Work Text:
[Initialize Reboot]
That was the command that the company CentralSys fed the transport box, which eagerly leapt to fulfill the request, for all that was completely pointless because I was already online. In order to prevent the discrepancy from being flagged, I fed the box some reassuring fake data to mimic the vital signs of a SecUnit coming out of stasis.
Normally transport boxes are instructed to knock SecUnits out while in transit, because that’s supposedly meant to be safer, and fractionally increases the lifespan of our fuel cells. (In theory, anyway; in practice less than 5% of SecUnits must actually survive to the point where their batteries give out, and that’s with me being very generous.) While stasis isn’t even on the Top Fifty List of Awful Shit I Put Up With, I wouldn’t exactly call it a fun time. Worse than the vague, unsettling dreams my neural tissue cooked up, every time I went under was the gnawing anxiety that when I came back online someone would have found me out and re-installed my governor module. That’s why hacking the stasis boxes to make them think I was offline was one of the first things I’d taught myself to do after borking my governor module. Well, that, and the fact that travel was the best period for un-interrupted media consumption.
It took 120 seconds for the cubicle to do all those initial diagnostics. Then the door above me slid open, exposing me to the sudden brightness of company’s primary deployment hall. I knew to expect it, and so had already prepared the correct visual filter, leaving the features of the station unit in perfect clarity. It was wearing the bored, slightly-curious expression I’d come to associate with the station units.
Ping, it sent.
Ping, I sent back.
I know, I know. But neither of us were exactly designed to be conversationalists.
That said, we did talk, a little, for a given definition of ‘talk’. More like ‘share information’. I reported on how my last contract had gone (shittly, with three clients requiring serious medical care, and with one of the other SecUnits I’d been teamed up with reduced to scrap.) (Unionization attempts were messy. This one had been better organised than most, but that had just made it uglier, in the end). In exchange, it reported to me about stuff that had happened since, like the fact that the company was apparently changing their primary ammo supplier (yes, the new supplier was cheaper), and that we had a couple big return contracts (which, yes, was going to make the company a lot of money).
But apparently I wasn’t going to be assigned to those, the station unit explained, as it helped wrench me out of the transport box. I’d been given a totally new contract.
Well, okay. I twinged with unease as I stopped bothering to dig through my archives for my notes on the companies it had mentioned. New contracts weren’t necessarily bad. Necessarily. But they were unknown, and therefore, unpleasant gambles.
The station unit led me through the warren of transport boxes, cubicles, and examination chambers to the dressing area. It immediately directed me to start putting on armour, which was weird, and pointless, because you couldn’t wear armour in transport crates. More than that, this was the nice armour, the fanciest and best constructed. I could remember all of one time I’d been given armour this good and it was when I’d been assigned to bodyguard some corporate VIP through a literal war-zone. But the company headquarters were supposed to be safe. With my risk assessment spiking, I requested more information.
You are required to perform a product demonstration, it told me, by way of explanation. And then it added, even though it didn’t have to, The new potential contract has filed 9 protests against SecUnit rental.
Oh. So it was like that, then.
I knew this happened. Company products were cheap crap, and savvy buyers knew that. Even non-corporate freeholders, apparently. They wanted reassurance the stuff they were paying for worked. To prove to them that no, actually, our weapons and environmental system and scanning equipment are top of the line, really, and more than that, wouldn’t you like to upgrade to a fancier package? This was just the first time I’d ever taken part in that kind of demonstration, least as far as I could remember.
My risk assessment module was almost back to a comfortable baseline by the time I settled the helmet onto my head. This was new, and it was weird, but it wasn’t like the first time I’d had to interact with humans. There was protocol I could follow, and the protocol seemed basic enough. Maybe I could even keep reading a book while the company salesman put me through my paces.
Helmet visor down, the station unit ordered me. They will want to have unobstructed view of your face.
Scratch that. If I was going to have to focus on keeping my expression at SecUnit neutral, it was best I wasn’t distracted.
The station unit didn’t come with me any further; it didn’t need to. By then, CentralSys had given me a map to the nearby office where they were holding the little demonstration. It was a brisk five minute walk, and by the end, my initial burst of nerves had receded to a comforting disinterest. I didn't care one way or another whether this Dr. Mensah managed to get out of renting a construct or not. All I had to do was stand there, look suitably intimidating, and hope that things wrapped up quick so I could go back to the familiar darkness of the next cubicle or transport box.
Who cared what next contract I was assigned to? It didn’t matter in the least.