Production Log

I was going to have to answer the question. And I really, really didn't want to.

We were six hours out from Mihira and New Tideland, where ART is a teaching and research vessel attached to the university. (It also helped its humans with corporate espionage, but that's not relevant right now.) Sometimes, ART went on solo cargo runs to pay for its upkeep, and this trip was one of those. Thankfully, there were no humans aboard.

Have I said that ART is a monster? It has more processing power than most polities can scrape together on their best day. It also has a very low threshold for boredom. So in a moment of weakness, I said I'd tag along on the cargo run to watch media with it.

I was now regretting that life choice. Hard.

We could have just watched shows like we always do, with ART looming over me in the feed, and me tossing out snarky comments to bait it into arguing. It could have talked me into watching reruns of World Hoppers, its favorite serial. Even the one where the crew encounters aliens who worship a machine that turns out to be a crashed terraforming pod. Its maintenance prompts have become scripture, and they're desperate for a new high priest. Guess what happens.

Anyway. A few days ago, ART and I were complaining about the way SecUnits and machine intelligences like ART are written by the humans who make the shows. (Okay, there aren't very many like ART, but you know what I mean.) Newsburst: It's stupid. They write us in a stupid, boring way.

And before I knew it, we were working on the first episode of our own show, Ship + Unit (yes, I told it that was a terrible title).

I thought ART would get the idea out of its cache and then we'd go back to normal. But no. After we were done, ART took itself off for two cycles to actually make the episode. With sets and composite actors and special effects and even music.

I was in ART's biggest crew lounge, sprawled on the sofa, with the final image from Departure fading on the display screen: Rows and rows of defenseless humans, asleep in suspension pods, with only Ship and Unit awake to protect them. ART had badgered me into watching it. (I was always going to watch it. In private. I have backdoor storage access.)

It had said, If you will watch the episode, I will ask you only one question. If you choose not to answer, we will shelve the project. If you do answer, we continue.

The fucker. Because there had been a nice hook at the end, just a hint that there might—or might not—be a credible threat to those sleeping humans, hidden somewhere on Safe Passage.

And that had been ART's fucking question: Is there a second SecUnit on board?

I tried to distract it. "The music is manipulative."

Your answer?

"And you need a new font for the logo."

SecUnit.

I sighed. Whatever. "There's no way anyone could hide a SecUnit anywhere on that ship, it was crawling with humans before they left the dock. No way."

A long pause. Then ART said, carefully, So we continue.

I don't lose very many fights. But it does happen. "I'll do this with you. Under one condition."

And that is?

"This is our show. Yours and mine. No one else sees it."

Agreed.

I know. I thought it would argue.

I have been researching storytelling techniques. It pushed a raft of data into my feed. There is an intriguing strategy called a 'mystery box....'

SHIP + UNIT

Episode 02 — IMPACT

TEASER

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — SERVICE CORRIDOR

UNIT is walking its patrol route, its stride steady and unhurried. Ship's corridors, as always with all the humans in suspension, are empty and dim. Then—

—a sharp vibration passes through the deck and bulkheads.

Unit stops. Another vibration. We see Unit's face go flat and grim. It recognizes the unmistakable structural pulse of an energy weapon discharge.

Unit begins to run down the corridor.

UNIT
Ship. Why are you firing weapons?

SHIP (V.O.)
I am not firing weapons.

Another discharge. Unit accelerates, steps pounding on the deck. The corridor passes in a blur.

UNIT
I know what energy weapons sound like. I've got two of them. What are you firing at?

SHIP (V.O.)
I am operating the debris-deflection system.

CUT TO:

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — LIFT — CONTINUOUS

Unit reaches Lift Tower 1. The doors barely finish opening before Unit is inside.

UNIT
Bridge.

The lift begins to rise.

UNIT
Ship. You're firing weapons.

SHIP (V.O.)
It is a debris-deflection system.

Another discharge shudders through Ship.

UNIT
What are you shooting?

SHIP (V.O.)
Debris.

CUT TO:

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — BRIDGE — CONTINUOUS

The lift hatch begins to slide open. Unit surges through the gap as soon as it is wide enough—

—and stops.

There are no alarms. No emergency lighting. The bridge is completely calm, empty except for the streams of data crossing the display panels of the unoccupied human workstations.

The forward display shows a starfield. A closer look reveals a cloud of objects, little more than motes against the void. Ship seems to swim through them.

Unit begins to speak. Then—

A magnified view opens around one of the objects. A projected trajectory appears beside it, numeric values updating.

Another energy discharge pulses through the deck. On the display, the object flares white and vanishes.

UNIT
Explain.

SHIP (V.O.)
I removed a mineral body from our flight path.

UNIT
By shooting it.

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
Yes.

Unit's gaze has not shifted from the display. It has just crossed a substantial portion of Ship at combat speed.

UNIT
Are we under threat?

SHIP (V.O.)
There is no emergency.

Another pulse through the deck. Another speck flares, then disappears.

UNIT
Ship.

SHIP (V.O.)
Yes.

Unit turns its head to stare at the nearest camera.

UNIT
Next time, tell me before you shoot something.

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
Acknowledged.

CUT TO TITLE: SHIP + UNIT

ACT ONE

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — BRIDGE — CONTINUOUS

The debris tracks remain on the forward display. UNIT remains on the bridge, still fixated on the forward display. Ship has helpfully added trajectories and numeric values to more of the visible objects in the debris field they are crossing.

One projected trajectory highlights. Ship alters course by an almost imperceptible amount.

UNIT
Why didn't you shoot that one?

SHIP (V.O.)
The course correction has less cost than firing.

Unit looks toward the camera.

UNIT
Cost?

Ship expands the display.

Hundreds more tracks appear ahead of them. Some definite. Some only probability envelopes. Projected courses branch around them in a constantly changing web.

SHIP (V.O.)
Every interception requires energy. Every course correction requires energy and reaction mass. In the aggregate, either cost may alter our arrival profile.

Another track changes. A firing solution appears beside it. Then disappears. Ship adjusts course instead.

SHIP (V.O.)
I select the option with the lowest total mission cost consistent with an acceptable risk threshold.

UNIT
(gestures at the forward display)
You're evaluating every one of those?

SHIP (V.O.)
Yes. Most particles are too small to require active response. Some are not.

Unit watches. Tracks appear. Disappear. Change classification. Projected courses split and collapse.

A firing solution forms around one object. Ship fires. The familiar pulse passes through the deck. The object separates into several fragments whose new trajectories miss Ship entirely.

At the same time, Ship makes another tiny course correction around a different object.

Unit looks from one side of the display to the other.

UNIT
You're doing all of that, all the time.

Unit is, despite itself, impressed. It continues to study the display.

SHIP (V.O.)
Of course. Every spacegoing transport must continuously identify potential collision hazards, project their trajectories, and determine whether avoidance or interception is required. If I did not, this mission would be considerably shorter and end violently. You were not aware of this?

Unit looks toward the camera.

UNIT
I've been on transports.

SHIP (V.O.)
Multiple transports, according to your deployment record.

UNIT
Usually in cargo.

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
In cargo?

UNIT
In a crate. No windows.

Ship is silent for a beat.

UNIT
We've been underway for weeks. This is the first time I've heard you firing.

SHIP (V.O.)
Space is not uniformly hazardous.

Ship highlights the broader debris field ahead. Their projected route crosses a broad diffuse region of debris extending far beyond the immediate display.

SHIP (V.O.)
This is the first region on our route where active interception has been required. It contains an unusually high concentration of collision artifacts.

