Chapter Text
It was surprisingly hard to step through ART’s lock. I had never been good at goodbyes, but this one was… yeah, it was hard.
We will return in nine Preservation Standard weeks, ART reminded me over our private feed. It was trying to be reassuring, but after 4,000 hours living with ART and its crew, that seemed like a really long time.
It’s not like they were going anywhere interesting or potentially hazardous without me. They were just going back to Mihira for the crew to take some leave (apparently, it was a rule or a law or something that you couldn’t work more than 4,380 hours straight without taking the accrued leisure time. Weird, I know) and for ART to get some maintenance done in dry dock. I’d offered to go with it and watch media together, but it (and Seth, and everyone else) had insisted that I needed to see my Preservation humans again, and, yeah. Maybe I did. Maybe I missed them, a little bit.
I was nervous, okay? It wasn’t as bad as it had been on TranRollinHyfa, because this time I was pretty sure they weren’t going to be angry with me for leaving. Also I’d said goodbye to Mensah and the others who’d been involved in the alien remnant colony thing, so there was that. But… I don’t know. Facing any kind of strong emotion without ART there to back me up left me feeling really, really uncomfortable.
ART prodded me in the feed. Are you going?
“Just give me a minute.”
Do you need emotional support? I could send for–
Fuck, no. I said, “I’m going, I'm going,” and forced myself to step through the hatch and down the ramp to the dock.
Try to have some fun, ART said, as the hatch closed behind me.
Oh just fuck off already, I shot back over the feed. It pinged me, and I felt strangely warm in my torso and hot behind my eyes. I returned the ping, and made myself walk away.
The security in the embarkation zone was still less than optimal, although I noticed the Port Authority had at least taken my advice on updating their scanning equipment. I stood in the short line, waiting to have my ID logged (and how weird was it to have an actual ID that had my actual real identity on it?) and wondered if I should send a message to Mensah or Ratthi or something, to let them know I was back. I was still trying to work myself up to it when there they both were, waving their arms around in that excited-human way and smiling so broadly I scanned quickly through my drone footage to see who was behind me. There was no one; they were smiling at me. And not just them, either: Bharadwaj, Arada, Gurathin and Amena were also there. Right, that was because Amena was switching places with me so that ART could take her to the Pansystem University to begin the next stage of her education. I hadn’t known she was particularly close to Gurathin or Bharadwaj, but then again I had been away for a while.
“SecUnit,” Mensah said, so warmly that I was momentarily at risk of becoming a deeply embarrassed puddle on the floor. “It’s so good to see you.”
The others all started saying similar things, crowding around me until I sent out a panicked No hugging! into the general feed, which caused a couple of rueful chuckles and a general backing off. Amena was the only one who stayed close, but I didn’t mind that. It was – wow, yeah – it was good to see them, too. All of them (even Gurathin). We stood around for a few minutes, me awkwardly, the humans chattering excitedly, until it was time for Amena to leave, and then there were hugs (between the humans) and tears (from Mensah – to say I was not prepared for the effect that would have on me would be putting it mildly) and Amena shoving my arm in a way I tentatively interpreted as affectionate.
Then she left, and I expected the others to drift off, too, but… they didn’t.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Arada said, “but we’ve planned a little celebration to welcome you back.”
Uh, okay. That was unexpected, and I kind of did mind, actually. I stood there staring over her shoulder for 6.3 seconds, frantically trying to come up with a way to get out of it without hurting her feelings, when ART sent me a pointed ping. Yes, okay, message received.
I said, “Sure.”
I tried to hold in my put-upon feelings, but historically my control over my face has been… not great. I was just starting to think I’d gotten away with it when a quiet laugh from beside me indicated that I probably hadn’t after all. Turning a drone in that direction, I saw Gurathin, a slight smile on his face, looking up at the ceiling as though trying to project an air of innocence. Of course, it was just like him to enjoy my misfortune.
He said, “Welcome back, SecUnit,” shoved his hands in his pockets, and followed after the others. You know, like an asshole.
Unenthusiastically, I followed.
Can I at least put my bag in my hotel room? I sent to Mensah’s feed, as we walked along a generic-looking corridor. Yes, I still had a bag – it even had things in it other than weapons – but she must have calculated the probability of me locking myself in given the chance (it was high, over 90%) and sent me a negative in reply.
Your old suite isn’t available at the moment. I’ve arranged somewhere else for you to stay.
