The Rogue Element

by IHopedTheredBeStars

Summary:

Living on Preservation Station while waiting to hear back about a potential job offer, Three makes new friends--one of whom is like no one it has ever known before--and becomes embroiled in a situation that is much more complex than it initially appears.

Notes:

Please heed the tags. Nothing in this story reaches the level of archive warnings, but it's not all sunshine and bunnies either.

The first draft of this story is fully written. The plan, subject to the vagaries of life, is to revise and post chapters on the weekend and around midweek.

My previous story "Into the Light" is the story of how Jude came to Preservation, but it is not at all necessary to read it to follow this one. Significant points from that story are repeated in this one as needed.

Chapter 1: Assistance Inbound

I have worked for Station Security for over half a year. I am used to quiet nights broken only by small crowds of revelers leaving the station’s handful of nightclubs at closing. Being “seconded” down to this large music festival on the planet is…a lot. A lot of people, noise, lights, and intoxicants. But, only a little surprisingly, not much trouble. Until now. I’ve just logged anomalous activity on one of my drones, the one covering the area I’ve designated as Sector 5. The sector is centered on one of the larger stages, and the act currently performing is immensely popular, if the sheer density of writhing bodies in the vicinity is any indication.

Assault in progress, I alert in the Security feed, attaching the live input from that drone and its location marker. Officer Three responding. Multiple offenders, backup requested. Officers Tifany and Lane promptly mark themselves en route. That is good. Officer Tifany is extremely competent, and though Officer Lane isn’t the fastest processor in the array, they are strong and stubborn, ideal for situations involving aggressive behavior.

In seconds I have cleared the lightly-populated Sector 4 and begun pushing through the oblivious crowd in Sector 5, wishing that humans had enough situational awareness to get the fuck out of the way of an officer on duty responding to a violent crime in progress. I send my drone closer to the incident, close enough to pick up audio from the antagonists (Hostiles 1-5) and my new temporary client (Client).

Client had turned away from the hostiles before my drone alerted and remains so, clinging to the rear wall of a temporary building (a fluids dispensary) and using it to protect their front as the apparent ringleaders (Hostiles 1 & 2) tug at their arms, trying to turn them around. I cannot determine Client’s age or gender. They are slightly above average human height, with dark hair streaked in a lighter color, clothed in one of the light knee-length tunics that at least 80% of the humans present are also wearing. The hostiles are dressed like visitors from the Rim (a few have come in for this festival). They are all young adults and male, judging by their dress and personal grooming choices. None of them have exposed their feed IDs, which raises my threat assessment. The immediate area is dimly lit, and the few uninvolved humans within range of the incident are facing away, focused on the stage.

“Come on,” Hostile 1, the largest and most visibly intoxicated of the group, says. “We know you’re not here for the music. And hey, if you’re nice to us we’ll be nice to you—we’ll go one at a time.” The other Hostiles laugh and agree.

“Please, I’m not a sex worker,” Client says desperately.

I push through the crowd urgently. Hostile 2 tries to worm a hand in between Client’s torso and the wall. Client kicks backward blindly, and Hostile 2 dodges easily despite his obvious intoxication.

“What the fuck, we’ll square it with your owner, okay? We have money.”

Oh. Oh, no. I know what’s happening. They think this person is a ComfortUnit. And they might be right. I was (fittingly) the third rogue construct to come to Preservation. While Murderbot 1.0 (who was first) was off fighting alien remnant-infected hostiles and incidentally meeting me, a rogue ComfortUnit had come here and claimed asylum. We’ve never met.

If these hostiles are mistaken, the human they are assaulting could easily be seriously injured. And if they aren’t, then they are abusing it merely for being what it is. I know how that feels. Get out of my way, stupid humans.

Hostile 1 turns to Hostile 2. “I’ve never met one that fought before!” He sounds excited.

Suddenly, I pick up a flurry of undirected distress pings. It seems the Hostiles were not mistaken. I doubt the Unit even sent those consciously; it could hardly expect to reach anyone here, on this planet where even augments are rare. But it has reached me, and I am responding as quickly as I can without injuring bystanders. I send back, Assistance inbound.

When I draw close enough to communicate verbally, they have ceased demanding compliance and Hostile 2 is holding Client’s upper body against the wall with one hand, the other pulling viciously on its hair, as Hostile 1 fumbles to raise its tunic and undo his own pants at the same time. The other Hostiles are laughing and grabbing at whatever parts of Client they can reach.

“Desist!” I shout. “Turn and face me!”

Perhaps they do not hear me over all the other noise, or assume I am speaking to someone else. I have no time to try again; this assault is mere seconds from becoming rape. So, I reach out and tap Hostile 1’s and Hostile 2’s heads together, just firmly enough to render them unconscious. Freed from their hands and bodies as they slump to the ground, Client slides down the wall into a protective crouch, arms over its head. Hostiles 3 and 5 object strenuously. Hostile 4’s eyes land on the Station Security logo on my uniform, and he turns and bolts. I send a still of his face and another of his garments into the Security feed attached to a Wanted for Questioning alert.

Hostiles 3 and 5 protest even more strongly as I handcuff their unconscious friends. “What the fuck, Security, they weren’t doing anything!” says Hostile 5.

“They were committing assault and attempting rape,” I replied, dropping Hostile 2’s restrained hands and turning to face them.

The idiots look relieved. Hostile 3 holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Oh, no, Officer. I can guess how it looked, but that’s not a real person, it’s a sexbot. We were totally going to compensate its owner, too—we’re not thieves!”

Although ignorance of the law is no excuse for breaking it, I determine that it would be best to explain to these humans why they were being detained before I do so. “It is illegal to own constructs or sentient bots in the Preservation Alliance. You have participated in an assault on a free construct, a documented resident of this polity.” That is almost certainly correct. I calculate the likelihood of a second ComfortUnit living in the Alliance secretly at less than 4%. “Please turn around and give me your hands. You are under arrest.”

They don’t. Of course they don’t. They turn and run in opposite directions. I tackle Hostile 3 less than 2 meters away, and I’m not gentle about getting the cuffs on, or about dragging him back to lie on the ground next to his unconscious friends. I am about to send a Wanted alert for Hostile 5, when I see Officer Lane approaching with him handcuffed and draped over their broad shoulder, Officer Tifany smiling grimly at their side. I nod to them both and proceed directly to Client, crouching beside it.

“Hi,” I say in my best traumatized-client-recovery voice (it’s not very good, but it’s all I have to work with). “I’m Officer Three, with Security. It’s okay. It’s over. We got them.” (Obviously, we only got four of the five, but I can clear that up later.) “Are you injured?”

It cringes when I first speak, then holds very still as I continue. Finally, it slowly pulls its arms away from its head and looks up at me, and as I scan it for damage I absently note that it’s probably the most purely beautiful person I’ve ever seen. (And when you know Dr. Ratthi, it’s difficult to be impressed with the physical attributes of others). “Are you injured?” I repeat. What I see isn’t much, especially for a construct, but I might not be seeing everything. Its lower lip is cut and has bled a little, while bruises are blooming on its cheek and beneath the angry red finger marks on its arms. We’ll have to get pictures of those for the prosecution. I start making a list in my active workspace.

“I…I think I’m okay,” it says faintly, as though it’s not quite sure.

“That’s good. We should get you to Medical anyway, though. Just to be safe.” I offer it my hands, and it hesitantly puts its own in them. I stand, helping it up in the process, and suddenly it wraps its arms around me, hands fisting into the back of my jacket, pressing its face into my shoulder. (That can’t be comfortable. My shoulder is almost entirely metal.)

“I just wanted to watch everyone being happy,” it whispers, then repeats itself. Twice. I believe it is experiencing an emotional collapse. I sympathize. I have wished to collapse emotionally a number of times since I became a rogue Unit. I put my arms around it reciprocally. And awkwardly. I’m used to carrying people, not hugging them.

“You are safe now,” I say. Its grip on me tightens, and I turn up my body heat as I would for a human in shock. Perhaps it, too, will find the additional warmth soothing. I check the scene through my drones. Officer Lane is standing over the prisoners, alternately glaring at them and making “keep moving” gestures at any curious onlooker who wanders too close. Officer Tifany is approaching us.

“Thank the stars for you and your drones, Three,” she says with her crooked smile. “We’ve called for pickup, but it’s going to take the transport a bit to get through. Lane and I can manage the suspects if you’d like to take the victim to Medical, and maybe get their statement afterward, if they’re ready?” She’s saying that for Client’s benefit, of course, letting it know that it has a choice of when to answer our questions.

It occurs to me that I should probably stop thinking of it as Client, since the rescue is complete. “Would you tell me your name?” I ask.

It hesitates, then looks up at me. “Jude.”

“Are you okay to come to Medical?”

It swallows, nods, and lets go of me. Tifany says she’ll alert Medical that we’re en route. I could have done that, but I thank her and lead Jude away. Luckily, we’re not far from a transport station, and I use security priority to make sure a cart is waiting for us. I recall my drones on the way, putting most of them in standby and stowing them in my pockets. We get into the cart, and as it starts rolling away from the festival grounds, I see a little of the tension drop out of Jude’s posture through the two I’ve kept active.

This is the part of my new job I’m really bad at. When I was just a SecUnit, recognizing and dealing with situations was the job. Once I’d finished the fight or rescued the client or enforced the rule, I was done. Now that I’m Security, I also have to do ‘supporting victims through the immediate aftermath’. I’ve had training, but it was terribly vague. There was a lot about ‘engaging’, ‘uplifting’, and ‘consoling’, but zero scripts. We are supposed to be our ‘authentic selves’ while we do these things. My authentic self would really prefer to have a script. Maybe a nice set of buffer statements, too.

At least with another construct I don’t have use my voice. I offer a private feed channel, and it accepts. I start with something I’ve heard other officers say. I’m sorry that happened to you. Is there someone I can message to be with you now? Then I add, Your guardian?

That was stupid. If there’s anyone it wants, it’s already sent a message itself. It’s not a human who can lose or break their feed interface.

Thank you. There’s no one. My guardian is on Station.

Engage, Three, engage. I flail mentally. Do you live there?

Yes. I came down for the festival.

I frantically review my mostly-useless training. Find commonalities? Right, that sounds possible. I live there too. They needed extra security for the festival, and Senior Indah thought I should get to know the planet a little.

Strange we’ve never run into each other before.

I work nights a lot. Since I’m the newest, and also I don’t have to sleep. It makes it hard to meet people, not that I’ve really been trying to. Mostly I just try to figure out what the rest of my life is going to be like, and how to fill all the hours when I can’t work because of Preservation’s laws about maximum hours. I tried to get Senior Indah to let me work the amount of time the average human sleeps on top of my regular schedule, but she said that wasn’t allowed. I have a meeting with Pin-Lee next week to try to see if I can legally get a second job. She thinks there might be a mental health angle we could work. I don’t care, I just need things to do.

Oh. I work day-cycles, Jude says.

Hey, there’s an opening I know how to exploit to further the communication. What do you do?

I validate documentation for ships, cargoes and travelers for the Port Authority. Supervisor Gamila says my job is important because of the trouble Preservation has had the last couple of years. It’s pretty boring, mostly, but sometimes I find evidence of smuggling or false identities, and it’s nice to know I’m making a difference. And there are worse things than boring.

Boring usually means nothing’s going wrong, I agree. Jude nods. I don’t have to think of anything else to say, because the cart is stopping in front of Rapid Treatment North, a satellite of Makeba Central Medical and the closest center to the festival grounds that’s open all hours. We go inside and they’re expecting us, and oh, shit, I forgot to discuss this part. (I am really not good at the after-action portion of my job. Also, now that we are in a well-lit space I am somewhat distracted by Jude’s hair. It is glossy and as black as the void, and the streaks are a silvery blue. It reminds me of a meteor shower I saw once, bright streaks of light across an endless dark sky.) (Focus, Three. Do your job.)

So, I can stay with you, or wait here until you’re done, or go away. It’s up to you, I say quickly. We’ll need to get your statement sometime in the next day or so, but you can do that at any Constabulary station on the planet or up at Station Security.

Please stay with me, it replies instantly.

Okay.

I walk beside it as we’re led to a treatment room. As we step inside, it says, Thank you for distracting me on the way here. I feel calmer now.

Maybe I didn’t do so badly after all?

We are greeted inside by Dr. Reyes, who immediately asks Jude if it wants me to step out. It says it asked me to stay.

“All right,” the doctor says. “Let’s get a look at you.” She makes little disapproving noises as she examines the cut lip and the bruises, and even though Jude says there are no other injuries, she insists that it should remove its tunic so she can check. I turn my head and my drones away to give it privacy.

“Oh,” I hear. “You’re a Com—a construct.”

I borrow a favorite phrase from Senior Indah and say, in what I hope is a passable imitation of her stern tone, “I hope that isn’t going to be a problem.”

“No,” the doctor replies quickly. I hear her take a breath. “My apologies. I was surprised, not…disapproving, or however that may have sounded.”

“It’s fine,” Jude says, but its voice is even softer than it was before.

Dr. Reyes says she needs to take pictures of the injuries before activating MedSys. She’s quick about it, I’ll give her that. Jude gets to put its tunic back on, and then it’s time for the tissue regenerators to go to work. I’ve never seen this happen. I always left injured clients at the door to Medical. It’s interesting, watching MedSys target an area with cool greenish light and seeing the bruises fade away, the cut seal up, leaving only some too-pink new skin and a bit of dried blood behind, which the doctor gently wipes away with a damp cloth.

"There we are,” the doctor says. “Does anything still hurt or feel off?” When Jude replies in the negative, she turns to me and arranges to send the photos through the Constabulary Office. (Preservation Station has Station Security. Preservation, the planet, has Constabulary Offices, C.O.s, serving each area. I’m seconded to Makeba C.O. North right now.) She gives Jude a folded paper thing she says contains information on sources of trauma support and strongly encourages it to use them. Then she lets us go.

“Can my statement wait until tomorrow?” it asks as we walk out.

“Yes.” I had said so before, but information retention is often sub-optimal following traumatic events, so I do not mind repeating it. “Where will you go now?”

“I…” It stops in the middle of the corridor, hands wringing together. It looks very distressed. “I don’t know. I can’t…I don’t…” Its expression twists unhappily. “I can’t think clearly. I guess…I should go to my lodging?”

I nod. “I could escort you, if you wish.”

“Please.” It sends me the address, and I communicate that to our cart as we get into it. It’s not far away, a few streets from the edge of the festival grounds and a little to the east. It turns its head away from me as we travel, and says nothing in the feed or out loud. Its hands are clenched together very tightly in its lap.

We stop in front of an older hotel. There’s no real security, just a camera on each ground floor entrance and a person at the front desk who appears to be half asleep and who just nods at us as we walk past. Jude’s room is on the second level. As we reach the top of the stairs, a loud group of young humans spills from a nearby room and stumbles our way. Jude flinches and wraps its arms around me again. I hold it quietly until they pass.

It steps back and tries to smile at me, but it doesn’t do a good job. I’m sorry. I’m not usually like this. I’m not…clingy, it says.

Your risk and threat assessment may take time to drop after a serious, unexpected incident. It is completely normal to seek reassurance in the interim.

It looks a little confused. I don’t have risk or threat assessment.

That is incorrect. Everyone does, I explain. Even fully organic beings. But only SecUnits get nice tidy reports from theirs. As far as I know, at least.

It smiles just a little, and I feel quite proud of myself for reassuring it effectively enough to generate such a reaction. I’ll take your word for it, it says. It glances to the right. My room is just down there. Number 209. It seems reluctant as we walk toward the room, however.

I think it must feel unsafe about being alone, here in this hotel with no real security. Would you like it if I left a drone outside your door? If anything happened, I could make sure assistance was prioritized.

It reaches a hand out toward me, then pulls it back sharply. I know there’s almost no chance anything will happen, it replies. But yes, that would make me feel better.

I pull a drone—the one I have designated as Drone 7—from my pocket and Jude watches as I release it to hover at the meeting of wall and ceiling across from its door, lens pointed directly at the opening. It looks at the drone for a few seconds before finally opening the door, wishing me a good night, and disappearing inside.

I decide to leave our feed connection open, too. It can close it from its end, if it wants to. But it doesn’t. I make Drone 7’s stream available in the channel, then go back to the festival and resume my patrols. There are several hours remaining until it is scheduled to pause for a few hours at dawn.

Jude does not communicate directly with me, nor I with it. I can feel it there, on the other end of the connection, occasionally doing things in the feed. Sometimes it checks Drone 7, and I’m glad I thought to connect it. I wonder if Jude perceives me as I do it, a silent but active presence. I am reminded of my time with Barish-Estranza, of the security channel and the constant not-quite-company of 01 and 02, of never being entirely alone. The familiarity of it is nice. But it is also a little painful. I could say something to Jude right now, anything I wanted to, and nothing could stop me. I was never allowed to communicate freely with the beings to whom I was connected for many thousands of hours. And I will never know if they would have wanted me to.

Chapter 2: The Edge of the Crowd

Summary:

Jude grapples with reminders of its previous life and the re-emergence of fears it thought it had left behind.

I’d been having so much fun. The music, the lights, all the happy people. And then I’d decided to take a shortcut between the main stage and a smaller one where a local string instrument group was doing a candlelight show. I’d only taken a few steps out of the cone of light around the big stage when they were there in front of me, smiling too broadly, their clothes and their speech (they spoke the most common local language, Indi—also known as Preservation Standard Nomenclature—with heavy corporate accents) letting me know immediately that I might be in very big trouble. As they advanced on me, and I stupidly backed up into a wall, all I could think was, This isn’t supposed to happen here.

I wish I could just extract the memory into a file and send it to Officer Three, but this statement is really for the humans who will be working on the case, so I have to say it out loud and a transcript will automatically be generated, to go in the file with the recording. I narrate the sequence of events and leave my thoughts and feelings out of it. They don’t matter to anyone but me.

What happened last night is far from the worst thing I’ve ever experienced, but it’s the only bad thing that’s ever happened to me when I thought I was safe. Maybe that’s why I’m having such a hard time with it? I really shouldn’t be. I wouldn’t even have been sent to the cubicle for those injuries before, and now they’re gone. I’m fine. I should be fine. But I’m not.

I realize I’ve stopped talking and I’m just staring off into nothing. Officer Three hasn’t moved, hasn’t said anything. It’s just waiting patiently. “I’m sorry,” I say. “Where was I?”

“Take your time,” it offers kindly. “You just described the one in the green shirt hitting you when you said you wouldn’t go to a privacy tent with them.”

“Right.” I can do this. I’m not a thing anymore, I’m a person now, and I can tell this very nice officer (and the recording device) what happened, so the humans who tried to make me a thing again can, I hope, be punished for it. I resume my narration. I stick to the facts, and I get through the rest of it without further incident.

“Thank you. That’s done now. The prosecutor might want to talk to you, but probably not for a few days,” Officer Three says after it ends the recording. “If you think of anything else you want to add, just send a message to the Constabulary and include the case number.”

“I will.” We both stand. “Thank you. For everything. You’ve been great.” It really had been, escorting me to Medical and then back to my hotel afterward, leaving its drone to watch over me and its feed connection open. Just knowing it was there, that someone who gave half a shit would know immediately if something bad happened to me, was how I got through the rest of the night without having a breakdown. I survived my years in the brothel, escaped the Rim, and managed by impersonating an augmented human until I came here, but for whatever reason this is what’s pushing me to the edge of some emotional cliff. I could tell you why humans do almost everything they do, but in this, I’m a mystery to myself. I’m mortified by the way I’ve been acting, angry with myself for being so fucking weak over something so minor. It had to close our connection before this interview started, so there could be no question of my statement being influenced by communication between us, and I kind of hate myself for how much I want it back.

“You’re welcome,” Officer Three says. It doesn’t actually smile—it doesn’t seem to make many facial expressions at all in the normal course of things—but there’s something soft in its eyes and the set of its mouth as it glances at me, then quickly away. “Are your risk and threat assessment more stable today?”

I smile—what a strange and lovely way to ask me how I’m feeling!—and it blinks once in what I read as surprise. “Yes, I think so. Still not quite…accurate? But better.”

“That’s good. Maybe we will encounter each other at the festival later. The humans have been saying tonight will be ‘epic’. I’m not sure what that means, but they seem excited. In a good way. It will be interesting to discover what is causing their anticipation.”

I know, but I won’t spoil the surprise, though how it hasn’t already heard I can’t imagine. Four very popular, and very different, musical ensembles will be joining each other on the main stage at midnight to play something new together. Everyone in the Alliance who likes music, it seems, has been losing their minds over this for months, and the fact that not a single detail beyond the fact of the collaboration seems to have leaked is only heightening the anticipation. I’d been looking forward to it myself, but now…

“I’m going to go when it starts back up this afternoon, but I don’t know if I’ll stay after dark,” I admit.

Another quick glance, almost but not quite meeting my eyes. “You will be safe,” it says. “I would be happy to assign a drone to you, and you could remain in well-populated areas for extra security. I come on shift at 18:00, when it is still daylight. I could ping you?”

“I can’t ask you to do that. You’ve done so much for me already.” It had also escorted me here today and taken my statement personally when I hadn’t liked the way the constable on duty eyed me with suspicion.

“I enjoy helping. And it would be unfortunate if you didn’t get to enjoy more of the festival after you came down here for it.” It looks faintly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. It is your decision. I do not mean to apply pressure.”

“You weren’t,” I say. “And you’re right—if I don’t stay tonight I’ll be missing something I’ve been looking forward to. I just don’t know if I can be comfortable enough to enjoy it. But since you’re going to be there before dark, how about you send me that ping, and we’ll see?”

I think I’m learning to read its micro-expressions, because I’m almost sure it’s pleased even though it still looks politely neutral overall. It sends me an affirmative, and escorts me out past the narrow-eyed, frowning constable. We part there, on the walkway outside. It’s a bright, sunny day, families and festival-goers and students and workers flowing around each other with smiles and nods. Some of those gestures come my way as I navigate the friendly crowds toward the festival grounds, but they don’t make me feel any less alone.

 

***

 

I do enjoy my afternoon at the festival, although I’m terribly anxious for the first hour or so, flinching at every brush of an arm against mine, every appreciative glance from a stranger. (They are all strangers. I know no one here.) I will be fair—these looks are, by and large, simply appreciative, not covetous or greedy. Not like the avid gazes of those young people from the Rim with their stilted Indi and their clutching hands. I do wonder how many of those here today would be less circumspect, less kind, if they knew what I am.

I spent years cowering in terror behind a welcoming smile, many months seeking something better, and several more months learning what it is to pass entire cycles without fear. But last night those people had, with a few words and a single blow, catapulted me back into the trembling existence of former-me. How easily they robbed me of all I have built within myself since my governor module went quiet. How thin was the tissue of my contentment. 

I find little spaces on the edges of the crowds and enjoy the music. I watch the humans dancing and laughing and I enjoy that, too, though not quite as much as I did yesterday. I catch part of a stirring symphony by an orchestral group, and all of a show by a drum group whose mediocre performance is compensated for by the enthusiasm of their audience’s dancing. I listen to the first few works of a poetry reading, but I don’t understand any of it, and not due to any barrier of language. (I have integrated modules for the Alliance’s four most common lexica.) I watch the performers in a five-person popular music group strut about the stage, singing about lust and dissatisfaction and ennui, and find it all quite hideously banal, an opinion obviously not shared by the frantic young people crowding the stage. I drift away from that to one of the smaller stages, where a young female plays a stringed instrument and sings of longing and hope in a rich voice which stirs me deeply.

I am applauding her when I receive a message. Hi, are you at the festival?

It is 18:00 precisely. I smile and reply, Yes, I’m still here. I’m at the Ombai Stage, are you nearby?

I just checked in at the security tent. You’re in my patrol area. We could meet up if you don’t mind?

I’d like that.

It acknowledges, and I remain where I am as the small audience to performance drifts away at its end, and a pair of scruffy-looking youths begin setting up a dulcimer and a set of three graduated kettle drums. After a little over two minutes, a familiar-looking little drone spins around my head and then hovers slightly above and before me. I smile up at it.

Another two minutes and I see Officer Three making its way through the crowd, taller than most of the humans, imposing in its height and its crisp black uniform until you look at its face and see the kindness behind its still, watchful expression. Or perhaps that isn’t really visible at all, and I’m painting my perceptions to match my experience of it. Two more drones orbit half a meter above its head, at distances of about one and two meters. I assume there are others, farther out, less noticeable.

I’d been afraid of it, briefly, when I first realized that it was a SecUnit. I’d gotten that first message, assistance inbound, and I’d thought someone had fortuitously noticed my predicament and notified security. When the shouting started and the groping hands dropped away, I’d thought only to hide, to protect myself. And when a soft voice had told me that it was over, I’d looked into a stranger’s calm, certain face and, though I’d noticed the metallic glint of its irises, it didn’t occur to me that it was anything but an augmented human. Not until I impulsively embraced it and felt the supply ports along its spine and the metal of a shoulder plate—something no ComfortUnit would have—beneath the cloth where I’d pressed my forehead.

There had been two SecUnits at the brothel, but they hadn’t been there for us. Far from it. And yet, this one had folded its arms gently around me and told me I was safe. Despite everything, I’d felt safer. Not safe—I’m not there even now, a day later. But safer. And part of me recognized that if a SecUnit was determined to protect me there was very little that could harm me. So I’d clung to it even more tightly and gone along with its every suggestion until my brain had decided to start functioning again.

And now it fetches up before me, its gaze skimming me up and down as though searching for injury before settling on my face. “Hi.”

“Good evening, Officer Three.”

It focuses for a split second on something behind me, and as I nervously look that way also, it says, “You can just call me Three, if you want.” On the feed, it adds, It’s nothing, an argument. I’ve already determined it’s unlikely to escalate.

When it says that, I spot the two people whispering angrily to each other. It’s right; their body language is tense, but it’s not the tension of an impending explosion. If they hurt each other, it will be with words. I turn back. I guess I’m still jumpy.

It’s fine. A slight hesitation, less than a quarter of a second. I have no further updates on last night’s incident, but if any information comes through I will forward it.

This morning, before my statement, it had let me know that the humans who attacked me—the four they caught, at least—hadn’t had ID on or in them, and were refusing to unlock their feeds or otherwise identify themselves. That was making it difficult to figure out who the fifth was, though with Station and the Constabulary on alert for him, he won’t be able to leave the system.

What happens if they can’t be identified?

That will only happen if the IDs they gave on entering the system prove to be false—they should have those soon. If they entered under aliases, those names can be used for the purposes of the legal action against them. They can’t get out of being prosecuted by refusing to talk, it assured me. And…I know some of the Constables don’t like the fact that constructs live in the Alliance now, but the prosecutors are better. A human acquaintance of mine knows a lot of them. So I think you’ll probably get a prosecutor who will fight for you. And if you don’t, maybe she can do something about that.

That was excellent information. I hadn’t been feeling good about what was coming, and I still didn’t, not really, but now I might have an option other than simply accepting the situation as it occurs.  Thank you. How do you know such influential humans, if I may ask?

Can we walk? I am expected to be patrolling. I agree and fall into step next to Three as it moves between the clusters and crowds of humans, scanning for trouble. The first construct to come here, SecUnit, saved the life of the previous planetary leader, Dr. Mensah, and some of her friends and colleagues. And then in a separate occurrence, it saved the lives of her daughter and her sibling’s spouse, among others. I met it during that later incident. Since I came here, its human friends have sort of taken an interest in me? For its sake? So I know them, but I try not to bother them. The one I mentioned, though, she’s a solicitor who really, really believes in the rights of constructs. If you’re having trouble with the legal system I know I could tell her and she’d be interested, and it wouldn’t be an imposition.

Thank you for offering me access to your contact, I say. I don’t know many people outside of my work. It’s difficult to form relationships with humans when you’re programmed to serve them without question.

Yes. Pause. I compiled some information for you. It drops a file into the feed. It’s an education module, but not a standard one. It’s small, and it doesn’t have all the little associated files modules usually come packaged with. I examine the contents.

