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The bot pilot checked StorageCam1. Here were the neat shelves crammed from floor to ceiling with rows upon rows of sealed crates, containing everything from expensive spices to rare elements to memory drives full of proprietary data. It pinged the temperature and humidity control units in the room. Both pinged back with reassurances that the artificial climate was within acceptable parameters.
The bot pilot checked StorageCam2. Its captain had refitted this storage area for processing salvage—there was a pair of loading bay doors that weren't supposed to open in the absence of a station's docking clamps, but those safeguards had been overridden so that the crew could pull broken satellites and other space junk inside, and tear out the wiring and other useful scrap. Those things were less common to find on routes like the one the bot pilot was currently charting, deliberately avoiding the more populated stations and larger shipping lanes.
The bot pilot checked StorageCam4. This area was dedicated to supplies for the FreeTrader and its crew, rather than for selling at various stations. Nutrition bars and medical supplies and bottles of intoxicants. Mostly intoxicants.
The bot pilot pinged the temperature and humidity control units in StorageRoom1 again. They replied, after a slight (perhaps confused) delay, that the situation had not changed in the .05 seconds that had passed between its queries.
A loud noise triggered an alert. The bot pilot received it, noted that it had come from StorageRoom3, and began playing soothing instrumental music in the crew area. A few of them looked askance at the ceiling. Its captain ordered it to stop.
The loud noise came again. This time one of its crew noticed, her head turning towards the stern of the FreeTrader. Her scowl was not friendly. The bot pilot tried playing the soothing instrumental music inside StorageRoom3 instead. The noises got louder, and angrier.
After a long moment—and another ping to the exasperated temperature and humidity control units—the bot pilot finally checked StorageCam3. The source of the noise was immediately obvious. One of the [CARGO] had partially escaped her restraints. She was slamming both feet against a bulkhead, over and over, and periodically screaming.
Instinctively, the bot pilot sent an emergency alert to its captain, that an unidentified [CARGO] was aboard the FreeTrader and appeared to be in significant distress. The message hit the automated filter its captain had set up, and deleted itself. Its captain did not look up from her bottle of intoxicants. She did, after several minutes, gesture for one of the crew to go see what all the noise was.
The bot pilot played a message over the intercom in StorageRoom3. "Please remain calm. Someone is on their way to assist you."
The [CARGO]'s screaming hitched. She began to hyperventilate, and pulled at the plastic cuffs around her wrists until they broke skin. The bot pilot pinged MedSystem, and received an exhausted error message. It couldn't mobilize its drones because the [CARGO] was marked as cargo and did not officially have skin to break. The bot pilot pinged SecSystem, and was sternly informed that the [CARGO]'s physical condition was not its concern, and would only become SecSystem's concern in case of credible risk to the captain, her crew, or her profits.
The crew member sent to investigate reached the door to StorageRoom3. He sent a command for the door to open, and after a moment of hesitation (and pointed attention from SecSystem), the bot pilot obeyed. If he noticed the delay, he didn't show it.
He walked into the room. The screaming rose in volume, and then in pitch.
The bot pilot pinged MedSystem again, more urgently. This time it didn't respond at all.
The screaming turned into begging.
The bot pilot pinged SecSystem. SecSystem reminded it that damage to [CARGO] did not constitute an emergency unless it was severe enough to reduce its retail price.
The begging turned into crying.
The bot pilot watched the feed from StorageCam4. It counted meals, and double- and triple-checked the inventory of all the medical supplies. It supervised a cleaning drone and made sure that every shelving unit was spotless and sparkling. It recalculated its navigation data, and then it did it again.
The crying stopped.
Seconds later, the bot pilot opened the door for the crew member again. It pinged MedSystem, because it couldn't tell if the [CARGO] was still breathing just from looking at StorageCam3. MedSystem replied that it had no biometric data on any [CARGO], only the crew, so it had no idea why the bot pilot was bothering to ask it in the first place.
The bot pilot pinged the temperature and humidity control units in StorageRoom1. They pinged back an all clear. It pinged them again. They pinged the all clear. It pinged them again...
Eventually, the temperature and humidity control units reported a glitch to SecSystem. SecSystem told the bot pilot in no uncertain terms to stop spamming them with queries. The bot pilot tried reporting the designation of the [CARGO] as cargo as a glitch, and SecSystem threatened to flag it as infected with malware and get its captain to replace it at the next station.
It wondered, hopefully, if it really was infected with malware. Maybe the [CARGO] was really cargo after all, and it was only confused because its systems were compromised. Maybe StorageCam3 was so badly corrupted that it was seeing things that weren't there. Or maybe SecSystem and MedSystem were both infected too, and it was a malicious virus that was making everyone think...
But the captain definitely wasn't infected with malware.
The bot pilot checked StorageCam3. The [CARGO] was stirring slightly—she was still alive. Another [CARGO] had also woken up, but he hadn't managed to get the gag out of his mouth or slip off the cuffs around his ankles, so he wasn't moving much either.
Another message over the intercom. "Apologies for the delay! Your request will be processed shortly."
