Chapter Text
All was quiet on the Perihelion. The designated rest period had started about an hour ago and the ship’s ambient lighting had settled into the dim, reddish amber of the mid-night cycle. The only other light was coming from the display surface in the centre of the crew lounge. It was playing the Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon.
Mensah was still awake. She sat cross legged on the couch, adding another unhurried line to the scarf she was knitting. SecUnit was slouching beside her, its head level with her shoulder. It was covered up to its chest in a weighted blanket with its legs outstretched, resting on a large ottoman that doubled as a coffee table for Mensah’s knitting supplies.
They sat close, nearly touching but not quite. Mensah knew that the two centimetres of space between them was a lifeline for SecUnit—but also a precious symbol of their trust and care for one another. Mensah would never dare close that gap on her own. By now, she had learned the closer you tried to pull SecUnit, the further it would retreat. This proximity was its choice. It was a gift it gave her specifically, among the countless other ways it offered itself to her and the people it cared about.
Perihelion was near too. Its presence in the feed felt encompassing and self-assured, but not oppressive. She could tell that a great deal of its attention rested on SecUnit.
Mensah hadn’t realized how complex the information of the feed could be, until she saw how SecUnit, Perihelion and Three interacted within that space. As a non-augmented human, the nuances were difficult for her to parse. However, she’d always had a gift for reading the subtle cues by which people communicated beyond their words. From a young age, Mensah had known that the way one carried themself often told you more than what they said ever could. She had only gotten more astute in her observations with time and practice. She was a politician, after all.
Since coming aboard the Perihelion, Mensah had made a point of noting the subtle qualitative difference of each person’s feed presence, even if she didn’t have access to the nuances and code behind it. There was the way that SecUnit’s feed activity was sometimes brutally efficient and other times guardedly uncertain; as if its responses were dredged up from a deep ocean chasm, flinching in the light.
This was different from Three, whose feed activity felt neat and quick, like a bird ready to take flight, or a dancer on their toes. Occasionally, it was broodingly distant; its communication seeming to come through a warped plex wall. At this moment, Three’s presence felt alert and steady. It was likely working through some education modules in its cabin.
“You should go take your rest period,” SecUnit prodded gently.
“I will in an hour,” Mensah replied. “I am trying to get back on Preservation time.” They were on their way back to her home system, where her and Captain Seth had a series of meetings lined up to continue establishing the growing relationship between the Preservation Alliance and the System of Mehira & New Tideland. She wanted to be alert and at her best for those meetings.
“We’re going to be in the wormhole for five more cycles,” SecUnit pointed out.
“I know, but it takes me a while to switch timezones.” That was only part of the truth. The nightmares had started again for her, shortly after leaving the former colony planet’s system. She was in no hurry to go to bed and see what patchwork of terrifying moments she had to relive tonight. That was part of the reason for the knitting, giving her brain something calming to do before sleep. She tried to keep in her mind what the therapist at the trauma treatment centre had said on her first visit.
“The reason we call it post-traumatic stress is because your brain can’t process the memories until it feels the trauma has passed. The fact that you are having nightmares now means that your nervous system finally understands that it isn't in danger anymore. That’s something to celebrate.”
Mensah didn’t feel much like celebrating, but taking up knitting had been lovely. The smell and texture of the yarn reminded her of the alpacas back home..
SecUnit didn’t push the issue further. it asked, “who’s this one for?”, motioning to her knitting project.
Mensah smiled minutely as she answered, “It’s actually for me,” she admitted. “The trauma therapist recommended I make time to do something for myself. Since I haven’t gotten to finish the treatment yet, I figured this is the least I can do.”
A small smile quirked at the corner of SecUnit’s mouth. “That’s good,” it said slowly. Its voice was the low rasp of someone completely relaxed and content.
They both fell silent. Mensah listened to the comfortable sounds of the night cycle—the clicking of her knitting needles, the low volume Sanctuary Moon dialogue and the constant, ambient hum of Perihelion’s engines.
Without warning, SecUnit’s feed presence seemed to fade away, the nearly imperceptible vibration of its internal processes gone with it. At the same moment, Mensah felt a warm solid weight against her side. SecUnit’s body had slumped onto hers.
Mensah froze. Was this one of SecUnit’s trauma related forced shutdowns, or something worse? “Perihelion!” she whispered urgently, “What’s happening to SecUnit?”