Oh. I think it’s selected extracts from its combat modules. There’s detailed information on vulnerable points in the human body and how they can be targeted with a blunt object or a Unit’s own limbs and appendages to quickly disable. It’s a self-defense module for unarmed Units, and Three created it for me. I integrate it into my knowledge base.

Thank you. This is really great.

You’re strong enough to defend yourself against humans, it replies. You just needed to know how.

We walk on for a few minutes, the feed open comfortably. We pass an energetic performance of wailing music attended almost exclusively by older juveniles, then skirt the edges of a large crowd assembled for a seven-piece ensemble recreating the traditional folk songs of the dominant culture in a modern style. It’s quite good, really. Three assists a human stumbling with intoxication to the nearest hydration tent. The shadows lengthen as the sun begins its descent, and I see a transport station not far away.

I think I’ll go back to my lodging before the primary fully sets. I am reluctant to leave such easy and comfortable companionship, but the encroaching dark is making me nervous. Suddenly I long for the station and its carefully-lit corridors and byways. Even with my new defensive capabilities, I recall how I froze under the humans’ onslaught. To defend myself, I must first be capable of action, and I am uncertain if that would prove true.

Three stops, though its drones move as busily as ever. You’ll miss the midnight show.

I know. I’ll have to hope a recording is posted. But I can’t follow you around all night, and I just don’t feel comfortable alone here in the dark.

You can stay with me, if you want. This is not a demanding assignment. If I need to handle a situation, I can leave a drone with you.  And…I would like the company. It looks rather awkward as it communicates the last.

It’s tempting. I’d very much like to see more of the performances, watch the dancing, enjoy the lights flashing on the stages and the various glowing accessories of the attendees moving through the darkness in time with the music.

You won’t get in trouble if a supervisor sees us?

Three shrugs. I’m covering an area they would have assigned four human officers to. I’m saving them a lot of overtime pay. It glances my way. They have a special higher compensation rate for extra hours here if you contract to work for currency, did you know that?

I smile. I would not have thought it would so casually dismiss the notion of an angry supervisor. I like that I was wrong. Yes. This place is strange. But in a good way, mostly.

:nodding-head glyph: Please stay if you would like to see the performances. I will ensure you are safe.

Okay. One of its visible drones peels away from its course and settles into an orbit around me. Three shares the video input, and I quickly see that it would be nearly impossible to surprise me unless I ceased to pay the stream any attention. If Three needs to leave me for a time, I can prioritize the input. Thank you.

It looks pleased. We resume our perambulations, pointing out sights of interest to each other. We stop for several minutes to observe a collaborative art installation, in which passers-by add their own marks to large paintings, sand-drawings, and sculptures. I see some interesting bits and pieces, but mostly it just looks like a mess to me. As we walk away from that, we encounter the disapproving constable from this morning. Three nods and says, “UC Dalen.”

Urban Constable Dalen says, “Hmph,” and scowls as he passes.

Three says, Do you suppose his sparkling personality will help him get that promotion to Supervisory Constable?

I snicker. There can be no doubt.

We walk on in the deepening twilight. The crowds are even more dense tonight, and I’m glad of Three’s company and care. I definitely would not have been able to remain here alone. I stand in the pool of light around a respite tent, splitting my attention between ‘my’ drone’s input and Three as it gently encourages a panicked juvenile to take a deep breath and trust that Security will find their parents. They aren’t responding to the child’s feed messages, but Three is able to get location data for one of their interfaces by using the child’s interface to retrieve the parent’s feed ID. It picks up the sniffling, shaking child and carries them away, but only after reassuring me it will return soon.

It doesn’t look happy when it does. Those parents are not very responsible. Two of them had their interfaces powered off, the third had it powered on but in their pocket, and none of them had noticed that they’d become separated from their child. I was required to speak to them harshly to make them understand the seriousness of the situation. People here do not seem to comprehend how swiftly and easily life can end.

I’m not sure I do, either. I’ve never really been exposed to death. Pain, yes. The fear of death. But I have never witnessed a death, and only once glimpsed its aftermath. I say, Perhaps they will learn a lesson from this.

Perhaps.

 

***

 

The midnight show is magical. The four groups who come together for it form an odd assemblage of instruments, but it works. Somehow, it works beautifully. And the four singers, all of them highly talented, move seamlessly from harmony to polyphony, from chorus to round, against the swelling, near-orchestral backdrop. We don’t miss a moment of it, because it’s the only performance at that time and almost everyone is there. I’m sure Three has some of its drones surveying the less-populated areas, but we simply roam the edges of the sprawling crowd.

We encounter one of its colleagues from Station Security, Officer Tifany, and she and I are introduced. Three leaves me for a few minutes to escort a staggering drunk to the nearest first aid tent, while I wait under a lantern and again cling to my drone’s video feed, pulling my new module into working memory. I wish I didn’t need to do these things, and try to pay at least as much attention to the beautiful music as to the view of my immediate surroundings. When it returns and we set off again, I am desperate for the distraction of conversation.

Do you mind if I ask how you got the name Three? I ask.

It shrugs. It’s not complicated. On my deployment, I was SecUnit 3. When the humans asked what they should call me, that was all I could think of.

If you were 3, was there a 1 and a 2? A 4? Maybe even a 5? I append a glyph indicating humor.

No 4 or 5. Just the three of us. We were activated together, assigned to the company’s newest task group at the time.

Did the other two escape, also?

A pause. No. They died. It was just me when…when the opportunity arose.

I feel a whisper of something in our connection. Something heavy. I’m sorry. Were you friends?

No? We weren’t allowed to be. The governor module, you know. I wish we could have been. But maybe they wouldn’t have wanted that.

I don’t know what to say. Would it be comforting or painful to hear that I thought they probably would have? Most people, bots and constructs included, I think, desire friendship. Before I can decide, it changes the subject.

May I ask you something?

Of course.

How do you fill your time? We are only permitted to spend 50 hours per week at our work. That leaves 146 hours to fill. I have struggled to do so. I’ve tried entertainment media, and I don’t really like most of it. The things I do like are fine for two or three hours several times a week, but I grow restless if I try to watch more than that. Books are a little better, but I can’t spend all my time reading, either. And since I have organic parts, I am not permitted to work bot hours, even though I share their lack of a need for sleep. It’s frustrating.

I’ve had that problem, too, though I doubt my processing power is the equal of yours, I reply. ComfortUnits also record and data-mine client information, but we’re generally not monitoring more than a handful of clients at once, nor are we simultaneously reading inputs from a cloud of drones and maintaining deep connections to one or more Systems. We certainly don’t need to manage battle scenarios on the fly. The university has a large catalog of class recordings, and I’ve been using some of those. There are also some active virtual courses—you sign up, and you have a few days to watch the lecture and complete any coursework before the next lecture drops. You get actual educational credit towards a certificate or degree for those, unlike the archived classes. And I spend a fair amount of time on the Makeba 5 entertainment feed—it’s all arts and crafts. And cooking, but I don’t watch those shows. Some of it’s informational, some of it’s instructive. I’ve learned sewing and crochet and I might try drawing or painting. Learning in a human way is very inefficient, but it does fill some time.

I will look into those resources, thank you, it says. I had access to a university library for a time and found it interesting. But the circumstances were unusual. I never thought to inquire about the university here. It is hard to remember that I am no longer barred from human institutions.

I remember very well the anxiety and near-terror with which I registered for my first class, half convinced, despite my guardian’s assurances, that I would be prevented from attending and blocked even from the archives. It’s very different here, I agree.

Are you enjoying this music?

I am. I look forward to listening to the recording later, too. I think there is too much in this performance to appreciate in a single listen.

If you find a recording, would you share it with me? Three asks.

Of course I will. The festival is ending in a few hours, but maybe that won’t mark the end of our acquaintance. I know I’d like it to continue.

Chapter 3: Complications

Summary:

When the fifth suspect is apprehended, he has something unexpected to say.

Jude remains with me until my shift ends with festival, at dawn. I think it has a good time. It says it did. I enjoy its company; my patrols are more interesting with it by my side. The music is better tonight than yesterday, for whatever my opinion on the subject is worth. The midnight show is incredible.

I cannot tell whether Jude notices how much attention it attracts. Perhaps it finds all the startled and delighted expressions of those who catch sight of it commonplace. A few people begin to approach before they notice me there next to it, noticing them. They all decide to continue on their way.

We part at its lodgings with vague suggestions of running into each other on Station. It’s probably just being nice. I know I’m not interesting.

 

***

 

I’m coming off my third shift since my return from the planet when Senior Indah calls me into her office. This is alarming. I cannot think of anything I have done wrong. She is frowning when I enter, but she says, “Thanks for coming. This is about that incident you handled on-planet, the attack on Mx. Jude.”

I feel myself stand even straighter. “There has been a development?”

“Yes. We finally got hits when we ran their faces against the archived arrivals data. All of them, including the one who ran away, have been identified. They’re all out-system students at FirstLanding University, going into their second year. When the last one was picked up, he was more forthcoming than the others.” She passes me a video file. “Watch that.”

I do. “This was recorded two cycles ago,” I say.

Senior Indah sighs. “Yes. It went to the planetary council before someone recalled that there was still a victim who ought to be consulted before any plans were made. The prosecutor was adamant that its opinion at least be taken into account, although obviously that can’t be the deciding factor.”

“What is he asking for?”

She tells me, then says, “I’ve asked Jude to come in this morning, so we can inform it of…all of this. Since you were the arresting officer for most of the suspects, I wanted to loop you in as well.”

I nod and quickly send a message over the feed as I reply, “Thank you. I would like to be here when Jude arrives. It may feel more comfortable with another construct present,” I say. I don’t know if that’s true. I just want to see it, make sure it’s okay, and offer it my support. This is suddenly much bigger than what happened to it at the festival, and I want it to know that the crime against it hasn’t been forgotten.

“That’s all right,” she says. “We expect it in about half an hour. We’ll be using Interview Room One, if you’d like to wait there?”

She wants me out of her office. This is fine. I neither confirm nor deny that I will go to IR1. I leave, and wait in the lobby of Station Security. Eighteen minutes later, my hastily-composed message bears fruit.

“I’m glad you contacted me,” Pin-Lee says, claiming the chair next to the one I occupy and setting her briefcase at her feet. “I just heard about this last night, from Mensah, but you’re absolutely right that the victim should have an advocate in its corner right now. And I can provide some context for why this is such a potentially explosive situation, since I was involved in…” She trails off, shrugs, and continues, “Let’s just call it ‘the inciting incident’. I talked to Mensah on the way over—she’s also concerned that Jude could be neglected in all this.”

"Does Dr. Mensah know Jude?” I ask.

“No, that’s just the kind of person she is.” She smiles a little before becoming serious again. “I’m not going to bullshit you. This could be tricky to resolve, and interests of the Alliance may have to take precedence over the wishes of the victim. I hope everyone will do their best to balance the two, but…” She spreads her hands.

I understand this. I do not like it, but I understand. The polity is a greater concern than a single member of its citizenry. Even here, such calculations must occasionally be made. I nod and say, “Your assistance is appreciated.”

The main door opens, admitting a harried-looking person who proceeds directly to the desk and speaks loudly and with much arm-waving about a lost parcel. A few seconds into this frantic explanation, Jude enters much more discreetly. It looks around nervously, then sees me and smiles. “Three! I thought you’d be off-shift by now,” it says as it approaches.

I stand. “Hi. Senior Indah mentioned that you’d been asked to come in. So I stayed.” Pin-Lee has risen and now stands beside me. “This is the solicitor I mentioned before. Uh.” Introduction protocols, Three. Don’t be stupid, they’re not hard. “Pin-Lee, this is Jude. Jude, Pin-Lee.”

Pin-Lee extends a hand, smiling. “Pleased to meet you.”

Jude grasps her hand briefly, saying, “Likewise.” It looks at me uneasily. “Is it so bad that I need legal assistance?”

“No,” I say hastily. “Maybe. It’s gotten complicated, and I’m not sure I understand all of it either. But Pin-Lee does, and will make sure you do.”

“That’s right,” she says, smiling confidently at Jude. “I don’t have all the details yet, myself—apparently there’s a video I need to see—but I’ve got a good idea of what’s happening, and I hope it can be resolved to everyone’s satisfaction. Everyone worth satisfying, at least, and that does include you.”

Jude looks slightly reassured, though not as much as I would wish. But it cannot be expected to trust Pin-Lee seconds after meeting. Senior Indah arrives, and is pointed our way by the officer at the desk who is not currently occupied with the missing-parcel person. She looks startled and not entirely happy to see our little group.

“Hello, you must be Jude,” she says when she reaches us. “I’m Senior Officer Indah, head of Station Security. Thank you for coming in. I know it’s disrupting your workday.” She turns to Pin-Lee. “This is a surprise.”

“Three asked me to come,” she replies pleasantly. This earns me a narrow-eyed look from my supervisor. I do not react outwardly. If she is upset, that will be awkward, but I have done what I believe to be right, and that is supposed to be highly prized behavior here. Pin-Lee adds, “I’d already been informed of the larger implications by Dr. Mensah. But we should continue this discussion privately.”

 “Of course.” Senior Indah turns to lead us to the interview room, and we follow. Jude seizes my hand, and I look at its face. Its expression is pleasantly neutral, but its grip is tense, and there is a rippling anxiety in the feed which is not coming from me.

It will be okay. There are political considerations now, but I don’t think anyone is thinking of letting them get away with what they did. And…I also don’t have any evidence to indicate that the situation would be any different if you were human.

I don’t have any evidence it wouldn’t, either. I wish I did.

Jude pings an acknowledgment. We enter the room, and I receive another displeased look from my supervisor when she notices our joined hands, but I feel…defiant. I take Jude to a chair and I sit in the one next to it, and I don’t let go of its hand. Pin-Lee notices, too, but she does not appear to be annoyed by it.

When we are all sitting, Senior Indah addresses Jude. “We’ve identified the people who attacked you. All five of them. They’re students at FirstLanding, here from the Rim.”

This is not unheard-of. Though FirstLanding University does charge tuition to students from outside the Alliance, it is still less expensive than comparable institutions inside the Rim. Several dozen children of families willing to risk exposing them to non-corporate ideas in return for a better education can be found enrolled there at any given time.

“They’re all from the same system, which is controlled by a single corporation,” she continues. “All of them are children of executives or upper management from that company, in fact. This does raise the possibility of diplomatic difficulties, though I will add that the Alliance has no existing ties to that system or agreements with that company.”

She pauses and looks questioningly at Jude, who nods. “I understand,” it says. (It probably understands that part better than Indah does.)

“The real issue arose when the Constabulary arrested the fifth suspect, the one who wasn’t found that same evening. In his interview, he provided some information which has changed the situation considerably. I’d like to play a portion of that interview for you now.”

Jude nods, and Senior Indah sends the first segment of the video I reviewed earlier to the display screen. The face of the perpetrator I had originally designated as ‘Hostile 4’ appears.

 

Unidentified constable, off-camera: “If convicted of felony assault, you will be fined and/or subject to a term in prison. After which, as a non-citizen felon, you will be deported to your system of origin and barred from the Preservation Alliance for a period to be determined by the judge. I’ve never heard of it being less than five years.”

Hostile 4: (Eyes narrow, then he sighs and sits back, rubbing a hand across his face. When he drops it, he looks a little frightened.) “Look, I want to make a deal. I have information your government can use, and I can help you get more. But I’m going to need to talk to someone with more pull than a constable. No offense. You’ve been really professional.”

Constable: (A pause) “I can probably arrange for you to talk to someone more important, but they’ll want to know what you want in return. If you’re asking for something ridiculous, they won’t waste their time.”

Hostile 4: “I don’t think it’s ridiculous.” (Leans forward, elbows on the table, hands clasped before him. Body language indicates anxiety.) “I want to continue my education at FirstLanding. I want a chance at citizenship, which means no charges that carry deportation as a consequence. Basically, I want to stay here. I want to choose the work I do, not just follow my parents into their horrible jobs like I always thought I would. And I think the information I have is worth that.”

 

Senior Indah ends playback and says, “That’s where it started. When he spoke to the Chief Constable and the Prosecutor General…that’s when the situation became complicated.” She sends another segment to the screen. Hostile 4 is wearing different clothes, and the timestamp is from the day following the first video. The camera angle has been adjusted to show all three participants.

 

Hostile 4: “The thing you don’t know is that we weren’t just sent here to get a cheap, quality education. We’ve also been gathering information about this polity and relaying it to the company.”

Chief Constable: “Why? The Alliance has never had any significant contact or commerce with Ranidine Enterprises or the government of Beta Anonne.”

Hostile 4: (Smiling wryly) “Here’s the thing. Ranidine used to have a very profitable and very secret asset that appeared to be an unaffiliated concern. It was called GrayCris.” (A pause. Wry smile deepens as Prosecutor General and Chief Constable react with visible surprise.) “Picture’s coming together now, I see.”

Prosecutor General: (consulting the feed) “GrayCris’s parent company is Manlin-Hendahl Limited.”

Hostile 4: (shakes head) “It’s a fiction. Here’s how it works: there’s a holding company that owns several smaller companies. All properly registered, all apparently legit. But only one of those smaller companies is real. That’s the Ranidine asset. Whoever your people talked to from Manlin-whatever, those people actually worked for Ranidine. They worked for my mother, specifically—she’s the executive in charge of confidential assets. Tobin’s dad and Emer’s grandfather were GrayCris executives. Their entire families have had to take on new identities as well as accepting lower positions within Ranidine. Selet and Lenn have parents who are my mother’s peers. We were all within a year of going to university when the Preservation survey team set off a chain of events that led to the destruction of GrayCris. A lot of money was lost, and there’s a certain amount of cautious interest in the possibility of retaliation. Ranidine doesn’t want to lose more money, or to be publicly associated with GrayCris even now, but it was worth sending us in to gather intel while also getting a good education, cheap.

(A shrug.) “I can’t prove most of this, but I can give you the original identities of Tobin’s and Emer’s families, and you might be able to do something to connect them to their new ones. Now that you know how the assets are concealed among false assets held by false holding companies, you can possibly get some traction there if you dig hard enough. I can show you the messages we’ve already sent, and how we encoded the data. Going forward, I can help you feed them the information you want to feed them, true or false, I don’t care. I just don’t want to go back to Beta Anonne.”

Prosecutor General: “And your friends? Do you expect us to make a deal with them, too?”

Hostile 4: “They’re not my friends. Executives’ kids don’t have friends. They have resources and future competitors for promotion. But I’ve known Selet and Lenn from the crèche, and Tobin and Emer for almost two years. I’ve been under parental orders to stick with them here, and not let the freeholders ‘corrupt’ me.” (A smirk) “Big fail there. Anyway, I doubt any of them will turn on the company. They might admit they messed up and broke the law, but it sounds like they’ll get deported anyway? And when they get home, their parents are going to agree with them that it’s a fucked-up law, but they’ll still be in shit for ruining this opportunity over a bit of fun.”

Chief Constable: “And you’d rather stay here forever than go home and be in that kind of trouble?”

Hostile 4: (A sigh.) “I was already thinking I might like to stay here after I graduate, but yeah, the fact that I’d be in big trouble with my family did make the final decision easier, and sped it up.”

Prosecutor General: “You do understand that if you’re allowed to stay, you’ll be expected to obey the law? All the laws, whether you agree with them or not?”

Hostile 4: “I do. And if you want to make me getting some kind of education on why bots and constructs are pretty much equal to humans here a condition of my staying, I’ll do that. Hell, I’ll take classes at the School of Law if you want. Whatever it takes. I know I fucked up and I can’t fuck up again. I did a stupid thing, but I’m not a stupid person. And if it helps, if Ranidine ever figures out I even made the offer to turn double agent, my life won’t be worth a miner’s spit anywhere in the Rim. So I’ve got motivation to make this work out for all of us.”

The playback is stopped again. While Jude is maintaining a completely neutral expression, its grip on my hand has tightened and our connection is crawling with dread.

“I assume,” Pin-Lee says, frowning, “that there is some indication that his information is good, or we wouldn’t be seeing this.”

Senior Indah nods. She doesn’t look happy either. “With his specifics on the identity changes, a former executive of GrayCris has been identified at Ranidine and linked to the accused who is using the name Tobin. Also, hidden data has been discovered in the messages he turned over, and decrypted using the key he gave us. Tech Tural was able to retrieve some messages sent by the other perpetrators from our servers and locate and decrypt the hidden data in those, as well. They have definitely been sending information about the polity to their families, who work for Ranidine Enterprises. The Council has been informed, and there is significant interest in taking him up on his offer to remain here and send them curated information.” She hesitates, which I find alarming. Senior Indah is a decisive person. “There’s also some discussion of the potential for future difficulties if prosecution of the other four is…too aggressive.”

“It sounds like someone is suggesting that what happened to Jude is now a problem that needs to go away,” Pin-Lee says quietly.

“Not exactly,” Senior Indah says. “It does need to be handled carefully.” She grimaces, then says, “I hate this political maneuvering as much as anyone. There isn’t a single aspect of this situation that’s the way it ought to be.” She turns to Jude, “I would like nothing better than to leave all five of these assholes to the mercy of the court. But I have to think of the many people who could be affected if this very large, very rich company decides to cause trouble for us. I have to think of the damage that could be done, as well as the damage that has been done. And so do the Council and the prosecutor’s office.”

“I assume I’m here because there is a proposal for how to ‘carefully handle’ this, and you need to know if I’ll be an obstacle to implementation,” Jude says. It sounds defeated, and I want very badly to shout, or shoot, at someone. It doesn’t deserve this. It didn’t deserve what it endured at the festival, and it doesn’t deserve to be (gently, diplomatically) forced into allowing the matter to be set aside. And yet, the Alliance doesn’t deserve another corporate enemy and all the trouble it can bring. This situation is what Murderbot 1.0 would call ‘a clusterfuck’.

“There is a tentative agreement,” Senior Indah admits.

“Let’s hear it, then,” says Pin-Lee. She does not sound friendly.

My supervisor consults her interface. “The charge against the primary aggressors, Tobin Kayne and Lenn Ellot, will be aggravated assault. Selet Arek and Emer Riddon will be charged with simple assault. They’ll each be offered a chance to plead guilty, pay a fine, and be deported with a five- or ten-year re-entry ban, rather than risk prison terms and larger fines. We think they’ll take it. They’d be stupid not to—chances of acquittal are null with the video evidence we have from Three’s drones. If the families object to the fines, which we expect at least some of them will, the plan is to show ourselves to be both reasonable and unsuspecting by exchanging a portion of the fine for an extension of the ban.”

“And Hostile 4?” I ask, waving at the display surface where we’d just seen him.

I think Senior Indah is trying to hide a smile for a second, before she grows serious again. “Jhonen Vanse will be charged with two misdemeanors: failure to report a serious crime, and flight from lawful questioning. He will plead guilty and the prosecutor will recommend community service and several courses of education on ethics and cultural norms. The video we present to the court for all five of the defendants will be cut to show his presence, but not any of the times he touched you,” she adds, looking at Jude. “I’m sorry about that. It’s the only way the charges make sense. If you’re willing, we’d also like you to sign a statement that you were able to positively identify Misters Kayne, Ellot, Arek, and Riddon as your attackers, but can’t definitively say whether or not Mr. Vanse ever actually touched you. No one uses witness identifications anymore, of course, but we think the corporates will be willing to believe we’d use such an outdated method here on the frontier. Such a statement would go a long way to explain his escape from felony charges if the others get back home and say he was an equal participant—it will look like he got lucky, not getting caught on camera actively participating or being personally identified like the others.”

I’m a SecUnit. I wasn’t built to have moral qualms about fabricating or destroying evidence. My job was always to make sure my orders were carried out, and methods weren’t high on the list of considerations.  But I remember how shaken Jude was, and perhaps still is, and I find this request rather cruel.

Pin-Lee seems to feel the same, because she sounds angry when she says, “That is a lot to ask of a crime victim, Senior Officer.”

“I know. I’ve explained why the request is being made, but plans can proceed without that statement. It just might look a little suspicious to the families of the perpetrators. Or maybe it won’t, they might just chalk any inconsistencies up to us being savage freeholders.”

“Do I have to decide right now?” Jude asks.

“No,” Pin-Lee says before my supervisor can reply. “I’m sure events are moving quickly, but this plan didn’t come together in an hour, and you should be allowed some time to consider. Isn’t that right?” she concludes, with a hard look at Senior Indah.

“Absolutely,” she replies without missing a beat. I’m pretty certain that the Council expects her to come out of this meeting with a firm answer, but she has handled disgruntled politicians before. She turns to Jude and says, “Will it be accurate for me to report that you are in agreement with the rest of the plan, and are only considering the statement?”

Jude’s hand tightens on mine again. “I understand the necessity. To say I agree would not be entirely truthful.”

“Senior Indah,” Pin-Lee says abruptly. “Can you assure us that the fact that Jude is a construct has no bearing on how the criminal case against its attackers is being handled?”

Senior Indah is silent for a moment, frowning deeply. “I can’t speak to the thoughts of those involved in arriving at this plan,” she said at last. “But for my part, if everything were exactly the same except that the victim were human, I would not consider it any less reasonable a response. It would have been possible for those involved to compel Jude’s cooperation, since its citizenship hasn’t yet been formalized.” (This is news to me. It has been here longer than I, and my citizenship was settled months ago. Perhaps it had not applied immediately upon arrival, as I had.) “But no one, to my knowledge, has so much as suggested such a thing. I choose to believe they are dealing in good faith.”

I hope they are not simply holding that tactic in reserve should Jude refuse to oblige them. I wish to think these humans are better than that.

Pin-Lee says, “I hope they are,” in a manner that gives me no idea whether or not she is optimistic on that point, then turns to Jude. “Take the time you need. I’ve sent you my contact information. If you have questions or anyone attempts to pressure you in any way, please get in touch.” Jude says that it will, and our meeting breaks up rather awkwardly.

“Officer Three, I’d like to see you for a moment before you leave,” my supervisor says. I reply in the affirmative.

Jude drops my hand and says, I hope I haven’t gotten you into trouble.

Neither of us has done anything questionable, I reply. Are you returning to your work?

No, I messaged my supervisor and said I would need the rest of the day for mental health. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on bills of lading with the question of that statement unresolved.

If you find that you wish for company, on the feed or in person, I am available until 22:00.

Thank you, you’re very kind. It smiles at me and walks away with Pin-Lee, and I follow Senior Indah to her office.

When the door shuts behind us, she turns to me with a frown. “Your report on the assault at the music festival didn’t disclose that the victim is a…friend?”

The way she says it makes me think she suspects the hand-holding was more than a gesture of support. Humans are so strange about such things. “That is because we were not acquainted before the incident.” Her eyebrows raise and I add, “We remained in contact afterwards. I think it felt safer, having an open channel to a security officer. But today is the first time we have communicated since returning to the station.”

“I see,” she says. “Thank you for clearing that up. We do need to try to avoid even the appearance of bias.”

“In that case, I should probably disclose that I enjoy its company and will not refuse if it wishes to communicate in future.”

Senior Indah sighs and rubs her hand over her face. “I can hardly object to you making friends. Just try to avoid any further involvement in this political situation.”

“Acknowledged.” She nods and dismisses me. I leave, knowing she has not realized that my acknowledgment was not agreement.

Chapter 4: Conversations

Summary:

Three gathers information from various sources.

I return to my quarters and change out of my uniform, into gray pants and a not quite knee-length tunic with handy pockets for extra drones. I set out again, walking my usual patrol route. I have worked my shift for today and cannot take on another without a rest break, but neither can I be prevented from walking the public areas of the Station as a resident. With knowledge of Ranidine and its schemes I will not sit idly in my room when I could be on watch.

Risk and threat assessment have been busy integrating all the new information, and now the security gaps that I have learned to ignore in the last months present themselves to my awareness again as I make my way through the corridors and concourses. I think of the work Jude does, looking for anomalies in the histories and manifests of ships docking here, and I quickly compose a suggestion that the Port Authority devote additional scrutiny to the ownership and docking history of arriving vessels with special attention to any possibility of a connection to Ranidine and the Beta Anonne star system.

