Chapter Text
The trial begins in the central courthouse in Makeba five weeks after the attack on Station. This is apparently a long delay for a trial here, but the defendants told the court that their families would be sending a solicitor from their home world to represent them alongside the public defenders. The trial was delayed to allow for this person’s arrival, and then word came that their families had elected not to sacrifice the funds necessary to make it happen.
I’m called to testify, because I was the victim in the case which led to them being banned from the system (the prosecutors were extremely enthusiastic with the charges, filing fifty-seven counts against each of them, including several related to the violation of their plea deals in my case), and also because I was the one who flagged their ship as anomalous and alerted Security.
I’m glad there’s no corporate solicitor here, because I’d been dreading the questions they would ask me. The public defender asks me a few clarifying questions about my testimony and does not even suggest that as a manufactured luxury item I cannot be a victim or a witness. The entire Council are assembled in the seats directly behind the prosecutor’s desk, and I make a private point of never once looking Councilor Sonje’s way.
My testimony comes very early in the trial, which means I am allowed to observe the rest of it, if I wish. I do. They tried to commit a massacre on my home Station, and in some ways it started with me. I feel a measure of guilt for what transpired after my case was resolved. Sometimes I think that if I had simply acquiesced, endured a few hours with them, no one else would have been hurt. I told Three that once, and after it stopped being too appalled to communicate it reminded me that they then would have gone on to spy on the polity with impunity, and who knows where that might have led? Perhaps it is correct. Regardless, I lack the ability to travel backwards in time, so the point is moot.
I think these young humans must be very stupid, though. They committed a crime and were released with a fine, a deportation, and only a few weeks of Preservation’s gentle notions of detention between arrest and sentencing. They probably faced some unpleasantness at home, too, but it is apparent simply from the fact that they had access to enough money to execute their plan that they had not been banished from their families or thrust into some sort of horrific existence. And yet they chose to do something terrible—something which could easily have been vastly more terrible than it was—and now their freedom is almost surely at an end for many years. Had they succeeded and gotten away, the polity would have sued their families, and likely won. Even a win for their side would have cost them and their families a fortune in legal fees. There was no way for them to end better than they began, having launched such a plan, but they did it anyway. Did they not understand this, or did they not care about anything but striking back? I doubt I will ever know, or understand if I did.
Three testifies only two cycles after I do, as the arresting officer in the initial incident and a witness to and participant in the later, larger one. They keep it on the stand for a cycle and a half (I’m sure it’s mentally exhausted after the first two hours, but we aren’t allowed to communicate until both of us have fulfilled our roles in the proceedings), going over video, examining and re-examining its reasons for acting as it did at almost every second of the attack. The prosecution is making it very clear that its response was borne of extensive knowledge of security principles and battle tactics, and that its first thought at every moment was the safety and security of the more fragile beings around it. Once again, the defense is left with little to say or to question.
After Three is finally released and joins me in the spectator’s gallery, Officers Tifany and Lane testify in their turn, and then the court hears from several people who were caught up in those events through mischance or their jobs. The director of Station Maintenance and Engineering and the head physician at Station Medical each testify to the scope of the damage done within their individual purviews. My supervisor explains to the judge and jury the function of a highly illegal device (uniformly banned across corporate and non-corporate space alike) found aboard their ship, designed to override the port locks and allow them to leave once their terrible purpose had been accomplished. And then, they call Kit to testify.
Over the course of two cycles, it relates how it was rented under false pretenses, the orders it was given, the conversations it overheard (and recorded) on the journey, since the perpetrators elected not to pay the rental fee for a transport crate and basically parked it in a corner of the lounge and told it not to move for the entirety of the nine-cycle wormhole trip to Preservation. I’m proud of our new friend—in the last weeks it has learned to speak to humans with relative ease, and now it does not shrink under the gazes of the court, but unflinchingly relates the events of that chaotic day and its own unwilling role.