Oh, great. Unexpected change, just what murderbots love most.
She must have seen my expression because she added, Don’t worry, I chose it myself. I think it will suit you.
Well, okay, I guess.
It wasn’t long before we reassembled in a public social area with a small pantry, the obligatory plant biomes, and lots of large, comfortable-looking chairs dotted around. A calendar popped up on the general feed as we entered – apparently you could reserve the space for private functions. So I guess this was my party. Yay.
I’d been expecting (dreading) something like the couple of raucous birthday celebrations that had happened aboard ART while I'd been there, to which I had just… not gone. But I guess this wasn’t that bad. There was no loud music or intoxicants, and Overse was there, hanging up some kind of decorative… thing.
She looked up as one of my drones flew over to her, and gave it a wry smile. “Sorry, SecUnit,” she said to it, “I couldn’t stop her, Arada’s a born organizer. It’s wonderful to see you again.”
I liked Arada, and she'd clearly made an effort to make this gathering SecUnit friendly, so I just sent Overse an acknowledgement over the feed and sat down in one of the chairs.
It was… fine. The humans helped themselves to hot drinks, and talked to each other and did their best not to overwhelm me. I could see Ratthi was practically vibrating with the effort of not bombarding me with questions, but he (mostly) restrained himself, and I was grateful. I asked Dr. Bharadwaj how her documentary was going, and she told me Three had agreed to be involved, and so she was now busy restructuring the narrative to include its voice. Mensah caught me up on what media her children were currently into, and her new occupation since leaving the planetary admin office. Ratthi shared the upcoming schedule of performances at Makeba Hall for the next few weeks.
Like I said, it was fine. Nice, even. But then it was exhausting, and I just wanted to tune down my audio inputs and watch media. Instead, while the humans were busy talking to each other, I made a silent, tactical retreat to the furthest corner of the room. Unfortunately, it wasn’t completely unoccupied; fortunately, it was just Gurathin, and he was about as comfortable with large gatherings as I was.
He looked up when I sat across from him, but didn’t say anything. At least, he didn’t say anything for the next 5.1 minutes. He was reading something in the feed, though I couldn’t tell what without risking him noticing me poking around. Probably some dry academic paper, as usual. But then, he apparently reached the end of it, because he lost that unfocused look that humans and augmented humans get when they’re deep in their feeds, adjusted his posture slightly, and glanced at my face before looking away again. (Of all my Preservation humans, he seemed to have the hardest time remembering not to look directly at me. It was irritating.)
In our private feed, he highlighted a video file I had sent him a while back, the one I’d made while we were waiting for the GrayCris representative on TranRollinHyfa (it was further back in our feed history than I would have expected, I didn't think we talked that much) and sent, Is there a sequel?
I rolled my eyes. Of course he was the first one to ask about my work. (I don’t know if the others had agreed not to beforehand, or if it was some Preservation social rule that I wasn’t aware of (it wouldn’t be the first time) but they had all very carefully, very obviously steered around the topic of ART and the top secret missions they probably assumed I’d been going on with its crew. Huh, maybe they knew that talking about ART would just make me emotional, and then I’d be more likely to leave their gathering. That was impressively sneaky, actually.)
I didn’t have a convenient cache of tagged footage ready to edit together this time, so it took me a few minutes. When I was done, I pushed the video into Gurathin’s feed and watched through a drone to see his reaction. I’d called it Murderbot Impersonates An Augmented Human Security Consultant, Part 2: Not So Human, Actually. His face did some interesting things. I’d sent him a good half hour of footage of me breaking up a heated academic argument between two students, the time an unexpected monsoon hit the planetary expedition team and the resulting extraction had left me splashed up to my neck in sticky red mud, and other such personal highlights. That should keep him occupied.
Gurathin was just getting to the spectacular finale (the time Turi’s cooking had triggered ART’s fire suppression system in the galley, and I’d gotten squirted in the face with foam – a clip that ART had not only saved to its archive, but redeployed against me with extreme prejudice) when Mensah finally came to my rescue.
She said, “SecUnit, if you’re ready to leave, I can show you to your new quarters now.”
I like my humans, I do, but the relief was intense. Grabbing my bag, I followed her out and we started walking towards… the permanent housing area? It was a sector below the transit ring and station mall where people who lived on the station permanently, or came there regularly, had private quarters. I knew Mensah had had them when she was Planetary Admin, Bharadwaj still did, and Ratthi had regularly talked about getting a place of his own.