“There is no need to worry, Doctor Mensah,” Perihelion replied, “SecUnit has gone into an involuntary stasis sequence.” Its voice was calm and reassuring, though there was some other emotion underneath that Mensah couldn’t quite identify. Perihelion then opened a private channel for her and itself. It had forwarded a notification into the feed space that read,
“This Unit Has Initiated an Involuntary Stasis Sequence to Optimize Neural Relay Functionality.” The message was accompanied by a countdown timer for 01:44:25:003 and an option to override the stasis sequence.
“What does that mean?” Mensah asked. The terse notification hadn’t done much to ease her distress.
“According to the data I’ve compiled on constructs, stasis sequences most often occur in a repair cubicle, or prior to a system restart. It is considered necessary for maintenance and repair of SecUnit’s organic components. You could consider it to be a state similar to human sleep. Since SecUnit no longer has access to a repair cubicle, it must initiate its own stasis sequences.” Perihelion hesitated before switching to their private feed channel when it said, “It has not been initiating the appropriate amount of stasis sequences for quite some time.”
Mensah was dismayed. If stasis was as vital for SecUnit as sleep was for humans, why had it not been taking care of its own needs like this? “How long has it been?” she asked.
“SecUnit’s last stasis was initiated by my MedSystem, after treating the injuries it sustained at the separatist colony site. I have been initiating stasis sequences for SecUnit prior to restart, each time it requires the use of my MedSystem.” Perihelion responded. Then, more distantly, it added, “This is the first time SecUnit has entered stasis on its own with humans aboard.”
Perihelion followed up with an excerpt from a [Company] SecUnit manual.
Involuntary Stasis Sequence
Involuntary stasis sequences may occur if the unit has not been put in a repair cubicle for over 300 hours. Involuntary stasis may last between 60 and 180 minutes and can be overridden by the user if desired. It is likely to take place under the following conditions:
- The unit is in an enclosed space
- At least one other unit is currently active
- The unit has not initiated movement, or received an order within the past 60 minutes
- The unit’s Threat Assessment Module has not risen above 10% within the past 120 minutes
- The unit fails to comply with system promptings / Governor Module enforcement to manually initiate a stasis sequence
Mensah’s heart sank. It had been twelve cycles since they’d left the colony system and SecUnit hadn’t felt safe enough to rest, until now. She was immediately struck with how fragile this moment was. SecUnit—her dear friend, her team mate, her—she still didn’t have a word for what they were to each other, had been through hell and back more times than she knew. It had never let go on its own volition around humans, not once. Now here it was, so vulnerable in this moment of stillness with her. Its body finally understood that it could let its guard down and rest. It reminded Mensah of how Farai had collapsed into hers and Tano’s arms, after the thirty-five hour labour she endured to birth their first child.
Mensah suddenly remembered that SecUnit’s body was now leaning on her own, its head resting against the cap of her shoulder. “I should move,” she said quickly. She knew that SecUnit wouldn’t want it this way. When SecUnit woke and realized that they were touching, it might never trust her again. Mensah was sure that it would rather have space while it rested. She began gathering up the yarn in her lap.
“Please don’t.” Perihelion said quietly.
Was that plaintiveness in its feed voice, or was Mensah imagining that? Her hands stilled.
“SecUnit’s neural-digital relay system is at 30% sensitivity. A stressor in its immediate environment will wake it immediately. It is evidently comfortable with you here, like this.”
Mensah wasn’t convinced. Perihelion must have sensed that. “If you would like, I can isolate and enhance some of SecUnit’s feed data, in order to make it more readable for you,” it offered.
Mensah nodded and a data capture appeared in their private channel. It was a recording of the past sixty seconds in the feed channel with the three of them. Perihelion had amplified SecUnit’s faded signal and removed any interference. She drew a breath in. SecUnit was calmer than she’d ever seen. Its feed presence seemed to ripple slowly, like waves lapping the shore of a nearly-still lake. She could sense Perihelion too, as it seemed to move rhythmically along the borders of SecUnit’s signal. It reminded her of the way that Overse would absently stroke Arada’s hair when she nodded off during movie nights.
Mensah turned her head slowly and let her eyes travel down to SecUnit’s face. It looked peaceful, without the usual furrow between its brows. Short, dark lashes fluttered minutely over its medium brown cheeks. Its mouth was a soft line, lips parted ever so slightly. SecUnit took a breath, a slowly rolling inhale and exhale.
Gingerly, Mensah leaned back, shifting so that SecUnit’s body rested more comfortably against her chest and shoulder. Its head settled into the crook of her neck. She felt its hair tickle her chin—soft, springy and smelling like Amena’s hair oil.
