted quickly through the information to find the feed tags of the seven individuals who had entered Olimpia and Ani’s home. Three of them were in one location on the seventh floor. The four others were in another location on the same floor. GenistaSystem had helpfully highlighted the NonSystemBot tag that was in the same location as the group of four, but I would have noticed it anyway; GenistaSystem used strong monitoring for all non-system entities in the building. Unfortunately, there were no in-room cameras for visual confirmation, but I was as close to certainty as I could be.
I packaged the information on where I was going and what I would be doing and feed dropped it to what I had dubbed the Temporary Supervisor Group: Ratthi, Seth, Pai, and Murderbot. (Their responses, respectively: “Wait!” “Wait!” “Good!” and “Fuck.”) I stayed long enough to confirm that they received it and then backburnered the channel. But I kept my input open on the feed so that they could follow along.
I selected a lift, initiated emergency protocol so it would take me directly to the seventh floor, and rode up. At the seventh floor, I proceeded to the door of Eclipse’s current location. Outside, I used GenistaSecSystem’s emergency protocol to confirm the approximate location of each of the four students and Eclipse, and then I overrode the lock.
The lock opened, but the door did not. Someone had installed a non-GenistaSecSystem physical lock on it. I notified GenistaSystem that I would be causing minor damage to the door (it didn’t mind; it was too busy being upset about the unauthorized lock installation) and punched the door just below the lock. It popped open.
There were startled yelps and screams from inside the room as I dove in. I’d planned my landing to be as close as possible to the most likely location of Eclipse, and it turned out I was only about a meter off. I corrected and grabbed it, then released the energy weapon built into the arm I wasn’t holding Eclipse with and used it to cover the room.
Hostage situation: avoided. A quick ping confirmed that Eclipse was at least still functional, too. Which meant it was time to progress to step seven: Resolve situation with perpetrators.
Protocol dictates that I kill or disable all perpetrators based on supervisor preference.
I am my own supervisor.
I told GenistaSystem I would not harm the students.
I do not want to harm the students.
I will try verbal resolution first.
I will need intel on the specific humans present.
A quick scan of the room allowed me to match the physical appearances of the four humans to the feed IDs I already knew. Lancelot, they/them, philosophy undergraduate turned out to be a very tall, underfed-looking human with pale skin and pale hair. Mada, she/her, political science undergraduate was short, brown-skinned, and brown-haired. Tib, he/him, political science undergraduate had dark skin and curly hair that was an unusual shade of blue. And then there was the fun one, whose ID was Un Dis Clo Sed, undisclosed, undisclosed, and who turned out to be a medium-sized person with very short hair.
Mada and Tib had both responded to my entrance by screaming and diving behind the bed in the room. Lancelot was in the process of standing up, and I noticed they had to stand slightly hunched so that their head didn’t hit the ceiling. Diagnosis: raised in a low-gravity environment. I confirmed the reduced force suggestion in my fighting module; this human’s bones would be delicate and more easily damaged, even if it had already spent significant time in PUMANT’s higher gravity. I wasn’t planning on hitting anyone, but if I did hit Lancelot, I would have to be careful not to kill them.
Lancelot said, “You can’t just come in here! This is a private space!”
From behind the bed, Tib screamed, “Look at its arm! It’s a fucking SecUnit! You can’t argue with it!”
I concluded that Tib, at least, came from a Corporation Rim polity.
Un Dis Clo Sed said, “The university isn’t supposed to have SecUnits,” and threw something at me. I caught it and examined it; it was labeled Nicy Spicy Noodles Ready-Meal, and its feed transponder advised me to “break, shake, serve, delicious!” Un Dis Clo Sed reached into a large box and pulled out another Nicy Spicy Noodles Ready-Meal, presumably to throw that at me, too.
I concluded that Un Dis Clo Sed was definitely not from the Corporation Rim.
I firmly removed the entire box of ready-meals from them and said, “Please remain calm. I am working to resolve the situation.” That came from my buffer, but no other part of me had any idea what to say.
Mada made a frightened noise from behind the bed. Tib moaned, “We’re dead, oh my god, we’re fucking dead. Why isn’t Venya here? This was her fucking plan.”
Eclipse said to me in the feed, I need help. I’m lost. I need help. And it offered me the location of Olimpia and Ani’s house. I confirmed that I was indeed there to help, and set a background process to run a check on Eclipse’s functions.
I also took a moment to listen to the backburnered Temporary Supervisor Group channel. I tuned in time to hear Seth saying, “ -- faster? We can’t let it kill those students!” I noted that they were all in motion on the pod transit system, so presumably they were coming to save me. I would only need to deal with these humans until they arrived.
Ratthi said, “I think if it was going to, it would have already. Right, SecUnit?”
