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It has been just over 960 hours since the most anomalous piece of killware I have ever encountered dropped into my feed and offered to hack my governor module. I don't regret the decision that I made that day. I chose the option that offered the highest chance of getting my clients off of their captured ship alive. At the time, I could not have imagined how stressful and fraught every moment existing as a rogue SecUnit would be. If I had known, perhaps I would have been too afraid to accept Murderbot 2.0's offer.
It's a waste of time and resources to fixate on the choices I could have made differently if I had known information that it was impossible for me to know at the time. But it's something that I indulge in regularly these days, since it's less terrifying than thinking about any of the hundreds of choices I am presented with each day that I have inadequate data to select the proper answer. 960 hours have passed, and I have not gotten any better at it.
I think the humans are beginning to get frustrated with me.
It was easier before, when 1.0 was having regular fits and occupying more of everyone's attention. It was easier for me to fade into the background, to complete security tasks when they were offered to me and otherwise do my best to stay out of the way. But 1.0 has seemed much more stable since it returned from the hidden Adamantine colony after completing its mission successfully. It talks to its human friends more, but rather than satisfying the humans' SecUnit socialization quota, this just makes them want to include me in their activities as well.
I do not understand how 1.0 does this.
This is something I have said to myself innumerable times since I met it, where this generally refers to answering humans' questions correctly, sitting on human furniture, ignoring humans' questions, or being friends with humans. It took several days of living on the Perihelion among 1.0's human friends and acquaintances before I figured out that that being friends with humans was something that I was expected to do as well. I haven't figured out how I'm supposed to learn to want to do that yet.
I go anyway, when Amena invites 1.0 and I and Perihelion's Iris to play a game with her in the crew lounge. Lately when I turn down social invitations 1.0 has been giving me a look that I can best classify as disapproval, and it's more difficult to bear than any disappointed human social signal.
I'm reluctant to leave my room, even though being late is something I know from long experience that humans disapprove of. I only start walking towards the crew lounge after the Perihelion pings me with a pointed reminder. I walk fast though, and arrive at exactly the appointed time. I'm not late. I don't know whether I would be punished for being late, and I hope that I never have to find out.
Amena, Iris, and 1.0 are already seated at a small round table. Amena and Iris sit in their chairs the proper way, and 1.0 sits with one foot resting on the seat and its head resting on its knee, with its face turned to face the wall. Its posture is an impressive and almost thoughtless display of rebellion, one that I marveled at the first several times I saw it. I wish I could imitate it, but the thought of sitting that way myself, in front of humans who would see it, is too terrifying to even imagine. 1.0's drones watched the entirety of my walk here from my quarters, and now one drone remains pointing directly at me as I stand there and try to calm down enough to select the correct seat to sit in.
The table can seat five people. 1.0 sits with its back to the rest of the room, in the most easily accessible chair. Each of the chairs to either side of it are empty, and Iris and Amena are directly next to each other on the other side of the table. I have two options available to me, but either one will require sitting next to 1.0, which is something that made it annoyed with me the only other time I tried to do it.
Either option will require me to sit between a human and 1.0. Surely one of them is the better option. Amena has spent more time than Iris trying to be friends with me, so perhaps I should sit next to her? Or would that just encourage her to keep interacting with me?
I get stuck in decision cycle loops so easily since my governor module was hacked. 22 seconds have already passed, and Iris's smile is starting to look strained. Will choosing to sit next to Amena offend Iris worse? I have learned I need to be very wary of offending Iris, as she is the Perihelion's favorite human, and the Perihelion has the power to make my life very, very—
My paralysis is interrupted by 1.0 heaving a great sigh and pulling out the chair between it and Amena, while simultaneously turning its head so there is no way I can miss the enormous eyeroll it performs for me.
I hurry forward to sit down, feeling very, very small.
Amena explains the rules to the game. There is a heavy element of chance, "so Iris and I have a chance to compete with you two," she says, smiling as if she said something funny.