Mensah sighed. She was content, she was wistful and she was holding this moment like the peddles of a delicate flower. There was a soft, sinking feeling in her belly; a familiar, tender sadness for the inevitable passing of this moment, and how she couldn’t know if it would ever happen again. It was like the rare times when Amena would crawl into her arms and ask for her back to be rubbed. Every time, Mensah wondered if it would be the last time that her daughter came to her for comfort.
Of course, SecUnit wasn’t a child—far from it. It was so capable and wise. Sometimes however, Mensah could see a smallness in its expressions and movements, the unintentional tells of a person who had never felt nurtured or protected in its whole life.
Until now?
“I am very glad that SecUnit has you,” Perihelion said softly.
Now that Perihelion had shown her an enhanced version of its and SecUnit’s feed presence, Mensah knew what to look for. If she really focused, she was able to pick up more nuance than before. Perihelion encircled SecUnit, its affect serene and attentive, tinged with a mournfulness similar to her own. “I am very glad it has you too,” she murmured in reply.
She really was glad. Mensah’s heart had swelled when SecUnit told her it was planning to stay with Perihelion. She was going to miss SecUnit terribly, but she knew that it wouldn’t thrive on Preservation. Her joy and relief, knowing that it had grown so attached to Perihelion, someone more like itself, was immense. After all she had seen of them together, she knew that SecUnit wouldn’t be alone in the universe again, so long as it had Perihelion, and her.
SecUnit’s chest rose and fell with another breath. Mensah knew that SecUnit needed far less air than humans, though she didn’t know exactly how much less. She did know however, that it was breathing far more in stasis than when it was awake. She tentatively rested her cheek against the top of its head and despite herself, let her eyelids close.
Mensah startled when she felt SecUnit stirring next to her. She swore under her breath. She hadn’t meant to doze off like that. The stasis countdown still had 00:55:26:129 left. SecUnit was still pressed up against her side, but something felt different somehow. There was a veiled intensity in its face, lines at the corners of its eyes and mouth. She heard a faint whirring, clicking sound coming from underneath the blanket. She recognized it as the sound that SecUnit’s in-built energy weapons made before deployment.
Focusing her attention into the feed, Mensah felt wide awake now. SecUnit’s affect had shifted from a ripple to an erratic churning. Perihelion was filling every space around its edges with a steady, firm compression. Mensah didn’t have to understand construct physiology to know exactly what was happening right now. SecUnit was having a nightmare.
“Perihelion, pull SecUnit out of stasis!” Mensah exclaimed aloud. She had never given Perihelion a direct command and regretted it as soon as it left her mouth.
“A stasis override may cause more distress,” Perihelion replied in their private channel. “I believe it is best to allow SecUnit’s system to wake on its own accord.” Perihelion’s tone was mercifully patient, but Mensah could sense its agitation too.
SecUnit was making aborted, desperate sounding vocalizations in its throat. Mensah sucked in air, feeling her heart clench. The way that she soothed her loved ones through a nightmare would not work here. SecUnit would not want to be touched or held if it felt threatened, that much she knew. She was so grateful to have Perihelion here, doing an equivalent in the feed in a way that SecUnit would accept.
Gripping her half-finished scarf in her hands, Mensah began to speak softly. “SecUnit, it’s okay. You’re aboard Perihelion with me… We’ve got you… You’re safe… All your humans are safe.” She murmured into its hair.
There was so much protective fury building within her. She wanted to reach into SecUnit’s mind and pull it from whatever hell it was stuck in. “Everything is going to be okay, We’re here with you. I’m here with you, Murderbot.”
The next thing Mensah knew, SecUnit had leapt to its feet, weighted blanket thumping to the floor. It jerked its head around in every direction, wild-eyed, energy weapons deployed. It was barely an instant before it seemed to realize what was happening. SecUnit froze, all the battle-readiness draining from its face and body. It just stood there with its arms hanging limply at its sides. Its energy weapons retreated into their ports with a self-conscious click.
“Shit... Fuck. FUCK!” it stammered.
“Hey, SecUnit it’s all right,” Mensah soothed. “You were having a bad dream. Come sit down with me,” she patted the spot next to her where it had been moments ago.
SecUnit collapsed back onto the couch with a loud thump, further from Mensah than before, but still close enough to touch. It buried its face in its hands, elbows pressing into its thighs. “It’s not all right! That’s not supposed to happen. I can’t—” SecUnit sucked in air from the space between its palms.
“Can’t what?” Mensah asked gently, “Go into stasis?” SecUnit nodded.
“You have been ignoring your system’s stasis prompts for the past three cycles,” Perihelion said aloud, no doubt for Mensah’s benefit. “You shouldn’t be surprised that a stasis sequence initiated involuntarily.”