The prosecution rests with a stirring speech from the Prosecutor General about the corporate-instigated mass-murder that was so narrowly averted. She paints a vivid picture of the carnage that the defendants wished to visit upon the innocent citizenry of Preservation Station, and for what, she questions. Bruised egos? A refusal to accept the consequences of their own, earlier acts against me? She deems it, and them, despicable, and concludes that the only just sentence is the maximum available under the law: detention in a rehabilitation center (this is what they call their version of prison) for an indefinite term, with release possible only through the concurrence of a board of psychologists that their violent tendencies have been entirely overcome.
The lead defense attorney does her best not to convince anyone of her clients’ innocence, but to present them as misguided, brainwashed by a corporate upbringing, victimized by a lack of medical care for unspecified mental issues, traumatized by the collapse of their parents’ livelihood, and all of this made worse by the natural tumultuousness of late adolescence. She asks for understanding, for the hope of maturity bringing clarity to their understanding of themselves and their actions, and for a guaranteed release after no more than ten years in the rehabilitation center.
The jury deliberates for two cycles and some hours into the third. I find this baffling. I hope they are merely taking their duty seriously and meticulously reviewing the evidence, but I worry. Did they believe the defense’s allegations of untreated mental illness? If so, will they find that cause enough to declare them not culpable? A mistake made now out of kindness will be no less damaging than one made out of malice or incompetence.
Finally, they return, and tell the judge and all the spectators and media that they have determined that the defendants are guilty. They recommend a sentence of indefinite rehabilitation. Pin-Lee has said that judges generally follow jury recommendations for sentencing, but I know that means they sometimes don’t. It seems the judge had already made up her own mind, however, for she swiftly ratifies the sentence. They will be taken to the planet’s only high-security rehabilitation center, from which they are unlikely to ever emerge unless they choose to become very different people than they have been heretofore.
I have done some research. Their lives there will be quite comfortable by the standards of the Rim, though perhaps not by those of the children of executives. They will have plenty of food, adequate clothing, work (in quantities dictated by the polity’s generous labor laws) suited to their physical and mental abilities, medical care (including extensive and ongoing psychological treatment), and opportunities for physical and mental enrichment. They will be confined, and they will have little entertainment compared to the free humans here, but their lives will still be vastly preferable to those of most people in the galaxy. And, of course, they will have the opportunity to improve themselves to such an extent as to win their freedom.
I am trying very hard not to be angry about this. I honor the kindness of these humans and the society that they have chosen to build, but I am not so generous. I do not want these two to ever leave the place that is now being prepared for them. Whatever these experts who will periodically evaluate them may say, I will never believe that they are not a danger to others. Bharadwaj tells me this is normal; I have experienced their viciousness personally and will find it difficult to acknowledge any changes they choose to make. I must trust that the correct thing will be done by people who are not easily fooled, she says. I hope she is correct.
Still. A resolution has been achieved, and the most severe penalty available imposed upon those who did terrible things and would have done worse still had they not been so quickly stopped. Three is rather a celebrity on Station now, a fact which makes it both deeply uncomfortable and, I am quite certain, secretly pleased. There is a sense that this period of my life is coming to a close, the credits rolling on a season finale, and the next will open a new story arc I cannot yet predict.
***
Three leaves on its survey twenty cycles after the trial concludes and Kit accompanies it, declaring a desire to meet more humans and see a planet that isn’t being strip-mined or having its resources catalogued so they can be more efficiently removed. For almost thirty days I am the only construct on Preservation Station again, and it is lonely. I’m so used to having Three there in the feed with me at all times, and I quickly got used to having Kit connected almost as often. Sometimes, when Station passes over the northern continent, we can get a direct feed connection, but mostly we communicate through messaging and a daily voice comm when it’s off-duty.
It’s fine, though. It’s temporary, for one thing, and also my desire for distraction has spurred me to really think about my future. I’m not sure I truly ever believed I had one until recently. But now I want more than survival and relative safety. I have no intention of leaving my job—it is rarely exciting, but always important. But it is an indisputable fact that I have the time and capability to do a great deal besides that. I thought carefully about what gives me satisfaction and pleasure, and then I went I looking for ways to expand upon it. When the next term at the university begins, I will be taking Introduction to Clothing Design at the School of Arts. Remotely, of course, though I will need to go down to the planet every other week for a “practicum” day, during which I and the other students will be doing our coursework directly under the instructors’ eyes. (My supervisor has already said that it will be no problem to rearrange my schedule to accommodate this. The Port Authority doesn’t observe weekends, after all.) In the interim, I am using archived courses and the craft channel to learn how to sketch, as this was a skill listed as “highly desirable” for the design course.
