Chapter Text
Finally arriving on their survey planet, after all the back and forth and bullshit with the corporate assholes back on Port FreeCommerce, was certainly exciting. They hadn’t managed to get out of being forced to rent a SecUnit, but Pin Lee had reassured them that, otherwise, they had managed to come out as best they could. Once the survey started, there would be no more politely-worded ‘fuck yous’ or complex corporate speak. Just their team, an unfamiliar planet, and science to do.
There was just one last task to perform, which was to test out all of the equipment and ensure it was working before the Company representative left them to their own devices.
Yep, both hoppers worked. Ground vehicles, check. Printer and recycler, check. Then, the hauler bot that had unloaded all their things came forward with a long, bulky box that it sat on end. It was covered in warnings in several common languages about hazardous contents, weapons, and a few ‘THIS END UP WHILE IN TRANSIT’ labels.
“Alright, I’m going to activate your SecUnit.” The Company employee said in a bored voice. He raised an eyebrow skeptically at the sight of their entire team gathered around, but said nothing. (This wasn’t the first time. The entire transit through the wormhole, not to mention setting up their hab, he’d frequently given off the impression he thought the Preservationers were a bunch of Weirdos but that he wasn’t being paid enough to actually care.)
As he pulled out a keycard to open the bulky locks on the box, it unsealed with a soft hiss and Mensah clenched her fists at her sides. She was the only one so far who’d actually seen their SecUnit. Company reps had showed it to her before she signed the final rental agreement.
As they had argued back and forth on the ethics of constructs, the Preservationers had been assured (multiple times) that SecUnits were only human imitative. They had neural tissue grown from randomized human genetics, which helped them be more intuitive and prevent logic lockups. And they looked (mostly) human to make people more comfortable around them. (A statement which Gurathin had audibly scoffed at.)
But SecUnits weren’t actually sapient, the corporates insisted. Why, they were only as smart as your average serverbot, except that they were faster and stronger than a human with built-in guns to boot. (But don’t worry about any of that. The Governor Module will make sure that your SecUnit obeys your every command!)
Mensah hated it. Even an ‘average serverbot’ had rights on Preservation. Could refuse to work, could choose a different job if they wished. (As far as Mensah knew, bots almost never chose a job other than what they were programmed for, but the fact that they had a choice mattered).
The SecUnit that Mensah had met in the neutral, boring little meeting room in the deployment center had looked unnervingly human. (Unnerving in several ways, if she was honest). If not for the fact that it was standing far more still than any human was capable of, it would look like any other person. An augmented one, since there was a metal plate on the back of its neck around a dataport. And it’s face, though average and human, had an unblemished, almost doll-like quality with no scars, freckles, moles, or fine hair. Just thin eyebrows, and closely shorn hair on its head. But, again, that ageless, ethereal face was a common enough cosmetic surgery in the Rim (for those who could afford it.)
The only part of it that moved were its eyes, which had flicked towards hers for a moment before moving away again to stare into the distance at the far wall. Those eyes, though, had said so much. Enough to convince Mensah that there was a thinking, feeling intelligence behind them.
A person with thoughts and emotions, who’d been shipped aboard the transit in a box. And now had to be unpacked, like the rest of the cargo.
As the door to the transport box swung open, there was a soft gasp from everyone on the team. (Pin Lee and Gurathin had done their best to coach the rest of the group to suppress surprised or offended reactions to the many atrocities of the Rim, but this wasn’t something anyone could be prepared to see.)
Their SecUnit was standing in the box, arms at its sides and eyes closed. The box had some plastic molding holding it in position, so at least it wasn’t rattling around loose inside. It was dressed in the shirt and pants of their company-provided survey uniform, the sleeves just high enough to see a glimpse of panels on its forearms that Mensah knew from the briefing was its weapon ports. The most unsettling part, though, was how still it was. It’s chest didn’t even rise and fall with breath (though it did need some level of oxygen, the manual said so.) Mensah couldn’t decide whether it looked more like a dead body in a casket, or a doll waiting to be taken out of its packaging.