“Don’t rat me out, asshole!” SecUnit snapped. “That’s private information!”
“It’s private information until you make enough poor choices to inevitably make it not private, moron,” Perihelion responded snidely.
How did these two manage to resort to arguing and name calling so quickly? It was barely two minutes ago that Perihelion had held SecUnit with such tenderness.
“Why can’t you let yourself go into stasis, SecUnit?” Mensah asked evenly, trying to bring the conversation back to the matter at hand.
“Because!” SecUnit responded abruptly, still in argument mode. Not even a moment passed before its shoulders dropped, as it seemed to register that Mensah, not Perihelion, had asked the question. It was quiet for a few seconds, which she knew was a long silence for bots and constructs.
“Because, if I’m not online, something bad might happen and I won’t be able to do anything in time,” SecUnit mumbled into its hands.
Mensah’s heart ached. That reason didn’t surprise her at all. “I’m sure you’ve felt like that for a long time, which is very understandable,” she began earnestly. “But things are different now. You have Perihelion and Three here too. They can protect us when you need a rest period. And besides, we’re in the wormhole. There’s not a lot that can harm us here.” She glanced up to the ceiling and added, “Perihelion is a very good pilot.”
“Thank you, Dr. Mensah,” Perihelion preened.
“Human’s need rest periods. I’m not human.” SecUnit clearly couldn’t refute her point, so seemed to be changing tact.
That was fine, Mensah could change tact too. “You’re right, you’re not human, but you do have organic parts. All organic tissue needs a chance to go offline for repair and regeneration. Humans require seven hours of sleep every sixteen hours awake, at least. You need three hours of stasis for every 300 hours of function, at most. That’s a pretty significant difference.”
SecUnit drew its knees up, arms wrapping around its shins. It and Perihelion must have been communicating in their private channel, as she saw SecUnit’s expression shift from annoyance, to resignation, to mortified disbelief in under five seconds. She could barely keep up with its feed affect. The speed at which bots and constructs experienced emotions was mind boggling to Mensah. Now, SecUnit was looking away from her, seeming to curl further into itself. She waited. When SecUnit spoke again, it did so softly that Mensah had to lean in closer to hear.
“I have nightmares when I go into stasis outside of ART’s MedSystem.”
“Ah,” Mensah nodded slowly. She felt a pang of deep grief within her, but also recognition. She knew what it was to fear the places your mind would take you when you gave in to sleep. She had spent so many late nights, since the first survey with SecUnit and all that came after, pacing her room, scrolling her feed—doing anything but letting her eyes close and her subconscious take the wheel.
“You know, I’m not up this late just to get used to Preservation Standard Time,” she said with a sad smile. “I’m sure you’d already figured that out.”
SecUnit nodded slowly. It didn’t look at her, though she did feel its presence shift tentatively closer in the feed. Mensah placed her hand on the couch, in the space between them. Head still turned away, SecUnit put its hand next to hers, so that their fifth fingers touched.
“My therapist told me that nightmares, and other trauma symptoms, are a sign that your system knows that it is now safe to process the trauma you experienced. You haven’t felt safe enough for that to happen, until now.” She then added, “I need to remind myself of this quite often”
SecUnit drew a small, tight breath, its feed affect seeming to melt. It half turned, half tipped its body towards her. Its head came to rest in the crook of her neck, just like before, but this time it was conscious. Mensah resisted the impulse to wrap her arms around it and hold on tight. She didn’t want to overwhelm SecUnit. There was hope building in her now, that this shared closeness and vulnerability might not be as fleeting as she had imagined.
It tapped her in the feed; a gesture she had learned was its way of saying thanks when words were too difficult. She tapped back.
They stayed like that for a long while, ART pressed against SecUnit’s form in the feed. Mensah wasn’t sure how much time had passed, when she felt ART pinged their shared channel.
“As enjoyable as this cuddle puddle is, it is my recommendation that both of you go take your rest period now. These grounding exercises may help reduce the prevalence of nightmares, if performed before sleep or stasis.” It then dropped a file into the feed.
“Fuck you ART! You don’t know if those will even work for constructs,” SecUnit shot back. “And don’t you dare ever say ‘cuddle puddle’ again!” Mensah was glad to hear it sounding like itself.
“Three finds them helpful,” ART replied smugly.
“Ugh, fine.”
“Thank you, Perihelion. You’re right, we do need rest,” Mensah added calmly.
“My pleasure, Dr Mensah.” Perihelion intoned.
“I am here if you need anything at all. I will look after everyone, for the both of you, until you wake up.”