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Chapter Text

It was a stupid accident. We’d identified the presence of space debris in this sector, including pieces large enough to deflect the course of a small transport; but my Risk Assessment Module was happily burbling in the low teens (it really needs replacing, but I’m quite fond of its optimism now) and ART had calculated the risk of an actual collision as approximately 1 in 159,753. But of course we were that one. And of course the client I was with would be that one. 

It wasn’t dramatic, not from where we were sitting. Just a sudden change in velocity. And then of course the alarms and alerts, which I quickly switched off. Just because your ship is in fucking dire straits doesn’t mean you have to be given a headache, nor does anyone else. The anyone else in question was, of course, irritatingly nonchalant; as if he’d been knocked off course by space debris and ended up hurtling towards some uncertain fate loads of times. Maybe he had, well if we survived I wasn’t going to ask. He just sent a couple of pointedly polite queries about risk. 

And actually it seemed our risk levels were pretty acceptable. It was clear from the bot-pilot’s analysis that we were being pulled into the gravity well of one of the many planets in this system. Emergency systems were kicking in, and we’d landfall within a few minutes. We were both now secure; it was just a matter of the ship maintaining its integrity until we were safely on the surface of the planet. 

The ship was a strong little ship, and it took good care of us. The only harm we came to was a slight bruise (which didn’t even happen on impact) that no one seemed to want to complain about.

The landing must have looked far more spectacular planetside, but there was no one to ask. Absolutely not a single high functioning machine intelligence or lifeform (same could be said of many other places I’ve visited). The planet had been subject to pretty cursory surveys, admittedly, but all the data I could retrieve indicated the highest form of life were some largish carnivores. Yes, that cheered me up too. I waited for the transport’s hull to cool before I made my first reconnoiter. I didn’t have my armour, so this was largely out of necessity—I had no desire to burn my clothes. My client was safely ensconced in their crash harness, and I left them there while I made the appropriate checks. Which meant they really weren’t entitled to scowl at me quite so theatrically when I returned just seven minutes later. I kept my face averted on approach though, as I am pretty certain it was making an expression. It does that.

I carefully disengaged the safety locks on his harness and helped him turn through the necessary contortions to end up seated on the floor. I’d note for the record that the bruising (which occurred at this point) was entirely avoidable. Afterwards, I stood nearby where I could see from my peripheral vision that his face was returning to its usual pallor. 

“Thank you, SecUnit.” 

It’s amazing how much implicit criticism those three words can carry. Well, he shouldn’t have wriggled about so much.

Then there was a pause. I don’t know what he expected me to say? I went back to checking all the systems, and to calming the ship. It was happy we had landed safely but worried about how we would survive on the planet. I was able to shore up its concerns about its own function and let it know rather more of my own capabilities than I’d normally share. It was so pleased to hear that the human onboard had a dedicated SecUnit to protect him that I almost felt guilty for leaving him hanging upside down for so long. Almost.

We were actually quite ridiculously well provisioned for a short stay on an alien planet. Ship was just little, a two person hopper, but it was made to carry those people through dangerous regions and had been built with the threats of collisions (and, I guess, other hostile attacks) in mind. Also, whoever built Ship had presumed both people aboard would be human. For all its fussing, and all its relief I was there, it probably had most things we needed to survive for what was likely to be a very short stay on this desolate rock. Whose files I had now downloaded from Ship’s memory banks (it had a distressing lack of media stored). The planet had an atmosphere and gravity both suitable for humans (a little weak and a little strong, respectively). We also had plentiful water, basic rations, a rudimentary beacon kit, first-aid supplies, ropes, axes; the usual life-raft type equipment. These were all present; I did a physical check on them, knowing humans the way I do this is always a good idea. 

I wasn’t worried we’d be here long, ART knew where we had been; it’d be able to pick up the emergency broadcast the impact had triggered and send someone to pick us up. We just needed to set off the beacon, and then sit tight. I turned to the files on the indigenous life forms. 

“Is there any coffee?” Dr. Gurathin was, of course, peering in at the rations. I fucking doubt it, Gurathin. “No, probably not. I suppose we’re unlikely to be here long? Perihelion has probably…”

“We don’t know.” I’m not sure why I snapped at him so aggressively, but I wasn’t going to apologise, “We need to launch the beacon.”

“Yes, yes of course.” He sounded hurt, but like he was doing his best not to show it. I realised he was almost certainly having an emotional response due to memories of the survey. This wasn’t the same at all. There was no one here trying to kill us, for a start. At least, not as far as we knew.

Chapter Text

Ship was trying to get my attention. Ship was worried. I didn’t like it, the fact that it was worried that is: I liked Ship. It had been running various predictive algorithms and was concerned about how Dr. Gurathin would respond to nightfall. I sighed inwardly. I’d also realised (judging by the position of the system’s star in the sky, the planetary conditions; basically all the data available) that quite soon it would get very dark and very, very cold. 

Dr. Gurathin and I had spent 199 minutes assembling the beacon for launch. This had been our primary objective. At least this beacon wasn’t a stupid, cheap, useless company one; so was unlikely to fry us. We set it up a safe distance from Ship, nonetheless; I don’t (whatever anyone might suggest) take unnecessary risks. Deployment was uneventful. As we returned to Ship I noticed Dr. Gurathin was breathing quite heavily. I checked his vital signs; it seemed the heat, extra gravity, lighter air and the stress were contributing to making him struggle. Which was when Ship pinged me. It had been designed to protect us from the icy void of space, but the landing had terminally compromised the hull integrity (emergency entry to a planet’s atmosphere will do that) and, come nightfall, it was worried about us, or rather him, freezing.

We had about 400 minutes to come up with a solution.

When we got back to Ship, Dr. Gurathin went and rooted about in one of the storage lockers then went and sat in one of chairs, with whatever it was he had been foraging for. I took him a water ration. He didn’t need to get dehydrated. 

“Thank you.” He sounded surprised. Yeah, my record of losing clients to dehydration is staying at zero, thank you very much. He sipped the water. I wondered if he needed some medication, I suspected he had a headache, but I didn’t want to ask. I found a comfortable spot where I could sit and confer with Ship and also continue observing him, unobtrusively. Ship had ideas; they needed some work, but they were ideas. 

Gurathin had taken out his prize, and was staring at it. I’d checked the inventory with Ship and figured out what it was so my interest was even less than it had been before. Besides (even now, all this time since leaving the company for good) it was sometimes satisfying to not know something about what a client was doing. Anyway, I don't like books. 

Ship’s interior contained an obvious candidate space for what we had in mind, and it would not take long to construct a shelter which struck the right balance of strength to resist the elements and possible fauna incursion, whilst keeping Ship in a fit state for easy salvage. I didn’t want to lose Ship any more than I wanted to lose a client. Unfortunately creating a warm shelter given the predicted temperatures was a genuine challenge. Ship had delightedly come up with a solution, which I had to admit was simple and in many ways elegant; it couldn’t understand why I initially rejected it. 

As we worked around other possibilities I could feel Ship’s desire to keep us both safe, and its distress at being planetbound. Though the latter was tempered with, surprisingly, a huge amount of delight. The hull’s sensory array has been damaged and there has been no SecSystem to speak of (we hadn’t needed internal cameras) but Ship still had a host of ways to detect and respond to various inputs from our physical environment and apparently took a perverse sort of pleasure from its perception of the situation. It wasn’t something I understood, and Ship was clever enough to know it couldn’t communicate it to me. I suppose the pleasure I took on leaning on the hull’s melted panels, absorbing the radiant heat from the system’s star’s light on my face as I stared out over the dunes was a parallel one. But Ship was still worried about the coming night, and it needed me to tell it that its plan was actually the only viable one.

And I had to convince Dr. Gurathin. I suppose his expression when I explained what we would have to do would almost compensate (no it wouldn’t) for the awfulness of it. 

He was still sitting there, annoyingly calm, “reading” his book. I walked over, closer to initiate conversation but still at a distance which for a normal SecUnit would indicate respect. Obviously since it was me, it indicated whatever the hell It did. 

“Dr. Gurathin.” I said. It was a good opening gambit. He looked up. He was looking less ill, but I flagged Ship to run an analysis of his vitals. I’m getting better at my humans’ idiosyncrasies when it comes to vital signs, but Gurathin is always a bit of an outlier. He was still looking at the space in my general direction. “You’ve probably realised it’s going to get really cold and dark soon. You can freeze if you want but I’ve constructed a bivouac” yeah, that was a word I looked up, “for you, I’ll provide heat.”

He froze, I felt Ship perk up. He was going to be weird about this, I could tell. I hoped Ship wasn’t disappointed by his response. He put down his book, “That’s good. Thank you, please do tell me if I can provide any assistance.” 

Yeah, as if you could. I went to check the perimeter. Ship was, of course, thrilled. This isn’t its fault. Its whole purpose is to keep the people it is carrying (its crew) safe. Here, that was just me and Gurathin. It could clearly see Gurathin was far more physically vulnerable: and I could almost taste its desire to wrap him up, envelope him. The idea of him being hurt, well it hurt Ship. I calmed it; no harm was going to come to anyone here. This is my function. 

This is what I do.

Chapter Text

The planetary night lasted six hours at this latitude, which was convenient as it meant Dr Gurathin would hopefully be able to sleep through most of it. What Ship and I had designed and created was almost like a little cocoon. We had used the insulating blankets, and padding, and Ship’s own anatomy to create a little sleeping pod. I was to be, I found it helpful to remember, more of a structural component than an occupant. And, of course, the heating element. When he first looked at it I thought Dr Gurathin was going to laugh, but he nodded abruptly and checked some of the struts (not just random ones the way some humans do, he clearly knows something about engineering (so do I, the struts were all fine)). Then he went and pulled on the clothing I had assigned to him. Again, we were fortunate to have such a well provisioned vessel. Ship radiated happiness, for a second I thought it was a pity it couldn’t radiate heat quite so effectively; but that was mean of me. Ship was doing its job, and now it was my turn to do mine.

I climbed in first, and took up my position. I’d arranged it so that from my location I had an unobstructed view through the clear panel we were using as a sort of door. I don’t sleep, and was interested to watch what the night sky did here, though I wasn’t really expecting much (Ship and I found the files we had pooled together were pretty deficient regarding this topic). Whatever, I always had my media. I was sorting through my files, arranging them systematically when Dr Gurathin’s voice jolted me back to the real world, “Do I just climb in and curl up?”

I think he was trying to ask permission, but being awkward. So I probably did sound testy when I said “Yes, Dr Gurathin.” But honestly? What else was he expecting me to say? “No, I’ve decided to let you die of exposure and then sit here with your corpse for a week waiting for rescue, going mad with guilt as dear sweet Ship glares at me; seeing me as the murderer I am.” I shouldn’t do counterfactuals, they make my organics feel all scrambled. He didn’t snap back at me, didn’t even sigh. Then he said, “Goodnight. We do need to talk tomorrow.” Then he climbed in.

