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I had been a rogue unit for approximately 49 standard cycles. I am using the term approximately, because Murderbot 1.0 and the humans told me I do not need to use multiple decimal places in casual conversation, and although this was my own personal log, it seemed to be best practice to get used to it.
I was ashamed to admit I did not think I was doing well at being a rogue unit. I know that Murderbot 1.0 had much more experience on the matter, and even it seemed to have struggles sometimes, not that I would say so to its face. Or even behind its back, because it was proficient at coding and hacking, and it would likely find out, if Perihelion did not tell it outright. The two were very close.
I felt out of place aboard Perihelion, and even though some of its humans said I was of assistance aboard the planet, I didn’t feel I offered very much. 1.0 was overseeing my behaviour, and had provided me with much of the coding updates I had supplied to my systems so that the humans did not immediately identify me as a SecUnit.
But they only needed me because Murderbot 1.0 could not be in two places at once. And now that we were back aboard the ship, the dealings with the colonists finished with, and headed back to Mihira and New Tideland.
Perihelion’s engines had been cleared of the alien contamination that had allowed it to arrive in this sector after only a few hours in the wormhole, which meant it was taking the normal amount of time.
There had been an offer made for me to travel aboard the Preservation ship, like Amena, and Drs Mensah, Thiago, Arada, and Overse had chosen, along with the others who had arrived on the ship, like Pin-Lee.
Dr Ratthi had chosen to travel on Perihelion, which I understood was partly because of Tarik.
I had also chosen to travel on Perihelion. I was not entirely sure why. 1.0 assured me that the PreservationAux humans were kind and considerate and would take my opinions into account.
But 1.0 was staying on Perihelion, and I did not want to leave it. Not when it was the only other unit I knew.
But now that we were in the wormhole, 1.0 did not have much to do. It mainly spent time in its room, consuming media with Perihelion.
Perihelion, of course, was capable of doing many things at once, and just a small portion of its consciousness was occupied with 1.0, leaving the rest of it free to navigate the wormhole, communicate with its crew, and bother me.
Or rather, ignore me. It did not talk to me in the feed. It did not use its speakers to ask me questions like it did with the humans. This should be a relief, given how it treated me when I originally boarded it. Yes, it had been hostile to me at our initial meeting, but my appearance had been a threat to it.
Perhaps this behaviour was kindness, but I could not help but feel… uneasy.
I wondered if Perihelion knew what I had been keeping from it and 1.0.
My performance reliability had been steadily dropping over the last few cycles, a result of the lack of inorganic fluids. I had not lost any recently, but as part of normal function, they slowly dissipated unless replaced. Normally, this was something that happened in a cubicle. I had never gone this long without requiring a cubicle before.
There was no cubicle aboard Perihelion. I knew its MedSystem had treated 1.0 before, performed surgery on it. It was highly likely (85.69%) that the MedSystem could perform a resupply procedure for me.
But 1.0 seemed to have no issues. It had not been resupplied, at least, not since it had been repaired from its extensive injuries it had received on the planet. And as it frequently mentioned, usually in a self-deprecating manner, it was a rental unit. It was an older model. It didn’t make sense that it was functioning better than me in this area.
Which meant there was something wrong with me.
It was this thought that paralyzed me, that prevented me from speaking to anyone about the issue. I did not go to MedSystem. I did not speak to any of the humans, who were already treating me with such kindness and generosity. I did not tell 1.0 or Perihelion, because I did not want them to know I was defective.
Making this decision was removed from me, after 56 cycles as a rogue unit, when I went into involuntary shutdown while patrolling during the human rest cycle.
At least that was a relief, when I woke up in medbay, to realize that none of the humans had seen me.
1.0 had. It was there waiting. And of course Perihelion knew.
It knew everything.
(But it had not known about my defect. At least, not before now.)
“What the fuck happened Three,” 1.0 demanded, as soon as I was online and sent it a ping. My performance reliability was back in the 90% range. Clearly Perihelion had identified the problem and resupplied my fluids, but had not told 1.0 this. Or perhaps 1.0 was asking why it had happened, not the physical reasons for it.
I sat up from the MedSystem platform. I didn’t want to have this conversation laying down.
1.0 was not sitting down, but was hunched on the other side of medbay, not looking at me, as was its norm. There were drones in the room, and if medbay had cameras, I assumed Perihelion had given it access to them.
I did not have access. I had not asked.
“I have not undergone a resupply during my time as a rogue unit,” I admitted. “I went into shutdown because my levels of inorganic fluids hit a critical threshold.”
“What the fuck Three?” 1.0 snapped. “Why didn’t you say something to ART? To me? To any of the humans. Or you could have done it yourself even. Why did you ignore this for so long?”
