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Preservation was dark, the night comfortably warm and I was sure my humans were all safe. Dr. Mensah and her family were at home, my other PresAux humans were either at their own homes or on Preservation Transit Station. I was walking around outside, mostly because I wanted to and nobody would ask me why I was doing it.
I heard chatter and quiet giggling, and my drones scouted ahead. On another street, three humans were sitting together on a bench, the source of the noise. I estimated they were under the influence of something, by their slurring words and their loose movements. They were leaning on each other, which is a thing humans did, but it was more like collapsing against each other. When they laughed, they flopped around happily.
They also had a joint they were passing around. It smelled better than other joints other humans have smoked (maybe this one was organic and home grown and, I don't know, made with hippie love or something) but it didn't smell as bad as I expected. It still didn't smell great.
The path I was on took me onto that street, and I kept my hood pulled over me, and my head down, to avoid accidental socializing. One of them pulled another joint out of their pocket.
My drones caught their whispering. "Oh another? Toren, you shouldn't have," one of them giggled. Toren, presumably the one offering the joint, laughed and patted their friend on the leg.
"What, are you saying you've had enough?"
This earned a burst of laughter. "No, of course not."
"Yeah, Iva, of course we haven't," giggled their third friend. "Iva is just kidding."
"Enix is right, gimme that."
They all laughed and Toren shot off the bench as Iva reached for the blunt. Toren stumbled like a poorly controlled puppet and Iva collided into them just as I was turning the corner.
One of my drones caught the moment they tripped and lost their balance, and I was there to catch them. My arms flung out, grabbing them both, and I straightened them up against my body, then stepped away once they were upright and stable (mostly stable. They were intoxicated).
"Thank you," said Toren, half-lidded eyes widening as they looked at me. I turned myself away from their gaze.
"Yeah," laughed Iva. "You're a lifesaver."
"You're welcome," I muttered, because it would be rude not to acknowledge their gratitude.
"Hey, buddy, you alright?" asked Enix, staring blankly at me. "You look nervous as hell."
My drone camera showed me I had a nervous look on my face. "I'm fine." Shit, time to leave, Murderbot.
"Hey, wanna smoke a joint with us?" Toren asked, holding up the blunt in offering. My drone camera zoomed in on it, it was slightly crushed from when they had tripped, but it was still probably usable. Not that I would use it. Fuck no.
My face did something obvious, and I tugged at my hood, beginning to walk away from them. "No, I have no need for drugs."
"It'll help you relax for real," said Iva, attempting to persuade me. I don't know what the reward for them would be if I said yes to their offer. I met plenty of humans who did not share anything for free, especially not drugs.
"Go home before you smoke that," I said, old habits dying hard, and continued walking away from them. They were too intoxicated to notice I was walking really fast for a human, yet they hadn't been too intoxicated to see how nervous I was around them. I heard a their laughter fade away as I walked further down the street. I couldn't wait to see ART again, because then I wouldn't have to deal with intoxicated humans.
===+++===
By the time ART docked at Preservation Station, I had already taken a shuttle up and was waiting for it. Through a glass wall in the station mall I watched it as it arrived, and I became so excited I paused my media.
It pinged me, and I pinged back. In the reflection of the window, my drone caught a smile on my face. I looked like I was unpracticed at smiling. Which I was. I started walking toward the transit ring, still watching it complete docking procedures.
ART initiated a feed connection with me. Guess what I have.
New media?
The humans on this moon have their own local media archive. It's private.
They only think it is.
ART showed me its display of additions to its library. Most of them were entertainment media, but ART also had a sizeable music selection now. I picked an album at random (the album cover looked cool) and put it on.
I thought you would've wanted to watch one of the new serials I downloaded, ART said.
I wanted to try something different. I liked music. I really liked the songs that were ballads, that told a story. Some of the stories were pretty good. The tags on the album were genres I had historically liked, but the album had a unique twist to it, probably due to the moon colony's isolation.
What did you do while you were on Preservation? it asked.
I'd made it into the embarkation zone. I supervised Mensah's children on a camping trip and watched two musicals and a play. I began cutting together my trip highlights to send to ART. Among other things.
I added my drone footage of the interaction I had with the intoxicated humans on my way to the shuttle.
ART was quiet while it watched my video. I figured it was simply focusing on its docking procedures and coming up with critiques to my camping skills until it sent, I wonder if marijuana could help you relax.
I could feel ART's deranged curiosity through the feed. Not happening, I shot it down immediately. Not to mention the university probably had strict rules about bringing flammable, psychoactive substances aboard their research vessels.