The weighted system swung us gently round, swiveling us into the locked position. Designing the set up I’d actually worked towards making conversation difficult, physically. And we (so far) seemed to have reached an unarticulated agreement not to speak over the feed. I’d thought this was a good idea, to prevent (if I’m honest) Dr. Gurathin trying to talk to me at night when I was concentrating on being part of the structure. Only now he’d made this comment about needing to talk the next day. About what?

We hung there, silently and night came, suddenly. 

It was cold, bitterly so. Ship’s bones crackled and groaned in protest. The little cocoon held fast, and I upped my body temperature curled around Gurathin. He quietly tensed, then relaxed; and then I felt his outline soften and become weirdly heavy as he fell asleep. Ship was doing the machine intelligence equivalent of pacing, I let it know it was all fine. He was safely sleeping, and soon dreaming. I’d never been this close to a dreaming augmented human before. Not ever, I’d have remembered even with all the wipes. He must have left down all his walls, I suppose out of courtesy to me? A sign of trust? But I could sense his dreams. Not like watching media, but like ghosts swirling around me; ghosts of feelings. It was strange. And then the aurora began.

Many planets have auroras, there’s no mystery to their formation. But for some reason every time I see one I’m staggered, taken by surprise. The lights flickered and undulated, chasing each other in rippling curtains of greens, blues and oranges across the sky. Dr. Gurathin was oblivious, but somehow his dreams danced with the aurora.

Ship and I watched, together in silence. Our vulnerable crew utterly safe; warm, secure, protected in this tiny warm bubble on a cold planet under its flickering, dancing, chameleon sky.

Dr. Gurathin’s presence wasn’t the awkwardness I’d imagined, we weren’t physically touching at all: I suppose it was as close as I could get to understanding how ART feels to carry its crew. (Which is very different to me carrying a human client during a retrieval, which is usually very physically arduous and uncomfortable for both me and the human: they really don’t like it). It would have been perfect, except for those ominous words: “We do need to talk”. Ship and I scanned back; what had Dr. Gurathin been doing (when he wasn’t buried in his book)? He’d been checking our plotted course, the risk assessments, our inventory, Ship’s manifest—all the details of this one flight. Ship was as puzzled as me. I tried to put it to the back of my mind, but it nagged at me.

I recorded the lights, and edited together a file for Dr. Gurathin. There wasn’t any useful information in the data, but anyway. They melted away before dawn, and I watched a strange star dawn on an alien world. Dr. Gurathin’s form became unwieldy as he regained consciousness. He quite suddenly segued from a warm heavy bag of huge metal orbs into a sack of sharp sticks, all angles. I swung the pod around to the morning orientation, and he disgorged. I climbed out after him.

“What do we need to talk about?” I asked.

He stood up straight, pushed his hands back through his hair. He took a slow deep breath, and shook his head slightly, as if shaking away the traces of his dreams. He stood staring at the horizon, “Good morning, SecUnit. I have noticed some anomalies.”

Chapter Text

What the (and I cannot emphasize this word strongly enough) FUCK, Dr. Gurathin? A wave of rage swept through me, and something else originating purely in my organic tissue. I felt as if my veins were flowing with something searingly clear and cold. At the same time I burned. My breath seemed to catch. I stared at him. He seemed suddenly very much remote, distanced from me. And at that moment I think I truly hated him. He still had his back to me.

I could have killed him.

He must have felt it.

He relaxed his body, adjusted his stance. His guard completely down; he was utterly vulnerable.

“Not you, SecUnit. Obviously,” No, actually Dr. Gurathin it isn’t obvious, “this whole situation.”

I hadn’t opened my gunports. I relaxed my hands. I did not want to jump on him, hurl him to the floor. I waited for my systems to purge whatever it was that coursed through me. Ship was silent too.

“Don’t you think it’s odd?” He turned as he spoke, gesturing vaguely. You're going to have to be a whole more specific than that, Dr. Gurathin.

“Dr. Gurathin, please describe the problem.” Yeah, my buffer is sometimes useful. I couldn’t have spoken.

He opened up a feed connection, Ship was acting as a signal booster for us both. He’d put together a file. Labeled “Anomalies”. It was neatly, intuitively, constructed. Dr. Gurathin may be fucking annoying but he is also good at what he does (he is good at being annoying). I read it angrily. Then re-read it, disbelievingly.

He had a point. But I hardly liked to think what it might mean. He was still standing there. Okay, what’s the appropriate response to this?

“Do you suspect deliberate sabotage?” That was him, but it could have been me. Ship was hovering around me too, it couldn’t understand the implications; and I almost didn’t want it to. 

“I don’t have sufficient data.” I said, but I think maybe I did.

I sat down. I needed to think.

Dr. Gurathin left me alone. He went off; he took his book with him.

I suppose the excitement of the crash had distracted me. But yes, it was all rather unlikely. The collision, the crash, the planet; all of this. I pulled Ship into my considerations, it was feeling baffled and I was afraid it felt under suspicion. What were the chances, after all, of us crashing so safely on a planet so conducive to our survival? In the vast sterile expanse of space, a planet like this. I suppose everyone who survives a crash like this could say that, that’s the essence of survivorship bias. But Dr. Gurathin had been thorough, tracking back before we’d even planned the trip, even back when Ship had been being equipped. 

I needed time to assimilate this information, and then Dr. Gurathin was right, we would need to talk.

The star was directly overhead when I approached Dr. Gurathin. He sat in the shade from the major bulkhead; I brought him a water ration. “Thank you, SecUnit.” he said, I wasn’t sure if there was a hint of sarcasm. “Have you reached any conclusions?”

He seemed genuine. I looked at him, surreptitiously. He looked—he looked like Gurathin. His face might have been read as disgruntled by a stranger, but I knew now that that was just how it fell when he was resting it. He was staring down at his hands. He has surprisingly elegant hands, long tapered fingers with strong nails. His hands were resting in his lap, his book was resting under his left. “You’re right.” I said, then forgot what I’d planned to say next—just staring at his hands. He waited, I guess there wasn’t anything else for him to do; it wasn’t as if there was anywhere for him to go. “You’re right, this all seems like a set up.”

He let out a breath, he must have been holding it.

“But why would anyone want to strand us together on this planet? To what end?” This was what I couldn’t understand, there was no possible motive. Ship was as utterly nonplussed as I was. But it was just in a state of bafflement, that anyone could plan against us with such malice. It was foreign to its nature. It could never understand why someone might do this. I knew how wantonly cruel people could be, but the why still eluded me. “Do you think there’s something on the planet?”

“It’s a possibility, but if there is it’s not likely to be listed in the survey files.” Dr. Gurathin had read them thoroughly, all the words. And he'd have taken note of the words that weren’t there too. “There’s something new today, though. Come and see.”  He got up as he spoke and led me round Ship’s side, to where…I stared at it blankly. 

“Water?” I sounded idiotic, but this was bizarre. There was a darker patch of sand and a little spring. Clear water welling up, then soaking silently into the sand.

“Our crash must have disrupted an aquifer, we’d need to check but the water is likely potable. Whoever planned this didn’t want me to die, seems.” He shrugged, “Heavens, SecUnit: no one can plan this , surely? This has got to be genuine accident? Hasn’t it?” He meant the water, and he sounded like he wanted to be convinced. That was when I realised he’d reached the same conclusion as me.

“I have to patrol.” I said.

“I understand, thank you for listening to me.” Again, he sounded genuine. I told Ship to watch over him. It was grateful for the task, something it could usefully do. It didn’t want, or need, to mull over why someone had done this to us. I walked away from the crash site, walking faster and faster and then broke into a run. I ran across the sand, the hot dunes, faster and faster. It was hot out here, searingly, I enjoyed it. I pushed myself, fighting against the drag, the entropy of the sands. Eventually I would have to go back, and think. But for now I could distract myself with the physical.

Of course, when it came to the walk back it seemed further, and more onerous; but I’d my course set and could watch some media as I trudged. There was no rush. Until I saw the tracks. The tracks that were not mine. Quadrupedal tracks, I calculated a shoulder height of 130cm, a weight of at least 230kg. Paw marks, with pads and unretracted claws; more like talons.

Tracks that were heading directly towards Ship.

Chapter Text

The fucking carnivores! I hadn’t forgotten them, I just hadn’t supposed they would be hanging out in the middle of the fucking desert! Because why would they?

Why?

I was running again, I sent a desperate ping towards Ship, that couldn’t possibly reach it from out here. Oh shit. This was the worst nightmare. My worst nightmare. There was nothing I could do, just run as fast as I could. Dr. Gurathin didn’t even have a weapon, did he? Why hadn’t he asked for one? The idiot. I kept running, sending out occasional stupid pings. At last I saw Ship, the hostile’s tracks were almost comically obvious, winding across the pristine dunes towards it. The hostile must have caught scent of my augmented human, unfamiliar molecules carried on the wind. It had walked for kilometers, it must have seen him as a worthy prize for the effort.

I didn’t even know why I was running. Whatever had happened was already over. There were no loud noises coming from Ship; no cries, no howls. It was eerily quiet as I approached. The star was lower in the sky now, Ship casting long deep shadows. I moved quietly towards the spot where I had left Gurathin and as I did so gently pinged Ship, hoping against hope it’d be okay. It gently pinged me back, it didn’t sound hysterical more…mesmerized? As it did so I moved into line of sight and saw the hostile: larger than any man; a deep rust orange colour; shaggy with fringed, furry, keratinous scales, huge paws, and (most importantly) Dr. Gurathin’s arm deep in its maw—still attached to Dr. Gurathin. He wasn’t making a sound, not screaming. There was something wrong with this image; as I opened and started to deploy my energy weapons I realised there was no blood. No crimson, no oh-so-familiar smell of iron and decay. There was the faint smell of Dr. Gurathin (whose smell is not as sock-like as most humans, I suppose because he’s augmented, or maybe he’s just weird), the familiar smell of Ship overlaid with the smells of the crash, and also a strange organic smell. It wasn’t the algal growth medium scent I now associate with the gray targets, but a spicy aromatic smell, which must be the hostile…which was still holding Dr. Gurathin. Dr. Gurathin, who saw me—and messaged me calmly and firmly and in a way that brooked no argument STOP!

I stopped.

Dr. Gurathin messaged me again, Don’t look at it, look at me. I looked at his face, he looked calm. A small smile played around the corners of his mouth. 

I am tickling it, it seems to like it. It’ll probably have another nap in a minute, and then drink some more water. Rinse, repeat. The novelty hasn’t worn off yet. I think it was attracted by the water. It arrived shortly after you left.

