Amena is on the survey because her education requires an internship in almost getting killed, I guess. Due to our previous interaction, she really didn’t want me specifically tasked to watch her.
(Possibly I had been too emphatic with her about Potential Target. After spending my entire existence having to gently suggest to humans that they not do things that would probably get them killed, it was nice to be able to tell them in so many words to not be so fucking stupid. But I didn’t regret doing it.)
An attempt by Amena to go around Mensah and appeal to Farai and Tano had failed spectacularly, in a three-way comm call that became a four-way when Farai had called Mensah to join in on the discussion. (I’m not sure what happened past that point. Even I hadn’t wanted to watch it.)
So that was what had happened before the survey. Now we’re here, ready for the next major disaster. (Spoiler warning.)
3
We docked with our baseship with no problems, and Arada and the others transferred control to the baseship crew. (The facility wasn’t wormhole capable and was basically just a big, awkward lab module that could land and take off under its own power.)
It was only four standard Preservation day-cycles back to Preservation via wormhole, and I meant to use the time to finish watching Lineages of the Sun. It was a long-running historical family drama, set in an early colony world, with one hundred and thirty-six characters and almost as many storylines.
I’d watched family dramas before, but I’d never spent much time around human families before coming to Preservation. (Data suggests family dramas bear a less than 10 percent resemblance to actual human families, which is unsurprising and also a relief, considering all the murders. In the dramas, not Mensah’s family.)
When the company owned me and rented me out for surveys, my security protocol included datamining, which meant monitoring and recording the humans every second for the duration of the contract, which was excruciating in a lot of ways. Pretty much all the ways. (All the ways involving sex, bodily fluids, and inane conversations.) It would never stop being novel to be around a bunch of humans in a relatively confined space and be able to close a door between me and them and not have to care what they were doing.
Which didn’t mean the humans left me alone.
Ratthi came to my cabin. I didn’t have to let him in, so I did. (I know, I was still getting used to the idea of not minding the fact that a human wanted to talk to me.) He sat on the folding seat opposite my bunk and said, “Thiago will come around, you’ll see. He just doesn’t…”
Ratthi was reluctant to finish the sentence, so I did. “… trust me.”
Ratthi sighed. “It’s all the corporate propaganda about SecUnits being dangerous. He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know what you’re really like.”
This would be annoying, if Ratthi didn’t genuinely believe it. He’s never seen me kill anyone close up and I’d like to keep it that way.
“And he didn’t know why it was so important that Mensah be protected on station.” He waved a hand at me though I hadn’t said anything. “I know, the more people who knew, the more chance of the newsfeeds finding out. And there was nothing else we could have done, really.”
After Ratthi left, Overse came. When I told the door to open, she just stuck her head in and said, “I don’t want to interrupt, I just wanted to thank you. This is Arada’s first time as a survey lead, and you’ve been really supportive and I know that’s made a difference, and helped her confidence.”
I had no idea how to react to that since I wasn’t sure what being supportive entailed. My job wasn’t to make the humans obey Arada, that wasn’t how Preservation worked. Besides, that hadn’t been a problem. The survey team was grumbly occasionally, but everybody had done their job to a reasonable level. The chance of a mutiny was so low it was registering as a negative number. I’m not sure the word “mutiny” could even apply to any situation that might occur with this survey team; most of them had to be begged to complete the required self-defense certification before we left. And this was what Preservation called an academic survey, where the data collected was going into a public database. (If the planet had been in the Corporation Rim, it would be open to exploitation, but out here nobody wanted it for anything.) I defaulted to, “Arada contracted with me.”
“Yes, and we both know that you’re very capable of making it clear when you think someone doesn’t know what they’re doing.” She smiled at the drone I was using to watch her. “That’s all.”
She left and I replayed the conversation a couple of times.
I trusted Arada’s judgment to a certain extent. She and Overse had always been firmly in the “least likely to abandon a SecUnit to a lonely horrible fate” category, which was always the category I was most interested in. They were my clients, that was all. Like Mensah, like Ratthi and Pin-Lee and Bharadwaj and Volescu (who had opted to retire from active survey work, which gave him the award for most sensible human) and yes, even Gurathin. Just clients. And if anyone or anything tried to hurt them, I would rip its intestines out.
* * *
When we came through the wormhole into Preservation space, I was watching episodes of The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon again, since there wasn’t time to start anything new before we reached the station. (Being interrupted isn’t nearly as annoying when I already know the story.) I was worried about Mensah, if everything had been okay while I was gone. I wasn’t sure exactly what “okay” would involve, but I was willing to settle for “unmurdered.”
I was just finishing a rewatch of episode 137 when the ship’s alarm sounded through the comm and feed.
It might just be a navigation anomaly, like another transport in the wrong place. We were in a commonly used approach lane and Preservation tended to be visited by lots of non-corporate transports with no bot pilots who wandered all over the place trying to figure out where the hell they were, or at least that was how I interpreted the constant litany of complaint from Preservation Station Port Authority that Mensah had involuntary access to. With no bot pilot on our baseship, I couldn’t get direct system updates, but I tapped the comm system to let me listen in on the bridge. Transcript:
Copilot Mihail: “It came out of nowhere! Nothing on comm.”
Specialist Rajpreet: “That’s a docking approach. I’m reading active weapons.”
Pilot Roa: “That’s it, raise the Station and tell them—”
Mihail again: “Copy, but there’s no responders near us—”
Well, shit. I rolled out of the bunk and pinged the team feed, and sent to Arada: Dr. Arada, we’re being approached by a potentially hostile vessel. A boarding attempt may be imminent.
A potentially— Oh no! Arada responded.
Again? Overse asked.
I let them deal with the other team queries coming in as I opened my code-sealed locker. I pulled out the projectile weapon, checked the load and charge, then woke my dormant drones. They all activated their cameras at once and I had to take a few seconds to sort and process the multiple inputs.
I’d changed out of the survey uniform before we’d entered the wormhole and back into the clothes I liked (human work boots, pants with lots of pockets (good for storing my small intel drones), T-shirt, and soft hooded jacket, all dark colors) because I didn’t like logos, even the Preservation survey logo, which was just a variation on the planetary seal, and not a corporate logo. I had a deflection vest from Station Security Operations designed to provide some protection from inert blades, slow projectiles, fire, acidic gas, low energy pulses, and so on. I hadn’t been wearing it because it was a) worthless for the kind of firepower usually deployed against me and b) it had a logo on it. (I know, I need to get over that.)