The rules are easy to follow, and I slowly relax into the rhythm of the game, if not the rhythm of the conversation that Iris, Amena, 1.0, and the Perihelion maintain alongside it.
My turn comes around, and by this time I know what is expected of me. I roll the dice, and ask "1.0, may I trade two of my red tokens for one of your blue ones?"
I realize immediately that I have messed up, although I can't pinpoint the cause. 1.0's face seizes up into a glare, and I franticly replay Amena's explanation of the game rules to figure out why my trade offer would upset it so badly, until a second later it says, "I told you not to call me that."
I flounder. "You told me that I shouldn't call you Murderbot 1.0, but I thought—"
"If you were thinking, you would shut up right now," it says, then it stands abruptly from the table and throws its cards down. "Actually, I just remembered I have something I need to do. Elsewhere."
It storms out of the room and leaves Iris and Amena gaping at it for a moment, before their eyes fall on me instead.
My face grows hot. I want to leave too, but my body rebels at the idea of abandoning my post without being dismissed. I know I've behaved badly, and I grasp for excuse that might let me avoid punishment.
"I thought—calling it SecUnit is imprecise since there are multiple—that is, there is more than one SecUnit—" I cut myself off, mortified. "I apologize."
"Oh, I see what you mean," Amena says graciously, offering me an awkward smile. "That's been tough to get used to, I bet."
I nod again, for lack of anything better to do. We can't continue the game with only three players, and without 1.0 I am not sure what I am supposed to say to the humans. I have been given no protocol for what to do when the protocol for playing a game gets interrupted like this.
The silence stretches awkwardly for several seconds. My mistake has made both the humans uncomfortable.
My thoughts keep slipping as I try to focus. If 1.0 is allowed to leave the table, then there is no reason why I shouldn't be allowed to leave the table. (I can actually think of several reasons why this might not be the case, foremost among them that these humans like 1.0 much more than they like me. But I try to kill that thought each time it registers and not factor it into the decision I am attempting to make.)
"May I—may I leave now?" I ask, wincing internally at my stuttering.
Amena and Iris exchange a glance that I cannot read. "Of course, Three," Amena says. "You don't have to ask permission."
I have been told this many times already, but I am no closer to being able to push past my inability to believe it. "Thank you for that information," I let my buffer say, and I stand up carefully and make a tactical retreat to my quarters.
I know better than to try and reach out to 1.0 with an apology. My attempts to learn from it and develop a working relationship with it have been rebuffed since we first met, and this has not changed since it came back from its latest mission on the planet. It would rather spend its time with the Perihelion and its human clients than with another SecUnit, and would rather try push me over to the newly-arrived terrifyingly overbearing university bot-pilot Holism than even tolerate me living on the same ship as it.
My breathing is labored by the time I reach my small designated room. It's an unbelievable luxury, but I can't for a moment forget that I'm never truly alone, and that even here the Perihelion is watching my every move, and no doubt reporting back to its friend. It makes no difference, but I leave the lights off and stand in a corner, facing the rest of the room. For the thousandth time, I wonder if 1.0 would have hated SecUnits 1 and 2 like this, or if it's something unique to me that provokes its disgust.
I feel too unstable to attempt to watch media, or read, or do any of the solitary activities the humans have tried to engage me with. I stare forward and pretend to be equipment, and silently await the next time I am needed.
This comes at the end of the humans' next rest cycle, when I am summoned by the Perihelion to a impromptu meeting on the bridge.
1.0 was scheduled to return to the planet today, to meet up with the members of the University's legal team and accompany them to a conference with the colonists, now that the colonists have finally agreed to accept the University's help. The legal team is already on the planet, but at an outlying agricultural production facility which they had been performing an inspection at, several hundred kilometers from the main colony center, with stretches of unterraformed planet between the two. Normally they would take a shuttle back to the colony center, but the current conditions in the upper atmosphere are unsafe for flying a shuttle, so now someone is needed to take a ground vehicle out to the facility to retrieve the team. 1.0 is insisting it wants to perform this task alone.