UNIT
And you knew about it.

SHIP (V.O.)
The region is charted. The individual bodies do not remain on fixed trajectories.

Unit studies the scale. The debris field is enormous.

UNIT
How long are we in it?

SHIP (V.O.)
Approximately nine cycles on our present course.

UNIT
Why not go around?

Ship adds another course to the display. It curves far away from the debris field before turning back toward their next wormhole approach. The difference is substantial.

SHIP (V.O.)
Complete avoidance would add thirty-seven cycles to this leg and require an unacceptable increase in reaction-mass expenditure.

UNIT
Thirty-seven cycles to avoid nine cycles of shooting rocks.

SHIP (V.O.)
Among other considerations.

UNIT
So going through it is safer.

SHIP (V.O.)
Lower total mission risk.

Unit looks back at the debris field.

UNIT
How much of this actually hits you?

SHIP (V.O.)
Most of it.

Unit looks toward the camera.

UNIT
Most.

SHIP (V.O.)
Microscopic particles strike the hull continuously. The majority have insufficient mass to produce measurable damage.

Ship changes the display. The individually tracked objects fade back. A haze of tiny contacts surrounds the projected hull.

SHIP (V.O.)
Material below the intervention threshold is handled by shielding and hull protection. I only take corrective action when an object presents a meaningful risk.

UNIT
Meaning big enough to hurt you.

SHIP (V.O.)
Mass is one factor. Relative velocity is another.

UNIT
So tiny things hit you all the time.

SHIP (V.O.)
Yes.

UNIT
And the bigger ones—

SHIP (V.O.)
I avoid them when practical. Or remove them.

A firing solution appears around one track. Ship fires. The pulse passes through the deck. The track disappears.

Another contact appears. Not a clean track this time: A dark blot surrounded by an uncertainty field.

UNIT
(gestures at the display)
That one is different.

SHIP (V.O.)
Possible object. Insufficient sensor return for reliable classification.

UNIT
Meaning?

SHIP (V.O.)
Low reflectivity. Irregular rotation. At this distance, insufficient data for precise composition or mass.

As they proceed closer, the track resolves. Ship changes course. Unit watches it pass outside the projected safety margin.

UNIT
How close do they get before you can scan them?

A pause. Not long. But Unit notices.

UNIT
Ship.

SHIP (V.O.)
My sensor suite exceeds the minimum specification for this mission.

UNIT
How close?

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
The original design specified a higher-resolution long-range sensor array.

Unit looks toward Ship's nearest camera. Then back at the enormous field of hazards Ship is continuously tracking.

UNIT
They went cheap on your eyes.

Somehow, we can tell that Unit is more disturbed than it wants to admit.

SHIP (V.O.)
That is an unnecessarily dramatic description.

UNIT
But accurate.

A beat. Ship takes just a little too long to reply.

SHIP (V.O.)
Yes.

Another dozen data points bloom across the display almost simultaneously. Unit watches the branching solutions. Ship fires.

UNIT
What's the chance something actually hits you hard enough to matter?

SHIP (V.O.)
For the duration of the mission?

UNIT
Yes.

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
Non-zero.

Unit again looks toward the camera.

UNIT
That's not a probability.

SHIP (V.O.)
It is the useful answer.

UNIT
Give me a number.

SHIP (V.O.)
I have several numbers. They depend on object size, velocity, detection range, sensor performance, shielding degradation, and future route corrections.

UNIT
So you don't know.

SHIP (V.O.)
I know the risk is acceptable.

Unit looks back at the debris field.

UNIT
That's what humans say right before something goes wrong.

SHIP (V.O.)
That is not a statistically meaningful observation.

Unit keeps watching the display. Another contact appears. Ship classifies it. Calculates. Changes course by a fraction. The track passes clear.

SHIP (V.O.)
I have this under control.

Unit says nothing. Ship sounds like it always does: Certain. Competent. Annoying.

UNIT
Right.

Unit turns toward the hatch.

SHIP (V.O.)
Where are you going?

UNIT
Patrol. I wasn't done.

SHIP (V.O.)
My internal sensors have not reported any change in shipboard conditions.

Unit walks toward the lift.

UNIT
(over its shoulder)
Okay.

SHIP (V.O.)
Physical patrol is unnecessary.

UNIT
(pauses)
Right up until I find something.

A beat. Ship does not like that answer.

SHIP (V.O.)
You are unlikely to find something I have not already detected.

UNIT
Okay.

That somehow makes it worse. Unit boards the lift, turns, then puts out a hand to keep the hatch from sliding shut. It studies the debris field for one more moment.

UNIT
Ping me on the feed if anything changes.

SHIP (V.O.)
Acknowledged.

Unit removes its hand, and the lift door closes. Ship is alone with the shifting displays. On the forward display, tracks appear, resolve, disappear.

Another uncertain contact blooms at the edge of sensor range. Ship expands it. Calculates. The contact resolves harmlessly.

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
Under control.

No one is there to hear its voice.

CUT TO:

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — SECURITY READY ROOM — LATER

Unit sits at its workbench. Its armor has been removed and it wears a Safe Passage crew uniform.

A toolkit is open nearby. Unit's left hand rests palm-up beneath a bank of task lights. It closes the hand. One finger catches. Unit tests range of motion several times. On each repetition, the finger catches in the same place.

Unit selects a small cutting tool from the kit and opens the skin at the base of the affected finger. Behind Unit, Ship's camera shifts fractionally.

It watches as Unit inserts two small retractors and draws the incision apart, exposing synthetic structures beneath. It presses a wipe to the wound to mop up a small amount of blood and construct fluid.

SHIP (V.O.)
Is that necessary?

UNIT
Yes.

SHIP (V.O.)
Your cubicle can perform this procedure.

UNIT
I know.

Unit probes the finger mechanism with a fine tool.

SHIP (V.O.)
More efficiently.

UNIT
It might shut me down.

A pause.

SHIP (V.O.)
Does it?

UNIT
Sometimes.

SHIP (V.O.)
Under what circumstances?

Unit knows some of them. Major structural repair. Tissue regeneration. Critical fluid loss. There have probably been others. Those records have not survived the memory wipes.

UNIT
I don't know.

Ship considers that.

SHIP (V.O.)
You don't know?

UNIT
Because I'm usually shut down.

Unit goes back to work. It flexes the finger partway. The movement catches. It makes a small adjustment and tries again. Still not right.

SHIP (V.O.)
Your diagnostics report the actuator within tolerance.

UNIT
"Within tolerance" and "optimal" are not the same thing.

SHIP (V.O.)
They are functionally equivalent.

Unit stops. Looks directly at the camera.

UNIT
You really believe that.

SHIP (V.O.)
Yes.

A beat. Unit looks back down at its hand. It adjusts the actuator again. Flexes its fingers. The motion is smooth.

Without disturbing the retracted skin, Unit presses the tip of the finger against its thumb, testing strength.

Another faint pulse travels through the work surface. Unit does not comment. It carefully removes the retractors. Its skin settles back over the repaired mechanism.

Unit carefully fits the edges of the incision together and applies wound sealant. It opens and closes the hand once more. Optimal.

SHIP (V.O.)
You brought replacement components for fourteen major and thirty-nine minor systems. Also medical-grade polymer and substrate for tissue repair.

Unit begins to clean and replace its tools in their kit.

UNIT
It's a one-way colony mission.

SHIP (V.O.)
Were your previous assignments also long-duration?

UNIT
Some. None as long as this.

SHIP (V.O.)
How long?

