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When I got an urgent feed message from Tano, I knew something was really wrong.
We need help, xe said. It’s Ayda.
Dr. Mensah was on the planet, though, and I was on the station. I’ve never wanted to be on a planet more than I did at that moment. I sprinted through the transit center and onto the next shuttle. I know I scared people, moving at top speed and literally jumping the line to get on the shuttle, but I didn’t care, and no one got hurt.
During the trip to the planet, I made a commcall to Tano and requested a situation report (whatever was happening, it felt too urgent to use my talk-like-a-human code). Apparently Mensah had gotten a message and run from the farmhouse after she read it, distraught. I didn’t ask Tano what the message was about (xe was already upset, with lots of emotion in xyr voice, and I didn’t want to encourage any more of that), but xe told me anyway. It was bad.
Mensah had run until she’d walked, then she kept walking, getting steadily farther away, and she wouldn’t let anyone talk to her or bring her back home. It sounded like Mensah wanted to be left alone, and I’m pretty sure Mensah would let an upset person have space if they wanted (it’s one of the things I appreciate about her). But I was still glad Tano had called me. I needed to be there. Distraught humans did not make safe choices.
Once on the planet, I ran in straight line directly to the location pin Tano had sent me, plowing a path through tall flora planted in rows and leaping over ditches of flowing water. It was a long run. Mensah must’ve been walking for a while.
I saw Farai first, trailing a respectful distance behind Mensah, who was walking fast but stumbling.
When I caught up with Mensah and saw the tears streaking through the dust on her anguished face, my insides went all jagged. When she saw me, Mensah walked faster.
I didn’t know what to do. It’s not like I hadn’t seen plenty of distressed humans: I’d restrained many of them when I was under contract. I had a protocol and everything. It usually involved dragging them by the wrists or picking them up and carrying them away. Sometimes this kept the humans safe—stopped them from jumping too late into the pit, or prevented them from futilely trying to divert another SecUnit’s aim—but there was never any comfort for them in these actions.
I wanted to keep Mensah safe, but I also wanted to comfort her. A hug had worked before. ART had a opinions about the effectiveness of hugs (ART had opinions about a lot of things). I’d already deleted its opinion, but I still remembered the gist in a vague organic way: deep pressure from a 20-second hug could reduce stress and lower blood pressure. That sounded fake, but humans were weird. If it could help Mensah, I would try it.
I approached and made my voice soft, even though I felt jagged inside. “Dr. Mensah, I’m here to help you.”
Deploying the hug was a little tricky because she was still walking, but I wrapped my arms around her torso, over her arms, and stopped her. I hooked my chin against shoulder, the way humans did, and started a 20-second timer.
Dr. Mensah became still.
Then she screamed.
For a subjective eternity, her scream stabbed into me, somewhere deeper than my audio sensors. I was startled, but I hung on: short hugs didn’t work the same, and there were still 15 seconds to go.
I tuned down my audio sensors, but could I still hear it when her voice suddenly cracked and became quiet. Maybe that was a good sign? 10 seconds to go.
Then she started struggling, twisting in my hold, which I kept as gentle as I could while still maintaining the beneficial deep pressure. I was having doubts, but there were only 5 seconds to go.
Mensah stopped struggling. The timer ended. I released my arms slowly and Mensah sagged out of my hug. I thought she might fall, but then she straightened and beat her fists against my chest, my shoulders, even my face. Farai came close and tried to pull Mensah away, but I didn’t need that. “It’s okay, let her,” I said to Farai, who stopped and watched, both her hands over her mouth.
Mensah hit me a few more times. I felt more helpless than I ever had before, even when the governor module made me drag someone screaming from the edge of a pit. All she said, her voice as jagged and rough as my insides, was “why.” I didn’t dare hug her again. There was nothing I could say, in any voice gentle or firm, to reassure her, and Mensah knew it. She walked away.
This time, I let her go.
My mind was frantic jumbled chaos. The fear and anger and doubt I normally didn’t let show was too strong to contain. I let it out. I fed it with a scream. I moved with it, going and going, but there was no getting away. The ground was moving too fast under my feet, catching me, trying to pull me down. Faces at a distance came close, bringing me their worry I didn’t want.
A small part of me knew SecUnit was here to help. A larger part of me didn’t care. I would not meet this tragedy with kindness and consideration. I would not let anyone else’s feelings but my own rage matter, so I cracked myself open even as I was pinned in the cage of SecUnit’s body, battering the walls, releasing screams that tore my throat, struggles that bruised my arms. The pain in my throat and arms felt right.
SecUnit held the pieces of me together. And then it let me go.