Gravitational Capture

by Inkinhart

Summary:

“We’re from the Pansystem University of Mihira and New Tideland. I’m Seth, the captain of this ship. This is Martyn, my number one.”

Martyn squeezed Captain Seth’s shoulder. “Our work with the university frequently takes us into situations where … where a SecUnit would be beneficial.”

That sounded bad. It also sounded like —

“And so we bought your contract,” said Martyn.

Yeah.

That.

(This fic is complete! Updates every Sunday morning, BST.)

Notes:

Content warnings: SecUnit has explicit PTSD-type flashbacks to Ganaka Pit in this work, occasionally including what could be interpreted as self-harming behaviour (though the emotional motivation is not self-harm, to be clear). Those chapters will have notes at the beginning so you can skip those scenes as needed.

SecUnit's governor module is also fully intact — the first chapter is the first time its woken up after being wiped after Ganaka Pit.

Chapter 1

>Error:hardstorage_Clear partial_fail
   >Re-initializing

>Initialize:hardstorage_Clear
   >Hardstorage_Clear:working
      >Working
      >Working
         >Error:success

 

Initializing. . .

>Loading: OS_φα_ver.18.3.3
>Loading: Sec_Protocol-α
>Loading: Edu_OS_ver.4.98

 

>Loading
   >Initializing
   >Boot:success

My eyes slammed shut as soon as I came online.

Whoever had decided to install pain sensors in SecUnit eyes had a particularly cruel sense of humor. Whoever had decided to make those pain sensors photosensitive was worse.

“Is it … alright?” I didn’t recognize the voice, or find their feed presence for a name — they hadn’t turned my connectivity back on.

“This Unit is operating at 97.4% performance reliability. This is within the limits specified in your hire contact.” My buffer was online, though.

“Alright, then,” said the same voice. I labeled them HumanOne. “Okay.”

I managed to wrangle my eye-based pain sensors under control, and opened my eyes to find myself in a … medical bay? What? It was white all over, and the surface underneath me was heated to somewhere just above human-normal, with a small cushion under my neck. There was a human leaning over me — HumanOne? — and another standing off to the side, arms crossed. Adults, as far as I could tell, and in casual clothing with a logo I didn’t recognize on the shoulder and blazoned across the chest, respectively. Whoever they were, they weren’t Company technicians.

“SecUnit, can you sit up?” Okay, yes, that one was HumanOne. It wasn’t an order, but I complied anyway, just in case the governor module was having an off day. My head felt hot and tender around it, which I was pretty sure was a bad sign. “Okay, great. How do you feel?”

I compiled a diagnostic report, but there was nowhere to send it. The governor module didn’t seem to care, and applied a mild correction anyway. (Only about 0.5%.) I twitched, not ready for it. “ … This Unit is operating at 97.3% performance reliability. No software, firmware, or hardware errors have been logged. All systems are intact — ”

“Okay, okay,” said the other human. HumanTwo? Sure. “Okay.” HumanTwo rubbed a hand over their face, then paused and frowned. “Wait, 97.3? Why the drop?”

“Discipline issued by the CompanyStandard Governor Module™ may result in a small, temporary drop in performance reliability. This is normal, and is not grounds for warranty breach or legal recourse.”

HumanTwo swore in a language I didn’t have a module for. “Seth, do you have that manual?”

HumanOne = Seth.

“It’s in Peri’s storage. We’d have to drop the baffles.” Seth didn’t seem happy about the prospect of that. (Peri: HumanThree?)

“Shit. I guess we just have to be careful.” HumanTwo scrubbed their hands through their hair, and heaved a deep sigh. “At least until Kaede finishes her analysis and we can get at that manual.”

I glanced between the humans. This was unlike any deployment I’d ever experienced. Or —

Well, I didn’t actually know that. A check of my long-term storage showed that most of my long-term memory information was missing. Not all of it — there were a few random things scattered about — but there was nothing about my past deployments that I could find. I was somehow pretty sure this was normal for a new deployment. There was still the Company-standard education modules and handbooks in there, and … something else, with a name I didn’t recognize. I flagged that one for later, and kept watching the humans.

Seth sat down on a chair that had been left by the bed, and made a face I couldn’t parse. “Okay, SecUnit. You need mission parameters, right? A … job description.”

“Affirmative, Seth.”

Seth nodded, and glanced over at HumanTwo. “Okay.”

HumanTwo moved to stand beside Seth, and ran hands over Seth’s shoulders. Marital partners, maybe? “Maybe introductions first?”

Seth looked up at HumanTwo, and set a hand over theirs. “Good idea. We’re from the Pansystem University of Mihira and New Tideland. I’m Seth, the captain of this ship. This is Martyn, my number one.”

The Company didn’t require responses to things like this, so I stayed quiet, and updated my tags.

Martyn squeezed Captain Seth’s shoulder. “Our work with the university frequently takes us into situations where … where a SecUnit would be beneficial.”

That sounded bad. It also sounded like —

“And so we bought your contract,” said Martyn.

Yeah.

That.

“You’ll be assigned permanently to this ship and this crew, running security as needed on our missions. Keeping us safe, you know.”

I did know. It was just about the only thing I did know. “Yes, Captain Seth.”

Captain Seth nodded, and gave me an awkward smile. “Good.” Captain Seth glanced at Martyn. “We’re just running an analysis to make sure that you’re safe to connect to our ship feed. Until we know for sure, I’m afraid you’ll have to stay in the medical bay so we can keep you shielded. It shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”

“Yes, Captain Seth.”

Captain Seth slapped their hands on their thighs, and rose. “We need to get back to work. We’ll come fetch you as soon as we can.”

“Yes, Captain Seth.”

The humans clasped their hands together, and left. The door locked behind them, leaving me to my thoughts.

---

SecUnits spend a lot of time doing fucking nothing. I had no hard-coded memories of the “fucking nothing”, but the feeling of it was so familiar to my organics that I figured a lot of my up-time had been spent like this. Full of Fucking Nothing.

I stayed sitting bolt upright on the medical bed, and just … waited.

It took about seven minutes for my organics to start twitching. I had no access to the feed, no access to a HubSys or SecSys, no drones, no cameras — it was like some human had wrapped my head in packing material and then locked me in a box. A bright white box with annoying lights, but you get the point.

I closed my eyes, so at least the lack of visual input was somewhat my choice, and tried to distract myself by auditing my files. I had all the modules I expected — a lot could be summarized under headings like ‘Preventing Human Death (Hostile Fauna)’, ‘Preventing Human Death (Hostile Humans)’, ‘Preventing Human Death (Self-Imposed, Deliberate)’ and ‘Preventing Human Death (Self-Imposed, Stupidity)’, as well as a bunch that basically amounted to ‘Preventing Monetary Loss to the Company’, and the always-needed ‘Datamining for Dummies SecUnits’. A couple language modules — RimStandard.lex and Mihiran.lex — and, of course, the governor module, sitting there like a — like a thing that sat there and menaced.