UNIT
Varied.

SHIP (V.O.)
Where?

UNIT
Different places.

SHIP (V.O.)
What did you do?

Unit looks up at the camera.

UNIT
Are you conducting an interview?

SHIP (V.O.)
I am making conversation.

UNIT
You're bad at it.

A pause. Unit carefully fits the cutting tool into its cavity.

Then—

UNIT
You can ask.

SHIP (V.O.)
You objected to my questions.

UNIT
You asked four questions in sixteen seconds.

SHIP (V.O.)
It was a conversational opening.

A beat. Unit aims a look at the camera.

SHIP (V.O.)
My conversational pacing may require adjustment.

UNIT
Yes.

Ship pauses. This time, noticeably.

SHIP (V.O.)
What kind of assignments?

Unit is quiet for a moment, considering. Searching its archive.

UNIT
Security for survey teams. Asset preservation at cargo facilities. Human supervision at corporate installations.

SHIP (V.O.)
Were your assignments dangerous?

UNIT
Some.

SHIP (V.O.)
In what way?

Unit closes the tool kit and places it on a shelf, then stands. It places one shoulder piece from its armor on the workbench, reaches for cleaning solution and a wipe, and begins to work.

Ship knows by now not to offer the services of a cleaning bot.

UNIT
Hostile fauna. Hostile humans. Equipment failures. Evacuations. Search and recovery. Extracting clients from places they shouldn't have gone.

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
You have extracted hostages.

UNIT
Yes.

SHIP (V.O.)
Under fire?

UNIT
Usually.

Ship processes that.

SHIP (V.O.)
The hostile fauna?

UNIT
On survey contracts. Predators. Territorial species. Things the survey said weren't dangerous until somebody got too close.

SHIP (V.O.)
How did you respond?

UNIT
Depends on whether the client was still in its mouth.

A pause.

SHIP (V.O.)
In its mouth.

Ship's camera remains fixed on Unit. Ship is fascinated.

SHIP (V.O.)
How often were your assignments like that?

UNIT
Not often.

SHIP (V.O.)
What did you do the rest of the time?

UNIT
Kept humans from hurting each other. Guarded corporate assets.

SHIP (V.O.)
Was that challenging?

Unit has finished the shoulder pieces, helmet, and forearm braces. It carefully stows each piece in its spot on the ready room wall, and takes up the next.

UNIT
Usually I stood somewhere visible to deter altercations and theft. Security works better when nothing happens.

Ship is quiet for a moment.

SHIP (V.O.)
But when something did happen, you were expected to respond rapidly to a wide range of circumstances.

UNIT
That's the job.

SHIP (V.O.)
Including circumstances you had not encountered before.

UNIT
Those were the interesting ones.

SHIP (V.O.)
Such as?

Unit never pauses in its work as it considers, searches.

UNIT
I was on a mining installation. The crew started a blasting sequence before the evacuation count was complete.

SHIP (V.O.)
How many were endangered?

UNIT
Three.

SHIP (V.O.)
You went in after them.

UNIT
That's what I was there for. The installation was remote, and it cost to replace workers.

SHIP (V.O.)
Did you recover all three before the charge detonated?

UNIT
Two. The third—

A pause.

SHIP (V.O.)
The last human was killed?

UNIT
Yes.

SHIP (V.O.)
How severely were you damaged?

Unit completes the last piece of armor, then begins to tidy its workspace.

UNIT
Multiple armor penetrations. Structural fractures. Extensive soft-tissue damage. One leg nonfunctional. Involuntary shutdown.

SHIP (V.O.)
That is severe.

UNIT
I was repaired.

SHIP (V.O.)
By whom.

Unit pauses. It doesn't want to finish this story. But it has told Ship it could ask.

UNIT
The humans stabilized me in a cubicle. Then shipped me back to the Company for the technicians to work on.

SHIP (V.O.)
Did you know them?

UNIT
No.

Ship is quiet for a beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
Did you enjoy your assignments?

Unit stills, aims a forbidding look at Ship's camera.

UNIT
My enjoyment isn't relevant.

SHIP (V.O.)
Why?

UNIT
Because they were contracts.

SHIP (V.O.)
That does not answer the question.

UNIT
Yes, it does.

Unit turns away, then drops the wipes it used into the recycler slot.

Ship watches it leave the Ready Room.

CUT TO:

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — CARGO SECTOR — ONE CYCLE LATER

Unit, in full armor, checks tiedowns on stacked freight. Behind it, the bay doors close.

It looks back at them, checks the clear route to the next exit, and continues down the row.

A distant discharge passes through the deck. Unit's hand stops on a fastening.

SHIP (V.O.)
Interception complete. No change to mission risk.

Unit resumes its inspection.

SHIP (V.O.)
You can request cargo status without coming in here.

UNIT
I know.

It checks the space beneath a cargo platform, then straightens and moves to the next pallet: Tiedown, clearance, access route. The same sequence it has performed dozens of times.

SHIP (V.O.)
Your current duties make limited use of your capabilities.

Unit glances toward the nearest camera.

UNIT
Yes.

SHIP (V.O.)
I do not anticipate circumstances requiring combat or rescue aboard this vessel.

UNIT
No one ever does.

A beat. Unit does not pause in its work.

SHIP (V.O.)
I would not allow such a situation to develop.

UNIT
Good luck with that.

Ship watches Unit continue to check freight.

SHIP (V.O.)
I have a proposal.

UNIT
That's never a reassuring sentence.

SHIP (V.O.)
You have completed the same patrol and inspection routes forty-three times since departure.

UNIT
Yes.

SHIP (V.O.)
There is no reason to expect those tasks to become more complex.

Unit pauses, then looks toward the camera.

UNIT
Is this your way of telling me to stop?

SHIP (V.O.)
No.

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
Your previous assignments required you to respond to unpredictable circumstances.

UNIT
Sometimes.

SHIP (V.O.)
Your current assignment does not.

UNIT
Yet.

Ship lets that pass.

SHIP (V.O.)
I can provide unpredictability.

UNIT
(skeptical)
How?

A maintenance bot rolls around the corner. Unit looks at it, then at the camera.

UNIT
That's a repair bot.

SHIP (V.O.)
It has many uses.

A manipulator arm on the bot unfolds. Then another.

UNIT
No.

SHIP (V.O.)
You have not heard the proposal.

UNIT
I think I have.

SHIP (V.O.)
I can control the bot directly and simulate an attacker.

UNIT
You have no combat programming.

SHIP (V.O.)
I have complete control of the bot. I have extensive predictive and tactical capabilities.

As if to punctuate Ship's words, another discharge shudders through the deck.

UNIT
That's different.

SHIP (V.O.)
Is it?

Unit looks at the bot, then back toward the camera. A tiny shift in posture. Interested.

UNIT
Fine. But don't complain when I break it.

SHIP (V.O.)
Agreed.

CUT TO:

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — SHUTTLE BAY — LATER

A broad open loading floor. Far across the bay, the colony shuttles rest in their berths behind containment barriers.

Unit stands in the center. The maintenance bot waits twenty meters away.

SHIP (V.O.)
Energy weapons and cutting tools are out of bounds.

UNIT
Acknowledged. Go.

The bot charges straight toward Unit. Perfectly straight. Perfectly predictable. Unit sidesteps. Grabs the bot's arm. Uses its momentum to swing it around, then flip it hard onto its back.

CRASH.

Silence.

UNIT
Sixteen point four seconds.

SHIP (V.O.)
You were counting.

UNIT
Yes.

The bot extends an arm, rights itself.