I am pretty sure there was a hint of accusation in that last bit. Well sorry. 

I was still trying to parse the structure of the hostile. It didn’t seem to have eyes, or ears, which made identifying its “face” more difficult. There was a huge mouth, which was surrounded by plate-like scales. This was clamped around Dr. Gurathin’s right forearm. His left arm was clasped around what passed for the creature’s neck? He was confidently scratching/stroking the neck scales with his left hand. Where had he taken giant scaly alien petting classes?

How do you know how to stroke it? What it likes?

I thought it was going to eat me, I had a lot of motivation; and very little to lose if I got it wrong which I wasn’t going to lose anyway.

(“I don’t want to be a pet robot.”

“I don’t think anyone wants that.”

That was Gurathin. I don’t like him. “I don’t like you.”

“I know.”

He sounded like he thought it was funny. “That is not funny.”

“I’m going to mark your cognition level at fifty-five percent.”

“Fuck you.”

“Let’s make that sixty percent.”)

I wasn’t taking this personally.

It was rumbling now, it slowly detached from Gurathin and then slumped to the ground. Its thorax was massive, but not as large as its abdomen. Which seemed swollen. Everything about it was huge. At least its smell was quite pleasant. 

It drinks water? 

Gurathin was absently patting the creature (which, now rumbling at his feet, seemed less and less like a potential hostile) with his right hand (which, to my surprise and relief, wasn’t covered in alien drool). 

I imagine it’s drinking, it lies in the wet sand next to the little spring, then sort of looks more hydrated; I’m not a biologist .

Ship was providing all the available (read minimal) data on the planet’s fauna. This thing had to be the large carnivore mentioned. Peering at its feet I could see the long, sharp, talons poking out from the scales.

Another thing you should see, around the spring: we seem to be forming a little ecosystem here. The desert is coming to life.

I thought Gurathin was exaggerating, but no. There was visible green stuff, sprouting around the water source our crash-landing had created. We were the seed of a little oasis. Is this the way they usually appear? Not due to a crashed ship, obviously, but land-slips or rock-falls or erosion? Geology doing its thing? And we’d just speeded it up? I wasn’t going to ask Dr. Gurathin and feel dumb. I felt his attention on me.

Can we speak aloud or will that disturb “it”? I asked him.

“I think we’re probably safe.” Dr. Gurathin said, well I guess that’s one way to test it.

“I’m sorry I ran off.” I said. Just a few minutes ago I’d thought Dr. Gurathin was dead and already he was annoying me again. I don’t have any other human or augmented human who is this irritating. But I was very glad he wasn’t dead. I didn’t think the person responsible for our crash here would have wanted that to happen either. 

“I know. You were upset, it was understandable. It was a lot to take in.” He sounded careful. As if he was walking on thin ice, and worried he’d suddenly plunge his foot deep into icy mud. I felt bad that, after what must have been an at times utterly terrifying afternoon, he seemed scared of provoking me. 

“I was angry, not upset. I still am. But not with you” I told him, gently. 

And I was angry, not with Gurathin but with the fucker whose fault this whole situation was. I was furious with ART.

Chapter Text

I had to put Dr. Gurathin out of his misery; I was pretty sure he'd figured out who our tormentor was. But I wasn’t certain, and I could see he wasn’t keen to make the suggestion himself. At first when he’d mentioned the anomalies I thought he meant—well, to be honest I hadn’t really thought. I was taken back to the survey. He’d said “I wanted to explore some anomalies I’d noticed through the feed. This unit was already a rogue. It has a hacked governor module.” That moment was seared into my memory, that was when everything changed.

But this time it was all different. Very different.

“It’s okay, Dr. Gurathin. You didn’t have to spell it out, I’ve figured out it has to be Perihelion who set this up.”

Ship recoiled in the feed, it was shocked. I had known it would be. That was one reason I had had to get away. Ship was loyal, when it came to its crew it would do anything to protect them. That might include fairly drastic action in extremis: but it would never scheme. It would never play games. ART was a ship, but it was raised by humans. That is why it was such a monster. I was sorry I had to shatter Ship’s innocence about this, but I needed to discuss this with Dr. Gurathin. And Ship deserved the truth too, it had suffered. It was here, damaged, stuck on the planet and out of its element. And that was down to ART.

Ship tried to soothe me. It tried to show me how happy it was to be protecting us both, how it was enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of being here, aground; but I could tell it was just trying to make me feel better. I saw Dr. Gurathin looking at me, and realised I was probably looking ridiculously sentimental over a shipbot (my face; it does things without my meaning it too), humans (even augmented ones) often don’t understand. They don’t deserve ships like Ship. None of us do.

But Ship, being Ship, worried about Gurathin (it was thinking of him without his title since the incident with the hostile), so I knew I’d have to try and reassure him. It was all (as I knew better than Ship could ever) very complicated.

“ART is an evil fucker, it’s just doing this to mess with us. It’s probably got hidden cameras and everything.” I said. I don’t actually think the last bit was true (the first bit definitely was). I’d checked, when I went over Ship after the crash. But ART has fooled me before.

Dr. Gurathin slightly inclined his head, “A frank analysis of the situation, thank you for your honesty.” I was glad he’d taken it so well. “Why do you think it’s choosing to mess with us like this?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? When I said it was to mess with us I meant it emotionally. I could imagine how ART would present it, probably with charts and dissolves and everything; a cathartic learning experience for us, it would—

“And, do you think it expects us to figure out it’s behind it?” Dr. Gurathin interrupted my chain of thought.

Dr. Gurathin can be a lot like ART sometimes. With his stupid questions. By stupid questions, I mean questions I haven’t thought of and find hard to answer.

Then the not-actually-hostile-hostile woke up. It snuffled about, making its way to the little spring where it…it huffed about in the sand aerating the sand with its mouth and then bathed in the damp sand. Which doesn’t describe the strangeness of what it did, but is better than Gurathin’s “ it lies in the wet sand next to the little spring, then sort of looks more hydrated”. 

We gazed af it. Gurathin said, absently, “Do you think its abdomen should look that swollen?” Ship was trying to get my attention, it was excited. 

I looked at the creature, its abdomen was undulating. Writing. Ship dropped the knowledge into my mind like a wriggly bundle.

“Dr. Gurathin, you said you’re not a biologist? What sort of doctor are you?”

The realization dawned on him too. His face segued from a look of vague concern to one of appalled fascination. I didn’t have my drones but I can only assume my face had done something similar. 

“It won’t need my help, our help, will it?” He said. Thank you for the inclusion Doctor Gurathin but this is way outside my function. “I don’t think anything is imminent?” You’re all about the questions, aren’t you now? I know it wasn't actually a question, but he made it sound like one. How was I supposed to know? I don’t think anyone has ever witnessed this before, this was unchartered territory for all of us, well perhaps not for the hostile? Who knew? 

It wasn’t long now until night would set in again, it had been a long day, metaphorically speaking. Is that even the right word? Had Dr. Gurathin eaten enough? I queried Ship. He had taken in sufficient hydration and nutrition in the form of ration packs (which we had a suspiciously, now that you thought about it, well stocked supply). There were also, Ship pointed out, some intoxicants. I don’t think Dr. Gurathin likes intoxicants. 

“Shall we give it a name?” As he said it, Dr. Gurathin looked like he regretted it. But actually Ship had been suggesting something similar. Why are people like this? Not everything needs a name. But I guess referring to it as the hostile when it appeared to be anything but was unfair, and “not-actually-hostile-hostile” was a mouthful. “No, forget it. Sorry.” He turned away from me.

I felt I should offer something, but my mind went blank.

“What about Aurora?” Yes, I don’t know why I said it either. But I also knew from Gurathin’s face that the hostile was now Aurora. 

“It’s about 70 minutes until nightfall” He was correct, “Are you happy with the way the arrangement worked last night? Or do you want to make any adjustments?”

It seemed like an age ago that we’d last climbed into the cocoon. I went and examined it critically. There was a major adjustment that occurred to me, but that would be best done the next day. For now I made good some minor issues which Ship was highlighting. Gurathin had had a difficult day and needed his sleep.

“Dr. Gurathin? Do you have anything you’re going to say which is going to concern me all night? Because I’d rather you said it now so I can address it.” Is what I wanted to say. But of course I didn't. He sat and read, and watched Aurora; occasionally going over and giving it a scratch/rub. It no longer seemed to want to engulf his arm, but was happy with some attention. For such a large and threatening looking organism it seemed very relaxed, maybe that was due to the fact it was shortly to bud, or pup, or whatever. I had a sudden concern that perhaps its offspring would be the hostile, aggressively carnivorous phase of the creature’s life cycle (It happens!). So I did also ensure a clear line of sight from my vantage point in the cocoon.

Chapter Text

The cocoon was a neat piece of design, even Ship thought so. It was almost like a hanging chair, curved to accommodate our two bodies with mine outermost; I was taller and more flexible than Dr. Gurathin anyway. When it swung, through a simple system of balanced pulleys and weights, into the locked position I could see over Dr. Guarthin’s head (where it sat at my chest height) through the clear door panel: I adjusted it to ensure I could keep an eye on Aurora. Just in case. Currently Dr. Gurathin’s view was highly restricted, but that was a concern for later, he didn’t need to see when he was unconscious. Clearly he wasn’t lying flat, which is how most humans and augmented humans choose to sleep; but Ship and I couldn’t see any inherent risks in the cocoon's orientation (so long as Dr. Gurathin could sleep), at least in the short term. And we still believed we would only be here for the short term.

Construction had been aided by the presence in one of the cargo pods of multiple bales of a fabric made of woven insect protein fibers. It was a traditional trading item for one of the polities Pansystems University was allied with. It was also suspiciously suitable for constructing lightweight structures with excellent insulation and breathability. ART could fuck off. Anyway, my augmented human deserved a comfortable, warm and safe place to sleep. The fabric also gave it a shimmering green and yellow colour in the star’s light.

Dr. Gurathin was glancing over at me. He saw me see him and returned to his book. I opened up a feed connection, then closed it. I went over to him. “Is your book good?” I asked. He looked surprised, perhaps thinking I was criticizing him for staring at me, but he decided to take my words at face value. 

“Yes—it’s a version of a very old poem. I initially thought its presence was amusing, given the situation, but from what you’ve said I guess it’s no coincidence.” He shrugged lightly, “Your friend ART has a sense of humour.” I must have looked puzzled, “The general thrust of the poem is that we should seize the day and make the most of the hand life deals us.” I still must have looked unimpressed, it’s not my fault it’s just what my face does, “Specifically the poem’s author describes sitting in a place much like this, with only a book of poems and some food and drink. He declares that, really, it’s all one needs. Though, to return to the cards metaphor: it seems we are playing with a marked deck, and a dealer who cheats. It’s a beautiful poem, regardless of the circumstances. You can of course read it, if you’d like.”