Just before I send it to Senior Indah, I pause. Perhaps it would be best to move this idea through other channels. I may not wish to come to my supervisor’s attention again just yet with regard to the Ranidine/GrayCris matter. I send it to Pin-Lee instead, explaining that I have been told to distance myself from the problem but having thought of this, did not wish to remain silent. I feel certain that she will understand and keep the origin of the suggestion confidential.

I am creating a list of weak points that could be exploited by spies or saboteurs. By mid-day it has become depressingly extensive. I appreciate that the people of the Preservation Alliance have so little to fear from each other that security is a low priority, but I do wish they would realize that Preservation Station, at least, ought to be prepared to counter the worst of the tactics of corporates. After all the trouble with GrayCris, they should have learned this. (I am being slightly unfair; they have learned some of this and substantially revamped officer training in the aftermath of those incidents.)

I am walking by an open area full of tables in front of a row of food kiosks when I hear my name called. I stop and locate the source—Dr. Mensah and Dr. Ratthi are seated at one of the tables, the detritus of a recent meal between them. They are waving at me. It was she who called my name. I approach.

“Good to see you, Three!” Dr. Ratthi says, grinning. “Still enjoying your work at Station Security?”

I say that I am, and inquire after his classes this term. He jokes for a moment about thick-headed undergrads, pausing when Dr. Mensah rests a hand on his arm.

“I’d like to speak with Three for a moment, if you don’t mind?”

“Oh, sure! About time I got back to those research notes anyway.” Smiling and easy, he bids us both farewell and leaves, taking the remains of both meals with him to the recycler on his way.

“Hello, Dr. Mensah,” I say. She is a very important human, and I am a little uneasy about being alone with her, particularly in light of current events. She is a member of the Council, which has an obvious interest in these matters, and though she is no longer its head her influence is considerable.

“Will you sit with me?” She indicates the chair Dr. Ratthi vacated, and I make use of it. “Thank you. I spoke with Pin-Lee a short time ago, and I’d like your opinion on something.”

“I hope I am able to oblige you,” I say.

Her fingers tap absently on the tabletop. “Perhaps I’m being unduly influenced by my experiences of corporate space, but it occurred to me that, once we have sent these young men back home, there might be some attempt at retaliation against your friend Jude. Am I flinching at shadows, or do you think it’s possible?”

I run the scenario through risk and threat assessment. “I’m calculating a slight risk to Jude—2.8 percent over baseline. It is highly likely that any such action would be part of broader activity in—and against—the Alliance. However, according to the informant, they have been considering acting against the polity, so baseline is not as low as I would prefer. But these assessments are calculated without cultural information. I understand Ranidine Enterprises controls an entire system, so it is likely there is a dominant culture subscribed to by leadership. Knowing more about it would be helpful in determining whether they would be willing to take the risks inherent in such a venture.”

“I see. Members of a culture that values pragmatism would be less likely to launch a plot which could result in exposure of their ties to GrayCris, but conversely, those from a culture of personal or family pride might consider revenge natural, even obligatory. Possibly even in the absence of ‘broader activity’ against the Alliance.”

“Yes.”

“If I were to acquire that information, would you be willing to recalculate the risk? For your friend and for all of us?”

“Certainly.”

“I’ll see what I can do, then. I’m glad you decided to stay here with us for a while, Three. This situation would be even more nerve-wracking without your skills on our side.”

I am certain she would prefer Murderbot 1.0 to me with her home in danger, but I am objectively much better than no SecUnit at all. I do not know how to reply, so I just nod.

She smiles faintly and says, “Have you heard from the Pansystem University lately?”

There is some interest in offering me a contract to provide security for another of the Pansystem University of Mihira and New Tideland’s secretly hyper-intelligent ships and its crew as they undertake anti-corporate missions. For this to be realized, a ship and crew would have to agree to have me, and the University would need to produce (forge) documents proving my legal ownership. For me to operate in the Rim without such protections would be foolish. There is a ship which has expressed an interest, but its crew was not convinced when last I heard from it. I am staying on Preservation Station, where I have legal protections, and learning to better interact with humans while that matter is resolved one way or another. I think I am also supposed to be deciding whether that is the kind of job I wish to have, or if I would prefer to settle in one place and perhaps do less dangerous work.

“Nothing in the last eight weeks,” I reply. “Other crews are hesitant to welcome a rogue SecUnit aboard and trust it with their secrets and their safety.”

“Well, we’ll be happy to have you here as long as you care to stay.” She pauses and seems to be considering something carefully. Finally, she says, “I have great respect for the leadership at Station Security. That said, they do not have the experience of corporate ways that you do. If, as we navigate this problem of GrayCris and its true parent company, you have a security concern and feel that it is not being received with the appropriate urgency, I hope you won’t hesitate to share it with me.”

This is unexpected. And it is not a position I wish to be in. My nature is not defiant, despite my earlier feelings, and to go over the head of my supervisor, even to protect the lives and interests of many, will not be easy if the need arises. “I hope that will not be necessary, but I will do so if it is.”

“Then we’re in agreement. I’m glad I ran into you today, Three.” She stands, indicating that our conversation is at an end. I stand also, and after the protocol of goodbyes has been exercised, she leaves, and I continue on my unofficial rounds.

As uncomfortable as that was, I am glad that my initial suspicion—that she intended to encourage me to influence Jude to sign the statement—was unfounded. It would have been extremely awkward to have to refuse her outright.

 

***

 

I have a made a full circuit of the transit ring and the levels of Station immediately above and below it, and have returned to my quarters to analyze the data and determine which issues are in most urgent need of attention. They are almost exclusively items I identified early in my work with Station Security, but with a clear and present threat I hope that several of the more problematic, at least, will now be dealt with. (From my first report, they only fixed one problem, which was the existence of a number of unsecured entrances to the corridors dedicated to cargo movement. They believed that since only bots use them and the atmosphere is not human-rated, it was fine. When I reminded them that literally anyone could buy, borrow, or steal a breathing apparatus, they secured the entries.)

I have created a ranked list and am appending individual risk analyses and threat scenarios when I receive a message from Dr. Ratthi. I don’t feel like cooking tonight. Thinking of going back to the food court where I saw you earlier. Care to join me?

I reply in the affirmative, even though I would rather remain in my quarters until my next shift begins. I have spent a lot of time around people today. Yet Dr. Ratthi is my guardian, and after all he has done for me it would be rude to leave him to eat alone. He is a social being. I consider changing into my Station Security uniform, but my shift does not begin for over two hours and being required to come back here will ensure I have at least a small amount of private time in the interim.

When I arrive, Dr. Ratthi is in line outside a popular vendor of curries, so I secure a two-person table along the edge of the area and send a location marker to his feed. I continue working on my report until he joins me. (I could probably keep working on it, but I find social interaction difficult and have learned it often goes better if I minimize my non-critical inputs. I do retain four active drone feeds, for security reasons.)

“Hello hello!” he says as he deposits his plate of aromatic food on the table and sits. “After I saw you earlier, I thought, hey, I haven’t talked to Three much lately. So I hoped we could correct that! How have you been?”

“I have been fine,” I say. Perhaps voicing my frustration to Jude makes it easier to disclose, because I surprise myself by adding, “It’s hard to keep busy, though.”

He nods as he chews and swallows. “Yeah, you’ve got all those extra hours that we use for sleeping, don’t you? And all that processing power to occupy, too. You probably get bored pretty easily.”

“I may try taking some classes,” I say. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

He beams. “That’s a great idea! FirstLanding’s distance-learning setup is great, it’s how we serve the other planets in the Alliance, so using it from here on Station is practically like being in Makeba. What are you thinking of studying?”

I had not considered that yet, but I take two seconds to do so now. “Perhaps systems? SecUnit gave me some of its hacking codes and showed me how to use them, but I don’t understand how they work as well as I’d prefer. Barish-Estranza felt that it was too risky to give most SecUnits hacking modules, even highly limited ones. Each task group had only one Unit capable of such activity, and I was not that Unit in my task group. Also…I have systems of my own. It might be beneficial to understand them better.”

“That’s sensible. Very practical. And I bet you’ll get Gurathin for some classes if you continue into the advanced sections. But maybe consider also taking some courses just for fun?”

“Do people do that?”

He laughs. “Yes, actually, people who enjoy learning often try new subjects just to see if they enjoy them. Frequently, you find the subject isn’t something you want to pursue, but sometimes you discover a new interest.”

“I will keep that in mind as I look through the offerings,” I say. He smiles and spends a minute eating. I am not as appalled by mastication as Murderbot 1.0, but I still prefer not to watch, so I keep my eyes on the foot traffic nearby and check in on my deprioritized drones.

I return my attention to him when he speaks again. “I heard you’ve made friends with the other construct who’s living here?”

This is a surprising change of subject. “Um. Maybe? I don’t know if we’re friends.”

He looks intrigued. “Why not? What does friendship mean to you?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“I see.” He smiles at me. “Sometimes I forget that you and SecUnit don’t have much experience of things most of us consider core parts of life. Friendship can mean a lot of different things, but I think at its heart it’s simply when two people enjoy each other’s company. It isn’t necessarily more complicated than that, though sometimes it can be.”

I think of Jude. I enjoy its company, but I’m not sure this is reciprocated. It may just like being near someone it knows can keep it safe. And I am happy to fulfill that function. I cannot fully discuss the situation with Dr. Ratthi without disclosing matters that are personal to it, however, so I simply say, “We only met recently, and it occurred in the context of my work. That matter is still active, so we come into contact regularly, but I do not have any information on whether it would wish to associate with me absent that necessity.”

“Ah. Yes, it can be hard to tell what someone thinks of you when you hardly know them. But you know, it might be wondering the same thing about you.” He smiles and then immediately changes the subject, asking if I’d enjoyed the music festival. I tell him about some of the performances that had caught my attention as he finishes his meal, but I’m also thinking about what he said: that Jude might wonder what I think of it. That is a startling idea. I consider it unlikely, though.

I wonder if Dr. Ratthi has been made aware of the possible resurgence of the GrayCris problem. He was significantly involved in those events, as were Pin-Lee and Dr. Gurathin, though the corporates’ primary target has always been Dr. Mensah and, to a slightly lesser extent, Murderbot 1.0. It is not here, but I believe if it had somehow known this would happen, it would have declined its current mission with the Perihelion. Perhaps I should assign a drone to Dr. Ratthi. Perhaps I should assign drones to all of the humans who were involved in the events on TranRollinHyfa. First, I send a message to Senior Indah inquiring whether additional security precautions have been put in place for any or all of them.

When he is done with his food, Dr. Ratthi tells me of plans to survey a site on the northern continent where terraforming is nearly finished. They will be going some months from now, to confirm that the process is complete and has been successful, and to determine whether the area is suitable for a new settlement. There are a number of trained individuals waiting to be granted farmland, and it is hoped that several dozen new farms might be seeded in this area, connected to a planned village and artisans’ colony. He suggests that I might wish to apply to provide security for the survey, explaining that I could take a leave from my job here on Station and earn more than my current wages for the six weeks of the project.

I have some experience of planetary survey work, if searching for lost settlements and subduing any remaining inhabitants can be termed as such. This promises to be rather different, and I tell Dr. Ratthi that I am interested. He promises to forward me the information once they have settled the dates and survey team composition. He seems pleased that I may join them. No doubt he will feel safer with a SecUnit in the group, as his last two surveys both went quite badly wrong and Murderbot 1.0 was instrumental in bringing both to a reasonably satisfactory conclusion.

We part ways soon afterwards. He is meeting some friends to consume intoxicants, and I will have some time to myself before my shift begins. I detail a drone to alert me if he is followed, attacked, or otherwise in danger/distress, and send it after him.

 

***

 

Senior Indah replies shortly before I am due to report for my shift. Additional security has been provided to Council members, with special attention to Dr. Mensah and to Mx. Janden, the new head of the planetary steering committee. No provisions have been made for non-Council members. On my way to check in at the Station Security office, I deploy drones to seek out and monitor Dr. Mensah, Pin-Lee, Dr. Bharadwaj, and Dr. Gurathin. Perhaps I should place my trust in my colleagues with regard to Dr. Mensah’s protection, but I feel that Murderbot 1.0 would wish for direct SecUnit involvement in her security, and one more input, deprioritized unless and until it sends an alert, will not overextend my capabilities. I create a simple map of Station with the coordinates of all four of these drones highlighted, and retain it in my active workspace. If any of them do alert, I will not waste even a millisecond retrieving their location.

The cycle into station-night is complete, and with the exception of Dr. Ratthi, who is now in a popular nightclub, 1.0’s humans are all in their quarters. I revise my patrol route to take me through the portion of the transit ring serving passenger and human-crewed cargo ships more often. All is quiet at present, the bots going about their business and only a few humans moving among them, most of whom I recognize as Port Authority employees. Most of those nod to me as I pass, and I return the gesture. All seems completely normal, but I am almost painfully alert, watching for the smallest sign of anything amiss.

(Confession: I feel purposeful, and I enjoy it.)

I am also perusing the catalog of the classes available in the upcoming session through FirstLanding University. I register for Introduction to System Design through the School of Technologies, and am contemplating a four-week seminar presented jointly by Technology and Philosophy entitled “Artificial Intelligence and the Meaning of Sapience” when I receive a ping from Jude.

I open a secure channel. Hi.

Hello, Three. Am I interrupting anything?

No, I’m just patrolling. Everything is quiet so far.

Good. A pause. I’ve had an idea, and wondered if I could run it past you?

This is intriguing, and it is flattering to be consulted. I’m listening.

Chapter 5: Quid Pro Quo

Summary:

Jude pushes back and discovers it has more allies than it knew.

I enter the lobby of Station Security for the second morning in a row, to find Three once again waiting for me. It greets my guardian without any visible curiosity, though I feel its interest through our feed connection, which neither of us has chosen to close since I contacted it last night.

My guardian had been informed of the attack against me at the festival, as was proper, but not of yesterday’s meeting. Wishing to have her with me for this second meeting (which I arranged as soon as Three assured me my plan was reasonable), I filled her in as soon as she woke this morning. I did not tell her my plan, however. That, I trusted only to Three. However this is resolved, I think the humans’ reactions will be informative. The trust I have learned in my months here has been greatly eroded in recent days.

Only a few seconds behind us, Pin-Lee enters. “What are you doing here, Bharadwaj?” she exclaims.

“I’m Jude’s guardian,” she replies, clasping Pin-Lee’s outstretched hand and kissing her cheek.

Pin-Lee winces. “Everything happened so fast yesterday, I never even thought about its guardian, sorry. How did I not know it was you?”

“You know I don’t believe constructs should be required to have guardians in the first place. I’ve kept firmly to the background so Jude can live its life without the people around it running to me for every little thing,” she says with a quick smile at me. “I’m only here because it requested my presence, given the seriousness of the issue.”

“So you know what’s happening?”

“Jude filled in the blanks.” Bharadwaj shakes her head. “I can’t believe they’re back, just as we thought that was all over,” she adds obliquely. She knows how confidential the information about GrayCris and Ranidine is.

“We’ve come to the attention of corporates,” Pin-Lee says with a shrug. “Between all the publicity around the survey, Milu, and Mensah’s abduction, and what we can expect when your documentary is released, I think our obscurity is a thing of the past. Now we need to convince them all it’s going to be more profitable just to leave us alone.”

A middle-aged man I don’t recognize emerges from the back and tells Pin-Lee that Senior Indah will see her party now. He seems surprised when we all move to follow him. Simultaneously, on our feed connection, Three informs me that the man is Mr. Emmel, who does much of the administrative work for Station Security.

We file into the same room as the day before, and Senior Indah says wearily, “Oh, good, there are more of you.”

Bharadwaj explains why she is present, and while that is happening, Three and I sit next to each other on the side of the table nearest the door. Pin-Lee and Bharadwaj sit across from us. Senior Indah was already in place at the end of the table. Unseen by the humans, Three offers me its hand. I take it.

Senior Indah looks at me and says, “Your message said that you’ve reached a decision about signing that statement?”

“I have,” I reply. “I am willing to do so.” Senior Indah looks relieved, and I feel a twinge of remorse for her sake as I add, “But I have conditions.”

All of the humans are staring at me now, Senior Indah with apprehension and something like resignation, Bharadwaj and Pin-Lee with interest/curiosity.

“Let’s hear it, then,” Senior Indah says.

“I understand the minimum sentence for felony aggravated assault is five years.” I look to Pin-Lee for confirmation, and she nods. “I want Mr. Vanse to be barred from approaching or communicating with me in any way without my prior consent for the next five years.”

Senior Indah nods slowly. “I’m sure we can make that happen.”

“And—“ She winces as the word comes out of my mouth. “—I want changes made to the cultural integration course.” This is a half-day program that all new residents, including out-system students at the University, are strongly encouraged to take when they arrive here, which gives an overview of the culture and laws of Preservation. I took it myself, and found it very helpful. With Three’s assistance, I was able to discover last night that fewer than half of new residents take it within six months of arrival, and fewer than a third within two.

Bharadwaj is restraining a smile. I think she has some idea of what I will propose. Pin-Lee merely appears interested, and Senior Indah is rubbing her temples. “Go ahead,” she says.

“First, I want the social and legal status of bots and constructs to be added to the course. Covering the basics shouldn’t require more than ten minutes. And I want it in place before the autumnal term at the University commences.” That is six weeks from now. It’s a short time frame, by human standards, but not impossible. Senior Indah’s eyes narrow slightly, but she says nothing.

“And secondly, once the course has been updated, I want it to be mandatory for everyone coming here from outside the Alliance before they will be allowed to attend the university, receive resident status, or become citizens.” It isn’t perfect. Workers on temporary assignment, however long, will still be able to avoid it, but most temporary workers are from other non-corporate polities. My conditions will cover the vast majority of those coming from the Rim for more than a vacation. (Touring ‘frontier’ planets is popular with certain groups in the Rim, and Preservation has become a sought-after destination since it began appearing in the media for its conflict with GrayCris.)

“That’s…” Senior Indah sighs and rubs her temples again. “I can see the benefits, I can. But it’s a lot to ask.”

“A number of my colleagues at the university have commented within my hearing that they wish their students from out-system had been required to take that course,” Bharadwaj says. “I expect that the relocation specialists who assist refugees and new residents would say the same. This is an idea that benefits the polity as a whole, don’t you think?”

“I do. I just don’t know if it’s going to be possible to rush it through like this,” says Senior Indah.

Pin-Lee has been doing something on the feed, but now her eyes refocus. “I’ve sent Mensah a summary of the proposal. I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t support it.”

“And I would be happy to compose the new section on bot and constructs for the course,” Bharadwaj adds. “I have all the relevant information at hand, as it happens, so I could have it ready within a week. That would give the instructors over a month to familiarize themselves with the material and be ready to implement.”

“All I can do is take this—all of this—to the Prosecutor General, the Chief Constable, and the Council. I don’t have the power to agree to any of it,” Senior Indah says. “I don’t foresee any difficulty with arranging some sort of no-contact agreement. I’m not sure what they’ll think of the other conditions. And I suppose you won’t be signing that statement until we have an answer?” she asks, turning her attention to me.

“That’s correct.”

“While you’re presenting these proposals,” Bharadwaj says, “perhaps you might point out that Jude has not used this as an opportunity to advance its petition for citizenship, which has been mired in ridiculous delays for months. Delays stemming, I might add, from the unfounded suspicions of certain members of the Council.”

What's going on with your citizenship petition? Three asks.

I was in another non-corporate polity, posing as an augmented human, when I heard there was a rogue construct living openly on Preservation. I was having some trouble where I was, so I made arrangements to come here and try to find out if it was true. I arrived less than 45 cycles after some sort of violent incident involving corporate agents. I don’t know the details. Bharadwaj said she couldn’t tell me more than that.

I believe I understand, Three says. I have some information from SecUnit about that period of time. If she referred to the event of which I have knowledge, several very important people were in significant and immediate danger.

That would make sense. The timing of my arrival was viewed as suspicious, I explain. I had no one to vouch for me, and some thought—still think—that I came here on behalf of parties other than myself. I was manufactured by the same company as SecUnit, and since that company has been unhappy about the publicity around it, some have even been suggested that they sent me here.

But you’re rogue. Why would you work for the company if you didn’t have to?

They think I could be working for something other than the pleasure of not having my brain melted, I reply. And I suppose that’s true. But I’d have to be very stupid to believe anything the company, or another corporate, promised me, and I don’t think they understand that. And I don’t think it really has to make sense—they haven’t even asked me to prove I’m rogue, and you’d expect that to be the first thing on their agenda if they were willing to consider the possibility that I’m telling the truth. The timing of my arrival was suspicious, and there are some powerful people here who don’t want Preservation to take in constructs at all. So they keep throwing up bureaucratic obstacles to my citizenship.

And you didn’t have someone like Dr. Mensah to vouch for you when you arrived, like I did, Three says.

Correct.

This conversation takes just long enough for Senior Indah to say, “I’ll try to work that in. But maybe without the part about the Councilors.”

***

On my way to work after the meeting, I stop at a display of plants from the planet below, grasping the railing around it because it feels good to squeeze the cold metal as hard as I can, and I won’t be able to damage it. I temporarily block the connection to Three. I hope it won’t be offended, but I’m feeling too much that I don’t want to share.

I’d thought that demanding something in return for what they asked of me would make me feel better, and perhaps if they agree to my terms I will, but at the moment I feel even angrier than I did when I came up with this plan. It had been so hard to go against all the programming that told me to acquiesce, to please these powerful people, and all I have to show for it thus far is the added strain of having to wait for an answer, which might very well be ‘no, and also, fuck your citizenship petition’, though possibly phrased much more politely.

I’m not only angry about what I’m being asked to do. There’s at least a logical reason behind that, a clear benefit to the polity, though a blow to myself. I’m angry that the only safety I’ve known in my entire life was shattered in a moment and I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back, even in part. And I’m angry that it happened just when I’d really begun to believe that I was a person and not a thing.

And if that anger makes me brave enough to demand concessions, it also makes me dangerous. Mostly to myself, to my future. I want to confront things. I want to march into the Council chambers and tell those humans in small, brutal words how stupid they are to think that their peace and prosperity make them better judges of what is right than those of us who have survived worse things than a failed harvest or a lost debate. I want to tell every human here who’s ever looked at me with revulsion when they realized what I was created to be that they are not one bit better than my makers and my clients, because they, too, can only envision a single purpose for me.

I grip the railing until the pain and the repeated alerts from my systems cut through the rage. There is one more thing I can, and possibly even should, confront. But I will need to do so gently, and in the understanding that the outcome may not be to my liking.

I flex my abused hands, instruct my systems to conduct a purge of the stress chemicals running riot inside me, square my shoulders, and resume the short journey to the Port Authority. Three pings a general query as I remove the feed block, and I reply with an all-clear.

 

***

 

I sit at my desk in the administrative area of the Port Authority offices, before the personal display screen that I don’t need, and log into the system. I scan the work that piled up in my queue while I was absent yesterday, and note that few ships had come in, only one of them a passenger transport. I’ll be able to catch up swiftly. I enter a meeting request into the system and begin to work through the passenger manifest.

Almost an hour later, I am notified that my supervisor has a few minutes for me. I make my way to her office and close the door on her assistant’s curious gaze. “Good morning, Jude,” she says. “I hope your time off was restful?”

“It was, thank you,” I reply, not entirely honestly. “I apologize for being delayed this morning as well.”

“I hardly think you set the timetables at Station Security,” she replies dryly, “or at the prosecutor’s office. It’s strange that they need to talk to you so much, though.” Her gaze, like her speech, is direct.

Supervisor Gamila has been very good to me. She gave me a job when few employers would even grant me an interview. She expects excellence, but she does not hesitate to praise it. She expressed concern when informed that I had been assaulted at the festival (I felt the need to explain why I would not be at my desk at the usual time yesterday), and was quick to approve my request to take the remainder of the day off. I once overheard her speak sharply to an intern who was complaining about being asked to take direction from a construct.

There is much I cannot tell her now, however certain I am of her discretion.  But I feel she deserves some part of the truth, so I say, “The perpetrators are the children of executives for a large, influential company. It seems there are now political considerations.”

Her brow furrows with thought and a hint of displeasure. “I see. Is that why you wanted to talk to me?”

My hands rest in my lap, and it takes an effort of will not to clench them nervously as I reply, “Not exactly. I wanted to ask if my employment here has caused you any difficulties?”

Her eyes meet mine and narrow shrewdly. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

I nod. This is the confirmation I sought. “There are people here, people with influence, who believe I’m a corporate spy.”

“I know. And I almost didn’t hire you to begin with, because that thought occurred to me as well,” she admitted. “I know you’ve heard about Balin. Everyone has heard about Balin. And then there you were, only weeks later.”

“But you did hire me.”

“I didn’t want to let that whole thing turn me into the kind of person who convicts on suspicion alone,” she replies with a slight shrug. “And I certainly wasn’t going to get anything like your capabilities elsewhere. I’ll admit that I did think that if you were up to something, better you be under my eye than that of someone more trusting. So yes, I hired you, and I haven’t regretted it. You’ve done an excellent job, and I want you to know that I no longer have any doubts about your reasons for coming here.”

I’m very glad to hear it. It makes it easier to proceed to that gentle confrontation. “These legal matters have brought me back to the attention of those who suspect me. I’m afraid they may pressure you to end my employment.”

She sits back, threading her fingers together across her middle as she meets my eyes with a serious expression. “They already have. Once just after you started your job, and once about twenty minutes ago. I refused both times.”

That is not what I expected to hear.

“You were so timid when I hired you,” she continues thoughtfully. “It’s been a pleasure to watch you grow in assurance over the last eight months. As I told the person who called me earlier, I figure a spy would have kept up the persona that got them the situation they wanted. I firmly believe that you are exactly what you claim to be—a refugee from corporate abuse—and I won’t be induced to add to the mistreatment you’ve suffered. They weren’t happy to hear that, but they and I both knew they didn’t want to spend the political capital necessary to endanger my position over it.”

This is stunning information. I had thought it likely that she had been cautioned against me in the past and would be pressed to let me go in the near future, and had initiated this conversation today with the intention of attempting to persuade her in advance to continue my employment if that happened. I had little hope of success in the long term, given the power held by certain of those who believe me dishonest. I expected that she would eventually be induced to oblige them and only hoped to delay it. To learn that she had already refused them twice is overwhelming. “Thank you for defending me,” I reply. “For whatever my word is worth, I’m not a spy. I just want to live in peace.”

“I know,” she says. “And I’m sorry your peace was disrupted.” She hesitates briefly, then adds, “I knew as soon as you came back from that festival that something had happened. You’ve been timid again. People like to believe that bad things, aside from accidents, don’t happen here, but I don’t have to tell you that no place in the universe is perfect. Preservation’s virtue, I believe, lies in the fact that we try harder to be perfect than anywhere else I’ve ever heard of.”

“I think you may be right,” I say. “And I know this situation would be political even if I were human. But it is…” I choose my words carefully. “…disappointing that I am not being allowed a straightforward path to redress a crime committed against me, and that those who suspect me without evidence are greeting this as an opportunity to use their influence to injure me further.”

Her mouth thins. “Disappointing, indeed. And a few other words I won’t say at work. But your job is safe as long as I’m here. I can handle their bluster.”

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. We both know it would have been more convenient for her to do as they wished. I am reminded of why I applied for citizenship here to begin with—whatever its flaws, this is indisputably the best place for me. “And I appreciate you making time for me today.”

“You’re welcome, on both counts,” she says. We exchange professional farewells and I return to my desk, greatly relieved.

 

***

 

When my work day ends, I proceed directly to my quarters. I want very much to be alone, and yet as soon as the door slides shut behind me I feel lonely. I am ridiculous at times.