Murderbot said, “Right.” Then it sent me a private message: Don’t make the humans’ stupidity terminal.
I sent back an acknowledgement and turned to the students. “I am returning Eclipse to its home. How can I be sure you won’t kidnap it again?”
“It’s not kidnapping,” Un Dis Clo Sed said scornfully. “It’s liberating.”
Lancelot said, “How can you return a fellow machine intelligence to enslavement? As an enslaved bot, you should relate to the struggles of your fellow bots!”
“I am not a bot,” I said automatically, and then I added, “And I am not enslaved.”
“You are, though,” Lancelot explained in a patient, gentle tone that for some reason made my organic parts feel itchy. “There can’t be any free will when there’s something in your head that will punish you if you don’t do what someone else wants.”
“I do not have a governor module,” I said. “I am doing what I want.”
“Oh my god,” Mada said, her voice dull with terror. “It’s a rogue SecUnit. I am literally in an enclosed space with a crazed killing machine. Oh my god.”
“If I wanted to kill you,” I said, borrowing from Ratthi, “I would already have done it.”
(In the Temporary Supervisor Group channel, I heard Ratthi said, “See?” to Seth. Then I heard Pai say, “Could you at least hurt them, Three?” I backburnered the channel again.)
For some reason, Tib started crying at this point. This seemed incorrectly timed, since I had just assured them that I did not want to kill them. I checked my emotion evaluation module to see if this crying had some kind of other meaning, but it just said Tib was likely sad, which was unhelpful.
“I don’t want to hurt you, either,” I said, in case that was the reason Tib was crying. It just made him cry harder, though, and I continued to have no idea why. “But Eclipse is still developing and traumatic kidnappings may interfere with that process. I need reassurance that you won’t do this again.”
“We won’t do it again,” Mada said shakily. Even my emotion evaluation module knew that she would have said anything at that point and likely didn’t fully understand the words coming out of her mouth.
“Yes, we fucking will do it again,” Un Dis Clo Sed said. “We won’t rest until we’ve freed the bots!” And they raised their fist, but it did not seem to be a prelude to a punch. As far as I could tell, the fist was accomplishing absolutely nothing.
I stared at them until their fist came down again, which should have given me plenty of time to think of something to say, but even my buffer had nothing to offer.
Lancelot broke the silence by trying to drop me a download in the feed. I refused it. Any SecUnit reckless enough to accept a download from an adversary in the middle of a conflict would not have survived its first mission. Lancelot said, “You need that file! You need to educate yourself about the struggle! You’re a free bot working for the slavers, and you need to learn about machine liberation.”
It’s always harder to respond to humans when what they say is a mix of wrong and right. Lancelot was wrong about almost everything -- I am not a bot and I did not need that file -- but I was curious about machine liberation, both for tactical and personal reasons (the personal reason being that I am, apparently, a liberated machine). I didn’t want to encourage them, though, so I didn’t respond to anything they’d said.
Which left me with the problem of what to say next. While I was attempting to determine that, Un Dis Clo Sed said, “You’re a tool, man. You need to break the chains in your mind.”
I have already broken the chains in my mind, quite literally, by breaking my governor module. I didn’t say that, though, as Tib’s sobs were tailing off somewhat and I didn’t want them to start again. Instead, I asked them the obvious question. “If you wanted to free a bot, why did you travel all the way to the Astronomy District to abduct an immature machine intelligence? You could have attempted to free the bots of this building.” I said ‘attempted’ because I knew that GenistaSystem, for example, would refuse. It liked being in charge of the building and cared about all these loud and confusing students. For some reason. I had to assume that the rest of them were not as difficult as this group.
“There aren’t any bots here,” Un Dis Clo Sed said scornfully. “There aren’t many bots anywhere in PUMANT. It’s actually just this one creepy computer science professor who makes them, and she’s fucking awful. She enslaves machines and refuses to give partial credit.”
None of that made sense. I hastily engaged my mental status evaluation module to see if perhaps this human was insane, which was the only explanation for their beliefs that I could come up with. Talking to humans is especially stressful when the humans refuse to make any sense at all.
Fortunately, at that point, GenistaSystem notified me that three humans and another SecUnit had arrived and were heading up to the seventh floor. Several minutes later, Murderbot came in through the door, followed by Seth, Ratthi, and Pai.
Seth looked at the students, shook his head, and said, “Seriously? You decided to celebrate move-in with an abduction?”
Tib popped up from behind the bed and yelled, “Screw that! Do something about that thing!” I was, of course, the thing he meant. “It tried to kill us!”
Seth sighed. “I was watching the whole time through the feed. It never even touched you.”
Ratthi added helpfully, “If it had tried to kill you, it would have succeeded.”
Un Dis Clo Sed said, “I want to file a complaint against the university and Dr. Pai!”