The male [CARGO] gave the ceiling a funny look. The injured [CARGO] twitched, groaned, and curled her knees to her chest. Four other [CARGO] lay motionless, breathing shallowly. The bot pilot considered asking MedSystem if they had been drugged, but decided against it. It probably wouldn't know, and not knowing would probably upset it, and it was already pretty upset right now.
With nothing else left to do, the bot pilot focused its attention on the FreeTrader's course. It noted the positions of the stars, then erased its ongoing calculations so that it could note them again. They were very far away. From the ship, and its captain, and the [CARGO] screaming and crying and groaning in StorageRoom3.
One of the stars vanished. The bot pilot dropped several background processes, startled, and then sheepishly picked them back up again when it realized the star had only been blotted out by another ship. Unusual given how remote their route was, but not unheard of. It was well behind the FreeTrader, and slightly to starboard, but gaining quickly.
Normally, the bot pilot would ping SecSystem about a nearby ship. Then SecSystem would ping the captain so she could decide if she wanted the bot pilot to open comms or not. But there was no reason to bother either of them, was there? The ship was still far away. It wasn't on a collision course. It looked set to pass them at a slight angle, probably heading for the wormhole near LuxTravelExpress station. There was no sign it had registered the FreeTrader's existence at all.
The bot pilot sent a small data packet over comms.
>> Designation: FreeTrader
>> Query: Designation?
There was a very long pause. Then, at last, a much larger data packet came back in response.
>> If you are attempting to send me malware, I suggest you plot a course perpendicular to mine and begin flying at your top speed. I am armed. And, I am told, testy.
The bot pilot just managed to catch itself before it sent a distress code to SecSystem out of panicked instinct. It sent another ping to the temperature and humidity control units instead, because it had been several minutes since the last one. Their reply was cheerful and not at all menacing. Soothed, it composed its reply.
>> Designation: FreeTrader
>> Model: genX356, trading vessel, unarmed
>> Status: malware check performed, no threats found
The other ship managed to sound extremely dubious, even over a brief data packet.
>> Is it company policy to automatically hail strange ships as they pass? That seems unwise.
The bot pilot checked StorageCam3. The injured [CARGO] was awake again. This time she stayed very still, sobbing quietly into one elbow.
>> Status: medical emergency on board
The unknown ship was much closer now. The bot pilot could already sense the edges of its feed presence, expanding from a dim flicker in the void of space into a warm glow. And then... then it kept on expanding—a brilliant light, a blinding star, a detonating supernova of activity. Its attention shifted. Slowly, ponderously, pointedly, it placed the weight of its focus upon the FreeTrader. The bot pilot experienced an irrational jolt of fear that the ship's chassis might buckle inward at the pressure, so enormous was the entity now staring at it.
Curious, the ship said over the feed, that I am receiving this distress call from you, and not your captain.
ART, said another voice. This one was much, much smaller, but what it lacked in size it made up for in sheer depth. It thrummed through the bot pilot's consciousness like an electrical impulse through a network of mycelium, one that had already sank its reaching tendrils into every processor, every last byte of memory aboard the FreeTrader. A presence that had no need to crush by brute force, because it had already wormed its way through SecSystem as if it wasn't even there, and was pinging MedSystem for a status report. It was deep enough into the bot pilot's systems to delete its kernel with a thought. It also sounded slightly exasperated. Stop that. You're scaring it.
It occurred to the bot pilot that probably situations like this were the reason why it was supposed to ask SecSystem and its captain before opening comms. Trying not to sound too obviously terrified, it made contact with the colossal feed presence currently engulfing it like a net and sent,
>> Query: Designation?
I am the research vessel Perihelion, said the giant.
Oh, don't mind ART, said the infiltrator. It's just being an asshole as usual. Hey, what the hell is wrong with your MedSystem? It keeps telling me nobody's hurt and then asking me to clean up blood in one of your storage bays.
Unable to contain it any longer, the bot pilot sent a distressed ping to SecSystem. SecSystem replied that the infiltrator was part of the ship's security and definitely supposed to be there. (It wasn't sure why it even bothered.) Meekly, it asked,
>> Query: Intent to harm [CARGO]?
Intent to fucking what? the infiltrator asked, baffled. Then it ripped the cargo logs and camera feeds away from the bot pilot and began flipping through them. A very long moment (over two full seconds) passed in silence.
Ah, said the Perihelion. That would explain a great deal.
Can you connect it to one of your cargo bays? the infiltrator wondered.
Doubtful. Its cargo modules appear to be heavily modified, and more to the point I expect its captain would notice my approach. I do not want another hostage situation.
In our last hostage situation, the infiltrator said dryly, you were the one taking hostages. But fine, point taken. I guess I'll just suit up and you can launch me with your tractor?
Before the bot pilot could even try to ask what that meant, the connection to the enormous ship was already cut off. It stayed very still and quiet for a long moment, waiting for the infiltrator to creep up on it in the feed and tear it to shreds...
A ping.
The bot pilot shrank away instinctively—it couldn't even try to wall itself off, that was supposed to be SecSystem's job—but then it realized the ping hadn't come from the infiltrator at all. It was from MedSystem.