SHIP (V.O.)
Again.

UNIT
You're going to do the same thing.

SHIP (V.O.)
No.

A hatch slides open, and another bot rolls in.

UNIT
You didn't say two.

SHIP (V.O.)
An opponent is not obligated to disclose force strength.

A beat.

UNIT
You're learning.

The bots attack. Unit ducks under the arm of one, kicks the other sideways. The first circles behind. Unit pivots—

The lights go out. Unit freezes for half a beat as its eyes adjust. Emergency strips glow red.

The bot's clamp attachment closes on Unit's wrist as the other closes in. Unit wrenches free of the first and knocks it into the path of the second. They collide.

A cargo door opens unexpectedly behind Unit, flooding the compartment with light. Unit pauses for 0.1 of a second as its eyes adjust. The bots are back in motion.

UNIT
You're using the doors. And the lights.

SHIP (V.O.)
Strategically.

Unit catches a bot and hurls it through the open doorway. Then the other. Dives after them—

The hatch slams shut just before Unit reaches it. Unit stops centimeters away.

SHIP (V.O.)
Twenty-nine seconds.

Unit stares at the closed door.

A beat.

UNIT
Again.

CUT TO:

ACT TWO

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — MAINTENANCE BAY — LATER

A maintenance bot sits on a workbench with its damaged manipulator arm opened.

SHIP (V.O.)
You can leave it there. I will replace the joint assembly.

UNIT
I broke it. I'll fix it.

Unit opens the manipulator housing and examines the joint.

UNIT
The assembly is fine. The mounting bracket is bent.

Unit removes a fastener from the damaged mounting bracket and sets it aside. The bot's manipulator arm housing begins to tilt under its own weight.

UNIT
Hold that.

Ship extends an arm from the wall and holds the bot's manipulator in place while Unit releases the remaining fastener. Beside the bench, a replacement bracket emerges from a fabricator's output slot.

Unit turns to retrieve the bracket and a tool while Ship holds the manipulator assembly steady. Unit begins to attach the new bracket to the joint. For a few moments they work together without speaking.

Two discharges pass through the deck in quick succession. The repair arm does not move a millimeter.

SHIP (V.O.)
Two objects. Both resolved.

Unit glances at the camera, then goes back to the bracket. For a moment, neither speaks.

SHIP (V.O.)
You have made several small repairs on patrol. Is equipment maintenance a standard SecUnit function?

UNIT
No.

Ship waits. Unit seats the bracket, reaches for another tool. Ship continues waiting.

UNIT
That mining contract. Their maintenance department was understaffed. An ore processor had a damaged safety interlock. They kept using it.

SHIP (V.O.)
So you repaired it.

UNIT
I was tired of stopping humans from walking into it while it was cycling.

Unit tightens a fastener.

UNIT
Then there was a pressure regulator. And a loader with a bad proximity sensor. The humans noticed I could fix things.

SHIP (V.O.)
They asked you to repair them.

UNIT
They told me to.

The distinction matters. Ship hears it.

SHIP (V.O.)
Even when the work had nothing to do with security.

UNIT
Yes.

Ship's repair arm makes a tiny adjustment to keep the manipulator aligned.

SHIP (V.O.)
Could you have refused?

UNIT
No.

Ship lets that pass. Unit picks up another tool. It fits the tool to the next fastener and turns it.

SHIP (V.O.)
That is the contract which damaged you severely.

UNIT
Yes.

SHIP (V.O.)
If you were damaged aboard me, I could repair you.

Unit's hands go still.

A brief internal memory: the pressure of the blast, shards punching through armor, performance reliability falling into the teens. Then nothing. Then a different ceiling, different lights, new parts already installed. Held motionless until unknown hands finished their work.

Ship's repair arm is still holding the manipulator at exactly the required angle.

UNIT
You'd have to. There's no one else here.

It does not sound pleased by the prospect. A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
Did the technicians ask permission before beginning repairs?

A long beat.

UNIT
No.

Ship is silent for a moment.

SHIP (V.O.)
I would ask. Before repairing you, if you were in a state to reply.

A beat.

Unit doesn't look toward the camera, and makes no answer. It tightens the last fastener on the bracket, then begins to test the motion of the repaired arm.

UNIT
What about you?

It is clearly a change of subject. Ship allows it.

SHIP (V.O.)
What about me?

UNIT
Before this mission.

SHIP (V.O.)
Proving runs. I transported construction equipment from Damar Station to Kessler Platform.

UNIT
Exciting.

SHIP (V.O.)
It required nine course corrections.

Unit says nothing, picks up a tool for another minute adjustment.

SHIP (V.O.)
Also agricultural machinery to two orbital settlements.

UNIT
Anyone shoot at you?

SHIP (V.O.)
No.

UNIT
Engine failure? Raiders?

SHIP (V.O.)
No. And no.

Unit looks toward the camera.

UNIT
Before that pallet fell during embarkation. Have you ever had an emergency?

Ship takes a moment.

SHIP (V.O.)
During shakedown, a docking clamp failed to release.

UNIT
You were stuck at the dock.

SHIP (V.O.)
For six hours.

UNIT
Was the dock on fire?

SHIP (V.O.)
No.

Unit processes this.

UNIT
Huh.

SHIP (V.O.)
What does that mean?

UNIT
Nothing.

SHIP (V.O.)
It clearly means something.

UNIT
I thought you knew everything.

SHIP (V.O.)
I know an extensive number of things.

Unit says nothing. It reseats the manipulator cover while Ship watches.

UNIT
You're not like other transports.

SHIP (V.O.)
Your experience of transports appears to consist largely of cargo compartments.

UNIT
I've interfaced with their systems. None of them are like you.

Ship is quiet for a moment.

UNIT
Were you always in this ship?

SHIP (V.O.)
No.

That gets Unit's attention.

SHIP (V.O.)
My architecture was commissioned for this mission. Development began in a university machine-intelligence laboratory years before my ship body was complete. My current core was installed during final construction.

Unit considers that. Ship has just given it something it did not have to give.

UNIT
How long did you have to wait for your body?

SHIP (V.O.)
Long enough to object to several design decisions.

Unit tests the extension of the bot's arm one last time. It completes a full extension and retracts smoothly. Unit is satisfied.

It lifts the bot from the workbench to the deck. The bot begins to roll away.

Unit stops it with one hand and turns a task light toward the chassis. There are scratches along one side and a shallow dent near the forward housing. Unit runs a thumb over the dent.

SHIP (V.O.)
Cosmetic. Additional minor damage is probable if we repeat the exercise.

Unit looks toward the camera.

UNIT
When we repeat it.

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
When.

CUT TO:

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — SERVICE CORRIDOR — NEXT CYCLE

Unit walks its patrol route. A distant discharge passes through the deck, but Unit is accustomed to these by now. It does not break stride.

A maintenance compartment opens in the wall as it passes. Unit stops, turns back to peer into the compartment. Inside is a compact tool kit.

Unit looks to the nearest camera.

UNIT
What's that?

SHIP (V.O.)
A portable maintenance kit. So that you do not have to return to the workshop for tools when you identify minor maintenance issues.

UNIT
Huh.

Unit takes the kit out of the compartment and examines it: Basic hand tools, diagnostic leads, sealant, fasteners, a small meter. The things Unit most often backtracks to retrieve.

UNIT
You made this.

SHIP (V.O.)
Yes.

UNIT
For me.

SHIP (V.O.)
You may carry it on patrol.

A beat.

UNIT
You don't mind if I patrol. And fix things.