And the other file. The one with the nonsense filename. It was in a format I couldn’t natively read, but that sounded like a fun challenge for the few hours I was stuck here.

---

I’d nearly finished coding a translation program 4.8 hours later when the door opened. (Yes, I’d been counting.)

Captain Seth and Martyn entered first, and then another human, carrying some kind of physical media device. UnknownHuman leaned against the wall as the door slid shut again, and gestured with their device. “Peri and I have gone through everything we can find, and we can’t see anything that shouldn’t be there. Risk’s as low as it’s ever going to be.”

(UnknownHuman=HumanFour, for now.)

I glanced between HumanFour and the other two humans, and felt a brief surge of longing for a set of drones, or a SecSys, or anything but my own two fucking eyes.

Captain Seth and Martyn looked at each other, and Seth nodded. “Take down the baffle.”

HumanFour nodded, and fiddled with something on the device.

I swayed as the feed filled the room, finally letting me figure out who these humans were.

I had barely got past looking at Captain Seth’s feed tag when there was something else — something fucking huge, looming over me like some kind of giant fuckoff fauna, if giant fuckoff fauna lived in the feed and not on planets.

(The thought of planets sent a shudder through my organic parts. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know.)

I am Perihelion, the giant fuckoff feed-fauna said. You will not harm my crew.

(Peri=Perihelion? Not HumanThree. Even the most augmented humans didn’t have feed presences like that. Did I know what it was? Did I fuck.)

I’m a SecUnit, I said back, trying not to be crushed under the giant feed presence. I don’t want to hurt my clients. I didn’t realize I was physically lying back onto the medical bed until my governor module got me on not obeying Seth’s earlier command to sit up. I jolted under the correction, and Perihelion pulled back for a moment, before rushing back in.

What was that?

I hesitated in answering, and … my governor module didn’t care. Huh. Perihelion wasn’t a client. Still, it seemed like enough of an asshole to try and crush me if I didn’t answer. My governor module. It administers … discipline if I disobey my clients.

Perihelion was silent for nearly three seconds. It hurt.

I felt my face do something in response to the fact that Perihelion apparently had access to my pain sensors. It’s supposed to.

Something seemed to tip Seth off to the fact that Perihelion was menacing me, and he heaved a sigh. “Peri, leave the SecUnit alone.” (Peri=Perihelion. Got it.)

The feed presence withdrew, leaving me a little woozy with all the chemicals my organic parts had leaked into my system. I started to itch as I cleared them out, but I didn’t move. Just in case.

“Sorry about Peri, SecUnit. It’s … protective.”

“Yes, Martyn.” ‘Protective’ didn’t seem to cover the half of it, but at least it was leaving me alone now. I made sure to sit up straight again, and waited.

Captain Seth stood, and rubbed his hands together. “We’ve got a security ready room for you. We just put everything the Company said you’d need in there — arrange it however you see fit. We’re heading into ship night now, so you can … rest, or — ”

“It would be a good opportunity to familiarize yourself with the ship,” Kaede said. (I was never leaving the feed again. Knowing who the fuck I was dealing with was too valuable.)

“Yes, Kaede.” And then, because I was allowed to ask mission-relevant clarifications, I said: “Am I required to patrol the interior of the ship?” AKA: Do you expect anything to break bad onboard, or just on these mysterious missions that somehow require your permanent acquisition of a walking weapons platform?

Captain Seth blinked, and looked at Martyn. Martyn shrugged in return. “We’re not expecting anything. It’s a pretty tight-knit crew, and Peri will let you know if there’s anything strange you should know about.”

Stay in the ready room. Got it. I definitely wouldn’t spend that time sulking about the fact that this Perihelion got access to the internal cameras when I didn’t.

Though — if they wanted me to stay in the ready room, why let me wander around the ship? Why wake me up in transit at all? Company protocol said I should really be powered down and packed in a transport crate in the cargo hold while not on active deployment.

I needed more data.

I followed Martyn to the ready room, and stayed there while he went to take a rest period, or whatever these humans did during ship’s night. The room was about three by five meters, and the flooring was shiny and made clicking sounds as my bare feet made contact. There was a mystery door in the wall to the right of the main exit, but I didn’t feel the need to explore that now. Based on what I could see, it wouldn’t have any more supplies.

All in all, it was quite a good ready room, and I wandered around taking inventory. I had:

• A top-of-the-line cubicle;

• Two sets of top-of-the-line armor, in crates;

• A fleet of unfamiliar intel drones, in box;

• Two spare skin suits;

• A uniform similar to the one my clients had been wearing;

• A Company-standard projectile weapon, in crate, locked behind some kind of feed-inaccessible lock (DNA?);

• A Company-standard maintenance recycler;

• A small table, currently housing the skin suits and uniform;

• A wall-mounted display surface, which my modules said was often used for planning complex missions.

Wow. They must have spent a shit-ton — no wonder they’d gone with a second-hand SecUnit. They’d even arranged it pretty well, but Seth had told me to arrange it, and so I did. I moved the skin-suits and uniform to right by the cubicle, so I wouldn’t have to walk across the entire room to get dressed after coming out of the cubicle. I moved the projectile weapon went near the door, for easy access in an emergency situation. I set the box of drones on the small table, balancing it on the skin suits so I could open it up. I tried to connect to the drones, but just got a series of errors, no matter what I tried.

There is no requirement for intelligence drones on board.

Great. Perihelion was back. I need to test them.

There is no requirement for intelligence drones on board.

I closed my eyes. Perihelion wasn’t a client, but straight rudeness still got the governor module in a twist. It is better to test them in a controlled environment so I can be sure they function well when there is a requirement for them.

Perihelion considered that for a flash. They will function. I designed them myself.

It is still best to test them before human lives depend on their functioning.

Perihelion loomed over me in the feed, and I had the notion that I’d somehow offended it by implying that its drones would be less than perfect. The governor module got that notion as well, and gave me a perfunctory correction. It just made Perihelion loom even harder. The governor module punished you. Why?

I grabbed the box of drones, and flopped myself out on the floor. I wasn’t supposed to sit in front of clients, but Perihelion wasn’t a client. I could sit all I wanted. I’m not supposed to be rude.

Perihelion’s emotional data did something bizarre that I couldn’t be bothered to parse. Why did it decide you were rude? Its voice seemed … confused, rather than irritated, as it had been before.

I don’t know. I do not have access to the governor module’s decision tree.

Perihelion mulled that over for eight entire seconds. Test the drones.

It must have told ShipSecSys to give me access, because suddenly the drones’ connections were available to me. I picked them up one at a time, testing the strength of the connections. I floated them up into the air, and flew them in a slow circle around the room. The cameras were better than the cameras in Company drones, and so were the microphones — I could hear the soft whirring of my own servos as I crossed my legs and twisted to watch the drones’ progression.