I am scanning a rather sloppy bill of lading and also considering why I am not yet satisfied with the rendering of the view from my window I have been working on when Supervisor Gamila summons me to her office. She kindly wishes to inform me in private that a tour ship from the Rim will be docking here in two hours, and its declarations include the presence of two ComfortUnits brought by passengers. She does not want me to encounter them without forewarning. I thank her for the information, and assure her that I will not be distressed by this. I understand that my situation is not usual. She offers to allow me to work from my lodgings for the duration of the group’s six-cycle stay here, declaring that it would be a reasonable accommodation for my mental health. I decline. I have absolutely no intention of hiding in my rooms. I do, however, warmly express my appreciation for her care and consideration.
***
The comms crackle to life at the appointed time four cycles later.
“Jude! How’s Prisila?” Kit asks eagerly. Well, hello to you, too, friend.
Kit’s domestic feline perks up and turns her head towards the audio output as soon as it speaks. “She’s in my lap, and she still knows your voice,” I say. “She’s ingesting and eliminating normally. And yes, I’m brushing her daily.”
Prisila has some trouble grooming parts of her body due to the missing left front leg, and will get matts in her longish fur if not brushed often. Kit met her two weeks before the trial, when it applied for an open orderly position at Station Veterinary Services. It came away without the job but with the cat.
“Aw, who’s my good girl? Give Jude lots of purrs, Prissie,” it croons, and I have to bite my lip to prevent laughter. I’ve met humans—Preservation humans—who didn’t dote on their human babies as much as Kit dotes on this feline. It spends a full 30 seconds telling her how much it misses her, then suddenly shifts to its normal voice to say cheerfully, “Okay, here’s Three!”
“I got an urgent message from Senior Indah today,” Three says, without even pausing to greet me. (Sometimes the subtleties of interpersonal interaction escape it, but it is usually very correct about greetings and farewells. I’m reassured by the fact that even over these rather antique comms I can detect amusement in its tone.)
“Is she very angry?” I query.
“She is very irritated to be suddenly faced with extremely angry corporates. But I have another message from Pin-Lee indicating that she has redirected them to herself, which should assist in reducing Senior Indah’s aggravation. You might wish to avoid her until I return and can analyze the situation personally, however.”
“I’m sure I can stay out of her way for the next sixteen cycles.”
“Please try to,” it says. A pause. “How are they?”
I look across the room, to where Himadri and Sacha are speaking with Dr. Bharadwaj on a vid-link and trying very hard to pretend that they aren’t also listening in on my call. Their owners are executives for the same company and they’ve known each other for years, as much as constructs are allowed to know each other. They seem to take some reassurance in remaining near each other so far, and I’m glad that they have more than strange humans and one strange ComfortUnit (me) to rely on as they embark upon a new life. “I think they’re going to do quite well,” I say.
“Good. I look forward to meeting them.”
“I miss you,” I say. “I wish you were here.” I’ve said similar before, but I mean it even more today.
“Soon,” it says. “I miss you, too. You know you did the right thing, don’t you?”
Sometimes, Three is oblivious to the obvious. And sometimes it’s so perceptive it almost takes my breath away. “Yes,” I say after a moment’s hesitation. “But I think I’ll always be uneasy about defying authority. Even when the authority is unjust.”
“You did it anyway. You acted beyond your programming. That’s how we win.”
I look at my new friends again, and this time Himadri isn’t pretending not to be paying attention. It smiles at me shyly, and I smile back. Yes, I definitely won this time.
***
Three and Kit return on schedule, and when I hug Three it feels like I’m the one who just came home. Kit carries itself confidently now, and no longer seems disconcerted by the gazes of passing humans. This time on the planet with the survey group has been good for it, that is apparent. They both ask after my new friends, who they’ll meet tomorrow.