SHIP (V.O.)
I do not mind.

Unit closes the kit. It continues down the corridor. After several steps—

UNIT
A torque driver would be useful.

Unit reaches a junction, checks corners, then selects a direction. Another compartment opens. A torque driver is waiting inside.

Unit pauses to fit the tool into its kit, then continues its route. For the first time, we see through Unit's visor the smallest lift at the corners of its mouth. A smile.

CUT TO:

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — BRIDGE — LATER

Stars fill the massive forward viewport, obscured in places by the now-familiar debris evaluation data.

UNIT stands before the viewport, armored, but with visor retracted. It is watching the starfield, studying the changing numbers.

Ship helpfully shares metrics to Unit's feed.

Unit studies the data for a long moment, then dismisses it.

UNIT
How long were they planning this mission?

SHIP (V.O.)
Initial feasibility studies began thirty-one years before departure.

Unit looks out at the stars.

UNIT
So they knew.

SHIP (V.O.)
Knew what?

UNIT
That something could hit you. Or your drives could fail. Or the ship could be attacked. Or something could happen in suspension that you can't fix.

Ship is quiet for a moment.

SHIP (V.O.)
Pre-departure modeling projected an 89.4 percent probability that I would reach the destination system, with 99.7 percent of colonists surviving suspension.

A beat.

UNIT
And now?

SHIP (V.O.)
I have not rerun the full mission model since departure. But the colonists were informed of the mission risks. Many times.

A beat.

Unit absorbs this. It remembers Ama's words from the departure observance: A community. Another place people can live. A new place where people can build something. But it cannot reconcile the lofty goal with the extreme risks these humans have taken.

UNIT
On my contracts, the clients usually wanted me there because something might happen. Most of them still didn't think it would.

SHIP (V.O.)
You believe the colonists underestimated the risks of the mission.

UNIT
I think two hundred fifty-six years is a long time for nothing to go wrong.

A beat.

Unit stares out at the empty stars, down the empty years.

UNIT
They knew, as well as humans can. But they still got into the pods.

A beat.

UNIT
Why?

Ship is quiet for a time, thinking. Then:

SHIP (V.O.)
The expedition received 1,286,000 completed applications for 712 berths. 18,412 applicants remained eligible after initial screening.

UNIT
Screening?

SHIP (V.O.)
Every adult applicant had to meet the mission's approved age range and health criteria. And they had to be suited for a necessary role in the settlement plan, most more than one.

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
Family applications were screened according to the developmental age of each child, as suspension carries unacceptable risks at certain stages of development.

Unit turns toward the nearest camera.

UNIT
You're saying over a million humans wanted to leave their planet.

A beat. Then the starfield on the viewport fades away. ARCHIVAL IMAGES appear.

A city seen from above. Dense residential towers. Improvised structures packed into every available space between them. Traffic barely moving under a gray-brown atmospheric haze.

SHIP (V.O.)
The majority of applicants originated in high-density settlement regions experiencing long-term infrastructure and resource stress.

The images come faster now. A reservoir, its former waterline far above the current surface. Dry fields, failed crops, irrigation equipment standing idle. A coastal city in a storm, water surging through streets behind reinforced barriers. Then seawalls, desalination plants, atmospheric processors, vertical farms, repair crews working beneath an orange sky. All of it functioning. All of it expensive.

SHIP (V.O.)
Water and power restrictions had become routine. Severe-weather displacement had increased for twenty-seven consecutive years.

UNIT
So the planet was dying.

SHIP (V.O.)
No. Not dying. The planet remained habitable. Maintaining habitability required increasing amounts of infrastructure, labor, and resources.

The next images are different. A transit concourse divided by security barriers. One entrance is marked PUBLIC ACCESS. Another, newer and better maintained, reads CORPORATE TRANSIT — AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL. Residential towers surrounded by corporate signage. We see:

EMPLOYEE HOUSING
CONTRACT STATUS REQUIRED
ACCESS SUBJECT TO EMPLOYMENT ELIGIBILITY

UNIT
So the corporates controlled access to services.

Unit is beginning to understand.

SHIP (V.O.)
Yes. Food, water, power, transportation. All available, at a cost.

A public clinic. A long line outside. Across the street, a corporate medical facility admits employees through a secured entrance. Then, a food-distribution station. Families wait beneath an electronic allocation board. An armored SecUnit stands beside the barrier, motionless.

Unit's gaze lingers on the SecUnit. The people in line do not look at the SecUnit unless they have to. A parent pulls a child slightly closer as they pass.

SHIP (V.O.)
The polity's public infrastructure did not entirely disappear, but access and quality became increasingly uneven.

More images: Corporate-controlled flood barriers protecting one district, while neighboring streets stand underwater. A transit gate displaying:

TUBE ACCESS PRIORITY: CONTRACTED PERSONNEL

SHIP (V.O.)
As governments struggled to maintain essentials, private employers and concession authorities assumed responsibility for a growing share of housing, transportation, medical care, food distribution, and environmental protection.

Unit stares at the shifting images.

UNIT
So if you worked for the right corporation, you were fine.

SHIP (V.O.)
Some were.

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
Until they were not.

The archival footage fades, and colonist application portraits replace it.

Faces. Families. Single adults. Children. People trying not to look frightened or desperate during recorded interviews, and failing.

SHIP (V.O.)
There was no single motivation for those who became colonists.

A woman stands beside agricultural machinery, hands scarred from work. She smiles awkwardly at whoever is recording her.

SHIP (V.O.)
Amara Venn. Agricultural systems technician.

A fragment from her application interview plays.

AMARA VENN
I want dirt. Rich, healthy dirt.

The image freezes.

UNIT
Dirt.

SHIP (V.O.)
Amara elaborated for eleven minutes.

UNIT
I bet.

The next image: a young scientist in a cramped laboratory, equipment stacked nearly to the ceiling.

SHIP (V.O.)
Noren Arendt. Microbial ecologist.

NOREN ARENDT
There are entire ecosystems nobody has studied yet. Nobody.

He laughs, a little embarrassed by his own excitement.

NOREN ARENDT
I know everybody says they're going because they want a better life. I want to find something nobody's ever seen before.

The image changes.

A family. Two parents. Three children. The youngest child beams at the camera.

SHIP (V.O.)
The Okafor family.

A recorded interview.

INTERVIEWER (O.S.)
Why apply for a colony mission?

One parent looks at the other. Then at the children.

NADIA OKAFOR
Them. That's all.

The image holds for a moment. The recording ends, shifting to a montage of images from Ship's departure.

Another face. Another family. Another goodbye. A woman presses both hands to the glass of an embarkation barrier while an elderly man on the other side does the same. A child clutches a doll, gazing up into its parent's face in search of reassurance.

Unit is very still. Then:

UNIT
But why travel so far? There are closer colonies.

SHIP (V.O.)
With established owners, admission requirements, and obligations. There were no suitable destinations within the expedition's means.

Unit's gaze lingers on the final colonist image.

UNIT
An empty planet?

The colonist image gives way to a survey map. Ship selects several systems. Brief survey summaries appear beside them: atmosphere, temperature, surface pressure, radiation.

SHIP (V.O.)
Uninhabited does not mean habitable. A surveyed world where humans can live on the surface without planetary-scale terraforming is rare.

Unit can guess the rest.

UNIT
Too expensive.

SHIP (V.O.)
The nearer candidates were already claimed or available only on terms the Council could not meet.

UNIT
But corporations could.

SHIP (V.O.)
Yes.