“My optical character recognition module is shitty” I muttered. Gurathin tensed slightly, if he was going to mock me ... “I did wonder,” he said, “you couldn’t read the life-tender label on the Pressy. We must get that sorted out for you. I could translate it into a format you can access.”

“You could read some of it to me?” I felt both Ship’s attention focus on me, and horribly self-conscious “But perhaps another time, we need to get ready for the night.” It was true, we didn’t have many minutes left. We busied ourselves. Then I climbed in first, and Gurathin followed. Both of us, again, had a moment of awkward tension. Then, again, as it got darker Gurathin’s breathing slowed and deepened and he became somehow heavier and softer. I watched the creature now known as Aurora’s outline fade into the darkness, then switched to infrared; it was glowing like a bonfire at one of the Mensah family festivals. My view of the sky was restricted compared to the previous night, but that was acceptable. I had a lot to think about. I was marshaling my thoughts when Gurathin started to dream.

The previous night his dreams had swirled around me like the lights playing in the sky, this time they surged over me like waves, huge plunging breakers crashing down. I wasn’t sure what to do, Ship told me to reach out, so I did, tentatively. I remembered Gurathin gently petting Aurora, and felt my face smile. I’d never done anything like this before, but it seemed strangely familiar, intuitive. It was like playing, and so we played; there were no words, no tangible images even, just waves of thoughts . Quite soon he fell into a deeper, dreamless sleep. In the stillness afterwards I wondered how I’d broach this with him; if I’d even done something wrong, broken some taboo? I had no idea. This was all ART’s fault.

There was no light show that second night; instead the sky was full of stars. It always is, but the cloudless sky and our desert location meant the sky seemed somehow more intense. More so than any sky I’d seen before. Curled around Gurathin, one watchful eye on the strange creature we seemed to have adopted, hanging there in the protective hull of Ship, I felt very, very small underneath the immensity of the universe. Around us the desert sands stretched away. 

I had hoped to watch some of my stored media, but I’d watched so much of it repeatedly with ART it only served to remind me of why I was angry. It was Ship’s turn to calm me. It was far more forgiving than I was, trying to spin the situation to be as favorable as possible. Ship wasn’t much interested in media, instead it was basking in the planetary experience. To distract me, it  revealed its sensors were detecting strange small disruptions all around and under its hull. Initially this news caused a gaping hole to open up inside me, but Ship was eager to tell me why… it had figured it out! It was the plants! 

I had seen a documentary about a planet where something similar happened; every so many years rain would fall in a desert. All the dormant seeds (or spores or whatever they were) sprang into life. That was what was causing a million tiny earth tremors around Ship’s part-buried body. The desert was starting to bloom. Ship, whose hull had never before touched soil was experiencing the sensation of growth. And apparently it liked it.

We passed the hours of darkness like that, Gurathin with me curled around him in our suspended cocoon; sitting in the hull of Ship with Aurora to one side quietly rumbling under alien stars in a sea of sand. As I hung there, I felt an unfamiliar wave of contentment.

Chapter Text

The sky began to lighten and I felt Gurathin stir, his consciousness began to rouse too. That strange shift from sleeping to wakefulness; perhaps I should spend more time with sleeping humans? They’re much easier to protect and feel protective of when they’re like this, all soft and warm and innocuous. I clung to the last wisps of night…but the star was dawning, a new day starting.

We both peeled ourselves from the cocoon, Gurathin stretched and shook himself. His hair was all unkempt, he ran his hands through it as if trying to tame it. It didn’t work. He needed some way to wash, that was something we didn’t have. He didn’t smell bad at the moment, but it was only a matter of time. I knew I should mention the dreaming, but he was still groggy from sleep, and I didn’t want to disturb or upset him. He wandered over to Aurora. It was curled up in a tight orobus, its rough edged ginger coloured plates intermeshing; to the uninformed eye it could have been some enormous seed pod. Huge and covered in a hairy, fibrous husk. I could still detect the UV emanating from it; as Gurathin stroked it he murmured, “We could use you as a radiator, couldn’t we?” 

I’d like to see you build a cocoon which it’d fit in, Dr. Gurathin.  

“Thank you.” Dr, Gurathin’s voice startled me, for a moment I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. “I know it can’t be—well it’s very much non-ideal for you, the whole sleeping set-up; and,” he paused again, obviously having trouble with his words, “well, you helped with my dreams last night too. I didn’t mean that to happen, my augments—I didn’t know.” He ground to a halt, standing staring down at Aurora.

“The dream thing is fine.” I said. It was fine. It wasn’t a problem. But saying it was “ fine ”: I didn’t like the way I seemed to be trying to shut him down. So I continued, “The dreams are,” but now I really didn’t know where this sentence was heading, “they’re—“

Aurora earned my eternal indebtedness at this moment by unfurling and letting out an unearthly wail, like some eldritch siren.

I moved over to join Gurathin staring down at it. 

The next hour was eventful and unforgettable. SecUnits are often there when lives end, rarely when they begin. Aurora noisily produced six glistening balls,  about 60cm in diameter, which it disgorged one by one from some hidden orifice. They looked even more like seed pods than their parent; each one a deep rich brown colour; dark, shiny polished spheres: eggs ! (I think we both thought.)

They weren’t eggs. 

Aurora tried to push them to the little spring. But it was exhausted by its exertions. Gurathin and I somehow managed to communicate with it its desire to get the eggs to the water. We carefully, gesturing for its permission as we went (I don’t know how we knew it was giving us permission, but we just did), transferred the six eggs to the spring, nestling them in the bubbling, now greenly fringed, pool that had formed. I made a mental note to check the water temperature, it hadn’t frozen overnight? It must be warm? I hadn’t even looked at it overnight. What else was I missing?

Then the eggs uncurled, their apparently smooth surfaces unlocking into tiny perfect little scales, as six mini-auroras came to snuffling, surprisingly vocal, life. Aurora stayed where it had been lying, making the occasional deep rumble. Gurathin knelt down next to it, running his hands over its flanks looking concerned. He focused in on an area, I joined him and could see a disruption in the pattern of its interlocking lamellae. We both worked together, he eased his fingers inside and I lifted and held the plates. We found a seventh sphere, somehow trapped; and together we prized it out, gently pulling and manipulating until suddenly it came away, an almost comical release. We both fell back, Gurathin grasping this last of the brood. As he gently transferred it to the spring, I noticed it looked slightly asymmetrical, not the perfect geometric sphere of the others. None of us are perfect.

The little ball nestled in the spring. Aurora seemed rejuvenated by its removal and busied itself, crawling over and snuffled at the six pups. The last egg, our egg, didn’t move. I felt a little pang of sadness, we’d done our best. Gurathin crouched down and stroked it. “It feels warm.” he said, I think he was trying to encourage it. It wasn’t moving. Ship lacked any files on this, but perhaps this was normal? Perhaps the creatures had six offspring and one infertile pod? I think Ship was trying to sell us a happy story. Truth was, the last one had died, despite our best efforts. Without ever quite ever making it to life. It wasn’t fair.

ART had better hurry up with the rescue stage of its stupid plan, this planet was getting to me.

“SecUnit? Do you think you could try something?” Gurathin was looking speculatively at the sphere. I shrugged, I couldn’t imagine what he wanted to do. “Could you try warming it? I wonder if it was stuck, if it didn’t get the heat the others got just before…” he trailed off. This sounded ridiculous, but I could feel Ship’s interest piqued. I guess if I didn’t try, I’d always wonder.

“How hot?” It was a stupid question, it’s not like Gurathin knew any more than I did. I picked it up (it was wet now and chilled) and upped my body temperature. Here goes nothing. I held it, and found myself willing it to live. Come on, come on! I thought I felt some sort of faint vibration, a buzz? But I think it was just self-delusion. I held it for ten full minutes, close to my chest bathing it in my heat, it seemed like an age. Then I gave up; all the wishing in the world wasn’t going to change the fact it was cold and dead.

I felt suddenly cold too, despite the steadily increasing heat of the day. Everything seemed too bright and too sharply edged. I dropped the ball, gently, into the pool. 

I turned away from my failure.

“Hello? Hello there? What are you?” Gurathin’s voice was gentle and soft, with a hint of a laugh in it, “SecUnit, you did it. Congratulations! It’s a…fluffy one.”

I looked over. I don’t think this one belonged in the pool. Gurathin had bought a towel, and was rubbing it dry; it trilled softly.

Chapter Text

Several hours passed. It was a pleasant distraction having the seven baby Auroras. To look at them, the first six might as well be clones of the large creature, whilst the seventh (our pup) could almost be mistaken for a different species. It was much, as Gurathin had pointed out, fluffier. Whilst the others had the scaly plates (the little pups had smooth edges to the scales, unlike the large one) it had what felt like fur or feathers. When you sank your fingers into them it felt soft and warm. Aurora seemed very happy for us to be around its offspring. We had no idea if this species was largely solitary, no idea whether this behaviour (this friendliness) was normal or not. Gurathin made some notes, he set up some files like the ones the team had worked on on the survey. I suppose he is a scientist, and this is what they do. I’d helped Ratthi with his data analysis for his reports when we’d been on Preservation Station, which I’d enjoyed. Probably I’d enjoyed the Ratthi element rather than the reports element.

Gurathin set his files open, so I was free to edit them but I didn’t have anything to add. It isn’t as if I have any experience at conducting scientific research, nor did Ship. Ship was a transport, an actual transport not a fake “really a university super-intelligent asshole AI” transport like ART so it wouldn’t have anything to contribute either. Reading through Gurathin’s files, I didn’t actually see anything especially scientific or clever. But he had said he isn’t a biologist. I entered some of the data my physical assessment modules recorded when heating the now fluffy mini-Aurora. Gurathin could always delete them later.

I was also, more usefully,  thinking about setting up some way for Gurathin to wash effectively. Having a project to work on was a pleasant thought. I started a file in the shared area (Gurathin might have ideas he could contribute). I titled my project “Augmented human hygiene”, and I felt Gurathin’s attention. Yeah, well, you’re starting to smell.

It was our third day since the crash and I needed to carry out an audit of our performance so far. Except for the brief wobble when the mission’s dedicated security unit (I mean me) had had a mini-breakdown we were doing fine. Much as I would rather completely ignore that and pretend it hadn’t happened at all, I couldn’t. I approached my reaction as a puzzle. I’d thought Gurathin was implying that I was involved in the whole set-up, this fake ship-wreck. Of course he hadn’t been: but he had suspected me before. I prodded at my emotional response, daring it to flare up again. I needed to sit down while I thought this through. I decided to sit next to the spring.