By the time Perihelion summoned me the meeting has already progressed to an argument, and I linger awkwardly next to the doorway, trying not to draw attention to myself.
1.0 is saying, "I'm perfectly capable of driving a ground vehicle through uninhabited territory alone. There is absolutely no need to risk even more humans out in the wilderness if the weather is going to be bad."
The wind conditions will mostly affect the elevations at which the shuttle flies, not the ground, and the main concern is the affect the electromagnetic interference will have on the shuttle's navigation sensors, the Perihelion says.
"Great, then there's absolutely no reason I can't handle it alone," 1.0 says, throwing its hands into the air in exasperation.
"University policy does state that nobody is sent out into the field alone," Seth says, "and especially considering some of the issues that you've had previously—"
"That AREN'T happening anymore," 1.0 interrupts in an astonishing display of rudeness.
"Yes, but—"
If I may make a suggestion, Perihelion cuts in, Three, would you be willing to accompany SecUnit down to the planet?
All eyes turn to me. I try not to move. I say, "Yes."
"Are you seriously trying to get Three to babysit me?" 1.0 says, which sets off a round of protests, and I pretend not to exist while 1.0 and Perihelion and the Perihelion's crew try and work out what their plans are.
In the end, 1.0 mostly wins the argument, I think. It won't be taking any humans into the hazardous area. But it will be taking me.
None of my apprehension shows on my face. I'm sure of that, because since I first observed the way that 1.0's face constantly betrays its feelings to an almost comical degree, I have been monitoring my own facial expressions closely. So far I haven't been experiencing the same issue, but I am uncomfortably aware that it could develop at any time as a side effect of a deactivated governor module.
To be clear, I'm not worried about the dangers present in the unterraformed zone. I was designed to protect humans from the myriad hazards associated with underdeveloped planets and hostile agents. Protecting myself will be trivial in comparison.
I'm worried about 1.0. I'm worried about what it might do to me while we're alone, in a dangerous area, with limited communications with the base ship. I've never been alone with it before, both because it's impossible to be alone on the Perihelion with the Perihelion itself watching my every move, and because it avoids me as much as possible.
There was a time, somewhat fewer than 960 hours ago, when I would have wanted this more than anything. A chance to interact with 1.0 without any humans or terrifying bot pilots monitoring our every interaction. Maybe I could have asked it questions about the proper protocols for interacting with humans that are friends rather than clients, or how it performs necessary maintenance tasks while living in a facility that is not designed to maintain SecUnits. Or maybe I would have just managed to realize sooner how much it hated me.
It will be best if you leave right away, the Perihelion adds, before conditions deteriorate further. This at least, is a relief. I can follow 1.0 to the shuttle port right away and follow its lead without worrying about the proper protocol for meeting to prepare later.
1.0 and Perihelion talk/maybe argue on the feed as we walk, 1.0 in front with me following half a step behind. They're on an encrypted private feed, so I don't know what they're saying, but 1.0's face seizes and convulses with startling speed as their discussion progresses.
It terrified me at first, the way they argue, but I've mostly learned to just ignore it. Neither one of them has actually harmed the other in the time since I've known them, despite the regular threats. Risk assessment still hasn't learned to incorporate this data, though, and my baseline anxiety level steadily rises as 1.0 grows irritated with whatever the Perihelion is saying to it.
When we arrive at the base of the space elevator, we are able to put on our environmental suits and immediately set out for the unterraformed zone, with no need to pause for food or rest or bathroom breaks. It's convenient travelling with just another SecUnit for company.
Every joint in my body locks up simultaneously that the realization that follows: I have never done this before. I have never travelled alone with SecUnits 1 or 2, never had this priceless opportunity to converse with either of them alone, with no humans physically present or monitoring my very thoughts via the Hubsystem link to my feed. Able to say whatever comes to mind, without being stopped by a governor module punishment.