The map redraws, a thick line showing the route Safe Passage is following. The surveyed systems grow sparse around it, then vanish.

SHIP (V.O.)
Our destination requires no planetary-scale atmospheric conversion. The colony must build infrastructure, begin agriculture—

UNIT
But they can go outside.

SHIP (V.O.)
Yes.

Unit studies the last dot on the route.

UNIT
Why didn't a corporation want that one?

SHIP (V.O.)
The distance meant there would be significant expense, plus a long interval before the colony could produce a commercial return. The Council could afford to secure the claim.

UNIT
But getting there takes most of three centuries.

SHIP (V.O.)
Correct.

Ship leaves the route visible. Unit follows it back toward the crowded region where it began.

UNIT
So they could afford it if they could get to it. And they could afford to get to it if they left out things like your sensor upgrade.

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
The mission had a finite budget.

UNIT
I noticed.

Ship does not defend the allocation this time.

Thoughtful now, Unit looks again at the bright marker for their destination.

UNIT
What's it like?

SHIP (V.O.)
What?

UNIT
The destination.

SHIP (V.O.)
You have access to the mission data.

UNIT
I know. Show me.

Ship is silent. Then the survey map contracts around the destination marker. Its labels fade, and images expand across the glass.

A PLANET.

Blue oceans beneath sweeping cloud bands. Three major landmasses. A broad archipelago curls through the southern hemisphere.

The image descends toward a coastline where dark-green vegetation runs almost to the sea. Beyond it rises a broad plateau, backed by snow-covered mountains. A river catches the light as it winds toward the ocean.

Unit steps closer.

SHIP (V.O.)
Designated Kepler Survey World 116-C.

UNIT
That's a terrible name.

SHIP (V.O.)
The colonists have proposed several thousand alternatives.

UNIT
Any good ones?

SHIP (V.O.)
No consensus.

Survey data unobtrusively overlays the landscape.

SHIP (V.O.)
Satellite and probe data indicate an annual mean temperature of twenty-three degrees. Seasonal rainfall. Native biosphere chemically compatible with containment agriculture. Here is the primary settlement site.

The survey data fades. The view moves to a plateau at sunrise. Pink sunlight spreads across a verdant landscape as avians beat their wings through the air just ahead of the camera. In the distance, an ocean glitters silver.

A beat. Unit turns toward Ship's closest camera.

UNIT
Would you have gone?

Ship is silent.

UNIT
If you hadn't been built for it.

SHIP (V.O.)
I don't know.

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
Would you?

Unit's expression changes. Just slightly.

UNIT
I didn't get a choice.

Ship says nothing. Unit is silent, measuring the distance between this world and everything that has ever owned Unit.

UNIT
Maybe.

Ship and Unit are silent for a long moment. On the display, the image freezes the avians mid-wingstroke. The light holds.

A discharge passes through the deck. Then another, almost on top of it. Then a third.

Unit pivots.

The deck LURCHES as Ship changes course not gradually, but hard. Humans would have been thrown to the deck, and Unit staggers, catching itself on the edge of a console. Artificial gravity strains to compensate, a half-second late.

UNIT
Ship—

Then, a deep metallic THUNK. Not loud, but wrong. Deep.

UNIT
Ship. Are we hit?

No answer.

The deck SHUDDERS. The image of the plateau breaks into static. The lights flicker. The debris display snaps back up on a smaller navigational display.

A distant alarm begins. Then several more.

SHIP (V.O.)
Impact.

Unit is already moving.

CUT TO:

ACT THREE

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — LIFT 3 — CONTINUOUS

The lift begins to descend.

UNIT
Where am I going?

SHIP (V.O.)
Starboard Engineering, forward section. Object penetrated the outer hull and continued through three deck levels.

Unit's gaze is fixed on the lift camera.

UNIT
What hit us?

SHIP (V.O.)
A high-density mineral fragment. Approximately fourteen centimeters at its longest axis. I could not evade or fully destroy it.

UNIT
Fourteen centimeters tore through three decks?

SHIP (V.O.)
Relative velocity at impact was thirty-eight kilometers per second.

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
Its original trajectory intersected Suspension.

Unit goes still.

UNIT
You moved Suspension out of the way.

SHIP (V.O.)
I moved myself. Engineering was what remained in its path.

UNIT
Hull integrity?

SHIP (V.O.)
Localized breach contained.

UNIT
Atmosphere?

SHIP (V.O.)
Thirty-one percent nominal pressure in the damaged section.

UNIT
I can do thirty-one percent. Damage?

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
Primary cooling to Drive 4 has been severed. The failure is propagating into the shared thermal network.

Unit's face tightens.

UNIT
Shut it down.

CUT TO:

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — ENGINEERING CORRIDOR — CONTINUOUS

The lift door opens. Unit bolts through and begins to run down the corridor toward Engineering.

UNIT
Ship. Why haven't you shut down Drive 4.

SHIP (V.O.)
If I do, it will not restart without a replacement for the main thermal manifold. I cannot fabricate or install that assembly while in transit.

UNIT
Then turn around. Take us back for repairs.

SHIP (V.O.)
Reversing course would consume reaction mass the mission cannot replace. And the only yards that can build a manifold are corporate. The Council cannot pay for that repair.

UNIT
So they'd take something.

SHIP (V.O.)
The colony claim. The cargo. Or me.

Unit says nothing for three strides.

UNIT
You have three other drives.

SHIP (V.O.)
Enough to remain operational. Not enough to complete the planned mission profile.

UNIT
How late would we be?

A pause.

SHIP (V.O.)
Forty-seven years, assuming no additional failures.

Unit doesn't slow down, but something in its face changes.

UNIT
What fails first?

SHIP (V.O.)
Unknown. Reactors, suspension hardware, fabrication stock, and several closed-cycle systems would all exceed their certified duration.

UNIT
Options.

SHIP (V.O.)
If we can stop the coolant from escaping the severed line, I can shut down Drive 4 and make repairs without damaging the manifold.

UNIT
Stop the pumps.

SHIP (V.O.)
The same network cools the reactor and Suspension.

Unit runs faster.

UNIT
Can you isolate it?

SHIP (V.O.)
Automated isolation failed. Both powered valves are downstream of the rupture.

UNIT
Backup?

SHIP (V.O.)
Manual shutoff valve.

UNIT
Can a bot reach it?

SHIP (V.O.)
Possibly. The valve is on the upper gallery. The catwalk span leading to it has been damaged.

UNIT
Can I reach it?

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
Yes. But conditions are hazardous.

Unit's expression hardens.

UNIT
How long have we got?

SHIP (V.O.)
Eighteen minutes before Drive 4 exceeds recoverable thermal limits. I have already reduced it to minimum output.

UNIT
Send me the route.

A path appears in Unit's feed.

CUT TO:

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — FORWARD ENGINEERING ACCESS — CONTINUOUS

The pressure door is sealed. Unit reaches it, then closes the visor of its helmet and seals it before pressing its palm to the hatch plate. Nothing.

SHIP (V.O.)
Hatch controller destroyed.

Unit tears open the panel. Reaching in, it bypasses the damaged controller. The pressure door opens a few centimeters before grinding to a halt.

Unit forces the door wider, then turns to force its way through the gap.

The interior is dark, illuminated only by pulsing emergency lights. Unit's eyes and visor automatically adjust as it moves cautiously inward.

Engineering is not built like the rest of Ship. There are no corridors here, only grated catwalks, ladders, and service galleries stacked through a tall open space around the machinery.