The area around the spring was strikingly different now. The planetary flora was exploding, not literally but the word was appropriate. Here both Ship and Gurathin seemed confident that this was a normal response. There were now burgeoning tendrils reaching their fingers out across Ship’s flanks. In fact, Ship was becoming encased in a network, a tracery of vines and stalks and leaves. The planet seemed set on engulfing Ship, holding it tight, claiming it for its own. I was concerned how the university would retrieve their craft, it was a valuable piece of equipment. It would seem brutal to wrench it out, I pictured the leafy tentacles being stretched to snapping point, vegetation ripped from its sandy anchorage. I shuddered. 

Gurathin was already in what was now his usual spot. His book, I noticed, at hand. He was watching the babies, especially the fluffy one. They all seemed set on just tumbling about in the water together; or by the water in the case of the latter. It was peaceful. He looked calm. Considering what he’d just been through, I guess he was remarkably calm. He always did keep his head, I thought back to when we’d had to deal with Serrat, then door release later. And on the gunship. He’d stayed calm then, too. Back on the original survey—I circled my emotional response, poking at it, waiting for it to flare up—he hadn’t panicked then either. Not even when I’d held him up against the wall. Ship was aware I was thinking hard; I knew I was worrying it. I guess transports are designed to flag it up if one crew member is fixating on another, which makes perfect sense.

I didn’t want to be a cause for concern so I felt I should at least make an effort to explain to Gurathin why I’d acted the way I did, even though just thinking about it caused my reliability to drop to 96%. He had the fluffy creature at his side now, his left hand buried in its fur or feathers, or whatever. “I’m sorry I’ve been mean to you.” My words clearly came as a surprise.

“SecUnit, that’s the last thing I expected to hear. You haven’t been mean to me,” his face creased into a smile, “far from it. I feel very lucky to count you as a friend.” He paused, one heartbeat, two—“ Don’t worry, that doesn’t mean you have to count me as one of yours.” He added the last bit as if I might somehow contradict him.

“I thought you thought I was responsible.” I didn’t need to tell him this, but I wanted to make sure I explained it all. I thought back to my feelings—

Ship and I watched, together in silence. Our vulnerable crew utterly safe; warm, secure, protected in this tiny warm bubble on a cold planet under its flickering, dancing, chameleon sky. Dr. Gurathin’s presence wasn’t the awkwardness I’d imagined, we weren’t physically touching at all: I suppose it was as close as I could get to understanding how ART feels to carry its crew…

—“Ship and I felt betrayed, that you suspected us.”

There; I’d said it.

“SecUnit, I should have handled it better; I had suspicions; but only of Perihelion, and I was afraid I was wrong. I was wrong about you before.” Gurathin shook his head, he sounded quite pained. Now I had emotionally disturbed my only client. Why did I always do this? I was making everything difficult, awkward. Gurathin was sitting so close to me, but suddenly I felt like I’d opened up a huge chasm between us. Gurathin looked down at the fluffy mini-Aurora which seemed to have fallen asleep at his feet, his face appeared to reach a decision, “I thought you were building me a shower?”

Chapter Text

Okay, so that was kind of Gurathin. Ship was excited about the plan for building a shower. It would mean more cannibalism of the transport’s structure, but I think Ship realised it was increasingly unlikely to be space-worthy again in the immediate future. And it was growing increasingly attached to Gurathin; and it knew (as I did) that humans’ and augmented humans’ psychological well-being is important; keeping clean is part of that. So the project to build washing facilities was more important than it perhaps appeared. I increased the priority of the augmented human hygiene project file. I also had my plan for the modifying our cocoon so I could show Gurathin the planet’s Aurora, if it appeared again.

I started harvesting suitable hardware, and created a physical work space. I wouldn’t be able to get much started today, but with Gurathin’s help we might have something running the next day. Heating water is energy hungry, but we had almost a surfeit of power (Ship’s photovoltaic energy production capabilities were superb) and we now had ample clean water from the spring. 

Aurora and the pups didn’t seem to want for anything. They snuffled around their parent’s abdominal scales, and Gurathin reckoned it was feeding them on some sort of bodily exudation which we couldn’t (thank you, alien anatomy) observe. What Aurora itself fed on we had no idea, but Gurathin was confident it didn’t see us as potential prey. Much as I liked Aurora I was glad we slept safely out of its way, sometimes if an organism is hungry enough anything can look edible. 

The rest of the day we spent peacefully working on our new project, helped and hindered (mostly hindered) by Aurora and family. The little ones liked to steal my tools, and run off with them, honking with delighted excitement. Gurathin pointed out the creatures were clearly precocial in some ways (this meant they seemed very independent, able to walk and find water to drink) but also very playful. He seemed fond of them. Ship liked them too. I guess I did as well, the fluffy one (the last one to hatch ) was the quietest. It slept a lot, curled at Gurathin’s feet, or near me as I worked. Their involvement didn’t slow our progress; the babies never actually ate the tools, or at least they regurgitated them later.

Night approached and they all curled up in balls around Aurora, and we retreated to our cocoon. Gurathin’s muscles relaxed and his breathing slowed, I looked down at him. I saw that his sleep suit, the suspiciously well insulated and well designed sleep suit, had snagged and ridden up on his left forearm. It wouldn’t be an issue, the cocoon was sufficiently well insulated and warmed (by me, its massively over-engineered heating element), but lying there it looked so vulnerable and human. I could see the hairs (had they been slightly bleached by the star’s harsh rays?) resting smoothly on his skin, which had darkened in those same rays. I had told him to put on UV protective cream. Somehow, without thinking my own hand moved, and gently laid itself against his arm. I felt his warmth radiating, his skin felt unexpectedly soft, his hairs silky. I was monitoring his vital signs, I hadn’t disturbed his sleep but, almost imperceptibly, it felt as if he pushed back; not a push of rejection but one of acceptance. I left my hand there.

Later, he dreamt. This time I knew I had his implicit consent. I wondered if this weird almost psychedelic swirl of emotions and strange concepts was a hint of how ART experienced watching media with me? It was alien to me, but familiar. With a lurch I wondered if this was part of my underlying coding I shared with ComfortUnits, I quelled it. It didn’t matter why I could do this, this was my augmented human and I could choose to do this. I wasn’t a ComfortUnit, I was a rogue SecUnit and I could decide to do this; it was my choice. The wild swirls of his dreams reminded me of the storm on Milu, only it wasn’t terrible or wrong.

The planet’s Aurora didn’t appear, I wondered if what I’d witnessed was a rare event. I hadn’t shown Gurathin my video files yet, it would seem slightly cruel, “Look at this! You missed it.”

I felt him begin to swim back to consciousness the next morning and moved my hand just a few millimeters; now there was just a warm layer of air between us. He woke up and snuffled, he sounded like Aurora for a moment which amused me. His face was much less harsh and critical when he was in this drowsy state, he looked baffled but almost happy. We both disengaged from the cocoon; once I’d finished the shower I would add a viewing panel for Dr. Gurathin, perhaps tonight there would be something to watch.

The fourth day dawned.

Aurora and their pups were playing in and by the spring. The planet’s floral growth around the water’s margins was now amazing. All different colors of foliage, leaves and creeping tendrils embraced and probed every part of Ship. Dr. Gurathin and I performed a thorough check that none of the branching shoots was in danger of interfering with Ship’s functions, and we nudged a few away from our cocoon and the photovoltaic panels. But mostly the plants just seemed set on their own function, collecting the star’s light to create energy for themselves. Dr. Gurathin commented that there were as yet no flowers or insects. Well, we were out in the middle of a desert.

I decided the shower would be luxurious. My augmented human didn’t have to have a shitty shower just because we were stranded on an alien planet. Gurathin looked surprised at the ambition of the plans I was working to in our shared work area; his forehead crinkled and his eyebrow slanted in a way that reminded me of Mensah in an odd way that made my insides churn briefly. He himself had found an empty notebook, made of actual physical paper, in one of the storage containers, and coloured pencils which also highly amused him. He even laughed. I think he had been initially furious with ART for this ridiculous prank it had pulled, but now he seemed to be treating it as a game. I suppose it was; a dangerous game which ART had constructed, in which we (my augmented human, Ship and I) were the unwilling playing pieces. I felt my own anger growing. 

Well, ART you asshole I don’t know how anyone is supposed to win this game, but you’re going to fucking well lose.

Chapter Text

Dr. Gurathin did help with some of the shower construction, he isn’t that weak for a human whose augments are mostly (entirely? I don’t know, I’ve never checked) not involved in enhancing physical performance. I made sure the UV protective cream was visibly available. He does cover most of his skin with functional clothing but I’d noticed his forearms (of course), and his face, and the top of his neck were getting too much exposure. When he saw the cream he huffed, but didn’t seem annoyed, in fact his expression was hard to read. This isn’t listed in my functions as your SecUnit, Dr. Gurathin.

I saw he was making notes about Aurora and the pups in the book he’d found, it was (I supposed) a pleasant and useful activity for him. A new form of alien life was always of interest to someone, I hoped this one didn’t have any readily exploitable properties. The best thing for this planet would be for us to leave and for humans to never return. I guess this is a bleakly cynical and pessimistic view, but can you blame me? The shower construction continued. When I, when we, were done it looked impressive. The water fell in huge sheets, surrounded by lush alien foliage, it gushed; the fine mist generated little rainbows in the air.

I wanted Dr. Gurathin to enjoy the first shower and so I retreated to give him some privacy. It wasn’t long until I heard the sound of cascading water and then a startled cry. I rushed back without thinking. The gunports in my forearms deployed, automatically. I don’t know what I expected to find, but he very clearly wasn’t in danger. Some of the pups had (inevitably) been curious and decided to join him. Their sudden arrival and their, well their curiosity had taken Dr. Gurathin by surprise. A naked Dr. Gurathin, who now found me staring at him too. He laughed as he pushed away the pups from around his knees, turned and continued to wash. And then I saw his back: for the first time. The skin on his back . I knew I mustn’t stare, but it was hard to drag my eyes away. I knew he felt my gaze.

I went and sat in a shady seat close to the spring. A few minutes later a much cleaner and freshly dressed Gurathin came to join me. He sat a short distance from me, and followed my eye line to the clump of vegetation I wasn’t staring at. He knew what I was thinking. Eventually I said, “You don’t blame humans for what happened to you?” The scarring on his back was the result of months, years of flagellations. He must have been forced labour, rebellious forced labour at that.

He smiled, grimly, “No. That’s a stupid thing to do. I’m human, but I’m not that stupid.” He paused for a heartbeat, “Augmented human, sorry SecUnit.”

There was a heavy silence. I thought back to some of our conversations, perhaps he understood the Governor Module better than most. I realized that some of the things he’d said were perhaps not all about me, but about him. I hadn’t known. It was probably in his files, which I’d never read. I hadn’t known, because I hadn’t cared. 