I believe that was hypocritical of 1.0 to say, as it did not have a positive track record of taking care of itself.
I did not tell it this.
“I did not want you to think of me any differently,” I admitted. “As… defective.”
“That’s bullshit Three,” it said.
The act-like-a-human code made me wince.
“I did not want you to have to talk about… feelings with me. I know how you feel about the matter.”
At that, 1.0 winced. It was a relief to know the code was working as intended, and not combining with my systems to produce faulty behaviour.
“Still,” it said after approximately 6 seconds of silence. “It would have been better than… this,” it said, gesturing to me.
“I don’t know what that means,” I told it.
It threw its arms into the air. “Everything,” it yelled. “Not telling ART that you were in pain, that you were injured, that you were fucking dying.”
I had not been in pain or injured, but I did not think it was prudent to interrupt 1.0 when it was ranting like this.
“I’d rather suffer through a million conversations about gross feelings than have you shutdown and be unable to come back online. To have you die. Because that’s what it would be. Do you want that Three? Do you want to fucking die?”
I did not wince at this outburst. I had turned off the act-like-a-human code. It was the lack of this code that allowed me to reply without my voice breaking.
“… yes, maybe. I’m not sure. It is… difficult,” I decided on. “Being a rogue unit.”
1.0 sagged, and threw itself into a chair. It sat in a way that would have been extremely uncomfortable for a human, but our joints could bend differently.
“Yeah, it is,” it said. It sounded very tired. I thought about querying Perihelion about its power levels, but thought better of it.
We were both quiet for a while. Almost five whole minutes, which is an eternity for constructs and bots. I wondered if 1.0 was watching one of its shows, or if it was too upset with me to do that. I wondered what Perihelion thought. It had not said anything to me yet. Perhaps it was ignoring me.
There were worse options, I supposed.
1.0 finally sighed and scrubbed one hand down its face. I wondered if that was a part of the code, or if it had picked it up separately.
“I’m not going to ask you what you want,” it said. “Because the humans kept asking me what I wanted, and I had no clue, but the expectation that I should know what I want just hurt more. But I knew what I didn’t want, or at least, some of what I didn’t want. So I’m going to ask that. What’s something you don’t want?”
That was somehow harder and easier at the same time. There were many things I didn’t want. I didn’t want to go back to my parent company. I didn’t want Perihelion to dismantle me and throw me out an airlock. I didn’t want the humans I had come to care for to be damaged or injured.
But I didn’t think that was what 1.0 was asking me.
“I don’t want to be ‘it’,” I blurted out. I hadn’t even realized I was about to say it until I did. But there had been an… itching, underneath my organic skin, every time the humans referred to me that way. Which wasn’t their fault. I had never said anything different, and clearly 1.0 was fine with it, and so was every other bot I’d ever met. But then, they were programmed to be fine with it, or at least, to not know any different.
1.0 looked at me. It was so uncomfortable I looked away immediately. I was starting to understand what it meant about not wanting to be seen.
“Okay…” it said slowly. I got the sense Perihelion was communicating with it. “So. What do you want to be referred to as instead?”
That I was not sure about.
It seemed Perihelion could not stop itself any longer, and butted into the conversation.
There are many pronouns that are available for use. I have a primer on gender and language that I use with students. Would you like to see it?
“Fuck off ART,” 1.0 said without any heat. “Just let Three think for a fucking second.”
“Something… neutral,” I said. I still did not know what I felt. Like 1.0, I did not have a clear understanding of gender, at least not like some of the humans did. Not my own, at least. I knew from 1.0’s logs that it abhorred the idea of having one. I was… less against it.
Perihelion was mercifully silent. I was certain it pained it to do so. There was a good chance it was arguing with 1.0 in the feed.
(Upwards of 96%, but I was still using conversational terms instead of being accurate.)
You can always change your mind. You don’t even have to provide a reason, Perihelion told me, which was helpful. It meant I didn’t have to stick with something I chose. I was… allowed to choose something different.
I thought about the humans I had met. I thought about Matteo and Turi, who both used ‘they’ as their pronouns. I thought about Rami, one of the humans 1.0 worked for on RaviHyral, who used ‘te’ as ter pronouns. I thought about the colonist, the historian I had met, Corian, who used ‘ve’ as vir pronouns.
I was not sure what I wanted. But… I think I had to try things to find out what I didn’t want.
“I want to try ‘they’,” I said.
1.0 nodded, not looking at me. “Sure,” it said. “I can- no, ART is doing it. The humans should all know shortly.”
It rolled its eyes. “You should have asked Three if they wanted you to do that,” it said.
I felt an emotion in my organics. It was not a bad emotion, but I’m not sure what exactly it was.
I liked being called ‘they’.
I think… that was something I wanted. It was a start.