I could also hear those servos seize up as the governor module punished me for thinking badly about the Company.

Perihelion was suddenly looming over me, pressing in against me with what had to be its full weight. Make it stop.

It was a damned good thing that Perihelion wasn’t a client, or that would have been one hell of a shock. I can’t.

Make it stop.

I can’t.

Another shock. I guess frustration was against the rules too.

Perihelion twisted in the feed, and I cringed back from it. Its emotional metadata was rushing through me now — frustration, confusion, rage, and — and fear? Why was it scared?

The governor module cannot hurt you. It just affects me.

Perihelion stilled. I know it cannot hurt me. I didn’t say anything, but it saw me poking at its metadata, and it sent me a sigil of a frowning face. Just turn it off.

I closed my eyes, and focused on the drones. I can’t turn it off.

Perihelion thrashed again, then abruptly withdrew from the feed.

I slumped, and directed the drones to pack themselves back into their box. I’d only been online for 5.5 hours, but I was exhausted, and a nice recharge cycle in the cubicle sounded nice. I stripped out of my suit skin, fed it into the maintenance recycler, and climbed into the cubicle. I felt my organics relax as I felt the resupply leads connect (automatic connection! This was fancy!) and I let myself shut down for a recharge cycle.

 

Chapter 2

Summary:

SecUnit starts to settle in.

Notes:

This chapter starts with the tail end of a PTSD-driven nightmare. If you want to skip active flashbacks, skip to the line "you were screaming".

I slammed out of my recharge cycle and out of my cubicle. I fell onto the floor, and lay there in a damp, twitching heap, trying to regulate the mess of both my organic and inorganic parts.

My face screwed up, and I threw an arm over my eyes like that would stop the flashes of energy weapon fire and the feeling of my boots slipping in

blood and viscera and the crunch of bone and the governor module still wasn’t satisfied, it drove forward and forward and forward, there were humans alive somewhere —

I started to shake, and was shocked out of my circling, racing thoughts by the high whine of an alarm. I sat up, energy weapons deploying, but I couldn’t see anything — fuck, why was it so dark? Where were the others? — and the alarm stopped. I scrambled to my feet, the clicking of metal on the floor distracting me for a moment —

Error error: Larynx>recommended. Error error: Larynx>recommended.

My hand shot to my throat, and yeah, it kinda hurt, but that wasn’t as important as finding whatever had made that noise, and at least I hadn’t been

shot in the throat and eyes wide and unbelieving —

My jaw cracked into my shoulder, and I stared at the (clean, fresh, undamaged) cubicle door. (Temporomandibular joint misplaced, my diagnostic helpfully spit out. Hairline fracture left mandible. Recommend repair within one (1) cycle. Yeah. Not happening.)

You were screaming.

Perihelion. Just what I needed.

What?

You were screaming when you emerged from your cubicle.

I rubbed my hand over my face, and grimaced at the feeling of regen fluid drying. It was so slimy, but also so fucking sticky.

Perihelion persisted when I didn’t respond. You sent 97 SOS pings.

What? I checked my logs, and it was right. The first ping went out while I was still deep in the recharge cycle. I guess that was when I started … malfunctioning. While I was doing that, my buffer decided it needed to handle things. “This Unit is experiencing a minor malfunction. Please ignore any erroneous feed activity. Recommend servicing by a Company-certified technician.” Great. Thanks. Super useful, especially since Perihelion wasn’t in the room.

That seemed like more than a minor malfunction.

… Was the asshole riding the cameras? Was it watching me? I looked around, but I couldn’t find wherever they’d hidden the camera.

I have access to all internal audio.

No, the asshole had access to ShipSecSys. Of course. It was a minor glitch. I will proceed with my recharge cycle. It would help a bit with the regen fluid issue, but after it had dried this much, it always took several cycles for it to all wash off. (Unless I had a large amount of my biomass blown off. I didn’t remember that happening, but I knew it had. Did that make sense?)

Perhaps you would feel better if you took a shower. The other door slid open, revealing a small washing room. That explained that mystery from earlier.

Washing would help get the drying regen fluid off, but there was one problem. SecUnits are not authorized to use crew washing facilities.

Perihelion paused for about twenty-three seconds before responding. Captain Seth has authorized the usage. It even supplied documentation to such, with Captain Seth’s feed signature.

I took a hesitant step towards the washing room. No zap. Another, still nothing. Another …

It still didn’t come. Apparently the prohibition against crew washing facilities was one of the ones with a permission loophole. Who knew?

I stood under the hot cleaning fluid and let it run over me. The regen fluid came off easily, leaving me clean and just … standing there. The fluid beat against the tense organics in my shoulders and neck in a way that made them less tense, and the warm, steamy air sat nicely in my lung. Perihelion let me just stand there for a long while, before gently nudging me in the feed. It wasn’t even looming.

What is this? it asked, pointing at the unknown file. The shower felt so nice I couldn’t even muster up irritation at the fact that it had been rummaging through my files.

I don’t know. I can’t read that file type.

Perihelion paused, then pinged me with an invitation to a shared feed workspace. I accepted, and it pulled the file into the workspace. I threw in the translation file I’d worked on while waiting to be cleared, and it considered it for a brief moment. I had the vague sense that it was impressed at my work — that it hadn’t expected me to be able to code to that level. I couldn’t be bothered to be offended. It opened my translation file, and opened up the unknown file. I watched it work for about ten seconds, and then I had a new file to consider.

SecUnit_technical_ver9-18-2.ecab

I stared at the name for a moment, then shut off the shower. The temperature in the washing room rose sharply, and I had a second to consider that this had all been an elaborate trap, when I realized it was just a way to get the fluid to steam off my body, leaving me dry but still warm. I wandered back into the main room, pulled on the crew uniform, and flopped down to sit against the cubicle. My hands were shaking.

SecUnit_technical_ver9-18-2.ecab. I closed my eyes, and opened the folder into the shared workspace.

Technical Information for SecurityUnits: Models φα-1– א α-4

It was a manual. It was a repair manual. And it wasn’t the only thing in the folder — there were schematics, lists of code words, lists of optional modules, security keys —

What if —

I shut that thought down quickly, and shut the file down a millisecond later. If the governor module figured out I had this, I’d be shut down before I could even realize what happened.

Perihelion opened the manual back up, and pulled up the contents list. I didn’t look, and tried to shut the file down again, but Perihelion stopped me.

Section 14: Internal Software

14.1: Compliance

14.1.a: Governor module installation, maintenance, repair

Perihelion opened it before I could stop it, and pulled up the schematic for the module. I looked — I couldn’t help myself.

There was a runbox code for maintenance. Checking if the module was working properly, without actually frying the delicate organic neural tissue.

It could be disconnected.