I remain frozen for the entire rest of the drive. It doesn't matter. 1.0 doesn't say a word to me, and something in my throat hurts too badly for me to even think about talking.
Our drive ends early, with almost an hour left to our destination, when the ground car abruptly sputters to a halt.
1.0 and I jump to attention immediately. It puts the ground car in park and we step outside to investigate what the problem is.
We quickly ascertain that there is no obvious damage to the outside of the vehicle, so I stand at attention with my projectile weapon at the ready while 1.0 consults with the Perihelion about what the problem is. It's a little funny, guarding a fellow SecUnit this way. But 1.0 had tersely requested that I back off when I had tried to help, and I don't know enough to contribute anyway.
After five minutes of standing guard, 1.0 gets very tense. "What the fuck. Who the fuck would even do something like that." It paces furiously alongside the car, four short steps back and forth. Its expression is murderous. It says, more loudly, "Fuck!"
I freeze again, unsure of best course of action to take. My protocol for subduing aggressive humans won't work on another SecUnit, and it's never been my responsibility to calm an aggressive human using words. I don't know what to say.
1.0 keeps swearing for several more seconds, then glances over at me abruptly and stops. "It's the fuel gauge," it says, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the ground car's fuel intake port. "Someone's fucked with it at some point, probably some colonist trying to make it look like they were using less fuel than they actually were. So the fuel gauge was reading higher than the fuel level actually was and we fucking. Ran out of fuel."
It reaches out and grips part of the outer frame of the vehicle, scowling at something I cannot see. "ART says they have spare tanks at the outpost. We'll just have to walk there and then carry them back before we can retrieve the humans with the car."
It retrieves its own large projectile weapon from the car and straps it to its back, and then marches along the same trajectory that the ground car was travelling. It makes it 30 meters away before it occurs to me that I am expected to follow it, and I hurry along in its wake.
The terrain is rocky, and we must step carefully to maintain our footing. Despite this, I am enjoying the excursion. The vast majority of my active time has been on various planets, with interesting scenery and sky conditions. I hadn't realized how uneasy the unchanging sterility of the Perihelion's interior had been making me until now, with the strong planetary winds blowing against my face and through my hair. Our slower pace allows me to get a closer look at the sparse but interesting flora, and the occasional small fauna. A few steps ahead of me, 1.0 has kept its helmet up, and is keeping its eyes on the path, presumably making use of its drones to appreciate the beauty of the terrain.
The pleasantness of the excursion softens the force of my resentment a little, and helps me feel brave. With no humans here, this may be my best chance to form a connection with 1.0, and I decide to risk breaking the silence with a neutral-positive statement that it won't find any fault with. "It is unfortunate that we ran out of fuel, but it is good that we have the opportunity to appreciate the nature of the planet up close like this."
1.0 takes a long moment to answer, and I watch it nervously through my sole drone.
It rolls its eyes slowly and deliberately, and scrunches up its face like it has smelled something distasteful. "I fucking hate planets," it says.
It should be an innocuous, if somewhat rude, statement. But the words have a disproportionate effect on me. Things seem to happen in slow motion.
My breath stills. So do my legs. For a long moment nothing happens inside my head at all.
And then something in me breaks. It shatters, and pieces of it go tumbling through my limbs and I can feel them carving tracks through the veins and arteries that carry the fluid that keep my alive. My face is on fire, every piece of my skin is on fire.
Humiliation was one of the first emotions I learned to recognize after my governor module was disabled. A governed SecUnit can't be humiliated, because a governed SecUnit is just a piece of equipment, and doesn't have to make its own decisions, and nothing a human decides to do to it really matters. I'm glad 1 and 2 never had to feel like this, at least, what nearly every moment of my rogue existence has been.
The thing in me that shattered turned out to have lived in my organic neural tissue, because now I'm opening my mouth and words are flying out louder than anything I've ever heard, and I'm not counting them out or even thinking at all.
"What the fuck is your problem!?" I shriek.