I didn’t know what to say.

“SecUnit, it’s okay. It was all a long time ago. Now, at times, I almost forget: though I’m still, apparently, a bit abrasive around people in uniform.” Or in company armour, he didn’t add.

I felt stupid. And something else, another emotion I didn’t understand.

“Honestly, SecUnit—I thought you knew. When we prepared for the survey we were told we would have no privacy, that you’d watch us at all times.” Of course, that’s what SecUnits are supposed to do. 

“I wasn’t very good at doing my job.” I said it quietly.

“That’s not true. You were, and you are, remarkable. You’re amazing. Without you we all—Ratthi, Pin-Lee even Mensah—would be dead. We all owe you our lives.” It was his turn to go silent. I was conscious of every tiny sound, his breathing I could practically hear his blood coursing through his veins. There were also the happy hoots of the puppies playing in the shower in the background. He seemed to reach a decision. “And I owe you much more, you made the life I had worth living. So you are very good at what you do, and that is simply being you. You don’t owe any of us, owe anyone, anything.”

“What is the book, the poetry?” I didn’t really know what else to ask.

“Like I said, your Perihelion has a sense of humour.”

“I think you’ve earnt the right to call it ART.” I said; because it was true.

He chuckled, “Well, it’s quite a long poem and the book provided gives the original text and various translations and a commentary. Some of which is rather dry. I think the part ART,” he seemed to enjoy using the name, “was thinking of was one specific quatrain, which has a famous translation.” He didn’t go and get the book, as I expected him to, but stared off into the distance and recited from memory.

“ Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,

 A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse—and Thou

   Beside me singing in the Wilderness—

 And Wilderness is Paradise enow. ”

He stopped and continued staring, then ran his hands through his hair. “We have a wilderness, I have a book of verse and ration bars and I believe ART even packed some intoxicants?” He looked up at me, I didn’t think he had any idea how I would respond.

“I don’t sing.” 

“Have you ever tried?” He had a smile in his voice.

“I am not going to sing.”

“That’s fine, it’s still a paradise.” Gurathin settled back in his chair. At that moment four of the pups bundled round the corner trumpeting and fighting over what turned out to be Guarthin’s towel.

Chapter Text

Later that afternoon I told Gurathin about the aurora I’d seen on the first night. I shared the video file I’d constructed for him, titled “Aurora on Desert Planet; Highlights for Augmented Human Client”. Then we watched the uncut, unedited version together. It was strange watching it over our shared feed, as if we were sharing more than just the visual input. I could tell Gurathin was aware of it too. Ship was hanging around in the periphery and suggested to me that our connection when Gurathin was dreaming might have led to some enhancement of how we shared data. Whatever, it was…it was nice.

I went to work on modifying the pod so that we could both watch any future auroras. It did mean that we would be positioned slightly differently, with Gurathin’s head closer to mine, but it shouldn’t make it any less comfortable for him. Ship hummed away happily, I think it thought there would be a display that night, too. Ship’s sensors could detect the aurora, despite the fact it had no cameras. 

Then I took a shower. 

I enjoy showers, showers built for humans; ever since that first shower on ART. This one was better than that; it was amazing to be standing outside with the water drumming down on you, surrounded by greenery. In my media humans sometimes showered in waterfalls (this was generally a prelude to a part I would fast forward). I’d never thought of myself as being like one of those characters and it was an odd sensation. Standing there, I tried to enjoy all the physical inputs; the water on my skin, the visuals, the sound of it and the smell. Later Gurathin told me that the word for the smell generated when water hits dry earth (like the sandy floor of the shower) is petrichor. The word comes from root words that mean “stone” and “blood of the gods”, which is rather over dramatic for the name of a smell. 

As I washed one of the pups poked its trunk at me curiously, possibly excited by the sounds and smells too (there were sensory organs around the base of their trunks, but we weren’t sure exactly what they sensed). Apparently I wasn’t as interesting as Gurathin, or perhaps they were slightly more afraid of me? I don’t know. I knew Gurathin would never come and watch me shower; but because he respected my privacy. 

I realised my thoughts were veering into unusual areas, or at least not usual to me. In several of my media series there were episodes where the characters end up on alien planets and something (usually plants) makes them act weird and out of character. But often what they are actually doing is acting the way they want to but can’t because of cultural expectations and taboos (well, that’s as far as I could make out, these were rarely episodes I watched through at normal speed, let alone rewatched). I pushed that thought away; I needed to get out of the shower. The skin on my fingertips was wrinkling, this is apparently a bit of human physiology that I share, Gurathin explained the process (it’s down to the autonomic nervous system; which controls things like breathing, heart rate and perspiration) to me. But that was later. Much later.

I dried myself and pulled on some leg coverings. I usually wear long sleeved tops with collars (and often hoods) which conceal my gunports and other inorganics; but the air was still warm and it felt pleasant on my skin. I also left my feet uncovered. When I joined Dr. Gurathin by the spring he didn’t comment, he continued reading his book. The fluffy pup was at his feet, possibly asleep. He didn’t look up, but he said, “I do have a hairbrush you could borrow.”

“It’s not as if you seem to use it.” I snapped back at him. His hair was looking untidy, it’s because he pushes his hands through it a lot. He did that now.

“Fine. I just think you’ve got some—well, they’re what we called elf-locks forming at the back. You can just brush them through now, but they might need cutting out if you leave them.” He sounded very calm, but I think he was trying to sound calm. Which made me feel not calm. My hand went up to the back of my neck, I stopped it before it reached my hair which was still damp and dripping water.

“If you know so much about my hair, why don’t you brush it.” I said. And instantly regretted it. “I didn’t mean that.”

“SecUnit, it’s fine. I know it must be odd for you without drones. I am very happy to brush your hair. But it might hurt a bit.”

Was he joking? Having my hair brushed “ might hurt a bit ”? My face must have shown my emotions very clearly because he looked remorseful. Well it was a stupid thing to say, Dr. Gurathin.

He did that human thing where they breathe in through their teeth, making a sort of hissing sound; the pup at his feet squeaked, it didn’t like the sound either. “SecUnit, hard though you find this to believe, I hate the idea of causing you pain, or you being harmed in any way.” He paused, “Your hair does, however, need brushing.” He sounded sort of resolute. He got up and went to rummage in the storage lockers (it’s not my job to keep storage lockers tidy, and Dr. Guarthin is very tidy with his data but not so tidy with physical things).

I sat down, on the chair he’d vacated. Because it was in a good position to get the warmth of the star’s rays. I picked up his book from the ground. The little pup nuzzled my ankle, it didn’t care about my weird feet. I guess it didn’t know what was weird, it just had me and Dr. Gurathin to go by, he could be the weird one. 

I don’t like reading printed words on paper. I never learnt to read; it’s not something they think murderbots will ever need to do. We pick up data from the feed, and if we ever really have to read we have an optical character recognition module which is just as shitty as you’d expect from the company. And since hacking my governor module I hadn’t found the time to learn how to read like a human. Humans often get confused about the difference between accessing information from text and reading, because they all learn to read so young. I opened the book randomly anyway and saw:

So I translated that as

And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,

End in what All begins and ends in—Yes;

   Think then you are TO-DAY what YESTERDAY

You were—TO-MORROW you shall not be less.

I don’t know why it was in italics, or why some words had capital letters, or why it had spaces and dashes where it did (even inside words). Obviously it was “ poetry ” which explains a lot, and it did at least rhyme in an obvious way. I was trying to make sense of it when Dr. Gurathin returned with the hairbrush and some sort of little spray bottle, like one I’ve seen him use on his pet plants on Preservation Station..

“Shall I brush it?” He was just standing there at my side, not close enough to touch me. He waggled the plant care bottle and said “Conditioner”. The way he did it was as irritating as it sounds.. The last thing I wanted was for him to touch me, but I didn’t want my hair to get matted and tangled (I had looked up elf-locks). I shrugged. If he really wanted to I wasn’t going to stop him. Also if he was brushing my hair I wouldn’t have to look at him.

He came close to me, over-emphasizing every movement in a ridiculous way. He worked his way behind me, and started brushing. Every now and again he’d use the plant spray (that is what it looked like). Some of it did hurt, but not a lot and I didn’t need to turn my pain sensors down. Eventually he put down the hairbrush and bottle, and ran his fingers briefly through my hair; then froze.

“I’m sorry. I forgot, I was lost in what I was doing.” He sounded a bit shocked. I suppose it should have been shocking. Feeling his hands in my hair, touching the skin on the back of my neck and head. But it wasn’t.

There was a silence. Ten seconds, eleven seconds. Then Gurathin took a breath that sounded very serious and final, and he spoke “SecUnit, I don’t want you to be angry or upset. But I think there’s something wrong…”

Chapter Text

There was a silence. Ten seconds, eleven seconds. Then Gurathin took a breath that sounded very serious and final, and he spoke “SecUnit, I don’t want you to be angry or upset. But I think there’s something wrong…”

I realised I had frozen too, what was he talking about? What was wrong? I wondered if there was some horrible, terrible, loathsome thing —like a huge parasite clamped to the back of my neck which I hadn’t felt take hold (it happens, in media, more than you’d expect).

“I think some of your behavioural code has been triggered, some of the code which SecUnits don’t usually activate, or express.” He sounded very careful, as if I might turn on him. He sounded afraid. There was something wrong, something very wrong.

My first response was to experience a deep hurt, physical pain; it honestly felt like I was being stabbed with a blade right through my chest. Believe me, I know how that feels. Gurathin was afraid, afraid of me.

“You’re acting—well it’s very out of character.” 

“What do you mean?” I asked. I had to ask; but I knew. 

“SecUnit, you just let me brush your hair. And run my fingers through it.”

I felt a wave of anger, because why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t I have him brush my hair? My augmented human was telling me I was acting strangely because I was being nice to him, by letting him be nice to me. I felt slightly sick. Then I had what I suppose humans mean by “an out of body experience”, it was as if I was seeing myself from a drone.

I was sitting; a baby animal curled softly, like a pet, on my bare feet; I was half (more than half) naked; reading a book of poetry with a human (an augmented human) brushing my hair. And I hadn’t realized something weird was going on? 

“That fucking asshole!” I was angry, but not with Gurathin. This had to be ART’s doing. 

“Can you check my code?” I spoke through gritted teeth. Dr. Gurathin had poked around in my head before. This time I was going to invite him in.

“SecUnit, it’s getting late” he was right, it was not long until night would fall. I had been looking forward to it not long (literally minutes) ago, hoping there would be an aurora to watch, “perhaps we should wait until tomorrow.” 