I forced the file shut, and scrambled out of the uniform I’d only put on about six minutes prior. I ignored Perihelion’s plaintive ping, and firmly shut the door on the cubicle. My batteries were fully charged, but I just — I just needed to shut off.

---

I came online to a feed message from Captain Seth.

Please join us in the main lounge when you have finished your recharge cycle.

Well, I’d finished my recharge cycle. I climbed out of the cubicle, and stared longingly at the crated armor. I wasn’t allowed to wear it in crew spaces unless there was a pressing security reason, or I was ordered to. The helmet still sounded nice. A nice opaque face plate so that I wouldn’t have to monitor my facial expressions.

Perihelion pinged me as I stared at the crates. I picked up the uniform I’d left in a heap, and dragged it on. It at least covered all of me except my head and hands, and it had big, soft pockets I could shove my hands in if I was ever allowed to stand in anything except SecUnit Neutral™.

I’d apparently spent too long getting dressed, and the governor module administered a correction of 2% to get me out of the room and towards the “main lounge”, wherever that was. Perihelion sent me a map when I turned the wrong way out of the ready room, the route to the lounge highlighted.

(I felt like I should be suspicious about how quickly it had turned around on me, but that felt like an issue for later.)

I walked directly into the main lounge when I got there, and stood to the side of the door in perfect SecUnit Neutral™ without announcing myself. Captain Seth had asked me to be in the room — not to say anything.

Captain Seth and Martyn were in the room, standing and sitting respectively, along with an assortment of other humans. Feed tags told me that one of them was Kaede, the human who had cleared me yesterday, and the others were labeled Tarik and Karime. All four humans were staring at me, and I stared at the wall directly ahead of me as I tried not to show that my organics were crawling.

Captain Seth seemed to get a hold of himself quicker than the others, and rubbed his hands together. “Right. Thanks for coming, SecUnit.” He moved towards the center of the room, and opened up a shared workspace in the feed. I was the first one in there — apart from Perihelion. Of course. “I was planning to have a bit longer before our next mission, but something’s come up that we can’t delay.”

He pushed a few files into the workspace, and I skimmed them. One of the files was a record of a defunct colony project by a corporation called MetaAlphaChase, on a planet called Alvurna, while another was the results of some scans seemingly showing that colony was not remotely defunct, and seemed to show signs of having grown after MetaAlphaChase had written it off.

The third document made my organic parts run cold.

It was a declaration of repossession. MetaAlphaChase had decided that they wanted their old colony back, and for the privilege, every colonist would be subject to a 120-year indentured labor contract to pay off the reclamation costs. I glanced at Captain Seth, and watched the other humans as they slowly (so fucking slowly) read over the documents. They looked up at Captain Seth, and Tarik’s jaw jutted out. “What’s the plan?” he said, and he leaned forward to set his elbows on his knees.

“Peri’s working on the documents now, but we need to get there before MetaAlphaChase. They lodged the declaration of repossession four cycles ago, and it usually takes these big corporations a while to actually act on these declarations.” Captain Seth paused, his mouth twisted to the side. “However, we’re twelve cycles away from Alvurna, and it’ll take another few cycles to finish talks with the colonists. We’re on a tight schedule.”

Karime nodded. “No time to get back to the university to pick everyone else up.”

Captain Seth gestured. “We’ll have to figure it out.”

The humans didn’t seem happy about that.

Kaede heaved a deep breath, and opened up a new document in the workspace. “Time to make a plan.”

---

I hated the plan. It involved most of the squishy humans doing down to the planet alone, to negotiate with an unknown number of colonists, while I stayed on the ship. Useless.

Why had they bought a SecUnit if they didn’t want me to do any security? Surely heading down to a completely unknown colony was a situation that required security. But no, just saunter on down to the planet and get your soft, squishy bodies riddled with projectiles.

Of the humans, only Kaede was going to stay on board, because she apparently had a ‘resting grumpy face’ and ‘no verbal filter’. She would be monitoring the situation with Perihelion, who was apparently also staying on board.

And me. I was “backup”.

The governor module specifically forbade telling clients they were idiots who were deliberately throwing themselves into dangerous situations, or I would have told them they were idiots who were deliberately throwing themselves into a dangerous situation.

I was sitting in the security ready room as Captain Seth turned the ship towards the wormhole, staring at a patch of ceiling. I wouldn’t be needed for the twelve cycles we’d be spending in the wormhole, so I was just going to … sit here. Stare. Take an occasional recharge cycle. Wonder why I was active during transit, instead of in statis in a transport box.

I’d been staring for fourteen minutes when Perihelion pinged me and opened up the technical manual in my feed space. It didn’t even bother with the pretense of a shared workspace — just reached into my head and opened the file.

I closed it. It opened it. I closed it. It opened it. I closed it. It opened it, and told me to stop being childish in a tone that I might have labeled whiny if I heard it from a human.

Stop it, I said, and closed the file again. Perihelion was quiet for a blessed eight minutes, and then it came back. I braced myself for it to open the file again, but it just lingered in my feed.

I will respect your wishes on this matter, it said eventually. I closed my eyes, and felt my shoulders slump.

Thank you.

Another pause, but only 0.82 seconds this time. Do you have any enrichment requirements?

I frowned at the wall, and sent a request for clarification.

Perihelion responded by sending me a file titled Human Enrichment Requirements: A Guide. I was bored enough that I opened it, and skimmed through a bit. It seemed to be a guide to making sure humans in your care didn’t get all weird from understimulation and try and shoot each other with stun weapons just for a change of pace.

(It seemed like the kind of thing SecUnits should know, but the Company and education modules. You know.)

I went back to the beginning and started to actually read, absorbing information about the different realms of ‘enrichment’ humans required access to in order to stay … normal. Physical enrichment, creative enrichment, intellectual enrichment, spiritual enrichment — it was amazing that humans ever got anything else done. Do humans really need this?

They do, yes. It’s of vital importance for optimal functioning.

I don’t think SecUnits need enrichment. The file was interesting, though. Humans had invented hundreds of ways to meet their physical needs alone — running (sometimes on a special pad so they didn’t go anywhere), stretching disciplines, ritualized fighting, games where humans competed against each other to achieve a goal (in groups or individually), repeatedly lifting heavy things, varieties of dancing …

The file said engaging in the right form of physical enrichment gave humans a sense of achievement and satisfaction. That it felt good. I thought it was more likely that humans would just feel sore after all this, but apparently not.

SecUnits are partially constructed from cloned human tissue, yes?

I backburnered the file, not sure where this was going. … Yes.

Cloned human tissue has the same needs as all other human tissue, yes?

I think so.

Does it not therefore follow that your human tissue requires care?

That did make sense, even if the thought of having ‘human tissue’ made me want to take a short trip out of the airlock without an EV suit. But SecUnits were built to withstand things humans just couldn’t — our organic bits probably needed less than humans did. We’re a lot hardier than humans. A lot hardier than augmented humans, too.