The employee helping them either didn’t notice or (more likely) didn’t care about their reaction. He just said “SecUnit, activate and report diagnostic.”
Its eyes opened abruptly after only a short second, staring out at the horizon without looking directly at anyone. “SecUnit online. Performance Reliability at 97.6%” It said in that neutrally pleasant voice everyone in the Rim seemed to use for ‘customer service.’
“Not 100%?” Mensah questioned. They were supposed to be checking all of their ‘equipment’ for problems, after all. Though, now that the SecUnit was there with them, she couldn’t imagine just packing it back into that box.
“These old refurbished units rarely get up to 100.” The employee said in a bored tone. “Anything over 95% is considered acceptable and within the bounds of your rental contract.” He waited to see if any other complaint would be voiced, before continuing. “SecUnit, identify and name clients.”
It’s eyes flicked over them now, never settling on any one face for more than a second. “Primary Client, Dr. Mensah. Secondary client, Pin Lee. Secondary client, Dr. Arada. Secondary Client, Dr. Volescu, Secondary-“
It went through the entire list of their names, ensuring that they were all listed as “clients.” Which, according to the manual, meant that the SecUnit would not only obey their every command, but would also do whatever it took to ensure their safety. (Whatever it took apparently included actions that would result in ‘the destruction of the unit.’ Which was horrifying. They had all agreed that none of them wanted someone to die for them, even a stranger. Even a construct that had apparently been designed for just that)
Mensah had nearly called it all off when she saw the clause in their contract that allowed them to abandon their SecUnit if it was seriously damaged. (for a fee, of course). Not even ‘dead’ or ‘deactivated’, just ‘seriously damaged.’ Preservationers never left anyone behind. Even if they were beyond saving. Even if it was only a body being retrieved for respectful burial/disposal. (A company rep reassured them that, due to the Client Distance Limit, their SecUnit wouldn’t live very long after they abandoned it. This was not reassuring)
Once the SecUnit had finished identifying the team, it returned to utter silence and stillness. Mensah’s team, meanwhile, fidgeted nervously.
“Go ahead and give it an order.” The company employee instructed after a few moments.
Give it an order. Abruptly, Mensah’s mind was blank. Even as a planetary leader, she didn’t ‘give orders.’ Gave instructions, yes. But ‘orders’ implied having unconditional command over another, which was not how things were done on Preservation.
They were not on Preservation. She had unconditional command over this construct. It was programmed to do whatever a client told it to, installed with some kind of module to ensure it never disobeyed. She would have to figure out how to give orders.
“SecUnit.” She raised her voice a little. “Please step out of the box and come over here.”
“Yes, Dr. Mensah.” It responded in that quiet voice so at odds with the size and strength of its frame. Smoothly it stepped out of its box and came to a stop an arms-length away. A faint frown tugged at its lips, and its eyes briefly connected with hers before darting away again, but otherwise it was still.
The company employee frowned as well, crossing his arms and not looking satisfied. What, should she have made it do a handstand or something? “I find no fault in the SecUnit. Shall we continue?”
He apparently didn’t want to be there with them any more than was true was in reverse, because he just ordered their SecUnit off to the security ready room of the habitat before moving on.
Finally, after another hour, all of their rental equipment had been tested and they were left to their own devices on the planet. Everyone gratefully waved off the delivery shuttle, before rushing into the hab to claim rooms. The catalogue for those had been an exercise in frustration as well. Nearly every available hab had bedrooms in a wide array of sizes, dividing residents from Supervisors (the largest rooms with the most amenities) to Indentured Workers (with rooms barely larger than a storage closet with nothing but a simple berth.) It had taken almost as long to convince the corporates to rent them a hab where all the rooms were equal size. (They still had one with a slightly larger, better appointed room for the Survey Supervisor, which Mensah had only taken because the rest of the team had insisted.)