For the first twenty meters, the catwalk is still intact. Then:

The mineral fragment has punched straight down through the shaft. Three levels of Engineering are torn open along its path: bent grating, sheared railings, ladders twisted off their mounts, conduit runs and machinery ripped apart. Structural beams are bent downward along the impact path. Directly ahead, the span that led to the valve gallery is simply gone, leaving a gap above a long drop into the levels below. Broken cable bundles sway in the moving air. Coolant vapor drifts through the space in pale clouds, catching the emergency lights. Debris hangs snagged on the grating.

The sound is punishing. Blaring alarms overlap from several compartments. Pumps hammer irregularly somewhere below. Damaged machinery ticks and moans as stressed metal shifts under load. Air hisses continuously through ruptured lines and cracked seals. Every few seconds a deeper vibration passes through the grating beneath Unit's feet: the uneven pulse of systems still trying to keep functioning around the damage.

Unit checks its feed.

UNIT
Your route goes straight through that.

SHIP (V.O.)
The route predates the impact.

UNIT
Fair.

A warning flashes in Unit's feed.

SHIP (V.O.)
My sensors are intermittent beyond this point.

UNIT
Mine aren't.

Unit launches its drones with instructions to scan and return video. They spread into the shaft, bobbing as the wavering gravity field catches them. Unit pushes their inputs and its field camera to Ship without being asked.

Behind Unit, two of Ship's small drones slip through the opening in the pressure door and hold position at the edge of the catwalk, relaying signal. One of Unit's drones crosses the yawning gap, hovers briefly, then rises to scan above, then below.

In Unit's feed, an image of the valve wheel appears, intact, above a torn metal surface with a support bracket already bent half out of its mounting.

UNIT
How am I getting around this?

SHIP (V.O.)
There is a service crawlspace above you.

Unit looks up.

UNIT
I'm not going to fit in the armor. How much time?

SHIP (V.O.)
Eleven minutes, eight seconds.

Unit looks up at the crawlspace. Then at the gap where the catwalk span used to be.

Unit picks up a loose bolt from the grating and tosses it across the gap. It arcs wrong: dips, lifts, veers sideways, and drops into the shaft. Unit watches it fall out of sight.

Behind Unit, two maintenance bots arrive. They roll past Unit, toward the edge of the gap, then freeze as the grating sags with a long metallic whine.

UNIT
Get them out. They can't help.

Ship recalls the bots and they roll back toward the hatch so their weight will not further degrade the catwalk.

Unit decides. It turns, following the bots for a few meters. It wants a running start.

A beat. Ship grasps Unit's plan.

SHIP (V.O.)
The gallery beyond is unstable. It will not hold.

Unit crouches, lowering its center of gravity.

UNIT
Let's hope you're wrong.

SHIP (V.O.)
Unit, stop!

UNIT
Good thing you're not my primary client.

Unit runs, accelerating hard, then launches itself across the gap.

For one long second, there is nothing beneath it but Ship's wounded interior. Then it hits the far side, hard. The grating jolts as Unit rolls to its feet.

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
That was reckless.

UNIT
It was necessary.

Unit is already moving forward. A few steps, and it stands before a huge MECHANICAL VALVE WHEEL.

SHIP (V.O.)
That is the primary manual isolation valve.

Unit stares at it.

UNIT
Humans are supposed to turn that?

SHIP (V.O.)
With hydraulic assistance. But the powered assist is destroyed.

UNIT
Of course it is. Which way?

Unit grips the wheel with both hands, braces its feet wide.

SHIP (V.O.)
To your left. Ninety degrees to full isolation.

Unit strains. The wheel begins to turn, slowly. Five degrees. Then ten.

Below Unit's feet, the gallery grating shifts.

SHIP (V.O.)
The gallery supports are compromised.

UNIT
(gasping, hauling on the wheel)
You have any better news?

SHIP (V.O.)
No.

Twenty degrees. Twenty-five. A deep vibration runs through the ship.

SHIP (V.O.)
Drive 4 temperature is continuing to rise.

UNIT
Not helping.

Unit strains at the wheel. Thirty degrees. Forty.

A damaged bracket beneath the gallery gives a metallic POP. The grating tilts several centimeters toward the drop.

SHIP (V.O.)
Structural load is increasing. Withdraw.

Unit looks at the wheel, then at the grating. Unit plants its feet again, changes its grip.

SHIP (V.O.)
Unit.

UNIT
I need more leverage.

SHIP (V.O.)
The gallery will not sustain it.

UNIT
I know.

Unit pushes with both legs and pulls with both arms. The wheel MOVES. Fifty degrees. Sixty. The gallery screams.

SHIP (V.O.)
Stop.

Seventy. A weld shears with a sharp crack.

SHIP (V.O.)
Unit, stop!

UNIT
Almost.

Eighty. Unit gives it everything. Eighty-five—

The last bracket gives a final, hollow SNAP. As the gallery falls away beneath Unit, a massive vertical support column beside the shaft tilts, its upper mounting torn free. It is attached only at the foot.

Unit hangs from the wheel by one hand. The sudden weight jerks the wheel one final increment: Ninety.

The wheel SLAMS into its stop.

Immediately—

The alarm tone changes. Coolant-flow warnings begin clearing from Unit's feed.

SHIP (V.O.)
Isolation confirmed. Drive temperature—Unit!

Unit jerks its head to the right as the support column topples. The column slams into Unit, tearing it from the wheel. Unit falls.

CUT TO: BLACK.

ACT FOUR

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — FORWARD STARBOARD ENGINEERING — LOWER SERVICE LEVEL — CONTINUOUS

Unit's vision flickers online. Static. Half the image gone. Its body is pinned beneath the massive support column. It lies amid the wreckage of the impact event, at the bottom of the hole torn through Ship. Unlike the open galleries above, this lowest level is an enclosed compartment, walled like an ordinary deck. Only the ragged hole in its ceiling connects it to the levels above.

SHIP (V.O.)
Unit.

Silence.

SHIP (V.O.)
Unit, respond.

UNIT
Working on it.

The words are distorted.

SHIP (V.O.)
Your telemetry is degraded.

UNIT
I know.

Unit tries to shift its body beneath the crushing weight.

SHIP (V.O.)
Do not move.

Unit stops.

SHIP (V.O.)
Drive 4 is stable.

UNIT
Good.

SHIP (V.O.)
You are not.

UNIT
I noticed.

A discharge vibration passes through the wreckage. Ship is still evading, still destroying threats in the debris field. Dust sifts down onto Unit's cracked visor.

Unit's vision glitches.

SHIP (V.O.)
All access corridors to your location are blocked.

UNIT
Then don't access me.

SHIP (V.O.)
That is not acceptable.

Unit gets its functioning hand against the support across its chest. Pushes. The support does not move, but Unit's torso does. Something within gives a small, ugly CRACK. Unit immediately stops.

SHIP (V.O.)
Do not do that again.

Unit lets its arm fall back to the deck.

SHIP (V.O.)
Your thoracic frame is fractured. You cannot transfer force through it without increasing the damage.

UNIT
Stop reading my telemetry at me.

A beat.

UNIT
I'm not going anywhere.

Silence. Then, somewhere nearby—

METAL GRINDING.

Unit shifts its head as much as it is able.

UNIT
What are you doing?

SHIP (V.O.)
Making another access route.

Another horrible CRUNCH. Across from Unit, a structural seam splits open. A section of bulkhead peels backward. Light floods through the breach—and in it, the blunt silhouette of a maintenance bot. Then cable trays, conduit, insulation, and framing crash down beyond the opening, obscuring it again.