You are small minded. This experiment could be productive for you.
I'm not helping you with your stupid experiment.
I am simply curious about its potential benefits.
Get someone else to help you.
I meant benefits for a SecUnit. Like you.
I shrugged it off in the feed, unwilling to continue this debate. I pinged it forcefully once I was in front of its docking door, and it pinged back the same way as it opened for me.
===+++===
I replayed the conversation I had with the hippies several times while ART and I watched one of the new serials (Lethucury Stars; ART didn't really get the point of music, but it enticed me with the fact one of the actors in this serial was a member of the music group I was listening to), careful not to let ART know I was distracted. I didn't want to be intoxicated like those humans were. They were tripping over nothing and unaware of their surroundings.
One of the scenes in the serial featured two of the main characters smoking in a lounge. The serial had a lot of slow, artsy scenes that weren't action packed. It was kind of interesting, but left something to be desired. I kept waiting for something awful to interrupt them.
The camera zoomed in on the characters, and I noticed they were sharing a blunt.
What is the point of sharing a blunt? That seems unnecessary and gross, I commented.
Those humans are sitting close enough and in an unventilated room. They are sharing germs regardless, ART replied. I made a face. Thankfully, it was just the two of us.
Does it really do that?
Be more specific.
I ran an inquiry through mine and ART's and the Preservation databases. There was a lot of information about what THC (marijuana, weed, dope, grass, I don't know how humans kept making up all these names for it) did to humans and how. My lungs and blood didn't work for me like it did for humans, and my brain was only part human neural tissue and part inorganic construct components.
I had a lot of questions, but my first one was, Does it really make humans relaxed and happy?
For the most part, yes.
Oh, great. A vague answer. If ART gave me a straightforward answer, I wouldn't have to wonder.
We watched twelve more episodes in a row. I liked the show. It wasn't realistic at all. The moon colony ART visited was similar to Preservation in some aspects, but the media depicted none of it. It was a good story. A few episodes in, I had changed into comfortable clothes that smelled clean, like ART's recycler system, and not like marijuana. I was watching the serial on my nice big display surface in my room, laying on my comfortable bed, and I knew all my humans were safe.
I still couldn't relax. I hadn't been able to relax during my trip, and that was why I'd gone for that stupid night patrol anyway. I had no reason to be paranoid, and that made me paranoid. Every time I thought about the trip, or about the intoxicated humans, or about ART's curiosity, I felt my performance reliability drop a few percent.
ART's attention shifted from the serial to me, and I felt myself wilt inside. You are distracted.
Fuck off, ART. That was a tell and a half.
Are you still preoccupied about the idea of drug use?
No. Shit, was that a giveaway? I'm not preoccupied about anything.
Your feed activity has been constant and higher than usual during media time. Your performance reliability is also suffering micro-fluctuations. I don't see why you won't try it.
I don't want to be unaware. Those humans were unaware.
That's not accounting for the unknown variables, such as prior drug use or baseline mental capacity. I have much better information about you. I can also monitor you constantly, as I do have a fully capable med system, it said, haughtily.
Risk Assessment didn't give a good enough estimate of how poorly this would turn out, and that was due to how little it knew. ART, on the other hand… it was more than capable of computing the probability of certain outcomes. The fact it hadn't given me an idea about what it thought would happen worried me.
Do you think it's a good idea?
Data supports the use of certain substances, such as marijuana or LSD, in the treatment of psychiatric conditions in humans. You—
—I don't have psychiatric conditions.
You have not been diagnosed with psychiatric conditions, it corrected, but it is still effective in treating individuals who have gone through traumatic experiences.
I'm not human.
You have human neural tissue. There is overlap with your physiology, whether you want to admit it or not. You also have blood and lungs. You have survived traumatic experiences. I estimate a great chance you will benefit from a controlled dose in controlled environment. I also have estimated at least 27 ways to prevent a negative experience. It is your decision to make, but I have confidence in its results.
I was silent for a while. We watched the remaining 9 episodes. I couldn't determine an answer from them. I was still anxious about being anxious, and I kept reviewing the footage from earlier. I could tell it was waiting for a response, but it was patient.
ART let me pick the next serial, a flashy, mythical drama with a large cast. It was delightful, and I could feel myself beginning to relax slightly, but not enough. I thought about what ART said, and though I wanted more information, I knew it would end up convincing me, like how it had convinced to me allow it to change my configuration.