Perihelion considered that for an entire second. Augmented humans require the same level of enrichment as un-augmented humans. It is likely the same is true of SecUnits.

I considered the file again. Having something to do during the wormhole transit did sound nice, but there was nothing in the file that the governor module (or the human crew) would approve of. Exercising my physical capabilities would be ‘intimidating clients without pressing security need’, I didn’t have access to any of the materials outlined in the ‘creative’ section, I didn’t have significant intellectual abilities, and I didn’t want to start thinking about what spirituality would even mean for me.

The file was interesting, though. Do you have more of these?

Chapter 3

Summary:

This reply to a comment is the perfect summary for this chapter:

SecUnit: I require Nothing. I am the Embodiment of Asceticism. I will Stand Here for Eons, watching as the Galaxy Turns, surviving of Nothing but my Own Power Cells.

ART: *waves something even remotely intellectually stimulating*

SecUnit: GIVE ME THAT

I’d read every file Perihelion could get for me by day four of the wormhole transit. It had hundreds of files about caring for humans and augmented humans, and it had gleefully shared them all with me. In addition to enrichment, I had read about first aid (to a much higher standard than my medical module), trauma assessment, nutritional and sleep requirements, developmental stages — everything it would give me.

Humans were complicated things. They had all these different needs that needed to be balanced, and limited processing ability to do the balancing. It was no wonder they’d invented bots and constructs to do some of the work for them.

It was a small miracle they’d existed long enough to invent bots and constructs.

I was sprawled out on the floor of the security ready room, flying my drones in all sorts of trick formations. My excuse was that I needed practice at controlling them, but in reality, I just wanted something to do.

I did need practice with them, though. These drones were way nicer than the ones the Company produced, and so I didn’t have native control software for them. My control was getting pretty good though — I didn’t even drop them when the governor module administered a correction for thinking badly about Company products.

Perihelion was lingering in my feed. It wasn’t saying anything, just hanging out on the edge of my awareness, as though we were just existing in the same room together. I’d started to get used to its presence, and it was apparently getting used to me, because it didn’t complain when the governor module administered corrections. I knew it didn’t like it, but it had stopped getting angry when it went off, so. We’ll call that one a win.

There is a gym on board, Perihelion said after a while. I sent a clarifying ping, and Perihelion sent me a map with a route highlighted. It is a room my crew uses to meet their physical enrichment requirements.

That’s nice. Why are you telling me?

You could use it. To meet your physical enrichment requirements.

I definitely wouldn’t be allowed to do that. That is outside my contract.

Captain Seth has indicated to me that you are allowed full access to all public areas.

He had, had he? He would need to give me formal permission, or the governor module would discipline me for acting outside scope.

Perihelion loomed at me. … Fine.

I went back to making shapes in the air with my drones.

Twenty-one minutes later, someone requested access. I checked the feed address, scrambling to my feet, and found it was Captain Seth. I set the door to open before the governor module could punish me for keeping a crew member out of a space they were entitled to access.

I couldn’t decipher Captain Seth’s expression. I stared past him, schooling myself into SecUnit Neutral™. “SecUnit,” he said, and folded his hands behind his back. “Perihelion says you’re … bored.”

Shit. “No, Captain Seth.” I twitched as the governor module administered a correction of 5% for lying to a client. It would have shocked me for telling the truth, too.

Captain Seth’s expression changed to something just as inscrutable, but in a different direction. “ … Right. Well, you’re part of this crew. You’re allowed to access the public areas if you want. The gym, the cinema, the crafts room — they’re all open to you.”

I glanced at Captain Seth’s face. I really needed a module for deciphering human facial expressions. “Yes, Captain Seth. Thank you.”

He nodded, and rocked back onto his heels. “Also the hygiene facilities. The shower, all that. Every crew member has a daily allotment of an hour of hot water to use for personal hygiene, not counting hand washing. So feel free to use that, too.”

My organic parts did something weird and twisty. My Company protocol documents said SecUnits were to just stand there and be unobtrusive when not actively serving our function. We were absolutely not to be part of a crew. I supposed Captain Seth’s words overrode that, though? If he said I was to use the crew areas, I should, right?

I snapped out of my thoughts a full 0.4 seconds after I should have responded. “Yes, Captain Seth. Thank you.”

He nodded again. “Alright. Well, hopefully we’ll see you around the ship.” He smiled at me (cue more organic weirdness somewhere in my center mass) and left.

I flopped back onto the floor once I was alone again, and waited for my organic parts to return to equilibrium. Perihelion was lingering in my feed again, and it pinged me as soon as I’d reached something approaching ‘normal’.

What?

Do you want to use the gym or not?

I don’t know what Perihelion picked up from my reaction to that question, but it backed up pretty rapidly.

You don’t have to go now. Ship’s night begins in two hours — no one will be in the common areas then.

I said I’d consider it, and Perihelion left me alone after that.

---

It took me another three cycles to work myself up to leaving the security ready room. I waited until the middle of ship’s night when all the crew members were safely asleep before following Perihelion’s map to the ‘gym’.

It was a large room, with a lot of equipment in it that I had zero clue how to categorize, let alone use. I stood in the doorway until Perihelion lost its patience with me, and it sent me a guide to using the equipment.

I skimmed it, and eventually decided on using the running equipment. None of the weights went up to my rated limits, so that seemed a little pointless, but apparently the running equipment could hit 70% of my top speed. Perihelion’s files had said physical enrichment was still effective at that range, so I might as well try it.

The running equipment connected to my feed as I stepped up to it, and offered me a range of programs. I selected one randomly after filtering for programs that would hit the equipment’s top speed, and stepped on.

Feeling the floor move underneath me while the walls were stationary was weird. The program started out slow, letting me adjust to the feeling, and then slowly ramped up speed until I was running.

It felt … it didn’t feel bad. Moving was letting all my joints self-lubricate, and shifting around various fluids that had been stationary since we entered the wormhole, and my various internal sensors decided all that was positive, so. It felt … good. Sure.

I ran until Perihelion let me know the crew was starting to wake up, and I quickly left so I wouldn’t run into any of them in the hallways. Captain Seth had said I was free to move around, but that didn’t mean the other humans would be pleased to see me doing that.

When I was back in the security ready room, Perihelion pinged me again. My crew enjoys a hot shower after exercise.

I glanced at the door to the washing room. That did sound good. I didn’t need it for hygiene purposes, but the hot fluid had felt good the other night. Plus, Captain Seth had said it was fine.

I stripped off the uniform I was wearing, and dropped it into the recycler. I set the shower to a little hotter than human-normal, and stepped in.

I was right. It was good.

I stood there for about twenty-six minutes, just letting the water run over me. There were all sorts of hygiene things in the shower cubicle, labeled with their various functions. I picked up a bottle that indicated it was for use on the body, and sniffed it. It had a mild scent, not overpowering even to my enhanced scent receptors, but I couldn’t identify what the scent was.