I didn’t want to wait. To curl up with Gurathin knowing that I was not acting like myself seemed wrong, it was wrong. I could feel that Gurathin felt the same way. In fiction people sometimes say you could cut the atmosphere with a knife, I understood what they meant.

“Could you do it while we are in the cocoon?” As I said it, I felt Gurathin’s attitude soften.

“It is like a cocoon, isn’t it? Or a chrysalis?” I realized I had never used the word out loud when talking to him. “I suppose I could, but I’m not sure how much I’d be able to find. I am quite tired, and though you may not appreciate your own complexity, you are quite a challenge.” He paused, “I mean, I’m good but you’re…”

“Sophisticated?” I asked.

“Yes, very much so.”

I didn’t know what Gurathin was going to find in my code when he looked, so it was an act of sheer defiance against everything I anticipated that I didn’t put on any more clothes before getting into our cocoon. Gurathin clearly noticed because he sighed, but he didn’t say anything. Then I noticed his shirt had sleeves that left his forearms bare, and I felt the hairs on my own arms stand up. 

How do we do this? I asked over the local feed, I’d only done anything at all like this with ART and it was—well ART was very different to an augmented human. 

I don’t know, I’ve never done exactly this before either. 

Yeah, except when you forced your way in when I was offline and you thought I was immobilized, Dr. Gurathin.

I am sorry about that, on the survey, I thought I was protecting my crew.

I know I didn’t say that last bit over the feed? 

Gurathin, it’s okay, we can figure it out as we go along.

And we did. After a fashion. He was clumsy and nervous, and I was very much afraid of what he’d find. I think we both were. What we found surprised us both.

It was very, very weird having Gurathin in my mind, in my code; in my memories, in my thoughts. But not unpleasant, despite his obvious anxiety he was like a little fish darting around, quicksilver fast. Sometimes he would brush against something I didn’t want him to, and it took all my self-control not to squish him.

I’m sorry, SecUnit, I’m so sorry.

It’s FINE. (We both knew it wasn’t fine)

He was stirring up memories, they swirled like storm clouds…

I didn’t know how much of this I could take. I felt like he was taking a stick and twisting it in my insides; I felt I was being turned inside out; it hurt. I realized I had my eyes clenched tightly closed. To distract myself I opened them, and saw Gurathin. His face was so close to mine, his eyes tightly shut. He was clearly in pain too, and trying hard not to let it show on his face. Why were we torturing ourselves like this? I moved my hand and curled it, cupping his, trying to comfort him. He jolted, as if he’d received an electric shock, but didn’t move away.

He took a sharp intake of air, and I felt him move away from me in feed (he was still so close to me).

SecUnit, I am going to stop now. I can’t see anything else I find changing my conclusions. I’ve just gone through some of your internal systems and logs, and— he stopped. 

Dr. Gurathin, you have to tell me. I don’t even know if I said that or not. What does it even matter?

He steeled himself, SecUnit, you have always made it known that you—SecUnits—unlike ComfortUnits, aren’t programmed to feel strong emotional attachments to your clients. He paused for a moment. That's not true, is it? 

I was about to laugh at him, be cruel, mock him, deny it. Not long ago I would have done. (Not long ago doing what Gurathin had just done would’ve been suicidal.) 

I’m sorry. He said, again.

Stop fucking apologizing Dr, Gurathin! He made a very gentle huffing noise. 

In a way, it’s good news? ART may have acted true to its moniker by ship-wrecking us here, but it hasn’t interfered with your behavioural code. He was waiting for me to respond, I didn’t know how to.

There was another pause. I was trying to assimilate this information. This was me. The poetry, the pet animal, the hair, the hand holding (I was still holding his hand). 

SecUnit? Please talk to me?

I don’t know, I think maybe I’ve always been weird. There, I’d said it.

But what about the SecUnit in the DeltFall habitat? You said one was killed protecting the hub? And Three? Three just wanted to help (wants to help) mostly just anyone? I’ve said before how emotions bleed into the feed? Three puzzles Gurathin nearly as much as me.

(Yeah, Three has got to be an outlier.)

I think you’re made this way. 

Maybe it wasn’t just me? Maybe all murderbots, murder puppets, feel emotions like I do. I didn’t know how that made me feel? Mostly angry? Everything makes me angry. But it was a sad angry. A soft angry. I was trying to think how to respond to Gurathin when the aurora started, and both of us became entranced.

We watched it for hours, it was a far more impressive display than the last time. I could feel Gurathin’s surprised delight and I let mine mingle with it. Of course everything has to end, and the lights eventually faded. Neither of us said a word, and Gurathin gently slipped into a dreamless sleep. I just sat, or lay, there. Hardly daring to think. Dawn came, the star rose, and Gurathin slept on. 

So we were like that (curled up together, hands clasped and practically cheek to cheek) when Ratthi landed the shuttle.

Chapter Text

Afterwards Ratthi told us how utterly dream-like the sight that met him had been. Our crashed transport and the area around it had been completely transformed; the growth of vegetation had been phenomenal, and nestling in the abundant jungly vines, creepers and epiphytes was our cocoon and arbour (chairs next to the spring and pool, where Aurora and pups frolicked). When he saw the shower later his jaw dropped. 

They’d come in low, from the site where they’d originally landed a few kilometers away. They had identified multiple dwellings on their scans from orbit. These “dwellings” turned out to be the nests of some huge beetle-like organisms, which lived in enormous colonies. Aurora (and others of their species), we later discovered, preyed upon them; their huge claws were for digging into the bugs' clay cathedrals, tunneling into the darkness.

So, they arrived at our encampment at dawn. Ratthi, leading the small party walking across the dunes, had scarcely believed his eyes to see us, suspended in our own little nest, curled up together. The shuttle’s engines woke Gurathin and so the two of us tumbled out as they arrived. Hovering behind Ratthi and Iris was a large drone. Perihelion had wanted to see the results of its meddling first hand.

“ART, we know this is your doing. How fucking dare you! Gurathin was injured when we landed, it could have been much worse. Ship here is damaged, and…”

“I am glad to see that you and Dr. Gurathin appear to have resolved some of your emotional issues.” ART interrupted me, it sounded smug and utterly remorseless; it truly is a monster. I was furious, and I was not letting go of my fury just because I could still feel how it felt to have the warmth of Gurathin’s hand in mine. He was standing looking a little befuddled, his hair was in a messy tangle (was I going to have to brush it for him?). I had blocked any feed connection with ART, despite its best efforts (which were stymied by it being a drone), “I hope you’re not planning on sulking, and that Dr. Gurathin—“

We didn’t learn what ART hoped Dr. Gurathin would, because at that moment Aurora bounded across the sands and jumped; showing more athleticism and acrobatics than we’d ever have expected. There was an odd suction sound, a surprised beep, and the drone disappeared in its entirety into their trunk. It later re-emerged, regurgitated. ART didn’t like to talk about it.

Gurathin laughed, and then Ratthi laughed; going over and briefly warmly grasping his hands. It occurred to me then that I hadn’t ever seen Gurathin hugging other humans or augmented humans, and something in my chest hurt slightly. But in a good way.

Iris came towards me, and stood hugging herself. “SecUnit, Peri told us what it had done and why. You’ve every right to be angry. Very angry.” She sounded hugely contrite. “Peri” hadn't at all; sounded contrite that is.

“Did any of you think to bring some coffee with you?” Gurathin’s voice sounded optimistic, and Iris scrambled in the large bag she carried and triumphantly pulled out a flask. They had fresh food for Gurathin too, and juices to drink. He only wanted the coffee, and syrup. I am not sure that the amount of sweet coffee he regularly consumes is good for him, I made a note to check. 

Ratthi’s expression was more like something you see in animated media; his eyes kept darting from me to Gurathin, to the cocoon, to the arbour, back to Ship, back to me. I didn’t know biological human eyebrows could actually do that. 

“Peri wasn’t sure you’d figure it out, that it had planned it. But,” she looked towards me nervously then back to Gurathin (who was now sipping a large mug of over-sweetened coffee and had a small slightly puzzled smile on his face), “it’s clear you did.”

“Gurathin figured it out.” I said, I wanted ART to know an augmented human saw straight through it.

“You didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes,” he said (Gurathin reads a lot of old media, some of it is very good, some terrible—now I like to tease him about it, back then I could only guess what he meant) “Or perhaps it was more Indiana Jones? The odds? 159753? A strangely popular number throughout human history.”

Everyone else looked blank. “X marks the spot? Ratthi pull up your calculator on your tablet—no, use the traditional manual layout.” There was a bit of confusion as Gurathin tried to demonstrate what he meant. 

Apparently the number was historically one of the most frequently used by unimaginative humans (so basically all humans) as a PIN. Well, that was rude of ART.

“Basically, everything seemed like a set-up,” Gurathin sighed as continued, “I just wasn’t sure what ART” Hah! He called it ART , “was expecting us to do.”

Iris looked awkward, “Peri,” she glanced at the drone, which lay on ground between Aurora’s forefeet, where we were leaving it for now, “wanted, wants, you to be friends? It feels, felt, you had constructed barriers to communication which needed removing.” She sounded very nervous, “Obviously this was not the way to do it!”

Sometimes humans’ lips move when they speak on the feed, they subvocalize. ART had clearly said something to Iris over a private feed channel because her whole face indicated that “Peri” should shut the fuck up, and do it right now.

“Peri thought that by leaving you together, with absolutely no one else around to talk to—well, that you’d have to talk to each other? Peri did make sure you’d have everything you needed for survival.” 

“ Absolutely no one else” ? Iris and ART both seemed to have forgotten about Ship, which I realized had been strangely silent. I reached out and felt the warm space where it lived in the local feed; I felt its care, affection, and its happiness at being here on the planet with the plants and Aurora and the puppies; but I couldn’t find Ship.

My face must have done something because Gurathin  tensed, “We have done more than survived. This planet is beautiful. I hope we can ensure it, and its life forms, are permanently protected from exploitation?” 

“So, you two are OK?” Ratthi seemed to put a lot of questions into those five words.

“Ratthi, I think we will need to take our time about this.” Gurathin sounded very calm; I felt a little tug, a twitch, of fear. 

Chapter Text

They were all keen to get us back up to ART, to ‘The Perihelion’, and checked over. It was probably a good idea. They assured us we could (soon) come back down to the planet if we wanted , but first Guarthin needed to visit the medical center. I knew they were right; and I should at least spend a brief recharge cycle in my cubicle (we had finally purchased, and highly modified, a company one). 

Aurora and the pups, especially “our pup”, appeared to sense what was going on, but seemed excited about it (the arrival of all these other humans and augmented humans had been a cause of much trumpeting and tumbling about). An away team set up a mini-habitat (the Pansystems University has very comfortable pop-ups, though their showers are crappy compared to ours) which was quickly overrun by puppies in search of any unattended tools. The main sounds around the crash site were happy hoots, some cries of dismay (as another spanner vanished) but mostly giggles and laughter. Gurathin watched the activity and was largely silent, but he didn’t look sad.