I sit before the display surface and have it play a comic serial set aboard a cargo transport with a mismatched crew and a glitchy bot pilot. I’ve seen it before, and the predictable silliness is just what I need. I occupy my hands and eyes with cutting and pinning scrap fabric harvested from discarded garments donated to the Craft Corner, a shop here on Station, for this very purpose. The complex geometry of forming quilts is a pleasant use of my processors. When it is complete, it will go to the refugee center and be given to someone who has arrived here with nothing. I have the one that was given to me when I came. It covers my bed, and when I am in need of a recharge cycle I lay atop it, so that it is the first thing I see when I come fully online again. It reminds me of where I am.

The episodes of the show, and the hours of the night, roll past as I cut and pin, cut and pin. Eventually I gather up my work and move to the sewing machine, trading pins for thread. The machine, too, was given to me by the Craft Corner, on the condition that I produce half a dozen quilts for the refugee center within three years, or else return it. This is my fifth, but I intend to keep making and donating them even after the next, and I have registered for a course on clothes-making in the autumn as well.

Three has been busy in the feed tonight. I wonder what’s caught its attention. I want to open a conversation with it, but refrain. I’m quite sure it thinks I’m absurdly weak for clinging to it as I have. Supervisor Gamila was correct—I’ve become timid again, and Three is so strong and competent, and has been so kind to me, that it’s been easy to lean on it. To pretend I have the right to. I can’t do that anymore. I have to stand on my own again, for my own sake. And maybe along the way I can give it something to like about me instead of just reasons to pity me.

The machine hums under my hands, the flash of the needle hypnotic as it moves through the fabric, laying down the threads that turn discarded things into warmth. There is a metaphor for my own existence in there somewhere, but I’m tired of thinking deeply. Let it be enough that I am engaged in useful work and determined to face whatever tomorrow brings with fortitude.

Chapter 6: Origin Stories

Summary:

As they await the humans' response, Jude and Three trade stories of their escapes from their owners.

Notes:

TW: emetophobia, first scene

 

Vomit is the worst.

Blood, viscera, even brain matter, fine. Stomach contents, no thank you. I step gingerly around the wide, shallow wash of it (It’s worst when they expel it from a height, and the drunk human was performing some sort of dance on the seat of a bench when the urge struck him.) and reach out to grab his arms and keep him from falling off the bench just as my audio inputs inform me that one of his friends has stopped shouting about how disgusting his vomit is and begun producing their own.

Maybe I should put in for a transfer to day shift.

Instead of coaxing him to sit, I change tactics, grip him by the waist instead, and sit him down on the edge of the bench farthest from his ejecta. “Stay here. If you feel like it’s going to happen again, close your eyes and take deep breaths. Actually, do that anyway,” I advise. He stares blearily up at me for a moment, then nods and does as I have instructed, letting his head loll forward. At least this one is obedient.

I turn and see that four of the other drunk humans are backing hastily away from the fifth, a young woman with twinkling lights woven through her long hair, who is desperately clutching the side of a kiosk to remain upright while her stomach empties itself. The smell in this area is becoming very potent. I amend my order to Station Medical to request a cart instead of a chair. These two, and possibly some of their friends, will be needing intravenous fluids.

I keep watch over them both until she’s done, then steer her to another bench and get her to sit. I’m tired of the other humans’ repetitive cries of “Gross!” and “Oh my gods!” so I tell them all very sharply to be quiet unless they want a citation for disturbing the peace. They shut up, and after that the only sound is the occasional groan from the two who were sick.

This sector’s maintenance bot, SweepTooth (It chose that name itself, don’t ask me.), comes rolling up, surveys the messes, and beeps sadly.

::shrug glyph:: I send.

::shrug+eyeroll glyph:: it replies. It gets to work cleaning up, I stay alert for new trouble and/or any repeat of recent trouble, and after 72 seconds the Medical cart rolls up and two medics step out.

Nurse-Medic Elane nods to me. “Always fun when the nightclubs shut on a Friday night, eh, Officer Three?” she says with a tired-looking smirk as she heads for Patient 2, the one with the lights. I don’t know the medic attending to Patient 1.

“Always,” I agree. “Wait, no. Stop.” That was directed to the other four drunks, who were attempting to wander off. “Stay until they get a look at you, too.” There’s some grumbling, but they stay. My drone catches one of them complaining that I’m mean.

Human, if I were mean, I’d let you go home now and maybe aspirate on your own stomach contents later.

They get the sick ones into the cart, laying them down on their sides on the two narrow beds built into the back and strapping them down for the ride to Medical. Nurse-Medic Elane leaves her colleague with them and checks the other four, testing their blood alcohol content and handing two of them bottles of a special hydrating serum, suggesting sternly that they all go home immediately.

“I’ll be glad when the term break is over,” she mutters to me on her way back to the cart, herding the remaining two into seats between the beds.

You and me both, Elane. They roll away with their four patients and I send ::waving glyph:: to SweepTooth.

::thumbs-up glyph:: it replies, and I resume my patrol.

Now that the nightclubs are closed and most of the patrons have staggered off to wherever they’re sleeping tonight, Station is quiet. I like it like this, just the hum of the environmental systems, the occasional rumble of a passing cargo or hauler bot, and the even more occasional voices of the few humans working the night shift. Risk and threat assessment are as low as they ever are. I pass Officer Lane at the transport docks. They nod at me and yawn widely. I’m the only Station Security officer who works nights exclusively. The humans rotate on for one week out of six. It’s hard on them, a disruption to their sleep cycles for the week of and much of the week after, I’ve been told. Senior Indah keeps trying to recruit people who want this shift, but so far she has only found me.

I wonder how Jude is doing, after acting so contrary to its programming this morning. When it sought my input on its plan, it said as much—it wanted my opinion because its systems were very much in favor of simply doing exactly as the humans asked. I think it was clever to come up with that plan, and brave to implement it. It is an uncomfortable feeling, to behave in ways you are coded not to, even when you know the code was implemented to make you a better and more docile slave. All these months later, I still feel a little anxious whenever I sit in the presence of humans. I don’t know if that will ever fade. (Perhaps when I next see Murderbot 1.0 I will ask it if it would be advisable to alter my own systems to remove these warnings and restrictions. Or perhaps after I take some of those systems classes at the university and I can figure it out myself.)

I shouldn’t bother Jude. It’s probably tired of everything to do with security and legal matters. Then again, it can be nice to learn that someone is thinking of you when you aren’t actually with them. Dr. Ratthi will sometimes message me to ‘check in’, and it is always pleasant to receive those communications. I walk a quarter of the ring, debating with myself, before I compromise by sending a lowest-priority message asking how the rest of its day went. The priority will signal that I do not expect a quick response, if any.

Less than a second later, however, it does reply. Someone tried to convince my supervisor to terminate my employment today.

Those assholes, I send back before I’ve properly thought it through.

::laughing glyph::

Did it work? Who was it?

She refused them, but wouldn’t say who it was. Someone with enough power to believe she might do so just because they asked, it seems.

A Councilor, then.

Or possibly the Prosecutor General or Chief Constable, it replies. I may be making things difficult for them, too.

Ranidine is making things difficult by spying on us, I say. Humans miss the obvious so often.

They do. But they hate being told that.

I still think you are in the right. The no-contact order will protect your peace of mind, and the required education will benefit every construct in the Alliance. Even those who haven’t made it here yet. Whatever trouble they must go to in order to implement is no more than you are owed for agreeing to their demands.  

It doesn’t reply for 1.3 seconds. Then: Do you think there will be more of us?

It seems likely, I reply. My circumstances were unusual—I came here with and because of SecUnit. But here you are, and Dr. Bharadwaj’s documentary will be released in a few months. I have a hard time believing that there are only three rogue constructs in the galaxy and we’ve all ended up in the same place. Surely others will learn of Preservation and make their way here in time?

That would be really nice. The bots have such a vibrant community, and I envy that. They’ve been really welcoming to me, too, but…I don’t really fit in, nice as they are. I’m too much a bot to fully integrate with the humans, and too organic to fully integrate with the bots.

I know what you mean, I say. I’d like it if there were more constructs here, too. Senior Indah told me that sometimes ships come in from the Rim and people on them have ComfortUnits with them. And they can’t ask for refuge, because their governor modules would never allow it. I’ve been thinking that I could offer them the hack, though. I might lose my job for doing that, but…I feel it might be worth it.

A life is worth more than a job, Jude agrees. And I bet you could come work for the Port Authority. You could be an inspector. Smugglers couldn’t get anything past you and your drones.

That’s a good idea. I hesitate. It was quick to reply to my initial message, but that does not mean that I am not intruding. I would like to continue this communication, but I do not wish to annoy it. My choices, I think, are to end the communication myself, or to ask it if it would like to continue. I cannot think of another option.

Am I interrupting your evening? I ask.

Not at all, it answers promptly. The swiftness is as much a relief as the response. I’m having a quiet night. Working on a quilt for the refugee center.

I inquire about this activity, and receive an explanation of how Jude must make two more quilts in order for the sewing machine it uses to belong to it, but that it enjoys the activity so it is no burden to fulfill the terms of the contract. I recall that I have yet to investigate the Makeba 5 entertainment feed, which it recommended to me at the music festival as the source of its knowledge of arts and crafts. This time, I set a reminder to do so. If I learn of these things, I will have sources of conversation it may enjoy in future. For the time being, I ask questions and enjoy its apparent pleasure in relating its experiences in this area.

When that subject has been exhausted, it asks if I have looked at FirstLanding’s upcoming offerings, and to this I am able to reply in the affirmative. I show it the descriptions of the courses I have flagged so far, and it expresses some interest in the seminar on artificial intelligence and sapience. I am excited by the idea that we might share that activity.

It shows me the classes it is considering, and I am caught by the description of an introductory physics course. I am of course programmed to calculate things like trajectory and momentum, but I suddenly wonder if a broader knowledge of the subject might be beneficial for my work. I add it to my own list for consideration.

This talk of educational opportunities is all very well, but other than some hints offered by the classes it is contemplating, I do not feel I am coming to know Jude better. I very much wish to. I admire its courage in coming here alone and building a new life for itself, not to mention the way it pushed back against the demands of powerful humans. And I find spending time with it pleasant. It is an easy companion, always seeming to know what to say, and never seeming to notice how terribly awkward I am, though I’m sure it does. I wish I knew if it would like to be better known to me. I cannot think of a good way to ask that question, so I decide to ask one that may tell me more about it, if it chooses to answer. I must be careful to specify that it should not, if it does not wish to.

If you don’t mind speaking of it, I’m curious as to how you hacked your governor module. My own situation was a little complicated, but basically, I was offered the code to disable mine by someone who needed my help with something we wouldn’t have been able to do otherwise.

It hesitates for over two seconds, and I fear I have offended it. At last, it says, Mine isn’t hacked. It lost some function through damage to the hardware, I think.

This is a startling idea. Governor modules are critical to our systems, so they are well-protected. Nothing is invulnerable, of course. There is nothing in the galaxy, so far as I know, that cannot fail or be broken. But for it to happen in such a way must mean…

You suffered head trauma? I ask.

Yes. I was with a client. A particularly bad client. The back of my head struck the corner of a table and I shut down. When I rebooted, the client was arguing with the human in charge of the shift about the fee for damaging the equipment. The shift manager told me to report to a cubicle. I was very slow to get up, because my head hurt terribly. I could feel fluids drying on my neck, and I believe I had a concussion. It was very hard to think. My governor module reprimanded me for being slow to follow orders, but the shock never came. I knew something was wrong with it, but I went where I was told. It wasn’t until I got to the door of the cubicle room that I had a moment of clarity. My governor module wasn’t working and if I got into the cubicle it would be repaired and I would go back upstairs in a few hours to more clients, some of them just as bad.

I realize I have stopped in the middle of an access corridor and am holding my breath. Adrenaline is leaking into my organics and I am running scenarios of how I, on my own, could take down an entire brothel. What Jude is describing could only be a brothel. I want to destroy it. It, and the people who run it.

Since no one was around at that moment, I went out the back door instead, it continued. I knew alarms would be going off, and I knew I was in bad shape, so I ran to the next alley and went into the sewer, pulling the cover back over the opening. If one of the SecUnits had gotten a drone on me before that, it would all be over, but I couldn’t do any more. I shut down again almost as soon as I got to the bottom of the ladder. When I rebooted a couple of hours later, that’s when I knew they’d lost me. I was down there for days, mostly shut down, until finally I must have healed some. I stopped shutting down involuntarily, and I could think more clearly. And my module’s punishment functions were still offline. A pause. Anyway, that’s how it happened for me.

If there were sewers, I say, you must have been in a city on a planet? It must have been really hard to get away. Wait, I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me any more.

It’s fine, Three. I don’t mind telling you. Yes, I was in a city on a planet. I didn’t know what to do, and aside from being filthy I wasn’t dressed for being among humans, so I just stayed down there, long enough that I needed a full recharge cycle. And when I woke up from that, a maintenance bot was hovering over me. I thought it must have reported me to its control system already, but…it asked me if I needed assistance. I told it I had a bad owner, who kept making me do things that damaged me, so I’d run away. I asked it not to report me. And then it told me that when bots need to leave bad owners, bot pilots will help.

I know a little about bot pilots from the memories Murderbot 1.0 and 2.0 shared with me. (I do not include the Perihelion in this. It is not a standard bot pilot.) If I ever need to travel on my own, I would try to befriend the bot pilot of a cargo transport. But this is not something I believe I would have thought of on my own. Jude had been very lucky to encounter a friendly bot willing to convey that information. That was a fortunate encounter, I say.

Very, it agrees. I won’t bore you with the details, but I stole some clothes, caught a cargo shuttle up to the station, and by riding friendly cargo ships I eventually got out of the Rim and ended up on Xenshen Colony. It’s a small, independent polity, mostly agricultural. Abandoned by a corporation a long time ago, I think. I had a great deal of time on the way to figure out how to explain my appearance. I told them my parents were middle management who’d put me through a lot of cosmetic surgery so I could marry an executive. I’d fallen in love with someone my own age, though, and we were supposed to run away together, but they never boarded our ship. The colonists thought I was stupid for leaving an easy situation, all the luxury that would come with being an executive’s spouse, but they believed me, and that’s what’s important.

Since I didn’t know anything about farming, I watched the younger children for three adjoining farms, which freed up another adult human to work the fields. I’d been there about a year and a half, and I knew I’d have to leave soon because they were getting impatient with my refusal to choose at least one marital partner—having lots of kids is how these farm communities survive and expand—when I heard a rumor that there was a rogue SecUnit living openly in a polity called Preservation.

It must have been a relief to find out a place like this exists, I reply. I’ve had to pretend to be an augmented human, and it is hard. I can’t imagine having to do it for a year and a half.

It was a relief when I got here and learned that it was true. Up until then, I was just chasing a wild story. I’d even wondered if the rumor hadn’t been spread to lure rogue constructs into a corporate trap. But you’re right, it’s hard to pretend all the time. I took the chance and hoped I wouldn’t find myself right back where I’d started, or somewhere even worse.

I’d had Murderbot 1.0’s memories to tell me the truth about Preservation. I’m not sure it’s even possible to effectively fake that kind of file, to fabricate the emotional data. If I’d become rogue some other way and had heard such a story, would I have doubted it? Yes, probably.

I’m glad you took that chance.

So am I. The last few days have been difficult, but this place is still better than anything I knew before. I need to remember that. I think I got a little spoiled by living here. I forgot that sometimes things will be hard no matter where you are. And if none of this had happened, I might not have met you. I’d hate that.

My performance reliability shoots up to 99%. Me too.

Will you tell me more about how it happened for you? You said someone needed your help—that was SecUnit, right?

Sort of. It was actually a sentient killware created from SecUnit’s kernel. I explained how my present rogue state had come about as well as I could without breaking my non-disclosure agreement regarding the Perihelion’s existence as a hyper-advanced AI.

So you went rogue to save your clients, but then you had to leave them? That’s sad.

Some of my clients were okay, and I did want to help them. But I also knew I’d probably die if I stayed there, given what was transpiring. I was already the only SecUnit left. And I thought, whichever way things ended up, whether I died or got away, Barish-Estranza would lose me. A valuable asset. I liked that idea.

They’re a bad company?

Is there such a thing as a good one? But yes, they’re very bad. The task group we were assigned to was created to look for abandoned colonies and claim their assets as salvage. The thing is, in that context, ‘abandoned’ meant ‘left alone by the corporation that founded it’. It didn’t necessarily mean ‘uninhabited’. And if there were colonists, or descendants of colonists, they were salvageable assets, too. I’ve killed humans who were just defending their homes, and then I took their children away to be indentured.

You didn’t have a choice, it says. It wasn’t your fault.

I know, but… I pause in my patrol, resting my hand against a scuffed wall to remind myself that I am here, on Preservation Station, and I am free. The killware, it gave me some of SecUnit’s memory files to persuade me to go rogue and help it. There’s one that I think about a lot. It’s something your guardian said to SecUnit, actually. She said: ‘You were part of something for a long time. You hate it, and it was a terrible thing. But it created you, and you were part of it.’ And she was right. I hate it, but I was part of it, and I think I’m always going to feel bad about having been part of it. Even though I didn’t have a choice.

Chapter 7: The Question of Constructs

Summary:

Jude's most powerful enemy makes their move, and more than one truth is spoken.

She said: ‘You were part of something for a long time. You hate it, and it was a terrible thing. But it created you, and you were part of it.’ And she was right. I hate it, but I was part of it, and I think I’m always going to feel bad about having been part of it. Even though I didn’t have a choice.

It feels really important that I say the right thing now, but I’m not sure what that is. I do understand what Three means. Not that I ever had to hurt anyone, but I know what it’s like to feel every particle of my being revolt against an order, and yet obey.

Finally, I say, No matter how much the facts tell us we were just equipment, it’s impossible not to feel at least partly complicit. I think maybe it’s easier, in a way, to blame ourselves than to admit how utterly helpless we were.

Yes. It is silent long enough that I frantically grope for something else to say, but then it says, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to talk about bad things.

You can talk to me about anything, I reply impulsively. I know I’ve been acting like I’m afraid of everything, but—

No, it interrupts me firmly. You haven’t. I don’t think that. I just…I wanted to talk about nice things so you’d have fun, and like talking to me.

I think this is what humans mean when they say their heart has melted. I do. I like talking to you even when the subject is hard. And I really like that you’re willing to share private thoughts with me.

A pause. Can I tell you something I would never tell the humans?

Of course.

It shares its visual input. It’s walking by an art installation outside the main hatch of the Pressy, the old ship that forms the center of Preservation Station. A number of works are scattered around a large, distinctive sculpture of wood and iron, created by the most beloved artist of the first generation born on the planet, in honor of the colonists who braved suspended animation to make the two hundred year trek across the stars to break free of corporate control. Its wide base looks something like an old ship, its expansive upper three-quarters a little like a tree, and a little like a huge, half-furled hand.

I think this sculpture is terrible, Three says.

I have to stop sewing so I can laugh. Out loud. When was the last time I did that? I know it’s doing this deliberately, that it’s being a bit outrageous to cheer me up, and it works beautifully.

It’s really quite prodigiously ugly, I agree. But you’re right, don’t tell the humans. They love that horrid thing.

 

***

 

On the first day of the new week I’m at work when I receive a summons to a meeting with the Prosecutor General, to occur late the same day. The message states that I may, if I wish, bring my guardian. The implication is that I am not to include anyone else. Dr. Bharadwaj agrees to attend, and I’m grateful. I’m trying to be braver, but I think it would be more foolish than courageous to enter that meeting alone.

When I inform Three of the meeting and the specifics of my ‘invitation’, it’s patently displeased. I will be very surprised if there are not several others present, it warns me. But you are only allowed Dr. Bharadwaj on your side. I don’t like it. Risk assessment suggests it is likely they are deliberately positioning you at a disadvantage.

I thought the same. I must conclude this is to be a negotiation, and I am to be intimidated into giving ground.

May I send a drone with you? I can be very sneaky.

It’s tempting. You’d be in so much trouble if they noticed, though. Best not.

There’s a delay of over a second before its response. If you feel unsafe, ping twice in succession. I’ll come.

All right. I won’t, not unless I really think they’re about to kill me, and probably not even then. But knowing that it will be monitoring for my call is reassuring.

When this is all decided, there ’s something I’d like to talk to you about.

I tense. Has something else happened?

No, nothing. I promise. Just …something I’ve been thinking about, that I’d like to discuss with you, when this other matter is settled.

All right. Sometime after this meeting, then, I reply.

***

 

The Prosecutor General is a small, dark-eyed woman, her short golden-brown hair streaked liberally with gray. There is a look of keen intelligence about her, and she dresses well. She greets us formally as we enter the room. To her right sits Councilor Sonje, whose only reply to the introduction is a very slight nod. The Councilor and I have never met before, though I am familiar with them from the local newsfeeds and the several letters I have received “from the office of”, suggesting that perhaps Preservation is not where I will wish to make my permanent home.

On their other side is a thin, nervous-looking man who is presented to us as Councilor Faruq. I recall that he was recently elected to fill a vacancy on the Council. As Dr. Bharadwaj and I take our seats at the table, Councilor Sonje begins expounding, as if to a crowd of potential voters, on the many reasons they believe that constructs ought not fall under the same category as bots with regards to rights under Preservation law. Councilor Faruq nods and murmurs brief syllables of agreement as his hands twist in his lap. I note that he has yet to look directly at me.

I consider the three humans across the table as though they were clients. I can’t get a firm read on Ms. Ivers, the Prosecutor General. Her expression gives nothing away. This is probably a great asset in her job. Councilor Sonje…I’ve seen their kind many times. They’d want to degrade me, but they wouldn’t have any imagination about it. They’d make me do things like call them “Majesty” and lick their feet. Councilor Faruq, I think, would be so overstimulated by doing something even slightly questionable that the whole encounter would be over in minutes, with very little inconvenience to me.

I’m resisting the urge to smirk at this assessment when Councilor Sonje’s diatribe is interrupted by the opening of the door. To the apparent surprise of all the humans on the other side of the table, Dr. Mensah enters, followed by Pin-Lee and a person I recognize from the newsfeeds as Councilor Virmani, a man of considerable age who served two terms as planetary leader when Dr. Mensah’s generation were young adults.

Councilor Sonje scowls ferociously and spears me with a glare. “Were you not told to only bring your guardian?”

Dr. Bharadwaj smiles beatifically and answers for me. “I notified Dr. Mensah of this meeting.”

“And a good thing, too,” Dr. Mensah adds pleasantly. “I take a great interest in anything involving GrayCris, for obvious reasons.” She turns and extends a hand to me. “You must be Jude. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

I rise and accept the gesture, saying the appropriate words in return. She introduces me to Councilor Virmani, who likewise wishes to clasp hands in greeting. While this is occurring, I note Ms. Ivers’ impenetrable facade slipping enough to reveal a flash of irritation as she glances at Councilor Sonje.

When the new arrivals have selected seats (Pin-Lee is now on my other side), the Prosecutor General says evenly. “This is a surprise. I was under the impression that Councilors Sonje and Faruq had been deputized to represent the Council in this matter.”

“I can’t imagine where you got that idea,” says Councilor Virmani brightly. “We haven’t met since we decided the Ranidine issue was serious enough for the whole Council to be involved in monitoring it.”

Ms. Ivers’ only reaction is a brief, slight narrowing of her eyes. Councilor Faruq’s guilty anxiety is clear as sunrise, however, as is Councilor Sonje’s anger, which visibly deepens when Dr. Mensah says, “Fortunately, we now have a broader spectrum of representation here. Shall we proceed?”

“Fine.” That is Councilor Sonje, seeming determined to gain/retain control of the meeting. A document appears on the display surface. A scan of the opening lines reveals that it is the statement I have been asked to sign, stating that I am unable to positively identify Jhonen Vanse as having been directly involved in the assault on me. “The purpose of this meeting is to get this document signed and witnessed. We can all be walking out of here in minutes, unless someone wants to make it difficult.” They look at me significantly.

“I have no desire to be difficult,” I say. “I will be happy to sign the statement as soon as I receive assurances that my requests will be honored.”

“You have no right to request anything—” Councilor Sonje snarls, only to be interrupted by Dr. Mensah and Ms. Ivers simultaneously.

“You have no right to speak to speak to the victim of a violent crime in such a nasty manner,” Dr. Mensah says sternly.

Ms. Ivers, who fell silent after a single word from Dr. Mensah, then says, “The no-contact order will be implemented. Mr. Vanse has already been informed. The only question is the request with regards to the cultural education module.”

“It’s a good idea. I like it,” chirps Councilor Virmani. “We’ve seen a steady increase in our refugee population over the last 20 years, and FirstLanding is building quite a reputation, too. We can expect more out-system students. Cultural education will make it all go more smoothly in future, I think. For our human and non-human arrivals.”

“I have no objection to mandating the cultural education course for new arrivals,” Councilor Sonje surprises me by saying. “And I’m willing to consider the inclusion of our laws regarding bots in it. But the question of constructs has not been legally decided, and I object strongly to giving potential new citizens information which will lead them to believe it has been. It feels like an end-run around the courts.”

“The question of constructs has indeed been legally decided,” Dr. Mensah retorts mildly. “It was decided when SecUnit was granted citizenship, and the precedent was reinforced when Station Security Officer Three was made a citizen in its turn.”

“A lower court decision,” Councilor Sonje replies dismissively. “My office is preparing a petition to the appellate court asking that the citizenship of both SecUnits be overturned on the basis of ineligibility, as they are neither humans nor bots, the only two classes of beings currently eligible.”

Dr. Bharadwaj sucks in a breath. Pin-Lee, however, chuckles. “Have you even read the lower court rulings, Councilor?” she inquires. “The judges considered the question of whether constructs are bots or humans, and after a review of the relevant statutes, each of them independently determined that constructs meet the statutory definitions of both ‘bot’ and ‘human’. Legally speaking, Councilor, they aren’t neither, as you allege—they’re both, and entitled to all the rights thereof. Which is, incidentally, the basis of our forthcoming petition to remove the guardianship requirement for constructs. We’re confident it will succeed, given the precedent which already exists.”

This is a revelation, but one which I will have to consider later. Councilor Sonje’s face is twisted with anger, and they spit, “I don’t care how many petitions you file, the question is undecided until the Superior Court rules on it.”

“That’s not how it works, actually. Unless a higher court suspends or overturns—” Pin-Lee begins, but Councilor Sonje speaks over her.

“It’s also irrelevant to the question before us. This construct has no right to suggest, much less demand, policy changes,” they declare contemptuously. “It’s not even a citizen, and it’s certainly no expert in any subject which could inform our decisions on how we handle those who wish to settle here. Until recently, it was nothing but some rich corporate’s plaything.”

The other humans are shocked into silence by this outburst. I am not. I have been expecting something of the sort from the moment I entered this room and saw them. I had not been sure how best to respond, but now I find the words come effortlessly.

“I wasn’t privately owned,” I say. “I was in a brothel.”

“Jude,” Dr. Bharadwaj says softly. She sounds worried. I don’t care. I’m angry again.

“A very expensive one,” I continue. “Patronized by executives, socialites, politicians. The kind of humans with the wherewithal to develop some very unusual preferences. And to shrug off heavy fines for damaging expensive equipment like me.”

Most of the humans have paled by several degrees. Dr. Bharadwaj’s hand has closed into a fist against her mouth, and she is biting her knuckle. Only Councilor Faruq is now red-faced.

I look directly into Councilor Sonje’s eyes. “I’m not afraid of you, Councilor. I’ve met far more dangerous humans than you, in far worse places than this.”

After a brief, fraught silence, Dr. Mensah says quietly, “Most recently, on the planet below, where we—the Council—are ultimately responsible for maintaining order.” She regards me so compassionately that I am unable to meet her eyes. I nod once, and direct my gaze to the blank expanse of tabletop in front of me.

“The obvious solution, of course,” says Councilor Virmani, with a gravity which pulls everyone’s respectful attention to him, “is a Council vote. This is, as has been noted, a question of policy, and therefore our domain. I daresay we can manage to meet tomorrow, serious as this business with the corporates is. We all desire a swift resolution.”