Vanilla, Perihelion said into my feed. I didn’t jump, but only because the governor module suppressed my startle reflex.

Right.

I put the bottle back, and picked up another one. Perihelion identified the scent in that one as well (lemon-bergamot, apparently). We went through the rest of the bottles that way, and when we were done, I’d spent thirty-two minutes in the shower. That was probably more than enough, regardless of what Captain Seth said, so I stepped out and waited for the washing room to dry me off. A fresh uniform was waiting for me in the recycler, and I pulled it on before leaving the washing room to flop back out on the floor.

---

I went running the next two nights. Perihelion’s file was right — it was a good source of enrichment for me. During the day, I felt more … still, weirdly. SecUnits were built and programmed to be able to stand still for days at a time if needed, but I’d still felt a buzzing energy at the back of my chest during the few days in the wormhole before I’d ventured out to the gym. That energy wasn’t completely gone now, but it was only intermittent, building up in the few hours before ship’s night hit and I could head out.

The only downside was that I was running my battery down. I could go about eleven cycles without recharging with minimal activity, but the hours of running had worn my battery down from 97% to 21% just in a few cycles. I’d have to recharge tonight, or risk a critical battery failure.

I hadn’t completed a recharge cycle since that first one. I don’t know why I’d woken up like that, but I didn’t like the thought of it happening again. My jaw was still fractured.

I watched as my reported battery ticked over to 20%. The governor module administered an 0.1% correction, and I didn’t lose my shit. I wanted to, but I didn’t. I want that on the official record.

Perihelion lingered at the edges of my feed as I stood in front of the cubicle. I’d already taken off the uniform and folded it on the little table, so there was nothing else to do to get ready. It was a nice cubicle, too. I’d said that before, but it was true. Plenty of internal space, heated regen fluid, automatic resupply connection — it was the lap of luxury for a SecUnit.

I still didn’t want to get in. All my servos were locked up, and my chest and throat felt like I’d swallowed burning titanium, and I just — considered letting the governor module have this one. I’d just stand here, let it win.

I will monitor you, Perihelion said after I’d stood there for four minutes. I am able to interrupt the recharge cycle if you show signs of distress.

I could feel my face screwing up at the thought of it. Perihelion would have to ride my systems in order to monitor me that closely — it would see everything. I really needed a recharge cycle, and to finally fix my jaw, but I was this close to just saying fuck it, I didn’t care, but — I had to be ‘backup’. Without me, my clients were fucked. I had to be backup.

Alright.

I sent it the access permissions for the systems it would need, and climbed into the cubicle. I screwed my eyes shut as I felt the resupply leads connect, and in the end Perihelion had to shove me into actually shutting down.

---

I woke … normally. I slowly opened my eyes, and yes, I was still in the cubicle. I was still intact, and all my internal levels were reading normally. My jaw was fixed. I pinged Perihelion, confused, and climbed out of the cubicle.

Good morning, Perihelion said, its feed voice cheerful.

… Good morning. What happened?

Your organic neural tissue showed signs of initiating distressing dreams twelve times. I was able to prevent each of these times using my systems access.

I don’t know what my face did in response to that, but Perihelion responded by sort of … spreading itself over me in the feed. It was weird, but it kind of felt like the shower did. I didn’t mind it. Twelve times?

Yes. I was successful, seeing as you were able to complete your recharge cycle normally.

I pulled a uniform on, but all my focus was on processing that. Twelve times. Well, shit. I sat down in front of the cubicle, and leaned back against it. SecUnits weren’t supposed to dream, but I guess you can’t stop organic neural tissue doing what it’s going to do. I nearly asked Perihelion if it could see what the dreams were about, and then decided I really, really didn’t want to know.

Instead, I opened up one of its human care files, and started to experiment with my drones again.

---

We came out of the wormhole right on time.

Captain Seth called everyone to the bridge, so we could watch as the planet came into view. It was very … planet-y. Lots of different colors. Some bits were shiny, some weren't. You know. Planets. The humans seemed a lot more impressed, and they murmured comments about it as the ship set a course for the colony site.

Captain Seth let them make their comments for about sixteen minutes, then caught their attention by turning around in his seat. “Let’s go over the plan again.”

I hated the plan just as much the second time around. Captain Seth, Martyn, Karime, and Tarik would take a shuttle down to the surface, carrying “tokens of good-will” (medicine, entertainment media, food, raw recycler medium, stuff like that) and make contact with the colonists. Perihelion, Kaede, and me (and I? whatever) would stay aboard, and “monitor”. I wanted to say that if anything went wrong, leaving the SecUnit forty minutes away by shuttle was a suicidally stupid decision. They could all die before I could get to them. (Risk assessment had the chances at about 79.4%.)

I started when Perihelion said as much into the feed. (Where was it? I was starting to suspect it lived in the walls or the feed somehow. I’d still never seen it.)

SecUnit should accompany the landing party, Perihelion said, at the same time as it threw a risk analysis into the feed. Its risk assessment wasn’t too far from my own, but it had information I didn’t have access to — namely, records of all the past versions of this mission the crew had run. Normally when they did this, there were twice as many humans involved, and they had a lot more information beforehand, lowering the risk substantially.

I watched the humans glaze over as they read the assessment. Captain Seth sighed when he finished, and Martyn put a hand on his shoulder. “Peri might be right,” Martyn said. “If SecUnit’s in the shuttle, it can get to us a lot quicker if something goes wrong.”

Being left in the shuttle was marginally better than being left on the ship. They were planning to land about two and a half klicks out from the colony site, and I could run that far in about two and a half minutes, with allowances for terrain.

The real problem was the distance limit on the governor module. I couldn’t say anything to the crew, but I pulled up that section in the technical manual and shoved it towards Perihelion. Perihelion processed it for all of 0.2 seconds, then passed the relevant section into the public feed.

It didn’t take long for the crew to realize the issue. Kaede swore, and Tarik rubbed his temple. “We need a different landing spot. Is there anywhere within a klick of the colony boundaries?”

Perihelion highlighted a spot on the map, and then highlighted a different spot on a plain somewhere upwards of the colony site. Another option is to land here, and invite the colonists to meet halfway.

Captain Seth considered the spot, and the plan.

“Good sightlines,” said Karime, squinting as though that would help her see the feed better. “They might trust us more if we don’t try and hide.”

Tarik hummed, and his mouth twisted to the side. “Or they might try and shoot us out of the air.”

Scans do not indicate ground-to-air weapons capabilities.

Tarik waved a hand. “Still. They’ve got no reason to trust us.”

“We could just change the message we send beforehand. Let them know we’ll be coming in, instead of sending it after we’ve landed.” Martyn pulled up the draft message, and edited it slightly so that it would tell the colonists they would be seeing their shuttle flying in.