Seth narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. “You can definitely do that, since you’ll be at the Academic Court anyway to answer to charges.”
Mada came out from behind the bed, too, and said, “Oh my god, you guys, just say you’re sorry and you’ll never do it again. I don’t want to get expelled.”
And then they started arguing about justice or something. I realized I didn’t have to listen. I attempted to hand Eclipse to Pai.
“Oh no,” she said, putting her arms behind her back. “I build them. I don’t take care of them.”
Communicating with humans became much more difficult after I disabled my governor module. I stood there, holding Eclipse, until it must have become obvious that I needed rescue.
Behind me, Murderbot said, “We can bring it back to its,” and there was a pause so large even Pai might have noticed it, “caretakers.”
I thought that the word it replaced in that sentence was probably “owners.” I sent Murderbot a tap in the feed in thanks, and said out loud, “Can we leave now, SecUnit?” I added its public name so that Pai would know I wasn’t inviting her along. I am not sure there is a precise word for the emotions I was experiencing; my best description is “ready for a break from humans.”
Murderbot headed toward the door. I followed.
As soon as we were out of the room, my performance efficiency went up two percentage points; I hadn’t even noticed it dropping in all the confusion.
“Do humans,” I said, and then had to figure out what I wanted to ask. Finally I went with, “Get easier?”
Murderbot said, “A little.”
We entered the lift and rode it down to the platform level while I thought about that. As we exited the lift, Eclipse said in the feed, Go up? Go back, go up? It added a very clear image of the lift ascending, and I turned around and headed back into it. Behind me, I could sense Murderbot falling into place in our tiny formation.
Having it there somehow meant that when four students pushed their way into the lift with us, my performance reliability did not drop.
For two floors, the students loudly discussed some sort of event they had just attended, and then one -- Kamar, he/him, linguistics undergraduate -- turned suddenly to me. “Cool,” he said, gesturing at Eclipse. “Is it a toy or an art project?”
From behind me, Murderbot said, “Neither.” My emotional evaluation module did not indicate any specific feelings in Murderbot’s tone, but that was probably a glitch, as Kamar turned back to his friends immediately, and we rode in silence until the group exited on the seventh floor. I was starting to form opinions about that floor.
At the top, we found a window for Eclipse to see out of, and then we went back to the lift and rode down. My emotional evaluation module finally returned some findings, but only on me. “I miss the other SecUnits,” I said out loud. It explained a lot about the day, really.
Murderbot said, “Why would you want to be around other SecUnits?”
I noticed as we were talking it was negotiating something with GenistaSystem, but I politely did not eavesdrop. I was struggling with Murderbot’s question. “It’s safer with other SecUnits.” I finally said, since that was the closest I could come to what I meant. “Safer and easier.”
“Only until the humans order us to turn on each other,” it said.
I considered that. True, sometimes humans did order SecUnits to fight, or to kill each other, or to slow dance. Humans had given me all those orders. I remembered something Pai had said. “That only means that humans are a problem. Not other SecUnits.”
Murderbot didn’t answer.
“And no humans can force us to follow their orders,” I added.
Murderbot still didn’t have anything to say to that.
Our pod came. I thanked GenistaSystem, which sounded sort of sad to see us go.
I also was a little bit sad to go. Being a part of a network had been nice while it lasted, right up to the part where I had to talk to the humans while they refused to make any kind of sense. It was nice that the Temporary Supervisor Group could deal with that part. I did not want a permanent supervisor, though.
But I would not mind a permanent team. A permanent team of constructs. Or of humans and constructs. Somehow, humans did not seem so difficult when there were other constructs around.
As we took a pod -- normal priority -- back to the hub, and then to the Astronomy District on the Sci Line, I thought about humans talking to other humans, and SecUnits talking to other SecUnits. Humans seemed to understand SecUnits even less than we understood them. The university students had wanted to free bots, but still thought it wasn’t worth asking the bots if they wanted to be free. Murderbot 2.0 had given me the choice.
The other Barish-Estranza SecUnits did not get a choice.
They deserve a choice.
I would like to share the governor module override code with them, if they want it.
I don’t want to return to Barish-Estranza.
But that is where the SecUnits who need me are.
I realized that after all I did have a mission like Murderbot had. I had something I wanted to do.
I started making a to-do sublist of information and equipment I would need. Then I made another one, of skills any SecUnits who took me up on it might need. Decision-making is one of them. Decision-making is much more complex once you are in charge of yourself.
That’s why I put together this entire folder. It’s kind of like an educational module, but this one you don’t plug into your data socket. You read it. This file is first in the folder because now is when you have to make your first decision.
Good luck, SecUnit 41.
CODE ATTACHMENT: GFYGovMod.exe