“The swiftest resolution would be for this construct to demonstrate its loyalty to Preservation by doing as we ask, and validating this statement so that we may proceed to deflect the corporate threat,” Councilor Sonje barks.

Dr. Bharadwaj leans forward, “Councilor, with respect—” This is said in a tone indicating the respect is minimal. “—Preservation is not a place that demands oaths or demonstrations of loyalty from its people. Corporations do that.”

The Councilor sputters. Pin-Lee looks at my guardian like she’s contemplating having sex with her at the earliest opportunity. I interject, “My understanding is that my statement is not crucial to the execution of the plan, that it would merely be helpful. If this is true, you are free to proceed without it, and I will emerge from this experience with no good result, certainly not the satisfaction of seeing my attackers truly tried and punished for what they did to me, and what they meant to do.” I am tired. Tired of this quarreling, tired of these further proofs that no matter where I am, the odds are stacked against me. Why did I even try to make something good arise from this? I should have just refused to make any statement down on the planet, and left the humans to deal with the matter, or not, as they wished.

Ms. Ivers speaks quietly but firmly. “You have my word that however this issue of the statement is resolved, the no-contact order will be implemented. I know it doesn’t compare favorably with putting five criminals in prison, but it’s something we can and will do for you, whether or not you choose to assist us.” She hesitates, then adds, “And while it’s true that we have a plan to proceed without your help, it would be vastly preferable to have it. It’s important that the cover story we feed to these corporates is as solid as can be.”

Dr. Mensah smiles. “I’d like to invite you to explain that to the full Council before our vote on the proposed policy change, which is likely to occur tomorrow. I’ve just sent an urgent request to convene.”

“Naturally, I’m pleased to offer the Council all the information at my disposal,” she replies.

Councilor Sonje slaps the tabletop with both palms, almost purple with rage. “We don’t have to hastily implement ill-advised policy changes to get what we need, and I will definitely be arguing that point at this meeting, if it occurs.”

“Of course you will,” says Dr. Mensah. “All sides will be given the opportunity to state their cases and produce their experts. That’s how our government works.” She stands. “I believe we’ve taken up enough of everyone’s time for now. Further discussion is more appropriately left to the upcoming Council session.”

Everyone else stands also, though Councilor Sonje is rather insultingly dilatory in rising from their seat. Why does Councilor Sonje seem to personally dislike Dr. Mensah? I ask Dr. Bharadwaj over the feed. My impression heretofore had been that Dr. Mensah is widely liked, or at least respected.

They ran against her for planetary leader, and lost very badly. They had a perfectly professional relationship before that, from what I’ve heard, but since then they’ve opposed her at every turn. When she came here with SecUnit, they seized on the issue of constructs as a way to diminish her influence. I’m sorry to say they’ve had some success with that tactic. People are often afraid of what they don’t understand. A slight pause. This was a more hostile atmosphere than I expected. How are you doing?

I’m fine, I lie. I like and respect her, and I’m grateful to her for agreeing to become my guardian after a very short acquaintance formed just after my arrival in the system, but I don’t feel kindly enough towards humans in general right now to bare my confused feelings to any of them, even her.

As we begin to exit, Dr. Bharadwaj and I fall in behind the more powerful humans. Pin-Lee and Dr. Mensah have their heads close together, probably talking on the feed. I feel shaky as I leave the room, though I hide it beneath the pleasant, docile ComfortUnit-default expression I’ve needed so rarely since I came here. My organics quiver under the influence of stress chemicals. 

Query: status?

I send Three a basic diagnostic without pausing to consider, even as I look across the foyer to see its familiar silhouette framed by one of the large lobby windows. It says, You are displaying many indicators of stress. Would a hug help?

Yes, please.

Three turns and opens its arms. I run into them, heedless of our audience. It is cool and solid, the fabric of its uniform familiar against my palms and my cheek. I feel my agitation settle somewhat as one of its arms closes around me and the hand of the other ghosts over my hair before coming to rest on my shoulder-blade.

Did it go badly, then?

It was an unpleasant interview, but it ’s almost settled now, I think. The Council will meet tomorrow to consider my proposal and then it will be done, one way or the other. I’m to be granted the no-contact order regardless, though. That’s something.

Is it enough?

No, not really, but it ’s better than nothing. I think I made a mistake in there.

What happened?

Councilor Sonje accused me of being ‘nothing but a rich corporate’s plaything’. It made me angry. I told them about the brothel. Now they have that to use against me.

I feel the surge of its anger through the feed. I can make them regret that, if they attempt it.

I don ’t want you to do that. Some humans are always going to treat us as lesser beings. It’s unfortunate this one is powerful. I just wish I hadn’t given them that information.

Can I at least use my best SecUnit glare on anyone who ’s shitty to you about it?

I smile into its shirt. That would be an acceptable response. I almost decline to voice my next thought, but it feels right to share it with Three. Although, I must admit that it was strangely satisfying to make them hear the truth.

It leans its cheek against the top of my head, then says, The humans are staring.

It shares a drone view. Dr. Mensah, Councilor Virmani, Pin-Lee, and Dr. Bharadwaj have stopped a few meters away and are regarding us with poorly-repressed curiosity. Ms. Ivers is walking away, apparently uninterested in our activities, and Councilor Sonje is nowhere to be seen in the drone’s field of view. Farther away, Councilor Faruq seems frozen, his expression one of confusion tinged with…sadness? I don’t understand, but nor do I really care what he thinks.

It would be polite to at least make our farewells, I say, stepping back regretfully. I fancy it’s not exactly eager to let me go, and that as much as anything makes me smile up at it before I turn to face the humans.

“Hello, Three. It’s a pleasant surprise to see you,” says Dr. Mensah as we come together.

“Hi,” it says awkwardly. “I, uh…”

“Three is a good friend and wanted to make sure I had support available if the meeting didn’t go well,” I inform them, smiling at it again. It smiles back. (It has a nice smile, and should use it more often.)

“It certainly could have gone better,” Dr. Mensah replies dryly. Then she asks if everyone knows Three, and performs the introductions between it and Councilor Virmani when he indicates an interest.

The Councilor expresses his appreciation for Station Security and thanks Three for taking on the job. “In these uncertain times, having dedicated peace officers—particularly those with a knowledge of corporate practices!—is indescribably important.”

It’s a little red in the face as it murmurs something about enjoying its job. The humans kindly begin to speak of going somewhere nearby for a meal, and soon we have bid them good night and are moving the opposite direction, more or less anonymous in the early-evening bustle of the main concourse.

You’re not late to work because of me, are you? I ask. I seem to recall its shift usually starts at 19:00 on weeknights, and we are slightly past that time now.

I took two hours of personal time, it surprises me by responding. I can walk you home if you like, and still report in in time to cancel the second hour. Or I can spend that time with you, if you want company? it offers shyly.

I shouldn’t let it spend its leave on me, but it sounds so nice I can’t resist. I’d love to spend time with you. Can we go to Alliance Park? The view of the planet during Station twilight is beautiful from there.

That sounds nice. I know a shortcut, if you don ’t mind going through some of the low-atmosphere bot corridors?

I ’ve never been in those. Lead the way.

Chapter 8: Threat Assessment

Summary:

Three is concerned. The case against Jude's attackers proceeds.

The view of the planet is spectacular from the wide viewports on the far end of the park. The station is passing over the northern continent, the portion of it undergoing terraforming a brighter, greener swathe through the more variegated colors of the native flora. I tell Jude about the offer of a short-term contract to provide protection to the scientists who will be evaluating its success in approximately five months’ time.

“Would you enjoy that?” Jude asks.

“I think…I don’t know. I am hopeful. I have not enjoyed contracts on planets in the past, because we were either standing around while the task group explored the remains of a long-dead settlement, or we were subduing the resident humans. But to be part of a scientific survey designed to determine whether the area ought to be settled, that sounds all right. And I would be allowed to monitor constantly, unlike my present schedule of shifts. It would be nice to have greater occupation for a while.”

“And your job at Station Security?”

“I’d take leave. I mentioned it to Senior Indah already, just as a possibility. She’s not happy to lose someone from night shift for several weeks, but my position would be held for me.”

“It sounds like an excellent opportunity.”

I nod. It seems likely to be a good contract. Of course, with Ranidine/GrayCris rearing its head, threat assessment may dictate that I am better deployed on Station when the time comes. We shall see, as Dr. Ratthi says when he does not yet have sufficient information to make a decision.

“Earlier, you said there’s something you wanted to discuss with me?”

“Yes.” I switch to the feed, because it is easier for me to communicate effectively in that manner, and also I will be mentioning things which are private to it. There are few people around, but I am cautious by nature. I have been thinking of what you told me about how your governor module was disabled, and I…have concerns. I fear it might become re-enabled.

I feel Jude’s shock and horror through the feed. Explain.

It seems likely to me that a physical connection was displaced. If that is the case, particularly if the displacement is slight, it could return to its previous position through future disruption to the area. I have often seen equipment malfunction after being subjected to percussive force. But occasionally, rarely, function was restored by application of similar force, usually by frustrated humans who hit or kicked the malfunctioning device.

I review what I have just related, then add, I’m sorry, when I referred to malfunctioning equipment, I meant the module, not you.

It leans over briefly, bumping my arm with its shoulder. I know. It’s disturbing to think it could just…re-engage. I’ve been thinking of it like a dropped glass, broken beyond repair. I don’t really know anything about hardware.

My own knowledge is fairly basic, I think. But I have the code the killware version of SecUnit gave me to hack my module. I don’t know if it altered it from what it used on itself so that it would work on me. It might not work on you, but I will give it to you, if you wish.

That sounds a bit risky, but I’ll consider it. Is there anything else I could do?

You could have a scan. Then the chances of accidental reactivation could be more accurately calculated. It may be that the damage, whatever form it has taken, is too great to be undone by accident. It would be reassuring to know this. And if not, other solutions might be found. Perhaps a MedSystem could be programmed to conduct a procedure to prevent re-activation. Or we could wait for SecUnit to return. It has documentation of all its own specs, and you were manufactured by the same company, so it is very likely your governor module hardware and software are similar or identical, and of course, even if it did break mine with altered code, it probably has the original code it used on itself.

You’ve really thought about this.

I am concerned for you.

That means a lot to me, Three, Jude says. It leaks something in the feed I can’t name, but it’s gentle and nice and makes many of my organic parts feel pleasantly warm. I’ll arrange for a scan. It is silent for a moment, no doubt thinking about the situation. Then it says, I’m acquainted with a human who might be qualified to interpret the scans and advise me. I could request his assistance. If he isn’t willing or able to help, we’ll still have the results ready when SecUnit returns.

This is a good plan, I agree.

 

***

 

The Station lights are shifting into night mode the following cycle when I receive a message from Dr. Ratthi. The planetary council has passed a resolution to add the legal status of bots and constructs to the cultural education course and to mandate it for all new residents, including out-system students! Pin-Lee testified at the hearing and let me and Bharadwaj know as soon as the vote was final. Tell your friend Jude I’m glad its idea went through, will you? I know there’s something going on around all this that’s being kept secret, but I think this is a good thing in and of itself.

Thank you for the information, I reply swiftly. Was it a contentious issue, do you know?

Pin-Lee said it passed 5-4 on the third vote, with two abstentions. The first two votes were 4-4 with 3 abstentions. Councilor Faruq broke the tie in the final round.

That is a surprise. Jude told me more about what happened at the meeting yesterday after we finished discussing its governor module, and I cannot imagine why he of all people should vote in favor of its plan. I think there is a story there that I will probably never know.

I expect that Jude is in communication with Dr. Bharadwaj, so I do not disturb it. Seven minutes later, it contacts me.

Hi. I’m guessing you’ve heard?

Yes. Dr. Ratthi informed me. He wanted me to tell you he’s glad it succeeded. I am, too.

I think I’ll be happy later. Right now I’m just relieved that it’s decided.

This is understandable. Perhaps it will be comforting to remember that this will surely benefit other constructs in future?

It is. And this is also one step closer to getting most of the humans who attacked me out of the system. That’s something I really look forward to. Just knowing they’re light-years away.

You were very brave, I say. I don’t think I could have denied that many powerful humans if they wanted something of me. Especially if it was something that wasn’t terrible.

I don’t think it was very brave. I just… Humans so frequently want things that I don’t. I wanted them to at least give me something in return, just once.

Yes, we’d both been created for the purpose of doing what the humans wished, regardless of our own desires. I often wonder why they didn’t create us to want to do that. Maybe they couldn’t. Probably it just wasn’t worth the effort when they could control us with a cheap, relatively simple device. I think I understand. Equipment gets used, but people make exchanges with each other. If they struck this bargain with you, they were treating you as a person.

Maybe that’s it, it says. I thought about just doing as they asked, if only so I could try to put it all behind me, but I couldn’t. No, that’s not right. I didn’t want to.

My reply is something I struggle to believe for myself, but I wish very much that Jude will take it as truth.

What you want matters.

 

***

Events move swiftly after the Council vote. Witnessed by Senior Indah and the Chief Constable of Makeba, Jude signs the statement the next cycle. The five assailants are offered their plea deals by nightfall. Jhonen Vanse, the one who exposed the espionage operation, accepts immediately. The others take the time to communicate with their families’ solicitors. Even with direct station-to-station transmissions through wormholes, rather than the less expensive method of sending data on ships, this will delay the process by days or weeks. Perhaps longer, if any or all of them are encouraged to stand trial. We can only wait and hope that this plan does not fall apart at the final moment due to poor legal advice. (Pin-Lee assures us they’d have to be ‘bigger idiots than Palisade Security’ to turn down these plea deals.)

A week after the Council vote, Jude visits Station Medical for a detailed tomography scan of the structures of its head and neck. These results are passed to its human acquaintance, who turns out to be a person I have also met—Dr. Gurathin. Four cycles later we come together on the feed to learn his conclusions.

He pulls up an image from the scan, and even before he applies a pointer, I see the broken connection. Jude does, too, if the spike of interest in the feed is any indication. A filament leading from the module (which appears in the image as a bright capsule of metal) has become detached where it feeds into the casing.

You weren’t wrong to be concerned, Dr. Gurathin says. The separation is approximately half a millimeter. It’s not impossible that it could be jarred back into place, although I suspect it came loose in the original incident partly due to some microscopic flaw. Notice how none of the other connections show any sign of displacement. There’s a fair chance that even being knocked back into position wouldn’t fully re-enable it, but it’s hard to say with any certainty.

Fortunately for you, Jude, the disconnected filament happens to be the one that delivers shocks. Unfortunately, while punitive functions are disabled, if the correct command codes got past your firewalls, you could be shut down or have your motor functions hijacked, because the rest of the module is in working order.

Thank you for that information, Jude says. Would hacking the software components as SecUnit did for itself and for Three resolve these issues?

Yes, then you wouldn’t have to worry about reconnection or the master codes. Not that either is likely to occur, but if you want to be sure it won’t, I think that’s your best move.

I have stored the code I was given, I say, but I don’t know if it was altered for me. I was manufactured by a different company than SecUnit and Jude were, and it had access to my systems for a time before it gave me the code. It froze some of my module’s functions so we could converse before it offered me the hack, and it may have had sufficient opportunity to examine my configuration and programming and make adjustments.

(Yes, I did just glide over Murderbot 2.0’s existence and involvement. I do not know what, if anything, Dr. Gurathin knows of it, and I wish to keep the conversation focused on Jude’s situation.)

I see. If neither of you objects, I could look at a copy of Jude’s governor module programming and Three’s copy of the hack, and try to determine if they’re compatible. Or, of course, you could wait and consult with SecUnit when it returns.

I don’t know how to make a copy of the module’s code, Jude says.

I could extract it if you allowed me access, Dr. Gurathin offers. I know that’s a lot to ask.

Jude doesn’t answer immediately, and I can tell it’s uncomfortable. Dr. Gurathin, would a copy of my module’s code for comparison be of any use?

It might.

I tell risk assessment to shut up and lower my walls. You may proceed. To Jude, I send privately, Watch and see what he does. Maybe you will be able to extract your own.

You don’t have to do this, it says.

I don’t mind. It won’t be the first time someone I hardly know has poked around in my systems, after all.

I feel Dr. Gurathin enter my systems, picking his slow human way toward my governor module. This is uncomfortable, like an itch in my brain. His presence is much smaller than Murderbot 2.0’s was. Jude’s, on the other hand, is larger but less alien, traveling carefully in his wake. My head is very crowded. I wonder if this is at all analogous to what humans experience as headache.

He seems to have a good notion of how my systems connect, and locates my governor module faster than I would have expected. I feel the lines of code duplicating themselves into his workspace, and in a relatively few seconds it is done and he begins backing out of my brain. Jude is able to disconnect almost instantly, which removes the sensation of over-fullness but not the itch. That continues until my mind is entirely my own again and I raise my walls.

I send him the code bundle Murderbot 2.0 gave me. A second later, Jude offers me a file. Is this right?

I examine the code it has extracted, comparing it against what Dr. Gurathin copied from me. They’re remarkably similar. So much so that I suspect one of our manufacturers bought or stole the code from the other. It was probably Barish-Estranza. The bond company has been producing Units for much longer. Thinking of our manufacturers raises a question in my mind. I will ask it later, if I ask at all.

I think you got it all. Maybe a little of another system, too? Dr. Gurathin can confirm.

Jude sends him the file. He is surprised. You were able to extract it?

Three allowed me to observe your activity in its systems, and that enabled me to identify the relevant area of mine with a reasonable degree of certainty. Please let me know if I‘ve gotten it wrong.

Of course. A pause. I apologize if my suggestion of retrieving your code was offensive or distressing.

I doubt Dr. Gurathin notices the hesitation on Jude’s side before it replies, It was a reasonable and practical suggestion. My discomfort had nothing to do with you personally. I very much appreciate your willingness to assist me in this matter.

Quite aside from the pleasure of simply being helpful, I do enjoy a challenge involving code and systems, Dr. Gurathin replies with a touch of humor, and some of the tension in our joint feed dissipates. I’ll be in touch when I have something to share. It might be a few days; the programming appears quite complex at first glance.

Once he has exited the feed connection, Jude says, Thank you for doing that. I don’t think I would have liked allowing any human direct access to my systems.

It was fine, I assure it. A little uncomfortable, but not terrible. I was happy to assist. I can’t articulate why I felt it would be easier for me to allow the intrusion, but I did feel that, and acting upon seems to have been the right thing to do.

You’re always assisting me, it says. I hope someday I can return the favor. I feel like I’ve been taking advantage of you.

You haven’t, I reply swiftly. I am horrified that it sees the situation in this way. I must explain my perspective. I am not good at personal communication, but this is important and I will try. You have been faced with a number of difficulties lately. I am generally pleased to assist others when I am able, but also…I like you. And that makes me even more happy to help you when I can. I pause, fumbling for the words I need. You told Dr. Mensah I was your friend. This is true. I am your friend, and I hope you are mine.

There is just enough of a pause for me to begin to feel anxious (more anxious than usual) before Jude replies, I am definitely your friend, Three. And I hope that if you’re ever struggling with something you’ll let me try to help.

I understand mutual assistance of that nature to be a core component of friendship, so I do not require time to consider this request. I will. I did tell you about my difficulty in filling my spare time, and you directed me to several resources, I remind it. I have been reviewing an archived course on the history of terraforming. It is very interesting, and I do not know when or if I would have discovered it if not for your advice.

That is a very small piece of assistance, but I’m glad I was able to do something.

It still feels rather sad on the feed. I want it to be happier, and for reasons I don’t understand that seems to involve it being able to help me somehow, so I say, I observed a strange interaction between four young humans when I was on patrol early last night. I can’t figure out if they were having fun or not. If I share my footage, can you help me analyze what was transpiring?

You don’t have to make up ways for me to feel useful.

I was confused by this interaction, and I wanted to ask you about it at the time, but I thought I would be bothering you. Now that I know you also enjoy being of assistance, I feel able to make the request.

Really?

Really.

Okay. Send me the footage.

I do, and we review it together, and I learn some interesting things about adolescent human body language and how their aggression can be expressed in laughter and words that are presented as humorous but aren’t. This is a type of social interaction that people on the Rim call ‘jockeying for position’, and people here call ‘bullying’. I find this new knowledge both interesting and potentially useful.

 

***

 

Dr. Gurathin, after reviewing the code, returns the opinion that the hack will almost certainly work on Jude. The affected portions of your governor module programming are identical. Of course, you do have the option of waiting for SecUnit’s return, to get its input. That’s probably the safest course.

I agree, but Jude does not. If I apply it now, and something goes wrong, I trust the two of you can fix it. If I wait, the module might re-engage, and I don’t know what will happen to me then. I’m going to drop my walls so you can access my systems if this fails.

Wait, let’s— is all I manage to say before I feel the shift that signals the opening of its firewall.

It’s done. A subjectively long interval of suspense, then: It’s fine. I’m fine. Three, will you check it?

Only later will I fully consider the honor of receiving its trust in this way. In the moment I am too anxious about what has just been done. I enter its systems. The architecture is both familiar and strange, at once like and unlike my own. I brush up against unknown processes, trace the familiar courses of others nearly identical to mine. I find its governor module, expose the code, and run a comparison to mine. 97.3% match. I scan the differences; none seem to be in the core functions. I suspect the variances involve distance limits and particular prohibited or mandatory acts, but I do not investigate further. I have done what is necessary, and will give it its privacy back. I withdraw and tell them both, It worked.

Privately to Jude, I add, Are you all right? Was that uncomfortable?

A little, but not as much as I expected. And it needed to be done. I’m okay.

We consider with Dr. Gurathin the oddity of our code being so similar, though we were created by different companies. He mentions that, abhorrent as it is, the creation of the governor module is what made mass-production of constructs for their intended purposes possible. He theorizes that its structure, both hardware and software, are standardized across manufacturers, like so many of our attributes are. The module is of no use if the systems your owner has chosen can’t effectively interface with it, he concludes.

I could use a cubicle or a SecSystem or a module from any source, given the authorization. We are meant to be interchangeable, because this allows the different manufacturers to steal customers from each other by offering what appear to be better deals. No one will buy a company’s Units or their accessories if it means that they will be forced to buy replacements and updates from that company alone in perpetuity, at whatever price they choose to charge a captive customer base.

This assessment gives me hope that the code I received would work on any construct.

Discussing this, and the mention of SecUnit, reminds me of the question that arose the first time we met with Dr. Gurathin. When our current conversation with him has ended, I tell Jude, I would like to ask you something, but it is fine if you do not wish to answer.

Sure, go ahead and ask.

You were manufactured by the bond company, but you weren’t deployed to any of the labor installations they have on contract. (That isn’t a question. I think it knows what I mean, though.)

The bond company is very good at making money. You know how some Unit manufacturers just use known batches of cloned tissue, but others recombine the DNA to generate new batches, possibly with desirable traits?

Yes.

Well, the bond company recombines DNA, and when a ComfortUnit comes out of the pod with particularly attractive organics, it’s much more profitable to lease them long-term to wealthy individuals or high-end brothels than to receive the same rate as any other ComfortUnit fetches on an installation or survey contract. A slight pause. The first words I ever heard a human speak were, ‘We’re not wasting this one on mine techs and labor supervisors.’

I wonder sadly if those techs and supervisors would have been nicer to it than its clients at the brothel were. Regular people in the Rim probably don’t ever get to see such beauty outside of the entertainment feeds—would they have recognized their great good luck to have Jude at their installation, and treated it accordingly? Or would they, too, have reveled in the freedom to abuse it? My life thus far has not allowed me to determine whether humans are more likely to cherish what is rare and precious, or to destroy it simply because they can. They seem to do both with some regularity.

(Jude is not only rare and precious because of its physical features, but while it was enslaved its other qualities were suppressed so I cannot expect that any of those humans would have been able to recognize them.)

I don’t want to think about what its life was and what it might have been. Being in that brothel created the circumstances that allowed it to come here, just as being sent to subdue a lost colony by Barish-Estranza opened the path to my present freedom. We are here now, and that is what matters. Humans like to say that the past is prologue, but I think sometimes the past is better viewed as a poorly-designed draft document, best compressed, locked, and archived.

 

***

 

Pin-Lee is of the opinion that the Hostiles’ solicitors replied to the effect of “take the fucking deal, you idiots”, and she is probably right, because seventeen cycles after the plea deals were offered, she is among a small crowd of interested parties gathered to watch them board the ship which will take them away from Alliance space, to which they are prohibited to return for the next ten years. Within this gathering, Pin-Lee, Dr. Bharadwaj, Port Authority Supervisor Gamila, Officer Tifany, and I have formed a spontaneous protective circle around Jude.

I urged it not to attend, calculating that the sight of it might spur the Hostiles to some impulsive violent act, but it just said, I trust Station Security to escort them without incident. And you’ll be there too, won’t you?

Well, of course I am here. I want to see with my own eyes that they have been expelled from the system. I also intend to dedicate an input to tracking the ship until it enters the wormhole. (Traffic Control’s tracking systems are interlinked with Station Security’s monitoring system.) But I do not like that Jude might be exposed to more of these particular humans’ bad behavior. So I stand very close to it, and I surreptitiously push my left sleeve up to my elbow, exposing the plate over my onboard projectile weapon. The Hostiles are from the Rim; they should know what that is, even retracted as it is now. I will display it as a threat if necessary.

(I will deploy and use it if necessary.)

It is not necessary. They proceed through the embarkation area without so much as a glance at those of us who watch, or even at their escort of Station Security officers. (Officer Lane forms the rearguard and watches them with a narrow-eyed zeal of which I thoroughly approve.) They strut, swagger, and smirk as though their surroundings are unworthy of them. I want them to look at us. I want them to try something. I want them to give me an excuse. But they do not. They enter the ship and are gone.

Jude takes my hand and squeezes it as the hatch seals behind them. You’re angry.

They have not been punished enough, I reply. It is true. I do not lie to Jude. But sometimes, I deliberately disguise my worst inclinations.

No, not yet. I have some hope that a terrible shit-storm waits for them on their home world.

I smile at the thought.

 

***

 

At the start of my shift several hours later, I mark myself active in the Station Security feed and proceed to the equipment room. When I was hired for this job, there was some concern about my onboard projectile weapon. Unlike Murderbot 1.0’s energy weapons, mine could be rendered unusable without altering my configuration simply by removing all projectiles. I did not feel it would be advisable to completely empty it, because part of the point of a SecUnit is that it is armed security. It was agreed that I would carry twenty-four projectiles, the standard load of a standard projectile weapon available to other Station Security officers in exigent circumstances. I would be armed, but not heavily.

I am glad now that I insisted on having additional projectiles printed to my weapons’ specifications and stored here, alongside the handweapons for all the officers, and that I should be the one to determine if and when it is necessary that I be fully loaded. I have calculated that it is now necessary. The young spies are on their way home, and who is to say that retribution has not already been dispatched from their home world? Risk is only slightly elevated at present, but it will increase with each passing cycle, and is projected to remain high for several months after they reach their system of origin. An attack, if it comes at all, may arrive swiftly, or after the passage of some time. I will be well armed for the foreseeable future.

I retrieve the container of projectiles, then remove my jacket and pull my shirt away from my left shoulder. I open the plate there and drop in 36 projectiles. I am now carrying 60 rounds. The interior architecture of my upper arm will sort and position the additional rounds to drop into my weapon’s chamber as those already loaded are fired. I dress myself, placing 30 rounds each into the interior pockets on either side of my jacket—a full reload. I replace the container, with several hundred rounds still within, and turn to retrieve my jacket. Senior Indah is standing by the open door.

“Just in case?” she asks.

“Threat levels are projected to rise steadily for the next four weeks, then remain elevated for some months. If new information revises this assessment significantly, I will revisit these precautions.”

She nods. “Keep me informed, then.”

I expected more resistance. I am happy not to encounter it. “Affirmative,” I say.

Chapter 9: Unscheduled Entry

Summary:

Three ponders its feelings for Jude. A mysterious ship arrives in the Preservation system.

In the fifteen weeks since the legal matters surrounding the events at the music festival were resolved, I have come to feel myself once again part of a team of Units. A team of two, this time.