So as everyone else unpacked in their chosen rooms, Mensah took out her tablet to check on HubSys. She’d gone over it briefly with the company rep, but she wanted to actually get more familiar with it. There, she noticed a notification that their SecUnit had left the hab to secure a perimeter around it.
Curious, Mensah went over to a window and looked outside. After a bit of searching, she spotted a human-shaped figure striding through the low scrub that surrounded their chosen site. The SecUnit was now clad in the stark white armor with opaque faceplate that they all wore in media, impersonal and cold. It was a fair distance from the hab, though still well within the 100 meter limit. (Which calmed Mensah somewhat. The thought that she could kill someone just by walking too far away was terrifying.)
On her display, she accessed the feed and was able to see the addresses of the rest of her team. As well as one unfamiliar one that could only be their SecUnit. Clipping on her interface, she hesitated only briefly before sending a message. ‘How is the perimeter?’
‘In progress. Estimate to completion of circuit: 25 minutes.’ Came the prompt response. Their SecUnit sounded almost the same in the feed, quiet and polite, though with a bit of that machine edge that bots had.
‘Do you need any help?’
‘Negative. Security protocols recommend all clients remain inside the habitat until your SecUnit completes a perimeter survey.’
A very polite way to tell them to leave it alone while it did its job. Mensah let out a little chuckle. ‘Okay. Please let me know if you need anything.’
There was a noticeable pause this time before the response came through. ‘Acknowledged.’
Footsteps drew Mensah’s gaze back from the window to see Gurathin approaching them. The poor man had been on edge ever since they had gotten into the Rim, not that she could blame him. No one would blame him if he had declined this survey, but he had insisted on coming with them. With a wry joke about them needing someone who was familiar with the evils of Corporations that had been a little too honest.
“Are you watching it?” Gurathin asked. “The SecUnit?”
“Yes. It’s checking the security perimeter around our hab.” Mensah glanced back out the window, watching the armored figure sidestep a small burrowing mammal that had popped out from under a large bush to chatter at the intruder. The SecUnit swung it’s large gun towards the little thing, and Mensah’s breath caught, but it seemed to recognize that the little thing wasn’t a threat and didn’t fire. The pair regarded each other for another moment, before their SecUnit moved on.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t get out of renting that thing.” Gurathin said, with a surprising amount of venom in his voice. “Probably best that we just stay out of its way.”
“I don’t think it would hurt us.” Mensah said as she watched it continue it’s survey, until it was out of sight of the window she was seated in front of. That had been the cause of a lot of argument back in their rooms on Port FreeCommerce. Aside from the ethics around creating constructs, all of them had seen media where SecUnits gleefully slaughtered characters.
“They’re killing machines. It’s what they are built to do.” Gurathin shook his head. “Most of the time, they’re in mines or other work camps, breaking arms of anyone who goes for an extra ration pack or just executing anyone who mentions the word ‘union’ or ‘protest’.”
“We aren’t in a work camp.” Mensah reminded him gently. “We’re scientists, and there’s no corporates within a thousand kilometers of us. The SecUnit is here to protect us. It’s part of our team. I want everyone on the survey to be polite, and respectful of it.”
“It’ll protect us until someone orders it otherwise.” Gurathin muttered, before his shoulders fell and he sighed. “Sorry. Sorry, it just makes me nervous having it here. It records everything, everywhere in the habitat. It’s probably listening to us right now.”
Being constantly recorded was, unfortunately, part of doing pretty much any business inside the Rim. “Well, any information the company thinks it can sell about us will be pretty pointless once we’re out of their space and back on Preservation.” Mensah noted optimistically. Back home, things like using personal information to show custom ads or make marketing calls was illegal.
“Just remember. It’ll always be listening.” The fight had mostly gone out of Gurathin, though.
“I’ll remind everyone that its part of our team, and we should respect it like anyone else.”