That thought made my face squint. I let ART incapacitate me and tamper with my data port. Even marijuana didn't incapacitate humans to that extent. From all my background searches I conducted, I was pretty sure I could initiate a recharge cycle to process the THC out of my systems.
I asked, Do you have experience in aiding humans who are using drugs?
Of course I do.
Of course it did. It shared with me a document with everything it knew about marijuana, complete with tagged sections that led to its predictions and expectations. It had little infographics and everything. It was pretty convincing.
There was a little over a week left until our humans rejoined us and our PSUMNT missions would continue. I estimated it would be several months before we had complete privacy again. If there were any time to complete this experiment, now would be the time.
Alright, I'll try it. But only once.
===++++===
After spending what was probably the shortest amount of time I'd ever spent in its med bay, I pinged it to restart the serial we were watching. I wanted to be distracted from this as much as possible, and there was no better way to than with new media. I already compiled a list of other media I would want to watch if the experience became distressing, and put it in ART and I's shared workspace.
ART acknowledged and resumed our serial. After three episodes, I received an internal alert that my performance reliability dropped a percent. My sensory organs were not reporting correctly.
How do you feel? it asked.
My head felt weird. My skin also felt weird. When the skin of my arms rubbed against my sweatshirt, it felt tingly, yet numb. Like there was a delay between my sensors and processors.
I've been worse.
Describe the experience.
My skin feels weird. I shared with ART the live diagnostic from my systems.
That is a normal side effect. Focus on the show.
Should I feel it this soon?
Yes, this is normal.
I decided to listen to it, and turned my attention back. I watched the characters' faces, how they changed. I began plotting a correlation chart with the dialogue and the facial expressions the human actors made. I watched the raw data grow as we finished each episode.
ART pinged me with its own diagnostic: it was my emotional reactions in comparison to the scenes I was watching. It provided a comparison with my baseline emotional reactions.
I checked my drone input— I'd backburnered all of them at some point— and saw, mortifyingly, I was unconsciously making more facial expressions while watching the serial. ART, this is stupid as fuck.
No it's not, it replied, looming over me in the feed. This shows more emotional engagement with the serial, and you are also experiencing a steady decline of your risk and threat assessments.
I can't think straight.
Cognition level is normal. Yes, you can. You are relaxed.
I made a gesture at it.
It will change the way you process sensory inputs. This is expected.
I knew it was, but that didn't make experiencing it any less weird. I did like the data I was collecting from my media. I don't think I would've been specifically interested in that if I wasn't under the influence.
I sent, I want to watch Sanctuary Moon now.
It began from one of my favorite seasons, and I had a strong emotion about that. I didn't want ART to know I had an emotion about it, so I studiously tried to ignore its presence in the feed. Instead, I let my head be filled with the sound of the Sanctuary Moon theme song. I held onto every word, half of my processing power devoted to listening to each instrument, each note, each beat. I found myself mouthing along to the theme. I could unfortunately feel my lips and the rest of my face, but I distracted myself by analyzing every pixel from the intro.
It was fascinating watching the facial expressions the crew. I'd seen it all before, but this time it was different. I continued categorizing their expressions against the dialogue. It was beginning to aggregate with the other serial's data and grow. It was interesting finding a correlation. I always paid attention to the characters, but under the influence, it felt like I was seeing them in a whole new light.
ART hung over me in the feed. That also felt interesting. My processor lit up trying to understand the way it affected me. Its closeness wasn't something I could quantify. I focused for too long on the feeling of it, instead of watching Sanctuary Moon, and lost out on forty seconds of runtime. Although I knew the episode by heart, I was surprised I spent that much time focused on ART.
Turning my attention back, I continued watching, enraptured. We watched another seven episodes when it dawned on me that we were watching a sex scene. I normally skip over those. Why hadn't I skipped it? I tilted my head and made a face. That is so weird.
What's weird about it?
I thought for a long moment. Too many things. It was still weird, even though I kept watching. Part of it was curiosity. I'd-- unfortunately-- accidentally seen humans having sex through cameras before I hacked my governor module, when they did it in private rooms or closets— or behind equipment— even though there were cameras present. They probably didn't care. Watching these humans on screen made me think they didn't care either, especially because it was fictitious.
Five minutes had passed (it did not feel like five minutes. I had to double check my chronometer) before I regained enough focus to skip through the scene.
We watched more Sanctuary Moon. It was really good, so I remained focused on it, but as time went on, I noticed my ability to function was decreasing substantially. My chronometer was still fucked up, and I recalibrated it two times over the course of five episodes. During these five episodes, I dropped my inputs to my drones and background processes and stopped my running my media analysis repeatedly. Remembering to pick it up was harder than it should've been.