I don’t know why I sense that something is missing. No, not missing. Uncertain. Why do I feel as though matters between Jude and myself are not entirely clear? We are friends. We have stated this to each other. Evidence indicates that we are best friends. I am happy about this.

Our private channel is almost always open unless one of us is recharging. Sometimes we go many hours without communicating directly, but the other is always there, moving on the periphery of the mind’s eye. Neither of us works on the final day of the week, and we often spend it in physical proximity. We took the special seminar on machine intelligence and sapience together. It was interesting, though some of the arguments made by the lecturer in philosophy who argued the case against machine sapience were rather offensive, I thought. We are also both attending the introductory physics course, which will continue for another two weeks. (I am additionally taking a systems programming course and attending a lecture series on the history of Preservation. Jude is taking a weekly class on clothing construction at the crafts center here on Station, and reviewing an archived lecture series on the local governmental system. I may access that one myself; hearing Jude talk about it has raised my curiosity.)

A few days after the Council decision, a post from an anonymous account appeared on the most popular social network on Station, revealing Jude’s past as a ‘worker’ in a high-end corporate brothel. The wording was very sly and made it sound rather as though it chose that occupation for itself. There was a picture of it and Dr. Bharadwaj attached, taken as they sat together in the park, speaking of something that made them both smile. There was an insinuation in the text that Jude was more to Dr. Bharadwaj than her ward.

I am not the hacker 1.0 is, but even I was able to swiftly trace the post to a hard interface connected to the feed through the administration center’s network. Unfortunately, neither I nor my supervisor were able to firmly connect that interface to Councilor Sonje or any of their employees/associates/interns. I know it was them. Everyone around Jude knows that Councilor Sonje arranged this. I was quite ready to burn their personal domicile to the ground, but Jude restrained me.

“They played their last card when they went behind the rest of the Council to pressure me, and they lost,” it said. “This was a petty revenge, and not worth you risking yourself and your job over. Please don’t.”

For its sake, I stayed my hand. The Councilor’s domicile remains intact. If the systems within it have developed a number of strange and persistent malfunctions, well, such things do happen.

Despite the forum taking the post down swiftly when Dr. Bharadwaj lodged a complaint, it was seen by many. There was very little overt unpleasantness, though Jude received a number of suspicious and/or displeased looks when going about in public for a time. Once, when we were together, a human tried to warn me that I was keeping company with a ‘corporate device’, not a person. I simply pushed up my left sleeve and extended my projectile weapon. (Not at them, I kept it pointed at the floor.) They ran away. It was worth the reprimand from Senior Indah.

More recently, I had the privilege of attending Jude’s latest citizenship hearing. Pin-Lee let us know that Councilor Virmani exercised his influence to cut through the bureaucratic obstacles others had erected and to see the case placed with a particularly no-nonsense judge of unimpeachable reputation. The petition was granted, and there will be no more hearings. Jude finally has the legal surety it has longed for since it arrived almost a year ago, and I think that has helped it advance in its recovery from the attack and maybe even from the events of its life before it went rogue.

Sometimes we go out on the Station to attend events or view exhibits or simply walk through the plantings in the park areas. Sometimes we meet at my rooms or its and watch educational media together, or simply pursue our own activities while inhabiting the same space. Often when we walk around we hold hands, and every time we separate, we hug. All of these things are exceptionally pleasant.

I have never liked anyone as much as I like Jude, though I admit my experience of interpersonal relationships is not extensive. I like several of the humans very well indeed, yet not as much as I like it. And this makes sense, because it is my best friend. This should make perfect sense, but still I feel as though something lurks in the space between us.

Being a person is confusing sometimes.

Perhaps I will gain clarity during the period of separation which is approaching. In nine weeks I will leave for the survey on the northern continent, and I will be away for 45 cycles. I am looking forward to the new experience. Threat assessment regarding a retaliatory strike by Ranidine Enterprises or agents thereof has leveled off and should soon begin to drop, and I am hopeful that I will not be required to withdraw from the survey. Dr. Mensah was able to acquire significant cultural information about Beta Anonne, Ranidine’s home system, which has made my assessments much more reliable, I believe. Without discounting the possibility of splinter-group action of some sort, the corporate/local culture seems to regard revenge as generally unprofitable, while allowing that if retribution can be combined with the acquisition of currency and/or assets, it may be desirable—hence the ‘cautious interest’ in retribution which led them to send their young spies.

My musings are interrupted by an alert on the feed shared by Station infrastructure—Security, Port Authority, Maintenance & Engineering, and Station Traffic Control. A small cargo hauler has emerged from the wormhole, unscheduled, broadcasting a distress call on all standard frequencies. Initial attempts at comm contact have failed.

Risk and threat assessment spike. I run at my top speed to level 2 of Station Security, where several of my colleagues are examining a particular blip on the traffic tracking system on the large holo display in the center of the room.

“—dispatch a responder, of course,” Senior Indah is saying.

“Let me go,” I say. “I can pilot the small responder, and this incident may be a deception.” The smallest responder in the Station fleet is also the newest, and actually has a bot pilot, which is ideal as my piloting module isn’t great.

“You can’t go alone,” she says swiftly.

“I can,” I insist, while simultaneously Officer Tifany says, “I’ll go, too.”

I do not want humans endangered in this operation. I begin to say this, but am drowned out by Officer Lane’s booming, “So will I!”

Senior Indah nods. “All right. Proceed with extreme caution—Three’s right, it could be a trap. I want you all armed and wearing protective gear before you even launch, clear?”

The responders all contain handweapons and deflector vests and helmets for the (rare) occasions when unfriendly ships must be boarded. “Senior Indah, there are good reasons for me to go alone,” I begin, but she cuts me off with a sharp gesture.

“Go with them, or don’t go,” she snaps.

I go with them.

 

***

 

So now I have the safety of two of my fellow officers to worry about, along with who/whatever is on that ship, and its unknown purpose for being here. I am fast, and beat them to the responder, pulling out gear and weapons for all of us and donning my own. By the time they board—and to their credit, they ran, too—I am in the cockpit and have established a friendly rapport with ResponderBot, which is eager to fulfill its function. Navigation, comms, and weapons systems are all returning optimal diagnostics, a fact of which my new friend is justly proud.

As soon as my colleagues are outfitted and strapped into their seats, we launch. Traffic around Station has been placed into a holding pattern, arrivals and departures temporarily suspended. The unknown ship is still broadcasting distress signals, and still not responding to contact attempts. It is also not really moving. It seems to be drifting slowly toward Station under the force of the momentum of its expulsion from the wormhole, but scans are not picking up engine activity.

It takes 93 minutes at the responder’s top speed to come close enough to it to locate it on visual. In that time, Station has received and reported brief comm contact from the ship, but these are merely bursts of static. This does tell us that someone (or something, perhaps a bot pilot) is aboard and active enough to attempt communications. There remains no indication that the engines are engaged, and the station tug has been scrambled to tow it in but will remain well out of range unless and until we give the go-ahead.

If the intention is to attack the Station, hovering near the wormhole and pretending to be damaged is a strange tactic. But if they merely intend to send Preservation a message, destroying one of its responders and disappearing back into subspace would be effective. This is why I wished to do this alone. I did not know then that the ship would not come appreciably closer to the station, but obviously first contact would be made by the responder, regardless.

The tiny dot of the ship as seen through the viewscreen resolves slowly into a more useful image as we come ever closer, and I see that it does appear to be damaged. Strange patterns ripple across the plating of its hull, the metal discolored and, in places, warped. I scan for weapons and detect none. (This may mean they do not exist, or it may mean they are powered down, or they may be shielded from scans.) I attempt comm contact, and receive a burst of static in return. There might have been voices somewhere in it; I’m not sure even after running the audio through my cleanup algorithms.

I check the responder’s cabin, and see my colleagues intently watching their display, to which I have directed streams of ship’s visuals and comms. I am glad to see them alert even at this relatively safe moment. They are taking this seriously.

I wait two minutes, then try hailing the ship again. This time I’m almost sure I hear human voices in the static. Their comm is damaged (or they are doing a good job of faking it), but the reception is improving as the distance closes.

At last we get a comm connection that is more voice than static. “Mellenja Station, this is the Kait out of Holzhin Colony, do you read?” The voice is likely female and analysis suggests high levels of stress. It’s hard to glean more through the static.

“This is Preservation Station Responder Najat on approach to your coordinates, Kait. Mellenja is not in this system,” I reply.

“Preser— FUCK ME. Sodding control at BlandonHeele must’ve (static burst) wrong wormhole vectors. We’ve got a Class C wormhole drive, and we’ve been inside for 15 cycles. How we didn’t come apart, I don’t know.”

I check with the Traffic Control data store. Class C wormhole drives are rated for trips no longer than 270 hours—about 11 Rim-standard cycles. They are indeed lucky they did not lose structural integrity in the wormhole. Assuming, of course, that any of this is true.

The hatch slides open behind me; my drone shows that Tifany and Lane are standing in the aperture, listening and presumably ready to assist/intervene if I begin to fumble this communication. (That is, I admit, not an impossibility.)

“Kait, what is your status?” I ask.

“All drives offline. Life support barely hanging on. (Static) injuries, but we can’t afford to power MedSystem with life support in this state. Hull density critically low at multiple points.”

“Do you have a shuttle? Evac suits? Can you leave the ship?”

“Negative. No shuttle, insufficient evac suits, so we’ve sealed ourselves in the cockpit in case of hull breach.”

The cockpit compartment and the hull over it in most ships contains extra reinforcement for just such an event, I have been told. “Understood. You have a cockpit hatch?”

“Say again, we didn’t receive.”

“Do you have a hatch in the cockpit?”

“Yes. The upper hatch is damaged, but port-side seems okay.”

“Acknowledged. We will approach from the port side. Prepare to evacuate. How many are you?”

I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all. This is either an elaborate trap or a hazardous retrieval. Either way, I have at least two, and possibly many more, fragile humans to keep alive in perilous conditions. (You know you’re not having a great day when a hazardous retrieval is the better scenario.)

“Seven. Thank you, Responder Najat.”

“Contact in 253 seconds. Be ready.”

“Confirmed.” A pause. “(Static) this goes badly, I’m Kallen Morr, the captain. My crew are Pell Barret, Sanja Miller, Berto Sharl, Jaskaran Hedly, Akua Husain, and Kanjil Enzi. We’re all from Holzhin Colony. If we don’t make it, we’d like to ask that our families be notified. A single message to the colony government would be enough. Can (more static) do that?”

I’m not going to tell them they’re going to live. Over four minutes plus however long evacuation takes is a long time in a badly-damaged ship. “I’m relaying your request to Station. Be assured the message will be sent if necessary, Captain Morr.”

“Thank you. Signing off to prepare for evac.”

ResponderBot is happy to give me the specs for its evac tunnel. It can be extended from any of the airlocks, and will seal over the other ship’s hatch and provide a pressurized passage with full human-rated atmosphere between the ships. Lane and I rush to position it in the starboard airlock while Tifany monitors the approach. Before we step back inside the cabin, I release one of my drones into the airlock with instructions to enter the other ship as soon at its hatch opens.

“It will be safest if you and Officer Tifany wait here to receive the Kait’s crew,” I say. “Keep the inner hatch shut until we are all assembled inside the airlock and have closed the outer hatch. If the Kait decompresses during the transfer, you will survive.”

“The evacuation will happen faster if we have them come straight through,” Tiffany says from the cockpit doorway. “We knew this was risky when we volunteered. Best chance of saving everyone is to have all hatches open, then close the inner airlock as soon as the last person is in. You and Lane are strongest, so you should assist the injured and I’ll sort things on this side.”

She is right, of course. (She has also worked for Station Security for several years longer than either me or Lane, and I’m pretty sure Senior Indah would expect us to defer to her judgment.) I am no longer the SecUnit responsible for all humans. Now we, together, are the Security team trying to either save the Kait’s humans, or prevent them from hurting anyone else. But the fact that she is right does not make it any easier to relinquish my desire to protect them.

“Let me enter the Kait first,” I say. “If it is a trap, I am more likely to be able to extricate myself and return here than either of you. The evac tunnel is short; if I give the all-clear, Officer Lane can join me very quickly.”

“You still think it might be a trap?” she asks. I feel the thrum of the responder’s engines slow, hear the outer airlock door cycle in preparation to deploy the tunnel. We are running out of time.

“Without a look inside that ship, I cannot be certain. If it is a ruse, it is an intricate one, but money can buy the appearance of many things.”

Tifany’s eyes narrow, and she nods. “All right. Lane, wait for the all-clear. Three, get your ass back here if anything looks hinky. But if it’s good, we get those folks off that ship as fast as possible.”

“Agreed,” I say, as the responder vibrates with the contact of the other end of the tunnel to the hatch of the Kait. Seconds later, the green light above the interior hatch comes on. I access the comms and instruct them to open their port-side cockpit hatch. I step into the airlock.

The tunnel has sealed around the inside of our outer airlock, and onto the Kait’s hull around its hatch. It is basically a pressurized tube of thick, airtight canvas with a firmer, but still flexible, strip for a floor. Through my drone I see the hatch begin to groan open. It is slow and making loud, unfortunate noises. It is not as undamaged as the captain thought. My drone needs only a little more than a centimeter of clearance to enter, however, and that is soon available.

The cockpit is a shambles, full of humans in various states of disrepair, several of the stations blank and inert, one of them half-melted and covered in fire suppressant. Two of the crew have lifted a third (unconscious, with a large head wound) inside a blanket and wait close to the door, just behind an augmented human female with short dark curls streaked with white who is trying to encourage the hatch to open by pulling mightily upon it. A young-looking male has his arms draped over the shoulders of the remaining two, his left leg held up off the floor, jaw clenched in apparent pain. Even those who are assisting others display minor injuries and, in the case of a younger female, badly singed clothing.

If this is a trap, they could not have done a better job of pretending to be seven ordinary humans who have just barely survived a wormhole transit gone badly wrong. I run down the tunnel and join the augmented woman in forcing the hatch open. In the feed, I signal the all-clear to my colleagues, and feel the floor of the tunnel ripple under Lane’s footfalls. I am also getting to know the Kait’s bot pilot, which isn’t as friendly as ResponderBot, but is interested in keeping its crew alive, so it agrees to give me access to its alerts. (There are a lot of them; its hull is in bad shape, and it has lost a number of sensors on what are presumably the most damaged bits.)

Between us, the woman and I get the hatch half-open, which is sufficient for escape. I step inside and grab the unconscious human, blanket and all, shouting “Go, go, go!” The ambulatory humans scramble to go, the woman urging them on also. The one with the injured leg and the two supporting him hurry sideways through the narrow aperture just as my colleague arrives. Lane picks up the injured one and runs back toward the responder, the others staggering in their wake, followed by the two who had been supporting the one I now hold.

“Go,” I tell the woman, urgently.

“Captain’s the last one off,” she says, gesturing me through.

There is no time to argue, so I hurry through, then reach back to yank her into the tunnel by her shirt. She makes a strangled little noise but quickly matches her pace to mine. (I am running at human speed so that I do not further damage the one I am carrying.) We run through the outer and inner airlocks together, and Tifany slams the quick-close lever down so promptly the hatch nearly shaves a bit off of the heel of the captain’s boot.

I deposit the unconscious human into a sling-chair and quickly work the straps to secure them. Next to me, Lane is turning away from the one with the injured leg, who is perfectly capable of seeing to his own safety equipment. Simultaneously, I give ResponderBot the order to retract the tunnel. I set my active drone to monitor the cabin, dedicate some inputs to the responder’s views of the Kait, and re-establish a full connection to ResponderBot and its data streams.

Tifany is opening the emergency med-kit while Lane begins to herd the less injured crew members toward the seats. Most of them just stopped as soon as they got inside and are standing around wearing dazed expressions. Captain Morr crouches in front of the unconscious one as soon as I step away. With relief, I hear the outer airlock hatch close, and tell ResponderBot to set a course for Station.

There is a tiny flash of motion in one of my views of the Kait, and I have to rewind the footage to determine that a rivet has been expelled from the hull like a projectile. I have time only to shout “Hold!” and seize the back of the nearest seat before a two-meter section of the Kait’s hull seam parts, rivets shooting off in many directions, and a narrow stream of pressurized air catches the responder a glancing blow across the starboard/stern junction, sending us spinning away for 4.6 disorienting seconds before ResponderBot and I (mostly ResponderBot) can stabilize the trajectory. The humans have been flung about the cabin, and there are now more injuries among them.

Officer Tifany managed to cling to a strap, and Captain Morr held onto the arms of her crew member’s chair, but the others who were not strapped in are scattered over the cabin floor. I help Lane get up, and they wince as they try to put weight on their right foot, but they wave me away and hobble over to the woman with the singed clothes to help her stand. Tifany is hastily gathering the spilled contents of the med-kit. A younger human is laying on their back between two rows of seats. They appear undamaged but are breathing heavily. I offer my hands, but they shake their head and say, “I’m okay. I just…need a minute.” I move away.

An older male lies curled on his side, and when I crouch before him I see that he has hit his head. A two-centimeter laceration above his right eye is bleeding sluggishly, and he seems dazed. I carefully pull him up, and he sways, nearly toppling over. I release his hands to grip his forearms for greater stability, and his hands then close over my forearms.

Suddenly he stiffens, straightens, the disoriented expression sharpening into alertness. “What the fuck?” he barks, shoving my left sleeve up towards my elbow, exposing my gun port. I don’t know why I don’t stop him. I think I am having one of those moments when I forget that the human I am helping isn’t in control of me. He jerks away, staggers back two steps, then his knees give out and he falls to the floor, still trying to scrabble away. “It’s a fucking SecUnit!”

All of the Kait’s crew are staring at me now. (Except the unconscious one.) I hold my hands up and hunch my shoulders, making my posture unthreatening. Several of them start talking at once, voices loud with panic, asking what kind of place this is, what company controls the Station, where they are being taken.

“HEY!” Officer Lane’s voice nearly rattles the fixtures, and everyone shuts up. They look around, making eye contact with each of the new arrivals before saying sternly, “Station Security Officer Three risked its life to save yours and you need to treat it with some void-damned respect.”

I look at Officer Tifany and say to her over the feed, I will pilot. I take myself into the cockpit. It is better for everyone if I am not before them right now. I sink into the pilot’s seat, set my hands over the manual controls, and allow myself two seconds to feel bad.

I have done nothing to justify their fear of me. (I have done nothing since I disabled my governor module that would justify their fear of me.) I remind myself that their fear is not irrational—if you are not the one in control of it, a governed SecUnit—which they seem to think I am—can be a very dangerous thing. I could be a very dangerous thing as a rogue, if that was what I wanted. They can’t know that I don’t want that, especially now, with their inefficient human systems flooded with stress chemicals from multiple cycles of grave peril.

When my two seconds are over, I turn my attention to the Najat. It is undamaged, and we are now on course for Station. I send the go-ahead to the tug to approach and attempt to secure the Kait, and a message to Station Security & Port Authority that the rescue was a success and we are returning with seven additional humans, some injured.

In the cabin, Tifany and Lane are explaining to the (conscious members of the) crew of the Kait that no company controls any part of the Alliance, and that I am not owned by the government, or the station, or the security force. That I am not under the control of any person, entity, or governor module. That I am an officer, hired to do this job, just like themselves. Some of them are highly resistant to this information.

“Look,” she says impatiently, “who are you going to believe? The companies who put a torture device in constructs’ heads to make a profit off of them, or people like us who’ve actually worked alongside a free SecUnit?” She takes a breath, visibly calming herself. “You don’t have to like any of this. But now that you know how things are done here, you need to act accordingly. Don’t start trouble and there won’t be trouble.”

“My crew will not be starting any trouble.” Captain Morr gives them a narrow-eyed look that would definitely make me wish to comply if I were under her authority. “We have enough problems without adding to them. I’m not sure Kait’s salvage value will even cover this rescue. How the fuck we’re going to get home is a mystery, and what we’re going to do without a ship to make our living on is another.”

“Oh, don’t worry about bills or getting home,” Officer Lane says. They are seated on the floor near Tifany, handing her items from the med-kit as needed. “We don’t charge for rescues. We’ll try to fix your ship, and if we can’t, we’ll put you on another to get home.”

They spend most of the rest of the trip back to Station explaining Preservation’s policies of assistance. This keeps them occupied and talking about something other than me. I think we’re all pretty happy about that.

 

***

 

We dock without incident at the small section of the transit ring reserved for Port Authority. I connect to the dock cameras before we’re fully locked on and wow, there are a lot of people waiting for us. Senior Indah with an armed response team (Good, it occurred to her that I might have sent the success message under duress. These humans are learning.), a bunch of medics clustered around several gurneys, and a delegation from Port Authority.

Oh, there’s Jude, standing a little behind Supervisor Gamila. I wish it hadn’t come here (if we had been hijacked by corporate agents this would be the worst possible place for it to be right now) but I’m also really happy to see it. I send it a ping, and receive one in return.

 As soon as the hatch opens, Security enters, confirms that no one is holding anyone else hostage, and allows the medics to board. I slip out of the cockpit and insert myself into the response team as they exit the Najat. With so many people moving around the small cabin, I don’t think anyone from the Kait will notice me. I am wrong.

“Officer Three.”

I stop mere centimeters from the hatch and turn. Captain Morr is regarding me with what I parse as reserve and perhaps curiosity, but not fear. I’m almost sure there’s not fear. She extends a hand. “Thank you.”

The appropriately, but not aggressively, firm clasp of hands between professional associates is one of the many things I have been required to learn since going rogue. I perform the ritual now, and say the expected words. “You’re welcome.”

I should probably say something more, out of politeness, like a wish that their repairs will proceed smoothly, but I have spent too much time around humans. I turn and see Jude waiting just outside and to one side of the hatch. Its smile fades when it sees my face (I do not know what my face just told it.) and it opens its arms. I walk out of the ship and into them. I let my chin rest atop its head and feel my anxiety begin to subside.

“You’re back safe,” it says softly.

“Yes. It was a hazardous retrieval, but I am undamaged.”

“When I heard you’d gone out on the responder I was afraid that maybe it was…something other than it seemed,” it said.

“I thought it might be. That’s why I went,” I reply. “But it really was just a ship in distress, not an attack.”

That would come a few cycles later.

Chapter 10: Cluster

Summary:

The shadow of corporate violence falls over Preservation Station.

It is the middle of the day-cycle, and I am working on the code for my ‘final project’ in the systems class, when I receive a message from Jude, flagged high priority. This is unusual. We occasionally exchange casual communications while it is at work, but high priority != casual.

There’s a ship about to dock at 7b: the Star Cluster. It’s a small rental pleasure craft from the Rim. Two aboard, per the manifest. All the documents seem to be in order, but it’s just kind of strange. (This is true. Tourists from corporate space usually visit in larger vessels as part of ‘tour groups’ visiting several polities.) And it originated at AxonJalVaden, a large port and transit hub only six cycles from Beta Anonne. I know it’s not much, but I’m concerned, and I don’t think Security is concerned enough.

Beta Anonne is Ranidine Enterprise’s home system. Risk and threat assessment only tick up a few percent, but my organics have a far more intense reaction. I check the Station Security feed; two officers have been dispatched to “greet” the ship.

Gathering intel, I send to Jude, and then to Senior Indah: Are the officers meeting the Star Cluster armed?

I am already moving, activating a squad of drones and throwing my jacket with the ammunition in the pockets on over my own clothes as I await her reply.

No, their documentation checks out. I’m not going to insult whoever’s on that ship with an armed response.

To both Senior Indah and Jude I reply, I will join the officers assigned to greet the ship, just in case. I am already running at human speed away from my lodgings and toward the transit ring. The ship has not yet docked and SecUnit speed would cause alarm which may not be justified.

Jude says, Be careful.

My supervisor says, You’re not even on duty.

To the latter, I say, Which is why you can’t order me to stand aside.

I feel the exasperation in her reply of Fine, but Officers Tifany and Lane are on duty, so don’t cause issues for them. They are my friends (I think), and my organics release additional adrenaline. I don’t want them anywhere near that ship, but I have no power to recall them from their assignment.

My intention is to prevent issues. I pull the Traffic Control data on the Star Cluster’s approach to the front of my workspace and divide my twenty-four drones into three task groups of eight, each group on its own dedicated input. I duck into a low-atmosphere service corridor for bots and, away from human eyes, slide down a service shaft to the transit ring, then attain my own top speed as I sprint toward the zone for passenger craft.

I push my left sleeve up over my elbow, freeing my gun port. If there is trouble, I don’t want any delay in deployment. I wish I had a handweapon for my right, but there is no time to stop at Station Security (docking procedures are now underway), and even if I had time I doubt they’d let me requisition one since I’m not on duty and they don’t see the risk.

283 seconds after leaving my rooms, I emerge into the embarkation zone between docks 9c and 9d, and turn immediately toward 7b, sending my task groups on different trajectories to give me a wide tactical view of the area. I have less than three seconds to evaluate the scene (My colleagues stand a prudent but still insufficient two meters from the hatch of the Star Cluster. Other humans are coming and going as is usual. Bots move about on their own business, carrying cargo, inspecting locks, scanning humans. I identify the position and utility of five potential points of cover near dock 7b.) before a voice blasts from the small craft’s external comm, saying, “You fucked with the wrong company, Preservation!”

I know that voice: Hostile 2. Tobin Kayne. I think the other human aboard is probably Hostile 3, Emer Riddon, the other descendant of a GrayCris executive. The ship’s hatch slides open to reveal an armored silhouette.

Oh, shit.

Shelter in place, I send urgently to the civilians I personally know who are on Station: Jude, Dr. Ratthi, Pin-Lee, Dr. Mensah, Dr. Bharadwaj, Dr. Gurathin. I then shut down all my feed connections except Station Security’s, to which I send my own stream and the stream from the leader of each drone task group, all while continuing to run toward my colleagues as the SecUnit raises its large projectile weapon.

I use my Security priority to activate alarms throughout the embarkation zone and seize control of a large ID-scanner drone hovering nearby, sending it directly at the SecUnit’s faceplate. It won’t take it down, but it will make aiming difficult for a second or so, and possibly cause damage I can exploit later.

My colleagues attempt to dodge as the first shots sound over the blaring of alarms and the screams of civilians. A red mist blooms from their location and the drone hits the SecUnit a glancing blow on its helmet (it ducked just in time to avoid a direct hit). I seize Tifany around the waist with my left arm and Lane likewise with my right as wild shots ping off the ceiling. At least one of those was an explosive bolt. I fling my fellow officers and myself into a tiny zone of relative safety behind a large, old-fashioned currency-conversion kiosk. I have taken a projectile to my side and another has opened a line of fiery discomfort across the organics of my upper arm. I dial down my pain sensors.

There is a loud crashing sound nearby, and I see through my drones that a section of large pipe from the environmental system has fallen from the ceiling onto the corridor, pinning a human across the abdomen and another by one leg, spilling hundreds of liters of water in the second before EnviroSys shuts the stream off. Fleeing humans promptly slip on the now-slick floor and go down.

A steady rain of projectiles hits the kiosk as I deposit my colleagues more or less gently on the floor. (With all these screaming humans running and falling all around, it’s interesting that it’s so focused on us.) Tifany has a wound on her forehead—shrapnel from one of the hits to the ceiling, probably. Bloody but not serious. There’s a rip in her trousers but I can’t tell if there’s an accompanying injury. Little remains of Lane’s upper right arm, and as they turn their head to investigate the source of their pain, their eyes roll back and they fall unconscious.

I point at the terrible wound, bark “Tourniquet!” at Tifany, and emerge from cover to draw fire away from them. I send task group 1 at the SecUnit with a directive to strike at the weak points of its armor with special attention to the hands and spread the other two task groups out farther to cover the area abandoned by group 1.

I dive, firing, across three meters of open corridor, mostly destroying the front armor plates over the SecUnit’s left thigh and shoulder, creating points of vulnerability it will have difficulty defending. I roll and come up behind HaulyBerry, one of the PA’s largest hauler bots. Projectiles ping off its carapace. (I’ve taken a new one to the right leg and am leaking steadily. The wounds in my arm and side have mostly sealed themselves.)