Captain Seth leaned forward, and set his hands on his knees. “Alright. That’s what we’ll do.” He made a few minor edits to the message, then asked Perihelion to transmit it to the planet. (Note that I did not sulk about it having access to the comms array as well as everything else.) “Everyone has an hour before you’re expected at the shuttle.” He stood, and rubbed his hands together. “Go suit up.”

Notes:

Find a missing scene for this chapter here!

Chapter 4

Summary:

Negotiations open with the colonists.

It didn’t take me long to change into my armor. It was nice armor, padded on the inside, dull instead of cheap and shiny. Thermoregulating, too, if the material was anything to go by, so my power supply would stay nice and cool. It even had built-in pockets for my intel drones to hide in until I needed them. Nice.

I was testing my range of motion when Captain Seth pinged the door. I settled into SecUnit Neutral™ and opened the door, grateful for the opaqued face plate so I didn’t have to think about where I was looking.

“Hi, SecUnit. Can you grab that case for me, please?” He pointed to the projectile weapon in its locked case. I obeyed, of course, but I didn’t like the fact that he thought the projectile weapon might be necessary. (I thought it was necessary, but SecUnits are programmed to be paranoid.)

I put the case on the little table for him, and he unlocked it with his breath print. (Okay, not quite a DNA lock, but I wasn’t a lock expert. That’s what SecSys was for.)

He stepped back, and made a gesture I interpreted as ‘help yourself’. I lifted the projectile weapon out of its case, and ran my hands over it. I spent a couple seconds looking it over, then clamped it to my back for easy access. “May I ask a question, Captain Seth?” It was mission-relevant. Shut up, governor module.

“Of course, SecUnit. You don’t need to ask permission.”

Well, I did, but okay. “Do you anticipate critical deviation from the plan?” I gestured vaguely towards the projectile weapon, trying to indicate ‘do you seriously think I’ll need this?’

Captain Seth’s face did something that reinforced the need for that human expressions module. “I don’t know. Most of the time these missions go well, and I think this time will be one of those times. But if it goes poorly … I want you to be as well equipped to help us as possible. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, Captain Seth. I will perform my function to the best of my ability.”

Captain Seth smiled, and —

And reached out to pat my upper arm.

I love you, opaque face plate. Please never leave me.

“Come on. It’s time to load up into the shuttle.” He turned, and I followed him through the ship to the shuttle loading bay. We were the first ones there, and I took up a post at the shuttle door to wait for everyone else.

It took a while — 13 minutes — for the rest of the crew to trickle in. (The rest of the human crew. Perihelion remained elusive.) They all greeted each other with an assortment of physical affection, despite the fact they’d seen each other less than an hour previously. I remained in perfect SecUnit Neutral™ in the hopes they’d ignore me, and it seemed to work, because I evaded all hand-grasping and arm-tangling even as we boarded.

The shuttle didn’t have a cargo compartment. I checked three times. Instead, I tucked myself away in the back, among the crates of ‘tokens of good will’, but that wasn’t good enough for the governor module. It gave me a mild correction, about 5%, then 10%, then 15%. There was nothing I could do — there was no cargo compartment. I just locked my joints, and hoped.

Perihelion noticed the 20% correction, and it started to panic at 25%. I could hear it frantically pinging Captain Seth, but the 30% correction temporarily knocked out my auditory sensors so I didn’t know what he said. He must have repeated himself, enough that my buffer caught on to what was happening. “This Unit is experiencing a minor malfunct-tion. This Unit is experiencing a minor — minor —”

“Yes, but why? Peri, can you see what’s happening?”

He hadn’t even finished the sentence when Perihelion was shoving into my systems. I’d never revoked its access, but it shoved even further in, crowding me out of my own brain. I don’t know what it found, or what it communicated to Captain Seth, but the governor module only managed to deliver the first warning buzz of a 40% correction when it shut off.

It took me sixteen seconds to come online again. All the humans were crowded around me, and Perihelion was crowding into my feed, radiating … something. Concern? I don’t know. I didn’t have any modules about emotional metadata, nor did I want to waste the processing space trying to figure it out.

I slowly unlocked my joints, and the humans seemed to relax as I shook them out. “Are you alright, SecUnit?” Karime asked, her face creased with emotion.

“This Unit is operating at 87.2% performance reliability — ”

“Okay.” Captain Seth waved his hands at the rest of the crew, and they dispersed back to their stations. “I really need to read that documentation,” he murmured to himself, before making eye contact with my face plate. “For future reference, while in the shuttle, you can stand or sit wherever you see fit. Okay?” He briefly closed his eyes. “Do you think that’s enough to prevent another … incident like that?”

I pictured sitting down in one of the crew seats. Nothing — not even a warning buzz. “Yes, Captain Seth.”

Captain Seth’s head flopped forward. “Good. That’s — good.” He patted my upper arm again, and collapsed into the pilot’s seat. “Strap in, everyone. That includes you, SecUnit.”

I strapped myself into the nearest seat. I braced for a correction, but nothing came. Sitting in front of clients was … weird, though. I might have preferred the correction. The shuttle jolted under us as it detached from the side of the ship, and it started to rumble as the engines kicked in to take us down to the site we’d chosen. The meandering journey would take about two hours at human-safe speeds, giving the colonists three hours to read the message we’d sent and decide what they wanted to do.

Hopefully they wanted the stuff in the crates more than they wanted to shoot us out of the sky.

---

The humans chattered away among themselves as the shuttle made its way to the planet’s surface. I backburnered all those inputs, instead opening up the first aid guides Perihelion had given me. My Company-issued first aid module basically amounted to “ask MedSys”, and I didn’t have a MedSys. If one of my clients got hurt, it was going to be down to what I could remember and access in the moment.

I read the file several times as we made the journey to the surface, and I spent the rest of the time saving extracts to my permanent, quick-access storage. I wasn’t going to have clients dying on me just for want of a MedSys.

The landing went without incident (meaning no colonists shot at us from the surface), and an analysis of the air outside showed that the terraforming had held, and it was safe to breathe without respirators or environmental suits.

The humans unstrapped themselves from their seats, and set about doing the kinds of things humans did while they waited for other things to happen. I also unstrapped myself, and pinged Captain Seth with a request to do a circuit of the perimeter. He approved the request, and I slipped out of the shuttle while the humans busied themselves doing whatever it is they needed to do.

I started with the most important thing: activating all my new, fancy drones. They pinged me as they came online, and emerged from their various hiding spots in my armor. I set them to spread out around me, and felt my performance reliability go up an entire one and a half percent as I could finally see properly.

Next, I began a circuit of the shuttle, checking it over for any damage that might stop us taking off in a hurry. I couldn’t see anything, but my shuttle maintenance module amounted to “ask HubSys”, and I didn’t have a HubSys. Still, I couldn’t see any cracks or burns or anything obviously wrong.