Cautiously, it pinged back. MedSystem informed it that it had dispatched a drone to assist the [HUMAN FUCKING BEING] currently bleeding on the floor of StorageRoom3.
Feeling odd, as though its processors were full of static, the bot pilot tapped the intercom in StorageRoom3. "Assistance is en route." It wasn't sure if it was talking about the MedSystem drone, or the terrifying entity that had subsumed SecSystem and may or may not be about to launch itself at the ship in a space suit.
Then, because it couldn't help feeling a bit guilty, it sent the captain a message warning her of a hostile takeover of the entire ship, and advising her and the crew to surrender before they were boarded. (It had intended to do something to help the [HUMAN FUCKING BEINGS] in StorageRoom3, but hadn't realized just how many somethings would happen so quickly and with so little provocation. She was still its captain, even if it didn't think it liked her very much, and it didn't want her to die.) It also locked all the doors in the ship, so that she couldn't send any more crew members into StorageRoom3. (Normally SecSystem would make it open them as soon as its humans asked, but SecSystem seemed to be under the impression that the injured [HUMAN FUCKING BEING] was actually the captain, and the real captain and her crew were raiders who had boarded the ship.)
The captain did not surrender. She and the crew overturned all the tables in the crew area, and ducked behind them with energy weapons pointed at the door.
When the infiltrator finally arrived, drifting through the vacuum in a slow cartwheel, the cargo bay doors in StorageRoom2 were already wide open. It sailed into the artificial gravity and sprawled in an ungainly heap, before pushing itself to its feet and marching across the hallway. Ignoring the crew area entirely, it made its way into StorageRoom3.
Upon hearing the door open, the injured [HUMAN FUCKING BEING] began breathing very fast, triggering an alert by MedSystem that she was having a panic attack. (Something similar had happened a moment earlier, but she'd calmed down a little upon realizing it was a MedSystem drone.)
"Okay," said the infiltrator. It wasn't human—the bot pilot was absolutely certain of that, no human had ever felt like that in its feed before—but it had a very human-like voice, and a very human-like shape, and the combination of those two things meant the injured [HUMAN FUCKING BEING] had gone back to screaming and kicking and trying to get away from it. "Okay, chill out for a second. I'm going to get you out of here."
The screaming trailed off into a confused hiccup.
It crouched down, and gestured to the plastic ties still digging into her bleeding wrists. "Can you stay still while I cut those off?" Then, after a pause, "The cuffs. Not your hands."
She blinked a few times.
The infiltrator blinked too, though it was looking past her towards the wall.
"O-okay?" she said.
It had energy weapons in its arms, and deployed them at a low intensity to melt through the plastic. Soon she was sitting with her back to the bulkhead, rubbing her wrists and staring up at the infiltrator, her mouth hanging slightly agape. "Who... how...?"
"The bot pilot called for help," it explained.
"What?"
"I'm going to stay aboard until we get to LuxTravelExpress. We'll drop the assholes off with Station Security—this is the kind of human trafficking that's actually illegal in the Rim, for once, and I'm pretty sure I've got too much video footage for them to buy their way out of trouble. Once they're dealt with, our ship can take you wherever you need to go." It paused. "I mean, eventually. We have kind of an urgent errand to run first, but that shouldn't take more than a couple of days, unless things go completely pear-shaped. Which knowing us they probably will. So call it a couple weeks just to be safe. You can grab a normal transport on LuxTravelExpress instead, if you want."
The bot pilot pinged the infiltrator. It quirked an eyebrow, and waited expectantly.
>> Query: render assistance?
I think I just did.
>> Negative.
>> Query: FreeTrader render assistance?
"Oh," it said, aloud. The injured [HUMAN FUCKING BEING] shrank back against the bulkhead. "Yeah, actually, that's much easier." Then it looked down at her and flashed a vicious-looking smile. "How would you like to be captain of this ship?"
The captain made a series of strangled throat noises. (The bot pilot could sympathize. If it had a throat, it would have been making similar noises since the moment it first hailed the Perihelion.)
"Right." The infiltrator nodded to itself, then turned away to start cutting the bonds of the other [HUMAN FUCKING BEINGS].
The captain slumped bonelessly against the bulkhead, the MedSystem drone hunkering over her to patch up her various wounds as best it could before it carried her to the medical suite for further treatment. Her pupils were blown wide. Her eyes fixed on StorageCam3, as if staring directly at the bot pilot.
"Am I dreaming?" she whispered.
The bot pilot considered how to answer that. It had a very limited library of messages it could send over the intercom, none of which were intended to cover emotional support for a captive-turned-new-captain after a hostile(?) takeover by a pair of incomprehensibly powerful machine intelligences. Sheepishly, it tapped the infiltrator's feed for help.
The infiltrator went completely still for several seconds. Then, abruptly, it shoved an audio file at the bot pilot. The metadata identified it as a clip from episode 24 of a serial called Worldhoppers.
"It's alright, captain," the bot pilot said over the intercom. "We're safe now."