Network Effect

Amena thought it over. “I guess I’m not surprised. How do you feel about it?” My expression must have changed because she rolled her eyes. “Oh sorry, I used the f word there.”

Again, I have no idea why ART likes adolescent humans. “I don’t know,” I told her.

“So … what do you think second mom will say?”

I had no idea. “What do you say?”

She snorted. “I was just getting used to you.” My drone watched her eyeing me. “I don’t think it’s a terrible idea. Except … ART works in the Corporation Rim sometimes, too, right? It’s not all missions out to these lost colonies.”

“That’s a factor.” Though I wondered how often ART’s solo “cargo missions” were actually gathering intelligence in a way no corporation would ever suspect.

Amena didn’t look happy about the idea of me going back to the Corporation Rim. I wasn’t wildly excited about it, either. She said slowly, “I think ART cares a lot about you. You should have heard … the only reason it went ahead and sent your killware to the explorer was because it thought if it didn’t, the only way to get Iris and everybody back was to send you. That sending the killware would mean you wouldn’t have to do something dangerous. Of course, you were already doing something dangerous but we didn’t know that at the time.” She hesitated, and added, “I don’t think it would invite you to come with it if it didn’t think it would be good for you, you know.”

No, I still didn’t know.

After three more cycles, the rest of the humans were able to leave Medical isolation. The Barish-Estranza crew were sent back via their shuttle to Supervisor Leonide’s supply transport. Nobody tried to hold anybody else hostage, which was unusual for this situation, but then no Barish-Estranza reinforcements had shown up yet.

The supply transport was still repairing its wormhole drive and hanging out within range of us just in case anything else showed up to attack. Also to make sure we didn’t somehow steal the planet out from under them. Which ART and its crew totally intended to still do. If they could manage it. The humans all spent most of their time talking about what to do about the colonists, how to handle decontaminating the colony site, would they/could they move everybody if they had to. ART wouldn’t be there for that part, but its crew would make recommendations about it when the university’s decontam facilities teams arrived.

The one big problem was that because of the alien remnant contamination, Karime said the legal case prepared by the university no longer applied, so they needed help before they could contest Barish-Estranza’s claim. Barish-Estranza had sent a message buoy through the wormhole to their corporate base of operations, and ART had sent one to the University. So we were waiting to see who showed up first.

Also, there was this whole thing where we had a rogue SecUnit aboard who wasn’t me.

It was mostly doing what it had done on the Barish-Estranza explorer, which was to stand around on guard and patrol occasionally. Except ART had made it give up its armor and weapons and I suspect had given it some details about what might happen if it even thought about shooting any projectiles out of its arm.

Amena and Ratthi kept suggesting that I should help it “adjust” whatever that is. I knew if I was in its position, I’d want to be left alone. And if it hadn’t even sat down in a chair voluntarily yet, it probably wasn’t ready to talk.

(I know this sounds suspiciously like a rationale I had come up with to keep from doing something I didn’t want to do anyway, but hey, I can’t help that.)

Then at the end of the third cycle, when most of the humans were sleeping, I noticed it was following me around. I figured that was a sign it wanted to talk. I stopped in an empty corridor, faced the wall, and said, “What?”

It stood there for .6 of a second with the standard neutral-blank expression. Our drones went into a holding pattern, circling above our heads. Then its face relaxed a little and it said, “I saw your files.”

“2.0 told me.”

“The story was incomplete.”

“Because I’m not dead.”

“You continued to perform your duties after you neutralized your governor module.”

“For thirty-five thousand hours.” I suddenly had a bad feeling about this. “You want to go back.”

It hesitated again. “No, I don’t want to. I … won’t. But I don’t know what to do.”

Okay, that was a relief. Just because we’re both rogue SecUnits doesn’t mean we’re going to be friends, but I knew if it went back, it would be dead. I’d hacked my governor module and kept doing my job because I didn’t know what else to do (except you know, a murderous rampage, but murderous rampages are overrated and interfere with one’s ability to keep watching media) but that was different from escaping and then going back. I said, “Because change is terrifying. Choices are terrifying. But having a thing in your head that kills you if you make a mistake is more terrifying.”

It didn’t seem inclined to argue. “Your clients told me I could go with them to Preservation.”