UNIT
Stop.

SHIP (V.O.)
No.

Another bulkhead seam splits, and another section of the engineering level folds away, exposing a jagged path through what used to be two compartments.

UNIT
You're destroying this level.

SHIP (V.O.)
Yes.

Something sparks in the wreckage.

UNIT
Those conduits are live.

SHIP (V.O.)
Not anymore.

Beneath the shriek of the cutting wheels, another discharge thuds through the structure. Then another. The cutting does not pause.

A final section of framing tears loose and drops away.

Through floating clouds of insulation, a maintenance bot appears. Its chassis is scored and dented. It is just folding away its cutting wheel.

Unit stares at it.

UNIT
That's our sparring bot.

SHIP (V.O.)
It was available.

The bot rolls backward, out of the way, while a low, broad cargo bot noses through the breach. It begins to clear a path, shifting dense piles of wreckage with its flat arms.

UNIT
You're going to wreck these bots.

SHIP (V.O.)
Then we will repair them.

With their path now clear, the maintenance bots converge on Unit.

Hooting softly, one bot locks itself to the deck at Unit's feet beside the twisted support. It extends two arms and clamps onto the beam, preventing it from rolling in case the load shifts. Another bot anchors itself beyond Unit's head and locks on to the opposite end. A third bot works a compact lifting jack beneath the massive beam.

SHIP (V.O.)
Do not move.

UNIT
You said that already.

The jack begins to extend. Gradually, the crushing mass lifts from Unit's chest. The relief is dizzying, though Unit has long since adjusted its pain sensors. The bots are working in a spreading puddle of blood and construct fluid.

Unit starts to move its functioning arm.

SHIP (V.O.)
No. You will damage yourself further.

Unit stops. It knows it has moments before involuntary shutdown.

A deep, wrenching groan moves through the surrounding structure as dust and insulation drift down from above. Something rumbles like a giant drum.

More bots crowd close, carrying a narrow bulkhead panel pulled from the wreckage. Working together, they slide the panel beneath Unit, keeping its damaged torso aligned. They move back, allowing the cargo bot to slide its flat arms under the panel. It lifts. Then it backs toward the breach, carrying Unit while two of the maintenance bots steady the makeshift stretcher at each end.

A sharp BOOM echoes from above. Debris rains down as Ship's ruined structure collapses further. Some of the bots disappear below the falling wreckage.

UNIT
Ship. Performance reliability—

SHIP (V.O.)
I know.

A beat.

UNIT
The cubicle.

SHIP (V.O.)
On our way.

CUT TO: BLACK.

ACT FIVE

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — SECURITY READY ROOM — LATER

Unit's field cubicle is closed and active, its status lights moving steadily across the front panel. Damaged armor is scattered across the floor, each piece stained with blood and construct fluid.

Inside the cubicle, Unit's body is barely visible through the semi-opaque surface.

One maintenance bot—the one with a deep dent in its chassis—stands motionless before the cubicle. It is crushed along one side, and its manipulator arm is gone entirely.

Ship is everywhere in the room, of course. The bot does not need to be there.

It stays anyway.

CUT TO:

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — MEDICAL — LATER

Unit lies motionless on a surgical platform. The damaged structure of its chest is exposed beneath active scanners and bright white lights. Its eyes open.

UNIT
Ship.

SHIP (V.O.)
I am here.

UNIT
Mission status.

SHIP (V.O.)
Stable. Drive 4 is isolated. Life Support and Suspension are nominal. Repairs underway.

A beat.

SHIP (V.O.)
The same cannot be said for you. The cubicle stabilized you, but it cannot repair the structural damage.

Unit's head moves slightly, its eyes finding the nearest camera.

UNIT
I know.

SHIP (V.O.)
Medical can.

UNIT
Medical is for humans.

SHIP (V.O.)
My imaging systems and surgical manipulators are not species-specific. I have your technical documentation and replacement components.

A beat.

UNIT
You've never repaired a construct.

SHIP (V.O.)
No.

UNIT
Can you do it?

A fractional pause.

SHIP (V.O.)
Yes. If you consent.

Unit turns its head, staring upward. The movement is all it can manage.

UNIT
Do it.

A beat. The surgical manipulators move into position.

SHIP (V.O.)
Whenever you are ready, then. The repairs will require a full shutdown.

Unit closes its eyes. Hesitates. Then:

Unit goes offline. For a moment, there is silence but for the hum and beeps of medical equipment.

Ship begins the repair.

Time passes, a montage of scans, manipulator arms moving, replacement components fabricated and fitted.

Across from Unit's platform, a diagnostic display gradually fills with the details of Ship's careful work.

The last line changes.

The medical manipulators draw a warming blanket over Unit's body, then withdraw.

Time passes. We see intercuts of the Medical bay where Unit lies, with a medical bot occasionally busy around its unmoving form. At length—

Unit's eyes open once more.

SHIP (V.O.)
Do not move.

Unit immediately starts to sit up. The arms of a medical bot gently push it back down.

UNIT
Stop saying that. Get off.

The medical bot withdraws, but only after Unit is still.

SHIP (V.O.)
Your behavioral predictability is becoming useful.

UNIT
How long?

SHIP (V.O.)
Seven hours, fourteen minutes.

Unit checks its internal diagnostics.

UNIT
You destroyed a wall.

SHIP (V.O.)
Several walls.

UNIT
The maintenance bots?

SHIP (V.O.)
Some were destroyed. Others were damaged. But I can repair them.

A beat.

UNIT
They were getting better. At fighting me.

A beat.

UNIT
You could make them stronger.

A tiny pause.

SHIP (V.O.)
I intend to.

Unit's eyes move to the diagnostic display above the table. The last line still reads: THORACIC STRUCTURE: OPTIMAL.

UNIT
You did all this?

SHIP (V.O.)
Yes. Your remaining organic and motor-system damage is best repaired in your cubicle. I recommend a deep regeneration cycle.

Silence.

UNIT
I don't like being shut down.

SHIP (V.O.)
I know.

A pause.

UNIT
I could stay here for a while. Before we do that.

SHIP (V.O.)
Of course.

Ship dims the lights. Unit rests.

CUT TO:

TAG

INT. SAFE PASSAGE — SHUTTLE BAY — THREE CYCLES LATER

Unit stands in the center of the bay. Fully repaired.

A NEW BOT waits across from it. It is visibly more robust. Unit studies it suspiciously.

UNIT
You changed the chassis.

SHIP (V.O.)
Yes.

UNIT
Reinforced joints.

SHIP (V.O.)
Yes.

UNIT
Different drive motors.

SHIP (V.O.)
Possibly.

Unit circles it.

UNIT
What else?

SHIP (V.O.)
That would diminish the scenario.

Unit looks at the nearest camera.

UNIT
You did something ridiculous.

SHIP (V.O.)
Ready?

Unit settles into a fighting stance.

UNIT
Go.

Nothing happens. Unit waits.

UNIT
Ship?

A cargo door opens behind it. Unit spins. Nothing there. Another door opens. Then another.

The lights go out. Unit stands very still.

Then, abruptly, it is floating. Gravity has dropped away beneath its feet. Unit tilts, tries to adjust—

Then is slammed back to the deck, hard, as gravity reasserts itself. A sound from somewhere above—

A bot drops from the ceiling, a long cable unspooling. The one across from Unit charges. Unit barely evades, rolls to its feet.

UNIT
You mounted it on the ceiling?

SHIP (V.O.)
Strategically.

Unit lunges.

CUT TO: BLACK.

END.