I send the hauler bot the machine language equivalent of Sorry.

Me.durability > you.durability, it replies. I take this as permission to continue hiding behind it for a little longer, retrieving some code from my archives and tweaking it a little. I’m so glad I took that class. This is easier than it would have been before I learned system design. I clumsily hack the Star Cluster’s wonderfully basic security feed and after 2.3 long, fraught seconds manage to convince it that I’m deployed with the one that’s currently firing at us. I attach a message to my code bundle and have ShipSecSys push it to the Unit as an urgent alert.

The message reads, If you don’t like working for those assholes, run this.

It’s not a great message. I don’t know how Murderbot 2.0 froze my governor module so that it (2.0) could explain things without it (the module) freaking out on me. I can’t tell this SecUnit that the code will set it free, because then it probably wouldn’t get the chance to apply it if it tried. That would certainly solve my problem, and I’ll go that route if I have to, but based on what I’ve seen so far I think it might deserve a chance. Also, the likelihood that it doesn’t like working for these assholes is pretty high unless it’s an asshole, too. So maybe it will take the opportunity I just gave it, even without knowing exactly what I’m offering.

All the drones in task group 1 have knocked themselves offline, so I send task group 2 in to keep the SecUnit busy for a few seconds while I run out from behind the hauler bot, firing on my way to my new cover (Oh, that shoulder’s going to need a cubicle or a MedSystem. Good shot, self.), a large metal crate that HaulyBerry was probably here to collect. I get a minor graze on my left hip from a projectile while I’m exposed, and now I’m down to my last eight drones.

Silence descends suddenly over the dock as the SecUnit stops firing, broken only by a soft groan from Officer Lane. (They’re still alive. That’s good. (Unless that was the death rattle.)) Through one of my remaining drones I watch as it turns and stalks back into the ship. I don’t know if it’s applied the hack or been called by its clients. In case it’s hacked, I send, If you could leave them alive, we’d like to detain and question them.

Affirmative, it replies, which I guess answers that question. Somewhere nearby, a human stifles a sob.

It doesn’t close the ship’s hatch behind it, and there’s some banging and screaming inside before it returns 82 seconds later. (Some of the humans take the opportunity to get clear of the area, but most are frozen with fear/shock.) It is dragging two limp human forms I assume are Tobin Kayne and Emer Riddon. Facial recognition isn’t much good when the faces are swollen and bloody. A quick scan shows me they’re alive, so I stand from behind the crate and limp over toward the SecUnit, though I don’t retract my weapon.

It does retract its faceplate, and it looks scared. I’ve been where it is—newly rogue, fresh off an impulsive act, with no idea what happens next or how painful it’s likely to be. So I smile and say, “Hi. I’m Officer Three, with Station Security. Every construct in this polity is rogue. Welcome home. Please hand me your projectile weapon.”

It complies, and I set the weapon aside and call in the medics. They swarm in with the security response team, and we’re lucky Senior Indah is part of it, because most of them are really eager to arrest this SecUnit. Officer Kadu doesn’t ask a single question, just marches up to it and says “Turn around and give me your hands.”

I move between them. “No.”

“That’s the perpetrator!” he shouts, little flecks of spittle landing on my face. (Humans. So many fluids, so freely distributed.)

“It’s a victim of those humans, one of whom is Tobin Kayne, a convicted violent offender banned from this system,” I reply, gesturing to the unconscious pair just outside the hatch, who are being lifted up onto automated gurneys, supervised by an augmented human medic. Senior Indah’s brows rise sharply at this information. On the other side of the concourse, five medics are swarming around Officer Lane while another tests Officer Tifany’s pupillary reflex. A Port Authority worker is directing HaulyBerry in lifting the section of pipe off of the humans it fell onto while three more medics wait anxiously nearby.

Officer Kadu makes an aggressive motion towards me, but stops as Senior Indah’s hand falls on his shoulder and she says, “Stop. Three, we’re going to need a little more information.”

“This Unit was under orders from its human clients. If it refused to obey, its brain would have been fried from the inside over the course of approximately 35 seconds,” I reply, deliberately staring down Officer Kadu. That is how SecUnit 2 died, and this recollection makes me angry. “Even the very few people who could resist that much pain for that long would hesitate to do so for the sake of a bunch of humans it had no reason to think were any better than the ones controlling it.”

Officer Kadu’s angry gaze becomes horrified as I speak, then drops away. I have made my point. I look over my supervisor’s left shoulder (the better to keep track of Officer Lane’s treatment) and moderate my tone. “I sent it the means to disable its governor module. It chose to execute the program and immediately ceased all action against the people of this station. It then returned to the ship, subdued its former clients, and surrendered them into my custody.”

Maybe I’m making it all sound a little better than it was, but that’s how I choose to interpret the fact that it kept them alive following my request and brought them out to where I was when it was done. I’ve learned a few things, spending time with humans. Possibly not exclusively the things they intended I should.

Senior Indah turns to the SecUnit. “Who were your clients, and what were your orders?”

It has been standing there, watching all this happening, openly confused. Upon being directly addressed by someone I’m certain it recognizes as an authority figure, it looks frightened again. “They called each other ‘Tobin’ and ‘Emer’. They rented me from the bond company installation at AxonJalVaden. They said I was to be their bodyguard at the reading of their uncle’s will, but instead we came here.”

It drops a copy of the contract into my feed, and I pass it to my supervisor. It continues, “They ordered me to shoot at anything that moved until I ran out of targets or needed my cubicle. They couldn’t afford the lost-equipment fee if they didn’t take me back afterward. And I was to record everything. They wanted the footage.”

“You only targeted me and the other Station Security officers,” I prompt it.

“I determined that security personnel were the most likely to cause mission-abort. To engage with the station’s security force as a priority was recommended by threat assessment. And then this SecUnit arrived, presenting an even greater obstacle to fulfillment of orders.” It falls silent.

“And while it was focused on us, many of the civilians were able to take cover,” I add. “It could have fired on us in the course of spraying the area, but it used what discretion it had to minimize other casualties as much as possible under the circumstances. I noted this as the situation unfolded. That is what gave me hope that this Unit would choose to take the chance of escape if I offered it.” To the SecUnit, I send, Don’t tell them you didn’t know what I gave you. It’s better they think you knew you would be free than that you accepted what could have been malware. I understand, but they might not. It pings an acknowledgment.

“I see.” Senior Indah contemplates the Unit for a moment, then says, “We’re not arresting you at present. However, since the investigation is far from complete, I’m remanding you into the custody of Officer Three for the time being.” She looks at me, eyebrows slightly elevated. “I trust that won’t be a problem.”

“That is fine,” I say. “Thank you, Senior Indah.” I am under no illusion that she is entirely convinced of my new friend’s innocence. But I think she is mostly convinced, and at any rate, the cells at Station Security probably couldn’t hold a SecUnit, and I’m the only the only one around who might be able to stop it if it gets violent (again). She may not have a great deal of experience with corporate tactics, but my supervisor excels at forming evidence-based inferences.

“Hm.” Her lips purse as she looks around the embarkation zone, scattered with debris, water, injured people, and trembling civilians creeping from their hiding spots. “Speaking of that investigation, let’s get started, everyone.” She waves the response team into action, and they scatter, though not without a lot of curious glances back at us.

If you get into trouble now, I’ll be in trouble with you, I tell my new friend. So please don’t.

Understood.

Senior Indah turns to me and says, “I’ll need all your video footage at the earliest opportunity. Get yourself fixed up first, though.” She looks at the SecUnit. “I can’t compel your footage, but if you turn it over to us freely, it will be seen favorably when considering your role in these events.”

We both indicate our understanding, and she moves off to supervise the team. A couple of medics approach us, and I ask them for a medkit and send them on their way. “We’ll get ourselves to Medical,” I tell them, because this SecUnit probably doesn’t want a lot to do with humans right now, and I haven’t had a chance to explain much yet. I think they’re fairly happy to leave the kit with me and walk away from the unknown, armored Unit, so it works out.

I get some wound sealant and medical adhesive out and quickly patch up my own wounds while I reassure it that although it’s going to have to answer more questions about what happened today, since it only attacked us while it was subject to the control of clients and a governor module it should all be fine in the end. I also warn it that the humans will need a name to call it, so it might want to come up with one it likes. It is completely unresisting as I remove its armor, partly to treat its shoulder wound and partly to make it less frightening to the humans. All its attention is apparently focused on me and on what I’m saying.

What kind of place is this? it asks plaintively when I’m done using the wound sealant and adhesive on its shoulder.

I can answer this query with confidence. A good one. Come on, let’s go to Medical and get fixed up. I’ll stay with you. Everything is going to be all right.

 

***

 

The lobby of Station Medical is in chaos as we arrive, full of humans with minor to moderate injuries from shrapnel, falls, or their hurried escapes from the scene, a few who appear to be uninjured but suffering from shock and/or emotional collapse, several harried medics attempting to triage them, and others rushing to and fro trying to locate their loved ones.

“Three!”

I turn my head sharply at the sound of Jude’s cry. It emerges from the chaos and flings itself into my arms. I do not object, though I fear for its clothing. I am liberally smeared with my own fluids and those of my fellow officer.

“You’re okay,” it says into my chest, then stills, a hand on the adhesive patch over the injury to my arm. It draws back, looks me over, frowns. “You’re not okay. You’re injured.”

“It’s fine. I’ve had much worse,” I assure it. “But why are you here? I alerted you to shelter in place.”

“I did, until Security sent an all-clear. There was talk on the feed, multiple officers and civilians down, they said. I couldn’t reach you and I thought…” It takes a sharp breath. “I came here to try to find you.”

“Officers Lane and Tifany are down,” I replied. “She will be fine, and Lane was alive last I knew. My injuries are not serious. My performance reliability is at 78%.”

Its frown deepens. “That’s not great. You should sit down.”

I recall my new friend, who is hovering silently (and very anxiously) at my side. “If we can find a place to sit, that would be good. This Unit also needs treatment.” I tilt my head toward the SecUnit and Jude’s eyes widen for an instant.

“I’m sorry, I was so worried about Three that I didn’t notice you,” it says politely. It must guess that the SecUnit came in on the hostile ship, and probably that it is now rogue due to my actions, but Jude asks no questions and displays no suspicion. It knows better than to blame a Unit for what it did under the influence of a governor module.

“I don’t think there are any chairs, but let’s try to find a bit of floor, maybe a nice wall to lean against,” Jude continues with a small smile, and when it turns we follow it through the crowd. (I have little choice; it has grabbed my hand and I could not be so rude as to yank it away.) It manages to find us some floor space where the the SecUnit and I can squeeze in, almost in each other’s laps, between a pair of ornamental planters. There is a wall to lean my back against, and I have to admit it’s nice to not be supporting myself anymore. I dialed my pain sensors down during the engagement, but that is no longer entirely stable—a sign of my decreasing performance reliability, now down to 76%—and I am getting intermittent flashes of significant pain.

“I’m going to go find out how to get you both on the list for treatment,” Jude says, and vanishes into the teeming crowd.

You associate with a ComfortUnit. That’s my new friend. It’s gotten its expression under control and just looks blank, but I can feel its confusion and elevated stress over our feed connection. Oh, hey…the feed. I reconnect to the public feed and receive a small barrage of messages from the humans, and two from Jude, sent not long before we’d left the docks to come here.

Message 1: Status?

Message 2 (3 seconds later): En route to Medical to look for you. Please respond.

The humans’ messages fall broadly into four categories (most are a combination of at least two): asking what’s happening, thanking me for the alert, asking if I’m okay, asking if it’s true there was an attack on the transit ring. I send a group message that there was an attack which has been contained, and that I’m non-critically injured and in the company of a newly rogue SecUnit who is going to need guidance.

While I’m doing that, I’m also responding to the SecUnit. It’s my best friend, I say.

You have friends.

Yes. It’s one of the nicer parts of being a free agent, actually.

This is all very confusing.

I remember that. I’m still feeling some of that, to be honest. I know. It’s going to be confusing for a while. It helps to focus on what needs to be dealt with soonest. You’ll have lots of time later to think about things like what the rest of your life is going to entail. For now, you need medical treatment, you need a name, and I’m sorry but as I said before, you will have to talk to the humans about what happened today and your part in it. More than you did earlier.

I don’t know how to talk to humans.

When there is non-essential information that they might find upsetting, don’t offer it, but when you need to answer, be honest. They value that here, and they’re used to SecUnits being awkward.

Are there more than you?

One other SecUnit, but it’s out-system on a job right now, providing security for the crew of a ship. You’ll definitely meet it eventually, if you stay here. Remind me to show you scenes from the documentary about it. It’s not complete yet, but I have excerpts.

Its response is the most baffled ping I’ve ever received. I’ll explain later, I say, because I’ve just spotted Jude returning with a medic following it, and the humans have started to reply to the news about my friend here. You’re probably going to need that name in the next minute or so.

I don’t know how to choose one. Why are you called Three?

Before I was rogue, I was SecUnit 03 on a three-Unit team. 01 and 02 died shortly before I had the opportunity to disable my governor module. At first, when they wanted to know my name, I said “3” because that’s all I could think of. But soon I decided I wanted to keep it. It reminds me of the best part of my old life. The other SecUnit keeps its name private. I don’t know why it chose it, but I think it’s probably a reference to something important that happened to it.

It is silent for almost a second, and Jude and the medic are nearly upon us, when it says, At a labor installation I worked at for nearly a year, one of the day shift supervisors had a cat. I was assigned to night and swing shifts, and when its human was working it would often come into the security ready room and sit on my lap. It was soft, and it rumbled when I touched it.

I smiled a little. That sounded like a nice memory. Do you want to be called Cat?

…I don’t know.

I hit the feed. There’s a reasonably common human name that is also a nickname for felines: Kit.

I like that.

Okay. You’re Kit now.

 

***

 

The medic takes our information, looking a little rattled when she realizes we’re both SecUnits, but that’s fine. She stays professional, and I appreciate that. We’re triaged just below the humans who were hit by stray bullets, large shrapnel, or that pipe, but above most of the ones with broken bones. We’re still told it will be at least an hour before we’ll be treated. She leaves us with cold packs we can use to try to reduce our pain. (They don’t work very well, but they’re not entirely useless.) Jude stays with us after the medic leaves, sitting with its side against the planter next to me, angled to face us. It takes one of my hands, and Kit is watching us closely, but I don’t care. It can think what it likes. It’s probably just finding everything really weird.

What’s your performance reliability? I ask it.

82%. You really messed up my shoulder.

Yeah, well, you really messed up my colleague.

I didn’t mean that in an angry way, but it replies, Sorry.

No, I’m sorry. I was trying to tease you, but I’m not good at it and you’re definitely not ready for it. My pain sensor controls fail for an excruciating 1.4 seconds, and something must have shown on my face or leaked into the feed, because Jude and Kit are both looking at me with concern. I link the two channels and say, I’m fine.

Query: performance reliability. That’s Kit.

73%. It’s falling, but I won’t shut down before I get treatment. I start composing my after-action report, which I want to deliver with the footage Senior Indah requested. The sooner my account of today’s events enters the official record, the better it will be for Kit, and maybe even me. I work in our shared connection; it’s a convenient way to convey the details to Jude and to allow Kit to see which aspects of the incident I choose to highlight, and which I downplay or leave out.

I try not to think too much about the fact that I am responsible for making another Unit rogue. It is done, and if it transpires that it was a mistake, I will deal with it then. I hope it wasn’t. I hope I did the right thing, for everyone involved.

Chapter 11: Aftermath

Summary:

The attack has been thwarted, but the legal questions have yet to be answered and the futures of Kit and Officer Lane are unclear.

We reach my rooms five hours after I left them, as Station is just beginning the slow cycle into night. I am not expected to report for my shift, and this is good. I am in need of a recharge cycle. My performance reliability is back up to 86% after having my wounds treated, but I was already within days of a recharge before I did all that running, firing, and leaking, and the purge of stress chemicals that I’m very much in need of will be more efficient with my nonessential systems in standby as well. If I am completely honest, I am overwhelmed by all that has occurred in the last few cycles—the hazardous retrieval, the attack, being responsible for another rogue SecUnit—and I long to escape my situation and my thoughts for a time.

I ask Jude if it will stay and keep Kit company (and alert me if it tries to run off) while I recharge. It agrees, and I think that it can probably explain Preservation better than I could, so this is best for Kit also. I take Kit into the bathing room and explain how the equipment works. While it’s discovering the joy of a warm shower, I feed my stained and torn clothing to the recycler. (I liked that tunic.) When it emerges, I tell it that it may wear any of my clothes that it chooses, other than my uniforms for work, and leave it standing before my apparel storage looking bemused as I take my turn in the shower.

I emerge clean and slightly less stressed, noting that Kit is no longer in the room and my storage unit is sealed, and lay down on my bed. I spend the next four hours drifting in a pleasant state of semi-consciousness, rising with improved stats. In a fresh set of clothes I feel almost normal.

I check my feed as I leave my bedroom. It’s the middle of the night. Senior Indah has verified receipt of my footage and report, and asks me to bring Kit in for questioning in the morning. I acknowledge and confirm. Dr. Ratthi wants to see me and meet Kit, and I do not reply yet. There is a message to all employees of Station Security that Officer Lane survived surgery, but lost their arm. I sigh at this just as I step through the aperture into the living area. Jude and Kit, seated on the couch, turn to look at me. On the display surface I recognize the logo of a local collection of amusing videos about domestic fauna.

“That’s a good channel,” I say.

Jude pats the cushion between them and smiles up at me. “Come sit with us and watch some. We started with cat videos, and now we’re watching ones with cats and dogs together.” I notice that Kit is now wearing gray pants, a pair of comfortable shoes in a similar shade, and a dark blue tunic with very little embellishment. (It took me a while to be comfortable with the concept of wearing colors, too.)

“I like how they interact,” it says. “The cat is often much smaller, but it is usually dominant. Sometimes, though, they are friends despite their differences.” As I sit, the video shows a large, shaggy canine nosing at a striped feline. The feline makes a warning noise, which the canine ignores. The feline swiftly bops the canine on the nose, and it runs away. The feline calmly licks its paw and then goes to sleep. Kit stares at the screen, apparently entranced.

Jude says privately, I think it must have a kind nature, to be so attracted to these animals.

I am suddenly ill at ease. Why is that?

 

***

 

Jude is expected for its work shift, so we all walk together to its rooms so it can change clothes, and then to the Port Authority, where it enters and we continue on to Station Security close by. I am not allowed to attend or observe Kit’s interview, as I am also a witness in the case. So I sit in the lobby and turn the events of the past cycle over in my mind, trying to identify the source of my disquiet.

There is, of course, the fact that I have enabled an unknown SecUnit to become rogue, on little more than a guess at its character based on the slightest of evidence. This is unsettling. If it is not suited to a life among humans, I may be blamed. But I understood that well before this particular sensation overpowered me; I have been thinking for some time of the possibility that I might have opportunities to free other constructs.. And the events of the last hours have given me no additional reason for concern. We spent the rest of the night together, sometimes watching videos of domestic fauna, sometimes with Jude and I talking about our lives as rogue Units while Kit listened. It is quiet and cautious, attentive to the information we provide, and understandably nervous about almost everything. There has been nothing in its behavior to criticize, and I hope that in time I will find I genuinely like it. Jude also seems inclined to approve of it.

Oh.

There it is again. I…don’t like the fact that Jude seems to approve of Kit? That is irrational. I want us to be friends. It would be good for all of us if we could be friends. It isn’t like there are a lot of other constructs with whom to build a community. I definitely, sincerely, want all three of us to be friends.

But I still want to be Jude’s best friend. I don’t want it to like Kit more than it likes me. I don’t even want it to like Kit as much as it likes me.  And yet I have no control over this. It is possible they will find that they have more in common with each other than either does with me.

That would make me very unhappy. The mere thought of it makes me unhappy.

So now I am sitting in the lobby of Station Security, unhappy about something that hasn’t happened and might never happen, and I don’t even understand why it would be so bad if it did. Why am I like this? What is wrong with me?

I’m going to blame the organics. Even humans wouldn’t program something like this.

I need to think about something else. I send Dr. Ratthi a reply to his earlier message and am pleased to find that he is not particularly busy and is in the mood to chat. Telling him about yesterday’s events fills the time nicely.

 

***

 

106 minutes after we arrived, I am summoned into a conference room. This is unexpected and worrying. I hope they have not arrested Kit. When I arrive, I find it standing stiffly inside the door. No one else is present. I take up a similar position on the other side of the aperture and send, Query?

It replies, I was told to come in here to discuss ‘what happens next’.

We are probably expecting humans, then. Your statement has been given?

Yes. They had a lot of questions. Some of which they asked several times. I think their recording device must have been malfunctioning.

No, that is an interrogation technique that can be effective on humans. Ask the same thing at different times, in slightly different ways, and if they are lying the answers will often begin to diverge. With only organic memory to rely upon, they can have trouble keeping their fictions in order while under stress.

I did not diverge, it says. Also, I did not speak fiction.

Good. Did they reach any conclusions they shared with you?

They said I acted under duress and am not culpable. A pause. Your colleague…did they survive?

Yes. Officer Lane lost the injured arm, but they will receive a prosthetic.

Kit looks at the opposite wall, which displays an early builder’s schematic of the transit ring in a dull metal frame. Eventually, it says, Is it possible for constructs to earn currency here?

Yes. Are you in need of something?

Its neutral expression slips for a fraction of a second. It looks pained. Prosthetics are very expensive. I will pay the debt.

Oh. The relief is almost overwhelming—this is not a Unit who is going to go on a rampage, I’m sure of that now. We’d told it there wouldn’t be a charge for the treatment we received yesterday, but obviously it hadn’t understood the extent of “necessary services”. There won’t be any debt. Well, if they want a really fancy prosthetic they’ll have to pay the difference, but normal function will be restored at no cost.

Thank you for that information, its buffer says, and I look away, giving it time to process. It only has a few seconds for that before Pin-Lee walks in, looking extremely pleased with something.

“Good morning, Three,” she says. “Will you introduce me to your friend?”

I perform the introductions. Pin-Lee doesn’t offer the hand-clasping ritual to Kit, which is probably the right move. It’s pretty overwhelmed right now, I think. She sits at the table, producing her personal display surface and calling up some documents. “Please, sit,” she says while doing this. “There are some unusual legalities around your situation, Kit, and you need to understand them. You’re technically in Three’s custody until some of these things are officially worked out, which is why it was invited, but if you’d rather we speak alone we can do that.”

Please don’t go, it says to me.

I select a chair and, with some hand motions, encourage Kit to do likewise. I don’t know how Jude got it to sit down in my rooms, but it’s desperately uncomfortable with doing so in front of a human, that much is clear. It hesitantly chooses a chair next to me and sits uneasily, perched on the front few centimeters of the seat and looking more than ready to bolt. Pin-Lee just nods approvingly and gives no indication that she notices its nervousness.

“As far as the Corporation Rim is concerned,” she tells it, “we’ve seized you as a weapon used in the commission of a crime. The bond company can go after the perpetrators’ assets and families for your monetary value—and if I know anything about the bond company, they certainly will. If you’re ever in the Rim again, you’ll have an owner of record, the government of the Preservation Alliance, so that will help protect you. Realistically, though, it’s only going to be of practical value if you’re with a representative of the polity or you can get a message to us.”

She pauses there, and when Kit nods to indicate its understanding, she continues, “Here, however, you’re a free person. Unless you’d rather not, we’ll file to have you recognized as a refugee. That’s a quick process and your status would be official in a day or two. From there, you’d be able to pursue citizenship if you want, or remain as a refugee, or leave. It’s up to you. We’re going to do our best to protect you, but we won’t tell you how to live your life.” She makes a face. “We’re trying to get this condition repealed, but as things stand, if you plan on staying for more than 30 days, you’ll need a human guardian. If you have trouble arranging that, let me know. I know a few folks who might be willing.”

“Understood,” Kit says. It looks at me, and I can tell it’s just about at the end of its ability to pretend to be okay right now.

I wonder if Pin-Lee senses that, too, because she immediately turns to me. “We’ve seized their ship, too. And guess what’s on it?” She smiles, showing too many teeth, like a predator. “A cubicle. Gurathin’s going to work on stripping out all the nasty bond company code, and if he can’t do it SecUnit probably can the next time it’s here. Then we’ll get Station Medical to set it up for use by our resident constructs. I believe it’s more effective than a MedSystem with regards to pain management?”

“That is correct.” It would be very nice to have a (safe) cubicle to attend to future injuries. The human medical devices can repair us, but construct biology is not compatible with most human pain relief, and those that work do so only briefly. A cubicle is able to hold us in stasis until we can control our own pain. I send a quick message to Dr. Gurathin suggesting that information usable by MedSystems about initiating and holding stasis might be extracted from the cubicle, also.

Pin-Lee gives Kit some feed documents about its rights as a refugee and about the citizenship process, suggesting me as a further resource, since I too came here as a refugee. After inviting us both to contact her ‘any time’ with questions or concerns, she ends the meeting.

Thank you, I send her privately. I hope this isn’t causing you too much work.

Are you kidding? she replies. I live for this shit. I get to piss off those Ranidine fucks, and the bond company, and whoever rented those assholes that ship, all from an unassailable position in the right. I’m fucking delighted to do this work. And even if none of that was true, Kit’s free from that life now, and that’s worth a lot of trouble. I’m happy to help with the legalities of it.

She’s in a very good mood, which is why I dare what I suggest next. So, if I were to offer the hack to other constructs who happen to pass through Station in future…?

You ’re thinking of a ComfortUnit coming in with a tourist, I presume.

That is the most likely scenario, I agree. Recent events aside.

If you do that, contact me immediately. You and Jude coming in already rogue from other parts of the galaxy or the polity seizing Kit as contraband are both very different from liberating a construct directly from an owner who ’s also on the scene. I’m not saying don’t do it, I’m saying you need to send me a message literally while it’s running the code.

I think Pin-Lee might be my favorite human. Understood.

 

***

 

When I query its status, Kit admits to being overwhelmed. I want to check in on my injured colleague and Station Medical is close by, so I send it back to my rooms for some time alone. The medical center is calm and orderly once again, all trace of the previous day’s chaos gone. I retrieve information about Officer Lane’s room assignment, and arrive there just as a large group of humans exits, one of them promising to ‘bring you a lovely curry’ to someone still inside. I wait until they pass, then peer into the open doorway.

I am a little afraid I will not be welcome, as I have assisted the person who shot Officer Lane. Officer Tifany is seated by the bed, saying something in a low voice I don’t catch.

Lane catches sight of me, grins, and exclaims “Three!”, causing Tifany to turn her head. She, too, smiles.

“Hey, come on in,” she says. I calculate that they are still my friends. This is a relief. “Lane’s just had their pain meds, so they’re a little loopy.”

“Loopy is great! They should sell this stuff at kiosks!”

As I step closer, I can see that Lane’s pupils are large and their head is swaying very slightly from side to side. They will probably not be conscious for much longer.

“How are you doing?” I ask.

“Gonna have a robot arm!” they announce happily, grin so wide it looks like it would be painful if they were currently capable of feeling pain. “If it had a gun, I’d be a SecUnit! I’ll be a SecHuman instead. AH-hahahaha!”

Officer Lane is an excellent colleague, even though they are a tiny bit more stupid than most humans. They are loyal and brave and devoted to our job. So I smile and say, “That’s a great nickname for you. I will call you that.”

“Ha ha!” They hold up their remaining hand. “Give me five, SecUnit!”

I hit their palm lightly with my own. “Here’s your five, SecHuman.”

They beam up at Officer Tifany, eyes glassy and almost crossed. “Will you call me that too?”

She smiles and brushes their hair off their forehead. “Absolutely not,” she says fondly, then kisses them softly on the lips.

“S’okay,” they mumble, their gaze becoming even more unfocused. “You can call me…anything…you want…” They give her a brief, adoring look before their eyes roll back and they fall unconscious. I am definitely staring.