I went over and patted one of the few parts of the hull that remained visible. I could just make out Ship’s name-plate, Prospero. Ship’s names are human things, largely meaningless to the intelligences that occupy them. Humans don’t think they always build their ships with intelligences, they’re wrong. They always do. I felt Gurathin come and stand close by me, on the sand. I hadn’t risked using the drones Ratthi had brought down to the planet for me, I think Aurora and the pups would definitely see them as prey, or a toy. I thought Gurathin might reach out and touch me, but he didn’t. Instead I felt a gentle ping. I pinged back.

We took the shuttle, sitting in seats on opposite sides of the cabin, facing (not looking at) each other. I tried to quash the tiny flickering flame of worry.

We both had our respective checks. Afterwards the medic agreed with me that Gurathin does need to take better care of his skin. My own cubicle flagged the large quantity of sand it had removed from various crevices (sand is coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere, and it’s one reason I don’t usually like planets) and also my hair which was now far from SecUnit standard. I told it to leave my hair as it was. This made it unhappy; it had a lot to learn. Then (unavoidably) Gurathin and I had to speak to ART. Everyone, without a touch of irony, seemed to have agreed The Argument Lounge was the most sensible venue. Gurathin and I sat, on the couch, next to each other but apart.

It did not go well.

ART seems to have a pathological inability to apologise. It thought it had been clever and it was pleased with itself. It had a whole presentation, with cleverly edited video montages of the two of us, of me and Gurathin, in its lounges and modules. And sometimes in his cabin. We spent a lot of time together (it ‘oh so helpfully’ pointed out) for people who don’t like each other. It had also been watching (very closely) the way we interacted, and had hypotheses it wanted to discuss. I admit, if it had shown me the presentation before our sojourn on the planet my response would have been very different.

Gurathin’s response was different. He was not happy. He does not like being manipulated, and he did not appreciate what he saw as us being spied upon. This was interesting to me, his attitude to his privacy. He had never once shown concern about being under my (or even ART’s surveillance); it was the fact it was our relationship being surveilled that he didn’t like.  After no longer than 17 minutes he stood up.

His face was flushed now, and he looked angry. Angry, or some other strong emotion.

“Perihelion,” he still sounded calm, but it was that sort of calm which made my gunports twitch, “you have no right to treat me, and more importantly SecUnit, like this. We are not your toys. We are not your lab rats, we are not participants in your experiments.”

“But Dr. Gurathin, you were concealing your true feelings. Which was unhealthy. This exercise meant you could express your affection for SecUnit? Surely you can see that—“

Dr. Gurathin clearly did not see things that way. He looked like he was about to speak. Then he slammed shut our joint feed connection, faced the spot where I know ART has its primary secret camera in The Argument Lounge, and made the same gesture I had made back on the company gunship. Then without a further word he left.

I sensed ART was about to address me. I used a simpler, though no less obscene, gesture and followed Gurathin. He was heading to his cabin, I followed slowly. He didn’t look back. He entered his room and the door closed behind him. He didn’t lock it, and if ART had even thought about meddling with it I made quite sure it’d think again. I stood for a few moments in the corridor, unsure of myself. But I wasn’t unsure, was I? Not really?

I opened the door, his main room was empty. His rooms really didn’t have that familiar dirty socks smell. That was something I wanted ART to investigate. I went to the bedroom. He was lying in the bed, on his side under a thick, warm, deep-blue blanket. I took off my soft shirt with the Perihelion crew logo, and slipped in beside him. I curled myself up around him in a protective comma. He reached out and held my hand.

“It’s right, ART is right, I’ve been hiding my feelings from you for so long.” He seemed to be having trouble articulating his words, which was unlike Dr. Gurathin. “I was…I deceived you, too.” He sounded very serious.

He loosened his grip on my hand, as if giving me permission to extract mine from his. Instead I squeezed his, gently. His surprisingly elegant hands. Watching ART’s video had raised some questions in my mind, “When did you first—“ I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted to ask. 

“I felt you resist your Governor Module.” He stopped. “No, that’s the story I tell myself. It wasn’t then. It was when I saw your face, the first time. I’m sorry. I’m that shallow; that human.”

I snorted. I was trying to trace back the tracks of my feelings, like a tracery of vines that now enveloped me. Where were the roots? 

He was abrasive, and stupid, and brave. Brave enough to challenge me, brave enough to test me, brave enough to ask me about my feelings. His face back on TranRollinHyfa, I’d interpreted it as appalled. How wrong could I be? 

(“I don’t want to be a pet robot.”

“I don’t think anyone wants that.”

That was Gurathin. I don’t like him. “I don’t like you.”

“I know.”

He sounded like he thought it was funny. “That is not funny.”

“I’m going to mark your cognition level at fifty-five percent.”

“Fuck you.”

“Let’s make that sixty percent.”)

How wrong could I be? 

Why were we so hopeless at talking? Words just built walls between us. Tentatively I reached out with my mind, we’d connected when he dreamt; I tried to reach out along the same pathways, tracks, the same channels. We’d danced together before, we’d played. I sensed his surprise; he tensed, resisted, pushing me away. 

No. You’re not human. 

I reached out again. Very gently I enveloped him; pulling strands of his consciousness, interleaving them, weaving them with my own as our fingers interlocked. And this time he let me. We lay together for a long while, not saying a word. 

Finally he spoke. “It’ll think it’s won.” He meant ART. He didn’t sound as angry as I’d expected. 

“Does it matter?” 

I felt a shudder pass through his body, and for a horrible second I thought Gurathin was going to cry, but then I realised he was laughing. Shaking with laughter.

It was then that I finally thought (finally knew) that yes, we were going to be okay.

PS ART’s presentation in meme form:

Chapter Text

Years (many years) later Gurathin asked what I thought would have happened without ART’s intervention.

To us.

He asked with human words, their sound soft in the warm air.

“What would have happened; to us ?”

ART didn’t chime in, so I knew it wanted to know too.

To be clear, ART didn’t want to know what I thought (often I find it hard, these days, to extricate, unravel, which are its thoughts and which are my own—in truth there is no such distinction). It wanted to know how I would take those thoughts and weave them into words. Wanted to know what little seed words I’d choose to crystalise my answer around. 

I looked down at Gurathin’s head (I still like to curl around him when he sleeps), and considered how to respond. Would we have, eventually, ended up here ? Without ART’s meddling? Not physically, clearly (not on this planet), but emotionally.

A sound, a happy trumpeting call broke the silence.

“Aurora and their pups wouldn’t have survived.” I said.

I think this is an outcome of which we can be sure. Aurora had needed our help; their pupping had been an exceptional event. Mihiran biologists found that the species had a fascinating life cycle, and what we witnessed (the ‘births’, especially the seventh pup) was almost miraculous in its rarity. I felt Gurathin shift, he was warm, and still sleepy. I felt his thoughts play with this idea; he didn’t like to accept it. A universe without Aurora and pups seemed a cold one, and a cruel one.

“That would have been sad. Though you’d both be able to use your drones down here on the planet.” Drones here were still a definite no. Even after all this time Aurora and pups found them irresistible. I held the thought and felt ART shudder.

We would not want to.

And you see, this is why I hate counterfactuals, they quickly spiral out and make no sense.

I shifted slightly in the cocoon, we had modified it over the years but only slightly. We still hung in the metal carcass of Ship, of ‘The Prospero’. ART had chosen that name as a joke, taken from a famous human play. A play with a shipwreck, with enchantments and spirits. Prospero is the name of a magician, a sorcerer; ART was (is) so vain. It had included a copy of the play, as a book, alongside the poetry Gurathin had found. But that other book had gotten stuck, hidden, during the crash.

Would things have been different if Gurathin had found it?

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, 

As I foretold you, were all spirits and 

Are melted into air, into thin air: 

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 

The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 

The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve 

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 

Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff 

As dreams are made on, and our little life 

Is rounded with a sleep. 

Ship had been (in a way) my spirit, melting into thin air… Had it ever been more than my own thoughts, dreams (even desires) reflected back at me? Even now, still, sometimes I feel it here; right now it’s content.

“You haven’t answered my question.” Gurathin interrupted my reverie, he wasn’t going to be put off so easily. I looked back, further into our past:

“I don’t want to be a pet robot.” 

Gurathin no longer flinched from that memory. 

“You know I never wanted a pet. Did you?” 

Here, alone (with Gurathin) on the planet experiencing feelings I couldn’t fully understand (accept, or acknowledge) I’d foisted them on Ship . Back then, recovering from taking over the company gunship, had I been projecting my own desires upon Gurathin and my humans?

It was a strange thought, a pet . Strange, yes—even, perhaps, slightly seductive in a perverse way? No. ART, that’s your influence. But ART is part of the us , we couldn’t be balanced without it. Some adult humans have toys [stop it, ART, not like that ] which spin and swirl like dervishes and seem to defy the very laws of physics they showcase. We were like that, we are like that; ART is our fulcrum. We both know that now. We all know.

“Perhaps?” I joked.

“But our us is made of three. Without ART there was something, might have been something; but it wouldn’t have been us , it would have been something else.” That’s a lot of words which say exactly nothing. Aurora lives; all of the pups now each almost as big as their parent, and each with so much to teach us.

It had not been a smooth journey to reach this point where we were now. Even now we were not static, there were constant ebbs and flows; a dynamic equilibrium? To an outsider we sometimes appear like matryoshka dolls: ART enveloping me as I wrap myself protectively around Gurathin. But the truth is far more complex; more like a Möbius strip, or—can you nest Klein bottles? More, perhaps, like the constantly dancing tessellations of Escher. 

Funnily enough, Ratthi is probably the human who understands us the best. ART has questioned him intensively over the years, finding him a far better resource for answers about the human, the flesh based, side of things than Gurathin. Gurathin is, of course, also not a human. I’ve always taken pains to point this out. Gurathin sometimes gets annoyed when people ask us intrusive questions, ART is more likely to ask intrusive questions right back. And if the person asking the question has been staying aboard The Perihelion, or indeed any other ship recently (or not so recently), they may find the questions are pointed and well aimed. I am glad to note that Ratthi doesn’t seem to worry about us anymore.

Looking back, immediately after the crash I remember Ship being so worried about our safety, and its joy at the plan for the cocoon: 

Ship was, of course, thrilled. This isn’t its fault. Its whole purpose is to keep the people it is carrying (its crew) safe. Here, that was just me and Gurathin. 

I remember it so well, the strength of its feelings; what I can now acknowledge, recognise, as its love. My greatest surprise (and what brings me quiet joy) is not that Ship loved Gurathin; but that it loved me.