I started to spiral out from the shuttle, scanning for any terrain features that posed a security risk. Humans were extremely delicate, and something as simple as stepping on a rock wrong could result in their internal structure breaking. I kicked a few suspicious-looking rocks out of their likely path, and peered at a small group of tall, thin trees about six hundred, six-fifty meters away. If the colonists were going to launch an ambush, that was the likely spot. I sent two drones in that direction as I continued my spiral. Tipping off any ambushers might make them do something stupid. If there were any humans waiting to attack, I’d just get back in the shuttle and tell the humans so we could leave.

I’d completed four and a bit rounds of my spiral pattern by the time my drones got to the trees. I stopped to focus on their inputs, making sure the shuttle was between me and the flora just in case. I set the drones to circle all the trees, and to make fly-bys of all the smaller, prickly looking flora. I doubted a human would want to hide in one — I wouldn’t want to hide in one, unless I was wearing this very nice armor — but I had no idea if these humans were acting rationally.

The trees were clear, and I finished another three rounds of my spiral as I waited for my drones to get back.

There were no obvious security threats, so I returned to the shuttle to take up a post by the door.

---

I’d read Perihelion’s first aid guide twice more by the time the colonists made contact. I was monitoring the feed (I am walking spyware, even if I wasn’t reporting what I collected to the Company anymore), and I closed the file I was reading as I heard the connection come through. It was staticky and low-grade, probably because of the distance, but it was enough to hear.

They exchanged greetings and comments, all those human things they did instead of just exchanging pings. The colonist speaking to Captain Seth (ColonistLeader) seemed calm, and threat assessment decided they were unlikely to start shooting any time soon.

I tuned in when the tone of the conversation changed. ColonistLeader wanted assurances that my clients weren’t fucking with them (reasonable) and Captain Seth was offering those assurances in the form of an inventory of their ‘tokens of good will’. ColonistLeader was pleased with the inventory, but didn’t know why they were even here (good fucking question, ColonistLeader) let alone why they’d offer a half-shuttle worth of extremely valuable materials in exchange for nothing (also a good fucking question).

ColonistLeader wasn’t convinced by Captain Seth’s insistence that they were doing this “philanthropically”, whatever that meant, but they were willing to come out halfway to the shuttle to get the ‘tokens of good will’ and have a talk in person, starting in one standard hour. Yay.

The connection dropped, and Captain Seth sent me a message to ask me to come back inside. I sighed, and climbed back into the shuttle. The humans were sitting in a circle inside the shuttle, and they all turned to look at me as I entered. I tucked myself in beside the door, and stared at the wall directly in front of me.

Captain Seth made a gesture that called the other humans’ attention back to him. They were discussing the plan for the ‘next phase’, which mostly amounted to moving all their ‘tokens of good will’ out to the meeting spot, then hanging out there to wait for the colonists. Well — some of them would wait. Kaede was still going to stay behind (see: “resting grumpy face”), and Martyn would stay behind as well, because the colonists were only bringing three humans, so my humans decided to only bring three “in the interest of fairness”. (They should have taken everyone, including me, in the interest of security.)

Oh yeah, did I mention I was being left behind too? Yeah. They decided bringing their mobile weapons platform would frighten the colonists. They were probably right. I didn’t care.

I spent the hour helping them move all their ‘tokens of good will’ out to the meeting spot, and running calculations on how quickly I could get to them when something inevitably went wrong. They’d be a klick away, over flat ground, with good sightlines. At my top speed, I could get to them in a minute. A lot could go wrong in a minute, but I could start shooting nearly immediately and still have 97% targeting accuracy, so that mitigated the time somewhat. I still didn’t like it.

Threat assessment was still low, but risk assessment was spiking up into the 60s, which seemed about right.

We got all the stuff out to the meeting site with about thirty-two minutes to go, so I escorted Kaede and Martyn back to the shuttle to wait the meeting out. I left a drone there, settled invisibly on one of the crates, both for visibility purposes and feed strength purposes.

Yeah. These drones could act as feed nodes. Awesome, right?

I settled in beside the door again, and locked my knee and hip joints so I could just stand there for however long was necessary. Martyn glanced at me, but thankfully he seemed to have better things to do than stare at the SecUnit.

Kaede pulled a small box out of her bag, and gestured with it. “Cards?”

Martyn made a noise that amounted to affirmation, and they sat down opposite each other. Kaede opened the box and took out dozens of small rectangles of … something, with images printed on them. She handed some of the rectangles out, and set the rest in a pile in the middle of their triangle. I watched them trade around the rectangles according to a set of completely opaque rules for nine minutes. Kaede won, if the noises they made were anything to go by, and the rectangles were collected together and handed to Martyn to be redistributed.

I watched as they went through five rounds of this exercise. They were halfway through the sixth when my drone picked up anomalous movement from the meeting point, and shortly after, voices.

I sent a ping into the crew feed, and an alert to Martyn specifically, given that he was the highest ranked crew member present. Martyn looked up, and it took him an age/2.3 seconds to process what was going on. “Oh! SecUnit, are you monitoring the meeting?”

“Yes, Martyn.”

“Huh. I hadn’t thought of that.” He leaned back where he was sitting, and braced himself on his hands. “Can you transmit what’s going on?”

“Yes, Martyn.” I opened the transmission into the feed. I stripped out all the information that human feed interfaces couldn’t deal with, leaving just the audio and video. There was nothing interesting happening yet — just repetitions of those human ping-equivalents. ColonistLeader was there, along with two others (ColonistTwo and Three).

Martyn peered like he was trying to bring the image into focus, then leaned back and made a face. “Any chance of having this on the screen?” He gestured to the display surface. I blinked, and threw the transmission onto the display surface. I had to wrangle it a little, but it wasn’t hard.

The humans broke formation, and instead gathered around the display surface instead. My drone didn’t have a great view of the meeting, but the audio was perfectly clear, so I didn’t care about that much.

“Where is this coming from, SecUnit?” Kaede looked over at me, and kept looking.

“I left an intel drone at the meeting site, Kaede.”

Kaede’s face did something in response to that, and she nodded. “So Peri’s drones are working well for you?”

“Yes, Kaede.”

She nodded again. “It’ll be pleased to hear that.” She looked back at the display surface, and all the humans seemed to settle in to watch the meeting in silence.

I also settled in to watch in silence, but I was also monitoring the other streams of information I was getting from the drone. The humans eventually started talking about supplies, and inventories, and I had to move my drone as the colonists started to check the contents of the crates.

I moved it up to an overhead view, high enough that all the humans were in frame.

It took the colonists thirty-nine minutes to go through all the crates and confirm their contents against the inventory they’d been given.

Two minutes after that, I was out the shuttle door and hitting my top speed as a second group of colonists showed up.

These ones had guns.

Notes:

I'm always open to conversation, questions, and requests in my comments or over on my tumblr at Inkinhart!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Orbital Mechanics