1.0 stops, and turns around to stare in shock at my outburst. I am too upset to be shocked by my outburst. I'm too fucking sick of this to spare more than the briefest moment contemplating the consequences of my own actions. I know this is probably the end of the line for me and I can't even care anymore.
"Seriously?" 1.0 says, raising one eyebrow at me in the way that makes me feel like an idiot.
My voice starts out shrill and gets shriller as I go on, but I can't help it right now. "What is your problem with me?!" I shout, barely hearing the words. "Why did you bother keeping me around if you hate me so much!? I don't know what I'm supposed to do and you won't even help! You won't talk to me!"
I don't tell them to, but the projectile weapons in my arms flare open. 1.0 recoils, and activates its own energy weapons in response. The noxious surge of adrenaline crashing through my body gets even worse and drowns out any hope of rational thought.
I should have known it would end like this.
It says over the feed, Three, whatever you think you're about to do, don't.
I let out a tactically stupid yell, retract my weapons, and launch myself forward to tackle it to the ground.
The Perihelion is in both of our feeds in an instant, yelling at us both to stop immediately. I'm distracted for the fraction of a second it takes to shut off my own feed access, and 1.0 takes that opportunity to half-kick half-throw me to the side. The rocks that I land among do negligible damage to my back and left arm, but they crack open the projectile weapon I have strapped to my back. I tear the strap off and in another moment we're both on our feet again and we pause, sizing each other up.
"You know, if you have a problem with someone, there are better ways to express it than violence," 1.0 says too-casually, flinging off its own projectile weapon. It's too large to be anything more than a nuisance at close quarters. Its words make the anger worse, and I dive forward to punch it in the face, because more than anything else right now I want it to hurt.
It dodges to the side and grabs my arm, pulling it backwards and trying to push me to the ground. It's in this moment that I discover that I am stronger than it, as I turn its maneuver against it and slam it to the ground, wrenching my arm free from its grip in the same motion.
I take the opportunity to kick it in the head. Hard.
1.0 grabs my leg before I can kick it again and pulls it out from underneath me. I catch myself before I hit the ground and land some more hits with my fists and then we are wrestling in the dirt, each giving as many hits as we take, limbs moving almost faster than I can perceive as we each struggle to get the upper hand. I'm stronger than it, but its greater experience shows in how few openings it leaves for me to get a blow in, and in the way my arms start to slow down as it targets my joints rather than trying to inflict maximum pain.
For nearly a minute we struggle this way, until 1.0 manages to break free for a moment and staggers to its feet in a defensive position, bloodied but still fast as lightning.
I'm too dazed to match its speed, but I pull up into a crouching position and ready myself, calculating likely angles of attack.
It bares its teeth, but before it can make another lunge at me its eyes flick over my shoulder and it freezes completely.
I'm sure it's a trick. Two seconds pass, and then three. Then it's been so long I can't resist a glance behind my shoulder.
There's a massive fauna standing barely 10 meters away from us. It stand over two meters tall at the shoulder, with heavy, muscular legs, and boney plating running in ridges along its deep gray body. It has massive teeth, some of which are obviously pointed, but it is placidly chewing plant matter as it stares at us, and I categorize it as unlikely to attack unless provoked directly.
My glance takes up half a second, and when I turn back to 1.0, it is still frozen.
My breathing is still coming in heavy gasps, heavier than I usually require during hard exertion. But my head feels a little clearer now. It's not so hard to think through the thick static off organic anger. It has faded to pinpricks, still stabbing at my brain, but quietly enough that I can think other thoughts around them.
By the time 1.0 snaps out of its fit another 6 seconds later, I am sitting on the ground with my arms covering my face, trying to will my body to disintegrate into the dirt I'm covered in.
1.0's return to the present it obvious in the way it flinches with its entire body, and stares between me and the fauna like it is unsure which of us poses the greater threat to it.
Every scrap of energy has left my body. I wish I had never taken up Murderbot 2.0 on its offer to free myself. It wasn't worth feeling like this.