Wait.
“Dr. Mensah, did you get me an apartment?”
She smiled. “Yes. When I realized your old hotel suite wouldn’t be available, it seemed… Well, I suppose I hoped you would feel like you have a home here on the station, too, whenever you want it.”
Shit, I was having an emotion. “Thank you,” I managed to get out. Yeah, sometimes being treated like a person still catches me like that.
We passed through a couple of open park-like areas, with pathways and flora and equipment for children to play on, past several apartment buildings that had a complete lack of the ads and constant feed noise you’d get in the Corporation Rim, then finally up to a mid-size rectangular building that went up about eight stories, covered in large windows and spacious balconies and, I would later discover, a central courtyard with – you guessed it – more plants, pathways, and decorative features.
“You’re on the ground floor,” she said, leading me through the building’s lobby. “I assumed you would want to be able to leave as quickly as possible in an emergency.”
I could easily jump down from any of the first four floors without injuring myself, but the thought was… thoughtful.
“Ratthi has recently taken a place a few blocks down,” she continued. “And I think Gurathin has an apartment in this building somewhere. Ah, here we are.”
The door opened with my ID and, after a moment, I stepped cautiously inside. Okay, wow, she hadn’t been kidding about finding somewhere that would suit me. I think she might have had it tailored just for me, because as soon as the door closed behind us, a little network of cameras blinked to life, and I could immediately see every room from several different angles. There was a large living space with those big windows I'd noticed, a display surface that covered one entire wall, and three separate seating options, plus a bedroom with a huge bed and another display surface. There was no food preparation or storage area, nothing in the bathroom except a shower that could easily fit five humans, and very little in the way of gratuitous “art”. Actually the only decorative feature was a colorful blanket draped over the back of the larger of the two couches. When I touched it, it was disgustingly soft.
Mensah said, “I can't remember if you knew – Farai is a fiber artist. She made that for you.”
I don’t think anyone’s ever made me anything before. (Well, except for the time Officer Farid forgot that I’m a construct again and made me a hot drink, but I don’t think that counts.) It was huge, and beautiful, and must have taken Farai hours to make, and I had absolutely no idea what to say about any of it.
Before I could come up with something, Mensah said, “Well, I’ll leave you to get settled in.”
I said, “Uh. Okay.” She turned to leave. “Wait,” I said, before I could overthink it.
Roughly 2,000 hours into my stay, ART had shown me an analysis of its crew’s non-verbal communication, with emphasis on the use of touch. I know you don’t like it, it had said, but it might help refine your move-like-a-human code. And, well, I’d started – very occasionally – trying it out. It wasn’t terrible? I still didn’t like it when humans or augmented humans touched me without warning, but it was less bad when I was initiating it. I’d discovered that sometimes a light touch on someone’s shoulder was better than trying to find something not-stupid to say and/or standing around awkwardly and/or leaving the room. I still didn’t do it often.
Mensah turned back to me, brows raised, and I reached out and squeezed her hand. She paused for a moment, then gently squeezed mine back.
Then, smiling, she left.
The large windows with the deck looked over the ornamental gardens out front, but there was a set of smaller windows in the back that overlooked the private courtyard. I guessed there had been some kind of galley there, before – there were marks on the wall where pipes and tubes and whatever might have once been attached – but now there was just a desk and one of those swivel chairs I’d always liked from Mensah’s office. (What was I going to use a desk for? I didn’t know. But I kind of liked having one anyway.)
I was standing there, wondering if that would be a good spot to display the antique bladed weapon Seth had acquired at a planet-side market (it had been a security nightmare) and later given to me, when movement across the courtyard caught my attention. It was Gurathin. Right. Mensah had mentioned he’d be around. I watched as he climbed the external steps to the covered walkway on the first floor, then let himself into the apartment one floor up and directly opposite mine.
Well, that’s great. Just great.
A light came on and he appeared in his own window, and that was when he saw me. The distance across the courtyard would have provided sufficient privacy if either of us were regular humans, but with our augmented eyesight, we could see each other just fine. His face took on an expression that I interpreted as horrified (no, Gurathin, I didn't plan on being neighbors, either) and then I opaqued my windows and sent episode 256 of Sanctuary Moon to my ridiculously huge display surface.