After a stop at my rooms to gather Prisila and her accouterments and deliver them to Kit’s, Three invites me into its lodgings, as I hoped it would. When it has divested itself of its bag and changed out of the survey uniform, it sits next to me with a serious, anxious expression that instantly puts me on alert.
What’s wrong? I ask.
Nothing, I hope. I need to tell you something, and I don’t know how you’ll react.
Has the PanSystem University offered it a job finally? Is it leaving? I take its hand, and its fingers curl willingly around mine, which is somewhat reassuring. What is it?
Jude, you’re my favorite person in the whole universe. I want to spend even more time with you. Possibly even…consider sharing lodgings? You’re so important to me, and I’m happiest when I’m with you. I don’t know how to say it better than that.
As it stumbles through this explanation of its feelings, my own suddenly become clear to me. I love you, too. I’m smiling the stupidest smile I’ve ever produced, and I can’t stop.
Is that what this feeling is?
I think it’s the closest human word. But if you don’t like it, we call it something else. Or not name it at all.
I don’t care about the words. Whatever you decide is fine, Three says. But…you feel the same as I do?
Yes. You’re my favorite person, and being connected to you brings me joy. I would be very happy to spend more time with you and share lodgings.
Three has such a nice smile. I take a moment to admire it before I move closer and initiate a hug. I feel its happiness and affection not just in our connection, but in the way it holds me close and bends its head to rest atop mine. I smile even more as I realize that I can look forward to experiencing this often in the future, a future we have chosen to forge together.
***
Epilogue
138 cycles later
Murderbot 1.0 has been away for nearly a year. As the Perihelion docks, I hope once again that it bothered to read the messages I sent. If it didn’t, it’s in for a big surprise and I’m not sure how it’s going to react.
We’re all here to greet it. Everyone but me is here to meet it, also. There are Jude and Kit, of course. Kit is living on the planet now, attending FirstLanding University’s School of Veterinary Science, but it came up to Station for this. And with us are Himadri and Sacha, who are adjusting very well to being free people, and are working as servers at the fanciest restaurant on Station while they decide what they want to do long term.
And standing behind the rest of us, trying to be inconspicuous, is Nalokei, who showed up nine cycles ago and still hasn’t said where it’s from or how it went rogue. (It might never, and that’s all right.) All we really know is that it flinches at the mention of factories, and it’s asked Station Medical to figure out how to safely disconnect its onboard energy weapons.
We’ve formed the seed of a community here, in the place Murderbot 1.0 and its humans carved out for constructs when no one else would. I hope very much that it will choose to join us in some capacity.
When it disembarks it walks up to me after greeting Dr. Mensah, and it doesn’t ask why I’m surrounded by strange constructs, so I assume it did read my messages. Or the Perihelion did, and informed it. It accepts the introductions, though it doesn’t say much (I had forewarned the others that it probably wouldn’t). It leaves with Dr. Mensah shortly thereafter, and I think I probably won’t see it again except by chance, until we all gather here again to see it off.
But it surprises me. Four cycles later, it falls into step beside me while I’m on patrol near the Pressy.
I inquire politely about its last mission and it answers me briefly. I get an even shorter response to the question of what it’s been doing on Station, so I shut up. I admire Murderbot 1.0. I do. It’s brilliant and competent and I owe it a great debt of gratitude. But I no longer feel the need to scramble for its good opinion.
Eventually, it says, You’ve built up quite a collection of rogues.
A community, not a collection. A small one, but I think it will grow. I hope it will.
We walk on for 17 seconds. Then: You’re not going to work with PSUMNT, even if one of the crews decides they want to take you on, are you?
I’ve thought about this, and talked it over with Jude, a lot. No, I say, I’m staying here. If you ever need backup for a mission with the Perihelion, I’ll consider it on a limited contract, but this is my home now.
Won’t you be bored?
Probably sometimes. But Preservation has attracted the attention of corporate interests, and with Dr. Bharadwaj’s documentary coming out next month, that will only increase. Station Security needs me.
