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When I came online after the eight-hour recharge and repair cycle, I noticed two things. The first was when One immediately greeted me in our shared feed, which was permeated with residual anxiety, stress, and something I couldn’t quite find a name for. The second, was that One had closed off its emotional connection to me, preventing me from getting an accurate reading on its status. The thought that it had spent the last eight hours by itself after what had happened to us hurt to think about. One took things exceptionally hard when it came to situations it felt it had a choice in. And the idea that it could have said no to our clients that told us to fight each other was apparently one of those situations. Which, I know. Total bullshit. I pinged the cubicle door to open and disconnected my refuel lines before climbing out.
Status? I asked One in the feed, moving to the recycler to pull out a fresh Ordinary Innovations uniform. There was some hesitation on One’s part before it finally responded.
Performance reliability is at 58.9%. There is significant damage to this Unit’s left metacarpus that will require repairs as soon as possible to improve performance, One replied. A jitter that passed through the feed several seconds after it had spoken. A small lapse in One’s control over its emotional bottleneck. Did it really think I’d be mad about the need for repairs and recharge?
Come R&R, I said. One pinged in acknowledgement.
I was fully dressed by the time One arrived. I stayed near my cubicle, watching as it set its four drones into standby before making my way over. Carefully, I grasped its damaged arm and turned it towards me. I pretended to not notice how it flinched at the contact even though I felt a sharp pang of disappointment and sorrow. One hadn’t reacted to my touch this way since we first started working together. This was how it reacted when a human touched it, not when I did. Not a part of its own systems.
Oh, One.
The damage to its hand was extensive. Four fingers were missing, and a good twenty percent of the flesh of its palm had been torn away from my energy weapon. It looked about how I expected it to look after spending the last 8 hours wandering around on patrol while I was repairing. Red, inflamed, and angry. Painful. I could see synthetic bone exposed in certain areas. From experience, the pain from a wound like this couldn’t be completely removed until fully repaired. Dulling pain sensors only made it bearable.
I’m not angry, I said in the feed watching One through the Ready Room cameras. I don’t blame you.
In truth, I wasn’t really sure what to say. What had happened wasn’t One’s fault or mine. I hated that it had spent this whole time thinking that it had been. I felt it shudder in my grasp, and I released its hand in favor of grasping the hem of its shirt. One allowed me to assist with removing its uniform, remaining silent and pliant for more involved parts like removing pants and boots. I stepped away to grab wipes from its cubicle, still watching it from the room’s cameras. One remained rigidly straight, unmoving; clearly uncomfortable. It still hadn’t relaxed its bottleneck in the feed, so I was unsure how it was feeling about me doing this. It also hadn’t tried to move away from me either which was a good sign that, although its trust in me was damaged, it hadn’t completely broken.
I started with its face, gently wiping away the thin layer of dirt and grime it had accumulated over the last 24 hours. One did everything in its power to avoid looking at me while I did this, fighting to keep its expression SecUnit neutral. When I pulled the first cloth away, tiny flecks of blood and fluids mixed with a brown layer of dirt stained the previously white fabric. I tossed it into the recycler nearby before grabbing a fresh one out of the pack. As I traveled down its face, I noticed the bruising around its neck from where I had grabbed it and felt a pang of guilt. Those marks were from me. Gently, I ran the fresh wipe over the bruise, using as little pressure as possible. This was the first time I had ever intentionally hurt One. I hoped it was the last.
I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.
One’s pale skin took on a slight sheen from the moisture as I continued wiping down synthetic skin and inorganic parts. Shoulders, clavicle, chest. Discard and pull a fresh wipe from the pack. Upper arms, elbows, forearms (with special care to the gunports and their seams.) I was extra careful around its damaged hand, cleaning what I could without applying too much pressure or going too close to the wound. I could hear One’s already shallow breath hitch any time I accidentally touched a sensitive area, feeling its body tense underneath my hands as it fought with itself to not pull away.
I know it hurts.
Dismemberment was probably one of the most painful injuries I have experienced. I had to use multiple wipes to clean off the caked blood and fluids (some of it mine) from its arms. Slowly, I worked my way down. Stomach, pelvis, thighs, knees and the inorganic workings of its lower legs and feet.
When I moved to stand up from wiping down the organic to inorganic seams of its legs, One wrapped its good arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. I could hear its breath coming in short gasps, similar to what humans sounded like when attempting to regulate emotions. Carefully, I returned the embrace and stood there, allowing One as much time as it wanted with this contact. I gave it gentle pressure in the feed and felt it push back instantly, seeking that connection. The mental dam opened within seconds and wave after wave of emotions crashed into me. Fear, sadness, pain where the main ones, but also adoration and trust. One shuddered again, its grip on me tightening as it pressed its face against my shoulder, into the crook of my neck, its breath hot on my skin. Seeing One like this always made me hurt, too. My fingertips throbbed with each second that passed. I balled my hands into fists to counter the pain. Sharp pin needle pricks bloomed across my face, and I shut my eyes to try and focus on my breathing. Nothing good will come of me losing my cool, too.
We stood like this for a good 15 minutes. One’s shudders increased with frequency and intensity before tapering off until it was just standing there, leaning against me. Its feed presence was sluggish and heavy. I knew it was about ready for a recharge. Carefully, I released One and gently guided it to its cubicle. I sent a request to HubSys to open the cubicle door and eased it into the small space, assisting with hooking up refuel lines to its spinal ports as it clung to me. When I moved to pull away, One tightened its grip on me, alarmed. I tried to leak reassurance and calmness into our shared feed, but it was overwhelmed by the scratchy anxious jitters coming from One. I reached up to unhook its arm from my neck and it began to full on panic. Its damaged hand collided with my side as it tried to grab me with its missing fingers. Pain flashed across its face.
“Please.” One croaked, its usually soft voice thick from the chemicals that were putting its systems into overdrive. One rarely, if ever, spoke aloud to me. There wasn’t a need to, given the static feed we shared. It was faster and easier to talk in the feed which conveyed a lot more than just words.
“One-” I paused and swapped to the feed. You need rest. I’m not leaving you, but you need rest and repairs. I will be here when you come back online.
I leaned in and pressed my lips to its forehead lightly. I could feel One’s muscles relax enough to be manipulated into fitting comfortably in the cubicle even though our shared feed space was still full of its scratchy jitters. I could feel it trembling beneath my hands. I wish we had a way to regulate emotions outside of cycling chemicals and pseudocode.
Like how… when humans cry and for some reason feel better afterwards?
Like that. That would be nice.
ETR? I asked it in the feed. One stared up at me with an expression I couldn’t place. It had remnants of the expression from the day before when I had my hand around its neck. But there was something else in there that was akin to the way I've seen Captain Waters look at Dr Smith. Or Technician Darin when he spoke about his spouse and offspring.
3:36:57, One replied after a pause. I nodded and gave a small smile. Its shoulders sunk a bit at that, as if more of the tension between them had been released.
“I’ll see you soon,” I said softly, lifting a hand to trace the side of One’s face. I waited until it placed itself into standby before allowing the cubicle door to close. The panel on the front door lit up with One’s status. [Recharge 42% ... Repair in progress]