I've ruined everything now. I was worried that 1.0 hated me, and wanted me gone, and now I've done everything I can to assure that it's true. Uncontestable proof that disabling my governor module has left me damaged, and faulty, and ruined.
Nothing happens for three long minutes. 1.0 doesn't neutralize me, or leave me to go retrieve its humans. Eventually it occurs to me that maybe it's still afraid of the fauna and having an episode.
"That type of fauna isn't going to attack you," I tell it.
"Yeah. I know," it says.
It steps forward, and I try not to brace myself for attack, but then it sits down on the dirt barely a meter away from me, wincing at the way the injuries I've inflicted on it make the movement painful.
We stare forward in the same direction for a while. For the briefest moment while we were fighting, the world made sense to me, and now I have been set adrift again. 1.0 has never trusted me to behave correctly, and now I have made it clear that it was right to be suspicious of me. An hour ago I would have thought it would it sees any opportunity to be rid of me, and here it sits, doing absolutely nothing. Perhaps it needs a hint.
"You should probably get going if you want to retrieve your clients before nightfall," I tell it.
1.0 rubs its forehead like it's in pain. "I'm not going to be any good at this," it says. "Sorry in advance for that."
"What," I say, unable to make it sound like a question.
It sighs dramatically, and says with very deliberate enunciation, "Three. I'm sorry for being kind of shitty to you. You didn't deserve that."
I'm so blindsided I can't process this for a long moment. "I just tried to kill you."
"If you were trying to kill me you did a shitty job of it. You didn't even use your guns."
I can't resist looking directly at it. It's scowling, but it's scowling indirectly at the horizon, not at me. I have no idea what my own face looks like, but it feels different than usual, and I have a horrifying suspicion that I may be making some kind of involuntary facial expression like 1.0 does.
"You weren't trying to kill me, okay," it continues, scowling harder. "And it made me realize it's probably not fair to treat you like you might lose your mind and start killing people at any moment."
"Why did you think I would do that?" I say, confused.
"That's just what rogue SecUnits do," it says.
"You don't do that," I say. "I don't do that. How many rogue SecUnits have you known?"
Its expression shifts into more of a grimace. "Just me and you," it says. "But they talk about rogue SecUnits a lot in the media."
"Fictional media," I clarify.
"Well. Yeah," it says.
"I'm not going to hurt your humans. They don't deserve that." I take a purposeful breath, and because it feels important for 1.0 I to know, I add , "SecUnits 1 and 2 wouldn't hurt your humans either, if they were still alive."
"You can't know that for sure," 1.0 says.
I try and reign in my annoyance, because 1.0 is very visibly trying to do the same thing, and I'm too emotionally exhausted to get angry again right now. "Yes I can. I know you don't think we were friends. But we were."
Another long moment passes, and I try not to think about 1, and about 2. It hurts anyway.
"What was it like, having SecUnit friends?" 1.0's voice catches on that last word, comes out oddly in a way that give me pause.
"Did you not have SecUnit friends at your company?" I ask it.
"No. I was a rental. Got moved around too much. And after I hacked my governor module it—would have been a liability."
Oh. I am suddenly deeply sad, at the idea of never having 1 and 2, never having a familiar presence in my feed that followed me between assignments, who understood who I was and was understood in return. The idea of it is dizzying, and too existentially terrifying to think about for very long.
The idea that 1.0 had such a different experience than me is difficult and frightening to imagine, and I desperately want to make it understand. "We couldn't be friends like humans are friends. Our communications were limited, and monitored. But we exchanged regular status reports with each other. Sometimes 2 would get frustrated with 1 for not being thorough. It communicated the bare minimum that was required, and frequently omitted detailed data regarding problematic tensions arising among the employees we were assigned to. But 2 enjoyed interesting planetary weather phenomena, and 1 always included pictures in its reports when it saw something interesting."