I heard about the attack by the corporates. That was good work.
I may not require its good opinion, but this praise pleases me greatly. I want to be here the next time something happens. I want to be here when corporate interests send spies after seeing the documentary. It doesn’t bother to argue that that won’t happen—we both know it will. I want to be here when other rogues find out about this place and make their way here. And, of course, I want to be with Jude.
It makes a disgusted face. How does that even work? it asks. You don’t have the parts. Or did ART do something to you that I don’t know about?
I laugh, and it looks at me like I’ve dropped my last process. It’s not like that. It’s not like most human relationships. It’s about how we feel about each other, how much we like being together. It makes another face, but I continue. We don’t have sex. Neither of us wants to, and no, the Perihelion didn’t alter my configuration. I don’t think we’re that different from you and the Perihelion, actually. We choose to spend most of our time together because we prefer each other’s company to anyone else’s. As simple and as complicated as that. We’ve just chosen to define it with different words than you have. And we do have some limited physical contact that wouldn’t be possible if one of us were a ship, I admit. We both like hugging and holding hands.
It looks deeply uncomfortable, so I change the subject. Where are you going next?
We don’t know yet. ART’s crew wants to talk to some of my humans about a possible joint project. A survey of a former corporate planet where the terraforming failed. The university thinks if it could be successfully restarted, the planet might be a place they could take people they rescue from other colonies.
I’m sure your humans will help. They do surveys, and they’d love the idea of a colony for former corporate colonists. That’s how this place was founded, after all.
Yeah, I know. There’s just a lot of talking going on, and it’s boring. And then when they decide to do it, they’ll talk forever about how.
The joint project would be nice, though. You could have both sets of your humans around at once.
Both sets of my humans have a knack for finding trouble, it replies with a grimace. I was kind of hoping you’d be there if we do this.
Like I said, I’d consider it. Or Kit might be up for it, if it could continue its studies aboard the Perihelion.
I don’t know Kit.
You don’t really know me, either, I point out without rancor. That’s just the way 1.0 is. It resists knowing and being known, exactly the things I embrace. We’re different, and I accept it for itself. I just hope it can do the same for me. And for itself. I’ll send you some data from when we first met and the survey we were on together. You can see how it fights and how it interacts with allied humans.
Okay. A pause. Thanks.
You’re welcome. We’ll always help you if we can. You’re the reason we’re here. You’re why most of us are autonomous to begin with. Jude went rogue by accident, but it came here because it heard about you. We don’t know Nalokei’s story, though I’m sure it came here because it heard of you somehow. But the rest of us, it was your hack that set us free, and Preservation accepted all of us because you showed the humans here that constructs are people. I know you probably won’t be here a lot, but we’ll always be happy to see you.
1.0’s face does something complicated. I don’t know what to say to that.
Say you’ll remember that you’re welcome in the community we’re building here as often as, and to whatever extent, you want to participate.
I’ll remember, it says. We walk along for almost a minute in silence. Then it says, I’m glad you figured out what you want.
Thanks. And you? Are you happy with your decision to work with the Perihelion and its crew?
Yeah. Mostly. I don’t like not seeing my humans much, it admits, surprising me. But otherwise it’s a good contract. And now that I know you’ll be here, that’ll help.
It seems to be implying that it trusts me with its humans’ safety, and I don’t know how to respond, so I just assure it that I have all of its humans logged as priority clients. It nods like it expected that.
And I think maybe, after all this time, most of it spent apart, we finally understand each other. My whole life changed the moment it intersected with 1.0’s, by way of 2.0. For a while I thought I needed to imitate it to justify the autonomy and opportunities I gained from our association. But I don’t. It is itself, and I am myself, and we are not the same. Neither of us would really want to be the other. But we both want this place and these people to be safe, and that’s as good a basis for an honest friendship as any other shared interest. As we part, I wish it safe travels and silently hope that one day it will find happiness. Whatever that means to it.
I return to our lodgings and Jude is there, working on something involving green fabric and spangly bits. It looks up and smiles. I smile back.
“I’m home,” I say.