I think my cognitive function is declining, I sent.
I'm fascinated by how your human neural tissue is affecting your inorganic systems.
I think my cognitive function is declining…
ART pinged me with a request for a diagnostic. It took me three solid seconds to parse it and initiate. If it wanted me to do anything more than that, it would need to take over my body. Which would definitely feel weird. It felt weird when I was sober (I hesitate to use the word sober, because murderbots shouldn't not be sober) and it would definitely feel weird now.
What if you took control of my body? It would feel weird.
It initiated a handoff and I clumsily dropped most of my drone inputs, before pinging it an okay and bracing myself for it. It enveloped me in the feed, and for a brief moment I felt like I was was shutting down. It picked up my drone inputs again and I was overwhelmed with them. I couldn't focus on more than a few at a time— my natural ability to split my focus was shot. Then, ART climbed my body out of bed and walked around the room, stretching my limbs. Its focus on my body was acute.
Intriguing, it said. I could tell it was reading my data as it was coming in.
It felt cloudy. Or fuzzy. It was like being wrapped up in one of my homemade blankets I got from my humans on Preservation, where the texture of it took up more of my attention than normal clothes did. It was like static electricity. The sensations cascaded through my body after every brief touch. My sensor net lit up like a corporate mall.
ART was still in my systems, and even though it didn't feel things the way I did, it could still view the raw data and make an approximation. I watched it poke through my sensors and examine me close. It was conducting some tests. It re-displayed Sanctuary Moon in the feed. I paid attention to it again, and didn't realize ART had moved my body out of my room into a main crew space until the delayed sensor data was processed and I was overloaded with sensation.
Dizzyingly I reviewed my drones' footage. It took several minutes for me to access the files, and I watched as it took just several more for ART to pilot my body and conduct the diagnostics. The evidence was in our shared workspace and I'd been unable to notice. Oh, shit. Oh fuck.
ART, I've become incapacitated, I sent, panic seeping through our feed connection. I'm unaware. Something bad could happen.
I'm coming to the conclusion you're having a hard time processing in coordination with your inorganic parts. Essentially, your processing ability has been handicapped, although you are experiencing the beneficial effects we expected.
This is unacceptable, I continued, scrambling to keep ahold of all my inputs. As soon as I picked up one, I would drop another. It was a losing battle.
Suddenly, ART was doing something, and my processor felt empty for a moment. I realized it had taken on some of my processes for me. I could handle my inputs much better— the ones it wasn't processing for me— and the tactile sensations I picked up were no longer lagging. It felt like my chronometer was correct again.
What did you do?
I'm assisting. Your capacity to self-process is limited, and it is distressing to you. However, you should still notice the effects.
I still could. Things still felt staticky and too-bright, but it was easier than before to manage my drone inputs and the feed. I refocused on Sanctuary Moon and walked back to my room.
I felt compelled to climb under the covers (I didn't need blankets— my thermoregulatory system didn't fluctuate, nor did ART's climate control system— but I enjoyed the sensation of privacy and being cocooned. Over my time with ART, my blanket collection had grown, and it made me experience joy.
I propped my head on my pillows and curled my body to face my display surface. Watching Sanctuary Moon helped me calm down, as did being able to periodically check on my drones and ART's drones and run short patrols through its corridors. ART issued a feed connection with Preservation Station and I was able to check up on my humans who were habitating there.
Everything was alright, for once.
We continued through the rest of the season and were only just beginning the next one when another internal alert interrupted me.
I was in need of recharge. Something about how the marijuana affected me drained my energy. It wasn't supposed to be time yet; my recharge cycles were much more infrequent than those of humans.
This continues to fascinate me, sent ART. As it was still extended into my systems, it had unfettered access to my alerts.
I'm not doing this again, I sent in reply.
I wasn't asking you to. Do you want to initiate a recharge cycle or metabolize the THC out of your system? That may negate the need for recharge.
I spent five whole seconds processing that. It wasn't asking me to do this again. I liked that it wasn't asking me to. I liked that it was helping me process my inputs when I was overwhelmed. I liked that I could trust it when I was dysfunctional.
I'll initiate a recharge cycle.
I'll pause Sanctuary Moon. The display surface turned off and the lights in my room dimmed (not that I couldn't manually cut visual to my eyes if it was too bright). All I could feel was the gentle buzz of the static between our systems and ART's warm feed presence.
Initiating recharge cycle… Initiation complete.