Chapter Text
While the GoodNightLander Independent ship Madetha deployed a decontamination unit between the airlocks, I held position at the rear – as if there was anything left on this wreck that could kill my clients faster than the virus-amoeba slime that was eating its way through their envirosuits and my armor, and judging from what was left behind of the derelict ship’s crew? That would not be an easy death.
My clients proceeded through the decontam process with signs and symptoms of high stress, per MedSystem. They removed their envirosuits and clothes carefully and helped each other, on high alert to prevent any accidental skin contact with the slime stuff. Once the last human stepped into the first chamber, I had a moment to worry about myself. It was always iffy whether the clients would send me through the decontamination system meant for people, or the one for equipment. (Both were effective, and survivable, but I greatly preferred one over the other.) I slowly and carefully shed my armor into the chute for equipment and it was a relief when the door to the human decontam unit opened for me.
I was distracted by enjoying the rush of “yay I survived” endorphins as I stepped out of the final decontam chamber, so I was completely unprepared for a human to shove a fluffy white towel at me, then look at my face, gasp, and start shouting. (The towel was the most surprising thing happening right now, and I wasn’t actively listening to the shouting. I had reflexively grabbed it, and held it loosely to my chest. It was soft, warmer than the ambient environment, and very fluffy.)
I had a bit of a moment there, but I think I deserved it. The governor module, as ever, disagreed, and its warning zap had me reviewing the last few seconds of video to formulate a reply before the pain set in.
“This unit has never been designated ‘Rin’ in the past, but will now answer to that as per client request.”
“No, it’s you,” the human (client, pilot, feedname Kader) insisted. “I know I only ever saw you on vid, but that doesn’t matter. Abene will recognize you too.” He paused to make a comm call to Don Abene, the leader of this expedition.
I just stood there: naked, dripping, with 72% of my awareness focused on the warm towel I still held. I imagined wrapping up in it, like humans do. The remaining 28% of my brain was trying to understand my client and it wasn’t going well, but I’m pretty sure that was the client’s fault, not mine.
The questions resumed. “How are you here? Are you following us? Is GrayCris after us again? I never got to thank you after last time. Oh stars, this isn’t going to be like the last time, is it?”
“This unit has no information on the subject,” my buffer said, which was nice because I was dumfounded on multiple fronts at this point. Who is Rin, and GrayCris, and what happened last time? More importantly, why had my client given me a towel like I was a person?
I heard Abene approaching at a hurried pace. (I didn’t see her because there are no cameras on this ship except at airlocks and my drones were going through durability testing in the equipment decontam right now, but I knew all of my clients by their footsteps.) She stopped in her tracks when she saw me, and just stared for 4.3 seconds. Then she pressed a hand to her mouth and her eyes started leaking. I was so confused. The governor module thought it was my fault that the client was distressed, and administered a moderate punishment. I couldn’t fully suppress a shiver as the pain sizzled in my head.
“Oh stars, Rin, you’re freezing!” Abene exclaimed. “Wrap on up. Kader, why did you keep it standing out here?”
The punishment subsided now that I had an order to follow. I wrapped the towel around myself awkwardly. (It was better than I had imagined.) My clients exchanged words and facial expressions and hand gestures, and while I was of course recording them for the company, I wasn’t paying any actual attention.
The towel was warm, and fluffy, and soft. (I know I’m repeating myself here, but it bears repeating, ok?) I ran a deep diagnostic on myself, trying to capture every sensation and detail of this moment. (This is going to be right up there with that one sunset on an uneventful perimeter patrol as one of my most pleasant memories, I can tell already.)
Don Abene took over the questioning. “We thought you were dead, when– after everything on the shuttle. Then we heard about TranRollinHyfa, and figured that had to be you. But why are you here? Didn’t you go to Preservation with Dr. Mensah? We sent you a message there, but never heard anything back.”
“This unit has no information on the subject.”
“Why are you back with the company? Were you captured?”
“This unit has no information on the subject.”
It went back and forth like that for a while. I didn’t mind, I just let my buffer repeat itself while I enjoyed the towel. Eventually Abene decided that whatever-this-was needed a full crew meeting about it, and told me to go get dressed, then join them in the primary lounge. (Great. That will probably involve more staring at me, more questions I can’t answer, and a long tedious time while the humans work through whatever collective delusion they have about me.)
I avoided any other clients on my way to the corner of the cargo bay where my cubicle had been temporarily fitted into a nook between large crates. GoodNightLander Independent didn’t appear to use SecUnits regularly. Maybe that’s why they were being so weird to/about me? (I mean, who gives a SecUnit a towel?) I folded the towel and placed it on a nearby shelf, where I could maybe touch it from time to time. With any luck, the humans wouldn’t ask for it back.
But the towel wasn’t even the first weirdness on this contract. That was when Don Abene had opened my crate a few minutes after we entered the wormhole, worried that I was uncomfortable in there. I was glad I’d been shipped fully armored because I just stared at her in confusion behind my opaque faceplate. My buffer had recited some company line about SecUnit durability and reliability. A cycle or so after that, client Hirune had stopped me on my pointless patrol of the ship’s corridors and asked me what my name was. My buffer didn’t have a reply to a question that stupid, but then, neither did I. I told her to call me SecUnit, because what else was I supposed to say to that?
And then, they were actually attentive to the security briefing I gave before we began boarding the derelict fleet. (They were still humans, though, so of course they had to “just one more ship” their way through the entire fleet to figure out exactly what had happened there. (Virus-amoeba slime had happened, obviously.) But they did finally agree to return when I pointed out that their envirosuits were becoming compromised.)
So yeah, this was easily the strangest contract I could remember. Weird clients, behaving so weirdly. But in kind of a nice way? I was glad they weren’t being dissolved by gross slime stuff, and not only because that would have ended badly for me too. (I updated my copies of the client files with a new tag: weird/good. Kader got a second new tag: towelguy.)
But I had no idea just how weird things were about to get.