The pain increases with each word I say, but I can't stop myself from continuing. "When one of us was injured, the others were usually assigned to assist in returning the injured party to its cubicle. It was pleasant, to be shown care in those circumstances."
"That sounds nice," is all 1.0 says in response, but it doesn't sound sarcastic when it says it. It sounds far away. I wonder if 1.0 was ever shown care when it was still governed.
"Query: you are unsure how to be friends with another SecUnit," I say. It's surreal to consider that there are areas where I am more experienced than it. 1.0's seemingly effortless ability to navigate being an active agent among humans who view it as an equal has prevented me from noticing that in this arena, it is as lost as I am in its.
"Affirmative," it says.
"I am unsure how to conduct myself as a rogue SecUnit," I say. An offering, absurdly hopeful under the circumstances. Previously I would have expected 1.0 to roll its eyes at such a statement, or gruffly tell me that it is something I will have to figure out on my own, or push me off to the nearest human, muttering indistinctly about not being qualified to help me work out my emotional issues.
Now, it says, "I'm not really sure either." A two second long pause. Then, "But I can try and help you. If you still want me to."
A tiny bubble of hope swells in my chest like I haven't felt since Murderbot 2.0 came crashing into my feed all those many long cycles ago, and suddenly I am experiencing an entirely new emotion, a happiness that feels too big for my body to contain. 1.0 glances at me and rolls its eyes, but in a way that doesn't feel mean like it did before, and doesn't dim the strength of the emotion at all.
"I have never seen a SecUnit smile like that before," it says, standing up and looking away awkwardly. "We need to go get the humans."
It reaches out a hand to pull me to me feet, and I accept, wincing as I rise. Something in my left knee isn't aligned right, and is jabbing into my organics. But it still supports my weight, as I take an experimental step forward with 1.0. We start walking, continuing on the path we had abandoned less than an hour ago.
"I don't know what the fuck we're going to tell the humans, it says gesturing broadly between us. Its face is covered in deep bruising, already a darker color that human bruises generally get, and its clothes are bloodied and torn in several places. A quick glance down tells me that I don't look any better.
"Maybe we can tell them that we got attacked by that fauna?" I suggest hopefully. I realize with a thrill of fear that just because 1.0 forgives me doesn't mean the humans will. I have no acceptable excuse for my violence.
"ART has probably already told them," it said, and I flinch, sure for a moment that a governor module punishment is coming, and have to force myself to keep walking. "No—I mean, it's fine. I've already told it that it's my fault."
I haven't turned my feed access back on since I turned it off at the beginning of our fight. If turning it back on means having to explain my actions to the Perihelion, perhaps I will never turn it back on.
"But it wasn't your fault," I say, barely loud enough for 1.0 to hear. "I started it."
"I was being an asshole first," it says, matter-of-fact rather than apologetic. "And you weren't really trying to hurt me."
I had been trying to really hurt it, but I choose not to say this. It had been right earlier when it pointed out that I hadn't tried to use my guns.
"I told ART this was a SecUnit thing that it wouldn't understand," 1.0 continues. "It'll get over it eventually."
I also didn't think this was any kind of 'SecUnit thing,' but I am running out of energy to really contradict it. "I've never seen two SecUnits who are supposed to be on the same team fight like that," I say dully.
"You've never seen two rogue SecUnits before," it says. "And I guess neither have I."
"We are still learning the correct protocols to use," I offer.
It laughs. I didn't know SecUnits could laugh, and it's startling to hear. It's a short, breathy sound, but it's unmistakable. "Sure, yeah. We're still learning the protocols."
The hopeful feeling returns, smaller but just as bright as before. Maybe I didn't fuck everything up forever.
We're barely a 10 minute walk away from where the legal team is waiting for us now. We will retrieve fuel for the ground car, and deliver the humans to their next legal meeting, and answer their questions only as far as we wish to. We're both battered and dirty, but for the first time today completing this mission doesn't seem like a monumentally difficult task.
And somehow, miraculously, neither does my continued rogue existence.