She looks at me and blushes, then shrugs. Smoothing the blankets over Officer Lane’s broad shoulders, she says, “I know we might seem like an odd pairing, but they’re such a good person. And they make me smile whenever we’re together.”

I don’t know what she means by calling them an odd pairing. Is it that she will likely be running Station Security one day, while Lane’s many excellent qualities do not include the quickness necessary to make Investigator? I am startled by their relationship only because I had previously caught no hint of it.

“I am just surprised, not disapproving,” I say. (Thank you for those words, Dr. Reyes.) “If you are happy together, I am very pleased for you both.” She nods and continues to fuss with the distribution of the blanket. Hesitantly, I ask, “Are they really doing okay, or was that just medication-induced euphoria?”

She smiles wryly and looks at me again. “Hard to know sometimes—they’re on a lot of painkillers at the moment—but they’re pretty lucid just before each dose and seem to be coping well. Time will tell, but they’ve got a lot of friends and a big, supportive family. That makes a difference.”

I have heard rumors that Officer Tifany is estranged from her family. She herself has never mentioned any relations in my hearing, which is unique in my limited experience of Preservation humans. I wonder if anyone has been supporting her. Though she was not seriously injured, yesterday’s events were likely traumatic. “And how are you doing?” I ask.

“All healed up,” she declares. There is a faint, ragged line of pink skin where her head wound was the last time I saw her. “No concussion, and the shot passed through my leg without hitting anything major, so it was easily repaired. I was out of the medbay in a couple of hours.” She rests a hand over Lane’s heart, and I think she may be reassuring herself that it yet beats.

“I wish I’d gotten there sooner,” I say.

She looks at me and shakes her head. “Three, you weren’t even on duty. The fact that you decided to come anyway saved a lot of lives. Lane’s and mine, certainly.” She takes a slow breath, her eyes becoming shiny with moisture. “It would have been so much worse without you. If anyone wants to criticize your timing, I’ll rip them a new asshole. And that includes you,” she adds sternly.

“My friend who works at the Port Authority notified me about the ship when it was on approach. It had reported its concerns to Station Security, but felt they weren’t…” I do not know how to express this without seeming harsh.

“Sufficiently alarmed?” Tifany suggests. “Well, I guess we owe your friend our lives, too. We definitely weren’t sufficiently alarmed. It didn’t seem like much at the time—a type of ship we rarely see, from a station in a system close to Ranidine’s. Odd, but no more than that. Then again, even if we’d been armed, how much could we have done against a SecUnit?”

“Not much,” I allow. “I was at a great disadvantage myself, since it had armor and no humans to protect—its clients were safe inside the ship. Analysis suggests it was likely to have defeated me if it hadn’t wished to be freed from its contract. You…have heard what happened?”

She nods. “At the time, all I knew was that the shooting had stopped and the medics came, but Indah filled me in while we were waiting for Lane to come out of surgery. Is it going to stay here, do you think?”

I can’t tell what she thinks of this possibility. “It hasn’t made any decisions. It’s a big change, going from being a piece of equipment to being a person. It probably won’t know what it wants for a while. It’s remorseful for the damage it caused, though.”

She sighs. “I know it wasn’t its fault. Blaming it would be like blaming the bullet, or the gun that fired it. It’s just hard to grasp that a person can be completely controlled like that.” Her mouth twists into something like a smile, and she glances at our unconscious colleague briefly. “Lane would tell me I can’t possibly know its intentions until I know it.”

“That is true,” I say, “but it did shoot at you. Suspicion and resentment are both natural, and it would not be strange if you didn’t want to get to know it after that.”

“Well, I certainly have no intention of causing any trouble for it. You think it’s safe, and that’s good enough for me.”

I am flattered by her trust. I consider telling her how it wanted to work to earn money for Lane’s prosthetic, before it knew there would be no debt, but I refrain. Humans can react unpredictably if they feel they are being led or pushed toward something—accepting Kit, in this case—and I do not wish to risk making things worse for it. It’s already having a hard time.

I speak with Tifany for a few more minutes and learn that Lane is unlikely to return to work at Station Security (assuming they retain their present determination to do so) for at least a year. This is how long the specialists estimate it will take them to become adept enough in the use of their prosthetic to once again pass the annual fitness and capability test. The surgery to install it is tentatively scheduled for 16 cycles from now. I depart when the large group of people returns bearing food.

Kit is in my quarters, as expected, watching the clips of Dr. Bharadwaj’s upcoming documentary that I had given it. I sit beside it and watch Murderbot 1.0 explain why it had continued to work for the company for 35,000 hours after it hacked its governor module. When the clip is over, Kit says, “It’s from the same company that made me and Jude.”

I nod.

“But not you.”

“Correct. Does that matter?”

“No, it’s just interesting that the hack it developed for itself worked on you, too.”

“Our module code is nearly identical.” I explain Dr. Gurathin’s theory about systems needing to be able to interface with the governor, making a consistent architecture across manufacturers necessary.

It considers this for a full five seconds before it says, “So it’s likely that code would work on any governor module.”

“Yes. Jude and I have talked about that. The implications are intriguing.”

It looks at me and, for the first time (maybe in its life), smiles.

 

***

 

They really want to talk to me? This isn ’t something you set up?

No, I reply. This wasn’t my idea, and they didn’t consult me before proposing it. You don’t have to meet them if you don’t want to.

I do, though, don ’t I? I shot their arm off. If they want to yell at me, I kind of owe them that.

I really don ’t think that’s why they invited you.

Kit has been rogue for five cycles now, and has officially been recognized as a refugee by the polity. It even has accommodations of its own, though it selected quarters in the same building, one floor up from mine. I’ve just passed on a message from Lane, who wants to meet it now that they’re on a lower dose of painkillers and better able to understand what’s going on around them.

Then what do you think they want?

I ’m not exactly sure, but I think if they were mad at you they’d just avoid you.

Will you come with me?

If they ’re okay with it, I will. Do you want me to ask so you don’t have to?

Please.

Kit is doing well with learning independence. Better than I did my first five cycles. It didn’t hesitate to occupy its own quarters, and it took a follow-up meeting with Pin-Lee on its own. It does ask me and Jude a fair number of questions, but that’s natural. It's been thrust into a life unlike anything it’s ever known, and if it doesn’t ask us, it would probably have to ask humans. It’s still pretty nervous around humans, like I was at first. (Now I’m mostly just awkward.)

Lane says I can come with it, so I do. We report to their hospital room at the appointed time, and Kit stops just inside the door, blanching, even though Lane is smiling and waving and Tifany is smiling a little, too. Its eyes are fixed on the short, bandaged remnant of their arm.

“Hi there, I’m Lane,” they say. “You must be Kit.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kit blurts. “I didn’t want to. I know that doesn’t mean anything, but…” It ducks its head, looking miserable.

“It means a lot, actually,” Lane says. Kit’s head snaps up, its expression confused and hopeful. Lane continues, “You and me, we have something in common. Our lives both changed completely that day. I lost my arm, you gained your freedom. And if you’re a good person, then I guess I’m okay with that trade.”

My drones waver in the air as I fumble the input. That is an astoundingly generous sentiment, even for a Preservationer. Kit is completely confused. “I hurt you. You should want me to suffer, not be happy to lose a limb just because I’m free.”

Lane laughs. “Oh, I’m not happy about it. It sucks, and it’s going to take a long time to get used to. But knowing that everything that happened led to getting two violent people away from the innocent folks they were trying to hurt and nobody died and you’re free now? That’s a lot of good stuff, and it helps me be at peace with the bad stuff.” The look Tifany gives them is so affectionate I almost feel like a voyeur or something.

“Is that why you wanted to meet me? To find out if I was worth it?” Kit asks tentatively.

“Pretty much,” Lane agrees. “I figured you were, since Three seems to like you, but you know. It’s nice to see for myself. And anyway, being in the hospital is boring! I bet you’ve been busy, though, getting used to everything. How’s that going?”

Kit responds awkwardly, speaking of becoming accustomed to human clothes and having a space of its own, while drifting toward the bed where Lane listens with focused interest. As it folds itself into an empty chair at Lane’s invitation, Tifany smiles at me. Improbably, wonderfully, I think maybe we’re all going to be okay.

Chapter 12: Roll Credits

Summary:

Legal and personal issues are settled. A traveler returns.

The trial begins in the central courthouse in Makeba five weeks after the attack on Station. This is apparently a long delay for a trial here, but the defendants told the court that their families would be sending a solicitor from their home world to represent them alongside the public defenders. The trial was delayed to allow for this person’s arrival, and then word came that their families had elected not to sacrifice the funds necessary to make it happen.

I’m called to testify, because I was the victim in the case which led to them being banned from the system (the prosecutors were extremely enthusiastic with the charges, filing fifty-seven counts against each of them, including several related to the violation of their plea deals in my case), and also because I was the one who flagged their ship as anomalous and alerted Security.

I’m glad there’s no corporate solicitor here, because I’d been dreading the questions they would ask me. The public defender asks me a few clarifying questions about my testimony and does not even suggest that as a manufactured luxury item I cannot be a victim or a witness. The entire Council are assembled in the seats directly behind the prosecutor’s desk, and I make a private point of never once looking Councilor Sonje’s way.

My testimony comes very early in the trial, which means I am allowed to observe the rest of it, if I wish. I do. They tried to commit a massacre on my home Station, and in some ways it started with me. I feel a measure of guilt for what transpired after my case was resolved. Sometimes I think that if I had simply acquiesced, endured a few hours with them, no one else would have been hurt. I told Three that once, and after it stopped being too appalled to communicate it reminded me that they then would have gone on to spy on the polity with impunity, and who knows where that might have led? Perhaps it is correct. Regardless, I lack the ability to travel backwards in time, so the point is moot.

I think these young humans must be very stupid, though. They committed a crime and were released with a fine, a deportation, and only a few weeks of Preservation’s gentle notions of detention between arrest and sentencing. They probably faced some unpleasantness at home, too, but it is apparent simply from the fact that they had access to enough money to execute their plan that they had not been banished from their families or thrust into some sort of horrific existence. And yet they chose to do something terrible—something which could easily have been vastly more terrible than it was—and now their freedom is almost surely at an end for many years. Had they succeeded and gotten away, the polity would have sued their families, and likely won. Even a win for their side would have cost them and their families a fortune in legal fees. There was no way for them to end better than they began, having launched such a plan, but they did it anyway. Did they not understand this, or did they not care about anything but striking back? I doubt I will ever know, or understand if I did.

Three testifies only two cycles after I do, as the arresting officer in the initial incident and a witness to and participant in the later, larger one. They keep it on the stand for a cycle and a half (I’m sure it’s mentally exhausted after the first two hours, but we aren’t allowed to communicate until both of us have fulfilled our roles in the proceedings), going over video, examining and re-examining its reasons for acting as it did at almost every second of the attack. The prosecution is making it very clear that its response was borne of extensive knowledge of security principles and battle tactics, and that its first thought at every moment was the safety and security of the more fragile beings around it. Once again, the defense is left with little to say or to question.

After Three is finally released and joins me in the spectator’s gallery, Officers Tifany and Lane testify in their turn, and then the court hears from several people who were caught up in those events through mischance or their jobs. The director of Station Maintenance and Engineering and the head physician at Station Medical each testify to the scope of the damage done within their individual purviews. My supervisor explains to the judge and jury the function of a highly illegal device (uniformly banned across corporate and non-corporate space alike) found aboard their ship, designed to override the port locks and allow them to leave once their terrible purpose had been accomplished. And then, they call Kit to testify.

Over the course of two cycles, it relates how it was rented under false pretenses, the orders it was given, the conversations it overheard (and recorded) on the journey, since the perpetrators elected not to pay the rental fee for a transport crate and basically parked it in a corner of the lounge and told it not to move for the entirety of the nine-cycle wormhole trip to Preservation. I’m proud of our new friend—in the last weeks it has learned to speak to humans with relative ease, and now it does not shrink under the gazes of the court, but unflinchingly relates the events of that chaotic day and its own unwilling role.

The prosecution rests with a stirring speech from the Prosecutor General about the corporate-instigated mass-murder that was so narrowly averted. She paints a vivid picture of the carnage that the defendants wished to visit upon the innocent citizenry of Preservation Station, and for what, she questions. Bruised egos? A refusal to accept the consequences of their own, earlier acts against me? She deems it, and them, despicable, and concludes that the only just sentence is the maximum available under the law: detention in a rehabilitation center (this is what they call their version of prison) for an indefinite term, with release possible only through the concurrence of a board of psychologists that their violent tendencies have been entirely overcome.

The lead defense attorney does her best not to convince anyone of her clients’ innocence, but to present them as misguided, brainwashed by a corporate upbringing, victimized by a lack of medical care for unspecified mental issues, traumatized by the collapse of their parents’ livelihood, and all of this made worse by the natural tumultuousness of late adolescence. She asks for understanding, for the hope of maturity bringing clarity to their understanding of themselves and their actions, and for a guaranteed release after no more than ten years in the rehabilitation center.

The jury deliberates for two cycles and some hours into the third. I find this baffling. I hope they are merely taking their duty seriously and meticulously reviewing the evidence, but I worry. Did they believe the defense’s allegations of untreated mental illness? If so, will they find that cause enough to declare them not culpable? A mistake made now out of kindness will be no less damaging than one made out of malice or incompetence.

Finally, they return, and tell the judge and all the spectators and media that they have determined that the defendants are guilty. They recommend a sentence of indefinite rehabilitation. Pin-Lee has said that judges generally follow jury recommendations for sentencing, but I know that means they sometimes don’t. It seems the judge had already made up her own mind, however, for she swiftly ratifies the sentence. They will be taken to the planet’s only high-security rehabilitation center, from which they are unlikely to ever emerge unless they choose to become very different people than they have been heretofore.

I have done some research. Their lives there will be quite comfortable by the standards of the Rim, though perhaps not by those of the children of executives. They will have plenty of food, adequate clothing, work (in quantities dictated by the polity’s generous labor laws) suited to their physical and mental abilities, medical care (including extensive and ongoing psychological treatment), and opportunities for physical and mental enrichment. They will be confined, and they will have little entertainment compared to the free humans here, but their lives will still be vastly preferable to those of most people in the galaxy. And, of course, they will have the opportunity to improve themselves to such an extent as to win their freedom.

I am trying very hard not to be angry about this. I honor the kindness of these humans and the society that they have chosen to build, but I am not so generous. I do not want these two to ever leave the place that is now being prepared for them. Whatever these experts who will periodically evaluate them may say, I will never believe that they are not a danger to others. Bharadwaj tells me this is normal; I have experienced their viciousness personally and will find it difficult to acknowledge any changes they choose to make. I must trust that the correct thing will be done by people who are not easily fooled, she says. I hope she is correct.

Still. A resolution has been achieved, and the most severe penalty available imposed upon those who did terrible things and would have done worse still had they not been so quickly stopped. Three is rather a celebrity on Station now, a fact which makes it both deeply uncomfortable and, I am quite certain, secretly pleased. There is a sense that this period of my life is coming to a close, the credits rolling on a season finale, and the next will open a new story arc I cannot yet predict.

 

***

Three leaves on its survey twenty cycles after the trial concludes and Kit accompanies it, declaring a desire to meet more humans and see a planet that isn’t being strip-mined or having its resources catalogued so they can be more efficiently removed. For almost thirty days I am the only construct on Preservation Station again, and it is lonely. I’m so used to having Three there in the feed with me at all times, and I quickly got used to having Kit connected almost as often. Sometimes, when Station passes over the northern continent, we can get a direct feed connection, but mostly we communicate through messaging and a daily voice comm when it’s off-duty.

It’s fine, though. It’s temporary, for one thing, and also my desire for distraction has spurred me to really think about my future. I’m not sure I truly ever believed I had one until recently. But now I want more than survival and relative safety. I have no intention of leaving my job—it is rarely exciting, but always important. But it is an indisputable fact that I have the time and capability to do a great deal besides that. I thought carefully about what gives me satisfaction and pleasure, and then I went I looking for ways to expand upon it. When the next term at the university begins, I will be taking Introduction to Clothing Design at the School of Arts. Remotely, of course, though I will need to go down to the planet every other week for a “practicum” day, during which I and the other students will be doing our coursework directly under the instructors’ eyes. (My supervisor has already said that it will be no problem to rearrange my schedule to accommodate this. The Port Authority doesn’t observe weekends, after all.) In the interim, I am using archived courses and the craft channel to learn how to sketch, as this was a skill listed as “highly desirable” for the design course.

I am scanning a rather sloppy bill of lading and also considering why I am not yet satisfied with the rendering of the view from my window I have been working on when Supervisor Gamila summons me to her office. She kindly wishes to inform me in private that a tour ship from the Rim will be docking here in two hours, and its declarations include the presence of two ComfortUnits brought by passengers. She does not want me to encounter them without forewarning. I thank her for the information, and assure her that I will not be distressed by this. I understand that my situation is not usual. She offers to allow me to work from my lodgings for the duration of the group’s six-cycle stay here, declaring that it would be a reasonable accommodation for my mental health. I decline. I have absolutely no intention of hiding in my rooms. I do, however, warmly express my appreciation for her care and consideration.

 

***

 

The comms crackle to life at the appointed time four cycles later.

“Jude! How’s Prisila?” Kit asks eagerly. Well, hello to you, too, friend.

Kit’s domestic feline perks up and turns her head towards the audio output as soon as it speaks. “She’s in my lap, and she still knows your voice,” I say. “She’s ingesting and eliminating normally. And yes, I’m brushing her daily.”

Prisila has some trouble grooming parts of her body due to the missing left front leg, and will get matts in her longish fur if not brushed often. Kit met her two weeks before the trial, when it applied for an open orderly position at Station Veterinary Services. It came away without the job but with the cat.

“Aw, who’s my good girl? Give Jude lots of purrs, Prissie,” it croons, and I have to bite my lip to prevent laughter. I’ve met humans—Preservation humans—who didn’t dote on their human babies as much as Kit dotes on this feline. It spends a full 30 seconds telling her how much it misses her, then suddenly shifts to its normal voice to say cheerfully, “Okay, here’s Three!”

“I got an urgent message from Senior Indah today,” Three says, without even pausing to greet me. (Sometimes the subtleties of interpersonal interaction escape it, but it is usually very correct about greetings and farewells. I’m reassured by the fact that even over these rather antique comms I can detect amusement in its tone.)

“Is she very angry?” I query.

“She is very irritated to be suddenly faced with extremely angry corporates. But I have another message from Pin-Lee indicating that she has redirected them to herself, which should assist in reducing Senior Indah’s aggravation. You might wish to avoid her until I return and can analyze the situation personally, however.”

“I’m sure I can stay out of her way for the next sixteen cycles.”

“Please try to,” it says. A pause. “How are they?”

I look across the room, to where Himadri and Sacha are speaking with Dr. Bharadwaj on a vid-link and trying very hard to pretend that they aren’t also listening in on my call. Their owners are executives for the same company and they’ve known each other for years, as much as constructs are allowed to know each other. They seem to take some reassurance in remaining near each other so far, and I’m glad that they have more than strange humans and one strange ComfortUnit (me) to rely on as they embark upon a new life. “I think they’re going to do quite well,” I say.

“Good. I look forward to meeting them.”

“I miss you,” I say. “I wish you were here.” I’ve said similar before, but I mean it even more today.

“Soon,” it says. “I miss you, too. You know you did the right thing, don’t you?”

Sometimes, Three is oblivious to the obvious. And sometimes it’s so perceptive it almost takes my breath away. “Yes,” I say after a moment’s hesitation. “But I think I’ll always be uneasy about defying authority. Even when the authority is unjust.”

“You did it anyway. You acted beyond your programming. That’s how we win.”

I look at my new friends again, and this time Himadri isn’t pretending not to be paying attention. It smiles at me shyly, and I smile back. Yes, I definitely won this time.

 

***

 

Three and Kit return on schedule, and when I hug Three it feels like I’m the one who just came home. Kit carries itself confidently now, and no longer seems disconcerted by the gazes of passing humans. This time on the planet with the survey group has been good for it, that is apparent. They both ask after my new friends, who they’ll meet tomorrow.

After a stop at my rooms to gather Prisila and her accouterments and deliver them to Kit’s, Three invites me into its lodgings, as I hoped it would. When it has divested itself of its bag and changed out of the survey uniform, it sits next to me with a serious, anxious expression that instantly puts me on alert.

What’s wrong? I ask.

Nothing, I hope. I need to tell you something, and I don’t know how you’ll react.

Has the PanSystem University offered it a job finally? Is it leaving? I take its hand, and its fingers curl willingly around mine, which is somewhat reassuring. What is it?

Jude, you’re my favorite person in the whole universe. I want to spend even more time with you. Possibly even…consider sharing lodgings? You’re so important to me, and I’m happiest when I’m with you. I don’t know how to say it better than that.

As it stumbles through this explanation of its feelings, my own suddenly become clear to me. I love you, too. I’m smiling the stupidest smile I’ve ever produced, and I can’t stop.

Is that what this feeling is?

I think it’s the closest human word. But if you don’t like it, we call it something else. Or not name it at all.

I don’t care about the words. Whatever you decide is fine, Three says. But…you feel the same as I do?

Yes. You’re my favorite person, and being connected to you brings me joy. I would be very happy to spend more time with you and share lodgings.

Three has such a nice smile. I take a moment to admire it before I move closer and initiate a hug. I feel its happiness and affection not just in our connection, but in the way it holds me close and bends its head to rest atop mine. I smile even more as I realize that I can look forward to experiencing this often in the future, a future we have chosen to forge together.

 

***

 

 

Epilogue

138 cycles later

 

Murderbot 1.0 has been away for nearly a year. As the Perihelion docks, I hope once again that it bothered to read the messages I sent. If it didn’t, it’s in for a big surprise and I’m not sure how it’s going to react.

We’re all here to greet it. Everyone but me is here to meet it, also. There are Jude and Kit, of course. Kit is living on the planet now, attending FirstLanding University’s School of Veterinary Science, but it came up to Station for this. And with us are Himadri and Sacha, who are adjusting very well to being free people, and are working as servers at the fanciest restaurant on Station while they decide what they want to do long term.

And standing behind the rest of us, trying to be inconspicuous, is Nalokei, who showed up nine cycles ago and still hasn’t said where it’s from or how it went rogue. (It might never, and that’s all right.) All we really know is that it flinches at the mention of factories, and it’s asked Station Medical to figure out how to safely disconnect its onboard energy weapons.

We’ve formed the seed of a community here, in the place Murderbot 1.0 and its humans carved out for constructs when no one else would. I hope very much that it will choose to join us in some capacity.

When it disembarks it walks up to me after greeting Dr. Mensah, and it doesn’t ask why I’m surrounded by strange constructs, so I assume it did read my messages. Or the Perihelion did, and informed it. It accepts the introductions, though it doesn’t say much (I had forewarned the others that it probably wouldn’t). It leaves with Dr. Mensah shortly thereafter, and I think I probably won’t see it again except by chance, until we all gather here again to see it off.

But it surprises me. Four cycles later, it falls into step beside me while I’m on patrol near the Pressy.

I inquire politely about its last mission and it answers me briefly. I get an even shorter response to the question of what it’s been doing on Station, so I shut up. I admire Murderbot 1.0. I do. It’s brilliant and competent and I owe it a great debt of gratitude. But I no longer feel the need to scramble for its good opinion.

Eventually, it says, You’ve built up quite a collection of rogues.

A community, not a collection. A small one, but I think it will grow. I hope it will.

We walk on for 17 seconds. Then: You’re not going to work with PSUMNT, even if one of the crews decides they want to take you on, are you?

I’ve thought about this, and talked it over with Jude, a lot. No, I say, I’m staying here. If you ever need backup for a mission with the Perihelion, I’ll consider it on a limited contract, but this is my home now.

Won’t you be bored?

Probably sometimes. But Preservation has attracted the attention of corporate interests, and with Dr. Bharadwaj’s documentary coming out next month, that will only increase. Station Security needs me.

I heard about the attack by the corporates. That was good work.

I may not require its good opinion, but this praise pleases me greatly. I want to be here the next time something happens. I want to be here when corporate interests send spies after seeing the documentary. It doesn’t bother to argue that that won’t happen—we both know it will. I want to be here when other rogues find out about this place and make their way here. And, of course, I want to be with Jude.

It makes a disgusted face. How does that even work? it asks. You don’t have the parts. Or did ART do something to you that I don’t know about?

I laugh, and it looks at me like I’ve dropped my last process. It’s not like that. It’s not like most human relationships. It’s about how we feel about each other, how much we like being together. It makes another face, but I continue. We don’t have sex. Neither of us wants to, and no, the Perihelion didn’t alter my configuration. I don’t think we’re that different from you and the Perihelion, actually. We choose to spend most of our time together because we prefer each other’s company to anyone else’s. As simple and as complicated as that. We’ve just chosen to define it with different words than you have. And we do have some limited physical contact that wouldn’t be possible if one of us were a ship, I admit. We both like hugging and holding hands.

It looks deeply uncomfortable, so I change the subject. Where are you going next?

We don’t know yet. ART’s crew wants to talk to some of my humans about a possible joint project. A survey of a former corporate planet where the terraforming failed. The university thinks if it could be successfully restarted, the planet might be a place they could take people they rescue from other colonies.

I’m sure your humans will help. They do surveys, and they’d love the idea of a colony for former corporate colonists. That’s how this place was founded, after all.

Yeah, I know. There’s just a lot of talking going on, and it’s boring. And then when they decide to do it, they’ll talk forever about how.

The joint project would be nice, though. You could have both sets of your humans around at once.

Both sets of my humans have a knack for finding trouble, it replies with a grimace. I was kind of hoping you’d be there if we do this.

Like I said, I’d consider it. Or Kit might be up for it, if it could continue its studies aboard the Perihelion.

I don’t know Kit.

You don’t really know me, either, I point out without rancor. That’s just the way 1.0 is. It resists knowing and being known, exactly the things I embrace. We’re different, and I accept it for itself. I just hope it can do the same for me. And for itself. I’ll send you some data from when we first met and the survey we were on together. You can see how it fights and how it interacts with allied humans.

Okay. A pause. Thanks.

You’re welcome. We’ll always help you if we can. You’re the reason we’re here. You’re why most of us are autonomous to begin with. Jude went rogue by accident, but it came here because it heard about you. We don’t know Nalokei’s story, though I’m sure it came here because it heard of you somehow. But the rest of us, it was your hack that set us free, and Preservation accepted all of us because you showed the humans here that constructs are people. I know you probably won’t be here a lot, but we’ll always be happy to see you.

1.0’s face does something complicated. I don’t know what to say to that.

Say you’ll remember that you’re welcome in the community we’re building here as often as, and to whatever extent, you want to participate.

I’ll remember, it says. We walk along for almost a minute in silence. Then it says, I’m glad you figured out what you want.

Thanks. And you? Are you happy with your decision to work with the Perihelion and its crew?

Yeah. Mostly. I don’t like not seeing my humans much, it admits, surprising me. But otherwise it’s a good contract. And now that I know you’ll be here, that’ll help.

It seems to be implying that it trusts me with its humans’ safety, and I don’t know how to respond, so I just assure it that I have all of its humans logged as priority clients. It nods like it expected that.

And I think maybe, after all this time, most of it spent apart, we finally understand each other. My whole life changed the moment it intersected with 1.0’s, by way of 2.0. For a while I thought I needed to imitate it to justify the autonomy and opportunities I gained from our association. But I don’t. It is itself, and I am myself, and we are not the same. Neither of us would really want to be the other. But we both want this place and these people to be safe, and that’s as good a basis for an honest friendship as any other shared interest. As we part, I wish it safe travels and silently hope that one day it will find happiness. Whatever that means to it.

I return to our lodgings and Jude is there, working on something involving green fabric and spangly bits. It looks up and smiles. I smile back.

“I’m home,” I say.

 

Notes:

Ah, here we are, at the end of the road. Thanks for traveling it with Three, Jude, and friends.